Disclaimer: All these guys – good and bad – belong to DC comics, and I'm pretty sure that's not me.

Commissioner Gillian B. Loeb glared down at the newspaper in his hand. Someone had leaked to the press last night, and Loeb vowed he would find the punk and deal with him accordingly. "Damn rag," he muttered angrily under his breath. The cause for his ire could be found in the headline staring back at him; or, more specifically, the sergeant it praised: LONE COP HELPS BATMAN, SAVES THE DAY. The article went on to expound the merits of one Sgt. James Gordon, the only GCPD cop deployed to the Narrows who managed to remain lucid during the previous night's emergency.

He was also the single cleanest cop in all of Gotham.

And he's a royal pain in the precinct, the Commissioner groused silently.

Loeb had partnered Gordon with Flass in the dim hope that spending every on-duty hour with someone as low as that would break Gordon's resistance; and he'd felt that he was getting close.

But then he'd come to town. Loeb bristled at the mere thought of him – the Batman. With the arrest of Falcone and the emergence of the caped vigilante, Loeb had felt the foundations of his world tremble. He knew that if they didn't stop the costumed freak immediately, they wouldn't stand a chance against him later. It seemed they'd missed their opportunity.

He turned back the page of his newspaper. The demise of all he'd built was spelled out in bold black letters: GCPD KNOCKED OUT, BATMAN SAVES CITY. The bastard had made the front page. That was twice within ten days. Loeb sighed angrily; there was no hope for it now. The Batman was firmly entrenched in the minds of Gotham's citizens and media clowns, and the Commissioner knew that any move against the Guano King now would be heavily criticized.

Doesn't mean he can't be taken out quietly, he mused darkly to himself. But he shook his head in disgust. No, someone like that would never go without a scene; and once the media started digging, the whole house of cards known as the Gotham City Police Department would tumble into the hole.

Still, they couldn't openly admit that he was an actual entity; to do so would be doubly disastrous. But if they managed to create enough doubt, maybe the average citizen would believe him to be a figment of the media's collective imagination.

But that would mean that Gordon had saved the day, and single-handedly too. Loeb growled quietly to himself; nothing was simple anymore. What happened to the good old days when you could scam an entire city unmolested?

A knock at his door snapped him out of his brooding; but the silhouette in the translucent glass brought all his ill-will broiling back to the surface. "Come in," he barked.

Gordon stepped boldly through the door, but Loeb could see the apprehension mixed with contempt that flowed just beneath the surface. "You sent for me, Commish?"

"Sit down." Gordon obeyed silently, and Loeb couldn't help mentally cursing the man's honest and compliant nature – an argument could be blown up into something that might leave Gordon stripped of his badge; and the only thing Loeb wanted more than the Batman behind bars was Gordon off the force and quiet. "Would you care to explain, Sgt. Gordon?" he demanded more than asked.

"Sir?"

"You know what I mean, Sergeant," he snapped, holding up his newspaper in accusation. "I want to know why you were the only law enforcement officer sent into the Narrows that didn't come out on a stretcher. I want to know when and how you did come off the island. And I would love to hear where you thought you got the authority to lower that bridge." He could feel his temper rising ever higher, but he no longer cared. Hang his doctor, and hang his blood pressure; all that mattered was the mouse – no, the rat of a man sitting across his desk.

He noticed Gordon fidgeting in his seat – worry creasing his brow – and took distinct pleasure in knowing the man thought his job was about to be taken away. If there was one thing Loeb loved, it was having power over people he hated, even if it was only imagined. And imagined it was, for in this case his hands were tied.

He let out an angry sigh of defeat and dropped the paper to his desk. To be honest for once, Loeb didn't really want to know the answers to his questions – to know was to be officially responsible for dealing with the Batman, and for now, he'd rather be left in the dark. Leaning forward on his elbows, he rubbed his brow and spoke before Gordon could form a decent answer. "Gordon, as Commissioner of Police it is my duty," he paused, giving the man across from him a glance loaded with hatred and purpose, "and pleasure," he added forcefully, "to commend you for your competent actions during last night's crisis. Without you this city would not be here today."

Gordon seemed surprised, but Loeb knew after a single glance that the man wasn't naïve enough to miss the undercurrents of unstated meaning. He knew as well as anyone that the entire justice system of Gotham City was rotten and putrid down to the very core. He knew that the only thing keeping him employed was the media attention he'd gotten. If the hero cop was suddenly fired, someone would ask questions; and the transparent farce of a cover over the dirty secret everyone knew wouldn't stand up against a real assault from an idealist in the media or elsewhere – like that weasily dame in the D.A.'s office that was causing so many waves.

Gordon's quiet, "Thank you, sir," roused Loeb from his mental tangent.

"Not at all, Lieutenant," he answered smoothly.

"Lieutenant?" Gordon echoed.

"That's right. You are hereby promoted. The official paperwork will be put in your box; the pay raise is in effect immediately. Also, the mayor has asked me to grant you any single concession you request, within reason."

Again Gordon's eyes met Loeb's, and the dark, knowing look glinting in them let the Commissioner know that Gordon knew a bribe when he heard one. But he could also see that the idea had taken root in Gordon's head.

"Thank you, sir," he repeated finally, his gaze far away while he considered his options. At last he turned back to Loeb, a smile tugging at his lips. "I accept the promotion; and request that a spotlight, built to my specifications, be installed on the roof."

"A spotlight?" Loeb asked perplexed. "On the roof? You mean . . . that roof?" he added, his finger aimed at the ceiling.

"That's right," Gordon nodded, a grin now firmly in place under his mustache.

Loeb shrugged. "Hell, why not?" he questioned, summoning his secretary and leaning back in his chair. "A spotlight," he confirmed, still incredulous.

"A spotlight," Gordon agreed firmly.

Loeb sat fuming in his office, his back to the large window. He hated Gordon. The sneaking little sniveling rat had gone one step too far; but there was nothing the Commissioner could do about it, and they all knew it.

He glanced over his shoulder at the overcast night sky and the powerful beam of light that cut through the darkness – the shape of a bat visible against the clouds – and cursed.