𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐔𝐌 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐈.

Back  then,  only  a  while  before  Batman’s  team  up  with  Gordon  added  a  third  member,  Bruce  had  been  paying  attention.  He  could  call  it  a  desire  to  know  about  all  that  happened  in  Gotham,  but  Harvey  was  special.  Extra  attention  was  paid  to  this  man,  perhaps  because  of  the  distrust,  or  perhaps  because  his  promises  of  change  sounded  genuine  even  when  the  vigilante  had  no  reason  to  suspect  he  wasn’t  all  talk.  It’s  a  good  thing  he’d  been  listening,  otherwise  he  might  have  taken  his  date  out  to  someplace  that  wasn’t  all  that  special.

&&  how  he  wanted  this  to  be  special.  

It  was  their  first  time  on  an  actual,  public  date.  &&  desipite  Bruce’s  reputation,  he  was  nervous.  Only  few  people  had  struck  him  the  way  that  Harvey  did,  had  made  him  want  to  try  to  ease  the  lonliness  that  burdened  him.  &&  part  of  him  was  also  guily,  what  right  did  he  have  to  even  be  happy  ?  He  had  made  an  oath,  but…  but  he  never  counted  on  this.  On  someone  coming  into  his  life  that  he  so  desperately  wanted  to  stay.  

Was  he  being  too  quiet  ?  Surely  Harvey  was  beginning  to  think  he  had  nothing  to  say  to  him,  that  this  wasn’t  as  important  as  he  thought.  But,  no,  he  knew  better  than  that.  One  look  at  the  other  man  took  away  all  his  worries.  This  was  Harvey.  The  confident,  determined  man  who  cared  for  Gotham’s  future  as  much  as  him.  The  man  that  was  going  to  bring  about  change  that  rocked  the  city  to  it’s  core,  Bruce  was  sure  of  that.  

A  smile  found  it’s  way  to  his  face,  Bruce  deciding  to  let  his  mind  at  ease.  Harvey  deserved  his  full  attention.  “  I’m  glad  we’re  finally  able  to  put  the  time  aside  to  do  this.  Let’s  leave  the  work  talk  for  the  office  tonight,  okay  ?  ….Harv  ?  ”  For  a  moment,  his  heart  stops.  The  world  flashes  back  to  the  way  his  friend  had  spaced  out  on  a  work  dinner  before,  almost  dying  to  a  poison.  Yet  a  closer  look  tells  him  that  no  one’s  hurt  his  date.  He  wasn’t  sweating  like  before,  eyes  rolling  back.  He  was  simply  lost  in  the  moment.  

Chuckling,  Bruce  puts  a  hand  on  his  cheek  &&  waits  for  his  date  to  come  back  to  reality.  “  I  said  no  work  talk.  For  the  both  of  us.  ”  Harvey  may  just  have  to  end  up  reminding  him  of  that,  too.

"No work talk? Bruce, that’s like asking me not to breathe,” Harvey replies with another chuckle, this one less nervous and more amused, and playfully nudges @knightnoir​ with his elbow as he adds, “All right, but just know that goes double for you.” 

     Oh, he is definitely going to be keeping score.

“So how long have you had this planned, exactly?” Harvey turns his attention to the menu, and as he looks it over, he realizes he doesn’t know how to pronounce half the items. Great. “I’ve heard it’s almost impossible to get a reservation here because they’re always booked up, so this must have been in the making for quite some time.”

     Which means Bruce must have been wanting to ask him out like this for quite some time. The thought makes Harvey’s stomach do a couple somersaults and he hides his increasingly flushed face in the seafood section, where everything is listed at ‘market price’ — and that makes his stomach do a few more flips, albeit for a different reason.

     Two-Face inhaled sharply through his teeth as the tweezers continued its plunge into the open wound, struggling not to wince as it twisted and turned in search of the bullet lodged deep within his shoulder. He’d considered knocking back a few shots of whiskey to grease the wheels, so to speak, but Harvey was so desperate to feel something other than the perpetual burn of his own flesh that this newly intense, sudden, lancinating pain was an almost welcomed distraction.

"Sorry that you, uh, have to see it,” he muttered, the last syllable turning into a drawn out hiss as the forceps hit another especially sensitive spot. Two-Face craned his neck to get a good look at the other man’s face, watching the sweat trickle down his forehead to keep himself from thinking about how brilliantly blue his eyes were.

“Not HALF bad, for a TWO-BIT arsonist,” he commented, tensing up briefly. “Ever thought about — argh! — becomin’ a doctor? Then again, burnt property ain’t exactly the same as burnt people...”

@occultsleuth​ said: its uncertain where john even comes from, but first he presses two kisses against harvey's face, one to each cheek, before turning on a heel before him with a smile - one that grows crooked as he fishes into his oversized trenchcoat and pulls out ivory cuff links; sun and moon. something he'd swiped during work that would be worth a lot to the right person. but as a charm, its worth its weight in luck too, and for guys like them, might as well be its own fortune. "happy birthday, luv."

     Two-Face reached for one of his guns the moment he sensed something lurking in the shadows of the safe house ( under better circumstances, he might have appreciated the irony that came from the intrusion rendering it no longer ‘safe’ ) he’s been holed up in for the last COUPLE days after the Penguin and the Riddler saw fit to use him as their scapegoat when shit hit the fan. The former district attorney took a deep breath, expecting to hear a gruff “Harvey,” followed by a HALF-assed attempt to get him to surrender peacefully — only to choke on it when discovered that his impromptu visitor was not the Bat, but a Brit.

“John,” he wheezed, equal parts confused and surprised, and quickly retracted his hand from his concealed weapon. He hoped John hadn’t noticed. ( OF COURSE HE NOTICED, HARVEY. ) Two-Face felt the right corner of his mouth lift into a smile when the other man greeted him with a peck on one cheek — and what flesh was left of the other — which continued to widen in tandem with John’s. “What’re you...?”

     The magician's answer was TWOFOLD: one from his pocket, and the other from his lips. Two-Face’s smile waned at the mention of a birthday, and he stared down at the cufflinks presented to him. He admired the gift and the thought John had clearly put into it, but hesitated to accept them. He wanted to tell John that he was mistaken; it wasn’t his birthday, but Harvey Dent’s, and the poor bastard was dead.

     Two-Face knew John wouldn’t have argued with him, or try to convince him otherwise, if he did. Not because he indulged Two-Face all like the other 'supervillains,’ or because he reluctantly accepted that this is ‘who Harvey Dent is now’ like Jim Gordon, but because John understood. And there’s a part of him almost wished John didn’t, if only because he must have suffered and lost just as much as Harvey in order to understand why it was better for him to stay dead.

     And well, knowing John, he’d have probably countered any objections with something like, “all the more reason to celebrate his memory, innit?” anyway, and Two-Face couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.

“Thank you, John,” Harvey said, a little embarrassed at this particular bout of indecision, gingerly taking the cufflinks and fastening them onto each sleeve ( he’d lost the PAIR he usually wore during his last scuffle with Batman ): moon on the left, sun on the right. After examining them one last time, he glanced back up at John. “I... don’t know what to say.”

     Only one way to find out.

“The coin,” Two-Face said — it was more of a croak, really — interrupting whatever introductions the psychiatrist had been in the middle of giving. He lifted his hands, causing the cuffs that chained him to the desk to jangle, and gestured towards the silver dollar sitting just out of reach. 

“Flip it.”