Chapter 4: Hell's Gate

"She wore a smile like a loaded gun," ~ Atticus

Jacqueline Martell is having a fairly ordinary day. The familiar buzzing chaos of the Gotham Globe bustles around her, the thirty-five-year-old journalist accustomed to the anarchy that ensues once the media catches wind of vigilante or crime lord drama. Very little has been disclosed in regards to last night's events, which is no surprise to the South African born journalist. The police likely know about as much as they do at this point in time, despite several media outlets – including her own – grilling them for every last fragment of information known.

An empty dockyard between Blüdhaven and Gotham, and several arrested Black Mask henchmen, courtesy of a vigilante. Likely Nightwing, Jackie surmises, aware of the crime lord's ongoing history with Blüdhaven's defender. Every journalist at the Gotham Globe seems to be in a frenzied panic over the affair, not because it's particularly memorable – cases such as these occur almost nightly in this city – but because it has yet to be reported on. No one, not one media outlet possesses enough information on what transpired last night to write a legible story on it yet. With Roman Sionis inching in closer and closer to Gotham once again, every move he takes is piquing the interest of journalists citywide, waiting for the rogue to establish a foot of power in this city like he did many a year ago. If there's one thing Jackie has learned over the years she's resided in this city, it's that once a person in power falls within the criminal underworld, a power vacuum is left behind. It's taken three long, frighteningly quiet months, but the thirty-five-year-old can see it playing out now. With Salvatore Maroni gone, and his entire empire with him, the other bosses have begun to make their moves. Perhaps not in the eyes of the media yet, but it's only a matter of time, especially with more Black Mask crimes being reported around Gotham.

Pushing aside her meddlesome concerns and filing through her emails rather absent-mindedly, blocking out the humming drone of the office around her, a puzzled knot abruptly forms between the brows on Jackie's deep caramel coloured face. The journalist's lips part in shock when one distinct email sticks out like a sore thumb, the name of the sender attached immediately striking a cautious yet intrigued nerve within her.

From: Evangeline Winter

All Jackie can do is stare at the name blankly for a couple minutes, jumbled thoughts tossing and turning and flitting about her head like leaves in the winds of a storm. A million questions begin to press against the journalist's brain already, and Jacqueline hasn't even opened the damn thing yet.

Evangeline Winter is Gotham city's newest big player, the plain Southerner having seemingly come out of nowhere and wiped out one of the longest standing, most powerful crime families in Gotham's history. The Maroni crime family was born when Gotham was born; the only other families that hold the privilege of saying the same being the Falcone crime family and the illustrious socialites, the Waynes. And in one fell swoop, rather like the Godfather, Evangeline Winter, private investigator of Angel Investigations, struck the deep-rooted mafia family clean off the board, all in one night. Being one of the Gotham Globe's more respected journalists, Jackie was even assigned to head the story, running a small team of editors, photographers and other journalists to dig up as much information as possible on the milestone in Gotham history. Her own two daughters, six-year-old Kaya and two-year-old Lilah, thought the detective a hero, vaguely understanding that Maroni is a horrid man, and that Evangeline Winter is the one responsible for his capture.

Miss Winter was admittedly fairly adept in avoiding the media, managing to dodge interviews and questions thrown her way for weeks. Only the photographers bore any fruit in regards to the PI, snapping a couple photos of her around the GCPD precinct and elsewhere. So for Jackie to all of a sudden, unprompted and without any form of communication or provocation, to find an email from the obscure private investigator in her inbox, having never even met the woman, simultaneously excites and puts her on edge. Unable to contain her curiosity bursting at the seams, Jacqueline hovers over the email and opens the message with a firm click against the mouse.

Eyes wide, slack jaw, breath snatched. The buzzing chaos that once ensued around her has now found home in her own head. Photos, videos, evidence. A familiar dockyard, yet not empty. Far from it. Nightwing. Corbin Graves. Militia level weaponry. Then a plea, written, tagged at the bottom of the email.

I heard you have a good heart, uncorrupted, unbought. Show me.

Sincerely,

Evangeline Winter

Show her, Jacqueline Martell shall.

Nervously nibbling on nails; a habit Rebecca Daniels is aware she should cease. Though, the psychiatrist reasons, it is better than her old smoking habit. Three months since she moved to Gotham. Two months of working at Arkham Asylum. A plethora of valid excuses to smoke, and yet instead, Bec has found herself three months cigarette-free. Humorous, how the world works.

The same day that Dr Daniels finds herself receiving her first colourful Gotham character as a patient, just so happens to be the day that her best friend decides to play vigilante hero and break into the shipping yard of Roman fucking Sionis, the Black Mask himself. What the hell was going through her head? 'Oh yes, let's provoke the guy who tried to kill me earlier that night. Look at me, I'm Evangeline Winter, Gotham's smartest private investigator. I can't even tell a nosey reporter to fuck off, but you bet your ass I can take Roman Sionis down in a fight.' Fuck's sake.

Rebecca doesn't really hold any animosity or annoyance towards her friend's actions, but the surmounting fear for Angie's safety and wellbeing is strangling some of the more logical reasonings out of her, even more so now that she hasn't got a clue where the detective is hiding out. With her very own police detail, courtesy of Commissioner Gordon, Bec can't just seek the raven haired woman out either. Many a Gotham police officer aren't bought off, and truly do have their heart in the right place, but not all, and if Bec can't trust all of them with Eve's location, then she can't really trust any of them. The crime bosses and rogues in this city remind her of Lord Varys from Game of Thrones; spiders with eyes and ears everywhere. While not as efficient or far-reaching as the fictional eunuch, it still isn't worth the risk, not with the Black Mask on a warpath for her friend's and Two Face's blood.

Sighing, Bec rubs tired circles into the sides of her temple, attempting to alleviate the headache building there. Glancing down at the closed patient file on her kitchen island counter, the psychiatrist can't find it in her to read the information, current diagnosis and findings of her new patient Lonnie Machin aka Anarky again, not now, not with the impending danger hung over Evangeline Winter's head like a guillotine. Glimpsing up, Bec is also unsure whether she can stand the silence that has stifled the room for more than ten minutes now, Nathaniel sat impossibly still at her wooden dining table, the elder Winter sibling quiet since Bec had updated him on everything she knows.

The wolves are nowhere to be seen, which is a relief to the psychiatrist. They've always put her on edge, the canines a marginally smaller – but still notably large – eerie reminiscent of their extinct ancestors the direwolves. By default, Bec is often uneasy around her high school companion's elder brother, but is aware he's highly unlikely a threat to her. It's not often they speak, even rarer alone, but they both share a mutual devotion to Evangeline, one that, after many a year, has resulted in them going so far as to label each other friends.

Staring into the brooding, severe expression set on the mercenary's face, Bec begins to ponder the speculations and thoughts tumbling around the ambiguous head of the Black Dog, Nate never one to giveaway an inkling of musings and emotions festering within him. Feeling her gaze on him, the thirty-nine-year-old cranes his head to meet the blonde's inquisitive scrutiny, as if finally recalling her presence in the room with him. "She'll be with them."

The shattering of silence startles her, the Australian stumbling over her words for a moment. "What?"

Nate's heavy torso slowly heaves up and down, the first indication of life besides him finally meeting her stare for the first time in ten minutes. An act to maintain control, Bec presumes. "Nightwing was the last person with her, therefore she'll be with them. Him."

Rebecca has a pretty good idea who 'him' is, and it's not Nightwing. "Maybe. We don't know. Either way she's in danger. Less so if she is with a bunch of vigilantes, but we frankly don't know that. You… you've been with Don Falcone the past few months, yeah? Has he made any mentions of Sionis? That you can tell me, anyway," Bec is quick to add on at the end, not wanting to push her luck. The last thing the blonde wants is to get entangled in this bloody, deplorable web of crime, but with Angie MIA, the psychiatrist can't just ignore the threats against her friend's life. Especially not when she has a potential fountain of information sitting at her dining table.

The mercenary's chest rises again, falling haltingly. Tone is tempered, hushed, yet daunting, as always. "Carmine has been squabbling with Markovic and O'Reilly. They all have. Empty territory, a result of a fallen kingdom. Unclaimed resources. New allegiances. Sionis has been fuelling the fire. Arming them all against each other. They've been quiet, didn't want Eva on their tails. I didn't want Eva on their tails. She's lucky she got out unscathed last time."

The headache blooming in Bec's head makes itself known again, the blonde groaning, chafed. "So they never intended to keep their side of that stupid deal they made her go to three months ago? Christ Nate; you had to have known she'd find out eventually? It's Eve we're talking about here. She knows shit about people they sometimes don't even know about themselves. She probably knows by now. God I hope she doesn't act recklessly again. If last night is how she responded to Sionis alone, then I don't even want to think about what she'll try to pull against the other crime families that went back on their word."

"Dent hasn't."

Bec blinks blankly at the mercenary, allowing a pause to sit between them for a beat. "I'm sorry, what? Dent as in Two Face?"

Nate nods once sharply, staring straight ahead, not meeting her gaze. "He knows Sionis has been trying to get a foothold back in Gotham. He knows Markovic, Falcone and O'Reilly have been arguing. That's it. Roman would never sell anything to Dent. Dent would never buy anything from Roman. He doesn't know Roman has even been selling weaponry. Probably assumed Cobblepot was behind it. Two Face hasn't been feuding though. Subtlety isn't his strong suit. If he's fighting, Gotham would know."

"Then he's the smartest bastard out of all of them," Bec mutters, a thousand miles away in thought. "Not uncommon for someone with such a high functioning case of dissociative identity disorder. If the identities are cooperative enough, you're looking at two synergetic personalities and their respective opinions, thought processes and attitudes collaborating to determine an agreed upon, premeditated course of action. In this case, his course of action has been inaction. The crime families have undoubtedly lost the very little established trust they had with the Angie after making their deal, but if what Angie said about last night is true – that Two Face henchmen saved her life – then that combined with Dent keeping his side of the deal would've only strengthened the small amount of trust she placed in him. He's trying to make an ally out of her, or use her for his own means, that's the only plausible explanation. There's no way he'd sit out of a pissing contest with Black Mask otherwise. The mobsters of this city just love showcasing their power with over the top acts of violence."

The idea of approaching her co-worker, Dr Sarah Cassidy, flits through Bec's mind. She is, after all, the dual-themed rogue's doctor on the occasion that the con is incarcerated at Arkham. Whilst Rebecca would never ask the elder psychiatrist questions that would infringe on patient confidentiality, the Australian could ask for Dr Cassidy's informed opinion on the matter, and what Two Face's worrisome fascination with Angie could mean. Otherwise, there isn't much else the blonde can ruminate of that could help her high school companion at this point in time, and whilst Rebecca would love nothing more than to just wait out the storm, she recognises that the eye of it is often times the safest place.

The startling skid of chair against timber flooring snatches Bec away from her tempestuous thoughts, blue eyes finding the mercenary's brown as the imposing wall of muscle rises to a stand. Without so much as a word of explanation, the North Carolinian patiently strides away and down the hall, towards the front door, leaving the psychiatrist scrambling inelegantly after him.

"Feel like sharing where you're going with the rest of the class?" Bec hollers, slowing down to a persistent powerwalk once she reaches the hall, addressing her question to the mercenary's back.

With a hand poised over the front door's knob, Nathaniel hardly pauses for a moment as the Australian comes to a halt a few feet behind him, turning the handle and stepping soundlessly through the door. Before bringing it to a close behind him, the eldest Winter sibling finally spares her a look, expression as hard as stone, and as vague as mist. "I'm going to talk with the people who have my sister."

One blonde-brown eyebrow arches in disbelief at the statement, Rebecca Daniels crossing her arms sceptically. "You'll be lucky if they don't apprehend you on the spot. To them, you're no different from Deadshot, Deathroke and all those other yahoos that were hired to try and kill the Bat nine years ago, regardless of whether you're the brother of 'Gotham's Guardian Angel' or not. What do you even plan to do?"

"I told you," Nate evenly repeats, tone barely louder than a whisper. "Talk."

Click.

The door is shut ever so gently, impressive for a man of his strength and size. All the lights within Rebecca's apartment flicker ominously in time with the departure, as if farewelling the mercenary themselves. Whatever Nathaniel Winter's definition of 'talk' may be, the blonde psychiatrist can't imagine it holds the same meaning as hers.

These fucking Winters, the blonde psychiatrist internally grumbles at the siblings, huffing a stray strand of hair from her vision. Ambling back into the kitchen, the Australian takes another glimpse at her new patient's file, stifling all other concerns for the time being, and flicks it open.

HELL'S GATE WASTE DISPOSAL & LEGAL SERVICES

Two Face does seem to possess the morbid, profane sense of humour required to devise a business and title as such, I suppose, Eve amusedly notes, stood outside the modest sized building as the light hum of Gotham street life drones around her. As a result of the building being positioned on the edge of the Narrows – Gotham's most crime ridden suburb – no abundance of people flit around her, not nearly as many as the CBD at least. It may not be a complete ghost town, but undisturbed enough that the placement of the establishment can be considered a clever one; not in a lively enough hubbub to draw the curious eye, but in a secluded enough part of town that it attracts the intended sets of eyes.

The PI identifies the humour behind the business title; a reference to the legal system and garbage in this city being one and the same. Only one mobster in this city is acquainted well enough with the law to conceive such a sardonic enterprise. The indecision in regards to selecting what market the business is aimed at is also remarkably them. The skull logo positioned in a circle with the half black, half white back drop, and establishment title around it is merely more of a giveaway by this point, the fact that the 'legal services' section of the enterprise has represented many a Gotham rogue in the past – including, of course, Harvey Dent himself – only solidifying Eve's suspicions. Edward had once mentioned that Hell's Gate would be her best bet in seeking out the ex-DA, at the time, however, the detective only thought the firm would put her in touch with the Gotham rogue, or something else of the like. Now, it's starkly apparent to Eve that no, Dent highly likely owns the dual business, or in some measure had a hand in its formation.

Eve held an array of varying expectations before she passed the threshold of the firm of what to expect behind the front doors. Now however, as she blinks unsurely at a vacant black and white lobby, only occupied by two trouble deterring security guards and a chirpy looking blonde receptionist, the detective doesn't think that any of her presumed expectations were so… ordinary.

Clack clack click clack click click clack clack.

Evidently, the walls and doors are soundproofed, for the raven haired woman is unable to hear a single decibel of sound outside, as if this lobby is an entirely separate plane of existence, a unique world that is so eerily silent, all Eve can hear is the jarringly loud sound of finger nails against a keyboard. The well put together receptionist on the other side of the room hasn't even taken note of the North Carolinian yet, still engrossed by whatever is on her computer screen, but the two flunkies have had their sharp eyes locked on her since she poked her head through the front doors, the unblinking stares marginally unsettling the PI. Fit for their profession then, at least. Job well done.

The private investigator's heeled ankle boots are deafening as they click against the immaculately clean white tiled floors, drawing her closer and closer to the front desk. By the time she reaches her destination, it feels as if the hired muscle are breathing down her neck, despite the fact that they're respectively stood nine feet away on either side of her.

Delicately clasping her hands and resting them atop the high rising desk, Evangeline Winter lightly clears her throat, politely regarding the impeccably dressed blonde who still has yet to pay the detective any mind. "Good morning. Apologies for interrupting, but I'm here to—"

"Our wastage and our legal services are both fully booked for the time being. I apologise for the inconvenience, but please feel free to take a business card and call us at a future date. Have a lovely a day."

And then, it was as if Eve didn't exist once again. Amidst the receptionist's courteous addressing towards her, emerald eyes locked with her hazel ones, full undivided attention directed solely at her only to be succeeded by complete neglect afterwards. Surely, she has done nothing to offend the blonde, the North Carolinian frowns. Perhaps, it is the way she is dressed? The detective was in a rush to scramble clothes together very early that morning, when the Dark Knight escorted her back home briefly to grab what she required, and as a result not many of her nicer, classier clothes were brought to the manor with her. Personally, she doesn't believe there to be anything wrong with her thin-fabric stonewashed skinny jeans and off the shoulder cream midriff. The neckline of the top is fairly respectable, and it's not like it cuts off directly under her breasts.

Though it is, overall, a form fitting outfit, Eve internally acknowledges. But it's light and breezy, and my Lord it is hot today, too hot for my coat. I had heard of the severity of a Gotham summer, yet it's only May. Perhaps I should invest in more deodorant and perfume in the upcoming months.

Dread for the upcoming season aside, the PI gently tucks a strand of her midnight coloured hair behind her ear, the ends of the ebony tresses long enough to gently tickle the tops of her bare shoulder blades now. "Whilst I'm sure your wastage and legal services are fully booked, I'm not here for those particular services."

No physical change occurs; the guards still as immovable and daunting as before, the receptionist still occupied by her computer, but the very atmosphere thickens once the words drop, as if Two Face had also hired the air to strangle the lungs and windpipe of anyone that wandered in here and meant him harm. The presentable looking woman before her does briefly turn her attention back to Eve however, only to faux kindly inform her "Hell's Gate Waste Disposal and Legal Services only specialise in waste disposal and legal services. Both of which are—"

"Fully booked yes yes, I gathered," the detective sighs, trying to ignore how the guards are now closer to her than they were before. "If you could just let your employer know I stopped by—"

"My employer is a busy man, and can offer no promises that he will respond any time soon, but if it offers you comfort, I shall." Ever so daintily, the blonde uncaps a pen and pulls towards her a post it note, the writing tool hovering over the paper as she spares Eve another patient glance. "Name please?"

Eve doubts Harvey or Two Face would ever really hear of her visitation if she were any other person who meandered in off the streets, but, with a little luck, perhaps the blonde or the guards will recognise her name, and honestly pass on the message. With that thought in mind, the private investigator warmly smiles at the lady before her, answering "Evangeline Winter."

Another silence befalls the room, even heavier and more suffocating than before. The pen makes no move to glide across the paper, Eve's response a pickaxe that has successfully created a crack in the receptionist's façade. The off-putting, intimidating ambience surrounding the henchmen before now blanch into uncertainty, the large walls of muscle moving for the first time since Eve ambled through the front doors, shuffling around on the spot uncomfortably. Even the blonde seems several times tenser than before, lips tightly pursed with the tiniest of knots furrowing between her perfectly shaped and filled in brows, contained panic playing across her strained expression. A most unexpected response in Eve's opinion. Mild surprise or disbelief is what the PI predicted, but not this, not—

Fear?

Not the kind of fear that Dr Crane instils in his 'patients', nor the kind of fear the Dark Knight strikes into the hearts of Gotham's offending lawbreakers. It's not all-consuming or even all that debilitating. Rather, it is the kind that one experiences when recalling a threat, a fear that is not imminently dangerous, but aware of potential peril in the subsequent hours or days or weeks to come. It's not a powerful fear, but a warning fear. An uncomfortable gun pressed to your back, without the faintest idea of when it may be fired, if it's fired at all, and even if it is, is there even any ammunition in the chamber. And right now, the three other people in the room with Eve appear as if they are experiencing precisely that; a game of Russian roulette with fear.

Eve doesn't like it.

Fear is not what she works with, nor will she ever. She doesn't want to be remembered or thought of in fear, plenty of people in this city are already regarded in such a way. Yet the more she scrutinises the two lackeys and the lady, the more she realises that it's more likely their employer has uttered some nefarious, depraved promise of harm to them and probably a sizeable amount of his other employees, something that has to do with her.

"You left an impression on him miss," the other one with the sharp jaw line and evident Latin American heritage finally speaks up, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but there. "Plus, he considers you his PI, 'cause of how you two made that deal. So as you can imagine, he won't be happy that we let that bastard land a hit on you."

Eve recalls early last night, one of the two men assigned to her by ex-DA – Dante, if she recollects correctly – and the strain in his tone when he spoke of an unhappy Two Face. Unhappy, because she still surfaced from the altercation with an injury, no matter how small and easy to overlook the wound is. The fact that she managed to give him and his companion, Kevin, the slip on her way to Sionis' dockyard afterwards, and has yet to believe anyone is tailing her again, the realisation that Two Face is likely more than unhappy with her and his flunkies' competence right now, is becoming all too apparent. His three employees positioned around her right now with their respective unsettled reactions to her identity only adding to the comprehension.

"May I see some form of identification, Miss Winter?" The blonde manages to push out, struggling to hold Eve's gaze as strongly and unyieldingly as before.

"Of course," Eve complies, retrieving her driver's license from the wallet in her small shoulder purse and handing it to the woman, who surveys it for a long minute or two before relenting back into the detective's possession, brusquely nodding her head once at the raven haired private eye.

"If you would like to sit on one of the chairs in the waiting area until my employer is ready you are welcome to," is the last thing the lady says to her, once again returning to whatever thrilling work awaits her on the desktop screen, leaving Eve mildly surprised at the change of events but not complaining.

Flickering her hazel gaze between the three once more, the North Carolinian leisurely backs away from the front desk and ambles over to one of the numerous empty lounges and takes a slow seat. Briefly checking her phone for any messages, only to find one concerned text from Mr Pennyworth as a result of her messaging him about popping out for the day, Eve returns the device to its place in her purse, patiently awaiting the storm headed her way.

Jackson Keller, Michael Donovan and Robert Mulder are Two Face's most trusted men and confidants. Should something ever happen to the dual themed criminal, Jackson is next in the chain of command within the crime syndicate, followed by Robert and then Michael. For years they've worked for the ex-DA, witnessing firsthand the rises and falls in his criminal empire, each having parts to play in serving and advancing their boss through the ranks of the Gotham Underworld. They were the three men to first meet Evangeline Winter in that quaint café three months ago, before Two Face even knew the private eye existed. So it is astounding then, how in three scant months, with only two limited encounters with the North Carolinian, that Evangeline Winter has successfully managed to create such a prominent foothold in their ruthless boss' morbid intrigue, as well as their other boss' more leveled, diplomatic one.

Jackson Keller keenly observes the crime lord sat across from him in the backseat of the hummer SUV. Jack may not be as clever or sharp as Rob – the latter gangster often taking charge as if he were second in command, yet never overstepping to the point of it being a mockery of Jack's authority – but Two Face chose him to be his second in command for a reason. Despite disliking diplomacy, and much preferring a more brutal, unfriendly approach, Harv still understands and – dare he thinks – appreciates Keller's ability to methodically mediate with other crime lords, information brokers, weapons dealers and all other business associates that Harv holds the displeasure of negotiating with. A prolific and lucrative business delegate as well as an accomplished arbitrator between not only the ex-DA and other easily provoked potential work associates, but between his own bosses' feuding personalities, Jack has more than once proved his worth to the temperamental mobster, partially responsible for a hefty chunk of the money currently occupying Two Face's bank account.

Keller isn't only a peacemaker and deal closer however. No, to achieve second in command to one of the most cutthroat, remorseless sons of bitches in Gotham requires a particular taste for depravity and a penchant for brutality, something the gangster is all too familiar with after having spent eight years operating as a mercenary in a crime syndicate before moving on to work for Two Face. Ten years later, and Jackson Keller is not only richer than he has ever been – perks of working for crazy yet loaded bastard – but holds more power than he ever did as a mercenary. And despite his employer being more than unhinged and ready to take his aggression out on anyone around him, often including his own men, Jack actually likes Two Face, and Harvey Dent. He'd take them over the Joker, Penguin or Black Mask any day.

"Fuckin' hell. Crazy bitch almost dies, and then she decides that it's a bright fucking idea to waltz straight onto Roman's fucking property to get some stupid fucking pictures and some shitty video just to leak to the fucking press. Remind me why you shitheads didn't even try to dissuade me from investing in this clearly delusional PI that either has a death wish, or a death kink? Because the only other idiots I can think of that would ever pull a stupid fucking stunt like this are Joker or Batman, and the last thing I need is another one of those fuckers walking around Gotham," Two Face heatedly barks at the three of them after stewing in a bitter, furious silence for the last twenty minutes, an amalgamated result of two irritable developments in the last half hour.

Around thirty minutes ago, the Gotham Globe posted an article online that barely took the trending page five minutes to find. The full article is to be posted tomorrow in the hard copy paper, with more photographic evidence and greater detail of the event, but apparently, after Jack's employer's current fascination took off God knows where last night following her near-death experience, Evangeline Winter found herself in a dockyard that, according to Michael Donovan's police connections, was empty early this morning except for the tied up Black Mask men. Now however, as reported by the Globe's article, it's been proven by Miss Winter that the dockyard was not empty, but heavily stocked with militia weaponry, the merchandise of Black Mask's new black market, said black market another new development to add on top of the list of growing developments, whilst also being on top of the list of reasons why Jackson Keller has an astounding headache.

Face was already pissed that two of his men had lost Winter, and Jack had spent the better part of the last fourteen hours attempting to assuage that ire. He had done a damn good job of it in his opinion too, until the article posted half an hour ago. That article alone gave him several more things to be fuming over, and then, Rob gets a call from Hell's Gate Waste Disposal & Legal Services, not only confirming the first sighting of Miss Winter in fourteen hours, but informing them that she's there and requesting to talk to their employer.

There really wasn't much that Jack could do to mitigate his boss' temper after that. It doesn't seem like Harvey has even attempted to ease his more volatile half, all the more reason for Keller to be on edge.

"She appears to have a talent for evadin' death, despite facin' it more than once," Rob cautiously notes aloud, gaze pointed strongly out the window. "Not 'cause she's a physically tough broad like Ivy, Catwoman or Harley, but 'cause she has a brain and a way with words, and she knows how to use 'em. You were right to invest in her boss, it's why she's now come to you instead of Gordon or the Bat."

Harv derisively snorts, fury still bubbling below the surface. "Roman fucking Sionis has been selling firearms for who the fuck knows how long, and the first time I hear about it is through the goddamn Gotham Globe. Maybe I should hire her instead, clearly gets shit done more than you worthless fuckers."

Keller slides his gaze over to the strangely silent Michael Donovan, knowing the former street rat ordinarily struggles to not run his mouth ninety percent of the time. Despite Mike's more talkative nature – a key reason why he has acquired many a friend and information source over the years – the dark skinned gangster also possesses an astute sixth sense when it comes to reading the room, feeling out others' moods and emotions. A likely reason why Mike has elected to keep his mouth shut thus far, instead deciding to explore the inside of his suit jacket and fish out a silver flask, taking one long sip of whatever alcoholic concoction is inside.

"At least we'll find out what she knows about Mask now boss," Rob takes another shot at appeasing his employer, an endeavor long since abandoned by the brunet ex-mercenary attempting to mollify his own migraine. For a smart man, you sure are pretty fuckin' stupid Rob, Jack groans in his own head, allowing his eyes to flutter shut for a few moments.

"Like how she knew about fucking Sionis' black market before I did, despite hiring you pieces of shit to do that exact job for me," the dual themed crime lord snaps, the devilish, feral glint in his eye anything but friendly.

A bitter, stiff silence swallows up the back of the hummer SUV once again after that, Robert Mulder's attempts at tempering it ceasing as a whole. Wordlessly, Jackson Keller expectantly holds his hand out to Mike sat across from him, and wordlessly in return, Michael Donovan relinquishes the flask to his other boss. Neither man even entertain the possibilities of the turnout that is unavoidable once they meet up with the angel awaiting them at Hell's Gate, but Jack does know that he'll need more than a flask and some pain killers to endure it.

I'm gonna kill him.

Please refrain.

Nope, I'm gonna fucking kill him.

I would immensely prefer it if you didn't kill our top man.

Fine, I'll just throw Rob into incoming traffic then. Or force that stupid fucking flask down Mike's throat. What the fuck ever, I just need to kill someone.

Your proclivity for violence, whilst useful in urgent life-threatening situations, will not help us right now. And they are our men. They do their jobs well Harv.

Not fucking well enough! The press, Harvey. The fucking press. I gotta hear about fucking Sionis doing shit behind our backs from a fucking news article!?

Evangeline's doing, Harv. The way I see it, she has done us a favour. The police will now be forced to focus more on Roman, and with the media breathing down his neck, every little move he makes will now be scrutinized—

Is it Evangeline now, Harvey? Didn't realise you were so fucking close to the skirt. Shouldn't be surprised at this point, considering this is like the hundredth fucking time you've defended her. Cut the shit with the 'favour' thing too. Every time she's made a move you've claimed it's been in our fucking favour—

Because it has been in our favour! The former district attorney lightly rubs their temple, contemplating asking Mike for a sip from his flask. Whether she's meant to or not, disposing of Maroni and forcing the spotlight onto Black Mask is beneficial to us. We need to take advantage of this, and she can help.

And what makes you think she will?

Because she's presently awaiting our arrival at our business after our men saved her last night. You are simply testy because I was right after all; she's become a valuable asset, one that is yet again overseeing and handling the demise of another inconvenience of ours.

Did you just call me testy? Like some petulant fucking child? I am not testy.

Mm, and yet, that is precisely what a testy, petulant child would respond with.

Fuck you Harvey.

Likewise Harv.

An additional five or so minutes is all it takes to reach Hell's Gate, Two Face entirely conspicuous in a noticeably large overcoat with the collar cocked in eighty-four-degree weather, and low tipped hat conveniently masking a good portion of the scarring on his left side, but the walk between the curb and the building is brief. The moment the obscene crime lord is through the front doors, he wastes no time shucking the coat from his shoulders, discarding it along with the irritable hat on one of the several vacant chairs in the lobby – positive one of his lackeys will attend to it – grumbling along the way.

"I swear to whatever fucking God or gods there are, if I have to wear that goddamn heavy coat in eighty-four-degree fucking weather for five paces between a car to the door one more fucking time today, I'm going to skin the person closest to me and use that as a replacement coat. Paranoid pieces of—"

"Ah, how I have missed your profound sophistication and impressionable propriety, my dear Apollo Janus."

Two Face nearly finds himself the subject of whiplash, an affliction that would've been of his own doing, when the benign tone dances around his ears, a tinkling of amusement sprinkled atop the honey lathered words of mild mannered sarcasm. Evangeline Winter, the cause and solution to several of his current complications, stands patiently off to his right several seats down, possessing the audacity to playfully smile at him like they're even remotely close to friends.

Several snide, less than friendly remarks instantaneously rise up the felon's throat, yet Harv unexpectedly pauses in selecting one to voice, instead taking the chance to survey the PI he hasn't had the displeasure to see in three months.

Uncertain as to why, but the first thing he notes is her hair. It's longer now, just past her shoulders, Winter likely having failed to cut it at all these past months. Midnight tresses that delicately lay atop her breasts and give her an even softer impression that before, the Southerner subsequently appearing more dainty. The shorter hair bestowed her with a sharper ambiance, more astute, cunning, despite her tender smiles and words of comfort. Yet now, with the gentler, moderately longer waves – paired with the bizarrely casual, flattering attire – Harv, for the first time, feels as if he's finally in the presence of Evangeline Winter.

Coat. Guarded, shrewd scrutiny. Short hair. Refinement. Propriety. Perfect manners. Business attire. Official titles. Harv doesn't see any of it, not a scrap. Her essence is still there; that naïve, loathsome sense of morality and good. But it's almost as if her mask – Gotham's Guardian Angel, private investigator of Angel Investigations – has been put aside for the moment being. The last time they talked, alone in an alley after a rather tiresome night with the other crime bosses, Two Face detected cracks in that armour of hers, the Joker having frazzled her more than the detective let on. That however, wasn't by choice. Involuntary. Yet now…

Now the North Carolinian just appears normal.

Winter hasn't come to him calculatedly; this isn't her moving chess pieces around the board in her grand scheme. Harv doesn't know the woman or what has transpired in the past twenty-four hours well enough to just assume that whatever happened last night was the reasoning behind this shift, but he's also not fucking stupid. By protecting her last night, and warning her about this shit hole of a city three months prior, he's garnered more of her trust quicker than he thought. The revelation is bizarre and pleasing… as well as suspicious.

Suddenly not so indignant anymore, are we? His other half smugly makes a reappearance, souring Two Face's mood again immediately.

So she's easy on the eyes and is more open to us that I first thought, doesn't fucking matter. Think I prefer her like this though – not the snark, had enough of that shit already – but the outfit ain't bad. If it's any tighter, I won't need an imagination to guess what it's like underneath—

Have I ever told you how unbearably crass and vulgar you are?

I think the list of instances would be shorter if you listed all the times you didn't tell me 'how unbearably crass and vulgar' I am. Not knowing how he didn't spot the injury the first time, Harv halts his internal debacle with Harvey, zeroing his attention in on the PI's busted lip. Instantly, a dark glint enters their eyes. That looks considerably fucking worse than what Dante and Kevin described before. Remind me to feed them their own teeth later.

I'm almost inclined to agree.

Did Golden Boy just agree to 'tasteless violence'? Oh, I'm definitely in a fucking dream. Between your acquiescence and Winter's favourable apparel—

You are worse than a hormonal teenage boy.

Remember, Harvey boy. Anything I wanna do, is something you secretly wanna do deep, deep down. My attraction for her, comes from you Mr White fucking Knight. Not so gentlemanly and honourable now, are we?

Upon hearing radio silence from insufferably righteous other half, Harv nearly lets slip a complacent smirk, before remembering the acrimonious mood he was in moments before. Recalling Winter's words, and how alike the phrasing was to a certain Prince of Puzzles, Two Face glares at the PI, grunting in response "You've been spending too much time with Nygma."

An honest to God laugh slips past Evangeline Winter's wounded lips, the unfamiliar sound mildly startling Harv. "That did sound a little like Edward, didn't it? My brother thinks he's trying to 'taint' me as of late, influencing me to partake in less than legal activities. Perhaps it's working," the raven hair woman shrugs, arms crossing over her body to hug herself.

Is she… nervous?

Both times we've encountered her in the past, you have brazenly threatened her life. Not to mention the fact that you not so delicately shoved her against wall in a dimly lit, empty alley last time. Miss Winter is entitled to a little nerves or fear—

If I wanted her dead, she'd be fucking dead.

Something she is more than likely aware of, and yet, fear and nerves aren't always logically justifiable. Please play nice, or let me—

I won the coin toss, so don't fucking ask again.

"Sure fucking hope not," Two Face growls, making his way over to the detective at his own unhurried leisure. "If you ask me one goddamn riddle, I don't care if I saved you last night, I will—"

"Shoot me? Yes, I gathered. I'm beginning to grow accustomed to your murderous threats Two Face. It would feel unnatural if I didn't find at least one directed at me each time we convene by this point," Winter lightly banters despite her nerves, her smile as gentle as always. Whimsical, impish behaviour. Evidently, Evangeline Winter is attempting to stifle her nerves one way or another.

Jack, Rob and Mike simply observe the exchange with wide eyes, even their receptionist – Daisy – and the two hired muscle's breaths are hitched. The only people in the entire city that get away with addressing their boss in such a bold, familiar way are the crazies that belong to the Rogue's Gallery. Hell, Two Face has shot his own men point blank for so much as breathing wrong when the crime boss is in a sour mood. To say that this entire exchange is making them feel uncomfortable would be an understatement.

"So, almost dying has not only given you the fucking balls to jump straight into another life or death situation on the same fucking night by pissing off the guy who tried to have you killed, but given you enough guts to think we're chummy enough for you to speak so fucking brazenly to me," Two Face snarls, heavily invading Eve's personal space.

The North Carolinian falters, yet doesn't step back. In spite of a very trying night, Winter's resolve has not cracked. Shaken, perhaps, but not broken. If anything, it's invigorated.

"I am not one of your employees Two Face," Miss Winter evenly responds, chin tilted high. "I greatly respect and admire your astuteness, legal prowess and sharp judgement in regards to business investments and alliances. You know which particular horses to bet on in which particular races. I have made… mistakes, minor miscalculations during my time in this city. Some more recent than others," the private investigator pauses, tenderly caressing the healing lump on the back of her head, an act which the dual themed villain follows like a hawk, "but I do know one thing with certainty, if last night proved anything; I'm one of your business investments. Your honesty with me since the beginning, no matter how crude; the various warnings and chances you have bestowed me with since we've met; safeguarding my life without my knowledge until it was threatened. All indications of investment. Clever. Manipulative, but clever. Can't say I'm entirely thrilled to feel more inclined towards you than almost anyone else at this current time, but it's well earned. I'd be dead if not for you, manipulative or not. So, consider this your investment paying off."

A hard drive abruptly finds itself between the con and detective, held delicately in Miss Winter's fingers, evidently an offering of good will after last night on her behalf. "I didn't give the Gotham Globe all the evidence I have of last night," she confesses, twiddling the USB. "If too much information about a matter as delicate as this is public knowledge, it could lead to wide spread panic. I am also trying to avoid another crime war anytime soon if I can. I bought this USB this morning and downloaded all of the photos and videos I took last night, some of which won't be in the papers or on the internet; photos of RPGs, grenade launchers, highly advanced militia armour, dismantled pieces of technology I haven't the faintest of clues about and more. On top of that, I've compiled a document that contains all I know about Sionis, his businesses, operations and my limited knowledge about this new black market of his. There's also a list of everyone I know for certain that is complicit with his operations. It's not a large list, but it's a start. I have reason to believe that the other crime families may also be complicit—"

"They are," Two Face scowls, not even thinking twice about sharing the intelligence with the PI. "Since Maroni's been gone, there's been a power vacuum amongst the crime families. Falcone took it, pissing off the others – myself included – a lot. They've been fighting like fucking children since. I just assumed that sleazy fucking midget with the tacky umbrella was the one selling them guns, and lying to my face when I asked him about it. Now I know why he was pissy too."

"And yet you did not involve yourself? Why?" The Southerner regards him analytically, head marginally cocked to the side in perplexity.

The super villain snorts dryly, not so gently plucking the hard drive from her fingers at last and pocketing the device in his black and white blazer, grousing "Been too pissed at Sionis walking around my fucking city. That, and I'm a lot of things – a remorseless murderer, a certified nutcase, a merciless crime boss, and one sadistic son of a bitch – but I keep my fucking word. I'd never hear the end of it from Harvey if I didn't."

So either my brother was oblivious to Don Falcone warring with the other families behind my back – unlikely – or, like the over protective elder sibling he is, refused to tell me – much more likely, Eve internally sighs, filing that thought away for later.

Pursing her lips, the detective still inspects the fugitive with a pinch of caution, but now, more gentleness has settled behind her eyes. "Let's say I believe that; why tell me? Granted, I'm doing you a favour now, but if anything, that's paying off your services last night. Why give information or confirm suspicions to me, someone who has proven what they are capable of accomplishing with enough intel?"

"Because I don't want you up my ass about it, especially when I didn't even break the futile fucking deal," Harv grunts, gaze averted around the room for a moment. "I've got enough shit with enough fuckers in this city as it is, and whilst taking you out would potentially be a safer option in the long run, I'm not a fucking coward. You've got guts, a brain, connections and know how to use all of them. You could turn on me, but even if you did, I wouldn't give you the fucking chance. At the moment, however, you've shown that you're capable of buddying up with us ruthless bastards without being a bitch and turning us in – Nygma has made that quite clear – and in all honesty, if it comes down to picking a side – yours, or the other crime families – my money is on you. There are at least a hundred shitheads in this city that can do what they do, but only you can do what you do."

I believe that is the nicest thing that you have ever said to anyone ever, Harvey praises to his other half, immediately earning something akin to a growl from the grouchy, scarred personality.

Shut the fuck up, this is your fucking fault. Making me all soft and shit.

Eve's expression completely morphs into one of warmth, injured lips partially parted from the unexpected compliments. They quickly turn up into the most tender smile Harv believes he has ever seen, quickly making the super villain feel vastly uncomfortable.

The fuck is she smiling at me like that for?

Evangeline recognises a compliment – or several – when she hears one Harv. You've flattered her.

Christ, I doubt she's never had a compliment before. Make her fucking stop.

Harvey merely laughs in the depths of their shared thoughts, yet doesn't respond, allowing his less tactful companion to handle the situation.

"I do believe – amongst the customary threats and vulgar language – that you just said something nice to me," Eve gleefully comments, beam broadening.

Harv's scowl only intensifies, the con nearly baring his teeth at the smaller woman. "Don't get fucking used to it. We're not fucking friends."

"Oh, how heartbreakingly unfortunate, and I had already made us matching bracelets," the North Carolinian playfully pouts, suddenly seeming a lot more comfortable around him after one goddamn compliment.

The snickers from his own men are abruptly silenced with one glowering stare, the crime lord turning that piercing glare back onto Miss Winter promptly afterwards. With another snarl, Two Face stalks past her and towards the hall past the receptionist, barking over his shoulder "Fuck's sake you're already making me regret this. Just hurry the fuck up and follow me Princess, we're comparing notes on Sionis before I even think about letting you go. If I fucking let you go."

Though she suppresses the laugh, Eve is unable to veil the lingering smile, turning sharply on her heel and following soon after the rogue, Jackson Keller accompanying her along the way.

A/N: So last chapter really got me into a writing funk for this story, which is why this one followed (decently) quickly afterwards. Probably won't be another update for a bit now, with my other stories on Wattpad and whatnot, but you never know!

Really enjoyed writing this chapter! Got to explore a few other perspectives/characters. Plus, delved a lot more into Harv/Harvey's internal thoughts than I have before. Hope you guys enjoyed it too!

Thanks for reading and that's all for now, bye! :) xxx

~T.L