AN: All of my knowledge of horses and how they work comes from Wikipedia and various sites through Google, so yeah. If it's horribly misinformed, I apologize.

Thanks for the reviews!

You had better not fall for this, Jonathan, Scarecrow informed him the moment the Joker had gone. It's bad enough that you agreed to his conditions in the first place, but I swear if you start trusting him again I'll find a way to strangle you.

Jonathan wondered, briefly, when Scarecrow had moved from being little more than an ordinary interior voice and into something that actively threatened him. Not that he really needed to ponder it; of course it had happened when the Batman had poisoned him. It had been about the only positive thing to come from the brain damage, even if Scarecrow could be nearly as irritating as the Joker at times.

I heard that. And I'm serious, Jonathan. You don't believe this bullshit, are you?

Of course not. He shook his head at the idea, making his way to the nearest window to see if the Joker wasn't still lurking outside. From what he could see, he wasn't. As if I'm ever going to trust him again, after that?

Yeah, that's what you thought for approximately twelve seconds after he poisoned you, too, Scarecrow pointed out as he headed toward the door. Remember how that turned out?

Well, I've learned from that experience, haven't I? His hand grasped the doorknob, began to turn. Scarecrow halted the movement, leaving him standing there, frozen. What?

You're way too happy, given the situation. That's what.

I'm too happy? I just had an encounter with the Joker that actually worked in my favor for once. That didn't end with pain or death. Why shouldn't I be happy about not dying?

Because. He offered no other argument, but when Jonathan pointed out that he was acting like six-year-old, he relenting in releasing his hold on the body and allowed Jonathan to open the door. The air outside was cool, but not unbearably so, Nightmare still in the yard, picking at the grass.

"What am I going to do with you?" he asked aloud. The horse had no answers.

In the end he decided on placing him in the garage. Obviously he couldn't go into the house, and there was nowhere else to protect him from the elements. As long as there was something to be used as bedding, it should be all right. At least temporarily. Nightmare allowed himself to be led up the drive without complaint, and Jonathan found upon opening the garage door that the Joker had placed all of the horse's things inside there anyway. There were bales of hay stacked to almost the ceiling in one corner, a few of which he disassembled and spread out as bedding.

Nightmare watched, calm for a horse confronted with a stranger, he thought. Then again, any animal that let the Joker on top of him had to be remarkably placid. Or perhaps the other horses he'd been around had been unusually skittish. Certainly the police horse had, though that may have had something to do with jumping on it in a drugged fit while its former rider was still hanging from the stirrups. He removed the saddle and bridle from the horse, brushed his hair.

Jonathan. Are you becoming attached to this thing?

Of course not. He stroked Nightmare's nose and was nuzzled back against in response. He really was a beautiful horse, strong but slim and a lovely shade of near black all over. Jonathan was not the sort whose heart melted at the sight of animals—in that sense, he wasn't sure he had a heart to melt—but had he any sugar cubes on his person, Nightmare would definitely be getting one. Besides, it's not the horse's fault that the Joker brought him here.

You're playing right into his hands, you idiot. Do you think he didn't know you'd give in the second you had a moment alone with the pony?

He's not a pony. Jonathan retrieved the hoof pick from the jumbled stack of supplies the Joker had left on the floor, made his way back over to Nightmare. And I'm only taking care of him because I don't see the point in making an animal suffer. Besides, you like him too. And he did, Jonathan could tell. Part of Scarecrow wanted to climb on the horse's back, even without a saddle, and go racing through the streets of Gotham, severing the heads of passerby with a scythe while cackling madly.

Jonathan would have settled for a good ride around the yard.

He stood on Nightmare's left side, facing the tail, and stroked down from the shoulder to the fetlock. Once his hand reached there he squeezed, hard but not painfully so. "Up." The front leg lifted without complaint, and he took it, examining the heel of the horse shoe with the hoof pick. It was tight, but as he began cleaning the hoof he reflected that even if the shoes were in good condition, he'd have to find a farrier to trim the hooves. And a vet.

I told you you're becoming attached, Scarecrow said, sulky, as Jonathan moved to the back leg. You should be worrying about how we're getting out of this place, not the horse.

If we get out, he'll just hunt us down again. Jonathan ignored the unease spreading in his stomach at the thought. And his good mood probably won't hold, in that case.

His 'good mood' worries me more than anything else. He had to admit that Scarecrow was right on that one. The Joker could be nice if the inclination struck him; their relationship had been nothing but example after example of that. But there was always the break, the moment when the good mood broke, and the suffering he went through afterwards seemed proportional to how nice the time before it had been. Giving him a house was one of the nicest things the Joker could do, so the break after this would probably kill him.

And why give him a house, anyway? Houses had to be consistently paid for, and he doubted the Joker would be providing. Unless that was a joke to him, giving Jonathan a house and saddling him with the expenses. But where had he gotten this place? Were the former owners dead, or say, dangerous mafia members that would kill him the instant they returned home to find him here? He wouldn't put that past him, but it didn't seem the clown's style.

Whatever the Joker was up to, the speculation and what remained of the drugs was giving him a headache, so after making sure Nightmare had sufficient food and water, he went back inside and headed for his bed. He tried to ignore the admittedly eye-catching way the window light reflected from the aluminum cranes before he drifted off.

He'd forgotten how much he liked riding horses.

It had been so long since he'd last ridden one, and that time he'd been drugged and unable to appreciate it, so he really hadn't had a proper ride since college. He'd forgotten the feel of it, the strange mix of comfort and exhilaration, speeding around on such a powerful, deadly animal with no fear. Even beyond the sense of power, it was, well, fun.

If he was thinking about things as a psychiatrist, he might have concluded that the reason he enjoyed it was because it was a thing that he'd learned in one of the most pleasurable times of his life. College hadn't been as good as his time as the administrator or his brief stint as a professor, but the time from freshman year to the completion of his doctorate had been the first period of his life that wasn't miserable. The reminder of happiness (or at least lack of suffering) combined with the sense of power would obviously translate into a love of riding horses.

Psychiatry was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment, however. Possibly because both he and Scarecrow were sharing control. Scarecrow had never much been one for thinking about the deeper meaning to things. Riding on Nightmare's back as the horse cantered around the yard, wind making his hair fly around his face, he was barely thinking at all.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been riding when he heard the Joker's voice. "Told you he'd like the pony."

"Whoa." The moment broken, he pulled gently on the reins, loosening the pressure of his legs against Nightmare's sides. The horse came to a stop and he turned them back. At some point while he was riding, it appeared that the Joker and Harley had arrived and were standing in the driveway, watching.

"It's a thoroughbred," he informed him, walking Nightmare over.

"Same difference." He turned to Harley, mouth widening into a grin. "You know the reason why horses are so popular to girls just going through puberty? It's because riding 'em is subconsciously close to sex."

Crane rolled his eyes as Harley giggled. "That is not true, puddin'."

"No, really. Think about it." He stroked Nightmare's mane, who nuzzled against his hand in appreciation. Crane reflected that this horse was far too trusting for his own good; Scarecrow reflected that horse meat was delicious. "It's this big, strong animal, right? A masculine symbol, you could say. So the girl mounts it, and rides it around in a position that leaves her with her legs spread for an extended period and her body rocking against the horse when it moves."

"If that's the case," Crane said, ignoring the way Harley bit her lip in thought and nodded, "why don't horses stay popular with older girls, who should be even more in tune to their sexual feelings?"

"Because the more they know about sex, the more, uh, shame they feel playing around like that. I mean, they're not aware that they're doing it, but a lot of girls will start thinking of their love of horses as childish and lose it, especially if they just admired horses and never actually rode 'em. Whaddya think of that, Jonny?"

Harley giggled. Crane wished for a moment that they weren't friends, so he could hate her for that and not feel guilty for it. "I think that I am not a pubescent girl."

"Mentally—" the Joker began.

"Why are you here?" He directed the question at Harley.

"We're makin' you dinner!" she said brightly.

He imagined the Joker in the kitchen. And then the house blowing up. "No, you're not."

She pouted. "By 'we,' I meant me. Mistah J can't cook very well."

"I can cook perfectly well," he said, crossing his arms. "But only things that matter. Like, you know, bombs."

"You don't cook bombs." God, even taking part in this conversation was making him lose brain cells. If Harley wouldn't hate him forever—and if the attempt wouldn't fail miserably and get him killed—he'd listen to Scarecrow's current idea, which was trampling the Joker with his horse.

The Joker shrugged. "Depends on the bomb."

Why do I get into these conversations? "Where did you get the house?"

"You don't like it?" He pouted. Unlike when Harley had done it, his look was far more disturbing than endearing.

"It's fine. I just don't want the owners to come back from vacation or something and call the police."

"Oh, no no no, angel. The owners are taken care of." The Joker licked his lips in a way that made Crane decide it was best not to ask for clarification. "And they'd paid the house off already, so don't worry about that."

"I'm still paying for the electricity and water, though?" he asked, dismounting.

"Well, yeah. I'm not doing everything for you, Jonny." They headed back toward the house, Joker trying to take Crane's free hand as they walked and Crane stepping away, winding his other hand a bit tighter through Nightmare's reins.

"I haven't asked you to do anything."

"I know. You didn't have to. Friends do things for each other without being asked."

"We're not friends."

"Not yet," Joker corrected, taking his hand and ignoring his attempts to pull away. "We will be. Your pony likes me. That's a sign, animals are excellent judges of character."

If Crane rolled his eyes any harder, he'd be risking optic nerve damage. "Or it's a sign that you won him over with sugar cubes before you gave him to me."

"What's your point?"

Harley was making lasagna, as it turned out, which Jonathan insisted on helping her with. The Joker did not help at all; in fact, Harley informed Jonathan that she'd had to ban her lover from the microwave and oven in their home, as he was absolutely incapable of making so much as soup without blowing it up. Crane took things one step further and banned him from the kitchen altogether. The Joker sulked off to watch the news while they were busy, but not before informing Crane that he'd been thoughtful enough to bring strawberry shortcake as desert. To which Crane replied that he was allergic to strawberries and that he'd told the Joker this before.

The Joker responded that he'd remembered that fact, and brought something with strawberries simply because there'd be more for himself. And then left the room before Scarecrow could get out the knives.

"What does he want, Harley?" Jonathan asked, slicing tomatoes as she grated Parmesan. He had premade tomato sauce, but she refused to use it, saying it wouldn't be the same. Jonathan had always been the type to not care how something was made so long as he could eat it and not destroy his stomach or block his arteries, but he could appreciate her effort.

"Just to be friends again."

Right. "I'm meant to believe that he's going through all this effort just for the sake of my company?" True, he held himself in high regard—and he deserved it, his intellect was far superior to just about everyone in Gotham—but even he wasn't proud enough to believe the Joker valued him that much. Not anymore, anyway. "I know he likes a challenge, but all this?"

"Look at it from his perspective."

"I'd rather not."

She laughed, moving from the Parmesan to the mozzarella. "All right, you remember that speech he gave you in your apartment about how he created you, and he could make or break you again if the mood struck him?"

"Yes. You could hear that from out in the hall?"

"No, but later I asked him what he said to make you come back and he summarized."

"Oh." He watched the slivers falling from the grater to slowly fill the enormous bowl beneath it. "Planning on feeding an army?"

"Shut up." She swatted a hand at him gently, not seeming to care that she didn't make contact. "You could use the leftovers. Just because you're not starving anymore doesn't mean you need to be skipping any meals. And I checked the contents of your fridge when we moved it, Jonathan," she added, with a shake of her head.

"What?" All right, so he'd come to appreciate butter pecan Ensure during his stay at Arkham. Just because he kept it on hand didn't mean that was all he ate.

"So you use that stuff as a meal supplement, not a substitute."

"I don't. I've never eaten breakfast, the fact that I drink it in the morning doesn't mean that I'm using it in place of food."

She shook her head again. "One of these days I'm making you breakfast."

"Fine. Just leave your boyfriend at home."

"Oh, he never gets up in the morning anyway. Thank God, because I'd never get anything accomplished around the warehouse if he did. His men certainly don't clean anything."

He moved from the tomatoes to the mushrooms, trying not to slip into a lecture on how being the Joker's indentured servant was not the same as being his girlfriend. "You were saying what about his motivations, now?"

"What? Oh yeah. Well, I think he realized how angry you are and decided that if he couldn't actually follow through on his claim to make you love him again, then he failed at villainy."

Jonathan wasn't sure whether to scoff or sigh. "Were those his exact words?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Lovely." So he'd become the Joker's project again. Like the time they'd been together, but without the fun of kissing or anything else. Well, hooray.

The Joker stuck his head through the doorway. "Hey, kitten?"

"I thought I told you not to come in here."

"I'm not, I'm not. Uptight much?" He licked his lips, continued. "I just wanted you to know that I also brought wine."

"I can't drink." He thought back on the last time he'd had anything alcoholic, and tried and failed not to blush.

The Joker smirked. "I know."

"I hate you."

He disappeared again, door swinging slightly back and forth in his wake. "Love you too, Jonny."

"I am not forgiving that son of a bitch," he informed Harley, as if she had any control over the madman's actions.

She smiled. "You know, that's what I tell myself every time we fight?"

I am never going to end up that way again, he told himself, holding back a shudder. Harley may be his best friend, but that didn't change the fact that her life served as a perfect example of how not to have a relationship. The Joker may have given him a house, and a horse, and scar-reducing medicine, and a whole host of other things, but he wasn't going to be stupid enough to forgive him because of that. Gifts did not demonstrate sincerity, no matter how expensive or excessive.

Still, those aluminum cranes had been kind of sweet.

AN: The bit about girls and horses comes from Desmond Morris's The Naked Ape. I haven't read the whole book, but the parts I have are interesting. Apparently one in eleven girls at the puberty age prefer horses to other animals, even if most of them will never have a horse or haven't ridden one.