"Sometimes it's the people no one imagines anything of, who do the things that no one can imagine." – Alan Turing

Evangeline Winter, in the eyes of Jim Gordon, falls just short of being a guardian angel. The only attributes she is seems to be lacking are the feathered wings, glowing halo and celestial abilities.

It's impossible. Her vision, her plan. No one in this history of Gotham City has ever completed such a feat, not even the Bat. Yet, whether he deems it surmountable or not, and whether he approves of it or not – which he does, but that is beside the point at the current time – it has already begun. Her movement, this... revolution of hers where a single civilian such as herself has been able to rise and organise such an endeavour, will throw Gotham into an awestruck turmoil, rupturing the criminal order strategically systematized by the biggest criminals of the city. It's not purely limited to the criminal underworld however; every class from the high society to the street rats will feel the tremors of her waking earthquake.

The Dark Knight was right. She's not special, but she's dangerous.

A weary hand sneaks under the Commissioner's glasses to rub at his haggard, tired eyes, his spine slouching into his worn office chair like he's trying to sink into it. "You know this is suicide, right?"

Eve's face is brimming with a beaming smile, Jim's lack of faith failing to dampen her spirits. "You trusted me with this case Jim. I know you asked for me not to act on it, but you and I are both aware of how many officers in your precinct are bought out by the crime families and the Riddler. It's about time we brought in the cavalry."

The wise, ageing eyes of Jim Gordon pay the blonde woman and FBI agent on either side of the private investigator a fleeting recognition. Usually, the FBI tends to make it their goal to be as detached from Gotham City as humanely possible. How Eve managed to be granted legal jurisdiction for her scheme and acquire such a formidable force of government confederates – not to mention the SWAT squad – is beyond the imagination of the experienced Commissioner, but with such an influence in the legal system firmly tucked under her belt, she's now capable of ordering around the whole precinct – him included – for the entirety of today. The 22nd day since the shooting. Monday, the 1st day of February, twenty sixteen.

He sighs exhaustedly, sounding a thousand times older than what he actually is. Finding the hazel gaze of the North Carolinian, Gordon comments with a tongue of dry humour "If by some miracle's work you manage to pull this off, I'll be the first to buy you a drink when it's over."

"Better get some cash out of the ATM then," Eve playfully warns, swiftly retrieving her white, mid-thigh length coat from where is rested upon the rack. "Because we head out in thirty."

***

She knew, even with the aid of Brandon Daniels' entourage of agents, that this was going to be no small feat.

With the front door swiftly swinging shut behind her, the private investigator carelessly tosses her coat over the disturbed sofa bed, knowing she'll need it later. Her long legs eat up the timber floorboards as she makes her way into the office, throwing the door open and striding over to Bec who is sat before the set up.

Her friend throws Eve a speculative look over her shoulder, perfectly shaped eyebrow arching. "Where did you run off to?"

"Had to take care of something first. It'll come in handy later," the raven haired woman dismisses, eyeing the screens of each computer intensely.

She stands rigidly stands before her line up of monitors within the security of her office, each screen displaying a different location from the perspective of a GoPro steadfastly attached to the police officer, SWAT member or FBI agent's headgear. Not many officers were let in on the plan, but from the select few that were, they took their orders without so much as a groan of complaint, in spite of many scoffing snidely at the futility of it.

Each monitor has a microphone and speaker pragmatically placed in front it, enabling the North Carolinian the chance to offer advice and commands to each squad's location. The only other life forms in the room with her are Rebecca and Edward – despite Eve pleading for the rogue to leave, should an officer walk in at any time and discover him so placidly observing like the entire operation is his favourite reality show. Yet he remains, infuriatingly adamant on witnessing this mad stratagem either fail or succeed.

The overall scheme is divided into four main components, focusing on the four primary factors that contribute to a crime family's invulnerability; wealth, connections and numbers, businesses and the Don. These four elements are what make a crime family untouchable, like the four legs of a table. Take away one leg, and it is unstable. Take away two legs, and it is on an angle. Take away three legs, it has almost completely collapsed. Take away four legs, and the table is no more.

She checks the time; 11:59am. With Edward beside her merely spectating – not having commented upon her late arrival – and Bec seated in front of her, fingers hovering forebodingly over the centre keyboard, Eve greedily inhales one long breath of air, the remnants of her nerves fleeing with the exhale that follows. It's not easy commandeering an operation as treacherous and unstable as this; if any of the people out there now were to be shot down, it would weigh on her conscience for the rest of her life. Each life lost would be an anvil, making the guilt heavier and heavier until it dragged her into the depths of depression, where there would be no return.

People are already dying, she internally bestows herself with a pep talk, sending her nerves retreating into the corners of her conscious. Don't do this for Two Face. Don't do this for Edward. Don't do this for Jim. Don't do this for the Dark Knight. Don't even do it for yourself. Do it for them, the people of this city who have endured every clown attack, fear onslaught, crocodile rampage, death puzzle, bloody shooting, plant invasion, robbery, rape, murder, blackmail and oppression from the most heinous criminals of this city. Show them that an average civilian does not need to sit back and let these convicted men and women subjugate them like there's nothing they can do about it. This city is still capable of being saved; all they need is a glimmer, a spark of hope. Faith. I can give them that faith.

Her fingers curl around the walkie talkie, drawing it up to her rosy lips. The time now reads 12:00pm exactly, so with an iron will and steeled wits, she presses down on the button and politely commands "You are all a go. I repeat, initiate operation Fallen."

It's as if the world has been taken out of stasis. All at once, each monitor exhibits the modest sized squads breaking into action, and at the precise same time, Rebecca Daniels' fingers dance dangerously over the keyboard, playing her part in this.

Stage One: Wealth. Hack into all of Salvatore Maroni's bank accounts, and raid all of his hidden stashes.

Bec is a significant part of the first stage, the first leg. With hastily gathered documentation from legal liaisons and sources from Agent Brandon Daniels' and Eve's behalf, were the two able to cement firm evidence that a near seventy percent of Don Maroni's funds is 'dirty money', obtained by unlawful and immoral means. Testimonies, statements, photos, confessions, documents and everything in between was quickly gathered to back this. And as for the rest of his money? Felony tax evasion. He failed to report any income on his tax forms, despite everyone in Gotham being quite aware of several of his upstanding businesses. The fine for this, of course, exceeds the remaining thirty percent of his funds that he legally obtained.

Because of all of that, and the fact that Rebecca Daniels has on an occasion lent her computational skills to the FBI as well as have a sibling high up in their ranks, was she granted permission to legally hack into and shut down his bank accounts, transferring the funds over to the FBI. Yet, as Eve and Bec discussed, it wouldn't harm the FBI if a few hundred thousand occasionally went astray into charity accounts and businesses that Maroni has harmed in the past.

Eve observes as the psychiatrist expertly hacks into the allocated bank accounts – off-shore and otherwise. She can nearly sense the jaw drop from the Riddler from his surprise at how efficient and speedy Bec is, and if Eve was a more teasing human being, she would've goaded him for it.

The few places that physically hold Sal's money don't take too long to raid; a few agents and SWAT crew members are wounded in the exchange however. No casualties thus so far, but the private investigator attempts to refrain from jinxing it.

"Cash in Warehouse 27A on the Northern docks is secured."

"Cash in the Crowned Jewel Casino is secured."

"Cash in the Diamondback Nightclub is secured."

Others call in with similar announcements, the operation so far seemingly going off without a hitch.

"Funds are transferring now Angie," Bec informs, proudly cracking her knuckles as she slumps back into the soft, leather chair, allowing the money to transfer at its own pace. "Some of it may have wandered into orphanages, breast cancer foundations and charities of the like. But otherwise, it's headed straight for the government. Like they don't have enough money..."

"What about the Wayne Foundation and Wayne Enterprises?" Eve urgently prompts, a warped sense of seriousness so intricately lay upon her features that it urges perplexed looks from the other two members of the room.

Bec falters because of it. "I have... but I don't understand why –"

"Wayne possesses enough wealth to outrank any mob member in this metropolitan. Why concern yourself with donating money to him?" Eve doesn't fail to overlook the evident distaste within his tone when speaking of the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist Bruce Wayne. The people of this city are quite divided over the Wayne boy; they either adore him or despise him. Eve has her own... reasons as to why she is focused on him. None as menial as other women would usually presume though.

"Just setting up a potential player on the board for later," she yet again softly dismisses, pertaining this mysterious, ominous air about her. She has for the past three days. "I do nothing without reason, so do not think I am without it."

"All cash locations are secure. Is stage two a go?"

Eve diverts her attentions back onto the task at hand at the crackling voice from the walkie talkie, confirming "Yes. Engage when you are prepared."

Stage Two: Connections and Numbers. Arrest all lawyers, judges, politicians, journalists, police officers, weapons dealers, guilty family members and members of the public that are bought off by the Maroni mob, and would be able to pull strings for their release. All hired muscle for the organised crime family is also to go.

Practically, this stage is the most strenuous. Most politicians and members of the public generally go without a physical altercation, only a petulant, testy uproar. Evangeline's primary concern is the criminal element of Don Maroni's army. Whether she likes it or not, there will be casualties in this stage. The hired muscle and workers won't go down without a fight.

They couldn't just arrest any of them without good reason of course, so Eve had to collect all of the files Gordon bestowed upon her that contained contacts and workers of Sal Maroni. Upon doing so, she handed them over to the FBI to refine and gather the remaining dossiers and evidence on the rest of Maroni's connections, which, undoubtedly, resulted in hours upon hours of research and calling in favours. Eve must send that division a fruit basket or something of the like when this has all blown over, for they definitely deserve to be commended on how quickly and efficiently they collected all the evidence.

Eve can do nothing but sadly watch the monitors as squad upon squad enters a location to arrest a Maroni tie. A wealthy aristocrat is nearly frothing at the mouth in anger, demanding to see her lawyer. A GCPD officer is pleading his comrades to believe he has no involvement with Salvatore Maroni, only to be wistfully shunned by the others. A common gang of thugs is taking up arms, unleashing a torrent of lead rain from their guns as the FBI, SWAT and few members of the GCPD does the same. Similar scenarios play out on the rest of the monitors, and with each body that drops from an altercation, does Eve flinch and grit her teeth firmer than a vice.

These are all people. People with families or friends. Knowing some of these thugs do what they do to draw in the money so they can put a meal on the table for their daughter, or pay for their partner's hospital funds only brews a growing guilt inside the detective. Sure, they could've gone through less illegal means to obtain their income, but some of the stories behind the faces that fall or are arrested make Eve feel like a –

"You're not a monster."

Eve blinks away the heat and water glazing over her eyes, sparing the green clad rogue a questioning glance.

He huffs, appearing irritated yet it's not wholehearted. "You're painfully transparent when you're thinking my dear. It makes reading your thoughts easier than a children's book. These are immoral, depraved men and women; scum from the obtuse, degenerate element of this city. Deem me hypocritical if you must, but these people do not deserve such sickening sympathy. They chose their path, and they shall live their consequences. Most of them. At least, this way, they are receiving their justice by the law's means, not by an imbecilic, meat-heated, flying rodent that relies upon his fancy toys, suit and military car. You are a private detective; he is a vigilante. What you do is more politically correct than him."

"I do not wish to whine and think of what could have been for these people if I didn't interfere," Eve corrects, refusing to tear her focus from the men and women falling and being arrested. They deserved to be recognised in the very least. "But that does not mean I do not regret what will befall their families and some of them in turn. Justice is what we get when the decision is in our favour. That is what justice is to everyone in this city. Of course, Batman generally seems to exempt that. Not all the time, but most of it."

"Don't give him any credit. He does not deserve such a thing," the Riddler snaps, momentarily startling the North Carolinian. "He's a charlatan; a barbaric thug. Whereas people like me are called to higher things – not that there are many others like me, you being a possible exception. Surely you have noticed it by now detective; this city is filled to the rims with thick-headed brutes who control the streets and the primitives within them through violence and intimidation. These crimes families are no exception, nor the delinquents who operate in them. Why, the way I see it, you are doing this city a favour. You're improving Gotham's intellectual and moral standing, and in a manner that is far more refined than the so called Dark Knight's. So, yet again, I repeat my sentiment that they do not deserve such regret or sympathy, therefore do not grant them it."

Another Maroni thug is shot down at point blank range in a cafe, spurring another flinch from Eve. "Perhaps they don't, but that's who I am Edward. You may deem my sentiment and compassion as unnecessary or something that may be twisted to exploit me, but it is a part of me. It's a part of how I get things done. Without it, I wouldn't be me."

"Mm, and you showed so much promise," the Prince of Puzzles wistfully sighs, thick rimmed glasses requiring a marginal adjustment from where they sit atop the slightly crooked bridge of his nose, such crookedness an evident result from several broken noses over the years between himself and the Dark Knight Detective. "Ah well, there may still be hope for you yet. People do change after all."

"People only dramatically change once in their lifetime," Eve echoes a previous exchange between her and the Batman, brushing a soft, obsidian strand of her hair behind her petite ear. "Who's to say I haven't already?"

Edward arches an inquisitive eyebrow. "Care to elabor—"

"Stage Two complete. All targets either subdued and arrested or deceased."

Evangeline elects to neglect the Prince of Puzzles for the time being, bringing the walkie talkie up and inquiring in a barely suppressed, despondent choke "And the casualties?"

"Less than sixty on both sides, with forty two injured."

"Thank you," she utters so sulking and silent that the SWAT man on the other side nearly misses it. "Stage Three squads may commence the next stage."

Stage Three: Businesses. Shut down every safe house, bar, business front, restaurant, dock, casino, warehouse, cafe and business under the possessorship and management of Salvatore Maroni.

In the long run, this stage is the most trying and arduous. Many a Gothamite – criminal or not – frequent a Maroni business, whether it is a lively, vivid casino or a sophisticated, aristocratic restaurant. Numerous civilians will petition for some of the business to reopen again, so seeking suitable new managers and owners of these businesses after the current employment is dealt with will be imperative.

This particular stage involved the most paperwork. In order for the Magistrate's Court to release a Closure Order on a single business, there must be hard evidence on the specific grounds you are requesting that business to close for. For Eve, she aimed to close the business on the grounds that the person who owns the establishment has engaged, or is likely to engage in disorderly offensive or criminal behaviour on the premises. Key words being on the premises.

Once again, the amount of statements, photographical and film evidence from her security cameras that had to be gathered was nearly insurmountable. As you can imagine, the poor detective hasn't slept a wink since her encounter with Two Face.

Civilians and criminals alike are bustling out of each establishment, the employees with enough dirt on them being arrested on sight. Some employees are, of course, oblivious to the illegal wrong-doings that go on in the establishment. Maroni isn't the most trusting of mob Dons. Not that any mob Don is exceptionally trusting, let alone a mob Don in Gotham City.

The safe houses, docks and warehouses take the most time to clear out, for they are the most criminally infested. Yet again do bullets fly, making their mark on both sides. Fortunately for everyone involved, are there not casualties this time. Only wounded.

Within the half hour are all the buildings cleared out and closed, Edward offering the pair of women in the room the occasional snide or condescending remark regarding Maroni, the businesses or even Rebecca when she comments on his egotism. When Eve radios in to ask if stage four is ready to commence, she receives a response that hardly catches her off guard.

"We were lined up outside Detective Winter, but Salvatore Maroni made a run for it before we could be given the order to engage. He only left behind a note, presumably for you."

"What does it say?" Patience is carefully woven into her tone, a surprising act from a woman who hasn't slept soundly since the night in Crime Alley due to a man whom just slipped from her grasp.

"It says 'I know a thing or two about respect, so how about you give me the courtesy of seeing the one who has slew me so. I await your arrival.' Any idea what that exactly insinuates ma'am?"

"I know exactly what that means sir," Eve contently smiles, a smile a bit too expectant for Edward or Rebecca's liking. The private investigator carelessly tosses the walkie talkie aside, abandoning the other two in her office so quickly they almost miss her when they blink.

Both adamantly follow her into the living room conjoined with the kitchen, Rebecca exasperatedly inquiring "Where the hell do you think you're going? And don't you dare fucking say it's to actually meet this dick-prick."

"For lack of better, more sophisticated and less vulgar language, I regretfully must agree with your primitive companion. He'll undoubtedly have reinforcements, and has obviously set a trap. You'll be a sitting duck," Edward perplexedly points out, not possessing the faintest idea why she would rashly risk her life so. "And don't expect my help on this matter my dear. I'm no knight in shining armour or dark cape. You're alone."

"Like hell she is," Rebecca agitatedly scowls at the Riddler, turning a pinch softer when her attention is devoted to her best friend. "You can't go in alone."

"You know me Bec," Eve absentmindedly assures as he throws on her iconic white coat, approaching the door and momentarily pausing halfway through it to cast the psychiatrist a brief glance. "I never dive head on into a situation without at least five plans up my sleeve. I left an address in the top drawer of my office bench on the right hand side; send the authorities to it in exactly half an hour. I have everything under control."

And with that last thought, does Evangeline Winter flock to where Salvatore Maroni is awaiting her. The place where it all began.

Park Row, aka, Crime Alley.

***

NOW – JANUARY 31st, 2016 – PARK ROW, GOTHAM CITY

It's a bit cliché, in Eve's opinion, but Gotham criminals seem to flock to some clichés like moths to the tantalizing flame. But she finds herself there, nonetheless, for that seems to be what Maroni wants.

To end it where it began.

Despite not having spied on the event with her own eyes – only listening in – the moment Eve turned the corner that night, could she see where everyone had been. Where they stood, where they walked, where they breathed, where they talked. Foot imprints on the dusty floor, blotches of blood that decorated the alley like a grotesque Jackson Pollock painting, the still alive yet dying butts of cigars and cigarettes littering the concrete. All of it formed a scene, a scene she had heard, but hadn't seen until she turned that corner.

She does the same now, hoping that her intuition of where Maroni wanted to meet is correct. There isn't really anywhere else significant that both of them had been, or somewhere Eve would be acutely aware of. Luckily, her leap of faith bestows her with the gift of accuracy, for the moment she does take her turn, is she met with a stunningly well-dressed man, with hair and eyes as dark as his suit.

Eve knows that mafia like to keep up appearances, and that's essential they do so. This especially applies to the Dons of each family, but seeing how clean-cut and precise Salvatore Maroni is dressed still impresses Eve. What impresses her even more so is how composed and professional he is, as if she just hadn't completely dissembled his entire business and life's work.

He seems surprised to see her, scrutinisingly taking up her appearance like warlord surveying to see if his enemy is worthy of his presence. The look almost reminds her of Edward's constant intense examining. Do the criminals of this city not spare the time of day for someone if they don't appear worthy enough? Whatever happened to wit? Actions? Resolve? Surely appearance alone can't be anything to off on. Sure, she knows she's hypocritical thinking such a thing, for all she really does if go off on appearances herself, but she can read a person's life story from their appearance. Most people in this city – she presumes, anyway – merely look at someone and judge if they are worthy from the brand of their clothes and state of their physical appearance.

Salvatore Maroni seems to be no exemption to that.

"You are the one that that has taken everything from me?" The Mob Boss almost sounds incredulous when he addresses her; sceptical that she is capable of something so grand and presumably impossible to pull off. "You are the one that was here that night?"

Eve modestly smiles, yet with a certain amount of control. "I am. I was. And I am sorry it had to come down to this, for I know that you aren't the one at fault. Not truly. Alberto Falcone is to blame, but Don Markovic and Don O'Reilly weren't going to stop until you were dealt with. Trust me when I say this though, Alberto will be brought to justice just the same. You're not alone in this persecution.''

"I am not being controlled, let alone by some measly, snivelling boy of Carmine Falcone's," Maroni sniffs, the Italian accent magnificently rolling off his tongue. "I've merely grown tired of no action. My old man sat and took what the other families dealt him, and all I could do was sit by and let it happen. He was weak, and an arrogant, old fool."

"That's why you killed him," Eve somehow manages to innocently accuse, taking two meaningful steps forward. Still no security guards in sight, causing Eve to ponder if his pride lead him to do this alone, or if his security guards bolted after all that has happened. Maybe both. "Kill him, and you could rebuild the Maroni family in all of its glory. Contrary to killing him all by yourself, I must disagree with you on you doing this by yourself. You may be ambitious and tenacious, Mr Maroni, but even you know, deep down, that this mob war is a waste of time and resources. It's does nothing but spill blood. You know it could have been avoided, and you would have avoided it. But there was a part of you, a part of you that pushed, and pushed and pushed you to kill them." Each step Eve takes as she talks is always with purpose, always with meaning. It is a bit off-putting, how a seemingly normal, everyday woman could stalk towards such a dangerous and well known crime boss of Gotham City as if she is the lioness stalking her prey. Like a hound circling a fox.

Salvatore Maroni falters, not because of her eerie approach, but because of how her words seem dangerously familiar to him. "I... I did kill them on my own accord. You should learn to respect and not question such an influential criminal in this city of all cities –"

"You were influential, Mr Maroni. But I took that all away from you. Took away your life, like you took away theirs," the private investigator sadly points out, halting a couple meters away from him with a softly worn face of sympathy. "And I am sorry I did so. They're empty words to you, I know, but you must understand I couldn't let this go on in good conscious. Innocents were dying."

"Since when did anyone care about the innocents of this city!?" His outburst is sudden, unexpected. Like an abrupt punch to the gut. "Innocents and people die each day. That's what people DO! But you..." Within moments, his gun and slipped free of its holster underneath his blazer, cocked steadily at the North Carolinian's head. "You think that you can just come from whatever Southern country you're from and shake up the natural order in this city? You disrespect every mob boss and criminal who has worked hard and earned what they have. Rome wasn't built in a day. People like me spent their lives upholding, building and improving their empires, and you waltz on in like you own the joint and take mine down in a day!" He stalks towards her, the cold, unforgiving barrel of the gun now directly against the private investigator's forehead.

Perhaps it's her lack of sleep. Perhaps it's because she's met three rogues in the span of five days. Perhaps it's because she's been in the presence of Batman, the one man in this city that terrifies every criminal, including this one. Perhaps it's because she just witnessed too many people die for this ridiculous, petty war. Whatever it may be, for some unidentified reason, Evangeline Winter feels completely numb at the fact a gun is resting precariously against her head, the small, round exit for the bullet creating a small indent into her skin from the pressure. She couldn't care. She's been through too damn much to be scared and give in now, and this criminal will not deter her from her course, gun or not.

"You did that to yourself, the moment you stood over there and put two bullets in between the eyes of two people. People who were to be married," Eve evenly replies, jutting her head in the direction of where he stood. Where she knew he stood.

His mood darkens even more, if that is even possible. He walks, carefully, slowly, pointedly to where he stood when he shot them. Where he shot Alexandra Markovic and Sean O'Reilly. "Then I suppose it is poetic justice that I shoot you from this exact same spot."

Eve's lips quirk in that perceptive smile that conveys she knows more than she lets on. "No, Mr Maroni. It is poetic justice that you are to be shot in that exact same spot."

BANG – THUMP.

Eve remains where she stands for a few moments longer, not having moved an inch, even when the gun went off. She removes her hands from her white coat pockets tenderly, ambling over to Salvatore Maroni who's currently writhing on the floor in immense pain, clutching the bullet wound in his arm like it's on fire.

Stage Four: the Don. Take down Salvatore Maroni for good. 

And, like an angel, like Lucifer, he has truly fallen from Grace.

The private investigator crouches to the concrete smoothly, swiftly picking up the discarded firearm and removing the cartridges from it as Maroni glares at her with all the hate in the world. "How?"

"I know your type, Mr Maroni," Eve softly confesses, dissembling the gun leisurely and pocketing it in her coat. "I knew you would get away, you clearly had enough time to do so. There was only one place you would meet me at, one place we are both sorely familiar with. I visited here earlier on, before I jumpstarted my operation, and put in place a motion sensor. When you set it off, it triggered a gun I had rigged. All I had to do was to persuade you to stand where you stood that night, something you did all too eagerly for me. Thank you."

His glower could melt metal. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I am who I am," she mysteriously answers, enjoying dragging out the cliché a bit longer. "There are people out there, as you well know, that do what they do for money, power, freedom, revenge, love and everything in between. There are also people who do what they do without a logical, materialistic reason. People like the Joker, who stand by and idly watch the world be eaten by chaos' fire, fanning the flames where he can. But, just as there are people like the Joker who only want to watch the world burn, there are people like me. People that will tread across a thousand deserts, through a thousand hurricanes, across a thousand seas and over a thousand mountains to deliver the buckets of water that douse the flames. For what reason? For the simple reason that we don't want to watch the world burn. Just like the Joker, we can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. The only thing that sets people like me apart from people like the Joker, are the flames, and our part with them."

"You're as insane as the Bat, thinking you can change a damn thing in this city," he scowls, wincing and hissing like a provoked animal when Eve hauls him up and pulls his arms behind his back, locking the pair of cuffs Gordon leant her onto his wrists.

"I think he's changed lots," she admits, trying to adjust the cuffs so they are more comfortable on his behalf. "But it's about time this city was changed in ways that abide more by the law, and more by the people. Now you better put on your best smile Mr Maroni, for I imagine quite a few people await us around the corner."

And quite a few people there are.

The GCPD and FBI block off as many civilians as they can, but in the end, there are only so many of them there in that moment, and so many more curious civilians to overpower them. Gordon stands there in all his weary, wise glory, moustache tugging up in a relieved, comforting smile.

Eve pushes Maroni out first, as softly as she can whilst still maintaining a firm grip on him. Cameras flash, people gasp, news reporters swarm around the yellow police tape like hornets. Eve pays them little to no mind, handing the fallen mob boss over to Jim Gordon. "I believe he still needs to be read his rights, otherwise you can't use, for most purposes, anything he says as evidence against him at trial."

Gordon in turn chuckles tiredly, handing over Maroni to yet another officer as he is read his rights. The Commissioner turns back to the North Carolinian patiently staring at him, and draws her in to a concerned hug, as brief as it is. "You damn well have him wrapped up and ready for me. All you're missing is the bow."

"Local department store was out of red ribbon," Eve rationalises, jokingly pulling an appalled expression. "Scandalous."

"I'm sure it is," the Commissioner laughs, distractedly watching Salvatore Maroni being sat in the police cruiser with a permanent scowl on his face. "You know, when I started out in this city as a low level cop, I never thought I would see the day that a crime boss would fall by any legal means, let alone a Maroni, the second most powerful mafia family in this city." His worn, blue eyes find Eve, twinkling with something she hasn't fully seen in Jim's eyes before. Hope. "You've given hope to the men and women down at the precinct that what they're doing isn't meaningless. That little people like us can make a difference, even without Batman. That you don't need a mask to go out and do what's right. Come tomorrow, and it won't just be the people at the GCPD who think so."

"Please don't make me out to be a saint Jim," Eve pleads, but is too tired to do so whole-heartedly. "I just did what needed to be done. I did what anyone down at the precinct would have done if given the chance, you included."

"We've been given the chance before Eve, countless times. What you did, whether you the terming or not, was heroic. Batman may be a vigilante, this city's Dark Knight, but you are a hero. A Guardian Angel."

"Don't you dare tell the papers about that nickname," she playfully warns, yet she's entirely serious. "I'll never hear the end of it, and I am not some Guardian Angel. Guardian, maybe, but Angel? I'm sure that's blasphemous."

"Say what you want kid," Gordon relents, ruffling her hair in a fatherly manner. "But like I said, come tomorrow, you'll see what everyone thinks of you. Thirty bucks they mention the name 'Angel' at least once."

"You still owe me for pulling off the entire thing," Eve jocosely reminds him, the two leisurely making their way towards Jim's car. "A drink, remember? You're losing enough money as it is old man."

"Old man? Who are you calling an old man? I could kick your ass three times over in a fight Winter," Jim gruffly challenges, failing to repress a smile when Eve turns on him with an amused glow about her.

"Oh I don't know, I just did take down the second most influential and powerful mob man in this city. Think you could top that old man?"

"Dear God, it's already getting to your head," he jokes, opening the passenger seat door for her to get in. "They'll be no living with you after Alberto Falcone is dealt with."

"Surely the Riddler has given you enough training in living with big egos," Eve swiftly responds, earning a chuckle from Jim as he gets in the driver's seat.

"I suppose that's true," the Commissioner concedes, momentarily checking his phone and sighing when he spots the time. "But today isn't over yet. Our mutual friend wants to have a word with you once the sun has set. Wanna come down to the precinct and help out with some of the legalities and paper work from the after effects of this operation of yours? You can talk with him atop GCPD afterwards."

"I don't see why not," Eve kindly agrees, blocking her face from some of the paparazzi that are running up to the car as it drives off in hopes of getting a photo of her. "It's the least I can do, considering the amount of paperwork I have undoubtedly left for you and the officer to attend to. Battling the monsters of paperwork is a war that you can never win."

Within the first hour of accepting to help Jim however, does Eve immediately regret it.

She likes to help. She loves to help. But she didn't realise how much paperwork there actually is. Five hours are wasted away on it, and Eve is only relieved of it when the sun's fatigue lures it to fall to rest, prompting the Dark Knight of Gotham City to come out.

She sits there, atop GCPD with a permanent smile on her face, bright enough to light up the entire rooftop. In spite of the mountains of papers that wait for her down stairs, the smile has refused to budge from her lips since this entire mob war has ended. One of Gordon's inside men reported that Carmine Falcone called for a truce now that Maroni has been taken care of, and after all the blood that has been shed – their kids' included – Dmitri Markovic and Colin O'Reilly were all too pleased to agree. It seems even the other big mob bosses of this city would take the chance to fall into Don Falcone's good graces again.

With the warm mug she nestles in hand, Evangeline Winter gazes up to try and discern the stars through the city's light pollution, and amongst it all, only manages to find one. But one is a start. One is all someone needs to start. That day, Eve had proven that.

"I thought I told you to drop it."

He still frightens her, not as much as he used to, but still enough so. She cranes her neck to spot the dark, caped crusader moving about the rooftop with a guided ease, the wind still refusing to disturb his presence. Her smile only broadens when she sees him, after her little jolt at his sudden arrival. "And I thought I told you to consider than bell. One of these days I'm going to have a heart attack and then where will you be without me?"

"Down one stubborn private investigator," Batman's gravelly, baritone grinds out, manoeuvring towards her in a similar way Eve did to Maroni not six hours ago, only a tad more looming and intimidating.

Eve clutches her heart mockingly with her spare hand, a pitiful expression on her face, yet still wearing that immovable smile. "Oh, you wound me Dark Knight. Here I thought we shared a special connection. On another note, I did notice that one Alberto Falcone was brought in forty minutes ago. I wonder if you had any part to play in that, considering he was tied upside down outside of GCPD –"

"He' wasn't hard to find. Tried to make a run for it, terrified what his father was going to do to him when he found out. But that's not why I'm here. You could've died," he presses, finding himself in no gaming mood tonight. He never truly is. "What then? You cannot think and act so brashly. Whether you realise it or not it will cost others."

"Why do you put on that cowl and go out every night Batman?" The raven haired woman rhetorically asks, pushing herself off the ledge and stopping barely a foot away from the wall of a man. "For whatever your answer is, is similar to mine I imagine. Just because I wasn't born in this city, doesn't mean I don't care for the people inside of it. Each life counts. Each life is important. I am not God, I do not decide who lives, dies and who does or doesn't deserve to be saved. I do not make judgements, and I do not force my beliefs upon others, but I do care. Very few share my sentiment, but I grow rather tired of having to repeat myself over and over in this city. People here seem incapable of believing that I do what I do purely because it is right by the law, and by others. People here seem incapable of trusting others at first glance and presuming that they have some ulterior motive for helping others. Well, newsflash Dark Knight, but I care."

For a while, no sound passes between them. Cars blare around the bustling streets, the wind howled like wolves on a full moon in the night, shouts of various Gothamites could be heard throughout each corner, but on that rooftop, it sounds so quiet Eve almost chokes on the silence. The air feels heavy, solid, like it did that night in Crime Alley. Breathing was like trying to swallow bricks.

"You know what happens next." His voice, although still impossibly low and deep, is softer, as if the edges of it have been sanded down. "They'll come after you. All of them. The mobs won't take kindly to you disrupting the order they had established."

"I have a few tricks up my sleeve yet," she shrugs, and shivers course down her spine like a bolt of lightning. Whether it's from their proximity or the night air, she doesn't know. "And besides, I still have your number. After a few testing prank calls, I'm sure I can rely on you to help me if it really comes down to it... right?" She doesn't like feeling this helpless and pathetic, but physically, Eve is no good in a fight. Her brother tends to cover that department for her, but until he arrives, she's vulnerable. Eve may be stubborn, but she's also realistic. She wouldn't stand a chance against a mob by herself, especially now that there is a name and face to the mole that was in Park Row that night.

So whilst she feels rather pathetic in asking for his help, she, by no physical means, can defend herself. All she has is her wit and intuition, which generally help her out of most situations, but can't help her out of all of them.

"I gave you that number for a reason Miss Winter," the Dark Knight assures her, spotting the nerves building up behind her hazel gaze. "But try not to get yourself killed, regardless."

"Believe it or not it's not an active sport I engage in," she wittily replies, gentle hands retreating into coat pockets. "But... thank you. Without you, I probably wouldn't have been able to complete this case. Your help means a lot. And please, call me Eve. I've been needing to say that for a while now. Miss Winter makes me feel old."

"Don't mention it, and very well, Eve," he says, not as tersely as usual. Thick, cumbersome combat boots scrape against the gravel of the rooftop as he abandons her where she stands; his broad, bulky shoulders turning and moving with his equally mammoth chest. Even with the rough, military style suit and one hundred and one gadgets between them, the moment he moves away, Eve feels cold. Like she was basking in the warmth of Summer, when its suddenly snatched from her and replaced with the cold conditions of Winter once again.

The thirty four year old woman worries her lower lip between her teeth as she watches him leave, pondering on whether she should utter her next words or not. To hell with it, I've had a long day. "You should stop by more often. My apartment, I mean." The steps stop, jarringly so, but he says nothing, allowing her to continue. "You seem like the kind of guy who unnecessarily places the weight of the world on his shoulders, and when offered the chance to share the load, refuses. No man is an island Dark Knight. Even if it's a couple simple cases you may need a hand in behind the scenes, or if you simply wish to discuss something crime related or otherwise. You're not invincible, and I don't understand why you punish yourself so. So please, at one point or another, take me up on this offer. If not for yourself than for the others that care around you."

Alfred reprimands him constantly under the same or similar concerns, as does Barbara and Tim. Letting people he considers family in on his inner turmoil has always been rough, for he doesn't want them to bear the weight either. Just like he doesn't want a woman like Evangeline Winter to bear the weight of his problems. Of him. Something about her spells inviting, however. Something about the way she looks at him so softly as if he were to break before her eyes or as if she wanted to pull him in and frighten off the nightmares of the world, makes something in the Dark Knight's chest twinge.

Every time he's surrounded himself with a woman, it has been with someone who is tough as nails, can quite clearly handle herself, and doesn't essentially care if she hurts someone in achieving what she strives for. Talia Al Ghul, Selina Kyle, even his brief fling with the tenacious Vicki Vale. And whilst Eve is just as strong-willed and more than handle herself in this city. She just proved that. But something about her is... kinder, than other women he's gotten involved with, and involved is a very loose term. Nothing serious has ever arisen between him and Selina, just the flirting on her behalf and how he makes no move to stop her.

In the end though, Bruce Wayne doesn't think he deserves to engage with a woman so kind and ethical, a shining beacon in a cloud of darkness. But the way she stares him so desperate, so pleading, he does consider indulging her concerns, even if it is only from time to time.

"I'll think about it," he sternly acquiesces, but the simple words brighten Eve's smile even more. "No promises."

"All I ask is for you to feel human, even for a little while. It's easy to forget you're a man underneath that cowl, and not just some relentless force of nature that strikes fear into the hearts of criminals," the private investigator says, her consideration not gone unnoticed by the Caped Crusader. "And you are a man, Dark Knight. Men stumble; men fall, just like women do. But why do we fall?"

She tenderly leans forward and grasps his burly hand, turning him to briefly face her. "So we can learn to pick ourselves up."

A/N: Big chapter! Not as big as some of the ones to come will be, but probably the biggest one so far. Maroni is dealt with, Alberto is dealt with, we're finally seeing some stirring affections between Eve and Bruce and there is still so much more to come. The repercussions of what Eve has done will come in next chapter, another long chapter to write as well, and some action may ensue towards the end of it. The crime families, whilst happy Maroni is gone, won't be too pleased to know that any one of them could be the next family to fall. And Two Face has some thoughts of his own... but I won't spoil too much. You'll just have to wait and see ;)

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

~ T.L