Alfred doesn't approve, and on some levels (many levels) Bruce knows he's right not to. He's steadier on his feet than he was, but it's a work in progress. Staying in bed is smarter.
Just the same, sitting around doing nothing has lost its appeal. And he's due.
Bruce Wayne stands at Arkham Asylum, addressing Two-Face through a pane of glass. Harvey has pulled his chair close, seating himself backward, legs sprawled lazily forward while his chin rests over crossed wrists. Bruce leans on his cane reluctantly, does his best to make the gesture look casual.
"What did you do this time, Wayne?" Harvey asks, watching with mismatched eyes. A smile twists its way wryly across the right side of his face. The left is, as ever, a frozen contortion of flesh and sinew, teeth bare to the world, lips long since burned away. Harvey doesn't blink.
"Oh, you know," says Bruce, shrugging. "Got a little tipsy, suddenly I'm under water and that fish they have at—you know what kinds of fish they use to decorate those things?"
"Tell me," says Harvey, and the smile grows.
Bruce gestures absently with his free hand. "The, uh, big and scaly ones that always look like they're making fun of something. Apparently I smashed my head into the tail."
"Ah," says Harvey. "That explains it."
A chuckle escapes him. Bruce shakes his head and sways slightly. Damn. "Anyway," he says slowly, "I thought it's been a while since I checked in on you Harv. Are you doing alright?"
"Oh you know, a murder here, a robbery there." The smile fades, becomes something thoughtful. Almost curious. "You do realize how stupid this is, don't you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," says Harvey, shifting his gaze to examine an empty corner of the room, "you might remind me I should hit you next. Or at least consider it."
"I don't think you will," says Bruce, studying the scars. It's a more familiar sight than he'd like it to be. Two-Face consistently refuses surgery. He says it's more honest.
"Lets flip on it." And the coin is out, double headed, ruined and pristine. The billionaire watches. Of course he's right. You know better.
But Harvey was a friend to Bruce Wayne. Gilda is his only other visitor these days. There's a chance this could do some good, and ultimately that chance has to be worth it.
The coin soars through the air, lands. Harvey cups it in his hands. Half his mouth quirks. Bruce cannot see the results.
"Another day," says Harvey, "Consider yourself lucky."