Now things get interesting...enjoy!

Another 4k chapter? Crazy.

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The next name on the list was one that Louis recognised immediately. A name that he hadn't seen in months.

Louis sat on the edge of the couch, a hand resting on the back of his neck, his mind far away; he looked over the list with a frown before placing it back on the table.

Harry, leaning against the counter with a drink in his hand, was rambling on about the next target.

"Victor Hale," Harry started, his tone smooth and casual. "He's not your average smuggler. Architect by trade, but somewhere along the way, he realised designing blueprints for buildings wasn't nearly as lucrative as drawing up plans for heists. Smart guy, too. Always has an exit strategy. The kind of guy who's slippery enough to make the cops look like fools."

Louis didn't react, but his shoulders tensed ever so slightly.

"After the blackout," Harry continued, "he's back in business. He's been lying low, keeping his operations quiet, but there's whispers all over Gotham. He's hard to track, even harder to catch."

Harry's eyes flickered toward Louis, but Louis didn't answer. His expression was distant, almost calculating. He hadn't moved for a while, but his mind was working fast.

Harry furrowed his brows. "What's got you so deep in thought, Robin?" he asked, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. "You seem awfully quiet for someone who's supposed to be helping with this."

Louis blinked but didn't look up. He rubbed his thumb over his lower lip, still lost in thought.

Harry's gaze narrowed. He watched Louis, his eyes sharp, studying every little movement. After a beat, Harry let out a soft chuckle. "You already knew all that, didn't you?" he said, his voice more pointed now, a knowing grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

Louis looked up, caught off guard by Harry's sudden insight. His face softened, and he let out a sigh, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he muttered. "I know more than you think."

Harry tilted his head, intrigued. "What do you mean?" he raised his glass to his lips.

Louis' gaze shifted to the far wall, his mind replaying the events from the past. "I know where his warehouse is."

Harry paused mid-sip, his green eyes narrowing as he set his glass down. "Do you, now?"

Louis nodded. "He's got a place near the docks. Old industrial warehouse he used to run operations out of before I shut him down."

Harry's grin faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of curiosity. "You shut him down?"

"Yeah," Louis said, leaning back against the couch, his tone clipped. "I'm the one who put him away last time."

Harry stepped closer, his curiosity piqued. "You? You put Hale away?" he tilted his head, studying Louis. "How'd you manage that?"

Louis shrugged, his expression unreadable. "It wasn't easy. He's clever, and he knows how to cover his tracks. But he's also predictable. Every operation he's ever run has been meticulously planned" he explained. "He likes structure, and he's not the type to improvise. If he's back, he'll be using the same place—it's familiar and it works."

Harry's gaze lingered on Louis, sharp and calculating. "Interesting. And you didn't think to mention this sooner because...?"

Louis raised an eyebrow. "You didn't ask."

Harry laughed, the sound low and amused. "Right," he leaned forward, resting his hands on the back of the chair opposite Louis. "So, let me guess...you think we should start there?"

"It's the best lead we've got," Louis said firmly. "If he's not there, there'll be something that points us to where he is. Hale's good, but he's not invincible."

Harry straightened. "Alright, sweetheart. Let's go see if your instincts are right. But just so we're clear—if we walk into a trap, you're the one explaining it to the nice men with guns."

Louis rolled his eyes but didn't bother responding to the jab.

As Louis headed for the door, Harry followed close behind, a faint smirk still playing on his lips. "You're awfully eager, Robin. What's the rush?"

"Call it unfinished business," Louis muttered, not looking back.

Harry's laughter echoed through the apartment as the two stepped out into the cold Gotham night.

***

The warehouse was vast and dark, its corners hidden in shadow as Louis moved cautiously through the space. The faint creak of metal and the distant water drip echoed in the silence. His boots crunched softly on the dusty floor as his eyes scanned the surroundings.

"Robin," Harry's voice cut through the quiet, sharp and impatient from somewhere behind him. "What have I told you about wandering off?"

Louis ignored him, his focus caught by odd markings on the floor. They were faint but deliberate, a mix of scratches and stains that seemed to form a pattern leading farther into the room.

"Hey!" Harry barked again, his tone clipped as he appeared at the edge of Louis' vision, his green eyes narrowing. "Stay behind me. That's not a suggestion."

"Relax," Louis shot back, brushing past him as he stepped toward the markings. "I'm just checking it out."

Harry let out an exasperated sigh, raking a hand through his messy hair. "You're impossible, you know that? Do you ever take a break from being so stubborn, or do you just—"

Before Louis could respond, iron spikes shot up around him, forming a crude cage. A metal clamp caught his foot, holding it in place.

He stumbled back, his boot catching on another pressure plate. A smaller spike snapped up from the ground, catching the edge of his thigh.

Louis bit back a cry, gripping his leg as blood seeped through his suit. "Shit," he hissed, trying to steady himself against the bars.

Harry's expression shifted immediately, irritation replaced by sharp focus as he strode toward the trap. "Of course," he muttered under his breath, circling Louis to inspect the contraption. "Couldn't just listen, could you?"

Louis' pride flared, even as he tried to suppress a grimace from the pain. "I've got this," he said stiffly, tugging at his leg in an attempt to free it from the clamp.

Harry shot him a look, his lips curving into a faint, sardonic smile. "Oh, sure. You're doing a fantastic job so far." He reached through the bars, his gloved hand brushing Louis' shoulder. "Don't move. You'll make it worse."

Louis stiffened at the contact but held his ground. "I don't need your help."

Harry arched an eyebrow, his voice dropping to a low drawl. "Sweetheart, you're trapped. Let's skip the tough act, yeah?"

The spikes groaned as they shifted closer, the faint grind of metal filling Louis' ears. He bit down on a curse, his breathing shallow as his fingers clenched around the bars.

"Relax," Harry said, reaching through the cage to rub Louis' arm. "You're fine."

"I don't feel fine," Louis snapped. "Just... get me out."

Harry's grin widened faintly. "See? That wasn't so hard."

Louis glanced at the spikes and then back to Harry, his pride wearing thin. "Help me."

"Gladly," Harry said with a smirk, though his focus remained on the mechanism. He knelt beside the cage, his fingers tracing the edges of the spikes as he examined the setup.

"It's primitive," he muttered, his green eyes narrowing as he followed the lines of the machinery. He crouched beside the base of the cage, his fingers tracing the grooves of the metal. "Pressure-triggered, rudimentary...for an architect, he has the creativity of a brick," he muttered.

"Can we save the critique for later?" Louis snapped, wincing as the clamp shifted against his leg.

Harry's eyes flickered briefly to the blood soaking into Louis' suit. "Don't be so impatient," he chided, his voice almost teasing as he tilted his head, inspecting the area where the spike had grazed Louis' thigh. His gloved fingers hovered over the torn fabric, brushing lightly against Louis' skin as he checked the wound.

Louis flinched. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure you're not bleeding out," Harry said flatly, his tone devoid of its usual sarcasm.

Louis swallowed. "I'm fine," he lied. "Just get me out."

"Don't lie to me," Harry countered, his gaze not lifting from the mechanism. "Where does it hurt?"

Louis hesitated, then gestured vaguely to his thigh. "It's not that bad."

The Joker sighed. "Always have to make things harder for yourself, don't you?"

"You're one to talk," Louis bit back, his voice weaker now.

Harry returned to the mechanism. "Let's see what else this thing has in store."

He worked quickly, his fingers deftly manoeuvring the panels and wires. The grinding of metal began again, but this time it slowed, the cage creaking as the spikes retracted inch by inch.

"Almost there," Harry said, glancing up briefly to meet Louis' gaze.

"You sure?" Louis asked, trying to mask the edge of nervousness in his voice.

"Would you rather I leave you here?" Harry shot back with a grin, though there was an edge of something softer in his tone.

With a final click, the cage shuddered, the clamp released with a sharp hiss and the spikes began to retract. Harry stood, moving quickly to Louis' side as he stumbled forward, his leg buckling slightly.

"Steady, darling," Harry murmured, catching Louis before he hit the ground. His grip was firm but clinical.

Louis swallowed, using Harry's arms to steady himself, his finger curling around The Joker's biceps before he found his footing and pulled away.

"There," Harry said, his smirk returning. "Safe and sound. You're welcome, by the way."

Louis straightened, brushing himself off. "Took you long enough."

Harry chuckled, stepping back and letting his hands fall to his sides. "Next time, stay behind me. I don't enjoy cleaning up your messes."

Louis glared at him but didn't reply, his leg still aching as he followed Harry toward the exit.

Harry arched an eyebrow as he saw the scowl on Louis' face. "Remind me to leave you next time."

"Please do," Louis muttered, trying to keep up. His leg gave way slightly, the sharp sting in his thigh pulling a hiss from his lips.

Harry's hand shot out, steadying him again. His grin faltered as his gaze flicked downward, catching sight of the blood seeping through Louis' suit. "Hold still."

"I'm fine—" Louis started, but Harry cut him off with a sharp look.

"Don't move," Harry said sharply, his voice cutting through Louis' weak protests. "Let me see it."

"I said I'm fine—" he started, but when he took a step forward, his leg buckled.

Harry's caught him again, hands firmly on Louis' waist. His touch lingered for longer than necessary, holding Louis tight in his grip.

"Shut up and hold still," Harry snapped, his tone brooking no argument this time. "You're bleeding and I'm not in the mood for heroics."

Louis hesitated, his pride warring with the throbbing pain in his thigh. "It's nothing," he muttered, avoiding Harry's gaze. He held still nonetheless, not pulling away from Harry.

"Your definition of 'nothing' is bleeding out all over my boots," Harry snapped, crouching down before Louis could argue further.

"Hey!" Louis protested weakly as Harry's gloved fingers ghosted over the torn fabric of his suit. "You don't need to—"

"Stop squirming," Harry ordered, pulling a small blade from his pocket. "This'll be quicker if you don't fight me."

Louis clenched his jaw, holding still as Harry carefully slit the fabric along his thigh to reveal the shallow gash running across his skin. The wound wasn't deep, but blood trickled steadily from it, staining the edge of his suit.

Harry clicked his tongue, inspecting the injury with a critical eye. "Amateur," he muttered under his breath. "All this effort to trap you and this is the best he can do? A glorified scratch?"

"It doesn't feel like a scratch," Louis muttered, trying to pull his leg back.

Harry's hand pressed against the inside of his thigh, keeping him in place. "I didn't say you could move," he said, his voice low but sharp. "Stay still."

Louis froze, his breath hitching as Harry's fingers moved with surprising precision. Harry tore a strip of fabric from the hem of his own shirt, wrapping it tightly around the wound.

Louis winced, hands going to Harry's shoulders to steady himself. "Does it have to be that tight?" Louis asked through gritted teeth.

"Yes," Harry replied, his tone flat. "Unless you'd prefer to bleed out and prove me right about you being useless."

Louis glared down at him, biting back a retort as Harry tied off the makeshift bandage. "You're enjoying this," he muttered.

Harry glanced up at Louis and their eyes met for a second.

"Not as much as you think," Harry shot back quietly. Louis removed his hands from The Joker's shoulders and Harry rose to his feet. "You owe me, sweetheart."

"For what? Saving your own skin?"

Harry smirked, brushing off his hands. "If I were saving my own skin, I'd have let you rot in that trap. But lucky for you, I like keeping my toys intact."

Louis bristled, his face flushing as he took a tentative step forward. The bandage held; the pain lingered.

"Let's go," he said shortly, brushing past Harry toward the exit.

Harry fell into step beside him, his grin widening as he watched Louis limp slightly. "Careful, sweetheart," he teased. "You're no good to me if you can't keep up."

Louis huffed, his pride stung more than his leg. "I can keep up."

Harry chuckled. "Good," he said. "Because if you can't, I'll have to carry you out of here myself. Over my shoulder."

Louis glared, forcing himself to walk quickly despite the ache in his thigh. "You wouldn't dare."

"Careful, sweetheart," Harry said, offering him a lazy grin. "I just might."

Louis didn't reply, his jaw tightening as they left the warehouse behind.

***

The apartment was unusually quiet, save for the faint hum of the city below. Louis sat at the small table near the window, leaning forward with a focused intensity. The notepad in front of him was covered in scattered sketches, half-drawn ideas, and faintly smudged lines. His pencil scratched against the paper in quick, purposeful strokes.

Harry lounged on the couch nearby, a glass of whiskey balanced in one hand, his green eyes fixed on Louis. There was something about the younger man's concentration that caught Harry's attention. It wasn't often Louis allowed himself to get lost in thought like this. Harry's gaze lingered on him, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

After a while, Harry broke the silence. "You gonna fill me in, or is this some secret art project you've got going on?"

Louis didn't look up, his focus on the sketch. "Just give me a minute."

"Oh, please," Harry replied. "Carry on sketching, Picasso," he said. "Seems like you've got a secret talent," his words were teasing but he looked impressed as he eyed Louis' drawing. "You looking for a career change?"

Louis rolled his eyes. "Shut up, I'm thinking."

Harry tilted his head, watching him with a mix of amusement and fascination. "You've been at this all night. How's the leg?"

Louis glanced at him briefly, his lips twitching in irritation. "Fine."

"Really? Because last time I checked, you were bleeding all over my boots."

"I said I'm fine." Louis' voice had an edge, but his focus didn't waver.

Harry leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You're not seriously still hung up on that warehouse?" he asked. "We checked. It's empty. Hale's gone. He's probably halfway to the next city by now."

Louis tilted his head as he looked over the sketch, his pencil frozen in his hand. "It's not empty," he muttered.

"What do you mean?" Harry leaned forward, his grin fading as his eyes scanned the sketch. "We've just been there, it was a dead end."

"These are blueprints," Louis replied, pushing the paper across the table so Harry could get a better look. "I saw these patterns on the floor before I got trapped."

Harry raised an eyebrow, setting his drink aside as he leaned forward to take the notepad. His expression shifted from amused to intrigued as he studied the page. The markings were a mix of overlapping shapes and detailed symbols, arranged in a deliberate pattern.

"Blueprints of what?" Harry asked, his eyes still on the drawing.

Louis scoffed. "Don't you see it?" he mumbled, leaning forward to point out the lines of the sketch. "It's a map."

Harry chuckled, leaning back on the couch. "A map to what? His secret treasure chest? A villain lair?"

Louis shot him a look. "A hidden room," he tapped the notepad, pointing to a section of the sketch. "Look here—this part of the building doesn't line up. It's too big to be empty space."

Harry's smirk faltered, his interest piqued. "You think he's stashing something there?"

"I think he's there," Louis corrected.

Harry huffed out a laugh, looking up at Louis. "What? In a cupboard?"

Louis pulled a face. "No, in a concealed room, genius. It's built into the structure—it's right there," he tapped the notepad again, more insistent this time. "This is like a map for people who are invited so they know where to go."

"A hidden room," Harry murmured, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. He glanced at Louis. "And you figured this out all on your own? Smart boy."

Louis took back his sketchbook and stood. "We need to go back."

Harry chuckled, standing and stretching lazily. "We? No, no, sweetheart. I'll go. You can sit this one out."

Louis tensed. "What?"

"You're still limping," Harry said, his tone too casual. He stepped around the table and moved toward Louis, towering over him. "You're not tagging along to slow me down."

Louis shot him a glare. "I'm fine."

Harry snorted. "Yeah?" he pushed Louis gently back into the chair. Louis winced as he landed, glaring up at Harry. "See? You're still hurt." Harry said smugly, holding his hand out to pull Louis back up.

"It doesn't hurt," Louis snapped, brushing Harry's hand away and rising to his feet.

Harry blocked his path with an easy grin. "Sure it doesn't. Come on, Robin. Be smart. Let me handle this one."

Louis glared at him, stepping around the blockade. "I'm going. But by all means, you can sit this one out."

The sharpness in his tone wiped the grin off Harry's face. For a moment, the two stood facing each other, tension crackling in the air. Then Harry exhaled, a low laugh slipping past his lips.

"Fine," Harry said, his voice laced with reluctant amusement. "But if you get stuck in another trap, I'm leaving you there."

"Sure you will," Louis muttered, already heading to the door.

***

Back at the warehouse, Louis and Harry moved in silence. The building was even darker than before, the air thick with dust and the faint smell of Louis' lingering blood. Louis led the way, looking for any signs of movement.

"Careful," Harry murmured, his voice low. "Wouldn't want you stepping into another trap."

Louis didn't dignify that with a response, his attention on the markings etched into the floor. They followed a faint trail toward the back of the warehouse, leading to a section of wall that seemed ordinary at first glance.

"Here," Louis said, crouching to inspect the base of the wall. His fingers brushed over a seam in the metal, faint but deliberate.

Harry knelt beside him, watching with curiosity. "A secret door? How cliché."

"It's practical," Louis replied, finding a concealed panel and prying it open. Inside was a keypad, its buttons faintly glowing.

Harry grinned. "Let me guess—you know the code?"

Louis shook his head. "No. But I know Hale. He's predictable, the code will be tied to something personal."

He pressed a few buttons experimentally—dates, initials, combinations—and the keypad let out a soft beep before the wall slid open with a hiss. Inside was a fortified vault room, lined with shelves of weapon crates and stolen tech.

Louis let out a low breath. "Bingo."

Harry whistled softly, stepping inside and tapping one of the crates with his gloved hand. "Well, well. Looks like Victor's been busy."

Louis scanned the room, his eyes narrowing. "This isn't just for selling. He's stocking up for something. These are all from the armoury."

Harry's grin widened. "An architect with ambition. I like him already."

"Stay focused," Louis snapped. "We need to find him before he moves this stuff."

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps echoed from behind them. Both men turned, and there stood Victor Hale. Hale's sharp eyes flicked over the scene, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Well, well," Hale said, his voice smooth. "Look who's come to visit. The prodigal son and his clown sidekick."

Harry chuckled, stepping forward with his hands in his pockets. "Flattering, really, but I'm nobody's sidekick."

"Victor," Louis said, his voice steady. "You're done. Come willingly or we'll make this messy."

"Didn't expect visitors tonight," Hale drawled, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the two intruders. "But I guess you're not just here for a chat."

Harry chuckled softly, leaning against the wall. "Oh, sweetheart, you really don't see it, do you? You're cornered. Outgunned. Outnumbered," he gestured between himself and Louis. "And frankly, outclassed."

Louis stepped forward, his hands raised slightly. "It's over, Hale. You've got nowhere to run."

Hale laughed, low and bitter. "Run? Why would I run? I've got everything I need right here." he motioned with his hand and two burly men stepped out from around the corner. "You think you're in a position to make demands? Boys, show them out."

The henchmen raised their weapons, but Harry moved first, a blade flashing in his hand as he disarmed one with a fluid motion. Louis took the opportunity to leap into action, tackling the second man with precision. Within moments, the two henchmen were unconscious on the floor.

Hale took a step back, his confidence faltering. "Wait—"

Harry was on him in an instant, pinning him against the wall with a manic grin. "Go on, sweetheart. Beg. I love it when they beg."

"Hey," Louis warned, his voice sharp. "We're not killing him."

Harry didn't look back, his grin widening as he leaned closer to Victor. "Why not? He's been a very bad boy. Look at all these toys he stole," he tutted. "Someone has to teach him a lesson."

Louis crossed his arms, his tone firm. "We're leaving him for the cops."

Harry finally turned his gaze to Louis, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. "Oh, come on, Robin. Where's the fun in that? One little bullet and he's out of everyone's hair."

Louis' glare hardened. "No."

Harry's grin didn't falter. "Spoilsport," he drawled, turning his attention back to Victor. "You hear that, genius? Pretty boy here wants to play nice. Lucky you."

Victor swallowed hard, his bravado slipping. "Look, I—I can make a deal. You don't have to—"

Harry cut him off with a laugh, stepping back slightly but keeping Victor pinned with his stare. "A deal? Cute. You're not in a position to negotiate, darling."

"Joker," Louis said, his voice taking on an edge. "Back off."

Harry glanced back, his grin fading into a smirk. "Fine. We'll do it your way, Robin. But shooting him would be so much more fun."

Louis rolled his eyes, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his belt and securing Hale's wrists. "You're lucky I don't let him decide."

Hale glared at Louis but said nothing, his jaw tight.

Harry stepped back, watching with amusement as Louis secured the scene. "You know," he drawled, "you're no fun when you play by the rules."

"And you're no help when you don't," Louis shot back, dragging Hale toward the exit.

As they stepped outside, the sound of approaching sirens filled the air. Harry leaned against the wall, watching Louis with a lazy grin.

"You really are predictable," Harry teased. "Leaving him for the cops? How boring."

Louis didn't respond; his focus was on the task at hand. Harry retreated into the shadows watching as Louis handed Victor over to the authorities. The police thanked Louis, gathered the two henchmen from the building and left.

"Letting him walk away like this? Where's your sense of justice?"

Louis turned to face Harry. "This is justice," he shot back. "Letting the system handle him."

Harry laughed, low and amused. "The system? Oh, Robin, you're adorable."

Louis rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

"Well," Harry began, his green eyes glinting with amusement. "I hope this makes you sleep better at night, Robin. But don't get used to it."

Louis shot him a glare. "Get in the car."

Harry pushed off the wall, his smirk widening. "As you wish, Robin."

But as they climbed into the car and pulled away from the warehouse, Harry's voice broke the silence again.

"You know," he said, his tone light but with a hint of something darker, "we make a damn good team."

Louis didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. But as the city lights blurred past, he couldn't shake the weight of Harry's words—or the faint smile that lingered on Harry's lips.

Thoughts on them working together? They have common enemies now, who'd have thought? :)

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