This story picks directly after the previous one, Picking up the pieces.
I intend to watch Bruce/Batman through the eyes of Alfred and Gordon. It is a bit of a challenge and a concept I decided to play with.
Side note: I sort of ignore the third movie, since I have too many issues with logic there, but this fic is set directly after The Dark Knight, so that's not really relevant.

Chapter 1

After the last twelve days of tending to his employer and dealing with his rather foul mood, Alfred was prepared for many possible outcomes, most of which included Bruce losing his patience and leaving to do things he wasn't yet up to. He half expected to find the apartment empty when he came back from shopping, with Bruce gone to his bunker again. His young employer had been running away there every day since Rachel's funeral, keeping an eye on the current events and growing more and more frustrated with his temporary limitations. He had almost spent the first night there and came home only after Alfred called him. He had been coming back every evening since then, but Alfred knew it was only a matter of time before he went out as Batman again.

The smell of orient spices that welcomed Alfred upon entering the penthouse and the sound of frying was, however, not among any scenarios he anticipated.

"Dare I ask what on earth are you doing in my kitchen, master Wayne?"

There was no open fire nor burnt smell, which was a promising sign, but Bruce Wayne standing over a pan in his dressing gown was a sight Alfred had never seen or ever expected to see.

"Lunch?" Bruce glanced at the clock. "Dinner, more likely."

"Are you trying to poison us both, or just yourself, sir?" Alfred asked casually as he put his groceries into the fridge.

Bruce shot him an offended look. "Why not try it first, Alfred? Isn't it what you always told me? You might actually like it."

"Permit me to doubt it, sir. I recall you being capable of putting salt into coffee," Alfred pointed out, which earned him a chuckle from his young employer. Bruce had been seven at the time and he had really wanted to bring his mother coffee on her birthday. With both Alfred and Lucy Dawes busy at the moment, he managed to mistake salt for sugar.

"It's something I liked back in Tibet," Bruce offered in a way of explanation, his voice thoughtful. "Before you ask, yes, that's one of the few things I actually know how to cook. Just... Never came up." He shrugged and turned to face the butler, leaning against the counter to keep the weight off his bad leg. "Thought I could give it a try now."

Alfred could easily pick what Bruce left out. He wasn't yet up to going to the office, not when a wrong movement or an accidental bump could easily leave him gasping. He either didn't want to go to the bunker at this hour of day, or riding a motor was more taxing than he claimed. Either way, Bruce Wayne was apparently bored or desperate enough to actually try and make some lunch, which meant it was high time for him to start being productive again.

"Shall I set the table then?" Alfred asked and turned on the kitchen absorber. As much as whatever Bruce was making smelled promising, they didn't need the whole penthouse smelling of it for the rest of the day.

"If you're brave enough to give it a try." Bruce actually smiled this time.

The dish made of fried vegetables and rice was quite tasty indeed, if a bit too spicy for Alfred's preferences. It was undeniably a step up from a salted coffee and he said as much, enjoying the sparkle of humour in his companion's eyes. Bruce rarely spoke of his time away from Gotham, unless it was necessary, and it wasn't Alfred's place to ask. The butler knew about the training, of course, and he had picked a lot from Bruce's sparse comments thrown now and then when they were alone, but cooking never came up. It seemed there were still things Bruce could surprise him with.

But soon the moment of a good-natured joke shared between odd friends was gone and Bruce seemed restless again, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. He ate in haste, as if ready to leave at any moment. When Alfred commented on the welcome change of his appetite, he put his fork down.

"I'm done waiting. There are five more Joker's men still roaming free - that I know of so far."

Now that didn't come out as a surprise. "You can't go after them yet, sir." Alfred pointed out. "That shot wound has barely closed. You were lucky we managed to avoid infection so far and I would like it to stay that way." He didn't add that the muscles were nowhere near healed and that he didn't miss how Bruce kept supporting the wounded area whenever he needed to move more. One hit could easily undo any progress in healing, kevlar or not.

"I know," winced Bruce. "And I can't trust myself to be able to run, but Gordon can send his people after them, once he knows where to look. I'm going to see him tonight."

"You, or Batman, sir?"

Bruce just gave him a pointed look. "It would be so much easier if Bruce Wayne could pass it on," he commented dryly. Alfred closed his eyes and counted to ten at hearing metal spoon scratching against his favourite non-stick pan as Bruce finished whatever was left of his dish.

"Just be careful, please."

"I'm just going to talk, I promise," Bruce nodded. His voice lacked the cockiness Alfred had grown used to in such conversations. "Oh, where are those tapes I ordered? I can't put on the suit with that knee brace."

"I'll bring them."

xxx

A single beep sounded like a shot in the quiet of the night. Jim Gordon bolted upright and glanced at his wife, still sleeping, then put on his glasses and reached for his phone. There was a new message with one word only. Rooftop. No signature under it and the number was blocked, but at the sight of it any last drops of sleep left Gordon immediately. There was only one person he could think of that would send such a message at... Ah, almost two in the morning.

Gordon dressed himself in first clothes he could find, careful not to wake Barbara. He checked on the kids, both sleeping soundly, before he slipped on the staircase leading to the roof.

Almost two weeks of silence, with not a slightest sign of the masked vigilante, and now this. As much as Gordon the Commissioner could not admit it, as much Jim was glad Batman stayed hidden. The policemen were relentless in the searching and frustrated they got nothing. The official order was to catch Batman and bring him to custody, but Jim had no delusions. Many of his people would be all too eager to pull the trigger first and ask questions later. Many of them were friends with the cops Batman officially murdered, many had worked with Harvey Dent.

"Gordon." A familiar rasp welcomed Jim as he shut the doors behind him.

"What are you doing here?" hissed Gordon looking at the shadows of ventilation where the voice came from. "Everyone is looking for you!"

"I know." Batman emerged from the deepest shadow, just enough for his silhouette to become visible. "I have some news about Joker's men."

News. Not caught criminals, just some news. A month ago Jim would have expected a bunch of tied men with a "deliver to James Gordon" note attached to them. Then he remembered the shot, the fall and the police hunt. Of course it was just news. Damn, he should have brought some coffee if they were going to work at this hour.

"What do you have?"

"Names. Addresses. Possible connections to check." When Batman came out further to give him an envelope, Jim noticed with surprise that he was wearing a black jacket over his usual suit and that he was holding a motor helmet. A very casual looking helmet.

The vigilante didn't retreat back to the shadows. He shared what he managed to find out about the people who had so far slipped from the police. Somehow Jim expected him to be gone the moment he stopped talking, but Batman just took half a step back and stayed there, leaning against the shaft. Awkward silence stretched between them.

"Are you alright?" Gordon blurted out a question and wanted to smack himself across the head as soon as the words left his mouth. He was not alright with those lies on top of all the mess he had to deal with and the aftermath of the destruction Gotham suffered. He was not alright with his wife on antidepressants and his kids waking up at night, with Jimmy arguing with him that Batman was not a villain.

Why would his partner be?

Batman gave him a shrug, lips pressed in a thin line. He turned away, but now that Gordon looked, he saw his slightly hunched posture, left hand pressed to his abdomen, as if he dropped some of the earlier act. He must have been pretty battered after that fall. But there was more than just physical weariness coming from injuries, Jim could see it clearly now. He wasn't the only one having a rough time.

"You knew her." Realisation dawned on him. "Rachel Dawes."

Batman tensed at hearing her name, revealing enough for Jim to confirm his suspicions. "Don't." He growled and retreated further, disappearing almost completely in the darkness.

Gordon suddenly remembered more. The way Batman didn't hesitate for half a second when he had to choose between her and Harvey Dent. The way he flinched when Dent claimed he was the only one who had lost everything. "She brought me the antidote from you. She trusted you, no questions asked. And you trusted her." Then it hit him. "O dear God. She knew you, didn't she. The real you."

"Gordon. Stop." Now there was plea in the rasp, and some pure, unmasked grief.

"Alright, alright!" Jim pulled his hands up in surrender. He didn't really have the heart to dig any further. "Keep your secrets, I don't mean to press," he backed off and took a deep breath. "God, I'm sorry. We didn't get her in time."

"Not your fault," came the reply from the shadows, the rasp even more shaky, more like a whisper. "I made a call. I chose to trust Joker was telling the truth. I was wrong."

"Not your fault either," Gordon retorted, but kept his voice quiet.

What he heard was half a snort, half what sounded like a sob. Then it seemed Batman was done for the night. He strode towards the edge of the roof and turned only when he was there.

"I'll be in touch."

He didn't jump or disappear between one sentence and the other. There was no theatricality Gordon had grown used to, just spare, careful movements as he used a cord to lower himself down. Driven by curiosity, Jim leaned over the edge of the roof and watched his partner land on the street below. He saw Batman push a motorcycle from behind the trash bins. It wasn't that huge monstrosity from the hunt for Joker, but a normal, casual looking machine, though probably still hiding a few surprises in its inconspicuous form. With the helmet covering the characteristic cowl and the jacket hiding partly his suit, the vigilante didn't look too much different from other thrill chasers racing on empty streets during nights.

Tonight, Batman didn't want to be seen.

Gordon never wondered who the man in the cowl was. He didn't wish to know, out of respect for his unusual partner. Batman had never given him anything personal and he had never allowed himself to show any kind of vulnerability. But somehow, tonight it almost felt as if his partner had come to meet him in an old sweater and pyjama pants. It was a display of trust that didn't go unnoticed.

Jim Gordon still didn't want to know who Batman was. He didn't need to. But as he looked at the alley his partner disappeared into, for the first time he wished for the man hiding behind the mask to get home safely.