Author's Note: Probably one more chapter after this and then sack it. Enjoy.

Descent 7

Jason

I don't wake up nicely. My body's lying at a weird angle and I feel tender all over for no reason I can remember. When I open my eyes, I'm even more confused by what happened last night. I'm sprawled on the grand staircase, facing up it like I tried to climb the steps and just gave up half-way through. The fact I'm naked isn't a surprise, but the whereabouts of my clothes is a bigger mystery. I swear I just had a few drinks with Al and went to sleep in my bed. I peel my head off the stair and look left. Bruce is sat next to me with an expression that says he's as confused by my sleeping arrangements as I am. His dressing gown is a clear sign he's just got up himself. I come up onto my elbows and shrug.

"Yeah I don't know." I tell him as the hangover starts to set in early and my head begins to throb. He nods.

"I assumed that would be the case. Have you seen Alfred this morning? I couldn't find him."

"Do I look like I've seen anyone this morning?" I ask swallowing a few times to get the sandpaper out my throat. I'd kill for a glass of water right now. He nods again and I feel like punching him.

"Silly question." He takes off his dressing gown and hands it out for me to take. I stare at him blankly.

"What makes you think I want anything of yours? I fucking hate you and you hate me. We've made that really clear to each other." I say whilst trying to mount a vertical base. My legs don't want to play and I only succeed in inching myself halfway up another step. He is still holding out the dressing gown.

"I need you on side. This is important. Please…indulge me, just a little longer." He tells me with palpable sincerity. I shake my head at his umpteenth peace offering in incredulity.

"Just give it up, Bruce. Just quit trying."

"No. I know this is over. I know the bridge has been burnt beyond repair. But that is not the issue. I know you no longer care about me and that is fine. Considering the position we are in that is fine. All that matters to me is that you still care about helping Gotham. If you do, you'll take this so we can talk without distractions. Your alcohol misuse and self-harm can be addressed another time." He says with a frankness I can work with. No more bullshit. I begrudgingly take the gown and lethargically manoeuvre my body to put it on.

"I don't self-harm." I tell him fastening the sash.

"It is close enough to be mistaken for the condition. Please let's discuss the operation and nothing else. I know you would prefer it to be strictly business. May I begin?" He says with more common courtesy and restraint than he has in a long time. I rub my face and shrug.

"Whatever."

"Your actions at the docks were not a total failure. The folder you retrieved from Harrison's desk has evidence of Pedro's role as the true boss of the current arms crisis in the form of financial transactions between dummy corporations, one of which is fronted by one of Pedro's aliases, Weston Macclesfield. It would appear the arms traffickers are attempting to disguise their profits as legitimate business transactions. Therefore I would like you to go to the GCPD this evening and give this folder to Jim Gordon and his taskforce."

I frown at him. "That's it?"

"Yes. The GCPD can secure the situation from here. Once Pedro is moved to a more isolated part of the prison system and kept away from possible corrupt penal officers, the arms trafficking operation should begin to fray. Once it is fractured enough, taking down the various fragments will prove far easier than subduing the whole operation. So, will you deliver it for me please?" He asks. I nod in agreement. I can be his errand boy one more time. But not for him. Not for the sake of peace and quiet between us. Not even for Al. I'll do it because it's the right thing to do and nothing else.

"I don't want to do this anymore, Bruce." I tell him, "I don't want this life anymore, not here with you. I want to go and self-destruct on my own." He looks at me with an expression that says he always knew this moment was coming. He inclines his head and brings his hands together as they hang over his knees.

"I understand. Will you wait until you turn eighteen or would you like emancipation now?" His voice is ever so slightly strained. I'm hurting him now. So I push on and hope I hurt him more.

"I can wait another four months, if that's not going to inconvenience you too much."

"No. Not at all. And will you continue your duties as Robin until then?"

"Not if I have to go on patrol with you. Either let me fly solo or I'll quit cold tomorrow." I say bluntly. I see his jaw clench in the aftermath before he manages to relax it again. His misery feels good.

"Will you still follow my directions in the event of an investigation arising that requires your assistance?"

"If it's absolutely necessary."

"Very well. Consider yourself a free agent after tonight's delivery until your departure. I will support you financially once you leave…"

"No, you won't. Once I leave, that is the end of our relationship on every level. I don't want your money or your advice or your intervention if I land in hot water. I don't ever want to see you again outside of a newspaper or TV broadcast for as long as I live, however short that may be." This remark cuts him deep. I see the pain in his eyes now even if tears are still a long way off. I know he's going to plead now and I'm going to slam the door hard in his face.

"Jason, please…"

"There's nothing left to say. We're done here. Don't talk to me again unless it's about the city." I say forcing myself to my feet and continuing up the stairs.

"I do love you. You may not love me back, but I still love you regardless. You may not want to be my child…but you are my child regardless. No matter where you go, I will always think of you as being so…and be proud of you." Bruce says before I'm out of earshot. He doesn't wait for or expect a response. I hear him get to his feet and continue downstairs without another word. The threats you have to levy just to get any kind of acknowledgement from him are insane. The worse thing about this situation is not that he's wrong, but that I won't tell him otherwise. I hate him. I hate him more than I have ever hated anyone in my life, Two-Face included. But I still love him anyway. I shouldn't feel anything like that at this stage, after all the lectures, the lies and the neglect, the only thing I should be conflicted about is which eye to drive the knife through. But I still love him. It's so fucked-up that I can't figure out why that is. There's no reason to give him anything but lip. I ignore him and carry on to the landing.

It's almost ten at night as I swing into Jim's office at GCPD headquarters. I'm pretty much sober now, but it's only heightened my resentment of Bruce. The old guy barely looks up from his desk as I climb through the window. I always make sure he knows I'm coming. He deserves to hear his visitors. The big guy likes to try and give him heart attacks with his sudden appearances and disappearances, but not me. I play fair with Jim. He's always played fair with me.

"You could've gotten yourself killed last night." He says looking down at the report on his desk, "And this report on the incident, I don't think anybody's going to believe that the thirty or so goons we booked last night were victims of a rival gang. For one thing, they're all still alive. Secondly, the cartridges recovered from their body armour emphatically points to it being the work of a very talented marksman acting alone. We're trying to keep that from getting into the media's hands and not doing a great job." I drop the folder on his desk.

"So give them this to feed on instead. This is proof that Danny Pedro is in charge of the arms trafficking. The big guy's highlighted the relevant bits for release to the press so you don't have to do any work whatsoever. Just farm it straight out." I turn around and head for the window to leave. Job done.

"Hold it, son." I stop and turn around to find Jim stood up and gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. "Come sit down for a minute. There's something else I'd like to discuss if you don't mind." His voice is softer. I know already this isn't about work. This is about me. I scope the room: all the blinds are down, door's locked and I already know there aren't any bugs hiding in shady places. I sigh and take a seat. The old guy sits back down and pulls out his best biscuits for what's to come. "How bad is it at the minute?" He asks, cutting straight through the red tape. He means my relationship with Bruce. He's a father: he knows when there's a strain between kids and their parents. If only I had a damn parent to have a strain with. All I've got is an asshole guardian.

"It's not bad, Jim. It's over. When I turn eighteen, I'm leaving and I'm not coming back." I tell him helping myself to a biscuit. He sighs lethargically.

"And there's no way to fix it?"

"No way in hell." I say taking a bite.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" He asks as I finish my snack. Jim's got a heart of gold, but them talking it out over me is not something I want to see. I shake my head.

"Don't waste your breath. This can't be patched, Jim. This can't be put back together again, not for the millionth time. At some point, you just have to admit the truth and quit lying to yourself. Him and me, we're finished. This thing we have is over. I'm done. I'm out." I'm blunt and I'm brutal because I have to be. Jim is a great one for hope, no matter how small. That's how he's pulled himself through so many dark days: because he always believes things can get better if there's a fraction of a chance. He needs to understand there isn't even that in my relationship with Bruce. The old man lets out a brief groan and changes topic.

"Where are you going to go?"

"Anywhere but here. I don't have a plan. I just know it involves escaping this hellhole. And before you start saying how disappointed you are in me…"

"I'm not disappointed in you. I understand. Your predecessor couldn't handle him in the end either. He just became too demanding. I'm proud of you for sticking it out for as long as you have. You have taken an inhuman amount of punishment over the years, more than anyone should ever ask of a child, and you've survived long enough to be able to quit. It's a result you can count yourself lucky for. You won." Oh Jim. I really want that to be the case, desperately want that to be true. But it's not. It never will be. I shoot him a sad smile.

"Nobody won, Jim, least of all me. Everyone walks away a loser from this one. It's just the way it is." I say getting to my feet. "Thanks for the biscuit." He copies me and stands up before rounding the desk. He offers a hand for me to shake.

"If I don't see you again, I want you to know it was an honour to work with you and I wish you all the best for the future." He says to dumbfound me. It was an honour for him to work with me? Surely I've given him more headaches than golden boy ever managed and in half the time. I shake his hand.

"You're the best cop I've ever met, and one of the nicest guys too. Thanks for being my friend." I just go for it and hug him. What the hell: he might as well know how much I love him, how much I respect the hell out of him. He's only stiff for a moment after I wrap my arms around him. Then he hugs me back.

"You're a good kid. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Understand?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Jim." We let go of one another, share one last smile of mutual affection and then I'm gone into the night. If it were just me and Jim, I think I'd probably stay on. But it's not and we both know it. Four months, Jay-Jay: four months and we're done. Not long now…