Kira Tsumi-Stop that, you're making me blush. And you're making me sick. Be quiet and don't gas the readers, Doctor.

SwordStitcher-Oh, undoubtedly. Yep! I should narrate... No! You're not allowed.

Voodoo-Mutant-Child-Oh, fantastic, a stalker. Ignore him. I believe stalking is illegal, actually.


Yes. Scream. Come on, sweetheart, scream your little lungs out.

It wasn't as though she had a choice. She was strapped to an old mortuary table with a double of dose of their toxin in her veins. Scarecrow rubbed his hands together and grinned behind the mask.

You've had your fun. Now move over so I can work.

Fine, fine. Spoilsport.

Jonathan rolled his eyes and tugged the mask off. Wordless screaming wouldn't answer his questions, entertaining as it may have been.

"What do you see?"

She had her eyes squeezed shut and she refused to answer him. God, why did these people never cooperate?

I'll get it out of her, Jonny-boy!

You'll break her neck. No.

"What do you see?" he asked again, kneeling down next to the table. "Tell me and it will all go away."

You magnificent bastard, Jon!

Thank you. I think.

She whimpered. For a minute he was tempted to turn her over to Scarecrow out of frustration, but then she answered him.

"Teeth! They're biting me, they're trying to get inside me!"

Oh. He had yet to run across that particular hallucination. How interesting.

Give her a great, big toothy grin! It'll be fun!

I have to get her vitals again before it wears off. Then I have to put her back. Then we're going home.

Why?

Headache.

Wuss.

Wuss or not, he'd been feeling off for the last two days. It was probably lack of sleep.

Her heart rate was starting to slow. Good.

He finished cleaning up while the toxin ran its course-it wasn't quite permanent, something he had to work on-and then went to release her. She was nearly catatonic and he had to drag her to the elevator. Perhaps there was something to be said for weight lifting.

Good luck.

You could have helped.

I don't have your self-control.

Well, at least he admitted it.


"You are late."

"Work."

"Someone's going to notice, you know."

"No they won't. Or they won't care."

"Still."

He shrugged and folded his hands behind his head.

"They won't notice."

She frowned at him. Fine. She could frown, but he was right. Besides, he wasn't in the mood for an argument. His head was really starting to hurt.

"Just don't dig your own grave, love, that's all I'm saying." She took her robe off and dropped it over the chair in the corner. "Be careful."

"I'm always careful."

She didn't look like she bought it.

Too bad.

For once, you have a point.

Kitty flopped down on the bed and crossed her arms over her eyes.

"Are you feeling okay?"

How did she always know? It was a wonder he tried to hide anything from her.

"Yes."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not. It's just a headache."

"Stress."

"Mm."

He reached over to click off the lamp on his nightstand. Normally he would have read for a while, but he was too tired tonight. Besides, reading would only worsen his headache.

God, you're a wuss. It's not that bad.

But it hurts, so shut up and let me sleep.

Night, kiddo.


Oww. Even Scarecrow admitted that this really hurt.

Jonathan was trying very hard not to move. He would have taken something, but the Advil was all the way over there. Blinking hurt! He had never known blinking to hurt before.

God, quit the observations and make it stop!

That didn't help.

All right. He would get up and make his way over to the dresser. It was five measly steps, how hard could it be?

We can do it!

An image of Rosie the Riveter flashed behind his eyelids. How was that helpful?

Okay. Five steps. Five little steps to relief.

Sitting up was bad, but getting up made his stomach twist in a very unpleasant way.

I'm gonna be sick.

We're gonna be sick.

He found himself kneeling in front of the toilet, spitting out bile. His head spiked and he wondered what was wrong with him. What time was it?

"Jonathan?"

Busted.

She startled him when she appeared next to him. At least she left the light off.

"Come on, love, stand up."

Standing made him nauseous again.

"S-sorry…"

"Rinse your mouth out and go back to bed." she said softly. "I told you to stop staying late."

Then she was gone and he was left gripping the sink. His mouth tasted yellow.

No more weird stories before bed.

It still tastes yellow.

He was sure the water he spat out was yellow, too, but he didn't turn the lights on to see. He just wanted to go back to bed. His headache had gone down to a dull, steady throb.

He'd been lying there for a few minutes when a cold rag settled over his eyes. What…Kitty.

"Go back to sleep. There's a water bottle by you if you need it."

No. He had no desire to put anything into his stomach right now.

"Thanks."

"No work tomorrow, and that's final."

Maybe she was right. But he couldn't take sick days…he'd worry in the morning. Maybe this would be gone by then.