AN: I don't know. I quit asking a while ago. All you really need to know is that Angelique flirts with absolutely everyone, not because she's interested, but because it throws people off. Awkwardness ensues.

Matt is not being a cooperative cupcake. Foggy, on the other hand, is a ray of sunshine and as such will not be harmed. See, Matt? I wouldn't have to hurt you if you were nice.

Updates Fridays.

Entering the room from the wet, windy rooftop outside is like walking into a furnace. The place smells like incense-lavender-and vinyl records and vodka. Two thugs are outside, but they don't know he's here. Their employer, on the other hand...

"Ohh, I'd hoped you'd come. Sit down, you're soaked. Drink? Candy?" He declines. They could be drugged. Probably are. "Your loss." There's the sound of vodka being poured into a glass of ice. "Sit down, dear, dry out."

"I'm good."

Clack, clack, clack, clack. Heels on hardwood, muffled by a rug.

"Have you come to arrest me, or to help me?"

He'd like to arrest her-or, rather, drop her off at the station-but there's no evidence.

"Child prostitution?"

"Mm." There's knowledge in that voice, and exhaustion. "I can't find the source. But you...the law hates you already, you can do what you need to."

"You could be setting me up."

"Sweetheart, if I wanted you dead, you would be." Ice cubes clink together. "So. I tell you what I know, you find the person responsible and...do what you need to. You make this happen, I owe you a favour. Deal?"

He doesn't like it. He really doesn't like it. But he likes This a whole lot less.

"Deal. But I don't need a favour."

"Excellent." Angelique du Maurier reclines back on her chaise lounge-velvet, antique wood, way too many zeroes on that price tag-and takes a long drink. "Sit down, I insist. This could take a while."

He hates moving away from the window, hates being here at all. But there's not much he can do about it now.

He sits down, one ear tuned on the thugs in the hall. She tosses a curl-Foggy wouldn't shut up about what she looked like-over her shoulder and moves a bit.

"Cigarette?" He shakes his head, hears a lighter being flicked. "Well, well. The Daredevil, in my private lounge. Never thought I'd see the day."

"What do you know."

"So impatient. Tsk, tsk." She moves again, silk robe rubbing against velvet chaise. "Ah-ah! Settle down, or I call my dogs and you don't find out anything."

He settles down with an effort, because she's willing to talk and that might change if he has to threaten to fling her over the balcony.

Also, it really is warm in here and this armchair is very comfortable. Soft. Squishy. Like a hug.

"Good boy." He hates that tone. It's the tone of someone who always gets what they want, who's never been told no. "Where to begin..."

"Names, maybe."

"If I had names, I wouldn't need you." She's annoyed, not used to anyone backtalking her. Heh. This might be fun. "All I know for certain, is that they disappear in the park between nine and midnight. Everything else is rumour, ghost stories."

"Mm."

"Most of them, as far as I know, are being shipped out of the country. I don't know when, I don't know how, just that it happens. But one of them got away. Scrappy little thing-clawed the guy's eye out of its socket. I have his address."

"He didn't go to the police?"

"Don't be so niave. If they cared, I wouldn't be talking to you. This is for you." There's the sound of paper rustling and he reaches out, feels thick cardstock in his fingers. "I don't care what you do. Bring them here, drop them at the station with enough evidence to keep them locked up, whatever. But I don't want them back on the streets. Do I make myself clear?"

"They won't be out for much longer." He stands up and stows the card in his pocket for later. "I'll be in touch." Maybe. If he really has to.

"Oh, should I invest in a Batsignal? Maybe something with..." She's looking him over. "Ohh, a pitchfork? Would that suit?"

"No."

"So grouchy." That's a pout, he's had enough practice hearing those from Foggy. "At least the lawyers tried to be charming...sweetheart, you need a rest. A little TLC."

"No."

She laughs at him and stands up.

"If you ever change your mind...rest assured, I won't leave you to the whims of a rookie. I'll take care of you myself."

This is one of those conversations he'll take with him to the grave. He's been having a lot of those lately.

"I'm good."

"Shall I turn around, let you disappear? Or will you take the door?"

He doesn't even bother answering that one, just ducks out the window and disappears into the rain.