Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot and the character Neal Eaglesham. That's it. DC owns most of the rest.

This story is completely unrelated to my Teen Titans series.

Chapter 1

I was the best. Up until now, that is.

A few minutes, or maybe it was an hour ago, I was given two choices and I couldn't come up with a third one.

I solved the mystery, but no one can know what really happened.

No one can know why Neal Eaglesham was killed or who killed him.

It's between me and his killers.

I hate it, but it has to be that way.

Three Months Earlier

Usually, Gotham police officers and detectives meet their informants at the docks.

Everyone knows that, which is why I don't meet my informants there.

I choose a different place, depending on who calls up and where they're calling from.

Informants know too much for their own good, so they are enemies of a lot of people. They can be killed at any moment. That's why I choose a place close to wherever they're calling from. They can hide out there until I show and I don't have to worry that they'll be killed on their way across the city.

Most of the time it works out. This time it didn't.

Neal Eaglesham.

He had called me fifteen minutes ago. His voice was hushed and anxious, which is why I had arrived at the warehouse in fifteen minutes. Once I hung up, I rushed over to see what he had to tell me.

I was obviously too late.

I bent down to one knee and carefully looked him over by eye. Touching him could destroy vital evidence and I didn't have my forensics kit with me.

From what I could see, I could only surmise he had been strangled to death. His open eyes showed broken blood vessels, indicating that he was strangled. I can't be sure until I get the autopsy report.

He also had a cut lip and his eye was a bit swollen, meaning the injury was also recent. Other than that, there were no other signs of recent injuries.

I called in a few other investigators who checked the crime scene while the Commissioner assigned someone else to the case. It only took a week for the report to come in.

The murder was written off as a suicide.

I immediately jumped out of my chair and went straight to the Commissioners office, the report still clutched in my hand.

"Jim," I said after I slammed Commissioner Gordon's door shut, "what the hell is this?" I slammed the report onto his desk in anger.

"I was waiting for you to come," He replied calmly. He obviously wasn't surprised at the outcome of the investigation. I wasn't either, but that still didn't stop me from losing my temper. "We now have no evidence that it was a murder. The coroner broke Neal's neck and the detectives on the case destroyed whatever evidence they collected. None of it was tagged.

"Obviously, they were all bought off. We're going to need twice as much evidence to bring in whoever killed Neal."

"Not a problem," I replied, now much calmer than I had been when I first stepped into the room.

Usually, I am known to remain calm. Only two things can really set me off: when someone threatens my family and when justice isn't served.

Ruling a suicide for an obvious murder is an act of injustice.

The Gotham City Police Department has few good cops. Commissioner Gordon and I are two of the few.

I'm the good cop that gets called in to handle the big cases, like this one. The ones that other cops let "slip by." I'm the only one in this department that can find evidence when the originals are destroyed. That's why I didn't have the case before. It would have been too easy for me, and why should the Commissioner put me on an easy case when he could put someone else on it and let me handle the one no one can. It's a waste of talent.

The problem with being one of the few good cops is that you have a ton of bad ones to watch out for. They'll do anything for money.

When I first started, a mob boss put a price on me. I had brought in a few key members of his crew and had handed in enough evidence to put them in jail for life.

Two dozen of my coworkers worked on trying to win that cash. They tried to kill me in many different ways.

They shot at me, tried to fight me, one was finally successful enough to drug me. They took me directly to the boss.

That man was an idiot. He kept me alive until I woke up, he didn't even have anyone check me over to see if I didn't have my gun or any other weapons on me.

I waited him out, got him to talk and tell me pretty much everything. Then I cut myself loose and kicked his fat ass to the floor. Then, I used what he had told me against him. He was put on death row.

After that, most of the cops know not to mess with me. There are a few idiots and rookies that still try, but they learn after I break there arm, beat their face in, or start choking them.

That's the only way to get them off your back.

Prove you're tougher.

I started at the obvious spot. Neal's apartment.

I know whatever evidence that might have been there, most likely isn't there now, but I've gotten lucky in the past. I also know that no one can cover all the tracks.

I work the obvious spots. Old papers in trashcans, the drawers inside Neal's desk, in between the mattresses, pillowcases, the most obvious spots. Then I went after the least obvious spots before moving on to the less obvious ones.

I tapped the floorboards lightly, trying to get a hollow sound out of them.

Nothing.

There was no dust on the top shelf. One of the officers on the case probably cleaned it up so I wouldn't be able to see where Neal had last touched it. I pulled out a brush from my bag and used the wooden end to lightly tap the shelf. A few minutes later, I had gotten to a hollow sound. I dropped the brush and moved my fingers over where the sound had come from.

I couldn't feel any small groove or crevice. But why was it hollow in that spot?

There had to be some opening for it.

I looked at it from the side and felt for any little groove there.

Got it.

In a secret slot on the inch thick top shelf, were three notes. I slipped them into a plastic bag and put it away in my forensics bag before looking for a few more slots. I found four more, each with three notes in them. I slipped those into plastic bags as well before moving onto the desk.

After two hours of searching, I came up with three dozen notes, four tape recordings, a shoebox full of photographs, and ten lists.

I checked my watch to find it was already five o'clock. I sighed and grabbed my bag, full of evidence and equipment, and left the apartment.

My house was on the other side of Gotham. The good side where there's less crime.

I'm a detective but I'm also the first adopted son of the richest man in the world.

That's right; I'm Bruce Wayne's first adopted son. I'm also his biggest disappointment.

When Bruce adopted me, I guess you could say he was training me to take over for him. As you can see, I didn't.

Bruce has three adopted sons.

I'm the first. I'm twenty-five years old, I'm a police detective, and I have a wife and two kids. I'm the disappointment in the family.

Jason is the second. He's twenty-three and plays pro soccer. He's single and lives up in a nice suite at the finest hotel in Gotham. He's the athlete of the family.

Tim is the third. He's twenty, engaged, and is in college taking business courses and preparing to take over for Bruce. He's Bruce's favorite.

Bruce and I haven't talked since just before I left for college. That's when I told him I'd be taking courses to become a police officer and detective. Bruce has a thing against cops so, needless to say, he wasn't exactly thrilled when I told him about my plans.

That's when I became the disappointment in his life.

The moment I closed the garage door and got out of my car, my kids ran out the door to come see me.

I can't help smiling when I see them.

"Daddy! Daddy!" My little girl, Mari, yelled out as she jumped into my arms. She was three, very energetic, just like her mother and also looked like her mother. The only sign that I was her father, other than DNA, were her dark ebony locks.

"Dad, you should have seen me today," Ryan, my little boy, said with a grin as he jumped down from the steps and stopped in front of me. He was five and looked almost like me except for his fiery red hair and bright emerald eyes, which obviously came from his mother. "Mom taught me this awesome reverse kick and I got it on the first try!"

"That's great, Ryan!" I tell him, returning his grin and ruffling his hair.

I put Mari at my hip and grabbed my forensics bag before locking the door to my car, before we walked into the house.

"Now, where's mommy?" I asked playfully, pretending to look around when I knew full well that she was in the kitchen.

"I know! She is in the kitchen," Mari said, jumping out of my arms. She grabbed my free hand and started tugging me toward the kitchen.

"I thought you were a detect-detict…" Ryan trailed off, trying to remember how to say the word.

"Detective, son," I told him as his sister pulled me toward the kitchen and he followed.

"Yeah, detective," He said happily before continuing. "So how come you can't tell where mom is?"

"Because your dad's not that smart," Kory said with a wide smile as she leaned over the counter in the kitchen and looked over at us.

"Funny," I said as I walked over and gave her a light kiss on the lips. "What's for dinner?"

"Pork chops, mashed potatoes, and vegetables so the kids can grow up to be nice and strong like their mom." She replied, cutely tilting her head to the side. I chuckled.

I first met Kory at a party Bruce was hosting. We were seventeen, and she was a model while I was training to become the next richest man in the world. My friend Roy Harper introduced her and her best friend Donna to me, and Kory and I ended up spending the whole night together.

We got married when we were nineteen, had Ryan the next year and Mari two years after that. While I learned forensic science, she learned how to run a small business. She now owns her own dojo and teaches kids and teenagers karate.

A few hours after dinner, I tucked my son and daughter into bed, giving them a kiss on their foreheads and wishing them a good night's sleep. After that I went straight to my office and got to work.

I pulled out the notes, box of photos, recordings and lists. Just glancing at them I could easily tell this was going to take me some time to sort out. As I set the photos and recordings to the side, I felt a pair of warm arms wrap around me from behind.

Kory leaned down and set her chin on my shoulder.

"New case?" She asked, glancing down at what I had collected.

"Neal Eaglesham," I replied leaning back in my seat a bit. "All the crime scene evidence was destroyed, so this one's going to take me a while." I leaned my head against hers. "He was choked to death. Anyone could have done it, especially since he had made so many enemies. I'm gonna be on this one for a while."

She rubbed my chest in understanding before giving me a kiss on the cheek.

"I'll let the kids know," She told me before giving me a kiss on the lips. "Don't stay out to late."

I smiled against her lips before giving her one last kiss goodnight.

Two weeks later, I had my first lead.

Edward Nigma. A master -sorry- former master of riddles. I've put him away a few times but he always finds some way to slip out. When he first started, I'll admit his riddles were clever, but over time they've become too easy. It's even easier to find him.

The abandoned Crosswords Laundromat.

I don't bother with getting a warrant or even knocking on the door, I just break it down and walk in.

I move through the place slowly, checking around for Nigma. He wasn't on the first floor of this two story building, which left the second floor.

I stopped at the steps and pulled out my flashlight. I turned it on and aimed the beam up the steps. It flashed against a thin line, fourth step from the top. I turned the flashlight off, tucked it back into my belt and slowly walked up the steps.

When I got to the fourth from the top, I stepped over it and onto the next step, making sure I didn't trigger a trap.

I glanced down the hall in front of me. Nigma couldn't be in one of those rooms. There weren't any traps someone could trigger.

I went down the hallway to my right, moving slowly against the wall, I finally stopped when I passed the first door. The paint was thicker and wasn't as chipped as the rest of the paint on the wall. It seemed to have been chipped in certain places as well. Specific places.

I lightly set my fingers on the wall and picked at the paint. Wallpaper was underneath. I ripped that away to find a door behind it, but there was no knob. It was solid. There wasn't a hole for a knob, a special slot for a key to go in, nothing. But there had to be a way in.

I could kick it down, but than I'd lose my edge of surprise.

I checked the wall for any signs of a small compartment. I felt around it and looked at the coloring. The coats were even. There couldn't have been anything to open the door there.

I looked the door up and down once more, and this time I found something. Right at the top, was a small, almost unnoticeable, latch that was covered in the same dull paint as the door.

I pulled down lightly on it and the door slowly creaked open. I pulled out my gun and slowly walked into the hidden room.

My eyes glanced around as I took in the set of security monitors on the wall to my left. On my right was a couch and on it sat Edward Nigma, watching Jeopardy.

I couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow at that. As I said before, Nigma was more into riddles, Jeopardy is more about facts.

"Oh come on!" He yelled out at the person who had just answered incorrectly. "How hard is it to remember that the Battle of Bunker Hill took place on June 17, 1775? It's one of the first things you learn when you're learning about the American Revolution! Everyone knows the famous saying-"

"Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes," I finished, putting the barrel of my gun to the back of his head. "William Prescott."

He froze the moment I spoke and his shoulders straightened and tensed the moment I put my gun to the back of his head.

"Detective Grayson," He said stiffly as I saw a few beads of sweat begin to form on the back of his neck, "what a surprise."

"Is it really, Nigma?" I replied as I turned the gun away from his head and to the TV. I shot it, permanently shutting it off, before putting the barrel to his left temple. "Neal Eaglesham. You met up with him about a week and a half before he died. What'd you tell him?"

"I certainly don't know what you're talking about," He said, getting up from the couch and looking over at me. He didn't meet my eyes. "Now, I would appreciate it if you left my home."

"I've got you Nigma," I told him, putting my gun back in its holster. "Three weeks ago you were in possession of a printing press and used it to create phony checks. The checks were almost identical to ones belonging to Gotham's wealthiest. Tell me what you told Neal, and I won't take you in."

"You have no proof I printed any false checks," He replied smugly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You tried cashing them in, Nigma. I have the security tape to prove it. Forgery can also be added to the list, as I'm sure the people whose names on the checks have never even met you." I knew I had the upper hand when I walked through the door. I always make sure I do before I can take down a crook. Lying will get me nowhere since guys like Nigma have a rap sheet that could probably circle the world once over.

I saw him gulp before I continued.

"If I remember correctly, I believe you were trying to sell the press and checks after failing to cash them in. You didn't think the richest men and women in Gotham had a special stamp put on the back of each of their checks; that's what you were missing on yours."

"I sold it. I told him I sold it to the Bird Man," He told me.

"Is that exactly what you told him?" I questioned. He nodded and held my gaze.

When he's nervous, his eyes dart back and forth. And when a crook is nervous, four out of five times it means they're lying to you.

He was telling me the straight forward truth.

I turned and left the room.

The Bird Man is a little nickname Oswald Cobblepot obtained in the criminal underworld. Of course, he's also one of Gotham's wealthiest philanthropists. He has a known fascination with birds, which is how he got his nickname.

His favorite is the flightless bird.

The Penguin.

I've been working up a case against him for a few years now. Neal had been helping, so it wouldn't surprise me if Cobblepot is the next guy he went to see. Or if he was the guy that had Neal killed off.

The problem is, while Neal was a one-time crook, which made it easier for him to meet up with other crooks, I'm a well known cop. So it's a little harder for me to get an appointment.

That's where District Attorney, Harvey Dent, comes into the picture. He's an old friend of Bruce's and, even though he works with the police, he's more of a politician. When he's not working on putting a crook in jail, he's hanging around with the richest men and women in Gotham. Hopefully he can set me up with a little meeting with Cobblepot.

"Dick, it's good to see you again," Harvey said with as he smiled and shook my hand. I returned his smile before sitting in the seat across from him. "So, how are Kory and the kids?"

"They're great Harvey, but I'm here for more than just a friendly chat," I said, getting straight to business. When I first came to Harvey the first year I started, I went straight to business and he commented how I was just like Bruce when I did that. Once he saw the look on my face, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

He hasn't said it again since, but I know that's what he thinks. Every single time.

"I need a meeting with Oswald Cobblepot. I got some info from a reliable source that he may be involved with the Neal Eaglesham case I'm working on," I explained.

Harvey nodded, his smile gone and his face serious.

"I'll try my best to set it up as soon as possible," He assured me. I shook his hand once more before leaving.

I didn't get to meet him until three weeks later. In that amount of time, I worked up my case against him, and walked in with a fairly large folder. I ended up stopping short of the table.

Harvey told me he would be there for the meeting, but he left out the detail that Bruce would be there as well.

I let out a slow breath through my nose, tugged at my tie a bit, and walked to the table.

I spent ten years wearing suits and going to Bruce's fancy parties, dinners, and lunches. I hated every minute of it. I never felt comfortable in a suit and tie. I still don't.

Bruce never made wearing them any easier. Once he spots me, my tie loose and blazer unbuttoned, he'll raise an eyebrow and look at me as if I'm unworthy to even be at the same table he's sitting at.

Family disappointment.

"Mr. Cobblepot, Harvey," I greeted them before turning my gaze to Bruce, "Mr. Wayne."

He nodded, but raised an eyebrow and gave me that look he always did when he didn't approve of something. The unworthy look.

This time, I'm not going to try to be his little clone or the good son that always makes daddy happy. I always ended up failing at that, somehow.

This time, I was gonna be myself.

"Glad you could make it Dick," Harvey said, drawing my attention away from Bruce. "We were just about to order lunch."

"Sorry, don't have much time for lunch," I replied. I threw the folder in front of Cobblepot. "There's some interesting stuff in there, Mr. Cobblepot. I thought you might want to look over it. My number at work is on the last page. Give me a call when you want to talk. Privately. See you all later."

"Lunch is on me," Bruce spoke up before I could turn. "Sit. We don't have to talk business right now, since you've obviously finished yours. We could chat about something else."

"I'm not one to just sit and chat, Mr. Wayne," I told him, meeting his gaze. "I just came by to give Mr. Cobblepot that folder. And if I don't leave now than I'll miss lunch with my wife. See you all later."

I turned and walked out the door and to the parking lot. I got into my car and drove up to Kory's dojo a few miles away.

I wasn't lying to Bruce when I told him I was going to have lunch with Kory, and I didn't just ditch the lunch because Bruce was there. I had actually planned to leave early anyway to meet up with Kory. She just didn't know about it.

I parked in front of Dragon Fire, her dojo, and got out of the car. When I walked into the dojo no one was there. It was a week day, and, even though school would be ending in a week, Kory still liked to open up early. She liked to spend the time between when she arrives at twelve to when her first class starts by coming up with a schedule. She's able to teach three classes at once.

She has one group arrive at three-thirty, has them get started off by stretching, and then has a second group come in five minutes after the first. Same with the third. Each group is learning a different level of martial arts, and some even learn a different type. She takes one person from each group, instructs them on whatever new move they're learning and has that person help the group while she's with the other one.

She's proved to me that women are definitely better at multitasking.

Today was different for some reason. When I walked into her office, she wasn't prepping her schedule or reading up on whatever she had taught some group the last time they were there. She was just staring straight ahead, her mind obviously a million miles away.

"You alright, Kory?" I asked, kneeling down beside her chair. She nearly jumped out of it in surprise.

"Dick, what are you doing here? I thought you had a lunch meeting," She said once she calmed down.

"I cut it short to take you out to lunch," I told her with a smile. She grinned, but there was a gleam in her eyes as if she was uncertain of something. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," She said before giving me a gentle kiss. She kept her forehead against mine as she pulled back and said, "But I really have a lot of work to do right now."

"You can do it in a half hour," I told her, giving her a devious smile before picking her up and off her chair. "Right now I have to treat my wife to lunch."

She giggled as I carried her out of the building and into the car.

We never made it to the restaurant.

Fifteen minutes after I got back to headquarters, my phone rang.

"Grayson," I said after I picked it up.

"Well played, Mr. Grayson," I heard Cobblepot say in his usual aristocratic voice. "What is it that you want?"

"Information," I replied, leaning back in my chair. "Meet me at the abandoned bar in Old Gotham. Alone. Bring anybody to try to take me down, you go down. Got it?"

"Very well. What time?"

"An hour from now."

He hung up and so did I.

"No one says goodbye anymore, huh?" I heard Harvey say from behind me.

I immediately turned in my chair and glared down at him. His hands immediately went up and he took a step back.

"I know you're not happy that Bruce was there Dick, and yeah I should have told you, but I didn't think you'd show if you knew," He explained.

"Why was he there in the first place?" I asked, my fists still clenched at my sides.

"Because he set up the meeting," Harvey told me as he put his hands in his pockets. "I couldn't get a hold of Cobblepot any other way, so Bruce set up the lunch. I explained everything to him and-"

He stopped short when my glare intensified.

"Contrary to what you may believe, Dick, Bruce is proud of you. He's too stubborn to tell you that himself, but at least he made the first move at trying to mend the fence," He said, returning my glare. "You know he and I are friends and we talk a lot. You're one of things we talk about most. He likes hearing about you. How you took down your latest murder case, how you and Kory are doing, and if your kids are okay.

"I know you don't like me saying it, and neither does he, but you two are more alike than you like to admit. Your damn stubborn, are hard workers, don't like much conversation, and like to get straight to business. And you both care about each other too. Get your head out of your ass and go see him I'm tired of being the go-between."

"I never asked you to tell me about what's going on with him," I told him. I knew he was right about everything he just said, and I hated it.

"You never had to," He told me. "So, an hour?"

"An hour," I replied to the change of subject. Harvey had the copies I made of the evidence against Cobblepot. In forty minutes, I'd be going to see the short bird and if I didn't call him twenty minutes after, he'd take up the case against Cobblepot. He was one of three people with a key to my private safe. The other two were Commissioner Gordon and myself.

"I'll be waiting," He reassured me before leaving the room.

A few minutes later, I left as well. I parked my car a few blocks away from the meeting spot, locked it, and walked the rest of the way.

When I got there, Cobblepot was already waiting, smoking a cigar as his eyes darted from shadow to shadow. Clouds began to fill the sky, all becoming different shades of gray. Some were light, and some were growing darker as each minute passed.

A/N: Okay, sorry about that little delay. For some reason my document manager wasn't loading any of the chapters so I wasn't able to upload anything on Friday.

This story is in two parts. It was originally a one-shot but ended up being twenty-two pages, so I decided to split it into two chapters. I'd like to thank my beta, lilninjapig, for checking over the story for me and giving me the title.

I hope you all liked this one. Thanks for reading, please review!