Fear Revisited [Jonathan Crane / Scarecrow]

021

"Do you have any idea what you're saying, right now?" he asked, his hands gently encircling her wrists as he pushed away from her, needing the space to process what had just spilled from her mouth.

Somehow, in the course of less than twenty-four hours, they had gone from not having spoken a single word to one another in more than a month to Jane suddenly declaring her love for him and asking to be put under the fear toxin.

Don't ask questions, Jonny. If that's what she wants...

Absolutely not, he growled back at the voice, desperate for even one moment in which to catch his breath in complete silence. If Jane was not speaking, Scarecrow was, and it was more than he could process.

"I know exactly what I'm saying," she protested, though she did not come any closer to him, thankfully.

"You're asking me to use a powerful fear including neurotoxin on you for entertainment," he regarded the idea with open distaste. "Forgive me if I don't see that as a sign that you know what you're doing."

"Not for entertainment," she insisted, "so that I can show you that I can understand."

It took everything in him not to treat her like a petulant child, at that moment. When had 'no' become a negotiable answer?

"You are in no way prepared for what you're asking. The last time you even witnessed the process, it took over a month for us to speak again," he spoke in a tone that did not allow room for argument, though he was sure Jane was more than ready to make one, regardless.

Why are you fighting this? A willing subject, Jonathan! We've never had one of those, before.

And we aren't going to have one, now. Doesn't it seem the least bit suspicious that she's asking for this right after she's told me that she loves me?

No better way to find out if she means it.

That thought gave Jonathan pause.

He had not considered it from that particular angle, the tactical practicalities more his other half's forte than his own.

If Jane was so sure that she loved him, then naturally, she would be eager to prove as much. If she was merely saying so to fall into the trope of a badly written romance novel, then of course, she would never make it under the needle.

It was, as all of Scarecrow's plans were, undeniably brilliant.

Don't make me blush.

"What exactly do you hope to understand?" he asked her, returning to the verbal conversation taking place outside of his head.

"If I'm going to be a part of this, shouldn't I at least know that part of you?" she defended her idea, not retreating an inch in terms of confidence.

"Trust me when I tell you, that is not a capacity in which you would like to know me," he said gravely, his tone both warning and threatening at once. He began to walk short paces across the kitchen to work off some of the nervousness the subject was causing him.

"Not you, really," she corrected him, moving to take a seat at the bar so as to give him room to pace, "him."

His eyes snapped towards her in what could only be described as a horrible and simultaneously delightful mixture of confusion and intrigue.

What does she want with you?

Scarecrow did not answer, too busy perching metaphorically on the edge of his seat; it was a curiosity to both of them why Jane would Suddenly be so fascinated by the other side of Jonathan which she had been so keen to ignore, before.