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Chapter Text

There were two bodies on the floor, no signs of gunshots and no blood, just two of his men lying flat in the hallway of his safe house. Professor Crane let out a sigh of disappointment, he could swear he had left the hideout only for ten minutes and these incompetent fools couldn't even keep his lab protected. He passed around the men on the floor, not bothering to give them any more attention. From what he had already gathered, they had been knocked out – blunt object to the head. He reached into the pocket of his trench coat, good thing he never left without a dose of his precious toxin.

He walked down the stairs, right to the basement, the light was on like nothing had ever happened. The doors were shut, he stopped and listened in. If Batman had found this place, it was better to not go in there. However, if that had been one of Falcone's thugs, then the evening should still be fun – for Scarecrow.

He listened in but in there it was quiet, only some soft, muffled sounds like...sobbing?

Both curious and suspicious, Professor Crane pushed the door open. There was a mallet lying on the floor, forgotten, and there was a familiar figure curled in his armchair. Crying.

“Harleen?”

Doctor Quinzel raised her blonde head and turned around to look at him. Her makeup was flaking, tears falling from her eyes like waterfalls. The clown-costume she was wearing didn't look complete.

“Professor Crane,” she uttered, her voice weak and trembling. “So-orry for the intrusion. I just...” She didn't finish as the uncontrolled sobbing shook her whole body.

“It's OK, my child,” Crane attempted to calm her down, taken by surprise with that whole, new situation. “I'm not very busy right now. And don't worry about those goons you knocked out, I'm not angry about it.”

“Thankyouuu...” Harleen wailed and covered her face in her hands. “I had nowhere to gooo... Red's in Arkham... And Mr. J... He... He...”

“He kicked you out?”

“Woooorse!” She lamented loudly, throwing her arms in the air. “He replaced me with a stupid robot!”

The absurdity of that statement didn't change the fact that the girl was honestly heartbroken. Under any other circumstances, Scarecrow would gladly prey on this sweet fear of abandonment but this was Harleen – the only person in this god-damned city who had always treated him with nothing but kindness and respect, politeness and understanding – he was feeling obligated to repay her with the same.

“Come now, child,” He walked to her to pat her pretty head. “How can you think that some... machine could ever replace you?”

“He put it in my costume!!!” She clutched on his coat with sheer desperation. “And he said, it doesn't talk so much so it's better than the original!”

With a sorrowful cry, Harley threw her arms around him and hugged him with rib-crushing strength. Jonathan let out an 'oof' but did not protest.

“Oh, Professor!” She continued, face buried in his sweater. “What should I dooo!”

He could now smell alcohol from her. What had she been doing before he got here? Not breaking any laws, he hoped, and luring Batman right into his hideout.

“You should stay here until morning,” he advised her, the house had a guest room and Jonathan had planned on working in the basement the whole night anyway. “And tomorrow... Well, we could visit the Joker...”

Harleen stopped sobbing and looked him in the eyes.

“You don't mean to...”

“Oh, no-no,” He smirked. “I highly doubt my toxin would even have any effect on him. But while we talk, you sneak in and then something might just accidentally happen to that robot... Something like, I don't know, a mallet to its head?”

“Oooh...” The smile slowly returning to her pretty face was worth the doubtful pleasure of talking to the Joker in the near future. “Oh, I get it... Thank you, Professor!” She hugged him again.

He awkwardly hugged back, patting her back in a friendly manner.

“By the way, where did the Joker even get that robot from?” As soon as he asked, the answer already came to him. It was pretty obvious. “You know what, nevermind...”

The next time he saw him, he'd have a word with Edward about building robots for someone else's boyfriends.

Chapter Text

Arkham was such a dreary place, it lacked a lot of things – joy, light, sanity… Well of course, one could always argue that the entire town lacked those three things. Still, this was a new low.

There was a new doctor with newer, stricter methods and the first thing he had done was making sure that those small guilty pleasures the inmates had been partaking in, had been canceled. No more theater ‘group’ with Two-face playing all the roles. Riddler and Scarecrow didn’t get their crossword booklets and chess magazines anymore. Harley Quinn was put on a strict sugar-free diet.

Truly, it was only a matter of time 'till that new doctor was murdered most violently – either that or a mass prison break was imminent.

But until then? Jervis Tetch the Mad Hatter had to do something on his own since, of course, his little tea parties had been on the new doc’s hitlist as well. So, what was a madman supposed to do? Tea obviously was an absolute must! A tea party without tea? That was called a doll-party, not an Unbirthday!

Jervis, who had just snatched a few mugs from the common room, strode up to Riddler, who was in a remarkably bad mood.

“So?” he asked, making sure that the guards didn’t pay them overly much attention.

“You know, there are better ways to waste my precious time than jury-rigging heating plates,” the other man grumbled.

“Yes, but since you don’t have those crossword mags right now…” Hatter shrugged.

“True enough, it is ready in the broom closet under the staircase, complete with an iron bucked you can cook in, don’t be too surprised if your tea tastes of mop-water though, and try not to electrocute yourself – just a warning – none of the wires are properly isolated or grounded but why do I even bother telling you this?”

“How can I ever thank you enough, Eddie?” Jervis beamed and hoped that no one noticed.

“By not inviting me, ever!” the Riddler grouched before he slunk away muttering something about having to plan a murder.

Strictly spoken, real tea obviously required dried tea leaves, but then there were such concoctions as herbal teas and herbs were far easier to come by. As Pamela Isley was a regular inmate of Arkham Asylum, there were a few non-poisonous plants around. She had even managed to plant a few more ‘outside’ - meaning she had tossed seed, she had found in her food, through the barred windows where they had in several cases sprouted and taken root on the tilted roof.

Jervis had just picked a few leaves off – Pamela would hopefully not notice when she was brought in next time, or mind too much – had stuffed said leaves into his mattress and let them dry for a week.

Sadly, there wouldn’t be cake. Eggs he could have organized from one of the many dove nests, a few apple-slices he’d be able to take from the healthy ‘desserts’ they were served after lunch – thanks again, doc! But there was no sugar, chocolate or honey to sweeten a cake with, and since the ‘incident’ no inmate was anymore allowed even close to fine powdered substances like flour.

Hatter had filled the metal bucket with a little water from the sink in his cell, grabbed the leaves and the mugs, spoken some invitations to some of his fellow inmates – though all seemed to have something else to attend to.

Harleen had asked whether there would be cake and Jervis didn’t have the heart or courage to lie, and so she had also politely declined with: ”$@/&§ it then!”

Now, Hatter sat alone with his tea bucket under the staircase, sometimes holding in his ceramic mug for a refill and savoring the taste of the questionable dry leaves and a decent note of floor cleaner.

That was until the door to his little hiding hole was slammed open. Outside stood two guards, who looked almost apologetic. They knew it was the small things that kept the inmates sane-ish...er but behind them stood the new doc and that guy was practically fuming. Shouting something about his authority being undermined – not that Hatter actually cared, what that guy wanted.

Actually, Hatter had no single care in the world at the moment. There were little fluffy pink clouds everywhere and Alice was winking at him. Maaaaybe Poison Ivy had somehow managed to smuggle in some not so entirely harmless plants?

The doc was shouting some more, Hatter ignored him some more and reached for another refill – no reason to waste the good stuff after all.

Losing his patience, the doc grabbed for the bucket to pull it away…

Huh, the party even had fireworks? This tea party was the best! Hatter giggled manically.

Sparks were flying and the new doc was frying.

And then things went black.

Only much later Tetch woke up in a hospital bed, surprisingly surrounded by dozens of 'get well soon’ and weirdly several ‘congratulations’ cards.

“What an adventure, apparently, but I really could go for a tea now.” He sighed.

Chapter Text

A girl simply needed her beauty sleep. This was easier said than done, however, when one was an unwilling lodging guest in Arkham Asylum. Nights were rarely ever quiet here.

Sometimes the nights were filled with maniacal laughter – especially when Harley’s Puddin’ was around but that was kind of soothing and led to sweet dreams of Batman in various deathtraps.

Then, there was loud screaming, arguing, fighting or... Killer Crock snoring – and that was something else ‘cause the dude had his personal reinforced cell two floors below and still made the ventilation-shafts rattle in the entire block.

On occasion, that foolish Lumina-something girl could be heard sobbing in the ‘not dark enough for her taste’ darkness, though the medics had done a good job sewing her eyelids back on – speaking of someone being ungrateful.

But tonight, there was nothing of the above. Several of Harleen’s friends and in some cases enemies were not ‘home’ in the first place, so the noise level had been drastically reduced. Nevertheless, Harley found herself burying her head under the too thin pillow of her cot as there was a low ‘tink, tink… tin-tinka-tink’ all few seconds. What the noise didn’t have in volume it sported in sheer annoyance.

With a frustrated sigh, Harley threw the pillow against the bars, got up and checked the sink. But the water tap was shut tight and obviously not the source of the noise. The corridor in front of her cell appeared to be silent as well, which left only the vent system as a possible source.

Yesss! There it was again ‘tink, tinkaling’, Harleen frowned.

Unscrewing the vent cover was pretty easy, so was getting up and inside for an athletic girl like herself. Through the dust and grime, she crawled with sheer determination, to find the source once and for all.

Now, she listened closely, there was another sound, a low shuffling noise as if…

She squeezed to a crossroads in the vent system.

“So, you were the responsible party! Trying to break out or something?” she grumbled but realized her mistake as soon as the other’s eyes went wide in surprise. Her hand shot out to press over Jonathan Crane’s mouth before the man could give a startled cry. He was one of the few male inmates who was scrawny enough to fit in here as well.

“HMMMHMMHMP?” was all he got out.

“Shhhh!” She held her finger to her lips as she removed her hand from Scarecrow’s face.

As soon as he was free to speak, Crane started to huff: “What are you talking about? I was not going to escape! I was looking for the source of that infernal ‘tink, ding, atinkatding’ that has been driving me crazy all night. Should have known it was you! Some sort of prank you are playing on us? Or is this...” He gestured at the claustrophobic vent walls. “...your idea of recreational fun?”

Harley’s angry reply was interrupted by a ‘ting ting ting ding ating kling’ which definitely did not come from either Crane nor her but from the side.

Both villains stared into the dark shaft, then back at each other, then again at the shaft.

“After you.” Scarecrow made a ‘ladies first’ gesture.

After a bit more of crawling, there was finally light at the end of the vent, a glance down showed just another corridor, and Harley was about to remove the vent cover – which was a little trickier from inside, when she heard the faint tingle and steps drawing closer.

There was a guard dutifully patrolling and yes: That noise came from him!

Harleen waited 'till he had passed and gestured to her unexpected partner in crime to get ready, then she removed the screws of the vent cover and patiently waited for the tingling to draw near again.

Whatever the guard may have expected, it surely wasn’t two villains dropping on him from above before being knocked out by the vent cover swung by a sleep deprived Harley Quinn.

“Now, would you believe that?” Crane held the source of the noise up, a metallic hip-flask the guard’s chain of keys had been rattling against with each of the man’s steps. He unscrewed it and sniffed at the liquid sloshing inside. “Whiskey! Drunk on the job! This place has sure gone down the drain, if they hire slobs like him nowadays.”

“Yeah, really that idiot definitely is not fit for this job,” Harleen agreed, then gave the unconscious guard a last kick. She stretched and yawned: “At least we can finally go back to bed now.”

Then she blinked, once then twice.

“Oooor…since we already are out of our cells and have that lovely set of keys and some highly flame-able substance…” She let the unfinished sentence hang in the air and smiled mischievously.

Catching on, Scarecrow began to smirk as well. “Truly, not the most over-planned breakout I have ever been involved in, but who am I to look the gift-horse in the mouth? You wouldn’t know by chance where they keep our costumes?”

“Sure do, I used to work here after all.” Harleen winked. “You know Professor, I have the feeling this will be a night neither of us will ever forget.

Chapter Text

Being locked up in Arkham gave you the rare opportunity to fully dedicate yourself to undisturbed thinking – mostly because there simply is nothing else you are allowed to do.

He had had all the time in the world for planning. Within the first two weeks, he had already had a scheme, all the details after a month, and three months after his incarceration, Riddler was on the lose again – ready to start working.

All he needed were a few simple things like huge metal panels for conducting electrical currents, giant blades, chains strong enough to hold them, 232 meters of wire, bulletproof glass, a 65 ton weight, a crane to place it under the ceiling, and last but not least – a total number of 4,145 screws to put his deadly mousetrap, or should he rather say his 'bat-trap', together. And a power-drill of course. Well, that shouldn't be too hard to get, now should it?

Making himself comfortable in his chair, deep down in the basement of his new lair, Riddler opened a browser window.

“Let's see...floor panels...” He typed the phrase in. It looked like he'd have to order those from San Diego. “Why not...”

Hacking into the Iceberg Lounge’s website to make an order from there should work just fine. Metal flooring like that shouldn't be too suspicious for a nightclub, right? And Penguin probably wouldn't even notice, if his club had to pay an additional 8,000 dollars for something that they neither needed nor received. And if he did... Well, Ernest Hilt – whoever the poor guy was – would have to explain that to his boss, as the order was made in his name.

With that one taken care of, now, where to order those blades from...

A dark, gargoyle-like figure stood on the top of the radio tower, looming over the city like a bird of prey.

“Master Bruce,” a thick British accent disturbed the monotonous buzz of the traffic below. “You might want to hear about an information I acquired just a moment ago.”

“What is it, Alfred?”

“I think the Riddler might be up to something.”

Batman shifted his position, searching for the batsignal in the cloudy sky but finding none.

“Did he leave a riddle?”

“No, Sir.”

“Did he hack into the GCPD database again?”

“No, at least not as far as I know.”

“So what is it, then?” He expected the worst but Alfred was as calm as ever.

“I checked the latest invoice from Wayne Enterprises and one particular order caught my attention.” Bruce raised an eyebrow under the cowl, waiting for his butler to continue. “Did the board decide on changing the look of all the offices at Wayne Tower? Or are they planning one of those big corporate retreats with a paintball tournament, by chance?”

“Nothing that I know about. Why are you asking?”

“Because someone from your company ordered 900 liters of green paint to be delivered to the Gotham docks. And we both know, which one of your colorful foes has a habit to paint everything in that color.”

Batman let out a sigh – those themed villains would never learn, would they?

Chapter Text

“Good morning Eddie, my boy! I hope you have slept well?”

While Riddler’s head felt like Batman had played soccer with it and everything swam in front of his eyes, the weirdly pitched voice was too characteristic to remain oblivious of who was currently shaking him awake.

What had he been doing? Right, he had been working on the wiring of a trap for Batman, when a vuvuzela had blared right behind him. He had tried to jump to his feet on reflex and hit his head on the metal frame. And had fallen unconscious with the manic laughter of the Joker resounding in his ears.

While waking up in the presence of the crazy clown was really not something he appreciated, it was still better than not waking up anymore at all.

“Very funny, what do you even want of me?” He tested whether he could move but no, he had been tied up by something that looked like festoons but felt as solid as metal bands.

“Oh, Eddie! Could you really have forgotten? Eidetic memory and all? You owe me a favor!” Joker was making himself comfortable on Riddler’s couch. Riddler had apparently been lying on the floor the entire time. At least he was still in his own hideout. He might yet escape this precarious situation, if only he got at… Wait, what favor?

He wouldn’t have forgotten if he owed Joker anything. He had never asked for anyone getting either murdered nor spared, money or any assistance with the Bat. What could the mad clown be on about? Unless it was…

Three years ago, common room of Arkham Asylum:

“Be so kind, Joker and pass me the remote. I want to watch the evening news.”

“Sure Eddie, but you owe me.”

Riddler gaped at the old memory, which presented itself as the only occasion. But he also realized, it wouldn’t be of any use to argue with this special headcase.

“Fine! So apparently, I owe you a small favor. What do you want of me, Joker?” He croaked out.

“So glad that you asked, my boy!” Joker jumped up from the couch and unrolled a piece of parchment he had pulled out of his jacket.

Riddler squinted and let his eyes roam over the building blueprint embellished with drawings of confetti cannons, tiny clown figures that were likely supposed to be positions for minions and a lot of strategically placed explosives. A genius like Edward Nygma didn’t need more than a few seconds to conclude what this meant.

“You are planning to take over the Gotham City Police Department?” he inquired disbelievingly. Then thought about it for a moment. “That plan might actually work, but that brings me back to my question: What do you want of ME?”

If that was even possible, Joker’s grin got even wider. He pointed at a tiny scribble of a winged figure, placed in the middle of the blueprint.

“Isn’t it obvious? I need someone to play the Toothfairy! And Harley is in Arkham.”

Chapter Text

And here I am, wearing this stupid costume, with both my legs broken thanks to the Bat. I swear this is the last time I worked for the Joker! Penguin's boys are at least getting their share of the loot, and they don't have to dress up as clowns. How did I even get talked into that? Oh, yeah – Josh said we will shoot some cops and it will be fun.

"Hey, Josh! You alive!"

No answer. Just great. Wonder how much fun he is having now, lying under that crate. "Catch, Batman!" he’d said, tossing that thing. What he hadn't known was that the Bat actually would catch it and toss it back. Idiot!

"Benny? Is that you?" Someone calls my name. It's Hank, the medic, dangling from the ceiling like a damn pinata. Batman's rope wrapped around his ankles. "Cut me loose, man! I'm gonna... Uhh, I don't feel so good..."

"I can't! He jumped right on me from the upper floor! I think my legs are broken! Both of them!"

"Can you see the bones sticking out?"

"I don't know, man! I'm too scared to look down!"

"Last time I fought the Bat he broke my leg too," someone else cuts in. The big guy. The one with the rocket launcher, currently trying to dig himself out of a pile of rubble. Did the Batmobile hit the wall right behind him, causing that wall to fall on him? I don't remember it well, the memory of the fight is blurry. I think I'm gonna pass out soon. Again. “It was broken in three different places, and I’m walking with a limp to this day.”

Great, just great! What will my wife say when she sees me limping? “That scar on your ugly mug was not enough for you? Now you also have to walk like a stupid pirate?” I can almost hear her sweet voice in my head. Or wait? Are those sirens? Sounds like police sirens. Finally!

“It looks like we're going back to the GCPD station. I bet, the pigs are gonna laugh at us,” Hank says.

“They always do,” the big guy adds bitterly. Josh is awfully quiet, I think he might be dead. “It's those stupid costumes, ya know. One time Joker told me to dress up as a girl-scout, with grenades instead of cookies.”

“And you did?”

“Well, yeah... You don't argue with the Joker.”

True enough. I really need to get a better job. Once I get out of Blackgate, that is.

Chapter Text

Joker collected Baseball cards – it was a surprisingly mundane hobby.

Aside from a countless number of hats and masks, the Hatter had a whole, safely locked wardrobe full of different wigs in his hideout.

Breaking into Poison Ivy’s lair and finding her stash of R-rated tentacle monster movies, made Selina wish for a brain-bleach still two years later. 

Scarecrow, unsurprisingly, had a bunch of surprisingly accurate looking voodoo dolls hanging from the canopy of his bed. Catwoman had removed a few of Batman and his Robins – just in case there were actually genuine locks of hair inside – better not leave any usable samples of DNA evidence behind. Batman should really thank her for all the little things she did for him, not that she was going to tell him ever.

Harley Quinn had several folders with deep psychoanalysis profiles of nearly any masked villain or vigilante in Gotham, hidden behind her bed. It wasn’t all that strange as this had been the job of her choice once, and when every day became a vacation of sorts, some people needed to get serious to relax. 

That didn’t keep Catwoman from taking the folder labeled ‘Selina Kyle’, for reading and burning it later. She also took the one labeled ‘Batman’, though, that one she didn’t burn. Some of the ideas in there actually helped her out to get back on his good side when Batman got too angry about one of Catwoman’s latest stunts. In retaliation, Catwoman had seen to anonymously sending Harley a supply of her favorite chocolate cream truffles to Arkham whenever that happened.

However, the strangest thing she had ever encountered when stealing from other villains?

That questionable award went straight to the Riddler. 

His lairs were always straightforward deathtraps, robots, riddles and so on. But if you wanted to find anything valuable or personal, you'd have to remember that Edward Nygma had started out as an IT-specialist and hack into his computer. Riddler didn’t use it to stash plans or riddle drafts, no, he kept those all safely in his head alone. Nevertheless, it was always fun to get through all those password blocks with riddled hints, and then move some of his savings over to a Swiss number-account and later watch him over the hacked webcam, wracking his brain over who had been outsmarting his security measures.

Anyway, that was all still business. And Riddler’s private little hobby that no one was supposed to know about?

It was called 'Nygmaville' – a bustling little virtual community, ruled by an avatar, that looked like a mini copy of Riddler himself, named Eddie Almighty. Riddler had apparently taken The Sims game and rewritten some of the coding, creating this bizarre life simulator. 

Every time she broke into the system, Catwoman took a moment to look into the game’s progress. She liked taking screenshots occasionally, especially of Eddie Almighty and his loving and doting husbando – Mr. Bat.

Chapter Text

It wasn't supposed to be a heist. After six months inside narrow cells, behind glass like fish in a bowl, after all that time they had to wear those horrible, pale, pajama-like uniforms and use collective showers – the girls really deserved a vacation. And that was why Harl and Red were on that luxury cruise. Not for the money, no. Not even for the sake of any plants. The girls simply needed to relax.

Pamela had kissed a man and the girls were given everything they wanted. The ship had left the Gotham Bay, it wasn't raining for once and the ladies were starting to enjoy themselves. That was until lunchtime...

“Those barbarians...” Pam's hand clenched on the fork. “Don't they serve anything else aside vegetables?”

“Well, it's a salad bar section so...”

The pair of green eyes narrowed dangerously fast and Harley bit her own tongue.

“But you are not going to eat that carrot, aren't you?”

“No, of course not.”

A few consumed vegetables later and Poison Ivy couldn't take it anymore. Who knew that the seeds she had brought with her, just in case, were going to be used so soon?

While the giant vines kept strangling people, Harleen decided that she might as well take their wallets and jewelry – not like those douchebags were going to need those anymore.

And so the vacation turned into a heist – again. Life was full of surprises when you were a super-criminal.

The panic spread and someone had to have called for help by now. The ship didn't get far from Gotham, so the girls knew all too well who would be on his way to save the day. It was time to leave.

They jumped into one of the lifeboats, Harl cut the ropes and Ivy's plant-baby wrapped its long vines around the boat to gently put it in the water. The people aboard the cruiser were screaming, while the girls were rowing in the general direction of the docks, where they could hide inside one of the empty storehouses. The loot they had collected would easily grant them a nice hotel room later.

“You could at least pretend to help me with this, Red,” Harleen complained, referring to the paddles. “My arms hurt!”

“Oh, don't be a baby. We're almost...”

She had said that too soon.

Something black emerged from under the muddy water – something made of metal, something that looked like... a periscope?

“What the...”

The waves got stronger and their boat rocked violently, there was no way to keep rowing.

“Does the Bat have a batmarine now too!?” Harley squeaked, trying her best not to fall overboard as a big, black machine was slowly emerging directly under the lifeboat. “Oh, who am I kidding... Of course he does!”

The yellow bat symbol on the side of the submarine was all they needed to know.

That had been a very short vacation after all.

Chapter Text

So, it was Arkham – again. Because Batman had cheated at solving his riddles – again. And Riddler needed a new plan to break out – again. Good thing then, that he was full of plans…

‘Luckily’, when Edward was washing off some of the blood and grime from his fistfight with the Bat, there was a minor brawl in the corridor, just in front of the showers. Killer Croc could have picked anyone from the crowd in the corridor for a more or less light beating and the plan would still work the same, but Weylon claimed that Ivy didn’t like that one guy and apparently that was reason enough for Croc to turn Allergent into his personal punching bag.

Killer Croc definitely had a crush on Ivy. Riddler wondered, whether Pamela knew – or cared – but as long as no one asked him for his superior relationship counsel, Edward wouldn’t get involved.

Anyway, respect where respect was due, Weylon timed the incident perfectly and Edward would transfer him a little extra cash for that later.

Among the guards, who had valiantly tried to stop an apparently enraged Killer Croc from turning Allergent into a wet smudge on the wall, was Jefferson Sedgeman. The man was currently lying in the hospital with a serious concussion and wouldn’t miss his smartphone for at least a week.

Edward didn’t even need two minutes to guess Jefferson’s password and now he had a little, functioning if slow computer. It was not a question what Riddler could do with this treasure, it was a question what he would do first.

Wi-Fi was all nice and good, but at the moment it was not the internet that interested him most. The news would only be full of his apprehension at Batman’s hand anyway, and the press neither analog or digital had ever known to appreciate his true genius. Besides, any new photo of him would sport a nasty black eye. Definitely not Riddler’s most glamorous look.

No, the ‘local’ events were far more interesting. It took some tinkering to hack into the asylum’s security system. The camera footage didn’t show many details on this small a display, but that wouldn’t really be necessary. He knew Arkham like the back of his hand.

Three of the guards were playing cards in one of their break rooms. Another three were watching over Ivy, Two-Face, Maxi Zeus, Harleen and Penguin, who were working on various crafting projects in the group therapy room. Another two were standing guard in front of Dr. Zedani’s office, who currently had a therapy session with Victor Zsasz. Riddler was passionately kissing Harley Quinn in Dr. Norton’s office, the warden’s office was currently unoccupied… … …wait, what?

Edward switched back. There was Dr. Norton’s office again – and there was he, the Riddler. Not to forget Harleen, who was also currently in the group therapy room, turning an ugly lump of clay into an even uglier bust of the Joker.

What the hell?

No! One second! The costume was right, there was even the Toy-sledge-hammer leaning at the couch, together with his own iconic question mark cane, but looking closer, Edward could see a few dark locks peeking out from under the woman’s harlequin hood.

That was Dr. Norton! And the man? Was it the Warden?? In Riddler’s own green suit??? There was even still the tear in the sleeve, from where Batman had wrenched Edwards arm earlier today! Oh, this little roleplay was so going into his blackmail folder! The warden wouldn’t even know, what hit him!

Chapter Text

Having a hostage when fighting Batman was always a good backup plan, however, choosing the five-year-old daughter of the minister of education might not have been such a good idea as Scarecrow originally had thought it would be.

"Boss, you sure we can't shoot the brat?"

The kid was crying nonstop for three hours now and the thugs were losing their patience.

"Put some headphones on and keep working!" The Master of Fear grumbled, to be honest, he himself was already tired of the situation.

The child was kept in the storage room, next to his makeshift lab, that way Scarecrow could grab her in case the Caped Crusader showed up earlier than expected. But at the same time, it made Professor Crane's work very difficult. He really didn't need that splitting headache, especially while he was playing with dangerous chemicals. And yet...

The child was crying her eyes out, howling and coughing, throwing some sort of tantrum, and Scarecrow felt like his head was going to explode any moment now.

He imagined strangling the brat, but no, hostages only worked while they were alive.

He had already tried to infect the girl with his infamous fear toxin, just a small dose, and just for fun. That had been a huge mistake... Crying was nothing comparing to the horrible high-pitched shrieks the little lungs were capable of. Never in his life, Scarecrow had been more sorry for not having an antidote for his fear gas on him.

The sound of lament was still coming from the other side of the closed door, it didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. Professor Crane sighed, it was time to try a different approach.

"I am the Master of Fear! The Harbinger of Horror, the Lord of Despair!” He shouted, slamming the door to the small storage open. “And I command you to stop crying right now!”

The girl looked at his mask, her big eyes full of tears and there was silence for a moment. Then, the moment passed and there was even more crying.

Normally, Scarecrow would have been happy to make such a scary impression but right now he was tired, so tired of this annoying noise. Perhaps, he was on the wrong path altogether?

“No no, child. That's not what I meant,” he spoke to the girl, his voice much softer and almost soothing. “I meant, there's no need to cry. I'm not gonna hurt you.” That was halfway true, he had no interest in the child, it was the father whom Scarecrow had a problem with. “I would really appreciate it if you just...stopped crying.”

The big, blue eyes were staring at him again. Tears streaming down, falling to the floor and snot hanging from the girl's little nose. Feeling slightly grossed out, Scarecrow checked his pockets for a tissue. But no, nothing but straws. Oh, well. He hoped, he wouldn't catch some kid-transmitted disease when he knelt down, to wipe the tears away with his own sleeve.

“There, there.” He patted the child's head awkwardly. “No crying from now on, OK?”

The way the girl's lips trembled was telling him that it wouldn't be that easy.

“How about uncle Scarecrow reads you a fairytale, hmm?"

The child nodded and Professor Crane finally felt relieved.

Soon enough, the kid was lulled, sleeping in the storage-room, wrapped in a blanket – quiet and calm like a little angel. The silence had never sounded better.

Reading the 'Act on the Education System' to the five-years-old was all that Scarecrow had needed to do, to make that miracle happen. But if any of his men asked, he would say, he had chloroformed the brat. He had a reputation to maintain, after all, he was the Master of Fear.

People tended to forget that he also was a teacher.

Chapter Text

Riddler had planned it all.

Batman was out of town with the Justice League – fighting an alien starfish, if the rumors were to be believed. Most of the other villains were either currently locked up in Arkham or still in the middle of plotting their plots of doom™. So, the night was all his and Riddler had planned it in all the details.

He had donned his very best suit and, even if he said so himself, he was looking dapper. He was also wearing a gumshield since he really didn’t want to risk something as undignified as losing a tooth – not on an important night like this one.

The riddle he had sent to the GCPD wasn’t too difficult:
“Come rescue me, if you are bold. My eyes are green, so I've been told.
A walk I'll take in the park, come join me there once it’s dark.”

With that part done, Riddler had broken into a China-themed exhibition and stolen a set of really classy, antique, jade earrings, called the “Cat’s Eyes” due to their vivid color.

The only thing left for him to do was making his escape through the Robinson Park and hope that a certain vigilante-ss had gotten the hint.

Edward might have underestimated Batgirl a little. Had the riddle maybe been a tad too easy?

In less than fifteen minutes the whole “chase” was over and he found himself cuffed to Batgirl while they were waiting for a secured police-transport from Arkham to arrive.

To his complete astonish-and-bafflement the young vigilantess was not even contemplating to try the earrings on. This toppled everything Riddler knew about female behavior – Query and Echo definitely never were able to wait with putting stolen jewelry on.

After all the trouble he had gone through to acquire this gift especially for her, matching them to her pretty eye-color and all… Batgirl could at least try them on. Or maybe…

“Will you stop leaning in that much?” Batgirl demanded, shoving his face out of her personal space.

Well, he had just wanted to double check whether she actually had punctured earlobes, because that would have been the only explanation he could think of. But no, Batgirl had punctures. So what else could possibly be amiss?

Suddenly, the streetlight above them went dark. As did every other streetlamp down the road, all the neon signs and also all the windows.

“Riddler! What did you set off now?” Batgirl had grasped him by the collar of his fancy jacket and was lightly shaking him.

He couldn’t help but smile charmingly. Good thing he had already lost the gumshield during the fight earlier. “Oh, this is so not my style, sweetheart. Had I planned this blackout, it would have been more spectacular. I mean see for yourself the lights are still on everywhere but here at Robinson park district, had I done this the blackout would have been citywide, and the only buildings still alight shaping out a riddle. Besides this annoying situation is rather contra-productive to my plans for …”

“AHHHH! HEEEEELP!!!!” A panicked woman’s voice sounded from deeper in the normally quite romantic park, Riddler had picked for meeting Batgirl tonight.

“I just knew it,” Edward grumbled. “Turn off the lights and every small mugger comes crawling out of their holes.”

Batgirl looked at him, looked at the cuffs and last calculatingly at the dark lamppost.

Edward shook his head. “I know what you are thinking, that won’t work, as soon as you leave me out of your sight, I'll slip out of those cuffs and run. Of course, we can wait here for the armored transport, but with the gangs likely starting to riot about now, the first scavengers looting the mall near the park and the 75% chance of a major car-crash and resulting traffic jam at 5th and oaks –thanks to the snuffed-out traffic lights, they’ll likely be here in about four houeeerrss....”

Edward had been in no way prepared for Batgirl suddenly moving and dragging him with her towards where the call for help had come from and struggled to keep up.

The scene was typical – a young lady, clutching a can of mace and threatening a gang of five street-bullies armed with knives and baseball bats, while the lady’s spineless boyfriend was halfway out of the park and likely out of the state within the next five minutes if he kept running like that.

“Hands up and surrender!” Batgirl demanded. Well, that attempt was as efficient as to be expected – Batman usually didn’t give any warnings, maybe the girl just wanted to avoid a fight while half cuffed? Riddler wasn’t sure. Anyway, the biggest of the lot, likely the leader of the gang turned around, let his gaze sweep over Riddler’s date in a rather insulting manner in Edward’s opinion. And then started to laugh mockingly.

“Yeah, sure we will surrender to some hot babe cuffed to some loser who is cosplaying as an even bigger lo…”

The thug was interrupted by a baterang and a metallic question mark colliding violently with his face and knocking him flat.

Batgirl glared at Riddler: “Where did you even hide that one?”

“I call them questerangs and you can search me for weapons again any time to answer that question,” Riddler replied smartly while smacking a knife away from his neck.

Batgirl, busy to beat a thug with his own baseball-bat, looked pretty when she angrily retorted: “I really can’t leave you out of my sight for a second, can I?”

“I sure hope so, sweetheart.” Riddler purred. He loved the attention after all.

A kick to another thug’s stomach and a fist to the last one’s windpipe and the whole gang was rolling around in the dirt, groaning and moaning as if they were about to die – Sissies! Riddler was just about to make a suggestion as of how to continue the young night, as a fire siren went off nearby.

“Oh, looks like that’s the fancy Italian restaurant at Hendersons-crossing,” he commented. “With all the olive oil they cook with, it’ll burn to the ground before the firefighters will even reach this block.”

This time he was prepared for the tug as Batgirl set off, though he had still some trouble keeping up as she dragged him along.

But first a dance and now a candlelight dinner? This evening was getting better and better!

Chapter Text

There was a little skip in Harleen’s steps as she walked down the corridor between the cells, flanked by two female Arkham guards. She gave some of her friends a cheery wave.

It was group therapy Tuesday. Harleen liked group therapy, though, she hoped that Maxi Zeus wasn’t there today, he was a terrible braggart and worse, he was boring.

She wondered briefly who would actually show up. Two-Face and Ventriloquist plus Scarface would likely attend. Mr. Freeze maybe, though, she had heard he was over at some sort of research center right now. Well, someone else had to be there, the doctors didn’t start a group therapy for less than four people after all.

The door to the room opened and aside from a few more or less bored-looking guards lining the walls, there were Harvey, Arnold and his doll, and Jervis Tetch the Mad Hatter.

Jervis' face lit up when he saw her: “Alice, my dear! So glad you could come to our tea-party!”

“How is this supposed to be a party, you looser?” Scarface replied annoyed. “There is not even tea – or are we supposed to pretend we drink from non-existing cups, you delusional dork?”

“Says the right one,” Two-Face commented with a snicker. It was a bit hard to tell which one of his two personalities was currently in charge. Not that it mattered to Wesker, Scarface turned around and glared at Harvey with his adorably creepy doll eyes.

“What is so funny, you dolt? You got a gone to pick with me?!” The doll snarled, ready to hurl its fists at the ex-attorney.

“Please Mr. Scarface, calm down! Think about the guards! You can’t start a brawl in here!” Wesker gasped out, only for Scarface to now turn on him.

“And who’s fault is it that we are in here right now, you useless trashgag? If you hadn’t crashed our damn getaway car into a fire hydrant, the god damn Gat would have never caught us!” The puppet smacked Wesker over the head with his tiny wooden fist.

A mild voice chided: “Now now! This brutality stops at once!” The elderly Dr. Zedani had entered, balancing a small tray with…

“Cake!” Harleen squealed.

“Tea!” Jervis beamed.

“I had hoped this would be a more relaxed session today than last time,” the old doctor put the tray down on a small plastic table to the side. “Now, how did that dispute of yours get started?”

“Harvey and Scarface are arguing about who is the top dog here, again.” Harleen snickered, while Jervis served her a cup of tea and a big slice of chocolate tart with a courteous smile.

“What!? I would never consider a mere log my rival!” Harvey protested at once.

“Don’t compare me to a so-called mob-leader who doesn’t even have any respect for himself 50% of the time!” Scarface also vetoed the mere idea.

“I see, I see,” Dr. Zedani mused for a moment, taking a sip from his own teacup. “If you don’t consider each other rivals, then there should be no problem for you two to get along either. So how about you prove it and give each other a hug?”

“What? No!” Scarface protested.

“A what now?” Two-Face asked startled.

“A hug,” Dr. Zedani repeated. “Really, it is the easiest thing in the world. Harleen, Jervis, would you two show our friends how easy it is?”

“Sure!” Harley nodded, stood up from her stool and opened her arms wide with a smile.

Jervis, however, froze in position and looked more like a startled bunny than a Hatter at that moment.

“Awww. You don’t want to hug me?” Harleen pouted.

“I would love to, but… Joker would slaughter me.” Jervis shook his head violently and made a few steps back, stumbling over his own stool.

“Harvey, surely you are not too afraid of the Joker to give miss Harleen a friendly hug?” Dr. Zedani requested.

“Indeed, I don’t care what the Joker would think.” Harvey shook his head but did not make any move to rise from his chair to embrace Harley Quinn. “However, I do care what Poison Ivy would think. So, no; thanks but no.”

“Move aside and see how a real man handles this.” A very reluctant Wesker held a very eager Scarface in front of him.

“Oh, this is such a bad idea,” the Ventriloquist whispered with dread, as the doll flung forward to bury its face in the neckline of Harleen’s Arkham uniform.

“You sure are my type, gage, forget agout the clown and gecome my plaything.”

Harleen turned her head towards Dr. Zedani with a smile that was now somehow frozen.

“You know what, this tea-party really lacks... A fireplace with a nice, crackling fire would improve it, and a log has just volunteered itself for burning!” The blonde started cackling manically, Wesker’s wrist in a sudden iron grip and a lighter pulled out from nowhere.

Dr. Zedani had gone pale. “Guards!”

So much for a nice, relaxed group therapy Tuesday...

Chapter Text

"You can't do this to me!" The Riddler waves his hands in exasperation worthy of a better cause. "You can't wear this for a heist! For our collaborative heist! I didn't sign up for that!"

“Relax. It's just a shirt,” Joker shrugs while staring at his own reflection in the mirror. He does not see the problem. “And not a cheap one, you know. It's silk. Handmade. Go ahead, touch it.” He turns around like a model on the catwalk, he is perfectly well-dressed: a shirt, a vest, a tie; and he looks undeniably elegant.

Riddler, however, does not approve.

“That's not the point!” The man hisses but he does get closer to the other as if tempted to really touch the material. “Well, it is a fancy one, I admit – but that's not the point! The point is – it's green!”

“So?”

“Green is my theme color! MINE! Only I get to wear it!”

Joker looks at his current partner in crime, Riddler is wearing a green suit and he is pretty furious. The clown turns to the mirror again, ignoring the unnecessary fuzz.

“Haven’t you noticed? I like green too.” He points at his hair – slick and glossy. “Besides,” he adds totally unfazed, “we will look like a team! That's good for a shared heist.”

“That's good for goons!” Riddler roars.

Joker rolls his eyes. “You're overreacting. Do I ask you to change because you put on a purple tie? No! And you know how I feel about that color.”

“That's totally different!”

“No, it isn't!”

Riddler growls in frustration, he is so funny when enraged. Words are apparently not enough to express his feelings at this point. He starts to pace up and down, making Joker giggle.

“Look,” Edward tries again, this time with a different approach. “Keep the shirt, just put on some coat or a jacket. One that isn't green.”

The clown thinks about it for a second.

“I'll lend you one!” Riddler quickly offers before the other can decline. “Heck, I'll gift you one. Just put it over that shirt, please!”

“Hmm... I don't know, Eddie... You were right from the start. The way we dress for the heist is kinda important, I can see that now.” He poses himself in front of the mirror and fakes a kissy face. “And I like how I look in that. Bats will appreciate the style.”

Nygma's angry face reflects in the mirror right next to the Joker's, and judging by the look on it, Riddler is about to snap.

Joker has seen the other rogue losing it before – that had always been a loud and verbal but quite colorful spectacle. His memory drifts to that one night at the asylum when he had told Eddie that the evening news had confused the two of them. Riddler had been screaming his lungs out. Nobody had gotten any sleep that night, and that had just been a joke. Good times!

"That's it!" The high-pitched voice snaps the clown out of his happy flashback. “You're not going to out-green me in front of Batman! Take it off!” Riddler shouts and his hands are already on Joker, furiously unbuttoning his fancy, green shirt.

“You gotta be kidding me!” The Clown Prince of Crime snarls and pushes the other away, or at least intends to. Eddie clutches at his shirt like a god-damn leech and as the two of them struggle, the poor buttons give way – flying into the air like shooting stars.

Riddler stumbles back and has to catch himself not to fall. Panting heavily, he stares at the Joker who is looking down at the ruined outfit in disbelief. When he finally raises his gaze to catch Edward's eyes, there is nothing joyful in them.

“You little...”

“That was an accident...” The man in green takes a shaky step back but there is nowhere to run – not anymore.

Batman has seen plenty of crazy during his many years as the hero of Gotham. He has seen laughing fish, flying Christmas trees, exploding pumpkins and killing dolls. He's seen men coming back to life, a man turning into clay, into a bat, into an orca even...

Gotham had a lot of madness to offer, but tonight it was the first time the Dark Knight has the doubtful privilege to witness not one, but TWO of his notorious adversaries taking over the Fashion Week Gala – both of them shamelessly shirtless.

Chapter Text

Usually, a good old-fashioned heist went down the drain only once Batman finally showed up. Well, Batman or at least the bumbling and trigger-happy Gotham city police force.

This one had self-destructed spectacularly on its own, without anyone even noticing that a heist was going on, which was no surprise with all the fire and the panic.

The plan had been pretty simple yet elegant, first – taking over the catering staff for the gala dinner aboard the Queen of Hearts, then – letting them rob the rich guests when dinner was served.

Jervis Tetch sighed as he adjusted his top hat: “Note to self: Do not mind-control personnel that is supposed to handle a gas stove.”

When the overall panic had set in, Hatter’s control over the catering staff had broken. Apparently, dying by fire was a fear deeply rooted enough to prioritize basic self-preservation instincts. Or maybe, when the guests were running, the catering staff had followed to rob them?

Jervis wished he could discuss that with Scarecrow, maybe they could do some tests together at some point? That was – if Hatter survived this whole ordeal. And it was a big “if”.

Unfortunately, he had gotten in the way of the passenger stampede, run over and forgotten during the evacuation. Now, everything was filled with thick black smoke – he could barely see his own hands. The metal walls had heated up significantly, and his best idea was to try to get upstairs to reach the top deck.

The smoke was getting thicker and thicker, biting in his eyes, scratching in his throat. Merely touching the hot walls for orientation was blistering the skin on his searching fingers. The heat of the air was making it hard to think. Hatter stumbled forward until he reached the end.

A door, a closed door that didn’t budge as he threw his entire body weight against it. And just behind the slab of glass rattling in the too small porthole, he could see the light of the moon.

In sheer despair, he hammered at the door. Nothing.

He sank to his knees, coughing. So that was how he would die? Alone and forgotten? At least, it would be at the hands of the enraged Queen of Hearts – that suited him.

His sad musings were interrupted by a noise – it sounded like hasty steps coming closer. Maybe it was the reaper coming for him? Because, who else was still aboard this ship?

Stricken by irrational fear, he pressed his back against the door and Jervis could feel its singing metal even through his jacket.

The steps drew closer and a shade emerged from the smoke. It looked all kinds of wrong, with a disproportional big head and hands. Jervis lifted his arms to shield his face from an attack, as the monstrosity bent over him.

But the expected blow never came, instead, a damp piece of cloth was pressed into his hands.

“Wrap this around your head and face.” The voice of the creature was rough and it sounded hoarse but Hatter could swear he had heard it before.

Without questioning, he did as he was told.

The being rattled at the door, he hadn’t been able to open.

“Looks like the heat has deformed it. The way the smoke accumulates here, there is no open hatches nearby. We need to reach one of the exits on the other side of the ship, away from the fire’s source.”

Hands wrapped in more thick cloth pulled Hatter up to his feet, and as he barely stumbled, limb from exhaustion, he was lifted into a carry. When the other started running and all Jervis could do was holding on.

His hands still hurt but he could feel the other was wearing something made of soft and silky, probably expensive cloth. A tuxedo? One of the guests from the party? But that didn’t explain anything! Why would any of them go searching for him? How had they even known he was here And how was any member of Gotham’s spoiled high society this strong?

The heat was lessening, not so the smoke that still tried to suffocate them both. Jervis didn’t know, how the man was even able to orient himself and at this speed – as if he simply knew which way to go and didn’t need to see his path with mere eyes.

Finally, after Jervis had lost all count of time, there was a pale spot of light shining through the smoke – another porthole, another closed door.

The man carrying him didn’t even slow down, he just shifted Hatter’s weight in his arms and threw himself shoulder first into the obstacle, as if he had done so a million times before.

They were out! Finally!

Hatter greedily drew in the fresh night air.

Behind them the ship burned, in front of them was only the rail and deep, deep below the pitch-black surface of the water.

The Queen of Hearts was anchored in the Gotham harbor bay, the lights of the city shone in the distance.

“Our only chance is to jump,” the other said. How could he be this calm in such a situation? “Trust me.”

And Hatter closed his eyes and laughed, because he finally understood.

As they both flew over the rail, he reached for the piece of cloth wrapped around the other man’s head.

Jervis lost consciousness when they hit the water but he wouldn’t let go.

“What is first red like a lobster then wet like a fish and finally wears bandages like a mummy?” An annoying but at the same time welcome voice asked.

“Hello Riddler,” Jervis croaked, his voice still hoarse from the smoke he had inhaled.

The hospital rooms in Arkham’s medical wing weren’t exactly his favorite place to be, but everything was nicer when he had a guest.

“I can imagine what I look like right now, thank you.”

“And I can’t wait to hear what went wrong this time,” Nygma chuckled. “Heard they found you half dead at the harbor when that big cruise liner went ablaze...holding on to a dirty towel?” The Riddler stared at the piece of cloth Hatter was still clutching with white knuckles. “I also heard you bit a medic when they tried to take it away from you. Why is it so important?”

Hatter allowed himself a smile. “I have a riddle there for you: What doesn’t look like a bat, doesn’t sound like a bat but acts like a bat?”

“What?” Riddler looked completely dumbfounded.

“It is a bat with a towel on its head,” Jervis chuckled.

“Seriously? That doesn’t even make sense, Jervis, that’s the worst riddle ever. See if I visit you next time when you land yourself here. At least you must feel better if you already start talking nonsense.” Nygma pouted.

Jervis just tucked the towel away safely and chuckled some more.

Chapter Text

"Turn it off!" The Dark Knight says, voice dangerously low and demanding. And Edward shivers. No one talks to him like that – not when it is HIM who is in control.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, now can I?" He shrugs. "She gave me the wrong answer, she deserves to die."

The wheel keeps spinning, it's 7 G now – a bit more than a roller-coaster but the Riddler can easily change that with a single click on his keyboard. 8 G and it will be like inside a speeding jet, just the woman has no pilot training. But then again, who cares about some single mother, too stupid to answer the simplest of riddles.

Well, Batman does of course. Edwards smiles to that thought. So predictable...

"It is you who gave me the wrong answer, Nygma. Let's try again," Batman takes a step forward.

Riddler doesn't flinch, confident, his finger on the keyboard.

"Let the hostage go and maybe, just maybe, I'm not gonna hurt you."

He thinks about that option for a split second. Something about that voice, that pose, that whole self-assured, self-righteous demeanor of the man in the Bat-suit makes him want to obey. It's so irritating! But of course, Riddler can't do that, it's against his rules. The rules he set himself, for everyone in this room.

"Is that your final offer?” He mocks, the smirk never leaving his face. “I let her go and you don't beat me to a bloody pulp, just send me back to Arkham where they’ll beat me to a bloody pulp? Even a narrow-minded brute like yourself should see why I have to decline. Arkham is not safe anymore. Especially not for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah, nothing really,” he tries to brush it off but what was said, can't be unsaid. Batman isn't stupid, he knows what kind of enemies Riddler has made recently.

“Is that your idea of asking for help? Kidnapping innocent people? Torturing them? Luring me into yet another deathtrap?”

“I don't want your...”

“Enough talking! Turn the machine off. Now!” The Bat is at his limit, fists clenched and not looking at Riddler anymore – he's looking at the hostage who has apparently fainted.

Edward can't take this lack of attention, he is about to snap. What does it matter if one, average woman dies tonight!?

Then, Batman turns to him again, catching Riddler off guard. “Let her go and come with me, it doesn't have to be Arkham.”

“Oh?”

Not knowing why, he clicks the key and the machine responds: 6 G, 5 G. It's getting slower and slower and the spinning finally stops. The woman in the cockpit is unconscious, or maybe she's already dead? Riddler doesn't care.

Within a moment, Batman is reaching out with his muscular arm to grab him. He's close, too close! Acting on impulse, Riddler clicks another button and the trap door in the floor-panel opens.

The Bat falls down. Edward doesn't wait to see the result, he jumps to his feet and runs.

A grappling hook shoots out of the pit and Batman is free, flying across the room right into Riddler's direction. In no time, his heavy boots connect with the man's back, knocking Edward down, just like a hurricane does to weak trees.

The ground is stone-hard but it's not over yet. Riddler feels Batman's hand grabbing him by the collar of his expensive shirt. He's being pulled up, turned around. He can look the Bat in the face. The black, scary mask covers the man's eyes but still, the expression is telling.

The Dark Knight says nothing, just punches him in the face. His fist alone seems to be screaming 'Wrong choice!'.

“You’re safe now.”

He can hear Batman from where he's lying, on the floor, covered with dust and his own blood. And the Bat is talking to the hostage, of course.

Chapter Text

Flying through the brightly lit canyons of Gotham’s streets at night was simply the best! You were far above all that noise, the exhaust from the cars and everyone else looked small and insignificant. It was almost a shame to interrupt the flight to break into some art gallery. Even if it only took a few minutes to cut those abstract paintings out of their frames, it felt like wasted time.

He wasn’t even sure why the paintings were supposed to be precious. Picasso – sure, that man had had a vision, his paintings were pure emotion depicted. But these? These paintings looked like someone had tied a brush to a Roomba and let it waltz over the canvas or as if a failed engineer had sold off some of his rejected patent blueprints as art. In one case, he wasn’t even sure whether he had accidentally taken the fire evacuation plan.

Really, Kite man usually had better taste.

Well, he wanted to try a new nylon material for his kites and the fiber didn’t pay itself. And the only redeeming quality of the pictures was that they wouldn’t weigh him and his kite down.

He loved testing new kites! This heist had only been possible thanks to a set of suction cups attached to his new toy, which allowed him to anchor and land his kite vertically on the huge glass windows of the skyscrapers. Then, he had used a glass cutter to make his way in, avoiding the gazillion sensors of the security system – all geared on catching intruders coming in through the doors or balconies.

Really, this heist was all too easy.

With a smirk, he turned to leave the same way he had come.

He was just in time to see how a strong gust of wind ripped his kite away from the glass, and how the kite tumbled away in the darkness without him.

“Rats!”

If he left through the door now, the security guards would tackle him before he’d even reach the elevator.

He sighed.

On the other hand, there had been a fridge in the gallery. Maybe there was still some champagne and caviar left from the grand opening vernissage they had held yesterday?

If he was going to be arrested anyway, he could at least have a little private party until someone found him in the morning.

Chapter Text

"Human beings are so stupid!" Pamela huffed with sheer frustration. She threw the remote control across the rec-room and it hit the TV screen squarely.

A pair of guards was about to interfere, but thankfully the monitor didn't break. The handsome news presenter kept on talking about the recent events while Poison Ivy sat down with her arms crossed. Hearing about the wildfires devouring forests near Gotham made her almost forget about her newly obtained rec-room privilege for good behavior. There was no point in throwing that away by acting on emotion, but seriously... How brainless had those meat-bags to be, to go camping and carelessly start a fire during a season of droughts?! Why did those over-evolved monkeys have to be so dumb?

“Tell me about it...” A voice came from behind her, she turned around to see who the hell just agreed with her unpopular opinion.

When her eyes met the individual's face, Pam narrowed them at once. Nygma was definitely not the kind of company she'd appreciated.

“Your point?”

“Same as yours, I believe.” The man shrugged, casually leaning on the sofa's back, his head above Ivy's.

He seemed to be watching the TV too but not daring to join her on the couch. “Human beings ARE stupid,” he continued, his tone filled with certainty and just a hint of loathing. “Their narrow minds are incapable of achieving anything other than the simplest of ways to fulfill their basic needs. Put a real challenge in front of them and voila – you have their animalistic instincts taking over as a result of lacking the ability to use their brains to actually THINK! The majority of the human race won't even bother to consider that a problem! Oh, no – they would rather say it's a waste of time to exercise their brains when they can sleep, eat, and fuck without ever asking themselves 'where does that take us as a species'. Where indeed, if not to total degeneration? A society of lazy, uncreative and dull living human-shells with no intent for improvement. A society in which a person who shows the signs of intelligence and the will to prove it, is instantly labeled as a mentally ill outcast! This is where it is all going!”

Nygma's rant went on for a whole minute and Pamela found herself actually able to relate to some of his thesis, however, there was one small flaw in his reasoning...

“Edward,” she spoke when he seemed to have finished, “you ARE a human being too, you know that?”

The look on his face – it was almost as if Ivy had slapped him.

“Don't compare me to the rest of those...those simpletons!” He fumed. “I am not like them, I am a true genius, a pearl cast before swine!”

“And you are telling me this because...?” Her patience was running short.

“Because, I thought someone like yourself, could at least understand how it is to be not like everyone else,” Edward declared dramatically and straightened up, now apparently offended. “But I see that even half-human beings can be quite humanly stupid.”

Ivy's lips tightened as a pang of anger stung her half-human heart at that insult.

“Then why bother talking to me, Nygma? Oh wait, I know why,” her annoyed tone of voice suddenly shifted to a mocking one. “Because no one in this room can stand your constant chatter, and the only person who can, is currently in solitary confinement.”

Her lips curled into a cruel smirk as she watched the jab sink in. Nygma looked torn between snapping at her, and possibly causing the guards to react, or walking away to whatever sad and lonely corner he had crawled out from.

“That has nothing to do with anything at all,” he finally hissed, leaning too close to her ear for this to be comfortable. “You're just projecting your own problems on me since your only human friend left you here and ran off with the Joker. Again.”

By now, anger was boiling inside her veins, making her imagine all the things she would do to him, if only she had her plant-babies with her. She could strangle him with the vines, crush his bones, whip his sorry ass, or she could simply give him a toxic kiss and make him take those words back.

She could do whatever she wanted because he was just a human and she was a true goddess.

“Just go away, Edward, before I dig my fingernails into that pretty face of yours.”

He took a step back from the couch and it seemed he would really obey, but when Pamela thought just that, Nygma turned to her once more, his expression somewhat changed.

“Wait, you think I have a pretty face,” he mumbled sheepishly, blushing bright red.

Ivy rolled her eyes. Men – such vain, insecure creatures, clinging onto any scrap of compliment to boost their fragile ego as if their dear life depended on it.

“Well, if one likes gingers,” she offered, trying to sound serious about it. At this point she knew, Edward would only hear what he wanted to hear. And he called himself a genius? Oh, please...

“I-I like gingers... I mean... You're a ginger yourself.”

“Oh, you noticed?” She ran her fingers through her hair and she caught him staring.

A plan started to sprout inside her head and this new development could be very useful. She tapped her hand on the couch, inviting Riddler to sit next to her. The man didn't think twice to take that invitation.

“Say,” she lowered her voice, making sure, no one but him could hear her, “if you were me, how would you escape from here? Let's say, during the next few days.”

“Well, you would obviously need a plan,” he whispered eagerly, his green eyes locked with hers. “A very clever one. One that includes being on the group therapy session on Tuesday, convincing Killer Croc to help you, then stealing a key-card from officer Cash, getting access to the kitchen...”

She gave him one of her sweetest smiles as he kept talking.

“Go on, Eddie. I'm all ears.”

Like a plant needing water – he needed attention, she mused.

Chapter Text

Watching Riddler work on his robots had something soothing – almost hypnotic.

Scarecrow sat reclined in the chair near the worktable and observed how the slim fingers danced over cables, diodes, and capacitors.

“That man is a complete idiot!”

Even the constant stream of low, angry muttering was somehow pleasant. And Nigma didn’t seem to expect his visitor to say anything, just for Crane to listen quietly to him ranting.

“A fool, and worse, a delusional fool,” the man in green kept rambling. “Sitting there in his chair while he was talking and talking and talking...”

The word “talking” was emphasized every time with an angry slam of a small hammer to a piece of plating that wasn’t sinking into its designated space willingly.

“First, he started with the riddle I left for the museum heist, then the one I left when I broke out of Arkham…”

An additional circuit board was shoved into the construct and wired up.

“… he pointed out how fast Batman managed to solve them and went on about all of my traps the police has dismantled in the last three years.”

Riddler threw up both hands in frustration. “He had the very nerve to tell me that 'A man who does the same thing 100 times with the exact same result and expects a different result the 101st time, is called crazy.' !”

At this point, Nigma slammed the screwdriver he was holding, into a photo of Arkham’s newest doctor which was pinned up over his workbench and already sported several holes.

“'When will you accept that you are crazy, Edward?' he asked me to my very face! Would you believe that arrogance, that impertinence?!”

“Really?” Scarecrow feigned disbelieve. “That man doesn’t know what he is saying. It is obvious that you are a genius,” he commented drily. “So, what is your plan now?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’ll send this robot over to kill him – if he can’t answer my riddle, that is. But there is no chance in hell he’ll be able to do that.”

Nigma inhaled deeply and recited:

“At least two-hundred is a must, in 1,000 more I rather trust, what am I?”

Before Scarecrow had the chance to make a guess, Riddler already continued with his ramble.

“And since that dolt has obviously never heard of the ‘scientific approach’, ‘statistics’ or ‘empiric evidence’, he is already history.”

Edward pulled his hand in a telling ‘head off’ gesture over his throat, before he fastened a wicked looking blade to the robot’s arm.

“And after that, I can finally turn my full attention to defeating Batman,” he chuckled darkly. “I’ll show the world how sane I am!”

Scarecrow didn't care to comment.

Chapter Text

For some reason, Scarecrow really enjoyed watching Riddler work and psychoanalyzing Nigma on the side. It took Doctor Crane a while to realize though, that this little habit had become his new hobby.

Actually, it took him until the day Riddler hadn’t been in his workshop, working, when Scarecrow had come looking for him under the pretext of discussing some ‘kill the Bat’-scheme.

Fact was, he had searched half of Gotham for the other man, gotten into a fight with some of Two-Face’s goons, the police, and almost been caught by Batman.

Scarecrow hadn’t found Riddler that night. Neither did he find him the next nor several other nights following.

He had a thug observe Nigma’s workshop in case he came back. He checked every newspaper, every hospital and put the fear of the elder gods into any street informant he could get his needles on.

All that time he wondered whether Nigma had mentioned something about whatever he had been planning and Crane had just blocked him out automatically, like he did with most of the man’s egocentric rambling. But no, there hadn’t even been a clue, neither for him nor for the Bat. Scarecrow had come this close to abducting a hacker to get him into agent Waller’s “top-secret” Suicide Squad roster files (seriously, absolutely everyone at Arkham had heard of her little illegal-exploitation-of-prisoners program by now). He had literally waited for his prey to come answer the door when his henchman had ringed him up – the one guarding Riddler’s workshop.

Crane had arrived just in time to see Nigma leaving the place with a bag of tools under the arm. Scarecrow wasn’t sure why he didn’t swoop in at that moment and just gave Riddler a serious beating but instead followed the man silently through the dark alleys. It was likely just a case of mild curiosity – he could punish Riddler for causing him all that hassle after finding out what Nigma had secretly been doing the last week.

Two blocks away from his workshop, Riddler climbed into a nondescript – likely stolen – old car with fake number plates.

Luckily, Scarecrow was able to call the henchman who had observed the workshop to bring over his car before Riddler had the tool-bag stored away and been completely out of sight.

Nigma may have been a genius with an eidetic memory but he sure was a complete amateur at spotting pursuers. That spared Crane at least the trouble of changing the car several times, for Riddler drove on until he had left the city center behind, and even crossed the outskirts without indication that he was getting near his destination.

They were about 20 minutes out of the city when Nigma finally slowed and pulled the car into a pothole infested side road. Snapped off branches of the overhanging trees and bushes indicated that this road had seen some use pretty recently, likely by something a bit bigger than just a standard car.

Scarecrow ordered the thug to wait, as he went to investigate. Behind a rusty old wire mesh fence were two mottled, low buildings. What did Riddler want here of all places?

One of the two buildings showed some recent signs of repair. Well, if one could call plastic sheets replacing broken windows and a transportable generator for electricity repairs. Once inside, everything smelled of paint, and yes – there were equations and construction plans scribbled all over every even surface. Typical.

It should have been difficult to sneak up on the infamous Riddler, it really should have been. But Scarecrow was able to just walk in, observe how Nigma was opening crates and welding metal parts together into some huge, amorphous lump in the middle of the hall, and didn’t even see so much as a guard or tripwire.

Riddler was distracted.

It was almost a little insulting but Crane had just sat down on a crate waiting and listening to Edward’s aimless rambling about Batman and other ignorant fools. And while he was waiting, the Master of Fear...simply fell asleep.

He was startled awake by the clatter of a falling wrench followed by an indignant yelp.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

He sleepily blinked at Riddler, who finally had realized that he had company. How late was it even?

“I followed you, obviously. So, what are you doing here?”

Nigma didn’t even listen that far. “You followed me? How could you follow me? I have taken every security measure...”

“Security measures? You mean the fake number plates on the car?” Scarecrow scoffed. “Batman could have followed you here, Robin could have followed you here, that fat pig Bullock could have followed you here. Damn! Any parking meter attendant could have followed you here and you don’t even have a single deathtrap or guard robot in this place! You should be ashamed...but obviously you're not. So? Care to tell me what on Earth had you this distracted?”

Under the grease smudges on Nigma’s face, Crane could actually see that the other was blushing a little.

“Batman… … …” he mumbled something low and incomprehensible.

“What was that?” Scarecrow inquired at once.

“Batman … has … a Batplane...”

“Ah!”

That explained indeed a lot, in the darkness it had not been obvious but this place likely was an abandoned airfield. Nigma had always striven to beat the Bat at everything, including and completely failing at building his own version of the Batmobile. So, this was the logical next step... If one followed Riddler-logic.

It would have taken a good part of the week Riddler was missing, to find, buy or steal, the required parts. Which led to the next obvious question.

“And the Bat won’t come knocking to ask you about some stealth bomber or F17-jet parts the military may have misplaced recently?”

Weeell…he might ask Kite-Man a few uncomfortable questions, I may have handed out some bribes borrowing his name.”

“I can see why you are not exactly quaking in your boots of fear for the dreadful Kite-Man’s revenge. Nice move.” Scarecrow chuckled at the absent villain’s soon to come misery. “So, how far did you progress with the construction?”

“Huh? Oh, I am done – mostly, just need to give it a stylish green paintjob when the welding lines have cooled.” Nigma waved at the military-gray hulk of metal behind him, which looked more like a prop from a Star Wars movie than an actual plane.

Then, Riddler looked at Scarecrow appraisingly.

“Say, have you ever piloted anything?”

“No. You?”

“No,” Nigma admitted. “But hey, how hard could it be? Batman is doing it all the time after all.”

Chapter Text

"Even a genius needs a break sometimes," Edward told the unassembled robot, his voice almost apologetic. The motionless mechanism didn't answer, of course, but Riddler felt like he was being excused.

He had intended to finish the new design this weekend, he really had, but it was almost 6 p.m. now and he hadn't slept since yesterday. He couldn't think clearly anymore, that much had become rather obvious when he had mistaken a flask of acetone for his bottle of water and almost drank it.

He needed some rest. The robot on his desk could wait 'till tomorrow, it was not like Batman would come crashing the party.

“Computer, sleep mode,” he ordered and yawned.

“Going into a sleep mode,” the electronic female voice confirmed. “Good night, The Riddler.”

Edward smiled at that, then muttered his goodnight. The main light in the control room went off, leaving the place in a dim, green hue of LED-diodes.

He took off his grease-stained gloves, tossing them onto the workbench, next to the frame of the unfinished new robot. His safety goggles were... He didn't know where, but definitely not on his head anymore. He dragged himself to the room next door, the one he was using as a makeshift bedroom. Its resemblance to an actual bedroom ended with a mattress laying on the bare floor. Riddler didn't care – it was not his home, the hideout was his workplace and he only happened to stay there all the time for his own convenience.

On his way to the nest-like pile of blankets atop the mattress, he kicked his shoes off, sending them fly across the small room. Next was his question-marks shirt, already unbuttoned. He shoved it to the chair that pretended to be a bedside cabinet, the undershirt followed shortly. With his pants, dirty with dried paint, he didn't even bother – he just left them on the ground where they fell. It was dark in the room anyway, no one would see the mess. And when he was finally free from all his clothes aside from his socks and boxers...

“You could have put a little more flair to this show, you know.”

He literally jumped up at the voice coming from the darkness behind him. Someone switched the light on. Edward gasped and caught one of the blankets from the bed, to awkwardly cover his far too exposed body with it.

This action made the intruder giggle. “Aw, Eddie. I promise not to stare...too much.”

Despite her words, Catwoman didn't look away, not even for a moment, and he could swear, that damn gaze was burning his skin. He felt his cheeks going hot out of embarrassment.

“Catwoman!” He hissed with pure spite at the smiling cat-burglar, who looked like she had eaten a fat, tasty canary. Oh, how he hated to be looked down at like this, especially by those lesser than him. “How did you...” No, no – that wasn't the right question. “How dare you?!” Yes, better – how dare she come here uninvited. “How dare you intrude on me?! Your visit here is not only unwanted but also incredibly inappropriate and rude!”

“Calm down, sweetie.” The woman dressed from top to toe in black leather cocked her head. “I'm not here to steal from you. And I'm most definitely not here to admire your 'good-looks' either.”

Her nonchalant tone and triumphant smirk were enough to make Riddler furious.

“Then why are you here?! It's not only trespassing but also harassment!”

“Call the cops,” she laughed. “I dare you.”

“I don't need those GCPD dullards! I have my own brainless muscles hired to deal with stray cats like yourself!”

“Oh, I know you do. So? Aren't you gonna call your thugs for help? And tell them that a big, bad girl is mean to you again?" She made a funny voice, pursing her lips in sheer mockery. "And the world’s-greatest-supervillain can't handle a single kitty?” There was a pause, which the pesky Cat used to grin some more.

“I-I...” Edward tried, too angry to come up with any logical argument.

Catwoman's stupid self-confidence was incredibly frustrating; and the worst thing – she was right, calling his thugs was out of the question.

“I thought so,” she mused. “But don't worry Eddie, play nice and this cat is not going to hurt you. I'm not all that bad, you know.” She examined the sharp, steel claws attached to her gloves as if suggesting the exact opposite.

“So what do you want?!” He spat out, sending her a nasty glare – which did nothing to intimidate her, of course, and yet it made him feel better. “Are you here for any other reasons than simply to annoy me?”

“Actually, yes. Believe me or not, but I don't enjoy your company any more than you enjoy mine. I have something to discuss with you,” Catwoman finally seemed to get to the point. “It was easier to find you than to contact you over the Net. So here I am. Not my fault you provided the additional...entertainment.”

He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, hiding from her impertinent gaze. “You just want to talk? And you had to wait with it until I undress?”

“What can I say? Men tend to be more cooperative when vulnerable.” She shrugged. And then, she took a sudden step toward him, making Edward instinctively step back. “See? It's working,” she purred. Her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

While the Cat was having her fun, Riddler was boiling inside.

“I will do you the courtesy of listening to what you have to say, just turn around so I can at least dress up first.”

“You mean, so you can reach for your silly cane and knock me out when I'm not looking? I don't think that's going to work.” The Cat wagged her finger at him. “Sit down and listen.” She pointed at his mattress.

He let out an irritated sigh and sat there, arms crossed so she knew how offended he was for being ordered around in his own lair.

Catwoman took a seat on the bedside chair, tossing his clothes off before placing her backside there and crossing her long legs.

“Now,” she began, “there is a place I need to break in. And the security system has proven itself to be worth something, for once. I want you to assist me in this heist, Eddie.” She pulled out a small memory stick from somewhere beneath her leather costume – to be precise – from somewhere between her breasts. “Take a look.” She leaned down to hand him the device. “Not there!” Her angry voice woke him up from a dream-like state of staring blankly at her wide cleavage. “Take a look at the data! Not at my boobs!” She straightened up and gave him a warning glance.

He shook his head, getting the mental image out of his tired mind. “I don't have time for your silly robberies! Go ask someone else,” he grumbled. “I have my own projects which, I assure you, are more important than cracking some security systems for children. Why would you even think, I want to help?”

“Because a lady asked you nicely?” Catwomen offered with a charming smile.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Kitty, but you were anything but nice so far.”

“Fair enough.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Then, because we are talking about the NASA and there will be both, a challenge, and good money from this. We share fifty-fifty.”

Riddler couldn't help but yawn.

“NASA? Been there, done that. Besides, I have robots to build and Batman to kill. So no, thank you.”

Catwoman stared down at him in a long, thoughtful moment, after that, she silently got up and walked toward the door.

“It's a shame, Eddie,” she spoke again, now almost at the exit. “We could both gain something but... In that case, I guess I'd have to tell Batman where you are and what you are working on so he can come visit you too.”

It took his sleep-deprived brain a few seconds to process that threat.

“You can't do this, you can't bring him here. I'm not ready yet!”

“Then better start preparing 'cause I'm so gonna do it. And while at it, I'll mention your tiny, little calves.” She grinned.

The familiar sensation of hotness spread across his face, ears, and neck.

“My calves aren't tiny! They are perfectly normal! And I forbid you to talk to Batman about any parts of my body, other than my superior brain!”

“But talking about the location of your hideout is fine, hmm?” She pressed one claw to her lips, faking hesitation. “OK then! Bye, Eddie! I'll send you a postcard to Arkham.”

“No!” He jumped up from his mattress and rushed to stop her from leaving, the blanket around his shoulders waving like a cape. “Wait! I won't let you...” His hand was about to grab her by a shoulder when she turned around, faster than a cheetah, and her claws ended up dangerously close to his bare chest.

“You were saying?”

He was so tempted to tell her what he thought of petty blackmailers like her but he could only swallow as her wretched claws made contact with his skin.

“I-I mean...” He tried his best to repress a shiver when her paw moved a bit closer to his throat. He was almost sure she would make a 'cat got your tongue' pun. Thankfully, she didn't. “I mean, I won't let you leave disappointed, my dear. I can think where to fit you into my busy schedule.”

“I'm glad you changed your mind.” With that, she took her paw of off him – only her index finger still lingered. “Take a look at the data and contact me on Wednesday. I have a feeling, we will make a very good team, you and I.” She patted his cheek playfully and just like that – she was gone.

On her way out, she turned the light off, leaving him with only darkness and his thoughts. Riddler stood there, in the middle of his small, makeshift bedroom, biting his lip and trembling slightly – not out of cold or stress, no – out of purest rage.

“A team? Me and that flea-bitten cat? Ha!” He muttered to himself as he started pacing. “She'll be sorry to ever come here, treating me like that!”

He stopped abruptly and turned the light back on. Sleeping needed to wait – he had revenge to plan!

Chapter Text

“One soda water and a ‘Last Laugh’ for booth three,” the waitress ordered to the barkeep which caused Oswald Cobblepott, the proud owner of the Iceberg lounge, to look up from the inventory list.

He made a hasty gesture to one of his men and whispered: “Wait outside for that young fellow Carlos to show up. Don’t let him in, and give him a fair warning that he can’t sell his cut roses to the couples at the tables here tonight. Also, tell him that he owes me a favor for that warning.”

That potential murder averted, the Penguin decided to take a break from the admittedly tedious procedure of stock-taking he had been busy with since the afternoon, to take a closer look at the rest of the orders-list, maybe it would pay to know who else was gracing his establishment with their presence tonight.

Right the very first item on the list was a ‘Black and Tan’ plus four normal beer. That wouldn’t have been that unusual an order, if it hadn’t come from booth ‘two’ Penguin sighed, Two-Face and at least four members of his gang.

Maxi Zeus likely had brought a few of his thugs as well, at least Oswald couldn’t imagine who else would have ordered ‘Nectar and Ambrosia’.

A bit further down on the list was the next unusual item - a can of green tea. Penguin remembered very well how that annoying man had waltzed in and requested it the first time, years back, and had explained his order with: ‘alcohol is not the solution’. That pun hadn’t been funny then and it still wasn’t funny now.

But a lot of the villains in Gotham seemed to think they were funny, why else would Solomon Grundy order a ‘Corpse Reviver #2’ every time he dragged himself through these doors? Penguin doubted the man still could even so much as taste what he was tossing back, not even talking about a zombie possibly getting drunk.

Going by that, Scarecrow was even worse. He at least could still taste but decided for suffering through drinking a ‘Nightmare Cocktail’ every time he walked into a bar, just for the name. That was outright crazy.

Oswald wouldn’t ever sink to that level! Was he supposed to drink nothing but tequilas? Because of the early bird gets the worm? Haha, how funny - not! It wasn’t even really fitting but if there was any drink with a raw herring as an ingredient, then Oswald really didn’t want to know about it.

That said – who had ordered egg nog? It wasn’t even close to x-mas yet. Was professor Egg-Head back in town or did Mad Hatter hire a new Humpty Dumpty?

Normally Penguin didn’t mind one or two of the villains and former Arkham inmates showing up in the lounge, but tonight it seemed about everyone needed a stiff drink. It left the feeling of sitting on a damn powder-keg and just a little disturbance being enough for it to blow up in his very face.

And to cement that feeling, over there at the bar sat that seedy Malone fellow, as always chewing on a god-damn match. That was a guy who always seemed to show up shortly before hell broke loose. And usually, he disappeared in the chaos just for something to go up in flames while the police force was distracted with dodging bullets and turning on the bat-signal.

He was about to return to the orders-list when he realized that Malone wasn’t alone and hurried over to the two occupied barstools.

“Please, tell me that isn’t a ‘Malibu shake’ in the kid’s glass,” he demanded, looking accusingly between the barkeep, Malone, and the obviously underage boy who was sporting a similar set of sunglasses and was chewing on a match of his own.

Matches just shrugged. “It has milk in it so it’s gotta be healthy, right? Missus said I should spend some time with him, be a father figure and a role model, you know? Right, 'lil Matches?” He ruffled the boy’s hair, which actually evoked a growl from the kid. Nasty little fellow, apparently.

“So, you drag your kid into a bar and order him alcohol. Some role model you are,” Penguin chided. “This establishment is not supposed to serve alcoholic beverages to minors!” He cast the barkeep a deathglare. If the Iceberg lounge lost their license over this, the barkeep’s head would roll.

“Naw, it’s all cool, he may seem young but if you look at his drivers’ license, you can see Junior is 21 already.” Matches senior grinned winningly.

“Hell no! I am not buying that,” Penguin ground out. “Barkeep give the kid a cola on the house instead.”

“But there is caffeine in that!” Malone senior protested. “Do you want him to stay up all night?”

“Not my problem,” Penguin declared. Maybe he should find out who that ‘missus’ was and tattle on Malone to her. That might keep that damn arsonist out of his lounge for a while.

Speaking of keeping out, was that Carlos? What the hell was he doing in here? Seemed like he hadn’t come willingly or alone. A thug was basically dragging him by the arm and the other six thugs in his company were clearly looking for trouble, they were coming straight for Cobblepot.

“Are you the owner of this hole?” Their leader demanded – really did that idiot not know who he was talking with? Still, Oswald decided to at least try and solve this like civilized beings, new furniture was expensive.

“Yes, the lounge belongs to me, you must be new to Gotham? What would be the problem?”

“The problem is: I work for Mr. Ibanescu and that Carlos here is under Mr. Ibanescu’s protection. Mr. Ibanescu won’t be happy that you denied dear Carlos entry into your third rate bar. Mr. Ibanescu doesn’t take kindly to men who get in the way of business.” The taller man sneered down on him.

Ah, that explained a few things. The Ibanescu family often hired new ‘talent’ from outside town but apparently, they had skipped over giving their new muscle a tutorial for basic Gotham survival this time.

Oswald peered over to the bar – yes, Matches senior and junior both had disappeared.

“This is a misunderstanding, I merely meant to warn…” he tried again.

“NO! I WARN YOU, YOU WILL LET CARLOS SELL HIS CUT FLOWERS AND GET THE F*** OUT OF HIS WAY OR…”

A curtain opened behind Penguin.

“Did I just hear the words ‘cut flowers’?” A treacherously calm female voice inquired - which prompted several more curtains in front of several other booths to be drawn back hastily.

A part of the guests hurried towards the kitchen exit. A far bigger part reached for their guns.

Penguin grabbed a bottle from the bar and smashed it over the new mobster’s face.

Taking that slim chance at survival, Carlos darted for the exit tossing his basket as far away as possible, with a furious Poison Ivy hot on his heels.

It was raining cut roses everywhere. ‘Someone’ found that apparently very funny and giggled maniacally.

With a tingle, a coin was tossed into the air: “Scratched.”

The first trigger-happy goon opened fire.

Then, everyone started shooting.

“Welcome to Gotham, newbies!” Penguin shouted over the din, as he jumped for cover behind the giant block of ice that gave the lounge its name.

All that was missing now to make this evening perfect was Batman showing up.

Chapter Text

"What is that?"

The small box in his hand was light, wrapped in a toxic-green paper with little black question marks on it, and a purple bow on the top. Jonathan stared at the object with a mixture of disbelieve and suspicion. Edward was giving him that annoying, cocky smile of his.

"Do you want me to answer it in a form of a riddle?"

"Do you ever answer in any other form?"

Hoping for a 'normal' reply would be a waste of time, that much was given. Jonathan braced himself.

"A watch?" Jonathan wasn't certain.

"Well, only one way to find out. Unwrap it." The Riddler rushed him playfully, the smile on his face even wider.

Jonathan undid the bow, tore the paper and carefully opened the box. It was a wristwatch indeed, and an expensive looking one, all chrome and leather.

"Oh, look at that," Edward chattered gleefully. "You guessed it right. Good for you."

A pair of blue eyes narrowed a little.

"What is that?" Jonathan inquired, his tone a bit colder this time.

"I thought we already answered that riddle. It's a watch..."

"I can see that," he cut the other man off before the Riddler could get into rambling. "I was asking about your intentions. You're giving me a watch – but is it a gift? If so, what's the occasion? Or is that a bribe? If so, what is that you want in return? Or perhaps..." Here, his voice seemed to get lower, more menacing. "Perhaps this is one of your games, and the watch will blow my arm off if I put it on and don't answer your riddles."

The expression on Edwards face changed, the smile vanished and it was obvious he felt offended.

"It's just a normal watch," he crossed his arms. "A Swiss one, if you care to know. I got it for you because the last time we met, you showed up late. And, as I already told you back then, I don't fancy being kept waiting." Edward's tone was getting dramatic, the man did that often. "But then, I couldn't help but notice that you didn't wear a watch so I thought..."

"Oh, you're very observant..." Jonathan interrupted again, a small smirk dancing on the corner of his lips. "You were watching my hands closely, weren't you?"

"Well, they were wrapped around my throat," Riddler retorted, his face sporting that little twitch of nervousness that made him easy to read. "I had a close-up on your wrists while you were busy choking me."

"I don't recall you protesting...much."

"It's hard to do with the air supply being cut off by your fingers!"

At this point, Jonathan found it hard not to chuckle darkly.

"Do you like it more when it is Batman who does that?"

"Excuse me?" Edward's face was almost as red as his hair. "I don't... I don't have time for this nonsense. If you don't want that watch, fine! Give it back." He held out his hand expectedly.

Jonathan Crane just stood there in silence, enjoying the moment.

"No, I'll take it," he decided. "Thank you. It was very thoughtful."

Chapter Text

The not-very-subtle way the Bat had been treating his henchmen for the past three minutes should have given Riddler an idea of what would come next. And yet, when his hand got caught in Batman's iron grip, twisted and trapped in a painful armlock – he was not mentally prepared for that. Knowledge did not always pay off, apparently.

“Where is he?!”

A kick to the back of his knee sent Edward down to the floor. At the same time, the self-righteous vigilante had Riddler's arm fixed in a most uncomfortable angle, forcing his whole body to stay low. A little more pressure and a dislocated shoulder would be the inevitable outcome, not an empty threat.

“Who?”

Riddler immediately regretted asking as he felt Batman pressing harder, sending a jolt of pain through his right arm. He yelped, the fingers of his free hand digging uncontrollably into the dirty flooring. It was impossible to escape, he was at the mercy of this so-called 'hero'.

“Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Nigma.” The Dark Knight's voice was tainted with anger. It sounded like a promise of something horrible, if not for his current position Edward would consider starting to run by now. “Where is Scarecrow?” His captor hissed into his ear. “You were seen together at Port Adams, don't try to deny it.”

He didn't. “I admit, we had a meeting there last week, and not at his hideout. I don't know where it is,” he spat out the words as quickly as possible, wishing that Batman would not catch on to the obvious annoyance in his voice. “That fear-obsessed fool didn't invite me to his current place! He didn't even call! After all this time, he...” He caught himself before it was too late. But it already was, wasn't it? He felt his face getting hotter and for once he was glad that he didn't have to look the Bat in the eyes. “My point is, I don't know where Crane is hiding,” he added just to return to the right topic.

“I don't have time for your petty partnership problems. I need the location of Crane's base, or a way to track him down. And you're going to help me.”

“I told you, I... Aah! It hurts, you damn thug!”

“How to find him?!” The man growled and the prospect of a nasty injury that had been planted in Edward's head was now growing stronger with every passing second.

“I-I can't... I can't help you! He will know it was me! And he will send me on a fear trip with his stupid toxin for a ticket!”

If he didn't know better, he would imagine a smirk on Batman's stupid face.

“So that's a tough choice, hm?” The Bat mocked in an ominous whisper. “Think of it. Who do you fear more? Scarecrow? Or me?”

There was a knee pressed to his back now. One push, and Riddler arched – but his arm stayed where it was, held in place by firm hand. Something in his shoulder blade seemed to crack. He cried out, terrified by incoming pain.

Then, the torture stopped.

“I'll make this choice easier for you,” the cold whisper in his ear offered. “In a moment, I'm going to break your right hand, you'll cry and scream but I'll hold you down and when you adjust to the pain, I'll break your left hand. And there will be no escaping Arkham, no building deathtraps, no writing riddles – not with both hands broken. Use your head, can you imagine how pleasant that will be?”

Edward swallowed hard, for some reason the words alone sent his mind into a state of panic. His imagination was very eager to show him all horrible scenarios of being sent to the asylum with both hands in plaster, unable to do as much as feeding himself. Deep down he knew that his tormenter, that self-claimed savior of Gotham, who in reality was nothing more than a brainless bully, would gladly humiliate him in such cruel way. He had done terrible things to Edward in the past so why would he stop now?

“Or you can tell me what I want to know,” Batman continued, bringing Riddler back from the depths of his dark, dark thoughts. “and I let go of your arm and bring you in unharmed. Your choice, Edward, chose wisely. I'm asking you one last time. Where is Scarecrow?”

“H-he's on a... He might be...” A sudden realization made Riddler pause. “Wait, what time is it?”

Batman didn't answer.

He didn't have to, as the answer presented itself at the very next moment, in the form of a small, sphere-like item being tossed into the room with a clanking sound. A smoke bomb – both Batman and Riddler realized at the same time – right before it went off, releasing a cloud of gas at them.

The Bat let go of Riddler, and Edward fell flat on his face. He tried to cover his eyes and mouth but as soon as he recognized the familiar smell and as his heart rate increased significantly, he knew it was hopeless.

“Dark Knight...” The calm, deep voice that Riddler knew so well, came from the other side of the hall. “I didn't expect you here. I'm afraid your presence is no longer welcome.”

“Give up, Crane!” He heard Batman shouting, but it was getting hard to keep tracks of the events since the toxin in his system was already starting to work its 'wonders'.

Edward's vision was getting blurry, colors getting darker. The reality was slowly morphing before his eyes, the cold claws of his fears gripping at his throat.

“Damn you, Crane,” he mumbled before his mind completely succumbed to the awaiting nightmare – his last clear thought being: “This is the worst rescue ever.”

Chapter Text

Batman was everywhere!

The dark silhouette burst into a swarm of smaller bats just to unite again into a solid form, getting closer and closer by every second. The floor was so covered with rotting corpses of Riddler’s henchmen that he wouldn‘t have known where to put his feet, even if another demonic incarnation of Batman wasn’t dragging him away at the same time. Needless to say, Nigma was bound and couldn’t move, his voice had given out from screaming a while ago.

The Bat hauled him outside, and there was ...it - the one thing that Edward hated more than Batman himself.

He twisted in the stranglehold to give the ugly, overrated, rusty bulk of metal called the Batmobile a solid kick with both his tied together legs.

“Hello...?” Huh, did that thing talk now? “…anyone out there hearing me? If so, can you set me free?” A faint voice whined.

The Batman, the one who was currently holding him, stared at Nigma intensely. “Can you open the trunk of that thing?”

Edward whimpered in fear.

“Come on, Nigma, we don’t have time for this! Can you crack that trunk open?”

Well, apparently he could. With shaking hands, wrists still tied, Edward hacked into the electronic security lock.

The trunk opened. A cloud of bats emerged and swallowed him into darkness. Riddler tried to scream but no sound came out.

Jervis Tetch stretched his limbs as he climbed out of the seat restraints of the Batmobile trunk. He eyed the twitching form of Riddler who was only held somewhat upright by Scarecrow.

“He took a fear-toxin grenade to the face,” Crane needlessly explained. “Help me get him into a car before Batman is done with knocking the cannon-fodder around."

Scarecrow had a batarang sticking out of the other arm, not currently occupied by supporting Nigma, and noise from the warehouse behind them indicated that Batman was indeed not down for the count but was busy mopping the floor with at least a dozen henchies instead.

Wordlessly Hatter supported Riddler on the other side, made more difficult as he was much shorter than both other men.

With a curse, Scarecrow fished around in a pocket. Then the car keys fell out of his numb fingers.

Tetch looked at the keys, at the blood oozing from Crane’s arm and sighed.

“It’s not lethal, you will live but you are no way fit to drive, aren’t you?”

Riddler laid all sprawled over the backseat, Scarecrow, riding shotgun, was trying to stem the bleeding with a bandage after pulling the batarang out of the wound, and Hatter…

“Can you even see where we are going?” Crane inquired, as the car grazed a fire hydrant and ran over yet another mailbox. A few letters got stuck on the windscreen and were hastily wiped to the side. Really, who still wrote dead tree letters nowadays?

“The bats! The bats are attacking!” came a screech from the back.

Apparently, Riddler had woken. Scarecrow couldn’t help a chuckle at this delicious display of utter terror. But then again, he probably should try to calm the man down, it wouldn’t do to rescue him just for him to suffer a heart attack or something. “We already lost Batman, Nigma.”

“Hate to thwart the comfy bubble, but the rear mirror says we are in trouble. I’d say that mobile brings the Bat ...I wish I had a chauffeur hat.”

Tetch threw the wheel around and their car careened into a side street, flattening a few trashcans.

“How did he even find us?” Scarecrow hissed, lowering the window on his side to toss a few smoke bombs into the batmobile’s path.

“Uh… that might be my fault, about your harbor meeting him I told when he wrenched my arm and threatened with harm, I admit I caved, I’m not that brave,” Hatter stuttered.

“That’s why he went to Riddler and that’s why you were in the trunk?” Scarecrow asked scandalized. “Are you telling me that BOTH of you guys fear HIM more than ME?”

“Stop screaming ‘it is not fair’! You weren’t there.”

“Anyway, how did the damn bat find us now? We had a headstart!” Scarecrow gesticulated behind them where the tank that was the Batmobile peeled through the smoke and caught up.

“You need to get the bat out of the car,” Nigma groaned weakly from the backseat.

“Oh, stuff it, Nigma! You should be afraid of me being in the same car, there is no bat here… “ Scarecrow started and then trailed off as he suddenly realized he was not entirely right.

He grabbed the previously discarded bloody batarang and tossed it out of the open side window.

“Of course, Batman has those things bugged on top of everything else!” Crane grouched. “No surprise he can find us everywhere. Step on it, Tetch!”

“We have the bat still in our tow, and how to shake him? I don't know. Why can’t it be St. Patrick’s day? To throw a parade in his way.” Tetch was worriedly eying the mirror for the Batmobile closing in.

“Watch the traffic light! And the truuuuck!”

Scarecrow’s screech gave Hatter just ample warning to hastily throw the wheel around to narrowly avoid the tank truck thundering over the crossing.

Oversteering, he missed the exit to the bridge and the car shot down the embankment. Riddler screamed now more from pain than fear as he was tossed around on the backseat like a ragdoll.

The scarce vegetation did nothing to slow the car down before it finally flopped into the water. The impact with the surface felt like running into a brickwall, before being smashed into the seats and almost suffocated by the instantly inflating airbags.

“Oh, for f***’s sake!” Crane stabbed the airbags with his toxin needles until they collapsed.

The river’s current had already dragged the vehicle away from the bank, while at the same time icy-cold, dirty water seeped in.

Hatter was fighting with the release of his seatbelt as if he had never used one before.

“Tetch, do you actually have a driver’s license?” Scarecrow inquired while trying to drag the still delirious and near unconscious Riddler over from the backseat.

Hatter shrugged: “Driving without might be my smallest crime, why would I worry about paying a fine?”

“Oh, I can promise you, a fine will be the last thing to worry about after we get out of this. And I hope you can at least swim!” Crane exclaimed.

The doors wouldn’t open anymore, thanks to the water pressure. They would have to escape through the luckily already lowered side window.

Scarecrow had no much trouble fitting through the opening but it took near eternity to pull Nigma out of the car.

The car was already sinking like a rock when Riddler’s feet finally came free.

Crane fought to get them both up to the surface. He had no time to help or worry about Hatter – Tetch was the only one of them who was not injured and he had gotten them into this mess in the first place. If he had made it out of the car, he should come to the surface any second now… Any second…

The dark river was flowing undisturbed, the water too murky to see anything. Scarecrow looked around, Riddler was weighing him down, his clothing and especially the shoes were like trying to swim with an anchor as well. He could barely keep both their heads over the surface. There was no chance he could dive, find the sunken car and help Tetch to…

With a desperate gasp Hatter broke through the surface, trying to draw as much air into his lungs as possible. Then he dog-paddled over, adding more weight for Scarecrow to keep afloat.

“I wish I hadn’t cried so much," he coughed, "to drown in my own tears! O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!”

“Stop calling me that! If you want some rodent to help… ” Scarecrow interrupted himself to spit out some water “…then ask the Bat for a rescue!” Crane was at the end of his patience and whatever contamination was in the water, was burning in the open wound in his arm. They needed to get out of the river – now.

Ahead of them was an abandoned factory complex.

“Tetch, over there!” Crane nodded with his head into the direction of a dried up sewage pipe.

The pipe was one of the larger sewage outlets, from Gotham’s golden age, when the chemical factories could still spill anything into the river without causing the environmentalists to riot. Nowadays, everything had been outsourced to countries where rioting environmentalists were simply shot.

Somehow the two of them managed to get hold of the pipe and pull themselves and Riddler out of the water.

“What now and how?” Tetch requested, after a few precious seconds of catching their breath.

“Now we wake up Nigma, shake off the Bat, find dry clothes and seek someone or someplace to patch us up – not necessarily in this order.” Scarecrow groaned tiredly.

Maybe once Riddler was back to his senses, Crane should play possum and let himself be carried around for a change. Would serve those two idiots right.

Chapter Text

Meal times in Arkham were just that – a source for organic fuel which kept the body going, rarely it lifted the spirit. Still, while it was not a five stars restaurant, dinners always remained within ‘edible’ margins, the cooks had that much of a self-preservation instinct.

It was also the time of the day the hugest group of Arkham inmates was gathered in a single room and the surveillance of each individual was the weakest. As long as you were capable of some sleight of hand, a lot could be accomplished in the lunchroom, with the asylum staff none the wiser. Which was why there were rarely violent brawls or even huge commotions staged here, the place was too valuable a neutral ground for all sorts of shady deals. Like the flourishing drug trade over at table three right now...

Joker was currently sitting there, apparently poking around in his mashed potatoes, making a smiley face pattern with the fork. But actually, he was patiently waiting for anyone willing to separate with some ‘Pick-me-ups’. He regularly got saddled with sedatives, which were overall pretty low on demand.

It was rather surprising when the Ventriloquist slowly – as to not make any sudden movements – slid into the seat across from him. This was all the more surprising since Arnold wasn’t ‘accompanied’ by his doll Scarface and thus, was likely there more or less of his own free will and not that of his violent split persona.

“I trade you five of the pink ones for your entire stock,” Wesker muttered out a deal proposal nervously, which was an incredible offer. However, it left some unease in some of the observers for obvious reasons.

Well, the drug trade was nothing unusual because controls at the dispensary or not – basically no one ever took the pills they were actually told to swallow. But this?

“Hey Arnie! You are making my day all the sweeter. But tell me, are you planning to break out from here permanently and play with the bats in hell instead in Gotham?” Joker bluntly asked a man whether he was suicidal.

Wesker shook his head resignedly: “Don’t tempt me. No, no… it is just… Waylon Jones is back in, and the snoring… I haven’t slept for three days now.”

“Seriously?” Joker laughed. “Didn’t you ask the guards for earplugs then?”

“I did…” Wesker admitted.

“And they wouldn’t help you?” Joker pulled a kicked puppy pouting face, apparently hurt by the cruelty of the world – he fooled exactly no one. “How mean of them!”

“Actually they did… one pair…” Wesker lowered his head in shame. “Scarface told me what a weakling I am, took them away and now he is using them for himself.”

Joker almost fell out of his chair laughing and several of the other inmates at the nearby tables joined in. It took him a while to calm down from that and Arnold just sat there awkwardly and waited, until the crazy clown spoke to him again: “Tell you something – ten khaki yawners for three of your pink paradise – unless you have one of the black monsters, too. I’m willing to give you my entire stash for one of them.”

“Three pink pills it is then, sorry, I haven’t even seen a single one of the black ones this time around. And I’ve been already in for a month.”

Just as they covertly made the exchange, a shadow fell over their table.

Riddler pulled one of the empty chairs out and sat down with them uninvited. Joker was about to tell him to get lost, as Nigma inquired all of a sudden: “Does either one of you, perchance, have any green pills you are willing to separate with?”

Both other men stared at him as if he had just declared to be Batman. Then the Joker had another fit of maniacal laughter.

“Did you decide, you are too lazy to shave in the morning or do you want to apply for singing soprano in the asylum choir, Eddie?” he finally snickered.

“Wha… why wou… why would they give us those infernal hormone bombs?” Wesker stammered.

“That’s what they are?” Riddler seemed genuinely surprised and sounded quite scandalized.

“He didn’t know!” The Joker was already bending over from laughter again.

The only thing that kept the guards from investigating table three was, that it was currently Joker’s table, and they really didn’t want to know what had set him off this time or get any closer to him than necessary.

“What did you think the green pills were for?” The Ventriloquist had shed off some of his natural shyness in favor of curiosity.

“I just wanted something green to leave a riddle with – I have everything ready for one of my flawlessly executed grandmaster escape plans. But it is not like I can ask the staff here for a green marker if I want to keep that a secret – obviously.”

“You can have twenty of mine for the right price, not that anyone else asks for them.” Poison Ivy nonchalantly put a tray with a plate of apple slices down at their table. Wesker took that as his sign to excuse himself with a polite nod.

Not that Wesker and Pamela had currently any form of feud, it was just not advisable to draw too much of the guards’ attention to one single table, else even Joker’s presence wouldn't keep the nosier ones away.

“And why do the docs want you to take hormones?” Nigma inquired while he let his gaze roam over Ivy’s voluptuous curves. She of all people didn’t need to become more feminine.

“Oh, some of our brilliant shrinks seem to believe, that I might not kill as many polluters, if I develop some ‘motherly feelings’ for their fellow human beings. Those idiots should get it into their bloated heads that I have more than enough ‘motherly feelings’ but I prefer to focus them on my plant babies who actually deserve them.” Ivy lamented before she concentrated on business once more. “And here we come to the price for the pills: I am sure you have heard of Cosanto corp the seed manufacturer? A little bird told me their genetics department plans a new atrocity against nature. I want you to collect me some data about their laboratory crew from chief researcher to lowest lab assistant. Should be an easy enough job for a hacker as talented as you.”

“Thirty green pills – twenty is not enough to leave a decent message …unless you have a black one? Then I’d surely find a way to leave a message with only fifteen greens, I don’t know what they are but the black ones help me concentrate.”

“Hey now! I was here first!” Joker threw in. “If you have any black monsters, I can make a much better offer than Riddler.” He eyed a nearby table where Harleen Quinzel and Professor Crane were immersed in their own conversation. Joker uncharacteristically lowered his voice “I’d not contact Harley in any form for an entire month for a single black pill.”

Ivy crossed her arms angrily. “I never said I had any black ones. I don’t even understand what is supposed to be so special about them.”

“What’s so special? Seriously? Most of the inmates here would give an arm and a leg for them – not necessarily their own limbs but still,” Riddler tried to explain.

“They are my absolute favorite! Blood is redder, brain is grayer, everything is more colorful after one,” Joker agreed. “Don’t you think so too Harley, that the black pills are just the best?” Now that the crazy clown knew there would be no deal with Ivy, he made sure to get Harleen’s attention. There was not much Poison Ivy could do about it and he knew she hated that.

“Huh?” Harleen looked back and forth between her quietly seething best friend and her beloved Puddin’, apparently confused by those two even sitting at the same table peacefully, “Which pills do you…? …Ooooh… black! You mean those… no, I think they taste gross. If I ever get one prescribed, you can gladly have it,” she waved the question off.

“I don’t agree, I kind of like that spicy, salty taste. It is one of the few medications in this forsaken place I would actually agree to.” Professor Crane threw in, though no one had asked him.

“Looks like no one has gotten any prescribed for a while now though, or whoever it is, is keeping them all for themselves.” Riddler skillfully let the small package of green hormone pills Ivy had shoved over disappear under his inmate uniform.

“I may have to break a few arms in here or break out then and find a supplier of my own.” Joker grinned, gave Harleen a wink and left the lunchroom – likely to play around with the pink paradise pills he had received from Wesker.

Ivy looked too grumpy for a chat, so Harleen turned back to her conversation with Scarecrow: “You know, I heard the black pills were a one-time experiment.” She tried to not obviously grin.

“Yes, that is a rumor I heard too. And I knew the taste was familiar. I guess the experiment didn’t go as well as our dear former colleagues planned.” Crane looked interestedly over the mass of clueless inmates still remaining in the lunchroom.

“Mildly said, after that bloodbath Mr. J dished out back then,” Harleen agreed, chuckling.

“Now, now, Arkham’s accomplished, world-renowned psychiatrists could never have foreseen that outcome. I mean who would have ever thought that handing out placebos to violently insane criminals for therapy would be a bad idea?” The normally sourly-looking Scarecrow by now grinned as well.

“But what I really don’t understand, is…” Harleen paused for a moment, looking at her conversational partner, “…how you or anyone else could possibly like the taste of ammonia licorice.”

Chapter Text

"Cold and wet but not dead, shouldn't we celebrate instead?"

Scarecrow, who was really getting too old for that, shot the unreasonably optimistic Mad Hatter a glare of disgust from under his soaked hood. The action didn't make any good in the darkness of the sewers.

“I would gladly share your enthusiasm if I weren't stuck here with you, Nigma, and with the Bat on our tail. We will be lucky if Killer Croc is not around looking for his dinner.”

“Maybe he will invite us to have some cake? A cup of tea also sounds great!”

“Just...forget it.”

It was getting unbearably cold, and the wet clothes became heavy. It didn't help that his injured arm hurt like hell, not to even mention his crooked leg. Despite the tiredness, Scarecrow limped further down the sewer pipe.

“Where are you going?!” He could hear Tetch's worried voice calling out for him. “Oh, where are you going? It's not a lot of empathy you're showin'!”

He ignored him and kept moving forward, the slippery goo splashed under his already soaked boots.

He didn't get far, there were metal bars preventing him to get further into the sewer system. Rusted they might be but otherwise intact. If the Bat showed up there would be nowhere to escape from this dead-end trap.

The sound of hasty splashes prepared Scarecrow for Hatter's arrival. The little man actually bumped into his back before Jonathan could turn around. Tetch was breathing in and out rapidly, looking up to him with his wide eyes.

“Don't leave me alone!” the man whimpered. “I want to go home!” The small hand clutched onto Crane's coat but Scarecrow slapped it off immediately.

“We're not going anywhere, we're trapped here.” He pointed at the bars with a small gesture.

Hatter looked in that direction and understood the situation.

“Oh. I know!”

“What now?”

“I know how to go through. I just need to use you.”

Before he knew it, Scarecrow was already under Mad Hatter's spell, hypnotized and awaiting orders while his mind drifted away into oblivion.

“Scarecrow, my friend,” Tetch's voice rang inside his skull as if it was coming from the inside. “Lend me a hand. It looks like we both reached a dead end. And this won't do for me and you. So, break out the bar and let us go through. Chop-chop!”

Jonathan's thin arms moved on their own, grabbing the rusty metal. Then, the muscles hardened as he pulled with a force, he didn't know he had. The bars gave out a screech, Scarecrow's hands began to shake from the extreme physical effort. But he kept pulling. Red drops of blood were falling from his injured arm into the mud under his feet.

“Oh, dear,” Hatter gulped nervously but did not take his order back.

Something 'popped', and unfortunately it didn't come from the bars. One of Scarecrow's arms went limp and he lost his hold. Hatter winced and inhaled with a long hiss.

“Oh dear, oh dear, I thought we were near...”

Jonathan made no sound, feeling no pain – only the overwhelming need to keep pulling. His other hand, still on the bar, pulled with all its might. And with that one, desperate action the rusty metal finally gave out. Scarecrow fell back, stumbling onto a Hatter. Jervis yelped and tripped over but caught his balance in time, saving them both from crashing into the muddy ground.

“Are you OK, Jonathan Crane?”

All Scarecrow did, was showing a broken bar that has left in his hand as if it was some kind of a trophy.

“Good job, my friend,” Hatter prized, beaming and patting Jon's trembling forearm. “Now, fix up your hand.” He nodded at the man's most likely dislocated shoulder.

With his good one, Doctor Crane obediently grabbed his numb arm. A moment later 'something' popped once again. Hatter shivered at the horrible sound but when he looked up, Jonathan looked as good as new. The little man smiled and snapped his fingers.

“Ughhh!”

The very moment the mind-control wore off and Scarecrow was back to his senses, the sensation of white-hot pain shot through his right arm.

“What...aghh...have you done,” he hissed, clutching at his shoulder and panting heavily. His whole body was trembling and both of his arms hurt like two hells. His memories of the last few minutes seemed blurry but the last thing he remembered was... “You hypnotized me, you damn imp!”

If not for the pain, he would strangle the little shithat here and now.

“I just wanted to help!” Hatter squeaked, showing first signs of fear. “Not my fault you got hurt!”

“Hurt? What did you make me do?”

“I...just...” Instead of finishing, Tetch pointed at something with his trembling finger.

Scarecrow turned his head and saw it – one of the metal rods that had blocked the entrance to the second part of the sewer was missing, leaving the gap just big enough for someone thin to squeeze through.

“I did...this?” That would explain that terrible exhaustion. And the re-opening of the wound...

Jervis smiled at him in response, falsely assuming that he was forgiven. “I knew you were strong, I couldn't be wrong.”

“Yes, yes, apparently you couldn’t... Now, go drag Nigma here, we're going to find out where those sewers will lead us to.”

When Hatter disappeared in the darkness, Scarecrow stared blankly after him for a few seconds, contemplating. To use him, the Master of Fear, like a mere henchman? “Oh, Mr. Tetch. You will be regretting this night dearly,” he murmured to himself. Then, his hand sneaked under his coat, reaching for something hidden in his inner pocket. His long fingers sensed the cold, metal surface and they stroked the cylindrical vessel lovingly. Yes, his fear gas was still there. “Just you wait, Mr. Tetch...” Scarecrow whispered and his scarred face twitched under the mask in a failed attempt to smile.

For a man as small as Jervis Tetch dragging around the dead weight of a fully grown (at least physically) man, which Edward Nigma definitely was right now – unconscious after exposure to the fear gas and nearly drowning, should be an impossible task and yet, fearing Scarecrow's anger made Mad Hatter manage that somehow. Good, because after all the recent events Jonathan Crane could barely drag his own two legs through those dark, stinky sewers.

The three didn't have the strength to go far, not like that, shaking from the cold and exhaustion. As soon as the dark tunnel led them into an open space of a big, empty and long-forgotten water container, Scarecrow called a break.

“Where are we?” Hatter dropped Nigma to the ground and looked around, panting. “I can't see. Can you spell it out for me?”

Crane supported his tired body with the nearest wall, then he slid down to sit on the dirty floor. “I think we entered the old facility of Cortex Chemicals. It's a good place for a hideout, at least for now.” He pulled back his hood and started taking off the soaked coat, trying to prevent his skinny self from trembling violently. “We need to make fire,” he added, hoping that Tetch would get the suggestion.

The little man followed his lead and took off his own coat, then his precious hat. He shook off the water like a wet dog and crouched to fetch something from one of his endless pockets. He took out a broken watch, then put it aside, next was a little, plush teddy-bear, and then a deck of cards. To Jonathan's surprise, Jervis assembled the cards into a small pile – just like a bonfire.

“Lighter, if you please.” He outstretched his hand expectantly.

“I quit,” Jon stated flatly, deciding to just ignore the obvious fact that the wet cards would never even burn in the first place. “Check what Nigma has in his toolkit.”

Hatter nodded and poked gently at Riddler's shoulder.

“Wake up, Dormouse!”

When that did nothing, he reached for the said toolkit attached, in its usual place, to Edwards belt.

Nigma's body shook suddenly, his eyes snapped open.

“Nooo, no!” The man cried out, his hands springing out to grasp Hatter's collar. “He's out to get us!!!”

Jervis gasped and tried to get away but it was Scarecrow who reacted the fastest. His injured leg, wrapped in a metal brace, kicked up and delivered an unbelievably precise blow right into Nigma's head. It instantly knocked the lights out for the man.

“What?” asked Crane, seeing the look that Hatter just gave him. “You're checking that toolkit or not?”

There was nothing useful to start a fire with, unfortunately.

The cold and fatigue made Scarecrow feel numb, he couldn't move his right hand anymore.

“Listen to me, Jervis,” he barely had the strength to speak but it was important. “You have to go look for supplies. Maybe you will be able to find a lighter. You see that ladder?” He nodded to his left. “Climb it and check out what's up there.”

“Maybe... Maybe there will be tea?”

Jonathan sighed, his vision slowly became more and more blurry. “...maybe...”

As Mad Hatter happily skipped away for his little treasure hunt, Scarecrow decided it was time to rest. “He's not going to come back,” crossed his mind before he drifted off. “Is he?”

Chapter Text

„Look! Looook! The sand is pink! Pink!” The young fair-haired woman with the puffy pigtails, who was carrying an enormous purple-white unicorn swimming ring under one arm and an inflatable rubber crocodile under the other, squealed before she dropped both items and ran off towards the water.

“I think that is why it is called ‘Pink Sand Beach’,” the red-haired woman in her company sighed.

“I still say we should have gone to Cat Island,” the other blonde companion threw in.

“Seriously? You know there aren’t actual cats?” The red-head inquired.

“Oh, come on,” Blonde-two laughed. “Everyone who’s read a tourist guide knows the beaches over there are vastly superior to some simple pink sand.”

“At least you get your wish for a beach. I went on this tour to see the Versailles Gardens on Paradise Island, not to get all shriveled up roasting in the sun or setting a foot into that highly saline solution that people call the ocean, Selina.” The red-haired woman scoffed and planted down a rather huge beach umbrella.

“That reminds me, can you do actual photosynthesis in the sun?" Selina mused.

“None of your business! And enough with the questions, help me set up the ‘base camp’, I doubt Harley will be back any time soon.”

As if to cement that, a motorboat roared by just at that moment, in its wake the still squealing blonde, riding on a giant banana.

It was 4 am when a ‘slightly’ tipsy Harleen stealth-stumbled back into their shared hotel room.
She had a little bit of a bad consciousness to have left her best friend Ivy all alone with Selina for the entire day and most of the night – after having grizzled them so much to accompany her to the Bahamas and to the Pink beach.

The fact was, Harleen hadn’t wanted to leave the city all alone. But Mr. J was in a full body cast laid up in the Arkham hospital wing, with more bone fractures than the human body had actual bones.
Mr. J’s grand escape plan over the railroad tracks hadn’t calculated for the 5 o’ clock train being miraculously punctual for once. And Batman wasn’t the only one looking for her – that creepy Waller woman was too, so an extended vacation and lying low for a while it was.

Harleen fumbled with the keycard – it was dark on the corridor and she didn’t want to wake Red and Sel by accident.

Spending a vacation with Ivy had some drawbacks – she tended to go on a murder spree whenever she saw a tree being cut down or a lawn being mowed. Thankfully, the hotel here had a lovely Zen garden full of happy little rocks which looked incredibly out of place among all the palms – but the tourists apparently loved it. So maybe they could avoid Red going on a rampage for the sake of nature this time?

Selina had been a surprise +1. Apparently, she and Harleen had the same counterfeiter making their passports. She had originally been planning to visit Hawaii but then they had started talking and one thing had led to another.

So now it was the Bahamas for all three of them.

Harleen sighed as the door finally opened and she slid inside…

…to be nearly blinded as the lights instantly came on.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Selina stated drily.

“That looks like a half-dead mouse,” Red responded – surprisingly grumpy for the first day of vacation.

“So how has the beach been for you?” Harleen flashed a quick smile.

It was as if a very dark thundercloud suddenly gathered right above their heads, centered on Pamela.

“The men… they offered me dead coco-babies with straws sticking out of them… As to our agreement I didn’t punish them …much.”

“She mind-controlled them to lay on the beach without sunscreen for the entire day,” Selina chuckled. By evening they were properly roasted – someone’s holidays are definitely over. I, however,” Catwoman seemed to purr happily, “went to rent a boat to get away from those pesky admirers and spent a really fruitful afternoon fishing. Did you know they have Marlin in these waters?”

“Now she is starting again,” Pamela groused “She has been chewing my ears off, telling me about her giant catch.”

“We are going to have smoked marlin tomorrow,” Selina explained smugly, “an absolute delicacy!”

“But you actually like eating fish?” Harleen inquired carefully, as Ivy shouldn’t be this grouchy about it – well of course smoking required burning wood but as long as no one brought it up directly Red tended not to think about it that much.

“Awww don’t worry Harl, she is just down because she lost our bet.” Selina was showing all her teeth as she smiled now. “Really she couldn’t have expected that the room-service in a grand hotel as this would be THAT slow.” Catwoman snickered a bit more “It has nothing to do with your skills being inferior, darling.”

“What are you even talking about now?” Harleen looked from one roommate to the other.

“About those crappy locks in the doors here.” Selina gestured towards the exit. “I told Pam that I could break into any of these rooms without breaking a sweat, and she claimed it wasn’t worth the effort because she could get the staff to unlock any room for her before I’d even pull out my lockpicks. Well, the room-service let her down, royally.”

“And you cheated! You simply jumped onto the balcony from the upper patio! And because you took the only lift to get up there, of course, the room service was late,” Ivy fumed.

“So, she lost and had to pay for the champagne the room-service oh-so-conveniently brought for us,” Selina concluded the tale.

Harleen perked up. “Did you leave any for me?”

Catwoman shrugged. “You weren’t here. Even I was lucky I could get a single glass before Ivy finished the rest of the bottle.”

“Awwwww.”

“I had to listen to Selina brag the entire evening! And I had to pay for it, so cut it,” Ivy hissed. “I’m going to bed now, so you can keep her entertained if you want to swap tales about how much fun you had here.” With that Red turned on her heels and stalked out of the main room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind her.

Harleen winced and felt a little guilty.

“Now you are finally here, let’s order another bottle,” Selina interrupted her contemplations and Harleen wasn’t so tipsy as to not instantly perk up at that suggestion. “And then tell me what you did after you fell off the banana.”

“Wait how do you even know I fell off?” Harleen squeaked.

Catwoman chuckled again.

The next morning was rather the early next afternoon when Harleen gracelessly rolled off the couch. Apparently, she hadn’t bothered to make it to the bed last night…

She and Cats, if Harley’s hangover tortured brain was replaying that memory right, had been playing cards while Harleen had told Selina everything about trying out the beach hang-glider.

Then Selina had put a full house on the table and…

Harleen bolted upright and rummaged through her handbag – her purse with her vacation allowance was so empty, dead space would have envied it.

And on top of that, so was the hotel room and of course neither Selina nor Red had bothered about leaving her as much as a note where they had gone.

It hadn’t taken Harleen very long to realize that a vacation paradise was pretty boring without cash. Of course, she had managed to snatch a bill here and talk a rich dude into buying her a drink, a dinner and a few presents there but it wasn’t the same as having money to waste on her own. And the generous guy was getting boring fast. So, she decided to dump him at the first opportunity, return to her room and just order a bucket of ice-cream from the room-service – Selina could pay the bill for that one.

To her surprise, Pamela was already back when she entered, and Red’s mood seemed to have improved visibly.

Ivy lounged at the main table and was fiddling around within a parcel that had the logo of the Versailles gardens on it. So apparently, Pamela had taken the first ferry in the morning and had spent the entire day between exotic plants …which made her early return even weirder, if Harley thought longer about it. But then regret took over. She would have preferred to keep Ivy company today, to see her dance among the blooming flowers like the dryad she was.

Harley hadn’t been a very good friend so far.

“So uh… you had a good day?” She tried surprisingly awkwardly.

“Oh yes, I collected a few very nice plant samples, the gentlemen from the park staff were all so helpful and understanding. And I am in a very giving mood today.”

Everyone else would have been fooled but Harleen caught a few undertones in the layers of meaning Ivy’s words actually had. And something in that silky voice was icy cold killing intent.

“I… I am really sorry about just running off yesterday, I mean we had planned this vacation together and then I just did my own thing and didn’t realize you weren’t enjoying yourself at all. So … I….”

Pamela looked up from the parcel surprised. “Wait, what are you apologizing for? That was just you being yourself and having a good day. That beaches aren’t my territory isn’t your fault and we are having our vacation on an island after all. I could have done the same as Catwoman and just wandered off but I was having too much fun watching you fall off the banana before those annoying plant murder jerks showed up.”

“You aren’t angry at me?” Harleen inquired surprised. “But you went to the gardens without inviting me to come along, I thought you didn’t want to see me after yesterday!”

“Of course not,” Red huffed. “I tried to wake you before I left but you were down for good, so I decided to make it just a short visit today and get the items I wanted for this surprise present. Now get over here and help me a little.”

“Huh, I heard about people sending postcards back home but … you are sending that to Cosanto corporation?” Harley puzzled over the label. “Their genetic seed laboratory? I thought you hated those guys?”

But as soon as she asked an understanding sparkle lit in Harleen’s eyes.

“Now tell me Harl: How good are you at making smoke-bombs customs can’t detect at the airport?” Pamela asked as if she needed an opinion about her new nail colors.

“Uhhh, that is pretty easy! You just need some white phosphor and… Wait, why just a smoke-bomb?

“Because…” and here Pamela smiled distractedly, “I may have rigged up their sprinkler system with a large tank of their highly poisonous, cancer-inducing, bestselling herbicide product, just before we have left.“

Harleen squealed in glee. Scheming with her best friend was just the bestest! This vacation rocked!
But maybe next time… they just shouldn’t bring Selina with them?

Chapter Text

Riddler tiredly rubbed his eyes when he finally looked up from the screen and leaned back in the not too comfy chair in front of his computer system.

He was freshly out of Arkham – this time it had been a longer stay than usual – not that any of the laughable security measures could have held a genius like him for an entire three months – no, it had been rather a lack of motivation to change the status quo. He had been sitting there, listlessly poking around in his daily meals with a blunt plastic spork, giving halfhearted answers in therapy sessions (the latest doctor had wanted to discuss color theories of all things) and been staring into the void, lying on his cot at night, while sleep eluded him.

And why all that? His riddles just weren’t good enough! None of them were! He couldn’t break out of Arkham asylum without a god damned plan, how to once and for all deal with the Bat!

It was not that he didn’t have any plans. On the contrary, he had tons of plans but: None. Was. Good. Enough!

It was only when Harleen had kept bothering the Joker about getting her chocolate truffles for Saint Valentine’s day, that Riddler had finally snapped out of the dullness. Valentine’s day! Of course!

Finally inspired, he had hastily broken out, returned to one of his old hideouts and begun with the actual planning. Only a week left till the V-day and so much to do.

Unfortunately, Riddler wasn’t only on a narrow schedule, he was – thanks to the Bat – also low on cash, supplies and henchmen. And while Eddie’s inspiration had struck at Valentine’s theme, he wasn’t entirely sure what was considered “romantic” those days. He couldn’t ask Quiz or Echo since his two bodyguards were still locked away in Blackgate. So that left him with what?

Google me this – “Romantic things to do on valentine’s” – the search resulted in a small list:

- Dancing
- Going to the theater
- Making your own chocolates
- Picnic in the park
- Creating pottery
- Visiting a concerto
- Reenactment of a movie scene

Dancing – Riddler pondered, in Gotham it meant mostly graceless hopping around to noise that barely passed as music in the low-class clubs the teenagers frequented. He’d rather roll himself up in a straightjacket and crawl all the way back to Arkham before being caught doing that. And he already had Batman jump around between electrical floorboards before, so that wouldn’t be something new and memory-worthy for him.

Watching a play might be acceptable, depending on what was currently in the program, he would have to check later.

Making his very own Bat-chocolate? Sure, why not? It sounded like fun and might be at least a decent warmup.

The picnic in the park – Eddie tried to imagine it – a blanket on the ground, Batman tied to a tree, himself picking the potato-salad from the basket… and Poison Ivy jumping out from the shrubbery, trying to strangle him for eating vegetables… …also: ants.

Riddler really didn’t want to play in the mud either, it'd be just disgusting! So trying his hands at pottery was a big NO as well. Besides what would the odds even be that Clayface got involved there somehow? Likely one in a million, and that ugly mug would still manage to show up and ruin Riddler’s valentines plans anyway.

Music – could almost be as bad as the dancing but maybe, if something classical was played… Still, this was not really inspired enough for the main event of the evening, maybe worth a shot for the backup plan – not that a true genius like the Riddler ever needed any backup plans.

That left reenacting a movie?

“Now we are talking,” Riddler smiled and rubbed his hands together energetically.

It had to be a very romantic movie – Edward began to make another list of things he would need.

“Gotham City Police Department speaking, how may we be of assistance?”

“This is Oswald Cobblepot…” the caller announced, but he didn’t get any further as the emergency response officer let the phone receiver drop like it was a scalding piece of coal.

“Commissioner Gordon! Where is Commissioner Gordon? It is the penguin!” the officer shouted and it took several minutes until the receiver was picked up again.

“Gordon speaking, what do you want Penguin?” GCPD’s chief growled into the phone.

“Finally! That is a pretty awful response time your crew has there, Jim. How reassuring for the average taxpayer that the GCPD emergency response is slightly faster than a senile snail. But back to business, I – an upstanding citizen and proprietor of the Iceberg lounge have to report a theft…”

When the morning dawned, Alfred Pennyworth waited patiently in front of the main computer of the Batcave, holding a tray with club sandwiches a thermos with tea and a small first aid kit ready. It was worrisome to him, that over the years Master Bruce had slowly started to eat less and less of the sandwiches and needed more and more bandages and lately even tended to just drop into sleep without removing his costume first.

If only he would settle down with someone who would remind him to take care of himself.

Unfortunately, Master Bruce was too stubborn to consider one or the other, but Alfred could still hope that one day…

The Batmobile rolling down the ramp to its parking bay interrupted his thoughts. To Alfred’s relief, Batman did not leave a trail of blood or moved like he had several ribs broken this time, though his cape was shredded and he radiated tiredness.

“Good morning Master Bruce, how was the night?” the Wayne family butler politely inquired, as if his master had just returned from regular CEO-meeting.

“Very strange, Alfred.” Bruce removed the cowl, sank into the computer chair and – much to Alfred’s delight – reached for a sandwich.

“Riddler had left a string of coded directions for me that took me to a Shakespear performance first. Weirdly enough, Twoface was also present, he was trying to kidnap the actors of Romeo and Juliet both for double ransom but I was able to free them while Harvey and Nygma argued.

Then, Riddler lured me to a candy factory, he was trying to drop me into a giant cauldron with molten chocolate, but I was able to escape again because, for some reason, the Joker had targeted the factory too – he was muttering something about chocolate truffles before he was carted back to Arkham.

While I was dealing with Joker, Riddler had slipped away again, so I had to follow him all the way to the harbor, where he – believe it or not – had set up a ship about to run into an iceberg.”

“An ‘iceberg’, sir?” Alfred repeated, lifting an eyebrow.

“Unfortunately, Gordon and the police were not a great help with evacuating the ship, they had their hands full with trying to keep the Penguin from shooting Nygma.

I followed the latter to the Odium, but I only arrived to find Riddler in a fistfight with Calendar man, I don’t think I have ever seen Nygma that angry before.

In the end, he escaped after all. What bothers me most is that I still have no clue what he was up to,” Bruce finished tiredly and bit into the sandwich.

“You should sleep about it for now, maybe you’ll come up with fresh ideas after some hours of rest.”

'Though I may have an idea or two of what this was about', Alfred thought to himself as he led Bruce out of the cave to the master bedroom, before he might fall asleep in the computer chair again.

To say Riddler was surprised to find himself in this situation would not be entirely true. While Twoface, Joker and Calendar man were back in Arkham, at least for now, the Penguin had been very angry at him and the Bat was still out there to get him as well after all.

What was surprising, however, it was neither the Penguin nor the Bat, who had him trussed up and dangling from skyscraper like a green pinata.

It was a slim, apparently elderly, masked man with a cultured British accent, who’d asked him with calm but deadly seriousness: “Mr. Nygma, what are your intentions with Batman?”

“That is a stupid question! I plan to kill him, of course. Everyone knows that,” Riddler barked out angrily as the blood was rushing into his head from this uncomfortable position.

His captor slowly shook his head. “Are you entirely sure it is ‘just’ that?”

“What are you implying?” Nygma fired back. He should come up with a riddle or at least a smart remark but this encounter had him baffled.

“I am not implying anything,” The masked man continued, “I am actually only here to inform you, that I own a shovel, and that I know at least twenty locations in and around Gotham where nobody would look for a corpse, in case you don’t treat him well.”

“Wait, what?”

But the stranger had already disappeared back into the shadows, leaving him hanging without any help and without a decent answer.

“Did that madman just give me a ‘Shovel-talk’? Over Batman?” He wondered briefly while trying to get free. “I really need to have a talk with Catwoman. Maybe she knows that weirdo?”

Chapter Text

"Oh, Mr. J!" Harley threw her head back, arching her whole body in a seductive pose. "You're so rough! Pushing me onto a bed like that."

“That's because you're a pushover, Harley.” Joker passed the bed, not even gracing the girl with one look. “You stood in my way like a chicken on the road. And you know what I think of chickens...” There was a dangerous ring to his tone of voice. “Actually... I love them!” He laughed.

Harley joined in with a playful giggle.

“So? Do you wanna try out the bed?” She bounced on the mattress, making the little bells on her harlequin-hat jingle happily. “It's so soft and...”

“Not now, Harl, I'm busy.” He sat at the dressing table, searching through the shelves. “The Bat is not gonna kill himself ...or is he?”

“Guess not...” Harleen sighed.

“Woo!” A sound of excitement left Joker's mouth and Harley immediately perked up. “Look what I found.” He fished out a handful of lipsticks from the bottom shelf. “Crimson Morning? Or Scarlet Dream?”

The girl glanced at the shades of red to choose from and thought for a long moment.

“Scarlet Dream,” she finally decided.

In an instant, Joker threw that one to the bin and used the other one. He made a kissy-face at his pale reflection in the mirror.

“Looking good, Mr. J,” Harley tried again, getting out of the bed and moving closer. She wrapped her loving arms around his chest and pressed her breasts to his back.

“You think Batsy is gonna like that color?”

“He better...” She huffed and her puddin' chuckled at that.

“Aw, Harley. My sweet, little Harley,” he turned to her and patter her face. “You're always so supportive to your good, ol' Uncle Joker.”

His silky voice made Harleen shiver and she blushed the Crimson Morning shade of red.

“Anything for ya, Mr. J.”

“Perhaps... I will find some time for you today...”

He raised from where he was sitting and took Harl by the hand, leading her to the obnoxious heart-shaped bed in the bedroom of the cheap motel they currently were using as their hideout. He jumped onto the mattress and pulled his sidekick girl in, allowing her to sit on his lap, almost as if he was Santa and she was a good child waiting for her wishes to come true.

Harley squeaked with joy and hugged him with all her might. “Oh, Puddin', I missed you so much when you were in Arkham.”

“I know, Sugarplum,” he whispered into her ear, causing her to shiver some more. “I got all of your post-cards, which by the way were from the Bahamas. What were you even doing there without me, hm?”

“Does that matter?” She purred, still keeping him locked in her warm embrace. “All it matters is that now we are together. Kiss me, Pumpkinpie.” She leaned in, her black-painted lips so close to his red ones when...

“Eeekh!” The wild, high-pitched shriek caught Harleen totally unprepared. The next thing she knew, she was pushed off Joker’s lap to the floor while her sweet Puddin' jumped out of the bed.

“Wha...? What's wrong, Jellybean?” Just in case, she checked her breath, but no – no funny smells were detected.

“Spider!” Joker pointed with his white finger at the head of their bed. “Ugly, hairy, scary spider! Get rid of it, Harley! Now!”

The clown-girl collected herself from the floor, she narrowed her eyes, searching for the culprit. And then she saw it.

“But Puddin'... It's the tiniest, cutest, itsy-bitsy spider I've ever...”

“I don't CARE!” Jokers shrill rolled through the bedroom, as pleasant as the sound of a drill. “Kill it! I'm not going back there until you kill all the spiders!”

Slowly, Harleen’s expression transformed from a confused one to one of cold fury. “No stupid spider will be ruining my romantic date,” she thought, reaching for her mallet.

A few minutes and a few blows from her trade-mark weapon later, the heart-shaped bed was no more – smashed into splinters. Harley, angry and breathless, stood in the middle of the destruction.

“No spider could survive that,” she assured the Joker. “Now, where were we... Mr. J?”

The frown that Joker wore on his face caused her heart to sink.

“And where will I sleep now?” he asked with a cold voice.

Harleen looked at her feet. “We can...”

“I'm calling dibs on the couch,” he cut her off. “You can have the bedroom for yourself.”

“But Puddin'...?!”

The door shut behind him before Harley could finish the sentence. She looked around the messy room. Maybe she really wasn't too subtle?

Joker jumped onto the couch, stretching his lanky limbs and settling himself. A puff of dust went up in the air as his skinny body fell onto green cushions.

Then, he spotted a spider. The small black thing was running across the carpet, probably emerging from under the old couch.

Joker only giggled. How silly of Harley to buy his little show of arachnophobia.

“The girl is spending too much time with Crane,” he mused under his breath. “Shrinks – they are all so easy to trick. It's not even a challenge.”

Well, at least he had a good excuse to be left alone. He needed his beauty sleep before he faced his favorite Bat.

“Itsy-bitsy Batsy boo, soon I will be seeing you.”

Chapter Text

It was a bit paradoxical that to go down the rabbit hole Hatter had to actually climb up a ladder. But what a magnificent rabbit hole it was! With an excited giggle, Jervis danced over a rusty walkway. The old factory was huge and derelict but it was not completely deserted. Doves were nesting in the beams holding up the remains of the roof, graffiti was sprayed over any surface and beer-cans, booze bottles, empty pizza boxes, burger wrappings and lots of other trash were loosely strewn about. The city’s gangs apparently held their parties here – very uncultured parties as Hatter didn’t see a single used teabag.

Some of the tubing from the machines was missing and someone had also been breaking holes into the walls – likely to get at the copper wiring for some easy cash. Combined with the holes in the roof it made the place drafty. It also meant this rabbit hole had a score of exits and entrances.

And there was treasure! Small things like a notebook with doodles, forgotten in a pocket of a rotting factory jacket, safety goggles with the glasses missing. There was even an old barely chipped teacup, left lying below a writing desk in one of the side offices. If only there was some tea as well but sadly the rest of the office content, mostly papers and files, had been ripped down, thrown on the floor and trampled over.

But there was always another office and another.

He stuffed his pockets with the spoils of his search: A mousetrap – empty because in Gotham even the thieving vermin knew how to disarm traps, half a roll of packing string, a spoon and … a matchbook? Hatter stared at his last find, he felt like he had somehow forgotten something.

Well it couldn’t have been all that important, or else he would remember it, wouldn’t he?

The matchbook wandered into his pocket and he skipped on to the next office. Maybe someone even had left an old hard hat around? Wouldn’t that be a glorious find?
Even more so because at the moment he didn’t have his top hat. He had left that one to dry … beside the fire … which he was supposed to find something to light it with for…

Oops?

How angry could Jon possibly be at this point? Jervis fished for his pocket watch and stared at the clockface.

"Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!
Jonathan, he hates to wait!
I just forgot the time.
But dormouse keeps him company.
So, they don’t depend on me.
In fact, they will be fine."

That meant another office to search wouldn’t really matter now, would it?

One more office became two and then three. Hatter took a look at his watch again. But – it still showed tea-time just as before. He couldn’t very well return late for teatime without even bringing tea now, could he?

When he first heard the low mumble, he had thought Jonathan and Riddler had gotten impatient and followed him. His second thought was of the Bat – but Batman was not really someone he usually associated with low mumbling … or laughing? Unfortunately, he didn’t really associate Scarecrow and Riddler with raucous laughter either.

Sneaking closer he could tell apart several voices. Thugs – a gang, having a not-tea party.

In a way this was good. If Batman came to investigate, he was likely going to go for those unlucky, loud fellows first.

In another way this was bad. Small fry like this packed more guns than braincells. They would shoot first and not even bother to ask any questions later.

The best would be to completely avoid them.

There was also no saying, how many of those uncultured punks were wandering around in other parts of the rabbit hole.

Something rustled in the vent above them and Jervis felt a nervous twitch. Likely it was only mice … or the Bat…

It was high time to leave this place. Easiest would be to just crawl out through one of the holes in the outer walls.

Jon and Riddler would be fine. Hatter was 150% sure that Jonathan had held onto his precious canister of fear toxin during this whole ordeal.

Likely they had already lost their patience and left without him anyway.

They would be fine.

He would not be.

Not if he stayed around and got between Batman and the gang.

Behind one of the exits, the welcoming darkness of a true Gotham night was beckoning him. Yet he hesitated. And he realized – no he couldn’t run like this.

With a sigh, he turned away from his escape route and hurried back to the campsite.

“For worry, I was out of my mind.
How could I ever leave you behind?
I ventured too far.
But here you are.
And you are whole,
Not even a hole!
You are one of a kind.”

Hatter beamed over his entire face as he picked up his top hat and wiped some grime off it, before he put it back onto his head with a contented sigh.

Then he turned to Scarecrow and Riddler with a frown. Riddler hadn’t moved since Jonathan had knocked him out and still lay sprawled on his back in the grime.
And Jon had apparently decided to take a break as well, sitting down, back to the wall of the container and so deeply asleep he hadn’t even noticed Hatter returning.

“I'm so disappointed, I swear!
Jonathan, you don't even care?
Look at my hat!
It could have gone flat!
And you fell asleep over there.”

That still got him no reaction. Carefully he stepped closer – with Jon there was always the possibility of a cheap jump-scare. But who was he to judge Scarecrow’s guilty little pleasures?

He crouched down and carefully poked Jon into the not injured arm.

“Did you hear a thing I said?
It's a sewer, not a bed
Sleeping here is not wise.
Open your eyes!
Or… or the Bat won’t be afraid.”

Still no reaction. Riddler wasn’t moving either. Tetch felt a cold weight sink in his stomach.

“Jon? … Ed?
… Are you dead?”

Nope nope nope! They weren’t dead! They couldn’t be! And as long as he didn’t actually confirm it, they simply weren’t. But they couldn’t run like this either nor could Hatter drag or carry both of them to the exit. He wasn’t sure he could even move one of them on his own. Well maybe…

He let his pocket watch swing slowly in front of his own eyes.

“Hatter hear my song!
Now you are strong,
Lift them up,
carry away
do a good job
and save the day!”

He reached for Jon’s arms and pulled to get him up. But Scarecrow only sagged forward and further down, still as heavy as a rock. Hatter sighed. For some reason that hypnosis trick never worked on himself. And why was never a henchman around when you needed one?

Well, he put his top hat straight, he could do this. There were wild henchmen roaming around. They just hadn’t realized their destiny yet - working for Mad Hatter!
It would surely be easier if he was simply carding them.
Unfortunately, Batman had already stolen all his control cards earlier this evening.
He would just have to make those uncultured thugs listen long enough to hypnotize them instead. Now that he thought about it, their boss had been wearing an interesting knit hat, the hat of the boss!

If he had that they would all do his bidding! And those that didn’t? He took the rusty iron bar, Scarecrow had pulled out of the grate earlier. Oh yes, heads off! He only needed two of those henchies as pack-mules anyway.

The trick to success was observing your target, picking off one by one when they were alone and also hypnotize them one by one… Hatter had snuck up on the gang-members as silently as he could.

It was crucial to find out what they were up to first. Were they gathering to go for a territorial fight with one of the countless other gangs? Were they here to make a weapon deal? Were they planning a mugging? Taking drugs? Or were they just going to drink themselves into a stupor?

Actually – it looked like nothing of the above.

Rather they were handling tools. Were they going to steal more of the copper wiring? Trying to dig some sort of tunnel to a bank?

Their boss was staring at what was likely a blueprint in apparent confusion while trying to direct the others’ efforts.

And they had an open crate with…

Hatter sharply exhaled, stood up from the crouch behind his cover and approached.

The men froze at what they were doing, all staring at him like little kids caught with the hands in the cookie jar.

“Riddler, sent you here, I see
but now please come and follow me.
You shouldn’t wait,
or it will be too late.
It’s an emergency.”

The goons still stared at him, not moving. Then finally one ‘whispered’ to their boss: “I dunno. Is he the real deal? I mean it could just be some random small dude with a big hat?”

How rude! Didn’t he realize Jervis could hear him very well?

“Idiot! No one in their right mind would pretend to be the Mad Hatter!” the boss hissed back.

Luckily Edward still insisted on hiring some of the smarter thugs – of course, no one would dare to steal the mighty Mad Hatter’s identity.

“Now what is that emergency? We can’t just drop everything we are doing - Riddler wants this set up by tomorrow.”

“Riddler’s in a pickle.
Today his luck has been rather fickle.
There’s no tomorrow to be had,
if by morning he is dead.
And you won’t be paid a nickel.”
Hatter pointed out.

“Yeah, if he bites the dust, we won’t get paid, I guess.” The boss groaned at the complication. “But how did you even know we work for Riddler in the first place? This was supposed to be a top-secret operation.”

Hatter sighed and just pointed at the crate filled with glowy-green question mark-trophies.

“Just one inquiry before we go.
Green is his trademark, as all of us know.
But I think,
one trophy is … pink?
Care tell me as of, why is that so?”

Chapter Text

Hugo Strange was a complete moron! One did not have to divide the city by a wall, to know there was a ‘dark’ and a ‘bright’ side to it.

Murder, theft, the complete destruction of existences – it happened on both sides of the wall, the only difference was that the inmates roaming the desolate streets of Arkham city didn’t care about the law, while those in their suits and cigar smoke veiled backrooms exploited it.

It didn’t really matter to be momentarily stuck on the ‘dark’ side with the prisoners, Twoface would rule all of Gotham soon anyway.
What mattered was, that Strange apparently wasn’t capable to keep both sides properly sorted.

‘Political prisoners’ Harvey pulled a grimace at the mere idea. Those idiots had no place in Arkham City. They were here only because they had voiced their opinions on Strange’s new pet project.

He had his men out on the streets to deal with this disgusting problem. They dragged the idiots in and a quick coin-toss decided whether they got the bullet or thrown to the bunch of crazy volunteer medics at the church.

Technically Twoface pondered, he should do something about that particular white stain on the black map as well – but the coin had come up unscratched and so the church remained unburnt.

‘Fitting – It is like the white eye in the Yin.’ Harvey had whispered, smug about his little win. Strangely enough, this little analogy had actually really helped Big Bad Harv to accept the medics’ presence. Harvey had always been a smooth talker.
Big Bad Harv was meandering restlessly through his ‘office’ in the old court building he had chosen for his headquarters. He had sent half of his goons out on an errand earlier, the others prepared the courtroom for his special guest.

As soon as Twoface had heard, just who had pissed off Hugo Strange this time, he had known a simple coin toss wouldn’t settle the matter.

This was more personal.
This required a true trail.
After all, this was an old friend.

It was not that difficult to find a big enough tank, the acid or the chains. Dragging the tank to the courthouse had been a little difficult but the goons had managed. Waiting for the inevitable had been the hard part. Then Strange had finally made his very predictable move and thrown Bruce Wayne to the wolves.

His men were already on their way to collect Bruce, but Harv and Harvey were both done with the waiting.

“Boss?” – “Boss?” Two of his goons stood in the door, too nervous to have succeeded in their mission.

“Where is Wayne?” Harv inquired icily. He hated dealing with incompetence.
The two men looked at each other, apparently none of them willing to be the bearer of bad news.
“Do we get an answer any time soon?” Harv snarled.

“Penguin and his losers got there first, boss.” – “Wayne was not there anymore, Boss.”

“Penguin killed him?” – That was not a possibility Twoface had considered in his planning.

“No. No corpse.” – “No. Penguin only hires losers.”

“Will you two tell me now, what the hell actually happened?” Harv slammed his fist on the table. Harvey had gone very quiet and retreated far inside.

Both men at the door flinched.
“We are not sure but that rich boy Wayne seems to have managed to throw a few punches, knocked two of the losers out and stepped on Penguin’s fin on the way out before he made a run for it. “ – “The others are still looking for him but no one has seen Wayne boy since. Likely he holed up somewhere.”

Harv’s eyebrow was twitching, then he stepped up to his planning table and smashed it into the wall with full force.
He turned back to the frightened goons.
“Call them back! All of them! Forget about Wayne for now. We are going to pay the Penguin a visit at the museum.”

The men sprinted away, getting stuck in the doorframe for a moment.

Twoface glared after them: “Now what are we supposed to do with that giant vat of acid?”

Chapter Text

Ah, it felt so good!
Selina almost purred in delight as she stretched her body, getting more and more relaxed. The early summer sun caressed her skin, the gentle wind cleared out the smog, it was a lovely day – as lovely as one could get in a place like Gotham.

Catwoman was taking a sunbath on the roof of the Saint Paul's Orphanage at 9th St, after her night escapade she definitely deserved a break. She was lying on the sun-heated roof tiles, her black suit absorbing the rays, when she heard a song coming from the alley below – the children must have gone out to play on this sunny morning. Not like she minded them to make some noise, youth had its own rights.

“Ten Gotham villains broke out in the night
Clock King's clock was late, tho’ - so they are down to nine

Nine Gotham villains went to have some cake
Hatter left to get them tea and now there’s only eight”

Selina couldn't help but chuckle – it really sounded like something that Hatter would do. The sad thing was, all the Gotham children knew so well about things like crazy heists and crime sprees. And who knows how many of those orphans might have still have a family if not for one of the infamous villains. Living in Gotham was not a bed of roses, she was raised on the streets and she understood it.

The next line of the song interrupted her thoughts before she could get melancholic.

“Eight Gotham villains partied 'till eleven
Man-Bat went to sleep at sunrise, which leaves us with just seven”

Wait a second! The Clock King, Mad Hatter, and Man-Bat breaking out of Arkham at the same time? That did ring some bells with Selina. She raised herself up on her elbow, trying not to miss the next part of the lyrics.

“Seven Gotham villains, all were lunatics
Two-Face lost his coin somewhere and now there's only six”

Oh yeah, she remembered that! She might even still have his precious two-headed coin tucked away in her apartment. Poor Harvey. She’d bet he was still looking for it in the sewers – if Croc hadn't found him first.

“Six Gotham villains, they kept running wild
Ivy did not like the guys, the group is cut to five”

Ivy, Selina thought of the Plant Lady briefly, didn't really like anyone – man or woman, maybe aside from Harley. People were just...too non-ecological for her.
But that night, the line had been crossed when someone had called Pamela 'babe'. It had been a miracle that she hadn't killed anybody there.

“Five Gotham villains, Firefly got bored
Scarecrow caught fire, and all we have is four”

“Now, that was funny,” Catwoman mused with an ungodly smirk. “Maybe it will teach him not to stuff that hay into his costume.”

“Four Gotham villains just couldn't agree
Firefly got kicked out fast by the remaining three”

She had to admit, it had been the first reasonable decision that night, especially after it had turned out that Scarecrow's fear gas was highly flammable, and so was the gasoline of their getaway car.

“Three Gotham villains, Riddler left a clue
Batman solved it very fast and the trio's down to two”

And not kicking good, old Eddie out earlier had been a mistake for sure.
“Will he ever learn?” Selina sighed and rolled onto her stomach. The song didn't end there.

“Two Gotham villains, Bats can have some fun,
Beating Joker to the ground leaves him with only one”

The Joker, Catwoman shivered at the mere mentioning of the creepy clown, this guy really had deserved good beating that night. And if the one he got from Batman hadn't been enough, she was sure that Harley had taken care of her puddni' back in Arkham – especially after he had selfishly left the poor girl rotting there.

The song was getting to its conclusion so Selina closed her eyes and listened curiously.

“One Gotham villain, how will all this end?
Is Catwoman Batman's foe or is she Batman's friend?”

She smiled to herself.
The little orphans didn't need to know but Batman and she were much more than just friends, she made sure of that by kissing his blood-stained lips right before sinking her cat claws into his fresh wound and escaping with a certain key-card that nine other villains had managed to steal that fateful night.

Being more than friends didn't mean she and the Bat were playing on the same team, after all.

“Night to remember,” she murmured quite pleased, stretching her body yet again.

“I bet it was,” the cold voice coming from behind her made her jump to her feet.

She hissed like a feral cat, seeing the black cape, pointy ears, and that stern face-expression which frustrate her so much.

“Well, well, who do we have here? I thought bats are nocturnal.”

“What did you do with the key-card to Wayne's office?” He got right to the point and took a step forward.

She smiled her most seductive smile and took a step back, getting herself ready.

It looked like the chase hasn't ended yet.

Chapter Text

Scarecrow hated taking painkillers. He had been sedated far too often, whenever he had been arrested. And having seen how the pharmaceutic companies worked, he was aware of how many risks and side-effects a simple aspirin could already have. On days like this, when his face felt like it was torn off a second time, a mere aspirin just didn’t make the cut anyway.

There was truly only one thing he could do to relax his entire body, including his aching face musculature.
With a resigned sigh – even that hurt far too much – he drew a bath and let himself sink into the tub. Over the speakers relaxing music was playing and the chamomile flowers drifting in the water did their magic as well. He’d smell of their strong aroma for days likely. But then the so-called world greatest detective could puzzle over the meaning of that when they finally met again.

Already the pain was slowly dissolving and Crane carefully moved his jaw in a test.

That was when the music switched to a song that had definitely NOT been in Scarecrow’s playlist yesterday.

“Oh no! Not the Blue Oysters!” he could basically feel everything in his body cramping up at ‘don’t fear the Reaper’. He didn’t want to leave his bath yet, and especially not for something as cringeworthy like this, so there was only one thing he could do:

“All your times have come
Here one moment but now they're gone
Better fear the reaper
silent as the wind, under the moon in the mist, there is nowhere to hide”

He sang his own version over the hated lyrics.

“Come on Batman, better fear the reaper
Batman surrender now, better fear the reaper
You’re gonna cry, better fear the reaper
Batman, I'm your death
Mu, ha, ha, ha, ha
Mu, ha, ha, ha, ha“

Owww – laughing had maybe been a bit too much, but still, Scarecrow persisted.

His whole face was burning by now, not only from pain but also from fury. How many verses did this song have?

It finally played out and switched to something else and he began to relax again.

It took him a few seconds to identify ‘Nothing to fear’ by Chris Rhea.
Crane groaned like an old man and lifted himself out of the water. No time for bathing now, first he would carefully turn off the music – there was no point in destroying a perfectly fine sound system out of mere rage – and then he would go to find, maim and kill whoever had tampered with his music collection, he needed a guinea pig for his new fear toxin formula anyway.

Chapter Text

The first thought that stole into his awareness was, that the mattress was way too soft. His back would likely be aching the entire day. As many tall and lanky people, Scarecrow preferred firmer padding.
As it was, it was raising some alert flags in the back of his mind. But then the cots in Arkham were hard AND lumpy and this soft bedding meant at least he couldn’t be there right now.

Thoughts came and went very sluggishly, he felt the telltale signs of being drugged. However, before he could really worry about his whereabouts, his senses registered the faint aroma of strawberries, cotton candy and... gunpowder. He relaxed completely at once.

He wasn’t sure what had happened but he was safe.

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the pink canopy over the bed. The next thing when he turned his head was the canister with his fear toxin, sitting on the bedside-table, comfortably within reach. The corners of his lips turned up somewhat, almost a smile, he really appreciated the thoughtfulness. The third thing was a life-sized poster of the Joker on the wall – with several kissing marks.

And if there had been any doubt left as in who’s hideout he was currently residing as a guest, it was completely erased as the door cracked open slightly and Harleen peeked into the room.

“Professor? You awake?” she whispered and added almost instantly “Hungry?”

“Greetings, Child.” He tried to lift himself up from the bed but his arms were lacking the strength. “I could do with a glass of water.” He groaned, yes definitely drugged and if the dulled pain in his entire body was any indicator that was likely a good thing.

It didn’t even take a minute for Harleen to be back with the water. She expertly helped him lift his head and drink, without fussing about him and the pillows too much.

“What happened?” he finally managed to ask. Because that part was still very foggy.

“Oh, it was awesome! It was all over the 5 pm news!” Harleen giggled with glee. “The bride’s dress was so pretty and all those flowers in the park!”

Right, the wedding – that jock son of a town councilor had the entire park closed to the public for the ceremony, Gotham’s upper 10,000 attendings, what a splendid target for a shower of fear toxin!

“They were running like headless chickens. Mayor Hill was crawling around on all fours crying,” Harleen recapped giddily. “I made a recording in case you want to watch.”

Scarecrow nodded absentmindedly. “I presume that Batman showed up at some point and spoiled my party?”

“Mhmm.” Harleen affirmed with a frown “Ya know that saying, professor – ‘break a leg’? Bats apparently took that literally.”

Scarecrow blinked and gazed down the bedsheet, covering his lower body. “He broke my leg? … Which one?” With the sheer amount of painkillers inside him, he really couldn’t tell.

“Both.” Harley gave him a sympathetic wince. “Bats really doesn’t do things by half.”

Crane gaped before he caught himself. “How the hell did I ‘run’ from the Bat with both my legs broken?”

“You got him with your toxin - right in the face. I am not sure about the rest, but you came here, half unconscious … buuuut…. You brought me a present!”

“A present?” If only the child would speak in more coherent sentences once in a while.

“The pony!” Harleen clarified “I always wanted a pony since I was five years old! Thank you so much, professor!” She threw her arms around him and placed a kiss on his cheek.

Scarecrow foggily remembered cutting one of the horses loose from the wedding coach, pulling himself up and Batman hunting him through the dark streets, on horseback as well. After that? Complete mental blank.

“You are very welcome, Child,” he managed, now completely depleted of energy, sinking back to the pillows.

“Sleep for a bit professor, I’ll see, if I can dig up a recipe for a pumpkin soup in the meantime, we’ll have you back on your feet in no time.” Harleen pranced out of the room but closed the door very carefully behind her.

Crane turned towards the poster of the Joker and smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, it was the only smile he was capable of.

“Joker, if anything happens to this child, I swear, I WILL kill you.”

Chapter Text

The biggest tragedy in his life?
That was probably that she was somewhere out there. She had to be, else life had no meaning. That was why Hatter never stopped looking, no matter how many people - cops, Batman or shrinks - told him it was futile or wrong. No matter how many of his bones the Bat broke, no matter how many of the cops bullets had to be removed from his body in shabby back-alley clinics, no matter how many bitter pills the shrinks forced down his throat; without Alice his own life was worthless.

Alice was the only one shining truth in this world of dirty lies and if he regretted one thing then how often Hatter had been deceived. So many Alices but none of them was his Alice. No one understood that he had to sort the fake ones out, set them aside, lock them away – but it was completely logical, he couldn't risk confusing them with his real Alice again after all.

This time he had been so sure he had found the right girl but then he always had been absolutely sure before – it was so hard to see through all the fake Alices’ lies.
By now he knew of course he had been wrong again, bitterly he watched how the impostor was lifted into an ambulance, a different one from the one he would be riding in. The Bat had interrupted him removing the wrong Alice from his searching pool and the Bat had also broken Hatter’s legs while he was at it.

Why couldn’t he find her? Even Joker had somehow managed to find an Alice of his own. Hatter sighed as he was not too gently lifted into the ambulance. They would spirit him off to Arkham medical ward now.

Sometimes, in moments like this he thought about quitting. The task was just too big for him. Alice surely was out there but maybe he was doomed to a life of eternally searching for her and only running into cheap copies.

Maybe...

In the crowd of curious spectators, he glimpsed the figure of a woman with long blonde hair, just before the ambulance doors slammed shut.

Chapter Text

“A pony?”

“A what now?”

“Maybe a saddle for your pony?”

The list of ridiculous ideas coming off the top of Hatter's empty head seemed to have no end and Professor Crane, patient as he was, by now was running out of his will to bear with it any longer.

“For the love of god, I don't have any ponies, Jervis!”

The short man, wrapped with an old, stinking blanket and sitting nonchalantly on the top of a dinner table, stroke his own chin with a gloved hand and pondered another suggestion. As he cocked his head, trying to gaze at Jonathan from a different angle, the hat slid to the side revealing white bandages on his forehead. Jervis held his hat in place and continued staring.
Meanwhile, Professor Crane tried to get back to reading. He could really use some silence, but no...

“How about a cake?” His guest continued guessing. “You love cakes. You always ask if I have one when I offer you tea.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes, he only kept requesting cake to avoid yet another pointless tea party with Mad Hatter.

“No, thank you. I don't want a cake,” he barked out at the offer.

Jervis made a disappointed sound and let his body fall back on the table.

“You're a hard man to please, Jonathan Crane!” he sighed dramatically.

So far Tetch's presence was far from pleasing – the man was nothing but trouble with his Alice-obsessed behavior, childish games, his stupid tea and a total lack of respect for Jon's personal space. Hatter was not even supposed to be here and Jonathan was starting to regret his latest decisions.

All that Scarecrow wanted for Christmas had been getting out of Gotham before Joker would have burnt it to the ground, as he had done every past year. He had packed his chemicals and hit the road to find himself a quiet shelter in some abandoned countryside cottage far from the city – where he could have worked on his next big scheme in peace.

He had been on his way when, out of the blue, Mad Hatter had popped up in front of his pickup truck's hood like a goddamned reindeer that had escaped Santa's sleigh. Jonathan had hit the breaks but with the nasty, melting snow on the road, it hadn't been enough to stop the moving car.

He hadn't even felt that much sorry for Jervis when he had hit him – it had been this little idiot's own fault after all. Yet, Jonathan had decided not to leave the unconscious and bruised Hatter on the street to be run over. He had packed him onto the backseat and drove on.

Now, both of them were trapped by a raging hailstorm – stuck in the wooden cabin far from civilization. They had a fireplace and blankets to keep them warm and the food supplies Jonathan had wisely taken with him from Gotham. It wouldn't have been so bad, had Jervis stopped mumbling his nonsense for more than five freaking minutes!

“Eureka!” Hatter shouted out and lifted himself back up with a rapid move. “I know what you want! A new hat! Wouldn't that be a perfect gift?!”

Tired of this one-sided conversation Jonathan didn't care to answer.

Jervis did not take the hint. “No? Then how about a bunny?” he kept going. “I like bunnies – they are so fluffy and soft and...”

“Will you shut your mouth for a moment?! I'm trying to read!”

“But Jonathan...” Hatter gave him the look of a mother scolding a naughty child. “I have to give you something, it's Christmas and you're...”

At this moment Crane knew he had reached his limit, he shut the book in his hand with an exaggerated 'thump', rose from his armchair and walked to the table, leaning dangerously close to Mad Hatter.

“You want to know what I want for Christmas? Fine, I'll tell you,” he slurred with a cold fury. “I want to be left ALONE, and you just have to spoil that for me, don't you?”

This sudden display of negative emotions hushed Hatter for a good two minutes. The man lowered his eyes avoiding Scarecrow's angry gaze, then cleared his throat. Jonathan moved away, sensing that this time the message had gotten through.

“Very well,” Jervis said calmly and pulled his hat down so it almost covered his eyes. He jumped off the table and walked across the room passing Jonathan by. “Have a Merry Christmas,” he added as he opened the door.

Chilling wind swept into the room, blowing in snowflakes and cold air. Jonathan shivered but he didn't say a word when Mad Hatter disappeared in the storm.

Finally alone, Crane got back to his armchair and his book. He got what he wanted and the sweet silence of the small cottage was the best reward he could have imagined.
And just when he started to relax, he heard a loud sound coming from outside – a sound that filled him with dread.

His book fell to the floor as he sprung up from his seat and rushed out into the cold, to confirm his suspicion. He was just in time to see his pickup truck driving off into the blizzard with Jervis by the wheel.

“Son of a...”

Scarecrow didn't finish, his curses were lost to the raging wind and Hatter was already gone – with him, Jon's only hope to get back to Gotham this year.

The weather was frightful but Jervis had no other choice but to drive back to the city and let his dear Scarecrow be alone for a while – just as he had asked for.

“You better watch out, you better not cry...” He sang along to the radio, smiling brightly.

Oh, how he loved Christmas! It was a pity he couldn't spend it with Jon but what kind of Christmas would it be, if he didn't make his friend a little bit happier?

Chapter Text

A pair of yellow headlights slid upon the dark street as a limousine parked in an empty alley near the Gotham Opera House. The driver – a tall man with a winter coat, came out of the car to open the passenger-side door. Then, another man stepped out; as soon as his shiny shoe touched the pavement he opened an umbrella to cover himself from the falling snow.

The man with the umbrella walked on the frozen sidewalk but not to the opera house, no, he strolled to the nearest corner and paused. From the inner pocket of his thick, furry coat he pulled out a cigarette, lit it and took a draw. The headlights made his shadow longer than it really was as he waited silently in the snow.

No longer than five minutes later heavy footsteps echoed through the alley. A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, coming from around the corner. It was getting closer and as it did, the temperature seemed to drop bit by bit. The driver shivered, either with cold or anticipation, he and another man who had waited by the car took out machine guns and aimed at the shadow. The umbrella-man stopped them from opening fire with a simple hand gesture.

“If they start shooting, I will have no choice but to freeze them to death,” a distant voice came from the shadow, one step more and a pale face behind a glassy helm became visible. Red goggles glimmered in the dark like two hellish flames.

“Why so cold, Victor?” The umbrella-man greeted the newcomer with a fake smile, the cigarette still between his teeth. “We're all friends here, nobody is going to shoot anybody, right boys?”

The two gangsters lowered their guns but they still held onto them just in case.

“I mean, as long as it's not necessary...” Penguin added with a low voice.

“We're no friends, Oswald,” Victor stated dryly but he also lowered his freeze-gun and took another step toward the group. “However, we have a business to discuss, I believe.”

“That's correct, my frosty friend.” Oswald snapped his fingers and one of his men took out a suitcase from the trunk of the limousine. The henchman walked toward the two villains, opened the bag and showed the money to Mr. Freeze. “One million in cash,” Penguin explained, “And the chemicals you asked for are waiting for you in a truck - non-suspiciously parked at the Iceberg Lounge's lot. Here's your key,” he pulled out a perfectly common-looking car-key and waved it in front of Victor's helm. Freeze reached for it but Penguin withdrew his hand. “A-a-aah, first show me what you got.”

Victor gazed down at the short man but Penguin withstood the cold, judgmental look. With a click, Freeze opened a hidden case in his armor and took out a small object. When he presented it to Penguin, the other man held his breath for a second.

The diamond in Victor's hand shone blue like no other jewel Oswald had seen before. It was the size of a thumb, cut in the perfectly symmetrical shape of a heart and judging by its fancy deep blue color it was definitely worth more than one million dollars plus a truck full of liquid helium, liquid oxygen, and ammonium. Freeze must have been really low on resources to sell that little wonder. Or maybe the Bat was already after him? Penguin didn't care.

“It's smaller than it looked in the news,” he commented, leaning closer to take a better look.

Victor brushed off that remark with cold yet meaningful silence.

“But I suppose, it will be a fine addition to my family jewels,” Penguin finally decided and offered the other criminal a handshake.

“Family jewels, huh?” Mr. Freeze still hesitated to take the hand to finalize the deal. “Is that what you call the goods you've stolen or bought on the black market?”

“The mafia is one, big family, my cold-blooded friend,” Oswald said with a knowing smile and they exchange a handshake. “Now, take a ride with me, Victor,” he nodded toward the limousine. “We can have a drink at my club, it's New Year's Eve after all and I'm hosting a small party. What do you say?”

“No.” The tall man didn't even think for a second. “I will only pick up my chemicals and I'm going back to Nora.”

Oswald threw away his cigarette as they walked toward the car. When the two of them got inside, Penguin's man started the engine.

“How is she...doing?” Oswald inquired, trying to make the conversation sound natural.

Mr. Freeze was quiet for a while, observing snowflakes dancing on the wind outside the window.

“She... She will be fine thanks to the resources you supply me with.”

“I'm happy to help.”

“Don't mock me, Penguin!” The change in Victor's voice froze the blood in Oswald's veins for a moment, he knew a desperate man when he saw one. “For you, it's just a trinket. You could have paid me more, if only you wanted to. For me – for Nora – it is life-and-death. You are not helping us, you're feeding on our misery!”

The henchman from the front seat grabbed his gun and turned around ready to react but Penguin was aware that shooting inside the car would most likely get them all killed. He had to try a more diplomatic approach.

“Oh, I'm sorry Victor, I thought you were pleased with the price. I wouldn't dare to insult you with charity. As you said yourself – we're not exactly friends but if you need my help...”

“I don't need anyone's help, I can take care of my wife!”

“In that case...no need to be bitter. It's just business,” the small man pointed out calmly.

The silence felt heavy as if something bad was about to happen but the limousine kept going and Victor didn't move an inch from where he was sitting. He seemed to be fighting with his thoughts just to give up in the end.

He turned his head away to look through the window once more. “They call it the Heart of Winter,” he stated all of a sudden. Oswald could see his pale reflection in the glass, his emotionless face. “The diamond,” Freeze specified, “It has a name – Heart of Winter. Winter was always Nora's favorite season,” he sighed.

Penguin nodded with a dose of understanding. “No wonder, it's the most peaceful time of the year.”

They had almost reached their destination, the Iceberg Lounge was loud with pop-music and bright with colorful Christmas-lights. Oswald checked the time, it was close to midnight.
Without needless questions, he pushed a small, black button and the case inside the arm-support popped out open. Victor shot him a suspicious glance as Penguin pulled out a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

Oswald poured the bubbly liquid and handed one glass to his not-so-willing guest. Mr. Freeze took it without a word and with an obvious confusion.

“To Nora,” Penguin rose his glass.

Victor watched him with the same, old expression he always wore.

“To Nora,” he finally repeated and let their glasses touch with a 'cling' of toast. “And to the better days.”

Oswald emptied his glass with a single gulp. Mr. Freeze only played with his champagne – the drink he couldn’t try without removing his helmet and risking a thermal shock. He put the full glass back down.

The car parked in the underground parking lot and all of the men got out. Penguin led Mr. Freeze to his truck to check on the promised chemicals, the two henchmen followed as a small escort – one of them carrying the bag filled with the money.

“It's all there,” Penguin assured him while Victor was inspecting the tanks inside the semi-trailer. “Just as you wanted. Now, take your payment and let us be done with it.”

Standing on the edge of the trailer, Mr. Freeze looked even taller than he already was. Penguin took a cautious step back as the other rogue jumped back down and approached him. There was strange tension between them and Oswald yet again had a very bad feeling about this deal – or maybe it was just because of the ominous cold radiating from this man?

“My diamond, please.” He outstretched his hand expectantly but Victor was motionless.

Then, so very slowly he handed him the gem.

“Happy New Year, Oswald,” the wishes came out of his mouth with some effort. He took the key to the truck with one hand and the bag with the other.

“Happy New Year, Victor. Are you sure you don't want to stay?”

“No but...thank you for the invitation.” He climbed to the driver seat, started the engine and gave Oswald one last look as if he waited for something more to happen. “Aren't you going to your own party?”

Penguin smiled apologetically and shrugged. “The business never rests, my friend – not even on a night like this.”

The fireworks were almost gone when he reached his next destination. An old guard opened the gate, no questions asked, and led him through the deep snow with only a flashlight helping them find the way between crooked crosses and dark gravestones. They headed towards the largest tomb in the middle of the Gotham City graveyard, they climbed up the stone stairs and passed through a row of massive columns. In the light of his flashlight the guard managed to get an ornate bronze key, inserted it into the keyhole and pushed the heavy, iron door open with some effort.

Penguin shook the snow off of his black umbrella and entered the dark tomb alone, letting the guard close the door behind him. He pulled out his lighter and lit the candles. The soft candlelight soon revealed the beauty of the richly ornamented interior of the mausoleum. Majestic statues of various shapes, porcelain vases for flowers, a marble floor, and the golden candlesticks were everywhere.

Penguin stopped by the tomb itself, a small silver figurine of two dancing birds connected by their beaks stood beside it, on a small, wooden stool next to a picture of a woman. He reached to his pocket and took out the Heart of Winter. The blue diamond shimmered in the candlelight as Oswald carefully placed it between the wings of the dancing birds. It fit perfectly, almost as if it was made just for this figurine and had been missing all this time.

Pleased with the effect, Penguin pulled out one more thing from under his black winter coat. It was a bottle of champagne and a single glass – the same as he had offered to Mr. Freeze earlier that night.

He filled the long glass by half and put it on the stool, next to the picture and the figurine.

“I brought you a little something,” he spoke with a hushed voice and smiled a small but genuine smile at the women on the old photography. “Happy New Year, mother.”

Chapter Text

„Greetings, Jonathan.“ The tall man in the futuristic, silvery suit approached slowly, humidity condensing on the cold surface of his tube-formed helmet.

“Victor,” Scarecrow acknowledged him before stuffing a treat from a paper bag between the stitches on the mouth part of his burlap mask. He offered the bag to Mr. Freeze, not wanting to miss a moment of the drama unfolding right in front of them and apparently forgetting that Freeze couldn’t eat in this getup.

The assembled group was larger than Mr. Freeze had expected but then it was not too surprising – Harley Quinn was well-liked among her peers after all and when she had asked for him to attend, even he had felt unable to turn her down.

“I thought you were somewhere up in Canada, did you come back just for this?” Jonathan suddenly inquired seemingly out of the blue.

Always the psychologist, Mr. Freeze mused. Not knowing what made others tick was almost a personal affront to Professor Crane. Victor allowed himself a wry smile.

“No, I was in Gotham for a short visit on personal matters. I don’t know that many vets who are comfortable with supervillains AND qualified to give dental treatment to a polar bear. Harley was in the waiting room at the same time for her hyenas and we started talking.”

“That vet – did you mean the lady with the private practice at Jefferson alley on Myagmi Island? Hatter and I go to her as well.”

“Yes, that’s the one,” Freeze confirmed, then he frowned “Mad Hatter? I know you keep a whole murder of crows but I wasn’t aware that Jervis had any pets.”

“Mice and rats, mostly.” Crane made a disdainful gesture before another snack disappeared behind the burlap mask.

“Good thing then he didn’t bring them along today,” Freeze commented, nodding a greeting at Selina Kyle who just arrived with three cats following her like little ducklings. “So how exactly did you get talked into this, Jonathan? I know you and Harleen are friends but I wouldn’t have taken you for the sentimental type.”

It was hard to tell any expressions behind the mask but if he didn’t know better, Freeze might have thought that Crane was smiling.

“She didn’t have to convince me. I really wanted to see how this plays out. Besides, I love funerals. I was already sold before I heard that it would be Cobblepot to hold the eulogy. Penguin surely has a way with the more pompous words but I am curious what he makes out of this.”

Indeed, Oswald looked a little nervous as he shuffled through a huge stack of notes. Getting some order into his papers, brushing some imaginary dust from his suit and his tophat under one arm, finally, Penguin cleared his throat. “I think it is time for us to begin. Dear friends and attendees, in the name of the … family … of the dear departed, I welcome you and want to thank you for your presence and your expressed sympathies.”

“Here they come!” Catwoman announced, as Harleen led her best friend Pamela into the clearing, where a small pit had been dug out. Poison Ivy, who’s eyes were clearly greened from crying was carrying a small black box.

Penguin just continued. “Tonight we have gathered here in Robinson park to say our farewells to Orwell, who has been abruptly taken from us by the thoughtless actions of uncaring humans, who yesterday caused a fire in the park with their barbecue. It might be small comfort for you to hear, that the culprits are currently in the intensive care wing of the Gotham central hospital, while medics and the Bat are feverishly looking for a cure to the poison applied in justified retaliation by our dear friend Ivy – and to your assurance, the outlook for their survival is grim.”

“They so deserve this,” Harleen spoke up angrily, while still patting a sobbing Pamela’s back.

“But now let us all remember,” Oswald kept going, unfazed by the sudden outbreak, “how much Orwell has done for us over his too-short lifespan: Not only did he tirelessly convert the unwanted excess byproducts of the everyday growing industrialization back into consumable oxygen, and boldly stood against the prevalence of urban surface sealing, he also enriched our personal lives by just being his own gorgeous self. He leaves a big hole in our hearts, in the soil of the planting bed and a huge family of … um… little orphaned spores all over the park.”

“I can’t believe Oswald can say that with a straight face,” Scarecrow munched on another snack.

“I have to admit it is worded amazingly.” Freeze nodded “Oswald truly is a born politician.”

“Oh, what a fellow that Orwell was! For him I pull my hat. He not only did photosynthesis but was also nice to look at?” Hatter had casually strolled over to Crane and Freeze during the eulogy.

“That is what ferns usually do, Jervis.” Scarecrow hissed through his burlap and made an irritated hand gesture.

The contents of the paper bag scattered over the lawn.

Ivy looked up from lowering the tiny black box into the pit.

“Crane! … Is that… popcorn?” She inquired icily.

“It was a pleasure knowing you, my friend,” Hatter whispered before taking a hasty step back and away from Jonathan who now was a center of not-so-favorable attention of the angry Plant Queen.

“Well, if you excuse me...” Scarecrow turned on his heels and rushed as quickly as his dignity allowed him in the direction of the closest street, back to civilization.

“And to think he said he liked funerals,” Freeze mused, watching in fascination as the underbrush came to life and thorny vines lashed out after the fleeing Professor Crane. “I hope his own will have an equally nice eulogy.”

Chapter Text

The situation felt awfully familiar – the blindfold, the chair, the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, something ticklish wrapped around his neck – it all felt like a good, old deja vu, just the last time it hadn't been him who had been abducted and kept trapped in the exact same manner, the last time it had been...

“Oh, cut the act, Eddie. I know you're not sleeping.”

...Catwoman!

“We have a game to play and I don't have all night.”

He tugged at his restraints but as expected, they held him down quite efficiently. He couldn't see a thing but inside his head he was able to picture Selina Kyle's smirking face just fine – and he didn't like that mental picture even one bit.

“What do you THINK you are doin...nnhymm!” Something soft was shoved into his mouth just when he was about to scold his mindless captor, muffling the words and making any verbal protest physically impossible. He shook his head, trying to spit the thing out but that turned out to be fruitless. The damn Cat must have already tied a gag around his head. Oh, she would pay dearly for this! If only...

“You're talking too much, sweetie,” The smirk was still there, he could 'hear' it in her voice and it made him even angrier than the treatment itself. “But I need you to listen, so do yourself a favor, stop wriggling and start paying attention, OK?”

Her glove patted his unshaven cheek playfully and he decided that he hated her more than he hated Batman.

“You're a smart boy, you know why are you here, right?”

He nodded. Her pitiful reenactment of his devious plot from last Halloween, when he had her as a bait, was rather an insult to his creativity, especially the part with luring him out of his hideout just to knock him out like a common thug.

“Good,” she praised him mockingly. “So, you also remember how it works. You're playing a damsel and I'm the big, bad villain,” she chuckled. “Now, we're only missing somebody to save you.”

Her heels made a sound as she circled around him, casually touching his arm and probably enjoying her little game which in reality was just a mere knockoff of his elaborated scheme.

“Oh, and before I forget, there is a time-bomb strapped to your chair. The collar is just for fun.” She tagged at the thing he had had around his neck all that time, making a little bell attached to it ring. “Don't worry, I picked a cute one. Anywaaay,” Selina made a little murmur as if she was stretching before she continued explaining, “this is what we will do, Eddie. The timer is set on, let me check... twenty-eight minutes. You have that much time to pick one person of your choice and convince them to come here and let you free before the bomb goes off. And since it will be me making that phone call, I don't recommend contacting the cops or any of your trusty henchies. You know me, I might just hang up, if the conversation bores me – so make a choice and let's have some fun, shall we?”

“You...” As soon as the gag left his mouth, he was so ready to tell this moron what he thought of copycats like her but then again, he was literally sitting on a ticking bomb, it was not a good time for arguing, it was time for reasoning. “You made a point, Miss Kyle. No one likes it when their life depends on others. Now, when we all learned something, you can open the cuffs and we will forget about this little incident.”

“Well well well, I'm glad that a famous genius learned something new from little, old me! You will die a bit smarter, Eddie. Now, who do you want me to call?”

“That is cheating!” He snapped at her, almost jumping up together with the chair he was tied up to. “I knew Batman would come for you! That is totally unfair!”

“Are you saying that no one will willingly rush to your rescue? Boo-hoo, you could have considered being nicer to people much earlier. Oh well, I guess insulting everyone didn't pay off after all.”

“Then let's see what happens if I choose to call your caped boyfriend! I know from experience that he doesn't approve tying explosives to people!”

“Why don't you call your own boyfriend?”

“I don't have a boyfriend!”

“Oh, please...” she snorted theatrically. “I broke into your mailbox one time too many. Besides, you have a hickey on your neck.”

“That's not a hickey! That's a bite-mark!”

“Whatever works for you, sweetie,” she joked which made him growl with helpless frustration.

There was a sound of clicking on a cellphone. “Sooo? Want me to call Scarecrow?”

Chapter Text

"April Fools'! Hip hip, hooray! Tomorrow is April Fools' Day!"

Pamela was trying to watch the news but Harleen's jolly singing was far too loud and far too annoying to be simply ignored. It was going on like that since the very morning – and by 'morning' she meant the moment Harl had crawled out of the bed after the last night's drinking game – and that had been around noon.

“April Fools’! Ya-hoo! Joke on me and joke on you!” The song was coming from their small kitchen along with the strong aroma of coffee and baked eggs. The apartment the two of them currently shared was so small and cramped with Harleen's stuff that the kitchen door didn't even shut, blocked by some unpacked boxes, and one could smell all the cooking smells right away when sitting in the other room – which was a living room and bedroom all in one. Oh, the joy of laying low!

Ivy got up from their couch-bed to open the window. Before she came back to sit and watch the TV, Harl had already joined her.

“Want some?” There was an egg on a fork dangling happily right in front of Pamela's face.

“No, thank you,” she declined and watched Harley stuffing it all in one go into her mouth, which was a quite frankly disgusting, yet entertaining show.

“So?” Harleen started, her mouth still full, “wanna plan some pranks for tomorrow?”

“I'm not really into... that kind of stuff.”

“Oh, com'on, Red!” Harl's face invaded Ivy's personal space as the girl looked her in the eye with this expecting, intense gaze of hers. Pamela had to dodge the bread-crumbs spat out of Harley's open mouth while the other continued nagging. “April Fools' is like my favorite holiday ever! We have to do something awesome! We always used to plan something special for April Fools' with Mr. J... Hey! What was that for!” Harleen cried out as a cushion smacked her blond head.

Pamela crossed her arms. “We had a deal, Harleen! As long as you're staying with me, you don't mention his name, remember?”

“Yes, Red but... April Fools', it reminds me...”

Pam's hand was on that cushion again, red nails digging into it fiercely. The look she had given Harl was supposed to be a warning glare but it must have been something more into it because the blonde chatterbox had shut her mouth mid-sentence.

“I... sense some tension, Pammy,” Harley pointed out after few moments.

“Oh, really? And I thought you were too busy singing and hyping about that meaningless holiday for fools to notice!”

Harley blinked with honest surprise but collected herself very fast. She straightened her back, her intertwined fingers rested on her lap as she turned into her more analytical self.

“And what is it that bothers you exactly? No plants are harmed during this tradition.”

“It's not about plants!” Pamela barked out. “It's just... How come you are so excited about April Fools' but you totally ignored Valentin's this year?”

“Valentines? What are you talking about, Pammy?” Harl's voice seemed uncertain. “I gave you this flower.” Her finger pointed at the pot with the pink orchid standing on the shelf.

“No, Harley! That was last year!” Ivy snapped at her, finally letting her long-time bottled-up frustration out. “And it was me who had given her to you in the first place! You just gave this poor baby back after forgetting to water her!”

Harleen opened her mouth to say something to her defense but nothing came out. Pamela hadn't even noticed until now that her palms were clenched, she took a breath trying to relax. Harl observed her from her side of their shared couch-bed.

“I'm sorry, Red,” Harley spoke with a small voice. “I'm really sorry that I didn't give you anything. You've been so good to me and I...” Her blue eyes started watering and Ivy felt that annoying pang in her green heart that happened once in a while, mostly in situations that included dying plants or an emotionally distressed Harleen. “...I totally forgot about Valentine's.” Harley sniffed loudly. “I've been so self-absorbed ever since he dumped me. I'm sorry, Red!”

“No,” Pamela shook her head, her voice much softer than before. She reached to touch Harleen's hand and patted it gently. “He didn't dump you. It was you who dumped his clowny ass. And you did it because he was a jerk who had thrown you out of a window, pushed you off a moving car, electrocuted you and kept abusing you in every possible way!”

“Yeah, good times!” Harl giggled through her falling tears.

Ivy squeezed her hand harder. “Good times are yet to come. And now you have someone who actually accepts just you as you are.”

Harley sniffed again, loud and undignified. “Even if I'm this forgetful?”

“Yup.”

It made Harley smile her brightest smile and Pam knew she could forgive her about anything.

“Even if I want to celebrate April Fool's with you?”

“Don't push your luck.”

They were going to be fine this spring.

Chapter Text

Jim steeled himself as he opened the door. The scheduled hearing was going to be… Well, let's just say he wasn’t seeing forward to it.

At least the hearing was not open to the public, answering to mayor Hill, district attorney Dent, judge Benton and Bruce Wayne who was one of the police forces’ biggest sponsors in Gotham, was bad enough already.

He wasn’t sure whether he would still have a job after today.

Judge Benton looked up from his files as Jim entered and moved to stand in front of the jury. “Commissioner James Gordon of the Gotham City Police Department, you are here to explain the incident that occurred on Sunday, April 12th this year within the GCPD building, involving the detainee Vincent Price.”

“Yes, your Honor. As your Honor may already know, the 12th of April was the date of the Easter Sunday, thus the Gotham City police was maintaining an increased awareness situation.”

And that meant more than ordering donuts and having a finger on the button for the Bat-signal. No matter what everyone seemed to think about Gotham’s police forces.

“We expected criminals like Calendar-man or even the Joker to become active due to the holiday. Also, we accounted for the mafia families trying to slip several of their operations by our attention, while we were distracted with the overall holiday chaos and got into touch with the Federal Bureau of investigation to monitor that development,” Jim dutifully reported.

“Everything started out relatively quiet but then at about 3:05 pm, a report came in about an unannounced show, featuring several unidentified individuals costumed as Easter-bunnies dancing in the Riverside-Mall. The Officers dispatched to the location, Montoya and Bullock, spotted the individual giving the troupe orders and identified him as the criminal Vincent Price, alias Egghead or Professor Egghead, though he does not actually hold any official academical titles.”

Jim heard how Bruce Wayne mumbled something that sounded like “surprisingly”, but he continued undeterred: “At 3:12 pm the officers Montoya and Bullock requested reinforcements from GCPD and also called for the fire department and requested an ambulance on standby in case the situation was escalating. The reinforcements arrived at the mall at 3:23 pm and… ”

“You didn’t turn on the Batsignal?” Mayor Hill interrupted.

“Of course, he didn’t!” Dent threw in, and Jim felt grateful for the show of confidence, before the district attorney continued: “It was still afternoon, the Bat-signal would be hardly visible before nightfall.”

“Anyway,” Gordon audibly cleared his throat, “we were able to keep the situation at the mall under control without Batman’s help. Egghead had his costumed minions throw egg-shaped tear-gas grenades into the crowd, as he was preparing to rob the local jeweler in the confusion.”

“22 injured civilians in the mall, eight of them children.” And damn, if Wayne didn’t make it sound like the police had completely failed there.

“Luckily mostly irritated eyes, minor bruises – from when the civilians panicked and ran for the doors – and one asthma attack,” Jim clarified, although he truly felt like they indeed had failed to protect those people. What if it had been Scarecrow’s fear toxin or Joker gas instead of comparably harmless tear-gas? There would have been fatalities.

“Police officers equipped with gas masks evacuated the civilians and had the injured tended to by the arriving paramedics. They also apprehended Egghead’s six Easter-bunnies. They tried to resist capture but their costumes hindered them so much they were easily overpowered. Their individual police records are attached to the written report.” None of the committee members made a move to read the files, either they already had done so beforehand or – more likely – the criminal history of common thugs held no interest to them.

“Egghead himself attempted to slip out through the parking deck but his escape attempt was thwarted as his…Egg-mobile had been efficiently obstructed by officers Montoya’s and Bullock’s patrol car. Said officers managed to apprehend Price at 3:34 pm. He was transported back to the GCPD under escort by a team of six officers, while Montoya and Bullock remained at the mall to help with taking witness and damage reports.”

Gordon took a slow breath, because the next part was, where everything had gone to hell in a hand-basket…full of eggs.

“Upon arrival at GCPD, Egghead was led towards the holding cells. We were planning to interrogate him about the source of the tear-gas and any possible follow up plans to that failed robbery. On the way there, he passed a corridor where a worker was finishing repairs on the building’s air conditioning system.”

“Didn’t the town allocate renovation money for the GCPD building last October already?” Bruce Wayne suddenly inquired.

Jim frowned. “We only received those allocated 2,000$ in the first week of April.”

“2,000$? The sum provided was…”

Wayne was suspiciously hastily interrupted by mayor Hill: “Can we return to the matter at hand now?”

Dent, Wayne and Benton cast the mayor a glare, which promised this wouldn’t be the end of the matter.

Hill squirmed in his seat. “The 2,000$ came from a private donation, I’ll investigate personally what has delayed the other payment.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out within the next two days.” There was just a hint of a threat in Dent’s voice.

“Yes, of course, of course. But back to the previous topic. Which role did the AC-repairman play? Was he another one of Price’s minions, infiltrating the GCPD? Which repairman works on a holiday?” Hill hurriedly continued.

“No, as far as we know he really had, and still has, a clean record. His boss demands that he works on weekends and he isn’t in a union. His presence on that day was just an unfortunate coincidence.”

The police officers including Jim had been freezing off their asses writing reports in their offices for months. Being on foot-patrol outside had been a preferable duty during last winter, since at least moving around kept you warm. Inside even the coffee had frozen in the mugs. With another cold spell at the start of April, only the promise of having the AC finally repaired asap had kept the forces from outright rioting. Still, it could have waited mere two days longer…

“Anyway, the police officers were leading Egghead down the corridor, past the working repairman, who had a radio playing music. At the same time, a group of FBI-agents came in with some cuffed suspects from the Ibanescu family.

Up until then, Price had been compliant with his apprehension. But just at that moment, Jack Ryder announced that the Riddler had sent a new riddle to Radio Gotham. One of the officers remarked, that now was finally the time to turn on the Bat-signal and...well… Price lost it.

He went feral, screeching: ‘How does that second-rate wannabe intellectual require Batman? I have taken an entire mall hostage in my eggs-quisite scheme, flawlessly egg-cecuted and who shows up to fowl me? The Gotham City police forces! You didn’t even turn on the Bat-Signal for Professor Egghead, the smartest man in the entirety of Gotham! But no – Riddler just has to send one of his foul eggs of a riddle to that detractor Ryder and everyone starts running around like a panicked chicken!’

Then, Price pulled the pin out of his tie and threw the small egg-shaped pinhead to the ground. It was only a smoke bomb, completely harmless but the FBI agents dropped everything they were carrying to pull their guns, including the suitcases full of confiscated drugs and money.
The plastic bags with the drugs ruptured, the drug powder and the cash bills were flying around in the smoke…and…”

“And?” Judge Benton prompted.

“…and then the repairman turned on the ventilation of the AC.”

Jim winced in remembrance of the cloud of smoke, cocaine and dollar-bills being blasted through the entire building full of underpaid, tired and stressed out police officers.

“We only got a split second of time to react, luckily I had a gas mask at the ready on my desk, others were…not so lucky.

I don’t have to explain to you, what cocaine does to the human body. Those officers who were not pressing gasmasks or handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses were either maniacally trying to catch the dollar-bills, fighting each other or declaring they were invincible and rushing for the doors.”

“And we all know how that ended: with 18 officers in the hospital, six patrol cars destroyed, 48 unjustified apprehensions – which we are now sued for – not to mention that of the confiscated 40,000$ only about 15,000$ could be retrieved and cocaine had to be cleaned out of any nook and cranny of the building by a company specialized on toxic waste disposal,” Dent summed up.
“Do you have to add anything before we withdraw to discuss which disciplinary actions we are going to take?”

Commissioner James Gordon had something to say, no matter how much he didn’t want to say it: “The stoned officers managed to apprehend the Joker before he could explode a giant Easter-egg-shaped airship filled with Joker gas over the town, without the help of Batman.”

It had been the first time in the history of Gotham and wasn’t that something egg-sasperating to admit?

Chapter Text

He had always despised girls like her – those happy-go-lucky, giggling blonde bimbos who dated the bullies from the football team and never spared a glance for an outcast like himself. This kind of girls – the prom queens, cheerleaders and hussies – they just smiled and got what they wanted; and then they looked down on the other kids, laughing at them, using them, treating them like dirt.

Behind those pretty faces, blonde locks, and short skirts – there was nothing but rotten hearts of insecure, little girls. Girls like Stacy Lung – the funny one, popular among the boys back at school – the one who had asked Adam Bale to make Jonathan eat a worm for her entertainment.
Girls like Rebecca Ratcliffe who had torn his essay to shreds, so no other kid could get better grades than her.

Then, there was Maggie Weaver from the drama club. Jonathan had thought he had found someone to talk to but he had been mistaken. He had painfully learned the truth that one faithful day, during a performance when she had read his poem on stage, for the whole school to laugh about.

Yes, there were plenty of mean girls in Jonathan Crane's early life and later on he instinctively knew the type when he saw one. Because of that, when he had met Harley Quinn – Joker's henchgirl and girlfriend, he could tell right away that she was no different.

He had been wrong.

Bolton raised his massive hand to deliver a hit and there was nothing Jonathan could do to stop this bastard. Laying on the floor, he watched the man taking a swing and slapping Harley across her pretty face with brutal force. The blow sent the girl colliding with the wall to her left. She bumped her blonde head and slid down to join Jonathan on the dining hall's floor. There was a string of red hanging from the corner of her smiling lips, the right side of her face was also red and swollen. Despite that, Harley got back on her feet, blinked away her tears and looked at Jonathan with a calming smile.

“I said move aside, Quinn!!!” Bolton yelled at her but she didn't listen, she was ready to fight.

It was so unreal that from all the rouges, the criminal-minds, the killers and the crazy ones, only Harleen Quinzel – the little, blonde clown-girl had enough guts to stand up against Lyle Bolton's self-righteous reign of terror over Arkham Asylum. And even more surprising, she stood up for Scarecrow, for the man who had been so quick to judge her.

No girl ever had done something like that for him, Jonathan thought as he sucked on his split lip and stood up as well. Maybe there were no girls like her – there was only one Harley Quinn.

Chapter Text

It had been a nice afternoon, no costumes, no fights, no stress – just sitting in a small cafe, people watching and conversing in pleasant company. Harleen had been sipping from a curly straw in a truly monstrous glass filled with ice-cream, fruits and what appeared to be at least 100 little umbrellas, while he himself had ordered a travel mug with as many shots of espresso as the barista could fit in without breaking any laws. Not that Professor Crane would have cared about broken laws in the slightest.

Then, Harleen’s phone had rung with ‘Welcome to the jungle!’, she had hastily grabbed her shopping bags and ran off, excusing herself with a pouty: “Ivy has gone on a murder spree without me.”

It had taken Crane a few minutes to notice the small red and black purse lying on Harley’s abandoned chair. With a sigh, he had picked it up. One day the child might forget her own head, wasn’t it attached to her neck.

Oh well, he could always return it next time. It was not like Harleen would miss the 2.36$ and the package of bubblegum which were the only contents, any time soon.

A glance at his watch revealed, that he’d better not be late to meet up with Nygma and Tetch.

As far as planning sessions went, plotting crime with Riddler and Hatter at the same table must have ranked world-lowest in efficiency, coordination, and progress. Seriously it was more like just another coffee klatch, only this time with less pleasant company and due to Mad Hatter with awful tasting tea instead of espresso.

Scarecrow sat silently, pretending to now and then sip from the teacup while Edward was rambling about how Batman had cheated him out of yet another victory – never mind that it had been Riddler who had cheated the entire time to begin with – and Jervis sighed up a storm looking at a photo of Alice #200-something.

“And then he had the gall to push my specially programmed Anti-Bat robot into the acid pit with a traffic cone of all things, just to not get zapped and admit his defeat at… Are you even listening, Jonathan?”

No, not really – Scarecrow had expertly tuned Riddler out about fifteen minutes ago and was actually considering turning on the tv, to see whether Ivy and Harley were on the news.

“Sure, sure, so what did Batman do then?” He replied nevertheless feigning interest.

Where were the good old times when they had just stolen a car, and ridden out to terrorize the town? Harleen was likely having the time of her life right now, Crane mused as Nygma droned on.

The insistent ringing of the phone in the next room of Crane’s apartment was almost like an angel’s bell of relief. It was a perfect excuse to get out of listening for another hour. Or at least it rescued Riddler from tasting a hefty dose of fear toxin in the not so far future.

Picking up the receiver from the old-fashioned rotary phone, Crane answered with an almost sincere friendly “Hello? Who do I speak with?”

“Oh, Professor! Is that you? I am so glad it is you!” Harleen’s voice squeaked. “You won't believe what just happened…”

“I tell you, Crane was not listening to me at all,” Riddler huffed and made a grimace when he realized that drinking an entire mouthful of the bitter, black liquid passing as tea had been a mistake.

Hatter, who had admittedly not listened to a word of the expatiated monologue either, hastily nodded in agreement. “Yes, he was not even enjoying his tea, how can that be? Fiddling around with something instead. Huh? A purse? That choice of colors is bad. At least for a master of fear but – he has a chewing gum in here.”

“Is he so broke nowadays that he had to go among the purse-snatchers? Or is he trying to pass off his toxin as a new flavor for high-school girls?” Riddler eyed the bright purse suspiciously.

Hatter had already unwrapped a stripe of gum and carefully held it to his nose before decidedly stuffing it into his mouth. “Nope, it's not fear, it is cherry, my dear.”

Accepting Hatter as a good enough food taster, Riddler sighed: “Toss me one, too.” as the prospect of getting the bitter taste of Jonathan's 'tea' out of his mouth turned out too tempting.

“It was just Harleen.” Scarecrow returned, shaking his head. “She and Ivy got herself accidentally locked inside a bank vault. And it was only then that she noticed, she had forgotten her purse with…” Crane took a doubletake at his two guests sitting at the table, busy chewing “...her...bubblegum…bombs.”

He watched with morbid fascination, how all color left the faces of his fellow rogues, as his words sank in. Lovely.

“Don’t stop chewing gentlemen,” He intervened hastily as both of them made a motion to remove the gum-bombs. “Harleen said they explode only after they are spat out.”

He strode up and down before the table, apparently thinking but inwardly enjoying the tension in the room. “Now, how to get rid of those things, preferably without killing me?”

“Hey!” Riddler and Hatter both protested, before quickly returning to chewing.

“The windows are all nailed shut,” Jon continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Sure, I could remove the planks but that would take a while. You could spit them into the stairwell, but I don’t know how strong the bombs are and there is a good chance, the wooden staircase will go up in flames, so we’d all die in a fire. This place is sadly not up to the building code. But of course, you are free to leave and try your luck outside…”

“Screw that! And screw you!” Riddler growled. “With me, Jervis!”.

Pulling Hatter by the sleeve, Nygma dragged the smaller man with him into the bathroom. A short moment later the toilet flushed and the two came rushing out again.

“Everyone down! Pray we won't drown!” Hatter yelled, slamming the bathroom door shut, just before all three sought shelter under the meeting table.

A dull rumble shook the building. Then, there was a wet bursting sound. The detonation blew the door of its hinges causing 'things' to splash against the walls and all over the room.

When Jonathan, Edward and Jervis dared to open their eyes again, everything was dripping and puddles of…

“Good luck cleaning that up, Jon,” Riddler drily commented, trying to wipe off his formerly green suit with disgust.

“Forget it! I need a new hideout. You two idiots, help me packing!”

“That damn Scarecrow has forgotten about us,” Pamela grumbled, sitting on a makeshift couch of moneybags. “I bet he and his Dorksquad are having the time of their lives right now.”

Harleen cast her friend a look of pure misery and whined: “I gotta go to the bathroooom!”

Chapter Text

Scarecrow shot another toxin needle at Batman but it was nearly impossible to hit anything on the dark knight that wasn’t bulletproofed on a normal day already. When the Bat came for Scarecrow knowingly, he always donned a gas mask to protect his lower face as well. So the needle bounced back harmlessly and fell to the City Hall's polished marble floor.

No, to infuse Batman with toxin it needed proper preparation. Crane had developed a new fear gas, broke Slicer-Williams, Bonesaw-Johnson and Max-the-Melter-Corben out of Blackgate and used them as guinea pigs for it until all three thugs had died from fear-induced heart failure. He had also made sure that the toxin was absorbed over the skin and the eyes. Then, he had some of his goons – disguised as repairmen – sealing up the City Hall to make the place as airtight as possible

When everything was finally ready, Scarecrow had waltzed into the mayor’s office, tied the fool in charge to a time bomb and filled every room and corridor with toxin gas, eagerly waiting for Batman to arrive to ‘the rescue’, as far as the Bat believed, and to the Bat’s ‘horrible demise’ as far as Scarecrow was concerned.

With all the toxin floating through his veins the Bat shouldn’t have been able to walk, he shouldn’t have been able to crawl, he shouldn’t have been able to do anything more than lying whimpering in a corner until he died. Instead, he was coming for Scarecrow – undeterrable.

"Cower! Cower in fear before me, Batman!” Scarecrow screeched and if a little panic stole into his voice – which obviously didn’t because the Master of fear did NOT do panic – that would have been understandable, because drugged up or not, the Bat shambled towards him like a zombie – slow but unstoppable.

Bringing up the scythe to slash at the Bat already felt like an admission of defeat. Being beaten to a pulp by him was not nearly as humiliating, but what really made Professor Crane feel like a failure was that Batman’s hands had already stopped shaking when he started to defuse the bomb.

Chapter Text

At first, Ivy was rather skeptical about it, but it was so damn hard to say 'no' when a certain blonde nagged her about something for three long minutes, repeating ‘please, please, please’ over and over again without even taking a breath in between the words. So here they were, having a beauty care day today, and Selina was also invited.

“Oh no, we are not cutting up my cucumbers just so you can put them on your stupid face, Harl!”

They were already done with their nails and now they proceeded with yet another nasty beauty-boosting procedure. The so-called body mask that Sel had brought felt more like smearing their bodies with mud. The product was said to be good for keeping your skin elastic and youthful – in reality, the strange mixture just stank like the Swampthing.

Anyway, it wasn't like Pamela needed it, her green, chlorophyll-filled body looked good thanks to things as simple as plain water and sun rays. However, the other girls had insisted on applying the mask.

“But Red, cucumber is good for my puffy eyes!” Harley continued, rolling around on the bed. She was wrapped into a foil, the brown mud-like paste still on her skin, kept warm under the plastic. She looked like a giant tortilla.

“You don’t have any swellings around your eyes, Harl!”

“Well, not yet. But you never know when some asshole will punch me in the face, right?”

“Girls, we all know that true beauty takes sacrifices,” Selina radiated confidence after she returned from the shower, white towels covering her body and hair. “Nevertheless, we are the Gotham Sirens, not some petty criminal scums, we have to present!” With that, she took over the couch like the selfish cat she was. “Do we have anything to drink?”

“Water?” Ivy offered. “Or a detox herbal tea?”

“I thought more of Champaign,” Selina’s smile was one of disappointment. “But a milk-shake will do too.”

Ivy rolled her eyes, it looked like Catwoman really had come to their apartment, as if it was a beauty-saloon and now she expected them to skip around her and serve her. “It’s my turn for a shower,” she excused herself bluntly, heading to the bathroom and leaving the two others to themselves.

When she returned, ten minutes later, she found Selina and Harleen sitting together on the bed, sipping at something that looked like home-made margaritas and giggling like some silly schoolgirls. There was a colorful magazine opened in front of them, and the two stared at the pages with glee.

“I didn’t know Victor was so well-built under this suit,” Catwoman commented with pure delight.

“He must have been working out,” Harley said, still giggling a bit. “I wonder how Ozzy managed to talk him into this.”

“I don't wanna know, but God bless good old Pengy for that idea!” Selina took a sip from her huge glass. “I get chills by just looking,” she joked.

Ivy raised an eyebrow. “Are you talking about… Mr. Freeze?”

“Red, you have to see this!!!” Harleen had only noticed Ivy’s presence just now, she was this distracted. “Come here, quick! Sel brought something awesome!”

Selina closed the magazine they were reading and lifted it up so Pamela could see the cover.

“Firelli’s Calendar 2020: Naked truth about Gotham’s Bad Boys,” Ivy read, not quite believing what she was seeing. Right there – on the very cover – there was a picture of Bane – naked under the shower, flashing his round, muscular butt. “Holy sh… How? Why?”

“As far as I know,” Selina waved the calendar in front of Ivy's face, then opened it on the first page once more. “it was Cobblepot’s idea of making a big, dirty, pile of cash, selling that stuff. But who knows, maybe it's just another of his financial frauds?”

“Mister Freeze is Mister January,” Harley chirped, eagerly gesticulating towards Ivy to join them on the bed. “Look!”

It would be a crime not to check how embarrassing those photos could possibly get. Pamela took a seat on the corner of the bed and leaned forward to take a good look.

She was surprised, the nude picture of Victor Fries sitting in the 'thinker' pose on a block of ice, alone and surrounded by only snow and icicles within some icy cavern, was rather an artistic take on the character – it screamed solitude and tranquility. Ivy had to admit, that Firelli guy, whoever he was, had outdone himself, to make Victor look majestic and at the same time 'hot' – much like an ice-sculpture of a Greek hero. “I bet his Nora would hang that on her wall.”

“Here comes Mister February,” Selina grinned and turned the page.

The three of them couldn't help but giggle simultaneously.

Holding a long glass of sparkly white wine, there was the Penguin himself – spread on a fluffy bed sheet, with nothing but his black, opened bathrobe, and with a bucket of ice conveniently covering his privet parts. As plump as the man was, the angle still managed to make him look desirable, and all the accessories in the background – a fireplace, a box of chocolates, that wine in his hand – it had captured the romantic Valentin's Day mood perfectly.

“I won't believe it, if you tell me, that no one wanted to hop onto that bed with Oz after that calendar got published,” Ivy tried to keep her face straight but the longer she was ogling Oswald, the more silly the whole concept appeared.

“With his wealth and fame, I doubt he has any trouble finding volunteers,” Catwoman reached for her drink. “If I were him, I'd keep that photographer all to myself.”

“Next!” Harl demanded, flailing her legs in excitement.

Surprisingly enough, Mister March was not St. Patrick’s Day themed, at least not exactly. Ivy would have expected to see the Riddler but no, the author had saved this place for Jervis Tetch.

The Mad Hatter got to keep his hat, unbuttoned vest and a bow tie, he was kneeling on a green, grassy meadow, playing with white rabbits and looking unexpectedly innocent and adorable.

“Bunnies!!!” Harley squeaked, the cuteness factor definitely getting to her.

“I'd still pass this one,” Selina tone of voice left no doubt for Ivy that aww-ing Mad Hatter was a big 'no' and the picture alone had nothing to do with that, it was rather Tetch's well-known preference for young girls, dress-ups and mind-control.

The proud title of Mister April went to the Riddler, and his photo was inspired by spring cleaning. Edward was sitting nonchalantly on top of a laundry machine, and only a single piece of green cloth covered his 'Easter eggs' from the eyes of the whole world.

The girls were staring in silence.

“Ladies,” Catwoman finally spoke up, “I think we need more drinks.”

After a short break and refilling their cups, all three were back on the bed, ready to continue. As Selina turned the page, Ivy nearly choked on her margarita. “Damn...” was the only thing she managed to utter after recovering from coughing.

Mister May was no one else but Harvey-freaking-Dent!

“Mm,” Selina murmured, mischievous sparks dancing in her eyes. “Isn't that your ex-boyfriend, Pammy? I wouldn't mind playing cat and mouse with a guy like him.”

“Wait! You and Two-Face?!” Harleen shot her a surprised glare. “You've never mentioned that!”

“That was long ago,” she explained hasty, perhaps even too hasty for Harl to fully believe it, “It was before he became Two-Face! Before his 'accident'.”

“Didn't he had a wife back then?” Harley questioned.

“Doesn't he still have one,” Selina added. “Or two?”

“I don't know and I don't care,” Pamela ended the unfortunate topic. She reached to turn the page, but before she did, she took one last look at Harvey, who was posing in front of a big wardrobe and a mirror, trying to decide between black and white shirt – while being totally naked.

“And who is that?” Catwoman smiled upon seeing yet another eye-candy displayed on the photo in his full nude glory.

The well-built, dark-skinned man was standing next to the pool, holding a big, silly water-gun in his hands, near his crotch. He was shooting a stream of water, splashing an invisible rival, small water drops on his manly chest were glistening in the sun.

Ivy could swear he caught Harley blushing. Now, it was time for Miss Quinzel to explain herself.

“Harl, darling,” Pamela cooed, her voice sweet as honey. “Don't you and Mr. Lawton know each other pretty, damn well?”

“No, not really.” The blond girl lied and uttered a short, nervous laugh. Neither Sel nor Ivy bought that – they both stared at Harleen, waiting for answers. “OK, OK! I did him once! But that was only to piss off Mr. J!”

“Oh, don't be so shy.” Selina winked. “I've heard Deadshot is quite a sweetheart under all those muscles. And which girl doesn't dream of fucking a sexy daddy like him?”

“I don't,” Ivy shrugged.

“You lost your validity the day you've dated Kite-man.”

Pam felt her face getting hotter and she was about to say something – who the hell did that Cat think she was, to judge her dating choices! But before a fight could start, Harley switched the page to July and they were graced with a view of Firefly barbecuing steaks in the garden, wearing nothing but a short kitchen apron and a cook's hat.

“How can someone, who had half of his skin fried, still manage to look somewhat attractive?” Pam mused.

“Gee, I don't know,” Selina's smirk was pure evil. “Let's ask Two-Face. I can call him right now!”

“You know very well that I'm done with guys.” With that, Ivy claimed Harley's pink lips, not giving the other girl any chance to respond.

“Eew, gals!” Catwoman made a sound of disgust but it didn't come out very honest. “We still have five months to go. Don't spoil my fun just yet!”

August greeted them with a picture of King Shark's massive, animalistic body. The shark-guy was relaxing in the pool, floating on his back and showing his sharp fangs in a wide, flirtatious smile while winking to the camera. A colorful beach ball floated on the water, exactly in the spot where otherwise his other balls would be. None of the girls dared to say that aloud, but all of them probably wondered, if King Shark had the 'equipment' of a true shark down there.

Mister September turned out to be Bane, the picture featuring his muscular back and butt was the same one they already had seen on the cover.

As they got to October, they almost burst out laughing. Scarecrow, still wearing his ugly mask, was laying on a pile of hay, with a big, orange pumpkin between his legs.

“OK,” Harley admitted, wiping a single tear of joy from her eye. “That one is hilarious. Poor Professor Crane, he's so skinny! They could have put a skeleton there and no one would've noticed any difference.”

The Thanksgiving theme went to Killer Croc and Ivy found herself surprised yet again. Who would have thought that eating a roasted turkey leg, with hot butter dripping on his chest, could be considered sexy? But here they were, ogling a crocodile-man, who was devouring his holiday dinner in the most dramatic way. His pearly-white fangs glimmered in the candlelight – it seemed the photographer had invested a small fortune into Croc's dental care before they shot that session. Well, at least the effect was worth it.

“Ladies, only the last one left,” Catwoman announced with such seriousness as if it was the saddest thing in the world. “I wonder who that will be. Any ideas?”

“Woo, I hope it's Kite-man!” Harleen flashed her teeth.

Pamela sighed, she had a feeling it wouldn't be someone as harmless as Kite-man.

She was right, on the last page of Firelli's calendar, there was a picture of the man, who had gotten under their skin like no other had. White skin, green hair – it was the Joker – spread on the Santa's throne, wearing a Santa's hat and licking a red-and-white candy cane in a very provocative way.

“Oh, my eyes!” Selina cried out, then made a puking sound. “I want to unsee that photo!”

“Hey! What do you mean?” Harley narrowed her eyes. “I think he looks...”

“OK, that's enough for today!” Ivy closed the magazine with the speed of lightning. “Harl, it's time for you to wash off your body mask, and Selina, look how late it is.”

Catwoman crossed her arms and sent her a disapproving glare. Harley, however, made a sad face but marched off as told.

Only when the blond girl had disappeared behind the bathroom door, Pam leaned toward Selina. “Sorry for that,” she whispered conspiratorially, “but for Harley's own good, this calendar can't stay here.”

“Don't worry,” Catwoman snatched the magazine away from her. “I'll take good care of it. I've heard they are completely sold out and people offer good money for them on the internet. I've also heard it was Antonio Firelli's last and final work.”

“Why's that?”

“Oh, you know... Calendar Man got pretty jealous.”

Chapter Text

Patched up and wrapped in a red-and-green blanket, Edward Nygma was resting on his couch, in his dark and cramped apartment – restoring his strength after his last night’s antics which had involved: riddling, robbery, a car chase and a car crash. The man was snoring softly, wriggling in his sleep, not loud enough to be considered bothersome. Jonathan hadn’t intended to stay in the living room with him all night but, surprisingly enough, Edward turned out to be much more bearable when asleep than as he was awake.

Jonathan noticed that he didn’t mind the other rogue at all as he continued on reading at his favorite album of ‘Corvids of North America’ series. The steady and monotonous sounds emitted by sleeping Edward were pleasant to Crane’s ears, soothing like background music, or like a clock ticking in the empty hall of an old mansion.

It was almost morning, although no sunlight could enter the room through the thick and heavy window curtains which Jonathan appreciated quite a lot. He just finished his third coffee mug, when his ears registered an unexpected change in Nygma’s so-far even breathing. Crane cocked a brow with a questioning ‘hmm?’ and turned his gaze to the couch, checking what was going on there.

Edward's breath got shallow and faster than before, his eyes were moving rapidly beneath the thin layers of his eyelids. He was having a dream, Jonathan could tell. No one knew more about nightmares and hallucinations than the Master of Fear himself. And judging by the grimace on Riddler’s freckled face, the man was not having fun with whatever he dreamed of.

Scarecrow’s preying eyes lingered on Edward’s lips, trying to read the words from their movement. What was he seeing in his dream? Who was he talking to? Jonathan couldn’t help but wonder. And when a quiet moan of discomfort escaped Nygma’s dry mouth, Scarecrow felt a mighty rush spreading through his veins.

He rose from his armchair and approached the couch, blaming the blasted, selfish bastard for everything and more. How dare Nygma come here, dragging himself into Scarecrow’s lair and falling asleep, as if it was the safest place in the world?! Had he actually expected Jonathan to do him no harm, to simply ignore this obvious invitation to play around with his nightmares?

With all his self-restraint Professor Crane couldn't pass this one. His slender figure was now towering over the sleeping man, leaning forward to him, like a vulture over a morsel of meat.

Multiple thoughts, all of them grim and delightful, ran through Scarecrow's head as he fished for every scrap of fear he could get. It didn't last long, with a sudden gasp Edward woke up, all mangled and sweaty.

Green, sleepy eyes fell on Crane's bony frame which was looming over Riddler like an omen of doom.

“For the love of... Crane!” Edward jolted in panic. “Why the hell were you staring?”

“Did you sleep well?” Jonathan asked sweetly, ignoring the previous question and fighting back a nasty smirk that was forming on his face.

“Not really," Nygma stated with a seemingly indifferent tone, however, his anxious face-expression was betraying him. "I had a bad dream,” he finally admitted with a tired sighed.

Scarecrow was waiting for this moment all along. “Would you like to tell me about it?”

“Well...” Edward hesitated, fidgeting on the couch while Jon was almost shivering with anticipation. “I was...at a mall and...I,” he swallowed. “...I had to decide whether I wanted a PS5 or an Xbox Series X.”

Crane turned around without a word and returned to his book, his cold coffee and armchair.

“CPU-wise, an Xbox is better by almost 0,3GHz!” Nygma wailed after him. “But when it comes to GPU...,” the man went on and on... And Scarecrow honestly started to wonder if this wasn't his own nightmare by chance.

Chapter Text

Everything had gone perfectly well with the heist, the antique gold coins were safely stored away in his bag, the police was yet to arrive and the Bat was delayed by a group of dedicated henchmen, which Penguin would have later gotten back out of Blackgate easily enough with a good lawyer.

Yes, everything had gone perfectly well until the encounter with the dove...

Plummeting to his death with bits of the unlucky bird still jammed in the rotator of his helicopter-umbrella, Penguin wonders, if Batman is even remotely close enough to see him fall, let alone rescue him.

He feels regret – that he hasn’t tasted that new delivery of caviar which has arrived at the Iceberg lounge earlier this evening, that he hasn’t won the mayoral election, that he hasn’t visited the grave of his mother recently, … lots of minor things he wanted to do later and now won't have an opportunity for any…

Something – no, someone - dives for him, reaches for him; he extends his hand to grab and hold onto his would-be rescuer. And while they keep plummeting down together, although slower now, his eyes go wide in surprise.

„Now, that is a woman who looks like she could use a stiff glass of...water.” A voice purred far too close to Pamela’s ear. However, she refrained from lashing out at the intruder with a vine. She had promised Harleen to be a bit more ‘outgoing’, while her best friend was visiting a comic convention in Metropolis. So, Ivy would pass the time until Harley’s eventual return by ‘socializing’ - even if that involved, inviting someone as annoying as Selina over for a chat.

“What’s with that frown?” Catwoman put a bag with some gifts down on the table in Pamela’s hideout, mostly fruits and some bottles of expensive mineral water.

“It has nothing to do with you,” Pamela grouched. She didn’t really want to talk about it, but Selina was a nefarious gossip and would likely keep nagging until she had pried a whole novel worth of story out of her.

So it caught her totally by surprise when Catwoman instead gleefully blurted out: “You won't believe what happened last night!”

Selina seemed to almost vibrate with barely contained energy, as she plopped down on the couch. It was startling how much she resembled Harleen like that.

“So, I was out last night, just scouting a bit for a possible visit to the museum, and what do I see? Well, it was old Pengu jumping over the roofs on the run from the Bat, with a bag over his shoulder like some old-fashioned cartoon robber. And while Bats got distracted by some of Ozzie’s hired punching-bags, Pengu opens that umbrella of his and jumps over the edge.“

“I have seen a few of the guys and even you, frolicking around on the roofs at night before, it is hardly a rare event in this town.” Pam smirked, “Though Oswald trying to outrun Batman is something I’d like to have seen.”

Selina winked and continued: “There I was, watching the merry chase and plotting, how to get a chunk of that loot for myself when Pengu’s umbrella-copter scares up a whole swarm of doves. One of those dumb birds gets into the rotor and... ” She made a chopping gesture with her hand.

Ivy made a grimace, she was not exactly a great friend of pigeons but that sounded grisly.

“That rotor jams and he starts falling, like a duck made of lead.” Another hand gesture – a steep dive. “Now Pengu is none of my friends, but hey, I don’t want to see him end as a red blotch on the sideway. Also, I thought maybe he is grateful, so I jump over to play the hero since Bats was still occupied.”

“You rescued Oswald? So, he is owing you now?” Ivy inquires incredulously. Owing something to Catwoman would likely come expensive for Cobblepot. Selina could be outrageously demanding at times.

“Ah...unfortunately, no.” Catwoman shook her head, strangely enough still grinning. “I didn’t even get close to catching him when someone else swooped in and saved the day.”

“Robin? Or Nightwing? Wait, Batgirl?” Pamela named the most likely candidates.

“Not even close – and you will never guess, which member of the Peanut-gallery rushed to the rescue.” Catwoman’s smirk turned mischievous and she lifted an eyebrow expectantly.

“Peanut-gallery?” Ivy repeated, she was sure Selina had just given her some sort of hint. “Snoopy, Woodstock, Charly Brown… Wait! Charles Brown? Kiteman???” Ivy’s jaw dropped.

“You should have seen it. He dived down like a falcon. Then it first looked like they would both crash but Kiteman got the control back masterfully and they even made a halfway elegant landing.” Selina snorted “Your Charles looked so proud as if he had just taken on the Bat in a one on one fight and won and then declared to Ozzy that there was ‘no reason to thank him, villains needed to help each other out once in a while’. Had I not been busy collecting all those gold coins Pengu had dropped, I would have been rolling on the floor laughing.”

“That sounds like Charles all right.” Pamela sighed, Kiteman was just…enthusiastic like that. “And then?”

“Then Batman descended on them in a cloud of smoke and Pengu made a run for it. Your boyfriend’s reflexes are worse I fear, Bats sucker-punched him and he folded over like a pocketknife.” Selina scratched her own chin thoughtfully. ”That was about the moment when I decided to sneak off before Bats noticed me too.”

“That would explain why Charles called me earlier today, to cancel our date.” Pamela grumbled “It also does explain why he said the bail money was already paid and that he had a top lawyer taking care of his case. I assume old Oswald felt grateful.”

“Veeery grateful,” Catwoman agreed, still smirking.

“It does not explain why Penguin’s goons have been harassing me lately, though.” Ivy grouched.

“I think when I said ‘very grateful’ you didn’t quite catch my drift, Pam.” Selina winked. “Old Pengu is possessive.”

THAT caused Pamela’s jaw to drop again. “No! … Really? He wants MY boyfriend?”

“Mhmm.” Cats purred in amusement again “Word is he has been preparing some fancy and expensive gifts for his rescuer.” She gave Pamela a considering side-eye. “What do you think Oswald’s chances are, to seduce Kiteman away from you?”

Now Ivy finally chuckled: “I’d say pretty bad. Not because Charles is madly in love with me, or I could just hypnotize him with a kiss or anything like that. No, because Penguin will have a hard time getting his intentions over to dear Charles. Really, that man is cute but unfortunately when romance is concerned, Charles is a bit dense.”

“You are that confident?” Selina teased.

“We are talking about a man who thinks ‘pining’ means getting high from sniffing car-fresheners.” Pamela’s mood had definitely lifted. Maybe Harleen was right about this whole ‘socializing’ thing. “But I think the chances were even better if ‘someone’ – let’s say a nefarious cat burglar – stole all those valuable presents Penguin prepared before he can hand them over.”

Chapter Text

With an angry huff, Riddler shoved the vent cover out of the way and dropped himself down – into yet another cell inside of Arkham Asylum. No – he hadn’t lost his way in the vents, of course he hadn’t! Even suspecting such a thing would have been insulting. After all, the one and only Edward Nygma had an eidetic memory and never got lost!

Had he wanted to, he could have been outside these dreary walls and halfway back to the city already. Instead, he had ‘looped’ a few extra security cameras and made time for this little detour.

Hopefully, that ungrateful professor bag-head would appreciate the effort Edward had put into making this visit.

So far it didn’t look like it – despite his infamous insomnia, Scarecrow, resting on his cot had not stirred yet.

“Wake up, will you?” Riddler grouched. He knew better than to approach and try shaking the scrawny man awake, Edward was not too keen on losing an eye or getting his aorta severed.

Crane, like most other inmates, grew his fingernails long and sharp. The only difference to the losers in the other cells was, that his grew faster than the nurses could clip them.

Surely they had clipped them today, if a bit too late. The guard who had tried to take Crane’s book away would have to make do with an eyepatch from now on.

“Come on, Crane, I know you are aware! You can’t tell me that some tasers can take you out for this long – if that was working on your insomnia, you’d have electrocuted yourself to oblivion ages ago already.” Edward tried a little louder.

Under the messy streaks of brown hair, a bloodshot eye slowly opened.

“…talking too much…,” the man mumbled and stretched a little, clawing at the coarse bedding, giving the impression of a half-starved street-cat.

“You are in a better shape than I thought you’d be after that stunt today.” Edward nonchalantly sauntered a little closer. “I halfway expected to find you in a full-body cast in the infirmary. You were lucky Bolton wasn’t among the guards.”

“You think they were glad because I didn’t eat that eye? I considered it, their shocked faces would have been priceless… but...,” Crane cackled a little “I just had my breakfast. Still, I should have eaten it.”

Edward’s hand shot forward holding Crane’s chin up a bit and staring into his eyes. The pupils were wide open, wider than even the gloominess in the cell would have caused.

“Ah, I see! Instead of a beating, they gave you all the good stuff. Valium? Or something else? Doesn’t really matter, I guess.” He pulled his hand away staring down at his drugged colleague. “Well, just in case you actually remember this talk tomorrow – I am going to make my escape tonight. So I will not be around, in case you seek my infallible counsel or desire my radiant presence. Don’t worry, I will send you a souvenir. What do computers and cakes have in common?”

Scarecrow cackled again. “There can be files in them? Clever.”

“Heh, you are definitely doped out of your mind, does valium actually make you smarter?” Edward grinned and patted Scarecrow’s shoulder. "But now I have to go. I have an appointment with a foul-mouthed egghead, who claimed to be the most intelligent villain in all of Gotham – the nerve! Let’s see how smart he is when he has to answer my riddles, strung up over a pit full of rabid foxes.”

He turned to leave.

The rustling of the stiff bedsheets shifting was the only warning he got, before two wiry arms wrapped around his chest. How could Crane even move that fast? There must have been enough sedatives in his body to paralyze a bear!

Absentmindedly, Edward noticed that Jon’s fingernails, while a little shorter than usual, were easily double as sharp from the clipping as they now caressed over his cheek.

“You can break out later.” Scarecrow’s raspy voice purred and his breath tickled Edwards's neck. “Now, come back to bed.”

Chapter Text

“Who is this?”

“Ah, Jonathan Crane! It’s good to hear your rusty, old voice again!”

“Edward…” The man at the other end sounds less than amused.

“Well, this is not a guessing game, but if it was – you’d win, my scary friend! It is I – The Riddler – Gotham’s greatest…” He doesn’t get to finish.

“What do you want, Edward.” With this much emphasis put on ‘Edward”, the name sounds almost like an insult from Scarecrow’s mouth. That doesn't discourage Riddler, a lesser man – maybe – but not him.

“Can’t a fellow rogue call his most respected colleague just to ask how things are going in these difficult times?”

“Most respected?” There's a short silence on the line. “Wrong number.”

“No-no, really! I know I do not always express it, but I have a deep respect for your spooky-antics, and how they mess with Batman’s head. Of course, not as effectively as my riddles do but…”

“Can you get to the point?”

“My point is – I appreciate your work. And I wanted to check if you’re still alive.”

“I’m touched,” Scarecrow doesn’t sound like it, which makes Riddler wonder, whether the man is actually being cynical all along. “And as you can hear, I’m alive and well. So, you can safely hang up and return to minding your own business. Have a good day.”

“Wait! That’s not all!” He tries to stop the other before getting cut off. “I got…a situation here…”

“Hmm?” For once, Jonathan seems relatively intrigued but Edward still hesitates, pondering on how to verbalize his case in the most efficient way possible.

“The truth is…I didn’t contact you merely to send my regards.”

“I figured.”

“Well…,” He clears his throat. “As I said, I have a situation that might require a second opinion of someone qualified enough to provide a professional approach.”

Jonathan’s sigh reminds of a gust of wind: “You’re avoiding the answer, Edward.”

“It’s just that…I had a little accident at work and I’m afraid…”

“You’re afraid?” A new spark of excitement lits Scarecrow’s deadly-serious tone. “Interesting…”

“Oh, it’s nothing big. But if you happen to be at Bowery tonight,” Riddler is trying his best to make it sound more casual than pleading, “...remember that you are always welcome at my riddle-fortress. I will even let you in without testing your brain-capabilities first!”

“That’s very kind of you, Edward. If I didn’t know you better, I’d have thought you’re trying to lure me there…”

Riddler giggles nervously. “Don’t be ridiculous, Crane. My intentions are pure, but if you don’t trust me…”

“No one in Gotham trusts you.”

“And they all should!” Losing his nerves is not what Edward planned for, but Scarecrow has this amazingly annoying ability to trigger him in the least suitable moments. “I’m the most brilliant man in this city and when I say something, they all should listen to me! When I say that their beloved hero who named himself after a flying rodent, is one big fraud – a true villain and imposter – I should be getting thanked for my discoveries! Not put in an asylum for the mentally ill!

After getting his frustration partially out of his system, Edward attempts to collect himself again.

There is a long, long pause on the other side, making Riddler start to feel uncomfortable.

“Are you still there?” he asks, unsure of himself.

“Yes, I was just wondering if I should bring a cheesecake or a pumpkin pie.”

“If you are planning on bringing a gift, I suggest…a first-aid kit.”

“Yes! For the third time tonight, Edward – I know how to treat an open fracture.”

Scarecrow stares at his finished work. He has put the broken bone that was sticking out of a gruesome-looking open wound in Nigma’s forearm back in place, stitched up the torn skin, and secured the injury. He can still recall how Edward’s face twisted in pain at every touch during the patching-up, even though the man had probably stuffed himself with every painkiller he had found before calling for Scarecrow.

Oh, he is so going to save a mental picture of suffering Edward for a lifetime.

“But it is my right!” Riddler fumes, clutching onto his makeshift sling. “My right arm! And I am right-handed!” His voice is a mixture of desperation, rage, and self-pity, and Jonathan can drink up that concoction from his lips anytime. “How am I going to work now? How am I going to take care of myself?”

“Don’t look at me,” Crane shrugs it off, he is old enough to know, where this is going. “I did enough by coming here and bringing what you asked for.”

Edward doesn't look satisfied with that answer, so Jon has to quickly change the topic. “How did that happen anyway?”

“Well, I was going to place my 85th Riddler Trophy at the old lighthouse on Bleak Island. I was climbing up a stone stairway and I might have… slipped.”

“Are you trying to say,” Jonathan cocks his brow, “that from all the potentially lethal things you’re playing with on a daily basis, including handling heavy machinery, tinkering with high voltage, and climbing over building tops, it was a normal staircase that turned out to be your downfall?”

“That is a huge simplification!” The other man snaps back, his face slightly flushed with emotions and fever. “It was raining and the stairs got slippery! I’m not stupid!”

“I didn’t say you are.”

“You didn’t have to! I know what you’re thinking! I can recognize that judgmental look on your ugly face when you're trying to psychoanalyze me – just like the unqualified, uneducated Arkham staff that poses for doctors! I’m sick of being judged by the ones like you!”

Scarecrow sighs, tired of the childish accusations. “You called for me, remember?”

“I thought you would h…” The man cuts himself off, suddenly looking embarrassed or mad at himself for going too far. “Never mind. I’m a genius, I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone! Just remember you owe me for all I did for you after you got your face eaten by a crocodile last year.”

“Emotional blackmail?” Jonathan gets up from his chair, now looking down at the sulking man before him. “That’s a bit low for you, Edward. I expected better.”

Edward bits his lower lip as a wave of anger flushes over his body, visibly leaving him even more ashamed. This is how a proper guilt trip is done – Scarecrow thinks, staring at the man’s reactions blankly, reading him like an open book.

“Well, sorry to disappoint you by reminding you how ungrateful you are, Crane!”

“In that case, I will be going.” He turns away, waiting for Riddler to insult him one last time. “Take care of yourself, Edward.”

The man says nothing and Jonathan has to fight back the urge to look back at him.

“Wait,” Riddler’s hushed voice catches him at the door. “I would appreciate it,” the man sounds soft and defeated as if he swallows all of his pride and anger just now, "if you at least stay the night. I will figure out something by tomorrow.”

Asking for help, showing vulnerability – it is an extremely hard task for people like them, Jonathan knows that from experience. “Fine! But remember that I’m not your private nurse.”

It takes bravery to admit that you need someone.

Chapter Text

Secret Santa – Edward Nygma hated it with a passion. As did every other rogue in the city.

It had all started years ago in Arkham Asylum. One of the braindead shrinks working there at that time had the brilliant idea to build bonds of friendship by forcing the inmates to do an anonymous present exchange for x-mas. No one had liked the idea – mostly because one of the names to be pulled from the hat that was going around was that of the Joker. Nobody aside Harleen Quinzel liked the Joker, so why bother giving him a present? Also, one would have to be crazy to want a present from the Joker, again with the sole exception of maybe Harleen.

Of course, it was nearly impossible to build something lethal in the crafts room, directly under the eyes of the guards – but if anyone was able to pull it off? Joker was everybody’s bet. And that didn’t even count in all those big and small feuds the other villains had brewing on the sidelines.

With the anonymity of no one knowing the senders of the presents, the first Secret Santa had gone as badly as everyone – aside from the shrinks – expected.

Arnold Wesker had been gifted an exceptionally ugly sock puppet, Arnold had called it ‘Gritty’. But Scarface - his doll - had gotten jealous and shredded it while Arnold’s hand was still inside. So the Ventriloquist had spent the rest of x-mas in the medical ward sporting two broken fingers and mourning his new friend.

Harleen apparently had not drawn the Joker. Her ‘glitterbomb’ cake – how she had managed to put it together with just tinfoil, vinegar, and baking soda was everyones’ guess, had exploded in Killer Crock’s face, having him sneeze out clouds of pixy sparkles till the end of the week.

And whoever had given Twoface a triangle, would get it shoved where the sun doesn’t shine, if Big Bad Harv ever found out his identity.

The whole event came to a screeching halt only when Pamela Isley unwrapped the shapeless lump with her name sticker on it, to discover it was... a log of dead wood...
It had taken six guards with tasers holding her back from strangling the Joker who was screeching with laugher.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t been the end. No, it had been a declaration of war.

Joker had taken a liking to Secret Santa after that and had goaded everyone to make it a tradition. And nobody wanted to chicken out and admit defeat.

So now every year there was a gift exchange. Oswald Cobblepot was one of the very few rogues who had managed to wiggle out of participating directly, however, he had ended up hosting the event.
The villain x-mas ‘party’ was held in a backroom of the Iceberg Lounge and the presents were sent in via parcel delivery service in the morning, guarded under Penguin’s watchful eye, so that no one could tamper with them beforehand.

As a result, here they were, as every year, a giant stack of the meanest, most humiliating and potentially lethal gifts piled up in the middle of the room, dwarfing the Christmas tree.

Mad Hatter had unwrapped a big new cylinder hat and tried it on at once – judging by how he was now frantically scratching his scalp, it had been generously sprinkled with itching powder.

The putrid odor of burning plastic still hung in the air from when Scarecrow had burned a silly-looking rubber mask that held some resemblance to Elvis – which had come with a card saying: ‘Lost your face? Try a new look, might even actually scare someone.’

And Penguin had to stop Mr. Freeze from throwing a brand-new tanning bed through a closed window.

Joker, of course, had found all that very funny – until HE had unwrapped a t-shirt saying ‘I turned my girlfriend gay’ with a print-on photo of Harley and Ivy kissing.
He had long left, slamming the door behind and was likely Joker-gassing the mall Santa and his elves or something else ridiculous now to get over the humiliation. Whoever poor soul’s name Joker was drawing next year would probably die, but that was a problem for another Christmas.

Now it was finally Riddler’s turn.

Edward eyed the flat package that had come with his nametag suspiciously. To his surprise, it was only a book with crossword riddles, a decent gift from this bunch, maybe hell had frozen over as well?
With apprehension, he opened the first page and...
It was evil!
It was vile!
It was more carcinogenic than drinking a pint of oil that had been used to deep fry fish a dozen times!
Someone had filled it out. Completely. Also the next page, and the one after. Somebody had painstakingly written something in every single slot of the entire 200 pages strong magazine.
And every single answer...
was...
WRONG!

Edward could feel his eye twitch and find the book tearing in his grasp – a clear sign that he was about to lose it. Unfortunately, the one big rule to this event was, that revenge had to wait till next year.

Penguin was staring at him weirdly. With a low growl, Edward caught the other man’s gaze: “Something on my face?”

Penguin still stared, though more at the two halves of the booklet than at Edward himself: ”Ah, no, I was just wondering whether you have lately been getting training tips from Bane maybe but… oh well… I guess you don’t want to keep that thing then?”

Without another word Riddler threw the remains of the book on the steadily growing ‘to be burned’-pile and stalked towards the exit, grabbing one of the complementary Molotov cocktails Penguin was providing from a tray near the door.

He’d toss it at the big x-mas tree on the Gotham Plaza later, unless Scarecrow had had the same idea.

The door was about to close behind him when he heard a telltale enraged shriek, and despite all couldn’t help but smile.

Apparently, Ivy had found her brand new vegan cooking book with extra-large photos. Next year he, the Riddler, would pick an even better present to share.

Chapter Text

The yellow eye of the moon, judgmental and cold, dares to stare down at him from a distant sky.

Two-Face frowns as he angrily stares back through the window bars, the moon only rubs salt in his wound. He doesn't need any witnesses to his failure, not in the sanctuary of his quiet, solitary cell where he was supposed to be alone. Just...

There is always the two of him anyway.

"How come you're so calm, Harvey? Doesn't it remind you of something? It looks just like her – just like our coin," Big Bad Harv's voice cracks and it sounds somewhat nostalgic. Harvey can feel his sorrow but it doesn't take long for their mood to swing. "They took her from us!" Two face growls, his words filled with all-consuming rage. "No one steals from us! NO ONE!" His fist hits the stone wall behind their prison bunk and Harvey can't help but hiss at the sudden pain.

"They didn't steal it, you fool!" He snaps at his other half, clutching at their hurt hand with the other. “The doctors took it to punish us. And after what we did, we clearly deserve it.”
The irritated grunt that comes from Big Harv's side suggests he has a different opinion on that matter, or maybe on the Arkham staff altogether. “How are we gonna make our decisions, huh? Did you think of that, Mister Wiseguy?”

They agree only on rare occasions, Two-Face and him, but this time Big Harv was absolutely right and Harvey has to face the facts – without her, he is doomed to fight an endless battle of beliefs with his darker side. Without the coin, there is no telling of what to do next.

Harvey Dent knows right from wrong while Two-Face enjoys going up against the rules. What they do have in common is confidence in how little their personal ideals matter. In this world full of chaos, driven by coincidence, none of them gets the final word. It all comes down to luck – and that is only fair. There is no higher truth, no morality, only blind justice.

“We will find a way to make everything right,” Harvey whispers in the dark, not sure to whom – to himself or to his other half.

“So, you want us to sit here, doing nothing?!” Two-Face snarls at him in response, and Harvey almost shivers at the unsaid accusation. “We have to act if we want back what is ours! Don't you want it, Harvey? Don't you miss her?”

“Of course, I do!” He absentmindedly reaches to his ring finger but there's nothing on it anymore. “I miss Gilda more than we miss our coin. But she's better off without us.”

The moon still stares at them, mocking them both with its round, coin-like shape – so distant, so out of reach.

“I miss her too, you know...” Harv admits.

On a rare occasion like this one, they both can agree.

Chapter Text

It was a very annoyed Pamela Isley sitting on the couch in the recreation room of Arkham Asylum, zapping through the tv channels randomly. The other inmates present were smart enough to give her a wide berth. The plant queen had only been back for a few hours yet and likely her defeat at Batman’s hands was still smarting. She’d hopefully calm down in time.
A murmur went through the room when suddenly the guards opened the door and Jervis Tetch came strutting in. Nobody had known that the Mad Hatter was back. Despite a black eye, the man was smiling in his usual cheerful mood and nearly pranced over to the couch.

“Pamela, my dear,
great news I bear,
the requirements were met,
I won our bet!”

If possible, Poison Ivy looked even grumpier than before. “Not so fast Tetch, seeing that you are in here too, you clearly failed to hypnotize Batman.”

“Well, it is true,
he was on guard,
impossible to slip the Bat a card,
still, I did better than you.”

Jervis plopped down on the couch next to her, uninvited.

“You did? Now, that I want to hear.” Ivy huffed. “How would you possibly top me controlling the entire male staff including the useless CEO of the Davenport tower? Just so we are clear that were 79 men, Devlin Davenport does not believe in hiring female staff aside from secretaries. And stop it with the silly rhyming and talk normally else we’ll still be sitting here tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine,
I won’t rhyme.
Yesterday I went and sold carded baseball caps at the Gotham stadium to the fans. You know how big that stadium is? It fits thousands,” Hatter boasted.

“Yes, I know how big it is, and that the lawn there is all plastic and not real grass. I also know that yesterday was Monday, so how many sports fans are we actually talking about, Hatter, with no games being scheduled on workdays?” Pamela couldn’t help but sneer. She had long ago figured out that Hatter was a lying liar who lied – most of the time to himself.

“Uhh well, I still carded more people than you, at least 85! For sure!” A few small pearls of sweat were rolling down Hatter’s forehead now.

“You are aware that your own henchmen don’t count?” Ivy leaned in very closely.

“Hypnotizing me doesn’t count either!” Tetch squeaked, leaning away from those treacherous green lips. “Besides, how are you going to prove you really controlled those 79 guys? For all I know you just smooched them without any effect! It is not like you sent them on a riot through the city.”

“As if those braindead fools could have resisted me,” Pamela smirked. “And what good would a riot have done me, aside from luring Batman in earlier than necessary. Of course, I had my puppets do something useful with their time, influence and money. Devlin Davenport has done more for mother nature in that one hour under my command than in his entire useless life. Unfortunately, it is unlikely that he will do any more either, until he finally joins the great compost heap.”

“That still leaves you at a disadvantage to prove your claims,” Hatter countered.

“Fine! You know what? I’ll break out of here! Now! And I will go hypnotize enough people to fill that entire stadium of yours with mindless slaves!”

Hatter trembled a little, Ivy’s icy fury was way more scary than Batman taking a swing at him. Slight tremors went through the room as a crack formed in the outer wall as vines started to sprout through. However, he caught himself and struck a not very imposing pose: “Then I’ll card enough people to fill that stadium twice!” He shouted back over the blaring alert sirens, before hurriedly climbing through the breach and to freedom.

This had been the shortest arrest for any inmate in the history of Arkham.

Chapter Text

"OK, now this is weird," Barbara mused as she spotted yet another person committing a very specific act of violence, an act that in any other circumstances would have slipped her attention but not when it was the fifth citizen within the last two hours of her patrol in Narrows acting this way. "Batman would like to hear about this, I guess."

The GCPD radio-frequency had been buzzing with incoming reports of unusual, criminal behavior among the citizens of Gotham the whole evening. Hacking the signal and listening in was the first thing Barbara always did on her Batgirl routine, and by now she had already confirmed that something was going on, something really peculiar.

She opened a communication line by pressing a button hidden in her cowl. “I have visuals on yet another case. This time it's a woman in her mid-fifties. I saw her walking down the street, when the young man passed her by, she grabbed his cap, threw it to the ground, and stomped on it multiple times as if she was trying to annihilate it.”

“Noted,” Batman's reply was as laconic as ever and Babs did her best not to sigh out loud. “Robin, report,” the order echoed through the shared comm-line.“

“I'm near the Gotham Park right now and the situation looks... pretty hilarious, to be honest. There are about twenty different people, all ages. All of them furiously stomping on any flower they can find. The GSPD apprehended a lot of them already but new people keep joining them.”

“Batman,” Nightwing joined in, not waiting for the invitation. “You gotta see this. There are two armies standing on both sides of the Pioneers Bridge, and I mean, literal armies – hundreds of people! They seem ready to tear each other to shreds.”

“Everyone, await my further orders, engage only when necessary,” Batman told them before cutting the line.

“Great,” Barbara rolled her eyes under her cowl. “Can't we ever have a normal crime in here?”

His cape was waving on the wind like a pair of majestic wings as he stepped away from the edge of the roof.

Batman turned around, ready to take action. His city was in danger again and he would have to...

“Gee, that was kinda cold..,” an irritating, high-pitched voice threw in a snark, interrupting Batman's thoughts. “Don't you think your bat-kids need more love than you're showing them?”

“Don't play the psychologist you no longer are. If you're up to talk, you better tell me everything you know about this situation!”

“What situation?” Harley Quinn, wrapped tightly from head to toe in his batrope, was sitting at his feet, struggling with the knot and pouting.

“I don't have the time for this, Quinn! Dozens of innocent people are getting their minds screwed as we talk, random civilians are running around Gotham, vandalizing parks and local haberdasheries.”

"Oh, you meant thaaat situation," Harleen pretended to finally recall something of importance, she was about to flash him a big, toothy smile but her happy-go-lucky attitude immediately vanished as she noticed Batman's look of unspoken threat. “Okay, okay! Easy there, Bat-dad! This havoc on the streets may or may not be caused by Pammy having some unsettled scores with the funny, little Hat-man. I don't have to tell you that both, Red and Hattie, tend to express their negative feelings by making their brain-washed puppets do nasty things. Destroying greenery or demolishing hat stores doesn't sound that drastic.”

“They both have armies of hypnotized civilians, they will force these people to fight to the death!”

“Such control-freaks, am I right!? Must have been something from their childhood,” Harley giggled.

Batman crouched next to her, bringing his masked face really close to her pink, puffy cheeks, causing her to wriggle uncomfortably in her bonds. “Ivy and Tetch are a pair of unstable, misanthropic sociopaths, Harleen, they need to be stopped,” he stated with a low, strict voice as if he was giving an order.

“Said the grown-up man dressed as a bat.” She rolled her eyes. “I guess nobody’s perfect.”

“Wrong,” Batman corrected her, narrowing his eyes. A small smirk was dancing upon his lips, which visibly creeped Harley out. “You are perfect – a perfect candidate for a negotiator.”

“Say what?!”

“You'll go to them both and talk them out of this madness.”

Harleen stared at him, her blue eyes big and round with a disbelieve, then, she started to shake her head frenetically. “A-ah! No! I'm not going to risk my butt for you, Bats.”

“Ivy won't hurt you,” he assured her. “She cares for you, for some reason.”

“What about Hatter?”

“Don't worry, I have a certain idea...”

A Few minutes later, Harley Quinn was storming through a crowd of zombified Gothamites on the Pioneers Bridge, her face red with shame, her fists clenched and shaking with anger, a blue satin dress wrapped around her body, flapping on a wing with each step she took.

The zombies were letting her pass, not trying to stop her as she was making her way to Mad Hatter's spot. Apparently, Hatter has already noticed the dress she was wearing – the goddamn Alice in Wonderland dress that Batman forced her to put on for those stupid negotiations

Harley looked up, knowing all too well that Bat-brain would be watching her from a distance. She stuck out her tongue, making a face. “I'm so gonna make Hatter get you for this, Bats!”

Chapter Text

Police officers hastily jumped out of the way as Commissioner Jim Gordon strode through the corridors of the GCPD with a grim expression on his face. Judging by the dark aura that seemed to follow him, one could have easily come to the erroneous assumption, that a simultaneous mass breakout in Arkham Asylum and Blackgate Prison had occurred. However, he came to a halt in front of a nondescript office door and after a moment of gathering himself knocked for entry.

How much he hated this part!

The man in the armchair who had called him in, didn’t rise and only absentmindedly waved him over to the couch, while he kept studying some papers. It was a new face, he hadn’t met the man before and that was not very surprising. From what Gordon could see, the papers he was fiddling with were a transfer request form, applying for an opening position in Arkham.

Arkham always had open positions for new shrinks – the doctors there seemed to either disappear without a trace, get murdered quit early to write their memoirs or ended up in the padded cells themselves. Yet, new shrinks seemed to get attracted by the crazy costumed villains like flies to a pot of honey. Apparently, handling the mandatory annual psych evaluation for police personnel couldn’t compete.

Jim had still been fresh from the academy when he had been ordered into this office for the first time. The man in the chair back then had been coldly analyzing him through his round glasses as if he was trying to look into the darkest part of his soul – and then, professor Hugo Strange had proceeded to see what he could drag out of it. The result of the talk had been Jim directly rushing into the office of his chief with the confession that it had been him who had accidentally caused the scratch on the driver side door of their battered up patrol car and that he had eaten the last donut from the box in the breakroom that day.

Then, a few years later, it had been professor Jonathan Crane sitting in this same armchair, asking a still young Jim about his greatest fears, scoffing at his answer of ‘Loosing those I love’.

Not so many years ago it had been doctor Harleen Quinzel, telling a bitter James Gordon right after his divorce, that ‘he was a good man, no worries, he could trust her judgment, she’d know a good man when she saw one’.

So James was understandably wry when he sunk down on this couch once more to see what this new shrink had in store for him.

The man finally looked up from his form and with some visible indisposition pulled over Gordon’s file.

“Let's see… Commissioner James Gordon, your last evaluation was… out of turn three months ago because you…?”

“…because I punched the Joker in the face repeatedly during his apprehension,” Gordon helped the shrink out. “Just for the protocol - it was before we managed to put cuffs and a straightjacket on him.”

“I see… says here you are married?”

Great! The shrink hadn’t cared about reading the file beforehand. “I was. We got a divorce. Then Sarah was shot on duty during the final days of the cataclysm – by the Joker.”

“Oh, that must have been hard. And you have a kid too.” The shrink browsed through the file a bit faster. “So, how about Barbara, your daughter? How is she coping with the loss?”

“She has become somewhat reclusive lately, though she has already been like that before Sarah’s death. I think she is trying to show that she is still independent even when sitting in a wheelchair.”

“Wait, what wheelchair?” The shrink prompted – apparently he had missed that part in the file.

“She got gunned down by the Joker a few years ago,” James stated flatly.

“I think I start to see a pattern here,” the shrink finally offered and started to scribble a few words into his notes. “I might even have an idea as of how to help you.”

“Now, that I got to hear,” James countered, not even trying to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

A few days later found commissioner Gordon at a therapy meeting – again mandatory, thanks to the shrink’s insistence.

“Please introduce yourself to the other attendants.” The group therapist smiled friendly at him.

“Hello, my name is James Gordon and I am here because my doctor thinks that all my problems stem from my fears of being unable to care for my disabled daughter without the help of my late wife.”

The therapist smiled brighter. “Hello James, welcome to the single parent dads of Gotham help group. Please take a seat.”

Chapter Text

To say, it was a dark and stormy night, would simply be an understatement.

Honestly, the weather was so bad that Riddler wouldn't kick a dog out – if he had one, that is. He had, however, no problems calling the pizza service. Perhaps his hunger that could shame a grizzly bear was caused by the amount of intellectual work he was doing due to the ongoing development of his newest maze of deathtraps, or perhaps, it was because the only thing he had eaten lately was an instant soup the robot had brought him about eight hours ago.

These were the drawbacks of being an absolute genius – when working, you got so consumed by strokes of inspiration that you forgot mundane things like doing the groceries, cleaning your bedroom, or taking a shower. But then again, what were the robots for, if not for taking care of less important things.

So, a deluxe pizza with cheese filling in the rim and five extra toppings it was – the preview on the screen would have made lesser men drool. One call with a voice-synth, half an hour and many rumbles in his stomach later, it was finally the time to pick up the delicious delivery.

And that was when the problems began...

Of course, Riddler had not been so stupid as to give the pizza service his exact hideout address – no, the Pizza was to be delivered to the empty warehouse two blocks away. Just to get there, Riddler would have to go outside into that dark, freezing dead of Gotham night, with a downpour that had just turned into a hailstorm. And if he had to go outside anyway, then he could have simply done the groceries himself and wouldn't have needed to bother with calling for an expensive pizza in the first place.

Leaving the hideout was a big 'NO'. It wouldn't do to catch a cold...again. He didn't have the time to waste on getting sick, what he had, tho', was a bunch of riddlerbots rusting around in the lonely corners of his hideout.

It needed an unparalleled genius to reprogram a battle robot to do such a thing as to go accept a pizza delivery and pay the delivery guy all in the narrow timeframe said pizza was on the way. Luckily, Edward Nygma knew exactly one such blessed genius.

Even though his nose, cheeks, and forehead were sporting more freckles than Gotham’s streets had criminals – Toby McMillen hoped to become a TV show host one day. He'd have to finish school first, of course, and probably break free from this dumpster of a city. But to achieve that Toby needed money, and money in Gotham came either from crime or... from working your ass off overtime.

It was a quarter to midnight, a thunderstorm raging, and Toby McMillen alone in the middle of nowhere with a pizza in his hand, waiting for the customer. The boy wasn't stupid – a place like this – an empty parking lot in front of an old, abandoned warehouse – it simply screamed trouble, and said trouble did appear in a form of a not-too-tall, limping, trench coat wearing figure that emerged from the night and made its way to his pizza-delivery car with unnaturally stiff movements.

“Here you are,” Toby was about to hand the stranger his order, take the tip and be on his way when... “Wait a minute... Are you...” He almost choked on the gum he was chewing. “Are you a robot?”

“What? How did you...” The stranger stuttered with the most robotic voice ever. “I mean, of course, I am not a robot, you over-imaginative fool! I'm but a common Gotham citizen who just wants his pizza, haha!”

Toby took a better look – there was something green glimmering behind the sunglasses of this bizarre 'customer' – why would anyone wear a sunglasses at night anyway?

“Now, can I get my pizza?” The guy with the sunglasses asked and stretched out his hand with a slight hiss of hydraulics. Toby was now more than sure that the 'guy' didn't move his lips while speaking, heck – he didn't even HAVE lips! The green scarf covering his face couldn't fool anyone.

“Look,” the robot continued, seeing Toby's hesitation. “Why would a robot order pizza?”

“Well, I don't know. You tell me.”

“I'm NOT a robot,” the robo-guy insisted, his voice-synth going to a slightly higher register as he was getting angry.

“You do realize that you sound tinny, right?”

“I.. Ughh, I got a raspy voice, that's all!”

“I can see metal parts, right here,” Toby pointed at the outstretched arm that stayed still for a good few seconds in a very inhuman manner.

“It's a prosthesis, okay?” The robo-guy was almost shouting at him at this point. “Didn't your mother teach you some respect towards the disabled, you little, freckled ignorant?”

The robotic arm reached for the pizza but Toby was faster, he jumped into his car and quickly locked the door. “Ohh, I got it! It's some sort of a supervillain scam, isn't it? You want to take me as a hostage? Do you think I'm that stupid?”

“In a matter of fact...”

“I'm from Gotham, bitch!”

With that, Toby pulled out his trusty Saber – a stun gun that had come in handy so many times before. The robotic fingers clutching at his half-opened car window were a perfect target. 30k Volt jumped across the stun gun's contacts and right through the metal fingers caught in between.

It was almost hilarious to see the robot trembling with the electric shock caused by the rain and voltage.

“That will teach you!” Toby roared as he stepped on the pedal and sped away from the dismal place.

“This is discrimination of native Ferro-Americans!” He could hear the robo-voice glitching after him but he really didn't plan to stop the car to discuss this customer complaint.

”McMillen!!!”

Mr. Russo, who was never too kind to begin with, awaited him by the backdoor of the Pizza Shack – face red, eyes glowing with fury as eerily as those of the evil robot. In his long, almost eighteen years old life, Toby had gotten fired a few times already and the sound of his boss' furious voice suggested this would be exactly that kind of situation happening again.

“What have you done this time, boy?!”

“It was self-defense, boss, I swear! I got attacked by a human-sized robot!”

“Have you been drinking?” Mr. Russo huffed like an angry bull, his bloodshot eyes staring at Toby with a mixture of disbelief and irritation. “I don't care about some goddamn' robots! We have a real problem here! A few minutes ago we got spammed with hateful comments about our poor customer service, and guess which order was mentioned? The one that YOU were supposed to deliver!”

“But boss,” Toby still tried his luck with explaining himself and the circumstances. “The guy was made of metal! No way he could eat our pizza!”

“He could have been Optimus Prime himself for what I care! If they order and pay – we deliver!” A few droplets of spit landed on Toby's freckled face as Mr. Russo kept shouting at him from an uncomfortably short distance. “You had one job, McMillen, just one! And now, thanks to your incompetence, we've got flooded with hate and our homepage is down! We're losing customers! We're losing money! And I am losing my patience with you!”

The man went on and on, and there was something terrifying about the desperate, yet aggressive tone of his monologuing – such theatrics would make even the most fierce Gotham villains proud. Toby wished more problems could be solved with just a bit of courage and a stun gun.

Angry and hungry, yet kind of satisfied Riddler made himself comfortable in his green, gaming chair.

“Now, that will teach them,” he purred to himself and a smug smirk graced his face as he clicked 'enter' and finished his hacking on this miserable joke of a website that was Pizza Shack.

The storm was still raging outside and his riddlerbot returned to the base with slightly fried circuits and a few malfunctions, yet operational. Edward opened a new tab and quickly scrolled down the screen. Maybe this time he should try ordering chinese?

Chapter Text

“Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Silver white winters that melt into springs
These are a few of my favorite things”

The lyrics emerged from the utter chaos of his thoughts and visions, bringing him back to a more logical state of mind – a state in which he could slowly start to connect facts and recognize the words and other stimuli.

His body felt relaxed, something soft and warm was covering him and he could only assume he was laying on his side comfortably, wrapped in a blanket. And someone was singing to him, with a voice so very-very calm and soothing that the song sounded like a lullaby.

“When the dog bites
When the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad”

But how could that be? Wasn't Batman pestering him, wanting to hurt him, to humiliate him? Wasn’t he on the run with Mad Hatter and Scarecrow? Weren't there blood-sucking, terrifying bats everywhere? And then the dark, cold water? And...

Riddler's eyes snapped open as he felt a hand touching his head, stroking his hair in a suspiciously loving way. The first thing he saw, was a burn barrel – exactly like those made by homeless bums in the winter. All around it, there were ropes with wet clothes hanging on them to dry. He recognized his green shirt and his green pants among them.

“Oh no no no no,” his still dizzy brain panicked. “That is wrong, so wrong! What did those idiots get you into this time, Edward?”

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…”

The male voice kept singing right above his head, and Edward could swear he had heard that voice before. His heart skipped as the unidentified hand went through his hair again. He sprung up like a spring knife, ready to defend himself and his dignity, or whatever was left of it in these unclear circumstances.

The bulky man who had been holding him in his arms didn't even react when Edward pushed his massive hands off of himself and pulled himself up, landing on the floor in the process.

“What the hell!” He shrieked, looking around and noticing there were three more men sitting around the fire, staring at him, as if it was him who acted crazy. “Where am I? And what is the meaning of this?” He demanded, realizing that the soft things covering his body and hiding his shameful state of undress, were no blankets – but a pile of old, stinky lab coats. And another fact he just noticed – the man holding him was one of the minor goons he had hired not long ago – Mick.

“Answer me, you fool,” Riddler addressed him, feeling more and more frustrated and, what was worse, ignored,“...or else I will have you for the main attraction in my newest riddle-maze, hanging from the ceiling over a giant grinder!”

Mick didn't do as much as look at him. The man just sat there, singing his song calmly, his right hand moving through the air as if he was still stroking someone's hair with a phlegmatic motion.

“No point to waste your breath
He is as good as deaf
This watch I waved
And he's my slave
He'll follow me 'till his death.”

“Tetch!” Riddler wheezed in pure fury, collecting himself from the floor and holding onto one of the lab coats that covered his body as if it was a lifeline. “You sick, little psycho! You made him undress me?”

Jervis twirled in a graceful pirouette which ended with him bowing hat-off to Edward.

“You're welcome.”

“You little...”

“It's not like that, boss,” one of the other men dared to speak up and Riddler quickly identified that one as Ernie 'Curve' Curter – yet another of his mindless employees, dragged out from Bowary's slums. “No funny business, boss, I swear! The little guy meant to help, you were out cold, freezing to death.”

“How many times did I tell you how to address me properly, you goldfish brain!” Edward snapped and waved his left hand. Only now, he was starting to realize how painful every little movement became and how bruised his whole body was. His poor, precious head was pounding with a dull, stubborn pain that felt as if he had been kicked by a wild camel. Could this night get any worse?

“I-I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't mean to offend you,” Curter stuttered but Edward didn't have time and patience for that, he strode to retrieve his clothes from the makeshift clothesline – they were still wet to the touch but everything was better than walking around with his legs exposed for those morons to stare.

“Jervis,” He demanded as soon as he was back in his comfort zone, dressed in his usual outfit, “Be so kind and un-hypnotize Mick here. And you,” he pointed at Curve, “take the crate with my trophies. We are heading back to my lair before the Bat finds us.”

Hatter, so far busy dancing to Mick's undisturbed, soft tune, stopped for a moment and looked up at Riddler with a strange expression on his ratty face. “You're leaving so soon? My tea party has only started and it's not even noon.”

Edward crossed his arms and snorted with sarcasm. “Oh, please! You think I don't know that it is ALWAYS a tea time in your little head? You want to stay in this cold dumpster? Fine. But don't come to me crying when Batman gets you! And where is Crane, anyway?”

Jervis did another pirouette and pointed at something near the fire. Riddler's eyes followed that direction, it took him a moment to recognize the human shape buried under a big pile of documents and old newspapers.

“Is he...?”

“Alive.” The third goon offered, Riddler didn't even care to recall his name or nickname. “Last time we checked, he was. Sir,” the man hastily added, showing that he at last had a quarter of a brain. “He was like that when we found him. We didn't dare to touch him because... You know, it's the Scarecrow.”

“Dear Lord,” Edward sighed, rolling his eyes theatrically. “He's unconscious! What is he going to do? Snore you to death?”

Seeing that none of his cowardly thugs was willing to check on Crane, Riddler approached the pile and stared down at the man buried under the papers, curled in a fetal position like an ugly baby.

“Rise and shine!” The tip of Edward's dirty boot poked at the pile, causing it to rustle.

Crane didn't move.

Edward tried again but before his boot could touch the body, a bony hand, armed with a row of needles, shot out from under the pile and caught Riddler's ankle.

Edward yelped and two of his goons jumped up and hurried to help him, Ernie still holding the box of Riddler's trophies.

The hand on Riddler's ankle didn't let go, on the contrary, the grip grew stronger and the other hand joined in as Scarecrow attempted to lift himself up, using Edward's leg as a hoist.

“Get your hands off of me, Crane,” Edward tried to shake him off but to no avail.

“Is Dormouse awake?” Jervis called from a distance, standing on tiptoes and trying to figure out what was happening.

Scarecrow, with some effort, got himself to a sitting position and gazed up at Riddler. “Scared, Edward?” His raspy voice sounded like a nail over rusty metal.

“You wish,” Riddler retorted, finally freeing his leg. “Mind your needles, would you?”

Crane said nothing, his milky eyes stared back at him for a long, long moment – so long that Hatter actually managed to join them and Riddler started to feel a little bit uncomfortable. “What?” He inquired when he couldn't stand that stare anymore.

“Oh, it's nothing,” Scarecrow acted like he didn't know what he was doing. “I simply admire Batman's handywork on your face. The Bat is a true artist when it comes to violence...”

Jervis tilted his head, crouching next to Crane and staring at Edward with the same interest as the other rogue. “But it was not the Bat, it was... Ouch, my hat!!!” The little man cried out as Scarecrow's fist punched him from behind, right into his head.

“What? What's wrong with my face?”

No one was eager to offer the answer, not Jervis, not Scarecrow, and definitely none of his wimpy henchmen.

With shaky hands, Riddler reached to his face, his right cheek seemed swollen and it hurt when he touched it. Spit lip – checked. Black-eye – most likely checked as well. But these were standard outcomes after fighting the Dark Knight.

His fingers climbed up to examine his forehead, with extreme caution Edward touched his head and... There it was... A giant, painful bump, right in the middle of his forehead.

“Don't worry,” Jervis smiled at him sweetly. “In time, the rest of you might turn into a unicorn too.”

Working for Gotham’s most wanted criminals like Joker, Two-Face, or currently for Riddler taught Curter some very valuable lessons – like for example, one moment you shit your pants out of fear of getting zombiefied by a 4ft-freak in a top hat, and next moment you tried not to burst out laughing at your boss wailing over a ridiculously enormous bump on his head.

“He could have damaged my brain!” Nigma cried, clutching at his messy hair while pacing. “My brilliant brain! That ignorant brute! How dare he treat me like a common punching bag!”

Ernie was not as stupid as he looked, he knew he wouldn't make it out of this alive if he laughed or mocked the Riddler in any way. His job was to carry the trophies and that was what he intended to do. Mad Hatter, however, was just crazy enough to have no respect for the Riddle-man, he giggled childishly with every new outburst of Nigma's tantrum. This situation would probably escalate if not for...

A sudden gust of wind disturbed the steady flame of their burning barrel, causing all the shadows to dance against the walls. There was a sound similar to a bird flapping its wings, and then a dark shadow slid above their heads.

Before he knew it, Ernie felt a pair of claws gripping onto his shoulders.

“Aaah!!!”

Scarecrow watched with a mixture of jealousy and awe, how a huge, winged creature, dark like the night itself, swooped in from above, catching the crate-holding goon and letting out a blood-curling screech that nearly broke their eardrums.

The poor henchman didn't get to react – none of them really did, it happened faster than a normal human could ever dream of moving. The hairy beast flapped its leather wings twice and it was gone, in the blink of an eye, carrying the unfortunate thug and the crate of shiny trophies into the darkens above.

Terrified screams filled the air until the old factory went quiet again.

“What...was that?” Edward finally whispered after a long, tense moment of silence. His voice was trembling slightly and Scarecrow could smell the fear.

“One of your trophy collecting fans?”

Riddler opened his mouth, ready to come up with some smart-ass retort when the dreadful screech of the flying beast echoed through the empty spaces of Cortex Chemicals again.

“Incoming!!!” Edward shouted and simply started running. His one remaining goon followed right after him, no questions asked.

“Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Let's get out of here!” Hatter pressed his precious hat further onto his head and chased after the other two, leaving Scarecrow behind.

Jonathan's pride kept him from running cowardly like the other three did – or at least that was what he told himself – because the truth was, it was mostly his bad leg that didn't allow him to do so.

“Are you coming?!” Jervis called out to him, probably noticing that Jon couldn't keep up.

He already could hear the very worrying sound of leather wings, the monster was getting near, Jonathan cursed his luck. That was definitely not Batman but Scarecrow didn't intend to find out for himself what exactly this thing was.

Hatter slowed down and turned around to look back at him, the terrified shriek told Scarecrow more than he needed to know.

“Look out!!!” Jervis shouted and Jon instinctively covered his head with his arms. Tetch, what was really surprising, sprinted his way instead of running in the opposite direction.

For a short moment, Crane felt really touched, seeing this pathetic rescue attempt. He was even ready to forgive Jervis for using him as a muscle, well, almost... He partially changed his mind when he noticed what Hatter was planning to use against the beast. Yes, Tetch fished something out from under his oversized coat, something bright and fluorescent – a pink Riddler trophy...

“Fetch!” Hatter shouted and threw the thing at the bat-like monster, most likely confusing the flying rodent with an overgrown, winged chihuahua.

The fact that it actually worked and managed to distract the giant bat for a good few seconds was beyond Scarecrow.

Jervis, thinking surprisingly straight, used that precious moment to give a new command to the hypnotized goon, who was still sitting on the floor, oblivious and forgotten.

“The beast is attacking
No time for slacking
Take us out of here, now!”

As soon as the last line of the rhyme had left Mad Hatter's mouth, the bulky man sprung up from the floor, his massive, muscular arm grabbed Jervis and placed him on his right shoulder like a tiny parrot. Jervis yelped and gripped onto the henchman's collar, holding on for dear life. Scarecrow was next, the strong arm reached for him, wrapping itself around his waist and pulling him from the floor as if he was – oh, irony – a brown paper package tied up with a string...

“I hate you, Tetch...” Johnatan managed to mumble, boiling inside from humiliation, but Hatter only giggled enjoying the bumpy ride.

The hypnotized goon caught up with the fleeing Riddler and his other henchman at the heavy-looking exit door which once had surely been used as an emergency exit for the factory workers. The door was, unfortunately for them and their hasty escape attempt, blocked by a huge pile of rubble.

Scarecrow looked up, the flying beast was nowhere to be seen in the darkness but the telltale sound of wings could still be heard, coming from above.

“There!” Hatter commanded, pointing his short finger at the broken window about three or four meters above their heads. “Giddyap, my trusty steed!”

Scarecrow could only muse at how swiftly their human-ride jumped onto a fallen supporting beam, climbed it up, balancing on the edge while still holding him with his right arm and with Hatter on his back. From the metal beam, the man jumped onto a windowsill and pulled himself up with his free hand. Now, it was only one leap that stood between them and their freedom.

“Wait for us, you morons!” They could hear Riddler's desperate shouts as the man tried to follow.

“Jump!” Jervis ordered and the mindless goon obviously obeyed.

Scarecrow held his breath, mentally preparing for the impact and pain.

“Oof!”

He landed on the ground as the henchman loosen his grip. It wasn't as bad as he had anticipated, and – what was the most important – it looked that they were safe now.

He tried to get up, clumsily scrambling from the dirt on his arms and knees when... “Oof!!!” The air was forced out of him again as Riddler's heavy boots landed on his back, almost crushing his tailbone.

“One, two, three,” Hatter counted them as the three of them laid in a pathetic pile on the freshly rain-soaked ground in front of Cortex Chemicals. “Hooray! We are free!”

“Hands over your head!” A loud, tired-sounding voice, that without a doubt was coming from some sort of amplifier, commanded. Then a beam of bright, eye-piercing light was shot toward them, blinding Scarecrow and the rest for a moment. “GCPD!” Captain Harvey Bullock said. “Stay where you are, freaks! You're under arrest!”

Ernie 'Curve' Curter opened his eyes and immediately regretted that action. He was laying on his stomach on a thin, metal beam placed about thirty feet above the ground. Above his head, there was this giant, hairy bat-creature hanging upside-down, sleeping.

For the first time in his goon career, Ernie felt like crying. “I don't wanna die...” He sniffled.

“Ssh!” Someone hushed him. Ernie looked around. How had he not noticed her before?

On the very same beam, only a few steps from him and the scary monster, crouched Catwoman – she put her finger to her lips, advising him to keep quiet.

Curter's heart skipped as a new spark of hope lit his soul, giving him the courage to remain still.

Catwoman rose to her feet, balancing on the beam, steady and graceful like a true acrobat. She leaped onto another beam on Ernie's right and then back again, landing behind his back.

Curious of how she was planning to get rid of the beast, Curter tried to look back over his shoulder but at the same time he didn't want to move too much – a fall from this height would be lethal.

From the corner of his eye, he could see his Cat-savior crouching down again, searching for something inside a small, wooden crate – the very same one that his boss had asked him to carry before the monster had attacked.

A moment later, Catwoman stood up, the one pink Riddler-trophy in her hand. Ernie did not understand how that thing was supposed to help them until a funny thought crossed his mind.

She was not here to help, was she?

His heart sank as he watched her stashing the trophy behind her belt and turning around to wave him goodbye. He saw her leaping down to a beam below, leaving him at the monster's doubtful mercy.

“Come back here, you bitch!” Curter hissed and once again immediately regretted it.

The bat's giant ears moved, focusing on him, already alerted by the nearby source of sound.

Slowly but surely, the big, hairy head turned to Ernie. The man gulped.

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,” he started to sing the only lullaby he could think of. “Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens.” Oh, how he hoped for it to work.

Chapter Text

Out of the few books available at the Arkham rec room’s otherwise empty bookshelf Professor Crane had chosen to read “Pride and Prejudice” today. He had read it about ten times already but the small book collection was not getting any bigger and it was still better than reading the Bible.

“Alice’s adventures in Wonderland” had been banned from Arkham’s library quite some time ago for triggering a certain inmate, and “Christmas Carol” had lately been decorated with obscene doodles by the Joker which Jonathan did not wish to see ever again. The nursery rhymes book was always an option but currently, Harley had her fun with that, giggling each time she read a funny one.

Crane was sitting on the couch with his nose in the book, not bothering anyone with his presence. Next to him, Tetch was staring at the TV. The poor man looked so bored, mindlessly channel surfing, probably too high on medication to be able to entertain himself with any Wonderland plots.

With Joker not around, the rec room seemed calm, almost as calm as the sky before a heavy storm. And said storm came unexpectedly in the form of Jervis Tetch.

The bored man on the couch had switched to the Gotham’s evening news channel, listening in to the street interview with one of the new candidates for the city council, and then, out of nowhere, he threw a massive tantrum – his outburst included flipping the coffee-table and accidentally hitting Harley’s head with it.

That, of course, resulted in Doctor Quinzel’s aggressive response. Not much remained left from the unfortunate table after Harley had finished with it.

Professor Crane watched in delight how Mad Hatter fought against a guard twice as big as himself, while Harley attempted to smash both of their heads with a table leg before two other guards managed to tranquilize her.

After a few more minutes, the rec room was calm again and Jonathan got back to his book. But as much as he tried to ignore the incident and focus on the plot, a little voice in his head, the voice of the psychologist who he’d never truly ceased to be, kept whispering a very important question. “What exactly has just happened here?” The voice asked, teasing Jon’s professional curiosity.
He cast another glance at the tv. The candidate from the evening news smiled at the camera, still explaining how much he was helping the community.

Professor Crane had his suspicions. And who would have guessed? Mad Hatter broke out of Arkham no longer than three days after that event.

David Colton was in his mid-thirties and he was a man in his prime, looking exceptionally professional today in his expensive dark-blue suit, white shirt, and striped blue tie.

“Smoother than Bruce Wayne,” he thought with a pleasant smile, checking himself in the mirror.

Oh, yeah, he still got it! Still looking as youthful and handsome as the prom king he had been back in his high-school days.

“Almost ready Mr. Colton,” the make-up lady told him, and put some more powder onto his already fluid-heavy forehead. “No glossy faces on TV, that’s my rule. Those spotlights know no mercy,” she joked.

David chuckled. “The only thing that is allowed to shine tonight, is my charisma.”

They would have laughed some more, if not for a sudden knocking on the door to his private dressing room.

“Come in,” David called and took a deep, calming breath mentally preparing himself for showtime.

He was ready to present his best self to Gotham again, and at this rate of him constantly being invited to interviews, the seat in the council was practically his already.

His father was right, the ability to make a good impression and a thing for charity was everything that mattered in this town after all.

The door opened and a short man in a trench coat walked in, not a staff member judging simply by the lack of an ID. Yet, the man seemed familiar – Colton just couldn’t quite place him.

“Can I help you, pal?” He asked the newcomer, hiding his irritation behind a polite smile.

The man smiled brightly and took a few steps into the room. “Oh, yes, yes. I think you can,” he spoke with a quiet yet excited voice.

Colton caught his fake British accent right away – and again, it felt like he had heard it before.

“However, I wouldn’t call you my pal.” The man continued grinning. “Would I? Won’t I? Would I? Won’t I?”.

“Listen, pal,” Colton cut him off, not bothering anymore to be that polite. “My interview is starting in a few minutes. Can we get back to this conversation later?”

“I’m afraid that later will be too late,” the strange man shook his head and took out a silver pocket-watch. “It will take only a moment…”

David sighed, the intruder was really hard to get rid of – he hated those nosy people who worked for the press.

“Very well then.” He stood up from his seat and turned to his guest to shake his hand and introduce himself properly. “David Colton,” he offered his hand to the shorter man.

The man didn’t take it, which led to a very awkward moment.

“Oh, but we know each other,” he explained, staring at David with an intense glare.

Colton, confused as he was, took a closer look at the stranger – his blonde, messy hair, big nose, and even bigger front teeth. Suddenly it clicked. “Gotham High! Jervis, was it? Jervis the Jerkface,” he laughed at the old memories of those past, glorious days of his youth. “How have you been, Jerv?”.

“Surely not as good as you.” There was a hint of fake sadness in Jervis’ voice as he put on the black, old-school top hat that he had held in his hand behind his back the entire time.

That single move made Colton recall some very disturbing stories straight from Gotham’s underworld. He cast a worried look at the make-up lady – she looked terrified and about to scream.

Slowly, he gazed back at the small man before him – the man who used to be just a nerdy kid from his high school, a weird boy that everybody had laughed at – Jervis the Jerkface, Beaver-man, Ratter.

“They don’t call me names that often anymore,” Jervis said calmly, as if he had just read his mind, a nasty grin creeping back on his face. He held a card in his gloved hand. “They simply call me the Mad Hatter.”

Like every other Saturday, the rec room was hosting the four lucky high-profile inmates who had earned their right to be in here, thanks to their good behavior. This time it was Doctor Isley, surprisingly enough, Nygma and, even more surprisingly, Croc who accompanied Professor Crane during his well-deserved book-time.

Everyone was minding their own business, Ivy was occupied taking care of a small flowerpot of violets, Edward played chess with himself and Croc, well, Croc was currently using his claw as a toothpick to get rid of the remains of his dinner.

Jonathan relaxed on the couch that he had the luxury of having only for himself for once. He had tried to bury himself in a book but couldn’t concentrate on reading – something was on his mind ever since Mad Hatter had disappeared half a week ago. It was this tiny, little voice again, telling him to put the book aside and turn on the TV instead.

Slightly irritated by his own decision, he did as his intuition had told him to. The evening news was about to end and an interview with some philanthropist politician was about to start right after commercials.

When the show began, the fat, jovial host greeted his enthusiastic audience, gaining some applause in return, then he introduced the main guest of the evening, David Colton – Jonathan recognized the guy – it was the same politician who had been talking about the importance of charity just a week ago on the news.

Colton looked a bit stiff, smiling unnaturally wide. As the applause died out and the first question was asked, he didn’t move for a good few seconds, as if he didn’t even hear it. Jonathan couldn’t shake off the impression that the man was either on some medications or very, very stressed.

“David?” The host tried again as the uncomfortable silence dragged for too long. “Will you tell us about your foundation? We are all dying to know more.”

“No, Sam,” said Colton with a strangled voice, his face still kind of strange – more like a mask with a very fake smile and a dead look in his eyes. “First, I want to talk about my teenage years.”

“OK, let’s hear your story,” the host agreed, happily, probably determined to get anything at all from his non-cooperative guest. “I’ve heard you were an overachiever. A football player, a class president and even a prom king. Isn’t that right, David?”

“No. I was a selfish bastard who tormented less popular kids. I called them unfair names, put them in a locker, and made other boys beat them up just for a sake of it.”

The audience gasped at this confession. The host’s jaw dropped for a good five seconds.

Jonathan smiled to himself, satisfied that his intuition had not failed him.

“I was a popular kid so I never took the blame for my misbehavior,” Colton continued with a very calm and steady voice, his face showing no emotion. When the camera took a closeup on him, Jonathan noticed a tiny little detail – a 10/6 card sticking out of his boutonnière.

“I never cared for others' wellbeing either, this charity-thing is just for show. I only care for the fame and attention. In fact, you may say I’m not even a human being. I’m an ugly, stinking, lying chimpanzee.”

As soon as Colton finished his last line, an inhuman howl escaped his mouth. The audience screamed in terror. Colton suddenly jumped onto a couch he previously sat on, and he started to act like a real monkey.

Sam – the host – went utterly speechless, he jumped up from his own seat and just stood there, stunned.

Colton, screeching and howling like a mad chimpanzee, grabbed a glass of water from the tabletop and threw it at the host.

“Help, somebody help!” the poor host started screaming.

Meanwhile, Colton was jumping up and down on a couch, making “Ooh, aah!” sounds.

Before the security managed to catch him, Colton already had taken off his pants and his white, hairy ass was revealed for all of Gotham to see.

After that, the show was hurriedly cut off and the weather forecast started.

Professor Crane didn’t even notice that all the other rogues had joined him on the couch, and were now staring at the TV like a bunch of little kids watching their favorite cartoon.

“Well, that was definitely one way to destroy someone’s political career,” Nygma commented with a hint of amusement.

“A few more minutes and he would have started throwing his own poo,” Ivy added with a disgusted frown.

“Poo,” Crock giggled like a five-year-old and everyone else had to roll their eyes. “I like monkeys, monkeys are so stupid.”

“Well, actually, chimpanzees are…”

“Oh, shut up, Nygma!” Both Ivy and Crane growled as one and Edward went quiet.

“Anyway, Tetch should be back with us any minute now,” Pamela concluded with all certainty. “I hope his little revenge was worth a punch in the teeth from the Bat and getting dragged back to Arkham.”

Professor Crane didn’t say a word but he knew from an experience that yes, it was totally worth it.

Chapter Text

They had a deal, an unspoken rule that all rogues used to follow no matter personal grudges they liked to keep against each other. Christmas was for Joker, Easter for Hatter, and Halloween was for Scarecrow to pull of their worst, most dreadful plots at!

It has always been that way, and everyone in Arkham silently agreed to this state of things. Well, everyone except Calendar Man but who cares about this looser anyway.

Lesser rogues had other holidays to play with, Firefly had Independence day due to his liking of fireworks related crimes, and Riddler, well, everyone associated him with the April’s Fool, to his own misery.

St. Valentine’s Day often belonged to Poison Ivy, while Penguin celebrated Hanukkah by occasionally lighting up his competitor’s properties like candles.

Thanksgiving has always been a bit of a problem since multiple rogues claimed their rights to this particular holiday, including Joker, who thought himself Batman’s number-one opponent, however, life usually solved this conflict for them, whoever managed not to get caught and brought to Arkham by Batman beforehand took the Thanksgiving. That way some needed to share it but well, what is Thanksgiving if not sharing.

For Scarecrow, the most important time of the year was of course Halloween. It was his time to shine, and Gotham was his playground – a stage for his terrifying theatrics that he unleashed each year upon the city.

This year, however, something nonredeemable had happened!

Joker had dared to steal Halloween from him!

The nerve, the sheer audacity of this act shook Scarecrow to the core! Not only the Clown had violated the rule of the holiday-themed crimes! He had also destroyed Halloween by releasing a laughing gas on people. Laughter at Halloween? Who on Earth had heard of such an obnoxious idea! There should have been screams of terror and despair! There should have been a hosannas of anguish sang by good people of Gotham to Scarecrow’s heart content. But no, Joker had to take that away from Scarecrow! And now it was time for Scarecrow’s sweet revenge.

The familiar sound of a dozen small, tin bells filled the streets of Gotham tonight as a giant wooden sleigh crossed the empty road in a mad dash down the Lincoln’s alley. Eight pitch-black horses, looking like a demon incarnates, pulled a dark painted Santa’s sleight decorated with animal bones and skulls, including a big goat skull with curved horns on a front.

Inside this hellish vehicle, dressed in Santa’s coat but with his own, signature burlap mask, sat Scarecrow, his one hand holding a jack’o’lantern with a Santa’s hat on top, and his other leather horse reins. He laughed maniacally as a green cloud of gas oozing from his pumpkin lantern kept spreading through Gotham’s streets, infecting unfortunate pedestrians with fear toxin.

On a backseat of Scarecrow’s sleigh, two figures, dress like Elves kept throwing fear-grenades, wrapped in a colorful, wrapping paper, breaking windows and spreading even more fear toxin.

“Ho ho ho, motherfackers!” Shouted Harley, viciously tossing one grenade at the police station they were passing by. “I bet you were naughty this year!”

Hatter, playing the second Elf, was giggling madly, randomly throwing his fear-gifts onto a sidewalk, and having a time of his life while at it.

Scarecrow was grinning triumphantly from under his burlap, a big sack of stolen electronic resting safely under his seat. But it wasn’t about the loot, no, it was about making a statement.

“Scary Christmas, you fools!” He laughed as his chariot of hell caused a real chaos among the drivers on a crossroads they were passing. A sound of screams, and broken glass followed.

Gotham city was singing a carols of fear just for him this year. It was a little miracle indeed, and it almost made Scarecrow appreciate Christmas a little bit more.

Chapter Text

“Doctor Murphy! You need to come at once, it is an emergency! Batman brought in the Joker.” The guard who had rudely interrupted the group therapy session hastily explained.

Doctor Murphy cast an exasperated look at the four inmates who sat around the table. So far the therapy session had been a complete failure despite him trying to break the ice with hot cocoa. Even merry Santa hats he had given them had not helped to improve the mood. Perhaps his idea to have a session on Christmas Eve wasn’t that brilliant?

“Can’t be helped then.” He nodded towards the guards. “I leave things to you for now, as long as they behave, encourage any positive behavior. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

As soon as the door closed behind the shrink, one of the inmates scooted closer to the other.

“I got you something, Professor,” Harleen chirped sweetly. An innocent smile dancing on her face, it probably meant some troubles. “Here you go.” She took out an orange uniform and handed it to Crane.

Jonathan eyed the object suspiciously. “It’s an Arkham jumpsuit…”

“No, Professor,” the girl protested, unfolding the fabric and presenting the gift for him to see the details. “It’s a Christmas sweater. See?”

The orange clothing had indeed a little drawings of snowflakes, Christmas trees, and pumpkins doodled on it with a waterproof marker.

“I made it myself!” Harley proudly waved the uniform in front of Scarecrow’s expressionless face. “It is my Christmas gift for you. I hope you will wear it.”

An amused snort came from the direction of the third person at the table. Mary Dahl was fighting to hold back her giggles.

Edward Nygma, the fourth patient in their session, knew no such shame and didn’t even try to hold his laughter. “Haha, a sweater, so fitting for your age group, Crane, too bad I couldn’t smuggle in a walking stick but hey, maybe I can find a pair of support stocking for you, gramps.”

Crane pursed his lips but before he could say anything Harleen was already on it for him.

“Hey, come on now, guys! Don’t be jelly. I will make one for you the next year.”

“Harleen is right,” Crane nodded toward her politely, thanking for the gift and stuffing it under his regular jumpsuit. “Not getting anything from anyone on Christmas and being neglected and forgotten by the outside world is not the reason to be mean to your fellow inmates.”

“Excuse me?” Nygma’s face turned pink-ish, the color almost matching Baby Doll’s ribbons. “I got a tone of letters and postcards from my fans from all over Gotham!”

“Do you mean the letters you were writing for the whole month in your cell, Eddie? I didn’t know you were writing to yourself,” Harley gave him a ‘poor thing’ kind of look and Edward’s pink cheeks got crimson red.

"You get along so well, you are such awesome friends," Mary suddenly commented out of the blue. She was absentmindedly staring in the mug with hot chocolate in front of her.

"We are what?" Edward exclaimed almost scandalized, and Jonathan, as hard as it was to admit, agreed with him for once.

“In fact, you act like a real family,” she continued, her voice seemingly indifferent but there was a hint of sadness to it if one was listening carefully. “You fight, you laugh, you obvious care...”

“Oh, my dear, naive Miss Dahl,” Edward, who almost emptied his own mug of hot chocolate, raised his voice and entered his particularly annoying preaching tone. “I assure you, if we were to act like my family, fighting wouldn’t just stop at a verbal back and forth. Oh, no. If we were acting like my family, Harleen here would be already laying flat under the Christmas tree instead of presents, too drunk to get her sorry ass to bed, and Crane here would be yelling at me for asking him to buy me jigsaw puzzles for Christmas. Now, that is how I remember the ‘real family’, it has nothing to do with ‘care’.”

“Hah, if you all were my family, all four of us evil children of Satan would be spending the Christmas day and night locked in a freezing basement with the coal, gnawing on raw potatoes while our ‘saintly’ grandmother was away to church, before descending on her neighbors’ houses like a parasite to stuff herself with fried turkey, corn bread and pecan pie, and preaching to them about Christian charity,” Crane threw in.

“Well,” Harley spoke up awkwardly, “at least your families acknowledge the existence of Christmas, while my Jewish mother never gave a damn, too busy to hang out with her new boyfriends ever since my dear ol’ dad had gotten himself locked up in jail.”

Mary rolled her eyes at these confessions. “Wow, that escalated quickly. We sit here alone for only few minutes and you crybabies are already sharing your weepy stories, as if it was a real group session. You could at least wait for Doctor Murphy to come back.”

Now it was Crane’s turn to roll his eyes: “Why would we need to wait for that duffer while we have two competent psychoanalysts sitting right here at this table?”

“Right! Who needs him anyway? This meeting is already going so much better than the one last week.” Harleen took a big swig from her mug, then eyed it with disappointment. “Hey, this is getting cold … can we have a refill and maybe some cookies or marshmallows?”

The two guards leaning at the wall, who had been completely ignored so far, exchanged a gaze, whispering among themselves.

“You think they’ll throw hot chocolate into our faces and try to escape?“.

“They might throw the empty mugs and the table in our faces, if they don’t get that refill and they have been behaving well so far – Dr. Murphy said to encourage that.”

One refill and a small bag of marshmallows later and everyone’s mood had improved significantly.

“Now, that’s the Christmas spirit, boys!” Harley shot a gleeful smile toward the guards, making one of them blush as the result. “I think he likes me,” she leaned toward the other girl, whispered into her ear.

Mary tactfully ignored that news which didn’t stop Harleen from giggling.

“Anyway, it’s your turn to share a story with us,” she pointed toward Baby Doll with a marshmallow before putting it in her mouth. “What about your Christmas?”

“It was always awesome.” Mary smiled dreamily, “Dad always picked a tree for us that was too huge and he and my brother were having soo much trouble getting it through the door. Mom and sister were baking cookies and sister accidentally decorated me with icing. Mom laughed and said that I was looking even sweeter then.
Dad always lifted me up so I could place the star on top of the tree but one year I couldn’t wait for it and tried to climb up the tree on my own and I ended all tangled up in the fair lights. I was sooo afraid that Santa wouldn’t come because I had been a naughty girl but in the end there were tons of presents under the tree again and mine was so big that I could climb into the box completely….”

“I think I saw that episode.” Edward muttered.

Ignoring him Mary continued: “Of course, that was before cousin Spunky moved in and had to ruin everything for us,” she spat with quite some vitriol. “We never had a good celebration like that afterwards ever again, he even totally ruined my birthday.”

“Your aunt and uncle actually named their kid ‘Spunky’?” Harleen asked confused as she was too young to know. Crane leaned over and whispered something into her ear, while Mary kept ranting.

“Oh!” Harleen exclaimed in sudden understanding. Tears shot into her big blue eyes “Mary that is just too sad!” She rose from her chair to give the other girl a big, tight hug, almost squishing the small body in the process.

Nygma gave Crane a questioning look. “Really? She thinks that was the saddest story from tonight? I got beaten bloody, you were left to starve and she is crying over the TV show?”

“Women, huh?” Scarecrow replied with a shrug of his bony shoulders. “You can never tell what’s going on in their brains.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty head, Baby,” Harl cooed, holding back her tears. “You will get your perfect Christmas. It’s not too late and you deserve it. We all do.”

“You’re strangling me,” Dahl uttered as she struggled to get herself free from Harleen’s bear-hug, failing miserably.

“We are a family,” Harley assured her. “And we can do so much better than our real families have ever done for us.”

The tight embrace lightened a little and Mary seemed to finally relax, even hugging back hesitantly.

“Don’t you just sit there, boys! Come and join us!” Harleen called and the guys immediately shook their heads in a protest.

Harley of course wouldn’t have that.

“Boys, a group hug! NOW!” Harley shot Crane and Nygma a death glare as a warning. The two of them didn’t dare to disobey, soon enough the whole four of them were locked in a very awkward hug.

“Now,” Harleen whispered, making sure the guards at the door couldn’t hear her. “Here’s the plan, Ed – you will distract the guy on our left until Professor Crane uses his Christmas sweater to strangle him, I’ll take care of the one on the right… Baby Doll – what would you say about making this Christmas really special?”

Chapter Text

“Welcome home, … darling.“ Long needles just barely nicked Edward’s neck. That alone would have revealed the words as lies but he was also single and this place wasn’t even his home.

However, this small predicament was no reason to panic, at least not yet. As far as he had researched, this was pretty much a standard greeting from the Scarecrow. How long had professor Crane already been laying in ambush for Edward to return to work?

Probably quite a while, since Scarecrow hadn’t even waited for Edward to turn on the light.

“A good evening to you, too, Jon. To what am I owing the pleasure of your visit in my humble PI office?” Edward inquired.

“What of me? I’m here as well, can’t you see?” Another voice quipped from the corner table, so Jervis Tetch the Mad Hatter had tagged along?

“I currently can’t very well turn my head Jervis, so I indeed hadn’t spotted you yet. I guess you found the tea-set? Mind to brew a cup for an old pal as well?”

“Hmpf! Don’t ‘pal’ us you traitor.” John made sure to press the needles just a tiny bit harder into Edward’s skin.

“Traitor? You wound me. How did I ever betray either of you?”

“Too many times to count actually but I am referring to this.” Scarecrow made a wide gesture over the small office which looked like a cliché private investigator’s den. “You don’t see any conflict of interest with you suddenly changing to the other side of the law?”

“You mean I should, despite the fact that I lost my memory of ever being a criminal? But to answer your question: Actually, none at all. That is the true beauty of this gig. I mean … and think carefully Jon, how often have yours or Jervis’ plans been swarted by a private detective? Not by the Bat, not by the police or some random super walking into Gotham. I mean by some guy, who is usually paid for investigating adultery or finding lost cats?”

The needles vanished and Edward tentatively made a step away from the Scarecrow. He was not completely off the hook yet, but if Jon had switched into professional mode as a professor of psychiatry and if Edward was able to keep him occupied there, his chances rose significantly, not to be dosed with fear toxin tonight.

And for now at least Hatter was distracted, staring at the kettle on the heating plate as if he was trying to make the water boil faster.

“… You may have a point there, Edward. But really adultery and lost cats? That doesn’t sound like your style. Not as Edward Nygma and definitely not as the Riddler.”

“That is the thing … I have been here for a while and I have come to an understanding of the person Edward Nygma. And one of his mottos is: ‘Work smarter not harder.’ Quiz and Echo love uncovering cheaters. I leave all those cases to them and lost cats…”

You could say what you wanted about Scarecrow, he was smart – not as smart as Edward himself, obviously, but he caught on immediately.

“Selina is helping you with those?”

“Got it in one. I am not sure, why she offered to help, … we weren’t an item before… or….?” He cast a questioning look at his visitors, and both Tetch and Crane couldn’t help but snicker and shake their heads.

“Eh,… well a man can dream.” Edward waved the slightly awkward moment away. “Usually I just pass her the info and take a 10% of the fee, in case she succeeds finding the cat.”

“Usually?” Crane never overheard such little details.

“Turned out there were more pets disappearing in the east resident district than normal and she tracked down some guys catching them, to sell them to a pharmaceutical research lab. She talked Ivy and Harleen into helping her out and the three of them burned the place down. The Bat took an unusual long time to show up to rescue the place, but she still wants to avoid running into him for a while.”

“So what is in it for you Edward? You can’t tell me your clients pay that well.”

“It is the riddles of course. Usually the cases I get here are child’s play for someone of my intellect. But once in a while I get to deal with a cocky culprit who deludes themselves that they committed the ‘perfect crime’ – who better than me to show them the errors of their ways? Their faces when the critical evidence is revealed… priceless!”

“I can see how that appeals to you, Edward.” Scarecrow murmured. He sounded somewhat unsatisfied though it was hard to gauge his expression with the mask and all. Edward wondered briefly, if he’d ever had an easier time at that before his memory loss.

In comparison Jervis Tetch was almost too easy to read, as he gleefully poured hot water into three cups and almost danced as he carried them over to the small side table and seats by the window, where Edward usually discussed business with his clients.

He dramatically pulled an oversized pocket-watch out of his waistcoat and announced: “Teatime!”

It was always telling which chairs his visitors picked and Edward couldn’t help but notice that Crane choose the seat where he had the best view for the door, while Hatter made sure he had a good view through the half closed blinds of the window.

“By the way, you said you gave Catwoman the info about the missing pets.” Now that he had settled down with his tea, Hatter seemed more inclined to take part in the discussion. “Did the Bat give you a hard time for egging her on?”

“No… though it would be in character for him, wouldn’t it? Why were you asking.” Edward couldn’t help but notice that Hatter was keeping his eyes fixed on the window.

“Well, I was wondering, if that shadow I just spotted on the rooftop out there was an exceptionally ugly gargoyle or…”

Edward was aware that there were no gargoyles or other statues on the opposite roof. Avoiding hasty movements, he stood up and risked a glance through the blinders as well.

“Where does a 200lb bat hide best?” Edward muttered halfway to himself.”

“I don’t know? Where?” Tetch had crept closer to the window as well.

“Where I can’t see him apparently.” Edward replied. He wasn’t looking forward to being accused of instigating the Gotham Sirens and being caught red-handed, hosting this infamous duo on top of that.

As if he had read Edwards mind, Scarecrow suddenly announced: “Jervis, we are leaving!” As Edward turned around, Jon had grabbed onto the arm of the smaller man.

“But…” Jervis tried to argue.

“No time for leisurely drinking tea!” and Scarecrow dragged Hatter to the door. “We’ll continue this another time, Riddler.”

The office door shut behind them and left Edward to clean up the evidence.

“Why did you stop me?” Hatter’s voice had dropped to an almost whisper, as both he and Crane looked down, over to the P.I. office of their former colleague. “I followed the plan to the ‘tea’. Distract him, sneak up on him, I was so close to succeeding too! Just one card and I could have fixed him!”

Scarecrow sneered at that: “You could have made him put on that green suit, and make him tag along to rob a bank with us. Maybe you could have even made him write one of those silly little riddles and to announce the crime and have the Bat descend upon us.
But would that turn him back into ‘the Riddler’?”

“Maybe?” Hatter genuinely seemed not to be sure anymore. “You said meeting us and doing something he is familiar with, might jog his memory.”

“He was waiting for our visit. He had a casefile about a stalker terrorizing a female student set out on his desk to catch my attention and five different blends of tea on the shelf for you. He is curious about his former self and us right now. Jervis, he even subconsciously made up a riddle on the fly. But it will be counterproductive, if you force him to do something he is not ready to do yet. He might come to resent the Riddler.”

‘And us’ was left unsaid.

“He’ll come around eventually. All we have to do is wait.”

Chapter Text

„No, the other ‘left’,” the sarcastic huff coming from an infuriating man-child on the other end of the commlink made Selina cringe. “I know that the female brain is less capable of grasping the basic concept of directions but still, with your skillset, I thought better of you than this, Miss Kyle.”

Blackmailing Riddler into helping her during this heist, guiding her through the maze of vents and corridors, remotely hacking the security system from the safety of his hideout, and opening all the doors for her might have sounded like a decent plan at first, however, so far their teamwork proved itself to be a very frustrating and unpleasant experience, especially for Catwoman.

“And I’m sure, I saw armed guards waiting for me right behind the corner,” she hissed back at her ‘guardian angel’, sneaking under yet another camera, briefly wondering, if Edward had already jammed its signal. “If I didn’t know you better, I had said that you are simply trying to lead me to my death, so you can have Batman all to yourself.”

“Ha! That’s rich,” Riddler’s voice went an octave higher as he tried to laugh off her suggestion and hide his insecurity, “...especially coming from the likes of you, my catburglar colleague. You’re the one known to steal the Dark Knight’s attention – attention reserved for far more important villains.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize I was so possessive,” she faked an apology, holding back her geniuine amusement. “Thanks god, you’re the exact opposite of me, Eddie. What would Batman ever do with not one, but two attention seeking foes?”

Chapter Text

No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, the love was all around her, even in such an unlikely place like Arkham Asylum. Whichever direction she turned her head, she could see the signs of romance hanging in the air like a pesky virus.

Mary Louise Dahl – the former main lead in the popular sitcom, who had been deemed criminally insane after that one unfortunate incident, when she had kidnapped her ex-coworkers – not a big deal, really, comparing to some other inmates’ antics – was passing the time in her lonely cell, doing her best not to go totally mad.

It was Valentine’s day again, and Calendar Man was going on and on about this stupid holiday for fools. She hated this time of the year with all her might. Nothing rubbed her the wrong way as much as celebrating romance.

She was sitting on her cot, pressing her small hands to her ears, and trying to block the noises coming from a neighboring cell. It didn’t help much. She could still hear Harleen crying her eyes out over her latest breakup with the Clown, who had tossed her out of a moving car for some minor remark she had made, a day before Valentine’s.

It weren’t mere sounds of sobbing, nor wails of anguish, that bothered Mary this much. No, it was the fact that doctor Quinzel had something Baby Doll could never have – a romantic relationship – as toxic as it was, it was still better than none, at least Mary thought so.

“Poor thing,” the guards who were passing by Harleen’s cell tend to say.

“Poor Harley, used by the Joker yet again, and thrown away like trash.” Even the doctors seemed to pity the clown-girl for some reason.

No one ever felt sorry for Mary for not knowing what was it like – to love and to have a broken heart.

It was not only Harleen’s teary story that made Mary feel bad about herself. Arkham, as unloving as it might be, held quite a few tragic lovers within its cold, brick walls.

Take Jervis Tetch, for example, the ex-neuroscientist waited for Mary to arrive at the Arkham canteen at the dinner time. He greeted her with a toothy grin as she entered the dining area.

He was kind enough to pick her up, and sat her down in a high chair that the staff had prepared for her beforehand. He joined her for the meal as he often did. And all would be nice and well, if not for Jervis rambling on about a single topic – his Alice – the girl he thought he loved.

The blonde man praised Alice’s golden locks, her innocent smile, and her curious mind. While Mary tried to eat her food, he was yapping nonstop – making Baby Doll sick to her stomach.

She quickly decided, she hated that Alice-girl for claiming this man’s stupid heart and mind so completely. The one thing that Mary simply couldn’t do.

After suffering through yet another Alice-related story from the Hatter, Baby Doll sneaked out from the canteen, right under the noses of the Arkham staff. Small, and usually unnoticed, she simply hid under the table, and when everyone else was gone, she walked out the door to find a storage room, where the belongings of the patients were stored.

Mary sorted through the rogues private staff, just to keep herself distracted on this most frustrating day. She dug out a box containing the wooden ventriloquist puppet of Arnold Wesker. She put it on top of a cardboard box and dropped a proper curtsy.

“Good evening Mr. Scarface. May I have this dance?” she asked, outstretching her arm and pretending the dummy was a real man she could have charmed with her smile.

Later on, she found one of Scarecrow’s books about fear of commitment and decided to read it.

She got a little bored soon after, so she got back to sorting through the stuff. It was when she found out that Harvey Dent still had a picture of his blonde fiance in his wallet.

Grace, was it? A kind-looking young lady, a pretty face for sure, most likely tall, long-legged, just like Mary could have been – if not for her condition.

Two-face kept receiving long letters from Grace. Mary didn’t read any of them, of course, but she entertained herself with guessing what could be written inside them.

“I still love you, Harvey.” Was that what Grace would tell him? “I’m waiting for you to get better and to return home. I’m so lonely without you.”

What would some stupid Grace, some good looking blonde bimbo, possibly know about loneliness? She had gotten Dent to put a ring on her, and she could find a new man in no time.

By the evening, Baby Doll was back in her cell, explaining to the guards that she had gotten herself lost, and the idiots actually had believed her.

Resting on her cot, much too large for her tiny body, with her short legs dangling from the edge of the bed, she looked at the evening sky through the bars at her small window. Her blue eyes looking for a sign of little snowflakes falling from the cell above hers.

Trapped in his frozen cell at the top floor of Arkham, there was Viktor Fries, the sad widower, mourning his late wife. Mary had never met him, but she knew his story, and she knew it was love that had made him a villain – because what else?

If anything at all, it had been not love but a lack of it that had made Baby Doll a bad girl. It had been rage and jealousy at everyone that had their families, their lovers to share the joys and sorrows of a daily life with. She had none of that, and it was unfair. She wished she could be someone’s Alice, and Grace, and Nora. But no matter how hard she tried to believe she could be that one day, such a miracle would never happen.

Cruel fate had robbed her of all pleasures of adulthood. She was denied her first kiss, holding hands, and feeling butterflies in her stomach.

Who would love a freak like her? Who would see a woman in this small, child-like body?

“Good evening, Miss Dahl,” the friendly voice of Kyle, the new nurse guy, snapped her out of her sad pondering. “It’s time for your meds.”

The guy must have been a fan of her show back in the days, why else would he be so awfully nice?

She sighed and jumped down from her cot, getting to the door to receive her prescribed medication. It surprised her, she had never noticed it before, but the nurse guy was crippled, missing his left hand. Was he born that way? Strange that she missed that detail about him.

Trying not to stare, she gulped down the pills, and let Kyle take her temperature and pulse, she returned to her cot, climbing on top with an effort. Then she noticed something odd, a brown ball, the size of a human fist, laying on her bedside drawer.

It caught her eyes immediately as she was certain it hadn’t been there before. She reached her hand to inspect the mysterious object.

It was soft and sticky to the touch, just like a chewing gum, and when she poked it with her finger, the ball bubbled, like a dense liquid, and shifted its shape, turning into a little heart, then into a singing bird, and then once more into a flower.

Baby Doll smiled involuntarily, as she recognized what it was.

“Let me tell you something, actor to actor,” she said, holding the flower made of clay in both her hands. The flower changed into an ear, as if ready to listen to her. “That was a damn good performance, Mr. Hagen. Your ‘Kyle’ got me totally convinced there, and I’m quite surprised by this twist.” She giggled softly, and watched the ear transforming into a pair of lips.

The mouth in her hands spoke with a rough male voice. “Why, thank you. I just thought you may want some company, Miss Dahl.”

He was right, she really wanted, but she was not simply going to admit that to Clayface.

“Did you go through all this trouble just to wish me a happy Valentine’s?” She mocked. “Or are you rather going to offer me a supporting role in your newest act?”

Now, it was Clayface’s turn to let out a soft chuckle. “Supporting? No. For you, Dolly, I’ll always keep a leading role open.”

Chapter Text

It had been quiet the last two weeks. Of course this was Gotham and ‘quiet’ was a very relative term. There had been the usual drug deals, missing person reports, armed robberies and dead bodies floating in the harbor – but of the crazy supervillains? Not a peep.

Despite a lot of them being out of Arkham at the same time on top of that. Add to it that the Superbowl and Valentines were about to start this week?

Commissioner James ‘Jim’ Gordon of the Gotham City Police Department hadn’t been sleeping for two days.
He had denied requested vacations where he could as he wanted everyone in the station to be available for the moment the other shoe dropped. He had even gone so far as of donating a new big TV set for the main office to pacify all those officers who were complaining about missing the highly anticipated sports event, and a few boxes of heart shaped donuts and free flower bouquets for those who tended to forget to buy something for their spouses.

It was when he was inspecting the prepared riot armors for the 27th time that day, when the excited shouts from the makeshift TV room turned first into exclamations of discontent, and then, alarm.

He was already mentally prepared for officer Montoya barging into the armory: “Commissioner, the Riddler has hijacked the transmission! He is on all channels!”.

“And so it begins...”, Jim thought. Outwardly calm he followed Montoya to the TV, where the crowd parted like the red sea to grant him a good view at the screen, where Riddler was taking a moment for the applause in the TV-studio to die down and to bath in the attention of the vast audience that the cameras provided.

“Get the experts to track down the source, use three of the helicopters if necessary to triangulate it, we need to know where the signal is coming from and shut him down, or else the sports fans will start to riot. Also start recording that and get more TV screens in here,” Gordon barked the first orders right before Riddler began to explain his scheme.

“Which is the most beloved owl in America?” The madman in green paused for a moment to build up tension “The ‘superb owl’!”

In the background an audience was heard laughing.

Smirking, Riddler continued: “But sports is a barbaric practice of no interest to genius minds like myself. So I, The Riddler, have come up with a more intellectual form of contest – The grand, chart breaking, incredible – Chemistry Triathlon Smashdown!”

Behind him, a huge sign with the show title flashed up in a combination of neon green, violet and orange, that made one’s eyes bleed.

What was more alarming however, was that the sign was decorated with a madly laughing mouth and a Jack-o’ lantern.

“Please not them…” Gordon muttered.

“And here are our contestants!” Riddler announced, as on his cue a spotlight illuminated two laboratory tables, and the two men standing behind them were greeted with another round of applause.

“To the left, a professor of psychology, the master of fear, the man who will make the blood freeze in your veins: The Scarecrow!”

Professor Jonathan Crane waved lazily towards the camera – displaying the long needles of his toxin-glove.

“To the right, the man who will make you die laughing, the master of jokes, the clown prince of Crime, the incomparable and incorrigible Joker!”

The Joker laughed maniacally “Hello Gotham! I will put a smile on your faces tonight, whether you want it or not!”

“Riot squads on standby, all officers equip bullet proof vests and gasmasks, now!” Gordon was starting to panic internally. Wherever those two were involved, there would be civilian casualties.

As if he had read his mind, Riddler elaborated: “Within three rounds of fierce, intellectual rivalry our contestants will have to brew up different concoctions, which will then be life tested on our dear studio audience.”

Under more loud applause the camera panned over to the people seated in the audience – all of them tied up and gagged. Obviously the clapping and laughter had come from a tape.

“Warn all the clinics in Gotham that there will be a lot of poison cases incoming. Get ambulances, paramedics, and a few toxicologists ready to set up the medical tent nearby, once we have a location. Also, call the officers from the missing person department over, and give them a still of the audience to compare the faces with their files. We need to know if any of those hostages have previous medical conditions.”

Riddler was droning on: “And of course, we have a jury of five experts as judges to declare the winner of each round.”

Another turn of the camera showed five people of very different body sizes though all wrapped in dark clothing with any characteristic features hidden under black hoods.

“Unlike me, these cowards have insisted on staying anonymous.”

One of the judges protested in a high pitched female voice: “This is just to make sure we can judge Puddi… I mean, the contestants fairly.”

“*Cough*, hey, could you *wheeze* switch places with me, Miss? I *cough, cough* think there are a lot of *wheeze* pollen on the clothes of the lady next to me.” Another of the judges spoke – or better ‘coughed’ - up.

The ‘pollen lady’ turned a glare towards him. “That ‘wheeze’ sounds awfully familiar.” She said coldly “Maybe we should have a little talk about the use of herbicides in the park after this show is over?”

The man seemed to shrink in his seat trying to lean away from her as far as he could.

“Hey, no probs! I’ll gladly switch with you.” The chipper voice of the first judge broke the tension.

But the smallest figure grabbed onto her arm and seemed not willing to let her go. “No, you can’t! Alice, stay next to me!”

“Madre de Dios! How did I get talked into this circo?” The final judge, a hulk of a man, declared to no one in particular.

“So much about being anonymous,” Gordon groaned: “Team three on standby with hazmat suits! We will need the whole area evacuated” Turning towards the crew that was handling some complicated looking apparatus: “Have you still not located the source?”

“No, sir. They are bouncing the signal over several relays all over town, which makes things more complicated. We need more time.”

“Time the hostages won’t have. Inform me the second you got something new. I am on the roof turning on the Bat signal.”

Briefly Jim wondered what else could possibly go wrong tonight.

Meanwhile, the Riddler was still announcing excitedly: “And which show would be complete without a VIP guest to act as my co-host?”

The camera focused on a lone figure in an expensive business-suit, tied to a chair with a bag over his head.

Riddler stepped closer to him and pulled off the bag with a sharp tug, revealing a man with a look of utmost, ditsy confusion on his face.

“Since it was impossible to find someone with an intellect even remotely close to mine to keep up with me, we instead invited the renown playboy, the most famous millionaire in Gotham, mister ‘how much can a burger possibly cost? – 50 dollar?’ …Bruce Wayne!”

“Oh, for the love of…” Jim uttered under his breath before he left the room.

Chapter Text

„Switch to camera 3 in five seconds, get me a closeup of Wayne’s stupid mug when he realizes where he is.” Penguin stood in a large production control room with monitors showing the view of all the cameras in the studio. The assistants, who were taking his orders and the camera crew contained mostly Riddler’s goons. The vain, green man literally had his own studio team for always recording him only from his best angle, or at least what he thought looked most splendid.

“Mr. Penguin, sir, what about the Joker?” One of the sound techs asked.

“Is he still monologuing?” Oswald countered.

“Yes, sir, I don’t think he has realized yet, that he isn’t life.”

“Just keep recording him. We can later give him a video with a laughing track overlay. No one aside from himself likes his lame jokes anyway.
… Say, what the hell is that Wayne twat doing there?”

oOo

Bruce Wayne, still tied to the same chair, cast a dazzling smile at the Riddler who asked somewhat befuddled: “Mr. Wayne, are you aware what kind of situation you are in?”

“Sure do. You must have been quite desperate to resort to such radical methods.” The infamous millionaire gave the ropes that tied him a light tug -more as a way to emphasize his words than to try escaping them. “I know I have stated several times that I am not into giving interviews but for someone as charming as yourself I’ll of course make an exception.”

Riddler, for once, seemed speechless, though obviously he was eating up the compliment as well.

Bruce Wayne shot him another smile, one that could have sold a million gallons of toothpaste, if Wayne hadn’t been one of the richest men in Gotham anyway.

“But excuse me – now that I have a chance for looking around – isn’t this some sort of a game show? Would you like to explain the rules to me?”

It must have been the very first time in his career as the Riddler that anyone had asked Edward this question. His face had turned an embarrassing shade of red and he looked like he was about to kiss Wayne on the mouth any moment now.

“… three rounds…” Nygma managed while staring at that smile as if hypnotized.

“Excuse me? Could you elaborate some more?”

“I mean, for all those unwashed masses - not you Mr. Wayne, I think your aftershave is quite pleasant actually – but for everyone else who doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘triathlon’: Our contest will go for three rounds. The candidates have to prove their competence at mixing up a specific concoction for each, which will then be tested on our lovely volunteers from the audience – oh and you of course, Mr. Wayne – or may I call you Bruce, Bruce?” Riddler seemed to have finally found his balance again and leaned into Wayne’s personal space with slight intimidation.

“You may call me anything you want.” The oblivious millionaire answered. “And I am looking forward to testing whatever cocktails your wonderful candidates mix up for me.”

oOo

“My god! He thinks this is a cooking show!” Penguin exclaimed and threw his hands up dramatically. Whose idea was ‘inviting’ Brucie Wayne anyway?”

“That was the Riddler himself, he wanted someone famous but stupid as a contrast to…” one of the minions attempted to explain.

“That was a rhetorical question!” Oswald interrupted sharply. “Did our dear judges finally agree on a seating order without killing each other?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then have them declare the first task, we need to get this show on the road.”

Then he activated his headset: “Edward! Get a grip! This show is supposed to be The Joker vs. The Scarecrow, not The Riddler vs. The Rizzler!”

His earpiece crackled with static for a second before the answer came in: “Why Oswald? Are you jealous?”

The Penguin let out an indignant “Squaak!”

oOo

Somewhere deep below the town, two pairs of eyes followed the events on the screen.

“One could think that the Joker had his hands in choosing those judges. It fits his sick idea of humor to put Poison Ivy and Allergent at the same table.” A tall elderly man with a slight British accent remarked.

“It would also fit Scarecrow’s modus operandi to observe them, until they snap. He probably also enjoys seeing Allergent squirming in fear. But honestly there are enough serious, sadistic head cases gathered in that studio, to make it hard to tell the source. Aside from Bane being one of the ‘judges’, there is also Killer Croc and King Shark guarding the hostages. We might need further reinforcements.” The slim young man sitting in front of the huge computer screen replied, without taking his eyes off of it. Aside from the show playing on it there were several windows open with various blueprints, lists of supplies, psychological files and a map of Gotham City.

“Signal reporting in: Gotham Mornings studios, negative. GCP present, no matching transmission.” Crackled over the speaker.

“Red Robin to Signal, continue to Gotham News studio.”

“Ok, Gotham News is next, Signal out.”

“That is the twelfth studio to strike from the list. Where are they?” The young man ruffled his hair in frustration.

“They can’t be that far outside town. Master Bruce was last seen at the CEO meeting only two hours before the show went life. While they could be underground, they’d still need an adequate transmitter tower. And that is at least a medium sized hall, which smaller news studios can’t provide.” The elderly man summed up.

“Oracle here, while the GCP have not made any more progress than us to pinpoint the signal, they just confirmed, that it is limited to Gotham the original transmitter can’t be too strong after all.”

Suddenly Red Robin’s eyes narrowed, he isolated a frame from the transmission and enlarged a portion of it, to get a better look at Bruce Wayne’s hand. As restricted as he was by the bounds, he had twisted his fingers into a gesture of their signing language.

“Military?”

oOo

“…that is the address of the warehouse where they had us stash all that equipment! That is all I know! I swear! Now please call him back!” The shady back alley informant squealed in panic.

“Hmmm, of course you know, if you lied or this is a trap, you can run but you can’t hide. I will find you and … HE will find you.” Red Hood leaned nonchalantly to his motorcycle, absentmindedly playing with a handgun. “Okay, playtime is over, squirt, get over here and lets check the place out.”

“Tttt! Don’t try to boss me around.” Regardless to his own words, Robin let go of his victim and obediently put on his helmet before climbing onto the motorbike behind the other vigilante who was at least three times taller than himself.

As they sped through the half lit streets, Damian suddenly broke the silence: “I don’t get it. Why did father even allow them to catch him in the first place?”

“Hah, if I know the damn old man right, he probably thought they would take him to the same place where they held all those other missing people captured. Turns out he was right. But I bet he hadn’t counted on getting this deep into trouble. You listening in Oracle? The informant gave us the address of a warehouse on the west side of Gotham, can you and Timbo check who owns the joint?”

“On it. But it will take a while, there are some shell companies involved. … On the other hand that is kind of telling in its own way, there are not that many villains in Gotham who bother with those.”

“Isn’t that an interesting snippet of news?” Nightwing suddenly cut into the comms. Batgirl and I just had a talk with Catwoman. Selina swears she had no idea what Harley and Ivy were up to. I am inclined to believe her and Batgirl agrees.”

It went unspoken, that Cassandra’s talent for reading body language also made for a very reliable lie detection method.

“However, Selina also mentioned a recent girls night out at the Iceberg lounge, which she left a little earlier than the others. We thought it couldn’t hurt to check, whether old Pengers had a bit of gossip for us, but ‘lo and behold: The bird has flown.”

Oracle nodded absentmindedly: “I’m putting everyone on conference call, let’s see whether we can put everything we have together.”

Damian: “So we got a warehouse, a possible involvement of the Penguin and father’s ‘military’ hint. Is that actually getting us somewhere, aside the west side of the town?”

Signal: “A ‘military’ facility does not make that much sense anyway. I mean, no matter how many villains and goons they recruited for the show, it is not like they can take over an entire army camp without somebody noticing.”

Red Robin: “A modern military transmitter tower would not be limited to just Gotham and as far as I know there are no old, abandoned ones.”

Batgirl: “Movement limited. Meaning not literal.”

Spoiler: “So he wanted to say something we can associate with military? Are there maybe any other government related facilities around?”

Nightwing: “So to sum it up, what we search for is a spacious, old government facility, west of Gotham that has its own transmitter tower?”

Red Hood: “That actually rings a bell: During the cold war the government built several bunkers to evacuate the president to, in case of a nuclear attack. They would come with spacious housing for senators and their families. Some even had entire shopping malls and of course there would be a broadcast studio for emergency announcements. Now is the question of questions, does Gotham City have one of those and where exactly is it?”

Oracle: “Already hacking into the government files but this will take a while.”

Red Hood: “Fine, Alfred and I will keep monitoring the show, we’re running out of time.”

oOo

Meanwhile in the studio, Killer Croc and King Shark half dragged and carried some of the hostages - still tied to their respective chairs and futilely struggling in their bounds – into the middle of the stage and began to neatly arrange them into two groups of five each.

“And here come our dear volunteers for the first round, enjoy your fifteen minutes in the spotlight while you still can!” Riddler dramatically waved. “Now, not-so-dear jury members, what is tonight’s first task?”

“In the first round, we’ll go for a switcharoo make not your own but your opponent’s gas, to prove you can do that, too.” The small judge who was now sitting in the middle declared.

“Yeah, we want to see you make some people laugh, Scarecrow, and show them how terrifying you can be Pudd… Joker!” the chipper one left of him shouted excitedly.

“*Wheeze* Doesn’t have to be the same formula, *cough* it’s just the results we want to see.” The judge who had chosen to sit at the far right end and hiding behind the bulkier man, added for clarification.

“You heard them? Then ready, set go I say!”

On Riddler’s signal, both Scarecrow and Joker went into a flurry of movements, collecting ingredients and setting up beakers and test tubes.

After watching them for a moment Nygma turned his attention back towards Wayne: “How about a little side wager, while we wait, …Bruce?”

“Nobody shall say that I am not a good sport, so what do you have in mind?”

“You rarely see two so enthusiastic contestants, look at them go! But which of them do you think will win this first round?”

“Oh, difficult. Physics wasn’t my strongest subject back in school and it has been a while.” Wayne pondered for a moment.

“It’s actually chemistry, and it shows,” Riddler corrected smugly. The laughing tape was played in, perfectly timed.

Wayne closed his eyes for a moment, apparently thinking hard. “Well, I’d say the gentleman in the wizard of Oz cosplay has this in the bag.”

Nygma’s lips moved, soundlessly repeating ‘wizard of Oz cosplay’ before he caught himself again: ”Are you willing to bet a million dollars on that, Bruce?”

“Sure.” Wayne nodded agreeable. “But rather tell me what I’ll get, if I win? Your phone number?”

Chapter Text

The door to Doctor Quinzel’s apartment was unlocked which worried Jonathan a little. In this shady neighborhood, a girl might need more than just a baseball bat and two hungry hyenas to defend herself, he thought as he entered without invitation. He was not big on knocking – one of his many quirks, along with fear-gassing people – it was always more fun to spook someone by suddenly appearing behind their back than to announce his presence like a decent person.

He didn’t mean any harm, not to a sweet, innocent child like Harleen. He just wanted to see a surprised look on her face.

He certainly did not expect to see a scenery like from a slaughterhouse.

Everything in Harleen’s single bedroom apartment seemed to be smeared with blood. Scarecrow had seen his fair share of crime scene footage during his studies in hematophobia, but even he was a bit grossed out by the disturbing sight.

There were red stains on the carpet, long smudges on the countertop, and a small pool of blood in the kitchen sink. Even Harley’s favorite yellow couch looked like a prop straight from a slasher movie.

Harleen herself was nowhere to be seen but the bloody handprints on the wall seemed to be leading to the half-open bedroom door.

“What in the seven hells happened in here?”

As soon as he voiced his concern, a shadowy female figure emerged from the darkness of Harleen’s bedroom, and leaned against the doorway, staring at him judgmentally.

“Would you look at that? The infamous Scarecrow has decided to pay a visit…,” a familiar voice greeted him with undeserved mockery and poorly hidden hostility. “Is it Halloween already?”

“Doctor Isley…” Jonathan’s facial expression turned sour, he was not on good terms with Poison Ivy after causing a panicked human stampede that had destroyed the flower beds in Robinson Park last month. “What a pleasant surprise....”

“I wish I could say the same,” the plant-lady crossed her arms, her green, angry eyes focused on his mask-less face, examining his intentions. “What do you want with Harley, Straw-man?”

“Where is Doctor Quinzel?” Jon ignored Ivy’s previous question.

He was not an easy to read type, but the woman must have noticed he was gazing at the bloody couch with suspicion.

“Oh, please!” Pamela rolled her eyes. “I’m not falling for your ‘concerned work colleague’ act, Crane! You think I don’t know what you really are?” She took a few steps toward Scarecrow, confidence and inner strength in her every move. “You may act like you’re a big, scary monster but it won’t work on me, ‘cause I know, deep down, you’re just a scared little weirdo who...”

“Red? Who are you talking to?”

It was Harleen’s voice coming from inside the bedroom. It cut Ivy off halfway through, making her take a step back from Crane and forget that she was in the middle of threatening him.

“It’s just me, child,” Jonathan called out, taking the opportunity. “Are you alright in there?”

“Professor?” Harley sounded surprised, but not as if she was in pain, nor stressed, or otherwise injured. She sounded normal, and Jonathan was confused. “Yeah, I’m fine now. Why?”

“Your room…”

“Oh, thaat... Please ignore the mess. I had a little ...accident… fell asleep on the couch, forgot to put on my pads… ”

“Your ...pads?” Crane repeated, slowly beginning to understand, and oh boy, did he really regret having been given that last bit of information! It suddenly made the whole situation extremely uncomfortable, and quite frankly, on the verge of being disgusting. He could handle a gruesome murder but... “All that blood is…?”

“Yeah, menstrual blood,” Ivy finished for him and shrugged, completely unfazed. “Women bleed regularly, you genius. Now, if you excuse me…”

She walked past him and into the living room, searching for her purse. “I will get her something for her cramps. Poor thing is a little grumpy today.”

She fished a small plastic bag out of her black, leather purse and placed it on the coffee table, next to the empty glass. As she opened the bag, a familiar, strong and quite unpleasant smell filled the small room. Jonathan recognized it immediately, and he knew exactly what kind of ‘medicine’ it was.

“Your herbs are ready, Sweetheart! You will feel better in just a moment,” Pamela announced with a knowing grin, as she walked back into the bedroom – a joint in her hand.

Before she disappeared to the other side of the door, she turned to Crane one last time. “If you want to be useful, you could go get her some more pads, you know. And something to get those blood stains off the couch.”

Scarecrow sighed inwardly and said nothing as he left to find the nearest pharmacy he could rob.

“And don’t forget to bring me some chocolate cookies!” Harleen called after him.