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Gothamites. They really were a whole different breed. Peter had heard theories they weren't fully human anymore, with all the weird stuff they survived on a daily basis. Not that he believed that, but he could see where the idea came from. Particularly right now, when a supposedly simple arrest of a corrupt businessman had somehow turned into a black tie hostage situation, and then a scene straight from a comic book.
"Let me go or the whole room gets hit!" Their target waved a pistol and a canister of something green, slowly backing toward the kitchen door.
"The building's surrounded, Mayer!" Their team leader called. "Put the weapon down and surrender. You'll make things a lot easier on yourself!"
Peter eased forward, trying to get a better angle. There were a half dozen other agents in the ballroom, and more at the exits. He wasn't worried about Mayer getting away, but the unknown substance was definitely a concern. Who knew what kind of weird poisons a Gothamite might have tucked away for an emergency?
A hand grabbed his sleeve. He silently cursed panicking civilians as he turned to see a woman in a sleek black dress clinging to his arm.
"Ma'am, I need you to stay back. There are agents outside, please exit-"
"That's fear toxin, Agent. None of you are wearing gas masks."
Peter glanced at the canister, then back at the woman beside him. Her dark hair was pinned in an elegant style, but she was wearing a small Bluetooth earpiece. Event staff, maybe? "You know what that substance is?"
"I'm from Gotham, I've seen it more than enough. That's fear toxin or I'll eat my shoes. If he drops it, you're going to have a room full of agents armed and shooting at their personalized worst nightmares."
Peter glanced down at her black patent heels. "Look, I appreciate the warning, but I still need you to evacuate."
She leveled a deeply unimpressed look at him, blue eyes cool. "So that's not happening, Agent."
He tried to grab her arm, but she was already striding forward, stiletto heels clicking on the marble floor. "Mr. Mayer! Take me instead! You know the FBI won't risk a hostage! Put the fear gas down and you can take me with you; I won't fight and no one else has to get hurt!"
What the actual hell? Peter exchanged a frantic look with his team leader. Well, frantic on Peter's end, furious on Lee's. As if Peter would willingly let a civilian throw herself onto the pyre.
Mayer looked from the canister to the woman – dammit, Peter still didn't know her name – then nodded, his hands shaking as he set the canister down. The woman was too close, giving them no time to pull her back before Mayer had his pistol pressed to her temple.
“Back off! You heard her! You don’t want to deal with this stuff, so just let me go and everyone gets out of this alive!” Mayer began to drag the woman toward a door. One that led to the back rooms, and a staff entrance. The exits would be covered, but that didn’t do them much good with a hostage.
He couldn’t get a good shot with the civilian held against Mayer. Certainly not one good enough to erase the risk of Mayer shooting the canister in turn. Peter cursed silently.
The woman caught Peter's eye, and he saw her wink. He flung himself forward just as she drove one of those stiletto heels into Mayer's foot and dropped to the floor. Peter was on him a second later. His arm slammed into Mayer's, knocking the shot high, up into the ceiling. In a breath, Mayer was facedown on the marble, hands behind his back. Kinney grabbed Mayer's pistol as it skidded across the floor.
The woman clambered to her feet, dusting off her gown. She looked mournfully at her left heel, which had snapped off when she dropped to the floor.
Lee rounded on her, face red. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"That you didn't know what the hell you were dealing with," she drawled, her accent suddenly rough and out of place in the ballroom. She pointed to the canister, still full of green vapor. "You'll want a bomb unit for that."
"I'm not currently taking advice from civilians who think it's a bright idea to offer themselves as hostages!"
"Sir, the ambulance is here. Maybe we can get our civilian volunteer a medic instead of yelling at her?"
"I don't want to hear it from you, Burke! She's not a goddamn CI!"
" She is standing right here, and she is a Gothamite," the woman snapped, "which is how she knew you were about to get your team and a whole bunch of civilians killed!"
Lee pinched the bridge of his nose, then jabbed a finger at the agent to his left. "Marcovik, get her to the ambulance. Kinney, you're on evidence, the rest of you get Mayer out of my sight."
"Yes sir."
As soon as Mayer was secure in the car, Peter slipped away. He made two stops, the second at the ambulance. The woman was sitting on the cot, looking mournfully at her broken shoe. She glanced up as Peter stopped at the ambulance door.
"Come to scold me some more?" She asked wryly.
"To thank you."
She raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"
"I talked to the bomb squad, learned a little more about the fear toxin. You were right. We didn't know what we were running into. A lot of people could have ended up hurt."
She let the broken shoe dangle from one hand. Tipping her head, she looked him up and down. She held out her free hand. "Elizabeth Mitchell. Event planner."
He shook it. "Agent Peter Burke. Er, agent."
Her blue eyes softened. "Peter. That's...a good name."
"Please don't ever do that again though," he said in a rush, tightening his hand around hers. "Absolutely no situation needs you as a human shield. I appreciate your help, but please do it from a distance."
Elizabeth cracked a smile, reaching down to unbuckle her remaining shoe. "I don't plan on repeating the experience. But I almost died a few years ago, before I got out of Gotham. I figure every day now is a wonderful bonus. I don't take them for granted, but if I die protecting someone else..." she shrugged. "That doesn't seem like a waste of my second chance."
Peter studied her, relaxed on an ambulance gurney, ruined heels swinging from one finger, a lock of dark hair trailing over the shoulder of her simple gown. "Can I buy you dinner? Or maybe buy you a new pair of shoes at least?"
Elizabeth studied him right back. "As a rule, I don't date cops."
Peter nodded, taking a step back, propping his hands on his hips. "Right."
"But," she said slowly, "You’re not GCPD. And I like your name. So..." she reached into some hidden pocket of her dress, pulling out a business card. "Give me a call, Peter Burke. Buy me dinner. Maybe I can teach you about pollens sometime."
Peter tucked the card carefully in his breast pocket. "I'd like that, Elizabeth Mitchell."
"My friends call me El. Make the most of that dinner and you might get to be one of them."
Peter realized he was smiling. "I look forward to it."
Someone was calling for him, and he stepped away, reluctant to take his eyes off her. She winked, shooing him away. Peter cleared his throat and hurried off in the direction of Kinney's shout.
Gothamites. They really were a whole different breed.