Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Street Racing

Gordon’s head whips to the right. “Fuck.” He hisses under his breath, inaudible under the roaring of the muscle car. Oh, how he wishes he was driving his own car right now. They took off in a high speed chase on a run away culprit down the recently cleared streets of Gotham.

It’s been 6 weeks since the Riddler. In the midst of December, a snowfall replaces the rain as he trusts Batman to not skid and crash on the sheets of ice. Lieutenant Gordon can only pray this guy is the lead they’ve been looking for. It would certainly make pining his exploded car on the Penguin easier.

And he would love to speculate the reliability of this runaway being connected if he wasn’t currently gripping for his life. Gordon’s ear wince as a sharp boost pushes them forward. His ribs almost hit the door. Guess passenger safety wasn’t a top priority to the Bat when modding this car. Gordon can only hold onto the door and dash board with a stock seatbelt as he whips left and right. He looks over and decked in his heavy bulletproof suit, the vigilante had obviously prepared his own seat for shaky high speed chases like this. Full body seatbelts and exaggerated side cushions on the seat to absorb shocks. Gordon can only sigh in jealousy.

Not much judgement to be passed when the Batman manages to boost through an alley and completely cut off the culprit’s own vehicle out the other side. The streets had not been cleared for more than 12 hours and not too many people in Gotham had taken to them so soon, especially not in the outskirts of the city where they are.

Gordon exits the dark and loud car to feel the relief of solid ground and his head readjusting to a quiet night road. “You know, you don’t have to race down like you’re fighting for your life. I’m surprised we didn’t barrel roll off the street.”

The Batman answers back darkly; angry as he had been these past few weeks. ”I know what I’m doing.”

A puff of disbelieving air escapes his nose. “Yeah, I knew a few coworkers in the early 2000’s who got their hands on a some Dodgers. All of them thought they were so cool and smart with cars.”

The guttural sound coming from Bat’s throat sounded almost… offended?

Batman is silent for a moment. Thinking through his next words as he always does.

“It’s custom.”

The lieutenant pauses, this is new. His partner in grey shaded law isn’t one to let words affect him. “Gotta be some real car geek to get defensive on a ride.” He squints his eyes, pushing.

Batman slows his walk a bit with his friend, “I just,” his eyes flick from Gordon’s to the criminal, “really like cars.”

This provokes a small smirk from the lieutenant, ever the short and simple with the Batman. “Couldn't tell.” He jokes, walking up to the culprit driver who had been too stunned in the front seat to move. Gordon can’t blame him, the sound of that car is scarier than the signal in the sky.

-

“Well would you look at that. Now you really know the city’s falling apart.”

”What’dya mean? The Waynes pride themselves on being the ‘nice billionaires’. It’d be weird if Bruce Wayne sat in his tower with the city flooded.”

Jim walks into the break room, noon hitting him hard after his late night chase and early morning interrogation. He really needs some coffee.

“‘Nice billionaire’. Is there even such a thing?” Some rookie shoots, getting the handful of officers who also took refuge in the dingy break room to laugh. Short staff and high demand after the flood tire the everyday cops to exhaustion, the only relief being their hour lunch break.

Jim makes his way to the coffee maker and wonders if the Batman ever needs coffee, if he’s human enough to be tired from every all-nighter he pulls. He checks the badly stained pot. Shit, empty.

“Still, to think it’d take a city disaster to lure out this weirdo. He’s got pockets who knows how deep and none of it’s to help those in need.”

The vague voices from the others cause Jim to look up to the communal tv, a broadcasting of some charity event. I guess Wayne showed up.

”He’s so grown! I remember when he was just a boy.”

He turns back to his cup, only slightly tuning the room out.

”We all do Daniels, that boy was all over the news 20 years ago. You don’t get bragging rights over a universal experience.” Libby says.

Do we really only have vanilla flavored beans?

“No, no, I mean- actually it was something else. In his teens! I had accidentally pulled him over!” The sounds of disbelief wash over the small crowd.

”You idiot.”

“How’d you do that?”

”What happened?”

Jim can feel the radiation of attention pleasure from here. He just wants some coffee.

”Haha, yeah! He was going 100 miles ‘n hour down Peaches, racing in those fancy muscle cars.”

Damn, and we’re out of filters. Giving up on the coffee, he turns to Daniels. Might as well listen to his ramblings as a mental break.

He’s an older officer reaching retirement despite never leaving beat cop status. “I mean he was always out there street racing, could always recognize his more expensive cars compared to the beat up regulars. That’s how I never pulled him over after that first time. What’s the point? He’d just pay his ticket and leave.” He laughs from his beer belly and Gordon offers a twitch of a smile. He knows a few street racers himself, fondly reminded of last night.

Casandra pitches from her side of the room, ”I thought rich people bought cars to collect dust in a garage?”, earning herself a few nods.

The lieutenant then looks to the floor in thought. Wayne’s teens… about 15 years ago. Jim would have just started his detective career, too much time spent on homicides and drug deals. No time to be pulling over local billionaires.

”He’s always been an off guy, guess he just… likes driving them.”

Daniels’ shoulders shrugged as Jim’s brain suddenly itches. That familiar detectives hunch.

”Maybe you should have wrote a ticket, he could have been humbled.” Libby shoots. The beat cops all laugh as Jim exits the room.

Huh.

-

And if he made sure to keep a investigative eye open the next time Batman weaved through and drifted past in his modded muscle car, it was purely out of curiosity.

Eyes 1.0

It is dark and cold and loud and dark and Gordon wants out of here. It’s been a few months since the flood, Christmas has passed and when the rampant looting stopped, organized crime got its holding again. There is no telling how many crooks are hiding in this warehouse, nor how many the Batman has already neutralized. Lieutenant Gordon steps over groaning, still bodies within the aisles, leaving them for his coworkers to gather. He needs to catch up to Batman.

The sounds of a scuffle lead him to his left, a small secluded area leading to an emergency exit. Looks like the vigilante had caught up with the last few trying to escape. It’s 3 against 1 and all the lieutenant can do to help was raise his firearm and shout, “Hands in the air!”

It was enough, the crooks distracted with a slight turn of their heads and a mean punch from the vigilante send all 3 to the floor. Gordon slowly lowers his gun, wishing he could have been more of a help. There were well over a dozen guys he passed back there. Now the air is only filled by Bat’s labored breathing.

”Life would be easier for you if you carried some heat.” He never understood the Batman’s obsession with hand-to-hand (or hand-to-gun as is often the case in Gotham) combat. But the vigilante studies him for a moment.

”If I did, you might just have to arrest me.”

Was that… a joke?

It was, really bad.

Maybe that’s why Gordon couldn’t stop the laugh erupting through his throat.

”Sure thing bud, that’s what’s stopping me. Let’s get this guys wrapped up and into the pr-“

A hissing sound interrupting him, an explosion of mist, and the hastened slam of the emergency door opening and closing. Gordon couldn’t stop coughing, his eyes sealing shut from a sting. He almost loses all the air in his lungs by a tackle. His instincts panic for a bit and he reaches for his sidearm until he recognizes the heavy metal and leather that is carrying, more so pushing him, away from the horrid gas.

Batman gets them far enough to look back. Tear gas spreads across the floor like fog and into the air like smoke. Two bodies lie in the midst of it.

”Looks like one held a card up their sleeve to make an escape.”

He looks over to Batman and realizes how unfortunate the match up is. Every piece of him protected except the parts tear gas specifically target. Eyes, nose, and mouth.

Gordon only hopes this was coincidental and not an intellectual counter to the Batman.

Gordon can hear a low, slight cough, as if the vigilante is trying to hold it in, trying to look tough. “Do you want to chase him?” By laws standards, it’s wiser for Gordon to stay behind and arrest 90% of the criminals, no matter how strong his own body urges him to chase. But that’s why he teams up with Bats, he has no such liabilities.

”They’re hurting.” His gruff voice projects into the open warehouse. Gordon isn’t able to look back and process what he means in time to stop his partner from running into the gas, cheeks puffed and eyes squinting. The lieutenant isn’t stupid. He spent lots of time as a beat cop 20 years ago when Gotham had those horrible, horrible riots. Tear gas was used like they meant nothing. But the permanently blind and newly acquired asthma patients would say otherwise.

The lieutenant can already feel itching around his dark circles and he had only been exposed for a few seconds. The crooks’ chances didn’t look so good.

But Batman had hoped so. He isn’t hesitating to help. Gordon curses himself once more. Two years with this man and Gordon still feels left behind. He needs to be better, like Bats is trying to be.

The weeks after the flood had been hard. The Batman was angry, but he seems to be doing better now. It’s been interesting, watching him replace vengeance for something more. Something softer. And he just wishes the rest of Gotham could see it too.

-

His eyes no longer burn, but the late night CVS cream he had to buy for the small blisters around them is embarrassing enough to warrant a pair of sunglasses. Too bad for his sleep schedule, Mayor Reál is holding a grand reopening of City Hall. “A strong foundation for an even stronger future.” She promises. The entire precinct was a bit frustrated but understanding all the same when high numbers were requested as security for the event. There was no telling how many of Riddler’s followers are still loyal, lurking in plain sight to strike.

Crowds gather and Gordon can see it all from his spot atop the grand stairs, the separation from common Gothamites and powerful figures with names, money, or both. On high alert, it’s hard to miss the shift of crowd disposition following a tall figure, looking at the floor avoiding the flashes and shouts of, “Mr. Wayne!”

A wave of excitement flushes through the crowd, common citizens and news reporters alike. Bruce Wayne had been making more appearances since the flooding, but is still a man of very little words. All appearances, yet no substance for the news outlets to latch on and milk.

Gordon can’t blame the kid, his family legacy being bashed and his housing staff being bombed, he could only assume the billionaire was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

”Hey look. You two are twins. You tryna be like the cool billionaire?” Gordon is struck out of thought by Martinez beside him.

”What are you talking about, Martinez?” A bit sharper on his edge of tone than normal, he was running on no sleep and spent every second willing his hands not to scratch his eyes.

”Just think the shades are a very nice touch, sir.” The young cop rebound to a polite tone, afraid he offended his superior.

Gordon looks over and sure enough, there is Wayne, also sporting a pair of, he’ll admit, much nicer looking sunglasses. And although Wayne had been quite the recluse for 20 years, he never went so far as to regularly wear sunglasses in public. A bit distasteful on a cloudy day, could light sparkling speculations of late night activities or drugs.

“You think he spent the night partying?” Martinez whispers, unknowingly confirming the lieutenant’s theory. He has no doubt that’s exactly what every sleazy reporter here is asking.

“Martinez. Shut your mouth and stand on alert.” He whisper growls.

”Yes, sir.” Is the prompt response.

Gordon chest rises and falls with sigh. Martinez is a good cop. Bit green around the edges and not the biggest fan of Gotham’s infamous vigilante, but he can’t really be faulted by that. Anyone sane person would be weary of a full grown man dressed as a bulletproof bat fighting crime in the streets.

Guess that speaks more on Gordon’s character than it does Martinez.

The further Bruce Wayne ascends the steps, the more Gordon finds his eyes pulling to the underground-proclaimed “Prince of Gotham”. Draped in a long trench coat, he’s not wearing much outside the shade of black. Pitch black slacks to compliment the dark grey vest and skinny black tie.

His usual, dark attire.

And as he approaches his spot atop the way, Wayne takes a small moment to look his direction. The interaction is unexpected, and nonexistent if you ask the right or wrong person, but the lieutenant eyes slightly widen. It’s the smallest thing, passable as normal skin blemish, and yet Gordon can’t help the fixation on the slight redness of the right corner of his mouth. Can’t help the slightly too long stare on the pair of Versace covering his eyes.

Damn it all. Gordon has been in this business for almost two decades. He knows better than to force things that aren’t there. To use facts and not speculate the clues to fit his narrative.

But the jarring and too quick way Bruce looks away doesn’t help the itch.

One Hummed Tune

This isn’t the first stake out the lieutenant has invited the Batman out on. Nor the second, nor the third. There were many situations in Gotham that required more muscle than the Police Department could approve. Especially with how short handed they currently are.

Each and every time though, they had spent it in Gordon’s car. The Batman only having a motorcycle until recently. Unfortunately, with his usual vehicle decimated and taxis not exactly up for rent, they are held up in his favorite vigilantes pimped out muscle car. Gordon has started jokingly referring to it as his ‘batmobile’. That had earned him a look so sharply stern, he now only pokes this name when he knows Bats is in a good mood.

They are currently parked outside an old safe house. Only both him and Bats had a sneaking suspicion Penguin wants the boys in blue to believe it’s been ratted out, unusable. Hiding in plain sight. Of course this hunch isn’t enough to warrant a squad of 3 or 4 so Gordon asked the man he knows is equivalent to 10 to come along.

It’s been 3 hours now. 01:47 the Batmobiles dim military clock reads. The snows of winter return to Gotham’s regular rain as spring kicks around. In the silent hours, Gordon indulges himself in his budding theory. He tries not to think about it when he is with the Batman, and it is normally very easy not to. He isn’t quite the night owl like his partner. Staying up late fueled by a sense of duty and less by natural instinct as so seemed the case with Bats. So it’s easy to expend his energy towards picking the criminals growing like weeds and not so much on speculating Batman’s true identity. Of course he was curious! Who wouldn’t be. But after two years of slowly earning trust and learning to trust, Gordon had unconsciously given up seeking the face under the mask. Since Daniels’ comment in the break room however, it’s never truly left his mind.

The lieutenant side eyes Bats, discreet, slow, as to not be noticed that he was studying the jaw and mouth of his partner. He tries imagining Bruce under the black cowl, racks his brain to fit the image. But the generic facial structure is not much to work with when you can count the number of times Bruce Wayne was been in public on your hands.

And suddenly, after hyper-focusing on Batman, Gordon realizes something. Under the harsh splats of rain on the car, the low yet loud rumble of trains passing, the Batman is…

humming.

A tune. Some sort of song by the sounds of it. At least the sounds Gordon can pick up. He’s almost inaudible, completely unnoticeable if someone wasn’t obsessively focusing on him like Gordon is.

He spends a moment. Relishes in the calming it effect it seems to have on both of them, even if Bats might be unaware Gordon can hear him. However, after a minute or two, a familiarity etches it way through him. Before he can stop himself he asks, “Is that Green Day?”

The Batman silent before the lieutenant can finish saying ‘green’.

No one else might be able to notice, but years of interacting with Bats, he can notice him become consciously still. He’d wager he’s become consciously silent too, refusing to make any indication Gordon was talking to him, eyes staring straight away, like a kid avoiding being called on in class. From outside, it would seem as if nothing happened, but the air in the car shifts. Gordon wasn’t meant to hear it seems.

”Sorry. I just thought I had recognized that song. Didn’t mean to make you stop.” He stares for a moment, hoping for an answer. When the silence is drawn out, he gives up, shifting his seating to be more comfortable and look ahead to the safe house as well.

Maybe he should have held his tongue. Bats was obviously getting more comfortable around him, and as manipulative as it sounded, he could have nurtured that trust to get something more solid on his identity than a hummed, unknown he might add, song. Gordon sighs. 02:04 the clock reads.

”Nirvana.”

Gordon barely retains his shock. He knows he has to be careful. Smooth and considerate. He can’t mess this up.

”Never listened to them much. That’s the one with the naked baby, right?”

He almost thinks he already threw this opportunity when the vigilante doesn’t respond. But after a moment, the smallest of nods.

”Sorry, I’m more into jazz and blues. Not sure I know many of their songs. Just gave me a similar vibe to some radio stuff.” God, he is making small talk with the Batman. And he isn’t even good at it! Fighting crime is easier. Where are these Penguin crooks anyways? It was about time they showed up.

”It’s called Something In The Way.” The low gruff voice replies. Gordon can only nod, unsure how to proceed. Luckily, he doesn’t have to. As if in cue, a black SUV pulls up. “They’re here.” Bats focuses before exiting the car, already approaching the criminals caught red handed.

-

He almost turns his browser into incognito mode, feeling filthy, guilty, pulling up articles and interviews of a certain child celebrity. Gordon rationalizes he’s not going to find anything, and that this is his home pc. Nobody is going to wonder why he spends dozens of late night hours going through old, forgotten news outlets.

It’s just unfortunate when, during a schooling donation event, Thomas Wayne proclaims, “He’s somewhat of a rebel! My son really seems to get that gothic vibe Martha enjoys.” A bright charismatic smile. “I just wish he wouldn’t play his rock music so loud!” His playful laugh echoes in Gordon’s mind the rest of the night.

Few words and Even Fewer Smiles

This was small. This was stupid. Gordon shouldn’t even add it to his stubbornly stuck in his head bullet point list. It was only one side of the mouth, just the upper lip, as if trying to show off his canines. And Gordon hated himself for scouring the internet last week, borderline stalking Gotham’s resident billionaire, but goddamn he swears they have the same awakened, dumb smile. The small low chortle of a laugh. A more exaggerated version of the one from November, in the precinct when Gordon had planned, “Well you punched me in the face.” As if what would make a normal man burst in laughter was equivalent to a snort of air in Batman’s nose.

Martinez has poked some joke towards the Batman. One so irrelevant Gordon hadn’t bothered to hear it. But now he wishes he had, because that twitching smirk and underused laughed makes such an impact all the officers in the bloodstained room pause.

Martinez had made the Batman laugh. At least what could pass as a laugh for the usually stone cold vigilante, and Gordon smashes the rapidly growing thought in his brain that that reaction is a grown-up, evolved way Bruce Wayne had chuckled at a reporters question in 2001, a few months before his parents’ passing.

It was getting harder for Gordon to ignore the similarities. Even someone not explicitly looking for them can agree both men are quiet, brooding, very short on words, and even shorter on laughs.

Now Gordon knows he’s in deep. He’s comparing smiles. Like some love sick teenager.

Admittedly, the thought of bringing the Batman to laugh does soothe the part of his heart that excretes pity for the vigilante. But he only wishes it didn’t come with such high stakes next time.

Eyes 2.0

”Mayor Reál! Get down!”

It feels too late. No matter how fast Gordon can reach her, he can’t remove her from the stage in time. The logical part of his brain says he needs to get Bruce Wayne off that stage too, but not only is his duty to the Mayor first, he subconsciously hopes that he’s been right this whole time. He hopes Wayne can take care of himself, because Gordon does not have the time nor strength to get them both off.

A german shepherd dashes out the crowd, from where Gordon had seen it be released by a guard with a tinted helmet on. Only thing was, the guard started towards the door after releasing him, and unlike the other bomb sniffing dogs, this one’s vest seemed particularly large.

A suicide bomber. A blissful dog, only wanting to serve those who trained him. Sent to his death. Gordon can only tackle the Mayor before a scorching heat singes the back of his uniform.

In the high pitch blind, Lieutenant Gordon half registers the panic. He ensures the mayor is okay first. Stunned and a bump to her hips it seems, but ok for falling 8 feet towards the floor. When his hearing comes back he hears evacuation orders. Active situation. High alert.

Someone had just tried to bomb Mayor Reál and Bruce Wayne.

They were publicly announcing a Wayne Enterprise-Gotham City public funds partnership.

Somebody wants them dead.

He’s checking her pulse and eyes against her pleas of, “I’m fine!” when a loud crashing and falling glass is followed by a thundering whooshing sound from the ceiling. From the open windows of City Hall, a banner cascades.

ThE ONLy oNEs We MISsED

?

Gordon stands. ”Move!” He shoves his way through cops and city security. Towards him. “Move!” More force in his voice. He needs to reach Wayne.

“Lieutenant Gordon. Calm down, he’s fine. He's unconsciousness, needs first aid, but he’s fine. Lieutenant Gordon! What is the matter with you?!” Temporary Commissioner Jackal tries to stop him but he forces his way to the prone Prince of Gotham.

Laying there, on the floor. He’s fine.

He’s okay.

Bit singed, but had reacted in time to jump away and lessen his fall.

They had failed, Riddler’s followers had failed. Probably panicked by Gordon’s action, not as disciplined nor as clean as Riddler, pressing the detonation too soon. Everyone was okay.

He gets to his knees and checks a pulse, very much aware others had already done so. Removing his pen light he lifts the eyelid, testing pupil constrictions.

And pauses.

Green.

Muted.

Tiniest strokes of brown.

Batman’s eyes.

Gordon has always been curious. He’s tried to stop caring. But the day of Mitchell’s funeral, an eerily similar bombing, bringing the Batman to the precinct, Gordon had been side by side the first aid to check the vitals then too. Atop the table, unconscious in a bulletproof suit, not on the floor in a three-piece suit.

And he tried to forget. The black paint surrounding the Batman’s eyes help. Could have been even easier if they were brown eyes. Common, hard to recognize. Or even ones with a bit more blue to the green. Not so similar.

Not so identical.

Bruce Wayne is the Batman.

The Batman is Bruce Wayne.

Gordon doesn’t have time to digest the information before first aid is shoving him aside, securing Wayne on a gurney to be taken to the hospital. He realizes with a pit of his stomach that the Batman does not have such pleasures. Who does Bruce go to when he’s taking bullets to the chest and falling off railings. He can’t go to a hospital. Energy surges through his legs as he finds himself side by side the gurney. “Wait!” The team of 4 pause, but not without shooting a glare of annoyance first.

”He- He um.” Gordon needs to think of something fast. “He has a personal medical team. At his tower. Mr. Wayne hate public hospitals.” He has no idea if that’s true, but he does know taking a vigilante disguising billionaire to a place where they check every nook and cranny for health (and they will. There’s no way they’d release the Prince of Gotham without ensuring everything was okay) was not a great idea.

The medical team pushing the gurney look amongst each other. They don’t know Gordon’s relationship with Mr. Wayne, but they have seen him on tv, and he guesses the heroic dive for the Mayor and being clad in the city’s blue does help. After a look of agreement passes, Gordon orders. “Just transport him there, nothing else. His team will take care of it all.” And he prays no one questions his sudden loyalty or knowledge of Mr. Wayne’s “medical team”.

The rickety wheels of the gurney fade to the streets, and Gordon isn’t able to relax his shoulders until he hears the slam of the ambulance doors. He’s in some deep shit now.

Chapter Text

Gordon is on autopilot. His legs carry him to the debriefing. His years of experience pull out his statement. His own conscious mind can’t. care. less.

The revelation of Bruce Wayne and Batman seems so much larger than anything they have at the precinct right now. He needs to go home. To digest.

He realizes no one has gotten this close to neither the Batman nor Bruce Wayne before. He’s not sure anyone else can connect the dots he has. And he’s almost grateful, this is a secret that must be kept. Gordon now understands the vigilante’s obsession with a secret identity.

He realizes he’s staring into space when he hears, ”Lieutenant Gordon, if you are in need of medical assistance, please head downstairs.” A genuinely concerned voice reaches from behind a desk. Darcy, Chief Bock’s secretary, has always been such a kind lady.

“Sorry Darcy, just thinking.” He waves her off, “Might have to get the Batman involved for this one.” An easy and convenient excuse, only coated in uneasiness now.

She gives him a teasing smile, “Again?”

Gordon, despite feeling lightheaded, offers her a pleading look. “What can I say?” And shrugs his shoulders.

He’s excused from the conversation by his phone ringing. “I’m sorry, should probably take this.” He waves it in the air as she nods and looks back to her paperwork. Gordon is not really in the mood for phone calls right now. His mind is exhausted to point that his body is too. He desperately wants to go home and work out the fact that the vigilante he’s been teaming up with for two and a half years is also one of the most powerful men in Gotham.

And Gordon almost ignores the ringing. Then he sees the screen.

No Caller ID

A mini course of adrenaline takes him to his office. He closes the door behind him and contemplates who’s calling. This is his personal phone. Nobody has this number that he wouldn’t have in his contacts.

A shiver envelops him as he’s grimly reminded of Gil’s killing in November. The haunting phone ring and the beeping of his neck bomb. He’s sweating, yet cold, and picks up, “Who are you.” in his most threatening voice.

“My apologies, am I speaking to a Lieutenant James Gordon?” A surprisingly English accent replies. 

”Depends who’s asking.”

A confirming hum. “It has been brought to my knowledge that you’re the one requesting Master Bruce be brought back home instead of a hospital.”

His rapidly beating heart realizes he’s talking to someone important. And a droplet of doubt lands. What if he had been wrong about Wayne? He’s sure he’s not but if Gordon had made a mistake, this might be the biggest and last mistake he ever makes. He might have just put Bruce Wayne’s life on the line for nothing.

“That,” he swallows, “would be me.”

“Wonderful,” the caller replies, ”I simply wish to express my gratitude, sir. What you did for Master Wayne is truly appreciated. He is not a big fan of being in public, much less a hospital for a bump on the head.”

Oh. “O-Of course. ” It would seem this is a harmless courtesy call by Wayne’s (Batman’s) staff. He’s completely unsure how to approach this.

”Of course, this does beg the question,” the English man’s tone turns serious, “Why would you do that, Lieutenant Gordon? What reason do you have to interfere with Master Wayne?” Gordon’s instincts spike. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s never met you in his life.” He’s testing him. “So please, do tell me why you found it so important to interfere with his medical treatment.”

His brain previously being haywire and chaotic now hyper-focuses on the conversation in front of him. Bruce Wayne’s own staff is now suspicious enough about Gordon’s actions they’ve found a way to access his personal phone. This is more serious than he had been hoping.

”Well, it is my job to protect and serve. I’m sorry if my assumption on Mr. Wayne was off, I just did what I felt was right.” A weak and shaky excuse.

A long, uncomfortable silence. The caller gives a disbelieving hum before saying, “I’ve arranged for a car to pick you up from the precinct. I highly suggest you take it.” He isn’t stupid enough to think it’s an actual suggestion and less of a command. “I’ll be seeing with you soon, Lieutenant.” And with that, the mysterious man hangs up. Gordon is left to stand alone in his office.

He’s unsure if it was fear or curiosity taking him to the elevator, down 11 stories, through the lobby, and out the front door where sure enough, an almost illegally dark tinted limo sits. It’s money sat out of place amongst the cruisers and taxis. He enters it and the driver makes towards the skyscrapers of old Gotham.

He’s conflicted. Does Gordon tell Wayne what he thinks he knows? Does he try to pry the answer out the young man? Does he go about life like nothing has changed? The emerging view of the tower may have already spoken for Gordon. They’re calling him here for a reason. There’s no going back.

-

Bruce is angry, anxious, and pacing. ”I’m telling you Alfred, Gordon is just a good cop. He cares about people, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to suggest the obviously socially anxious billionaire be treated at home.”

”Master Bruce, I am doing this for you. I think you are too close to this Lieutenant, or at the very least, close enough to not see this as bizarre.” Bruce continues to pace to Alfred’s defense. “Think about this from the outside. Yes, as the Batman, you see the lieutenant plenty, but how many words has Bruce Wayne exchanged with him? How well does he know you, Bruce.” The young adult’s silence is answer enough.

”So please, explain to me why this isn’t necessary. My apologies if I’m overstepping boundaries sir, but it is my job to protect you. If you and the lieutenant can prove to me there’s nothing to worry about, then there’s nothing to worry about.” His eyes glare into Bruce’s own, “But I refuse to stand back and fail your family once more.”

This seems to ground Bruce. He stops his pacing and sighs. “I’m sorry.” He looks to the floor, feeling like a scolded child. But he’s not a child anymore. Alfred was there for him after the Riddler and will always be there for Bruce’s best interest. He can be mature enough to learn. “You’re right, it is weird that he helped out there. As far as Gordon knows,” he pauses to think hard about any past interactions, as Bruce and as Batman, “actually he should know nothing.” He looks to Alfred. “Thank you.” Alfred offers him a smile.

”Of course, Master Bruce.”

-

The Tower’s front doors are intimidating to say the least. Gordon walks up the steps as the limo drives off. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but the doors opening before he can rap a knock did surprise him. On the other side stands an older gentleman, fancy attire and scars littering his face, some obviously newer than others. “Lieutenant Gordon? I’ve been expecting your arrival.” He extends a handshake that Gordon returns, “My name is Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne’s butler. We spoke on the phone? Please, do come inside.”

Of course he has a butler. Lieutenant pay is nothing to scoff at, but he wasn’t retiring with a personal staff, that’s for sure.

The entryway screamed ‘Grand Gothic’, the foundations of Gotham itself. Intricate archways and natural lighting. The noon sun was bright enough for them both as they walked up the stairs and into a living room of sorts. More books and a fireplace than entertainment systems or electronics. “Please, have a seat. I’ve prepared some tea.”

He makes his way to the posh couch. ”I hope you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Pennyworth, but why am I here?” Straight to the point. An impressed grin takes over Alfred’s face as he’s pouring a cup.

”Well, Lieutenant. The Wayne’s are a very introverted family, Bruce especially so. He keeps his staff minimum, but those of us that are here do intend to keep our Master safe,” he looks into Gordon’s eyes, “I would like you to explain to me why you would have reason to interfere with his ambulance ride?”

He reaches for the tea, using the time it takes to sip it to think. “Like I said over the phone,” he sets his cup down, “Mr. Wayne has made it obvious he’s uncomfortable being in public. I just used some quick reasoning to assume he had his own medical staff at the tower.” The lieutenant straightens his back, “We don’t exactly see him visiting family doctors too often.”

He can only pray this Alfred character will buy this, enough for him to go home and process everything. ”No other reason?” He stared into Gordon’s eyes and ask slowly, calculating. Perhaps a Gordon from months ago would have interpreted it as intimidating at best, threatening at worse, but knowing what he knows now, he is almost certain Pennyworth is suspicious of the Lieutenant. Perhaps he was cracking, letting his cards show. What were they going to do to him?

“Alfred, that’s enough.”

In the doorway, slacks and an unbottoned dress shirt, stands none other than Bruce Wayne himself. Every time he had been within vicinity of the billionaire, they had had no interactions. But there he is, scars peeking from his chest, removing his sunglasses and giving a stern look to his butler (one annoying similar to his poke of the ‘batmobile’).

”Mr. Wayne, how are you feeling?” He stands and extends a hand. Better get formalities out the way, make a good impression. “My name is Lieutenant James Gordon. You can call me Jim if you want.” The lieutenant offers a smile and Wayne is slow to make the handshake.

“I know who you are. You stopped me from being taken to a hospital.”

Shit. ”Right, yeah, about that. I’m so sorry. That was completely unprofessional of me. I’m sorry for any inconvenience it might have caused you, I just thought-“

”Thank you.” He cut Gordon off, it was low and quiet. Genuine. Gordon doesn’t know what to say. The billionaire looks to his butler. “Alfred, I’ve done some thinking, about our conversation earlier. I think I have come to a decision myself.”

Pennyworth’s eyes widen for a moment. “Master Bruce, please go lie down, I’ve got everything covered down here.” He stands and reaches to place a hand on Wayne’s arm, but not before he can turn to the door and start walking.

”Follow me Gordon.”

He isn’t sure what to do, the young man already out the door and footsteps echoing further away, as if on a mission he can’t risk be distracted from. Gordon’s indecision lasts long enough to hear the butler sigh and say, “Go on then. You’d do best not to get lost in this tower.” An acceptance of whatever Bruce has planned for the lieutenant.

What. Is. Happening?

As if Gordon’s discovery didn’t muddy the Waynes enough, they act so quickly and erratically it’s hard to keep up. Both mentally and physically as he jogs to catch up. Perhaps they knew he knew, why else would he be here? Why else would Bruce so nonchalantly expose his scared chest? Calling the hospital off has had this whole flurry of consequences and Gordon almost wishes his intuition could have been quiet earlier today.

He’s led up a few floors and through a room into a hallway. He had assumed they were making their way to some other room, but then they walk up to a rickety looking but obviously well kept elevator. And just like everything else in the house, it held a modern gothic theme to it, opting for old school gates but advanced interior. Gordon enters after Bruce and he selects the only button on the directory. They begin to descend.

”I’m putting a lot of trust in you Mr. Wayne. Where exactly are you taking me?”

He’s met with silence. A familiar silence. Looking to his left, Gordon is strikingly reminded of the stake out, of trying to fit Bruce’s face under the mask. Now he stands trying to fit the mask on, taking the time to envision the Batman’s suit on this young adult.

”Do you normally follow people you’ve just met down elevators inside their homes?” Bruce questions, turning and making eye contact with the lieutenant. He might be imaging it, but Gordon sniffs an air of understanding, of pregnant pauses, of waiting for the other to strike first. He folds.

”Well maybe this isn’t our first time meeting.” And Gordon seems to have done something right, because Bruce smiles. Nothing too large or even normal sized for any other socially adept human, but larger than anything he had seen on either Bruce or Batman.

The chamber jolts to a stop, Bruce creaks open the doors, and the first thing Gordon notices are the bats. There are so many of them! Hundreds for sure, all flying and squeaking, awakened by the company of them both. He almost ducks down when a few fly too low for comfort.

The second thing he sees are the computers, half a dozen monitors with papers, trinkets, and gadgets atop the desks. They shake slightly but the distant vibration of trains passing in town.

”I want to tell you something, Gordon.” As if it wasn’t painfully obvious by now. Bruce turns his whole body and seems to physically ready himself. A deep breath and hands to the side, nervous without the guise of the suit.

”I’m the Batman.” And just like the stake out, Bruce seems to actively withhold himself from showing emotion. Only this time, instead of doing it to avoid confrontation, he’s waiting for a reaction to that confrontation.

A wave of relief drowns Gordon. A nervous and shaky laugh escapes. Once it starts, Gordon can’t stop it. “God fucking damnit.” He brings his hand to his forehead, closes his eyes, and laughs even harder. “Holy shit.” 

Bruce shifts on his feet, looking to the side, now avoiding Gordon. “Of all the reactions,” and Gordon is able to really let himself hear Batman under Bruce’s voice, even if it is softer right now, “laughing wasn’t really one I expected.”

The laughs die down, ”Damn kid. No, no, no, you don’t understand. I had-“ he takes a second to compose himself. “Fuck, I had just figured this out this morning. At Reál’s event.”

Bruce’s brows knit together, and god, without the mask Gordon can freely see the emotions on the kids face. Worry.

”I thought I was going to have to bottle this up and die with a dirty conscious. Or that you would just silence me forever. Don’t worry Bats, you didn’t go around proclaiming you’re a vigilante in your sleep.” He tries to joke, but it doesn’t seem to work, because Bruce takes a step forward and Gordon can see it’s all Batman in his posture. Or maybe he has always been Batman, maybe Wayne is the one acting. They are one in the same but so very different.

”How did you figure that out.” His voice darkens and Gordon has never on the receiving end of this before.

“If it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t actively trying to figure you out. But we have spent countless nights together over the years, just small details here and there. I knew for sure after getting a close look at your eyes, once after Mitchell’s funeral and again today when you were unconscious. As long as you don’t let anyone get 4k photos of your eyes, I think you’re fine.”

Bruce smacks his lips and looks to the side, almost disappointed in himself. “I was sloppy.”

It was Gordon’s turn to be irritated. “You were fine. I don’t know why you do this vigilantism kid, but you’re still a human. Humans make mistakes. Hell, they weren’t even mistakes, I’m just a damn good cop, and an even better detective.” He walks into Bruce’s line of sight. “Why else would you keep me around.”

This seemed to cheer the billionaire vigilante up, his expression softens. “So are we still in this together? World’s greatest detectiiiives.” A bad impression of Penguin’s words and accent from all those months ago, and Bruce smirks.

”That’s fine. Just don’t call me kid.” Gordon’s laughter almost bubbles again at the response, but he manages to hold it in. His poor heart has been on such a rollercoaster today, he’s afraid his age might kick in and he’ll go into cardiac arrest.

”Sure thing, Wayne.” He only gets an eye squint as a reply.

”Come with me, I’ve got some things to show you.” And damn did he mean it. On top of the grand stairway, Gordon looks over the railings to see, more railing. Train railings. This was an underground transit.

”Where are we?”

“Wayne Terminus. An Underground Railroad between my tower and the estate. Hasn’t been used since before my father and no one knows it exists.” And that seems to pull some string of Bruce’s, because he makes a face and turns too quickly for Gordon to analyze it.

”Did it not get flooded?” He veers the subject.

”I have a double door air tight security system down the tunnel. Destroyed my first gate but the second held up fine.”

”And the bats?” He pointed up. Shooting the dozens of questions he has pouring in his head.

”They were here before me.” Wayne was walking the fine line of some comic book character and actual sociopath. “This is their home, I just made shop.” And shop it was. Gadgets, blue prints, pieces and parts, some in the midst of construction, others completed and atop posters of ‘TRIAL RESULTS’. Gordon looks to his left and spots a chemistry lab? What the hell has Bats been up to. 

Of course the logical part of him knew the Batman would need a place like this, seeing it in person really puts into perspective that this was a man in a suit, a man with tools and a stupid sense of self preservation. “Why do you do this?” He finds himself asking.

All for nothing though because he only receives silence. Expected. Looking down, he notices the car and motorcycle sitting below amidst a workshop. Engines, parts, tools, and gears scattered around.

Leaning back, he scans the computers. Data files, analysis, and a circular camera? Gordon walks up and takes a closer look. Seems to be some sort of point of view shot. A group of thugs? The smaller shots to the right reveal a fight scene. “You record everything you see?”

He turns to Bruce who is currently removing a contact lens from a small globe. “I might have to adjust these to make my eyes white.”

”That’ll be scary.”

They look at each other, ”But it would protect my identity.”

Gordon takes a moment to think. “You’re a real price of work, you know that Wayne.” And Bruce looks down.

”I do what Gotham needs to be done.”

“‘History of philanthropy’. The Wayne’s giving to Gotham because they care.” Gordon pushes, asking for more. Asking why once again.

And it works. “The problems that Gotham has,” Bruce starts, “they can’t be solved by throwing money in the mix. Its rot has reached its roots, its people are angry. The Batman has its place and this city needs me to slot into it.”

And Gordon can’t exactly deny that. There’s a reason he hasn’t put the man in handcuffs all these years. And as much as he’d love to get in Bruce’s mind, he knows this dance of trust wasn’t built on pushing boundaries, so Gordon let’s it go. “I’m just glad you’re on our side.” And that seems to do the trick. The two go back into their regular rhythm. It’s a bit off putting having a man in place of the suit, but it makes all the sense in the world. They go over every clue, theory, and prospect Wayne keeps down here. They spend hours into the day getting familiar with the other, even if they had been doing so for years.

It’s over this time Gordon realizes the Batman really does sleep in the day. Obvious signs of fatigue wash over Bruce and Gordon has to call it quits. “Head back upstairs, Wayne. You’re clearly tired.”

”I’ll be fine.” He felt like a father scolding a child.

”Yeah, right. And when you go out tonight facing guns and criminals? Do you really not want to be on top of your game.” The look Wayne gives him is obviously annoyed, but the billionaire caves. They head to the elevator together.

It’s been nice, earning the trust of the two most reclusive men in Gotham. It’s comforting to Gordon that this man truly trusts him.

Now all he can do, is not let the Batman down.