IC: RACHEL DAWES
The apartment - if it could even be credited as such - was dingy, dirty, and to Rachel, downright disgusting. With an exasperated sigh, she settled the small duffel bag of roughly-packed clothes to the floor and slowly wandered further into the musty-scented chamber, which strongly resembled a small series of catacombs; furniture was sparse, scattered around the living room and consisting of a rickety table, a rusting television stand, and a cupboard for toiletries. Her brow crinkled as she probed the sofa with one hand, marking her palm with dust whose hue had been darkened by neglect. Renee Montoya closed the door firmly, sliding the locks into place, and Rachel suddenly felt as though she were trapped. The policewoman must have sensed her ward's discomfort, as she shot her an irked glance before retrieving a small metallic decanter of whiskey and swilling it into a glass.
"I'm sorry it isn't up to your usual standards, your Eminence," Montoya half-growled, before taking a swig from the amber liquid. "I'm afraid we can't afford penthouse suites."
"Well, if I suspected you had a problem with me before, that pretty much confirms it." Rachel reluctantly plopped down onto the sofa, eliciting a short sharp blast of filth from beneath the cushions.
Montoya chuckled somewhat maliciously, her gaze burrowing into her drink. "I cannot believe I got stuck with this assignment. Seriously."
Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose and kneaded it carefully, attempting to assuage the headache that was hammering through skull. "You're not the one that has to put up with you. This isn't much fun for me either, you know. Three weeks in a hospital, and then discharged into protective custody with an embittered woman who clearly doesn't like me and drinks on the job." She eyed her companion, pleased with her retort. "Seriously."
"I'm not gonna go tee-total just because I have to babysit a spoilt rich kid from the Wayne playpen," Montoya shot back. "If you getting attacked again means you losing your cosy little job up in the DA Office, then I'm all for it."
Rachel rose to her feet, curling her fingers into tight, defiant fists. "You have no idea how much worse this city would be if I hadn't put my heart and soul into helping it."
"Oh, stop it. This 'tough chick' act doesn't fool anybody. And neither do your declarations about how much you've done to save Gotham." Montoya paused, driving a mouthful of alcohol around her mouth with her tongue. "You don't know how bad this hellhole of a town truly is. You read it in the newspapers, you watch it from your high horse, but you don't know it."
"I'm in this situation because I was beaten half to death by mobsters that I helped to take down!" Rachel protested.
"Because you drew attention to yourself. You asked for it."
Rachel swallowed hard, before grinding her teeth together and taking a step towards the other. "So, for trying to keep the citizens safe, I deserve to be viciously assaulted?"
"Stop deluding yourself! You're not keeping people safe! Pushing a pen around a sheet of paper that will just get tossed in the trash by a corrupt judge is not keeping people safe!" Montoya was enraged now, gripping the sides of the table and clenching it tightly. "It's people like me and Gordon and Bullock, the ones who patrol the streets and throw themselves in the line of fire, we're the ones helping people!"
"And once you catch them, you expect to just stick them in Arkham or in a jail cell and let them rot? Who do you think gets them there, or, more importantly, keeps them there?!"
"Harvey Dent. The Commish. Anyone that doesn't come from money. Anyone that can't get a million dollars wired into their bank account from Bruce Wayne at the drop of a hat." She swallowed the last of the whiskey. "You can't help people that you can't relate to, Miss Dawes."
"Don't you dare suggest that my life has been an easy ride! This city has treated me just as badly as it has you and every other clean cop," Rachel exclaimed, gesticulating wildly as she spoke. "You're not a unique sob story, Detective. Get over it."
Montoya's lips parted, but her following words were drowned out by a rapping of knuckles against the door. She was instantly on her feet, pistol in hand; Rachel fell back behind the sofa and pushed back a stray hair. The door swung open, revealing a trio of tall, broad-shouldered men attired in heavy coats and expensive suits. Rachel gulped inaudibly, the pain of her injuries flashing through her as their appearance raised memories of her perpetrators on the fire escape.
"Hey, pretty lady," the first man greeted softly. "We're looking for a Miss Rachel Dawes."
Damn. Our location was leaked already. Montoya shook her head vehemently. "Sorry, wrong address."
The thug pressed forward threateningly. "You know that's not the answer I wanted to --"
"I'm here." The expression was fuelled almost by instinct, but Rachel took no time to ponder the rationality of it as she snapped to a standing position and strode over to Montoya's side. "Let me guess. Moxon wanted me finished off this time?"
"Stupid *****," Montoya muttered under her breath, readying herself to whip her pistol into range and squeeze the trigger.
"Wise move, doll," the enforcer chuckled. "And Mist'r Moxon would've sent Pablo and his guys again, but after what you did to 'em last time...well, let's just say we're lucky you ain't got any pepper spray or bullets on ya now, huh?"
Rachel's lips curved into a small smile. "You underestimate me. All these years I've been in Gotham, and you thought I'd never been to a self-defence class?" In a swift, fluid movement, she drove her knee upwards between his legs and swept up Montoya's empty glass. Before he could retaliate, she slammed the glass into his face; it shattered and he tumbled, a swift blow to the head silencing his cries as he fell. The second darted forward, but Rachel slipepd to the side and hooked her foot around his ankle. He careened into the table, which promptly collapsed atop him. Even as he scrambled free of the wooden debris, Montoya span to gun down their last remaining opponent; Rachel, though, seized her firearm and whipped it butt-first across his face. He slumped across the unconscious form of his 'leader' as the assistant district attorney turned and jammed the gun into the now half-standing gangster's stomach.
Montoya drew her fist back and felled him with a hard, simple strike. "That was...the supidest thing I've ever seen."
"Well, I doubt you've ever seen a spoilt little rich girl fight like that. Maybe that even counts as 'throwing myself into the line of fire'." Rachel gathered her duffel bag into her arms and stalked down the hallway, stepping over the incapacitated criminals. "I think I've got a better chance of staying alive away from the police force. Don't worry...I'll make sure those guys get prosecuted. But right now, I've got a fundraiser to attend."