9. Ready

"I still don't understand how the toxin works, Jonathan. I mean, Joker's laughing gas is understandable, since various drugs make people insanely happy... Ivy's pheromone dust-stuff makes sense, because she's just utilizing and amplifying the power of pheromones, which already exist in the animal kingdom... But, a toxin that induces hallucinations of a victim's worst fear? Now, that doesn't make any sense. I mean, Joker and Ivy are both aiming for the same effects for everyone they administer their concoctions to. But, how can a toxin effectively change the form it affects the mind in, depending on its victim's worst fear?"

The Scarecrow continued mixing his chemicals together carefully. Precisely fifty-three stirs to the left... Two stirs to the right... And, then... He lit the Bunsen burner that was sitting on the lab table and held the vial over the fire for a few moments.

"Jonathan? Are you even listening?" Edward shook his head. "Oh, who am I kidding? Of course you are. You listen to everything; you just don't have the grace to respond."

Jonathan removed the vial from the fire and set it on the table to cool before answering boredly, "Well, a normal person would have stopped after the first time he'd asked that question and had been ignored." He picked up a beaker and poured the contents of the vial into it. "A persistent person might have repeated the question two, three, maybe four times." He added exactly three drops of a reddish chemical then put a rubber stopper in the top of the beaker. "But, only you would pace around this room, repeating that entire paragraph twelve times and ending each time with the same question, without realizing that I have no intention of answering." He swirled the chemicals in the beaker around then took the stopper out. He caught a drop of the liquid on his finger and tasted it, looking thoughtful.

"You can ingest it?" The Riddler's eyes widened curiously. "What does it taste like?"

"Fear."

Edward rolled his eyes, mumbling, "I could have guessed as much," before returning to his stroll around the room. He thought aloud, "I wonder how the folks in Arkham are doing..."

"I don't intend to find out any time soon."

"Neither do I, of course! I'm not going back there! But, just think: half of our activity group is gone. You and I left, and then Harley... Jervis had to switch groups... Really, all that are left are the 'exercising' ones I never associated with, anyway - Croc and some other guys... Then Ivy's the only one left of our cerebral group. I guess they'll have to move Jervis back soon, though. And, then they'll probably switch someone else into the group. Maybe The Ventriloquist."

"If they switch anyone into the group, then when we do return to Arkham, the groups will all be different."

"Well, naturally. There's no way you and I will be in the same group because that just 'would be completely counterintuitive to therapy': I can almost hear the doctors, now..." The Riddler sighed. "But, then again, Harley and Ivy are always put together, even after that last crime spree they went on..."

"Yes, but they are also women. In a predominantly male facility. Naturally, doctors, judges, juries, women's rights activists... are all going to insist that they should be kept together for purposes of 'protecting' themselves."

"Ha, as if anyone would dare touch Harley! The Joker would murder anyone who tried! And, a man would have to be stupid - and deaf - to go after Ivy. If he somehow got past all of her shrieking about plants' rights, he'd have to face the wrath of rabid, carnivorous tulips!"

Scarecrow set a finished beaker of toxin aside and grabbed a new vial, starting the process of creating his fear gas over again.

"The more I think about it, the more I don't want to go back to Arkham..." Edward's stroll brought him right back to the table Jonathan was working at. "My God - how many times do you have to brew this? Wouldn't it be easier just to brew a bunch all at once!"

"As soon as you buy me a wizard's hat and a cauldron, I'll consider it. Until then, let me continue my work in silence."

"Fine, fine, fine," Edward chanted, raising his hands up in defeat. "What do you want for lunch? A sandwich? Remember, you promised me you'd think about trying one yesterday!"

"Thought considered and denied."

Edward narrowed his eyes. "Well, good!," The Riddler yelled as he traipsed his way to the kitchen. "You're not allowed to eat the bread, anyway! It's mine!"

"Really, Edward, I'm a psychology major. Reverse psychology is not going to work on me."

"How do you know it's reverse psychology? Maybe I'm using techniques that were made up after your time, old man! Maybe I'm implementing reverse-reverse psychology! Or reverse-reverse-reverse psychology! Or reverse-reverse-reverse-rever-..."

"Just make the damn sandwich, would you?"

Genuine surprise sketched itself into Edward Nigma's face. Then that surprise switched to a childish sort of glee. "Ooh, did Jonathan Crane just use a cuss word? That's not like you at all, Scarecrow! What about all of your nursery rhymes? What would the little children think?"

"Leave me to my work."

Edward smirked, opening the fridge and taking out a tomato and some lettuce. He untwisted the tie from a loaf of wheat bread and took out two slices of it. "Hey," he called out, "I know you're going to think I'm just finding excuses to bother you - since usually that's exactly what I'm doing -, but what do you want on your sandwich?" The Riddler was not surprised that there was no response; so, he decided just to experiment.

Jonathan tapped the vial in his hand, trying to rid the chemical of air bubbles. Satisfied, he opened another beaker and poured the contents of the vial into it. "One hundred twenty-six doses complete," he breathed, placing the beaker along the table, lining it up with the others.

Edward tossed the knife he'd used into the sink. He picked up the sandwich plate and carried it, along with a bag of tortilla chips, into the lab. "So, what'd I miss?" Naturally, he was not given a reply. "...Anything?...Alright, then. Exactly how much of that toxin are you planning on making?"

"Enough for the university president and his board. And a few doses each for the Batlings."

"What about Batman?"

"He will wear a mask."

"Ha! What makes you say that? He's never prepared for surprises like this!"

"But, will it be a surprise?," Scarecrow half-asked, half-stated.

"What is that supposed to mean? You think I can't keep secrets?"

Jonathan began to pack away his chemicals. "I know you cannot. If you could keep things secret, Edward, then you would never have been arrested and sent to Arkham in the first place. That is the majority of your issue."

The Riddler frowned, placing his hand on the table in front of Jonathan, barring the Scarecrow from his chemicals. "You act as if I'm entirely useless, Professor. Do you realize how invaluable a mind such as mine is?"

Jonathan Crane sneered at the man between himself and his chemicals. "Speak or move."

"I'll choose the first option, thank you," Edward answered, leaning against the table. "I'm saying that I've already thought up the plan. You see, I started thinking about it when you said that Batman would think that you would have me killed... Well, obviously, no one would ever suspect the two of us working together, then, right? Sooo, I come up with a riddle and have it delivered to the Batman, leading him to the university... But, with The Joker and Harley and Catwoman all still at large..."

The Scarecrow sat back in his chair, never letting a bit of emotion seep into his face. "The Bat considers you one of the less... deadly... of Arkham's inmates."

The Riddler grimaced. "For reasons completely unknown to me. But, yes. For some reason, he does. And, the odds of either Joker or Catwoman hitting a place the same night that we have planned for the school are extremely high. Naturally, The Bat can't be in two places at one time... So, he sends the little bats after me." His eyes brightened considerably. "Imagine the surprise for little Robin and Batgirl when they show up only to be faced with my riddles and your fear toxin!" He raised one of his hands, clenching his fist: "We'll crush their incompetent, tiny minds!" Edward laughed maliciously. "And, then, when they're trembling in confusion, in terror, screaming for their mentor's help, screaming for mercy..."

"We crush them."

"That's right: no more meddlesome underlings involved. Just us... And, Batman. No more fights with the odds stacked in His favor. No more stupid Batgirl to pop into fights unexpectedly, to turn the tide of battle... No more Robin to help solve puzzles or to swing in and stop a vial of fear toxin from causing chaos to erupt throughout Gotham... Think of all the times we've been thwarted - and only because the Bat stacked the fights! We'll end it all!" Edward grinned. "What do you think?"

Jonathan chose a spot on the wall to stare at. "I prefer my own plan."

The Riddler's expression sank. "...Your plan?"

"Yes. My plan. You warn no one about our plans for Gotham University. No one shows up to stop us. No confrontation whatsoever. Because you leave no riddle."

"Yes, that is a lovely thought, dear Dr. Crane. But, there is absolutely no way that is happening. I already have my riddle written and ready! I have to show the clue to the Bat! I've already waited weeks for this! My plan is brilliant, Jonathan! There isn't a flaw in it!" Edward stomped his feet angrily. "Why do you have to protest everything I say? Don't argue with me! It's brilliant! I'm brilliant!"

"I never argued a thing. I simply stated a preference, Edward." Jonathan folded his hands, moving his gaze from the wall. "On a sidenote, you suffer from the same lack of anger management skills as do many toddlers and/or young, spoiled children. Do you have a history of tantrums?"

Edward growled, moving from the table to sit down in a chair a few feet away; he took the bag of chips with him. He muttered through a mouthful of chips, "On a sidenote, you suffer from the same lack of eating skills as do many cheerleaders and/or models..."

Jonathan returned to putting away his chemicals. "I would think of more insulting comparisons, were I trying to make a point there."

"Oh, shut up! I didn't say you look like a model! Far from! You're a corpse! Your skin is the color of a dead person's, your hair is screaming for conditioner, your eyes are just empty voids, your nails need to be cut, your arms are about as thick as twigs, your face is too small, your veins show through your skin - which is as dry as a desert, may I add... You're the most hideous creature I've seen in my life, Scarecrow! And, I've met all sorts of freaks - Croc, Joker, Zsasz, Two-Face... You beat them all!"

Jonathan Crane closed his eyes for a moment. "...Thank you, Edward. For telling me again what I was told multiple times by multiple people, daily, for twelve years of my life."

The Riddler, glad to have finally hit a nerve, ventured further, "You're not still told that?"

"How could I be?"

Edward considered Jonathan's response for a moment, registering what he meant. "...What happened to them?"

"One died in an unfortunate car accident. Another, in the same accident, is paralyzed for life. Various accidents have taken the lives of others..."

"...Accidents..." Edward repeated the word aloud. "You... said earlier that your grandmother died... the day you graduated high school... Was that one of those accidents?"

"No, that was an on-purpose."

"The day you graduated high school? My God, have you spent your whole life in Arkham?"

"You're asking me about my past again."

"Yes, well, maybe I wouldn't be so interested if you didn't keep everything such a secret! Is it really that big of a deal, Jonathan? You know my story! Most of the inmates do - or, they know the major details, anyway. And, everyone knows about Harley's past, and Two-Face's, and Croc's... What are you trying to prove?"

"Nothing."

"You know," Edward taunted, "many people think you're just a rip-off of The Joker. You're interested in the same things: fear and chaos... You keep your past a secret, just like he does..."

"I don't lie about my past."

The Riddler watched the irritated expression on Jonathan Crane's face for a moment, his thoughts taking him to another subject... "What are your thoughts on The Joker, Jonathan? No one knows about him or his past, but, then again, only Arkham's stupid doctors have been given the chance to diagnose him..."

Jonathan Crane's voice seemed to raise itself up half an octave. "You wish to ask about another patient?"

Edward raised an eyebrow at Jonathan's suddenly higher voice."Yes?"

"Patient's name?"

"I don't kno-," The Riddler stopped himself before that horrid phrase could leave his mouth. He cleared his throat, then repeated the name that Arkham had given The Joker, "Jack Napier."

"Oh, I'm sorry, that file is confidential. Of course, if you'd like to speak directly to the doctor..."

Edward wasn't really confused: he could never be confused! Puzzled. That was what he was. Puzzled. Being puzzled was allowed for The Riddler, after all. "Jonathan? What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry. No one here goes by that name."

"Crane, really, do you have to..."

"You wish to speak to Doctor Crane? In that case, I can make you an appointment..."

Oh, so we're speaking in third-person, now. Edward threw his bag of chips on the floor, answering sarcastically, "He didn't need an appointment a few days ago when he decided to psycho-analyze me without my consent..."

Ignoring that comment, the high voice continued, "I believe he is free on the twenty-fourth of December at four o' clock."

"Lovely. Christmas Eve at four. So, I only have to wait... What, four months? Tell Doctor Crane that his scheduling service sucks."

"I know an old woman who lived in a shoe.

She had so many children, she didn't know what to do.

She gave them some broth but gave them no bread.

And she beat them and whipped them and put them to bed."

The Riddler resisted the urge to walk over and whack the Scarecrow in the head. Never, never could there be a normal civilized conversation between them. It was just impossible! "Alright, Jonathan, you just keep singing your little songs, then. Who cares about the fact that tonight Batman is going to know all about our plans? Who cares about the fact that tomorrow, we might wake up here and go to sleep back in Arkham? Just trivial things in comparison to your nonsense!"

" 'Who killed Cock Robin?'

'I,' said the Sparrow,

'With my bow and arrow,

I killed Cock Robin.' "

"Alright, fine, it's not nonsense. It means things, I know. It's just annoying when you burst into rhyme all of a sudden when I'm trying to talk to you!"

" 'Who saw him die?'

'I,' said the Fly,

'With my little eye,

I saw him die.' "

Edward stood up, stepping toward the table. He picked up a beaker of the red, liquid fear toxin. He sighed, "Soon..."

The Scarecrow watched carefully as his beloved, toxic mixture was lifted from the safety of the tabletop. " 'Who killed Cock Robin?'," he repeated before answering himself,

" 'I,' said the Scarecrow,

'Breaking flesh and marrow,

I killed Cock Robin.' "

The Riddler placed the beaker back on the surface of the table. " 'Said the Scarecrow'? So, now, you're taking all the credit? It's my plan!"

"I will gladly use your name, as well, as soon you come up with the rhyme." Jonathan's voice was back to normal.

"How lazy and selfish can you be? Only thinking of a rhyme for yourself! It's not that hard to consider other people once in a while!"

"Perhaps you should have thought of that when coming up with your own name."

Edward rolled his eyes. "What do you mean? 'I,' said The Riddler, 'With...the... diddler...biddler... kiddler...fiddler... spiddler...' Alright, I see where this is going." Edward didn't miss the smug look that crossed Jonathan's face. "Shut up! I'll think of something. Just eat your sandwich!" He picked up his cane and walked away. "I'm going to hack the news' network or something. That food had better be gone when I get back!"

"Or what?," Jonathan asked himself as he heard the door slam shut. Normally, Jonathan probably wouldn't even have touched the food - if not just to spite Edward. But, as it was, the Scarecrow wasn't really in the mood to deal with Edward's nagging the night before their big heist. Besides, Edward's whines and tantrums and shouts never seemed to center around the exact thing that made him angry. No, if Edward started one of his fits... say, because Jonathan didn't eat a sandwich... then Edward would begin a lecture about how under-appreciated he was and how special that sandwich was and how he'd never be able to eat another sandwich or look at another sandwich or even talk about sandwiches ever again because all sandwiches would remind him of the great Uneaten Sandwich. And, quite frankly, the Scarecrow did not want to be face-to-face with any one of the members of the Bat-family with Edward rambling all the while about how life is like a whole sandwich - under-appreciated and uneaten by most of the world, despite all the hard work and effort that was put into making it... In fact, Scarecrow was quite certain that The Riddler's speech would be almost exactly that. Oh, fun. No.

So, Jonathan forced himself to take a few bites of the food. He ate less than half of it but decided that would suffice. He limped out of his laboratory and settled himself onto the couch, stealing one of Edward's books from the coffee table.

Edward rehearsed his speech a few times to himself before he turned the camera on. He made certain that his coat and tie were straight and that his posture was perfect. Then he began. "Greetings, Gotham City! The Riddler here, wanting you to know that the reign of idiocy is at an end. You hear that, Batman? I'd hit the books and study a while, if I were you. I'd hate to see what would happen to State if you fail!" There. The Bat would certainly figure that one out! All that was left was to hope that The Joker was feeling particularly villainous the next night. And, to hack the news channel, of course, and air the video of the clue.

It was a little after five o' clock when The Riddler waltzed back into the hideout. Jonathan was lying on the couch, arms across his chest - almost like a mummy. He could easily have been mistaken for dead. Edward thought about waking him up but decided first to see if the sandwich was gone. Upon seeing the somewhat-eaten food, Edward decided to let Jonathan sleep for a while. After all, they would have to stay up all night the next night if they were going to strike the university... And, Jonathan probably needed all those nights in Arkham when he'd never slept... Really, he hadn't slept much since they'd broken out of Arkham, either... Never, actually, that Edward had noticed. Jonathan was always either working with his chemicals or lying around, doing nothing. Occasionally, he would find a book to read. But, sleeping was something new. A moment passed, and Edward wondered if Jonathan ever had dreams. Or if the only dreams he could ever have were other peoples' nightmares.