Disclaimer: I do not own Gotham or any of the characters thereof, but I do claim the creative liberties to this story.
Don't be a hero. It's what my old partner had taught me and what I in turn was trying to teach my new one. Still...
"In the meantime, do me a favor. Find Butch... and if he's alive, help him."
...I didn't even hesitate.
There was a reason I denied caring for Fish when Jim Gordon had brought it up. It was because I cared. No matter how many times she'd tried to have me killed or had threatened my life, I cared about her.
And she cared for Butch. It was rare seeing that level of bare emotion in her eyes, hearing that slight quiver in her voice.
Caring was a weakness and having a weakness in this city was a dangerous thing. Fish knew that and I knew that. Jim, at least, was learning.
A few parting words and a farewell kiss later sees me back in my beat-up car with Fish in my rearview mirror. I don't make promises often, but when I do I mean them.
I head back into the city, internally face palming and berating myself for being such a putz. I drive slow, stopping for coffee and a Danish along the way if only to give myself time to talk myself in and out of this promise a few dozen times.
In the end, I'm sitting outside of Fish Mooney's club, sure to be renamed after an annoying, little flightless bird and watch as said man hobbles out of the building. His limp was more pronounced and his clothing disheveled, practically teetering in what could either be exhaustion or drunkenness. In the late night hours it was hard to tell, though it could have easily been both.
It makes my chest swell with something akin to pride knowing she gave as good as she got. I hadn't been wrong when I said she was tough as nails.
I wait a little longer, taking time to finish off my coffee, before getting out of my car. The alley's dark and quiet as I make my way towards the club's back entry and, with the help of my glasses, the lock easily picked.
Despite what people may say about me, my partner included, I'm a good detective. A damn good detective and I know my way around a crime scene, more importantly, I know how to read one.
Mooney's iconic skeleton fish had been shot out and a metal baseball bat discarded. There were various bloodstains on the floor, though most were old and dried. And bullet casings. A lot of bullet casings.
It was rather helpful actually, especially since they made a nice easy-to-follow trail throughout the club. A trail which ended in a downstairs hallway with a grated window that opened out onto the streets. And a small puddle of blood, only partially dried.
There wasn't much so whoever had been shot hadn't bled out and had most likely taken a bullet to the arm or leg. The blood had been smeared as well and I could easily picture the victim being dragged away. Unwillingly, but alive.
Falcone had a number of hitmen at his disposal, but there was only one he'd send after Fish and Gilzean.
Victor Zsasz.
Butch may have been alive when they dragged him out, but if that bald-headed freak had him then there was no telling how many pieces he was in by now. Still, I had to know. For Fish's sake.
A/N: This won't be a long story, only 4 chapters, but this was such an unlikely pairing I just had to give them some love.
A/N 7-25-16: I edited the format of this story to make it first person POV. It makes more sense this way and is easier to read.