Fear Revisited [Jonathan Crane / Scarecrow]

012

Chapter dedicated to FanGirlingSoHardxx for the amazing story trailer! Thanks so much!

"How was work?" Jane asked brightly, fishing for a bite of takeout with her chopsticks.

"Uneventful," Jonathan answered dryly, "and your day?"

"Fine."

It was the same conversation which had played out countless times in the few weeks since she had made the move go Gotham City.

Her apartment no longer felt safe, despite the fact that Stephen was - so far as she knew - still receiving treatment at Arkham. He would get out eventually and obviously knew where she lived.

The very idea of him knowing where she slept at night after what he did was nauseating, and after about a week of sleepless nights, she had decided to abandon ship where the apartment was concerned.

A move to Gotham had been sensible. She had a reasonably sized apartment on the edge of the city, cutting her commute to and from work down to a manageable amount of time, and - if she was being entirely honest about her motivations - it was closer to Jonathan.

Neither had broached the subject of moving in together, the idea a nonsensical one to say the least, and they had kept their time spent together to a dull roar, seeing one another only a night or two each week.

Even in all the breathing room they had afforded one another however, the conversation had grown strained.

In the beginning, there was a decade's worth of catching up to do. There were stories to tell, memories to share, and plenty to talk about without edging into uncomfortable subject matter.

Soon, the conversation dwindled. The mundane but loaded question, "how was work?" presented an obstacle to the idea of keeping parts of Jonathan's life separate from whatever it was they were building.

His response had grown more irritated and any enthusiasm he had feigned the first handful of times the question was asked had dulled. The more time they spent with one another, the more painfully obvious it became that compartmentalizing that portion of his life was a dreadful burden for him.

There was nothing left to discuss and no smalltalk to be made, making the silences that fell over them more frequently now uncomfortable and strange.

"I heard about a man who was admitted to the asylum Wednesday after streaking on Fourteenth Street," she offered topically, forcing a light chuckle.

"I can't discuss my work with you, Jane," he reminded her, staring into the contents of his own paper carton of Chinese food.

"I know, doctor-patient confidentiality," she murmured. She knew that was not the reason he was refusing to even make comment on the subject, nor what he had meant to convey.

They returned back to their silent dinner, Jane letting out a small sigh. She'd thought she'd hidden her reaction well enough, but clearly she had not.

"Is something wrong?" he asked irritably.

"No," she lied, a kneejerk reaction that was accompanied by a false smile.

He continued to hold eye contact with her, his fascinating eyes locked on hers and putting her under a microscope. He didn't believe her for a moment, and she knew it.

"Nothing's wrong, really," she wavered a bit on her position, "I just... I don't know how this is supposed to work. We see each other, we barely speak, I go home, and we do it all again a few days later."