0002. CHAPTER TWO
— and here i sit alone,

WHEN CHILDREN FALL OFF OF THEIR BIKES AND SCRAPE THEIR KNEES, WHAT DO THEY DO? There's one of two options (well, technically, there are a lot of things that the children could do but there are two very common responses). Either they (1) sit down and cry or (2) they get back up and start to ride the bike again. This mentality never leaves a person, not really. As adults, people expect someone to pick themselves up when they fall. Crying isn't an appropriate answer. Not for most things. From a young age, Harlow had been taught how to swallow down her emotions. How to stop the tears from spilling over when a comment is made about her. It came in handy with her line of work. She couldn't cry when one of her surgeries had a bad outcome or when she was overwhelmed. Not in the hospital. Not at that exact moment. No, the emotions had to wait. They were given their own separate time and place. Harlow rarely allowed herself that moment where she sat down on the ground and thought about the things that just happened. She had been raised to be the person who gets back up on the bike and trudges forward. The only time she found herself unable to get back on the bike was because of Bruce Wayne. Not that that should be a surprise, Harlow Finley loved that man with every fiber of her being. Parts of him had become parts of her — it was inevitable, her fall. No two people stay the same their entire lives. Harlow expected that. What she had also expected was for their relationship to grow with their changes. But the two were changing diverging paths, making it hard for their relationship to continue to bridge and grow. She should have seen it coming. Keyword: should. She didn't want to see it — so she decided not to. Harlow always had a knack for ignoring the things she didn't want to see. She had grown to be quite good at it, so when she ignored Alfred's calls, he didn't take much offense to it.

In fact, Alfred was sure if he were to have been in her shoes, he would have done the very same thing. But it broke his heart knowing that she was purposefully avoiding his calls, avoiding the very thing that once broke her. It had taken her a long time to feel comfortable being around him after Bruce left, she knew he was grieving and processing it just as she was. Yet, some part of her felt like it was improper for her to be around him after he left. So, she didn't. And while after a while she broke that idea, meaning she did let Alfred back into her life, it was never the same as it had been before. Alfred understood, he swore he did. Harlow didn't want to explain to the people (future lovers) she was bringing home how they knew each other, that in itself was a conversation Harlow tried to avoid like the plague. She did her best to maneuver her way through the conversation topic, to change it to whatever she wanted it to be about. To avoid any and all conversations that could be had about Bruce Wayne. Which is exactly what Alfred had been calling her about. The minute he got the call from Bruce Wayne, asking to be picked up from a place in China, Alfred knew she needed to be called. He wasn't sure how he would explain the events of the last seven years. How was he supposed to tackle the eventual question Bruce would have about his former (if he was smart enough to call her that) fiancée? Alfred redialed the number before leaving to meet the private jet.

Harlow Finley had trained herself into feeling the vibrations from her phone and her pager pretty early on in her career, so much so that she had rarely ever missed a call or a page when they came her way. She stood in the hallway of her home, her scrubs on and her white coat hanging at the end of the banister for her to grab before heading to work. Her pager was attached to the waistband of her pants, and her cell phone was lost somewhere in one of her pockets, she liked to think the people who needed to get her attention knew when her phone was lost deep within a pocket to try and call. A sigh tumbled from her lips as she dropped the papers in her hand to rummage through her pockets to get to the vibrating phone. Unlike normal, she didn't even spare a glance at the Caller ID, instead, she opened with a formal greeting that she always did, "This is Doctor Finley."

"Harlow?" She could recognize that British accent anywhere.

"Alfred? Is everything alright?"

"Well, depends on what you make of the news, really."

"News?"

"Harrlow, you may want to sit down for what I'm about to tell you."

"You've got me worried now, Alfred, what are you going to tell me that would cause me to lose my footing? The only thing I could think of is that they actually found Bruce's body, which might make me lose it. It's got to be something about Bruce, that's all you'd call me about anymore, right?"

"He's alive, Harlow," those three words from Alfred stole her breath straight from her chest. "He's alive, and he's coming back to Gotham. Today."

Harlow didn't want to believe him. There was no way he was coming back. She had wished for this day for years, silently hoping that he would find his way back to her. Bruce Wayne was forever a part of her heart no matter what she did, no matter who she tried to have come into her life and take it back, Bruce Wayne had an iron-clad grip on it without even being there. He continued to hold on to her heart as though it was his lifeline, perhaps it was, Harlow couldn't be sure. But knowing he was alive, that he was out there living and breathing it sent her heart into a frenzy. A sputtered breath left her lips as she thought about it. He was coming back to Gotham. He was alive. He was going to be there, standing in the very city she couldn't find the will to leave. Everything she had wished for, hoped for, was coming to her. Another pang hit her, thinking about the fact that Finley Incorporated had a gala the same night Bruce was coming back, she was a shoo-in for the front page of the newspapers. A shoo-in to be front page in a designer gown and shoes that cost more than she would like to admit, with another man hanging on her arm. That was what Bruce would be coming back to. Harlow Finley dating another man while wearing the color he always said he loved the most on her, her stomach lurched at the thought.

"Harlow?"

Harlow felt her hands clam up, the phone slippery as she spoke, "He's coming back?"

"He is," Alfred confirmed.

"Does he know," Harlow trailed off, but Alfred knew exactly what she was referring to.

"I haven't told him anything, I wasn't planning on it until he got on the plane. Is there anything you'd like me to tell him for you?"

Biting her bottom lip, Harlow sighed. What did she want him to know? Over the years, she had thought of plenty of things she would want to say, but now that the chance was given, she couldn't think of anything. He needed to know plenty, he needed to be ready to see things that were different. However, Harlow wasn't even sure he would want to know anything about her. Perhaps he had found a way to forget about her over the years, maybe he was content with his life being the way it was, and he didn't need to see it in any other way. Maybe he found that his life could be just as fulfilling, if not more, without her in it. So, Harlow wasn't sure about what he needed to know because it depended on the type of person he had become. She knew she wished and wanted for him to want her or, at the very least, ask about her. Alfred was moving on the other line, she figured it was him collecting his things to meet for the plane, "Alfred."

"Yes, Harlow?"

"Just tell him anything you think is important right away. And then, if he asks, answer."

"What would constitute important?"

"The state of Gotham, how it is, and all of that. Wayne Enterprises, you know everything."

"And his mother's engagement ring, that was once yours might I add, that is now sitting on his dresser? Would that be important as well?"

"Maybe just a warning for him would be good, I'm not sure what he's expecting to come home to."

A part of her hoped he was expecting to come home to her waiting with open arms, that he wished to be with her still. But she was trying to be realistic when she thought Bruce wouldn't think that. He was smart and knew what he would be coming home to, Alfred. Alfred sighed, "And what about your relations with Doctor Crane, should I tell him about that as well?"

"It's either coming from you or the front page of the newspaper tomorrow morning, Alfred," Harlow walked down the stairs, the phone trapped between her ear and shoulder. "You can either tell him and let him be prepared, or he can fill in the dots tomorrow after the headlines are posted."

A sigh left the older mans lips, it was a sigh she had heard plenty of times growing up. Alfred was good at letting people know when he was at the very least slightly disappointed in them — she had heard that very sigh a number of times growing up, not often directed at her but she had heard it enough to know it like the back of her hand. It was one that made her heart sink, eyes flitting to the picture frames full of photos that contained images of her and Bruce growing up. Her fingers traced across the ornate gold frame that housed the most recent picture of them, Alfred had grown silent on the other side of the phone. Her heart clenched at the idea of seeing him again, she knew he would look different from the same man she remembered. The picture was one she often found herself looking over, Harlow found herself enamoured with the happiness that radiated from them. Her arms looped around his neck, she could hear his laugh that came out before the picture was taken. How his head leaned back and the smile on his lips, the picture was one she sought comfort from. That was how she wanted to remember him, especially if he were gone. Knowing that he was coming back, knowing that she would see him again even if for just a few glances or fleeting moments. Suddenly her perfect memory was crashing down, she spoke, "Look, Alfred, I've got work and this gala to worry about right now."

"And you're not worried about ..."

She was. Harlow dropped her hand from the picture frame to move her purse back to her shoulder, "I am, Alfred."

"You know he might want to speak to you, right?"

"We'll cross that bridge when it comes to it," Harlow opened the garage door, grabbing for the keys to one of the cars from the wooden bowl on the console table next to it. Clicking on the key fob to unlock her car, Harlow spoke again, "I never thought that."

"That this day would come?"

The breath left her chest, "I've had so many things over the years to say to him when given the chance, but now that it's here, I'm not sure what to do. Let him settle in before telling him anything, give him the chance to get used to Gotham or the Manor a bit before. He deserves to be home and not thinking about anything else except whatever is dragging him back here, not me and not whatever else is happening in Gotham."

"Unless, of course, he asks something about the state of Gotham or yourself."

Adjusting the drivers seat, Harlow let the phone hook up to bluetooth before responding, "When do you fly out to meet him?"

"Now," Alfred responded curtly, making Harlow's heart drum in her chest again. "Would you like for me to call you when he's back in Gotham." She couldn't quite answer the question, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know. If he returned and she was at work or the gala, she wouldn't be able to think straight again. And she knew it was going to be a day at work, her mind was already traveling to other worlds as she thought about Bruce coming back. Alfred took that as her response, "I'll let him call you, then?"

"Yeah," Her response was breathy, quiet as she spoke. "Yeah, if he wants to see me again, he can call me."

"Are you ready for this?"

"He's coming back no matter what, so it doesn't matter."

"It does matter," Alfred reassured, "You can be honest, it's a surprise to us both. It's okay if you're not ready for this."

Harlow tried to keep her thoughts on the road ahead of her, but this drive was one she had made countless times already. A drive she often found herself on an autopilot for, the ones where she could remember leaving the hospital or her home but couldn't remember making the drive to end up at her destination. It often left her with a lot of time to think, thoughts wandering to whatever islands they wanted to travel to. She thought for a moment, was she readt to see him again? Was she ready to face the only man she's ever truly loved after so many years? After rebuilding her walls and stitching up her heart to whatever patchwork quilt it resembled now, she couldn't give an answer. If she had been asked a few years ago, if he had come back a few years ago, she would've dropped everything to be on that plane. She would have been one of the first ones to see him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him closer to her. That very woman clung to her past life as if it was the only thing keeping her alive. The very woman that held onto an engagement ring that she had always dreamed of, hoping that he would come back and she would have a reason to wear it again. A woman who had hope that he would come back and fix everything again. Harlow Finley wasn't that woman anymore, sure, the remnants of the hopeful young adult came peaking through from time to time. But she wasn't her anymore. Harlow wasn't sure who she was, but she knew it wasn't that. It was probably for the better anyways, a form of self-preservation, and everything within her was pushing her towards an answer she didn't want to give. In the back of her mind, Harlow wanted to give into the irrational thoughts of her younger self and call in sick for work. Meet Alfred at the jet and see Bruce again. Fuck the world and the expectations they have for her, fuck her responsibilities. Yet, the rational part of her knew that couldn't be done. She had one too many people counting on her and a man who said he loved her but wouldn't quite enjoy her dropping everything for a man who left her after they were together for years. Harlow came to a stop at a red light, "I'm not ready for this Alfred. I've imagined this moment thousands of times and always thought I was ready, but not now. Give me some time, tell him to give me some time if he asks."

"Of course," Alfred's voice was soft.

"Listen, I'm almost at the hospital for my shift. Drive safe, have a safe flight," Harlow spoke softly, smiling as if the older man could see it (she was sure he could hear it, he had been pretty good at reading her starting from a young age). "Give him a hug for the both of us, okay?"

Alfred took a moment to respond, "I will."

"Good," A smile again. "And Alfred?"

"Yes, Doctor Finley?"

"I'm sorry for not keeping up with you," Harlow blinked away at the tears that had come to form at her lashline, "I should have done better."

"Nonsense," Alfred smiled, she could hear it in the uptake of his words, "you needed space to heal and I know you were able to do so. You're here now and that's all that matters, Doctor Finley. I'll be here for however long you need me to be, I've watched you grow up, you can't get rid of me even if you wanted to."

"Go catch that flight, Alfred."

"You go save some lives, alright?"

"Oh, I will, don't you worry about me."

"I don't doubt that or you for a second," Alfred trailed. "I'll let you know when he's back in town, but I'll let you be the judge of when you're ready. Or if you're ever going to be ready for him to come back into your life."

Harlow stared out at the Gotham streets for a moment, watching people walk down the sidewalk and live their life as if everything was okay. In reality, Harlow knew they were all dealing with a number of things she would never fully understand. Ignorance is bliss, though, and from the outside they looked to be living the life Harlow longed for. One of simplicity, one full of happiness. A life where she could hold the hand of the man she loves, swing their linked arms in the air and crack a joke, it was something she craved. Perhaps it was just the fact that she grew up in a world where simple was obsolete, where a simple day was one that she didn't have to deal with the press. Maybe the fact that she couldn't walk out on the streets of Gotham without a photographer trying to catch a candid moment that drove her up a wall. She craved a simple life because she had never even had the chance of having one — Harlow was sure that if she were to be given the chance of one, she would go crazy. She was used to the attention, to the photographers and the headlines, she was good at hiding in plain sight. If she were to go from being recognized to no one knowing who she was, she wasn't sure how she would take it. The phone call ending brought her attention back to her call, the beeping of the end blasting from the speakers of her car.

A twist formed in her stomach, it almost didn't feel real. Bruce was coming back and she wasn't the same person he had left seven years ago. Yet, she still felt a pull to him. That irked Harlow more than she would have liked to admit. Why did her heart pull and yearn for a man who wouldn't spend more than a second thinking of her. A man who didn't think twice about leaving Gotham without another word to the woman he had been with for nearly ten years and a woman who had been part of his life for forever. Someone who grew up beside him in diapers and held him for months at night after his parents were murdered. A woman who knew his favorite songs, his favorite books, his favorite poems, someone who knew everything she could about him. Everything except for what he planned on doing to Joe Chill the day of the hearing. How he came to the court room with a gun, the very gun that killed his parents (poetic, really) in his hands. Harlow knew everything about him, at least that's what she liked to think, but in reality she learned she didn't know anything about him. Looking back, she knew everything he wanted her to know. Nothing more and nothing less. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Not now. If she thought about it, she was better off not knowing the darkest parts of his mind just as he did not know hers. It let her seek comfort from their relationship, from their time together, she didn't need to know about the feelings that had been festering. She was no stranger to the thoughts, especially nearing the end before he left Gotham. His mind was a frenzy, thoughts lost to the world around them and Harlow had been unable to make out a clear pattern in months. There had been a war going on in his head long before she ever became a part of it — he had been losing himself long before he even knew who he was. A part of him died that night in the alley with his parents, some crucial part that he should have kept. Harlow wasn't sure what it was, she didn't want to know. Knowing would have only made her worry, it would have broken her heart a lot earlier than it had the first time.

The hospital was bright, it always was, and had far too much lighting. Harlow rushed down the hallway after parking, her bag beginning to fall off her shoulder as she rushed to the locker room. She bobbed and weaved her way through the other employees in the hallway, shooting an exasperated look at one of the nurses she typically worked with. The nurse looked down at her watch before calling out, "Doctor Finley running late, never thought I'd see the day."

She found herself close to falling into a trap and saying it wasn't something she expected either. Because it was a day she never thought she would see — just not because she was late to work. That one was nothing new (not really at least), there were other ways she could explain being late. And while not often, she had been late before. Never this late, however. Not that Harlow cared — she needed Alfred to be the one to call her, she needed to be the one to answer. By the time she reached the locker room, Harlow had officially reached twenty minutes late. Another surgeon (a general surgeon) who stood in front of their locker with a heavy sigh. Harlow smiled at the doctor, scooting behind her to drop off her bag and grab her stethoscope, "Everything alright so far?"

"You mean to tell me you weren't running late just to do some rounds and get to know the cases on the floor, you didn't want to stake out what might become a case for the trauma surgeons?" Holly leaned against the locker door. "What happened to her? She used to be my favorite."

"She realized this is Gotham we're living and trauma patients are not few and far between." Harlow shrugged, "She didn't need to poach from the surgical floor."

"Say in theory there isn't a trauma set to come in, how would she feel about scrubbing in on a bowel resection with me?"

She thought about it for a moment, tempted to say no at the idea of the Finley Incorporate gala and knowing that the bowel resections are likely to turn into something even more serious. Holly lifted a brow, as Harlow let out a small laugh, "Depends, what time would this resection be?"

"I'm scheduled in for three this afternoon."

"I'm off at three-thirty," Harlow sighed, accompanied by the sound from Holly. "I know, I know. I've got a gala I have to get ready for and they wouldn't have taken no for an answer if I didn't want to go."

"Who is this person and what have they done to replace Doctor Finley?" Holly pulled her eyebrows together, knitting them into confusion. Harlow sent her a look, "I miss working with one of my favorite surgeons and fellow former resident."

Harlow shook her head, "I miss working in the OR with you too, you know. And trust me, if I could get out of the gala at this point, I would."

Holly shrugged, leaning against the locker next to Harlow's that was open as she shoved her bags and jackets into it, "I dunno, seems like fun to me."

"You didn't grow up going to them," Harlow laughed, "they lose their appeal pretty quick."

"The glitz and the glam? I can't believe that they would be boring," to which, Harlow rolled her eyes, spurring Holly to follow, "Oh, come on, Harlow."

Harlow was never able to find the words to explain why the galas lost their appeal, it was hard enough to explain to herself. She remembered what it was like in high school, how she used to excitedly jump around trying to find a dress and then the jewelry to match with it. Not much unlike most people getting excited over prom, she knew there was a time in her life where the galas excited her. Where they didn't leave her with this sense of dread of what was going to come. Or maybe it was just the news she had been given that very morning, or maybe it was the way the media treated her over the last seven years. The galas were a public forum for the media outlets to find another embarrassing story or new headline about her, all the while Harlow Finley was spiraling with no one to catch her when she needed it most. They lost their appeal not long after that; at least, that's when Harlow remembered losing her taste for them. Slowly but surely she stopped attending them, the dresses in a closet of another room of Finley Manor resting for a period of time she left undefined. And one day she had realized she hadn't been to a gala in nearly four years, a lot had changed over those four years.

She had changed.

And so, while sitting up at her desk one night working on case files, Harlow couldn't help but think she needed to bring the world back to knowing who she was. Who she had become, she hadn't put in all that effort to grow into someone new and not have the world see her differently. To have Gotham realize she wasn't the sad fiancé partied too hard and had a little too much fun for their taste. To show Gotham City that she was an accomplished doctor, one that was putting in the effort to give back to the city that allowed her to have everything she does. That's why the gala was happening tonight; that's why she knew the media was going to be all over her and her new beau. They would go wherever the story was — and the ones that wanted the real story weren't her worry, it was the outlets that just wanted to make as much money as they could off of her. Outlets that know all it took were a few well-timed and well-placed photographs and even the most righteous hint at something crazy to create a story that sells across the city. Maybe even farther.

With Harlow, she knows it's likely it would turn into stories selling far past Gotham. Especially since news sources from Metropolis and other cities were going to be there — Finley Incorporated wanted to get as much press for their new venture (that Harlow spearheaded) and try to get as many cities and possible investors on board. That wasn't the goal for Harlow, she would single-handedly fund the project if she had to, but the money was never the issue. She just wanted people to see how they could afford this — how providing insurance for the people who need it most can end up saving the entire city money, helping people take themselves out of the poverty line. Finley Incorporated is a business, she knew that much, making money off of things is what the company does. Harlow never had much of an interest in the money (probably not a good thing to admit considering that the company is the main part of her fortune), it's why her father trained someone else to take over. She wouldn't have been very good at running it, anyway. She was a leader through and through, but she didn't have what it took to be a CEO. Being a surgeon was hard enough; more politics were involved in the life of doctors than she thought there to be, but she couldn't imagine what it was like as a CEO of a multi-billion dollar company.

The thought of being posted across the titles of newspapers again worried her, she feared the ideas that Gotham still held about her. Whether they looked at her and saw the same little girl with a toothless smile that hung onto her parents arms, or the teenager who was always enamored with her childhood best friend turned boyfriend, but moreso whether they still saw her as a broken-hearted woman who went off the deep end. That fear started to set in the closer to the end of her shift that Harlow got, Harlow felt herself slipping away as she got lost between her thoughts of what the public would think of her and with Bruce coming back. Another voice in the back of her mind screamed that that was going to bring everything back — it was going to make Gotham remember everything that she spent years running from. A part of her knew that newspapers in the next few weeks were going to be circling with the photos of them from when they were younger. Front covers would be plastered with photos of their engagement, photos of her as a teenager again, and anything in between. Shaking her head, trying to get the thoughts weighing her down out of them, Harlow sat down in the lounge. Her scrubs had progressively gotten dirtier throughout the day, though surprisingly, not covered in blood like they often were. But, that same deep-rooted feeling she had after her shifts set in within her bones. A type of exhaustion she never imagined being able to feel — but it's one she tells all of the new residents about now. Because one day, they're going to look up and see that they've spent their lives running on fumes, and for what? Harlow would have liked to say it was chasing a dream, and for many, that may have been the endpoint, but throughout it, they all questioned their choices. And even when that end goal is reached, how are they supposed to continue knowing what their life feels like daily. Harlow liked to think that for the people who had someone to go home to, it was better.

After all, she knew what it was like to go home without anyone there to greet her. Which was an odd thing to think about — Harlow always thought she would have someone. And then she did (does?), which was even more odd. Because she had spent her entire life believing, expecting it to be one singular person. She had spent her entire life in love with one person — a man who still holds the key to her heart when he didn't deserve it. Jonathan Crane was a diversion from the track she had always imagined taking. While it was an accepted diversion, one that she was happy for at the current point in time, she couldn't help but live in the world of what-ifs. Wondering what she would have been like if Bruce Wayne never walked out of hers and everyone else's lives. Harlow Verity Finley wanted so much out of her life that she never got, and now she doesn't even know if they're what she wants anymore. She's become the shell of a human being, afraid to give her heart away to someone else just in case it gets smashed on again. Nothing would hurt the same way, not in the way that Bruce had torn her heart out and stomped on it, but she didn't want to feel that way again. Harlow had spent her time just protecting herself, protecting her feelings as she tried to maneuver her way through life again.

"Aren't you supposed to be on your way out?" Harlow lifted her head to smile at Catherine, a surgical floor nurse she had taken a liking to. She nodded, sighing as she stood up with her bag hanging off of her shoulder. Catherine shook her head, taking a bite of the pineapple she grabbed out of the fridge, "Have fun tonight, I can't wait to see what the media takes of your new program."

Harlow raised a brow, quirking her head with a laugh, "Yeah, I'm sure they're going to love it."

The media was most definitely not going to love it — Harlow was sure of it. Any time someone said something about helping Gotham and the narrows in specific, the media scrutinized them. After the death of the Wayne's and the way that Gotham fell even further into the hands of organized crime, the media was swayed into believing that the Wayne's were wrong. That they shouldn't have poured their money into trying to fix the city, trying to fix a city that had people working it beneath the surface. Harlow was sure that the minute her program, trying to help people get the medical attention that they deserved, hit the news. The minute it all came around to the hellhounds that snuff out any story — they would come out with the stories of why no one wanted this. Why this would be the worst possible thing for Gotham, which Harlow knew wasn't true, but she also knew that there was a population of people that would believe whatever words were put into print. With a huff, Harlow thought about how the only thing that would make Gotham forget about her plan would be Bruce's return. His return would change the tides the media went with, a different wave that they would surf on until it crashed against the surface.

Harlow found it funny how the drive back from work seemed to take longer than her drive to work, she figured it was just the simple juxtaposition of being tired or not being tired. There was a certain type of exhaustion that she could only attribute to work — one that settled deep within her bones, nailing sleepiness to every crevice it could attach itself to. She had never found a way to deal with that, not for a long-term fix. Sure, there were quick fixes. Harlow Finley had spent her fair few nights chugging mug after mug of coffee, an energy drink (or if she was feeling bold a five hour energy) mixed in there. She had even taken her own way to dealing with the pain that her body screamed in — her wild and free years as a newly-single twenty-something year old wasn't just because of her broken heart. Don't discount it, though, that was definitely a leading and defining factor, but she found that when she was numb to the world around her, so was her body. Maybe it was an easy way out of dealing with her pain, in Harlow's eyes it was a temporary fix for one problem so she could try and figure everything else in her life out. And still, she felt as though she was avoiding her own problems (even if she wasn't, she just wasn't sure on how to fix this one). In some ways, she found it more comforting to think that there wasn't anything she could to do fix the exhaustion that work caused. Another part of her also knew that her coworkers who had happy (and healthy and the list could go on) relationships where they leaned on their partner for support were dealing with it better than she had. Despite Harlow Finley being a scientist to her core, she had the biggest belief in that being true. Maybe it was because she had the faintest glimpse at the beginnings of an experiment — she and Bruce were together her first year of medical school, and she knew how the people who weren't in relationships reacted and crumpled under the stress. She saw how she turned into a crumpled-up piece of paper, left without a second thought between her break-up (that also wasn't a breakup, she clearly never got over that part) and the second year of medical school.

And yet, she found herself as an inspiration to people who should be looking up to other people. At least, in Harlow Verity Finley's professional opinion, the students should not be aspiring to be her. No one should be. And plenty out there in the world (far, far outside of Gotham) strived to be like the Harlow Finley. Blind idolization was something Harlow found odd, it was strange that people could devote themselves to being like somebody they had never met. There was a difference between idolizing people they knew — she could understand knowing a lot about a person and wanting to know more. Craving to be like the very person who taught them how to be. But someone like her? Harlow knew exactly what people knew about her, it was calculated and formulated to be exactly what she wanted and a little bit of what she didn't. Yet, they didn't know everything about her. She swore no one would want to be just like her if they did. No one would want to do that to themselves.

People crave things that they wouldn't be able to handle. They crave the validation of the publics eye, the attention they would get when people eventually fall in love with the things they do. Only, the public eye is much more judgmental than people think it would be. It can build a person up, sure, brick by brick, slowly encapsulating them into a moment in time. But, all it takes is one strong gush of wind and everything they knew comes crumbling down. Their castle falling to their feet as people rush to the gates with pitchforks and reasons that never seem to make much sense. Harlow Finley knew what it was like on both sides; she knew what it felt like to be dragged through the mud and torn to shreds.

That wasn't what anyone wanted — nor is it anything they should go through.

Harlow Finley was okay with it being herself, perhaps it was self-sacrificial of her to do, but she believed that she deserved it more than anyone. Maybe it was even a perverted sense of bravery she held in her heart because she had dealt with it for so long. It wasn't going away, no matter how many times she had wished it would. So, it might as well be that she can keep other people from getting hurt in the process. In a roundabout way, Harlow thought that might have been her reasoning for going into medicine.

Saving people from being hurt.

AUTHORS NOTE

welcome to what i like to call 6k words
of absolutely nothing except build up for
the next chapter! and when i tell you i orginally
planned on the next chapter and this one being
combined but had to split it up because it was
suddenly going to be a 14k worded chapter in
total (i think the next chapter is looking to be
around 8k, i'm not 100% finished with it but it's
getting there, hence you guys getting this update)

i miss harlowbruce guys :( i promise i am trying
to write for them more!! trust in me i am trying 🫡