Few people knew of this, but Edward Nygma was not a very good runner. He was fast, but running is more than speed. He constantly tripped over things, ropes, nickels, his own feet, air, you name it.
Sadly, he was the same driving.
"Oh! Oh god, sorry!" he yelled out the window of his stolen delivery van to the seventeenth person he'd accidentally rear-ended. It wasn't entirely his fault, though, as he'd never before had to drive something with such a crappy turning radius.
Reaching his destination, he hastily and poorly parallel-parked. Running up the steps he tripped and scraped his nose, swearing, he got back up and rang all the bells at once with the hand not occupied by his bleeding face. He was rewarded when one of the apartment dwellers buzzed him in, and he burst into a refreshingly cool and dark stairwell.
There were very few villains he felt comfortable asking for help, and even less that he more or less got along with. But with a few other villains, he made up the "smart set" of the rogues gallery. Not that they'd ever call themselves that, but he knew he could count on at least some kind of answer from them.
Huffing, he mounted the steps for the fourth floor. Damnit, why didn't they just use abandoned warehouses, like everyone else? He came to the very last door and paused a minute to compose himself, smoothing out a cowlick that immediately sprang back into shape. He broke out a Kleenex and swabbed his face; luckily his nose had stopped bleeding in the meantime.
He knocked. No answer. He knocked the aria from Carmen.
"That isn't the knock anymore," came the muffled reply from within.
"I thought secret knocks were for clubhouses and freemasons," was his practiced reply. The door cracked open about an inch and a hazel eye glared balefully out.
"Not my idea," Jonathan Crane admitted, "I suppose you want in then?"
"Unless you feel comfortable discussing business in the hall," Nygma fired back, smiling warmly. The door shut, fumbling and cursing resonating from behind it. It swung open again, displaying the lanky frame of Professor Jonathan Crane, dressed in baggy pants and a tattered gray shirt.
"Thank god, for a minute there I thought I was actually going to have to go to the Penguin for help again."
Crane gazed at him apathetically. "How lucky for you that we're here.
Uncomfortable seconds ticked by. Crane stared at Nygma, blinking little.
"So…" Nygma ventured, "can I come in?"
Crane heaved a weighty sigh. "I suppose."
The living room looked as if a bomb had gone off. Typical. The only clear space in the piles of newspaper and clothing was a small circle in the exact middle, where a chess board had been set up. Seated at one end was the Mad Hatter, with his ever-present cup of tea. Crane settled himself at the opposite end.
"Make yourself comfortable."
"You've got to be kidding," Nygma gaped at the chaos.
"Well, make yourself heard at any rate," the Hatter began, "feel free to make yourself known, make yourself scarce, and make yourself tea!" he giggled shrilly.
"Hello, Jervis," Nygma said politely, gingerly setting down on the edge of what might have been a couch.
"Nygma, when I invited you in, it was not to socialize with you, or bandy about pleasantries," Crane said, resuming his end of the game.
"Look, I know you're…busy, but I have something I need help with."
"Oh Edward," the Hatter sighed sadly, "the bodies again?"
"You promised us you'd stop running here when your crappy schemes went south, damnit; we're not a cleaning service!" Crane flicked a bishop with two fingers and put a knight in its place.
"It's not that! I have a date."
He was the subject of an intense double stare for a moment.
"Well, bully for you," Crane said.
"I mean that. A real one. With a woman no less."
"Really? You? A woman?" the Hatter said with infuriating astonishment.
"It's not that hard to get a date, all right?" Nygma snapped.
"No, it just that I had you pegged as–"
"NO! Nonononono no, I'm not." Nygma stumbled backwards, hands furiously waving the negative.
"Really?" Crane peered at him, "that's odd because I remember you telling us–"
"That," Nygma replied vehemently, "was just…it's college, okay? It's the time for– look I don't even know why I'm arguing this with you. I need some help."
"Well, I don't have much chloroform but you can–"
"No!" Nygma ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Will you let me finish a sentence? I'm about to go on a date, a real date for the first time in five years, and I have nothing to wear!"
"Aww." The Hatter rested his chin in his hand, looking like a small child being read to. "What about your lovely suit you wore for the Schlesinger job? The green one?"
"The one with all the sequins? Ugh." Nygma suppressed a full body heave. "I don't even know what I was thinking, that thing would kill a peacock. Why would you…" he trailed off, looking at the Hatter's daily wardrobe he sensed he was treading on thin ice.
Crane had not once taken his eyes from Nygma.
"You want clothes? And you come to us?" he said with a hint of pity in his voice.
"Well, I," Nygma's shoulders hunched slightly. "I don't really know anyone else I can talk to. Who else could I ask? The Ventriloquist? Killer Croc?"
"What about Cluemaster?"
"Piss on him."
"Nice mouth," Crane said, turning back to his game.
"Look, I just–" Nygma sat down and put his head in his hand. "I have an actual human who will actually go out with me and might actually let me dip the quill pen! I'm not asking for a miracle. I'm just asking for what very little you can spare."
"Oh." Crane shrugged. "Well, the man this apartment belonged to had some nice things; he might be your size."
"Might be?"
"Well, we didn't get a very good look at him before we– but are you sure about the date tonight?"
"I'm incredibly positive."
"Because we can always–"
"College," Nygma said firmly, "now show me to the bedroom."
"Gladly!" the Hatter shouted, jumping up and nearly upending the table.
In the end there wasn't much left from the erstwhile guest of the Scarecrow and Hatter, but there was a rugby shirt that didn't clash too horribly with his hair, and a pair of slacks that hadn't been destroyed when they "acquired" the apartment. With an annoyingly cheerful grin and a wave, Edward Nygma was on his way. His two companions regarded each other thoughtfully in the ensuing silence.
"Jonathan, we just gave aid to a man without asking anything in return."
"Well, I broke the catalytic converter on the Riddle mobile, and I'm waiting for him to find out. Perhaps we've just averted a future storm, hmm?"
The Hatter gazed at the door. "Where do you think he'll go?"
"The usual place."
"Want to–"
"–give him a little visit?" Crane smirked. "My dear Jervis, sometimes you're just perverse enough for my tastes."
The Hatter laughed and snatched his jacket from the table.
Author's note: I am dreadfully sorry for the wait, but it's hard to put these things into words. I went through two other versions of this scene before this one, and I'm still not sure I'm happy with it. I'm sure there's a lot of fun to be had with a Riddler/Cluemaster duel, but sadly I've yet to read any comics with the Cluemaster actually in it.(not a huge comic reader, sorry) yes, the Hatter and Scarecrow will be making one last appearance, I like them too much not to have them.