To come back to awareness after you have been unconscious, especially if you've been unconscious for a long time, is an exceedingly odd experience. The first true sensations Harvey Dent was aware of were his hearing and a dull ache along the left side of his face and neck. Amid the constant throbs of pain, an odd beeping noise had begun to sound, producing a monotonous, rhythmic tune. At first, he didn't know what to make of it: his mind, his consciousness, drifted slowly in and out of awareness, rising and falling like a tide. But after a while, he realized what the noise was:

A heart monitor.

Harvey's eyes snapped open. Instantly, the true intensity of the pain made itself known: it was like a hot iron sitting on his face, slowly melting away the flesh. He reached up to try and stop the pain, but an involuntary cry escaped him as his fingers made contact with the rough texture of medical bandages.

Oh, God...

It was then that memory returned to him – the chase, his capture, waking up in that godforsaken warehouse strapped to hundreds of oil drums, hearing Rachel's voice through a rigged phone connection...

Terror struck him. Rachel - what had happened to her? Had they gotten to her in time? His unobstructed eye began to search his surroundings, desperate for any sign that his fiancé might still be alive. It landed upon the white stand next to his bed. Resting atop it was a coin: his father's lucky coin, the coin he had given to Rachel right before all this had begun. He reached out for it, nearly dropping it as it slid from the stand, but he held it up in a shaking hand so that he could see its face. She had to be fine, had to be - the coin was here. If it was fine, she had to be too. Right?

God, please... please let her be okay... he prayed, just before he turned the coin over.

The world went silent. The other side of the coin was black – utterly, irrevocably black. It was burnt. Harvey's insides went cold; his mind cried out even as he did so with his voice, causing the bandages to peel away from what was left of his skin as he screamed.

Rachel...

Harvey's first visitor was Commissioner Gordon. He walked slowly, quietly, as one might expect of a man entering a house for the sick. Harvey just listened to his footsteps. It was the only thing he could do at this point – the staff had restrained him, cuffed him to his bed after how he had reacted to Rachel's fate. Harvey continued to ignore Gordon even as he came up to the side of the bed.

"I'm sorry about Rachel," he said. Still, Harvey did nothing, and so Gordon continued. "The doctor says you're in agonizing pain, but you won't accept medication; that... you're refusing to accept skin grafts."

Of course he had refused all those things! Since his hospitalization, Harvey had had a lot of time to think, and he had realized several important things: He realized that, after what had happened to him, he would probably be forced to resign from his position as District Attorney. He realized that fighting the mob had been a hopeless battle from the beginning; that he had lost the only person he ever truly cared about because he had been foolish enough to believe that they would never try to hurt her. He realized he couldn't ever go back to being the man he used to be – that he was no longer Gotham's White Knight. And he realized that he didn't want to be.

Not anymore.

"Remember that name you all had for me, when I was at internal affairs?" Harvey spat, not looking at him. "What was it, Gordon?"

Gordon shifted. "Harvey..."

"Say it." Harvey said. But Gordon didn't move. "SAY IT."

Finally, Gordon relented. "…Two-face. Harvey Two-face."

"Why should I hide who I am?" Harvey said dryly, turning to look at Gordon and watching with a twisted sense of pleasure at how he recoiled, disgusted at the sight of Harvey's disfigured face. He'd removed his bandages, allowing the blackened tissue to become further inflamed in the air, the caked blood to crack, and his eye, lidless and exposed, to focus solely and intensely upon the Commissioner. Gordon was one of those to blame for his – and Rachel's – fates. He was one of the men who hadn't gotten to her in time. He was one of the men who'd caused half of Harvey's face to be scarred. He was one of the men who'd caused the mob to turn to a man like the Joker for help. He deserved nothing less than hated for what he had done.

"I know you tried to warn me, I'm sorry." Gordon said, pleading for understanding as though that were enough. "Wuertz picked you up, was he working for them? Do you know who picked up Rachel? Harvey, I need to know which of my men I can trust!"

Harvey just sighed, almost smiling with sarcasm but for the anger he felt: Gordon had no right to talk about her. But he ignored that. "Why would you listen to me now?" he scoffed, returning the burnt half of his face to the coolness of the light green pillow.

"I'm sorry, Harvey." was all Gordon said.

Harvey's insides squirmed. That was all he had to say? That pitiful excuse, after what they had done to him? What he lad lost? Harvey – Harvey was the only one to have lost anything - everything - and THAT was all he could say? Water under the bridge, swipe it under the carpet?

"No." Harvey said, almost growling with rage. "No, you're not. Not yet."

Gordon left empty-handed. Had Harvey not been restrained, he might have not left at all. But either way, Harvey reassured himself, he wouldn't be in the hospital for long. No, Gordon would get his comeuppance; he and all the others responsible. But he would have to wait for that.

In the meantime, Harvey was drawn back into the unreal tides that were his thoughts and emotions. His mind raced, fully aware that Rachel had died and yet overcome with flashbacks – images, smells, sounds - that tormented his already broken heart. Even as he lay strapped to his hospital bed, he never remembered the many nurses who came in to check his condition. He never remembered the agonizing pain he felt if moved, swallowed, or blinked. He never remembered the terrifying sensation of the fabric of the pillowcase as it touched his exposed eye, aided by the lack of an eyelid to protect the damaged organ. How it itched and scraped, and how the tears once meant to soothe the eyeball now seeped slowly over his cheek, the salt only adding to the burning sensation that had consumed all other feeling. He couldn't remember any of it. How could he? His only thoughts, his only feelings… They were all with Rachel. He thought about how she had died, how she had suffered. He imagined himself in her place, and he could almost feel her terror at being left behind to die, realizing what was about to happen and being helpless to stop it – just because Gordon and his men had been too slow. The thought made Harvey sick.

It was this stupor that allowed the events of the day to pass by unnoticed. Harvey was unaware of the events regarding Coleman Reese, the accountant at Wayne Enterprises who had been about to reveal "the true identity of the Batman." He was unaware that the doctors and nurses were now scrambling to save their patients and get them out of the building. He was unaware that the hospital had been rigged with charges, and was set to blow. He was unaware of anything – until he realized something terrifying: there was a nurse at the foot of his bed – and she had a gun. Harvey stared at her for a moment, confused. His mind had only begun to grasp the situation when a police officer walked in.

"Ma'am, we're going to have to move him now."

The nurse just looked at him. She tilted her head slightly, as if amused, and then raised the gun.

BANG!

The man was dead before he hit the floor.

Harvey stared, his jaw clenching as he saw her turn and begin towards him. She stood at the side of his bed now, her short red hair dangling like the strands of a wet mop. The nurse reached up and pulled off the surgical mask that hid her face before taking a seat on a stool next to him.

"Hi." said the Joker.

Harvey thrashed about, trying desperately to free his hands so that he could strangle the monster sitting before him. He was unsuccessful. The Joker smiled. He took off the redheaded wig and ruffled his own sickly, green hair back into place

"You know, I don't want there to be any hard feelings between us, Harvey." he said. "When you and... uhh...-"

"RACHEL!"

"-Rachel were being abducted, I was sitting in Gordon's cage!" He formed a box-like shape with his hands as he spoke. "Now, I didn't rig those charges."

"Your men. Your plan."

The Joker's eyebrows shot up. "Do I really look like a guy with a plan?" he asked incredulously. "Do you know what I am? I'm a dog chasing cars." He said, pausing to lick his lips. "I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it, you know? I just do things." Another pause. "The mob has plans. The cops have plans. Gordon's got plans..."

Harvey sat back and listened. Just where was he going with this?

"They're schemers." the Joker continued, his eyes narrowing with disgust. "Schemers trying to control their little world. I'm not a schemer. I try to show the schemers how pathetic their attempts to control things really are. So, when I say – ah, come here -" he grabbed Harvey's hand, patting it with mock-concern, "...when I say that you and your girlfriend was nothing personal, you know that I'm telling the truth."

Then the Joker did something Harvey did not expect. He stood up and began to unstrap Harvey's restraints, one by one. "It's the schemers that put you where you are." he continued as he worked. "You were a schemer, you had plans – and, uhh, look where that got you!"

He undid the final restraint and Harvey launched himself towards the Joker, reaching out for the bastard's neck and only hoping he would manage to hear the crack! that meant he was dead – but the Joker reacted faster than Harvey had anticipated, and he grabbed Harvey's arms, slamming them to his chest and pinning him to the bed.

"I just did what I do best!" the Joker said, half growling with the effort of keeping Harvey pinned. "I took your little plan and I turned it on itself! Look what I did to this city with a few drums of gas and a couple of bullets! You know what I noticed? Nobody panics when things go 'according to plan.' Even if the plan is horrifying! If tomorrow I tell the press that, like – a gang-banger will get shot, or a truckload of soldiers will be blown up, nobody panics - because it's all 'part of the plan.' But if I say that one little old mayor will die... Well, then everyone loses their minds!"

The Joker let go of Harvey's hands now, and reached into the pocket of his nurse outfit. Pulling out his gun, he held the butt mere inches from Harvey's face. "Introduce a little anarchy." he said. He put the gun into Harvey's hands, and pointed the barrel up towards his own face. "Upset the established order and everything becomes chaos." Then he placed the barrel between his eyes. "I'm an agent of chaos... - oh, and you know the thing about chaos?" He smiled.

"Its fair."

Harvey's mind raced. His finger was on the trigger, the gun was aimed – all he had to do was pull the trigger and that fucker's brains would be soup. He wanted nothing more than to hear that glorious splattering sound as gray matter met wall, the thud as his body fell to the floor and the sudden gurgling sound from his throat that meant he was drowning in his own blood – but something held him back.

Oh, and you know the thing about chaos?

Harvey had believed all his life that kindness to others was rewarded later in life. He'd believed that the villains got what they deserved in the end and that the world was fair, offering everyone the same chances, the same opportunities to succeed, the same chances to fail. However, in those chances to fail were also chances to gain something better. A lesson to be learned, as it were. But throughout his career he had learned that the world was quite the opposite: he had seen the rapists go free, the murderers unpunished – a slap on the wrist as if their crimes were nothing more than human nature and that it should be expected.

Its fair.

He'd known the world was a cruel place for a while now, but he'd been foolish. He'd denied it. Life had been going so well for him and Rachel. They were both good people – never lied, cheated, or stole from anyone. In fact, they tried to help people get justice in their lives! And yet, everything had unwound so quickly. A single snip, and every branch of power in the city was void. Now he knew: the only true law in this world was chance. He had to make things right in the black pit Gotham had become. All Harvey could see was Rachel's smile. All he could hear was her laugh. It was all just an echo.

Harvey held up his coin to the Joker, normal side out. "You live."

"Mhm."

Harvey turned the coin over. "You die."

The Joker smiled broadly. "Mmm, now we're talking!"

Harvey flicked the coin into the air with his thumb, watching as it turned over and over. Chance was all there was now, and Harvey knew as the coin came down that chance was about to make a very big decision for him. The coin was two-faced, just like he was now. It was chance.

The coin landed unmarked-side up. The Joker lived. But no matter: it just meant he had to prolong the inevitable. Harvey's mind wove and re-wove threads together around a picture of Rachel. Soon he had formed his plan of action. He knew what he had to do for her. He knew how to make things right.

He flipped his coin again.