AN: They haven't tried it since. Heh, they only 'tried it' once. Can you blame them? No.

Their 'togetherness couple-theme' is totally Fuel's 'Falls On Me', but they don't know that. Shh. See you all tomorrow for Nursery Rhymes. It's my favorite!

Christineoftheopera-Bats is everybody's issue.

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-He killed four people because they tried to throw him out. They wouldn't get out. You worry too much. I do not.

He's not sure what possessed him to take both of them at the same time. Curiosity, maybe. Or maybe he was drunk when he had that idea.

Whatever the case, it's too late to back out now, and they're in his office, sitting on his couch. Well, Crane's sitting up. Richardson's lying across his lap like a giant cat, playing with his hand.

What the hell? Let them out in public and people die horribly. He honestly can't reconcile the monsters on the news with…these people.

It's all very disconcerting and he doesn't like it.

"Good afternoon."

Crane nods. Richardson pays him no attention whatsoever.

"How are you, Doctor? You look tired. Poor sleep?"

"I am conducting this session, Jonathan." he says wearily. They both chuckle at that.

"Of course you are." He glances down at her. "Probably stayed up all night worrying over this session."

"Likely."

"I slept fine, thank you."

"Denial. Not healthy."

"Mm." She looks over at him at last. "You look frightened, dear. Don't be, we're harmless."

Unbidden, the image of Doctor Combs comes to mind and he shudders.

"Maybe we shouldn't have killed the last one."

"I didn't intend for him to die, how was I supposed to know he had a letter opener in here?"

"Enough!" He doesn't mean for his voice to crack like that. "Enough."

"Fear of losing control."

"That can't be healthy…is that why his wife left, d'you think?"

"Can you blame her?"

"Stop!" They turn to him again, all wide-eyed innocence. "Enough. We're not here to talk about me, we're here to talk about you."

"Trust is important in any doctor-patient relationship."

He feels for his stress ball and squeezes it.

"Yes, it is."

"We don't trust you."

That last is spoken in a much lower tone and even though he knows Scarecrow isn't here (they keep Crane on a strict drug regimen to make sure), he shudders again.

He'll have to see about the dosage, maybe.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Here on Earth, here in Arkham, or here with you?"

He squeezes the ball again.

"Maybe another day we'll get to the existential conversation." he says lightly. "Here with me, specifically."

"Because you're nosey."

"No." She gives him a look that says she knows he's lying. "I thought it might be nice to talk to you both. Together."

They exchange looks.

"Are you sure you shouldn't be locked up here?"

His nails prick a hole in the foam ball and he grits his teeth.

"What were you doing when you were caught?"

"Date night."

He blinks.

"Eighty people died."

"Some family had a screaming child that wouldn't behave itself."

"Eighty people!"

"Collateral damage."

They don't seem to care. They don't seem all that interested in him anymore, either, and he's not sure what to make of that.

"Do you often…have date night?"

"Once a week." she says brightly. "Usually on Monday, because that's a dead night and there's not so many idiots out and about."

"What do you normally do?"

"Dinner and a bookshop." She stretches out and reaches up to toy with a frayed patch on his uniform. "Why, what did you think we did?"

Murder, mayhem, kidnapping…

"I had no idea, actually."

"Don't tell lies." That low warning tone is back and he cringes. "Not a good way to establish trust, Doctor."

He says nothing. Crane removes her fingers from his shirt and catches her hand when she tries to poke him.

"Stop that."

"I am bored."

"So you torment me?"

"Maybe." She tugs at her wrist. "Let go."

"No poking."

"Fine, fine."

He releases her wrist and promptly grabs it again when she moves to poke him.

"Kitty."

"Had my fingers crossed." He grabs her other hand and she glares at him. "Stop it."

"Don't poke."

"But, but…"

"Don't. Torment him, if you must."

His finger reaches towards the silent alarm. He doesn't intend to push it, he just wants to be reassured of its existence.

"He's too far away, I don't want to get up."

He shrugs.

"You'll just lose the use of your hands for a bit, then."

He is in charge here, isn't he?

"That's enough…"

"I will release you, if you swear on Tolkien, not to poke me."

"That's not fair."

"Swear it."

"Can I swear on the TARDIS?"

"No, you always cheat on that one."

She groans and tugs at her wrists.

"Fine. I swear on Tolkien not to poke you." Crane lets her go and she punches him gently in the arm. "It wasn't a poke."

"If we could get this back on track…"

Her eyes drift to him and the playful girl is gone.

"I don't like him." she says, gaze boring into his. "D'you like him?"

Crane's hand, which was previously carding through her hair, stills.

"I dislike most of my doctors, Kitty, you know that. Weak, pathetic little mice."

He hits the silent alarm and they start to laugh, still relaxed and comfortable on the couch.

"It's been disabled." Crane says easily. "Everyone wanted to see how long you'd hold out, but we couldn't have you leaving early."

He mustn't scream. That's what they want. He'll remain perfectly calm and continue the session. He is in charge here, after all.

"Doesn't that frighten you?"

"No."

"You're not a bad liar, when you try." The hand in her hair moves again. "Decent eye contact, minimal twitching. Not bad at all."

He swallows hard and folds his hands atop the desk.

"What shall we talk about?" His voice trembles, he can't help it. Crane reaches up to adjust his glasses.

"You tell us. Surely you had questions to ask."

He can't remember any of them now, actually.

"I...don't you have a subject you'd like to discuss?"

"I'm not allowed to discuss most things I enjoy." His tone is mocking. "What about you, Kitty?"

"They don't like it when I pick the topics."

He swallows hard and wishes he could rely on someone coming when he screams.

"Don't be so nervous, Doctor." Crane says gently. "We're not going to hurt you."

They find this funny.

And then they stand up. He shrinks back, hand scrambling for something, anything he can use to defend himself.

"We'll have to go now." Richardson says. "It's been a lovely chat. We should do it again sometime."

"Where are you going?"

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. Oh, wait-I already have to kill you."

Crane is gone. The Scarecrow stands there now, arms spread wide to welcome his father home.

"No, please-!"

But Dad is already swinging the bottle at his head.

THE END