A/N: Non-censored version of the story on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270
When the dawn announced Tuesday John was already out of bed and in the kitchen making breakfast. While his body had been exhausted from his lovemaking with Bane the day before, John had woken up with the lightening sky a few hours before he had set his alarm. Even though he had kept himself distracted all week – especially yesterday – John's dreams had plagued him with images of Bruce's face and words, the memory of his own parents' funerals, and a chilling rain that seemed to permeate every second of his sleeping and left him stiff when he woke up.
John had left Bane asleep in bed and turned off the alarm when he had gotten up. He had grabbed his suit and dressed in the bathroom after showering, tying his tie in the kitchen while he waited for his toast to be ready. He wasn't expecting to see Bane before he left and had no intention of waking him – Bane knew that the funeral was today and would not panic if he woke up in the apartment alone.
Of course, anticipating having the apartment to himself until he left for the funeral, John ended up startled when he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. He spun on his heel but was already relaxing, growing accustomed to the reality of sharing his apartment with Bane. John had come to enjoy the sound of feet other than his own causing the floorboards to creak, knowing that even when they were spending time doing separate things they were not alone.
"Bane," John greeted just as his toast popped out of the toaster. Bane said nothing as he entered the kitchen, looking weary but determined. John turned back to the toaster to pull his toast onto a plate and shivered when Bane came up behind him.
Bane wrapped his arms around John's waist, holding him in place. "John," he said simply and then sealed his lips over John's skin where his neck met his shoulder. It was incredibly possessive and reminded John of the week prior when Bane had littered John's skin with love bites and hickeys. While they had not made any visible marks yesterday while tangled in the sheets of John's bed, this made him eager for another opportunity to be marked as Bane's again.
It wasn't that he was uncertain of their relationship, and he knew that he would be hiding the marks from anyone's view anyway whenever he left the apartment. John just liked the slight tenderness of the skin Bane nipped and sucked, and he liked being reminded that they were there whenever the fabric of his shirt brushed over the sensitive skin.
They remained like that for a moment and then Bane's mouth left John's skin just long enough for him to yawn. "You don't need to be up with me," John said, guilty but not enough to forcefully send Bane away.
"I'm up," Bane shrugged against John, which was his way of saying no without starting an argument.
John smiled to himself and remained captured in Bane's arms as he reached for the butter and prepared his toast. He slotted in another two slices of bread without asking, setting the toaster and standing there in Bane's warm embrace as he munched on his toast. He liked feeling Bane hold him like this. He knew Bane trusted him and felt no threat to turn him clingy, but it was still nice to be held like you were a cherished treasure.
When the rest of the toast was ready John put the two new slices on a second plate and slipped out of Bane's grasp. He left Bane at the counter to put butter or jam on if he wished, John moving to the fridge to pour some orange juice. Once their food was ready the two of them moved to the kitchen table and sat down across from each other.
John's apartment faced west so the sun wouldn't spill in through his windows until the afternoon, but already he could see the sky lightening. They were having the small funeral before Gordon's shift started, and he would be picking John up in front of his apartment in twenty minutes.
"You still have not thrown it out," Bane said, drawing John's eyes down to his police badge that was still sitting on the kitchen table. After John had spoken to Gordon he had pulled the badge back out of the garbage like he had promised, but he had been so focused on taking care of Bane that he hadn't thought much about his future. "Having second thoughts?"
The question pulled at John with a sickening weight. "Would you leave me if I went back?"
Bane crossed his arms and stared at John thoughtfully. "I fear the contradictions would tear you apart, but no. I would not leave."
Something in John's chest loosened and he breathed a little easier. It was reassuring to know that Bane would stay with him no matter what, but it was also stressful knowing that this decision really was his alone. It was a difficult decision because police work had been John's escape, helping him deal with his own internal anger borne from being unable to save his mother and father. It was the only way he knew how to actively do good for his city, and John didn't know if he would be left with nothing if he abandoned it.
However, he had seen the limitations of the police and the law and he couldn't be part of it anymore. The contradictions Bane mentioned were also in the legal system, with under-the-table deals and loopholes letting the worst sorts of criminals go because of money or connections or conflicting priorities in the legal head offices. John couldn't make the decision to work with the police and be knowingly constrained from enacting real justice.
"It's just hard to let go of something you thought was going to be your salvation," John said.
"I understand."
John looked up and then away, ashamed. Of course Bane knew what he was talking about; Bane's assumed salvation had been in the form of his closest companion. Although the last week had been taken up mainly with thoughts of Bane's health, John knew many of Bane's silences had probably been filled with thoughts and memories of Talia. "I'm sorry."
Bane reached across the table and rested a few fingers on the back of John's hand. Even that tiny amount of warm weight was comforting. "Right now we are focusing on you."
John swallowed and smiled. He sometimes worried that Bane was too selfless, willing to accept anyone else's problems and let them drive him rather than face his own struggles. However, with only a few more minutes left before John had to head downstairs to meet Gordon, he knew it wasn't the right time to start delving into Bane's psyche.
Momentarily willing to relent, John looked down at his police badge. He picked it up with his free hand, turning and tilting it a few times as the brass caught the light from the lamp hanging over the table. Then he sighed and slid it into his pants pocket. "I can't wear a badge that promises I'll do everything in my power to protect Gotham and its citizens when I know my power is restrained by politics." John held up his palm to the light now; the shallow cuts he had left on his skin were almost healed. He looked back to Bane. "I can't, and I won't."
Bane reached another inch further forward and fully encased John's hand with his own. Then he squeezed lightly and John was filled with a sudden strength and confidence. He turned his hand until their palms were slotted together and squeezed Bane's hand back in gratitude. After that he regretfully pulled his hand back and focused on eating, knowing he didn't have much time left.
As John drank the last of his juice he stood from the table, moving all of the empty dishes into the sink. He checked his watch, feeling anxiety begin to nip at his heels. Bane was still seated at the table and John pressed a quick kiss to his lips before rushing to the bathroom. After that he grabbed his wallet and his police-issued gun and headed for the door.
Bane was there waiting for him, standing by the coat rack. He was a silent sentry as John pulled on his jacket and boots but when he was finished Bane reached forward and clasped John's upper arm, stilling him. "Make sure you say goodbye." Bane's voice was too even; he was consciously working to keep his voice calm.
John raised an eyebrow, confused. "That's usually what funerals are for."
"Just don't rush it," Bane pressed. "Take the time you need."
Their eyes held and John nodded, his nose burning as the first warning sign for the oncoming tears John fought down. He sniffled and nodded again, a little frantic now as he struggled to maintain control over his emotions. "I will."
Bane rested a hand on John's shoulder, squeezed, and then dropped his hand back to his side. "I will be here when you get back."
John gave a small smile at the thought and then headed for the door. He did his coat up while climbing down the stairs and by the time he reached the front lobby he saw that Gordon's car was already parked. The street was deserted with the early hour and John could see that most of the snow had melted after a few days of warmer weather.
He slid into the passenger seat and buckled up, offering a small welcome and thanks for the ride. "How has your week been?" John asked after a few minutes of driving in silence.
"Hectic," Gordon said. The stress was in his voice. "I'm sure you've been listening to the news on the radio." John didn't get to do more than grunt before Gordon continued. It seemed that Gordon had a lot resting on his shoulders and hadn't been able to talk about it with anyone, so John was willing to listen. "Gotham has faced a lot but I've never seen it in such disarray. It will take months for things to fully return to normal."
Gordon told him about the clogged hospitals, the scattered legal system, and the swarms of criminals Bane had released. Gordon knew that they were still in Gotham – there was no way for them to get out with someone always checking faces at the Midtown tunnel as many citizens decided they had finally had enough and left. But the criminals were being smart about it. Some seemed to have taken this as a second chance to start fresh while others hid beneath the cloak of lingering chaos in the aftermath of the war as they slowly regrouped.
Gordon said that the police force was weakened after many officers had been hurt or killed. But even if they were at full strength they wouldn't have enough manpower to track all of the criminals down. Not that it mattered. With the Dent Act torn down by Gordon's own words, the police had no way of re-arresting many of the criminals that had walked.
By the time they reached Wayne Manor Gordon hadn't even taken the time to ask John how his week had been. John was relieved; he didn't want to have to lie outright, especially after everything Gordon had done for him... for them. Besides, he didn't mind listening to Gordon, even though it made him sad and a little guilty for leaving the police force when they were in such dire need of help.
It was obvious that everyone blamed Gordon for weakening the Dent Act, and were only keeping him as Commissioner now because there was no one else as experienced to handle the current disorder. The sad lines cutting deep across Gordon's face showed that Gordon knew all this but would continue protecting his city as long as he could. Even when Gordon knew it would all be torn from his hands someday and he would no longer have his title and power to act, and knew he wouldn't be thanked.
John realized that it was Gordon's own personal sacrifice for what he believed in.
Gordon parked the car by the front of the manor. They both unbuckled their seatbelts but before John got out he placed his badge and gun on the dashboard, careful but purposeful. Gordon stared at him for a long moment and then got out of the car. John followed him without offering any explanations. Now was not the time for them to discuss John's job. Now was the time to remember and honour Bruce.
They found Lucius Fox and Alfred Pennyworth on the front steps of the now-empty manor. Everyone shook hands and then Alfred led the way across the grounds to the small family cemetery on the hill. The grass was soggy under their feet as the weak rays of sunlight melted any remaining snow and frost but no one complained.
John was surprised at first that there were so few people here until he realized that this had been purposefully kept as a private affair. Despite living in the public eye, John knew he was looking at the rare few Bruce had willingly given his trust. John was honoured, both by Bruce's trust in him and from standing among such inspiring individuals.
There were three gravestones in the small cemetery. Two were slightly worn by the elements while the third was pristine and new. John swallowed hard as they stood in a line in front of Bruce's grave and wouldn't allow himself to think about Alfred being forced to pick out the gravestone and organize it.
The four of them stood shoulder to shoulder in silence for a few long minutes, lost with their own thoughts and memories of Bruce. Standing there together felt like a salute; an idea John liked. They owed a lot to Bruce; their lives would not be the same without him in it, before and now.
John thought of saying something but hadn't prepared a speech. Normally that wouldn't stop him but everything he thought of to say felt private. He could see Gordon fidgeting with a small book in his hand though, and when their eyes met John gave him an encouraging nod.
Gordon looked down at the muddy grass, restlessly holding the book for another minute longer. Then he stepped forward to stand beside the grave, facing them. Gold ink on the dark cover of the book caught John's eye and he squinted to read it. A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. Curious about the choice, John offered his attention willingly.
"I see a beautiful city... and a brilliant people rising from this abyss," Gordon began quietly, speaking more to the pages than to anyone else. Each word seemed to pain him to speak but Gordon pushed himself on, forcing out the words. "I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy." His voice trembled with gratitude and John felt his own throat constrict with emotion. "I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendents, generations hence." Gordon paused, each word now heavy, his face tired. "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."
As Gordon spoke his words grew stronger, louder, and John felt warmth fill his chest. Although John missed Bruce, and knew he would miss the man more in the future, he was undoubtedly proud of Bruce for what he had done. Gordon was right; Gotham was much safer thanks to Bruce's Batman, and few had what it took to make such a sacrifice. Because of Bruce and Batman, Gotham was a better place and its citizens could rest easier. The city was in disarray now but these days of darkness were passing.
When Gordon finished speaking he stared into the distance for a moment as though lost, searching for a new path to follow. Perhaps he was seeking the strength to continue on. Then he closed the book and held it in front of him, his eyes drifting over to Alfred. John heard the laboured breathing beside him, Alfred fighting down his anguished tears. Without needing to be told, John bowed his head and followed Gordon and Lucius out of the cemetery.
John pulled the wrought-iron gate closed quietly behind him, leaving Alfred to have a few minutes alone. However, he was still close enough to hear Alfred struggle to speak as he began to cry openly. "I'm so sorry. I failed you. You trusted me and I failed you..."
John blinked and swallowed thickly but continued to walk. He knew Alfred's grief-stricken words would haunt him.
No one spoke as they walked slowly back to the manor steps where their cars were parked in a row. Lucius shook their hands and then excused himself, walking further down the driveway to his car. John hesitated by Gordon's car and, as he expected, Gordon spoke. "Can I change your mind? About quitting the force."
John shook his head, resolute in his decision now. "You know what you said about structures becoming shackles. You were right and I can't take it, the injustice." John knew his voice was becoming rough but he couldn't bring himself to care. "I mean, no one is ever going to know who saved an entire city."
"They know," Gordon said with such certainty that John couldn't help but look to him. The sun was in Gordon's eyes and John felt drawn to that light, and the small reassuring smile Gordon put on, maybe for himself as much as for John. "It was the Batman." John let out a shuddering breath and tried to smile, but he didn't think it reached his eyes. He wanted what Gordon said to be enough. Gordon half-turned back to his car and then paused, looking back over his shoulder. "At least let me drive you home."
This time John's smile was genuine with gratitude, relieved that Gordon was respecting his decision. "Thanks, but I don't think I'm ready to leave yet. You have to get to work anyway." The sun was higher in the sky now. "I'll just call a taxi."
"You have a phone now?" Gordon asked. "I'd like it if we could keep in touch."
"It's pay as you go so I don't have a lot of minutes," John warned, though he wasn't against the idea of maintaining contact with Gordon. "I'll give you a call and you can save the number." Gordon nodded and pulled open his car door. Feeling an immediate tug of nostalgia, saying farewell to a huge part of his life and his equal commanding officer and mentor, John saluted. "Sir."
Gordon's smile was fond. "That wasn't you when you were a cop, and a detective, John. It certainly isn't you now." John could see the sunlight glinting off his badge, which was still on the dash. Gordon offered his hand and John shook it tightly. "Jim will do."
John's lips quirked at the corner and his shoulders relaxed. Jim was right; saluting wasn't really in John's nature. But it had felt right, and he didn't regret it.
John waved as Jim started up the car and Jim gave him a small wave in return before driving away. It felt odd for John to not be rushing off to work as well; from his time in the orphanage and school to his years in the police force John had always been dictated by the routine of daily life. Now his days were anything but ordinary and he wondered how long he would be able to go before he had to pick up more work. John would have to eventually, if only for the money, though he had no idea what sort of work he would choose after leaving the police.
John felt tired even though he had only been awake for a short while already and he sat on the bottom step of Wayne Manor. He wanted to go back to the cemetery but would respect Alfred's space, giving him the personal time he needed. While John sat on the step he watched the sun slowly climb higher, sneaking past the tree line as the rays of sunlight finally grew strong enough to fight the chill in the air.
When he saw Alfred slowly walking towards the manor John stood, hands shoved into his pockets. He didn't know if Alfred wanted to be left alone or if John should say something. As Alfred got closer John could see the redness of his eyes, the sun highlighting a few drying tear tracks down his cheeks. Alfred looked at John when he got closer, solemn but not unwelcoming. "Thank you for coming."
"I'm sorry," John blurted out, suddenly feeling an unmanageable weight of guilt cling to him. Alfred gave him a confused look which quickly turned into a studying look. John felt compelled to continue without being asked. "If it wasn't for Bane and Miranda, Bruce would still be alive."
Perhaps he had said too much, given too much away about his personal connection with Bane. After all, one didn't apologize for the actions of another if they did not feel connected and responsible. Alfred's look didn't turn suspicious though. Instead his gaze softened with a hesitant understanding. "You cannot take responsibility for everyone's actions, and that includes Master Wayne's."
"But—"
Alfred held up a hand and John fell silent. Even though he was being scolded, this made John wish he could remember his own grandfather. "Master Wayne was determined to protect his city. If it wasn't Bane and Miss Tate then it would have been someone else. And remember," Alfred's voice grew stronger and John wondered if Alfred had forgotten his grief or if it was powering him. "They didn't kill him. Master Wayne chose to fly that bomb over the bay to save Gotham because that's the sort of man he was. He chose his life – and his death – and even though we may not like it, we have to respect it."
Properly chastised, John swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "Gotham was lucky to have him. I just wish they knew."
"He never did it for the recognition," Alfred said. "And I think it's better that people don't know. Master Wayne always wanted to be a symbol of hope, a reminder that anyone can be a hero. I never agreed before. I was always so angry that he was sacrificing his own life." The chuckle that escaped Alfred was half sob. "But I think I finally understand. Now that he's gone..." John could hear the grief tightening Alfred's throat. "We can only hope that Batman's legacy will inspire a new protector of Gotham."
"I hope so too," John said honestly, though he was internally conflicted. He wanted to protect Gotham the way Batman had, but he would never have resources like Bruce. And John had to admit that he couldn't work on willpower alone.
Alfred smiled warmly and offered a hand. John shook it for longer than was politely necessary. "I wish you luck in all your future endeavours."
"Thank you," John couldn't help but smile in return. There was something about Alfred that just felt like warm support. When their handshake finally ended John cast his gaze across the grass. "Would it be alright if I stayed at the cemetery a little longer?"
"Of course," Alfred nodded. "You can stay as long as you like. I'll just be in the manor trying to get everything organized. They'll be reading the will next Monday at Wayne Enterprises. Make sure you stop by."
John's eyebrows furrowed. "Why?"
Alfred considered him for a long moment. "I helped Bruce write his updated will before I left." Regret deepened the creases on Alfred's face and John knew they all had regrets to bear. That was all Alfred seemed inclined to say, and judging by his slightly mischievous look John wouldn't be able to get any more information out of him. "Goodbye, Mister Blake."
"Goodbye," John returned.
He watched Alfred climb the steps and disappear into the manor before turning back to look at the cemetery in the distance. As he began walking across the grass, uncaring of his muddy shoes, John thought back to the news reports he had heard over the last week. The death and injured count always seemed to be increasing, and the names of people in the public eye had been listed with some details when available.
There had been a whole segment discussing the mayor, who had not been publicly mourned while everyone was terrified of any punishment for doing so. And late Thursday evening it was confirmed that Bruce Wayne was dead. Of course everyone had presumed him to be dead when he disappeared months ago, when Bane took full control over Gotham. Alfred had put in a report explaining that Bruce had left the country on a trip before Bane's spectacle at the football stadium, but that all contact had been lost when his private plane encountered bad weather.
Nothing had been done at the time; everyone was too focused on staying alive to really worry about a formerly-rich businessman going missing. Many speculated that Bruce had left the country, embarrassed over his losses, and had thought little more about the matter. However, when the war had finally ended and loose ends needed to be tied together, Alfred had filed another report explaining that he received news that Bruce was in fact dead.
Whether or not Bruce's disappearance coinciding with Batman's had drawn up some suspicion hadn't really mattered when Batman returned to save the city and Bruce was never seen again. Besides, John doubted there were many who would jump to the assumption that someone like Bruce – who always put on the show of a rich playboy – could possibly be someone like Batman. Even though John thought Bruce deserved the recognition, he understood now why it was better people didn't know.
In the cemetery John knelt in front of Bruce's grave. He could feel moisture seeping through his pants to press the wet fabric against his legs but he didn't care. John stared at the grave, reading the name which was not paired with any lengthy inscription, and then bowed his head. "I sometimes wonder if I made the right choice," he admitted to himself and the grave. "I worry that if I had done more to escape Bane and fought my feelings for him you might not be dead now. I would still have my friend and Gotham would still have its protector."
It didn't matter to John that there was actually no body buried beneath the new grass, Bruce's body destroyed in the explosion. It still felt to John like he was speaking with his friend, like Bruce was merely sitting against the gravestone looking back at him. John's breath caught in his throat and then the tears began to fall so quickly that they pattered onto John's thighs before he could brush them from his cheeks.
"Am I selfish to want love? I don't know," he sniffled dejectedly. "I didn't ask to fall in love with him. I tried not to. But he's everything I need in a companion. He understands, better than most. And he's patient but challenges me. Fuck," John swiped his tears away angrily. "I'm kneeling here trying to beg forgiveness from a dead man for loving the person who killed him."
John half-stood, embarrassed by himself, and then froze. Bane's words came back to him. Make sure you say goodbye. Take the time you need. John sunk back down into the mud and for a few minutes he just let himself cry. The tears eventually waned, leaving him with a headache but a calmer mind. John remained where he was for another few minutes in silence, chilled air tugging at his hair.
"I love him," John said strongly. "And I can't regret falling in love with him. I'm just going to miss you, as a friend and for what you did for this city. I wish it hadn't had to be you or him. But I guess that's just further proof that life isn't fair," he snorted humourlessly. "As if I needed anymore reminding of that fact."
John rubbed the back of his neck and looked behind him to the sun. He liked the way the sun made his cold skin tingle with warmth. John let out a long breath through his nose and turned back. "Alfred told me to respect your choices and that's what I'll do, because Bane told me about how he broke your back and sent you away. You didn't have to come back but you did. Just like with taking the bomb over the bay. That was your choice and I have to accept it. You chose to protect the safety and happiness of everyone in Gotham, including me, and I won't take that gift for granted."
He slid his fingers through the soggy grass, ignoring the cold ache that soaked into his fingers to the bone. After only a few days of warmer weather and sun John could see that the grass was struggling to turn green again, ready for a fresh start as nature was reborn. More snow might come before spring gained enough strength but John knew it would come eventually, battling away the darkness of winter.
"I want to be like you, Bruce," he spoke to the gravestone even though his eyes remained on the grass. "I want to protect this city the way you did, but I don't know how. I'm not strong enough and I certainly don't have the equipment necessary. I'd like to think it's just a matter of will to go out and fighting crime but let's be honest, I wouldn't last long."
John laughed and shook his head at the thought. He took a few deep breaths and felt his body calm, his thoughts slowing to a manageable pace. John looked back to the gravestone. "But I guess it's my turn to figure that out. You've already done so much for me – and for everyone. I don't think I could have kept fighting if I didn't see there was more I could do and be." John stood on stiff legs and walked up to the grave, resting his hand on the cold stone. He was grateful to Bruce and would always miss him, but it was time to let him go. "It's your time to rest," he said, patting the stone. "You've earned it."
When John finally left the cemetery, the pain in his chest was manageable and he didn't have to fight the urge to look back over his shoulder.
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"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270