((A/N: Set in Arkham Asylum it's a Scarecrow/Any girl, really. I wanted to toy with the idea of how he'd come to terms with affection while still under the influence of his trauma growing up.))

It's almost painful sitting here watching her. The man jittered in his seat wanting to say something, anything. He wanted her attentions so bad it nearly burned his skin. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her. Would his lips tingle? Maybe it would feel like when he pressed his top lip to the bottom one. He squeezed them gently pretending he was deep in thought while reading his book. Was this right? He moistened his lips and tried again. Maybe it had to be someone else's lips. The adrenaline rush between anticipation of pleasure and the fear of rejection, perhaps? That was a fear he lived with everyday. He knew that his heart would pound in his chest like it did that Halloween night in Jeffrey Green's basement right before kissing Sherri Squires. His head would reel and his sense of smell would heighten, but what about the rest of his body?

Would his palms sweat? Would his knees shake? Would his stomach drop as it does in a state of fear? How were love and fear similar? (The Scarecrow had little interest in the difference). However it was impossible to determine the answer without proper experimentation. Observation, on the other hand, would make his violently ill. She was his…even if nobody else knew that yet and nobody would be allowed to so much as breathe on her without feeling the wrath of the Master of Fear. He mused slightly on how his body would react if she touched him? Impossible to answer.

The virgin little known as Jonathan Crane had never been kissed nor touched. He had been hit, for sure, punched, whipped, pecked at by crows, burnt, punished but not touched. Not like that night he held Sherri's hand on the stairs of the basement. His great-grandmother had maintained him but not loved him. They weren't the same, the intent made all the difference and it was the intent that was so foreign to him. But how to get her to agree? Socially awkward as he was he knew better then to just walk up to her and say, "I'd like to experiment with actions and reactions of a deep intimate physical relationship with you." She might misuse him, or worse, laugh at him. He couldn't, wouldn't, stand it the second time! It had taken him years to heal from those old wounds, even after Sherri's and Bo's death. Even the memory of her mocking laughter made him want to go back to his cell and die.

"Professor Crane?" He raised his head like a startled bird. How did she sneak up in front of him like that? She handed him the thick green text.

"Ah, uh, thank you. How did you like it?" He asked her tentatively.

"It was alright, it's not Thomas Aquinas or anything. I like the part on how words can't fully represent reality. Maybe a true Nietzsche essay would be a blank page." She joked but the former psychiatrist only raised an eyebrow.

"Quite. Well. I'm sure you have other things to tend to." He replied uncomfortably. Thomas Aquinas? Was she serious? She became uncomfortable in return.

"Yeah, I'll see you later." And with that she left him. Thomas Aquinas? She enjoyed that religious dribble? And she seemed like such a suitable companion, almost as much as a bibliophile as him. As the orderlies returned him and the other patients to their cells he pondered over her response some more. She wasn't fond of Nietzsche yet she had given him an honest, if not misunderstood, response. If she was really trying to lure him in a false sense of security for her own amusement she would agree with everything he did and said. Instead she had disappointed him and, in some weird way, gave him the first real connection he'd ever had with a woman.

Was this what an honest crush felt like? Fantasy, disappointment, revelation, enlightenment, and then affection? Only one thing could be sure: Her response and his reaction had made him want her all the more. He crawled into bed his back facing the observation window so nobody could see him sigh. He couldn't wait for breakfast tomorrow and quietly wondered what her opinions on the power of fear would be.