Gordon summarised the rest of the video from his perspective. Each hit Alfred had watched Bruce take made him flinch, each ping of gunfire off his armour made his heart skip a beat.

"By the time I got there it was too late." Gordon was weighed down by his own guilt. He bared as much of the blame as Alfred put on himself.

"If it wasn't for you..." Alfred was staring at Bruce's unmoving form on the counter. Pale bruised chest now having context. Water welled in his eyes, a single tear making a break for it down his cheek.

Gordon's hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"He shot up like a bat out of hell, he's the one that got us out of there."

Alfred eyes narrowed; tears forgotten. He stepped away, Gordon retrieving his hand from the man as he beelined for Bruce's gear. He specifically collected up the belt, opening a pouch to find found two vials missing from their slots.

"He take these?" Alfred pivoted on the spot; his bad leg be damned.

"Yeah, saw him take something like that. Why?" Gordon eyed the belt, and the pouch of vials Alfred was presenting.

Alfred's leg finally put up enough of a fuss to make him listen, without the aid of his cane the man used the counter to bare some of the burden.

"You can ask him." Alfred bit back the pain shooting up his thigh, anger concealing the break in his voice, head motioning to Bruce. He tossed the belt back with the rest of the equipment, being fully aware the effects of the green serum. To take two in quick succession concerned Alfred.

"I'm asking you." The lieutenant wasn't one to back down so easily.

"And I'm telling you. You can ask him." Alfred stood his ground. Though it seemed a little too late. Before, Bruce had been in no condition to leave, no condition to fight. And Alfred did nothing.

It had been his job to protect the Wayne's, his father, his mother. Now he couldn't even protect their son.

Alfred watched Gordon's demeanour change. The lieutenant could press on someone when needed to, turn up the heat to get the information he needed. But he also knew when to back off. The man proceeded to pour another two drinks, filling both his and Alfred's glass.

"Help me find the piece of shit that set him up." Gordon offered his crystal cut-glass to him, determination written all over his face.


Alfred forced himself through the contents of the video, trying to analyse the footage with an absence of emotion. They were attempting to pinpoint any faces, facial recognition running in the background. It was a long shot. But it was a start. They needed something to go on, all they had was a change of orders, without a signature on the sign off they were working with practically nothing.

Boxes flashes around the faces of Bruce's assailants, however eye contact was never kept long enough to make any identifications. It had been worth a try.

Gordon hadn't given up, pausing, and rewinding moments, trying to see if he or the software could make anything out.

"They can't all be nobodies." Gordon insisted, words predominantly to himself.

"In the end wasn't the Riddler a nobody, just an accountant with a grudge." Alfred contradicted; his point valid.

"Your right." Gordon was nodding, making deliberate eye contact. "Maybe if I had thought of that before would have caught this guy sooner." Alfred matched the stare. "You know, all those photos, the dirt Riddler had on Mitchell, Colson, Pete. Same angle, taken from the same position." Alfred didn't interrupt, only taking note of Gordon's sole use of the late commissioners first name. "Same window."

It was like hearing Bruce explain it to him all over again. All the photos had been taken from the Riddler's apartment window, just opposite the Iceberg Lounge. Right under their noses the entire time. Bruce had come to the same realisation after the Riddler's capture, his frustration with himself now mimicked by Gordon.

"It was all just a part of his game." The case had been hard on them all. The blood of those murdered not so easily washed away by the flood.

"This footage. Can you rewind it back to the warehouse?" Gordon motioned with his head at the screens. "Wanna see if there's anything we missed."

Alfred complied with the request, rewinding the footage to the desired moment. He was about to leave the lieutenant to his work, collecting up the empty glasses in one hand he suddenly paused, glasses clanking together as they were placed back down.

He eyed the open journal momentarily. Pen moved off the pages, Alfred gathered the volume from its place on the desk. Flipping over to the front cover first, he recognised the white labelled title. 'NOTES & OBSERVATIONS (GOTHAM PROJECT) Year 2 November.'

Alfred had never pried into the inner workings of Bruce's mind. These monthly journals having consistently cropped up around the workspace over the last two years. But for some reason this time, this time he couldn't help himself. He flicked back to the most recent pages, eyes scanning over the handwritten words. One entry immediately stuck out to him.

'Wednesday November 6th.

The city's underwater. The national guard is coming. Marshal law is in effect. But the criminal element never sleeps. Looting and lawlessness will be rampant in the parts of this city no one can get to. I can already see; things will get worse before they get better. And some will seize the chance to take everything they can.

I'm starting to see now. I have had an effect but not the one I intended. Vengeance won't change the past. Mine or anyone else's. I have to become more. People need hope and know someone's out there for them. This city's angry, scarred, like me. Those scars can destroy us, even after the physical wounds have healed. But if we survive them, they can transform us. They can give us the power to endure, and the strength to fight.'

Alfred could hear Bruce's voice in his ear as he read the words.

Through his short readings Alfred now understood why Bruce was pushing himself so hard. He was attempting to become more, more than just vengeance, more than his anger.

In a few ways it was a sigh of relief, a better outlook than the mad ramblings he had expected to uncover. Bruce was still hurting, that much was clear. Something Alfred knew. But seeing it in Bruce's own hand, his own words. It made all the difference.


Consciousness came back to Bruce like a bad dream, soreness a constant in the process, eyelids always heavy. From the darkness he reached, finding the strength to slowly open his eyes. Lights threatened to undo his progress, pupils recoiling in horror. But Bruce persevered.

He was laid upon something hard, a coldness on his skin, feeling that his aching chest was bare. Weak, he didn't strength to pick himself up.

Eventually his eyes focused, familiar surroundings comforting, quelling the panic that had started to rise from his gut. His latest memories were a blur of pain, things taking time to come back to him.

"You lied to me." Alfred was sat beside him, eyes finally finding his stern face. Bruce hadn't forgotten the first thing he had said to Alfred upon his own awakening after the Riddler's failed attempt on his life. It was an almost humorous twist of circumstance. "You're not doing this for justice." There was something in Alfred's hands. Sat back in his chair they rested on his lap. "You're doing this for yourself." Bruce's vision finally collected itself, images clear, he could now see his latest journal in the man's grasp.

Breathing through his nose, noting the discomfort in deep breaths, Bruce's lips parted to speak but he stopped himself. He didn't have anything to say.

"How are you supposed to inspire people, give them hope, if your dead Bruce?"

"I don't care what happens to me." His voice was rough, lips forgetting how to form words at first.

"So, it's become 'more', or die trying. Is that it?" Alfred sat forward, closing the journal, pages slapping together. Bruce subverted his gaze. "Look at me Bruce." The authority behind his words forced his head to loll back to the side.

"What do you want me to say?"

"You. This city. Are not the only ones who are scarred." Alfred swallowed, stray hand reaching up and taking hold of Bruce's wrist. "I can't. Won't. Lose you too."

Bruce saw his own pain festering in Alfred's eyes. His own misery like a disease. A sickness. He wasn't the only one who lost something that fateful night. Bruce closed his eyes, looking upon his own internalised pain too much to bear. He felt Alfred squeeze his wrist a little tighter.

"For two years you motivated me to be more, to do better. All while behind a mask." Gordon's voice made Bruce's eyes snap open, hands trying to get under him to force his back from the counter. "Steady. Don't get up on my account." Alfred was standing, hands easing Bruce back down as the lieutenant stepped into view, having been listening out of eyeline.

"Gordon." He addressed the man with an exhale.

"Mr Wayne." Bruce was going to sit up whether Alfred liked it or not. Seeing this determination, the two men quickly aided to stop him meeting the floor face first. "Hell of a fight you put up back there. Saved my life."

The ground was easier to look at then Gordon's face. He wasn't sure how things were going to play out from here, and he didn't like it.

Back when Bruce confronted the Riddler, when he had thought his time as the Batman was all but over, it had crushed him. Bruce believed he had mastered fear. Overcome it. But then he almost lost Alfred, almost lost the Batman. Two moments where fear had consumed him.

It made Bruce realise something.

He needed the Batman, just as much as he needed Alfred.

"I should be the one thanking you." Bruce's hand reached for his upper chest, hovering over the tube sticking out of him.

"You have a broken rib; it punctured your lung." Bruce swung his legs over the side of the counter, studying the position of the implanted valve.

"You can thank me when we find the son of a bitch that set you up." Gordon loosened his tie, steeping back to give Bruce some room.

"What do we know?" Getting back to task at hand was better than dwelling on the truth of his identity. Almost gave the illusion that nothing had changed.

"There was an addendum to the orders, search and rescue were sent to find Kenzie's body. All this was planned from the start." Gordon was pissed.

"Any lead on who made the change?" Bruce playing catch up.

"No one signed off on the order."

"That's not common practice." He adjusted his grip on the counter, being as careful with his movements as possible. He was hurting but he didn't want to show it.

"Things haven't really been by the book now have they."

Bruce's eyes fell on the lieutenant's badge, the shiny metal standing out on his belt. Questions came to mind, an idea forming, Bruce running it over in his head once more before finalising.

"Whose orders do you follow without question? Who is the one person you wouldn't pull up on a rookie mistake?" Bruce wasn't asking; he was guiding the lieutenant to the same realisation as him.

Gordon's eyes closed, head hanging slightly as it shook slowly from left to right.

"The Chief."


Authors Notes

A slower chapter I know, but lots of thoughts and feelings being expressed on all sides. I think both Gordon and Bruce are very much work driven, can shove aside their personal feelings when it comes to the job. So that's how I've decided to write their reactions to the unmasking. I think out of the three of them Alfred is freaking out the most XD. He's not sure what he can say, or what he has the right to say. He's sacred of overstepping but at the same time unable to control his opinions and emotions when it comes to Bruce. Little incite behind my writing and thought process :P Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I will see you tomorrow for chapter six! Only two more chapter to go.