The Dark Knight/Batman
Title: Five Ways Jim Gordon Found Out Bruce Wayne is Batman, and One Way Everyone Did
Author: Sarren
Rating: G
Pairing: None
Word count: 8530
Author's Note: Thanks to my betas: zebra363, special_trille and mardia
Warnings: Parts 1, 2 & 4 reference TDK, parts 4 & 6 character death.
Five Times Jim Gordon Found out Bruce Wayne is Batman and One Time Everyone Did
1
Gordon made sure that Reese wasn’t injured, and that the driver of the pickup was securely restrained. He scanned the area around the crash scene, looking for any other citizens who might feel like taking the law into their own hands. The adrenaline was flooding through him; he could feel his heart thudding in his chest almost painfully. His senses were in overdrive though; his mind seemed clearer and sharper than it had ever been. A flash of something reflective and he turned his head sharply, his hand going to his gun, relaxing slightly as he realized that it was just sunlight reflecting off a car mirror. He paused to take a deep breath, grounding himself, and then turned to walk over to the man sitting against the smashed up quarter-of-a-million-dollar car.
‘It’s Mr Wayne, isn’t it?’ he said, by way of an opener. Of course he recognized him. Photos of Gotham’s own billionaire playboy were often splashed across the pages of the papers, along with lurid tales of his exploits. Gordon wasn’t interested in the gossip pages, but every now and then he’d catch sight of Wayne’s face staring out of a photo and something about it, the eyes maybe, would remind him of the broken little boy he’d tried to comfort the night his parents were murdered, the night the boy’s world had ended. Something about the devastation in those hazel eyes had stayed with him, had led him to keep an eye on the child’s welfare. He’d been concerned when he’d discovered that guardianship had been left to the family’s butler. Over the years he’d occasionally given thought to the young man rattling around alone in the mansion with only servants and the ghosts of his parents to keep him company. Couldn’t be healthy; no wonder he’d grown up wild.
Though he’d come good these last few years, by all accounts. Had taken charge, at least nominally, of Wayne Enterprises, and if it didn’t seem to curb his playboy lifestyle, at least he wasn’t disgracing his family name too often.
Quite the opposite, to judge by his actions today. ‘That was a very brave thing you did,’ Gordon said, careful not to sound surprised.
Wayne looked up at him. ‘Trying to catch the light?’ he answered, sounding confused.
Gordon squinted at him. ‘You…you weren’t protecting the van?’ He gestured toward the police van, obscurely disappointed.
Wayne craned his head to look where he was pointing. ‘Why, who’s in it?’ Wayne rubbed his neck. ‘You think I should go the hospital?’ he asked querulously.
Gordon stared at him in disbelief and mild amusement. ‘You don’t watch a whole lotta news, do you, Mr Wayne?’
Wayne looked at him blankly. Just a lucky accident then, that Wayne’s car had gotten in the way, that Reese wasn’t dead. Well, god knew they needed all the luck they could get, so maybe he should just be grateful for that and pray the luck stayed with them.
And then he heard the explosions. His stomach turned over in horror. He swung around, trying to pinpoint the direction from which they’d come. ‘Southeast,’ he muttered, fumbling in his pocket for the walkie-talkie. ‘It’s Gotham General.’ He punched the line open. ‘Did you clear the building?’ he demanded, his mind racing ahead, starting to pull together various contingency plans even as he was given a run-down of events.
He had to get to the hospital. Fast. He looked around. The only official vehicle on the scene was the patrol car that had been escorting them. One of the officers from the protection detail was getting Reese out of the back of the van.
Gordon couldn’t just commandeer the car and leave them both unprotected. He strode over to them and took Reese’s arm to hurry him along. The man was dragging his steps, craning his head around. Something about the round-eyed fixed stare got Gordon’s attention. He followed Reese’s line of vision, but there was just Wayne, looking in their direction. Gordon scanned the area around him but couldn’t see anything to rate that shocked look on Reese’s face.
Instinct drew his glance back at Wayne. Wayne had gotten to his feet. It looked like he was staring straight at Reese. Then two paramedics appeared at Wayne’s side and he turned to talk to them, rubbing his neck and putting his other hand to his back. Gordon waited for Reese and his escort to get in the car and then slid into the front passenger side, slamming his door shut and hurriedly putting his belt on. The driver revved the engine, then swung the steering wheel violently and accelerated straight into a U-turn. The sudden momentum jolted Gordon back against his seat. He threw one hand forward against the dashboard to brace himself; then twisted around in his seat to check on Reese. Through the back window he caught a last glimpse of Wayne. Who was looking straight at him.
Reese was safely belted up, but he was sitting hunched over, rubbing his hands together in a nervous gesture. Gordon spared him an assessing glance; he seemed distracted but holding it together okay.
Gordon turned to the officer driving. ‘I’ll need you to drop me off at Gotham General.’
‘You’re the boss,’ the man said cheerfully. Gordon couldn’t remember his name for a moment. Johnson, no, Johnston. Clean record. Always showing off pictures of his kids.
Gordon checked the mirrors frequently as they headed towards the hospital. After a few minutes he was pretty sure they weren’t being followed, and the atmosphere relaxed slightly. ‘So, you really know the Batman’s secret identity?’ The officer sitting next to Reese, Reinhardt, leaned over, offering him a stick of gum. Reese shook his head and returned to staring at his restless hands, his whole body hunched and defensive. Reinhardt wasn’t deterred. ‘Go on, tell us then, since you think people have a right to know.’
‘Dude, shut up,’ the driver said, glancing at them in his rearview mirror.
‘What, aren’t you curious?’
‘Yeah, sure, but I’m not suicidal.’
‘What, you think the Joker’ll somehow know you know and put a hit out on you too?’ Reinhardt asked, laughing derisively.
‘Who knows how that crazy fuck finds shit out. I don’t wanna end up like this poor sap. No offense,’ he said apologetically. Reese didn’t look up; he didn’t even seem to have heard.
Gordon glared at the two officers in turn. ‘That’s enough,’ he said firmly. The two looked chastened and subsided.
Gordon put out a hand to the side to steady himself as the vehicle swung around a corner too fast and then accelerated again. They were nearly at the hospital. He turned to the back seat. ‘Reese, listen to me.’ Reese looked up. ‘These officers will take you to a safe-house. Only myself and the men that will be guarding you know the location. I trust those men completely.’ Reese nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.
Just then they rounded another corner and Gordon stared in dismay at the ruins of the hospital, the fire-trucks still spraying water into several separate fires, the emergency crews moving purposefully about.
Johnston pulled the car over and Gordon got out. He hesitated, then opened the back door. He leaned in and said very quietly, ‘these officers will protect you. But for your own safety, and everyone else’s, I strongly recommend you do not reveal the identity of the Batman to anyone, if indeed you really know it.’
Reese looked up then. Met his eyes. ‘I was going to expose him,’ he said, his voice sounding remote. ‘He really is a hero.’
For a moment, Gordon didn’t get it. But as he shut the car door he had a sudden mental image of Reese staring fixedly at Bruce Wayne, and Wayne staring back. In retrospect the expression on Wayne’s face seemed not confused, nor curious. Wayne had looked, Gordon thought, watchful. He stumbled backwards onto the sidewalk, stunned, barely noticing the car drive off.
Ramirez’s hand on his arm startled him out of his reverie. He looked at her drawn expression, her worried eyes looking to him to take charge, and he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and he went to do his job, putting everything else out of his mind.
Much later, he was reminded of that moment when he saw Bruce Wayne at the funeral of ADA Dawes. The day was dull and colorless; threatening rain - a typical day in Gotham. The turnout was larger than he’d have expected, shades of black and grey and Gordon couldn’t help thinking it presented too many opportunities for some other nutcase to try for his own moment of glory.
Gordon studied Wayne discreetly from a few feet away. There was no meeting of eyes today. Wayne’s eyes were fixed on the casket. He hardly seemed to be listening to the minister’s words of comfort. His face was shuttered, there was nothing of the flamboyant playboy evident today; there was no doubt the man was grieving. Gordon hadn’t realized Wayne and Dawes knew each other that well.
Gordon hadn’t known Dawes well, but he’d liked her. She’d been efficient and passionate about her work. He remembered thinking he’d be sorry to see her become disillusioned, as they all did, eventually. Well, that wouldn’t happen now anyway. He wondered if she’d been resigned to her death, or if she’d expected the Batman to save her right up until the last minute. After all, he had before, more than once.
Unexpectedly, he heard his own voice, as clear as if he were back in the moment - Who are you going to save?
And the Batman’s snarl - Rachel.
As if there was no choice at all.
As if he knew her.
It was obvious once he thought about it. Batman had known her, known Rachel Dawes. Maybe well. Maybe well enough that he’d turn up to her funeral.
Gordon looked at Wayne again, and realized that he was beginning to believe it. That Bruce Wayne, of all people, was the Batman.
Still, it was all speculation. He had no proof, and that was just as well. If he had any evidence at all he’d have to act on it, and that would be regrettable. Gotham needed the Batman. Even if Gotham didn’t realize it, Gordon did.
Gordon suddenly realized that while he’d been lost in thought the service had ended. Wayne had caught him staring and was looking narrowly at him. Gordon gave him a small nod of acknowledgement. Wayne blinked, but his expression gave nothing away. Gordon turned away. On the way back to the car, he allowed himself a small, private smile.
2
Gordon studied the photos that had appeared in his inbox, courtesy of his contact in the CIA. Surveillance photos taken of Lau from the moment he arrived in Hong Kong to the last time he was seen publicly before his abrupt appearance on the MCU’s doorstep.
Shots of Lau entering his building, shots of foreigners coming and going. Gordon paused in surprise at the photo of Lucius Fox of Wayne Enterprises entering the building. Everything he knew about Fox told him Fox wouldn’t be doing business with a criminal. He supposed it was possible the man was there for some other reason, that it was just coincidence, but Gordon didn’t really believe that, not since Lau was reported to have visited Wayne Enterprises shortly before his flight to Hong Kong. He scrolled slowly through the photos. Fox, leaving the building precisely thirty-five minutes later. Several more shots of Fox; crossing the street; standing on an escalator; in a crowded walkway, walking directly over to Bruce Wayne himself, the man leaning against a railing, blending surprisingly well into the surroundings. The next photo in the sequence showed Wayne in the act of removing his sunglasses, the next, talking earnestly, looking over the street.
Gordon paused. He looked at the date stamp - the day of Lau’s abrupt abduction. Something else about that date rang a bell; he pulled up the news reports for that day.
Love Boat: Billionaire Absconds With Entire Russian Ballet
Bruce Wayne, photographed in Hong Kong on the day of the abduction, when he was very publicly known to be cruising the Bahamas on his yacht. Not only in Hong Kong, but within a stone’s throw of Lau’s building.
Gordon scrolled back to the first photo of Wayne and studied it. Something about the sunglasses was bothering him. Frowning thoughtfully he slowly placed his thumb over the top half of Wayne’s face and studied the result.
He pulled up a shot taken of the Batman, slightly blurry, but facing the camera, and zoomed in on his face. He looked at the two photos side by side.
Yes…it was possible.
But Bruce Wayne…it seemed so unlikely. Gordon sat back in his chair, staring at the images. He certainly had the means to fund such an enterprise. Access to cutting edge technology.
At total odds with his playboy image - the man was famous for his indolence. Everyone knew that Lucius Fox was the real power behind Wayne Enterprises.
He flicked back to one of the previous photos taken in Hong Kong. Fox, handing something to Wayne, a small smile on his face. Another shot, taken some seconds later, Wayne looking pleased; impressed.
What if they were working together? That would explain the hi-tech equipment. But what about the sheer physical skill and power displayed by the Batman? Could Bruce Wayne seriously be capable of that?
Now that he thought about it, Wayne had been missing for seven years. He remembered it being in the papers, he remembered at the time not really being surprised that the Wayne boy had gone off the rails, what with the murder trial and all.
Seven years unaccounted for. Wayne had been declared dead. Who knew what he’d been up to?
And then the prodigal’s return. And shortly after that, the first sighting of the Batman.
So, he had his suspicions. What was he going to do about them?
Gordon got up and opened his door. He stared out at the men and women of MCU, going about their job. The office was still drab and slightly dirty looking, that fluorescent light in the corner still flickered annoyingly no matter how often the bulb was replaced. But there was a sense of purpose in the air, a sense that the tide had turned, that the bad guys no longer called the shots in Gotham. That what they did mattered.
Gordon had no doubt about what had brought about the change. He looked around at the officers - his officers now, his responsibility.
Slowly he walked back to his chair and sat down in front of the computer. He stared at the images on the screen. If the Batman’s identity became public knowledge they may as well paint a target on Wayne’s back; every gangster; every criminal with something to prove would be gunning for him.
Eventually they’d succeed. With the Batman gone the bad guys would flourish again. Gordon loved his city - it was why he risked his life doing an often thankless job - but he had no illusions about it. Gotham attracted the criminals, the crazies, the hopeless.
He stared meditatively at the screen for a while, considering the options; the consequences. Finally, he made the only decision he thought he could live with. He leaned forward and, methodically, he began to erase everything that could connect the Batman to Bruce Wayne.
For Gotham’s sake.
3
Considering it was rumored to be the most secure building in Gotham, Bruce Wayne’s apartment sure got held up a lot. It looked like the villains had the place sewn up tight. By the looks of things Wayne was attempting to reason with the leader of the gang, who was swaggering back and forth, occasionally stopping to menace guests. Gordon winced as the man turned and backhanded Wayne across the mouth with force enough that he staggered back and fell amongst the huddled guests.
Gordon tugged at his too-tight collar. Damn this new suit, damn this image he had to maintain. So much for moving up in the world. Defiantly he worked the tie loose, pretending not to notice he’d attracted the attention of one of the men standing guard. He concentrated on looking harmless, hunching his shoulders slightly. The guard lost interest after a couple of minutes and Gordon rubbed his eyebrow, surreptitiously scanning the room. The guests were coping quite well with having shotguns pointed at them by guys in gorilla costumes. Though, on a Gotham scale of crazy, this was probably pretty tame. The priceless artwork that Gotham’s eminent citizens had paid through the nose to see, all in the name of charity, still rested securely in its display case, but the modified laser cutter was slicing through the reinforced security glass. It was only a matter of time.
Gordon’s eyes flickered over the room again, and then paused, caught by unexpected movement near the pillar, gone too fast for him to register details. In the foreground two gorillas capered about, relieving the guests of their jewellery and wallets like common thieves - keeping the guests occupied, keeping them distracted, while serious, hard-faced types guarded the doors and window. Gordon watched them uneasily. They were heavily armed and had wired the doors and windows behind them with explosives. Definitely professionals, both instinct and experience told him it’d be suicide to try anything. Nothing to be done but wait it out.
A shift of movement at his shoulder, Gordon tensed. ‘Commissioner,’ Wayne murmured. Gordon stared at him out of the corner of his eyes, careful not to do anything to attract the bad guys’ attention. Where the hell had Wayne come from?
‘I have a secret door in the west corner,’ Wayne murmured, his lips barely moving. He had a cut on his bottom lip, Gordon noticed. It was bleeding slightly. ‘But I can’t get past the guards. Can you provide a distraction?’
Gordon sighed. Man wanted to be a hero, did he? ‘Now, don’t try anything stupid, son,’ he sighed. ‘Just wait and it’ll all be over soon.’
‘Yes, it will.’ Wayne’s eyes flickered to the balcony doors. ‘Take a closer look at the way the explosives are wired. Anyone tries to open the door or disable them, they’re rigged to go off.’
For a moment Gordon was distracted wondering how the hell playboy Bruce Wayne would know anything about explosives, but then it sank in what Wayne was talking about and a chill went through him. ‘They must have a way out,’ he muttered quietly, stroking his moustache to cover his words.
‘I don’t think we can afford to wait around to find out, do you?’
‘Even if I distract the guards, what do you hope to achieve? You’re one man. The lifts are disabled and they’ve jammed all signals, so you can’t even call for help. No, it’s too dangerous.’
‘I’m not waiting around to die, Commissioner.’ Wayne said firmly. ‘I’m telling you I can get out, and I can get help. Fast.’
There was a conviction in his voice that made Gordon hope that maybe Wayne could do what he claimed. He had a feeling that no matter what he said, Wayne was going to make a break for it. And without his help Gordon had no doubt at all that he’d get himself killed, and maybe not just him.
‘All right,’ he agreed. Wayne gave him a ghost of a smile and began to drift slowly back into the crowd. Gordon watched, impressed. The man was smooth. When Wayne was in position he looked straight at Gordon. For a moment they stared at each other, then Wayne nodded, once.
Gordon took a deep breath, squared his shoulders. ‘I am Commissioner Jim Gordon and I demand to speak to your leader!’ he shouted, noting with carefully concealed relief that all eyes turned to him. He very pointedly did not look in Wayne’s direction, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the bad guys prowling towards him.
Unfortunately, but not to his surprise, the leader wasn’t interested in negotiating, but even as his arms were wrenched behind him Gordon felt his heart beating faster in anticipation. Wayne had made it. He’d got out. Now it was just the waiting that was hard.
When the smoke canisters erupted, Gordon looked up in time to see Batman descend from the ceiling, accompanied, to his surprise, by a SWAT team. Within seconds though, the smoke had spread to obscure just about everything. Gordon could still see the winking lights of the bomb he was tied next to, though, and he could hear gunfire and screams and the sounds of fighting. Briefly he saw a swirl of black cape appear and disappear and then he heard a warning beep the bomb made just before the lights flashed and a five minute countdown activated. Gordon renewed his struggles but the rope only tightened more. Helplessly he watched the numbers ticking down.
And then there were thuds and crashes near him and Batman came skidding out of the smoke on his back and hit the wall next to Gordon, hard. He shook his head and sat up.
‘The bombs,’ Gordon shouted, urgently.
‘It’s being taken care off,’ Batman said calmly. Sure enough, a black-clad figure emerged from the smoke and knelt in front of the bomb, grabbing a tool of some kind from his belt. Gordon sagged with relief as he recognized the insignia of the bomb squad on the man’s shoulder.
Batman was leaning over him with a knife. Vaguely Gordon was aware that Batman was slicing through his ropes, but all he could see was the cut on Batman’s mouth. That looked to have only just closed, so an hour old maybe.
‘Your mouth,’ he said, stupidly, as the ropes parted.
Batman got up and held out a hand. Gordon reached up despite the tingling in his hands from the circulation rushing back and was pulled to his feet. Batman looked at him steadily. ‘Walked into a door,’ he said.
Gordon looked him in the eye. ‘Careless of you.’
Batman’s lips quirked. He turned and disappeared into the smoke.
It didn’t seem to take very long at all after that. When the smoke cleared the bad guys were all tied up or dead. Paramedics had arrived and were dealing with the wounded. None of the guests had been killed or seriously wounded, thank god, though a few were carrying on as if they were, and only one of the officers had needed to be rushed to the ER.
There was no sign of Batman. Or of Bruce Wayne.
4
Like he had every night for the last seventeen days, Gordon waited. The Bat signal gleamed laser bright in the sky against the drifting clouds, the old signal long since replaced by cutting edge technology, fit for Gotham’s Defender. He flexed his chilled fingers, wincing. Arthritis was setting in, retirement not far away. His new assistant approached, holding out a cup of coffee, glancing up at the sky, a look of awe on his face. So young. Too young to remember when Batman wasn’t such a revered figure. Gordon waved him away, not unkindly, and the boy retreated. Gordon wrapped his hands around the mug to warm them, breathing in. The boy made good coffee; that was worth a lot nowadays. He glanced up at the sky again. He’d give it another half hour.
When he allowed himself to speculate about the reason Batman had stopped answering the signal, he hoped it was something mundane like aches and pains. After all, Batman wasn’t getting any younger either. Not old, surely, but the wear and tear on his body had to be making itself known nowadays, and this winter had been especially chilly. Or maybe something romantic; maybe Batman had found someone worth putting away the suit for.
He hoped. But he thought he knew Batman well enough by now to know that the man wouldn’t just vanish without telling him. They had an understanding; more than a decade worth of understanding, hard won.
A scrape of movement by the door and he started forward, a leap of hope in his chest, then faltered as an old man stepped carefully out on to the roof and looked around.
Gordon stared at the approaching figure. He was good with faces, paid to be, in his job. ‘I know you, don’t I?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the old man said. ‘It was my honor to serve the Wayne family.’
‘You’re Bruce Wayne’s man.’ Of course. ‘Alfred. I recognize you now.’ He looked at the lined face. ‘I was sorry to hear about his death. Wayne did a lot of good work for charity these last years. A tragedy.’
‘Thank you sir,’ Alfred said with quiet dignity. ‘We were unaware that Master Wayne’s philanthropic efforts were so well known.’
‘I hear things in my position. I doubt it’s common knowledge. I was surprised that Wayne kept it so secret when he was so…public…about so much else.'
‘He had his reasons. Speaking of which, he asked me to give this to you.’ Alfred held out an envelope.
‘To me?’ Gordon was surprised.
‘Yes sir.’
Intrigued, Gordon stepped into the light of the Bat signal. He turned the envelope over. Only his name, written in a bold, flowing script. Slowly he drew the letter out and held it into the light. ‘Dear Jim’, it began. Gordon blinked in surprise.
A long time later he looked up, blinking to clear his vision. He drew out his handkerchief and mopped at his eyes. He cleared his throat. ‘Do you know what it says?’ he asked the old man, who had moved a little distance away and was leaning his hands on the balustrade.
‘More or less.’ Alfred turned to face him, putting his hands in the pockets of his overcoat.
‘He said that I was the closest thing he had to a friend.’ Gordon clenched the letter in his fist, holding it up. ‘I didn’t even know him,’ he said, nearly shouting.
Alfred looked at him steadily. ‘He wanted to tell you,’ he said simply.
Gordon glared at him, blinking angry tears away.
‘After Rachel...’ Alfred hesitated.
Gordon looked at him, uncomprehending.
‘He loved her.’
Suddenly it hit him. ‘Rachel Dawes? The ADA the Joker killed?’ He remembered her. Smart. Dedicated. So much promise.
‘He felt that anyone who knew his identity was in danger, and he was right.’
‘My life has been in danger one way or another my entire career,’ Gordon burst out angrily.
‘He tried to protect the people he loved,’ Alfred said quietly.
The anger drained out of Gordon suddenly, leaving him weary; feeling truly old for the first time. He glanced up at the signal in the sky; suddenly forlorn looking, destined to remain unanswered.
‘Here.’
Gordon looked down. Alfred was holding something out. Automatically he reached for it; fumbling.
‘Easy,’ Alfred murmured.
Gordon held up the glass to the light, liquid sloshed inside it.
‘Scotch?’
‘Cognac.’
Gordon took a sniff, and raised his eyebrows.
‘I think you’ll detect a bouquet with hints of candied fruit, wild roses and rancio and that earthy aroma that comes from aging,’ Alfred said, a hint of irony in his voice. ‘I broke out the good stuff.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘We were saving it for a special occasion.’ For the first time Alfred’s voice sounded less than steady.
Solemnly Gordon touched the glasses together. ‘To Bruce Wayne,’ he said, holding Alfred’s eyes. ‘May he find peace.’
Alfred smiled, though tears stood in eyes. ‘Master Wayne,’ he said, and threw the drink back in one hit.
Gordon took a cautious sip and then followed his example. The liquid burned his throat and he gasped.
Alfred smiled. ‘Has a bit of a bite to it, sir.’
‘I see that, thanks.’ Gordon wheezed. He held out his glass. From his greatcoat Alfred produced a silver flask and poured a generous refill. Gordon tossed it back and held out the glass again.
Alfred raised his eyebrows and then shrugged. ‘Oh, why the hell not?’ He tossed his own drink back. He refilled both their glasses, his fingers shaking slightly.
After the fourth drink Gordon thought he might be finally ready to turn off the light for the last time. He stared up at Gotham’s shining symbol of justice, and with a heavy heart, reached for the switch.
Alfred’s hand covered his. Gordon blinked at him in surprise. ‘Leave it on,’ he said. ‘Keep switching it on. Eventually people will notice that he hasn’t been seen for a while, and they’ll figure it out, but for the time being, let people think that Batman’s still out there.’
‘Keeping watch.’ Gordon nodded. Even after death Batman continued to protect Gotham. It was fitting.
‘Now, where were we?’ Alfred asked.
Gordon held out his glass. ‘Tell me about Bruce Wayne.’
5
Gordon glanced at the clock on the dash. 7:53pm. The awards ceremony started at 8:30pm. He’d be in time if the traffic downtown wasn’t too bad tonight. He envied Barbara, who’d used Jimmy’s sniffles as an excuse to stay home and look after him. Gordon wished he could have, too. But as she’d pointed out, he couldn’t very well not go, since he was the one getting an award. Gordon knew he should be honored, but mostly he just wished everyone would just let him get on with his job. But the Mayor had been insistent. It’d be good for his people’s morale, he said. Good PR for the department. The public needed to be reminded that the police force was there to protect them, not some psycho with a mask and cape. Gordon couldn’t argue with that.
Something small and white got caught in his headlights for a moment and something about the tiny figure crouched on the side of the road set off warning bells. Gordon pulled over and checked his rear view mirror. It was still there. As he watched it raised its head for a moment. It was a little girl. Gordon turned in his seat and scanned the surroundings. The street was deserted, the shops boarded up.
He didn’t like it, instinct was warning him that it was a set up, but she was only a baby, he couldn’t just leave her there. He reached into the glove box and got out his gun, made sure it was loaded. Slowly he got out of the car, holding the weapon low so as not to alarm the child. He approached her slowly, his senses prickling, keeping a wary eye out. There were just too many damn shadows, a perfect place for an ambush, in fact. He’d have to get her into the car fast. The girl showed no awareness that he was approaching, though she must have heard the door slam.
‘Hey, sweetheart,’ he said gently, when he was a couple of feet away. ‘Are you okay?’
She raised her head and smiled at him. Gordon stepped back instinctively, scanning his surroundings, keeping one eye on her. It was some sort of animated doll - a robot or something. It looked small and defenseless but Gordon half expected its hands to turn into chainsaws or something. It was obviously a trap, but whether the doll was the threat or just the bait, he wasn’t waiting around to find out. He started to back slowly towards his car, his gun raised, swinging around periodically to make sure something wasn’t creeping up behind him. The doll hadn’t moved, but its fixed smile was creeping him out.
He was almost at the car and just starting to think maybe he was going to get out of this when a loud thud behind him made him start and swing around. He staggered back a few steps in dismay.
A goddamn, honest to god saber-tooth tiger was crouched on his car, staring at him. Gordon started to back away. The tiger watched him. Gordon glanced behind him and stopped abruptly. Four more saber-tooths were approaching slowly from different directions. He was surrounded, not that he had any illusions about being able to outrun them anyway.
He swallowed, forcing back the fear, forcing himself to try to think of a way to distract them. They were close now. He could smell their fetid breath. Gordon swung around, trying to keep all of them in his sight. He was out of options. He knew he’d have to open fire in a second, figured that it would trigger an attack, that he couldn’t possibly disable them all. This was it, then. At least it’d be quick, he hoped.
In his peripheral vision he caught a flash of movement speeding toward him. He started to turn and then something hit him with force and he was being carried into the air and he was starting to panic when a voice growled ‘Stop struggling or I’ll have to drop you.’ Gordon froze. He knew that voice. He opened his eyes in relief, then realized they were sailing high above the ground and shut them quickly, instinctively clutching at whatever he could get hold of, which appeared to be Batman’s shoulders. He heard a pained gasp and felt something wet on his hand and then Batman let go and they were hitting the ground at speed and he let go and rolled and managed to protect his head so that he wound up with only gravel rash on his palms, though he’d lost his glasses. He felt around him optimistically; there was no chance he’d be able to see them in the dark. Then a strong hand under his elbow was helping him to his feet and his glasses were pressed into his hand, miraculously unbroken and he put them on and looked at Batman.
‘Thank you,’ Gordon said, earnestly.
Batman stared at him in his usual enigmatic way. Gordon started to glance away, then his brain made the connection and he stared at his hand, which was covered in too much blood for the amount of grazing. ‘You’re wounded,’ he said, stepping forward to peer at Batman’s shoulder.
Batman stepped back. ‘I’d already had a run-in with those overgrown cats,’ he said. ‘By the way, you should call animal control. They should be safely asleep by now. I’d just managed to trank the last of them when you showed up before the drug could take effect.’
Gordon nodded. First things first. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and stared ruefully at the smashed display, then at Batman. Without a word, Batman handed him a cell phone, black of course. Gordon smiled to himself and made the call.
‘You should get that looked at.’ Gordon gestured towards Batman’s shoulder.
‘I will.’
‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay…getting back?’ He asked doubtfully. He looked around them. They were on the roof of a thirty storey building.
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Of course you will,’ Gordon agreed, looking at him worriedly. His watch beeped at him and he glanced at the time. ‘Damn it, I’m going to be late to the ceremony.’
Batman smiled. ‘How about a ride?’ He lifted his wrist and pressed buttons on a keypad. A small black aircraft rose into sight next to the building and came to land beside them.
Gordon stared at it in awe. ‘You have the best toys,’ he said admiringly.
‘It’s a perk,’ Batman said, deadpan.
He climbed in behind Batman and held on tight to the back of the seat as the craft shot into the air, staring around him as the city flew by. Minutes later, way too soon, the craft began to descend and Gordon realized in disbelief that Batman was planning to land directly in front of the Town Hall. ‘You do know how to make an entrance,’ he said wryly.
Batman turned his head and, unexpectedly, smirked at him. ‘You mean, you do.’ The hatch opened, and Batman looked at him expectantly.
Gordon stared at the gaping spectators, gathered to catch a glimpse of celebrities. The paparazzi were going mad with excitement, unable to believe their luck, already shouting questions, camera flashes blinding him. He turned to look at Batman, ‘You’re a cruel man, you know that?’ he observed, stepping out to face the mob. He felt the air whoosh behind him as Batman made his escape.
Later, as he clutched his bravery award in one hand, and a scotch in the other, he was approached over and over again by Gotham’s elite to tell his story. Yes, he had arrived with Batman. Yes, there’d been an incident but Batman had dealt with it. Yes, Batman had saved him. He sighed, marveling how something that had happened so recently had already become a tedious anecdote. He wondered how soon he could leave. He’d make his apologies, claim the excitement of the evening had tired him out. It was even true.
Gordon became aware of an expectant pause. People were staring at him. Someone must have asked him a question, and he’d missed it. He looked around. ‘She asked if Batman was as sexy close up,’ Bruce Wayne said lazily, and the beautiful young woman hanging off his arm giggled.
Gordon pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘I’m not really qualified to judge,’ he snapped, idly wondering if their questions could get any more stupid.
Someone else approached, a large, jovial looking man. Gordon thought he recognized him - played football for Gotham, maybe.
The man was beaming widely as he approached. ‘Bruce, my man,’ he boomed, clapping Wayne hard on the shoulder. Wayne gasped and staggered slightly. Gordon winced in sympathy, that’d looked painful.
The ball player, thankfully, was only interested in talking to Wayne and Gordon allowed his attention to drift, sipping his drink. His eyes wandered around the room, over there a couple was obviously arguing, over here a business deal was being made, those two over there were illicit lovers, if he guessed right. People were people no matter how much money they had. The girl hanging off Wayne’s arm said something about getting another drink and Gordon smiled gratefully as she took his glass. His eyes started to wander again, but then something about the way Wayne was holding himself caught his attention. He was smiling and nodding at the ball player, but he was holding himself stiffly and Gordon thought there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
With a start Gordon realized that there was a trickle of blood at the man’s wrist, staining his sleeve with a splash of bright red. His eyes widened as his mind replayed the slap on the shoulder. The same shoulder that Batman had injured earlier that evening. For a moment he just stared, trying to process what he’d seen. What he’d thought. He was jumping to conclusions, had to be. Yet Bruce Wayne was standing in front of him, clearly injured and in pain. Deliberately attempting to conceal the fact.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, interrupting. The ball player looked at him in surprise. ‘You’ll have to excuse us. Mr Wayne and I have some business to take care of.’ He took hold of Wayne’s arm firmly. Wayne looked at him in surprise. His eyes were slightly glazed. Gordon stared at him until Wayne nodded and took a step forward. He staggered slightly. Gordon unobtrusively took some of his weight, and they made their way slowly to an anteroom, where Wayne sat down heavily.
‘You should get that looked at,’ he repeated.
Wayne smiled up at him, wryly. ‘I will.’
‘Is there someone I can call?’ Gordon asked, holding up the shiny black cell phone Batman had given him.
‘My man is bringing the car round,’ Wayne said.
‘All right.’
Gordon went to stand at the door to make sure they weren’t bothered. There wasn’t really anything else to say. A couple of minutes later Wayne’s phone rang.
‘That’s Alfred,’ Wayne said, slowly getting to his feet. Gordon went to help him, a little surprised that Wayne allowed the help so readily. Together they made their way to a side door Gordon hadn’t known existed.
Outside a white-haired gentleman in a suit waited beside a Rolls Royce. He looked up anxiously as they emerged, and rushed to open the door. Wayne paused. ‘How about a ride home?’ he said, smirking.
Gordon smiled. ‘Why not?’ he said, and put out his hand to steady Wayne as he got into the car.
6
When the call came, Gordon didn’t need the stuttering, excited voice to tell him what had happened, though he never did work out what made that particular two a.m. call different to any other. He stumbled into his clothes and was ready to go, gazing around blankly - he never could find his keys - when the door opened and Babs was there, her young face drawn and determined. ‘I’ll drive,’ she said, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t summon up the energy to think, to ask her why - how - she was there instead of at college.
It seemed like half of Gotham were already at the scene when they arrived. The crowd was curiously still, shocked, some were crying, clutching their children, their loved ones. They were waved through instantly. Babs switched the engine off and turned to him and placed her hand over his where they were clutched in his lap. He stared at the still figure lit by a million lights, of torches; of cell phones; of hastily erected lamps. It was obscene, that light, that attention, for one who lived his life in the dark. Gordon couldn’t move. What was the point anyway? There was a familiar figure kneeling beside him. Gordon hoped Alfred had gotten there in time; that he hadn’t died alone.
Babs was getting out now; walking over there with measured steps. She stopped a couple of feet away, her hand raised to her mouth. Gordon knew he should get out, go over there. At some point that silent, shocked awe that held the crowd back would wear off, and morbid curiosity would take over and he felt that he owed it to Batman to preserve his dignity, his identity, if he could.
He was reaching slowly for the door handle when he realized that Alfred was talking, talking to the still figure. Gordon was out of the car and crashing to his knees on the other side of him before he thought about it.
The bomb had ripped the costume across the chest and shoulder and the side of his face. Blood gleamed in the rents. Gordon swallowed bile and reached a shaking hand to wipe the trickle of blood from the corner of the stern mouth, holding onto his composure by a thread, vaguely aware of the battery of cameras as yet keeping a respectful distance, vaguely grateful for that fact.
Batman’s eyes opened and focused on Alfred, who fell silent. The corners of Batman’s mouth curved up slightly. Gordon blinked tears away. ‘I’m here,’ he managed. Batman’s eyes slid over to him. ‘Jim,’ he murmured. One black gloved arm twitched in his direction. Gordon reached for it, clasped his hand. ‘Bruce,’ he acknowledged, his voice husky, hoarse.
‘Take it off,’ Bruce said, moving his head restlessly.
Gordon’s heart broke a little more. Bruce knew he was dying. Mindful of the lurking cameras, Gordon had to be sure. ‘The mask?’
‘Take it off.’
Gordon glanced up at Alfred. Alfred stared back at him with red-rimmed eyes. ‘You heard him.’
Together they removed the mask as gently as they could, mindful of the ragged edges catching in the wound. Bruce didn’t react, watching them with clear eyes. Alfred held his head up off the ground while Gordon shrugged out of his coat and bundled it up, easing it under Bruce’s head.
In the background, Gordon was aware of flashbulbs going off, could hear the rustle of movement, the shocked whispers. Is that Bruce Wayne? The billionaire? Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne.
Instinctively he hunched further over Bruce’s body, protecting him, aware that Alfred was doing the same on the other side. Alfred had hold of Bruce’s other hand, murmuring quietly to him again, his voice steady as a rock. Bruce’s eyes were fixed on him. Gordon glanced up. Alfred was smiling down at Bruce tenderly, shakily, tears winding their way unheeded down that cragged face. Gordon looked back down at the dying man. His friend.
He struggled to find words; fitting words. Bruce Wayne deserved as much. He squeezed the gloved hand gently, wondering if he was too far gone to feel it, feeling something tighten in his chest as the pressure was returned weakly as Bruce’s eyes flickered over to him.
‘You were always the hero Gotham needed,’ he managed to choke out, not as steadily as he would have liked.
Bruce smiled at him and the life left his eyes. Gordon only realized he was crying when his vision blurred. He took off his glasses, swiping impatiently at his eyes with the palms of his hands, grabbing ungratefully at a proffered handkerchief, only realizing as he blinked his vision clear that it was Babs kneeling beside him, crying silently. He found a weak smile for her from somewhere, his attention almost immediately drawn back to the figure in front of him by movement. Alfred was closing Bruce’s eyes.
Gradually the murmur of voices around him began to intrude - Gotham awaited. Gordon forced himself to release the lax hand, and got slowly to his feet, feeling like he’d aged a hundred years in the last few minutes. The murmur of voices increased exponentially and he squared his shoulders and turned, raising a hand to protect his eyes from the flashes.
‘Commissioner Gordon, did you know?’
‘Is that really Bruce Wayne?’
‘Was the Batman on the GCPD’s payroll?
He couldn’t see past the lights, the bodies pushing forward; he was claustrophobic; he wanted to rail at them, but he clenched the words in his teeth; he held it in.
He felt a hand take his and realized that Babs stood beside him. She was tugging at his hand. He couldn’t hear what she was saying but he couldn’t leave, couldn’t leave him to them. Then his men were there, his men were there and he looked around and they’d formed a cordon around the body and he could see ambulance officers approaching, too damn late, but he trusted his men to handle the situation. Babs tugged at his hand again.
‘How long have you known the Batman’s identity, Commissioner Gordon?’
‘Who will protect Gotham now?’
Gordon raised his free hand and, miraculously, the crowd fell quiet. He cleared his throat.
‘In answer to your question as to who will protect Gotham, the answer is; the people who do so every day, the people who have sworn to protect this city and its people, the Gotham City Police Department.’
Voices rose in protest and he held up his hands again until they fell silent. ‘In the decade since Batman showed up, our city has found hope, and a future. But the Batman was only one man among many. Only human, as we have learnt to our sorrow tonight.’ He paused as his throat threatened to close again. He swallowed hard. ‘All of us, the good citizens of Gotham, have played our part and we must continue do so, to take inspiration from what we have achieved together with Batman’s help. We must not waste the gift we have been given.’
For a moment there was a silence, then as a reporter raised her microphone and opened her mouth, Gordon held up his hand one last time. ‘That’s all right now. We all know what we’ve lost tonight.’
He turned away, blindly. He had no idea where his car was, but Babs was leading him and he went. A few of the more persistent members of the press made as if to follow, but were firmly dissuaded by a couple of uniforms. He’d have to thank them, he thought vaguely.
In the car, he stared blindly out the window as Babs gunned the engine, taking to the streets at a speed that would normally earn her a lecture on the danger of speeding in built up areas. Now, though, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
For a while he just sat numbly, staring at the lights whizzing by. Babs drove on silently. Finally he stirred. ‘It’s over,’ he muttered.
The car swerved slightly. In the reflection of the window he saw Babs turn to stare at him. ‘It’s not over!’ she said fiercely, looking back at the road, her jaw clenched in that way that meant she was holding on to self-control tightly.
‘How is it not over?’ Gordon asked, staring at her reflection.
He could see that Babs’ hands were clenched fast on the steering wheel. ‘You don’t think he knew this day would come?’ she demanded. ‘You don’t think he was prepared?’
‘What do you mean?’
Babs didn’t answer. Slowly Gordon turned to look at her, and it was as if he was seeing her clearly for the first time in a long, long time. She was no longer his baby girl, he could see that now. There was a strength in her, a maturity, he realized proudly, even as a part of him mourned the change it meant for their relationship.
While he was studying her, she’d turned off the main road, he noticed, as she pulled up in front of forbidding iron gates.
‘Where are we?’
Babs didn’t even look at him. She was winding down the window. Gordon ducked his head to peer up at the gates. ‘Barbara, why are we at Wayne Manor?’ he asked, looking back at her.
Babs pressed her hand to the sensor pad. Silently the gates swung open.
‘Everybody’s going to be swarming all over this place soon enough. We have to make sure there’s nothing for them to find,’ she said, glancing at him as she started the car forward.
‘We do?’ Gordon was confused. Why did his daughter have security access to Bruce Wayne’s place? He was beginning to suspect he wasn’t going to like the answer.
A nondescript black truck rattled towards them. Babs raised her hand as if in greeting; a pale face turned towards them as the truck went by.
‘He made us practice this, you know,’ she said, almost conversationally. ‘But none of us really believed it would ever happen.’
Who was she talking about?
‘Barbara, what’s going on?’ Gordon demanded, shifting so he could see her face properly.
Babs smiled at him. It was shaky and there were tear tracks on her face, but there was resolve there, too. ‘Dad, I’ve got something to tell you,’ she said.
The End
For Jody, who brainstormed ideas with me on a car ride and forced me to write deathfic.
Author: Sarren
Rating: G
Pairing: None
Word count: 8530
Author's Note: Thanks to my betas: zebra363, special_trille and mardia
Warnings: Parts 1, 2 & 4 reference TDK, parts 4 & 6 character death.
Five Times Jim Gordon Found out Bruce Wayne is Batman and One Time Everyone Did
1
Gordon made sure that Reese wasn’t injured, and that the driver of the pickup was securely restrained. He scanned the area around the crash scene, looking for any other citizens who might feel like taking the law into their own hands. The adrenaline was flooding through him; he could feel his heart thudding in his chest almost painfully. His senses were in overdrive though; his mind seemed clearer and sharper than it had ever been. A flash of something reflective and he turned his head sharply, his hand going to his gun, relaxing slightly as he realized that it was just sunlight reflecting off a car mirror. He paused to take a deep breath, grounding himself, and then turned to walk over to the man sitting against the smashed up quarter-of-a-million-dollar car.
‘It’s Mr Wayne, isn’t it?’ he said, by way of an opener. Of course he recognized him. Photos of Gotham’s own billionaire playboy were often splashed across the pages of the papers, along with lurid tales of his exploits. Gordon wasn’t interested in the gossip pages, but every now and then he’d catch sight of Wayne’s face staring out of a photo and something about it, the eyes maybe, would remind him of the broken little boy he’d tried to comfort the night his parents were murdered, the night the boy’s world had ended. Something about the devastation in those hazel eyes had stayed with him, had led him to keep an eye on the child’s welfare. He’d been concerned when he’d discovered that guardianship had been left to the family’s butler. Over the years he’d occasionally given thought to the young man rattling around alone in the mansion with only servants and the ghosts of his parents to keep him company. Couldn’t be healthy; no wonder he’d grown up wild.
Though he’d come good these last few years, by all accounts. Had taken charge, at least nominally, of Wayne Enterprises, and if it didn’t seem to curb his playboy lifestyle, at least he wasn’t disgracing his family name too often.
Quite the opposite, to judge by his actions today. ‘That was a very brave thing you did,’ Gordon said, careful not to sound surprised.
Wayne looked up at him. ‘Trying to catch the light?’ he answered, sounding confused.
Gordon squinted at him. ‘You…you weren’t protecting the van?’ He gestured toward the police van, obscurely disappointed.
Wayne craned his head to look where he was pointing. ‘Why, who’s in it?’ Wayne rubbed his neck. ‘You think I should go the hospital?’ he asked querulously.
Gordon stared at him in disbelief and mild amusement. ‘You don’t watch a whole lotta news, do you, Mr Wayne?’
Wayne looked at him blankly. Just a lucky accident then, that Wayne’s car had gotten in the way, that Reese wasn’t dead. Well, god knew they needed all the luck they could get, so maybe he should just be grateful for that and pray the luck stayed with them.
And then he heard the explosions. His stomach turned over in horror. He swung around, trying to pinpoint the direction from which they’d come. ‘Southeast,’ he muttered, fumbling in his pocket for the walkie-talkie. ‘It’s Gotham General.’ He punched the line open. ‘Did you clear the building?’ he demanded, his mind racing ahead, starting to pull together various contingency plans even as he was given a run-down of events.
He had to get to the hospital. Fast. He looked around. The only official vehicle on the scene was the patrol car that had been escorting them. One of the officers from the protection detail was getting Reese out of the back of the van.
Gordon couldn’t just commandeer the car and leave them both unprotected. He strode over to them and took Reese’s arm to hurry him along. The man was dragging his steps, craning his head around. Something about the round-eyed fixed stare got Gordon’s attention. He followed Reese’s line of vision, but there was just Wayne, looking in their direction. Gordon scanned the area around him but couldn’t see anything to rate that shocked look on Reese’s face.
Instinct drew his glance back at Wayne. Wayne had gotten to his feet. It looked like he was staring straight at Reese. Then two paramedics appeared at Wayne’s side and he turned to talk to them, rubbing his neck and putting his other hand to his back. Gordon waited for Reese and his escort to get in the car and then slid into the front passenger side, slamming his door shut and hurriedly putting his belt on. The driver revved the engine, then swung the steering wheel violently and accelerated straight into a U-turn. The sudden momentum jolted Gordon back against his seat. He threw one hand forward against the dashboard to brace himself; then twisted around in his seat to check on Reese. Through the back window he caught a last glimpse of Wayne. Who was looking straight at him.
Reese was safely belted up, but he was sitting hunched over, rubbing his hands together in a nervous gesture. Gordon spared him an assessing glance; he seemed distracted but holding it together okay.
Gordon turned to the officer driving. ‘I’ll need you to drop me off at Gotham General.’
‘You’re the boss,’ the man said cheerfully. Gordon couldn’t remember his name for a moment. Johnson, no, Johnston. Clean record. Always showing off pictures of his kids.
Gordon checked the mirrors frequently as they headed towards the hospital. After a few minutes he was pretty sure they weren’t being followed, and the atmosphere relaxed slightly. ‘So, you really know the Batman’s secret identity?’ The officer sitting next to Reese, Reinhardt, leaned over, offering him a stick of gum. Reese shook his head and returned to staring at his restless hands, his whole body hunched and defensive. Reinhardt wasn’t deterred. ‘Go on, tell us then, since you think people have a right to know.’
‘Dude, shut up,’ the driver said, glancing at them in his rearview mirror.
‘What, aren’t you curious?’
‘Yeah, sure, but I’m not suicidal.’
‘What, you think the Joker’ll somehow know you know and put a hit out on you too?’ Reinhardt asked, laughing derisively.
‘Who knows how that crazy fuck finds shit out. I don’t wanna end up like this poor sap. No offense,’ he said apologetically. Reese didn’t look up; he didn’t even seem to have heard.
Gordon glared at the two officers in turn. ‘That’s enough,’ he said firmly. The two looked chastened and subsided.
Gordon put out a hand to the side to steady himself as the vehicle swung around a corner too fast and then accelerated again. They were nearly at the hospital. He turned to the back seat. ‘Reese, listen to me.’ Reese looked up. ‘These officers will take you to a safe-house. Only myself and the men that will be guarding you know the location. I trust those men completely.’ Reese nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.
Just then they rounded another corner and Gordon stared in dismay at the ruins of the hospital, the fire-trucks still spraying water into several separate fires, the emergency crews moving purposefully about.
Johnston pulled the car over and Gordon got out. He hesitated, then opened the back door. He leaned in and said very quietly, ‘these officers will protect you. But for your own safety, and everyone else’s, I strongly recommend you do not reveal the identity of the Batman to anyone, if indeed you really know it.’
Reese looked up then. Met his eyes. ‘I was going to expose him,’ he said, his voice sounding remote. ‘He really is a hero.’
For a moment, Gordon didn’t get it. But as he shut the car door he had a sudden mental image of Reese staring fixedly at Bruce Wayne, and Wayne staring back. In retrospect the expression on Wayne’s face seemed not confused, nor curious. Wayne had looked, Gordon thought, watchful. He stumbled backwards onto the sidewalk, stunned, barely noticing the car drive off.
Ramirez’s hand on his arm startled him out of his reverie. He looked at her drawn expression, her worried eyes looking to him to take charge, and he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and he went to do his job, putting everything else out of his mind.
Much later, he was reminded of that moment when he saw Bruce Wayne at the funeral of ADA Dawes. The day was dull and colorless; threatening rain - a typical day in Gotham. The turnout was larger than he’d have expected, shades of black and grey and Gordon couldn’t help thinking it presented too many opportunities for some other nutcase to try for his own moment of glory.
Gordon studied Wayne discreetly from a few feet away. There was no meeting of eyes today. Wayne’s eyes were fixed on the casket. He hardly seemed to be listening to the minister’s words of comfort. His face was shuttered, there was nothing of the flamboyant playboy evident today; there was no doubt the man was grieving. Gordon hadn’t realized Wayne and Dawes knew each other that well.
Gordon hadn’t known Dawes well, but he’d liked her. She’d been efficient and passionate about her work. He remembered thinking he’d be sorry to see her become disillusioned, as they all did, eventually. Well, that wouldn’t happen now anyway. He wondered if she’d been resigned to her death, or if she’d expected the Batman to save her right up until the last minute. After all, he had before, more than once.
Unexpectedly, he heard his own voice, as clear as if he were back in the moment - Who are you going to save?
And the Batman’s snarl - Rachel.
As if there was no choice at all.
As if he knew her.
It was obvious once he thought about it. Batman had known her, known Rachel Dawes. Maybe well. Maybe well enough that he’d turn up to her funeral.
Gordon looked at Wayne again, and realized that he was beginning to believe it. That Bruce Wayne, of all people, was the Batman.
Still, it was all speculation. He had no proof, and that was just as well. If he had any evidence at all he’d have to act on it, and that would be regrettable. Gotham needed the Batman. Even if Gotham didn’t realize it, Gordon did.
Gordon suddenly realized that while he’d been lost in thought the service had ended. Wayne had caught him staring and was looking narrowly at him. Gordon gave him a small nod of acknowledgement. Wayne blinked, but his expression gave nothing away. Gordon turned away. On the way back to the car, he allowed himself a small, private smile.
2
Gordon studied the photos that had appeared in his inbox, courtesy of his contact in the CIA. Surveillance photos taken of Lau from the moment he arrived in Hong Kong to the last time he was seen publicly before his abrupt appearance on the MCU’s doorstep.
Shots of Lau entering his building, shots of foreigners coming and going. Gordon paused in surprise at the photo of Lucius Fox of Wayne Enterprises entering the building. Everything he knew about Fox told him Fox wouldn’t be doing business with a criminal. He supposed it was possible the man was there for some other reason, that it was just coincidence, but Gordon didn’t really believe that, not since Lau was reported to have visited Wayne Enterprises shortly before his flight to Hong Kong. He scrolled slowly through the photos. Fox, leaving the building precisely thirty-five minutes later. Several more shots of Fox; crossing the street; standing on an escalator; in a crowded walkway, walking directly over to Bruce Wayne himself, the man leaning against a railing, blending surprisingly well into the surroundings. The next photo in the sequence showed Wayne in the act of removing his sunglasses, the next, talking earnestly, looking over the street.
Gordon paused. He looked at the date stamp - the day of Lau’s abrupt abduction. Something else about that date rang a bell; he pulled up the news reports for that day.
Love Boat: Billionaire Absconds With Entire Russian Ballet
Bruce Wayne, photographed in Hong Kong on the day of the abduction, when he was very publicly known to be cruising the Bahamas on his yacht. Not only in Hong Kong, but within a stone’s throw of Lau’s building.
Gordon scrolled back to the first photo of Wayne and studied it. Something about the sunglasses was bothering him. Frowning thoughtfully he slowly placed his thumb over the top half of Wayne’s face and studied the result.
He pulled up a shot taken of the Batman, slightly blurry, but facing the camera, and zoomed in on his face. He looked at the two photos side by side.
Yes…it was possible.
But Bruce Wayne…it seemed so unlikely. Gordon sat back in his chair, staring at the images. He certainly had the means to fund such an enterprise. Access to cutting edge technology.
At total odds with his playboy image - the man was famous for his indolence. Everyone knew that Lucius Fox was the real power behind Wayne Enterprises.
He flicked back to one of the previous photos taken in Hong Kong. Fox, handing something to Wayne, a small smile on his face. Another shot, taken some seconds later, Wayne looking pleased; impressed.
What if they were working together? That would explain the hi-tech equipment. But what about the sheer physical skill and power displayed by the Batman? Could Bruce Wayne seriously be capable of that?
Now that he thought about it, Wayne had been missing for seven years. He remembered it being in the papers, he remembered at the time not really being surprised that the Wayne boy had gone off the rails, what with the murder trial and all.
Seven years unaccounted for. Wayne had been declared dead. Who knew what he’d been up to?
And then the prodigal’s return. And shortly after that, the first sighting of the Batman.
So, he had his suspicions. What was he going to do about them?
Gordon got up and opened his door. He stared out at the men and women of MCU, going about their job. The office was still drab and slightly dirty looking, that fluorescent light in the corner still flickered annoyingly no matter how often the bulb was replaced. But there was a sense of purpose in the air, a sense that the tide had turned, that the bad guys no longer called the shots in Gotham. That what they did mattered.
Gordon had no doubt about what had brought about the change. He looked around at the officers - his officers now, his responsibility.
Slowly he walked back to his chair and sat down in front of the computer. He stared at the images on the screen. If the Batman’s identity became public knowledge they may as well paint a target on Wayne’s back; every gangster; every criminal with something to prove would be gunning for him.
Eventually they’d succeed. With the Batman gone the bad guys would flourish again. Gordon loved his city - it was why he risked his life doing an often thankless job - but he had no illusions about it. Gotham attracted the criminals, the crazies, the hopeless.
He stared meditatively at the screen for a while, considering the options; the consequences. Finally, he made the only decision he thought he could live with. He leaned forward and, methodically, he began to erase everything that could connect the Batman to Bruce Wayne.
For Gotham’s sake.
3
Considering it was rumored to be the most secure building in Gotham, Bruce Wayne’s apartment sure got held up a lot. It looked like the villains had the place sewn up tight. By the looks of things Wayne was attempting to reason with the leader of the gang, who was swaggering back and forth, occasionally stopping to menace guests. Gordon winced as the man turned and backhanded Wayne across the mouth with force enough that he staggered back and fell amongst the huddled guests.
Gordon tugged at his too-tight collar. Damn this new suit, damn this image he had to maintain. So much for moving up in the world. Defiantly he worked the tie loose, pretending not to notice he’d attracted the attention of one of the men standing guard. He concentrated on looking harmless, hunching his shoulders slightly. The guard lost interest after a couple of minutes and Gordon rubbed his eyebrow, surreptitiously scanning the room. The guests were coping quite well with having shotguns pointed at them by guys in gorilla costumes. Though, on a Gotham scale of crazy, this was probably pretty tame. The priceless artwork that Gotham’s eminent citizens had paid through the nose to see, all in the name of charity, still rested securely in its display case, but the modified laser cutter was slicing through the reinforced security glass. It was only a matter of time.
Gordon’s eyes flickered over the room again, and then paused, caught by unexpected movement near the pillar, gone too fast for him to register details. In the foreground two gorillas capered about, relieving the guests of their jewellery and wallets like common thieves - keeping the guests occupied, keeping them distracted, while serious, hard-faced types guarded the doors and window. Gordon watched them uneasily. They were heavily armed and had wired the doors and windows behind them with explosives. Definitely professionals, both instinct and experience told him it’d be suicide to try anything. Nothing to be done but wait it out.
A shift of movement at his shoulder, Gordon tensed. ‘Commissioner,’ Wayne murmured. Gordon stared at him out of the corner of his eyes, careful not to do anything to attract the bad guys’ attention. Where the hell had Wayne come from?
‘I have a secret door in the west corner,’ Wayne murmured, his lips barely moving. He had a cut on his bottom lip, Gordon noticed. It was bleeding slightly. ‘But I can’t get past the guards. Can you provide a distraction?’
Gordon sighed. Man wanted to be a hero, did he? ‘Now, don’t try anything stupid, son,’ he sighed. ‘Just wait and it’ll all be over soon.’
‘Yes, it will.’ Wayne’s eyes flickered to the balcony doors. ‘Take a closer look at the way the explosives are wired. Anyone tries to open the door or disable them, they’re rigged to go off.’
For a moment Gordon was distracted wondering how the hell playboy Bruce Wayne would know anything about explosives, but then it sank in what Wayne was talking about and a chill went through him. ‘They must have a way out,’ he muttered quietly, stroking his moustache to cover his words.
‘I don’t think we can afford to wait around to find out, do you?’
‘Even if I distract the guards, what do you hope to achieve? You’re one man. The lifts are disabled and they’ve jammed all signals, so you can’t even call for help. No, it’s too dangerous.’
‘I’m not waiting around to die, Commissioner.’ Wayne said firmly. ‘I’m telling you I can get out, and I can get help. Fast.’
There was a conviction in his voice that made Gordon hope that maybe Wayne could do what he claimed. He had a feeling that no matter what he said, Wayne was going to make a break for it. And without his help Gordon had no doubt at all that he’d get himself killed, and maybe not just him.
‘All right,’ he agreed. Wayne gave him a ghost of a smile and began to drift slowly back into the crowd. Gordon watched, impressed. The man was smooth. When Wayne was in position he looked straight at Gordon. For a moment they stared at each other, then Wayne nodded, once.
Gordon took a deep breath, squared his shoulders. ‘I am Commissioner Jim Gordon and I demand to speak to your leader!’ he shouted, noting with carefully concealed relief that all eyes turned to him. He very pointedly did not look in Wayne’s direction, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the bad guys prowling towards him.
Unfortunately, but not to his surprise, the leader wasn’t interested in negotiating, but even as his arms were wrenched behind him Gordon felt his heart beating faster in anticipation. Wayne had made it. He’d got out. Now it was just the waiting that was hard.
When the smoke canisters erupted, Gordon looked up in time to see Batman descend from the ceiling, accompanied, to his surprise, by a SWAT team. Within seconds though, the smoke had spread to obscure just about everything. Gordon could still see the winking lights of the bomb he was tied next to, though, and he could hear gunfire and screams and the sounds of fighting. Briefly he saw a swirl of black cape appear and disappear and then he heard a warning beep the bomb made just before the lights flashed and a five minute countdown activated. Gordon renewed his struggles but the rope only tightened more. Helplessly he watched the numbers ticking down.
And then there were thuds and crashes near him and Batman came skidding out of the smoke on his back and hit the wall next to Gordon, hard. He shook his head and sat up.
‘The bombs,’ Gordon shouted, urgently.
‘It’s being taken care off,’ Batman said calmly. Sure enough, a black-clad figure emerged from the smoke and knelt in front of the bomb, grabbing a tool of some kind from his belt. Gordon sagged with relief as he recognized the insignia of the bomb squad on the man’s shoulder.
Batman was leaning over him with a knife. Vaguely Gordon was aware that Batman was slicing through his ropes, but all he could see was the cut on Batman’s mouth. That looked to have only just closed, so an hour old maybe.
‘Your mouth,’ he said, stupidly, as the ropes parted.
Batman got up and held out a hand. Gordon reached up despite the tingling in his hands from the circulation rushing back and was pulled to his feet. Batman looked at him steadily. ‘Walked into a door,’ he said.
Gordon looked him in the eye. ‘Careless of you.’
Batman’s lips quirked. He turned and disappeared into the smoke.
It didn’t seem to take very long at all after that. When the smoke cleared the bad guys were all tied up or dead. Paramedics had arrived and were dealing with the wounded. None of the guests had been killed or seriously wounded, thank god, though a few were carrying on as if they were, and only one of the officers had needed to be rushed to the ER.
There was no sign of Batman. Or of Bruce Wayne.
4
Like he had every night for the last seventeen days, Gordon waited. The Bat signal gleamed laser bright in the sky against the drifting clouds, the old signal long since replaced by cutting edge technology, fit for Gotham’s Defender. He flexed his chilled fingers, wincing. Arthritis was setting in, retirement not far away. His new assistant approached, holding out a cup of coffee, glancing up at the sky, a look of awe on his face. So young. Too young to remember when Batman wasn’t such a revered figure. Gordon waved him away, not unkindly, and the boy retreated. Gordon wrapped his hands around the mug to warm them, breathing in. The boy made good coffee; that was worth a lot nowadays. He glanced up at the sky again. He’d give it another half hour.
When he allowed himself to speculate about the reason Batman had stopped answering the signal, he hoped it was something mundane like aches and pains. After all, Batman wasn’t getting any younger either. Not old, surely, but the wear and tear on his body had to be making itself known nowadays, and this winter had been especially chilly. Or maybe something romantic; maybe Batman had found someone worth putting away the suit for.
He hoped. But he thought he knew Batman well enough by now to know that the man wouldn’t just vanish without telling him. They had an understanding; more than a decade worth of understanding, hard won.
A scrape of movement by the door and he started forward, a leap of hope in his chest, then faltered as an old man stepped carefully out on to the roof and looked around.
Gordon stared at the approaching figure. He was good with faces, paid to be, in his job. ‘I know you, don’t I?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the old man said. ‘It was my honor to serve the Wayne family.’
‘You’re Bruce Wayne’s man.’ Of course. ‘Alfred. I recognize you now.’ He looked at the lined face. ‘I was sorry to hear about his death. Wayne did a lot of good work for charity these last years. A tragedy.’
‘Thank you sir,’ Alfred said with quiet dignity. ‘We were unaware that Master Wayne’s philanthropic efforts were so well known.’
‘I hear things in my position. I doubt it’s common knowledge. I was surprised that Wayne kept it so secret when he was so…public…about so much else.'
‘He had his reasons. Speaking of which, he asked me to give this to you.’ Alfred held out an envelope.
‘To me?’ Gordon was surprised.
‘Yes sir.’
Intrigued, Gordon stepped into the light of the Bat signal. He turned the envelope over. Only his name, written in a bold, flowing script. Slowly he drew the letter out and held it into the light. ‘Dear Jim’, it began. Gordon blinked in surprise.
A long time later he looked up, blinking to clear his vision. He drew out his handkerchief and mopped at his eyes. He cleared his throat. ‘Do you know what it says?’ he asked the old man, who had moved a little distance away and was leaning his hands on the balustrade.
‘More or less.’ Alfred turned to face him, putting his hands in the pockets of his overcoat.
‘He said that I was the closest thing he had to a friend.’ Gordon clenched the letter in his fist, holding it up. ‘I didn’t even know him,’ he said, nearly shouting.
Alfred looked at him steadily. ‘He wanted to tell you,’ he said simply.
Gordon glared at him, blinking angry tears away.
‘After Rachel...’ Alfred hesitated.
Gordon looked at him, uncomprehending.
‘He loved her.’
Suddenly it hit him. ‘Rachel Dawes? The ADA the Joker killed?’ He remembered her. Smart. Dedicated. So much promise.
‘He felt that anyone who knew his identity was in danger, and he was right.’
‘My life has been in danger one way or another my entire career,’ Gordon burst out angrily.
‘He tried to protect the people he loved,’ Alfred said quietly.
The anger drained out of Gordon suddenly, leaving him weary; feeling truly old for the first time. He glanced up at the signal in the sky; suddenly forlorn looking, destined to remain unanswered.
‘Here.’
Gordon looked down. Alfred was holding something out. Automatically he reached for it; fumbling.
‘Easy,’ Alfred murmured.
Gordon held up the glass to the light, liquid sloshed inside it.
‘Scotch?’
‘Cognac.’
Gordon took a sniff, and raised his eyebrows.
‘I think you’ll detect a bouquet with hints of candied fruit, wild roses and rancio and that earthy aroma that comes from aging,’ Alfred said, a hint of irony in his voice. ‘I broke out the good stuff.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘We were saving it for a special occasion.’ For the first time Alfred’s voice sounded less than steady.
Solemnly Gordon touched the glasses together. ‘To Bruce Wayne,’ he said, holding Alfred’s eyes. ‘May he find peace.’
Alfred smiled, though tears stood in eyes. ‘Master Wayne,’ he said, and threw the drink back in one hit.
Gordon took a cautious sip and then followed his example. The liquid burned his throat and he gasped.
Alfred smiled. ‘Has a bit of a bite to it, sir.’
‘I see that, thanks.’ Gordon wheezed. He held out his glass. From his greatcoat Alfred produced a silver flask and poured a generous refill. Gordon tossed it back and held out the glass again.
Alfred raised his eyebrows and then shrugged. ‘Oh, why the hell not?’ He tossed his own drink back. He refilled both their glasses, his fingers shaking slightly.
After the fourth drink Gordon thought he might be finally ready to turn off the light for the last time. He stared up at Gotham’s shining symbol of justice, and with a heavy heart, reached for the switch.
Alfred’s hand covered his. Gordon blinked at him in surprise. ‘Leave it on,’ he said. ‘Keep switching it on. Eventually people will notice that he hasn’t been seen for a while, and they’ll figure it out, but for the time being, let people think that Batman’s still out there.’
‘Keeping watch.’ Gordon nodded. Even after death Batman continued to protect Gotham. It was fitting.
‘Now, where were we?’ Alfred asked.
Gordon held out his glass. ‘Tell me about Bruce Wayne.’
5
Gordon glanced at the clock on the dash. 7:53pm. The awards ceremony started at 8:30pm. He’d be in time if the traffic downtown wasn’t too bad tonight. He envied Barbara, who’d used Jimmy’s sniffles as an excuse to stay home and look after him. Gordon wished he could have, too. But as she’d pointed out, he couldn’t very well not go, since he was the one getting an award. Gordon knew he should be honored, but mostly he just wished everyone would just let him get on with his job. But the Mayor had been insistent. It’d be good for his people’s morale, he said. Good PR for the department. The public needed to be reminded that the police force was there to protect them, not some psycho with a mask and cape. Gordon couldn’t argue with that.
Something small and white got caught in his headlights for a moment and something about the tiny figure crouched on the side of the road set off warning bells. Gordon pulled over and checked his rear view mirror. It was still there. As he watched it raised its head for a moment. It was a little girl. Gordon turned in his seat and scanned the surroundings. The street was deserted, the shops boarded up.
He didn’t like it, instinct was warning him that it was a set up, but she was only a baby, he couldn’t just leave her there. He reached into the glove box and got out his gun, made sure it was loaded. Slowly he got out of the car, holding the weapon low so as not to alarm the child. He approached her slowly, his senses prickling, keeping a wary eye out. There were just too many damn shadows, a perfect place for an ambush, in fact. He’d have to get her into the car fast. The girl showed no awareness that he was approaching, though she must have heard the door slam.
‘Hey, sweetheart,’ he said gently, when he was a couple of feet away. ‘Are you okay?’
She raised her head and smiled at him. Gordon stepped back instinctively, scanning his surroundings, keeping one eye on her. It was some sort of animated doll - a robot or something. It looked small and defenseless but Gordon half expected its hands to turn into chainsaws or something. It was obviously a trap, but whether the doll was the threat or just the bait, he wasn’t waiting around to find out. He started to back slowly towards his car, his gun raised, swinging around periodically to make sure something wasn’t creeping up behind him. The doll hadn’t moved, but its fixed smile was creeping him out.
He was almost at the car and just starting to think maybe he was going to get out of this when a loud thud behind him made him start and swing around. He staggered back a few steps in dismay.
A goddamn, honest to god saber-tooth tiger was crouched on his car, staring at him. Gordon started to back away. The tiger watched him. Gordon glanced behind him and stopped abruptly. Four more saber-tooths were approaching slowly from different directions. He was surrounded, not that he had any illusions about being able to outrun them anyway.
He swallowed, forcing back the fear, forcing himself to try to think of a way to distract them. They were close now. He could smell their fetid breath. Gordon swung around, trying to keep all of them in his sight. He was out of options. He knew he’d have to open fire in a second, figured that it would trigger an attack, that he couldn’t possibly disable them all. This was it, then. At least it’d be quick, he hoped.
In his peripheral vision he caught a flash of movement speeding toward him. He started to turn and then something hit him with force and he was being carried into the air and he was starting to panic when a voice growled ‘Stop struggling or I’ll have to drop you.’ Gordon froze. He knew that voice. He opened his eyes in relief, then realized they were sailing high above the ground and shut them quickly, instinctively clutching at whatever he could get hold of, which appeared to be Batman’s shoulders. He heard a pained gasp and felt something wet on his hand and then Batman let go and they were hitting the ground at speed and he let go and rolled and managed to protect his head so that he wound up with only gravel rash on his palms, though he’d lost his glasses. He felt around him optimistically; there was no chance he’d be able to see them in the dark. Then a strong hand under his elbow was helping him to his feet and his glasses were pressed into his hand, miraculously unbroken and he put them on and looked at Batman.
‘Thank you,’ Gordon said, earnestly.
Batman stared at him in his usual enigmatic way. Gordon started to glance away, then his brain made the connection and he stared at his hand, which was covered in too much blood for the amount of grazing. ‘You’re wounded,’ he said, stepping forward to peer at Batman’s shoulder.
Batman stepped back. ‘I’d already had a run-in with those overgrown cats,’ he said. ‘By the way, you should call animal control. They should be safely asleep by now. I’d just managed to trank the last of them when you showed up before the drug could take effect.’
Gordon nodded. First things first. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and stared ruefully at the smashed display, then at Batman. Without a word, Batman handed him a cell phone, black of course. Gordon smiled to himself and made the call.
‘You should get that looked at.’ Gordon gestured towards Batman’s shoulder.
‘I will.’
‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay…getting back?’ He asked doubtfully. He looked around them. They were on the roof of a thirty storey building.
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Of course you will,’ Gordon agreed, looking at him worriedly. His watch beeped at him and he glanced at the time. ‘Damn it, I’m going to be late to the ceremony.’
Batman smiled. ‘How about a ride?’ He lifted his wrist and pressed buttons on a keypad. A small black aircraft rose into sight next to the building and came to land beside them.
Gordon stared at it in awe. ‘You have the best toys,’ he said admiringly.
‘It’s a perk,’ Batman said, deadpan.
He climbed in behind Batman and held on tight to the back of the seat as the craft shot into the air, staring around him as the city flew by. Minutes later, way too soon, the craft began to descend and Gordon realized in disbelief that Batman was planning to land directly in front of the Town Hall. ‘You do know how to make an entrance,’ he said wryly.
Batman turned his head and, unexpectedly, smirked at him. ‘You mean, you do.’ The hatch opened, and Batman looked at him expectantly.
Gordon stared at the gaping spectators, gathered to catch a glimpse of celebrities. The paparazzi were going mad with excitement, unable to believe their luck, already shouting questions, camera flashes blinding him. He turned to look at Batman, ‘You’re a cruel man, you know that?’ he observed, stepping out to face the mob. He felt the air whoosh behind him as Batman made his escape.
Later, as he clutched his bravery award in one hand, and a scotch in the other, he was approached over and over again by Gotham’s elite to tell his story. Yes, he had arrived with Batman. Yes, there’d been an incident but Batman had dealt with it. Yes, Batman had saved him. He sighed, marveling how something that had happened so recently had already become a tedious anecdote. He wondered how soon he could leave. He’d make his apologies, claim the excitement of the evening had tired him out. It was even true.
Gordon became aware of an expectant pause. People were staring at him. Someone must have asked him a question, and he’d missed it. He looked around. ‘She asked if Batman was as sexy close up,’ Bruce Wayne said lazily, and the beautiful young woman hanging off his arm giggled.
Gordon pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘I’m not really qualified to judge,’ he snapped, idly wondering if their questions could get any more stupid.
Someone else approached, a large, jovial looking man. Gordon thought he recognized him - played football for Gotham, maybe.
The man was beaming widely as he approached. ‘Bruce, my man,’ he boomed, clapping Wayne hard on the shoulder. Wayne gasped and staggered slightly. Gordon winced in sympathy, that’d looked painful.
The ball player, thankfully, was only interested in talking to Wayne and Gordon allowed his attention to drift, sipping his drink. His eyes wandered around the room, over there a couple was obviously arguing, over here a business deal was being made, those two over there were illicit lovers, if he guessed right. People were people no matter how much money they had. The girl hanging off Wayne’s arm said something about getting another drink and Gordon smiled gratefully as she took his glass. His eyes started to wander again, but then something about the way Wayne was holding himself caught his attention. He was smiling and nodding at the ball player, but he was holding himself stiffly and Gordon thought there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
With a start Gordon realized that there was a trickle of blood at the man’s wrist, staining his sleeve with a splash of bright red. His eyes widened as his mind replayed the slap on the shoulder. The same shoulder that Batman had injured earlier that evening. For a moment he just stared, trying to process what he’d seen. What he’d thought. He was jumping to conclusions, had to be. Yet Bruce Wayne was standing in front of him, clearly injured and in pain. Deliberately attempting to conceal the fact.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, interrupting. The ball player looked at him in surprise. ‘You’ll have to excuse us. Mr Wayne and I have some business to take care of.’ He took hold of Wayne’s arm firmly. Wayne looked at him in surprise. His eyes were slightly glazed. Gordon stared at him until Wayne nodded and took a step forward. He staggered slightly. Gordon unobtrusively took some of his weight, and they made their way slowly to an anteroom, where Wayne sat down heavily.
‘You should get that looked at,’ he repeated.
Wayne smiled up at him, wryly. ‘I will.’
‘Is there someone I can call?’ Gordon asked, holding up the shiny black cell phone Batman had given him.
‘My man is bringing the car round,’ Wayne said.
‘All right.’
Gordon went to stand at the door to make sure they weren’t bothered. There wasn’t really anything else to say. A couple of minutes later Wayne’s phone rang.
‘That’s Alfred,’ Wayne said, slowly getting to his feet. Gordon went to help him, a little surprised that Wayne allowed the help so readily. Together they made their way to a side door Gordon hadn’t known existed.
Outside a white-haired gentleman in a suit waited beside a Rolls Royce. He looked up anxiously as they emerged, and rushed to open the door. Wayne paused. ‘How about a ride home?’ he said, smirking.
Gordon smiled. ‘Why not?’ he said, and put out his hand to steady Wayne as he got into the car.
6
When the call came, Gordon didn’t need the stuttering, excited voice to tell him what had happened, though he never did work out what made that particular two a.m. call different to any other. He stumbled into his clothes and was ready to go, gazing around blankly - he never could find his keys - when the door opened and Babs was there, her young face drawn and determined. ‘I’ll drive,’ she said, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t summon up the energy to think, to ask her why - how - she was there instead of at college.
It seemed like half of Gotham were already at the scene when they arrived. The crowd was curiously still, shocked, some were crying, clutching their children, their loved ones. They were waved through instantly. Babs switched the engine off and turned to him and placed her hand over his where they were clutched in his lap. He stared at the still figure lit by a million lights, of torches; of cell phones; of hastily erected lamps. It was obscene, that light, that attention, for one who lived his life in the dark. Gordon couldn’t move. What was the point anyway? There was a familiar figure kneeling beside him. Gordon hoped Alfred had gotten there in time; that he hadn’t died alone.
Babs was getting out now; walking over there with measured steps. She stopped a couple of feet away, her hand raised to her mouth. Gordon knew he should get out, go over there. At some point that silent, shocked awe that held the crowd back would wear off, and morbid curiosity would take over and he felt that he owed it to Batman to preserve his dignity, his identity, if he could.
He was reaching slowly for the door handle when he realized that Alfred was talking, talking to the still figure. Gordon was out of the car and crashing to his knees on the other side of him before he thought about it.
The bomb had ripped the costume across the chest and shoulder and the side of his face. Blood gleamed in the rents. Gordon swallowed bile and reached a shaking hand to wipe the trickle of blood from the corner of the stern mouth, holding onto his composure by a thread, vaguely aware of the battery of cameras as yet keeping a respectful distance, vaguely grateful for that fact.
Batman’s eyes opened and focused on Alfred, who fell silent. The corners of Batman’s mouth curved up slightly. Gordon blinked tears away. ‘I’m here,’ he managed. Batman’s eyes slid over to him. ‘Jim,’ he murmured. One black gloved arm twitched in his direction. Gordon reached for it, clasped his hand. ‘Bruce,’ he acknowledged, his voice husky, hoarse.
‘Take it off,’ Bruce said, moving his head restlessly.
Gordon’s heart broke a little more. Bruce knew he was dying. Mindful of the lurking cameras, Gordon had to be sure. ‘The mask?’
‘Take it off.’
Gordon glanced up at Alfred. Alfred stared back at him with red-rimmed eyes. ‘You heard him.’
Together they removed the mask as gently as they could, mindful of the ragged edges catching in the wound. Bruce didn’t react, watching them with clear eyes. Alfred held his head up off the ground while Gordon shrugged out of his coat and bundled it up, easing it under Bruce’s head.
In the background, Gordon was aware of flashbulbs going off, could hear the rustle of movement, the shocked whispers. Is that Bruce Wayne? The billionaire? Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne.
Instinctively he hunched further over Bruce’s body, protecting him, aware that Alfred was doing the same on the other side. Alfred had hold of Bruce’s other hand, murmuring quietly to him again, his voice steady as a rock. Bruce’s eyes were fixed on him. Gordon glanced up. Alfred was smiling down at Bruce tenderly, shakily, tears winding their way unheeded down that cragged face. Gordon looked back down at the dying man. His friend.
He struggled to find words; fitting words. Bruce Wayne deserved as much. He squeezed the gloved hand gently, wondering if he was too far gone to feel it, feeling something tighten in his chest as the pressure was returned weakly as Bruce’s eyes flickered over to him.
‘You were always the hero Gotham needed,’ he managed to choke out, not as steadily as he would have liked.
Bruce smiled at him and the life left his eyes. Gordon only realized he was crying when his vision blurred. He took off his glasses, swiping impatiently at his eyes with the palms of his hands, grabbing ungratefully at a proffered handkerchief, only realizing as he blinked his vision clear that it was Babs kneeling beside him, crying silently. He found a weak smile for her from somewhere, his attention almost immediately drawn back to the figure in front of him by movement. Alfred was closing Bruce’s eyes.
Gradually the murmur of voices around him began to intrude - Gotham awaited. Gordon forced himself to release the lax hand, and got slowly to his feet, feeling like he’d aged a hundred years in the last few minutes. The murmur of voices increased exponentially and he squared his shoulders and turned, raising a hand to protect his eyes from the flashes.
‘Commissioner Gordon, did you know?’
‘Is that really Bruce Wayne?’
‘Was the Batman on the GCPD’s payroll?
He couldn’t see past the lights, the bodies pushing forward; he was claustrophobic; he wanted to rail at them, but he clenched the words in his teeth; he held it in.
He felt a hand take his and realized that Babs stood beside him. She was tugging at his hand. He couldn’t hear what she was saying but he couldn’t leave, couldn’t leave him to them. Then his men were there, his men were there and he looked around and they’d formed a cordon around the body and he could see ambulance officers approaching, too damn late, but he trusted his men to handle the situation. Babs tugged at his hand again.
‘How long have you known the Batman’s identity, Commissioner Gordon?’
‘Who will protect Gotham now?’
Gordon raised his free hand and, miraculously, the crowd fell quiet. He cleared his throat.
‘In answer to your question as to who will protect Gotham, the answer is; the people who do so every day, the people who have sworn to protect this city and its people, the Gotham City Police Department.’
Voices rose in protest and he held up his hands again until they fell silent. ‘In the decade since Batman showed up, our city has found hope, and a future. But the Batman was only one man among many. Only human, as we have learnt to our sorrow tonight.’ He paused as his throat threatened to close again. He swallowed hard. ‘All of us, the good citizens of Gotham, have played our part and we must continue do so, to take inspiration from what we have achieved together with Batman’s help. We must not waste the gift we have been given.’
For a moment there was a silence, then as a reporter raised her microphone and opened her mouth, Gordon held up his hand one last time. ‘That’s all right now. We all know what we’ve lost tonight.’
He turned away, blindly. He had no idea where his car was, but Babs was leading him and he went. A few of the more persistent members of the press made as if to follow, but were firmly dissuaded by a couple of uniforms. He’d have to thank them, he thought vaguely.
In the car, he stared blindly out the window as Babs gunned the engine, taking to the streets at a speed that would normally earn her a lecture on the danger of speeding in built up areas. Now, though, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
For a while he just sat numbly, staring at the lights whizzing by. Babs drove on silently. Finally he stirred. ‘It’s over,’ he muttered.
The car swerved slightly. In the reflection of the window he saw Babs turn to stare at him. ‘It’s not over!’ she said fiercely, looking back at the road, her jaw clenched in that way that meant she was holding on to self-control tightly.
‘How is it not over?’ Gordon asked, staring at her reflection.
He could see that Babs’ hands were clenched fast on the steering wheel. ‘You don’t think he knew this day would come?’ she demanded. ‘You don’t think he was prepared?’
‘What do you mean?’
Babs didn’t answer. Slowly Gordon turned to look at her, and it was as if he was seeing her clearly for the first time in a long, long time. She was no longer his baby girl, he could see that now. There was a strength in her, a maturity, he realized proudly, even as a part of him mourned the change it meant for their relationship.
While he was studying her, she’d turned off the main road, he noticed, as she pulled up in front of forbidding iron gates.
‘Where are we?’
Babs didn’t even look at him. She was winding down the window. Gordon ducked his head to peer up at the gates. ‘Barbara, why are we at Wayne Manor?’ he asked, looking back at her.
Babs pressed her hand to the sensor pad. Silently the gates swung open.
‘Everybody’s going to be swarming all over this place soon enough. We have to make sure there’s nothing for them to find,’ she said, glancing at him as she started the car forward.
‘We do?’ Gordon was confused. Why did his daughter have security access to Bruce Wayne’s place? He was beginning to suspect he wasn’t going to like the answer.
A nondescript black truck rattled towards them. Babs raised her hand as if in greeting; a pale face turned towards them as the truck went by.
‘He made us practice this, you know,’ she said, almost conversationally. ‘But none of us really believed it would ever happen.’
Who was she talking about?
‘Barbara, what’s going on?’ Gordon demanded, shifting so he could see her face properly.
Babs smiled at him. It was shaky and there were tear tracks on her face, but there was resolve there, too. ‘Dad, I’ve got something to tell you,’ she said.
The End
For Jody, who brainstormed ideas with me on a car ride and forced me to write deathfic.