1. Heroine Complex

Gotham City, 2:43 am. 2 months later.

A breath of white steam materialized in front of me as I released all the air that filled my lungs. The heels clicked against the cement floor as I walked by the line of ferries docked a few metres from my right. Nervously, I pulled down my mini-skirt again. I think it's the first time I'm truly scared for my life; maybe the 'dumb blonde' expression had some truth after all, because now it certainly felt foolish to have left my Glock in the car. A little sound, like electronic static, buzzed in my right ear before it was replaced by a male voice.

"...ah! Farrah, you hear me girl?"

I gulped before answering. "Yeah, I hear you Reed. Must you use the nickname now of all times?"

"C'mon, don't be mad. Anyway, you see him?" My colleague asked me. I observed every corner in the docks, the ferries, the edge of every container, but my pupils only caught glimpse of different steady shadows.

"Negative." I answered, keeping my voice in a whisper. That I didn't see him didn't mean he wasn't here. Not helping myself, I guided my fingers to lightly touch the bug stuck on my lower back, hidden by my top and jacket.

"Don't worry, we got your back." Reed assured me, as if sensing my fear. "Anyway, it's almost 3:00 am. Maybe he won't even come tonight."

Even though I was alone, I shook my head in response before speaking. "It's been more than a week since he last acted, and there's new moon." I swallowed saliva again. "He won't resist any longer." I told him confidently, remembering the tentative profile I had made of him. Another two fellow female agents were also wandering the streets now, the three of us exhibitioning ourselves as fresh meat. One of them, Claudia, was near the bridge that connected Gotham with the next city. My other peer, whose name I believe was Valerie, was in the local park. Each of us had a police presence and two SWAT units watching over us. "Reed, I'll take a last look... Don't go too far guys." I added in a whisper.

"We have your back, Emilee, don't worry." He told me again.

"You better be..." My soprano voice murmured in response. I walked for several minutes while forcing my pace to be slower than usual. The high-boots' heels clicked rithmically in an andante beat until I reached the end of the docks, where I paused for a second, watching the calm waters moving at the cool night breeze's vagary. Their blackness was so deep that it was difficult to see where did the surface rest. At my right side an enormous ship, the last of the line, was the source of the strong smell of petroleum that ruled this part of the docks. Ignoring the suffocating scent, I looked up to the moonless sky, briefly thinking that, at least, my mother wasn't alive to worry herself sick with my actual predicament. My father had tried to talk with me more often this last two months. I really didn't have much time to appreciate his concern, though, nor to answer his calls, for that matter. We had been investigating this guy for longer than a month now. I couldn't allow myself any distractions, especially not when this case had been the only thing that had managed to bring me back some of my vitality. I sighed; sooner or later I'd have to speak with him. Plus, he usually isn't so insistent. He must have something important to tell me.

When I was about to turn on my heels, I noticed it. There, the unmistakable pointy edge of a switchblade in my left side. "No funny business, blondie. A single kick or scream, and I'll cut ya open." A raspy voice echoed in my left ear while the air that filled my nostrils was substitued by the smell of garlic. "Now, what'sa hooker like ya doin' all alone in the middle of nowhere uh?" I bit my tongue. "Answer me!"

"Fuck! Why didn't I hear him come?!" I couldn't help but think as my breath began to gain speed. "No, no, no, none of that." My command was strong, determined, but so easy to forget... I closed my eyes tightly, forcing my head to grow cold. The GPD and SWAT agents weren't far, and we're going to get this bastard behind bars. "A client bailed out on me."

"How rude," He said, both of his words tinted in mockery. "Now," He pressed the knife deeper into my side, not breaking the clothes' fabric yet, though. With that, he made me turn around while he moved with me, placing himself by my right side whereas his left arm lazily rested on my shoulders and his armed hand lodged itself near my ribcage, where the switchblade was applying its threatening pressure. A single stab over there, and my lung could be punctured. "We're gonna take a little walk over there," He moved his hooded face towards one of the containers, a red one. "And then we can have some fun; what ya say, hmm?" He looked at my blank face and crooked a lecherous smirk. "My, aren't ya too pretty for a slut? Seems like it's my lucky day..."

"Shit! He's there!" Jim Gordon shrieked upon hearing the male voice, just as the younger cop accompaining him launched his hands to the radio's mic.

"The Vampire got Porter!" Agent Samuel Reed frantically spoke into the radio of the GPD patrol car from the passenger seat. "He's taking her somewhere, but we don't have visual." The ginger-haired man spat another code before continuing with the report. "SWAT, here Second Detective Reed and Sergeant Gordon, be ready to intervene at any time. Officer Porter is being taken!"

"Ya see that lock, babe? Pull at it with all your strenght, it'll break as easily as your neck if ya try to run away." The bastard said, gesturing towards the oxidated lock of the container. I was aware his height and strenght surpassed mine by far, and the knife stopped me from trying out a reckless attack. Seeing no other option to ensure my safety, I took two steps forward before obeying. The lock gave in easily enough, leaving the containers' doors ajar. He wrapped his arm around my neck while pressing me against his body. I controlled my urge to fight him, especially after feeling his boner against my hip. Then, with his other hand, the Vampire pushed one of the doors open as he viciously whispered, "Good hooker. Now, get in." He let go of my neck, making me almost trip with my own foot.

I briefly looked at the depraved, whose switchblade was still aimed at me, and he crooked me another smirk. "C'mon, ya afraid of the dark? Don't worry, I gotta flashlight so we don't miss anything."

I gazed back to the front, watching the entrance. Before entering, a wave of genius inspiration overcame me, making me subtly drop the ring that previously stood in my right middle finger. I assumed he hadn't noticed, because the next second the knife was again in my back, this time between my shoulder blades, forcing me to step inside the lion's den.

"Come on, where did she last go to?" Jim Gordon barked as they got down the car.

"She was just walking up and down the dock, last time I think she was going up!" Reed answered his superior, both of them already with their bullet proof vests secured.

"To the oil tanker then. We're looking for a place with a lock broken!" He told loudly to the SWATs, his voice raising so nobody could unhear him. "Comb the place! Go!" The SWATs wasted no time and followed the two running men, the guns full with bullets, their eyes sharply observant and their skilled fingers on the triggers.

As the Vampire closed the door, blocking it with something that to me looked like a crowbar, a sudden darkness surrounded us, provoking my hands to tremble even more. My armprits were sweating as well. "If he finds the bug..." A sudden brightness blinded me for several seconds, making me blink a couple of times and raise a hand to protect my eyes from the flashlight he was pointing at me. "Dammit, ya're really hot. C'mon, undress. Let's see what's under all that leather."

He lowered a little the flashlight, pointing it at my cleavage instead. I didn't move, I didn't obey. I'd like to say that I didn't due to my courage, a rebellious streak that forced me not to give into the fantasies of this maniac, but it's a lie. I stood frozen in shock and fear. That feeling and angst only increased when I realized I could just barely make out his tall shilouette, but nothing more. My attacker stood in the pitch-black darkness of the tall, empty container. So he had had it planned for tonight... I flinched when his angry voice shouted impatiently. "Do it!"

But I didn't. "Gordon, Reed, c'mon!" I needed to think of something, and soon. When I remained still, all it took him was two long strides and his hand closed around my neck, pushing me into the wall; I winced in pain. "I'll do it myself." He muttered to himself while putting the flashlight between his teeth. I difficultly gulped; he had sharpened his teeth, imitating those of a shark. His hands ripped the leather jacket, immediately afterwards throwing it to the side. As he roughly cupped one of my breasts saliva began to form in the corners of his mouth. "Ugh." His other hand was beginning to reach for my lower back. Perhaps it was the wrath I felt when he pawed me, or maybe the fear that he would discover the bug; I don't know what made me finally snap out of my fear when anger and adrenaline finally overcame any feeling of dread. I scooped my hands out a little, then —with all of my strenght— I slapped them over both of his ears. Succesfully enough, it made him cry out in pain. The flashlight hit the floor. I tried to push him from me, but the hand in my back formed a fist with a handful of my hair in it, pulling vicously at it. "Ya bitch!"

"Quickly, we're running out of time!"

I yelled in pain as my neck was forced to bend backwards, leaving my throat exposed. The knee that had been pressed between my legs raised in anger, releasing a blow on my stomach, while the hand with the switchblade began to cut my top. Had it not been for the other hand that gripped my hair, I would have doubled over my middle. I tried to move my own hands and kick him, but he remained still, as if he was just welcoming a lover's touch. "Stop!" He barked uselessly, since I kept fighting. I could barely see anything.

The switchblade moved towards my back, ready to cut the bra's strip when the blade collided with something much more solid. Both of us froze, breathing heavily. Before I could process it, he had made me turn around while taking the flashlight from the floor, pointing it at my back. I groaned as he ripped the bug from my skin. "Ya with the cops?!" The Vampire asked in panic.

"Damn!"

Gordon and Reed reached the end of the docks after a couple of minutes. Yet, a single look told them that it was impossible to get inside the ship now. No rooms or offices were around, nothing with the broken lock.

"No gangway, boss." Reed said, attempting to get his breath back in a more soundless way. He had to quit smoking, soon.

"I see that," Gordon replied, casting a last glance to the oil tanker, afterwards turning around. "They must be inside one of this, it's impossible they got out of the docks." Said he, more to himself than to the detective. Gordon supressed a sigh; there were hundreds of containers, and for them, each passing second meant success or failure.

The Vampire threw me to the ground out of rage, and I landed on my back with a hard crash against the metal floor. I groaned in pain, containing a scream. I saw the flashlight advancing towards me, once again held between his teeth. "He's gonna rape me, even if it's the last thing he does before going to jail." Confirming my thoughts, he kneeled in front of my bare legs. I didn't move; now I could only see red. "No, you won't."

He rudely separated my legs by pulling my knees apart, then clutched my thighs and pushed me against his groin. The imbecile was still wearing his pants. He unzipped them, not bothering to take them off, then put both of his hands on my shoulders with the thumbs resting above my throat. "Now."

With my right hand I grabbed his left wrist at the same time that I hit his chin upwards with the palm of my left hand. He moaned in pain, the flashlight almost falling against my face. When his head inevitably moved up, my right heel kicked his left knee, hard. The reaction was immediate; right after I felt his leg moving backwards, I threw all my weight to my right side, taking the Vampire with me as I stopped, the positions now changed. Taking advantage of my place on the top, I pressed my left forearm on his throat, making him gasp for air. Since he opened his mouth like a fish, the flashlight went down too, making it even more difficult for him to breath. I quickly guided his left arm to my left, turning him over so he was laying upside down on the floor. Not helping myself, I punched his nape once before controlling my anger. I then used the top he had cut from me as improvised handcuffs, securing them firmly on his wrists. I stood up, not straddling his back anymore, and then roughly took the flashlight from his mouth. I first checked the floor for the switchblade, which during some time of the fight had fallen to the floor, and I took with me, then pointed the light towards his face. The hand in which I held the knife pulled down the hood he'd been wearing all this time. "Who are ya?" He muttered exhausted against the floor, his cheek resting there.

"Certainly not a hooker." My voice hissed, and before I could process what I was doing I found myself jerking his head up after grabbing his thick, black hair, forcing him to look at me. "I'm officer Porter of the GPD, and I will be the one that ensures you'll never crawl out from the hole you'll be sent to."

Gordon and Reed had been checking all of the containers they could, aided by a SWAT troop of fourteen agents and two more colleagues of the GPD, whereas the rest were still combing the docks. They had checked twelve containers, all of them keeping their assigned propriety instead of the police officer and the rapist they were looking for.

Jim Gordon was beginning to get more anxious than he was allowed to be; in all this time, Emilee could've already been discovered, or worse. The voice of Detective Reed made him instantly turn around and run to meet him, a lantern in both men's hands. "What is it, Reed?"

The redhead showed him something he was holding in his other hand. "Emilee's ring; found it in front of this one, sir." He jabbed the lantern towards the red container that stood before them, a lock resting on the floor beside it. They exchanged a brief glance before Gordon lifted his leg and kicked the doors. They barely moved.

"SWAT, open this one!"

First we heard someone trying to open the doors, then muffled yells. I breathed in a sigh of relief. "Gordon." I walked towards the opposite end of the container, taking my leather jacket from the floor and putting it over my shoulders. A louder noise echoed through the whole place, once, twice, a third time before it stopped. Then, it was followed by the sound of a mechanical saw. After what felt like just some seconds, the container's doors were taken to the side by eight SWAT agents. Gordon was the first to enter, followed by Reed and four more SWATs. They first gazed at me, and I noticed amusedly that Reed's cheeks were turning the same color as his hair upon seeing me just with my boots, ragged skirt, my bra and the jacket I was trying to use to cover my modesty.

He was so in for a little teasing.

A hand grasping a coffee cup appeared below my nose, making me glance up from the hand offering it to the kind face that watched me. I returned him the smile. "You know I don't drink coffee, Sergeant."

"Yes, that's why I actually filled this with Earl Grey. It lacks the milk, though, I could only get some sugar packs." Said he, opening his other hand to offer me three small packs, making me smile. I nodded in thanks, then opened the plastic cover and poured two of the sugar packs, stirring it with the straw that accompained the cup as I allowed myself to get mesmerized with the action. "You were really brave back there."

I looked back to him, grasping the blanket that a paramedic had placed on my shoulders. I watched around me; most of the SWATs had already gone in two vans, one of them scorting the criminal we had caught, whereas an ambulance and the patrol car remained. The rest of the team had already been informed of the success of operation Transylvania. Thank God that in the car's truck were some clothes for me; a grey sweatshirt and navy blue pants matching each other in style, size and age. Not very fashionable, but hey! Even if they were a bit too loose for me, anything was better than my destroyed prostitute costume. "Just so you know, I expect a raise from this one." I told him.

Gordon chuckled at my lame joke which, by the way, wasn't a joke. After all the crap I just went through, I wanted 10 more bucks in my income for each second I spent with the Vampire. "I'm certain you'll get more than a raise." After glancing at him, I took a sip of my tea. I had already sworn five times to every paramedic and colleague that I was fine, so I truly appreciated that Gordon wasn't harassing me with questions concerning my well-being or sanity.

"A bigger office, then." I told him, making him shook his head in mild-disbelief while grinning. The corner of my lips went up too; the Sergeant's smile was too contagious.

"One of the youngest members of the GPD caught a serial rapist on her own, of course, after coming up with the guy's profile and, let's not forget, the constant aid and support of her handsome partner." Another voice interrupted us, the owner of it circling the car's front to get to the open back door, where I was resting. "I can already see the headlines. You're in for a month of civilian's praising, press covers and claps on your back, Farrah."

I squinted my eyes. "Why do you keep calling me that, Chucky?"

"Yes, what's with the nickname?" Asked Gordon too, looking towards Detective Reed, my partner. He returned our look, bemused, ignoring my childish retort.

"None of you've never seen Charlie's Angels?" My eyes rolled.

"Please, don't tell me-"

"Farrah Fawcett, whom you're exactly inaccurately like, Porter, I tell you."

Gordon chuckled upon seeing my embarrasment. "You watched the show?" He asked Reed.

"My little sister got obsessed with it, so I didn't really have much of a choice, sir." Reed told him, sheepishly scratching the back of his head.

"Well, Detective, officer," He greeted us respectively. "I'll see you tomorrow." Gordon bid us farewell, still smiling faintly. "Get some rest, it's been a long night."

I nodded. Both, Reed and I, muttered a 'Goodnight, sir.' before he turned around and got into his own car. Reed took a couple of steps until he was in front of me.

"Am I forgiven if I give you this?" I raised an eyebrow in question, to which he opened his palm, allowing me to gaze at the object that rested there.

I gazed back at him. "C'mon, you can do better than this, Sam. Unless you bow your knee and ask properly, the answer is no." He let out a sigh of frustration before lowering his right knee.

He offered me the ring, holding it with the thumb and index finger. "Emilee Porter, my beautiful goddess of justice, will you honor me accepting my apologies?" I grinned while suppressing a chuckle.

"I forgive you." I declared as I offered him my middle finger. Reed couldn't hide the crack of his own amused grin as he slid in it the ring I had both, earned from my mother and dropped moments before.

"You want a ride?" Asked my partner as he got back to his full height, towering over me.

"Sure." While he was positioning himself in front of the wheel, I stood up, marching towards the ambulance. I returned the blanket and thanked them once more, then walked back to the patrol car.

"Where to?" After some seconds in which I remained quiet, Reed glanced at me. We had been partners since day one, so it shouldn't be a wonder that —after two years— he read me easily enough to know I didn't know where I wanted to go. "You know, my place is packed but we can always make room for one more." He offered, earning for himself one of my smiles.

Dr. Carrie Watson was used to waking up in the middle of the night. Usually due to emergencies. Any of her patients could have a mental breakdown at any time, sending her bipper crazier than them. Other times her sleep would be deprived because of the arguments of her neighbors from above, the typical couple whose fights and reconciliations were too constant and loud for her liking. Rarely, the blame would fall onto herself. What had never woken her up before, though, was the sound of her apartment's doorbell. Certainly, what had never got her out of bed before at 4:17 am was her bestie, officer Emilee Porter.

No, she was sure never before her friend had shown up in her doorstep out of the blue. As a psychiatrist herself, she immediately knew something was up with her. Not that she, nor anybody, needed a PhD to know. "Emilee? How dare you break into my abode, interrupting my beauty sleep?" She greeted her after opening the door.

Her friend raised an eyebrow. "I taught you every sassy, sarcastic remark you make at me, so I have every right to show up at my padawan's house."

Both of them mantained eye contact for a moment before laughing. Ever the touchy type, Carrie embraced her friend before moving aside, inviting her to enter the place. Her hazel eyes observed the baggy clothes Emilee was wearing; gym clothes for the GPD agents, way too used and tatty. "What's with the outfit, by the way? I like it, grungy-comfy is the new black."

Porter looked at her from above her shoulder, not missing the drift. "I love your dark sense of humor." She retorted head-on, earning a chuckle. Emilee was the only one she allowed to joke on her skin color, especially after she initiated the joke.

"You want anything?" Her velvet voice asked her as the blonde sat down on the couch.

"Water will do, thanks." She opened the fridge and poured the liquid up to the middle of the glass, then filled the rest of it with the tap's water so the temperature wouldn't be too cold. After letting her friend drink, she just sat there, waiting for her to tell her what had happened. It took them five minutes in complete silence, but finally, Emilee opened up to her. "We got him. I, got him... I got the Vampire." Emilee chuckled wryly. "I still find it hard to believe."

Carrie continued to stare at her, still not talking. She did remember the profile her friend had written on the GPD's newest prey. A serial rapist that had abused of a total of ten prostitues all over Gotham. All of them were young and blonde, age between 20 and 25, Caucasian and of lower class, unlike a call girl. The guy himself, well. Emilee told her her partner had come up with the name, the Vampire. A man between 35 and 45 years old, tall, well-built, not particularly ugly and with a dominance complex. He had earned the name due to the victim's stories; the ten of them said his breath always smelled like garlic, plus he had always raped them in dark places, where he wasn't illuminated by any lights. At most, he had casted light on them, but never on himself. He had always raped them before 3:00 am, during moonless nights and nearby natural water sources like lakes or the river. Emilee, with her twenty-six years of life, had fit the victimology perfectly. So operation Transylvania had begun, in which three female agents would go undercover to try to arrest the Vampire. Apparently, the operation had succeeded. Carrie doubted about asking her friend if she was alright; she knew her as if they were twins, and Emilee's temper could be strong, so to speak. At least at first sight she didn't seem physically injured.

"How are you?" She ended up asking, regardless of her previous thoughts.

Emilee took a deep breath. "Fine, I guess. He didn't rape me, the most he did was kick me once. But I gave him payback." She told her, half-smiling arrogantly. Carrie smiled a little too, knowing the blonde was using her arrogance as a shield; her friend was actually worried. The cop looked down briefly at her lap, then met her gaze for the first time. "I know the mental damage and consequences will show up, eventually. But," She paused briefly. "Is it odd I don't really feel anything right now?" She asked her.

Normally none of them would be each other's therapist; it was unprofessional, and both agreed that business and friendship shouldn't be mixed. There were exceptional moments, though. "Like when your best friend has just confronted a rapist." Carrie thought to herself.

She let the blonde talk, not giving advice and asking every now and then a question or two until her friend had vented most of her worries, passing out fast asleep on her couch. After throwing a blanket over her, Carrie Watson checked her watch, supressing a sigh. 6:12. She better prepared herself for work.

2 days after

For the fifth time, I dug my finger into the mouse's button, clicking it over the 'Delete' option. Another email asking for an interview. If I ever found out who are the cops passing information to the media... Reed had been right; all of the newspapers wanted to cover an exclusive interview with the new Buffy Vampire slayer. Thank God no journalist knew my personal adress, nor had heard Reed's new nickname for me.

All of sudden, my office's door bursted open and my partner's head peaked out through it. "Loeb's office, now." With that, he disappeared, leaving me with a frown in my forehead.

After turning off my computer, I walked up to the office Reed had hurriedly appointed. I knocked twice before a simple 'come in' granted me the entrance. Comissioner Loeb briefly looked up to me before gazing back at the paper resting on his desk. "You called for me, sir?" Asked I as I closed the door behind me. He nodded in response.

"Yes, sit down, Porter." I did. After a moment, Loeb's black eyes looked up to my own blue. He offered me a newspaper, the Gotham Times especifically, which I wordlessly took.

"GPD'S AWAITED SUCCESS." The headline said. "Read the first paragraph, that'll be enough." Said the Commissioner, who now was observing me with his fingers criss-crossed below his chin and his back against the office chair that was his throne in the station. I obeyed after a second of hesitation.

"After two years of civilian impotence facing the apparent apathy of Gotham's police force before the new waves of crime that have been hitting the city, almost as badly as when Thomas Wayne and his wife Martha were murdered years ago, finally the public has been able to hear about the force's most recent -and seemingly only- success, the detention of the rapist known as 'The Vampire'. Reliable sources affirm that said detention was possible due to one person, one of the female officers and biggest promises within the GPD apparently. Will this mysterious lady cop make a declaration anytime soon worth calling her Gotham's heroine?"

The article continued in a separated paragraph. I clenched my jaw in anger, already making a list of the possible blabbermouths I would have to beat for leaking this information. "I take it you aren't pleased either, Porter." Loeb's voice dryly commented, making me glance up.

"Not only does the article portray us as a bunch of incompetents but it also compromises my identity and privacy, sir." I replied, leaving the paper on his desk.

"Very observant, Porter." He positioned his hands on the armrests, leaning a little forward. "I called you here because I want you to accept an interview with the same reporter that wrote this." His long finger gestured to the newspaper. "Give the official version of the case and shut everybody's mouth." The tension kept accumulating in my jaw as I forced my palms to stay open over my lap. The uniform's blue shirt felt pretty tight on my chest too.

"But sir, I-"

"No buts, it's an order. We've already given an official press conference, but seems like people now want to hear you, not me." He sharply cut my protest. "I want you to make the citizens empathize with us, see our point and that we do more than lick Falcone's ass and take bribes." I contained a scoff, since that was exactly what at least an 80% of the GPD did. And I have been suspecting for a while that Commissioner Loeb was among Gotham's selected choice of corrupts.

"I don't think it's a good idea, sir. Sergeant Gordon re-opened Falcone's case and he wants me to form part of the team; I need to warrant the secrecy of my identity." I tried to reason. Loeb briefly looked to the desk's corner, deep in thought.

"Yes, he mentioned that..." He mumbled to himself. A moment later, he looked up. "I'll speak with the managers and the journalist. If we come to an agreement to protect your identity, you're taking the interview." I breathed in sharply.

"Yes, sir." I stood up, striding towards the door.

"Porter," He called me out one last time, forcing me to momentarily stop my feet and twist my waist so I could glance back at him. "I'm not done yet. Sit down." He calmly ordered as my cheeks reddened in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. "Linda Hargraves and the rest of journalists aren't the only ones interested in you." I slightly frowned. "Mayor García talked to me this morning. Seems like I should also congratulate you, Detective Porter. Good job." He said, standing up as his hand went out to shake mine. My lips had parted slightly, so I quickly closed them and followed him, taking his offered hand.

"I... Thank you, sir."

We both let go. "We'll make it official after the interview, in a week time or so. In any case, you'll be notified." He sat down, gesturing with his hand. "You can go now."

Right after I walked out, praying I wouldn't be forced to take the interview.

Funny how Life, God, the Devil, Karma or whatever supernatural deity that managed the world doesn't give a damn about mortal pleas.

"Now, that's an improvement." Carrie stated upon seeing me, referring to the GPD tracksuit I had worn the night I showed up in her apartment. I briefly looked over my shoulder to the reflection in the mirror of the fitting room. A sleeveless, dark green, cocktail dress with V neck hugged my body as a second skin, leaving the fabric loose enough to make it look elegant instead of suffocatingly tight. The black stilettos and lightly red lipstick color just added the perfect touch to the outfit. "Remind me, at which time you gotta meet the viper?"

I grinned, facing her. "21:00. She insisted on having dinner at 'The Dorsia'."

Carrie snorted. "She's got good taste at least."

A shop assistant came to us, smiling. "It looks gorgeous on you, miss!" I faked a smile, tired of her over-enthusiastic compliments. Honestly, I found them unnecessary, but I guess Pretty Woman hit a nerve in boutique workers.

"I'll take it. Could I leave it on?" The assistant green eyes gleamed pleased.

"Of course, miss. If you'd followed me..." Carrie and I exchanged a glance before walking up to the counter to pay for the dress, my jeans and shirt already neatly folded within the store's bag. We walked to Carrie's car, me getting in the passenger seat with the receipt in my hand. I frowned, feeling faintly guilty upon reading the 120$ written on it. I closed my hand in a fist.

"So," I turned to the doctor that was driving like crazy. No matter how much I love her, my psychiatrist friend just doesn't know what speed limit is. "How is it that you got a free day? It's been quite some time since we last were able to go shopping together."

Carrie sighed in annoyance, stopping the car before a red light. "A patient had a crisis and almost killed himself. I don't know what happened..." She continued before I could ask. "It has never happened to me before. Once I've managed to stabilize my patients they don't change their demeanor so drastically all of sudden. Anyway, I'm getting quite obsessed with it, so Dr. Arkham assigned me the day off. Said I needed to get out of the Asylum." She sped up the car again after realizing the light was green once more. "Besides, I'm pissed off with another doctor."

I couldn't help but ask. "Who?"

She side-glanced over me before focusing again on the road. "You remember one of the two doctors you were assigned during your internship, Crane?"

I groaned. "He gave me the chills. Interesting person to have a conversation with, if he would allow others to participate and would swallow his arrogance." I bluntly stated, remembering the icy eyes that had looked at me as if I was an illiterated child wasting his time. "What's your issue with him aside from the obvious?"

"He recommend Dr. Arkham to transfer me to another wing of the Asylum, one with less dangerous patients." I noticed, her knuckles where hard as they gripped the wheel.

"He won't." I assured her. "You've proved yourself; this patient has just been an isolated case."

Carrie sighed once more. "That's what he told me. Anyway, what about you?"

I couldn't help but smile a little. "I've been promoted."

My friend twisted his neck so fast that I feared she would sprain it. "I knew it!"

"Look at the road!" I yelled as a Mercedes and a Toyota horned at us. She did, slowing the car a little.

"I'm so proud of you blondie! When it's gonna be official?" Asked she, this time not averting her eyes from the traffic.

"A few days time I think." I smiled. "By the way, we've opened again the mafia case." She frowned, so I elaborated. "Gordon began to look up the files again a year ago, after Joe Chill's death anniversary."

"It's been five years from that." She pointed out.

"Yes, that's why Gordon began to think about all of the information Chill had passed to the department before the mafia ended him, and in all the things he could've told us if he were still alive." I paused for a second. "I'm telling you this because I'll be part of the team. Thought you should know." She glanced at me for a second with the word doubt written all over her face. Apparently Gordon has confined very few people with his plan, and I was one of those people. We had to guess which agents were trustworthy. I felt honored he thought I was one of those agents... I mean, I have no illegal business or bank accounts, nothing to hide from him nor anyone. I seemed like a logical choice, but still.

"You know, if you get targeted, or worse, I'll kill you myself."

I grinned. "May Falcone's men take pity on me before you do."

It was 20:32 when I asked my friend to drive me to the restaurant. I didn't mind to arrive sooner than my meeting; in fact, quite the opposite.

Fifteen minutes later and after being escorted to my table, I glanced at the menu, already salivating at the sight of the names of each dish. Some minutes passed before another feminine voice adressed me. "I've been told the foie and spinach ravioli are particularly good." I looked up, colliding with two forget-me-not blue eyes, a black mane of hair and a row of white teeth greeting me. "Miss Porter?" I smiled tightly while leaving the menu on my plate, standing up from the chair.

"Linda Hargraves, I presume." I accepted the hand offered, shaking it twice before releasing it.

The journalist gave me a coy smile as we both sat down in front of each other. "Let the fight begin."

A.N/: Hello again! Here I present you the first chapter of the story, although I honestly consider it half of the first chapter, since I had to cut it here so it wouldn't be too long.

Firstly, I apologize for not writing a warning at the beginning of the chapter due to the first scenes with the rapist. I didn't because, on one hand, I already warned in the prologue that this topics and scenes could eventually show up in the story (after all it's Batman we're talking about, guys!), and, on the other hand, because I personally hate author notes that go before the chapter instead of at the end; I think they kind of spoil it. Nevermind, I hope nobody felt particularly uncomfortable nor anything of the sort.

Secondly, the current timeline of this chapter and the next is two years before the movie "Batman Begins" starts.

Lastly, thank you everyone who has read, followed, faved and reviewed! You all made my day :)

Hope you like this one too.

~Se acerca el invierno