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“You should have called Gordon for back-up.”
Yeah, yeah , is what Harvey mocks internally but outwardly, he tuts at the caped crusader standing next to him. This is not the first time he got his nosy ass into trouble. And this is definitely not the first time he is being chastised by Batman for being brash either.
Harvey was caught snooping around. Again. GCPD has been too darn slow with their investigations—too many bureaucracies and politics (what a joke!)—and Harvey was starting to get very impatient with this inefficiency and lack of urgency. Every second that they waste on this nonsense, Falcone gets ten steps ahead.
The moment his informant had told him about Falcone’s plan to–quite literally–move around some of his dirty money via a cargo set to disembark Pier 248 next week, Harvey’s inquiring mind immediately needed to know who was the mobster’s accomplice. This might actually be the final puzzle piece that he needed to get Falcone and his cronies behind bars for good.
Falcone’s accountant, Frederico, was scheduled to meet up with representatives from the shipping company tonight to discuss the shipping arrangements. It was supposed to be a nondescript affair, just a bunch of men having dinner together at Rocco’s. Harvey’s plan was simple: pretend to be a fellow diner, try to identify the people meeting up with Frederico and if luck is on his side, he might get to eavesdrop on some very important stuff.
What Harvey did not expect was the five bodyguards accompanying Frederico tonight. The moment they saw Harvey sitting at one of the booths, he was politely ushered outside by one of them. He did not even have the time to come up with an excuse to bullshit his way out of this situation because the moment they were through the restaurant’s door, he got punched right in the stomach and dragged to the nearby alley.
Harvey would rate himself as a pretty decent fighter—what with his whole experience of being personally trained by Batman in hand-to-hand combat (and also growing up in the dodgier side of Gotham)—but facing five highly trained bodyguards, well, that was biting a little bit more than he could chew.
That was when Batman suddenly swooped in, incapacitated all five men within 10 seconds and they all dropped like flies. And Batman must have done it on purpose, slinging Harvey over his shoulder like a sack of potato and ziplining away in between the buildings. As if he did not know that Harvey has a deathly fear of high places.
Thanks to that little miscalculation, Harvey is now nursing a split lip, a very nasty gash on his forehead and if the painful breathing is any indication, perhaps he had also broken a rib or two.
“Or me. I gave you that pager. You could have called me,” Batman says, voice thick with disapproval and it grates on Harvey’s nerves like a fucking sandpaper. He herds Harvey across the GCPD rooftop and forces him to sit on the ledge. Harvey grips the edge of the ledge tightly and he tries his darndest not to look down or he will start throwing up all over Batman’s face. He is once again convinced that Batman is doing all these on purpose.
“Eh, Jim is slow. By the time his team finally manages to get anything useful for me, I'm probably sacked. Or worse, dead.” Harvey shrugs before turning his head to look at Batman. He squints his eyes to match (what he imagines) Batman’s disapproving glare. “And god knows what kind of maniac you are stalking every night.”
Harvey knows it is a losing battle; he is being stubborn on purpose to salvage his bruised ego—because he knows it annoys Batman. The man can be so fucking patronising sometimes and he especially hates it when Harvey does not listen to him.
Batman, however, does not take the bait; face impassive. Instead, he opens one of the compartments on his utility belt and takes out a tweezer, a packet of what look like cotton balls and a small bottle that contains yellow liquid inside it.
Batman stands closer to Harvey, one hand firm on his shoulder and the other one carefully holding the tweezer to dab the cotton ball on his forehead; first to clean the caking blood and then to apply the antiseptic on the wound. Harvey hisses and simultaneously, his knee-jerk reaction also kicks in and he accidentally slaps Batman’s hand away, sending the tweezer he was holding flying down the rooftop.
“I don’t suppose you have extra tweezers in there?” Harvey asks apologetically, because he is.
Batman grunts before proceeding to take off the glove on his left hand. “I’d send you to the hospital, Dent,” the Bat says as he takes off his other glove. “But I don’t think you’re in the mood to handle the PR circus at the moment.”
As Batman busies himself with more cotton balls, Harvey can’t help but to be drawn to his (surprisingly) delicate hands and notices the perfectly manicured nails and also the fading scar over the ridge of his left knuckle.
It oddly reminds him of Bruce.
Harvey swallows the lump in his throat and looks away. Goddamn Bruce; always worming his way into his conscious mind.
Batman breaks him out of his reverie when he takes a step closer and makes a grab for Harvey’s chin, tipping it upwards so that he could have a better look at the wound. “Now stay still and let me do this properly.”
Harvey is not sure why he is holding his breath. There is something about being on the receiving end of Batman’s full attention like this. With not much avenue to avert his gaze elsewhere, Harvey fixes his eyes on Batman’s; suddenly wishing that he could see them behind those lenses. Would it be easier to discern his feelings or emotions better? What color are they? He wonders if they are the same shade of blue as–
“Like what you see, Dent?”
Harvey snorts. “Yeah, well, not like you’d give me the time of day.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Dent,” Batman says flatly but the corner of his mouth twitches a little. “That’s very unbecoming of you.”
“What are you trying to say, Bats?” Harvey tries to flash his winning courtroom smile but with Batman’s grip firm on his chin, it proves to be difficult. He probably looks like an idiot instead right now.
“Contrary to popular belief: Like bats, I am not blind.”
Oh. Oh .
This is not the first time that they got themselves into this weird, flirty banter but Harvey never really dared to push his luck too much; always quick to put out the flame before anyone gets burned. His work always takes precedence over anything else. Harvey assumes it is the same for Batman too.
Something about the air tonight is a little different though; maybe it is the adrenaline from the earlier event so Harvey decides to try his luck. “If I deduce this correctly, Bats, you’re saying that you like to look at me?”
“Hn. Perhaps.”
And, ah , there it is–-the goddamn smirk! Harvey thinks that maybe he would also like to kiss that smirk away.
Batman finishes off his ministration by carefully placing a plaster on the wound. He withdraws his hands and is about to take a step back when Harvey reaches out a hand slowly, fingertips tentative on Batman’s bare wrist. “Say, Bats?” Harvey starts. When the Bat does not flinch away, Harvey wraps his hand around the other man’s wrist and tugs him closer. “Have you ever thought that maybe we could-”
“Alright, you are clear, Dent! For the love of god, please –” Jim says as he suddenly emerges from the rooftop door. He trails off when he sees Harvey’s hand on Batman and the obvious lack of personal space between them. If the way they immediately pull apart to put some distance between them, well, Jim is kind enough not to call out on his two allies (friends).
Harvey could feel his face heating up. In the corner of his eyes, he could see Batman hastily putting on his gloves back. This entire thing vaguely feels like being caught making out by your parents.
Jim clears his throat, Harvey looks up and Batman is gone.
“As I was saying, you’re clear. Jesus Christ , Harvey, don’t get into any more trouble! Batman won’t always be around to save your ass,” chastises Jim as he slaps Harvey on the shoulder, hard. “Now go back and get some rest!”
“Thanks, Jimbo. In due course,” Harvey says, rolling his eyes. It has been quite a night indeed and the whiplash of emotions have been pretty wild. Jim makes his way back to the rooftop door and Harvey gets up, hand reaching for the box of cigarettes in his pocket.
“Oh, by the way,” Jim suddenly stops in his tracks. He turns around and Harvey notices the Commissioner’s crinkly eyes and how his mustache does very little to hide his cheeky grin. “It's about goddamn time, son.”
Harvey groans. Yeah, he needs a cigarette. Or two .