A/N: I apologize for the delay on this one. Both chapters were written before I decided to post the story on this site but the second file was playing hard-to-get (heh). The posting pace will be steady from here on out.

By the way, thanks for the wonderful reviews. I hope you all continue to enjoy the story.

Title: In the Eye of the Hurricane – Chapter two
Characters: Joker, Scarecrow/Crane and the Riddler. Batman will be mentioned (and will make appearances) as the story progresses, though he isn't the focus of the story.
Rating: Pg-17 (if such a thing exists)
Timeframe: follows after the second movie
Warnings: violence, obvious insanity and the death of innocent (or not-so-innocent) bystanders...after all, this is about the Joker...
Disclaimer: I'm not making a profit off of this—nor do I have the desire to either. I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox.
Summary: It's true what they say. Sanity can only last so long...

The infliction of pain is vile thing.

...

...That's what the shrink says.

He can't even begin to fathom where she came up with the idea—people and pain are like bread and butter. Bonnie and Clyde. Self-mutilation is a natural part of everyday life—it's been the biggest thing since...since the discovery of the wheel. Even sooner. Sooner than fire...maybe...but that's not the point.

The point is—everyone's doing it.

She jots something down on her notepad, chews her bottom lip and doesn't try to hide the twitch in her left eye. She gave up on denial about a month ago. Good girl. It's the first step in the healing process.

Treading carefully, she asks him what's on his mind today. The institute is practically ecstatic that he hasn't tried to break out yet but it baffles them to no end why he hasn't made any progress in his sessions. He's not surprised. Timing is everything.

If you're gonna leave, might as well do it with a bang.

For now...well, he just sits back and watches as the proverbial wall begins to crumble. It all starts with a crack. A tick; easily ignored. If not for humanity's curiosity, nobody would notice it. Nobody would be picking at it.

But (as history often dictates) human nature gets the best of everyone and they worry the tear a little bigger...Prod the wound, so to speak, until an infection sets in. He doesn't have to lift a finger.

Neither does Crane.

They meet ('officially') for the first time since his arrest in the rec-room. The good doctor is on his way out, a guard standing vigilant on either side, but then he lingers in the doorway to watch the news. He looks vaguely interested with the anchorman's rant—riveted, almost, if not for the apathetic expression drawn across his face. He's been busy lately, sending the guards mixed messages; they can never tell what kind of mood he's in.

It's another article on the Riddler...

They've both been wondering (—and he knows Crane's been thinking about it; 'it' being the metaphorical elephant sitting in the corner—) how many of these crazies the Batman can take before he joins the old Arkham gang for breakfast. It doesn't matter if the man has the patience of a saint—if you pitch yourself headfirst off a mountainside you're bound to hit something sooner or later.

Gravity tops courage any day.

Crane looks as though he wants to see the end of the report. The guards wait. One turns as though to re-enter the room—but then Crane's already started down the hall.

The guard almost trips trying to correct himself mid-step.

The Joker watches as he leans against the wall for support. It's the kid. He knew they'd meet again. It was written in the stars. The poor fellow hasn't seen him yet but the Joker can feel someone's eyes trained on him.

Crane's watching. The man shares a look with him and glances down at the pup...something passes behind his eyes. It takes him only a minute to put two and two together.

It's good to see they're still running on the same track.

"More fluids, perhaps?" Crane suggests, brushing the incident off as a fainting spell. The kid looks embarrassed. And trusting...Crane is, after all, a doctor.

"It's nothing," the pup replies, almost stuttering. He opens his mouth to add something else to his defence but this eyes fall on the Joker. He pales.

Crane shrugs, making a half exasperated look as he follows the other guard to his next appointment. The kid lingers a minute to hold the door open for the Joker and his escorts—but he isn't doing it to puff up his chest. No. This kid's no soldier. He's just curious. And wary

So the Joker smiles.

It's only polite.

-2-Joker-2-

Three days left until the pipes on the second floor are fixed. Everything else has been dried out and repaired, and half of the inmates have already been returned to their cells. It's why the staff is taking it easy. Everything's running smoothly...

Everything really is.

"I have a theory..." he begins.

The shrink pauses, pen poised as she halts mid-sentence to hear him out. She writes more often than she talks...more often than she listens too. It's her defence mechanism against everything he tells her; her strategy to zone out the truth. It's a feeble attempt at stoicism.

"...If the world was run by madmen what would you do?"

"I..." her mouth works to form the words but he hears nothing. After a moment, she replies, "Why do you ask?"

"...You really wanna know?"

"No, it's just..." her eye twitches. Slightly. "I suppose...I'd do whatever I had to do to survive. It's only natural, rightly?"

Exactly.

That's what everyone would do—it'd be chaotic, sure, but it`d be absolutely stunning too. Like a burning strip of magnesium, brilliant and blinding. Hell, if people knew what kind of men were really running the world right now, they'd probably lose their minds.

Not that he's complaining.

"What would you do?"

"Heh," He laughs. As if she doesn't already know... "What wouldn't I do?"

"Of course..."

"How about a change of topic?"

She looks wary...but after a moment of contemplation she nods. "What would you like to talk about?"

"The Riddler."

This, of course, is against the rules. She's dealt with other crazies—'hero-worshipers', to put it lightly. Most doctors try to steer away from the topic of villains during their sessions. Not her. Either she's got a bigger jones than her male coworkers or she's just too scared to change the subject.

"...Alright. What about him?"

She's really starting to grow on him.

"What's he been up to?" he asks—almost as though he and Crane haven't been keeping tabs on the news. "What's his plan?"

"Plan...?" she presses the back of her pen to her lower lip, obviously tempted to chew on it, "...I don't know. Aside from playing games with the Batman and giving the general public a good scare, he hasn't actually stolen or destroyed anything...at least, not on a major scale. There was that one incident with an armoured truck but nobody was actually hurt..."

You don't say...

The Joker leans back in his chair and crosses his legs—to the best of his abilities in the straightjacket wrapped around his chest and hips. It's a snug fit but that's how Arkham designed it. So inconsiderate. "When do we get to meet him?"

Doctor what's-her-name stares at him over the rim of her glasses, frowning. She's getting to be gutsy for a girl. "Arkham has a placed reserved for him but whether or not he's actually caught depends entirely on the Batman and GPD's Commissioner."

Of course, because the Riddler is an intelligent man and his questions weren't designed for the average Joe. This could be the key to an elaborate plan or, perhaps, what's-her-name is right: he doesn't really have one. He's acting on a whim.

The Joker can't wait to meet him.

"Alright. That's all," he leans back a bit further, lifting a foot to press against her desk. With a gentle push, he balances on the back two legs of his chair, "Session's over."

She sighs audibly but doesn't argue.

What the Joker wants, he usually gets.

-3-Joker-3-

It's exciting.

Almost.

The night guard locks John 2's (and the late John 1's) cell door and returns the key to his belt with a deliberate jingle. He whistles lowly between his lips and strolls to the end of the hall with all the pomp of an arrogant—

"Lights out," he orders in a deep indolent tone of voice, "Be nice to Roger. He'll be standing outside."

'Roger', meaning the pup.

"Will do," Crane replies lethargically, mocking the watchman under his breath. Once the door is shut, he clears his throat. Tonight is doomed to be busy. "Clark...would you like to hear another nursery rhyme?"

'Clark' moans, sounding small and feeble in the darkness of his cell. Joker won't be able to refer to him as anyone else than 'John' inside his head, however. It's a habit of his.

"No...please..."

"Hush. It's nothing sinister—" he clears his throat again, "—'When Adam delved and Eve span, who was then a gentleman?'..." (1)

"W-what does it mean?"

"Equality, I suppose, because there was no distinction of class when only Adam and Eve existed."

John swallows loudly, taking the bait but still treading carefully... "Why's it important?"

"The peasants used the saying during the Bubonic Plague—made them realize how important they really were to the economy."

"Oh."

"That, and it's cold in here."

His answer is followed by silence. John's really worried now. "...Why do you say that?"

"Oh...it`s nothing. I was just thinking about epidemics...and the cold...It's awfully cold in here, isn't it? It's not just me?"

"It's cold..." Joker's old friend moans a few cells down. Someone else sneezes; one of the men starts murmuring to himself.

The ball's started rolling now.

"I...I didn't think it was..."

"But my hands are numb," Crane replies, voice sounding a little faint; scared, "Please, tell me it's just the cold. It is...isn't it...?"

"He can't feel them!" Another crazy shrieks, "He can't feel them anymore!"

"Clark, tell me—is it, or isn't it cold in here?"

"N-no—"

—"I can't feel my feet!"—"It's cold..."—"He can't feel them anymore"—

Everyone's awake by now, scared half to death by a non-existent disease. Just as Clark starts screaming, good old Roger bursts in through the door.

"What's going on in here?!"

"He's sick!" Clark wails, "Take him away! He shouldn't be near us!"

"Who's sick?"

The Joker lifts himself up off his bed. With the steadiest voice heard that night, he replies, "Why, it's Dr. Crane, of course."

Faintly, he can hear the doctor tumble to the floor, doubled-over in faux pain. Moaning, he begs for someone to save him.

And Roger opens the door.

On cue.

Moving to the tiny window of his door, he wraps his hands around the small bars and, licking his lips, waits for Crane to emerge from his cell. There's a sudden 'whack!' followed by a muffled cry and a solid thud as the young guard is overpowered. The job's done in the span of a few measly seconds.

Crane may be lanky but he's certainly no beanpole.

The doctor doesn't say anything as he takes the kid's keys and baton. Searching for the right one, he steps out into the hall, up to the Joker's door and undoes the lock. When the electric lock jumps to action, he disables it with his old code. No sweat.

They really do work beautifully together.

The ward's still hollering like the phantoms of hell when two other guards appear at the end of the hall. Crane's smiling. He lets the Joker take the baton as the first one approaches...

Fifteen minutes later and they're already on the road. Tearing down the highway, so to speak. The car they jacked from the parking lot is a little worse for wear but they plan on ditching it anyway.

Crane struggles in the back seat, twisting awkwardly in an attempt to grab the few out-of-reach straps on his jacket. He freed his arms long ago in his cell but he wants to get the damn thing off.

As aggravated as he is, he doesn't complain when the Joker reaches over for the radio dial and cranks the volume. Ironically, 'Jailhouse rock' blares at them from somewhere halfway through the song.

Heh.

Must be a sign.

AN: I apologize if it sounds weird. I'm still trying to get the Joker's voice right in my head. As for the opening line, um...if you can think of anything better, just throw me a stone. I don't mind criticism (so long as it's constructive).

In any case, the Riddler's going to make his first appearance in the next chapter. His personality in this story is based heavily on the comic's interpretation of him and his compulsion to leave riddles wherever he goes. If you know about his sometime good, sometime bad personality that's great but don't worry if you're not a comic fan.

(1) Crane basically explains the lowdown on this rhyme. I didn't invent it (if you google 'dark nursery rhymes' or something of the like you'll find a couple of interesting ones).

Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. ;D