Disclaimer : I own nothing.

Foreword : I will admit that a guy by the name of Morgan Wessler who is Gotham Public Work's Two Face is what inspired me to write this and brought back my long dead love for Harvey Dent - it's good to see someone with an impeccable sense of character (and character style). It also helps that I have TDK mania. On to the story.

And He Was Beautiful

Her breath was warm against the tip of his nose, warm in the cool air around them.

"Just one last time, for the old times, right?" she says, her voice deep, pained.

"Gilda, I -"

"If I don't I'll kick myself later. But if I do I might fall back in love with you. I lose either way. You lose either way. The coin is double tailed."

He could only stare at her, his eyes narrowed and almost crossed since her face was not far from his own.

"Do you still feel?" she said softly.

He scoffed, "What sort of question is that?"

"I mean you're face, Harvey. Can you still feel things?"

Most nerves were shot but there were some left in the side - particularly pain sensors - that were there to remind him.

"A bit."

His hand slipped into his pocket and she grabbed his arm, wrenching his hand out.

"No, not this time."

He gritted his teeth, wanting to strike her, but something stopped him. Was it the look in her eyes? Perhaps.

He shoved his hand back in, pulling out the shiny silver coin.

"Let me flip it. I won't look at it. I just want to flip it. You know the score."

She bit her lip but didn't stop him as he flipped it in the air. It landed on the ground far from them. He resisted the desire to run to it, seeing what destiny it had laid for him. But he didn't. Instead he stood in front of her and waited, disobeying the command the voice was screaming at him.

She leaned in and kissed him, against the lips that were half soft and supple and half scarred and tight around his teeth. Her hands moved to the sides of his face, one smooth and cool, the other marred and warm.

"I love you," another kiss, "I miss you, Harvey."

He wrapped his arms around her and ruefully whispered, "I do too."

She removed his suit jacket, quickly loosening his tie and throwing it. She eased her nails under the buttons of his shirt and stripped it from him, tracing the line of scarring as it cascaded down his neck and ended around his shoulder. It picked up again half way through his forearm and down his hand. It made the unharmed part of him seem more stunning - more handsome and strong when next to that weak waxen skin. Her hands were in his hair, in black locks and that shock of blonde.

"You're still beautiful," she said, squeezing his arms, "You always will be."

He barely heard the words, he was stiff on his back, stunned into stillness.

She was on top of him, kissing him, stroking him. It was the first human contact in years. So many years - so many years since he'd last been with his wife.

Harvey could've stayed like that, useless beneath her, but his dominant side took over and he thrust her over, positioning himself above her.

He felt a kiss against the left side of his face. She looked up at him adoringly, waiting, so he gave her what she so desired, what she came for.

She made an array of little noises underneath him, frustratingly lovely ones, such sounds he hadn't heard in so long. It nearly broke him as he moved with her, his face buried in the crook of her neck, her smell intoxicating.

When they finished she laid her hand on his damaged side and kissed it.

"I miss my husband. He was kind and he was fair."

He tensed beneath her, suddenly distant, and the poor woman knew the shift had just happened.

"And he was handsome." he spat, "Just say it. And he was handsome!"

She shook her head and tears welled behind her eyes, "And he was cruel too." she said, her lips curling, "I don't know why I came here!"

He shoved her out of bed, "Well I don't know why either!"

Gilda huffed and threw her clothes back on, "I know you're in there Harvey! This can't be you, it can't!"

She went to him, grabbing his face and forcing him to look her dead in the eyes, "Harvey, look at me!"

"Shut up, you bitch!" he screamed, the back of his hand connecting with her face and sending her feet away from him.

There was blood all down her nose and dribbling down her grey suit.

She could only look at him, not even angry tears left, and when she was sick at the sight of him she ran out the door, wretching.

Two Face shook his head and pulled the sheet around his waist, getting up to see what the coin had told him.

Tails. Should've listened.

He grabbed the coin and sat back down on his makeshift bed. He used to have a lovely bed in his lovely luxury condo in uptown Gotham. He used to have a lovely life, with a lovely wife. How he envied her. She still had that life.

All he had was this, this scuffed and faded coin.

She had come only to toy with him, to dangle in front of him what he could never acheive again. That whore! That harlot! She knew nothing. She did not love him.

She did not have to wake up every day to see this.

He touched the dead skin of his face, sighing at the roughness of it. Noone could love this. Not even him.

Deep in the recess of his mind, the trapped Harvey Dent cried out for his wife, and for the days when he was kind and fair, and he was beautiful.


A/N : I seriously need to stop writing angsty stuff. Seriously. But Ledger's death and a rewatching of Sweeney Todd put me in a sour mood. At least I got this from it!