A/N: I put in a few others Batman villains in this chapter – they're in Arkham, after all. Besides, those two appear in the "Lock-Up" episode, so I had to fit them in anyway – I just hope I managed to keep them IC enough. Anyway, the story will still be mostly about Scarecrow and the Mad Hatter.

Oh, another thing: at some point in this chapter I say Crane is kind of fond on Harley, which may seem OOC to the ones who haven't seen the episode "Harley's Holiday." At the beginning of said episode, at Harley's release, there's a scene in which Batman and Robin are dragging the Scarecrow inside Arkham and he keeps ranting that he's the master of fear and stuff and that they should fear and worship him – then, as Harley greets him, he suddenly stops ranting and says smiling "Good evening, child"…then he starts yelling at Batman again.

So yeah, I had that scene in mind as I wrote that Crane was somehow fond on Harley.

Crane gave a suspicious look at his plate, half-filled with something that vaguely resembled some kind of greyish slime. Breakfast, as it was apparently called.

"Alright," he said, putting the spoon on the table. "I'm not eating this first."

"Me neither!" Harley Quinn made a face. "It smells, too. Bleach!"

"I… I think mine just moved," said Arnold Wesker, otherwise known as the Ventriloquist. He shifted uncomfortably as the others glanced at him. He was a meek, timid man, and he always seemed to be utterly uncomfortable around people – let alone around other inmates. His fingers fidgeted around Mr. Scarface's jacket.

"Hey, don't ya look at me!" the puppet shouted, even though no one had bothered to look at it. Him. Whichever. "I ain't having any of this!" He turned to Wesker. "If you want me to eat this stuff ya have to eat it first, Dummy!"

"Maybe we should flip a coin," Harley suggested as Wesker desperately tried to convince his second personality not to use him as a guinea pig. "To decide who goes first…"

Crane raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a coin?"

She shook her head. Of course she didn't, for there wasn't much use for money in Arkham. Two-Face was the only inmate who always had a coin with him, but he had escaped about a couple of months before Bolton's arrive. He had been a lucky guy – no one had escaped since.

"I…I don't feel like eating at all."

Both Harley and Wesker recoiled at the sound of Tetch's feeble voice. He had been so silent the whole time that nearly everyone at the table had just forgotten his presence. They looked at him as if it was the first time they saw him.

Despite the night of fairly quiet sleep, Tetch really looked terrible: he was horribly pale, his eyes swollen and reddened by the tears he had shed the night before. A bruise was forming on his forehead, for his head had most probably been slammed against the floor when Bolton had forced him to lie down, and he kept shifting as if he couldn't find a comfortable position on the chair. His hands were shaking so much that he could barely keep his grasp on the spoon, and he kept glancing around nervously. Thankfully, that was Bolton's day off: Crane was sure Tetch would have a panic attack is he was to see him anywhere around, and as much as he thought it would have been interesting enough to witness he didn't wish poor Tetch more trouble than he had already been through.

"Gosh, Jervis," Harley frowned slightly, looking at him. "What happened to you? You look terrible!"

"Yeah, ya look like ya've been ran down by a truck!" Mr. Scarface said. Ever the gentleman.

"B…Bolton, was all Tetch needed to say. A deep, terrified silence immediately fell upon the group. Scarface's wooden jaw closed so abruptly is clicked loudly.

Tetch swallowed and shifted uncomfortably. "D…don't look at me like that!" he said, his voice shaking. Harley and Wesker quickly turned their gaze away from him, looking intently at their plates with oddly gazed eyes. They both had their share of dreadful experiences with Bolton. Wesker was literally shaking at the though, and even Scarface stayed silent – probably remembering the Bolton's termite treatment the previous week.

The only one who didn't turn away was Crane.

"You need to go to the infirmary," he said in a deadly quiet voice despite the twinge of fear he had felt as Tetch had named the chief of security. "Putting up any resistance with him is a mistake, as you may have noticed. How does your back feel?"

"M…my back?"

"The scratches. Do they hurt?"

Tetch shuddered. "How do you know about the scratches?"

Crane snorted a little. "Take a guess."

The Mad Hatter bit his lower lip. "... Yes," he said quietly. "It hurts."

"You have to get them cleaned and treated, or else they may become infected."

Tetch cringed. "I…will clean them by myself. We have to shower later, and–"

"So you're going clean up open, bleeding wounds with in the filthiest common shower on this bloody planet, with the aid of hot water and that excuse of soap they give us. How nice," Crane said sarcastically. "By all means, Jervis, I suggest you to reconsider. You need disinfectant, clean bandages and possibly some painkillers."

"But how could I explain this to the doctors?" Tetch's voice shook as if he was on the verge of tears. "Bolton said that if I ever told anyone–"

"I know what he said," Crane almost snarled. "Just tell the doctors you got them from yesterday's fight. They will believe you – they will chose to believe you," he said bitterly.

There was a long silence. Tetch looked down at the table, avoiding his gaze.

"Besides," Crane added, trying to reassure him somehow. "Today Bolton isn't here – Tuesday is his free day, remember? Fixing you up a bit won't take more than a few hours. You will be back in your cell by this afternoon, and Bolton will never even know you went to the infirmary."

Tetch bit his lower lip. "I guess you're right," he finally said as he carefully got up, wincing slightly in pain. "I'll ask the guards to take me to the infirmary. And…Jonathan?"

"What?"

"Well…thanks for–" he paused. "I mean, thanks for the advice."

Crane dismissively waved his hand, ignoring the slight pang of guilt. Yes, maybe he did feel some pity for the poor fellow – but truth to be told, he had convinced Tetch to take care of his wounds for a merely egoistical reason.

Now that Lyle Bolton had chosen him as his last victim, he was going to divide his… attention among more people, which meant each one of them was going to be brought to his office less often... about once a month, considering that now it was four of them. Not counting Scarface, of course. That was why he didn't want Tetch become seriously ill: he didn't want Bolton to turn his attention back to him anytime soon. But the Mad Hatter didn't seem to realize his true motivation, and it was probably better this way.

"You're welcome," he said flatly as Tetch limped away. He didn't go far though: after just a few steps Tetch stumbled forward and fell on the ground with a pained whimper.

"Jervis!"

Crane and Harley quickly got up and approached to the fallen man. "Jervis, are you–"

Harley turned away with an almost comically disgusted look as Tetch threw up his last meal on the floor. "Bleach!"

"Damnit!" Crane turned to the Wesker, who was standing slightly behind. "Go call the guards, Arnold. Tell them Jervis is sick. Go!"

As the Ventriloquist obeyed, Crane turned back to Tetch. "Jervis?" he called. "How are you feeling?"

The Mad Hatter didn't answer immediately. He looked up with gazed, distant eyes. "Alice?" he finally called weakly, a moment before passing out.

Crane blinked, stunned. Alice?

"Huh… I think he was talking to me, professor," Harley said from behind him with a small giggle, looking at the unconscious man. "I don't think you look like an Alice. No offense intended."

"Oh." Crane couldn't help but chuckle as he stepped away from Tetch, leaving him to the approaching guards. "I should hope I don't," he said just as three guards walked up to them and Tetch.

"So. Care to explain what the hell happened here?" one of the them asked.

"He got involved in yesterday's fight in the cafeteria," Crane lied. "He wasn't feeling well since then, and now he just collapsed."

The guard sighed. "Yeah, that sad attempt at a riot gave us a lot of extra work." He turned to the others guards. "Alright guys, get him to the infirmary."

"Imbeciles," Crane mumbled under his breath as they dragged Tetch away. "A bunch of imbeciles."

"Look on the bright side," Harley suggested, sitting back at the table. "They won't ask any questions. So… is anyone going to eat this stuff? "

"Not me," Crane grumbled, pushing the plate away from him. He turned away and just stared ahead for a while, saying nothing, trying to figure out a way to escape that living hell before it was his turn again.

Jonathan had been right: the doctors had chosen to believe him.

They hadn't even questioned him about the suspicious bloodstain on his trousers: they had just given him another pair without any further question. If they even suspected anything – and, as much as he tried, Jervis just couldn't bring himself to believe they didn't – had most likely thought it had been some other inmate.

It wasn't like they cared anyway. After cleaning his worst wounds and loading him with painkillers they had just handed him back to the guards without a second glance. Seconds later they had probably forgotten a man named Jervis Tetch even existed. The though that his possible recover to become a functional member of society was in their hands was laughable.

Too bad, Tetch didn't feel like laughing right now. He was sure not even the Joker could find it in himself to laugh over a such thing. Not if it happened to him, at least.

It was probably better this way, he kept telling himself. He didn't even want to think about Bolton's possible reaction in case anyone found out what he did to some inmates. Still, being treated like some…animal with an annoying disease was really humiliating.

How long had it been since he had been brought back in his cell? Was it two, three hours ago? Time was such an abstract concept in there. It seemed to stretch endlessly. There really was something about Arkham; sometimes he could have sworn time stood still in there.

"And ever since that," Tetch quoted in a whisper, his gaze fixed and distant, "he won't do a thing I ask! It's always six o'clock now…"

He shifted slightly on the mattress, trying to find a comfortable position. He was lying on his stomach, for there wasn't any other position he could take. The pain from the scratches had subsided greatly, but he wasn't going to push his luck by lying on his back – and he definitely didn't feel like sitting. He rose on his elbows, sadly looking up at the window. If he only he could look outside…! He hated being stuck between four walls most of the day.

When he had been brought back in Arkham a few days before he hadn't lasted more than half a day before slamming himself against the door, begging anyone who could hear him to just let him out. Which had led him to the painful discovery that the new chief of security, whom he hadn't had the misfortune to meet yet, had electrified the doors.

The thought of Bolton made Tetch shiver again. That man was insane. Most people may have though he wasn't in the position to say something like this about anyone – but what did other people know? Bolton was worse than him, worse than most inmates he had met. Yes, Bolton was insane. The way he had laughed while he begged him to stop would never leave his mind. No sane creature could ever be so… satisfied by torturing another human being like that.

And it was going to happen again. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow – but he knew Bolton would soon claim him again. He would come at night – like a boogeyman, Jonathan would have said, though Jervis thought of him more like the Jabberwocky. He would open the door of his cell and with that disturbing grin of his and…

Tetch shut his eyes tightly, desperately trying to think about something else – but nothing came to his mind.

"God, no…please… please, stop...no…"

The sound of the door of the nearby cell being opened and then closed again saved him from his own morbid thoughts: Crane was back from the therapy session. A sigh of relief escaped him. At least he could speak with someone now – this would help to keep such thoughts out of his mind, at least until night.

"Jonathan?" he called, shifting on the mattress so he could pull the loosened brick from the wall. "Is that you?"

"Who else did you expect, Tetch? The Cheshire Cat?" a bitter voice answered.

Yes, it was definitely Jonathan. "How did your therapy session go?"

Crane shrugged. "It was useless, as always. How are you feeling now?"

Tetch shifted uneasily. "Better, I guess. I have to go back there for medication tomorrow morning."

"Good. Here, take this."

Tetch blinked as he saw what Crane was handing him trough the hole in the wall. "Toilet paper?"

"I don't have to explain you what it is for, do I?" Crane said coldly.

Jervis blushed violently as the realization hit him. "Oh. I …no, I understand. Thank you," he said, taking it. He hesitated before speaking again. "When will I stop bleeding?" he asked after a few moments.

Inside his own cell, Crane scowled at the realization that Tetch was sounding as if he had been the one who had done something wrong.

"Soon enough. A couple of days, I think," Crane said. Next time it will hurt less, he thought, but he didn't say it aloud. The less Tetch thought about what would soon happen again, the better it was.

"I understand. Thank you for–"

"Just let it go, will you?" Crane cut him off, resting back on the mattress. It wasn't like he felt guilty – he hadn't felt guilty about using people for his experiments, so there was no way he could ever feel guilty about fooling someone as naïve as Tetch – but the way he kept thanking him was rather annoying. How could he be so stupid to not realize he needed him to get better for his own advantage? To have someone else Bolton could turn his attention to?

He will not be thanking me in a few weeks.

"Oh."

There was a brief silence.

"Jonathan?"

"What?"

"Do you truly think he will come after me again?"

"Yes, he will – but he will leave you alone for a while. It's like he has a scheme: his next target should be Arnold, then Harley and then–" he abruptly stopped in the mid-sentence and glanced blankly at the wall.

No, not again – he couldn't bear it. He had to find a way out before it was too late.

Tetch seemed relieved by his words. Free form any immediate worry, his mind immediately began to drift away from reality. There are some advantages in having your mind lost in the realms of fantasy sometimes, Crane mused. In a way he was fascinated by Tetch's capacity to completely cut out the outside world from his mind. Some people confronted their problems and fears – Tetch just turned away from them, hiding his conscious self in a place where they couldn't reach him.

Had he met him in another situation, he was sure Tetch would have made an extremely interesting subject for his experiments.

"Jonathan?"

"What again?" Crane snapped, clearly annoyed by his insistence.

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?" he asked, once again quoting Alice in Wonderland – the Mad Hatter's riddle without solution.

The Scarecrow's lips curled in a faint smile. "Because Edgar Allan Poe wrote on both," he said, telling one of the possible answers that had been considered over the years – and his personal favourite, for obvious reasons. The Raven had always been one of the poems he was most fond on.

Tetch chuckled. "I was sure you would have said that one," he said. There was a brief pause. "I wonder what The Riddler would answer."

"It would be interesting to hear his take on it," Crane admitted. "But he's on the loose right now. Lucky bastard. For his sake, he had better keep his head down. All those lucky enough to be outside should."

"Joker's on the loose too," Tetch said, a bit hesitantly – he still was kind of a newbie among the Gotham's rogues, and he still felt a bit uncomfortable about the Joker. Crane was sure he would get used to him soon enough. They all did. "If he were to find out… you know… what Bolton did to his girlfriend…" he stopped talking, trying to get the thought of Bolton out of his mind again.

Crane couldn't help but grimace at the thought. He had always been oddly fond on Harley, maybe because she had been a psychologist as well before the Joker poisoned her mind. She was one of the few to show him respect, and the only one who still addressed him as 'Professor Crane' from time to time. Honestly, he couldn't tell which of her misadventures had been the worst: falling so desperately in love with the Jokeror becoming one of Bolton's favourite targets. Maybe the former, since she wouldn't have landed in there in the first place hadn't the Joker corrupted her mind."

"Jonathan? Are you – ?"

Crane gritted his teeth. For an genius of electronics, he mused, Tetch could be unbelievably stupid and annoying. He had always hated children, and now he was stuck with an overgrown child. Fate had sense of humor. "Of course I'm still here," he growled.

"What do you think then?" Jervis insisted. He sounded almost hopeful. "If Joker finds out, he would be after Bolton in a moment…"

Crane thought about it for a moment. It was true on a way – even though he often treated his… girlfriend worse than rubbish, knowing that somebody had raped someone who belonged to him would probably enrage him enough to go after Bolton. And, as terrifying as Bolton was there in Arkham, he was sure he wouldn't stand a chance against an enraged Joker loose in Gotham. Maybe…

Jonathan covered his eyes with a hand. "Oh, God. Are we really so desperate that we're hoping for help from Joker?"

Tetch shrugged. "I think so."

"Marvellous. I think my life has just hit a new low."

"It could be worse."

"Yes. We may be hoping for help from the Bat."

There was a brief silence.

"Well…"

"Don't. Say. It."

"Shutting up."

Another silence.

"Who are we trying to fool?" Crane said gloomily. "There is no way for the Batman or the Joker to find out what's going on in here, simply because none of us is going to make it outside to tell anyone. Not under Bolton's charge. And I highly doubt any of us would be believed even if we did."

Tetch sighed. "If only I could have my mind control chips..."

"There is no way you can build one here, is there?"

"No. They won't let me get near any electronic device," Jervis said mournfully, shifting slightly to find a more comfortable position.

"I should have guessed. I cannot get near any kind of medicine without being watched by half a dozen guards as well."

"Afraid you could use them to create some fear toxin?"

"Yes," Crane couldn't help but grin. "Very afraid."

"At least the never leave alone in the infirmary to wait for the doctor for nearly twenty minutes," Tetch whined. "It wasn't nice, not at all…"

"Wait," Crane suddenly said, sitting up on the mattress as if something had just hit him. "They left you alone in the infirmary?" he asked, cursing himself for not thinking about it before.

"Uh…yes," Tetch blinked, clearly not getting what was it that Crane found so exciting about it. "Why?"

Crane grinned. The Mad Hatter wasn't considered much of a threat by most guards, and he knew almost nothing about chemicals past the very basics – so it made sense that the guards had been careless enough to leave him alone in the infirmary. Without Bolton's watchful eye, they could be surprisingly foolish. The Scarecrow's grin widened as he remembered what Jervis had told him about having to go back to the infirmary the next morning. Bolton wouldn't be back from his time off until noon. I they were lucky enough, Tetch would be alone in the infirmary again, just enough to…

"I think I have a plan, Jervis – a plan to get out of this hellhole. Now listen close, here's what you have to do…"