Chapter Text
Harvey Dent’s a good man.
Well, not always, but that’s just human nature.
So, Harvey tries his absolute hardest to be a good man as consistently as possible. He went to school, he got his degree, he shook hands and talked and smiled his way to District Attorney. He is doing as much good as he is capable of doing, right?
If Harvey could change one thing in the world, that might be the justice system in Gotham. So, that’s what he’s going to do. He’s going to make a change, and he’s going to make things better for people. He’s aware he can’t change everything he’d like to, but starting a war on crime is definitely a solid start.
“You know, Harv,” Bruce says, leaning back in his chair. “I think you’re doing a good job.” He taps a finger on the table, right next to his coffee mug. Harvey looks into his mug and sighs.
“Thanks, Bruce.” It’s always been like Bruce could read his mind. Because Harvey knows he’s doing good, sure, but he is always unsure if he could do more. What else can Harvey Dent do for Gotham?
“I mean it.” Bruce leans forward now, barely on the edge of his seat. Harvey tries not to snort as Bruce locks eyes with him. “You’re a fantastic DA. I have no regrets in my–”
“I have to go soon.” Harvey cuts him off, because he really can’t bear to sit here and have Bruce senselessly tell him he’s great. His work is not yet complete. He still has to dismantle The Roman Empire.
Bruce clenches his jaw. He isn’t much one for being interrupted, but Harvey can usually get away with it. Harvey picks up his mug and finishes it with an overdramatic flourish, which isn’t really his style much, but Bruce chuckles at it.
“Right, right. You have that thing today, yeah?” Bruce picks up his mug as well, holding it then to his lips to seemingly attempt to obscure his clear grin.
“That thing is probably one of the most important moments of my career, and yes.” Harvey adjusts his tie slightly, and Bruce raises an eyebrow.
“Do you want help with that?” He asks with a grin, and it would be patronizing coming from literally anyone else. Mutually, Harvey and Bruce have known each other long enough to get away with saying almost anything to one another. So, Harvey gives him a strong glance as he properly hikes his tie up.
“I’ve been wearing suits for years now. If I needed you to help me with my ties, I’d be screwed.” He dusts himself off as he comes to stand. Bruce puts his mug down and stands as well, reaching into his pocket and rummaging for something. How Bruce rummages in his pocket, Harvey will never know. Maybe rich people have bigger pockets?
”I said want, not need, Harv. You’re a grown man, I’d assume you can do your own tie.” The smile never leaves his face as he gently dusts a speck of lint off Harvey’s jacket with his free hand. Harvey almost laughs, but stops himself.
Bruce, finally, pulls something out of his pocket, handing it to Harvey.
”What is this?” He takes it with some gentleness, and Bruce claps him on the shoulder.
”It’s a handkerchief. Consider it lucky, okay? Look, it even matches your eyes.” He plucks it from Harvey’s outstretched hands and holds it up to his face. Harvey cannot see his own eyes from here obviously, but he appreciates the sentiment. Bruce drops it and it elegantly flows back into Harvey’s grip.
The fabric is smooth, nice. It’s an interesting blue, one Harvey personally would never compare to his eyes, but whatever. He lightly folds it before pocketing it, and watches Bruce closely as his hand withdraws from Harvey’s shoulder.
“Good luck on the trial, yeah? Call me after, I’d love to hear how it goes.” He flashes his billionaire grin at Harvey now, and he can’t really formulate a real answer to that. He simply agrees to do such before picking up his briefcase and leaving the cafe.
—-
Harvey feels good about this. He feels good, sure, in a way that eats him up inside and flips his stomach into knots, but it’s absolutely laced with the giddiness of making it this far. He lets the judge run out his usual thing, barely paying attention until it was his time.
He has a fully documented folder of every single recorded incident he could possibly need, that and, of course, Sal Maroni on the stand.
Sal Maroni glances around, not in nervousness, but with a steered confidence in himself. Harvey recognizes it. Standing, he manages to contain every single thing he feels as he starts to speak.
He’s been a lawyer for a bit now. Blessed be, he’s pretty good at this stuff.
Digging into him is easy at this point, if anything he's too prepared. Bringing up about every single information he can find to make relevant, Harvey weaves his way through the trial like a spider. The web is thick and complicated, but the corpses in it are still warm enough to suffice.
It’s come to be an art of sorts to him. To be able to speak in such a way he can see the gears shift and turn in the Jury’s mind, the way the judge raises a brow at him, the way the defense lawyer sinks into his chair. This trial is his canvas, they are all just his paint.
A doubt does plague him, that maybe it won’t be enough, but he excuses the thought in favor of drilling Maroni once more.
“Do you admit you did business with Carmine Falcone?” The phrase slips out like silk, perfectly curated to be said here, right when he has the jury hanging on his every word. He’s built this up, he’s gotten this far, and once he gets the answer he’ll be able to move forward. He might even be able to work on improving more important things in Gotham. Harvey might be able to make that change he wanted.
“With Falcone? Nope.” Salvatore Maroni says it like it isn't going to ruin everything. Harvey feels his heart stop. This isn’t right. Maroni had agreed to help them take down Falcone in exchange for not hunting down his entire family. That was the idea.
“Maroni, I’m sure you’re aware this contradicts earlier statements? You’re under oath, remember?” He baits the trap. His eyes never leave Maroni’s face, which is probably why he missed him pulling out a small container.
Harvey’s a lawyer. He might be a damn good one, but he’s not made of steel.
Salvatore Maroni laughs, and it rasps like his lungs are going to slip out of his chest. It borders on a cough, so Harvey doesn’t really think much about the container. It’s an over the counter medication, something for illness or reflux or whatnot. That’s not important. What is important, is that the web falls apart when the spider isn’t there to spin it anymore.
Maroni knows this. That’s probably why he did it.
He opens the container slowly, and Harvey is a little bit too close. He’s about seven inches from the stand Maroni is seated in. He fakes a cough in Harvey’s direction, but he pays it no mind.
“Hold on a second, I’ve got to…” he pops it open with a little struggle, and Harvey doesn’t budge. He should have moved. But he doesn’t.
The moment happens in almost slow motion? Harvey is there, standing. Salvatore Maroni pops the lid off, and suddenly he’s rising from his seat. He grips the stand with one hand, and with the other he seemingly uses his body weight to hurl the contents of the container at him.
The initial thought is confusion. What is that? Then it very quickly melts, as does most of Harvey’s face. It’s agony. It’s much worse than anything he’s ever felt. It it’s almost as if he’s getting mauled actively, like a tiger or a bear or a lion is ripping half his face to shreds, and suddenly there’s pain in his back as well as he hits the floor screaming.
Grasping his face with his hands, suddenly the horror shifts as he feels it begin to eat into his hand as well. Underneath it all, Harvey is acutely aware of the fact that when he grabs his own face, he feels no skin. Well, he feels that until the nerves in his fingertips melt away. There’s some vague shouting from all around as his ears ring and his body moves beyond his control. Some animalistic part of him is screaming too, desperate to move in a poor attempt of escaping the pain. It begins to fade though, as his nerves are burnt off.
His screaming only stops when he loses consciousness, but he’s also sure his vocal chords can’t handle it anymore either.
—-
His eyes open the second he’s awake again. The surrounding world is a blur, and the fear begins to set in rapidly as he comes to find he has no idea where he is, what happened, and why he can only see out of one eye.
His breaths turn to gasps, and in a brief moment, he attempts to call out, but finds himself falling flat. The desperation begins to take over until he feels a hand grace his shoulder. It’s enough to let him know someone else is there, so he turns his head to see.
It’s Gordon. He looks… pensive, almost, but mostly has the face of a grieving man.
Harvey tries to speak again, finding it now both painful and a struggle. Gordon frowns.
“They said it might take a while for your vocal chords to fully heal up. Apparently they caught some of it, but you should be okay.” He looks away from Harvey.
His hand shakes as he moves to touch his face. He’s met with a bandage, tightly wrapped around his head. His expression is surely one of shock, and Gordon pauses.
“Do you remember?” He asks, and Harvey finds he does not. He shakes his head slightly, trying to ignore the sting. Gordon puts his hand on the back of his neck and continues to not make eye contact with Harvey. “Sal Maroni threw some kind of acid mixture at you during the trial. They’re still configuring what it was, but they do know it was bad. You’re in Gotham Central now, and it’s been…a little bit. I came as soon as I could when I heard you were coming to. Spiked brain activity or something.”
Harvey freezes. How long? He can’t express this—Harvey hates not being able to talk—he can’t express shit.
He turns his head back and begins to search for a clue. There’s no calendar, the TV isn't even on. He has no idea of when it could be, and the idea of being unconscious for so long and still not being okay is eating him alive.
So, he tries to talk again.
Gesturing very vaguely, he manages to get an H sound out while tapping his wrist gently. His hand and arm is also bandaged on one side, and the thought of what exactly he’s become slinks into his mind.
“How long?” Gordon asks, taking Harvey’s hands and pulling them apart. He lays them back down, and he once again seems to dance around the subject. “It wasn’t too bad. Frankly, I’m surprised you woke up this early. Suppose you’re a fighter though. Always have been, yeah?” He smiles a little, and Harvey glares at him the best he’s able to.
Gordon runs a hand through his hair.
“It’s been about twenty seven days. Few shy of a month.” He seems all of the upset and distressed you’d expect him to be revealing that, and Harvey’s heart stops. Not literally, he can hear the monitor droning on, at least.
Harvey opens his mouth and is shocked for a moment at the pulling pain he feels across half his face. He once again gropes his bandaged face, digging his fingernails under some of them. His throat aches, and he hums slightly to continue testing the ground.
“Don’t do that Harvey,” Gordon grimaces. There’s a long moment before his hand goes from his face to reaching out.
“Mirror.” His own voice is far raspier than he’d like to think about, and Gordon frowns strongly.
“Harvey I don’t-“
“Mirror.”
Gordon seems to hesitate before reaching into a pocket within his jacket. He pats around for a second, before there’s a knock at the door now. Gordon turns to face it, and Harvey rolls his head back to be staring at the ceiling.
The door audibly opens, and there’s some very quiet talk. Harvey doesn’t try too hard to listen.
Then, he hears a voice much closer to him.
“Really did a number on you, hm?” Bruce Wayne’s voice is the same as it always is, maybe with a bit more grimness to it now. Harvey turns to look at him. “I… I heard everything. I know you liked that suit.” He pauses for a second. “I know that’s not the main issue, but when you’re discharged, I’ll take you to get a new one. On me.” His smile is the same as it always is. His teeth are pearly white, his eyes crinkle just lightly, and the vague impressions of smile lines become much stronger.
Harvey clenches and unclenches his fist. He feels weak. His muscles must have atrophied some, there’s no way they didn’t.
The idea of Bruce taking him suit shopping as well is laughable. Not in a particularly bad way. It just amuses him. He has other suits. Sure, that might have been his favorite, but he does have other suits. Various colors, occasions, special ties. However, an excuse to mooch a new one off of Bruce sounds a little nice at this moment.
He chuckles quietly, and Bruce’s smile falters. It’s almost as if, despite staring at him, he’s forgotten Harvey’s damage. Which is fair, Harvey himself doesn’t even know his damage.
There’s a moment where he does nothing except stare, and then he is suddenly filled with determination. If anything, he deserves to know.
So, he moves. Bruce takes a cautious step back as Harvey grips the bars of the bed and hefts himself upward, managing to throw his legs over the side. It’s not too bad. Sure, being in a coma for almost a month makes you a bit weak, but it’s nothing he can’t overcome. He’s been over and through enough.
Looking around the room, he tries his best to gather various details and facts with the only eye he has in commission now. He hums, and his vocal chords begin to ache less.
“I… need a mirror.” He croaks it out about as fast as an old door opening, with the same grace too. Bruce steps back again, looking around.
“Harv, I don’t know if you’re-“
“Career.” The desperation in his eyes might just get through to Bruce, because he of all people must know how important image is.
Harvey’s face is his image. It’s what’s on posters, it’s what he flashes when he goes to meetings, to court, everywhere. Bruce audibly sighs before turning to Gordon. He hands Bruce a small pocket mirror, of which Bruce instantly hands to Harvey.
As best as he can, really. His hands are a bit shaky still. He flips it open and tilts his head to properly peek into it.
His head is bandaged all the way around. Most of the heavy bandaging is on his left side, with his eye also being covered. Some of his hair is poking out on the right, but besides that, he can’t see much of anything.
Of course, he starts to pull at the bandages. It stings, and he hears Gordon audibly complain before leaving the room. Bruce just stares.
“Harvey you—that’s probably not a great idea.” He grimaces as it begins to unfurl itself, slipping off his face more and more.
“A month.” Harvey says without taking his eye(s) off his hands. Bruce glances away, tapping a foot on the ground.
“Harvey, I really think you should be resting now.” He rolls his shoulders. Harvey doesn’t stop.
He worked too hard and too long to get this far. He’s been out too long. He needs to get back up. He coughs, his throat feels sore, but he is certainly warming it up to more… complex speech, certainly. They likely had to do work on them, and they’re just a bit aches from the lack of use.
“Bruce,” he manages to say without choking, “this is my life.” He punctuates this with a yank at his bandages. “What he wants.” He enunciates each word more. He’s been out long enough.
Bruce crosses his arms and sighs. Finally, he looks back at Harvey and pauses. Not in disgust, not quite in shock either just… he looks at him in a way that reads back as something is wrong.
Harvey manages to slip the last bandages to fall around his shoulders, and he now pulls the mirror back out and opens it.
Of course, one proper glance at himself now, and it slips from his hands. He’ll have to get Gordon a new one, because he doesn’t care about how harshly it shatters at that moment. Stumbling and damn near falling out of the bed, Harvey beelines towards the connected bathroom he saw before. His legs are shaking and Bruce is keeping close behind him, but he manages to get the door open with a shoulder and some pushing.
Finally, stumbling to the sink and using it for primary balance, he looks at his reflection.
Bruce grimaces stronger. Harvey just stares.
There aren’t really words. It’s awful.
“Harvey, I-“
“Go.” He can barely see out of his left eye, and he feels almost lightheaded looking at it.
“Har-“
“Leave.”
There is a moment of complete silence. Bruce opens and closes his mouth a few times before turning and leaving, hands tucked in his pockets.
Harvey’s hands are shaking as they grip the porcelain, and suddenly his world is collapsing around him. Whether his grip is slipping or his mind, he’s unsure. All he knows is he’s starting to fall, and there will be nobody there to catch him.