This was the truth: the Waynes were her favorites.
The current incarnation of Gotham was a young city, but time didn't exist the same way for a place the same way it did for its inhabitants. The place where Gotham had been had always existed, but her spirit had grown and shifted as her boundaries were colored by those who called her home.
She still remembered, because there was no way for her to forget – a city never forgot what shaped her bones – the day Nathaniel Wayne first arrived on her shores hunting for witches, back when people believed in things unseen and didn't bow to the mistress of science. She had been amazed at how right and how utterly wrong he was. As he burned the witch he had denounced, Gotham raised her voice through the doomed witch to tied his family's fate with her own until the end of the time.
It had been a spontaneous decision, but one she had never regretted. She had built her current foundations upon the Waynes and those who surrounded them. Nathaniel had bled and bred his family into her, and she loved him and his descendants fiercely in return.
A city didn't feel the same way a mortal did, nor did she think like them. Gotham's love was not a gentle thing, but it was pure and deep and never-ending.
Word of the Wayne murders spread like an oil slick, expanding out like an unstoppable poison from the epicenter of Park Row through the theater district and then oozing through the rest of Gotham. Those who heard that evening began to mourn, going out drinking or bunkering down in their own homes with the drug of their choice as they struggled with the shock of the collapse of one of Gotham's pillars.
The news arrived at Fish's place less than ten minutes after the police arrived at the scene. The Waynes were still laying underneath the sheets on the cold asphalt of Gotham's ground.
Fish was in the main area of her club, listening to the young woman croon a jazz standard on stage for the audience with a frown on her face as she considered the performance. The woman was decent, but she was certainly no Dinah Drake.
There were many aspects to running the Falcone-sponsored club that that required Fish's personal touch, but selecting the talent was her personal favorite. Fish Mooney's was a front for darker dealings, but she enjoyed making sure the front was a good one. She certainly wasn't going to have her name on anything less than the best. Fish was trying to decide if she should bear with the mediocre performer –her next major shipment was in two days – or put out word that auditions would be held tomorrow when her cellphone rang.
She always had it silenced when she was in public, but a few select callers were programmed to override that setting if she needed to know something immediately. Penguin, her almost-pretty boy attendant who existed to do the menial things she didn't want to risk breaking a nail on, stared down at the purse he was guarding with his life.
She flicked her fingers at her assistant, indicating he should hand the phone over. To his credit, he had it out almost immediately without disrupting the other contents of the bag.
She didn't wait to check the caller ID, well aware that others were surreptitiously keeping an eye on her actions. Fish Mooney didn't allow cellphones into her club.
"Yes?"
"The Waynes are dead," a male voice said in a low tone, barely audible over the wails of sirens in the background.
Fish prided herself on never acting rattled or surprised in front of others. The words she was hearing didn't make sense, but she didn't let that show on her face. "Are you drunk, Harvey?"
"I'm at the scene, and it's my case," Harvey shot back. "Some bastard shot them in an alley, and my partner is too green to get that this isn't a case we wanted to catch. Idiot rookie."
"Was the boy there?"
"Richest orphan in the world seems to be bonding with the rookie," Harvey said in disgust. "I've got to go work this shit storm. This squares us."
"For now," she agreed. "Good luck."
Harvey hung up without a farewell, but both of them had been at this too long to bother with pleasantries when time was a consideration. Schmoozing could wait.
Fish clicked her nails against the table as she tried to gather her thoughts. She didn't doubt others were whispering in the ears of their contacts, and there wasn't much she could do with this jump-start. The only thing Fish could do was brace herself, and avoid being taken by surprise – which was valuable enough for her to agree that Harvey had evened the books between them. Being surprised was never a good thing when you were a woman in a man's world.
"Is everything alright, Miss Mooney?" Penguin asked in the overly ingratiating tone that would have irritated her if she didn't find it so funny.
She shrugged, raising her bare shoulders. "Nothing's ever okay in Gotham," she told him, before flicking her fingers at Penguin to indicate he was to take the phone back. "But tonight is going to be worse than most."
The singer on the stage shifted into a version of "Autumn Leaves," another jazz standard that Fish had heard hundreds of was too early in the night for the song, though it was appropriate for a night that was going to shake the city to its foundations. The singer wasn't bad, but the arrangement had been modified with a heavy bass that throbbed through the club.
Fish would definitely have to hold auditions tomorrow. It would be a good pretense to show things hadn't changed, at least not in her world.
She rose to her feet, her face expressionless as she sashayed toward the backroom where she did most of her business. Eyes were watching her, and she didn't want anyone to remember her reacting with anything but calm. Everyone would remember this night, and where they were and what they saw on the night Thomas and Martha Wayne were murdered.
Penguin hesitated on the threshold of the doorway, but Fish gave a tilt of her head to indicate she wanted him to come in with her.
For a second, she considered ordering Penguin to pour her a brandy, but decided against it. Instead, she sank into her office chair and spun around so her high heels rested in the much lower and extremely uncomfortable visitor's chair.
There was a system in Gotham that kept things from falling to pieces, and Fish knew how to work that system. That foundation was shaking, and Fish was nothing if not a survivor. She was the only female lieutenant in Falcone's family, and she hadn't gotten there by being weak.
That didn't mean she wouldn't fake the weakness that so many in organized crime expected out of women. "Can you rub my feet, sweet? It's going to be a long night."
"Of course, Miss Mooney," he agreed, his long, pale fingers undoing the clasps on her four-inch Manolo Blahniks.
Her almost-pretty Penguin kept smiling as he began to rub the balls of her feet, but she saw the rage he was suppressing at being called by that nickname and relegated to such a servile position. Fish knew the name written on his birth certificate, but he hadn't learned the value in gaining another. If he was ever to truly become someone, he would have to become what Gotham demanded.
Taking on Oswald Cobblepot had been a gamble, but she had plans for him. Fish had been keeping him in her back pocket for a couple of weeks, trying to decide how best to utilize his sharp mind. She was not blind to his ambition, recognizing in him a kindred soul that would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
She hummed as Penguin began to press his thumbs into her heels with just the right touch. Penguin was a smart man, but he underestimated her like so many others. She had been biding her time, waiting for the right moment to begin her push against Falcone.
She already knew how the police investigation into the Wayne murders would end. It would be declared a random mugging, and the police would find a fall guy and attempt to return the city to its uneasy equilibrium. It would just be another coverup, one of the many that Falcone orchestrated as part of the program that kept Gotham from spiraling into outright anarchy.
Fish didn't believe in chance. Random acts of violence didn't happen to people like the Waynes.
"It's bad, Penguin," she murmured, leaning forward so she could run a hand over his sharp cheekbones. "The Waynes are dead. Murdered."
Only the slight flare of his pupils displayed a visible reaction, but she knew Penguin was using that frightening intelligence to sift through the scenario and coming to similar conclusions to the one she had already reached. "That doesn't bode well for business as usual," he replied in that understated tone that encouraged others to confide in him.
Fish studied the little stool pigeon, gazing fearlessly at his greedy, soulless eyes. In that moment, Fish realized exactly how she would deploy him in her plans to overcome Falcone. Penguin may have been a double agent in the making, but there were ways to use his ambition to her own ends. A grand entrance needed the appropriate staging, and Gotham's stage was set for a new star to make a debut.
"Maybe it's time for business to change a bit," she said, deliberately laying the groundwork for Penguin to decide that now was the time to betray her.
Gotham was shaken by the sound of a young boy's scream.
Gotham never slept, but it wasn't often she focused her attention on just one person, not even her beloved Waynes. There were over eight million people within her boundaries, and she was used to a certain rhythm from her denizens. The quiet hum of life within her city usually kept her attention split into a kind of dream-like existence where she watched the Gothamites go about their daily lives.
Occasionally she would throw something into the mix to keep people off-balance; to remind them that Gotham was Gotham. Like a carefully balanced scale, Gotham weighed the good with the bad, always giving just enough good to allow her residents to think the bad would happen to someone else.
Gotham had grown accustomed to the sounds of despair that rose from her slums, and the more subtle agony that roamed the great houses of the rich. But one scream pierced her through her very being, focusing all of her attention in a back alley that hadn't been anything special until a second before.
A strand of broken pearls spiraled together with the blood-soaked body of her favorite child, her beloved Thomas, and the woman he had taken as his wife. Gotham rarely paid much attention who married her Waynes since she knew she would always be first in their hearts. But in that instant, as Bruce Wayne screamed like his soul was dying, Gotham fixated on Thomas Wayne and Martha Wayne and burned them both into the foundations of her being. They may have been dead, but she would never forget them.
This was not supposed to have happened.
Her sweet Tommy was dead; the little boy who had rescued animals and fixed them the best he could before he became a physician and moved on to healing the many desperate souls of Gotham. There was no reason for the Waynes, the owners of Gotham's industrial heart and soul of what little kindness she possessed, to die in an alley.
The heirs of Nathaniel Wayne had been cursed in Gotham, but their curse was to tie their fates to Gotham's until the end of time. The family's curse was to belong forever to Gotham, and for one to be murdered was an unforgivable sin.
Gotham knew what had happened, since she knew everything that went on within her boundaries. She shuddered for an instant, and weighed the consequences of immediate reprisal for those who dared to hurt her favorite sons.
Then she paused, listening as Bruce Wayne's hysteria morphed into a quiet shock as his mind teetered toward insanity.
Instant revenge would be too good for those responsible. Gotham would never forgive those who took what was hers without permission.
When Jim arrived that night, he stopped by the lobby to pick up Barbara's mail as a matter of habit. It was one of those little routines they were developing as they learned each other.
They exchanged a brief kiss at the doorway, the kind of domestic welcome home that still made Barbara giggle internally like a star-eyed teenager indulging in first love. Barbara delighted in finally having him with her, and the knowledge that he was willing to uproot his entire life to move to her city to start their life together. Barbara understood the kind of sacrifice Jim Gordon had made, moving from the suburbs into Gotham proper.
His face was lined and tired as he handed the mail over, and she knew without being told what the cause was. The local news stations had been roaring with special coverage about the death of Thomas Wayne and what it meant for Gotham. Barbara, like any true Gothamite, had been unable to avert her eyes from the coverage. She had heard Jim's name and spent the entire evening glued to the screen, unable to think of anything except how Jim was being thrown off the deep end way too soon.
"How are you doing?" she asked as she led him by the hand to the couch, setting the mail down as she took her place beside him.
He shut his eyes. "You heard?"
"The whole city heard, Jim," she said gently. "Thomas Wayne is - was - the richest man in Gotham."
"That didn't protect him from a bullet."
"You'll find who did it," Barbara reassured him. "The only thing that can be done now is to bring the criminal to justice."
The slump in his shoulders worried her, so she pressed a kiss to his cheek before turning to the side table where the wine glasses were waiting. She had set out a bottle of a Mount Eden Chardonnay to chill in anticipation of Jim's return. She personally preferred Cabernet, but didn't want to inadvertently remind Jim of his night's work by offering him red wine. Wordlessly she handed him the corkscrew and bottle, knowing he preferred to pour, and appreciating the remnant of chivalry that had been ingrained into him.
He looked at the label with a frown on his face. "I'm not sure drinking is a good idea right now. This case..."
"Just a glass to help you sleep," she said coaxingly. "You're going to be very busy until you catch the perp, and you'll work better if you can start fresh tomorrow."
Jim nodded, and she watched as his capable hands worked on decanting the bottle. She held the crystal wine glasses for them both as he poured a generous serving into each. Normally they would have toasted the day or celebrated spending time together, but that would have been inappropriate tonight. Instead, she settled in against his side, feeling the movement of his body as he breathed and sipped at his glass.
"There was a boy there."
"Bruce Wayne. It's a good thing he survived."
"How did you..." Jim started, flaring up before forcing himself to calm down. "He's a minor witness. The press isn't supposed to use his name."
She downed the rest of her glass so she could return it safely to the side table. Reaching over, she rubbed his thigh comfortingly. "Bruce Wayne isn't just a minor. He's now the Wayne family."
"He's a child who witnessed his parents murdered in front of his eyes. He was covered in their blood."
Barbara didn't know how to explain what the Wayne family meant to Gotham, and how Bruce Wayne's survival, even under horrible circumstances, was essential. There were few certainties in Gotham, but the Wayne family had always stood as the leaders of the city's elite. The Waynes served as a moral conscience that so few people cared to give voice to.
Jim wasn't a Gothamite, despite moving to the city to be with Barbara. Unless Jim learned the unwritten rules and structures that existed, he would ever be able to become a true resident of Gotham. Barbara had doubts if he would ever feel Gotham like those born inside the city. Gotham was unkind to good people, and Jim was a truly good man.
Barbara didn't deserve him. She had done many things she wasn't proud of, and someday she hoped to be brave enough to tell Jim about her entire history. She wanted him to offer absolution of her past sins, but she kept finding excuses to delay those important conversations. Tonight, it was because offering comfort to a man who had literally walked through blood.
"You'll find who did this," she assured him again, even though her faith in him warred with her knowledge of the corruption at the heart of Gotham.
She wanted to believe in Jim Gordon. She desperately wanted there to be a place in Gotham for good men, especially now that the Wayne line was reduced to a single child, a single beacon of hope in a city drowning in its own darkness.
"I promised him I would," Jim told her, raising his glass as a vow. "I'll catch the bastard."
She smiled and leaned against his shoulder for several minutes in companionable silence, leaving him to his thoughts. Keeping him company was all she could do at the moment.
Eventually, her eye returned to the mail he had brought in with him. For lack of anything better to do, she picked it up to sort. Despite tragedy, life went on.
Barbara flipped through, separating out the items addressed to him from her own. Most of the mail was addressed to her since Jim hadn't been in the city long enough to end up on many mailing lists. Barbara, who rarely saw a catalog that didn't have something interesting in it, received dozens of advertisements every day.
The one piece of linen card stock stood out in stark contrast to the magazines, credit card offers and other junk mail. Barbara's Trustees paid all of her major bills for her, so she didn't receive any of the more mundane bills that the working class dreaded. Jim had been quiet about that, but she anticipated a fight or two once he settled in and wanted to pay his own fair share. She wasn't looking forward to that argument, anymore than she was looking forward to cracking open the announcement in her left hand. She knew who it was from, and it wasn't anyone she particularly cared for.
Some things were unavoidable, unpleasant though they may have been.
Jim's cop senses were never completely turned off, and she knew he saw her hesitation. His eyes caught the way her hands paused. He was restraining himself from asking. If she wanted, she could tuck the card away and open it up in private, and Jim would never bring the topic up.
She loved that about him, and it was why she chose to open it in front of him.
Barbara wasn't brave enough to talk about the past, but she could share her present with him. She slid a fingernail on the edge to break the seal, even though her mother would have been horrified that she wasn't using a proper letter opener.
Thankfully, the contents didn't contain an invitation to an event she wouldn't want to attend, but a simple birth announcement sent as a matter of obligation. Her eyes glanced over the beautifully produced engraving that proclaimed that Jacob and Gabrielle Kane were now the proud parents of twin daughters, Katherine and Elizabeth. A professional photograph of the new family slipped from the envelope, and she made sure to tilt it so Jim could see its seemingly innocuous contents.
He recognized the man, as anyone who had spent any time in Gotham would. "You know Jake Kane?"
"He's a cousin," she told him. "My family's been in Gotham for a long time, and all the old Gotham families are related. I don't really know him, but it's the way Gotham society works. People send announcements like this all the time in order to extort gifts from distant relatives."
Jim gave her a tired smile. "Society etiquette at its best."
"Indeed," she agreed.
Jim smothered a yawn, and she wisely took his glass away from him. He had barely touched the wine, and his eyes were at half-mast with fatigue.
"I'm ready for bed," he admitted. "You coming?"
"In a bit. I need to finish a couple of things."
If Jim had been in the mood for sex, he would have made a play to persuade her to join him. Instead, he rose to his feet and kissed her goodnight. She watched as he went to their bedroom, frowning in concern. Absentmindedly, she finished off his leftover wine before refilling the glass. Her mother had always said white wine didn't keep well after opening, and Barbara hated seeing things go to waste. As soon as she was done the bottle, she would go keep Jim company as he slept.
Rising to her feet, she moved to put the mail away so she wouldn't awaken to a mess. In the process, her fingers brushed against the picture of the happy Kane family. It was yet another item to store in her scrapbook of family memorabilia.
Barbara had told Jim the truth, but she hadn't really explained what that truth meant. In Gotham, all the major families were related. Barbara's great-grandfather had been a younger son of Hezekiah Kane, and had split with his father over a difference of religion. In a fit of pique, he'd changed the spelling and pronunciation of his name and became the first Kean in Gotham. It wasn't an uncommon story for the Gotham blue bloods.
There was no reason to point out that Martha Wayne's maiden name had been Kane.
Gotham may have been a city that acted on whim, but it was also a city with patience. Sometimes she struck swiftly, using surprise to make things interesting. But Gotham also understood the appeal of the long con, allowing people to lull themselves into a false sense of security.
The day Tommy was taken into her final embrace, joining his ancestors in the Wayne graveyard, she made sure the sun was shining brightly in the skies. There was a weather system off to the west that should have arrived, but Gotham defied expectations and made sure the rain didn't come. Gotham may have owned a reputation of being as dark and gloomy as distant London, but there were days when she let light in.
She would do it for Tommy, one last, visible gesture of how much she had loved him.
Her other tributes to his memory would have to wait until a more appropriate time.
Now, Gotham needed to focus on her newest son, the boy who was falling apart on the inside while struggling to act like a Wayne should.
Gotham knew him, as she knew all of the Waynes born to her, but she rarely paid them much individual attention until they became adults. One child was much like any other in Gotham's experience, and people didn't become truly interesting until they developed their own personalities.
Bruce was younger than any Wayne head of family had ever been, and Gotham felt her curiosity stimulated in spite of her usual indifference toward the young.
On the surface, Bruce Wayne was much like all of his ancestors. He was a handsome boy who would grow into an even more attractive, intelligent man, one destined to wield power over the lesser citizens of Gotham. The Wayne family had few children, but there was always a son and heir for every generation. Gotham would not allow the Waynes to die, since she didn't think she would survive without them.
Stinging from the loss of her Tommy, Gotham committed herself to never let her eyes off of this last, precious heir.
As Bruce stood in front of his parents' caskets, Gotham seethed at the lies that surrounded him. The truth could not be hidden from her, and she was well aware that Mario Pepper hadn't been the one holding the gun.
She knew that the powers that be would conspire to produce a fall guy. Gotham was used to seeing sacrifices made to the name of her justice and the order that kept the rabble down. Pepper had been one of the many desperate men doomed to never escape from her clasp. Every now and then, Gotham herself would let one of the lower ranks slip through the barriers to power, but Mario Pepper had never been anyone special. He had been a thug, one among thousands, and she was insulted that her citizens believed a Wayne could be killed by such a nobody.
Gotham was getting very, very angry. Those who loved her most were beginning to feel the imminent change in the air, but most people were going on with their ordinary lives.
There was a detective at the funeral who Gotham has been idly following since he came within her boundaries. He was the kind of person who never lasted long, since his type walked into Gotham with rose-colored glasses about what the city was. Anyone who entered the police force would inevitably bend to the shades of gray that ruled Gotham's world, or else be broken instead.
Gotham had never been fond of heroes. Heroes believed that evil and good could be absolutes. Gotham existed within the gray zone since everyone had the potential to be both.
The detective was a smart man, and his suspicions about the coverup were starting to surface. She liked smart men, but she liked most of all his fixation on offering Bruce Wayne comfort. Anyone who could care for her Bruce was worth taking note of.
Jim Gordon wasn't one of hers, but she decided James Gordon would be. As Bruce Wayne reached out to take his hand, Gotham cast her spell between the two of them, binding their fates together.
James Gordon wasn't what she wanted in the long run, but he was what had at the moment. She needed time to work through the ideas that were beginning to form within her, but for now she would make due. James Gordon would serve as a proxy to make the changes she was beginning to contemplate. Gotham was a city of fresh starts and hopeless endings, and this wouldn't be the first time she reinvented herself to suit the times.
She would use Detective Gordon until the time was right to create what she really wanted.
Outside of her office, Captain Sarah Essen heard the elevated voices that portended yet another fight among Gotham's finest. She didn't even need to look up from her paperwork to know that the rookie Gordon would be right in the middle.
Digging through her lower right desk drawer, she grabbed the industrial sized bottle of ibuprofen and shook out three tablets. She downed them quickly with the help of the lukewarm, police-made coffee that she drank without tasting. She decided to wait for Bullock to come to her, rather than going out there and cutting things off. The boys needed to learn to work things out amongst themselves.
Sarah shoved the signed papers closing the Mario Pepper case into the outbox for her secretary to collect for filing later. It was convenient that Bullock always shot to kill, but she wished Gordon understood why that was a good thing.
The noise from the bullpen settled into more manageable levels, and she took a glance outside of her window, confirming that Jim Gordon had taken himself off somewhere. He had been quietly seething ever since he had joined the program. Sarah regretted the way he looked at her now, but it had been inevitable that he learned about what kept the GCPD running. All of Gotham's homicide cops had the shiny knocked off quickly.
Ten minutes later, even the usual hum of the bullpen went still. Sarah kept her eyes on the preliminary duty rosters, even though she knew who was about to enter her office. She waited for the tap on her door before rising to her feet to greet Mayor Aubrey James with an extended hand.
"What can I do for you today?" she asked for the audience outside of the door as it clicked closed.
"I'm just stopping by to thank you personally for all of the GCPD's hard work at solving the Wayne murders," he announced in his "I'm a politician" voice. He extended a hand to her, and she shook it firmly, aware that her glass-sided office was the attention of the entire department.
"Thank you. The GCPD is grateful for your appreciation."
In some cities, getting a personal visit from the mayor would have been a form of a compliment. In places like Metropolis and Star City, the police captain would have been ordered to report to the mayor's office as a sign that the mayor had them at his beck and call. In Gotham, the mayor dropped by unannounced as a reminder that he was always watching and could do whatever he wanted.
Mayor James sat on the edge of her desk in a seemingly casual move, gesturing for her to resume her seat. She obeyed without comment, tired of the pettiness of politicians in general and this one in particular. Sarah Essen knew how Gotham worked, and didn't need to be reminded by constant slights and putdowns by those further up the ladder.
"There was some talk going around that the Gordon boy was saying Pepper was set up," he said conversationally.
"He's still a rookie," she said. "He's learning the program."
"I would hate for the rumor mill to start believing that the Waynes' murderer is still out there."
"It was open and shut. Pepper was found with Martha Wayne's pearls in his possession, and ran when the police tried to arrest him."
"Good, good." Sarah wasn't foolish to believe the flash of Mayor James's teeth was a smile. "Falcone's got some residual fondness for the Gordon family, but that's not going to be enough if Gordon gets in his way."
"He'll learn," she repeatedly, disgusted as she realized why Mayor James had chosen today for one of his unscheduled visits. Falcone may have played the respectable businessman, but he was smart enough to work behind the scenes. Sarah had met him once in passing, since he certainly wasn't going to be stopping by the station in person to relay a message.
"See that he does," Mayor James replied, before clasping her on the shoulder in an overly familiar fashion. "The Arkham project is coming before the council, and we can't afford any distractions from having any outstanding business get in the way."
"That's still on the table?" She asked in spite of herself. "Without Thomas Wayne..."
"We'll have a nice plaque installed as memorial once the project is done. The Arkham project won't be stopped just because of the death of two people, even if they were the ones behind it." He straightened and stepped back from the desk. "The City of Gotham has to do something with Arkham, and it's up to us to carry on."
He gave her another long, knowing look, before heading out of her office.
She watched the door shut with a quiet click, and listened as the noise in the bullpen returned to its usual levels as her crew got back to business as usual.
It had been lucky Gordon had been gone during Mayor James's visit. She had her doubts that Gordon would ever learn how the GCPD functioned, and the important role they played in keeping the city from sliding into outright anarchy.
Captain Sarah Essen wasn't a bad cop, but she was a Gotham cop. Despite what some believed, they were not synonyms.
Sarah had grown up in Gotham, and understood the true rules of the city. Let the politicians make all the laws they wanted; the residents of Gotham understood that Gotham functioned under a harsher code. The police department was corrupt through and through, but the GCPD maintained order and meted out the only kind of rough justice the city could stand.
Sarah was one of many who were grateful that Pepper was dead. They last thing the city could afford would be the millions a show trial would cost, or the bad publicity that Pepper's likely death at Blackgate Prison would have created. While Jim Gordon may have been right about it being a frame job, Gordon didn't understand that Gotham's security hinged on making sure there was stability was assured.
She had read Pepper's file and recognized him for the slime he was. She had no sympathy for domestic abusers, and figured his take down had been fair. At some point, the mugger who had taken out the Waynes would meet a similar fate, even if the general population never found out. There was always crime in Gotham, and the GCPD always needed people to blame.
Sarah's job wasn't to tell the truth. It was to keep order, and she was very good at that. Despite the corruption, Sarah believed in the system since Gotham wasn't the type of city that could be easily tamed.
Captain Sarah Essen would continue to hold the line.
Gotham had been coasting along for too long, because her people had become complacent and used to the system that was instituted back in the twenties during Prohibition. Back then, the gang-lords ruled and high society ignored everyone else. It had been an interesting life, and when Prohibition was repealed, the gangs had been sunk so deeply into Gotham's fabric that they couldn't be removed.
Gotham had not wanted them gone. Gotham could do anything to her residents, but she preferred they act on each other first. Gotham loved to watch, knowing that she could step in and completely undermine or invert what her people had intended. She did so sporadically, reminding the citizens that she was ultimately the one in charge.
It was usually more entertaining to watch what they came up with first. Just when Gotham believed that she had seen it all, someone would sink to a new low that would reset her expectations.
The constantly warring of the organized crime factions had created a balance that she found appealing. Gotham liked watching the gangs wheel and deal. She became fond of the Falcone family – although her fondness was not the deep, obsessive love she bore for her Waynes – and amused by how everyone willingly sank to their level. Every now and then some well-intentioned person would try to clean Gotham up, but she resisted because Gotham didn't want to ever be boring.
The night the Waynes died, Gotham awoke to her complacency. The crime syndicates had been ruling her streets for generations, and Gotham raged at their presumption. They assumed that they had created their empires, forgetting that they only existed because Gotham had wanted them to. Their lese-majeste was something she would not forget, and she would punish them for it.
The day the cover-up for Mario Pepper was accepted by Falcone, Gotham started to reach out to her inhabitants for ideas of how things could be. Obviously, her beloved Bruce would be at the center when the time came, but she needed to decide what her center would be.
It was time for Gotham to remake herself.
The first day back in school was the hardest, or would have been if Ivy Pepper cared about what anyone else thought about her.
She hadn't wanted to go to school in the first place, but she was currently on the radar of Child Protective Services, and her absence would be duly reported. With the amount of attention her father's death had attracted, they would definitely stop by for a visit. Ivy didn't want to waste time talking to a worker who didn't give a shit.
Ivy Pepper wasn't stupid. Nothing good happened when the authorities got involved.
She carried the backpack she had received through some well-intentioned Kids In Need drive a couple of years ago. The bag had been used and mended before it had even come into her possession, a castoff of someone who could afford to replace things when they became less than perfect. Ivy was used to getting second-hand stuff, and hadn't complained because the rest of the school supplies had been new.
Her used gear was common for students of PS 113. Most of the students came from poor families that couldn't find a way into the charter school system, or whose families didn't care to make the effort.
In the hallway around her, conversations stopped as she walked passed. Losing a parent wasn't uncommon for the children of the East Side, and Mario Pepper wasn't the first father to be killed by the police.
But the police were blaming him for killing the Waynes.
In some circles, Ivy Pepper's currency had just risen drastically. There was a boy in her grade with the last name Marconi and no one dared call him "Macaroni" even though he was weedy mouth breather with a face resembling a pepperoni pizza. He was only a cousin of the Marconi family, one who wasn't involved in the business yet.
Ivy's last name was now just as notorious. Her father had done the unthinkable, and brought down two of Gotham's most famous. According to the news that was being blasted everywhere, he had been caught red-handed by Gotham's finest.
It was a nice story for the public.
Ivy knew that it was absolute bullshit. Her father had been home that night, and her mother had the bruises to prove it. But the GCPD needed a fall guy, and her father must have ticked off the wrong person to be volunteered for that starring role.
Some people would smell the police cover up a mile away. Others would believe in Mario Pepper's guilt since sometimes the scariest thing about life on the underside of Gotham was that freak things did happen, and maybe the police had nailed the right guy. There was never going to be a trial, so the police wouldn't have to prove anything.
There was no way Ivy Pepper was going to emerge from this mess without a rep of some kind.
As she walked down the hallway, she headed to the science classroom. Like all of the rooms, the classroom was packed with people. Usually more than a quarter of the students assigned to this class played hookey, but today attendance numbers were notably higher. She felt like the main attraction at a circus as she marched straight forward, taking her place next to a fish tank.
The tank was completely full of algae, a mass that had been growing for years and existed for "educational purposes." The students knew the real reason was that their teacher Marc LaGrande couldn't be bothered to maintain it, but the school wouldn't let him get rid of the equipment provided by the Wayne Foundation a decade ago.
Ivy found staring at the algae calming. It was a constant in a roomful of aggressive students who didn't want to be there, and a teacher who had given up on being an educator a week after meeting his first class. On the good days, the students would ignore the educational videos that LaGrande put on as he sat his ass behind his desk, and play with their electronic device of choice or talk with friends. On the bad days, there would be fights over stupid crap like stealing boyfriends or for pride.
Ivy hadn't been dragged into one of those fights before because her dad would have kicked the ass of anyone who hurt her, even if they were a little kid. Mario Pepper had been a mean son of a bitch who wasn't afraid to smack his family around, but he'd made sure he was the only one allowed to do the smacking.
As the bell rang, Ivy thought about what she would do if someone decided to come after her. She might even welcome the chance to lash out. She would get away with it, too, because the school administration and Social Services would let her slide if she wasn't the one to start things.
Despite the classroom being overcrowded, people managed to avoid sitting next to her. Ivy gave a couple of the ones closest to her long, unblinking looks, and watched as they tried to sidle even farther from her chair.
The entire day went like that, with the other students careful to give her plenty of personal space. She had never been popular, but she hadn't been a pariah before. Ivy wanted someone to say something, anything, that would give her an excuse to retaliate, but no one at school made a move. By the end of the school day, she was livid. The student body of GS 113 was a model of an inner city school afflicted with urban decay, but not a single person dared give her the opportunity to vent a bit of her anger.
The other students were all wimps. They were treating her like she was poisonous just because they were scared that she might infect them with something. Apparently the Wayne name was enough to scare even the full fledged gang members into good behavior.
When the bell rang, she stalked out of the building, heading for the Flea.
Ivy wasn't technically a street kid since she a place to stay. When she had started hanging out on the streets, it had been in preparation for the day when she would run away from home. Her father knew she spent time on the streets, but had encouraged her to hang out as long as she stayed off the drugs and didn't turn any tricks. He had been an idiot, but he understood the underworld of Gotham was built on connections, and that among today's street kids might be tomorrow's drug kingpins.
Assuming they didn't get dead first. The children in the less well off parts of Gotham grew up quick, or didn't grow up at all.
The Flea wasn't in a fixed location, shifting from condemned building to abandoned work site without warning whenever the cops or other unwanted interests started to close in. It was a neutral ground where kids hung out and swapped interesting information, but nothing too serious was allowed to go down. The Flea was an organic place that avoided the sway of the crime syndicates and dealers. It had existed as long as anyone could remember, and while the rules weren't formal, interesting things had a way of happening to those who defied the unwritten codes.
A month ago, the Flea had shifted from a condemned warehouse by the docks of Miller Harbor onto the East End. It was within walking distance of the Pepper apartment, and Ivy had been spending a lot of time there.
She didn't hesitate as she ducked under the yellow tape that blocked the entry. The building had served as the Eastern Hotel, before becoming a popular flop house after the owners stopped paying taxes on the decrepit structure a decade ago. The police had raided it a couple of times, but the Flea had moved in before the winos and junkies returned. It would move to a different place before winter, since people weren't encouraged to crash overnight at the Flea, and the former hotel would have been too tempting for some of the more desperate to resist.
The heart of the Flea was in the former ballroom, which had long ago been stripped bare and painted with obscene graffiti. The graffiti had been layered over time and again, creating a headache inducing mess.
There were about twenty people in the room, sitting at makeshift tables or lounging around with friends on moldy mattresses. A couple of the girls were in the corner dancing, unevenly moving as each listened to their own music and ignored what the others were doing. At the other edge of the room, a poker game was forming. Ivy was very good at poker, and it was always a good idea to earn cash where she could.
A hand dropped on her shoulder, and Ivy spun around to see who was accosting her. She usually had very good awareness of the people around her, and didn't like being surprised. She flexed her fingers, ready to go for the eyes if necessary.
She frowned as she saw Cat, dressed in her usual black gear.
"Why did you sneak up on me like that? Were you trying to scare me?" Ivy demanded. It was the first time she had spoken to anyone all day.
"Sorry," Cat said, not sounding at all apologetic as she took her hand away. "I just wanted to get your attention before you waded in."
"You have it. What do you want? Are you going to ask me all the details about how my dad killed the Waynes? He didn't, but no one's listening. He was framed."
"I know," Cat said, and it wasn't false reassurance.
Ivy twitched, her muscles spasm from all the tension she had been suppressing. "You really think that, don't you? What do you know? How do you know?"
Cat went still, and it was even odds if she would bolt or not. "Word gets around, and I make it my business to hear the right word," she returned, giving a smug look, before her expression grew more somber. "Ivy, now's not a good time for you to be here. You should lay low..."
"I don't need you telling me what to do. I can go where I want to, and you can't stop me. No one can stop me," Ivy told her, the temper she had inherited from her father starting to surface dangerously. She had been wanting a fight all day. Cat was one of the few people she liked, but that wouldn't stop Ivy if Cat kept pushing the wrong buttons.
"I'm not ordering you to do nothing. I'm just saying it's a good idea to wait until this blows over." Cat shrugged, before spinning around and heading for the door. "Just my opinion, kid."
"You're not that much older than me," Ivy retorted automatically, before thinking through what Cat was saying.
As much as Ivy hated to admit it, Cat was right. Things were too unsettled for Mario Pepper's daughter to be wandering around carelessly. There might be an idiot out there who wanted to score revenge points by taking her out. The Flea was supposed to be a safe place for street kids, but Ivy's marginal claim to the status might be an excuse if someone decided to challenge her.
"You're right," Ivy said, letting her aggression go for a moment. She didn't want to get on Cat's bad side, since Cat was looking out for her.
"I'm sorry, Ivy," Cat said, stepping forward and giving her a brief hug.
Ivy stilled in Cat's warmth. Her mother had stopped hugging her years ago, and she didn't know what to think of Cat's affection. Cat was an odd one, showing care and concern while still maintaining the fierce, aloof independence that belonged to her namesake.
"Sorry isn't going to fix things," Ivy replied.
Cat's head gave a shake. "Things were never right to start with. Do you want me to walk you home?"
"I don't need an escort," Ivy replied, spinning and leaving the room. She clutched her green backpack close, trying not to scream at how unfair the situation was.
There would be others like Cat who understood the truth, but the question hanging over Mario Pepper's memory would never be answered. In time, the next big scandal would wipe Ivy's father from Gotham's collective consciousness, but that didn't mean Ivy would be able to escape the burden of her last name.
She seethed as she walked home, thinking of how nice it would be to get even with the cops who killed her father. It would be so satisfying to watch them hurt, because they deserved to suffer as she was suffering now.
Maybe that was what she was supposed to do now. Revenge was a language the street kids understood.
Ivy Pepper was done with being scared, and she had little left to lose. It was time to think about what she needed to do next. Living with her father had taught her patience. She knew how to wait out the storm, only acting when she wouldn't bring herself the wrong kind of attention. There was no need to act hastily, since her father's hair-triggered temper had played a large part in his downfall.
Mario Pepper had been an idiot, but Ivy would learn to be smart.
That was the night she came home to find Alice Pepper in the apartment's small bathroom covered in dry blood. As she stared down at her mother's body, Ivy Pepper decided the rest of the human race could go fuck itself for all she cared.
All places had some spirit, and most had character, but it was rare that a city had unique awareness. Every now and then, Gotham became aware of another city pushing the boundary into becoming what she was, but it was rare they awoke to true consciousness. The only city nearby that contained the same self-awareness was Metropolis, which was both her sister and her nemesis.
Despite having been officially settled a hundred years before Gotham's first modern settlement arose, Metropolis didn't care for her history the same way Gotham did. Metropolis had always been bright and attracted to the shiny and new, a city that forgot her roots. Metropolis may have been settled for longer, but her name was less than one hundred years old. Hunter City had discarded her name for a chance to become "The City of Tomorrow."
It was something that Gotham would never let Metropolis forget.
People who became Gothamites were a rare breed. Gotham was a city that thrived on the edge, a place where dreams could be made and broken within an instant. Gotham never forgot, and never forgave. There were many people that Gotham crushed and tossed aside, but she loved both the winners and losers. Without the weak, there would be no one for the strong to prey on, and Gotham did love watching her strongest children battle for what they wanted.
The reason Gotham hated her sister Metropolis wasn't complex. Metropolis believed in a bright future, and offered all of her citizens the promise that things would get better. Anyone who lived in the City of Tomorrow looked up at the skies and dreamed of what was to come. Few of them had any doubts that they could make their dreams come true, because they believed in the promise.
The world Metropolis wanted was one which Gotham wouldn't be able to exist within. By her very nature, Gotham taught her citizens fear first, and then how to survive. Gotham tied her citizens to her, etching her way into their beings. Hope, Gotham believed, should be a finite thing, something that needed to be earned. Every now and then, someone would have a taste of happiness.
Gotham understood, as Metropolis never did, that happiness was all the sweeter after being tempered by despair.
Renee listened to the sound of Barbara's breathing beside her, and struggled with a sense of guilt. When Barbara had arrived on her doorstep, wide-eyed and afraid, Renee had been so glad to see her that she had simply held out her arms without a single word.
Barbara had collapsed against her gratefully, staring into her eyes and kissing her like she was drowning. Renee should have stopped things then and asked to talk, but she was greedy for Barbara's attention. She loved Barbara Kean, and would have done anything she asked, even if the request was something they would both regret.
Renee shouldn't have allowed things to progress this far.
It had been over a year since they had slept together, and Barbara had been desperate beneath her fingers, begging Renee to help her forget, just for a moment. They hadn't even had a chance to talk before ending up in Renee's bedroom, bodies blending together like they had never been apart. Renee may have sworn off the alcohol, but Barbara was more intoxicating than Jack Daniels had ever been.
Barbara Kean had always been different, a glimmer of something good in an otherwise shitty world. Renee had been convinced that people who claimed to be bisexual were just deluding themselves, refusing to acknowledge the true that they were gay or heteros trying to be edgy. Then she had met Barbara, and had learned she was wrong.
Barbara's heart had been so big and so beautiful that she hadn't needed to be defined by the gender of the person she loved. Barbara loved fiercely, seeing the best in someone and only asking them to try to meet her halfway. Renee had failed, ruled by the alcoholism that the few uncorrupted Gotham police officers were prone to.
It wasn't until Barbara left that Renee hit bottom, and realized she wanted to be more than another half-ass cop who had given up. Rebuilding herself had taken a lot of blood, sweat and tears, and by the time she was finally able to call herself a recovering alcoholic, Barbara had moved on.
Renee had understood. Barbara deserved the best the world had to offer, and Renee hadn't been worthy.
Barbara had found Jim Gordon a person worthy of her devotion. Renee had learned about him from the engagement announcement in the Gotham Gazette. Renee had been angry, but that anger was directed at herself for screwing up, not at Barbara for finding someone else.
Renee hated Gordon before ever meeting him. A part of her had been thrilled to find out about his alleged murder of Cobblepot, because it meant she was justified in hating him. As soon as she had been learned of Cobblepot's execution by Gordon, she had gone to Barbara to warn her.
Barbara had been right that Renee was secretly hoping that Jim Gordon's corruption would bring them back together. Renee had been genuinely concerned about Barbara's safety with a man who bought into the program, and thought Barbara would be better off without him. Renee had done everything she could to bring Gordon down, and it hadn't been about pursuing justice for a snitch. Renee had wanted Barbara to see Jim for what he was, hoping that Barbara would come back to her.
Then Cobblepot pranced into the station, and Renee was forced to admit that Barbara was very astute at seeing people for what they were.
Jim Gordon was a good man.
Renee wanted to be equally as good, but Barbara had been right about her all along. Renee was selfish, and had never been able to act purely for the sake of justice.
Gordon was the only cop in Gotham who really believed the city could become a better place. Gordon saw Gotham as she could be, and refused to stop fighting for a future where things were better. The contrast to Renee wasn't flattering.
Renee had learned the bitter taste of necessity in Gotham's sub-par school system. She had survived, and would keep surviving because she refused to give into Gotham's darkness. She had accepted that the GCPD was corrupt, and had made do with the little victories she could claim.
Gordon was the bravest man she had ever met. Gordon might be going into exile at Arkham, but he hadn't been killed yet. More importantly, he had never forgotten to try to protect Barbara first.
Renee hadn't believed that Barbara would be the one to break first. Barbara was the best woman Renee had ever known, and she had been too scared to stand beside Jim Gordon as he fought the good fight.
It was a doomed fight, but Renee wanted to believe he stood a chance. It was why she felt so guilty for not challenging Barbara as she ran away from the man who deserved her love.
Over the past couple of days, Barbara had been talking, in stuttering, confused bits, about how she was too afraid of the consequences of staying with Gordon. She explained that she had left him a note, and told him that she was leaving the city. Barbara Kean hated lies, but somehow she had ended up at Renee's apartment instead.
Renee had just listened, not wanting to point out anything to upset the current state of affairs. Barbara hadn't seemed to recognize that Renee was a cop, too, and that her life as in the MCU left her open to just as many threats. Barbara hadn't acknowledged that she was still officially engaged to Gordon, and that sleeping with Renee was a betrayal of him. Barbara was the one falling apart this time, and Renee wasn't doing anything to put her back together.
It was not a healthy start to a rekindled relationship, and Renee knew that.
Barbara's cellphone phone rang at ten that night, as it had every night since Barbara had appeared on her doorstep. Barbara awoke to the sound, and Renee waited to see if Barbara would answer.
As before, Barbara let it go to voice mail. She hadn't returned any of Jim's calls.
Renee wanted to leave things alone, but her conscience had been weighing too heavily not to acknowledge the limbo they were currently in. "Are you going to call him back?" she asked, speaking into Barbara's shoulder as they lay spooned together.
"I thought you didn't want me to be around him. You were the one who said he was no good."
"He's not an evil man, but he's no good for you," Renee replied softly. "He's going to get himself killed, and it would kill me to see you get caught in the crossfire again."
Barbara's body shuddered. "He's out of Homicide now. Maybe he'll play things a little more safely."
The silence that lingered between the two acknowledged the impossibility of Jim Gordon ever choosing "safety" over "justice." Despite his current assignment, Renee believed Gordon would somehow bounce back from this setback.
The story that had circled around the GCPD about Gordon's transfer out was pure gold, the kind of gossip that was too outrageous to be anything but the truth. Renee had suspicions that Sarah Essen had been the one to start its spread, subtlety revolting against Gordon's fate as a scapegoat.
"He told the mayor to kiss his ass," Renee admitted, unable to stop herself.
Barbara laughed, and Renee would have been relieved if there hadn't been a half-hysterical edge to it. For lack of a better response, Renee turned Barbara's body toward herself and kissed her. Barbara responded with all the eagerness of a drowning woman, clinging to Renee like she was a life preserver.
Renee shut her eyes, and pretended that this time, they would last.
If Renee pretended hard enough, maybe Barbara wouldn't realize that she was rebounding from the man she loved. Even though Barbara was back in Renee's bed, the ghost of Jim Gordon loomed between them, one of a hundred secrets they would never be able to talk about truthfully.
Gotham was built on secrets, and knowing how to keep them. Renee would give everything she could to Gotham, protecting the streets and fighting the good fight. She would help Jim Gordon, becoming a cop that he could rely on. Barbara was her own person, and Renee hadn't done anything actively to take Gordon's fiancee from him.
Surely Renee could be forgiven for stealing whatever happiness she could find.
There were times when Gotham felt her true age, reminded of the caves that lay beneath the expanse of the Wayne Manor's lawn, the caves that held the core of her existence. While others – particularly Florence or London or Cairo or Beijin – would have scoffed at her presumption, Gotham didn't define herself by how long she had been inhabited by people.
Gotham's spirit was much older than the metal and concrete towers that sprawled and climbed over the land within her borders. Gotham was a new city built on ancient history, and she drew upon what she had learned.
That didn't mean she couldn't be surprised. Watching Bruce Wayne get tangled up in assassination attempt made her angry. Wayne Manor should have been a sanctuary from the worst of Gotham, and the impudence of the assassins was something that would have to be addressed.
Thankfully, the girl thief was one of hers, smart and realistic, and as long as Bruce remained with her, he would survive this ordeal. The thief led him away, taking him down streets that he had never seen. The girl did a good job, leaving him with at place to call home and a reassurance that he would be safe once she was out of his life.
Gotham really liked the girl.
But when the girl ran, Bruce chose to pursue her. The girl was more agile than he was, but that didn't stop him from going after the one chance of catching his parents' murderer. Bruce ran until he hit the edge of the building, pinwheeling his arms as he struggled with his fear of heights.
Then the world tilted on its access. Gotham watched as Bruce Wayne lifted his chin, before taking a flying leap across the rooftops. He should have fallen to his death, but instead he landed on the ledge.
At that moment, Gotham fell in love with Bruce Wayne as a person, and not just the latest of the Wayne line.
He was worthy of her. Bruce Wayne's unbreakable determination to get what he want was untempered by fear or common sense. He was just the right kind of crazy, the kind that could be molded into something spectacular, something new.
Gotham had once been host to a superhero, back in the fifties when the world teetered daily with fear of the Cold War. Alan Scott had been a good man, but Gotham had never become fond of the Green Lantern because she hated magic that did not come from within her. Black Canary had been more her speed, a woman rising up and fighting in the back alleys based on sheer grit alone. Gotham had enjoyed her, at least until she had made the mistake of looking beyond Gotham's streets and inviting the Justice Society of America in.
Gotham had never liked metahumans, since they broke the rules and acted like they were something special. Decades ago, when the heroes first started to appear, she had rejected them since none of them accepted her as she was. She shook them off like a dog might shake water from its fur, an annoyance that was easily dealt with. Heroes thrived on acclaim, and Gotham made it a practice to make sure they were dragged through the dirt and grime.
None of them stayed, and Gotham continued to follow her own rules.
The world was changing, and Gotham could predict the future well enough to foresee that a new age of heroes was on the horizon. Gotham knew meta children were being raised throughout the world who would one day don capes, masks and secret identities and try to protect the world from itself.
Inevitably, one of the new heroes would try to help Gotham. She was one of the largest cities in the country, and heroes naturally gravitated to places with people in need. Gotham could reject them, but as Bruce Wayne fought the assassin, another idea began to take shape.
Gotham would have a hero, but he would be a hero of her choosing. She could fashion her own hero from the family whose fate was entwined with hers. Bruce already loved her as she was and dreamed of what she could be. She would be mother and child and friend and lover to Bruce Wayne, and in return he would come to understand her as no one ever had before.
The Wayne murders didn't have to be an end. They could be an origin story instead.
Selina Kyle found Mackey exactly where she was expecting, in an alley not far from the Narrows. He was lounging against a wall, listening to an Ipod as he smoked on something illegal. The sweet-scented air hinted at marijuana, but there was no telling if it was cut with something. He immediately pinched the joint out and pulled the earbuds off as he saw her, coming to his feet.
"Two hundred dollars, Mackey? I'm hurt, really," she said, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned on a canted hip. "I would've held out for at least five hundred."
"Wasn't like they weren't going to find you," Mackey replied. "Kidnapping the Wayne heir? You should be glad the cops found you first."
"I didn't kidnap him, he followed me, and you snitched on me for a measly two hundred!" she snapped back. Mackey was as close to a friend as any she had, and she knew friendship could be bought and sold like anything else in Gotham. She just thought she was worth more than that.
"It was take the money or a beating from your friend Bullock," Mackey said. "I'm not the one with BFFs with the cop."
Her fists tightened at the side. "I'm no lap cat," she said. "I'm just using Gordon to make sure I land on my feet."
For a moment, she wondered if this was going to be the breakdown of one of her only friendships. She and Mackey understood each other, both of them teenagers doing what needed to be done to survive. At some point they would inevitably end up on the wrong side of each other. If Mackey lived another couple of years, he would be a big enough man to find some work as muscle. They both knew the precarious future that Selina was stepping toward would be something entirely different.
Mackey took a deep breath, and just like that they were good again. "Great job so far. You're in some seriously deep shit. What the hell did you do?"
"Wrong place, wrong time," Selina answered glibly, shrugging her shoulders. "I'll work it out."
"You'd better. The hit's been called off, but people are starting to wonder why Copperhead was involved. She's not cheap."
"Only the best for me," she said, giving him the cheeky smile that was one of her trademarks. "Don't sweat it, Mackey."
"Just keep the cops away from me, and we'll be good. This is the second time Bullock has come down on me, and he freaking knows me by sight now."
"I'm going to lay low for a while, cross my heart," Selina said, making an "x" with her fingers. "I'll be last week's news in a couple of days."
"You'll never be last week's news," Mackey said, flashing his own brilliant smile, flirting just a bit.
"Flatterer." There was one more thing she needed him to do for her. "Keep an eye out for Ivy if you see her."
"Everyone keeps at least one eye on Ivy when she's around," Mackey retorted.
There was something about Ivy that just wasn't right. She may have been a street kid, but she wasn't a sane one by any means. Selina and Mackey had both pinged her as "wrong," but neither could point a finger at anything Ivy had done.
Yet. Ivy was a ticking time bomb, and Selina wanted to have warning before she went off.
"Just let me know if she gets up to anything. She ran into Bruce Wayne."
"Ouch. Yeah, I'll keep an eye out."
Cat tossed him one of the energy bars she had lifted from a shop, a mix of dark chocolate and nuts that Mackey loved. "Thanks," she said, before turning to saunter down the alley and up the nearest fire escape.
It felt so good to be on her own again. Despite the plush digs of Wayne Manor, she was more comfortable on her own turf. She knew the streets of Gotham, and the way things were supposed to work. There was a rhythm to the streets that stirred her senses and kept her adrenaline running on knife's edge.
Selina Kyle was a street kid, through and through, and danced to the song of Gotham's urban noise. Being in Gotham was as necessary as breathing to people like her. The city may have been a dark place, but it was her home which was why she kept coming back despite multiple attempts to ship her upstate. Gotham was in her blood.
She made her way to the roof's edge and sat down, letting her feet dangle. Selina liked the vantage point of high places, finding them peaceful places to think. She didn't understand why others were afraid of heights, since they were the safest places she knew... for people who knew what the heck they were doing. Bruce Wayne following her across the rooftops had been one of the stupidest things she'd ever seen, and she'd seen a lot of dumb in Gotham.
The thought of Bruce Wayne made her smile. Selina had no place in her life for a boyfriend, but the idea that a billionaire could actually be interested in her made her giddy. There was no way they could actually work out, because Bruce Wayne would never understand the underside of Gotham. She was fond of the kid, but nothing would come of it.
Selina's life wasn't meant to be a fairytale, and she wasn't going to be Bruce's Cinderella. Selina was proud of her independence, and committed to making sure that she would never need to rely on a man's love to support herself.
But knowing that she had been the one to give Bruce Wayne his first kiss was something to gloat over privately.
She sat back, looking out over the city as she considered what she needed to do next. She had been honest with Mackey about wanting to lay low. Selina had a couple of flops she used, but it was time to start searching for new ones. She had attracted too much attention from powerful people, and it was time for her to disappear for a while.
Selina rejected the boltholes she had planned, deciding that something new was in order. There were plenty of dilapidated places that few would chose due to a silly fear of heights. Perhaps even a change of neighborhoods was in order.
The perfect idea struck her, and she laughed at how outrageous it was. Old Gotham was prime pick-pocketing turf, but the presence of the GCPD and City Hall made it hard to flop there since there would be periodic "revitalization efforts" aimed at pushing the poor out.
It took her an hour to make her way to back alley she wanted to start from. No one ever thought about going up, which Selina considered yet another sign of how stupid the people were.
Gotham's architecture was made for thieves, a brilliant side effect of Pinkney's elaborate Gotham style. As anyone who studied Gotham style knew, it was based heavily on the Gothic revival. Selina has seen the plaque in City Hall commemorating Pinkney's achievements. Selina's natural curiosity had her learning every part of Gotham she could get at, and she possessed a very good memory.
In Selina's opinion, the best thing about the Gotham style was it created plenty of places to get the a good grip. She made a point of climbing every day in order to keep in shape and improve her skills. There were a couple of roof walkers better than she was, and Selina wasn't foolish enough to want into the serious B&E side of things until she was the best. For now, she would earn her living on the streets, and work toward becoming one of Gotham's most upwardly mobile citizens in all the ways that mattered.
She hooked her fingers into the edge of the concrete, and began free-climbing her way up the dilapidated Watchtower. It was on the list of endangered sites because bits of the facade kept breaking odd and tumbling to the streets below, but Selina knew how to look for what grips would support her weight. As she climbed, she began to smile as the streets receded from her.
Upon reaching the top level, she slid through a broken window and set herself down on the dusty wood floors. The building carried the stench of mildew and she could see evidence of termite damage, but the room was sound and the blocked off entrances and exits on the lowers floor would keep others away.
The Watchtower Revitalization Project had been put on hold following the murders she had witnessed. Selina was convinced that Bruce Wayne would eventually force it through, despite his youth, but for now the Watchtower would provide a perfect place for her to look out over the city, watching as Gotham swirled around under her.
There were many legends in Gotham, and all of them were true. Gotham didn't let facts define her reality, shaping herself instead from the dreams and nightmares of those who loved and feared her.
Gotham knew that change was a constant, and new legends could be born. Bruce Wayne would be the hero her people deserved, but they had to earn him first. There would be time for hope later, but first people needed to learn what horror and despair truly were. She was still angry at the syndicates for allowing Tommy's death to be brushed aside, and she could not forgive those who had disrespected her wishes.
The Waynes were hers and hers and hers, the sons she bore and loved and who loved her in return. For as long as she had been Gotham, she had the Waynes. She had lost her Tommy because she had been content to play a passive role, and let her citizens have too much freedom to decide.
She would show them freedom. She would show them everything, and remind them her monsters were real. Gotham would prove that she was the one in charge.
Bruce Wayne would be at the center of her next phase of her existence, but Gotham knew people could not live in a vacuum.
There were so many horrors left inside of her, so many nightmares which she hadn't awakened. She would teach people that complacency would be fatal. Gotham turned, and started to open her box of nightmares.
There was a woman waiting for her beloved son to return in Park Alley, a woman that Gotham related to better than most even though the woman wasn't hers. She was a faded, fascinating beauty quick to lash out at those who dared to hurt her son. In her eyes, her son was the perfect child.
Gotham knew the man in question, and liked him. He was well on his way up the ladder of organized crime, playing the families against each other. Most importantly, he refused to leave Gotham, knowing that she was his home. He would be the first among many to remind people what fear was, and he would be her vengeance against Falcone.
There would be others. In the police department, there was a young forensic scientist who asked too many questions, questions with answers that would push anyone over the thin boundary of sanity. In the Pepper orphan, Gotham sensed a barely suppressed rage that deserved to blaze free. The ambitious assistant D.A. who had let Gordon take a fall also deserved some of her special attention.
One by one, she would show people how lucky they had been. After unleashing the first round, she could remind her citizens there were more ancient terrors based on the true stories that had entered lore. Other people would also rise as villains, following the inevitable trend toward insanity that such a climate would create. Gotham had many cards to play, and she would decide what her ace in the hole was in due course.
Gotham would remind people that she must be obeyed and loved and feared. Then Gotham would give her most precious and dangerous gift, a hero forged in her heart and soul. Bruce Wayne would offer hope, but it would be a nebulous one, because he would use fear to get his way.