Miriam

It’s two in the morning by the time we manage to escape. I’ve grown annoyed with Joker’s constant laughter, my hands aching for the gun I keep in my waistband. Crane is nodding off on my shoulder, far less vigilante than the other two.

Two-Face is still sitting in his chair, facing the windows, guns resting on his lap. He hasn’t said more than three words. I jump when Joker comes out of nowhere to thrust his face near mine. He smells of gunpowder and blood. Crane straightens next to me.

“Wait wait wait. I now YOU.”

I lean away from him, fingers slipping to the knife in my skirt.

“You do?” “YES! You worked for, ah, you worked for itty bitty Baby Doll. I could, hoo!, never forget such pretty, pretty red hair. Like blood.”

He wraps a curl of my hair around his finger and giggles. I grit my teeth and stare straight ahead.

“Enough, Joker,” Crane snaps, bristling.

Joker lets go of my hair to rock back on his heels, grinning widely.

“And you’ve upgraded , ah, to Strawboy here! Good job.”

“I said enough.”

There’s a snick as needles appear in Crane’s hands. Joker’s eyes dart to them and back to me before he smiles.

“Naughty naughty, Scarecrow. The, haha, lady here can take care of, ah, herself. She, she sure gave Bat Brain a hard time.”

“It’s time to go,” Two-Face says before it can get ugly.

“Fantastic. I, haha, I want some fresh air,” Joker chirps, strolling off.

Crane stands quickly, grabbing my elbow and striding out. When we’re far from the apartment, in an alley, I start talking.

“I can take care of myself, sir. It’s my job, actually. I’m here to protect you. There’s no need to defend me.”

He nods briefly, fingers tightening on my arm. I sigh and drop the subject.

He only gets sulkier when we get home, like a little boy denied a toy. I hide my smile as I slide the jacket off his shoulders, clean the blood from his face, and put ice on the bruises.

He has a bowl of cereal at my urging, the stomps off to take a shower, muttering about, “Filthy Gotham prisons, filled with degenerates.”

I tidy up while I wait. Crane’s happier when he leaves the shower, stands in the doorway with a towel around his waist. His hair is wet, dripping onto pale skin. The black eye looks worse without his glasses, but he’s smiling. I enjoy the sharp cut of his hipbones and ignore the surprising amount of scars. Well, surprising for a doctor who fights mostly with needles and gas, anyway. He rolls his shoulders, neck cracking, and nods hello.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes.”

He pads over to settle next to me.

“How’s your eye?”

“It’s better. They usually don’t hit me very hard. Afraid I’ll magically produce my syringes and infect them all.” Scarecrow flashes through his face. “I would like that.”

He throws an arm around me, skin smelling of Irish Spring. If my admittedly hazy memories of him are correct, it’s the same soap my father used to use. I smile.

“You have another appointment tomorrow, sir,” I tell him while I slide my shoes off and wiggle my toes. “Two, actually. One with Bane, at his base. Two in the morning. And the other at....” I check my phone. “The other at four, with something called a Quinn?”

“Someone, actually,” he corrects. “She’s Joker’s....pet girlfriend, I suppose. Completely obsessed with him. Worse than Harley Quinn was, really.”

“I’ve never heard of this girl.”

I remember Harley Quinn, how beautiful she was, the story of her fall from Arkham, and her death, neck snapped by a random thug, of all things. I had always assumed Joker would be the one to kill her.

“She was before Harley Quinn. A kidnapped schoolgirl who fell for Joker, classic case of Stockholm Syndrome. She has the scars, too.”

He trails a finger over his mouth as explanation, and I raise an eyebrow.

“He cut her face open?”

“No, she was like that from an accident. Anyway, she was sentenced to Arkham six years ago. Joker didn’t care enough to retrieve her, but when Harley Quinn died, I suppose he wanted another pet. She’s insane now, I can tell. Hallucinations, addiction to self harm, that obsession with Joker...” Crane licks his lips, lacing his fingers together. “It’s all so delicious. I just want a taste!”

I inch away from him when I realize he’s Scarecrow right now. He stands to grin crookedly down at me.

“Sir...”

“So many problems, such a twisted mind, all tangled up and frightened like a trapped animal and I’m gonna see if she’ll bite!” he hisses, shifting from foot to foot.

I’m very thankful that he’s just in a towel, no place to hide needles.

“Crane! If you attack me, I’m breaking your nose!” I snarl, holding his eyes.

His shoulders loosen and he looks down.

“I apologize, Miriam.”

“It’s fine, sir. You should sleep now, it’s been a long day.”

He nods, stooping to kiss my forehead. It surprises a laugh from me, which makes him smile.

“Goodnight, Miriam.”

“Night.”