Xander woke up slowly, sleep had left her dazed. When all her senses returned, with the numbness of sleep cast off, she noticed a pressure on her rump.

"Jon. Jon," Xander called, trying to wake him up. He rolled in closer, mumbling something. "Jon, you need to move your hand. It's on my ass."

Half asleep, he mumbled, "You mind? I'm enjoying the moment."

"Son of a bitch," she breathed.

He chuckled. "How was it? I never got to ask you." Xander punched him before quickly climbing out of bed. "No, no, come back, you smell nice." She rolled her eyes as she gathered her clothes off the floor. "Was it that bad?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Not dignifying that with a response," she told him. "I don't want you to go all psychiatrist on my response."

"I won't. It's a yes or no question."

"But each response leads into another question, such as 'How do you feel about that?'"

Crane shook his head. "Only amatuer pyschiatrists ask that question."

Xander paused in pulling on her shirt, unable to resist smiling fondly. "Don't you have someone to gas?" she asked as she finished dressing.

He arched an eyebrow. "Is that an invitation?"

"If it is, expect a couple rounds in your chest soon after. I don't make a good paranoid," Xander said, shoving her finger in his chest, trying to drive home the shooting bit.

He merely chuckled and pulled her in. She protested and fought against him, but his grip was strong for a scrawny guy.

She looked at him, shooting him a look. "Let. Go," she said, through clenched teeth, straining to get away from him.

Crane smiled. "No," he said coolly and then kissed her. Immediately, she stilled as if swooning under his cast spell. "Whoa, I didn't know I had that effect on you," he laughed.

"No, you don't." He looked down at her, only to receive a heavy punch to the face. Xander broke free of his grasp and jumped off the bed, fleeing into the hallway and slamming the door shut.

She turned her back to the door and leaned heavily against it, her fingers touching her lips. A slight blush rose in her cheeks as she remembered hours previously. "Oh, I hate him."

"May I come out?" Crane asked through the door.

"Are you going to play nice?" she asked. "Not beat up kids in the schoolyard."

"I think I can rightfully say that it's not me we have to worry about seeing as you're the one who punched me."

"Your point is?"

"I get punished for being the victim?"

"Life isn't fair. Deal with it."

He was quiet for a moment and then said, "The bed's nice and warm. Still smells like you."

Xander threw her hands in the air, heaving an exasperated sigh. "I just can't win," she exclaimed, walking away from the door, but she said it with a smile.

Shadow hadn't changed. Xander pulled up a chair and sat down wearily, reaching out a hand and rubbing her thumb over her friend's knuckles. She listened to the constant heart monitor, beeping away in the otherwise quiet room. Shadow's chest rose and fell in an even rhythmic. After a few moments, Xander shook herself, fighting against the exhaustion that threatened to take her.

Despite having slept, she hadn't rested, her concern for Shadow penetrating her dreams. She knew the effects of the fear gas very well; she had spent weeks with Crane and knew the danger.

Xander withdrew her hand and rubbed her temples, trying to ease the headache that was beginning to emerge. She glanced over at Shadow, who continued to breathe and remain motionless. "I envy you," she said quietly to her unconscious friend.

"You envy her being drugged?"

"Shut up, Jon." Xander grinned, refusing to look at him. "You headed out?"

"How'd you know?" he asked, teasingly.

"You're kind of muffled. Blame your mask." Xander turned and rested an arm on the back of her chair. "Testing or actual crime?"

"Guess." Xander arched an eyebrow. He sighed and said, "Testing…with a bit of actual crime."

"That's my man."

He laughed. "Does your 'man' get something for a goodbye?"

"Seriously? Do you really have to ask?" She stood and approached him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You'll have to take the mask off," she told him.

Crane swiped it off and kissed her. "Don't wait up," he said as he replaced his mask.

"You know I will."

"Not too late."

"A-ha, you're funny."

After he left, Xander returned to her seat, rubbing her thighs with her hands. She soon found herself nodding off, and to ward it away, she stood and paced about the room. She knew her restlessness was because of her inability to help Shadow further. Sitting and hoping that her friend would emerge safely from the induced coma was mental and emotional torment.

Xander sat down again and dropped her face into her hands. Concentrating on her breathing, she fell into unconsciousness, only to be awoken by barks.

"Jon doesn't have dogs," she muttered to herself, quickly rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She stood and wandered toward the doorway, peeking out and listening as the barking grew louder, followed by a commanding voice.

She spotted movement on the stairwell, and a Rottweiler leaped out into the hall, nose sniffing the air. A second one followed it, stopping beside it, and began smelling the ground. Xander narrowed her eyes, recognizing the man who followed the two dogs.

She stepped out into the hall and closed the door to Shadow. The clicking sound attracted the dogs' attention, and they issued low warning growls. Dean gave sharp whistle, and the dogs quieted but watched Xander.

"She's in there?" Dean asked as he stepped around the Rottweilers.

"You don't listen, do you?" Xander asked in return. "What does 'keep your distance' mean?"

"There's no risk in me being here."

"Did you not hear what Scarecrow said?"

"He never said that I couldn't be here if I wasn't the Joker's right-hand."

Xander paused, catching what he said. "The Joker fired you?"

"In a sense. He tried to kill me. I left." Xander glanced down, noticing how Dean favored his right leg. "And nobody followed me here."

"You still shouldn't be here. Particularly with pets."

"These pets are Shadow's." Xander arched an eyebrow. Dean gave her a small smirk. "Obviously she never told you that she technically owned dogs." One of the Rottweilers had slowly approached Xander, sniffing the air tentatively. The dog hesitated and then whimpered, lifting its head.

"What's it want?" Xander asked, and then realized that it was a she.

"She can smell Shadow on you." Dean used this moment to move closer to the room. The second dog followed at his side. "Her name's Scout."

The name rung a bell. Xander dropped a hand, and the Rottweiler sniffed it before eagerly nuzzling it. "Don't think that her being adorable is going to get you access to Shadow," Xander said without raising her gaze from the dog.

"I want to see her."

"And that's not going to give you access."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't trust you," Xander snapped, meeting his gaze.

He blinked. "Do you trust Shadow?" Xander frowned; she knew where he was going. "Well, do you?"

"I trust her, not you."

"She trusts me."

"She's not conscious right now so I call the shots."

Suspicion lit in his eyes. "What do you mean she's not conscious?"

"Simply that."

His eyes darkened. "What did you do to her?" he demanded.

"Put. Her. To. Sleep," Xander said, emphasizing each word. "That's all."

"You didn't use the antidote?"

"The Joker pumped so much into her that the antidote would only do more harm. Chill out." Xander's blood boiled as she tried to control her own panic. "I don't like it either, but you don't see me getting all worked up about it."

Dean exhaled slowly, in an attempt to regain his composure. "So you're letting it run its course," he said. "You do realize that it still hurts her when she's asleep."

"Terrors, I know," Xander said. "Before she became hysterical, she did tell me some."

"Not enough, obviously."

Xander's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" Dean's stare didn't soften, his lips tightly clamped shut. "Don't tempt me, I will shoot you in the other leg."

He stiffened. "You weren't there so you wouldn't know."

"So, tell me or I will shoot." Xander produced an automatic Slavic pistol. "Trust me, this will sting more than an iti-biti revolver."

"How did you know?" he accused.

"He stole the weapon from me the other night when he came looking for Shadow. I know my weapons."

Dean wetted his lips quickly. "Put the gun away," he said. "You don't need to threaten me." Xander didn't move. He heaved a weary sigh and asked, "Can we at least sit down? Scout and Prince missed her."

Xander glanced at the two Rottweilers who were whimpering at the door, Scout pawing at it with a pleading look. She sighed and opened it, to which both dogs barked at her, as if to thank her before they bounded inside and raised up on their back legs to see Shadow clearer.

Xander moved out of the way, allowed Dean to enter. She heard his sharp intake of breath at the sight of Shadow unconscious and attached to a breathing mask. She probed his back with a finger, and he limped over to the opposite side of the bed, pulling up a chair. As he sat down, he said, "You can have my only escape route." He gestured to the door.

"As if you had a choice," Xander scoffed. She returned to her chair and gestured for him to speak, merely placing her Slavic pistol on her lap.

"Before I begin, did Shadow tell you the Joker's reason for doing what he did?"

"He wanted her back."

"Partly. The Joker says she'll delusional."

"Says the man whose second home is Arkham Asylum." Xander shook her head. "Delusional, how?"

"She's living the delusion that she doesn't love him and that she's a detective."

"But she is," Xander insisted.

"I know that. You know that. He doesn't believe it." Dean ran a hand through his black hair, brushing it out of his eyes. "It's been going on for weeks. He hardly ever gave her time in between visits where he would ask her if she loved him. When she answered no, he would restrain her in the gas chamber and use the fear gas." He exhaled a shaky breath. "She's scream and beg for him to let her out, thrashing against her restraints and screaming like someone was poking her with a hot iron."

"And you sat there and watched?"

Dean shook his head. "No, this is what she told me after the first week. I thought the worst he did was lock her up in a cell so I would come by and visit her with food. He started out slow, I guess, because after the first week, she wouldn't let me near her. She couldn't tell that I was a friend. Day after day, she only became worse as the Joker upped the dosage.

"Eventually, I discovered when and where he did it. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get her out until the Joker thought her 'treatment' was over. Then, she started breaking her restraints, using the strength her ability gives her. The Joker didn't always watch her while she was in the chamber so I was able to unlock the door and get her out earlier.

"At first, she was convinced that it was him who was waiting for her so she would remain inside the room. The gas started choking her. She had to get out so I would hold my breath and drag her out. She made the connection after the third time that I wasn't the Joker because he would have left her in there."

"So she had someone to trust," Xander said quietly, unconsciously tracing her pistol with a finger.

Dean nodded. "But it was never to remain the same. Her temporary safety with me would end. The Joker came down earlier than usual and caught me while I was trying to comfort her. He warned me to leave, but I refused and fought him." Dean dropped his gaze to his unsteady hands. "He's always been stronger than me. I couldn't hold him off for long. I couldn't protect her from him; I lost consciousness. I don't know what he did to her, but the last thing I heard was her..." He broke off as his voice cracked with a muffled sob.

Xander's eyes dropped, her hands shaking. It was the same; it was occurring all over again. Dean held the same guilt Shadow did; he had been unable to save her like she had been unable to save Xander. Xander's breath caught in her throat as she realized that Shadow had become both parts, the victim and the instigator.

"She kept asking me to end it," Dean said softly, his voice cracking. "She couldn't bear the pain. Physical and emotional bruises. She'd cry, swearing she would admit that she loved him, lie and let him have her, just to end it if I didn't put her out of her misery. She mentioned you, saying she was a terrible friend, that she was abandoning you, and she hated herself for it and all the trouble she caused you."

"Stop," Xander said, struggling to keep control. Her vision was darkening, her heart racing as she felt herself descend into a black world. The urge was growing, and if she didn't want to hurt Shadow too, she had to leave. Stiffly, she stood and headed for the exit.

"Xander?"

"Don't follow. Stay here." Her voice had grown cold and emotionless. Her hands had ceased shaking, but not due to regaining control. "Protect her." She disappeared into her room and came out with her equipment, her sniper rifle slung over her shoulder. Dean stood in the doorway, but she passed him without a word, her mind set on one thing: satisfy the Sniper's urge to kill.

He felt trapped inside the detective's car. His fingers twitched constantly, yet his eyes hardly wavered from the dark place ahead. He had followed Bleak successfully to an abandoned warehouse and had immediately called Tew. He sensed that that was where the Thief hid; it had to be.

"Patience, Peter," Tew said calmly. "You'll get her soon."

"Do not call me that."

"It's your name."

"My name is Hunter," he said, his eyes flashing. "Do not call me anything else."

The sly detective scoffed quietly, much to Hunter's annoyance. "No threat this time. You're improving." Hunter's hand moved in blur, and he pressed a cold knife to Tew's throat. "Understood," the detective muttered, and Hunter withdrew his weapon.

They sat in silence, watching and waiting. Hunter's knee began to bounce up and down. Tew's thumbs drummed against the steering wheel until Hunter shot him a dark look.

Hunter still didn't understand Peter's plan. He didn't understand why he was supposed to go along with the sly detective to capture the Thief and the Sniper. He thought he only needed to retrieve the Thief and make her suffer for all the pains she had put him through before he finally killed her. But the sly detective's plan was to capture her, to torture her, and then to throw her behind bars.

That was not what Hunter had in mind.

"Play along, Hunter," Peter instructed. "He is the tool, not the planner." This gave Hunter some relief.

Finally, there was some movement, a dark figure leaving the building. Tew and Hunter straightened, both motionless and tense as they watched the figure disappear behind a shed. They waited, and a few minutes later, a dark car drove out from behind the shed, racing away.

"Out," Tew ordered loudly, startling Hunter slightly. "Mine's leaving. Get out and look for yours."

Hunter stepped out, grabbing his bag that held his equipment, and before his door even closed, Tew sped off after the dark car.

His blood boiled, but Hunter forced himself to forget about Tew and focused on the task at hand. He had his prey to retrieve.

Crouching, Hunter set his bag down and took out what he needed: ski-mask, gas mask (in case Scarecrow was there), knife, ammo, gas capsules, and two pistols.

Once he was set, he moved forward, toward the building. He slipped in fairly easily; Scarecrow's men weren't around the main area. Hunter checked every room he came upon, expecting someone to attack him, but there was no one for a long time.

It wasn't until he had reached the second floor in the back that Hunter came across a guardian. And it was definitely a guardian he didn't want to face.

Two Rottweilers lay on the floor, one resting its head on the other. Spotting Hunter, both began growling as they lifted themselves to their paws.

Hunter backed away and headed upstairs, acting as though he had stopped on the wrong landing. He stopped halfway up, taking out his injecting gun. Two shots were all he needed to silence the dogs, but he loaded it with more, just in case.

He returned to the second floor and slowly approached them. Within a few feet, one of the dogs barked and charged at him. Hunter raised an arm, grunting in pain as the Rottweiler leapt and closed its jaw on his forearm. As they fell to the ground, Hunter pressed the gun to the dog's side and pulled the trigger.

The Rottweiler whimpered, causing the second one to growl savagely and race toward them.

Before the second dog reached him, Hunter pointed at it and pulled the trigger again. A needle caught the dog in the shoulder, but didn't slow it. The dog crashed into Hunter, landing heavily on him and grabbed his shoulder in its jaw. Hunter shot it again but cried out in agony as the Rottweiler tugged on him.

Hunter slammed his gun against the dog's head, causing it to release him, and with a third needle, the Rottweiler finally fell limp.

A door slammed open, and Bleak's head popped out. "What the hell is your problem?" he demanded. He spotted Hunter, and it clicked. He immediately slammed the door.

Cursing under his breath, Hunter heaved the heavy full-grown dog off him. He grunted as waves of pain shot through his shoulder, pulsing from the bite in his arm. Despite his shoulder bleeding, he pushed off the ground and retrieved his gas mask from his bag, slipping it on under his ski-mask.

With his pistol in one hand, a smoke capsule in another, Hunter moved toward the door, positioned himself, and then gave it a good hard kick.

The door slammed open, and Hunter threw the capsule to the ground, within the doorframe. Bleak fired three times at the door, and instantly, Hunter fell on his hands and knees, slipping inside.

Bleak stopped firing, but Hunter had located his position by the bed. Grabbing another capsule, he tossed it at Bleak's feet, and as he started coughing, Hunter snuck up behind him and injected him with the same he used on the dogs.

Bleak turned to fight him, but Hunter grabbed him in a headlock.

"Peter, if you harm her," Bleak gasped, struggling against Hunter's hold.

"You won't be able to do anything. You might as well give in. The more you struggle, the faster it gets through your system." Bleak tried to response, but Hunter clasped a hand over his mouth and nose. "Here's a question for you, Bleak," Hunter said, tauntingly yet coldly. "Is it poison? Or is it fear gas?"

Bleak renewed his efforts to break away, but the sedative began taking hold. He continued to struggle, but it proved futile.

"I know what you're thinking," Hunter said as Bleak's arms weakened rapidly. Hunter cleared his throat and tried to mimic Bleak's voice, failing as he said, "If you dare to harm her in any way, I'll kill you." Returning to his normal voice, he whispered, "I'd kill you first."

Bleak fell under, and Hunter dropped his limp form unceremoniously on the ground.

Hunter stepped forward to the bedside. Hatred burned inside him as he looked down upon the unconscious Thief. Her heart monitor beeped at regular intervals, and her oxygen mask supplied air; it kept her breathing.

His hatred was so great, it took an effort to restrain himself. He wanted to rip the oxygen mask off. He wanted to beat her savagely. He wanted to inject all the fear gas into her and watch her scream and wither in agony. He wanted her to suffer for taking the Boss away from him. He wanted to finish what the Boss had started, finish her off once and for all.

His hands shook as he began to disconnect the Thief from the monitors. He took off the oxygen mask and waited a few moments to ensure she would continue breathing without the assistance. Her heartbeat remained even, and the monitor whined until Hunter quickly snapped it off.

The Thief, underneath the light covers, was still dressed in her outfit – the one the Boss had chosen for her. Envy flooded through him as he removed the covers and, after pulling on leather gloves, grabbed her.

He couldn't carry her in his arms; he would drop her, which, even though he would enjoy it, he couldn't afford the entertainment. He was here to take her to her to the place that he had designed specifically for her, the last place she'd ever see, not to lose her because he dropped her on the stairs and Scarecrow's men came to investigate.

With great difficulty, Hunter shifted the Thief until he was carrying her on his back. His skin crawled, feeling contaminated by her touch, but he had to bear her arms hanging limply around his neck.

Like his entrance, Hunter left the building quietly, without alerting any of Scarecrow's men. He wandered back to where he had hidden his bag and set the unconscious Thief on the ground, propping her up against some crates. Retrieving his mobile, he sent a curt text to Tew, summoning him back. While he waited, Hunter busied himself with binding the Thief's wrists and legs.

His revenge would be sweet, he promised himself.