"All right, Jonathan," Poison Ivy sighed, pulling up behind a large and dilapidated building and cutting the engine. "You can take your head out from between your knees now."

Grudgingly, Scarecrow pulled himself to a sitting position and began to survey his surroundings. Directly in front of the car, a run-down office building was apparently undergoing the first stages of ruin. A spiderwebs of cracks ran through the brick wall, blades of grass had pierced the buckling sidewalk, and the grimy windows were thickly curtained and, on the lower floors, guarded by iron bars. The eastern wall was blanketed with something green and leafy- Crane made a mental note to stay away from it, or at least wear gloves when handling it- and something ominously snake-like had furrowed the parking lot.

"I certainly hope the inside of your hideout looks better than the outside," Crane muttered, stepping out of the car and going to the back to retrieve the unconscious Hatter.

"Oh, it's not a hideout," Ivy replied. "I just know some people... some people who owe me a favor."

"What? Who? Oof!" Jonathan found himself nearly smothered by Jervis Tetch's dead weight. Despite his relatively short stature, the Englishman was no lightweight. Trying to hoist his friend's unconscious form upright and shut the door at the same time, Crane thought that a few less biscuits and tea would certainly not damage the Hatter. "Gah! Who do you know?"

Poison Ivy half-turned, her auburn hair flowing gently in the late afternoon breeze, and watched the Scarecrow's struggle with no small amusement.

"Need help?" she ventured after a few seconds.

"I'm perfectly capable of doing this on my own, thank you very much!"

"All right. If you say so."

Poison Ivy shrugged, concealed a smile, and walked towards the back door of the shambling building. Behind her, the Scarecrow's grunts and exclamations grew louder as he tussled with Jervis' dead weight. The lanky villain was a master of psychology, parapsychology, and pharmacology. Removing heavy bodies from cars was not one of his strong suits; he usually left such matters to his muscled henchmen. The problem was compounded by the fact that, unlike a corpse or kidnap victim, the Mad Hatter was one of those extremely rare individuals Crane grudgingly considered friends. It was an odd sensation, having to care about the pain he caused another, and Scarecrow detested it.

Finally, Crane managed to right the Hatter's limp body and grip it firmly under the arms. The mad doctor was intelligent enough to recognize his own weakness; he lacked the upper body strength to attempt a fireman's carry, and bridal style was clearly out of the question. Thus, the only option left was the drag-the-victim-by-the-shoulders carry, a technique Batman had used on the Scarecrow multiple times after a fight.

"So where are we?" Crane asked through clenched teeth, dragging the Hatter's weight across the pavement and onto the sidewalk.

"The headquarters of EarthAction South Gotham," Poison Ivy replied. "Surely you've heard of it."

"The eco-terrorists?" snapped Crane. "I mean- wait- you-"

Ivy laughed. Placing her hand on the glass door, she sent curling tendrils of ivy across its smooth surface and under the crack. On the other side of the door, the waving vines carefully inserted themselves into the lock and began twisting.

"Oh, no, they're not my minions," Poison Ivy said. "More like a fan club. Or a group of like-minded individuals. It all amounts to the same thing."

The lock clicked and the door swung open. Poison Ivy calmly walked in, brushing pollen dust from her arms.

"We all love Mother Earth," Ivy explained, gesturing to a nearby bulletin board blanketed with newspaper clippings, magazine articles, and environmental flyers. "When she thrives, we thrive. When she suffers, we suffer. And when she is in danger of being exploited by scumballs like Aster... we come to her defense."

"I see," Crane muttered, dragging the Hatter down the thinly-carpeted hall. He stared at the bulletin board; most prominent were a newspaper picture of Jeffrey Aster with a red X drawn through it, a full-page advertisement for Earth Peace sandals, and an enormous poster of a landfill proclaiming IT'S YOUR WORLD- HOW DO YOU WANT IT TO LOOK? TAKE ACTION NOW!

Suddenly, a door at the end of the hallway swung open and two well-muscled young men in tattered clothing leaped out. The leader, a short, buffed Hispanic, clutched a machine gun; the other held a joint.

"Andre!" Poison Ivy called, going to meet the gun-wielding leader. Andre immediately let the barrel of the gun droop towards the floor and smiled at Poison Ivy. "How good of you to meet us! How's your project on the landfill going?"

"Aw, Ivy, it's good to see you!" Andre said.

"Dude, check it out!" drawled Andre's companion, a stringy-haired blond in his early thirties. "It's Poison Ivy! Oh, man, I've seen you on TV. You're awesome."

Jonathan Crane snorted in disgust. The man was very clearly high- not that he should have been surprised. Andre seemed to suddenly become aware of this fact, and shifted uncomfortably.

"Lionel, man, take it in the bedroom," he directed, shoving his intoxicated friend back towards the door. "Sorry 'bout that. He's one of the new recruits and," Andre shrugged helplessly, "they do like their smokes."

"It doesn't bother me at all," Poison Ivy purred. "But where are my manners? Andre, this is one of my- colleagues. Meet Dr. Crane. Jonathan, this is Andre. He and I go way back."

Crane glared at the man- as if a stick-thin man in a scarecrow costume really needed introduction. In the back of his mind, Scarecrow stirred, sharing the doctor's indignation, but Crane focused on the task at hand.

"Charmed, I'm sure," Crane snapped acidly. "Do you have a bed where I could put him down? Or perhaps a couch. A table, even."

Andre stared open-mouthed at Crane and his burden before turning to Ivy, worried.

"Ivy- I don't know- you sure this is a good idea?" he asked. "I don't this guy."

"Hmm?" Ivy said, looking up. "Oh, come on, Andre. He's perfectly fine."

Crane gritted his teeth. Perfectly fine, eh? We'll see how "perfectly fine" Andre is once I get through with him... Scarecrow whispered. Crane closed his eyes briefly and focused on remaining calm. Not now. We can't afford to rile Ivy up yet- and no, I'm not afraid of her, but I'm not going to waste opportunities by making unnecessary enemies.

"If you say so," Andre said, looking Crane over dubiously. Scarecrow grinned murderously. Nice to eat you. "But who's the stiff?"

"Jervis Tetch," Poison Ivy said, before Scarecrow could open his mouth. "You know. The Mad Hatter."

Andre's jaw dropped. Recovering, he swallowed hard, nodded without taking his eyes off Scarecrow, and pointed slowly to the door behind which Lionel had vanished.

"We, uh, we got a bed in there," he said. "Just let me kick Lionel out and it's all yours."

"Oh, could you?" Poison Ivy asked. "I can't tell you how much I'd appreciate it."

"Sure thing..."

He'd better be quick about it, Crane huffed. My arms are starting to ache.

Poor Jonny, Scarecrow replied mockingly. Here, let me kiss them and make them better. Or maybe... YOU COULD QUIT WHINING AND MAKE HIM SCREAM!

I told you before-

"Sorry about that, Crane," Poison Ivy interrupted, motioning to the door. "Let me help you."

"I told you, I've got it," Crane snapped. "I don't need any help, thank you very much."

Poison Ivy raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and stepped away.

"All right. If you're sure you've got it..."

"Of course I'm sure!"

Nothing galled Crane more than having his abilities questioned. Well, no, that wasn't technically true. Nothing galled Crane more than having his abilities questioned by someone he could not gas into insanity. And while Scarecrow might be daring enough to take a crack at the auburn-haired villainess, Crane had a pretty good idea that the fight would not end well for him.

Thus, the gangly villain was only too glad to drag Jervis into the bedroom and deposit him on the bed. It gave him (and Scarecrow) something to focus on besides his wounded dignity. After leaving the Hatter to rest in comparative peace on a king-sized bed arrayed in blaring colors, Crane looked around the room in disgust. While the rest of the building had moved into the twenty-first century, the bedroom had remained stalwartly planted in the early seventies. The walls were painted carrot orange, the curtains were eggplant purple with a sixteen-inch-long paisley print, and the wall contained three posters: one for the Tyler Rose Festival, one for HOT RATS!, one a larger print of the "It's Your World" landfill poster in the hallway, and one advocating the Age of Aquarius. Even through the mask, he could smell the sickly sweetness of mixed drugs and incense.

"Tetch is going to kill me for putting him here," he muttered, before beating a quick retreat to the less odoriferous regions of the building.


Sunlight streamed down through the trees, touching the leaves with gold and throwing soft, dancing shadows on the whiteness of the linen tablecloth. A few insects buzzed drowsily in the underbrush- you may observe a bread-and-butterfly; its wings are thin slices of bread-and-butter, its body is a crust, and its head is a lump of sugar- and far off in the brush a nightingale was singing. It was the wrong sort of time for a nightingale to be singing, since the sun was shining (sulkily), but that hardly bothered Jervis Tetch. The clearing was warm with that heavy, sleepy, late afternoon warmth. The table was arrayed in white linen and shining silver, with no two teapots alike; the cups and saucers had apparently danced the cotillon in the dish-pan, and consequently traded partners several times; the tea was piping hot, and twenty-eight columns of steam rose into the summer sky.

But more importantly, She was there.

"Take some more tea, Alice dear," the Hatter said encouragingly.

Alice laughed, her voice tinkling like a little silver bell.

"I've had nothing yet," she said, "so I can't take more!"

"You mean," the Hatter said, beaming, "you can't take less. It's very easy to take more than nothing! Oh, Alice," he broke off with a sigh, "How I've missed you!"

Alice giggled. A beam of sunlight glanced through the leaves and gleamed bright and gold on her hair.

"Oh, Jervis," she said, pouring herself a cup of tea, "You're so funny!"

"What do you mean, Alice darling?" Jervis asked, cupping his hand on his chin.

"You're the one who said you can't take less," Alice pointed out. "Pass the butter, will you? Thanks."

Jervis happily reached for the butter-dish and handed it to Alice.

"It was the best butter," he commented. Alice took the dish and smiled at him.

"It still is."

Jervis beamed.

"But what do you mean, dear Alice?" he persisted. "You've got to take care of the sense, you know, and the sounds will take care of themselves."

"Oh! Of course," Alice rejoined, earnestly applying butter to a slice of sponge-cake. "But you said you missed me."

"I do," the Hatter sighed. "I have."

"Silly Jervis! Don't you know..." the piece of cake fell from Alice's hand, and she stood up, frowning, "...you can't miss what isn't there."

A shadow rolled across the tea-table. Jervis leaped up in alarm.

"Wait! Alice- no- wait! Alice!"

Jervis woke with a gasp. He was lying flat on his back someplace dark and lumpy and not particularly nice-smelling. His head ached enormously, and his whole body felt stiff and sore.

"Alice," he moaned softly.

"Awake at last, are you?"

Jervis flinched at the voice; he didn't know when his hearing had become so sensitive, but-

"Jervis. It's me, Crane. Open your eyes."

It hurt. And he didn't want to open his eyes. He wanted to dream again. He wanted to see Alice.

"Jervis, can you hear me?"

No, he couldn't hear anything. He was far away. He was... he was looking for the White Knight.

"I know you're awake. Open your eyes and quit acting."

Reluctantly, Jervis opened one eye a small slit. Someone was looming over him, someone tall and thin with a shock of ginger hair. He knew the name- it was on the tip of his tongue-

"March Hare," he croaked.

"Glad to see you're awake," Crane said, rolling his eyes. "Ivy and I broke into the hospital to murder someone. We saw you chained to a bed and took you with us. We're hiding out at Ivy's now. Any further questions?"

Jervis stared at him for a minute, then at the wall behind him. It was orange, and decorated with tiny flecks of green and purple, and distantly he recalled that that was unusual, but he couldn't bring himself to be surprised.

"Where's my hat?" he finally asked.

"I don't know. Arkham, I would assume. Listen, Jervis, I'm going to find that supercilious Riddler and subject him to such horror as the world has never seen. I thought you might- well- as a matter of honor. He did, after all, betray us both, the misbegotten miscreant," Crane replied.

Jervis stared at him for a moment, then began to sit up slowly. His head hurt immensely.

"Then I'll have one, please," he said, vaguely, "they mightn't be at all nice, you know."

"Oh... yes?" Crane said, uncertainly. "So you will come with me?"

"'I don't want to be anybody's prisoner,' Alice said," Tetch explained, still looking past the March Hare at the wall, which seemed to be growing taller and taller. "'I want to be Queen.'"

Crane looked at him for a moment, then nodded and stood up.

"Well, I'll let you rest for a bit then," he said. "I'll be back later. Don't worry."

Jervis Tetch did not answer or even look up as the Scarecrow left the room. He was looking at a picture of a large, littered, and grey landfill, and the words:

IT'S YOUR WORLD! HOW DO YOU WANT IT TO LOOK?

TAKE ACTION NOW!

A crooked grin began to form on Tetch's face as he traced the outline of each letter with his eyes.

"How, indeed?" he murmured.