Just a bit of a short silly fic I wrote. My first attempt at fanfiction too. That's right boys and girls, this is my first ever fanfiction, and you're here to witness it in all it's omg-how-utterly-suck-ass glory! Reviews would be most appreciated, and there may even be muffin hand-outage in it for you.

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"I'm going to kill him."

Jonathan Crane looked at his watch in annoyance. Three hours had gone by and there was still no sign of Bruce coming out. Crane was down to his last nerve by now, sipping coffee so bitter it made his face pinch. The fluorescent-lighted room filled to capacity had pushed him so his back was against the corner wall, a paper towel dispenser pressed painfully into his shoulder.

"It'll only take a second," Bruce had claimed long ago with a wave of his hand and a smirk. "Then we'll be on our way before you know it, trust me." And Crane had trusted him, once again proving just how easily fooled he could be by those hazel eyes filled with devilish mirth.

"Stupid, deceptive, lying eyes like the color of vomit. You'll pay for this Bruce," and the corners of Jonathan's mouth quirked. "Tonight." He'd make Bruce wait, just as he had to. Would go so slowly and take his time until the man begged him. Bruce would NOT have this problem again, once Crane was finished with him...

His thoughts, which had been growing steadily more erotic, were interrupted by a child staring up at him with curious eyes, making Crane feel slightly uncomfortable. He glanced at the kid, who then stuck his tongue out and crossed his arms boldly. The doctor turned away quickly before his anger could fully surface, and forced himself to study the tiling on the floor, letting the sounds of running water and pointless chatter become muffled as he was lost in his own thoughts.

Hmm, Falcone seems to have created multiple personalities inside his mind as a reaction to the fear toxin. His reference to the 'dialogue' of thoughts, rather than 'monologue' is enough of an indicator, I think. If not I'll just have to find something else to diagnose him with. Either way, there shouldn't be too much questioning considering my position at Arkham...

The little boy was now making faces at him, sucking his cheeks in like a fish and bulging his eyes, then crossing his arms and mimicking Dr. Crane's stance. Jonathan pursed his lips and glared daggers at him, which only served to give the kid more ammo. He pursed his lips comically and glared back. Crane then growled, and the boy mocked. "Stop it, you little weed," Jonathan demanded, making his voice as low and gravelly as he could. Trying to sound as the Batman had...

'This has got to stop. For God's sake I just tried to sound like the Batman,' he thought.

Crane promptly turned his back to the child once again, exerting all of his will not to look back. A few awkward moments went by in silence, though he could sense that the kid had not been deterred by his action.

When Jonathan saw the boy ballooning his face at him from the corner of his eye, he decided enough was enough, and it was time to teach a lesson. The suit-clad man reached in his pocket and wrapped his hand around a small spray bottle, then pulled his hand out and shot mist at the kid, grinning maniacally. Without missing a beat, the child fell to the floor, clutching and clawing at his face, screaming something about spiders and convulsing violently. Crane quickly feigned nonchalance.

The stall door at the end of the short corridor swung open and Bruce emerged. "Ready?" he asked Jonathan, slipping a hand around his waist.

"Yes, please. Let's go."

Bruce stepped over the twitching kid with furrowed brow and asked, "What's wrong with him?"

"I have no idea," was Crane's smug reply. Bruce shrugged, apparently satisfied with the answer, and they left the bathroom. "Oh, and Bruce? The next time you have to go, you just hold it until we're home, understand?"