A/N: Thank you to the people who review my story. You're awesome!

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Paralyzed

"To cure this city, Mr. Wayne. That is all that I want. You too will come to see that what I'm doing is the best for both Gotham, and the patients residing here. Like I said before, consider Crane as the first, and last patient to escape Arkham. Because under my careful care, not one would be able to make it one foot away from the island before me knowing it."

I quickly open my eyes, and place my hand on my throbbing head. I wince at the pain my head is making. I sit up on the headboard, and realize that I hadn't slept for more than an hour. Because I can see that Bruce is still sitting in the same place he was when I first woke up. Typing in his laptop, and scrolling down for what I can see some articles. I can't even remember at what time we came back to the mansion.

"You know, you didn't sleep that much."

I licked my dry lips. "I'm not that sleepy. I just want to get back to my room." I move the bed sheets off of my body, and try to stand. Only to fall back down onto the bed, I looked at my body, and could tell that I was shaking. Shaking from the cold emanating in the room, and shaking from the nightmare I just had.

It looked like you were trapped in a stupid dream, Jonathan.

I shook my head, not feeling ready to talk to Scarecrow at the moment. But I didn't move from the edge of the bed I was sitting at. I needed to know what time it was.

I looked over to Bruce. "What time is it?"

Not even glancing back. "Two thirty-four in the morning. You haven't been sleeping that long, is everything okay?"

Concern. No, of course not, I must still be dreaming if he feels some concern for me. "I'm fine. I just don't sleep that much. I'm used to sleeping for a couple of hours. So, what's your excuse for not being asleep at the moment?"

He began typing once more, and ignored my question for about a minute until he answered me. "I don't sleep that much either. I like being a wake during the night, it's more… peaceful."

I snort at his reply. "Of course, you would find the night very peaceful, I'm not that surprised."

"Then why ask?"

I look down, and furrow my eyebrows. "It's better to be sure, then to take some lucky guess. Don't you feel the least bit tired?"

He stopped typing for a second, pausing where he was. "No, I'm used to it by now. But seeing as you're not going back to sleep, why don't you tell me what happened at Arkham?"

I brought my knees up to my chest, and hugged them. "I don't want to talk about it." I really didn't want to talk about what happened at Arkham with Bruce Wayne. I maybe living here but that doesn't mean I have to trust him, or tell him how I feel.

After a couple minutes of silence in the dark room, Bruce turned the chair to look at me. "You don't want to talk about it? Well, how about you listen to my theories, and see if I'm close to the problem you were having," he crossed his arms over his chest, and crossed his legs, "I think, that you were worried."

I bit my lip, hoping that he wouldn't figure me out, but deep down I knew that he wasn't going to stop until he got the correct answer. That's just who he is. Someone who doesn't give up that easily. I like to think he's too stubborn for his own good. I couldn't say it better myself.

"And what would I be 'worried' about, Mr. Wayne?"

I could tell that his gaze and attention was completely placed on me. "Worried, that deep down I would leave you in Arkham. Worried, that after hearing about Quincy Sharp's new management in Arkham about him doing anything to put you back in that white room strapping you down with a straitjacket. But what I think you worried the most, was that deep down you still think that I'll return you to Arkham's new home as the Batman."

As he kept talking, I kept clenching my fist, and started to get mad, and when he said the last part, I completely lost it. I grabbed the cup on the nightstand, and threw it to the wall with so much fury that I didn't even know when I grabbed the cup, or when I started screaming. "Stop analyzing me! How could someone like you understand what I'm feeling," I looked over to him, and could see that he was still calm, "you're nothing but a stupid billionaire-playboy who puts on a damn bat costume to satisfy his own adrenaline rush! So don't act like you even know what's going on in my mind because you don't!"

I panted for a couple of seconds after saying everything I wanted to say. To my surprise, he didn't even flinch. He was still sitting there as if nothing happened. As if I didn't throw a cup to the wall, or as I never started screaming what I really think of that billionaire-playboy.

No, he remained calm, and collected. He looked directly into my eyes, trying to look deep into them. "Are you done? Because even though some of the things you said about me were true, some of them weren't. I don't get an adrenaline rush from going out, and trying to save the city. Heck, I don't even think I ever had an adrenaline rush when I go play a sport. All I was saying is that you were worried when we got there. I knew from the begging that something like this was going to happen. I'm surprised you didn't lash out when we got in the car," Bruce's eyes soften as he kept gazing into my own, "but, I was worried when you stopped being responsive at the world around you, as if you were paralyzed. I just want to understand, why were you paralyzed, Jonathan?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, and scowled at him. He was worried, worried about me. I don't believe you for a second, Bruce Wayne. "Who asked you anyway? Why would you care about how I was feeling? How could you, the person who used my own toxin against me, dare to feel a bit of sympathy towards me? Just stop pretending, Bat-Man." I really didn't care at the moment what was coming out of my mouth. I just needed to put out my frustration, and what better way to put out my frustration, than to place it on the man who has been the center of my frustration.

"Now, since you didn't answer my question, let me answer you with another question. Why wouldn't I care?"

Is he trying to get me mad! "Because you don't! How could you of all people care what happens to some insane ex-doctor? No one cares about me, no one! So just stop acting like you do, it's making me frustrated."

I care about you, Jonathan.

I lowered my head, and felt as if something was petting my head. I know. You're the only one that cares. No one else will ever care the way you do.

I didn't even notice when he left his chair, let alone come sit right next to me. "Why is it making you frustrated?" He whispered in a quiet voice.

I looked down, and placed my legs on the floor, I didn't want to make any contact with the man sitting next to me. "It's making me frustrated, that I can't understand why you act to care. Why you keep me here, when we both know that you can just take me back to Arkham, and be rid of me. We both know what I did was not something that anyone else would consider right. So, why you?" I finally brought my voice to a gentle tone, also whispering loud enough for him to hear.

"Because I'm not 'anyone else,' I'm not like the people here in Gotham. Everyone has defects, no one is perfect, Jonathan. Your just different from everyone else in this city, you have knowledge that no one else can come to comprehend. You may be considered in their mind a bad person, but to me, I believe you're just misunderstood. I also might not consider myself your biggest fan, but I don't want us to hold grudges for one another."

Why? Why does he have to say it like that? He must be acting to care about me.

The moment I bring my head up, and look to his face, I see complete sincerity in his eyes. It's overwhelming to say the least. "I don't need your sympathy, Wayne. And don't say my name as if were friends because we're not. I know very well that you hate me, and that won't change. The only reason I'm here is because you assume to be a man of your word. So, do me a favor, and just stop." I returned my gaze back down to the floor, not wanting to see his face anymore.

"Stop what?"

I close my eyes shut. Stop acting to care, stop making me feel weak, stop making me feel accepted.

I agonizingly whispered. "Stop making me feel paralyzed."

"Jonathan," stop, "I don't hate you to the point where I want to throw you into the streets. And I'm sorry if I make you feel that way, but I'm not sorry for not leaving you back in Arkham. We may not be friends, but I don't mind considering you as a companion. I'm not here to make your life a living hell."

I don't know how or when I stopped thinking completely, because in the next second I'm throwing myself into Bruce's chest. Hugging him tightly as I grab the back of his shirt with my palms, and making them into fists; rumpling his shirt in the process. I placed my head deep into his chest, trying to hold back a tear that wanted to escape. I was surprised when he placed his own arms around me, returning my embrace. If I were to be paralyzed like this, I don't think I would mind. He started to rub my back in a comfort manner. I definitely wouldn't mind.

But I would.

A/N: Got a bit lazy for the week, and I got lost playing video games all day. SORRY!

So, reviews would be really appreciated!