A/N: It's been waaay too long since I've updated this fic and I thought I'd do just that. This is now in the present time in Batman Begins. I hope you all enjoy the chapter and sorry if there are any mistakes.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this besides Natalie....

The vibration against my thigh causes an irritated sigh to escape my lips as I pull out the black phone. A name flickers across the screen and I click the green call button to answer.

"Hello, Commissioner."

"Where the hell are you?" a demanding voice barks from the other end of the call. "I want your ass back at the PD now."

"I went back to the crime scene where David Johnson was murdered," I reply, rolling my eyes. "What's wrong? Did somebody finally succeed in setting a bomb over there?" I add sarcastically, but with the crime rate in this city you never know who'd be crazy enough to do just that. 'Or smart enough.'

"What's wrong is that you didn't answer your phone after the tenth call," the commissioner retorts with a snaky tone. "And your damn talkie is off when Stephens tried contacting you. So I expect you to get here, now."

And with that last command, my hearing is met with the sound of a dead tone. Placing the phone back in my jeans pocket, I reach for my talkie hidden by my black, lengthy and worn-out trench coat and press the knob on it. After exiting the building, I duck underneath the yellow tape that was put up earlier by the patrol cops. 'Now where is he?'

With my eyes roaming the rather vacated parking lot, they land on a man leaning against my raggedy, grey 1995 Mazda 626 Sedan.

"Hey, Gerard," I greet, getting closer to the car and my partner-against-crime. He doesn't look bad at all for a man who is about to turn forty. His tall and built frame helps him out with his job, or maybe this job gave him the shape he has now. Either way, it's a wonder how he hasn't gotten himself a wife with his light green eyes and soft green hair.

Gerard Stephen's face breaks out into a small smile as he looks back and forth at the car and I.

"You still haven't gotten a new car?" he asks, walking towards the passenger's side. Twisting the car key in the hole, the door of the driver's side unlocks and I flick the switch that automatically unlocks the other three doors.

"With the wage I get," I scoff, throwing a grin his way and we both close our doors simultaneously. Turning on the ignition, I begin to drive out of the parking lot and out onto the street but not before noticing the look on Gerard's face.

"What?"

"You know, sometimes I think I know why but then I don't," he says, staring at me in curiosity.

"And what would that be?" I ask, glancing his way before looking back at the road ahead of me.

"You have millions in your bank account. You could've gotten a job that made you a billionaire but you took on the most dangerous job in Gotham?" he finishes his list off with a question that looms in and out of my head at times.

"It's not all about the money, Ger. Sometimes in life you've made horrendous mistakes that you can never forgive yourself for and I can't. So I took on a job that would hopefully repent what I've done," I tell him, keeping my eyes on the road though I'm not aware of what I am doing. My thoughts wander off to what happened several years ago but I blink my eyes a couple of times and brought back to the present. I notice that we are in the parking lot of the Gotham City Police Department and turn off the engine but neither one of us moves from our seats.

"You don't plan on telling me what you've done are you, Nat?"

"Not by a long shot," I reply shortly. We both sit in silence as a thought suddenly crosses my mind.

"You didn't by chance tell Loeb that I was ignoring my phone or talkie, did you?"

"Do you think I would?" he questions, tossing me a knowing look and I roll my eyes at who it must have been who tipped the pissed off man.

"Well, I guess he's cooking up more bullshit while he's in the process of rambling about my mistakes like he's been doing the entire month," I grumble and Gerard nods his in agreement as a smile cracks on his face.

"You know, it's probably because you've been getting Falcone's men arrested. And since we can never put the blame on Falcone, there's basically no use," he says.

"But there is a use. We haven't been able to catch Falcone's men so many times in such a short period. They're slipping up way too many times and that opens up the observation that Falcone might slip up himself. And we can get Harvey Dent or I can persuade Finch to help out," I tell him, getting out of the car and he contemplates it for a second until he shakes his head as we walk towards the building.

"Nat, that's just—I don't want you to get hurt. And Falcone already wants your head," he states, eyes showing his genuine concern on my safety. "I want him in prison as much as you do, but it's impossible."

"So am I the only one who thinks it's possible to catch the-so-called man?"

"Yeah, you are," he says, letting out a little chuckle as we enter the workplace.

"I don't see what's so funny about that, but I guess you can explain it to me when I come back from the asshole's office," I say, leaving him with his head shaking about the name of our boss. Making my way up to his office by the stairs, I walk through his door to find a whole party of every head of each unit, sergeants, and lieutenants. 'Hmm…so he decided he wants an audience to see the humiliation that I will not give the gratification of giving him. I guess it resorts to this whenever detectives help the force. No wonder there are so many corrupt cops.'

"My birthday's not until another five months."

"What the hell is this?!" the bald commissioner shouts, slamming a thick stack of papers onto his desk.

"Those are police reports, sir," I reply calmly, raising an eyebrow up at his unnecessary attitude. His dark brown orbs narrow considerably as he stares at me. "Is there something wrong?"

"These reports are filed in under your investigations by patrol officers," Loeb spits out, "and the men arrested are claiming to testify that they do not work under Falcone."

"Is there something wrong that I did?"

The large, six foot man moves closer to me, forcing my head to tilt up and stand my ground. 'It's like this man is just waiting for me to crack so he can have another shouting match.'

"It's useless catching these men so quit it or you'll be demoted," he says in a threatening tone.

"You've already demoted me twice before, Commissioner," I retort, neither able to keep my cool one hundred percent under control nor caring about what I just said.

"Nearly half the men in County are there because of you!"

"That means I'm doing such a damn good job that you should drop the shitty attitude, shut the hell up, and show some damn gratitude!" I reply with such edge to my tone that he takes a step back away from me and looks rather speechless. Turning my back to the Commissioner Loeb, I walk through the door and begin to decide whether I should take the elevator or the stairs when I hear a pair of footsteps follow me out.

Not wanting to wait for the elevator to rise up to this floor, I swing the door to the stairs open and hold it for the man following me.

"Hey there, Sergeant," I say, giving him a little grin as I am not over the man who resembles an irritating rash. The door slams behind us as we go down the stairs.

"You know he's going to make your life a living hell, Nat," the bespectacled man informs me.

"My life's been a living hell before I've worked here," I remind him, and his mustache twitches and I see a small smile on his face. "Anyways, how are you all?"

"We're all doing pretty fine," James Gordon replies. "Barbara's been meaning to ask you to come over for dinner sometime. Jimmy and Barbs Junior miss you, too."

The thought of James and his family lets a smile cross my features. The little boy only nine years old and the little seven year old girl are completely adorable and I used to baby-sit them from time to time whenever James and Barbara wanted an evening alone together.

"I'll drop by sometime next week for sure," I assure him as we open the door to our designated floor. We both head over to Gerard who's standing and arguing with another cop. Greasy, brown hair sits on his head like a mop over his plump face that has patches of stubble in various areas. A low whistle escapes his lips as his eyes look me up and down, causing me to roll my eyes.

"You shouldn't be covering up so much, Nat Kat. Maybe going out to lunch would help loosen you up some," the large man says.

"Sweet and simple…no."

"Why not? I thought we have such great chemistry?" he says, letting out an obnoxious snort.

"Whatever you say, Flass," I reply. "I hope you know that I'm really planning on torturing you."

"Ooh, harsh there, Nat," he taunts me, eyes practically gleaming. "I'd say Loeb went vicious on your ass today."

"I'm going on my lunch break to see my uncle," I tell Gerard, ignoring the pathetic excuse of a man. 'And is he going to get his ass kicked if I happen to catch him alone.'

Leaving the men to themselves, I exit the building and get into my car and drive off onto the street.

I find myself weaving through the large crates that reach up to the ceiling and eventually find my way into the large clearing.

Weaving my way through the large crates that reach up to the ceiling, I eventually find my way into the clearing where my uncle happens to have his desk. Finally reaching his desk, I place the white paper bag on it's flat surface and begin to look around. 'Now where is he?'

"Lucius? Uncle Lulu?" I call out, using one of his infamous nickname as I sit down on a computer chair. My eyes settle on the laptop and a smile creeps onto my face as I turn it on. Waiting for my uncle to come and for my laptop to start up, I pull out my container from the bag. The sweet-smelling aroma fills my nose and I open my order and begin to eat. "Fine! If you don't want your tortellini I guess I'll have it!"

A loud bang echoes from beyond another set of crates that my back is facing but I don't bother to turn around as I begin to type in my password and my screensaver takes up the screen.

"Hey, sweetheart. How's your day been so far?" a low voice greets me and I hear approaching footsteps from behind.

"Another homicide and I'm thinking it's from the same person. The state of his house was not pretty at all because of the blood was—"

"Nat, if I'm going to eat, then I don't want to hear about this quite yet," Lucius interrupts as I type away to enter the GCPD database.

"Hey, you asked," I remind him and click on a set of files. "Anyways, how was your day?"

"Well, if you looked up—"

"Nat, I'm back at the PD and the security at Johnson's condo building allowed me access to their tapes. Loeb's going to call you any minute soon," a voice breaks out, echoing through the entire area. The source of the sound came from my talkie, and just like Gerard said my phone begins to vibrate. Pulling out my phone, I press the call button to accept and put it on speaker as I begin type up a quick reminder to myself about the my idea of how David Johnson's blood was smeared across the floor.

"What?"

"What? What do you mean 'what'?" the angry voice of the commissioner yells from the speakers. "You aren't at the PD, Fox! And according to an inside source, Gerard is doing all the work on your case together!"

"Why is this inside source even snooping around? Isn't he or she supposed to help their own partner and worry about their own cases? And I am working on the case, I just had to get my laptop back from reparations," I inform Commissioner Loeb with a mild and curious tone, not one hint of utter disrespect. "I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

Not wanting to hear voice that nearly drives me insane, I press the red button and heave out a sigh. Putting my hand between my head, I close my eyes for a couple seconds before getting up after closing my laptop screen. 'I have it feeling that the inside source is Flass, the jackass.'

"Nat," I hear Lucius's voice, reminding me that I need to get to work so I get up from the seat. As I turn to face my uncle, my eyes land on a man right next to him. Slightly tanned complexion running along his stubble-free visage and his dark brown hair slicked back, allows me to see his dark blue eyes. His eyes clearly read surprise as he stares right back at me and apparently so do mine.

"Hey, we should go to the morgue as soon as we're done with the tapes. They finished with the autopsy," Gerard's voice echoes once again in the room, breaking my gaze from the man. Reaching for my talkie, I respond in agreement with his statement and turn it off.

My eyes land on my uncle as he looks at me rather concerned as does the blue eyed man.

"I'm sorry, Luci. I guess I'll have to reschedule our lunch together. David Johnson was murdered and so he's an added case to the rest of the cases I was assigned to earlier this week," I tell him, reaching up to give him a kiss on his cheek. "The ass loves to get his baby tantrums out on me, especially since I got ten of Falcone's men arrested last week."

Turning towards the familiar looking man, I hold out my hand to be met with a calloused hand.

"Nice to meet you," I say politely and gather my laptop and container from the desk. My legs carry me while I wave back without turning around. "Thanks for fixing my computer. I'm coming tomorrow night by the way!"

"Get some sleep!" I hear my uncle's voice call out behind me.

Upon heading into the station, I head into the office that I share with some other detectives.

"Look at this," Gerard says, holding up a plastic bag. With the bag in my hands, my eyes narrow as I turn the bag to see the entire object.

"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter, observing the thin object in the bag.

"That's exactly what I said," he says, gazing at the thin card that contains the picture of a joker with specks of dried blood splattered across the card. "And it seems as if he's playing a joke."

"Where'd you find this?" I ask, glancing at the papers and reports of the murder on my desk.

"It wasn't me. It was the diener at the morgue," he tells me. 'When did he go to the morgue?' I look at him in a questioning manner. "When you left for your lunch break, I admit I dropped by and their were only some things I saw before I came back," he adds, knowing the question that I was going to ask.

"No traces of DNA, I presume?"

"None," he replies, letting out a sigh. "But the tape shows them walking into Johnson's room."

"So there's more than just one?" I ask and in response he nods his head.

"Get closer so you can see the video," he says and I comply as he clicks on play. The black screen flickers to life, creating a black and white contrasting of a fancy hallway. Four men emerge from the elevator and progress down the hallway. As they proceed down the hallway towards where the camera is located, I get a closer look at what these men look like. Three of the men are dressed in regular jeans and worn out jackets, carrying guns and concealing their faces with masks. Not the regular balaclava masks, but clown masks. The fourth man, who had no firearm on him was dressed in a worn out suit with shoulder length hair noticeable from the back, raps his knuckles on the door. The door swings open after several seconds of knocking, revealing a startled David Johnson. His facial expression turns into one of fear as the man wearing the suit talks to him, causing Johnson to back into the room and giving the man a free walk into the room with a struggle from the victim. The last man to go in the room glances up, facing us. He raises his gun and the tape abruptly ends.

A couple of seconds pass by before I let out an involuntary shudder.

"That was disturbing," I admit to him. Gerard glances at me with a surprised expression.

"Which part?" he asks curiously.

"The clown masks get to me a little. Never really liked them when I was a little kid," I tell him and he lets out a little chuckle. "It's not funny."

"Umm, I'd say it is," he says. "You nearly get killed most of the time and you go to the narrows a lot. I was starting to get the impression that nothing scares you."

"We all have our fears, Ger. Just like you and Oscar the Grouch," I say, getting a few papers together.

"Hey, he's a green monster that pops of a garbage can and it's pretty traumatizing on a kid," he defends himself.

"Uh huh. That's why basically everyone in our generation has watched Sesame Street and has not expressed major fear from a puppet," I say, grinning at the thought.

"Come on, let's head to the morgue," he mumbles, face reddening as I laugh out loud at his embarrassment.

A/N: Thank you for reading this and I hope you enjoyed it!