Overdose Delusion

17

"Someone once said that youth was wasted on the youthful. And now I can see this is how it ends." Willow eyed the television up with wide eyes. She didn't know what this show was, but it was interesting. Jonathan walked through the front door and looked down at her. She was sitting how a little child would when their favoured cartoon was on. Cross legged and as close to the television as humanly possible.

He eyed the television up. A rather muscular blonde haired man was waving a shot gun around talking about, in his opinion, rubbish. Willow tilted her head to the side and scrutinised the man, she pulled a face and changed the channel. Clearly she didn't like the main star, so therefore it wasn't worth watching. Jonathan looked up at the ceiling while walking past the sofa, that was rather shallow of her in a way.

Walking into the work room he put his brief case up on the table and pulled off his jacket. He'd been out, working. When it came to work, the job he was doing wasn't conventional. Far from it in fact. Down in the slum area of Gotham, there were many abandoned buildings. They were dark, creepy and most of them were structurally not safe. He'd moved into one of these. When it came to moving in, Jonathan had really moved some of the equipment which was laying around the apartment down there. It was a precaution. Obviously if the meeting went downhill with the Chechen, and with Batman and the police, then the first place they'd look would be their place of residence.

Jonathan had also started to do some conversions on some of the rooms. The building he had decided was fit enough to move into was an old flat. There were about six or seven rooms downstairs. Upstairs had about ten, sixteen or seventeen rooms in total. Jonathan had converted four of the rooms into little cells. Cells sounded a bit wrong, they were still how they were. Old beds, some old furniture. The doors though were the only thing which he'd changed. He'd taken the handles off from the inside. There was one way in, and no way out. Walking back out of the work room, Jonathan sat down on the sofa. Hannibal yawned and wriggled closer to him. The dog's fur felt cold, clearly it hadn't been too long since he'd gone out for a walk.

"No!" Willow exclaimed. "The murderers are always the people you least suspect! And! And! They always look under the beds! You dumb bitch why do you hide under your bed?! What are you?! Stupid? Clearly yes! Ah! You infuriate me! I no longer wish to watch you." Willow proclaimed and rambled and changed the channel. "No! Not the news!" She changed the channel again. Deciding that channel flicking was getting boring she turned and looked at him. "Hello dear! How are you?"

Jonathan nodded. "Not too bad, you?"

Willow drummed her fingers on the coffee table and looked at him. "I'm good. Finished work, got paid, got invited to the party." Pouting she leaned her head against her hand. "Talked to Bruce about this Arkham City thing. He's campaigning against it."

"Oh how good for him." Jonathan said sarcastically and leaned back on the sofa. He blinked and looked at Willow when she had jumped up and ran around from the sofa and looked down at him. Moving his head away from the back of the sofa he turned and looked at her.

"Dinner?" Willow questioned. Jonathan smiled and nodded. She didn't quip back about his sarcasm towards Bruce. She already knew how Jonathan felt towards him.

Jonathan stood up and shuffled into the kitchen. "Willow?"

"Yup?" When he didn't answer she turned and looked at him. "Oh what have you done?"

"What?"

"Your expression! You look...suspicious, shifty and a little guilty. What have you done?"

Jonathan sighed and put his hands on her shoulders. "I've found a place."

"What sort of place?"

"A place to work."

"Right so that's where all your work room stuff went." Willow looked up at him. "Can I see it?"