Bruce spent eighteen months on a barge, sleeping in the engine, eating after the rest of the crew, and being tortured by daily beatings from the same men daily. He grew a spine, he put on muscle, and he learned how to survive the way no kid from a privileged life should have ever known. He learned from the best of the ship the ways to keep alive, how to outsmart and out think the bulkier and well toned. In the end, he didn't win, but he never lost -- he gained.
Time spent in Europe for a year taught him a few things: how to steal cars, trust no one, and the mob exists even there. Rumors had been flying since he left home, where was Bruce Wayne, did he die, was he in an asylum, who was he with? All things he heard about through passing, seeing his name on newspapers, and then soon he stopped seeing them all together. But there was talk on the streets of Italy for weeks of a price being offered for the whereabouts of him, something no doubt Alfred and Mister Earle concocted, hoping to find him in one piece.
Which was how Bruce ran into a man names Charles Malone, a face he didn't know but a name he was familiar with because of another dimensional version of himself used it.
A moment of reawakened, the darker pitted side of Bruce had to take action; this Malone character was onto him, following him, and when the moment came that they were cornered by him in an alley, Bruce took the chance. The man looked in need of the money offered, and any little chirp out of him that he had seen Bruce would ship him right back to the States and everything he learned would've been for nothing.
So, in that moment, Bruce kicked the man in the groin, sucker punched him across the jaw, and watched him reel backwards against the cobblestone pavement, blood dripping from his mouth. A gun still in his hand, Bruce took it, picked it up, and shot the man three time in the back of the chest and watched until he didn't breathe anymore. It wasn't done well, it was messy, but... no one seemed to notice, not down here in the lowest parts of the city, where people died and no one noticed, a lot like Gotham.
He stripped the body and dragged it further down the alley, stuffed it into a trash can, doused it in a the half left bottle of alcohol he found earlier, and lit the man one fire with match. Bruce had taken the man's wallet, his ID, anything he had that would give him a name, and it was then he knew. Charles Malone was now what he would call this other side of him who acted when Bruce could not. Their first kill, a needed kill to continue on, and Charles was sure it would not be the last.
Bruce Wayne could not just disappear and no one ever see him again, unless he was dead. And there was no body to be found.
Later, when the stench and fire died down, Charles took the ashes in the can and dumped them into the river, holding on to a small matchbook, the only one torn off to light the fucker on fire, the rest he would save. This would be the permanent reminder of this moment.
---
They spent time in Africa, stealing food where needed, people here weren't into pretty boys like Bruce, didn't care if he starved or not, and people needed it more than him anyway, so he would never beg. He became a criminal like the people he intended to fight against, learned that sometimes it was necessary, or you'd die. Just like with Malone; eat or be eaten, Charles had reasoned with Bruce, making the first kill the only the darker side ever told Bruce about, but there were more, over the next few years, and the matchbooks added up quickly, taped to the inside of the black journal they were keeping track of the ventures in.
Bruce never figured the matchbooks represented each kill, as they had always collected matchbooks, they liked them, so it went unnoticed, as they never wrote about the kills, just let them be.
Moving east, however, food was harder to come by and many men took to Bruce like flies to honey, offering money or food for sexual favors. It worked well, enough money for a few days of food. Bruce only did it when he had to, when starving would surely kill him, and when Charles didn't make a means to destroy the person afterwards. They had to skip town a few times for that reason, people would suspect.
In Japan he finally found some refuge, learning from some great masters of martial arts, adapting his own style to many he was taught for the years he spent there, leaving when they said they could no longer teach him. It was then Bruce thought about going home, to Harvey to Rachel and Alfred... but something was missing, something he knew he was waiting for, but couldn't quite put his finger on.
Months later, in travels, he met up with a few men, hijacked a shipment of Wayne Enterprises goods and was ultimately caught. Bruce refused to give his name, when sent him on his way to run down Chinese prison. He fought prisoners there daily, six or more at time, always coming out winning, until one day they had enough and locked Bruce by himself.
There he met Henri Ducard, a well to do man representing Ra's al Ghul from the League of Shadows, a group of ninja vigilantes, eco-terrorists hell bent on changing the world, an interest that sparked both sides of Bruce. The man helped Bruce get out of the prison and gave him specific instructions on how to find him in the Himalayas. A blue flower was sough out and Bruce was faced with nearly three years of the worst and more excruciating pain and suffering from training he had ever had.
Days of no sleep, skiing for a week straight, meals of rice and vegetables and sometimes fish, beatings for wrong doing, rituals of master and apprentice -- things no one person could ever endure for long, but Bruce proved himself worthy and with that Ducard seemed more than pleased.
Until the day that Bruce was ready, faced his fears, overcame it all and burned down Ra's house. It was not pleasant for Charles, who would gladly of joined Ra's in taking lives for those who deserved it, but Bruce pushed the darker side down and explained later that it could not work that way, and they did agree, but not without days of argument.
Ra's died, and Bruce had ultimately saved Ducard's life before skipping out of town to Kathmandu, where had called Alfred.
--
Back in the States, he kept low for six months, inventing his version of The Batman, finally making appearances, talking to Mister Fox as WE, keeping things low with Mister Earle as well, who was not quite ready to announce Bruce's return either, as it would have a negative effect on the pending sale of shares of the company. Just as well, Batman and Bruce couldn't be seen in town at the same time, so he waited.
During those months of not being seen, Bruce went through the manor, through his things, not once trying to think of Rachel or Harvey, aware they were around, that Harvey was ADA and Rachel was helping, that they would be who he needed soon, but at the same time he was avoiding. Mostly because he found an unopened letter address to Dent, scribble out in his hand writing. The letter he wrote to him and that Harvey never had gotten.
Harvey Dent didn't know he'd be back, didn't get the message, didn't know that Bruce loved him and would return...
That made it all a little harder. Things would be difficult and Bruce knew that Harvey, now, could never see that letter, it'd be dangerous, especially if things got ugly around here in the billionaire's attempt to keep things under control.
So, months after Batman had been seen for the first time, Carmine Falcone tied to flood light, Bruce finally made a move to be seen in public, much to Earle's demise. Tabloids and newspapers went crazy, and Bruce, with Alfred's help, came up with a seven year vacationing gimmick, where he spent most of his time drunk and enjoying himself on a private island.
Too bad there was no tan to show for it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
When he texted Bruce to tell him that he got the job, his room mate who had seemed so supportive only hours before suddenly became terse, and even ... depressed.
Harvey tried texting again, even tried calling, and Bruce's phone was off. He looked at the speedometer on the dash of his car and pushed the car faster, moving in and out of traffic on the freeway, and taking the corners fast until he got home and hurried upstairs.
Sure enough, Bruce wasn't there. His phone wasn't there either. No note. No anything. Shit. Fuck. Damn. He never turns it off. Never.
Harv's throat closed a little behind his blue tie and he scrawled a fast note: /Bruce, I've gone LOOKING for you. Where are you? Call me. - Harv/, and left it on the counter before he headed out, running to the bars. He wasn't there, either. He wasn't working on a car.
A sickening thought occurred to him and Harvey stormed into the back alley where Bruce had been raped, worried that someone talked and they had him again and ... he wasn't there. Thank god. But where?
Harv put his hands on his hips, frowning, and looked up, remembering that look on Bruce's face the night he took him to his favorite spot.
"Fuck ..." he said, aloud, and ran to the car, speeding again. He tried calling again with no luck in the elevator, pacing in the small box, hoping Bruce just needed some time alone, or ... or ... or what?
The doors opened and Harv ran out, pounding up the metal stairs, not fast enough, still not fast enough, and wrenched the door open, holding it as he stepped out, his heart rising and sinking at the same time when he saw Bruce there, where he hoped he wouldn't be.
Harvey turned the deadbolt on the door so that it didn't close behind him and approached, very, very, very carefully. Bruce was awfully close to the edge, he didn't want to scare him.
Harv's heart hammered in his throat, real terror overtaking him for the first time since his father died, but he pushed it away. Bruce needed him calm ... and he needed Bruce.
"I'm here," he said, quietly. "Bruce, turn around."
Bruce Wayné
Or maybe his own.
He was fucking up all over the board, things he promised himself he wouldn't do to get things done... that /had/ to be done. He'd end up hurting Harvey anyway, why not just... leave it here, /now/.
"Go home, Harvey," he said, not looking back, just continuing to stare off down the side of the building, blowing out smoke. It'd be pretty easy to not have to make those choices anymore. Or look on Harvey's face, Rachel's too when it all boiled down to disappointing them.
Harvey Dent
His heart squeezed hard in his chest, to see Bruce like this. This was much more serious than before, and Harvey worried that he might very well just jump.
"Can we talk? Because I'm confused. I thought you were in a good mood today." Harvey moved a little closer, still behind Bruce as he kept speaking, as though he could wrap his words around him, and reel him back from the edge.
"What happened? You didn't leave me a note, so that gives me hope that you didn't plan to be here when you got up today, did you?"
Bruce Wayné
"I don't want to talk. I don't want to do anything. I just..." he shrugged, biting his lip to hold back the swell of tears that threatened to spring forward.
He took small step back, heels to the ledge. "The very last thing I wanted was to ever hurt you, Harvey. And I will, one way or another. But /this/ way," He motioned the gun to the ledge, "I'll never be able to do it again. You or Rachel. Or Alfred. Just... one time deal, right?"
Harvey Dent
"You don't want to hurt me?" Harvey's blue eyes went glossy, and he swallowed, hard. "Bruce, if you let yourself fall-" he nodded at the gun, at the edge of the building, "you are going to hurt me, more than anyone has ever hurt me before. Don't you understand that? Knowing that I came up here, and talked to you, and you jumped anyway would ..." he let the ending of the sentence trail off as he stepped closer, and closer yet.
"No one has done anything wrong yet," he said, softly, the wind catching his gold hair. "We can still walk away from this, and no one needs to get hurt at all. You are in charge of what you do, Bruce, and only you. Are you saying that you'd die to keep me from being hurt, but you won't /live/ to do the same?"
He held out his hand.
"You can choose. Choose me."
Bruce Wayné
"My parents anniversary is next week," he said, as if ignoring everything Harvey had just said, only looking at the hand offered but not taking it. Not yet.
"It'll be thirteen years since they were murdered. Do you..." he licked his lips and looked at Harvey, leveling his gaze on him, brows furrowed. "Do you know what I've wanted to do since that night? Do you have any /idea/?"
Harvey Dent
He kept his eyes on Bruce's eyes, listening as Bruce spoke.
"Yes," he said, simply, honestly. "Yes, I know. I know, because it's what T did to the man who hurt /you/. Bruce, I understand that feeling, but it doesn't make it right."
He swallowed, taking a deep breath. "Is that what you're planning?" he asked, starting to put it together in his head. "You're going to go kill him?" It made sense now: the drinking, the drugs, the spiral of misery, how brilliant Bruce just didn't care about school. If he was planning to throw it all away to kill a man, then what did any of it matter?
"Oh, god. Bruce ..." he whispered, pain spreading through his chest, and reaching his eyes. "Bruce, you're better than that."
Bruce Wayné
"Yeah. I'm going to. And, I know it's not up to yours or Rachel's standards. I know it'll hurt you both." /It's why I didn't want to let you in/, he said to himself, too late as it was now.
Bruce took a shuddering breath, shaking his head. "I'm not, though. I'm not." The words though seemed less confident than before, more broken, his voice quieter, shaking. He dropped the hand with the gun to his head, flicking the cigarette over the edge with the other, watching it fall, glancing back of his shoulder.
Harvey Dent
"You're still good. You might be where you are now, you might have thought about killing, you might have even bought the gun, but today, as miserable as you feel you have something that matters: you have integrity. The second you pulled that trigger, it's lost forever, as is your freedom. The moment you actually fire that-" he pointed to the gun, "is the moment you cross the line and become an executioner, and I know you, Bruce. You're not the type, no matter how far down you go."
Harvey's eyes shone, not with sadness, but with pride as he looked at his friend, even now. "You are the best person I know, and the only one I love. Come here."
Bruce Wayné
Especially in /knowing/ his parents would never condone that behavior. He wanted to do it for them, but the reality was they wouldn't want that. Maybe there was another way to avenge them, but right now he couldn't and wouldn't think about that.
He took the few steps between him and Harvey, biting his trembling bottom lip, and wrapped his arms around the the younger boy, burying his face into his neck, sobbing.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, sniffling a little. Harvey was right, Bruce wasn't the type; and he sort of knew when it came down to it, he might just freeze up and not do the job anyway.
Harvey Dent
"It's okay ..." he murmured, holding the grieving boy tightly, locking him in his embrace. "It's okay, I've got you, and everything is still alright. They were just thoughts, no harm done. You're safe, now."
Harvey kissed the top of Bruce's head, trying not to break down, himself. "I'm glad you told me, you did the right thing", he reassured Bruce, rubbing his back, almost rocking him in his arms.
Bruce Wayné
For the better though. He /feel/ that much in the air. This was for the better.
Harvey was his savior; he'd have probably tried it otherwise.
After a few moments of just letting Harvey hold him, Bruce stepped back, arms length, eyes red and swollen; "Let's go home."
Harvey Dent
"Alright," he nodded, slipping his arm around Bruce's back and walking with him to the door, eager to get him off of the damned roof. "We can do that. I drove."
Bruce Wayné
That telling Harvey was the right choice.
They got downstairs to the car and Bruce just stared at Harvey for a minute. "Thank you."
Harvey Dent
Harv paused in the act of opening Bruce's door for him, and stared back, touched and saddened that it had been necessary at all. "You'd do the same," he said, with a little smile, and a soft, almost chaste kiss on Bruce's cheek.
"Besides," he said, trying to lighten the mood a little, "I was wearing my lucky tie." Harvey smoothed the blue tie down with his hand, still staring at Bruce, "how could I fail?"
Bruce Wayné
"It is a nice color on you," he replied, opening his own door and getting in. "You saved me, Hero. Let's go home and get you studied up for that test."
Harvey's face fell at the thought of the exam tomorrow. He had completely forgotten. "Right. That ..."
He closed Bruce's door and walked around the back of the car to his own side, getting in and shifting it, starting to drive back home. He wasn't sure what to say, so his hand found Bruce's and squeezed it, protectively as they drove.
"Remember when I picked you up out of the rain that one night?"
Bruce Wayné Bruce watched the blond, not wanting to look anywhere else but at the savior to his left, because if he looked away, maybe he'd fall back down again. It was too soon to really let go yet. He squeezed Harvey's hand back, and nodded.
"Yeah. I do. Why?"
Harvey Dent
He leaned over and kissed Bruce, quickly on the mouth, reassuring them both with the brush of lips that they were still together, and still alright. Despite all the adrenaline coursing through Harvey's body, and T watching Bruce from inside Harv's head, rapt with concern, everything was as okay as it could be.
The light changed to green again, and Harvey started up, driving the last short block to their place without letting go of Bruce's hand.
Bruce Wayné Bruce leaned into the kiss softly. "Really?" he asked, having figured that Harvey found Bruce annoying and rude for the first few months, only up until recently when he'd let a lot of his true self slip through his barriers.
"Thought you hated me," he admitted as they arrived back home minutes later. Not that he could blame Harvey if he did, Bruce /made/ most people hate him on purpose.
Harvey Dent
"I just wanted the same thing I always want, the truth." He pushed some of Bruce's hair out of his eyes, looking at him with open adoration, his blue eyes memorizing Bruce's expression.
"Come on, let's get upstairs."
Bruce Wayné "Just like Alfred. Never giving up on me," he mused sadly, letting go of Harvey's hand so he could get out of the car. He put his hands into his jacket pockets, bumping the door shut with his hip. His fingers curled around his smokes, and he pulled them out, just staring at them for a long time.
Finally, as they walked up the stairs and past the garbage can, he tossed them in.
Harvey Dent
He unlocked their place and kissed Bruce's temple as they stepped inside, sighing as he saw the frantic note he left on the kitchen counter, still waiting there for them to find.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, getting go of Bruce only long enough to pull his suit jacket off and hang it up.
Bruce Wayné
"So..." he looked at Harv, honesty in his hazel eyes, still hurt but the cloud was fading fast. "What... are we?" It was weird, he'd never had to ask before, he always called it off. But he wasn't backing down this time.
Harvey Dent
"We are ..." to be honest, he wasn't sure, either. He knew what he wanted, but this seemed like the wrong time to press that on Bruce. And yet, the other boy deserved the truth. He needed to know that someone loved him, more than anything, and needed him not to fade away.
"I don't know what we are," he began, "I only know how I feel about you." Harv went very still for a moment, looking up at Bruce, adoration clear in his eyes as he moved closer, tucking some of Bruce's hair back, behind his ear.
Even now, Harvey felt like admitting his feelings was like laying down with his bare neck on a chopping block and handing Bruce the axe, all he could hope for was a swift slice. And yet, another part of Harvey believed in love, he believed in the growing bond between him and Bruce, and trusted him implicitly, even with his fragile, taped together heart.
"I'm in love with you."
Bruce Wayné
Pressing his lips together for a moment, he watched the blond's eyes, emotional and honest, perfect and caring. Bruce would either be dead or well on his way to prison right now if he had not met him, and they never shared this apartment. He didn't believe in fate, but he was beginning to.
He wrapped an arm around Harv's waist and pulled him close, to feel the heat coming off his body, to lean into him for a moment while he collected himself. He felt the same way, but saying the words was harder than he thought it would be, so he leaned more and kissed Harvey instead.
Harvey Dent
He stepped into Bruce's embrace, kissing him back, gratefully as he wrapped arms around his shoulders and held him in, against himself, sharing his warmth and strength.
Words were tricky, sometimes, and Harvey trusted actions more, having been lied to regularly as a child. This way, he could /feel/ what Bruce meant to say, the honesty of it, and it left no doubt in his young mind that he was loved back.
Another kiss, and then another and Harvey pulled back just enough to breathe against Bruce's cheek, eyes closed as he held him where he still sat on the bar stool, a little above Harvey.
"I don't want to see anyone else," he said, "but I think that goes without saying." The truth was, Harvey couldn't see anyone else, the world had been divided into two sorts of people: Bruce and those who failed to be Bruce.
Bruce Wayné
"I don't either," he admitted, with a bashful smile. No one else mattered enough to catch his attention long enough anyway. Harv was the first person, aside from Rachel, that Bruce trusted completely enough to actually /want/ a relationship. "Just want you."
Harvey Dent
"Good," he said, the touch to his lips turning into a slow, gentle stroke of Harvey's hand down the side of Bruce's neck to his shoulder. "So-" his eyes squinted a little with happiness when he smiled, "we're officially kissing and ... um, well."
The usually well-spoken future lawyer looked up at the ceiling, beaming as he fumbled for words. "You know ... " he sighed, choosing the right one out of the air and looking back at Bruce.
"Together. We're officially together?"
Bruce Wayné Chuckling, Bruce kissed Harvey on the forehead, an odd sort of feeling behind it, as if trying to get him to just settle down, not to fret over it, because it was just going to happen. He rubbed the blond's arms reassuringly and then kissed his lips. This was a nice change of pace though, from just minutes before.
"Yes," he said.
Harvey Dent
He looked at him, eyes moving over Bruce's handsome features with compassion, and concern.
"This is the third time I've seen you tempted to jump," the blond said, keeping his voice un-accusing, and just between the two of them. "I know that deciding not to kill Chill is a huge step forward but-" he took Bruce's hands in his own.
"I'm afraid this is going to happen again," he said, frankly. "Will it?"
Bruce Wayné
Couldn't blame Harvey for being concerned.
"I've been unhappy since I was ten. First two years I was numb. After that..." He shrugged, /this/ is what he turned into. "I stopped caring. Did things for people, kept busy because I had no choice, no escape. Knew I just had to wait for the moment I could kill him. It's not... rational. And I never told anyone about that. Not even Rachel."
He gave Harvey a sincere sort of smile, reassuring. "Meeting you has changed my perspective things. Allowed me to rational with myself. I wanted to jump today only because I didn't know if I had other choices anymore. I didn't want to kill Chill and that hurt as much as anything else. I was lost without the path I had been on. But... then, you were there, Harv. Reminding me that... I'm /not/ and don't have to be that person. I have you."
Harvey Dent
He took Bruce's hand, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. "I'm proud of you," he smiled, "incredibly proud. It took a lot of strength to do what you just did but ..." he moved closer, still worried.
"But that's a /huge/ change to make, no matter how positive it is. I feel like I'd be a shitty friend if I let my guard down right now as far as assuming you're going to be ... fine as of right now."
He squeezed Bruce's hand with a small, patient smile. "If you just talked me out of killing someone or shooting myself, I think you'd see it the same way, right?"
Bruce Wayné
Issues like Bruce's don't just go away and Harvey couldn't be the only reason Bruce needed or wanted to live. He'd have to find something else to balance it out.
Slowly, Bruce nodded. "Yeah, I-I do. I want to tell you I'll be fine, Harv, and I think I will be, but I don't want to lie to you either, I think we're past that."
Harvey Dent
He had the feeling Bruce would give him lots of worry lines yet, but didn't mind.
"Good," he said, moving right over to Bruce and wrapping both arms around his shoulders, holding his head to his own chest as he stroked his hair. "We are past that, both of us." From now on if Bruce wanted to know anything, even about his Dad, Harv would tell him. No more baseball injuries, but he suspected that Bruce didn't really want to know all that.
"I start my job on Monday, but until then I just want to be around you, okay?" He kissed the top of the boy's head, "More for my sanity than yours."
Bruce Wayné
Wrapping his arms tightly around Harvey's torso, head to his chest, Bruce leaned, letting himself be held, because it's really the only thing keeping him grounded at that moment. He let himself be talked down, he let himself be lead off that roof, but if Harvey hadn't had a hold on him, Bruce didn't know if he'd have ever really left at all. It would have been too easy to just not worry anymore.
But in the end, he couldn't do that to Harv, Rachel, or even Alfred. Not like that.
"You have that test, Harv. I don't want you to miss that on my behalf." Really, he'd feel /worse/ about himself if Harvey missed it because of him. "I'll be fine tomorrow. I'll keep busy. Pack our stuff to go home..."
Harvey Dent
"We'll drive to the manor tomorrow, instead, together." Harvey really wanted to get Bruce home, somewhere more stable than the town so much had happened in so recently. He suspected that Bruce and Alfred might get a long a little better now at any rate.
"We'll wake up, have breakfast, pack everything up and go."
Bruce Wayné Bruce wasn't stupid, he knew those things cost money, and where as it wouldn't be a huge deal to him, money wasn't so easy to come by for Harvey. He pulled back and leveled Harvey with a knowing gaze.
"Alfred's not even expecting me until Sunday afternoon. We're going to throw him off if we show up early." It was an excuse, but probably true. He felt guilty, even if Harvey said it wasn't an issue, he knew better.
Harvey Dent
"We'll see ..." was the most the blond would stretch to right now. Bruce might seem alright in the morning, but then again, he'd seemed alright this morning, too and in a matter of hours he was nearly dead.
"Still hungry?" Harvey pulled his phone out of the pocket of his dress pants, definitely not in the mood to cook of all things.
Bruce Wayné
It was pretty selfish of the billionaire, and he knew it. He wouldn't let Harv throw away good money on a test he would have to pay again to do. But he kept to himself, seeing as the blond dropped it.
"No. Not really."
He shifted closer to Bruce, sitting behind him now, one arm curled around his chest as he dialed his phone with the other hand. "I'm ordering Chinese. I couldn't eat this morning. I'm starving. If you're hungry when it gets here, help yourself, of course."
He pressed a kiss to Bruce's cheek from behind, letting his lips linger there until he had to order over the phone.