CHAPTER 2
OFFICE LINGO 101

CASES were usually just thrown her way. Iris had learned to adapt to an agenda: police get a call, write down the case, and Iris was the one to figure out the rest. From interviewing witnesses to research that had her up all hours of the night, she was used to a regular routine. She never really had to go out looking for cases, until today.

Iris bought the Detroit Free Press every Sunday morning. Eight o'clock sharp. There was usually a stand just a block from her apartment complex, so she didn't feel half as bad for walking to get the paper in her PJs. It was then, as she sat on her deck in the mere hours of the morning, a cigarette dangling in between her lips, that Iris began to notice a pattern. On the third page of the Free Press, squeezed in between the big story of the week and the sports section, was a few local news headlines that caught her attention. Over the past few weeks, Iris noticed that the paper had been reporting several break-ins involving antique shops.

It seemed normal at first. Antique shops were known to have valuable items hidden beneath their array of broken chairs and vintage knickknacks. But having three break-ins over just a few weeks involving a specific type of shop? That became suspicious. No one was calling in about them. No one had launched a full investigation. No one was even reporting about them, except for the tiny paragraph in the paper. Iris took it upon herself to figure out what was going on, despite not having any knowledge on the subject.

She supposed it would be easy. After a few interviews, swabbing one of the scenes for fingerprints, she assumed that she could find the culprits in no time. That was how she worked, after all. But Iris hardly cracked anything after a few days of research and countless hours spent working overtime. Every single place that had been broken into recently had closed down in fear, and now she barely had one witness to talk to.

There has to be a reason why it's so specific, she thought to herself while walking out into the frosty air for a smoke break. She did start to feel bad about smoking in the station after a while, even though she tried to be as discreet as possible. (It didn't help.) She tugged her black peacoat tighter around herself and lit the end of her cigarette, inhaling the deadly substance.

It could be worse. It could be way worse. That's what she'd tell herself when she walked into the Jiffy Mart for the second time in a week to buy a pack of Newports. She could be addicted to coke, or something else really shitty.

"Nasty habit, huh?"

Iris wrinkled her nose and turned her head at the voice. Lifting a brow, she watched Dick Grayson stride towards her with a fresh cup of coffee in his hands. She noticed he left the office a lot to get constant refills from Jillian's Coffee right down the street. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a long sip before stopping right beside her, leaning against the brick wall of the police station.

"I prefer marijuana myself," he added.

She sent him a side-eyed glance before continuing to ignore his presence altogether. Iris took a step to the left, separating the two of them by a foot, but Dick didn't seem to mind. She inhaled and released a cloud of smoke from her mouth, choking on what was left of the oxygen in her shriveling lungs. She wiped the edge of her mouth and sighed into the wind.

"Why are you so interested in antique shop break-ins?"

She cast a glance in his direction again, grey irises burning into his caramel-colored stare.

"I saw the notes on your desk," he continued, pausing the sip he was about to take. The cup sat on the edge of his bottom lip. "No one has picked up that case in weeks. Do you really think it's that important? There was a dead body found by the river the other day. Would've assumed that was more —"

"Why are you looking at my desk in the first place?" Her tone was cold and brash, but he hadn't been affected in the slightest. "Don't touch my shit."

Dick held up his hands. "I didn't touch anything."

Iris' eyes flickered to the ground for a short second. "Well –" She frowned and formed her lips into a tight line. "Don't look at my shit either."

He laughed, and just the sound made Iris' jaw clench. She didn't understand how she could dislike a person this much, and for some reason, she hardly knew why.

"It seems like you don't like me," he said over the raging wind.

Iris took a deep inhale and coughed the rest into her arm. "Oh, yeah?" She asked, standing up straighter. "What gave it away?"

Dick opened his mouth to say something, but no words fluttered out. He really didn't know how to respond without looking like a dickhead, or simply a dumbass. Neither seemed like the easy way out of this conversation. He was kind of regretting that he started it in the first place.

"Listen," she exhaled, gesturing towards him with the end of her dying cigarette, "you can't just walk around here like you own the place for two weeks and not even talk to your own partner. I like my independence as second lead – and trust me – I wouldn't want it any other way, but you don't acknowledge anyone when you come into the station. I really don't like anyone here, but at least I'm not rude. That's office lingo 1-0-1, dipshit."

Dick's brow knitted together. "Didn't realize I was doing that in the first place –"

"Well, you were. You didn't even say hi to your team on the first day. This is literally the most we've spoken in weeks." She took one last drag from the cigarette and threw it to the ground, stomping on it with the heel of her ankle boot. "Doesn't matter. I'm better on my own, and so are you. I usually work that way with my partner anyways. Let's keep it that way."

She moved past him, bumping his shoulder without even realizing it. And then, her feet weren't moving. She almost hurled herself on the ground from tripping over her own feet. Wait – no, she hadn't tripped. She was being pulled backward by a hand clinging to the sleeve of her peacoat, dragging her stare towards him again.

Iris yanked her arm out of Dick's grip. For a second, she wondered if she should've left it there. She liked the way he held on with a purpose, but that thought filtered away moments later. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Wait, wait," he interrupted, rubbing the end of his nose from the brutal chill, "the whole reason I came over here was to help you with whatever case you're working on. I know I shouldn't have snooped on your desk, but I was curious. Sue me." He shrugged. "It was wrong of me to act like that the first day. Like you said, we're partners."

Dick held out his hand. His skin was red and calloused from the cold weather. He really should wear gloves more.

"Truce?" He said, biting his lip.

Iris looked at his hand, and then back up to his eyes. They were almost like a honey gold, reminding her of the bright sun on a nice fall day: crisp, burning, and full of life. But there was a certain darkness within his stare. Amongst the pleading look and desperation, Iris wondered what kind of monster lurked beneath the surface of his bones. He was trying to be the nice guy. There were no nice guys in their profession. Everyone had skeletons in the closet.

"Thanks," she huffed, turning on her heel, "but no thanks."

•••

Darkness crept over the sky like a heavy blanket. Iris hardly realized what time it was until she looked to the large window panel in front of the station and noticed the sun had set. She usually liked to leave around six to catch the six-thirty train home, but it looked like that wasn't happening today. She had been so caught up in her research that the hours began to blend together, and she now wondered if all days were going to be like this with her newest case.

She took a taxi home. It was dirty and smelled like sweaty socks. A string of turquoise beads hanging from the rearview mirror kept rattling. The driver sat through traffic while yelling at someone into his phone's speaker and Iris really questioned why these things cost so much. It wasn't like she was getting five-star service anyways.

In an effort to distract herself, Iris pulled up the book store on her phone. She didn't know how, but she somehow ended up on a book about the identification and values of antique jewelry and she locked her phone altogether. It wasn't good to let cases filter into your personal life, but she did it all the time. It was annoying. She couldn't help but hyperfixate on a subject when she didn't know the answer to it. Everything always led back to the problem at hand.

Before she knew it, she was back at her apartment building and paying the driver an obscene amount of cash while he continued to holler at the poor person on the other end of his phone. He took the money without hesitation, though, and narrowed his eyes in her direction when she brought her hand away. Iris furrowed her brow at his quizzical expression, but he was already driving away before she could interrogate him.

Iris already felt like she needed a drink. After the countless hours spent on research to come up with nothing, as well as the ridiculous conversation she had with her lead detective, she was tired and ready to crack open that aged bottle of whiskey she kept in her liquor cabinet. Her feet sunk into the shit-stained carpet of the staircase that she heaved herself up every goddamn day. Her knees felt weak every time she crossed another stair, but she kept moving forward because that's just how Iris Kingsley was. Twirling her key ring around her finger, she found Joshua closing the door of his apartment, but ever so slowly, as if he was waiting for her by the doorframe.

His head popped out once he spotted her. Iris really didn't have time for this.

"You're back later than usual," he said flatly. "Long ni –"

"Yes, Josh, it was a long day and it's going to be an even longer night," she huffed, approaching her door. "Okay? That's all settled. Now we can both retire for the night."

Joshua leaned against the doorframe, a chuckle slipping out of his wide lips. He smiled as she fought to find her house keys around the ring. "I definitely know now that you need someone to talk to." He lifted his hands up in surrender when she glared at him from over her shoulder. "Again, not a therapist. Just a nice neighbor."

Iris sighed loudly before spinning on her heel. She slammed her back against her locked door and crossed her arms. "It's nothing." Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, and she so badly wanted to open her mouth and spill it all: the stress, the anxiety, the knowledge, but why should she trust her weird, flirty neighbor so easily? It would be completely idiotic to tell him about all the juicy things going on in her life, no matter how good it would feel.

Maybe they should just fuck and get it over with. That was probably the worst way to deal with all the stress, but ... sometimes Iris liked a distraction.

No, bad idea, her conscious reprimanded. You hardly like sex anyways.

Eventually, Iris came undone. A groan escaped her lips. "I just – I got a new boss and I don't really like him."

Joshua tilted his head to the side. "Why?"

"You know how, like, opposites attract?" Iris asked, and he nodded. "Well, people who are similar certainly do not."

He laughed, resting one hand on his doorknob. Iris noticed his muscles flex in the dim lighting. (Maybe he wasn't that bad looking.) "Need someone to beat him up for you?"

Iris was surprised that she snorted, and put a hand in front of her mouth to cover it. She turned her head to the side for a moment and slowly met his eyes again. "Pretty sure I can do that myself, Josh." She held up her clenched fists. "I've had combat training."

"Of course, you have," he dragged out, lips quirked into a ridiculous smile. His grip on the doorknob tightened, but Iris tried not to notice. "Well, goodnight, Iris. It was nice to talk to you for more than two seconds."

She allowed one side of her mouth to turn upward. "You, too," she admitted, and it was the first kind of change that she didn't mind happening.

•••

A/N: I'm really trying hard to be not obsessed with word count in this story!! I usually always have a number that I liked to get to with each chapter, but the more I do that, the more I obsess over word count than the actual plot of the story. then, it makes me feel like scenes are dragged out or not authentic anymore because I'm trying to make it to my desired word count. so!!!! some chapters of this fic may be long, some may be short 🤷🏼‍♀️

...........can we also talk about zoë kravitz being cast as catwoman because tHANK GOD