Note: I accidentally wrote Frank Chyre in the first chapter, and I'm too lazy to edit 😝. So just know that when I say "Frank Chyre" I mean Joe's partner in pilot who's name is Frederick Chyre, not Frank. Thanks. Enjoy!

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EVER SINCE SHE

can remember, Deserey has been prone to chaos. When she was thirteen, for example, she kicked a pedophilic man in the nads on Halloween after he tried hurting her little sister. Then, a few months later after her fourteenth birthday she jumped into a ring to stop a dog fight. At fifteen she tagged a mob boss' car, because he pissed her off. And at sixteen-

Well. Anyway, the point is that Deserey has seen (and done) some shit. She's used to being in danger. Survival mode is her default setting. Which means, when all of Central City explodes Dez is prepared to spring into action.

So.

It's the same week Dez and her family move from New Jersey to Missouri. First day on the new job. Crime scene investigation, right off the bat.

The morning of, she gets a bit turned around and has to stop to check her map. Only the map must be outdated, because somehow she ends up at this coffee shop in the center of town. She's standing in the parking lot, frowning at microscopic street names when another vehicle, a black SUV, pulls up next to her. A white sedan leaves the second the new vehicle arrives, too.

A young woman gets out of the passenger side and gives the driver a kiss on the cheek before running inside; then the driver is trying to make eye contact with Deserey. He says, "You look lost."

Dez's head snaps up from her map. "What?"

"You need directions?"

She stares back at him. Truth be told, she has never been asked that question before in her life. It throws her for a loop, okay? She's not being rude. She's not. It's just- da fuck is that question?

The man looks harmless enough; at least, she doesn't immediately think he gives off serial killer vibes. Like, she knows looks can be deceiving. Believe her. She knows. And it is a little unnerving that some older guy she doesn't really know just starts...talking to her? Just out of the blue? And, like, he's smiling at her, which is also off putting.

But, also. Dez is aware that smiling isn't something normal people find creepy. It isn't meant to be a creepy gesture, Dez just thinks it is because she's met some messed up people. She doesn't think this guy is trying to be a creep. He's trying to be friendly and helpful, because that's what normal people do when they see someone who looks lost.

Dez is just fucked up, to tell the truth. She ain't used to friendly and helpful people. That's why it takes her a minute to trust this random older man, with a goatee and a beret, that just pulled up next to her in the parking lot asking if she needs help.

Besides, she recalls meeting this man briefly the night before. He seemed alright, then. Her kids seemed to like him, anyway. He lives in the house next to theirs, the blue one to their right. He brought over pasta and welcomed the Dunet family into the neighborhood. Dez thinks this is weird, too, honestly. Back in Jersey, in the city she's from, her neighbors would never.

It's fine. She thinks. She's just being weird about it. Probably. She don't know.

Dez blinks and stumbles for a response. Anything to avoid sounding like a paranoid bitch, really. "Guuh, y-yeah. Yeah, sure. Directions. Please."

The man chuckles to himself. She doesn't think it's necessarily in a haha I'mma bout ta chop you up and feed your remains to my dog kinda way? More of a you are reminding me of someone I love right now, and I think it's charming kinda way? Still. Dez is funny about people laughing too. Makes her physically ill, that sound, unless it's her kids' laughter.

God. She's so fucked up.

"Where ya headed?" the man asks.

"Central City Police Department."

"Oh that's right!" The man points at her from where he still sits in his vehicle. "You're the new profiler."

"Mhm. Yup," Dez nods. She remembers mentioning that during their conversation the night before. "You said you were a detective, yeah?"

"That's right. I'm actually on my way to the precinct, now, if you want to follow me. I was just dropping my daughter off at work." He gestures behind him at the coffee shop the woman just ran into.

"Cool, uh-"

The detective's ringtone cuts her off, and he holds up a finger before flipping his cell phone open and going, "This is West."

Deserey hangs back and waits for him to finish the call, but seriously, who uses a flip phone anymore? Dez knows she has one, but hers is a burner, only used to contact her brother during emergencies.

Oh, well. To each their own...

Detective West, Joe she remembers him saying the night before, ends the call with, "We're headed that way." Then, he's lookin' at her again, and Dez raises an eyebrow when he says, "Change of plans. There was a shooting, so the Captain wants us to meet at the crime scene instead. I'll show you to the precinct afterwards."

Dez gives a small grin. "And I was worried this city would be dull."

{~}

This is the scene of the crime: one of the many banks in Central City, a dozen uniformed officers, a man across the street amongst the concerned civilians leaning against a white sedan, yellow police tape surrounding the area, and a single corpse laying on the sidewalk under a tarp. There's an unnatural amount of sunlight. It's weird. It's weird. The sun shouldn't be shining when someone has been murdered.

Back home the sky would have reflected this scene. It would have painted itself up in all the shades of gray. This picture, here in this city, at this moment - it's wrong. Too bright, too colorful for the subject matter.

Deserey doesn't say this out loud. She doesn't say anything as she walks with Joe into the bank to question the teller. She doesn't say anything when Joe's partner, Frank Chyer, shows up. She just listens when Joe starts givin' him the rundown of what they'd learned in the bank. It's her first day. Dez wants to see how they run things anyway.

"Second robbery this week," Joe informs. "Teller I.D.ed the shooter as Clyde Mardon."

"What?" Frank freezes for a moment, eyes wide. "Ah, jeez. The Mardon Brothers are back?"

From the way he says this Dez guesses these 'Mardon Brothers' must be some kind of a big deal. Either that or they're just a wicked pain in the ass for these two detectives in particular. Like trying to draw hands for the first time. Not a serious problem. Just extremely frustrating.

This is where the Captain (Dez figures because he's wearing a suit, and both West and Chyer straighten up when he approaches) jumps in. He looks at Dez first and goes, "Agent Dunet?"

"That is me, yes," Dez says. "Hi."

He nods back and more outta respect than anything else says, "We're happy to have you here. I've heard you're one of the best."

"Not one of. Just the best."

"Well, it's good to see you're humble as well."

She shrugs his comment off. It's not that she means to come off rude or arrogant. Dez just knows her skill set, and she knows she was the best where she comes from. She's worked hard to get to where she is now, and she's earned the right to be called the best. She's not just sayin' it to sound impressive.

Then, the captain is movin' on, turning to Joe and going, "What d'we got?"

And Joe goes into more detail, "Perps took the bank, shot out a camera, and as a chaser, killed the security guard over there." He nods at the body under the tarp and surrounded by the numbered labels. "I got unis kickin' in doors of known Mardon Brothers' associates."

"CSI been over it?"

Here's where Deserey starts to notice Joe begin to sweat. She doubts it has much to do with the weather that's surprisingly warm for the winter season. "No, uh-"

The Captain's head shoots up with a stern scowl. "Where's Allen?" When the detective doesn't immediately answer, the Captain's scowl only deepens. "You can't keep covering for him!"

Dez glances over at Chyer with vague interest, 'cause she knows someone else called Allen back home, a detective, and he's brought to mind. But they're obviously not talkin' about him, so she's mildly curious about this guy who shares a name with her detective back in Jersey.

"Who's Allen?" Then, before he can say anything she goes, "Wait. Lemme guess. He's your partner's kid, always late for everything, West tries to cover for him 'cause he's a good dad, but Allen is already in hot water from doin' somethin' else the Cap didn't like. Maybe he went off to work a case he wasn't supposed to be on?"

From the look on Frank's face, Deserey already knows she's on point, but he still says, "That's scary accurate. Barry Allen is Joe's foster son. He's notorious for being late, and just last week he got on the captain's bad side for runnin' off to Starling City of all places to chase some impossible thing or another. How'd'cha get all that?"

Dez shrugs. "Tone of voice. Body language. Being the best."

Chyre shakes his head in wonderment and takes a sip from the coffee he's been holding. The Captain, meanwhile, continues venting, "If he's not here now, I'm gonna have to carry on the investigation without him!"

And then here comes this young man, at least twenty-four years of age. Deserey is a little shocked he's so young. Forensics is a hard enough job to break into; it's damn near unheard of for police departments to hire someone of his age. Her first thought is that he must have done or said something impressive to have already got himself a job in the field. Second thought is this: maybe he should work on his punctuality if he wants to keep being impressive. Runnin' off to Washington without clearance prolly don't help none either.

Case and point: the Captain is shooting the poor guy a sour look, even after he stutters out an apology. "What is it this time, Mr. Allen? Did you forget to set your alarm clock?"

Allen opens his mouth to say something in response to the Captain. His breathing is still too heavy from his apparent sprint from some distance away. Dez is vaguely curious what his response is going to be, but Allen, as it turns out, is not that quick witted either.

The Captain (and here's where Dez gets a good look at his badge, which reads D. Singh) cuts him off fast. "Before you answer, I should remind you the excuse you gave last time was 'car trouble.' Want to know why that one was particularly memorable?"

Allen, still short of breath, lowers his head for a second and says, "I do not own a car."

And Deserey can't help it, okay? She can't. It's funny. And she laughs. She can't help it, shut up.

The men all look over at her and just stare for a minute. Dez covers her mouth with her fist. She forgets this is a new city. It's weird most places to be laughing at a crime scene. It's weird to laugh, even if someone says something funny. But the picture's all wrong anyway. The sun is shining when there's a corpse two feet away, Frank Chyre has a coffee cup in hand, and Dez is laughing. It's normal where she's from, but it isn't normal here.

Even if the picture has been painted all wrong anyway. With too much sunlight and too many nice and friendly type'a people. How's someone supposed to get murdered in a place like this? Don't make any sense.

It's just weird and ass backwards.

Plus, she don't know these people from Adam. So. Yeah. Laughin' ain't a very good first impression. Especially at a crime scene. With a corpse two feet away from her.

But oh fuckin' well, she guesses. Sue her crazy ass.

They don't make a big deal of it, though. Joe is moving things along again a second later. The detective steps forward to address Captain Singh before Allen digs himself into a bigger hole. "He was runnin' an errand for me." Then, he turns to Allen and he goes, "Uh, Barry, did you get me what I asked for?"

Allen, Barry, is fast enough to follow Joe's lead, but he's a little slow on the improv. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. I have it right..." He fumbles around in the pockets of his skinny jeans looking for a suitable 'errand' but only comes up with a half eaten chocolate coated granola bar still in the wrapper. "Here. I...had a few bites..."

Joe takes it from him with the most exhausted expression Dez has ever seen. He jerks his head to the side and moves his eyes back and forth in an urgent message: get to work, now.

Barry stumbles over to the crime scene, and the others watch. Next to her, Dez can hear Chyer chuckling, and she glances over to see him shaking his head. And, again, she's a bit put off by other people laughing, but also in this case it's nice to see she's not the only one breaking the character of 'serious cop person' while at a crime scene. Makes her feel better about earlier.

Dez crouches down at the curb when Barry does. He's moving so fast he doesn't don any PPE or anything, which sort of gives the impression he doesn't know what he's doing. But Dez has met a lot of brilliant people who don't look like much at first; so she decides to give him a chance. Seems like he's having a bit of a rough morning.

Deserey pulls some black latex gloves from her bag. "Here, these might help to not, ya know, contaminate any evidence."

"Yea- um, sorry..." He takes them, and he seems to have a time getting them on. Dez shrugs off his apology, not totally certain as to why he's saying sorry in the first place. She's not gonna question his awkward antics; and, besides, he's staring at her with wide eyes, now, still struggling with the rubber gloves. "Wait. Aren't you the new transfer from Gotham?"

"Mhm." Dez props her elbow on her knee and rests her chin on her open palm. "Mostly just say I'm from Jersey, though. GC's got a reputation, ya know what I mean?" She circles her index finger around her temple and makes a face.

"Yeah," Barry says. His concentration is split between their conversation and finally managing to slip his hands into the gloves. Then, it must fully register what Dez has said and what he's responded with, because he starts talking so fast. "No! I mean- I've never actually been to Gotham, so I wouldn't know for sure. But I'm sure it's not as bad as everyone says it is."

"S'not," Dez says with a straight face. "It's actually a lot worse. Complete shithole." She shrugs. "But it's still my shit hole, ya know?"

"Why...Did you move then?" Barry asks slowly.

"A man with green hair put my kids in a ball pit filled with explosives."

Barry's mouth drops. "Oh. Um-"

"Don't worry, they're fine."

"Oh. O-okay. That's...that's good..."

"If you two are finished making small talk, we are in the middle of an ongoing investigation," Captain Singh cuts in.

"Sorry..." Barry mutters.

Dez goes, "Y'all don't multitask well over here, do ya?" And she clicks her tongue and aims a finger gun back at the captain.

He does not seem very amused. He's shaking his head and muttering, "Commissioner Gordon said you were...eccentric."

"You'll learn to appreciate it over time," Dez tells him.

"You know what I'd appreciate currently?" He pauses a bit, and Dez sees West and Chyer exchanging expressions. A mix of amusement and shock. Like. This woman is not talking to the captain like that on her first day, at her first crime scene. Talk about unprofessional. But, hey, Deserey Dunet is anything but professional.

Picture's painted all wrong anyway.

"My crime scene. Investigated," Singh finishes.

Barry takes that as his hint. He gets down a little lower to examine the tire tracks smeared into the concrete.

Deserey's already noticed some stuff herself. She noticed a lot right away, the second she arrived on the scene behind Joe. Dez is observant. Most of it has to do with the fact that she has an artist's eye. Most of it. Some of it's because her brother helped her with some stuff. But mostly it's all her. Mostly.

But yeah. She doesn't want to stomp all over Barry's moment, because he seems like a sweetie and also everyone has been waiting for him apparently so he might as well be allowed to do something. Plus, Dez is curious to see his skill set in action. How does a twenty-four year old already have a steady job in forensics?

After a moment Barry sits up again, dusting off his navy blazer, and he goes, "Getaway car's a Mustang Shelby GT500."

Ah. That is impressive. Dez had been expecting something more along the lines of 'this is indeed a crime scene.' Like. Dez had been thinking the getaway must've been some type of sports car, but that was more about probability than anything else. Thieves like sports cars. They're fast. And she's not pulling Mustang out of thin air.

But then here's this little asshole taking one look at the tracks in the mud for ten seconds and going, "Oh yeah, I know exactly what make and model they're driving. I could probably tell you what year too!"

Da fuck?

Guess this is what must've impressed the Captain so much that he hired this guy so young.

Right on.

"Shelby's have a rear super-wide tire specific to that model." Barry gestures at the tire marks he's talking about. He looks and sounds much less awkward once he starts talking about this stuff, a lot more relaxed and within his element. "Twelve inches with an asymmetrical tread. And there's something else..."

"Need a pen?" Deserey removes the spare utensil she keeps tucked away in the curls of her hair. He's got a briefcase full of what she assumes is forensics tools, but Barry must have forgotten about it 'cause he's lookin' around all lost like.

Barry takes the pen. "Thanks." He uses it to scoop up a sample of the 'something else', and for some reason he sniffs it. Lil unnecessary, if ya ask Dez, but she doesn't wanna screw with his whole process.

"Fecal excrement," Barry announces. "Animal, I'd guess."

And Dez just can't help herself. She goes, "Ah, shit."

Singh turns his head skyward, as if wondering, 'why does the universe hate me?'

{~}

The precinct is a lot bigger than Deserey is expecting it to be. Maybe six stories tall. White granite. Lots'a windows. And a statue out front of someone Dez can only assume is an important historical figure in Central City.

The main event is up on the fifth floor, so they go in through the lobby and take the elevator up. The first thing that catches Deserey's eye upon exiting the lift is the bronze piece hanging on the wall to her immediate right.

It's an image of the Olympian gods (or at least seven of them) from Greek mythology. There's Zeus dead center with his lightning bolt in hand, standing before three gold stars. On the lightning God's left there's Apollo and Poseidon with trident and arrows respectively. The other side has Hermes and Hera, and Dez isn't totally sure who the last two are supposed to be. One might be Hades? She's not an expert when it comes to Greek mythology.

And then in the wider background there's a bronze eagle- the icon of a policeman's badge. Above it says Central City Police. The foreground is fixed with a metal plate reading Truth • Liberty • Justice • with justice being written in the largest font, as if this is the most important of the three.

All in all, not a bad piece.

This is the rest of the precinct: a large space with a twin set of stairs going up and leading off somewhere; the Captain's office at the opposite end of the room; detectives' desks scattered here and there; TV screens mounted above; a shiny tiled floor that looks like it's just been polished.

"Neat place," Dez says.

"Eventually, I'll pair you up with Detective Thawne over there." Singh nods over at the young blonde man from across the room. "He recently transferred, as well. From Keystone."

She gives him a thumbs up.

"For the time being I want you to stick with Joe and Frank here. They'll show you the ropes, how we do things here."

"Neat-o."

This is how the rest of the day goes: Deserey follows the two old timers around, they talk with the associates of these Mardon Brothers, but of course no one 'bout ta give 'em up just like that, and so they're at a stand still 'til forensics comes up with somethin' from da (literal) shit Barry found at the scene of the crime.

Lunch is at noon. Thirty minutes. Dez ends up on the roof, phone in hand. Not the red burner for emergencies. Which is why it's shocking when her caller I.D. pops up with her brother's name. Well. The first letter of his name, anyway. B. 'cause that's what Deserey calls him. B.

She answers his call and goes, "Of all the people I thought would check up on me my first day at the new job, you were at the very bottom of the list, I gotta admit."

And his reply comes with a deep baritone, "You should have more faith in people."

"Pft. I got faith in people, just not you, the world's worst workaholic. I figured by now you would'a forgotten I even left." Dez switches the phone to speaker mode and folds her arms so she can lean on the railing more comfortably.

"How could I forget? It's very quiet here now that you're gone."

"Okay. You can't see it, but I'm flipping you off. And anyway, you did forget my birthday last year because you were, you know, working."

"How many times are you going to make me apologize for that?"

"Til it stops being funny."

Her only response to this one is a stiff grunt; then he goes, "How is it really?"

When Dez sighs, a sudden gust of wind sends strands of her thick, curly hair into her mouth, and she spits it out with all the aggression she has stored within herself at the time. Which, as it turns out, is quite a bit. "Honestly? I miss Gotham."

"It was your idea to move."

"Yeah, I know. It's just..." When you've been working with charcoal your whole art career, a sudden switch up to pastel paints is a bit jarring. That's the best way Dez can think to summarize her thoughts on the matter. "Everything is super bright here, ya know?"

"You always said you wanted to live somewhere sunnier."

"Okay, yeah. But this? This is excessive. Seriously. My corneas are about to burst from staring at this sun all day."

"Maybe you shouldn't stare at the sun -"

"You smart ass." She can imagine that he might be smirking a little here. He might, that is, if he did that sort of thing, but Deserey can't remember a time where she's seen her brother smile to any degree. So. He probably isn't now either.

They're silent for a beat. Then, Dez is tugging at one of her curls and rolling her tongue over her teeth. "I'm starting to think this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe we should have moved somewhere closer like Metropolis or Blüdhaven. Or maybe we shouldn't have moved away at all. There's no vigilantes here, B, did you know that? None at all."

"Isn't that why you picked Central City?" There's an edge to his voice that indicates he doesn't totally understand Deserey's point, which is beyond frustrating. She thinks he should get it. Of all people, he should understand where she's coming from.

"What if something happens? There's no one here to do anything about it." She throws her arms out, like he can even see what she's doing. It just makes her feel better to talk with her hands. She dunno.

"There's the police."

"Don't make me laugh, B."

"Central City's crime rates are significantly lower than Gotham's, Dez."

His voice does actually get an octave higher or two here, or maybe not higher so much as lighter. He does this sometimes when he talks about shit like this. When he's comforting someone else and not pretending he's inhumane or something. Dez isn't sure he notices when he does it, but he does.

"There aren't any vigilantes because it doesn't need any."

Deserey isn't convinced by these statistics. She knows they're right, but she don't know. Something just feels off about this place. Dez don't know what it is. The picture just don't look right. That's all she can say.

"What if it does though? Someday." She's tapping her hands against the stone ledge in front of her. Something to get rid of the excess energy, she don't know.

"What if someday someone decides they want to level the place with a giant explosive pie or some stupid shit like that. Who's gonna be able to handle somethin' like that in this city, B?" She points at the ground, and again she's aware he can't see her hand movements, okay? It just makes her feel better to speak with her hands like this.

"They're all fuckin' soft. Like that forensics guy earlier today?" And here she throws an arm out towards the rooftop door behind her. "You should have seen him. He was smart, sure, but he's also what my kids might call a smol little guy. For fuck's sake!"

"If it becomes necessary, I'm sure someone will step up."

"Yeah?" Dez scoffs. "Like who? The forensics guy?"

B is quiet for a minute, and at first Dez thinks he's regretting calling her now but then she hears the clicking of a keyboard in the background and realizes he's working as they're talking. Of course he is. There's rarely ever a moment when he isn't working on something. He's probably been working throughout their whole conversation, too. Fuckin' workaholic.

Dez swears to God.

"He clearly left an impression, so maybe, yes."

"Okay. I'll bite." She's shaking her head but whatever. A hypothetical conversation never killed anyone as far as she knows. "Say Forensics Guy does become some kinda guardian angel thing. Where's he gonna learn to fight?"

"I don't know, Dez." She can hear something rustling on his end, whatever he's working with now, the little shit. "You seem to feel pretty strongly about it, why don't you teach him?"

Dez taps her foot, arms folded as she pulls a face. God forbid he sit still for ten minutes and talk to her without his focus being divided between her and something else. She's not surprised, but still. "I came to Central City to get away from dangerous situations, B."

He knows this too. He knows. He was there when shit hit the fan and Dez decided enough was enough. He encouraged her to get out of Gotham, even. And he's encouraging her to stay out of Gotham. It doesn't make sense, what he's saying. To help any wannabe heroes learn to fight or else become a vigilante herself. It doesn't work. Not for her. She has kids. She has to look out for them first. Dez can't look after a whole ass city while also being a mom. It doesn't work. Criminal profiling has to be enough. She can't do everything. So this has to be enough.

He knows this too. He knows. So he can just take that suggestion and shove it up his-

"And yet now that you have gotten away, you keep looking for excuses to come back."

Da fuck did he just say?

"I don't want to go back."

The hell did he get that idea anyway?

"No?"

"No!" He is unbelievable. "It's just..." Dez throws her hand up, and she goes, "it's been a week. And nothing's happened, so I figure it's about time something happens, ya know?"

And now she's pacing back and forth across the rooftop. There's a lot of excess energy she needs to get rid of. She don't know. She just needs to move. And her hands are flailing this way and that. Probably looks crazy or some shit, but she don't care. That much. Not really. It just feels better to move when she goes on like this, okay? It just does. So she does. Dez talks with her hands and she walks back and forth across the roof in front of her phone sitting on the ledge.

"Something always happens. This place cannot be that goodie-too-shoes. I mean, someone was shot today. If that's not a bad omen I don't know what is."

"Or you're just being paranoid."

Deserey stops in her tracks. She points at her phone still sitting on the ledge and gives it a big frown and says, "That's rich comin' from you."

Then she's goin' on again; she's going back and forth and waving her hands and goin' on and on and on and -

"...everything is so far away from everything else. I feel like I'm driving three hours in a twenty minute ride. And the people."

She stops again. Her hands slap against the concrete ledge falling on either side of the phone. He can't see her, but she knows he knows she looks insane anyway. "B. B," she says just for emphasis. "Someone held the door for me earlier today. I mean. What the fuck? Who does that? Who does that unless they want to kick your ass on the other side?"

He grunts on the other side of the phone. The closest thing Deserey's brother will ever get to laughing.

"How dreadfully traumatizing! I do hope you manage, somehow, to recover from such a harrowing ordeal."

Dez stands up, hands on hips. "Are you patronizing me?"

"A little, yes."

And here's the part where she realizes the voice on the other end of the call has changed. It's an older, British accent now, not young and American.

"Hey, wait a damn minute. Did he just leave?? In the middle of our conversation?? What a dickhead!"

"I am not sure why this is so shocking. You know how he has a deep passion for the dramatics."

Dez huffs and folds her arms over herself. She knows it looks childish. She knows. Leave her alone, will ya? "It's only one in the afternoon in Jersey. Where does he even have to go."

She doesn't get an answer to that. Joe is poking his head through the rooftop door from the inside. He goes, "Sorry to interrupt. Barry's got a list of locations for us to check out." Joe holds up a sheet of paper which must have the list written down on it.

Dez gives Joe a thumbs up and then turns back to the sarcastic Brit in her phone. "Kay, well, I'ma go explore some farms and shit. Can you believe it? They have farms here. Farms. In the city."

All she gets in response is this: "Don't forget to wear your bogs!"

And then the line goes dead, and Deserey is going back inside and walking downstairs with Joe to find Frank Chyre. Along the way, Joe starts some small talk.

"Family?" He nods at her phone as Dez is shoving it back in her pocket.

"Mhm. My brother and my dad, there at the end."

Dez can't help noticing how sad and bare the walls are up here on the second level. The decorative paintings are few and far between. Also the wallpaper is horrendous. And she can't help the intense desire to add something. Anything at all. A mural of some kind. Maybe something that follows the Greco-Roman/Greek god theme, like that piece down stairs?

Anything other than the blank, bare walls. Anything with a bit of color. Bright and boisterous like the piece of Gotham Deserey painted herself last year, the one that's still hanging in her brother's study today.

"Well, adopted brother, anyway... and adopted dad, too, actually. B and I were both adopted by the same man when we were kids. But they're the only real family I've ever known, so..." Deserey shrugs. 'Cause what else is there to say on the subject?

Joe nods as they reach the first landing again. "Must be hard, moving so far from them." And this is another one of those things that sound suspicious to Dez but actually isn't? Like, she thinks he's trying to be empathetic, but she's so fucked up it sounds threatening to her ears. But it isn't, is it?

"I mean, I'm more worried about how my brother will manage without me." This is only half a lie. She is worried about B, but she's also worried about everything else that she said during their call. "He's got our dad, and I know he can take care of himself. But still. Big sister instincts, ya know? Some of the stuff he does for, uh, work is kinda dangerous."

They're over by the elevators now, next to the bronze Olympian painting. Joe waves Frank over to them and asks, "What's he do?" Chyre don't question what's going on, so Dez assumes that Joe has already filled him in at some point before coming to get her. 'Bout the farms that is. He prolly don't know they're talkin' about Dez's family in Jersey, but, hey, he's a defective. He can put two and two together, she's sure.

"Mm. He's a detective, too. Sort of." The trio slips into the elevator and presses the button for the lobby's floor. "He was in school for the FBI, but they wouldn't let him forgo the whole gun thing, so he quit and studied abroad instead. Now, he's basically a consultant for the GCPD, and just because that's not enough to do he runs his own company too."

Frank and Joe look surprised at this, and Dez is reminded that it's only normal in Gotham for people to have stories like that. Everywhere else it's weird.

Deserey shrugs. She doesn't know what else to say, so she just keeps going on about her brother. "I mean, technically the company is his father's- that's his biological father, not our adoptive dad- he just took it over after he passed."

"Uh, which company is this again?" Frank asks.

And Deserey can't stop herself from giving the biggest smirk here. She just can't. "If I told ya, y'all would have a heart attack, I think, and, no offense, but at your ages that could be very bad."

Joe chuckles and points a finger at her. "She got jokes," he tells Frank.

"Trust me," she says, "I'm no Joker."

{~}

Day bleeds into night, and Deserey ends up working overtime on her first day on the job. So, that's fun. Turns out there's a lot of farms in Central City (and also a coast; a fucking coast. In Missouri. Like, how??), and Barry's list is very long. So, yeah. Over time.

Joe and Frank want everyone to take the same vehicle, but Dez and her issues just cannot be in the car with people she just met, especially if she's not the one driving. So, they split the list between them, with Chyre and Joe taking one vehicle and Dez following in her car. Even so, searching them all takes forever, and these Mardon Brothers are nowhere to be seen at any of these locations.

Now, it's pouring rain, and Deserey is missing her kids. She knows they don't necessarily need her there at home at night, her husband Darryl can take care of them, but still. She'd feel better if she was there. She's usually there. It's weird not being there. It's weird, okay?

But instead she's here, at this random farm that somehow exists in the city in the pouring rain with two old men she just met that morning.

Dez throws her hood up and pushes her car door open; she's soaked in seconds but oh well. What's a little pneumonia gonna hurt? Joe and Frank get out, too, and Joe announces, "This is the last farm on Barry's list." As if the other two aren't already aware. Like. Yes? They know? They read the list too?

But Deserey doesn't say anything about it, 'cause maybe he's just sayin' it to say somethin', she don't know.

"Look, I know the kid's smart, but you said it yourself." Frank's shoes are squishing in the mud as the three make their way up towards the faded and splintered barn. It's a lot of noise. If the Mardons are at this one, then they'll definitely be tipped off, if not by the mud squishing then certainly this man's loud ass voice.

"Sometimes he's chasing flying pigs!"

"Well, let's check it out, anyway," Joe says. Even though they...already are?

So. This is the barn's interior: cracked and eroded wood, horrendous stench of manure, broken lamps, and dented tool boxes scattered around. And then, at the very back of the place, there's something that suspiciously looks like a car covered by a dingy yellow tarp.

Deserey lets Chyre and West check it out. She hangs back a bit, next to the wooden pillar towards the front of the barn, the one next to the barrel of hay. There's a flight of rickety stairs that lead up to a second landing. From where Dez is with the detectives, there's no way to actually see what's up there beyond the wooden railing and shafts holding up the ceiling. Perfect place for someone who just robbed a bank and killed a man to, say, get the drop on three individuals with occupations in law enforcement?

And here's where the bullets start flying.

Dez leaps into action the second the sound of gunfire rings through the air. Her boot slips in the mud, and she skids to a stop behind the closest pillar to her. She notices Joe and Frank doing the same, and both men draw their own firearms out. Which. Dez isn't the biggest fan of guns, but if it's a matter of life and death, she can make exceptions. It really just depends on where the weapon is being pointed. At the bank robber who she is aware has already murdered someone else earlier that day?

Yeah she don't mind the detectives aiming their guns that way.

Mardon, Dez isn't sure which brother it is, doesn't bother goin' down the stairs. Instead, he throws himself off the second landing and lets the hay break his fall. And then he hops up again, and he's making a break for the exit.

There's bullets flying in every direction. And the sound echoes off the walls, even in this wooden barn. Cause it's that small, and guns are that loud. And the bullets are everywhere. One lodges itself in the wood of the pillar in front of her. Damn near right next to her head. And they're goin' everywhere else too. Over there and over here and over there and-

- There aren't a lot of places to go. Not without being shot. Dez is stuck. So are the detectives. And this, this right here, is exactly the reason Deserey hates people who use guns. 'Cause they just go shootin' 'em just like that without even lookin' what they're doing. And yeah. She knows Mardon wants to hit at least one of them, okay? She knows. She is aware of that. But still.

Mardon makes it to the opening of the barn, and he's making a break for it. And, for some stupid fuckin' reason, he feels the need to shout, "I've got a plane to catch!" Like. Okay hot shot. Chill the fuck out, will ya?

Chyre takes a risk. He runs out from his cover, following Mardon into the downpour. Takes a shot. Misses by a mile. That's about when the two seater aircraft rolls around the side of the barn, and Frank pauses, as if the sight is somehow stunning after Mardon's "I've got a plane to catch" line. And Chyre goes, "What the hell?"

And here is where Deserey's trauma responses kick in. Because she's seen so many people get shot. She herself has even been shot. More than once. She knows when someone is about to shoot. She knows when someone is about to be hit. There isn't time to think. She just acts. Leg muscles tightening, shoulders tensing, shoes squelching in the mud and twisting her ankle, Deserey fucking runs for it.

At the same time Mardon shoots, for the last time; Deserey reaches Chyre. Everything else that happens, she swears, is pure luck on her part. 'Cause she ain't exactly a small woman, ya know? She's got some muscles on her, and she's fairly tall, too, but Chyre is still twice her body weight, still twice her height. So, tackling the man from behind and shoving his face into the mud is a feat. Dez is lucky that it's not the same as hitting a brick wall. Jesus fucking Christ.

But yeah. Dez gets lucky. And so does Frank. And so do the Mardons. Chyre and Deserey both go down, both hit the ground, mud splattering their clothes and sinking into their fingernails. Mardon turns and jumps. He hoists himself up and into the plane, and the plane leaves the ground. So too does their chance at apprehending the dirtbags.

Dez sits up, the rain flattening her curls since her hood fell down at some point during all the shooting and running. Her lungs feel heavy, breathing hard. Jesus. Joe's standing above her. Frank's sitting across from her, eyes wide as all hell.

"Did you just save my life?"

Dez can only offer him a shrug in return. Now that it's over, her shoulder aches like hell. She honestly might have dislocated something. She isn't sure. There's not a whole lot of time to check it out, if she's bein' real with ya.

'Cause this is where the city explodes.

In the distance there's the Mardons' plane. Barely visible through the downpour. Getting further away by the second. And then, as far from the center of the city as they are, Dez can hear it.

BANG!

The sound carries across the barnyard, echoes through the night, pops her ears; even over the thunder clapping above and the rain slapping into the ground below, it can be heard easily. As if it, whatever it is, is happening right in front of her. In the sky, through the air, there's smoke and a mushroom cloud of something red. And that's seen even over the bright ass flash of lightning cutting across the horizon.

A horrendous piece painted by Mother Nature. Neon colors splashed and splattered onto the canvas without care.

The cloud stays, for a tenth of a second, and then it's going out. Not just dissipating, but going out. Moving outwards, sweeping across the city.

A whole work of art, washed out with a single brush stroke of red.

"They're goin' down!"

Dez is on her feet again, sprinting for her car. Which, she knows she won't make it. She knows. 'Cause the red something has already slammed into the two seater above, and it's already ripped it apart and scattered the wings who knows where.

But she's still going. She's still running. Still starting her car and throwin' it in drive. Joe's still sayin' "There's no way they survived that!" And Dez is still ignoring him, and she's still speeding off in the direction she saw the plane crash. Where she thinks the wreckage will have landed. She still drives right through the red something to get to the criminals who've robbed a bank and killed someone earlier today. To the men who just shot at her and her new co-workers, who almost killed one of them. She still goes to check for them.

'Cause you'd be surprised what a man can survive.