Ah, it's good to be back! School's still a pain, but thankfully, I have enough free time to complete this chapter.
Now, some of you may be wondering about Crane's seemingly split-personality. The way I see it, it's kinda like a Jekyll/Hyde type of thing, with Jonathan Crane being the mild-mannered and intelligent Dr. Jekyll and Scarecrow being the brash and sociopathic Mr. Hyde. Before, the two would be nearly inseparable, as explained by his opening line in Arkham Asylum: "There is no Crane, only Scarecrow!". But since he became friends with Jervis, then Becky, the two sides have become increasingly hostile to each other. While Jonathan sees Becky as his everything and has gradually started opening up to others thanks to her, Scarecrow only sees her as an obstacle and a distraction; a fascinating obstacle, but an obstacle nonetheless.
But Scarecrow is more than just his vices given form. It is also everything that Crane sees as wrong with himself: his paranoia, his fears, his inner insecurities, his pain, his guilt; everything that he tries to hide and more.
And you may be saying "But what about Becky? Doesn't she also have something like this?". And in a way she does. But I can't say too much for risk of spoilers, and we wouldn't want that, now would we? *wink, wink*
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Friitawa grunted as she hauled the rusty door open, the hinges screeching and dust and a few pebbles falling from the ceiling as the metal door swung open, the light from the lantern in the wall in front of her illuminating only a few feet out into the darkness.
She took a deep breath as she stepped forward into the darkness, closing her eyes as she helped her body adjust to the sudden blackness as it engulfed her completely, opening them again a few minutes later as she stepped forward.
Opening her eyes, she could suddenly see the world in a series of grey hues, her view shifting from color vision to night vision, the faint light causing her eyes to shine green.
Friitawa smiled. Good. It seems my experiment is a success, she thought, a small smile crinkled at her lips as she walked forward, careful to keep herself from slipping as she wandered the abandoned subway station.
It had taken months, but she had finally successfully spliced the proteins necessary for natural night vision into her body. Her previous attempts to splice various animal and plant DNA into her men had ended in success, but the end result was somewhat lacking. She had expected her minions to have the enhanced senses and abilities she had spliced into them. Instead, it had left them looking like disfigured mutants, with only a select few benefiting from the mutations, such as sharp claws.
Her encounter with Killer Croc in the sewers had helped answer many of her questions in regards to genetics and splices. She remembered her bargain with the reptile man, promising him plenty of food and a possible cure for his mutation in exchange for his willingness to be subject to her experiments, a promise she had only partially planned to fulfill. And thanks to him, she finally had cracked the code for nocturnal vision, a power that was necessary in her line of work, especially for keeping an eye on that annoying bat.
As she eyed the crumbling, abandoned subway tunnel, she couldn't help but wonder what happened to the man-eating mutant. She had heard no word of his capture, so she could only assume he had disappeared into the sewers during the Scarebeast attack.
Pausing for a bit, she shook her head, continuing onward as she wrenched another door open. It didn't matter. By the time she was finished, he would be reduced to nothing, shivering and sobbing in his murky water as the world above him crumbled under the power of fear.
She smiled, her expression predatory as she spied a homeless person huddled in the corner warming himself beside a fire-filled dumpster, her nostrils flaring as she caught his scent of unwashed clothes and body odor, along with the acrid scent of oil and plastic from the fire.
Crouching down, she snuck behind her victim, her eyes narrowing as she licked her lips in anticipation, before she pounced, the small scythe in her hands slicing his jugular, the only sound from the man a strangled gurgle as he slumped to the floor.
Despite the man's death, however, Friitawa just kept going, slicing and dicing him in a bloody frenzy, her teeth bared as she laughed, not stopping until the corpse was nothing more than a bloody mess of tissue and plasma.
She panted, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stared down at the mangled flesh below, the ecstasy of the kill causing her to shiver with pleasure as she imagined the body to be that of her sworn enemy.
"Are you done?"
Friitawa snapped her head to the side at the noise, recognizing the voice a second before its owner came into view.
Talia looked down at the woman's kill, her expression turning to a frown at the blood and gore splattered around the area. "Must you make a mess wherever you go?" she sighed, watching with disgust as Friitawa licked the blood off her fingers, seemingly enjoying the taste.
The albino glared at the woman, hunching protectively over her kill. "I don't recall needing a babysitter, Talia," she snapped.
The assassin smirked, her arms crossed as she glowered down at the feral scientist. "And I don't recall my father sending you down here. And yet, here you are," she replied, gesturing around her at the empty subway station. "And since you seem so intent on pushing his buttons, is it any wonder why he's decided to shorten your leash?"
Friitawa's eyes narrowed, before she let out a snort. "I doubt that is the only reason you're down here." She turned away from the body, walking towards the metal door leading deeper into the underground. "But since you're down here and curious about my business like the nosy little jackal that you are, I suppose you can help me fulfill my bargain with the Penguin."
With that, she wrenched open the rusty door, disappearing further down into the maze.
Talia shook her head, her hands clenched into fists as she followed after her. Whatever it was the albino was up to, she was going to make sure it didn't interfere with her father's work. Even if it meant having to kill her herself.
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Today was the day.
Jonathan Crane let out a sigh of relief as he finished detailing the plan for the party, checking it over one last time to make sure everything was just right.
It had taken hours and several rewrites, but he was finally satisfied. He was sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this wouldn't backfire on him. He had set up the reservations, typed up the guest list, picked out the flowers—with Ivy's recommendation, of course—arranged the balloons, dusted off and fixed up an old tuxedo from a previous costume he had and picked out a dress for Becky, and made sure that both of them had a full bag of fear toxin in case Harley decided to bring the Joker along or Batman decided to crash the party.
He had even made and e-mailed a schedule to Harley to make sure everything would go according to plan. Hopefully, she wouldn't decide to add her own flair to this. He didn't want any surprises rising up and biting him where it hurt. Then again, it was Harley he was talking about, so he didn't expect much restraint; just hopefully nothing that would lead to trouble.
He sighed, rubbing his bloodshot eyes from behind his glasses. His insomnia had been acting up again, but thankfully, his best friend the coffee maker had his back for now, even if it did take forever to produce the bitter liquid that kept him running.
Yet despite that everything was ready and prepared, a knot of worry still sat curled in his belly. What if something went wrong? What if she was allergic to the flowers? What if the dress didn't fit? What if the Bat decided to ambush them on the way to dinner? These worries and more pounded in his mind, causing him to pace nervously from his place at the table.
With a sigh, he pulled out a chair and sat down, slumping forward as he rubbed at his itchy eyes, struggling to concentrate. Unconsciously, he glanced in the direction of Becky's bedroom, a small, tired smile lighting up his face as he imagined her reaction to the surprise party.
"Tuckered out, Johnny-boy?"
Jonathan groaned as he turned his head to face his alter ego, before turning away with a huff. "What do you want, Scarecrow?" he grumbled.
The imaginary figure seemed to chuckle at the exhausted man as it jumped into a chair, crouching into it, one leg lazily swinging back and forth. "Want? Why does it always have to be about something I want? Can't I just visit my favorite patient without such hostility?"
Crane let out a snort, his eyes glaring at the annoying phantom, glasses slightly askew on his nose. "Just go away. I'm not awake enough to deal with you right now."
Scarecrow laughed, the sound resembling the caw of his crows. "Now, you know as well as I do that I can do no such a thing. I'm just as much a part of you as you are of me."
He looked down at the list under Jonathan's arm, sliding it out as the man let out a bark of protest.
Scanning the list quickly, Scarecrow's smile turned into a frown. "What's all this?"
"It's Becky's birthday schedule," Crane said drowsily, sitting up sluggishly as he heard the coffeemaker beep, moving over to the noisy machine quickly and shutting it off, pouring himself a cup of coffee while doing so.
Scowling, his doppelganger threw the list down. strong"Why are you wasting your time on this? Shouldn't you have better things to do than plan out that little mouse's party?"/strong he queried, his voice quickly picking up an irritated tone.
"My plans to terrorize Gotham can wait for a day," Jonathan snapped, sipping at his coffee. "Besides, I'd rather not have my foot broken after it has just healed."
"That's a flimsy excuse and you know it, Crane!" Scarecrow snapped, his hand banging against the table as he slid closer to the man, leaning until he was eye to eye with his twin. "We both know you've had more serious injuries and have still kept on going. Why's this more-" the phantom suddenly cut himself off, before starting to chuckle. "Oh, I get it now," it said, its shoulders shaking as he laughed. "You…You think you actually have a chance with her, don't you?"
"What are you talking about?" Jonathan whispered, his back touching the wall, watching fearfully as his phantasm clawed its way across the table until it was face to face with him once again, its eyes, once hollow and black, now glowing a chilling icy-blue, the same hue and intensity as Crane's own.
"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, Johnny-boy. It's been at the back of your mind constantly since that night more than three weeks ago, from that moment that little vermin confessed her love back to you."
"And so what if I have?" Jonathan snarled, his anger giving him the courage he lacked as he jabbed his finger in the phantom's face. "After everything I went though, I think I deserve at least a little bit of happiness in my life. Besides, she chose me, didn't she? She could have picked any other guy, and yet she chose me."
"And what makes you think she had a choice?" Scarecrow asked, a smile starting to stretch across its face.
"I beg your pardon?" Jonathan hissed, his voice low as his eyes started to shine with yellow light.
"Think about it, genius. The only guy you allow her to be around is you. You hoard her all to yourself, practically keep her trapped in this metal prison you call a lair. So why are you so surprised she would chose you? She had no choice. It was either chose you or risk breaking your heart. And you remember the last time she broke your heart, right?"
A haunted look crossed the former professor's face, his eyes wide as tears threatened to run down his cheeks. Yes, he could never forget what had happened that day 6 years ago. He still remembered the rage he felt when she rejected him, the look of terror in her eyes as his scythe reflected in her pupils, tears threatening to spill as she held her ground, waiting for her death.
"No! No, I refuse to believe that!" he snapped, salty tears starting to drip down his cheeks. "I-I wouldn't have done that to her. Even if she had said no!"
"Are you so sure about that, Johnny-boy? Let's think back to that night, hmm? You felt hopeless, defeated. Not even two hours earlier you had your hands wrapped around her throat. You apologized, revealed your deepest fears and worries, and finally confessed that you loved her, that you couldn't live without her. You said your deepest fear was losing her. How else would she have responded than to say she felt the same? Why else would she say that you, Jonathan Crane, the Master of Fear and the Lord of Despair, deserved love and kindness just as much as any other person, especially after all you did to her? Killing her pet, dousing her with your most potent fear toxin, stalking her, offering her to be the mistress of fear with a lewd costume. Heck, even when she finally joined you, you still didn't let up. You risked her life for your own personal gain, sacrificed her clear record and reputation for another few notes of research on fear, and even her very humanity thanks to you falling for Friitawa's trap," Scarecrow retorted, watching with satisfaction as Crane seemed to shrink into himself, wincing with every word out of figure's mouth. "So, tell me again. Why are you wasting your time on something that you know will never last?"
"Because…Because…" he stammered, before slumping to the floor, a sigh of defeat escaping his lips as he found he couldn't come up with any retort. "Look, just give me this one day, okay. One day were everything goes right, nothing explodes in my face, and nobody is threatening me or Becky. After this, I'll try to let her down easy. Deal?"
The phantom considered this, its back turned to its partner.
Crane waited patiently, his arm crossed as he nervously tapped his fingers against his other arm, waiting for its response, his other hand held out for the strawman to shake.
Finally, Scarecrow spoke. "Fine," he snarled, grudgingly taking the outstretched hand. "But mark my words, Johnny-boy. This endeavor is going to cost you dearly. But, unfortunately, our little session is over, so I bid you adieu for now."
And with a tip of its straw hat, the figure disappeared back into the shadows from whence it came, leaving the tired man to his own musings.
Crane closed his eyes, before rubbing his head as he shakily pulled himself up off of the floor, letting out a tired sigh, pondering what he would do next as he trudged to his bedroom.
