The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as Jim and Harvey sat inside the coffee shop, pondering what to do next. It was a bitter pill for them to swallow. Their whole investigation had been turned upside down all because of some narcotics investigation. It was an unspoken rule in the GCPD that many refused to follow, and Jim was not ashamed to admit he broke this rule fairly regularly. You don't meddle in other people's affairs. Whether you're a detective, forensics, or part of the narcs, you don't insert yourself into other people's jobs and hijack the case. Flass and his crew were taking it to a whole new level, and if this kept up, their killer would disappear back into the streets and kill again.

"Listen, Jim, there's something I gotta tell you," Harvey sighed. "A few years ago, Flass and his people started busting drug dealers, taking over their stash houses, running them themselves," Jim looked up from his cup, surprised and annoyed that his partner had kept this detail from him for so long. "You're telling me this now?" Jim quirked a brow. "Look, I respond to crises as they arise. I'm not a forward planner like you. I didn't tell you then because I didn't want to get you all riled up, but I'm telling you now because I want you to stop," Harvey explained. "Flass is protected,"

"By who?" Jim asked. "Serious people. Really high up. Big money. For all I know, the commissioner gets a piece too. You mess with Flass, you can forget going back to Arkham. These guys do not play. Please, for your and Holly's sake, let it go," Harvey warned. But Jim wasn't a quitter, not when they were getting closer to unmasking the perp, and maybe with Flass running the stash houses, they'd find their next clue. "These stash houses, think you can get me a location on them?" Jim asked. "Did you not hear a word I just said?" Harvey looked exasperated.

"The stash houses could give us evidence linking Flass to Littlefield's murder. We nail him for Littlefield, we can nail him for Winkler," Jim planned. "I can't let it be, Harvey. You should know that by now," Harvey again opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out, just a quiet resigned sigh. He slowly nodded as he excused himself from the table and pulled out his phone. As Jim went up to the counter, Harvey got to work with pinpointing a location. 

"Mick, it's Harv. You know that thing you and Donnie were working on? The Flass thing? I need your help,"

~~~~~~~~~

A bit of yellow there, some pink over here. Holly's chest swelled with pride at her nearly completed masterpiece. While the main section of the painting was finished, it wasn't complete until Holly was completely satisfied. Her phone buzzed in her jeans pocket, and reluctantly, she set down her brush and answered it. Maybe it was her father checking in to make sure she got home safe, or maybe it was Bruce. But to her surprise, the Caller ID was someone completely different.

Greenfield.

How did she...? Holly briefly paused before answering. "H-hello?" She stammered. "Hey, Holly. I just again wanted to say thank you for what you and Cara did today," Natasha said, her voice happier, if not a tad chipper than earlier. "Hey, it's no problem at all. I've been there with the nasty gossip, and it sucks," Holly sat at the edge of her bed and laid down. "But this isn't the only reason why I'm calling you. Remember what I said about the contest?" Natasha chuckled.

"Which part?" Holly inquired. "The one where I admitted I never liked making it to begin with," Natasha clarified. "Uh-huh, and...?" Holly pressed on. "Let's just say starting tomorrow, there's no doubt in my mind who gonna win this year," Holly's eyes widened to the size of saucers. No way... Hold on, am I hearing things? Holly shot up from the bed and still clutching her phone, she tried not to sound surprised on Natasha's end. But she was failing miserably.

"I took your advice, be me. And that's what I'm doing. I'm dropping out of the art contest," Natasha confirmed. "I-I," Holly tried to form a sentence, but the levels of shock coursing through her made it very difficult. "I should've done this a long time ago. The second my dad started with the bribes," Greenfield admitted. "What do your parents think?" Holly inquired. "I haven't told them yet," Natasha replied. "Whether they realize it sooner or later, I'm not gonna let anyone tell me who I need to be. I know my true calling,"

"That's great, Nat. Good luck with the horseback riding," Holly smiled. "Same to you, Holly," Still in her shocked state, Holly dialed Cara and told her everything from the phone call, and just like Holly, Cara's mind was blown. "I mean, I knew being there for her helped, but I never thought she'd stand up to her folks that quickly," Cara gaped. "I don't blame her, though. She's spent years being everyone's punching bag and having people influence her into doing what they want," Holly shrugged. "There's only so much pressure you can take,"

Their conversation carried on for almost half an hour, and they were talking about the progress of the painting. But as Holly went to pick up her brush again, she remembered hearing the whispers in the cafeteria. When news of Natasha dropping out of the contest got out, would she and Cara be blamed for it? It wasn't like they held a gun to her head and forced her to drop out, Natasha did it of her own volition. Eh, whatever. We know the truth of what really happened.

~~~~~~~~~

As Jim and Harvey pulled out their guns as they approached the seemingly empty stash house, they opened the door and found stacks upon stacks of every drug you could think of. Cocaine, Marijuana, Ecstasy, LSD, Molly, any drug you could imagine, the stash house had it. "Prime spot for a stash house," Harvey commented, his voice echoing through the building. "Yeah," Jim nodded before they walked deeper into the darkened building, one hand on their guns, the other on their flashlights.

As they walked towards the back room, they could hear the sounds of men laughing and packing of boxes. "Delaware!" Jim called out, getting the five men's attention. "Hand over the boxes," Delaware scoffed as he stepped closer to the detectives. "You don't learn, do ya?" Delaware taunted. "Get out my face!" Jim shoved him into the table, and the two men instantly started grabbing Jim and holding him back while landing punches, and the other two men went after Harvey, shoving him into the wall and breaking wooden crates during the scuffle.

But as Delaware stood back up and wiped the blood from his lip, he told the men to stand down, and he reached into his blazer pocket. "No need to rough each other up, gentlemen. I got a warrant," He unfolded the slip and waved it in front of the detectives. "Giving us the legal right to search and seizure. It seems this warehouse was being used as a home base by the Uptown Assassins," "You expect us to believe you got a signed warrant to clear your own stash house?" Jim scoffed.

"On the Commissioner's request. Signed by Judge Bam-Bam," Delaware smirked. "Guess you don't have a leg to stand on, "homicide," Delaware snatched the warrant away just as Jim tried to break free and grab it. Delaware and his men walked out of the building with smirks, leaving Jim and Harvey defeated, battered and bruised. But as they returned to the precinct and got cleaned up, Jim was ready for the next round, and this time, he'd make sure he and Harvey emerged victorious.

"So, what's our next step?" Jim asked as they returned to their desks. "Next step? There is no next step. We've got nothing to tie Flass to the drugs or the murders," Harvey replied. "Murder," Essen clarified. "Just one. Internal Affairs just ruled Winkler's death as a suicide. They're releasing the body to his wife," Suicide? He was attacked and stabbed from behind! How could somebody inflict that kind of damage on themselves? Sobs came from the entrance of the precinct, and they all turned around to see Winkler's widow dressed in black and surrounded by comforting officers and blowing her nose into a tissue. "Leon was so very happy. This just can't be right. Can't be..." she sobbed.

"A suicide? He stabbed himself in the back with an ice pick?! That's absurd!" Jim gawked. "A ruling this quick means the commissioner was involved," Essen explained. "Going forward with this puts all of our jobs at risk. Look, I want to help you, Jim. There are people here at the GCPD who want to help you," "So why don't they?" Jim asked. "They have! I have!" Essen answered. "And we learned the hard way. With men like Flass, you need more than words. You need results. And that's not gonna happen this time around. So, do us all a favor and move on to the next Vic. Please,"

As Essen returned to her office, Jim turned around to where Mrs. Winkler was sitting at one of the desks, continuing to sob and mourn the loss of her husband. Seeing her in such a state only made Jim's blood boil. Having a loved one murdered is painful enough, but for IA to claim Winkler killed himself was just damaging. Jim couldn't imagine the amount of pain she was in, thinking it was all her fault. At this point, there was only one option left for him to turn to. It may not have been his favorite, but he would be at a dead end if he didn't at least try. Without another thought, Jim grabbed his phone and jacket and told Harvey he'd be back in an hour.

"Where are you going?" Harvey asked. To which Jim gave no response, as he was already a foot out the door.

~~~~~~~~~

The moment Jim stepped back into Mooney's old club, he heard the faint sounds of classical music and laughter. As he stepped into the bar, he saw an older woman wearing a plastic tiara slow dancing with a man much taller than her. Everything had remained just as Fish had left it, the only difference was it was now managed by none other than Oswald. As Oswald watched his mother have the jolliest time of her life, he turned around when he heard footsteps coming from behind him, and his eyes lit up like it was Christmas Day.

"Jim! Welcome, come on in!" Oswald gestured for him to come closer. "Oh, another handsome man at the party!" Oswald's mother grinned from ear to ear, holding her hand to Jim. "I'm so lucky!" "This is Jim Gordon, the detective friend I was telling you about," Oswald explained. "So nice to meet a friend of Oswald's. I am Gertrud Kapelput," She introduced herself. " Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Kapelput," Jim replied, awkwardly kissing the back of her hand. "Mother, Jim, and I have very important business," Oswald jumped in, noticing how uncomfortable the detective was.

Mrs. Cobblepot muttered sadly as she reluctantly rejoined her dance partner, and as the music continued playing, Jim and Oswald sat at a booth far enough out of earshot. "I'm so very glad you called, Jim Gordon," Cobblepot patted his shoulder. "It's been far too long since we've seen each other. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me," "I need a favor," Jim spoke. "Do you know anything about a narcotics detective by the name of Arnold Flass?" Oswald squinted, claiming the name sounded familiar.

"I'm investigating him and his crew for murder. But I've hit a wall, he's too well-connected. I figured since Maroni runs the drug trade, maybe you could find somebody with the goods on Flass? But-" Oswald raised his hand and shushed him. "Say no more, favor is done. I'll make some calls," He nodded. "And what do I owe you in return?" Jim inquired. "Friends don't owe friends, silly. They just do favors because they want to. Because they're friends," Oswald assured. "Nobody gets hurt," Jim requested. "Of course, nobody gets hurt," Oswald confirmed. 

"Champagne?" Cobblepot gestured to the ice bucket containing the gold and bubbling substance. "Okay, but just one," Jim agreed.

~~~~~~~~~

Black knight takes white pawn. Bruce sat at his desk, letting go of all other distractions as he played against himself. It may have been odd to everyone else, but to Bruce, it was pure fun. And while there were times that he wished he had someone as his opponent, he took pride in the isolation and made the most of it. As Bruce pondered his next move, a breeze blew through the library, and a shadow crossed the white curtains. As the winds subsided, he saw Selina watching him with a hint of confusion.

"What kind of weirdo plays chess with himself? Don't you have a butler to do that kind of stuff with you?" She asked. "He's making lunch. What are you doing here?" Bruce walked towards her. "I got your message," Selina explained. "I got your message," "Alfred made me go out of town to Switzerland. We have a house there. Chalet, I guess," Bruce detailed. "A chalet?" Selina quirked a brow. "It's basically a house," Bruce clarified. Though Selina didn't say it out loud, she was growing bored of this conversation already. Of course Bruce was rich. She didn't need to be reminded of all the money he had or how many houses he owned. If he really wanted to talk to her, he should've gotten to the point.

"Why did you want to see me?" She asked. "We're friends, aren't we?" Bruce smiled. Selina took a step back. It was rare for a lone wolf like her to be proclaimed as someone's friend. "You've been driving around looking for me, sending messages. What's up?" Bruce grabbed the brown bag he had been carrying earlier, before visiting Holly and dropping off her gift. "I got you a present," He handed her the bag, and Selina curiously reached inside. It was a snow globe, almost an exact copy of the one he gave to Holly. Selina's eyes lit up as she shook it, and for the first time in a long time, she genuinely smiled.

"It looks like the town we stayed in," Bruce told her. Selina peeled her gaze away from the snow globe back to Bruce, thanking him for the gift. "Also, I wanted to know if you wanted to stay in my house," Bruce offered. Selina's smile fell at this, wondering why he was making such a big decision when they barely knew each other. "I figure we can help each other out. You can help me find the man who killed my parents, and I can... give you a better place to live,"

"What's better about it?" Selina asked. But as Bruce was about to reply, she cut him off. "Listen, kid, chill. I came here to tell you to stop hassling me," she started getting defensive. "Hassling you?" Bruce repeated confused. "Yeah. You're beginning to bug me," Selina nodded. "I... I thought we were friends," Bruce's voice grew quiet. "Listen, I lied. I... didn't see who killed your parents. I didn't see his face," Selina admitted. Bruce's eyes widened with shock. She had been lying this entire time? "I don't understand," He shook his head. "I lied so I wouldn't get locked up in juvie!" Selina snapped, handing him back the snow globe. "So it's no use buying me presents, or sending me messages, or trying to hang out. There's no point because I can't help you!"

Shaking her head, Selina ran back to the window and jumped out, leaving Bruce in a state of shock. How could she have given him false hope like that? Who toys with a vulnerable person's emotions? As the tears of anger and sadness slipped down his cheeks, he sat in the chair next to the fireplace, and the more Selina's admission echoed in his head, the angrier he became. And it all reached a breaking point as Bruce slammed the snow globe onto the ground, shattering it into itty bitty pieces.

Not long after, Alfred walked into the room to ask Bruce what he wanted for dinner. He did not expect to see Bruce so upset, staring at the remains of the shattered souvenir. "Master Bruce?" He called, making the boy look up with glossy eyes. "She was lying... Selina doesn't know who killed my parents," Bruce sniffed. "Oh... I see," Alfred responded. "Shall I get a broom then? Or would you rather continue crying over the shattered fragments of your young dreams?"

Bruce wiped his tears with the back of his sweater sleeve, trying to pull himself together. "Yes, Alfred. A broom," He nodded. "I'll find other leads," Bruce walked back to the corkboard, back to square one of his investigation. "No doubt. I knew she was a wrong 'un," Alfred muttered before fetching the broom.

~~~~~~~~~~~

As Jim sat back at his desk, squinting as tiredness attempted to take over his work. As he was about to doze off, he snapped back to reality as someone plopped a bag onto his desk. When he looked up, he saw it was Gabe, the same tall man Oswald's mom had been dancing with back at the club. Oswald must've sent him to gather some dirt and evidence. "What's this?" Jim asked, pointing to the bag. "Murder weapon and a tape of Delaware rolling on Flass. Smart cookie, that one," Gabe answered. "Flass gave me the ice pick to throw away. Delaware kept it, in case he had to cover his own ass,"

"Thank you," Jim said appreciatively, and Gabe nodded before leaving. And sure enough, as Jim carefully opened the bag, he found the bloodied pick and cassette. As Jim slowly looked back to where Flass and his man were hooting and hollering and acting like they were above everybody else. But now that Jim finally had the proof he needed, Flass's high pedestal was gonna come crashing down. "Arnold Flass! You're under arrest for the murder of Leon Winkler," Jim stopped in front of the group.

"Keep walking, mutt. You have nothing," Flass shook his head, his men quietly chuckling at Jim's attempt to make him look like the bad guy. But Jim didn't back down as he dumped the evidence onto a desk, and Flass could only squint at the bloodied icepick. "That's 20 years upstate right there. Delaware gave you up," Everyone stopped their work and turned to look at what was going on. Even Captain Essen came out of her office. And while she was initially going to object, she saw the gleam of the icepick and kept her silence.

"Jimbo, do you really think these guys are gonna let you arrest me?" Flass smirked. "These are my friends, this is my house," "This is NOT your house. You're a drug dealer and a murderer. You don't belong here. You don't deserve the badge," Jim stated. Flass turned back to his friends, asking if they were really buying it. But none of the men said a word, only straightening their spines to make them seem bigger and tougher than they actually were. "How long have you been here? A few months? Why don't you come preach to me in five years?" Flass stood up.

The GCPD was divided, half of them agreeing with Flass while the other half had to agree the evidence against him was pretty damning. "He murdered Leon Winkler!" Jim addressed the precinct. "An innocent man who trusted us! Who trusted this!" He held up his badge. "Enough to step forward and help us solve a case. A man who died so Detective Flass could protect himself," Flass scoffed, reminding Jim that IA ruled the death a suicide. "I'm arresting this man," Jim turned back to him. "Get real, dumb-ass. I'm protected," Flass rolled his eyes, still believing he was above the law. 

"You can help me, or you can try and stop me. Either way, I'm doing my duty," As Flass tried to leave his inevitable fate rotting away in a cell, a couple of cops blocked him as he tried to push through them. "I'm protected! Get out of here!" Flass commanded. "Shut up, Flass," Essen spoke up, emerging from the crowd with handcuffs. "Arnold Flass, you're under arrest for murder," Even as the cuffs slipped around his wrists, Flass still believed he was innocent, continuing to protest as his rights were being read. "Thanks, Cap," Jim slightly smiled. Essen replied with a nod, patting his shoulder.

Later that night, Jim walked down the alleyway after clocking out for the night. He had been away from Holly for far too long, and he knew she'd be interested in hearing about the takedown of a corrupt cop. One less dose of evil to worry about. But about twenty feet away from where his parked car, Delaware emerged from the shadows, visibly shaken up. But not by the cold night air, he was shaken to his core. "That big guy visit you? Give you the package I sent?" He asked. "Yeah. Thanks," Jim answered.

"So this means we're even? I ratted out Flass like you wanted. So now you back off, right? Nothing more is gonna happen to my wife? Is she safe? My family's safe?" Delaware continued to ramble. "I don't understand what you're talking about," Jim insisted. "Okay, okay! No worries. Look, never mind I pressed. I won't say anything to no one. I'll... I'll... I'll pretend this conversation never happened. Okay? Just keep my wife and kids out of it. I'm... I'm begging you!" Delaware got on his knees in front of Jim. And the more Delaware kept pleading for his and his family's safety, Jim soon realized his request with Oswald didn't exactly go as planned.

"No one gets hurt,"

That son of a bitch...