She looks almost exactly like Rachel.
Rachel.
Just thinking her name brings a fresh wave of grief, and he thinks he can feel the burnt flesh on his face squirm and sizzle like bacon. He feels dirty watching her, like a Peeping Tom.
Like a common criminal.
But he wasn't.
Right?
He clutched at the good side of his head, fingers entangling themselves in his own hair as he tried to combat the sudden urge to barge into her home and take her right then and there. No, he couldn't let him. He couldn't do it his way.Harvey couldn't let that other half come out. He paced furiously away from her window,which had gone dark. He slid down the wall and sat, head held in his hands, wallowing in his own misery.He wanted to break down into tears, but that would only cause him more pain.
Anything he did would cause him pain. He had convinced himself.
One half of him wanted to cushion himself against the pain by embracing it, using it to his advantage. By becoming a callouskiller.Harvey vaguely remembered going to school with this woman, remembered that he'd immediately starting crushing on her from the first. But, he couldn't quite seem to remember her name.
She'd grown into quite the woman. She was a tantalizing vision of how he thought angels might look, with a build oh so similar to Rachel's. Her tawny hair fell in a long cascade, halting at the middle of her back. She'd grown her bangs out, framing her face. He still couldn't seem to remember her name. Harvey could taste it on his tongue, and he smacked his lips, as if doing so would bring the answer to him.
x] x] x]
Harvey didn't know when he'd fallen asleep. He was suddenly jolted awake by a tentative hand shaking his shoulder gently. His eyes fluttered open, a groan involuntairily leaking from his mouth.
Heflinched away from the hand.
There she was, bent over and staring down at him. She was in her pjs, which consisted of a pair of baggy red plaid sweatpants and agray wife-beater style tanktop, a black hooded jacketshielding her from the chill Gotham winds.Her mahogany eyesblinked down at him as she cocked her head to the side. A slender hand brusheda strand of hairbehind her ear.
...There was a blanketslung across her shoulder...
"..You're Harvey Dent, aren't you?" She said quietly.
Harvey didn't respond. He looked away, adeep frown coming across his features.
She crouched down on the balls of her feet. She was wearing flip flops.
"I remember you from grade school, Harvey. I was proud to know you when I found out you'd become the DA."
Harvey looked up at her, hope shimmering in the bloodshot depths of his ocean blue eyes.
"Why?" He asked, his voice raspy.
"Because, you did something I'd always wanted to do. You helped people. You gave Gotham hope. Everyone says that they're tired of the ways things are, they get outraged about some new catastrophe, but they never do anything about it. They work themselves up in a frenzy and then go back into their shells."
She cupped his cheek. He leaned into her soft, warm skin. He looked into her eyes.
"You're a hero." She whispered, drawing ever closer.
"No, no I'm not." He choked. "I couldn't save her." Tears began to well up in his eyes.
"..You're my hero, Harvey." She whispered.
She leaned in, planting a soft kiss on his good cheek.
Her body grew farther away. "Come on, let's go inside. It's cold out here."
A wind blew trash around the alley way as she said this. She extended a hand. Smiling sadly, he took it, and helped himself up.
"..I'm still not a hero." He said.
