December 28, 2005.

Gotham city was covered in a thin sheet of clean white snow. The air was crisp, unbroken by the approaching dawn. The streets glistened with ice. Fires burned in trash cans surrounded by the homeless. The world was peaceful in those few moments. Those few moments of fluttering snowflakes and crackling fire. No screams or sirens rang through the air in those moments before the sun showed its face. The air swirled slowly, the collective emotion of every person in Gotham City gathered in that wind and glided through the streets and alleyways.

Inside Didi's Dollar Diner, only Pops was up and about. It had been a bizarre few months for his establishment. Earlier that year he was visited by that doctor. That man with the burlap sack. Crane. Scarecrow. Pops knew him because he's the man that refused to see Reese after she told him she was over her arachnophobia. Scarecrow had come in, twitching, rambling on about the Batman. Someone had taken a taser to him. They kept the doctor upstairs until his head cleared. Kelly looked after him, for the most part. Unlike most of the male clients, the doctor wasn't interested in her body at all. He was only interested in her fears.

That snowy day a new form of terror blew in with the wind. Just at daybreak there was a knock at the back door in the kitchen. A sure sign of trouble. "Hey, Reese, get down here," he called up to his wife. Upstairs the woman took her time, trying to find a nice dress to throw on for the injured company. Pops opened the back door slowly, peering through an opened inch. Before him was a true wreck. A kid, not even out of his twenties, stood there, bleeding. It wasn't the bleeding that stuck out to him, that was natural. It wasn't the purple button-up shirt, or the green hair. It was the kid's smile, which was very unnatural.

He remember that morning because the kid spurted blood every time he spoke. He kept complaining about his arm. It was busted in two places. The bone stuck out near the elbow. Every few sentences he would laugh. Laugh at his pain. Laugh at the trouble Pops and his half-dressed wife were going through to make sure his arm would heal up properly. He told them not to touch his face. He almost begged them not to touch his face. After they set his arm, Reese took a damp cloth and brought it up to his cheek.

And then the kid laughed and broke her nose.

It wasn't even 10:00 that day, and the Joker was bored out of his skull. Sure, it had been a bit of an adventure escaping from the asylum, and it tickled him to watch his legs get hacked to bits and dissected. But something was missing. He felt empty. The Joker laid down on Pops' and Reese's waterbed. He had to admit, he was a bit afraid to get underneath the covers. He settled on top of the comforter, staring at the ceiling. If he didn't want his legs to be rendered useless, he was bed ridden for the next few days. He looked around. Red walls, warm air, fancy decorations, boxes that were too small to put anything in. There were two full-length mirrors, one against the wall beside the bad, and one beside the door. He could see himself in the mirror, bobbing up and down on the waterbed. He floated along like a wrecked, shiny purple ship in his satin shirt and baggy jeans. It may have only been temporary, but the room would truly drive him insane. It was a grotesque representation of everything that was wrong with Gotham City. He wanted to burn the room to a crispy ash and watch it blow away in the wind.

In the adjoining bathroom, the blind doctor slid and thudded around in the tub, trying desperately to clean himself up. The Joker snorted.

"Doctor? Do you need any help there doctor?" he called out in a flighty tone.

A cold silence served as Dr. Crane's answer. The Joker sighed and rolled onto his side, waves coursing through the bed. The digital clock read 9:47. At least he knew what time it was. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He slowly moved his hands together and brought them up under his chin. "Dear Lord," he said in a soft, quiet voice. "Thank you for letting me…get RID of those people…those people earlier and escape Arkham in the process. Please help the Batman keep me entertained, and let Dr. Crane stop coughing so I don't waste energy strangling him. Please let the bread be better at Arkham when I get back. Amen."

The pipes creaked as the water shut off, and the Joker half-expected the walls to explode with liquid. He smiled. That would have been quite ironic. A few rustling sounds came from within the bathroom as Crane struggled to get dressed. After a minute there was silence.

"Crane, say something. Move if you're alive in there." With any luck, there wouldn't be a sound. The Joker rolled his eyes when the bathroom door opened. Out came the good doctor, his bandage soggy, hair dripping on his face. He had on a white shirt two sizes too big for him. He had a pair of khaki slacks that belong to Pops.

"Where's the," Crane coughed into his hand. "Where's the bed?"

"You don't get the bed." The Joker replied as though it were a fact of nature.

"Now," Crane began to use his professional voice. "That's the sort of selfish attitude that can drive a person to commit horrendous acts against his fellow man."

"I'm crippled," the Joker replied. It really didn't make a difference. The Joker would get the bed even if he were in peak physical condition.

"I'm sick. You are cold enough," he coughed once more. "You are cold enough to deny a sick man comfort?" From his calm composure, you'd know he didn't give a real care if he were sick. Not so long as he was clean.

"I…get…the bed."

"You still deny me, even though I can't see." The doctor tilted his head towards where he supposed the Joker was. He hoped that the Joker was every bit as selfish as he thought he was. He needed this man to be without compassion. He needed him to be every bit as heartless as he imagined. He needed this incarnate of fear to be without weakness.

"I've noticed." He turned his head towards Crane. "So you didn't see that I've killed, oh, let's say, three…yes three…clinical workers within the past four hours. I honestly don't SEE how one more would make a difference." The Joker rolled over and raised an eyebrow. Water sloshed around him. "Do you?"

The doctor was silent. That one threat. It was invigorating. It was precisely what he wanted to hear. The Joker was the only person that could scare him anymore. He smiled with a shit-eating grin that only professionals can channel. "I suppose, fair is fair."

"Justice is blind," the Joker smirked. "And so are you." He wanted to kill the doctor. He wanted to take a knife and slash his throat from ear to ear. He wanted to feel his blade tremble the slightest bit as it ripped through his flesh. He wanted to watch the man flail on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. He wanted to see the color drain out of his bright blue eyes. But at the moment, he was restricted beyond his control. And all he could do was visualize that sweet victory.

There was a quick knock at the door. "Ey. Got you guys some breakfast."

"Do come in, Kelly." The doctor's grin turned to an uncomfortably polite smile. Kelly entered with a tray perfectly balanced on her shoulder.

"I'm just gonna…set it down…and leave you two be." She slowly made her way over to the table by the bed. She wished the table wasn't right beside the Joker. She could feel the men staring at her. Even behind gauze she could feel the eyes of terror beaming on her from Dr. Crane. He knew what scared her. She was almost afraid to move. Alone in the room with those two. Her posture was purposely upright, unnatural and frigid. She set the tray on the table. Two glasses of orange juice, grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches, grapes, napkins, and scrambled eggs.

"That's that, then." Kelly straightened herself up. As she turned the Joker grabbed her wrist. His grip was tight, just the tiniest bit away from being painful.

She pursed her lips. Her eyes widened. "Lemme-"

"I just wanted…" he twisted her wrist ever so slightly. "To say thank you, Kelly. I just wanted to thank you." He stared at her, his eyes narrowed, his smile broad. Kelly shook, not able to meet his eyes. "Do you have any makeup, Kelly?"

"I…what?"

"Makeup. Do you have any makeup here, Kelly?" he asked once more. Dr. Crane smiled, feeling the tension build in the room.

"I…yeah…yeah we got some…what do you-"

"The makeup is all I need." With that, the Joker released her wrist. He wiped his hands together and watched Kelly back away slowly. This was clearly a woman who had dealt with rough men before. Once she shut the door, the Joker pulled himself up. He put the tray on the middle of the bed and picked up one of the sandwiches.

"Now, are you going to deny a helpless man such as myself food?"

The Joker smacked his lips and sighed. "Oh no, of course not, sweety." He picked up some of the grapes and hurled the at Crane, who recoiled slightly at the sudden projectiles.

"Joker, please be reasonable-" his voice was that of a teacher speaking to an unruly student.

"Reasonable? You ask me for food! Do you really want some food, doctor!" The Joker threw his sandwich at the man. Crane managed to bat it away. The toasted food fell to the ground.

"There!" The Joker's voice dropped an octave. "There's your food!" He grabbed the plate of eggs and hurled it at the doctor. The yellow mush hit the wall and slid to the ground.

Crane's voice remained calm. He was hardly phased. "Joker, I just want to eat."

"What?" The Joker paused. It was like this man had just insulted his intelligence. He sneered and through his glass of orange juice at him. "There's your food!" He pulled himself across the rolling mattress with his arms, crawling over the tray of food. He grabbed onto Crane's collar as he began to slide off the bed. The doctor toppled down with him. Twangs of pain shot through the Joker's legs upon impact, but it did little more than annoy him. He grabbed Crane's head and shoved it into the puddle of eggs.

"There's your food, you dog!" He almost growled at the doctor. That's how much he despised him. That's how much the Joker wanted to kill him. "Now eat it like the pathetic worm of a man you are!" Crane lied still, save for a few coughs into the carpet. He didn't fight, and the Joker began to pull himself back onto the waterbed. It took some effort, but he managed to get himself back onto the wobbly mass. He grabbed the sandwich that had been smashed on the bed and took a bite.

"Mm, but really, doctor, you need to try this. It's pretty good."

The doctor cracked his neck and brought his arms underneath himself. He propped himself up, arching his back with his elbows to the ground. He looked up to the bed with a small smile.

"I'm certain it is, Mr. Joker." Crane wasn't a man who would eat off the floor. No, that was something the crazies at Arkham did. Instead, he would wait their patiently as the Joker ate and wait until the next meal rolled around.