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The squeak of rusty hinges on the door of a supposedly secret hideout had Edward pulling his gun out and pointing it to the door. It wasn’t Batman’s style to go in conventionally, but having anyone compromising his location is bad.
The doors closed again and the person thudded against the doors. Edward walked closer, gun posed to shoot, and looked over the man. He seemed... drunk.
“I scurry and I squeal, I’m a mouse with no appeal. I invade your home, and eat your sheaves, I ruin your schemes and leave you to grieve. What am I?”
The intruder finally looked at Edward, barely registered fear flashing through his eyes. Strange, he feels like he’s seen this face before.
“What are you doing here, vermin?”
“Had to. Hide.” The man mumbled it before collapsing onto Edward.
“Fucking wonderful.” It’d be easy to just shoot him and dump the body, or give him to whoever he’s hiding from. But Edward wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity to gain leverage on someone. And he looked awfully familiar…
He propped the body up against the door and started rummaging through his suit pockets until he found a wallet. The leather looked new and only had loose cash and an ID in it belonging to one Apollo Richter, age 27.
“I wear a mask to show my face, I'm Molière’s sinner out of place. What am I?” He compared the photo to the man in front of him. The face was similar enough but the structure was wrong. Either he was an underaged guy going clubbing, or an undercover cop.
Judging by his build, the bloodied knuckles, and lack of hickeys, Edward was leaning towards cop. A cop finding his hideout wasn’t great, but if he knew anything – which he most assuredly did – cops could easily be bought.
He tucked the wallet back into Apollo’s pockets, and left him to lay across the door. If his assailants found him there, it was no skin off his back. Besides, he needed to continue his trap for the Batman.
…
When Apollo finally woke up, Edward was sure to keep him from moving. He saddled his legs and pushed a gun under his chin. “Who are you?”
He jerked back, hitting his head against the metal walls. Faint recognition flashed through his eyes, muddled in confusion.
“Careful, Apollo, I’d hate for you to pass out again.” He watched the man flounder under him, and pushed the gun further into his chin with a smirk, “You were the one to stumble into my hideout and pass out. Now, if you’d like me to not throw you to whoever was chasing you, I’d like your name please. I know it’s not Apollo.”
“It’s Harvey. Dent.” He gritted out, angrily laying out his name. And no wonder Edward had seen him before, the Assistant District Attorney was beginning to make quite a name for himself going after the most powerful men in the city. Having him in his pocket could prove to be very useful.
“Hmm, Harvey Dent. You’ve built yourself quite a reputation, haven’t you. What’s a man like you doing running around drunk in the worst part of Gotham?”
Harvey tried to turn his head, only to be forcefully turned to look at Edward’s eyes with the barrel of a gun. He hummed inquisitively.
He could see him weighing his options before finally succumbing, “I was at the Iceberg. Someone laced my drink.”
“Oh is Mr. District Attorney not as straight-laced as he seems? If you have me you want to share me, if you share me you don't have me. What am I?”
Righteous anger sparked in his eyes, “I was looking for Falcone.”
“Right. Now I’ll let you go on your merry way, pretending to care about Gotham, but it really is a hassle to find a new base of operations. I take it you want me to match your monthly salary? Of course you’re gonna have to do some more things for me.”
Harvey grabbed Edward’s hand, pushing the gun out from under his chin, “I don’t take money from the likes of you,” He growled.
Edward stood up, “Everyone has their price, Mr. Dent.”
…
The more Edward learned about him the more he needed to see him again. Harvey Dent was a riddle, an endless contradiction. Seemingly incorruptible, but with his fair share of covered up incidents. It appeared he has a history of anger issues, all of which has been covered up by the money of Bruce Wayne.
A string of therapists had been treating him his whole life, most not lasting long. His most recent outburst – from over a year ago – resulted in court ordered anger management sessions, with this psychologist being the one who lasted the longest.
But it seemed that Dent had cleaned up his act, married his beautiful wife, Gilda Dent, and was running for District Attorney. Now he was trying to topple the largest crime family in Gotham.
For all appearances, Harvey Dent was an upstanding citizen who got sometimes out of line when drunk. But Edward knew there was more to him, and what better place to look for answers than the man’s own shrink?
“I treat you when you’re ill, and give you a little pill. I ask you what you hide, and expose your inner Hyde. Behind closed doors I show my true face, you will never escape this place. What am I?” He muttered as he knocked on the apartment door of Dr. Harleen Quinzel.
It took a few minutes before he heard footsteps approaching the door, then the sound of several locks opening. When the door finally opened it was to the face of a blonde peeking through the chained door. “What do ya want?” She clearly was trying to sound professional, but a bit of her Gotham accent slipped out.
“Dr. Quinzel, it’s nice to see you. I’m Edward Nygma.”
The door immediately closed at his name, meaning he was gonna have to do this a bit more forcefully. Until the door opened up again, this time without the chain.
Quinzel smiled as she welcomed him in, “Riddler, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m here to ask about one of your patients, Harvey Dent.”
Quinzel sits down on the couch, smooths out her pencil skirt, and gestures for him to sit across from her. Edward hesitantly sits down, pulling his cane on top of his legs.
“I think you know as well as I do that I can’t tell you anything. Doctor-patient confidentiality, and all that.” Her voice was bright, “Although I’d love to get to know you better.”
“Nice try, Doctor, but I have enough creepy shrinks in Arkham trying to call me insane. I just want to know about Harvey Dent.”
She giggled a little, “How about a deal? I get a session with Gotham's smartest villain, and I’ll tell you about Harvey.”
Edward immediately stiffened at the proposition. The opportunity to hear about Harvey from his doctor was too good to pass up, but he didn’t want anyone picking his brain. Maybe she’s dumb enough to let him lie through it.
He fixed her a look, “When do you want this session?”
“How about right now? Just give me ten minutes to make a call and I’ll be right with you.”
He flicked his hand in dismissal as she left, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
Chances are she’s calling the cops, but if that's the case he can get out of there easily. Or she's informing Dent that the Riddler is stalking him.
He got up to inspect the decor of her apartment, maybe he can avoid this whole ordeal with blackmail. There was something off about her, she was all too willing to give in.
There was a glass cabinet full of trophies that immediately piqued his interest, massive fake gold mementoes to her gymnastic victories. Framed photos of a young Quinzel in a leotard, smiling next to older men and girls her age. She was proud of her acrobatics, then. He was eyeing the lock holding it closed when Quinzel walked back in with a yellow legal pad.
“Sorry about that, just had to cancel an appointment with a patient.” She smiled at him.
“You were a gymnast. A rather good one at that, what made you pursue psychology instead?” He sat back down, crossing one leg over the other.
“This is your appointment, Edward, not mine.”
“Indulge me.”
She scribbled something down on her pad, “Let's start with something easy, what’s the deal with the riddles?”
He eyed the pad uneasily, “They’re clever, it’s not my fault people don’t understand them.”
More notes, “Interesting. They seem rather self-sabotaging, clues leading to the crime. I’m sure you would’ve gotten away with much more plots without them.”
He wrinkled his nose in contempt, “Well it’s not like you would understand.”
She looked back at him and smirked, “Indulge me.”
“What do you want me to say, that my childhood sucked? That my father beat me? I use the riddles to assert that I’m smarter because I’ve been made to feel like a fool all my life? Well here’s the truth, Doctor, I’m not insane and I don’t have a tragic fucking backstory. I kill people because I want to, and BATMAN BE FUCKING DAMNED!” He sat back down on his seat, without realizing he got up in the first place. His chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
Dr. Quinzel looked at him calmly, “I want you to tell me the truth.”
“I quack like a duck, and I don’t give a fuck. I’ll give you a sigh, and leave you to die. What am I?” He said viciously.
She thought about it for a second then smiled, “Bad experience with therapists, huh?” She wrote more stuff in that legal pad. Edward was gonna have to steal that later, “Answer me this one question and I'll tell you about Harvey.”
He grit his teeth and nodded.
“Have you tried doing a crime without leaving clues for Batman?”
Edward scrutinized her, “I don’t think it’s wise to advise me on my crimes, Doctor,” She gave him a look, “Yes, I’ve tried. I tried to do it once without using riddles, so that Batman couldn’t find out. It caused me so much physical pain that I had a mental breakdown and practically gave myself to the Batman.”
This was the point where most doctors gave up. Called him insane and gave him a mind numbing pill, then acted like they made a revolutionary discovery. The Question Mark Freak is Insane, More at 8.
“Sounds like a compulsion.” Quinzel said instead.
“What?”
“You can’t not tell riddles. If you don’t give in you can feel it, so you do. But the more you give in, the worse it gets.” She laid it out simply.
“Listen, Quinzel, I didn’t come here to be psychoanalyzed. Just tell me about Harvey Dent.”
She laughed in response, as if he was the fucking Joker, “Okay I’ll tell you about Harvey. I first started treating him because of his aggressive tendencies linked to his anger issues. He had several instances of getting into public fights that needed to be addressed. But the more sessions we had it became apparent he was suffering from paranoia, OCD, and PTSD as well. The majority of our sessions have been about that,” Quinzel flashed the smile featured in all her gymnastics pictures, “I would love a chance to have another session with you, Edward.”
He got up and gripped his cane tightly in his hand, “I wouldn’t” He was out the door in a few seconds, “It would’ve been easier just to steal his file.”
…
Edward couldn’t get Dent off his mind. What was supposed to be simple blackmail had become a full blown obsession. He needed to meet Dent again. He needed to ruin him.
Just when this craving was about to turn a corner – when Ed was going to hunt Harvey Dent down himself – someone walked into his hideout. Or rather, slammed the door with a loud crash of metal and came running towards him.
“Riddler,” The very subject that has been haunting his every thought had grabbed onto his arms and was desperately yelling at him, blood dripping down his face, “I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I just need to hide out for a bit. I’m sorry.”
Dent was pleading with him, out of breath and desperation painting his face. It was delicious. Edward smiled and reached for his hands, “It's no problem at all, Harv.”
Harvey jerked back at the nickname, eyes widening, “There was just– I got into some trouble. I figured I’d be safe here.”
“You seem to be getting into a lot of trouble, Mr. Dent.” He purred, “Now who was it that was giving you some trouble?”
“I don’t– just some thugs. I guess they aren’t a fan of me.”
Something burned in Edward's stomach. For whatever reason, Dent chose to come to him. He delighted in it, “Let me clean that for you.”
Harvey nodded dumbly.
There was a first aid kit stored in the first drawer of his desk, stocked full with gauze and bandages. He pulled out an alcohol wipe and a butterfly bandage. He turned back to Harvey, “Look at me.”
Dent dutifully looked at Edward, and he relished in the control. Then he gently took Harvey’s face into his hand and wiped the blood away from his wound. He hissed when the alcohol touched his cut, but his face was guided back towards Edward.
Harvey looked almost disappointed when he removed his hand to apply the bandage, but it went away quickly when he stepped back.
Edward smiled, admiring his work, “You just stay in here, Harvey, I’ll go take care of them,” He grabbed his pistol, “We wouldn’t want Gotham to lose you so soon.”
Harvey grabbed his wrist again, “No, don’t! They’re just a bunch of kids.”
Edward tilted his head, then reached behind him for a coin he snatched from the Joker. “Let’s flip for it. Heads: I take care of them, Tails: we let them go unpunished.”
Harvey seemed split for a moment before nodding. Edward flipped the coin and caught it, “Oh, look at that. Heads.”
He looked over at Harvey to see if there was an objection, but he seemed pacified. Edward tossed the coin over to him and left.
The thugs weren’t that hard to find, they were wandering out like fools trying to find Dent.
“Riddle me this, what’s black and white and red all over?” He called out to them.
The 4 of them turned to face him, “Shit, it’s the Riddler!”
Another guy turned to the one who spoke, "Please, all he does is talk!"
Edward quickly unloaded two bullets into the guy’s skull, “I bite too.”
The rest of the thugs turned and ran with their tails between their legs, but he wasn’t gonna let them go. Another bullet hit a guy in the back, making him collapse, and Edward had a third pinned under him quickly. He leaned down to whisper in his ear, “This is for Harvey Dent,” Then he slammed his gun down on the guy’s head. He turned his attention to the last one.
He had frozen completely, as if he was prey hiding in tall grass. Edward leveled his gun and shot through his magazine, blood spraying all over his suit and face.
When he returned, Harvey was standing with a face of betrayal and disappointment, “You cheated.”
Edward walked up to him and patted his cheek, smearing more blood across his face, “That’s just how the system works.”
Harvey turned towards the door, his voice was rough, “Yeah, I guess it is.”
…
Edward was bruised and bleeding from his latest altercation with the Bat, only barely escaping from transport to Arkham because Batman had more pressing matters. He was grateful to not end up in jail, but the idea that someone could have higher priority than him sent him into a jealous rage.
He was too far from his nearest hideout to go without risking someone finding him – whether that be Batman or another gang leader, neither looked good for him. He would've been, albeit begrudgingly, content with hiding out where he was until it dawned on him. The address of Harvey Dent’s house was nearby.
He stumbled through the alleys, tripping occasionally, until he saw the idealistic neighborhood that housed the Dents. He had previously walked around the area before, counting the number of houses and watching when each person turned off the lights.
He hefted himself on top of the wooden fence and jumped over, gracefully falling on his ass into what he hoped was the correct backyard. If it wasn’t, he could probably kill the owner and hide overnight, he just needed to get inside soon. The light was off in a window roughly 4.5 feet off the ground, and he grabbed the screen window by the edge and ripped it off. His trembling fingers grasped the window and he pulled it open and squeezed himself inside.
The thud of his body hitting the tile floor of the bathroom had to be enough to alert anyone who was home, but he disregarded that in favor of rummaging through the cabinets to find a first aid kit.
The shelves were stocked with small Band-Aids next to bottles of escitalopram and risperidone, both prescribed to Harvey Dent by Harleen Quinzel. Bottles of acetaminophen and melatonin sat underneath.
“Riddler? What are you doing here?” Harvey was standing in the doorway, a pistol fixed on Edward’s face. He was noticeably disheveled, like he just got out of bed with his–
Jealousy reared its ugly head at the thought and his gut twisted, “I just need some bandages.”
The pistol lowered, “What happened?”
Edward pointed his fingers up on either side of his head, and Harvey's face twisted, “Right,” He bent down where Edward was, barely a breath away from touching him, “Let me just–” He pulled out the kit.
He got up and motioned at him, “Sit down and I’ll handle it for you,” He grabs a rag and runs it under water before turning back to Edward, who then sits on top of the counter.
His hands were gentle, holding his face in place and wiping away the blood smeared there. Edward let his eyes flutter closed as Harvey crowded into him. The cloth wiped at his split lip, and he pulled away, only to be guided forward again.
The hands moved down to unbutton his shirt, and Edward gladly let him. His bare chest was riddled with bruises and scars, he was certain some of his ribs were cracked during the fight today.
The care stopped and Edward opened his eyes again, only to be met with Harvey's angry stare hovering in front of his face.
“Riddler–”
“Edward,” He corrected.
“Eddie, how often does this happen?”
Edward’s heart melted at his name and the protective rasp in Harvey’s voice. He needed more. He needed all of Harvey’s attention and rage.
“Whenever Batman finds me, or I piss off some brutish gang leader, or when I get dragged back into Arkham and the guards are particularly pissed.”
Harvey grasped at his arms, anger sparkling in his eyes, clearly about to say something until someone clears their throat.
“What the fuck is the Riddler doing in our house?” Gilda Dent, Harvey’s wife – a reminder that he'll never truly be Edward's – is standing in the door frame.
Harvey stepped away from Edward and put on his award winning smile, “Gilda, honey, I was just helping him out. He got me out of a tight spot a while ago.”
Edward wrinkled his nose at the sweetness. He reached out for Harvey's hand, “I’m sorry to intrude,” He wasn’t. “I'll just be leaving now.”
Harvey turned back around, “No, stay, you're injured.”
Warmth engulfed him, the feeling of Harvey caring about him was a high enough to dull the pain. He opened his mouth to throw in one more objection on principle, but was stopped by bandages being torn off a roll. He swallowed down the fake rejection.
Gilda stayed in the doorway, surveying the scene with a steady eye. Harvey kept his distance this time, only leaving brief lingering touches after securing the bandage. He stepped back as soon as he was done, “I hope that works,” before leading Gilda out, presumably to talk about Edward.
Although Harvey never stated he should leave, he couldn't stomach the thought of seeing him and Gilda being in love. He climbed out the window and disappeared into the night.
…
Harvey stumbled into the one hideout of the Riddler’s that has been compromised – yet still receives frequent use – covered in blood with a far away look in his eyes. Edward immediately jerked to attention at this and came rushing over.
“Harvey? What happened?” He grabbed Harvey’s face, inspecting the blood splatter. The blood was splattered towards Harvey, not from him. Whose blood was it?
“Ed. I fucked up.” Harvey was soft spoken and desperate, unlike his usual headstrong persona. His hands tightly grasped at Edward's lapels. His knuckles were raw and bloody.
“What happened, baby?” He wiped some of the blood from his cheek, staining his lavender gloves with red.
“I– someone was threatening, they were threatening Gilda. And I– he– I was just punching and punching, he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. I could hear the screams. I could feel him stop breathing.” Harvey was choking up, tightening his hold on Edward.
“Where is he now?”
“Gone. Dead. I– I left him. In the alley. Gilda was still there. Watching,” He sobbed, “She must hate me.”
His stomach clenched at the mention of Gilda, but he forced himself to calm down and smooth through Harvey’s hair, “Just tell me where the body is, Harv, it’ll be like it never happened.”
Harvey shoved his face into Edward’s neck and mumbled the location against his skin. He could barely focus on what was being said, too caught up in the sensation of Harvey against him, depending on him. He cherished the feeling of Harvey’s future being in his hand. He could ruin his chances of being DA. He could force Harvey to run back into his arms forever.
Edward pulled Harvey’s face to his and grazed his lips onto his, the slightest brush of them together. “Don’t worry, Harv, I’ll take care of you.”
He had a phone call to make, but then he could cradle the broken mess of Harvey Dent in his hands like a dying match.
…
Riddler had made sure the mess was taken care of. The body was on the bottom of Gotham Harbor, to be discovered in a week with all evidence washed away. No one could prove that the up and coming District Attorney, the bright and beautiful Harvey Dent was involved. He might've even end up prosecuting that case, if he was lucky.
But Edward still had to tie up loose ends. He left Harvey alone in the safehouse as he went to visit his wife.
He easily slipped in the window of the Dent's bedroom to find Gilda sitting on a chair reading. She looked as if nothing had happened the night before. As if her husband wasn't missing and another body wasn't haunting the harbor.
“Gilda.” He greeted, and she finally put down her book.
“Riddler.”
“I believe you know why I’m here.” He walked closer to her, skirting around the bed. The bed that Harvey would sleep in, where he would be humping Gilda on a happier day. Where they were trying for a baby. Where Edward would never get to be, where he could never feel Harvey like that–
Gilda leveled him with a glare, one that saw straight through him, “I’m sure I don’t.”
Edward evaluated her, looking up and down at the woman that Harvey had chosen. “You don’t look too choked up about what happened.”
“I believe in Harvey Dent.”