another love i would abuse; no circumstances could excuse

[kingofrooks.livejournal.com]

WHO: Jim Gordon [finestdetective] and Batman [kingofrooks]
WHERE: DOCKS because that is the most sensible.
WHEN: Right after Jim's post. Night, I think.
WARNINGS: Alternate universe shenainegans. The usual. TL;DR.
SUMMARY: Nolanverse meets comicsverse. Things probably won't go well. Shit.
FORMAT: Paragraphs of doom.

It was a City of ghosts.

Or perhaps he was a ghost, faded, rewound and placed on ground that his feet had tread but his mind could not remember. Bruce had sieved his memories over and over, looking for hints and clues of being here before- but there was nothing. He was from the past, planted into the future, looking into the faces through a thousand mirrors. Reflections of people he knew who no longer behaved as he expected them to. A house of distorted mirrors.

Or perhaps he was the one distorted. Turned back, changed again, taking a road travelled by the future but not the past. The timeline didn't make any sense, and that was one aspect of it that helped in convincing him that this was real. Or as real as anything could be, when it came to multiple universes and timelines.

(He missed the raw visceral nature of Gotham. Of its darkened streets and small-time crooks. Of its mob bosses and the sharp jerk of teeth against his knuckles. Of the ringing sound of broken bones echoing against high walls. He did not put on this uniform for the sake of the universe. Only a city.)

But.

Gordon, however, had not changed much. Less lines on his face, with brown hair instead of stark white. An uneasy smile, and a reference to a bright light and a mob boss that he didn't understand. Something about Gordon that he didn't know. Shadows instead of distortions. Bruce wanted to shine a bright light and chase it all away, because at least this- this, he could change. He was not of Bruce's world; not of a future that everyone seemed to know better than he did.

Docks. Bruce lingered on a rooftop, watching him from a distance. Far enough to not be seen; near enough to be felt. Nine minutes and twenty-four seconds. He stepped off the ledge and swung, feeling the light grow taut in his hand. Familiarity. As familiar as the shape of Gordon's jaw, or his overcoat. In the shadows, Bruce could almost forget the differences.

Ten minutes. His feet touched the ground, the cape flaring out then settling on the floor around him. Bruce tipped his head up, and followed the motion to stand. This close, the differences were starker. Shorter. It was startling.

"Gordon."

Comments

[finestdetective.livejournal.com]

The truth was that Barbara had suffered the most from his efforts. She had been so torn up in grief over his death, and he had hated that he had to do that to her. It would - he had no doubt - have put an unreasonable strain on their marriage. Adding to the rest of them, he wouldn't be surprised if she left him this time; took James and just left. Back to Chicago, or maybe Keystone--somewhere safer.

"Thank you," he said, watching Batman as though he were a wild animal that had been tamed to alight on his doorstep. He touched the badge with care, traced his fingers above his family's photograph. It was touching to watch, and for the first time it really struck him:

This man is Commissioner Gordon's best friend.

It was a relationship that had been building, but it was by no means what Jim would call a friendship at home. They worked together. They relied on each other. They trusted each other. Gordon had become protective of Batman; even when it came to Harvey Dent it had been a matter that was discussed before it came to fruition. But this man. This terrifying man, this man who was fear to his enemies, cold even to the people who knew him - and oh, he had been watching - was warm with him in a way he couldn't have predicted. Warm like the Batman he knew. Human, and familiar.

He could almost deceive himself that they were the same.

Gordon didn't take the badge back. He soaked in the silence too and let his mind run like an engine warming up, the calm before the storm of his story's conclusion.

"I couldn't tell him--he had to believe I was dead." Batman. "He almost ran the Joker down. Dodged at the last second, almost killed himself. I was still dazed but I managed to take the Joker in myself. That's when everything went wrong. Maroni kidnapped Dent and Dawes. He used corrupt officers in my MCU to pull it off--officers Harvey had warned me about, people I trusted. So I have Joker in the MCU, my DA is missing, and the clown won't talk to me."

There's a bit he skips here. Batman's interrogation, his outrage, his anger, the door locked from the inside so he can beat his prisoner half to death. He doesn't have to say it, does he?

"Two bombs, two hostages, and only one of us with a military grade vehicle and the recklessness needed to get there in time. He saved Dent, but not before half his face was burned off. We were too late. Same time, the MCU is blown to pieces."

[kingofrooks.livejournal.com]

There it was. Evidence that Gordon's death had affected him- at least, if his counterpart was anything like him and anger over the Joker only steadied his grip instead of making him lose it. ... almost ran the Joker down... almost killed himself. His counterpart must be young as well. As young as he had been when he had first met this man; as young as he was when he first met the Joker and knew the bitter horrors of a mad man wreaking havoc on his city.

(It got worse and worse, after a while. The press called it the mad drawing the mad, Batman's presence setting off a chain of insane criminals who targeted the city. There were truths to their statements that Bruce had always acknowledged and understood but would never say out loud.

If he said it out loud, it would be real. His efforts would crumble like dust, and he needed the concrete belief that he was making a difference. That he was still doing good by what he was doing.)

He needed to stop being distracted from Gordon's story. A military-grade vehicle- a different Batmobile, then? His own had always been based off sports cars rather than the military - they have better engines.

"Again," he said, and he wished he could swallow back the word. Again, I was too late. He wasn't fast enough for Dick. For Jason. For Tim. For any one of his children. For Harvey. For a thousand and one people that he had failed, and his lips twisted sharply.

"Rachel Dawes died." A confirmation. The death of a woman he didn't know; he couldn't have known. He mourned her, anyway, if only because she was part of the grand tragedy reflected in Gordon's eyes. "Harvey was burnt, but alive."

He shook his head, and he voiced what he knew Gordon needed to hear; what he believed.

"Jim," he said, falling back into the familiar address. "It's not your fault."

[finestdetective.livejournal.com]

Again. It was an interesting word to just use like that, and immediately it had Jim wondering what he meant by it. 'Again'. Was it Harvey? Was it just the whole act of fighting and winning, but losing far more in the process? The Harvey here had the same face, so whatever had happened to him could count as 'again', couldn't it?

He tried not to think about it too much, and shook off the words with his shoulder.

"No point reassuring me of that. The story's not over yet, and even if it was, Batman, there's not much you can do for my guilt. That's something I have to live with. It makes it real. The moment I give it up, or forget, is the moment I let this place win."

He picked up his badge now, folding it closed and dropping it into his breast pocket where it belonged. It must have wandered during the commotion with the TV studio. Was that all today?

"The Joker's free still, and some guy comes forward to say he knows who Batman is. Joker puts a price on his head, and while we're busy he pays a little visit to Dent in hospital, gives him an idea. Harvey went after the corrupt cops with his coin, and he went after me. Indirectly, of course. You were busy with the Joker, and my family was in danger. So I went, even though I knew it was a trap."

He'd expected to die. But it was Harvey. Harvey who had been District Attorney for Gotham City and still been bright, still been untouchable. Harvey who was above hurting innocents. "I thought I could reason with him. He was a good man."

"Instead he puts his gun to my son's head, and tells me to tell him that it's going to be alright, even though I know it isn't. Just like he did for Dawes. That's when you sweep in--I don't even know how you found us, I just know what happened next. That you couldn't catch both of them. You couldn't even stop yourself falling.

"Damn it... I thought you were dead. Dent was. And there had to be an explanation. Someone had to take the fall."

Words unspoken. His look said it all: it said 'Forgive me'.

[kingofrooks.livejournal.com]

The images were so stark and clear, even when Gordon was using the most bare of languages. He could already feel it- being Batman in this man's world, rushing and rushing, trying to save a boy, trying to save the last ally he had. Trying to save Harvey Dent, even though he had already fallen and half of his face was already gone. Burned off, stripped down to flesh without skin, his lips eternally frozen into an eerie grin, his eyeball huge and staring.

Even though he was standing still, Bruce could almost hear the pounding of his own heart in his ears. The chase, the urgency- and throwing himself off of a bridge. It had to be a bridge- he had to catch, and Harvey fell and died; he could have fell. (He wondered if it was that bridge the first policeman that Holiday killed was found him, and if it was- if he didn't hate it before, he did now.)

He could even feel the strain on his own arm. Pulling Gordon's son up the bridge, returning him back to his father. Looking at the crowds, exposed in the light, before turning and running. Batman was supposed to be an urban legend to the majority in the city, much less the world. He appeared in the spaces in between; in the shadows; in the imaginations and ramblings of madmen and police officers.

Bruce closed his eyes, exhaled and he focused back on Gordon. He could see it, the need for forgiveness. The plea for it. Someone had to take the fall. Of course it had to be him - who else could it have been? Gotham needed a hero. It was a plan. Better than any other.

"It doesn't matter," his lips crooked upwards, and he lifted his shoulders into a shrug. "The GCPD had a long-standing warrant out for Batman's arrest. I'm wanted for multiple charges of assault and battery."

But that, he knew, wasn't murder.

"You know it won't last," he said, and he knew- knew, suddenly, that this was what inspired the need for forgiveness in Gordon's eyes. It was a smearing of Batman's reputation, but it was only a stopgap. The solution would not last. Gotham's decay would start again- but the smear would remain. A stain that would not be erased; a suspicion that would be brought up again and again.

Bruce shook his head.

"I don't need the good opinion of the people to do my work." He turned to Jim, white lenses flashing in the moonlight. The shadows seemed to stretch even further behind him. "You know the truth. That's enough."

[finestdetective.livejournal.com]

But not murder.

His mind echoed it with as much certainty as he knew was behind that mask, that voice.

"But for as long as it does, Dent's prosecution lasts. Those people stay in jail, and there's time to do something about it. If they'd known what he became - that he killed Maroni and those cops - the city would have never have forgiven him. And right then they needed their hero. They needed to believe in Harvey Dent."

And it wouldn't last. Yes. That was why he was begging for forgiveness. The cops would waste their time chasing Batman halfway across the city, and the slur would be there forever. The story would become uncertain, and Gordon's role in it would be thrown into question. He could be demoted again. He didn't care.

But it was the same look of determination he'd seen in Batman's expression then, too. It had been his plan, after all.

"You know me, don't you? Not just as Commissioner. It's more than that. How long have we been working together in your..." He didn't want to say it, but now the idea had been planted in his head it was the only thing that made sense. He ground his teeth before forcing out the word: "--world."

The whole thing made him sick. Alternate worlds, people who were the same who weren't his people. His daughter, her friends. Other Batpeople. Child soldiers. An older Commissioner Gordon, with so much sadness in his life--with the Joker in his life.

[kingofrooks.livejournal.com]

"Universe," he corrected gently. Because 'worlds' had so many different meanings in his world. He was in the same universe from the Guardians of the Green Lantern Corps- but not the same world. It was a wide multiversal world out there, and Bruce still felt the same sense of nausea he felt when the Infinite Crisis first happened and all of the different universes crashed back into existence again.

Bruce came into this to fight petty criminals and thugs. He knew Gordon had, as well. This was not their world; this had never been their purpose when they set out. But Bruce had dealt; had joined the Justice League because he knew that the world had needed him. He left Gotham behind because if there was no world, no universe- there was no Gotham either.

But Gordon never had to. This Gordon never did. Bruce looked at him for a long moment before he quirked he lips up a little- an empty smile that still managed to convey the barest hint of sincerity.

"Fifteen years," he said, simply, and turned around to lean his arm against the ledge, looking out. There was a fondness in his voice when he spoke. "You were the newest cop, freshly transferred from Chicago. The only clean cop left in Gotham, even though you had everything to lose."

He pushed away from the ledge, fingers closing on the edge as he turned to Gordon again.

"You changed the city." The briefest flicker of a smile. "That doesn't seem to have changed."

[finestdetective.livejournal.com]

"Universe." Echoed, because it implies something greater than just the Earth, and that gives him a sick feeling of futility deep in his gut. Not something a police officer needs. There's aliens here. Aliens, from alien worlds. Not humans. Gotham is already big enough. The world is already big enough. He can't get his head around being that tiny. That insignificant, because if they are then what's the point of fighting to save Gotham?

After if the city is the same as everything else, then it has a cycle of growth--and eventually it turns back to dust, just like everything else. Futility. Uselessness.

His life is far too visceral, too full of gristle and struggle, to even let the thought in. He hasn't the time or patience to deal with it. Instead he listens to Batman talk. Fifteen years alongside him. Fifteen years older--that's the Gordon that these freaks know. It's honestly terrifying, or it would be if he had time for fear. Times of difficulty focused him, rather than spooking him, and more often than not it was that spirit that kept him alive.

"You're wrong. I didn't change the city. I sat on my hands for twenty years and watched corruption from the passenger seat of my squad car. My own partner for half of it. I wasn't a hero. Then you drop into my office and tell me you want to take down Falcone and fight corruption at the same time. Clean Gotham up. I asked you if you were one man, and you said 'Now we're two.'"

His meaning is sharp and clear, meeting those blank white eyes.

"We. Is that how it's going to be here?"

[kingofrooks.livejournal.com]

I sat on my hands for twenty years and watched corruption from the passenger seat of my squad car.

He waited. Jim waited, for him. For him to make the first move, to do something- and for a moment Bruce's breath caught, tripped over itself, and he inhaled sharp, sharp, piercing against the back of his throat. It was such a strange thought, because Gordon had always been a better man than he could ever have been. He had always been-

(The sound of the Joker's bones breaking beneath his fists. Tommy Elliot's body- or what he believed it was- lying on the streets, bleeding and bleeding. The stark white of death. Shadows. Green hair and blood and Jim Gordon's gun trained on his back. Bruce remembered it like a visceral thing. The smell of blood and rain and mud and madness, both his own and the Joker's.

Jim stopped him. Always a better man.)

But there was always the possibility. He had watched him, during Batman's first year in Gotham. The way he stumbled, possibly tripped over himself. The lines in his mouth deepening over and over, the determination in his eyes. The same determination he saw now.

Now we're two.

In Bruce's world, Jim Gordon found his own inspiration. In this man's, he found it in Batman. In a shadowy figure without a face and barely a voice. A figure that probably voiced all that he had always been afraid to say.

"That depends," he said, his voice low. He had to be sure. This man was not a mirror; he was not a ghost. There was nothing here that Bruce knew except for a name, a face, and a template. He had to be sure.

"Will you be waiting for me again?"

[finestdetective.livejournal.com]

Jim considered the question. He closed his eyes and thought about it hard for a few seconds. Would he wait for Batman? A man beneath a signal, staring up into the soft glow of light pollution that was the Gotham sky with a bleakness that said 'This is bigger than us' and a hopelessness sinking into his heart? No. No, he wouldn't. He couldn't afford to. As good as Batman was, Jim knew that he could be late. That a second more and his son would be dead. If it all happened again he would rush him; he would somehow get his son to safety and run Harvey over the edge and kill them both.

He couldn't wait for someone who might not come.

The same went for corruption. The same went for the killers that this Porter had brought here. They wanted Batman--fine. But that only meant they wouldn't see Gordon coming. He had to hope for that.

His hand reached out, brushing over the back of the other man's gauntlet, a fond touch - a farewell if he wanted it to be - and for a moment he saw a signal transposed over the unfamiliar skyline, as though they were standing on the roof of the MCU in another city. Waiting. His mind was made up.

"No," he answered, softly, all warmth rather than accusation. "I'm done waiting."

His hand fell away again, back to the wall in front of him, and Jim let his eyes fall away. If Batman wanted to vanish in that moment then he wouldn't blame him, but he hoped that their working relationship could continue here, as at home. He hoped, for the sake of the already deep feeling of loss in his hollowed out chest, that Batman would not add to it, and leave him alone here.

[kingofrooks.livejournal.com]

There was no other answer that Gordon- any Gordon- could give. Bruce knew that; knew this would be his answer. Yet at the same time he wanted to hear it from Gordon himself; to hear the weight of those words in his voice, in his tone. To hear the sincerity, and have it solidify in the City's air, instead of something unspoken.

He was done waiting. Gordon had a job to do, and it didn't matter that this was not the city that he signed up for. This wasn't Gotham, but it was still a City, and the people here weren't much different from Gotham.

And there was the fact that Gotham's trash was here, as well. Joker- and Bruce's eyes narrowed slightly, behind his lenses.

He had ignored the hints and clues so far, but now that he had the whole story, everything was- odd. The Joker being turned on Batman. He was planning, orchestrating something- and there was nothing at all funny about what he did. Of course, there might be humour in forcing an inhuman choice between Harvey and Rachel Dawes; there might be humour in forcing Harvey Dent insane- but there was no audience. There was no appreciative laughter.

There was nothing funny about anything that Jim had told him. Not even in the Joker's warped mind.

"The Joker," he said, and the moment of peace was gone. The had it, for a few moments- now back to business. "Tell me about him. All that you know."

The Joker from that world must be different. The problem was- how different?

[finestdetective.livejournal.com]

"Other than the fact that he's crazy? Not much else. We got no name, no history, no record of him ever existing when we ran his prints. What we know about him could have been written on the back of a postage stamp."

Jim took off his glasses. They were still scratched up from when he fell; struck by Harvey on the back of the head. He was usually so careful with them, and now that he was here, he had neither their case nor his spares. He felt the imperfections on the surface rather than saw them, running his thumb back over the scratches.

"You see a lot of criminals in a career like mine. Everyone is doing it for some reason. People do it because it's easy, or because they can't see any other way to support themselves or their kids. Mostly it's money. What isn't? But him? He stole the mob's money; millions and millions of dollars. And from what I hear he burned it. It's easy to write him off as crazy, but he's not. He's a genius. The DNA evidence he left on a body belonged to his next victims. The traps he'd planted were carefully chosen so they wouldn't be triggered until exactly the right time. He even maneuvered us into shutting down the bridges and tunnels so that we'd end up shipping prisoners out by ferry."

And the last bit, the bit that really stung:

"I faked my death to catch the son of a bitch, and you know what? He was planning for that, too. I've never had to deal with that kind of criminal before. Someone who's so much leaps and bounds ahead of the mobsters and slum lords that it's all I can do to keep up, let alone get the jump on them." A look. "It was all you could do, too. That's why it couldn't just be you--that's why I had to save you."

[kingofrooks.livejournal.com]

"It just means that I wasn't good enough," the answer was snapped out, almost unthinking- but sincere. His hand clenched hard against the ledge, leather fighting against concrete, and Bruce hissed out a short, sharp breath. That was true, wasn't it? His first encounter with the Joker, he had let so many of them die before he finally caught up to him. Until he finally figured out how that man's thought processes. Until he could think like him as easily as he could think as Batman, as Bruce Wayne, as Matches Malone. As any of the crooks on Gotham's streets.

But he brushed the anger away, concentrating on what Jim was saying. There was something strange here, something different. A Joker that planned ahead wasn't a Joker that he was unfamiliar with, neither was him burning his money. But there was no audience- Jim had only heard of it. The Joker he knew liked the spectacle.

Shipping the prisoners out by ferry. Burning the mob's money. Figuring out that Jim Gordon had faked his death. Threatening death until the Batman exposed himself- wanting the Batman to expose himself. For the sake of--

There. That was the problem. That was it. That was precisely the difference.

His hand clenched into a fist, smacking against concrete again. In that moment, he saw nothing with his eyes.

"He's not a performer. He has a goal." Pieces upon pieces. The Joker. A gun muzzle. Barbara Gordon. Sending Jim Gordon into that nightmare ride, watching and laughing. In contrast to- driving Harvey Dent mad in a hospital, without an audience to watch Harvey's downfall. Placing the gun in Harvey's hand. Hiding away, giggling.

The pieces fitted in front of him, and the man that Gordon saw spread out in front of him. When he smiled, it was far too sharp.

"He wants to make everyone just like he is. Just as mad." He thought back, fifteen years ago, and he shook his head. The problem he had with the Joker was that he had no goal, and yet, here- here he did. "I should have been able to deal with him."

[finestdetective.livejournal.com]

James paused, just listening to the other man, quietly judging what he was saying. He's not a performer. Meaning that this Joker was. He has a goal. Meaning that this Joker didn't. It was a terrifying thought. An audience...was that what this man wanted? He tilted his head slightly, frowning at the faraway city lights. Rich people spending money, poor people struggling over it. This city, like any other--like Chicago, New York and San Francisco. Not like Gotham. Gotham was special.

And Gotham's villains were special too--seemingly no matter which world they were from.

"You were. You were able to deal with him." He didn't know why he felt he needed to reassure him - this was Batman - but he did so none the less. He did so with all the warmth and companionship he could muster into his voice. For this man it was plenty.

"The ferries didn't go up. You caught Joker, and then you were even there for me. It can't happen like that again. I can't hold my breath and expect you to fly in and save the day at the last second. The real world doesn't work like that.

"So me, the Joker. Gotham or this city, I don't care. I'll be ready."

Determination. Confidence. He turned around again and sat on the very edge, arms folded, looking Batman straight in the eye.

"'Now we're two,' Batman. Partners."

He was looking for an equality that he wasn't sure the other could really offer him.

[kingofrooks.livejournal.com]

Partners. Was that really possible? Bruce couldn't help but still see the shadows at the back of his eyes. Jim, white-haired and faded, sprawled on stark white hospital sheets, barely noticeable because he was so pale, he had lost so much blood. Could he work with this man- as partners?

The only person he had ever used that word on was his Robins, and those he had trained for the specific purpose of being able to keep up with him. Could Gordon do that? Especially a Gordon that might not have an idea about the differences between himself and his counterpart, whoever that Batman might be?

And, more importantly, could Bruce risk it? Could he take the risk that he might be wrong about Gordon being able to keep up, and risk seeing him on a hospital bed, breathng through a tube again?

(He can't, he can't-)

Bruce lidded his eyes, and hissed out a breath through his teeth.

"We'll see," he said, because it was a better answer than a lie that he would. This was the truth, and Gordon deserved that- for this, at the very least. Bruce wondered what other things did he deserved truth- for who else did.

Damnit. He lidded his eyes slightly.

"I'll keep you in the loop. But-" he turned, and fixed Gordon with a sharp gaze. "There are people here you cannot deal with, because they have metahuman abilities. People I'm used to.

"You'll leave those to me."