"Love does not delight in evil
but rejoices with the truth."
1 Corinthians 13:6
Remind me why we're here again, Jonny-boy.
It's getting too risky to send Falcone's men to Arkham and still dump the drugs into the water supply. And I wish you wouldn't call me that.
I like to see you uncomfortable, Jonny-boy.
I noticed.
The bodyguards let him in past the door. Crane sat down in front of Falcone and got right to the point. "No more favors. Someone is sniffing around." His blue eyes were hard.
Falcone sneered. "Hey, I scratch your back, you scratch mine, doc. I'm bringing in the shipments."
Crane frowned slightly. "We are paying you for that."
Through the nose, too, if I know Falcone.
Shut it.
"Maybe money isn't as interesting to me as favors." His lip curled.
This guy thought he was immune because he had half of Gotham bought and paid for. Well, he couldn't boss him around. Not anymore. Jon made a decision and took his glasses off. "I am more than aware that you are not intimidated by me, Mr. Falcone…"
I wish he were. He might not be such a smart *#$ then.
I thought I told you to shut it…. but I do agree with you this one time.
"…But you know who I'm working for, and when he gets here..."
"He... He's coming to Gotham?" A surprised and slightly anxious look appeared on the mob boss's face.
"Yes, he is." Crane smiled slightly at the way his words affected the man. "And when he gets here, he's not going to want to hear that you've endangered our operation just to get your thugs out of a little jail time."
Falcone considered. "Who's bothering you?" He finally asked.
"There's a girl at the DA's office."
"We'll buy her off," he shrugged.
"Not this one." Crane shook his head. Rachel Dawes was someone that kept to the straight and narrow. Stupid girl.
"Oh. Idealist, huh?" he rolled his eyes. "Well, there's an answer to that too."
"I don't want to know."
"Yes, you do," Falcone said with a knowing glance.
I do, Scarecrow said. I wanna know what's gonna happen to her. So keep listening, Jonny-boy. And without further ado, Scarecrow took control, leaving Jonathan ranting inside his head.
Two days later, the phone in Jon's apartment rang. It was a Sunday, so he was at home, and he was asleep. Pinching his nose and fumbling for his glasses, Jon picked up the phone. "Hello?" he mumbled, finally finding his glasses. His blue eyes focused on the far wall of his bedroom.
"Jonathan?"
He ran a hand through his dark hair in surprise. "Pamela? Are you back from Egypt?"
"Yes –well, no…sort of. That's kind of what I'm calling about." Her usually calm and composed voice sounded flustered and upset on the phone. "I'm on the plane. We're about half an hour from the Gotham airport, and I was wondering if you'd come pick me up."
He kept the phone close to his ear as he hunted for clothes. "Didn't you drive your own car?" A long silence followed. He frowned and asked, "Pam, are you still there?"
Her sigh echoed down the line. "Yes, I'm here. I, um…I rode to the airport with Dr. Woodrue and a colleague of his, and I don't want to ride back with them."
He knew there was a much bigger story behind it –he could hear it in her words. "I'll be there," he assured her.
"Thank you," she whispered, relieved.
"Pam?"
"Yes?"
"Don't they tell you not to make calls when you're in the air?"
Her voice was rather embarrassed. "…I'm in the lavatory."
He laughed, and to his great reassurance, she did too.
After he hung up, he realized, Scarecrow had been silent the whole time. It was a pleasant surprise.
Jonathan waited in the crowded airport terminal, watching the passengers disembark from the airplane. He leaned against a pillar in casual dress for once –jeans and a wrinkled blue long-sleeved shirt. So far, he had seen no one with a head of red locks. But this was definitely the right terminal.
A minute later, he spotted her.
She had a very nice tan that made the freckles on her face stand out. Her outfit of jeans and a t-shirt spoke of coming from a hot climate into a cool autumn. She looked around with an anxious expression, searching for someone. Her fingers worried with the strap on her sling bag.
She's hot. I like her, Scarecrow said in a lascivious tone.
Mine. Jon pushed himself off the column and walked toward her. When their eyes met, her relief was palpable. She dashed across the room and gave him a huge hug, and as surprised as he was, he was still able to wrap his arms around her so they both didn't tip over. She pulled back first with a look of abject embarrassment on her face.
He smiled to ease her discomfort. "I guess you're glad to be back."
"Yes," she said.
"Crane!" A man with flashing spectacles, rumpled clothes, and an unkempt beard walked up to them. "What the devil are you doing here?"
What a *$&#$%*.
You have no idea.
Taking a silent breath, Jonathan let all emotion drop from his face. However, he kept his grip on Pamela's hand. "I am picking up Pamela, Jason," he said, in a voice that contained hidden venom.
"There isn't any need. She rode up with us." A tall, handsome man who needed a shave walked up with a pack slung across his back.
Jon felt Pamela's hand clench around his. "And she's riding back with me," Jon said evenly, though Scarecrow felt otherwise.
Let me out. I can deal with them, Scarecrow said eagerly.
There are better ways to handle this.
You got any ideas?
Other than remind Jason that I know exactly whom he cheated off of for every exam he ever took?
That's a no, Jonny-boy. We'll do it my way.
Pamela is off limits, Jon reminded him as Scarecrow came to the forefront. He reached in his pocket and handed Pamela his car keys. "Why don't you go to the car? I'll grab your bag and meet you there."
She nodded, letting a ghost of a smile grace her lips as she handed him her baggage claim ticket. "Goodbye Dr. Woodrue, Dr. LeGrande." All three men watched her walk away from them.
Scarecrow focused on Jason Woodrue, the man that Jon detested. He could certainly see why. His whole posture screamed boastful, conceited, blustering fool. He always had a wild gleam in his eyes hidden behind his coke bottle glasses. Jon had never been afraid of him, and never would be afraid of him. He hated him, plain and simple. Yes, some of it was the green monster of jealousy; Jason had a personality that stood out, while Jon tended to blend in. But they had never been friends. Jon had figured out that he was not someone to keep around the first day in Freshmen Biology, watching him copy the copious notes of a brainier student next to him. Once a cheater, always a cheater. He had no right at all to the grants the University gave him. But Jon couldn't imagine what had Pamela so worked up.
"I don't believe you've met my colleague from Seattle," Jason finally said, introducing the tall man. "Dr. Marc LeGrande, Dr. Jonathan Crane."
Scarecrow nodded and smirked. Anyone who liked that man must be a scumbag too.
"A pleasure to meet you, Doctor Crane," LeGrande said.
"The pleasure is all yours," Scarecrow snapped. He could feel Jon doing a mental face palm. He ignored it. "As much as I'd love to stay and chat, I must be going, gentlemen." He began to turn. "Oh, and Jason?" he added as an after thought. "Stay away from Doctor Isley."
"When did it become your job to screen her coworkers?" Woodrue demanded, ruffling up.
"Since they degraded to such a horrible quality." He walked out of the terminal and down to the baggage claim area.
I could have done better than that, you know, Jon said sarcastically.
Shut up, Jonny-boy.
Okay. You told Jason off. Now give me my body back.
Why can't I be in control for a little while longer? Scarecrow demanded.
We've been through all that. Let go. Now. Grumbling, Scarecrow receded and Jonathan took over.
One of these days you're not going to be able to pull me back, Scarecrow warned.
I'll worry about that day when it comes, thank you very much, Jon said as he scanned for her bag.
I always get what I want. It's how I am.
Have you ever considered that's how I am too?
Humph, Scarecrow mumbled, disgruntled. He hadn't.
Pamela was waiting for him at his car. "Thank you," she said as he heaved her heavy suitcase into the trunk.
"It's nothing," he said as he climbed into the driver's seat. "Don't worry about it."
"I woke you up on the one day you sleep in. That's not nothing," she said wryly.
"I'd rather spend it with you than sleeping," he told her. She laughed, bells ringing out again. "How was Egypt?" he asked her as he turned onto the highway.
"Oh, good."
Jon glanced at her. When she talked about work she could go on and on, regaling him with anecdotes of her day and breakthroughs she'd come across. Monosyllabic answers just weren't Pamela. "That's it?" he asked.
"It was hot. I got a nice tan," she offered, displaying her darkened arms. "The labs were impressive…" she trailed off, her gaze distant and pinched.
"Pamela? Did something happen?" Her gaze dropped to her lap, staying silent.
This doesn't sound good.
Really? Jon thought sarcastically. Why do you always state the obvious? "Pamela, does it have something to do with why you asked me to pick you up?"
The redheaded woman took a deep breath and schooled her features. "I suppose I can tell you." Her tone was factual, clipped. "Egypt was beautiful. We researched plants, tested different strains and hybrids, wrote notes… it was lovely. Jason and Marc always would stay later at the labs then I did, but I didn't think anything of it. We're all scientists; we get involved in our work…" she sighed. Jon kept one eye on traffic and the other on her as she fiddled with the strap on her sling bag. "Well, I realized I had left something at the lab one night, and I went back to get it. I…overheard…"
Pam is an eavesdropper? Ha ha. Never would have pegged her for it.
Shut. Up.
Pamela kept talking. "I overheard them discussing how to take a rare plant sample through customs that the Egyptian government wouldn't let through. Jon, I think they smuggled it back!" she said in a heated voice.
"Why do you think they did it?" he asked, thinking about his own dealings with smuggling.
"I don't know. I don't even know that they did it, really. I just heard them discussing it," Pamela said, her face wrinkling into a frown.
"And that's why you asked me to come pick you up? Because you didn't want to ride with potential criminals?" Jon asked. This put him on the level of Jason. What an awful thought.
She'll never like you if she finds out what you've been doing with the toxin. Never, Scarecrow growled. She's that kind of prissy girl.
You don't know that! Jon thought desperately.
But what Pam said next made those thoughts fly straight out of his head. "No, that's not it."
It's not?
It's not?
"It's nothing important, really," she said as she tried to shrug it off. "The night before we left we went to a bar. It was a strange night," she reflected. "The long and short of it is Marc propositioned me. He was drunk," she hurried on. "It was stupid, he didn't mean it, and I turned him down and went back to my hotel room."
"And that's it?" Jon asked. Scarecrow was seething inside of him, and it was carrying over into his expression.
"That's it," she said.
He sighed and relaxed his grip on the steering wheel. "You let me know if they try anything else, and I'll take care of it."
She smiled. "That's sweet, but I'm sure nothing will come of it. How are your cases going?" she asked, switching the topic to a lighter subject.
Jonathan didn't resist the switch, but vowed to keep his eyes open from now on. Something that 'was nothing' wouldn't make her nervous enough to call him to come pick her up. He knew her well enough to know she could handle herself in situations like that. There was something else under the surface, but he didn't know what. She wasn't lying; he knew that. Pamela wasn't the type to lie. But it might not be the entire story.
Pam waved goodbye as Jonathan drove away from her house. Unlocking her door, she swept her red hair off her shoulders as she called to her house, "Hello, babies. Mommy's home."
Leaving her suitcase by the door, she walked through her living room, once again reminded of why she loved her house. It was so…cozy. The warm wood floors made her colorful rugs feel right at home. Winter sunshine flowed into the rooms through rose patterned curtains that draped the windows. Collapsing on her comfortable couch, she closed her eyes and sighed, wrapping herself in the fuzzy blankets that were slung over the back. She had missed this place.
The bell she had hung on her back door rang as it opened. She smiled without opening her eyes. "Hey Harley," she said.
"Hey Pam! How was Egypt?" the blond asked her. Harleen Quinzel lived next door. She was going to Gotham University to get her doctorate degree in psychology, and she was almost done. Ever since she had moved in next door, they had been close friends. Pamela had gotten her to plant-sit while she was away.
Pam opened her eyes and sat up. "It was fine. I got a tan," Pam said, shying away from that subject she had gone over just recently with Jon. "How were my babies?"
"Just fine. I gave them water and plant food, and rotated them around so they'd get sunlight." Harley watched Pam as she brushed the leaves of her moth orchid.
"Did you use the mister for the angel ivy?" she asked, glancing at Harley.
"Yes. I followed your instructions to the letter. You know, it's a little strange that you call them babies. I think I need to get you a cat or something."
"Harley, a cat might dig in the potting soil," Pam protested. "Or it might try to take a bite of my poinsettias or amaryllis and get sick!"
Harley rolled her eyes. "Hey, at least it would be flesh and blood. Do you need anything else?"
"I'm fine; thanks."
"Okay, Pam. Oh yeah, here's your mail. I picked it up for you," she said as she dumped a basket into a chair. "Bye," Harley said before exiting the way she came.
Pam shook her head with a small smile on her face. "Bye, Harl," she called before the door closed completely.
She decided to get the ordeal over with and sort her mail. In her mind, that meant toss everything that wasn't a bill or personal. Simple, except for the fact that the stack was deep. Bill, bill, coupon, junk, junk, junk, magazine, bill, junk…. Pamela paused over a fancy envelope with her name printed in cursive on the front. She turned the envelope over and opened it. She read the thick, expensive card. "You are cordially invited…"
She almost burst out laughing. She had gotten an invitation to Bruce Wayne's birthday party! She wondered how on earth that had happened. True, she had interned at Wayne Enterprises for a year while getting her doctorate degree, working in the biochemist division of the applied sciences department. Now she worked at Gotham University and it was a known fact that influential people in the community were invited to private parties of the wealthy in Gotham. She just had never thought of a college professor who once had a job in a large company as an influential or important person! Although it would be a fun thing to go to… she hadn't bought a new dress in a long time. Pamela got up and stuck the card into her agenda before writing the date onto her calendar beside her potted amaryllis.
Pamela stroked a petal absently, her mood returning to melancholy remembrance. She took hold of her suitcase and carried it up her wooden stairs that lead to the second floor and into her bedroom. She began to unpack, throwing dirty clothes into a pile and hanging up clean items in her walk in closet. It was mindless activity, and because of that, she kept returning to the fact that she would much rather forget; she hadn't told Jon everything about that night. After she had come back to the hotel, Marc had banged on her door, demanding entrance. The door was locked with the chain firmly in place; she knew that in her head, but it had scared her. Finally, she called hotel security, and they had escorted him back to his room. She couldn't sleep that night, just kept staring at the door like somehow the lock would open on its own.
Taking a deep breath, she went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She was a strong woman; she was in control! She even knew self-defense. She could take care of herself. And like she had told Jon, it was nothing. He had been drunk; if sober, he would never think of or do such a thing, ever. She was worrying over nothing. Right?
Right…
AN: just a couple of notes here. I have had 436 hits on this story, and 3 reviews. Let's think about this for a second.
C'mon, I KNOW people are reading this. I don't want to be a review beggar, but do you like this story, at all? If I stopped updating, would you be sad? Not that I will, just...would you? I've gotten some favorites and alerts, and I thank y'all SO much, but I want to know if you like this story! Time to step up, y'all!