"You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your…" Jonathan stuck a pen in his mouth and leaned closer to the computer. His current contacts' prescription was out of date, and the numbers on the screen were fuzzy. He squinted and finished entering the totals for the month. Smiled as they matched the book in front of him and sat back with a satisfied sigh.

The door opened behind him.

"I'm not sure about these new girls," Cherry said as she entered. "They're cocky. And have no sense of elegance or rhythm."

Jonathan turned and smoothed down his skirt. Tucking one foot behind the other, he cocked his head and looked at her indulgently. "That's what you always say," he said in Sugar's soft drawl. "Every time we hire new girls, you never think they'll pass muster, and they always prove you wrong. They'll be fine."

Cherry shot Jonathan a poisonous look and took a seat on the couch. She rubbed her temples. "How are things on the business end?"

"Looking good. As always." He rubbed his nails on his chest. "You know I've got this place running like a money-making machine."

Cherry rolled her eyes, but she couldn't argue. Dreamgirls had always been a popular venue, but ever since Buzz had put Cherry and Jonathan in charge so he could support his wife while she battled cancer, business had tripled. Jonathan was even looking for another space across town to expand. And while he still took the occasional shift at the bar, management most definitely suited him better.

An alert on Cherry's phone sounded. Jonathan turned back to the computer as she pulled it out and checked it.

"Oh," Cherry said.

"What is it? An alert from one of your celebrity news rags?"

"Bruce Wayne was taken to the hospital with acute respiratory distress."

Jonathan froze. His body went cold, palms damp. He swallowed a painful lump in his throat and clenched his fists tightly, then turned back around to face Cherry. "I'm sorry?"

Cherry's thumbs moved rapidly over her phone. "I'm checking Gotham Times." A moment later, she looked up. "It seems accurate."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Although Jonathan had never officially told Cherry David Mills' true identity, they'd been living together for eight years now. Cherry was no fool.

It'd been almost a year since Bruce had been able to get away from Gotham to come see Jonathan. Batman was retired since the Dent act had passed, but Bruce Wayne still had obligations and notoriety. Even in his guise as David Mills, he and Jonathan had almost been caught several times.

And this year… it'd started with Bruce blowing out his knee. Then, while recovering, he'd gotten food poisoning at a benefit. That had cleared up, and he'd been t-boned at an intersection, fracturing his arm in three places. And now this.

Jonathan took a long, slow breath, then said, "I have to make a call. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. I'll be downstairs." Cherry stood and left the room.

He tried Bruce first but was sent to voicemail, understandable considering the news. He knew better than to try Alfred, so his next call was to Fox.

"Hello?" Fox always answered the phone with a large hint of curiosity, as if wondering which of Jonatha's personas he'd be interacting with.

"Hello, Mr. Fox," Jonathan breathed in Sugar's voice. "I, um. I'm calling about Bruce."

"You've heard."

"Is he all right?"

"He's being treated at the emergency room now. Alfred is with him. He's had a bad chest cold that's turned on him. That's all I know."

Jonathan squeezed his hand, feeling his nails bite into his palms. "I… This isn't fair. I should be able to be with him."

Fox sighed. "Sugar, you know the risks."

"Of course I do," he spat. "I know what I did. I know how dangerous it is. I just…"

"Stop. Listen." Fox's voice was, as always, calm and grounding. "You are an adult. For years, you have been a law abiding, productive member of society. You know the risks. You get to decide if they are worth it."

A surge of hope washed through him. Fox couldn't be suggesting… but what else could he be saying?

It'd been eight years since Jonathan had been to Gotham. One year since he'd seen his boyfriend.

"Do you really think it'd be safe?"

"I think if you only go in public as Sugar and go out only if necessary… yes. I think it could work. And I think you'd do him some good. He's been moping. Wayne Enterprises is in trouble, he's had health setbacks, and he's not feeling as needed anymore. He could use someone who loves him around."

He flushed, but immediately sobered. "What about Alfred? He won't be happy."

"If you show up on the doorstep to Wayne Manor, do you really think he's going to keep you standing out there for the world to see? He'll let you in. He doesn't have to be happy about it."

Jonathan nodded. "Okay. Okay, then. I'll come."

Jonathan stood outside the gates to Wayne Manor and watched the taxi drive away. His heart pounded in his chest hard and fast enough it felt as if it would burst through at any moment. This was the part he was the most unsure about. Everything up to this had gone fine. Buzz had agreed to step into Jonathan's role for a few weeks. The train ride here had been uneventful. Even the taxi driver hadn't said anything about the destination.

Now, all he had to do was get past Alfred.

He swallowed and turned to the intercom. Pressed it with one shaking finger.

"Yes?"

Jonathan took a deep breath. "H-hi, Alfred. It's, um. It's Sugar. I've come to see Bruce."

Silence. He counted his heartbeats and was up to sixty-three before the gates opened.

Quickly, Jonathan picked up his overnight bag and tightened his grip on his suitcase, rolling it alongside him up the driveway to the manor.

Alfred stood in the doorway, scowling. "You've got a lot of nerve coming here." He grabbed Jonathan by the arm, yanked him inside, and slammed the door. "Are you insane?"

Jonathan blinked, unsure how to answer that. Technically–legally–he was considered insane. But it'd been years since he'd had delusions or criminal desires to hurt others. "I'm bipolar with a comorbidity of panic disorder."

"God help me." Alfred squeezed his eyes shut. "Did anyone see you?"

"No, I teleported. It's fine. No one knows who I am underneath the dress and make-up. I promise."

"They better not. Because if the police show up, I am not protecting you." He dropped Jonathan's arm and turned on his heel. "This way."

"How is he?" Jonathan asked as he followed Alfred through the house and up the stairs.

"Sick. Pneumonia."

"How bad is it?"

Alfred stopped outside a door. "He needed a breathing treatment at the hospital. He's been breathing better since then. If he takes his medication, he'll be fine." He glared at Jonathan. "There really was no reason for you to come."

Jonathan swallowed and raised an eyebrow. "I haven't seen him in months, and he's sick. What more reason do I need?"

"You are a criminal. How do I know…"

"Please. As if you couldn't defend either yourself or him from me if you needed to. I'm not going to hurt my boyfriend. I'm just here for support."

Alfred's scowl deepened, but he turned the knob and pushed open the door. "Suppose I'll have to feed you."

Jonathan smiled and batted his eyelashes. "I'd appreciate that very much, Alfred." Then, before Alfred could change his mind, Jonathan slipped past him and into Bruce's dimly lit room.

Bruce lay in bed, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. His hair was dark and stuck to his face with sweat, and Jonathan could hear him struggling to breathe over the soft whir of the humidifier next to his bed.

"Did we wake you?" Jonathan crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Bruce.

He coughed and nodded. "Alfred. Haven't heard him that angry in a while."

"I'm sure it's been some time since a wanted fugitive showed up on your doorstep." Jonathan took Bruce's hand, wincing a little at how hot it was.

Bruce snorted and squeezed Jonathan's hand. "I'm glad you're here."

He blushed and lowered his eyes. "Really? Alfred's right, it's dangerous. If anyone were to find out or recognize me or…" He was cut off by Bruce sitting up and kissing him.

Jonathan made a soft noise in his throat as Bruce slid his hand around the back of Jonathan's neck. Bruce was warm–too warm–, smelled like menthol, and tasted like cherry cough syrup. But he was alive and here, and Jonathan melted into his arms.

Bruce lay back, taking Jonathan with him. Kicking off his shoes, Jonathan slid onto the bed and curled up next to Bruce, head tucked against his shoulder. "I've missed you," Jonathan whispered.

"Me too." He pressed a kiss to the top of Jonathan's head.

"Mm. Hold on." Jonathan sat up and began pulling the hairpins out of his wig. Once he got them all, he removed it and pulled off his wig cap. Setting the wig on the nightstand opposite Bruce's, Jonathan fluffed his hair and lay back down. "Kiss me again."

Bruce laughed and complied, dropping a long, firm kiss into Jonathan's hair. Then he laid back on the pillows with a long sigh. "I don't know what to do, Jonathan."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… I mean I feel like I can't function anymore. I've spent most of this year confined to this house. A lot of it in bed. People are calling me a recluse. I really fucked up with Wayne Enterprises and don't know how to recover. I feel um…" Jonathan heard Bruce's voice catch.

He waited, but Bruce didn't finish the sentence. Still, Jonathan knew that Bruce had to be feeling pretty crappy to have admitted even that much. He and Jonathan were close, and they'd shared much over their years together. But, usually, it took work to get Bruce to open up about what was really going on inside him. About as much as it took for Bruce to get Jonathan to be honest about his feelings.

But if Bruce was at this point so quickly, Jonathan knew things were serious.

"Do you want to tell me what happened with your company?"

Bruce cleared his throat. "I accidentally built a nuclear bomb."

Jonathan's eyebrows hit his hairline. He didn't move, though, just took a deep breath and let the initial shock pass. "How did that happen?"

He listened as Bruce explained how a woman named Miranda Tate had contacted Bruce and Fox with the idea for a fusion reactor. How after researching the idea, Bruce had invested nearly all his money in it to make the project happen, only for a Russian scientist to figure out a way to weaponize it after the reactor had been built.

"I shelved the project," Bruce finished, fingers digging into Jonathan's arm. "But Miranda is still insistent we move forward. Meanwhile, Wayne Enterprises is struggling, and I'm…" He exhaled. "It's one of those, I'm only rich because of my name situations."

"Hmm." Jonathan stroked Bruce's stomach, trying to soothe him. He could feel the tension in Bruce's body and needed him to relax. "Did you destroy the reactor?"

"No. But it's safe."

Nothing is safe in Gotham until it's gone, but Jonathan kept that to himself. He didn't understand Bruce and Fox's penchant for keeping dangerous things around "just in case" and "for the record." Like Jonathan's fear toxin. He wasn't sure if there was actually any toxin left–in the end, all he'd had was two vials that Bruce had confiscated–but he knew for a fact that Fox had the formula locked away somewhere. The knowledge made both Sugar and Jonathan uneasy; Scarecrow, who'd been safely locked away for years, preened at the knowledge that he was merely one master criminal away from being let loose.

"Does this Miranda understand the dangers?"

Bruce coughed and cleared his throat again. "I don't know. I'm avoiding her."

He laughed. "Oh, good, you're taking the mature route." Jonathan trailed his fingertips up and down Bruce's arm. "What does Fox say?"

"I think he agrees with me that we shouldn't use it. Shouldn't have built it. But I don't know how to get the company up and running again."

"Isn't that his job?"

Bruce shrugged.

Jonathan sat up and turned to face Bruce. He took Bruce's hand and held it in his lap. "I'm saying this as your boyfriend and as a genius psychiatrist."

"Which you're not and never have been, but go on," Bruce countered with a soft smile.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You need an extended vacation. A real one. You need to leave everything behind–the Bat Man, Bruce Wayne, Gotham, Wayne Enterprises–and go back into the world. Just be."

Bruce closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply, fighting for air against the congestion in his chest. "I don't know if I can."

"You did it before."

"That was different."

"Darling? Your body is telling you something. And you need to listen. This city is killing you."

When Bruce opened his eyes again, they were wet. "What are the logistics here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Say, after I kick this chest cold, I tell Fox to do what he wants to save the company, close up the cave, say good-bye to Alfred, and take off again. Where does that leave us?"

Warmth flooded through Jonathan's body. He knew it was silly to continue to be surprised that he factored into Bruce's life plans, but he couldn't help it. After all, he was just a drag queen hiding from the law, and Bruce Wayne was royalty. One day, Bruce was going to wake up and remember that. Then he'd find someone else.

Maybe.

Jonathan took a breath. "I've been saving up. Buzz's wife is nearing the end of her chemotherapy, and it's looking good for her. But, with their kid almost in college, and things being the way they are, Buzz has been talking about finding someone to buy him out so they can travel. I… I thought, perhaps, Cherry and I could. And then, once I was part owner, I could hire someone to replace me and… if you wanted…"

Bruce sat up and pulled Jonathan to him. "I want," he whispered against Jonathan's lips. "I want very much." He kissed and kissed and kissed Jonathan until Jonathan's head spun and he clung onto Bruce for support.

When Bruce finally broke the kiss and rested their foreheads together, Jonathan smiled. "All right, then. So, you get better. Then we start planning. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect."