Miriam

When we get back home, Crane is full of questions. He's shy about it, though, a little ashamed.
“What did you, ah, see? When the toxins worked?” he asks quickly, looking away from me.
We're seated across from each other at the kitchen table. I have my hands folded in front of me, my toes brushing his.
“Don't you know?” I ask, examining my nails.
“No, this is a new formula. It's supposed to...” He goes quiet, looking even guiltier. “It's supposed to attack the temporal lobe.” I raise an eyebrow, and he babbles on. “It holds long term memories. The toxin is supposed to bring out the worst of them.”
“I noticed,” I say dryly, watching as he winces.
Guilt must be new to the Scarecrow. I'm not angry. I know what his crimes are. I knew that eventually I'd be exposed to his toxins. I'll just have to be careful so it doesn't happen again.
“So, ah, are you going to tell me what you saw?” He may be my employer, and someone I'm beginning to consider a friend, but he's gone far enough.
“No,” I say shortly, standing up. The yellow glint of Scarecrow flashes through his eyes.
“Tell me,” he orders, pushing back in his chair.
“No,” I tell him calmly. He shoves off from the table and stalks towards me, forcing his bruised face close to mine.
“Tell me, or I'll infect you again, for hours and hours!” he yells, hot breath on my face.
I take a step back when a needle appears in his hand. He grins evilly and everything feels wrong and I'm afraid, still weak from the attack on my mind at Ivy's place. I don't want to see Charlie die again, or hear Koi's screams.
“Stop, Scarecrow,” I hiss, feeling tears prick my eyes. I haven't cried in years. He hesitates, the madness fading from his eyes.
“Miriam...” Crane reaches a hand out, carefully, touches a thumb to the wetness in my eye. “I'm sorry,” he whispers, face falling. He looks wounded and pitiful. “You've never called me Scarecrow before. I thought you didn't see him in me.”
He sounds relieved, like me knowing the worst part of him is a good thing. I guess it might be. It means I know him. I lean into his touch, give him a smile. He kisses me then, soft and gentle. I'm not used to it. I don't mind, though. He doesn't taste like his toxins, which is unexpected. He tastes like mint and sugar. I wrap a hand around the back of his neck, pull him closer. We lead each other to his bedroom, where he fucks me sweet and slow.
“I forgive you,” I tell him, after, placing a hand on his chest.
“Thank you,” he says into my hair, slinging an arm around my waist. I relax into him, and something in my head clicks.
Crane is no longer just a client. He's...something else. Something that scares me with its significance, but also thrills me. I close my eyes for a while, let myself enjoy him.