Fear Revisited [Jonathan Crane / Scarecrow]

017

Jonathan slammed his fist down on his desk in anger; that paper had been there only five minutes ago, he was sure of it.

You're losing focus, Jonny.

He laughed bitterly; did that really seem like something he was unaware of?

It was not the first or even the second time he had misplaced an important document in recent days. His mind was a jumble of thoughts that no longer fit neatly in place, a veritable maelstrom brewing in place of the hyper-focused thoughts he was accustomed to.

And you know why.

He sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing at the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"It isn't about... That," he argued aloud, carelessly sifting through the wreckage of stray papers and half finished notes that crowded the surface of his desk.

Whatever Scarecrow said, Jonathan staunchly refused to admit the source of his scattered thoughts. It wasn't about her. It simply couldn't be.

But didn't the evidence add up to that conclusion?

He'd been growing steadily less patient and pulled together as that nagging feeling in his stomach spread like crawling vines, eventually taking root in his brain.

It was approximated that it took any given person around twenty-one days to form a habit, and in the time they had spent apart, Jonathan had presumed not speaking to or thinking about Jane would have become second nature to him.

It made no sense to miss her in the slightest, nor to even be thinking about her when they had not had contact for thirty-two days — not that he was counting.

She's getting in the way more now than she was when she was here.

He knew it was the truth.

When Jane was a part of his life, he did not find himself thinking about her obsessively, did not find his work compromised by those thoughts.

When she was around, it was as though she were more of a supplement to his focus than a distraction from the purpose.

In her absence, however, he seemed to be coming apart at the seams.

You promised she wouldn't interfere.

I don't know what you suggest I do about it, he snapped mentally, throwing his hands in the air in defeat as he resigned himself to being in no shape to locate his missing notes, just then.

It wasn't as though he could force her to be a part of his life.

Isn't it, though?

Jonathan shook his head at the idea; he was not interested in keeping Jane as a house pet. Without the benefit of her looking at him with that awe etched across her features — a look he was quite certain he would not recieve as her captor — it would be meaningless.

Whatever you have to do, figure this out. You're getting sloppy.

With that, Scarecrow went quiet.

Excellent suggestions, very helpful, Jonathan sulked at the voice that retreated to the back of his chaotic mind. He was no closer to a solution than he had been before.

If kidnapping was not an option, he supposed there had to be other methods to try, but knew something had to give. He could not simply continue on in the vein he was in, likely to make a dreadful mistake sooner rather than later.

He wasn't sure how the average person proceeded in such situations, never having either been involved in such a predicament or an average individual.

He supposed the typical response involved some sort of grand gesture, but they all seemed pedantic and self deprecating. He had more faith in Jane's intelligence and analytic skills than to presume twelve red flowers and a box of chocolates was going to sway her opinion of him.

And besides, perhaps he only needed to see her in order to set his mind back on the right path.

It seemed a plausible enough theory. He knew where she lived, only a short drive to the edge of the city. He could go there after work the following day, if he so wished.

Or, you could go now, the voice piped up.

He immediately reached for any excuse as to why such a bold move would be an inconvenience to their work, but even to his own ears, it sounded like a bad joke.

There was no work getting done with him in such a frenzied state. Not that night, likely not the next day. Not until he saw her.

And then, he convinced himself, he could put the entire ordeal behind him and return to himself.

He selected a dark business casual suit, the same one Jane had been so fond of when they'd visited the Italian restaurant months ago.

He had been keenly aware that she liked it from the subtle dilation and constriction of her pupils as she'd looked him over that evening. He tried to ignore that he'd retained that information for so long and decided not to think too deeply on why.

A few minutes and a chilled bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon in hand — a peace offering of sorts  — he was out the door.

Even as he made his way through the busy evening traffic, he was not precisely sure what the next step in his haphazard plan was — show up at her apartment with a bottle of wine in hand, and then what?

We'll worry about that when we get there, Scarecrow quieted the worries in his head.

Of course you would say that.

Scarecrow scarcely saw a reason why Jane was having such an overreaction in the first place. Frankly, the why was of little to no interest to him. Whatever would bring Jonathan back down to earth and refocus his efforts in the right direction was a cause Scarecrow would champion.

The drive, although longer than he had anticipated due to a traffic jam, seemed all too short. Before he knew it, he was parking his car on the street in front of Jane's building.

The average person would have been filled with self doubt, at that point. Another aspect in which Jonathan differed from the norm was the fact that he felt very little aside from self assurance — this was what he needed to do.

His only anxiety was over the unknown second act of the play which seemed to be writing itself, but he had to trust Scarecrow so far as that went. He had little other choice.

Straightening his suit jacket and his glasses, he knocked three short beats on the door and waited.

You'd better know what you're talking about, he warned his constant companion, hearing the sounds of life stir within the apartment.

Have I ever let you down?

There was the sound of a deadbolt sliding open and suddenly, there she was — dark hair tied up in a messy knot, eyes tired, clad in comfortable clothing.

The look of shock on her face as she realized who he stood there was subtly gratifying, though Jonathan did his best to suppress the glee it caused him.

Instead, he merely smiled a subdued grin, attempting to not look threatening.

"Hello, Jane."

——

So, pretty much all of this whole scenario with Jonathan fits perfectly with "Far Too Young To Die" by P!ATD. Seriously, listen to it or look up the lyrics.

Thanks as usual for all the support! Let me know what you're thinking about the direction this is going.