Hunt

Dark clouds slowly rolled their way across the sky as Sergeant Gordon drove his vehicle through Gotham Central Park patrol route, scanning the faces of each passerby. There weren't too many people out in the park today; unless there was a special event, there never really were: a fact that would hopefully make his search a little easier.

It had been two days since the attempted murder of the Wayne family. Everywhere you looked the most interesting story in decades was shoved right in your face: "The Waynes Saved By Unlikely Hero: Suspect Still At Large". You couldn't turn on the TV without finding talkshow hosts and newscasters spinning every conspiracy story; naming suspects from anonymous callers; blaming the government, the police force, for not cleaning up Gotham's streets; basically, muddying the water. For all the media claimed to be on their side, trying to help them, they only made the job that much harder.

Gordon got a headache just thinking about it. He had managed (by the grace of God) to find the one channel that wasn't playing up the media hype. The station played old swing music, stuff his father probably listened to back in the day. It was oddly soothing.

Just about every cop in Gotham was out chasing leads, banging on doors, and being a general pain to everyone in the vicinity of the crime scene (Crime Alley, go figure). Every cop wanted to be the one to find the perp, the break in the case, and be the hero of the day; except for him. Gordon was searching for the real hero of the media frenzy who remained at large as well.

(2 days ago, GCPD)

The entire department was in uproar over the latest incident. Cops were running around like headless chickens, trying and failing to be useful.

The Wayne family had just been put into protective custody while the crime scene was taped off to be examined. The family was shaken but miraculously unharmed; Thomas Wayne was currently in interrogation with the Commissioner giving his official statement, while his wife and child waited in another room.

Gordon, a greenhorn, stood on the sidelines watching Mrs. Wayne and her son through the madness that had gripped the station. Both were deathly pale as they sat there surrounded by officers. Mrs. Wayne looked strained, both exhaustion and nerves aged her normally vibrant features. The little boy sat on her lap, his white cherub face tucked quietly into her shoulder, small shoulders tense, hands white-knuckled in her blazer.

They had quite literally dodged a bullet tonight and were desperately trying to come to terms with their near death experience.

Grief and fury lanced through his chest on the family's behalf. No one had bothered to notice their distress or tried to comfort them in some way. All of them too busy. Busy being heroes instead of being humans.

With the first of what would be many frowns cutting into his youthful forehead, the sergeant strode off to the break room.

A couple minutes later he returned bearing two steaming, Styrofoam cups. Ignoring the raised eyebrows of his older colleagues, Gordon approached the pair with his offering.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Wayne." His voice soft but clear. No doubt she was tired of all the shouting going on around them. He certainly was.

Her solemn gaze lifted from its seat on the floor to settle on him wearily, anticipating more questions that she had already given answers to and was surprised by the gentle expression adorning his face.

"Would you like some coffee? I have hot cocoa for your son."

A warm, grateful smile eased her features.

"Why, yes. Thank you." She took the cups and gently jostled Bruce.

"Sweetheart?"

The small child reluctantly turned his face from its sanctuary and peered up at Gordon.

What the sergeant saw in those eyes completely broke every idealistic belief that drove him into joining the force. The fear was expected but it was the understanding that tore at him.

The breaking of innocence. The realization that the crime in the Saturday morning cartoons was not harmless in reality. The change from knowing to knowing. It was aftermath that was left when crime, evil, touched your life.

It didn't matter to this kid if they caught this guy, Gordon realized. The knowledge of what he could have lost tonight would never go away. Even if the perpetrator was caught and sentenced for life, another would just rise up in his place.

Evil never die. Crime can never be eradicated. And that kind of understanding irrevocably changed you.

In spite of the luck that spared their lives, that life would never really be the same.

While Gordon pondered in his newly found melancholy, the little boy hesitantly sipped his cocoa watching him.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when the doors behind him flew open. An ashen-faced man in a black rain coat hurried over to them. "Madam!"

Martha set her coffee aside, let Bruce down and hugged the man, nearly crying in relief.

"Oh, Alfred! Thank goodness."

The butler hurriedly examined the two. "Are you both alright! I received a call from Master Wayne-"

"Yes, yes, we're all right. Thomas is giving his statement to the Commissioner right now."

Gordon had moved aside to give them some space when Mr. Wayne and Commissioner Loeb entered. Thomas greeted Alfred with a firm grip on the arm and kissed his wife and son. Loeb turned to address his officers.

"As soon as the registration on the gun found at the crime scene comes back, I want all available field officers on his tail. We need to get as far ahead of the media as possible and nab this guy. Also," the man glanced down at the open notebook in his hand. "keep an eye open for this Person of Interest: Caucasian male, late teens, about 5'6, messy red hair (Gordon stilled), scruffy clothing, possibly homeless, carries an instrument case on his back, and wears goggles." Loeb looked up to fix them all with an intimidating glare.

"Find him, but don't scare the damn kid off. He's a material witness and thus important to this case. And whatever you do, don't let this information leak, or else he'll just disappear. Willingly or not."

The officers nodded silently. If the media got a hold of the kid's description, they'd have a field day, singing his praises, calling him a hero. If the man who attacked the Waynes had friends in the gangs or mobs, the poor kid would be hunted down and made an example of.

"You're dismissed."

(Present)

It was a rather ironic turn of events, considering the circumstances, Gordon mused as he scanned the park for a flash of red hair amongst the trees and sparse visitors. He was one of the least important people in Gotham's police force, but was also the only one who had the best chances of finding the key element to this case: Mutt.

Mutt, the boy's street name, was homeless boy that Gordon had befriended very early in his career. He had been taking his lunch break in the park after patrol, when he had heard music. Gordon had investigated to find a shabby, oddly-dressed redhead playing an even shabbier violin under the marble statue with the rearing stallion.

Normally, the police officers were obligated to shoo any squatters or loiterers during the day, when the civilian families used the park, but he had been intrigued by the young hobo. Gordon had ambled over and leaned against a nearby tree, allowing the boy to finish his piece (it was a simple tune, but quite nice all the same). Mutt had noticed him early on, and had obediently started packing his things when a slip of paper escaped from his tattered coat, fluttering to the ground. Gordon reached down to pick it up and had been startled to find a completed crossword in his hand.

"You're very good." He'd murmured, impressed. Mutt shifted nervously, rocking on his heels.

"…thanks." The kid's voice was soft and hoarse, unused.

He returned the slip to the boy, who bobbed his head lightly before trudging off with the case bumping against his back.

Gordon had returned the next day to find Mutt there again, and offered him his newspaper. It had eventually become something of an irregular tradition between them: Mutt never causing trouble, and Gordon doing most of the talking.

He'd found Mutt to be a surprisingly intelligent kid, who clearly had an excellent education at some point in his life if his crosswords and violin talent were any indication, but due to extenuating circumstances (which he refused to speak of) had ended up in the streets. It was such a waste, Gordon thought to himself on a fairly regular basis, and often told Mutt so, encouraging him to seek the shelters where he could get help and get out. But the boy would always get this strange look, shuffle uncomfortably, and eventually make an excuse to leave.

It constantly bothered him to see such a good kid out on the streets. Gotham was a harsh place to live in on a good day; there was no telling if Mutt was even alive. Gordon had been proud and slightly terrified when he had recognized the boy's description. It would be a pity (hell, it wouldn't be fair) if the heroic deed Mutt had performed was punished with evil. One less good person in Gotham; it was disheartening but that was reality. In Gotham and in life.

A raindrop hit the windshield, quickly followed by its brothers, sending the joggers outside scurrying for cover.

Gordon sighed, before turning back to the station.

Another day wasted.

But he would be back tomorrow, searching for the homeless hero.

As the rain squall fell across Gotham in heavy sheets, a single drop fell through the roof of a dilapidated building. It ran down through several floors and along a rusted metal pipe in a crusted, flaking ceiling, before falling onto the flesh of a sweaty forehead.

A bleary, crusted eye flickered open to reveal a vivid green iris.

He was alive.

Does no one find this interesting? :( At all? Even if it's horrible, please say so! I don't have a beta, so it's hard to tell if the story's any good.