«You don't touch this», Sarah said. «The vigilante is Alvarez's case. You don't touch this, you don't investigate this, are we clear? Even if you tried, you would not have a clear perspective.»
Harvey watched Jim sink into his chair, jaw clenched, as the captain drove her point in. He was growing worried for the boy. Actually, he was well past worried. He'd thought Jim could soldier through anything, but that theory was being seriously put to the test. Jimbo's life was an endless shitstorm, and it was clear it was chipping away at him. Leslie's abduction. The vigilante intent on crucifying him. Kean. The man was strong, but not not invulnerable.
Jim was staring straight ahead, still as a stone. He hadn't replied, and if Essen was waiting for him to agree with her, she had better have all day.
«Come on, captain», Harvey said. «There has to be some way we can help.»
«Yes, there is. Alvarez asks a question, you answer. Truthfully. You contribute any ideas, any vague hint, any suspicions you may have. But you don't get out there specifically looking after a criminal who is targeting Jim. It's too personal.»
«The Ogre thing was plenty personal we still caught the bastard.»
«And it turned out so well for everyone involved», Sarah snapped. Then she saw the empty look on Gordon's face. «Sorry, Jim. I didn't mean...»
«No, it's true», the blond replied. «And it's nothing I haven't heard before. Are we sure he's targeting me? I mean, he could be going after any cops who arrested the wrong person, or does a shitty job.»
«No one he went to the press about, and getting the word out seems to be his goal. I'll still call the other captains, see if they encountered something similar. But, Jim… You made a mistake. A horrible mistake, maybe, but just a mistake. There's no shortage of bad cops in Gotham. Killers, drug dealers, moles for the mob… You name the crime, I can name someone. If this was about cleaning the GCPD, you're the last man the vigilante would go after. I really think it's personal.»
Jim wiped his face, eyes lost in the distance.
«And he used my name and credentials to get to his victim, we knew that», he murmured.
There was a lull after that, so Harvey intervened again.
«So, Alvarez works the case, alright. Where's the bastard?»
«On a crime scene. There was a robbery at the Cohen's estate, the wife was killed. He was in the area, I sent him there an hour ago. He should be back s… He is back», she finished, walking away from Harvey's desk to go down the stairs and join Alvarez at the other end of the bullpen.
The detective talked first, causing Sarah to cast a quick, worried glance in Jim's direction. She said a few words - no more than three - and Alvarez resumed talking, gesturing as he gave his explanations. He was not being briefed about the vigilante. He was the one giving the briefing. Essen asked a question. He nodded. She turned to Jim again and sighed.
«What now?» the blond muttered, watching the captain make her way to them, followed by Alvarez.
He sank into his chair and turned it towards the stairs so he would get the news - whatever they were - more quickly. Harvey got out of his seat and went to stand next to him. Essen paused in front of them, then collected herself.
«I have bad news», she started. «There was video footage of the robbery and murder at the Cohen's. There's no nice way to say it… Barbara Kean assembled a team and raided the place to steal several paintings. She was the one who killed Janet Cohen. It was not related to the robbery at all. She sought her out and executed her.»
Jim's only reaction was to clench and unclench his fist. It took five more minutes of explanations to get him to utter a «I see».
###
«Can you pick a lock?» Barbara had asked.
Butch really felt like the most used word of his vocabulary was «depends». He could manage simple locks - being born and bred in Gotham taught you uncommon skills - but that was it. And Barbara… Barbara had issues with nuances. She could have been talking about a bike's lock. She could have been talking about an armored door. She could have been talking about a high security lock in a military complex, surrounded by a dozen armed soldiers. She hardly ever provided a context.
So, he had replied: «Depends. What kind?»
To which she had answered : «I'll show you!»
Showing him had involved a ride across town, to an address he was entirely too familiar with. That being said, the apartment door's lock had proved easy enough to pick, even with Butch's limited skills. After he had argued against breaking in for ten minutes, of course. He was still ranting when they entered the flat.
«Just so you know, if I even suspect he's coming home, I'm leaving», he said. «You're on your own. Bullock is a moron and an asshole, but he's a good shot, and he doesn't fool around.»
«He won't be here for hours», Kean replied, dismissive. «He has a full time job.»
She looked around, taking in the mismatched furniture and the rows of half-empty alcohol bottles on the kitchen counter.
«What a mess», she commented.
«I don't know, it was way worse the last time I came. No dirty boxers on the floors. No two months old Chinese take-out on the coffee table…»
She whirled to him, surprised.
«You've been here before?»
«A few times.»
«I didn't know you knew Harvey.»
«I just told you I did.»
«No, I mean, I thought you knew of him, nothing more.»
Butch shrugged.
«He was a good friend of my previous boss. She gave him intel, he gave her intel, things like that. So, you gonna kill him?»
«Depends. Do you like him?» Barbara asked, opening the drawers of the coffee table and digging through the papers she found there.
He thought about it.
He loathed Harvey. That being said, he had to express his opinion in a way that discouraged murder. He searched for words, joining the blonde and watching what she was doing.
«It's more… You know the feeling when there's a woman you like. Well, man in your case, I guess…»
«Woman works too, I'm not picky.»
Butch blinked.
«Alright. Woman you like. Really like. For something like ten years. And you stand by her side and she sees you as her BFF? Brother from another mother? Most trusted lieutenant?»
«Let's assume I ever needed ten years to get into someone's bed.»
«You're a bit of a cunt. Were you ever told you're a bit of a cunt?»
«As a matter of fact…»
«Are you going to let me explain or what?»
«I'm sorry. Please continue.»
Butch huffed and let her move on to the TV stand, unwilling to speak. She snooped through boxes of bank statements and bills.
«So imagine that woman starts dating someone else», he ended up saying. «And it's not a great guy. Actually, it's a total shithead. But she loves him. She does. They make each other miserable when they are together, really, and they miss each other like hell when they are not, so they settle for that weird on-off thing where the misery evens out a bit, and they can be genuinely happy to be best friends who fuck.»
«And that 'shithead' is Harvey Bullock.»
«Yep.»
«Heh. There's no accounting for taste.»
«Apparently not.»
Barbara put the boxes back into the TV stand, the lot of them appearing entirely undisturbed.
«So you don't like him.»
«I don't, but that's not the point. I kind of hate him but not to the extent that I'd want him dead.»
«But you wouldn't mind if I killed him.»
«I guess I wouldn't? But I'd rather you didn't?»
«Duly noted», his boss said, finding a new cupboard to search through.
Butch sighed.
«What is it that you're looking for anyway?»
«I'll know when I find it.»
«You'll know wh… You had nothing planned at all, did you? You're just here in case something interesting turns up.»
She turned to him and grinned.
«Preeeetty much?»
«That's it, I'm out. I'll wait in the car.»
«Stay right here!»
Butch rolled his eyes and stayed, feeling much like her pet dog. She opened every cabinet and every cupboard, inspecting their contents and putting everything back exactly as she had found it (namely, in a fucking mess). He could see she was getting frustrated. He did not comment. To a sane person, it was clear that all Bullock owned was crap, more crap, and maybe a spare gun. Keyword there being «sane».
Barbara still managed to find an envelope filled with old polaroids, well hidden under old books and magazines, in one of the nightstands' drawers.
«Is that her, by any chance?» she asked, handing him one of the pictures. «The woman?»
He shivered as pins and needles ran through his every scar. It was. The picture really brought you back, too. Fish's hair had not been long and curly in nearly ten years, and the clothes screamed eighties. She was rolling her eyes at the camera and gesturing for the photographer to go away, one of her hands blurry.
Butch felt faint, grief hitting him square in the stomach.
He kept his voice casual.
«Yes.»
«You can do better.»
«That's your opinion, lady.»
«Well, for a start, you could do me.»
«I stand by my point.»
The blonde started pouting, putting the polaroid back into its envelope.
«You know, that constant rejection might end up hurting me. Don't go breaking my heart!»
Elton John. Fine. He could play that game too.
«I couldn't if I tried», he retorted, earning a smile.
He couldn't help it. He smiled back.
«Now come on. He will kill us both if he catches us, and I want to enjoy some of that heist's money. Let's go.»
«Alriiiight. You're a bit of a killjoy. Were you ever told you're a bit of a killjoy?»
«As a matter of fact…» he piped back, ushering her out.
She followed him willingly, ran back in to fetch her purse - that she had somehow forgotten - then finally let herself be led to the car. She was (blissfully) silent for a whole ten minutes, focused on looking at her bare feet. She had put them on the dashboard, and was wriggling her toes, inspecting her black nail polish.
«So, is it common, cops exchanging intel with Mafia bosses?» she asked.
«You mean, like Bullock and Fish?»
«Yes! I get the feeling that's what Cobblepot is trying to get from Jim.»
«I think even Cobblepot doesn't realize what he is trying to get from Jim. Just saying.»
«I have a faint idea of what you are implying. Please don't imply that.»
«I wouldn't dare.»
She raised her eyebrows. He smirked.
«More seriously», she continued, «if cop informants are a thing, I want my own. You are getting me one.»
«I'm sorry. Do you somehow think they are sold at Walmart?»
Barbara glared at him.
«You know full well what I mean.»
«I'm not going to Gordon to ask him to become your informant. He ain't fond of me, in case you didn't remember. I value my health.»
«Not JIM. I want to destroy his life and shatter his mind. That's not very compatible with flirty information brokering, is it?»
«So what am I supposed to do? Put up a job offer in the GCPD? 'Busty blonde recruiting horny cop with rocks for brains'?»
«You are difficult. Why are you always difficult? Haven't you learned by now that my plans work?»
«Only because I'm here to translate 'crazy' into logistics!»
«And the job offer thing is not necessary. I have someone in mind.»
###
Jim went back to Leslie's well past midnight, after an evening spent learning Harvey's most efficient problem solving technique: alcoholism. His partner had dragged him out for drinks at the end of the day, and dragged him out of the bar after deciding it had been a bad idea. Then he had driven him to Leslie's building with the promise to pick him up in the morning, so they could retrieve his car.
Harvey seemed to believe Jim felt down. Actually, he felt so angry he could barely keep it in. The rage was overwhelming and he had no outlet, so he had attempted to drink himself into numbness instead. It had worked, but only partially. He wanted to punch things instead of shooting them. He was more or less convinced he wouldn't kill Barbara on sight, though he had no idea what else he would do to her. Arrest her. He was supposed to arrest her. Not choke the life out of her.
Life was not the right term, really. Barbara was dead and gone.
Lee was already sleeping, so he took a brief shower and slipped into bed, wrapping himself around her. He did try not to wake her, but she still turned to him, propping herself up on an elbow.
«Sorry», he muttered. «Didn't want to wake you.»
«It's fine, I was up», she lied, kissing him.
She froze for an instant, because she could smell the vodka, but she was tactful about it.
«How was your day?»
He closed his eyes and pulled her close, burying his face against her shoulder. The cut on her throat was still a bit sore, or so he thought.
«Tell you tomorrow», he murmured.
He held on, unable to let her go. He would have to leave her, and soon. Barbara would get to her. She had walked straight into a mansion protected by the best crew private security had to offer, men that could have made a career in special forces, without the slightest trouble. She had shot Janet Cohen at point-blank. She'd been gone minutes before the police could get there. All of that through the power of money and guns.
«Alright», Lee answered, holding him close.
He really had no idea how he would gather the will to leave. It was the last thing he wanted to do.
He lifted his head and kissed her, softly, then crushed his lips against her and rolled over her, the rage slipping away, replaced by need and fear. Mostly need. She kissed him back and arched against him.
###