Batman Begins/Dark Knight 1. Chapter 1 Graduation

Die a hero

**Chapter 1 - Graduation**

Having achieved almost everything he set out to, Harvey Dent felt becalmed. It was almost as if there was nothing left to fight for. The bar was emptying, most of his friends had embraced him and departed. His graduation day had wound down to this, clutching a glass of whiskey in his ridiculous blue and gold robes. He raised the glass to himself and whispered 'to the Thomas Wayne foundation, thank you for my degree.'

Looking over his shoulder Harvey noticed that Mikhail, one of his best friends, was regaling a group of girls with one of his many camping stories. His mis-spent childhood outside Helsinki was a subject of such fascination that he seemed to have found himself a captive audience. Though, it wasn't quite possible to tell whether it was the tales themselves or this Finn's drunken demeanour that kept them captivated.

Harvey could tell that Mikhail was telling them the one about the disused quarry. After a few years of knowing him, Mikhail had told this one to him two or three times from slightly different perspectives. His friends had left the camp in temperatures well below zero, without his parents being able to hear a sound. Jari, his best friend had constructed a swing in the local woodland. Unfortunately, the weakness of the branch had not been taken into account and young Jari fell, head over heels into the quarry. The young, noble Mikhail had wondered in to save his broken friend when the local police turned up. As he had turned, Mikhail realised that his parents had also followed him. He faced a choice between two evils and ended up running to the police, who he felt would be less harsh on trespassers.

Laughing as he turned, Harvey noticed another group in the far left hand corner. He was not familiar with any of them, they had mostly been on different courses to him. At the centre of the group was a woman who Harvey had never spoken to, a woman with dark brown hair and a shockingly bright smile. One of those he had seen around the campus a million times without ever stopping her, without ever being able to express the frustration of attraction.

Harvey knew he was not a naturally charming man. He also knew that he was certainly not the first student to have experienced this frustration. There were so many men his age who had greater successes than him, _the bastards_ he thought. His relationships had been short, bitter affairs that ended badly. Sometimes he felt like this aspect of his world was grinding him down. Why, he asked himself, would the beautiful and popular Rachael Dawes fall for him? He flinched away the moment before she realised he was staring.

Closing time was approaching rapidly. The old clock at the back of the bar chimed out eleven. Harvey decided that it was time to depart. He removed his graduation robe reluctantly, folding it up and placing it in the collection box. The cynical alumnus manning the box raised an eyebrow in mild amusement. Harvey clapped him on the shoulder with a slight smile and then turned away.

After a brief goodbye from Mikhail, who looked very pleased with himself, Harvey scanned every inch of the room. He had always loved this bar. The tall mahogany ceiling with a staircase set into it that no one ever used. It was rumoured to lead nowhere. Student artworks covering every section of each wall, they varied in quality wildly. The dark sheen floor complemented the brightness of the room perfectly. It was the sort of bar where one would not look out of place in a dinner jacket. A remnant, Harvey thought, of a better age in Gotham.

It was a five minute walk from the bar to his flat. His housemates had left for the city centre to continue their night of mayhem. Harvey was not in the mood. He crossed the street. It was a warm, humid night with a slight breeze blowing from the west. Harvey's palms were sweating as he pulled his keys from his pocket. His wallet slipped from his grasp.

A foot stamped on it. Harvey looked up momentarily, noting the man's ragged appearance. Before he could speak, a foot connected with the side of the head, knocking him unconscious.

What felt like a moment passed and Harvey woke up in an alleyway he recognised as being two hundred yards from his flat. He felt the warmth of blood seeping through his blonde hair. He was still drunk and now also a little concussed. Whilst he attempted to rise, he recalled with horror the circumstances that had led him there.

He ran around the corner, the wind whipping him sideways in his dazed state. Checking his pockets made him realise that not only his wallet had been stolen, his keys were missing as well. Through the malaise, he saw that the main door to his block was open. He walked up a flight of stairs to his door. The door was left open to intimidate, there was no sign of a break in.

He pushed the door to, confronting the stark horror within. The place had been utterly turned over, broken glass littered the purple carpet. Harvey was riven with disgust at the scene. As he entered his own room, it became apparent that the pictures of his family were gone. None remained of his mother, who had died three years previously, none of his father and sister, whom he had never known. A hideous rage consumed him as he roared out at the night.

In a blind panic, he reached for the bottom right hand draw. Towards the back he felt his hands clasp around what he was looking for. Buried beneath his clothes was an envelope addressed to him. He felt inside for the letter and the photo but most pressingly the coin, the coin had to be there.

With a grip like a vice he held his father's double-headed coin, the only token Harvey had ever possessed of his existence. He kissed it and placed in his right hand pocket. Next, he moved the photo of his sister to his inside jacket. It would be with him always. He removed the letter and sat upon his broken bed, on the back was written 'to be read on your graduation'. Harvey had kept his word, however much it pained him to think of those final months in which she had written it.

He turned over the letter and read it with rapt attention:

_Dear Harvey,_

_I am so proud of you. I know how important to you this day must be. My hope is that I find you well and happy and as ready as ever to do what is right because before I die, there is some knowledge that I must confide in you. I want you to know why your father has never been here. I told you that he had died along with your sister in a car crash before you were born. It was a half-truth I used to protect you until you were old enough to understand._

_I believe that now you have graduated and you are equipped with the knowledge to fight injustice it is the right time to tell you what happened. It still hurts me greatly to write it, so please have patience. Your father was a very passionate man, much like you, if anything his belief in justice was even greater than yours. He was a close friend of Thomas Wayne and along with him he attempted to fight the poverty that was crippling Gotham twenty years ago. Unfortunately, as the senior at the biggest law firm in the city, he made quite a few enemies._

_One day, he took your sister for a walk in Gotham Square. On the way to the train station was a large bank where a violent robbery was taking place. Your father and sister were on the opposite side of the road. Several of the bastards had already made it to the getaway car but there was one who was slower than the rest. Charles ran out into the road and tackled him, and as they wrestled on the ground your father tried to block the getaway. Your sister Laura ran out into the road to try and help him._

_Charles turned and shouted at her to get back but he could not stop her. The getaway car ran her over as it pulled away. Your father survived. After Laura's death, your father searched for years without success for the killers. The police were not able to find them, there was no one able to identify those bloody cowards through their masks. I cannot disguise the grief I felt, but it was nothing compared to your father._

_His search eventually turned him into a bitter and hateful man.__ After a year I gave him an ultimatum and he left. He never had any idea I was pregnant with you at the time, I did not want him taking out his anger on you. I knew nothing of where he went. Then, three years ago I received a letter from him saying that he would return soon to 'save Gotham from itself'. I gave it to the police but they assumed that he had been driven insane by his search and that he would never follow through with it._

_For a long time I thought the same, but there was something in that letter, something in the tone which made me think that he will return. Harvey, you know what he looks like, you have seen the photographs and when he returns you must turn him in. I fear for you my son, I fear for your safety but you must do this for me. I loved your father, he was a great man but his beliefs destroyed him._

_Never become like that Harvey. Stay true to what you believe in._

_With all my love,_

_Your mother,_

_Jane Dent_

Harvey could not be certain how long he had been reading it. He had lost all conception of time since leaving the bar. It could have been twenty minutes or two hours. He looked at his watch, it was past midnight. An imperceptible hush descended over the building. There was some movement downstairs, a man was approaching the flat. In a more logical moment, Harvey would have stayed still, safe in the knowledge that this was where he lived and he could not rob his own house.

However, he was in no mood to compromise. He approached the door purposefully, ready at any moment to spring the intruders. He switched off the light and knelt on the floor, poised for the moment. There was a great slamming sound as the door opened and two silhouettes appeared. Dent sprang forth, knocking one of the men to the floor. He went wild, wading in with right and left.

The man beneath him reeled in shock and Harvey felt a gun click silently against his skull. A police badge was flashed in front of him. Harvey withdrew his fists and held his hands up in surrender. The man beneath him slowly rose to his feet and adjusted his glasses. He spoke nervously to his colleague 'Let him go Flass, lets do this properly.'

Harvey had his wrists drawn roughly behind him and handcuffed. The man with glasses drew himself up and looked at Harvey in puzzlement. He was briefly joined by his gun wielding colleague, a shorter, stockier man with a straggly beard. Streetlight flowed in through the windows. The bearded man held the gun out at arms length, waiting for another strike.

The man with the glasses spoke first 'I'm guessing from the state of you that its been a busy night.'

Harvey sensed an edge of unintended sarcasm and practically spat out the reply 'You could say that.' He took a pace towards him, Harvey noted for the first time how tired he looked, on another night this would have made him sympathetic, this was not another night.

Those eyes examined him warily, he said 'My name is Lieutenant Jim Gordon and this is my colleague Lieutenant Flass. As you can see, the Gotham police force have given us a search warrant for this property. Take him to the car Flass, we'll deal with him there.' Harvey was dragged unceremoniously away, he noticed that Flass exchanged a dark look with Gordon as he left. Harvey could tell, even in his brief acquaintance that these were partners in name only.

Flass shoved him into the car and took the driver's seat. Harvey noted the clock above the rear view mirror read 00.42am. This momentary lapse cost him a slap across the face 'Hey wise guy, stay quiet and look at nothing but me.' Harvey thought that perhaps he better save his rejoinder for the interview. A compartment opened and Flass placed his gun inside, removing a bag of nuts in the process. He ate them with as much ceremony as he could manage, chewing the nuts into a fine paste before digesting them.

He leant over the wheel, almost as if he were falling asleep. Harvey noticed his lopsided grin in the mirror, the sort of smile that hinted at a perverted secrecy. An internal laughter that none shared. Gordon was approaching now and he sat a little straighter, still gulping audibly. Harvey noticed a few uniformed cops entering the flat, police tape covered the door and they ran in silently. Once he was in the car Gordon turned around briefly, examining the prisoner with an exasperated expression. A brief nod to Flass then followed. The engine revved into action.

A silence descended over the vehicle. There would be no polite conversations on this journey. Flass drove like a maniac, throwing his car left and right seemingly as his mood dictated. Gordon seemed completely unaffected by this behaviour, checking his watch occasionally and yawning soundlessly. As the radio buzzed with news of suspected muggings, assaults and burglaries he scratched his chin in thought asking Harvey 'What's your name son?'

Harvey was caught off guard by this unexpected attention and stuttered in reply 'H-h-Haarvey Dent sir.'

Gordon nodded, as if in satisfaction. He turned to Harvey and asked 'The same Harvey Dent who lives at the flat we found you?'

'Yes sir, the very same.' Harvey replied, he was still angry enough to be there. He did not want to go back to his ruined flat, where almost every possession that had ever held meaning had been lost. He wanted to get to a cell and start shouting. After a ten minute drive Harvey found himself at Gotham police station, it was a typical example of the over-elaborate architecture which the city had been so fond of in the late 20's. They parked in one of the bays directly outside and walked in.

The building had large main doors, a quasi-classical frieze that ran above them read 'the truth overcomes'. Dent knew it was unusual to be brought through the main entrance. It would be a busy night if the cells at the back were full. He was receiving an array of angry stares from those around him. All the stereotypes of the recent crime wave were present, the young mother looking concerned shaking her head at Harvey as he passed, the youth cradling a broken arm, using all his concentration to keep his wrist still. Harvey considered that perhaps the media were right, perhaps this city really was hitting rock bottom.

A front desk clerk greeted Gordon and Flass with an air of cheeriness. In contrast he studied Harvey with impatience, with a sigh he asked 'Name?'

'Harvey James Dent' came the blunt reply, laced with exhaustion. Harvey looked around the massive hall, bathed in the bright golden light the cross-checked floor tiles had a rare sheen to them. It could almost have passed for a ballroom in another context. The uniformed men rushing around did not give much notice to it. He refocused and noticed that the officer behind the desk was becoming irritable, he must have missed a question. Gordon calmed him down and helped Harvey finish the forms, before he was led away through a darker corridor.

As they turned into the nearest available interview room, Gordon switched on a light. The room was a dark brown colour with a couple of plain plastic chairs either side of the table. A fan in the corner whistled gently. 'You wanna get that cut checked?' Gordon asked, standing with his hands in his coat. Harvey shook his head in response and brought his hands together on the table. There was a long pause, broken only by Flass dragging his chair into position.

A small part of Harvey wanted this night to end, the part which made him favour the matted blood-stained hair. Gordon sat down and studied him evenly, his left cheekbone was swelling from where Harvey had connected with it. Everything about this seemed a little distasteful to him. In a calmer state of mind Harvey would have found it shocking, even mildly amusing that he had ended up here.

Gordon began his interview by returning the slight smile 'Mr. Dent, welcome, I just need to know a few things.' Harvey nodded, indicating a willingness to continue. 'Where were you at eleven pm?' Gordon asked

'I was just returning from the bar. It was my graduation day and I was heading home to get a bit of time to myself' replied Harvey. Flass then leant forward malevolently, daring him to slip up, daring an inconsistency in the story. Harvey continued to recount the tale of the evening, there were no gaps in his story and Gordon was well aware that Harvey lived at the property he was supposed to have robbed.

Flass' questioning became more intense: why had the neighbours heard a roar of frustration? Why was there no sign of forced entry? How does any of this exonerate you? Harvey answered each with precision. The interviewers quickly moved on to the subject of his assault of Gordon. Harvey explained in full the reasons for his actions, citing his changed state of mind after a combination of stress, alcohol and concussion had altered his emotional state.

Gordon looked blankly on as Flass continued the interrogation. After ten minutes he spoke quietly to Harvey, saying 'Mr. Dent I believe you did not rob your own house, your story has no inconsistencies in it and as for the motivation, well, lets face it, there isn't one. I am also willing to take into account the state of mind you must have been in when we arrived, so I will levy no charge of assault against you for this. Consider yourself on bail until the morning when we have the forensic evidence. Please report back here at 11am.'

Blank shock was etched on the expressions of Flass and Dent as they both left the room. Gordon heaved a sigh out of his system, expelling some of his limitless fatigue. It was now half past two, his shift was meant to have finished two hours ago. He left the room and switched off the light.

Meanwhile, Harvey was fingerprinted and told to check in to a nearby hotel. Fortunately, the two star _Gotham City Paradise Inn_ was open all hours. As soon as he exited the station, Harvey went straight there. Flass shook his head in bewilderment at his colleague, Gordon smiled indulgently and headed to his car.

As he walked the empty streets, Harvey considered a strange day. The wind had died and a humidity descended over the city as he walked the ten minutes to Gotham's most secure hotel. There were no shortage of people around who knew _The Paradise_, such was its reputation as an inner city rest-house for those under duress. A few quizzical looks met his requests for directions. Harvey considered that he would not be looking at his best after recent events.

He trudged into the hotel reception, focusing his attention on the bored receptionist. She pointed his luggage carrier out who grasped his solitary rucksack. It was the sort of modern hotel that had pretensions, a place that wanted Lords and Emperors but ended up with Mayors and Governors on the low. The reception had a hyped up post-modern feel to it, with white and black mixed in minimalist design all over the walls and desks. A few doors passed and eventually they started climbing a set of grey stairs. The paint began to flake as they progressed upwards and on the second floor he was led to his corridor.

The baggage handler dropped the rucksack without ceremony and left without completing his job. Harvey collected it and went to the third door on the right. The lock clicked and whined, the key struggling with the evident lack of oil on it. A light switched on by keycard and he beheld the room in front of him. It was a small, habitable place with a charming street view. Harvey was happy with it. An ancient television sat on top of a set of Chester draws in front of the bed. He would no doubt be spending the evening waiting to fall asleep in front of it.

He went to his en suite bathroom, not entirely satisfactory but somewhat better than waiting for the rain to shower, which he had been considering at one particularly cynical moment. The wound had long since staunched of its own accord but drying blood still covered part of his hair and in lines down his face. He placed his head in the bowl and attempted to wash out the unintended dye. As he shook himself dry, Harvey noticed the stress lines marking the edge of his eyes. He was more tired than he had ever been in his life and yet his mind was humming through every microsecond.

At last he lay down, reading once again through the letter. There was nothing new in there, no newer or more urgent sense of danger. Dent now theorised that he may not have become another unfortunate victim of the crime wave but it was still nothing more than a theory. He shook his head and muttered to himself, how ridiculous he felt believing these myths. There was nothing that could make him any more likely to see his father again. He had just been a victim of freak circumstance, a student in the wrong part of the city.

There was nothing left for it. He switched on the television. The scrolling news was telling him the major events of the day. A large scale photo opportunity had been held at the hospital 'Mayor opens new wing' was the byline. Harvey felt it should have read 'Mayor clings to popularity'. Another three minute item was made up of the worst kind of journalism, full as it was with speculation. The piece stated that Bruce Wayne was rumoured to have been spotted in Burma. Harvey chuckled to himself about the wild Lord Lucan of Gotham and wished very slightly that he could just disappear. It had been a very poor evening.

As he passed this rare moment without anxiety, Harvey wondered what was to come. Perhaps now he was ready to show the world just what a genuinely principled lawyer could do, perhaps now with first hand experience he would be that much better at it. Confusion and fatigue muddied his thoughts, positive and negative coming in a completely unrelated order. His limbs compelled him to sleep but his mind kept him from it. At the end of this long evening, his body was fighting a civil war to a stalemate.

A muffled hum began outside the door. The early morning cleaner had arrived. Harvey rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. There was a definable increase in volume. Harvey groaned in annoyance, he felt that the carpet needed burning rather than cleaning. He opened the door and found the apparatus unattended. He noticed the shoes of someone being dragged away at the end of the corridor. A cloth covered his face and all turned to darkness.


	2. Chapter 2 Deus

Die a hero

**Chapter 2 – Deus**

The room had rarely witnessed such a deep sleep. Harvey Dent stirred, blinked and murmured but did not wake. It was approaching eight am and the curtains hardly covered the streaming light invading the room. With a brief stir, his eyes opened. A minute passed whilst they readjusted. He sat bolt upright for a moment, checking his head was still in the place he left it as the first fragments of memory from the previous evening came back to him.

Another moment passed whilst Harvey recalled everything. He got out of bed, he was still wearing the same suit he had left the bar in. Checking his pockets, he made sure the coin was still with him. He had no memory of getting there. The moment came back to him, he saw again the cloth and the cleaner being dragged away. As this realisation dawned, he ran out of his door, stumbling slightly as he regained his balance. A wild slalom down the stairs brought him to the reception.

He reported the missing man to the front desk. The concern of the receptionist was writ large by her actions thus far, she had managed at least to contact the GCPD after a mere three hours. A manager was walking across the hallway muttering about unreliable staff, evidently was more concerned about the disruption to her rotas than the disappearance of her workers. The same manager admonished one of the cleaners for missing a section of the floor, her bunched up hair shaking as she did so. Harvey shook his head in bewilderment, there was a large part of him that wanted to be rid of this place.

The reception had a Spanish feel in the early morning, sunlight shone unbearably off the faux-marble floor. This was far from ideal for a man suffering from both a hangover and concussion. Harvey strode purposefully, the three hours rest he had managed keeping him upright. The streets around the hotel seemed very different in the morning, no longer echoing with menace as they did under streetlight. Young and old strolled with impunity. At least, Harvey thought, there were some times when the city seemed relatively normal.

Unlike the previous evening, Harvey had no trouble finding his way to the station. It was clearly marked out in the morning by the lack of activity within. The drunks had been sent home to nurse their hangovers, the thieves were quietly contemplating another spell in the joint. Gordon greeted him at reception with a shake of the hand. Harvey took this as a definite positive.

Gordon considered him for a moment and said 'Mr. Dent, we have of course found your fingerprints but then again, it is your own home. All charges against you have been dropped. I very much hope you can sort out your apartment.' Harvey sighed with relief and smiled at the Lieutenant 'Could you take me there please?' he asked.

Gordon responded 'I was going to anyway.' There was a much lighter atmosphere to the return journey than there had been the previous evening. The arrest had pushed him to the limits of his endurance and Harvey was grateful that his ordeal was over. He told Gordon of the missing man, Gordon confirmed that they knew about this and they were looking into it but this was of course as much as he could tell him. Harvey respected this man, he was not the most outgoing individual but there was a toughness there, a distinct mental toughness.

They pulled around to the main door of the flat. A scene awaited them that was both depressing and entirely expected. Harvey's roommates were huddled together in their coats, exchanging a quiet conversation whilst Flass wondered around, pawing the ground like an impatient dog. The block itself was in shadow, a flat west facing block did not often get much sunlight in the mornings. Harvey stepped out of the car, facing for the first time his dispossessed housemates.

As it turned out, they were not angry at him in the slightest. Ed came up and embraced him and Carl followed on by doing the same. Ed was a long haired heavy metal fan with a particular love of herbal cigarettes, he spoke first 'Ah Harv, what's happened to your suit? No one's gonna trust you in court looking like that.' Harvey repressed a snort, Ed was the least likely law student he had ever met. He looked as though he had been the victim of a heavy night, but in an infinitely different sense.

Unlike Ed, Carl shifted his weight from foot to foot as he spoke 'Harv, I don't believe this. I mean, there I was throwing my shapes and we find out our house has been destroyed. That's a weird night.' He laughed nervously, adjusting his rimless glasses. Carl was not cool in any sense of the word and he revelled in that knowledge. Harvey found the thought of him 'throwing shapes' was enough to put a smile on his face for the next five minutes.

The police were finishing their work, forensics teams were leaving the property with an air of defeat. Gordon approached the three of them, standing as they were in clothes that were now a night old. He explained the situation, that there were no DNA or fingerprint matches throughout the property other than their own and because there was no sign of forced entry, they may not be able to get an insurance payout. Harvey knew this was the case and the other two were equally unsurprised. One of the only positives to come out of this was the fact that they had not got away with anything valuable. After all, student houses were not exactly overflowing with bounty.

The three of them clubbed together and hired a professional cleaner for the afternoon. In the meantime, Ed had organised a gathering at a local coffee house for a few of their fellow graduates. Harvey felt that this was an ideal time to do something like this, a relaxing cappuccino would go a long way towards lessening the taut feeling tugging at his sinuses. At least it seemed as though he had some kind of future again. He no longer felt lost in the headiness of the present.

No word was exchanged between the three of them as they began the twenty minute walk to the city centre. After such an evening, it seemed that the point at which their lives would diverge was closer than ever. Harvey did not like to consider this a necessity of moving on, he wished with all his heart for another week at university to consider his options but his mind accepted that it was too late.

Walking through the cityscape of Gotham was unusually fulfilling that morning. The towers that featured on every street often had an awesome impact on visitors and tourists but to locals it was part and parcel of living there. Harvey knew this city as well as anyone, he had after all grown up in the place. Sometimes he regretted not going elsewhere for his education but he was painfully aware that he could not afford to.

A brief discussion sparked along these lines as the three walked along. It was a sad conversation, filled with jokes about which one of them would get to be DA. Harvey was quite relieved when their destination was in sight. What they saw was a large, long coffeehouse with a pale blue sign above it _Deus: Divine Coffee_. They crossed the street and entered the familiar surrounds.

The front few tables were bathed in light from the street. Couples and young businessmen sat around talking. One of them looked particularly detached, hunched over his large black coffee whilst talking rapidly into his phone. Beyond the massive counter was a darker area where Harvey's friends sat three tables down on the right, already talking and gesturing forcefully. As with all lawyers, they enjoyed a good argument.

Harvey sat without much preamble, attempting to avoid the difficult questions that were flooding his way. It was not the sympathy that got to him but the fact that he had become the centre of attention. He insisted several times that he was fine, that the cops had been good to him and eventually they got talking about other subjects. A great sense of relief flooded him at managing to avoid questioning over his own arrest.

Lisa, a strong jawed blonde from New York soon brought the subject round to the current state of things in Gotham. As he listened to his friend bemoaning police corruption, Harvey felt as though there was something of a lack of hope in some of these people. He put it to them that whilst the police in this city did not have a fantastic record, it was only a matter of time before those who were on the take were rooted out. As far as he could see, there was a lack of first hand experience in the group. They greeted his words with muted disagreement. It had always been difficult to challenge his friends but he felt they were acting complacently, being swept away on the tide of media conspiracies.

Lisa reprimanded him, telling him that Gotham had become corrupt to its very core and that someone who had inhabited the city for so long should recognise this. Harvey balked at this implication, he said 'I can see that people are disillusioned with Gotham because they are struggling with their everyday lives. Everywhere they go there is danger but in a city of forty million people there are naturally some difficulties in policing it.' He got a few nods and a few attempts at interruption but he continued on out of certainty.

'There are plenty of people in Gotham who believe in justice, plenty who are interested in keeping the city clean but at the moment they do not believe in themselves. All people need is a figurehead, a leader to show them that the powerful are willing to work with them rather than against them.' Harvey knew this would not be the end of the argument, nor did he want it to be, the large certainty that hovered around his life had been replaced by the constant bickering of a few friends. What hope was there for Gotham, he felt, when the young had given up on each other?

Another member of the group argued strongly in the other direction, that the whole system needed an overhaul. Stan was well known around campus as something of a closet Marxist and people respected him as a man but often his politics collided with the more liberal members of the group. Harvey laughed openly as he proposed stripping the system from the top down. He felt the impossible naivety this man must have possessed, coming as he did from a richly protected middle-class background.

For a moment it seemed as though there would be a delay in the ceaseless argument. Ed had tried to calm everyone down by suggesting it was time to get what they came for and Harvey obliged immediately. He and Ed wondered over to the counter and started talking about their different experiences of last night. Harvey moved along, feeling negative about how deluded some of his friends seemed. Quite unexpectedly, he noticed a young woman sitting on one of the bar stools. Ed had said something which he had missed in this split second. The woman in question was Rachael Dawes.

There is nothing that frustrated him more than being in the vicinity of her. Nothing could have damaged him more greatly than the idea that she was there with someone else. He turned with Ed, finishing a hurried exchange of notes and coins. Ed raised his eyebrow as Harvey sat. Unreliable as he was on many occasions, Ed could be quite shrewd when he needed to be. The conversation had continued in their absence, with both sides attempting to sway the neutrals through militant discourse.

Harvey did not enjoy the change in atmosphere. There was something approaching malice in the air as Lisa continued her theatrical preaching against the police. Harvey despaired of this argument, it was a microcosm of the conflict that had torn the city apart. He could not bring himself to intervene. So he sat and drank his coffee in silence, sharing the occasional look of bemusement with Ed.

Eventually the argument burnt itself out. Neither side could quite accept that it had lost. Harvey felt that this was the whole point, whilst people sat around figuring out who was to blame, the city was collapsing on itself. The subject changed subtly as a question was asked by Carl 'here's one: if you could resurrect any historical figure to deal with the current problems, who would it be? And why?'

Laughter echoed around the table, Carl had a wonderful sense of timing. He looked awkwardly at his shoes, not realising that he had in fact saved the morning. Ed started off, patting Carl on the back as he did 'Well my friend, if I were to resurrect anyone for Gotham's sake it would have to be Jimi Hendrix. I mean, what we need right now is not some damn political speech or leader but some good old acid rock. Nothing would cheer us up like a man playing the national anthem with his teeth. Now there is a man I admire.' This assertion was greeted with a mix of laughter and derision depending on how seriously people were taking the task.

Lisa went next, there were groans as she nominated Abraham Lincoln saying 'He saved us from ourselves, in fact if there was ever an example of a man who healed divisions within a country then he surely was it. After Gettysburg he could easily have let such a large and disparate country drift into factionalism but he continued to press home the need for a truly United States.' Although it had been altogether predictable that Lincoln would be nominated, Harvey had hoped to hear a few other names mentioned first.

Next, an impeccably dressed man started to speak, his name was Oliver and he was from rural Cambridgeshire. He had travelled at great expense across the Atlantic for his education and yet he remained the most steadfastly stereotypical Englishman Harvey could ever imagine meeting. He wore a black waistcoat for no apparent reason and his chest moved in and out of it rapidly as he spoke in a high voice 'I would nominate my namesake and local hero, Oliver Cromwell for this particular task. I will be the first to admit he was not perfect but in his early life he challenged tyranny to great effect. He knew the evils of absolute power and fought them with a drive that has rarely been seen since against dictators.

'Our civil war was not dissimilar to yours. There were two factions who had very different views on how the nation should be run. However, unlike yourselves the republic it created did not last. Cromwell was a fool in power and eventually his religious dogma drove him against everything he originally believed in. A man who fought against the arrogance and excess of an absolute monarch ended up becoming one himself in all but name. By the end he had indeed become the monster he had slain. Nonetheless, we tend to choose to remember him for his earlier triumphs. I also have no doubt that a good dose of Puritanism would do this city a lot of good!' He ended, to massed laughter. Harvey was moved by this tale, it was filled with very human strengths and weaknesses.

'What about you Harvey? Who would you nominate?' Lisa asked, resting her chin on a clenched fist as she leaned forward.

Harvey took a moment to consider it and then began his reply 'I would nominate Socrates. Here was a man who was largely ignored by the Athenian elite whilst they continued to purge their democracy, a wise man not because of his knowledge but his ability to accept his lack of knowledge. I wish I had more of that in myself. He ended up dying for questioning the established order. I mean, imagine being forced to take your own life when the ignorance you had fought against was emerging victorious. He died for his cause, I admire that.' Most of the table nodded in agreement and the discussion continued in earnest.

A few joking references were made to various dictators. Carl raised a few laughs when he suggested that above all they needed Warren Harding back because 'he was a man who could do corruption with style.' An hour passed. It had turned into one of the most revealing conversations Harvey had been a part of. It was interesting how things had changed so suddenly. He did not feel himself to be part of something new, rather something changed, as if the people around him were seeing each other altogether differently.

After another half hour, the six friends left their shop. Mikhail offered Harvey a ride on his bike but unfortunately even the eccentric Finn was unwilling to take all three housemates on his Harley. He bid them a good day and roared off towards another adventure. The three of them walked the streets, thinking that the time had come for a change of scene. From a large block on their left, there was an unexpected movement from behind a half-closed fire exit. A thrashing sound emerged from within. Harvey took a few paces towards the door but it shut before he could get near it.

His friends talked over this strange incident among themselves, they did not for a moment see it in the same way Harvey did. He had not yet told them of the missing cleaner, such was the rapid progress of the morning thus far. Carl left them at upper 12th to buy some CD's whilst Ed accompanied Harvey to the hotel to pay his bills. Harvey had always considered Ed's walk to be one of his stranger idiosyncrasies, he lifted each foot high before placing it on the pavement, measuring out each long stride. He always allowed himself to snigger slightly when he witnessed it, but not today, today he did not need to mock his friend.

After a few blocks, they reached the hotel. Ed had kindly told Harvey that he would pay the bills since he was short of a wallet. They went to the front desk, where the receptionist looked changed as she talked animatedly to a uniformed policeman. The atmosphere in the hotel had changed completely, the same manager who earlier had been rebuking everybody in sight was now crying melodramatically against the wall. Only the baggage handler from earlier seemed to be unaffected by it, he once again led Harvey up to his room.

There was almost nothing left in there, he had not brought very much in with him in the first place. He checked the vicinity of the bed to make sure that there was no evidence of what happened last night whilst Ed wondered around, looking curious. He asked 'What happened here Harv?'

Harvey took a moment to respond 'Stuff happened outside. Things I didn't tell you about earlier. You know that weird thing we saw on the walk down here? That sound we heard? I think I know who he was, I saw him earlier. There was no question that those men were mobsters. Its just a matter of whether they are after me as well.' He continued to scrabble around the bed in the meantime, searching frantically for a recording device with no success.

An air of resignation took him. Harvey had almost hoped that he was being tracked. Whilst last night had been extremely stressful, it had also been the most interesting and exciting of his life. Ed continued to look perplexed, Harvey knelt down next to the bed for a moment and started explaining the last thing he remembered from the evening. Ed reacted with a sad shake of the head, expressing sympathy with his friend at the 'ridiculous' evening he had lived through.

Harvey threw his head back and laughed 'You know what Ed, I only wish you had been there with me. It was terrible, but brilliant at the same time. There's a great thrill you only really get when you're in a fight. I loved, but hated it. I mean, what kind of world do we live in where we let men like that dictate the way we live?'

Ed faced him and said 'Time for a crusade you mean? Where's your horse and steed dude?' Harvey smiled at his friend. He truly did not comprehend it. 'I mean, if you are gonna be like this white knight you'll need a squire. Me or Carl could do that, hey, it'll be like _A Knight's Tale_. I can be the funny Paul Bettany type and Carl can be the geeky silent forgery guy.'

Harvey did not appreciate the comparison. 'The noble Sir Harvey of Dent riding in on his magnificent beast to slay the vile carrion of the Gotham criminal underworld' continued Ed, swishing his imaginary sword. With a look of impatience, Harvey silenced his friend. It was not that he took himself so seriously, but this was not a moment to act the fool. Ed sheathed his imaginary sword and muttered an apology.

'Well, at least it doesn't look like you're being followed Harv. No axe murderers out to get you just yet. Except Carl of course.' Ed replied, fidgeting slightly.

Harvey went along with the old joke 'except Carl.' He stood up and said 'Its time to go, lets get shot of this damn room.' They exited, believing for a moment that the rest of the day might well approach normality at some point. Upon arriving at the reception, Harvey checked in his key, accepting the $35 charge for the night stay. A moment of tension passed between the receptionist and Harvey as he left. Having been in the vicinity of the disappearance, many of the hotel staff naturally suspected him. Harvey always found it amazing how quickly people seized a half-truth.

It was a long walk back to the flat, around forty five minutes at a steady pace. They decided to take this option as the sun was bright and the temperature high. Harvey was starting to feel the effects of being unable to change his suit for the past thirty six hours. Relief washed over him when he thought that he could go home and have the rare luxury of a shower. Carl joined them on the way, clutching a bulging bag of CD's so large it looked as if he had spent half his remaining loan on them.

The three friends walked slowly, making a mockery of the rush that all of them felt to get back to their home. Tonight, Harvey knew, would not be free of alcohol. Ed and Carl were in the mood to celebrate being back. Not long remained on the housing contract, his housemates would head back to where they came from. Carl would be off back to Boston, Ed would be going to Detroit and both would be starting their careers immediately. Harvey was the only one remaining in Gotham, he had no idea where he was going to live yet. Unlike his housemates, he did not really have a definite direction to his life.

It was something to consider as he walked along Main Street. The shops bustled on either side with customers desperate to cash in at one spot or another. As they swarmed rapidly around, like so many bees on a honeycomb, Dent noticed that a large numbers of them did not seem to be swayed by anything but their own rush. This was a city that did not sleep for a moment but it was acting as if time was somehow short. At the point of four crossings was Wayne Tower, the great monument to its own name, its owner in absentia. Somehow, Harvey felt this summed up Gotham quite neatly, a city where its greatest business empire had been left to its fate.

Upon returning to the flat, Harvey indulged in a moment of peace. The chaos of last night seemed to have been suitably taken care of. Once again the place looked reasonably appointed. Even if they were a few possessions light, it was cleaner than it had been for many years. A letter awaited him behind the front door. He took it and sat down in his bedroom.

In the background, he could hear Carl and Ed clicking open the first cans of beer and laughing in the kitchen. Harvey read the letter rapidly, then went through it twice more. He walked through to the kitchen where his housemates were playing catch with a mouldy tennis ball. Carl noticed the letter and asked Harvey what it was about. Harvey said 'Its DTW, they want me to do some work experience for them in corporate. Its signed by Robert Weathers.'

At these words, Ed missed the ball completely as it clanged behind him on one of the frying pans. Carl turned to face him, asking 'Are you gonna do it then?'

Harvey did not need to answer that. He removed the coin from his pocket 'Heads I go through with it?'


	3. Chapter 3 Cutting a Loss

Die a hero

**A/N: Hi, thanks for bearing with me I know its been a very long time coming but here is chapter 3. Also, since I haven't done this yet I disclaim any right of originality, I don't own Batman and have made no money from it.**

**Chapter 3 – Cutting a loss**

The phone almost cracked as it was slammed back into its resting position. Harvey rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. Somehow, he always knew that white-collar crime would bore him rigid. He was getting nowhere trying to gain access to records of inconsistencies in the accounting of two major city companies, both of whom worked closely with the Mayor. It seemed that even the police were more concerned about the political embarrassment these scandals than the need to bring these people to justice.

Harvey did not enjoy this, times like this stretched his idealistic view of the world. There was a certain irony in the fact that this man was unable to break the very criminals he loathed as he spent the majority of his day attempting to lock up those who should have known better. All the while it seemed the press offices ruled the city, dictating what could be leaked and what could not. Harvey found that he was breaking rocks just to get photocopies of the documents he needed.

In short, he was working hard to get hold of papers he did not particularly want to read. Harvey was no pen pusher, he had always been something of a dreamer and so budgeting always seemed a little vulgar to him. Corporate crime, as he had suspected, was full of it. He had accepted the offer without any reluctance but was now starting to realise that these hours combing through books for precedents did not come naturally to him. Indeed, he felt for the first time that nothing had come naturally to him.

For some time now there had been something of an issue within the office over the hierarchy. Harvey often felt put upon by his superiors because he was there as work-experience. He felt especially subjugated by the big shot who sat opposite him, a young man named Al who had a 'big future' according to Weathers. The only big thing Harvey noticed about the man was the size of his ego.

Al was not without charm, as many of the ladies in the office were aware, but he was deeply unscrupulous. A read through of the list of his clients read like Gotham's most wanted. Harvey did not have much respect for a man who was so unprincipled. There was no drive in him. If his only motivation in studying the law had been to make money, he was, at least in Harvey's mind, as bad as those he defended. With one sentence on the phone, Al could happily arrange the defence of a mob enforcer, flashing his gold Rolex in the sunlight as he did.

Shortly, mutual dislike emerged. Harvey put up with it, he did not have to be here forever. His work experience was a month in total, not long for a young man with much to prove. In some ways, the month had not lived up to expectations. He had followed a few court proceedings, but very much from the background, doing nothing more than holding papers and filing. For a moment, Harvey did consider rejecting this time as a waste and going to find another company to work for who would hold his talents in greater regard.

This was not his way though, he was not a quitter. There were times that he felt as if his gifts should have been more appreciated but frustration was part of growing up, part of life as far as he could see. Pointed though it seemed, his time had been growing difficult of late. He moved without effort, as if some invisible force was making him glide and he found himself realising at moments that his mind had been in freefall, an autopilot he used to cope with monotony. This afternoon however he would be somewhere quite different to his usual grind.

Al snapped him out of it by whacking him on the shoulder 'Dent! Come on, lets move, time to get the wheels turning.' His sallow face opened into a dishonest smile. Harvey followed without question, picking up a box marked with a brief scrawl that read 'Godwin'. This was not a meeting that Harvey was particularly looking forward to, so he moved with reluctance, crossing the road with Al to the once familiar sight of the police station.

Al led him through the main entrance, barely stopping for anyone. Harvey turned with him, through the cell block to a marked area with a chalk slate on the front marking the name of the prisoners. The guard had been describing the crimes committed by the prisoner within, gruesome torture of those who owed and never repaid. He felt that the mob butcher who had apparently committed acts of espionage on behalf of local companies was somewhat more urgently in need of his attention than the white collar banker who decided to dip his hand in the till every so often

Dent felt that the atmosphere was in keeping with his mood. As they went deeper into the bowls of the place, Harvey knew that he was facing his worst nightmare. A nightmare a couple of months ago had seemed a distinct reality. The cells of Gotham Police Station were notorious for their dark, dingy atmosphere. It was the sort of place that left the impression that the architect had designed the basement in a very aggressive mood.

The corridors wound along ceaseless blocks, they walked constantly through blocks, turning left and right as the guard dictated. Al's stride had become more of a saunter as he became noticeably tense. At cell 164 they stopped and awaited a moment whilst the guard found the key. The heavy door was pushed aside to reveal Godwin sat behind it, sitting bolt upright on his bed. His head turned slowly to the right in welcome, he nodded at both of them. Harvey hated to look at him, in his pale sleepless face there was a malice that did not cease, feeding only on the mind which inhabited it.

Al was noticeably shaken by this man, showman though he was he could not put together anything more coherent than 'Good Afternoon Mr. Godwin.' Harvey did not feel any great sense of urgency to speak but he soon realised that his colleague was not quite as cocksure as his office persona made him out to be. He was going to have to lead this conversation.

A chair was provided by the guard and he sat down, eyeing Godwin evenly. Speaking with all the composure he could muster, Harvey asked 'Mr. Godwin, since I am unfamiliar with your past perhaps you can enlighten us as to what the nature of the allegations are against you?' It was an open question, perhaps framed in more elaborate language than Harvey had originally meant.

Godwin turned his head slowly to face him 'I don't believe I've had the pleasure Mr.?'

'Dent, my name is Harvey Dent' came the reply.

No immediate response came, Godwin scratched his chin 'Well, Mr. Dent, may I just say how touched I am? In fact, I think we have something to learn from each other. You are looking for answers as to why I have done the things I did. I am looking for an answer as to why this well respected law firm sent out a jumped-up kid who is barely out of school to defend me. Did your mommy make your lunch today little boy?'

Before he could finish, Harvey's fist was gripped on his collar, pulling him to his feet.

'Don't' Harvey whispered.

Godwin laughed, his yellow teeth set in a wide mocking smile. Harvey pushed him back down with such force that he stumbled onto his bed, landing on his back. The prison guard dragged him back outside, rebuking him for losing control. Al had long retreated, pulling his suit back into place as Harvey approached. He still felt angry, wanting to hurt Godwin for finding his weakness.

Still he seethed internally at the stupidity of it, how Godwin was cushioned from pain in his cell whilst he raged. He longed to make him rot, wished with all his heart that a moment would come to pass when he would see him taken away for good. Such was his rage that that did not notice the hush that had crept over the scene. The guard looked at him with puzzlement as Al stood against the wall, looking shaken.

They left shortly afterwards, Al walking two paces ahead. Harvey smacked the wall on the way out, his frustration had not abated in the slightest. The office beckoned for a review of the events of the last half hour, events which had led to the loss of a client who had a psychopathic streak. Al thought aloud about whether the boss would be happy to have them back having failed in such an abject manner. Harvey held the box and remained mute.

Through the revolving doors they walked, exchanging no words. The lift continued in the same silent fashion and as they exited on the fifteenth floor, they rounded on those who remained in the building. It was after all a Friday evening, it was time for all those who were still there to justify themselves. Weathers of course was still present, he rarely left the office before eight, such was his bachelor's lifestyle.

He beckoned them into this office, soothing Al with a few short words about how it was not absolutely vital that they get hold of everything. He dismissed him shortly with a few friendly words 'go and find a bar Al, go and get drunk and enjoy yourself.' Al left without another word, leaving Harvey alone in the office with his current boss and old acquaintance.

Weathers was a tall man and he always kept his back straight, giving himself an aura of permanence. He had spoken to Harvey on only a few occasions since they had begun, being unwilling to show any favouritism to the only employee he had known as a boy. The thirty year age gap had never seemed more noticeable and yet, Harvey knew that his godfather was not merely looking after himself.

Harvey always felt as if he were under the gaze of a principal when he was with Weathers. It was as if he were being scanned for any moment of uncertainty, any touch of hesitation. For this reason, it was obvious to anyone that met him what made him such a good lawyer. After a few moments of studied neutrality, his face broke out into a wide smile that had an unsettling edge to it.

He reached into his drawer and pulled out two tickets 'the game starts in an hour, care to join me?'

'It would be a pleasure Bill. Its been a while.' Harvey looked at the older man with fondness. It had been almost three years since they had last attended a game together and it seemed only fitting that a Friday night was the right time to do so. Harvey felt that it had been a long time since he had been near a basketball match and it suddenly seemed that the time had been a waste without it.

Weathers drove his Mercedes calmly through the dimly lit streets. The tension of the day now dissipated, Harvey now felt as if he were once again in the company of a long trusted friend. He felt sure that his lingering suspicions and doubts would disappear after a few more hours. They pulled into the car park and walked the short distance to Old City Hall, a building massively outsized for its original purpose but now adapted to perfection as a sports venue.

They cruised with the thousands towards their seats, looking slightly out of place in their suits among those in jackets and t-shirts. Fifteen rows from the front they sat, slightly to the right of mid-court. The Crusaders ran out in their all green kit, being met by the Comets of Harleston on the left. They had arrived just in time, tip-off being barely seconds away. Harvey noticed as he sat the great thronging for seats, a rush he had rarely witnessed. It was as if the city was retreating from itself for a while, just in order to catch its breath.

A collective roar came as the tip off was won. Harvey continued to scan the crowd for reaction as the game progressed, the early stages being more of a time to probe for weakness than any spectacular play. He noticed on the opposite side a man who had rarely appeared so brazenly in public. The white hair and dark eyebrows made Carmine Falcone extremely distinctive. Harvey noticed people around him looking anywhere but where Harvey's eyes pointed.

Naïve as it was, Harvey continued to stare until Falcone turned, his eyes flickering away from the action for a moment. It was as if he had sensed some burning hatred and wonder but Harvey had long since switched his attention to the game. Hutchings held out on the left, the shot clock ticking down to seven, he passed inside to the onrushing Smith who sent a high jump shot off the rim. Cries of frustration greeted this, quickly followed by silence as Harleston broke and scored.

As the game swung decisively in favour of the visitors, Weathers' interest wondered to his guest. He turned to Harvey and asked him with a great deal of concern 'Harv, what do you see yourself doing in ten years?'

Vasilevich shook his hip left and passed right, Smith crashed inside, slamming it home one-handed for the first time this evening. Amongst the cheers, Harvey's initial answer was cut short. He turned to Weathers and shouted 'I see myself out of this city, as far away as possible from here living in a hut in Bolivia or something.' Weathers laughed, sensing the unintentional humour behind Harvey's words. There did not seem to be a patronising element to it and yet Harvey felt as though his comments had been cheapened.

With the Comets on the attack, a stillness settled around the arena. 'You see Harvey, I cannot see you leaving this city, much as it pains you to say it you are a Gotham man and this place will always be part of you.' Harvey did not respond. Harleston's small forward Odan Thomas sat on the edge of the key and sent up a three point shot. The cries of dismay around him seemed quite fitting, Harvey felt, to his own sense of not being taken seriously.

The first quarter had ended without either side breaking much sweat, locked as they were at eighteen points each. A young substitute came on to loud cheers from the crowd, local boy Pete Henderson was something of a star in these parts. He had been an early draft pick, Harvey joined the cheers, he had long been a friend and opponent of the man. Needless to say, Harvey felt a great deal of pride for him, emerging as he did from the same high school.

It seemed however that this was not Henderson's day, his first action was to miss an easy lay-up and his second to give away an interception. The game proceeded in much the same pattern as Gotham continued to lose momentum. Harvey did not want to face much more of this so for a moment he disappeared to the toilets. He was met just outside them by a thin set man in a grey suit, adopting the tone of a confidant he whispered under his breath to Harvey 'Dent you are not in with the right people here.'

Harvey could not see much of him, his face covered by sunglasses and his head by a cap. He stood by the door for a moment and passed him a card. By the time Harvey had noticed what was on it, the man had gone. The card had no writing upon it, just the most beautiful intricate pencil drawing of a blue flower. By the time he got back to his seat it was already half-time. Weathers sat and talked rapidly about how poor he felt the first half had been.

He could not help but notice that Harvey was somewhat distracted and asked him what the problem was. Harvey removed the card from his pocket 'Do you know what this means?' he asked.

Weathers took a moment to study it, first from close up and then moving it away. He shook his head 'No, Harv I have no idea what that means. Some nut gave you a card with a blue flower on it. Now just sit down and enjoy the game.' There was a finality to this that made Harvey apprehensive. He was approaching a truth, he just wondered how long it was before he found it.

In the meantime, Gotham were right back in it. Henderson scored a huge three and the noise level went up as the scores were levelled at 54. The rest of the game continued back and forth, the two teams remaining within touching distance of one another. This was until in the last ten seconds of the fourth when Henderson threw a wild pass straight to the Comets centre who duly slammed the winning points home. The buzzer was greeted by silence, the horrible defeated silence after the loss of a close game. Harvey felt his arm being grabbed by Weathers as he dragged him outside.

'What are you doing?' he asked.

Weathers glanced at him, fear writ on every muscle in his face 'we are leaving now and you need to get out of the country tonight.'

'What?'

'That card.'

Harvey shook him off 'If its so urgent why didn't we leave when I showed you it?'

'Cause we've got a much better chance of escaping in a crowd than on our own, now come on.' They walked, attempting to blend in. With each step Weathers seemed to become more tense, less like himself than ever before. They exited into the car park, Weathers handed him the keys 'take the damn car.'

Harvey knew at this point that this was the last time they would see each other, Weathers disappeared to the left. It was time to run, so he sprinted, dodging the crowd as best he could and leaping into the driver's seat. He turned the key but the engine did not fire, once, twice more before he got a response. Stamping on the clutch he threw it into first and screeched away.

The barrier broke as he sped through, breaking it so that he could make a quick escape. The rear view showed that he was being followed, two motorbikes tracking him at about ten metres distance. It was four miles to the airport. A rapid right down the inter city, Harvey was going to have to do this by an unorthodox route, he knew main was almost certainly being watched.

Into third he threw the machine, and round a sharp left on to Bewson Bridge. The journey had been as unpredictable as he could make it. He was swinging away from the airport, but the bikes continued to follow. Weathers' car had not been designed for this, it was an estate taken on cruising holidays to The Rockies. Harvey was treating it with contempt, as he had to. The lights ahead switched to red and Harvey stormed through, his rear end narrowly missing the front of a truck. He had lost them for a moment, just one turn away. He hung a left.

The front clipped the curb and lost control as the rear smashed into a taxi. Harvey leapt out of the drivers seat, seven hundred metres from the airport. Through the entrance he threw himself, the automatic doors parting. He stopped for a moment, slowing to a walk to keep himself above suspicion. He realised that he had not looked back since he had crashed the car. Indeed, he had run from the scene and into the airport without any noticeable pursuit.

It was in this spirit that he went to buy a ticket. He saw the next flight on the monitor was leaving for London and that there were seats available. It was a moment after he turned that he found himself confronted by the strangest scene he had ever witnessed. A tall, balding man was staring at him from a seated area, he began pacing towards him. Harvey turned and walked away, attempting to locate the gate he was to depart from.

Another man stood in his path, blocking him off momentarily before a third man started beckoning him over 'Mr Dent, Mr Dent, please come here.' Harvey had no intention of listening and continued to stride towards his gate. 'Mr Dent we would not want to create an incident where there need not be one.' Harvey turned for a moment to see the man who had spoken these words, he was middle aged with deep set features.

'Who the hell are you people? And what have you done with Bill Weathers?' Harvey stopped, the corridor had emptied.

'My name is not relevant, what is relevant is that you are trying to leave the country Mr Dent, without your passport.' He handed him papers and turned away, speaking as he left 'Rest assured that Mr Weathers is receiving our finest hospitality and that you can achieve nothing by following us. Your flight departs in fifteen minutes.'

Harvey did not accept this, he caught up with the man, pulling him by the shoulder. Within a second there was a knife next to his stomach. He spoke with a terrifying self-control 'Mr Dent, you are a believer in true justice, as am I, as are all of us who are here this evening. Mr Weathers turned from that path many years ago and one amongst our number is bent on revenge upon him. It just so happens that his personal motives and the overarching aims of my organization coincide. Now, you have but two choices, you can get the flight as you originally intended or you can take on each of us and see how long you will last.'

Dent stood for a moment, fear mixed with anger and confusion. He could not win this, it was time to leave. He walked away and through the gate. The departure lounge was full of screaming children and impatient adults. His long stay in Gotham City was coming to an end and yet he felt nothing but apprehension for the days ahead. It would be some time before he could return.


	4. Chapter 4 Reality

Die a hero

**Chapter 4 – Reality**

It was a short walk between them, only ten metres or so. The glass shone with refracted sunlight, forcing Harvey to shield his eyes as he considered the distance. At the other end a man bound and gagged frantically watched the door, without hope of reaching it. Between the two and to one side was a tall man with a long coat, a blue flower protruding from the top buttonhole. But for the muffled sobs of the prisoner, the warehouse was silent.

'You would save this creature Mr. Dent?' asked the tall man.

'Yes I would.' He replied, with all the finality he could manage.

'Even though he assaulted me, even though he tried to rob my possessions you think he deserves to be tried?'

'Yes, your system solves nothing'

'But, surely it is logical for this man to be tried by me. I am after all the victim, surely as the victim I should decide the punishment?'

'You do not see it do you? Revenge solves nothing, it just creates a cycle of violence.'

'Spoken like a true warrior on behalf of bureaucratic incompetence. Some are not so fortunate in their lives as you. Perhaps you will come to understand that.'

'Is that a threat?' Harvey asked abruptly.

'No Mr. Dent, it is not a threat. It is a statement of fact.' The warehouse door opened, several more men entered and Harvey turned to leave.

'Please consider my offer.' The man spoke 'It may be the last time you receive it' he added under his breath.

It was a bright day outside, a cloudless London skyline revealed a city going about a typical Monday morning. Harvey strolled out over the footbridge and to the office block at which he worked. Another day passed without so much as a response from his conscious mind. He was now filing to a professional standard, making the very worst of being the new kid.

Lunch was usually the highlight, often the time of day when he turned to drink as a cure for his boredom. For this hour he became free and sat by the Thames and felt no discernable trace of himself at work. The afternoons always passed by at a quicker knot after a few bottles. This demeanour was rarely noticed by his colleagues, buried as they were in office envy and self-loathing.

Some afternoons, he felt much like setting the place on fire and having done with it. There were times where he could have shouted this idea to the sky. For all the contempt in which he held it, it was at least paying for his nightly visits to off licences and bars all over the city. The drink helped him forget the fear that had driven him this far. In stupor he often crawled the streets, seeking another seedy liaison to see him through the next week.

Tonight would be another such occasion, he picked up his coat at five and left, strafing slightly from the liquid lunch. He felt the gaze of his line manager at his back, burning with fury. It had never been much to ask but he had seen nothing of anyone senior since he joined the company. Perhaps this was for the best given the overwhelming urge he felt to assault him.

Harvey walked out to the city centre and began his lonely sojourn in a pub by the river, it had a view of the river and he sat with an old ale, working through the hair of the dog. As he sat there, he considered the impossibly naïve young man he had been not a year ago. For all of its difficulties, his new life was at least more challenging. Whilst he had been alive a year ago, he had not felt the wild fear that now sustained him. On the table next to him a woman sat, very much alone fingering her glass of red wine.

The sun was starting to wane towards twilight. He brought his attention back to the river, a rowing team were hauling themselves past, practising their finish. His eyes could not settle on anything nearby, none of the buildings opposite interested him. It was no use, he left his seat and went to the next table.

'You know, its generally accepted practise to drink wine.' He said by way of introduction.

'There speaks a fellow alcoholic.' She replied

'Ouch. The claws are out.'

She laughed contemptuously 'Where did you pick up that one?'

Harvey smiled 'Point taken, both of us are in the same boat.'

'Bloody hope tonight doesn't end up like that, being next to a river. Last thing I need is some jumped up American trying to rescue me.' She said, taking a brief sip.

'I didn't mean it literally.'

'I know you didn't, do you not do sarcasm?'

'I can swim.'

'So you do.' She finished the glass and stood up. 'I will most probably see you tomorrow.'

'What's tomorrow?' Harvey asked.

'Tuesday' she replied as she left.

There seemed little point in staying now that the sun was low over the river. Harvey threw his coat roughly over his shoulders and made for home, the furious pace of his walk matching his expression. For a while he turned her words over in his mind, considering how strange it was that a woman was insulting him for a lack of tact. For all of the qualities he felt he lacked, he never doubted that one. The iron haze of Great Portland Street loomed ahead of him in the summer rain.

He marched home, covering his head with a spare copy of a free newspaper. A sharp left brought him to _The Trafalgar_, his place of residence. He marched through the regulars and up the stairs, climbing up to his room and throwing his papers across his bed. With a short sigh, he lay down and stared at the ceiling. A glass of water was sitting by his bed. He drank greedily, a moment later realising that it had been there since the morning.

A knock on the open door startled him. He turned his head towards the source. A middle aged man, with an overhanging gut stared at him. Harvey sat up and returned it with displeasure. Bob was an irritable man with a taste only for the wealth his establishment brought him. There was a distant respect between them. In Harvey's mind the transaction was merely one of convenience. There was a spare room going at minimum rate, so he took advantage of it.

'It's a busy evening Mr. Dent.'

'Yes, it certainly is.'

'Perhaps you will be joining us downstairs.'

'I will yes.'

With a satisfied nod, Bob left the doorway, his substantial frame making it seem wider in his absence. Harvey stood and looked into the mirror, his straw blonde hair had lost much of its colour. His face looked parched and his body drawn and dehydrated. It had not lost its shape due to the exercise, but he was beginning to feel the impact of his lifestyle over the last six months.

He removed his coat and fell to the floor, pushing himself up with his protesting arms. He groaned loudly at the twentieth repetition, falling as if shot from a gun. A preparation too far. Bob returned and called him back, they were ready for him. It was early, more so than usual. They stopped not at the first floor but in the basement. It was dark but for a single lightbulb.

As he stepped onto the floor, lead piping swung upwards in the dull light. Harvey ducked and swept upwards with his right foot, to the furious cursing of his assailant. A moment later he swayed from a lunging knife and turned the elbow that carried it, hearing a gasp as the joint dislocated.

'You really must try harder guys' he said, his face breaking into a smile. They stood and let him past. Other men stepped into the dim light, gutturally dressed and unshaven. For a time there was a silence which Harvey took as indication that it was time for him to announce the festivities. The men removed their jackets, seeing that their moment had arrived. A circle was formed, Harvey stepped inside it.

'Good evening my friends, I trust you are in good health?' He asked, receiving only a few smirks in response. 'Well, let's get down to business. Tony vs. Alex.' Two muscular men stepped forward, and stared at each other across the circle. Without preamble the man lunged forward to crash a blow to the right temple of his opponent. Harvey stopped the fight immediately, Tony was unconscious. This left Alex unopposed.

With all his wrath, Harvey pulled him in, crashing a right and floating a left with a high hook of his fist. Vitriol rose inside him, rage shaking his bones with each blow and for a moment the terror of his old existence was upon him. Only that moment had come over him when his ribs felt the blow of a left boot. With a sweep of his shinbone his opponent crashed onto the floor, reeling backwards in a mess of nasal blood and concussion.

He leapt forward to finish him, blood pounding though his ear drums. His arm locked his opponent's throat. At the edge of perception he heard a call for a halt. Harvey pulled his hand back, leaning back on his knees and swaying. His opponent got to his feet and left the room. All the eyes in the room were on him, a moment too soon he took to his feet and began stumbling with short breaths.

His heartbeat slowed and gradually the room came back into focus. Another short burst would get him away and into the outside world. This need to escape overwhelmed him. A line had been crossed, an unwritten rule of the meetings was that it should not become a fight for life. Harvey had been seconds from murder and a madness that was not part of him had encompassed his will.

He bounced off the stairs and into the street, cracking the locked doors on their warped hinges. The suit was torn and dirty with dried blood as he picked up his feet, he had not changed in twelve hours. They did not chase him, they never would. He had only one place to go and this alone frightened him. In the moment of flight before him he sprinted away, his thoughts turned to home and how he was going to get there.

Away he ran sprinted, knowing that he was running from vengeful people. He tossed away his wallet, a sacrifice he had to make in order to ensure his safety. The warehouse was not far, perhaps ten minutes at best speed and there was no doubt that records were being broken as he ran. Of course escape was merely the end, he had no idea if the means still existed.

Fixing his position, he turned rapidly into the warehouse. A fire was at the centre, watched over by the men, who were not talking, their gaze centred on a point that Harvey could not see. He approached the tall man, attempting to hide his urgency for as long as he could.

'I need your help and I need you to tell me who you are, now.' Harvey spoke, with the raised tones of panic in his voice.

'You read far too much and speak far too little Mr Dent.' He replied. The fire did not highlight his green eyes but Harvey knew they watched him. His men were grouped around it in silence, they looked at Harvey with repressed aggression. Harvey could see the contempt writ on their furious lips. The acrid smoke billowed over, the plastic bottles warping into strange contortions in the blaze.

A gap had been left in lieu of a screen and there was a large corrugated iron slack that covered one side of the warehouse. Harvey peered behind it. A man worked furiously at an unidentified purpose, he had a shuffling gait, dragging objects along the floor. Harvey could smell damp and resin on his clothes but he could still not make out his features clearly though he could hear the clicking of worn shoes on stone.

The tall man casually turned to Dent, attempting to hide his satisfaction 'You can see that we have good company this evening Mr Dent. This particular gentleman is your father.'

Harvey felt his heart race, muscles tensing along his spinal column. Past the screen he stepped, seeing a man of medium height setting up a large fan. He kneeled by the fan and mumbled to himself, working his fingers hard as he plugged it in. He looked up for a moment, cocking his head slightly 'hello Harvey, it's a pleasure to meet you. Forgive me for being anti-social, just doing the necessary.'

A few feet away Weathers was bound to a wicker chair. Harvey had barely even considered his father's welcome when he was on his feet again, taking to his side 'Now son, this is what we do with traitors.'

The fan began to whirr into life. Next to him stood his father, rigid and motionless. Weathers could barely keep his eyes open. Harvey recognised the technique as one that had been widely reported at home, sleep deprivation to gather intelligence.

'Excuse me.' Harvey said.

'What is the problem son?' His father asked.

Harvey scanned his father. The man who looked back at him was lined with age, hunched and tense. 'Stay up Mr Weathers, stay up.' He said, kicking his guest repeatedly on the shin. Harvey turned away, unable to watch. The fan whirred, blowing his hair into wild disorder as he sat beside Weathers, whispering to the man through cut ears.

Harvey moved away, escaping from behind the screen. He watched the fire in silence, the conflagration swallowing the paper it was being fed on. Baleful light cast upon them, taking time to rise and fall with the intensity of the fire. The tall man sat with a mirthless smile playing across his face. Harvey observed the rest of them closely, none of them returned his gaze.

'As you can see Mr. Dent, your father is in fine spirits.' The man commented, his back turned.

'Yes. I can't say I share his joy.'

'No, I doubt that you do, nonetheless it is important to note that all of us have chosen our path and that Mr Weathers receiving that which he gave.'

Harvey took a deep breath, he had been waiting to find out what this might mean. He had pursued it for so long that it did not seem as if there could be an answer for all of these half-truths, so violently defended. These silent men held the answer, as they always had, to a question he had avoided for as long as he could.

'You see Mr Dent, a man like you does not have much hope of leading a normal life. Much like your father you are something of an idealist, he shared the ideals of fools like Thomas Wayne.' The tall man said.

'What do you mean?' Harvey asked.

'Well, your father was an honest man but he did not choose his friends wisely. Your hero Mr Weathers was behind his destruction, involved as he was in the death of your sister. Yes, Mr Weathers was the rather less moral half of their partnership. He cared more for dollar signs than the high minded ideals that drove their business. As a result he arranged to have Charles Dent killed so that he could take sole ownership. Unfortunately his hired assassins, ordered to make it look like a botched bank robbery, missed their target.

Of course, all of this escaped the notice of the Gotham Police Force, convinced as they were that it was an accident but I decided to gather evidence in private, my interest piqued by a sense that justice had not been done. When I presented the evidence to your father he was a vigilante, utterly without direction, I showed him a new way. He joined us and for four years he has been planning for this.'

'Why did you wait so long?' Harvey asked, his facial muscles twitching as he struggled for self-control.

'I waited because Mr Weathers was proving rather useful to our next project in Gotham. He has just the sort of contacts we need, being as he is connected with the lowlifes who populate that place. Yes, your father was very much on a need to know basis at first. As you will be from now on Mr Dent.'

'What do you mean? I haven't promised you anything.' Harvey started.

'You have only come here because you seek truth, about you, about who all of us are. I can't say I blame you Mr Dent. My name is Henri Ducard. I lead this group, we currently have a particularly special project in mind for the coming months and I wish you to be a part of it. Come, follow me.'

They descended a flight of stairs to a basement door, inside which on the far wall was a large map of Gotham. Illustrations covered the surrounding area, they depicted civilians struggling for breath against an overhanging fog. As Ducard explained the intention, Harvey felt bile rise in his gut. Their plan was based on the total destruction of Gotham City.

'Why did you show me this?' he asked.

'I believed that you would be keen to fight for us but by your tone it appears I have over-estimated your courage. Of course, you are free to go, but as I'm sure you are aware if you breathe a word of this to anyone then your day will end quickly Mr Dent.'

'Not a word, I swear it.' Harvey said, struggling to speak the words.

'You know, your father was trying to make you see the error of your ways, you are naïve Mr Dent and it will eventually cost you your life.'

Harvey walked up the stairs, he heard a gunshot. Looking for the source he saw his father holding the gun. Weathers was dead. Harvey felt the eyes of the room on him, these men, who had set him up to fall watched him leave without comment.

He stumbled out onto the bridge, nausea ringing in his ears. He collided with a pedestrian, a woman's voice swore loudly before looking up at him.

'Jesus, its you.' She said.

'Oh, yes.' He said, vaguely recalling her face.

'I see you drank some more of that terrible beer, or is there another reason why you look like hell?' She asked.

'I left not long after you and its none of your business.' Harvey said, shaking his head as if to clear it.

'Fine, keep it to yourself. Either way, you should go home.' She said, offering her support.

'Yeah, I think you're right.' Harvey replied, the taste of blood still cloying in his mouth.


End file.
