Someday? [a longish fic-type thing + RP thread ]
How the hell did we wind up like this?
Why weren't we able
To see the signs that we missed
And try to turn the tables?
Twenty years ago, the suburban subdivision was brand new. It was one of those gated communities with three-car garages, pools in every backyard and a ridiculous amount of square footage per two-story home. He remembered the afternoon like it was yesterday.
The radio was playing. Every radio station in Gotham’s broadcasting range was repeating the same news story that was already on newsstands -
Harvey Dent Elected District Attorney in Historic Landslide!
The New Law: Gotham Puts a Dent in Crime
The victory party the night before had been long, exhausting. It took a lot of energy to be the face of hope and change for an entire city. The following morning had been a whirlwind of photo-ops and press interviews. At some point late that afternoon, he grabbed Rachel’s hand and took her down the hall from his office, then out one of the back exits of the building.
“Where’re we going?” She asked. It wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last time he scurried her off somewhere by surprise.
“We’re going out for some air,” he said. They got in his sedan - practical, economical, but with a crisp interior and a decent enough sound system - and he began to drive out of the city.
“What’re you doing??” Rachel couldn’t believe it as she looked back toward Gotham. “You’re Gotham’s most sought-after man…and you’re going the opposite direction of where everyone else is.”
“Exactly,” he grinned at her.
She laughed. “I should’ve known. Where are you driving us?”
Harvey shrugged. “Wherever…”
What he hadn’t anticipated was being low on gas so ‘wherever’ ended up being a turnoff, about half an hour away from the City, that led to bright, shiny suburbia. They found themselves on a tree-lined street full of model homes. They parked the car and went through each house, Rachel making up stories for each place, each room. When they got to the last house, she didn’t say much, just took it all in.
“Well?” Harvey asked. “What about this place? Soccer mom? Doctor dad?”
“No, I think this house doesn’t have kids yet,” Rachel said, “Two young professionals just starting out maybe…”
“They’ve at least gotta have a dog,” Harvey grinned. “I mean the 2.5 kids could be eventual…but they’ve at least gotta have a dog.”
“Golden retriever,” Rachel laughed.
He held her around the waist confidently as they finished walking through the house. They’d never really discussed a future together, but they had been growing more serious recently. In the fever-pitch leading up to the election, times were busy, but more and more, Harvey was considering the fact that Rachel Dawes could very well be the one.
But twenty years later, the gated community was no longer under the watchful eye of professional security. It was graffiti-ridden, the large houses now either vacant or overrun by drug dealers or vagrants or used for who-knew-what other nefarious activities. As Gotham fell into despair after the alleged death of its White Knight, certain surrounding areas such as this one had followed. Crime was up everywhere. The glimmer of hope they’d all been given was taken away in the time it took to press a button on a timer. When Harvey Dent was eventually found out to be alive in the form of the villain Two-Face, Gotham City and the outlying area only fell further.
Harvey’s current vehicle-of-choice, a nondescript sedan in need of an oil change, moved through the hollowed-out suburban town. They’d only gone there that once, but he’d been here a few times on his own, after, over the years when he needed to get away from everything his life had become. Each time he paused at the house, that last house.
“They’ve at least gotta have a dog.”
“Golden retriever.”
The first time, about three months after his world had gone to hell, there was a young family visiting the model home, questioning the realtor, a baby on the mother’s hip and a little girl holding the father’s hand. The second time, a month after that, there was a “sold” sign in the yard. He hadn’t come back for two more years. By that time, there were three kids and a black lab. The street didn’t seem as safe as it had been before, though. Harvey’s visits became less frequent. The family moved out, another moved in, but it wasn’t the same. The last time he went, he’d ended up scaring some would-be thugs off of the property.
Now, as he turned off the engine and got out, he was oddly pleased to see that the place appeared to be abandoned. The first time he’d noticed signs of neighborhood decay, all of those years ago, it made his heart sink - to think that he was partially to blame. Now? Now he got a feeling of satisfaction that made him sick. If Harvey Dent was going to hell, he might as well take all of Gotham, the whole damn world, with him, right?
He spent a few nights there, in the building - it was no longer a home, hardly a house, but there were walls to shield him from the wind and rain, a defunct toilet that managed to be ‘good enough’, and a convenience store about a block away where he could get shitty food from, when he felt like eating, and more importantly, that sold alcohol.
Actually, if he thought about it, he wasn’t sure how long he spent there. Between maintaining a steady diet of alcohol and Ritz crackers, things began to get a little heady. He fell asleep each night, or sometimes for periods during the day, and if he drank enough, his dreams were nothing by the time he woke. If he was unlucky, he woke up screaming, clutching at his face, feeling it on fire anew. Other times, his dreams were slow-moving, achingly long montages. Oddly, he could handle the ones with Rachel. After all of this time, the bitterness he felt upon waking was old hat, familiar. The ones that left him sick to his stomach, retching into the bathtub like an animal, were the ones involving the family he’d left behind for this place.
As he slept fitfully, he’d see Nadine by the doorway, begging him not to go, or waiting for him patiently when he finally returned, her bruises-what he’d done to her-stark, brash against her pale face.
I wish you'd unclench your fists
And unpack your suitcase
Lately there's been too much of this
Don’t think it’s too late
She’d always believed in him-not just when he’d been the District Attorney. Would Rachel have believed in him if she could see him now? She’d be mistress of Wayne Manor, that concerned, pitying look she was so good at now aimed in Harvey’s direction. But Nadine…was always there, always hopeful. What had he done to show his gratitude? Exactly what his father had. He promised and promised each time to make it up to her. All those necklaces-she wore them so damn proudly, defensively. Every time, she believed him.
Nothin's wrong
Just as long as
You know that someday I will
Someday, somehow
Gonna make it all right, but not right now
Duela was absent from his dreams until the last night. She snuck in, which was just like her, at about age seven. She was screaming, crying, had fallen out of a tree. He ran to her, holding her close, shielding her from the awkward angle that her leg was now at. It happened in his dream just like it’d actually happened-he talked to her, joked with her, reassured her.
She was his chance to do what was right…to atone for his mistakes…
Now the story's played out like this
Just like a paperback novel
Let’s rewrite an ending that fits
Instead of a Hollywood horror
As he woke, he remembered vividly the fear he’d felt that day-fear of losing her-not just for his own selfish reasons. More than being a Dent who could finally bring back hope to the City, Duela was, at that young age and even as she was now, practically a grown woman, a testament that good still existed in Gotham, even if it wasn’t necessarily in its traditional form. Of course, Gotham liked heroes in the form that it liked them, when it liked them.
Harvey staggered out into the street, back to his car, and he couldn’t get her face out of his mind-those cheekbones, the eyes-none of it was his, she wasn’t the Dent who would bring back anything-she wasn’t a Dent at all. Empty promises couldn’t fix that, neither could presents or her mother’s hopeful looks. He started the car engine. There was one final place he needed to go. Final-final before what-he wasn’t sure…he just needed to go there. He drove out of Suburbia Decayed and to the other side of Gotham’s outskirts.
When he reached the cemetery, Harvey slowed down, going past row after row until he reached the one he was looking for.
The headstone was simple, but a nicer grade marble than most, paid for by Wayne himself. Rachel Dawes. Loving daughter, friend, public servant.
It was the first time he’d gone there that his tears weren’t just for her, for them, for what could have been there. As he sank to his knees by the headstone, keeled over, his body shook not only for that but for the last twenty years, for the mistakes that he’d made, every empty promise, every failed chance. He felt his hand upon his gun, heard it slide out of the holster, felt the cool tip of metal against his cheek. He didn’t want to end anything…he just wanted…god, what did he want? He wanted to see Rachel one last time. Even if he pulled the trigger, he wouldn’t end up on a cloud with a halo, and he was pretty sure that was where Rachel was. He wanted to undo those goddamn bloodtests, he wanted-
It was so easy to want. You could want a two-story house with a three-car garage in a gated community. You could want the world and get the world but when the world came crashing down, what then?
“Empty promises,” he said softly, to no one, the gun still against his skin, not because he was actually inclined to pull the trigger right then, but because he needed it, like a security blanket. He needed the choice. He needed to decide. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket for the coin. “You live or you die,” he told himself, voice still quiet. “You pay for what you’ve done or you don’t,” he said, the thought not occurring to him that there were different types of atonement. He only knew one any more.
Silently, he chose his old standard-heads. He let go of the coin, tossing it into the air.
Why weren't we able
To see the signs that we missed
And try to turn the tables?
Twenty years ago, the suburban subdivision was brand new. It was one of those gated communities with three-car garages, pools in every backyard and a ridiculous amount of square footage per two-story home. He remembered the afternoon like it was yesterday.
The radio was playing. Every radio station in Gotham’s broadcasting range was repeating the same news story that was already on newsstands -
Harvey Dent Elected District Attorney in Historic Landslide!
The New Law: Gotham Puts a Dent in Crime
The victory party the night before had been long, exhausting. It took a lot of energy to be the face of hope and change for an entire city. The following morning had been a whirlwind of photo-ops and press interviews. At some point late that afternoon, he grabbed Rachel’s hand and took her down the hall from his office, then out one of the back exits of the building.
“Where’re we going?” She asked. It wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last time he scurried her off somewhere by surprise.
“We’re going out for some air,” he said. They got in his sedan - practical, economical, but with a crisp interior and a decent enough sound system - and he began to drive out of the city.
“What’re you doing??” Rachel couldn’t believe it as she looked back toward Gotham. “You’re Gotham’s most sought-after man…and you’re going the opposite direction of where everyone else is.”
“Exactly,” he grinned at her.
She laughed. “I should’ve known. Where are you driving us?”
Harvey shrugged. “Wherever…”
What he hadn’t anticipated was being low on gas so ‘wherever’ ended up being a turnoff, about half an hour away from the City, that led to bright, shiny suburbia. They found themselves on a tree-lined street full of model homes. They parked the car and went through each house, Rachel making up stories for each place, each room. When they got to the last house, she didn’t say much, just took it all in.
“Well?” Harvey asked. “What about this place? Soccer mom? Doctor dad?”
“No, I think this house doesn’t have kids yet,” Rachel said, “Two young professionals just starting out maybe…”
“They’ve at least gotta have a dog,” Harvey grinned. “I mean the 2.5 kids could be eventual…but they’ve at least gotta have a dog.”
“Golden retriever,” Rachel laughed.
He held her around the waist confidently as they finished walking through the house. They’d never really discussed a future together, but they had been growing more serious recently. In the fever-pitch leading up to the election, times were busy, but more and more, Harvey was considering the fact that Rachel Dawes could very well be the one.
But twenty years later, the gated community was no longer under the watchful eye of professional security. It was graffiti-ridden, the large houses now either vacant or overrun by drug dealers or vagrants or used for who-knew-what other nefarious activities. As Gotham fell into despair after the alleged death of its White Knight, certain surrounding areas such as this one had followed. Crime was up everywhere. The glimmer of hope they’d all been given was taken away in the time it took to press a button on a timer. When Harvey Dent was eventually found out to be alive in the form of the villain Two-Face, Gotham City and the outlying area only fell further.
Harvey’s current vehicle-of-choice, a nondescript sedan in need of an oil change, moved through the hollowed-out suburban town. They’d only gone there that once, but he’d been here a few times on his own, after, over the years when he needed to get away from everything his life had become. Each time he paused at the house, that last house.
“They’ve at least gotta have a dog.”
“Golden retriever.”
The first time, about three months after his world had gone to hell, there was a young family visiting the model home, questioning the realtor, a baby on the mother’s hip and a little girl holding the father’s hand. The second time, a month after that, there was a “sold” sign in the yard. He hadn’t come back for two more years. By that time, there were three kids and a black lab. The street didn’t seem as safe as it had been before, though. Harvey’s visits became less frequent. The family moved out, another moved in, but it wasn’t the same. The last time he went, he’d ended up scaring some would-be thugs off of the property.
Now, as he turned off the engine and got out, he was oddly pleased to see that the place appeared to be abandoned. The first time he’d noticed signs of neighborhood decay, all of those years ago, it made his heart sink - to think that he was partially to blame. Now? Now he got a feeling of satisfaction that made him sick. If Harvey Dent was going to hell, he might as well take all of Gotham, the whole damn world, with him, right?
He spent a few nights there, in the building - it was no longer a home, hardly a house, but there were walls to shield him from the wind and rain, a defunct toilet that managed to be ‘good enough’, and a convenience store about a block away where he could get shitty food from, when he felt like eating, and more importantly, that sold alcohol.
Actually, if he thought about it, he wasn’t sure how long he spent there. Between maintaining a steady diet of alcohol and Ritz crackers, things began to get a little heady. He fell asleep each night, or sometimes for periods during the day, and if he drank enough, his dreams were nothing by the time he woke. If he was unlucky, he woke up screaming, clutching at his face, feeling it on fire anew. Other times, his dreams were slow-moving, achingly long montages. Oddly, he could handle the ones with Rachel. After all of this time, the bitterness he felt upon waking was old hat, familiar. The ones that left him sick to his stomach, retching into the bathtub like an animal, were the ones involving the family he’d left behind for this place.
As he slept fitfully, he’d see Nadine by the doorway, begging him not to go, or waiting for him patiently when he finally returned, her bruises-what he’d done to her-stark, brash against her pale face.
I wish you'd unclench your fists
And unpack your suitcase
Lately there's been too much of this
Don’t think it’s too late
She’d always believed in him-not just when he’d been the District Attorney. Would Rachel have believed in him if she could see him now? She’d be mistress of Wayne Manor, that concerned, pitying look she was so good at now aimed in Harvey’s direction. But Nadine…was always there, always hopeful. What had he done to show his gratitude? Exactly what his father had. He promised and promised each time to make it up to her. All those necklaces-she wore them so damn proudly, defensively. Every time, she believed him.
Nothin's wrong
Just as long as
You know that someday I will
Someday, somehow
Gonna make it all right, but not right now
Duela was absent from his dreams until the last night. She snuck in, which was just like her, at about age seven. She was screaming, crying, had fallen out of a tree. He ran to her, holding her close, shielding her from the awkward angle that her leg was now at. It happened in his dream just like it’d actually happened-he talked to her, joked with her, reassured her.
She was his chance to do what was right…to atone for his mistakes…
Now the story's played out like this
Just like a paperback novel
Let’s rewrite an ending that fits
Instead of a Hollywood horror
As he woke, he remembered vividly the fear he’d felt that day-fear of losing her-not just for his own selfish reasons. More than being a Dent who could finally bring back hope to the City, Duela was, at that young age and even as she was now, practically a grown woman, a testament that good still existed in Gotham, even if it wasn’t necessarily in its traditional form. Of course, Gotham liked heroes in the form that it liked them, when it liked them.
Harvey staggered out into the street, back to his car, and he couldn’t get her face out of his mind-those cheekbones, the eyes-none of it was his, she wasn’t the Dent who would bring back anything-she wasn’t a Dent at all. Empty promises couldn’t fix that, neither could presents or her mother’s hopeful looks. He started the car engine. There was one final place he needed to go. Final-final before what-he wasn’t sure…he just needed to go there. He drove out of Suburbia Decayed and to the other side of Gotham’s outskirts.
When he reached the cemetery, Harvey slowed down, going past row after row until he reached the one he was looking for.
The headstone was simple, but a nicer grade marble than most, paid for by Wayne himself. Rachel Dawes. Loving daughter, friend, public servant.
It was the first time he’d gone there that his tears weren’t just for her, for them, for what could have been there. As he sank to his knees by the headstone, keeled over, his body shook not only for that but for the last twenty years, for the mistakes that he’d made, every empty promise, every failed chance. He felt his hand upon his gun, heard it slide out of the holster, felt the cool tip of metal against his cheek. He didn’t want to end anything…he just wanted…god, what did he want? He wanted to see Rachel one last time. Even if he pulled the trigger, he wouldn’t end up on a cloud with a halo, and he was pretty sure that was where Rachel was. He wanted to undo those goddamn bloodtests, he wanted-
It was so easy to want. You could want a two-story house with a three-car garage in a gated community. You could want the world and get the world but when the world came crashing down, what then?
“Empty promises,” he said softly, to no one, the gun still against his skin, not because he was actually inclined to pull the trigger right then, but because he needed it, like a security blanket. He needed the choice. He needed to decide. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket for the coin. “You live or you die,” he told himself, voice still quiet. “You pay for what you’ve done or you don’t,” he said, the thought not occurring to him that there were different types of atonement. He only knew one any more.
Silently, he chose his old standard-heads. He let go of the coin, tossing it into the air.