There are very few times where a man finds himself admitting defeat in the face of adversity, some are more strenuous then others, but more often then not the true nature of humanity and the full worth of a man is demonstrated by such trials and tribulations. Say for instance, that a poor child finds himself at the bottom of a steep hill and no surefire way of knowing where and when he shall arrive at the top of the monstrous summit. A few steps inland, and he faces a pebble lodged in this shoe that wont come free, regardless of how hard he tries. But given an hour or two, he reaches the top and feels a sense of accomplishment of which cannot be rivaled by any notion of comfort or circumstance. He reaches his goal, because he must. He cannot allow the thought of failure to even become a thought on his mind, for the price of failure is far too great. Every man is his own creation, guided by his own will and needing nothing more then a sense of purpose in this life or the next. He reached the top...because he found his.
The commisioner could learn a thing or two from this boy. You see, James Gordon rose up the ladder of command faster then any other member of the force since the very beginning of it's conception, and as a result a certain point of respect had been assigned to him, with criminals running scared at the mention that he was on the case. But as of late, he found that even the brightest could feel the warm sting of apathy when we are given the choices we feel are only natural to make, and we find ourselves spending many a sleepless night on the days past. When some misbehave and fail to act upon their best intentions, and even when we do just the opposite, there are consequences for the that which we cannot unsee or undo. Sometimes you love something that isnt yours to love, sometimes you gain a fortune that was well deserved, but other instances you merely feel that your choices were an insignificant ripple in the fabric of time and causality. For James, what he did, what he felt he was required to do to safegaurd the future of all...cost Gotham a life.
Each and every single night at about nine o'clock roughly, sometimes later depending on the amount of backlogged work he had to offset before heading out of the office, he found himself slouched over the counter of O'Malley's Bar and Grille on the upper east side. Over the last six months he had turned the tables of his recognition from a distant visitor often more concerned about his duties then enjoying the scenery, to a regular patron who sat down and finished a bottle and then sloppily staggered out into the harshness of nightfall and towards home. No one cared to give much thought as to ask why he found himself staking a claim to the small distillery, he was a war hero in a time of furthered peace who was enjoying a small comfort of victory. But now the status quo was changing before his vary eyes, as the reports from the rookies on the streets were in and they were beyond unsettling: crime was up, whether it be simple offenses like petty robbery or something more severe like talk of drug rings being reestablished. Gangs were cropping up all over the place, whether it be the last remnants of the Falconie family hanging on for dear life and relevancy, or the small bands of small-timers only known as the "Brothers in Arms" and the "Sons of Selassie." There was a war brewing, and anyone who had any desire to play a part in the skirmish was preparing themselves for a true to life version of risk, and the city streets were the districts waiting to be claimed.
Not only that, but there was a deeply seeded guilt embedding itself in the spine of this legal legend. You see, that whole decision he was forced to make because of his position, also ended up garnering him with an empty bed to sleep in at the end of the night. His wife, Barbara, knew full well of his choice and just couldn't live with the repercussions of the life that he was prepared to lead because of it. She married him as a woman taken aback by the pure scope of his ambition to clean up a city that so many had long since claimed to be beyond repair, but with this development she now saw him as a coward and left, taking his son with her. It was nearly midnight when he made his way out the door, much the same way as he always had, and was alarmed by the increased presence of police in the area. Not just that, it appeared that they were mobilizing towards one central area, and he felt compelled to follow in his own pursuit, despite his weary legs not being an adequate match for an automobile. One was about to pass him again, and he got the idea stuck in his head that he could just flag it down to signal that he needed a ride, not the best idea but then again when the Jack Daniels talking you cant expect Shakespeare. The vehicle honked once or twice, but then yielded angrily as the door flung open wildly.
"What in the name of all that is holy...is your problem!" The officer barked.
"Now, son, I've been practicing my intimidation speeches since before you were even conceived. I just wanted a ride." He reasoned as he showed his badge, although the words weren't coming as naturally as he had wanted.
"Oh, shit, i mean...sorry commissioner. Sir, i was just going to head over the mall, sir. There's been reports of multiple shots fired." He recoiled, as Gordon walked over to the car and entered the passenger seat, the officer following suit. "Are you alright, sir?"
"Just worry about driving the damn car! Get us there with a bit of urgency and maybe i wont mention the fact you almost ran over the Commissioner of the department!" Hardly discernable through the alcohol, but he was mainly fuming for the sake of humility.
Of all of the things that being a man teaches you about life, whether its how to pick a woman or just simply how to keep your neck out of a place you have no place being, there's almost always a catch. A newfound piece of information that comes to light in the morning of ones own hindsight and they realize a better, and truer understand of what happened way back then. Eyeing the lower ranking officer curiously, there was a certain air about him that had made him seem so extremely familiar to him, but at the time he really didn't find the words or strength to place it. Both hands fixed tightly on his temples which now had begun to sweat in anticipation of reaching the scene of the action, he had wished to try and release the tension on his temple as a throbbing headache now was setting in at full throttle. A small water bottle tucked into the coat of the officer driving came into view, and he silently offered it to him without question, drinking it in almost record time and placing the now empty bottle on the dashboard to sit idly by. The officer was the first one to speak up minutes later, clearing his throat before addressing his superior in a more neutral manner then last time.
"You...don't remember me, do you?" He posed the question.
"I'm sorry to say I don't, there's so many cops in this town, its hard even for me to remember each of their faces...let alone their names. I'm sorry, son."