DENT (Part 6/??)

[about_faces]

Title: Dent (6/??)
Previous Parts: | Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four
Fandom: Batman (general comics continuity)
Characters: Harvey Dent/Two-Face, Gilda Dent, Bruce Wayne, Jim Gordon, Vincent Moroni
Genres: General, Drama, Angst, Romance
Rating: PG-13
This story contains: Alcoholism, brief mentions of child abuse, graphic violence, swearing, character death, sexual content

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

A/N: If you haven't been reading this so far, now would be a pretty good time to start with the Prologue, linked up above. An arc is achieved, and it's only going to get more intense from here on out. For those who have been reading and commenting: as always, thank you, thank you, thank you. Your feedback is invaluable. It gets me fired up about continuing! Thanks again, and an extra special thanks to Henchgirl (dr_von_fangirl/bitemetechie) for her mad editing skillz.

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"A record-breaking landslide victory?" he shouts, slapping today's Gotham Globe on his desk. I've seen prosecutors muster up some powerful condemnation towards witnesses on the stand, but Hill puts them all the shame as he points at me now, his words rushing out on a jumble: "How in the hell of God's blue blazes did you pull that off?"

The minute the polls opened, they were swamped with hundreds of citizens, many of them first-time voters. Election day coverage interviews revealed a pattern of cynical, disillusioned citizens suddenly revitalized by my speech, whipping into a pro-Dent frenzy literally overnight. Janet Van Dorn made her concession speech a half-hour before the booths even closed. There was just no point.

"I guess my message got through after all," is all I can say. I hope it's the truth, because honestly, I'm as floored as Hill. There's nothing quite like letting go of the prospect of actually achieving your life's goal, only to have it grab you by the throat.

Hill sinks into the chair, sweat rolling off his face, creating a hell of a job for his make-up girl. In one corner of the Mayor's office sits the gloating Commissioner Loeb, looking like one of those guys waiting to take the boots off the hanged man's feet. In the other corner, Mayoral aide Arthur Reeves looks more like a lizard than usual, trying to disappear into the background and avoid catching some of the flames being aimed my direction.

"You really have no idea how stupid you are, do you?" Hill seethes. "You don't have a clue how much you're putting us at risk. Us, not to mention yourself, and any loved ones foolish enough to associate with you. If you're lucky, you'll just get dragged through the mud and your reputation will be destroyed. Well, it doesn't matter, you hear me? Nothing you do or say will matter anymore, because you won't be able to do or say anything. I am going to bury you under so much red tape that you won't be able to defecate without my say-so. And maybe, just maybe, I can render you so ineffectual, so impotent, so blasted pointless that I get to save both my career and your own worthless neck. Now, is there anything, anything at all that you have to say for yourself?"

Loeb watches me like a toad waiting for a fly's wings to twitch. He's already seen the real me up at that podium, he's seen the fire inside me that he's always suspected, and now that my recklessness has been validated by the people at large in spite of Hill's maneuvering, there's absolutely nothing to hold me back. They're ready for the battle royale.

"Mister Mayor," I say, hands clasped before me, "I'm sorry."

Hill glowers, but he does so silently, which isn't a bad sign. He straightens the tie left lopsided by his tirade, his composure returning by inches until he no longer looks like he's going to have an aneurysm. A heart attack, maybe, but not an aneurysm. Loeb, on the other hand, is eating up every second. A gleeful, voyeuristic participant in my humiliation, and I'm ready to give him his full.

"While I'd like to chock it up to... to 'election night jitters' or whatever you want to call it, that's no excuse for my behavior. It wasn't just reckless on my part. It was deeply unfair to you, who's done everything for me. I promise, Mister Mayor, it will never happen again."

Hill puffs a few times to imitate thoughtfulness, then says, "It's going to take a lot more than apologies to repair the damage you've done. We'll need to work overtime to handle your little gaff. You're just fortunate that you managed to blunder your way into some semblance of success. If you hadn't..."

Just as I'm ready to make my move, Loeb makes his first.

"What's truly fortunate," the Commissioner offers, unwrapping his second cough drop in five minutes, "is that Mister Moroni did not sue this city for libel. He still may, after your boy here set up a respected businessman as public enemy number one. You," he finally acknowledges me, "owe Moroni an apology as well, yes you do."

With all the sincerity I can muster, I nod and say, "You're absolutely right, Commissioner."

I hear the lozenge clack against his teeth as his jaw stops moving, mid-chew, like the gears in a wind-up toy grinding to a halt. His confusion gives me the break I need.

Reaching for the paper on Hill's desk, I say, "I was far too hasty to indict Moroni, when the greatest threat to law and order has been staring me in the face the whole time."

In the next few seconds, the only sounds in the room are those of unfolding newsprint and the distant cheers from outside. I spread the front page on top of Hill's desk and slam my finger onto the story wedged in the bottom right corner. Nearly buried underneath the news of my victory is the story about how a drugs-for-guns deal down at the waterfront was broken up by the supposed "Bat-Man," who left a dozen bruised and terrified suspects for the press and police to find, in that order. Among those implicated were alleged crime underboss Tony Zucco and police officer Arnold Flass.

"This," I say, pounding the paper with great emphasis, "is an outrage to our boys in blue. Bad enough that this vigilante flouts our laws, but he's now attacking cops, and framing them for illegal activities? As if the men under Commissioner Loeb could be anything but spotless!"

His eyes narrow. Oh, he doesn't like that. I really shouldn't push him, especially if Hill isn't dumb enough to buy this crap himself.

"He undermines everything that you stand for, Mister Mayor. With your permission, I would like to start building a case against this 'Bat-Man' vigilante. I will see to it that he is brought to justice, and exposed for the maniac he truly is. The people need to be reassured that law and order are in the hands of Gotham's elected officials, not in those of psychos in Halloween costumes."

Hill says nothing. The wheels are turning, but they haven't locked into place yet. I play my last card.

"Mayor Hill... Hamilton... Hammy, my friend..." If I were closer, I'd have a hand on his shoulder. "Think of the press."

Loeb's face pales to an almost human color.

"You cannot be serious," he warns the Mayor, already knowing it's a lost cause and seeing the visions of sensationalism dancing in Hill's head. "No, you cannot."

His face tightening into a satisfied smile, Hill pounds the desk with pride. "By George, Harvey, now you're talking sense. This is precisely the message that those people need, before... er, before..."

I suggest, "Before they start taking matters into their own hands?"

"Precisely! Precisely!"

"For God's sake, we cannot even be certain that this Bat-person is even..." but Loeb doesn't finish the thought. Even if Batman isn't real- and Loeb is well aware that he is -then at least I'll be off on my own little snipe hunt, sufficiently distracted to keep from doing any more harm to Hill's reputation. Something high profile enough to keep the press happy, time-consuming enough to keep me out of Loeb's affairs and so far removed from the mob's business that maybe they won't fit me with a cement suit.

"Either way, Gil, it makes a fine statement, especially in light of what the press are saying about your men."

"Those vultures!" I add, bringing all the color back to Loeb's face and then some. A voice inside quietly goads, Careful, Harv, don't keep poking him. Well, okay, maybe a bit more poking, but that's it.

It sounds suspiciously like my wife.

Hill says, "Harvey, you may have just salvaged your career after all. For your sake, I suggest you get to it right away."

"Yes, sir. Without a moment to lose. Of course, I will require the police department's assistance. In fact, I understand that Commissioner Loeb has formed a special vigilante task force. I should like to set up a meeting with whoever's in charge."

Loeb looks like a plum on the verge of a stroke. Nearly choking on his lozenge, he sputters, "Hamilton, I cannot endorse such a..."

"Splendid idea!" Hill says, finally returning to his natural state- glad handing politician. "Gil, I want you to arrange a meeting between Dent and that officer... er, what's his name?"

"... Gordon," Loeb says. Icicles drip from every letter. "Lieutenant James Gordon."

"That's the guy," I say. "Well, with all due respect, sirs, I really must run. Mister Mayor, thank you for the second chance. Commissioner, I look forward to meeting with your man. I have every confidence that he's the man for the job."

Reeves clears his throat, having no problem drawing attention to himself now that the storm has passed.

"Oh. Yes. Mister Reeves... uh, nice tie."

"We'll be in touch, m'boy, yes we will," Loeb says it like a threat. "Also, be sure to wave to your constituents out front. You'll want to take a good, long look at the kind of people you've won to your side."

"I'll be sure to do just that, thanks." I take three steps to the door, before I give into the temptation, glancing back over my shoulder. "Oh, and Gil? Please extend my sincerest apologies to Mister Moroni when you see him next."

I turn back and make my exit without bothering to savor his reaction, maybe because I'm afraid that the veiled insinuation pushed him too far. The fear doesn't stop the live wire feeling as I take the stairs two at a time, a nervous, electric, can't-be-still energy thrumming through my limbs.

Too cocky, Harvey, you're getting too cocky this early on. With three more months as an ADA, they can do so many things before I even take office. I can't afford to push Loeb's buttons like that again. I must keep my impulses in check, play it smart, even if I don't play it safe. I just hope that the game I'm playing is my own.

Eight steps from the first floor, I hear the roar. Dull, at first, but getting louder. I fling open the glass double doors, bursting out into the city, my city, and I'm hit by a wall of sound.

Flanked by cops, held back by security barriers, the throng explodes as it sees- they see -me, standing atop the front steps of City Hall. My immediate reaction is, quite frankly, intimidation. This is overwhelming beyond all comparison, not at all like the press conferences or banquets or benefits before which I'd been paraded for months now. Polite applause can't hold a candle to the pure, chaotic power of this crowd. While these grassroots supporters were dismissed by most, derisively dubbed the "Dent-Heads" by the Gotham Financial Times, I know differently. These are the real, raw, unpolished masses of Gotham, the people I worried I lost touch with in the years since I left downtown for uptown. Trepidation gives way to the thrill of their cheers, their adulation, and their chants... until I realize what it is they're actually chanting.

I hear the words over and over again, seeing them on hand-made posters, written on ballcaps with magic marker, and emblazoned on tee shirts which must have been printed up within the past few hours. I'm left reeling.

So that's why Loeb was so smug, even in defeat. He understood. He knew that my victory wasn't total, that my message didn't get through the way I wanted it to. I wanted to rouse them into action, and in a way, I succeeded. Just not as I intended. I'd hoped to appeal to the basic decency of every citizen, to rouse their spirits, to get them to stand up to the criminals themselves. BecauseI believe in Gotham, but Gotham...

I Believe in Harvey Dent.

I Believe in Harvey Dent.

I Believe in Harvey Dent.

Gotham believes in me.



To Be Continued...