Jonathan sat opposite Victoria in the dive bar he had taken her to. She held a bottle of beer in her hands, resting her elbows on the table. Jonathan stuck to orange juice, not entirely trusting the drinks being served. He decided somewhere quiet and inconspicuous would suit their needs. He held his orange juice and looked over to her as she kept quiet.
Her eyes were fixed on the table beneath her, almost as if she was too frightened to look into his eyes. She didn't know why she had agreed to go with him. She'd followed him to his car and the drive had been silent. He'd asked her what she wanted to drink. She almost snapped at him when she had said a beer and he had rolled his eyes. He always would look down on her, Vicky knew that.
"What was that about in the car park?"
Vicky wondered how long it would take before the questions began to flow again.
"I'm in the same trouble my dad was," Vicky admitted, "they just won't kill me until the time is right."
"They still want the toxin?" Jonathan checked, "even though you don't have it?"
"Do you think people like Falcone ever give up?" Vicky drawled back, swigging the beer from the bottle. She tugged her leather jacket from her arms and dropped it on the space next to her. She looked back to Jonathan, her eyes wide and full of fear as she did so.
"So it is Falcone who wants it?"
"I don't know," Vicky said. "There's someone else who wants the method too...someone higher up or something. I don't know. Like I said; they just won't take no for an answer. Apparently there is some secret ingredient missing before the toxin can become perfect."
And didn't Jonathan know it. He was studying hard in a feeble attempt to find it for himself. He still struggled to believe that Victoria was in trouble because of the toxin. If she didn't have it after all this time then she never would have it.
"Why are they bothering?" Jonathan wondered, adjusting the glasses on the end of his nose. "It is clear that you don't know what they want. I mean...you're hardly the intelligent type, are you?"
"Thanks," Vicky snapped. "You never did think much to me."
"The feeling was reciprocated if I remember correctly," Jonathan snarled back to her. "I saw what happened to you, Victoria. You look worse than ever."
A bark of laughter escaped her as she drained the alcohol from the bottle and held her hand up to order another bottle. The bartender nodded and winked as she looked back to Jonathan.
"They shot my mother and left her body in the dumpster behind a club," Victoria said, her voice lacking any emotion. She had closed herself up throughout the years she had been alone. What other choice did she have but to do that? "Gotham is full of scum, but no one does anything about it. My mother was buried before anyone could blink an eye. The police left me, telling me that there was nothing they could do for me."
"And so you stopped coming to college."
"I hated Psychology anyway...all it is...it just provides an excuse for criminals to act in the way they do. I don't want excuses for anyone anymore," Victoria shook her head. "Half of them aren't insane, they're sane, but can't take responsibility for anything they have done. I'm tired of it."
Jonathan said nothing, regarding her for a moment before she shook her head and took the new beer which had been brought to her. She held it in her hands again, giving her something to twirl in her hands and entertain her. Jonathan watched as her curls fell into her face. Her face was gaunt and her eyes were wide.
"They took my mom from me," she whispered. "They took my house...left me with nothing...even now, they still pester me and take everything I earn. I have two jobs. I have an apartment in the Narrows."
"Why do they take your money from you?"
"To let me know that I'm never going to be left alone until they have what they want. They refuse to stop my suffering...but...it doesn't matter to me anymore. Nothing matters anymore, does it?"
"Why not leave?"
"Do you think I haven't tried?" Vicky wondered; sipping on her beer as Jonathan finished his orange juice. "Falcone owns this city. I'm a pawn in his game. A useless pawn, but a pawn nonetheless."
"He's a fool," Jonathan shook his head. "I cannot comprehend it."
"You don't need to," Vicky assured him. "It's my life, not yours."
"You're not living a life," Jonathan challenger her. "You're existing, but you are not living, are you? You're being hounded for something which you do not have."
Victoria couldn't say anything back to him, knowing full well that there was nothing more to say to him. She shrugged her shoulders and leant back against the booth, closing her eyes for a moment and running her hands through her blonde hair. Her gaze found Jonathan's again as he watched her with vague wonder.
"I suppose," she weakly agreed. "I don't know what you want me to say."
"I suppose there is nothing else to talk about," Jonathan brusquely said. "Perhaps you should see someone about this."
"Who? Doctor Barnard?" Vicky scoffed. "He kept calling after mom's death. He said he was worried about me, but I never went. I don't need some psychiatrist to tell me that I'm messed up."
"You're not messed up," Jonathan said. "In fact, I think you are coping rather well. Many others would have looked for an escape in the bottom of a whiskey bottle, or the barrel of a gun."
Vicky shuddered, not daring to think about anything like that. She didn't want to end her life. She was too scared to do that. It was not what she needed to do.
"Yeah, well," Vicky shrugged and finished off her beer. "I should get going. I have work tomorrow morning."
"Where else do you work?"
"A diner downtown," she mumbled. "I do the morning shift and then go to the restaurant in the evening. Not that it means anything to me. I don't get the money."
"Do you want a ride home?" Jonathan asked her.
She shook her head with haste. She didn't want to take advantage of him. She didn't know why she had gone for a drink with him. Maybe she really was lonely. It wouldn't surprise her. She had no one in her life. She was too scared to let anyone in. She didn't want anyone to be hurt because of her. She'd never live with herself if that happened.
"I'm fine," she assured him. "I'll walk home."
"In the Narrows? At night?"
"I know that it is dangerous," Vicky agreed with him, "but I do it every night. Nothing has happened yet."
"You always were stubborn."
"You didn't know me for that long."
"I knew you long enough to form an opinion of you," Jonathan replied. "You're not that difficult to read."
"Yeah, well," Vicky muttered and pushed herself from the seat.
She placed her jacket onto her shoulders and looked back to Jonathan for a brief moment, wondering what she should say to him before she left. She supposed she wouldn't see him again. Not that it would matter either way. They had never been best friends. He had never offered her comfort or friendship. Why should he start now?
"Take care of yourself," Jonathan urged her in a soft voice. He stood up and looked over to her, seeing a small smirk on her face as she nudged him in the side.
"I'm a big girl," she replied gently. "I've managed on my own for a while."
"I know," Jonathan said. "I thought it would be polite to offer you a kind gesture."
"And you are nothing if not polite," Vicky whispered, a smug look still on her face. "Tell me, do you still do what is expected of you, or what you want to?"
"A bit of both," Jonathan replied, refusing to bite at her comments. "In that case, I would take your cell number."
"Why?" Vicky asked him.
"Because you might need to talk to someone one day."
"And you're the ideal guy?"
"Do you have anyone else rushing to help you?" Jonathan asked, looking around for added emphasis. "Just do it, Victoria. It makes sense, doesn't it?"
"You never came to me after that day. Why do you care now? Or have I suddenly become interesting?"
"You were always interesting," Jonathan challenged her. "Just never as desperate as you are now. And I didn't come because I knew you would need space. It was not my place to reach out to you, was it? I thought that you would have fled Gotham."
"I wish I had," she replied in a mumble. "I should have gone. I should have left and never came back."
"You should have," Jonathan nodded, "but you didn't. So give me your number."
Vicky pulled a simple phone from her pocket and passed it to him, allowing him to take her number.
"You don't need to care," she whispered. "Anyone close to me often gets hurt, as you know."
"I'll take that risk," Jonathan muttered.
He bid her goodnight and watched her walk off. A moment passed him and he wondered why he had shown that kindness to her. Jonathan wasn't known to be kind. He wasn't known to show compassion. Did a part of him feel guilty? She wouldn't be in this mess if he had told her what he knew. But he kept quiet. He never said anything to her.
He was the reason for her demise.
A small part of guilt came to him as a voice in his head told him not to be so foolish. It wasn't his fault. It was her father's fault.
Perhaps she could need Jonathan in the future.
He could perfect the toxin.
Maybe she could have revenge and then the guilt would stop.
...
A/N: Just a filler chapter for the moment. Thanks to everyone reading and thanks to anyone who reviews!
