Chapter 3: Rational
He felt the eyes of his men on him as he carried Pam through the house he had bought through one of his henchmen weeks ago.
"Couldn't we have left the girl at the scene? You know the police will be looking for her."
Jonathan paused a moment, "I could have, but I believe she may prove valuable to me yet. You just worry about unloading our steal and placing it in the lab; the girl is off limits."
He then continued on, ignoring the chuckles that then rose after his words. He stared down at the face of the woman in his arms as he scaled the stairs towards the master suite. She looked peacefully in the throes of slumber, a fragile little hyacinth. The door to his bedroom was ajar; he had to do nothing more than lean against it slightly until it opened far enough for him to bring her in.
He laid her carefully atop his comforter, and for the first time felt a prick of uncertainty. Was the position uncomfortable for her? He pulled off his burlap mask and ruffled his dark hair, placing it on the bedside table. He sat on the edge of the bed and observed the unconscious girl. The laboratory had been dim with the darkness of night and only the filtering moonlight. The candle had given her more clarity, but now in the orange glow of the overhead light Jonathan was afforded his first true gaze at the woman.
A pale, cream complexion. He leaned over and tucked a loosened fiery strand behind her ear and found her skin was warm and soft. He resisted the urge to repeat the action, although his fingers twitched in longing to. If her eyes had been strident in the candlelight, he could only think how they would shine from behind those lashes of hers. She didn't seem in any discomfort; her chest rose and fell rhythmically beneath her gray sweater. He nodded and then pulled away, leaving her side. He shook his head to dispel the feelings that had overcome him. He turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him and locking the dead-bolt he had placed on the outside.
A part of him felt guilty for caging the lark, but he tried his best to squash that feeling as he descended down the stairs, his path set for the basement where he would remove and appropriately stock the supplies.
He had tried to squash it, but twenty minutes into his restocking, he sighed and once again guilt entered his system. He clearly had no right taking the woman against her will. That was not his style. He did not count on petty tactics to get what he wanted. His sky eyes flickered upwards and he turned and made his way back up the stairs.
When he re-entered the room, he felt relief wash over him at the sight of her still slumbering. He walked over to her and leaned over her prone figure. One of his hands reached for her waist and slipped into the pocket of her jeans. His fingers found what seemed to be a card. His throat swelled in hope as he extracted the item; he was rewarded as he looked down at her driver's license. He tucked it back in her pocket and without hesitation picked her up once again. He would use the back door.
Jonathan Crane did not steal to get the things he wanted. Scarecrow was more sophisticated than that; he used cunning and intelligence to achieve his means. He loved the thrill of a chase, the experimentation of a method. He would fail, dust himself off, and try again. Of course, failure brought him irritation, but it was always short-lived.
Ten minutes later, he was passing over the Narrows bridge, water from the Atlantic on each side of him as he drove. Pam was in the passenger seat. He adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses but his attention flickered from the road when he heard a groan from his companion.
"Does your head hurt? One of the side-effects of chloroform is a headache."
It became quiet, he continued to drive.
"You gave me chloroform," her voice was pained.
"I needed those chemicals, I had a feeling it was either over your dead body or your unconscious one. I don't particularly enjoy murdering people, so knocking you out was the best option."
"And then kidnapping me?"
Jonathan sighed, "I'm taking you home. I found your license in your pants, and before you question me, I didn't touch you inappropriately while you were out. My tastes in women do not include the unwilling and unconscious."
"Why didn't you just leave me? I have no idea where your hideout is. What are you gaining from this?"
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. How was she able to both not be concerned that she was in a car with him and still be this sharp? It was uncanny and unbiddenly she was further sealing the attraction was he forming. What was he gaining? He was hoping that she would never figure out why he had first taken her back to his hideout.
"I wanted my heist to go smoothly, you got in the way," he took the exit he came to, "so I knocked you out. Then my workers and I took the chemicals back to the base and now here we are."
"You're just going to take me home?"
He glanced out of the corner of his eyes at her, "Yes, you said it yourself, you hold no information that is detrimental to me. This car is stolen, I can easily get rid of it. So there is nothing you could give the police to track back to me. So why not? You're no a danger to me."
He heard her shift, but nothing was said for a moment. His mind spun, however, and then he smirked. He leaned forward minutely towards the steering wheel. "I'm not wearing my mask."
"So you're not," he laughed at her awkward rejoinder. It was endearing; why snatch onto that conversation, right? He chuckled, "So, Dr. Isley, did you make my Fear Toxin yourself?"
"Yes." He hummed noncommittally, satisfied with that.
And then he said nothing as they continued on their way. He didn't even say a word when he stopped in front of her apartment building. He only reached across her to unlatch the door—the lock often caught. He felt her breath kiss his cheek, but he focused on the movement of his hand. He pushed open the door and pulled back. She unlatched herself and left, though, perhaps she had hesitated a moment.
Happy Christmas Eve! This chapter is brought to you by the prompt: "Seven Seas"
