AN: To the best of my knowledge, my alerts still aren't working. So if you want to PM me, or respond to a review reply or anything, use the email link on my page. I'll let everyone know when it's working again (if it starts working again).

Thanks for the reviews!

"This," said Pam, as they slammed the trunk shut, "is one nice car."

From inside the trunk, the vehicle's owner could be heard, albeit it muffled, shouting and trying to kick it back open. A passerby gave them an odd look and Edward prayed that they wouldn't be recognized. The clothes they'd stolen were commonplace enough, he hoped, not to attract attention, though Jervis's hat stood out. Well, that couldn't be avoided.

He turned back to Pam. "Be that as it may, that little excursion just cost us another twenty minutes."

"And still no Jonathan to show for it," Harley added, as though she had room to speak. She'd spent a good quarter of an hour looking at shoes when they'd gotten disguises. And used all the gas in the minivan. They'd have had to switch vehicles anyway, police tracking down the license plate and all, but still.

Pam shrugged. "Get out of the driver's seat, Harley."

"But I like driving."

"But you suck at it. Up."

"Fine." Harley slid over into the passenger's seat, frowning slightly. "So where to?"

"No idea." Pam sat, adjusting the seat and mirror. "Any thoughts, Eddie?"

"I think if he has any sense, he'll be long gone by now."

"You worry too much." Pam watched from the rearview mirror as Jervis stepped in, taking off the second the door was closed. "Trust me, he's not leaving Gotham. None of us ever do."

'Welcome to Gotham City' the sign read. Or it had at one point, anyway. Apparently, being on the back roads offered no protection from vandalism, and it was hard to make out the original words under all the paint. Names, declarations of love or anger, gang tags, and even a Bat logo adorned the sign, layer after layer until the original blue metal was almost completely covered.

Crane felt his stomach go cold, as he glanced at it. This was going to be his last stop in the only place he'd ever regarded as a home. Where he'd worked, made a life, and made a new one when the old one shattered. And now he'd be leaving all of that behind. Of course it was necessary—to not do so would be death—but it was still hard. Despite all the torments he'd endured in Gotham, his life in Georgia had been worse, and it hurt to know he'd be leaving that behind.

"Where do you plan on going?" the Batman asked, as if reading his mind.

Idiot. The thought came instantaneously, so fast Crane couldn't be sure it was his or Scarecrow's. "As if I'm going to tell you." It would be hard enough getting away from the Bat to escape in the first place; just because the discussion had been somewhat civil didn't mean he was about to start making stupid slips. Did everyone in Gotham get their ideas about criminal behavior from bad television?

The Batman was going to come looking for him, that much Crane knew. Everyone had heard the news story of his following that corrupt businessman back to Hong Kong and bringing him in. Nowhere on Earth was safe, not if Batman knew you were there. His new life would involve a lot of running. Joy.

"Why do you care, anyway?" he asked, shaking fingers running up and down the barrel of the gun. That made the Batman nervous he knew, he could tell by the way the man's jaw tightened every time he moved the hand on the gun at all. So he was doing it as much as possible. If he was going to be afraid, the Bat would be too. "I'll be out of your city. What I do shouldn't matter anymore."

"What you do is torture people. That's not acceptable, no matter where you do it."

He didn't get it, of course. No one ever did. "So, acting as a vigilante is all right? They're both illegal."

"No one else is protecting this city. I do what I do to help people."

"So do I."

"You're insane." The words came almost before Crane had finished speaking, low and angry. He might have smiled, if the situation wasn't so miserable. It seemed the Batman's experience of the fear toxin was fresh in his memory. And that it had been a very bad trip indeed.

Good.

"No, I'm not. That's just what people like you call me to let yourself feel better about what you do."

"What I do is justice."

Crane thought of the 'hiding Harvey Dent' and 'poisoning Jonathan Crane' incidents, shaking his head. "If that makes you feel better."

"Does it make you feel better to pretend that you're sane?"

Oh, what a comeback that was. So the Batman didn't like reminders that he wasn't such a saint. He'd have to keep that in mind. "If I were insane, I wouldn't think my actions were harmful. Do you honestly think I don't know the effects of the fear toxin? I've felt it firsthand, thanks to you."

The Batman's jaw clenched again at that, but only for a moment. "You just said that you help people."

"I study fear so that I can learn to help people overcome it. I highly doubt any of my subjects were too pleased about the research."

Now Batman was shaking his head. "You can't justify torture by calling it research."

Again with the torture. Why was he the only one who could see why it would benefit humanity, in the long run? Why did no one ever understand? "I was going to save the world."

The Bat took his eyes off the road, stared at him. And to think that he lectured Crane for risking his life. "You were going to poison Gotham and sit back as it destroyed itself."

That hurt. The memory of Ra's al Ghul's betrayal was still every bit as painful as it had been the day he'd regained enough lucidity to understand what happened. Both for the betrayal itself, and the fact that he'd let himself be played into it. "That wasn't supposed to be for real," he muttered, as much to himself as to Batman.

"Even so." There was no pity in the man's voice, not anymore. Crane almost missed it. At least with the patronizing sympathy, there was less chance of getting hurt. "You were going to intimidate others to get the money to hurt more people. And the fact that you think that's justifiable proves, beyond a shadow of doubt, that you are not a well person."

"You're one to talk."

"Is that the only thing you can say in your defense?"

Crane didn't answer. What was the point? The Batman would never understand. Nobody did. That was the curse of having superior insight, to be always looked down on and regarded as mad. "Fine, so you think I'm insane. You're wrong, but I can't change your mind on that. That isn't the point."

"What is the point, then?" He sounded as if he wasn't enjoying this conversation at all. Crane wondered why he let himself be drawn into these discussions, if they pained him so badly. Perhaps the Batman was a masochist. It would certainly explain why he risked suicide swinging around the city to stop criminals. He acted as if he wanted to save Gotham, but deep down he wanted to destroy himself.

In another place at another time, Crane might have thought him interesting to analyze. But fascinating as the man was, he was still a monster to the doctor's eyes, first and foremost. He could remember every detail of his second encounter with the Bat, when he'd been forced to take the toxin, and it still made him want to scream. Intriguing though he was, he'd caused irreversible brain damage, forced Crane to live his life dependent on something, even if that something was just a pill. It was still a weakness, still something he was disgusted to have.

"The point, Batman." He said it slowly, as if it was two separate words. "The point is that if I stay at Arkham, I die. And don't suggest that the Joker won't kill me because I entertain him. The man has more mood swings than a premenstrual teenager, and anyway, that's not any more appealing of a prospect than death."

"So you're going to run away."

"Yes." He pushed the gun harder against himself, ignoring the pain it caused. "Stop saying it as though it's something cowardly. It's the only thing keeping me from torture or death. It's the logical thing to do, and if you try and take me back to Arkham, you will be aiding the Joker in his quest to kill me." He paused, glanced over at Batman. "Or…is that what you want? It would make your job far easier, wouldn't it? If there were less people like me to deal with. Is that why you want me to go back so badly? So that you can get me off the streets for good, without technically breaking your rule?"

He shook his head again. "You're paranoid."

"Am I? Or are you just saying that because my assessment's too close for comfort?"

"No, I'm saying it because you're sick."

Crane sighed, leaning back in his seat. "And we're back to that."

"I do not want you dead. I want you to get better." He ignored Crane's laugh at that, aside from tightening his hands on the steering wheel. "Barring that, I want you contained so you can't hurt anyone—or yourself—" he added, with a glance to Crane's hand, "anymore. I do not want the Joker to kill you."

His face flushed at the mention of his injuries and he looked away so it wouldn't show, hugging the scythe tighter than ever. The tip of the blade pushed into his opposite arm; uncomfortable, but not yet forceful enough to cut. "If you didn't want the Joker to kill me, you wouldn't want me to go back."

"I was watching the asylum," the Batman said, through clenched teeth. "Why do you think the Joker hadn't broken out? Did you think I was lying when I promised I'd look out for you?"

"Yes."

"Well, I wasn't."

"Even if you weren't, this is the Joker we're talking about. He'd find a way." Crane gave his companion a look over, shook his head. "You're not all powerful. You can't be there every second of every day. Eventually, he'd get out, and I'd be either maimed or killed. So excuse me for wanting to avoid that."

"The Joker likes a challenge." Batman's voice had gone cold, analytical, as if he was reading from the man's Arkham file. Knowing him, he probably had copies of those files. "There'd have been a far greater chance that he'd lose interest in you if you'd stayed at the hospital. Now that you've left, he'll consider it an attack against him. He won't stop until he hunts you down."

"Do you think I don't know that?" His face reddened again, but this time with anger. "I'm perfectly aware of that, thank you very much. That's why it's imperative that I get out of Gotham, now. I'm not running from my problems, as you seem to think. I'm running from certain death."

"And from your chances of recovery."

He felt the overwhelming urge to scream at the Batman for that. If he had a test subject for every time he'd been called crazy, he'd have finished the research he needed years ago. But yelling at him would just add proof to the Bat's stupid little theory that he was mad. So he settled for placing a finger on the gun's trigger instead.

Behind the mask and the black paint those brown eyes widened. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" he asked calmly, stroking the gun with the finger of his other hand, scythe held in place by his arm.

"Don't play games with me, Crane. You're going to hurt yourself."

"Possibly."

"I thought you wanted to live."

"Ideally, yes." He moved the bandaged hand away from the gun, running it along the scythe's blade. He did it too lightly to cut, though it did leave rust on his fingers. "However, dying in a quick and relatively painless manner is far preferable to whatever the Joker's planning."

His eyes narrowed. "So you're willing to shoot yourself just to screw around with me?"

"I'm not trying to shoot myself. However, given my condition there's a good possibility that I might slip. Perhaps if you stopped making annoying little implications about me, I might let go of the trigger."

"Your illness isn't an implication."

"I disagree." But he did let go of the trigger. The chance that he may have to shoot himself remained; he'd rather die than let the Joker get hold of him, but he didn't want to accidentally fire on himself in the middle of a conversation. He glanced over at the Batman, who'd relaxed visibly. "You know what I find amusing about you?"

He didn't answer.

"You've got money. Clearly. This car alone must cost millions. So either you're rich or working for someone who is."

"What's your point?" His voice was rough again, threatening. Crane couldn't help but smirk this time. The Batman didn't like leaving clues to his identity. Maybe one day he'd give figuring out the man behind the mask a shot. But not today. That wasn't the point.

"You're loaded. And you want to help this city. It seems to me that with all your wealth, you could take care of Gotham in far better ways than dressing up like an animal and gliding through the streets. But it's not really about protecting the city, is it? Bat. Man. No, it's about thrill-seeking. It's about making yourself feel powerful. That mask isn't there to make you a symbol; it's there to hide you. Do you know what I see when I look at you? I don't see a hero. I see an irresponsible, reckless child who is willing to let others suffer because he'd rather spend his resources showing off than actually doing a damn thing to help others. A coward. That's what I see."

For a moment they drove in silence, the Batman's hands gripping the wheel hard enough that Crane could just picture the skin under the gloves going white, mouth working. And just when Crane thought he'd stunned the man speechless, he spoke.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you, Crane?"

"Enlighten me." This should be good.

"I see a vindictive, frightened little boy who has the intelligence and skill to help others, but would rather torture and waste his potential because he wants to deny his sickness rather than help himself."

It was a slap to the face. He sat for a moment, stunned, before realizing he cared what the Batman thought of him and felt slapped all over again. "I…I don't see that."

"No. I didn't think you would."

AN: The idea of Crane thinking that his experiments will help people in the long run comes from the novelization of The Dark Knight. From the novel, the world according to Jonathan Crane:

"He was sure that in five years, maybe less, he would arrive at a grand theory, one that would prove that fear was the basis for all of humanity's errors and that he could cure fear and thus usher mankind into a true Garden of Eden, one that would endure until the sun cooled. Crane envisioned himself as the benevolent ruler of the entire planet once the fear-induced borders and barriers had been eradicated and the Earth became, truly, a brave new world. He would begin by learning to induce fear and with the knowledge he gained would learn to inoculate against it."

I really like the idea of Jonathan thinking he's helping, to the point where I think I may go back and slightly alter his conversation with Harley in Mad Friends regarding his motivations to include that. I also like it because it makes Jonathan a complete narcissist, and narcissists never fail to entertain me. The funny thing about them is that they're basically untreatable, there's no way to convince them that they aren't the center of the universe.