Silence. No movement. No heel clicks on the floor from overweight guards. No motion lights turning on. Nothing. For an hour, at least. Just as he'd told him.

Ian and Will's little meeting was enlightening that Thursday afternoon. Now it was Saturday evening and things were about to change. She was working in her field, after all the hassle to change her identity. Clearly she'd rubbed elbows with the right big wig of the university and they'd allowed the reprinting of her diploma.

No worries. He knew he'd find her somehow.

Maybe Ian and Will weren't the most intelligent of his past groupies, but shit were they loyal. He'd gotten six years, at least, for all the charges they'd found him guilty of. Seventy-two months to rot. And he'd gone stir crazy at month six.

They'd been gone for the week. He knew because they didn't call or visit, which was fine. They were told to go and look for her. Rough her up, grab some information, and return. He was busy winning over the guards on good behavior for the week, molding some story of some broken home. But when they returned with that ID badge in hand, he couldn't help but cackle. This he hadn't expected. Sure, he knew she'd go home because mommy and daddy hated the idea of their precious little girl returning to that city. They both knew that he knew. And why should she change her plans because she was running from him? He had six years in this place with no likelihood of a breakout. So why worry?

She looked altered – changed – happy. Cut her hair and dyed it red. Blue contacts removed to show those shit-browns he'd grown to hate. And the name.

So there he was, a week later, brushing elbows with the pushover guard with the family and the kids. Fine. Motion sensors: off, just as they'd spoken of. Gentle, quiet, walk past his cell to drop off the key, and he wouldn't come home to dead kids. Leverage, that's all you need.

The keys were cold in his hand as he unlocked the cell. Of course it squeaked. And he had insomniac cellblock mates whispering to let them out. Other circumstances, maybe he would. His fingers shifted across the sharp metal. It'd been a pain to hide in his shoe, but he managed after breaking it off of the lunchroom table a day before. No one would miss it. Knives were plastic and wouldn't do the job. He needed something sturdy.

The whole week, he'd been kindly asking the young male guard to let him talk to the onsite psychiatrist. And, boy, did he have her running through every diagnostic criterion. She suggested to him that he was depressed and maybe the voices he was hearing was schizophrenia and did he have any family members with this problem before? 'Oh, yes,' he'd lie. Yes. Mom would talk to herself, she'd hallucinate, she was disorganized and struggled with avolition. He knew all of the diagnostic criterion thanks to a certain psychology major he'd lived with. So he knew how to play his cards and he knew that concerned knitting of the eyebrows and pursed-lipped look; she'd had it all the time.

So Monday they would consider bringing someone else in to take a look at him. And, boy, would they be sure to drop him off somewhere if they couldn't tolerate his behavior here. He was one step away from going to the loony bin. The Ridges in Athens was the closest, but things had changed recently and they were bussing patients all over. They liked to keep the insane close to relatives for possible improvements in treatment, years ago, and this place was no different. Counselling sessions and help me eyes with the family was always pleasant, he was sure. Plus with overcrowding of asylums in recent years they were trying to keep patient-to-clinician ratios stable. And what he'd heard was a certain city had just opened a new facility – hence the new job for Little Miss Lying Bitch. Jack had a way with people and after a little persuasion, he knew he'd get what he wanted. And damn it, if he didn't he wasn't afraid to break a few skulls to get there.

He sat in the doc's office for hours, waiting until he heard the flick of the lights back on, signifying morning. The metal searing his flesh didn't feel nearly as painful as he'd expected. It was just the corner of his mouth, just an upturned half-grin. Required a bit more pulling than he'd thought. If he'd had a knife he would have been home free – none of this choppy skin-slitting from a dull, dirty metal piece.

The bleeding was profuse though, and it probably hadn't helped that he was playing with the flapping flesh with his tongue.

He caked the heartfelt apology on. When Dr. Guera walked into her office to find Jack, he was crying and sputtering, bleeding and lightheaded. He'd dropped the metal, sobbed. The voices told me to do it. The voices! I need help. I want to kill.

Nurses, doctors, officers all filled the room shortly after. Listening to his sob story about the voices telling him to cut himself, to escape and look for victims, but his overwhelming drive to get help.

"The only one I trust here is you, Guera," it was hard to understand him with gauze in his mouth.

They had a meeting while he got doped up on pain meds. The walls were thin and he could hear them discussing how much of a burden he'd been, how frustrating and terrifying he could be, but Guera assured them that this was just the sickness making him into that man. How he needed help. He could be saved. He needed to be moved to a facility that could take care of him. Try therapy and look into his mother's condition. Only they wouldn't find anything on his mother. After all his time in the business, he'd destroyed every file on his family. His mother was never involved in his life. Joined a circus. Left him with his neighbor. He didn't even know her real name.

"Where is your family from?" they'd ask.

"Gotham," he'd sputter and the gauze would slur his speech and hide his lie.

And low-and-behold, he was on a bus to Arkham in the morning.

Alfred allowed Bruce to let Cat stay for dinner, though he didn't think she would want to. After discovering that Cat lied about seeing who killed Thomas and Martha, Alfred assumed he would lose interest in the girl. However, Cat silently sat at the table while he set it.

"Well, now, you going to be nice this evening? Detective Bullock will be here and I assume you're not on his good list."

Cat narrowed her eyes but said nothing.

"Alfred. That's enough," Bruce scolded. "Maybe it's you who should learn to be nice."

The butler straightened, biting the inside of his cheek when the doorbell rang. He threw the kitchen towel on the dining room table and it met the wood with a 'twap'. He was unbuttoning and then rolling his shirt sleeves up as he made his way to the foyer.

When he opened the door he was greeted by Elizabeth looking sharp in a red dress and heels, and Bullock looking…well…

"Thanks so much for having us!" she threw her arms around him in an embrace. Behind her, Alfred noticed Harvey wince. Had she told him?

"Right. Well, Master Bruce has decided to invite one more guest," Alfred led the two inside, taking their coats and waiting for Harvey's hat, which he begrudgingly removed.

"And who might that be?"

"Hi, ya." Cat stood in the foyer now, clad in her usual getup. "Long time no see."

"Cat!" Liz was actually pleased to see the girl. She worried about her often. Harvey rolled his eyes. Of all the painful nights…

"Bullock, how's Jim?" Cat circled the three off them, alerting them she was on her guard – always.

"Jim's Jim. Same old ass pain he always is," Harvey grumbled. "Been stayin' outta trouble, there, Cat?"

"No." And she walked away.

"Pleasant, inn't she?" Alfred droned. "Well, dinner should be done in a mo. Please, make yourselves at home."

When Alfred walked away, Liz felt Harvey give her ass a squeeze. She didn't say anything – knew that he'd quit when they went by the kids. She was feeling a little guilty now, being in the manor for the first time since the night with Alfred.

"Elizabeth," Bruce stood from the table, making his way over to hug her awkwardly, then take a seat once again. "I am very glad you could make it."

Elizabeth wanted to ask him about the nightmares, the fear, the remembering, but that would all have to wait for another day. Truth be told, she missed them. She missed the simple counseling sessions with the young man. The criminals at Arkham were all damaged and sometimes the weight wore down on Lizzy. She knew Bruce's pain – understood it.

"Are things going well?" was all she managed to ask as she took a seat.

Bruce's expression tightened, his face lowering just a bit to hide it. "Not exactly."

Harvey gave Liz a sidelong glance when he sat. "Anything we can help with?"

Bruce straightened once again. "I met with Wayne Enterprises, raising my concerns of their goings on. Though my youth is irrelevant, they still treated me like a child. I fear that the company is funding some terrible things, but I have no substantive proof and so they will not take me seriously."

Liz looked over at Harvey who was staring contemplatively at the young man. His hand ran down his facial hair, eyes narrowed, head nodding slowly. "Right. Well, proof would do you good, but where do you think you'll get it? They'll just chuck it up to rumors."

"Exactly."

Cat shook her head. "It's bull," her arms were crossed over her chest. "If they're doing wrong, we should do something. Can't you do something?"

"No. Not without proof," Harvey spoke slowly.

"But if I find something?" Bruce lit up with hope. "Will you help me then?"

"Sure, kid."

Lizzy felt tense. Something wasn't sitting right with her. She could sense foreboding on Alfred's face when he entered the room. Clearly, he knew it too. But dinner was served and they ate quietly.

"Bruce, just please be safe…" Lizzy finally mentioned. "This city can be very dangerous and the people you're throwing accusations at are extremely powerful. There's no way to know who they know."

"She's right, sir," Alfred chimed in. "The look on the faces of those board members…" he shook his head.

Alfred changed the subject then, asking about things at GCPD which sent Harvey into a fit about some kid he'd mentioned before: Jerome. Apparently this kid was a killer – went after his mother and feigned innocence until Jim put two and two together. They sent him to Arkham and Liz knew he would be the talk of the floor come Monday morning. She finished her wine quickly, trying to cover the chills running down her spine.

The way they assigned patients was strange, but she knew she wouldn't be assigned to him. She already had five patients every day and she was working fewer hours than her coworkers, considering she was splitting time between GCPD and Arkham. Cathy was the next in line for a new patient because her sixth patient killed herself five days prior. Jerome would be her assignment and Lizzy thanked her lucky stars. She'd actually gotten pretty lucky when it came to Arkham lately – her patients weren't terrible and due to her lack of hours she'd completely missed the problems going on with Hugo Strange – the chief psychiatrist and director of their little building.

When the kids went to the study, Liz helped Alfred in the kitchen, though the man turned down her offer. Harvey was against the wall, arms crossed, mouth a hard line. They worked well together in the kitchen – seamlessly passing dishes to dry or wash, Liz knowing where each thing went in the cupboards. Fuck. The detective couldn't help but jump to conclusions and feel that weight in his chest. Intimacy. He was jealous of their intimacy.

"Dinner was a nice reprieve," she mentioned. "Thank you."

"As I've said, you're always welcome here," Alfred nodded then added "you as well, Bullock."

"Right."

Alfred stopped, mid-dry of his hands. "S'there a problem here?"

Harvey pushed himself off the wall, arms falling to his side, tie loosened around his neck, looking flustered and aggravated.

"Harvey-" Liz cut him off, stepping between the men, back pressed against Harvey's belly. "Alfie, I told him and he's not happy."

"Maybe if the dolt hadn't pushed you away-"

"It's not his fault. It's mine," she spoke.

"Right. And you just take that opportunity to step right in, don't ya, pal?" Harvey raised his voice, moving his hand to point at the butler.

"I didn't step in, you two-bit whackjob," Alfred took a step even closer and Lizzy felt herself getting angry. "Liz came looking for a shoulder and I gave it to her."

"You gave it to her, huh?" Harvey nodded, lips pursed, trying to step nearer to him. Liz could tell he was ready to fight.

"Stop it, both of you," she took a step away. "Nothing happened – bottom line. No one was stepping in anywhere. It's over now. Shake hands." It took a moment of shuffling feet and awkwardly looking at the floor, but they did shake hands, Harvey rolling his eyes after.

"I meant no harm, Bullock. Know that."

"Noted."

Elizabeth sighed, rubbing her temples and, shortly after, deciding it was time to leave. The boys followed her to the foyer where she put her coat on. "Alfred, aside from this, it was a nice evening."

The man nodded. "Detective, I hope this doesn't put a wedge between our acquaintanceship."

Harvey sighed, running a hand through his hair then putting his hat on. "Sorry. I-" he extended his hand again and Alfred took it to shake. "That was uncalled for. Thanks for the good eats."

Wonders never cease…

Harvey grabbed Lizzy's shoulder when she balanced to get her heels on and Alfred noted the pleased look she sent him. It made him remember the whole reason she'd stayed that night, the reason he felt heat in his belly every night he crawled into bed. Just her warmth ignited something in him that had been long at ease. The butler tottered on his heels then back to flat foot, hands falling behind him in a comfortable position as his eyes refocused on the couple before him. Harvey was kissing at a spot behind Lizzy's ear while the girl batted him away with a smile and tiny giggle.

She broke away to hug Alfred, thanking him once again before walking out the door. Harvey saluted him, following the girl. The man watched out the door as Harvey opened her car door, kissing her roughly on the mouth when they assumed no one was looking. Alfred felt like he was peeking in on an intimate moment so he closed and locked the door.

The evening changed rather quickly for Alfred. After Bruce went to bed, there was a loud knock at the door. He put down his newspaper and again grabbed that gun from the piano. His old mate, Reggie, stood in the pouring rain and Alfred had that sinking feeling once again. This could not be good.

Elizabeth ended up sleeping alone. Not because of some blow up that caused Harvey to storm out – the night was actually the opposite – but when Harvey got a call from Jim, they both knew he had to go. Sleeping alone in a King sized bed made Elizabeth feel empty. She still couldn't shake off that feeling of impending harm. Something was stirring.

The next evening at GCPD, Liz was in her office, filling out paperwork for a rookie officer who occupied the seat across from her desk. Harvey came bum-rushing in, eyes wild, cheeks red. She knew something was wrong when she heard he'd been running.

"Alfred's been stabbed."

A dozen apologies fell from her lips to the rookie officer, statements of 'how unprofessional' and 'I'll call you back in when I'm here next'. Promises, promises. But all she had on her mind was hitching a ride with Alvarez who was the only free officer at the time. Everyone else was on the Red Hood thing. She rushed off, shushing Harvey away, and holding her breath until they arrived at those gates.

She told Alvarez she knew the code to get in; her speech thirty miles a minute, only to see the doors wide open as if someone broke in. The car wasn't even at a full stop when she unlocked the doors before heaving herself out. Heels stomping against the stone pathway, she pushed open the door, ignoring the calls from Alvarez, reminding her that she didn't know what she'd find in there. Perhaps a killer. Perhaps a hollow look in Bruce's eyes. Perhaps a dead friend.

And there she was, yet again, running head-first into danger.

Bruce was crying and sputtering, not looking up to see her standing over the two men – Alfred covered in blood, Bruce's hands reddened as he tried to apply pressure to the wound. Liz sat beside the boy, feeling the cool pool of blood beneath her thighs, destroying her dress.

"Elizabeth. He's…is he-?" his voice was hoarse, likely from screaming.

"No. No." she repeated it, reaching for Alfred's neck with her free hand, feeling – searching – for a pulse.

"I can't lose him," Bruce choked brokenly. "he's all I have!" he repeated this last part until footsteps entered the room behind them.

"Up! Up!" the EMTs were there then, pulling the two away so they could do their job. All Lizzy and Bruce could do was hold each other and cry, Lizzy clutching the young man's head and kissing the top of it, trying to slow her rapid breathing and stop the tears. Bruce didn't need another griever. Bruce needed someone to be strong for him so he could fall apart.

It was a blur. Liz went with Bruce in the ambulance, stayed by his side, held his hand for the hours it took in the waiting room. They washed the blood off together in a family restroom, both of them silently acknowledging that neither of them truly had a "family". Liz couldn't hide the empty feeling in her gut. It felt like it was her fault. She'd felt unease the previous night, but she let it pass without a word. She should have spoken, should have told Alfred at least.

When they were finally allowed to see him, Bruce was in the bathroom. She thanked a nurse and took off down the hall before Bruce could meet up. There Alfred was, hooked up to machines, hooked up to oxygen, eyes closed, color looking pasty. The footfalls rushing from down the hall were no doubt from Bruce and she wanted him to stop – stand still – wait. He didn't need to see his friend like this, didn't need to experience anything he'd been exposed to in the past year. So she stepped in the way of the door, wrapped him in her arms once again, and closed her eyes. Don't look. Don't look!

Yet he did. Pulled away quickly and fell to his knees in the doorway, sobs wracking through his young throat.

Lizzy needed some air. Hospital air tasted stale. As she was walking out, Jim was rushing in.

"Where is he?"

"Room 197," she managed, watching him continue his sprint down the hall. A few more steps and she was outside. She hoisted herself on the cement block holding the hospital's front frame up. The cement was freezing on her legs and she looked down at the bloodstains on her dress and the caked blood under her nails. Bad luck followed her everywhere. She was like a plague – bringing filth and horror with her where she roamed. Palms pressed into her eyes, she breathed unsteadily.

She wanted to go home, but she had the overwhelming sense that her apartment wasn't home either. These months she'd been busy building a home out of a rented space and she wondered just when her time would be up. Like a black cloud passing through.

"Awful unsafe for you to be out here alone," came a familiar voice. She didn't acknowledge him but smelled the cigarette smoke. Harvey stood a few feet from her, putting away his light and replacing it with his flask, cigarette perched between his fingers. "We're just havin' a helluva day."

Before she realized what she was doing, she'd taken Harvey's cigarette and drew it to her lips with shaky fingers. Breathing deep made her cough, but she let the smoke slip out of her nostrils, feeling more at ease than she had since she got the news. The detective handed her his flask as well, eyebrows raised, fully aware of Liz's lack of smoking habits.

"Ever get the feeling you don't belong somewhere?" she raised her eyes to him finally, turning her head to view him.

"All the damn time."

She hummed, taking another drag then washing it down with the vodka Harvey had. He took the cig from her, tapping it twice before raising it to his lips. Liz drank again, looking away and feeling the burn fill her gut, the ache in her chest dulling.

Without blinking or making an effort to look at him again, she spoke just above a whisper, "I am so, incredibly pissed off right now, yanno? Like…I could find whoever did this and…" she stopped herself, memories flooding past her vision, reminding her that Gotham was another life, another chance. If she were to screw it up, she was too close to officers – she'd be thrown away for sure.

Harvey stared pointedly now, making her look at him. "Yeah? How's that? A shrink, of all people. I've seen everything." He was making a joke, but Liz didn't find humor at the moment. "Come on, Lizzy. You gotta let the pros handle this little tiff. Probably some robber after some of the Wayne's goodies. Alfie'll pull out just fine and you'll be back to awkward dinners with the fam." He tossed down the cig, stomping it out.

Only she knew better. Bruce had told her all of it in the waiting room. She could still hear his hushed tone, the urgency – like if he didn't tell someone he just might implode. This wasn't some robber like he was going to make it out to be – this was a friend, someone Alfie used to fight beside back in the day. They were soldiers. This man was dangerous, more powerful than anyone Elizabeth had taken on in this life or the last. Yet she still wanted to try.

"Don't tell them I told you," Bruce had said. "I need to handle this." And it was probably unprofessional of her to offer her help, to have that aggressive tone in her voice and that murderous look in her eye, but she didn't even try to hide it in front of the boy. They were both tongue-tied and terrified and Liz had promised to never be pushed around again. This was personal, as much as she was an outsider, she felt accepted in that home. When Bruce didn't reject her offer of assistance, she knew he felt she belonged too.

But just what was he planning? What had she agreed to? Who could she turn to, say things got rough? Harvey was on the good side of the law currently.

Before she realized, she'd finished off the contents of Harvey's flask and he was very vocal about her thirst.

"M'sorry."

"Jesus, woman!"

"I'm going to offer to let Bruce stay with me for a few weeks. Until Alfred is better."

Harvey nodded. "Guess this is a bad time to tell you my time's up at my place and I haven't exactly had time to find a replacement, huh?" he scratched the back of his neck.

"I have another bedroom. Bruce can stay there. I'm sure he'd appreciate having an officer in the house right now, actually." She tried her best to give Harv a considerate, kind look to sway him to stay, but it just didn't come. Instead she looked tired.

"Alright. I'm up for that," he shrugged. "But just until I find another place." She nodded slowly. "Hey, you should get some rest. Haven't you got work tomorrow morning?"

A stiff nod as she hoisted herself off the cement. "I'll get Bruce. Do you mind taking us home?"

Home. It felt foreign to Harvey's ears, especially knowing that he had a suitcase of the rest of his clothes in the backseat of his car and this 'home' was going to be his place for a week at least.

The detective watched his girl with the blood stained dress walk into the hospital and come back out with a kid with swollen eyes who they were taking back to her home.

When did this become 'normal' for him, he wondered.