#* ch. writings : harvey dent .

[monstroum]

❛   𝙳𝙾𝙾𝚁 .   𝙷𝙾𝙻𝙳  𝙰  𝙳𝙾𝙾𝚁  𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽  𝙵𝙾𝚁  𝙼𝚈  𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴 .   / harvey dent !

dent rushed his step a bit, managing to walk out of the bathroom while taking full advantage of bruce wayne’s small cordial gesture. “   ──   thanks . ” their interaction should have ended there: they’d both return to gotham’s brand new centre of arts’ lobby, mingle back with their respective groups, drink their champagne, and never speak of each other again. but harvey noticed the heaviness on bruce’s brow. times had been hitting him hard as of late; a series of unfortunate events had thrown his name down in the mud and dragged it for several yards. and while harvey had, at one time, considered inviting bruce to visit his office ( he needed to size him up , check how well-meaning or corrupt he really was    ──   ), the younger man had become toxic waste. no one who had a reputation to keep in gotham dared associating with the guy.

before the millionaire could turn his back to him, dent interjected.

“ hey , wayne , ” the district attorney called, standing his ground. “ i’ve been meaning to reschedule that meeting. it’s just the PR folks don’t think now’s a good time ... ” he tried to be polite. harvey didn’t want to outright say that everyone thought being seen in public with bruce was a career suicide. even then, he’d only speak to him there, away from the meddling crowd, closer to the distinct smell of urinal cake than to the art pieces being celebrated downstairs. but something in dent’s gut told him bruce wasn’t a bad guy   ──   all that power and wealth sure made it hard to believe and, sure, he had been wrong before. but right there and then, bruce didn’t look like a spoiled mastermind trying to pocket as much money and influence as he could...

                         he just looked like a lonely kid.

          “ read that article about you and your work with foxark . " harvey said as he nonchalantly placed his hand inside his pocket ( his fingers undoubtedly reaching for the silver coin ). “ you’re doing good . don’t let us down . ”

@batfall​

#* answered . #* ch. writings : harvey dent . #* batfall . #* verse : to be added #harvey: im proud of u #bruce probably: thanks haha who are u again

[chief-of-restless-hearts]

Chapter 19: The Lighthouse part 1

.  .  .

Batman stepped out onto the snowy office doorstep of Edward Nygma, Private investigator, but the door behind him was stopped just short of slamming shut. Without turning, Batman waited.

“He was clever with my riddles, your little friend,” Nygma said from the doorway. “I...do hope you find him well.”

The door clicked shut. Batman turned to look one last time at the crisp green lettering across its snow-dusted window, knowing that the fresh paint would survive only a few more weeks at the most before inevitably surrendering to the grime that pervaded every other inch of the city. Hope that the same inevitability wouldn’t apply to the recently reformed Riddler’s fate was the sole reason Batman had entered and exited through the front door. That hope hadn’t been disappointed by what he’d found inside, though the ultimate purpose for his visit had been.

Within a few moments he was again steering the batmobile down Gotham’s uncommonly quiet monochrome streets.

“Oracle,” he said. “I haven’t seen Batgirl tonight.”

Oracle’s connection crackled through the speaker system. “No? Huh. Neither have I.” The speakers lapsed into silence. “She...does this sometimes. She just...drops off the grid for a day or two. I don’t know where she is or what she does, but she’s getting very good at avoiding my surveillance. I can’t shake the feeling that something triggers it, but she never talks to me.” She paused. “She talks to you.”

“We don’t talk.”

“Well--whatever it is you two do, you get each other. I’d be surprised if you hadn’t noticed her behavior yet.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“So. Are you...planning to stay a while? Because she’d love to hear it if you are, and--”

“The last lead went nowhere. I’ll stay until another comes, but no longer.”

“The usual, then. Are you still planning on Arkham?”

“I need to take care of something first.”

“So, yes. You can just say ‘yes’ Bruce.”

“Code names,” he snapped.

“Well I’m sure those shouldn’t be a problem once you find Batgirl, since you refuse to acknowledge that she even has anything other than a codename.”

Oracle disconnected. Batman scowled.

He finished his turn behind the shelter of a warehouse, parked, and reached into the storage compartment beside him before stepping outside and stalking around the corner. The sewage cover was in a secluded corner of the city, ideal for its sole, secretive occupant. Batman quietly removed the cover and descended the ladder. The still, lukewarm tunnel air reeked of a century’s worth of sewage, which disguised another, subtler stench, just as the plinking echo from the distant shadows disguised the chilling slosh of slow, heavy, footsteps.

Batman reached under his cape, and in the brief moments before Solomon Grundy’s sluggish form rounded the corner, he set the covered plate stacked with Alfred’s leftovers on a dry patch of stone and then swiftly hauled himself up and out through the hole above.

No one quite knew who or what Grundy was. A creature to most, barely alive--if alive he was at all--but the creature had a name, and perhaps being treated like the man he once had been could hold the creature’s danger at bay.

Returning to the Batmobile, Batman had run out of excuses to delay.

Batgirl’s whereabouts weighed on his mind, but still he was grateful that he was unlikely to find her at his destination.

He veered toward the edge of the city, between shadowed trees, until at last he reached the base of the hill that wound up toward Arkham Asylum. It’s sharp spires stood out starkly under the moonlight.

The gatekeeper admitted him with little more than an uneasy glance. The building was just as easily penetrated.

The hall on the upper level seemed to stretch to a mile of ignoring hostile glares and a distant but persistent giggling before Batman heard a voice call from the next room--a room, not a cell. He would never let them put Harvey in a cell.

But it wasn’t Harvey Dent’s voice calling to him. His heart sank.

“We almost thought you’d finally found something better to do than play chess with imaginary friends,” Two-Face’s voice rasped. The familiar disfigured face tipped against the glass to watch Batman approach the window. Harvey tilted his head and his mouth stretched into a smile that must have pulled painfully at mutilated skin. “Sorry, Bats. Your Harvey isn’t here today.”

Batman’s gaze flickered toward the half-finished chess game set up across the room. He hesitated.

“But you aren’t here for chess this time,” Harvey said, interpreting his silence. “You went to Eddie first, didn’t you.” He paused, and Batman took in the subtle relax of his expression. “What happened to that new little bird of yours...it shook Harvey up. Shook most of us up. Even changed some of us. Quinn and Eddie most of all. Unless we’re counting your friend down the hall.”

The giggling from the far end of the hall reached a new crescendo. Batman’s fingers curled around the edge of his cape.

“'Course,” Harvey continued, “We never changed a bit. We don’t intend to, no matter how many of these visits you put us through. We both know you ain’t here for me.”

“I’m always here for you, Harvey,” Batman said in a low voice. “You can choose to help me, or not. But...I am asking you to.”

“You aint talkin’ to Harvey,” the man behind the glass growled.

“Harvey,” Bruce repeated, tightly. “Your connections could lead me to Robin. I’m not asking this for myself.”

“Oh yes you are. Shut up,” he hissed, twisting around. He shook his head so hard that his whole body shuddered. “Shut up you pathetic little--” Harvey gripped his hair with both hands, drew and exhaled long, slow breaths.

“Harvey?” Batman asked cautiously.

The man straightened. “The coin will decide,” said Harvey’s soft voice. In Batman’s rush of relief he took an involuntary step closer to the glass. “What we want never really matters in the end.”

“But it does, Harvey. You don’t need the coin to decide. Robin’s just a boy--you want to help him, I know you.”

“You think you do. Somehow you still think you do, old friend.”

The coin rolled over Harvey’s scar-ribbed knuckles, and then with a flick of his thumb it went spinning into the air.

It landed flat in his palm. Batman took care to maintain a neutral expression as Harvey barely glanced at the coin before sliding it back into his pocket.

“Try again tomorrow,” he said.

The coin. Typically, Harvey would have announced the coin’s answer as final, but this time...this felt like an invitation rather than a rejection. Bruce hesitated, but Harvey still hadn’t turned, and he thought better of expressing his gratitude. “White bishop to B4,” he said.

Harvey’s gaze drifted to the chessboard, and he was rubbing his chin thoughtfully as Batman disappeared down the corridor.

He refused to hear Joker’s singsong voice calling after him.

“Maybe I snatched your little birdie, did you ever think of that? Did you ever think of how creative I might get the second time around? Aren’t you running low on friends, Batsy? Friends visit each other, don’t they? Battsssyyyy...”

He didn’t look back, quickening his pace until he was out of earshot. He must have rendered himself blind and deaf to all but the call behind him, because he blinked once, and then at the end of the corridor stood someone who had not been there before.

Batgirl.

His initial stab of relief at the sight of her quickly vanished. He hurried toward her, taking care not to touch her as he herded her away from the inmates’ probing eyes. She tilted her head quizzically, but followed his lead and moved further around the corner.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.

Behind her full face mask she smiled at him, and she twirled, tossing her gaze around the tall, night-shadowed corridor.

He shook his head. “No. It isn’t safe.”

She shot him a glare that accused him of hypocrisy far more eloquently than words ever could, and then spun around to stalk down the corridor ahead of him. Batman sighed, and followed. Batgirl slipped between staff and camera angles seamlessly, never once spotted, even as Batman strode erect behind her.

Once they were outside the building, she was already moving, ready to leave by whichever path she had come.

“Batgirl,” he murmured.

She looked at him sharply. He tipped his head toward the Batmobile, and she hesitated only a moment before coming with him. He could sense her curiosity as the door automatically opened for her and she crawled inside. This was a first for her, and as she looked around at the blinking lights and dials, the open wonder she radiated lit a flicker of warmth in his chest.

“There’s someplace I want to show you,” he said. “You’ve earned the right, Batgirl.”

She flashed him a smile, her entire being lighting up the way it did every time he called her by that name. Oracle must have never seen it, or if she had, she just hadn’t understood.

It took a matter of moments for her to find the food compartment. She hesitated just long enough to yank off her mask before she started devouring the additional serving of leftovers that Alfred had slipped into the compartment.

Batman kept an eye on her as he drove. Her eagerness would be amusing if not for the faint gauntness that still traced her cheeks despite weeks of experiencing Barbara and Alfred’s combined culinary skills.

She was nearly finished when her eyes began to wander back toward the dials. One of her hands darted out toward the gleaming yellow button that would shower tacks in the Batmobile’s wake. Already his own hand had snapped out to grab her wrist before she could touch it.

His eye barely captured the motion as her hands flashed out to twist his wrist until bones creaked and pain split all the way up his arm. His vision blinked black.

The car swerved.

Her grip on his arm vanished as instantly as it had come, and he just barely managed to keep the car on the road as he slammed on the brake.

He looked at the girl--at her wide, terrified eyes. Whatever she had just seen in his face, she twisted around to grab the door handle. Batman pressed the lock just in time, and she wheeled to look at him again, she was terrified...

“It’s okay,” he said softly, raising his palms to her. “You didn’t hurt me.”

She didn’t believe the lie, he could tell, but some of the fear left her face--some of it. And tears were forming.

She yanked forcefully at the door handle, glaring at him. He shook his head.

“I’m taking you to my home,” he continued gently. “I want you to see it.” He hesitated, and added, “You don’t need to explain anything to me.”

He carefully pulled back onto the road. They were already nearly to the cave entrance. He could only hope the drive would be long enough that she wouldn’t bolt as soon as he opened her door.

He still didn’t know how much she understood, or what he could say even if she could. By the time the car was pulling around the final bend, he had said nothing, he was hopelessly tongue-tied, and he could only hope that Alfred could supply what he must have failed to. Batgirl still looked pale.

The foliage-camouflaged doors slid apart and the car passed into the cave. As they slowed into park, the giant penny was in view, and had already captured Batgirl’s full attention. Batman unlocked the doors, and they both stepped out.

“Greetings, Master Br...” Alfred faltered, taken aback at the sight of Batgirl in person for the first time at all, let alone in the cave. He looked to Bruce, who shrugged an apology.

“She’s one of us, now,” he said, and Alfred nodded his understanding.

“Miss Cassandra, I presume?”

She blinked at him in surprise--likely surprise that she hadn’t noticed him.

Alfred didn’t wait for a response that clearly wasn’t forthcoming. “This way, Miss Cassandra. I prepared a few humble delicacies that I suspect will find a far greater appreciation in you.”

Bruce knew that she had noticed the dinosaur display by the way she gasped, just as the boys had, so many years ago...

The cave settled into silence, to Alfred’s confusion.

And Cassandra was still avoiding Bruce’s gaze.

Decisively he stalked toward the sparring mat, unclipping his cape as he went. The girl’s eyes followed him. He turned around, and beckoned to her. His combat ready posture communicated his invitation, but she hesitated, her dark eyes fixed on him, unblinking.

“Sir,” Alfred said, “I’m sure that the young lady must be tired after a long night on the town. Surely a sparring session could wait for another time...”

“Batgirl,” Bruce said firmly, his gaze unshifting from hers.

Anger sparked in her face, and then, in less than a blink she had already reached him. She wasn’t holding back. With every rapidfire strike that he barely deflected, with hardly an opportunity to strike back in turn, her attacks were a deafening crescendo of violent but flawlessly balanced art. He had seen it from a distance before, but experiencing it face to face was like hearing it for the first time. Hearing her.

Every furious strike shouted what she wanted to say, every feint and jab--and he replied in turn. Deflecting--you can’t hurt me--receiving a jab with silence--I won’t be angry if you do--a return strike--what do you need from me.

At that, her attacks seemed to grow more ferocious.

Her fingers skated across his still-aching left forearm, and then darted toward his face. His own hand snapped out to knock her hand away. Every time before, her lightning-fast reflexes had let her slip away before he could even touch her.

His hand closed around her wrist.

His other hand was already coiling back for a counter strike--but she wasn’t pulling away.

He went as statue-still as she had, and met her eyes, which had locked on his. They were wide, afraid--but unflinching.

Pounding heartbeats passed before her other hand whipped out. Bruce resisted the reflex to flinch as she lightly struck his extended forearm and then her own. She shook her wrist in his grip fiercely with her teeth bared.

Bruce stared at the girl, at her chin tipped upward, her entire body braced for the injury she demanded. And expected.

He released her wrist instantly, his palm stinging as though he’d been burned. She still glared at him, all but trembling with...anger?

“If...I might interrupt,” Alfred’s voice said uncertainly. “There is a fine dinner upstairs that is more than enough for the two of you, if you would care to, ah...reconvene at a later time?”

Bruce blinked, and glanced at Alfred as though he’d just been woken from a dream; Cass hissed through her teeth to regain his attention.

“I expect the both of you to join me upstairs shortly,” Alfred said, already moving toward the stairs. “In typical human apparel, if that is not too much to ask.”

“We’ll join you in a minute, Alfred,” Bruce called, without turning, this time. He drew in and released a breath. “I’m inviting you to stay in my home, if you would like to. Barbara’s place will always be open to you, but...if you ever need help, in any way...I would like you to feel safe here.”

He hesitated, steeled himself, and then reached up to pull back his cowl.

She recoiled in open shock.

Bruce blinked. For a split second he thought she must have misunderstood his words, but then he knew. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, it was his face.

Still staring at him, she relaxed slightly, and shook herself.

Bruce would have showered and changed as Alfred had suggested, but now, looking at the girl, he knew with certainty that if he let her out of his sight she would be gone by the time he returned.

“Alfred’s dinner will be getting cold,” he said at last, tipping his head toward the stairs. “And I know you’re hungry.”

They both ascended the stairwell in full costume, save for their masks, and as Alfred saw them stepping out of the grandfather clock entrance into the study, he slanted Bruce a chastising look. Cass was absorbed in the new room, and especially the roaring hearth, and behind her, Bruce shrugged helplessly at Alfred, who tipped up his chin in his own version of a shrug.

“I took the liberty of inviting Miss Gordon to join us for the meal, but she should not arrive within the hour. Until then, I’m sure we could show the young lady around. She will be staying here for a time, will she not?” He didn’t wait for an answer before rounding Cass to enter her field of vision. “To begin with, we might find you a change of clothing.”

Bruce hadn’t realized how tense he was until Cass returned and he saw that he was dressed in a tattered Gotham Knights hoodie and sweatpants--his own old clothing. He caught Alfred’s gaze lingering on him and suspected that avoiding the boys’ wardrobe had been intentional.

He had changed in that time as well, into slacks and a black turtleneck. Cass eyed his own new apparel critically, and Bruce pretended not to notice. He suspected it would take time to understand his new charge’s peculiarities.

But she wasn’t his charge. She couldn’t be.

Still, after only one night of worrying over her he’d already weakened and let her into his cave, into his home. It was for her own protection, but Barbara would never let him hear the end of it.

“We’ve still some time to spend before Miss Gordon’s arrival. What say you two help me decorate for the rapidly approaching holiday?”

Bruce whipped toward Alfred with a glare that had made the hardest of convicts melt; Alfred didn’t blink. His own expression stern, he said, while still looking at Bruce, “It would be a shame indeed if we should fail to make her first celebrated Christmas something worth cherishing.”

 . . .

 The girl wasn’t gaining weight as quickly as she should have been after days of subjection to Alfred’s cooking. While she did grow bolder around her new housemates, she still drifted about the mansion like the shadow she was.

The girl had taken to spending her days at the manor and her nights alongside Batman, but Barbara kept in touch with her through video communications. Barbara seemed glad, if a bit tentative, about the new housing arrangement. Bruce was less glad of her acceptance than he’d first expected to be, but the girl’s well-being superseded half-hearted frustrations.

Bruce was emerging from a post-patrol shower when he saw Cass pulling something out of the box beside Jason’s memorial--Dick’s Robin costume. She whirled around, startled by his hasty approach. He faltered, tried to compose himself, but he already knew it was too late to hide his initial reaction. “You can’t touch these,” he said stiffly, carefully taking the costume from her hands to put it away.

“Wh...” he turned, startled at the sound of her voice, for the first time--somehow both wispy and hoarse. “Why,” she forced out, staring at him with her brows knitted together.

He stared back at first, then came to his senses. He glanced at the case, at Dick’s costume still in his hands. “These belong...belonged...to my partners. My Robins. I keep them in memory.”

She reached down to pick something up from beside the box, and Bruce tried not to flinch. Two old tree decorations, two childrens’ school projects. Cass pointed at the name on the back of the bat-shaped red cardboard with a boy’s grinning freckled face cropped to fit in the center. She pointed from the name on the back to the name at the base of the case, and looked at him.

He shut his eyes, and exhaled the renewed ache from his lungs.

“Jason. His name was Jason.”

He opened his eyes and saw in her face that she understood. Hesitantly she lifted the other ornament, a crudely cut bird bedazzled with multi-colored sequins, with Dick’s round face beaming at him from the center.

Alfred called from the far side of the room. “Miss Cassandra is about to help me find a suitable tree on the manor grounds. I don’t wish to impose, Master Bruce, but your contributed manpower would be greatly appreciated.”

Bruce took both ornaments from the girl’s reluctant hands.

An hour later they were shaking off the snow by the back door. Alfred insisted on wrapping the tree in a clean tarp before they ended up trailing needles all over the carpets, but at last the tree was in its place in the sitting room, and Cass, with wonder, was helping Alfred to decorate it. Alfred at least had the grace not to press Bruce into participating in that.

Bruce watched from beside the fire. Leaning against the now decorated mantle, its warmth flickering across his damp clothing, he studied Cassandra’s movements as she hooked antique ornaments onto the tree. She was favoring her left arm, just slightly. She hadn’t reported any injury to him...but she never did.

Barbara had been pressing him about that. “She worships you! If you mistreat yourself, what do you think that teaches her?”

Whether or not that was true, Barbara had implied there might be more to it. As though the girl might be hurting herself intentionally.

He watched careful hands decorate the tree with gleaming bits and bobs, and for just a moment, he might have been in a Christmas past. He might have seen flickering shades of familiar faces, shifting and changing and then leaving with each passing winter. His hand wandered into his pocket, his fingertips brushing against frayed paper. The two ornaments had found a place on the tree every Christmas before.

His weight shifted toward the tree, just a fraction. But he stopped. The ornaments were frail. It would be best to keep them someplace safe. Out of sight.

His hand was still in his pocket when the nearest phone rang.

“I’ll get it, Alfred,” he said, already halfway toward the stand down the hall. “Wayne residence,” he said into the receiver distractedly, prepared to hang up immediately if it proved to be a reporter or crank caller.

After a few breaths of silence, he began to pull it away from his ear.

“They’re somewhere in East Norway,” said a quick, muffled voice. The voice was young. “I lost track of them after the Vardo motel. You--you need to hurry before Deathstroke moves him again.”

Bruce’s heart stopped. His mind spun with a thousand questions, but something nagging, and a little desperate, dragged his mind back to the voice.

“Do I know you?” he asked. His brow furrowed in puzzlement at his own question.

He heard a shaky breath through the receiver, and then a click.

Bruce stood there for a dazed instant, but then shook himself. He shouldn’t still be hearing ghosts.

He raced toward the clock to descend into the cave without looking at the startled faces behind him. “Batcomputer,” he called as he made down the stairs three at a time, “Call Oracle.”

He hadn’t even reached the computers before her voice responded. “Oracle speaking.”

“I need you to trace the last call to the manor. Hurry.”

“Already on it. It came from a payphone in Bergen, Norway.”

“Computer. Transmit automatic call recording to Oracle.”

“Recording received.”

In the pause that followed Bruce began computer analysis on the region in question.

“Batman...” Oracle said cautiously, “this seems a little overly...convenient. I just want you to consider the possibility that this might be a deliberate ruse to draw you away from Gotham--or away from wherever Deathstroke actually is.”

“It’s real,” he said. Even if he couldn’t pinpoint the reason, he’d never been more certain of anything in his life.

“Gotham can’t afford you wasting your time on another red herring. Cass can’t afford you to.”

“She has you.”

“That won’t be enough, Bruce.”

“You were the one who was so certain he was in Europe.” He hissed out, recalling her insistence on the significance of those zip-ties. “Or have you decided he isn’t worth saving anymore?”

He heard her suck in a sharp breath, followed by a silence. “That isn’t fair,” she said with cold quiet. “You know better than that. Of course we’ll help him, but you can’t keep jumping at shadows!”

“I’d appreciate Oracle’s eyes overseas, but I’ll go with or without them. Do not make me regret letting you in on this.”

“Bruce--”

He terminated the call.

He could equip himself and be gone within a few minutes. He could continue his research on the way.

He straightened, and stilled. He looked to his left, at Alfred and Cassandra watching him from the stairs. “I’m following a lead,” he said, deliberately pulling his gaze away from Alfred’s disappointed expression. “Don’t expect me back for a few days.”

It would take precious time to pick up Deathstroke’s trail. He would miss Christmas, but in exchange he might bring home one of the two people who had once made the holiday worth celebrating.

He had turned to head for the suit when a hand tugged at his arm. Cass looked at him firmly, jabbed a thumb into her chest and then pointed out beyond the both of them.

He looked her in the eye and shook his head with equal firmness. “This is something I need to do alone. Alfred and Barbara will look after you.”

She didn’t let go of his arm. He had to pull away, and he didn’t look back.

He wasn’t jumping at shadows or ghosts. Not anymore.

  . . .

  His left side fluctuated between waves of burning heat and numbness. He blinked as light pushed against the black, fuzzy edges of his vision, and forced his arms to push him up from the snow. One inch, then another.

His head was so heavy he could barely lift it--and then he saw him again. His boy. Dick was standing so close he could almost touch him.

He reached, and staggered.

“Di--” he broke off, the name catching in his throat. His vision blinked out again. He slipped. “R...Robin...” he ground out, pleading.

Dick was staring at him again, with that pale, hunted expression. Deathstroke leaned down, murmured something to the boy. Dick looked away, and Bruce felt as though something had been ripped out of his chest. Dick was walking around the corner, out of his sight.

Blackness returned.

   + - + - + - + - +

   Alfred busied his hands with sifting and mixing, glancing at the cookbook only occasionally in case old age had begun wearing the finer details of cookie baking from his memory. Most other memories remained so clear and fresh that even on this Christmas, he found himself turning and expecting to see a different young face than the one that had perched barefoot upon the island counter behind him. Beyond her dark hair and youth, Cassandra bore little resemblance to any of his boys.

Still, there might have been something in her stare that reminded him of his first.

Alfred turned back to his task, which he had designed to remove that particular boy from the minds of both of the Manor’s remaining residents.

Cassandra was still wearing the oversized pajamas and tousled bed head he had found her with when he’d given up on waiting and gone up to rouse her himself less than an hour before. He had guided the sullen young lady to the kitchen with promises of breakfast pudding, and subsequently tasked her with test-tasting the chocolate chips he would soon add to the recipe if she deigned to leave him any.

He had politely requested that the young lady perch herself upon one of the provided stools, rather than his otherwise spotless counter, but she had either misunderstood or deliberately ignored him. It being Christmas, he had let the matter be.

Soon Miss Gordon would join them for the evening dinner. The master of the house was not expected.

Alfred had already resolved not to be disappointed, or angered, or afraid. It was Christmas, after all, and young Miss Cassandra’s first.

The holiday had meant something to the other two children Bruce had brought to their door.

To Dick, the Manor’s celebration had borne a confusing and bittersweet mismatch of similarities and differences to that of his circus family, who had been tight-knit but uncommonly isolated. Nevertheless, Dick Grayson had brought Christmas back to Wayne manor.

As for Jason...well. It had been both joy and sorrow to see his face when he first came down that morning.

Alfred drew a shuddering breath and forced his trembling hands to continue their task.

He forcibly turned his thoughts back toward more untarnished memories, though they still ached. He chose to remember how Dick had once used his uneven but spirited voice to fill the place with carols. Not that first subdued year, but in the ones that followed. His mother had liked to sing them, the boy had said, when Alfred had first caught him at it. The explanation had seemed almost defensive, but no murmur of complaint from any party ever rose against the habit.

Their little songbird had quieted before he left.

Alfred hummed lightly to himself as he began to dole out teaspoonfuls of batter onto the cookie sheet, demonstrating to her as he went. Her hand darted out quick as a flash and she already had the stolen batter in her mouth by the time Alfred leveled her with a scolding look. She smiled mischievously around her finger. Alfred forgave her. He continued his humming until the bowl was empty and the cookies had escaped Cassandra’s eager hands to find their home in the oven.

He piled newly dirtied bowls into the sink and set about his finishing task. A favored carol nudged to the forefront of his mind, and his humming turned to a murmured tune.

“I heard the bells on Christmas day, their old familiar carols play, and wild and sweet, the words repeat of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

He continued through stanzas as the poet mourned a country at war, which any old soldier would have little trouble relating to.

“And in despair I bowed my head; ‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said; for hate is strong, and mocks the song of peace on earth, good-will to men!

“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: ‘God is not dead, nor doth He sleep; the Wrong shall fail, the Right prevail, with peace on earth, good-will to men.”

Alfred’s shoulders relaxed fractionally as he spoke the final verse, and the precious hope gleaming within it. Every prayer he made, and he prayed near as often as he breathed these days, he prayed in the same hope as that of the poet’s. Whether he and those he loved might see that hope actualized in their lifetimes was a different, unpromised hope that he nonetheless prayed for, desperately.

He heard soft humming behind him: rasping, and faintly discordant like an uncertain tune. He turned in delight to see Cassandra, her brows knitted together thoughtfully as she forced out the notes.

She didn’t look at him, but her notes grew more halting, until just barely, her lips parted.

“Aai,” she forced out in a thin croak, and her brows flew up, startled. She blinked, sucked in a breath, and tried again, “...Aii hhu--”

She broke off, staring at the floor, blinking furiously.

“That was beautiful, Miss Cassandra,” Alfred said gently.

Her face contorted. She shook her head fiercely, and before Alfred could blink she was already gone.

  + - + - + - +

  Batgirl squeezed further into the crevice sheltered by the stacked boxes in a shadowed corner of the cave, and waited. Batman’s gentle friend--Alfred, he had called him--knew she was in the cave. He had come down after her, looking around and repeating that name they kept calling her. She refused to answer to it.

She would wait until it was time for Alfred to drive her into Gotham so that she could work again. Anything else was just waiting, and only Batman understood that. She buried her face in her arms, scowling. He should have let her go with him. Without him, without the work, she was just...being. It wasn’t enough.

But ‘being’ in the crevice, in the silence surrounded by nothing to drown out the boiling mess in her chest, was worse.

But Alfred was still in the cave, talking quietly to the computer. To Oracle?

Oracle wouldn’t understand. Oracle wanted her to speak, and she was tired of trying. Tired of wanting to, and failing. Oracle couldn’t see her like this. They already wanted to pity her. They shouldn’t.

So she waited.

Oracle came down into the cave, and called for her.

Batgirl waited.

If Batman didn’t come soon, she would slip out and go back to the city on foot. Work there, do something to justify being until he came back. He would come back.

She snapped to alertness as soon as she heard it: a roaring approaching the cave, entering it. Batman’s plane.

She pushed out of the crevice and bolted toward the landing pad. Alfred was already there, barely three paces away. He didn’t even notice her. The plane shuddered and went silent. The top hatch opened, and Batman, with slow, labored movements, emerged and began to descend the platform.

He was three steps from the floor when his left leg buckled under him.

Batgirl lunged for him. His faltering body had warned her only a fraction of a second early, and she only caught his shoulders before they both tumbled to the floor.

Alfred kneeled beside them and pushed back Batman’s cowl. Batgirl stared at his sweat-beaded face, unconscious. Alfred was saying the same name again and again, as if that would make Batman’s eyes open. He cupped Batman’s face, pressed fingers against his neck, and then slumped slightly in relief.

She helped him drag Batman’s weight toward the gurney, but even she grunted at the effort of hauling him onto the surface. Alfred immediately set about cutting away the burned and shredded costume along Batman’s side, revealing warped, inflamed flesh. Alfred barely hesitated before continuing his work, rifling through bottles and pads.

Batgirl stood with empty, helpless hands, and watched. Even as Alfred poked and prodded, Batman didn’t stir.

He was utterly helpless. Even a child could have killed him.

But Alfred moved with a purpose that told her Batman wouldn’t die. He couldn’t.

The girl watched, and waited.

#Merry Christmas! #bruce wayne #dick grayson #cassandra cain #barbara gordon #jason todd #alfred pennyworth #batfam #bat family #batman #slade wilson #deathstroke #harvey dent #bad company #bad company ch 19 #my writing

[monstroum]

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙷𝚄𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝙸𝚂 𝙰 𝙿𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙵𝚄𝙻 𝚂𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙾𝙵 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳, 𝙿𝙸𝚂𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚆𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚁. 𝙸 𝙵𝙴𝙰𝚁 𝙸𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴, 𝙼𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙻𝚈 𝙿𝙸𝚂𝚂. / harvey dent 

harvey fluttered his lashes, surprised by jonathan crane’s hostility: he hadn’t expected a warm welcome from arkham’s administrator , after all , harvey had been quite vocal about the need to investigate the manner in which the asylum’s funds and resources were being utilized in order to understand why some of gotham city’s most vulnerable citizens were being continuously failed. but to be called a pitiful sack of piss ? dent couldn’t help but scoff.

              he lingered there, on the other side of crane’s desk, half in disbelief, half in anticipation. when he realised no apology would be offered, something within his chest squirmed ; it pushed and pulled against the bars of harvey’s ribcage, asking to be let out. his dazzling vote-winning smile faltered and, for a moment, he pondered why he should be allowed to be spoken to like that. he was bigger than jonathan, he was stronger than him ... why should he let him leave that office in one piece? harvey had essentially been spat in the face ... why should crane be spared from spilling that blood, piss and water that he spoke of? he reached into his blazer’s pocket.

when he pulled his hand back out, he was met with a shiny silver dollar. his thumb brushed over lady liberty’s face. when he glanced back at jonathan, dent looked a lot less upset. “  ──  is that your professional opinion, doctor ? ”  he asked with a half-smile. “ i’d say it’s a good thing for gotham that you chose to direct your attention towards psychiatry rather than anatomy. but that would be a lie . ”  the district attorney smirked before playfully flipping his coin and pocketing it once again. 

@arkhampsych​

#* answered . #* arkhampsych . #* ch. writings : harvey dent . #* verse : to be added #dent was upsetti spaghetti for a moment there #eat a snickers harvey you're not you when you're hungry

[monstroum]

12. 𝙼𝚈 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝚂𝙻𝙰𝙼𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚂 𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽𝚂𝚃 𝙰 𝚆𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙳.  / for harvey dent

the fall from grace is much faster than the climb, and harvey dent couldn’t tell you what he was thinking when he grabbed oswald cobblepot by the collar of his very expensive shirt and slammed him against one of the back walls of the iceberg lounge. he knew he would get caught, he knew how vengeful os could be and how far his goons were willing to go to protect him and his money  ──  and yet, to have him like this, pinned against dark bricks, getting soaked in the city’s heavy rain, squirming ... it hurt to admit, but it made harvey feel righteous. “ five people dead this time , oswald , five ! because of you ! the bodies have not even been buried and here you are , waiting for your next champagne shipment . ” his hand tightened its’ grip on the fabric of his collar, twisting the cotton fibers beneath his fingers. harvey looked as if he hadn’t slept in days ... maybe even weeks.

“ you sure got a knack for dodging jail , i’ll give you that . ” despite the dark bags beneath his eyes , dent still manages to flash a dazzling smile. it’s his left hand which breaks his charming spell. “ but there ain’t no dodging this. ” a gun is pressed against oswald’s cheek; it fits nicely between his cheekbone and jaw, as if it was meant to be there. in the dark, the district attorney’s left eye looks pitch black ... he doesn’t seem to be all there. but how could any man remain sane when faced with such indifference    ──   with such injustice ? the batman claimed to be a remedy for gotham’s greatest illness but men like cobblepot never got what they deserved, not really.

harvey’s dimpled smile persisted, even when he unlocked the gun.

his free hand could not resist diving into his blazer’s pocket and presenting his friend to a beautiful silver dollar.

“ heads, i miss. tails  ──  ” he turned it over. “ the house wins.”

@arcticrime

#* answered . #* ch. writings : harvey dent . #* verse : to be added #* arcticrime . #tw : guns #(???maybe???) #harvey is just a bit cranky. he just needs a nap. #sorry idk......where this came from.

[monstroum]

❛   𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳 .   𝙷𝙾𝙻𝙳  𝙾𝚄𝚃  𝙰  𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝙵𝙾𝚁  𝙼𝚈  𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴  𝚃𝙾  𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴 . / 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚅𝙴𝚈 𝙳𝙴𝙽𝚃

the hand is there, held out for him to take; a friendly gesture offering harvey an escape from the living room’s rug. the yellow lights illuminate bruce’s hand but don’t reach his face, not really. instead, harvey is left staring at two black pits, dark eyes hidden in darker shadows. it doesn’t feel like a comforting sight. instead bruce ( his dear , dear friend bruce ! ) looks like something else: something judgemental, something vengeful. mismatched eyes flutter their lashes as dent remains on all fours. “ just a second bruce i’m    ── ” the district attorney hangs his head once more, abandoning his explanation to continue searching for something in the thick fibers of his rug. 

some of his dark locks stick to the back of his neck, suggesting sweat. how long had he been doing this? one hour? two? harvey didn’t know, he wasn’t checking his watch. he should though, he had an interview today. or was it yesterday? had he really said yes to daytime tv? no, right? oh god, had he flipped a coin? dent’s hands nervously brushed through the rug, sunk their fingers into it. “ just give me a second . ” the DA said as he turned away from bruce, sounding more assertive this time.

                          everything was under control; he’d find it. there was no way harvey would go out there without it, absolutely out of the question. he had dropped it from his pocket while getting up from the couch, that’s all, no big deal. his hands began to shake; the more he felt up that rug the more impatient he seemed to become. having bruce wayne staring at the back of his skull didn’t fucking help, what was he doing there anyway?

“ i need to find    ──   i can’t go without  ──   oh, where the fuck is it ?! ” 

@nycterent​

#* answered . #* verse : to be added #* ch. writings : harvey dent . #* nycterent . #harvey on all 4s after he finds his coin: twerks #he's having a little meltdown bruce it's alright #he's fine

[monstroum]

❝ You have no idea what’s happening here, do you? ❞ @ harvey

rain drips from harvey's trench-coat creating a small trail of water , following him all the way from the door to where he currently stands . though oswald is speaking to him , the district attorney is far more concerned trying to peek over the shorter man's head and into the warm private room behind him . harvey thinks he can spot a few familiar faces sitting around a poker table ━━ some boys in blue , crime family members , a newscaster , heck , even some members of his own office are shuffling through cards .

dent is quick to run his fingers through his ink black hair , combing back some of the strands glued to his soaked forehead . those bastards . THOSE FUCKING BASTARDS ; just that morning he had shaken hands with them . harvey ought to take a hammer and shatter their bones 'til the marrow was showing , spare the city from their fake smiles by clawing each and every one of their teeth out . harvey tries to swallow down his frustration .

" no , but i'm sure you'll fill me in any minute now . " dent replies , nostrils a'flarin' . he can't pull his mismatched eyes away from the scene . truth be told , harvey doesn't care what explanation oswald might offer up ; above all else he wants the men inside to not leave unscathed ; this thought which frightens him . a second passes . then another one . finally dent can't hold any longer . he reaches for his coin gazes down at its' silver face , brushing a thumb over lady liberty's profile . his wide blue eyes finally meet cobblepot's . " invite me in . " he doesn't sound like he's asking .

@arcticrime

#* answered . #* arcticrime . #* ch. writings : harvey dent . #* verse : to be added #not ONE threat on oswald's life here #they're frénds they really are

[monstroum]

‘   𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸𝚃 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚆𝚂, 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝚃’𝚂 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙸𝚃 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴𝙻𝚈 𝙺𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚈𝙾𝚄...   ‘ / 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚅𝙴𝚈

dent’s eyebrow’s shot up. the woman sitting across from him had just witnessed to a heated phone call ( embarrassing to say the least , to lose his temper in front of someone who was less than an acquittance to him ) between him and an arkham spokesperson. her observation, however, had caught harvey off guard. something about it felt ominous and the district attorney couldn’t help but wonder if ms. albright was trying to threaten him. a cog in his brain, rusty and faulty, clicked the wrong way; perhaps he ought to bare his teeth at her, bark something back, SHOW HER THAT HE WAS NOT TO BE MESSED WITH. but harvey sat back and slid one of his hands into one of his blazer’s pockets.

there she was ; a silver dollar .

          the moment he brushed his thumb over the coin, that ugly thought was tamed. lately it had become hard to ignore that part of him   ──   a violent fury dent had, no doubt, inherited from his father’s side. but he dealt with it the only way he knew how; by putting on his best vote-winning smile and deescalating.   “  ──  perhaps you ought to look into changing your major, ms. albright. you certainly seem to have a future in the psychiatric field . ”   he joked. harvey dent looked comfortable in his office chair, but in the depths of his pocket, his fingers continued to nervously turn and squeeze that coin. HIS COIN.    “ i’m sorry you had to hear that. i’m, uh, ”   his smile faltered for a second. “ i’ve got it under control . ” but, just like that, it came back, wide and confident and warm, dent looked like a guy you could trust your life with. a moment of silence arose between them as dent looked into becky’s hazel eyes. 

        “ you want anything? water? coffee? ”

@fearthanked​

#* answered . #* fearthanked . #* ch. writings : harvey dent . #* verse : to be added #idk wha t happened h ere #but dent needs a vacation

[monstroum]

to harvey: ‘   Here we are, bunch of psychopaths helping each other out!   ‘

there's an open window somewhere in arkham . most inmates walking around the cafeteria would not notice , but harvey did . it's the air , you see . the weakest draft causes the burnt flesh on his cheek to recoil and pulsate with pain . there was even a time when dent worried something might ooze from his scarred half ... but not anymore . now all he worries about is ESCAPING THAT HELL HOLE ; to be free to hunt down all who had wronged him , all who had wronged the city and all who would do wrong in the future .

THE JOKER would not be spared from a coin toss . despite them sharing the same interest of getting out of arkham asylum , harvey had grown to despise him . there were too many shades to that madman , too many faces ... the coin in his pocket only had one . he cannot conceptualise co-existing with someone who rebels instead of seeking the hidden truth of the universe ━━ that chance rules them all . butterflies and hurricanes , babes and graves , beauty and beast ... the origin is always the same . the joker is alive because of sheer luck .

but if you flip a coin enough times , eventually you will get tails . he mentions psychopaths helping each other out and harvey dent cannot help but glare at his lunch buddy from the corner of his eye . they share the same table but THEY ARE NOT THE SAME . " speak to me again , clown and we'll flip a coin on which row of teeth you get to keep . " harvey snarled through a clenched jaw .

@zingers

#* answered . #* zingers . #* ch. writings : harvey dent . #* verse : to be added #i love clown #harvey??? not so much

[monstroum]

to harvey: ‘   Words are living things. They have personality, point of view, agenda.   ‘ ( early days? who's to say )

dent scoffs before turning to hand bruce a generous glass of scotch . he doesn't usually appreciate people dropping by his office on non-official matters ( he wants to prove to gotham that he's serious ) , but bruce had been a good friend to him ; despite his wealthy background , harvey knew the wayne heir really wanted to make a difference . he wasn't all talk like so many of the people surrounding him nowadays ... the guy was willing to put his money where his mouth was and , in gotham , that was a truly rare sight .

" yeah well , feels like my words got a view directly towards a god damn brick wall . " harvey chuckled . he did that often : deflect serious topics with levity . bruce did that too , he had noticed . god forbid the two of them actually being vulnerable with each other .  ━━ but the district attorney was used to this ; everyone wore some type of mask , his just had a whole lot more to hide than bruce's .

harvey's dazzling smile slowly faded though . he ached to share ... ached to be his full self rather than just sharing HALVES OF HIS PERSONALITY . mismatched eyes pulled away from his friend's face to focus on his drink instead . two blocks of ice clinked against glass . dent scoffed again , refusing to give into the gloom crawling up his throat . " some of these guys i talk to , bruce ... you have no idea . " harvey said , shaking his head . " they make up obstacle after obstacle just so nothing changes ! they don't care what happens to this place as long as they can keep their pockets full . " he sounded increasingly frustrated .

" sometimes i wish i could just ━━ " harvey trails off , realising his next words were far from democratic . sometimes he'd fantasise about violence towards the corrupt . and sometimes , in the quietness of his mind , he'd call that violence by the name of justice . dent glanced at bruce ... and seeing himself reflected in the other man's expression reeled him back to reality . " i don't know . " harvey took a long sip .

@batsie

#* answered . #* batsie . #* verse : to be added #* ch. writings : harvey dent . #harv: i weAR A MASK bruce.....a bIG SCARY MASK.....yoU WOULDN'T GET IT #i'm so funny

[monstroum]

𝚂𝙸𝚃 .  𝙶𝙴𝚂𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴  𝙵𝙾𝚁  𝙼𝚈  𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴  𝚃𝙾  𝚂𝙸𝚃  𝙳𝙾𝚆𝙽 . ( from bruce, for harvey. ) ​​​

Harvey made sure to set his scotch down before taking the chair Bruce Wayne had offered him. He wanted to be sharp for this next interaction.

The man sitting across from him was a rare sight to most gothamites; more ghost than man these days, Wayne rarely showed his face in social events such as these. People were laughing and dancing while Bruce sat in a dark corner with his drink, brooding over melted ice. Harvey, despite being flattered by the millionaire’s attention, could not help but to feel extremely weary of him. Bruce Wayne had inherited a lot of money after his parents’ death ( a tragic happening which had become imprinted into Gotham’s history ) . But such a vast amount of wealth could not have possibly be earned through moral and just means.

Because Bruce did not flaunt his money through cars or jets or whatever it was rich folk liked to ride these days, it made Harvey wonder just what Wayne could be using his power and influence on. Something secret, something heavy ... something illegal, no doubt.

              “ I wanted to thank you for your endorsement, Mr. Wayne. Having Gotham’s eyes and ears on me can be a challenging task but certainly not unwelcome. I want as many people as possible to know that there are people fighting for her fair and square. ”

Harvey sounded sincere. Piercing blue eyes made sure to remain hooked on Bruce’s darker ones, if only to make sure Gotham’s prince knew that he appreciated the publicity. But after a moment of silence, Dent leaned back against his chair and slipped a hand into one of his pockets.

            “ Which is why I want you to stop . ”  Harvey smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.   “ Let’s cut to the chase, Wayne, this little performance of yours is not going to benefit you or your pals down at the golf club, alright? I’ve had plenty of guys like you along the way, trying to grease me up with free refills and pats on the back. ” 

He had become more relaxed while speaking, less like a public figure and more like a man made of flesh and bone. Dent did not trust Bruce Wayne. He did not trust anyone with as much power as he had to be fuelled by good intentions, NOT IN GOTHAM. Men in his position needed to choose very carefully who to befriend. And as Bruce sat there alone, looking dark and moody and grave, Dent could not help but get the creeps; WHAT WAS BRUCE WAYNE’S POISON?

         “ --- Pains me to say it, but this scotch is wasted on me. ”

@requitals​​

#* answered . #* ch. writings : harvey dent . #* requitals . #* requitals : bruce wayne . #* verse : IF I HELD MY BREATH ON YOU ! #harvey stop swinging at everyone rich person u meet pls

[monstroum]

it’s lunch time in gotham and spring gifts the city’s skies with a kind baby blue shade. no clouds, no rain, harvey’s home almost looked like any other metropolis in america. almost. as he walked down the courthouse’s hallway, the district attorney could not bring himself to stop and enjoy the view of a sunlit skyline. he looked straight ahead, focused, lost in deep thought as he made his way towards the elevator. 

harvey had been working non-stop: his attempts at forcing criminal families out of hiding and onto the defendant seat had showed little results. some, yes, but not as fast nor efficiently as he’d like. corruption was clogging up the system, dent didn’t know who he could actually count on. it would seem one of the few people that he truly trusted was A MASKED VIGILANTE and he thought that was a good indicator of just how rotten gotham had gotten.

the elevator opens its doors and, as a few people step out, someone catches harvey’s eye. a small woman; her clothes looked expensive and, even from a distance, dent could tell she was pretty. real pretty. but the more he stared, the more he realised just how familiar she looked   ---    harvey didn’t know her , but he knew who she was. as the elevator’s metallic doors began to close, the DA rushed to stick his foot inside, opening them back up.

                 “   señorita rendón ! what a pleasant surprise .  ”   he greeted her with a dazzling smile.    “  going down ?  ”   instead of waiting for an answer, harvey immediately pressed the bottom button. it lit up and mr. dent was quick to direct his attention back to beatríz.    “  my team and i have been meaning to speak to your husband but it seems that , no matter how hard we try , we just cannot get a hold of him ! i’m starting to think he’s avoiding me .  ”    harvey smirked. truth of the matter was elio rendón was yet another parasite feeding off of whatever was left of gotham’s carcass. he needed to face the consequences of his actions, needed to be brought to justice and it needed to be done THE RIGHT WAY. 

           “ i’m sorry . i’m harvey , harvey dent . ” a hand was offered to shake.

@anoranzas​​

#* anoranzas . #* anoranzas : 01 / harvey dent . #* ch. writings : harvey dent . #gosh i hope this is ok friend #harvey dent has big american jock energy but he's good i promise #let me know if you need me to edit anything for you #and i will #iN a HeArTbEaT #* verse : IF I HELD MY BREATH ON YOU !

[monstroum]

the cold air hit him like a slap to the face. 

dent had been smiling and shaking hands for over three hours now. most of those he had socialised with that evening were familiar to him but very few could be trusted. it left a sour taste in his mouth, to know that some of the folks he had been rubbing shoulders with benefited in some way from gotham’s corruption. entire wealths had been birthed through blackmail and blood --- harvey wanted to escape that place. but, if his home was to be saved, he needed to endure all the meaningless toasts and fake laughs, needed to look them in the eye and tell them: I AM THE NEW GOTHAM.

                               laughter and music spilled out onto the moonlit balcony. there were new arrivals to the city’s winter garden and a nice little ceremony had been organised. people talked about attempts at making gotham a greener city but as harvey took in the view, all he could see was a metropolis bathed in DARKNESS ; a long night laid ahead but dent was willing to endure it in order to watch the sun rise ... he dumped the rest of his drink onto a nearby ashtray.

his right hand had been hiding in his pants’ pocket for the most of the night. when he looked down at it, he saw his trusted coin, gazing back at him. harvey stood like that for a few seconds, running his thumb over silver over and over again. eventually, he exhaled.   “   heads , you stay . tails , you fuck off .   ”   harvey mumbled. he flipped the silver dollar, and caught it in one quick move. but before he could check his luck, he noticed a woman lingering a few meters away from him.   “  woops ! my bad . thought i was alone .  ”   harvey said, quickly straightening his back and offering his best dazzling smile. he didn’t recognise her nor did he remember seeing her amidst all of gotham’s socialites which was odd. he felt like he would have remembered a face like that.

 “   --- you having fun ?   ” 

@apoison​

#* apoison . #* apoison : 01 / harvey dent . #* ch. writings : harvey dent . #* verse : IF I HELD MY BREATH ON YOU ! #this took 200 years #i hope this is ok fdhjsfb #pls let me know if you'd like me to edit anything x