This was his own fault. Really.

He’d offered to help you - offered. You accused him of something (falsely, for once), and instead of storming off or gassing you out of pure spite, he tried to be reasonable. Offered to help clear his name. If he was going to get accused of something, it damn well better be something he took pride in. Like his own experiments. Not… whatever nonsense this was.

Who knew you would be the reckless one?

Not that Jonathan was immune to the occasional bout of stupidity, but it had barely been two hours since he'd agreed to help, and he was already fairly certain he had, like, seven different targets on his back now. Because, of course, you interrogated the right people - the ones who actually had answers - but also the wrong people in the sense that all of them had terrifying, high-profile bosses who didn’t like being poked at.

He didn’t even bother sighing out loud anymore. It was all internal now. Shoulders slumped slightly, jaw tight, he followed you out of the hideout and back onto the damp, reeking Gotham docks.

He said nothing.

Because if he did, it’d be something mean. And he was trying so hard to be civil.