AN: Kitty's reaction was…calmer…because she has a support system in her parents. (Good childhoods for the win! It helps that even if he had died, she wasn't there to witness it.) Jonathan's support system fell off a building not ten feet from him. Instant insanity, just add trauma and isolation.

The Puppeteer Patient 120402-I don't care what he does. It doesn't matter to me.

Christineoftheopera-I'm coughing up blood. My out-of-doors activities are severely limited by now.

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-I suspect your kind sentiments will be gone by the end, but thank you all the same.

The toxin doesn't work anymore. He tried it last night, desperate for a few hours of sleep, and ended up jittery and very much awake.

"I told you not to."

She's standing at the foot of his bed, white dress fluttering gently around her knees. He has no idea why she's wearing it-he never saw her wear it in life, not even in photographs.

"I'm tired." he protests. "I need to sleep."

She doesn't say anything, just stands there and watches him with sad eyes. He doesn't try to get up.

He tried, at first, to grab her, but he only ever went through her and then she'd disappear. He knows better now. Look, but don't touch.

"You're going to kill yourself."

"Hopefully."

"Jonathan, for the love of-!" She sighs. "Stop this. Please."

"I can't."

He coughs and struggles up, knowing that this fit is going to make him sick.

It does make him sick and then it doesn't stop, leaving him on his hands and knees and choking for breath.

"Kitty…please…"

She doesn't answer and he knows, somehow, that she's gone again.

Help me.

"Doc?"

No. Please, no, not now.

"Doc, ya up here?"

No, now go away.

"Doctah Crane?"

The door opens. Great. There's no escape now.

"Jonny!" She skids to a stop beside him. "Gee, ya look like crap. You okay?"

I'm coughing blood and probably suffering a psychotic breakdown. No.

He flaps a hand at her in hopes that she'll go away. His wish is not granted. Instead, she tries to pull him up. He stays where he is.

"C'mon, Jonny, help me out here."

He takes a shuddery breath and rasps, "Take your hands off me or I'll blow your head off."

She does remove her hands, but she does not go away.

"You're kinda dying."

Yes, he's aware. It's intentional.

"Get out, Harleen."

"But…"

His hand sets upon the gun and he forces himself up enough to aim it.

"I mean it. Get out. Don't come back, just go."

"Doc?"

He fires a warning shot at the wall behind her. That gets her out.

He locks the door after her and drops back onto the bed, wheezing.

"She's trying to help you."

"I don't want her help."

"Jonathan…"

"I'm sorry." he whispers. "God, I'm sorry. I should've…"

"Yeah, you should've. But you didn't."

He looks up. Her neck's at a very awkward angle and he closes his eyes again. That doesn't help-now he can see her, almost suspended in midair before plummeting downwards.

"Kitty, please…"

She doesn't answer. He risks another look. She's gone.

Take me with you.

THE END