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Two-Face wasn't made the night the acid burned. He was made slowly. He fought his way to the surface, in small moments and half measures.
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So, so so good. Snippets of Harvey all from before the acid. Amazing characterization.
'In short, it was a good morning. There were fewer and fewer of them anymore.
Harvey bit back a sigh and wondered if perhaps this time, he might be allowed to stay. It was unlikely, past experience taught him that. No, he hadn’t been himself for a long, long time. It was hard to map the exact moment… he had been created. But Harvey knew it hadn’t been that day in the courtroom. The acid had pushed Harvey off the balance beam perhaps, but he had been fighting it a long time.''Moving made the spinning worse, but he didn't care. He would rather that than the itch. That singular itch that was too often there, telling him to tell Bruce off.
"I'm glad you called." Bruce's eyes were still on him, but the movement made it feel less entrapping. "Please, call me every time. No matter what."
A shiver went down Harvey's spin. There it was. That unexplainable need, that little voice in the back of his mind. Harvey had the unexplainable desire to tell Bruce off. To tell him that he could go and– but no. No. That was... Harvey put the feeling down to having had a bad day. His head was spinning. That was all. Of course he would call Bruce. He would tell him anything– everything.''They went and went and went. Harvey watched the sky swallowed by tree bows, and the sun dance between leaves making the hood and his skin flicker. The air grew colder the longer they drove. The city disappeared behind hills and the bay's sour air was replaced by honeysuckle and dirt.'
'Harvey tried to shake off the feeling of anger building in his chest towards a man who had never been anything but kind to him. He didn't hate him. He didn't.
"I don't like how he limits you." Harvey weighed each word on his tongue before he let it out.
"Limits me?" Bruce's voice was tight and low.
"Yeah. Like... It's your money. I just don't get how a butler is meant to be your– He's not your dad you know?" Even as the words left his mouth, Harvey knew he was making a mistake. But he couldn't keep them in. It was like watching someone else say exactly what he didn't mean. "He's just the help. And well– two years from now he'll be free."''Harvey didn't flinch. He bit back a sick smile. He couldn't understand why he felt the bubbling satisfaction of seeing Bruce fracture before him. He was so careful and emotionless half the time. Upending the mask, making the angry person beneath show was like scratching a forbidden itch.'
'"I promise you, I am never leaving again. Harvey, I'm here. I'm here to stay. If you-- if you can forgive me, I need you to know I'm not going to ever do that again." Bruce's eyes were blazing in their intensity.
Not for the first time, Harvey found they were unbearable to look into. His eyes dropped to the floor and studied his shoes instead. They were safer to look at than Bruce's face. Windows into the soul they say. Well Harvey equally didn't want Bruce to look into his and see just how dark he felt inside, and he didn't want to see the pain embedded in Bruce's.''He didn't dare speak. The darkest part of him wanted nothing more than to lash out and hurt Bruce where Harvey knew it would wound him worst. No, better he was silent. Tomorrow he would wake up and want that friendship. He always did in the end. He couldn't explain it, but when the sun rose he always felt better. More at peace with his lot, perhaps.'
'Giving up attempting to find the brown leather shoe, Harvey shoved his foot into a black loafer and then scowled to see that its pair was also missing. Glancing at the clock, he accepted he would be mismatched and dashed out the door.'
'He equally wanted to crawl under the desk and throttle Gordon for taking his words so-- for thinking he was– How dare he act like Harvey didn't understand how horrible burning alive would be.
...He went back and forth wondering how he could prove to the police captain that he was a worthwhile attorney and hoping the so-called demon of Gotham would make the man vanish in the dead of night.
Such disparate were the two feelings Harvey found he had a throbbing headache by the time he reached his office.
Rummaging in a desk drawer for aspirin Harvey kicked off his shoes, and realized his socks were also mismatched.''Harvey put the odd bouts of anger and pleasure from his mind. It didn't really matter, he told himself. He would never act on such horrible thoughts–well he might say something he didn't mean from time to time, but then what was the real harm in such half measures.'
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