Post reblogged from Commissioner J. W. Gordon with 30 notes
Jim’s face was lit a little better by the distant firelight, making his eyes clear and reassuring, something rational for Harvey’s reeling mind to focus on.
“Bat-“
He looked back, over his thin shoulder and felt his jaw drop a little at the bold, brilliant symbol of defiance that blazed over the ruined, scared skyline. Only then did the blond’s addled mind realize Jim hadn’t moved him this far, he couldn’t have, no matter how thin Harvey was these days. He saved both of them from falling through, the good cop, and the fallen idol.
The blond took a deep breath, and then another, trying to force himself not to choke so much on the smell of the distant smoke.
“So /you/ see that too? Good to know …” he quipped with a sigh, and looked around at the thugs on the ground.
“Hell of a day.”“Mhm,” Jim murmured, helping Harvey to his feet as they watched the batsymbol blaze into the bridge, slowly dying out, but it would take some time. Where ever Batman was, Jim hoped to God he was doing a lot of good to help them right now.
“I have to get back camp. You’re welcomed to come with me.”
Welcome was not something Harvey ever imagined he would be, or should be with Gordon, and the rattled blond rubbed the right side of his face with one cold hand and turned the coin in his left, restlessly.
For an instant it almost seemed that the tall blond didn’t hear Gordon, and he turned away, the line of his body hiding the quick flip of the coin in his hand. Harvey looked down at the way the shiny side of it reflected the flames of the bat’s symbol, and then closed his hand around the coin, and shut his eyes to stand on the shore like a statue, barely breathing.
“Yeah,” Harvey murmured, finally arriving at a consensus as he tucked the coin back into his pocket. Harvey looked at Jim with quick gratitude, humbled by the offer.
“I’d be … honored.”
It was more than he deserved right now, but the coin had decided.
Post reblogged from Commissioner J. W. Gordon with 30 notes
“Rachel …” he gasped, on his knees, trying not to dry heave into the snow at the smell of gasoline, both hands over his face as he breathed through the flashback, shaking.
He could hear her broken voice screaming for him, over and over. She’d despise him if she saw him now. Harvey clutched at the snow, focusing on the cold in his hands, the way it froze his bare flesh, not burned it.
“What …” he kept his eyes open, afraid to blink as he looked up at Jim, “what was that?”Jim knelt beside Harvey, hands on his shoulders to steady them both. Rachel, of course. Sighing just at the thought, he didn’t indulge the blond there, just let him calm down before going on.
“Batman.” What else could it be. He looked up and over Harvey’s shoulder, the flames still bright as the outline of the bat was still blazing.
Jim’s face was lit a little better by the distant firelight, making his eyes clear and reassuring, something rational for Harvey’s reeling mind to focus on.
“Bat-“
He looked back, over his thin shoulder and felt his jaw drop a little at the bold, brilliant symbol of defiance that blazed over the ruined, scared skyline. Only then did the blond’s addled mind realize Jim hadn’t moved him this far, he couldn’t have, no matter how thin Harvey was these days. He saved both of them from falling through, the good cop, and the fallen idol.
The blond took a deep breath, and then another, trying to force himself not to choke so much on the smell of the distant smoke.
“So /you/ see that too? Good to know …” he quipped with a sigh, and looked around at the thugs on the ground.
“Hell of a day.”
Post reblogged from Commissioner J. W. Gordon with 30 notes
To a man used to hearing voices, another voice was nothing that turned the distant blond’s head. He kept walking, watching the cracks spread under his feet, and he had to imagine that the water was going to feel better than the fire had. At least, he hoped so. Maybe the were two sides of the same coin.
As though the brief memory of the fire brought on another flashback, he smelled gasoline just before it went up in orange flames. Dent stepped back, eyes wide as he threw an arm over Jim’s chest, trying to back him way from the fire, shaking violently and feeling sick to his stomach at the very real smell of it.
“Back,” he gasped, panic making the whole side of his face go grey-white, “get back!” He swore he could feel his neck bubbling again and that big dark shape that put him out the first time was dead now, nowhere in sight as Harvey closed his eyes, turning his head away from it, ready to be sick.Having taken out the thugs on solid land, Batman pulled both men, unaware that the ragged blond one was Dent, to dry land again before they both went under. He had other things to do, but making sure the Gordon was safe was priority before he went to help Blake get the rest of the GCPD out from the sewers where they had been blocked in for months now.
Then, he was gone again.
Jim felt them both be grabbed and dropped, and looked back only to see the tail end of Batman cape, and he was gone, just like old times.
Not wasting time, Jim grabbed Harvey’s shoulder, seeing him sweating even though it was below freezing out.
“Harvey,” he spoke quietly, trying to catch his attention. He’d be damned if he let the once DA die on him again.
“Rachel …” he gasped, on his knees, trying not to dry heave into the snow at the smell of gasoline, both hands over his face as he breathed through the flashback, shaking.
He could hear her broken voice screaming for him, over and over. She’d despise him if she saw him now. Harvey clutched at the snow, focusing on the cold in his hands, the way it froze his bare flesh, not burned it.
“What …” he kept his eyes open, afraid to blink as he looked up at Jim, “what was that?”
Post reblogged from Commissioner J. W. Gordon with 30 notes
Harvey stumbled, but stretched a hand out toward Jim, the tremor never leaving it as he tried to stop the commissioner from hitting the ground. It was the least he could do in their last moments.
After steadying them both, Harvey put both hands in the air, resigned to his sentence as he looked over the stretch of ice punctuated by large holes where men had plunged to their dark, cold graves before them.
It was almost a relief to finally be tried and sentenced, and Harvey felt a weight off of his shoulders. There were no more secrets anymore, nothing left to hide. Everyone had seen the worst of him. If only Jim didn’t have to do this with him, it wouldn’t be so bad. After all, he was outside again for the first time in eight years.
Harvey looked up at the bridge and the sky, the ruined city beyond it and sighed, remembering it the way it was.
“I bet it was something,” he whispered to Jim, starting out on the ice, the first one to meet his fate.
“Even if it didn’t last, that’s worth dying for.”Jim walked out with Harvey at his side, being pushed until the guards couldn’t push any further, staying back on solid ground. The icy sleeted water below them creaked as they shuffled, Jim’s unsteady breath billowing out in front of him.
“Not if we didn’t save her.”
Jim’s booted foot hit something hard on the ice, something like looked like a flare, and he bent low in the dusky newly evening air to pick it up, only to turn, but nothing was there, just a voice.
“Light it up,” something said close to his ear, almost like it was behind him, but he didn’t turn to see, he merely smacked the flare and tossed it onto the ground where it a small pool of gasoline was, and the fire rose high into the sky over the bridge, lighting a makeshift batsignal.
A reminder to the people that he was out there.
Jim turned, hand on Harvey’s shoulder to make sure he was still there and it wasn’t a hallucination that the Batman was right there.
To a man used to hearing voices, another voice was nothing that turned the distant blond’s head. He kept walking, watching the cracks spread under his feet, and he had to imagine that the water was going to feel better than the fire had. At least, he hoped so. Maybe the were two sides of the same coin.
As though the brief memory of the fire brought on another flashback, he smelled gasoline just before it went up in orange flames. Dent stepped back, eyes wide as he threw an arm over Jim’s chest, trying to back him way from the fire, shaking violently and feeling sick to his stomach at the very real smell of it.
“Back,” he gasped, panic making the whole side of his face go grey-white, “get back!” He swore he could feel his neck bubbling again and that big dark shape that put him out the first time was dead now, nowhere in sight as Harvey closed his eyes, turning his head away from it, ready to be sick.
Post reblogged from Commissioner J. W. Gordon with 30 notes
“I don’t know more than they’d tell me,” Harvey explained under his breath, quickly. His wrists showed old marks from being restrained with something strong and thin over and over again, and even his good temple looked strange, as though the skin was worn smooth there from something harsh.
He had no idea Batman had come /back/, only that he had taken credit for the dead cops and then disappeared, forever. There were moments he was sure they told him Rachel was alive, and then moments where they insisted it wasn’t true, that he’d dreamed it again. But this was real, the vehicle, the cold, Jim’s worn face. It was all very, very real.
“But I was supposed to be dead, and he’s a hell of a lot tougher than I am. If I can pull through … he can.”
Harvey held his own hands between his knees where he sat, right hand squeezing the left, left squeezing the right, like a wrestling match.
“I’m sorry … about what he said back there.”Jim shook his head again. “Let’s not get into it. Useless now, isn’t it?” he looked over at Harvey again, over the rim of his glasses that had fogged slightly from how cold it was out and even in the large SUV.
The vehicle stopped and they were both tugged out harshly and thrown toward the break ice under the bridge.
Harvey stumbled, but stretched a hand out toward Jim, the tremor never leaving it as he tried to stop the commissioner from hitting the ground. It was the least he could do in their last moments.
After steadying them both, Harvey put both hands in the air, resigned to his sentence as he looked over the stretch of ice punctuated by large holes where men had plunged to their dark, cold graves before them.
It was almost a relief to finally be tried and sentenced, and Harvey felt a weight off of his shoulders. There were no more secrets anymore, nothing left to hide. Everyone had seen the worst of him. If only Jim didn’t have to do this with him, it wouldn’t be so bad. After all, he was outside again for the first time in eight years.
Harvey looked up at the bridge and the sky, the ruined city beyond it and sighed, remembering it the way it was.
“I bet it was something,” he whispered to Jim, starting out on the ice, the first one to meet his fate.
“Even if it didn’t last, that’s worth dying for.”
Post reblogged from Commissioner J. W. Gordon with 30 notes
Harvey looked over at Jim with horror in his eyes.
“I heard that too,” he answered with a hard swallow and a deep breath that made the crest of Harvey’s shoulders rise under the shabby coat that hid the suit he’d been burned in years ago. Bane hauled it out of where ever they had stored it for the occasion.
“Do you believe it?” the blond asked, quietly, looking out of the window for the first time in years as the snow crunched under the tires.“I don’t know.” It was the honest to God truth. “He showed up again when we needed him, but rumors say Bane broke him. Hard to say if he’d live through that. It’s been almost six months now…”
Jim sighed heavily, still looking at Harvey even if he refused to really look at Jim for longer than a second.
“I don’t know more than they’d tell me,” Harvey explained under his breath, quickly. His wrists showed old marks from being restrained with something strong and thin over and over again, and even his good temple looked strange, as though the skin was worn smooth there from something harsh.
He had no idea Batman had come /back/, only that he had taken credit for the dead cops and then disappeared, forever. There were moments he was sure they told him Rachel was alive, and then moments where they insisted it wasn’t true, that he’d dreamed it again. But this was real, the vehicle, the cold, Jim’s worn face. It was all very, very real.
“But I was supposed to be dead, and he’s a hell of a lot tougher than I am. If I can pull through … he can.”
Harvey held his own hands between his knees where he sat, right hand squeezing the left, left squeezing the right, like a wrestling match.
“I’m sorry … about what he said back there.”
Post reblogged from Commissioner J. W. Gordon with 30 notes
Now that Dent’s rage had served it’s purpose, the rattled shell of a blond was treated by the guards like any other nuisance and all but thrown into the back of the vehicle, his leg barely out of the way before the door slammed shut.
Harvey wasn’t looking at Jim, but down at the floor, hair hanging in his eyes where it hadn’t been cut in a while. He turned the left side away from the commissioner and took a deep breath, not sure why Jim would ever feel the need to explain himself, to justify himself to him.
“I know,” he murmured, “I don’t blame you.”Harvey had been the best of them, despite all that happened, all that Dent darker side said the blond was guilty of. Nothing more than anyone else, as far as Jim was concerned.
The ride was quiet for a bit, driving to the snowiest and cold place in the city, down under the bridge where the water was frozen, but not sturdy enough to hold someone, let alone several people, for long.
“They say he’s dead.”
Jim didn’t know for sure; he was going by what Blake told him, and that was iffy considering the rookie’s source.
Harvey looked over at Jim with horror in his eyes.
“I heard that too,” he answered with a hard swallow and a deep breath that made the crest of Harvey’s shoulders rise under the shabby coat that hid the suit he’d been burned in years ago. Bane hauled it out of where ever they had stored it for the occasion.
“Do you believe it?” the blond asked, quietly, looking out of the window for the first time in years as the snow crunched under the tires.
Post reblogged from Commissioner J. W. Gordon with 30 notes
The commissioner’s protests sounded like noise in the asylum, far away and almost like someone shouting through water as Dent sat in the chair again, blank-eyed, and then focused on a shape no one else could see just beyond the fallen officers.
With chilling stillness and focus, Dent shot the empty space a look of utter hatred and contempt, seeming to listen with a cruel gleam in his eyes before he actually addressed the voice no one else could hear.
“The matter of the state versus Gordon is CLOSED! Make another plea for his acquittal and I’ll fucking shoot him just to shut you up, councilor.” Dent raised the gun, not kidding in the least, and had a staring contest with nothing that he seemed to win.
“Harvey Dent: White Knight, savior, liar, cheat and killer. As an eye witness and an officer of the courts, I don’t need to hear any evidence. Not only is Harvey Dent responsible for the murders for which Batman framed himself, he is guilty of representing himself in a fraudulent manner to the citizens of Gotham for years on the matter of his own mental health and fitness for office. Far from being a beacon of hope, Harvey mislead the entire city, inspiring them to believe in and vote for a man too broken to serve, and too ashamed to admit it! He hid his true nature until one day, it refused to stay hidden. He’s a liar and a crook like the rest of them, and he didn’t deserve a /second/ of your respect.”
Dent sighed and looked down at the gun in his hand.
“Guilty as charged. No matter what the sentence is, trust me,” he snarled, shaking his head as he stared down the spot where he could see the fallen DA, “it isn’t enough for him.”
He looked down at the coin, hand shaking before he flipped it, catching it with a snatch of his palm. The dim light reflecting off of the shiny side could be seen on the smooth side of the judge’s face, and his eyes closed, hands burying themselves and then clenching in his own hair out of frustration before he set the gun down and stood, meekly, putting the coat left on the back of his chair on. No arguing.
Harvey looked up this time, everything about him changed. He looked repentant, pained with guilt, and deeply, deeply ashamed.
“Exile,” he said, a little brokenly, “my apologies.”
Harvey waited for the guard to come and get him.
Jim let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding until the guards grabbed Dent and tugged him down the stairs and started to drag them both out of the court room.
Dent had a lot more problems than Jim realized; he never knew how deep it had gone, or how awful. Those reports of Dent’s father beating him, relentlessly fogged the commissioner’s mind with more guilt, remembering reading one of them some years ago, before Harry and Lucy Dent died.
“I tried,” he whispered to Harvey as they struggled against the mercenaries that pushed them into the back of a large SUV. “I did what I had to. What he wanted me to do.”
Now that Dent’s rage had served it’s purpose, the rattled shell of a blond was treated by the guards like any other nuisance and all but thrown into the back of the vehicle, his leg barely out of the way before the door slammed shut.
Harvey wasn’t looking at Jim, but down at the floor, hair hanging in his eyes where it hadn’t been cut in a while. He turned the left side away from the commissioner and took a deep breath, not sure why Jim would ever feel the need to explain himself, to justify himself to him.
“I know,” he murmured, “I don’t blame you.”
Post reblogged from Commissioner J. W. Gordon with 30 notes
The apology didn’t seem to penetrate the judge’s rage. His anger was billowing off of him in palpable waves as he glared at Gordon, his intact nostril flaring, pupils sharpened to pinpoints.
“Yeah? Sorry?” he hissed, snatching the letter Bane had read to the city from where it lay on the bench, holding it up with righteous indignation.
“Sorry for WHAT, Jim!? Sorry you dragged your feet until it was too fucking late? Sorry you didn’t make good and sure my body was even cold before you walked the fuck away? Or sorry I lived to show everyone that the paradise you took credit for was built on a goddamned lie!?” His voice echoed, twice in the space, and a few people flinched at the sound.
“Everything Bane claimed is true. Everything.”
Dent balled up the letter, furious, and threw it at Gordon, letting it land in the pool of the blood of the dead cops on the floor. The red started to eat away at the white, smearing the lines of black that damned them all.
“Which means this is an open and shut case, commissioner. Guilty.”
He held up the coin, glaring bullets at Jim over it’s rough edge, feeling the weight of his life in his hand, and how light it really was. Dent’s right hand twitched, his eyes almost closed again, but he gritted his jaw and swallowed, flipping the coin and catching it in his palm.
“Exile.”
Dent turned away, a little stooped, head in one hand like he was in pain before his shoulders heaved and he straightened again, wrought with some sort of internal struggle.
“The .. court …”
He seemed unsteady.
“The court calls Harvey Dent to the stand. To be tried for murder.”“For you! The lie was for you! For the people! We destroyed organized crime with the Dent Act! You being dead helped everything! You being alive is what is killing it all over again!”
A merc took Jim by the arms, and he struggled again. “Take a good look at yourself, Dent! You’re the one on the wrong side this time! You’re the one takes bribes from the evil that is set on destroying this city. Turn that coin on yourself.”
He hadn’t meant literally, but Dent had stopped listening anyway, he could tell by the vacant look in his eyes, and Jim sighed, head bowed as the blond called himself to the stand.
The commissioner’s protests sounded like noise in the asylum, far away and almost like someone shouting through water as Dent sat in the chair again, blank-eyed, and then focused on a shape no one else could see just beyond the fallen officers.
With chilling stillness and focus, Dent shot the empty space a look of utter hatred and contempt, seeming to listen with a cruel gleam in his eyes before he actually addressed the voice no one else could hear.
“The matter of the state versus Gordon is CLOSED! Make another plea for his acquittal and I’ll fucking shoot him just to shut you up, councilor.” Dent raised the gun, not kidding in the least, and had a staring contest with nothing that he seemed to win.
“Harvey Dent: White Knight, savior, liar, cheat and killer. As an eye witness and an officer of the courts, I don’t need to hear any evidence. Not only is Harvey Dent responsible for the murders for which Batman framed himself, he is guilty of representing himself in a fraudulent manner to the citizens of Gotham for years on the matter of his own mental health and fitness for office. Far from being a beacon of hope, Harvey mislead the entire city, inspiring them to believe in and vote for a man too broken to serve, and too ashamed to admit it! He hid his true nature until one day, it refused to stay hidden. He’s a liar and a crook like the rest of them, and he didn’t deserve a /second/ of your respect.”
Dent sighed and looked down at the gun in his hand.
“Guilty as charged. No matter what the sentence is, trust me,” he snarled, shaking his head as he stared down the spot where he could see the fallen DA, “it isn’t enough for him.”
He looked down at the coin, hand shaking before he flipped it, catching it with a snatch of his palm. The dim light reflecting off of the shiny side could be seen on the smooth side of the judge’s face, and his eyes closed, hands burying themselves and then clenching in his own hair out of frustration before he set the gun down and stood, meekly, putting the coat left on the back of his chair on. No arguing.
Harvey looked up this time, everything about him changed. He looked repentant, pained with guilt, and deeply, deeply ashamed.
“Exile,” he said, a little brokenly, “my apologies.”
Harvey waited for the guard to come and get him.
Post reblogged from Commissioner J. W. Gordon with 30 notes
“SHUT UP, JIM!” Dent roared from the bench, his voice ripping violently through the still air with so much hatred that he /spat/ Jim’s name out, hands shaking as he reloaded the gun.
“GOOD NOW? Good now!?” Dent was breathing hard, re-grown dark blond hair falling over his forehead as he leaned over the bench, glowering down at Gordon like some wraith back to drag him to hell.
“You can’t make someone good. You can’t clean them up! Once they’re dirty cops they’ll always be dirty fucking cops, Jim. YOU’LL always be a liar and …” Dent trembled where he stood and slipped the last bullet into the gun, staring at it like he was distracted and confused by it’s weight in his hand.
“Well,” Dent chuckled breathlessly, “we both know what that makes me.” Another dazed moment of staring at the gun, lost in thought, and no one in the room dared to breathe.
“Good boys don’t do bad things,” he whispered, thumbing the safety of the gun in his hand, “he was right.”Jim had his hands up in front of his chest, trying to do anything he could to show Dent that he wasn’t armed, they took his gun and holster, anything else he had, too.
Dent was stuck in the past, stuck knowing the way the system used to work, and now matter what Jim tried to convey about how he’d cleaned it all up —for Dent— nothing was getting through to him. The cause was lost to a man who was split right down the middle, something Jim had seen only a glimpse of eight years ago, and honestly wished he’d never have to see again.
Jim was a liar though, Dent had that right. He’d lied about the DA for years, so if he was guilty of anything, it was definitively that.
God, he wished Batman were around, but rumor had it, Bane got to him too.
“Harvey, I’m sorry.” For everything.
The apology didn’t seem to penetrate the judge’s rage. His anger was billowing off of him in palpable waves as he glared at Gordon, his intact nostril flaring, pupils sharpened to pinpoints.
“Yeah? Sorry?” he hissed, snatching the letter Bane had read to the city from where it lay on the bench, holding it up with righteous indignation.
“Sorry for WHAT, Jim!? Sorry you dragged your feet until it was too fucking late? Sorry you didn’t make good and sure my body was even cold before you walked the fuck away? Or sorry I lived to show everyone that the paradise you took credit for was built on a goddamned lie!?” His voice echoed, twice in the space, and a few people flinched at the sound.
“Everything Bane claimed is true. Everything.”
Dent balled up the letter, furious, and threw it at Gordon, letting it land in the pool of the blood of the dead cops on the floor. The red started to eat away at the white, smearing the lines of black that damned them all.
“Which means this is an open and shut case, commissioner. Guilty.”
He held up the coin, glaring bullets at Jim over it’s rough edge, feeling the weight of his life in his hand, and how light it really was. Dent’s right hand twitched, his eyes almost closed again, but he gritted his jaw and swallowed, flipping the coin and catching it in his palm.
“Exile.”
Dent turned away, a little stooped, head in one hand like he was in pain before his shoulders heaved and he straightened again, wrought with some sort of internal struggle.
“The .. court …”
He seemed unsteady.
“The court calls Harvey Dent to the stand. To be tried for murder.”
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