Emptying out
each complicating part,
each little twist of mind inside,
each clenched fist…
—"Clemente's Images" by Robert Creeley
The rest of the date had gone well, in Scarecrow's opinion. They had traded small talk for the rest of lunch.
Becky was the middle child of three. She'd been adopted when she was two years-old and had lived in Southern Pennsylvania before moving to Gotham when she was fourteen. Her favorite color was yellow because they reminded her of her favorite flowers which were Black-Eyed Susans. Her favorite book was the Wizard of Oz because her middle name was Dorothy and when she was younger she thought it made her special.
These were all good things to know, thought Scarecrow. Now they knew what flowers to get her on special occasions. He could just imagine the look on her face if they ever became more serious and he showered her bed with those petals. Normally one would do roses, but it would make her feel unique if he used her own favorite. It would be more romantic.
He knew they should get her gold jewelry instead of silver, she'd probably like it better. He also could affectionately call her his little Dorothy and muse that as a Scarecrow she would be perfect for him.
All wonderful, insightful things—and he wouldn't mind her in a little blue plaid dress either with a little higher than normal hem-line—but if that was true, then why did Jon look so distressed?
The man was currently cooking his nightly dinner, but the tenseness of his back and that fact he was not wearing his glasses all told Scarecrow that he was either stressed, anxious, or annoyed. And he couldn't be stressed; the day had gone well enough.
"Alright, I'm tired of watching ya." Scarecrow finally sighed, leaning back against the refrigerator. "What's the matter?"
He received no verbal answer, but Jonathan's head moved just slightly and he could feel that Jonathan's awareness had shifted. He waited a moment to see if the man would speak, but when he didn't the alter once again exhaled and walked towards him. "Jonny, I know something's wrong. You can't hide it. You're always trying to bottle up everything, but I can look into your head. You're not helping matters by being quiet, you know." He was about to place his hand on the man's shoulder, when Jonathan whipped around and glared at him.
"Why did you have to do it?" He snapped frustration in his voice.
Scarecrow raised a brow, "Why did I have to do what?"
"Why couldn't I kiss her?"
Scarecrow held no expression for a moment as the words locked into place, but then he grinned, "You did kiss her, Jonny. All I did was stand up, talk to her to reassure her that the mood wasn't broken, and put your lips there. You did the whole kissing part and after that little minor thing you did great."
Jonathan shook his head, "I want to be able to kiss her without your help! I'm so tired of you doing everything just because I hesitate!"
Scarecrow crossed his arms, "Jon, it takes time to gain confidence. You're going to be awkward, but I didn't want her to think she'd scared you away. She was beginning to lose her own nerve."
"Awkward? Time?" He turned back to the food. "You never had to gain confidence!"
Scarecrow blinked. No he didn't, but it was obvious why, right? That was his personality. It took him time to gain control. He was rash sometimes, didn't think before he spoke. He pursed his lips.
"This is about more than just me kissing Becky isn't it?" He asked softly. Jonathan's focus seemed to return with more vigor to the skillet he was cooking in. Scarecrow let his body relax and took a step closer. "You can tell me what's wrong. You can tell me anything. I'm you."
Jonathan shook his head, "No, you're not me. I'm Jonny and you're Scarecrow. You were never me and I…I'll never be you. I can talk so bold and sometimes I can act on impulse, but…I'm not as forward as you. And I, I sometimes don't know if I love Becky like you. What if we don't have the same tastes? What if I just want physical comfort, no strings attached? What if—"
Scarecrow took his shoulder and cut him off. Jon turned around and peered up at him, two men with the same face staring at one another. Scarecrow gazed intently into his eyes. "What are you afraid of?"
Jon bit his lip, deflating and his gaze fell, "Do you think she'll get tired of me and leave? What if you're the one she really wants?"
Scarecrow smiled in sympathy, "I don't think she'll get tired of you, Jonny. I think, in a way, yes she wants me, but she also wants you."
"But you don't know." His gaze flickered back to Scarecrow's and without hesitation he drew the man into his arms and Jonathan shuddered in tears.
There they stood the lost boy of the dirt roads and the scarecrow of the cornfields, both separate, both one, both afraid and lost in the end. Scarecrow closed his eyes and regretfully spoke.
"No, Jonny, I don't. I don't know."
Comparison of Jon and Scarecrow is credited to both Lasgalendil and The Talking Absol. Without recalling your reviews for both this fic and another of mine, I never would have thought to compare them as I did (or it would have taken longer)! And thanks every reader and reviewer for the continuing hits, favorites, alerts, and reviews! They make day!
