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The steady hum of the television filled the penthouse; the crisp monotone voice of the evening's news anchor stretched over the quiet tension in the room.

"Still no updates on the explosion at Wayne Manor," she stated. "Authorities remain quiet on the ongoing nature of the investigation. Gotham's own Batman has yet to issue a statement, fuelling speculation of a larger conspiracy. So far, no sightings of Robin have been confirmed and The Joker remains a key suspect in the ongoing investigation..."

Louis sat forward, fingers curled into his knees as he glared at the screen. He already knew what the report would say but hearing it still sent a sharp twist through his stomach.

The footage on the screen flicked back to Wayne Manor's blackened ruins, the skeletal remains of his childhood home framed against the night sky. The smoke had cleared, but the damage was irreversible. The ashes looked endless.

"...an inquiry is being made into how this attack occurred, despite the security measures-"

"Turn it off," Louis muttered, his voice low and tight.

Harry glanced over from his seat at the kitchen island, arching a brow. He didn't move to grab the remote.

When Harry didn't move, Louis' jaw clenched. "Harry," he said, sharper this time. "Turn it off."

A slow, deliberate beat passed before Harry reached for the remote. He clicked the power button without ceremony and the room fell into silence.

"Better?" Harry drawled, casting him a lazy glance.

Louis exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "It would be if I knew who did it."

Harry made a vague noise of acknowledgement but didn't look up, still lazily scanning the file in front of him.

Louis' fingers tapped against his knee restlessly, his eyes flickering away from the laptop in front of him. "There has to be something," he pressed. "Someone had to see something. The security footage, the explosion itself—it wasn't subtle. There's no way the police have nothing."

Harry turned a page, still only half-listening.

Louis' nose twitched as he looked over at Harry. "Maybe I should call him again, see if he—"

"Mm." Harry's noncommittal hum made something inside Louis snap.

"You don't care, do you?" His voice was sharp enough to cut through the room.

Harry finally glanced up, one brow raising.

Louis shook his head, his stomach twisting. "I knew it," he muttered. "You're not even trying."

That got a reaction.

Harry set his file down deliberately, tilting his head as he regarded Louis with quiet amusement. "Is that so?"

Louis scoffed, shoving himself up from the couch. "You're acting like this doesn't matter," he accused. "Of course, you don't care, do you? You only get involved when it benefits you."

Harry didn't interrupt. He just watched, green eyes steady, waiting.

Louis let out a harsh breath, raking a hand through his hair. "I don't know why I thought this would be any different," he muttered, his voice quieter but no less frustrated. "I don't know why I thought you would be any different."

A small, almost amused huff escaped Harry. "Sweetheart," he said smoothly, "what do you think I've been doing all night?"

Louis faltered.

Harry tapped the file in front of him, sliding it across the counter in one lazy motion. Louis stared down at it. His frustration wavered as he reached for the folder and flipped it open.

Notes. Dozens of them. Reports, maps, and scattered annotations scribbled across pages in sharp, impatient handwriting. Photos of the blast site, chemical breakdowns of the explosives used, and lists of known suppliers.

It was methodical. Unrelenting. Louis turned another page, his stomach twisting. Harry had been trying.

Louis frowned. "You did all of this?" he realised, his voice almost a whisper.

Harry shrugged and something soft flickered across Louis' face—something hesitant, aching at the edges.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Louis asked, quieter now.

Harry exhaled, tilting his head slightly, leaning towards Louis. "Didn't want to disappoint you until I had something." His lips quirked into the ghost of a smile. "I know how much you hate a dead end, sweetheart."

Louis' breath hitched. Oh. His hand fell away from the file but his fingers twitched, aching to move to Harry.

"You... you've been up all night?" The question left his lips before he could stop it.

Harry's smirk grew, like he could feel the shift in the air between them. He cocked his head, studying Louis carefully. "We can't both get a good night's sleep, sweetheart," he teased. "Someone's gotta keep an eye on the city."

Louis glanced up at Harry, feeling a slight warmth in the pit of his stomach when their eyes met. He swallowed, his pulse a little too loud in his ears. "Right," he muttered, his throat suddenly dry.

Harry tapped his fingers against the counter. "You're staring."

Louis blinked, heat crawling up his neck as he glanced back at the file. He grabbed a report at random, scanning the text to cover the fact that he had, in fact, been staring.

He exhaled, trying to push past the way his chest felt tight, and refocused. "So... all this, and there's just—nothing?"

Harry's smirk faded slightly. "Not nothing. Just weak." He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "The police have theories but none of them hold up."

Louis frowned, flipping through another report. "Then what do we do?"

Harry hesitated before answering. "There's a police report," he admitted. "Came through Harley's usual channels. A stash of explosives turned up in an old warehouse south of the Narrows. Same type used at Wayne Manor."

Louis straightened. "That's a lead."

Harry arched a brow. "It's a scrap."

"It's still something," Louis argued, his blue eyes locking onto Harry's. "Can we check it out?" He widened his eyes when Harry looked like he was about to refuse. "Please?"

Harry studied him for a long moment, then sighed dramatically. "Fine," he muttered. "But you're driving."

Louis nodded immediately. "Deal."

Harry rolled his eyes, pushing off the counter and grabbing his coat. "Don't get your hopes up though, sweetheart," he said, making his way to the hallway. "I'd hate to have to pick up the pieces when this is all for nothing."

Louis smiled as he followed him out the door.

***

The low hum of yellow streetlights buzzed overhead, casting a warm glow over the concrete. The echo of their footsteps filled the silence as they approached the car.

Louis yanked open the driver's side door while Harry slid into the passenger seat, stretching out as if he'd already resigned himself to boredom.

"You know," Louis muttered, adjusting the seatbelt over his chest. "I thought you liked driving."

Harry smirked, leaning his head back against the seat. "I do," he replied. "But watching you concentrate is adorable."

Louis rolled his eyes, turning the key in the ignition. The car rumbled to life beneath them, headlights flashing against the cold, empty walls of the parking lot.

Harry let out a sigh, shifting slightly like he was looking for something. He leaned forward, one hand bracing against the dash as he reached for the glove compartment.

Louis glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for—" Harry cut himself off, fingers wrapping around something inside. Slowly, he pulled back, amusement flickering in his green eyes as he turned toward Louis.

Louis frowned at his expression. "What?"

A slow, amused smirk curled at his lips as he pulled something out, turning it over between his fingers.

"Well, well," Harry mused, his voice laced with teasing delight. "Thought you searched high and low, sweetheart?"

Louis stared at it, his mind scrambling. "No. That's—" His fingers curled around the steering wheel. "I checked there. I checked the whole car."

Harry hummed, inspecting the device as if it were of great personal interest. "Clearly not well enough, sweetheart." He held the phone out to Louis.

Louis' jaw clenched, his hand shooting out to snatch it from him. "I know I checked."

He yanked the phone from Harry's grip, his fingers closing around it with a little too much force.

Harry let him, watching him with an infuriating smirk. "Sure you did."

"I did," Louis insisted, flipping the phone over in his hands like it would somehow explain itself.

Harry chuckled under his breath, shifting back into his seat, eyes still flicking to him between glances at the road. It was nearly empty at this hour, their car one of only a handful tucked in the shadows.

"Losing your mind already?" he teased, grabbing his knife from the glove compartment before snapping it shut. "That doesn't bode well."

Louis groaned. "Oh, shut up."

Harry sighed dramatically. "Don't worry, sweetheart. If you start forgetting things, I'll take good care of you."

Louis' stomach flipped at the unexpected softness beneath the tease. He hated that his first instinct was to believe him.

Louis glared out the windshield. "Forget it."

"Oh, I could never forget you."

Louis resisted the urge to throw himself out of the moving car.

***

The streets of Gotham were quiet but it was the kind of quiet that never lasted. Even in the dead of night, the city still breathed—faint echoes of traffic from a few blocks over, the occasional flicker of movement in the shadows, the ever-present hum of neon lights buzzing overhead.

Louis shifted uncomfortably where he stood, arms crossed over his chest as he glanced up at the building in front of them. It was unassuming, just another run-down storefront in a part of town that had long since given up trying to look respectable. The metal shutters were halfway pulled down over the front window, a rusting "CLOSED" sign dangling crookedly against the glass. But there was no mistaking what this place was.

"Illegal weapons and explosives," Louis muttered, his gaze flicking up to the barely legible store name above the door. "Real subtle operation they've got here."

Beside him, Harry hummed in amusement, crouching down to inspect the lock. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, tilting his head as he ran his fingers over the mechanism, "you're talking like you're still the kind of person who follows rules. That's cute."

Louis rolled his eyes, shifting on his feet as Harry pulled out a set of lockpicks. "Of course, you know how to do that," he muttered.

Harry smirked but didn't look up. There was a soft click, and the door creaked open an inch. Harry looked up at Louis, his expression smug. "After you, darling."

Louis shot him a look but stepped inside first, his footsteps near-silent against the worn wooden floor. The store was dark, only the neon glow from the street outside casting long, jagged shadows across the shelves. Rows of locked cabinets lined the walls, filled with things that shouldn't be this easy to buy—firearms, knives, vials of questionable substances.

"You ever think about how easy it is to get your hands on all of this?" Louis muttered, brushing dust off the counter as he scanned the room.

"That's capitalism, baby," Harry said lightly, moving past him. "Supply and demand."

Louis shook his head as he moved toward the back of the store. There was a desk, papers stacked haphazardly, receipts spilling from an open drawer. "We don't know how long we have," he said. "You go check the inventory, see if they've got anything left from that stash the police found. I'll take the front—check the transactions."

Harry hummed, tilting his head. "What, no hand-holding?"

Louis shot him a glare before nodding toward the back.

Harry let out a dramatic sigh, but didn't argue. "Fine. But if I find anything fun, I get to keep it."

Louis didn't bother responding, already heading toward the register. The wooden counter was covered in cigarette burns and faint stains, the till shoved carelessly beneath it. A few loose receipts were scattered across the surface, along with a dusty ledger half open.

"Alright, let's see what we've got," he murmured, flipping through a few crumpled documents. The handwriting was messy, half of it smudged from greasy fingerprints but one thing stood out almost immediately.

A transaction. A signature. E. Carter.

Louis' brows furrowed as he traced the ink with his thumb. A credit card purchase. Not cash. That was rare for a place like this—too traceable, too sloppy.

"Hey, I found something-" He turned, expecting to find Harry still snooping around nearby.

Instead, someone else was standing there.

"You shouldn't be here." The voice was low, sharp, edged with something that made the hairs on the back of Louis' neck stand up.

The man was older, rough around the edges, built like someone who had spent a few too many years lifting crates of illegal shipments. His stance was wide, ready.

Louis barely had a second to react before the guy lunged at him.

Louis dodged to the side, his instincts kicking in before he could think. The man's arm swung wide, catching the edge of the desk, sending papers flying.

Before Louis could make his next move, there was a sharp blur of movement from the shadows, fast and precise—

Harry.

The impact was brutal. Harry tackled the man hard, knocking him off balance and slamming him against the counter. His grip was firm, one hand fisting in the guy's collar as he twisted his arm behind his back with an almost lazy ease.

"Mm. That was rude," Harry mused, his voice dripping with amusement as the man struggled beneath his grip. "Interrupting our little shopping trip like that."

The guy gritted his teeth, his face contorted with pain. "Fuck you," he spat.

Harry chuckled. "Creative." Then, in a lower, darker voice, "Try again."

The worker twisting under Harry's grip, throwing an elbow back into his ribs and groaning when Harry barely reacted.

Harry leaned down, voice smooth against his ear. "That was stupid." He pressed him firmly against the counter.

Louis moved closer. "Who the hell is this?"

Harry ignored him for a moment, patting down the guy's pockets. His fingers brushed over a wallet, which he flipped open with casual ease. His smirk widened. "Well, well. Looks like we've got ourselves an employee of the fine establishment." He held up the ID card between two fingers. "Worked here long?" He passed the card to Louis.

The man gritted his teeth but didn't answer.

Harry sighed. "Right, playing tough." He turned to Louis with a smirk. "Why do they always insist on making this difficult?"

Louis rolled his eyes. "Maybe because you're insufferable?" He flipped the ID card over but there was nothing on the back. He tucked it into his pocket.

Harry chuckled. "Flatter me later, sweetheart." Then, without warning, he grabbed a fistful of the man's hair and wrenched his head back just enough to make his breathing hitch. "So. We can do this nice and easy, or we can get creative." His voice dipped lower, silk over steel. "You're going to tell us what we need to know."

The man scoffed, trying to yank himself free. "I don't know anything."

Harry's grip tightened. "Oh, darling, people who don't know anything don't get this nervous.."

The guy panted, his fingers twitching against the counter. "I—I thought you were cops."

Harry huffed a laugh. "You always fight the cops?" he mused. "Now I know that you're hiding something."

There was a beat of silence, then—

"What do you want?" he muttered finally, voice strained.

Harry grinned. "Better," he whispered, voice low against the man's ear. He glanced up to look at Louis. "You gonna help, sweetheart, or just stand there looking pretty?" he asked. "Come on, tell our friend what we're here for."

Louis didn't have time to chastise Harry. He turned to the man. "We need to know who came in here for explosives," he stated. "Give us what you know."

The guy huffed. "I don't know anything."

Harry tutted lightly, twisting the man's arm. He let out a screech of surprise. "I told you," Harry teased. "I can get real fun."

The guy hissed, body writhing against the counter.  "It's not much" he muttered finally, his voice strained. "Two men came in a few days ago," he said. "Eastern European type. That's all I know."

Harry tilted his head, considering him. "See? That wasn't so hard."

Louis crossed his arms, studying the man's face carefully. "Names?"

The man shook his head quickly. "I never got 'em. They didn't say much," he gritted out. "They paid card."

Harry made a thoughtful noise, then smiled—slow and sharp. "Are you lying to me?"

The man swallowed, his throat bobbing. "No."

Harry leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted over the man's ear. "You know, I really don't like liars."

The guy tensed, but before he could say anything else, he hesitated. Then, cautiously, "Are... are you with the cops?"

Harry let out a quiet laugh, the kind that made it clear he found the question hilarious. "Something like that," he murmured.

Louis sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright. Cameras. Security footage. Where do you keep it?"

"Back room," the guy muttered reluctantly.

Harry grinned, all sharp teeth and satisfaction. "See? Was that so hard?" He released him abruptly, stepping back as the man sagged against the desk, panting. "Now, be a good boy and sit tight."

Louis glanced at Harry. "You coming?"

Harry grinned. "Lead the way, sweetheart."

Louis turned, making his way toward the storage room in the back. The air was stale, thick with the scent of old cigarette smoke and dust. He found the security setup in the corner, monitors stacked on top of each other, a mess of wires spilling onto the floor.

He tapped at the keyboard, pulling up the most recent footage. His stomach sank as he realised that every file had been wiped.

"Shit," Louis muttered under his breath, fingers flying over the keyboard in an attempt to recover something. Anything.

Harry leaned over his shoulder, watching the screen with mild disinterest. "Well. That's inconvenient."

Louis clenched his jaw. "You think the police took the originals?" he asked. "Or do you think they cleared everything out before they got here?"

"We could always break into the police station," Harry suggested, raising his hands in surrender when Louis shot him a pointed look. "Or we could ask our friend over there." He tilted his head, glancing toward the door.

Louis frowned as he followed Harry's gesture. "Wait," he muttered, pushing past Harry to look at the desk where they'd left him.

There was an space empty. The guy was gone.

Harry let out a quiet laugh. "Well, now." He straightened, rolling his shoulders. "This just got interesting."

***

The car door slammed shut, the sound sharp in the quiet street. Louis exhaled through his nose, knuckles tight around the steering wheel as he jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, the hum filling the cabin, but it did nothing to drown out the frustration burning under his skin.

"I can't believe he got away," Louis muttered, voice tight. His grip on the wheel was white-knuckled, his foot heavier than necessary on the gas as they pulled away from the curb.

From the passenger seat, Harry stretched out, all long limbs and lazy amusement. He propped his elbow against the window, watching the city lights streak past in a blur. "My bad, sweetheart," he drawled. "I should've hit him harder."

Louis scoffed. "Obviously."

Harry hummed, unbothered. "Relax, sweetheart. We'll find him. Or the footage. Whichever comes first."

Louis' fingers tapped impatiently against the wheel. "Harry," he muttered, voice tight with frustration. "We needed him," he pressed, trying to keep his voice measured but Harry could hear the tension coiled underneath.

Harry let out a slow breath, tilting his head back against the seat. "Don't get all wound up," he teased. "We can go back tomorrow."

Louis didn't even hesitate. "No," he said sharply. "I'll go with Harley. He wouldn't have let him go."

Harry let out a low whistle, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offence. "Ouch. That really stung, sweetheart."

Louis ignored him, eyes fixed on the road. "It's true."

Harry smirked, his voice laced with amusement. "You can't go with Harley."

Louis' brow furrowed, irritation flickering into confusion. "Why not?"

Harry hummed lowly, eyes going back to the stretch of road ahead. "Well," he drawled. "Unfortunately, you're stuck with me."

Louis shot him a sharp glance before looking back at the road. "What do you mean?"

Harry shifted, straightening slightly as he turned to watch Louis, waiting for the perfect moment to drop it. His grin sharpened. "Harley's indisposed."

Louis frowned. "Indisposed?"

Harry sighed, stretching his arms above his head like he was about to settle in for a nap. "Oh, he's busy. Ruining my carpets with his blood. You know, the usual."

Louis' foot instinctively slammed the brake. The tyres let out a short screech as the car jolted to a near-stop. The street behind them was empty, with no other cars to disrupt, but Louis barely noticed.

His head snapped toward Harry. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Harry's green eyes gleamed in the dim light of the dashboard, his smirk widening, completely unfazed.

"Surprise. Guess who managed to outwit death yet again?" He tilted his head as if in thought. "He got shot," he added easily. Fighting back a grin as he watched the colour drain from Louis' face.

Louis blinked at him. "You're kidding?"

Harry shrugged. "Nope," he said lightly. "Oops, my bad. Guess it slipped my mind."

Louis stared at him in disbelief, his chest tightening. "How the hell do you forget to mention that?" He slowly managed to get the car going again.

Harry shrugged again, stretching out again like they weren't having this conversation. "Not that important." He waved his hand dismissively.

Louis let out a breath that was dangerously close to a growl. "How?" he snapped. "How is that not a big deal? How are you so calm about this?"

"Because," Harry drawled, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket, "Harley getting hurt is as inevitable as you having a tantrum about it. Nature, nurture, and all that."

Louis gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to slam his foot on the gas just to give Harry whiplash. "I swear to God—"

Harry cut him off with a grin. "Honestly, I had more interesting things to think about. Like the lovely company I'm forced to keep."

"Lovely company?" Louis snapped, throwing him a glare before turning his attention back to the road. He pressed the gas a little harder than necessary, the car lurching forward. "You couldn't even bother to mention that he's hurt?"

"Oh, don't strain yourself, darling," Harry interrupted smoothly, a wicked glint in his eye. "You can check on him tomorrow if you must."

Louis exhaled sharply, his fingers curling tighter around the steering wheel. The city lights blurred past them, streaks of yellow and red against the windshield, but all he could focus on was the quiet, simmering fury in his chest.

"No, now," he insisted.

Harry leaned back at this, turning to face Louis. He huffed out a soft laugh in amusement. "It's getting kinda late, baby."

Louis didn't give him the satisfaction of looking his way, eyes still fixed on the road. "Harry," he warned.

Another soft laugh. Harry shook his head, clearly entertained. "Alright, sweetheart," he said finally. "As you wish."

UM??? Who shot my baby!!

Thoughts?

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