Part One | Part Two| Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve|
Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen
Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen
Things didn't really go as planned. Gordon had assumed that after taking Joker's henchmen and Harley Quinn into custody, that taking Bruce Wayne in for questioning on the whole thing would be easy and he would be set free within the day. It was just a bit unfortunate that Mayor Garcia had other arrangements in mind for Wayne. There was a the mention of his recklessness in the city, destroying property, endangerment of others, and most of all being in on the conspiracy to cover up a crime scene. There was a bigger list, but Gordon honestly wasn't listening after the list hit ten. It was ridiculous that they would be keeping Wayne in a holding cell at all. The man sacrificed his life for for a cause that most people never felt they needed to give to without some reward.
Wayne was a hero and he shouldn't have been sitting slumped, hands on either side of his head, looking at the ground. Gordon stared at the younger man behind the bars and felt every piece of him start to fall apart. He was reminded so much of the day that Wayne's parents died, how lost and alone that boy looked, a vacant and scared look in his eyes. Except now, Wayne didn't seem scared for what might happen to him, he seemed more scared for his own stability and sanity. Killing two men was not something that was done lightly or without consequence, whether by one's own conscience or by law.
There was no way Gordon was going to allow Wayne to be charged for murder. Gordon would deal with all of Garcia's other claims that Wayne had done, but murder was not one of them. It had either been the henchmen or Babs. Wayne had the right choice, anyone would have made the right choice. Gordon was thankful Wayne was there at all, if he hadn't been... Gordon didn't want to think of the outcome.
Babs was sitting in her father's office at MCU, still scared to death. She hadn't had a relapse from the Dent fiasco – thank God – but she was still shaking and sobbing. Her costume was splattered with blood from the man that had held her captive, her hair a ratted mess and her make-up smeared across her eyes from crying. How was he going to explain this to Barbara? It was bad enough that he sheltered Jimmy and Babs from a lot of extra circular activities, but this would really send her over the edge and Gordon was sure his one a month weekends were going to be limited to once every two months, if he was lucky.
He thought about just not telling his ex-wife, but something slipping out later concerning the incident would only make matters worse and the consequences even more dire. Lying was out of the question.
“You should call you're mother and let her know you're alright. I'm sure she's heard about it on the news already,” Gordon said softly to his daughter. He didn't want to leave her, there was probably a lot going through her head about now and confusion looked to be one of them. Gordon wasn't sure if he his daughter had placed the facts together about Bruce yet, but it would only be a matter of time once she calmed completely down.
Babs nodded slowly, grabbing the phone and dialing the number slowly. Gordon walked out of his office and cracked the door so she could have some privacy. He expected that he would either be called back in a few minutes later or his cell phone would start to ring. He really didn't have time to deal with Barbara and the issue with Bruce Wayne. Gordon thought about passing the case off to Gerard Stephens, but the thought of leaving Batman in the hands onfanyone else seemed ludicrous. Batman trusted Gordon and no one else. That's why he had chosen Gordon over four years ago – that's why Gordon was the only one to know the truth.
Gordon walked over to the holding cell, leaning his right arm against the bars. He fiddled with his cell phone as he awaited the call from his ex. Wayne stirred, lifting his head from his hands. His eyes were still vacant and placid, and so much darker than Gordon could ever remember seeing them. There was some obvious torment tearing the younger man apart and there was nothing Gordon could do about it.
“I'll get you out of here. One way or another,” Gordon said, taking a deep breath as he finished. Wayne squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head slowly.
“I don't think you get it, Gordon,” Wayne started to say, his voice was deep but it wasn't quite the rasp Gordon expected of Batman. “I killed two men. I know I could have found another way to stopping them before they shot your daughter. I panicked because it all happened so quickly. I didn't see another choice in that split second before they pulled the trigger. But there were other choices and I failed to see them. I failed.”
“Bruce, you did nothing wrong,” Gordon whispered, trying to console the billionaire the best he could. “You aren't even in here for that, anyway.”
“It doesn't matter what i'm here for. I belong in here,” Wayne growled, his voice deepening more. He glared up at Gordon. “Killers don't belong on the street. I'm no better than the rest of them!”
“You aren't a killer! You did what had to be done! Cops do this everyday; we never have a clear choice when someone is threatening someone else. We shoot if we have to. Sometimes that person doesn't live.” Gordon was trying to reason with Wayne, but there was a rage that was building in the younger man and Gordon was starting to see that maybe this conversation wasn't going to end well.
Wayne stood and ran at the bars where Gordon was standing, there face's just inches apart now. Wayne grabbed the collar of Gordon jacket and pulled him into the bars. “But I'm not a cop, Gordon! I had no right to take the law into my own hands, ever!” Wayne swallowed and let go of Gordon's jacket, the commissioner didn't mind, he understood that there was some underlying issues here. Wayne pressed his head into the bars. “This is what I deserve.”
Gordon felt immensely sorry for Wayne. The weight of the world on his shoulder, taken on by himself, to rid Gotham of everything he thought were the reasons his parents were murdered. And now he was assuming he was just as bad as men like Joe Chill. Except Wayne wasn't. Wayne was better than that; he had a vision and when Gotham was corrupt there was only one way out of it. Wayne took matters into his own hands. Gordon admired him for it, and others would too, once they knew the full truth about the night Dent died.
“Bruce,” Gordon started, his hands fumbling to put his phone away. Gordon reached between the bars of the cell and placed a hand on either side of Wayne's face. The younger man raised his head slightly, forehead still to the bars, and looked Gordon in the eye. Those eyes, Gordon thought, why had I never payed more attention. He heard Wayne's shallow breathing hitch; more than a few moments had passed and everything was far too still around them. Gordon felt an odd twinge in his chest, just below his heart. He instinctively pressed his own forehead into the bars where Wayne's was, keeping their eye contact. “You don't deserve this.”
-----
Whatever moment Bruce shared with Gordon had passed when the commissioner's cell phone rang. Gordon left abruptly, leaving Bruce pushed up against the holding cell bars, wishing he still had the human contact. Every inch of him felt cold and desolate. He had impulsively killed two men. There were no excuses for that and Gordon really should known better. Gordon should have thrown Bruce into Blackgate with the Joker, because they were both killers and both deserved to die there.
Bruce could be happy watching the Joker wither away and die as he did the same in his own cell. It would be the one justice Bruce would want most.
Taking a seat back on the cold, stone slab, Bruce brought his legs up to his chest and rested his forehead into his knees. Time seemed to have slowed since he was brought here, and crept by even more so when Gordon was near. Bruce wasn't sure exactly why that was. Gordon was Batman's friend – a man he could trust and call on. But what was Gordon to Bruce Wayne? Hardly a friend, hardly... anything.
And yet Bruce felt that the those few moments where nothing else came between them – where no words were spoken and they could just be – had more meaning and emotion behind them than he would have ever thought possible. Maybe Gordon knowing Batman's true identity had opened another side of the commissioner. Maybe Gordon felt Batman didn't really feel much, and therefor they never talked about it. There was an underlying tension, some sort of understanding a few minutes ago and Bruce found himself wishing that it hadn't ended.
If anything could keep him from falling deeper into the abyss he felt closing in around him, it would be Jim Gordon. Bruce wasn't sure why that was, but it didn't feel wrong to think about.
The sound of a door opening and closing made Bruce look up again. Gordon was stuffing his cell phone into his pocket and was guiding his daughter towards the back entrance of the building. Gordon looked back at Bruce one last time before he disappeared around down the dark hallway. What would happen now? Would Bruce stay here until some decision was made or would they allow him to make bail? Not that he wanted to, he couldn't imagine being out on the street right now; not with the media everywhere. No one knew about Bruce, but the fiasco at the party had started some uproars and the press was crowded outside MCU begging to know what happened.
It was only a matter of time until the truth came out. Bruce expected it and even accepted the fact that even if he didn't go to jail that his night time ventures would come to and end. What was the point now? The imagery of a giant bat beating someone senseless was frightening, but the image of Bruce Wayne dressed up as a giant bat beating someone senseless just didn't have the same affect.
Bruce felt his head buzz with anxiety. Everything he worked hard for was gone. Everything he mentally prepared himself to contend with failed. He killed two men. But those two men were about to kill Gordon's daughter, Bruce thought to himself. He was trying to justify himself, to let go of the fact that the two men rightly deserved it. But did they? No one deserved to die at the hands of another person.
His parents didn't deserve to die that night either. It wasn't fair. And all Bruce could think about was if those two men – no matter how corrupt or evil – had families and children to go home to. Did Bruce just take two father's from their children? Bruce could imagine the children crying for their fathers, and his heart began to break all over again. Even if it wasn't true, just the fact that those men could have been anyone else made a pit in Bruce's stomach.
Bruce wasn't sure if he was slowly going insane or not, but he was sure he was having a mental breakdown. How could something he usually dealt with everyday dig straight into his heart and tear him to pieces. He was stronger than this. So you killed two men, Bruce. What are you going to do now? Cry about it? Wish more that it hadn't happened? Maybe this happened for a reason Bruce. Maybe this is who you are... What you are.
Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and began to rhythm of beating his head into his knees. Why would he even be thinking that? Was he thinking that? He could tell he wasn't stable, that the events of the evening triggered these thoughts and emotions. He could work past them, couldn't he? They weren't real. They aren't real... Get a grip Bruce. Just don't think about it! He would work past this, wouldn't he?
Why was this happening? He was stronger than this and he wasn't delusional.
So why did it feel like everything had fallen down around him?
-----
Gordon had picked up Jimmy from his friends house on the way back to the apartment, told the kids to pack up their over night bags and change. His conversation with Barbara had not gone well, just as he expected. She demanded that they be brought back to her house immediately. Could Gordon blame his ex-wife? No. And at this point he really wanted Babs to feel safe and if that meant being as far away from Gotham as possible, he would do that.
So he drove them home, gave them each a hug good-bye and attempted a conversation with Barbara, but she slammed the door in his face. At least it had gone better than he expected. He drove back to Gotham, to MCU. He was greeted at the back entrance (to avoid the media) by Stephens, who had concern written in the crease of his forehead.
“Jim, I think we have a bigger issue than we thought,” Stephen's said quietly as they walked by a few lower ranking detectives. Gordon raised an eyebrow at him. “I don't think Mister Wayne is... well.”
“Well?” Gordon asked, as if he didn't understand, but as they rounded the corner to the holding cells, he knew exactly what Stephen's meant. Wayne was lying flat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, unblinking. “How long has he been like that?”
“At least an hour now. We didn't want to go in there, afraid he'd try something,” Stephen's explained. “You should have seen him a few hours ago. He was holding his hands to his ears and sort of.. rocking. And then he stopped and got kind of violent. He kept muttering something and started to punch the walls. It didn't last long.”
Gordon stared at Wayne behind the bars and sighed. Even from where he was Gordon could see that the younger man had at least one broken finger on his right hand, possibly a few sprained on the other. Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew why no one here stopped him, everyone knew what he was capable of now and no one wanted to get in the way. Stephen's put a hand on Gordon's shoulder.
“And Garcia is in your office.”
Wonderful, Gordon thought, just wonderful. Gordon gave Stephen's a nod. “Watch him.” And Gordon walked to his office, opening the door to see a very stone faced Garcia glaring at him from the opposite chair. “Mayor,” Gordon greeted with a nod.
“Look, Jim. You need to explain a few things. I'm all willing to give Mister Wayne a pardon for killing two men, because it was self defense. But knowing now what I do, I can't help but wonder if you always knew who Batman really was.”
Gordon shook his head. “I was just as surprised. It does make sense now, but I was just as ignorant to the facts as anyone else.”
“Alright. And the issue with Dent, you mentioned briefly that it was never Batman that had killed those five people three years ago. That I was Dent all along?” Garcia questioned. The mayor kept his expression neutral.
“That's right. Batman insisted on taking the fall for everything. He knew that the people of Gotham needed Dent; he was a beacon of hope that there were good people willing to do good things without running around in a costume.” Gordon hated explaining that day. Every time the memories had almost faded, someone brought it up again, refreshing the whole experience.
Garcia stared at Gordon for a moment. “Okay. Pardoned from that, too. If it gets out to the public that Wayne is Batman, we'll have to think of something to tell the citizens. I'll also be willing to offer a pardon to all the other charges Batman has racked up over the year if Mister Wayne agrees to help the city or repay the city for any of the damages he's caused.”
“Mayor,” Gordon started to say as he took a seat, leaning his forearms on the desk. “Mister Wayne has given nothing but money to rebuilding of the city every time something was destroyed during Batman's escapades. He gave the biggest donation to Gotham General, and that one didn't even have anything to do with him.”
Garcia narrowed his eyes. “There has to be a consequence, Jim. If not more donations, then it's going to be that he gives up being Batman all together.” Gordon froze at those words, because he knew the city needed Batman more than anything, but if word did get out about Wayne being Batman, it wouldn't be the same. He'd have to talk it over with Wayne, see what he wanted to do. Then again, Wayne hardly seemed stable enough for a conversation of this sort.
-----
Finally, Garcia left. Gordon walked out of his office and to the holding cells. Wayne was in the same position as when he first saw him just an hour earlier. Gordon strolled up to the bars of the cell, but even then Wayne didn't flinch. Gordon placed his hand in his pocket and felt around for his keys. He thought about it, unlocking the cell and going in there. Why bother, he'd just be letting Wayne out as soon as someone came to get him.
Gordon felt a pang of worry creep into his chest. Maybe they all underestimated the impact the situation had on Wayne. Batman beat criminals every night, but Batman didn't kill people. It wasn't just unethical for him, it was against his personal code. Even when the Joker was at large – when Batman could have easily killed the mad man – he kept it. Maybe it wasn't just about the code. Maybe it was more than just the fact his parents were killed. Maybe there was just something else there, the reasons why Wayne was having so much trouble coping.
It was then Gordon realized he didn't even know Wayne all that well. He knew Batman about as well as Batman would have allowed, and he knew even less about Wayne. Maybe there was a larger affect from the billionaire's parents' death than anyone knew. Maybe after it happened there were years of holding it in, trying to get over it. Maybe all it took was just one reaction to an action; one slip up, a minor infliction...
“I'm not well, Gordon,” Wayne said quietly, breaking Gordon from his thoughts. Gordon looked at him again, but the other man was still staring at the ceiling.
“You're fine, Bruce,” Gordon insisted, but he knew it was a lie. Even Wayne could see that he was slipping under a wave that was about to wash him out to a dark sea. “Garcia said you can go whenever you want.”
Finally, Wayne looked at Gordon and blinked. “You and I both know that isn't a good idea.”
“I don't have a choice. I can't keep you here any longer. I have nothing to detain you with,” Gordon said with a shrug. “Is there someone I can call to pick you up?”
Wayne swallowed and closed his eyes. “Yes. Alfred.”
Wayne was a hero and he shouldn't have been sitting slumped, hands on either side of his head, looking at the ground. Gordon stared at the younger man behind the bars and felt every piece of him start to fall apart. He was reminded so much of the day that Wayne's parents died, how lost and alone that boy looked, a vacant and scared look in his eyes. Except now, Wayne didn't seem scared for what might happen to him, he seemed more scared for his own stability and sanity. Killing two men was not something that was done lightly or without consequence, whether by one's own conscience or by law.
There was no way Gordon was going to allow Wayne to be charged for murder. Gordon would deal with all of Garcia's other claims that Wayne had done, but murder was not one of them. It had either been the henchmen or Babs. Wayne had the right choice, anyone would have made the right choice. Gordon was thankful Wayne was there at all, if he hadn't been... Gordon didn't want to think of the outcome.
Babs was sitting in her father's office at MCU, still scared to death. She hadn't had a relapse from the Dent fiasco – thank God – but she was still shaking and sobbing. Her costume was splattered with blood from the man that had held her captive, her hair a ratted mess and her make-up smeared across her eyes from crying. How was he going to explain this to Barbara? It was bad enough that he sheltered Jimmy and Babs from a lot of extra circular activities, but this would really send her over the edge and Gordon was sure his one a month weekends were going to be limited to once every two months, if he was lucky.
He thought about just not telling his ex-wife, but something slipping out later concerning the incident would only make matters worse and the consequences even more dire. Lying was out of the question.
“You should call you're mother and let her know you're alright. I'm sure she's heard about it on the news already,” Gordon said softly to his daughter. He didn't want to leave her, there was probably a lot going through her head about now and confusion looked to be one of them. Gordon wasn't sure if he his daughter had placed the facts together about Bruce yet, but it would only be a matter of time once she calmed completely down.
Babs nodded slowly, grabbing the phone and dialing the number slowly. Gordon walked out of his office and cracked the door so she could have some privacy. He expected that he would either be called back in a few minutes later or his cell phone would start to ring. He really didn't have time to deal with Barbara and the issue with Bruce Wayne. Gordon thought about passing the case off to Gerard Stephens, but the thought of leaving Batman in the hands onfanyone else seemed ludicrous. Batman trusted Gordon and no one else. That's why he had chosen Gordon over four years ago – that's why Gordon was the only one to know the truth.
Gordon walked over to the holding cell, leaning his right arm against the bars. He fiddled with his cell phone as he awaited the call from his ex. Wayne stirred, lifting his head from his hands. His eyes were still vacant and placid, and so much darker than Gordon could ever remember seeing them. There was some obvious torment tearing the younger man apart and there was nothing Gordon could do about it.
“I'll get you out of here. One way or another,” Gordon said, taking a deep breath as he finished. Wayne squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head slowly.
“I don't think you get it, Gordon,” Wayne started to say, his voice was deep but it wasn't quite the rasp Gordon expected of Batman. “I killed two men. I know I could have found another way to stopping them before they shot your daughter. I panicked because it all happened so quickly. I didn't see another choice in that split second before they pulled the trigger. But there were other choices and I failed to see them. I failed.”
“Bruce, you did nothing wrong,” Gordon whispered, trying to console the billionaire the best he could. “You aren't even in here for that, anyway.”
“It doesn't matter what i'm here for. I belong in here,” Wayne growled, his voice deepening more. He glared up at Gordon. “Killers don't belong on the street. I'm no better than the rest of them!”
“You aren't a killer! You did what had to be done! Cops do this everyday; we never have a clear choice when someone is threatening someone else. We shoot if we have to. Sometimes that person doesn't live.” Gordon was trying to reason with Wayne, but there was a rage that was building in the younger man and Gordon was starting to see that maybe this conversation wasn't going to end well.
Wayne stood and ran at the bars where Gordon was standing, there face's just inches apart now. Wayne grabbed the collar of Gordon jacket and pulled him into the bars. “But I'm not a cop, Gordon! I had no right to take the law into my own hands, ever!” Wayne swallowed and let go of Gordon's jacket, the commissioner didn't mind, he understood that there was some underlying issues here. Wayne pressed his head into the bars. “This is what I deserve.”
Gordon felt immensely sorry for Wayne. The weight of the world on his shoulder, taken on by himself, to rid Gotham of everything he thought were the reasons his parents were murdered. And now he was assuming he was just as bad as men like Joe Chill. Except Wayne wasn't. Wayne was better than that; he had a vision and when Gotham was corrupt there was only one way out of it. Wayne took matters into his own hands. Gordon admired him for it, and others would too, once they knew the full truth about the night Dent died.
“Bruce,” Gordon started, his hands fumbling to put his phone away. Gordon reached between the bars of the cell and placed a hand on either side of Wayne's face. The younger man raised his head slightly, forehead still to the bars, and looked Gordon in the eye. Those eyes, Gordon thought, why had I never payed more attention. He heard Wayne's shallow breathing hitch; more than a few moments had passed and everything was far too still around them. Gordon felt an odd twinge in his chest, just below his heart. He instinctively pressed his own forehead into the bars where Wayne's was, keeping their eye contact. “You don't deserve this.”
-----
Whatever moment Bruce shared with Gordon had passed when the commissioner's cell phone rang. Gordon left abruptly, leaving Bruce pushed up against the holding cell bars, wishing he still had the human contact. Every inch of him felt cold and desolate. He had impulsively killed two men. There were no excuses for that and Gordon really should known better. Gordon should have thrown Bruce into Blackgate with the Joker, because they were both killers and both deserved to die there.
Bruce could be happy watching the Joker wither away and die as he did the same in his own cell. It would be the one justice Bruce would want most.
Taking a seat back on the cold, stone slab, Bruce brought his legs up to his chest and rested his forehead into his knees. Time seemed to have slowed since he was brought here, and crept by even more so when Gordon was near. Bruce wasn't sure exactly why that was. Gordon was Batman's friend – a man he could trust and call on. But what was Gordon to Bruce Wayne? Hardly a friend, hardly... anything.
And yet Bruce felt that the those few moments where nothing else came between them – where no words were spoken and they could just be – had more meaning and emotion behind them than he would have ever thought possible. Maybe Gordon knowing Batman's true identity had opened another side of the commissioner. Maybe Gordon felt Batman didn't really feel much, and therefor they never talked about it. There was an underlying tension, some sort of understanding a few minutes ago and Bruce found himself wishing that it hadn't ended.
If anything could keep him from falling deeper into the abyss he felt closing in around him, it would be Jim Gordon. Bruce wasn't sure why that was, but it didn't feel wrong to think about.
The sound of a door opening and closing made Bruce look up again. Gordon was stuffing his cell phone into his pocket and was guiding his daughter towards the back entrance of the building. Gordon looked back at Bruce one last time before he disappeared around down the dark hallway. What would happen now? Would Bruce stay here until some decision was made or would they allow him to make bail? Not that he wanted to, he couldn't imagine being out on the street right now; not with the media everywhere. No one knew about Bruce, but the fiasco at the party had started some uproars and the press was crowded outside MCU begging to know what happened.
It was only a matter of time until the truth came out. Bruce expected it and even accepted the fact that even if he didn't go to jail that his night time ventures would come to and end. What was the point now? The imagery of a giant bat beating someone senseless was frightening, but the image of Bruce Wayne dressed up as a giant bat beating someone senseless just didn't have the same affect.
Bruce felt his head buzz with anxiety. Everything he worked hard for was gone. Everything he mentally prepared himself to contend with failed. He killed two men. But those two men were about to kill Gordon's daughter, Bruce thought to himself. He was trying to justify himself, to let go of the fact that the two men rightly deserved it. But did they? No one deserved to die at the hands of another person.
His parents didn't deserve to die that night either. It wasn't fair. And all Bruce could think about was if those two men – no matter how corrupt or evil – had families and children to go home to. Did Bruce just take two father's from their children? Bruce could imagine the children crying for their fathers, and his heart began to break all over again. Even if it wasn't true, just the fact that those men could have been anyone else made a pit in Bruce's stomach.
Bruce wasn't sure if he was slowly going insane or not, but he was sure he was having a mental breakdown. How could something he usually dealt with everyday dig straight into his heart and tear him to pieces. He was stronger than this. So you killed two men, Bruce. What are you going to do now? Cry about it? Wish more that it hadn't happened? Maybe this happened for a reason Bruce. Maybe this is who you are... What you are.
Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and began to rhythm of beating his head into his knees. Why would he even be thinking that? Was he thinking that? He could tell he wasn't stable, that the events of the evening triggered these thoughts and emotions. He could work past them, couldn't he? They weren't real. They aren't real... Get a grip Bruce. Just don't think about it! He would work past this, wouldn't he?
Why was this happening? He was stronger than this and he wasn't delusional.
So why did it feel like everything had fallen down around him?
-----
Gordon had picked up Jimmy from his friends house on the way back to the apartment, told the kids to pack up their over night bags and change. His conversation with Barbara had not gone well, just as he expected. She demanded that they be brought back to her house immediately. Could Gordon blame his ex-wife? No. And at this point he really wanted Babs to feel safe and if that meant being as far away from Gotham as possible, he would do that.
So he drove them home, gave them each a hug good-bye and attempted a conversation with Barbara, but she slammed the door in his face. At least it had gone better than he expected. He drove back to Gotham, to MCU. He was greeted at the back entrance (to avoid the media) by Stephens, who had concern written in the crease of his forehead.
“Jim, I think we have a bigger issue than we thought,” Stephen's said quietly as they walked by a few lower ranking detectives. Gordon raised an eyebrow at him. “I don't think Mister Wayne is... well.”
“Well?” Gordon asked, as if he didn't understand, but as they rounded the corner to the holding cells, he knew exactly what Stephen's meant. Wayne was lying flat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, unblinking. “How long has he been like that?”
“At least an hour now. We didn't want to go in there, afraid he'd try something,” Stephen's explained. “You should have seen him a few hours ago. He was holding his hands to his ears and sort of.. rocking. And then he stopped and got kind of violent. He kept muttering something and started to punch the walls. It didn't last long.”
Gordon stared at Wayne behind the bars and sighed. Even from where he was Gordon could see that the younger man had at least one broken finger on his right hand, possibly a few sprained on the other. Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew why no one here stopped him, everyone knew what he was capable of now and no one wanted to get in the way. Stephen's put a hand on Gordon's shoulder.
“And Garcia is in your office.”
Wonderful, Gordon thought, just wonderful. Gordon gave Stephen's a nod. “Watch him.” And Gordon walked to his office, opening the door to see a very stone faced Garcia glaring at him from the opposite chair. “Mayor,” Gordon greeted with a nod.
“Look, Jim. You need to explain a few things. I'm all willing to give Mister Wayne a pardon for killing two men, because it was self defense. But knowing now what I do, I can't help but wonder if you always knew who Batman really was.”
Gordon shook his head. “I was just as surprised. It does make sense now, but I was just as ignorant to the facts as anyone else.”
“Alright. And the issue with Dent, you mentioned briefly that it was never Batman that had killed those five people three years ago. That I was Dent all along?” Garcia questioned. The mayor kept his expression neutral.
“That's right. Batman insisted on taking the fall for everything. He knew that the people of Gotham needed Dent; he was a beacon of hope that there were good people willing to do good things without running around in a costume.” Gordon hated explaining that day. Every time the memories had almost faded, someone brought it up again, refreshing the whole experience.
Garcia stared at Gordon for a moment. “Okay. Pardoned from that, too. If it gets out to the public that Wayne is Batman, we'll have to think of something to tell the citizens. I'll also be willing to offer a pardon to all the other charges Batman has racked up over the year if Mister Wayne agrees to help the city or repay the city for any of the damages he's caused.”
“Mayor,” Gordon started to say as he took a seat, leaning his forearms on the desk. “Mister Wayne has given nothing but money to rebuilding of the city every time something was destroyed during Batman's escapades. He gave the biggest donation to Gotham General, and that one didn't even have anything to do with him.”
Garcia narrowed his eyes. “There has to be a consequence, Jim. If not more donations, then it's going to be that he gives up being Batman all together.” Gordon froze at those words, because he knew the city needed Batman more than anything, but if word did get out about Wayne being Batman, it wouldn't be the same. He'd have to talk it over with Wayne, see what he wanted to do. Then again, Wayne hardly seemed stable enough for a conversation of this sort.
-----
Finally, Garcia left. Gordon walked out of his office and to the holding cells. Wayne was in the same position as when he first saw him just an hour earlier. Gordon strolled up to the bars of the cell, but even then Wayne didn't flinch. Gordon placed his hand in his pocket and felt around for his keys. He thought about it, unlocking the cell and going in there. Why bother, he'd just be letting Wayne out as soon as someone came to get him.
Gordon felt a pang of worry creep into his chest. Maybe they all underestimated the impact the situation had on Wayne. Batman beat criminals every night, but Batman didn't kill people. It wasn't just unethical for him, it was against his personal code. Even when the Joker was at large – when Batman could have easily killed the mad man – he kept it. Maybe it wasn't just about the code. Maybe it was more than just the fact his parents were killed. Maybe there was just something else there, the reasons why Wayne was having so much trouble coping.
It was then Gordon realized he didn't even know Wayne all that well. He knew Batman about as well as Batman would have allowed, and he knew even less about Wayne. Maybe there was a larger affect from the billionaire's parents' death than anyone knew. Maybe after it happened there were years of holding it in, trying to get over it. Maybe all it took was just one reaction to an action; one slip up, a minor infliction...
“I'm not well, Gordon,” Wayne said quietly, breaking Gordon from his thoughts. Gordon looked at him again, but the other man was still staring at the ceiling.
“You're fine, Bruce,” Gordon insisted, but he knew it was a lie. Even Wayne could see that he was slipping under a wave that was about to wash him out to a dark sea. “Garcia said you can go whenever you want.”
Finally, Wayne looked at Gordon and blinked. “You and I both know that isn't a good idea.”
“I don't have a choice. I can't keep you here any longer. I have nothing to detain you with,” Gordon said with a shrug. “Is there someone I can call to pick you up?”
Wayne swallowed and closed his eyes. “Yes. Alfred.”
Part One | Part Two |