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
Bruce smoothed back his hair with his hands, watching from his seat as Jim Gordon slouched in another chair, sleeping. Bruce had told him hours ago he could go home, but Gordon insisted on staying until he knew Bruce was fine. That was laughable. Bruce knew he'd never be 'fine' again. He had nothing left to occupy himself and rousing the playboy facade now seemed ridiculous as well. Bruce didn't know himself, didn't know what to do with himself. He trained for seven years to be Batman and in a matter of seconds that whole life shattered in front of his eyes. So where did that leave him?
No where, Bruce. You're stuck now, in an in between. In between what though? This life he had now – cold, blank and useless – and what he could be doing? That was another question all together; what would he do now? Hang out with Gordon all day? Yeah, right. The older man had better things to do than spend his days tolling around Wayne Manor and Batcave with Bruce. Gordon could still do what Bruce no longer able to do.
Bruce narrowed his eyes on Gordon, scraping his bottom teeth against his upper lip. Gordon still got to do a piece of what Bruce loved to do, what Bruce cherished. You don't really want to be his friend, do you Bruce? You'll never hear the end of his adventures, the next crime spree... All the stories. You'll just envy him and someday you won't be able to take it. Then what? Will you kill him, too? Bruce cringed at the invasion of bitter thoughts in his mind. He had working so hard to keep them under control. He had been able to ignore them thus far and not let them control his actions. As long as he could do that, then he knew he still had a chance to fight them off all together.
Oh, come on, Bruce. You know it's true. You know in due time the commissioner will reach the same fate as those two men. It's in your blood to kill and you'll have to find another victim soon. Bruce rolled his chair away from Gordon, turning his head to look at the computer console instead. Maybe if he didn't look at the commissioner then he rage-filled thoughts would disappear. Last thing Bruce ever wanted was to kill another person – it ate at him to even think about. This side of Bruce, the angry repressed side that was supposed to be 'taken care of' when he was a child – after his parents' death – was slowly making a turn around and Bruce knew it was really only a matter of time before it showed it's ugly head.
Bruce had to gain his control back. He needed to find peace in himself, let go of the regrets from the other night and just know that he couldn't have done anything else but what he did. Yes, Bruce. This is how we're going to push our demons down. This is how we keep ourselves in check. You're such a good boy, Bruce. So why did it feel like he was being mocked? He had to at least try. Meditation and cleansing his mind would be just the thing he needed, wouldn't it? If that's what you think will work.
No, what would work would be to get out in the night air and feel the rush of wind in his face as he jumped from a rooftop and glided down to another. That always helped when situations hadn't quite gone as planned. When Rachel died. Sure, when Rachel was killed, but what about when you thought Jim Gordon was dead? You reacted so violently to Sal Maroni. Maybe you feel differently to Gordon than you thought. Maybe you... Bruce shook his head quickly. If anything Gordon was like a father to him and the older man had even used terms with him to suggest he didn't think of Bruce as anything other than a son, either.
You're so blind, Bruce. You've been able to control these dark raging thoughts since Gordon arrived. Now he's asleep and you can't seem to keep them from surfacing. There must have been something about Gordon that eased his demons. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Gordon was the one person that night that Bruce's parents died to show him a bit of kindness. Everyone else at the police station treated him like another case, another person overreacting to something that happened every day in Gotham City. But not Jim Gordon. He was different.
See, Bruce, you do have a soft spot for the commissioner. He's distracting, however, keeping you from becoming what you need to be. You've seen this coming for a while now. It was only a matter of time until you snapped and broke that one rule. Now you can do your job more effectively. But he couldn't be Batman, he'd promised and sworn that off. Bruce balled his hands into tight fists, feeling the automatic burn of rage filling his body. He had this urge, a sudden and unbeatable urge to beat something. Everything was taken from him in a few misshapen seconds of his life and he was starting to feel that this voice in his head, whether it was his or something intruding and alien-like, was going to be the end of him. He wanted to believe every word, that he was becoming something completely foreseeable. You're just an animal, Bruce. You might have been able to tame us for a while, but you knew the day would come when you couldn't hold us back anymore.
Taking a deep breath, Bruce pushed a button on the computer keyboard, watching as the armored cage he kept the Batsuit in appeared from the ground. The doors opened up and Bruce began to undress. He had to work out this burning rage in his veins, and maybe if he just let it out for a little bit he could be rid of it. Maybe he needed this.
That's right, Bruce. Leave the poor commissioner here and go out into the night and do what you promised you wouldn't do any more. Let those thoughts and feeling consume you.
It's everything you're suppose to be.
-----
Gordon woke to someone shaking him. He attempted to swat away the hand that was on his shoulder, but the person just shook him a little harder. Gordon finally opened his eyes to see the gentle blue eyes of Alfred standing over him, looming in the dim lights of the Batcave. Alfred had a look of panic on his face, though he was obviously trying his best to hide it. Gordon blinked a few times, adjusted his glasses.
“Alfred?” Gordon asked, sitting up in the chair had fallen asleep in. He looked around, grasping the arms of the chair with his hands. Wayne was no where to be seen. “Where is he?”
Alfred cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow, and letting out a slow hiss between his gritted teeth. “I'm not quite sure, sir. He seems to have taken off.” Alfred gestured to the empty cage where the armor usually hung. It was empty. Gordon was on his feet quickly, looking over the cage, as if the suit might appear out of no where and his assumptions on where Wayne really was would be false. Gordon looked back to Alfred and the same realization was set on his face.
“Why would he do that after everything that happened the other night? He even sat here and swore to me he that he didn't feel he could be Batman anymore. What was he thinking?” Gordon was in too much shock and too much panic to think straight. He knew Wayne was having some mental issues, something about voices if Gordon could remember right, but he thought the kid was merely have some post-traumatic issues that would pass in time. But now it was obviously that Gordon wasn't the only one worried, Alfred looked about ready to crawl out of his skin in with nervousness.
“He's not really been himself since the other night. Can't seem to get him to sleep, either. Swears the nightmares are worse than the real thing. When he does sleep he mumbles about his parents.” Alfred sighed, dropping his hands to his sides. “I tried to convince him last night to allow me to call someone, a psychiatrist. I don't think I need to tell you his answer.” There was another pause, and Gordon knew that Alfred was feeling a tad regretful. “I'm worried. One minute he seems so stable and the next he's off in a daze. I... I do not know what he might do.”
Gordon knew now he should have known better than to let Wayne out of his sight for even a second. The younger man seemed to have had a grip of his emotions and feelings since Gordon arrived; how was he to know that the minute he fell asleep Wayne would take an emotional relapse? Exactly what happened, neither he nor Alfred could know for sure, but considering what Wayne had been through and talked about the last few days, it couldn't be good.
Gordon started for the elevator, Alfred close behind. “I'm going to go find him.”
“Are you sure that's wise, sir?” Alfred asked just a few paces behind him, pushing the call button to send the lift down.
“What am I suppose to do? Allow him to roam the streets in his condition? Do you know the chaos that is going to come of this?” Gordon had started to raise his voice, but Alfred didn't flinch; he seemed to be thinking the same thing. “I've seen one too many fall victim to the madness that Gotham places on people. I will not see it happen to Bruce.” And just who exactly was he trying to justify this to, anyway? And when did he start having such a soft spot for the billionaire? Oh, right. When he saved your daughter's life. And countless other occasions before the truth about Wayne.
Gordon stepped on to the lift with Alfred right behind him. “What do you suppose will happen to him if you do find him?”
“When I find him,” Gordon corrected, he had faith that Wayne would be too far out of his mind to stay in the shadows and there was bound to be leads on where people had seen him. “And I don't know. Something has to be done. I don't want to see him in a place like Arkham, but if he's refusing our help, I don't know that we'll have a lot of choice.”
They arrived at the topped and Gordon and Alfred both stepped off and walked up the stairs into the Manor. Alfred walked Gordon to the door, grabbing the commissioner's jacket out of the closet as they passed. He handed it to the other man. Gordon could tell by Alfred's eyes that he was feeling more helpless than usual.
“Whatever you think is best, Commissioner,” Alfred said finally, his voice low and quiet. Gordon put a hand on the butler's shoulder and left down the steps to his car. He quickly turned on the station frequency, to see if he could pick up any unusual activity.
-----
It felt as if it had been more than just a few days since Bruce had donned the Batsuit and gone out in the night air. It felt like weeks, months even. Everything since Saturday evening had moved so slowly that time seemed to have stopped completely. The wind blew gently against his face from the rooftop of the radio tower, helping him to remember what it felt like and what he had been needing. This was perhaps the release he was looking for, something to take his mind off the guilt, the disappointment, the rage...
But that wasn't true. He still felt it all burning in his chest. He couldn't figure how he went from feeling so guilty and confused to feeling so angry and vengeful. Maybe they went hand-in-hand, or maybe the it was a cover up for the hurt. Bruce didn't know and at that moment, he didn't care. His head – though clear for the moment – was starting to fog again with the distant sounds of the voice taunting him. He knew that there wasn't a lot of time and now that he had calmed his nerves, his hatred, and boiling blood, he would need to get back to the manor before a relapse started. Before this whole outing was for nothing.
You don't want to play a little, Bruce? That is why you came out here and you know it. You can push these thoughts down for a time, but you know that they'll just keep coming right back the minute you think you're safe again. Bruce took a deep, steady breath and tried to clear his mind. This is not what he wanted, not yet – not right now.
Just patrol for a while, Bruce. What's it really going to hurt? Bruce couldn't really argue with that. Gotham did need him after all. That's right, Gotham does need you. You can step up your efforts and finally give those criminals what they deserve.
Yes, Bruce thought with a small grin forming on his lips, I can.
----
“It's been quiet, Jim. No unusual reports or Bat sightings,” Stephens said from the other end of the two-way radio. Gordon sighed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. This was actually a lot harder than he has expected it to be. Or he was just wrong about Wayne's intentions. That didn't seem right though either.
“Thanks, Ger. If you do hear something let me know.” Gordon put the handset back and sat back in the driver's seat. If he were a slightly disturbed Bruce Wayne – who had just killed two men and was having issues accepting it as well as flashbacks from his childhood – where would he go?
Gordon thought about the cemetery, but that seemed... too obvious and not exactly the path Wayne would probably want to go. If the vigilante was really losing it, really unstable he was probably out there looking for something or someone. But that still left Gordon without a place to start. Batman had a way of getting around the city faster than anyone, and Gordon never really knew how he did it. Sure he had a car and motorcycle, but those were both left at the Batcave. So how was Wayne getting around? That wasn't nearly as important as to where exactly Wayne was at this time. Gotham was a might big city and finding just one spot to search was like trying to find the needle in a haystack.
There was a static on the two-way and a dispatcher started to call out a nine-one-one emergency. Apparently a bank had been robbed some twenty blocks from where Gordon was parked, just down town. Batman had a way of finding these things out before him, so it was a good bet that he would find his way there sooner than Gordon would. Lucky break, if it were going to be true. Gordon mentally crossed his fingers as he started the engine of his car and sped off down the street towards Gotham Central Bank.
-----
Bruce had heard the call probably seconds before the police scanner ever received the call from dispatch. He was bounding across the rooftops with a quick pace, barely feeling his feet touch the graveled surfaces before he took another leap, landing just on top of the bank roof. The easiest way into the bank at night was through the rooftop hatch, if the alarm wasn't set off. Which is was, and Bruce knew the robber would be out coming back up in just seconds when they realized they didn't have a lot of time until the police arrived.
What they wouldn't be expecting was Batman.
There was a click and the door leading down opened and a man appeared, tearing his black mask off and Bruce found that he was frozen to the spot at the face he saw. Harvey Dent. But that was completely and entirely impossible. He saw Dent die, saw the funeral, saw the lifeless body be buried in the ground. Dent was dead. Were Bruce's eyes deceiving him? He took a step forward and the man jolted, pulling a gun on Batman. Bruce kicked the gun out of his hand and shot a hand around the robber's throat. Bruce narrowed his eyes on him, sizing him up. Even though he didn't want to believe it was Dent, every feature was the same, right down to th scaring on the right half of his face.
Then there was a rage, a burning sensation in Bruce's lungs, as if he had been holding his breath. Bruce let out a savage growl and threw the man to the ground. He then stalked over to the man, who looked completely baffled at his current situation, and little scared. Bruce picked the man up by his shirt with one fist while he beat his other into the blonde's face. Dent never kept his promises to bring Gotham back to the way it once was. Dent never upheld his end of the bargain. Dent fell from grace just like everyone else. Dent left Bruce to clean up the mess and take the fall for his misgivings.
And where did all that leave Bruce? In the same fucking situation that Dent had been in. Bruce was a killer now, too, and it was all Harvey Dent's fault.
Bruce continued to smash his fist into Dent's face, yelling obscurities to the man, cursing his name even though the other man kept mumbling that he wasn't Dent, that he had the wrong person, but Bruce wasn't hearing it. All he could hear was the sound of his Kevlar gloves thwacking against skin, the cracking of bones in the face under his fist, and the voice in his head encouraging him to keep going.
Keep going because you want it. Keep going because Dent deserves this. Keep going... because he stole Rachel from you. She was never going to be with you, Bruce and you know it. Just kill him, again. Let that rage consume you... And it would, and he felt it coursing through is veins in a boiling fury he couldn't control any longer. He kneed the man in the stomach and watched as he fell backwards, almost completely lifeless. All it would take was one more swift kick to throat, to crush his airway, and Dent would be out of Bruce life for good. Bruce stared down at the man, emotionless, heel of his boot at the ready when the door to the roof opened and shut behind him.
“What are you...” But the question wasn't finished, and Gordon stepped up to Bruce's side, gun drawn. He lowered his hands as he approached Bruce cautiously.
“I have to do it, Gordon. I have to kill Dent once and for all. It's the only way...” Bruce said, and as he heard the words pour from his own mouth, he could hear just how unrealistic and insane they really were. Bruce looked back down at the man on the ground and saw it was just some twenty-something year old kid, now beaten to a messy pulp; bloody and bruised.
“Dent?” Gordon asked as he looked over at the kid sprawled out on the ground. “Bruce, that isn't Dent. Dent has been dead for three years. You know that.” Gordon spoke carefully, obviously trying to let every word he said sink into the younger man's brain. Bruce turned to looked at him, his head suddenly fuzzy and faint, and the voice in his head was cowardly moving towards the back of his mind. Gordon holstered his gun and took out his two-way radio and called for an ambulance.
Bruce took a deep breath, finding he couldn't breath or feel his lungs and the cowl wasn't making it any better. He reached up and slowly pulled the thing off and tossed it to the ground. Gordon was watching him, keeping a safe distance and why wouldn't he? Bruce knew he was losing it for sure this time, everything was blurring together and everything he knew was true was quickly turning false. He did need help.
Gordon bent and picked up the cowl. “We have to get you out of here before the rest of the force shows up. This isn't going to look good.” Gordon looked over the edge of the building, hearing the sirens approaching. He held his free hand out to Bruce. Bruce looked at it for a brief moment and wondered if he should go with Gordon or face his demons head on and take what was coming to him. Jail would welcomed.
Oh, yes it would, Bruce. Joker is in Blackgate and you know you wouldn't mind finishing him off. Take down the criminal you fought with for so long in a place that no one would care if you killed him. Perfect.
That wasn't how this was going to go though. Bruce was going to push back those thoughts and take the commissioner's offered hand and get the hell out. He reached his gloved hand to Gordon's and the older man pulled him down the steps and out the back door of the bank, just in time to hear the sirens pull up.
-----
Gordon watched as Wayne pulled his gloves off, the sound of sweating skin coming unglued from the leather caught tightly in the air as neither of them said a word. Wayne rubbed at his eyes with his own bare fists, and made a noise that was almost a whimper. Gordon wasn't sure if any words he had would be enough this time. Being this man's friend was hard enough, being something else or more would be harder, especially as Wayne walked a thin line between sanity and chaos.
Gordon pulled the car into the the long drive way of Wayne Manor, catching Wayne grimace all-too-visibly. “I think we both know that you need more help than Alfred and I can offer you,” Gordon said softly, turning the engine off and facing Wayne, who wasn't looking anywhere but at his feet. “My kids had a pretty good psychiatrist after... well, you know. I could give her a call. Or if you prefer something a little more controlled, I can call Arkham.”
At that, Wayne's eyes shot up to Gordon's, wrath and fury almost bleeding from them. “You know I can't go to Arkham.”
“Yeah, I do. I'm just giving you some suggestions. I'm not going to let you roam around town in your state. You can't go around beating up criminals because you think they're someone else. What's next? You think some mugger is the Joker? You aren't stable.” Gordon brushed a hand over his mustache, hoping he was making it through to Wayne.
“I know,” Wayne whispered. His glare dropped to a pleading gaze that caught somewhere in Gordon's heart, leaving his chest feeling fluttery. Wayne leaned towards Gordon and whispered. “It's so tame when you're around. I can control it then.”
Exactly what was 'it', Gordon wondered. The voices Wayne mentioned earlier? Probably. It was awful that one little incident had set the billionaire off on a such a crazed road. But given Wayne's past and what Gordon learned from Alfred, it was almost expected. Who would have thought that Wayne would kill two men in an attempt to save another's life? Gordon felt his heart start to beat a little faster and his emotions, however vague and weird they seemed, took over his actions.
He leaned in towards Wayne, cupping the side of his face with his hand gently, fingers stroking messily at Wayne's chestnut locks, and kissed him. Gordon hadn't meant for it to happen, especially not in the state that Wayne was in. There was something in knowing and hearing that he was the one calming whatever it was seizing hold of Wayne's mind that only made him want to do it more. Wayne's hand grabbed Gordon's jacket and pulled him a little closer, or as close as the car seats would allow, and Gordon continued to kiss at Wayne's slightly parted, dry lips. If this is what the billionaire needed, if this would help the process, Gordon would do it.
He owed his life, his children's life... everything to Bruce Wayne. And yet, it wasn't just about that; it was about what Gordon need in his own life as well. He needed this, too.
No where, Bruce. You're stuck now, in an in between. In between what though? This life he had now – cold, blank and useless – and what he could be doing? That was another question all together; what would he do now? Hang out with Gordon all day? Yeah, right. The older man had better things to do than spend his days tolling around Wayne Manor and Batcave with Bruce. Gordon could still do what Bruce no longer able to do.
Bruce narrowed his eyes on Gordon, scraping his bottom teeth against his upper lip. Gordon still got to do a piece of what Bruce loved to do, what Bruce cherished. You don't really want to be his friend, do you Bruce? You'll never hear the end of his adventures, the next crime spree... All the stories. You'll just envy him and someday you won't be able to take it. Then what? Will you kill him, too? Bruce cringed at the invasion of bitter thoughts in his mind. He had working so hard to keep them under control. He had been able to ignore them thus far and not let them control his actions. As long as he could do that, then he knew he still had a chance to fight them off all together.
Oh, come on, Bruce. You know it's true. You know in due time the commissioner will reach the same fate as those two men. It's in your blood to kill and you'll have to find another victim soon. Bruce rolled his chair away from Gordon, turning his head to look at the computer console instead. Maybe if he didn't look at the commissioner then he rage-filled thoughts would disappear. Last thing Bruce ever wanted was to kill another person – it ate at him to even think about. This side of Bruce, the angry repressed side that was supposed to be 'taken care of' when he was a child – after his parents' death – was slowly making a turn around and Bruce knew it was really only a matter of time before it showed it's ugly head.
Bruce had to gain his control back. He needed to find peace in himself, let go of the regrets from the other night and just know that he couldn't have done anything else but what he did. Yes, Bruce. This is how we're going to push our demons down. This is how we keep ourselves in check. You're such a good boy, Bruce. So why did it feel like he was being mocked? He had to at least try. Meditation and cleansing his mind would be just the thing he needed, wouldn't it? If that's what you think will work.
No, what would work would be to get out in the night air and feel the rush of wind in his face as he jumped from a rooftop and glided down to another. That always helped when situations hadn't quite gone as planned. When Rachel died. Sure, when Rachel was killed, but what about when you thought Jim Gordon was dead? You reacted so violently to Sal Maroni. Maybe you feel differently to Gordon than you thought. Maybe you... Bruce shook his head quickly. If anything Gordon was like a father to him and the older man had even used terms with him to suggest he didn't think of Bruce as anything other than a son, either.
You're so blind, Bruce. You've been able to control these dark raging thoughts since Gordon arrived. Now he's asleep and you can't seem to keep them from surfacing. There must have been something about Gordon that eased his demons. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Gordon was the one person that night that Bruce's parents died to show him a bit of kindness. Everyone else at the police station treated him like another case, another person overreacting to something that happened every day in Gotham City. But not Jim Gordon. He was different.
See, Bruce, you do have a soft spot for the commissioner. He's distracting, however, keeping you from becoming what you need to be. You've seen this coming for a while now. It was only a matter of time until you snapped and broke that one rule. Now you can do your job more effectively. But he couldn't be Batman, he'd promised and sworn that off. Bruce balled his hands into tight fists, feeling the automatic burn of rage filling his body. He had this urge, a sudden and unbeatable urge to beat something. Everything was taken from him in a few misshapen seconds of his life and he was starting to feel that this voice in his head, whether it was his or something intruding and alien-like, was going to be the end of him. He wanted to believe every word, that he was becoming something completely foreseeable. You're just an animal, Bruce. You might have been able to tame us for a while, but you knew the day would come when you couldn't hold us back anymore.
Taking a deep breath, Bruce pushed a button on the computer keyboard, watching as the armored cage he kept the Batsuit in appeared from the ground. The doors opened up and Bruce began to undress. He had to work out this burning rage in his veins, and maybe if he just let it out for a little bit he could be rid of it. Maybe he needed this.
That's right, Bruce. Leave the poor commissioner here and go out into the night and do what you promised you wouldn't do any more. Let those thoughts and feeling consume you.
It's everything you're suppose to be.
-----
Gordon woke to someone shaking him. He attempted to swat away the hand that was on his shoulder, but the person just shook him a little harder. Gordon finally opened his eyes to see the gentle blue eyes of Alfred standing over him, looming in the dim lights of the Batcave. Alfred had a look of panic on his face, though he was obviously trying his best to hide it. Gordon blinked a few times, adjusted his glasses.
“Alfred?” Gordon asked, sitting up in the chair had fallen asleep in. He looked around, grasping the arms of the chair with his hands. Wayne was no where to be seen. “Where is he?”
Alfred cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow, and letting out a slow hiss between his gritted teeth. “I'm not quite sure, sir. He seems to have taken off.” Alfred gestured to the empty cage where the armor usually hung. It was empty. Gordon was on his feet quickly, looking over the cage, as if the suit might appear out of no where and his assumptions on where Wayne really was would be false. Gordon looked back to Alfred and the same realization was set on his face.
“Why would he do that after everything that happened the other night? He even sat here and swore to me he that he didn't feel he could be Batman anymore. What was he thinking?” Gordon was in too much shock and too much panic to think straight. He knew Wayne was having some mental issues, something about voices if Gordon could remember right, but he thought the kid was merely have some post-traumatic issues that would pass in time. But now it was obviously that Gordon wasn't the only one worried, Alfred looked about ready to crawl out of his skin in with nervousness.
“He's not really been himself since the other night. Can't seem to get him to sleep, either. Swears the nightmares are worse than the real thing. When he does sleep he mumbles about his parents.” Alfred sighed, dropping his hands to his sides. “I tried to convince him last night to allow me to call someone, a psychiatrist. I don't think I need to tell you his answer.” There was another pause, and Gordon knew that Alfred was feeling a tad regretful. “I'm worried. One minute he seems so stable and the next he's off in a daze. I... I do not know what he might do.”
Gordon knew now he should have known better than to let Wayne out of his sight for even a second. The younger man seemed to have had a grip of his emotions and feelings since Gordon arrived; how was he to know that the minute he fell asleep Wayne would take an emotional relapse? Exactly what happened, neither he nor Alfred could know for sure, but considering what Wayne had been through and talked about the last few days, it couldn't be good.
Gordon started for the elevator, Alfred close behind. “I'm going to go find him.”
“Are you sure that's wise, sir?” Alfred asked just a few paces behind him, pushing the call button to send the lift down.
“What am I suppose to do? Allow him to roam the streets in his condition? Do you know the chaos that is going to come of this?” Gordon had started to raise his voice, but Alfred didn't flinch; he seemed to be thinking the same thing. “I've seen one too many fall victim to the madness that Gotham places on people. I will not see it happen to Bruce.” And just who exactly was he trying to justify this to, anyway? And when did he start having such a soft spot for the billionaire? Oh, right. When he saved your daughter's life. And countless other occasions before the truth about Wayne.
Gordon stepped on to the lift with Alfred right behind him. “What do you suppose will happen to him if you do find him?”
“When I find him,” Gordon corrected, he had faith that Wayne would be too far out of his mind to stay in the shadows and there was bound to be leads on where people had seen him. “And I don't know. Something has to be done. I don't want to see him in a place like Arkham, but if he's refusing our help, I don't know that we'll have a lot of choice.”
They arrived at the topped and Gordon and Alfred both stepped off and walked up the stairs into the Manor. Alfred walked Gordon to the door, grabbing the commissioner's jacket out of the closet as they passed. He handed it to the other man. Gordon could tell by Alfred's eyes that he was feeling more helpless than usual.
“Whatever you think is best, Commissioner,” Alfred said finally, his voice low and quiet. Gordon put a hand on the butler's shoulder and left down the steps to his car. He quickly turned on the station frequency, to see if he could pick up any unusual activity.
-----
It felt as if it had been more than just a few days since Bruce had donned the Batsuit and gone out in the night air. It felt like weeks, months even. Everything since Saturday evening had moved so slowly that time seemed to have stopped completely. The wind blew gently against his face from the rooftop of the radio tower, helping him to remember what it felt like and what he had been needing. This was perhaps the release he was looking for, something to take his mind off the guilt, the disappointment, the rage...
But that wasn't true. He still felt it all burning in his chest. He couldn't figure how he went from feeling so guilty and confused to feeling so angry and vengeful. Maybe they went hand-in-hand, or maybe the it was a cover up for the hurt. Bruce didn't know and at that moment, he didn't care. His head – though clear for the moment – was starting to fog again with the distant sounds of the voice taunting him. He knew that there wasn't a lot of time and now that he had calmed his nerves, his hatred, and boiling blood, he would need to get back to the manor before a relapse started. Before this whole outing was for nothing.
You don't want to play a little, Bruce? That is why you came out here and you know it. You can push these thoughts down for a time, but you know that they'll just keep coming right back the minute you think you're safe again. Bruce took a deep, steady breath and tried to clear his mind. This is not what he wanted, not yet – not right now.
Just patrol for a while, Bruce. What's it really going to hurt? Bruce couldn't really argue with that. Gotham did need him after all. That's right, Gotham does need you. You can step up your efforts and finally give those criminals what they deserve.
Yes, Bruce thought with a small grin forming on his lips, I can.
----
“It's been quiet, Jim. No unusual reports or Bat sightings,” Stephens said from the other end of the two-way radio. Gordon sighed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. This was actually a lot harder than he has expected it to be. Or he was just wrong about Wayne's intentions. That didn't seem right though either.
“Thanks, Ger. If you do hear something let me know.” Gordon put the handset back and sat back in the driver's seat. If he were a slightly disturbed Bruce Wayne – who had just killed two men and was having issues accepting it as well as flashbacks from his childhood – where would he go?
Gordon thought about the cemetery, but that seemed... too obvious and not exactly the path Wayne would probably want to go. If the vigilante was really losing it, really unstable he was probably out there looking for something or someone. But that still left Gordon without a place to start. Batman had a way of getting around the city faster than anyone, and Gordon never really knew how he did it. Sure he had a car and motorcycle, but those were both left at the Batcave. So how was Wayne getting around? That wasn't nearly as important as to where exactly Wayne was at this time. Gotham was a might big city and finding just one spot to search was like trying to find the needle in a haystack.
There was a static on the two-way and a dispatcher started to call out a nine-one-one emergency. Apparently a bank had been robbed some twenty blocks from where Gordon was parked, just down town. Batman had a way of finding these things out before him, so it was a good bet that he would find his way there sooner than Gordon would. Lucky break, if it were going to be true. Gordon mentally crossed his fingers as he started the engine of his car and sped off down the street towards Gotham Central Bank.
-----
Bruce had heard the call probably seconds before the police scanner ever received the call from dispatch. He was bounding across the rooftops with a quick pace, barely feeling his feet touch the graveled surfaces before he took another leap, landing just on top of the bank roof. The easiest way into the bank at night was through the rooftop hatch, if the alarm wasn't set off. Which is was, and Bruce knew the robber would be out coming back up in just seconds when they realized they didn't have a lot of time until the police arrived.
What they wouldn't be expecting was Batman.
There was a click and the door leading down opened and a man appeared, tearing his black mask off and Bruce found that he was frozen to the spot at the face he saw. Harvey Dent. But that was completely and entirely impossible. He saw Dent die, saw the funeral, saw the lifeless body be buried in the ground. Dent was dead. Were Bruce's eyes deceiving him? He took a step forward and the man jolted, pulling a gun on Batman. Bruce kicked the gun out of his hand and shot a hand around the robber's throat. Bruce narrowed his eyes on him, sizing him up. Even though he didn't want to believe it was Dent, every feature was the same, right down to th scaring on the right half of his face.
Then there was a rage, a burning sensation in Bruce's lungs, as if he had been holding his breath. Bruce let out a savage growl and threw the man to the ground. He then stalked over to the man, who looked completely baffled at his current situation, and little scared. Bruce picked the man up by his shirt with one fist while he beat his other into the blonde's face. Dent never kept his promises to bring Gotham back to the way it once was. Dent never upheld his end of the bargain. Dent fell from grace just like everyone else. Dent left Bruce to clean up the mess and take the fall for his misgivings.
And where did all that leave Bruce? In the same fucking situation that Dent had been in. Bruce was a killer now, too, and it was all Harvey Dent's fault.
Bruce continued to smash his fist into Dent's face, yelling obscurities to the man, cursing his name even though the other man kept mumbling that he wasn't Dent, that he had the wrong person, but Bruce wasn't hearing it. All he could hear was the sound of his Kevlar gloves thwacking against skin, the cracking of bones in the face under his fist, and the voice in his head encouraging him to keep going.
Keep going because you want it. Keep going because Dent deserves this. Keep going... because he stole Rachel from you. She was never going to be with you, Bruce and you know it. Just kill him, again. Let that rage consume you... And it would, and he felt it coursing through is veins in a boiling fury he couldn't control any longer. He kneed the man in the stomach and watched as he fell backwards, almost completely lifeless. All it would take was one more swift kick to throat, to crush his airway, and Dent would be out of Bruce life for good. Bruce stared down at the man, emotionless, heel of his boot at the ready when the door to the roof opened and shut behind him.
“What are you...” But the question wasn't finished, and Gordon stepped up to Bruce's side, gun drawn. He lowered his hands as he approached Bruce cautiously.
“I have to do it, Gordon. I have to kill Dent once and for all. It's the only way...” Bruce said, and as he heard the words pour from his own mouth, he could hear just how unrealistic and insane they really were. Bruce looked back down at the man on the ground and saw it was just some twenty-something year old kid, now beaten to a messy pulp; bloody and bruised.
“Dent?” Gordon asked as he looked over at the kid sprawled out on the ground. “Bruce, that isn't Dent. Dent has been dead for three years. You know that.” Gordon spoke carefully, obviously trying to let every word he said sink into the younger man's brain. Bruce turned to looked at him, his head suddenly fuzzy and faint, and the voice in his head was cowardly moving towards the back of his mind. Gordon holstered his gun and took out his two-way radio and called for an ambulance.
Bruce took a deep breath, finding he couldn't breath or feel his lungs and the cowl wasn't making it any better. He reached up and slowly pulled the thing off and tossed it to the ground. Gordon was watching him, keeping a safe distance and why wouldn't he? Bruce knew he was losing it for sure this time, everything was blurring together and everything he knew was true was quickly turning false. He did need help.
Gordon bent and picked up the cowl. “We have to get you out of here before the rest of the force shows up. This isn't going to look good.” Gordon looked over the edge of the building, hearing the sirens approaching. He held his free hand out to Bruce. Bruce looked at it for a brief moment and wondered if he should go with Gordon or face his demons head on and take what was coming to him. Jail would welcomed.
Oh, yes it would, Bruce. Joker is in Blackgate and you know you wouldn't mind finishing him off. Take down the criminal you fought with for so long in a place that no one would care if you killed him. Perfect.
That wasn't how this was going to go though. Bruce was going to push back those thoughts and take the commissioner's offered hand and get the hell out. He reached his gloved hand to Gordon's and the older man pulled him down the steps and out the back door of the bank, just in time to hear the sirens pull up.
-----
Gordon watched as Wayne pulled his gloves off, the sound of sweating skin coming unglued from the leather caught tightly in the air as neither of them said a word. Wayne rubbed at his eyes with his own bare fists, and made a noise that was almost a whimper. Gordon wasn't sure if any words he had would be enough this time. Being this man's friend was hard enough, being something else or more would be harder, especially as Wayne walked a thin line between sanity and chaos.
Gordon pulled the car into the the long drive way of Wayne Manor, catching Wayne grimace all-too-visibly. “I think we both know that you need more help than Alfred and I can offer you,” Gordon said softly, turning the engine off and facing Wayne, who wasn't looking anywhere but at his feet. “My kids had a pretty good psychiatrist after... well, you know. I could give her a call. Or if you prefer something a little more controlled, I can call Arkham.”
At that, Wayne's eyes shot up to Gordon's, wrath and fury almost bleeding from them. “You know I can't go to Arkham.”
“Yeah, I do. I'm just giving you some suggestions. I'm not going to let you roam around town in your state. You can't go around beating up criminals because you think they're someone else. What's next? You think some mugger is the Joker? You aren't stable.” Gordon brushed a hand over his mustache, hoping he was making it through to Wayne.
“I know,” Wayne whispered. His glare dropped to a pleading gaze that caught somewhere in Gordon's heart, leaving his chest feeling fluttery. Wayne leaned towards Gordon and whispered. “It's so tame when you're around. I can control it then.”
Exactly what was 'it', Gordon wondered. The voices Wayne mentioned earlier? Probably. It was awful that one little incident had set the billionaire off on a such a crazed road. But given Wayne's past and what Gordon learned from Alfred, it was almost expected. Who would have thought that Wayne would kill two men in an attempt to save another's life? Gordon felt his heart start to beat a little faster and his emotions, however vague and weird they seemed, took over his actions.
He leaned in towards Wayne, cupping the side of his face with his hand gently, fingers stroking messily at Wayne's chestnut locks, and kissed him. Gordon hadn't meant for it to happen, especially not in the state that Wayne was in. There was something in knowing and hearing that he was the one calming whatever it was seizing hold of Wayne's mind that only made him want to do it more. Wayne's hand grabbed Gordon's jacket and pulled him a little closer, or as close as the car seats would allow, and Gordon continued to kiss at Wayne's slightly parted, dry lips. If this is what the billionaire needed, if this would help the process, Gordon would do it.
He owed his life, his children's life... everything to Bruce Wayne. And yet, it wasn't just about that; it was about what Gordon need in his own life as well. He needed this, too.