Another short chapter. They'll continue to get longer, hopefully. But they'll take longer to write too haha. Enjoy, reviews are loved.

"Robin? Isn't that a girl's name?"

Arthur glared at the man looking over his resume, Chief Foley. He was Saito's contact, and why the man had contacts with such a stiff, boring looking man was entirely beyond him. He didn't spare it another thought though, shoving it to the back of his mind. An even better question was why Saito's contact lived in Gotham, the city he had grown up in.

"I'll go by my middle name, thanks," Arthur said. Perhaps it would spare him from being mocked further. "So, I'm in, yeah?"

"Why you'd want to get in with the Gotham police is beyond me, kid, but yeah. Saito speaks highly of your abilities," Foley said, brushing a hair that had escaped the gel neatly back in place. "You're in. You'll get bored though."

"I thought Gotham was one of the most dangerous cities in the States," Arthur...John said.

Foley shrugged. "It was, but it's peace-time now. Though you can't tell Commissioner Gordon that without him giving you the stink eye. Now that the Batman is gone, everything's a lot better."

"Oh, I see," John said. "I grew up in Gotham actually. I left when I was 17 though."

"That's great, and I'm not interested," Foley said. "Ross, get in here."

John gave a frustrated sigh, but quickly put on a smile when another officer emerged from the hallway behind the desk. His black hair was clipped short, and the smile he offered John in return was warm, actually reaching his almond shaped eyes.

"Hey, guess you're my new partner, huh?" He held his hand out to shake.

John took it. "I guess so."

"Alright, Ross. He doesn't need any training, transferred here from San Francisco. Just show him where to find everything and get out on patrol," Foley ordered, waving his hand dismissively at them.

John didn't bat an eye at the information. Saito had already told him he would be drafting up his resume for him, and while he had checked it over before handing it over to Foley, he was unsure if Foley actually believed what he was reading. Was willing to repeat the information as fact.

"Sure thing, boss," Ross said, turning and heading back down a separate hallway. "So, what brings you to Gotham, Robin?"

"John is fine," John said as he followed after him. "And I needed a change of pace, I suppose."

"Change of pace is right," Ross said, leading him into the break room. "Ever since the Dent Act went into place, the streets are pretty much empty of crime." He shot a grin over his shoulder and then pointed to a large white board on the far end of the room. "Check that every day. It'll give you your schedule for the week. Locker rooms are downstairs, impossible to miss. Ready to go on patrol?"

"Ready as ever," John said, glancing over the uniform he had been provided with. The gun was next to useless compared to what he was used to. He still had his semi-automatic at home, stowed under a floorboard, and he wished he could at least have his own handgun. The weight of the one provided just didn't feel the same. "So is Foley always such a stick in the mud?"

The words felt odd in his mouth, and for a moment, he could almost hear Eames teasing him to loosen up. He wrenched himself away from the memories. That wasn't his life, not anymore.

"Yeah pretty much," Ross said. "Unless you mention the Batman. Then he's practically foaming at the mouth."

"How long has Batman been gone?" John asked as Ross unlocked the patrol car and slid in on the driver's side. He took the passenger seat.

"Eight years. He killed Harvey Dent and vanished," Ross said with a shrug. "It's Foley's life goal to take him out or something."

"He killed someone?" John asked, raising an eyebrow. It was hard to believe. He didn't remember much of his childhood, but the Batman had always been someone he admired.

"That's what the Commissioner said," Ross said, pulling out of the parking lot and into the busy streets. "It was all a mess, but either way, with Dent gone...it's a bit sad really. The Dent Act did a lot to clean up the streets, but we can't even thank him."

John frowned, fingers trailing over the handle of his gun. "Doesn't really seem like something he'd do. He never killed before."

Ross shot him a look. "How do you know so much about the guy?"

John offered a smile. "Grew up here. Left when I was 17 but decided it was time to come back, do what I could." Or Saito knew where I used to live and decided to put me back. This is too much to just be coincidence.

Lies passed so easily out of his mouth, it made his stomach churn. How could he give up his old life and start back in Gotham? How could he forget Arthur's memories? Was he Arthur or John? Or was he the boy who had left all those years ago? He couldn't remember anymore.

"Man, must of been rough," Ross said. "I got a job here about ten years ago, back when crime was still soaring. Can't imagine have growing up in that filth." He shot John a glance and a smile. "No offense of course."

"No sense in lying, right?" He looked out the window. Nothing felt right. He felt like he was sliding on another mask even though he was back home. But it was a mask he was determined to wear the rest of his life. Perhaps, after a long enough time, he would become Robin John Blake, just as he had become Arthur.

"Lies only get people hurt, man," Ross said.

John nodded his agreement, but said no more.

-.-

Arthur walked into his apartment, letting the mask of John Blake slide away as he did so. The mild smile he had been wearing all day fell flat and he shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it up neatly in the closet. His clothes were thrown in the hamper at the entrance to his bedroom and he slipped into his old wardrobe, slacks and a button down shirt.

It was unsettling how comfortable the crisp clothes made him feel, and he rubbed his eyes for a moment as he sat down at his desk. He wish he had someone to talk to, but all the contacts he had cultivated over the years...he couldn't risk talking to them now, clinging to them. If he did that, he would never become John Blake.

Before, sliding masks had been easy. An escape from unpleasant memories, a chance to become stronger. But over the years, he had fallen into being Arthur, he had truly become the Point Man. He couldn't get rid of Arthur's desire for neatness, his serious nature, his cautious behavior that bordered on paranoia.

His ability to be passionate and loving when someone finally got him to open up. His desire and thirst for knowledge. His desire for adrenaline, his desire to fight and protect, to use the heavy hand of justice to bring the bad people to their knees through their dreams. His hatred of seeing the undeserving punished.

A strangled noise escaped his throat, hands fisting in his hair. "Who am I?"

-.-

The next few weeks, John made sure to keep his head down. He did his work, smiled and played nice with his coworkers, but held them all at an arms length and didn't do anything that would be deemed even slightly abnormal. He showed up for work right on time, left immediately after.

Most times, people forgot his name he was so normal and plain. Arthur was comfortable with this, always waiting for the moment when he would have to slide back into the shadows and take on a new identity. John just wanted to have a friend for once.

It was hard trying to get rid of Arthur's traits. Over the years, he had become incapable of shaking the feeling that he would be leaving. He had never settled down, and now that he was, it made trying to actually connect with people all the more difficult. He had begun to accept that he was Arthur and John was the mask. He was beginning to accept that he would never be John, that John would always be the face he wore in public.

That he could never have someone see him as anything but John.

-.-

Eames pushed Arthur's hair back, large fingers toying with a stray piece before tucking that back as well. "Even after a bout of sex, your hair is still in fairly good shape. How do you manage that love?"

"Hm, practice," Arthur said, letting a rare smirk creep past his lips.

"Practice, darling? Are you implying you've done this a lot?" Eames' tone was teasing as he slid a hand down Arthur's lower back, stroking over his well-used hole for a moment.

Arthur's hips jerked forward, but his groan was one of exhaustion. "Eames, we just got off a job, I can only do so much for you."

"Oh, I know, love. Just teasing," Eames murmured, hand going back to stroking lazy touches up and down his back. "Am I the only one?"

Arthur swallowed thickly, tucking his face into Eames' neck as their legs twined together. "Yeah. Just you."

-.-

"You hear the latest rumor?" Ross asked, tossing him the car keys.

"No," John said. "I try to avoid gossiping like a school girl, Ross, you know that." He gave his partner a wide grin as he slid into the driver's seat. "So what's up?"

Ross rolled his eyes. "Thought you didn't gossip, John."

"You made me curious, that's all," John said.

"Word is someone sighted Bane," Ross said. "He's supposed to be some mercenary from South America with superhuman strength. All just rumors now but everyone's getting excited, saying we might actually get to do something besides catching petty pick pockets."

"We have a report of a dead young man at the exit of the sewer outflow on 48th Street, we need someone to check the situation-"

Ross snatched up the radio. "This is patrol car #335, we're on the street, we'll check it out now."

John pulled the car over and took the keys out of the ignition. "You always this eager to check out a dead body or is this a special occasion?"

"Hey, this might be the first interesting thing that's happened in Gotham in years, I want to be the first one on it," Ross said with a shrug.

They jogged across the sidewalk, both stepping without hesitation into the water and then climbing up onto the cement on the other side and approaching the crowd that had gathered.

"Alright, clear out, nothing to see," John said, raising his voice and shooing the crowd off. "Did someone call an ambulance?"

"I did," a woman said, lingering as the rest of the crowd disbursed. "I recognized the boy from the orphanage I volunteer at." She glanced to the side, staring down at the body for a moment before looking back up. "Should I...?"

"No ma'am, I'll deliver the news," John said as Ross looked the body over for wounds. "Would you mind staying with my partner here and answering any questions?"

The ambulance screeched to a halt at the closest curb, the EMTs hurrying over.

"Yes, that's fine," she said with a short nod, wiping away a few stray tears that began to escape her eyes.

"It's going to be alright ma'am, we'll figure out what happened," John said firmly, then turned as Ross came to stand beside him. "Well?"

"They just proclaimed him dead. Won't know how for sure until they do an autopsy," Ross said, the excitement from his eyes gone.

"I'm...going to go deliver the news, if that's alright," John said, backing away. "What orphanage ma'am?"

"The Wayne Foundation's Home for Boys," she said.

John swallowed thickly and gave a short nod. "Alright, thanks." He jogged back to the car after promising to swing by and pick Ross back up when he was done. He knew the home all too well. It was the one he had grown up in. He wondered, briefly, if the man who ran it was still there, if he would recognize him.

-.-

Oddly enough, Father Reilly didn't recognize him at all, and when he requested to tell the kid's only family, his little brother, by himself, he received an odd look.

"Sorry, I just...know what it's like and was hoping I could help," John said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Reilly's eyes narrowed, then widened a bit. "Blake! It is you!"

John started back, surprised. "I...yes." Blake had been his last name in his life before dream-sharing too. "I changed my name though. When I left."

"I didn't recognize you until you did that stupid smile of yours with that sheepish look," Reilly said, his hardened expression softening with a smile. "He's out on the roof with the others. Name's Mark."

John ducked his head in a nod. "Thank you, Father."

Reilly flapped a hand at him. "Reilly is fine, Blake, really. What do you go by now then?"

"John," he said. "Look, I'll just go talk to Mark and be on my way."

"Can't stay and chat? It's been a long time, I was hoping we could catch up after all these years," Reilly said.

"I...maybe later," John said, unable to outright refuse the man who had basically raised him. "I've been busy. I...can call you sometime though?"

"Swing by before you leave, I'll leave you my personal number," Reilly said with a smile.

John gave a quick nod and left the man's office, heading for the staircase that would lead up to the roof. He struggled to get his heartbeat back under control, a weird rush of adrenaline pumping through him. So far, he hadn't run into anyone that had recognized him from his childhood, and now that he had been, it felt a bit like his cover had been blown even though he had already cultivated the idea that he had grown up here among his co-workers. Part of him wanted to run away, and he had to fight the urge to do just that, forcing himself to walk up the stairs.

"Hey, can you show me who Mark is?" John asked, tapping the shoulder of the first boy he saw when he got up to the roof.

"Uh yeah, over there," the boy said, tossing the basketball in his hands back to another kid, then pointing to a younger boy sitting at the top of the bleachers.

John gave a short nod. "Thanks." He moved across the roof, finding the side-glances from the kids like tiny needles prickling over his skin. As John, he mostly faded into the background, but here on the roof, surrounded by kids that saw his uniform as a symbol to hate or love, he was the center of attention.

Biting his lip, he climbed the bleachers and sat down next to Mark, a dark skinned boy with shaggy black hair, drawing idly with a piece of chalk without looking at him.

"He's dead, yeah?" Mark asked, the sound of his chalk scratching against the metal never pausing.

"Your brother? Yeah," John said. "You know something about it?"

"He worked in the sewers once he grew too old to stay here," Mark said with a shrug. "Boys go there often, end up disappearing. I figured one day he wouldn't come back."

"Doesn't make it any easier, does it?" John asked.

"Of course not," Mark said, his tone saying he thought the older was stupid. "But I'm not going to start crying on you or something, it's alright. Can't be seen crying on a cop here. It's embarrassing."

"Yeah, I know that," John said, nudging him with his elbow. "I grew up here too. Left when I aged out. Left the whole city."

"My brother couldn't do that," Mark said with a shake of his head. "He had to support me."

"Support you by hanging out in the sewers all day?" John asked.

"No, there's work down there." The words were said with the same contempt as before, as if he couldn't believe someone so stupid was a cop.

"What kind of work?" He peered over the younger's shoulder, surprised to see him drawing the Batman symbol over and over again in neat little rows.

"I don't know, didn't say," Mark said. "Just said we'd be safe."

"Thought the Batman was gone," John said, changing the subject before the young boy shut him out completely. He could tell the younger was getting fed up with the questions about his brother.

"Probably. Hope he comes back," Mark said with another shrug. "Never saw what he did, my brother told me. Told me to believe in the Batman."

"After he killed that Dent guy too?"

Mark sighed, getting to his feet and dropping the chalk on the pavement through the slots of the bleachers. "The Dent Act locked up a lot of our friends for no reason. Who gives a fuck about Dent."

John was unable to say anymore as the kid made his way down the bleachers, wiping his chalk caked hands on his blue jeans as he went. Sighing, he leaned back against the top most bleacher. Something about this didn't feel right. None of it felt right. This wasn't the Gotham he once knew. Something had changed, and he wasn't sure if it was for the better.