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Ten minutes in and the first date was already a failure. Of course it was; it was a first date. In Harvey’s experience, a first anything was doomed. One was such an ugly number, sickeningly stick-like and haunting. He was late. He had accidentally told Rachel the wrong restaurant location and by the time they both arrived, their table had been offered up. Harvey was charismatic—he had been nicknamed Apollo after all—but not quite charismatic enough to get the second best table.
”Harvey. Relax.” When Rachel smiles, Harvey eases. Her auburn hair falls ever-so-slightly with each movement of her head (and she moves her head a lot—Harvey realized early on he loved it about her). “We’ll wait for a table. Carbone can certainly accommodate.”
”I don’t want to make them accommodate.” When Harvey gets uncertain, he gets fidgety. Where’s the coin? Where’s the coin?
The hostess returns and offers an apologetic smile.
”I’m so sorry. We have a large event booking out the evening after this last seating.” She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “Bruce Wayne is hosting a fundraiser.”
Of fucking course.
”Of course he is.” Rachel read his mind.
Harvey couldn’t resist shooting her a smile.
”Come on, Apollo. Let’s boogie. I know a place” Rachel didn’t roll her eyes, didn’t fuss, but she did purse her lips for one split second, smoothing her dress. Harvey didn’t know it, but she considered offering her arm to him–her turn to court him. Harvey beat her to it, anyway.
They wound through the Gotham street, bracing against the brisk, autumnal air. There were still straggling leaves clutching to greying branches. It wasn’t all that late, but the moon hung higher and higher in the sky. Rachel didn’t particularly like the fall, but she liked how Harvey’s peacoat hugged his frame, blonde tufts jutting out from beneath his wide-brimmed hat. He was the picture of that so-desperately-craved in Gotham nouveau riche elegance.
“Hey! Dent!” An unfamiliar voice called from a passing car. The pair turned their attention, just as the shouter was out of eyesight. “You got my vote! I believe in Harvey Dent!”
“Thank you!” Harvey called, but in the whir of the city, there was no doubt his gratitude went heard.
Rachel elbowed him gently.
“Hope that makes the night a little bit better?” She seemed concerned , tentatively optimistic, but concerned . That had been the spirit of his campaign after all. And besides, it wasn’t like she wasn’t set to all but run alongside him. She had already been working in the DA’s office for some time; Harvey only would be a boon to her place there. Emotionally, judiciously, and, even just delightfully engaging in pleasant conversation. Apollo fit him.
“You’re already making it better just by being here.” He wouldn’t, couldn’t , disclose to her the suffocation, the static that danced in his head. There were gaps, plenty of them, too many of them. He couldn’t tell her that yes, the date was his idea, but no, Carbone was not, and that it wasn’t Bruce Wayne’s either. He couldn’t tell her that there was some piece of the puzzle in his recollection missing and it was best left to fate to determine how exactly the rest of the evening would go. Making his own damn luck aside, Harvey Dent knew that he seldom held all his own pieces. But that, he ensured to himself, would be a matter to tackle after he won the DA position.
Harvey had clearly been lost in his thoughts, or, certainly besotted with Rachel’s gait and voice, because she suddenly nudged his ankle with her foot and gestured with her chin to a vibrant red restaurant, with dozens of kitschy lights and streamers, just visible enough through the windows.
“You feelin’ Mexican?”
Two margaritas in, Harvey’s lips loosened. ”How’d you know that old name, by the way? Apollo.” Another incredulous smile.
”Maybe I dug around in the Gotham University Law brochures in my free time. You don’t know.”
He didn’t. He liked not knowing if Rachel was telling the truth. He liked picturing her sifting through internet archives and old Facebook photos. He, after all, clicked through hers. An old acquaintance sneered when he told him about the impending date: “ Oh, you’re getting Bruce Wayne’s sloppy seconds? ” Seconds, sure, but two was his lucky number and nothing about Rachel Dawes was sloppy.
“Well thankfully none of my too salacious moments were found there.”
“Not even one embarrassing photo?” She winked.
“Not one.”
Rachel bit into a chip with a satisfying crunch, the tip of her tongue darting out to lick a crumb from the corner of her lip.
“Is there anything still on my face?”
“Not one crumb.” He reiterated the gentle retort.
From beneath the table, Harvey Dent sought out Rachel’s shoe, playfully tapping the heel with the toe of his.
“I was expecting you to be a man full of surprises, Harvey Dent.” Rachel shook her head as they walked out of the restaurant, her bemused, quiet laughter resonating just enough that Harvey’s heart began to sing. They were both tipsy. Maybe it was the cloudiness in his brain; maybe it was the touch of tequila still on his tongue. But also, maybe, just maybe, Rachel wasn’t like anyone else he had ever begun to expose his layers to. Maybe, with Rachel, he could unpeel those layers. Not tonight. But maybe some day, and maybe some day soon. Part of him speculated that she was wondering the same thing, and the other part of him hoped she was (after all, both sentiments were two sides of the same–perhaps double headed–coin).
“There’s still time for those, you know.”
“So what I’m hearing you ask, is how about we do this again. And maybe I’ll take the liberty of making the reservation myself this time.”
“A second date, you say?” Harvey’s brows quirked up and Rachel, once again, chuckled.
“Yes, Harvey. I liked this a lot. I like you a lot.”
The first date, in the end, was not a nightmare. But if Harvey was certain about anything, it was that a second attempt was as good as gold. Harvey realized at that point that, over the last few hours, he hadn't fidgeted with his father's blasted coin once. (Maybe that was a discussion for the next time).
“I’d like that a lot.” A beat. “But, yeah, it’s probably best if you book first.”
A second date. Who knew?