A/N: Dr. Ruth Adams is based on the likeness of actress Maura Tierney.

Joker had set down the chess board. Across from him sat Jonathan Crane who stared at him with his unnaturally colored eyes. The Bible says that the eyes are the windows to the soul. If that were true then the Scarecrow was either pure of heart or devoid of that which is supposed to make people human. An educated man, he was certain that Crane was sizing him up as well. But Joker didn't hide the void within and even emphasized it with black paint to get his point across. People had as hard a time looking him in the eyes as they did looking at his scars.

Crane did not exhibit any discomfort as he picked up his pieces and placed them in perfect order. He was fastidious; he liked things in their order even if it only made sense to him. Although Joker enjoyed chaos and entropy in the world, the universe, he had his own sense of order and control. He never could have accomplished all he had without it. But that didn't mean he couldn't tell tales.

Joker watched Ruth Adams cross the room, her eyes on them as she made the trip. Their appointed babysitter and queen white coat with her minions of orderlies who would attack on her command. She was average at best with short brown hair that seemed beyond her control. Not a queen or even a princess, just another self-important shrink who chose this line of work to fix her own problems under the guise of helping others. The big lie of social science, help me to help you to help me. They were damaged people hiding behind credentials giving them the authority to change the way other people thought either through talk or chemistry. Neither of which they fully understood.

Jonathan Crane had been king of the hill. He had held power and control over all of the white coats, orderlies, guards and most importantly the patients. His experiments and so-called therapy had enabled Joker to manipulate the escapees to do his bidding. His reputation as an agent of chaos had remained intact because anyone who followed the Joker had to be crazy.

Jonathan Crane was crazy. It hadn't taken Joker long to size up the man he'd met in the dead of night wearing a burlap sack on his head while he recited a nursery rhyme at a startled homeless man and sprayed him in the face with his fear toxin. Then he'd watched the man, crouching over him and taking in the other man's terror like a breath of air.

Crane was not your garden variety madman. It had taken a lifetime to create this level of self-control and insanity. It was later that Joker had taken note of his duality as well. The Jonathan Crane in the dead of night on the outside who called himself 'Scarecrow' was different from the one who sat across from him at the table, making what he thought were well thought out moves in their game.

The first time he had seen it was when he had been given rec room privileges and had come across Crane playing a game of chess with himself. His game play had been shrugged off by the orderlies who said Crane was so pretentious that he saw only himself as a formidable opponent. Joker had pulled up a seat and watched Crane who was deeply focused on the game. White was clearly beating black. What Joker didn't understand was why Crane played the game with two different strategies, one clearly inferior to the other. His expression changing as the game went on and his dissatisfaction with black becoming more evident until white had won. Joker called winner.

And so it had gone on, the two men played and made casual conversation about those things most important to them, Batman being chief among them. Crane's apparent jealousy that Joker had killed Rachel Dawes had amused him. A lot about Crane amused him, or at least held his interest long enough that he chose not to kill him. On the outside they had crossed paths and in one instance had found a common rival in one Eddie Nigma. As much as Joker disliked competition from other so-called criminal masterminds, he didn't mind keeping around cannon fodder to distract Batman from his activities long enough so that he could complete his plans.

All that he needed was something he could hold over Crane's head to keep him in line. He had sought this during their social time and from listening to the asylum gossip. He hadn't found anything concrete but he had learned the secrets behind Scarecrow's fear night.

Once upon a time, a man named Jack Napier had been in love with his wife, Jeannie. Their relationship had been far from perfect but Jack was determined to make it work because he didn't have anything else to show for in life. He had lots of secrets and a woman who had abandoned her mission to peer any deeper below his surface than she already had. She was blissfully ignorant and pretended that what she already knew was somehow a mistake, or a bad dream. Then one day he had told his boss that he was quitting in so many words, and his boss had not liked that one bit. So one day he had sent a man to kill Jack and his blushing bride.

Then one night, a man with a scarred face and a vendetta had slipped out of his cell and found that foolish, arrogant bastard in another cell shivering in his sleep. It was from fear, the scarred man knew. A man called the Scarecrow had poisoned him and all Arkham's horses and all of Arkham's men were loose in the streets and it was a good week before he had been administered an antidote. Unfortunately by that time the man was a shell of his former self and only able to express himself the way a child does.

The way Jack Napier's daughter would have talked to him by now if he and his wife had lived, if Carmine Falcone hadn't had them killed.

The scarred man had crept upon the bed and woken Carmine Falcone who had cried and wet himself in response. The last face he ever thought he would see again hovered over him as he babbled while tears fell from his eyes. The scarred man wanted to relish this moment, but the man's broken comprehension and lack of focus made the experience unfulfilling. That was Crane's fault.

But all was not lost as he managed to get a fragment of worth from the man's broken lucidity. A name was whispered to him like a curse in the dark. And the scarred man had left the pathetic old man to his repose.

The name danced in Joker's mind as he sat across from Crane, waiting for the moment it would roll from his tongue. But it could wait while Joker worked out the solution to Crane's puzzle. He wasn't a jigsaw, more like a puzzle box in which removing one piece could actually lock another into place. It entertained him.

These thoughts crossed Joker's mind while he sat absently watching a television, wearing only pants and an unbuttoned shirt. Laying back against the cushion as the cocaine took effect. He saw the blonde on the television and knew she would disapprove. He smiled as he could picture her standing before him, her hands planted firmly on her hips lecturing him about his evil ways. He knew the woman in the other room would hate her. She probably already did.

He saw a man in a green suit with a cane escorting Harley inside the courthouse, his face visible only momentarily. Joker sat forward and rubbed his eyes and then nose. The same man had acknowledged him from the back of the courtroom.

A raise and tilt of his cane and the game was on.

Once upon a time, Joker had stood behind Scarecrow as he had illuminated a message on a wall with his flashlight.

Riddle Me This

"The police said that he sent a message, a death threat in the form of a question. Like a riddle." Harley had told him just the morning before while she had set him free.

Joker stood and buttoned his shirt then began gathering his things. He had a lot of work ahead of him.

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews and continued readership!