Rachel/Harvey/Bruce "Never Forgive Me, NEver Forget Me"
Title: Never Forgive Me, Never Forget Me
Fandom: Batman Begins/Nolanverse Batman
Rating: R to NC-17 for sexual descriptions.
Characters/Pairing: I’m committing a grave and unholy sin here in writing this, but the idea is too good to pass up. There’s a horrible OT3 in Rachel/Bruce/Harvey that I…sort of wanted to explore. So. Assume from here on out the pairings are as follows: …Rachel/Bruce/Harvey. Hate me or love me, this idea would NOT GO AWAY.
Summary: POST-FILM. (Potentially) Rachel Dawes and Bruce Wayne remember their friend, their lover, their partner, and their ally. It’s a pity that a man with so many faces only settled on two to decide who he was.
Notes: This was inspired by a track from Akira Yamaoka’s Silent Hill 3 soundtrack. Titled (You guessed it) Never forgive me, Never Forget me. The man, is a god. plain and simple.
They meet in Gotham City Park.
The days have gotten a little darker, the trees a little grayer. The overlaying Marine layer doesn’t help that much, the wind coming in off the bay sending chills through their spines as Rachel leans closer to Bruce.
She is thinking.
Two days after the election the New DA gathers all his compatriots into his office. “Now, I’m not one for long speeches.” Just bright smiles, just sound bites, “So I’ll make this short and sweet-I’m the new guy here-so go ahead and show me the ropes. I stand by what I promised to do-we’re going to clean up Gotham city. It’s like the show says-there’s the law-but it’s us who bring the order.”
Polite cheers as Harvey raises another hand, “Now ah. Someone could show me to the nearest bathroom if we want to start talking those ropes-“
There’s general laughter. He’s climbing off the non-existent podium as he knocks into Rachel, spilling her champagne across the floor.
“Oh god I’m sorry-“ his apologies are cute. Does he look this good on camera when he apologizes? If the DA’s office ever makes a mistake he should handle the entire PR, “Are you okay? Did you get any on you?”
“No. No-wardrobe malfunction averted.” Rachel says with a nervous grin, “You ought to watch where you’re going though.”
“…I’ll be sure to do that from now on Ms. Dawes.” Harvey is straightening his tie, “Charging ahead without knowing where I’m going is something I don’t mean to do in this office.”
She raised an eyebrow. He’d already done that. He’d done that in spades. She thought of a campaign promise to end crime in Gotham City-take the place back-bring the citizens together (It was a start, but only a start and now this?)
“…You ought to walk more carefully then.” Rachel says with a smirk, “You’re turning a lot of heads.”
“Including yours?”
Rachel blinks, “…you’re my boss.”
“You endorsed my candidacy.”
“Let’s pretend-“ and her mind are full of a dark and foggy night where all the fear in the world had come to Gotham City, “That I like your ideas and where you’re coming from.”
“So much that you’ll help me get where I need to go?”
“…And that is?” Her hand is on her hip, her eyes boring into his, “Mr. Dent?’
“. The Bathroom. Urgently.”
She laughs.
The noise is startling, sudden. The Park is quiet. Bruce does not stir, does not do anything but hold her closer as tears run down her face. He understands.
He is thinking too.
Gotham City’s rooftops are his playground, one far grander then any he could have imagined. The Bat Signal’s ostentatious and he wonders idly what planes going into Wayne Airport think of the damn thing if they ever see it.
Jim is standing there smoking a cigarette with an uncharacteristic grimace on his face, “He insisted on meeting you.”
There is something about the newcomer to the rooftop that draws the eye. Bruce knows him of course. Batman doesn’t. Batman can’t, that gave away too many cards.
“…So you’re Batman. Mind if I call you Bats?”
Bruce Bristled, Batman remained stoic, staring at him.
Harvey studied him like a prizefighter sizing up an opponent, “…He’s not one for words is he?”
“I don’t like to waste time.” This is something that Bruce and Batman share. Bruce has no patience for this double-dealing, this wheeling with identities and words that men like Harvey Dent are so very good at. not here, not when he was himself.
“Something that we share.” Harvey Dent extends a hand and Bruce reflects that he’s met this man at least three fucking times already, “…Harvey Dent.”
Their handshake is firm. Precise.
“Did he…”
Rachel is the first to speak, “…Did he suffer?”
Bruce closes his eyes and opens them again. The gray was almost instantly replaced with Harvey Dent-no-the thing that Harvey Dent had become. That clown had called him a freak and this place a haven- No, why-it’s not fair, and it’s not fair…
“When?” Bruce asks icily, “When he died or when I-“
Rachel closes her eyes again and wraps her arms around his torso. The movement surprises him completely. He wonders if there are jogger paparazzi looking for just such a moment from a man like him. He swore that if they tried anything now he’d probably kill them-and then where would batman be?
Rachel is thinking of a hug-their very first but not their last. Bruce-Batman was off battling the evil of the city. People were screaming-children wandering around lost in the smoke and the day turned night that such an occasion would ultimately bring.
Rachel remembered standing next to Gail and suddenly she was gone-flung by the blast. It is suddenly of paramount importance that she is found. Rachel remembers screaming, holding something dead that had a name and a face at one point as arms-wrong arms-wrap around her from behind, holding her close.
“Gail!”
“Rachel-Rachel! She’s gone. She’s gone. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. God I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know…”
Rachel doesn’t break until she realizes that his eyes are as wet as the rain-heavy sky above them. She clings to him, he smells like cologne and sweat and blood and she’s sobbing-sobbing-her own tears raining for the sky.
It’s not right. It’s not anything. It’s two people comforting each other. They’re in his conservative apartment and he’s pulling of her shirt and she’s throwing his tie across the couch and suddenly she is sliding atop him lithe and graceful as a weasel.
Men are funny things. She thinks. Human beings and men themselves. We hurt in so many different ways, we comfort in so many different ways…
Harvey’s Erection looks stiff enough to support weight like an extra fucking leg. Internal pain masquerades as external-she lets out a cry of dismay as he enters her. They’re like children who discovered that after spending money on a game and assembling it the magic hat does not in fact make you fly. All the parts are put together wrong. The fun is there, the mirth-but it doesn’t work. They can’t play it; they can’t make it run or go.
“Oh fuck it.” Harvey snaps. And he’s suddenly kissing her, shifting his position so she can ride in his lap and Rachel’s eyes open. When he finally goes soft inside her the tension eases up on her lower half and relaxation-the oldest human method of easing stress and tension fills them both.
“That’s funny.”
Rachel says, leaning against him. She expects trademark Harvey wit, trademark scorn or even a joke but he just holds her close. It is unnerving even after they say their goodbyes the next day. He held her like Bruce, maybe that’s why it didn’t work-their equation was missing a key part from the boy next door.
Bruce trails his fingers lightly through her hair, “…Death is always suffering.”
Rachel closes her eyes, “I don’t want to think-“ She remembered a leering thing with a disgusting smirk on what remained of it’s face. Sadness in one blue eye and anger in one eye almost gone-almost destroyed, “I don’t want to think about him suffering. At all, about what they did to him and what he almost did to-to us-“
Bruce’s throat is tight. “Neither Do I.”
The DA is a wreck. His shoulders shake; his gaze fixes on the ground in front of him. Batman stands in judgment, the angel of death, the angel of the lord firmed in the light of man’s failures bearing his own seal as witness. Gordon is not there; he’s still cleaning up the mess that the man shaking like a leaf made.
He can’t speak. Bruce is too angry for words. He wants to hit the fucker, he wants to kill him-to watch his sanctimonious blood leak from his perfectly formed lips over the remains of his perfect anchorman fresh smile.
Instead his chest rises and falls, “It wasn’t your fault.”
Harvey fixes him with a manic look. A look that will come to haunt the batman later, the look of madness, of malice formed.
“…Liar.”
Batman was a creation to prevent suffering. Bruce is faced now with a man suffering at the depths of his soul and he can do nothing. Batman isn’t a grief councilor, he has too many of his own problems to deal with.
In a rare moment of weakness that Bruce curses himself for later he crosses the roof and puts his hand on the DA’s shoulder, “It wasn’t your fault.”
Harvey’s hands find Bruce’s. Human fingers find gloved ones and suddenly the DA is clinging to him-holding him in a grip tight enough to shatter bone, “I ruined everything you built and everything you’ve done.”
“…No.” Batman says, “No, you didn’t. Believe that Dent, you didn’t. It can still be fixed.”
“I’m not-“ Harvey wavers-weakened by his failure. The wind picks up and blond hair blows away from his face, “I’m not sure that it can-that I can-“ He nearly collapses then-almost falling into a prone position on the floor as Bruce grabs him, wraps his arms around him.
“You can.”
That campaign slogan is on his lips.
“I believe in Harvey Dent.” He puts an arm around him, the man a shell-needing something solid-a rock-some sort of comfort beyond the hollow that was the symbol of batman. The bat was a logo-a cheap marketing ploy-the Man…
“He told me to never forgive him.”
Bruce’s voice is soft. Somewhere a duck drops into the water with a splash, the noise startling the two dreamers on the bench.
Rachel can only picture the end of Harvey Dent, the beginning of the creature called Two-Face. The Detectives who’d hauled him away vomited shortly after-a man with such promise-a face that Gotham had come to love driving people to disgust, hatred, vomiting…
She pulls off her glove, finding his own hand and working at his own glove, “…Harvey?”
Bruce nodded, “…To never forgive him. For what he’d done.”
“He’s still there Bruce. I know he is-This thing-“
Bruce Wayne sighs, “Arkham’s half staffed and falling apart. I doubt they’d be able to accomplish anything with him. I’m going to give them money to rebuild it.”
“For Harvey?”
“…He told me never to forgive him Rachel. Never to forget him. That says to me…”
Bruce Wayne is a millionaire playboy who doesn’t have to excuse his actions. What’s surprising is, neither does the District Attorney. Each gaze is met, each touch returned.
“Bathroom?” The District Attorney stares, “Kinky Mr. Wayne.”
“You could get into a lot of trouble for this.” Bruce has considered this. It’s in his nature. He’s given a lot of money to Harvey Dent, not to mention it wouldn’t look too good for him either.
“Except that it’s your bathroom. Are you going to rat me out?” There’s not a politician that doesn’t bat for both teams but that doesn’t mean that Bruce Wayne really wants one in his city.
If this goes on any longer he’s going to have some very questionable stains on his tux when he gets back to the party. Harvey leans down, “I usually get standing ovations.”
“From the men? Or the women?” When the DA takes him in his mouth Bruce gasps. The man gives head like he talks-smooth-fast-well spoken. Very well spoken.
When Harvey kisses him Bruce can taste himself on the man’s lips, it’s a taste he could grow to like, “…God…”
“You can clap now if you want.” Harvey said with a little bow, “I told you I was good.”
“…He’s still there. Somewhere.”
Harvey. Rachel thinks. Arrogant, prideful, loyal, just, honest, funny, sweet, kind. So many faces for a man who settled on two-who pulled the best and worst from his personality to make it his trademark, his identity.
“How could we forget him?” Rachel says with a laugh, closing her eyes, “…Good Old Harvey.”
“Good Old Harvey.” Bruce swallows, tasting the salty sea air on the breeze, the taste of himself, and the taste of his past, “The Monster.”
“The Man.”
“A little bit of both. The way we’re supposed to be.” Bruce says. He’s thinking of a caped crusader who offered comfort, the only seeming way to change the tide of evil in this fucking city. “We can never forgive him for what he did.”
“But we can’t forget him either.” Rachel finished the phrase, “I don’t think anyone will.”
“…He’d want that.”
A barge passed by as Rachel held Bruce closer, the marine layer deepend-spitting out something that looked like rain.
Fandom: Batman Begins/Nolanverse Batman
Rating: R to NC-17 for sexual descriptions.
Characters/Pairing: I’m committing a grave and unholy sin here in writing this, but the idea is too good to pass up. There’s a horrible OT3 in Rachel/Bruce/Harvey that I…sort of wanted to explore. So. Assume from here on out the pairings are as follows: …Rachel/Bruce/Harvey. Hate me or love me, this idea would NOT GO AWAY.
Summary: POST-FILM. (Potentially) Rachel Dawes and Bruce Wayne remember their friend, their lover, their partner, and their ally. It’s a pity that a man with so many faces only settled on two to decide who he was.
Notes: This was inspired by a track from Akira Yamaoka’s Silent Hill 3 soundtrack. Titled (You guessed it) Never forgive me, Never Forget me. The man, is a god. plain and simple.
They meet in Gotham City Park.
The days have gotten a little darker, the trees a little grayer. The overlaying Marine layer doesn’t help that much, the wind coming in off the bay sending chills through their spines as Rachel leans closer to Bruce.
She is thinking.
Two days after the election the New DA gathers all his compatriots into his office. “Now, I’m not one for long speeches.” Just bright smiles, just sound bites, “So I’ll make this short and sweet-I’m the new guy here-so go ahead and show me the ropes. I stand by what I promised to do-we’re going to clean up Gotham city. It’s like the show says-there’s the law-but it’s us who bring the order.”
Polite cheers as Harvey raises another hand, “Now ah. Someone could show me to the nearest bathroom if we want to start talking those ropes-“
There’s general laughter. He’s climbing off the non-existent podium as he knocks into Rachel, spilling her champagne across the floor.
“Oh god I’m sorry-“ his apologies are cute. Does he look this good on camera when he apologizes? If the DA’s office ever makes a mistake he should handle the entire PR, “Are you okay? Did you get any on you?”
“No. No-wardrobe malfunction averted.” Rachel says with a nervous grin, “You ought to watch where you’re going though.”
“…I’ll be sure to do that from now on Ms. Dawes.” Harvey is straightening his tie, “Charging ahead without knowing where I’m going is something I don’t mean to do in this office.”
She raised an eyebrow. He’d already done that. He’d done that in spades. She thought of a campaign promise to end crime in Gotham City-take the place back-bring the citizens together (It was a start, but only a start and now this?)
“…You ought to walk more carefully then.” Rachel says with a smirk, “You’re turning a lot of heads.”
“Including yours?”
Rachel blinks, “…you’re my boss.”
“You endorsed my candidacy.”
“Let’s pretend-“ and her mind are full of a dark and foggy night where all the fear in the world had come to Gotham City, “That I like your ideas and where you’re coming from.”
“So much that you’ll help me get where I need to go?”
“…And that is?” Her hand is on her hip, her eyes boring into his, “Mr. Dent?’
“. The Bathroom. Urgently.”
She laughs.
The noise is startling, sudden. The Park is quiet. Bruce does not stir, does not do anything but hold her closer as tears run down her face. He understands.
He is thinking too.
Gotham City’s rooftops are his playground, one far grander then any he could have imagined. The Bat Signal’s ostentatious and he wonders idly what planes going into Wayne Airport think of the damn thing if they ever see it.
Jim is standing there smoking a cigarette with an uncharacteristic grimace on his face, “He insisted on meeting you.”
There is something about the newcomer to the rooftop that draws the eye. Bruce knows him of course. Batman doesn’t. Batman can’t, that gave away too many cards.
“…So you’re Batman. Mind if I call you Bats?”
Bruce Bristled, Batman remained stoic, staring at him.
Harvey studied him like a prizefighter sizing up an opponent, “…He’s not one for words is he?”
“I don’t like to waste time.” This is something that Bruce and Batman share. Bruce has no patience for this double-dealing, this wheeling with identities and words that men like Harvey Dent are so very good at. not here, not when he was himself.
“Something that we share.” Harvey Dent extends a hand and Bruce reflects that he’s met this man at least three fucking times already, “…Harvey Dent.”
Their handshake is firm. Precise.
“Did he…”
Rachel is the first to speak, “…Did he suffer?”
Bruce closes his eyes and opens them again. The gray was almost instantly replaced with Harvey Dent-no-the thing that Harvey Dent had become. That clown had called him a freak and this place a haven- No, why-it’s not fair, and it’s not fair…
“When?” Bruce asks icily, “When he died or when I-“
Rachel closes her eyes again and wraps her arms around his torso. The movement surprises him completely. He wonders if there are jogger paparazzi looking for just such a moment from a man like him. He swore that if they tried anything now he’d probably kill them-and then where would batman be?
Rachel is thinking of a hug-their very first but not their last. Bruce-Batman was off battling the evil of the city. People were screaming-children wandering around lost in the smoke and the day turned night that such an occasion would ultimately bring.
Rachel remembered standing next to Gail and suddenly she was gone-flung by the blast. It is suddenly of paramount importance that she is found. Rachel remembers screaming, holding something dead that had a name and a face at one point as arms-wrong arms-wrap around her from behind, holding her close.
“Gail!”
“Rachel-Rachel! She’s gone. She’s gone. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. God I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know…”
Rachel doesn’t break until she realizes that his eyes are as wet as the rain-heavy sky above them. She clings to him, he smells like cologne and sweat and blood and she’s sobbing-sobbing-her own tears raining for the sky.
It’s not right. It’s not anything. It’s two people comforting each other. They’re in his conservative apartment and he’s pulling of her shirt and she’s throwing his tie across the couch and suddenly she is sliding atop him lithe and graceful as a weasel.
Men are funny things. She thinks. Human beings and men themselves. We hurt in so many different ways, we comfort in so many different ways…
Harvey’s Erection looks stiff enough to support weight like an extra fucking leg. Internal pain masquerades as external-she lets out a cry of dismay as he enters her. They’re like children who discovered that after spending money on a game and assembling it the magic hat does not in fact make you fly. All the parts are put together wrong. The fun is there, the mirth-but it doesn’t work. They can’t play it; they can’t make it run or go.
“Oh fuck it.” Harvey snaps. And he’s suddenly kissing her, shifting his position so she can ride in his lap and Rachel’s eyes open. When he finally goes soft inside her the tension eases up on her lower half and relaxation-the oldest human method of easing stress and tension fills them both.
“That’s funny.”
Rachel says, leaning against him. She expects trademark Harvey wit, trademark scorn or even a joke but he just holds her close. It is unnerving even after they say their goodbyes the next day. He held her like Bruce, maybe that’s why it didn’t work-their equation was missing a key part from the boy next door.
Bruce trails his fingers lightly through her hair, “…Death is always suffering.”
Rachel closes her eyes, “I don’t want to think-“ She remembered a leering thing with a disgusting smirk on what remained of it’s face. Sadness in one blue eye and anger in one eye almost gone-almost destroyed, “I don’t want to think about him suffering. At all, about what they did to him and what he almost did to-to us-“
Bruce’s throat is tight. “Neither Do I.”
The DA is a wreck. His shoulders shake; his gaze fixes on the ground in front of him. Batman stands in judgment, the angel of death, the angel of the lord firmed in the light of man’s failures bearing his own seal as witness. Gordon is not there; he’s still cleaning up the mess that the man shaking like a leaf made.
He can’t speak. Bruce is too angry for words. He wants to hit the fucker, he wants to kill him-to watch his sanctimonious blood leak from his perfectly formed lips over the remains of his perfect anchorman fresh smile.
Instead his chest rises and falls, “It wasn’t your fault.”
Harvey fixes him with a manic look. A look that will come to haunt the batman later, the look of madness, of malice formed.
“…Liar.”
Batman was a creation to prevent suffering. Bruce is faced now with a man suffering at the depths of his soul and he can do nothing. Batman isn’t a grief councilor, he has too many of his own problems to deal with.
In a rare moment of weakness that Bruce curses himself for later he crosses the roof and puts his hand on the DA’s shoulder, “It wasn’t your fault.”
Harvey’s hands find Bruce’s. Human fingers find gloved ones and suddenly the DA is clinging to him-holding him in a grip tight enough to shatter bone, “I ruined everything you built and everything you’ve done.”
“…No.” Batman says, “No, you didn’t. Believe that Dent, you didn’t. It can still be fixed.”
“I’m not-“ Harvey wavers-weakened by his failure. The wind picks up and blond hair blows away from his face, “I’m not sure that it can-that I can-“ He nearly collapses then-almost falling into a prone position on the floor as Bruce grabs him, wraps his arms around him.
“You can.”
That campaign slogan is on his lips.
“I believe in Harvey Dent.” He puts an arm around him, the man a shell-needing something solid-a rock-some sort of comfort beyond the hollow that was the symbol of batman. The bat was a logo-a cheap marketing ploy-the Man…
“He told me to never forgive him.”
Bruce’s voice is soft. Somewhere a duck drops into the water with a splash, the noise startling the two dreamers on the bench.
Rachel can only picture the end of Harvey Dent, the beginning of the creature called Two-Face. The Detectives who’d hauled him away vomited shortly after-a man with such promise-a face that Gotham had come to love driving people to disgust, hatred, vomiting…
She pulls off her glove, finding his own hand and working at his own glove, “…Harvey?”
Bruce nodded, “…To never forgive him. For what he’d done.”
“He’s still there Bruce. I know he is-This thing-“
Bruce Wayne sighs, “Arkham’s half staffed and falling apart. I doubt they’d be able to accomplish anything with him. I’m going to give them money to rebuild it.”
“For Harvey?”
“…He told me never to forgive him Rachel. Never to forget him. That says to me…”
Bruce Wayne is a millionaire playboy who doesn’t have to excuse his actions. What’s surprising is, neither does the District Attorney. Each gaze is met, each touch returned.
“Bathroom?” The District Attorney stares, “Kinky Mr. Wayne.”
“You could get into a lot of trouble for this.” Bruce has considered this. It’s in his nature. He’s given a lot of money to Harvey Dent, not to mention it wouldn’t look too good for him either.
“Except that it’s your bathroom. Are you going to rat me out?” There’s not a politician that doesn’t bat for both teams but that doesn’t mean that Bruce Wayne really wants one in his city.
If this goes on any longer he’s going to have some very questionable stains on his tux when he gets back to the party. Harvey leans down, “I usually get standing ovations.”
“From the men? Or the women?” When the DA takes him in his mouth Bruce gasps. The man gives head like he talks-smooth-fast-well spoken. Very well spoken.
When Harvey kisses him Bruce can taste himself on the man’s lips, it’s a taste he could grow to like, “…God…”
“You can clap now if you want.” Harvey said with a little bow, “I told you I was good.”
“…He’s still there. Somewhere.”
Harvey. Rachel thinks. Arrogant, prideful, loyal, just, honest, funny, sweet, kind. So many faces for a man who settled on two-who pulled the best and worst from his personality to make it his trademark, his identity.
“How could we forget him?” Rachel says with a laugh, closing her eyes, “…Good Old Harvey.”
“Good Old Harvey.” Bruce swallows, tasting the salty sea air on the breeze, the taste of himself, and the taste of his past, “The Monster.”
“The Man.”
“A little bit of both. The way we’re supposed to be.” Bruce says. He’s thinking of a caped crusader who offered comfort, the only seeming way to change the tide of evil in this fucking city. “We can never forgive him for what he did.”
“But we can’t forget him either.” Rachel finished the phrase, “I don’t think anyone will.”
“…He’d want that.”
A barge passed by as Rachel held Bruce closer, the marine layer deepend-spitting out something that looked like rain.