Denial was an interesting phenomenon. Despite the wealth of psychological knowledge available to him, Jonathan continually found himself hoping that somehow it had all been a very vivid dream. Yet the same four walls of his cell met his gaze every time his hazel eyes focused in on the world around him.

Arkham Asylum was not the most pleasant place to wake up. Perhaps it was the memories of this particular cell that caused the daily denial, but really there were far too many factors to really determine anything from his situation.

He was getting side tracked. Unusual. Must be the new medication the doctors thought the patients didn't know about lacing the food. Really, generally dosing a building full of highly unique individuals with a new drug was bound to cause trouble. Did these people have even the slightest understanding of pharmacology? It was downright shameful.

Groans sounded from some of the other cells as the guards did their wakeup routine, shouting, growling and being generally disturbing. It was sad how familiar it all was—a week into his current stay and already Jonathan felt like he'd never left the facility.

It had been similarly tragic how he'd wound up back in Arkham in the first place: a routine robbery for chemicals had ended with an entanglement with the Batman and as usual, the Scarecrow found himself strung up like his namesake outside the Asylum's gates—apparently there had been a more urgent situation for the Bat to deal with than delivering him safely to the front door.

That first night had been stressful for a multitude of reasons, not in the least of which was the situation of his lair: Selina had gotten her fake papers, but had experienced little luck in finding herself a new home, extending her stay for an unknowable period. The lanky psychologist had already resigned himself to returning to a damaged house, knowing those cats would certainly run free now that he was no longer around to keep them in line. At least there was some small comfort to be taken that he hadn't yet replaced his test subject in the basement (he'd have surely returned to a rotting corpse in his laboratory with the unfortunate man or woman dead from thirst); those were a pain to clean up.

"Scarecrow, get up," the guard demanded, rapping on the glass harshly. "Breakfast after showers."

"I know the schedule," the scrawny brunette grumbled, rising from his cot and rubbing at his eyes. "I'd wager I know the details far too well."

"Whatever straw-head. Showers in five."

Fifteen minutes later, wet-haired and grouchy, the Rogues Gallery were marched into the mess hall with the rest of the mentally ill patients for their first meal of the day. It was the standard mushy fare of Arkham Asylum, the eggs watery and the toast stale. It was all eaten with only minor complaints from the Riddler—nothing new there though even his minor complaints were overdramatic, loud and generally disruptive to the table.

"I mean, it's only identifiable because of the menu! If I didn't know these were eggs, I'd say they were some sort of brain material or unnatural slime creature."

"Eddie, you whine about the food every freaking morning," Two-Face grumbled, his undamaged eye closed in a dosing sort of way. "Can't you just lay off for once? You know funding always goes down after an escape, so since Tetch is out we're all gonna have crappy food for a few weeks."

"But the food is always evolving into some new form of horribleness!" the scruffy intellectual argued. "It's only ever good whenever Wayne makes a donation and he hasn't done that for almost six months!"

"Then he's about due, Edward," Jonathan interrupted, tone clipped and irate. "Now shut up and just eat it. Or not—I don't care."

The Riddler stuck his tongue out at the psychologist and lapsed into sulky silence. Harvey gave Jonathan a thankful nod before burying his head in his arms to rest some more. (He had been up for almost half the night arguing with his other personality and needed some time to recover mentally from the experience.)

The cafeteria door swung open, screeching on its creaky hinges and startling some of the more noise-sensitive patients in the room. (Honestly, Jonathan knew Arkham was struggling financially, but they could at least spare some of their limited funds to remove things that might trigger the occupants. No wonder the turnaround for this asylum was so low.) Marching through the doors came a pair of guards, escorting a familiar dark-haired woman between them in cuffs.

"Oh look, the runaway kitty's come back home," Joker commented lightly from where he leaned on Harley's shoulder.

"Careful when you take off the bracelets, boys," Selina was commenting as an orderly unchained her. "I might scratch your pretty faces."

"Whatever ms Kyle," one of the burly men scoffed. "I saw your bruises; you won't be fighting anybody for a few more days. Not after how the bat handled you."

Catwoman hissed at him lightly when the cuffs slipped off her wrists and she rubbed at where they had dug into her skin. She said nothing else as she got her food and strode over to the Rogue's table. She plopped down across from Jonathan, Edward directly to her right and bit into her toast.

"How lovely to see you again, miss Kyle," the Riddler greeted her smoothly. "Tell me you didn't blow your new false identity already."

"Relax Eddie," the svelte thief sighed. "As far as anyone knows, miss Georgina Sparks was called away on a business trip. The Bat caught me while out on a diamond heist before I made it into my new apartment's neighborhood."

"So I am to assume my lair is cat-free then?" Jonathan interjected, piling the last of the eggs onto his toast and taking a small bite.

"Yep, though I had to steal one of your sweaters to make Milo willing to leave, stubborn tomcat."

"Hold up." Hazel and almost-black eyes both locked onto Edward, who had even put up his hands to emphasize his statement. "You had Selina over at your lair, Jon? You never let anyone stay over!"

"You and Jervis both have stayed over before," the lanky doctor reminded him. "In any case, I owed miss Kyle a favor and she decided to cash in with using the spare room for a brief while. It wasn't anything personal."

The green-eyed puzzler didn't look convinced, but the combination of the pair's gaze was enough to shut him up. Jonathan returned to his breakfast without another word, ignoring the cheeky smile sent his way from across the table.

Somehow, he got the feeling that this wouldn't be the last time someone was going to bring up his temporary roommate.

Recreation time in the main room was probably the best part of Arkham's daily schedule: two hours with which one could do whatever they pleased (so long as no one was being physically or psychologically attacked). Even better was that Gotham's Rogues were considered too dangerous to fraternize with the less criminally minded and they had a separate room from all the other patients, meaning it was far less crowded than it could have been.

Rec time may have been the best time of day, but it was also the one time of day that all of the Rogues were left to their own devices with minimal interference. Which, knowing the various personalities of those individuals, could be quite infuriating at the best of times.

"Sooooo..." Jonathan instinctively tensed at the sound of the Joker's voice by his shoulder, grip on his book tightening to the point of pain. He was regretting his choice to sit at a table clearly out in the open. "You and the pretty kitty been getting acquainted, huh?"

"You know perfectly well that I was merely fulfilling a favor owed," the slim brunette bit out. "I said as much this morning and there is nothing more to it."

"So you didn't take the time to admire the lovely miss Kyle at all?" the clown pressed teasingly. "Not even a little bit?"

"Don't you have something better to do?" Jonathan snapped irritably. "I'm trying to read!"

"C'mon Jonny boy—we both know you've read that book enough times to quote it." There was an edge to Joker's voice, one that held a subtle warning: he was losing his patience. A bored Joker was chatty, loud and persistently annoying, but when he got impatient it was borderline dangerous: he could make your stay in Arkham a nightmare with nobody else the wiser. The question of how he accomplished such thoroughly personalized torture was currently—and would likely always be—left unanswered and unknown.

"I don't see what is so fascinating about the fact she stayed over in my lair for a few weeks," the psychologist stated in as calm a voice as he could muster, closing the book and resting it on his lap. "Most days we said nothing to each other and when we did, it was mostly greetings and updates. She spent her entire stay looking for a new apartment and taking care of that clan of hers."

"Now Jonny, let's not be coy," Joker sing-songed. "We both know that you are by far the most lacking when it comes to, ahem, 'interest' with the fine-looking ladies of this city."

Jonathan involuntarily tensed, jaw tightening and hands curling into fists.

"Call me curious, but I'd imagine this is the closest you've ever come to having a woman over. Was it difficult to get used to? Knowing there was a beautiful woman upstairs who was playing nice? Or are you just as unfeeling as you pretend to be about such silly little emotions?"

"Mmhm," a familiar voice purred from behind the two men. "I never knew you had an ear for gossip, J-man."

The Scarecrow took the opportunity to get up and away from his antagonist as the clown turned with a quirked eyebrow towards a smirking Selina.

"Now now," Joker tutted lightly. "You remember what we do to inquisitive kitties like yourself, don't you?" His almost-cheerful tone drained from his voice after each word until it dropped into a deep, dark snarl. "They suffer from happy. Little. Accidents."

"But you have to catch a cat first," the thief responded almost teasingly. "Not to mention I doubt your lady love would approve such a steep price for overhearing things while we're all in here suffering the consequences together."

That made Joker laugh, just once. It was odd, but it was far easier to understand what the clown communicated with his laughter than any words he could have said: the one sound summed up how truly unamused he was about the way things had turned out and wanted that this wasn't over—not by a long shot. With a shrug, the clown strode away, likely to whine to Harley and get her sympathy and showers of affection. Selina flashed a smug grin before taking the seat that Jonathan had recently been occupying.

"He's so easy to work up," she commented lightly. "I think he's jealous that I had some 'fun' with the Bat the other night."

She did not get an answer to her quip: the tall brunette just stared at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"What is it you want with me, miss Kyle?" he asked bluntly, making the woman blink in surprise.

"What do you mean, Crane?"

"Nobody stands up to Joker without an incentive of some kind. Now I'll ask you again: what do you want?"

That made Selina tilt her head. Her lips pursed a little as she considered Jonathan's words. At length, she gave a helpless shrug.

"I'm not very good with casual relationship cues, but aren't friends supposed to help one another out? Have each other's backs or whatever?"

"Friends?"

The former professor's tone was ice and he looked downright furious, looming over her, hands clenched into fists. The woman before him shifted in her seat, leaning in such a way she could easily escape should he turn violent.

"You use that word far too freely, ms Kyle," Jonathan spat. "Simply spending some time together without conflict is not nearly enough to create any ideas of 'friendship' that you might be entertaining! We are criminals, on case you've forgotten! We don't have friends; only compatriots and occasional allies. So whatever you think there is between is, quash that notion before it is inevitably shattered."

With a final glare, the Scarecrow turned on his heel and stalked away. He picked a solitary corner of the room and sat down, opening his book again but the aura of his anger remained, making Arnold Wesker who was sitting nearby get up and give him some more room.

Jonathan refused to look back at Selina to gauge her reaction; why should he care? He didn't—it was as simple as that. She was being presumptuous in assuming they had any kind of closer relationship than a cordial acquaintance. That was all they could have, especially considering they were both emotional manipulators. Who was to say that it wasn't all a grand plot or that it would become as such? It was one of the constants of their lifestyle they would eventually betray one another. Why make that painful? He had seen firsthand what Harley went through every time her "Puddin" had used her and had no desire to suffer or inflict such damage (he didn't hate ms Kyle after all—not yet anyway).

Put it from your mind, he told himself fiercely. I am not allowing this to escalate any further than it has.

He couldn't let it.

Hello! If anyone is still reading this, just wanted to say I'm not dead. Stuff happened irl that I won't say here as I doubt it really matters to anyone. So here's the uber late update. (Also I just couldn't get this to feel right to me while I was revising, so these are the results of my idea that were the least off-target from what I was going for.)

Anyway, thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! BritishWaffleSyrup, great to see you again! ImpatientTypist, I apologize for ruining your innocence and for taking so long! Anon dude from the 5th, rest assured I have not dropped this, I just have a lot of other stuff going on in my life right now. And icevsfire721, thank you for sending in your thoughts and compliments! Glad to have you on board!