Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series or anything - or anyone - associated with the series. I also do not own Lewis Carroll or any of the quotes taken from him to be put into this story, and I do not own Agatha Christie's books or storylines.

Atychiphobia

Part One: A Game We'll Play Your Way

1. Rhymes

He remained still in his cell, loathe to move for the time being. His arm still burned with pain. His head still roared with riddles. Yet... Why was he cursed so that none of them... None... none!... were quite good enough for that treacherous Batman... Not good enough to fool him...

Edward Nigma stared at the white-grey wall in front of him, imagining himself outside of Arkham, creating riddles that would really go over that bat's head... He sighed, turning away from the wall to frown at the hideous orange jumpsuit he'd been forced to put on... It certainly was far from perfection. Not a single speck of green, and certainly no question marks! ...Ah, well. He didn't really mind Arkham all that much, with its air-headed psychiatrists, incompetent guards, and just awful security system in general... At least the food was halfway decent. And, free. And, he even got his own cell! Not that it was first-rate, by any means... He was still privy to the screams and songs of his fellow inmates...

At that moment, for example, Poison Ivy was across the hall, shrieking like a banshee because one of the wardens was walking the corridors with pieces of a crushed leaf stuck to the bottom of his shoe. The plant murderer! ...How exactly had she noticed that? Now that was a riddle indeed.

And, in one of the cells directly next to Edward's, the Mad Hatter - Jervis Tetch - could be heard chanting aloud a little poem, " 'Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, their shoes were clean and neat - and this was odd, because, you know, they hadn't any feet...'."

Edward rolled over onto his stomach, hissing at the pain in his arm. He never could seem to get out of a fight with Batman unscathed. And, injuries always made the first few days in Arkham such a drag... The guards wouldn't even let him go to activity when he was injured! Now, where was the fun in that? Not that he did much in the Activity Center anyway, except for occasionally take over a game of chess for Jervis when he became too consumed with his fairy tale world to function... But, playing chess was always fun. Well, not the playing, per se... But, the winning was fun. Winning was always fun.

He listened silently as that same Jervis, the one he occasionally took over board games for, rambled on through the rest of his poem, then took over the storytelling of a different part of his - or, as he would insist, Alice's - Wonderland... "... 'A slow sort of country!' said the Queen. 'Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!'..."

Edward listened to the Hatter's prattle for a while before he mustered the strength to stand up and walk across his cell to look for a new book of puzzles... But, most of the books that were stacked in the small corner had been solved through five times over. He found one that was not quite complete - though it was tragically close. He opened it, searching through the pages for puzzles he hadn't yet completed... None of the puzzles were actually filled in on the pages, of course: writing utensils were strictly banned in Arkham... Not that there wasn't good reason for that ban. Imagine all the things that one could do to his doctors, his guards, his fellow inmates with a pen or pencil... Edward shook his head, holding the page at 155; he didn't quite recall that puzzle - a strange little number crossword. No wonder he didn't remember it: he was much better with words. Still...

By the time ten minutes had rolled by, Edward was mentally scratching out Puzzle 168 of 176. Only eight left... Within minutes, he would be without puzzles again. And, then what would he do? He shook his head, deciding to cross that bridge when he got to it; until then, he was going to focus his mind on figuring out the answers...

"Three wise men of Gotham..."

Or, at least, he had planned to simply find out all the puzzles' answers... Edward frowned, concentration broken by the voice coming from the other side of the wall. It came through loud and clear. The Scarecrow must have been sitting along the wall in his cell, as well...

"Went to sea in a cup..."

Edward put his book down, listening to the unfamiliar rhyme.

"If that cup had been stronger,

Perhaps my rhyme would be longer."

Edward smiled slightly. Ah, beautiful morbid humor... He turned his head, replying through the wall, "Thank you, Crane, for that wonderful... song."

He could almost imagine the tall man bristling at that; he wished he could see the reaction. But, the only reaction he could judge was the older man's dry voice saying, "That was not a song, Nigma. Nor was it intended for your ears."

"Well, if it wasn't intended for my ears, then I'll have to sadly inform you that you're talking to yourself, Doctor. As a psychologist, you must know that is never a good sign."

Silence answered for the next few moments. Then... "How is your father these days, Edward? Still in Blackgate, or...?"

Edward's lip curled, instantly loathing the Scarecrow for always bringing up the absolute worst possible conversation topics. "Of course he's still in Blackgate!," he snapped.

"I wouldn't be so sure."

A chill crept up The Riddler's spine at the sound of the Scarecrow's voice. "...What do you mean?"

Jonathan Crane reveled in the poorly-hidden fear that filled his fellow inmate's question. And, he said nothing to soothe that fear. Nothing at all.

Edward stayed in the exact same place against the wall for an hour after that. Trying to convince himself that the Scarecrow was simply trying to unnerve him. There was absolutely nothing that Crane could know about his... There was absolutely nothing Crane knew that Edward Nigma didn't already! That was a fact. That was true!

...But, why hadn't the Scarecrow answered his question? ...Why - The same reason people never answered his questions, of course! Because they didn't know the answer! That was it! Crane knew he was wrong and just didn't want to sound more like an idiot, so he didn't answer!

He, Edward Nigma - The Riddler -, was perfectly safe! And, completely correct! And, he had absolutely nothing to worry about!

Nothing to fear.