All recognized characters belong to DC comics. The poem is original work, please don't use without permission or crediting me at least.
This story is going through an edit/rewrite. There will be a new chapter within the next 24 hours.
Harvey Dent unlatches the locket from around his neck and clicks it open to what is inside. He smiles at the child beaming back. He closes his fist around the locket and clenches his jaw at the maniacal laughing that starts in the cell across from him.
"Yoo-hoo! Haaaarvey! What'da lookin' at over there, Haaaaarvey? Your girlfriend? Secret lover? Favorite hooker? Oo! I know! I know! It's your boyfriend isn't it?!"
Two-Face snarls at the Joker. "Shut up, you demented psycho. You don't know a damned thing."
Poison Ivy—or Pamela Isely—glides toward the glass wall of her cage. "It's your daughter, isn't it, Harv? Acacia."
Two-Face stands up abruptly and stalks over to their own glass wall. They slam their fist against the glass, a thin gold chain swaying from it. "Yes, Ivy, it is. Do you know what today is?" When she doesn't answer they roar, "WELL DO YOU?!"
"No, Harvey, we don't," answers Doctor Jonathon Crane—or the Scarecrow. "Would you care to enlighten us as to why you are in such a delightful mood?"
Harvey turns away from the rest of the caged Rouges and once again stares at the picture of his little girl. He smiles softly at the picture before answering quietly, "It's her birthday today. She's sixteen."
"Oh boy! She's going to have a blast! It's her sweet sixteen! Maybe she'll get a car and—"
"It's also the day Batman took her away from me," he finishes, cutting Harley Quinn—formerly Doctor Harleen Quinzel—off sharply.
Ivy goes to say something, but is cut off by the sound of the heavy security door opening into the special level reserved for the Rouges. They all move to be able to see who is coming in, but are far enough away from the glass so that the guards don't have an excuse to hit them.
Nightwing and Red Hood walk in, followed by the head of Arkham Asylum Security and several guards. The head of security walks over to Harvey's cell and punches in the code. "I don't know why the hell they let you see her, you sicko, but they do."
Harvey then knows that Acacia has come to see him on her birthday. A smile tugs at his mouth as he allows the guards to chain him up. He is allowed two hours with her and she always brings cupcakes. He walks calmly between Batman's lackeys and doesn't react when the current Red Hood shoves him roughly into the visiting area.
"Acacia," they say, announcing their presence. Acacia had never seen two different people, she said they were the same person with two different voices. She also never saw the scars, having seen them nearly everyday the first eight years of her life.
"Daddy!" she cries, rushing forward and ducking around the chains that held their hands and feet. She wraps her arms around them and they return the hug as best they can. She only lets go when Nightwing clears his throat. They smirk when she gives the vigilante a dirty glare before turning back to them with a smile. "I brought somebody this time, Daddy. His name is Crowe Moore, he's my best friend." She turns and motions for someone behind the door on the other side of the room.
Harvey stands tall when he sees the hulking boy come through the door and walk toward them. The boy is at least six foot one, with dirty blonde hair and bright green eyes. He is built like a quarterback and has a firm handshake, not reacting when Harvey shakes his hand with the scarred one.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," the boy says respectfully, stepping back and taking a protective stance beside Acacia. Two-Face approves of the boy and they nod to Acacia to let her know.
Red Hood snorts disdainfully and mutters something uncomplimentary under his breath. Two-Face walks forward and sits down in one of the hard, uncomfortable chairs in the room before turning to see their daughter smile sweetly at Red Hood.
"How's the leg, Red? Having any problems? I do hope it doesn't affect your ability to catch other criminals." His daughter's tone is condescending and full of mockery toward the anti-hero.
"Didn't hinder me from getting Two-Face back here," Red Hood retorts.
Before the two can erupt into a verbal fight, Two-Face interrupts. "Baby girl, why don't you tell me what's been going on? How's school?"
Their daughter turns and sits down across from him, her friend Moore leaning against the wall behind her. Good, they think, he's protective. He'll keep her safe while we're in here.
"Well, I'm going to Wayne Manor tomorrow," Acacia starts, running a hand through her black hair with red tints.
"Really? What for?" Harvey is curious, Bruce has always been a good friend of his, and making sure his princess got the best education available. Assuring him that Acacia only went to foster homes that he had gone over and approved.
"I'm doing an English project with Tim Drake and he offered for us to be able to use Wayne's house to do our work. I said yes because the school library and the other Gotham libraries will be filled with the entire junior year working on their English projects."
Harvey smiles at Acacia, she has always been at the top of her English classes. "Bruce and I used to be good friends. He'll probably be a lot of help."
Something dark flashes through his daughter's violet eyes before fading quickly. "Of course, Daddy. But I doubt he'd be much help with this. It's about the heroes, anti-heroes, and villains of mythology and how the tales have been retold in different ways and entirely new stories." Acacia has always been a bit obsessed with the idea of heroes, anti-heroes, and villains. Clearly, she is taking advantage of the free-form project given to continue her research. "Also, we're connecting it to the heroes and villains that are known throughout the world now. Drake and I are arguing over whether or not anti-heroes actually are heroes or villains. I tell him it's not so black and white, but he insists that it is."
Harvey smiles at her, loving her enthusiasm and passion. She has many traits that he does, that were extremely useful when he was a lawyer. He raises his hands and places them on hers. "I'm sure you'll be able to convince him to see it your way."
She beams at him, making him feel like the most loved person in the world. "If not, I can always threaten to give some of his fan-girls fake love notes. That would make he see my way."
And there is the criminal side she learned watching them and their associates do business when she was younger.
~~Acacia plays with her letter blocks as we discuss business with Falcone. She appears to not be paying attention as she makes buildings out of words. We make sure that she never is around when we discuss the more violent side of our work.
"So, do we have an agreement?"
We turn back to the mob boss, giving him our best 'lawyer face'. "Nearly, I still want thirty-percent of the money you get from the products you get from the air drop-offs."
Falcone leans back in his chair and pulls out a cigar. He lights it and takes a deep breath of the toxin the brown paper hides. We open our mouth to order him to put it out—we never ask for anything—when our little girl beats us to it.
"Put it out pleashe." It is adorable how she still has trouble saying her 'S's.
Falcone turns to he in surprise, a mocking smile on his lips. I weave my fingers together and watch the scene before me, curious as to how the mobster will react to a five-year-old giving him orders.
"Now why should I do that, girly?" he asks, his tone disregarding of her opinion before she says anything. He takes another deep drag after speaking.
Acacia studies the block in her hand for a moment, before setting it to the side and turning her attention to him. "Uncle Crane says that shmoking is bad for you. He shaysh it can kill you."
"Can it now?" Falcone is amused and laughs at the advice he has probably been told before.
"Yesh," Acacia nods decisively and places a block down. "Mishter Falcone, do you know what the fear of shcarecrowsh ish?"
He warily lowers his cigar and we smirk at the beginning of his fear. Clearly, Acacia has been learning how to get people to do what she wants from people other than me. Falcone swallows some of the brandy in the glass before him. "No, I don't. Why do you ask."
Acacia continues to examine her blocks as she answers him. "It'sh called formidophobia. Not many people have it, sho it'sh not widely known. Mosht people have never even heard of it. Can you believe that?"
"Well I certainly hadn't heard of it until now." Falcone wets his lips nervously. Our smirk grows, this man has faced more murders and psychopaths than any average mobster and he is cowed by a child that doesn't come up to his knee. Our daughter is clever, much like us.
"I know. That'sh actually what you're afraid of ishn't it? Shcarecrowsh. Uncle Crane tellsh me that the besht way to make someone do what you want, ish to make them fear you. He shaid I should try it shometime. Sho I have." Our daughter puts the next block down and we can see the sentence she is making.
Falcone starts to shake, his cigar falling to the tabletop. Normally we would be upset about that, but we want to see what our baby girl has planned.
"Sho I took shome of the fear toxin that Uncle Crane makesh. I don't like shmoking, sho I put it in each shigar and shigarette I found in the building. It washn't hard. Nobody paysh attention to a little girl wandering her home." She then again places another block down. She finishes the first line which is 'I DO NOT'.
Falcone begins whimpering and he stands up so fast the chair falls over and he stumbles over it. "Please, please no."
"I ashked nishely lots of timesh. But nobody lishtensh to me. They lishten to Daddy, but only 'caushe he shcaresh them. Sho I deshided that I need to be shcary too." The next line is 'LIKE IT'.
Falcone is sobbing now, scrambling to get away from the cigar still smoking on the table. "Please. Make it stop. MAKE IT STOP!"
"I found that Uncle Crane ish shometimesh right." 'WHEN PEOPLE' she places the 'E' down before reaching for the next block.
"Make it go away! MAKE IT GO AWAY!"
"Shometimesh, the only way people lishten ish when they fear you." She finishes the word 'SMOKE' before turning to look at Falcone acting hysterically in the corner. "Don't you agree, Mishter Falcone?"
We walk over and read what Acacia has spelled out. It makes us wonder if we should limit her contact with Crane and the Joker. She used the correct spelling and grammar, which is impressive for a five-year-old. She turns her head and smiles at us, reaching her arms up in the air. We pick her up and pause to watch Falcone for a moment, before turning and walking away.
"I'm tired, Daddy. Can I have a nap?" She rests her head in the crook of our neck.
"Of course, sweetheart." We glance at the men outside the office. "Show Mister Falcone out, boys, when he's done in there."
"Yes, sir."
We think back to the blocks. Maybe Acacia is less innocent than we thought.
'I DO NOT LIKE IT WHEN PEOPLE SMOKE.'
He leans back in the chair
Holding a whiskey glass carelessly,
They watch the bar patrons,
The scum that they once threw into Blackgate Penitentiary
He was now one of them,
Only he was sentenced to Arkham Asylum,
They have been in and out many times,
Courtesy of the damn Batman and his little sidekicks
His fingers clench around the glass,
He throws the whiskey back and silently demands more
They watched as the waitress scurried forward to take the glass,
They gave her a cruel smile, one side of his face turning up mockingly
He snorts as she pales to a ghastly white,
Observing her hurried gait to the bartender as she weaves through drunk lowlifes
They turned the always snarling side to her when she comes back
Laughing when she tripped over herself to give the whiskey to him and get away
His hand, tanned and unblemished, curls around the glass once more
The other, burned and mutilated, tattoos a rhythm onto the scuffed and cut table
They are amused when the bartender glares at them, and they hoped for a fight
But he did nothing and they are left without an outlet for their anger
He stares into the whiskey, swirling it slowly in the glass
Remembering the times when he and Bruce went out for girls and drinks
They grew angry, no girl wanted them now
They had to pay for release and they growled at the thought
The glass shatters in his hand, cutting into him
He lets the remains go and callously examines the blood
They no longer had Bruce,
No longer had anybody but the thugs they paid to do their dirty work
He misses those days,
The days of carelessness and freedom
But those were long gone they knew,
And all that was left for them
Was blood and bullets