8. Rest

"Oh, Jonny, I'm home~," Edward half-sang, striding into the hideout. He was flanked by two large thugs who were carrying a small, mousy man between them. The man was obviously a doctor, and, judging by the expensive leather of his shoes, he appeared to be a fairly skilled one. His legs and arms were bound, and a piece of cloth was tied tightly around his mouth. "Just bring him to the lab, boys. Set him down and you can be on your way." The Riddler led the thugs to the very back of the hideout and gestured to a chair. "Just put him there." The two musclemen did what they were told then turned to leave. "Go see Lana to collect your pay." Edward smiled at the 'visiting' doctor then at Jonathan, who was lying, extremely uncomfortably, on a lab table. "Lana's my accountant. She covers all things to do with money. Much safer than keeping money in a bank around here."

The Scarecrow did not appear to be in the mood for Edward's rambling.

The Riddler cleared his throat. "Alright, then. Dr. Waters, I'd like you to meet Dr. Jonathan Crane, your new patient." He waited for a response. "What? Nothing to say?" Edward picked up a pair of scissors from the table then cut away the cloth covering Dr. Waters' mouth. "Perhaps now you'll find yourself to be more of a conversationalist."

The man's eyes darted from The Riddler to the Scarecrow. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Well, because, naturally, I couldn't take Jonathan to you. I have all the faith in the world that you would have called the police instantly."

"How did he get injured?"

"One of Arkham's guards shot him. Not something that's in Arkham policies, by the way - carrying a gun. Tranquilizers are acceptable, yes, and tasers are highly encouraged. But, it's quite against Arkham protocol for a guard to carry around a loaded gun."

"Is the bullet still in the wound?"

Edward shot a smug look in the Scarecrow's direction. "Yes, it is, Doctor. You're going to have to remove it, though, aren't you?"

"Most likely... How long ago was this?"

The Riddler cut Dr. Waters' hands and legs free. "About twelve hours ago. He acted fine initially. But, then he didn't listen to me, and this happened."

The doctor stood up, rubbing his wrists to get used to moving them again. He made his way over to the table Jonathan was lying on. "Have you cleaned the wound at all?"

Jonathan was silent, so Edward answered, "He jumped into the bay early this morning. The salt might have done some good, but he hasn't even changed clothes yet. Those are the same pants he was wearing when he got shot. Personally, I think he's begging for an infection." The Scarecrow remained still, giving no reaction.

"Alright," Dr. Waters said. "I'm going to need bandages, some alcohol, and some cotton or clean cloth..." Edward went to another table, searching for the items. He found the rubbing alcohol and a large amount of cotton pads. The bandages, however, were missing.

The Riddler frowned. "Jonathan, please tell me you have bandages."

Scarecrow never let his eyes leave the ceiling. "In the cabinet beneath the table against the wall." Then, he added, when the doctor's hands moved threateningly close to the wound, "Latex gloves are on that table. Put them on."

Edward returned to Dr. Waters and placed everything he'd asked for on the table. "And, I brought these tongs for you to remove the bullet with."

The doctor nodded. "Do you have any painkillers?"

Edward laughed darkly. "As if Jonathan Crane would ever want to kill pain..."

Dr. Waters pulled on a pair of latex gloves and picked up a piece of cotton, pouring alcohol over it. "This will sting a bit..."

A knock at the door caught The Riddler's attention, and he nodded in farewell to the operating doctor. "I'll be back by the time you're finished." Edward straightened his tie as he walked across the warehouse, into the office. He answered the door, "Good afternoon, gentlemen. Come in, come in. I assume you're here with the furniture company..." The Riddler spent the following hour directing clueless furniture-movers on where to place the furniture: "No, no, no! The couch can't go there! That will mess up the whole room! Move it half a millimeter to the left, would you? Yes, yes, that's perfect! Now the room is complete!" He wasn't entirely happy with the men by the time they left, but... They were just brainless henchmen who'd lost favor with The Joker and had been forced to take up an 'honest' job with the local black-market furniture company. At least Edward didn't have to worry about killing them to get them to keep quiet about who was buying their furniture, should anyone ask. Money spoke to those types of men. Luckily, duty spoke to the best doctors. They just had to heal people, no matter what. It was like a curse! Well, for them, anyway. It was a gift to everyone else.

Edward made his way back to the lab, just as the doctor left Jonathan to go looking for him. Dr. Waters stopped when he saw The Riddler approaching. Waters then proceeded to fill him in on the procedure, "I cleaned the wound and got the bullet out. There was some bone damage... Minimal, but... His bones seem to be exceptionally weak. I'm afraid the only thing to do is to wait for the bone to repair itself. My only concern is that his body will not have the spare energy needed to expend on repairing itself. Why, if you ask me, it's a miracle that he's alive at all. I've had patients come in, who'd been lost out in the wilderness for weeks with no food, nearly dying. His body suffers many of the symptoms of those patients. He is completely malnourished and dehydrated; I am, personally, astounded that he doesn't suffer from any disease that usually accompanies those conditions."

Edward nodded, not surprised that he, again, was right - this time about Jonathan's food problem. "So, you're giving doctor's orders to eat a lot?"

"Well, yes, he needs to be fed. And, more importantly, he needs to be hydrated. He looks to be in critical condition; if I were at the hospital, I would set him up with tubes to force nutrition into his body..."

"As amusing as that would be to see, we aren't in the hospital, Doctor. So, what, without leaving the comfort of crime central, do you suggest I do?"

"Make him drink as much water as possible. And, make sure he eats at least three meals a day. He should be alright with typical, average-citizen motor movement. He'll be fine with walking around this building, though it would probably help if he had a staff or cane or something of the sort."

Edward glanced down at the question-mark cane in his own hand. "Alright..."

"But, he should participate in absolutely no strenuous activity for the next two weeks. And, even after that, extreme caution should be used."

"Anything else I need to know?"

"Batman is going to know that Catwoman didn't kidnap me. He's not going to believe that evidence you planted for one second."

"Maybe. But, my dear friend, he isn't going to know who did kidnap you. And, more importantly, he won't know why that person wanted to frame Catwoman. The Bat will be stumped!"

"He'll figure it out. All of Gotham knows you, Riddler. You always leave clues. Batman will figure it out, and he'll save me. Then he'll put you back in Arkham." Dr. Waters changed his tone, trying to reason with the villain, "Arkham would be better for you than this place. Your friend would get proper medical treatment..."

"That shows what you know, Doctor. Arkham has a fully-functioning hospital. That doesn't mean it takes the liberty of using it. If the doctors there cared half as much as you do about patients, don't you think Jonathan Crane would have been a permanent resident of the hospital? They should have been feeding him through a tube. None of you outsiders really knows what goes on in Arkham, do you?"

Realizing he couldn't reason with The Riddler, the man repeated defensively, "Batman's going to save me!"

"Batman? Well, riddle me this, Doctor Waters: how can a man go about saving someone who is already dead?" Edward reached inside his jacket, brandished a gun, pointed it at the doctor's chest, and pulled the trigger. He returned the gun to its place and walked away, leaving the dying man. He stepped toward Jonathan. "Feeling any better yet?"

The Scarecrow was still gazing upward at the ceiling, as if he'd never looked away from it for the whole operation. A wool blanket was placed over most of his body. "Not really."

"He didn't say anything about the bullet hitting a nerve, so it's probably just blood-loss that's making the leg numb. However, he did say that you are going to have to eat. So, in the forty-three seconds, I've come up with a list of non-processed foods that are made from farm-based ingredients. Therefore, you have absolutely no reason to object to any one of them. For example, there are eggs. Not processed at all! They come straight from chickens, then go straight to the store."

"They have to be cooked."

"Yes, but I've already got some people coming to install a kitchen - and to remodel that bathroom."

"Do you have any idea how much money you are wasting? When the Bat finds this place, it will be just a useless building again."

"I'm not wasting anything. If it's for my own comfort, then the money is well-spent. Now, then... What about popcorn? Just normal popcorn without any salt or butter or additives. Corn kernels that are popped."

"As soon as you can buy any that doesn't have added ingredients."

"Fine. What about fruits? They're just as natural as vegetables, after all. But, they actually have calories."

Jonathan made a face.

"What? Are you allergic to having energy or something? You know what, Jonathan? Even on your best days, I could easily overpower you. I don't personally ever choose to fight, and against most anyone else I would be useless. But, I can safely say that I weigh at least thirty pounds more than you, and I'm just barely at a 'healthy' weight. Borderline underweight. And, I'm not really any taller than you. But, I do eat regularly, and, therefore, my body can produce muscle. I can force you to eat."

"I would love to see you try."

Edward scowled, caught in his bluff. "Fine! I won't force you - mostly because I have a feeling that you bite, and I don't want to catch rabies. But, if you want to be able to go out and strike fear into the heart of Gotham ever again, then you're going to have to eat. So, which is more important to you, Jonathan: pride or fear?" The Scarecrow made no response. "Alright. I'm going to the store to buy some things. You sort yourself out while I'm gone." The Riddler left. He returned to the hideout a few hours later, carrying a few bags of assorted fruits and vegetables. "Alright, Jonathan, I bought some things. Will you eat tomatoes? I know they're actually fruits, but people considered them vegetables for a long time..." No reply. So, Edward sat on the couch, reading one of his mystery novels for a while. Around midnight, he went to bed.

The next day, the power was working and so was the plumbing. The oven and refrigerator were installed, along with a kitchen sink and some counters. Jonathan wouldn't speak or touch any food offered to him. Edward watched the news. The Joker had disrupted a movie by blasting into a movie theater earlier that day. Edward went to bed.

He woke up and went to the grocery store again. He bought milk, cheese, eggs, and some meat, then returned to the hideout and put everything into the fridge. He fried some eggs, but Jonathan wouldn't touch them. The bathroom remodelers arrived and started working on the bathroom. They pulled up all the tile and put up wallpaper. Edward watched the news, where The Joker had somehow managed to escape police, even when they'd had him surrounded. Edward went to bed.

As soon as he got out of bed, Edward cooked some eggs. He took them to Jonathan and set them down beside him. Then he left. The remodeling continued. The old sink and toilet were replaced. The installation of the shower began. Edward watched the news and saw that the police were arresting twenty-three Blackgate escapees who had been located just outside the city. Edward went to bed, hoping that his father had been taken back to prison.

The next morning, Edward took Jonathan some eggs and discovered that the plate he'd left the day before was half-empty. Jonathan said nothing. Edward replaced the previous day's plate with the new one and left, feeling a bit triumphant. The shower was finished, and the tile was installed. The remodeling was complete. That night, Edward cut up a cucumber and a tomato and put the slices in a bowl. He took the bowl to the lab and set it down next to the plate of partially-eaten eggs. He then refilled the almost-empty bottles of water. He picked up the plate of eggs before he left and said, "I know you've moved, Jonathan. Your head is where your feet were this morning. Has the bleeding stopped?" No answer. Edward made himself a sandwich and watched the news. Harley Quinn had escaped Arkham. Surprise, surprise. Edward went to bed.

The Riddler only fixed one egg for Jonathan the following morning. He peeled an orange and arranged the pieces of it on the plate. He carried it into the lab and set it on the table. He almost turned to leave, but Jonathan's voice stopped him, "I think the bleeding is done."

"Good," Edward said. "I'll go buy you some new clothes, then. I need to buy you a cane, anyway. I can't leave mine with you all the time. Can you think of anything else you want?" The Scarecrow didn't appear to have anything more to say than his one comment. "Alright. I'll buy some more bandages, then. Try to eat, and I'll be back soon!" The Riddler left to go search for everything on his mental list. He found a sturdy wooden cane and a suit that he liked at one store... But, Jonathan Crane wasn't really the type to wear a suit like that. So, The Riddler bought the cane and went to another shop to look for Scarecrow-wear. Unfortunately, it didn't appear that anyone else in the world wanted to dress like a scarecrow: there was absolutely nothing to be found that resembled any of Jonathan's costumes. But, Edward reasoned, the clothes would only be temporary, anyway. Jonathan would probably sew himself a new outfit when he was feeling better. So, Edward fought against his instincts and bought a few cheap t-shirts, two pairs of sweatpants, and a pair of jeans. Edward Nigma, personally, would never be caught dead in such outfits, but... He figured the Scarecrow wouldn't really care. So, he made his last stop at a medical-supply store and bought a few rolls of medical gauze, then he went back to the hideout. "I'm back," he announced, entering the laboratory. "And, I brought some things..." He dug into one of the bags, taking out a t-shirt and some sweatpants. "I assumed that these clothes would be very temporary, so I just bought something that you might find comfortable. Why don't you go take a shower and change into these? And, I can re-wrap the wound, if you'd like. I bought a bunch of gauze." He waited for a response that never came. "...Well, I'll leave you to it, then." The Riddler returned to the office-portion of the warehouse and made himself some lunch. He sat down on the couch and opened one of his books.

Jonathan took a quick, cold shower but left the water running after he got out so that The Riddler wouldn't think he was already finished. He picked up the needle he'd snuck into the bathroom, and he threaded it, turning his attention to the wound on his hip. It was healing slowly on its own, but Jonathan Crane didn't have time for 'slowly'. He pushed the needle into the thin skin and began stitching up the skin tissue. He hissed as the needle made contact with bone, but he continued his stitches, anyway. As the needle pulled through its last stitch, he reached for the scissors and snipped the thread. He then grabbed the bandage roll and began binding the wound - and much of his un-wounded skin. He couldn't just bandage a wound that was on his hip, so he ended up wrapping most of the gauze around his waist and right hip to keep the wound on his left hip covered. Of all the places to be shot, he had to get hit in one of the least convenient places. Perhaps he should have been thankful that the bullet hadn't hit a bit higher, where it would have, most likely, zipped right through his large intestine... But, Jonathan Crane was hardly ever thankful for anything. Jonathan slipped on a pair of brown sweatpants and a plain grey t-shirt. Then he opened the door, carrying out all of his wound-treatment supplies.

Edward flipped through his novel, only noting the bits of information that were related to the murderer in the story - all those bits about the other characters were unimportant, anyway. The only reason mystery stories were so long was that the writer spent the whole book trying to shift blame onto others when the culprit was already obvious to a reader with half a brain... Edward looked up when he heard the Scarecrow approaching, wooden cane in hand. But, the first thing that Edward noticed was naturally nothing to do with Jonathan's condition. The first thing that escaped Edward's lips was: "What were you thinking? A grey shirt and brown pants? Brown and grey don't go together!"

Unfazed, Scarecrow limped to the couch, sitting down. "You bought both."

"Yes, I bought both! But, not together! The grey shirt goes with the jeans. Anyone would know that! Are you just looking for ways to drive me completely up the wall?"

"Probably," Jonathan answered, not helping Edward's poor, dear, criminally OCD-haunted head.

"I can't even look at you! Those colors don't coordinate! They don't match! They don't coordinate or match or, or anything! They just don't go!"

Jonathan, who was apparently in a much better mood than earlier thanks to The Riddler's inability to function around such an obviously mismatched outfit, glanced at the novel on the couch. "Who killed them?"

"What?," Edward asked, drawn away for a moment from the horrible outfit. "Oh, it was the judge."

Jonathan picked up the book, which was open to a page not too far into the book... "You're only on Chapter Three."

"Well, for some of us with greatly superior intellect, it is simply immediately obvious who is responsible."

"Really? ...Because for 'some of us', namely myself, who enjoy literature immensely... Especially literature such as this, in which a rhyme is one of the main plot devices..." Jonathan closed the cover of the book, deciding not to be too long-winded. "I've read an enormous amount of books in my lifetime, but, as it is, this happens to be one of my favorites. And, I happen to know that, at Chapter Three, you have barely even met the characters; you certainly do not have enough incriminating evidence to convict someone so surely."

The corner of Edward's mouth began to twitch dangerously, but he replied calmly, "Maybe when you read it, you can't find enough evidence until later, but I have the greatest detective mind in the world! And, I find the evidence easily."

"Then do enlighten me on what evidence you've found."

The Riddler froze: he hadn't counted on being questioned over the book. But, then he supposed, he should have known that any book involving a rhyme heavily in its plot would have appealed to the Scarecrow. "...Well, it's just obvious, of course."

"I disagree."

Edward exhaled loudly, pretending to be bored. In reality, he was trying to buy all the time he could to muster an argument. With only one idea, though, he decided he would simply hope that a long time had passed since Jonathan had actually looked at the book carefully. "Well, the voice says that the judge is trapped on the island because he wrongly convicted a criminal and sentenced the man to death. That would be the easiest mistake in judgement for someone on the outside to make - which means that the man was probably actually guilty, and the judge was just including himself on the list of murderers so that he would escape suspicion."

"You don't think anyone there could have made his or her own story up to escape suspicion?"

"Of course not! It was the judge!," Edward insisted.

Jonathan paused for a moment, taking a moment to soak up the anger that masked the fear in The Riddler's mind. Then he released the accusation that he'd been withholding for just the right moment, "You always do know the right answers, Edward. But, contrary to what you'd have people believe, it is not because you have great intellect. It is because you cheat." Scarecrow picked the book, And Then There Were None, up from its place, opening it to the last few pages. "As anyone who reads a mystery novel knows, it is almost mandatory for mysteries to have a last chapter that highlights who the culprit was. This particular book's entire last chapter is a letter, from the killer - Justice Wargrave -, admitting that he killed everyone on the island."

Edward didn't miss the Scarecrow's accusation, but he couldn't stop himself from blurting out, "No! That's not true: he didn't kill the last girl. She killed herself!"

"Cheater."

"I'm not a cheater! I'm smart! I'm a genius!"

"You're a liar."

The Riddler jumped up from the couch, holding his head, but he focused his thoughts on self-control. He tried to push the crazed denials out of his mind, grasping to the civilized man that he knew he was inside.

"Nothing but a liar and a cheater..."

Edward took a few breaths, doing his best to slow his heartbeat. And, somehow, he managed to keep, I'm not a cheater! I'm not a liar!, inside his head. But, not all of his thoughts could be silenced. "You, Jonathan Crane, are the most un-thankful person on the face of this planet! I have been taking care of you for a week because you got yourself shot - not my fault, but I helped, anyway! I got a doctor for you, I let you use my cane to walk around with, and, yet, you wouldn't even speak to me for days because you were unhappy that I was actually trying to make you eat - apparently one of the Seven Deadly Sins, according to you! Then when you finally do speak to me it's just trying to prey on fears that I've had since childhood! You might think it's amusing to see me reduced to nothing, Jonathan, but it's not amusing to me! I'll never understand why you think it's perfectly acceptable to bring my worst nightmares back to life! It'd be one thing if we were enemies, but we're not, Jonathan! I have no desire to make you my enemy! If you have some sort of need, like other people have hunger and thirst - if you have a need to scare people, then just tell me! I'll go pluck some unfortunate soul from the streets of Gotham and bring him here! But, you are not going to try to scare me anymore, Jonathan! Alright?" Tirade at an end, Edward sank back down onto the couch.

The Scarecrow eyed him for a few quiet moments. But, the Master of Fear was far more amused than remorseful. Not that it was a choice of his... He simply didn't possess a single ounce of remorse in his body. That was what made his fascination with fear possible. And, Edward's outburst certainly was a way to try and take focus off the fear so obviously being experienced... Still, as the situation stood, Edward Nigma was more powerful as an ally. For the moment.

The Riddler sighed, picking up his cup of coffee from the endtable beside the arm of the couch. He took a drink, then, unable to stand the silence any longer, asked, "So, should I go find you a victim or what?"

"Not right now. Some water would suffice."

"Alright," Edward said, getting up. He walked over to the kitchen area, taking a cup out of the cabinet and putting ice in it. "Where did your bird go, by the way? I haven't seen it."

"Crows are wild animals, not house pets. He will return if he needs something, if he finds something out, or if I call him."

"If he finds something out?" Edward turned the handle on the sink and held his hand under the water, waiting for it to get cold.

"Yes. Something of importance."

"Importance... So either something to do with fear or Batman?" Satisfied that the water had grown cold enough, Edward filled the cup with water and shut the faucet off.

"Yes, one of the two."

The Riddler made his way back over to the couch, handing the water to Scarecrow. "You said you got the bird when you were young, didn't you? How long do crows live?"

"You'd be surprised at how long anything lives in the most optimum conditions. And at how short anything lives in the worst conditions."

Edward nodded thoughtfully, reaching for his coffee. He took a small sip and noticed... The coffee was much sweeter than it had been before. Instantly, he put the cup down and put a hand to his throat. "You...!"

"Calm yourself. You'd need to drink at least half the cup if you expected that to kill you."

"I can't believe you just did that! You tried to poison me? After that whole speech I just gave? Really?"

"I did warn you ahead of time."

"Yeah, days ahead of time! Long enough ago to convince me that you were kidding!"

"Well, obviously, the warning was fairly fresh in your mind," Scarecrow said, taking a drink of water. "Or else you wouldn't have figured it out so quickly. Despite what I have told you for the past week, and despite what I am going to continue to tell you for the remainder of our time working together, you are not a total idiot, Edward Nigma. Your many, many fears don't necessarily work against you; instead, they make you more cautious, and, in a way, wisely paranoid."

Edward tilted his head. "If I'm not mistaken, that's the second compliment from you I've gotten in a week, Scarecrow. That's got to be a record!"

"You take everything that anyone says about your strengths as a compliment. And, you take all compliments personally. That is a weakness."

"That was a paradox; I hope you realize that."

"Just because a statement doesn't at first appear to make since that doesn't mean that it does not."

"As The Riddler, I can appreciate your observations, Jonathan. As a normal person, I'd be utterly lost as to what in the world you're trying to say. Luckily, am not in the position of the latter, and I understand completely what you mean." Edward glanced at the wooden cane that was leaning against the couch. "Does your leg look any better?"

"It's fine."

"Well, I would assume it's alright, since you can walk on it, at least. I've done a little bit of research, actually. You should be able to be back to normal in another week and a half if you eat well and walk around on it a bit everyday. And, I think that's about the time we can schedule our first heist, since most of those Blackgate guys are back in prison..."

The Scarecrow watched Edward with a steady gaze. "And The Joker?"

"Oh, well, he's just broken Harley out... So, they'll be back in Arkham within the next month."

"What happened to," Jonathan cleared his throat, making his voice a bit lower and more self-important: " 'I mean, we want Gotham's attention, don't we? We can't strike while those others are still at large! We'll be all but ignored! Can you imagine doing all that hard work to break out of Arkham, then being overshadowed by other criminals, and still having to go back? Why, that hardly seems fair!' "

"That's... actually a pretty good impression of me. You could have been an actor..."

"Edward," Jonathan said impatiently, his voice back to its usual tone.

"Right, sorry. Well, it's just that the Bat will be much less-likely to catch us, if we strike while The Joker's still at large... And, if Joker has Harley go hit some other place as a distraction for him, then that will give us two distractions! Batman's not going to come after us when he's got Harley and The Joker to worry about! And, if Catwoman does something, we'll practically be able to waltz right into the Gotham City PD and wave at the Commissioner and be ignored! We could steal millions by the time anyone has a chance to actually try and stop us! Just think of what you could do with millions of dollars' worth of your fear toxin! By the time Batman comes after us, we'll be unstoppable!"

"In other words, now that you believe your father is back in Blackgate, you take back everything you said earlier."

"Pretty much, yes."

"Fine. I'm still going to need chemicals, now, though."

"In your condition, I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be working with a bunch of chemicals."

"My research is what keeps me alive."

"You know, under other circumstances, I'd fight that. But, since you should, logically, be dead due to lack of food and water, I'm going to accept that answer." The Riddler picked his hat up off the endtable, placing it on his head. "I'm going to need a list of what you need, then, since you can't go out like that."

"Like what?," Scarecrow asked. "Injured? I'm fine! I can walk."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. I meant you can't go out wearing those clothes."