UNBOUND
Chapter 1: Down the Rabbit Hole

a/n; this story begins about two months prior to the Waynes' shooting.

Detective James Gordon pressed his thumb against his temple, closing his eyes momentarily to groan away his headache as he shifted in the seat of his car. A drug deal stakeout had sounded like fun, but he was quickly realizing how untrue that really was. It was all just one long waiting game...

His head suddenly perked up as he saw movement ahead through the darkness; a large form dressed in a heavy coat carrying a silver briefcase slowly shuffled under the dim illumination of the loading dock's lamp post, and right on cue, a smaller figure fluttered out from the shadows on his opposite, gracefully moving into the light to face her dealer. Gordon's breath was silent, hearing only the beating of his heart as he sat up and leaned forward, his hand moving to rest on his gun as he ran over the correct procedures in his mind.

The female smiled and laughed, pulling out a large manila envelope from within her jacket and waving it in front of her. The larger male held up the briefcase with one hand, and with the other opened it up to allow her to inspect the money.

Wait for the exchange, the rookie detective told himself, wait for the exchange.

Just before handing over the envelope, the girl hesitated, her soft facial features twisting into a curious expression as she quickly grabbed one of the stacks of cash. Within a fraction of a moment, everything changed; she tossed back the money and stuffed the envelope back into her jacket, and the male snapped the case shut before whipping out a glock – but not before her pistol fired a bullet into his shoulder.

Shit! Shit! Fumbling with the handle of the door, he jumped out of his car and sped towards the two, gun in hand. "Stop right there, Gotham P.D!" As soon as she saw him, the young woman took off running. He chased after her, scrambling over wooden crates to keep up, and ended up blocking her off in an alley between two of the warehouses. On the other side was a chain-link fence, and before she could scurry up, he called out to her. "Freeze or I'll shoot!"

It seemed to work as it made her stop, and after a moment she dropped to the ground and turned to face him.

"Drop your weapon! Put the gun on the ground!"

Calmly, she took her pistol from the pocket of her jacket and slowly bent down, placing it on the cold ground before standing up, her hands nonchalantly in the air. "Fine. You win." She spoke with a soft tone, and he walked forward to cuff her.

"Can I please talk with your captain now?" She asked, shuffling from side to side in her uncomfortable chair as Detective Gordon sat across from her, nothing but a small wooden table in between them.

"Tch, the captain has no need to waste her time on you – now tell me, who are you getting your drugs from?"

Gently tossing locks of her deep red-dyed hair from her face, she watched him for a moment before playfully biting her lip. "Gee, maybe if ya brought down the captain, I might fill you in!"

"I know you've got ties to Falcone," he continued, leaning forward, "but I need to know who your supplier is."

Rolling her eyes, she sighed and leaned closer, her lips twitching into a grin as they parted. "We hold these truths to be self-evident~" she said quietly with a bit of a melody behind it. "That all men are created equal, that they are endoooowed—" she broke to laugh as he growled and slammed his fist on the table before standing up to pace. "Why are you so stressed, detective? You should let loose, live a little. May be time for a paid vacation, eh?"

The door suddenly clicked open and the unit's captain popped her head in. "Gordon?"

The girl's eyes quickly lit up, which only agitated him even more. "I've got this under control, Captain, there's no need to—"

As he spoke, she fully entered the room. "Detective Gordon—"

"No really, I've got this, you've got more important—"

"Gordon—"

"—to attend to, I can handle this—"

"For god sakes, Gordon, she's one of us!"

The female nearly jumped out of her chair. "Whoa, Captain, I don't think the entire department heard you there!"

"Excuse me?!"

The Captain quickly turned and shut the door behind them before crossing her arms and turning to the detective. "Isabelle Spicer, undercover fed. She's been weaseling her way up with Falcone for the past few months, gathering intel, monitoring growth..."

"Wait, she's an unde—" he stopped as he glanced over to her, his eyes widening as she stood up, tossing her handcuffs to the floor and rubbing her wrists.

"Yeah. Sorry to put you through all the hassle, had to play the part." Walking over, she smiled and extended a hand. "But now it's nice to officially meet you, and please, I prefer Belle."

It was his turn to watch her for a moment, before finally nodding and shaking her hand. "Yeah, uh. Pleasure's mine. So… what now?"

"We release her," the Captain said, pretty matter-of-factly. "Say there wasn't any evidence, or she had an alibi. Something, anything, and keep it vague."

"Then I'll return and say you guys let me go once you couldn't find anything. I'll look more competent as a criminal and he'll have no reason to retaliate against the cops, even if the entire deal was a set-up. As soon as I saw the tracers under the cash, I knew a bust was coming – you might wanna train your marks better."

"So we let you go, just like that?"

"I'm sure we'll see each other around," Belle said with a wink as she walked past them to wait patiently by the door, "but right now, I gotta get back to work!"

The Captain nodded, and with a sigh, Gordon opened the door for them and escorted Belle out of the station.

"Tracers?"

"Yes, sir. The police must have set him up for the deal."

The older Falcone slowly exhaled and drummed his fingers against his desk. "But the police didn't bust you with the drugs?"

"No sir, I stashed them while I was running. Went and picked them up on the way here." Reaching into her jacket, she pulled out the envelope, crumpled from being wedged through the cracks of a crate, and placed it on his desk.

"So they let you off."

"Yes, sir."

"Good," he grumbled to himself, swiveling away in his chair. "Good work. In fact… I think you could stand for a promotion of sorts."

"A… promotion?" Her jade eyes lit up, and she instantly wished she'd at least tried to hide the excitement in her voice. However, her eagerness seemed to amuse Falcone as he turned to face her again.

"You don't disappoint, Spice, even when things go south. Especially when things go south. And I know some people who seem to take things south a lot more often than I like."

Belle's eyes narrowed, her brow furrowing as she searched the database of knowledge within her brain. "F-Fish Mooney, sir?"

"Ha – even you can see it, then. Mooney's excellent, and she's got style, I give her that. But sometimes her style is more important than following the rules."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Think of it as a transfer. I'll send you to work for Mooney, but I want you to keep a close eye on her and her lackeys. Be my eyes for me, if you will. Let me know of anything suspicious, anything I wouldn't approve of."

"Y-yes, sir! I'd be honored to be your eyes and ears."

"Fish will be your new boss – but don't forget I'm above her. You listen to her, but report to me. Got it?"

"Understood, sir. Kind of…" she couldn't help but grin sheepishly, "like undercover work?"

"Hah, yeah. An undercover agent of crime, whatever helps you remember your role. I'll make the arrangements tonight, and starting tomorrow, you'll be one of Mooney's lackeys."

Isabelle Spicer stood before the alarmingly casual and non-threatening club entrance. A neon red fish skeleton burned brightly in the window even in the daylight, and for the fifth time, she pulled out her Nokia flip and popped it open to check the time. 8:02 am. It would be her first day since going undercover in Gotham that she would not be reporting directly to Carmine Falcone but instead to Fish Mooney, to whom the former had assigned her to keep an eye on. Her dyed red velvet hair appeared even brighter against the neon fish's glow, her soft emerald eyes locked onto the door as she mentally pleaded with herself to buck up and walk in there like the charismatic criminal she needed to play.

This was just like years ago, back when she was in high school. She'd just transferred to a new school after moving, and on her first day, she had frozen just outside the door to her classroom. She knew how simple it should have been to put on a smile, waltz on in like she owned the place, and simply introduce herself and take her place in the class - but she silently cursed the overwhelming shyness that paralyzed her. After a few minutes of begging herself to please stop being herself for once, she had managed to reach out and open the door. Past the point of no return, she then forced one step in front of the other, consciously reminding herself how to walk so that she wouldn't stumble or freeze at the stares of her curious classmates. Or, in this case, the imposing broad-shouldered man who squinted at Belle with an unamused curiosity.

"And who the hell are you?"

"Oh, good morning! I'm Belle, uh, Isabelle Spicer? I'm from Falc-"

"You the Falcone girl?" He sneered, his eyes crawling up and down her form in a way that made her skin crawl. "Hah, he's gotta be jokin' if he thinks-"

"Ahhh!" They both jumped slightly and turned to look as the Queen of Crime herself came out from around the corner in gold pumps and a sleek dress, her black hair styled in a short pixie cut with magenta-frosted bangs. "You must be Belle~" She flashed her white teeth in a wide grin as she strutted over. "I've heard great things about you, but," she quickly scanned over the younger female, "you aren't at all what I was expecting."

Perhaps for a young woman of average height and slightly below-average weight, with a slender build and delicate features, she really didn't look the part of a criminal - or even a federal agent, for that matter. Dressed in a low-cut blouse and a skirt with knee-high boots, she was perhaps the last thing one would imagine when thinking of a mobster. But then again, deceiving appearances often came in handy and played out in her favor.

Except for right now, of course, with the other guys coming out to see the commotion and a growing number of eyes gazing over her. It was very likely that she visibly shivered, but she was too uncomfortable in general to know for sure.

"Trust me, I'm well aware," Belle joked nervously with a quiet laugh, "cursed with a baby face, but hey, at least when I'm 60 I'll still look good, right?"

Fish gave a courtesy chuckle as she continued to examine her, then turned to the male. "Frankie, go fetch me the invoice for 42nd while I introduce our new little bird to the crew." He nodded and slumbered off, and she turned her back to Belle giving a nonchalant gesture over her shoulder for the newbie to follow.

Belle could hardly keep her sights from wildly fluttering around the classy, exquisitely decorated nightclub. It was beautiful and elegant, and she almost felt excited to be able to work here - Mooney definitely had a stylish flair, which Belle was now supposed to keep in check, but admittedly she looked forward to seeing just what her dramatic flair was like. Several males stood before her as Fish extended an arm.

"My right-hand, Butch Gilzean~" she spoke with a purr as a tall, rounded man gave Belle a jovial smile and offered his hand. She nodded, shaking his hand and returning the smile. The next was a Hispanic male, who quickly introduced himself as Juan and took Belle's hand not for a shake but for a polite kiss. The third was black with a bit of an overgrown 5-o-clock shadow, who simply nodded and introduced himself as Tiu.

"Tiu," Belle repeated with a smile, "that's an interesting name... is it European?"

"Filipino, actually," he spoke in a deep voice, with a matter-of-factly frown, or perhaps that was his default expression, "had some Filipino ancestors, it's been a family name."

"Oh, wow~ Well, it's nice to meet you!"

And then... there was the last member of Mooney's crew. He appeared significantly different than his fellow goonies - he was slightly shorter, though still taller than Belle, and quite a bit scrawnier. His skin was pale - almost grey in tone - and dark patches rested underneath his eyes. He stood still but it seemed like it was taking great effort to do so. However, his face suddenly seemed to light up as a wide, friendly grin stretched from ear to ear. "O-Oswald," he said with such a fragile and airy voice as he held out his hand, "it's a real pleasure, ma'am. I look forward to working with you."

She couldn't help but grin back, gently taking his hand. "Easy with the ma'am, though, call me Belle. But the pleasure's all-"

"He's just the grunt," Juan interrupted with a snort, "don't mind him. We call him Penguin-"

His voice trailed off as Belle's attention went from his words to the sudden change in demeanor before her - to Oswald. His muscles tensed ever so slightly, his grin faded, his eyes grew darker before they flickered away to the floor, his hand quickly retreating from hers.

"Heh, it's okay," she quickly said with a reassuring smile as a sharp pang of sympathy shot through her chest, "back in high school, I mouthed off to one of the popular girls and her friends poured milk over my head, and everyone called me Moo-Moo for the rest of the year."

His eyes returned to hers again, the corners of his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. "Th-that's horrible." She felt better once she saw a bit of light return, a hint of amusement in his expression.

"Boss!" They all turned as Frankie came back holding a small leather-bound ledger. "Everything's up to date," he said with a nod, handing the book to Mooney. She took it and smiled, slipping it open and quickly flipping to a specific page before handing it over to Belle.

"You come with a great recommendation letter," she raised a brow as her carefully manicured, long nails reached over to drum against the open book, "but I need to see some results before I can rest easy. It's collection day for all the businesses on 42nd, and here's a list of what everyone owes. Bring back my money, we'll have a little welcoming party."

Looking down at the neat, handwritten chart of business names and numbers, Belle nodded and mustered up the most confident smile she could. "Yes, ma'am~ Just don't start without me!" Taking a few steps back, she nodded once more before turning and leaving. Mooney slowly crossed her arms, watching intently as her new employee eagerly left the club.

"Isn't..." Oswald spoke softly, "Isn't Ronnie's on 42nd?"

Mooney let out a sudden laugh. "I don't have any use for a pretty face floating around here unless they're on a stage. If she's worth anything, she'll come backalive."

Next chapter... "Just Business"

"(Who is this girl?)" he asked, the numerous Yakuza members around him suddenly turning and staring at Belle with an animalistic curiosity. She didn't like it.

"(She's the one who's been extorting our businesses all morning. Works with Fish Mooney.)"

"(I see. They have more than enough territory in Gotham, I think, they can afford to leave alone our little corner. Send a message. Kill the girl.)"