Fic: Perseverance (3/7) - Batman/The Dark Knight Rises - Final Version
Title: Perseverance
Author: immertreu
Word count: ~26000 in total
Summary: When Alfred Pennyworth returns home after Bane's occupation of Gotham, his surrogate son is gone and his life in ruins. But Batman's friends remain - and therefore hope. - The story is finished. I will post one chapter out of seven every day.
List of chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Alfred emerged from the batcave very early on the following morning, feeling cold and clammy from the night he’d spent in the cool and damp cavern, but he paid it no heed. He had one final task to complete. After the hidden door had snapped shut behind him, he pressed the secret switch that locked it in place and severed the connection between the piano and the entrance to the cave. The system could be reactivated if you knew its secrets; but since Alfred didn’t know yet what would become of Wayne Manor, he decided to take no risks.
Only when this final security measure was in place did Alfred allow himself to stop and think. He sat at the piano that resembled the one Mrs. Wayne had often played and let his mind drift. For the first time in years, Alfred Pennyworth had nothing left to do. He remembered the last time Master Bruce had been “dead” - but back then his hope had burned strong. He had just known that his charge wasn’t dead. Life hadn’t been easy on the young Wayne heir, but he’d never given up the will to live, experience new things, learn and discover.
This time his disappearance was different. Final.
Bruce had once said the empty house reminded him of a mausoleum, and Alfred had refused to acknowledge the analogy. But maybe Master Wayne hadn’t been so wrong after all?
The house was very quiet, as if in mourning for its fallen owner. In fact, it almost felt the way it had after the Waynes’ murder all those decades ago. For Alfred, there had still been life in the house then because of a very special young boy who needed looking after and who deserved to be a happy child again. But his happiness had never come.
The youth had grown into an angry man, brooding and dark. There had been humor and kindness underneath his fierce exterior and his many masks, but he seldom allowed himself the luxury of being just Bruce.
In the old days, Alfred had had a purpose in life, a task at hand that asked for more than any other butler would have been able to fulfill. But those times were over. He was finally free of his burden - and he felt like the loneliest person on Earth because it hadn’t been a shackle at all. It had been his calling.
Alfred finally got up from his stool and walked aimlessly around the house, looking at the few family items that remained, touching the few pieces of the past that had survived the fire.
This was not how he’d wanted to grow old: to survive every member of a family he’d loved as his own and who had loved him back, even if their youngest member had unlearned how to express these feelings - and who had probably hated him in the end.
Alfred didn’t know what to do with himself. What was the reason for his being alive? All his life he’d served. First the British government, then the Wayne family and their eccentric heir. What was left for him now?
A loud bang on the great doors downstairs drew Alfred back from the dark place to which his mind had wandered. A glance at his watch revealed that it wasn’t yet six o’clock. Lucius was asleep in one of the guestrooms. Who would come to call at this hour?
For a second, hope surged up inside the old man. A heartbeat later, he scolded himself for his foolishness and went to answer the door. Master Wayne would never come home again.
Commissioner Gordon stood on the threshold, carrying two large paper cups of hot coffee in a cardboard tray in one hand and a bag that smelled of freshly baked goods in the other. He’d shaved and changed, but he didn’t look as if he’d gotten much sleep last night. Alfred suspected his own appearance wasn’t much different, but he was too weary to care.
“Commissioner?” Alfred asked.
The unexpected visitor wasn’t exactly hopping from foot to foot, but his unease showed clearly in the way he flexed his shoulders and looked around to make sure the two men were unobserved.
“I thought you could use something hot,” the other man said by way of greeting and held out his burdens for Alfred to take.
The old butler took the proffered gifts and stepped aside to let the commissioner in, but Gordon shook his head. “Thanks, but I need to get to work. I just wanted to make sure…”
He hesitated, and Alfred finished the sentence for him. “…we were okay?”
Gordon shrugged apologetically. “Something like that.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. His next sentences came out in a rush and left him out of breath. “I realize I’m probably not the most popular person around here at the moment, but I wanted to tell you how much respect I have for you and what you’ve done for Mr. Wayne. I’m sorry it has to be like this.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked briskly back to his car parked at the bottom of the grand staircase.
He had almost reached the unmarked sedan when Alfred found his voice again.
“You are always welcome here, Commissioner.” The old butler’s voice was grave, but some life had returned to his previously troubled eyes, and he stood as straight as possible when holding two cups of coffee and a paper bag in his hands. “You were his friend,” he added, nodding once in affirmation and closing the door.
Friend… Jim Gordon pondered the word on his drive into town. Had he really been Batman’s friend? Maybe even Bruce Wayne’s?
He simply didn’t know. The unsettling truth had changed everything Jim had thought he’d ever believed about the vigilante and their unique relationship.
They had been allies for sure; Jim had called Batman his friend more than once when defending his actions to Blake, but now he felt as if he’d never deserved the title. He hadn’t been there for the other man when he needed him the most. Then again, how could he have been without knowing the face behind the mask?
The commissioner had agonized for hours over the things he’d said at their meeting last night. After checking in with the men at the MCU and dropping Blake off at the younger man’s miraculously untouched apartment, Jim had spent the dark hours wide awake in his familiar armchair. Luckily, the frantic mob hadn’t destroyed it during their “liberation” of the city, but the rest of his rooms were still a mess. He’d been too tired to even attempt to clean up, so he’d just sat there, thinking and remembering everything he’d said and done to protect the image of Batman.
Jim knew he’d acted on the Dark Knight’s behalf and that his choices had been the right ones - but had they been the right ones for Bruce Wayne, too?
Ever since learning his ally’s true identity, Jim had avoided thinking too much about what the revelation meant. He’d focused on puzzling out how to explain the billionaire’s death and how to convince his co-conspirators to go along with his suggestions, but otherwise he’d shied away from the topic. He’d had more pressing things on his mind anyway - like trying to bring back peace and order to a city that had lived in darkness and chaos for almost five months; but last night everything had come rushing back. And now he couldn’t shake the feeling of failure that had clung to him ever since.
A garbage truck blocked the road in front of Jim’s car, but he didn’t mind the wait. It had been too long since any kind of waste collection had been made in the city; and although everyone had been rallying together to clear the streets of rubbish, the problem of the overflowing trash cans hadn’t been solved - until now.
Things were slowly getting back to normal. People were coming out of their hiding places and returning home. Still, Jim knew the city was months, probably even years away from any kind of a life resembling the one before the mercenaries’ occupation of Gotham. There had been too much death and tragedy, too many losses, too much devastation for everyone in the city to live as if nothing had happened.
There were also still dozens of criminals running loose. The ones who hadn’t been able to leave yet would be picked up by his men sooner or later - the commissioner was sure of that.
Many good men and women had died during the occupation and in the final battle for Gotham, but there were already requests coming in from young people - even from outside the city limits - to join the force. Many had been inspired by the myriad of stories they’d heard. Others wanted to follow in the footsteps of their friends and family who had died for Gotham’s freedom.
As a matter of fact, Jim was on his way to meet a group of Gotham’s volunteers who had offered to search the city block by block, looking for survivors and injured in the rubble; children, many of them orphans who must be scared to death; elderly people who had survived this cold and relentless winter of Gotham.
For now, Jim would take every bit of help he could get, at least on a provisionary basis. After that, everyone would be screened and sent to the police academy just like every other officer who had ever carried a gun in his city.
People from outside Gotham’s boundaries would have to wait for another day or two because leaving the island was easier than getting on it at the moment. Traffic into the former war zone was pretty heavily screened, and outsiders who didn’t know their way around the city would only be a hindrance, not a help.
Thousands of phone calls, emails, and letters had reached the office that had been set up as a liaison between the former beleaguered city and the outside world. People were looking for missing fathers and mothers, children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. It was unimaginable how many people had been lost and affected by the recent madness.
It was even worse than the destruction the Joker had reaped eight years ago because his actions had been small in comparison - single events rather than mass destruction on a grand scale. Even blowing up Gotham General hadn’t caused as many deaths as feared because the evacuation had been completed before the hospital was destroyed - the same one Jim had been in after his near-fatal experience in Gotham’s sewer system. The same one Bruce Wayne’s money had helped rebuild after the Joker incident…
Jim’s train of thought came to a sudden stop when the driver in the ambulance behind him honked his horn. The street was clear, the garbage truck had passed into a side alley, so the commissioner shook himself and turned the key in the ignition.
Fuel was still rare in the city, so it was mostly limited to police cars, doctors, ambulances, and other emergency vehicles. The streets remained difficult to navigate because of all the rubble that lined the sidewalks and corners and had tumbled into the roadway, and Jim was glad of the distraction. Getting to the MCU would need his undivided attention. No more heavy thinking while on the road, he mentally scolded himself, and drove on.
Detective Blake was already waiting for him when the commissioner approached his recently cleared parking spot behind the MCU. The young cop had offered to organize and lead the search party, and Jim had given him the desired task.
He knew Blake was shaken from everything that had happened, but there was also a deeper mistrust and anger apparent in the young man’s behavior. The commissioner had decided to cut him some slack - for now. Jim had gotten to know him pretty well ever since they’d been forced to go underground, and he could tell that something was definitely eating at the younger man, putting him off balance. Sure, almost getting blown up - by his own peers, no less - would make every man question his view of the world, but Jim could feel that it wasn’t just his near-death experience that had changed the younger cop so much. The hothead, as Foley had liked to call Blake, was unnaturally calm and quiet these days.
For the umpteenth time, Jim asked himself how well Blake and Wayne had known each other, and he made a mental note to ask his subordinate about it as soon as he got the chance. Last night’s argument was vivid in his memory, but Jim knew there were some things they really needed to talk about - preferably before any kind of official investigation into Jim Gordon’s lie regarding Dent and Batman began. But first, they had a job to do.
“Commissioner.”
“Detective.” Jim answered the simple greeting in kind and started walking up the stairs, with Blake falling in beside him. “So, how many of our volunteers have turned up?” he asked.
Blake’s reply stopped him dead in his tracks. “Two hundred. And that’s only the first group.”
“Two hundred?” Jim could hardly believe his ears, but then he roused himself and began walking again. “I thought there were about twenty who contacted you the other day and offered to help.”
“Yes, sir, but they brought some friends who asked some of their friends in turn…You know how it works.”
Jim fought the urge to snort in derision. Once upon a time, he’d been as trustful and believing in people like his young colleague apparently still was, but the commissioner could hardly remember those days. Loneliness and too many disappointments by his fellow men had shaken his belief.
The two cops entered the half-destroyed MCU and turned down one of the corridors that led into an undamaged part of the building. The upper floors were a real mess, but the building’s integrity seemed secure enough for now, so Jim had decided to make it the police force’s official headquarters. He didn’t care if the other policemen whispered about sentimentality behind his back - the MCU building was where Jim and his men were supposed to be.
A light was on in the room at the end of the tunnel-like hallway, and subdued voices could be heard. Jim turned to Blake with a questioning rise of an eyebrow, but the younger cop merely shrugged and waved the commissioner on. “After you, sir.”
This time, Jim did snort although the comment hadn’t been that funny. Setting his features into a serious but hopefully confident expression, Jim entered the room where Blake’s volunteers waited. He should have expected the wall of people that greeted him with sudden silence when he appeared - but even Blake’s announcement hadn’t been enough to convince Jim of the sheer number of people that crowded the room which had once been the MCU’s cafeteria. Everyone had turned to look at the commissioner, but his gaze fell on too many small faces looking up at him from the floor. There were children here!
“Blake!” Jim barked and turned around to leave the room, only to find himself almost nose to nose with his detective.
“Yes, sir?”
“Don’t you sir me, Blake! What are they doing here?” He hitched a thumb back at the youngsters who had begun to whisper among themselves as soon as the commissioner’s back was turned.
The younger cop didn’t even try to play innocent but stood his ground. “They want to help,” he said, some of the old fire Jim had missed returning to his eyes. “They are good kids. I know most of them. The boys anyway.”
“Be that as it may, Detective. We can’t send them out there!”
“Why not?” Blake stuck out his chin in a way that reminded Jim too much of his Jimmy.
“Don’t do that, son,” the commissioner sighed.
The other man still wouldn’t give up but delivered his final argument. “It’s their city, too!”
Blake was almost shouting now, and Jim suddenly became aware of the hushed silence that descended over the room once more. Slowly, he turned back to the expectant crowd that had observed their heated exchange with expressions ranging from slightly amused (the older men and women in the back) to embarrassed (the young men and women standing in the middle of the room and lounging on chairs) to scared and disappointed (the kids in front).
Jim cleared his throat and tried to smile. “Uh...sorry about that.” He cast Blake a baleful glance. This argument had definitely not gone as planned by the older man. Then he addressed the gathering of people, trying not to let any of his former anger creep into his voice.
“First, I would like to thank all of you for coming. Time is short, and I’ve never been good at speeches.” That elicited a dry chuckle from almost everyone because the commissioner was known for his hatred of public appearances - now the whole city knew the reason, of course. Trying not to dwell on it, Jim added, “Detective Blake here will sort you into groups and give you a map of the city that is marked with the blocks you have to search. Every search party will be equipped with a walkie talkie to contact us and the emergency responders. Because there are so many of you here, the group sizes will vary between four and eight people in case you need to split up.”
Slight murmurs arose, but Jim saw Blake nod in his periphery vision and continued confidently, “It’s a security measure. We don’t want to lose any one of you while rescuing others. Stick together, use your common sense - don’t try to be heroes.” Playing the hero never ends well in this city, he silently added. “If all the adults would please come forward? We need to take down your names and assign you to your groups now.”
The children started a noisy protest, but Jim cut them off with a stare over the rim of his glasses and an upheld hand. “Everyone under age, please stay seated. I’ll talk to you in a minute.”
The teenagers murmured unhappily but obliged. Blake was right, they are good kids. Maybe they can help after all.
Jim was impressed by Blake’s efficiency in creating a list with every volunteer’s name, his group and the places of the city he would be searching. The young cop took the time to talk to every single one of them, thanking them for coming and offering an assuring smile or a pat on the back where it was needed by the men and women approaching him. Gone was the sullen man who had roamed the city ever since Batman’s death.
It was startling and not a little unnerving to see this new side of his colleague who seemed to switch between different sets of mind and mood in a heartbeat. Living and working with Blake during the occupation had clearly not been enough to uncover this previously unobserved trait. Jim wondered what else the young man was hiding under his easy-going manner and slightly subdued demeanor that only erupted into occasional brashness and a smart mouth - one that had gotten the young man into trouble with his superiors more often than not if Foley’s former animosity was anything to go by.
Other policemen took over as soon as Blake was finished with the volunteers. The officers led them outside to explain the police-issued radios, gave them a few instructions on how to conduct their searches, and sent them on their way. The room cleared faster than Jim would have thought until only about thirty youngsters remained with him and Blake. They looked up at him expectantly, and Jim cleared his throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious and very old in comparison. He waved for Blake to join him, and the young detective’s fresh face and youthful appearance only enforced Jim’s sudden feeling of age.
He shrugged it off and smiled at the kids, assessing their ages and mentally sorting them into groups he could use. Part of him was still reluctant to send children out into the dangerous streets of a post-war zone, but Blake was right: The youngsters really wanted to help. Jim could see it in their eager faces and their eyes that had already seen too much, in the ways they held themselves, proud and defiant, not allowing their sorrow or loneliness to seep out. The commissioner noticed, of course, and he guessed that many of the boys who now sat before him had grown up on the streets of Gotham or in the orphanage Blake had supported during the occupation - and where, Jim guessed, the detective had lived for a while, too. He would have to ask him about it, though, because Jim had never gotten the chance to access the detective’s file before Bane blew up half of Gotham.
If the commissioner refused the kids now, how could he expect them to stand up and do the right thing when they were older and in the position to really help others? Growing up in Gotham was tough, especially without any kind of family. Giving these teenagers a purpose and a good example was the least he could do.
The thought forced him into action. He grabbed a chair and sat down in front of the youngsters, making eye contact with those he could see clearly from his position. Blake followed his example, and Jim noted with interested that most of the boys turned their gaze on the young detective first and not on the commissioner. That only proved what Jim already knew, that many of their young volunteers were here because they looked up to Blake and wanted to help him as he had done for them.
Jim finally spoke up. “First of all, I want you to know that I’m glad you’re here. Yes, I know, I didn’t sound like it only a few minutes ago.” The unbelieving looks aimed in his direction weren’t lost on him, and he grinned self-consciously. “I wasn’t angry with you. I was worried. But Detective Blake convinced me that there was something you could do to help us, so if you still want it, I have a job for you.”
A boy in the front row who seemed to be about twelve or thirteen years old asked, “All of us?” The boy was clearly disbelieving, and Jim silently chastised himself for his previous insensitivity. The recent events had taken their toll on the commissioner. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have lost his temper so easily.
Blake cut in, his voice calm and confident. “Yes, Mark. All of you. And I think what Commissioner Gordon was trying to say is that he was an idiot.” That got a few chuckles from the suspicious group; and although Jim knew he should be angry with his detective, he couldn’t help but agree with the assessment. Blake shot him an amused look as if he knew what his boss was thinking. He shrugged in apology and continued, “Why don’t you ask him what he would like you to do?”
The teenagers suddenly sat up straighter, pricking up their ears. Jim had to admire the younger man’s ability to make them listen again and nodded his thanks. He said, “I can’t send you out there into the blown-up parts of Gotham because it’s too dangerous.” Forestalling any further interruptions, he added, “I know you can take care of yourselves, but even grown men and women are having a hard time out there. What I would like to ask you to do though is this: We need to let people know that help has arrived and there are places they can go for assistance: food, clothing, clean water, medicine.”
Jim saw some of the kids in front of him nod. Encouraged, he continued, “I’m sure you’ve heard about the office they put up where folks can ask for news about missing relatives and friends. It would be a great help if you could go from house to house, see if there are citizens still living there, and tell them what you know. Inform them of the liaison office and that the official police headquarters is back at the MCU.”
The boy in the first row - Mark - raised his hand. “Commissioner?”
“Yes?” Jim smiled at him encouragingly.
Mark hesitated for a moment, then asked, “What if somebody is hurt and needs help right away?”
Blake glanced at the commissioner and after receiving his confirmative nod replied, “I think we’ll send a cop with you. He can coordinate your search and call for a doctor if you find any injured who need assistance. How does that sound?”
Relief clearly written on his face, the boy nodded and settled down to listen to the rest of Jim and Blake’s instructions. Now that their initial disappointment over not being allowed to search the city with the other volunteers had vanished, they quickly warmed up to the idea of going from house to house in the commissioner’s name. Fifteen minutes later, the kids had been sent on their way, too - accompanied by a trooper and his radio. They would cover five blocks and then return to St. Swithin’s and their respective homes for the day. There was a lot of cleaning up to do there, too.
Blake started gathering up his papers and the lists of volunteers as soon as the last of the boys had left the room. He suddenly seemed nervous and eager to be on his way. Jim could hardly blame the man. They still had a long day ahead of them - it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet - but the commissioner had a hunch that that wasn’t the only reason. The detective was trying to avoid being alone with his boss any longer than necessary so he wouldn’t have to talk about what had just happened.
Jim knew this wasn’t the time or place to inquire about the detective’s past, so he merely clapped the younger man on the shoulder on his way to the door. “You’re good with children,” he said approvingly.
Blake glanced at him in surprise. “Thank you, sir,” he said and smiled a little. “They’re good kids,” he repeated his comment from earlier. “They just need someone to show them the right way and give them a little shove in the right direction once in a while. Thanks for letting them help.”
Jim shot him a grin over his shoulder. “Thank you for talking me into it.”
Blake fought hard to keep his smile in check. “Any time, Commissioner.”
Jim nodded in acknowledgment and motioned for the detective to follow him to the briefing room where their colleagues were waiting to start the day. “Let’s go. We have a city to run.”
Continued in Chapter 4
Author: immertreu
Word count: ~26000 in total
Summary: When Alfred Pennyworth returns home after Bane's occupation of Gotham, his surrogate son is gone and his life in ruins. But Batman's friends remain - and therefore hope. - The story is finished. I will post one chapter out of seven every day.
List of chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Alfred emerged from the batcave very early on the following morning, feeling cold and clammy from the night he’d spent in the cool and damp cavern, but he paid it no heed. He had one final task to complete. After the hidden door had snapped shut behind him, he pressed the secret switch that locked it in place and severed the connection between the piano and the entrance to the cave. The system could be reactivated if you knew its secrets; but since Alfred didn’t know yet what would become of Wayne Manor, he decided to take no risks.
Only when this final security measure was in place did Alfred allow himself to stop and think. He sat at the piano that resembled the one Mrs. Wayne had often played and let his mind drift. For the first time in years, Alfred Pennyworth had nothing left to do. He remembered the last time Master Bruce had been “dead” - but back then his hope had burned strong. He had just known that his charge wasn’t dead. Life hadn’t been easy on the young Wayne heir, but he’d never given up the will to live, experience new things, learn and discover.
This time his disappearance was different. Final.
Bruce had once said the empty house reminded him of a mausoleum, and Alfred had refused to acknowledge the analogy. But maybe Master Wayne hadn’t been so wrong after all?
The house was very quiet, as if in mourning for its fallen owner. In fact, it almost felt the way it had after the Waynes’ murder all those decades ago. For Alfred, there had still been life in the house then because of a very special young boy who needed looking after and who deserved to be a happy child again. But his happiness had never come.
The youth had grown into an angry man, brooding and dark. There had been humor and kindness underneath his fierce exterior and his many masks, but he seldom allowed himself the luxury of being just Bruce.
In the old days, Alfred had had a purpose in life, a task at hand that asked for more than any other butler would have been able to fulfill. But those times were over. He was finally free of his burden - and he felt like the loneliest person on Earth because it hadn’t been a shackle at all. It had been his calling.
Alfred finally got up from his stool and walked aimlessly around the house, looking at the few family items that remained, touching the few pieces of the past that had survived the fire.
This was not how he’d wanted to grow old: to survive every member of a family he’d loved as his own and who had loved him back, even if their youngest member had unlearned how to express these feelings - and who had probably hated him in the end.
Alfred didn’t know what to do with himself. What was the reason for his being alive? All his life he’d served. First the British government, then the Wayne family and their eccentric heir. What was left for him now?
A loud bang on the great doors downstairs drew Alfred back from the dark place to which his mind had wandered. A glance at his watch revealed that it wasn’t yet six o’clock. Lucius was asleep in one of the guestrooms. Who would come to call at this hour?
For a second, hope surged up inside the old man. A heartbeat later, he scolded himself for his foolishness and went to answer the door. Master Wayne would never come home again.
Commissioner Gordon stood on the threshold, carrying two large paper cups of hot coffee in a cardboard tray in one hand and a bag that smelled of freshly baked goods in the other. He’d shaved and changed, but he didn’t look as if he’d gotten much sleep last night. Alfred suspected his own appearance wasn’t much different, but he was too weary to care.
“Commissioner?” Alfred asked.
The unexpected visitor wasn’t exactly hopping from foot to foot, but his unease showed clearly in the way he flexed his shoulders and looked around to make sure the two men were unobserved.
“I thought you could use something hot,” the other man said by way of greeting and held out his burdens for Alfred to take.
The old butler took the proffered gifts and stepped aside to let the commissioner in, but Gordon shook his head. “Thanks, but I need to get to work. I just wanted to make sure…”
He hesitated, and Alfred finished the sentence for him. “…we were okay?”
Gordon shrugged apologetically. “Something like that.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. His next sentences came out in a rush and left him out of breath. “I realize I’m probably not the most popular person around here at the moment, but I wanted to tell you how much respect I have for you and what you’ve done for Mr. Wayne. I’m sorry it has to be like this.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked briskly back to his car parked at the bottom of the grand staircase.
He had almost reached the unmarked sedan when Alfred found his voice again.
“You are always welcome here, Commissioner.” The old butler’s voice was grave, but some life had returned to his previously troubled eyes, and he stood as straight as possible when holding two cups of coffee and a paper bag in his hands. “You were his friend,” he added, nodding once in affirmation and closing the door.
Friend… Jim Gordon pondered the word on his drive into town. Had he really been Batman’s friend? Maybe even Bruce Wayne’s?
He simply didn’t know. The unsettling truth had changed everything Jim had thought he’d ever believed about the vigilante and their unique relationship.
They had been allies for sure; Jim had called Batman his friend more than once when defending his actions to Blake, but now he felt as if he’d never deserved the title. He hadn’t been there for the other man when he needed him the most. Then again, how could he have been without knowing the face behind the mask?
The commissioner had agonized for hours over the things he’d said at their meeting last night. After checking in with the men at the MCU and dropping Blake off at the younger man’s miraculously untouched apartment, Jim had spent the dark hours wide awake in his familiar armchair. Luckily, the frantic mob hadn’t destroyed it during their “liberation” of the city, but the rest of his rooms were still a mess. He’d been too tired to even attempt to clean up, so he’d just sat there, thinking and remembering everything he’d said and done to protect the image of Batman.
Jim knew he’d acted on the Dark Knight’s behalf and that his choices had been the right ones - but had they been the right ones for Bruce Wayne, too?
Ever since learning his ally’s true identity, Jim had avoided thinking too much about what the revelation meant. He’d focused on puzzling out how to explain the billionaire’s death and how to convince his co-conspirators to go along with his suggestions, but otherwise he’d shied away from the topic. He’d had more pressing things on his mind anyway - like trying to bring back peace and order to a city that had lived in darkness and chaos for almost five months; but last night everything had come rushing back. And now he couldn’t shake the feeling of failure that had clung to him ever since.
A garbage truck blocked the road in front of Jim’s car, but he didn’t mind the wait. It had been too long since any kind of waste collection had been made in the city; and although everyone had been rallying together to clear the streets of rubbish, the problem of the overflowing trash cans hadn’t been solved - until now.
Things were slowly getting back to normal. People were coming out of their hiding places and returning home. Still, Jim knew the city was months, probably even years away from any kind of a life resembling the one before the mercenaries’ occupation of Gotham. There had been too much death and tragedy, too many losses, too much devastation for everyone in the city to live as if nothing had happened.
There were also still dozens of criminals running loose. The ones who hadn’t been able to leave yet would be picked up by his men sooner or later - the commissioner was sure of that.
Many good men and women had died during the occupation and in the final battle for Gotham, but there were already requests coming in from young people - even from outside the city limits - to join the force. Many had been inspired by the myriad of stories they’d heard. Others wanted to follow in the footsteps of their friends and family who had died for Gotham’s freedom.
As a matter of fact, Jim was on his way to meet a group of Gotham’s volunteers who had offered to search the city block by block, looking for survivors and injured in the rubble; children, many of them orphans who must be scared to death; elderly people who had survived this cold and relentless winter of Gotham.
For now, Jim would take every bit of help he could get, at least on a provisionary basis. After that, everyone would be screened and sent to the police academy just like every other officer who had ever carried a gun in his city.
People from outside Gotham’s boundaries would have to wait for another day or two because leaving the island was easier than getting on it at the moment. Traffic into the former war zone was pretty heavily screened, and outsiders who didn’t know their way around the city would only be a hindrance, not a help.
Thousands of phone calls, emails, and letters had reached the office that had been set up as a liaison between the former beleaguered city and the outside world. People were looking for missing fathers and mothers, children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. It was unimaginable how many people had been lost and affected by the recent madness.
It was even worse than the destruction the Joker had reaped eight years ago because his actions had been small in comparison - single events rather than mass destruction on a grand scale. Even blowing up Gotham General hadn’t caused as many deaths as feared because the evacuation had been completed before the hospital was destroyed - the same one Jim had been in after his near-fatal experience in Gotham’s sewer system. The same one Bruce Wayne’s money had helped rebuild after the Joker incident…
Jim’s train of thought came to a sudden stop when the driver in the ambulance behind him honked his horn. The street was clear, the garbage truck had passed into a side alley, so the commissioner shook himself and turned the key in the ignition.
Fuel was still rare in the city, so it was mostly limited to police cars, doctors, ambulances, and other emergency vehicles. The streets remained difficult to navigate because of all the rubble that lined the sidewalks and corners and had tumbled into the roadway, and Jim was glad of the distraction. Getting to the MCU would need his undivided attention. No more heavy thinking while on the road, he mentally scolded himself, and drove on.
Detective Blake was already waiting for him when the commissioner approached his recently cleared parking spot behind the MCU. The young cop had offered to organize and lead the search party, and Jim had given him the desired task.
He knew Blake was shaken from everything that had happened, but there was also a deeper mistrust and anger apparent in the young man’s behavior. The commissioner had decided to cut him some slack - for now. Jim had gotten to know him pretty well ever since they’d been forced to go underground, and he could tell that something was definitely eating at the younger man, putting him off balance. Sure, almost getting blown up - by his own peers, no less - would make every man question his view of the world, but Jim could feel that it wasn’t just his near-death experience that had changed the younger cop so much. The hothead, as Foley had liked to call Blake, was unnaturally calm and quiet these days.
For the umpteenth time, Jim asked himself how well Blake and Wayne had known each other, and he made a mental note to ask his subordinate about it as soon as he got the chance. Last night’s argument was vivid in his memory, but Jim knew there were some things they really needed to talk about - preferably before any kind of official investigation into Jim Gordon’s lie regarding Dent and Batman began. But first, they had a job to do.
“Commissioner.”
“Detective.” Jim answered the simple greeting in kind and started walking up the stairs, with Blake falling in beside him. “So, how many of our volunteers have turned up?” he asked.
Blake’s reply stopped him dead in his tracks. “Two hundred. And that’s only the first group.”
“Two hundred?” Jim could hardly believe his ears, but then he roused himself and began walking again. “I thought there were about twenty who contacted you the other day and offered to help.”
“Yes, sir, but they brought some friends who asked some of their friends in turn…You know how it works.”
Jim fought the urge to snort in derision. Once upon a time, he’d been as trustful and believing in people like his young colleague apparently still was, but the commissioner could hardly remember those days. Loneliness and too many disappointments by his fellow men had shaken his belief.
The two cops entered the half-destroyed MCU and turned down one of the corridors that led into an undamaged part of the building. The upper floors were a real mess, but the building’s integrity seemed secure enough for now, so Jim had decided to make it the police force’s official headquarters. He didn’t care if the other policemen whispered about sentimentality behind his back - the MCU building was where Jim and his men were supposed to be.
A light was on in the room at the end of the tunnel-like hallway, and subdued voices could be heard. Jim turned to Blake with a questioning rise of an eyebrow, but the younger cop merely shrugged and waved the commissioner on. “After you, sir.”
This time, Jim did snort although the comment hadn’t been that funny. Setting his features into a serious but hopefully confident expression, Jim entered the room where Blake’s volunteers waited. He should have expected the wall of people that greeted him with sudden silence when he appeared - but even Blake’s announcement hadn’t been enough to convince Jim of the sheer number of people that crowded the room which had once been the MCU’s cafeteria. Everyone had turned to look at the commissioner, but his gaze fell on too many small faces looking up at him from the floor. There were children here!
“Blake!” Jim barked and turned around to leave the room, only to find himself almost nose to nose with his detective.
“Yes, sir?”
“Don’t you sir me, Blake! What are they doing here?” He hitched a thumb back at the youngsters who had begun to whisper among themselves as soon as the commissioner’s back was turned.
The younger cop didn’t even try to play innocent but stood his ground. “They want to help,” he said, some of the old fire Jim had missed returning to his eyes. “They are good kids. I know most of them. The boys anyway.”
“Be that as it may, Detective. We can’t send them out there!”
“Why not?” Blake stuck out his chin in a way that reminded Jim too much of his Jimmy.
“Don’t do that, son,” the commissioner sighed.
The other man still wouldn’t give up but delivered his final argument. “It’s their city, too!”
Blake was almost shouting now, and Jim suddenly became aware of the hushed silence that descended over the room once more. Slowly, he turned back to the expectant crowd that had observed their heated exchange with expressions ranging from slightly amused (the older men and women in the back) to embarrassed (the young men and women standing in the middle of the room and lounging on chairs) to scared and disappointed (the kids in front).
Jim cleared his throat and tried to smile. “Uh...sorry about that.” He cast Blake a baleful glance. This argument had definitely not gone as planned by the older man. Then he addressed the gathering of people, trying not to let any of his former anger creep into his voice.
“First, I would like to thank all of you for coming. Time is short, and I’ve never been good at speeches.” That elicited a dry chuckle from almost everyone because the commissioner was known for his hatred of public appearances - now the whole city knew the reason, of course. Trying not to dwell on it, Jim added, “Detective Blake here will sort you into groups and give you a map of the city that is marked with the blocks you have to search. Every search party will be equipped with a walkie talkie to contact us and the emergency responders. Because there are so many of you here, the group sizes will vary between four and eight people in case you need to split up.”
Slight murmurs arose, but Jim saw Blake nod in his periphery vision and continued confidently, “It’s a security measure. We don’t want to lose any one of you while rescuing others. Stick together, use your common sense - don’t try to be heroes.” Playing the hero never ends well in this city, he silently added. “If all the adults would please come forward? We need to take down your names and assign you to your groups now.”
The children started a noisy protest, but Jim cut them off with a stare over the rim of his glasses and an upheld hand. “Everyone under age, please stay seated. I’ll talk to you in a minute.”
The teenagers murmured unhappily but obliged. Blake was right, they are good kids. Maybe they can help after all.
Jim was impressed by Blake’s efficiency in creating a list with every volunteer’s name, his group and the places of the city he would be searching. The young cop took the time to talk to every single one of them, thanking them for coming and offering an assuring smile or a pat on the back where it was needed by the men and women approaching him. Gone was the sullen man who had roamed the city ever since Batman’s death.
It was startling and not a little unnerving to see this new side of his colleague who seemed to switch between different sets of mind and mood in a heartbeat. Living and working with Blake during the occupation had clearly not been enough to uncover this previously unobserved trait. Jim wondered what else the young man was hiding under his easy-going manner and slightly subdued demeanor that only erupted into occasional brashness and a smart mouth - one that had gotten the young man into trouble with his superiors more often than not if Foley’s former animosity was anything to go by.
Other policemen took over as soon as Blake was finished with the volunteers. The officers led them outside to explain the police-issued radios, gave them a few instructions on how to conduct their searches, and sent them on their way. The room cleared faster than Jim would have thought until only about thirty youngsters remained with him and Blake. They looked up at him expectantly, and Jim cleared his throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious and very old in comparison. He waved for Blake to join him, and the young detective’s fresh face and youthful appearance only enforced Jim’s sudden feeling of age.
He shrugged it off and smiled at the kids, assessing their ages and mentally sorting them into groups he could use. Part of him was still reluctant to send children out into the dangerous streets of a post-war zone, but Blake was right: The youngsters really wanted to help. Jim could see it in their eager faces and their eyes that had already seen too much, in the ways they held themselves, proud and defiant, not allowing their sorrow or loneliness to seep out. The commissioner noticed, of course, and he guessed that many of the boys who now sat before him had grown up on the streets of Gotham or in the orphanage Blake had supported during the occupation - and where, Jim guessed, the detective had lived for a while, too. He would have to ask him about it, though, because Jim had never gotten the chance to access the detective’s file before Bane blew up half of Gotham.
If the commissioner refused the kids now, how could he expect them to stand up and do the right thing when they were older and in the position to really help others? Growing up in Gotham was tough, especially without any kind of family. Giving these teenagers a purpose and a good example was the least he could do.
The thought forced him into action. He grabbed a chair and sat down in front of the youngsters, making eye contact with those he could see clearly from his position. Blake followed his example, and Jim noted with interested that most of the boys turned their gaze on the young detective first and not on the commissioner. That only proved what Jim already knew, that many of their young volunteers were here because they looked up to Blake and wanted to help him as he had done for them.
Jim finally spoke up. “First of all, I want you to know that I’m glad you’re here. Yes, I know, I didn’t sound like it only a few minutes ago.” The unbelieving looks aimed in his direction weren’t lost on him, and he grinned self-consciously. “I wasn’t angry with you. I was worried. But Detective Blake convinced me that there was something you could do to help us, so if you still want it, I have a job for you.”
A boy in the front row who seemed to be about twelve or thirteen years old asked, “All of us?” The boy was clearly disbelieving, and Jim silently chastised himself for his previous insensitivity. The recent events had taken their toll on the commissioner. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have lost his temper so easily.
Blake cut in, his voice calm and confident. “Yes, Mark. All of you. And I think what Commissioner Gordon was trying to say is that he was an idiot.” That got a few chuckles from the suspicious group; and although Jim knew he should be angry with his detective, he couldn’t help but agree with the assessment. Blake shot him an amused look as if he knew what his boss was thinking. He shrugged in apology and continued, “Why don’t you ask him what he would like you to do?”
The teenagers suddenly sat up straighter, pricking up their ears. Jim had to admire the younger man’s ability to make them listen again and nodded his thanks. He said, “I can’t send you out there into the blown-up parts of Gotham because it’s too dangerous.” Forestalling any further interruptions, he added, “I know you can take care of yourselves, but even grown men and women are having a hard time out there. What I would like to ask you to do though is this: We need to let people know that help has arrived and there are places they can go for assistance: food, clothing, clean water, medicine.”
Jim saw some of the kids in front of him nod. Encouraged, he continued, “I’m sure you’ve heard about the office they put up where folks can ask for news about missing relatives and friends. It would be a great help if you could go from house to house, see if there are citizens still living there, and tell them what you know. Inform them of the liaison office and that the official police headquarters is back at the MCU.”
The boy in the first row - Mark - raised his hand. “Commissioner?”
“Yes?” Jim smiled at him encouragingly.
Mark hesitated for a moment, then asked, “What if somebody is hurt and needs help right away?”
Blake glanced at the commissioner and after receiving his confirmative nod replied, “I think we’ll send a cop with you. He can coordinate your search and call for a doctor if you find any injured who need assistance. How does that sound?”
Relief clearly written on his face, the boy nodded and settled down to listen to the rest of Jim and Blake’s instructions. Now that their initial disappointment over not being allowed to search the city with the other volunteers had vanished, they quickly warmed up to the idea of going from house to house in the commissioner’s name. Fifteen minutes later, the kids had been sent on their way, too - accompanied by a trooper and his radio. They would cover five blocks and then return to St. Swithin’s and their respective homes for the day. There was a lot of cleaning up to do there, too.
Blake started gathering up his papers and the lists of volunteers as soon as the last of the boys had left the room. He suddenly seemed nervous and eager to be on his way. Jim could hardly blame the man. They still had a long day ahead of them - it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet - but the commissioner had a hunch that that wasn’t the only reason. The detective was trying to avoid being alone with his boss any longer than necessary so he wouldn’t have to talk about what had just happened.
Jim knew this wasn’t the time or place to inquire about the detective’s past, so he merely clapped the younger man on the shoulder on his way to the door. “You’re good with children,” he said approvingly.
Blake glanced at him in surprise. “Thank you, sir,” he said and smiled a little. “They’re good kids,” he repeated his comment from earlier. “They just need someone to show them the right way and give them a little shove in the right direction once in a while. Thanks for letting them help.”
Jim shot him a grin over his shoulder. “Thank you for talking me into it.”
Blake fought hard to keep his smile in check. “Any time, Commissioner.”
Jim nodded in acknowledgment and motioned for the detective to follow him to the briefing room where their colleagues were waiting to start the day. “Let’s go. We have a city to run.”
Continued in Chapter 4