Just Enough

"There is a higher court than courts of justice, and that is the court of conscience." -Ghandi

Just: (adj) conforming to fact, reason, or a standard of correctness; adhering to what is considered morally upright or deserved. *see also: just: immediate or precise (conversely: almost)

He had lost the battle.

Age-worn and work-hardened fingers tapped vacantly at the neck of the whiskey bottle. He'd only had a few sips so far. He was almost too depressed to drink. It wasn't as if getting drunk would change anything, and the oblivion it offered was too short to be satisfying. His head hurt enough as it was; the hangover wasn't worth it.

Gotham, a police state. It made his chest ache and his stomach knot. Never thought I'd see the damn day.

Despite himself, Gordon knocked back another shot of the amber liquor, and the burn was the momentary bliss of self-flagellation. Sweet, painful recompense for the sin his failure.

He had lost.

He had risen to the aid of his City in its time of need, and he had been struck down by the very system he stood for. Crushed by his own rules, beaten at his own game.

To be honest, no one had seen City Hall coming. Not even Quincy, which was saying something these days. Those escaped thugs, the Titan junkies, had proven the mayor's point more effectively than any campaign speech could ever hope to.

Sharp's Hall had been unveiled like a shining white monument – the grand embodiment of peacetime, and the Junkies had razed it to the ground with enough explosives to fell a football field. The flames had burned long into the night. As Gordon's men worked frantically to locate the criminal bastards, the Commissioner had stood outside the burning ruins and looked on. The scene had recalled to mind too vividly the Arkham breakout of last October.

Gordon had thought himself a hero, then. Thought he was the one to pull the City back from the edge of darkness. But then, he hadn't counted on it wanting to fall in.

The muggy July air enveloped Gotham like a wet blanket, even at night. It was uncomfortably warm atop the GCPD building: concrete walls and brick foundations radiated heat into the sky, but the smog pressed it back down. A convection cycle of suffocating misery.

The whiskey bottle tipped up again, its contents swirling wildly against the glass. Gordon swallowed hard against the numbing burn, pawed droplets of alcohol from his moustache. The same hand absently wiped at the sweat collecting beneath the collar of his shirt.

Well, he thought blithely. The heat was still better than the cold.

Gordon sat in silence in the rooftop corner of the police building, leaning against the heavy metal frame of the Batsignal spotlight. It wasn't on, of course. It hadn't been, not since City Hall. Sharp had seen to that.

"This is still my city, Sharp. You can't just-"

"You'll find that I can, Commissioner. This is a state of emergency. Gotham is under attack – and no thanks to you, your corrupt precinct, or the man in tights that you so desperately depend on. It is because of your neglect and idiocy that this has happened... and if you continue to fight me, Mr Gordon, I can assure you that the public will become well informed of your incompetence.

"You will either work with me or you will be removed. This is my city. You will work under my rules. There will be no more contact with the Batman, and I will provide for the City's security needs. From now on... you and yours are mine."

"I thought perhaps I'd find you here, Commissioner."

Gordon startled violently, nearly upending his whiskey. The familiar voice emanated from nowhere and everywhere at once, as if speaking from the shadows themselves. Or perhaps he was just slightly drunk.

"You- you shouldn't... It's dangerous for you, you know." Gordon settled carefully back into his spot against the spotlight, heart driving wildly with adrenaline. "You shouldn't be out here."

"When has that ever stopped me?" A tall, almost hulking form emerged halfway from the shadows. The oppressive humidity only enhanced his silent, unnatural stillness, making everything seem more surreal.

Or maybe that was the alcohol again.

"For that matter," the Batman went on, "when has that ever stopped you?"

"Not all of us have the luxury of anonymity," Gordon retorted weakly. "You know I can't – you know what he'd do. I can't-"

"You could, if you were prepared to deal with the consequences."

"...I'm not."

"No." The other man dipped his head, after a moment of consideration. "You aren't."

Gordon could feel the Crusader's gaze on his whiskey bottle. It was like the judgemental eye of a father you wanted so desperately to please, and it made him feel even more ashamed and horrible than before. Even worse, it made him feel small.

There were only two people on this planet whose opinions mattered to Gordon; they were those of his daughter and Batman.

Barbara... it had been too long since they'd spoken. What did she think of him, now? It made him sick with self-loathing, imagining the horrified look on her face as he signed away his control of the city. Look at how far you've fallen. Look at what you've become.

"There is another way."

The Commissioner lifted his head in surprise. "What?"

"I have a friend who is willing to be the public face for a campaign against Arkham City. With your help, he has a chance of turning the tide."

Who would even – "You know I can't publicly-"

"Not publicly."

"...Illegally?"

"Yes."

The Batman, proposing he do something illegal. The times, they were a-changing. "And – and who is this person?"

"Bruce Wayne."

Heavy silence descended between them, stretching on for several long moments. Then, "Bruce Wayne... the billionaire." Gordon's head spun, and it definitely wasn't the alcohol this time.

"Yes. He came to me with the idea after City Hall."

"...Bruce Wayne?"

"He has the funds and he's prepared to face an impending scandal. He just needs support."

"Support how?"

"Information. From both of us."

It was slowly coming together in Gordon's scattered mind. "You want me to be a spy?"

"You could call it that." At the Commissioner's expression, he pressed, "You've said it yourself, Gordon. This is war. The rules have changed. You're under surveillance, and Sharp has declared me a public enemy. This is our only option."

Gordon shook his head in disbelief, eyes wide. He dragged a hand down his face, overwhelmed. How am I considering this?

But then he paused in the wake of a sudden epiphany.

Wait. How am I not considering this?

Gordon, you pathetic asshole. Look at you, snivelling on the ground like some idiot rookie when you could be out making a difference.

If there was ever a time to prove that he could protect his city, it was now.

"Okay." Gordon swaggered to his feet, unsteady. "I'll do it. Anything. You say the word, and I'll get it done."

He could have sworn he saw the Batman smile. "That's what I thought," the Crusader sounded satisfied, and Gordon's heart did a flip. "I'll let him know you're on board. Keep your eyes open, Gordon – and be careful. TYGER has eyes and ears everywhere, now. I've temporarily disabled the ones in this area, but there's little I can do for the rest of the city. It's going to be up to you."

Gordon nodded. "I'll get it done." He stole a glance down at the whiskey bottle still clutched in his hand. It felt silly, now. It was the vice of a coward. He was not a coward. "How will I know when to-"

The Commissioner had lifted his head again to find that the Crusader had vanished, and he was speaking to air. The familiar feeling brought a sudden smile to Gordon's face. A true, genuine one. A smile of hope.

Sharp's system was oppressive and unfair. Unjust. But Gordon would do his best to fight the system and rebuild Gotham from the ground up. He'd do whatever it took.

And maybe this time his best would be just enough.