Hello, Goodbye
"How was the meeting?" Dalia asked as soon as Andrew walked through the apartment door. She practically leaped off the couch.
"It--was," Andrew said, taking his coat off.
"That's it?" Dalia frowned. "You--you told them no, right?"
"Not exactly," Andrew sighed, putting a hand on Dalia's arm.
"What do you mean by that?" Dalia looked at him quizzically.
"I told Strohman that the permits are as good as theirs." He watched as her face fell.
"That's why you've been so vague every time you meet with them," Dalia looked away and then back at him, "Not because you didn't want me to worry but because you didn't want to tell me you were giving in."
"It's not giving in, Dalia," Andrew's own annoyance now showed on his face. "They're not taking over the City, they're receiving some permits."
Dalia shook her head. "You give them this now, they'll take a lot more later."
"I appease them now and they'll be less likely to try to kill me later," Andrew retorted, stepping to the bar.
"The danger of the job never seemed to bother you before," Dalia followed, relentless.
"I tried not to let the gunshot wound rattle me, but it doesn't mean I'm going to go around inviting people to try to take my head off," Andrew's words were deliberate as he poured a glass of bourbon.
"People in this city look up to you, Andy," Dalia held his gaze from across the bar, her hands holding onto the edge of the counter. "If you give in, everything that everyone before you has worked for is just--for nothing. Think about your grandfather, your father--"
"I am not my father," Andrew slammed down his glass and bourbon splashed over the sides. "And I'm sure as hell not Harvey Goddamn Dent!"
Stunned and angry, Dalia took a step back, her fists clenched. "No, you're not--both of them let themselves get blown to hell before they gave in!"
Andrew steadied himself with a gulp of his drink. "I'm not going out there and asking to be a martyr, Dalia. If that's what you want--if that's what you thought I was about--"
"I thought you were about preserving what's left of the City," Dalia argued.
"And I have to work with what I have," Andrew exclaimed, "There's no place for martyrs in this City any more, Dalia. We've had good people dying since Thomas Wayne and where has it got us? We're worse off now than ever before."
"So you'll give in," Dalia looked back at him, eyes watery, "Bit by bit until there's nothing left, but hey, at least your administration will still be intact. Until they find some other shill who'll do it cheaper."
"Would you grow up?" Andrew snapped. "I thought you understood City politics--that you knew--that things aren't black and white."
"I understand City politics perfectly, Andy," Dalia swallowed as she looked at him, "I just never thought of you as a politics-as-usual kind of guy. I was wrong. You're just--like all the rest of them, spouting jargon, acting like you're trying to make a difference--"
"I am, but apparently I'm only doing it right if I'm getting killed!" Andrew was incredulous.
Dalia looked away. "When is the announcement being made? About Strohman receiving the permits, I mean?"
"Tomorrow," Andrew told her, "I'm going to need you to let the press corps know first thing in the morning and schedule the conference for eleven."
"Fine. After the conference is over--" Dalia looked back at him, "--you can consider that the start of my two-weeks notice."
"What?" Andrew looked just as stunned as she had earlier.
"I don't think I can work for you any more, Andy." She looked around his apartment. While she had been living in the City proper, in her own apartment, for the last few months now, much of her time had been spent at his place and her belongings were scattered throughout. "And I know that--I can't be with you."
"Over--Strohman--over--some permits that are barely a blip in the big scheme of things?" he managed to get out.
"You still don't get it," Dalia started for the door, grabbing her purse from the end table.
"I get it," Andrew followed her, "I just--" He couldn't finish the sentence.
"I'll see you tomorrow at work," Dalia said hurriedly, going out the door. "Goodbye, Andy."
"It--was," Andrew said, taking his coat off.
"That's it?" Dalia frowned. "You--you told them no, right?"
"Not exactly," Andrew sighed, putting a hand on Dalia's arm.
"What do you mean by that?" Dalia looked at him quizzically.
"I told Strohman that the permits are as good as theirs." He watched as her face fell.
"That's why you've been so vague every time you meet with them," Dalia looked away and then back at him, "Not because you didn't want me to worry but because you didn't want to tell me you were giving in."
"It's not giving in, Dalia," Andrew's own annoyance now showed on his face. "They're not taking over the City, they're receiving some permits."
Dalia shook her head. "You give them this now, they'll take a lot more later."
"I appease them now and they'll be less likely to try to kill me later," Andrew retorted, stepping to the bar.
"The danger of the job never seemed to bother you before," Dalia followed, relentless.
"I tried not to let the gunshot wound rattle me, but it doesn't mean I'm going to go around inviting people to try to take my head off," Andrew's words were deliberate as he poured a glass of bourbon.
"People in this city look up to you, Andy," Dalia held his gaze from across the bar, her hands holding onto the edge of the counter. "If you give in, everything that everyone before you has worked for is just--for nothing. Think about your grandfather, your father--"
"I am not my father," Andrew slammed down his glass and bourbon splashed over the sides. "And I'm sure as hell not Harvey Goddamn Dent!"
Stunned and angry, Dalia took a step back, her fists clenched. "No, you're not--both of them let themselves get blown to hell before they gave in!"
Andrew steadied himself with a gulp of his drink. "I'm not going out there and asking to be a martyr, Dalia. If that's what you want--if that's what you thought I was about--"
"I thought you were about preserving what's left of the City," Dalia argued.
"And I have to work with what I have," Andrew exclaimed, "There's no place for martyrs in this City any more, Dalia. We've had good people dying since Thomas Wayne and where has it got us? We're worse off now than ever before."
"So you'll give in," Dalia looked back at him, eyes watery, "Bit by bit until there's nothing left, but hey, at least your administration will still be intact. Until they find some other shill who'll do it cheaper."
"Would you grow up?" Andrew snapped. "I thought you understood City politics--that you knew--that things aren't black and white."
"I understand City politics perfectly, Andy," Dalia swallowed as she looked at him, "I just never thought of you as a politics-as-usual kind of guy. I was wrong. You're just--like all the rest of them, spouting jargon, acting like you're trying to make a difference--"
"I am, but apparently I'm only doing it right if I'm getting killed!" Andrew was incredulous.
Dalia looked away. "When is the announcement being made? About Strohman receiving the permits, I mean?"
"Tomorrow," Andrew told her, "I'm going to need you to let the press corps know first thing in the morning and schedule the conference for eleven."
"Fine. After the conference is over--" Dalia looked back at him, "--you can consider that the start of my two-weeks notice."
"What?" Andrew looked just as stunned as she had earlier.
"I don't think I can work for you any more, Andy." She looked around his apartment. While she had been living in the City proper, in her own apartment, for the last few months now, much of her time had been spent at his place and her belongings were scattered throughout. "And I know that--I can't be with you."
"Over--Strohman--over--some permits that are barely a blip in the big scheme of things?" he managed to get out.
"You still don't get it," Dalia started for the door, grabbing her purse from the end table.
"I get it," Andrew followed her, "I just--" He couldn't finish the sentence.
"I'll see you tomorrow at work," Dalia said hurriedly, going out the door. "Goodbye, Andy."