Title: Underground

Author: Silver Queen

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Not all stories have happy endings. A story from Gotham's underground.

Disclaimer: I don't own the DC universe, nor the rights to any type of drug used in this story. MDT, as far as I'm aware, is not an actual drug. Apologies if it is.

Author's notes: Major thanks to my reviewers! robster72, Leighgion, Alhana-Antilles, K, all you guys. You guys rock!

The blustery wind was cold and the rooftops were slippery and icy as Robin swung through his patrol route. Batman was doing some undercover work as Matches Malone, so he was on his own tonight.

It wasn't so bad; the wind kept most people inside – criminals didn't like cold weather any more than regular people did – and there wasn't that much for him to do. Or so Tim told himself before the Batsignal lit up.

He hoped to god that the nutters in Arkham hadn't escaped.

He almost swore, but didn't in the end because he was to busy changing his flight path. Like his breath in the cold air, he could see his plans for a night sleeping evaporate into nothing.

When he arrived at the station house roof Commissioner Gordon was already standing outside with his jacket pulled tight. The elder man looked cold enough that Robin decided, with a pang of sympathy, not to shock him out of his skin with a sudden appearing act.

"Hey," he greeted, feeling strangely subdued. He knew that the Commissioner was Bab's dad, but he still couldn't talk to the guy like a friend. Must be subconscious connection, his brain mused; It could be, he only really saw the Commissioner when something was going wrong.

"Robin," Gordon replied with only a minimal jump and Tim decided that he done well enough. "Is Batman here?" The man peered into the darkness as though it would help him see the mysterious Dark Knight.

"Nah, he's busy." Tim shook his head. "Did you really need him?"

"No," the Commissioner pulled a sheaf of paper out of his coat. "Just give him this, would you?"

"Sure," Robin acquiesced, tucking the papers into a handy pocket. "Seeya, 'round." He waved and disappeared. Maybe he would get some sleep after all.

Matches Malone sat at the bar and slowly drank his beer. The place was a smoky, seedy dive in the cheaper side of Gotham and probably broke more health and safety regulations than he wanted to know about.

Still, he was there because Rogers was. Rogers was the only dealer he knew of that had direct contact with the supplier. And if his information was right then there would be a meeting tonight.

So far though, nothing had happened. Matches took another sip and stared aimlessly into the grimy mirror behind the bar. In it he could see a perfect reflection of Rogers. That was his reason for choosing that particular seat.

In the mirror Rogers looked at his watch and stood. Matches downed the last of his drink and followed the other man outside; not close enough to be considered as 'following' but still within range. It wasn't really necessary because of the BatTracker that Rogers unknowingly carried but Batman liked to keep his eyes on the suspect.

Too many people had died because of him.

After a short walk it was obvious where Rogers was going. The neighborhood boasted only one attraction for people like him. Matches slipped away and – after a quick costume change – became Batman once more.

The bar-cum-restaurant hadn't changed from the last time he had visited. It still sported the same security, the same customers and the same owner. It was simple to get inside.

"Penguin," from the shadows the voice growled, echoing just so. "Talk."

The fat, criminal bartender and owner did just that.

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