heirtogotham: (Adult: Business)
2021-06-30 02:35 pm
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Cellphone/Voicemail: Leave Message to Contact


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2019-07-12 03:13 pm

Master List of Threads

[livejournal.com profile] gotham_decline  Threads (member locked):

- A first meeting w/ [livejournal.com profile] future_da  (Harvey Dent)
- An Intervention w/ [livejournal.com profile] future_da  (Harvey Dent)
- Dear Harvey - A note to [livejournal.com profile] future_da  (Harvey Dent)
- Billionaire gone missing - Bruce disappears for almost eight years
- Gone for Seven and a half years - Bruce returns to Gotham
- Harvey Dent's Fundraiser w/ [livejournal.com profile] future_da  and [livejournal.com profile] the_will_to_act  (Harvey Dent and Ra's al Ghul)
- Working it out w/ [livejournal.com profile] future_da  (Harvey Dent/Tyler Franklin)
- Execute Plan: Destroy Gotham w/ [livejournal.com profile] future_da , [livejournal.com profile] marriedtogotham , and [livejournal.com profile] the_will_to_act  (Harvey Dent, Jim Gordon, and Ra's al Ghul)
-A date? I don't think so w/ [livejournal.com profile] future_da  (Harvey Dent)
-Oh, This Hangover? It's Just because I'm Batman w/ [livejournal.com profile] ada_dawes  and [livejournal.com profile] future_da  (Rachel and Harvey)
-Brunch at the Ritz w/ [livejournal.com profile] future_da (Harvey Dent)
-The Day Harvey HAD to move in w/ [livejournal.com profile] future_da  and [livejournal.com profile] marriedtogotham  (Harvey and Jim)

Other Non-game Threads:

-
heirtogotham: (Adult: Pissed off)
2011-07-22 03:37 pm

The Day Harvey had to move in with the Billionaire

Harvey was in for the evening, for once he had no speaking engagements, no rallies, no backlogged cases. It was the first time the lawyer had free time in weeks, and spent it stretched back on his couch in his apartment with his laptop on his thighs, tapping out a few ideas for the impending Garcetti trial. Bruce was busy, so Harvey figured he might as well be, too.

Bruno whimpered, and dragged his leash off of the kitchen counter, taking it to Harvey with a woeful expression before he dropped it and panted at him.

"In this heat?"

Bruno sat, showing Harvey how well he sat. It usually got him what he wanted."Okay, fine. We're out of milk anyway. But just a short one."

    • The black and brown dog picked up his leash and pranced to the door, scratching at it and whining.

      "Bruno, no! Down." Harv slid some socks and shoes on, and grabbed his keys and wallet. He really couldn't blame Bruno for wanting to get out for a while, and figured that even a short walk to the store would help settle the dog.

      After snapping his leash on and making Bruno sit, Harv opened the door, yanked out on the end of the leash.

      "Bruno!" It never changed, no matter how many times Harvey tried to make him walk calmly, Bruno always shot out of the door like an arrow. He swore that somehow he got that from Bruce.

      The blond locked the flimsy bolt after them and followed the impatient dog downstairs. His phone laid forgotten near his computer where it was charging up from being on all day.

      Bruce Wayné Bruce was calling to check on Harv, just as he said he would, and the phone only rang and rang. After the fifth time, he gave up and went home to change. But a nagging voice at the back of his head thought letting it sit like that was out of the question. Charles would get his way, which was to dress in all black and go check on the lawyer themselves.

      After today, they couldn't be too careful.

      Charles arrived at Harv's apartment ten minutes later, approaching the already open door into the stair well cautiously, taking the stairs slowly, and stealthily. The front door to the blond's apartment was open, ajar and the lights were off, and rummaging around could be heard. That was not like Harvey Dent at all.

      Slowly, the brunette peeked his head around the door frame, watching a few people rummaging about and knocking over furniture when they couldn't find something they were looking for. It was Maroni's and Falcone's men, Charles could tell by the smell.

      Luckily, the lights were off and it made everything easier. He jogged quickly back down the steps, toward the alley behind the complex and rummages through some garbage before he found a crowbar. Perfect. He silently scaled the wall to Harv's window into the bedroom, broke the lock off and entered the apartment that way, sneaking up behind one of the goons. He whacked the man over the head, where neck met skull, and watched the man go down without so much as a sound.

      There were three others, and it was Dark, but they were wise to Bruce by now, some were firing off rounds toward where they thought he was, but he was the other direction now, smacking the bar into the another head, grabbing the man by the shirt and beating it into the tiled counter.

      Another went down, and another, same as the first few, and no one decided to grab a light, not risking it, and as the last went down, Charles was covered in blood, head to toe, beating the daylights out of the last one (he caught a glimpse of his face, it was a falcone, another nephew, and dammit, he wasn't letting him live). Crowbar to head, he only stopped long enough to sneer.

      "Your family once almost took the breath right out of me. Abused me, and now, you'll know what it feels like from the other end." And with that, before the man could even speak, Charles gauged his eyes out with the forked part of the bar, leaving the man screaming.

      Harvey Dent Bruno had wheedled his way into a longer walk than Harvey planned for, they'd gone twice around the park before heading back home, carton of milk and a bag of apples in hand.

      Harvey jogged up the stairs and paused, noticing the door was already open. Everyone who lived in the building was usually careful about leaving it closed and locked.

      Harvey backed up, sensing something wasn't quite right, and put Bruno in the back seat of his car, locking him in before fumbling through his jeans for his cell phone, which wasn't there ... of all the times. His /other/ phone, however, was in his back pocket, and Harv took it out, opening the screen as he approached the building, just in case.

      Carefully, he pushed the door open and looked around, taking a couple cautious steps in. Everything looked normal, but by the time Harvey got to the stairs he heard a man /screaming/ as though he was being scalped.

      Harvey broke into a sprint, taking the stairs three at a time, pressing the red button on the phone in his hand. Whoever it was sounded like they were /dying/.

      "Someone needs help-" he panted into the phone when it went to a voiceless message, "I'm at my place and all I can hear is screaming, I think it's coming from-" Dent's eyes widened.

      "Shit. My place. Please come."

      He hung up so that he could be called back and shouldered the broken door open to find a crime scene that was gory, even by Gotham standards. There were three limp forms on the floor of his wrecked apartment and a forth was wailing in pain, having his eyes wrenched out by a large man in black with a crowbar.

      "STOP WHERE YOU ARE-"

      Bruce Wayné He had been smart, beanie over his head, leather gloves on his hands. All things he could burn later. On hearing Harv's voice, Charles turned, sitting on the man wailing under him in pain, sicking him right in the jaw to shut him up as he looked up at the blond, un-phased.

      "Wasn't planning on goin' anywhere, Harv."

      Harvey Dent Harvey's jaw dropped and he closed the mangled door as best he could, not reaching for a light. The less he saw of this, the better. They looked like they were still breathing, in the dark, but it was hard to be sure.

      Careful not to use either of Bruce's names, Harvey walked closer, Tyler burning through to the front of his mind as they saw blood on Charles.

      "Are you hurt?"

      There was blood /everywhere/, the counters, puddles of it on the couch Harvey had been sitting on only minutes before, on the phone he'd forgotten.

      Bruce Wayné ‎"No," He said, voice low, not quite Batman's and not quite Bruce's. He stood, the man below him and the other's weren't going anywhere, and they surely weren't moving, so he was positive they were out cold or close to death.

      "Police been called?" he asked, dropping the crow bar to the ground with a thud, ready to torch the place and the evidence.

      Harvey Dent ‎"No," Harvey said, looking around in disbelief. Everything had been ripped to shreds. These men were obviously looking for something, and Harv could guess what.

      "I called someone else, but he's busy." All the men were breathing, shallowly, and Harvey could see their guns scattered across the floor, holes in his walls. They hadn't just come for information.

      He looked closer, at the men's faces, or what was left of them, and began to recognize who had been sent after him. The ADA recalled with chilling clarity exactly what each of his would be assassins specialized in. Each of them were skilled enforcers versed in worse things than simple murder.

      It wouldn't have been a quick death, even Tyler admitted that.

      Harvey moved closer to Charles, out of instinct, some of the sickened feeling fading when he was close enough to hand Charles a clean dishtowel for his bloodied face.

      "We can't just leave them here."

      Bruce Wayné ‎"Not going to," he said, using the towel to wipe off his face before throwing it down onto the man who's eyes were still oozing red. He walked around to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of alcohol from Harvey's cabinet, and cracked it open on the counter. He trailed over the apartment with it, including the men on the floor.

      Then he pulled out his book of matches. "Do me a favor, Harv, go grab yours things you need and step out of the apartment. I'll be right there."

      Harvey Dent He laid his shaky hand on Charles's arm, Tyler had stepped back in his mind, seeing that Charles had everything perfectly under control. He'd thank him later.

      "Wait ..." Harv closed his hand around the matches, gently. "You can't, they'll die here. There are other people in the building, not just me."

      Bruce Wayné ‎"You want the police to see this, Harv?" he asked, tearing his hand away. "Call the 911 now, the fire'll be out before it spreads. I can't cover this up any other way." He removed his clothes that had gotten splattered with blood and drenched them too, throwing them on the men.

      "Ya gonna let me or not?"

      Harvey Dent Harvey opened his mouth to reply when his eyes changed, going from unsure to sharp in the space of a second as Tyler knocked Harvey out as surely as choking him.

      "There's more behind the fridge, a couple bottles of scotch" Ty answered as he grabbed Harv's laptop, bunching the cord in his hand and kicking the eyeless man in the ribs as he walked past them, hard enough to crack them under the skin.

      He stalked towards their bedroom, which was already torn apart, and grabbed a letter from the nightstand, his new suit, a blue tie, a dark shirt and walked back out, nodding.

      "Light it up."

      Bruce Wayné He grabbed the bottles and drenched the rest of the place, waiting for Tyler to be done and out of the place before he flicked a match against the grind of the book and threw it onto one of the men. The fire department would get his just in time to see Harv's place more than gone and have it look like the mob did it. Piece of cake.

      He jolted out of the apartment, shirtless, in his boxers and no shoes. He had to leave them behind to burn up with everything else.

      Harvey Dent As though he was waiting in the hallway, bored, Tyler held the shirt and a pair of pants he'd grabbed for Charles. Barefoot was no problem, but Bruce Wayne running out of Harvey Dent's apartment in his boxers might raise a few eyebrows, no matter how much Tyler would have enjoyed ending the charade.

      Ty smiled through the door at the flames, as though he enjoyed seeing the place he always hated immolate.

      "Put those on, we have a few seconds. It's just fumes for now." He watched the flames spread, licking their brightness from the fumes of the alcohol to the wood of the floor that needed refinishing, to the counter, and up the bloodied couch. The flames gained strength and color, and thick, black smoke started to roll it's way to the ceiling and out.

      Bruce Wayné Charles grabbed the clothes and quickly slid the pants and shirt on, shaking out his hair, one hand gliding through it as he watched the apartment go up in, literal, smoke. He watched T enjoy the sight, knowing full well the blond didn't like that place anymore than Bruce and him did.

      "You're staying with us," he stated, not giving them a choice. "Press can't argue, We're being noble in offering up our too large for one person penthouse."

      Harvey Dent ‎"The night just keeps getting better and better ..." Ty mused with a smirk, and pulled the fire alarm in the hall before putting a hand on Charles's back and running down the stairs with him.

      "I've got to go pretend to look scared now ..." he sighed, under his breath, really enjoying himself. People started to panic and run out of the building, some out of the fire escape, using it for it's intended purposes for once.

      They made it out to the street and Tyler pulled his car keys out of his pocket, walking them to the dark blue car where Bruno was barking loudly in the back seat.

      Bruce Wayné Charles followed, watching the people and the ruckus he had caused, quickly making it to the car, to make it seem like he was pretty upset as well. They could say he was coming to bug the lawyer when he stopped by to this. It wasn't too far a stretch.

      Sirens could be heard approaching and Charles did his best to look comforting if not a little panicked.

      Harvey Dent Ty stayed by the car, his arms crossed as he looked down at the sidewalk. He'd already dumped the things in his arms in the trunk of his car. The only real sadness he'd ever let himself feel was in Bruce's absence, it was hard to feel that with Charles right beside him, especially after knowing he just took down four enforcers single handedly. If anything, Ty wanted to congratulate him.

      He moved a little closer, and took a deep breath, still looking at the ground as he sighed.

      "Nice work with the eyes ..." he whispered, leaning into Charles a little.

      Bruce Wayné Charles hid a smirk with his hands, leaning against the car and not looking at the building, but at Tyler's feet. He acted on impulse and the mob wasn't anything you thought twice about when they were trying to get close to your loved ones.

      "Another nephew of Falcone. Brother probably to the other one," he said, knowing Tyler would know what he meant. There was no choice, he had to do what he did.

      Harvey Dent Ty nodded, "Yeah. He was, actually. Same sort of asshole, too." He pulled a disgusted face that came easily as he looked at the fire.

      "The others were almost as bad, trust me-" he nodded, "you did the world four huge favors. Jail would never be good enough for them."

      He stole a glance over at Charles, fire from the building shining amber on his dark blue eyes, "Kind of sexy as hell, actually."

      Bruce Wayné The police were coming, Charles could hear it as the firetrucks pulled up in a hurry, so their conversation was drowned out to just them hearing it anyway. He shifted, looking at Tyler in the eye, smirking only a little, mostly through his dark, glossy eyes.

      "Yeah. I needa find a bar," he mentioned, hands into his pockets, fingering the matchbook. He needed to collect four more.

      Jim Gordon Jim arrived on scene, watching what was the ADA's apartment, and the building go up in flames. Everyone was out luckily, and Dent didn't look hurt, and... was that Wayne? Goddammit, how did he know that yutz would be there?

      Slowly, Jim approached Dent, looking at them both from over his glasses. "Care to give the story?"

      Harvey Dent Tyler sighed. Showtime. He'd let Harvey out, but that would take a lot of explaining before he could talk to Gordon. It was just easier if he did this himself.

      T nodded at the burning building. "I went to the store, and came back to find this. Obviously I'm getting a little close to something someone powerful wants kept quiet."

      He added under his breath, "I know I am, actually. Bruce came over just as I was coming out of the building, he really picks the best times."

      Jim Gordon Jim nodded, arms folded over his chest. Work of the mob, obviously, trying to intimidate or get rid of the threat, and Harvey was definitely a threat right now. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead before stepping closer to Dent, so Wayne couldn't hear.

      "Last thing we need a mob hit out on you going through. I know you can't stay low, but I'd feel better sending an extra patrol car by every night..." he looked up as the apartment building started to creak under the pressure of the flames, " where ever it is you'll be staying now."

      Harvey Dent Tyler rolled his eyes a little, "And who are you going to send to look after me, Jim? Wurtz? Ramirez? I'll be fine. Besides, I'm staying with him-" Ty nodded at Charles, "until I find somewhere safer. His security isn't bad."

      All the same, Jim's concern was well-placed. Harv didn't take the threat of what might have happened if he hadn't gone to the store seriously enough. T was glad this happened to shake him up a little, make him pay attention.

      Jim Gordon Jim huffed an almost unbelievable laugh, shaking his head. "Blake or Montoya, but if you're sure you'll be fine with /him/, I'll trust you to call me if anything else suspicious comes up."

      Harvey Dent ‎"Well, my phone is currently bubbling and smoking, but I'll get ahold of you somehow if I need you." He smirked, shaking his head right back.

      "I need to talk to you later, alone." He emphasized with a look from his dark eyes, "about what they might have done this to stop."

      He couldn't help but smile a little at Jim's contempt for how safe Bruce could keep him. Little did he know the man standing beside him was the best, most thorough protection in the world. If something got through /him/, it was nothing but fate.

      Jim Gordon ‎"Alright. Contact me when you get time.," he said, moving away, and then stopping as he retraced back, finger in the air. "Actually, come to the station later, we'll need a statement anyway. We can talk then? Just let me know." And then Jim, giving Wayne a bit of an analytical glare, walked off to tell the rest the situation.

      Harvey Dent Tyler just nodded, and waited until Gordon was far enough away not to hear him.

      "Good to know your secret is safe," he muttered at Charles, risking a touch of his hand to his back. "Come on," he pulled his car keys out of his pocket, "we'll find a bar and then-"

      Tyler locked eyes with Charles, savoring the words, "you can bring me home."

      Bruce Wayné Charles just pretended he couldn't hear the conversation, but his well tuned ears were not so deaf. He shrugged and opened the car door, smiling at Tyler. "Let's go then, I don't wanna stick around for this." He slid in and reached behind to scratch the dogs ears in greeting.

      Harvey Dent It was a good thing that Charles got into the car when he did, because Tyler was just about to lean in and kiss him on the mouth, and quite a crowd had gathered to watch the young politician's place go up in flames. It felt so right to do it, just press their mouths together and run his tongue over and past Charles's lips, so /natural/ that he'd forgotten that he wasn't supposed to do it.

      The blond sighed, a little annoyed with it all, and strode to his side of the car, climbing in.

      Tonight felt like /their/ night. Something about letting four of the worst pieces of filth Gotham had to offer die in a gorgeous blaze started the killers off on the right foot.

      Ty got into the car, and started it, backing up and then driving away without a look back as Bruno wiggled in the backseat, licking both men's jaws and hair in a relieved, puppy-ish greeting.

      Sinatra was playing on the radio, and Ty turned it up a little as they drove, relaxing back into the seat as he shifted and steered.

      Charles had just killed to protect them, four times over. Harvey may only have seen the horror in what he'd been doing to the man when they burst in, but all Tyler saw was the sort of rage he'd felt when he'd yanked the plug on the Falcone kid in the hospital, rage he wouldn't have felt if he didn't love Bruce. Knowing /those/ four enforcers, and what they were really capable of, Tyler knew even he would have been in serious, serious trouble if he'd been home, and Charles hadn't come. Sure he might have lived, but he knew there'd be pieces of him missing, or torn apart.

      Tyler drove them to a stop light at an intersection, the muscles of his long leg flexing through his jeans as he worked the brake. He watched the other cars for a moment and then leaned over, kissing Charles on the lips, slowly and deliberately before he pulled away, unhurried.

      "Thanks."

      There was no reason for anyone to have been watching them just then, and if they were? Tyler didn't give a fuck. He owed the man next to him his life, his sanity and he sure as hell owed him a kiss without shame.

      Bruce Wayné Tyler owed Charles nothing, it was a repaid debt from eight year back. The brunette might not have been there mentally, but it was /still/ his body and he shared the same frightening memories as Bruce did of that day. Had Ty not been there? Who knows where the young billionaire would be now.

      The second Charles realized who the men in the apartment were, there was no more doubt in his mind of what had to happen. The mob killed everyday to shut people up, no remorse given for their families. Charles was not about to show mercy; if he saved another family in the process, or a father for a little kid? Perfect. But he did to save his best friends tonight.

      No one was taking them away from him.

      Breathing against Ty's mouth as he kissed him at the light, Charles touch a rough, calloused palm to the blond's jaw, giving him a knowing glance.

      "Not needed. You'd've done the same."

      Harvey Dent Tyler /had/ done the same, years ago, but it was something the vengeful blond never thought he'd have made up to him. He sighed, and closed his eyes at the feeling of Charles's rough hand on his skin, sharing a glance with him before the red light turned green against the brunette's face.

      Ty tongued the tip of one of his own canines, and was about to lean in and take another kiss, election be damned when the car behind them honked, and Tyler rolled his eyes.

      "Yeah, yeah..." he muttered at the impatient driver, and started off again.

      "Where to?"

      Bruce Wayné Charles sighed at the annoyance that was the people behind them, /but/ they had all night when they got home to their place. He let go of Ty's face, pointing towards the Gotham River, where the overpass was and then the bridge.

      "There's a bar just down under the bridge there, right by the shoreline. Ray's or something. Let's get a quick drink and then we can go home."

      Harvey Dent Tyler nodded, and turned the car down to the docks. The longer he thought about it, the better the fire was working out: four of the most vicious mobsters in Gotham were dead, he and Chuck were getting a night together out of it, and they had an excuse to live together, at least until the heat was off.

      He pulled up to Ray's, and shut off the engine, giving Bruno a scratch behind his ears.

      "Guard the car."

      Bruce Wayné Charles slid out of the car, with grace and purpose, intimidation in his step, though barefoot, it didn't seem to matter. He avoided the broken glass on the ground, as if he knew where every little piece was, skipping gracefully over them as he reached the door. Pulling the dark bar's door open, he held it for Tyler and then entered, presence didn't go unnoticed, but not one person seemed to see him as Bruce Wayne.

      "Hey, Matches. Haven't seen ya in a while," the bartender, also known as Ray, greeted, looking at the blond behind him.

      "Been busy, Ray," Charles said, taking a seat at the bar. Obviously he'd been here a lot, and with the change in persona, it was unknown to anyone who saw him just how the brunette really was. "I need five fingers of scotch, and the same for my pal here." He hitched a thumb at Tyler.

      The dive of a bar wasn't known to many, it was mostly a mobster bar, you had to know someone to get in there or know it was even there, but Charles walked in like he owned the place, and not one person except for Ray even bothered to say a word.

      "You got it, Malone," Ray said, turning his back to get the drinks. Charles reached behind the counter for the jars of matchbooks he knew that Ray kept, having always wanted to take some, he had reason to now.

      Harvey Dent Tyler had recognized the name of the bar from Harv's files, but wasn't going to let that stop him. He grabbed the suit jacket from the trunk, shouldering it on over Harv's jeans and t-shirt and took a pair of sunglasses from the glove compartment, slipping them on over his blue eyes before he caught up to Charles inside, taking a seat at the bar.

      No one seemed to recognize Charles as Bruce, if only because no one would dare look him in the face too long.

      He smirked at the matchbooks, knowingly. "I've got one, you know."

      Bruce Wayné
      Charles took one of each style, a collection of different patterns from over the years that Ray's had been there, four styles to be exact. Worked perfectly. He pocketed them and shook some of the soot from his hair that had managed to get there from the burning building. He had to keep Bruce's name out of the fire, but should the name Malone come up or even Matches, well for it then. The mob needed to start to realize that there were other people in town besides the Batman and Harvey Dent who weren't afraid of them.

      "Oh yeah? Where'd ya get it?" he asked, taking the glasses from Ray when they were set down. Ray seemed to look at Tyler with a bit of recognition, but said nothing. Charles gave the black and silver haired mobster a look, one of those 'you don't know and if you question it, you'll regret it later.'

      Actually a few people had turned their heads to stair for a moment, but the second Charles saw them, they're heads went back down to their tables and drinks, or the girls they had with them. In just a few short months and few nights a week, Charles had managed to frighten the first mob families of Gotham into saying nothing. It was how Bruce had managed to get the lightly radiated bills into the mob banks.

      Harvey Dent
      Tyler took his drink, unruffled. He almost hoped someone would say something, Charles had taken all the fun for himself tonight.

      "Remember that trip we took back in college?" he asked, smart enough not to mention names.

      "I was talking with your .... Uncle, about things." Tyler pulled out his wallet and took out the carefully tucked away matchbook from a closed, rarely opened pocket in it.

      "I let him see the coin, he gave me this."

      Bruce Wayné
      Charles hadn't been around for that trip except the latter end of it, but with Bruce clear headed then and the memory was shared. 'Uncle' was to refer to the older version of them, Bruce and Chuck. He was pretty sure Tyler meant Chuck, because Bruce wouldn't know what those matches stood for. And those matches Tyler was holding, were exactly the ones that he picked up when he offed Malone.

      Taking a swallow of his drink, he put the empty glass down. "He just /gave/ them to you?" he found it hard to think that Chuck would give up such a possession freely, especially one with meaning. Unless... Charles hadn't really placed just /how/ upset Harvey and Tyler would be when he and Bruce disappeared.

      Harvey Dent ‎"Yeah," Tyler said, thumbing the foriegn writing on the cover of the book. "He did, why? Is it important?"

      He opened the book and looked at the still perfect row of matches. After Brucee disappeared, he kept these in hand almost more than the coin.

      "He actually came by after you left."

      Bruce Wayné
      In their own wallet, which he had remembered to take out of the clothes he burned, Charles kept the matches he took when he killed Malone. He pulled them out of the wallet and showed the identical book to him.

      "First kill," he muttered, leaning in toward Tyler. "Means a lot to 'im, but if he gave it to ya, must have been important." God he needed a smoke, but his cigs burned with the clothes. He'd deal, Bruce would whine about it later anyway when they couldn't breathe.

      "Oh yeah?" He asked, this time a distraught, as he knew now that it must have been worse than he thought; but he hadn't given it much thought when they left. HE warned them didn't he? They should have known...

      Harvey Dent
      Tyler looked at the two matchbooks, surprised. They were, of course, identical, his were a little older and more worn looking, but that just made them special. He had no idea at the time that it was a landmark in their lives in his hands for all these years.

      "Yeah," Chuck had come over, with older him and literally picked the drunk, dangerously high, broken boy up off the ground and /held/ him for what might have been hours or days. It was the only time Tyler let himself be saved by anyone, ever.

      "He explained a few things to me."

      Bruce Wayné ‎"And lemme guess? Harv didn't. Which was why he was with little miss trollop," he sneered, voice a harsh whisper. He didn't mind Rachel, but sometimes she was a condescending bitch, and it was just like her to give up hope on Bruce returning and taking Harvey from them.

      She deserved the breakup they had, Charles felt no fucking remorse for her backstabbing.

      Harvey Dent
      ‎"Trust me," Tyler sighed, his matches still tucked into his wide palm as he drank with his left hand.

      "If I could have told him I would, but we split so hard that we couldn't hear one another at all. It took me a while to even be able to see what was going on, and by that time, she sunk her claws into him. But that was a couple years down the line, just after she finally convinced him you weren't coming back."

      He never liked Rachel. "She seems all sweet on the surface but I could tell she was just trying to tie him down with kids so he'd marry her. Fuck that. Manipulative bitchnwas probably going to fuck up her birth control to do it too. Thank god he left. He wasn't happy."

      Bruce Wayné Charles' face screwed up into something that of annoyance. Figured that Harv would give up and that he'd have given up so much that he let Rachel convince him that Bruce was dead or never coming home.

      Had Charles needed to make it clearer? That /they/ belonged to them no matter what?

      "He would've, if we didn't come back. Nothing to change his mind."

      Harvey Dent
      ‎"She took care of him for two years," Tyler explained, still disgusted, "and got her feelings all hurt because he wasn't interested. You know how he is, he felt guilty after a couple of years of it. But he was never in love. He missed the hell out of you."

      He passed his hand over the back of Charles's arm, soothing him.

      "I'm the voice in his head that tells him when he's being played, or manipulated-" he took a drink, "just like you do for Bruce. I couldn't get through to him. But I would've fucking waited."

      Bruce Wayné
      Charles knew they had no reason to be really upset with Harvey, with all the prostitution they had to do, the shit with Ducard... But the point was Harvey could've been more hopeful, as he was often with the city itself, and he hadn't been. He literally gave up when Charles had all but told him they'd be back.

      "At least you believe in us," he mentioned, shooting Ray a look as he watched the two out of the corner of his eye.

      Harvey Dent ‎"I'm better at reading you-" Ty smirked, the expression exaggerated under the glasses before he took a drink, also noticing Ray's curious glances. "I knew what it meant."

      Ty watched the bartender for a minute, "This place isn't bad. I'd hate to see it close."
       
    • Bruce Wayné
      ‎"Yeah," he said, turning his gaze to Ray, leaning over the counter to grab a basket of pretzels. "Ray don't have no issues with that; he knows I've got his back here, dontcha, Ray?" Charles smiled, a little unsettling, and despite the lack of footwear and the odd clothing that fit a little different on the brunette, the man behind the counter nodded slowly and wiped a bead of sweat off his brow.

      "Yeah, Matches. I know," he muttered, wiping down the counter, "We all do." There was a slight grumble through the patrons, and it was obvious that Charles had been worked over a few of the mob families already. It was even possible the men he killed tonight knew him by name. Not anymore though.

      Harvey Dent
      Tyler just smiled, reminded of the bar back at school he used to frequent. They knew him well enough there to know not to want to get to know him better, and to stay on his good side. Driving a bottle opener into some asshole's neck in the alley his first night there did that, amongst other things. The young blond had been like eighty-proof, ready to ignite at the slightest friction.

      "It's too bad you weren't around much back at school," Tyler licked a drop of scotch from his lips, "we could have had fun."

      Bruce Wayné
      Stuffing a handful of pretzels into his mouth, Charles flipped out a a hundred and placed it on the counter for Ray. He was done here, and the more he just /stared/ at Tyler, the more he wanted to fuck him and he couldn't do that here. But they /did/ have all night.

      "Yeah. It was. Too bad someone was too wasted all the time to notice me," he grumbled, and not about Ty but about Bruce. Things would've been so different is Bruce had just listened from the start. Then again, if he had, they might never have met Tyler and Harvey when they did.

      "Come on, Gorgeous, let's get outta here," he slid off the stool, nodding a goodbye to Ray and few others who dared to look up when the brunette stood. No one made eye contact though. The thing with Matches' reputation there, was he never used a gun; if you crossed him, your life was slowly taken and you'd regret every second until your last breath. He'd made a few watch months ago when they first got back into town.

      After five men went down, in a group of people with nothing but a forked used on Charles' part, people stopped trying.

      Harvey Dent
      ‎"Gorgeous?" Ty raised a blond eyebrow as he stood, sliding his long legs to the floor from where they'd been curled around the wood poles of the stool after he downed half the glass of gold liquor in a smooth swallow.

      He pulled his car keys out of the hip pocket of his jeans with one hand, the other warming the curve of the small of the brunette's back as he walked out with the dark man who barely made a sound when he moved. Charles didn't need the kevlar suit to look and move like a shadow when he wanted to.

      "Back to your place?" he asked once they were outside, hooking a finger through the loop of his keyring.

      Bruce Wayné
      ‎"Yup," he answered, not caring if anyone saw them together, it wasn't Dent and Wayne, it was Malone and his strangely attractive friend. And to show, if anyone dared to look anyway,Charles took Tyler by the face and kissed him long and hard, toes splayed out on the gravel below them.

      Glaring back into the bar, he walked to the passenger side, and slid in. He waited for Tyler to get in and then said; "We got a real nice pool out by the balcony. Hot tub, too. But if ya just wanna stick to the usual, the bed is real nice," he smirked.

       
    •  
2011-06-29 10:16 am
Entry tags:

Gone for Seven (and a half) Years

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.

2011-06-29 10:15 am
Entry tags:

Billionaire Gone Missing [Dated for June 13th, late Afternoon]

The hearing went as Bruce had suspected it might; Chill was let off on parole for being a snitch against Carmine Falcone, whom he had spent some time in a cell with in prison. It wasn't fair, to say the least, but it was what it was, and Bruce knew more than ever that things had to change or people like Falcone and Chill would continue to go free for the crimes they committed.

 There was only so much one person could really do, and Harvey and Rachel, as idealistic and headstrong as they were, could never do it alone. It was time for Bruce to face the music and get on with his life, the new path he knew he needed to take to become the very thing the city needed him to be.

 His only regret was the way it would hurt Harvey and Rachel.

 They would understand, in the end. They had to.

 Bruce stood out in the halls of the courthouse, waiting to see Chill carted off, released from prison, and as he leaned against the wall, eyes meeting the gaze of the man who murdered his parents, Bruce saw the suddenly panic and pain there. The sound of gun going off was the only thing heard around the reporters and police, and a woman was carted off in cuffs and Chill lie dying on the floor, bleeding to death.

 That was that; Bruce felt nothing else at that moment was dread and relief, so consumed now with the need to move forward.

 ---

 A text sent to Harvey explained that Bruce was going to run some errands and he would be home later. A lie, but he would apologize in the letter he sent out, no return address, to the manor for Harvey. Where Bruce was actually headed was the restaurant where Falcone frequented, along with every other corrupt cop and judge in the city, who took bribes from the mob to keep their nose out of their business.

 Bruce, however, was taking something Harvey said to heart; someone had to stand up and show the mob that people weren't afraid of them. The billionaire was going to do just that.

 It wasn't hard to get in, Bruce had been patted down, checked for weapons, and shoved in front of Falcone, who just looked at him, and remarked about something to do with Bruce not having been armed. Bruce stood silent, reading and watching the man, the uncle to the kid who made his life hell a month ago, turned his world upside and made him second guess everything.

 Maybe he should be thanking him, but the words that came out weren't that at all. "I'm not afraid of you."

 "Ya should be kid, it'd do you good to know your place."

 Bruce didn't know he'd done, but the rage in his chest swelled and he hopped over that table so quick the guards couldn't get to him before he sucker punched Falcone right across the jaw. Three pairs of hands were on him, dragging him back, and Falcone was laughing, snickering and praising.

 "Ya got guts, Wayne." No nodded to the men. "Take him out back. Let him go. He ain't worth the time. I've heard stories. Worthless. "

 And he was tossed out onto damn rain slicked street, a punch to the gut and slap across the face, and they left him there, seemingly unharmed and free to go. They thought he was joke, heard stories no doubt from someone in the Falcone ring about what happened with the man's nephew and him, fabrications no doubt of what the event had actually been.

 Fine. That was fine. They would fear him later. He vowed that much.

 He shucked off his jacket, handed it and all his cash over to a homeless man, mentioned to him to be careful who saw him with it, someone would be looking for him at some point, and then he took off, walking slowly across the bridge, removing his suit jacket, tossing it into the water, his tie as well, anything of value he couldn't afford people seeing him with. down to just his slacks and a undershirt, he saw a large cargo ship about to depart. A quick overview and he realized it was head to Europe. No better place to start, he thought.

 He looked down at his cell phone, the last bit of his belongings in hand, and threw it into the sea.

 "I'm sorry, Harvey," he whispered before stealing away on board the ship.

2011-06-29 10:14 am
Entry tags:

Dear Harvey...

[Sent via mail, no return address, to Harvey Dent at Wayne Manor, to arrive June 14th]

 

Harvey,

I've been trying to get down into the words the things I need to say to you. I've tried for the past week to tell you in person, but every time I look at you, I can't find the means to bring my voice to the surface. It's only because I don't want to hurt you and this will ultimately hurt you more than I wanted it to, but it has to happen.

I hope you'll forgive me, in the end. I hope you know this is for the city, like we wanted. It's bigger than us, Harv. I can see that now and I know you'll understand, no matter how much this might hurt.

I'm leaving. I'm going traveling to find my path, something that I've only just noticed and realized since we met older versions of ourselves. I see now, with your help and the push of other people, that the city can't go on this way, and I can't do much to help it the way I am now. I have to change and with that I have to do it alone, I have to find what will make me a better person. For everyone. The City. Everything.

Please don't hate me. You've taught me so much and it's because of you that we are doing this. You and Rachel have pushed me forward, and now it's my turn to finish what you started for me.

Don't come looking for me. I don't plan to be found. But trust and know I will return to you, someday, when everything is in place.

Wait for me?

I love you.

Sincerely -- and Always -- Yours,

Bruce

2011-06-29 10:02 am
Entry tags:

Intervention: Bruce and Harvey

For weeks now, Bruce had been feeling as thought something were stirring in his body, something was changing since the day he was assaulted by Falcone's nephew. Whether it was seeing the light, that things couldn't stay this way on the path he was headed, or whether that good people did exist and he wanted to be one of them, and not just another schmuck who took revenge. There was a lot of that already, T was a good example of that, and not that Bruce didn't adore him, but something about him killing Falcone's nephew left a few nerve endings unsettled.

 Was it really the way to gain justice? To kill those who killed or raped? All these thoughts have taken a tole on Bruce's mind and he'd slowly started to change his habits, one small thing at a time.

 And yet, he still bought the gun, hid it away, and thought about all the ways he wanted to see Chill die, to watch him breathe his last breath while his eyes did nothing more than bore into Bruce's soul. That's how he wanted to remember the man who murdered his parents.

 But standing in his way were a few people, namely Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawes.

 Harvey would be disappointed, T would understand. But it was disappointing Harvey, and leaving him when he was hauled off to prison that ached at Bruce the most. Somewhere down the line he had fallen in love with Harvey, unintentionally, and it was going to kill the boy when Bruce was gone -- he just knew it.

 Not to mention what it would do to Rachel.

 And both of them now had jobs in the court system. They would both see his case. Disappointed was bound to happen.

 Bruce had taken off, leaving the house the minute he heard from Harvey. He had grabbed the gun he bought, stuffing it into his sweatshirt pocket and then grabbed his last pack of smokes off his dresser. He headed out to the building at school that Harvey had taken him to, the just starting to set. When he arrived, he shut the door behind him and stood out on the edge, just looking down. He didn't need to drink or be high to know when things were calling his name, and that height was really calling.

 Instead, he turned off his phone, lit a cigarette and pulled the gun out, weighing it in his hand, wondering if any what he had planned his whole life was really worth it.

Harvey Dent

    • Something was off.

      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
      He smoking another cigarette, two down now, still staring at the gun, only this time he had cocked the hammer back, finger on the trigger, wondering what it would feel like to pull it, put that bullet right between Chill's eyes where it belonged.

      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
      ‎"No." Harvey's voice was firm, but full of emotion as he stepped closer, trying to get close enough to touch Bruce if he could.

      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
      Bruce turned around, gun in hand, finger on the trigger, smoke in the other hand, just looking at Harvey like his soul was being ripped out. How could he even manage to do this /now/ with the blond looking at him like /that/.

      "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
      Harvey's eyes widened and pain twisted his features now, seeing Bruce with the gun in his hand. That was a surprise, one that made him stop breathing altogether.

      "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
      Bruce put his foot up on the ledge, heel skimming the very edge, even leaning off of it slightly. What Harvey was saying, he didn't understand. He didn't know what Bruce was planning, he didn't know how horribly it would hurt him when he did do it.

      "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
      The air under Bruce's heel made Harvey feel like that gun Bruce was holding was pointed at his /own/ head. He was sweating now, desperate and nearly panicking inside, even if having grown up with a gun to his head some nights had one and on and only one upside: Harvey Dent didn't panic.

      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
      No, it wasn't right. Bruce was starting to see that, but every bit of him still wanted the agony to be over, to know the man suffered the same fate as his parents, to know he died, like his parents. It's all he thought about for years and it was starting to make less and less sense these days.

      "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
      He stepped a little closer, "I know it hurts. I know the pain never really goes away, but that pain means you /remember/ them, and you love them. Killing Chill won't make you hurt any less. If anything you'll just feel worse because you'll know that you did something that would have broken their hearts if they knew about it."

      "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
      Bruce's foot slid off the ledge and back onto the solid rooftop, thumb over the hammer of the gun, he flipped it back to neutral, staring now at Harvey with tears welled in his eyes. The blond was right, as much as it might make him feel better in the moment to shoot Chill, it would never erase the pain completely, and he would only be more miserable.

      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
      As soon as he could reach him, Harvey yanked Bruce into his shaking arms, letting him sob against his suit jacket as he thanked whatever God was actually up there than this hadn't ended with Bruce laying on the ground below with a snapped neck.

      "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
      Bruce's arms were tight around Harv's shoulders, not letting go, not easing up, just letting it out as he finally broke. Years of holding it all in, not letting anyone see him cry except when he was alone, and that night after Harvey first held him... When everything changed.

      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
      When Bruce stepped back, Harvey looked a little wary, and stepped with him, keeping one hand on his arm as though afraid he'd lose him again. Harvey reached over, and took the gun himself, shucking the bullets out with hands that were a little too skilled at the task before he pocketed it.

      "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
      He walked with Harvey, not protesting when he took the gun, or when he opened the door for him, too droned to care as they walked down the stairs to the elevator, quiet and wordless. The air between them seemed dead, but alive at the same time, and Bruce just wanted to go to sleep and wake up and know that he made the right choice tonight.

      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
      The car was parked haphazardly, half in a fire zone, half in a handicapped spot, and still running with the keys in it. At the time, Harvey had thought of nothing but getting to Bruce before he jumped.

      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
      Bruce tried to smile back, a heaviness in his chest so thick still he couldn't almost breathe. But he knew the light was coming, he had Harvey and he had resolved the pain that was bogging him down for years, made a conscience decision to not do it. He felt /better/ already, and it was just time before he felt free.

      "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 Dent
      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
      Harvey smiled, pulling up to a stop light. "As drunk and angry as you were ... I wanted to kiss you, even then."

      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
      ‎"You confused me," Harvey clarified, shutting off the car, but not leaving it yet, just talking with Bruce as he kept their fingers locked around one another. "I knew there was more to you, but you kept shoving me away. I never /hated/ you," he smiled, almost sadly.

      "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
      Harvey noticed, but didn't comment, just kept his arm tight around Bruce's waist, holding him close even as they walked up the stairs together, more for Harvey's sake than Bruce's.

      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
      ‎"No," he replied, shrugging his leather jacket off and hanging it up as well. "But I'll eat if you're making something." He sat down on one of the stools, holding his head in hands, rethinking the words said on the roof, the things Harvey said, wondering if he meant them.

      "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
      Harvey was just loosening his tie, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, when he heard Bruce's question and looked at him. He still looked so incredibly fragile, close to teetering on a very dangerous edge.

      "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
      Bruce, now, had no plans of going anywhere, stuck in this moment with Harvey, realizing now more than ever he really wanted things to work out at school, that he'd get to go back and finish and start a career out of it. And stay with Harvey. That was important.

      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
      Harvey's knees nearly went weak. Bruce had been quiet for what had been in reality, only a couple of seconds, but to him felt like an eternity. After imagining a million gentle and not-so-gentle ways Bruce would let him down, the kiss was answer enough.

      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
      Bruce kept his head near Harvey's, forehead to forehead, breathing him in slowly, getting used to the sound of the blond's own breathing, perfect and /there/. No doubt he'd always be there for Bruce, and it was reassurance enough.

      "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
      Harv reached up and brushed the pad of his thumb against the corner of Bruce's shy grin, fascinated by the way it made Bruce's entire face change.

      "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
      Harv relaxed a little, into the sweet, sort of funny kiss on his forehead and hugged Bruce, indulging in the moment, but not letting himself forget that as happy as they were right now, he /had/ just talked Bruce off of a ledge. It would be too easy to get carried away in kissing and touching the hazel eyed boy.

      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
      Bruce seemed to consider, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, teeth grazing thoughtfully. He was being... aloof about the situation, as he usually was, keeping fingers from being pointed, to avoid talking about it. He'd just made a huge choice not to kill someone /or/ to take his own life.

      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
      Harvey listened, and then led Bruce over to the big, ivory couch, sitting him down so that Harv could sit with him, properly. Bruce's smile was reassuring, not to mention oh, so beautiful, and it made the blond boy smile back, but didn't take the knot out of his stomach entirely.

      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
      Bruce sat, letting Harv touch him anyway he needed or wanted, it felt good to have someone near right now, because if he had just been left after all of /that/ on the roof, he might just try again. A firm body next to him was a good grounding, and as much as he wanted to convince Harvey he would be fine, neither of them were stupid.

      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
      Harvey smiled again, relieved. Seeing Bruce like that, scared, reckless, armed and ready to blow himself away because the world didn't make sense anymore put another layer of age on the young man, another experience to add to his collection, and when he smiled, the edges of his blue eyes crinkled just the tiniest bit as though the stress of it had carved a miniscule notch at each corner.

      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
      Bruce would definitely not want to hear about Harv's dad unless the boy was willing to tell divulge information or stories without Bruce having to prod. He didn't feel that was his place.

      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
      ‎"I can take it again in a couple of months, when things are a little more settled. It doesn't matter, it's just a test." A test he paid over two hundred dollars to schedule, and weeks preparing for, but he wasn't about to tell Bruce that and put more pressure on him.

      "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
      Harvey doubted very much that anything short of a cannonball launching itself into the manor could throw Alfred off, but didn't say so, just looked back at Bruce.

      "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
      Bruce always seemed alright, for the most part, it was a part of that facade he put forward to keep people off his back. And he'd do it in the morning too, just to make sure Harv went to his test, Bruce didn't want that weighing on his conscience, too. Bad enough he nearly offed himself that evening just because the blond got the job he desperately deserved.

      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."

      Harvey Dent
      The ease with which Bruce pretended was one of the things that kept Harvey the most worried. It meant that when it suited him, he could and would shut Harvey out completely, but he hoped that like the lying, they were past that.

      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.