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seriousficTitle: starving to death but for bullets to feast on
Fandom: Nolanverse
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 431
Characters/Pairings: Harvey, Joker
Warnings: Spoilers for TDK
Summary: Harvey Dent hears both sides of an argument.
The Joker was talking, but all Harvey could hear was a roaring in his head. It outshouted Joker. It outshouted the world; the roar of an explosion. He wished, oh how he wished, that they would just leave him alone so he could listen to its scream, but they always came. Gordon, with his mewling words of apology; the Joker, with his late-night talk show banter.
The Joker pressed a gun into his hand and the roaring became even louder. An apocalyptic noise, the world outside burning away and leaving them alone. No Batman. No Gordon. No Rachel. Just him and the Joker, starving to death but for bullets to feast on.
The roaring got louder, rose in his ears like blood, but Rachel’s still-small voice canceled out even that. She was begging, pleading, for the Joker’s life. He was crazy, he was mentally deficient, he wasn’t responsible for his actions, he needed help.
Rachel would argue for him, even now. She would know the difference between vengeance and justice, even if Harvey couldn’t see it.
He turned the coin over in his hands, feeling the sharp prickle where its burnt side crossed his knuckles, the reassuring cool where it touched his fingertips. Chaos. Anarchy. As good a decision-maker as any. It’d been sheer chance that Gordon hadn’t gotten there in time, that one stray flame had ignited him and brought in the pain, the roaring, the fire eternally burning in his ear. He could respect Rachel’s wishes, even as he satisfied the rage. All he had to do… was leave it up to chance.
He flicked the coin. Its trajectory calmly interacted with the air, catching the light, bisecting Joker’s cat-that-got-the-scream grin before landing in Harvey’s outstretched hand. He slapped it on the back of his gun-hand, not making his aim waver an inch.
Silver, so polished it might’ve reflected him, shone when he took his hand away.
“See? I’m an agent of chaos, and chaos…” the Joker backed up, his smile seeming to encompass the whole room. “Chaos returns the favor.”
“Stop.” The gun wavered now, trembled in his hand as if possessed of some obstructing will of its own. “I’m… I’m bringing you in.”
“You won’t shoot me, Harv. You have bigger fish to fry. And besides…” He caught the knob of the door and leaned out. “Aren’t you through being the hero?”
Harvey lowered the gun and looked for his suit, his burnt and blackened suit. No disguise for him, no cowl, no make-up. He’d show them who he really was. He’d make them hear the roar.
Fandom: Nolanverse
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 431
Characters/Pairings: Harvey, Joker
Warnings: Spoilers for TDK
Summary: Harvey Dent hears both sides of an argument.
The Joker was talking, but all Harvey could hear was a roaring in his head. It outshouted Joker. It outshouted the world; the roar of an explosion. He wished, oh how he wished, that they would just leave him alone so he could listen to its scream, but they always came. Gordon, with his mewling words of apology; the Joker, with his late-night talk show banter.
The Joker pressed a gun into his hand and the roaring became even louder. An apocalyptic noise, the world outside burning away and leaving them alone. No Batman. No Gordon. No Rachel. Just him and the Joker, starving to death but for bullets to feast on.
The roaring got louder, rose in his ears like blood, but Rachel’s still-small voice canceled out even that. She was begging, pleading, for the Joker’s life. He was crazy, he was mentally deficient, he wasn’t responsible for his actions, he needed help.
Rachel would argue for him, even now. She would know the difference between vengeance and justice, even if Harvey couldn’t see it.
He turned the coin over in his hands, feeling the sharp prickle where its burnt side crossed his knuckles, the reassuring cool where it touched his fingertips. Chaos. Anarchy. As good a decision-maker as any. It’d been sheer chance that Gordon hadn’t gotten there in time, that one stray flame had ignited him and brought in the pain, the roaring, the fire eternally burning in his ear. He could respect Rachel’s wishes, even as he satisfied the rage. All he had to do… was leave it up to chance.
He flicked the coin. Its trajectory calmly interacted with the air, catching the light, bisecting Joker’s cat-that-got-the-scream grin before landing in Harvey’s outstretched hand. He slapped it on the back of his gun-hand, not making his aim waver an inch.
Silver, so polished it might’ve reflected him, shone when he took his hand away.
“See? I’m an agent of chaos, and chaos…” the Joker backed up, his smile seeming to encompass the whole room. “Chaos returns the favor.”
“Stop.” The gun wavered now, trembled in his hand as if possessed of some obstructing will of its own. “I’m… I’m bringing you in.”
“You won’t shoot me, Harv. You have bigger fish to fry. And besides…” He caught the knob of the door and leaned out. “Aren’t you through being the hero?”
Harvey lowered the gun and looked for his suit, his burnt and blackened suit. No disguise for him, no cowl, no make-up. He’d show them who he really was. He’d make them hear the roar.
