A/N: Sorry I left you hanging all weekend. Anyway, this is a pretty lengthy update. There's a lot of exposition and some review of previous events, but I hope the story and the characters still move along at a good pace. I introduce Mayor Garcia into the situation and another OC, Gotham's new D.A., Alan Goldman. And thanks for the reviews. Over 90 now! You guys rock!

Gordon shifted uncomfortably in his chair as Mayor Garcia's dark eyes bored into him. The mayor hadn't said anything other than "sit down" for the last minute and a half. He was definitely pissed, and Gordon couldn't really say he blamed him. He just wished he could get the reprimand over so he could go back to finding Crane and the Black Mask.

"I guess no one in your major crimes unit can keep their mouths shut," Garcia said. "The Gazette already has a line on 'Harvey 'Two Face' Dent: The Vengeful Killer'. Now everything you and Harvey and even Batman worked for is going to fall apart. All those criminals are going to be back on the streets before the end of the month. You know the new D.A. isn't going to be able to keep them all inside, and we apparently already have enough problems without them. Why the hell did you lie to the entire city?"

Gordon took a deep breath and said, "We thought it was the best thing for the city at the time."

"We, meaning you and Batman?" Garcia asked.

"Yes," Gordon answered. "Harvey won a landslide election. The whole city practically thought he was a saint. That he rode in on his white stallion to save Gotham in ways Batman never could. Hell, even I thought he was faultless until he held a gun to my wife's head. But we were wrong. The city lost its direction even though we saved Dent's reputation and destroyed Batman's. This city's on the fast track to hell right now, and I'm not going to be able to fix it alone."

Garcia looked at the commissioner in disbelief. He leaned back in his chair and said, "You're not in any position to bargain here, Gordon."

"And you're not in any position to let this go, Mr. Mayor," Gordon argued back. "The Black Mask is on the edge of becoming this city's next Joker. And he's kidnapped Jonathan Crane, which means God only knows what. It was Batman in the end who got the Joker. Batman can help us get The Black Mask."

Garcia rubbed his forehead in frustration. "You're about to ask me if you can put that damned floodlight back on top of the MCU."

"No," Gordon answered, "I'm about to ask you if I can put that damned floodlight on top of City Hall."

"What?"

"My office is in City Hall now," Gordon explained nonchalantly.

Garcia rolled his eyes and threw up his arms in resignation. "Oh, what the hell," he said. "Go ahead. Do what you want. If this doesn't work we're probably going to all wind up dead anyway. I'm going to release a statement exonerating Batman for the murders of Detective Weurtz and Salvatore Maroni. I'm going to try to downplay Dent's involvement as much as possible, but, somehow, I doubt that's going to work. You have to fix this, Gordon."

"We will."

"You'd better."

"I asked you to leave it alone, and you just couldn't do it. You had to push her and now everything Harvey and Gordon and I worked for is falling apart."

Lizzie's head hung lower with each word Bruce spoke. They were standing on opposite sides of his desk. Bruce had angrily placed his hands on his hips. Lizzie's arms were folded defensively across her chest. She felt like a small child being berated by their father, and she knew she deserved it.

"She was a dirty cop," Lizzie said weakly. "I just don't like dirty cops. I didn't think she'd announce what Dent did to the whole world. Especially after Uncle Jim let her stay on the force."

"You cornered her and she fought back the only way she could," Bruce answered angrily, "with what she knew. Gordon's at the Mayor's office right now. He could lose his job. If that happens, there won't be anything we can do to stop psychos like the Joker and Black Mask from taking this city to hell with them."

Tears formed in her eyes. "And you think all of this is my fault?"

"No," Bruce insisted as he walked around the desk and placed his hands on her shoulders. "It's just that, if you had listened to me, you could have saved your godfather and me a lot of trouble. I don't even know what repercussions this is gonna have on everything we've worked for."

Lizzie looked up at him and bit her lip. "I've never really been good at listening," she confessed. "Especially when I think I'm right. It's a genuine character flaw."

Bruce smiled and said, "Well, nobody's perfect."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Why, Mr. Wayne, are you diffusing a tense situation with humor?" she asked in mock disbelief.

"Well, I've been seeing this girl who does that a lot," he replied teasingly.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling. "Should I be worried?" she asked him.

"Maybe," he answered as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. "She is a pretty amazing woman."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Except she doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut."

She scowled at him, but didn't try to escape his grasp. "You had to go and ruin a beautiful moment."

He shook his head. "You can't ruin something beautiful with the truth," he told her. "Because truth is beauty, and beauty, truth."

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "You know, there are other lines from Keats that could get you farther."

"Ah," he said dismissively, "I don't need him."

He kissed her softly and then held her close. With his head resting on her shoulder he said, "I'm glad you're okay."

"Me too," she answered.

"Ahem."

The couple broke apart and turned to look at the figure in the doorway. Coleman Reese looked tired and pale and he was wearing a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt under a worn out hoodie. He was holding a folder full of some sort of paper in his left hand while his right was firmly entrenched in his pocket.

"Reese, is there something I can do for you?" Bruce asked while still holding Lizzie's hand.

"I just wanted to tell you that I took care of the accounts for Imelda's kids," he answered. "All three of them could go to the University of Miami if they wanted to."

"Is that all?"

"I also wanted to give you these," Coleman said, handing Bruce the folder.

Bruce opened it to find it full of his old photographs of his family and friends.

"Those were all the ones I'd managed to get restored by this morning," Coleman explained. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

Bruce smiled at him comfortingly and said, "Coleman, you've done more than enough."

"Not compared to what you've done for me," he answered. "I should go. Marcus is waiting to take me on our epic road trip across the country."

"It's the safest way to go," Bruce told him.

"I know." He extended his right hand and said, "It's been an honor, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce handed the folder of photographs to Lizzie and took Coleman's offered hand, saying, "I'll see you again, Coleman."

"I hope so."

Lizzie handed the folder back to Bruce and said, "Hey, Coley, thanks."

His brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you thanking me for?"

"Well," she began, "you were always a good tipper, and without you, I'd have never met this yokel."

"Hey," Bruce protested teasingly.

Coleman genuinely smiled and said, "I guess you're welcome, then."

She hugged him and said, "I'll see you when you get back."

He nodded sadly and left the room.

"He'll be okay, right?" Lizzie asked without looking back at Bruce.

"I hope so," he answered. "He's kind of a good guy now. Gotham needs more people like that."

Lizzie glanced out the window. The sun was disappearing behind Gotham's many skyscrapers. She turned to face him and said, "It's late. I should probably get back to my apartment."

"Why not come home with me?" he asked, sounding mildly insulted.

"You're going to be busy tonight," she answered, sighing, "and I'll just be in the way."

"Lizzie, it's a mansion," Bruce argued.

"Most of which is under construction," she replied. "And don't say it's not safe. I have locks on all the doors and windows and Janey will lock the door to the building. Janey also sleeps with a shotgun, and I, of course, have my dad's revolver. And I promise I won't let anyone in who's wearing a mask, unless it's you."

"Fine," Bruce said in resignation as he rolled his eyes. "I'll give you a ride."

Alan Goldman, a lawyer in his late thirties, was third in line for the position of Gotham City's District Attorney after Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawes. He inherited the position and Gordon was fairly sure he could never have won a popular election. The man had a long nose, thin lips, pasty skin, and orange-red freckles that matched his orange-red hair. His pale blue eyes held a look of constant astonishment. He was fidgety and sometimes stuttered. Gordon was absolutely certain the man wouldn't have made it through a single campaign speech. But he was honest, and that trait put him in line for district attorney after Dent and Dawes.

It was nearly six and the sun was going down outside the windows of City Hall. Gordon approached Goldman's desk, and said, "Councilor Goldman."

The younger man looked up from his empty Styrofoam cup and stood, extending his right hand, "Commissioner Gordon, it's good to see you again, Sir."

Gordon nodded and smiled politely as he shook the man's hand. He'd only met Goldman once before at a formal reception for some visiting dignitary. As he recalled, Goldman spilled red wine down the front of himself, ruining his tuxedo.

"Sir, if you wouldn't mind sitting down, I'd like to discuss today's…events with you," Goldman explained.

"Certainly," Gordon answered, taking a seat, "but you don't need to call me 'sir', Councilor."

"Well, please don't call me 'councilor'. My name's Alan."

"Jim."

Alan nodded. "All right, so let's start at the beginning," he said, "which I guess would be last night when Jonathan Crane a.k.a. the Scarecrow was kidnapped."

"Actually, the beginning seems to have started a little over a week ago," Jim corrected.

The D.A. groaned. "Fine," he said, "start there then."

"A known mob hit man tried to kidnap Coleman Reese while he was passed out in a bar," Jim started. "I assume you remember what Reese did during the Joker crisis."

"Oh, yeah," Alan said nodding. "He was going to tell the world the 'true' identity of Batman."

"Yeah, well, that particular idea is apparently still getting him into trouble. We assumed the mob was looking for the true identity of Batman themselves and were doing it the only way they knew how," Jim explained. "The next night the bartender who was working the night before was attacked by two more hit men, one of them a former Arkham inmate."

"But she wasn't just Reese's bartender," Alan interrupted. "She was your goddaughter, right?"

Jim just looked at him in surprise. Alan smiled shyly and said, "Word gets around in City Hall."

Jim chuckled. "Anyway," he continued, "Batman stopped those two attacks before any permanent damage was done. Two more attacks followed, one on an old roommate of Reese's and one on a former coworker from Halligan Consulting. Somehow, they figured out he was working and living at Wayne Enterprises and they attacked Jason Anderson, a security executive for Wayne. That was their first murder. Things quieted down for a couple of days, and that's when we first heard the name Black Mask from the Arkham inmate and some of the others we'd arrested in the assaults. And then, men in black masks kidnapped Jonathan Crane right out of his cell."

"But, as I understand it, Batman returned him to the MCU rather quickly," Alan said. "How did he even find out?"

Jim shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Frankly, I'd rather not answer that question."

Alan nodded slowly. "I think I understand you," he said. "Well, what happened today?"

"Well, I suppose it actually started when we pulled Imelda Santorini out of the river this morning," Jim said. "She wasn't just an employee of Wayne Enterprises like Jason Anderson, she was Bruce Wayne's executive assistant. We found a kid that saw the man who took her. He couldn't give us a useful description of the assailant because he was wearing—"

"A black mask," Alan finished. "I get it. Do you think this Mask guy is trying to send a message to Wayne to stop protecting Reese?"

"It's possible," Jim agreed. "But I honestly don't think Wayne will give in. I'd like to believe he's made of sterner stuff."

Alan laughed nervously and said, "Because he's dating your goddaughter?"

The D.A's face fell at the commissioner's annoyed expression. "It was in the paper," he muttered. He cleared his throat and continued, "I know what happened when Crane was kidnapped the second time. What exactly did Officer Anna Ramirez have to do with it?"

Jim sighed heavily. "She apparently reported to the MCU last night to help out, and when she found out who would be driving the black and whites, she called a number a mob representative gave to her a few days ago," he answered. "She has no idea who it was she called. She couldn't even give us a description of the voice because it had been run through some sort of electronic distortion."

Alan sat back and considered what Jim had said for a moment. "D-did you find out who gave her the number?" he asked finally.

Jim nodded and said, "Oh, yeah. It was Freddy Falcone."

Alan's eternally astonished face became even more shocked and he sat bolt upright. "Freddy? You mean Alfredo Falcone; Carmine Falcone's only son?" he asked. "That kid can't be any older than twenty."

"He's nineteen, actually."

"And, what? You think he's running the mob now?"

"No," Jim answered firmly. "I'm pretty sure Falcone's involvement is personally motivated. Whatever Crane did to Falcone in Arkham, it caused some pretty severe damage. And if Freddy were running the show, he wouldn't be delivering messages to cops on the take."

"Then, who?" Alan asked with trepidation.

"I think Black Mask has stepped into a position of leadership within the Gotham mob in the wake of the destruction on the part of the Joker and Harvey Dent," Jim answered as though he were reading the explanation off a card.

Alan sighed heavily and raked a hand through his hair, making it stick up in the oddest places. "Th-th-this city cannot handle another criminally-minded psycho right now, especially not with the truth about Harvey coming out. All those crooks he put away are about to be released, you know? And apparently, a lot of your department is still under the mob's thumb. Jesus, this is going to be ten times worse than it ever was before."

Jim considered the younger man for a moment before saying, "We're not alone."

Alan looked up at him. "I hate to break this to you," he said, "but the mayor is kind of a chicken."

Jim laughed out loud at that. When he regained his composure, he said, "I didn't mean Mayor Garcia. I have something to show you upstairs."

The D.A. followed the commissioner with wide-eyed interest up to the roof of the building. Once there, Jim pulled up a lever and floodlight shined brightly. Alan looked up to the sky where the symbol of the bat reflected on the clouds. He grinned boyishly.

"You mean, I get to meet him?" he asked excitedly.

Jim nodded in reply and said, "I let Dent meet him too. Don't make me regret is like I did with him."

Alan stood up straighter and set his shoulders back. "You won't," he promised.

Lizzie hadn't been inside her apartment for five minutes before she spied the Bat-signal reflected on the night sky. It was barely dark and her Uncle Jim was already calling for help. She silently prayed Bruce would be more cautious than she was. Something evil was brewing in Gotham's underbelly.

She started tidying up her apartment. It was in dire need. The hundreds of flowers Bruce had given her were starting to die. She found a ball of string and started tying lengths of it to the stems of the roses and the tulips. She hung them upside-down anywhere she could find a place. When she picked up one extra large vase of roses from one of her end tables, she knocked a picture-frame to the floor, shattering it. She rolled her eyes and decided to leave it until later.

The little hand of the clock was almost on eleven when Lizzie had finished her dinner and decided to clean up the broken picture frame. She brought the hand brush and dustpan with her, but she completely forgot about them when she took a good look at the picture in the frame.

It was funny how a person could have a picture for so long that they didn't even notice it. Even when the photo should have elicited emotion, it didn't because it was just a part of the room, like the wall color.

It was a picture her mother had taken just after her high-school graduation. She was wearing her black robe and mortarboard and holding up her diploma. Next to her, with his arm around her shoulders was a skinny young man in identical attire holding up his own diploma. He was pale, his face was gaunt, and, even though he was smiling, his blue eyes still had a unique piercing quality. A solitary tear fell on that face.

Lizzie wept for the man in the picture. The man she loved as a friend, and even as a brother. That man left Gotham for a time and, while he came back in body, his spirit never did. Or, at least she thought he didn't. Maybe the man in the picture wanted to see his friend, or maybe the man in the papers just wanted to use her. She didn't know, but she hoped she would be able to find out soon.

A/N: If you would like to see exactly what Alan Goldman looks like, go to the internet movie database and look up Alan Tudyk, as I wrote the character with him in mind.