Remember, ages ago, when I said this story would be nowhere near as long as Nerd? Just realized it's now longer. That shows how good I am at planning these things out.
Thanks for the reviews, and for hanging through the slow parts.
The Riddler idly wondered if somewhere in the past few hours he hadn't died and gone to hell. The louder the show tunes erupting from the back of the van became, the more Nigma toyed with the possibility. His brain was only too happy to contrive of ways he might have expired—roasted like a luau pig in a blaze of his own creation, shot in the head by Black Mask, turned into a Pez dispenser by one clean cut across the throat—and each scenario seemed more plausible than the last.
If he'd been a more superstitious, less ingenious man, Nigma might have let his paranoia get the best of him. It would be only too easy to lose his grip on reality and start wondering whether he, like Dr. Malcolm Crowe, hadn't been dead from the first scene. If not for his intellectual nature that would never, under any circumstances, believe in anything so contrived and nonsensical, he might have really started to worry. Why, his palms might have began to sweat, his heart rate might have jumped, and the overwhelming urge to stop the van next to the nearest pedestrian and demand confirmation of corporealness might have overcome him.
If he was a poor, sad bastard who believed in quaint notions like hell.
Which he certainly wasn't. Not him, not Edward Nigma. He was a logical creature to his core. He would leave belief in ghosts and damnation to people like Crane's great-grandmother. He did not believe, not in the least, that he was dead and being tormented by a van full of lunatics.
"What in the hell is wrong with you? Get back on the road!"
Nigma blinked and realized that while he'd been drifting in his thoughts, the van had been drifting from the road. If that had happened a few miles back, the Riddler would have accidentally recreated a scene redolent of Grand Theft Auto. Here, just past the city limits, the number of pedestrians on their way to work or Starbucks was significantly smaller. Grateful that his moment of distraction hadn't sent anyone flying through the air, Nigma pulled the van off the gravel shoulder and back onto the roadway.
"If you're so damned smart, why can't you keep your eyes on the road? And where are we going, anyway? Your uncle's farm?" Black Mask asked.
"I don't even know if I've got an uncle, and should I have one, I highly doubt he's got a farm," Nigma replied.
"I was being sarcastic. I do want to know where this great hideout of yours is, though. We've been driving for more than half an hour and it's looking pretty suburban out there."
The Joker, since any conversation that neglected to include him was not worth having, decided to add his two cents. He popped up between Black Mask and the Riddler and flung an arm around both of them. It was difficult to tell who found the contact more painful.
"This has been a great road trip, but I'm all out of show tunes and I'm dangerously low on grape slush. Are we going to see casa de loser anytime soon?" the clown asked.
"For your information, I am not a loser. Also, the correct Spanish would be casa de perdedor."
"And…"
"And we'll be there in another half hour."
"Ew, it's not in New Jersey, is it?"
"No. It's in the countryside."
"Just as bad!" the Joker proclaimed.
"I can't steer with you clinging to me. We won't get there at all if I drive up a telephone pole."
Reluctantly the Joker relinquished his hold and returned to his seat. He couldn't stand another thirty minutes of this. He'd already polished off most of his candy, he didn't feel like singing if no one would join him, and the view was just atrocious. How was looking at the sky supposed to keep him from dying of boredom? Maybe if some clouds with vaguely sexual shapes floated along, but so far the sky was clear and not the least bit Freudian.
In desperation the Joker turned to his companions. He couldn't torture the Riddler because that would result in the van driving off a cliff and exploding (or, more realistically, ending up in a ditch). Messing with Black Mask was also flirting with disaster, because Black Mask had a gun he hadn't yet gotten the chance to use on anyone. That left Zsasz, the Shark, and Johnny.
"So, Vic, how's it—" the Joker began.
"No," Zsasz said. "Not me."
Well, there was certainly no arguing with that. The Joker would have to look for a friend elsewhere. Maybe the one who looked like he was ready to star in a Jaws remake.
"I remember when you had a moustache," the Joker said.
"That's not a great icebreaker. Try again," White replied.
"It made me question your sexuality. Hell, it made everyone question your sexuality. I remember telling my therapist—before I killed her, of course—that your moustache was the most horrible moustache I'd ever met. You're lucky it froze off."
The Shark made a mental note to lock the Joker in Mr. Freeze's cell at the earliest opportunity and see how the clown liked going through life without a majority of his facial features. Knowing the Joker, he'd probably take the disability in stride and use it to terrify terminally-ill children. White amended his first mental note, substituting Freeze's cell for the shark tank at the Gotham Aquarium.
When even bringing up the moustache failed to get a rise out of the Shark, the Joker had no choice but to admit defeat. The clown left White to twiddle his thumbs—scratch that, thumb—and turned to his favorite source of amusement in the whole wide van.
"Oh Johnny-boy."
Ivy was losing her mind. Never mind that she was, in the eyes of the law, legally insane. No, this was quite different. This was making her bite her nails, a habit she'd never before exhibited, and this was distracting her to the point she couldn't even garden. That had never happened to her before. Ever. America could have crumbled to pieces around her, invaders from beyond the stars could have laid waste to Gotham, and Ivy would have been content to wait it out in the comfort of her greenhouse.
She might have been able to wait out the coming of the Elder Gods, but she could not wait out the return of Jonathan Crane. Not even the new hybrid orchids that she had been breeding (beautiful but capable of producing venomous spikes when threatened) were magnetic enough to hold her. Ivy dropped her trowel, gave a vacant pat to one of Mel's vines that snaked past her, and headed back to the house.
Harley was, as expected, still asleep. The blonde had been up most of the night watching her extensive collection of tear-jerking Pixar films. Ivy had been forced to order her to bed after she had drifted off and started moaning about someone named Kevin. It would probably be noon before Harley emerged from her bed. That gave Ivy plenty of empty hours to tear her hair out without any witnesses.
Unless she wanted to denude her head, Ivy had to find something to occupy her time and her hands. She walked from the living room to the kitchen, looking for anything that needed washing, straightening, reupholstering, or sorting. The sink was empty, the dishes were arranged in the most logical way, and the fridge was almost as bare as Old Mother Hubbard's cupboard. There was nothing to throw away, nothing to wipe down, and nothing to provide Ivy with any momentary relief.
Ivy's feet took her back into the living room. As much as she didn't want to sit there and do nothing, Ivy found no alternative. She plopped down on the sofa and reached for the remote. To her great shame and despair, she found herself turning to the television for solace.
Maybe, Ivy rationalized, the morning news would give her some answers. It was entirely possible that Jonathan and Nigma had been captured by Batman or the police and were currently stewing in Arkham. If that was the case, at least she would have closure. As paradoxical as it was to hope her partner in crime had been arrested, Ivy would have preferred that to the agony of not knowing anything.
"Two officers were injured, though both are listed in good condition and are expected to be released from the hospital later today. Commissioner Gordon issued a statement following the arrest—"
Arrest? Arrest of whom? Ivy held her breath.
"—Of Maxie Zeus."
The disappointment was as bitter as cyanide. Maxie Zeus? Why was he even news? Of all the Arkham escapees, Zeus was one of the least likely to inspire nightmares. He ran around in a toga and thought he was a god who, if Ivy remembered her mythology, turned into a swan and had sex with people. Not impressive.
The news anchor went on a while longer, detailing the well-orchestrated police takedown that had nabbed the unorthodoxly-dressed anachronism. Ivy yawned. She hadn't slept well last night. Actually, asides from a ten minute nap at daybreak, she hadn't slept at all.
The newscaster finally finished recounting the long and not-all-that-storied criminal career of Maxie Zeus. There was apparently no other news related to the Arkham break-out to report, as the following story was about the radioactive creatures that inhabited New Jersey's beaches. One of said creatures had been arrested for public drunkenness. Ivy flipped to another channel.
Whatever programming the new channel offered couldn't have been very stimulating, because within minutes Ivy was asleep.
An indeterminate amount of time later, Ivy became conscious of a gentle, rhythmic movement beneath her. Her exhausted mind told her to ignore it and keep sleeping. Ivy liked that idea a great deal and tried her best to drift back into deeper sleep. She had nearly succeeded when something warm and wet plastered itself to her face and then dragged its moistness up her face from chin to hairline.
Ivy opened her eyes and found herself staring into the damp cave that was a hyena's mouth. The hyena's tongue was hanging out, and slobber was dripping onto the couch. A stench redolent of road-kill bloating by the side of the road in the middle of summer drifted from the hyena's grinning jaws.
It took a moment for Ivy to come to terms with the fact that the thing that had dragged itself across her face had been a filthy, pink hyena tongue. Once she recovered from the shock of that, she realized being licked was by no means the end of the hyena-related horror.
That steady movement she'd noted earlier? Oh, that was only the hyena breathing. Ivy's head had been resting on the hyena's side. Its furry, spotted, flea-infested side. She'd actually been using Harley's destructive, foxglove-murdering cretin for a pillow!
Ivy sat bolt upright and propelled herself away from the mangy hyena. She scooted across a single couch cushion before colliding with something. Together she and the something tumbled to the floor in a moaning, bruised heap.
"Jeez, Red, what was that about? Ouch!"
"Harley? Oh, my God. Why was I sleeping on the filthy monster I distinctly remember telling you to lock up in the shed?" Ivy demanded.
"Because—ow, move your elbow!—we needed some room on the couch and you were hoggin' it all," Harley replied.
Ivy detangled herself from Harley and stood up. "What are you doing up? What time is it?"
"About nine. I woke up 'cause I heard a noise and thought it was Randall in my closet. Turns out it was just Lou drinkin' from the toilet."
"Randall? Drinking from the…" Ivy wiped a hand across her still-wet face. "I am counting to three. If that thing isn't out of my sight, I am going to mulch it!"
Harley yipped and ran for the stairs. Lou lolled after her at a pace that wouldn't get him out of sight if Ivy was counting to fifty. Harley saw this and gave a whistle. Lou put his paws in motion and trotted up the stairs after Harley.
At Harley's retreating back, Ivy yelled, "Get them both out of the house and don't let me see them again."
Five minutes later Harley, now clothed in more than her nightgown, walked down the stairs with her hyenas in tow. Despite Ivy's warning, Harley wasn't in any rush. She assumed Red had calmed down and Lou was no longer in danger of being turned into fertilizer.
"Before we go outside, can we get some breakfast?"
"There isn't any food you'd want to eat," Ivy replied.
"But aren't Eddie and Professor Crane back yet?"
"No, they aren't. And I don't know where they are."
"Do you think Batman got 'em and hauled 'em back to Arkham?"
"I don't know, Harley. Now leave me alone, please."
"Okay, Red, whatever you say. I'll just give Bud and Lou an apple or somethin'."
Leaving Ivy to brood, Harley led her pets into the kitchen. She opened the fridge and was disappointed to find it every bit as empty as it was yesterday. Even Ivy's weird, cold-weather tendril things were looking lonely. Harley chose an apple and, since there were no more of those, two pears for the hyenas. Bud and Lou turned their snouts up at the pears when Harley placed the fruit on the floor. Discouraged, Harley rubbed the pears clean on her shirt and stuck them back in the fridge.
"Sorry, babies. Maybe Eddie and Professor Crane will get here soon, and they'll have steaks and hamburger and pizza, mmm, and ice cream and cake and all that stuff."
And maybe they'd descend from the heavens on a flying pink unicorn, and all those goodies would be tucked into the unicorn's saddlebags.
Harley sighed and ate her apple. This was going to be a terrible day, she could tell already. First she'd been woken up way too early, and then Red had knocked her off the couch and yelled at her, and now she and her babies were going to starve.
"Come on. Let's go take this apple core out to the compost heap before Red gets mad again." Harley patted her hip and her hyenas obediently followed.
Harley opened the door and was greeted by warm morning sunshine. Her spirits lifted a little. It was impossible to be completely miserable when the weather was so adamantly trying to make you happy.
"After I'm done compostin', maybe you can meet Mel. He's real nice once you— Babies? Is somethin' wrong?"
Bud and Lou were standing rigid with their ears raised. They hadn't yet adopted an aggressive stance, but from their body language it was obvious that they were on guard.
Harley looked out in the same direction the hyenas were looking. They were facing the road, but the road was empty, as far as Harley could tell. She squinted and waited. The hyenas did not relax and Harley felt herself tensing up to match their cautious postures.
After a minute or so, Harley caught sight of a glint that could only be the sun reflecting off an approaching vehicle. Unless some Jehovah's Witnesses or census-takers were coming to knock on the last door they'd ever knock upon, Eddie and Professor Crane were back from the longest shopping trip in history.
"Yay! We're not gonna starve!" Harley cheered.
The hyenas, oblivious to the good news, did not regain their usual playful demeanor. They continued to act like statues.
"I know they've been gone forever but you gotta remember Eddie and the Professor!"
If Bud and Lou did remember, they showed no sign of it. Harley shrugged. She was sure the babies would calm down once they caught sight of Crane and Nigma.
The vehicle drove into view and Harley understood what had gotten Bud and Lou's tails in a knot. That van was definitely not the same vehicle that had driven off last night. As it got closer and Harley was able to make out more details, Harley liked the look of the van less and less. Even by Gotham's standards the van was a heap, and if there was any vehicle less trustworthy than a white windowless van, it was a white windowless van with no hubcaps but plenty of rust.
By the time the van turned onto Ivy's long driveway, Harley was as tense as her children of another species. She didn't want to run screaming into the house and be labeled the girl who cried creepy rapist van until she was sure the van wasn't just a cruddy substitute Eddie and the Professor had been forced to steal for some reason. Of course, if the van did turn out to be owned by some weirdo pervert psycho who trolled around, looking to prey on innocent ladies out in the countryside, Harley didn't want to be too far from the house.
The van stopped too far away for Harley to properly see the driver. She had no choice but to wait for him to exit the vehicle.
After a moment the driver's door opened and a man stepped out. He was, Harley saw, a redhead wearing a green jacket.
"Eddie!" Harley shrieked. "What took you so long? What'd you get me?"
The passenger door opened and Harley shouted out to Professor Crane. Only it wasn't Professor Crane, not unless something horrible had happened to his face.
"Uh, Eddie, who's that with you?" Harley asked.
A third person emerged from the van, and that one was even less like Professor Crane. The new guy didn't even have hair! On top of that, he was paler than an Alaskan after six months of winter.
"What's goin' on here?" Harley said mainly to herself, her voice too quiet for the Riddler to ever hear it.
The van disgorged a fourth occupant. The moment he set foot on the ground, the hyenas gave twin excited barks and ran toward him. Harley made a grab for her babies, snagged Lou's hind leg for a moment, but ended up with two empty hands.
At the sight of three hundred combined pounds of fur and potential toothy lethality barreling down on him, the man from the van took a fighter's stance. Though she couldn't see it clearly, Harley knew the man had to have a weapon clutched in his hand. If he killed her hyenas, she'd kill him. If her broken heart didn't kill her first, that was.
"No! Babies, don't do it!" Harley wailed.
The hyenas, either because they heard their matriarch or they recognized the letter opener for what it was, slowed to a complete halt a few feet from the man. Both hyenas sat down on their haunches, tails wagging, until the man lowered his weapon. Once he relaxed his defensive pose, the hyenas sidled up to him and began to paw and sniff.
The situation defused, Harley was able to breathe a sigh of relief. Whoever that guy was, he couldn't be too bad. If Bud and Lou liked him, he was okay in Harley's book.
It wasn't polite to let your pets jump all over people, so Harley headed toward the van to fetch her hyenas. She was halfway between the van and the house before she was able to positively identify the newcomers. The pale guy with no hair was the Great White Shark. Harley wasn't sure, but his teeth looked sharper and scarier than the last time she'd seen him. And the guy with the weird face, that was Black Mask. And the guy who was Bud and Lou's new friend, that was—
Harley stopped dead in her tracks. Her babies were cuddling up to…him. Of all the crazy criminals, it had to be him.
There had never been a more cruel betrayal in the long, sordid history of back-stabbing. Harley did the only thing she could think of. She burst into tears and ran back inside to scare the hell out of Poison Ivy.
"What's wrong now? Harley, calm down," Ivy said.
"My babies— He— They're fraternizin' with the enemy!"
Ivy blinked. Okay… That wasn't much of an explanation. How could stupid animals fraternize, and who was this enemy Harley was sobbing over? Batman? But it was day time. And he punched hyenas, he didn't fraternize with them.
"What are you talking about? Listen to me. Take a deep breath and tell me what's wrong."
Harley inhaled like Kirby. Then, in one breath, she said, "Eddie's back and I don't know where the Professor is, but there's some real creeps out there and Bud and Lou ran off with the biggest creep of them all!"
Ivy was about to ask for a little more specificity, but Harley's words clarified themselves as Ivy ran them over in her brain. Eddie was back, Crane was not, and there were some "creeps" that Eddie had led right to Ivy's doorstep. Harley's vague description, coupled with the plot against Jonathan Crane's life, fit together to form a terrifying picture.
"He sold Jonathan out," Ivy whispered.
"Who did? Red, do you know somethin' you're not telling me?"
Anything Ivy might have wanted to reveal would have to remain forever unsaid, because just then there was a knock on the door.
Author's Notes:
Dr. Malcolm Crowe is the character from The Sixth Sense who has been dead all along.
In Arkham Asylum: Living Hell, which tells the Great White Shark's origin, Warren White does indeed have a (rather sad) moustache which is frozen off with the rest of his fuzz in Mr. Freeze's cell.
Kevin is the bird from Up.
Zeus does turn into a swan and shag a lady. The result is Helen of Troy, who is, according to myth, born from an egg.
Randall is the chameleon-like monster from Monsters, Inc.
Kirby is the pink videogame character who sucks in his enemies.
