"'The time has come,' the Walrus said, 'to talk of many things, of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings, and why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings,'" murmured Tetch, leaning against the wall and looking about at the empty hallway.
"Couldn't we have chosen a shorter code for 'the coast is clear'?" snapped Crane, appearing from behind the corner.
"You're just lucky I'm helping you at all," snapped Tetch. "This is a terrible idea, Jonathan, and it'll be off with our heads if we're caught. Not to mention what the Joker is going to do to us, which I imagine will be worse than beheading."
"You can tell him you had nothing to do with it," retorted Crane. "Which is true. You're just the lookout. He has no reason to hurt you."
"You're speaking of reason in relation to the Joker," retorted Tetch. "Rather a paradox, wouldn't you agree?"
"I would agree that he is as mad as the rest of us," replied Crane. "Which is to say, he has his own reasons for all he does. They must make sense to him."
"And to Harley," said Tetch. "Do you actually believe she's going to like you any better after you torture her lover?"
"I'm not doing this for me, I'm doing this for her," he snapped. "I'm doing this so that in future he might think of treating her with a little more respect."
"You're doing this as petty vengeance for him hitting her," retorted Tetch. "The Joker isn't suddenly going to learn his lesson about abusing her just because you terrify him. It's going to only make him angrier at you. This whole plan is just nonsense."
"Well, you'd know a lot about that, wouldn't you?" snapped Crane. "Now just shut up and keep an eye out."
He slipped into the room nearest them. The kitchen was empty at the moment, but Crane used the utmost stealth in opening the cupboard and removing a cup. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a vial, which he uncorked. He poured a few drops from it onto his glove, and then gently rubbed it around the rim of the cup. Then he took a marker and pressed a little dot into the plastic, and returned it to the cupboard.
"'O Oysters,' said the Carpenter, 'You've had a pleasant run! Shall we be trotting home again?' But answer came there none – And this was scarcely odd because, they'd eaten every one," said Tetch from outside the door. That was the signal that someone was approaching, so Crane swiftly crept out of the room. They both managed to get around the corner in time, avoiding the attendant who was walking down the hall and making for the kitchen.
"Mission accomplished?" asked Tetch.
Crane nodded. "There's a dot on it. Help me watch for it at dinner. That's Joker's cup. Although I think the joke might be on him tonight."
The Joker was under heavy guard at dinner that night, and chained so that he could only eat with Harley's help. She fed him bits of food, murmuring tenderly into his ear as he glared across the table at Crane. Crane didn't return the stare, looking around at the attendants passing out the cups instead. He caught Tetch's eye, who nodded and swapped the cup with his while the attendant was turned away. Crane nodded at him, then turned to face the Joker.
"J, I just wanted to apologize for my behavior the other day," said Crane, smiling sincerely. "I've spoken to Harley and she appears to have forgiven you, so I see no reason why I shouldn't as well. I was in the wrong. I should never have interfered between the two of you, and I should never have said the things I did to you. Can we shake hands and be friends again?"
"Bite me," growled Joker.
"Aw, c'mon, puddin', he's said he sorry, and he really means it," said Harley. "He was just trying to protect me – it was sweet of him, really."
"You think it's sweet for him to call me names?" he demanded.
"No, puddin', of course not, but names don't hurt you, do they?" she asked. "And he didn't mean it. Of course you're funny, puddin', everyone thinks you're funny. Everyone just thinks you're the greatest. I certainly do, and isn't that the most important thing, my big, bad, strong lover? That your Harley girl loves you very, very much?"
"Get offa me, you clingy bitch!" he shouted, head-butting her. The guards rushed forward and Joker shouted, "Ok, ok, I'll be good! Harley, baby, Daddy didn't mean it. Come back here, sweets."
His tone had immediately changed from furious to tender, and the guards lowered their weapons and backed away. Harley gently leaned her head against his shoulder, stroking his hair and continuing to feed him. "You're right, pooh bear, you know," he said, glaring at Crane again. "What does it matter what this loser says? Nobody respects him, do they? Some nerdy college professor who got tired of teaching spoiled rich kids and decided to become a criminal instead. Might as well have wasted his life away in academia. Who knows him? Who cares about him? You're not even notorious outside of Gotham, are you, Professor? Tell me, how is wasting your life plotting failed crimes any different to teaching spoiled rich kids? None of it makes a difference. You're still wasting your life, Professor, except now you're doing it in a stupid costume. Tell me, what have you actually accomplished? Oh sure, you've made your little fear gas, but what is that really? It's a drug that makes people freak out. Most drugs do that, or so I hear. Don't touch them myself – I'm just high on life. But you're a fraud, Professor. A fake. A cheater. Using drugs to scare people – anyone can do that. It takes real power to break people's minds for real, without the help of artificial stimulants. Take Harley here. She's my little Harley Quinn, my devoted little pet, my crazy little bitch, who I drove crazy just by talking to her. That's power, Crane. That's why people are afraid of me. They've seen what I do to people, not just physically, but with their minds. And that's true fear, Professor, not your cute little drugs. Nobody's afraid of you, Jonathan Crane. Nobody's afraid of the Scarecrow, mostly because they ain't crows. They're afraid of the fear toxin. Fear of fear itself. Roosevelt had that one pegged back in the 30s. You're behind the times, Professor. An ancient, useless, worthless old fossil of a creature nobody was scared of to begin with. But everyone is afraid of the Joker. Everyone. So who's the master of fear now, Johnny, old boy?"
Crane was glad he needed to cause a ruckus anyway, because he wasn't taking that sitting down. He leapt to his feet and knocked the dishes over, seizing the Joker's collar and pulling him across the table. In the commotion, Tetch swapped cups with the Joker, as the attendants pulled Joker and Crane apart. Joker was giggling. "Hit a nerve there, did I, Johnny? See what I mean? Real fear comes from just speaking the truth. Face it, Professor. You're a loser. You've always been a loser. You never win. You can't hurt Batman, you can't master fear, you can't even get a girlfriend! All three of which I have accomplished. You just need to accept that in this life, there are winners and there are losers. I'm a winner. And you're a loser."
Crane smiled grimly. "Shall we drink to that?" he asked, raising his cup.
Joker smiled back. "Harley, give Daddy his drink."
Harley raised the cup to Joker's lips and he drank. Crane smiled as he watched. Then his face fell suddenly in horror as Harley took a drink from the same cup.
"Now can't we all be friends again?" she asked, putting down the cup and wiping her lips. "Johnny, Mr. J, please. No more name-calling, huh?"
"Of course, pooh, whatever you want," he said, kissing her. "No hard feelings, eh, Johnny?"
Crane gaped at Harley, feeling his heart hammering in fear. "Why did you…" he gasped. "You weren't supposed to…"
"Something wrong, Johnny?" asked Harley, concerned. "What is it?"
"N…nothing," stammered Crane. "Nothing. Look, I have to go. Need to go get…something from my cell."
He rushed from the room back to his cell and began ransacking it. "Antidote, antidote, where is the damn antidote?!" he muttered, desperately.
He gave a cry of triumph as he found it, holding up the vial. Then he suddenly heard a shrill scream from the down the hall. "Jonathan, you'd better get back in the cafeteria, quick!" exclaimed Tetch, who suddenly appeared in the doorway. "I told you this was a terrible idea! It's Harley, she…"
Crane raced back down the hall into the cafeteria, where the attendants were clustered around two figures. Crane pushed through them to see Joker lying in Harley's arms. She was screaming and sobbing over him, and he was pointing at the corner and crying, "There! Over there, Harley! He's lying just over there! Don't you see him?!"
"No, who, puddin'?" sobbed Harley. "You ain't making any sense, Mr. J!"
"He's there, Harley!" shouted Joker. "And he's dead! Bats is dead! Who did it, pooh, you have to tell me! Who killed him?! I'll make them pay! It was my right to kill him! Mine, and no one else's! And now he's dead, Harley! Who did it?! Tell me!"
"Bats ain't there, Mr. J!" cried Harley. "I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Harley, I've got nothing left!" he shouted, seizing her shoulders. "What am I going to do?! Bats is dead! There's no joke anymore, no punchline, no laughter! It's gone, all gone! I don't know what to do! I can't…this can't be happening…I…"
He froze suddenly, gasping for breath. "Mr. J!" shrieked Harley, as the attendants seized him and dragged him away to the medical ward. He clung to her, convulsing, until the guards forced her away, then she collapsed in a heap on the floor, sobbing. Crane embraced her gently, shushing her.
"He's gonna be all right, Johnny, isn't he?" she exclaimed, clutching at his shirt, her eyes wild and desperate. "He's gonna be just fine, ain't he?"
"Of course, I'm sure he is," murmured Crane, soothingly. "Harley, I need you to drink this for me. It's very important," he said, holding out the vial to her.
Harley didn't seem to see it. Her eyes were wild with fear. "He's gotta be ok, Johnny, he's just gotta!" she cried. "I don't know what I'd do if he wasn't ok!"
"Harley, please drink it," said Crane, desperately. "Things will seem a lot less frightening if you just…"
But she leapt to her feet suddenly as an attendant returned. "How is he?" she demanded, rushing over to him and seizing his collar. "He's ok, ain't he? Tell me he's ok!"
The attendant looked at her. "I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, Dr. Quinzel," he said, gently but firmly. "But the Joker is dead."