AN: Happy Thanksgiving to all, and thanks for the review, DCKC!

They came to a stop deep in the Narrows, in front of a rundown apartment building barely managing to stay upright. In front of the door stood a man in a clown mask, hand in his pocket, most likely holding a gun. Weapon or not, his body language was decidedly nervous. Crane couldn't blame him; the Narrows were a nerve-wracking place on their own, and working for the Joker provided its own set of horrors. Still, he couldn't help but smirk, wishing he had his fear toxin with him, wanting to see how quickly he could push him over the edge, pull the mask off and watch as he broke.

Unfortunately, he did not have his toxin, just a burlap sack with eyeholes. And somehow, he doubted that would be as effective. True, he could be terrifying without it, but that took time, and a controlled environment. And the Joker might not appreciate Crane terrorizing his henchman. From what he'd heard on news reports, the clown didn't mind killing his men, or encouraging them to kill each other, but letting someone else break his toys might be out of bounds. Crane figured his chances of living were higher if he didn't test it.

Joker opened his door, running a hand through his hair as he stepped out. "C'mon, kitten."

"I refuse to respond to that," Crane said, closing his own door behind him. He felt gravel grinding under his shoes as they made their way toward the henchman.

"Ya just did respond to it."

"No, I told you that I wasn't going to acknowledge it. Just because you said it before I answered doesn't mean I was responding to it."

"Does so, kitten."

Crane held in a sigh.

"Got the key?" Joker asked the clown, who nodded stiffly, holding it up in his hand. The metal glinted off the streetlight as Joker took it, pushing past his henchman and unlocking the door. "Come here, Jonny."

"What is this place?" he asked warily, as Joker pulled the key out and ushered him inside.

"Our secret lair. Whaddya think?"

Crane stepped through the doorway slowly. He wouldn't put it past the Joker to have some horrible trap set up in here. Not that it made sense to break him out just to kill or hideously mutilate him, but the Joker didn't have to make sense.

Nothing happened, however, when he stepped through, except that the Joker followed and turned on the lights. Illuminating the room turned out to be horrific enough.

"Nice, huh?"

One of Crane's test subjects had been germ phobic: driven to a near catatonic state by the mild griminess of his asylum cell once he'd been exposed to the fear toxin. Looking around the apartment, Crane could suddenly sympathize with the man very well. If this place had ever seen a broom, mop, or can of insecticide, it hadn't been in the last decade. He was probably risking an asthma attack just by breathing this air, and he didn't even have asthma. "You couldn't have used a different apartment?" he asked. "Or anything less full of disease and filth?" God, living in a box on the street would be preferable to this.

"Oh, you're too sensitive."

Joker brushed past him, his shoes sending clouds of dust into the air with each step. Crane followed. The entryway they were walking through seemed to double as a living room, with wide windows covered by filthy curtains. The room was barren aside from an old coffee table, which he wouldn't trust to hold so much as a dime without collapsing. They carried on down a darkened hallway with peeling, faded wallpaper, passing a door Crane guessed led to a bathroom, and ending at the end of the apartment, in what appeared to be the only bedroom.

Crane flipped the switch, the light overhead flickering to life. The bedroom was every bit as filthy as the rest of the place, save for the bed, which was covered in spotless sheets, still creased as though recently bought. He took note of several footprints in the dust on the floor, guessing the Joker had sent his henchman to take care of things before hand. So he'll go for weeks at a time without bathing, or taking care of himself in the slightest, but he draws the line at sleeping in dust? Interesting.

A shoe hit the floor beside him, jolting him out of his thoughts. He looked over to see Joker sitting on the bed, pulling the other shoe off and throwing that to the floor as well. "What are you doing?"

"Sleeping." Joker pulled off his coat, taking care to hang it from a bedpost so it wouldn't be tarnished by all the dust. "Breaking out's a tiring business, kitten. You'd probably want sleep too if you'd actually done anything."

"I doubt that." Crane had always been the type to get by with little sleep. That was less out of choice than out of an inability to get to sleep, but still. "Are you going to tell me what any of this is about now?"

The Joker yawned, lying back on the bed. "Ask me in the morning."

Crane scowled, watching as the Joker tried rather awkwardly to remove his tie and vest without sitting back up. "This had better be worth it."

"Oh, it will be. Trust me on that." He rolled onto his side, with the pained expression of a man lying on a vest stuffed with weapons, pulling the tie off.

Trust him? It'll be a snowy day in hell before that happens. Seeing no point in continuing the conversation, he looked around the room and was struck with the sudden and horrible realization that there was only one bed. "Er…where am I supposed to sleep?"

"Well…" Joker's eyes scanned the room as he licked his lips, thinking. "I guess ya can share the bed. Not that ya deserve it or anything, given how rude you've been, but I'm feeling generous. What?" he added, in response to Crane's stricken expression. "I'm trying to be nice here."

"I am not sharing a bed with you." There was no way. He'd been traumatized enough by the way the Joker used to sneak into his bed at Arkham. Sharing a bed with him could only lead to some horrible torture, be it physical or psychological.

Joker sighed. "I don't see what you're so upset about. I mean, you're the one who makes passes at me. If anyone has a right to be uncomfortable it, it's not you, scaredy cat."

Crane tried counting backwards from ten again, this time in English, Latin, and Spanish. He was halfway through French as well, when the Joker spoke again. "Look, if that's how ya feel about it, ya can always sleep on the floor."

He considered it. If he could sweep enough dust out of the way, there would only be the issue of temperature. Well, that and the roaches, but he guessed the cold chill in the room would be more uncomfortable. Probably. "If I sleep on the floor, can I have one of the blankets?"

"Nope." The Joker sat up, shrugging off his vest and sliding his legs under the sheets.

It figures. He wondered if risking frostbite or hypothermia would be worth it. Certainly it couldn't be any more uncomfortable than sharing a bed with the clown.

The Joker watched him mentally debate for a moment, an amused smile on his face. "Look," he said, patting the blanket beside him. "If ya come over here I just might tell ya what this is all about."

If I come over there, I just might be violated, he thought, but the sight of a particularly large roach crawling across the floor made him reconsider. Not that insects frightened him, but he didn't like the idea of them scurrying over his face in the night. "Fine."

He trudged across the room, trying not to let apprehension show on his features, and lay down beside the homicidal maniac, staring up at the ceiling. "All right, so what do you want me for?"

There was no verbal response, just a hand, surprisingly soft on his face, caressing the burn scars Rachel Dawes had given him with her tazer, long ago. Crane started, feeling ragged fingernails brush against his face as he did. "What are you doing?"

"I like your scars," the Joker said simply, smiling at him. "Who gave 'em to ya, Batman?"

Crane pushed his hand away, irritated. "I thought you said you'd tell me what this was about."

"I said I might," he said, eyes sparkling. "You're too trusting."

Crane did not bother to hold the sigh in this time, and sat up. "Fine. I'll be on the floor."

"Hey, wait." The Joker's hand closed around his wrist, pulling him back down. "I'll give ya a hint."

"And what would that be?"

"Are ya still in touch with your chemical suppliers?"

He blinked. "I was earlier in the year. I haven't contacted them in a long while, but as long as Batman is on the streets they expect me to be out of touch for long periods. Why, do you want the toxin?" Well, that was intriguing, to say the least. Since when had Joker been interested in frightening people? His plans had always been…well, what passed for humorous in his mind, Crane supposed.

"Not exactly." He smacked his lips after the last syllable. "I'll need a few, uh, alterations, but you're a smart guy, aren'tcha? It shouldn't be a big deal."

"What kind of alterations?"

Joker yawned. "Tired now, ask me in the morning." He smirked as his companion's irritated expression, reached out again, ruffled his hair. "Goodnight."

Crane resisted the urge to slam his head against the nearest wall in frustration and stood, crossing the room to turn off the lights. When he returned, the Joker appeared to have fallen fast asleep already.

And had also managed to pull all the sheets to his side of the bed. Lovely.

He sighed, lying back down and shifting, trying to find a position that didn't leave the straitjacket's buckles stabbing into him. His attempts were unsuccessful, so he went back to staring up at the darkened ceiling, pondering what the Joker could be planning, and waiting for sleep to come.