There were case files and notes spread across a large glass table in an office inside Gotham City Courthouse, and Carla and Jonathan were going insane re-reading over every word they'd written to pull together their analysis.
A knock at the door made them both sigh with frustration, though the guest didn't wait for an answer before barging into the room.
"Doctor Fiori, I am so-"
"Excuse me, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Jonathan pulled his glasses from his face as he turned to stare at Harvey Dent, "Some of us are working here. If you want to talk, schedule an appointment like-"
"Jonathan." Carla gave him a stern glance, silencing him with her dark eyes.
She said nothing more, putting down a stack of papers and following Harvey out of the room and into another office around the corner, the door falling closed behind them.
It had been just three days since the night of Bruce Wayne's fundraiser and the feeling of falling to what seemed like an inevitable death hadn't left Carla's bones. It hadn't frightened her as such, acceptance coming to soothe her much quicker than she thought it would, but she could still feel the air in her soul and hear the car engines growing louder all the same.
"Carla, I am so sorry about the other night. I feel terrible for what happened, I should've come back for you and I didn't, I can't apologise enough. Are you alright?"
Carla stood with her arms folded, hair pinned back in a low bun and her lips glossed, eyes lined black like usual.
"It's fine, Harvey. I'm fine, everything is fine."
He scoffed, "You nearly died."
"Well I didn't, clearly," she said with a straight face, "Don't worry about it."
He sighed, the guilt eating him alive ever since Rachel pulled him away into the bedroom at which time he had no idea what would happen to Carla, though the outcome had been almost as bad as it possibly could've been, had it not been for The Batman.
She didn't looked phased, not that Carla ever did. Her skin was just as glowy and her eyes just as bright, even if they were narrowed like she had less and less patience left for him by the second. Harvey could take comfort in that, at least.
"Why did you send one of Falcone's men to Arkham today?" He asked.
She frowned, "Did you listen to a word I said in that courtroom? I've been examining the guy since I came to Gotham and he's only said one word to me the entire time: Scarecrow. Does that seem like a sound-minded guy to you?"
Harvey shook his head in defeat, "It was noted that Doctor Crane was sending Falcone's men to Arkham instead of County, that's probably why they brought you in for a second opinion, a better opinion. I don't want him to get inside your head."
Carla just stared at him, "That man in there today wouldn't have lasted five minutes in County and you know it. Whether he worked for Carmine Falcone or not makes no difference to me. With all due respect, Harvey, I don't tell you how to do your job, so don't tell me how to do mine."
He looked at her for a long moment, silence between them. He noticed the scar on the side of her neck that was healing over, the guilt crushing him again as he remembered the way he'd felt after finding out what had happened to her after he'd disappeared, being able to only wonder how he might've been able to save her from the whole ordeal had he just gone back for her.
"I'm sorry, Carla," he said again, "Can you at least let me take you out to dinner to apologise? I really do feel awful."
"Your apology isn't necessary," Carla pulled open the door and brushed past him, "Take your girlfriend out to dinner instead, Harvey."
It was pitch black that same evening when Carla strut down the street in heeled boots and a leopard print fur coat, hair pin straight and mascara curling her dark lashes. It wasn't raining on that particular night and Carla swung her twenty-five-thousand dollar bag back and forth between her fingertips, not having to worry about the leather getting damaged from the rain.
She and Jonathan had stayed late in the courthouse to finish up piecing together some statements, eventually calling it a day when the lights in the corridor outside their office turned off and they realised that almost everyone else had gone home.
That wasn't the end of their time together however, a plan to have drinks across town carrying Carla's feet in the direction of the Iceberg Lounge.
She watched with furrowed brows from a distance when the door to the bar opened and a man was thrown out onto his knees, the twins stepping back inside after shouting something at him, slamming the door and leaving him with blood pouring down his face and a tear in his white shirt.
As Carla drew closer, she recognised the pale face of the gentleman beneath her, cut and bruised like a child who'd been pushed over on the playground, a pathetic expression of defeat on his face and wallowing in his wide eyes.
"Bruce?"
He looked up, panting for breath before pushing himself onto one knee and slowly rising to his feet.
"What happened? Why were you, what are you, are you alright?"
Carla had a thousand questions on the end of her tongue but none of them really mattered too much at that point, her main concern being the blood dripping down the side of Bruce's face and his split lip.
He just laughed, spitting blood onto the floor with his hand resting on the wall, the other on his hip, "I'm fine."
"You don't look it, do you want me to phone an ambulance or something? You-"
"No," he said quickly, waving his hand, "Really, I'm fine."
She sighed, his assertiveness to push aside help being recognisable in herself, "My car is just around the corner, I have some stuff in there to clean your face. You can't walk around looking like that, it's embarrassing."
Bruce looked at her, noticing people across the street staring at them and mumbling things to each other from the corner of his eye. He nodded then, accepting her offer and following her a short distance around the block.
A black BMW was parked next to a meter and Bruce waited in the shadow of a streetlamp as Carla unlocked the car, reaching into the centre console and pulling out a Louis Vuitton monogram makeup bag, resting it on the roof.
"What are you doing down here?" He said.
"That," Carla replied sharply as she pulled a face wipe from a packet, "Is none of your business."
She took his face into one hand, pushing his hair up away from his forehead as she began to wipe away the blood. Her hands were gentle around the bruised eye and he winced as the wipe stung the fresh cut. Carla noticed him frown at the pain but didn't stop.
"Aren't you wondering why I'm down here?"
"Nope," she replied, eyes narrowed as she searched his face for any other injuries, "It's none of my business."
"Carmine Falcone has been recruiting boys from the orphanage that I fund. I came here to have a little talk with him."
Carla paused, looking at him blankly with a shrug of her shoulders, "I didn't ask."
Bruce just scoffed, shaking his head with a grin, "God, you really do hate me, don't you?"
"I wouldn't be using my hundred dollar facial wipes to clean your bloody face if I hated you, Bruce."
Perhaps the nicest thing Carla had ever said to him, Bruce smiled and accepted the words, even if he didn't really believe any of them. There was a hesitancy from Carla to befriend people, to trust people and while Bruce admired that and found it reminiscent of his own values, it frustrated him to not be able to get through to her with as much ease as he did with everybody else.
"It's my birthday in a few weeks and I'm having a party, I'd like to see you there."
Carla raised a brow as she pulled another wipe from the packet and began to swipe away the blood from the side of his neck, tilting his head with a light hand and pulling back the collar of his shirt.
"Considering some freak pushed me off the terrace at the last event you hosted, I think I'll pass."
Bruce hissed through gritted teeth, "Yeah, I'm so sorry about that. I should've done something, should've been there to stop him, to help you."
"Nobody did shit. But it doesn't matter, I'm still here. Thanks to that..."
She looked up at the dark sky and Bruce did too, watching her eyes as they ran across the clouds.
"Batman?" He suggested.
She looked into his eyes then, his face free of any overly-confident smirk or antagonising glimmer, perhaps more handsome with cuts and bruises and untamed hair than he was in a tailored suit and shined shoes.
He looked honest for a split second, purity in the dark hues of his eyes and the way he held her gaze long enough to make her look down at his lips before looking away entirely.
"Yeah," Carla nodded with a sigh, "The Batman."
Bruce remained perfectly still while Carla cleaned his face. She avoided his gaze but he wasn't shying away from staring at her as she dabbed at the blood that had fallen down his neck beneath his shirt. He hadn't expected her touch to be so gentle, so light, considering her words and her demeanour were usually anything but.
While she didn't hesitate to push and pull his face in different directions, she was careful when her fingertips brushed around the blue bruising at his eyes and the split in his lip, letting Bruce know that somewhere inside of her, she did in fact have a heart.
Despite his question being shut down immediately, Bruce's mind still wandered through all the possibilities as to why Carla was heading towards the Iceberg Lounge that evening. He'd stepped foot in the establishment a few too many times by that point and had taken notice of the clientele that drank their liquor and amused the men, but Carla didn't seem to fit the stereotype.
She was strong, he could see that from a mile away, thick skin and an ego that wasn't self-righteous, but bigger than most. Carla oozed confidence from the way she walked and talked down to the addictive scent of her perfume and her red lips. Bruce was certain that she wasn't willing to let herself be thrown around like a rag doll by any of the sleazy men in that joint, especially not for a couple of handbags that she probably already owned.
"There, now you don't look so humiliating," Carla said, tossing her things back into the car and locking it, "You okay to get home or is someone else going to jump you?"
"Are you offering me a ride?" He said, fixing the collar of his shirt and straightening his coat.
"I suppose so."
He smirked with a shake of his head, "I'll be fine, thank you."
"Good," she nodded once, looking him up and down before beginning to walk away.
"Carla," he called, making her turn on her heels to look back at him from a few feet away, "Clearly you don't take advice from me or...probably from anybody, but be careful around here. Really, it isn't safe."
Carla just laughed, "Perhaps you should take your own advice, Bruce."