Why couldn't he have gotten Dent as a cellmate? Hell, he would have even suffered Isley's feminist rants rather than endure one more second of living in the same airspace as *sigh*…. Nygma.

"Still nothing? Very well, riddle me this—"

"Edward," Jon bit out from behind gritted teeth, "For the fourteenth and I hope to be final time, I will not demean myself by answering any of your idiotic riddles."

"Idiotic?" Nygma tilted his head almost curiously at Jon, a dangerous glint coming into his eyes. Slowly, he began to rise from his cot, opposite Jon's own in the severely cramped space. Sitting on his own mattress, Jon cursed inwardly. Yes, Nygma was an infuriating prat with false delusions of self-grandeur, but he was also fiercely protective of said delusions. Meanwhile, he also had two free hands, while Jon was still stuck in this accursed straightjacket.

He was sure the guards would be happy to sit on the sidelines and cheer Nygma on while the riddle-obsessed freak strangled the life out of him. After all, it was the doctors who had approved their sharing a room, despite the obvious dangers inherent in such an ill-conceived decision. If anyone was in danger of being penalized for negligence, it would be them.

"Truth," he snapped, consoling his wounded pride with the image of him, straightjacket-less, smothering Nygma with his own pillow.

Edward stopped, one foot still poised in front of the other, as a confused frown replaced the beginnings of a snarl. "What?"

"Truth!" Crane barked, with a snarl of his own. "'I illuminate without light, rarely seen yet always in plain sight.' The answer to your last riddle." He shuffled partially away on the bed so that he could keep Nygma in his peripheral but not have to stare at him. "Now, will you leave me in peace?" he paused. "Well, silence will do."

Edward blinked, then slowly resumed his seat, a grin spreading across his features.

"So, it does know how to play. I was beginning to lose hope. At any rate, that riddle was far too easy. Sharpen your wits on—"

Jon jerked around, plastering an unconvincing smile on his face. "I have a better idea. How abo—"

Edward interrupted, looking at him askance. "Are you…having a seizure or something? Your face looks very… odd."

Jon let the unnatural grin drop, his features settling into a comfortable scowl. "I'm fine."

"Oh," Edward said, looking a little relieved, "Your face was spasming and your lips were all…contorted…really, I don't understand why you bother with the burlap when you're capable of making faces like that."

"Well, it is rather helpful in the presence of my toxin," Jon replied dryly, "Anyway, why don't we up the stakes in your little game? Make it more…. Interesting."

"What, you want prizes?" Nygma snorted with a roll of his eyes. "Don't exactly have anything on hand at the moment, although I suppose I could give you one of my Monet's after I escape. I've rather turned off impressionism. Too tranquil…Oh!" he snapped his fingers as the metaphorical light bulb went off. "The best reward of all! I'll let you ask me a riddle!" He bobbed his head in enthusiastic appreciation of his own genius.

Crane had forced himself to sit quietly with what he hoped was an expression of polite interest throughout Nygma's diatribe, but was probably more one of disgusted impatience. This man tweaked his nerves far too much to maintain a convincing poker face.

"As tempting as that offer sounds," he said finally, trying not to let the sarcasm completely saturate his tone, "I was thinking something more along the lines of…removing this straightjacket?" He lifted his crossed arms as much as possible for emphasis.

Edward pouted. "That's not nearly as good as getting to ask me a riddle. Really Crane, I'm disappointed by your lack of imagination."

Oh, I'll show you imagination, Crane seethed inwardly. Let's see how many riddles you can spout after I hook you up to an IV drip of toxin…

"Well, I am rather uncomfortable," he said aloud instead, trying to look ingratiating. "And I know how adept you are at solving puzzles. How fast, I wonder could you get me out of this thing…"

"Oh," Nygma smirked. "Very fast indeed. You know the guards never bothered to take mind of either. It's quite easy to remove, once you get past the immediate discomfort of further contorting your joints…"

Jon resisted the urge to scowl again. He didn't enjoy being shown up by anyone and the sensation of being one-upped by the Riddler was most unpleasant indeed. "You can do it then?" he asked shortly, temporarily losing even the vestige of respect.

"Of course!" Edward looked insulted. "But first, the riddle—

Held in the highest regard, men constantly covet me, constantly fear from me, kill for me, die for me.

Yet I was never more than a rebel's pretty dream.

"Liberty," Jon answered without missing a beat. "Oh," he realized, seeing Edward's taken aback expression. "Uh…liberty?" he repeated more hesitantly, trying to look as though it had been at least a little difficult. Best not to risk wounding Nygma's pride right at the moment.

"…Correct," Edward said slowly, eyes narrowed rather suspiciously. "You got that one rather quickly, although I cannot fathom how you might be cheating as I just came up with it on the spot. At any rate," he rose, "A deal's a deal. Time me, will you? My record is 2 minutes, 26 seconds. I should expect it will take exponentially less time removing someone else's…"

"Edward," Jon mumbled around a thicket of ginger hair, gagging slightly, "Would you mind terribly moving your head?
"Sure thing," the Riddler replied, stepping back as he spoke with the straightjacket in hand and a grin on his face. "Better?"

"Much…." Jon stretched out his arms and flexed his fingers in relief before landing a solid right hook to Nygma's temple, knocking the taller man flat out cold on the floor, "Better."

?/?/?/?/?/?/?


:-{} :-{} :-{}

Janus did actually make an appearance later, rolling a cart in front of him laden with two trays of food and a pitcher of water.

"I volunteered for the job," he told Jon conversationally as he once again punched in the code. "Wanted to see how our newest reality show was going down here. Where's Riddle Man?"

"He decided to take a nap," Jon replied, barely containing his smirk.

"Oh, really?" Janus replied with a smirk of his own. "I see he was kind enough to remove that jacket of yours. Technically I'm obligated to remove it within 24 hours to avoid muscle damage, but your friend here always has it off and waiting for us whenever we come to do it. Anyway, here's supper. Finger food only, lest you get any nefarious plans involving spoons."

"More Joker's area, really. I prefer not to get my hands bloody," Jon replied nonchalantly, inspecting the preservative-infused Depression-era inspired crap. "Dinosaur chicken fingers? Really? What are we, toddlers?"

"Well, you certainly act it," Janus retorted, eyeing Nygma's prone form with something wavering between respect and trepidation. "You didn't kill him, did you? He's not that bad, once you get past the egoism, obsessive mania, riddle compulsions, bad fashion sense…"

"I checked his pulse," Jon interrupted briskly, tentatively nibbling on a carrot stick before spitting it out in disgust. "He should regain consciousness within a few hours with no lasting injury. "How did you manage to ruin carrots?"

"Hey, don't blame me, I pack my own lunch," Janus stepped out again and closed the Plexiglass. "Be back tomorrow with breakfast. May your dreams satisfy all your sadistic impulses, for Eddie's sake."

"Doubtful. I don't dream," Jon replied, reaching for the water pitcher.

"Poor Eddie," Janus clucked his tongue and shook his head as he wheeled the cart away.