EPISODE 15: What Gotham Needs Most
After a few minutes of swinging through the frigid February air, Bruce plopped down on the roof of some shabby apartment building in Old Gotham. His left thigh was still bleeding from the gunshot wound from earlier. Luckily for Bruce, the bullet merely grazed his leg. Though the wound was no doubt painful, it could have been much worse. Bruce reached towards his utility belt and took out a roll of bandages that he wrapped around his well-built thigh to stifle the bleeding. Bruce tightly looped the bandage around his leg three times, cut it, and placed the remaining part of the roll back in the compartment in his utility belt. Bruce exhaled deeper than he had in months. The long winter with the Penguin was finally over. He heard the sounds of ambulances and police sirens whizz by him in the direction of the Cobblepot Factory. Oswald Cobblepot's reign of terror was done. Despite the victory of the day, it felt decisively hollow. Oswald's words had affected Bruce more than he realized. And the worst part of it all was that Oswald was right.
Bruce thought for a moment. He had never truly gotten over the death of his parents. He knew that. And because of that, every desire he had to do good for the world was shrouded by a cloud of guilt. He wanted to help Gotham by fighting crime not out of the goodness of his own heart. But to relive the most traumatic night of his life every night until he made it right. And what if this wasn't the best way he could help the people of Gotham? What would his parents say to him now? Would they feel proud of him or pity him? Bruce thought of his mother and how she always did things to help the struggling people of Gotham. She hosted fundraisers and auctions to provide the needy in Gotham with more resources so that they could build better lives for themselves. Bruce thought of the Wayne Foundation. He established the foundation because of her. And she would want him to operate it in earnest, not half-heartedly like he was now. Ollie said it himself, he hardly ever saw Bruce there. If he reallocated half of the money and time that was used for his efforts as Batman to the foundation, they would be able to expand their operations ten-fold.
And the Joker. Oswald was right about that too. Bruce had never forgiven himself for killing the Joker. Though almost everyone around him said it was the right thing to do, Bruce could never look at himself the same way again. He broke his one rule. Even if the Joker had killed Jason Todd, his partner and longtime friend. Even if the Joker had murdered dozens of people in Gotham, Bruce broke his rule and killed one man. Alfred tried to tell him that it was okay. Dick Grayson, another former partner of his, attempted to coax him into believing that he would be doing more good in the long run if Joker were off the streets. But Bruce never felt like that was his decision to make. The Joker could have turned around one day. Maybe he would finally get through to him. But there was no way that could ever happen now. The Joker was dead and Bruce killed him. From that grim day forward, Bruce always questioned how far apart he and the Joker actually were. And after tonight, he wondered how far he was from Oswald.
Ice cold tears began to slide down Bruce's already freezing face. He was at a loss. For the first time in five years, Bruce didn't know what to do. He mulled over the night's events. He thought about Harvey and how happy he was with his wife. He thought about Alfred and how concerned he was about Bruce. He thought about Dick and how he left Bruce and this degenerating lifestyle behind. And he thought of Jason. Another person who died because of him.
Bruce sat stoically atop the apartment building for hours. Cold gusts of wind whipped at his face as the bat suit became a hardened, leathery straight jacket locking him in place. He finally came to a realization that the past cannot be changed. Nothing he could do will ever bring his parents or Jason back. The best he could do now was to honor them. His mother wouldn't have wanted this life for him. Neither would his father. And soon enough Jason would have come to the same conclusion that Bruce was coming to now. Bruce gazed at his gloved hands. His black fingers rested a few inches from his face as rain began to fall on him. The droplets pattered on the leather gloves and left small circular outlines where they fell. And for the first time in a long time, Bruce didn't hear a single scream in Old Gotham.
Eventually Bruce mustered enough energy to get back on his feet. He leapt off of the building and landed gently on the street below. Bruce looked at the abandoned, boarded up windows of the building he was on and walked towards the Bat-Mobile.
SIX MONTHS LATER
It was now August and Oswald Cobblepot had just been charged as guilty on five different criminal charges. He was to be sent to Black Gate Prison for fifty years with an opportunity for an early release. Harvey Dent led the case that put Oswald behind bars and Bruce could not be more proud of his friend. The two met for drinks and dinner at Lorenzo's Italian Restaurant back in North Gotham. The restaurant had been repaired to its former glory, and if Bruce wasn't mistaken, the place looked nicer than when he left it. The glass storefront was now immaculate, without a smudge on it. Red, white and green patterns were painted around the edges of the glass delicately. The tables and chairs were now brand new, and reflected the restaurant's brighter lights on their smooth, mahogany surfaces. Bruce smiled. It was nice to see a place like this recover from what had happened with Oswald. The two men entered the restaurant and were greeted by Lorenzo himself. His warm disposition made Bruce feel right at home again. He and Harvey sat down at a table for two by the window. Bruce could see the painted patterns formed a flower that was the three colors of the Italian flag.
"This is a real nice find, Bruce." Harvey said as he looked around the fine restaurant.
"Yeah, it's nice to dine at places like these. It gets me out of the house for a little bit." Bruce said. A waiter came and took their order. The two exchanged pleasantries and talked about their lives. The waiter eventually returned with some wine and their food. Bruce rose his glass.
"Harvey. I want to toast to a job well done in putting Cobblepot behind bars. He didn't make it easy on you, so I'm glad you pushed through." Bruce said.
"Thanks, Bruce. You know The Batman actually helped me out a lot this time. His tape with Cobblepot's secretary busted this case wide open. It gave us so much to work with." Harvey said.
"I suppose he can be helpful from time to time. She's actually working at the Foundation now." Bruce said with a chuckle. Harvey laughed.
"Now that's something! And I agree. I wonder where he's been as of late though. He seemed to have gone missing after Cobblepot was brought into custody." Harvey said. Bruce took a long sip of his wine.
"Beats me. I'm just happy he was able to help bring in Cobblepot before he left." Bruce said.
"You think he's gone for good?" Harvey asked with genuine curiosity.
"I'm not sure," Bruce said, gazing out the window into the night sky. "But something tells me he won't be coming back."
"Interesting. We'll have to see what he does." Harvey replied, gazing into his wine glass. The gold liquid hardly moved as the conversation fell silent for a moment.
"So how's that new project at the Foundation coming along?" Harvey asked.
"Oh, the rehabilitation program? It's going really well. A lot of Cobblepot's former employees are coming in. They're being given food, volunteer work and some can even take classes. It's amazing how such a small amount of Wayne Industries' money can go such a long way." Bruce said.
"That's great, Bruce. If I hadn't had my hands tied worrying about the Cobblepot case, maybe I could've taught some basic law courses!" The two men began to laugh.
"You don't ever want a break, do you?" Bruce said while chuckling.
"No need!" Harvey replied giddily. Harvey remembered something and his face shot back to Bruce.
"So I saw you with a girl the other week in The Gotham Times. Who is she?" Harvey asked with a smirk. Bruce blushed.
"Uhm. Well." Bruce said.
"Uhm. Well!" Harvey jumped in mocking him.
"Her name's Vicki Vale and she works at the Times, actually." Bruce said with a smile.
"Now how about that! Did she write the story too?" Harvey asked sarcastically. Bruce began to laugh.
"I don't know, Harv." He said chucking.
"How long have you two been seeing each other?" Harvey asked. Bruce cocked his head to the side and he began to think.
"Four months…I think." Bruce said. Harvey smiled.
"Not bad, Bruce. Not bad. I had always hoped you would find someone." Harvey said with the smile of a relieved friend. "When's the wedding?" Harvey asked sarcastically. The two men continued to laugh and joke until they parted ways at the end of the evening.
On the way back to Wayne Manor, Bruce's mind began to wander as Alfred drove him home. He thought about the nights of old where he would bob and weave down these streets in the Bat-Mobile, his head squeezed in the tight black cowl. Now he sat unencumbered by the bat suit. Alfred had said that Vicki would be waiting for him at Wayne Manor. She loved to come by on weekends to stay with Bruce and explore the house's grounds. Bruce smiled at the thought. Alfred saw the smile stretch onto Bruce's face and a smile of his own came across his.
Alfred had been happier recently too. It was not because of the work. Working with Bruce on those late nights reminded him of his younger days with various British intelligence agencies. But it was the peace that Alfred saw in Bruce's eyes that brought him true joy. It was the beaming smiles of pure happiness that he would see on Bruce's face that made him feel at ease. Bruce noticed this over the last few months and was happy to see the man he knew all of his life finally lose the concerned tone in his voice. Bruce continued to reflect. He was happy. For the first time in what felt like his entire life, Bruce was happy. Six months ago, Bruce made the decision that giving up being Batman was what Gotham needed. He could do the most possible good that way. But he could have never predicted that it was what he needed too.