Fic: for laws_of_dawes
Title: The Courtship of Rachel Dawes
Fandom: Batman/Nolanverse
Characters/Pairings: Harvey/Rachel
Summary: He had been weighed, he had been measured, and he had been found wanting by Justice in the form of a petite female District Attorney.
Notes: Rachel/Harvey is....second only in my mind to Bruce/Rachel/Harvey wherein the hotness would make the world explode. (I mean, as it is when you get Bale, either Rachel, and Aaron Eckhart into a room I kind of faint and go-BZH?) these are ideas fleshed out with laws_of_dawes come to life.
Enjoy
It was supposed to be a normal case.
Open and shut, cut and dried and that’s what is going to get to him in the end. Years after it is over. Years after all the parties involved are beyond his reach (how small it may be) he will still remember the confidence, the bravado that he swaggered into the court room with and how she-
Cut him down.
Cut him to pieces, cut him to ribbons. There was no malice about her either. She didn’t stare at him with a vindictive look on her face (A look he’d had to confess he used quite a few times) In Judge Nolan’s courtroom they stood on opposite sides of the bench and she won a crushing victory.
“You were supposed to get me off.” His client whispers. The jury is congratulating themselves as all eyes, approving above all, fix on Rachel Dawes gathering her things.
His client is guilty, abashedly so. He hadn’t really been trying his hardest. Yes. Harvey consoles himself with this fact. He hadn’t been trying his hardest because (in short) this smug little society SOB was guiltier then Judas at the last supper. Because he belonged in prison with those fake tattoos, that tooth he had practically tried to rip out of the kid’s ear. (Earrings on Men. Go figure) all the privilege in the world.
He had been weighed, he had been measured, and he had been found wanting by Justice in the form of a petite female District Attorney. She looked out of place, like she should be standing in a window modeling clothes or…
“Hey!”
He jerked as the boy elbowed him in the ribs, “What the hell are you looking at? What the-Hey! Hey!”
For the first time in his life he didn’t protest when the bailiffs cuffed his client and led him away. She caught him staring, apparently impressed and smiled.
He will remember grinning stupidly, like a child who wanted to make a good impression, “…Game, set, and match Dawes.”
The way her eyes narrowed. The way she raised out of her seat, staring at him with contempt. In that moment she was the goddess outside the Gotham City courthouse. Cold, statuesque. She did not need to see him to know that he was less then worthy-her blindfold was made of conviction and absolute certainty.
“This is not a game.”
He remembers being slapped and wondering why he was already missing the touch of a hand that had never touched him.
------------
“So this cute little honey who works down in accounting says to me, “But this was the style back then.”
They are having drinks. Harvey can never remember being the one who bought them. Tradition. The man who lost purchased drinks for all the rest of the group of hotshot attorneys from Coulson and Piques sitting in the back of McGill’s like masters of the universe.
Roger guffaws, “…and I say, “uh huh. And you’re not trying to show off the goods to me babe?”
“This is that little redhead right? Claire?”
Harvey remembers Claire. Claire is a law student who’d feigned a crush on him for the first two years of his tenure at C and P. His hand swirls some of the moisture on the table in front of him.
“…Harv? Hey Harv-“ Adrian prods at him and Harvey coughs. The biggest cigar in the history of stoogies is staring him in the face, “…Whasamatter?”
“Danny’s golden boy’s not the Apollo of the fuckin’ office no more.” Roger snorts, “How’s it feel to actually loose Dent? Your chariot break a spoke or something?”
In the lobby of C and P the Gotham works project of the Depression had commissioned a mural of the Greek gods and goddesses. In a fit of idiocy Laura-one of the secretaries had pointed out Harvey’s resemblance to the god of the son. Harvey had protested, saying that it looked more like Clark Gable then him only to have Drew and Danny throw it back in his face.
“Office’s golden boy lost a case to Dawes of all people!” Roger patted him on the back, “…you remember, the one who was going to prosecute Falcone?”
Harvey’s eyes widened. He’d pictured a fearsome harridan of a woman with white hair and a figure long gone to seed in the name of justice, not the creature he’d seen, and “That’s her?”
“Yup. She’s actually supposed to be kinda a mediocre trial lawyer if Finch’s guys had anything to say about it-“
“Shut your mouth.”
Roger blinked, “…What? S’true. I heard it from Hiro who heard it from Heath who heard it from Jeph. Said she got the job by spreading her legs for the former DA when-“
“Roger.” Harvey growls, “When you don’t have anything nice to say you shouldn’t fucking say anything at all because your noise pollution affects the rest of us at the fucking table? Furthermore-when you are talking about a woman-any woman-referring to her sexual habits without personal-firsthand knowledge is not only rude-it’s almost fucking criminal.” He stands and throws his money on the table, “Get the hell out of my way.”
“Jeeez. What the hell’s eating him?”
“…Sounds like somebody’s in love.”
He nearly shatters the door on his way out, pretending not to hear.
-------------
The second time their paths cross fate intervenes. It washes over them both like water.
“…. You’re almost done right?”
Courtroom water fountains have a standing queue. You practically take numbers in order to get in line.
Harvey panics, hitting the button and spraying himself in the face as he withdraws-nearly knocking backwards into the person standing behind him. The commotion is momentary as Rachel raises an eyebrow in concern, “Are you all right?”
The panic increases. His mind shuts down grasping desperately for his world-renown wit, his logic. Desperately wanting to seem witty and cool he dragged a hand through his wet hair and grinned, “…. I uh…wanted water.”
…. Oh my god. We’re not related. That was possibly the worst line I think I have ever come up with. His brain rolled non-existent eyes; you could have at least been witty!
“…That’s why you were at the drinking fountain.” Rachel bent down as Harvey’s cheeks flushed.
His eyes closed, “…It’s uh…good water.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow, standing up a little straighter.
I’m divorcing you. That’s it, the end of our partnership. Okay-logic cells-KICKING IN-brain cells-REACTIVATED-
“That’s actually a fair statement given that this water along with the rest of Gotham’s water supply was poisoned by the Scarecrow three months ago.”
“The health department issued a statement saying they’d cleaned up the city’s water supply a month ago. Paranoid?”
He knows instantly that he’s said the wrong thing when she stalks off, turning her body away and sashaying down the hallway.
Well, anybody who didn’t see that coming raise his or her hands. Harvey rolls his eyes as his brain nodded firmly, Thought not. Smooth move Mr. “Bag um’ and Tag um’ Dent.”
“Shut up.” He commands his cerebral cortex. He turns away, flicking droplets of good water off his hands.
---------
“Your interest is based on a physical attraction. Talk to the woman, and you will see that you have nothing in common.”
Harvey went through his Simpsons DVDs. Some men had the bible, others had their families-Harvey Dent had the law-and when the law could not answer whatever questions he required he turned to other means.
The next day he breathed deep, channeling his inner yellow skinned barfly and dropped into the seat next to her, “You mind?”
She shakes her head.
It is here that reality becomes blurred. Their conversation turns to pleasantries and before long he finds himself discussing his cases with her-at least as much as he can. They are both offering opinions in the silhouetted sunlight of a warm summer day and Harvey Dent has never been happier.
That isn’t just a physical attraction.
He studies her like a lion on the Serengeti looking for signs of weakness. She is firm, her attention on him entirely. For the first time in a long time his cheeks flush red and he feels a stirring in his chest.
“Listen.” He smiled, “…. I’d love to talk about this some more.”
The light in her eyes dies and he can feel his chest start to heave, “…Hey Mr. Dent-“
“Harvey.”
“…Mr. Dent-aren’t-“ She eyed the clock, “Aren’t you supposed to be in court right now?”
“…Because I think if you and I had dinner we could-“ He jerked, “…JESUS FUC-“
Dimly he can hear his brain chuckling as he jogs down the hallway making apologies to all involved. When the judge asks for an excuse he considers (briefly!) Affairs of the heart.
“…Terrible Gastro-intestinal distress your honor.”
That’s going on the record but the court laughs and the judge laughs too, hiding a smile behind her hand as she motions to his chair. He has the jury won over and an excuse!
He grinned abruptly as his client made “crazy” motions with her hands.
----------------
Three more times he asks and three more times she denies him. It’s almost biblical. He knows he should give up, even when he wins he feels like he should be buying the beers at McGill’s because-
Because he’s never lost at this before. Not when women are involved. For the first time in his life he is on shaky ground.
I need you to ask yourself. His brain whispers gently, if this is a matter of interest or of pride. Because if this is a matter of pride you can forget it-we’re going to go out and pick up a law bunny-some chick who’ll do you if you talk dirty law enforcement to her and fuck her.
If this is interest. If this is genuine honest-to-god interest and you’re not looking to plant your flag then by all means we can continue to pursue this, you’re not Roger Harv.
Roger with his conquests of tears and lust.
You’re not “The gang” and you never have been. You know that, and I know that okay? So. Be honest. Interest? Or are you finally descending to the level of the plebeians you work with?
“So’d you ever boff that DA chick Dent?”
Roger is leering at him and in one fell swoop he sees his future. Pasty faced, one of the extras on law and order that the audience always despises.
“Fuck off.”
He slides out of the booth, turning into the darkness. In one moment he stands half in darkness and half in light as he throws his money down on the table ignoring their cries of dismay. They bleat like sheep.
He would not be one of them.
----------
It’s raining in Gotham City.
It’s raining as he thinks of the instance, but this rain is lighter, softer, and not quite as oppressive. He’s got one chance to hail the last cab of the night before going home and curling up with a case or perhaps (god forbid) a book or some other form of entertainment. He longs for the warmth of his bed, the humming of his fridge, the noise of his neighbors blasting music until three AM fingers clicking away at keys on their computers.
He does a double take as the figure out against the streetlights clears in his vision. Her hair hung in her face, shivering as she wrapped a jacket around her shoulders. He rummages-compassion on a night like this to someone with nowhere else to go isn’t unreasonable when he realizes-
It’s Dawes.
Hair wet, eyes wide she steps out into traffic and withdraws as the cars shoot past. She shouts angry words after them. All this is missing. Harvey thinks is the stereotypical puddle of rain splashed at the person trying to hail a cab.
It hits him instead. His second best suit is suddenly drenched.
“…Oh-Mr. Dent? Man, are you all right?”
“…. Wet.” He feigned a glance at her, “Not as wet as you. What, forget your canoe?”
“Funny. You are so funny.” She wrapped her arms around her chest, “trying to hail a cab.”
“That makes two of us.”
He hesitates half a heartbeat and reacts without thinking. The umbrella is suddenly over her head and the gloom clears.
“You-“
In a move that can only be accomplished by people in major cities across various countries-Harvey steps out into the rain and the haze of oncoming streetlights and death, “EY!”
The cab stopped short, door opening. Rachel staring at him-aghast as the cabbie snorted.
“Last fare of the night.”
“…Take it.” Rachel stepped out, “…I don’t live very far away.”
Harvey frowned, “…It’s soaking wet out here.” He motioned to the door, “G’wan. Get in.”
“…. It’s your cab-no really-“ she starts to say, “…I can-“
The minute he touched her, placing a hand on her shoulder one human being to another, sparks flew.
Fireworks erupted across the bay of their minds as they stared at each other, rain drumming on the umbrella, the cab roof, and their heads. Harvey blinks- trying to find the words to express his feelings.
Within himself, his brain smirks. Always knew the girl for us would be the one who left us speechless.
“I’ll be fine.”
They sound like final words. Like a husband letting his wife go on the Titanic. Ironic, given that if the water got any higher the city would probably float away. He finds her hands and puts the umbrella in them before turning on his heel to walk away.
“I can’t take this!”
Bold, daring, drenched, Harvey turns back to her.
“Give it back to me at Dinner.”
She stares. He can almost hear her own inner monologue, you son of a bitch! Is this some kind of trick? Trying to get in my pants by playing the nice guy?
Harvey held up his hands, “…Just a couple of friends trying to get to know each other better okay?”
Time stands still and he is there for minutes that seem like hours before he turns away, “…Or not.”
So that was it. The girl for him didn’t give a damn; such was the way of the world. He consoled himself by accepting that if anything she had made him remembers the reason why he’d become a lawyer in the first place. When he wrote his mother and his teachers back at Gotham U he’d have a reason to say that and if the stack of forms and background checks on his desk were any indication-
“…Chin’s.”
He turns. It’s a whisper; something falling in the rain, Batman’s footsteps in the shadows, a cashier admitting they’d made a mistake. It’s once in a lifetime.
“…Seven Thirty. Tomorrow night.”
And she is suddenly there with a piece of paper and a pen scribbling something before thrusting it quickly into his hands, “That’s my number okay?” She smiles fleetingly before bounding away like a deer and climbing into the cab.
He stares-dumbfounded-before he jams it into his pocket and runs for cover.
“Hey buddy-what’re you smilin’ about?”
The grizzled old news tender wipes an imaginary spot of water off the counter-a bartender without a counter. With the rain coming down it’s almost poetic, like a movie, like a serial-like some kind of comic book.
It is that he misses most, remembering it ages ago here and now. The poetry.
“…A case.”
The old man shakes his head as Harvey darts between buildings and overhangs like the shadow he will one day become grinning like a fool.
Fandom: Batman/Nolanverse
Characters/Pairings: Harvey/Rachel
Summary: He had been weighed, he had been measured, and he had been found wanting by Justice in the form of a petite female District Attorney.
Notes: Rachel/Harvey is....second only in my mind to Bruce/Rachel/Harvey wherein the hotness would make the world explode. (I mean, as it is when you get Bale, either Rachel, and Aaron Eckhart into a room I kind of faint and go-BZH?) these are ideas fleshed out with laws_of_dawes come to life.
Enjoy
It was supposed to be a normal case.
Open and shut, cut and dried and that’s what is going to get to him in the end. Years after it is over. Years after all the parties involved are beyond his reach (how small it may be) he will still remember the confidence, the bravado that he swaggered into the court room with and how she-
Cut him down.
Cut him to pieces, cut him to ribbons. There was no malice about her either. She didn’t stare at him with a vindictive look on her face (A look he’d had to confess he used quite a few times) In Judge Nolan’s courtroom they stood on opposite sides of the bench and she won a crushing victory.
“You were supposed to get me off.” His client whispers. The jury is congratulating themselves as all eyes, approving above all, fix on Rachel Dawes gathering her things.
His client is guilty, abashedly so. He hadn’t really been trying his hardest. Yes. Harvey consoles himself with this fact. He hadn’t been trying his hardest because (in short) this smug little society SOB was guiltier then Judas at the last supper. Because he belonged in prison with those fake tattoos, that tooth he had practically tried to rip out of the kid’s ear. (Earrings on Men. Go figure) all the privilege in the world.
He had been weighed, he had been measured, and he had been found wanting by Justice in the form of a petite female District Attorney. She looked out of place, like she should be standing in a window modeling clothes or…
“Hey!”
He jerked as the boy elbowed him in the ribs, “What the hell are you looking at? What the-Hey! Hey!”
For the first time in his life he didn’t protest when the bailiffs cuffed his client and led him away. She caught him staring, apparently impressed and smiled.
He will remember grinning stupidly, like a child who wanted to make a good impression, “…Game, set, and match Dawes.”
The way her eyes narrowed. The way she raised out of her seat, staring at him with contempt. In that moment she was the goddess outside the Gotham City courthouse. Cold, statuesque. She did not need to see him to know that he was less then worthy-her blindfold was made of conviction and absolute certainty.
“This is not a game.”
He remembers being slapped and wondering why he was already missing the touch of a hand that had never touched him.
------------
“So this cute little honey who works down in accounting says to me, “But this was the style back then.”
They are having drinks. Harvey can never remember being the one who bought them. Tradition. The man who lost purchased drinks for all the rest of the group of hotshot attorneys from Coulson and Piques sitting in the back of McGill’s like masters of the universe.
Roger guffaws, “…and I say, “uh huh. And you’re not trying to show off the goods to me babe?”
“This is that little redhead right? Claire?”
Harvey remembers Claire. Claire is a law student who’d feigned a crush on him for the first two years of his tenure at C and P. His hand swirls some of the moisture on the table in front of him.
“…Harv? Hey Harv-“ Adrian prods at him and Harvey coughs. The biggest cigar in the history of stoogies is staring him in the face, “…Whasamatter?”
“Danny’s golden boy’s not the Apollo of the fuckin’ office no more.” Roger snorts, “How’s it feel to actually loose Dent? Your chariot break a spoke or something?”
In the lobby of C and P the Gotham works project of the Depression had commissioned a mural of the Greek gods and goddesses. In a fit of idiocy Laura-one of the secretaries had pointed out Harvey’s resemblance to the god of the son. Harvey had protested, saying that it looked more like Clark Gable then him only to have Drew and Danny throw it back in his face.
“Office’s golden boy lost a case to Dawes of all people!” Roger patted him on the back, “…you remember, the one who was going to prosecute Falcone?”
Harvey’s eyes widened. He’d pictured a fearsome harridan of a woman with white hair and a figure long gone to seed in the name of justice, not the creature he’d seen, and “That’s her?”
“Yup. She’s actually supposed to be kinda a mediocre trial lawyer if Finch’s guys had anything to say about it-“
“Shut your mouth.”
Roger blinked, “…What? S’true. I heard it from Hiro who heard it from Heath who heard it from Jeph. Said she got the job by spreading her legs for the former DA when-“
“Roger.” Harvey growls, “When you don’t have anything nice to say you shouldn’t fucking say anything at all because your noise pollution affects the rest of us at the fucking table? Furthermore-when you are talking about a woman-any woman-referring to her sexual habits without personal-firsthand knowledge is not only rude-it’s almost fucking criminal.” He stands and throws his money on the table, “Get the hell out of my way.”
“Jeeez. What the hell’s eating him?”
“…Sounds like somebody’s in love.”
He nearly shatters the door on his way out, pretending not to hear.
-------------
The second time their paths cross fate intervenes. It washes over them both like water.
“…. You’re almost done right?”
Courtroom water fountains have a standing queue. You practically take numbers in order to get in line.
Harvey panics, hitting the button and spraying himself in the face as he withdraws-nearly knocking backwards into the person standing behind him. The commotion is momentary as Rachel raises an eyebrow in concern, “Are you all right?”
The panic increases. His mind shuts down grasping desperately for his world-renown wit, his logic. Desperately wanting to seem witty and cool he dragged a hand through his wet hair and grinned, “…. I uh…wanted water.”
…. Oh my god. We’re not related. That was possibly the worst line I think I have ever come up with. His brain rolled non-existent eyes; you could have at least been witty!
“…That’s why you were at the drinking fountain.” Rachel bent down as Harvey’s cheeks flushed.
His eyes closed, “…It’s uh…good water.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow, standing up a little straighter.
I’m divorcing you. That’s it, the end of our partnership. Okay-logic cells-KICKING IN-brain cells-REACTIVATED-
“That’s actually a fair statement given that this water along with the rest of Gotham’s water supply was poisoned by the Scarecrow three months ago.”
“The health department issued a statement saying they’d cleaned up the city’s water supply a month ago. Paranoid?”
He knows instantly that he’s said the wrong thing when she stalks off, turning her body away and sashaying down the hallway.
Well, anybody who didn’t see that coming raise his or her hands. Harvey rolls his eyes as his brain nodded firmly, Thought not. Smooth move Mr. “Bag um’ and Tag um’ Dent.”
“Shut up.” He commands his cerebral cortex. He turns away, flicking droplets of good water off his hands.
---------
“Your interest is based on a physical attraction. Talk to the woman, and you will see that you have nothing in common.”
Harvey went through his Simpsons DVDs. Some men had the bible, others had their families-Harvey Dent had the law-and when the law could not answer whatever questions he required he turned to other means.
The next day he breathed deep, channeling his inner yellow skinned barfly and dropped into the seat next to her, “You mind?”
She shakes her head.
It is here that reality becomes blurred. Their conversation turns to pleasantries and before long he finds himself discussing his cases with her-at least as much as he can. They are both offering opinions in the silhouetted sunlight of a warm summer day and Harvey Dent has never been happier.
That isn’t just a physical attraction.
He studies her like a lion on the Serengeti looking for signs of weakness. She is firm, her attention on him entirely. For the first time in a long time his cheeks flush red and he feels a stirring in his chest.
“Listen.” He smiled, “…. I’d love to talk about this some more.”
The light in her eyes dies and he can feel his chest start to heave, “…Hey Mr. Dent-“
“Harvey.”
“…Mr. Dent-aren’t-“ She eyed the clock, “Aren’t you supposed to be in court right now?”
“…Because I think if you and I had dinner we could-“ He jerked, “…JESUS FUC-“
Dimly he can hear his brain chuckling as he jogs down the hallway making apologies to all involved. When the judge asks for an excuse he considers (briefly!) Affairs of the heart.
“…Terrible Gastro-intestinal distress your honor.”
That’s going on the record but the court laughs and the judge laughs too, hiding a smile behind her hand as she motions to his chair. He has the jury won over and an excuse!
He grinned abruptly as his client made “crazy” motions with her hands.
----------------
Three more times he asks and three more times she denies him. It’s almost biblical. He knows he should give up, even when he wins he feels like he should be buying the beers at McGill’s because-
Because he’s never lost at this before. Not when women are involved. For the first time in his life he is on shaky ground.
I need you to ask yourself. His brain whispers gently, if this is a matter of interest or of pride. Because if this is a matter of pride you can forget it-we’re going to go out and pick up a law bunny-some chick who’ll do you if you talk dirty law enforcement to her and fuck her.
If this is interest. If this is genuine honest-to-god interest and you’re not looking to plant your flag then by all means we can continue to pursue this, you’re not Roger Harv.
Roger with his conquests of tears and lust.
You’re not “The gang” and you never have been. You know that, and I know that okay? So. Be honest. Interest? Or are you finally descending to the level of the plebeians you work with?
“So’d you ever boff that DA chick Dent?”
Roger is leering at him and in one fell swoop he sees his future. Pasty faced, one of the extras on law and order that the audience always despises.
“Fuck off.”
He slides out of the booth, turning into the darkness. In one moment he stands half in darkness and half in light as he throws his money down on the table ignoring their cries of dismay. They bleat like sheep.
He would not be one of them.
----------
It’s raining in Gotham City.
It’s raining as he thinks of the instance, but this rain is lighter, softer, and not quite as oppressive. He’s got one chance to hail the last cab of the night before going home and curling up with a case or perhaps (god forbid) a book or some other form of entertainment. He longs for the warmth of his bed, the humming of his fridge, the noise of his neighbors blasting music until three AM fingers clicking away at keys on their computers.
He does a double take as the figure out against the streetlights clears in his vision. Her hair hung in her face, shivering as she wrapped a jacket around her shoulders. He rummages-compassion on a night like this to someone with nowhere else to go isn’t unreasonable when he realizes-
It’s Dawes.
Hair wet, eyes wide she steps out into traffic and withdraws as the cars shoot past. She shouts angry words after them. All this is missing. Harvey thinks is the stereotypical puddle of rain splashed at the person trying to hail a cab.
It hits him instead. His second best suit is suddenly drenched.
“…Oh-Mr. Dent? Man, are you all right?”
“…. Wet.” He feigned a glance at her, “Not as wet as you. What, forget your canoe?”
“Funny. You are so funny.” She wrapped her arms around her chest, “trying to hail a cab.”
“That makes two of us.”
He hesitates half a heartbeat and reacts without thinking. The umbrella is suddenly over her head and the gloom clears.
“You-“
In a move that can only be accomplished by people in major cities across various countries-Harvey steps out into the rain and the haze of oncoming streetlights and death, “EY!”
The cab stopped short, door opening. Rachel staring at him-aghast as the cabbie snorted.
“Last fare of the night.”
“…Take it.” Rachel stepped out, “…I don’t live very far away.”
Harvey frowned, “…It’s soaking wet out here.” He motioned to the door, “G’wan. Get in.”
“…. It’s your cab-no really-“ she starts to say, “…I can-“
The minute he touched her, placing a hand on her shoulder one human being to another, sparks flew.
Fireworks erupted across the bay of their minds as they stared at each other, rain drumming on the umbrella, the cab roof, and their heads. Harvey blinks- trying to find the words to express his feelings.
Within himself, his brain smirks. Always knew the girl for us would be the one who left us speechless.
“I’ll be fine.”
They sound like final words. Like a husband letting his wife go on the Titanic. Ironic, given that if the water got any higher the city would probably float away. He finds her hands and puts the umbrella in them before turning on his heel to walk away.
“I can’t take this!”
Bold, daring, drenched, Harvey turns back to her.
“Give it back to me at Dinner.”
She stares. He can almost hear her own inner monologue, you son of a bitch! Is this some kind of trick? Trying to get in my pants by playing the nice guy?
Harvey held up his hands, “…Just a couple of friends trying to get to know each other better okay?”
Time stands still and he is there for minutes that seem like hours before he turns away, “…Or not.”
So that was it. The girl for him didn’t give a damn; such was the way of the world. He consoled himself by accepting that if anything she had made him remembers the reason why he’d become a lawyer in the first place. When he wrote his mother and his teachers back at Gotham U he’d have a reason to say that and if the stack of forms and background checks on his desk were any indication-
“…Chin’s.”
He turns. It’s a whisper; something falling in the rain, Batman’s footsteps in the shadows, a cashier admitting they’d made a mistake. It’s once in a lifetime.
“…Seven Thirty. Tomorrow night.”
And she is suddenly there with a piece of paper and a pen scribbling something before thrusting it quickly into his hands, “That’s my number okay?” She smiles fleetingly before bounding away like a deer and climbing into the cab.
He stares-dumbfounded-before he jams it into his pocket and runs for cover.
“Hey buddy-what’re you smilin’ about?”
The grizzled old news tender wipes an imaginary spot of water off the counter-a bartender without a counter. With the rain coming down it’s almost poetic, like a movie, like a serial-like some kind of comic book.
It is that he misses most, remembering it ages ago here and now. The poetry.
“…A case.”
The old man shakes his head as Harvey darts between buildings and overhangs like the shadow he will one day become grinning like a fool.