The next two weeks passed in a flurry of plans and paperwork. Eddie had spent most of the time puzzling over a copy of the Jervisy riddle that had been printed in the personals section of the Gotham Times.

If it had been a normal, good riddle, he would have been able to figure it out. He was sure of that. But it was frustratingly amateur. For example, several of the words in the strange message were misspelled. Why? Was it an anagram? Was it a code? He tried every which way he could think of and came up with zilch.

Well, surely the crime it referred to would have been committed by now. He raked over the arrests pages, considering each one carefully before crossing it out with red ink. He'd gone through two entire red pens and six sets of newspapers, checking and re-checking them for any hint of a riddle crime. There was nothing, and all that time spent squinting at blurry newsprint was making his brain feel like an overcooked ham.

What's white and black and red all over? he muttered to himself as he crumpled one of the newspapers into a ball and hurled it across the room. Answer: a waste of time.

"No luck?" Jackie inquired absently from the nest of want ads on the couch. She was still looking for a new place to live. Unfortunately, it seemed like the rest of Gotham was too. Every time she called a new landlord and gave her name, he brushed her off and said there were no vacancies. If she had been a conspiracy theorist, she just might have supposed that her ex-landlord was warning everyone away from renting to the crazy lady who burned her apartment down. (And really, it was a pity that she wasn't a conspiracy theorist, because this was in fact the truth, and knowing it would have saved her countless hours on the phone. Do not anger the savage beast known as the Landlord's Association.)

The Riddler slipped on his jacket. "Someone's either looking for love or a plate of asparagus," he sighed. "I bet it's not even a real riddle," he added with one hundred percent inaccuracy. He gathered up his hat and cane. "I'm going for a walk. Try not to burn the house down while I'm gone."

"Very funny, smartass," Jackie said, sticking out her tongue at him. He smirked at her and clicked the door closed.

In point of fact, he wasn't merely walking, but checking on various supply caches around the city. Oh, and he had an appointment with Kittlemeier to pick up his new suits, and maybe he'd swing by that tasty Chinese restaurant for dinner...

Living on a couch can become addictive. It is surprisingly easy to adjust oneself to a new environment, especially when you know full well that you have nowhere else to go. The sheer lack of responsibility can be quite exhilarating.

Likewise, it is just as easy to accommodate yourself to the whims of your host. It's possible to put up with just about anything provided that you're still allowed to occupy those three soft squares of comfort. With all this in mind, it should come as no surprise that Jackie had wiggled quite nicely into the routines of the Riddler's household.

As for the Riddler himself, well...She'd only lived in Gotham for one year, but in that year, she'd heard stories about the rogues. Well, everyone had a rogue story, it seemed, and everyone was eager to talk about it. She'd picked up the impression that rogues were unstable, violent, and flamboyantly insane.

And this was, for the most part, true. But the important thing here is that it was not true all of the time. One cannot be flamboyantly insane and at the same time manage to survive on one's own. It just doesn't work. It could be argued that the rogues had two modes, if you will: Barking Mad and Slightly Crazy. In other words, they saved the true insanity for when they were out on the town, masked, costumed, and in their element. The rest of the time they were just...well...people. Slightly obsessive, distinctive, weird people, to be sure, but people nonetheless.

The Scarecrow had barged in and glared at her. He'd insulted her, he'd ignored her, and he'd stolen her blanket...but he hadn't killed her. He hadn't even gassed her, something which she'd vaguely assumed he did as often as anyone else would smile at passersby.

In other words, he'd behaved like a reasonable, logical human being. Well, a reasonable, logical jerk of a human being, but still - not a raving lunatic. Not a homicidal maniac. She had considered leaving the lair after that incident, and then had asked herself - why? He didn't do anything. Why had he left her alone? He hurt other people, all the time...ah. That was it. He hurt other people. He hadn't hurt her because she was with the Riddler. She was off-limits.

On the whole, she'd prefer to stay that way. Besides, she was out of places to call. She tossed the last sheet of newspaper down onto the couch and got up, swinging her arms high above her head as she tipped backward in a much-needed stretch.

The smell of something foul greased its way up her nose. She coughed and followed it into the kitchen. Oh, that smell...it was probably the dirty dishes in the sink. As if they knew where they were, they had covered themselves with a bright green mold that almost perfectly matched the décor of the place.

Jackie slowly began to roll up her sleeves. If Eddie could face down Batman, she could certainly face down a watery pool of filth or two.

Eddie re-entered the lair, a dry cleaner's bag full of question-marked suits over his shoulder, a bag of exploding question marks and a bag of Chinese food nestled in his free hand. As he juggled his purchases and clicked open the puzzle lock, he sang a happy little song to himself.

"The terror of the galaxy, and that's why she's the girl for me! My baby is the destroyer...of...worlds..." he trailed off as his eyes informed him that something was very, very different. The bag of suits slithered unnoticed to the floor as he wandered through the lair with wide eyes.

He could see the carpet. He could see the carpet! The magazines were gone. The moldy dishes were nowhere to be seen and the stainless steel of the sink shone like a mirror. The untidy snowstorm of papers they'd left were stacks now, in neat little piles. The dust on the TV screen, where Question had squiggled 'Clean me' with a greasy finger, had vanished! And the whole place smelled suspiciously of lemons.

Jackie emerged from one of the bedrooms. "Hey," she said tentatively.

"You cleaned?" Eddie asked, a look of wonder on his face.

"Yeah," she said cautiously.

"You cleaned?"

"Is that bad?"

"You cleaned!" he beamed.

"Yes," she said slowly, "you said that."

"...thank you!" he finally sputtered.

"It's the least I could do after you let me stay here for two whole weeks. I have a question, though-"

"Yes?"

She pointed at the kitchen counter, which was piled high with crumpled green fabric. "What the hell happened?" she said simply.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "They're just my old suits," he shrugged.

Jackie dug in the pile and pulled a certain jacket out. She held it up, glaring at him through the gigantic bloodstained slash in the back. "Let me ask again. What the hell happened?"

"Oh, that," Eddie said dismissively.

"Yeah, that. Or that-" she pointed at another jacket, this one missing a sleeve, "or that," a jacket that looked like it had been run through a cheese grater.

"A damn tidbit."

"Huh?"

"Batman did it," he translated, waving a hand at all of the destroyed costumes. "That's what happened."

"You're telling me that Batman stabbed you in the back?"

"No," he said. "I'm telling you that Batman threw me through a window and I landed on a very sharp piece of glass. What?" he asked when her eyes widened with shock. "It happens to everyone."

"What about that one?" she asked, pointing at the sleeveless jacket.

He furrowed his brow. "I don't remember. Really, it's no big deal," he said. "I mean, we've gone through it hundreds of times by now. I throw him a riddle, he throws me out a window. It doesn't matter which time he cut my back or what day he broke my legs-"

"He broke your legs?" Jackie interrupted.

Eddie laughed. "He's broken just about every bone in my body, pumpkin. It happens." He gathered the jackets up and stuffed them into the garbage can.

"It shouldn't."

"Well, it does."

There was a frantic hammering noise at the door. Eddie set the food and the little explosives on the countertop and went to answer it. "Anyway, it's fine," he assured Jackie, who couldn't believe that he had such a cavalier attitude toward severe injuries.

Eddie eased the door open a few inches and was promptly smacked hard in the face with it as a panicked Jervis Tetch skidded into the room. "Get out of here!" Eddie growled.

"There's some enemy after her, no doubt," Jervis pleaded. "That wood's full of them."

"Batman or Crane?" Eddie asked.

"It's the crow!"

"He was already here once, looking for you," Eddie informed him with sadistic delight as he shut the door. Jervis bit his lip and checked the corners of the room for sackcloth. "What did you do to him, anyway?"

"A secret, kept from all the rest, between yourself and me," Jervis muttered conspiratorially before leaning closer. Sometimes, if he concentrated really hard, he could manage a few words in normal English. Eddie fervently hoped that this was one of those times. The last time Jervis had related gossip in Wonderlandese, it had taken him a full ten minutes to puzzle out the hidden meaning: that Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy were seen getting a little too friendly at the Iceberg one night, which Eddie had already known. (In fact, he'd been there at the time, a memory which warmed his...let's call it his heart on those long winter nights in Arkham.)

They were in luck. "He wears bunny slippers," Jervis confided with an air of revealing top-secret high-security mysteries.

"Oh, that. How does that involve..." Eddie paused. "How many other people did you tell?"

"No one." Eddie crossed his arms and gave Jervis a knowing look. "Four thousand two hundred and seven, that's the exact number," Jervis admitted.

"Everyone, then," Eddie sighed. "No wonder he was so angry at you."

Jackie tentatively poked her head around the kitchen doorway. "Hi," she said, waving a pair of chopsticks in greeting.

Jervis sniffed the air hopefully. "Tis a privilege high to have dinner and tea along with the Red Queen, the White Queen and me!"

Eddie's eyes glinted with malice. "You can come to dinner when you answer me a riddle, Jervis..." Jervis straightened up, ready to make any sacrifice for the sake of won tons. Eddie leaned closer with a truly evil grin stretching across his face. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

Jervis's mouth hung open. "I say, this isn't fair!"

"Don't blame me, blame Lewis Carroll," Eddie said, getting ready to open the door again. "Goodbye, Jervis."

Jervis turned pleading puppydog eyes on Jackie. She returned a tentative smile. Rogue he might be, but no one could say no to a face like that. "Oh, let him stay," she said. "He's cute."

Eddie glared at her. "I'll let him stay when that riddle has an answer!" he snapped.

"Well, Lewis Carroll did eventually answer it, you know," she said. "Because it can produce a few notes, tho they are very flat; and it is nevar put with the wrong end in front!" Jervis's jaw plummeted floorward in instant infatuation.

"Tell me your name and your business," he said in tones of adoration.

Eddie interrupted her as she was about to answer. "Her name is Jackie, and she's with me," he said severely, sending Jervis's hopes crashing all over the floor. "If you're staying, come on, it's getting cold."

"TETCH!" came a bellow from outside.

Jervis turned a magnificent shade of bluish white. "Oh, dear," he muttered, clearly wishing that Alice had had a few PG-13 adventures with the correct vocabulary.

The door rattled in its hinges. "GET OUT HERE!"

"Calm down," Eddie advised through the door.

"Get him out here now, Nygma."

"I'm not opening this door until you calm down. You tend to gas first and ask questions later," Eddie reminded the Scarecrow through an inch and a half of solid wood.

There was a pointed sigh from outside. "Fine. I'm calm."

"Fine."

There was a pause as Jervis and Eddie had a silent argument about opening the door. Eddie conveyed with a few swift gestures that it was his house and he'd open the door for whoever he pleased. Jervis countered with something that translated quite nicely into "if you let him in here, I'm dead". Eddie shrugged and wiggled his fingers in a flapping mouth, indicating that if Jervis was going to gossip about the other rogues, he should take what was coming to him.

"Open the door, then," the Scarecrow hinted.

Jervis waved his arms desperately - no, no, no! - as Eddie flung the door wide. The Hatter's frantically windmilling arms tried to reassemble themselves into a casual pose as a fully-costumed Scarecrow stormed in. "I'd like to have a word with you outside, Jervis," the Scarecrow said, forced politeness barely masking the untamed fury in his voice.

"I'll stay down here," Jervis said, edging behind the couch.

"Get over here so I can rip your lungs out," the Scarecrow growled. Jervis declined his kind offer with a violent shake of his head. The Scarecrow approached the right side of the couch. Jervis darted to the left. The Scarecrow spun to follow and Jervis darted right again. "I'll teach you to tell other people's secrets-" he threatened, swiping at Jervis and trying to catch his coat.

Jervis's mouth, on autopilot, was reciting "You Are Old, Father William" as if it was the Lord's Prayer while Jervis himself frantically danced out of Crane's reach. "I feared it might injure the brain-" he gabbled, narrowly avoiding a close grab at his bow tie.

"Oh, it will," Crane promised darkly, slamming a thin arm into the air directly behind the Hatter, who yelped in dismay and scrambled to go in the opposite direction.

"But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none-" Jervis gasped, extracting a mind-control chip from his pocket, "Why, I do it again and again!"

The Scarecrow froze in mid-swat, a canister of fear toxin at the ready, as Jervis aimed the little chip at Crane's head, ready to throw it and take his mind over. They stood there silently for a few seconds, gasping for breath, ready to strike.

Eddie cleared his throat. "Can I just point out something before you gas him?"

"What?" Crane snapped, not taking his eyes off of Jervis.

"We already knew about the bunny slippers."

"What?" Crane bellowed, shifting his glare to the Riddler. "Who told you, if it wasn't him?"

Eddie let a tiny, tiny smirk creep onto his face. "You did."

"What?"

"Last winter, in Arkham, when the psychiatrists had you drugged to the eyelids. One day you stood up and told everyone that your feet were cold and that you wanted your bunny slippers."

The skin around Crane's eyes, barely visible through the holes of the mask, was twitching in a toccata of rage. "I don't recall saying that," he said icily.

"Do you recall telling me that 'Mary Had A Little Lamb' was your own personal philosophy of life?" Eddie asked brightly. "Or that you believed Killer Croc was really a robot stuffed with styrofoam peanuts and cotton candy?" The canister of fear toxin was slowly rotating in the air to face Eddie. "Not that anyone believed any of it," he added hastily. "Well, until now."

"They were left at my lair by a test subject," Crane snarled softly, "and they were warm and they fit. Just because they happen to look like rabbits-"

"I don't care what your slippers look like!" Eddie lied. "No one does!" No, certainly no one would be chuckling into their drinks tonight at the Iceberg at the thought of Professor I'm-So-Dignified Crane shuffling around his lair with little pink bunnies on his feet. Of course not.

"Obviously he does, or he wouldn't have bothered to tell everyone about them!" the Scarecrow retorted.

"Well, you can't gas him here," Eddie said reasonably.

"Why not?" Crane growled. Jervis's eyes crossed slightly as the fear toxin canister blinked into existence half an inch from his nose.

"Because we're trying to have dinner!" Eddie snapped.

"Can't he just apologize?" The rogues' attention shifted to Jackie, still lurking in the kitchen doorway. She blushed and bit her lip. "I mean, you're sorry, right, Mr. Hatter?" Jervis, without taking his eyes off of the little canister of fear toxin, nodded enthusiastically. "So if he apologizes," Jackie continued, "would that help?"

"It would be a good start," Crane grumbled.

"I'm very sorry you've been annoyed," Jervis squeaked. "I'm sure I'm very sorry."

The Scarecrow glowered at him. "And?"

Jervis squirmed wretchedly. "I give thee all, I can no more!"

"I think that's as good as you're going to get," Eddie said.

Crane eyed him angrily, then stuffed the fear toxin back into his pocket. "If I hear any more rumors about me floating around, you can be sure that we'll have another little chat," he spat venemously.

Jervis nodded. "Silence all round, if you please."

The Scarecrow spun on his heel and stalked out of the lair, slamming the door shut hard behind him. The question-marked chandelier tinkled quietly.

Jervis turned a winning smile on Jackie. "Let's fight till six, and then have dinner!"he said brightly.

Jackie glanced at Eddie, who shrugged. The riddle had been answered, after all, and there was probably enough for three. "Sure. This way."

Jervis did a little whirling dance of happiness as he followed them into the kitchen. "Then fill up the glasses as quick as you can, And sprinkle the table with buttons and bran: Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea -- And welcome Queen Alice with thirty-times-three!"

(to be continued)

Author's Note: The song 'Destroyer of Worlds' is by Tom Smith. If you like my stuff, you'll adore his. He's at www dot tom smith online dot com and he has free stuff to download. Yay!

Everything Jervis says in italics is a direct quote from either 'Alice in Wonderland' or 'Through the Looking-Glass'. I love you, silly little Wonderland-man, but you're a pain in the mome raths to write about.

And Kittlemeier, of course, is the rogues' and the Bats' tailor, as seen in The Further Adventures of Batman.