AN: I've been noticing a common worry among reviewers who also read my other fic, Mad Friends, namely the relationship itself and the lack of Harley, and decided today's author's note would be a good time to address them. First, Harley fans, don't worry, we'll be hearing from her again!

As for the relationship itself, I don't believe Joker really has any love for Jonathan, or taunts him out of lust. I'm not actually sure if the Joker is even capable of love, at least not in the standard sense of the word. Rather, I see him using the relationship between them as a way to screw with Crane's emotions, much like he messes with everyone else he interacts with, and is only doing so in a romantic way because he knows Crane isn't experienced in love and won't see it coming. Nor do I really see Crane as having much feeling for the Joker, at least not at first, and the romance from his side would come from curiosity, knowing the Joker's up to something but not knowing what.

And now with that novel over, I'd just like to say thank you for the reviews and on with the chapter!

Crane awoke to find himself lying on his stomach in bed, head turned to the side and against a pillow. As far as he could tell, his arm was back in the socket, though still sore. There was a weight on his legs which he realized, after a moment, could only be the Joker sitting on top of him, and a strange sensation on his back that he couldn't place at first. "Are you…writing on me?"

"Yep. Shut up and don't move, I'm almost done and this is hard enough already."

"Hard?" he repeated, raising a brow. "I've been lying here unconscious." He didn't think he'd been thrashing around in his sleep, or at least he couldn't remember any nightmares. "How hard can that possibly be, unless you're illiterate?"

"Quiet." The Sharpie, or whatever the Joker was using, shoved almost painfully into his skin, and the clown actually sounded offended, albeit lightly. Crane wondered if the man was learning disabled or something similar. "There. Finished."

"Do I even dare to ask what you've written?"

"Scarecrow, Scarecrow, how scary can ya be? You scared all your patients, but ya didn't scare me!" the Joker recited, sliding off of him and onto the mattress.

"And you felt it necessary to write on me why, exactly?" Crane asked, rolling over. He sat up, wincing, and regarded the ankle he'd sprained before. It was wrapped now, the bandages visible from beneath pants he had certainly not been wearing when he passed out. So the clown had taken his clothes off in his sleep. Fabulous. He'd probably become a victim of sexual assault, too.

"I dunno. 'Cause you're there."

"Oh, your logic is stunning. Thank you for explaining, it makes perfect sense now." He spotted a sweater lying on the blanket by his feet and grabbed it, pulling it over his head.

Joker laughed. "I re-located your arm for ya, by the way. You're welcome."

"Seeing as how you're the one who dislocated it to begin with, you'll forgive me if I don't kneel at your feet with gratitude."

"C'mon, Jonny, ya can't hold that against me. Ya made me do it, through your actions. Besides, I figure I got the point across, and I won't have to do it anymore if ya don't try running again."

"Because you always had a reason for hitting Harley, right? Beyond 'I was pissed and she was there'?" he asked, glaring. It was bad enough that he was still stuck here, he didn't want to listen to ridiculous attempts at justification.

The Joker wrapped an arm around his shoulder, making the space between them far smaller than Crane would have liked. "Do ya have to be so gloomy all the time? Look, I don't want there to be any hard feelings between us on this, okay? I mean, we're cool, right?"

"Er…no."

"Aw, don't be that way." Joker straightened, letting him go. "Hey, what if I said I had pizza?"

Crane stared at him. Abrupt shift in discussion much? Perhaps he wasn't learning disabled, just incredibly ADHD."Pizza?"

"Yeah, I ordered some while ya were out." He slid off the bed, standing. "I'll be right back. I'd say don't go anywhere but, uh," he glanced at Crane's bandaged ankle, "I don't think ya will, right?"

"If only," he muttered, watching the Joker disappear down the hall. He considered making a break for it, though not seriously. He was in pain just sitting there; he didn't want to think about trying to run. Besides, he had enough to work through mentally. What's he playing at? he wondered, thinking back to the kiss last night. The irritating, mock-friendly behavior was nothing new, and it wasn't the first time the Joker had kissed him, but the bizarre focus he'd put on sexuality last night, that was different.

It was entirely possible, of course, that it was just the latest in the Joker's methods of screwing with him. He sincerely hoped it was just the latest method of screwing with him, because the other option was unthinkable. And ridiculous. There was no way the Joker was acting on genuine feelings for him; he doubted the Joker had genuine feelings for anyone, aside from his twisted fascination with Batman. No, this had to be some sort of joke, something like "Make Crane question his sexuality and then laugh at him for being so gullible." Yes, something like that.

Well, whatever he was planning, it wouldn't work. Crane could play mind games every bit as well as the Joker; that's what the Scarecrow did, after all. Just because he was coming from what he considered a romantic viewpoint, something Crane wasn't especially versed in, didn't mean he was going to fall for it. What did the clown expect, him to go starry-eyed and weak in the knees for the maniac, just so he could laugh in his face? Well, Batman would expose his identity before that would happen. He doubted he'd ever feel anything beyond contempt for the Joker, attractiveness aside.

Wait…did I just think of the Joker as attractive? What the hell? Dear God, he had to get out of this place, as soon as he could walk again. It was warping his mind. He was casting about for something to slam his head against, to beat such thoughts out of his skull, when the Joker returned, plate in hand.

"It's got anchovies," he said, dropping onto the bed next to Crane and handing it over.

"So?"

"So ya like anchovies," Joker said. "And I remember 'cause every Italian Night in Arkham, ya bitch like a little girl that they don't have that. Don't try to deny it."

He sighed, staring at the pizza and wondering whether or not it was drugged. "I don't 'bitch', I merely comment on the lack of variety that—"

"Replace 'comment' with 'bitch', and I completely agree. Are ya gonna eat that or do I have to feed it to ya?"

He took a bite and refused to admit to himself that it tasted good. "Satisfied?"

"Yep." The Joker leaned to his side, head on Crane's shoulder. "So we're friends again, right?"

"You almost broke my arm!"

"And ya almost broke my skull, which is a hell of a lot worse, but I got over it. C'mon, I gave ya pizza, didn't I?"

This "logic" was making his head hurt. "I can't be bribed with food, I'm not five."

"Are we talking emotionally here? 'Cause if so, ya totally are. Possibly mentally too. I've heard you're a genius but, uh, for someone so smart, ya do a lot of stupid things."

"Wanting freedom is stupid?"

"The way ya went about it, yeah. But let's not argue." He pursed his lips, accentuating the Chelsea grin, eyes darting as he thought. "So…ya got a lot of scars, don'tcha?"

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

The sarcasm was either lost or the Joker chose to ignore it. Almost certainly the latter. "Well, ya do. Sorry, but I couldn't help but notice. I know that big one on your leg came from an iron…the ones on your back came from a belt, right?"

Crane could not think of one person he less wanted to discuss childhood abuse with. "Most of them, yes. That and birds."

"Birds?" Joker repeated, his tone mixed between amusement and confusion.

He did not elaborate.

"Huh. Well, I gave ya the ones on your stomach and the ones on your hands are self-inflicted, which leaves the ones here." His hand brushed the burn marks on Crane's cheek. "These are my favorite."

He tried pulling away, to no avail. "You have favorites?"

"Yep. And I'm pretty sure these are from Bats, so they're automatically best." He was still stroking Crane's face, a strange sensation since he couldn't actually feel in the places the burn had occurred.

"Who said they're from Batman?"

The Joker's hand dropped instantly. "They're not?" he said, sounding betrayed. "Where'd they come from, then?"

Like he was going to answer that. 'I got tazered in the face by that assistant DA you murdered with no effort what so ever, that's how.' Oh, that wouldn't result in hours of ridicule, definitely not. "What made you assume they came from Batman?"

"'Cause ya told Harley he ripped your mask off when he poisoned ya in Arkham. I thought ya got 'em then."

"He didn't pull my mask off with fire," Crane said, with a slight smirk. "Surely you can recognize that these are burn scars, can't you?"

"Shut up." The Joker slapped him across the face, though light enough that it didn't even sting. "They could have been extreme friction burns."

"That's not even physically possible."

"Since when does Bats care about physics? He flies, remember?"

"He does not fly." This was like speaking to a child. An insanely strong, deadly child. "He glides."

"That's what he wants ya to think," Joker said, voice heavy with admiration. "The man has powers mere mortals can only dream of. Anyway, your scars aren't nearly as interesting anymore." He shot a scrutinizing stare at Crane's face, shaking his head. "Just disappointing."

"They're the exact same as they've always been."

"But they're not Bat-scars."

"Whatever." He held in a sigh. "I don't like them, anyway."

"Whaddya mean ya don't like them?" Joker asked, suddenly serious. He straightened up, making steady, unblinking eye contact. "Ya have to appreciate your scars, Jonny. They're important. Know why people scar? To remind 'em of where they've been, or help 'em learn from their mistakes. Your scars are a part of ya, ya can't just ignore 'em."

Well, that was more philosophical than he'd thought the Joker could be. "You just said you didn't like them."

"Yeah, but they're not mine. It's okay for me to say it."

"You like your own scars, then?"

"I love my scars." Joker had hold of Crane's hand, suddenly, lifting it up and trailing his fingers across the twisted, uneven skin, and over his lips. It was smoother than he'd expect, though that may have had been due to the lipstick. His hand came away coated in red. "Ya like 'em?"

He had never before had an opinion on someone's disfigurement. "They're fine, I guess."

"Wanna know how I got 'em?" the Joker asked, grinning widely.

"No." He wasn't about to fall for that. Everyone knew you did not ask the Joker about his scars, not unless you wanted to die. Or get a matching set.

The clown pouted. "Are ya sure?"

"Very." Crane thought it wise to change the subject before he decided to tell him anyway. "Do you have a working phone now?"

"Yep." The Joker produced a cell phone from his pocket, this one black and coverless. "Why? Who do ya wanna call?"

"My chemical suppliers. You do want this toxin, don't you?"

"Ah, yeah." He handed the phone over, and Crane flipped it open and dialed, hoping Joker didn't mind that he was smearing the buttons with lipstick. He found himself biting on the nails of his free hand as it rang, unable to remember when exactly he'd started doing it. God, let them have this stuff and let them have it soon. The sooner he could make this drug, hopefully, the sooner he'd be out of here, off to do his own research. Never having to deal with the Joker again. Appealing didn't begin to cover it. Just let them have it fast. Please.

Of course, because nothing could ever go right for him, they'd have it in three weeks.