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"Doc, if you're just gonna keep staring at the wall, I'm gonna take a nap."
You blink, pinching the bridge of your nose, having completely lost track of the conversation. You wave a hand and mutter an apology. Spacing out, real professional. You blink again, turning your attention to Harvey who was now poised on the couch as if to take a nap. Try as he might, he still glances over to you in a minute display of concern. It makes your lips twitch.
A nap sounded fantastic though.
"Sorry, where were we?" You ask, slipping your glasses back on.
"The ethics of Twinkies," he answers gruffly, turning to the ceiling.
You huff, "how exactly did we end up there?" The question was more to yourself though you had a few ideas. Thought exercises pertaining to ethics and laws, as you'd discovered, was the best way to get Harvey to start talking, especially if he was in a bad mood and you suspect that was in fact the case given he's drilling holes into the ceiling with his glare. You spin the pen in your hand, trying to wrangle your focus. It works a little but you wouldn't trust yourself to deal with Eddie's riddles today. You groan inwardly. As much as you love dealing with Eddie's riddle, you really weren't looking forward to that today.
"Didn't get enough coffee or are they putting the meds in that too?"
It takes you a second too long to register the joke. Sitting up, Harvey looks at you sternly. It would look like irritation if you didn't know him any better. You try on another placating smile and with a dismissive wave, you say: "Really, it's nothing, and were we really talking about the ethics of Twinkies because I don't really think you would dignify that."
I wouldn't, Harvey thinks as he looks you over. There were no overt signs of injury. Then again, head trauma is inconveniently subtle in that department. You were swaying earlier when you were getting him a cup of water. The bags under your eyes are more telling. They're darker than they were last week. He would suspect it being the job getting to you but as far as he knows you're on fairly civil terms with all of your patients, not that having your life threatened has ever fazed you. Self-preservation isn't really one of your strengths. So, it's something else.
"I think Twinkies are ethical," you yawn.
He arches a brow. "On what grounds?"
You tangle your fingers under your chin and lean into your desk. "Simply for the fact that they're not unethical."
He grunts. For someone whose job it is to convince people, your arguments are frustratingly obtuse. "How are they not unethical?" Why is he even answering?
You lick your lips thoughtfully, your unfocused eyes narrowing on a point beyond the wall. "Hnnnn, I suppose ethical isn't the right word."
"You think?"
You roll your eyes. "But it's not unethical either. It just kind of is."
Harvey stares at you. Of fucking course that was your point. Harvey runs his hand over his face. He really is trying to be civil here but you are making this exceptionally difficult for him. Crossing his arms, he narrows his eyes at you. "Now that you've thoroughly convinced me not to eat those cholesterol sticks--" you gigglesnort and Harvey's heart presses bruises into his throat"--what' non-twinkie thing has been keeping you up?"
You look at him owlishly. Well, you look at the scarred side of his face. You will never admit it but the handsome side of his face still makes you flushed and antsy, so it's easier to interact with the scarred side. You don't stare at it too long cus you're afraid of making him uncomfortable. You wave your hand again and this time you accidentally drop your pen. Your motor skills are going. Marvelous. "I'm fine, Mr. Dent, really."
"Try that again and at least sound convincing."
The grumpy expression on Harvey's face makes your chest warm up a little. You hesitate. See, this is the problem with practicing what you preach. You made a promise to be as open with your patients as possible and in return they be open with you but this was a personal matter. You tap your chin. "Hypothetically--"
That's always a good sign, Harvey thinks, resting his chin on his hands.
"Hypothetically," he repeats back to you when you hesitate to continue.
You purse your lips trying to pluck out the right words. Suddenly, the pattern on the wood of your desk looks very fucking interesting. You sigh and just decide to come out with it. "Hypothetically speaking, what should a person do if they got evicted from their former residence due to the landlord making room for something like Air BnB," you look up through your lashes, trying to gauge his reaction. His expression is unreadable and you sincerely curse his restraint. You shouldn't be talking about this but you ask anyway. "What should a person do?"
"Do you mean legally or lethally?"
The remark draws a weary smile from you. "I'm being serious."
Harvey recovers from the smile. "So am I."
Of course, he was. Your smile softens more and Harvey's hackles rise. He debates on insulting you just to get it to harden. He does but you only make that adorable snorting sound that gets him out of sorts. He hates you sometimes. "I'm sorry," you say, tapping your pen against the wood, "I really should focus on the session."
He changes tact. "Just pretend it's a thought exercise. What were the grounds for eviction?"
Your mouth draws down.
"I think he said I was a risk to the other residents due to my profession but he'd known I was an Arkham employee when I signed a lease. It's... It's fine, really. I'm just a little... I can just find a place on my off time."
Harvey looks at you sternly, his muscle tightening. He's not gonna blow up in front of you. He’s not. You're under enough stress and he’s made too much progress with his temper to relapse.
"Do you have a place to stay for now?" He asks as if he could offer help. He could. He still has contacts at city hall. He could set you up in public housing if he needed to.
"I do. My friend is putting me up for the week," you pause, "thanks for..." You wiggle your hand.
Harvey rolls his eyes. "This conversation isn't over."
"You are oddly talkative today."
"Shut up."
You grin and Harvey points a finger at you, warning you to can it.
You wave your hands placatingly. "What's your professional advice?"
Harvey rubs his chin. It's been a while but he could swing it. "There are laws against what he's doing. Did he tell you verbally or no?"
"Verbally."
"Hnnn? Anyone else who could attest to the same situation?"
"I could ask Pat and Sita," you sigh. "You do know you don't need to do this."
"Just let me help," he says with his own exasperated sigh. "You really should just blackmail him."
You grin at him. "I'm asking Harvey Dent not Two-Face." You laugh. He shakes his head and grumbles. You feel a little proud to annoy him. Drooping, you wave him off and hitch your shoulders. "I'll take blackmail into consideration if the legal thing doesn't pan out."
Harvey places his face in his hands, trying to collect his thoughts. Once he clears the cobwebs in his head, he stands up and details a couple of ways you could make your former landlord bleed money. You watch him with a little bit of awe in your expression. He's a little insulted. He might not have been practicing law for a while but he was still one of Gotham's best at his peak. Though the feeling of being insulted is overshadowed by something he refuses to name. Thankfully, unlike most of his clients, you're quick to the draw and follow the flow of conversation well enough that his short temper isn't tested.
"Got it?" He asks gruffly. It's a little condescending, but you're getting free legal advice.
"Thank you," you yawn. "Got any advice on blackmail?"
"Don't get caught."
The curt response startles a laugh out of you. It's infectious and Harvey has to cough to cover his own laughter. He side-eyes you and says: "Now, for your other problem."
Your brow ticks up. "What other problem?"
He looks at you flatly, tapping the space under his eye. You're sort of afraid that his eye will pop out if he keeps doing that.
"I can fix it with makeup."
"What's 12 times 6?"
You pout, "that's just mean."
"Mean or not. You need sleep, you moron."
He's right. You need sleep. You hate when he's right.
"Take a nap, Doc. I won't snitch."
Rubbing your eyes, you yawn: "I suppose you being the one to murder me in my sleep would land me on the front page."
Harvey huffs, taking a seat on the couch. "I won't murder you. You're the least worst doctor here."
"Is it because of my charm?" You tease in long languid syllables.
"It's because you only ask stupid questions like that occasionally." Harvey grimaces at you. You're adorably irritating and you relished in it. "Take a nap doc. I'll wake you up when the session is about to end."
"Promise?" You ask, looking up at him through long lashes as you rest your head in your arms.
"You make it sound like you don’t trust me," he says, glancing over to you then back at the ceiling. In the corner of his eye, he watches you melt against the desk. Self-preservation really isn't your strong suit.
"I like having a job, Harv," you yawn.
Harvey has a heart attack when he hears the nickname but unfairly, you're too sleepy to notice what you've done. Why are you like this, he sighs.
Harvey rubs the back of his neck nervously. "Just…just rest Y/N," he says, trying to control his emotions. He stands up and as quietly as he can. He walks over to your desk. Your back rises and falls steadily with the ease of sleep. He sits on the edge, careful not to place too much weight on it. He wouldn't want to wake you up. He places his hand on your head and he nearly jumps when you ease into the touch. He smooths your hair as you snore softly.
The muscles of his face soften and even the scarred tissue on his left side becomes gentle. Maybe. He lowers himself to kiss the top of your head then curses himself, blushing like a schoolboy. He drags his hand over your face.
What the fuck is he doing?
The night air is thick and smoggy. You would think being a free man would afford Two-Face some fresh air but that's Gotham for you. Nothing like Gotham air to spice up the night.
Word is that you're homesick from stress. You'd apparently gotten calls from an unknown number. Very unpleasant and worrying enough to give you a fever.
He watches the smoke curl from the man's mouth as he spits something awful at the phone. He hangs up with a self-satisfied grin. The man jumps and looks over at him bleary-eyed. "Jesus, the fuck are you doing skulking in the dark?"
Two-Face doesn't answer, merely stepping into the light. He kinda gets why Bats does this kinda shit now when the man jumps back.
He blinks and takes in Two Face's visage--the scars, the rigid muscle, and the bulging eye. "Now, I see why," he chuckles to himself.
Two-Face arches a brow. "Pretty funny, hn?"
"Look bud," the man says, dialing the phone again and the number looks all familiar. "If you're gonna try to rob me, you're better off going down the road." He looks him over again. "Sheesh, you definitely need the money."
"You must be pretty sloshed to not know who I am," Two-Face chuckles darkly, turning the tire iron in his hand.
The man squints and tilts his head. "You look like every other scumbag in this city." He waves his hand over Two Face’s form. He supposes the trench coat doesn't help his case but the facial scarring really should have been enough of a giveaway. "Get out of the way punk, I've got shit to do and you’re in my way."
"Like harass the good doctor over the phone," Two-Face grunts, and the man freezes.
The man frowns. "You know 'em or something?"
"Or something," Two-Face repeats, swinging the tire iron at the man's head. It lands with a satisfying crunch of bone. The man yelps, hitting the ground with a loud thud. He looks up at Two-Face confused and scared. Finally, Two-Face thinks as he raises the tire iron back over his head.
He beats him savagely and the man cries out for mercy with every hit, not that Two-Face was in any mood to really listen. Two-Face kicks the man in the face for good measure before dropping down to his level.
"Listen here fella," he says, pulling the man up by his hair. "You are never to call them again or I will come back to finish the job, got it?"
The man nods his bloodied face.
Satisfied with the pathetic response, Two-Face drops him. "Oh and if you even think about reporting this little meeting to the cops, I will happily show them records of you soliciting sexual favors from tenants," Two-Face says, smoothing his hair back and straightening his coat. Fixing his gloves, he glances back at the crumpled form. Another kick to the face wouldn't hurt.
He was getting better at his anger management but he wasn't perfect. One little slip wouldn't hurt. It was for you after all.