First of all, let me just say that all of you reviewers are AMAZING! Seriously, I've never had a story get so man reviews, alerts, and favorites so fast. If I could, I'd go and hug you all. Thank you so much for the reviews and everything, they make me so happy. :) I was originally going to stop writing fanfic so I can get my essays for summer reading done, but I'm being terrible and updated anyway. This story is from the POV of Gordon, and is the first one where the person actually has a name. I know you probably already know this, but just to keep things very clear this is not the same person as the first or second chapter. If you see anything misspelled, horribly wrong, or that you don't understand, please say something. I put this one up faster than the other ones, because I had meant to get it done yesterday... Anyway, enjoy, and I'd really like some more of your awesome reviews ;)

I walked into the jail with hunched shoulders, a hat pushed low over my face, my coat collar popped up, and sunglasses on. Not the most inconspicuous disguise, but as long as they didn't recognize me I was alright. Luckily, I didn't know any guards at the jail. A dead cop going in to visit a vigilante would not pass over well.

The issue of seeing Wayne was smoothed over with a fifty exchanging hands. Batman might have made a difference on the streets, but the jails still belonged to the corrupt and those willing to let things slide for the chance to line their pockets.

When Wayne was led out, I examined him closely. How was it I had met the man in costume and the man out of costume, yet I had never been able to figure out they were the same person?

Once the guards led Wayne to the cubicle, I motioned for them to leave. They hesitated, so I placed a twenty in plain sight. Wayne nodded at me and picked up the phone, a look of polite surprise and interest on his face. Gotham socialite oozed from his very pores. He just waited as I watched him from behind my sunglasses.

Finally, I picked up the phone and held it to my ear. I opened with what I had wanted to say to the unmasked Batman since he'd strung Falcone up to that floodlight. "Hello, friend."

Wayne's confusion only lasted for a second, and then his eyes widened with shock, which gave me a little spark of satisfaction. I had been able to surprise the immoveable Batman. "Gordon? But you're supposed to be-"

"Dead."

He surveyed my covered face, looking for the answer to his unasked question. But I saw you get shot. How did you survive?

I smiled. Act convincingly enough, and they overlook even the simplest of solutions. "I wore a bulletproof vest."

Wayne blinked, then got a half-exasperated half-admiring look on his face. He shook his head. "Why I didn't think of that, I'll never know."

"For the same reason I never thought that only a billionaire playboy would be able to afford all of Batman's gadgets and technology. Your car wasn't exactly conspicuous, Wayne."

He smiled. "Please, call me Bruce."

A smile had crept upon my face in response without me even realizing until it was already there. Batman didn't have the luxury of friends, and Wayne was a friendless pompous playboy. Bruce was the true man, the one that had the ideals of Batman but the openness of Wayne. "Will do, Bruce."

Bruce leaned back in his chair and switched the phone to his other hand. As he did, I noticed the nearly imperceptible wince and his swollen knuckles. I hadn't become a cop just because of the pay. I could tell he had been fighting.

"What happened?"

He gave me a confused look, then followed my gaze to the hand now resting on the ledge of the cubicle. "Oh, nothing. Just a brawl." He slipped the hand into his lap, trying to ignore my frown.

"I doubt there's been just one." Silence. "I tried to make them keep you in a solitary cell like they have with Lau." I shook my head. "Garcia practically pitched a hissy fit in my office, he was so mad. Bad for the public image and all that political garbage."

Frankly, it had disgusted me how the Mayor had gone along with the Joker's demands and public pressure. Bruce just smiled. "Politicians. Almost as bad as rich playboys, you know."

I snorted. "I think the world could use a few more playboys like you, Bruce."

"The world could also use a few more men like yourself." Bruce is serious now, and I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. I'm no hero, but Bruce had chosen me to be Batman's source in the Police Department. You're a good cop. One of the few.

I shift uncomfortably, searching for a topic to talk about. "I forgot to tell you. Garcia made me Commissioner."

Bruce simply smiles, taking this news a lot better than the fact I was alive. "Congratulations."

I tilted my head in response.

"You don't have Batman on your side any more, but I know you'll do just fine. You and Dent can clean up this city in a way Batman never could." There it was again, that trust and faith in my character. I could lie, he had just seen that with my faked death, but he still places so much stock in my character.

I look at him, trying to figure out why. Why did this man throw away his life to fight criminals? Why did he have such trust in me and Dent?

The image of a nine-year-old Bruce sitting alone in the middle of the precinct flashed in my head. Was that why he had trusted me? Because I was the only cop to try and help him, instead of abandoning him with only a coat for comfort?

"I have one question, though."

I started slightly, then felt embarrassed. Had I really become so lost in though I had forgotten where I was? Age, it seemed, had more than just physical effects.

"If you're supposed to be dead, then how did they make you Commissioner?"

"It was only temporary. I wanted to be dead so that my family wouldn't be attacked by the Joker because of what I do. I was still on the force, but I covered my face…" I gestured to my rough disguise. "It was working well, until the Joker tried to attack the decoy caravan, and I had to act."

Bruce's brow creased as he frowned. "Decoy caravan?"

"Dent convinced the acting Commissioner to send a decoy van before you were moved. They tried to take the most direct route to the prison, while your van went a different way."

"How many people died?" Bruce's voice was deeper now, with a hint of the Batman growl behind his words.

I winced, but didn't answer. He and I both knew what happened when the Joker attacked. Blood, mayhem, people and important property blowing up…

"How many, Gordon?" His voice was definitely leaning towards the Batman growl.

"Six." I muttered. Nobody had thought the Joker would react as violently as he had when he found out the truck was a decoy.

Bruce's lips were pressed in a thin line, and the color faded from his cheeks. He had the phone in a death grip, the knuckles on his hand turning white. I thought he was going to crack the phone in half. "Tell me what happened." His voice was stony and tightly controlled.

I licked my suddenly dry lips. "He had a bazooka. Blew up two of our cars before we could even figure out what was happening. The team surrendered, and showed the Joker you weren't in the truck. He got angry. We got there in time to save a few men, but…"

I didn't need to continue. Bruce probably knew of the Joker's sadism even better than I did.

"Did you catch him?"

I shook my head wordlessly. The man was nearly as good as disappearing as Batman.

Bruce slammed his phone down with a snarl that I couldn't hear. He pushed the chair away from the chair with such force it clattered to the ground. The guards and prisoners alike shot him wary glances as he stormed out of the room. I exited the cubicle, handed the promised twenty to the guard escorting me out, and left the jail. Back to the impossible task of hunting down the Joker.

A feeling of dread formed in the pit of my stomach. The police did not have the technology or the drive to take down the Joker. We had rules to follow, family that we worried about. If there was one man who could fight the Joker and win, my best bet was on Batman. He could do things the police could not, or would not. He had no family to protect, no rules to follow besides his own. But he was locked up, and had given the task to me and a police force where corruption still ran rampant.

I glanced back at the barbed wire fence that marked the edge of the prison. Could I do that? Could I capture the Joker and bring him to justice? I sighed, squared my shoulders, and headed for my car. Maybe not, but I would do my best.