It's ridiculous, and he knows it. Being so afraid of what's in his own friend's minid that he sleeps, when he sleeps, with the bedroom door locked. Panicking whenever he hears Harvey so much as chuckle. Making sure that he's near some sort of sharp object or something that can be used as a weapon most of the time.
Being afraid at all, because he's Scarecrow. Maybe not the Scarecrow. But a Scarecrow at the very least. He should be able to control this.
And when he finds the note, when he reads it...for a split second, he considers leaving it at that. But.
He doesn't.
He doesn't. He gets on the phone, and he makes calls. Checks motels, hotels, apartments. Checks aliases. Keeps his eye on the news.
Eventually, he gets in his car. (Charlie's car) And he drives. And he searches. He spends time he could be spending on his work, and he searches.
Harvey can't help but be impressed with what... what Two-Face has done. Grudgingly, but impressed. The mob runs scared from him, tries to curry his favour, in a way they never did for Harvey Dent.
But then, it isn't hard, not nearly as hard as he'd thought it would be, to run an organised crime operation.
Especially when you're only running it half of the time.
The problems with his memory still bother him. But he finds notes, now, in his hotel room, the handwriting sharper than his own, schedules and profiles and annotated articles, that fill in the gaps.
Three days after he leaves Judah's apartment, he blinks awake in the bathroom, face still stinging from his aftershave, to find a note on the mirror that's far less complicated than the usual.
Expect company.
When there's a knock at the door, and he looks, and it's two toughs (his men), with a third man between them, he can't get the door open fast enough.
Brilliantly idiotic. That certainly does describe Judah Stark as well as it describes Jonathan Crane. More so, maybe. He searched and he searched and he searched, and after a while he figured that maybe it'd be easier to find Two-Face.
Maybe it'd be easier.
He was right, in fact. It was easier. Easier to find Two-Face's men. Easier to make a scene and get dragged up to wherever Two-Face was keeping himself.
The relief is mirrored, when he sees Judah is alright, unharmed. That alone he would hope would confirm that it's him in charge, and not Two-Face -- but then, it hasn't helped much the rest of this week, has it?
"Leave him and get out."
"Boss --" (Even idiots like these know that isn't quite accurate, but it's easier to call them both that.)
"Out." His thumb hooks into his jacket pocket. That's all it takes. They leave. Leave Judah there with him.
When Two-Face's people have gone, the look of relief turns into a look of glaring annoyance. Sure, he's still relieved, but he's also very, very annoyed at Harvey for leaving.
And in the spirit of that annoyance, he shoves him. Hard.
Harvey isn't quite sure what he was expecting, as far as reactions went, but it definitely wasn't that. He stumbles, startled, and then shoves back. Harder. "What the hell!?"
Pro...bably not really, be honest. Not enough to topple Harvey, anyway. Shove. "What else was I supposed to do? I can't even go into the same room without you freaking out." Can you tell from his voice, Judah, just how much that hurts?
Harvey feels the nausea rising up, the knot in his stomach and the hissing in his head. He breathes, in and out, trying to calm himself down, soothe it into complacency. "I could let him ask you why you came." A threat. And a point to make.
Being afraid at all, because he's Scarecrow. Maybe not the Scarecrow. But a Scarecrow at the very least. He should be able to control this.
And when he finds the note, when he reads it...for a split second, he considers leaving it at that. But.
He doesn't.
He doesn't. He gets on the phone, and he makes calls. Checks motels, hotels, apartments. Checks aliases. Keeps his eye on the news.
Eventually, he gets in his car. (Charlie's car) And he drives. And he searches. He spends time he could be spending on his work, and he searches.
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But then, it isn't hard, not nearly as hard as he'd thought it would be, to run an organised crime operation.
Especially when you're only running it half of the time.
The problems with his memory still bother him. But he finds notes, now, in his hotel room, the handwriting sharper than his own, schedules and profiles and annotated articles, that fill in the gaps.
Three days after he leaves Judah's apartment, he blinks awake in the bathroom, face still stinging from his aftershave, to find a note on the mirror that's far less complicated than the usual.
Expect company.
When there's a knock at the door, and he looks, and it's two toughs (his men), with a third man between them, he can't get the door open fast enough.
God damn it, Judah.
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Maybe it'd be easier.
He was right, in fact. It was easier. Easier to find Two-Face's men. Easier to make a scene and get dragged up to wherever Two-Face was keeping himself.
Easier.
Relief came easier when he saw it was Harvey.
He hopes it was Harvey.
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"Leave him and get out."
"Boss --" (Even idiots like these know that isn't quite accurate, but it's easier to call them both that.)
"Out." His thumb hooks into his jacket pocket. That's all it takes. They leave. Leave Judah there with him.
He meets his eyes, and doesn't say a word.
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And in the spirit of that annoyance, he shoves him. Hard.
Oh, Judah.
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He will, however, shove you again. Ow. "You tell me what the hell, Harvey." As if he has no idea. None at all.
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He holds him there, fingers digging into his shoulders, and locks eyes with him.
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