Disclaimer: I do not own the rights "Batman" or any of its characters, including Scarecrow, nor do I own any rights to the comics or the films. I own nothing save for any original characters I have created.

A/N: Throughout this story, I will be skipping around through time periods. I will date them as such so as to avoid any confusion—this is just a bit of a "warning". Keep in mind that the events of "Batman Begins" took place in 2005, and I will also be using time periods provided in the The Dark Knight Manual, which lists Crane's birth year as 1973, making him thirty-two during "Batman Begins".


Affection

1990


Jonathan Crane carefully studied his reflection in the small, cracked compact mirror cradled in his hand. Granny Keeny considered vanity to be a sin in addition to a waste of time—"a vain man is a foolish man"—and forbade mirrors in their home; as a result, Crane had to resort to using the broken compact (found on the floor of a classroom one afternoon) when dressing every morning. As he ran thin fingers across his face, he contemplated his features; although he had caught some of his female classmates staring at him on occasion (quickly averting their eyes the second he looked in their direction) he had assumed that their gawking was merely a form of rudeness and thought nothing more of it. He had never considered that attraction was the reason for their glances—after all, he'd never been told that he was good-looking, and he had never been the recipient—nor the bearer—of any sort of romantic inclinations.

Until Louise.

Louise, with her brown hair that hung like silk around her shoulders, dark eyes that sparkled when she laughed, and soft lips that made his heart leap when they smiled. Louise, who read the same books as him and recited Yeats and made him smile for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Louise, the girl whom he loved.

Placing the mirror underneath his mattress, he rose and dusted off his patched jacket; it was the nicest garment he owned, and he had even ironed it earlier in the day while Granny Keeny had been tending to the garden. Tonight was the senior prom, and he wanted to look his best for the occasion. Perhaps his clothing was not as nice nor as expensive as his classmates', but he knew that wouldn't matter to Louise—trivial things like that weren't important to her.

Slowly, gently, Crane opened his window—one small creak and he would be discovered. Despite her age, Granny Keeny had the hearing of a hawk and the thought of her catching him made his blood run cold. After sliding through the window with painstaking caution, he climbed down the mansion's drain pipe with equal precision before lowering himself onto the ground with surprising grace. He paused for a moment with baited breath, waiting for the old woman's angry shrieks to echo throughout the farm, but there was only silence.

Satisfied, Crane began his walk to school, and when he was far enough from the mansion he even began to whistle quietly. It was a strange and exciting feeling to be happy, and Crane found himself wishing that it would never end.


"Hey, Jonathan!"

Crane flinched involuntarily—usually the sound of his name being called brought him nothing but misery—but when he looked up from his book to see the smiling face of Louise Carter his nervousness quickly changed to confusion.

"Er...hello." Crane wracked his brain for any possible reason that Louise would have for speaking to him, and barring an emergency situation he was unable to find one. Louise didn't appear to be under any distress; in fact, she looked downright pleased to see him.

Louise tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and sat down on the ground beside him. "What are you reading?" she asked with genuine interest, which confused Crane even more.

"Oh." Crane cleared his throat, trying to fight the blush threatening to bloom on his cheeks. He had never had a conversation with a girl before (besides Granny Keeny, and Granny was hardly a girl) and the sudden realization that the fairer sex intimidated him was both an embarrassment and a shock.

Louise gave him a small, understanding smile and leaned forward to look at the book's cover; Crane caught a whiff of her perfume and felt his face grow hot—he imagined that his face was likely beet-red at this point.

"I like Poe too," Louise revealed, making a point to look Crane in the eye and not at his reddening cheeks. "The Cask of Amontillado is my favorite story, but really there's so many great works to choose from that it's almost impossible to narrow it down to one."

Despite his embarrassment, Crane could feel the corners of his mouth turn upwards into a small smile of his own. "I like that one too," he murmured quietly, beginning to relax.

Louise grinned and before Crane knew it he found himself having a thoughtful, lengthy conversation with her over literature. When the bell rang to signal that lunch hour was over Crane felt a twinge of disappointment that quickly vanished when Louise turned to him and asked if she'd see him after class. He had nodded, his heart pounding with excitement, and kept his word, walking with her along the cornfields as they discussed poetry and classic novels.

They'd continued the conversation the next day. And then the day after that. And then the day after that day.

And before long, Crane was falling head over heels in love with Louise.


When Crane saw Louise standing in front of the school his heart lept and he quickened his pace. In his hand he held a small bouquet of wild flowers that he'd plucked from a field, taking great care not to crush them against his chest as he walked. Even from a distance, he could tell that Louise looked stunning—but then again, Crane always found her breath-taking.

But as he approached her, he noticed that her eyes were wet with tears and he felt a rush of panic.

"Are you alright?" he asked quickly, voice heavy with concern, and she nodded as a tear slid down her cheek.

"I'm fine," Louise replied softly, yet offered no explanation for her tears.

After a quiet moment Crane awkwardly tried to hand her the flowers. "Here," he said. "Maybe these will make you feel better."

Unfortunately, the action had the exact opposite effect as Louise began to cry again, her shoulders heaving up and down with sobs. Unsure of what to do, Crane reached forward to embrace her, but Louise stepped back and away from his grasp.

"I'm so sorry, Jonathan," she moaned, "I'm so, so incredibly sorry."

"What—why? I don't understand."

She shook her head. "It wasn't supposed to go this far."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Crane felt sick—surely she didn't mean-

"It was just supposed to be a harmless prank, nothing more—please believe me, I never wanted you to get hurt—"

Crane's vision swam—this couldn't be happening, it couldn't be—

"I wanted to stop, but Billy said he'd beat you up if I didn't go along with it...Jonathan, look at me!" Louise pleaded. She reached for him but this time it was Crane who took a step back, his face a mask of pain and disgust.

"Y-you lied to me," Crane stammered, "You lied to me!"

"No, Jonathan, I really do like you! It's just—"

"It's just that it's much more fun to make fun of me than to be my friend, is that it?" Crane spat the words out angrily, rage now overcoming the sadness and hurt.

"No! That's not it at all!"

"Oh, but it is! That's exactly what it is!" Crane's voice was now a high shriek, and for the first time Louise began to look frightened.

"Jonathan, please, calm down—"

"I can't believe that I thought you were different, that I was so stupid. You're just like them, only worse." Overwhelmed, Crane threw the bouquet on the ground; the flowers crumpled into a scattered, ruined mess of petals and stems. Narrowing his eyes, he cast Louise with a final look of hatred. "Have fun tonight," he said bitterly, then turned on his heel and ran, ignoring Louise's crying pleas.

He ran until his heart pounded in his chest and his breath became ragged gulps; his shaking legs buckled out from beneath him and he fell to the ground, unable to stop the sobs from ripping through his lips. He cried harder than he ever had in his entire life, even harder than the first time that Granny Keeny had locked him inside the atrium and the crows began their descent. After a time he began to sob quietly, his body wreaked with silent tremors of emotion.

Crane had never felt love before—not for Granny Keeny, or the unnamed parents that he never knew—and now it had been ripped from him and exposed as a perverse lie, a charade for a bully's twisted personal gain. As he lay among the cornstalks, he decided that he would never allow himself to be vulnerable again, never seek out affection or friendship lest he be hurt and mocked. What would be the point—in a world full of people like Louise and Billy and Granny Keeny, why should he ever desire human contact? Solitude would be preferable to that particular torture.

Crane felt something inside of him harden and change, and when he rose from the dirt he was a new man.