So this story kinda starts off slow, but if you could just try to bear through it. I'm really trying to get back into character. Please tell me if I'm succeeding or just failing miserably. I won't know if somebody doesn't tell me.



Gordon stepped out onto the roof, His brown trench coat flapped in Gotham's wind, it shielded him from some of the chill but not quite enough to be pleasant.

Why a roof in this weather? There are far more pleasant places to be.

Oh god how he hated these calls. He had made his way over across town, leaving his warm bed with his warm sleepy wife in his warm, happy home so he could deal with some whacked-out junkie's life problems.

His eyes had lost their heaviness with the god awful coffee that he had been drinking on the way through the city. Gordon loved Gotham at night, the multi-colored lights glaring at the passersby, as if daring them to come inside. The city's allure was almost enough to get him up tonight.

Wayne Tower was in the center of the city and the drop was a long one. From here, one could almost see the suburbs surrounding the gray concrete highways .

Gordon threaded through the groups of officers and the emergency personal with a few smiles and a steady pace. He'd like it if everyone left this bridge alive but a crazy with no reason to live might get a little violent towards the end.

Gordon didn't really know why he had been called down, the phone call had been cryptic, and the officers who had brought him to the scene had been even less helpful, just saying that he had been requested. Now Gordon looked at the reason why he had been called out of his house and across the city.

A young man by his posture, around his late twenties, early thirties. Expensive haircut and well tailored pants. He was sitting cross legged on the railing, far out of the reach of the police. He wasn't wearing a shirt and his back was littered with scars and bruises.

Shit.

One of the officers was striding towards him, but Gordon knew the drill reminding him would just be a waste of time.

"Excuse me sir." Gordon called out to the cross-legged man.

"Gordon!" The words were almost lost by the wind. The jumper stood, wavering a little over the edge and turned to face the commissioner.

Bruce Wayne?

"Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce staggered along the railing that ran along the roof and Gordon's heart jumped to his mouth. The cops couldn't follow him there, a fence and a few feet of empty air stood between him and the jumper. But if that wasn't worrying enough, the whole of Bruce's chest was a mass of scars and bruises, old, new and everything in between. Blood was running from some unidentifiable source, dripping onto the concrete that supported him.

The halt in Bruce's step was drink, Gordon had seen it before. Alcoholic Billionaire gone off the deep end, the press was going to have a field day. He turned to one of his officers. "Get Alfred Pennyworth on the phone and have him brought over here."

Bruce wobbled on the strut and there was a gasp from the onlookers as he leaned dangerously over the drop. Bruce found his balance and jumped lightly on the balls of his feet. Now Gordon could smell the alcohol.

"Mr. Wayne? I think you should come down here so we can talk."

Bruce leaned to the side and gripped one of the iron bars that stuck out of the building. Gordon tensed immediately, every muscle telling tim that Bruce Wayne was going to let him self drop. But the man just laughed at the Commissioner, throwing back his head and hangings from the curve of the wire. He roared and the sound went straight to Gordon's stomach. He was handsome, young, rich, and he was swinging over a large expanse of nothingness.

It was probably the first time he had seen Bruce Wayne smile genuinely.

The sky was dark, foreboding and unearthly. Rain and lightning was hanging heavily in the air. Gordon pulled his coat closer to his body while trying to look casual. "It's an awfully long way to fall Mr. Wayne."

Bruce straightened, taking his weight of the cable, he didn't look down as he stepped closer to the Commissioner. "It's an awfully long way for you to come. All the way from the narrows, right?"

Gordon cleared his throat and looked away from the slack, accusing face. He didn't want to talk about the Narrows. Not today, perhaps never again. Bruce turned again and Gordon saw his side, just above the third rib from the last, blood was seeping out of a black wound and soaking into his black dress pants.

"Who did this to you ?"

Bruce looked down and swayed alarmingly to one side, but caught himself quickly before he slid too far. "Who did this to me?" He bent down to pick up a half empty bottle of whiskey from its resting place on the adjacent strut. "I did this to me."

"I don't believe that Mr. Wayne. You can tell us the truth,we can protect you."

Bruce ignored him and continued to look pensively into the horizon, "Maybe Joe Chill did this to me. He made me into this... monster."

Gordon tried to concentrate on the matter at hand. "Is there anyone we can call? A girlfriend?"

Bruce simply looked at him and again laughed, but it was now just a short bark. No emotion shown. "Which one? Take your pick of the lot of them. I mean, haven't you heard? Bruce Wayne never sleeps alone."

The bitterness in his voice alone made Gordon flinch, apparently that was a tender subject. "Is this about Rachel Dawes?" He knew that Dawes had been close to Bruce, she played with powerful men, and if he had known someone close to the famous Bruce Wayne it was her. He had seen his expression at the funeral, not that they had found anything to bury. But the expression on his face... it wasn't what he had expected.

"You should call the Joker, he'd get a kick out this. He'd laugh his goddamn head off. Always liked the irony."

Gordon's heart stopped, he hadn't looked up the social hierarchy for the Joker's identity, it had never occurred to him to interrogate anyone other than the scum on the street, the Joker had made his contempt for the upper class very clear. "Do you know the identity of The Joker?"

Bruce looked up at the dark sky, his face thrown into shadow. "Why can't you leave me alone? Why can't you all leave me alone?" It was barely whispered, perhaps Gordon was not supposed to have heard it, but the commissioner didn't really know how to proceed.

"Mr. Wayne, did the Joker do this to you?"

Bruce looked up, and for a moment Gordon felt hope stir. Those eyes were clear as day, un-muddled. "Some."

"You are in a position to help a lot of people-"

"Shut up!" Bruce stood up to his full height, muscles rippling under abused flesh. "Don't talk to me about helping people! You let them die Gordon! You and your incompetent henchmen." He took an angry swallow of the bottle by his side.

"What?" Taken aback, the Commissioner tried to sift through all the dealings with Bruce Wayne, looking for anything that could come close to explaining what was happening now. He had always seemed so... happy-go-lucky, carefree and innocent of all the problems and obstacles in life. He felt as if he had been thrust back twenty years, looking at the silent, desperate and lonely child. Who had just lost his parents.

"The little girls, Gordon. I was there."

The officers in the back ground were shifting uncomfortably. Gordon had gotten close to the fence, and Bruce had been slowly coming closer as well. They probably couldn't hear exactly what was being said but all the same Gordon could feel their eyes on him, looking for instruction. They knew something was going on here, something between the man over the long drop and the man who was leading them.

Suddenly a there was a presence by his side, and Alfred was standing there. Looking as stately and unruffled as always. "Commissioner. Perhaps all of these people would like to wait inside?"

"No," Gordon barely turned his head to address the man. "They're required to be here. It's regulations."

"Well, as this is private property and I speak for Master Wayne, I think they'd like to go inside."

Gordon turned to look at the butler in shock. "You speak for- The man is right there, about to jump!"

"Yes Sir. But I speak for him in most all matters, it's in my job description."

"Your job description covers this?" Bruce had settle back to his perch in the railing. His back straight, staring out at the city.

"Not in so many words, but I must insist that these men wait inside. It's a private matter."

But Gordon was already shaking his head disbelievingly. "A private matter? You-"

"I am sure we can discuss this later, but I will have security escort you and your men out of the building if you continue to-."

"But-"

"Sir," An officer joined the conversation. "We'll wait inside."

"A man is about to jump off a building!" Had the whole world gone mad?

"It's Wayne enterprises sir. It technically is Alfred Pennyworth's choice on how we handle this matter."

Alfred nodded to the officer. "You may stay Commissioner, but I'm afraid I must ask these ladies and gentlemen to come inside."

Without Gordon's command the emergency personnel started to file through the door back down the stairs.

Alfred turned to address Bruce. "Master Wayne, it's time to stop this foolishness."

"No." Bruce just took another swig from the bottle. "He can just walk away."

Exasperated, Gordon turned to the butler, "Can you at least tell him to stop drinking?"

"It's not alcohol. Its a mix of medications to speed healing and recovery, what you're smelling is disinfectant for the cuts."

"What happened to him?" Gordon looked back at Bruce who was no back on his feet, as restless as a tiger in a cage.

"You happened, Gordon!" Bruce was shouting now, "Your damn cop shot me."

"What?" He felt like a fool, watching but not understanding.

"I was in the Narrows today, Gordon. I watched those little girls die." Bruce was speaking very quietly, but the words dug into Gordon. Now he knew what Bruce was talking about, the crime scene today. A father going crazy and killing his wife and their two daughters before turning the gun to his own head. And it had been one of Gordon's hand picked recruits.

"No. That's not possible." Gordon remembered the scene vividly, having arrived just in time to hear the gun shots. There had been no one in the room, just the bodies.

"Master Wayne-"

"No, Alfred." Bruce put a hand up to stop his butler's words. "He needs to understand."

He turned his attention back to the Commissioner, "Do you think? At all?"

Gordon had no answer, he really didn't. He had no idea what was going on, only that he was being reprimanded by a man half his age. "Your damn sirens. He was going to hand over the gun. He was going to get help, and your goddamn sirens start outside and your goddamn cops start shouting into a megaphone."

Alfred had given up trying to get a word in and all that Gordon could think was

There had been no one else in the room.

"Do you even know their names?"

Defeated, the Commissioner looked down, starting to feel the guilt burning behind his eyes, he had told them, all of them not to alarm hostage takers. To have a negotiator talk. But he had not drilled it in enough. Two cops had already been suspended and two more had handed in their resignation. Guilt was hard on good men.

"Bethany." Gordon said, "and Alyssa."

"Good." The billionaire looked back out over the city. "Good."

"But you weren't at the scene."

"I was, I'm at every scene."

Alfred finally spoke up. "You're going to catch your death out there Master Wayne."

With a resigned sigh Bruce took a last look out at the city before jumping back to the fencing and climbing over it. He dropped next to Gordon with barely a sound and held his arms out as Alfred put a thick jacket over them.

As he did so, a piece of thin metal hit the cement room with a musical twang. Gordon picked it up and looked down at the sharp batarang. He looked back up at Alfred who was half supporting his master.

Their eyes met, and Gordon distantgly heard his own voice echoe around the silent, solitary roof top.

"No..."


I've been sternly reprimanded for pleading for reviews, so...

Th-Th-Th-That's all Folks!