Characters: Jervis Tetch, Harley Quinn, Edward Nigma, Arnold Wesker, Pamela Isley, Jonathan Crane

Pairings: None necessarily

Chapter Rating: T

Summary: What we've got here is a failure to communicate, and I don't like it anymore than you might.

Warnings: Language, Brief mental health doo-dads.

Whups looks like the cast is expanding. As you might have guessed from previous author's notes, I don't actually know how long this new trio is going to be staying with us, but they'll maintain their relevance for at least one more chapter. Also, despite being listed as a main character, Joker hasn't really made an appearance yet, but I promise you all that I have that much pre-planned. I'm generally about one chapter ahead at all times. In regards to my lack of a solid outline for the narrative, feel free to make suggestions or requests. I'm not at a loss or anything, but I'm not opposed to differing to my small readership. I'd like to keep you guys happy and interested. Constructive criticism is welcome.

xxxx

Later that afternoon, in the rec-room:

"No, no, no! Harley, this is not at all what we agreed upon!" The Hatter was halfway between fuming and wailing, exaggeratedly lashing his arms about as he addressed a confused and saddened Harley Quinn. He appeared to be on the brink of a sputtering tantrum, at which the girl cocked her head to the side like a concerned puppy, momentarily forgetting the small group of others she'd enticed into joining her escapade. As such, three inmates hovered uncertainly behind her: an amused looking Edward Nigma, poor nervous Mr. Wesker, and Ivy, who had cupped her head in her hand for all of her bubbling frustration. Settling slightly, Jervis pinched the bridge of his nose in aggravation and impotently began to mumble verses under his breath. Behind the Carrollian babble, a tiny, pure, and glowing voice of reason chided him: '"Keep your temper," said the caterpillar. If you lose your wits, then the orderlies will come, and if the orderlies come, then this whole plan—or whatever is left of it—goes up in smoke.' He nodded to himself quietly, took a deep breath, exhaled, and straightened up again. His face was stern, brows set in a bitchy, no-nonsense line. Harley blinked at him expectantly.

"Harleen," he forced out, stately. "My dear. Obviously, you weren't paying very close attention when we last exchanged words."

"How's that?"

"Well for one thing, our stratagem is hardly ironed out as of yet, and for another, I said we would entertain the possibility that you might involve one friend, not the entire blasted ward!" The Mad Hatter's voice dropped to a hiss, but as his volume lowered, his conniption resurfaced at an inverse proportion. He twiddled his fingers spastically as he spoke, desperately trying to contain his frothing anger.

Quinn blinked at him vacantly, worriedly.

His personal fondness of the young girl aside, Tetch inwardly scoffed; for someone with a doctorate in psychology, Harleen Quinzel was ungodly dense. She sniffled in childlike remorse at his outburst. Jervis sighed. His anger cooled back down into throbbing— but contained— irritation.

"Look," he began pointedly. "I-" he sighed again, dragging a palm down the side of his face. "You've completely thrown the outline I developed last night. Who else have you told?"

"Just Ozzy," she offered. "He said 'no' cuz he's on anotha' reformation stint, but he isn't gonna squeal neither." The Hatter nodded and looked to address the small pod of criminals before him. "And what of you three?" He asked. Ivy looked up doubtfully, crossing her arms. "What of us?"

"What am I going to have to do to ensure that the three of you keep to yourselves about this affair?"

He watched helplessly as the two red heads exchanged glances— Pamela looking bored and doubtful, Eddie smirking— and as Wesker shrunk back slightly, nervously running a hand over the bare right wrist where Scarface used to be. This was going to be a hard sell.

"Well I dunno about you two kids," Nigma asserted, nodding at his fellows "but I still want in." Jervis's frown expanded. Of the trio standing before him, he liked Edward the least. "Something else," he pushed firmly.

The Riddler waggled his finger playfully, "Ah-ah-ah!"-ing as if her were patronizing a small child and not a certified madman. "I'm in or I squeal."

Jervis glared at Harley's apologetically grinning face as if he wanted to tear it off. Hell, he probably did. He had no other option but to accept Eddie's ultimatum, thanks to her.

"Fine," he spat, still not breaking eye contact with his sheepish and perspiring accomplice. After what seemed far too long a time to Harley, Tetch turned to the rogue on the far right, trying to maintain his dignity in the face of this awful embarrassment. "And Miss Isley. I don't suppose I can persuade you to abandon my project either, can I?"

Ivy glanced contemplatively in Harley's direction. The last thing the botanist wanted to do was get her friend into trouble, but on second thought, the first thing she wanted to do was get out of this dank hellhole and back to the soothing privacy her greenhouse. Here was an opportunity to realize that desire., one that might not come again for a long time. And Harley was already in hot water anyways, one look at Tetch's blazing red face could tell her that much.

Ivy smiled and shook her head slowly. "Sorry Jervis."

He exhaled in defeat. "I thought as much. It seems as though I don't have a choice but to take you up on your interest. But Jonathan isn't going to like this."

Neither his exasperation nor his warning seemed to affect Quinzel, as her characteristic smile sprung to life, and she began to bounce on her heels excitably. "Ooh, thank you, Jervis! Thank you thank you thank you!" "I'm not doing this for you," he said flatly, shooting passive-aggressive daggers at her with his eyes. She paid him no mind. "Ooh! What about Arnie? Can he come too? Pweeeeeeease?" She motioned energetically to the shrinking violet standing between Isley and Nigma, who was quietly praying to melt intangibly into the ether, never to be bothered again.

"As if it makes a difference now." Tetch's body language expressed nothing but a deep desire to pull away from this irksome excuse for a deal. He was not looking forward to bringing this new development up with his partner, but he would much rather be having a spat with Jonathan in his cell than shaking hands with any of the four opportunists surrounding him.

Piping up for the first time all day, Arnold attempted to back pedal. "Uhm, I don't haff-"

"Nonsense!" Cocky Edward Nigma clapped him heartily on the back in what was easily the friendliest gesture the two had ever shared. The poor thing lurched forward, barely catching himself as The Riddler continued. "We can't have any odd men out. That, friends, would be exclusionary." He flashed a bright and triumphant smile in the Hatter's direction, to which he received a grimace in response.

'Just… go with it.'

Ivy and Eddie looked to one another again, this time both of them smirking mercenarily. The former spoke up, wetting her lips with a flick of her tongue. "So do we have a deal?"

Jervis sniffed and for the final time stretched to his full height, unimpressive as it was, desperately trying to temper the sneer chiseled into his face for etiquette's sake. "Against my better judgment," he said to his smug and smiling company, "I'll be sure to keep you all abreast of the new plan's development." He tipped his hat curtly before turning on his heel. "Gentlemen."

xxxxxxxx

After yet another drudgerous day of useless therapy, mind-bending medications, and the imposition of a ghastly new exercise regiment, a weary ex-professor's greatest desire was to drag his poor withered body to bed. The last thing he damnwell needed was bad news. He hadn't signed on for this sort of bullshit. In fact, he'd been reluctant to acquiesce and join Jervis on his ludicrous mission in the first place, but with all of the pestering and simpering the scruffy little blond had responded with, Jonathan had been worn down into agreeing. It would be good to get out, after all. He'd been here for the better part of four months now, surely he was restless. Crane had to admit, he was surprised at his own complacency. Perhaps what he really needed was to stop waiting for the perfect time to strike and just leave. But he was decidedly averse to participating in a group project, especially not with the likes of Wesker or Nigma. Such irritating men, though for different reasons entirely, and of course Poison Ivy was downright intimidating. In fact, the only earnest comrade Jonathan could point to of the whole lot besides his partner was Quinzel, and she was just a pain in the ass to do business with. Always whining, stumbling, and cracking obnoxious jokes in the most inappropriate situations possible. It would only be worse with the others egging her on as if she were a particularly eager sorority pledge or a trained bear in a tutu.

"Utterly ghastly," he said sourly, shaking his head at the thought. "You'll either have to call the whole thing off or carry on without my company, because I'm having no part in this."

"I'm not leaving without you." Jervis spoke firmly into the little holes in their shared cell wall, staring up at his partner intently. "And I'm not staying here. Neither are you, for that matter. You've been stuck here in No Man's Land for ages, what's the matter with you? You're a clever boy; I know you could have left a dozen times over if you'd so desired."

The man opposite him looked slightly flabbergasted for a moment, but the expression passed quickly. "I've been… tired," he said finally.

Jervis folded his arms over his chest. "It's that damn medication they've put you on. I told you this would happen Jonathan, I told you not to let them-"

"You know I didn't have a choice," Crane snapped back.

"Why don't you just tongue them like the rest of us?"

"I'm sick of all the fuss," he admitted harshly, actively trying not to shout. His volume wavered slightly anyway. "And I'm sick of withdrawals." He took a few unsteady, defensive steps backwards, still scowling.

"Now, don't tell me you're giving up," the Hatter chided, still relatively calm, despite the shock of panic that flashed in his chest.

"No," came a terse reply. "I'm not-" he faltered slightly, frustrated. He argued with himself internally, as evidenced by the look on his gaunt face. Finally, he forced himself back to their conversation. "—I told you, I'm very tired."

His companion looked up at him in concern, pressing a few fingers against the glass. "My God, we've really got to get you out of here."

Jonathan only maintained his petulant frown.

"This place is really wearing you down," he continued, speaking casually as if he were musing on a local sports team's recent failures. Jonathan still said nothing. He didn't like this conversation.

"Please come with me."

The drained academic glared at him, backed into a logical corner. After a long pause, he huffed out one word: "Fine."