I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.
Rated PG-13 : language; violence, some mature concepts.
A/N: Based (loosely) on 'The Crimes of Two-Face', Detective Comics 66, 1942; 'The Man Who Led a Double Life', Detective 68, 1942; and 'The End of Two-Face', Detective Comics 80, 1943.
This takes place in the AU created in 'Birds of a Feather', based on the Batman comics of the 40's and 50's with some elements from the present-day version, and taking place a few years ago. It includes only the Golden/early Silver Age characters: principally Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Alfred, Commissioner Gordon, Kathy Kane (the original Batwoman), and Barbara Gordon.
Any differences from current canon are probably because I'm starting from the Golden Age version of the characters and their origins. Think of it as taking the Batman and Robin of the 1940's, modernizing them, and giving their story a twist.
With some reservations, I've gone with the better-known version of Harvey's name: Harvey Dent, instead of the original: Harvey Kent. Harvey's friendship with Bruce is from the animated series, along with a few other elements; in the original he was a friend of Batman's.
Reviews are greatly appreciated.
"Recognize this, Mr. Moroni?"
"Nope."
"Strange. According to your own employees, it's yours. Your lucky coin." He turned the silver disk in his fingers. "No wonder it's lucky; it has two heads. No tail."
There was a light ripple of laughter. In his seat in the spectators' section of the courtroom, Bruce Wayne smiled, just a fraction. Harvey was in fine form today.
Moroni was speaking again, his small eyes dark with anger and hatred. "Looks like mine. So what?"
"So what..." Harvey turned, obviously making sure the cameras got a good shot of his face. "Are you aware of where the police found it?"
"I know where they said they found it."
"On the floor of Ernest Benson's apartment. A few yards from his dead body. Where you left it."
"Your honor, I object!"
"Counselor, is there a question in there?"
"Sorry, your honor. Let me put it this way. Mr. Moroni, how do you suppose this coin could have gotten in Mr. Benson's apartment?"
"I dunno."
"Do you have some theory? A guess? Anything?"
"I been in Benson's apartment before. Musta dropped it."
"And it lay there until Mr. Benson was murdered? He must not have been much of a housekeeper."
There was another low wave of laughter. Harvey glanced at the audience, flashing a grin. This time Bruce frowned, although he kept the expression off his face. So far the papers were full of praise for Harvey's flair for the dramatic, but that might change if he took it too far. The important thing here was the trial, the effort to convict a dangerous mob boss of the murder of 'Bookie' Benson, a minor hood who had been suspected of double-crossing Moroni and his organization. Harvey's career, and getting his face on the news even more than it usually was, wasn't the point. Or it shouldn't be.
To be fair, Bruce knew, Harvey wasn't doing it out of ambition, or at least not primarily. He was sincerely dedicated to fighting crime. He had wanted to get Moroni for a long time, enough to be prosecuting this case himself, a somewhat unusual move for a district attorney. No, his weakness was a streak of vanity, not only about his classic good looks but about his image, the aura of glamour that always seemed to surround him. He loved the attention this high-profile trial was bringing him - and why not? As long as he got the job done.
"Mr. Moroni, we have testimony from one of your own employees, implicating you in the murder of Mr. Benson. How do you explain the statement you just heard from-"
"He's lying! I ain't never killed nobody!"
"And the gun the police found in a nearby alley? With your fingerprints on it?"
"It ain't mine!"
"The evidence that it was the murder weapon..."
"They faked it!"
"Eyewitnesses who saw you running from the building..."
"They're all lying!"
Harvey regarded him thoughtfully for a few moments, and then smiled. "So, your former employee was lying. The police faked the evidence. The witnesses were lying. I'd say a lot of people don't like you, Mr. Moroni."
"You're a smug bastard, ain't ya?" Moroni's eyes had narrowed. His voice had dropped from a shout into a low and chilling tone of hatred.
"Smug? No. But I think I know who's been lying here." Harvey turned away, his face blandly confident. "I'm finished with this witness, your honor."
"You're finished, all right." Moroni's voice was still soft, but it set off alarm bells in Bruce's mind.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion after that, yet too fast for anyone to stop it. Moroni sprang to his feet, something in his hand catching the light. Harvey, turning back to face him, started to react, stepping back. Moroni raised his arm and threw the object. Harvey began to turn away again, a hand up to shield himself. The object flew at him, striking his face and shattering. Time seemed to freeze as liquid splattered over the side of Harvey's face, and Moroni laughed.
Then all hell broke loose. With an agonized scream Bruce knew he would never forget, Harvey clapped his hands over his face and crumpled to his knees. The court guards charged past him, and Moroni vanished as they tackled him to the floor of the witness box. People were shouting, screaming, cursing. Bruce was on his feet, heart pounding. He tried to push his way forward, struggled against the bodies clogging the aisle. Everyone was either trying to get out or trying to get closer, getting in his way. Finally he used brute strength to shove between them and through the gate between the spectator's section and the court.
"You can't come in here, sir!" A large and determined-looking guard was in front of him, blocking his way.
"I just want to help," Bruce said.
"Best way is to get out of here. We need this courtroom cleared."
"But - but Harvey - Mr. Dent's my friend..."
"Sorry, sir. Turn around and leave. Now."
They glared at each other for a moment. Bruce looked over the man's shoulder at Harvey, now doubled up on the floor, moaning, two guards and the court clerk bending over him. "What happened?" he asked. "What was that stuff?"
"Maybe bleach or ammonia. But my guess is acid." The guard's face softened slightly. "Please, sir, go on and get out. Let us do our jobs."
Their jobs. That was something Bruce could understand. He nodded, swallowed, threw a last glance at his friend, and headed back to the door. Outside, things were almost as chaotic, with a mob of people milling in the corridor: some asking questions, some telling what they had seen, some just looking dazed. He caught sight of a news camera and a woman combing her fingers through her hair in a nervously self-conscious gesture before she nodded and began to speak.
"I'm standing in the Gotham Central Courthouse, where District Attorney Harvey Dent has just been injured in a bizarre attack which took place in the midst of the Moroni murder trial..."
Silence. That was what he noticed first. Then darkness. It was so quiet and peaceful. There was something... something he didn't quite want to remember. Harvey let himself sink back into sleep.
The next time he woke up, it wasn't so easy. A few flashes came back - faces around him, a voice saying something angry. Something hitting him... pain... so much pain... He moaned softly, almost without realizing it.
"Harvey?" A woman's voice, gentle and soothing.
'Gilda...?' He tried to say it aloud, but his throat hurt and his mouth wouldn't work. Fingers touched his hand, then interlaced with his.
"I'm here, Harvey. The doctors say you'll be fine. Don't try to talk, just rest."
Rest. Too exhausted to worry much about what he was supposed to be resting from, he did as she said, and the world faded away again.
And then the time came when he realized he was awake for real. Still sluggish, still dazed. Drugged, he decided. Why? The pain... a hint of it was still there, a burning in the left side of his face, and in his left hand. Nothing compared to the memory that returned now.
The courtroom. Moroni had thrown something. It had hit... and then the pain. Everything was a blur after that. Just confusion, and shouts, and running feet, and pain.
Now... he was in a hospital. Must be. Only a hospital smelled like this. But why was it dark? There was something over his face... Tentatively, he raised a hand to touch, and found gauze bandaging, thickest over the left side, but covering both eyes. He had been hurt. But how badly?
"Hello?" he said, alarmed at the way his voice cracked and trembled. "Is anyone there?"
No response. Cautiously, he sat up. After spinning giddily for a few seconds, his head settled back onto place. Harvey fumbled around, his fingers finding the headboard. There should be a call button... but what if he did something wrong, turned something off, or on? He had never been in a hospital before, not as a patient... Then the sound of heels clicking came to him faintly, getting steadily louder. They stopped, and there was a slight rattling sound - a door knob? The faint swoosh of a door opening? - and they approached.
"I see you've finally decided to join us, Mr. Dent!" It was a woman's voice, brisk and professionally friendly.
"What's going on? Is this a hospital?"
"Yes. You're in Gotham Memorial. I'm Brenda, one of your nurses."
"What..." He gulped, suddenly almost unable to ask, not at all sure he could stand the answer he sensed he was likely to get. "What's happened to me?"
There was a slight hesitation before she answered, her tone neutral and calm. "You're being treated for acid burns to the face and hand. You also suffered some minor injury to the respiratory system from inhaling the fumes, but that's pretty much cleared up now."
"Moroni. He threw something."
"Yes. It was sulfuric acid."
"Am I... Am I blind?"
A reassuring almost-chuckle was in her voice, as she answered immediately this time. "Oh, no. You're lucky, none of it got into your eyes, and your vision should be fine. There was some irritation from the fumes and some burning of the lids, so Doctor thought it was best to keep them covered."
Harvey let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "How bad is it?" he asked in a more steady voice.
"You're expected to make a full recovery." But now that subtly evasive hesitation was back.
"The burns, how bad-"
"Doctor will explain the rest. Just relax now, I'll tell him you're awake." A hand patted his arm. Shoes clicked again, this time fading away. Harvey closed his eyes, not that it made much difference behind those bandages. Sulfuric acid. He remembered it, the pain, a fiery, oily liquid on his skin, covering the left side of his face... As a lawyer, he'd heard of it before. Used as a weapon, thrown in the faces of unfaithful spouses, of rivals, of enemies... it burned the skin, leaving victims scarred, disfigured for life.
Only there was another name for it. Vitriol.
It was strange, not being able to see. Sound became much more important. Over the next week Harvey became familiar with every sound in the repertory of his corner of Gotham Memorial Hospital. He started to recognize the footsteps of his nurses, and of the doctor who most often came to see him. There were familiar sounds when the shifts changed, the echoes of cheerful hellos and goodbyes. He listened as the murmur of conversations in other voices drifted by his door. The everyday sounds made by other patients came to him: the way they breathed, snored, moaned. There was a guard posted outside his door; he could hear greetings being exchanged when people came in and out or only passed by. And now, he could hear two sets of footsteps approaching, one of them familiar, the tones of a soft voice before the knob turned; the corridor sounds became clearer and louder for a moment, then faded as the door shut again.
"Hello, Gilda," he said.
"How did you...?"
"It's true that you make up for the loss of sight with the sense of hearing. I recognized your footsteps, and your voice outside. Who's with you?"
"It's me, Harvey. How are you doing?"
"Bruce!" Harvey smiled, not that they could see it under the bandaging. "Nice of you to come." He held out his undamaged right hand. Shoe leather squeaked and it was taken in a strong grasp.
"I tried to visit before," Bruce continued. "They wouldn't allow anyone besides Gilda and a few official visitors."
"I know. They told me you sent flowers. I can smell them."
"How are you feeling today?" Gilda asked as the scrape of chair legs announced that at least one of them had sat down.
"Better every day." Harvey left it at that. Not much more to say on the subject, after all.
"They say you're making a good recovery," Bruce's voice commented.
"Yeah. That's what they say."
"I guess you know Moroni pleaded guilty to the murder charge. Not much chance he'd be acquitted after - after what happened."
"Bruce..." Gilda's voice was gently reproachful.
"No, it's okay, Gilda," Harvey said. "I don't mind talking about it. In fact, I'm sick of avoiding it. Sick of no one telling me what's going on. They won't even let me have a radio or TV in here. They say it would be 'disturbing'..." He took a breath. "Have they found out how Moroni got that sulfuric acid? How he got it into the courtroom?"
"Yes. His gang arranged it with a couple of guards who were willing to be bribed. They've been identified, and they're facing criminal charges."
"Is Moroni being charged with the attack on me?"
"He pleaded that out, too. Assault on an officer of the court. Five to seven."
"Five to seven."
"Along with the murder and some racketeering charges, it means he'll never get out."
"Five to seven years... and I have to live with it for the rest of my life."
"Harvey, the doctors said you'll be fine," Gilda protested, her voice determinedly reassuring. But that was another thing about Harvey's newly enhanced hearing. The edge of sadness and desperation Gilda was trying to hide was clear as a bell.
"I won't be fine," he said roughly. "I'll be scarred. Permanently."
"You're alive, aren't you? You have your sight. Your mind. You'll be able to walk, and talk. You can still do your job. A few scars won't make any difference."
"I guess."
"Harvey, please..." Both of her soft, small hands took his, the one that was still whole, squeezing it gently. A whiff of her perfume came to him on a whisper of air, her voice was close, and he knew she must be leaning over him.
"I'm sorry, Gilda. You're right, I guess I'm lucky."
"Of course. And remember, whatever happens, I love you."
"Love you too." Harvey returned the pressure of her fingers, and then deliberately yawned. "Sorry, but I'm feeling a little tired."
"We understand." There were the sounds of both of them getting to their feet. "I'll be back tomorrow, sweetheart."
"I'll see you then. Sort of."
"Great to see you doing better, Harvey." Gilda's hands were replaced by Bruce's firmer grip.
"Yeah. We'll be hitting the party circuit again in no time, huh, Bruce?"
"Right. Well, so long for now."
"Bye."
And he was left alone, as he had wanted. As he had come to prefer, much as he loved Gilda, much as he had always liked the company of his fellow humans. Alone, with no one to feel sorry for him, or try to cheer him up, or make empty attempts to convince him everything would be all right.
The bandages were coming off soon. Very soon. The doctor had promised. Then he would see...
"Are you sure you don't want your fiancée here?"
"I'm sure." Harvey unclenched his fist and rubbed the palm of his right hand over his knee, drying the sweat.
"Most people want the support of their loved ones at a time like this."
"I'm not most people. Can we just get on with it?"
"Of course."
"I'm sorry, Dr. Morgan. I'm just - a little nervous."
"Of course. I'm nervous myself." The doctor's voice was steady and straightforward. Harvey liked that. He had come to hate the sympathy he heard from almost everyone around him now. The pity. The hushed tones, the forced optimism, as if he were a sick child. At least Dr. Morgan and Brenda, his main nurse, weren't like that. They were friendly, supportive, but coolly professional. That was why he had requested that only they be here when the bandages were removed.
And Gilda - yes, he would have liked her support, but she was the very last person he wanted to see this moment. To see him like this. Not until he knew - until he knew exactly how bad it was.
"Ready?"
"Yes."
"Your hand, first."
Harvey held his left hand up and felt them go to work. There was a snipping sound, and the gauze wrapped around it moved. The cold touch of metal on his skin. Then air, as the bandage fell away. And silence for a few seconds.
"How is it?" he asked anxiously.
"Make a fist for me."
Harvey did as requested, then opened the hand and spread his fingers when instructed. The skin felt tight and stiff.
"Very good. You've got almost the full range of movement, and it'll improve as you heal completely. No impairment of function, as far as I can tell."
"My face, Doctor."
"Yes. Just hold still."
More snipping. Gentle tugging, as the layers next to his skin were unwrapped. Harvey marveled at how good it was just to feel the air on his face. He could see the light, now, as more bandaging was removed, as the moment came closer...
And then he was staring up at two unfamiliar faces. Brenda, older than he had pictured her, an angular face, sharp eyes examining him closely. Dr. Morgan was a middle-aged man, plump, wearing an absent smile as he peered through thick glasses. Harvey searched their expressions for some reaction.
"Well? How bad is it?"
"The healing is progressing nicely. The scarring will diminish somewhat with time, but we need to investigate plastic surgery. I can refer you-"
Harvey wasn't listening. He was staring at his left hand, the skin reddened and shiny, covered with lumpy, bright pink patches of fresh scar tissue. "I want a mirror," he said softly.
"All right." Brenda took a step away, and returned with a hand mirror. She hesitated, looking at the doctor. Dr. Morgan glanced at her, and then back at Harvey. "I'm afraid this will be a shock. Remember, there are still options for you. Skin grafting and scar removal may still make a significant difference."
"Give me the mirror."
Dr. Morgan nodded. Brenda held it out. Harvey took it in a hand that trembled slightly. Held it up. Took a moment to find the right angle. Another moment to realize the creature he was seeing was himself.
And took his first good look at the horror he had become.
TBC...