It's quieter than Harvey expected. Slow night, maybe, or good soundproofing. In any case, he's glad, so glad, not to hear moans and screams and proof that he shouldn't be turning a blind eye out here.
It's safer, too. He doesn't want to think about how Batman knew 313 was at the end of a little dogs-leg, one place in the hotel nobody had any business walking by. Maybe he does live here. Maybe he's the day clerk, taking hush money and turning it around into gadgets and suits and hospital bills. Nah. Too close, too criminal. Maybe he's the janitor – knows the layout, knows what happens but doesn't profit from it and dreams, someday, of saving those poor women and maybe even the night clerk. Someday, when he has time.
His hand's on his gun before he processes the rustling. He can see that it's just a rat, another goddamn rat scaring a year off his life. The laughter leaks out of him, hysterical, too high. Rats and bats and Dents, oh my.
You wouldn't know that he'd come back except for the busted shade clattering against the window, the dingy neon sign outside vibrating - one gloved hand must have grabbed it for momentum to turn. One last chuckle escapes. It hangs there, choked, between them. "You sure know this place well."
He's just standing there, Batman, huge and solid and hunched over like an Egyptian statue. The jaw jutting out of his mask would be strong even if it weren't clenched tight, tight as the fistful of film he's glaring at. "This was a bad idea," he rasps, almost comically. Does that armor choke his breath? "I shouldn't put you at risk. Your reputation at risk. You're everything to this city."
Harvey couldn't hold back a snort. "Everything? I don't think so. Twenty years with nothing but darkness until one day, an ordinary citizen says enough is enough."
"You are that hero. You said enough is enough. Every day, you show Gotham that law and order can triumph over corruption and violence."
He can feel the bruises around his neck, harsh reminders that it's his part to be protected. "You think I don't know why I get to play the good guy?"
"You are the good guy."
"Tell that to Lao." Batman's fist clenches tighter, tight enough to rustle the film in his hand. Finally, some sign that he's real, he moves. "Tell that to all the scumbags I put in jail last week with his evidence and your funny money. I can play by the rules because you break them for me." He's frozen again, Batman, looming, solid. Does he even blink? "Don't get me wrong. I pray for the day when that's all finished and you can safely retire. Some days, I even think it won't be a long time coming." A deep breath – to say all this, to the man himself – "And some days I take a look at the files in Public Corruption or a terrorist dressed as a goddamn clown kills a judge and my chief of police."
"Joker." The way he says it – Harvey's spine tingles, his stomach warms all at once. Batman looks bigger, fiercer, stronger. Thank god he's on our side.
"We'll get him. Even the crooked cops are mad now." Batman's smile does little to warm up his face. "And I'd better get a swing at him next time. Hard to do much when you're passed out and stuffed in a cupboard."
"It had to be done. You were the target. He came for you himself."
"So next time, we know what he's after."
"There won't be a next time." There it goes again – he's standing straighter, voice deeper, pose just this shy of a cliché. The treacherous, traitor thought that maybe Batman likes this, just a little…
Harvey shakes his head. "My best guess? We'll see him at the funeral, if not before."
The Batman frowns at that. "How's your home security?"
"Pretty good. I have silent alarms, and a few tricks I learned from the beat cops." He's uncomfortable, suddenly – Batman is looking at him. Harvey reaches up to pull the baseball cap from his head, just for something to do, just to break that hard gaze. "I have good reason to be careful."
"Rachel."
Something about the way Batman says her name doesn't sit right. "I asked her to marry me tonight, you know." A laugh, harsh and hollow. "She said she didn't have an answer." Christ, how is this coming out of his mouth? A virtual stranger – the goddamn Batman – and he's going on about his love life.
"Maybe she's not ready." A funny feeling… The other guy? It can't be. Not Batman - Rachel's too smart to hang her heart on a shadow, and too honest to keep it quiet if it were more than a crush.
It's too surreal, too awful to think about, stupid to think about it now, now when he's got the chance to know this mysterious Batman. Especially if it is true… Stupid, Harvey, get that out of your head. He pats the bed next to him, tries not to think about the last time the blankets were washed. "Have a seat." Oh. "That is, if you can sit in that."
"I can sit," Batman grunts. He's favoring one side and Harvey's sick, absurdly grateful that this man trusts him enough to telegraph an injury.
Harvey tries to look away but his eyes slide back to the suit. It's so close – he can see little shapes and patterns in it, cracks and seams. "Can I touch it?" The words slip out, too quick to think the better of them.
The Batman freezes, frown deepening. This is it. This is the part where Harvey's gone too far, and his new buddy slips out the window for good. But then he's reaching up, a click and a grunt and he's sliding the long, stiff sleeve off his left arm. The arm inside is almost mythically muscular. Maybe he's finally lost it, maybe that Scarecrow's at it again because he looks at it and all he sees is patriotic - red cuts, white skin, blue bruises. The glove actually touches him – ohmigod, he must have been staring, stupid with this fragile truce. Snap out of it, Dent.
It's lighter than Harvey would have thought, more flexible, too. His grip slips, almost drops it and it goes rigid with the sharp movement. He changes his grip, grasping more firmly around the wrist and hiss. Vicious spikes, lost in the carpet and well into the floor. Jesus. Half an inch and that would have been his foot.
Is that a laugh? "I did that too, the first time." Definitely a laugh, and Batman's voice lightened up a bit, too.
Harvey grins back at him. "Is that how you came by your red badge of courage, there?" Jesus Christ – stitches, huge and jagged like Frankenstein.
"That was dogs. BIG dogs." Harvey smiled a little bit at the force of it. "The Russian's using rottweilers now." The serious voice was back. "I forget to tell Gordon."
"Yeah, well, you're telling me." He sounds so goddamned defensive. The Batman just inclines his head and Harvey can feel himself blush. Overreaction, and a stupid one. Batman trusts Gordon.
The silence is awkward, heavy and Harvey runs a hand over his hair to ward it off. He must feel it too; he rolls his free shoulder. Crack, pop and Harvey can see the stitches caught on the rough, exposed edge of the shoulder. "Hold still. You're gonna tear those stitches."
"Thanks," Batman grunts. The angle is too awkward, sitting next to him like this, so Harvey's up and too close, suddenly, wedged between the Batman's legs, one hand braced on his armored shoulder. Trust, he thinks, even though Batman could take him apart if he made a false move. Maybe that's trust, too.
These stitches are neater than the mess on his upper arms, but the sutures have frayed where they rub against the seam in the armor. "I don't suppose you have a bandaid," Harvey mutters. He can feel the Batman's choked laugh, hot air against his stomach.
Harvey settles for smoothing the sutures under the edge of the shoulder – they'll almost certainly rip again, but he's not about to use a bit of this blanket as padding. Better torn stitches than syphilis of the shoulder. Think, Harvey. There's got to be padding in this room. Toilet paper? No, it'll tear. Of course – his t-shirt, even if it is one of his favorites, a football team shirt from back when his nicknames were nicer.
He shucks off his fleece, kicks it away when it tangles against his feet. It's a good thing his scoutmaster can't see him now, struggling to rip a bit off the hem of his t-shirt. He pulls a bit too hard, knocks Batman in the nose. "Sorry," he mutters. "I need it for padding." What, he's too stupid to back up a step?
"Thanks."
Batman's breath is hot against his stomach as Harvey leans back in to smooth his makeshift padding over the fraying stitches. It's real, almost too real against the pure absurdity of this room, this situation, everything. A deep breath to stop his goddamn nervous laughter. Batman's breath hitches too, gusting harder against his stomach. Suddenly Harvey is focused, laser focused on the stitches, the texture of his t-shirt against his fingers. From this angle you can see bone-deep bruises trailing down from the shoulder into the dark depths of the suit. "That must have hurt." His fingers have taken on a life of their own, ghosting against the bruises. To let Batman know what he's talking about. Of course.
The deep growl – is it deeper? "I fell off a building."
He can't stop the odd, breathy chuckle from escaping him as he takes one step back, far enough to see him, let him see what it meant, even if he was trapped in a goddamn cupboard even if Rachel still shook hours afterward because, oh god, if he'd lost her, if the Joker had killed her or him too and took it all from Gotham in one fell swoop. His throat's dry, must be - his voice catches. "You saved my life."
Batman smiles and this time Harvey's close enough to see it reach his eyes, to know he understands all of what Harvey said. "You'll save my city."
He's not quite sure how it happened – didn't plan it, god no, a man, this man – but he's dropped to his knees somehow and his arms encircle Kevlar shoulders and his lips his lips god his lips are on Batman's.