"Easy, easy," Jonathan cautioned Jane as he gently supported her by the elbow, attempting to help her right herself as she guided her keycard into the electronic lock of her room.
It was a miracle that they'd made it up the stairs to the building in the first place with her teetering on the heels she wore that evening. He was quite certain they would've been utterly out of luck with the shape that she was in if it had not been for the elevator.
It had been unwise to allow her to drink to this point, but he had not been in much a position to stop her. She was lucky that be had adjusted the formula of this particular strain of toxin to be safe for use with alcohol and other inebriants.
After all, he wasn't trying to kill her.
Are you sure about that?
He grit his teeth together at the interruption. He was already mildly annoyed at Jane's lack of balance without his aggression being agged on by Scarecrow's words of wisdom.
She closed the door behind him and deposited her handbag on the small table by the door.
"I wasn't planning this," she spoke almost defensively, though she wore the same rosey cheeked grin that had been plastered on her face since her third glass of wine.
He smiled awkwardly, knowing quite well that he had been the orchestrating the plan all along.
"Just give me a second to get out of these terrible shoes," she said as she disappeared into the bedroom. He waited until he could hear the sounds of her moving about before giving the contents of her purse a quick once over.
His search turned up nothing of note, no proof to indicate she'd been lying about her lack of a husband or children. He navigated to the inbox portion of her cellphone and scanned over the most recent messages.
Haven't heard from you all weekend. Call? XO, Steve
How was the reunion? Love, Steve
There were several more in the same vein, much to Jonathan's displeasure. She had not so much as mentioned a Steve through any of their conversations.
Maybe she's not as honest as you thought. Jealous, Jonny?
He shut down the app and tossed the phone back in the bag. Lingering would get him caught.
He set his briefcase, mask inside, on the floor and hung his suit jacket on a coat hook, running his fingers along the inside pocket just to reassure himself that both syringes - one filled with toxin, the other with antidote, should he choose to use it - were still there.
He slipped the first of these, filled with an almost luminescent green liquid, into the pocket of his trousers.
Jane reemerged from the bedroom with her dark hair around her shoulders, still wearing the dress, but now barefoot. He felt that uncomfortable tug at what a more sentimental person might call their heartstrings and forced a smile.
"I don't know what I was thinking, wearing shoes like that," she laughed softly, seeming almost embarrassed at herself, as she took a seat on one end of the plush couch.
"If it helps, you did look lovely," he offered, following suit and taking a seat on the opposite end.
"I never go out much, probably why I overdid it a bit," she acknowledged her slightly giggly state. At least she was self aware enough to realize she was not sober, he supposed.
"I had a bit more than I should have, myself," he lied. He had drank no more than absolutely necessary to keep up appearances, Jane somehow again unaware of how much more alcohol she was consuming than he was.
"I just can't believe this happened," she spoke with a smile, emboldened by the wine.
"What, exactly?" he asked with a tilt of his head, curious as to what she would say in her current state.
You're wasting time.
"This," she motioned between them, "meeting up, going out after all of these years. I've missed you, Jonathan."
He watched her in rapt curiosity, but did not parrot the sentiment. It was too... touchy-feely for his liking. Certainly he had missed her from time to time in the beginning or recalled her fondly at one point or another, but much had happened in the past ten years.
And now, he meant to bring closure to it.
"But I'm sure you've moved on to a very full, happy life," he baited her. He was quite interested in what it would take to get her to admit the truth about this Steve, or what sort of lie she would craft to deny his existence.
"It isn't bad, don't get me wrong. I love my job, the friends I've made through it," she carefully avoided the mention of her beau in the list of things she loved, "the guy I was seeing was even... Okay. But being here again, with you..."
She trailed off as she leaned forward. Jonathan was keenly aware of the rise in his heartrate, the stillness of his own breath as he watched her moving slowly closer.
He had time to stop what happened next. He had time to reach into his pocket and draw out the syringe, uncapping it and sliding it into the vein at the base of her throat in a flat three-point-six seconds.
Now, Jonathan. Do. it. NOW.
But he did not.
In a moment of weakness, he simply awaited what he knew was coming - the feeling of her lips, soft and insistent, against his.
He sighed quietly in contentment.
He was no less opposed to physical contact than he had been as a seventeen year old boy, although he had indulged his curiosity regarding the opposite sex on several occasions as well as used his good looks to his advantage since then.
Still, there was something familiar and comforting in the way that she kissed him, something that brought back very vivid memories of who they had been before.
She pulled back abruptly with a look of slightly drunken shock on her face.
"Jonathan, I'm so sorry," she apologized, holding her fingertips to her lips. "I shouldn't have done that."
He felt a pang of irritation at her sudden change of heart. He really should have used the toxin when he'd had that perfect, opportune moment.
"Because of the guy you've been seeing," he supplied. It was not a question.
"What? No. We're... It's complicated," she dismissed with a wince. Had she forgotten that she had mentioned him?
He stifled a scoff. It, in all probability was not very complicated, at all. The affection this young man felt for her was very straightforward in the texts he had seen.
Don't make me do this for us, Jonathan.
Just be patient, he replied in his head, soon.
"Then why not?" he prompted her to explain, barely able to leash his irritation.
Scarecrow's insistence was starting to loosen Jonathan's grip on his own temper, and he was in no mood to watch her attempt to save face by explaining how she never did this sort of thing. Her need for moral security was lost on him.
"I leave the day after tomorrow, and we both know I'm about half drunk right now," she laughed humorlessly, shaking her head at herself. "This isn't exactly how I've pictured seeing you again."
Now, this he found interesting.
"But you have pictured it?" he asked tone slightly disbelieving. He hadn't considered that idea.
"Of course I have," she said with a bittersweet smile, "maybe not as much after a few years, since it seemed like it would never happen, but do you really think I'd be here now if I hadn't thought about it? I loved you, once, and you haven't exactly changed much."
He hadn't made any assumptions on that subject. Although not overly fond of it, he had grown accustomed to receiving a certain amount of attention for his handsome looks.
Jane would not have been the first woman to impulsively decide to go home with him after giving it little thought, though the number of those who recieved such an invitation was very low.
Few of them ever repeated their visits, leaving with a sense of dread that they couldn't quite place thanks to a capsulated form of the toxin that was easy enough to slip into a drink. Of course, he never crossed any lines physically while his subjects were intoxicated, but mentally was another story.
Is that what he wanted for Jane, who still looked at him with the same gaze, as though there was something obviously praise worthy about him - to never see her again in exchange for probing her fears?
It's what we've wanted for years.
"Oh my God. I feel like such an idiot, rambling on about some schoolgirl crush an entire decade later. I shouldn't have said all of that," she apologized, a deep blush of mortification coloring her cheeks as she hid her face.
Damn it. He'd gotten too lost in his own thoughts, forgetting to maintain an expression of enthusiasm. She was reading this as a lack of interest, which Jonathan was quite shocked to find was not necessarily the case.
Whether it was arrogance and ego or some other feeling he was far too uncomfortable to identify, he was certain of what he was not doing. At least not yet.
If not now, when? Don't be weak. Don't you dare...
Shut up, he growled internally, I call the shots, remember that.
So far as Jonathan was concerned, the argument was settled.
He blocked out the ranting of his other side and decided to indulge his more human side - for the moment, and with limitations - as he leaned in and kissed her this time.
The toxin had a shelf life of twenty four hours without refrigeration before the potency began to dwindle; he'd see how he felt, later.
Hope you guys are enjoying this! Don't forget to vote and / or comment to let me know what you're thinking. Feedback and ideas are always appreciated!