Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, the Dark Knight, or any associated characters, scenes, etc. If I did, it probably would not have been so cool. However, I am the proud writer of this fanfic, and this perspective on the whole situation.
Warning: Rated M for a reason. Language, alcohol, violence, dark themes, crime, slash (mxm), etc. If you do not like any of these things, please leave now. I warned you. The Bruvey doesn't start yet. ; This also doesn't go verbatim by the dialogue and happenings of Dark Knight. If that is something you can't deal with, please leave now as well.
Author's Note: Sorry the prologue was so short. It was a framing technique. It helps the story be all the more tragic, as you know what is coming before it hits. I am using this to practice a lot of techniques I am learning in my creative writing courses. As always, R&R adored. It inspires me to write more.
FROM GRACE
Chapter I: A Spark
With a steady hand, he pressed the key into the lock, quickly twisting, letting himself in. He flicked the lights on, setting his briefcase down on his desk, tailored suit jacket on top of that. Locking the door behind him, Harvey slumped into his tall backed chair, closing his eyes for a moment.
That had been a close call.
Rachel had just laughed it off, smiling her angelic smile and going on about life. No one was expecting it, though. There were gasps and cries, and Harvey could remember holding his breath. His blue eyes had widened for just an instant before he acted, a hard right hook with his fist square on the mobster's jaw, hand continuing that momentum to grab the gun, take it quickly apart.
Everyone was cheering the antics, yes, and Harvey had smiled calmly, confidently, as he laid the disarmed pistol on the defendant's table. For a moment, inside, he had quaked. He had just been elected to the office of District Attorney for Gotham City, and already there were guns pointed at him, threatening to end his life and everything he was working for.
It was good to just relax into the overstuffed chair, close his eyes and let it all sink in.
How did Batman do this?
That was almost a question Harvey did not want answered. From what he had heard from Lieutenant Gordon, Batman was a incorruptible symbol, without a face, a name, a family, in order to do this. There were certain things Harvey knew he could not give up. Like Rachel. Harvey knew that Rachel, his beloved, the woman he planned on proposing to, was something he could never give up, put in danger, cast away. No. It was not happening.
And she had been in that courtroom with him, watching as the gun was pulled. Harvey wondered if the world had stopped for her too.
Hands shaking, he ran them back over his face, hair, pinning the blond locks up. A deep breath was blown out from his lips. It had hit him. He was seconds away from injury, possible death considering how good a shot that goon was. Most goons had terrible shots, but Harvey did not want to risk it. There was too much he had left to do in Gotham before he could die.
Finally cooling down the incessant circles of his mind, Harvey leaned forward, dragging his briefcase forward. If he wanted to pin the rest of this mob, he would have to start getting to work. Batman wasn't alone in this crusade anymore, after all.
The scum-bag got off. Harvey grunted, shoving his pockets deep in his pants. Tilting his head to the side, Harvey let his blue eyes scan out through the blinds of the window, surveying the city below. It was daytime out. Ever since Batman had started his own "reign of terror", as the Police Commissioner called it, the days were the time for crime. Only the extremely bold or stupid operated at night anymore. The criminals were catching on, but so were the police. They were learning to adapt as well.
If only there was not corruption still, Harvey would be having a much easier job. Sworn statements refuted, evidence gone missing, witnesses being found dead; right now, the law enforcement of Gotham City was losing.
Sighing, Harvey yanked the blinds shut. There were diplomas on his wall, all from good universities. There were some newspaper clippings too. Harvey had made quite the name for himself in the Internal Affairs sector of the government. That was the problem. Two of the cops working on Gordon's special unit were two Harvey had investigated and brought charges against. There were dirty cops in there. That was half the reason why they never nailed the mobsters, and Gordon always defended them.
Of course Gordon would. He would defend them to the end, Harvey was certain.
The paperwork for five search and seizure warrants were on his desk. He had to sign them, get them signed by a judge as well. Harvey walked back over to his desk, leaning over it, surveying each page. He had the names of the banks they wanted the warrants for, but no other information. He wanted in on it. Gotham City had elected him to be in on it.
Rolling his eyes, he picked up his pen, scribbling on his messy, barely legible signature. When all of them were done, he stuffed them in a plain brown folder, pulling on his blazer and tucking it under his arm. It was time to pay the judge a visit.
The vaults were clean, all five of them. With a straight back and fluid movements, he strode into the vault, dark gaze raking over it. There were a few stacks of bills, lightly eradiated. Those were supposed to help the police track the mob money, but now all of those bills were neatly stacked and left for them to find.
Someone had known the bust was coming. Someone had moved the main fortune out.
There had to be an insider.
What Gordon said hardly helped. He was gone in a flash, striding quickly down the hall, down the window. Normally the Batman did not come out during the day. Bats were nocturnal. However, this raid had been during the day. It was too important to miss. After all, he had provided a great deal of the funding for the project.
Trying not to show any of his frustration, he headed back along his hidden routes, finally returned to the place he had hidden the Batmobile, if anything so large and obvious could actually be hidden. Back to the temporary Bat Cave he went, to catch a few more hours of sleep before the board meeting, and then for his night out on the town.
He had gotten a fine date, if he could say so himself. She was Russian, a bonus, a dancer, double bonus. Natasha was her name, right? Bruce couldn't quite remember, nor was he thinking too much about it. He would just have to remember the name by the time he got to dinner, when he would no doubt have to introduce her to people. Everyone in town knew the billionaire Bruce Wayne. Everyone knew the dark knight Batman. No one but Rachel, Lucius and Alfred knew they were one and the same.
The police was still waiting for him to turn himself in, though, laughably. Gotham City needed Batman at the moment. Hopefully there would be a day when they didn't, when he and Rachel could actually be together, and the city would be a better, happier place. Wouldn't that be nice? For now, he wasn't an idealist. That could be left to that new D.A. with the cheesy slogan, Rachel's current squeeze.
Jumping out of the Batmobile, he started stripping down his armor. He needed more sleep, and couldn't wait to dive into his plush bed with its expensive linins, all for him.
He slept through the board meeting. Groaning, Bruce raised his head, looking into the clock. Damn. He had almost missed dinner as well. That was not good. Rolling off the bed, Bruce landed easily on his feet, walking straight for the wardrobe. There he pulled on a whole fresh set of attire, with a snappy suit (including a vest) and a tie. It was his style… as Bruce Wayne, at least.
Smiling at himself in the mirror, he combed his hair back, checking his teeth before rushing out the door. Alfred had the Lamborghini waiting for him out front, key in the ignition, just waiting to be turned. Keeping on that smile, so confident, so sure of everything, Bruce headed off. It was easy enough to find the hotel his date was staying at. It was as big and opulent as the theater she would be performing at that week.
Just as exquisite as he expected, the lovely Natasha stepped into his car. Bruce could barely understand her through her thick accent, but that was no matter. She would serve to cover for him well enough. In fact, that was her only purpose there. Appearance was everything, especially with as deep and dark a secret as he was harboring.
The hotel was one he owned, bought one night when he was too drunk to care. The restaurant inside was amazing, great food, though small portions, and all the elite in town wanted to eat there. Bruce led the way in with Natasha on his arm, the perfect ornament for the night.
That was when he spotted Rachel.
Quickly veering off course from his reserved table, Bruce made a B-line for Rachel, not even noticing the person sitting with her until it was too late. "Rachel, what a surprise."
"Yeah, Bruce… what a surprise…" She did not seem too thrilled to see him, but put on her cherub smile anyhow, gesturing towards the one she was sitting with. "Bruce, this is Harvey Dent, Gotham's new District Attorney."
"Ah, yes. Who hasn't heard of Harvey Dent?" With a beaming, slick smile, Bruce shook that hand, even though he did not want to touch it. Dent was the competition, as far as Bruce could see. Why should he like the man? Most politians were corrupt. That was another tally against him. "How about we have them put together some tables?"
"I don't think they would like that…" Harvey looked around, first to Rachel, who seemed more than a little displeased with the concept, and then to the teaming restaurant around them. And yes, it was teaming. The place was always full, and it took a long time to get a table. There was no getting out of this, as Bruce saw it. After all, he was curious to find out what it was exactly that the people of Gotham (Rachel) saw in Harvey Dent.
"It'll be fine. I own the place." Giving that too cool smile again, which looked to be driving Dent up a wall already, Bruce motioned a server over, hand signaling that they wanted tables put together. Whether Rachel and Dent liked it or not, they were having dinner guests.
The conversation was excruciating, full of false pretenses and slick, verging on snide, remarks. Bruce was good at that billionaire smile, those dark and confident eyes. Inside, he was uncomfortable. Outwardly, Rachel was uncomfortable. So far, the conversation had been cliché and hollow, without any substance or meaning. Natasha kept it going, more interested in talking to Dent than she was to Bruce. It allowed Bruce's gaze to wander to Rachel, his thoughts to her as well.
Would there ever be a time when Gotham did not need Batman?
"Who elected this vigilante, anyway? Is that not what actual elected officials are for? Laws are for? What do you think, Mr. Dent?"
"I think Gotham City, its citizens, its fearful and victimized, elected Batman."
Immediately Bruce was snapped from his own dreamy world of what ifs, Dent's voice the string which tugged him back to reality. He tried not to look at him, though his smug smile faltered, falling into a wide line. His gaze caught Rachel's, and there was a reprimanding look about her, even though Bruce had yet to do anything. She could see it coming.
"We need more people like Batman, who are willing to step forward and take initiative against crime. No one was willing to do that until him. The citizens were paralyzed by fear."
"But surely you, as a public official, would not want a mere citizen putting themselves in the line of danger like that." Natasha was smiling, everything about her posture and tone suggesting a challenge. And Dent took that bait.
"You either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain."
"Whoever this Batman is, he can't want to do this for the rest of his life."
"I don't think he does." Dent leaned forward. He was totally engrossed in this new turn of topic. Bruce found himself fully engrossed in him, staring across the table with a growing intensity. Rachel must have noticed it, as Bruce felt the point of a heel kick his foot under the table, a warning, one that Bruce—or rather his Batman side—decided to ignore. "I think he wants someone to take his mantle, carry on his work to transform Gotham."
"Someone like you, Mr. Dent?"
Dent blushed, defined cheeks darkening. He looked down sharply, some of his golden blond hair falling across his forehead. It was almost like a schoolboy trying sheepishly to hide his embarrassment. There was a sharper kick on his foot, causing Bruce to move it and continue staring. When this conversation had started, he was leaning back coolly in his chair, but now he was leaned forward, taking interest.
"Or maybe you are the caped crusader?" Natasha gave a coy look, holding up a card to cover the top half of Dent's face, leaving just the lips visible. Even with that obstacle, he could see Dent shaking his head.
"Oh no. If I was Batman, someone would have noticed me slipping out at night by now."
His gaze was drawn down to the table by movement, Bruce seeing Dent's hand squeeze Rachel's. His mouth went dry.
He could see why Rachel chose Dent, but he could also see how Dent was moving Gotham towards no longer needing Batman. It was a true dilemma.
Gotham needed more people like Harvey Dent.
"You know what?" It was a snap decision, like buying the hotel had been, but one he would not back down from, or regret. "I'm going to throw you a fundraiser."
Why did Rachel have to look so damn surprised? She knew he was Batman. That look was almost insulting.
"Mr. Wayne, I don't go up for re-election for another three years."
"You don't understand. When I throw a fundraiser, you'll never had a need for one again."
It was settled. Nothing Rachel or Dent could say would stop him. Nothing.