Chapter Text
“Morning, Jim.” (Y/N) climbs the staircase up to the precinct’s platform landing, two bagged foot-long subs in hand. She grabbed them on her way to work, as she apparently lived right next door to the best deli in all of Gotham. That’s according to Harvey. “Hungry?”
Detective Jim Gordon looks up from the report in front of him, consequently one (Y/N) herself had written. It was a briefing on some peculiar street chatter she’d picked up while undercover, regarding Fish Mooney and the Falcone crime family. Thanks to (Y/N)’s skill set when it came to securing information, the GCPD knew something big was about to go down in Gotham’s Underworld. Her work is invaluable and Jim had been the first to see it. That’s why she only gave her reports to Jim Gordon, Captain Essen, or the Commissioner himself. Not that the Commissioner asked for them often. Jim closes the beige folder and takes a bag. “You’re a saint, (Y/N).”
“Don’t mention it. Anything in there you want me to clarify?” asks (Y/N), leaning against the edge of Jim’s desk. Jim is already digging into his sub, and he doesn’t get a chance to answer when Bullock pitches forward and snatches the report right off the desk.
Bullock slouches back in his chair. “I got questions, kid.”
“Okay...” (Y/N) shifts her body to face the old-timer, bracing herself where Jim and Bullock’s desks meet. “What can I do for you, Harvey?”
“First up, this says you got this from an ‘undisclosed source’. Never stated a name. I dunno about the rest of the precinct, but that’s a little shifty. You sure this is even legal?” It’s an accusation. If (Y/N) weren’t used to this attitude from Bullock, she might be offended. Alas, ever since she started the case on Fish Mooney, Harvey’s been borderline cold.
“I covered that in last week’s update. My sources are not… totally aware of who they’re talking to, but it’s for their own safety their names are left off the record,” states (Y/N), keeping her tone calm. “Which you’d know if you actually read my work, Harvey.”
Out the corner of her eye, she watches Jim conceal a smirk behind his meatball sub.
“Watch yourself, the both of you. Little shits…Talking to a senior officer like that...” Bullock grumbles, but it’s all in good nature, (Y/N) can tell. She takes the report from him, pressing the sandwich bag into Bullock’s space. He accepts, tips an imaginary hat, and hooks right in. The rate he practically inhales it is both impressive and frightening.
“Careful, Harv. God forbid she find out you don’t actually hate her,” teases Jim, a cheeky grin on his face. Bullock argues with him between biting off and chewing chunks of sandwich, and (Y/N) leaves them to it when she’s called into Captain Essen’s office. She discusses with the Captain regarding an anonymous tip about a possible Mooney employee hangout. It would be a good place for her to check out, seeming viable enough. But… she couldn’t help but notice the precinct just outside the door had gone quiet. Too quiet. A part of (Y/N) tuned out of what Essen was telling her.
“... only her. Everybody else, mind your business and we’re cool ...” The voice is distorted and difficult to hear through the office wall, but the only one in the entire building as of now.
Essen must have found it strange too. They halt their conversation, waiting.
“ Hey, (Y/N) !” Whoever the hell it is, they’re yelling now. In a precinct full of officers who are doing nothing to stop them. And they specifically want (Y/N)’s attention. She glances at Essen, who looks just as lost as she feels. “ (Y/N) ~”
(Y/N) tosses the papers she’d been flicking through on Essen’s desktop and heads out the door, with Essen on her tail. It wasn’t a soundproofing problem: each and every cop in the room had gone silent. (Y/N) lets her gaze shift from the surrounding officers to Jim, finally landing on the pale, bald guy dressed in all black. He stands on the receptionist’s desk, and his own focus zeroes in on her.
“Hi, (Y/N).” The stranger gives a little wave as (Y/N) circles Bullock’s desk, meeting the top of the balcony arch’s crescent to stand beside Jim. She knows this man, has seen him in a file once, his name is on the tip of her tongue-
“ Relax . I’m supposed to take you in alive. Don Falcone wants to talk.” The singsongy, purring tone makes (Y/N)’s stomach churn, just the way it borders on threatening but isn’t quite there. Like he could be talking to a good friend. Not to mention what he just said about Don freaking Falcone. The King of Gotham’s Underworld wants to ‘talk’?
“What if I don’t want to talk?” (Y/N) asks, somehow managing a steady voice.
“Oh, don’t-” starts the intruder, clenching his hands into fists before simultaneously releasing them and the irritation, “be that way! You know, alive is a very broad category. Gives me a lot of range. Someone with no fingers...” He waggles his own, “...can still be alive.”
Jim cuts in, holding his ground, and he’s deadly calm. “There are fifty cops in here. Try something.”
“Everybody, out.” The intruder straightens up, his laid-back expression dropping from his face. If looks could kill, Jim would be six feet under. GCPD officers look around at one another, occasionally at (Y/N) or Jim. The thing is, they seem to be considering it . (Y/N)’s gut clenches when the intruder barks at them. “NOW?!”
And (Y/N) felt sick when they did as they were told. Filing out the sides and the back, one after the other, all of them. The only ones who stayed aside from (Y/N) were Essen, Bullock, and Jim.
(Y/N) swallows down the lump in her throat. She can’t let the people she cares about, the only ones truly loyal, be hurt because of her. “The rest of you, too.”
“(Y/N)-” starts Essen.
“Please,” says (Y/N). “Please, just go.”
After a painfully prolonged moment, Bullock takes Essen’s arm and guides the Captain towards an exit. (Y/N) can’t bear to look back now, but she hears the sincerity in his voice when he speaks. “I’m sorry, kid.”
“Jim...” Her knuckles going white on the balcony railing, a million half-finished plans race through her mind as she tries to figure out what she’ll do once - if , because Jim Gordon is possibly one of the most stubborn people she knows - (Y/N) gets Jim to safety.
“You heard the lady, Jimbo. Out you go.” The pale man makes a dismissing waving gesture in their direction. He’s mocking, (Y/N) thinks, he’s enjoying this.
“I’m not going anywhere, Zsasz. Carmine Falcone doesn’t scare me,” says Jim, practically announcing the fact. (Y/N) feels the need to make him shut up, to make him stop provoking the Falcone-hired gunman. Just because this guy needed (Y/N) alive didn’t mean Jim had to be. Where would Gotham be without its most genuine cop? “, and neither do you.”
(Y/N) grips his arm, panic rising in her chest. “Sir, please, I’m begging you-”
“When this goes down, take the stairwell behind the M.E.'s office. You know the one. It’ll lead you to the underground parking lot. I’ll buy you whatever time I can,” hisses Jim into her ear. His words register with her, and (Y/N)’s heart drops.
“ What ? Absolutely not- Jim, they’ll kill you!”
“I’ve survived worse than the likes of him, (Y/N).”
Stubborn prick . (Y/N)’s hand tightens on the sleeve of Jim’s suit. “It’ll be three on one. God knows you’ve defied the odds before, but this is insane ! I won’t have your blood on my hands. You need to let me handle this, sir.”
“Victor Zsasz has a reputation for staying on target. He’s only after you,” murmurs Jim, voice so controlled despite the situation at hand.
The intruder - Victor Zsasz, apparently - has grown tired of the holdup. His face pinches into an expression of exasperated patience. “If you could refrain from the whispering, officers. It’s impolite. ”
“Jim,” tries (Y/N) weakly.
“That’s an order from your superior officer.” And just like that, Jim turns his attention from her and onto Zsasz. There’s no arguing with Jim Gordon when he has his mind set on something. Guess that’s the end of that. It’s subtle, but (Y/N) catches Jim inching towards his gun holster.
“What now, Jim?” asks Zsasz, menacingly low, watching the two of them carefully. It’s then that Jim pulls his police-issued weapon free and lets off one shot after the other in Zsasz’s direction. Zsasz flips backward off the desk.
(Y/N) tears her own gun from its belt holster and provides herself with brief cover, shooting at the black-clad girls on Zsasz’s side. She descends down the balcony staircase as Jim keeps the girls pinned, heaving herself up and over the railing. Landing clean on the other side, the M.E. area is right through the door. One glance back at Jim and (Y/N) can see he’s being pushed back into the Captain’s office by Zsasz’s relentless attack. All she hears is gunfire. But (Y/N) knows all she can do to help them is lead them away .
So with one more shot at a henchwoman, (Y/N) lets herself into the M.E.'s office and slams the door shut behind her.
Holstering her gun, (Y/N) moves to press her back against the filing cabinet beside the door frame. She shoves her full body weight back and topples it over so it blocks the entrance. A henchwoman’s face is in view through the window. She tries and fails to shove the door open, so she brings her gun up to it. A bullet shatters the glass, and (Y/N) locks her arms around her head. Fumbling with the staircase entrance door, gunshots and her heartbeat in her ear, (Y/N) manages to get it open and slip through.
Not before she catches a bullet in the arm.
Pain splits and splinters through her nerves. Slick blood coats her fingers where she clasps a firm grip on the wound. (Y/N) grits her teeth to bite back the cry of pain building up in her throat, panting out breaths with her eyes squeezed shut. She slumps against the wall, trying to get her emotions in line. (Y/N) hears the bang of a body colliding with a solid surface. Shit, shit, shit -
She forces herself upright and down the winding staircase.
When she reaches the parking garage, her wounded arm is throbbing, she’s breathless and (Y/N) is lost for what to do. But there isn’t a second to waste; she can hear boots echoing from the stairwell. She moves to dip behind a reinforced prisoner transport truck, pressing herself flat against the back doors. Her blood smudges across its paint job.
In the reflection of the police cruiser in front of her, (Y/N) watches as Zsasz leads his two henchwomen to the landing of the staircase leading to the parking lot. They stand there for a moment, all armed, and overlook the scene in their sights. Scanning it carefully before Zsasz advances with the women close behind. They split off in three different directions.
(Y/N)’s breath catches in her throat as she drops into a crouch. A henchwoman heading right for her, getting too close. In a split-second decision, (Y/N) snatches up a chunk of concrete and throws it, where it skids across the garage floor.
It’s loud, it’s attention-grabbing, and it has the henchwoman moving to investigate.
Holding her breath, (Y/N) picks herself up. She keeps as close to the floor as possible, still cradling her forearm, and maneuvers around the back of another cruiser. The position is too uncomfortable, too hard to hold, so (Y/N) slumps down onto the pavement.
“(Y/N)~” comes Zsasz’s singsongy call, followed by a low whistle that sends spikes of panic down her spine. Her heart surges. It’s too close. His footsteps are too close.
She dares to sneak a peek under the car, between the front and back wheels. The sight of Zsasz’s leather shoe stepping into view sends her heart pushing into her throat. Or maybe it’s just panic. Regardless, (Y/N) half drags/half carries herself around to the opposite side of the car Zsasz is on. All that stands between them now is that cruiser.
But the footsteps have stopped, completely.
(Y/N) tilts her head, pushing herself up enough to get a look at Zsasz’s face through the cruiser’s passenger window. He’s seen something of interest to him. When (Y/N) follows along his line of sight, she mentally curses her existence.
Zsasz had spotted the transport truck she’d originally hidden behind, where (Y/N) had left a bloody smear of a handprint.
Glancing down and to her side, (Y/N) has only now just realised she has been leaving a trail of her own blood for Zsasz to follow. She really shouldn’t be surprised, considering the fact her hand is drenched in it.
“Ouch.” Zsasz chuckles, outwardly speaking now. “That hurting, (Y/N)?”
Shit, shit, shit . Before she drops back down to ground level, (Y/N) sees Zsasz gesture to the henchwoman she’d just evaded. Ordering the girl to close in on the mark. She is so screwed. (Y/N) draws her gun with her good hand, counting to three and back in an attempt to keep a level head. Watching, waiting, a half-finished plan surfacing in her mind.
“Why are you hiding, (Y/N)? You can’t run from me.”
As soon as the woman came into sight, (Y/N) knew she’d been spotted. Her eyes widen with cold recognition and she raises her gun. But (Y/N) is quicker and fires. To her short-lived relief, two out of four hits the attacker and she crumbles. With the knowledge Zsasz is right there in mind, (Y/N) leaps to her feet and skirts around the cruiser. She keeps low, bullets flying over her head as she weaves through.
She can see daylight, can see and hear Gotham City streets beyond the parking lot. Her chance to escape. Clutching her arm, (Y/N) makes a break for it.
It’s like time itself slows down around her.
The other henchwoman yells something and for a moment, no guns. No resistance, just (Y/N) and a short stretch to safety. But just as she makes it to the street curb, pain bursts up her calf. Microseconds later, a gunshot rings out. Her leg spazzes out and (Y/N) can’t keep herself up. She collides harshly with the pavement.
Groaning, (Y/N) rolls onto her back. Zsasz has his arm outstretched with his silver gun in hand. He and his remaining henchwoman are approaching when-
Tires squeal as a black Chevrolet skids down the garage entrance, pulling up in the space between (Y/N) and Zsasz. The driver’s side door is thrown open.
“Get in!” Oswald Copplepot, practically screeching at her, drags an AK47 from inside and positions it on the rolled-down window. From where (Y/N) is sprawled, a smug satisfaction rises in her gut as Zsasz and the henchwoman dive behind GCPD cars. He lets loose, gritting his teeth as his bullets fly. The noise is deafening. He has Zsasz pinned, (Y/N) sees her chance and tugs the Chevrolet open. Her whole body aches in protest, but she climbs into the car's backseat with a bitten-back groan.
From where she lies, Oswald temporarily halts his attack to glance back at her. He then jumps back into the vehicle and kicks it into gear. They take off.
Zsasz and his remaining henchwoman are standing again, firing off rounds as the car turns the corner and is out of sight. (Y/N) watches through the rear window right up until then before forcing herself upright in her seat. Her breathing and heart rate slows, and (Y/N) can hear herself think again.
And the first thing she thinks is, where the hell are we going?
"Oswald?" asks (Y/N) carefully, in as much as a controlled tone as she can manage. She has met Oswald 'Penguin' Cobblepot twice before, but only ever with Jim. She knew the man was unpredictable at best.
"Yes?"
"Where are you taking me?"
Oswald chuckles, almost nervously. "Oh, Miss Mooney's. She heard about your little soon-to-be predicament with the Zsasz fellow. I figured I'd do her and my dear friend Jim a favour at the same time. Two birds," he glances at (Y/N) through the rearview mirror, "one stone."
"You're taking me to Fish's place?" (Y/N) repeats numbly. She feels lightheaded, but she knew for a fact that going to Mooney's would not end well for (Y/N).
"Mm-hm. Don't worry, detective, we'll make it before you pass out," says Oswald.
(Y/N) shakes her head. "No…"
"Excuse me?"
"You're not taking me to Fish's. I want the hospital."
"I assure you Miss Mooney has plentiful medical staff on hand. We'll have you fixed right up when we get there,” goes on Oswald, even though his hands visibly tighten on the steering wheel.
"Take me to the hospital, Oswald." (Y/N) keeps a flat tone. Threatening. It's not a request, but a demand. "Right. Now."
"I can't . You don't understand what Fish does to people that disobey her."
(Y/N) reaches for her belt, for her gun. She doesn't want to, but she's proven she's ready to do just about anything to avoid Gotham's Underworld bosses."I know how she works. I also know what she does to people who threaten the security of her mob plans. She knows Falcone wants to talk to me. I've survived too much today to die by her hand!"
"Detective, please..." starts Oswald, but (Y/N) pulls her gun on him and presses the muzzle to his exposed neck.
He instantly stiffens. "All right, let's not be hasty-"
"I'm not screwing with you, Oswald!" barks (Y/N), "Take me to Gotham General or I'll shoot you right here and drive there myself. Tell Fish I forced you, whatever, just take me to the goddamn hospital ."
And Oswald changes course immediately. (Y/N) recognises the twists and turns necessary for getting to Gotham General. After about five minutes of silence, (Y/N) takes Oswald's cell phone. Jim's number is already saved on it.
She dials the number.