Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my story. I know recently I have been way too sporadic in my updates. I want to start holding myself accountable to my readers. I want to be more involved with your thoughts and requests. Part of my failure to update frequently is my reputation as an anonymous author. To make myself more accountable I am revealing my identity. On instagram I am known as greekglamourgeek. I don't in anyway make money through instagram. I just want to be responsible for this story and accountable to my readers. I love reading your reviews and each one of your comments adds so much to this story, so thank you.
"Hello Mr. Harrison" Oswald lounged heavily in an uncomfortable metal chair and politely extended his hand out towards the bedridden man. The man was one, William Harrison, a frequent guest at Cobblepot's casino and a fortune made contact at Arkham Asylum. Gambling addictions were such fortuitous proclivities to exploit.
Will took one look at Oswald Cobblepot and felt his heart thunder with dread. He took in Cobblepot's leisurely cadence, slight and amiable smile, and immediately felt he had done something very wrong. The debts he owed flashed in his thoughts. He reached automatically at the IV penetrating his arm and began to tug. He jolted into an upright position and sluggishly maneuvered his legs into a diagonal slide. He needed to leave.
"Now, I'll have none of that." Oswald groaned at the site of the man tugging desperately at his IV and slowly meandering towards an escape. Oswald had never been one without understanding when it came to the debts owed him. He often held leniency for the extreme and unforeseen circumstances. Although he supposed being better known for his more brutal distributions was both a boon and a hindrance. "I am not here to collect on any of your debts." He patted the boy's now bleeding arm in reassurance. "I understand you have come into a rough patch recently. Dear Dr. Jonathan Crane has given you a bit of a coma." He chuckled lightly. A bit of a coma indeed. "Fortunately, you are still among the living and as such I'd like to ask you a couple of questions." Oswald reached for his umbrella and stood with a caterwauling rise as his chair gave an undignified shriek. His large hooked nose wrinkled as he hated unnecessary noise.
"You're not on his side are you?" Will readjusted his rest and sank back into his pillows letting his body sag into the cushions. There was no point in running if Penguin wanted a favor paid forward. The rush of adrenaline had somewhat dissipated and he realized he was pathetically winded. He could feel his heart beat with a heavy and sloshing rhythm. He was still in recovery from the attack and his body ached.
"My boy there is only ever my side to things and I must insist that Jonathan is not currently on my side of things." Penguin pushed his mouth into a tight frown and pressed the lapels of his suit jacket straight with two thumbs. His nose scrunched and his eyes glistened with shrewd malice. Oswald's beady eyes glinted in the harsh sterile room with the assessment of an accountant and the assurance of a mathematician. Despite the scent of CaviCide and bleach, there was a distinct sense that wherever the Penguin focused his gaze the underlying filth of the most fastidious corner would be revealed. His perfidy was at least accountable.
"What sort of information are you looking for?" Will looked forlornly at the T.V. mounted on the wall from across his bed. He sucked in a heavy breath and placed the news station on mute. He'd still be able to see any reports on Meg's whereabouts. He looked carefully at Cobblepot and wondered what sort of information the man could possibly be missing. He was well connected in Gotham and stood as the most reputable information broker within the corrupt city.
"From years of experience I've come to learn that there is no such thing as too much information." Cobblepot grinned a tight smile. For any knowledge which existed was his to buy or sale. He exercised a precise dominion and kept his stock well shaded from the heated interests of the lawmen of Gotham.
"What do you want to know?" Will glanced down the sheets of his bed and absently flexed his toes and felt the white hot hit of agony. The bullet wounds in his feet had been brutal. Several bones in his foot had been shattered and the skin surrounding the open gash had originally flayed forward like a peel. The bullet fragments had remained mostly intact in one foot and gone completely through the other as the gunshot had occurred at a closer range. His treatment had been a mix of bone grafts, bone screws and plates. He would always walk with a limp but the tissue had been sufficiently vascularized preventing a need for amputation.
"Dr. Crane left you alive. Why is that?" Oswald reached for his umbrella and lifted his arm to press the television off with the tip of his umbrella. He hated interruptions.
"I don't know. Maybe he ran out of time." Will hid his irritation. There would be no purpose to expressing annoyance at a man who held the power to end Crane with a single meeting.
"Dr. Crane is a man of thought and thorough command. If he was going to kill you, you would be dead. He did not run out of time." He remembered a time when he had underestimated Crane and barely held the foresight to remedy the dalliance with a carefully made escape. He had luckily had the tact to note which bank Crane had placed a majority of his funds within. The capture the police completed of Dr. Jonathan Crane was every bit his workings. Unfortunately, Crane's involvement had left Cobblepot with a large sum of debt in the Penguin's more illegal business ventures. "I read your medical chart and believe me the wounds he afflicted upon you were remarkable but not lethal. You are not lucky you survived. He let you live. I want to know why?" Cobblepot leered across the bedrail, eyes glinting with cold analysis.
"I'm not sure." Will followed the shadow Cobblepot's large hooked nose cast over his face and flinched as he made eye contact with the man's intelligent, beady eyes. "All I know is that I was trying to protect a friend. I had some of my guard friends beat Crane up, so I guess he returned the favor." Will left the summary bland. He was not the sort to tarry alongside unpleasant memories.
"Miss Ryans?" Cobblepot grinned lightly. Edward had given him a useful bit of knowledge it seemed. He felt the sharp edge of curiosity grow as he wondered just what Crane was planning with this woman.
"She's gone. Missing. But that doesn't come as a surprise to you does it?" Will eyed Cobblepot with a caution. The fact Cobblepot had come in person to pay his respects was reason enough to assume there was more afoot than his meandering concern over a missing person's report.
"Was she intimate with Dr. Crane?" Oswald tested the water with the statement. He wondered if the girl could provide a flammable vulnerability to Jonathan's burlap covered soft spots. There were multiple ways to use a lover to turn a situation to his favor. He knew that for Crane such a weakness would provide Oswald with the greatest source for exploitation.
"No one would want to fuck a creep like him." Will's face dropped into a scowl. Meg never even considered touching the creep. She had been terrified of treating Crane. He knew that they had not been involved in anything remotely romantic.
"Did Jonathan seem like he was romantically pursuing Miss Ryans?" Oswald sighed. He had assumed the girl had not accepted Jonathan's affections. If Crane's own friends begrudgingly endured his twisted experimentations and acerbic temper the girl would find little reason to invest her interests into such poor stock. Any lover Crane indulged would likely unearth even more sordid behaviors Crane kept buried from view. "My boy, I am not insinuating anything vulgar. All I want to do is help you because it helps me." Oswald tugged off his thick woolen coat and dropped the item onto a nearby coat rack.
Will swallowed thickly. "He made her take off my belt to see if I'd slept with her before."
Oswald's sharp black eyes focused on Will. His gaze was heavy and intense. Crane was always the brutal sort. However, both he and Jonathan held similar vindictive predictions. The torture used was almost always more significant than the victim chosen.
"We were always just friends. He told me he almost felt jealous before I blacked out." Will's body shook. The pain in his ribs still was overwhelming. The pain medication was wearing off. He had too many horrible thoughts inside his head. "Will he, you know, do stuff to her?" Will had trouble making eye contact with Cobblepot, but he could not accept anything less than the truth. "You know what he's like right. You'd know if he did that kind of stuff right?"
"You were obviously very close to miss Ryans." Oswald had a talent for recognizing in men the sorts of connections they shared with their loved ones. "I can assure you Jonathan is not so reviled to use force for those kinds of interactions but you must understand that saying that does not make your friend any better off." He understood how to tangle the bonds of a man into chains.
"How can I make her better off?" Will was the sort to care little for the debts he owed. Will cared more for the sentiment behind an initial gesture of kindness. Meg had bailed him out of trouble when he was knee high in debt. She never had any obligation to save him. He didn't feel indebted to help; he felt obligated.
"On this paper write down all the items and brands your friend is known to preference. " Oswald knew how particular Crane could become when it came to specifics. "The more exact this list is the more likely I will be able to locate Jonathan. Based on Jonathan's current actions your friend is not an experiment but a guest. Jonathan is never one to lack hospitality." A southern upbringing in Gotham would still cultivate certain behaviors quite foreign to city life. He would be looking at local market trends inside and on the outskirts of Gotham. He'd be looking for bulk supply purchases made by single men, purchases new to preexisting spending habits, bulk purchases which suddenly included feminine products.
"I don't know much about her preferences. I came over to her house once or twice for lunch." Will could only remember a handful of products through squinted eyes. When he opened his eyes and saw the severe and arched eyebrow of the Penguin. He redoubled his efforts. "But I'll write everything I remember seeing there." Will took in a heavy breath. "Thank you. I know you aren't doing this as a favor to me but I won't forget this." Will extended an open palm to the Penguin.
"The bullet wounds in your feet will need constant and costly attention." He took the man's hand with a reluctant admiration. He rarely received genuine thanks. "If you want the pain to be manageable hire a weekly masseuse and get yourself a cane." Cobblepot would remember to send the appropriate recommendations in a floral arrangement.
She made the list carefully. Crane did say he would only go out once. She doubted he was so reclusive as to leave the house for supplies once. He had to go out more often. For breakfast he ate a serving portion the size of a Denny's commercial. That kind of breakfast needed frequent grocery stops. However, groceries were probably on a holier level of necessity than low grade cosmetics and daily vitamin supplements. Hopefully her list would give him a case of the awkwards as he trapezed through the lady isles. Maybe he'd cause such a curiosity that he'd get a second look at the check out stand and be arrested with a bag of tampons and pink razors. The image was a grateful levity to her dire predicament.
She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She needed a multivitamin so she didn't get sick, an extra large men's shirt to sleep in, and regular day wear. She grimaced as she wrote the sizes of each item. Crane was a thorough man and she knew if she neglected a single detail he'd be the first to ask for clarification. She wasn't on her period yet, but she'd eventually need tampons and liners. In the mornings and nights she would need her hygiene products. She wrote the scents she preferred on the side knowing that if she left it up to him she might get an identical copy of his daily shower regiment. She scrunched her face up tightly, picturing herself having an allergic reactions to whatever two-in-one item he triumphantly brought back. She wrote down a list of make up products, but crossed off the items instead.
She didn't need to dress up here. There would be no point and her skin probably needed a break for her work routine anyways. She sat awkwardly in the bed as she made her list using one of the numerous hardback books as support. She noticed the hard dent of her writing was digging into the cover and absently catalogued she was probably damaging the cover of the book.
Crane stepped into his room with a casual bitterness. He hated shopping. Going out this early in the game was dangerous. The chances of getting caught by Batman or recognized by a concerned Gothamite was too likely a possibility with the daily Jack Ryder reports flashing his mugshot every half hour. However, she was his guest and he possessed none of the living essentials more suited towards the gentler sex. He was obligated to provide at least a hygienic comfort.
Crane glanced at the list she was making and immediately noticed that one of his more valuable editions of Jung was being chiseled at like a piece of marble. "The intended purpose of a book is for reading not writing." He snatched the book from her hand in an irritated sweep and moved to place the book in its appropriate place on his bookshelf. He had been excessively clear about how to delicately treat his books. "Are you quite done with your list?" He flared his hand out quickly in impatience.
"Sorry. Condensing a life's worth of essentials is hard to jot down in fifteen minutes." She decided her list was as good as done and shoved the paper into Crane's long fingered hand. Heaven forbid she add another item to the little two by four note card. Going by his current ire and displacement, she figured adding any additional commentary would not meet a receptive audience. He looked antsy and recalcitrant as he couldn't seem to remain still and was likely to ignore any additional pleas. He kept alternating from towering menace to pacing paranoia as he read through her list.
Crane eventually folded the list precisely in fourths, tucking the paper into the front pocket on his shirt. "I gave you twenty minutes." Crane huffed and stretched his stiff limbs upwards and towards the white stucco ceiling. He could see the texture patterns of the wall with an annoying amount of clarity. He was nervous to go this far for supplies. Going to a convenience store for food was a simple matter of not being picky and moving quickly. He would need to orient himself with the isles at the grocery store, avoid direct person to person interaction, and not have a bewildered look on his face as he searched for a list of products he had never once purchased. He would need to be casual, calm, and well armed. If the outing went as planned he would not have to waste his toxin on test subjects he would never be capable of properly observing. It would be a waste of provision and professionalism to inflict such chaos.
"So, can I come with you." She pushed herself up straighter on the bed to look Jonathan in the eye. Even an obvious attempt at escape was worth some effort. She smothered the over sized t-shirt down her legs with several pats of her fingers. She supposed someone might think she was wearing a dress.
"Do I look like an idiot?" He tilted his head towards her and folded his arms tight. He knew exactly what would happen. She would begin the trip amiably enough until they reached a section of the store which harbored a large enough crowd for her to effectively start hollering. He would then be forced into making a scene of himself. "You will stay with Jervis." Jervis was by far the safest option in hostage-sitters. Crane would be a nervous patter of energy if she accompanied him to the store and Jervis would be a sullen mess of emotion if he did not receive the opportunity to orient himself with the new addition.
"Jervis?" She was not eager to spend her alone time with another volatile and violent inmate of Arkham Asylum. Despite all Crane had done, he was invariably more predictable than a man she had only spent a brief breakfast with. She would not say she preferred Jonathan to Jervis, but Crane was at the least the more familiar engagement.
"Believe me, he is thrilled to have you help him with his tea party." Jonathan mitigated the bubbling pleasure he felt at her reluctance to share her company with Jervis with a passive shrug. Although, his lips could not keep from openly twitching upwards despite his best attempts at a neutral expression. He knew her preferences had little to do with positive sentiment and more to do with the frequency of their interactions. However, such a small victory was worth later capitalizing upon.
"Tea party?" Meg felt the sharp edge in her voice as it sliced through her calm. Was it not a poor idea to sit at a tea party hosted by the Mad Hatter? Her manners, while not atrocious, were not to the likely impeccable standards of Jervis. She had a dark feeling curl about her spine as Jonathan's warning echoed. If she upset Jervis by mistake there would be violence to suffer.
"I'll be back shortly." Jonathan grinned with full rows of teeth. He could feel Megaera's unease and it helped to settle some of his nerves. She was afraid to have him leave. "I expect you to behave." He finished the sentence in a pinched and varied hum. The high and low notes were a mix of anxiety and glee.
Crane moved across the isles of the grocery store swiftly. He hid his features underneath a plain black ball-cap with a smiling orange jacko'lantern centered on the front. He had kept the cap from his time as a professor running the Gotham University haunted house. That Halloween had been critically acclaimed by his student patrons as the scariest year to ever take a walk inside a haunted house.
He recalled hand stitching a series of scarecrows to stand as guards for the front entrance. The many pricks of needles against his forefingers were welcomed tributes to pay towards the vicious gash-like stitching. Granny had always emphasized the importance of needlework. He regretted not being a more involved part of that experiment. He had sat by and collected entrance tickets instead of personally contributing to his students first open lecture on fear. Although the fog machine had been plied with a marginalized derivative of his toxin, he felt that his personal touches were weakly done. He shrugged away the memory as he haphazardly shoved a myriad of hygiene products into his cart.
"Of course there exist one thousand brands." He nearly growled at the overly wide selection of feminine hygiene products. The names seemed to be a mix of botanical terminology and Miss Quinnzel's various imaginary combinations of pop slang. "What did her list even say?" He looked cautiously over the neat writing. "I prefer lavender scents." He rolled his eyes. "I prefer exact labels so I know what the hell to purchase." He roamed his eyes through the shelves. There was a lavender body wash and several shampoos with lavender scent combinations. He knew now without a doubt she bathed in fucking lavender bubbles and not coffee.
He eyed each isle with renewed malice as he saw the gathered collective hemming and hawing about the latest weight loss remedy. He could see all sorts shopping, some people were with their families, others were single casually drifting between fresh cuts of meats and fancy cheeses. In each he could see a small shapeless unknown variable. What were these people afraid of? Despite their disinterest in his cart, which was currently filled with a yearlong supply of products Crane had never acknowledged the existence of, Crane felt as if all the eyes of these store goers were upon him.
His skin itched and his legs jerked forward in stiff bounds towards the check out stand where a baggage boy stood leisurely next to a wizened woman. The woman eyed his products with a small look of curiosity and the teenaged boy packaged some of the more obvious feminine items with a rushed embarrassment. Crane rolled his eyes at the immaturity and willed himself to calmly reach for his wallet. He was too on edge.
The bills pulled from his wallet were carefully handed to the cashier along with a common set of terse phrases. He was too tense to place much leisure in the exchange. He wanted to escape from the store. If anyone so much as glanced at his figure for too long or appeared disconcerted by his presence he would simply tear the groceries from the checkout lane, toss the fear gas canisters behind him, and run.
Crane gripped the groceries with tight relief. He was going home. Then a man crossed his path, knocked into his arm, and Crane saw a potential issue. The man was now staring at him intensely. Crane seethed internally. His hands were tightly ringing around the painful suffocating loops of plastic hanging from his fingers. He walked calmly towards his car. In his rear view mirror he saw the man cautiously remove his cell phone. Crane growled a string of foul curses as he dropped the groceries into his car. Crane ripped a cart marooned at a cement curb from its embankment. He raced the cart at the man only feigning a loss of control at the last moment. The man dropped his phone onto the asphalt.
Crane fixed an apologetic face as others stared on. "Are you alright?" The words were insincere but the few onlookers began to dissipate as they were mixed families in a rush to get home. Crane saw the man frantically reach for his phone and a malicious grin tore across Jonathan's face. "I recommend you don't reach for that."
"I know who you are. There are witnesses." The man looked up at Crane with rugged distaste. He was resting on the ground, looking towards his phone with an increasing desperation.
"You really think that would stop me." Crane helped the man to stand. "I would be willing to allow you to walk away unscathed if you accompany me to my car." Crane kept a long arm draped above the man's shoulders. Crane was both much taller and thinner than the man.
"Do I look like some kind of a moron?" The man looked at Crane with harassed chagrin.
"Yes." Crane grinned with a foul look of impending injury. Crane pulled from his pocket his keys. On the key chain was a small canister of fear toxin which was commonly mistaken for pepper spray. This particular toxin was not lethal, but its paralytic effects were a powerful boon. Crane leveled the canister automatically at the face of the man and released the spray. The man began to shake and collapsed to the ground frozen in terror the instant after the product initiated contact.
Crane walked from the scene carrying both the man's phone and wallet in his coat pocket. Once he reached his car he looked back at the empty parking lot. An ambulance would arrive on the scene as soon as the male was discovered. There would be no cure available to the man and each attempt to alleviate the symptoms would result in an exacerbation of the toxin's effects. This toxin was a special homage to his brief stint on call at the medical wards. An adrenaline shot and voltage treatment would cause the sodium channels within the body to open within the nerve cells. The victim would enter respiratory failure as the two common techniques of treatment would facilitate the poison's spread throughout the body. A manual ventilator would keep the victim alive long enough to apply a mechanical ventilator. The man would stay silenced for four to seven days until the toxin dissipated naturally from the body. Until then each breath would be heavy and laden with terror that the next was the last.
Crane left the collapsed man and returned to his car, dumping the phone out the window along with most of the identification markers from the wallet on his way towards his next destination. He pocketed the cash just before his cell phone rang. "Hello." He was on the interstate heading home when he heard Edward's nasally self-assured tone.
"Dr. Crane, good to hear from you. I was just wondering-" Edward let the words exit his mouth in an amenable tone.
"Cut to your proposition." Crane wanted to return home and assure himself his captive was still captive. The last detour he needed was another three stage request from Edward.
"What an abrupt transition. I take it you are currently busy." Edward hummed in annoyance. Crane was always brief. He had no taste for civility.
"I'm driving." Crane gritted his teeth to prevent an acerbic comment from tumbling out. Edward when wounded was entirely more unpleasant to speak with than his usual fast talking self. Regrettably, this meant placing his tongue firmly betwixt his ever tightening jaw.
"Where are you now?" If Edward had to keep to the point he would oblige the professor his quirks. He knew Crane's interest was not in pleasant idle chatter. A shame that the world's greatest lecturer on fear was so tight lipped on all other subjects.
"The interstate. I'm headed towards the Narrows." Crane listed the location. He knew fitting Edward's agenda would end up providing himself with a worth while revenue. He would need revenue to maintain a lifestyle more tailored to keeping his captive well cared for and his experimentations well funded.
"Take exit 120 and meet me at Saint Thomas's cemetery." Edward broke from his playful tone and clipped his words short. He knew the exit would be fast approaching.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes." Crane calculated the distance between the two points and rounded the time to get himself there. He would be near the cemetery in ten minutes.
"He's out there Gordon." The Batman hovered at the edge of a building's roof, well within the protective shield of the flanking building's shadow.
"There's been no recent activity on his part. What sort of experiment is he running on the girl?" Gordon blew out a heavy breath into the chilled winter air. His breath formed a heavy cloud and wisped forward.
"She is the experiment Gordon. He hasn't decided what she is to him yet." Batman could remember every name of Crane's previous victims. There were exactly 128 known individuals, including Megaera Ryans. The first twenty victims of Crane's career were the most troubling of thoughts. The first twenty had been discovered on the Gotham streets half-dead and fully insane. They whimpered at the slightest contact and had to be fully restrained to be fed intravenously. A third of that group nearly died from malnourishment and the rest would never recover. How many others had the Batman failed to protect? "He's unsure, which makes Crane more difficult than usual." Batman tensed at the flying thoughts. Crane was uncertain and as a result the trail had become unpredictable. The current leads indicated Crane held vested interests in Miss Ryans. However, Crane's emotional ventures were oftentimes haphazard events. He could oscillate from lethal to docile with a single word being the only trigger. The first twenty victims had all been former coworkers, family, and colleagues of Crane's.
"Why do they always seem to get sicker?" Gordon heaved a breath. He felt as if each day was aging him years at a time. He was getting older and the work was not getting easier. Criminals were becoming emboldened by the city. The size of Gotham meant many areas were left unchecked and the corruption meant many crimes went unsolved. "Crane has always upheld a semblance of routine. What is it about Arkham that makes them crazier?" Arkham somehow made the worst criminals worse.
"I need you to go to local hospitals in the area and look for anything abnormal. Crane is a retroactive poisoner." Batman looked over the edge of the building. He could make the jump to the roof below and reach his vehicle in three minutes. "His victims are usually plied with a wide array of neurotoxins, so you'll need to look for toxicology reports that show any abnormalities in the blood. If we can find where they were when he poisoned them we might find out where Crane is." If they could find Crane's victims they would find Crane.
"Wouldn't we have heard something by now?" Gordon wondered at which hospitals he would need to cover first. There were too many for his staff to cover all at once. A full coverage of a single hospital's patient records would take days. Gordon knew the longer the girl was left to Crane the more likely she was to be uncovered either dead or insane.
"He's needs to be discrete. There will be more cases but people will not start noticing until he's comfortable being noticed." Crane was likely only to involve his signature as a result of desperation. He'd be uncomfortable with attaching his interests back into his research until his living areas was secure. Crane's privacy was vital to his research, but now that privacy would be jealously guarded. "He has a hostage that he's fond of Jim that kind of emotional load is not going to be easy for him to delegate."
"We will keep a higher priority on missing persons and any abnormal admitted patients. We will find her." Gordon knew what they both were thinking: they might find her but it might not be in time.
"Hello dear." Jervis entered her room and then turned to knock on the open door, grinning manically the entire time. He felt a rush of excitement at the very prospects of hosting another tea party. For to celebrate a seat being filled at the table, that was a true experience of joy. Crane did say to be a proper host, so he would not be rude and let his smile falter to insidious nerves. Jervis leaned over the girl seated on the bed to better read her facial expression. Unfortunately, people were so much harder to read than books. Too many silences and not enough words. She looked amiable to the idea of a tea party though he had not yet suggested such an occasion. "Would you like to help me with the kitchen things? The dishes aren't singing yet, but certainly if we tarry any longer our stomachs will form a chorus."
"Do you mean cooking?" The words made a sort of vague sense if she put the effort of listening to the inflection of his tone and his hurried hand gestures.
"Among many other things." Jervis felt his already large smile double in size. She had agreed to help with the kitchen things. He had expected reluctance, but instead she had given him agreement. He led her towards the kitchen in a rush, going to the trouble of pressing his gloved hands against her back to rush the girl into position. They reached the kitchen doors soon enough.
"Shall I chop and you measure?" Jervis gathered a handful of measuring cups and dumped the lot onto the counter.
"What are we making?" She was curious. He was grabbing a plethora of goods. The mundane ingredients were flour, sugar, and butter. The more extraordinary ingredients ranging from green tea matcha powder to peppermint extract.
"Something sweet." Jervis turned towards the girl with a manic grin and a weathered recipe book in hand. Meg gulped heavily.
"Come on just lift me up." Edward looked longingly at the ventilation system. He would never reach the system without a boost. He eyed Crane pointedly. The man could easily hoist him high enough to reach the outer grate.
"That is not going to work Edward." Crane knew the plan would not work because he did not want to act as a human ladder for Edward. He was not going to aggravate his back for a simple task of breaking and entering.
"Oh, Jonathan don't be a spoilsport. You promised to help. Now, kneel down. You have no idea how perfect this riddle will be. He's never going to see it coming." Edward pushed at Jonathan's frame trying to force the doctor to kneel low. He was excited to face the dark knight and this task had to happen before any greatness could come to fruition.
"He's not already paying attention?" Crane kneeled onto the cement with an irritated scowl. He let the comment nudge at Edward's insecurities, knowing the response would return some of his lost pride.
"Unfortunately no. He's preoccupied with your recent endeavors. I assure you it's merely from inactivity on my part." Edward tutted away the momentary doubts and placed the plastic end of his screwdriver into his mouth. He stepped on Crane's shoulders with cautious balance. He did not want to fall.
"Obviously." Crane felt most of his venom dissipate. Edward was not typically so forthcoming. Crane noticed Edward was still too far from the grate to remove the screws. However, the distance did not seem to discourage Edward's persistent reach and painful step on his shoulders. "Oh, goddamn it. Climb up on my shoulders. I'll lift you up."
"Thank you Jonathan. Was that so difficult?" Edward grinned cheekily as he reached the grate and removed the screws locking the metal cover in place. He carefully placed the screws into his open pockets. He would need to replace the grate during their exit to avoid suspicion. It would be such a shame if someone uninvited stubbed up his most recent machinations.
"Yes, considering you aren't the lightest individual when wearing a three piece suit." Crane was already sweating. Edward was heavy and while Jonathan was more than capable of lifting such a cumbersome burden, Crane wanted to be well and done with the task.
"No. I suppose not. But I do have dinner arrangements after this." Edward climbed forward into the ventilation system and spun around to reach out for Crane. He scoffed at the incredulous look Crane shot up at him but grinned when Crane reached for his hand.
"With whom?" Crane followed behind Nygma with unease. Were this a trap he would be at a disadvantage in this isolated and compact place. He frowned.
"Jealous?" Edward smiled, knowing the lack of information was causing Crane tension and stress.
"It's with Oswald isn't it?" Crane felt the pieces fall into place. Edward was playing both sides of the field once again. Ever the opportunist and always the most obvious source of detriment.
"How good are you with a shovel?" Edward kicked open the exit grate and landed outside the vent with a careful compression of his long legs. They were in a mausoleum and on the outside of the building was palpable dirt. He could lead the Batman into the mausoleum with a trail of numbers and pits. Edward pushed open the door to the outer graveyard. He had chosen to open this building first because he needed to assess whether the location was worthy of his interest, that and his initial entrance into the graveyard would be more spectacular going through the vent system first.
"No. I'm not digging ditches just so you can play treasure hunt." Crane immediately noted the shovels resting on the side of the building. He could already feel his muscles protesting at the laborious prospect. Edward lacked practicality. He could hire anyone to dig a pit. Edward did not need an expert in fear to see to menial tasks.
"It's a riddle hunt technically." He knew where he'd leave the trophy. He would place it in the center of the mausoleum between the graves of many of the old families which helped to build Gotham. His graphs identified several alternatives in location but with the fusion of Crane's particular talents and his particular brilliance the spot was perfect. Batman would enter the tomb and just before he could grab the trophy, Batman would enter into a toxin induced nightmare.
"This is exactly why I never work with you." Crane stretched his hands into the air and allowed his spine to crack. His knees ached from crawling through the vents.
"Your lack of physical strength?" Edward gave a smug look as he pushed the shovel into Crane's hands.
"Edward. Do not test me." Crane felt the immediate need to caution Edward's tone. "I have a dozen toxin dust grenades on my belt and I am far too curious about their effects on an emotionally shallow test subject." The additional threat was merely reinforcement for his point.
"If you help, I'll tell you everything about my dinner meeting. Hmmm?" He gripped at Crane's shovel and pulled Crane close. They were face to face and close enough to feel and smell the other's breath. "Does that sound tempting enough for you."
"Just barely." Crane pushed Edward away with a harsh shove. He hated how close Edward got when it came to the more crucial points of their dialogue. Edward overemphasized everything with dramatic displays of passion rather than calm logic.
They dug together in silence. For the most part. Edward occasionally would impart his cycling knowledge of the odd and overly informative variety. Crane retorted to the facts Edward spouted with the occasional doctoral reference. He had a different perspective. Facts could be changed and influenced by several biological factors in most cases. For one, the lactic acid building underneath his skin and along the insides of his muscles was making him sore. The pain was increasing his ire. As a matter of fact,he was done digging. "We just dug fifteen holes together. And I've dug more than half of them. We are done Edward."
"Very well, but are the measurements exact? Does it look like Pascal's triangle?" Edward climbed from the depth of his muddy hole. He patted his hands on his green suit smearing the garment with dirt. "The number at the bottom. It's not too blatant. I mean he wouldn't immediately know it's to a lock?" Edward stroked his chin and carefully checked the dimensions. Crane's side was done well enough as the holes were correctly spaced but the dimensions could still be imprecise.
"Well. What's the riddle?" Crane relaxed and prepared himself to listen. The work would be complete as soon as Edward was reassured.
"I open to my friends with the barest touch. But too many around is far too much. Count on me to know any lie. Give the wrong guess and someone has to die." Edward's voice danced with excitement and joy.
"He'd know it's to a lock. Who's going to die?" Crane was curious about the future victim's credentials. Who was Edward planning on killing? Would the coming disorder affect him?
"Well, you know the answer now so of course you'd think that." Edward's tone was clipped. His hands clenched at his sides. "And no one will die literally. I was hoping to use your fear toxin to cause Batman a little mental fatigue." Edward knew from previous experience that the Batman reacted to the Scarecrow's toxin marvelously. The toxin triggered a memory of loss and a mausoleum and grave were beautiful places to relive a loss as Edward prepared to taste victory. True poetry.
"Ah, that does explain the cemetery. Where do you want the grenades?" The pain the Batman would experience here would be great. Crane grinned openly. He would happily contribute to the mayhem. Such distractions could only buy him valuable time.
When Crane returned home he was poor in spirit, covered with dirt, and sore. He carefully placed the groceries on the couch and stepped into the kitchen where a cacophony of noises drummed at his bordering sanity. He was surprised to see both Jervis and Megaera hovering over a cake with frosting spatulas.
"No, no, no. The way forward is the way back." Jervis frosted the cake by spinning the spatula counter-clockwise in a backwards swirl. He knew the best way to frost a cake was to move backwards then forwards.
"Does it really matter? We are just going to eat it." Meg used her spatula to smooth large chunks of frosting onto the cake. She wanted to at least contribute something to the cake after they had spent so much time baking.
"Of course this matters." Jervis' eyes widened at the large pats of frosting. Too much muchness. Too much frosting for such a small tea cake. He quickly spackled Meg's frosting lumps smooth. He tilted his head out from the kitchen and towards the living space. He could hear Jonathan opening the door. "Hello Jonathan. We are nearly done."
"Cake?" Jonathan entered the kitchen cautiously. He was mildly concerned at the untidy state of the kitchen. In the sink were stacks of dishes, the floor was coated in powdered flour, and the countered dribbled with a mysterious thick, yellow liquid. Crane heaved a sigh, Meg was covered in spots of flour. At least his books were likely left untouched.
"And tea." Jervis grinned lopsidedly and jumped away from the cake to pull a pot of tea from the stove. He nearly toppled the cake to the floor but Meg stabilized the stand before such a fate was reached. Jervis poured a cup of black tea for Jonathan, adding a touch of sugar into the drink to better suit Crane's tastes.
"There's sandwiches too." She knew it was immature to hold the sandwiches above her head like a trophy, but she had made them herself. Jervis had only cut them into various shapes. She had been left to fill crisp toasted bread with slices of sharp cheddar cheese and warm cuts of cooked pepper turkey. Beside the plate of sandwiches was a plate of freshly cut onions, lettuce, and tomatoes. Surprisingly, Jervis had been enjoyable company despite most of his phrases being partial nonsense. She eyed Crane's disheveled dress as she cautiously offered him the plates of food. "What happened to you?"
"I spent too much time in the company of an annoyance. Your supplies are on the couch. Put them away. The front door is still locked so do not even try it." He grabbed at the sandwich plate and began stuffing his sandwich with the displayed garnishes. There was no point in maintaining formality in a kitchen so messy. It seemed Jervis had made a friend.