AN: So does anyone else watch The Joker Blogs on Youtube? If you haven't seen them, you should check them out. It's someone who does one of the better Ledger impressions I've seen recording the Joker's therapy sessions, and it's fantastic. The third is my favorite, though the fourth is also incredible and the Christmas special is about the funniest thing I've ever seen. It's very well done (loved the reference to Lyle Bolton in the fourth) and the people involved are talented and have clearly put effort into it, so I'm recommending it here.

Thanks for the reviews!

It occurred to Jonathan that he was almost certainly about to be badly hurt, and then taken back to Arkham, where he would be killed. There was no question about that. Really, he should be expending all his energy on getting away, instead of staring up, gaping. But whether it was shock or exhaustion or something else, he remained sitting, unmoving except to ask, "How the hell do you do that?"

The Batman didn't say anything.

He tightened his grip on the scythe and continued. "I mean, honestly. I've been out for what, twelve hours at the most? Without the police on my trail, I might add. Have you been following me since I left and just now decided to do something about it, or are you telepathic?"

Crane found himself thinking of those microchips people installed in their pets, to track them down when they were missing. That could be done to humans as well, couldn't it? The idea that he'd been tagged was paranoid, beyond ridiculous, but then, dressing up like a bat was equally ludicrous. Fantastic. Now he felt the urge to go digging into his skin, hunting for hidden tracking devices. That were probably bat-shaped, if they existed. God knew the man made everything else he had shaped like a bat.

Batman had yet to respond. "Well?"

"You left the door open." He tilted his head toward the open doorway, light filtering in.

Ah. Well, crap. "How did you know I was here to begin with?"

"Police scanner."

"What?"

"Someone took note of you walking through her yard, and called the police to report a disturbance. The description matched you."

Oh. Damn, and he thought he'd so well evaded being detected. "Why aren't the police here, then?"

"They've been busy."

He raised a brow. "With what?"

The Batman did not explain. That indicated it was something bad. Lovely. Well, as long as it didn't affect him, he couldn't care less. Though, this refusal to tell him hinted that it would affect him…Crane felt a new wave of apprehension, and sat up straighter. Batman took a step forward in response, and Crane raised the scythe. "Don't."

He stopped. "You're going to fight me with that?"

"No." He took one hand off the scythe, reached back, pulled out the gun. "This, though? I very well might."

Dear Nigma,

By the time you read this, I'll be gone.

It was Edward's third time reading through the note, and that line still made him shake his head. Talk about clichés. For someone so brilliant, Jonathan Crane appeared to have learned the art of writing goodbye notes from bad suspense movies.

Still, at least he'd left a note this time. In a way, Edward supposed this was a good sign, as Jonathan had recognized his friends would be concerned for them. Which meant he regarded them as friends, as much as one so clueless and narcissistic could. Which was a step forward, though it did nothing to counteract the mile or so he'd moved back by leaving again.

Of course, Edward couldn't really begrudge him for that. If he'd enraged the Joker, he'd want to get the hell out of Dodge too.

I know that you're of the opinion that I'd be better off staying here, but I'm of the opinion that it would be better if I was not horribly killed. I doubt that you would reveal my location or future plans if interrogated, but this note might be intercepted before you wake up and read it, so I'm not going to discuss them here, sorry.

Not that anyone would have been able to figure out his location, even if he had written it down. Jonathan's handwriting was absurdly small, and the fact that he'd been writing with a blunt crayon and a shaking hand when he composed the note didn't help in the least. That was most of the reason Edward had read this three times now, only on the second, and with a lot of careful staring, did the marks on the paper resemble anything like words. It had been clearer toward the beginning, but he must have sped up or something, because the end was all but illegible.

I will say that if my escape is successful, it's unlikely we will ever cross paths again. I want to apologize for that as well, and let you know that I greatly appreciate the way you helped me when my sanity was less than stable.

As if it was stable now.

Beyond that, you've always been kind to me, and are one of the few people I can be around for prolonged periods without wishing I had fear toxin on hand. Even when the activities spent together were less than pleasant—group therapy, for instance, and I'll never forgive you for all those soap operas—I consider you to be a friend, and I know you feel the same.

Which he wouldn't have known, Edward reflected, if he hadn't been told. Honestly, Jonathan was still clueless enough about human interaction to begin letters with the recipient's last name. Who did that?

I hope you won't be upset that I've gone, but I'm sure Isley will.

Well, yes. Upset being an understatement. 'Hunting Jonathan down and killing him,' that was more accurate.

I know that you're close, so I hope you'll be able to reassure her that I didn't mean to hurt her. Only that my survival is not something I want to take risks with. Thank you for all you've done for me, and though it's probably won't happen, I hope we meet again.

Jonathan

The "J" in the last line had clearly been drawn over something else, what Edward guessed was the start of a closing. He couldn't ascertain if it was a "Y" or a "L" or what, however. He leaned back, sighed. Jonathan, of all the geniuses I know, you've got to be the stupidest. He was going to get caught. And then he'd be back in the same position, only likely with more injuries than before. Which could well kill him.

The door to his cell flew open and he bolted up, to find Pamela and Jervis Tetch standing there. "The hell?"

"Don't just sit there gaping, Eddie." Pam's eyes were burning almost as fiercely as her hair. "You got a letter too, I take it?"

"Yes, I…" he trailed off, noting the pass key in Jervis's hand. "How did you get that?"

Jervis opened his mouth to explain and was abruptly cut off by Pam, who silenced him by pulling the hat from his head. Jervis looked as though he might faint.

"We haven't got time to waste translating Lewis Carroll," she snapped. "We need to get going."

He snatched the hat back and shoved it on, color rushing back to his face. "If you knew Time as well as I do, you wouldn't talk about wasting it. It's him."

"Tetch, what did I just say?"

Lost as ever, Edward stood up. "Here's an idea, let's suppose I've got no idea what's going on."

"For God's sake , Eddie, are you the Riddler or not? You should have figured it out the second I opened the door."

"Excuse me if I haven't had much time to think about it." He stopped, considered. She'd mentioned the letter…oh, of course. "We're hunting down Jonathan?"

"Obviously." She crossed the room, grabbed his wrist, pulled him into the hall. Had he not followed willingly, he imagined it would have been painful. It was still slightly painful now. When Pam wanted something, she got it. If their relationship had taught him anything, it was that.

"What are we going to do once we find him?" Pam still had hold of him, and was running down the hall, dragging him behind her.

"Well, I'm going to break his neck, so he won't be able to run off anymore. After that, I'm not sure."

"Pam, you can't kill him."

"After such kindness, that would be a dismal thing to do!"

"Shut up, Tetch. And I'm not going to kill him, just paralyze him a little."

"That's better how, exactly?"

"It—" she faltered. "Well, for him it isn't. But it'll make me happier."

"Fantastic." Edward shook his head, as Jervis swiped the pass key through another door, this one leading outside. "Now, really, how did you get that?"

"You know how the machines in the rec room have stopped working lately?" Isley asked, stepping outside. The sunlight on her hair made it glow brighter than ever. It almost hurt to look at.

"Yes?"

"Well, as I found out about half an hour ago when Tetch sprung me from my cell, it turned out he'd been stealing circuitry to try and rebuild his mind control devices."

"It worked?"

"No, but all that metal made for a good bludgeoning weapon to take down the guard."

Edward turned to Jervis, suitably impressed. "Good job."

"Thank you."

Of course he would pull out a gun. That was just how Bruce's life worked. It was bad enough that Crane had escaped to begin with; the fact that Batman had been at Arkham during the breakout was salt in the wound. He'd been watching the Joker at the time, partly to prevent any further attempts to get out of his cell, and partly to see if he'd react violently to his makeshift lock pick being confiscated. It hadn't occurred to him that Crane should be observed as well.

It had also never occurred to him that Crane could use conventional weapons as opposed to the fear gas. Obviously, he could, but he never had. And now Batman was on the wrong end of not only a gun, but a scythe. "You know how to use that?"

Crane responded by cocking the hammer. "Do you want to test it?"

"What makes you think it'll do any damage?" It would. The Kevlar might keep the bullets from piercing his armor, but it wouldn't lessen the force of the impact. And if he hit in a spot where the plates separated, or he managed a headshot…the suit wasn't foolproof. He just hoped Crane didn't know that.

He did, unfortunately. "Oh, please. I'm not an idiot. I know the difference between the bulletproof vests in movies and how they work in real life. All I'd have to do to break through it is to hit the same spot twice."

"Do you know what the odds of that are?"

"Yes. They're low. We just discussed how I'm not an idiot, didn't we? I couldn't do it anyway." He tilted his head towards his gun-holding hand, shaking as badly as the rest of his body. "Nor could I hit you in the head. But I could hit your body. And that would incapacitate you long enough for me to get this straight against your head and fire again."

He had no idea how much experience Crane had with a gun, but he was right. Shaking or not, it would be almost impossible to miss at such close range, and the act of stepping back might provoke him into firing. Still, just because Crane was correct didn't mean he had to let him know that. "You're assuming this is ordinary Kevlar."

"It isn't?" His tone didn't let slip whether he believed the lie or not, but he bit his lip, thinking. "Tell me Batman, how did you get out here?"

"We've been through this." He wished he had some means of distraction, a diversion that would allow him to get the gun from Crane's hand. But he couldn't risk it now, especially given the man's tremors. The chances of one of them being accidentally shot were far too high.

"Not how you knew to come here, how you got here. The method of transportation. Did you drive?"

"Yes?"

He smirked. "In your Batmobile?"

"That's not what it's called."

"But you drove it?"

"Yes." Crane giggled. The fact that driving the Tumbler in broad daylight was absolutely ridiculous had not escaped Bruce's notice, but what was he supposed to do, take one of his cars out? The license plate numbers could be traced. "What's your point?"

"My point." He stood, gun still pointed at Batman, the scythe nearly falling from his other hand. It was still bandaged, and he likely couldn't grasp well with it, considering the extensive injury. He held it tighter, almost hugging it against his body. "My point is that I need to go back into Gotham and get things, and you're going to drive me."

Unbelievable. It was bad enough that a man too weak and shaking too badly to fight had managed to keep Bruce from subduing him. Essentially requesting that Batman chauffer him around the city was too much. "The only place I'm driving you is back to Arkham."

"You might want to remember which side of the gun you're on, before you refuse."

"Try it," he said, with far more confidence than he felt. If Crane hit him, it would take him down, but it was a gamble he'd have to make.

Crane, however, didn't shoot. His arm lowered slightly, though still aiming the weapon at Batman. "No. You're almost certainly lying about the armor's ability to withstand gunfire, but I'd rather not chance things and get tackled before I can shoot again."

"Then you've got nothing to manipulate me with."

"Yes, I do." His eyes glittered. "There's always your one rule."

And before Bruce could ask what that meant, he'd turned his wrist, bringing his shaking hand forward until the barrel of the pistol came to rest against his chest, under the blade of the scythe. Right over his heart.

"Don't—"

"Don't come near me." Crane stepped back, gun remaining in place. "Letting me shoot myself is essentially killing me, is it not? And you won't let that happen. So when I say you're driving me, I mean it."

Goddamn it. "You wouldn't do it."

"Wouldn't I? If I go back to Arkham, I'm dead. So it's either get out of the city, or die. And I'd rather kill myself than let the Joker get a hold of me." The spark had gone from his eyes, leaving them cold, icy. "Look at me and try telling me I wouldn't."

"It doesn't have to be this way. You—"

"Your car. Now." Keeping his eyes on Batman, he made his way toward the door. "Let's go."

AN: When Batman refers to other things going on in the city, he means the other Arkham breakouts. The Nigma/Isley/Tetch bit actually occurs at an earlier time than the Bruce/Jonathan confrontation.

All of Tetch's lines come from either Alice in Wonderland or Through the Looking Glass. He is ridiculously hard to do dialogue for. If he keeps being featured prominently, I think he'll start speaking like a normal person. Part of the time, anyway.