Jonathan Crane was thrown into his cell, sputtering and coughing. The door slammed and he lay on his hands and knees for a moment, trying to catch his breath. "Just like being back at school again," he muttered to himself as he slowly sat up, leaning against the wall.

He heard a tapping against the stone, listened for a moment, and then struggled to his feet, making his way slowly over to the cell door and peering out to make sure no guards were around. Then he returned to the wall and murmured, "The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things."

"Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings," murmured Jervis Tetch from the neighboring cell. "And why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings."

There was silence. Then Crane murmured, "How are you, Jervis?"

"I have the most terrible headache," replied Tetch. "It won't go away. And it's not even from the therapy – it's because of the lack of caffeine. I've had tea almost every day of my life, and to suddenly be deprived of it…it's worse than any of the tortures they inflict."

He sighed. "How are you, Jonathan?"

"I've just been waterboarded," murmured Crane. "It's no worse than when they used to hold my head down the toilet at school, you know. And once you get past the initial terror of drowning, once you embrace the fear, it's not so bad."

"No. I don't much care for the hosing down with ice water, though. It's not very dignified."

"Torture generally isn't," retorted Crane.

"At least torture has a purpose," said Tetch. "What are they hoping to accomplish by doing this to us?"

"Beat sanity back into us, I assume," said Crane. "Although frankly if the repeated beatings by Batman hasn't done that, I doubt this is going to."

"Do you really think that's it?" asked Tetch quietly.

"Well, I assume so. Why do you think they're doing it?"

"I think they're hoping to break us," he murmured. "Mentally, physically, whatever snaps first. I think they're hoping to drive us mad, but not our kind of mad. They're hoping to drive us as mad as everyone else, docile, weak, submissive human beings who won't fight, who will stay in line and do as we're told. For what is it to be considered sane but that?"

"I hardly think that's likely to happen, though," retorted Crane. "Can you imagine it working on the Joker?"

"I can't imagine any sort of cure working on the Joker," replied Tetch. "But perhaps for those not as…strong as he is."

Crane was silent. "You're thinking of the ladies?" he asked. "Pamela and…Harley?"

"Oh, Pamela's at least as strong as the Joker," retorted Tetch. "I was actually thinking of myself, if this abominable headache doesn't disappate soon. I'd do whatever they want at the moment for a cup of tea. But yes, Harley is to be considered. When you can hear her screaming all the way in our cell block…her treatment seems a bit extreme."

"They do seem to be especially harsh to her," murmured Crane. "I wonder why that is. They can't be foolish enough to think that the Joker cares if she's in pain. He inflicts pain upon her constantly."

"Yes," replied Tetch. "It must be a more personal vendetta then. Though I can't imagine Harley having done anything to anyone worthy of a vendetta. She's such a sweet child."

"She is," agreed Crane, nodding. "I wish there was something we could do to protect her. Or at least make sure she's all right. But it's impossible to communicate with anyone the way things are. We don't get to spend any time out of our cells anymore."

"Perhaps they believe we'll affect each other's cure," replied Tetch. "I daresay if the guards found out we were speaking to each other, they'd transfer one of us to another cell."

"Then we must stop speaking soon, before they return," sighed Crane. "Though without my books, I don't mind saying, my mind is stagnating."

"I keep reciting the complete text from the Alice books to try and occupy my mind, and retain my memory," replied Tetch. "And distract myself from my headache. Feel free to listen in if you think it will help."

Suddenly, they heard Harley's voice twisted in a high-pitched scream of agony from elsewhere in the asylum. They were silent as the minutes ticked by and the screaming continued. After what seemed like ages, it stopped, to be replaced by a hysterical, maniacal laugh from a different voice they knew well.

"Why does he always laugh at her pain?" murmured Crane.

"Because he wants to keep provoking them to hurt her?" suggested Tetch. "Because he's a monster?"

"Well, yes, but we knew that," sighed Crane heavily. "Anyway, I could certainly use a distraction. Go on, Jervis."

Tetch nodded and cleared his throat. "'Chapter I: Down the Rabbit-Hole. Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do…'"