AN: Another chapter that does the moving forward in time thing. Once again, this will soon become obvious, but just for the sake of clarity, I'm mentioning it here.

Thanks for the reviews!

Someone was holding his hand.

He didn't know who, having his eyes shut, but he guessed that the person was male from the size of the hand in his. Another hand was brushing against his hair, stroking it out of his face. He couldn't tell if it belonged to the one holding his hand or a different person, but judging from the rocking of the mattress beneath him, only one other person was sitting on the bed.

Somewhere off in the distance, he could faintly hear the hum of the television, along with a drone that sounded like it might be a newscaster, though he couldn't make out individual words. The volume must have been turned far down, as the TV sounded miles away despite the fact that it was only on the other side of the room. He became aware of another voice, above him, quiet but slowly drawing him out of sleep.

It was a song. He focused a bit, eyes still closed, and began to pick up on words.

"…climb up my apple tree, holler down my rain barrel, slide down my cellar door, and we'll be jolly good friends, forever more."

It occurred to Jonathan that he really ought to get up. He felt like death; weak, tired, and disoriented, with a pounding headache, but not too out of it have forgotten that there shouldn't be anyone else here. He'd been living alone for the past two and a half months now—aside from the Joker and Harley's visits—and absentminded though he could be, he was fairly sure he would have noticed someone else moving in. However, he felt exhausted, and the voice and contact, though strange, was comforting. He didn't open his eyes yet, trying to place the familiar tone before he did anything else.

"Say, say, oh playmate, I cannot play with you. My dollie's got the flu—" here the hand on his hair stroked his face "—boo hoo hoo, hoo hoo hoo. Ain't got no rain barrel, ain't got no cellar door, but we'll be jolly good friends, forever more."

The voice trailed off, apparently finished, as it occurred to Jonathan that he had test subjects in his basement. A gift from the mob—regretfully, he'd had to go back to drug manufacturing to play the bills—to ensure that he'd stop ruining their business by driving all the customers mad. There were only two in the basement at present, and he'd thought they were well secured, but suppose one of them had gotten loose?

Suppose, he realized, as the hand moved back to his hair again, that one of them's sitting on the bed, about to kill me?

His eyes flew open. There was a body hovering over him, but without his glasses and with the room only illuminated by the faint glow of the television, he couldn't make out the face.

"Hello, beautiful."

Damn it. The mere act of realizing the Joker was there seemed to make his headache about a thousand times worse. "Why are you in my house?"

"Oh, that's nice. I save you from almost certain death, and I don't even get a thanks?"

Crane moved to sit up, and the Joker pushed him back down. He opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when he realized even attempting to get up had made the room start to spin. "What's going o—what did you do?"

"How much do you remember of the past week?"

"Er…" He racked his mind. He remembered feeling like crap, experimenting, and not much else. "I had a cold?"

"No, you had the flu," the Joker corrected, taking his hand from Crane's shoulder. He didn't try to get up again. The first time had been miserable enough. "And you're damn lucky Harley and I stopped by when we did. You were running a temperature of about, uh, a hundred and five. You'd have died." From what Crane could make out, the Joker appeared to be smirking. "You owe your life to me, Jonny. How's that feel?"

God, I hate you. "How long have I been out?"

"Three days."

Hell. That would mean he'd missed making a drug shipment. And he doubted his employers would be forgiving. "I have to get up."

"Nope." The Joker's hands were back on his shoulders, pinning him down. "I don't care if you've just figured out the compound to cause specific phobias or remove fear or what, you're not getting out of bed."

"You don't understand," he protested, teeth clenched, as he tried shoving the Joker off. It was about as effective as an ant trying to lift an elephant, he was so weak. "The men I work for—"

"The men you work for showed up yesterday, guns blazing," the Joker informed him, in a tone of perfect calm. "And it barely took a glare from me to make 'em run off with their tails between their legs. So yeah, relax. You've been given an indefinite extension."

He stopped fighting, mentally wincing at the trouble this would cause the next time he encountered the drug dealers. "So you've been living in my house for three days?"

He shook his head. "Harley has, for the most part. I've just shown up during the stretches she needed sleep. She's back at the warehouse now, and angel, you better give her your, uh, first born child or something to make up for all the stress you've put her through. She thought you were dying. Oh, and she took care of your horse."

He felt guilt at that. It wasn't as if he'd gotten sick on purpose, but Harley was the closest friend he'd ever had, and he didn't like making her worry. "I wasn't," he said, because he could think of nothing else to say. As if it was an excuse.

"Still. You've got no idea how to take care of yourself, do you? Harley was on a crusade to bring you to live with us, after you recovered."

He got a feeling in his stomach like one would get when plummeting down on a roller coaster. "That's not—"

"I know, I know, I convinced her that would be bad. You're welcome."

And just like that he was back on solid ground. "…Thank you." The Joker removed his hands again, and Crane sat up a bit, as slowly as he could. It still made the room spin. "So, you've just been sitting here watching the news while you waited for me to wake up? For three days?"

"Not just the news. TV gets pretty boring for a six hour stretch." He glanced at the screen, then back to Crane. "Especially when you're too busy taking care of some idiot scarecrow to make things more interesting."

"So what have you been doing, then?" He spotted what appeared to be his glasses on the bedside table, reached out, slid them on. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.

The Joker licked his lips. "Amusing myself with your DVD collection. I've gotta say, Jonny, I'm surprised."

He hoped that in the dim light, his blushing wasn't visible. The Joker had guessed, long ago, that Crane collected zombie movies, so he must have been referring to the musicals. "Just because I happen to enjoy well-written music and lyrics in a film, it doesn't—"

The clown giggled. "I wasn't referring to that, genius. I knew you'd like musicals, I mean, c'mon. You're gayer than a handbag full of rainbows. No, no, I meant that I'd never guess you'd be a fan of, uh, Paris Hilton's work—"

"Do not insult Repo!," he said, defensive. "And it just so happens that she was decent for once, and besides, it has Sarah Brightman and Anthony Stewart He—"

"Calm down, angel." The Joker's hand was over his mouth, and when Crane bit him, he only laughed. "I was joking. I watched it, it's good. Though I'd thought you said you weren't a fan of pointless gore."

"It's not—"

"Relax." He moved his hands to Crane's shoulders, massaging him. "You're wound tighter than a pocket watch, friend. This is why things didn't work out between us, you know."

"Funny. I thought they didn't work out because you tried to kill me."

"You tried to poison me. We're even." There was no hint of anger in the Joker's tone, and no regret. "Hey, are you hungry?"

"Not for anything you've made."

"Never covered tact in therapy, didya?" The Joker slid off the bed, not waiting for an answer. "Harley brought soup in case you woke up. All I have to do is heat it up."

"Don't burn down the house."

"It's a microwave, Jonny." The Joker rolled his eyes, turned for the door. "Even I can't mess that up." He exited, humming what Crane recognized as 'Zydrate Anatomy' as he did.

"I hate that clown," he muttered a few minutes later, burying his face under a pillow as the smoke alarm went off.

"Okay, so that wasn't one of my wiser moments," the Joker admitted, carrying Crane to the kitchen. "But you don't have to be so rude about it."

"You could have blown up my house," he protested, struggling. It had about as much effect as when he'd tried it back on the bed. "Let me down."

"No. You can't walk." He sat him down at the kitchen table and Crane looked around his kitchen, annoyed. It was one of his favorite rooms in the house, with the huge sliding glass doors leading to the back porch and the lovely wallpaper that was now tinged with the smoke in the room. Why the Joker hadn't opened a window was anybody's guess.

"I really hate you," he informed him, after talking the Joker through the correct use of a microwave. It seemed he'd assumed that soup didn't have to be taken out of the can first. How the clown had survived to adulthood was also anybody's guess.

"Okay," he said, nonchalant as always, before stiffening slightly and casting a glance to the doors. "Did you hear something?"

"There are deer out there all the time." Crane crossed his arms. "And I'm serious. You don't believe that I hate you?"

"I believe that you believe it." The Joker looked out the doors again, before taking the seat opposite his companion. "But you also believe there's nothing weird about dressing up like a scarecrow, so yeah."

Crane sighed and wished he could feel the rage he'd had for the man not so long ago. But he found that he couldn't; the Joker's gifts, along with coming over weekly for dinner and things like Monopoly, had taken the fire out of his anger. Not that he'd forgiven him, not by a long shot, but he couldn't stay enraged. It just wasn't worth the effort anymore. He propped his elbows on the table, shook his head. "What does this make us?"

"Can't it make us friends?" The Joker's eyes glittered, with either amusement or hope.

He shook his head again. "I can't ever forgive you."

"So? Lots of friends have things they've never forgiven each other for. Everyone's got something they're still mad about."

They said that the devil was a compelling speaker. If there was a devil, Crane imagined the Joker was spawned from him. "I'll never trust you."

"Who says you have to?" The microwave beeped, and the Joker stood, retrieved the soup, placed it in front of Crane. "Are you sure you don't hear something?"

"Stop trying to change the subject," he admonished, not bothering to point out that the Joker had neglected to provide a spoon. "How can there be friendship without trust?"

"How can grown men run the streets of Gotham in costume and not get shot? Impossible things are happening every day, Jonny."

He brushed his hair back, head aching. On one hand, this was all so stupid. On the other hand, he was sick of struggling against the Joker's plans. If experience had taught him anything, it was that the Joker always got what he wanted. Even Scarecrow had nothing to say in protest. "Fine," he muttered, barely audible even to himself.

"Come again?"

"Fine," Jonathan repeated, louder, raising his head. "I'll be your friend again."

He'd expected Joker to have an over the top reaction. He had not predicted that the Joker would pick him up bridal style and spin around, cheering, like a parent playing airplane with a small child. "Stop that, I'm going to be sick."

"Sorry." The Joker halted, though the room still seemed to be spinning. "I'm just really, really happy, angel."

"I'm never getting romantically involved with you again, got it? I love Harley too much to do that, and besides, I don't trust you."

"Who said anything about romance?" He was still grinning ear to ear. "I'm glad to have my friend back. This is fantastic. We should celebrate." Joker paused, winding a strand of hair through his fingers as he considered. "You wanna go kill one of your test subjects or something?"

"No. I want to enjoy the soup. So please get me a spoon."

"What?" He glanced at the table. "Oh. Sorry." Jonathan was dumped unceremoniously, somewhat painfully back into his chair as the Joker opened drawers. "No, no, ah. Got it." He presented the spoon as a princess might offer a knight her handkerchief.

"Thank you," he said, fighting not to roll his eyes.

"What were you experimenting on that was important enough to ignore your illness for, anyway?"

"I found a way," he began, between swallows of broth, "to isolate the toxin to a specific area of the amygdala, which means that I can use it to—"

And then the Batman came sailing through those lovely sliding doors, littering the tiles with shards of glass.

It was humiliating, really, how quickly they'd been defeated. The Joker had gotten to his feet at once, but the Batman had had the element of surprise on his side. Crane was convinced that was why he'd broken the doors, otherwise it was nothing more than unnecessary destruction of property. Legally, it wasn't technically his property, but still. He'd liked those doors.

Anyway, the Batman had tackled and subdued the Joker in record time, and hadn't even had to bother with Crane. Scarecrow had bolted up, prepared to fight, but the room started spinning again and he fell over before the Bat could touch him, zoning out just long enough for Batman to cuff him. And then they were both hauled into the Batmobile like disobedient children being dragged from the playground by their mother. Humiliating, indeed.

"Why does he get to sit next to you?" Joker whined, kicking the back of Crane's seat. It was getting annoying, fast.

"Because I don't trust you near the control panel."

"God, you accidentally fire up the jet engines once and they never let you live it down." Crane heard Joker shift in the seat behind him, suddenly bright. "Hey, Bats, guess what?"

There was a long pause, in which the Joker waited and the Batman said nothing.

"You're not guessing."

Another pause.

The Joker sighed. "You're no fun at all, you know that? Anyway, Jonny and I are friends again."

Crane found himself suddenly very interested in staring down at his feet.

"Bats? Bats? Hello? I said Jonny and I are friends again. Don't you think that's great? Aren't you glad that we're getting along and I'm not going to try and kill him or anything? Bats?" He sighed, loudly. "You kinda suck at making conversation, you know that?"

"I'm very happy for you."

And here Crane had thought he was the master of deadpan snark.

"Well, good." He heard the Joker lean back. "How'dya find us, anyway?"

"Quinzel. She's back at Arkham now."

"Ooh, good. She's gonna be so happy about this. Hey, Jonny?"

"Yes?"

"Can she and I, like, break into your cell tonight and play Scrabble or something? I know she'll wanna celebrate."

He smirked in spite of himself. "Sure. Why not?" He glanced at the Batman, staring straight ahead at the road. "Batman?"

"What?"

"Can you make sure my horse is taken care of? When you send the police for the test subjects, and things?"

The Bat exhaled, slowly. Crane realized he was annoyed and fought back the urge to giggle. "Fine."

"I mean well taken care of," he persisted. "Not abused or sold to some little girl who'll get bored after one ride and never look at him again. I don't want him up for grabs to any idiot with money to spend."

"Or a glue factory," Joker offered from the back seat.

"Yes. Not that either."

Crane wouldn't have thought it was physically possible to clench the jaw that tightly and not break something. "I'll make sure."

"Thank you," he said, and was unable to keep from laughing that time. The Joker joined him after less than a second's pause, and the two seemed to feed off each other's energy, giggling nearly the whole way to Arkham, much to the Batman's annoyance.

Scarecrow reminded him that he was a fool to agree to this and the Joker would only hurt him again. Crane retorted that he knew to be careful this time, and anyway, getting under the Batman's skin like they had made it all worth it.

AN: Obviously this is my shortest story ever, so I'll try to have the next (longer) one posted as soon as possible.

Repo! The Genetic Opera is a musical set in a world where organ transplants and the like can be repossessed, so that if a person can't pay off an organ transplant or a plastic surgery or something, a "Repo Man" will come and cut the implant out of him. Obviously, it's gory. And yes, Paris Hilton is in it, but she's actually not too bad and her part is small. The song Joker was humming, "Zydrate Anatomy" is from the musical; zydrate is a chemical obtained from corpses and is used as a drug/surgery anesthetic. It's on Youtube.

The other song Joker was singing is an old one, known variously as "Playmate," "Say, Say, My Playmate," "See, See, My Playmate," and other similar things. Versions of it are also on Youtube.