AN: PMs and alerts still aren't working. So you all know the drill; use the email if you want to contact me.

Thanks for the reviews!

Harley was going to be sick.

She leaned her elbows against the table, taking another sip from her milkshake before giving up and taking her mouth off the straw. She wasn't hungry or thirsty to begin with, and the thing tasted like death. Icy, creamy death. Who'd come up with ginger milkshakes? The idea was an abomination against the concept of frozen foods.

She'd been drinking it to try and settle her stomach, because ginger was supposed to have that effect, and it looked as if they'd be stuck in this ice cream shop for a while, thanks to Edward. And to think he'd lectured her for wasting time back when they were getting clothes. Upon realizing Pam's plan to hunt down Jonathan was to go through every apartment complex in the Narrows, room by room, he'd demanded they stop the car to go get milkshakes. Why, Harley wasn't quite sure. It had something to do with the fact that Jonathan liked milkshakes and to figure out where Jonathan was he'd have to get into his mindset, and a long, mumbled explanation she'd hadn't caught all of as he got out of the car.

She raised her head, bangs hanging in her eyes, to watch as Edward pace around the floor, looking displeased with each drink he took from his butterscotch milkshake. Edward hated butterscotch, but apparently it was one of Jonathan's favorites and it was imperative to do things his way. He was pacing in a very Jonathan-reminiscent matter, she had to give him that. She had no idea how it would help things in the least, but it was a good imitation.

Another wave of nausea hit her and she put her head on the cold surface of the table, suppressing a moan.

Across the booth there was the sound of someone sitting down. "It was all very well to say "Drink me," but the wise little Alice was not going to do that in a hurry."

Harley looked up again, wincing against the sun from the opposite window. "Hello, Jervis." He sat across from her, flipping a cell phone open and closed, over and over. They'd found the cell phone in the car's glove compartment, along with the cash they'd used to pay for the drinks. Oh, I'm not in the Lewis Carroll mood. She'd never even read the books, only seen the Disney film.

"If you drink much from a bottle marked "poison," it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later."

For a moment she had no idea what he was talking about, until she noted the concerned expression on his face. "It's not the shake. I'm just…worried."

Worried hardly covered it. She had the same concern for Jonathan's well-being as the others, and then some. Everyone had seen the aftermath of the Joker's attack on him, only she'd seen it happen. And still couldn't help but shudder every time she remembered it, as if it hadn't been four months ago, but four minutes. She no longer felt anger at Jonathan for betraying her, partly because the Joker'd assured her that it meant nothing, and partly because she couldn't bring herself to be angry at him, not after how he'd suffered. And when the Joker got out and found him—which she knew he would—it was going to be awful.

Jonathan, why did you have to run? Awful couldn't begin to describe what the Joker would do now, when he caught him. He should have stayed at Arkham. He would have been hurt, yes, hurt badly, but she knew from experience that was better than trying to avoid it. Running was like waving a red flag to the Joker. The more desperate one was to get away, the worse the retaliation would be. And she didn't want Jonathan to suffer anymore, even if he had betrayed her. He was her first real friend at Arkham, and she loved him too much to see him go through that. If he gets hurt, I don't know what I'll do. I really don't. She loved the Joker more than life itself, but if he killed Jonathan…she didn't know how she could ever forgive that.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," Jervis said, though his tone was gentle, and he put the phone down on the table and placed his hand on hers. "A great girl like you, to go on crying in this way!"

Harley blinked. She wasn't sure, but judging from the tone she expected that was his way of saying 'cheer up.' It was touching, though it did little to abate her anxiety. "Thanks."

He opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by Edward, who'd stopped mid-pace, slamming his free hand onto their table. "I've got it!"

Harley jumped.

"Got what?" Pam demanded, whipping her head in their direction, hair spinning out behind her.

"Where Jonathan's at, of course. Come on, let's go."

I will never understand how he does that, Harley reflected, as she stood, feeling sick as ever.

As far as the Joker's schemes went, this wasn't quite as bad as the time he'd rigged the ferries to blow, at least not hypothetically. There, there had been a huge chance of mass, indiscriminate death. And even if he atoned for all his previous transgressions and spent the rest of his life helpful as a saint, Bruce would never forgive him for what he'd done to Rachel and Harvey.

Still, it was hard to reflect on those crimes when he was standing there, over a psychotic in the middle of a panic attack, as they were both threatened by the Joker with a flamethrower. At the moment, this was easily viewed as the worst of his plans.

"How did you know we were here?" He shifted slightly, blocking Crane from the Joker's line of fire. The one good thing about the clown was that his obsession with Batman was easily exploited; he doubted Joker would fire directly at him. Which not only gave him the opportunity to keep them from going up like a matchbox, but to keep his promise to Crane. If they lived through this, he'd need to be on the doctor's good side, or he had the feeling he'd suffer long and hard for getting them into this position in the first place.

"Funny thing about that," the Joker said, spinning the pistol in his fingers. "I was actually expecting to have a hard time tracking down the little whore—"

From behind him, Crane moaned softly.

"But it would seem luck was on my side. All I had to do was call up my men, so I could tell 'em to set up a perimeter, you know, keep any strawmen from leaving town, and before I could get a word in they told me the Batman's car's just sitting in the Narrows." He smirked. "Really, didya think anybody wouldn't notice that? I think some kids have even tagged it by now. Anyway, I got down here, thinking I'd have to, uh, search every surrounding building room by room, and lo and behold—" He held up the gun. "This drops out of the sky. I think you're losing your touch, Batsy. You might as well as put the Bat signal in the window. I mean, you didn't even lock the door."

Hell. So that's how he'd gotten in without setting off the traps or being heard. "And you have a flamethrower." Why in God's name were those legal for civilians to possess? Not that the Joker would have gotten it through legal means.

He nodded enthusiastically, like a dog. "Yeah. Because you have a scarecrow, see?"

Beside him Jonathan Crane pulled a sheet over his face and retched into it. He reemerged, face whiter than Bruce would have thought humanly possible and hyperventilating. So he'd been absolutely right about the 'Arkham not being safe to return to' thing. Wonderful.

"If you set that off in here, you'll kill everyone. Yourself included." He wondered if he could throw a Batarang before Joker could fire the gun or flamethrower in retaliation. One hit to the head could take him down, but in an enclosed space like this, a stream of fire would do catastrophic damage, if not kill them outright.

"Thought of that, Bats. I'm not a complete idiot." He pointed behind Batman, to Crane's huddled form on the bed. "I'll be taking him outside before the fun starts."

"You're not touching him."

The Joker pouted, and if there was any genuine hurt in the expression, Bruce couldn't see it. "Why not? You already had your fun with him." He paused for a moment, tensing as his expression dropped, scars turning down. "Tell me, what did he do to make you laugh? I heard the last part, but I didn't get it, and uh, frankly I'm having a hard time figuring out what Jonny could do to amuse anything. I mean, he's got all the humor of a corpse."

Bruce could only stare. Was he jealous? Of all the insane…of all the pathetic…there were just no words for it. It was bad enough that he was caught in the middle of this psychotic feud; the fact that the fighting itself seemed to be over his attention was the icing on the cake. "Put down the weapons and I'll tell you."

"Yeah, sorry but no. Like I said, I'm not an idiot."

That's one interpretation. The entire idea was so idiotic and childish he wanted to say something about it. But that would only provoke the Joker further. "Then you're not going to find out."

"Fine," he said, pouting again. "I'll get Jonny to tell me on the way out of doors."

"You're not getting near him."

"I disagree. Hey, Jonny." The Joker actually snapped the fingers of his free hand, as one would call a dog. "C'mere. I might do this faster if you cooperate."

So it would come down to a fight. Of course. As always. He slipped into a defensive stance, trying to decipher the best way to take down the clown without signing all their death warrants. "I'm giving you one last chance to—"

"Enough."

Batman stopped mid-word, turning. Jonathan Crane had slipped off the bed, standing up, the scythe in his hands. "Enough," he repeated, eyes focused on the Joker with a defeated, near dead look. "You want to kill me? Fine. But you'll have to earn it first."

He hadn't been sure what the Batman and the Joker had said to each other. After his mind had registered that the Joker was in the doorway and that, given Batman's reaction, this wasn't a hallucination, his reasoning capabilities shut down for a while. All he knew was that his two greatest enemies were in the same room, and that whatever happened, he was going to be hurt, badly.

It wasn't until he thought his heart would give out from beating so quickly that Scarecrow had emerged. Jonathan, we've got to do something.

What, kill ourselves? His eyes flicked to the scythe on the bed, long forgotten by the Bat, before he registered that the Joker had said something about burning him alive and was unable to hold back the bile rising in his throat. Once he'd finished gagging, Scarecrow spoke again.

If it comes down to that, yes. But I've got an idea.

Now here he was, holding the blade of the scythe to his throat to keep the Batman from advancing. It was eerily similar to the time Joker had done this to him in Arkham, and the thought of that night sent a shiver through his body, metal pushing into his skin.

"Earn it?" Joker repeated, rolling the words around on his tongue. "And, uh, how do you propose I do that, Jonny?"

"Living room. I'd rather not discuss this in a place that reeks of vomit."

"And whose fault is that?" Still, he stepped out of the room, swinging the pistol again.

"Crane—"

He turned to the Batman, pushing harder on the metal and feeling blood on his neck. "Living room. Now." He did so, Crane following close behind.

"I propose that you and I play a game," he said to the Joker, as he stepped through the door, the pair regarding him in confusion.

The clown's eyes lit up. "What kinda game?"

"A game to decide my fate. If I win, I leave and you never bother me again. If you win, I'll let you kill me without struggle—provided," he added, "that you either shoot me or slit my throat. I'm not going to stand there and take a burning."

Batman made a sound that was doubtless the start of a protest. Joker pointed the gun in his direction. "And how does this game work?"

Crane noted his position, took a few steps back toward the center of the room. He didn't need Scarecrow to explain the rules to him, he understood. There really was no Scarecrow at this moment, nor a Jonathan, the events had merged them. "At this moment, I'm an equal distance between you and the door. Six or seven steps, give or take."

"And?" His voice sounded impatient, but his eyes were still sparkling.

"You try and guess something about me, at this moment. It can't be about something that happened months ago. It has to be now. For every guess you get right, I step toward you. For each incorrect one, I step toward the door. If I get to the door first, I go and you leave me alone. If I get to you first, you kill me."

Joker laughed.

"That's suicide." The Batman ventured another step forward, Crane held up the scythe in defense. He knew how to use it, growing up a farm boy, and he knew it could be an effective weapon as long as he didn't let the Bat get hold of it. Batman seemed to realize this as well, or remember the Joker's gun. Either way, he stopped.

"I know that," he said quietly, eyes not leaving the Joker. But they didn't have many alternatives. What was he supposed to do, let the pair fight it out? Flamethrower plus closed apartment plus violence equaled death, and even if the Batman won, he'd just bring him back to Arkham where he'd be killed. It was either freedom or death, and this way, the death could be on his terms, relatively short and painless.

And anyway, the Joker didn't know him. Not truly. He pretended to sympathize with people, but he didn't really know. There was a chance the Joker would fail, and he was going to take it. "Do you accept?"

"You really have lost it." There was pride in the Joker's voice, at the madness he thought he'd caused. But this wasn't madness. It was his only hope. "Yeah, I'll accept."

"Wait." Batman tried stepping forward again, and the Joker, smirking, pointed the gun at his head. There was no way he could miss at this range, and Bats knew it. Not that he particularly wanted to splatter the wall with Bat brains—though it'd be a marked improvement over the wallpaper—but the game Jonny had proposed sounded ridiculously entertaining.

"Don't interrupt, Batsy." He shot a glance to Jonathan, giggled. The silly little narcissist honestly believed he didn't wear his heart and thoughts on his sleeve. As if he was above it somehow, as if Joker wouldn't be able to read him like a book. This was just too good. It was even better than seeing the gun fall onto the fire escape. What were the odds that Jonny's little nervous breakdown would play right into his hands like this?

"I'm not interrupting." Joker heard him swallow, as if unsure. He didn't like that. His Batman should always be sure, unless he was the one causing the uncertainty. "I'm playing too."

Joker stared, and sensed Jonathan was doing the same without looking. "What?"

"I'm playing. And if he gets to me before he gets to you or the door, you're both going back to Arkham and you're leaving him alone. Got it?"

Oh, how deliciously thick his friend could be. As if beating Crane into submission every once and a while gave him anywhere near the insight Joker had. There were some things you learned about a guy from fingering him that you simply couldn't learn by mere fistfights. "Yeah, I'm fine with that. Jonny?"

"Why not?" His voice was flat again. It seemed he'd stopped caring about his survival. Fantastic. Joker couldn't keep from giggling again. He knew he'd broken Crane, but he hadn't known he'd done it so well. Don't know my own strength.

The interesting thing about Saint Lucia was that there were two stories regarding how she'd lost her eyes. One was fairly straightforward; she'd lost them when she was martyred. Lucia called off a marriage to a rich nobleman, determined to stay chaste for the Lord. Her would be husband had reported her as a Christian to the emperor, and she was to be put to death. When the guards came to take her away, she was so filled with the Holy Spirit that even a team of oxen couldn't move her, as resilient the Joker was sure his beloved Batman would be. They tore out her eyes but she could still see, and stabbed her in the throat but she could still talk.

The other story regarding Lucia's lost eyes was his favorite, however. It started much like the first; she'd wanted to remain a virgin and had many rich suitors interested in her. This story, however, took a turn for the macabre a bit earlier, when Lucia had a particularly insistent suitor who'd fallen for her based on her beautiful eyes. So Lucia, to be left in peace, had torn her eyes out and sent them to him as a gift.

Joker loved that story. He'd thought about it once, in Arkham, regarding whether or not he wanted to rip Jonny's eyes out or not. But he'd never expected Jonathan to actually offer his eyes up. Or his life. That was just a thousand times better. This was going to be so much fun.

"All right then, let's get this show on the road."

AN: As always, Tetch's dialogue is from Lewis Carroll. I love Lewis Carroll. The fact that he (as well as JM Barrie) might have been asexual also gives him a million awesome points.

No, I didn't make up the second Saint Lucia story. That's an actual version of how she lost her eyes.

Jonathan's game is modified by one played by Malcolm and Cole in The Sixth Sense, when Malcolm's trying to get Cole to sit down and talk to him for the first time. It's the only Shyamalan movie that doesn't make me want to hurt things. Though it's still ripped off, like all his movies. From an Are You Afraid of the Dark episode, no less.