SwordStitcher-I can drag things out when I feel the need for it. Truer words have never been spoken. What's that supposed to mean? Whatever you want it to mean. I'm just going to stop now. Probably for the best, love.

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-I pity him if he hits on me. I don't. He should keep his mouth shut. Jonathan... What? People are idiots. They can't help it. They will learn. I'm not sure if I should be touched or concerned. Touched. Definitely touched.

Crane didn't come in that morning. Neither did the food-bringing kid. Instead it was Kitty, balancing a tray in her hands.

"Thanks."

"It's Robert's day off."

"So he makes you be the maid?"

"Oh, I volunteered. Eat up, you look terrible."

"Where's…um…"

"Jonathan's downstairs right now, working. Hurry up, I need to be down there helping."

"You don't have to do this."

"Do what, bring you food? If you're planning on starving yourself, we have a feeding tube about this big around." She measured. "I'll gladly shove it down your throat, don't you fret."

Dear god, he'd really gotten a foothold on the girl. Maybe he'd threatened to kill her parents or something if she didn't help him.

"Help him." he whispered. Kitty gave him an odd look.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I-I…"

"You don't…oh, that's cute." She sat down. "You think he's brainwashed me or something, don't you?" Nicholson nodded mutely. "You'd be wrong."

Stockholm syndrome, then. He remembered reading about that in sophomore year.

"Kitty-cat…"

"Don't call me that." Now she just looked pissed. "You may have forgotten about it-it'd be just like you-but I still remember your attempted…relations in the back hallway. If you're stupid enough to think I'd want anything to do with you after that, that's not my problem. Now hurry up and eat that or I will bring in the feeding tube."

He remembered how big her hands had said it was and cringed. His mouth had never opened that wide. He wasn't a fag, after all.

"He's sick…"

"So they tell me. What does that make me, then?"

"Misguided."

It occurred to him that that might not be the best word to use, but it was too late now.

"No. It makes me a damn patient girlfriend. Now eat. Your. Breakfast."

He ate it without another word.

He had to get out of here. It had been three hours since breakfast and every little noise was making him jump. He needed to get out, come hell or high water. Death was better than waiting for Crane to come back.

He tried the door first-hey, you never knew-and found it locked. Fine. What about the window…there was no window. Damn.

"Crane!" he shouted. "Let me out! You can't keep me in here, you scrawny bastard!"

He pounded on the door and jumped up and down. Where the hell was he?

He was prepared to charge the door when it opened very softly.

"May I help you?"

"Let me out of here!"

"You're right." Huh. "Perhaps you should see the place. I'll call someone to show you around." Dammit, why did he have to sound so pleasant? That only made it worse!

"Um…"

"I insist. Someone will be here in five minutes to collect you. I suggest you make yourself…presentable."

Presentable? How? Why?

Never mind. He wasn't doing a thing. If Crane didn't like it, too bad.

Sure enough, the door opened five minutes later. A big man, much bigger than him, stood on the other side of it.

"Boss says to take ya around."

"Um…"

"So come on. And don't fuck with me, mac, or I'll turn ya over to him."

Him? What him? Never mind, he didn't want to know.

"Okay." he squeaked.

"Good boy."

They were on the staircase when they ran into Kitty. His new friend smacked him in the back of the head to make him look at the floor.

"Oh, showing him around, are you?"

"Yes, ma'm."

"Maybe you should show him the laboratory."

"Yes, ma'm. Did Doctor Crane want to see him?"

"I don't think so. Oh, two-oh-nine's been acting up, would you deal with him when you've got a moment?"

Two-oh-nine? Who-or what-was two-oh-nine?

"Sure thing, ma'm."

"Thank you. Pleasure seeing you again, Mr. Nicholson."

"What was with the smack?"

"Shut up, you."

"But…"

"Ya want your eyes removed? The Doc don't like ya too well as it is, don't give him an excuse."

Eyes removed? For what…oh. Jealous. Well, he almost couldn't blame him. He'd be jealous, too.

They began walking again, down into the main room.

"Um…"

"Shut up."

"Where am I going?"

"Where Miss Richardson said you'd go. To see Doctor Crane."

So Crane was a doctor now? What about the 'first do no harm'? Or was that only in movies?

"I don't wanna see Doctor Crane."

"That's normal." They stopped outside a heavy metal door and his companion knocked. "Hey, Doc! Someone to see ya!"

A minute later, the door swung open with a loud cree-aa-k! Nicholson cringed at the sight of the burlap mask.

"I am in the middle of something. What do you…oh. Bring him in."

"Sure thing, Mr. Scarecrow."

First it was Doc, then it was Mr. Scarecrow? What the fuck? Maybe he would have been better off with the clown.

The room had high ceilings and a cold cement floor. A handful of tables stood against the far wall, lined with bottles and notebooks. On the other side of the room was a metal folding chair with a person tied to it. They were gagged and blindfolded. What the hell?

"Crane…"

The guard smacked his head again.

"That's Scarecrow, stupid."

"Thank you, Theodore." Scarecrow purred. "Now. Mister Nicholson. How the hell are you? Comfy? Cozy?"

"You know I'm not, asshole."

"Your manners have not improved." He sounded a little put out. "No matter. You don't read the international news, do you?"

Of course not. Who had time for that?

"No."

"Of course you don't. Typical. Shame, that. If you did, you might have a better idea of what you're in for."

In for? What was he talking about?

"Huh?"

Scarecrow rubbed a spot between his eyes.

"Surrounded by idiots…hold him still."

He turned away and stalked towards the person in the chair. Once they were ungagged and the blindfold was removed, Nicholson could see it was a man.

"Gotham is a terrible vacation spot." Scarecrow called. "You're about to see why."

His arm came up and a soft mist floated towards the man's face. First there was a bout of coughing. Then the screams began.

"Doctor Crane, please!"

The Scarecrow began to cackle, a nasty, grating sound.

"There is no Crane…"

"They're all over me!"

"Only Scarecrow!"

Nicholson squeezed his eyes shut and wished that he could squeeze his ears shut, too.

"Get him out of here, Theodore."

He was dragged away, but it was a long time before the screaming faded.