Chapter One
I'm going to be a different sort of cop – very different.
"Hello?"
It had been seven years since Bruce heard that voice. Rachel Dawes. How much he had missed her. Her face had often haunted his dreams during the first few months of travelling. Afterwards, it had slowly faded away until it became a fuzzy impression of her. Ra's al Ghul's teaching came to mind. Memories of loved ones can be poison in your veins... Rachel's case wasn't much different. Bruce had doubted he would see her again.
"Rachel?" Bruce found his voice and answered her.
"Who is this?" He winced. It's been seven years, he told himself.
"It's me... Bruce Wayne."
"Bruce?" Bruce allowed Rachel to calm down again by staying silent for a few moments. Only then he dared to speak again.
"Er, so... How are you, Rachel?"
"No, how are you?" Rachel talked very fast. "You've been gone seven years, Bruce! Where have you been? What were you doing? What are you doing now?"
"Calm down, Rachel." Bruce said firmly. "Should we meet and talk? I'm free for a while."
"Yeah, sure. Where-"
"Come to my place." Said Bruce without hesitation. "It's the same old house, don't worry..."
"Okay. I'll be there right away." She was about to hang up.
"Wait... It's good to hear from you again, Rachel."
"Yeah. Good to hear you, too." A pause. "See you in a few minutes."
Rachel's heart was beating very fast. She had to admit, she was nervous. Bruce Wayne. She thought he had been dead for the last seven years. Like everybody else had. And then he called her... Rachel forced herself to drive slowly. As she approached the familiar Wayne Manor she found that she could barely breathe. Calm down, you idiot, what the heck is wrong with you? It's just Bruce. Just Bruce.
She got out of the car, looking around. The place wasn't much different. There was a Rolls parked outside the house; quite possibly good old Alfred's. Rachel took her time as she walked towards the door. Hands shaking, she rung the doorbell, not sure of what to expect.
The door creaked open almost instantly. A young man stood behind it... Bruce. Bruce Wayne. It was really him.
"Rachel! You're here!" He came forward. "It's really great to see you..."
Rachel, at first, couldn't speak. Then she ran up to him, hugged him, then held him at an arm's length, as if examining him. In fact, that was exactly what she was doing. Bruce was obviously the same man Rachel had seen before his disappearance... Yet he was different. Something in his eyes - a knowing and wisdom that didn't belong to such a young person. And he looked more built, radiated a strange air of power... Or was it just her?
"Where have you been, Bruce?"
As much as Rachel wanted to tell him how much she had missed him, or how happy she was to see him again, she couldn't help thinking of the last time she had seen him - in front of Falcone's bar, in the underground streets of Gotham. He had disappeared the next day.
Bruce didn't answer. After a long, uneasy silence, he said - "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you that."
"Can't tell me?" Rachel said, her voice higher than intended. "You can't tell me?"
"Look, Rachel, I haven't even told Alfred. It's personal... You know how private a person I am. Please, can we not talk about it?" Bruce avoided her eyes.
"I've had enough, Bruce. Why do you invite me over if you're not going to tell me anything?" Tears began to well up in her eyes. "All these years, I've been thinking that you were dead! And now..." She couldn't face him no longer. Rachel turned away, and ran to her car, ignoring Bruce, who was shouting her name.
Later, Rachel found herself deeply regretting her actions on that day. If only she had listened to him... Things would have been so much better...
Bruce was angry. Not with Rachel, but with himself.
Why can't you just tell her? He asked himself. What's the big deal?
Because, what happened there in the mountains, what you've gone through, it's only for you to know, and you alone. You know that.
He told Alfred nothing about Rachel's sudden departure. Alfred didn't ask, seeing the dark expression on his master's face. Bruce left the house soon afterwards, with an envelope of documents tucked under his arm. He borrowed the Rolls, and drove slowly, into the city, observing.
Gotham had decayed further in his absence. Garbage and junk littered the streets; beggars were everywhere, and the monorail, once shiny and in peak condition, was now no more than a rusty metal can with wheels. Bruce's knuckles tightened over the steering wheel; anger was slowly bubbling up inside him. He missed his father so much. Gotham would have been so much more, if Thomas Wayne were still alive...
Bruce parked the car in front of Gotham's central police station. He climbed out, looking up at the building. Entering, he looked around for an information desk - a young woman was sitting there, writing something.
"Yes?" She said without looking up when Bruce approached her.
"I... I wish to apply for the Gotham PD. Where...?"
The woman's look of surprise was plain in her face. "Apply? For the PD? But..."
"Yes?" Said Bruce pleasantly.
"Er, never mind..." The woman gestured to her left. "The second office to the right. There'll be an officer in there, you can ask him for details."
"Thank you." Bruce gave her a wide smile and walked off. She didn't stop staring until he disappeared into the room.
True to the woman's word, there was a policeman sitting in the office. Bruce noticed his bulging waistline, slack mouth, eyes that lacked alertness... This was going to be far harder than Bruce had imagined, if this is what the majority of cops looked like.
"I'd like to apply for the Gotham PD."
"Name?" The cop said in a bored drawl.
"Bruce Wayne." The policeman stared at him, eyes wide in astonishment.
"Are you the Wayne?"
"I'm not sure I understand." said Bruce, shrugging. "I just came to apply for the Gotham PD."
"You? PD?" The policeman's eyes were popping from his head. "I thought - Everybody said you were dead -"
"You confuse me." Bruce feigned puzzlement. "Can we get on with the application, please? I'm in a bit of a rush here."
The cop's jaw was hanging open. At last, he said - "Sure. I'm sorry. Did you bring your documents? We'll have to interview you, and you must take a physical capability test..."
"Will I be permitted to use my own weapons?" Bruce asked, wiping the sweat from his brow. The cop he was talking to was... Different. He was older, for one thing, and the look in his eyes... He was a world-weary man. But also a wise one. Bruce already found that he liked him. And he was familiar... Where had he seen him before?
"What sort of weapons?" The cop said. "As long as they're not firearms, yes. What do you have in mind?"
"Oh, I have my ideas." Bruce replied. "How did I do on the test?"
"Surprisingly well... Have you undergone any previous training?"
"Sort of..."
"Well, you're in, now. I'm going to be your partner... James Gordon." The policeman held out his hand. Bruce shook it. James Gordon... Bruce realized that he had met this man before - when he was only a boy, the night his parents were murdered. Jim was the same cop who had comforted him, putting Thomas Wayne's jacked over his shoulders... "I'm honored to work with you, Mr. Wayne."
"Call me Bruce." He said, finally finding his voice. "So... Do I get to tag along on your patrols?"
"You'll be stuck with paperwork for a few weeks... But it all depends. You never know how fast you'll be promoted." Gordon shrugged. "I'll give you a package, and you can go home for the day. I'll see you tomorrow at nine o'clock."
"Alright. Thanks, Mr. Gordon."
"Call me Jim." Gordon said with a smile. Bruce also grinned. He really did like this man.
Alfred served a delicious dinner for Bruce that evening - turkey with homemade stuffing, mashed potatoes, fried vegetables... The only thing was, Bruce wasn't terribly hungry. He was never hungry nowadays - after learning to survive on tiny amounts of food his stomach was beginning to reject the scrumptious meals Alfred was serving him three times a day.
"Are you not well, Master Wayne?" Asked Alfred, seeing Bruce picking at his turkey.
"No, not at all," Bruce replied, shaking his head. "I'm just... Not hungry."
"You didn't seem hungry since the day you returned home, sir." Alfred looked at him, cutting a slice of turkey. "Is there something wrong with the food?"
"No, the food's great, Alfred. It's... Well, a little hard to explain. My stomach must have shrunk when I was abroad."
"Did you starve yourself, Master Wayne?"
"Sort of." Bruce said, grinning, despite himself.
"I don't think want to know any more." Alfred said dryly. After a moment of silence, he asid - "So I'm only to serve the simplest fare?"
"When you feel like it, sure - knock yourself out. But every meal doesn't have to be a feast." Bruce pushed himself from the table.
"I understand, sir. What sort of dish..."
"Rice, Alfred. Rice and vegetables are fine. Even better, with green tea."
"Where exactly did your tastes change, Master Wayne?" Alfred raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, in some unknown region in China? Or was it Tibet? I can never remember..."
"Tomorrow, Master Wayne, you'll receive the finest bowl of rice in the country, and not a morsel more," Alfred said with a wide smile.
"Thanks, Alfred. I'll be looking forward to it." Bruce went upstairs to his room. The package Gordon had given him sat on his desk, still waiting to be opened. In truth, Bruce was almost afraid to look inside - what lay in wait of him at the Gotham PD? An insanely large number of criminals, corrupt policemen, invincible mob bosses... Bruce began to doubt himself. But when he thought of Gordon, the 'good' cop - he suddenly felt strength.
Bruce opened the envelope. Information on being a Gotham policeman filled the pages inside - from patrols to capturing criminals, using a gun to killing. As Gordon had told him - As long as they're not firearms... Ducard didn't teach Bruce anything about using guns. Guns, he had said, are primitive weapons - but swords, for instance, are shaped by the man wielding it. Bruce saw, in his mind's eye, the pair of gauntlets from the monastery. They were deadly, effective, and very useful in dozens of different ways. He grinned. I'm going to be a different sort of cop, Bruce thought, very different.
At the very end of the package sat a page about a mob boss - Carmine Falcone. Along with a 'Wanted' photo, it presented information on all of the man's crimes - but other than that, nothing useful. Bruce could immediately tell that this one would be hard to bring down. This was his first target.
Carmine Falcone. I'm coming.
Notes: Well, that's Chapter One. I'm sorry if it's crappy or poorly written, I'm just not a very good writer. The little discussion between Alfred and Bruce, about food, is similar to the one in the movie novelisation. As you can see I'll be referring to the book a lot, since it features more scenes and situations than the movie, and because it also happens to be sitting on my desk right now.
Reviews will be appreciated!
