I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.
Rated PG-13 : language; violence, some mature concepts.
Reviews are greatly appreciated.
It was a mostly quiet drive. Bruce glanced over at Harvey only a couple of times, to find him with his head turned away, at just the right angle that neither Bruce nor people outside could get a good look at the left side of his face. Not that very much was visible, anyway, there was still bandaging over most of the damage. Remarkably, the right side was unharmed. In profile, from that side, he seemed the same as ever. Except on the inside; this depressed and silent man was not the Harvey Dent he remembered.
"I still think Gilda should be here," Bruce said.
"No. I don't want her to see me. Not yet."
"She's your fiancée. She's going to have to see, sooner or later. Not to mention she loves you and she wants to help you."
"I just can't face it right now."
"I'm sure it's not as bad as you think. And you can get plastic surgery; the doctor told me."
"It won't make me look normal again. I'll always be a freak."
"Don't say that. You're still the same person as before."
"Am I?" Harvey's voice was soft, and distant. "How much of what we are depends on what we look like? How much of how other people see us? When you see a pretty woman and an ugly one, which do you notice? Which do you assume is nicer, which one do you want to get to know better?"
"Well - but, that's with strangers - we're talking about Gilda."
"Yes. Gilda. She's an artist, Bruce. A sculptress. She creates beautiful things. She worships beauty... And now I've become... hideous."
"I'm sure she's not that superficial."
"And work... All those people. The courtrooms, the trials, everyone staring at me. The news cameras, the whole city full of people who can't wait to see what a monster I've become!"
"It won't be like that. You're building all of this up in your mind."
"What am I going to do?" The hopelessness in his voice was heartbreaking.
To Bruce's relief, the turn into Harvey's driveway was coming into sight. "You're going to go home. Relax. Get your strength back," he said. "Everything will look better soon, and you can start to get back to normal."
In a few more minutes they were at the door. Bruce watched Harvey unlock it, for the moment seeing only the right side of his face, still as handsome as ever. Such a strange feeling, knowing the other side was now different, as if his old friend had been divided in two. And he still had no idea how bad it really was under the bandage; Harvey had refused to let him see.
"Thanks for the ride," Harvey said, reaching for the suitcase Bruce was holding, his face still turned to hide the left side.
"I should come in, make sure you get settled okay..."
"I'm fine. Don't want to take up any more of your time."
"It's no trouble."
"I'd rather be alone right now."
"I really think-"
"How many times do I have to say it?" Harvey was shouting, the good right side of his face distorted with a fury so sudden and intense that Bruce fell back a step. "Leave me alone!"
The door was slamming behind him a moment later. Bruce stood irresolutely, wondering whether to ring the bell, to insist on going in, or to respect Harvey's wishes and leave. Finally he headed back to his car, casting a last glance at the house before he got in, wishing there was something - anything - he could do. But for once Bruce Wayne's money and Batman's skills were powerless. Ultimately, the only one who could help Harvey now was Harvey himself.
Normal. Everything would get back to normal. That was what Bruce had said, wasn't it? So here he was, in his normal house, wondering about all the normal things, like how the hell he was going to go to the store without everyone staring at him, pointing, whispering...
But he might have known; someone - probably Gilda - had stocked his kitchen in preparation for his return. No need to go out, at least not yet. Harvey breathed a sigh of relief. But he also felt a pang of guilt. Gilda... she must have been hurt when he had refused to let her bring him home. And before that, when he had found excuse after excuse to keep her from visiting him. She had done so much, tried so hard... made sure his house was clean, gone shopping for him... he didn't want to seem ungrateful.
But there was no way he could face her. No way he could face any of them. They'd all be like Bruce: smiling, sympathizing, telling him everything would be all right, hiding their disgust, telling him it didn't matter, that nothing had changed, that he hadn't become a twisted, monstrous travesty of a human being, a creature no one would ever want or love again...
"Good afternoon, sir." Alfred stepped aside and held the door, his face at its most formal.
"Hey, Alf. What's up?" Dick grinned at him, and watched his eyes warm and the corner of his mouth twitch.
"Beyond the fact that you are late, as usual, for your lessons, I am unaware of anything being 'up', sir."
Dick smiled again. It had become a minor ritual between them; he knew perfectly well that Alfred was far from the subservient and very proper English butler he liked to pretend to be. In fact, he seemed to enjoy an occasional teasing, and responded by becoming even more stuffy and correct. He had been an actor at one time, after all, and now he was still playing a role.
"Man, I wish you'd stop calling me 'sir'."
"I shall endeavor to do so, Master Grayson."
"Oh, come on. 'Master Grayson' makes me sound about a hundred years old."
"Actually, 'master' is used to address young male persons of quality."
"Why can't you just call me by my first name?"
"Very well, Master Di-"
"Never mind! Go back to 'sir'. Is Bruce downstairs?"
"Yes, he is undoubtedly awaiting your overdue arrival."
"Did he say anything? You know, about Harvey Dent?"
Alfred's expression changed, becoming both softer and more serious. "Only that he took Mr. Dent home, and left him there. From the sound of it, things did not go well."
"Shit."
"Indeed. Go on, Mr. Wayne is expecting you."
"'Kay. Thanks, Alf."
He could hear Bruce before he saw him: a soft grunt of effort, the clank of metal on metal. He was in the weights area of the large, expensively equipped private gymnasium in the lower level of the Wayne house, on his back, doing bench presses with the fierce concentration Dick had learned to expect from him. But today, there seemed to be an added edge to his attitude. Frustration, perhaps.
As he watched, Bruce finished his set, heaved the bar back onto the bench stand, and turned his head. "You're late," he said.
"Sorry."
"We'd better get started. I'll do the warm-ups with you; it'll let me cool down."
Dick smiled. Typical that Bruce would consider a martial arts lesson with him only a light workout. Obediently, he moved onto the mat which was spread out in the middle of the room for them, and copied Bruce's position as they began the graceful movements which would both loosen their muscles and focus their minds.
Harvey was pacing when the phone rang. Didn't seem like there was anything he wanted to do except pace. No television. It was full of normal-looking people worrying about their stupidly normal problems. The radio was just irritating with its parade of empty-headed love songs. He couldn't sit still long enough to read a book. And he couldn't go out. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
The phone... He hesitated, but finally picked it up. "Hello?" he mumbled.
"Harvey?"
"Yes." Thank God, it wasn't Gilda. "Kathy." Kathy Kane, one of his and Gilda's friends, and one of Bruce's many ex-girlfriends. Someone whose company he usually enjoyed - but now she was only an annoyance.
"You're home."
"Yes." Obviously.
"How - how are you? How are you feeling?"
"Great. Good to be home."
"Do you need anything?"
"No. Gilda must have gotten everything ready for me." As soon as the words were out, he could have kicked himself for giving Kathy an opening.
"Gilda's worried about you, Harvey. You wouldn't let her visit, or take you home... She wants to see you."
"Did she ask you to call?"
"No, that was my idea. I'd like to see you, too."
"No!"
"Harvey, please..."
"No! I don't want to see anyone! Just - just stay away. And tell Gilda to stay away!"
"But Gilda's your fiancée, she loves you..."
"I said no!" He slammed the phone down, cutting off whatever protest she was making, and backed away, staring at it. They wouldn't stop, would they? They wouldn't listen, wouldn't leave him alone. He felt a surge of panic, and fought it down. No more answering the phone. No answering the door. Just pretend he wasn't here. Sooner or later, they'd all go away...
"Block me!"
"I'm trying! You're too strong!" Dick glared at him from flat on his back on the mat, where Bruce had put him. Again.
"Strength isn't important. You need better control. Come on, we'll try it again."
"We've done it a hundred times..." he muttered resentfully as he climbed to his feet.
"We've done it fourteen times. And now we're doing it for the fifteenth time. Concentrate. We'll go through it slowly." He took up his position, and snapped a punch at Dick's throat, not slowly at all. Instinctively, Dick brought up an arm to block, wincing as the blow connected with his shoulder. This time Bruce held back enough that he was only staggered.
"Your arm's at the wrong angle. Here." Bruce demonstrated, and then led him through it, adjusting his position. "Put your weight on the balls of your feet, you're too far back for quick movement... and shift your body. That's better. See?"
The punch came again, hard, but this time Dick both deflected it and twisted out of the way. Bruce stumbled slightly as his fist shot into empty air. Automatically, Dick hooked a foot around his ankle, jabbed an elbow into his back, and to his own surprise saw Bruce fall onto the mat with a thump.
"Sorry," he said, satisfaction warring with guilt. "Guess I wasn't supposed to do that."
Bruce rolled onto his back and peered up at him. "That's exactly what you were supposed to do. Take your enemy down, any way you can. Nice work." He got to his feet with a fluid motion. "I think that's enough for today." He straightened and took a deep, slow breath before beginning their routine of stretches.
Dick followed his lead in silence for a few minutes. He had found this was the best time for conversation with his mentor, after a training session. If it had gone well, Bruce would be relaxed and more open than usual. He wasn't an easy man to get to know, perhaps the result of years spend hiding his secrets from even his closest friends. But he was trying, Dick could sense that. Maybe he was lonely, maybe he needed someone who shared the same mission, just as Dick had found he needed someone. They were from very different backgrounds, had quite different personalities, and had led separate lives until their other identities had brought them together; and yet on some deeper level they had bonded quickly, finding in each other something that had been missing for both of them.
"I saw Kathy last night," he said. "I mean Batwoman."
"What happened?"
"Just ran into each other." He grinned. "She said to tell you hello."
"Hmm. Still wish she'd give it up. But she's got determination, I'll give her that. I'll be seeing her myself this weekend, as Bruce."
"Don't tell me, another party."
"A benefit Gordon's giving for a police charity. He does it every year." Bruce's eyes drifted away, the smile that had come to his face fading. Dick could easily guess what was going through his mind.
So - might as well talk about it. "How'd it go today with Harvey?" he asked after a moment.
"Okay, I guess." Bruce glanced up when there was no response. "Well, lousy, actually. He wouldn't let me into the house. Just thanked me for the ride and slammed the door in my face." His voice was bitter.
"He's not taking it well."
"Understatement."
"Can't blame him. His whole life has changed, practically overnight. He must be going through hell."
"Doesn't have to be that way. A few scars don't make him a different person. He's got to get over this, get on with his life."
"Just suck it up, concentrate, and move on, huh? Maybe it's not so simple for him."
"Harvey's a strong person. He can do it. If he tries." There was subtle thread of annoyance in Bruce's voice now.
But Dick said it anyway. "You think all anyone has to do is try harder, but that's not always the way it works. Some problems can't be fixed by - by will power."
"Only for people who don't have it."
"Yeah, whatever. What are you going to do?"
"What can I do? If he wants help, I'm here. If he doesn't, I can't force him." Finished, Bruce started towards the bathroom and shower, pulling his sweat-damp t-shirt over his head.
They said little during the process of showers and dressing, only what was necessary. Dick watched the distant mask of Bruce's face, wondering, not for the first time, what kind of loss and isolation had put it there. They hadn't talked much about Bruce's past, beyond the central tragedy of his parents' deaths. He had gotten past the outer walls, further than most people, but Bruce still had plenty of defenses... inwardly, he smiled at the image.
Yes, Bruce could be distant, unreachable, sometimes even cold, but... he certainly had his good points. Like all the things he'd done to help Dick out, not only by training him for his role as Nightwing but also by giving him a job at Wayne Enterprises that he wasn't really qualified for. All the more reason to work hard, show that he was grateful. And maybe that gratitude, along with an admiration he had to admit was close to hero-worship, was why he increasingly found himself thinking of Bruce as a father, or maybe a big brother, although he would never embarrass them both by saying so.
"Tomorrow?"
Dick looked up, startled out of his thoughts. "Yeah. Sure."
"Don't be late." Bruce had already turned his attention to something else, and was sitting at the computer, waiting for it to come to life.
"Bruce?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm sorry about your friend. I know you guys are tight. You must be worried."
There was an almost surprised look on Bruce's face as he turned his head. It quickly melted into a genuine and warm smile. "Thanks, Dick."
"Well, see you tomorrow."
"Why don't you come with me Saturday?"
"Huh?"
Bruce was watching him when he turned back, the smile still there. "Come to the party. Commissioner Gordon will be there. Might be a good idea for you to meet him."
"I dunno... I'm not exactly part of that crowd."
"They're just people. You might even have a good time."
Dick hesitated another moment, but there was no way he would turn down an invitation from Bruce, not when it meant their relationship was turning into a real friendship. "Do I have to dress up?" he asked.
It was her. He could see her car from the kitchen window. Could hear her voice faintly when she called. Gilda... Harvey felt the sting of tears behind his eyes. So loyal, so loving. But how long would that love and loyalty last when she saw? Don't answer. Don't answer... but she had the key. He listened to the lock turn, and to the door opening. Her voice came again, louder.
"Harvey? Harvey, where are you?"
He retreated, through the kitchen, into the hallway. The light tap of her footsteps pursued him. He moved faster, doubling back through the living room, past the door to his bedroom where they would never make love again, to the very back of the house. Through the door into the studio...
And he jolted to a stop, heart thudding, at the sight that greeted him there. He was face to face with himself. The bust Gilda had done of him, soon after they became engaged, stood proudly on a pedestal in the center of the room where the sun coming through the skylight caught it in a golden halo... At the time he had admired it so much; it was so lifelike, capturing not only the straight, strong lines of his face but something of his spirit, or so he had thought in his pride and vanity. Now it mocked him with the image of his own former perfection, the two sides of his face pure and clean as it stared at him with a superior contempt.
"Harvey? Harvey, there you are... What's wrong?"
He turned. Gilda had found him, caught him. No point in running, anyway, not when he knew she wouldn't give up. Had to face the inevitable, sooner or later, and it might as well be now. "Yes. It's me."
"You - how are you? You look - you look..."
"Go on, tell me how I look."
"You look fine."
"Fine?" He laughed, a sound as twisted as the scarred side of his face. "I look fine. But of course, you haven't really seen."
"No, I haven't..." She looked frightened now. Afraid of the truth. Afraid of him. That hurt... and yet he found a strange and surprising pleasure in it.
"Want to see, Gilda?" he asked softly. "Do you really want to see?"
"Yes..." But there was only fear in her voice, spurring him on.
"Here! Look!" With a swift, convulsive movement, he yanked the bandage off, hardly feeling pain as the tape pulled from his healing skin. "Look... a face divided between beauty and ugliness, between good and evil... What do you think of me? Do I look fine to you?"
Gilda cringed back as he stepped closer, her mouth opening in a square of shock and revulsion, her eyes wide and round, only an incoherent sound escaping her throat.
Harvey grabbed her shoulders, pulling her closer. "Why don't you just say it, dammit? I look like a monster!"
"No! No, I can't stand it!" She twisted out of his hands, turning her head and closing her eyes.
"Yes, you turn away from me now. You can't stand to look at me! Admit it!"
"Harvey, please don't..." He could see the tears in her eyes as they lifted to him, and felt a pang of guilt, felt the urge to take her in his arms and soothe away her fears... but then he saw it; she couldn't quite keep that expression of horrified revulsion from her face, before she looked away quickly.
The statue caught his attention again as he stepped back. The statue that no longer looked like him, that was no longer his true face... Rage, fear, pain, and despair seemed like a breaking wave inside him as he grabbed up a smaller piece Gilda had given him, an iron figure of a standing man.
"You don't look right anymore," he growled, raising the statuette. "But I can fix that!" He was only dimly aware of Gilda's cry of fear and horror, of her running steps, leaving him as he had known she would, as he slashed at the left side of that clay image of himself until it was as broken and distorted as the reality of his own flesh.
TBC...
