AN: Everyone's heard of temporal scan thermometers, right? The kind you swipe across the forehead to take a temperature? Just wanted to make sure, because if you read the bit of the chapter that mentions it while picturing an oral thermometer, I don't think it'll make any sense.

I think Ray Bradbury is one of the greatest horror writers ever and the three stories mentioned are some of my favorites by him. If you're feeling really brave and haven't read it, you should totally get a copy of The October Country from your local library, though be warned that 'The Skeleton' frightened me enough that I couldn't read any more for months. Though I'm probably just a coward. 'The October Game' can be found online, if you search for it, and isn't too long, but once again, it's very frightening.

Thanks for the reviews!

The first thing he was aware of was the pain. Even before he realized he'd woken up, he knew that he didn't want to get up or even attempt to move any time soon. To try so would be agonizing. His head was pounding just as badly as it had been when he was hung-over, but that sensation paled in comparison to the absolute torture his ribs had become. He wouldn't be surprised if some of them were cracked; certainly they were bruised. Fantastic.

He opened his eyes, blinking against the light for a good thirty seconds or so until they adjusted. From the look of the ceiling, he was lying on the bed. That, or the floor beside it. He couldn't tell what was beneath him, as the pain seemed to be overshadowing all other sensations. Well, not all of them. He was aware of a feeling around his hand, like someone else holding onto it. Jonathan glanced to the side to see Joker sitting beside him, one hand on his, the other holding a book.

Having ascertained his location, he turned his attention to puzzling out just what the hell had happened to put him in such misery. He really should remember—something that hurt him this badly should have left an imprint—but his mind was blank. The headache wasn't helping in the slightest. Nor the way his pulse was hammering in his ears. Why on Earth was his heart rate accelerated this much? It wasn't as if he'd been doing anything strenuous; he'd just woken up. Though, come to think of it, he did vaguely remember a nightmare, something involving laughter and a lot of blood. Was that it?

He must have moved slightly, or made some sound without realizing it, because the Joker turned to look at him. "Morning, Jonny." He smiled, a strange smile for the Joker in that it seemed to be genuine; no obvious signs of malice or mania.

It also brought Jonathan's memory of the prior night's events flooding back all at once.

Jesus Christ. His already racing heart beat even faster at the recollection, his body shaking slightly as he remembered the Joker's horrifically slashed, bloodied face and the hysterical, forced laughter that had caused the pain in his ribs. The knowledge that the effects had worn off now, and the Joker's statement last night that he wouldn't poison him again unless provoked did absolutely nothing to stop the panic attack that was starting, his lungs already blocking the air flow.

The Joker's hands were on him at once, pulling him into a sitting position. He assumed that was supposed to help him not suffocate; all it really did was make the pain worse. And the clown touching him only made last night's events all the more vivid. "Jonathan. Don't freak out on me again."

He glared, as much as one could glare while panicking. God, what he'd give to poison the Joker and then tell him to stay calm. Bastard. "You…poisoned me," he managed, between gasping breaths.

"Yes. I did. But that's over, and I'm probably not gonna do it again." Upon seeing the very unhelpful effect the word 'probably' had on his friend, he went on, "Look, I'm not gonna hurt you, and you're only making yourself sick by flipping out like this, so relax."

You son of a bitch. Somewhat successfully controlling his breathing now, he wondered if he was able to move enough to smack the clown, or if that would be too painful. No, it wasn't worth it. The Joker would just block it anyway. "Bastard."

"Hey, I took care of you, didn't I? Lemme tell you something, kitten, it takes a special sort of man to let a guy laugh in his ear for hours on end and not get pissed."

"Right, like it takes a special sort of man to poison his lover. Special in this case meaning f—absolutely insane."

The Joker snorted. "So, being hung-over gets you to say 'fuck' but being poisoned doesn't? Your priorities are kinda messed up, scaredy cat."

"Go to hell."

"Aw, don't be like that." The Joker put an arm around his shoulders. Jonathan considered pulling away, then remembered that would hurt and gave up. "Would it help if I said I was sorry?"

"You're not." His breathing had returned to normal by now, though his heartbeat was still racing. As it would be until all traces of the toxin were out of his system. Wonderful.

"Well, no, but that's nothing personal. I don't regret anything I do."

He'd figured as much. Jonathan considered himself amoral, but nowhere near that level. "Sociopath."

"Hey, c'mon, don't try and psychoanalyze me. I get enough of that at Arkham."

And your diagnosis is probably the only one where the doctors are correct. "But it's okay for you to do it to me?"

"Well, you're mentally ill. I'm not."

Did he actually believe that? If so, he couldn't tell if that was idiotic or horrifying. "You're insane."

"I'm perfect."

If it didn't hurt to laugh, Jonathan would have. As things were he closed his eyes and tried to contain his anger before he started shouting. Just when he'd started to think the Joker might not be all bad—and the fact that he'd been that stupid in the first place wasn't helping—something like this happened. God, this situation was hell. His eyes opened abruptly as he felt cold metal against his forehead, dragging across his skin. "What are you doing?"

"Taking your temperature." The thermometer beeped and the Joker pulled it back, glancing at the display screen.

"Where did you get that?"

"From a store. You've still got a fever." He placed the thermometer on the sheets beside them and took hold of Jonathan's wrist. Jonathan tried not to flinch. "And your heart's still all thumpity. I thought you said this didn't have any lasting effects."

"I said there was no permanent damage. As long as the chemicals are in me, they'll have an effect."

"So how long 'til they're gone?"

"Two or three days, usually."

He frowned. "So you'll be in bed for two more days? That sorta impedes the laughing gas progress a lot."

Jonathan sighed. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you poisoned me. Anyway, I don't have to stay in bed the entire time."

"Yeah, you do, 'cause I don't want my favorite toy to die."

It was incredibly unnerving how conversing with the Joker could be like talking to Hannibal Lecter at one moment and reasoning with a five year old in the next. "I'm not going to die."

"Right, 'cause you're not getting up."

Jesus Christ on a motorbike. Well, this was going to be hell. He felt the Joker take hold of one of his feet and wondered if it was worth the effort to look down and see what he was up to now.

"Your socks are dry."

He looked. "What?"

"When you got the fever, I wasn't sure if it was okay to give you aspirin, because of the drugs," the clown explained, releasing Jonathan's foot. "So I went with other methods of fever reduction, namely getting your socks wet and freezing and putting 'em on you."

"On my feet." And that helps how?

"Well, it's not true what they say about all heat flowing to the head. And it sorta worked. Besides, I had washcloths on your head and crotch and all too, but you kept shivering, so I took 'em off." Off Jonathan's glance, he added, "Hey, I've had nursing experience. I know how to treat fevers."

The idea of the Joker as a nurse was almost as terrifying as the toxin-induced hallucination of him. Thank God there was no way that was true. "Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome," he said, pulling Jonathan's socks off. "Oh, and I forgive you for the whole withholding affection thing."

"How very kind of you."

"Yeah, I'm a regular saint." He leaned forward, kissing Jonathan on the forehead and sliding off the bed. "I'm gonna get you something to eat. TTFN."

"What does that even stand for?" he asked, but the Joker had already gone.

Damn him and his strangely touching gestures. How he wished the clown would pick one personality and stick with it. Being insane was one thing; having been a psychiatrist, Jonathan could deal with that, but such inconsistent madness was beyond irritating. How had Harley been able to handle this; having a man be sweet and loving one instant, then violent and hurtful the next? Well, Harley's own insanity had probably helped that along.

It didn't matter anyway. He could handle the mood swings if he just learned to read them. Besides, it wasn't as if he was emotionally affected by Joker's behavior, beyond concern for his safety, he could care less if he was treated with kindness or abused. Like he hadn't been abused before. It wasn't like he had feelings for the clown, beyond liking the kisses. It wasn't as if he really cared.

The Joker returned around five minutes later, steaming bowl of soup in hand. "Here you go."

"You cooked?" he asked, apprehensive. It didn't look bad, but he doubted anything barring starvation would motivate him to eat something the Joker had made.

"No. It was one of those canned things. All I did was put it in the microwave."

"Thank you." It wasn't bad, actually. Only after he'd tried it did it occur to him that it might be drugged, but upon waiting a few minutes and seeing no ill effects, he decided to try his luck and continue. A few more minutes passed without incident before he felt a horribly cold, uncomfortable sensation against his foot and looked down to find the Joker sliding the socks back on. "What are you doing?"

"Treating your fever. Haven't we gone through this already?"

"I don't like it," he said, forcing himself not to jerk around. Kicking the Joker was never a wise idea, especially with a bowl of steaming liquid to be used as a potential weapon. "It's cold."

"That's sorta the point, kitten. It helps you get better by cooling you off."

"I know that, I just really don't like it."

The Joker sighed, making his way over to sit beside Jonathan, and put an arm around his shoulders again. "There. I'm warming you up, which is gonna raise your fever again, by the way. Happy now?"

"Yes."

"I got books for you, when you were asleep," he said, after a moment, smacking his lips on the last syllable. "I figured you might be in bed a while and get bored. You like Ray Bradbury?"

"Yes." He felt oddly touched again. He knew it was only a method to gain his trust back, but it was still nice.

"Good, because that's what I got."

"Which ones?"

"Something Wicked This Way Comes and The October Country."

Jonathan was unable to keep from making a sound not unlike one a preteen girl would make when meeting her favorite pop star. "I love The October Country."

"Me too. What's your favorite story from it?"

That surprised him. He knew, as of the day he'd seen him with Catch-22, that the Joker read, but he'd never figured they'd have similar tastes. "'The Skeleton,' I suppose. Yours?"

"'The Jar.' My favorite story of his would have to be 'The October Game,' though."

He made that little girl noise again. "Mine too."

"So, there's no hard feelings between us, right?"

Jonathan considered it. The Joker had poisoned him, not to mention holding him captive with the pills and all the other little miseries he'd inflicted on him in their time together. On the other hand, he had taken care of him after making him sick. And brought him books. And if he did have an antisocial personality disorder, which was Jonathan's guess based on what he'd seen, he was lacking in empathy, so may not have realized the full extent of how frightening the toxin would work. Not that that gave him a free pass for doing it, just that it made the blow a little less harsh.

And he kissed really, really well, gingivitis aside.

"No hard feelings," he agreed, then nervously bent forward and pressed his lips to the Joker's for a fraction of a second, before pulling back. He averted his eyes almost at once; besides the time he'd attacked the Joker in an escape attempt, that was the first kiss he'd initiated, and he'd very likely sucked at it.

"Hey, look at me, kitten."

He did, and this time it wasn't scary to see his face at all. He was smiling that strangely normal smile again, and Jonathan's heart sped up once more, but in a good way, as their lips met a second time.