By the time that Bruce had reached the Gotham harbor, night had fallen. The wind blew with a crisp bite and the smell had become salty from the water of the docks. Halting to a park, Bruce peered out of his front windshield, calmly scanning the area before him. He got out of his car, grabbing the coat from the back seat and wrapping it around himself, trying to keep warm.

"Rub your chest. The arms will take care of themselves," he remembered his old mentor Ra's once saying, and proceeded to knead the flesh and muscles on his torso to warm himself. As he walked along the large, steel crates that read 'WAYNE CORP.', Bruce felt the slightest inclination that he was alone. Creaks from the containers resounded through the docks, and finally felt safe to know that he was indeed alone, allowing him time to think.

How did it come to this? He had formerly set out to cleanse Gotham of corruption, attempting to root it out, and he was doing a fairly good job . . . until the mob stepped up their game by coaxing the Joker from wherever the hell he came from. So many lives were lost, and Bruce had felt that it was surely his fault that the maniac challenged him with innocent lives, as well as darkening the last glimmer of hope by ruining Harvey's life. Then at the end of it all, Bruce - no, the Batman - decided to take the blame for the deaths. Now, as the newspapers informed him, he was being hunted down, and the moment possibly had come when they found him.

Bruce's train of thought was derailed as he heard footsteps behind him. Instinctively, he whirled around and took a step back, only to see Gordon standing there, hands in the pockets of his jacket.

James Gordon's neatly, combed-back brown hair was slowly graying, showing signs of stress as his tired blue eyes looked Bruce over. However, it didn't detract from his intimidating, commanding presence. The blue in his eyes were dulled by the presence of his glasses. Instead of the larger, brown-rimmed pair he wore a few days ago, it seemed he traded them in for a slimmer, darker-rimmed look. "Hello, Mister Wayne. Nice night," he said, trying his hand at casual conversation.

"It's, uh . . . colder than usual," Bruce replied, lowering his hands to slip into his pockets. "What did you call me here for, Commissioner?"

James frowned, sad by the idea that Bruce was so anxious to get this over with. But he answered, vaguely. "It took me a few hours to piece it all together, but I finally got it," said James.

Bruce's heart clenched painfully; the Commissioner knew, but he had to play the idiot for a while longer. For answers. "Got what?"

"It was Rachel Dawes," he continued, not acknowledging the younger man's question, "You see, when we questioned the Joker, I had asked someone to help me. And during the interrogation, a button was pushed when the Joker mentioned Rachel. My "help" had gotten angry and got the Joker to tell us where Rachel and Harvey Dent was. Rumor was, that you and Miss Dawes had been together."

"We were friends. Nothing more..." Bruce countered, and mentally slapped himself; he had slipped, unleash his anger on his enemy. Something that wouldn't happen again.

James nodded slowly, "Maybe. But when my friend and I left, he responded in one word: "Rachel". From then on, suspected. But when you saved the life of Coleman Reese, I knew," he explained, taking a few more steps forward. Bruce's eyes narrowed. How many mistakes did he make?

"Knew what?"

Silence ensued for a few moments, and James spoke. "I know who you are, Mister Wayne."

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was stunned. Instead, James answered with finality.

"You are the Batman."

It felt as if Bruce's life just drained away, and his knees buckled but regained his posture. But he sensed the cool bead of sweat rolling down his temple. Now, instead of arguing his innocence, Bruce looked square into James' eyes.

"Now what? Are you going to arrest me, Commissioner?" he asked, his tone flat and cold.

"I thought about that, and I knew it would really make front page headlines. "Bruce Wayne: Playboy turned Cape Crusader"," Gordon replied with a chuckle, shaking his head before his expression turned serious. "But . . . I thought about it even more. And . . . I can't. There are still criminals out there; ones that the MCU can't face by themselves. We need the Batman. Now, more than ever."

Life slid back into focus; an unusual focus, but focus nonetheless. Was Gordon condoning his actions? As much as he felt relieved about this, he found a small hole in the Commissioner's plan. "But I'm condemned. I told you to hunt me, remember?"

"Oh, I know. And we are. Publicly. But that doesn't mean we can't work together behind the scenes," countered James, smirking.

"It's going to be hard with your men getting in my way, you know."

"What, you want it easy? Besides, they're big kids; a little hit now and then won't bother them."

Bruce stared at James, both of them stony-faced. But they couldn't hold it for long. They smiled before sharing a cheerful laugh, and Bruce saw the older man digging in his pockets. James lit up a cigarette, glancing at Bruce before extending the pack. "Want a smoke?" he asked.

Bruce held up a hand, "No, thanks. I'm good."

And he was. As Bruce turned around, he waved over his shoulder, smiling to himself. Tomorrow, the Dark Knight would reappear above Gotham's skyscrapers, defending the innocence and the weak. Yes, things were looking up.

Author's Note: All right, please review after reading! Also, I would like your thoughts on how I handled the reveal, and the leading up to it!