AN: It's like a thousand degrees in my lounge right now, with the doors open. I'm not sure what's up with that, but I wish it wouldn't be.

Thanks for the reviews!

"Jonathan?"

He tilted his head back, forcing himself not to blink in an attempt to dry the tears out before they could leave his eyes. It didn't work. Of course. He'd lost control of everything else in the world right now, why should his body be any different?

"Jonathan?"

There was a hand on his shoulder and he stood, brushing it away. Contact from his friends, he noticed, was becoming every bit as painful as contact from everybody else. "It's…I'm…could I have a minute alone?"

Nigma and Isley glanced at each other, then back to Harley. She shrugged, looked him over as the others glanced around the bathroom. There were no windows, no door save for the one leading back into the hall. No chance of sneaking out when no one was looking. Yet they still looked unconvinced. Probably thinking that the mirror could be broken and used as a weapon, or something.

"Just a minute." He swallowed, hard, forced himself to say it. "Please."

"Are you sure you don't want someone with you?" Harley asked, still using that psychiatrist's tone. If his emotional state hadn't been such a whirlwind at the moment, Jonathan was fairly sure he would have been pissed off. If there was one thing he hated, it was being talked down to, and while he doubted that was Harley's intention, that's exactly what she was doing.

He shook his head 'yes,' wiping his face with the back on his hand, head lowered so the tears would be less visible. "Only for a minute. I just…need to be alone. Please."

She nodded, beckoning the other two to follow her out into the hall. Nigma lingered in the doorway, turning back to face Jonathan. "When you're ready to talk, we'll be right out in the hall, all right?"

He gave another nod, feeling that a 'thank you,' 'okay,' or something similar would be appropriate at the moment but unable to make himself say it. It was hard enough to keep from sobbing as things were. Nigma watched him for a second longer, before walking off, shoulders heaving as he did as if holding in a sigh.

Jonathan let him get about five steps from the door before slamming it shut and locking it.

He leaned against the door. There was no way, he knew, that this was going to accomplish anything. There was no way out, and while he might have water, there was no food and he was starved enough as it was. He supposed if he really wanted to avoid Arkham he could smash the mirror and slit his throat with the glass, but it didn't seem worth the effort. Already there were slams against the door and yelling from the outside, and if they heard the sound of broken glass, they'd break down the door in a heartbeat. He hadn't achieved anything, besides prolonging the inevitable and angering everyone else.

Still, putting a barrier between himself and the rest of the world gave the slightest sensation of being in control again, and he was going to hold onto that with all he had.

The moment the bedroom door was closed, Batman threw the Joker onto the floor, pinning him down with a boot against the back as he pulled the blankets of the bed that hadn't been vomited on. Bed sheets didn't work nearly as well as a rope would, obviously, but he was able to hogtie the clown fairly tightly. The Joker would likely be able to get out—no method of restraint seemed to hold him for long—but it would take effort, and he could put a stop to it if it began.

"Why does it not surprise me," the Joker asked, rolling onto his side to face him, "that you're into bondage?"

He didn't dignify that with a response.

"Not the best position to choose, I'd have to say." He rolled again, onto his back. The added pressure of having his limbs underneath him couldn't have been pleasant, but if he felt discomfort, he didn't show it. "If I were you, I'd have gone with something Japanese…karada, maybe. Yeah, that's a good one. Anyway, this position runs the risk of asphyxiation, but hey. Maybe you're into that."

"Enough."

"I quite agree. Never was one for foreplay myself, much." He noted Batman's less-than-amused expression and laughed. "You really can't take a joke, can you?"

"I can when they're funny."

The Joker pouted. "Now you're just being mean. You can't just go dashing people's ambitions like that, Bats, it'll give 'em issues." His eyes moved toward the door as he chewed on one of the scars. "Speaking of issues, aren'tcha worried about the uh, Leigon of Doom out there?"

"No." They weren't going to leave. Of that he was certain. If they'd broken out to find Crane and then return to a life of crime, they would have made a break for it when Batman was distracted with containing the Joker. The fact that they were still there meant that, unlikely as it seemed, they wanted to go back to Arkham.

He wasn't sure why it surprised him that the villains were holding an intervention. Criminal or not, it seemed everyone felt affection—Well, maybe not everyone, he amended, glancing at the clown at his feet—and it's not as if protecting a friend absolved people of their misdeeds. But even so, the fact that they were willing to go back to the asylum themselves to make sure Crane went stunned him, slightly.

Well, that wasn't the point. At the moment, the other rogues were under control and the issue at hand was dealing with this scourge on humanity. As his luck would have it, Jonathan Crane had been absolutely right about his safety where the Joker was concerned, and the doctor could not be returned to Arkham until this disaster was dealt with. Which was where he needed to be—anyone who initiated what was essentially Russian roulette with the Joker needed psychiatric help, badly. The whole poisoning people thing didn't help either.

"Soooo…you brought me back here and tied me up why, exactly? "Cause lemme tell you, if you're thinking what I'm thinking, you really should have bought me a drink first."

"You're going to stop this."

"Stop what? You gotta be specific, Batsy. The flirting, the breaking out, the attention seeking, the attempted murder, the weapon stealing, what?" He shifted uncomfortably, and Batman got the feeling he'd been counting off on the fingers pinned underneath him.

"Crane never sought out my attention, and you know it."

"Doesn't matter. The point is, he got it. So he's getting torched."

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, reminding himself that kicking the Joker in the throat would get them nowhere, even if it would be inordinately satisfying. It wouldn't be inordinate anyway; the Joker would likely ruin the effect by enjoying it. "He broke out because he was afraid you would kill him. Before that, he broke out because you broke into his cell to torment him."

"I gave him a rose." The Joker rolled his eyes, still shifting. Batman guessed that beneath his body, he was trying to undo the sheets and used his foot to push the clown back onto his stomach, exposing his hands and putting a stop to the attempt. "Most people like flowers. How was I supposed to know he'd flip out and start slicing people to ribbons?"

He wasn't going to respond to that. "Both breakouts were a direct result of threats on your part. The only reason he's getting my attention is because he broke out." He wasn't sure why he was bothering. Trying to reason with the Joker was about on par with trying to reason with a rabid dog.

"Meaning that if I backed the hell off, we wouldn't be having this little, uh, dilemma, eh?" Batman could no longer see his face, but he could tell from his tone that he was smirking. "Hate to break it to you, honey, but there'd be no fun in that."

"You're supposed to be an agent of chaos. Revenge is not chaotic."

"It's not revenge, Bats. Not anymore, anyway." He sounded almost thoughtful on the last part, pausing before he continued. "I mean, he wants me to kill him, or he wouldn't have tried the game."

"He's insane."

"So am I, and you're trying to reason with me."

This was accomplishing nothing. Logic wasn't going to appeal to the man, and he knew better than to try an emotional argument. "If you don't stop, I will never give you attention again."

"How's that?"

"Your crimes. Or anything you do to make yourself noticed. I'll stop responding. You'll be the only criminal in Gotham I don't care about."

He went into such a laughing fit that he was practically convulsing. "Oh, you wouldn't dare. First off, I'd kill off all the competition, and second, I'd be awful enough to your precious city that you'd have to stop me."

"Then I would stop you. But I'd do it without ever coming into contact with you. It's not hard to stop your men, unwire your explosives, and then seal the entrances and point the SWAT team to your location. Or shoot a net at you from a distance and leave you tied up for the police to find. I'd make it my main goal. Stopping every crime you try to pull, but you'd never see me."

"I don't believe that for a second."

"Do you care to test it?"

The Joker rolled back onto his side, opened his mouth to respond. And was cut off by the sounds of shouting from the hall outside.

Jervis's respect for Jonathan rose the instant he found the tea cabinet. Most of the kitchen had been bare, excepting for the occasional can of soup or package of Ramen, but this cabinet had been stocked from top shelf to bottom, and what's more, Jonathan used loose leaf tea. That had always been Jervis's preferred method; he'd take the tea bags if nothing else was available—such as at Arkham—but the loose kind was far superior, as far as he was concerned.

And there was a teapot. Jervis could have kissed the man, though he doubted that would end well, given Jonathan's current state. Not that he would have taken it well under any circumstances. Jervis could tell by the way he tensed every time someone lay a hand on him that he detested physical contact and only just tolerated it from his friends. That was beside the point, anyway. Perhaps water boiled in a microwave was no different than water boiled in a teapot, but Jervis was of the mind that the only decent tea came from the latter. That was the reason so many held tea in such low regard; they'd never had a good cup of the stuff.

He set the pot on the stove, leaving it to boil as he considered the options. And to think Jonathan had said he 'supposed' there was tea. The man had enough to supply an army, were an army capable of sustaining on only tea. He was partial to the rosemary himself, but given Jonathan's current state, it was likely better to go with the chamomile.

He sat that out and went looking for the teacups. Upon discovery, they were somewhat disappointing; a disorganized set that didn't match. Still, they were all clean and in one piece, which he supposed was all one could really require of a teacup. Jonathan couldn't be trusted with one at the moment, of course; firstly, it was breakable, and secondly, the man was still shaking as if he'd come face to face with a Jabberwock, he'd spill the cup's contents all over himself. No, he'd have to find a water bottle, or something akin to it. In Jervis's opinion that was no way to enjoy tea, but the situation allowed for some disruption of ceremony.

He was searching for that kind of glass when the shouting started. Deciding it was best not to get involved without knowing the situation, he made his way to the door of the kitchen and stopped there, listening into the hallway. It appeared Jonathan had locked himself in the bathroom. Unsurprising, honestly. Whose idea had it been to leave him unsupervised? Had he been there, he would have advised them against it. Of course, people tended to go selectively deaf when he spoke, unless they were familiar with the genius Lewis Carroll. And even then, he was often ignored.

Much as he loved his friends, he had the sense to realize they were absolutely clueless about some things, this intervention being one of them. He supposed being detached from the conversation gave him an insight the others were lacking. This insight being that this was not the way to go about things, and likely to make the situation worst.

Well, then, it was up to him to fix things, wasn't it? They wouldn't be happy, but it wasn't avoidable. If things carried on this way they'd break him in a way that even the best butter couldn't fix, whether it was free of breadcrumbs or not. He pulled from his pocket the cell phone that they'd taken from the car, clicking buttons until he arrived at 'compose a text message.'

I do hope I still remember Leland's number. If not, he supposed some stranger was about to receive a very confusing text.

"Open the door, Jonathan." Pam didn't shout it, but she might as well have. It occurred to Edward that this was unlikely to help matters, but trying to tell her that would be asking to get hurt.

"No."

"Stop being an idiot."

Ah, and right there went any attempt at diplomacy, right out the window. It really would not improve negotiations by insulting the narcissist.

"I could say the same to you."

Pam looked seconds from tearing the door off its hinges. While kicking the door had gotten them into the apartment, he doubted it doing it again would improve Jonathan's temperament now. Edward risked grabbing her arm before she could start shouting, and by some miracle was not struck in retaliation. "He doesn't mean that. He's only saying it because he's confused and scared."

"And an idiot," she muttered. "Jonathan, you can't stay in there forever."

"I can try."

"I give up."

Edward sighed, stepping closer to the door so he wouldn't have to raise his voice to be heard inside. "Jonathan, I know that you don't like Arkham. None of us do. But that doesn't change the fact you need to be there. Look, we're going back with you, you don't have to be afraid."

"I'm not."

"You locked yourself in a bathroom." As if Jonathan couldn't see that for himself.

"Not because I'm afraid."

Right. "All right. The point is, you're not taking care of yourself and it's where you need to go until you've got things back under control."

"I disagree."

Christ. This was about as effective as trying to use logic on a six year old. "I understand that. But we're going to take you back, so you might as well open the door and—" He caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye and stopped, turning his head.

The Batman was coming down the hall, carrying the Joker. The Joker, despite being hogtied, didn't seem to mind it, at least until he was dropped, unceremoniously, at Harley's feet. He winced, clearly out of disappointment as opposed to pain. "Hey, Bats, I thought things were just about to get good."

"Watch him," the Batman ordered a stunned-looking Harley, walking around Pam and stopping in front of the bathroom door.

Edward tensed. "What are you going to do?" Charging in there and tackling Jonathan was not going to be a good thing in the slightest, but he doubted he could stop Batman, no matter how much he wanted. His strength lay in riddles, not brute force.

"I'm going to talk to him." Edward had just enough time to register that the Batman's voice wasn't as harsh as usual, before he shoved the door open.

In movies, people breaking down doors usually shoved with their shoulder above the lock. In real life, that was rarely done, and didn't accomplish much beyond hurting the person trying. Usually, the door was kicked open, above the lock, like Pam had done, and even then it often required a crowbar or something else to break through. They were just lucky that the apartment was cheap.

The Batman, however, appeared to be of that class of ridiculously powerful human capable of shoulder-shoving the door open, and he did, disappearing inside as Edward and the others watched, too shocked to move.

AN: Karada is a style of Japanese rope bondage that involves tying a rope in a web around the body. You can see a picture of it on Wikipedia if you search "body rope harness." The picture does not contain nudity, but be warned that many of the pages that link off of it do.

The Legion of Doom is from Challenge of the Super Friends, led by Lex Luthor and compromised of villains from several different comics. The Riddler, Scarecrow, and Solomon Grundy were the Batman villain members.

Chamomile tea is a mild sedative. The Jabberwocky, sometimes referred to as Jabberwock, is a monster in Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass. Using the best butter to fix things is from Alice in Wonderland, when the March Hare tries to fix a pocket watch with it, and the Mad Hatter says it likely didn't work because of the bread crumbs in the butter.