AN: Major thanks to Laura, for pointing out the whole affect/effect thing I have since corrected. And to think I call myself an English major. I hung my head in shame for a bit and thought about reciting some Hail Marys as penance, until I realized that had nothing to do with grammar and used "I Before E" instead. Okay, so none of that happened. But I thought about it.

Thanks for the reviews!

Crane decided to handle this less than welcome emotional development the same way he handled any such situation: sleeping as much as possible and pretending the issue didn't exist in the time he spent awake. Easier said than done, when one was living with the Joker; he'd lost count of how many times over the next week he awoke to find the man braiding his hair or something equally ridiculous.

Still, slowly as the time went, eventually seven days passed, and his sprained ankle had healed enough to make walking without assistance possible. Which made escape that much more possible. Which was the only thought keeping him from going mad.

Unlikely, yes, extremely unlikely, but at least possible. And he figure out something that might work this time, use a plan he had more than five seconds to come up with. Maybe the Joker wouldn't see it coming. All right, that was even more implausible than getting away with it, but he could dream. Besides, getting injured again, as long as it wasn't too severely, would be a small price to pay for a shot at getting out of here. New toxins or not, he would lose what little grip on sanity he had left if he was forced to spend another two weeks this way; unable to go anywhere or do anything but lie there pathetically and force himself not to find that lip-licking thing the Joker did attractive. Not that he thought it was, not really, that was just an effect of cabin fever and nothing more. Because if it was anything more, which it wasn't, he may just have to commit ritualistic suicide.

He made his way into the living room, making note of any possible routes outside on the way. Aside from the windows, it seemed the only way out was through the front door. And, as fate would have it, since his last attempt at running away the door had been affixed with an interior lock that would only open with a key. Lovely. I suppose I must have been Hitler or something in a past life, to have to go through all this. With a sigh he sat down on the couch beside the Joker, who'd watched him make that discovery with an ever-widening smile. "When did you do that?"

"Three days ago."

"And I suppose you have the only key?"

"Of course."

"Lovely." He supposed he'd have to escape through a window now, and probably soon. Otherwise he may well wake up in a few days to find those locked as well.

"I don't see what you're so mad about," the Joker said, draping an arm over Crane's shoulders. "It's safer for you to stay inside. Look how hurt you got last time you went out."

"That was entirely your fault."

"I remember it differently."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

"You know what your problem is, kitten?" Joker asked, leaning in far too close for comfort. "You're too serious. Way too serious. Do you even try to enjoy yourself, or do you just wake up every morning and say 'I think I'll be miserable today'?"

"Excuse me if I don't like being locked up."

"You're a scarecrow, Jonny. Scarecrows aren't supposed to move around, they're supposed to be nailed to posts. Be glad I didn't try that."

He considered arguing, but decided to save himself the migraine and return to the bedroom instead. He lay on the bed for several hours before sleep came, memorizing the abstract pattern on the sheets and thinking of the many, many ways he'd like to repay the Joker for all this, should he ever gain a position of power over the clown.

When he awoke, it was dark outside. Lacking a watch, he couldn't be sure of the time, but it felt like the middle of the night, and he'd found his guesses about the hour were usually correct. Which meant the Joker could be asleep, which meant a chance at escape, or at least a chance to search the apartment for things that could be useful to aid in a breakout. Joker wasn't in the bed, but that wasn't necessarily a sign that he was awake somewhere. About every other night he ended up sleeping on the couch, whether out of a desire to be alone or merely falling asleep there, Crane wasn't sure.

He stood, cautiously, and made his way to the windows, trying to avoid stepping on the boards that creaked. Given the fine state this building was in, however, that turned out to be nearly every board, but he felt he did a reasonable job at keeping things quiet. He hoped, anyway. Not that it mattered, because the bedroom windows turned out to be impossible to open. Either through age or adverse weather conditions, he couldn't tell, the wood of the window frames had been warped badly enough to force the panes into place, not budging so much as an inch. Fantastic. Now the house itself was conspiring against him.

Holding in a sigh, he made his way toward the bathroom, hoping the window in there had fared the trials of time better. The living room light was off, another good indication the Joker was asleep in there, so he pulled the bathroom door closed, as quietly as possible, before trying anything.

This window frame appeared to be newer, and made of an entirely different wood. He supposed the window had broken at some point and the frame had to be replaced with it. It still took a ridiculous amount of force to open it, though, complete with a cringe-inducing, grating sound which indicated it hadn't been opened in a good ten years or so. It made him freeze, afraid to even breathe for fear of waking the Joker. As the minutes passed, however, he heard no movements besides his pounding heartbeat, and went on, sliding the pane the rest of the way up.

There was a screen on the other side of the glass, so rusted it practically screamed 'tetanus,' but it seemed it would be easy enough to kick out of place. After that, it was home free. True, he didn't have the pills in his possession, which was annoying, but he could always get more. He doubted Arkham's security had improved that much in his absence. Even if it had, there were still pharmaceutical companies to be robbed. He straightened up, just about to kick the screen out of the frame when a flicker of movement from the mirror caught his eye.

Crane turned his head, just barely. In his peripheral vision, he saw the reflection of the shower curtain sliding back to reveal the Joker standing there, smirking at him. In the split second after his mind processed that image, his heart skipped a beat and he had the sense to put up his hands in defense before the clown pounced.

Mercifully, he didn't feel the hard blows he'd been expecting, but rather, the Joker's hands against his ribs again, sending him into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Not that this was much better. He found himself pinned between the Joker's body and the wall, completely defenseless, enduring the torture for the better part of two minutes before he could summon enough control to slap his assailant, hard.

As Crane was not surprised to discovered, the blow had no effect, other than moving Joker away from him. He was laughing as always, his makeup smudged where Crane's hand had hit his face.

"Stop doing that," Crane managed, still catching his breath. "It's not funny."

"Gonna have to disagree with you there, scaredy cat. It's hilarious." If the clown was even angry about the new escape attempt, he didn't show it. Crane wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Most likely bad, as nothing was ever good where the Joker was concerned.

"No, it's torture."

Joker rolled his eyes. "Now you're just being ridiculous."

"Tell that to Lovecraft," he said, annoyed, crossing his arms.

His companion's face went blank. "Who?"

Christ. It was bad enough being held captive by a sociopathic terrorist. A sociopathic terrorist who didn't read, that was just insult to injury. "H.P. Lovecraft." He didn't know why he bothered. Such classic horror would be wasted on this idiot anyway. "'The Shadow over Innsmouth', 'The Rats in the Walls', that Lovecraft?"

The Joker thought about it, licking his lips as he did. "I remain in the dark."

Crane sighed. "'The Necronomicon'? 'The Call of Cthulhu'?"

There was a spark of recognition in those dark eyes. "Ah, Cthulhu, yeah. I know that guy. What about him?"

Why was it always Cthulhu people remembered? He was terrifying, yes, but so was everything else Lovecraft had ever written. Oh well. "He wrote about these creatures he saw in his nightmares. Night-gaunts, they were called. These winged, faceless abominations that would kidnap people, and they had longed, barbed tails that they used to tickle their victims into submission."

Joker stared. "That is, quite possibly, the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"It's not stupid; it's terrifying."

"If you're twelve, maybe."

Typical. If it didn't jump out and slash you in the Achilles tendon these days, people didn't find it scary. Idiots. "Whatever. Have you been standing in that shower all day?"

"Nah. Only for a few minutes, I came in here when I heard you get up. It was incredibly obvious you'd try leaving again, sorry. You can't disguise your emotions at all." He crossed to the window and shut it. "Is being here really so horrible?"

"Do I even have to answer that?"

"Look, Jonny, I've been nice to you so far. Very nice, considering how you haven't returned the favor at all. But I feel this may be a good time to, uh, remind ya that I don't have to be. I've been lenient about your attempted breakouts up until now, but try it again, and I'll find an axe and go Annie Wilkes on you."

Annie Wilkes. He almost smiled. So the man had read some decent horror after all. Or at least watched it. Then he abruptly remembered that that was a threat, and went back to fearing for his life. "Fine. I won't try to leave again."

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going stargazing."

"Stargazing?" he repeated drily. He couldn't picture that. Watching stars required an attention span; something the clown did not have, as far as he'd seen.

"Got a problem with that?"

"No."

"Good. I'd invite you to come, but you'd probably try and throw yourself off the roof or something stupid."

Because suicidal and 'wanting freedom' are the exact same thing. He shook his head as the Joker brushed past him, opening the door and stepping into the hall. "CanI ask you something?"

He turned. "You just did."

"What do you plan on doing with the laughing gas anyway?" It had been bothering him for a number of days now. No doubt it was something horrible, and while he had no moral objections to that, it would still be nice to know.

The Joker shrugged. "Dunno. I haven't thought about it yet."

Crane tried not to gape. "What?"

"Haven't thought of it yet. I'll let you know when I do. What?" he added, blinking at Crane's incredulous expression, as if he was the one being irrational.

"You kidnapped me to make a toxin you don't even know what you're going to do with yet?"

"Well, yeah. It's what I do. Is that all, or do you want a kiss good night or something?"

Crane blushed, stepping out of the bathroom himself and wandering back to the bedroom, muttering something about how he really should be getting back to sleep. He could tell the Joker was smirking without looking at him.

So I'm making a deadly chemical for no reason, he reflected, lying on the bed and staring up at nothing in particular. And enduring all of this crap because of it. Great. That's just great. He tried not to dwell on it, closing his eyes and waiting for sleep. There was no point in dragging himself down over things he couldn't change.

Which was exactly what he tried to tell himself the following morning, when he awoke to find he'd been snuggling against the Joker in his sleep again. He couldn't change the movements of his unconscious body, he knew, but that didn't make him feel any less betrayed by himself.