Chapter Text
They gave him a deck of cards as a way to expand his options. 78 possibilities to be drawn at any moment to replace the two he’d been relying on for dramatic effect because his therapist could not handle a yes/no answer.
The first few days with the deck were beyond frustrating for Harvey. He spent a few minutes trying to piece together the meaning of the numbers and images before giving up immediately, much to his doctor’s dismay.
"No, fuck-wit, listen to me. Shuffle them but don’t flip them." Harv, however, had taken a liking to the free entertainment the tarot provided.
After a disastrous incident with the cards occurred when Harvey tried to use them for some simple decision-making, Harv took the initiative to figure out their meanings. The personality learned the never-ending combinations of possibilities offered by the universe by a few mystically inclined inmates then exchanged these answers, from the universe, for junk food in the third-floor bathroom.
“Yeah, yeah just like that. Now pick three and line them up,” he chewed the end of the traded lollipop stick between his teeth in thought while his sucker waited patiently for their reading.
Harv sat on the floor, which was relatively clean, and leaned his head back against the metal sink behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt a familiar migraine start to work its way in. Harvey was prone to anxiety, especially when he felt like he was missing anything important. Harv was currently skipping group to focus on his little scheme, which only added to his anxiety.
“Ok, yeah. Looks simple. You had a cushy past, a good family that did what they could for a loser like you-ugh,” Harv tried not to gag as the tell-tale scent of guilt hit his nose.
Despite the toilet’s clinical cleanliness, the fumes started to fill his lungs. With the acidic coil of uncertainty rolling in his gut, Harv continued.
“Looks like your current says that fucking that all up was on you but hey, welcome to the club.
What got you? Gambling? Maybe, in the landro mat backrooms. The cards weren’t looking too good back then so you moved up, needed more money to shake dice so got yourself a job pushing crank. Life was good for a bit but then it got out that you’ve been eating by yourself at the big boy's table and you’re here till what’s left of your family can cough up the dough while you stew for a bit.
The good news though, is that you got death in your future.”
At the horrified look on his customer’s face, Harv was just about to backtrack and explain why death was a good deal when the bathroom door interrupted him with a hideous creak.
“Well, that sounds rather grim,” their intruder voiced with a sly curl to his smile.
Harv narrowed his eyes on the man and expected his silent message to ‘fuck off’ to be received, but the guest rudely pushed himself past the two men currently sprawled out across the floor.
“Can’t you piss anywhere else? We’re busy here!”
On his way to the furthest stall, Jonathan’s rubber clogs tried to catch a few of the cards but Harv was quick to save them before his spread could get kicked out of order. Pissed, Harv stood up to toss the other out on his ass, but Jonathan locked the stall door behind him before he could get further.
“I will only be a second,” Jonathan called before busying himself within the stall.The sound of porcelain being moved and repositioned piqued Harv’s curiosity so he waited patiently for Jonathan to return with a small yellow canister in hand.
“What the fuck do you have there?” Suddenly the smell that turned his gut was filling the tight space with its cloying scent, “Shit, it smells awful!”
Jonathan didn’t react as he was more focused on shaking the can near his ear. A soft rattle echoed from the container and caused him to frown, “Hmm, not much left.”
It wasn’t until Harv pulled his shirt to his face to stave off the smell of leaking gas that Jonathan finally acknowledged him.
“Smell?” Having spent too long absorbed in its contents, its creator did not register the acrid ooze that now clouded the bathroom. “That explains the low levels.”
Jonathan sighed, disappointed that his stash was too compromised to be used for escape, “must have been leaking for some time. How long have you been using this restroom for your card game?”
The other man smelled like piss and sanitizer; sharp and overpowering it spiked Harvey’s anxiety to the point he nearly ran them out of the room if Harv wasn’t so determined to stand his ground.
“You keep that in here?”
Harvey got his answer in a half-formed shrug and a slow examination under the mad-doctors scrutiny. Jonathan stepped into his space and dipped his head to peek at Harv’s dilated pupils before he got shoved away like a pesky fly.
“Fuck off straw-sack. I’ll snitch if that shit gave me brain damage.”
The snarl on Harv’s faces finally sparked some sense of wariness into Jonathan’s damaged fight/flight response. He couldn’t exactly escape without his kneecaps.
“I can get you a penny for your troubles.”
To anyone else this would be an insult but within Arkham’s wall it was desirable contraband for a single patient. With Harvey on the roster all coins were banned from the building along with the removal of any cash-operated vending machines.
“A penny?” Harv mused before shaking his head, “you can’t flip a penny.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes in disbelief, “Of course, you can flip a penny, what’s wrong with pennies?”
“They’re too small!”
“Too small?”
“Too small for your thumbs. I always drop them off when I do. Do you know how embarrassing it is to flip a penny and have to wait for it to stop rolling all over the ground to see where it lands?”
“They are not too big for anyone’s thumb’s. What sort of macho insecurity inspires the idea that your hands can be too big to-“
Jonathan’s outrage was snuffed by Harv’s as the larger, and far stronger, man grabbed his wrist and yanked him in. Jonathan was surprised to find Harv's hand on his. He expected to be knocked into next week but was met with a broad palm enveloping his own chewed-up fingers.
Beyond the terrifying thought that Harvey completely dwarfed Jonathan in size he noticed that the man's hand was a work of art.
It was strong and rough, with twisting pink scars that spoke of the start to his life of crime. Despite its strength, there was a surprising amount of gentleness to it, a care that could be felt when it brushed against skin. It was warm, radiating heat like a furnace.
When Harv finally pulled away their fingers brushed and the sensation sent shivers down Jonathan’s spine. He did not hear a single word that was spoken to him.
“Maybe you can flip a penny, but there's a reason why I pack silver dollars. You feel me?”
Jonathan felt something, but he was already busy unpacking the nervous flutter in his chest whenever he was around Jervis. A second sledgehammer to the shaky foundation of his repression was not going to help him escape this infernal hospital.
“Fine-yes. I’ll find you one,” there was no promise he would but that didn’t seem to bother Harv.
“And you’ll find a new dig to hide your stash in. I don’t like that shit messing with my head,” there was no room for negotiation there.
Jonathan wanted to argue that Harv could find a new location for his fortune reading but he did not have the build to back himself if things turned physical.
“I’m sure I can find a loose vent,” he agreed before excusing himself from the room with the canister cradled in one hand and the other pressed against his beating chest.