Author's Note: First off, an apology. This fic has been sitting on my harddrive for years, waiting for me to finish one section. The truth is simple: before I finished this fic, I got a job that took up a lot of my time. And I planned a wedding. And got married. And years passed, and I could not figure out how to finish one section. And then I sat myself down and did it.
There's still one more part to this story, and I'd like to write a sequel, but we've all seen how well I've done posting this. Maybe I'll write it, and post it all at once. I do want to thank all of the comments and the recommendations and everyone for reading this story. I enjoyed writing it, and I'm glad you enjoyed reading it.
The lines that are said during the stand-off are actually from the movie, so they're not mine!
- JD
11.
For a woman with a gun pointing at her, Barbara Gordon thinks she is being incredibly calm.
It's not surprising to her that it was all a trap. Her safety in the midst of all this chaos was almost too good to be true. Her story has been in every newspaper at the beginning of this insanity, and were it not for bigger, grander events orchestrated by the Joker, it would continue to be told ad nauseum until it got too annoying. Truth be told, she's grateful for the chaos – it's saved her more notoriety than she can reasonably stomach.
But this, this is different. This is unexpected. Harvey Dent, Gotham's White Knight, walking out of the shadows with a gun in his hand and smelling strongly of singed synthetic fibers. He stays in the shadows, careful not to reveal too much of his face (she cringes when she thinks of the hospital visit, of blood seeping through the gauze).
"It's so nice to have you here," he greets them. "It's Barbara, right? And that's little Jimmy. Two Barbaras. Two Jims. Perfect." The shadowy smile on his face is frightening.
"Where's Jim?" her aunt asks, hugging Jimmy tightly against her with one arm, reaching for Barbara with the other.
"Oh, he'll be here soon," Harvey says. "In fact, why don't you call him?"
He hands the phone to her aunt, instructing her to tell her uncle that something is very wrong, wrenching the phone away from her when she becomes too despondent to talk.
All the while, his face is revealed – the muscles and bones, skin burnt away in the heat of the fire. She feels nothing but pity at the man she admired, now reduced to this.
"Do you need to stare?"
He's snarling at her, or maybe it's just the damage to his left side of his face curling his lip. Whatever it is, she looks away in embarrassment.
"That's right," he says, stepping closer to her. "I'm hideous now."
"I never said that," Barbara tells him, refusing to meet his gaze even as he draws near. "I feel horrible about what happened to you.
"And you should," he says, waving his gun in their direction. Her aunt gasps and clutches Jimmy closer. Her cousin whimpers. She finally meets his eyes.
"You should feel sorry," he says, "because you were the lucky one. You survived."
…
He tries to take a deep, calming breath but can't. He's never felt fear like this – not with the Joker right in front of him in MCU, not with Dawes and Dent hidden across the city. This is three of them, all that he has in the world. The fear is magnified.
The S.W.A.T. captain looks at him. "Commissioner Gordon, we're moving in."
He looks at the building across the way. His men, and Batman, against armed thugs and the Joker. He hates being so optimistic, but he thinks they can handle it. Hopes they can handle it.
Dent won't do anything until Gordon gets there. He has a feeling the man wants a final battle.
Gordon glances back at his team leader and heads for the door. He calls over his shoulder. "When you finish here, bring the team to 52nd street."
….
"I'm sorry for you loss –" she begins before he spins, still waving his gun.
"WHY ARE YOU HERE WHEN SHE ISN'T?" he rants. "Why do you get the chance to live?"
She is speechless; she understands why he's angry and frustrated, and why he's taking it out on her. Her heart pounds fiercely in her chest as she tries to answer his question – anything, everything, just a response to calm him down.
Talk to him. Keep him calm. Don't let him hurt your family.
She has no answer because she doesn't know. He wants an answer, will pry some sort of answer out of her at gunpoint.
You wanted to be a hero, Barbara Gordon. That's why you helped Batman. That's why you're still in Gotham and not back in Metropolis. It's your bed – now you better lie in it.
She takes a deep breath, but even that doesn't stop the pounding her of her heart.
…
Down below them, the ferries don't explode and he feels a sense of pride in this city's ability to be reasonable and merciful in a time of chaos.
"What were you hoping to prove?" Bruce asks. "That deep down, we're all as ugly as you?"
The Joker has him pined, so it's easy to get in Bruce's face. He waves the detonator.
"You want to know how I got these scars?" He smiles his mangled smile and Bruce can't help but grin himself.
"No, but I know how you get these."
…
She edges away from her family, just slightly. If he decides to wave the gun at her, a stray bullet might not take out any of them. She knows it may not make a difference but it's the most she can do. He's unpredictable right now.
"I'm sorry," she says again. "You're right."
She glances up at him but his eyes are trained on her, unblinking. She feels her resolve waiver, her body shudder. She tries to compose herself.
Second time she's stared at a criminal. This one has a gun, not just a knife. This time she's not sure her luck will hold out.
"You're right," she says again. Her lip quivers but she bites down for a moment. "I'm not special. I'm nobody."
Her words, spoken to calm Dent, ring shockingly true. She is nobody. A librarian. The niece of now-Commissioner Jim Gordon. The trouble-making kid who had to be distracted by Batman so she wouldn't become too much of a threat. That silly little girl who Bruce Wayne flirted with for laughs. She's nothing in the grand scheme of things and yet she keeps getting drawn in – always at the wrong place at the wrong time.
"You're Gordon's niece," Dent says. "That's enough to merit you salvation."
"Or a one-way ticket to hell," she spits out. She remembers Dent worked for Internal Affairs. "You know how much some cops hate him." Hate you, she wants to add. It's not like anyone working for justice doesn't have some sort of price on their head.
Keep talking. "Look, I'm nobody special. It was luck."
Dent laughs, and its hysterical edge makes her cringe.
"Luck. The only true thing in this world is luck."
He takes something out of his pocket. It's a silver coin.
"What to take a chance?"
…
Just couldn't let me go, could you? I guess this is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. You truly are incorruptible, aren't you?
The Joker keeps talking and he doesn't listen at first, instead focusing on tying the man up and thinking about what to do next. But then he says it.
"…until they get a good look at the real Harvey Dent, and all the heroic things he's done…" the Joker laughs. "You didn't think I'd risk losing the battle for the soul of Gotham in a fist fight with you? You've got to have an ace in the hole. Mine's Harvey."
He pulls the man up to stare him in the eye.
"WHAT DID YOU DO?" he asks, not at all nicely.
"I took Gotham's white knight and I brought him down to my level. It wasn't hard – madness is like gravity. All it takes is a little push."
Bruce's mind goes into overdrive. If anything, Harvey will be angry – revenge-driven? Possibly. It wouldn't be the first time someone was driven by the motive of seeking justice. Revenge over Rachel. But who would he go after? Marone's cops first, but after that…
Bruce doesn't know where he'll be, but he has a good idea and that's enough to start.
…
"I think I've tempted fate enough," Barbara wants to say, but she can imagine the reaction that would get.
Instead, she says this: "I'd rather not." She can't say she doesn't believe in luck – luck is what got her out of the Joker's grasp, and chance is what introduced her to Batman in the first place. A double-edge sword, chance. She's not ready to let it condemn her any more than meeting Batman did.
There's a squeal out front, tires spinning on gravel, and he keeps his gun leveled at her.
Her uncle is here.
He finds them quickly enough.
"This is where they brought her, Gordon. After your people handed her over. This is where she died." Pain in every one of Dent's words. Fear on her uncle's face.
And then Batman arrives.
She has to get down – get out of the way. If she takes herself out of the picture, then one of them has a clear shot. Part of her feels bad for thinking like that, like Dent's past the point of saving but he doesn't want to escape – he's made that clear. This is his final stand, and he will go out in a blaze of glory even if he must take the entire Gordon family with him.
"The only morality in a cruel world is chance. Unbiased. Unprejudiced. Fair," Dent snarls, clutching the coin in one hand and his gun in another. She is trapped against him, his body taut with anger.
She has to do something.
"Nothing fair ever came out of the barrel of a gun, Dent," Batman says, raising his hands.
"We all have the same chance that she did," Dent says. "Fifty-fifty."
"The girl's already had her turn," Batman says, and Barbara can't help but bristle. Girl.
Dent seems to think for a moment, pausing and weighing the options, and Barbara looks at Batman. Their eyes meet and she sees something there – pain. He must have had a hard night and to have to negotiate her safety again…
She won't look at her uncle or her family.
"Let her go, Dent. What happened to Rachel wasn't chance. We decided to act. We're all responsible for the consequences."
Dent tenses. "Then why was it only me who lost everything?" he yells.
Pretend to faint, she thinks. You'll be dead weight in his arms. You're much heavier than you look.
"It wasn't," Batman replies.
…
It wasn't.
He's telling the truth, though he hardly expects either man to fully understand how much he's lost. He lost Rachel, sure, but it's more than that. He made decisions that resulted in death and destruction. He put Barbara in harm's way. He lost her faith in him – that much is certain, or should be by now. He's put Gordon in harm's way more than once. His decision to become Batman brought them all here. He's the reason for their loss.
Dent waves the gun in the air and stammers about the Joker and losing, then he holds out his coin again.
"You're right," he repeats. "She's already had her chance. Let's start with you."
The flip of the coin is expected – the gunshot is not. He falls even though he doesn't feel a thing – his armor has taken most of the hit. Gordon's wife screams in the distance, and Barbara gasps – but she should know better.
"My turn." There is no shot. Bruce looks up from the ground. Dent turns to Gordon, flips the coin again.
"Let's try your luck, Gordon," Dent says.
"No!"
Barbara's dead weight in Dent's hands as she faints. The man struggles to hold the girl and this is the right chance. The right opportunity for Bruce to make his move, the one Dent wasn't expecting. He's on his feet and running as the man struggles to maintain a grip on the coin, the girl, and the gun. He drops Barbara right as Bruce slams into him.
…
"Oh god," she hears right before she opens her eyes.
"What's wrong?" she scrambles up, no worse for the wear, but her aunt is screaming and her cousin is crying and her uncle is running away, down the stairs. Tthere's debris all over her face. Her arm hurts from when Dent let go – her angle of impact left much to be desired. But she's alive and whole, and so is her family.
The other's she's not so sure of.
Shakily – it's got to be the adrenaline – she makes her way through rubble to look down over the edge. There, Dent lies – presumably dead. Batman slowly climbs to his feet. She can hear her uncle and the other man talking, and what they're saying.
She runs to the stairs.
…
"No," Barbara says calmly. "It's what needs to be done. You need to be hunted."
Looking into her eyes, everything seems to click: Barbara's right, and she's always been right. Batman is – must be – a vigilante. To let Harvey's legacy prevail. To get the message across. To do a thousand and one things that she's probably known all along.
With her confirmation, it's suddenly clear what needs to happen. He never should have tried to rein her in but now he's got to set her lose; set her back on the path he ripped her from all those months ago in some vain attempt at order. No more grunt work, no more distractions – he needs her dedication and the website, he needs a imessage/i. There's only so much to be achieved by running. But if he were to have something else instead -
She knows it too. Her eyes say as much. Her shoulders squared, feet firmly on the ground, she is not the girl flinching under Harvey's anger but the girl he's always know, the one who keeps him grounded, the center of his haphazard orbit.
Gordon offers excuses which he rebuffs easily: no, this is the right way. No, this needs to be done.
The barking outside grows louder.
"Wait."
She's in his arms, hugging him, and it feels far too comfortable.
"If I never see you again," she whispers, "good luck."
Without hesitation, he whispers back. And then he lets her go, running into the night.
…
She can feel the breeze left by each canine and the patrolmen, and she closes her eyes. She prays to whatever saint or deity protects the hunted to keep him whole, keep him safe, keep him here.
Her uncle's touch on her shoulder brings her back to herself.
He escorts them to an ambulance, where they are examined. They're given water and asked questions and they wait. Soon her uncle finishes everything and heads to a car – his car. The ride home is silent as it should be, with her aunt's muffled sobs breaking the tension every few minutes.
They cling together as a family, though none of them talk about it. Her uncle brushes the hair from her face and asks if she's okay. After all, she's been taken hostage not once but twice in the course of two weeks. There has to be something wrong here.
She smiles ands nods, preoccupied with remembering the address he told her.
Jimmy falls asleep with one parent on either side of him, reassuring him that they all are safe, even Barbara. She smiles and tells him that everything will be different now with their dark knight. When the opportunity arises, she writes a note saying she's off to see a friend who needs her, then heads to the address she looked up.
It's in the best part of town, full of swanky high-rise buildings and hotels. In her distraction, she doesn't realize she's at the Hotel Gotham until uniformed bellmen hold the door open for her.
The elevator takes her to the top floor and the doors open to a large, lavish, apartment. Penthouse. Whatever it is, it's the entire floor and its polished wood floors as a view of the city that takes her breath away.
There is a man approaching her, dressed in a suit.
"You must be Miss Gordon," he says with a smile. "It's so very nice to meet you. My name is Alfred." He shakes her hand, which takes her by surprise. She doesn't even know what she's doing here, let alone –
"Hi," she says meekly. "Nice to meet you."
"Would you like a drink?" he asks. She blinks.
"Water would be fine."
"I meant something a little stronger." He winks at her, and she stutters.
"I –"
"I'm sure we can find something a little stronger," he says with a wink. "Down the hall to your right."
He turns and walks away, and she assumes he wants her to walk down the hall, and to the right. She's too tired right now, and her body feels like it's floating somewhere above her head, so she does what she is told.
She rounds the corner and sees him – Batman – in the process of taking off his cowl.
She is not surprised to find he has brown hair, or that he's tall. From behind, he's what she expected – average. Well, not average – definitely built, but she knows all of this. He's the man who beats down thugs for a living, after all.
But then he turns, and faces her, and suddenly everything falls into place.
The library. Stopping by randomly, supplying her with money. His means of transportation – that motorcycle, that car. The fact he can afford body armor for Christ's sakes.
Bruce Wayne is Batman.
I should have known she thinks. The address he told her brought her here, to Bruce Wayne's penthouse. But the problem is that everything is a hazy fog and she feels like she's moving forward when all she wants to do is stand still.
"Barbara," he says softly.
"I think I'll need that drink," she says.