@ltcainemdpd continued

“The body was found outside of Wayne Enterprises.” The Commissioner informed them as he placed the file on the table. “With this,” he pulled out a clear bag that held a small batarang on the inside. “Sticking out of the perp’s chest.” He set it on the table next to the file before looking up at the other four in the room with him. There was a reason all of them were here. There was a reason why he wanted ALL of them here.

Brianna Wayne because it was her company the body was found outside of, Lucius Fox because he knew he helped make said weapons and gadgets for the protector of Gotham, Alfred because, well, he was Brianna’s butler, but more importantly, her closest friend and Horatio because he’d been assisting them with everything since his arrival to Gotham. Not to mention, he was basically Wayne’s bodyguard. Though the Commissioner couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it. More to them. He never asked out loud though. He only watched. Observed.

Horatio looked down at the file and weapon that Gordon set on the table, hands on his hips, fingers tapping the ID attached to his belt. “So, we’re thinking someone found that, possibly stole it,” which was highly unlikely. “and used it on the victim. That or,” Horatio paused, thinking. “Someone is trying to replicate the tech themselves.”

“What makes you so sure of that, Lieutenant?” Gordon asked, curious.

“For one,” he stepped closer. “The Bat doesn’t kill.” He stated defensively. Protectively. He wanted to put that reminder out there before Gordon could even accuse the Bat of being behind this. He made sure to put that accusation to rest and even gave Gordon a hard look when saying it. “And I doubt anyone could have stolen this.” The thought was laughable. Stealing it off of the Bat herself without her noticing? Or from Lucius’ extremely secured supply? No way in hell. Which left the other two options: someone found it or made it.

It was then that he reached over for the bagged weapon and Brianna seemed to have the same thought because their hands touch, their fingers brush. Horatio stills first and he doesn’t pull back immediately, instead he looks at her, catching her eyes. His heart flutters and he feels that warmth creep up into his face and after a moment, Horatio pulls back, but not before subtly brushing his pinky against hers. “After you.” He says, his voice low and controlled, but not untouched by what just happened.

Lucius and Alfred show a knowing look while Gordon looks between the two of them, Horatio and Brianna, after what just happened. That only confirmed his suspicions that there was absolutely and undoubtedly something there.

___________________________________________________

Wayne’s expression is grim, hardened by the stiff lights of the morgue and the office that they had all been summoned into. Her lungs instinctively tighten at Gordon’s revelation.

A murder, on her doorstep is rare. Rare enough, it gives her pause. This was likely someone sending her a message. One, she received loud and clear. One, she has already determined will not go unanswered. She still carried the League of Shadow’s belief in the severity of the balance of justice. However, Wayne’s is tempered by the idea of letting the law preform the enforcement since she was wholly unwilling to kill. Her spine instantly bristles as the Commissioner lays out a clear baggie with a replica batarang. She palors. Anger palpable in the burnt-umber of her eyes and the tension in her jaw gives a twitch in the furthest corner.

Wayne allows Horatio speak for her so that she can steady her seething. Wordlessly, her eyes follow the motion around the table. There was something intriguing about the curve. The edges of the bat were a decent replica, but something struck her as amiss. A warped rendition of a smile finds her lips as Horatio seamlessly defends her dual identity.

“What hour did this happen?” The heiress questions sternly. “Did the victim have any ties to organized crime? Any enemies who may have wanted him or her dead?” A pause, electing to elaborate and expound her inquires. Dread lances through her heart, and she asks what she can hardly fail to suspect. “Did they have any enemies who work at, or for, or with Wayne Enterprises?” It is impossible for her to bite those questions back as someone who is a detective herself. What were they missing?!

Even sans cowl, she was trying to figure out what connection she could have to the corpse. There must have been something, somewhere. Otherwise, why kill him with a weapon of the Bat’s choice? Her brows furrow. Why kill him with anything of the Bat’s at all? To discredit her movement? To make people afraid? To make the police all the more eager to arrest her?

Was it the Joker? The Riddler? The Penguin? Joe Chill coming back from what she had been informed was death. But look at her? She miraculously came back too. Ras? His goons? An independent actor? Her list of enemies rivaled multi-series novelas.

Tremulous, an indelicate breath enters Wayne’s lungs. She still cannot quite wrap her mind around this, around the fact that the Bat could have taken the fall for something like this.

Impulse strikes her and Horatio at the same time, for they both reach for the bagged Batarang at the same time. Her heart rattles, swelling within the tightening confines of her lungs. Slowly, her affectionate, large-eyed gaze lifts to him. The mere brush of fingers left her breathless for it is hopelessly charged, despite their efforts to downplay it. She swallows remembering the day they met. Sure, the brush of his fingers against her gloved hands had been innocuous, incidental. Yet, it gifted her the same butterflies now. There is a desire, a yearning birthed in the moment, in the scant space between them. She cannot act upon it here. Restraint is what is anticipated.

“Thank you,” she docilly murmurs. The bagged batarang is lifted, observed with shrewd eyes. It has a good likeness to the ones Fox made, the steepened slopes of the edges and weight are different. She ought to know. She has held many of Fox’s in her palm, she’s thrown them countless times. “And you said,” Wayne turns to Gordon, “this was in their chest? Wing up. She assumes. "Do you have a calculated assumption at what angle it was thrown? How deep it landed? Perhaps we can get an idea of the height of our assailant?”

Gently, she moves to pass the bag to Horatio. Her expression is grim, but there was still a fondness for him in her eyes.