AN; While I consider this to be mostly humor, please be warned that it's still humor that takes place largely in Crane's head! That can't be everyone's idea of 'haha-funny'. This is actually my version of a practically light-hearted, friendly Crane. I can't imagine it gets too much better on a day by day basis, Molly and a few other examples aside. Anyway, some grisly imagery can be expected.

... ... ...

It would have been funny. Jonathan admitted to himself that it was still kind of funny. Presently, however, he was listening to Edward - actually listening - and it wasn't good. Oh, the plan, from what he'd been able to understand of it, at least... sounded good. But Edward, Joker, this, all this... wasn't good. It wasn't good at all; it could work.

Of course, it would not work, but it could. And when it failed, Joker would see Edward had been... Serious.

He gave Nygma credit where it was due (although never out loud), but this simply... wasn't good. He had to get Edward back in his properly wrong right mind. Steeling himself for a fight, he interrupted the Riddler.

"Edward," Jonathan said. Simply the man's name. He said it very calmly and very quietly, with no effort to hide the terse edge belying his peaceful demeanor. That, as anyone would realize, was what spelled 'Danger'. It spelled 'Danger' in red flashing neon, perhaps with sparks. Crane also knew that Edward knew that danger very well by now. And he knew Edward knew he knew it. Jonathan had easily gleaned that 'Interruption' was surely one of the highest offenses on Nygma's List of Things by Which He Was Offended.

Nygma's list of neatly arranged offenses might stretch more than three city blocks if type-written, Jonathan supposed. Crane, himself, pragmatically crammed them all under the category of "Disrespect"; it felt more practical. He also considered a quick injection to be a much more practical punishment for the infraction than Edward's schemes. Alas, the Riddler simply didn't understand the beauty of that simplicity; the wonder of that most primal emotion.

Scarecrow didn't, at the moment, find an offended Riddler amusing. Edward's diatribe had been cliché and irritating, but then it just had to suddenly turn right around into a Problem. From Crane's objective perspective, though, it was the first time a diatribe Nygma started on was truly worth noting.

Perhaps tonight wasn't a diatribe night. A rant? Maybe it was a manifesto, or proclamation, or speech. It could well be a lecture, or performance, or complaints, or threats. Tonight might be about desperate and poorly hidden pleas for attention and support. Any combination of all of those pointless things was valid. Jonathan believed the last of the list was always the case from any perspective when dealing with the younger villain.

Crane felt no need to define which one the man in green had decided on that evening. In the past, Jonathan found diversion at these times by lifting a thesaurus from a nearby shelf and not-so-surreptitiously leafing through the pages as Edward spewed his nonsense. Ignoring the words beyond the general idea and important phrases, he used Nygma's tone and body language to assign a title to each of the man's self-important cries for attention.

The 'retired' professor didn't need the thesaurus, of course. He did, however, enjoy the idea of Edward turning purple with rage when he noticed his audience wasn't paying attention. Edward seeing exactly how Jonathan had been spending the time while ignoring him was also amusing. Edward never had noticed, unfortunately. Jonathan wasn't surprised by that at this point. Edward Nygma wasn't one to imagine others could be unmoved while he was busy hearing his own brilliant voice.

Joker, though, was a very different sort. Indeed, he loved his own voice, but Jonathan bet every ounce of his survival instinct that if he were in close quarters with that demented clown, he would listen carefully. Very, very carefully. He would also be watching closely for any twitch or expression that could spell the end of his, admittedly miserable, existence. Miserable it may be, but it was his, and he'd prefer to keep it.

Jonathan wasn't afraid. That wouldn't make sense. He merely imagined it would be... distasteful, at the least, to have his throat cut for inattention. It was especially distasteful, Jonathan thought, because there was a very good chance that the Joker would continue to talk to Jonathan's corpse as if it were animate.

Harley... While she considered herself Jonathan's friend, he knew the child would never try to stop the mad man of her dreams from killing him. The idea was laughable. He doubted it would cross her mind.

In light of all that, the purveyor of fear could easily see that Edward's ideations of vengeance were insane; in the bad way. In the very bad way. In the I-heard-the-Riddler-was-flayed-by-the-Joker-with-a -spork-before-having-his-head-hung-on-the-wall way. Edward should have been more afraid than angry; if anyone knew the right time to begin worrying, it was Crane. Not that Crane worried; he logically understood the danger of certain individuals displaying certain behavior. It was the benefit of being a brilliant man and an expert of the mind, that was all.

After catching up with Edward's frantic one-sided conversation, what Jonathan had mostly heard was his friend repeating the word 'suicide' in an avalanche of violent curses and ridiculous half-plans. Jonathan had heard many of those before. True, he usually barely listened (perhaps even nearly half-listened when the Riddler had a few drinks in him, and might spill something worth hearing). Yes, normally, his friend's manic frenzy would have amused the psychologist, but that was neither here nor there. At present, he was waiting for the histrionic Riddler to calm down.

Edward, for his own part, had stopped speaking immediately upon hearing the older man's voice. Jon had interrupted him. Interrupted. Him. The Riddler. The most intelligent man alive, by his own admission (or declaration, depending on the viewpoint). He nearly tripped mid-stride as his legs seemed to lock, stopping his movement of their own accord.

"Sit. Down." It was time again, Scarecrow decided, to teach.

Oh. Edward knew that tone. That tone was dangerous. That tone was the sound of a rattlesnake's tail as it was deciding if it should strike. He knew the voice was closer to Scarecrow's than it was to Jon's. There wasn't actually a separation between his individual 'selves' that Edward could see, but Jonathan seemed to don more of a mantle of careless cruelty when slipping into 'Scarecrow'. Jonathan-as-usual was bad enough, but when he got like that... science flew out the window.

At the same time, he couldn't hear Scarecrow's trademark malice, and it was the air of calm that actually scared Edward. He heard no annoyance or wry amusement. He didn't even hear Jon's usual condescension. When spoken in that manner, Crane's words allowed no argument. 'Well,' Edward silently amended, 'no argument from those who don't want to end up in a swirling mass of their own personal Hell. I'm certain I am in that category.' To be honest, Edward embodied the definition of that category.

Wide eyed, the Riddler sat. Why was he responding to the command almost automatically, like a trained animal? His irritation rose further at the idea. Oh, he'd listen, but that didn't mean he had to like it. If he had been angry before, now he was incensed. Incensed, but careful. He was, after all, a survivalist.

Jonathan looked at Edward for an indefinite period of time. His eyes, he knew, would be unreadable to the younger man. 'This moment,' he silently decided, 'requires absolute attention.' He was sitting between his friend and what he believed was absolutely certain death. It was, again, hardly a new idea. All the same... This was the first time he had made a stand between 'Edward Nygma' and 'The Riddler.'

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say he would stand between the man's genuinely bright mind and his skillfully crafted, but oh-so-fragile, ego, so to speak. This required something new. No matter, Crane thought; it wasn't as though he couldn't manipulate on short notice. He only needed to use Edward's logic against him, and begin the ball rolling so that Nygma's own mind would easily fill in scenarios to torture him with self-doubt. The Riddler certainly made that part easy enough. He would simply give him a puzzle, satisfy his ego, and then crush it. Child's play, really; it all came down to the beautiful science of fear. Everything always did, after all.

Now, he only had to use the facts at hand and think of a puzzle with a believable solution. He quickly decided to switch from his usual tactics, and use the truth (or at least a version of such). That always threw people for a loop.

Meanwhile, Edward stared straight back into Jonathan's eyes, and quickly realized that there was fire in the gaze. This was not his friend. This was not Jon. This was Doctor Crane. Doctor Crane demanded respect and obedience. Doctor Crane was the knife's edge that kept the man in front of him tipping between 'Jonathan' and 'Scarecrow.' Doctor Crane was a clinical, calculated, and very, very fragile state. Increasingly fragile as time passed, Edward had noted. A false move or word on Edward's part at this point could easily tip the scale, and he had no desire to rock the boat. 'Damn,' he thought absently, among his concerns, 'I hate when my mind mixes metaphors.'

Crane's expressionless, analytical stare was beginning to unnerve the other man. 'Well, of course it does,' Edward seethed, 'That's his modus operandi, isn't it?'

After only a few moments, Jonathan seemed to find the answer for which he had been searching. His eyes closing, as though weary, and Jonathan removed his glasses. He began to unconsciously rub the space between his eyes. Crane didn't have a migraine yet, but he was certainly anticipating one before the evening was out.

"Edward," he repeated, frustrated exhaustion in his voice, as he looked back up to meet the other man's eyes. "This is the stupidest thing you have ever come up with. You've been told your ego will get you killed, it's obvious to even the pitiful waste of space they call 'Doctors' in Arkham. I've told you the same. I think you believe it will, as well, one day. If you go through with this, that day will come about before the end of the month."

Edward stared at Jonathan, clearly affronted. Twice now, he realized, his friend purposely jabbed him - in hurty places, not funny places. He was expecting barbed insults, some insinuations about his capability, a bit of cruel mockery; the usual things one simply brushed off in order to have any kind of conversation with Crane. What caught Edward off guard was that Jonathan not only said his plan was stupid (something they had a bit of an unspoken agreement about; everyone knew that was the very first item on the previously mentioned Giant List of Offenses), but that Crane seemed to absolutely believe what he was saying.

Edward found his intense anger cooling. It was cooling to the point of a completely different level of fury; absolute zero. That wasn't his happy place.

... ... ...

A heads up is only fair on this; I don't actually plan on the Joker ever making an appearance in this story, as much as they talk about him. I find myself at a loss to even begin writing him. I respect the character (interesting trivia; in the comic books, Joker is the only character to break the fourth wall and speak directly to the readers. He also whistles his own theme song in The Animated Series. It's as though they're writing it all to show you he knows exactly what he is, and I find that fascinating) and feel that others are better equipped to write him than I am. Crane sort of lives in my head, and I have studied psychology, spent weeks at in-patient psych care facilities, etc., so he's almost easy in comparison.

Thanks for reading!