Chapter Fifty-One: Galavan Dies

Author's Note: Thank you so much for all the reviews and messages!

Jim placed a pile of bullet proof vests on the table. Alfred, Harvey, Jim, Oswald, Gabe, Dagger, and Chilly put one over their heads. Sylvia picked one up, looking at Jim pointedly.

"Bullet proof vests," She commented, smirking at him. "What's next? An armored tank?"

"Couldn't sneak it past Barnes," Harvey uttered. "Otherwise, I would have gotten one. Just for you, Liv."

"How sweet."

She put the vest over her head, tied the back of it behind her and then brushed the hair that had fallen out of her ponytail from her eyes.

"Everyone got a gun?" Jim asked. "Vee?"

"I have two. If you're willing to give me a third, I'll take it."

"Honestly, I'd rather you not have any weapons."

"Why? 'Fraid I might off the bastard before you get a chance to read Galavan his rights? The fucker should know it by now. The only one he doesn't know is his right to remain silent. Fucker talks too much."

"You talk your own fair share, Muffin." Alfred pointed out.

"Don't call me pet names, Alfred. We're not that close just yet." Sylvia said half-seriously. "You're more than welcome to call me 'Liv', seeing that you and I are starting to meet each other in the oddest of locations."

"Everybody set? Alright," said Jim, cocking his Glock. "Let's go."

"Wait a minute," Harvey interjected quickly. "What's the plan?"

"Go in, get Galavan, put a gun in his mouth until he gives up Bruce."

Oswald glanced at Jim, saying, "Then after, I kill him slowly."

Sylvia smirked at him, but Jim debated: "No. I arrest him, put him behind bars."

Obviously, Oswald disagreed: "What? Are you nuts? After everything he's done?"

"Gotham needs to know who he is."

"Gotham needs him dead!"

Jim let out a snarl, like he'd gone over this a countless time with his brother-in-law. If there was ever a dysfunctional family moment, this was definitely counted as one of them. A few more minutes passed where Oswald and Jim argued about what would be done with Galavan. Finally, knowing the only person who would be able to break this debacle, Jim turned to Sylvia.

"What do you propose we do?"

"You know exactly what I'm proposing." Sylvia mused. "So, don't think I'm going to be your tie-breaker."

"Vee, you know what needs to happen."

"I know what needs to happen. But that's not what is going to happen. Galavan deserves to die. Seeing him rotting in prison was going to be a real treat before, but look what happened. It's just like what Oswald said—after everything he's done, Galavan must die."

"Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit," Alfred said impatiently. "Can we first get in there and then decide what to do?"

"Which begs the question," said Fox, drawing everyone's eyes to him. "How are you even going to get in? This is a plan designed to fail, unless—"

"I know a way in."

Sylvia looked at the window where a charming young lady sat in under the pane. Selina Kyle.

Confused, Fox looked at Harvey: "Who is she?"

"Fox, that's Cat. Cat, Fox."

"Hey, Mrs. P." Selina greeted Sylvia as she slid inside the apartment, smirking at her. "How you been?"

"Great. You?"

"Meh."

"Cat," Jim said slowly, glancing between her and his sister. "Do you know a way into the penthouse?"

"Yeah. I know a way in, Gordon."

Sylvia snickered at Selina's response, to which Jim turned to her indignantly.

"Why does she seem happier to see you than she is me?"

"Well, you let her friend get fried." Sylvia reminded. "I, on the other hand, haven't done shit. Selina," (the young girl glanced at her expectantly) "What's your plan for getting inside that building?"

"I'll leave it as a surprise."

"I don't like surprises."

"It's a good surprise." Selina promised, wrinkling her nose playfully. "So, what do you say?"

"How do we know you've not already stitched us up," Alfred said, earning a glare from her. "You switch sides often enough. How do we know you're not going to turn on us?"

"How do I know you're not a Martian in a rubber suit?"

"I trust her." Jim acknowledge aloud. Selina grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Grab a vest."

She grabbed one, hoisted it over her head. Sylvia removed the Glock from the holster on her outer thigh and tossed it to Selina, who caught it last-minute. Jim glanced at the two of them, wondering just how many times they'd conversed in the past…. then again, Selina and Sylvia were so much alike, Jim would have thought it weird if they didn't get along.

"Are you telling me," said Fox slowly, "that there is no plan B due to the great possibility of failure, gentlemen...and ladies?"

"Au contraire, Mr. Fox," Oswald returned, looking at him with a sarcastic smile. "Failure is not an option."

Fox glanced at Jim for a second opinion.

"What he said."

Fox recanted: "As you like. However, I'm not the best shot with a weapon. I'd be more of a hindrance than of help."

"I have a separate task for you, then." Jim offered, a hard smile on his face. "Would you do something for me?"

"Sure thing."

"Tell Barnes where we are."

"Excuse me?"

"In any case," Jim said, glancing cautiously at Sylvia, "things go South and we are outnumbered and outgunned, we'll need all the back-up we can get. With my head on the chopping block, my location will bring Barnes and the rest of the GCPD swarming."

"Like a nest of wasps," Sylvia added, earning a hard smile from Harvey.

Fox said carefully, "So, you want me to sell you out?"

"Precisely. Why, was I not clear?"

"No, you were very clear. I just wanted to make certain that we weren't misunderstanding one another." Fox replied, looking at Jim as though the officer might have lost one too many screws on the way to this point.

"Are we all set?" Sylvia asked, ignoring Fox. "I'm getting a little antsy over here."

"She's not the only one," Alfred chimed in.

"Fine. Let's go." Jim said, rallying everyone forward.

They all gathered outside, forming something of a chorus line as they marched towards the penthouse. The night sky had cleared of clouds completely, giving way to the many stars that dotted the blackness and the full moon. Sylvia glanced up at the clouds as she strode next to Harvey and Alfred.

"What exactly do you plan on doing once we get in there?" Harvey asked Sylvia, glancing at her precariously.

"Save Bruce."

Alfred quirked an eyebrow up at her, surprised that she didn't have only murder on the brain, compared to her significant other.

"Really?" Alfred asked incredulously.

"Surprised, are you? Bruce is in trouble. For now, he's my only concern. Once we get him to safety, the rest will fall into place."

"And if we get there too late?" Harvey questioned.

"Then I'll be sure to cut off Galavan's head and plant it clear on a pike." Sylvia returned.

"Why do I get the feeling that's your intention as a whole?" Alfred asked.

"Well, you're not wrong."

Harvey snickered, "I've missed you, Liv."

They stopped behind the penthouse where the garage door would lead them to the back, and up the stairwells. They'd be able to sneak into the building itself, and then once they came to the right floor, a surprise attack would put them in good odds of besting the mayor. Selina drifted inside where she knew the building was weakest.

"Mayors are almost as bad as the Commissioners," Harvey muttered breathlessly.

"Why are you panting already?" Sylvia asked. "Out of shape, huh?"

"Well, not all of us can be fit as a fiddle, can we, Liv?"

"You need a physical trainer, Bullock."

"You need to pipe down."

Jim sighed, "Would you both be a little quieter?"

"The monks are inside, James," Sylvia reminded. "None of them are out here. Stop being so paranoid."

"You make me nervous."

"I make you nervous? That's rich."

"Are you arguing to get a rise out of me?" Jim questioned, glancing behind him to see Sylvia grinning mischievously at him.

"I admit, it's pretty fun."

Oswald muttered, "What's taking her so long?"

"Give her more time." Jim pressed.

"He's got a point, you know," Alfred said suspiciously. "She's been in there for a while."

"You guys have no faith," Sylvia said with a roll of her eyes.

At that moment, the door reeled upwards revealing a slightly out-of-breath Selina, who grinned at them.

"Come on in." She said, gesturing behind her.

Then she led the entire group on a manhunt. Starting through the parking lot, then up the stairs. The many, many, many flights of stairs. Sylvia took one look at the several flights before muttering "Fuck this" and sheathed her gun in the holster on her thigh. She rubbed her hands together and then stepped onto the banister.

Everyone's mouth, including Selina, Oswald, and Alfred's, dropped a little when she started running up the banister itself with perfect footing.

"Oh, shit…." Gabe muttered as his eyes widened.

"Go, go, go, go—" Jim insisted, running up the stairs to follow after his sister, who'd taken the lead.

"How the hell is she doing that?" Harvey exclaimed, glancing up to see Sylvia running to the end of a banister; once she'd reached the end, she jumped from one end of the upper level banister to the other, climbing onto it, running the length before leaping over to the next level like before. "She's like a goddamn monkey!"

Up the stairs, Alfred was nearly out of breath; Harvey was wheezing. He leaned over the banister, looking up and crying, "Oh for Pete's sake!"

Selina practiced her breathing, keeping time with her running cadence. A stair climber itself was less tasking than the flights of steps themselves.

"I'm gonna be able to drink three packs of beer after this—and still lose weight," Harvey wheezed, letting out a silent, painful laugh after.

In ascending order, it was Sylvia at the lead; Jim and Alfred were directly behind her on the steps. Oswald was leading in fourth while Gabe, Dagger, and Chilly were mentally slapping themselves for not joining in Sylvia's physical regimen when they had the chance and had been offered.

"Death to the Son of Gotham. Death to the Son of Gotham. Death to the Son of Gotham. Death to the Son of Gotham."

The chant rang loud as though voiced by the Tibetan men's chorus.

"What the hell is that?" Harvey groaned, looking up from where the noise was generating then to Jim for an answer.

"I don't know. But it can't be good. Vee—which floor is it coming from!"

"Twentieth!" Sylvia shouted, leaping up the last banister. She nearly missed it, whimpering when her feet missed the ground and dangled. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—shit..."

"Vee!"

"I'm fine!" Sylvia squeaked. "I'm fine! Just gotta…I just have to get my bearing…damn it…"

Her legs had been the foundation of her physical prowess; she was still working on her upper body strength. In a sense, she was more fit than the rest of the group, but her arms were starting to feel like jelly. She could not pull herself up.

"Vee!?"

"I'm good!" Sylvia said, looking through the banister rails. She was holding on for dear life. "Whenever you get the moment, though, some help would be great!"

Oswald glanced up to see Sylvia's boots dangling and he grumbled under his breath. He and Jim were the first to reach her; both of them dropped their guns on the floor, and held out their hand over the railing. Noticing they'd done the same thing, they glanced curiously at one another but ignored the sudden movement in an effort to bring over their loved one. Sylvia held onto the rail, but extended her right hand; Jim took it quickly, grabbing her wrist and as he pulled her up, grunting in the process, Oswald grabbed her other hand.

Together, they pulled her up. Sylvia's feet found the floor with the rest of the group; and she smiled in relief.

"Are you alright?" Jim asked, while Oswald said, "Are you okay?"

Breathlessly, Sylvia said, "I'm good, thanks. Just lost my footing."

They both touched her, noticing that she was a little shaky but otherwise, she was fine. They picked up their respective weapons; once the rest of the group (aside from Harvey who had asked for a brief intermission) met them on the level, they advanced until the sound of chanting became almost unbearable.

Then, there was nothing.

Jim and Alfred exchanged worried glances. Sylvia withdrew her holstered Glock, cocked it, and then moved forward with the rest of them to the largest door they could find and then barged inside. Meeting them head on were at least twenty people, monks all dressed in brown robes—daggers raised.

Bruce Wayne, dressed in a white robe, was tied to a pillar. Like he would be burned at the stake for being a witch.

Jim, Alfred, and Selina on the left. Sylvia, Dagger, and Chilly in the middle. Oswald, Gabe, and two others belonging to him stood on the right.

All the guns were cocked.

The chief monk—or at least whom Sylvia could define as being the leader of the pack—took one look at all of them and shouted, "SACRILEGE!"

And that caused all the monks in the room to move as one unit, stepping forward, ready to die for their cause. If they wanted to die—so be it.

Bullets flew around the room. Shouting dulled to the point no one knew what the other person was saying. Twice, Alfred saved Jim, shooting two monks who had thought to sneak up on the officer while he dealt with two other monks. When they came too close into contact, guns were forgotten—Jim and Alfred, well versed in hand-to-hand combat, threw their punches, bringing the monks to them by the shoulders and kneeing them square in the face, knocking them out and serving them useless for the rest of the fight.

Sylvia drew attention from two monks; their daggers raised over their heads as they sprung to attack. Dagger and Chilly barreled forward, knocking Sylvia out of the way and putting six bullets into each robed attacker. Blood splattered their clothes. Sylvia picked herself up, thanking them quickly before she fired a shot into a monk that had tried sneaking up on Oswald—then killing another who had the drop on Jim.

One monk threw himself onto Jim, pushing the detective on his back. Jim growled, trying to throw him off. The monk's partner tackled, grabbing Jim's hands so the other could stab him. Seeing her brother's predicament, Sylvia leapt forward, grabbing the monk that straddled Jim and pulling him off.

"Get off my brother, you sicko!" Sylvia shouted, bringing him down onto the ground with her. She wrapped her legs around the monk's center, then twisted his head, snapping it, and killing him.

"All right! Woo!" Selina cheered.

Sylvia stood, grinning at her. Of the surviving cult, one monk started forward, grabbing Selina's arm. Selina grunted when her back hit the wall.

"Oh no, you don't!" Alfred shouted. He shot the monk in the back.

Then Sylvia stabbed the Monk with his own dagger—just for principle.

"Fuck, how many of you are there!" Gabe exclaimed as ten more sprinted from behind closed doors and started forward with the same daggers.

Sylvia gasped when one of them grabbed her by the hair, pulling her ponytail out. He brought her down on her knees. Sylvia knelt down intentionally, only to take him by the waist and throw him over her head so now he lied on his back, eyes wide with shock.

"Kill him!" Sylvia screamed.

Dagger cocked the gun, strode over to Sylvia, and with a single round, shot the man in the forehead.

One monk leapt forward—like a flying monkey—and with three others, they cornered Oswald and Gabe. Their guns clicked—the worst sound a gun could make. One monk flipped his dagger, the blade shining in the light. Sylvia sprinted forward, and with a high kick, Sylvia knocked him flat on his stomach where she straddled his backside, took hold of his head and then broke his neck.

The second monk received a justifiable kick between the legs, and Sylvia finished him off with stabbing both of his eyes with another Monk's dagger.

The last Monk blinked, regretting the decision to go after Penguin. Sylvia first hit him in the side of his kneecaps—hard enough that both fractured, sending him to the ground. Like the other one, Sylvia straddled his back side, and twisted his head so hard that the Monk's pained expression was facing directly at her.

Sylvia glanced up at Oswald who was breathless, watching her kill three men in less than two minutes.

"Holy shit." Gabe muttered, looking equally amazed and fearful at the same time.

And that was the end of the Monks. All of it happened in slow motion but the entirety of the fight had taken less than five minutes.

Sylvia looked at Oswald imploringly, and whispered, "Go."

Oswald nodded in understanding. He tilted his head sharply for Gabe to follow him; they'd take a different corridor to find Galavan. Dagger and Chilly received Sylvia's directing gaze; obediently, they followed Oswald out the door.

The bodies of robed figures were piled on the ground. All except for one. The Chief Monk who held a single dagger in his hand, the one that had slain his ancestors, stared angrily at the group.

"Drop the knife, old man. It's over." Jim ordered—that inner cop coming out.

"So, it would seem." Then the Monk let out a battle cry, took an impressive leap forward, then a gunshot rung in Sylvia's ears.

The monk fell down, dead.

Sylvia turned irritably to see Harvey holding up his gun, having fired off the round.

"Sorry, Partner. That was a lot of stairs." Harvey said, smiling in spite of himself.

Alfred, Selina, and Jim hurried forward, tying off Bruce's restraints and allowing him to move about. Alfred held him close, thanking god they had come in time. Jim looked around the room, then to Sylvia.

"Where's Galavan?"

"How should I know."

"Where's Penguin?"

Sylvia smiled knowingly. Jim glared at her.

"I told you Galavan needs to be brought to trial!" He shouted.

"And he will—if you get to him in time." Sylvia retaliated, cracking her knuckles together.

"You told Penguin to go on ahead, didn't you?"

"Well, you were going to stop Oswald from doing what needs to be done. I couldn't allow that."

"I told you the plan."

"You told me your plan," Sylvia retorted, stepping forward challengingly. "Now, I'm telling you mine. He's going to die—is all. There's nothing you can do to keep that from happening."

"That isn't going to happen."

"If you keep arguing like this with me, it's inevitable."

"Galavan could have more booby traps in this place." Jim said cautiously, although he was trying his hardest not to berate his sister further on her lack of judgement and morality. "Oswald might get himself into harm's way."

"Then we best get a move on." Sylvia said, moving past him. She shoved her shoulder against his, proving that their argument was not yet over.

Jim glanced at Alfred, who nodded for him to continue.

"Be leery of that one," Alfred warned.

"I know that better than anyone," Jim muttered tiredly, rubbing his head as he pushed on forward.

Jim grabbed Sylvia's arm when he caught up to her halfway down the hall.

He snarled, "You're making a big mistake."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not." Sylvia mused, smirking at him despite Jim's furious expression. "You want to know what I think? I think you want Galavan dead—just as much as Oswald and me. When it comes down to it, you want to see him die too."

"I can't allow that to happen."

"Yeah, yeah, because you're a cop. I get it."

Jim grabbed Sylvia's shoulder and slammed her back into a wall. She grunted then glared at him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Galavan is going to stand trial. Gotham needs to see what kind of a man he is."

"They can do the same thing at his funeral, you know."

"Are you so blinded by rage that you can't see what this means if you kill him?"

"Are you telling me you're going to risk it again? To see Galavan try to be put in jail again, and then him be released only a few months later—because that's what's going to happen! And then what? Then you've got your son or daughter to look after, to make sure they're okay, to be sure that Galavan won't go after them too! Are you really going to put your family through all of that? To have yourself and Lee looking over your shoulders all the time like you and I have had to do our entire lives? Think!"

"Vee—"

"Jim, stop arguing with me! You know you're not going to get anywhere. Plus, we still need to catch Galavan if you want to see him face any justice—legal or not. So please, can we?"

Jim stepped back from her, allowing Sylvia to gain her footing. They walked down the corridor. Sylvia could practically hear Jim's frustration bubbling around him.

After a second, there was movement. Jim held out his hand, a motion for her to stop walking. She followed it. He glanced at her, knowing she would be hearing the same thing. Sylvia nodded, pointing towards the door down the hallway, third one on the left.

Jim motioned for her to lead on his right. She did as he instructed.

They burst through the door.

Galavan stood in the flesh, black suit, a bruise on his head from where he'd recently gotten into an altercation with a family member: Tabitha must have finally gotten sick of him.

As Jim entered the room, cocking his gun: "Galavan!"

The man in question turned, startled, looking at him.

"You're under arrest."

Galavan suddenly let out a sigh of relief, "Oh god. You scared me, man. I thought you were going to shoot me."

"I'm not going to shoot you."

"I might." Sylvia said darkly.

Galavan looked warily at Sylvia, glancing between her and her brother as he took a seat on the couch. Seeing as she didn't act on her statement, Galavan felt more or less inclined not to engage her further. Jim grabbed a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, and threw them to him, instructing for him to cuff himself.

"Well," Galavan sighed, "thank goodness for simple men of principle, who still believe in the system."

"Yeah, this time, you'll get the chair." Jim promised, taking Galavan by the shoulder.

"Wanna make a bet?"

Sylvia frowned, but then smiled suddenly as Jim twisted Galavan around, pointing his gun at him. Looking like he might just do something he would later regret, but definitely would make Sylvia happy.

"Maybe you're right," Jim breathed, a dangerous glint in his eye.

"Steady now, Jim. I was only talking big." For once, he did look a little intimidated. "As they say, you know. You caught me 'fair and square'."

"I had you like that the last time, didn't I? But you turned it around."

"Yeah. And don't forget he tried to kill you," Sylvia hissed. "And me."

"I know how this could look—" began Galavan, looking at her understandably.

"Shut up!" Jim ordered, glaring at him. "You don't talk to her."

Galavan turned his attention to Jim, disarmed by the detective's protective response while Sylvia inwardly grinned.

"Gordon!"

"Barnes," Sylvia uttered disappointedly, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.

"JIM! Back up! I got him! 'BACK UP', I SAID!" Barnes shouted, advancing forward with a fellow police officer.

Jim reluctantly did as he was told. Barnes ordered Galavan to get on his knees; the latter did as he was told. Then Barnes looked at Jim, gun pointed cautiously at him.

"Now, I need you to toss over your weapon, and get on your knees."

"What?" Jim retorted.

"You're still a fugitive." Barnes said, saying the words as though they sounded odd coming from his mouth.

"I've done nothing wrong!"

"I want to believe that! So, we're going to do this by the book."

"By the book?" Sylvia piped. "How often has that gotten you guys anywhere."

"You get on your knees too." Barnes warned. "You've been aiding and abetting a known fugitive. Two of them."

"I am not getting on my knees."

"Mrs. Cobblepot, please. Don't make me—"

"—I'm not making you do anything—"

"—I'm warning you—"

"Vee, just do as he says!" Jim called from the ground. "It'll be okay."

"Or what!" Sylvia retorted, glaring at Barnes. "You're going to shoot me? Come on, then. Let's have it. Shoot me, Captain—because I'm not getting on that fucking ground. Not with Galavan. And you know what needs to happen with fucking scum like him. He will never see justice!"

"SYLVIA!" Barnes bellowed. "Get on the ground or I will have no choice than to treat you like a hostile—"

Some movement behind Barnes distracted him. Oswald appeared, grabbed a vase from its stand, and it shattered over Barnes' head, knocking him out cold. Gabe came from his right side, shooting the fellow police officer into the shoulder, bringing him down. In an instant, Jim grabbed his own gun, getting to his feet, and pointing it at Gabe, who returned the aim.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" Oswald said quickly. "Nobody shoot! We are all friends here!"

"The hell we are!" Jim growled.

"James!" Sylvia snapped.

"I apologize for that," said Oswald, gesturing to the out-cold body of the officer and Captain Barnes. "That might have been a little over-the-top but I can't stand it when people threaten Sylvia. It just brings out the worst in me, you know?"

Jim's fingers tightened around the gun. Sylvia smiled as she and Oswald exchanged loving glances. Then Oswald returned back to the business, eyes forward, directly meeting Jim's.

"What's done is done. They're alive. So, that's something. Look forward, Jim. What now. I will kill you to get to him if I have to!"

"Ozzie…" Sylvia said reproachfully, taking a step forward as though she would place herself between them to shield her brother.

Jim and Oswald were glaring at each other. But hearing her soft plea, Oswald decided to take another approach, holding out his hands in front of them as he stepped towards Jim with an attempt to persuade rather than to threaten.

"Forget that this man sicced Barbara Kean on you," He said gently. "Forget that he nearly killed the mother of your child, your sister, and you. Forget revenge. Think of the greater good. Think of Gotham. He has courts in his pocket, and billions of dollars at his command. Are you one-hundred percent sure that he won't beat this and walk free again? Are you sure, Jim? Think of Gotham."

Sylvia glanced at Jim, wondering if he was listening to what Oswald was saying. The radio scattered interference, as an officer on the line said: "Captain, Bravo Team in the vicinity of the Penthouse."

Oswald added, "But think fast."

Jim sighed deeply, gun still out and aimed at Oswald. But his fingers loosened, his grip slacked. He glanced at Sylvia whose eyes flickered uneasily between him and her husband. For a moment, Jim was certain that he and the justice department would be able to put Galavan in jail for good. But that percentage of confidence was swaying.

He lowered his gun. It was at that moment when Galavan appeared apprehensive.

"Where do we take him?" Jim asked coldly.

"To the pier." Oswald answered. "No one is there at this time of night."

"Jim…." Galavan began.

"Shut up." Jim croaked, looking at him. "Vee..." (Galavan looked at her.) "Get him. We move him now. The rest of the GCPD is on their way up."

"We can go back the same way we came." Sylvia offered.

Gabe muttered, "Too many stairs. It'll be hours before we get Galavan to the bottom."

"Not if we just push him off the first step and let gravity do the rest."

Jim and Oswald looked at Sylvia with considerate expressions, taking her spouted suggestion under advisement if all else failed.

"There's an elevator." Galavan offered openly.

"Wow." Sylvia sighed sarcastically. "Now you become helpful. See, if this Galavan had made an appearance months ago, I wouldn't feel the need to rip your head off your shoulders and later use it for soccer practice."

"Colorful." He mumbled.

"Elevator isn't a bad idea, Liv." Gabe uttered.

"Fine then. Elevator, it is." Sylvia said, nodding.

She and Jim grabbed Galavan by the shoulders and shoved him forward. A man on his way to his own death sentence never moved too quickly, but surprisingly, Galavan moved at an average walking pace. He grunted when Sylvia pushed him forward into the elevator wall—making every movement as brutal as possible. Jim would have normally objected, but this time, he didn't say a word.

They drove to the pier, stepped onto the wet soil. Oswald opened the trunk where Galavan had been stashed. He grabbed the bat while Jim pulled the mayor out. Sylvia closed the trunk and sat on it, her feet slightly dangling above the ground.

"Jim, you'll live to regret this!" Galavan warned.

"I have many regrets. This won't reach the top of the list."

He forced Galavan on his knees. Oswald looked at him, ready to beat him within an inch of his life.

Sylvia, who sat gracefully on the trunk of the car, met her brother's eyes with little emotion.

"Are you sure you want to watch this?"

"More than anything," She answered calmly.

"Storm's coming," said Galavan, looking up at the lightning-broken sky. "Shame. It's going to be a beautiful morning. Good-bye, Jim Gordon."

Oswald spoke: "This is for my mother."

And then he let it out. One hit after another, Oswald struck Galavan with the bat. The sound of the blunt object striking any part of Galavan was so satisfying, it made Sylvia grin from ear-to-ear.

Thud. Scream. Thud. Thud, thud, thud. Galavan screamed harder.

The amount of stamina Oswald possessed was damn near impressive.

Soon, the mayor was bloody, crying for mercy. Galavan looked at Jim: "Please, kill me. Please…."

"Enough!" Jim ordered, pushing Oswald away from him.

Jim looked at Galavan, pondering how to do it.

The man on the ground was pleading for mercy, pleading in general, begging for the end. While Jim considered his options, weighing each as though allowing Galavan to live or die would be a regret in any form, Sylvia watched him carefully. Her hardened expression as she watched her husband beat the living hell out of Galavan softened, seeing the pained look on Jim's face.

With resolve, Sylvia stood, walking towards her brother.

"You can't kill him." She told him, her voice was soft and calm.

Jim and Oswald looked surprisingly at her.

"You've been telling me," said Jim quietly as he looked at the now-beaten and bloodied mayor, "that he has to die. That he deserves to die. And now that I've come this far, so close to doing what you've always wanted me to do, you…. you want him to live?"

"I never said that." Sylvia returned, her voice was still soft and gentle. "He does deserve to die. But not by your hand. He deserves a lot—but he's not worth that."

Jim frowned: "You've wanted me to get this far, Vee. You were right."

"About?"

"I want him...to suffer….as we have all suffered by his hand," Jim said darkly. "The system is corrupt. I know he won't get what should come to him if he goes to prison." He pulled out his gun, turned the safety off, and cocked it. He pointed it at Galavan. "It is men like him that make this city dirty."

"And what about you?" Sylvia questioned. "You're going to muddy up your reputation by giving him what he wants?"

She stepped closer to Jim, her right hand over his hand that held the gun. Oswald watched her, like he was in a trance. Sylvia wasn't predictable; in these moments, he was certain she was deadly...deadlier than most people he knew.

Jim knew this too.

"Kill me..." Galavan groaned from the ground, shutting his eyes tightly. "Please."

"Don't give him what he wants." Sylvia whispered.

"What he wants is to die."

"By your hand."

"I'd oblige." Jim croaked, glaring daggers at the man. His nostrils flared, his brain pulsed at the idea of ending this man's wretched life. "Who better to kill him than me?"

"You're better than this. You're better than Galavan, better than him."

"If he's not going to—" Oswald began.

Sylvia glanced at her husband saying, "You're not going to kill him either."

Jim sighed, "And how do you suppose we do it then?"

"We'll do how we've always done things…. what you and I have always done as kids."

Jim blinked.

She said softly, "You and I have always been similar, but I've always said that there's been a difference between us. I've embraced my darkness long ago. You're still battling yours. Just as we were kids, I'd do what you couldn't…what you shouldn't."

"I thought you hated me for letting you do that."

"I hated you for telling on me after I did what you didn't want to do. But you can't kill Galavan. It would eat you alive. It'd change you."

"I don't care if it changes me."

"But I do." Sylvia returned, her voice hardening. "I care."

"Vee..."

"Give me the gun."

"Sylvia…."

"Jim! Give me...your…. gun."

Jim sighed, giving it to her.

Sylvia approached Galavan, looking down at him.

"You've put my family through Hell," Sylvia uttered hatefully. "Now, I'm going to make certain that you get to suffer just a little bit more before I send you there."

Galavan looked up at her, eyes wide.

Sylvia shot his kneecap. Galavan screamed.

"That's for my mother-in-law." A shot to the second knee cap, followed by a scream. "That's for my kiddos." A shot to the shoulder. "That's for my husband." A shot to the other shoulder—the screaming nearly died inside his throat. "That's for my brother."

Sylvia knelt down and placed the gun against Galavan's temple.

"And this is for me." Sylvia whispered.

A bullet through the head.

She slowly stood up. Turned around.

Oswald and Jim stared at her. Oswald looked as though he had fallen in love a third or fourth time, although he also seemed a bit intimidated by Sylvia's sadistic display while Jim stared at Sylvia like she was an apparition.

"If people find out you killed the mayor," said Jim softly. "You'll get the chair."

"Are you going to tattle on me?" Sylvia asked, her voice was soft but hoarse.

"No." He smiled a little. "What are siblings for."

Sylvia smiled, hugged him. She stepped over to Oswald who watched her as though she'd bathed in sunlight. Love written all over his face.

"Coming?" Sylvia asked.

Oswald kissed her cheek, "I have one more thing to do."

"The umbrella?"

"Yes, Pigeon."

"You're a bit extra, aren't you?" Sylvia said, smirking at him. "Fine then. I'll meet you back at my apartment. We'll celebrate then, hm?"

Oswald nodded in agreement. She kissed him again, then started walking away. She chose to walk instead of driving back to town. She needed some time to herself. Oswald and Jim watched her leave.

"I've never seen her kill anyone before." Jim muttered.

"It's an enlightening experience."

Ignoring his fascination with her, Jim said seriously, "People will find out what happened to Galavan. Sylvia's tough, but she can't go to Black Gate."

"I feel the same way."

"Barnes is going to want to know what happened to the mayor. He won't let it go. He'll question me. Then he'll question you."

"What are you trying to say, Jim?"

The detective turned to Oswald with a cool gaze, saying, "I guess I'm just wondering…. what're you going to tell Barnes if he asks."

Oswald looked at Jim, his gaze more challenging than ever.

"I'm prepared to do what's necessary to ensure that Sylvia doesn't have to see the inside of a cell."

"You mean 'cover for her'." Jim returned, knowing his meaning. "You would lie for her?"

Oswald smiled in spite of himself, as he returned, "I have and I do. Wouldn't you?"

The wind picked up a chill. A moment passed where Oswald and Jim glanced down at the dead mayor's body for a brief second.

"I was wrong."

Oswald startled, "Excuse me?"

"You asked me the other day. You asked me why I didn't approve of you and Sylvia. I've been in denial but…. she loves you." Jim said, torqueing his jaw as though speaking this truth was causing him physical discomfort. "And clearly, you love her. I guess what I'm trying to say is that…. you and Sylvia are fine by my book."

Oswald let out a chuckle, "You're giving us your blessing?"

"I'll give you more than that."

Jim held out his hand. Oswald took the hand, shaking it.

"That means a lot to me. Thank you." Oswald returned.

They both looked in the direction where Sylvia had walked away.

"It is going to be a beautiful morning," Jim said, inhaling deeply then exhaling slowly, looking up at the night sky.

"Yes, it is." Oswald said, smiling.

Sequel is up! Titled "A Darkness Like Mine" :)