Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed…
--"The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot--

Jonathan's glasses rested in the collar of his sweater vest as he drove. He only needed them for reading, but found it simpler to always wear them. Scarecrow, on the other hand, hated them so whenever he could, he'd remove them.

"So, Jonny," The alter spoke as he drove, watching the road through the sweeping windshield wipers, "it's Friday night. No work until Monday, what are we going to do?" He had an inkling he knew what Jonathan was going to say. Jonathan must have too, because Scarecrow could feel the man's irritation.

Do I have to answer that?

Scarecrow hummed, "Well, if your reply is going to be, go home, cook dinner, and watch the history channel like the hermit you are, then no. I don't want to head home, Jonny, I want out on the town, I want to have fun."

You just want to get laid.

"Jonny! Did you just use the word laid?!" Scarecrow chuckled, "But yes, Jonny, I would like that very much, but not now. I'm saving us for our little mouse…Besides, it'd do wonders for you, relieve a lot of that tension, Jonny."

Unamused silence chirped from Jonathan's end. Scarecrow shook his head and frowned both because of Jonathan and the weather; what had been sprinkles earlier was now a downpour. Well, he didn't care. He was determined to do something other than mope around at home like Jonathan insisted on doing. The guy could get out every now and then; it wouldn't kill him.

"I think I want a drink. And maybe I'll flirt a little, give you a nice reputation."

Define your definition of nice because I think we've have a communication barrier there. I don't think my idea matches yours.

"Oh, because flirting is going to ruin your image as Mr. Stick-up-his-ass…We could always call our little mouse up, invite her out for a night."

Can you stop calling her "our little mouse"?

"What, you don't like it?"

You make her sound like our prey.

Scarecrow chuckled darkly. "Step into my parlor said the spider to the fly…Oh, Jon, I won't hurt her. I keep telling you and when I have I ever steered you wrong? Hm? Now, I can't promise screams won't be involved, but they won't be horrified screams…What no comment to that?"

Anything I say will immediately be reversed by you. If I stop responding, maybe you'll stop. You act out for attention, thus starve you of your goal and the behavior will stop.

"That simple, huh?" Scarecrow laughed, "You just keeping telling yourself that, Jons. I hate to say it, Dr. Crane, but I don't there's any hope for me. I think I'm rather incurable."

More like insufferable.

Scarecrow grinned, "Oh someone's getting mad."

Mad, no, ir—

"Well, well," Scarecrow smirked, his eyes catching on a pair of flashing lights on the shoulder of the road. He heard Jonathan fall utterly quiet at the sight he saw.

There on the side of the road stood Becky, her image clear despite the rain. Her crimson sports car had its emergency lights on. Scarecrow pulled Jonathan's white sedan to the shoulder, just ahead of her own car. He rolled down the window to his side, seeing Becky move from the rearview mirror as he came to a stop.

'Looks like our little mouse has had some car trouble, and what do you know, right in our path too.' He stated simply, and then grinned.

"Dr. Crane?" Becky leaned into the passenger side window, eyes wide in surprise.

Scarecrow offered her a smile falling once again into Jonathan's cadence, "Ms. Albright, this is peculiar. Having some trouble?"

She flushed and nodded, glancing back at her car. She attempted to wipe away wet, clinging strands of hair from her face. "A wrecker's on its way."

Scarecrow unlocked the door and nodded, "Why don't you get in, it's raining rather heavily. I can wait with you until the wrecker arrives, and besides you'll need some way of getting home, hm?"

Becky nodded and opened the door. She looked at herself sheepishly, placing her cane in first and then getting in—she was thoroughly soaked. "I'm sorry about the water." She awkwardly took her seat.

Yet Scarecrow said nothing, only watched her. Her hair was drenched; it clung to her cheeks in scarlet waves. The contrast of it against her pale complexion brought out the hue of her lips, the freckles that were dusted across her nose.

How could this be taking his breath? She was soaked, hair in disarray, and she was shivering. How was that even remotely—wait, shivering? He saw the tremors rack her body. He wordlessly grabbed Jon's suit coat from the back seat and leaned over her. He brought it to her shoulders and she took it, pulling it closer around her.

"Thank you," she smiled. And he couldn't resist it; Scarecrow brought his hand up to her face. The back touched her cheek and her lips parted in surprise as he stared earnestly into her eyes.

She was asking for it. She could allow him one taste. He longed for a sampling of her lips. He inclined his head just slightly and…

He was pulled back into Jonathan's mind. For the first in his life he felt utterly betrayed and shocked. He screamed in absolute fury.