AN: Sorry this is being posted at little later than usual, I put off homework because I'm smart like that.

Thanks, as always, for the reviews! You people are so great.

The pain in his head was proof that there was no God.

Crane had no idea what had happened last night, past a vague recollection of drinking and being in a good mood, but whatever had gone on, it had better have been worth it. Though he doubted anything could be worth this hell.

He felt the mattress shift underneath him, sending new waves of agony through his head. He'd never been hit in the skull with a sledgehammer, but he felt confident that it would feel pretty much like this. Quickly considering his options of how to handle the pain, moaning was deemed to be the most useful. It was only useful in adding to his already considerable self pity, but still. It was immeasurably preferable to getting up and actually doing something.

Oh, wait, no it wasn't. As it turned out, moaning hurt too. Dear God, he thought, what did I do to deserve this? It was more than a little hypocritical, imploring a deity he'd just decided didn't exist, but Crane didn't care. He'd sell his soul to anyone right now, if it got rid of this headache. Well, maybe not anyone. The idea of the Joker possessing his soul made him even more nauseous than he was at present. Fine, anyone but the Joker. Or the Batman. But barring that, anyone else.

"Jonny?"

Even hearing things was painful; both syllables seemed to hammer against his ears as if they had a personal vendetta. It didn't help that it was the Joker talking. If there was one person he didn't want to talk to right now, it would be the clown. He considered moaning again, but that would take effort.

"Jonny? You're not dead, right?"

Oh, how I wish. "Go 'way," he muttered, burying his face into the sheets and trying not to be sick.

"What?"

He just would not leave, would he? It figured. "Go 'way," he repeated, trying to ignore the fact that even speaking was about as painful as disembowelment. "I'm trying to die here."

"I brought you water."

He couldn't even die in peace. Lovely, just lovely. "Fuck you."

"There's also aspirin."

Crane was up in an instant, fighting back dry heaves as the room spun around him. Putting his hands out on the sheets around him to steady himself, he didn't attempt movement again until the room had stopped spinning and the pain and nausea had reduced to their normal, if still horrific, levels. "Why the hell didn't you say that to start with?"

"I tried." Looking slightly annoyed, the clown held out a hand, the pills resting in the center of his glove. Crane eyed them dubiously, doubtful that they'd be effective against agony this great.

"I'm going to need twice as much as that," he said, taking the glass from the Joker's other hand.

"That's not safe."

"Please. Who's the doctor here?"

Joker rolled his eyes. "The same idiot who decided his meds would mix with alcohol just fine. Remember where that got you?"

He didn't, actually, but he certainly wasn't about to say so. That would give his companion the opportunity to make up any ridiculous nonsense he wanted, and Crane wasn't in the mood to deal with it. "Fine." He swallowed both the pills and the entire glass's contents at once. "Coffee."

"What?"

"I want coffee. Now." It occurred to him that bossing the Joker around was about as safe as playing Russian Roulette with a fully loaded gun, but he was past caring.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, here, but weren't you the one who told me that's bad when you're hung-over?"

"It is. I don't give a fuck."

"You don't even like coffee," the Joker said, but he was standing.

"It doesn't matter if I like it or not. I need it." And God, how he did. If he had any medical equipment, he'd been willing to put an IV drip of straight caffeine in his veins right now. Which would likely kill him, but it would still be worth it.

An eternity later, or maybe just a few minutes, Crane couldn't tell, the Joker returned, mug in hand. "Do you want sugar or any—"

The coffee was out of his hand before he could sit down, Crane chugging it, not caring that he was burning his tongue. He stopped once the taste became overwhelming, wincing, and resorted to drinking like a civilized human being. Wow, this stuff was horrible. Though, if it worked, he'd be willing to forgive that.

He felt the Joker's eyes on him and turned, annoyed. "What?"

"I was waiting for a 'thanks,' or something. Just 'cause you're sick, it doesn't give you the right to be rude, kitten."

Oh, he was so not in the mood to deal with this. "Why the hell would I thank you? You're the reason I'm sick to begin with."

"Excuse me?" The clown's eyes flashed. "You're supposed to be a responsible adult. If you said drinking wouldn't hurt you, who am I to question it?"

"Oh, shut up." He drained the rest of the mug and glared at it, wondering how much damage he could do by slamming it into the Joker's head. Most likely, none at all. He still wanted to try.

"You know what I think?" The clown seemed to read his mind, taking the mug from him before he could attempt anything. "I think what you're exhibiting here is called, uh, transference. I think you're pissed at yourself for being stupid, but you're taking it out on me. That's unhealthy."

"I know what transference is."

"I'm sure you do. I just thought I'd draw your awareness to the fact that you're doing it, so you can quit. Because I really don't appreciate it." His voice went cold on the last sentence and Crane shuddered. "I mean, I kept you from drinking yourself to death last night, or breaking your skull, and was kind enough to ignore your advances, and this is how you—"

"My what?" he asked, eyes widening despite the pain it caused to be fully exposed the light.

"You came onto me like a hooker in desperate need of money for a coke fix. Honestly, if I didn't know how uptight you usually are, I'd have thought you were a whore or something." Off his companion's utterly stunned expression, he added, "Oh, and you called me hot."

"I—that's—you're…" His synapses had either stopped firing or were firing too quickly for his mind to process the information, he couldn't tell which. "You're lying."

"Cross my heart and hope to die." Joker mimed the action as he spoke. "What, still not convinced? Then tell me, scaredy cat, what do you remember from last night?"

Er…nothing, really. He vaguely recalled laughing a lot, and mentioning God or Jesus, one of the two. Had they been talking about religion or something? "I'd remember that," he said, to avoid giving a straight answer.

"Is that so?" The Joker, smirking, crossed his arms. "Well, it just so happens I taped the whole thing."

"You did not." Oh shit.

"Did so. Look, we've gotta meet with your suppliers in a couple of hours, so get dressed, okay? I'll show you exactly how ridiculous you were afterwards." He slid off the bed before Crane could argue, out the door before his companion could even pick up a pillow to throw.

Fuck, Crane thought, getting up himself. Fuck fuck fuck. If the Joker was actually willing to show him the tape, he must have done something horrendously idiotic. Christ, whatever it was, he had a feeling he'd never live it down. Goddamn it. Well, maybe it wouldn't be that bad. Though it would, it definitely would. He made his way down the hall with all the cheer of a man going to the gallows. "All right, let's get this over with."

"I dunno, Jonny." The Joker stood, camera in hand, a smile on his face that made Crane fear for his life. "I may prefer keeping you in the dark about the events of last night. It's funny, watching you freak out like this."

He glared. I will not attack the Joker. That's like asking to die. I will not attack the—okay, maybe I will, if he keeps grinning like that. "If you weren't going to show me, you wouldn't have told me about it."

"True. I might make you wait a day or two though. In your current, uh, state, I'm not sure you could manage the psychological shock."

He sighed, hands clenched tightly enough for his what remained of his nails to dig into his skin. "What do you want?"

His eyes glittered. "Kiss me again."

It figured. This was becoming so predictable. Not that it made things any less annoying. "Fine."

Joker blinked. "Seriously? You're not gonna bitch about it for the next half hour?"

Why could he never make things simple? Why did they always have to drag this out? "Do you want me to or not?" he asked, leaning in before the clown could think of another smart remark. It lasted about a minute, and despite the Joker's spectacular lack of hygiene, Crane was unnerved to realize he was actually starting to enjoy this. It made no sense; this man had kidnapped him, injured him, made his life hell in so many little ways, but this touch was gentle, soft enough to almost make him forget it. Almost.

"Satsified?"

"Yeah." He held the camera out, Crane grabbing it and holding on for dear life, in case he should change his mind. "You might wanna sit down, kitten."

He rolled his eyes, flipping it on. He tried, somewhat successfully, to ignore the flutters of unease in his stomach as the camera slowly flickered to life. It can't be that bad, can it?

About ten minutes later he had his answer. Yes. Yes, it could. His face flaming so badly he could almost feel the blood beneath boiling, Crane found himself unable to move from shock.

"Uh…scaredy cat? Jonny?" A hand waved in front of his face. "You okay?"

He tried for a 'Go to hell, you manipulative bastard,' and managed only a sort of hoarse coughing in response. It appeared his body was doing that thing it did, which was similar to but not quite an asthma attack. Whatever the proper term for it was, he was suffocating. That really should have concerned him, but at this moment death would be a welcome release.

"Kitten? Honey?" There were hands on his shoulders. "You're not dying, are you?"

Unfortunately, no, he was still managing to breath, just a bit. Damn it.

"Okay, let's go over here." He was steered in the direction of the couch, made to sit. "Don't die, Jonny. I'm serious, and that's not a term I use often. Harley would kill me. Don't do it."

"Go to hell," he managed, face still on fire. There was absolutely no God. If the hangover hadn't been definitive proof of that, this was.

"You don't have to be so embarrassed. I thought it was cute, myself."

He considered slapping the Joker, but still felt too numb to try it. Hyperventilating lead to loss of sensation in the extremities, it seemed. "Fuck you."

"Hey." The Joker's hand was on his face, turning until until their eyes met. "That's not nice, Jonathan. I think I showed remarkable self restraint last night, given how hard it is to say no to someone so pretty. And your lack of gratitude is hurtful, to be honest."

"What, I should be thankful that you didn't take advantage of me while I was drunk? Most people wouldn't so much as struggle with knowing that's wrong; I fail to see how you deserve praise for making such an obvious choice."

"This may have escaped your notice, but I'm not what you'd call normal."

"Obviously. I haven't even brought up the fact that you taped my humiliation. What were you planning on doing next, uploading that video to the Internet?"

"Yeah."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't." His hand moved from Crane's face to his shoulder. "You like me enough to compare me to Clark Gable."

"I was drunk!" he protested, trying and failing to move the clown's arm.

"Drunkeness does not change your personality, Jonny. It just makes you more open to how you really feel."

"I really hate you."

The Joker pouted. "Well, I really like you. C'mon, kitten, let's not fight. We can just never bring this up again, okay?"

He arched a brow. "As if you'd have the self-restraint not to bring it up every five seconds."

"Fine. I won't bring it up in front of people, how's that? We're still friends, right?"

He held in a sigh. On one hand, it had been nice of the Joker not to take advantage of the situation, but he highly doubted that was out of any sense of chivalry. It was probably part of some big, sick joke to gain his trust and then psychologically torment him. At least, that's what made the most sense. "All right."

"Yay." He stiffened as the Joker leaned in unexpectedly, his lips brushing against Crane's forehead. "You're a good kid, you know that?" He took the camera before his friend could throw it into a wall or something and stood, walking off and leaving Jonathan to ponder just what the hell was going on.