AN: Usually, it's perfectly safe to remain in the city limits. But sometimes there's a lynch mob-they always get so upset if there's children involved, for some reason-and it's just better to rob some poor fool and take a little trip.

Katherine-It was overpriced in the store, too. And it doesn't even work. All he does is look off into the distance and scowl. What did you think he'd do? At least get a little flustered.

It took quite a bit of driving before they found a hotel that wouldn't question the bloodstained wallet.

They hadn't meant for it to be bloodstained. There was no way to predict how people reacted to the toxin, and this one had been…messy.

But no matter. That was all taken care of now (the man was stuffed in a dumpster somewhere) and they were perfectly nice, normal, law-abiding citizens on a weekend trip.

Really.

No, of course their car wasn't stolen. What a silly idea! It may have seen better days (that human-shaped dent in the hood? No idea.), but it was most certainly not stolen.

Unfortunately, the hotel was grimy, with lousy reception and nothing but an IHOP anywhere in the vicinity. Damn.

Jonathan settled back on the bed-after having meticulously checked it for bedbugs, questionable stains, and spare change-wishing he hadn't suffered that Batarang across the ribcage. It wasn't life-threatening, but it hurt all the same and it had bled enough to warrant a strip of gauze.

Oww. Had it really been necessary to fling him against the wall like that?

Well, since Kitty was taking a shower and he'd read this book twice already, he may as well watch the news.

"…known as the Scarecrow…"

Dammit! How dare the reception be so terrible!

He smacked the top of the television a few times, got no result whatsoever, and settled back down in a rather grouchy mood.

What appeared on the screen next did not help in the least.

Was that…oh dear god, that was his old yearbook photo. Really? Really? They couldn't have gotten, oh, one of the dozens of photos he'd had to have taken when he worked at Arkham? They had to scrounge up his yearbook photo?

Who were these people?

Sarah Jones and Mike…oh, for heaven's sake, First Alert Bar, move!...Mike Walsh.

He jotted those names down and made a mental note to get rid of them.

Then he turned the television off and made himself as comfortable as possible on the bed.

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, Kitty was shaking him.

"Your turn."

Shower? Hot water? Yes, please.

He had to take off the gauze wrap before risking it and wondered if they had any more.

The water pressure was dismal and the shower itself was grimy, but he still found himself leaning against the wall, enjoying the warm water tapping against his back.

All too soon the water went cold and he made his way back out to see about another bandage and maybe dinner. He didn't really want IHOP, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"How was your shower?"

"Hot. Yours?"

"Hot. Come here and I'll wrap that up again."

He could protest, say that he could do it himself, but it would be easier if she did it.

"What should we do for dinner?"

"I didn't see anything but an IHOP, did you?"

"No."

She didn't say anything, too busy making sure the bandage was snug.

"There. You won't die."

"That's always important."

He settled back down again, half-convinced that he'd missed a bedbug and that it was moving around in the mattress, sensing blood.

If he had missed it, and he brought it back to Gotham with him, he was coming back here and making everyone in the building regret it before they died.

"How long d'you think we'll have to stay here?"

"A few days. Someone else will do something terrible by then and they'll forget about us."

"Mm." He yawned and his thoughts drifted to the IHOP again. He wasn't hungry, really, but a cup of coffee might be nice. Maybe a couple of scrambled eggs… "Hungry?"

"A little, I suppose."

"Come on, then. I think this is a normal hour that people get food." She stayed where she was, watching him put on a clean shirt. "Don't get ideas."

"Me?" She batted her eyelashes at him. "When did I ever do a thing like that?"

"You don't want me to answer that, do you?"

She shrugged and swung her legs off the bed.

"Come on. I'm feeling bacon."

Maybe a little bacon with those scrambled eggs wouldn't hurt.

THE END