James Gordon sat on a chair in his hotel room and waited. His wife thought he was having an affair because he disappeared so often to strange, secret places without a word of explanation only to come back looking uncomfortable and guilty. It hurt her and it hurt him to see her hurt, but there was nothing else he could do. He couldn't let her know that he was continuing to meet with an enemy of the state so that he could keep him up to date on police business, it was far too risky and he could never, never put her at risk again.

A faint rustle of the curtains behind him and he knew that Batman would be standing there, at exactly the time he said he would be and exactly the place he said he would be. If only real affairs could be so reliable. He sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Commissioner…"

"I know. You're here. What was it you wanted to tell me?" He'd heard something he'd never heard before in the Dark Knight's voice – fear – and it immediately put him on guard, ill at ease. But he couldn't make himself turn around and face the man, not yet.

"How are Barbara and the children?"

Gordon wearily took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. Batman was changing the subject, almost making small talk, his gravelled voice on the verge of catching with nerves that even he couldn't hide. This confirmed what Gordon had been told, what he had hoped so desperately wasn't true. Another brilliant soul perverted and broken because of that damned lunatic Joker. Unable to help himself, he sighed again.

As police Commissioner of GCPD, Gordon had had to do a lot of unpleasant things that he didn't want to do, but this was possibly the worst. Nothing would ever be the same, but he had to do his job and protect his city. Slowly, he stood up and turned to face Batman. "What did you want to tell me?"

So, Batman had seen beneath the surface of that rebuff. He stiffened like an animal that scents danger and even those damn bat ears on his head seemed to prick as he glanced warily around the room, searching for anything that seemed out of place. His movements were odd, jerky. Gordon waited patiently until the fugitive's attention was back on him, the man's eyes filled with a conflicted tension that no mask could hide. The vibes coming from his were even starting to make Gordon uneasy and he knew he was the one in control.

"I spoke to Ben Maroni yesterday. He has something for you."

The Commissioner nodded regretfully. "I know." He felt like he was talking to a complete stranger, not the man he had so often trusted with his life and the lives of others he had sworn to protect.

Again, Batman scrutinized the room, a look of mild surprise on his face. For a moment Gordon could almost have sworn that he smiled, but it must have been a trick of the shadows.

"You know?" The agitation coming from him increased. "Then you also know-"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Batman." Gordon didn't want to do this, but he had to.

Relief seemed to flitter across the caped crusader's face like some long-forgotten phantom and he took a step towards the other man. "I'm sorry too, Commissioner. I-"

That one step was enough for Gordon. He shouted out and the room was suddenly filled with armed policemen, pouring in from the hallway and the en suite bathroom, all shouting commands and brandishing their guns. They'd been told to aim between the joints in the Bat's armour, he was vulnerable there. No direct hits to the chest because the armour was bullet proof. He would appear to be down, but would only be stunned and would attack a man upon their approaching him. Be swift and be brutal, the Bat is highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat and dangerous.

As the policemen burst in, Gordon saw Batman freeze, too surprised to react for a moment. Then he turned frantically from left to right, finding himself surrounded. The look he turned on Gordon the split second before he turned to the window, only to find that escape route also blocked, was confused but resigned. The look of someone who knows they have been betrayed by a trusted friend, but understands the reasoning behind it. That look made the Commissioner feel like a wretched Judas and he wondered if he had possibly made a mistake. But no, that was impossible; Batman had condemned himself by his own actions. He was here to kill Gordon under the instructions of Ben Maroni, just as Gordon had been informed by Maroni squealers.

The ultimate betrayal. Batman was the Judas, not James Gordon.

Gun shots rang out. Surrounded with no chance of escape, Batman had fallen back on violence in order to subdue his adversaries. As he went to strike the first blow, the policemen retaliated by opening fire. The gun shots were deafening, shaking the small room and pounding Gordon's head like iron fists. There was a barely audible grunt of pain as a bullet hit home, burying itself in the flesh of Batman's leg.

The man who had fought to protect Gotham from the likes of Ra's El Ghul, Scarecrow and Joker, staggered and almost fell, hit by a police bullet. Thick, dark blood seeping from between the plates of his distinctive armour, he still tried to effect his escape. One hand fumbled for the objects he kept in his utility belt, the smoke pellets and the batarangs, but as he reached for them the butt of a pistol came down heavily on the back of his head and he crumpled to the floor.

Commissioner Gordon placed a shaking hand over his eyes and wished he were anywhere but here.