AN: Just starting to get back into this a bit, nearly been a year since I last wrote. Hope you enjoy. Spitfire47

Disclaimer: I don't own Gotham.

The station was particularly busy today. The holding cells were filled to the near brim, people shouting at each other and shuffling of paper was audible even through the thick tinted glass of the forensics lab. However Edward was able to think over the noise and concentrate on what as in front of him.

Papers lain in straight rows before him, each sorted by date and time of which the report was taken. The reports were all the same, each victim died after being burned alive. One had amazingly survived only to live in agonizing pain for 10 hours before committing suicide by ripping out the tubes.

For the forensics investigator the answer was simple, for everyone else; they were baffled.

"Who would be able to do such attacks?" a voice had asked earlier.

"I don't know," Kristen Kringle had replied.

"The fire had burned right through their body, in just seconds their internal organ burn. It would take considerable power to enable to do something like that," another voice explained.

Edward moved his analytic eyes from the reports to the door just in time to see it open. Entering was James and Harvey. Edward couldn't help but give a small smile, at the first sight they seemed polar opposites and their personalities confirmed it. While James seemed to want to go the 'good thing', Harvey was more than content with things remaining their chaotic, unorganized way.

"Two weeks," Harvey bellowed, his voice carried. "Two damn weeks and this…pyro is still burning up bodies."

"What can you tell us Ed?" James asked, his voice more calmer than his partners.

"There was no residue on any of the bodies," Ed explained motioning to the reports. "No chemical compounds, but it's something that is most…fascinating."

"Uh huh, great, now get on with it."

"The bodies were relatively intact however autopsies shows impossible as the victim's insides were also charred. Other than that there is nothing really to go on. The victims are completely unrelated too, some are part of gangs but it didn't seem like they were targeted. Just wrong place, wrong time."

"And the appearance of the perpetrator keeps on changing," James muttered. "Perhaps this person isn't working alone."

Edward inclined his head slightly. "What have witnesses being saying?"

"Some say male, some say female, long hair, short hair…its' like people have a hard time describing them. Seems to me like an odd individual."

"However one detail is constantly repeated, saying that they have bright red eyes."

"Eye," the young detective corrected. "They only has one, the other is wrapped up must've gotten injured."

"Someone got cocky and landed in one of their shit storms."

"That's not what happened," Edward whispered, his voice uncharacteristically aggressive.

"What?" James asked not catching Edward's words."

The coroner's head snapped up and he smiled. "Nothing detective…so you have three blo-."

"No!" Harvey said half dragging James away from the man. "Keep searching through the files to see if you can find any more clues."

Edward nodded, as soon as the door closed, his expression grew solemn. He looked back at the reports with James's voice echoing the witness statements in his head. The only thing that the witnesses were able to agree on was a bright red eye. Nygma gave a sigh.

"What did you do?"

XXXXXX

All Alfred was able to do was watch from the doorway as more papers were pinned up on the wall, threads connecting one conspirator to another. One wall was dedicated to the warring gangs in the city, those who were responsible for destroying the last of the poor boy's parents' hopes and dreams.

The other half was plastered with other means that happened in the past, clearly linked back to the company. If Alfred could have his way, he would drag the boy out of the house to the vacation home. But that would disrespect the parent's wishes they wanted Bruce to grow up with an open mind for him not to be ignorant of those around him.

Alfred knew that the boy's mind and heart were in the right place, however he couldn't help but sense some revenge that had settled in. He hoped that the connection Bruce had made with James will temper that down to nothing, but Alfred could only hope so much.

The shuffle of another box opening made Alfred sigh, however a small gasp caught his attention. Immediately he strode into the room, sitting beside the shocked youth he too felt his heart drop.

It was a memo from Ishtar Company, a company that was the leading chemical plant just on the outside of Gotham. Even though a lot of it had jargon that Bruce didn't understand or pronounce, he knew what the main message was. Wayne Enterprise was making backdoor deals with Ishtar and in response Ishtar dumped untreated chemical waste into the water.

"This…," Bruce whispered.

"It started a year ago," Alfred said, gently taking the memo from the youth's hands. "And as far as I can tell it's still ongoing."

Bruce leafed through the file and saw nothing else on the topic.

"I have to contact the company about this," Bruce declared. He jumped to his feet ready to go to the phone when Alfred stopped him.

"Bruce," the man warned.

"This can't just keep going on," Bruce protested, "there will be consequences, side effects." The boy stuttered for a few moments. "I-If I can't do anything then the police can, Detective Gordan can-

"The police already have enough worries with a pyromaniac on the loose and no doubt our esteemed detective is right in the middle of it."

Bruce tried to reply but nothing reasonable came to mind. He had seen the footage of the pyro's damage, and that the police were having trouble even getting an appearance of the individual. But the fact that the company was dealing illegally with a controversial company only caused more ache for the youth.

"They had to have known," Bruce whispered.

Even Alfred tried to grip onto words. "I'm not sure how much of it they were exactly involved. Your father would've had a fit if he knew his company was doing this."

"So another person could've been behind it."

"Perhaps."

There was a brief silence between the two, the paper still held between Bruce's hands. Alfred cleared his throat and took the paper, setting it down on the table.

"I'll call the company see if I can get you a meeting with someone, it may just be a foot soldier but still someone. In the meantime I want you to get outside, a walk to clear your head."

Bruce was slightly taken aback, lost for words. Then a ghost of a smile crept as he rose from the seat and headed out.

Xxxxxx

Embers crackled on the ruined pavement on the sidewalk. The police tape that encircled the scene flapped in the wind, whipping through Oswald Cobblepot's hair as he stared in awe at the scene. Only twenty minutes ago another burning occurred, this time seven people got caught.

A mystery pyro roaming the streets of Gotham, even after five incidents, people still can't seem to get the appearance straight; not even the gender was confirmed!

A small smile spread on the pale man's face. No doubt it had caught the attention of the Falcone and Maroni, which made the whole thing that much more interesting. No doubt they were going to fight over her like dogs, but that could take a long time and Oswald didn't have a long time.

He touched the pavement feeling the heat rise on his skin before pulling away. He looked up to see a man across the street giving him a glance before quickly walking away. Oswald took note of the man's features: tall and lanky, high boned cheeks and thick rimmed glasses.

It wasn't just the features but also the expression. It was a cross between concern and suspicion, but it wasn't hard accusatory it was as if he was worried or scared. Oswald rose and walked away from scene, he had remembered seeing the man around the police station he always held a smart grin on his face as if he wanted to share a joke or riddle. But the expression he had looked like he never smiled in his life.

For some they wouldn't bother, thinking that someone was just grieving or wondering what a so called nobody like Oswald was doing there. But to Oswald the answer was simple: he knew the pyro.

Xxxxxx

James walk into his apartment, his feet slightly dragged across the floor showing his exhaustion. The Pryo case was starting to get to him.

It was an extremely strange case, from how quick the victims' deaths were to the mixed appearances of the perpetrator. That was probably the most aggravating part. Forensics showed that the bodies and scenes carried no scent of gasoline at the scene, or any other flammable chemical.

James went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer. He was ready to take a drink when a knock at the door stopped him.

Barbara can't be home already, James thought as he set down the bottle. Walking over he prepared himself mentally for whoever it was because at the moment both sides knew where he lived.

"Who is it?" James asked.

"Its' Bullock, open up!" his partner shouted.

James opened the door and saw Harvey but also someone right behind him; Falcone.

"Evening Mr. Gordan," the mob boss said a bit too calmly. "Is the missus home?"

"She's gone," James replied tensely.

"Out of the city?"

No response.

"This conversation isn't really for her anyway," Falcone shrugged.

"Private conversation?"

"That's it."

The desperate expression on Harvey's face told James to let the two in – now. James stepped aside.

"Thank you."

Once the two were inside, James locked the door not liking any of this at all but having an idea of what it was about.

The three waded in a tense atmosphere, no one sat down because each knew that Falcone wasn't going to be here long especially on someone else's territory.

"The Pyro has been stirring up some trouble, and I want him to be taken care of."

"We don't actually know if it's a guy," Harvey piped.

"I don't care if it's a fucking trannie, you get the shithead."

"What do you think we're trying to do?" James replied it came out a bit too harsh.

Falcone looked like he was waiting for another reason to smack the detective, but he took in a breath and collected himself.

"I have information that someone in your station knows about the Pyro, personally."

The two detectives straightened.

"An Edward Nygma."

The name took the two detectives' by surprise, and Harvey looked like he was trying to repress a laugh. James on the other hand seemed to take Falcone somewhat serious.

That would explain the past week. James thought, recalling points of uncharacteristic behaviour from Nygma.

"He's an oddball," Harvey explained, "a coroner who does nothing but give out his info in a bunch of rhyming crap."

"Tomorrow you get him to spill what he knows about the Pyro, I don't care what it takes."

Neither replied, there clearly were no words left.

"I'll keep in touch," Falcone said roughly as he walked to the front doors. The two followed and James unlocked the door allowing the mob boss through.

Once the man was gone, Harvey looked more rugged than usual and James felt more tired then, when he first entered. There was an uncomfortable silence, finally James rubbed his face.

"I'll talk to Nygma," Gordon muttered, thinking the Good-Cop approach would be best.

Harvey accepted it without a word, placing his fedora on and left. He hated to leave his partner like this but he didn't see any other way.

James picked up his now lukewarm beer and took a sip. He had hoped to have a quiet night but that wasn't possible now, he hoped that tomorrow would be a bit quieter - that wasn't possible now either. Giving a heavy sigh, James leaned back and ran a hand over his face, he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take over.