AN: I do not own.

He sits in his new apartment, which is dingier than the house he'd lived in with Gilda but nicer than the theaters and basements he's occupied in recent years. It's small, undecorated, asymmetrical. There are water stains on the ceiling but no roaches, the couch is tattered, the carpet faded brown and the walls off-white. Still. It's home and it's legitimate.

He keeps the blinds shut.

Part of him misses the coin. It was, among other things, a good escape for moments like this when he feels restless. He isn't used to doing nothing with his hands.

The coin is at the bottom of the river.

Harvey didn't leave for a long time after it sank. Part of him (not quite half) fantasized about leaping in after it, letting himself go. Eventually he just sat on the docks, breathing in pollution and telling himself he could smell the ocean.

Pamela visited. She was unusually quiet, and let him make her a cup of coffee despite drinking none of it. She didn't try to persuade him to come back, or mention her plants, or bring up any of the occasions they'd spent together. For better or worse.

"What are you doing with yourself, Harv?" she'd asked, and he looked her in the eye for as long as he could before turning away without an answer.

He still hasn't let them touch his face.

Pamela kissed him on his good cheek when she left, and there was nothing more to it than that. She hasn't called since.

Gordon wants him to talk to kids about gangs and staying out of them. Be one of those checkered-past speakers explaining the evils of crime while trying to persuade his audience that this is more important than some joke or snatch of gossip. It's probably the only speaking platform left that might listen to him.

Once upon a time the public elected him DA in a landslide. Look at him now.

There's a knock at the door.

"Harvey!" Says Bruce Wayne when he answers, unphased. "How's a busy guy like you holding together these days?"

The man is an airhead. But he's an airhead who bothered to stop by, and he's an airhead whose money lets him afford a roof over his head and dinner at night. His shoulders slump and he feels himself smile, weakly.

"It's good to see you," he says, and Wayne claps a hand on his shoulder. Smiles back.

It's been a long time.

Harvey lets him in.