-- Born from Fear

“What about you? As far as I can tell, your sole purpose is to test my patience and make sure some sliver of Megan knows she can defeat me if she needs to. And don’t get me wrong, you do an excellent job at it.” A pause. She’s right, of course, he should be talking to Megan. But he’s not. He’s talking to Finch.

“I guess I wanted to tell you instead of her because… then I could test out saying those words to someone with her face. It’ll. Be easier. Now that I’ve had practice.” That’s not really it, though, is it? “Or maybe I just wanted you to tell her for me. Maybe I’m. Afraid?”

Ugh, gross. It feels like there’s a slime all over his body and he needs to bathe to get it off. Shame isn’t a common sensation for Jonathan these days. He thought he’d burnt it all off like fingerprints.

With a blink she’s on her feet, the cigarette is dropped to her feet and the fingers of one hand are once again wrapped in his shirt while the other holds a butterfly knife just beside it. “you’re right about her ability to defeat you too - she’d never be able to do it without me...she was afraid and fragile despite what she let people see at work.” 

Of course. Of course this is the reception he gets when he finally does the right thing for once. This – this is why he’s a no-good-dirty-rotten-bastard. For a moment, he grapples with a wave of fury that bubbles up, knowing that he’s already too deep in this now to pull out. He should have known he’d regret this.

She tilted her chin up to look at him, remaining in her seated position as she watched him pace. “so what you’re saying is you care about her.” she took a deep breath and a long drag with it, “and what about me, hm?” her jaw tightened briefly again, “or is it just her you cared about.” there it was, that ping of jealousy and guilt she hadn’t felt in such a long time. right when she thought she was out he reeled her right back in and it lit a fire of rage with in her.

For a moment, he seriously debates the possibility of just strangling her and dumping her body somewhere for Batman to find. Of course, he can’t. But wouldn’t it be nice if he could solve this problem the same way he solves most of his other problems? By dumping dead bodies in dramatic locations? He huffs a sigh as he lights both of their cigarettes and starts puffing his like a chimney.

“I’m telling you this because I don’t want to see Meg’s face when I say it.” As he talks, he makes dismissive, waving motions with the hand that carries his cigarette, but he doesn’t make eye contact with her.

“what’s your angle here. when have you ever cared about her happiness you literally ruined her life by creating me...you realize that. she, until just recently, has been truly unhappy.” she leaned paused for a moment and took another drag trying to compute this herself. “yeah, i would have loved to be the next scarecrow. it’s true...and she would have hated it... but -” she huffed as her own jittery emotions started to creep in and she shifted in discomfort on the stool. 

It’s actually infuriating.

Jonathan Crane started seeking another rung on the ladder of the Scarecrow dynasty long before he met Megan Walker. First, it was little Tommy Elliot – and look how he turned out. Despite his repeated experimentation and multiple subjects, Crane just can’t seem to figure out how to produce a viable heir to his body of work as the Scarecrow. Enter Megan Walker, pretty, intelligent, and ambitious. First, he wanted to fuck her. Then, he wanted to kill her. Now? Well, now’s a matter up for debate, hence the fury.

Finch was supposed to be the next Scarecrow, if he could whip her into shape enough to suit the role. When Megan’s fragile mind split and created Finch from the loamy soil of toxin-induced trauma, she had fashioned herself into the perfect student for him. She would vie for his approval and attention while simultaneously never letting him have the upper hand or feel as though he were the one in control. She would have made a formidable Scarecrow one day.

And now that she knows she won’t be one, there’s some damage control that needs doing, isn’t there? If anyone can soothe Finch’s wounded ego, it may be Megan, though, much to Jonathan’s chagrin.

This unfortunate circumstance pins him in a corner. He has to be genuine about something he’d really rather not be. In fact, he’s been avoiding being genuine about it even to himself. Maybe that’s why he seeks out Finch instead of Megan. He’s a coward.

“Sit down. We have to talk seriously about this Lindsay business.” He’s corralled her into his lab and closed the door behind the both of them. In the middle of the central formation of tables and workspaces, he’s set aside two barstools so they can sit opposite each other. He, however, chooses to pace, arms folded over his chest. “And keep the snide remarks to a minimum. I need to keep my shit together to tell you some of this and I don’t need you taking shots at my focus.”

A shaky hand provides him with a fresh cigarette. A pause in his pacing, and he offers her one too.

with the oddness both of the women had been curious and in their time of coming to terms with each other the two had become more willing to share. things went smoother this way - they felt more free than they’d ever been before. how strange to think back on a time where they absolutely hated one another, a self inflicted weakness.

her curiosity grew as he offered her the cigarette, and the tilt of her head switched to the other side. She took the item out of politeness, holding it with the poise of an old Hollywood actress in her right hand.

liz vc: this is my husband, lar-