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."

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[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."