Well, this is it. Thanks for seeing my baby through to the end.

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Harley drove fast enough to make the Devil eat her dust, to make a cheetah look like it was standing still, and to reduce the scenery to an Impressionist painting blur of colors. Bud and Lou, like many 'dogs', enjoyed car rides. Their tongues lolled out in pleasure as the wind ruffled their fur, flapped their ears, and splattered their excessive amounts of drool all over the truck.

Crane, not having any fur, was getting quite chilled from the night air being driven by him at roughly the speed of sound. He knocked on the window to get Harley's attention.

"Pull to the side of the road and then put the heater on. I'm turning blue back here."

"Anythin' you say." Harley replied. Her voice was still a little choked up. For some inconceivable reason, she missed the Joker.

Actually bothering to use the turn-signal, Harley did as asked. Once the truck had come to a full and complete stop, the Scarecrow hobbled from the back, giving Bud and Lou a little pat before leaving them. He opened the door to the cab and climbed in.

The heater was growling like something chased up a tree and pissed off about it. Despite the fact it sounded a bit like Batman, the heater instantly shot to the top of Crane's friends list. He placed his hands in front of a vent that was spewing air hot enough to roast wieners and flexed his fingers. Yes, the climate up here was much more comfortable.

"How much gas do you think the heater eats?" Harley asked.

"I don't know and, frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

"But maybe we should conserve it? I mean, Red's gonna be mad enough when she sees me drivin' this tank."

"And she'll be equally furious at me for being a male, and for wearing clothing made of synthetic fiber. As long as she doesn't strangle either of us with vines, I'll endure any amount of shouting she may need to do." Crane replied.

"I always kinda got the impression Red liked you. At least compared to everybody else." Harley said.

Crane choked. "Are you mad? Well, I suppose technically yes, but Poison Ivy liking me? That's absurd."

"She's never tried to kill you, right?" Harley asked.

"Not that I can recall. Has she tried to murder you?" The Scarecrow said.

Harley shrugged. "I don't think on purpose. That time with the poinsettia was definitely an accident, and I know Red didn't really want that fir tree to fall on me. She got it off before I suffocated."

"I'm venturing into the Little Shop of Horrors, aren't I?"

"Most of the stuff ain't that bad, Professor. I mean, sure, some of the plants might be a little poisonous, and thorny, and Mel might be able to swallow a whole cow, but a lot of them are pretty. But don't try to touch the daisies. They have teeth." Harley warned.

"Since when does Stephen King contribute to Better Homes and Gardens?"

"It ain't that bad. So some of the plants get a little nippy. That's okay, right?"

"Dogs, child, get a little nippy. Toddlers get a little nippy. Plants should never have that problem."

"Red said plants didn't have enough defenses, so she was gonna arm them. It makes sense, I think."

Crane snorted. "Not enough defenses? And that woman claims to be a botanist. Has she never heard of the castor bean, nightshade or monkshood? Plants do not need teeth to be dangerous."

Harley was quiet for a minute, puzzling out whether Red was doing the flora of the world a favor, or if she was just a little bit crazy. Professor Crane was right; there were plenty of plants out there that would kill you dead in no time flat. But Red was right too; lots of plants weren't even a little bit poisonous. People could just burn them, or chop them up, or press them to make cutesy decorations with no consequences.

"Just don't tell her plants don't need protectin'. If Red says all plants should get machine guns, it's best to just smile and agree. If you don't, she might kick you out or feed you to Mel. I wonder if Mel got any bigger since I saw him last month." Harley said.

"If Mel does eat me, don't tell anyone. I would prefer not to be remembered as the fearsome villain killed by a flower. Spare me that last indignity, all right?" Crane said.

"Okey-dokey, Professor." Harley agreed.

"Lovely. To prevent that painful situation, are there any tips you can give me to avoid engendering Poison Ivy's wrath? Any taboo words that might set her off? Any chemicals that make her turn brown and dry up like a salted slug?" Crane asked.

The blonde giggled nervously. "Um, yeah, there's a lot of stuff like that, actually. I don't mean the chemical stuff. She's like a poison-type Pokémon."

"Like a poisonous what?"

"A Pokémon. Anyway, there's, like, a million words you don't wanna say around Red. Fires, toxic waste, deforestation, Roundup weed killer, clear-cutting, slash-and-burn, bulldozer, stuff like that. The list could probably fill a book. A really, really, long book."

"How many trees would they have to cut down to print said book?" Crane asked sarcastically.

"That'd get you fed to Mel."

"Tell me, mathematically, what are my chances of leaving Ivy's lair alive? If they're below 50 percent, stop the truck and let me out. I'll start hitchhiking to Alaska."

"Don't mention Alaska or West Virginia, either. Red was all in a huff 'cause of the strip-mining there."

"Just answer my question. Am I walking to my own ridiculous death?" Crane demanded.

"Probably not. See, Red tells me all the time she wants "intellectual company." Harley made air quotes. "She says I'm fun to have sleepovers with, but she can't tell me anything science-y or I fall asleep. You're probably brainy enough for her."

The Scarecrow was about to voice his indignation when an interesting thought crept into his head. Various plants could cause hallucinations, as people who ingested certain mushrooms so they could smell color would tell you. In fact, his own fear toxin relied heavily on many naturally-occurring compounds. Poison Ivy, in all her botanical research, might have gained a plethora of knowledge on the psychological effects of plants. It wasn't out of the question that a new, and more potent, version of fear-inducing poison was hiding in Ivy's notes.

"Her research may prove interesting."

"When you say 'interesting' do you mean 'take some notes' or 'everybody's gonna be readin' 'bout this in the papers tomorrow' interesting?" Harley asked.

"With luck, the latter."

Harley was by no means a pessimist; she still somehow believed her relationship with the Joker was going to end with eternal bliss and wedding vows. However, she was beginning to doubt Gotham City would survive a melding of the minds between Pamela Isley and Jonathan Crane. Oh well. It was a little too late to suggest going anywhere else, and Harley really did want to see if Mel had grown any more prestigious. She'd just have to make sure she told everyone she cared about to invest in gas masks and weed-whackers in the coming weeks.

"How much longer until we get there?" The Scarecrow asked.

"Um, I can't quite remember what exit you're supposed to take. I think it's 65A, but it might be 65B. Now that I think about it, it could be exit 56."

"So we're going to be going in circles at least until four o'clock."

"Yep, most likely."

"All right. In that case, I'm going to sleep. Wake me when we get there and for no other reason. I don't care if nuclear war breaks out, the dead get up and tango or a vampire leaps on the roof and attempts to claw his way in."

"But what if it's Edward-"

"If the next word out of your mouth is 'Cullen', I'm going to break off all relations with you and you will be dead to me."

"I mean, what if it's, uh… Who are some other vampires?"

"Good night, Harley."

Crane finally got around to removing his mask. He bunched the burlap into a pillow and rested his head on it. The fabric was scratchy and smelled like hyena breath. The Scarecrow was hardly conscious long enough to register these facts.

Harley peeked over at her sleeping passenger and then turned her focus back to the road. Seeing Crane sleeping made her realize how tired she was. Stifling a yawn, Harley tried to recall what exit Red had drilled into her brain. A parade of 6's and 5's marched through her frontal lobe. Darn it, she should have written it down on something and kept it with her!

An indeterminate amount of time later, Crane became aware of the sensation of someone jabbing him in the ribs. In what was purely instinctive behavior brought on by years of being awoken by everything from police to gun-toting junkies looking for an easy rube to steal from, the Scarecrow grabbed the unknown poker and shoved his right hand directly into the person's face, a gesture that would normally have doused the unfortunate soul with poison. Luckily for Harley, Crane had no fear toxin on him and all she got was a close-up of his open palm.

"Child?" Crane blinked several times and Harley's startled face became clearer.

"We're, uh, here. Would you mind lettin' go?" Harley asked.

The Scarecrow looked down at his hand and realized he had inadvertently grabbed Harley's chest. His hand was wrapped firmly in her tee shirt, and it looked to the world like he was some pervert copping a feel. As though he had been caught feeling up his much-despised grandmother, Crane practically threw himself backwards. He hit the door, the handle dug into his spine, and all the blood in his body rushed to his face.

"I'm going to go kill myself now."

"Professor, maybe this can just be one of those things we never, ever talk about to anybody, even when we're on our deathbeds." Harley suggested.

That plan was definitely better than suicide.

"It'll be like those gay cowboys." Harley said, suddenly inspired.

Scratch that, he was going to hang himself from a tree.

"Okay, bad example. It'll be like that time Mister J got drunk on eggnog 'cause we put a gallon of booze in it and started-"

"I wish someone would invent the suicide booth, all ready." The Scarecrow moaned.

"Let's just go visit my gal-pal. I'm sure she can make you feel better; if not, she can hit you with a shovel until you don't remember anymore!" Harley said cheerfully.

Forcing his wayward hand to close firmly on the door handle, Crane pushed the door open. He stepped out of the truck and looked into the sky. It was gray, and the last stars were fading in the western sky. Harley must have gotten severely lost; more than four hours must have passed since he fell asleep.

"Do we just go up and ring the door bell?" Crane asked.

"No. Red told me where she hides the spare key. Come on, let's find it." Harley said.

By the dawn's early light, and by squinting until his eyes became slits, the Scarecrow was able to make out a complex of buildings several hundred yards away. Harley apparently hoped Poison Ivy wouldn't see the offending truck she had parked out in the boondocks.

"What do you plan to do with Bud and Lou?"

Harley froze in mid-step. "Oh, crap. Normally, I leave them with Mister J, but Arkham ain't exactly pet friendly. I'm sure Red won't mind. Come on, Babies, let's go get some breakfast. I hope it isn't organic tofu omelets again."

The Scarecrow watched with mild disbelief as Harley, closely followed by her children of another species, trotted off across the field. Before he pursued the mismatched trio, he retrieved his mask. If Harley was going to have her great, slobbery beasts for comfort, he was going to have Spooky Junior.

As the collection of buildings got closer, Crane began to notice a change in the scenery. The more he walked, the greener the grass became. As a rule, living things, be they human, animal, or plant, didn't thrive in Gotham City. In some vacant lots, even weeds had trouble hanging on. Here, however, the ground was lushly carpeted.

Harley paused and looked back halfway to her destination to see if Professor Crane was keeping up. He was fifty feet behind her, down on his hands and knees, examining the lawn. Sighing in exasperation, Harley went to retrieve him.

"I've never seen anything this purely green. It's like I'm seeing grass for the first time. Harley, this is quite incredible."

"Yeah, the yard's nice. You should see the flowerbeds." Harley said. Then she looked at her Babies and said sternly, "No peein' on them!"

"It's like I've seen the most perfect grass, the very essence of grass, the true Form of grass. I have escaped the cave and gazed upon real grass, not merely the shadow of grass!"

"Uh, sure, why not."

"It even smells nice, like summer in the country. Harley, have you smelled this grass?"

"Come on, Professor. You can tell Red all about how wonderful her yard is. It'll put you on her good side." Harley grabbed the Scarecrow's arm and forced him to abandon his poetic praising.

As Harley had promised, the flowerbeds did not disappoint. "Incredible. Why is Ivy spinning in the revolving door of Arkham when she could be doing landscaping for Bruce Wayne?"

"'Cause she's got a temper," Harley said.

"Even so, this is art. I've never seen such vibrant colors, such exquisite shades anywhere in nature. Remarkable. I can't even begin to identify many of these species; are they native to this region, do you know?"

"I know like four flowers, Professor. Dandelions, roses, daises, and tulips. If it ain't one of them, don't ask me." Harley replied.

Crane knelt down in front of the expansive flowerbeds and reached out for one of the flawless blooms. Before Harley could shriek or tackle him, he snapped the flower from its stalk. As though the little pink puffball had cried out in mortal agony, alerting its caregiver of its demise, the door hardly ten feet to Crane's right slammed open.

"What do you think you're doing?" Poison Ivy, clad in nothing but a long periwinkle nightgown and slippers, howled.

The Scarecrow hid the flower behind his back, as though concealing the evidence erased the crime. "Looking for a place to stay?" Crane ventured.

"You murdered that flower!"

"It's just a-"

Harley leapt on the Scarecrow, pinning him to the ground, and clapped her hand over his mouth. "What he meant to say, Red, was that he was really, really, totally sorry and he'll never do it again."

Foreseeing a death in which he was wrapped by vines until his eyes popped out, Crane nodded emphatically. Harley, sensing Crane wanted to beg for his life, removed her hand so he could do it properly.

"It was a terrible, reprehensible thing on my part. I was intrigued by the beauty and my hand acted before my mind could restrain it."

Ivy glared at him. "Do you know what you sound like? A politician apologizing for a sex scandal."

The Scarecrow muttered something under his breath and Harley punched him in the ribs.

"Not to her, it ain't just a fancy weed." The harlequin said, louder than intended.

"Harley, what possessed you to bring him here? Did you see a sign out in front of my house that said 'Free Scarecrow Storage'?" Ivy asked. "No? And do you know why? Because there isn't one! When I offer to take you in, that offer isn't extended to every freak you know. Or your pets!"

Bud had just lifted his leg to water Ivy's flower garden. Harley propelled herself off Crane and wrapped her arms around the hyena. She dragged Bud off and held him to prevent him from emptying his bladder on any rare specimens.

"He's housetrained, honest." Harley said.

A vein began to throb in Poison Ivy's temple. Crane was sympathetic. That same vein had pulsed violently in his own head whenever the Joker did something stupid or destructive.

"Then take him inside and let him water yesterday's sports section." Isley said.

"What about Professor Crane? You're not gonna kill him while I'm gone, right?" Harley asked.

"For now, I just want to talk to him. He better have a good story or his obituary's going to be interesting."

Harley pulled Bud and Lou inside, closing the door with a kick. The Scarecrow watched them go with a sinking feeling in his stomach; he'd probably dug his own grave just by picking one sprout of pink fluff. By the time the mutts were done with their business, Ivy would be planting him in some secret spot beside the greenhouse.

"Talk."

"Harley and I just escaped the Bat, and we needed a place to go. The Joker's either gone back to Arkham, or Batman finally snapped and killed him. I'm hoping for the latter."

"Why were you with Harley and that chauvinistic scum-dog she's too good for? I can't believe you'd seek them out." Ivy said.

"I'd stick a pencil in my eye before I'd join that lunatic! He barged into my home and refused to leave! He called me a nerd, blocked my toilet, ate my food, and since yesterday he's been physically torturing me! Do you want to guess how many times I was electrocuted in the past 24 hours? How about the number of times I was given a dose of my own fear toxin? Care to wager how often spiders bit me? I've got a rash and several head wounds! Would you like to see them?"

Pamela Isley stared, "The…Joker…did all that to you and you're still alive?"

"If this wretched state counts as living." Crane said. "I hate that clown with every fiber of my being."

Ivy's hard-line attitude disappeared. "You too, Crane? We should kill him."

"Yes? Yes, yes we should! And we should torture him first!"

"We should stab him with a trowel!"

"Force-feed him okra."

"Plant bamboo under him and let it skewer his body."

"I think I love you."

"Cool it."

Crane pulled himself off the ground. Ivy snickered and pointed at his hand.

"What is that thing?" She asked.

The Scarecrow held up his trusted burlap buddy. "Would you like to see my mask?"

"That depends. Would you like to see my genetically modified giant Dionaea muscipula, also known as Mel?" Ivy purred.

"I'd rather see your sofa or guest bedroom."

Taking it not as a harmless attempt to get some shuteye before he collapsed, but instead as a pathetic come-on line, Ivy growled at him. If there was one thing she hated—and there was certainly more than one—it was men who hid their intentions behind poorly rehearsed propositions.

The Scarecrow realized his mistake before Red could retrieve her crossbow and fire a few arrows into his vital organs. "I didn't mean it like that! If you've never had the Joker camp at your house, you don't realize how dangerous it is to sleep around him. I tried to take a nap and he broke down my door and drew moustaches on me with permanent marker!"

Mention of the Joker seemed to defuse the redhead. Crane breathed a sigh of relief. This woman might actually kill him for a little slipup. He'd have to monitor every word and install special Thought Police to detain anything that could be deemed sexist.

"You can sleep on the sofa. If you were dead on your feet, you should have told me sooner. I wouldn't have jumped down your throat."

Great, now she was showing a slightly maternal side. If he wasn't in fear of being tossed into the maw of a botanical Frankenstein, he might have offered her therapy sessions. There seemed to be some serious anger issues, along with hormonal imbalances and deep-seated prejudices.

Before the Scarecrow could reach the door, it flew open and disgorged Harley. She managed to fend off the inquiring heads of Bud and Lou and shut the door behind her.

"There was some purple stuff in your fridge I think was Jell-O, so I fed it to the Babies. Hope you don't mind, Red." Harley said.

"It was not gelatin! Never mind. I don't think it was poisonous." Ivy said.

Crane tried to slip discreetly past Harley and into the house. That, of course, didn't work. She grabbed his arm and yanked it almost hard enough to pull it from its socket.

"Before you go inside, you gotta see Mel! Come on, Professor, I'll show you where he is."

Allowing himself to be dragged, the Scarecrow had to count his blessings. He had escaped the Joker, he would be allowed to sleep as soon as he saw whatever horror-show Harley needed him to see, he'd have Ivy's food to eat, vegan crap or not, and plants couldn't possibly be worse than clowns. The situation wasn't ideal, but it was better than the asylum or the burning basement.

Those beliefs were somewhat shaken a few minutes later, when one of Mel's vines wrapped around his ankle and began to reel him into the gaping, toothed mouth. Luckily, Harley was able to beat the plant with a shovel, forcing it to release the terrified Scarecrow. Shaking in the greenhouse dirt, Crane wondered why the Universe hated him so, why, no matter where he went, he had no peace, and why everything wanted to kill him.

The Joker's voice, a phantom in Crane's head, was only too happy to supply the answer.

"Because you're a nerd!"

THE END!

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Author's Notes: Thanks, thanks, thanks for reading!

Little Shop of Horrors is a film about a giant talking plant that eats people.

Castor beans, nightshade and monkshood (also known as wolfsbane) are all incredibly poisonous.

In the Pokémon games, a poison-type Pokémon couldn't get poisoned. Poison Ivy is similarly immune. I feel like the Queen of the Nerds for remembering that stuff…

Edward Cullen is the vampire from Twilight. I think Crane would not be a fan.

The "gay cowboys" refers to Brokeback Mountain.

Plato had the idea that everything had a perfect Form, but on Earth all we had were imitations. Crane's saying that he saw the greatest grass that could ever exist anywhere.

Dionaea muscipula is the scientific name for the Venus flytrap.

I've got several one-shots and smaller stories in my head, so you'll hear from me soon. Thanks for being so supportive and for all the reviews, hits, and favorites. You guys gave me a lot of encouragement, and I'll try to give you some good reads in the near future. There may even be a far shorter sequel, but that's just vague right now.

Night Monkey, over and out.