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private/voice } ben

[She contacts her warden as soon as Hannibal makes his announcement. Last night, when she checked in, she was distant; this morning she seemed more confident. This afternoon, she's shaky, uncertain, every bone in her body trembling, it feels like.]

Ben. I lost time. [This is an excuse, she knows.]

He made me dinner, Ben.

public } voice

[She cuts the feed on, then off. On/off, on/off, in strange but rhythmic patterns like Morse code.]

[She's fishing. Questions, accusations will come - she remembers that much from last time, with her real father, with Garret Hobbs, the Shrike. She wants them now. She doesn't want to wait.]

public } spam

[She doesn't change her routine, not even slightly. Which is not to say she's not afraid: she's terrified. There's no Freddie Lounds here to publicly doctor this story, to minimize her shame. Even if there was, she honestly isn't sure she'd want that anymore.]

[So she walks the halls and accepts what comes, goes to the art room, goes to lunch, visits Ben on his shift. Sometimes she goes to the CES and forgets where she is and how time passes. Hours and hours go by as she sits under a tree with her knees pulled up to her chest.]

[This is the only vulnerability she shows, and it is accidental.]

private } zane

I know what he wants from me so I can ask him for information if that's what you want.

[It's about the Emperor, of course; she no longer has the privilege, in her own mind, of contacting Zane for any reason other than business.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ He feels stupid enough now; Two-Face berates him over the slip, but Harvey reminds him of the point, that Abigail needs-- something. Someone. ]

[ So do they. ]

Can I come to you?

yes.

Room #?

[ He's never been. He let her in, the first time. Now he asks for her to trust him in her space. ]

8-19.

can you bring crackers.

[She's hungry, and it's making her laugh just a little hysterically. You can't make crackers out of people, can you?]

Crackers are doable. Fruit? Whole fruit, identifiable. No compote crap.

[ He understands. ]

just crackers.

[Fruit will remind her of garnishes.]

please. thank you.

[Manners are important.]

Edited 2013-10-11 20:57 (UTC)

Crackers it is.

[ It takes a few minutes. He brings two boxes; saltine in one, graham in the other. Salty and sweet. Two is a good number. He knocks. Polite. ]

[She lets him in immediately. Her arms are wrapped around her torso. She is transparently afraid, and there's a nest of blankets on her bed.]

[A notable detail, though: she isn't wearing her scarf.]

H. [She stutters.] Hi.

[ He puts the boxes down the nearest table; the urge to reach for her is strong, to tuck her in his arms and not let her go, but that's -- madness. It's for him. ]

[ She needs to choose. ]

Tell me what you need. [ Gentler, Two-Face chides; of all people! ] Please.

[What she needs. What does she need? A hug? No. Yes? She can't decide.]

Let me think.

[She frowns, pinching the bridge of her nose. Eventually:]

When he killed me, he hugged me and pet my hair and he sang me a song.

I want - just the first one, please. I don't think anything more would be a good idea.

[ He is so angry now. There's a moment where he has to close his eyes on it, master his rage, the both of of them, wrestle it down to a place where they can be the mask, where Harvey can be Harvey Dent, former District Attorney for Gotham County. ]

[ Where he can be man in control, not a rabid animal who just wants to tear out a man's throat and call it justice. ]

We can do that.

[ He reaches for her, controlled and mindful, to hold her, bending slightly; he's a tall, tall man, big and broad, but if he curl around hern and make himself her shield, he would. ]

Edited 2013-10-11 21:38 (UTC)

[She remembers the last time he held her, which was two days ago and also a hundred years ago. She doesn't cry, hasn't this whole time, but she does hold onto him like he's the last thing tethering her to this place, to whatever obscene semblance of life she's got.]

[Although she doesn't cry, she does tremble, an aspen in the breeze. She feels safer, but never safe enough.]

[ He doesn't pet, and he sure as hell doesn't sing. He just holds her, rock steady to her trembling. He could do it an hour, a day, a month if he had to, root to that stop and simply be, if it'd keep her safe and stable. ]

[ When she's ready, he'll have a thousand questions, dolled out one by one. But not until she's had her fill of his frame over hers, as he indulges the fantasy of breaking Hannibal into soft, manageable pieces and feeding him to the dogs he'd ask Boy for, for real. ]

[It takes a lot of time for her to stop shaking. Something like ten minutes of brittle, stretched silence. Not that she knows - she, like Ben, has been losing time. She, like Ben, is being pulled apart lately. She wishes she could spare him.]

[Once her breathing's settled and her heartrate is approaching normal again, she pulls back and retreats into her nest on the bed with the box of saltines, hollow eyes fixed on Harvey.]

I think I'm here now.

[All of her, that is.]

I am too. We are.

[ He lost yesterday to Two-Face. But he's finding it's not great sacrifice. Too much shit, too angry, too taxing -- Harvey slept and Two-Face hunted. ]

[ He doesn't know what to say, so he looms, casting a long shadow to the wall. He feels, now that small conversations and snipping has passed, he just feels... stupid. Stupid and without resources. ]

[ Then he asks himself why he should care? It's just the barge. The asked for his help, he gave it. He's an inmate -- this was an exercise in seeing how good he could be, wasn't it? Something to keep him close at hand during the chaos. ]

[ Why should he have any loyalty to any of these people? They're all either small-time, statementless crooks, the sort of men he takes on and puts to work, but aren't expected to think or lead, or they're monsters like he is, brothers under the skin but no camaraderie. ]

[ This isn't Gotham. ]

[ He approaches, sitting at the edge of her bed, not close but needing a place to put himself, sit and think. ]

You want your weapons for him. So he can stop doing this to you.

[She lowers her eyes, then raises her head to look at Harvey, to look at Two-Face.]

I wanted them to . . . I don't know. Become more. I still do. I have other ideas about how to deal with him, specifically.

On Wednesday, I didn't know. I should have known. I thought about it somewhere in the back of my head and then - I didn't anymore.

[Unconsciously, she leans slightly towards the warmth of him, the sensation of not being alone.]

He was on our list. But we -- put him aside. [ He seemed harmless. Camouflaged. ] Guess that's how they do it in your world, isn't it? They aren't like us, with colors and costumes and scars.

They blend.

[ He was thinking like a Gotham DA with Gotham problems and the barge? ]

[ Not Gotham. ]

We have-- some like that. But... they don't get much respect. They're bottom feeders. Freaks who aren't freaks. Who have nothing to say. Who don't think they're mad.

Joker, Freeze, Poison Ivy-- eventually we've all accepted that we're insane. Embraced it. Made it part of our power. Him-- He doesn't see it that way at all, does he?

[ It offends him, disgusts him. Confuses him, too. ]

However you want to deal with him, we'll help you. We'll take care of it, but-- [ This is personal. Deeply so. He wouldn't take that from her without explicit permission though he wants to so badly. ]

Edited 2013-10-12 00:09 (UTC)

He thinks he's very powerful. He thinks he's perfect. But he does love me, in his way.

[The trouble is, she can never match up. Never be good enough. Never surpass him. Aren't children supposed to surpass their parents? Wasn't that what her biological father was so afraid of?]

[She rests her head on his shoulder and speaks quietly. There wasn't much emotion in her voice but fear until now. Now there's - not resignation. Determination. Steel.]

There will be a lot of people who seek out revenge. I can wait until they're done. But when my turn comes, it'll be my turn. Not that I'm not grateful. But you - both of you - showed me it can be my choice.

My choice is to show him that he's insane.

[ Harvey puts his arm around her, tucking her against his side. It's easy to put his good cheek against her hair, hold her up. Gilda had leaned on him like this, once. He'd been a good husband. ]

[ He tried to be, anyway. ]

There'll be a whole string of them. He's made the whole boat angry. [ He paused. ] If Slevin asks for help, I'll give it. But I won't...

I'll let it be his. Won't try and take it from him, anymore than I will from you.

[ Slevin's a another connection he has, one Two-Face is... uncertain of. He's getting all these goddamn people. That's counter to his purpose. ]

[ But he knows how to handle the three girls; Abigail and Elena have a connection, that means Anya has to go.... and Two-Face is so looking forward to knifing that bitch. ]

I'd like to make it-- so he can't hide. Make him match his inside. So he can't hide. So his hunger's obvious.

But what you decide, I'll abide.

[ But the urge is there. ]

Edited 2013-10-12 02:31 (UTC)

Thank you.

[She sighs, knowing she can trust him - that he'll let it be hers, or Slevin's, or whoever's, but that it will be able to be her choice in the end.]

That's what I want, too. But I can't . . . right now, I can't.

Soon. Once he's sure I won't retaliate.

[Her best asset is her unpredictability.]

Bide your time. I picked off the Falcones, the Maronis, over years. Ground their family to dust, one by one by one, till they were shamed on two continents and gutters ran red with their blood.

Till everyone paid for everything they'd done to me, and my city.

[ He is quiet then, thinking of Gilda again. Did she-- no. Best not walk that path. Don't think of failing her, Harvey -- think of helping this one. This is the one you can reach. ]

And will you still call him father, and answer when he calls? Or is this the end, where you shed that mask and find a new one?

[ He wants to know, so he can think about the next thing she'll need, the best way to help her-- the best way to put someone into their place, to shore up her new face. ]

[She goes quiet and still along with him, breathing in his question and churning it through the machines of her mind, thinking, thinking. Every conclusion drawn is the sound of a crossbow bolt hitting flesh, which is, to her, something between thunk and squish and a little light laughter.]

[Ben acknowledges that he's insane, and he's a warden. She can acknowledge the same. It's a neutral statement. Yes: she's insane. Not a sadist, but vengeance-minded. And nearly everyone owes her.]

He was patient. He bided his time. He was interested in me, curious, but in the end, I wasn't a priority. There was somebody better, easier and more interesting to twist into new shapes.

I'll call him father until the precise minute I don't, and then I'll leave him twisting and he'll just be Hannibal.

[Better for him to think she still loves him - and, truthfully, she does. Love and hate are two sides of a coin. If this works, if she manages to hurt him, she'll cry, tears of joy and victory and breathless sorrow.]

[It's all very complicated.]

So: maintain the status quo.

[ Up until she can abandon it, until she has ripped away one mask and revealed the next beneath the layers. ]

[ Jane Doe would have had a field day with her, he realizes. Looking for the right note to the part, realizing that she'd need to play a whole chorus line of Abigails before she could get anywhere close to being ready to take her face, wear her scars. ]

He wanted Will, didn't he? Will-- had talented he wanted to mold. Yours were engaging. You-- [ He stops, pauses. No, this is too much. It's not a fucking cross-exam, Harvey. Keep it down. Answers will come, in time. ]

I want to understand. To help you better prepare. It's in my nature-- to dig for the truth. To not let people hide their crimes. I want to know how it all came together, the convergence of -- you, him, Will. The real Garrett Hobbs. I want to know the story of the scar.

[ Because he knows death marks don't linger on the body. He's counted all the puckering bullet wounds, jagged knife slashes, the sharp bites of batarangs. None of the stabs that killed him, puncturing his belly over and over, show up. ]

Half because it will help me help you, half because I simply want to know. You can tell me no, and I won't ask right now. Now's not the time. But another time, later.

Edited 2013-10-13 18:35 (UTC)

[The tone doesn't bother her. In fact, she wants to open up under it, the brusque demands; they're honest. If Jack Crawford had talked to her like this, had placed quickfire truths in front of her instead of sending emissaries - Will, Hannibal, Alana - maybe she would have owned up and told him. Maybe she would have just said, Who, me? Yes. That was me. I did it. I was the bait. The second she remembered, the second it filtered through into her conscious mind, she might have just told him.]

[If she hadn't been treated like fine china, a serpent, or an unsprung trap the entire time - if she'd just been asked, like this - things might have gone differently. But the past is the past. She can't make herself feel too regretful.]

I'll tell you whatever you want.

[She looks at Harvey with clear eyes. Her hand doesn't go to her scar, because here, now, she has nothing to cover up. She's honest - a reporter of facts, currently with none of the guile Freddie Lounds wielded so effortlessly.]

My father, Garret Hobbs, killed eight girls who looked just like me. [She half-smiles - saying it just like that feels funny, like she's tickling herself.] There was one other girl, but she wasn't his. She was Hannibal's.

He - my father, the Minnesota Shrike - killed eight girls who looked just like me, and he ate them and fed them to us. My mother and I. [Her voice goes hazy and briefly disassociated now, mostly because she's remembering. Gutting them. The judder of the knife.] If you don't use every part of the body, it's just murder. You have to honor every part of them. That's what he said.

I was the bait.

They caught up to him in the end. The FBI, I mean - Will and Hannibal. We were eating breakfast, and - I was worried because I hadn't heard back from Ann Arbor yet, that's what I was thinking about. I remember. [Because even then she was at least two people at all times.] My dad got a phone call. I didn't recognize the voice. After he hung up, my dad got . . . crazy. I'd never seen him look crazy before. He cut my mom's throat, she bled out on the front step, and he held me in the kitchen with a knife to my throat, he said -

"I'm going to make it all go away."

When they came in, with their guns, they were yelling at him - Will was yelling put the knife down, and he cut my throat, and Will shot him just - just a bunch of times. Over and over. And then he stood over me and pressed his hands to my throat and I could see in his eyes that I was dying.

[She's gone distant, but now she snaps back. The mention or thought of Hannibal is doing something new to her: making her focus. Making her intent.]

Then Hannibal took over and applied pressure. I didn't die. I went into a coma. And when I woke up, they took me to the hospital. The psychiatric hospital, I mean.

They were all trying to figure out if I'd done it, you know? If I'd helped. I said I hadn't. I only remembered some things. It wasn't quite amnesia, I was just pushing it away. But they took me to my home to see if I could remember anything that might be able to help them.

They asked me did you recognize the man on the phone. [She laughs quietly and pulls her knees up to her chest.] I said I didn't, but I did. And he saw that I did. Hannibal always sees weak points.

[You be my dad, she'd said to Will, to Alana: you be my mom, and you - be the man on the phone! A shared moment of understanding. She'd felt breathless, comprehensible at last, no longer insane.]

[She should have clung to insanity even then.]

Everything happened really fast then. I lost some time, but - my friend, Marissa, Hannibal killed her. Or I guess I did, because he was trying to push me. To see what would happen. He mounted her on antlers, like my father used to. I saw, and I got confused and scared, and the brother of the other girl Hannibal killed - the one he mounted on a stag's head [the one he shamed] - he came into my house. He said he wanted to talk. I tried to run, he cornered me, and I stabbed him.

Then I gutted him.

Then Hannibal helped me hide the body. It was our secret.

[She hopes that Harvey understands all this. Thinks he will. He's more than what he looks like, cleverer and more compassionate in his very particular way than she might have expected if she weren't the type to pay sharp attention to everything, for her own safety. It doesn't change the fact that she's a killer, but everyone she's killed has been on someone else's terms.]

[She wonders if he'll see that, too.]

[ He listens. Intent, like a lawyer reviewing testimony, witness statements. He has an ear for truth, and he understands intimately that she is not lying to him. That she is giving him unvarnished truth, here and now. Shrike. Another animal. He doesn't like it. ]

The only people who take on animal names in my world -- in my city, at least [ And Gotham is his city as much as it it Batman's or anyone else's ] -- fight people like us. Batman, Robin. Catwoman likes to think plays all the sides but in the end she knows where the thickest cream is. She blew Black Mask's face clean off, didn't play by the Bat's no-murder rule, but she still runs with him despite the blood under her claws.

We wear our names to state what we are and what we stand for. Joker, Riddler, Two-Face. What we've got etched in our skin. But we're still men, not guardian beasts set against the dark.

[ She's not an animal. That's important for her to understand. She has revenge, statement. That's even more important, for Harvey. It's not just base urges they can't control. Even he has rules. ]

[ It allows him to be a man, as well as a monster. Walk the line between his two halves. It's why he can hold her here without thinking of feeding his own urges, and think about someone else's. It's the difference, he think, between men like him and men like Hannibal. ]

[ It allows him to remember what being compassionate was like, what showing kindness could be. It's why he can sit here and comfort. Because he has rules, and men make the rules. Animals just obey their urges unless they're leashed. ]

[ He forgets, sometimes, that the coin is a leash too. ]

You wouldn't have been culpable. Not for the girls, anyway. [ It's a distant thing, as he thinks about the law with her tucked against his side. ] You were under age, with a dangerous father figure, and threat of intimidation. Good defense would have gotten you off.

With a bad prosecutor, your case would have been a smear job, at best. Ugly, but with no real way to prove motive or intent on you. Would have have suggested plea bargain psychiatric care, and been done with it, myself. Taken your father and roasted him, if he'd survived. Found a way to make him dance, but-- you? Political suicide. Voters would have been disgusted, putting a little girl down for Big Bad Daddy's due. Would have gotten grotesque. Sex, blood, queries about potential incest-- the press would be asking a lot of ugly question. [ His lip, the good side, curls, baring the white teeth of his good side. God, the very idea makes him boil. ] Betting you know that much already, though, don't you?

[ He shakes his head, quiet. ]

I put a lot of men into Arkham, before I joined them. I don't doubt what I did was right, then. They were mad. They were threats. Now I'm just-- one of them. And I see things differently. The way things are. Or the way they should be. Fair, uncorrupted, unbiased, and sure.

[ Madness can give you a certain sort of... clarity. Harvey embraces his now, thinking: how does a monster make another monster in his image? ]

Did Hannibal make sure the boy-- the gutted-- knew where to find you? Do you know? [ It stinks of a set up -- the illusion of choice. Back her into a corner, push and push and push until the breaks show more clearly, find a place to wedge them open. ]

[ More than ever, he resolves not to. Already, Harvey has doubts; she wasn't sick to begin with -- someone molded her, made her. Should we help her onward into something she never truly chose? ]

[ Two-Face is quick to remind him She's choosing now. You can't unmake the breaks now. Don't even try, Harvey. You can't stuff a chick back in it's shell, or the egg up a hen. She's coming and nothing in the world will stop her, let alone us. And when she figures out what she is, resolves herself into woman or monster, you can say you were there -- and that you let her choose. ]

[ Choice. Real choice. ]

[ He's not ever sure she's ever had it, by the time the two are finished in their silent bickering. ]

[ Finally he says: ]

Hannibal strikes me as the type who-- knows how to bait a lure, too. Hell, I've done it. I know how to pull my prey out of hiding. I just-- prefer to hunt other criminals, given the choice of prey.

[ The problem is Harvey's idea of criminal is very, very broad. He makes it sound almost mild. Like the racketeering and protection scams, like his own personal gangs aren't the real thing, aren't part of his need to stop being powerless before an uncaring world. But Harvey's more than a little bit insane. If he could see the truth of himself, he wouldn't still be here. But there are cracks starting there, too. Light gets in, illuminates. ]

[ Some of it is Abigail's. ]

Edited 2013-10-13 20:54 (UTC)

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