Jonathan laid in the dark room for hours after Basard had escorted him back. He kept the light off and didn't bother to undress. He simply stretched out on the cot, rested his hands on his stomach, and stared blankly into the darkness.
The image of Bane lifting Bruce into the air as if he weighed no more than a rag doll, and then bending him in half played over and over in Jonathan's mind's eye. He could hear the sickening crack. The thud of Bruce's body. Again and again.
Why couldn't Fletcher have just killed Jonathan? Why couldn't the fear toxin have eaten his brain? Why did Cherry have to drag him off the streets and give him a home? Why, why, why?
He was cold. Freezing. Distantly, Jonathan knew he was in shock. His skin was cold and clammy, his heartbeat irregular, and his body too heavy to move. But there was absolutely nothing he could do about that right now. Even if he could, he would not alert the guard outside his room. He could not trust these people. All Jonathan had was himself.
That was fine. He could deal with that. After all, he'd been alone most of his life.
Bane wanted him to make more fear toxin. If Jonathan didn't, Bane would probably kill him. Did it matter?
I guess that all depends on whether or not Bruce is actually dead.
The crack of Bruce's back echoed in his ears again.
Step one: ascertain if Bruce is dead. Step two…decide if life is worth living.
The door opened. Jonathan continued to stare blankly upward, even when the light flickered on and the ceiling came into view.
Basard knelt next to the cot. He took Jonathan's arm, feeling for his pulse. "Can you sit up?" he asked, setting Jonathan's hand back on his chest.
Jonathan thought for a long moment, trying to decide. Finally, he nodded. Slowly, he pushed himself up, Basard helping him, until he sat with his legs over the edge of the cot. His body was so heavy that Jonathan sat bent over, bracing himself.
Basard looked concerned. "May I remove your wig?"
"Yeah."
With careful fingers, Basard plucked each and every bobby pin from Jonathan's hair and set them on the cot. When he could find no more, he lifted the wig off Jonathan's head with two hands and took it to the table. He came back, gently took the wig cap, and ran his hand over Jonathan's hair. Then he knelt again.
"We are moving you to another location. Do you want to change?"
He swallowed, dry throat clicking. "I don't think I can."
"I can help you, if you wish."
Jonathan closed his eyes and exhaled hard. "You're with the League of Shadows, right?"
"Yes."
He forced himself to look back at Basard. "You're here to finish what you started?" At Basard's nod, he said, "If I was in charge, and I was strong enough to do what Bane just did… I wouldn't kill my nemesis. I think I'd want him to watch while I tore apart everything he loved."
Basard's face softened and he smiled. "You are very wise, Dr. Crane. You and Bane think much alike."
Jonathan went limp. Basard caught him before he fell off the cot and propped him against the wall. "Do you have a preference in what you wear?"
"Something warm."
Basard nodded. He went to Jonathan's suitcase in the corner, picked it up, and brought it to the end of the cot. Opening it, he remarked, "Bane wishes to be respectful. How should he refer to you?"
"Dr. Crane is fine."
"No, I mean to others." Basard glanced at Jonathan, then back at the suitcase. He pulled out a Dreamgirl's hoodie and a pair of jeans. "Is it she, he, or something else?"
Jonathan blinked then snorted. "Yeah. I'm sure Bane is really hung up on this."
A smile teased Basard's lips. He took a white henley from the case. "Please."
Jonathan sighed and thumped his head on the wall. "It doesn't matter. My gender is so fluid, it's anyone's guess as to what I am at any given moment. I don't take offense. Refer to me however you want."
He nodded and set the shirt down. Moved to the head of the cot and eased Jonathan away from the wall, sitting behind him. "Is this all right?" he asked, fingers brushing the nape of Jonathan's neck as he took the zipper of the dress between his fingers.
"Yes." Jonathan swallowed as Basard unzipped his dress.
Somewhere in his foggy, mushy brain, Jonathan knew he might be able to use this to his advantage. That he could use Basard's obvious attraction against the terrorist. That Jonathan might be able to get away.
But, even if he was able to scheme right now, Jonathan was no seductress. He'd never been intimate with anyone but Bruce–not willingly anyway. He wasn't sure if he could bring himself to do what was necessary.
Basard sat back. "Are you… Do you require more assistance?"
Jonathan sighed. "No. I can do it from here." Slowly, he stood, holding the dress to his chest so it didn't fall.
Without him having to ask, Basard climbed off the bed and turned so he faced away from Jonathan. While Jonathan began stripping out of the dress and undergarments, Basard said, "I found the lorazepam while I was out. Would you like it now or after we get to the safehouse?"
"After," Jonathan said, pulling on the henley. "I'm in shock. It'll probably put me to sleep." He grabbed his jeans and put them on, then the sweatshirt. "I'm dressed." Jonathan ran his fingers through his hair, breaking up tangles, then sat down and rummaged for a pair of socks in the suitcase. "How long will we be in the safehouse?"
"A few days," Basard said as he turned. He began gathering Jonathan's medications. "I will not be with you. I'm leaving Angel to tend to whatever daily needs you have and, of course, some guards for your protection." Basard placed the medications into Jonathan's overnight bag.
Jonathan swallowed and took his sneakers from the suitcase. "Will you be gone long?"
"Just a day or two." He offered Jonathan a small smile. "Are you done?" He gestured to the suitcase.
"Yeah." Jonathan sat on the cot and put his shoes on while Basard put Jonathan's discarded clothes in the suitcase, except the dress, which went back into the box.
Basard picked up Jonathan's wig from the table. "What should I do with this?"
He sighed. "I don't know. I need a head to put that on if I want to keep it…" He stopped talking, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It doesn't matter."
He heard Basard moving then zipping the suitcase. "Come."
A warm hand took Jonathan's, gently tugging him to his feet.
Jonathan reached for his suitcase, but Basard shook his head. "Someone will bring your things for you. Just come with me." He slipped his arm around Jonathan's waist, grabbed the overnight bag, and led him into the sewers.
He tried, he really did, but Jonathan's head was too foggy to figure out where they were going. By the time they reached the surface, and he was herded into a SUV, he'd already lost all sense of direction. A few twists and turns into the darkness, and Jonathan was lost in the city.
They didn't drive very long, perhaps twenty minutes, before they pulled into an alley between some nondescript apartment buildings. Basard parked, got out of the SUV, and came around to help Jonathan out. He led Jonathan to a door on the ground floor and knocked.
The door opened a crack, revealing a face under the security chain.
"The fire rises," Basard said.
The door shut and Jonathan heard the jangling of the chain. When the door opened again, Basard led Jonathan inside.
They had clearly entered through the back, for they were in a kitchen. Around the table sat four men with their automatic weapons slung over their chests or arms as they smoked and played cards. They eyed Jonathan with a studied disinterest as Basard walked him through the kitchen and up the stairs.
Another man stood at the top of the stairs, this one looking alert, like he was on duty. He gave a sharp nod to Basard, which was returned.
"This is where you will stay." Basard opened a door and guided Jonathan inside.
Even through the numbness and shock, a sliver of unease zinged up Jonathan's spine when he saw the queen-sized bed and the ensuite bathroom. "Is this the master bedroom?"
"As you are our honored guest, it is appropriate." Basard put his hand on the small of Jonathan's back and guided him to the bed. "The men in this house are part of the League of Shadows. They are Bane's men, and, therefore, will not hurt you. But that does not make them safe."
Jonathan clenched his fists in his lap as he sat. He nodded.
"I advise you to confine yourself to your room as much as possible until I return. Send Angel for anything you need."
"Okay."
Basard studied him a moment longer, then set the overnight bag on the bed. "I'll be right back." He left the room, returning moments later with a bottle of water, which he handed to Jonathan. Then, from his pocket, he pulled out a prescription bottle. "How many do you take?"
All of them should do the trick.
"Let me see." Jonathan took the bottle and read the dosage information. "One."
Basard took the bottle back, opened it, and shook out a pill.
Jonathan took it, chasing it down with water. The effect was in no way instantaneous, but he felt a little better knowing that he'd be sedated enough to sleep without hearing the crack of Bruce's back.
"Now," Basard said, kneeling at Jonathan's feet, "I will leave you. Rest well these next few days. When we Bane and I return, we will be remaking the world." He slid one of Jonathan's shoes off his foot.
"And what if …if recreating the toxin is beyond my abilities?" He yawned. "What if I can't?"
The other shoe came off. Basard stood and put his hands on Jonathan's shoulders. "I have faith in you, Doctor." He squeezed Jonathan's arms, then exited, leaving him alone.
Exhausted, Jonathan shucked off his jeans and crawled to the head of the bed. He burrowed under the covers and pulled a pillow over his head.
Step one complete: Bruce is not dead …yet. Step two: living seems preferable. Step three: Find a way to resist making toxin.
"At all costs."