The way back to consciousness was slow and painstaking. It started with Jonathan becoming aware of how thirsty he was. His lips were cracked. His tongue was a heavy, desiccated thing in his mouth. His throat parched. He cleared it a few times and swallowed, trying to work moisture back into his mouth, but there was none to be had.

Next he became aware of the pain in his head. A dull, pounding pain that throbbed at his temples. As he pried his eyelids apart, the pain oozed across his forehead and down his sinuses, stabbing him in the eyes. Jonathan winced, flinching from the stark yellow bulb that hung from the ceiling above him.

He raised a hand to his face. It wasn't easy, as his limbs felt weighted and slow. He rubbed his eyes, cleaning the corners of dried crust that had gathered there. Then, with a groan, he pushed himself into a sitting position.

The room swum around him. Jonathan gripped the blanket beneath him and breathed through the dizziness. It faded gradually. When it did, he turned and let his legs dangle over the side of the cot. He looked around him.

The room was small. It couldn't even truly be called a room. Perhaps, Jonathan thought, it was a janitor closet of some type. He could hear nothing, so he assumed the walls were thick. A faint odor of decay and sewage hung in the air. The walls and floor were both made of gray concrete, cold and featureless.

Next to the cot was a table, upon which sat a water bottle and Jonathan's prescriptions, neatly lined in a row. A chair resided in the corner; atop it were his bags. Jonathan was still dressed in his travel outfit, although his shoes had been removed.

Jonathan picked up the bottle of water. It was sealed, but that meant nothing. It was easy enough to tamper with anything these days. But, they already had him, and he'd be able to think better if he weren't quite as thirsty.

He cracked open the water and took a drink just as the door opened.

A man dressed all in black with red under the collar stepped inside. His dark hair and beard had an underlying hint of gold. Both were kept short but not neat; there was a scruffy look about this man. As he entered, he closed the door behind him, never turning his back to the room. From the moment he opened the door, his gaze locked on Jonathan, an amused and strangely fond smile curving his lips.

Jonathan swallowed his mouthful of water and lowered the bottle to his lap. Years of psychiatric training had blessed him with nearly unlimited patience. If this man hoped to find Jonathan blubbering in fear, begging for his life, he'd be sorely disappointed.

For a moment, the man said nothing. He merely leaned against the door and let his gaze run languidly over Jonathan's body from head to toe. It made Jonathan's skin prickle, and he found that he had to avert his eyes. There was nothing lascivious in the man's look–hell, Jonathan had gotten worse at Dreamgirls, often from clueless straight men. This once-over was merely appreciative. Approving. And, somehow, nearly as intimate as any Bruce had ever given him.

The man laughed softly. "Forgive me," he said, words tinged with an accent Jonathan couldn't quite place. "I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

Don't give him an advantage over you.

Jonathan brushed hair from his shoulder and turned back to the man. Instead of responding, he simply arched an eyebrow, drawing a delighted grin from the man.

"My name is Basard." He pushed away from the door and walked to the cot, setting the bag he carried next to Jonathan. "How are you feeling?"

Jonathan took a moment to consider his answer. Tell the truth, lie, or remain silent? What should be his play? He weighed his options as Basard opened the bag and took out a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff.

"Are you a doctor?" Jonathan asked as Basard knelt in front of him.

He shook his head. "More of a field medic. May I?" He reached for Jonathan's arm, stopping just short of touching it.

Jonathan hesitated before nodding.

"You didn't answer my question." Basard slipped the cuff on Jonathan's arm. "How do you feel? Any ill effects from the drugs?"

"Of course." When Basard raised his gaze to meet Jonathan's, a question in his eyes, Jonathan relented. "I have a pounding headache. And I'm sensitive to light. I was dizzy, but it's gotten better. However, overall, I feel like something stuck to the bottom of a shoe."

Basard's lips twitched. "I do apologize for that. It's the propofol. I gave you quite a bit to keep you under." He studied the pressure gauge on the cuff before nodding. "Luckily, you seem to be doing fine otherwise. Your blood pressure is back to normal."

He raised an eyebrow. "Back to normal?"

"While you were unconscious, it was a little low, which is expected." Basard sat back on his heels. "I can give you something for your headache, if you like."

"I think even more than that, I'd like answers."

Basard nodded. "Of course. I can take you now. But would you like a painkiller first?"

Like I'm going to accept anything from my kidnapper? Are you insane? Jonathan forced a small smile and shook his head. "No. Thank you."

Basard stood and extended a hand to Jonathan. After a moment's consideration, he allowed Basard to help him to his feet.

"My shoes?"

"Under the cot. Would you like me…"

"No. Thank you." Jonathan didn't even want to hear the offer. He turned, pulled his shoes out from under the cot, and slipped them back on.

Basard offered his arm to Jonathan with a roguish smile. He took it, slipping his hand into the crook of Basard's not because he liked his captor, but because Jonathan found that after being asleep for God knew how long, walking in heels wasn't as easy as usual.

To Jonathan's utter lack of surprise, he was in the sewers. He'd known that. From the moment he'd felt the prick of a needle in his side to the moment he'd woken up, he'd known that he'd been taken by Bane and his underground army. The question was why. Had the mysterious Bane seen him with Bruce and taken Jonathan as a hostage? Or had Jonathan's identity been discovered?

He shivered before forcing that thought down. Because it was absurd. Jonathan had met no one since coming to Gotham, not as himself. And there was no reason for anyone to connect Sugar to Dr. Jonathan Crane. He was here because Bane wanted money. Pure and simple, that was it, end of story.

Basard led Jonathan up a flight of stairs and down a corridor. The sound of rushing water, like a river, echoed off the walls. After a few more turns, they entered a vast open space. Water spilled down through pathways before turning into the world's most polluted waterfall, disappearing who-knew-where.

Men hung from the ceiling doing some sort of construction work. Jonathan looked up at the circular room and wondered what was above them. It had to be something important; he could see explosives being drilled into the walls.

Next to him, Basard cleared his throat and steered Jonathan away from the main room. They walked into an alcove where a man sat on a bed fiddling with some machinery that looked too delicate for his huge hands.

Jonathan clenched his teeth tightly as his mind processed the man before him. Bane wasn't just large. He wasn't just muscular. He wasn't …wasn't ijust/i anything. Bane was a category all his own, and that category terrified Jonathan.

He could crush me with a casual swipe of his hand. Jonathan's breath caught. Bruce doesn't stand a chance.

Shame flooded Jonathan's system as his disloyalty. But, deep down, he knew it was true. The Bat Man was hardly at his peak right now, and Bane… Bane would crush him.

"Bane," Basard said.

The monster before them looked up. It was impossible to read the expression on his face beneath the mask, but he set the machinery aside and rose. His eyes met Jonathan's and destroyed his world with three simple words.

"Welcome, Dr. Crane."

Fuuuuuck.

Jonathan took a moment to compose himself before responding. He could feel Sugar sliding into place over him, serenity flooding his body, confidence lifting his chin. By the time he drew breath to speak, Jonathan Crane had faded into the background, and Sugar had taken control.

The corner of his mouth lifted. "I thank you. And you're Bane?"

"I am."

"You say welcome as if I chose to be here. And yet…"

Bane nodded, his huge hands gripping his vest. "I apologize for the manner in which we brought you here. Bruce Wayne kept you so closely guarded that it was the easiest way to get to you."

He raised an eyebrow at Bane's phrasing, but said nothing. "And you wanted me here because…"

"You deserve to be a part of Gotham's retribution!"

Jonathan's breath caught. His hand tightened in the crook of Basard's arm, and he, to Jonathan's surprise, covered Jonathan's hand with his own and gave it a slight squeeze.

"Thank you," Jonathan said after a brief pause, "but I already participated in that once. It didn't turn out well for me." He touched the scars on his cheek with his fingertips, lowering his eyelashes demurely.

"I understand your reluctance, Doctor, but I can assure you that we are far better prepared than our forebearers. We are poised to take the city and bring it to the brink of destruction. And, just before we do, we want to allow you, Dr. Crane, another chance to play your part. To cause chaos and madness. To make the soft, decadent, and immoral Gothamites feel real fear."

Every nerve sparked under Jonathan's skin. A tremble began deep inside. His heart rate increased, and his breathing picked up.

Don't. You absolutely cannot do this. No. No, he couldn't. Even if he wanted to–which he didn't–he couldn't. Without the blue flower, it wasn't worth it. He'd never been able to truly replicate the toxin without it, and while his knockoff was fine for selling on the streets or defending himself, it wasn't worthy of the use Bane described.

Besides, he'd changed. He wasn't the same Dr. Jonathan Crane that Ra's al Ghul had seduced with his grand plans all those years ago. Jonathan wasn't a scientist or pharmacologist anymore. He didn't care how people reacted to fear or how it could be induced in them. No. Jonathan was a bartender. A drag queen. He cared about looking pretty, making a profit, and mixing drinks.

He cared about Cherry and Buzz. He cared about Bruce.

I can't.

Choosing his words carefully, Jonathan said, "Thank you very much for thinking of me, but I must sadly decline. I'm afraid whatever toxin I made would be a sad substitute for what I used the last time, and it wouldn't be as …fun." He smiled. "Without a key ingredient, which cannot be found in the States, it can't be done."

"And if you had access to the ingredient?"

"I'm afraid the point is moot."

Bane chuckled. He released his grip on his vest and stretched out one massive hand, opening it.

A blue flower lay crumpled in the palm of Bane's hand.

Jonathan began trembling so violently that Basard slid his arm from Jonathan's grasp to wrap around his waist. As Jonathan leaned against the other man, he tried to hide other visible reactions. Internally, he was a mess. His mind was a riot of thoughts that wildly pinged from idea to idea. Chemical formulas danced across his brain, a list of other ingredients needed scrolled through. His palms went damp. His stomach felt as if it were full of bees. Even his Goddamn mouth watered.

Bruce. Cherry. Buzz. Bruce. Cherry. Buzz.

He took a deep cleansing breath. Blinked away tears that threatened to rise. Tore his gaze away from the flower and back to Bane. "I'm afraid I no longer have the formula." His voice quaked. "Even with the flower, I couldn't replicate it."

Deep crinkles appeared next to Bane's eyes. "And if you had access?"

Bruce. Cherry. Buzz. "I'd still have to decline."

The words hung in the air between them. Jonathan waited for the hammer to fall, for the man who stood next to him supporting him to become Jonathan's executioner. For Bane to close the gap between them and crush Jonathan's skull between his palms.

Instead, Bane tucked the flower into a pocket and inclined his head. "You don't trust that we can win. Understandable, given your experience last time. Fear not, Dr. Crane. You will have proof in due time." He made a gesture that was part nod and part bow to Jonathan before turning and walking away.

"Come." Basard turned as well and led Jonathan back the way they had come. Once back in the closet, he led Jonathan to the cot and helped him sit. "Are you all right?"

Jonathan nodded jerkily.

"The trembling?"

He averted his eyes. "A side effect of the toxin. It happens sometimes. It'll go away."

Basard nodded. "Are these all your medications?" He gestured to the bottles on the table next to the cot.

"Why?"

"Soon, access to medication will be difficult. We want to make sure you are taken care of while you are with us."

Jonathan's stomach sank. He'd known that Bane wasn't going to let him go any time soon, and yet …and yet, somehow, he'd still held out hope.

He moved closer to the table and looked over the pills. "Yes. These are all of them."

Basard picked up a white bottle with no label. "What is this?"

Jonathan hesitated. Lucius Fox made those particular pills. They treated the hallucinations left over from Jonathan's exposure to the fear toxin. Jonathan had proved to be resistant to the formula used on most of the victims of the toxin because he'd been exposed for so long and to a wider variety of versions of the toxin. He and Fox had created this concoction together after Jonathan moved to Chicago.

"They're just vitamins." Jonathan smiled. "I probably don't even need them. Don't worry about those. Just fill the others."

Basard nodded and set the bottle down. "I'll get you something to eat as well. There is a small restroom just next door. Please feel free to use it. There is a guard outside for your protection."

"My protection?" Jonathan arched an eyebrow.

He smiled. "We do recruit who we can. There are some unsavory individuals down here. Bane wants you safe. I promise, we will not stay underground for long." Basard inclined his head respectfully, then left the room.

When the door shut, Jonathan closed his eyes and let out a long, slow, shaky breath. He clenched his fists in his lap and tried to control the trembling in his body.

He wanted that flower. He wanted it so much he could taste it.

Bruce. Cherry. Buzz.

"Please," Jonathan whispered. His voice cracked. "Please, Bruce, come quickly. Get me out of here."