«It's the husband», Harvey said.
Jim circled their victim, a brunette in her late twenties. Her make up was vivid enough to keep her pretty, save for the dark strokes of blood on her chin. She had been stabbed repeatedly in the stomach, and had taken a few blows to the belly and shoulders, but her face was intact.
«You sure?» the blond asked his partner.
«The neighbors called 911 twice in the last month, domestic disturbance. They've been seen arguing for weeks, I found cards for two divorce lawyers in her wallet.»
«What does he say?»
«Bohoo, I didn't do it», the older man replied. «We'll see if he sticks to that line once we 'gently' confront him with the evidence.»
«Did you arrest him already?»
«A whole hour ago, asshat. You took your sweet time arriving.»
«Sorry, it was a long drive.»
«Yeah. Well, now that you're drown frolicking in crazy land, I suggest we go back to the precinct and wrap this up.»
Jim glared at him, but Harvey was not even looking his way. He was walking to the door, getting his phone out of his pocket to check his messages.
###
Sabrina looked down at her martini and carefully, slowly removed the olive from it. She waited for the last drop of alcohol to fall before placing the pin on her napkin. She was trying not to cry. Focusing on small details like that helped. She took a deep breath, forced a smile on, and looked straight at David. He nodded encouragingly. He was taking a sip of his own glass of wine, a pinkish, salmony liquid that the waitress had poured with a shaky hand. The drinks were probably safe.
David was a good looking man in his early forties, who wore an elegant, tailored suit, the same he had been wearing that same morning when Sabrina had handed him his caramel macchiato. He was a banker, he had told her a bit after they had taken their seats in the empty restaurant. Twenty years her elder, which would usually have made Sabrina a bit cautious, though not to the point of refusing a first date, in normal circumstances.
The young woman fumbled for words.
«Is this your first, ah, uh, blind date?» she asked.
«The second», he replied, adjusting his white scarf. «My first try had a bit of a… Bad ending. I sincerely hope all will go well between us. I can see us having a brilliant future», he said, raising his glass. «Don't you?»
Sabrina pulled at her own scarf. It was tangerine instead of white, but it served the same purpose as David's: concealing the explosive necklace they were both wearing.
«I… I… Think…»
She had no idea what was expected of her. Her hands were shaking, so she grabbed her napkin, and smiled again. She had spotted five cameras, and knew the waitress was watching them, though she seemed focused on the cash register. The restaurant was empty, the windows and the door boarded shut.
David took her hands. The look he gave her was amazingly tender, but he was sweating bullets. His short dark hair was soaked at the temples. His forehead was glistening.
«I know this must seem strange to you. I assure you, it's usually very out of character for me to feel such a connection with a woman as young as you are… But the instant I saw you, the moment our eyes crossed at the coffee shop… I couldn't get you of my mind. Does that make sense?»
Sabrina's eyes darted to one of the cameras, and she brought them back to David. She had the feeling not looking at David was one of the triggers of that necklace. Now that she thought of it, the man had been wearing a scarf in the morning too.
«It does», she replied. «I… Found you quite dashing. I thought about you all day long.»
Her day had been very short. She had worked until eleven, then walked out of the coffee shop for a cigarette and a snack, only to pass out and wake up at the entrance of the restaurant, with David crouched next to her, trying to shake her awake. She had panicked and tried to run, until he had managed to show her the explosive necklaces they were both wearing, and urgently whispered a «pretend». Then he had dragged her paralyzed, shaky self to her feet, and told her he was so glad she was there for their date.
They had been pretending ever since. Obviously, he knew the play better than she did.
«Then this should go well!», he announced, releasing her hands. «I suggest we get to know each other better… See where that takes us. So, are you a college student?»
Sabrina nodded.
«Second year business major», she said, making him smile.
«Brings back memories. Gotham U.?»
«Yes. I wanted to stay close to home, for my f-»
Fiance.
«Friends», she finished.
David spotted her hesitation and easily translated her words.
«I used to go there, a few years… Decades? Ago», he said. «Does Pr. Forthwidge still teach? There was a rumor he was undead. The age. The looks» - He marked a pause and grinned. - «The smell.»
His smile was amazing. It was dashing, and warm, and bright, and his eyes shone with good humor.
«He's still there», Sabrina replied.
David chuckled and nodded, and emptied his glass.
«Undead teachers aside, Gotham U. is a nice place. The friends you make there will be your friends for life. And Burnside is one of the most entertaining parts of Gotham. I partied my first year away.»
Sabrina stared. He looked too tight-laced.
«You did?»
«I did. Then I worked two jobs and got a student loan to pay for my second first year, since my father was none too pleased about my grades.»
The waitress came back to them, bringing them their food, and with it the recollection that they were hostages, the three of them, with explosives wrapped around their necks. David squeezed Sabrina's hand. She took a deep breath and thanked the waitress, as warmly as she could.
Then, she kept pretending.
###
Dating Harvey Bullock was not always easy, if only for the fact that Harvey Bullock did not date. For someone who was only scared of decaf coffee, he sure ran far and fast away from commitment. And feelings. And mushiness. He would give you the most outrageous courtship, treat you like a queen, be as unrelenting as a Comcast retention specialist, and then… Nothing. There was no mention, ever, of a relationship. You had one-night-stands. Several days a week, for several months.
Scottie didn't mind. She knew Harvey was not 'serious boyfriend' material. Not because he was not, as a person, serious boyfriend material, but because he did not want to be. He would make you feel like a princess and give you his undivided attention for a few select hours a week, then vanish.
Before marrying her mother, Scottie's dad had a cat. Kimba had been eight years old when his human had brought home a red haired «bundle of joy», and had lived his formative years as the sole company of a neglectful bachelor. He had developed the personality that was to be expected from such a pet.
Kimba had been a cunt.
You could pet him, sometimes, if he initiated it, and if you had razor-sharp reflexes to get your hand out of the way as soon as he had decided he wanted to be left alone. If he initiated the petting, it meant he was hungry. He would hiss if you were too affectionate. He would purposely sit two inches away from the farthest point you could reach. If you moved forward, he moved backwards. He peed on your slippers.
Save for the «urinating on footwear» part, having Harvey around was not very different.
Kimba had brought dead mice to Scottie's bed until his death, when she was seven. She was well-versed in nonsensical displays of affection.
«Aren't you gorgeous tonight?» the detective said as she opened the door that evening.
He was lying, because it was laundry day, and she was wearing a washed out tank top over pajama pants. No make-up, either, which meant her eyelashes were invisible and her eyes were displaying not only bags, but an entire Prada factory, courtesy of her kidnapping-induced nightmares.
And Harv' had brought flowers. It meant he wanted to improve the odds of having sex.
«Thank you», she replied with a grin.
She let him in, and he wrapped himself around her, leaning in for a long, hungry kiss.
Dating Harvey Bullock was not always easy because he would not talk to you. He had visited the night before, and she had seen, plain as day, that something was horribly wrong. But as soon as she had tried to ask, he had grinned and excused himself, pretending he had only been dropping by. Scottie had worked with phobics for years, and she knew that even those who came to her of their own free will were not always straightforward with their stories. Harvey would not even admit he wanted support. So she did not ask questions: she had other ways to help.
«What about we grab Chinese?» he offered.
There was a small restaurant two streets away, and it has not been destroyed nor attacked despite the raging gang war. They went there twice a month.
«I thought we could skip that and go straight to bed», Scottie replied, pulling on Harvey's tie.
He groaned and dropped all pretense, lifting her from the ground and carrying her to her bedroom. She threw the flowers in the general direction of the sofa along the way, and his hat, then she went for his clothes. He needed to sink into someone. She let him. He did not roll away afterward. He showed no intent to leave. On the contrary, his hands kept wandering over her naked body, in motions more distracted than caressing. Scottie turned to him and wrapped an arm around his waist.
«What's wrong, Harv'?»
He froze against her, and closed his eyes tightly, and frowned. Then he relaxed - deflated, if you had to be honest - and shook his head.
«Nothing.»
The redhead propped herself up on one elbow, and waited.
«Not sure I can tell you about it», he added in a soft voice, not looking at her.
That was fair enough. You couldn't tell everyone everything. He still needed to talk to someone. You could see the thoughts fighting to get out of him. You could see him reconsider telling her, when he was sure doing so was a bad idea.
«Can you tell Jim, then?»
She had met Jim Gordon three times only, in the aftermath of her abduction, well before Harvey managed to take her on a date. She had not talked to the blond since then. As far as she knew, he didn't remember her existence. She doubted Harvey had mentioned her. But she was very familiar with everything Jim Gordon. He was Harv's best friend, and never failed to give the older man reasons to rant. Whining aside, it was clear Harvey worshiped the ground his partner walked on. And he needed to talk.
Harvey chuckled.
«Jim.»
He chuckled again. Then he started laughing. It took him several minutes to calm down, and even after that, he still let out a few breaths that sounded dangerously close to giggling.
«Huh, no», he ended up replying, «I can't tell Jim. The boy has no idea how to handle his problems, I'm not about to let him get near mine.»
That's what friends do, Scottie thought. Then she remembered everything she had heard about the younger cop, and conceded he was probably not the greatest problem solver. Her next thought was «Who else, then?». But there was no one else. Every now and then, Harvey would mention Sarah Essen, but she was his boss more than she was his friend. He had named a «Mike», and a «Robbie», and a «Jack», and a «Tommy»… Pals, all of them. Harvey could call someone a «friend», or a «good friend», or a «friend of a friend», or even a «close friend of mine», but all of those were acquaintances.
He had no one to talk to.
He came to that conclusion at the same time as Scottie did.
«A friend of mine might be dead», he said, not quite looking at her. He took a deep breath. «A close friend. Used to be, 'nyway.»
The redhead hugged him and held him close. She could fill in the blanks.
«Might?», she asked after a few long, careful moments.
«Her body hasn't been found», he muttered in a tone as detached as humanly possible. He could have been announcing it would rain the next day.
He was tense enough to snap, and Scottie felt his fist clench and unclench behind her. She stroked his back. All she could do was to let him see she was there, and ready to listen. If she pushed, he would move away. His tension slowly turned to anger, and he started fidgeting. Then he sat up, pushing her away, as if physical contact was already too much. He didn't look at her either, but at the fist he was clenching and unclenching in front of him.
Scottie sat up too, swallowing her worry and faint sense of rejection. Everyone had different boundaries, but seeing Harvey's isolation hurt. Scottie had never been alone, not a day in her life. She had more friends than she can count. She had a large, warm, loving family. She had set up support groups so people would not have to deal with their fears and issues alone, whereas Harvey had set out to push the world away. And now, he was in pain, and not only did he have to handle it alone, he wanted it that way. Well, not totally that way, or he would have been long gone, she reminded herself. She wrapped her hand around his fist.
He stared at their hands for a moment.
«It would be so much easier if her body had been found», he said at last. «Or if it had been someone competent bragging about having killed her. But all we have so far is some little asswipe of a whiny brat of a mobster who might have had a lucky shot at her and is telling everyone he took her out. It's so fucking ridiculous it doesn't register.»
Scottie edged closer, moving her hand to his wrist, elbow, and finally shoulder.
«I've been waiting for news», Harvey said.
She wrapped her arms around him.
He let out a sob.
###