Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by DC Comics, various publishers, and Warner Bros., Inc. Any other owners, licensees, or those legally attached to the Batman name, image, etc. of whom the author is unaware are included in this disclaimer although not mentioned by name. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: This idea has been rattling around in my brain for several months and so, to make the rattling stop, I've finally sat down to write this story. My initial thought is that it will be a one-shot. Enjoy!

Decisions

Barbara Gordon closed the door behind her and fought the urge to allow her body to slide down the soft wood to the floor. Despite knowing that this day could easily come, after 10 years she was still completely unprepared for the reality of it. Montoya and Stephens had looked exactly like two cops carrying out the one duty neither ever wanted or imagined: delivering the news that her husband had been killed in the line of duty. And, behind them, up on the fire escape, the great, malevolent bat had perched – and for what reason? To see the final evidence of his handiwork, perhaps, for she blamed him for what had happened. He had been the one to incite this fiend – this Joker – into eliminating the good men of this city, one by one. He was the one that creature wanted; yet he was still breathing, still upright while Jim…

"Mommy?" Barbara looked over to the doorway and saw her son, Jimmy, standing there watching her worriedly. His small fingers twisted the hem of his t-shirt. "Why were those people here? Why are you crying?"

How to tell this seven year-old boy the truth of what has happened? How do I tell him that his father has given his life to protect a city that couldn't have cared less? "Sweetheart, go get your sister and bring her into my room. I'll be there in a minute," she said, amazed at the steadiness in her voice.

He nodded, his blonde hair shining in the light from the dining room. With one last look at Barbara's face, he disappeared from view and she could hear his feet pounding down the hallway to his sister's room.

A moment later, Barbara moved through the doorway and turned in the opposite direction from Jimmy's path, walking to the master bedroom and the adjoining bathroom at the end of the hall. Once there, she caught sight of herself in the mirror – face paler than she'd ever seen it, eyes red and swollen. She resolutely shook her head; I need to pull it together for my children. Turning on the tap, she splashed cold water on her face and then reached for the towel hanging on the rod. Soaking it, she tipped back her head and covered her eyes, letting the cold cloth do what it could to soothe them. After a few moments, she raised her head and looked in the mirror again. Better, although Barbara was certain that the haunted look was now there to stay.

Drying her face, Barbara stepped back into her room to the sight of both children standing, hand in hand, next to the bed. Jimmy, consciously standing up straight, did not physically resemble his father, other than appearing to have inherited his thin frame. His expressions, however, and his mannerisms were purely Jim. Maggie, however, was her father all over. From her blue eyes and rather serious nature to the dimples that appeared when she did smile or collapse into giggles, Maggie looked just like Jim. Barbara's only contribution appeared to be the child's reddish-brown hair. At 5, this child, too, was far too young to hear the news she was about to impart.

"Come sit with me," Barbara said softly, taking their hands and walking over to her bed. She felt her eyes fill again as she sat down on Jim's side and pulled Maggie into her lap. Jimmy sat very close to her side.

"Some people Daddy works with came to see us awhile ago," Barbara began.

Maggie's small voice piped up, "Was Daddy with them?"

"No, darling," Barbara swallowed around the lump in her throat and paused for a moment to calm herself. "They came because they had something to tell us; something about Daddy."

Barbara paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "You know that Daddy has been working hard to catch a very bad man and put him in jail. The man had threatened to kill some very important people in Gotham – in fact, he did kill some of them – and Daddy wanted to make sure that everyone else was safe."

"Did they catch him?" Maggie wanted to know.

"Not yet. You see, today, they had a service for one of the men who died. All the important people were there: the Mayor, Mr. Dent, and many of the people who work with Daddy on the police force. Daddy was there, too. He thought that the bad man would try to hurt people while they were all together, and he was right. The man he's been trying to catch dressed up as a policeman and tried to shoot the Mayor, but Daddy wouldn't let him. He saved the Mayor's life." Barbara couldn't continue and laid her cheek on the top of Maggie's head for a moment, closing her eyes. Soon, she felt a small hand slip into hers and she opened her eyes to see Jimmy looking at her. He squeezed her fingers tightly and, in that moment, Barbara could see that her son already knew what had happened. He had overheard much more from Stephens than she'd realized.

"How did he save him?" Maggie asked.

"He pushed the Mayor down so the bullet wouldn't hit him," her mother answered softly, tears slipping down her cheeks. "But, instead, the bullet hit Daddy." She hugged the child to her tightly. "And they couldn't make him better."

Maggie began to cry and Jimmy snuggled even tighter against Barbara's side. No one moved or said a word for several moments; Barbara rocked her children and allowed them to cry; to have their own reaction to the news of what they'd lost. After awhile, Jimmy pulled back from her and wiped his face roughly on his t-shirt. "What are we going to do now?" he asked. "Are we going to stay here or move away?"

Barbara sighed. How many times had she and Jim argued over leaving Gotham in hopes of having any semblance of a normal life? On many occasions, her voice raised in anger and desperation, Barbara had told him that moving away was their only hope. Obviously, Jimmy had overheard that, as well. She reached over and stroked his cheek. "No, darling, we are going to stay here – at least for now. We've got enough to deal with right now, I think." Jimmy nodded.

"Come on, time for bed. It's late," Barbara rose, shifting Maggie to lie against her shoulder. The child had already fallen asleep. "You wash up, brush your teeth and put on your pajamas. I'll be along in a few minutes to tuck you in, ok?" At his nod, Barbara ruffled his hair and walked down the hall with him until they reached his room. Once he'd gone in to change, she continued to her daughter's room, setting the little girl gently on her bed. The white, four-poster that Jim had put together – loudly – in twice the time the salesman had assured him would be required. She remembered him sitting in the middle of Maggie's floor, glasses slipping down his straight nose and directions held in his hand.

"Damn these instructions!" he fumed. "I've got three 'mounting screws' more than they say I should have and I don't think 'tab A' even remotely fits into 'slot B'. Barbara!"

She remembered standing in the doorway and watching him with amusement as he delivered his frustrated monologue. She smiled softly remembering the sheepish look on his face when he bellowed her name only to look up and see her standing there watching him. "Want some help?" she'd offered, settling down on the floor next to him. Barbara had leaned over and rested her chin on Jim's shoulder, looking at the directions with him. She's been surprised to feel the tickle of his mustache against her cheek as he turned his head and kissed her gently. Barbara remembered how his blue eyes had darkened when she turned and met his lips with her own in a lingering kiss. "How is that supposed to help me put this together?" he had whispered, an amused look on his face. "Perhaps motivate you to move faster? Oh – and to work from the correct page?" Barbara had teased, pointing to the page number in her husband's hand that was, in fact, two sheets ahead of where he should have been. She recalled his self-deprecating sense of humor as he huffed in disgust, but then laughed with her. Barbara also remembered how they'd ended the night, in their own bed, making love to each other with all the passion and fire that they'd first found together years before.

Barbara shook her head to clear it and brushed her hands over her face, yet again, to remove the wetness there. A jabbing, bony little knee in Barbara's leg followed a light snore from her sleeping daughter. She swiftly undressed Maggie and slipped her nightgown over her head. She could live without brushing her teeth for one night, Barbara thought, slipping the covers snugly around the little girl's shoulders. She never awakened once throughout the procedure. Barbara bent down and kissed Maggie's warm cheek. "I love you," she whispered then straightened, turning out the overhead light and leaving only the snowman nightlight that the child insisted be left up year-round. Jim had picked it up for her the year before on a nighttime run to the pharmacy for eardrops. He'd plugged it into the socket near her bed and told her that the snowman would watch to make sure the medicine was working to make her ears feel better. That was all he'd had to say to her. In the summer, he'd brought her a nightlight with a smiling daisy, but Maggie would have no part of it. The snowman stayed put.

Barbara walked into Jimmy's room to find him wide awake, as she had expected him to be. She sat down on the edge of his bed and brushed his bangs back from his forehead. "Want to talk to me?" she asked softly.

Jimmy looked at her. "Is there a chance they could be wrong? That maybe they just thought it was Dad but it wasn't really him?"

Barbara shook her head. "No, son, I'm so sorry. Detective Stephens himself checked. He said Daddy saved the mayor's life; he was a hero."

Jimmy nodded, tears slipping down his cheeks. "I don't want to talk anymore," he whispered, turning over onto his stomach.

Barbara pulled the covers up around his shoulders and rubbed his back for a few moments before standing. "I love you," she said. "Try to get some sleep."

"Ok," he murmured and then fell silent. Barbara flipped the light switch by the doorway and left his room quietly.

Once in the hallway, Barbara found that she was restless. She didn't want to go to bed – that stretch of emptiness on Jim's side was too much for her to face at the moment. She walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa. Stephens hadn't said anything about the funeral or what they had done with Jim. Just that he couldn't release him to her yet; there was the matter of 'evidence' that could definitively link his murder to the Joker. Barbara shivered. She had an almost visceral need to see him; almost as if she needed to confirm to herself that he really was gone.

She walked into the kitchen and picked up the phone. Dialing the precinct, she waited for someone to pick up the phone. Finally, after six rings, Stephens' voice came through. "Major Crimes; Stephens."

"It's Barbara," she said quietly. The man on the other end of the line inhaled sharply.

"Barb, what can I do for you, honey?" he asked. "What do you need?" The Stephens and the Gordons had been friends for several years; Stephens was the one man, other than Batman, that Jim knew he could trust implicitly.

"I need to see Jim," she said, her voice sounding desperate even to her own ears.

"Barb, I can't make that happen tonight," came the reply.

"Tomorrow morning, then," she replied. "You don't understand – I need to see him for myself."

"I'll see what I can do, but it's out of my hands. Barbara, the medical examiner has to see him first," Stephens' voice was patient, but firm. "It's procedure, honey. I know you don't want to hear it, but we have to wait until the M.E. releases him." When she didn't respond, he added. "I do understand what you're going through and I don't like it any more than you do, Barbara."

She nodded then realized that he couldn't see her do that over the phone. "I know. I'll let you go, now. Just … just -,"

"I'll call you as soon as something changes. I promise," he said.

"Thanks," she whispered and hung the phone back in its cradle.

Mechanically, Barbara walked back through the house, turning off the lights and ending up back in her room. Their room. Her room, now. She pulled down the bedcovers and slipped off her shoes. Fully dressed, she slipped into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and turning her face into Jim's pillow. With the scent of his shampoo and the Ivory soap he favored filling her nostrils, Barbara sobbed until she fell into a fitful sleep.

XXXXXXXX

The following morning came and went with no contact from the police regarding her husband's body or the plans for a full, department funeral. News of Gordon's murder was plastered on GCN and the image of the Joker – as taken by bank security cameras – was often positioned next to Jim's face on the screen.

The mayor issued a statement praising Jim as one of the last great protectors of the city and Harvey Dent had scheduled a press conference for later that day to try to calm the citizens of Gotham. There was a rumor that Batman would turn himself in, to stay any further executions by the Joker.

The kids had gone over to Barbara's sister's house for the afternoon as a distraction. The press had intermittently stopped in front of the Gordon home to take pictures, only to be chased away by the black and white patrol car stationed across the street. Barbara didn't want her children subjected to that kind of scrutiny and her sister, with whom she was very close, came to her rescue.

Barbara was therefore alone when the news conference was broadcast live from the D.A.'s office and Harvey Dent proclaimed to the world that he was the Batman. As he was led from the room in handcuffs, Barbara felt her rage take hold. This was the man who was responsible for Jim's death. By not coming forward sooner, her husband had taken a bullet intended for the Mayor, another victim on the Joker's long list of officials. Barbara cried bitter tears as she recalled how Dent, as Batman, had crouched on the fire escape of their home the night before when Jim's detectives had come to tell her what had happened.

As she sat, Barbara began to think about Dent, the Joker and the events that had led to Jim's death. As she considered the past few weeks, Barbara realized that Jim bore some responsibility in all of this, as well. He had to have known he was targeted and yet he continued to place himself in danger – in immediate danger. As the head of Major Crimes, he had a team of detectives and officers that could be deployed against the Joker – and could have participated in the protection of the Gotham's Mayor and other dignitaries the previous day. It didn't have to be Jim; he could have sent others and stayed out of the line of fire. As she paced the length of the living room, however, the truth began to poke holes in her theory. The man she'd married would never have allowed someone else to accept his risk; he would never have knowingly put anyone else in his place to face known danger. It would simply never have entered his mind; he wasn't wired that way. Anger, she thought. One of the stages of grief; this one felt as if it was going to hang around for a while.

The kids came home after dinner. They were tired and at odds with her and each other; testimony to the shock of their current situation. She watched a movie with them for a while and then put them to bed. They were exhausted; she was exhausted – and heartbroken. The one thing they all wanted was the one thing they couldn't have anymore.

Barbara was just about to go to bed when she heard a soft knock on the door. She glanced at the clock; it was after 10:30. Who would come to the door at that hour … now? Perhaps Stephens had news from the M.E.'s office and the thought quickened her steps. Barbara threw back the deadbolt and opened the door, stumbling backward a bit when she saw who was standing on the stoop.

Jim looked down at his feet for a moment, then back up at her face. "I'm sorry," he said in his soft voice, moving up to the top step. "I couldn't risk your safety…"

When Barbara looked back on that moment, she would realize that she never truly knew what she was doing when she slapped her husband's face. A wave of intense rage, shock and understanding that he had done this on purpose filled her and she reacted. Jim just looked at her and, in his eyes, Barbara saw everything he had tried to pack into that one-sentence apology: I love you. I had to protect you and the kids. I can't live without you; I couldn't stand it if anything had happened. I know this was devastating. I know I hurt you. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I love you.

Barbara reached for him with a cry and Jim gathered her up into his arms. "I love you," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He kept apologizing until his voice grew hoarse as they clung to each other in front of the open door.

Barbara kissed the side of his neck, his cheek and, finally, his mouth. "I love you," she whispered. "Don't ever do this to me again. I can't take this again; the kids can't take it again. Promise me. Promise me."

Jim nodded. "I promise you," and he kissed her again.

They held each other for a while longer, Jim rubbing her back and placing small kisses in her hair. Barbara shivered in his arms after a time and Jim realized the door was still wide open. He kissed her forehead and stepped back to close it.

"I've got something to tell you," he whispered, reaching over and drying the tears on her cheeks with his fingers.

"Go and see your son," Barbara smiled for the first time. "Then come to bed. I'll be waiting."

Jim pulled her into his arms once again and kissed her gently. "I love you," he said again.

As she watched him walk down the hallway to Jimmy's room, Barbara drew a deep breath. They would still argue about long hours and dangerous cases; she might even be pushed to the point where she begged him to move, to give this all up and take the kids to a place that wasn't as dangerous as this one. But she would never forget these past two days and how it felt to be without him.

And Barbara Gordon knew she didn't want to be without him again.