So I originally intended to get this one out before Christmas, but I had some family issues go on and it just didn't happen. But, it is now done, and I'm drafting the next chapter as we speak. I do apologize for how long it took me to get this one out. I never wanted to be one of those authors that only updates once or twice a year, and I'm going to really try from now on to make updates to this story more frequently, since after Blackgate, it'll be all my own original ideas, which I'm really excited for you guys to see. As always, please review, if only because nothing makes me more motivated to write than seeing your reactions and comments about the story.

P.S. SoraMalfoySlythern, I'm really glad someone got that Superman reference! And yes, I have every intention of Laura being very involved with the Robins' lives when they come around (I've always pictured Laura as the kind of person who wants 5+ kids, which works well with Bruce's orphan-collecting habit). Also, when you called the Robins 'baby birds' I couldn't stop grinning, because I've been toying with the idea of Laura's nickname for Dick Grayson to be 'baby bird'.

P.S.S. In the time since my last update, I kind of accidentally wrote a couple chapters of a Hobbit fanfiction I've had swirling around my head for the last couple years. Would that be something you guys would be interested in reading?


"And now to South Gotham where Vicki Vale brings us this live report."

The screen flashed from the inside of GNN's main studio to the image of an attractive blonde woman in the bitter winter weather, a line of police cars and the looming figure of the GothCorp building on Miller Street in the background behind her.

"Thanks, Janine. I'm standing at the corporate headquarters of GothCorp where Captain James Gordon has confirmed that GothCorp CEO, Ferris Boyle, has been taken into police custody. Police report that Mr. Boyle stands accused of manslaughter, extortion, and attempted murder – shocking accusations given that just earlier tonight he accepted the Wayne Foundation's award for Humanitarian of the Year. Also in custody is the notoriously elusive underworld crime boss, Oswald Cobblepot, better known as the Penguin, as well as a GothCorp cryogenecist, Victor Fries. Mr. Fries is being held under heavy guard at Gotham General, receiving treatment for an undisclosed medical condition. Quincy Sharp has suggested that Mr. Fries is yet another example of the type of criminal that needs the specialized care that only Arkham Asylum can provide, a project which he will reportedly be presenting to the city council next week.

"Police credit these arrests to solid police work, particularly that of the GCPD's up-and-coming star, Sergeant Laura Anderson, but this reporter suspects the vigilante known as the Batman had more than a small role to play. On a personal note, I owe Batman a debt of gratitude for rescuing me from almost certain dea-"

The screen cut to black as the small television was shut off, cutting off the reporter's grateful words mid-sentence. The room was dead silent for a moment, and Laura reluctantly turned her head to face the men who were, for lack of a better word, interrogating her.

She knew the first man off the bat, having seen the newly-elected District Attorney around the D.A.'s office numerous times when she'd gone to visit Alyssa. The imposing figure of Harvey Dent, bedecked in a crisp white suit, leaned up against the wall twirling a silver coin between his fingers, his handsome face holding none of its usual warmth, instead fixing her with a sort of piercing stare she doubted he used much outside of office hours. The second man she knew by reputation alone, his face and figure wholly unfamiliar to her. Councilman Anthony Garcia, appointed the interim mayor of Gotham by the city council only hours after Hill's resignation, stood next to the television, one hand still resting on the power button, looking at her expectantly.

"So how much of that was bullshit?" The councilman asked, the slightest hint of an accent the only lingering reminder of the man's childhood in Puerto Rico.

"Not much," Laura admitted. "The bit about Boyle is all true, obviously, but she had it right about Batman. If he hadn't shown up, I wouldn't have made it out of Wayne Manor, much less to GothCorp to make any arrests, and even then, he was the one to take down Fries."

Garcia sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

"What's your take on him?" Dent asked, eyes still fixed on her like a hawk. "We need to know what we're dealing with, and by all accounts, you've been in contact with him more than anyone else in the GCPD, if not more than anyone else in the city."

"He's…stubborn. Determined. He's not going to stop just because you put the force on his tail, that's for sure."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I would recommend the immediate disbandment of the Vigilante Task Force," Laura said, watching both Dent and Garcia's faces morph into a look of incredulity. "It's a waste of police resources. The Batman is intelligent, highly skilled, and has resources and equipment at his disposal far superior to those of the department, if not the city itself. The only way we would catch him is if he let us, and I don't see that happening."

"So your recommendation is to let some vigilante who dresses up like a bat have free reign across the city to dole out 'justice' whenever and to whomever he chooses?"

"No," The sergeant corrected, a hint of annoyance in her voice. "My recommendation is to stop wasting city resources on a pipe dream. The Batman is here to stay whether we like it or not, and if you haven't noticed, public opinion is turning more and more in his favor. I say we let him do his thing but keep an eye on him. New Year's Eve proved he's willing to work with the police, but if we keep trying to hunt him down like a fugitive, he's not going to be willing for long. We need him where we can keep an eye on him, and the only way that happens is to bring him into the fold."

"The city can't sanction a private citizen going around doling out punishment as part of the justice system." Dent argued.

"Not officially, no." Laura agreed. "But we don't need to give him our seal of approval, we just need to stop actively trying to arrest him. It's not…legal what he does, not really, but we've got bigger fish to fry right now. These super-criminals like Fries and the Joker? They're becoming more and more of a problem, and not just in Gotham. Star City, Central City, and Metropolis have all had a marked increase of crimes committed with highly-advanced weapons tech or by these so-called 'meta-humans' in the last eighteen months, and if they're any indicator, things are only just getting started in Gotham. Not to mention that we still have twenty maximum-security prisoners that escaped Blackgate during the Christmas riot that are still on the loose somewhere in the city, and more than half the police department is suspended and under investigation on corruption charges."

Seeing Garcia's stern expression waver slightly, the sergeant pushed on. "Councilman, we have to be realistic about our situation; we're stretched way too thin to handle everything on our plate, and we have to prioritize. The most dangerous and immediate threats to the city must be dealt with first, and the Batman doesn't even make the list. Until the mass investigations are concluded and we have a better hold over the city, maintaining the Vigilante Task Force is just going to be a pointless drain of resources we can't afford to waste."

Garcia was silent, fiddling with the simple gold band on his left hand as he considered her words. Dent, however, turned to the male figure standing in the corner of the room who had remained wordless since the pseudo-interrogation had begun.

"What do you think, Gordon? You're the acting Commissioner."

"She's not wrong about the drain of resources," The captain replied, weighing his words carefully. "Even with Black Mask and Penguin in jail, gang violence hasn't slowed much, and both violent and petty crime's been up since Christmas Eve. We're stretched too thin to keep up if things get worse, and we could use the extra manpower."

"And the Batman?" Dent pressed.

"He's not a threat to the city," Gordon said firmly. "More a threat to himself than anything else, but not to Gotham. Anderson's got a point, though; if there was a way to keep him close, if only so we could keep an eye on him, it's something we should consider pursuing."

"You are going along with this?" Dent asked disbelievingly. "By-the-book-or-not-at-all James Gordon?"

"Things would have gone…badly, on Christmas Eve if the Batman hadn't intervened," The captain admitted, adjusting his glasses as he did so. "A lot more innocent people would have died. There wouldn't be enough of Pioneers Bridge left standing to repair. We probably wouldn't have been able to stop the Joker at Blackgate as quickly as we did; the riot would have gone on for hours, if not days before we could have gotten it under control. And I believe Anderson when she says the Bat saved people at Wayne Manor and GothCorp. I don't like what the Batman does, I don't like that we need it, but right now, we're not in a position to dictate how we run the city based off what we like. Right now, whether we like it or not, having the Batman out on the streets is a necessary evil if we're going to keep order in the city and get the underworld under control."

"I see." Garcia muttered, more to himself than the other three gathered in the room. With a long sigh, the councilman shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"As Acting Mayor, I want to you to, for now, suspend the Vigilante Task Force and reallocate all available resources to wherever is needed," He addressed Gordon, though he still had his eyes squeezed shut as if experiencing a sudden headache. "Our priority right now has to be maintaining order in the city. We'll deal with the Batman…well, we'll deal with him when we get the chance."

Garcia gave one more shake of his head and strode out of the room, muttering something unintelligible under his breath as he did. Laura stood up out of her chair as Dent made to follow, the lawyer pausing in the doorway to give her a stern look.

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"That makes two of us." The sergeant retorted, only half joking, though judging from the look that flashed across the district attorney's face, it hadn't been the answer he'd hoped she'd give.

The door to the small office shut behind him with a 'click', leaving Laura and Gordon alone.

"Well, that went better than I thought it would."

The captain gave her a look. "How did you think it was going to go?"

"I thought I was going to get fired," She told him honestly. "Or arrested. Police officers aren't exactly supposed to encourage vigilante justice, after all, much less assist in it. Twice."

"To be fair, there were extenuating circumstances." Gordon said, holding the door for her.

"You weren't wrong though," He continued as the pair made their way through the twisting hallways of City Hall. "Things are getting worse, and I'm not sure the GCPD as it is will be capable of handling criminals like Freeze and the Joker. If we're going to keep up, changes need to be made."

Stepping out into the frigid January air, Gordon turned to face his protégé, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. "Speaking of changes, even with the Task Force on hold, we're still struggling to find those Blackgate escapees. Any chance you know how to get in contact with the Bat?"

Mind flashing back to the small earpiece that was tucked into her jacket pocket, Laura gave a noncommittal shrug.

"I might have an idea."

-XI-

The reconstruction efforts on Wayne Manor were slow-going. While the damage done by the fire Penguin's men had set was minimal thanks to the manor's state-of-the-art fire suppression system, the thugs had riddled much of the ballroom with bullet holes, and both the room's north wall and domed stained-glass ceiling had been destroyed in their entirety. Various trinkets and trophies had seen their fair share of damage as well, from Darius Wayne's taxidermied hunts to a scorched Ruysdael to a shattered Ming vase worth upwards of $1.5 million. Though scores of private contractors had lined up at the chance to rebuild one of Gotham County's most famous buildings (And arguably the most well-known private residence on the Eastern seaboard), even with work teams making round-the-clock repairs, the damage done on New Year's Eve would take months to fix.

Even in the caves far below the manor, Bruce could hear the contractors hauling away rubble and ruined finery. Though he knew logically that the round-the-clock workmen would ultimately speed up the manor's return to normalcy in the long-run, the constant noise emanating from the various worksites throughout the house had begun to take its toll on his already-poor sleep schedule; he hadn't been able to get a decent night's sleep (Even by his already-low standards) in the two weeks since work had begun, and it had begun to show in the progressive degradation of his patience and shortening of his already-poor temper.

Just as he was beginning to seriously consider bunking in the soundproof cockpit of the Batwing for the night, if only to get some peace and quiet, an alert flashed across the screen of the Cave's computer, signaling an incoming transmission. Momentarily confused, as only a handful of people in the world had access to the Cave's comms frequency, he accepted the transmission, waiting silently for the other person to speak.

"Hello? Batman? You there?"

"Sergeant Anderson," He replied by way of a greeting, attempting to smother the surprise in his voice. It'd been nearly a month since he'd given her the small communicator on New Year's Eve and he'd received nothing but radio silence on her end. After the first few weeks, he'd assumed she'd rethought her position on collaboration between the two of them and disposed of the device, or possibly turned it over to her higher-ups. And though he'd never admit to it, the thought that she'd simply given the comm up or thrown the device away had an uncomfortable feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that was a little too close to rejection for his comfort.

"Uh, hi. Sorry to interrupt…whatever you're up to, but I could use a hand, if you've got the time to spare."

"Is there a problem?" He asked, not sure if the nervousness in her voice was due to some outside source, or the sheer awkwardness of the conversation.

"Yeah, there is." Anderson responded, huffing out a breath. "Twenty maximum-security prisoners were able to escape from Blackgate during the Christmas riots, and in the time since, they've gone underground. Half the force is on suspension, and the other half is having trouble just keeping order on the streets, so we can't spare the resources to track them down ourselves, and the state's not sending us any troopers or marshals to help out. These guys have been running around the city completely unchecked for the last three weeks doing God-knows-what, and there's not a damn thing the police can do about it. Any chance you could lend a hand?"

"I'll need a little more information to go on if I'm going to track them down."

"I've already downloaded their GCPD profiles and all relevant data off the National Criminal Database onto a drive for you," She told him. "All you have to do is come pick it up. Will tonight work? Midnight, on the roof of the Wintermere apartment building in the Bowery?"

"I'll be there." Bruce confirmed, severing the connection before Anderson could get in another word. Letting out a sigh and standing up from his seat in front of the Cave's computer, the billionaire headed towards the looming figure of the Batwing resting on a suspended platform for a few hours of much-needed rest.

He could already tell, it was going to be a long night.

-XI-

"Any luck with our mysterious friend?"

"He agreed to help," Anderson spoke into the microphone on her cell phone, pacing around the small living room of her apartment. "He's coming to pick up the drive tonight."

"Good." Gordon replied in a pleased tone. "We need all the help we can get with this one."

"Hopefully there'll still be a GCPD left to arrest them by the time he gets back to us," She murmured more to herself than to Gordon, heading to the kitchen to put on a pot of water for tea, if only to prevent herself from wearing a hole in the carpet.

"Optimistic as ever, Anderson."

"Honestly Jim? I'm not even sure I'm kidding." She sighed, leaning against the countertop. "When we got back to the prescient, I took a look at the books, and we're even worse off than I thought. A month ago, we had nearly thirty-seven thousand officers on the roster, and this week we've got barely fifteen thousand. Anyone from SWAT who wasn't arrested raided the armory before they jumped ship, and we've got almost no riot gear left, and most of our serious firepower is gone. Nashton accessing our systems has put Cyber Crimes into a complete halt, and there's no telling when IA is going to let them get back to work. It's going to take thousands of hours and millions of dollars to get everything back in order, and we've got no way to get that, especially since most of Gotham's foaming at the mouth in rage and we're down the mayor and most of the city council. Jim, if there's another attack, or a crime spree, or riots, they're going to have to call in the National Guard because we're not going to be able to hold the city. We're in a bad way, and I'm not sure how we're going to make it out."

There was a long pause before Gordon answered. "I don't know either, kid. At this point, we've just got to put one foot in front of the other, and pray things turn out all right. That's all we've got left."

-XI-

The Wintermere building was one of the nicer apartment buildings in the Bowery, located only a few blocks from Jezebel Plaza, and as such, was one of the few places left in that section of the city that housed Gotham's upper middle class. The building itself wasn't particularly special, its red brick exterior, stone trim, and rounded arched Romanesque windows typical of many such buildings built in Gotham at the tail end of the 19th century. The building had since seen its interior remodeled since its initial construction, refit for the modern world and the people in it, but its varying owners had kept the building's outside almost perfectly intact, the place's old-world charm and beauty retained from when it first opened its doors so many years ago.

It was also an odd place for an information drop-off, Bruce thought to himself as he peered at the snow-covered rooftop from a gargoyle on the adjacent tenement, waiting for Anderson to appear. He'd shown up nearly an hour early himself, not entirely convinced it wasn't a trap, scouting out the area for GCPD officers or federal agents hidden in the surrounding buildings. His search had turned up nothing, however, convincing him that Anderson's offer was genuine, and she'd merely chosen the odd location as a matter of convenience; the file Alfred had compiled on her had indicated she lived on the building's twelfth floor.

At five to midnight the door leading into the building's interior creaked open, a feminine figure in a thick woolen coat slipping out into the night. He didn't even need to check his binoculars to see that it was clearly Anderson; the proud way the woman held herself, head high and shoulders back, was unmistakable, even as she curled slightly into herself to keep the cold at bay. He launched himself off the gargoyle and glided to the apartment building's rooftop, landing near-silently behind the brunette with only the faintest crunch of snow to signal his arrival.

"Sergeant Anderson." He said by way of a greeting, causing her to jump and spin around, her hand reflexively going to the sidearm he could see faintly outlined under her thick coat.

"Do you have to do that every time you make an entrance?" She asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice. "Sneaking up behind someone in this city is an easy way to get yourself shot."

"You had something for me?" He asked, ignoring her complaints. Anderson shot him a dirty look but obliged, fishing a small flash drive from her coat pocket. Bruce took it from her, quickly checking the small device over for trackers or bugs, and placed in in one of the compartments of his utility belt.

"What am I looking at?"

"Murderers, armed robbers, arsonists, and a couple hitmen. Nothing you haven't brought in before." Anderson read off, shoving her hands in her pockets.

Bruce nodded, turning his back and making for the edge of the rooftop. "I'll let you know when I find anything."

"Hey, hang on!" The sergeant shouted from behind him, and Bruce could hear the snow crunch as she made a few steps towards his retreating figure. "There was one more thing."

Turning to face her, Bruce saw uncertainty flicker across the brunette's face, if only for a moment, before continuing.

"Jim, that is, Captain Gordon and I got called into Councilman Garcia's office this morning. He and District Attorney Dent wanted to know what we knew about you, and what happened on New Year's Eve."

When he didn't respond, the sergeant continued. "They've agreed to temporarily disband the Vigilante Task Force, so you won't have to worry about the GCPD on your tail. At least, not for a while."

"You convinced the acting mayor and the district attorney to disband the Vigilante Task Force?" He asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

"You extended the olive branch on New Year's Eve," She pulled her dark hair back from where it hung loose around her face, revealing the small earpiece he'd given her three weeks ago by way of an explanation. He hadn't noticed she'd been wearing it. "Figured we should at least try and meet you halfway."

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond to her revelation, but he was spared from having to formulate what would have surely been a stilted, awkward response by a crash sounding from the alleyway below. Though it was likely nothing more than a stray cat knocking over a garbage can, Anderson still made her way to the edge of the building anyways, peering suspiciously down into the darkness. Seizing his chance, Bruce detached the grappling gun from his belt and fired, hurtling himself through the cold night air and onto an outcropping of one of the nearby buildings. From his perch high above, he saw Anderson turn back to the rooftop, the alleyway commotion apparently mundane, her dark hair whipping around her face as she rapidly scanned the rooftop for his now-absent form. Realizing he was now long gone, the sergeant pulled her coat tighter around herself and hurried towards the door leading to the building's interior, eager to escape the bitter wind.

The radio in his cowl crackled to life, the unexpected sound startling him from his thoughts and nearly causing him to tip off the outcropping and into the night air below.

"Did all go well at the meeting with Sergeant Anderson, sir?"

"Yes, I've got the drive." He responded, silently chiding himself for his lapse in awareness.

"Excellent. The quicker those men are taken off the streets, the better."

Bruce made a noise of affirmation, only half-listening to the Englishman. His thoughts were more focused on the brunette who'd returned to her apartment, her silhouette only slightly discernable through the curtains drawn over her window. She knew she didn't have to pull strings on his behalf, didn't she? That his help wasn't conditional? It wasn't that he didn't appreciate her efforts on his behalf, far from it, in fact, but nonetheless it wasn't necessary. He hadn't given Anderson the earpiece or agreed to help the GCPD with the expectation of repayment, or even that they'd stop hunting him. If anything, he'd expected their efforts with the Vigilante Task Force to ramp up after Christmas Eve, if only because he'd now become so public a figure in Gotham.

And yet she'd still gone out of her way to help him, most likely risking her job to do so. While the police department was slowly but surely purging its crooked cops, the city administration and mayor's office was still rife with corruption, and though Councilman Garcia didn't seem like he'd followed the same path as his predecessors, there was no way to know for sure. District Attorney Dent wasn't on anyone's payroll, that Bruce knew for sure, but the man was known for doing things by-the-book, and the vigilante doubted he'd take well to a member of the police force all-but-assisting vigilante justice and wouldn't put it past the man to encourage a "career change" for such an individual.

Bruce knew Anderson wasn't a stupid woman, no matter how reckless she might sometimes seem, and he had no doubt the sergeant had considered all of this before making her case to the city administrators. What puzzled him perhaps, then, was why she'd done what she had. It wasn't as if she owed him anything, and, though he loathed to admit it, after the incident at GothCorp, he was the one who probably owed her. They weren't even colleagues, much less friends, so why had she gone so far on his behalf?

Perhaps, the annoying little voice in his head crooned, that's exactly what she wants to change.

"Sir? Sir, are you still there?"

"Yes, Alfred, I'm still here." The billionaire said, snapping out of his reverie. He'd been so consumed with his debate about Anderson, he'd tuned the butler out completely.

"Good. When you didn't answer, I began to worry something had happened. As I was saying, if you plan to get a start on those escapees tonight, you'd best hurry back to the Cave to upload the data. Your suit's onboard computer doesn't have anything on it to process a flash drive."

"I'll be there in a bit." Bruce replied, severing the connection and activating the signal to summon the Batwing. The black jet appeared overhead in moments, the vigilante quickly grappling up into the cockpit before the roar of the vehicle's engine could draw any unwanted attention. Situating himself in the pilot's seat, he brought the vehicle out of hover-mode and engaged the thrust, turning the jet away from Gotham proper and towards the mountains of Bristol County.

Too busy piloting the Batwing, Bruce didn't notice the object of his thoughts peering out of her window, a slight smile on her face as she watched the black jet disappear into the night.