Chapter Thirty One: Rule #29 – Flock Together
Three months after the incident with the new drug that had been plaguing Gotham mysteriously wraped itself up, Gotham Police Commissioner James Gordon finds himself at yet another high society gala hosted by Bruce Wayne to celebrate the importance of Wayne Enterprises and to support one of the Waynes' innumberable charities.
It's three months after a bare-bones casefile containing a report on certain individuals with insanely high places within the government's classified information centers was dropped on his desk by a particularly obnoxious bat themed vigilante. The file explained enough to prove to Gordon that while he will never know exactly what happened, he can now rest more easily with the knowledge that it has been resolved… well, it's been settled enough to set aside.
Gotham never stays quiet for long, but that case had been a particularly awful nettle in Gordon's side and it has felt good to breathe without it goring him these last few weeks.
Ever vigilant, Commissioner Gordon's gaze skims over the assembled crowd of VIPs and politicians – all trying to rub elbows and smooze their ways into the good graces of Gotham's own version of royalty. The Waynes are beyond wealthy, the kind of respected and powerful (old money wealthy, with the class to prove it) that garners places in echelons high above any other realm in American society. They're innovative and influential, and so much richer than sin that it puts even most oil shieks and China boom billionaires to shame, which means that no matter what room you put them in, the whole world within it revolves entirely around them.
It's never very hard to spot their orbit in a crowd.
Even now that there are more of them than there used to be.
Gordon tries not to think about those days when Bruce Wayne was just a burgeoning young man himself, attempting to reenter Society after spending several years abroad. Foreign schooling had given Bruce both an excellent education in all sorts of worldly matters (and somehow also enough business sense to keep Wayne Enterprises swell with profits despite being considered almost universally inept in such dealings) and it had given him a chance to come to terms with the tragic deaths of his parents.
Bruce had been too young, and too isolated, to cope well at home – despite the attentive care of his family butler, Alfred Pennyworth.
Almost twenty years later, when Bruce had returned to Gotham as a new man, Gordon had perhaps been the only person besides that kindly old brit to realize just how deeply Bruce's childhood scars still stung.
It hadn't gotten any better for him after coming home.
If anything Gotham made Bruce's on-going process of healing and recovery all the more difficult. And frankly, Gordon was not at all surprised when the young man began taking certain things into his own hands – and more often than not, Gordon was grateful for a helping hand on the good guys' side who was not bound to the letter of the law.
He'd always considered taking a more… proactive approach to law enforcement, but he believed firmly in the idea of institutions – of having rules in place to help attempt to mitigate the effects of police corruption. As Commissioner, he was finally able to make significant changes to clean up the sordid ranks Gotham's law enforcement, but it was not the kind of accomplishment that could be made at a sprint.
Things are better now.
Better for both Gordon and his police force, and better for Bruce Wayne.
Gordon had watched the young man flounder for more than half a decade before another tragedy of dead parents had brought Richard Grayson into Bruce Wayne's life.
That kid was some kind of miracle worker.
Within a month of meeting Dick Grayson, Bruce began to smile in public again – a real smile, the kind Gordon remembered from before the Wayne Family had been reduced to a lone survivor of the name and a loyal house hand.
Bruce had returned to the public eye in a picture of him at the entrance to a charity gala, standing tall and proud, but all alone.
Three months after he'd met Dick, Bruce introduced his newly adopted son to the press on the steps of Wayne Tower, with Alfred, Dick, and Lucius Fox standing by his side.
From sole survivor, Bruce had gone to belonging with a family of four.
And then Gordon's own daughter had dated Bruce's son, and even though their romance hadn't ended in marriage, Barbara still seemed inexorably attached to the Wayne Family.
Gordon wished he didn't know why, and he still pretends not to have a clue because he has no right to critize her choices… Especially not when Batgirl is making such a difference in her own right with keeping Gotham's streets as clean as possible and dramatically inspiring the dreary city's lethargic and desensitized citizens.
And she's ensured that Bruce Wayne's family gatherings include at least one more person every year, and she frequently insists on her father's presence as well. Holiday meals in Wayne Manor began to suit the opulent dining hall where they were always held – no fewer than five places were ever set, even when Lucius Fox spent the time with his own growing family.
There had been a few good years of that before Jason Todd arrived.
He'd always been a handful, the little rascal – possibly even dangerous, but no matter how much or how viciously he fought with Bruce or Dick or even Barbara, Jason had made everyone associated with the Waynes seem so much more alive and human.
And now there is a new addition being incorporated into things that seems to have already made a significant difference. He's somehow calmed the others down, wrapped them up into a bubble and made them into a cohesive unit that works together with far less internal conflicts than Gordon would have imagined possible from them.
Timothy Drake has his own family – but so does Barbara, and honestly, with how clearly attached to and protective of him that all the Waynes have become so quickly, Gordon thinks it might be worth looking into Timothy's circumstances at home.
Bruce doesn't look to adopt children out of even moderately happy home-lives, actively distans the idea if the resistance Barbara met in attempting to work her way into the brood is anything to go by, and yet Bruce has looked ready to sign the papers for almost half a year now…
Because Gordon knows where this is heading.
He's seen Bruce wear this look before, the one he's been casting Timothy's way throughout the entire evening this gala has been dragging on: it's pride. And not just any pride, but pride in a youngster that he considers a son. It's the same look he had at Dick Grayson's high school graduation. And when the short story Jason wrote last year had won a national prize after it had been mysteriously and anonymously submitted to a literary magazine.
And this gala is celebrating the latest advancement at Wayne Tech – a breakthrough technological leap in the science of solar power, one that might very well have applications in agencies like NASA. And it's a breakthrough that WE's tech division is attributing almost entirely to Timothy Drake (who is resolutely insisting that it was mostly Lucius Fox's guidance that led him and the rest of the small team of interns to happen upon the discovery).
Tim has his own orbit carved out through the room, his own pack of smoozers and high society leeches and he's almost as easy to spot in the crowd as Bruce.
The other kids have their own circles, as well.
Linked together even when they're nowhere near each other.
They are simply individual parts of a single star system, circling each other in shining circuits as the rest of the population of limp rocks and gaseous fools are drawn along behind.
Eventually, the stars circle in to find each other, carefully extricating themselves from their packs of smoozers and overly interested parties to find refuge with each other in the corner – well, the young ones escape, anyway. Bruce himself cannot join them at the moment, as the distraction he provides is a large part of what allows the youngsters their current peace.
Gordon watches the kids interact, perfectly at ease in a way he's rarely seen from them before – especially while they were caught up in a public function.
Until Tim joined their bizarre little menagerie, none of the kids (not even Barbara) had ever looked comfortable in one of these Society settings. Gordon couldn't blame them for the unease, he'd been doing this for thirty years now and he still felt awkwardly out of sorts. But Tim was perfectly comfortable with mingling among Gotham's high society at these events – and when Tim was with them, Dick and Jason looked much more akin to willing participants.
They look good together. Happy.
It takes a few bloated seconds for Gordon to realize those words weren't just his own wandering thoughts commenting on the obvious.
Lucius Fox has appeared at Gordon's shoulder.
Fox is the man credited with most of the day to day operations of Wayne Enterprises, as well as with most of the advancements achieved by the massive company's technical division.
Gordon knows that for all his playboy persona presents Brucie Wayne as an empty headed do-gooder, Bruce is actually a very competent CEO and an astute negotiator, so he's assumed that Bruce handles more of the company's enterprises than most people assume – which means it's fairly likely that he's also more involved with the technical side of things than the general public believes. But he's also inclined to trust the popular opinion that Wayne Tech is Fox's own personal playground – there's always a certain smugness to his smile when he is at a press conference arranged to announce some revolutionary new technology that makes Gordon feel like he was always directly involved, no matter how humbly he represents his part in it.
And now, Fox has that same grin – satisfied, proud, and just slightly smug – as he reiterates the point, "Those kids certainly make some kind of special little team together."
Gordon huffs. "The Drake kid looks about eight years old next to the others," he comments. It's a point that's not exactly true, though – Timothy Drake should look out of place next to them, should look far too young to associate with the others, but he's too competent for that. Out of all of them, young Timothy is actually the one that suits this setting best – is the one that allows the others to relax into their places at this kind of party.
"Oh, I don't know," Fox returns lightly, "He's one smart cookie, that one. He's Wayne Enterprises' fastest rising new recruit. Three months ago, Tim was just a random kid who's essay got him into a spring boot camp that gave him a plausible leg up into a WE summer camp. As of Monday morning, he's going to be my personal summer intern – an official attachment to the wider company with the potential to push him into a career the instant he turns eighteen."
A vague noise of malcontent escapes Gordon's throat.
Fox chuckles.
"He wants to help this city, Commissioner," Fox tells him after a moment of quiet, "He wants to help and he knows he's capable of doing far more than most his age to proactively improve life in every one of Gotham's dark nooks and dingy crevices. I'm sure you'd rather have his drive to help fostered into an interest of reasonable career opportunities rather than forced into any kind of more unconventional approach to keeping Gotham safe."
The older man arches an eyebrow in Gordon's direction – somehow both refined with chastisement and childish with teasing all at once as he admits to being complicit with his boss in the after hours endeavor that Gordon still swears in all official capacities he has no knowledge of Bruce Wayne's possible involvement.
Another sound of discontent rumbles in Gordon's chest and he grumbles, "He's still too young to be facing the kind of pressure these people want to put on him."
"Perhaps it seems that way," Fox concedes. "But the person putting the most pressure on that kid is Tim Drake himself. He's worse than Bruce, you know; worse than Bruce ever was."
Gordon sighs at that.
Bruce had always been a persistent child, driven. When his parents had died, it was Bruce's dogged follow up that was all that had kept the case open after the first month of fruitless investigation. And Bruce had been motivated by good reason, by a direct and personal reason that was all-consuming in a way Gordon could rationalize from a kid who'd just been traumatically orphaned. Timothy Drake has no such clear cut reasoning.
However, among all the people who might be qualified to make a comparison between young Bruce Wayne and the newest child to find some sort of shelter under his wing, Lucius Fox was the highest possible authority. If Fox said Tim was worse, there could be no doubting the statement, however implausible the sentiment seemed.
"You'll look after the kid, right?"
Teasing demeanor pushed aside, Fox replies seriously, "Of course. He's Family."
Gordon finds that he is not surprised by the conviction behind the confession. Tim Drake has made himself a crucial part of the Wayne Family – had been close enough for them to consider him a critical aspect of their world for longer than any of them likely realized. Gordon had known as soon as he'd seen Tim with Dick and Jason at that Senior Showcase gala at the Gotham Art Museum.
He almost wants to be amused by how thoroughly Timothy has twined his way into the thick of the Family, how diligently all members of that family keep pretending he's nothing more seriously attached to them than some kind of significant family friend. It's a ridiculously blatant falsehood coming from people Gordon knows can beat lie detectors without batting an eye.
If not for the weight of a dozen still open case files sitting heavy on his desk, Gordon would probably be convinced to laugh outright at the absurdity of how Bruce Wayne and his brood of misfits seem to believe that they can just pretend Tim into a role on the sidelines of their absolute circus of a home life.
While Gordon is musing about the inevitability of Tim's continued involvement, another familiar face appear on the outskirts of the party: Alfred Pennyworth, come to shepherd the children back home and up to bed.
Even from across the room, Gordon can see them grumble about leaving early – can see Alfred stare them into submission with a single quelling look and a dry comment about something or other that the kids know they should care about and yet clearly don't.
They all obey his orders, though, they've all begun to move in accordance long before their grumbling's even finished.
The old butler pauses on the edge of the party before he leads the kids away, gaze finding Bruce's among the crowd. A nod and a smile pass between them that soothes some of the constant worry lingering in Gordon's chest whenever he's forced to think about the man Bruce Wayne has ruthlessly carved himself into being.
And then the butler looks at him, passing along the same smile, the same assurances.
He will look after this Family.
Doing so is, and always will be, his only occupation.
Alfred is nothing if not loyal, and he will care for every single member of the Wayne Clan – even the ones who aren't yet convinced that they are genuinely part of it.
Gordon nods back, feeling more at peace with his universe than he has in a long while.
At his shoulder, Fox sighs and comments, "Well, we'd best get back to making the rounds, eh? These socialites won't smooze themselves, and you've got to be around to make sure that none of the gossiping turns to actual scandal."
Gordon groans at the reminder, but parts ways amicably with Fox.
He makes his way weaving among the high society peacocks with his usual expression of curmudgeonly acceptance of his public duties as Commissioner, but his heart is more at ease than it has been in at least a year. He'll not soon forget Alfred's silent promise, nor lose the feeling of blanket reassurance that he feels from it.
It's a good day in Gotham when nothing goes so wrong Gordon has to reevaluate his situation for the questionable morality of being the person who is tasked with drawing the official line between black and white.
And it's a good night in Gotham when Gordon can fall asleep after then end of a long day feeling like, perhaps, there's something to be said for finding hope in the dark places after all.
Across town on the very same night of the gala celebrating the development of a new kind of solar technology and the formalized attachment of Timothy Drake to Wayne Tech's Lucius Fox, the sole late-night employee of an old fashioned ice cream parlor lies on his back with his cheek pressed into the sparkly red vinyl of a curved booth with his hands and feet tied together above him like a pig ready for the spit.
The ice cream parlor's single flat screen television is tuned into the live coverage of what's happening inside that very gala being hosted by Wayne Enterprises.
Three of Gotham's notorious Rogue Gallery sit at the ice cream counter – and not just any Rogues, but the Gotham City Sirens.
Catwoman has the most typical sundae, something actually on the menu: a signature dish call Cat's Got the Cookies & Cream, made out of cookie dough, cookies & cream, and the House blend of crème de la crème with caramel and French vanilla, with a massive chocolate chip cookie cut into cat ears and the scoops and toppings arranged to make the sundae look like a very self-satisfied house cat.
Poison Ivy's got the simplest arrangement: just two scoops, one scoop of peanut butter & mango, and another scoop of lavender citrus (all of which are vegan and sustainably sourced, and all of which sound absolutely disgusting, but the poor employee has tried them all as part of his training and has to admit they are surprising tasty in small doses).
And then there's Harley Quinn, whose bowl is just a melted swirl of sweet goop scooped out of at least a dozen different flavors and a mish-mash of toppings all stirred up until it has reached an even consistency and a startling resemblance to fresh vomit. The other Sirens seem unbothered by it, but the employee find himself mourning the lost importance in the art of presentation – which surprises him all the more so because he hadn't realized he'd reached a point of attachment to his job where he'd become so deeply invested in any part of it.
The Sirens are watching the goings on of the Gala, glued to the screen and gossiping over Wayne's latest achievement with the fervor expected of any true Gothamite.
And, like all good aunties should, they're cooing over the way their chosen godson or some unofficial relation of theirs – seemingly one of the various wards Wayne's acquired, though the employee can't tell which one of them the women mean – looks all grown up and gorgeous in his big boy britches, that he looks good and natural and at home in a suit mingling with the others in his flock.
"Such a shame we couldn't take the kitten out for ice cream tonight," Harley sighed, "He deserves it, surely does. Can't you get the Bat to do something about it, Cat? He needs to let us spoil him a little! We didn't even get to go out after that daring rescue he pulled for his little lost love bird, and we promised that we'd take him!"
"B does not actually know how involved my kitten was with that fiasco," Catwoman harps snippily, "And I intend to keep it that way. You know how moody he gets when he feels like one of his children is being threatened or endangered or even just annoying their ridiculous way into any kind of moderately serious trouble."
Ivy huffs a sultry laugh, "And you two just got back on good terms, didn't you? Are you really worried about the kid having to face B's emotional constipation, or are your concerns a little closer to home? Cats aren't exactly the most friendly of creatures themselves, and you're especially testy when you have to warm your bed up all alone."
Catwoman elects not to answer the accusation, instead taking a large bite of ice cream covered chocolate chip cookie.
The good natured ribbing and light hearted teasing continues through the whole of the gala's live coverage. As the coverage wraps up, Catwoman sighs heavily and comments one more time that her little kitten isn't quite so little any more and she hopes 'those idiot bird brains realize what a blessing they've scored'.
The Sirens then turn off the television and clean up the counter – they wipe everything down and even go so far as to clean their dishes. They leave money for all the ice cream and toppings they used, and include a very nice tip for the employee – who's far less self pittying regarding his circumstances after he's been carefully untied and set back on his feet (this little adventure has more than paid for itself, left him with a great story to tell next time he hits up his local bar, and given him a compelling reason to convince his boss for either a raise or at the very least, some sort of hazard pay bonus).
Harley Quinn gives him a pat on the head like he's eight years old and then twirls around to follow the others out into the black of a Gotham night.
The employee sits himself back down at the counter he'd been tending before the Sirens had shown up and goes back to playing with his phone for the remainder of his shift – though now, he's telling the thrilling story of his evening rather than simply browsing in boredom.
So, honestly, he counts tonight a win.
And hashtags it all with the usual #OnlyInGotham.
Author's Note:
There's still one more chapter folks! Next week is a short, sweet little wrap up with one of the most important characters of all.
After that I'll be working on a few other projects, one of which should be ready to post in early April! If you'd like to stay on top of everything I'm working on, or would like to see the stuff I do that I DON'T get to put up on , check out my a href=" posts/current-projects-30172736" Current Projects Masterlist /a (if the link doesn't work, my updates page can be found here: Astyle_Alex )
Once again, THANK YOU for reading! 3
