AN: What day is it? What fandom am I in? Is Sherlock out yet? Why is it bright outside?
Oh. Right. Gotham's back tonight. Here, have a fic.
Every. Single. Time. They need reminders, that's all. You know they draw straws when they see us check in. You SHOT one. You took one's family hostage. He was slow.
It was nothing at first-well, not really. She probably didn't need to be here, if he was being honest with himself, but she'd been sick and then she'd been shot and-anyway, better safe than sorry. That had been a bit more than a dry cough before the police showed up, and they'd both agreed that a hospital was the better choice. Well, he'd agreed and then cajoled her into going, and it wasn't like she'd been in much shape to argue.
She's been looking steadily worse since he brought her in, really. Granted, he could have dug the bullet out on his own-they've both had worse-but...
"Go home."
"I'm fine."
"You'll get sick, you always do."
This is true, but he's not moving. Not after terrorizing the night staff into letting him stay right here. No need to let his efforts go to waste.
"I'll take Airborne or something."
She sighs and promptly coughs. When it doesn't stop, he reaches for the call button and she flaps her hand at him.
"I'm-" She holds up a finger until the sputtering dies down. "I'm fine. Don't fuss."
"Two minutes, they said they'd be here in two minutes." He loves the ones with families. They always cooperate. "You're sure?"
"Don't frighten the nurses."
A bit late for that.
"You're sure you don't want me to call-"
"No."
Oh, very well. But he doesn't have to like it.
He settles back into the uncomfortable plastic chair, hands folded around the styrofoam cup. He's tired, but hospital coffee has extra caffeine, so at least there's that.
"Two minutes."
"I'm fine."
"I'm just telling you."
"Would you get the light?" The light, a chocolate bar, Robin's head on a platter, it's all doable. "Thanks, love."
"Anything else?"
"Don't threaten the nurses when they come in later." she mumbles sleepily. "They're jes' doin' their jobs."
Humph.
"Fine."
"Nigh', Jonathan."
"Good night, Kitty."
He takes a sip of the now lukewarm coffee and grimaces. He'll get a fresh cup when she's asleep-this room is 'luckily' near the coffeemaker.
She yawns and he hears her trying to get comfortable. Hopefully she can go home tomorrow. If she's about the same, he can sign her out. And will, whether they like it or not.
He's startled out of an accidental nap when she starts coughing again. Since she can't exactly stop him, he hits the call button and starts timing it.
Two minutes and thirty-three seconds later (cretins), the nurse comes in, looking flustered. She's new-he can always spot the new ones. They're always so nervy, so desperate not to screw up. She'd better not-he's killed people for less.
"Okay, it's okay..." He's not moving, she'd better just get used to the idea. "Don't repress it, it sounds like you've got something in there..."
"She's a nurse, she knows." he snaps, not really caring that she recoils like she's seen a rattlesnake. "What's wrong with her."
"I-I don't know-"
"Then find out." Idiot. "Or go get someone who can."
She likes that option better, apparently-the second Kitty no longer sounds like she's going to choke to death, she flees the room. Idiot.
"Be nice."
"Other people can be nice. And less idiotic."
She sighs, coughs a bit-no longer the harsh wet ones, thank god-and mutters something about it probably being walking pneumonia.*
"What about pneumonia?"
"That's probably what it is." More coughing. He cracks open the water bottle and gives it to her. "I wasn't feeling well, and then being shot and all, it developed."
"We'll see."
"You know that's what it is. That's what usually happens to you."
He hates it when she has a point. He really does. But it's true. Every time he checks in here with an injury-even if he's not sick at the time-he checks out with something.
Where is that damned nurse? If he has to go and find her, so help him god...
"Don't."
"I didn't do anything!"
"Don't go pester the nurses."
Damn.
He contents himself with squeezing the cup until it threatens to crack and glaring at the door as though it might spontaneously combust if he doesn't blink. It doesn't, but he's pretty sure it at least thinks about it.
Ten minutes and thirteen seconds later (not that he's counting or anything), the doctor steps into the room.
"What's goin' on?" Jonathan finds him very annoying. Too chummy. There's no reason for this level of attempted friendship. "Nurse Bea said you had a cough?"
How much of a hassle will it be if he murders him and has to find someone else?
"I'm pretty sure it's pneumonia. We've both had it before."
Too much of a hassle, he thinks. There's the actual murder-which will have to be bludgeoning, he's not wasting toxin on the man-and then the sanitization, and the disposal of the body...
"We'll run a couple of tests..."
And then comes the joy of explaining to the replacement that if anything happens to her, their friends and family will pay the price, not to mention the fact that Kitty will not be pleased.
Not worth it.
"Okay...we'll do an x-ray first, then you can get back to bed."
Fantastic. This is just so much fun.
Yeah. It's pneumonia. Of course it is. Lucky for them it's mild, and they seem to be convinced that she had it before checking in. He's not sure if they're just saying that to keep him from murdering someone. Silly doctors, if he was going to go on a rampage, he'd have done so.
He's about to strangle that idiot nurse, though-she keeps coming in and trying to be 'helpful' but really only making a nuisance of herself and waking Kitty up.
The last straw comes when she turns to him and says, "It's gonna be okay now, if you wanna go home and catch some sl-eep!"
"If you don't leave, shut the door, and stay out until it is light out or someone presses that call button, I will use this on you." He rattles the canister at her. He's bluffing-it's easier to just snap her neck, but he doesn't want to get up unless he has to. "Do I make myself clear?" Frantic nodding ensues. "Good. Now go."
There's an inner struggle as to whether to turn and run or back away, but then she turns and flees the room. Kitty groans.
"Surely that wasn't necessary."
"Surely her continued breathing wasn't necessary."
"Leave her alone."
"If she doesn't come back in, I will. Do you need anything?"
"For you not to overreact."
He ignores that.
"Go to sleep."
"Be good."
He ignores that, too.
True to her word, the nurse stays out until six-thirty. It's only a little light outside, but he'll let it pass because Kitty's quit trying to sleep anyway.
"Okay! How are you feeling?"
So cheerful. Ugh.
"I'm really fine." She puts her hand on his arm and squeezes gently. Be nice. "I've had worse." That's right. And if this nurse knows what's good for her, it'll stay that way. "Whatever pain medication you've got me on is giving me weird dreams, though, and making me feel all...fuzzy. Think you can fix that?"
"I can find-" He shifts a bit-just getting comfortable, honest. "Yeah. I can."
The hand on his arm squeezes again and he forces a smile.
"That'd be great." he says. "Thanks."
'Being nice' gets him a frightened little giggle and a, "Yeah, um, I'll...I'll be back later...okaybye."
She leaves and Kitty turns to him.
"Seriously?"
"What? I was nice."
"You know, when you smile you look like you're two seconds from murdering everyone in the room."
"That's why I'm not smiling in my driver's licsence photo, Kitty."
She shakes her head and reaches up to ruffles his hair, wincing when the movement tugs on her stitches. He catches her fingers and puts her hand back in her lap, where it belongs.
"Don't."
"I'm fine, honestly-"
"Kitty." he says, cutting her off before she even think about going there. "'I'm fine' were the last words you said before passing out from blood loss the last time we were here. Humor me."
She huffs, coughs thickly-yeah, she'll be here another day whether she likes it or not-and leans back into her pillows.
"I hate it here."
"I know."
"I can't sleep, I just want to go home." She fixes large, sad eyes on him and he resolutely refuses to look at her. "I'm fine, you've done this before."
"I know what you're doing." She coughs again, weak and pathetic, and plucks at his sleeve. "And it's not working."
"Huh?"
"I'm not signing you out yet, so you may as well go back to sleep."
"Jon-a-thaaan..."
"No. And that's final."
"I'll sign myself out."
"They're more scared of me than you. I'll just tell them not to do it."
"But-"
"No."
"You suck."
"I know." He drops a kiss on her forehead. "Go to sleep."
The doctor-he can't remember his name-comes in later with a clipboard and an extra chair. Jonathan doesn't bother smiling at him. Clearly it doesn't help, anyway.
"Medication problems?"
"Uh-huh. Weird dreams, fuzzy head."
"Okay...let's see...what about Lypozil**?"
"No." Jonathan says at once. "Makes you sleepwalk."
"It does?"
"The last time you took it, you called me Gollum and told me to lead you to Mordor."
"Oh."
"Yeah. We're not doing that again."
"Where'd you lead me?"
"Back to bed. No Lypozil."
The doctor coughs a little and makes a scratch on his clipboard.
"Okay. Um...let's try...Appazine?"
"Gives me a rash."
"Zotec?"
"Nightmares."
Jonathan suspects that some of these come from exposure to his toxin and the antidote(s), but it's not like there's much he can do about that now.
"Trolliumn?"
"Haven't tried that one."
"We'll try that, then. It's new."
"How new."
"The necessary tests have been run." the man blathers, face paling. "It's perfectly safe, just new."
"Jonathan, for heaven's sake-"
"Other people can play guinea pig!"
"Don't be such a hypocrite."
"I'm not, that's different-"
"It's fine, I'll try that. Ignore him, he worries."
Humph. He does not worry. He has sense, that's all. And if this idiot so much as thinks about ignoring him...
"I'll...just...right. Um. I'll be back."
He leaves and Kitty gives him an exasperated look.
"Leave. The doctor. Alone. It's not his fault I'm sick."
"Yes, it is."
"How."
He refuses to answer and she rolls her eyes at him.
"Leave him be."
"Of course, Kitty." he says, all innocence. "Whatever you need."
And he'll keep his word. He won't interact with the man, not even a little. He'll just sit here and make an effort not to blink, maybe shine the canister a little bit. It's dull, it's been sitting in here for too long.
But he'll leave the doctor alone. Promise.
Come morning, she still sounds terrible, but she sounds less terrible and she's less pale. And she's in good enough shape to scold him for sleeping in that chair for four days.
"That isn't good for you, you know that, you could've gotten a hotel or something, I'm fine-"
He's about to protest when he sits up and hears his spine go crick-crick-crick-CRACK.
"You didn't hear that."
She shakes her head at him.
"Can we go home?"
He sighs. She really isn't that bad off now, he supposes, and she'll only pester him more if he says no.
Sometimes I wonder who is the adult here.
"Fine." he grumbles. "But the first sign that you're worse, the first five-minute coughing fit-no, three minute coughing fit-you're back in here without arguing."
"Four minutes."
"Three, final offer."
"Fine."
He grins and presses the call button.
"I'll just call for a wheelchair."
"I don't need a wheelchair."
"They'll insist, and I wouldn't dream of arguing with them."
He may deserve the balled-up napkin thrown at his face.
THE END
*I've had pneumonia loads of times-six or seven, I think, that I can remember-and most of the time when I've had it it's sucked but presented itself like a bad cold more than anything. The flu sucked more. (I was a sickly child, I'd have bit it of consumption in a victorian novel. Hopefully taking people with me-'too good for this sinful earth', my ass.)
**None of these are real drugs, far as I know. If they are, they're not what I meant. Probably.