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.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Grace," Batman said again.
"Oh, I know, you have to try to catch him - but now Harvey thinks I betrayed him!"
"Capturing him, so he can get help, wouldn't have been a betrayal. But I'm sorry that it looked that way to him." He frowned, fists clenching as he bent a glance at Nightwing and Batwoman, both standing quietly beside him in Gilda's living room. "At any rate, we failed. Now he'll only be more bitter. Maybe more dangerous."
"I'm glad he got away." Gilda had crossed her arms, her face defiant.
"Then you're a fool." He didn't raise his voice, but the quiet emphasis of his words had their effect in the sudden uncertainty of her expression. "The way Harvey's going, he'll end up either in jail, or locked up in an institution for the rest of his life. Or dead. So far he hasn't killed anyone. But sooner or later, if he isn't stopped and helped... Is that what you want? For him to be guilty of murder?"
"No. Of course not." Her lips began to tremble. "Harvey... what can I do?"
"Nothing. Just inform the police if he tries to contact you again."
"I will." It was almost a whisper.
"But he's not likely to try to see her again, is he?" Nightwing asked.
"I suppose not."
"So we've got nothing. No clue to where he is, or what he's going to do next," Batwoman muttered.
"We'll think of something. Come on." Batman turned, and started for the door, hearing Nightwing's footsteps following. He looked back as he heard Batwoman speak up again.
"Try not to worry," she was saying to Gilda, reaching a hand to touch her arm. "We'll figure something out. We all want to help Harvey almost as much as you do."
Gilda nodded numbly. Then, as they all started to turn away again, her voice stopped them. "Wait. There's something he said."
"Yes?" Batman asked.
"The makeup he was wearing started to come off. He said, 'Waxman did it wrong...'"
"Waxman?"
"Max Waxman. Harvey told me about him; he was involved in prosecuting him years ago. He's a makeup artist, from Hollywood. I remember Harvey telling me a few months back that he had moved here, to Gotham."
"And Harvey must have gone to him for the makeup job." Batman exchanged another glance with Nightwing. "He probably won't go back - but it's a lead worth following up. Thanks."
"Batman, if you find him... please, don't hurt him."
"We don't intend to." He knew it was an empty promise. They could only hope they wouldn't be forced to.
"Waxman... Waxman!" Harvey pounded on the door again. "I know you're here, and I intend to see you!"
He should have gone home, to the small apartment he rented from a landlord who wasn't very choosy about his clientele, or in fact about the accommodations he provided. Back to that rathole, back to the miserable existence he had sunk into, when he could have been with Gilda. If only the makeup hadn't fallen apart, everything would have been all right. Exactly how, he didn't want to think about too closely; it was much easier to focus all his pain, rage, frustration, and fear on Waxman, on the man now staring at him apprehensively as the door swung open.
"What are you doing here? What do you want?"
"Your makeup didn't work! It didn't last!"
"I warned you it might come off after a few hours." Waxman grabbed his arm, pulling him in. "Don't want anyone seeing you here... If I'm caught associating with a known criminal my parole could be revoked."
"A known criminal..." Harvey felt a moment of disorientation. "A criminal. Yes, that's right, that's what I am now."
"Are you all right?"
He snarled, focusing again on what had happened, on why he was here. "Of course I'm not all right! Because of you, everything went wrong! I wanted to be with my fiancée again, but it didn't work! She saw what was under the makeup - we could have been happy again. Together again. But you ruined it!"
"But - you didn't think you could fool her forever, did you?"
Harvey ignored the question. "She betrayed me, told Batman I was there! He almost got me. All because of you!"
Waxman began to back away. "You can't blame me for-"
"Oh, I do blame you. I do. And I'll show you what it means to double-cross Two-Face!"
They gathered on the empty sidewalk of the dark, quiet street outside Max Waxman's house, taking a moment to look it over. Most of the windows were dark, but there was a light shining from the other side of the front door. Batman took a step towards it.
"We might as well follow the same plan," he said to his companions. "Batwoman, you cover the back. Nightwing, the front."
"Yes, sir," Batwoman said.
Ignoring her faintly ironic tone, he started forward again. "I'll see if Waxman has any idea of where Two-Face could be."
But before he reached the door, an angry shout from inside brought them all to alarmed attention. It was followed by a crash. Without a word, they all raced for the door. As they found it unlocked and dashed inside, none of them noticed a figure step into the street from the shadows behind them.
"I didn't do anything to you! Get out and leave me alone!"
Harvey was vaguely aware that he was past the point of any rationality, but it didn't seem to matter in the flood of fury that filled him, chasing out any doubt or hesitation. He advanced on Waxman, pursuing him as he retreated backwards through the shabby living room, only pausing long enough to pick up a chair. He swung it into a small table, smashing both of them into flying shards of wood.
"Get out! I'll call the police!"
"And have them catch you with a known criminal? No one's going to help you now." Harvey kicked at the television set, breaking the glass and sending it toppling from its stand with a crackle and flash of dying electronic innards, sparks catching and flaring into life on the bottom of a nearby drape. He grabbed up a table lamp, hardly noticing the shadows it cast fluttering across the wall and ceiling before he pulled the cord free with an angry yank.
"No, don't..." Waxman was cornered against the back wall, a bookcase blocking his path to another door leading into the house.
Harvey raised the lamp, a surge of fierce joy electrifying him as the other man whimpered in fear and cowered, trying to shield his head. It would be so easy... so easy to smash him into nothingness, to punish him for his failure, to wipe out the memory of Gilda's stricken face...
But he hesitated. It wouldn't take away the memory. It wouldn't erase the last hours, it wouldn't put things back the way they once were. In one sudden, cold moment he seemed to see himself from the outside, a hideous monster poised to strike down a man who had done him no harm. Hideous, yes, but not because of his face. Harvey staggered back, still clutching the lamp. He looked around at the destruction he had caused, smelled smoke and saw flames lick higher on the drapes, heard Waxman's soft, terrified sounds. What was he doing... what had he been doing for months, since he got out of the hospital; what had he become? How could this have happened; how could he have let it happen? Uncertainly, he lowered his arm.
"Two-Face! Hold it right there!" The shout swung him around.
"Batman!" The caped figure loomed in the doorway, two more crowding behind him, cutting off the light from the hall, casting him into darkness except for the flickering light of the growing fire. He backed away, towards the second door.
"No use running." Batman's voice dropped into silky menace, anger tightly leashed under its surface as he glanced at Waxman's huddled form. "You're not getting away this time."
"You don't understand..."
No use, the only thing left for him was to run... Harvey whirled and sprinted for the door, skidded into a short hallway, dashed down it. He heard Batman shout an order at his partners before footsteps sounded behind him. He glanced back, turned just enough to throw the lamp at his pursuer, and burst through another door into a kitchen. Frantically he looked around for a way out. There was a door - he threw himself at it, sweat-slicked hands slipping on the knob. Locked - couldn't get it open - and they were after him, they would get him...
He pressed his back into the wall, panting, his gun drawn as Batman ran into the room and abruptly stopped. They stared at each other. No sign of the other two, probably trying to put out the fire... Batman moved a step farther inside.
"It's over, Two-Face. Give up and come quietly, and I'll keep my promise, do whatever I can to help you."
"I don't think so. And I'm the one with a gun."
"I don't think you'll shoot me."
"I don't want to shoot anyone. But I can't go to jail. I can't face... Just - just stay back."
Batman moved another step, away from the doorway. "You've committed grand larceny. Kidnapping. Now arson. Give yourself up before you add murder to the list." He seemed to hesitate, his voice softening. "I'm trying to help you. Trying to be your friend."
"My friend? I have no friends! My so-called friends can't even look at my face! Not even my fiancée!"
"You haven't given anyone a chance!"
"I'm a freak, now, a monster! I belong with other monsters... criminals, murderers, thieves! They're my only friends now!"
"One way or another, it stops now, Harvey. Give me the gun." He took another step.
"No!" Panic filled Harvey again. He grabbed at the doorknob. "I have to get out! Back off, or I swear I'll shoot!"
As he rattled the knob in desperation, there was movement, too quick to see clearly in the half-light and a thin haze of smoke. Someone else ran in, darting at him. As he jumped and swung the gun towards that shadowed figure, Batman sprang at him, leaping across the room. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was just an involuntary reaction, or maybe in that instant he did it out of a self-protective reflex. He would never be entirely sure, although the question would haunt him in years to come. Harvey felt himself squeeze the trigger. The gun went off with a sharp bang and an equally sharp recoil. The person who had run in, who had dashed between himself and Batman, collapsed on the cold tiled floor with only a faint gasp.
"Gilda!" he cried. Harvey felt something rip inside him as he saw her face grimace in pain, as he realized what he had done. Some outer layer of himself, something that had distorted his vision of everything around him seemed to fall away, leaving the world in suddenly sharp and painful focus. "Gilda!" he whispered.
Batman was bending over her. Harvey pushed him aside and gathered her into his arms, lifting her head and shoulders into his lap, stroking her hair and willing her to look at him. Her eyes were open - for a terrifying moment they stared blankly, but then she blinked and looked up at him.
"Gilda, why?" he cried.
"Harvey... I had to come, I had to talk to you, explain, make you understand, before it was too late. Explain that I didn't betray you..."
"She's right," Batman said quietly over his shoulder. "We were watching the house, expecting you to show up. She didn't tell us you were coming."
"Then - then I told them about Waxman... I had to, Harvey, had to stop you before something terrible happened."
But something terrible had happened. Harvey swallowed and tried to speak calmly. "Don't - don't try to talk."
"I still love you, Harvey. If you don't believe anything else, believe that. Please, give yourself up. Let your friends help you. Don't let yourself be destroyed... Harvey..."
"I will, Gilda. If you'll help me too."
"Promise me..." Slowly, her eyes drifted shut. Her head rolled limply to the side.
"Gilda..." He didn't shout her name, didn't shake her or cry out. He just sat there bent over her, his fingers still in the silky brown of her hair, watching as the life seemed to drain out of her face, as her image blurred through a haze of tears. "She's dead," he whispered. "I've killed her."
"No, she isn't," Batman said briskly. He had her wrist in his hand, and briefly laid his fingers on her ribs. "She's still breathing, but we have to get her to a hospital." He looked up. Harvey followed his gaze to see Nightwing and Batwoman standing over them, his face grim, hers shocked and pale.
"We got the fire out," Nightwing said. "Waxman's okay. I called the police. And an ambulance."
Batman turned his attention back to Harvey. "Will you do what Gilda wanted?" he asked. "She risked everything to try and save you. Are you going to let us help you this time?"
Harvey tightened his grip on Gilda, looking down into her face. "I'll give myself up," he said softly, and added, just to her, "I promise."
"She loved me all the time, in spite of my face, she loved me. I've been a blind fool..." Harvey paused in the path he had been pacing up and down a bare and harshly lit hospital corridor, only vaguely aware of the four police officers who had taken him into custody as they watched him alertly. Under arrest - but it hardly seemed important. And they had even been kind - allowed him to come here, to wait while Gilda was operated on. He looked down at his wrists, locked in handcuffs. It was nothing compared to what he deserved.
"I was wrong, about so many things..." His reflection in the metal of a plaque on the wall caught his eye. He waited for a response, for the voice to tell him he was being a fool, making a mistake to believe anyone, to trust anyone. But there was nothing. The monster had gone; there was only the dim image of a man with scars on one side of his face.
A small commotion, the sound of voices, attracted his attention to the other end of the long corridor. A small knot of people there broke to reveal several familiar faces. Commissioner James Gordon led the way, waving aside the police to make a path. Behind him were his daughter Barbara, Bruce, Kathy, and a young man Harvey vaguely remembered from the party at which he had behaved so disgracefully.
He was silent, fidgeting uncomfortably with the handcuffs, as they came up to him. They all stared, no one seeming to know what to say when all the usual greetings were wildly inappropriate.
Finally Bruce stepped past Gordon and faced him. "We're here, Harvey," he said simply.
"Thanks." He took a deep breath, searching for words, and found only, "I'm sorry."
"They're doing everything they can for Gilda. You can stay here until - until we know," Gordon said gruffly, before turning away. Barbara followed. The young man seemed to hesitate before going after her, but they spoke for a moment and then sat down together. After a smile and a touch on his arm, Kathy walked away too, leaving him with Bruce.
"I thought I had no friends anymore," Harvey said, half to himself. "Bruce, you tried to be my friend. I can see that now. And Batman, he wanted to help me too, and I tried to kill him. The way I look now - I felt like I'd become a monster, and I started to act like one, too."
"Harvey..." Bruce began, and paused before going on. "Look, I won't say it's not your fault, or that you couldn't help it. But you went through a terrible shock. I suppose - I can understand what you did, after what happened to you. The important thing now is to decide what you're going to do in the future."
Harvey raised his cuffed wrists. "Do I have a choice about that? Isn't it too late for me?"
"Yes, you do. There are always choices. And there's always another chance, if you're willing to take it."
"I don't know. How can I have any hope of going back to my old life?"
"It won't be the same. But you can get treatment. When you get out, there will still be a life worth living for you."
He shook his head. "Not if Gilda isn't there..."
"She did everything to bring you back to your senses. Now - what are you going to do for her? Let her sacrifice be in vain? Or keep your promise?"
"My promise... You're right, of course. I'll - I'll do it, I'll try my best, for her."
Bruce smiled. "Good. I'll hold you to that. We all will."
Harvey looked around. Jim Gordon was on a bench with Kathy, talking quietly, nodding when they saw him watching. Barbara was sitting on another bench with her young man, deep in conversation, holding hands, but she looked up to see him too, and they both paused to give him a smile.
The people he had attacked at that party - Jim especially. The people he had held a gun on. Yet here they were, largely for Gilda, he knew, but some of it was for him, too, in spite of everything.
"Mr. Dent?"
The voice came from behind him. Harvey turned to see a short man in a white lab coat looking at him nervously. A doctor. He pulled himself up and nodded, his throat suddenly too dry to ask the question.
"Ms. Grace, your fiancée, suffered a bullet - uh - a wound to the chest. She had a collapsed lung - internal bleeding-"
Bruce interrupted. "Will she live?"
"She's still critical, but stable. No guarantees, of course, but she's got a very good chance."
"A chance," Harvey murmured. "Another chance..."
TBC...
