So, I started on the sequel to "You Just Couldn't Let Me Go" and I felt like I had to publish it. Don't worry, I'm still not done with the first story and I'm not publishing more of this until I'm done ;)

Commissioner Jim Gordon scratched his head as he threw another stack of papers into the trash. He always hated cleaning his office desk each month, especially when he found copies of files from past criminals. He tried numerous times leaving the city of Gotham, but was drawn to the fact of making it a better place for his kids and the future. He knew it would never be at peace nor would it ever be criminal free, but there was just something holding him back from leaving.

Gordon took out the last manila folder sitting in the bottom drawer, examining it carefully, it was unlike the rest. This folder was worn out from being opened and used so many times. It was the thickest folder he had ever seen, with scratches, dirt and markings all over the front of it. Newspaper clips, pictures, brief statements and crumpled looking papers that were shoved in roughly were sticking out. He knew this folder better than anyone else. He could practically recite every detail in it to anyone who asked. It was the folder he could never bring himself to throw away. It was the folder that he knew he would unfortunately need to open again one day despite his deepest desires of setting it on fire.

"Jim?"

Gordon dropped the manila folder back into the drawer and looked up. Detective Stephens was standing in front of his door holding two cups of coffee.

"Sorry, got a bit distracted." Gordon mumbled as he stood up to meet his friend at the door way.

Stephens gave Gordon a cup, "Looking at his file again?" His voice was sympathetic and held a tiny hint of guilt.

Gordon nodded and weakly smiled, "I can never bring myself to toss it. There are still so many unanswered questions –"

"Jim," Stephens interrupted, "you don't need to give me an explanation. You have every right to keep it."

"I guess you're right." Gordon shrugged.

He knew that throwing the file away would be foolish, though he liked the reassurance others gave him to keep it. He could never imagine that such a file, a small, square, office file would give him such hatred and cause his soul to burn. Just looking at the label of the file would make any normal human citizen with at least one ounce of emotion want to go on a rampage about the subject.

"Why don't you call it a day?" Stephens asked. He could tell the pain of the topic was causing Gordon to become uncomfortable, "We've got pretty much everything under control here."

Gordon nodded as he watched his good friend leave his office. He wasn't in the mood to clean anymore and already wanted to desperately go home and relax until tomorrows work.

He made his way over to his now clean and controlled desk as he grabbed his coat and wrapped it around his spotless uniform. As he stuffed his car keys in his pocket, Gordon's eyes fell upon a picture on the right side of his desk, outlined in a thick black frame.

Inside the frame was a picture of a delicate, beautiful, happy young girl. He remembered the picture being taken roughly three years ago in a family trip. Her smile was genuine, her eyes were full of love and it was the same picture that kept him stronger every day, but it was also the most painful. In it was a girl he feared he would never meet again. One who was treated like a rag doll for no reason at all. He knew where she was now was a much better place than Gotham City was to her, but that still didn't stop him from choking up every so often. Only a real monster could destroy something like her. Only a real monster would find the joy and laughter in destroying someone little by little until they were gone. Only a real monster would confess that he wanted to keep her for his own selfish reasons and never let her go.

Gordon could feel his temper rising again and knew that throwing a tantrum wouldn't be beneficial at the moment. With a heavy sigh, Gordon flicked off the lights in his office and gently closed the door behind him. He was going home, but a broken one it was.