Disclaimer (Short):

I don't own any of the characters or places, I merely have them on unauthorized loan - but I promise to return them if and when anyone from the above list (or one of their legal representatives) asks me to.

Part Two

The Call

~o~o~o~o~

Blake had written his report, and now it was finished. He decided to have a cup of coffee before he went to the hospital. The young cop knew it was getting late, but he still had some time. He wanted to drink the still lukewarm beverage in peace, so he headed for the elevator to go back outside. Once the doors closed, John found himself pressing the up button to the top floor instead of down.

When John got on the upper floor, he made his way to the rooftop. It was slightly strange that he was going there, since it was not a place the rookie frequented. It was understood at the HQ that it was the 'Commissioner's spot'. Probably it was because he spent some of his late evenings up there.

Or maybe it was because he hoped to see Batman one night, John thought. He was not the only one either. Blake walked across the roof facing the west as he turned toward the setting sun. The rays were hitting the skyscrapers of Gotham in ablaze of colors; red, orange, and yellow.

In his peripheral vision, Blake saw the beacon that had been a part of Gotham for nine years. Walking over to it, John touched the broken searchlight; he wondered why the GCPD still even had it. The Commissioner was the one who had broke it eight years ago. At least that was what he had heard. It had long been cold and dark, its flame burned out. The young rookie wondered if there could ever be something to start it again.

Come on, Wayne. If the Commissioner is right about Bane and this army he's got, and if they're planning something, Gotham needs Batman. Because if you don't come back; we're all screwed.

Turning back around he let his gaze look over the city; John realized that Gotham went on; unaware of anything going on a beneath her feet. It would remain that way wouldn't it? Blake only let out breath and headed for the door with his untouched cold coffee.

It was the end of his shift, so Blake changed out of his uniform into jeans and a long sleeved shirt. John put on his Gotham Rogues jacket that had seen better days. He left the station to go to Gotham General Hospital.

When Blake got there, he saw the cop seating out front of the Commissioner's room was a different one than there had been earlier. The GCPD did not want to take any chances; there was a very real threat down in the sewers. Whether it was some masked man named Bane was up for debate.

He could see the Commissioner was sleeping; his breathing was still somewhat labored. He wondered how long he was going to need an oxygen mask to help him breathe. The doctor on his case said it was depended on how the Commissioner's condition went during the next few days. As long as his breathing improved he should be off it within a week.

He put the duffel bag in the room's closet, while removing the toothbrush, paste, and robe to put them in the restroom. Blake went back into the room; he set the thick batch of files carefully on the rolling meal table at the end of bed. John took off his coat and hung it behind one of the chairs.

He had hoped to talk to the Commissioner even for just a little while. Blake was relieved to see the man resting, after the trauma he went through the night before. John knew the Commissioner could be in a medicated induced sleep.

He could wait, John supposed, he didn't have anything planned that evening. The Commissioner did not have anyone around here, no family, they had moved away a long time ago. John knew all about that so what would it hurt to stick around?

He then remembered that the Commissioner's daughter was going to call the hospital room that evening. If she didn't get a hold of her father, she would get a one-way plane ticket to Gotham in a flash.

Damn. Blake had completely forgotten about the phone conversation he had with Barbara that afternoon. He had hoped the Commissioner would be awake and could talk to her. Because he knew that if he talked to her again, she would not listen to a word he said.

He glanced at his wristwatch, it was twenty after six, and visiting hours would be over at eight. Blake hadn't brought anything along to read when his eyes fell onto the files he had put on the meal table. Were the files for the Commissioner's eyes alone, or could anyone see them? Blake thought, not knowing if he should look at them or not.

Getting to his feet, Blake went over, and picked up the file on top. He had not glanced at the names on the flaps when had grabbed them earlier. The name on it read: Crane, Dr. Jonathan.

John did not know much about Dr. Crane, only that he had used experimental chemical on people. There was not much known on it, only that it seemed to make the patients mentally unstable, when they were normal people before.

Sitting down again, Blake opened the file to look over it. The new psychiatrist that had taken the place of Dr. Crane was a man by the name of Hugo Strange, who had his PhD in psychology. He had taken Crane on as patient, so what Blake was seeing was a patient report from Arkham. In this one Professor Strange had wrote:

Dr. Crane was at one time employed as a psychiatrist here at Arkham Asylum, with a degree in psychopharmacology. The patient has a curiosity in how fear affects people. He tested a chemical of his creation known as 'Fear Toxin' on inmates of Arkham as well as some Gothamites, with disturbing results. The people he would infect with this toxin would be perfectly sane individuals. Once Crane met with them, they would be ranting about someone called 'Scarecrow'. He would testify that the person was unbalanced and insane and would need to remain at Arkham.

The patient at times mumbles the word, 'Scarecrow.' I have asked him about this name, and he does not explained in further detail. I am to believe that he could be referring to himself. Not just that but for the burlap sack mask he wore on more then one occasion. Since it has been reported the other patients he had under his care had also ranted on someone called the 'Scarecrow', furthers my belief it is him.

The phone suddenly rang bringing John out of his reading. Quickly getting to his feet, caused some of the pages to fall out and onto the floor. John swore silently, but decided to leave them there in order to get the phone so it would not wake the Commissioner.

Grabbing the phone as it rang again, he answered it. Blake knew right off his tone held annoyance.

There was a beat before, "Hi. Is this Commissioner James Gordon's hospital room? This is his daughter, Barbara."

"Hello, Barbara. This is Officer John Blake again," Blake tried to keep his voice low so he did not disturb the Commissioner's sleep.

"I seem to be talking to you a lot today, Blake."

"Seems that way," Blake didn't mind she kept to his last name, though he still did not like being on a first name basis with her since he did not know her at all.

He continued on, "I hadn't gotten a chance to let him know you would be calling, I'm sorry," John was truly apologetic. He wished he had done as he had promised though it could not have been helped. "He's been sleeping since I've been here."

"I see. I guess that isn't you're fault."

John glanced over at the man in the bed and realized that either the phone ringing or his talking had woke the Commissioner up.

"It looks like he just woke up, though. Hang on for a second," Blake covered the mouthpiece of the phone before giving his attention to the man laying in bed. "Commissioner, your daughter is on the phone. She called your place earlier today because she's worried. Do you want to talk to her?"

Jim Gordon's eyes were bloodshot. His complexion usually a healthy color was very pallid. He reached up to remove the breathing mask that covered his face. "What did you tell her?" the older man's voice was low and raspy, but Blake could hear it. How the Commissioner knew he had told his daughter about the night before, John did not know.

"Just that you got shot and that you were in the hospital," Blake informed him. "I tried my best to ensure her that you were on you're way to recovery. Nothing else." the younger man answered him giving him the phone.

The Commissioner answered it in the same raspy tone he had talked to Blake with, "Hello, Babs?"

Blake went over to the chair trying not to listen to anything; the Commissioner's side of the line was quiet. He bent down to pick up the loose papers that had fallen moments ago. He stood again when he heard the Commissioner speak again.

"I did get shot a few times," the Commissioner took a labored breath before speaking again. "I'll be fine soon."

Putting the papers back in the file, John moved around the bed, to leave. He should at least join the other cop outside the room; then he could come back later. He did not have to listen to a private conversation the Commissioner was having with his daughter. When Blake motioned that he was going to leave, the older man held his hand up enough to stop him.

Stopping, he waited to see what the Commissioner wanted. As the other man listened to his daughter on the other line he gestured to the chair Blake had vacated before. Going back over, he sat back down and opened the file still in his hands. He did not even look through the disorganized file.

"No, you just started your senior year, I will not have you missing any part of your last year just because you want to come to Gotham."

Blake looked at the page in the file he was holding, having looked over Crane's file before Barbara's phone call. Skimming it, he saw it was another patient report from Arkham, though a different one from the other one. Mid-way down Dr. Strange had wrote:

I have asked him on the vigilante known as 'the Batman', he has yet to tell me about the times he has seen the man, but only one time. The one time he sprayed Batman with his toxin and dowsed him with fire. Some how Batman had overcome his Fear Toxin the next time Crane saw him was when he believed him dead.

As for the pretenders, the 'fake' Batmen as he has called them don't have the same power in them to install fear in others like the Batman does. Crane believes that the Batman is afraid of something. He would have to be, he believes, but what? That is the question. After all everyone is afraid of something. Something made the Batman-

"I still say not to come," the Commissioner's voice slightly rose but enough to be heard. He started to cough, with gasping breaths.

Jumping up quickly, John got to older man's side in a matter of seconds. Putting the breathing mask back over his mouth, so he could breathe easier, Blake made sure it was in place. Then seizing the phone up to his ear, he barely controlled his voice from yelling into it.

"Ms. Gordon," he decided to go back to formally addressing her. "Your father is really sick right now, and upsetting him isn't helping," John explained her in tense voice.

Blake glanced at the Commissioner, who was watching him as he breathed into mask he wore. He did not seem to be taking an offense from John taking the phone away from him.

"I know that, Officer," she answered. "I was not intentionally trying to upset him, I'm just worried." She had also returned to calling him by his title, but there was frustration in her voice.

"I'm sure you are," Blake would not deny that, no more than he denied going by his former name the last few years. "But it would be in your best interest as well as your father's if you just stay in Cleveland."

"Thank you for your opinion, but if I wanted it I'll ask for it," she snapped at him coldly. "But just so we're clear on something, I don't like being lied to," she went on in the same icy tone. "I asked if there was anything else wrong with my father, and you told me no."

"I can't tell you anything relating to police business," Blake answered her not affected by her tone.

"I've heard that all my life so I understand that more than most. But you could have at least told me," her voice did not change, but she went on with something else. "I can wait for a few days, at least until Dad's better when he's able to receive company."

"But-" John began to protest.

Her voice turned to steel through the phone line. "I will be coming to Gotham City, Officer Blake. And no one is going to stop me from seeing my father. Good-bye."

The line was disconnected before Blake could say anything. Hanging up the phone with more force than necessary, all he could say was, "Damn it."

Blake heard labored breathing before he remembered he was not alone. He looked back at Commissioner Gordon. The rookie had not forgotten the man was in the room, only he had forgotten momentary that the man was listening to everything he had said.

Gordon reached up and took off his mask. "Is she still coming?" he rasped out the question.

Letting out a defeated sigh, he admitted, "Yeah."

"I'll give you my wife's number, call her, she should be able to talk some sense into our daughter. If nothing else, forbid her." The Commissioner went on to give Blake the number.

"She wouldn't run away would she?" John asked.

"No, Babs is sixteen, but she wouldn't do that. She may be impulsive at times, but she's smarter than most," The Commissioner looked at him. "Reminds me of a rookie cop I know." He put his mask back over his mouth.

Blake decided to hold his tongue and not reply. He was not sure if he was being complimented or insulted. Perhaps both.

Even though he could have made the call on the phone there, it would have cost too much money. John's cell phone had free long distance after seven p.m. Looking at the time on the cell, it read two minutes until seven. He would have to wait a few minutes. He sat back down to wait.

Once it was after seven he dialed the number the Commissioner gave him, hoping that Barbara Gordon did not answer the phone. Why in the hell did Gordon drag Blake into this, or did he just get himself involved in a family affair?

"Hello?" a woman's voice answered.

This one was slightly familiar. The answering machine, Blake remembered. It was Gordon's wife's voice.

"Hello, Ms. Gordon, this is Officer John Blake," he began. "I work with your husband, James Gordon."

"Hello, Officer," the older woman answered once again. "My daughter told me what happened earlier, how is Jim doing?"

"He's got two gun shot wounds, one to the upper shoulder and another that gazed his side. He is on a breathing machine for right now because he took in some water, but he should be off of it in a few days. But the doctors say he'll make a full recovery in a month to six weeks," Blake told her. He got up from the chair and paced from it to the end of the bed.

"Thank you for telling me this, Officer. Since Babs told me some of this, what new information you just told me I imagine you did not want to let her know. I know how my husband's job works after so many years," the woman told him.

"That wasn't why I was calling, there was another reason," Blake admitted to her. He did not want to think about her last comment she had told him about how Gordon's job was. It must part of the reason the family did not live in Gotham anymore.

John stopped pacing and walked to the window. "Your daughter wants to come to Gotham. The Commissioner tried to ensure her he would be fine. When she didn't listen to him I tried to tell her it would be in her best interest to not come and that her father was on the mend."

"Is she now?" the older woman let out a breath. "I'll talk to her, Officer. I know that being a minor, or not, she could still get a plane ticket unless I stop any of her card accounts she has, but I hope it won't come to that."

"I hope so too, Ms. Gordon."

"Good night, Officer Blake, thank you for calling me and warning me about what my daughter was planning to do."

"Good night, madam, and you're welcome."

Turning back from the window he looked back over at the Commissioner. He was watching him, and John figured he had been doing so the entire time. Blake came back over to sit back down.

John took Dr. Crane's file but did not open it. He held it as the Commissioner took the mask from his mouth to speak, "Sorry to ask you to do that."

"I didn't mind," John outright lied to him. "I brought your stuff you wanted to earlier, it's in the closet. Your toothbrush and stuff is in the restroom too. And these too," he held up the file in his hands. "Oh, I brought one of your books too. One of Dickens' works."

"Thank you," he then went on, "You know," the Commissioner's voice trailed off, his eyes were now looking over Blake's shoulder. "If he doesn't come back…"

John knew whom the Commissioner meant. "The Batman."

The older man's distant gaze turned back to look at him intently. "If Bane is planning something, we might be the only ones that can stop him if…" the Commissioner was losing his voice.

Blake did not have to hear anymore. He understood what the Commissioner meant. John was just thinking of it this afternoon when he was on the police HQ's rooftop. If Batman did not return to Gotham, than it would be up to the GCPD and anyone that was in law enforcement to help the people of Gotham.

"I understand what you're saying," he informed Gordon in a quiet voice. "We're the only thing that can stop him and his army."

Question was what was Bane planning? With an army, a number of things were possible. Bane is a mercenary so he doesn't have the same kind of ethics most do.

The Commissioner closed his eyes for a second then opened them. Blake could see he was in pain. "You want me to call the nurse?"

"No," he whispered. "Just need sleep. You did good today."

"Thanks, sir," John replied. "Are sure you don't need anything else?"

"No, Blake. Go home, have a beer for me."

"Sure," he gave the older man a slight smile. "Good night, Commissioner." Blake knew Gordon's night was going to be anything but restful unless it was with the aid of medicine.

Blake put his coat on, he left the Commissioner so he could get some rest. Once he walked outside of the doors of Gotham General, John let out a weary breath and headed for his car. This had not been a great day, emotionally draining in some ways, but it was not quite as bad as the previous evening had been.

Looking up, he saw that the moon was out. As John walked along; he noticed some drawings on the wall of one of the buildings. He stopped. They were mostly childishly drawn, and would have had to be from children that had stayed at the hospital at one time or another. There were things from animals, flowers, space ships, anything a child's mind could come up with.

John was about to walk on when he felt something against his shoe. Thinking it was stone; Blake was surprised to see it was a small piece of chalk. Picking it up, he could see it was white, thanks to the streetlight.

Looking at the drawings on the wall, Blake gave a quick look to his left, then to his right. The sidewalk was empty. It was not like he was doing anything illegal, but he remembered the boy, Mark, from St. Swithin's, and inspiration struck. He began his design.

Studying his handwork once it was completed, Blake was satisfied with the emblem he had drawn. The young cop put the small piece of chalk in his pocket – he would have to remember to throw it away once he got home. Turning, John walked away from the wall of the hospital to the parking lot.

The small animal on the wall was easily overlooked among the other artwork. Its wings were spread outward, and had a small body, with pointy ears. It was plain to see that it was a rough drawing of a bat. A bat that was ready to take flight.

~o~o~o~o~

Whoever the Batman is, he doesn't wanna do this for the rest of his life. How could he? Batman is looking for someone to take up his mantle. - from The Dark Knight.

The End

A/N: Though this wasn't quite what I had in mind when I first started to write this, I finally got it done. Considering we don't see Blake after he confronts Bruce about knowing he is Batman, until I believe, the following day at the attack on the Stock Exchange, which is a 24 hour gap, so anything could happen.

Thanks for reading. Please review. Jenn