A/N: Hello. This little section was written on a plane home, with my first Pepsi in forever awaiting my drinking, and chocolate in my pocket while Harvey Two-Face was playing on my iPod. (the epitome of perfection). Sorry this is a bit late. Enjoy and review nonetheless. And I am sorry, really. I have no excuse other than sloth for putting this up so late. please please review? I'll try to do better, promise. joker and jon abandoned me for a while there.

also, no ownie.

Warnings: if you haven't figured out by now that this is slash, then you seriously need some glasses. (make them cute. ) slash (as usual) violence, kidnapping. good stuff. also, I may have barely researched PTSD, so I may have stretched the effects and facts.

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Chapter 10

Jonathan

When Jonathan awoke the next day, his mouth felt dry and his head pounded. He raised his head slightly and squinted against the bright sunlight that inched it's way across the rotting floor and shined directly into his eyes, blinding him more than he already was.

He dimly realized that a heavy body was lying half on top of him and dropped his head back to the foul-smelling pillow with a barely-suppressed groan as his head throbbed again.

Flashes of the previous night (and oh god what had he done) flashed through his mind and his eyes flew open again, panic momentarily gripping his heart.

Shit.

Had he seriously spilled his innermost secrets like a goddamn girl to the Joker of all the people in the entire world? He really had lost it. He knew that lapses in judgment were common in patients that had experienced a traumatic event and/or suffered from PTSD, but he refused to diagnose PTSD upon himself, namely because he refused to let the damn event have that much of an impact on him.

How well is that working out for you?

Oh please shut the fuck up. Thank you.

He sighed in frustration, taking a few deep breaths trying to analyze the situation. So he'd told Jack/Joker. Maybe that was better, maybe Jack/Joker would have some sort of an aneurysm and forget, or just didn't care.

(Jonathan would be more inclined to believe that if they hadn't been making out for who knows how long before Jonathan decided to spill his guts all over. Super attractive. Great job. Idiot.)

Anyway, Jack/Joker wasn't letting the little confession bother him too much like normal people would. Jonathan's training told him most people would keep distance between them and the violent crime victim, but then again, Jack/Joker was anything but most people or normal, so none of Jonathan's education would help in analyzing him.

As if he wanted the inevitable headache that would be analyzing Jack/Joker.

Jonathan sighed again, frustration and his own whirling mind making him irrationally worried. He turned his head and glanced furtively at the sleeping Jack/Joker and chewed his lip, eyes flittering down the much more muscled form of his ally. His eyes narrowed as he just barely noticed the sleek black handle of a pistol tucked in the waistband of his ridiculous purple pants.

Does he seriously sleep with a loaded gun pointed at his dick?

"The safety is on," Jack/Joker explained, sleep making his voice even gruffer than usual. Jonathan arched his eyebrow, not making eye contact with the clown.

"ESP doesn't exist," he answered, as if that was an answer, and Jack/Joker laughed, sending chills down Jonathan's spine.

"I never said it did," he whispered into Jonathan's ear, grabbing the other man's slim wrist painfully. "I was merely commenting on the status of the pistol in my pants."

Jonathan winced at the double entendre and Jack/Joker laughed again.

"You really aren't funny," he lied through his teeth. Jack/Joker smirked.

"I'm sure," he whispered silkily and Jonathan shuddered again, for an entirely different reason.

Jack/Joker smirked and abruptly rolled over, getting to his feet and towering over Jonathan. Jon scowled and got up too, unappreciative of Jack/Joker's attempts to be intimidating.

"So," Jack/Joker said, all- business. "I have questions and you have answers."

Jonathan's guards instantly went up.

"What makes you thi-"

Before he could get the rest of his thought out, the door exploded inward and gas filled the room. Jonathan gagged, recognizing it as a variant of his own toxin, something he'd discovered trying to make the toxin stronger, and held his breath, searching for his shirt, cloth-anything to filter the air around him, but the gas was stronger than he had anticipated and his head swam.

He met Jack/Joker's emotionless gaze for a brief second before blackness invaded his vision and he fell to his knees before blacking out.

His last conscious though was how much he hated the Batman for not understanding.