Chapter Text
Blood trickled onto the ground, the rain not helping, and water beaded on his face. Two-Face trudged through the alleys, his hand at his side, bleeding horribly. Everything had gone terribly. What was supposed to be a simple hold-up turned into a massacre, as Thorne's henchmen had ambushed them, and Harv took a bullet from one of Thorne's goons.
The man with the white and black hairs walked down the avenue, where he had heard from certain Rogues that a surgeon was treating people, no matter who they were. Honestly, Two-Face didn't believe it. Someone treating people, even the worst criminals, without any compensation. It had to be a trap. Yet, Harv went anyway to the address, because he had no choice. The body was losing too much blood, and he absolutely had to save Harvey.
"—Yes, Clarence, I'm done for the night." Tommy laughed within the comfort of his own home, phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder.
His usual shift was taken over by someone else, and it turned out another Arkham inmate decided to sneak through his window for a 'quick fix.' Perhaps this inmate was lucky he got there just before the rain started blistering against the windows.
"...No, this one didn't knick me, though I must say it's impressive how many knives he carried. He must've had twelve wrapped around his stomach alone— yes there were more! What he'd do with so many is beyond me!"... "I know, I know. But I'm safe about it." ... "I know." ... "Well, fortunately for you, by the time you're back I'll have cleaned up. I promise, I'm not taking in anymore- strays for the night—"
Two Face arrived at the door and banged on it, gritting his teeth in pain:
"Open up, damn it... Open up..."
Thomas bit back the scream right in his throat, jumping from the distraction. The loud noise cut through the loud opera playing on his radio, one he quickly began to turn down to make sure he heard that right. Elliot mumbled a quick 'love you, call right back' as he shoved the phone right back in his pocket. Thomas knew he'd be fine, he always kept scalpels on hand— which was far less intrusive and ‘useful’ than a standard pistol— however... he wasn't expecting any more visitors tonight. The doctor was ready to turn this one away if not for peeking through the peephole. Thomas saw the face of his new patient and didn't think twice. Two-Face was somewhat surprised when the door burst open. Honestly, he was ready to hit him, but luckily, he held back.
Harv wasn’t told much about the doctor who took in Gotham’s scum. The only descriptor HE got was “an exhausted 30-something with hair like fire and a foot slipping into the grave.” So far? He matched that. Orange hair aside, god did this man look ill. He was pale enough to pass for a corpse, and the rings under his eyes were atrocious. This man hasn’t gotten a single ounce of sleep nor a drop of iron in his body. But there was something familiar about him. Maybe it was the intense green eyes that stared down at him with the deep blue rims that were hard to forget. Or was it the jade necklace, still wrapped around that neck decades later?
"Get on with it, then! Come in, come in!"
He softly grabbed Harv by one sleeve, and gently pulled. Two Face didn't appreciate being dragged in like this, but he didn't really have a choice, he was in so much pain. The honey-skinned man had trouble even seeing the man's face, yet a familiar feeling passed through his head and heart, and he understood that this feeling was from Harvey.
"You're dripping. Are you trying to get yourself— SELVES sick?" The slight edge of aggression of the doctor did nothing to mask the concern. Harv didn't respond to the reprimand, but he didn't appreciate it.
At least the home was nice. Spacious, lit with electric lights that gave off an orange glow, blue walls, a staircase up— presumably to bedrooms... he was gestured to a couch that already had a thick white sheet thrown over it.
"Lay down. I'll take it from here."
The half disfigured man settled himself on the draped sofa, groaning in pain, and gritted his teeth. While the doctor went, already dashing upstairs, Two-Face watched the man leave upstairs, anxiety growing in his heart. What if this was a trap set by Thorne?! What if he'd walked right into the lion's den?! Thomas then calling from the top:
"And are there any cops I'll have to worry about banging on my door?!"
Two Face’s panic subsided when he heard the surgeon's question, and Harv answered painfully:
"No cops. And I was- I was careful not to be followed..." Speaking was starting to become difficult.
Elliot came running back shortly thereafter, two heavy brown suitcases in hand. He unlatched both, and inside one was a sprawl of surgical tools, much of it looked like variations of the same thing. The other had a mask and breathing tube in one end, the other with a variety of aluminum cans and full syringes, each was labeled.
"Awake or asleep?"
Tommy asked without a hint of context, only realizing as he lifted the shirt that he should be more specific.
"Some of you folk don't like going to sleep for this. I can administer just enough anesthesia to keep you awake and not screaming. We could go dry, but I wouldn't recommend it."
Two-Face frowned. This surgeon bastard was trying to scare him with this story about anesthesia. There was no way he got drugged, even a little, by this stranger. Was he really that much of a stranger? Don't they know him?
"No anesthesia, or any drugs. It doesn't matter if it hurts." Harv replied with difficulty.
"None?"
The doctor opened his mouth to argue, but already knew it was pointless. Thomas worked with the most stubborn people on the planet. When they said 'no,' they meant it... until they felt the agony of being torn open, anyways.
"You can change your mind anytime you like. For now, what I'm going to inject you with is just going to help with the blood loss. It shouldn't make you tired, and if it does you tap my arm as much as necessary to get my attention."
Tommy then had all his attention into the wound. He's dealt with plenty of cases like this, his concern was more of the bleeding. The Elliot didn't have time like he did with most other patients that came scrambling to him. He'd give the wound a quick spritz of saline, trying to wipe out any debris. With that, one of the syringes would be taken from the suitcase, and Two-Face was suspicious of the needle, but didn't stop him. Still, the surgeon better have not double-crossed him. Needle given a quick clean, then jabbed into the upper hip. The pain was nothing. In fact, it turns out when you're shot little needles feel like angel kisses. It did little to nothing to help with pain, but blood would soon begin to rapidly clot. It'll buy time. So began the real work, seeing as somebody decided they'd rather be in searing pain for an hour minimum.
"You're lucky, I believe it just missed your gastric artery. The blood loss is still... concerning, but assuming the bullet didn't shatter inside you— your odds of survival are still good."
At the surgeon's lengthy explanations, Two-Face rolled his eyes in annoyance, but didn't have the strength to tell him he didn't care. All he cared about was saving the body. Thomas stopped the explanation, decided to not terrify the potentially aggressive man by saying he didn't have any spare blood to give him a transfusion, and thus odds of survival are maybe not THAT good. Better to keep the peace, and besides: the doctor knew he'd make this work just fine. He would not ALLOW the men on his couch to die, even if they begged for it. Never has Thomas been closer to ensnaring the former District Attorney. This opportunity was a bit too good to mess up.
The opera music was faintly audible from the kitchen, perhaps the only comfort there was as Tommy stuck a clamp into the wound to stretch it open. Two Face gritted his teeth in pain as the clamp was placed into his wound, but said nothing. Harv didn't look at the doctor, his focus remaining on the wound. Yes, certainly seeing the surgeon work on him would hurt even more, but there was no way he wasn't observing what the surgeon was doing. Who known what he could do?
"One solid piece..." Thomas mumbled to himself, deciding the crime lord was as good as saved.
His only concern now, then, was if he really wanted to remove the bullet. It would only cause more bleeding, but at the same time it could be led. Hell, it LIKELY was. The doctor doesn't want this man to be slowly poisoned from the inside, so he'd just have to be a touch more careful. With the clamps to keep the gaping wound open, prodding ever so slightly at the bullet lodged inside, Elliot was certain that if he could get it wide enough the bullet could be ‘easily’ removed the bullet and sew everything up. As the surgeon got all the tools ready, he'd keep the not-exactly conversation going.
"Remind me of where you heard about my services."
"Some Rogues." Harv didn't look at the surgeon when he replied, still focused on the wound.
"You're a very descriptive man, you know that?" Thomas replied sarcastically, but somehow despite the quite literally bloody circumstances he was smiling. "I'm glad I'm getting such glowing reviews. If I ever leave this dumpster fire of a city, I should list you people as job references."
Harv couldn't see the rest of what the doctor did. All he felt was the very uncomfortable sensation of cold metal digging into his flesh, muscles trying to tighten in rejection of the foreign object. And the man operating on him just... shushed it. Harv was painstakingly aware of every movement, from the thin forceps slipping in, to the agonizingly slow removal of the bullet. Each squelch and pause to re-spray with more saline were a reminder that the bullet was closer to leaving the body. Not like the feeling of it uncomfortably resting in the middle of him wasn't enough. It was a constant, meandering pressure. The closer he was to relief, the more unbearable it was a wait. Time was a blur. A painful, long blur where minutes could've been days. And finally, FINALLY, the bullet slipped out. Two-Face breathed quickly, as the pain was so intense, but thankfully it was done, though the wound behind still burned, there was no greater relief than this.
"Dare I ask if you have a place to stay when I'm done? I'd estimate you'd want to keep your head low for five weeks. I would recommend getting your henchmen in order."
Harv finally turned his gaze to the surgeon, in response to his question, with a scowl, because where he would go was absolutely none of his fucking business! But just as Two Face was about to retort something sharply, his eyes widened in surprise, and he felt strange, before Harvey took the front, as the trigger. Dent was a bit confused, trying to remember what happened, before his gaze stayed focused on the doctor’s face.
"Thomas?" Harvey said, stunned, before a kind smile crossed his face. "I- It's been a long time."
Thomas just smiled, already threading through a surgical needle.
"Oh, good, I don't need to keep being professional now. I'm still concerned, you're going to be weak for some time, but..." He paused his work just to hold Harvey's hand. Just for a moment. "It's good to see you, Apollo."
Harvey smiled sadly at the nickname, because he didn't think it suited him anymore... Not that he'd ever been comfortable with it.
"I'll have you know I'd still vote for you after everything that's happened. For a man calling himself 'Two-Face,' you're more honest than most politicians."
Harvey laughed softly, before stopping as it was somewhat painful, before replying with a smile, hiding his sadness:
"Politics isn't really on my agenda anymore, I'm afraid, but that's nice of you to say that, thank you."
Elliot smiled, he had wondered when he'd be recognized. Thomas wouldn't have blamed his old friend regardless. Everyone left his life at some point. He was never a boy worth staying for, not like how Bruce was. The doctor then began to sew everything up. Painful as it was, he tried to make it quick. Dent closed his eyes in pain as the stitches were applied, feeling somewhat angry at Harv for refusing the anesthesia. Actually, no. He was very furious at Harv. If he was injured, it was his fault in the first place!
"You know I've worked with some of Arkahm's worst. I've had to learn how to make stitches look like question marks or bunny rabbits for my clientele. For all my time doing this, I never thought you would be on my table—" He paused, looked at his very-much-not table couch cushions. "—...Sofa. When I saw you at my door, I couldn't tell if I was ecstatic or mortified at the thought of it."
Harvey opened his eyes again when the doctor paused the work, and looked back at Thomas with his heterochromia lime-green and pale blue eyes, before replying:
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to worry you like that... I admit I wouldn't have expected to see you either. But I'm personally happy to see you again, despite the...circumstances." He briefly pointed at his injury. "I'm glad you were able to fulfill your dream of becoming a surgeon."
Tommy did his best to ignore the warmth in his chest, wanting to finish his work before he got too sentimental. The stitching was easy: a routine procedure he'd done time and time again. He no longer had to measure whether or not the stitches were far enough apart. It was second nature, and within a few minutes the work was done.
"This isn't how baby me would've liked to have another sleepover, but with said 'circumstances,'" He mirrored Harvey's previous point to the injury. "You'll want to stay here for at minimum a night. If you survive, and I see no reason for why you shouldn't, maybe I can finally say I live up to the man I was named after."
Dent smiled as the sentence of Thomas, knowing he was referring to the father of Bruce. He was wondering how Bruce was. But Harvey couldn't think more about it, as pain appeared again, and he closed his eyes with pain. Thomas could tell Harvey was in agony. Elliot began to clean what he could so everything could be put away.
"I would rather not step over your other half's toes. He has no reason to trust me. With all these questions, I must sound like a cop." Bloody steel was effortlessly wiped with alcohol wipes, then neatly returned to their places. "However, I have some muscle relaxers and prescription pain killers that should make this easier on you. I'm going to hope you have a full stomach to take them with."
Say no. Please say no. Thomas wanted to look good, and it would be the perfect way to gain some trust right about now. Harvey would have liked to take the pain killer or muscle relaxer, but first he hadn't eaten, and second, if Harv ever returned to the front and learned that Thomas had given him sedatives, Thomas or not Thomas, Harv would strangle him.
"No... I'll just endure... It doesn't matter... And I wouldn't want to bother you. I'll leave as soon as I can."
Damn it.
"You're not a bother." Elliot replied too quickly, damning himself for sounding desperate. "I do this for a living, Harvey, and I'll tell you now there is no one I'd rather have on my couch."
It's fine, Tommy can make this still turn in his favor. He had full access to a wounded man. Elliot wondered what it would take to keep him around. Maybe he could force an infection? It'd be pretty easy, and he could claim it's not his fault. The surgeon did all he could to keep the wound sterile, they saw all the saline he used to keep it clean. Or, maybe, he could poison the food— No, that'd be too obvious. Both halves of Two-Face were smart. He couldn't act brashly now. These should be last resorts if words don't work. He'll have to act like Harvey staying as long as possible wasn't his goal.
"But we do want you out the door with guns blazing as soon as possible—" He said, like a liar. "—For your sake! If all goes well, you should be ready to leave within the week. If you want take any medication, I think by 48 hours I'd trust you both to go on your merry way."
Of course, more optimally would be multiple weeks. Or months. Or, forever! Tommy deserved it! THEY'RE the ones who left him. Both of them! Anyone and everyone in that head should be indebted to him, even more so now that he saved their lives— because unlike them he keeps his promises! Harvey's eyes widened before stuttering discreetly:
"48 hours?"
That was too long... Even if he liked Thomas a lot, Two-Face's goons would eventually wonder where he was, so it wasn't possible. It wasn't that Harvey didn't want to, but...it was complicated.
"That's being generous. Most stay for longer. You understand you were shot, don't you? You lost a LOT of blood, and we need to make sure you don't turn feverish or have future complications. Most of your time would, optimally, be spent asleep with an IV right about now. I only, ONLY say 48 hours because I know how restless you are."
It was technically true Two-Face would want a whole lot more time in medical care if this were an actual hospital. Tommy could pull as many technicalities out of his ass as necessary. He could turn his affections into chains, and his home into a gilded cage. He'll turn that couch into a fucking coffin. The more he ran through his thoughts, the easier it got to place the blame on Harvey for leaving. Did the childhood promises mean nothing? He's not asking for much! Just unwavering loyalty and staying in the home close to 24/7 and letting him look after their wounds like he would a plant and PREFERABLY helping him kill Bruce later! But that last bit is just a bit of a bonus! Really, everything else— which is entirely sane, rational, and only fair— was all he wanted. But he did well to keep it to his chest.
"How about I get you wrapped up? If you haven't eaten, I was a few finishing touches away from the perfect supper." Thomas was already making his way to the room, hoping if he sounded friendly enough, he could push things his way. "Have you had black cod before?"
At the suggestion of dinner, Harvey smiled, though somewhat disconcerted, as he felt something had changed about Thomas since they'd the time they known each other, still he replied:
"No, never eat that before. I'd love to eat with you."
Thomas fought every urge to slip something in. He's done that once or twice with the men he's brought home. Pretty things, blue eyed and raven haired just as he liked them. The more he thought about it, it was a bit of a shame Harvey didn't fit his usual 'profile.' He probably could've made for an excellent Bruce replacement, and those with DID are that much easier to control! A little research on 'programming' and hypnosis here and there... But it was a crapshoot. The skin and eyes don't work. Though maybe... ...Eh.
Harv didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all! Two Face wanted to take the front back, but strangely Harvey succeeded to not let him do it. How?! Why?! For this childhood and forgettable friend?! There was something strange about this man, and Harv refused that Harvey put stupidly himself in danger because of a past friendship!
"Harvey, get out of here! He's weird!" Harv said, appearing in the reflection of one of the surgical instruments, only Harvey able to hear him.
"What are you talking about? He's our friend." Dent whispered to Harv, while Thomas was in the kitchen.
"People change! And he's not my friend! Only yours!" Harv retorted.
"But you were always protecting him when we were younger..." Harvey replied, somewhat taken aback.
Harv didn't reply, unwilling to tell him that the only reason he did it was because when Thomas was sad, it greatly affected Harvey. Dent rolled his eyes at Harv's lack of response and didn't press the issue; it was pointless. Harvey decided to ignore Harv, more than he did in general. Thomas was a friend, there were no reasons to be afraid. Right?