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emilyshotch · 2 years

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TITLE: Three Months Worth of Nightmares

CHARACTER(S): Clarice Abbott, Harvey Dent, Bruce Wayne, Thomas Dent, Carmine Falcone, Harvey Bullock (Mentioned), Sage Bullock (Mentioned), Vanessa Hearst (Mentioned)

SUMMARY: Post-Falcone arc. Harvey spends three months dreading if she'll ever wake up again. He spends the next three wondering how different things would have been if he made a different call.

TAGS: angst disguised as fluff, because i said so. I could do better with this if I actually knew how to write outside the dialouges sndjdjdk. I also don't know why i'm not writing clarice's name that much in the beginning LMAOOOO. good luck soldier.

There was one thing the Thomas Elliot Memorial Hospital made clear— it is not a hotel. Yet somehow, Harvey Dent has found many ways to make things work for him.

For one, the couch was his new bed. But in most days, it turned into his closet as he would occasionally bring in a couple of new set of dress suits and pajamas and let them loose over the covers.

The vending machines essentially became his new kitchen. While he hated having to eat a bunch of granola bars almost every single day, it was easier to eat. The lack of good coffee available is where he drew the line, however, to the point Harvey Bullock made it a habit to deliver him a fresher cup of coffee every morning before he goes to work. He realized just how much he needed it in order to start the day.

Stacks of paper, from confidential court opinions sent by the mayor's asssistant, to civil case files, to newspaper clippings, all found on the table in the other side of the room. It was also home to a lot of half-eaten takeouts Vanessa would bring over and half empty coffee cups he hadn't bothered to clean up. Sage and Tommy's homework would occasionally be there, too, and so were some of Bullock's pre-approved case files. At that point, everyone, even Harvey himself, has collectively agreed the table was his new office.

The radio, on the other hand, became his new form of entertainment. But Harvey preferred the room to be quiet in order to keep him focused. There would be days where the ward would be numbingly ominous that the only thing competing with the sound of his breathing was the heart monitor. Some days, there would be no sound at all, as all would be drowned by the horrified screams and silent cries from the recordings he forced himself to listen to.

She had a bug. No one knew how or what it was, but everyone could hear what was happening in that room the second they were able to pick it up. They didn't let Harvey listen— god forbid. But after begging Bullock to give him the recordings, he wished he had listened.

Harvey Dent had nothing to do with that. She always had a signature in her tone of voice. It was a force of nature that compels anyone to do and believe what she say. But behind the rigor of her speech was a tremble. A pattern that screamed panic.

She was terrified. Helpless. And he did nothing to stop it.

His fist clenched the second he heard a strike.

After that, a laugh.

That intimidating laugh.

But it was not from the executioner.

Did that make you feel like a man?

His nails dug deeper into his palms.

Was that everything you imagined it to be?

Harvey shut his eyes. Hold your fucking shit together, Harvey.

Love blinds you, Lady Justice. Another voice. Harvey's head shot up— Falcone. Distressed, his chest began to heave.

You are dying for him.

So be it.

He heard her breath escape her lips. He has never heard anyone feel so relieved from dying for someone.

He stopped the recording immediately, running his hand over his face in order to recollect himself. What have I done?

He looked down and the last tape presented itself. He eyed it briefly, reading the words 'last recording' scribbled over it yet somehow he found no relief. Once putting it in, he hesitantly pressed play.

He then braced himself.

Ha... Harvey.

I know you can hear this...

I... hope... you can hear this...

I don't know if I have much time left. That motherfucker...Fuck... She grunted. The same sound left Harvey.

It hurts. Everything hurts. I feel lost... helpless...She chuckled ruefully. I don't... I don't know what to do anymore. I can't... fight anymore... I’m tired.

"No, stay with me..." He began to sob.

If I don't make it... Tell Bruce that I'm sorry.

Tell... your son… our son… that I love him.

I need you to make sure Bullock doesn’t blame himself for everything.

Silent cries. Harvey couldn't hold it anymore.

Please don’t blame yourself, too… please. This was my fault…

Radio silence.

His throat felt like it was on fire. He was fighting the tears but it was a losing battle. Harvey slid his headset off him and before he knew it, he broke down.

The nurses found him on her bedside that same night, hands linked and a grip to show how much he would rather die than let her go.

It wasn't the first time he was caught in such position. In fact, it was always on a certain time. When the clock hits quarter to 2 in the morning, he would jump up like a trigger to then realize it was time for the nurses to check her I.V. After that, Harvey would find it difficult to go back to sleep. Not that he had any good sleep in the past three months.

Not after hearing her scream in his head and guilt acted like adrenaline.

Even Bruce began to show his concerns.

"I can stay with her, you know?" Bruce leaned beside the rails, cautious with eyeing the way Harvey tapped the ash off his cigarrette before he took another drag.

"What makes you say that?" Harvey's gaze remained at the skyline.

"You look like you haven't been sleeping."

Harvey chuckled bitterly, "Damn right." then he looked down at wrist. Three more minutes before someone comes to check her vitals. "Look, Bruce, I'm not gonna ask you for another favor."

"Watching after Tommy isn't a favor. It's something I have to do as her brother."

Have to do. Harvey scoffed shook his head. Something about Bruce's tone triggered him. Considering he was aware the siblings' silent feud, it left a terrible taste in his mouth. 'Have to do'— he repeated it in his head. What a fucking asshole.

When Bruce managed to take note of his silence, he took his words back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way." He put his head down again and changed the topic. "I've been looking into the news. So far, Falcone's nowhere to be found."

"Good." Harvey spoke coldly. His tone— if it was a weapon, it could kill.

"Good?" Bruce raised a brow.

"He's gonna pay for what he did to her."

"Trust me, he will." Bruce's eyes turned just as sharp, realizing what he meant and how he meant it. After witnessing him shoot Falcone's man without hesitation, who knew what else he could do with that anger. "But not that way."

Two minutes. "What would you have done, Bruce?"

Bruce paused, unpleased. "If I was the DA?"

Harvey turned from the skyline and finally looked at him, "If she was important to you." he corrected. "For once."

Bruce started to look disdained. Perhaps it was Harvey's poor choice of words, or perhaps it was the fact that he said nothing wrong. Every night she made it a habit to bring up Bruce at least once. And every night, all he heard was how much she wished Bruce could forgive her for the things that was never her fault. As much as Harvey wanted to stay neutral, he began to detest him for it, to the point they could no longer consider each other as friends.

"You don't know what I would do for my family."

The fucking nerve. Harvey scoffed.

"And you don't know what I would do for her." A beat. Perhaps two. One minute.

"Harvey! Bruce!" Both heads shot up to where the noise was coming from.

"Tommy?" his anxiety acquianted itself immediately.

"It’s Clarice..." Tommy nodded, looking nowhere else but to Harvey.

He didn't have to say it.

She's awake.

"Are you ready, Miss Abbott?"

Clarice turned to Harvey. He immediately reciprocated a response by holding her hand.

"The doctor advises for you not to use your voice, so a simple nod for 'yes' and shaking your head for 'no' works just as great."

Clarice nodded.

"Let's start with an easy one. Is your name Clarice Annabeth Abbott?"

Yes.

Harvey smiled to himself. While it was the simplest question, any progress she made was good enough for him.

And Annabeth; he forgot her middle name was Annabeth...

"Were you born in Blüdhaven, August 16, 1989?"

Yes.

"Is your mother's name Alexandra Abbott?"

No. God forbid.

"Good." The doctor noted. "Expect a lot of trick questions." Clarice scoffed behind her forced smile.

"Are you a detective?"

Yes.

"Do you remember your last case?"

Clarice looked down, taking a deep breathe as she shook her head.

Somehow, Harvey knew she lied.

"Okay." the doctor exclaimed, "Next question, do you have a pet cat?"

Yes.

"Is his name Adonis?"

Clarice smiled. Yes.

"Does Adonis like Maxine, Mr. Dent's Great Dane?"

Clarice chuckled, although silently. Yes. Like two peas in a pod.

"Do you remember how you got that injury on your throat?"

A gun was fired. Clarice lost her balance and then realized she was hit. She began to crawl away and seeked for safety, but the footsteps were faster.

"Miss Abbott?"

He grabbed her by her hair and dragged her up to her knees, and she was too exhausted to even fight him off. "Sleep tight, Lady Gotham. This might hurt."

The next thing she knew, she was on the ground in a man's arms, a hand pressing her neck down to stop the bleeding after a knife had grazed on the side of her neck.

"It's okay! It's okay. It's me. It's Harvey. I need you to stay still for me, baby, I NEED YOU TO STAY WITH ME."

No…

Clarice ran her fingers over the patch covering the side of her neck shivering at the thought before shaking her head again.

Harvey took it as a sign to end the questionaire. "I think that's good enough for today. She didn't rest very well last night."

As soon as the doctor left, Clarice held his hand tightly. There was no telling how tensed she was, but fear was no stranger to her eyes. As soon as their eyes were able to meet, Harvey didn't hesitate to try and calm her down.

"Hey, it's okay." he held her face, letting her tears fall to his thumb. "It's over, you can rest now."

Clarice did not believe that one bit.

So did he.

There was one thing Harvey's house made clear— it is not a hospital. While she didn't need to be attached to machines this time, there were still a few things that makes Clarice feel like a patient.

For one, Harvey never lets her leave the room without him. While it was for many reasons, Clarice felt incompetent to do things on her own, let alone take herself around the house.

She would argue with him, but when has a mime win an argument?

And as much as anything, Clarice felt like a newborn child.

A stubborn newborn child stuck under her boyfriend's roof.

They had been thinking about moving in together before the incident, but half of her was hoping it wouldn't be in this house. It has its advantages— such being only a few blocks away from the precinct, and being away from both the Manor and the Estate.

But the disadvantage of the house residing in Gotham outweighs all of the good things. She realized if she were to start over, it has to be someplace new.

Someplace beautiful.

Safe.

A world without the demons of this city.

But she knew how impossible that dream was. As deep down, she needed Gotham. She knew she wouldn't make it.

The clock hits midnight, and she heard the door downstairs open. The sound of the keys being hung became the second clue that Harvey is home. He went back to the office the week Clarice was discharged from the hospital (and after the GCPD and Batman himself greatly assured they will keep her under watch) but she noticed how late he was coming back home.

She didn't hear footsteps coming up the stairs, so Clarice assumed he went straight to the kitchen. She did not hesitate to get up and join him down there.

Her footsteps were weak, but Harvey's senses were sharp. When he turned around after getting himself a drink, there was a look of surprise in her face. Harvey only laughed. "I thought you were asleep."

Clarice bit her lower lip, shrugging. "I couldn't." her voice was hoarse; it was still healing.

"I'll meet you there soon." he downed a sip from his drink.

Clarice shook her head. Somehow, Harvey expected that.

"I... watched your hearing." She spoke again. She shouldn't be talking. "It was… live on television. In fact, it was the only thing they wanted to air."

"Yeah?" he said bitterly.

She looked down to the counter, tracing the lines of the marble as she nodded. "Yeah..."

"He was out of line. He had no right to mention your name."

"And you shouldn't have entertained it. He was on the stand, he wanted to aggrevate you."

How do we expect you to be Gotham's Savior, Mr. Dent? You couldn't even protect Detective Abbott.

The hearing echoed in his ears again. Harvey shut his eyes to calm himself down. The man was not wrong, clearly. "Well, it worked."

Slowly, she made her way to him, reaching for the glass after he had downed a sip and then carefully set it aside. "Look at me." she whispered to him.

Hesitantly, he turned to her.

"This is not your fault..."

She had always been the rationale in the chaos that was Harvey's mind, just as how he was the calm in her storm. A temperament they shared that made them equal and complete, where each of their pieces, while sharp in the edges, fit perfectly.

But this is the part where Harvey chose not to listen. No matter how many times he tried to convince himself otherwise, his hands were still red.

Clarice almost died because of him.

"I approved the raid over an gut feeling."

"It wasn't a gut feeling. Falcone's men were in that warehouse.” She justified his words immediately.

"But it was a gut feeling where I put you in danger."

Clarice was stunned, leaving her to sigh in the biggest defeat. "Harvey." She gently clutched the ends of his suit with one hand, as if it had a mind of its own and it was begging him to stop. "I love you so much that I can't bare to see you do this to yourself."

"Clarice—"

"Please." she cut him off, knocking his chest out of impulse. "Just for a minute I want you to realize none of this was your fault.”

A beat, perhaps two.

"Stop carrying a burden that was never yours." For a brief moment, all they did was drown into each other's eyes. He saw nothing but pure sorrow, as if Clarice was grieving for him. He couldn't help but wonder what exactly she could see in his.

Darkness? Absence? Spite?

She soon softened her grip to him and eventually made her way upstairs, silently wiping her tears.

Harvey didn't bother to watch her leave.

#help #just send help

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emilyshotch · 2 years

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DISCLOSURE

Harvey Dent x Clarice Abbott

Summary: Her anger is an enigma, especially when he realized just how much she bottles it up.

TAGS: Hurt / Comfort, Angst, harvey seeing clarice's "other side" that he never really get to see, they're like in their nine months in their dating timeline, one of the few times clarice couldn't control her emotions and harvey was there to make sure she understands that emotions are okay, i wish harvey is my boyfriend

TW: (attempted) murder, mentions of injuries, violent behavior

I had to do it.

The words circled around Clarice's head as if they were her new mantras, her old ones rewritten just to justify suffocating Sal Maroni enough to code. Moral over fantasy, she thought. To have his blood on her hands was a fantasy she wished to be a reality. But Clarice knew that even if she was willing to lose an ounce of her sanity and kill him in a heartbeat, she can't. Sal Maroni was not a good man, but he was still a man. And she will not be the one to spill his blood. He was not worth losing her humanity to.

Adrenaline washed over her when she made her way through the precinct. Her world turned mute; not a sound except her own breathing. Multiple people have already tried to get her attention but their words seemed to drown into the white noise. Not that Clarice bothered to listen. After all, when emotionally compromised, nothing else mattered. The hatred needed to go somewhere. Anywhere. (And god forbid it's to a living thing). Keeping to herself wasn't instinct, it was a choice, with her nails sticking to her palms ever-so-tightly, it could bleed. She knew if she let it go, she would explode.

After what seemed like hours of walking fastly, she found the door to the interrogation room— a sanctuary for her psyche, more often useful when she was on the clock. Clarice held a reputation that she could crack anyone into admitting a crime they committed. She was, at best, a lion, and anyone who disagrees are lying if they didn't feel intimidated with her.

The press called Clarice the Executioner for a reason. The only weapon she needed was a blindfold. She did not care about whoever sat in front of her. All that mattered was serving justice.

And Harvey Dent is perhaps the strongest tree in the midst of a hurricane that was her.

But in reality, there was never a disaster. In fact, he was often left speechless whenever anyone would bring up how Clarice was a force not to be reckon with.

"That doesn't sound like Clarice." He would say.

"Where do you think this black eye came from?"

"Well, you probably did your job wrong. And I wouldn't be surprised if that was actually true."

Harvey knew about her tendencies to throw a puncb at anyone who challenges her. In fact, it surprises him everyday that Jim Gordon lets it slide. He knew the way she handled her job, he knew her reputations when it comes to handling crooks in interrogation rooms (or anywhere for that matter), considering that was exactly how he knew about her. And best of all, he knew she was the kind of person who was unafraid to show the world she could turn it upside down in the name of justice.

It's what he loved about her, but it was also what worried him the most.

Harvey and Clarice have been keeping tabs on both the Falconis and the Maronis in light of the recent bombing that put Salvatore Maroni in the ICU. The moment the hospital cleared and assured the police he's stable, Clarice took the opportunity to talk with him. The conversation started slow, as Maroni could only speak two words in a minute. And for a moment, she was wordless herself, if anything she stood petrified half the time, as if seeing him struggle brought her back to the time not too longer ago where she couldn't say a word for almost a year, let alone express one.

After a while, her patience ran low. When Maroni began to mock her questions, it was almost like instinct when she looped the tube around her finger.

"We are not so different, Detective. You're also vengeful, spiteful." He paused, "Capable."

The fuse.

Clarice looped the tube one more time.

"Your justice show is just your pathetic excuse to show the world exactly what you are."

Clarice's eyes sharpened, and she became was exactly what Maroni had just said.

Vengeful.

Spiteful.

Capable.

"There is a difference between both of us."

Her hand began to clutch close.

"Because I'm not the one holding for dear life."

She rushed out of the room panicked, as the doctor and nurses pass her in the hall to respond on the flat line.

"I don't know! He just started..." she cried out, hands over her head and breathless, "He just started choking..."

She thought if Maroni had just kept his mouth shut and said nothing about her morality, perhaps things would be different.

But she knew she had to.

She wiped her tears and blankly walked away.

I had to do it.

The mantra circled around again, this time it grew louder now that she was alone. The interrogation room was a sanctuary, but it was too safe. Anything can happen in that room, and she was starting to feel afraid of the lengths she would be willing to do to test that theory.

She looked through the two-way mirror and the sight of the chair practically rushed her into the room itself. She pulled it out and sat quickly, then immediately slammed her head to the table, as if the contents in her head would just spill and spare her from the guilt

I had to do it.

No, you did not, Clarice. This time her conscience spoke. You could have killed him.

But I didn't.

But you know exactly what happens next.

I do?

"They will kill me." she muttered to herself.

She stood from the chair and began to pace. "They will kill Bruce." Her voice was louder this time. The pacing became more of a spiral. Back and forth, her chest began to heave.

Then she stopped at her tracks.

They will kill Harvey, too.

She couldn't let it out of her mouth. The thought was taunting enough.

Her hands began to shake despite her effort to stay still. She couldn't even bother to sit back down. While there was a moment where she was able to clasp close to reality, it was also quick to lose it, and the whole new world was suffocating her.

The mantra rang louder and louder until she could no longer hear her cries to make it stop. She held her head, pacing back and forth, tears running down her cheeks and her throat scorched.

I had to do it.

"Please..."

You can't save him.

"Hey!" Despite the ringing in her ears, the voice was loud and clear.

It was none other than Harvey.

Others rushed in, but that didn't matter.

She let out a small cry, half out of relief, and half out of exasperation. She melted into the arms that kept her hostage as he held her from behind, that they fell backwards onto the floor, far enough from the wall but close enough to see the impact, and she could tell Harvey was looking at it, too.

"Jesus Christ, Clarice... What..."

Clarice and Harvey lived in a world where they were harmonous. For a couple that worked full time and who were overtly dedicated to their professions, they somehow managed to make it work. They have only been dating less than a year, but to Harvey it felt like they've been married for a decade.

The Lady Justice and White Knight of Gotham, where in battle they are lethal, but with each other they melt.

But despite that, there were still a few things they haven't established with each other just yet. For one, Clarice barely knows about Harvey's childhood. It was something that often blows too fast into the wind and she could barely catch it. And Harvey— well— has never met her Aunt Alexandra. If he had, he would never even bother questioning why Detective Hayward got that black eye.

But after today, Harvey never imagined her temperament to achieve such degree. He knew Clarice and her tendencies. But this violent? Harvey lifted her broken hand to sight carefully. Noticing how her whole hand was practically purple from the bruise. He also suspected broken knuckles and fingers. When his fingers ran through her palm, he felt blood.

Her anger is an enigma, especially after he realized just how much she bottles it up.

He frowned at her sobs at Harvey tightened the embrace, as if letting her go will be the biggest mistake he'll ever make. He began to hum assurances. Promises that it will all be over.

But will it?

First, the scar in her throat. Now, these scars on her hand.

Nothing but everyday reminders that he can't save her.

#ignore nediksid #i just wanted to see how it looks on tumblr

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