"You can't sell dreams to someone who has walked through nightmares." ~ Joker

Her palms are clammy. Throat as dry as sandpaper. Heart like a thunderstorm is brewing in her chest. Eve hopes she doesn't appear as nervous as she is, but judging by the self-satisfied and growing smirk on the convicted felon in front of her, she's not exactly doing a wonderful job at it.

Andrew Murdocca doesn't matter. Seymour Rickman doesn't matter. Salvatore Maroni doesn't matter. Alberto Falcone, Carmine Falcone, Dmitri Markovic, Colin O'Reilly, Edward Nygma, Jonathan Crane, the Dark Knight, Jim Gordon, Jervis Tetch, Sean O'Reilly, Alexandra Markovic. None of them matter in that moment. Eve hates herself for it, for being so selfish and disregarding the danger and harm that so many of those individuals pose, but she is only human.

And she is scared.

Maybe not as scared as she would be in the presence of someone like Killer Croc, but one moment she is conversing with a somewhat reasonable man, and has two others there to lessen the immense tension developing around them. Next second, they're both gone, and so is the reasonable man. The nicer half.

So Evangeline Winter sits there. Alone. With none other than Two Face. And, he has made his intentions quite clear.

Suddenly wishing she hadn't swallowed the rest of her liquor in one gulp, Eve's petite, dainty fingers absent-mindedly fiddle with her glass, but she refuses to veer her eyes from the mobster. That would represent submission, and nervous as she may be, she will not submit to a man who obtains what he desires through brutal, unrefined and coarse bullying. What she strives to achieve, is a proper, collected plan. In order for her to that, she needs to stall. "You think my eyes are pretty?"

Perhaps that wasn't the best way in which to avoid the topic, but she is working on the spot through a whole lot of anxiety and pressure. Her composure will build the more she grows used to the situation. It won't be long before she can try to gain control again.

Two Face is unimpressed. "Smart ass behaviour like that doesn't get you far in this city. You'll be dead by the end of the week if you continue."

"You're not the only one who knows friends in high places," Eve warns, voice resolute. "I may be tangling myself in matters with forces beyond my depth, but I'm not defenceless. Don't think I am."

"The fucking Bat doesn't count," Harv hisses, able-bodied fingers curling around his own empty glass in an iron grip.

The corner of Eve's lip twitches. "Who said I was talking about the Bat?"

Harv's scowl is low, rumbling at the very bottom of his throat. He leans forward menacingly, spooking Eve in the slightest when he does so. "Listen here Nancy Drew, I don't like dancing around the fucking problem like Nygma, Crane and Harvey do. If I don't get told what I want to hear straight, then I get pretty fucking pissy. And you don't want to see me angry, you won't like it."

"Listen here Bruce Banner," Eve retorts in a heartbeat, leaning forward to meet him in the middle of the table and speaking in a manner far blunter than she has in a long while. "I get that you're a big, scary mob boss with a terrifying reputation to match. I'm scared of you, I am. But my interests aren't with you. I want Maroni dealt with, as well as the man controlling him. You don't even like Maroni, and you have your own discrepancies with Mr Sionis to handle. Nonetheless, if Maroni is bothering Don O'Reilly and Don Markovic, they're going to be bothering you for help. The way I see it, by taking care of Don Maroni and his little puppeteer, I'm doing you a favour. Unless you would rather deal with Markovic, O'Reilly, Maroni, Falcone and Sionis. Your choice, of course." By the end of it, the private detective has once again reclined into her seat, liberating the tension in her shoulders and wearing a kind, angelic smile upon her face.

Harv's jaw clenches in a murderous vice grip, and only increases tenfold when he hears Harvey's full blow laughter within their head. What were the words you so eloquently used on me beforehand? He mocks, feigning realisation after a couple seconds. Ah, that's right. 'She just fucking owned you'.

Shut. Up.

You can't deny her point, Harvey attempts to console, snickers dying down. We wouldn't even need to get our hands dirty. She's offering to do the job for us, without even getting paid.

Whoever hired her is paying her, Harv rebukes, the steam rising off his angered face only lessening marginally. But...despite the fact I hate to fucking agree with you... it would be useful to not have to deal with everything...

I'm sorry, what was that? Was that a confession?

I have a strong need to shoot us in the face right now.

The feeling is mutual.

"Okay, you cheeky wench," Harv grinds out, copying her movements but not loosening the tension within him like she did. "I'm going to give you three fucking days to deal with this. I won't pester you, I won't spy on you and I won't take you out the back and put a bullet between your pretty fucking eyes. Three days. If Maroni and whoever the hell is pulling on his strings isn't dealt with..." He rises agonisingly slowly from the booth, looming over her like a reaper on Judgement Day. "... then I'll be personally dealing with you."

The North Carolinian swallows, hard. Not one to back down from a challenge – especially one that may actually result in her walking away from this alive – she rises to the bait, standing and confidently outstretching her hand between them. "That sounds more than fair."

Harv's eyes flicker sceptically between her own and the offered hand, until finally, he envelops her delicate palm in an overbearing, controlling grip to shake. Tugging her forward roughly, she gasps at how suddenly the proximity between them decreases, his breath as hot as the depths of hell fanning against her face. His scarring is immeasurably more detailed now as well, but it's his eyes that chill her to the bone.

He immediately notices her discomfort, a depraved, throaty chuckle dancing over her face. "What's the matter dollface? Scared of the scars?"

"I couldn't care less about the scars," she admits so softly he nearly didn't hear her. "If I'm scared of you, it's because you can kill me at any given moment. You're a powerful man, and half of the people in this place wouldn't bat an eye if you did kill me. Just because you wear your scars on the outside, doesn't mean the rest of us are going to be scared of them."

He distrustfully eyes her, looking for any signs of a lie yet finding none. "You may have a bigger stomach than I thought Winter. Don't disappoint me."

She bestows him with one of her bright, beaming smiles. "Wouldn't dream of it."

***

For the past day and a half, all Evangeline Winter has done is plan.

Usually, she isn't one to execute and go into the field in a case of action. She's the mind behind an operation, allowing Jim to deal with the legwork due to legal jurisdictions and things of the like. Even before she came to Gotham, she allowed the sheriff or another officer in the area she would be staying in to handle the arrests and the reading of the rights. On an occasion out of her control, she would even fall back on her brother, but that was an absolute last resort.

That reminds me, the North Carolinian reminisces, lips slimming into a line thinner than a strand of hair. Nate is supposed to be here any day now.

Eve has nothing against her elder brother. She loves him, just as any loyal sibling should. Just because she doesn't approve of his choice in profession, doesn't mean she's going to kick him to the curb like their parents did.

Her only concern is where he may fit into all of this once he arrives. He won't patiently sit on the sidelines and restrain himself from interfering; he's too stubborn for that. Too much pride. The fact that Eve –his little sister – is stuck in an affair that concerns organised crime syndicates, notoriously treacherous super criminals and an infamous, unbeatable vigilante is enough to warrant an intervention from any older brother. Yet she is nonetheless certain that Nathaniel Winter would only complicate matters further, and utilise more... illegal measures than the private investigator feels comfortable with.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

She glances up from the plans and indiscernible notes scrawled on scrap pieces of paper leisurely, only having woken up half an hour prior. The caramel coloured tea breathes out palpable streams of steam, manicured nails dreamily circling the rim of the hot mug. That better be who I think it is.

Abandoning her tea and plans to the kitchen island counter, Eve snuggly wraps her robes further around her, encompassing herself in white silk as her feet pitter and patter against the timber flooring not consumed by her fluffy rug. Fingers curls around the cool knob, pulling the door open to reveal the exact person whom she was hoping for.

Rebecca Daniels huffs a stray strand of her golden hair that is haphazardly obscuring her vision, travel bags packed to the rims in each hand and thick rimmed glasses sitting atop the bridge of her nose. "You did not tell me this city was so fucking cold."

Eve chuckles amiably, opening her door further and relieving Bec of a couple of her bags. "It gets pretty cold in Greenville; I didn't think you would need a heads up. It is winter after all."

"Yeah, well, Gotham was supposed to be better. Don't know why I expected more from this shit-hole of a city," the psychiatrist grumbles, trudging in with her copious layers of warm clothing.

Chuckling further, Eve shuts and locks the door the moment her friend has ventured inside, resting the bags on the made sofa-bed and beaming brightly at her clearly disgruntled high school companion. "I know you don't like travelling Bec, so thanks for coming."

"Don't worry about it Angie, you know I wouldn't actually leave you to the wolves if it came down to it. No way was I going to let you have all the fun anyway, especially after you told me that asshat Two Face threatened you the other night. And do not even get me started on that Puzzle man guy and the walking hay bale—"

"You surely don't mean the Riddler and Scarecrow," the detective giggles, lazily returning to her tea and brewing Bec her much needed cup of coffee.

Bec snorts, shedding her thousand and one layers of clothing until she's in her tank top and jeans, clumsily collapsing onto the sofa bed back first. "I lose track of all the tacky titles they give themselves. I even heard there was this nitwit that called himself 'Condiment man' or something."

"Gotham is a colourful city, never say I said otherwise," Eve mumbles sweetly, having grown somewhat fond of the criminal cesspool in her short time there. There has never been a single dull moment in her duration here, and each case she has actively engaged in has been as audacious and adrenalizing as the last. Even though this Maroni fiasco has been her first case involving highly dangerous, renowned criminals, the petty affairs and robberies she has delved into have still been thrilling nonetheless.

Evangeline Winter, is growing to love this city.

Her friend sniffs, slumping and rolling around in the sheets until she eventually discovers her ideal spot. "Mm, I do have to admit, besides the city being a dump in some places, and the ridiculous, cheesy, wack-job criminals that run the town, there kinda is an alluring quality about it all. Exciting, is probably the best word I can find for it."

Eve's smile broadens, threatening to take over her face. "Adventurous, thrilling, energising, wonderful, dangerous—"

"Didn't ask for a damn thesaurus," Bec sarcastically mutters, yet grins at her friend's enthusiasm. "You've fallen in love with this place. I can tell. Guess that means you're never coming back to Greenville, yeah?"

"Maybe to visit the family. But, my dear little Australian, I think I have found the city I will finally settle in," the private investigator firmly announces, observing the espresso machine doing it's magic.

An unladylike snort can be heard from the couch. "Not Australian. Not officially."

"You frequent the country on numerous occasions, was born there before you vacated to Greenville less than a year later, and you somehow manage to maintain that charming Australian slang and undeniable accent whenever you talk. Especially when you're temperamental. You're more of an Aussie at heart than an American."

Tongue in cheek, Rebecca's tanned, bare shoulders shrug in admission. "Yeah, guess so. You can't say much though, you hardly even sound Southern anymore—"

Knock knock knock.

Both women fall deadly silent, a pregnant pause stifling all the air in the room until it's nearly unbreathable. The fond friends exchange a wary glance, Eve's rosy lips pursing in a mystifying mix of apprehension and resignation. With the unfavourable sort of luck that has bestowed itself upon the detective at late, it wouldn't be too far off to assume that the Penguin or Catwoman is currently at her door. Not a member of the Bat family, for they seem to possess this self-fabricated notion that doors are unessential and breaking and entering is apparently not a convictable crime, but perhaps another super criminal to add to Eve's flourishing list of rogues to send Christmas cards to.

Bec slowly sits up, acting like if she did so too quickly, she would provoke the door and induce a violent reaction out of it. "You're not expecting anyone... right?"

"Two Face said he would allow me three days with no forthcoming interruptions," Eve answers lowly, tiptoeing over and hesitating before the imposing door. What if Jim had found out of her deal? There were a few officers at the Lounge that night, yet none of them appeared conscious enough to coherently hear or recognise the detective in the first place.

Who else could it be –?

She paused. Again. The realisation of who it most likely is flushes over her like a broken dam of realisation, and almost exasperatedly, she unlocks and yanks the door open to find who she had speculated. "Edward. You seem to possess this unhealthy fascination of my involvement in this case."

The emerald clad criminal assuredly invades Evangeline's personal space and invites himself in, removing his immaculate bowler hat and expertly tossing it onto the coat rack. "A little birdy told me of the deal you struck with Harv. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to spy upon what you have devised to meet this accord's standar—who are you?" The abrupt recognition of Rebecca Daniels' additional presence in the room has the Riddler stopping for thought, and even more so when he notes the made sofa bed and travel bags sticking out like a sore thumb.

Rebecca narrows her gaze into razor sharp slits, sizing up the criminal standing not three meters from her before returning her attention to her friend. "Is this one of the wack jobs from Arkham you've befriended?"

"I am not a 'wack job' you simple-minded ignoramus," Nygma bristles, his overwhelming pride taking great offence to the insult. "You should learn to appreciate the presence of a far more intellectual superior—"

"I'm guessing that you're the Riddle guy, just by going off on that flashy purple question mark you got there on your back," Rebecca intervenes blandly, unmoved by the fact she is facing down one of Gotham City's most deadly villains.

If human beings could breathe fire like a dragon, Eve is almost certain her high school confidant would be crispier than a slice of bacon on a barbeque, just by the heated expression casting over Edward's features. "The Riddler. I. Am. The Riddler. I am only capable of explaining such a fact to dim witted cretin like you, so I unfortunately can't comprehend it for your dense mind. That is all up to you. "

"Mr High and fucking Mighty thinks I'm stupid Angie," Bec bites out, rising up to the occasion and meeting the criminal at eye level, despite her previous words being directed at Eve. "I bet I could answer any one of your fucking riddles."

"Such crude language only exhibits that your vocabulary is limited to profanities and obscene expressions. But, I suppose I should entertain such trifle challenges, as fruitless and humorous it shall be to me." The Prince of Puzzles puffs his chest like a proud peacock, a cocky grin to match as he announces "Riddle me this! My first is often at the front door, my second is found in the cereal family. My third is what most people want; my whole is one of the united states. What am I –?"

"Matrimony."

Edward blinks, mouth parting enough to allow a fly entry.

Rebecca smirks, crossing her arms defiantly and explaining "Break matrimony into three parts. Mat, something that can greet you at the front door; ri, sounds like rye, which is found in the cereal family; and mony, which, when saying the full word, sounds like 'money', something that everyone desires. Put it all together, and you have matrimony; a united state between two people."

The Riddler's teeth grit together so hard Eve is sure they're going to crack. "Beginner's luck. Thirty white horses stand on a red hill, first they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still. What am–"

"I've seen the Hobbit. Teeth. Next."

"Without fingers, I point. Without arms, I strike. Without feet, I run. Wha—"

"A clock. Next."

"I have memories, but none of my own, whatever's on my inside is what is shown. If I'm ever different it's because you changed me, I feel like a decoration, here for you to arrange me—"

"Heard it before. Picture frame. Next."

"You're cheating! Just because you're a woman, and you're wearing glasses, don't assume I won't hit you for your cheating. I know a cheater when I see one and you are undoubtedly—"

"That's enough! Please! The both of you!" Eve desperately comes between the two, resting a soft hand on Edward's chest and Bec's shoulder, eyes pleading for the both of them like a kicked puppy. "Bec, stop provoking him. And Edward? Please don't throw her into a death trap or shoot her. I need her. She's my best friend, and she's helping me on this case. I know you want to see how I am progressing, so please, have some patience and I'll show you what I have formulated." Stroke the ego Eve, stroke the ego. "A man as intelligent as you may not need others to aid him in plans, but I'm not accustomed to such things. I usually just solve the case and let the officers take care of the legalities. So please, no more fighting."

She can feel the heat of the anger rolling off Bec from her feeding the certifiably insane man's ego, but the psychiatrist keeps her mouth shut. Rebecca can identify a superiority complex and narcissistic personality disorder when she sees one, so she remains fumingly silent, only for the sake of her companion.

For a moment, Eve almost thinks that Edward Nygma is going to murder the both of them, but uncharacteristically, he restrains his unstable temper and uneasily takes one, long step back. "Her involvement better prove to be rather significant."

"More significant than you think," the ebony haired woman assures, diverting her focus back on Bec and inquiring "Did you manage to make the call?"

Still glaring daggers at the emerald fugitive, Rebecca Daniels finally tears her cutting stare away from Nygma and softens it for her friend. "It is on a really short notice, but given the approximate time you have, I got my brother to take care of the legalities of it all. Nothing about this plan will be illegal."

"And he'll be here tomorrow?"

"Tonight," Bec corrects, unfolding her arms soothingly and losing the tension in her muscles. "He's impressed by what you've organised, and also managed to scrounge some last minute evidence that may help with some of the people you plan to put away."

"Care to share with the rest of the class, little angel?" Edward cuts in, moving closer to the two women again in order to grasp their attention.

Eve faces him, unaware of whether he'll approve of the plan or not. Not that it would change what she's going to do. If executed correctly, this may be the largest crime scandal the city has seen since the arrival of the Batman. "My friend here, the one you have seemed to have got off on the wrong foot with, is Rebecca Daniels. She has an elder brother quite high up in the FBI, who managed to obtain government permission to go forward with the plans I have to take down the Maroni crime family."

"Your plan is to take down the entire family?" Edward scoffs, viewing the proposition as preposterous. "Impossible. To take down a crime family in this city is unimaginable, let alone the second most influential mafia family. Any attempts to do so would be futile and result in your imminent demise. I thought you to be smarter than that."

"You stick your nose up and shout 'impossible' now, but you have yet to see what I have organised," the private detective challenges, a confident glow illuminating her face like warm candles in a dark abyss. "By the end of this, Salvatore Maroni will be spending the rest of his life in a prison cell far, far away from Gotham city."

A/N: So, I'm in the middle of a double mid-course examination week, and should be studying for my information, processes and technology exam I have tomorrow which I have hardly studied for at all.... but procrastination has gotten the best of me and I decided to update this instead :P

Next chapter is the first BIG chapter of the book, and by BIG I mean it like a milestone/movement. Eve proves her mettle and that you can be the most polite and kindest person ever but still be a boss ass bitch with poise.

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

~T.L