Hell yes! I updated! Short chapter but hey, that's the way I work. I'll try to make the next one longer. By the way, don't just put a story on alert, try to review as well.

"Gordon, open this door!"

Gordon pulled the medical equipment across the door, he turned to face Bruce again. "Are you ready?" He asked, his voice tight.

Bruce took a deep breath, "Yes"

"Remember, we don't have a lot of time, don't move until you hear my voice."

Bruce nodded tersely and the door broke inward, delicate medical instruments skidded across the floor and officers poured into the room, Gordon snatched up his gun and pointed it at Batman. It looked strange, twenty cops crammed into a small hospital room, forming a wide circle around an almost naked man in a Bat mask who was facing a gun.

"Gordon! Stand down NOW!" A guard was shouting orders but Gordon was fixed on his target, he realized that he couldn't do it. Hadn't seen his obvious weakness, he cursed himself, told himself to pull the trigger. But how could he do it? How could he, when this man had save the whole of Gotham almost single-handedly. Saved Gordon himself and Gordon's son as well.

Damn, Damn, Damn, Damn, Damn, SHOOT HIM!

I can't.

Do it!

"Does it make you angry to know that I had your son on the roof?" Bruce had put on the gruff voice again, effectively masking his human side. "It would have been do easy to push him off, he was whimpering, calling for his Daddy."

Gordon knew what he was trying to do, it just made everything worse.

"Commissioner, put the gun down." It was Randall, his uniform stained and wet with the spilled coffee. His eyes were coated steel, hard, cold, unwavering.

Gordon felt the gun tremble in his hand.

I can't do this.

Bruce was talking faster. "Come on Gordon, shoot me. An open target."

Still Gordon remained frozen, his mind hovering between determination and horror. He couldn't do it, but he couldn't put the gun down either.

Dammit, it would never have worked. What was I thinking? It's ridiculous. How will I-

Bruce jumped at Gordon and The Commissioner tightened his finger on the trigger reflexively. The noise was a sudden shock to the whole room, at first Gordon couldn't hear anything. Nothing could be louder than that shock of absolute noise. It echoed in the room.

Silence.

Did I miss? Please, oh God, let me have missed.

The gun trembled in his hands. Batman folded up and the crowd of officers converged on him. Gordon and Randall were left standing in the shouting crowd, staring at each other as the people milled around them. They were alone in a crowded room.

Randall shook his head at his commanding officer and friend and left the room. Not once looking back. Gordon felt the gun slip from his hand and clatter to the floor.

He had just killed Batman.

Confirmed reports of Batman's death today. Killed in a defensive shooting by Gotham's new Commissioner. Randall Hughes exited the building just moments ago and was in the room at the time of Batman's shooting. Most of us are wondering and I'm sure you can tell us, Just what happened at the time of the shooting?

A harassed looking Randall was shoved into a microphone. One would pity the junior officer as questions were thrown from all sides. He tried answering them but was cut off each time by yet another spitfire reporter.

"Well, he-The Commissioner was talking to Batman and-"

"What were they talking about? Batman's upcoming trial and imprisonment? The Batman's recent kidnapping attempt on the Commissioner's family?"

"I'm sure when Gor-Commissioner Gordon is ready he'll release a statement, and we'll all-" Randall was digging himself deeper, he looked around hopelessly at all the reporters.

"When will a statement be issued."

"That has yet to be determin-"

"Can you speculate the reasons for the shooting?"

At this the crowd went silent and Randall swallowed thickly but his answer was loud and clear. "It was self defense, in my professional opinion the shooting was not accidental nor intended. It is my firm belief that the Commissioner was in no way wholly responsible for his actions as it was in his line of duty."

That sounded rehearsed, even on television. It was too fast, too practiced to be real. The names and words were too perfectly lined up.

Randall didn't meet the camera, he looked a faint green color. "No more questions please."

He didn't wait for a retort from the assembled journalists but retreated quickly back into the hospital, running a hand through his longish brown hair. The reporter appeared back on the screen her smile and hair perfectly in place as if it had been painted on.

The television was turned off with a click and in the kitchen of Wayne manor Alfred Pennyworth put his head into his hands, a cup of cold tea standing untouched on the smooth wooden table beside him.

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