Shortly after the teatime with Alfred and Bruce came to a close, Jim dropped Holly off back at the apartment where Barbara had been waiting for her return, eager to get out and spend some mother-daughter bonding time. With the child snatchers behind bars, Jim could finally get back to the task at hand, finding the Wayne's real killer. "Hey, Gord! Some kid wants to have a word with you!" Jim looked up from his desk as one of the other detectives called from the bottom of the steps. Closing the file and tucking it under a thick book, Jim followed him to a bench where a familiar face sat, the young girl's face a mixture of tiredness and an eagerness to get out of there. It was the girl he saved back at the shipyard.

"Hello again, young lady. How can I help you?" Jim asked her. "We need to talk," she spoke bluntly. "So, now you want to talk, huh?" Jim looked over to the detective, telling him he could handle it from there, and the other detective handed him a small clipboard, containing some of the girl's information. As Jim flipped through the few pages, the girl smirked and waved bye-bye. Though Jim didn't know it, the only way he was able to talk to her was through a threat of crying out that she was touched inappropriately by the other detective. So, naturally not wanting to go to prison for a crime he didn't commit, the man ran off to fetch Jim.

"Selina Kyle, isn't it?" Jim questioned, looking up from the clipboard. "It's Cat," she corrected. Jim squinted as he remembered Macky mentioning her during his questioning. "You a friend of Macky's?" He asked. Cat squinted, before pulling a leg to her chest. "Yeah, I know Macky," She nodded. "Those bastards nearly got you twice, huh? You're quite a survivor," Cat scoffed and leaned back in her seat, looking up at him. Jim looked at her expectantly, wondering why she wanted to speak with him in the first place. It wasn't every day that a child wanted to speak with a detective for no reason. "Suppose I had something you really, really wanted. If I gave it to you, could you get me out of here?" Cat asked.

If anything caught his attention that day besides Bruce's attempts to "conquer fear," it was this. Jim took the empty spot next to her and sat down, asking her what info she had to give up. "I've been watching you and your daughter..." Cat explained. "You two are friends with the boy. You're not like the rest of these crooks," "The boy? You mean Bruce?" Jim clarified. "And what do you mean by you've been watching us?" Cat rested a hand on the side of her head, resting it against the wooden arm of the bench. This wasn't a random stalker with threats against Jim's life. To him, it seemed like the girl knew something and had a guilty conscience the longer she chose to keep the information hidden.

"That Mario Pepper guy was a patsy, huh?" Cat asked. "What makes you say that?" Jim questioned. But rather than answer, Cat held up a hand, repeating her previous request. "Could you get me out?" Jim sighed before telling her maybe he could work something out. With that response, Cat took in a breath before looking Jim directly in the eyes. "I saw who really killed the Waynes. Saw him clear as day," Jim's eyes widened at this, if what Cat was saying was true, maybe this could point him in the right direction.

But before Jim could listen to another word from Cat, he was called into Captain Essen's office. He looked back to Cat, telling her he'd be right back and to stay put. Biting back a sigh, she nodded and watched as he entered the office. Once again, the case had to be put on hold as another crime was making the headlines. Witnesses and the news outlets reported that one of Gotham's corrupt investors, Ronald Danzer had been clipped to a weather balloon and killed. When Jim and the detectives reached the crime scene, they quickly realized there was not a lot for them to go on.

There was no body, no weapon, and the only thing that could be considered evidence was the abandoned balloon cart, the inside filled with tons of bricks to keep it on the ground. "So, Ronald Danzer cheats half of Gotham out of their savings, but before he can stand trial, an unknown man clips him to a balloon? Are we calling this a murder?" Jim looked over to Harvey. "Call it a public service. Danzer was a bum. He got what he deserved," Bullock said, his tone cold and unsympathetic toward the deceased. "I'm gonna go get a Danish. It's what I deserve,"

~~~~~~~~~

"Damn it! Somebody find me O'Brian! And get me some ice!" One of the cops barked out as he entered the precinct. Jim looked up from his work to see the man badgering the other coworkers, requesting stuff from them. Some of them seemed terrified of this man, and with good reason. This lieutenant was one of the toughest tools in the toolbox. "Who the hell are you?" He glared over at Jim. "Jim Gordon," Jim introduced himself. The lieutenant held his hand out for Jim to shake, and he took a moment to remember if the name sounded familiar.

"I'm Lieutenant Bill Cranston, your Bullock's new partner, right?" Bill asked. Jim nodded as the roughed-up man began to chuckle. "He tells me you're a real boy scout. Don't you think we should be roughing up the skels?" Bill questioned. "Well, they do have their rights," Jim attempted to reason. "I'm gonna have to remember that. Maybe I'll get that tattooed on my ass!" Cranston laughed as the detective remained silent and serious. He led Jim to one of the desks, where one of the cops handed Cranston a small trophy in the shape of an officer. "This was a gift from the Gotham Chamber of Commerce for years of service. I call him O'Brian. He also happens to be the best interrogator on the force,"

As Cranston walked into the interrogation room, he proudly announced to the unsuspecting man inside the presence of 'Sergeant O' Brian," and within a few seconds, Jim and the few colleagues working just outside that room could hear the cracking of bones and the cries and desperate pleas of "Help!" and "Stop!" Jim shook his head in disbelief, wondering someone like Cranston became a cop when he was just as arrogant and bad as the criminals running the streets. "I just met Lieutenant Cranston," Jim said to Harvey as he sat back at his desk. "The man, the myth, the legend," Harvey praised. The corrupt officer clearly had a mixed influence within the force. Hate him or idolize him, someone always was talking about Cranston.

"He's a thug," Jim shook his head. He wanted to speak more of the truth, but he swallowed the temptation like a bitter pill. "So, no fingerprints, and those carts are too easy to buy or steal to trace. How are you coming on those death threats?" He switched the subject. Harvey eyed his partner from the top of his glasses, reminding Jim they had gone over this earlier. "Ronald Danzer was murdered. It's our job to catch murderers," Jim recalled. "He was a crook, Jim. And even if he hadn't been convicted of a crime, he was still a horrible person! Two guys killed themselves because he lost their life savings!" Harvey harshly whispered. "This guy was living high for 30 years while the city kissed his ass and gave him awards for being such a philanthropist!"

"So what? Do we just let his killer go free?" Jim squinted. "If the guy walks in here, holds out his hands, then I'll arrest him. Otherwise, I'm content justice was served," Bullock leaned back in his chair. Something about that last sentence touched a raw nerve in Jim. He was getting pretty sick and tired of Harvey's 'Whatever happens to someone, they probably deserved its attitude. And right before he could stop himself from uttering that last name that had plagued his mind for weeks, it came out like word vomit. "Like with the Wayne's? Is that what you mean?"

Bullock threw his pencil and his current work onto the desk and met Jim's eyes mere inches away from butting heads. "Mario Pepper killed the Wayne's. We killed Pepper. That case is closed," Before Jim could respond, an unfamiliar voice interrupted their conversation. As the two men looked up, they saw a middle-aged man approach their desks, his arm firmly gripping Cat's. "Hey, buddy!" She protested, yanking his hand from her grasp. "Detective Gordon? Davis Lamond from juvenile services? You asked to see Selina Kyle. Could you sign for custody?" the man handed Jim the clipboard and pen he was carrying. "And when you finish, you can bring her to our new facility on Water Street. She's scheduled to be transferred upstate tomorrow,"

"Yeah, that's gonna be delayed. She has information about an investigation," Jim explained. After signing for temporary custody, Jim handed back the clipboard, and the man left. Harvey quickly became uncomfortable with Selina being so close to him and his desk that he asked her to step back a bit. But when he caught a glimpse of her, a tiny bell of clarity rang in his head. "Wait a minute. Is that one of the kids that was snatched? Another closed case. What is it about the word "closed" you don't understand?" Bullock asked. "This is something else. Just read the letters and track the balloons. I'll be back in an hour," Jim instructed before he and Selina walked out of the building. Just as they left, Bullock reached for his pen to continue his work, only to realize it had mysteriously vanished.

Jim and Selina walked the long four blocks back to where the murders took place. Everything had been exactly the same since that night, minus the dead bodies of the billionaire couple. But their blood had now mixed with the dampness of the alleyway. Trashcans were full of garbage, and the occasional stray cats and mice ran about. "So why do you care who really killed the Wayne's?" Selina queried. "Because I want the person responsible brought to justice," Jim answered. Selina could only roll her eyes, asking if he read that in a textbook. "And... I made a promise to the boy," Jim added. He gestured for Selina to explain what she saw that fateful night, and she even gave a brief demonstration what she was doing. But Selina wasn't one for detailed descriptions, so she gave him the short version of the story.

"The killer came from there. Took the man's wallet and the woman's necklace. Then shot them both. He left the boy alive, and I was up there," Selina pointed to the nearby fire escape. "Everybody knows that much. Plus, the killer's face was covered," Jim told her. "Not at first. He pulled up his scarf when he walked toward them. I saw him for a second," Selina clarified. Jim squinted at this little detail, questioning if she was really telling the truth. "You saw him... Here in the dark?" Jim questioned. "I can see in the dark, a lot of people can. You don't believe me?" Selina placed her hands on her hips.

"There's a question of whether you're lying about what you saw, and then there's the question of whether you were even here. You're not giving me proof," Selina could only shake her head at the detective's response even after explaining everything. "I just told you, I stole some chump's wallet just before it happened! That was, like, two blocks from here. Didn't he report it?" Selina asked. "Yes, a man did report his wallet stolen by a thief that matches your description, and, yes, the timing does work out to just before the Wayne's were murdered. But that does not place you here," Jim sighed.

"I dumped the wallet in there," Selina pointed to the sewer grate a few feet away. "Great..." Jim muttered, realizing he'd had to go down there to retrieve it. But knowing her record of thievery and running away when people weren't looking, Jim didn't trust her to run off and leave him stranded. As he slipped a handcuff around Selina's wrists, she looked at the detective in shock as he led her to the fire escape, cuffing her to the railing. "You find the wallet, you'll let me go, right? That's the deal," Selina reminded. "No. Find the wallet that places you here. We still have to find the guy," Jim spoke. Selina tried to protest, but Jim didn't listen and started making his way into the sewers.

The smell of mold, dirty water, and God knows what else hit Jim like a massive tidal wave, and as the water dripped down his back and he landed into the muddy water below the ladder, he knew the scent would stick with him throughout the rest of the day. He shuffled his shoes through the muddied waters, looking for the shape of the stolen wallet. As Jim reached into the pile, finding the odd shape, he realized that Selina had indeed been telling the truth. "Oh, detective!" Selina spoke singsongy from above him. Jim looked up to see Selina had broken free from the cuffs and hung them over the gaping hole. "You're gonna need these," She smirked before tossing them into the sewer, running off despite Jim's protest for her to come back.

~~~~~~~~

"What do you think about this one? Looks preppy and cute!" Barbara said, holding up a big black backpack that almost looked like leather. She and Holly had been back-to-school shopping for the past hour or two, and if anyone was excited about this shopping trip, it was mostly Barbara. "Or maybe one in white?" She offered, noticing her daughter's lack of interest. "Come on, Hols. You gotta give me something to go on with!" Holly held onto the bags of plaid and colored skirts in one hand and the box containing the three pairs of different black shoes in the other.

"I don't know, it's just a backpack," Holly shrugged. "It's more than just a backpack, honey. At these kinds of schools, you have to present yourself like you're intelligent. Otherwise, they'll think of you as one of those boring girls," Barbara reasoned. "I'm not boring. I just have different tastes than most people," Holly muttered. Her mother could hear her daughter but chose not to speak on the matter, her attention returning to the shopping. But as the smell of the food court made its way towards them and their stomachs began to rumble in synch, a different plan was in store. "Here, how about we grab something to eat, and then we'll come back and pick? I know you're probably hungry,"

The mention of food court cuisine did sound appetizing. As the two girls sat at one of the empty tables with their coffee, hot chocolate, and snacks from the nearby coffee stand, Holly could only glance around at the other tweens her age out with their friends or watching over their younger siblings. "You know, I always wanted to have a sister growing up. Unfortunately, your grandparents said that one child was enough to deal with. I can't blame them, I was a handful," Barbara broke the silence and Holly's gaze. "Would you want a sibling?"

"Honestly, I kind of like the peace. And besides, I like spending time just the two of us," Holly answered. Barbara seemed to understand her daughter but was a little sad at the same time. But all that changed when the laughter and chatter of a group of preppy teens caught their attention. Their outfits made a bold statement that they were from rich families that was for sure, from the designer coats to the tailored suits. "A lot of people who visit the galleries talk about their children attending your school. One of the moms talks about her son Tommy all the time. Maybe you'll get to meet him!" Barbara explained.

Realizing that her mother would not give up the topic of the private school so easily, Holly painted an excited look on her face, playing along and trying to appease her mother's excitement, though deep on the inside, she shared her father's antisocial personality. Not to say she would want to be a loner for the rest of her life, but maybe have just a few close friends she could confide in and trust. "Yeah, maybe I will!" Holly smiled before taking a sip of her hot chocolate.

~~~~~~~~~

"Yeah, Detective James Gordon. One of your counselors brought me a girl this morning, and I signed for custody. That's what I'm saying! I can't bring her back. She got away." Jim spoke into the phone for what felt like the millionth time that day. The person on the other end practically shouted at Jim to the point that he had to pull the phone away from his ear to avoid the shouting. "Yeah? Well, I'm not happy about it either!" Jim retorted, hanging up the phone. The cloud of dampness and the stench of filth lingered around him ever since he returned from the sewer, and it only took him a few seconds to realize that today was not his best day. And it was only about to get worse.

He looked over his shoulder, hearing the sounds of two sets of footsteps approaching him, and Jim could only hold back a groan when he realized it was Montoya and Allen. What could they want now? Jim thought. "On edge?" Allen questioned. "I'm fine. How can I help you?" Jim asked, wiping the top of his shoe with a tissue. "We were just wondering when you shot Cobblepot in the head and dumped his body in the river, did Falcone pay you? Or was that more of a "favor to the don" type thing?" Montoya spoke suspiciously.

"Whatever you heard, it's not true," Jim assured, silently asking himself how they heard about Cobblepot's disappearance. But then Jim remembered that since Cobblepot was a former member of one of the most notorious crime groups in Gotham, every thug could be about it. "Oh, so you mean you didn't kill Cobblepot? Or you didn't do it for Falcone?" Allen questioned. "We thought we'd give you a chance to tell us the truth. Cop to cop," Montoya glared.

"You're not listening, I didn't kill him," Jim repeated with a hint of frustration. "Then where were you on the night of September the 17th?" Allen inquired. The thought of using his fiancée and daughter as an alibi did cross his mind. But the last thing he wanted was for them to be involved in this mess. Montoya already did enough damage trying to turn Barbara against him after he wrongfully framed Pepper. "Are you really asking me this? Since when did Major Crimes become I.A.?" Jim shook his head. "When cops started doing hits for the mob," Montoya retorted.

"Well, come back to me when you have actual proof. Until then, don't waste my time," Jim walked off as Montoya and Allen eventually decided to leave, but not without getting in one last verbal jab. "Hey, Gordon, piece of advice: Take a shower. Cause you stink like a sewer," Allen snickered. Shortly afterward, Harvey approached him with some information regarding the weather balloons. "I got the owner of a weather balloon factory downstairs. He says he's got something for us," he said to Jim. "Montoya and Allen came by. Accused me of killing Cobblepot," Jim spoke in a lower tone.

Harvey muttered to himself and shook his head as Jim told him somebody must've talked. "Doesn't matter. The fact they're here means they got nothing, and they're gonna get nothing. End of the day, no one cares about Cobblepot. Because he deserved it," Harvey reminded. "Like Ronald Danzer?" Jim recalled. "Don't make this into something bigger. You did what you had to do. And, yes, he probably did deserve it. He worked for Fish. She doesn't employ altar boys,"

"What about Mario Pepper? Did he deserve what he got?" Jim squinted. "Hell yes, he was a dirtbag. He tried to shoot you, remember? And I thought we were done talking about this," Harvey replied. "We're done talking about this when the person who actually murdered Thomas and Martha Wayne is in jail, not the person we killed for it," Jim's voice filled with insistence. Harvey rolled his eyes at his partner's constant mission to find the real killer. "For the last time, Gordon, let it go," Harvey sighed.

"Or what? Am I gonna be the next person taken out to the pier to get a bullet in the head?" Jim tested his patience. Harvey's face remained in the same blank, hard-as-stone expression.

"The interview's waiting,"