"It's strange how we find the best of friends in the most unexpected people." ~ Aly Hunter

These days, very few things in life truly surprise Evangeline Mendax Winter. For when one has an incredibly sharp intuition and wit, even unconsciously, one can foretell when danger or the unknown is near. This is the kind of person Eve is. She's sharp. Observant. Intuitive. Yet even with these qualities and the obvious signs of a break in – which she is only just identifying now – she would never have predicted that the Riddler, of all people, would be the one to be behind it all. And she certainly never predicted that he would be nonchalantly sprawled across her lounge – which looks rather small when occupied by a man so tall –, as smug as a peacock flaunting its feathers.

"There's a certifiably insane, highly notorious criminal on my lounge," Eve distractedly mumbles to herself, unsure if she's merely apathetic towards the revelation, or in a mentally fragmenting state of shock. Perhaps both.

Edward Nygma's conceited grin only broadens at Eve's dazed condition. One arm haphazardly is laid across the back of the couch, the other across the armrest as the adjoined hand skilfully twirls his iconic, golden question mark cane. "Perfectly sound observation there Miss Winter. I was anticipating a more animated response, but I suppose I do prefer this over the screaming, blubbering and crying that most imbecilic Gotham women display. I finished you're lemon tarts by the way. Were they home made? If so, you must give me the recipe."

Eve remains where she firmly stands, and although she's on high alert, she adorns the facade of a nonchalant woman. Her hazel orbs skim back and forth – almost faster than the Riddler can comprehend – and devour any miniscule details she can from his body language, attire and dialogue so far.

Relaxed. Placid. Unconcerned. Cocky. Unthreatening. Clearly doesn't perceive me as a threat, and isn't here to threaten me – well, it's not his primary intention anyway. Very clean and orderly. Takes pride in his appearance. Doesn't necessarily point towards OCD, but judging by the few crimes of his I've read and how he's laid them out, it's more than likely. Egotistical. Possibly could have rooted from the power he holds over common civilians and his blatant reputation. Files say he's always been pompous though, so perhaps it stems from negligence of his intelligence as a child? Rebecca would know. Eve takes note of the very thin layer of red brick dust layered over a few of his fingers. Matches the red brick dust of the building my camera was screwed into. That, and he fits the MO of whoever supposedly stole my camera. He found my camera. Clearly here to confront me about it.

"If you have it on you, I would dearly like it back please," Eve politely requests, steeling her nerves incredibly well and keeping herself level headed.

One eyebrow arches on his face, and Eve can tell he knows what she's referring to despite him remaining seemingly coy. "Like what back? Your recipe? My dear, I do believe I just asked you for that—"

"Please don't play stupid, it's unbecoming of someone with your level of intelligence," the private investigator kindly requests, progressively making her way into the kitchen whilst not entirely turning her back to the convicted felon. "The camera. My camera. The one you quite rudely stole."

At this point, Nygma's smirk is wide enough to give the Joker a run for his money. "And what gave you the impression that I took this camera of yours?"

Unlike Edward's feigned innocence beforehand, Eve's is purely authentic, in spite of the fact that she's about to put the rogue down a peg or two. "No offense Mr Nygma, but you're a tad careless when it comes to leaving a trail to follow. One of the screws were left behind with no scuff marks on it, so someone had to have a perfectly fitted screwdriver casually on hand to remove my camera – the absence of signs of struggle in the wall also indicate that. Not many people who frequent a Two Face bar conveniently have a variety of screwdrivers and most likely other tools on hand, you being an exception. Paired with the light layer of red brick dust that is lathering your finger tips – red brick dust that perfectly matches the red brick wall where my camera was positioned – it seems rather obvious to me that it was you. Why else would one of Gotham's Most Wanted confront me in my living room not too long after the disappearance of one of my cameras, other than to sate his curiosity?"

The thirty four year old doesn't know what she said in particular that has seemed to satisfy the criminal mastermind, but whatever it may be, Edward Nygma now seems more so content than smug. "Could be a coincidence."

"Perhaps," Eve acknowledges, yet she nods pointedly at his shoes. "But the soles and dimensions of your shoes match the light imprint in the dirt and dust outside the bar as well. That, and I can see the outline of my camera's memory card in your right pocket."

"You seem to base a lot of your theories and verdicts off of circumstantial evidence, this being an exception," Edward admits, sitting upright and lightly drumming his fingers over the leg that has come to cross over his other one. "You also accept a lot of theories, however strange they may be, before honing in on a few in particular."

"I like to keep an open mind," the raven haired woman confesses, flipping her kettle on. "You should try it some time."

"The person with a mind that is too open gets a lot of worthless ideas dumped into it, and I would personally like to avoid that."

"It's alright to have an open mind if you know what to let in."

"For you maybe, but the people of this city? They're not intellectually adept enough. Many of the so-called open minds should be closed for repairs."

Eve smiles amusedly at his last comment, even though she shouldn't, and doesn't even bother at attempting to cover it up. After a few moments however, she registers his previous statement and how he labelled her as an exception to this. "You said for me 'maybe'. Does that mean you view me as more intellectually adept than the citizens of this city?"

"Nowhere near in range of my own mass intellect of course, but so far you haven't exactly given the impression of a hairless ape, already outranking nearly everyone else I've come into contact with in this city," Edward unabashedly admits, having to stroke his own ego before relenting into an actual compliment. Which she so far rightfully deserves, he surmises. After all, she had hardly realised he was in her apartment for thirty seconds before she pieced together that he was the one who stole her camera. All because of a screw, an imprint and unwashed hands. Signs that no ordinary person – let alone a Gothamite – would have ever noticed.

Ah, to finally meet another intellectual! He mustn't be so hasty to label her as an intellect he realises, but she has so far demonstrated a very promising display. And good Lord is it hard to find a rational, sharp mind outside the calibre the criminal underworld has to offer. Not that there's anything exceptionally wrong about criminal masterminds, but Edward can only handle so many never ending, pretentious rambles and ravings about fear, Alice in Wonderland and how Roman Sionis has now pissed of the duality themed crime boss. To meet someone intelligent with a lifestyle that isn't entirely boring and doesn't wish to kill, arrest or run away screaming from him is quite refreshing. Anyone else, and he wouldn't give them the time of day. Maybe even toss them into one of his death traps. Perhaps a lower, base part of him is acting this way due to her not only being partially intelligent, but by society's standards, rather attractive as well.

No matter. He's not here for her intellect or appearance. Oh no. He's here to, as the detective so eloquently put it, 'sate his own curiosity'.

"You are right about wanting to satisfy my curiosity though," the Riddler admits. "I already know a lot about you, but not everything. Oh, and I'll have a black tea thank you. Two sugars."

Eve isn't fussed about complying with his rudely stated request, for she's more focused on what he may know about her. She can obviously tell he knows her name, address and probably other crucial details on her dossier, but how is what she longs to know. "I may disclose something more, depending on whether or not you inform of how you found me and how you knew the camera belonged to me in the first place."

The Cheshire Cat grin works its way back onto his face. "Figure it out. You're a smart girl. Well, at least you give the impression of a moderately adept intellect anyway. It would be rather unfortunate for both of us if you weren't." Eve's nerves begin to slightly surface again at the surprisingly dark turn Nygma's face takes towards the end. She vaguely recalls reading about how... unpleasant he is when he believes himself to be in the presence of 'Neanderthals', 'ignoramuses' and 'cheaters'. He clearly has a superiority complex, so she therefore must keep him entertained. If he gets bored, then that is certainly bad news for her. Unfortunately for Evangeline, Batman's phone number just so happens to be back in the study, past the lounge which he is calmly occupying.

So, she sets about benevolently preparing the tea, all the while deciphering through clues to figure out how he found out it was her.

I was careful. Left nothing to track back to me – fingerprints, strands of hair, sweat, nothing. Had to be something else. She attempts to put herself in the criminal's shoes as she absentmindedly pours the scalding water into the ornate teapot. Edward Nygma. The infamous Riddler. Is notorious for his puzzle based death traps and riddles, hence his nickname 'the Prince of Puzzles'. Highly skilled with computer science. Highly skilled with forensics. Highly skilled with hacking. Highly skilled with tech – wait. Eve pauses. Technology. He constantly works with technology. He turns it all inside out, rearranging and remastering it constantly. It would be easy for him to identify computer parts and other technology from a variety of companies and brands, it is his forte. There must be a certain brand of CCTV surveillance cameras that the other criminals and the police officers of this city use that set me apart from them. Could he have possible tracked down the dealer I bought them off?

She casts him a sideways glance, having fixed up the tea tray with warm scones, a classy tea set, cream and jam for the scones, sugar and a couple tea spoons as she was deliberating her busy thoughts. The private investigator cautiously but casually ambles over and sets it down on the austere coffee table before the lounge, seating herself in the lone, softly cushioned armchair beside it. "You identified it. Tracked it back to the dealer. Wouldn't have been hard from there. All you would have to do is skim through the sales records to find who had purchased that camera recently, and most likely in a large bundle. My name and a couple of my details would've been in there as well. From there, you would've just hacked a government database to find my dossier with your very proficient hacking skills."

"Told you you'd figure it out," the Riddler manages to condescendingly compliment, frowning when he realises she left the sugar for him to put into his cup himself. I suppose I prefer doing it myself anyway, he muses. I always do it more accurately.

Eve peacefully pours her own tea, despite warily casting the fugitive several glances out of the corner of her eyes. Apprehension swells and churns in her chest and stomach like an undigested meal. Slivers of fear cling to her like a cheap perfume. The North Carolinian is beyond grateful that out of all the criminally insane individuals this city houses, she's greeted by the presence of one who is more reasonable, not as physically threatening and less mentally unstable than the others. Characters like Victor Zsasz, Killer Croc and of course, the one and only Joker would chill and horrify her to the bone. They can't be reasoned with – perhaps Croc, but highly unlikely. Eve would try of course, but how fruitful her endeavours would turn out merely depends on the mood she may catch them in.

"So, you want to know what the camera is for." It's more of a statement than a question, but to start the topic, something had to be uttered.

He nods, teaspoon twirling the tea like a dark hurricane or whirlpool. "I've only gotten so far with my findings, and even though I preferably don't like being told the answer, there are empty spaces that don't seem to fit."

"What have you found?"

There it is, Eve scrutinises, watching his face morph. That all-knowing smile. The Prince of Puzzles has adorned it for almost the entirety of his stay so far, and a simple smile – when worn long enough, how it's worn and when it is worn – tells a lot about a person. He doesn't like being upstaged. He likes being right. Proving him wrong may provoke him. She placidly blows on her tea. Comply, and he may leave me unscathed. After all, I seem to interest him. If he can't figure me out, that makes me a puzzle. He loves puzzles.

"Your file said you're a private investigator," he assuredly begins, smirking lips momentarily meeting his tea cup. "Which is obvious to see now. So, why would a private investigator take an interest in the reprehensible Two Face? There were a few theories to build on, but the prominent one was the feuding crime families. That's the largest event plaguing Gotham at the moment, an event that so happens to include Dent. Yet, it couldn't have been one of the other families, for the ones that possess any hostility and distaste towards him at the current time can't even get near his businesses. They also don't use that brand of camera. If they had hired you, they would've supplied you with their own tech, but they didn't. The GCPD however... now that showed promise."

"How so? I've been careful."

"Very much so my dear," Nygma acquiesces, nodding his head impressed. "But when word spreads of lazy, idiotic simpletons that call themselves police officers efficiently doing their job, one grows suspicious."

"Could've been Batman," Eve indicates, swiftly spreading jam and cream onto her warm scone.

"He was otherwise occupied with more pressing criminal acts when this efficiency began," Edward shoots her down, only justifying Eve's observation further about how he gets off on proving himself. "Therefore a private investigator is spying on a notorious criminal during a gang war, and at the same time, the GCPD seems to be suspiciously completing their jobs competently and have a surprisingly large amount of evidence regarding the mob, despite most of them being paid off by said crime families. By this stage the Dark Knight could be helping them, but a little birdy of mine in the precinct just so happened to spot you entering and exiting the Commissioner's office on more than one occasion, including recently. All they needed was a photo of you – which I happily provided – to confirm my theory for me. You are aiding the dear Commissioner with this case. You are the one, that was there that night."

Eve's movements still, the accusation interrupting her previously collected façade. Just like that the criminal mastermind creates a hitch within her veneer, like a ripple in disturbed water. And just like how a ripple in disturbed water grows, so does her anxiety with each bullseye Nygma nails. "How could you possibly know about that?"

If she were a lesser, snappier human being, Evangeline Winter would want to permanently remove that presumptuous grin playing at his lips right now. "Someone was there that night. Someone that leaked all the juicy details of what played out to the Bat and the GCPD. The hired muscle that were there have tightly locked lips, and the likelihood of Salvatore Maroni informing the GCPD that he shot two people in cold blood is ascertainably low. It just so happens that local surveillance caught you in the area around the time of death. Coincidence? Not likely."

By this point the tea in Nygma's mug has dwindled dangerously low, and half of his jam and cream scone is eaten, him having taken modest bites between explanations. Eve on the other hand, has long finished her pastry, as well as her second cup of tea. Yet as her tea diminished, her dread rose. The ripple has gotten larger.

She daintily sits in her cushioned armchair, spine rigid despite her trying to lean back and relax into the cushioning. One arm is draped stiffly over a worn arm rest, the other toying with her silver ring. Edward can effortlessly read her unease in her posture, in spite of her eyes – which are generally the most revealing detail of them all – remaining exactly the same. Calm. Impassive. Gentle. Kind. Now that irritated him. He's a highly wanted, flagrant, precarious criminal – many would even say unstable. Why is she being gentle and kind? Even if it is only through her eyes.

"You seem to have filled in the blanks yourself," Eve finally pipes up after a while, shattering the silence. "I'm unsure of what information you additionally require."

Edward bites his tongue, despising having to ask for an answer. "Why?"

Eve blinks. "Pardon?"

"Why!?" There's the instability. Enough to make the North Carolinian jump. "Why are you foolishly endangering your life to stop a feud that you are no part of!? What reason could you possibly possess that is motivational enough to drive you to entangle yourself with some of the most dangerous criminals this city has to offer?! Why!?" Eve stammers – yet not blubberingly – at the convicted felon who has risen to furiously tower over her, like a thundering storm cloud accompanied by the lightning of his speech.

"Because..." she's aware of how pathetic she must appear right now, but it's not as if she can help it all that much. She is relatively more collected than when she jolted before, but not as much as she wishes she could be. "People are dying. Good and bad people. Innocent and guilty people. Civilians and criminals. I couldn't care less what label society gives them, they're people. I know that the percentage of people who couldn't give a damn for the lives of others is alarmingly high in this city – you to be included in that number – but I am not one of them. I do care if people die, regardless of what heinous crimes they've committed or how selfish they may be. Whether they are criminals, the higher society, the working class or the homeless. People are people, and each life is worth something. I apologize if my answer is bland, disappointing and doesn't meet the standards you were searching for, but I'm not going to fabricate a false response for the sake of sating your curiosity."

Edward Nygma looks at her. Really looks at her. Unwittingly, he had previously made the same dismissive mistake of overlooking how much she is really worth, unable to fathom the idea of the far too accepting private investigator lasting five minutes out in the proper, harsh world of Gotham. He can see it now though, plain as day. And on top of it all, there is one misstep that the Dark Knight did take which the Riddler has been careful not to.

He hasn't underestimated her capabilities.

It's easy to perceive that a wit such as her own is dangerous in a city like this, especially from someone like her. Someone who is a nobody, a face in the crowd. Someone who is quiet, innocent, polite. The least likely person to delicately yet accurately dismantle a sturdy, versed crime syndicate. So, is she dangerous? Most certainly, Edward can tell. The Dark Knight knows that as well, but as mentioned before, he's tried to put her on the sidelines. She's found as much necessary information as she supposedly could without catching any significantly unwanted attention, so Batman is done with her. He doesn't want her jumping into the deep end before she can even fully swim.

But Edward knows she's capable of even more.

Sure, her answer was rather banal. Boring. It's not as if those same human lives she's determined to protect would ever return the favour. They wouldn't even care less. In spite of all of that, Edward could tell that she knows. She knows that the people and criminals of this city would never show her the same curtesy, but she still yearns to defend them, out of what? The kindness of her heart? He nearly scoffs at the absurdity of it. She should consider some self-preservation before participating in such deeds, the Riddler contently ponders. That is the only way to survive here. Who would ever risk their life out of something as preposterous as decency and benevolence? Edward knows the answer to his own question though. In fact, there are two answers, but the other one happens to be a cheating, imbecilic ignoramus who dresses like a flying rodent and inaccurately holds the title of 'world's greatest detective'.

Staring down his nose at the ebony haired detective curled up vulnerably in her armchair, Edward Nygma mulls over the Dark Knight detective with distaste. She could probably figure out as much as that dimwit could without that aid of high tech gadgets, laughable sidekicks and a million dollar, military style car. Speaking of which....

"How much do you know?"

Eve blinks, but not dumbly. Edward almost smiles at that. "I'm sorry... are you referring to my findings regarding the case?" It took her a few moments, but his query clicked eventually. Eve's just marginally dazed at how abrupt his topic change was. One moment, she's explaining her motives – hoping he won't murder her for a simple answer – with a thundering expression brewing on his face, and the next, he's placidly calm again, intrigued by to what extent her knowledge stretches. The silence that followed her explanation was rather long and heavy, as if gravity had immeasurably increased to weigh her down like an anvil. During that silence, she noticed the certifiably insane man at war with himself, face scrunching in loathing, tensing, softening, furrowing and so on and so forth.

Must have been deliberating the situation or something of the like, Eve unsurely concludes. As long as he doesn't decide to put a bullet through my head, he can contemplate until his heart is content. He's been somewhat docile so far however. She omits his one outburst, putting it down to a flare of irritation for being unable to solve an enigma. Eve knows how that feels.

Unfortunately, Eve doesn't know if she feels comfortable expounding the information he's currently inquiring of her. It is, to some degree, classified police information. Some of it. And she is aware of his on and off business partnership with men like Jonathan Crane, the Joker, Jervis Tetch – who was most likely left in an unsatisfactory condition after the Caped Crusader's 'interrogation' – and more pointedly, Harvey Dent. What if he is merely going to run off to Dent and sell all of this information? She can't risk that. It'd jeopardise not only her own investigation, but the joint investigation of Batman and the GCPD. Oh, and my own safety of course, Eve has to remind herself. But I've been risking that since I began this profession.

"I don't know if I'm at liberty to say," Eve warily but serenely divulges, vigilant of his unstable mood and occasionally unpredictable reactions.

Edward sighs in exasperation, as if he's remembered that he forgot to turn the stove off before leaving home. "Now now, you were being so cooperative before this. Let's try and keep that up Miss Winter, for your sake." The flippancy he pertains as he casually slips out his handgun to cock it at the private investigator catches her by surprise, but only for a second. She should've expected such a response.

Eve swallows, noticeably. Edward grins. "I still don't know if I can expound that type of information to a notoriously dangerous, ingenious criminal."

His smirk widens, brimming chillingly from ear to ear. "So loyal. So ethically driven. So pure. Society would probably be a better place with more people like you," the Riddler unabashedly confesses, gun unwavering. "Even cares for the low life thugs off the streets. The men who pilfer, plunder and purge their way through the supposed innocents of a rotten, long lost city. What about me? If given the chance, would you save me from death?"

"Of course." Eve doesn't hesitate. Not when her morals are so firmly imbedded in her being, like another heart.

His eyebrow arches. "Even if I shot and left you to bleed out right now? All alone? Even if you know that I kill the stupid cretins – the unfortunate excuses of human beings – that this city breeds?"

She nods, despite her chest constricting tighter than a python. "Death is irreversible. And it's not my place to make a judgment on who lives and dies. I'm not God. If I can save someone, I will."

The Prince of Puzzles narrows his gaze to razor sharp slits, analysing Evangeline Winter with an astute scrutiny. Kindness. How does anyone in this city still own such a thing? Edward doesn't know, but he is admittedly surprised to hear her second response, even after the blatant threat.

He sighs and lowers his gun, mildly startled that his temper hasn't flared again. It generally does when he doesn't get his way. "I don't plan on informing anyone of your findings, if that's what you're concerned about. I honestly couldn't care less if you defeated and outsmarted all the crime families in the city. It's not my problem. I'm merely interested in the extent of your gathered information."

Eve has to reel in her shock. "You wouldn't?"

He snorts, tucking the alarming firearm back under his blazer. "Of course not. Unlike you, I don't do deeds out of the profound generosity of my heart. Not to mention it would be admittedly amusing, observing the vain crime lords entangled in their own strings, brought down by a single, insignificant woman. It's hysterical."

The hesitation in still apparent, Edward can tell. Cue another sigh. "And I could just shoot you, despite it being the most dull path to take."

He says he won't tell, Eve mulls over, still angelically curled up in the armchair. And there's the whole 'shooting' me con as well. But he is a criminal, known to be affiliated with Dent. Her eyes momentarily flutter in exhaustion. What would Batman think if he knew? It would be foolish to let the Riddler know of my evidence and speculations. An abrupt light bulb lights up above her head. Wait. A criminal. He's a criminal. What did Jim tell me once? 'All criminals seem to operate on a similar mental scale in this city'. Could Mr Nygma possibly...?

"One additional condition," Eve pipes up, tone final as her index finger is held up in warning. "I want your input on it."

The more this woman talks, the more she intrigues him. Even Edward can't deny his moment of evident shock. "My input?"

"You know the criminals of this city far better than anyone in the GCPD does and ever could, even Batman himself. You've seen some of them when they're docile, angry, possibly depressed, calm, free, locked up, etcetera. None of the police force have ever sat down to have a casual drink with a rogue or a high member of a crime family before – but you probably have, even if it's only been once. You're smarter than them as well, and I don't just mean the GCPD." Stroke his ego Eve, she continues to remind herself. Stroke his ego and he'll be satisfied. He'll spill more information at a more comfortable level. "Your opinion would be greatly appreciated, and would undoubtedly advance the case further."

Eve realises she most likely needs a strong reality check – she's asking the Riddler for his input after all, and letting him in on the case – but she can't help it. Not really. When a case such as this has got it's claws so deep into her flesh, she can't back out now. As much as she despises and regrets neglecting Jim and the Dark Knight's orders, she can't stop now. She won't break the law to get what she needs, she already told the Caped Crusader that, yet obtaining a slight amount of help from a lawbreaker himself – if one could count it as help, it is just an opinion after all – now that's doable.

Edward doesn't take long to weigh the pros and cons, after swelling like an arrogant peacock at her compliments. He was planning on remarking on her findings either way. She couldn't have found that much, whence considering that the North Carolinian hasn't even resided in the city for a full six months and the GCPD is rather helpless in their information gathering and resources most of the time. That's evident enough by how they endow the safety of their city into the hands of a single barbaric and short-sighted man.

So, Edward sees no harm in entertaining her feeble condition. If worse comes to worse, he could just shoot her or leave her for the mobs to take care of her. It won't be long until they're aware of her involvement.

"Of course my dear," he suavely confirms, a hidden agenda twinkling behind his jade orbs. "I would be delighted."

Eve prudently and leisurely directs him towards her office, never entirely turning her back to the rogue. It would be foolish to do so. By the time she's unhurriedly opened the door and permitted him entrance within, Edward has to hide the jarring yet calm daze he's thrown into by the state of the room.

Photos, files, sticky notes, thread, newspaper clippings and everything in between is everywhere. The floor seems to have escaped the wrath of the organized mess, but every desk and surface has suffered no such luck. Even the walls are littered with the investigation. The pin board is past the point of full, so photos, notes and clippings are stuck to the wall all around him – hell, sticky notes attached to strings are limply dangling from the fan and ceiling. To say that Edward is mildly impressed with her dedication and bombardment of speculations would be a slight understatement.

Eve observes his blank face, devoid of any prominent emotions bar the marginally parted lips and tamed surprise hidden behind his eyes. She expected such a reaction from someone like the Commissioner, but to spot subtle hints of it from a man such as the Riddler is warming to say the least.

"I began with several different theories after watching the event transpire that night," Eve begins, striding over to the main writing desk adjacent to her computer desk and sifting through various papers. "But I tried not to jump to conclusions, or come up with too many more theories. It is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence. It biases the judgment."

"Sherlock Holmes, A Study in Scarlet," Edward rattles off the source of the quote, admiring how on top of everything so far, she may also be sophisticatedly educated in proper literature.

She nods, momentarily throwing him a smile. "Correct. At any rate, I had rather hit a wall with the evidence I had. I was only relying on what the police discovered and putting together speculations from that. I needed more though. Therefore, I frequented a cafe that belongs to Two Face in hopes of clearing my head, in a prime position as well, when it just so happens three of his men couldn't find a spare seat and sat down with me to eat."

"How are you sure they were his men?" The Riddler inquires, lightly grasping and turning over one of the sticky notes hanging from the wall.

Eve nearly scoffs at that. "Wore expensive suits, evidently work in well paying jobs. Carried themselves with the precision and posture of military men, but military men don't have a well enough salary to wear such suits and a Rolex wrist watch. Suit jackets were puffed out more than necessary too, as if they were hiding something. Most likely a gun, because it was a Two Face cafe. Supposedly work in a security firm, which is one of the oldest mob cover ups in the book. Pair it all together and they must've been his men."

"Moving forward," the private investigator continues with her explanation, neglecting the slight trailing off topic. "Whether they realized it or not, they give me some useful insight and a new way in which I could look into the case; what if Maroni didn't do it purposefully? What if he was being controlled? It was hardly anything to go on, but something just felt right about it –"

"Summarise this, please," Nygma sharply intervenes, growing tiresome of her babbling, no matter how informative it may be. "If you can't explain it simply, you don't understand it well enough."

"Haven't heard someone quote Albert Einstein in a while," Eve softly admits, a small smile working its way onto her lips in spite of the fact it's there because of an immoral, dangerous man. "Long story short; current evidence and circumstance points towards Alberto Falcone being at fault. Through the aid of Jervis Tetch, he controlled Maroni in order to ruin him and harm the other families in the process, as well as his own father."

Edward remains impassive for several long, daunting moments, which to Eve, feel like small eternities. Eventually, she doesn't know whether to balk and run at his reappearing Cheshire grin, or feel satisfied that he appears moderately pleased.

Hands in his emerald pockets, Edward Nygma sedately strolls over to where Eve is currently standing ramrod still, as if a pole is wielded to her spine. A freshly printed article of Jervis Tetch's murder of Emilia Bianchi is resting in her petite hands, eliciting an even wider smile from the certifiably insane criminal. "Well done detective."

Eve's mouth hangs ajar in perplexity. "Pardon?"

"I said well done," Edward reiterates, peering down at her contented, yet even that seems pompous. "I must say, I am surprised that you've gotten this far – both alive and with authentic information. Of course, I've known of this for quite some time now, one of the benefits of being the smartest man in Gotham, but I must say that I am impressed. A sentiment which I don't feel or admit often."

"How do you know?" The detective is tremendously stumped. How does he know? He can't have had all this information.

"Come now detective," Edward condescendingly tsks, shaking his head haughtily. "Don't look so surprised. All it took was one sitting with Tetch for me to figure it out. I just wanted to know how much you knew. You didn't disappoint me Miss Winter. But, if you have everything deciphered and sorted..." he takes one, long step towards her, nearly allowing no breathing room between them. "... why are you still clinging to this case? There's nothing more that you can do. The rest is left in the legal jurisdiction of the GCPD, and that blubbering buffoon the Bat."

Eve swallows, voice softer than a mythical siren. "Yes, Alberto is at fault. Yes, he needs to be arrested and held accountable. But..." she breathes heavily, willing herself to maintain firm eye contact. "He shouldn't be the focus right now. What he did was horrible, but it's done. He's the puppet master, but his puppet is the one doing all the first hand damage. Before we can go after him, Don Maroni has to be dealt with, or even more damage with arise because of it."

"You want to figure out Maroni's next move," Edward analyses, plucking the article from her steady hands and giving it a quick once over before carelessly tossing it aside. "But the dear Commissioner is holding you back."

"Yes." He doesn't need to know it's more accurately the Batman, Eve comments internally. If he knew I was in cahoots with the Dark Knight, he may not be so agreeable towards me.

"Well, you did ask for my input," the Prince of Puzzles reminds her cheerfully, finally backing away and casually perching himself on the creaky, wooden desk. "So I suppose you can consider me your one-time consultant."

"You actually plan on helping me?" Eve incredulously asks, taken aback. "And not... killing me?"

Edward's brows furrow as his expression moulds into offence, as if the very idea is blasphemous. "After all this time spent bonding, you don't trust me?" His hand hurtfully covers the breast pocket of his immaculate blazer. "That hurts detective. But if you require a reason as to why, it's plainly simple. I only kill the brainless, hairless apes of this city in order to purify the gene pool. Them, and petty, bothersome criminals who get in my way." He bitterly bites out the last two sentences, turning slightly more pleasant afterwards. "Which you are neither. In fact, you're the bipolar opposite of both. And now that you're thrown in the midst of this discrepancy between the crime families, this may actually prove to be interesting. Not to mention amusing. So no, I have no reason to kill you, so long as you don't give me one."

Eve brushes a stray, charcoal coloured strand of hair delicately behind her ear, regarding the Riddler with an intrigued eye. Bad as he may be, Eve has... dare she say... so far enjoyed his company. She rarely meets someone intellectually adept enough to sustain a stimulating, vastly knowledgeable conversation, not that there's anything wrong with regular conversations. It's just refreshing having an intelligent conversation every once in a while.

She won't make the mistake of dropping her guard however. That's the thing about smart men; they're often more dangerous than the physically imposing ones. Therefore friendly she may be, but she won't be trusting.

"Very well," the North Carolinian says. "What would you suggest?"

Evangeline is beginning to wonder if Mr Nygma is receiving tips from the Joker on how to grin eerily. Though, Edward's smirks are rather more smug and pompous than eerie. "Every high up criminal has certain establishments that they can and can't frequent. There is only one establishment which you can find almost any criminal having a drink at."

Already his proposition was causing her stomach to churn, as if it is trying to digest rocks. She should've seen his suggestion coming from a mile away, and no matter how treacherous it may be, Eve already knows she'll take it up. She's too far in not to.

Edward Nygma tilts his head inquisitively, eyes flickering up and down her in question. "Ever heard of the Iceberg Lounge?"

A/N: Triple whammy! What an achievement! I'll stop there for today I think, but I hope you guys enjoyed the last three chapters :) This story seems to be developing a special place in my heart...

Hope you all like this story so far, and it's got so so so so so much more in store for you. I'm looking forward to it!

Thanks for reading and that's all for now, bye! :) xxx

~ T.L