The Secret Legacy of Harvey Dent
I intended to have this up before work today... but that whole "stuff happening" thing I mentioned yesterday? Yeah, it happened. Involving a certain puppy and a rash. Thus the reason why it's 11:00 at night (aka, after work) before I'm posting this.
So. xxdesert_rose. Looks like I sorta misled you yesterday… Heh heh. All I had to do were the final edits this morning!!! -And figure out a title. Anyway. Birthday pressie!
Title: The Secret Legacy of Harvey Dent
Fandom: Batman - The Dark Knight
Dedication: xxdesert_rose
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,577 Words
Genre: General/Angst
Summary: Almost immediately after the death of Harvey Dent and Gotham’s turn against the Batman, Bruce Wayne pays a visit to Commissioner Gordon regarding the funds risen for Dent’s re-election campaign. Wayne/Gordon (not-quite) friendship.
AN: So… I wrote a Batman fic. Expanded my horizons. For one particular chica who has done the same for me previously. I discovered that I really like writing Commissioner Gordon because it involves thinking about him a lot. Hee. Happy Birthday, Rose!! :D
It was raining in Gotham, as it had been for the past three days since the Batman’s climactic defeat of the Joker and the horrific death of Harvey Dent’s grief-twisted shell of himself after a bloody rampage across the city, his final victim a boy survivor. Three days since the bodies had been found and the city of Gotham had learned that Batman was a murderer.
It seemed appropriate to Bruce that the weather be as equally dreary as he felt. It was already hard to remain the Batman, to still go out and protect a city that now hated him, and this was only the beginning. But that was why Batman was a symbol and not a man. The Batman’s mission was still the same: protect Gotham until it no longer needed its watchful defender.
In the meantime, Bruce Wayne was not despised. Free to show his face in public without worry or concern, he was on his way to see the one man who knew the whole truth of Harvey Dent. The one man in Gotham that anyone could trust.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, Master Bruce, but I believe this is a mistake,” Alfred said from the driver’s seat.
Bruce turned his attention from the streaming beads of water on his window. “A mistake? How so, Alfred?”
The elderly mentor and father to Bruce in every way but blood met his eyes through the rear view mirror. “Batman cannot have friends, Master Bruce.”
Bruce laughed. “That’s not what this is about, Alfred.”
“You’ve come to depend on the Commissioner as Batman, and he is an excellent ally. But befriending him as Bruce Wayne only exposes all three of you to more risk of being caught.”
“I’m not going to befriend him,-”
“You are fond of him, Master Bruce. As a reliable man who has watched your back numerous times. A man you can trust.”
“He’s the only one I trust, and that’s why this is important,” Bruce rebutted. “Besides, the Mayor asked me to deliver this news to Gordon personally. Refusing that request would seem more suspicious than visiting him briefly.”
“It has only been three days since the Batman became a fugitive and had to sever all ties with him. The Commissioner is not someone with whom you want to test the limits of your disguises, Master Bruce.”
“The money was donated; it has to be used somewhere,” he enumerated. “Rebuilding the police station and the rest of Gotham with the funds is the perfect use for it. Someone has to do the job.” Bruce wasn’t sure if he was convincing Alfred or himself of his true intentions.
“He is a good man,” Alfred said kindly as they came to a stop outside the police station. “Of that, I have no question.”
Many of the windows, blown out from the recent explosion, were covered by large black trash bags to keep the moisture out. The building looked more run down than ever, scorch marks covering the orifices of the station’s face. Bruce pointedly ignored the turning of his stomach when he thought to how the Joker had accomplished this.
Alfred, placing the car in park, turned in his seat. “Would you like the umbrella, Master Bruce?”
Bruce smiled. “No thanks, Alfred. I think I can handle a few raindrops.” He didn’t tell him of his fear, irrational or not, of the corrupt men and women inside.
“I’ll just wait here, then,” Alfred needlessly said.
Bruce was glad that he could likewise needlessly say, “Lock the doors,” as he exited the cabin and jogged inside. The particular exchange was their normal protective custom.
The view inside was far worse than what it appeared outside. Debris still covered much of the corners; few pieces of furniture had survived the blast, and none of them without having been scathed. Fold up chairs and beat up wooden ones lined a wall for visitors. A long queue of officers stretched out in front of an impeccable door that seemed to have been replaced since the blast.
Blackened scorch marks also covered the breadth of the interior in the police station. Blood stains on the floor, walls, and ceiling in a few areas reminded all in too much detail of what had occurred here and who had died. The officers and detectives milled about the room, focused on their work, sharing desk space and conversing in corners in the absence of offices.
Bruce Wayne entered the chaotic scene, approaching the first officer he found. “Excuse me. I’m here to see the Commissioner.”
She barked a laugh and scoffed, “You and everyone else!” She pointed to the long line he’d noticed. “He’s waging his own internal investigation, single-handedly. Everyone has to be interviewed or they’ll be held under suspicion.” She looked back to Wayne, whom she did not recognize. “Good luck seeing him in the next four hours.”
But just then, Commissioner Gordon emerged from his office followed by a cuffed now-former officer. He motioned to two of his trusted men to take the guilty party away, and turned to view the line. His gaze as well as that of the shamed former officer fell on another man in the line, who froze mid sentence upon noticing their attention. A beat passed, Bruce watching as the man’s eyes bounced between Gordon’s and the suspect in custody. The man bit his lip, tapping his foot nervously: Bruce knew what would happen next.
He panicked and ran. - Straight towards Bruce. Which was unforunate as he surely could not defend himself here of all places.
But the man's efforts of escape were to no avail, almost immediately bumping into another duo of officers who easily apprehended him in front of Wayne.
“Lock him up!” Gordon yelled, eyes glancing over Bruce momentarily and turning back to the line. “Who’s next?” And then he paused and turned back around. “Mr. Wayne?” he asked in disbelief. He looked past Bruce as if expecting to see… what? Bruce wasn’t sure. Gordon trained his questioning gaze back on him.
Suddenly Bruce felt awkward, standing in the middle of the blasted-out police station, surrounded by officers and detectives whose loyalties were questionable at best, in front of a man he knew well but didn't know him without his mask and cape. - But things had changed. If he appeared as the Batman here, he’d be taken into custody as surely as the two corrupt officers he’d just witnessed. “I can come back later if now’s a bad time,” he said nonchalantly. The frustrated yell of the man who’d tried to flee echoed from down the hallway, punctuating his words.
Gordon seemed to be considering his options, seemingly leaning towards sending him away, but a glance to the line behind him changed his mind. “No, no,” he said motioning to the door of his office. “It’s a good time for a break, anyway. Come on in.”
Bruce stepped forward at the invitation, entering the small office which was in as much disarray as the rest of the place. Paperwork stacked to precarious heights atop the desk covered all four corners, ignored. The paint was peeling off the walls and cieling, though the window remained intact. It could have been a drawback though, judging by the pungent odor of the small room. It was probably the reason why other offices remained empty for the time being.
“I’ll try to keep this as brief as possible,” he said while Gordon closed the door quietly. It seemed that the door was the only part of the station that had been rebuilt; he supposed there was some sense in that, some efficiency in repairing only the bare bones until the Commissioner could trust his men. It seemed a great sacrifice to work in these conditions.
“To be honest,” Gordon said wearily as he shuffled to stand behind his desk. “I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t.” He placed his hands on his hips, tan jacket hanging suspended out and away from his back in the position as he stared out the window into the city. “If only I’d listened to Harvey…” he murmured to himself.
“That’s actually why I’m here…” Bruce said quietly, getting down to business and watching for his reaction.
Gordon spun to face him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Harvey Dent,” Bruce repeated blandly. “I’m tying up a loose end. The mayor asked me to come down personally.”
The Commissioner hesitated moment, and then breathed. “Oh, I see,” he said softly. A thoughtful frown creased his brows, eyes gazing past Bruce’s shoulder. For a moment, the murmurs that permeated through his door were the only sounds in the cramped office.
Bruce intended to wait patiently, but Gordon quickly gathered himself. He seemed surprised, coming out of his brief daze, that his guest was still standing.
“Please, sit,” he said motioning to the wooden chair before his desk. Only after Bruce had seated himself did Gordon follow suit, holding his tie to his chest as he did so. “I didn’t realize,” he said conversationally, all traces of discomfort vanished, “That you and Harvey were close.”
“We weren’t.” It was succinct, inviting more questions than the ones it had answered. At Gordon’s confused glance, Wayne continued, “But I did organize a fundraiser for him.”
This didn’t seem to satisfy Gordon’s curiosity, so he said, “Of that, I was aware. Well aware. I’ll assume this has something to do with that?”
“It does.” He crossed his legs casually. “You see, my friends wrote the checks, but they never got the chance to send them to him. Harvey’s unexpected passing,-” Gordon grimaced. “-Has left my friends and I with money we had anticipated would be going to a good cause.”
Gordon nodded. “I can understand that.”
“I asked them to consider different causes, but we came back to Gotham. After everything that’s happened, we believe Gotham needs these funds to rebuild, and we thought it was a good way to carry on Harvey Dent’s legacy for cleaning up Gotham. In the most literal of senses.”
He seemed skeptical, but he asked, “How much money are we talking about?” He received the slip of paper Bruce held out to him without comment and opened it to see the giant figure.
Gordon stared in silence, so Bruce continued, “The money’s in the account we set up for him, but it didn’t have anywhere to go until half an hour ago. Our only stipulation is that we remain anonymous donors. This is about Harvey Dent, not the richest man in the city and his rich friends.”
“Why isn’t his estate handling this?” Gordon perceptively asked. “And why am I being informed? Why did the mayor send you all the way to me? - No offense intended, Mr. Wayne, but I’m sure you have much more important things to attend to than-”
“Truthfully, it wasn’t the mayor’s idea,” Bruce cut in, holding the other man’s gaze steadily. “It took some convincing, but he eventually understood my conditions.”
“Conditions?” he parroted back.
“I think you know, Commissioner, that Gotham has its share of corruption. Harvey Dent’s estate will be handling the funds after I hand over the reins later today. But you have to keep an eye on it.”
His eyebrows hopped an inch higher on his face. “Me?” he laughed sardonically. “I haven’t even managed to clean out Gotham’s police unit, and you’re expecting me to keep after millions of dollars dispersed throughout the city?”
Bruce said nothing, letting it sink in. Knowing Gordon, he would come to his own conclusions, his sense of duty, but ask questions he knew the answers to anyway.
The Commissioner didn’t disappoint: “Why me, Mr. Wayne? What makes you think I’m any more trustworthy than anyone else in the city or the mayor, even?”
“The mayor is a politician,” Bruce said, as if it was self explanatory. Unfortunately for Gotham, it was. “You are a servant of the pubic in the truest form.”
“The mayor appointed me,” Gordon protested.
“But he didn’t make you fake your own death to protect your family and catch Gotham’s terrorist. He didn’t make you round up the mob and throw them in jail-”
“That was Harvey, not me.”
“And I’d be willing to bet my manor,” Bruce continued without pause, “That he didn’t tell you to clean up your own ranks like you’re doing right now before the official investigation.”
Gordon was staring his hands on the desk. “You do watch the news…”
Bruce cocked his head to the side, attempting to catch his eyes again. “I needed to know everything I could about the man who tried to save Rachael.” His heart gave a painful thump. He hated using her as his reason, especially when he hadn't even had time to mourn her properly, but it couldn't be helped if he wanted to keep Gordon suffiently fooled.
It caught his attention, as Bruce had known it would. “Rachael Dawes?” he asked hoarsely.
“We uh…” He swallowed the lump that immediately rose at the thought of her. Gone. “We grew up together. She was… probably my closest friend, if I could call her that.”
“I…” he scrambled for words, a terribly guilty expression entering his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I… I tried…”
“You tried your best,” Bruce finished for him. “And that’s all I could ask. Thank you.”
Gordon licked his lips and nodded numbly.
“Even though I didn’t know Harvey that well, I think this is what he would have wanted,” Bruce said changing the subject. “I know it’s what Rachael would have wanted, and he… Harvey cared a great deal for her, from what I saw.”
“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Gordon said and cleared his throat.
“I think Gotham still needs Harvey Dent even though he’s gone. This is what I can do. What we can do to help.”
“It’s very generous of you - all of you - to do this, and anonymously. It would take the city years to raise that kind of money and repair all the damage the Joker caused.”
“I might be wrong,” he said mediating the appearance of complete assurance in Gordon's abilities, “But I think you’re the only man Gotham can really trust.”
“That’s a heavy responsibility.”
Silence again, but more comfortable this time.
“I’ll do my best not to betray your trust, Mr. Wayne,” he said finally.
“Not my trust, Commissioner,” Bruce said rising. He reached forward and shook his hand.
“I suppose I was gullible to believe what I read in the papers about you,” Gordon said as he stood as well and walked to the door. They stood facing each other before it. “You couldn’t possibly be so flippant about the world and remain where you are.”
“On the contrary,” Bruce said attempting to deflect, “I was simply too involved in the situation to be ignorant of what happened this time.”
Gordon wasn’t fooled. “Why the mask, Mr. Wayne?” he asked point blankly, staring him in the eye.
Bruce said nothing. He gave a half smile, turned the knob, and left the Commissioner’s office without another word. Gordon had never disappointed him in the past and had stuck true to his record. It was nice that Gordon at least knew that Bruce Wayne had a competent head on his shoulders, if not his true identity.
Though he did hate it when Alfred was right. But at least Alfred hated when he was right, too.
AN: BFFs? :D Not likely, but I've always been caught between wanting and not wanting Gordon to know the truth. Hope you enjoyed it, Rose, despite being late!
So. xxdesert_rose. Looks like I sorta misled you yesterday… Heh heh. All I had to do were the final edits this morning!!! -And figure out a title. Anyway. Birthday pressie!
Title: The Secret Legacy of Harvey Dent
Fandom: Batman - The Dark Knight
Dedication: xxdesert_rose
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,577 Words
Genre: General/Angst
Summary: Almost immediately after the death of Harvey Dent and Gotham’s turn against the Batman, Bruce Wayne pays a visit to Commissioner Gordon regarding the funds risen for Dent’s re-election campaign. Wayne/Gordon (not-quite) friendship.
AN: So… I wrote a Batman fic. Expanded my horizons. For one particular chica who has done the same for me previously. I discovered that I really like writing Commissioner Gordon because it involves thinking about him a lot. Hee. Happy Birthday, Rose!! :D
It was raining in Gotham, as it had been for the past three days since the Batman’s climactic defeat of the Joker and the horrific death of Harvey Dent’s grief-twisted shell of himself after a bloody rampage across the city, his final victim a boy survivor. Three days since the bodies had been found and the city of Gotham had learned that Batman was a murderer.
It seemed appropriate to Bruce that the weather be as equally dreary as he felt. It was already hard to remain the Batman, to still go out and protect a city that now hated him, and this was only the beginning. But that was why Batman was a symbol and not a man. The Batman’s mission was still the same: protect Gotham until it no longer needed its watchful defender.
In the meantime, Bruce Wayne was not despised. Free to show his face in public without worry or concern, he was on his way to see the one man who knew the whole truth of Harvey Dent. The one man in Gotham that anyone could trust.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, Master Bruce, but I believe this is a mistake,” Alfred said from the driver’s seat.
Bruce turned his attention from the streaming beads of water on his window. “A mistake? How so, Alfred?”
The elderly mentor and father to Bruce in every way but blood met his eyes through the rear view mirror. “Batman cannot have friends, Master Bruce.”
Bruce laughed. “That’s not what this is about, Alfred.”
“You’ve come to depend on the Commissioner as Batman, and he is an excellent ally. But befriending him as Bruce Wayne only exposes all three of you to more risk of being caught.”
“I’m not going to befriend him,-”
“You are fond of him, Master Bruce. As a reliable man who has watched your back numerous times. A man you can trust.”
“He’s the only one I trust, and that’s why this is important,” Bruce rebutted. “Besides, the Mayor asked me to deliver this news to Gordon personally. Refusing that request would seem more suspicious than visiting him briefly.”
“It has only been three days since the Batman became a fugitive and had to sever all ties with him. The Commissioner is not someone with whom you want to test the limits of your disguises, Master Bruce.”
“The money was donated; it has to be used somewhere,” he enumerated. “Rebuilding the police station and the rest of Gotham with the funds is the perfect use for it. Someone has to do the job.” Bruce wasn’t sure if he was convincing Alfred or himself of his true intentions.
“He is a good man,” Alfred said kindly as they came to a stop outside the police station. “Of that, I have no question.”
Many of the windows, blown out from the recent explosion, were covered by large black trash bags to keep the moisture out. The building looked more run down than ever, scorch marks covering the orifices of the station’s face. Bruce pointedly ignored the turning of his stomach when he thought to how the Joker had accomplished this.
Alfred, placing the car in park, turned in his seat. “Would you like the umbrella, Master Bruce?”
Bruce smiled. “No thanks, Alfred. I think I can handle a few raindrops.” He didn’t tell him of his fear, irrational or not, of the corrupt men and women inside.
“I’ll just wait here, then,” Alfred needlessly said.
Bruce was glad that he could likewise needlessly say, “Lock the doors,” as he exited the cabin and jogged inside. The particular exchange was their normal protective custom.
The view inside was far worse than what it appeared outside. Debris still covered much of the corners; few pieces of furniture had survived the blast, and none of them without having been scathed. Fold up chairs and beat up wooden ones lined a wall for visitors. A long queue of officers stretched out in front of an impeccable door that seemed to have been replaced since the blast.
Blackened scorch marks also covered the breadth of the interior in the police station. Blood stains on the floor, walls, and ceiling in a few areas reminded all in too much detail of what had occurred here and who had died. The officers and detectives milled about the room, focused on their work, sharing desk space and conversing in corners in the absence of offices.
Bruce Wayne entered the chaotic scene, approaching the first officer he found. “Excuse me. I’m here to see the Commissioner.”
She barked a laugh and scoffed, “You and everyone else!” She pointed to the long line he’d noticed. “He’s waging his own internal investigation, single-handedly. Everyone has to be interviewed or they’ll be held under suspicion.” She looked back to Wayne, whom she did not recognize. “Good luck seeing him in the next four hours.”
But just then, Commissioner Gordon emerged from his office followed by a cuffed now-former officer. He motioned to two of his trusted men to take the guilty party away, and turned to view the line. His gaze as well as that of the shamed former officer fell on another man in the line, who froze mid sentence upon noticing their attention. A beat passed, Bruce watching as the man’s eyes bounced between Gordon’s and the suspect in custody. The man bit his lip, tapping his foot nervously: Bruce knew what would happen next.
He panicked and ran. - Straight towards Bruce. Which was unforunate as he surely could not defend himself here of all places.
But the man's efforts of escape were to no avail, almost immediately bumping into another duo of officers who easily apprehended him in front of Wayne.
“Lock him up!” Gordon yelled, eyes glancing over Bruce momentarily and turning back to the line. “Who’s next?” And then he paused and turned back around. “Mr. Wayne?” he asked in disbelief. He looked past Bruce as if expecting to see… what? Bruce wasn’t sure. Gordon trained his questioning gaze back on him.
Suddenly Bruce felt awkward, standing in the middle of the blasted-out police station, surrounded by officers and detectives whose loyalties were questionable at best, in front of a man he knew well but didn't know him without his mask and cape. - But things had changed. If he appeared as the Batman here, he’d be taken into custody as surely as the two corrupt officers he’d just witnessed. “I can come back later if now’s a bad time,” he said nonchalantly. The frustrated yell of the man who’d tried to flee echoed from down the hallway, punctuating his words.
Gordon seemed to be considering his options, seemingly leaning towards sending him away, but a glance to the line behind him changed his mind. “No, no,” he said motioning to the door of his office. “It’s a good time for a break, anyway. Come on in.”
Bruce stepped forward at the invitation, entering the small office which was in as much disarray as the rest of the place. Paperwork stacked to precarious heights atop the desk covered all four corners, ignored. The paint was peeling off the walls and cieling, though the window remained intact. It could have been a drawback though, judging by the pungent odor of the small room. It was probably the reason why other offices remained empty for the time being.
“I’ll try to keep this as brief as possible,” he said while Gordon closed the door quietly. It seemed that the door was the only part of the station that had been rebuilt; he supposed there was some sense in that, some efficiency in repairing only the bare bones until the Commissioner could trust his men. It seemed a great sacrifice to work in these conditions.
“To be honest,” Gordon said wearily as he shuffled to stand behind his desk. “I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t.” He placed his hands on his hips, tan jacket hanging suspended out and away from his back in the position as he stared out the window into the city. “If only I’d listened to Harvey…” he murmured to himself.
“That’s actually why I’m here…” Bruce said quietly, getting down to business and watching for his reaction.
Gordon spun to face him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Harvey Dent,” Bruce repeated blandly. “I’m tying up a loose end. The mayor asked me to come down personally.”
The Commissioner hesitated moment, and then breathed. “Oh, I see,” he said softly. A thoughtful frown creased his brows, eyes gazing past Bruce’s shoulder. For a moment, the murmurs that permeated through his door were the only sounds in the cramped office.
Bruce intended to wait patiently, but Gordon quickly gathered himself. He seemed surprised, coming out of his brief daze, that his guest was still standing.
“Please, sit,” he said motioning to the wooden chair before his desk. Only after Bruce had seated himself did Gordon follow suit, holding his tie to his chest as he did so. “I didn’t realize,” he said conversationally, all traces of discomfort vanished, “That you and Harvey were close.”
“We weren’t.” It was succinct, inviting more questions than the ones it had answered. At Gordon’s confused glance, Wayne continued, “But I did organize a fundraiser for him.”
This didn’t seem to satisfy Gordon’s curiosity, so he said, “Of that, I was aware. Well aware. I’ll assume this has something to do with that?”
“It does.” He crossed his legs casually. “You see, my friends wrote the checks, but they never got the chance to send them to him. Harvey’s unexpected passing,-” Gordon grimaced. “-Has left my friends and I with money we had anticipated would be going to a good cause.”
Gordon nodded. “I can understand that.”
“I asked them to consider different causes, but we came back to Gotham. After everything that’s happened, we believe Gotham needs these funds to rebuild, and we thought it was a good way to carry on Harvey Dent’s legacy for cleaning up Gotham. In the most literal of senses.”
He seemed skeptical, but he asked, “How much money are we talking about?” He received the slip of paper Bruce held out to him without comment and opened it to see the giant figure.
Gordon stared in silence, so Bruce continued, “The money’s in the account we set up for him, but it didn’t have anywhere to go until half an hour ago. Our only stipulation is that we remain anonymous donors. This is about Harvey Dent, not the richest man in the city and his rich friends.”
“Why isn’t his estate handling this?” Gordon perceptively asked. “And why am I being informed? Why did the mayor send you all the way to me? - No offense intended, Mr. Wayne, but I’m sure you have much more important things to attend to than-”
“Truthfully, it wasn’t the mayor’s idea,” Bruce cut in, holding the other man’s gaze steadily. “It took some convincing, but he eventually understood my conditions.”
“Conditions?” he parroted back.
“I think you know, Commissioner, that Gotham has its share of corruption. Harvey Dent’s estate will be handling the funds after I hand over the reins later today. But you have to keep an eye on it.”
His eyebrows hopped an inch higher on his face. “Me?” he laughed sardonically. “I haven’t even managed to clean out Gotham’s police unit, and you’re expecting me to keep after millions of dollars dispersed throughout the city?”
Bruce said nothing, letting it sink in. Knowing Gordon, he would come to his own conclusions, his sense of duty, but ask questions he knew the answers to anyway.
The Commissioner didn’t disappoint: “Why me, Mr. Wayne? What makes you think I’m any more trustworthy than anyone else in the city or the mayor, even?”
“The mayor is a politician,” Bruce said, as if it was self explanatory. Unfortunately for Gotham, it was. “You are a servant of the pubic in the truest form.”
“The mayor appointed me,” Gordon protested.
“But he didn’t make you fake your own death to protect your family and catch Gotham’s terrorist. He didn’t make you round up the mob and throw them in jail-”
“That was Harvey, not me.”
“And I’d be willing to bet my manor,” Bruce continued without pause, “That he didn’t tell you to clean up your own ranks like you’re doing right now before the official investigation.”
Gordon was staring his hands on the desk. “You do watch the news…”
Bruce cocked his head to the side, attempting to catch his eyes again. “I needed to know everything I could about the man who tried to save Rachael.” His heart gave a painful thump. He hated using her as his reason, especially when he hadn't even had time to mourn her properly, but it couldn't be helped if he wanted to keep Gordon suffiently fooled.
It caught his attention, as Bruce had known it would. “Rachael Dawes?” he asked hoarsely.
“We uh…” He swallowed the lump that immediately rose at the thought of her. Gone. “We grew up together. She was… probably my closest friend, if I could call her that.”
“I…” he scrambled for words, a terribly guilty expression entering his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I… I tried…”
“You tried your best,” Bruce finished for him. “And that’s all I could ask. Thank you.”
Gordon licked his lips and nodded numbly.
“Even though I didn’t know Harvey that well, I think this is what he would have wanted,” Bruce said changing the subject. “I know it’s what Rachael would have wanted, and he… Harvey cared a great deal for her, from what I saw.”
“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Gordon said and cleared his throat.
“I think Gotham still needs Harvey Dent even though he’s gone. This is what I can do. What we can do to help.”
“It’s very generous of you - all of you - to do this, and anonymously. It would take the city years to raise that kind of money and repair all the damage the Joker caused.”
“I might be wrong,” he said mediating the appearance of complete assurance in Gordon's abilities, “But I think you’re the only man Gotham can really trust.”
“That’s a heavy responsibility.”
Silence again, but more comfortable this time.
“I’ll do my best not to betray your trust, Mr. Wayne,” he said finally.
“Not my trust, Commissioner,” Bruce said rising. He reached forward and shook his hand.
“I suppose I was gullible to believe what I read in the papers about you,” Gordon said as he stood as well and walked to the door. They stood facing each other before it. “You couldn’t possibly be so flippant about the world and remain where you are.”
“On the contrary,” Bruce said attempting to deflect, “I was simply too involved in the situation to be ignorant of what happened this time.”
Gordon wasn’t fooled. “Why the mask, Mr. Wayne?” he asked point blankly, staring him in the eye.
Bruce said nothing. He gave a half smile, turned the knob, and left the Commissioner’s office without another word. Gordon had never disappointed him in the past and had stuck true to his record. It was nice that Gordon at least knew that Bruce Wayne had a competent head on his shoulders, if not his true identity.
Though he did hate it when Alfred was right. But at least Alfred hated when he was right, too.
AN: BFFs? :D Not likely, but I've always been caught between wanting and not wanting Gordon to know the truth. Hope you enjoyed it, Rose, despite being late!