Chapter Eleven: Loyalty Can Make the Man, Honor Will Make the Devil

"Come on," The deep voice of the person who had removed the divider did not register in her head. Holly could smell the pungent melted and burned clothing of those from further within the building, ash from singed paperwork wafted around floating in the settling breeze, and the scent of metal (from both warmed file cabinets and blood) accompanied by gunpowder, "'Olly, get up." It was this iron scent she'd grown very accustomed to in her time working for Carmine. Something about it now nonetheless felt frightening, the scent paralyzing as it mingled with the phantom smell of aromatic sweet moss, "Hey!" There was a set of meaty snapping fingers in her vision and it was enough to pull her back to the moment.

Holly's head tilted upwards eyes squinting, "George?" He'd grown a bit rounder in the jowls – along with stubble from not shaving for days - since the last time she'd seen him and his face was full of worried lines creasing his forehead.

"Yeah, fuck, thought I was gonna have to carry ya." The fingers that had been snapping turned into a hand that was held out to her. She took his hand but when he pulled her she sucked through her teeth in a hiss, "You good?"

Taking her hand back quickly and wiping it on her side absently her eyes drifted over the scene before her, "No," she admitted truthfully. She was not good, not in any way of the word. She was just coasting, ignoring everything wrong to ignorantly get by, "my arm's sore, ribs still hurt from Salvatore's big welcome back to the family party too," She held her bandaged arm up. Next she motioned to her ribs and then chuckled, "and I don't think I'll ever look at biscuits the same in Gotham ever again. Speaking of, I'm fuckin' starving George… let's get out of here."

After they casually walked over a couple of unconscious cops they halted as a very awake Officer Harp groaned rolling over. His eyes looked up to see them but it seemed he was struggling to speak words. The woman recalled that she used to shake just walking by beat cops on the street. When she started out this life it terrified her that she was going to get caught. Now look at her; what was she thinking ever coming here? Turn herself in? Get justice through the system? They could not even handle a whacko in a purple suit let alone the mob normally without a masked flying rodent. Holly must have lost her mind running here as if it would be safe. What a fucking joke.

Taking her eyes away from the pained officer she told herself: He'd be all right. Empathy felt too much for her to give at the moment, it was too much effort to care. As much as Holly knew she had just told herself she should care more she too easily fell into unconsciously going with the flow. It was how she always survived, and currently her flow was following George.

"So, what were you doing in the station?" Holly asked Geroge as they briskly walked down the steps and onto the dim street. Trying to put distance as fast as possible from the scene without running suspiciously, "And how'd you even find me?"

"Got picked up night 'fore last for," he air quoted his next words, "being: Drunk in Public." Holly could imagine his wide form wobbling down the street sauced from a night of being out with the boys. She knew it certainly wouldn't have been his first time.

"Geez. Dent's really got this town on edge. Next, they're going to be taggin' and baggin' old ladies for J-walking." This is what she needed, a sense of pleasant normalcy. What she truly needed was to be in a hospital bed resting, the woman was running on fumes both mentally and physically. If she went on much longer she thought she might just pass out in the middle of the street – yet, her body kept walking as if too numbed to register any need to stop.

"Probably, an' I saw ya come in with that cop past holdin'. What were you doing in the MCU?" He asked the question with a bit more bite than he intended but what he knew of the woman she would have never willingly walked into the station.

"Selling out the Devil."

"Whoa, what?" He stopped them both and grabbed her shoulders standing in front of her, "Who were you selling out?" They both heard the whirl of police sirens coming from the station and for a moment were silent and tense. Three squad cars sped past them – one of which she thought she saw the man with grease paint rolling down the back window to stick himself out of.

Holly rolled one shoulder and his hands slowly let go, he was aware she was not a big fan of physical contact like that, "Johnny," it felt weird to say (she only had to make sure George knew whom she meant) and she'd probably not say the nickname again, "I was selling out the former shrink."

His face contorted in confusion and he took a step to the side so they could keep walking, "Why?"

Holly let out an exasperated sigh, "It's a long story. Short version, the guy's an absolute psychopath," she felt like she was mendacious just then – saying what would be socially acceptable to say about the mental state of Jonathan Crane, the man who crafted fear drugs and wore burlap like every day was Halloween regardless of any validity to him being clinically crazy, "… I'm fairly mad that he probably gave me a nice set of new scars." Once again she held up her bandaged arm.

"Ya know, I still got that small boat Falcone used to use…" George started but stopped when he saw Holly's narrowed gaze and lips pulled into a thin line, "'ight no sleepin' with the fishes, you're never any fun." His eyes rolled dramatically as he grumbled before stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Her hands went up as if she was speaking through her actions, "Boo-hoo, no-fun-Holly doesn't want to tie people's feet to cement blocks and drop them into Gotham Bay," her voice was mocking and went deadpan next, "Shut up George." She couldn't keep a straight face though and laughed as much as her ribs allowed it. She put one hand on her forehead and rubbed it while the other just fell back to her side. What a fucking rollercoaster the last couple of weeks – month? since she hardly recalled the last twelve days - had been; the chaos was sure to keep flowing though if she knew this city. She just wanted a break, needed one before she broke.

Another new dawn crept over the skyline. They had numbly walked blocks away from the station to where George had his truck parked. Holly immediately checked his glove box, digging around she found what she'd been looking for. A pack of red slims.

"Thought you quit." George remarked as he turned on the truck. He reached and grabbed a burner phone from the glove box before closing it up, texting then shifting to put it into his pocket.

Holly snatched the auxiliary lighter from the dash as soon as it heated enough to glow orange, "I had." A short and silent ten-minute ride later was all it took to get to their destination.

Settling into a hole-in-the-wall Greek joint that was owned by a small-time family who now paid protection money to Salvatore. In her mental state it did not seem like a bad idea, besides all the good places to hide out were in one way or another owned by a mob family. It would be difficult even for Jonathan to creep into one without getting noticed if what Gabriel said was true: The Ruskie putting out money for the good doctor.

Holly had eaten something and then laid her head on her good arm to rest, falling fast asleep at the table in the corner. She had told George she was just going to rest her eyes for a minute… An oblivion slumber took her instead.

"'Olly," George's voice filtered through the darkness. She slept like the dead with no dreams to disturb her but it hardly felt like she'd slept more than a moment before his voice was there, "wake up." Her shoulder was shaken and she peeled her eyes open.

George was standing to her side with squared shoulders and across from her was another man sat where George had previously been. The table still had their emptied plates on it and glasses of water. Her head picked up as she blinked, fixing the askew glasses upon her face and focusing her eyes. "Oh you're fuckin' kiddin' me," She nearly whined out in frustration her throat still a bit dry from slumbering so deeply with her mouth open, "Really?" Holly looked at George and was just… disappointed.

"It's just business bookie." It had taken her a moment to recognize the man across from her as the head of his little Greek family, Rouvin Selinofoto. Holly knew of the man but had never interacted beyond a passing glance at a meeting she'd tagged along to with August. They had always been left to their own devices as they played neutral nice with the other mafias in town.

George, the man she once dated, the man that she thought still would love her like a friend if anything had sold her out for money. There was no honor among thugs and while she was not truly mad at him for doing it there was a rage surmounting the rationality to keep silent. She took a sip of water that was still on the table and even before setting it down the vibration of sound echoing out her vocal cords caught her ears, "… Hey George," her eyes spoke volumes of wrath even as her voice was calm, "That boogieman is going to be looking for me," Really she only assumed he would be, "Micheal and Gaberial already found out that he's the real deal and I hope this little transaction leads a trail right to your fucking doorstep." She stressed the swear with vile and discontent.

Holly was done with men. Maybe the good doctor had been right, maybe she had a phobia of the opposite gender because of all the shit like this. In truth, Holly was just done with people. She'd rather be in the company of the Betty Crocker Boogieman, that deranged TV party clown, a rotting deer corpse, the actual Devil… Batman for fuck's sake then deal any second longer with supposed sane human company. At least the monsters and freaks were more honest about their intentions, she knew what to expect out of those kinds of things. The woman felt laughter just bubbling under her seething anger trying to escape and it all felt too much. The betrayal hurt her deeply as any knife wound to the heart may. Silently she hung her head and stared at the table, swallowing all that emotion to bottle away for another time to deal with it. Living was stressful, why had she decided to continue doing it again?

'Burn the Witch.' Holly breathed deeply ignoring the pain in her side as she did. 'The accused is in league with Satan.' She ignored the voice in her head too, the memory trying to break from another bottle long forgotten. It had to be false, she'd never heard any of those things spoken by people in her life yet the feeling of her ears picking up the sounds were all too real.

"Hey," Her head was pushed upwards by a palm to her forehead from the man across from her, "I'm not going to ask again," he pulled his hand away as she blinked slowly at him, "… Who the fuck's Johan?" In truth this was not the question he asked, his lips had not made the right shapes for those words – but this was something Holly did not catch onto.

Instead, the woman's eyes went wide and she immediately stood toppling the chair over behind her, "How do you know that name?" The men around reacted by shifting in their seats while two who were standing pointed their sidearms.

Rouvin waved a hand dismissively for his guys to stop being so tense. Knitting his brows together he looked at George, "Is she on drugs or something?" His insulting tone did not go over her head.

George just shrugged, "… Been a rough few days I'm gussin' said somethin' 'bout Scarecrow an scars." He pointed to her bandaged arm, mistaking the wrappings for a needle injection sight. Holly took a step back and felt one of the muscle grab her shoulder, their guns were lowering all the same. She hadn't said 'Scarecrow' she'd called him Johnny – since when did George call him Scarecrow?

"Ugh…" Rouvin touched his forehead as he felt a headache brewing. The same hand then gestured out to Holly, "Salvatore's paying more for her alive, I guess it doesn't matter if she's off her rocker or not. Listen, doll, can you not be crazy for five minutes and tell me what you were doing at the GCPD?" He tried the same question again to his displeasure and she heard it clearly this time.

"I- uh," her head felt like stew, not quite soup. Shaking her shoulder from the man behind her she slowly recalled the same things she had told Officer Harp and began to repeat them, "… Kidnapped by Scarecrow near the Jinko's," she had meant to say Jonathan Crane, "for the past… two weeks, he kept me drugged up. I was finally able to run… yesterday? Look. I'm a mess. Not crazy." She went to sit back down and wobbled as she remembered the chair had been knocked over. Slowly as the guys were still putting away their guns she grabbed the chair and set it upright then plopped back down.

"… So, you didn't run out on the family?" George suddenly felt a pang of guilt, it was in his voice.

"No." Her answer was dull – she had been going to though, she'd gone to confess to Gordon. Not as if she was going to spill that secret to them.

"Sal's not gonna care so long as you didn't rat on the families. Either way, I'm getting paid." He motioned to a man next to him and the guy turned his gun on George, "Now get the hell out of my restaurant."

"Wh- hey wait, whoa. Wha-ta-bout my share?"

"What about it?"

"You said fifty-fifty."

"And I lied. You get a free meal instead. Now leave."

Holly snorted. No honor among petty criminals indeed, "You were always gullible George, as your former gal – take his offer. Leave… because I want you to suffer from something worse than a quick bullet for selling me on a quick buck."

"Tch. You Falcones' were always a bit sick in the head," Rouvin was scratching his chin stubble with thoughtful eyes, "Anyway. I've got things to do, boys if you would." Casually he pushed out from his own chair turning to head into the back of the building while the muscle dragged George out and picked Holly clean off her feet to toss into a storage closet.