AN: An explanation as to where I was yesterday, also in script form:

My Mother: And today we're going to a family reunion, so we can spend time with our relatives and enjoy each other's company.

Lauralot: Hey, the field next door has an actual scarecrow. I haven't seen one of those since I was six. [Seriously, this captivated my interest for at least half an hour.]

My Mother: And now that the reunion's over, I could take this time to do something productive, but I'd rather just procrastinate. Want to help?

Lauralot: I'm a college student. Procrastinating is what I do best!

As I've said, I seem to have less time at home than at college, for whatever reason.

Thanks for the reviews!


That was a stupid thing to ask for.

He said anything, didn't he?

I'm sure he meant anything within reason. He risked glancing up. Batman was still staring at him, the silence growing more awkward with each passing second. He averted his eyes as quickly as he'd brought them up, noting before he did that the man's expression had been of contemplation, not rejection. Somehow, that only served to make things more nerve-wracking.

Since when is going outside out of reason? Even at Arkham, they allowed that.

Jonathan considered pointing out that Arkham had gates, barbed wire fences, and armed guards, but decided there was no point and let it die. Scarecrow didn't care that the Bat had already had one escape, and would surely do everything in his power to prevent another, or that he might not make an offer of "anything you want" again, and that would mean Jonathan had wasted his opportunity by following Scarecrow's suggestion.

He was beginning to wonder if Scarecrow wasn't more concerned about proving that Batman was a bastard than he was about Jonathan's comfort.

I am not. His tone had become harsher, but not louder. Indignant, as opposed to angry. Ordinarily, it still would have been a cause for annoyance, however mild. Now, Jonathan found himself content with the fact that he wasn't being screamed at. How can you even suggest that?

Because you just pressured me into requesting something that I have absolutely no chance of receiving, when I could have asked for something to my advantage?

And what would that have been?

He stayed silent for want of an answer. Pointing out that he could have used the time Scarecrow had spent coercing him into his request to come up with something would only fall on deaf ears.

I'm thinking in your best interests. You're the psychiatrist here. Do you honestly think that being isolated inside is healthy?

"All right."

Both Jonathan and Scarecrow started, the former jolting his head up to stare at Batman. "Excuse me?"

"All right." His expression and tone indicated that he found this far from "all right," but he stepped to the side of the doorway, as if inviting Jonathan out into the hall. "But we're just going into the yard. And if you try anything, you're not going out again."

So…it'll be exactly the same as before, then? Some threat.

Jonathan ignored the comment, not out of any frustration or disagreement with his other self, but because he was too stunned by Batman's words to register Scarecrow's. He'd agreed. He had actually agreed. Allowing Jonathan out of the manor achieved nothing beyond adding to the risk against the Bat's secrecy. Happiness on Jonathan's part, perhaps, and compliance, but neither of those was definite or tangible. He was risking everything to give fresh air to a captive. He was obviously mad.

If it weren't for the ever-increasingly complicated past between them, the man would make a fascinating case study.

"Jonathan." Batman's expression was a cross between concern, anxiety, and impatience, and Jonathan got the distinct feeling that he should get going if he wanted this offer to stay open. The only problem being that his body seemed to have stopped responding to his mind's signals.

"You're serious?" he managed, realizing that his throat had gone suddenly dry.

The Bat sighed and took his arm, leading him down the hall before Jonathan could protest. Not that he was in a state to offer objections, as his mind was still too busy trying to work the idea of "outside," into his worldview, which seemed to have eliminated everything but Wayne Manor and the Batcave at some point during his captivity.

Beside him, Batman had a cell phone in his free hand, talking to someone—someone named Lucius, if Jonathan had heard correctly—about how the GPS was going to register Crane as outside of the manor, but not to worry about it. He wondered, vaguely, how many people were in on Bruce Wayne's secret before he became sidetracked, again, by the thought of being out of the mansion.

He didn't even like being outside that much, under ordinary circumstances. Gotham was better than Georgia, but his default location had always been either research or reading, both of which he'd preferred to do indoors. Captivity had affected him far more than he realized.

He realized with another sudden jolt—this one unpleasant—that the Bat had not been leading him outside while he was distracted, but upstairs. His anxiety at this realization was not at all helped by Scarecrow's immediate I told you we couldn't trust him.

"It's all right." Batman was still leading him, but Jonathan noticed that the pace has slowed. He must have stiffened upon figuring out where they were headed, or given some other sign of apprehension that the man had picked up on. "We're going. I just need to get something."

If he intended that to be comforting, Jonathan thought, stomach churning with anxiety, then he failed on every possible level and ought to consider taking a course in diplomacy.

What do you suppose he means by "something," anyway? Scarecrow asked, as they were led through the doorway of the master bedroom. Because I would say the thought of him having, say, a human version of those shock collars that keep dogs from running away is completely ridiculous, but considering his night job, anything goes.

You're not helping. The Bat released his arm, crossing the room and stepping into his closet, the one that was larger than Jonathan's entire apartment.

The man has throwing knives in the shape of bats. I'm being honest. Whatever bat gadget he's retrieving is not something I'd want to be around.

Jonathan wondered if running off or finding a good hiding place wouldn't be in his best interest—not that it mattered, thanks to the GPS—when he returned, bat gadgets in hand.

Said bat gadgets being, in actuality, a bucket hat and a pair of sunglasses. "Here."

Wordless, Jonathan took them, glancing out the windows. It was overcast, so they must be meant to conceal rather than protect. "Do the paparazzi make a habit of hiding in your yard?"

"No." The Bat was leaning down beside the bed, now, pulling a case out from underneath it. "But I'd rather not take any more risks. Come here."

He did so, examining the sunglasses as he went. They were large and dark, the sort celebrities wore when they tried to hide their faces. Considering that Batman wore these, he wondered how big they would be on him, before the Bat took them, setting them and the hat down on the bed. He took Jonathan's hand, spreading something cool and smooth over the back of it.

"What is that?" His fingers twitched, but the Bat's grip was too secure for him to pull out of.

"Disinfectant." He gestured to the case on the bed spread, now lying opening. It was full of first aid supplies. Jonathan wondered idly if Batman kept one in every room of the house, considering his line of work, watching as his captor bandaged the bite wounds. His immediate response was Well, that won't attract suspicion if I am seen though he couldn't help but be grateful, considering all the bacteria in the average human mouth.

Do you remember when the Joker dislocated your shoulder?

He blinked. What?

The time you tried to run away from him. When he ended up dislocating your shoulder.

What about it?

He reset it for you.

He considered pointing out that it was Scarecrow who'd bitten him, not Batman, but decided that it would be best to stay silent, for the sake of peace. The Bat finished wrapping his hands and stood, beckoning for him to follow. He slid on the hat and sunglasses—overlarge, but not as badly as he'd expected—and did so, immediately deciding that putting on sunglasses while indoors hadn't been the best of ideas. But taking them off, what with the limited mobility caused by the bandages, would be more effort than it was worth, so he took the chance of injuring himself and carried on half-blinded.

By some long overdue and woefully inadequate stroke of luck, he managed to avoid accidental self-harm. The door Batman led him to wasn't the one he'd tried opening before, and he doubted it opened to the same side of the house. That suspicion was confirmed when the Bat opened the door and stepped through, beckoning for him to follow.


"Come on."

Jonathan lingered in the doorway, and from what little he could see of the man's face, he was apprehensive. His hair was long enough now to be visible under the overlarge hat, and that, combined with the sunglasses and the fact that his clothes were formfitting, for once, made him even more feminine than usual.

He remained stationary, looking as if he expected to have the door slammed on his hand, or be otherwise mistreated, if he tried moving. Bruce had never realized just how expressive his mouth was until his eyes had been concealed.

He stepped backwards, leaving the area of the deck around the door empty. "Come on. It's all right."

Jonathan hesitated for a moment longer, before stepping out, slowly and cautiously as a deer walking into a meadow. After the first few steps, he seemed to acknowledge that this wasn't a trick and gained speed, stepping off of the deck and into the yard at a normal pace, with Bruce behind him. He stopped, abruptly, so suddenly and totally that Bruce grabbed his hand, worried he was preparing to run.

He didn't move, not even in response to the contact. "Jonathan?"

"How long will we be out here?" he asked it so softly that Bruce had to lean in to catch the words.

Time wasn't something he'd considered, being too caught up in concealment and security. "As long as you want, within reason."

Jonathan smiled, genuinely smiled, and Bruce realized that "within reason" was going to end up meaning "until I have to drag him back inside because I can't go any longer without food." And then, just as abruptly as he'd stopped moving, he sat down, almost dragging Bruce with him.

"Jonathan?"

"I like your lawn," he said, as if that was an explanation. He leaned in a way that suggested he would be lying down by now, had Bruce not been holding his hand. "And I haven't been in grass for a very long time. So shut up."

He ran his free hand through the grass, taking a moment to savor the sensation before he stood, moving quickly in a way reminiscent of both an excited child and an intrigued cat. For a moment, Bruce thought his movements were purposeless, until he realized that Jonathan wasn't just running from point to point at random, but rather stopping in front of something each time—be it the flowers by the deck, or the trees toward the back of the yard, and so on—and stopping to examine each, however briefly. He moved as if he didn't comprehend that he wasn't going to be dragged back into the manor at any moment, and was trying to take in everything he could in the shortest time possible. Bruce was about to tell him he could relax when Jonathan stopped and sat again, this time out of exhaustion. The part of his face that was visible was flushed, and he was panting, though only slightly.

"Are you all right?"

"I love your yard." He didn't sound as though he'd heard the question at all.

"I'm glad." Satisfied that he was going to stay in place, and couldn't get far in such a state even if he did run, Bruce let go of his hand. Jonathan lay back immediately, arms spread to either side and loosely gripping the lawn, eyes presumably staring up at the clouded sky. "I never pictured you as a nature lover."

"I hate nature. But I also hate to be isolated from it."

He nodded, and sat beside him. "I'll try not to keep you as isolated."

Jonathan turned to face him for the first time since coming outside, his smile slowly fading. "You make no sense."

"And you've just now realized this?"

"I've expressed nothing but a desire to get away from you. At least, until the past twenty-four hours or so. And you respond to that by giving me more freedom."

"I want you to be able to trust me, remember?"

Jonathan didn't answer, biting his lower lip. His face tensed for a moment, changing in some subtle way that Bruce couldn't quite describe. From what he could see, it looked similar to his expression from before when he'd been talking to himself. He ventured a guess. "Is Scarecrow unhappy with this?"

"Why don't you ask me directly, Bat?"