A/N: Much apologies for the extended wait. Remember how I told everyone that I was out (about three weeks ago) due to an abscess tooth? Well, the other day, due to a lifetime of ignorance, I've been told I'll be needing as many as twenty of my teeth removed... Yeah, imagine the impact that does to a 22yr old. I don't want any sympathy, and I damn well have punished myself for it, so I will speak no more of this.
It's hard doing an exposition chapter sometimes but, and this is crucial, its leading up to a fight (and revelation) that many of you have been waiting very long to see.... and NO, its NOT Ra's al Ghul, damnit!

The Watchman III

---

What is it about life that always seems so fucked up? Never mind the hobo on the corner begging for change, the hooker on the corner asking for a good time, or the cop taking the bribe from the pusher... No, that's normal for a city as grungy and dirty as Gotham City. To the man in the black coat strolling down 42nd Street, the question comes in the form of a hard stare and the thought of the other's night's gunfight. As white and red lights reflect off green lens, they seem to take the forms of white-hot tracers entering black figures, spewing red orbs of blood from their imaginary bodies. Round after round, death coming as fast as the stock figures on the ticker above the street, glowing in blue. Who was responsible? Who ordered the attack? Who has the means to recruit the manpower necessary? As those eyes drift towards a local newspaper boy, the title cover alone speaks volumes.

MAD IRISHMAN MASSACRE CLAIMS THIRTEEN!

Eyebrow twitches a bit but Gar refuses to acquire a paper from the man. Hands firmly in his pockets, fingering a crumpled bit of paper, the words take their toll. Gunfire echoes in his mind although, thankfully, the sight of the murders in progress was out of his sight. Those corpses though.... has it really been that long since Ripper's bloodbath? You'd think after this long it'd be easier, especially considering what Gar wants to... No, save it for later. Green eyes narrowing, the thought of what might happen to the man behind this seems both enjoyable as well as especially evil. Woe betide the deadman who ordered this attack.

Speaking of deadmen, what's with the note Scarecrow delivered? The professor's actions of late have been a bit odd, if not ironic. Considering that Gar has offered nothing but pain to the doctor in the past, he's being surprisingly compliant. Fear of reprisal if he doesn't help? Unlikely, the doctor has better control of his instincts than that. Desire to get back at whoever did this? Unlikely, considering he arrived before the shooting and not after.... Hum..Monster specimen that's willing? Perhaps but that still doesn't explain the request. Why in the world would the doctor send him to this street of all places? Didn't Watchman cause enough trouble the last time he entered this bar?

---

With the word's of "FANTASY MIND" written over the bar, Gar's pleased to find that nothing has changed in this previously-established cesspool of a bar. Passing by the first few tables, occupants in their ragged clothes daring to send glares his way for his "strange" appearance, Gar ignores the view and concentrates his vision to the end of the bar. Moving past women with threads barely justified to be called "clothes" and men, beards and hair dirty and unclean most likely from the stains, it feels like a march into hell rather than a talk for information.

His target, a woman with dark tan, Middle Eastern perhaps, sits at the bar with a glass of clear liquor before her. In profile, all Gar can see is a small, white flower in her black hair, pulled back, and reflecting lightly in the neon glow of a beer light. An odd singularity in the midst of all this filth... Odd person to have connections with a intelligent maniac.

"You must be Watchman." Gar's startled slightly, stopping two paces from the woman. Watching her as she idly plays with a trio of skittles, of all odd things, Gar questions how she knows his identity.

"I know a lot of things about you, Mr. Watchman." Turning to meet him properly, her chocolate brown eyes stand out even amongst a skin flush with smooth features. Deep and mystifying, a gypsy's lure but with a desert's charm, she answers with her gentle voice. "I know what you seek as well. Mr. Crane has not sent you here in vain."

"Poet I take it?" Gar inquires, smiling slightly at the rhyme in her sentence.

"Your humor hasn't changed. Some part of Beast Boy must still exist within you."

Smile thoroughly erased, a figurative flash before replaced with deadpan darkness. "What did you..."

With a small hand raised, she nods reverently "Calmness, Garfield. It is quite alright, I was offering you a compliment is all."

Her words, eerily soothing but at the same time mysterious, find a grip on Gar's mind, bringing him away from his tension. "I'm sorry."

"What is it you wish to know then, Mr. Logan?"

"How you know my name for starters." Gar offers, getting the most obvious question out of the blue.

Smile growing wider, the woman stands up from her stool with a green skittle in her fingertips...

---

Sometime later, the sun still vacant from the sky, moon hanging like a vulture in the sky of blood, Gar finds himself with his jacket flapped upward. Face obscured like in his early days as the Watchmen, he finds peace in this relative shelter from the world. Maybe Scarecrow isn't as crazy as he lets on... or else he's even more fucked up than even Gar imagined. That woman didn't seem... human. A flower in the middle of filth... Wow, now who sounds poetic?

Nothing poetic about the information given however. Nearly impossible to find poetry in the details revealed by the strange woman with the orange and blue skittles joined..

Ironic, especially considering the owner of the joint in front of him and his two-toned skin color.

"The man of two colors can be found planning. He waits for you without knowing but will offer you information unwilling. "
"Then why do I need his help to find the man responsible for killing those men?"

Another orange skittle in her left hand, this time joined by a green skittle. "Because the man of orange and green walks towards Judgement. To save your friend from the evil demon, you will need the man of two color's help."

"... You mean...?"

---

Within the walls of the Wild Deuce 2, Gar notices that business is thriving just as it had the last time he stormed the joint. Roulette tables, blackjack card games, all illegal and yet unstoppable, combined with the smell of cigar smoke and imported liquors from across the world. Disgusting creatures, all of them. Foolishly wasting their time throwing dice and frittering away money while millions starve and die out on the streets in poverty. Laughing in their thousand dollar suits or fifteen thousand dollar dresses, complete with dead animal corpses lining their shoulders. Its enough to make a man angry, if not downright furious.

"Hey, you can't go back there!" One of the burly guards, a man wearing a charcoal suit and fedora, warns.

His partner, standing opposite the door, reaches for a weapon concealed within his suit jacket. "The boss ain't seein' no guests at the moment! So scram!"

"Guest?" Gar inquires, voice lacking any sense of detectible emotion. "Who said I was a guest?"

Although the man with the pistol seems unfazed, the man in the dark coat's face starts to recoil in fear. That voice, that same voice.... could it really be.

"Seem nervous, scared. Do I frighten you?" Watchman certainly hasn't missed that look of fear on the guard's face. "Never did get blood for the potatoes."

"What's wrong with ya? This guy don't look like..."

"Shut up! Let him in, Jean, or he'll fuckin' rip us a new asshole!" Panic in his voice, the guard reaches out and lowers the other man's gun.

"What? Are you insane? He'll kill us if he lets him through!"

Taking a step closer to both men, Gar finally lets a smile grace his face. Fangs proudly barred, eyes wild, he suggests "And I'll kill you if you don't!"

Both doors thunder open, Watchman stepping through with a tiny, though sly smirk on his face. Hands still in his pockets, eyes forward, he doesn't care to look back at the sight of two scared men watching his trek continue. Doors snapping behind him, shut firmly by the pair, Gar anticipates a brutal reunion..

"About time you showed up!" The thunderous, throaty voice of Two-Face echoes across the back room. Coin flipping in the air, idle at one moment then a flurry of rotation the next. Suit, duo-tone though monochrome, still looks as creaseless and iconic as ever. Unlike some villains and heroes, it seems Two-Face is keeping fashion's tide from overtaking his sense of appearance... If only his face could do the same. Some scars and trends will never change, no matter how much we'd like them to.

"Been busy. Investigating the slaughter at Mad Irishman's. Wouldn't know about that would you?" Stopping a good distance away, not trusting the famous villain to play fair, Gar's glasses keep a wall between the two.

PING, coin flip. "That Irish bastard had it coming. You fuck with a dog too many times, the dog's gonna bite you back."

"Interesting choice of words."

The stare down intensifies, coin landing and flipping absentmindedly. "You're not the only wild dog in this city, Watchman."

"Batman has Joker on his leash. Which dog attacked the bar?"

PING "How about we flip on it?"

"Stalling again. Never were good at questions."

Snarling, Two-Face replies with a face-down coin "Look who's talkin', nutjob! Last time you were here you nearly drove all of us insane."

"Answer the questions. Otherwise I'll finish what I started." Gar pulls out his lighter from his pocket. Though not pristine, the BIC lighter still isn't as scarred up as Dent's coin.

PING "Threatening me, Watchman?"

FLICK "Tell me answers and it won't be."

Heads down. "Gotta earn your information around here, boy. Even with your magic animal powers, you can't make me talk by force."

Flame out. "Woman with candy told me the same thing."

PING but with suspicion on his face, Two-Face inquires "A woman with candy? You mean to tell me you ran into.."

FLICK "I did. Told me to save Someone, need the man of two color's information."

Heads down. "That woman's just a crazy, witchy lunatic. How can someone with candy predict the future, huh?"

Orange light reflecting in green lenses, almost producing a brownish color, Gar answers "Didn't find her on my own. Your kind led me there. Scarecrow recommended her."

PING, with a look of incredible surprise "And you got the nutcase doctor involved too?! What kind of game are you getting at?"

Flame out. "Game? Not a game. Games entertain, they amuse. Games have rules and time limits. Not a game, Harvey Dent."

Heads down yet again "I told you not to.."

FLICK, lighter to his face level now. Staring down the two eyes of Two-Face, Gar warns "Two-Face is a madman but with rules. Too much killing is mass-murder. Too little killing is weakness. Harvey Dent protects the weak from the murders. Heads, Dent tells me. Tails, Two-Face can go to hell."
Coin firmly on his fist, Two-Face considers this proposal. "Using me against me again? Low blow, Watchman." A snicker "But I admit, you have a point." Holding up the coin, ready to flip, Two-Face warns "No reflips either."

---

Outside of the Wild Deuce 2, Garfield's exit is greeted by the Scarecrow. Meshing into the scenery like an elephant in an office building, Gar can't help but muster a shake of the head.

"I gather he didn't give up the information willingly?" Scarecrow inquires.

Flipping the lighter into the air, catching it as it descends, Gar admits "It seems your friend at the Fantasy Mind was smarter than I gave her credit for."

"You played with his mind, didn't you?"

Flicking the lighter on, Gar jokes "He's not used to another dual-sided personality with a toy to play with."

"Interesting. And they say I'm the evil one for messing with others' minds." Tapping the stick on the ground, Scarecrow looks down the street to scan for police. "As for the location?"

"He wouldn't tell me since it came up tails. But, I did manage to learn something during his little "victory" gloating."

Tilted head, the dead corpse questions "Two-Face gave you information despite losing the toss? That's unlike him."

Cracking a grin, Watchman informs him "He called it a consolation prize for keeping him amused." Grin gone now, he continues. "He says he didn't order the hit, at least this time. Apparently someone else was interested in sending a message to the Irishman."

"A third party we're not yet aware of?"

"Yeah, not even to Two-Face either. The man contacted him via telephone and asked to borrow some of his hitmen to wreck up the joint." Lighter returning to the darkness of his coat pocket, Watchman's expression returns to a similar darkness. "And that's not all. Apparently they've gone "missing" after they finished the raid."

Holding his jaw with his white hand, Scarecrow theorizes "Whoever hired them isn't done yet. Two-Face may have provided you the information as a request for revenge for misleading him. Whoever did this must certainly be a man unafraid of the consequences."

"He also mentioned that I'm not the only wild dog in the city.. This isn't Joker's style, is it?"

Hair shuffling against the brown "skin" of his face, Scarecrow shakes his head in denial. "No, that man's methods usually border on the insane and the flamboyant. This action was done with precision as well as emphasis on psychological terror." Allowing a bemused, ironic "hmph", Scarecrow suggests "If I were into that sort of thing, I would have suggested that I would have done it."

"Who's to say you didn't?" Cooperation or not, the man standing in front of Watchman is still a notorious criminal willing to maim Gotham City for his own experiments.

"Because I would have toyed with prey first rather than killing them. What's the use of having test patients if you're just going to kill them at the beginning of the experiment?"

Removing his glasses, placing them into the opposite pocket, Gar sighs "You have a point, Crane. But where do we begin? Where can they be hiding?"

"An even more pressing matter is where exactly did Someone disappear to?"

"WHAT?" Gar shouts, news to him most definitely.

"Aren't you aware? Someone has been reported missing since the police moved into the Irishman. No one has heard from him since."

"And you didn't think to tell me any of this?" Patience disappearing faster than an Enron pension, Gar's on the verge of choking the doctor.

"He hasn't turned up dead yet. Plus, its no coincidence that the hitmen have disappeared too. And while I'd like to assume that Someone is looking for them, chances are they captured him and have him hidden somewhere."

Fist balled at first, Gar looks ready to snap until something echoes in his mind. A voice, the woman from the bar....

"When the man of orange and blue refuses, the brown one will provide the clue. To save the man of orange and green, the man of pure green must overcome the man with red in his eyes. "

"Watchman, are you ok?" Scarecrow's voice implores, noticing Gar's loss of attention.

"Scarecrow... tell me something. If you were going to kill someone, in order to send a message to someone else, where would you do it?"

"Where would I kill someone in front of another person? Somewhere with a lot of noise to keep the sound down. Also I'd do it at a place with a lot of activity to mask my escape."

Looking West, Gar replies with worry in his voice. "How about somewhere where the shooter could escape in a hurry?"

Pausing at first, realization enters the villain's face as well. "Gotham International Airport?"

"One of the hangars. All of those planes landing and taking off... Not to mention many of the mob bosses in the city have private hangars.."

"Not to mention its somewhere where most of Someone's allies wouldn't think to go. They don't have strength down there."

Returning his glasses to his face, Gar warns "Then we'll just have to be the backup, won't we?"
---

A/N2: So it looks like we're off to the "Aero-port". Will they be there however? Its where I'd be, you don't see many lower-class Irishmen hanging around airports these days. A blind man can see it's an ambush but, with a raging, drunk, grieving man after you, location doesn't matter.
Interesting dichotemy though of a Coin vs. Lighter with Gar/Two-Face.. The paralels between them just keep adding up. One's white/black, the other's green/black... hehe.

Trivia:
- The "Woman at the Bar" is a nod to my longest reviewer (and most generous too, considering her fan-arts) FantasyMind93... her other name going on DA as "Skittles713", yeah, you can kinda guess the Skittles references... Even if they are used like runes.
- Joker as a wild dog on a leash, Dark Knight anyone?

Rhetorical:
Wouldn't it be funny if the man with the Red Eyes turned out to be a very....cool man indeed?