I've never written anything longer than 600 words so this is definitely my first fanfic. Enjoy and please review! I really appreciate your opinion.

Warning: Jonathan may be a bit OOC here so beware.

Disclaimer: I don't own Becky Albright or Jonathan Crane or anything for that matter.(except for the story of course)

Silence. Utter silence

That was all she wanted in her entire life, for everything to be peaceful, simple and, above all else silent. But with her appearance, her personality and especially her past experience, it was hardly possible to achieve.

Becky took out the keys and entered her home. It was a cheap apartment with slightly faded beige walls and second-handed furniture. There was a used but not shabby couch in the living room along with an old-fashioned television. It was a small secluded area which she liked. Not bothering to turn on the lights, she tossed the keys to the dining table and slumped to the couch, letting out a sigh.

It had been two months since her last encounter with the Scarecrow but it felt as if it was yesterday. Becky smirked bitterly as she recalled what had happened on that day. Jonathan Crane, the Master of Fear, pulled out a lewd terrifying costume and asked her (more like threatened her) to join him. He seemed to believe that just because they had something in common, she must side with him and bring Gotham people on their knees, screaming in fear and agony.

She said no, obviously. Despite how tempting it might sound, she could never bring herself to enjoy it. The rejection was clearly not expected as she still remembered how enraged he looked. It was almost like he felt betrayed by her answer, by her choice. His face (or rather his mask) was twisted with such fury and hurt that still tormented her these days. Rebecca Albright, the isolated shy student with freckles all over her face, was crowned as the Mistress of Fear by the Scarecrow himself. Who would have thought? Becky thought sarcastically.

She was not obsessed with him, and most certainly not in love with him. Why would she? She knew nothing about him. Not his childhood, not his school life, not even his hobby. Wait, on second thought, you did know his hobby, driving people crazy it is. Becky ignored the voice as she lay on the sofa, silently arguing with her inner self.

He used his fear gas on me. I was a defenseless innocent girl. I didn't deserve such rigor. I did nothing wrong. Becky rebutted, trying to soothe her uneasiness and guiltiness by rationalizing her deeds. Well, you stood up to him in court testifying against him publicly. What were you expecting, Afternoon tea with cherry pies at his apartment? "Ah!" she groaned feebly. The last thing she needed was another person questioning her logic. "Even my mind seems to get a kick out of teasing me. How typical." She grumbled wryly.

Just before she went to her bedroom, she reached for the letters on the table. Not feeling drowsy enough to sleep, she thought she'd read them first. The one on top was different from the rest. It was only a folded paper with the words 'To Becky' on it. Becky instantly felt perturbed by the unrecognizable hand-writhing. Come on, Becky. It's just a piece of paper. Surely it can't harm you. Curiosity got the best of her so she tardily unfolded the paper.

Plucky Becky. It wrote.

Becky immediately went ashen and trembled when she read the first line. There was only one person in Gotham who called her Plucky Becky. She took a deep breath trying to pacify her mind and continued reading it. There was only one sentence left.

There is nothing to fear

"But fear itself." A hoarse voice mumbled behind her. Despite her reflex urging her to run, she stiffened and remained wordless. How can this happen? He was put behind bars. She must be hallucinating. She had to be.

Before she could turn around, she gasped in pain as she felt a needle in her right arm. Feeling her legs weakened, she closed her eyes and drifted off. Cocooned in a tender embrace, she let darkness consume her.

Wake up, Becky. Wake up.

Becky reluctantly awoke from a deep slumber and wiggled in discomfort as she found herself in a velvet bed. Still fatigued and puzzled, she went back to sleep and searched for her bulky blanket, but it was nowhere to be found.

All of a sudden, realization hit her as she practically hopped out of bed, wide-eyed and trouble-minded. She was at her apartment reading an odd-looking letter and then she…blacked out.

Scarecrow. He abducted me. The idea of confronting him again was horrendous to say the least. She wasn't ready for this. Attempting to shift the agitation, she took a good look at the room she was in. Surprisingly, it was as ordinary as any room can be—clean, organized and…normal. In front of her were a wooden wardrobe and a bookshelf with dozens of medical and psychological books. On her left was a walnut desk facing the plain off-white walls. Must be his bedroom. Becky thought. She was half expecting to see worn-out wall papers, a cabinet of chemicals and possibly a display of his burlap costume.

Suddenly she heard footsteps, loud and clear. Becky jumped at the jingle of the keys as she hastily searched for an escape. She was overjoyed to see one in the corner. Just before she rushed towards it, she was pulled back.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He snickered smugly, making her shiver in fear. She turned around and saw his face again. His azure eyes dilated, lips slightly closed. He wore a loose umber jacket and blue jeans, looking causal. She shuddered as her hazel eyes met his piercing gaze, seemingly intrigued at her morose scowl.

"Such a face, Becky. What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" He teased. Not wanting to be overpowered, she stared back at him. "You are supposed to be in jail." She hissed in ire as she recalled the terror he had brought to her. The coarse mask, the disgusting odor of straw, his frosty laughter… They afflicted her, like a nightmare that wouldn't go away.

"I'm the Master of Fear, Becky. I have instilled fear in many a people in Gotham even the Batman, and yet you seemed shocked that I broke out of Arkham Asylum, where I had spent years working there." He replied as he played with her crimps, "Brave Plucky Becky, as always you remain tranquil while the people of Gotham cower at me."

Jonathan grinned at the sight of her, which was enticing. Her red curls fell gently to her shoulders, pouring down like a waterfall. Her fists clenched so tightly that she was almost shaking. She still had freckles on her face, which he liked. Her lips were as crimson as blood. Her hazel eyes glistened with wrath. And fear too. He added mentally. She was perfect for him. So fierce and yet vulnerable. She would be his to claim, his mistress of fear.

"Why?" Becky whispered. Jonathan remained silent since he knew she hadn't finished.

"Why won't you leave me alone? Haven't you done enough damage? Why abducted me and risked your freedom?" Becky asked frantically, "I don't want to see you; I was about to for—"

"Forget me?" He asked nonchalantly, looking at her face to face as he gave her a knowing smile.

"There's no use lying to me. We both know you can never forget me however hard you tried. I've watched you for a week, Becky. I've seen you tossing about in bed, desperate for a good rest. I've seen you contemplating pictures of me in silence. I've even heard you weeping at night, angry and confused at the injustice of the society." He solemnly declared.

Becky felt the air become even thinner as she stood there breathlessly. She would never expect him to observe her in a…thorough way. The thought of him spying on her was overwhelming and somewhat intimate.

"Somewhere in your mind you knew I was right. People are ruthless and indifferent to the suffering of the others. They deserve punishment, they deserve fear. We all have our own way of dealing with our animosity towards the society. Mine is just different, and better." He analyzed his theory genuinely; maintaining his composed image while ignoring her glower.

"There are many ways of dealing with the society other than gassing them," She grievously muttered, "You don't have to resolve to this method. We all have discontents with the world but revenge isn't the only way. Just because you had an unfortunate childhood doesn't mean the others deserve one. You and I both know how it feels to be taunted. It's a pity that they are too ignorant to understand you but they still don't deserve punishment. They deserve compassion and mercy." Becky put her hand on his chest as she tried to console his unsettling heart, in the hope of smoothing his hatred.

"Compassion? Mercy?" Jonathan snorted at her naïveté, sounding resentfully for the first time, "Who showed me compassion when I needed it? My parents? They abandoned me when I was a kid! My grandmother? She is the one responsible for making my life a living hell! Other people? They jeered at me for being who I am! I was not granted with compassion nor mercy. Why should I show them any?" He hissed venomously as he held her in a tight grip.

"You have to!" Becky frowned at his violence, struggling to be released, "You don't have the right to create chaos and watch as the innocent go mad! There's a line between revenge and justice."

"I never wanted justice." He stated as he relaxed his arms, but still grasping her wrists.

"I know." She cooed, secretly agreed with him as she remembered how insolent everyone is towards her. Yet she couldn't afford to let him know that.

"It is wrong of them to judge us by our looks but it doesn't make it fair to hurt them. You just don't have the right."

"Then who gave them the right to mock us? Who gave them the right to pick on me or call you a freak? Enlighten me please." He chuckled cynically, knowing fully that she didn't have the answer to it.

"I know the world can sometimes be cruel but you don't see me—"

"Was? Tell me Becky, has the teasing stopped?" He heckled before she finished her line.

"Wha…what do you mean? Of course it has stopped! I've changed—"

"But they haven't." He added, "You can do whatever you want and be whoever you want but the world will never change. Their perception of things, beliefs and criterion will always stay as still as a rock. I've seen you engaging in different social activities in an attempt to blend in and be accepted and while I admire your efforts, the others don't. They still see you as the limp weirdo and make fun of you. I didn't break you, Becky. They did."

"No." Becky shook her head sorely as she sobbed, "You…you're wrong. I'm not broken! I've faced my greatest fear, I can overcome it! I won't end up like you. I…I don't want to become you!" She practically yelled with tears dripping from her eyes.

"Wrong again, Becky." Jonathan pointed out, collected as usual, "You want to become me; you want it so badly to turn the tables. The only reason you haven't done so is because you're afraid. You're afraid to be a leper, rebuffed by the society. You long to change because you fear rejection. Guess what, you don't have to. I know what you're going through for I went through the same thing before. You don't have to change. You're perfect the way you are, just perfect."

Becky paused as she felt his palm on her cheek, not caressing her, just touching her. She couldn't bear the softness of his hand on her. She expected him to be cold but he was not. Jonathan let out a moan as he wrapped one hand around her waist, the other one patting her head. Becky couldn't resist the closeness between them as she rested her head on his chest, whimpering quietly.

In the end, she found it, the one thing that exceeded acceptance, simplicity and justice, in none other than Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow. She felt it in every stroke, every breath. She felt it at last.

Silence. Utter silence.