Disclaimer: I don't own the Scarecrow.
CATverse fic written March 11, 2007, posted to my livejournal, and promptly forgotten. I'd like to dedicate it to my grandmother and my youngest sister, who inspired the story.
View the timeline at www. freewebs. com/ catverse IF YOU DARE! Unfortunately, I don't know where this one goes. I'm going to say...the summer of 2012. Maybe July. After "Hurty McHurt-Hurt" and before "Noughts and Crosses." Yes, that's exactly right. I know just what I'm doing. I didn't flip a coin on this one. That'd be crazy.
A Walk in the Park
Pulling a heist in broad daylight? Probably not the smartest move. But it was not the Scarecrow's M.O., and that was all to the good; since they were expecting him to strike, altering his pattern was the best way to avoid being caught.
And the cops had obliged by responding as if he were any ordinary bank robber. The ones who had been sent to catch him had been disposed of easily. Of course, once the higher-ups finally caught on, things would become a little more difficult. But, of course, he had a plan.
After leaving the bank, they split off into two groups. Al and Techie went one way with the loot, leaving the Captain to bodyguard the boss (because they weren't about to leave him alone; no matter how much he insisted he didn't need their backup, his scars told a different story—on the rare occasion that someone got him into a state of undress, of course.)
Two imposing masked henchgirls stepped into an elevator in the parking garage next door to the bank. Moments later, two perfectly ordinary young women stepped out, swinging bulging shopping bags and chatting as if they hadn't a care in the world. A keen-eyed observer might have noticed that they were both in a bit of a hurry to get out of the tiny box, but that wasn't too unusual. Plenty of people had problems with elevators. Besides, there was no one around to see.
They went home. Adventures were had. Small children were scarred for life. Observers were not suspicious of the pair of happy, healthy young women who were so obviously innocent of any wrongdoing. Overall, it was quite the productive morning.
Back at the lair, they put away their shopping twit outfits and their henchgirl costumes, and reconvened in the common area in their own everyday clothes, which might have gotten them a second look on the street, but generally only from someone who got the rather obscure references on their t-shirts.
They counted the money. They counted it again. Then they counted it a third time. Then, because the total kept changing, Al counted the money while Techie went to the door to scan the street for any signs of their companions.
"They should be back by now."
"Uh," Al said, and kept counting.
"You don't think they got caught, do you?"
"Uh-huh…"
"No, there's no way the fuzz would have caught up to them. They know what they're doing." She closed the door and sat down beside her friend. Seconds later, she popped up again to pace the floor. "Unless they got mugged!"
"Mmm-hmm," Al said, completely focused on the swish-swish-swish of the bills in her hands as they gently perfumed the air with the scent of fresh money.
"Jonathan in street clothes looks like he's just asking to have his wallet stolen! And Captain isn't exactly Miss Mass of Muscle. She won't be scaring anyone off."
Al straightened her stack of bills until their edges were exactly even, and then picked up another stack to count.
"It's not like they're unarmed."
"I know, but what if they run up against something they can't handle?" Al looked up.
"He's the Scarecrow. And, assuming I've got my facts straight, she's not (Wimpy McWhatsisface). They can handle anything short of Batman or the U.S. Army."
"I know they can, but…he doesn't have the best track record when we let him out of our sight. And what if Batman did get to them?"
"Batman works at night." She glared down at the money. "Damn it, I lost count." She picked up the stack and started over from the beginning.
"What about the U.S. Army? Do they work at night?"
"You know the Captain can't get within five feet of one of those uniforms without running and hiding. There's no way they'll ever catch her." She looked down at the money in her hands, growled, and started over.
"What about—"
"What about what? They're fine."
"No, they're not. They're lying in a ditch somewhere." Al looked up.
"A ditch?"
"They could be. Pengy was pretty pissed off about the you-know-what. If he sent his goons out to attack Squishums the minute they could get him alone…"
"He's not alone."
"Almost!" She gasped. "What if he decided to take a shortcut through an alley?" Al paled.
"Oh, my god. They're dead. They're dead in a dumpster."
She joined Techie in pacing.
If didn't occur to them that the Captain would no more let their Squishy cut through an alley than they would, even if he were overcome by masochistic or suicidal urges. It didn't occur to them that she was as good a fighter as they were, and that he wasn't exactly helpless in a fair fight; only sheer numbers, dumb luck, or Batmanity were known to be really effective against him.
It certainly didn't occur to them that the Captain and the Scarecrow were taking the longer way home, taking on the role of a couple strolling through the park, where they would attract attention if they didn't take their time, admiring the ducks in the pond, the cloudless blue sky, the unseasonably warm weather, the almost-verdant landscape, each other…
Oh, yes, the Captain was drawing out this romantic moment as long as possible. She didn't have to believe it to enjoy it. And even more amusing than the enforced closeness was Jonathan's obvious impatience to be done with it.
But Al and Techie weren't that far wrong. Things were about to take a turn for the worse.
--
Before they could quite wear grooves in the floor, the front door opened. Al and Techie were fully prepared to start yelling, "Where have you been?" and, "Do you know what time it is, young man?" But the look on the Scarecrow's face stopped them both.
He was pissed.
Oh, he was severely pissed.
"Uh…Jonathan?" This was clearly not a good time to call him Squishy. He stalked past them as if he didn't even see them, followed closely by the Captain, who seemed equally oblivious to their presence as she begged him to come back.
"Jonathan," she said urgently, "I'm sorry! Just hang on a second! I'll help you. I swear!" She followed him out of sight, still insisting that he stop and listen. Al and Techie exchanged a nervous glance.
She isn't trying to follow him into his room, is she?
She was. The idiot. They heard him yelling for her to get out, followed by the sound of a door slamming so hard it must have warped the hinges. Moments later, the Captain reappeared in front of them, wide-eyed and shaking.
But not with fear. A closer look revealed that she was shaking with laughter.
"Bad day?" Techie asked. The Captain nodded.
"I think…we'd better leave him alone for a little while."
"Dare I ask why?"
"Well…do you want the long version, or the short version?" She considered that. A rambling, incoherent tale filled with umms and oh, yeahs, or a single witty sentence that wouldn't actually tell her anything of value?
"Short?"
"A pigeon." She laughed. "Pooped on his head." She laughed harder. "A bird actually dared to relieve itself in the Scarecrow's hair."
Oh. No wonder he was pissed.
"You know what this means, don't you?" said Al. She hefted a rather large club that had absolutely not been there thirty seconds before. "The birds must die."
The three of them spoke the next words together, with the air of a most solemn and sacred ritual.
"For the Master!"
And so it was. They made for some interesting headlines, and were the topic of lengthy debates between people who claimed to know why such things were happening to the innocent wildlife of Gotham City. They even spawned a few copycats.
But eventually they realized that even the most determined henchgirls couldn't keep their city safe from the flying menace.
About that time, they also realized that the Master owned a hat.
So they went back to taking their aggression out on squirrels. Those things were easier to hit, anyway.