Some Things Never Change

Because it took me until my third viewing to get a legit idea for a story. One shot, pretty self-explanatory.

Spoilers for TDKR.

Disclaimer: well, duh.

Commissioner Gordon met only once with the Batman after the death of Bruce Wayne, as always atop the roof of the old MCU building, which still stood, even though the police station had been completely demolished in the first bombing of the city and been relocated nine blocks southwest. The Bat signal had been repaired to its former glory, but had yet to be used again. It served now only in private memoriam for the hero the city had loved and lost (the former, in Gordon's opinion, having occurred far too late).

He had not been nearly surprised as he should have been upon learning the Batman's identity. For years he had gone over and over every word the disembodied mouth said, every mannerism, not so much to find a match but to piece together an entirely new persona, create the only man Batman could be, one who would give everything he had and more to the city who had hunted and forsaken him.

The funeral, attended by four mean already far too accustomed to the somber black attire, had felt to Gordon like a reconciliation. He had known about Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy dickwad. He'd sometimes envied him his leisure, sometimes even hated him for his decadence and cavalier activities, while the rest of the city struggled just to eat. To mold him into Gordon's sculpted persona of the body inside the black armor, the man who gave Gotham everything, was the best eulogy a man could ask for.

He didn't feel alone or abandoned as he had when the Batman first vanished into thin air eight years ago. Now he was at peace. They both were.

As he prepared to leave the old familiar rendezvous one last time, however, a rustle and a soft thud sounded behind him. The aged commissioner turned and felt a wave of fear and fury-tinged memories wash through his mind. He had never though that he would ever again turn to see the black caped and masked figure of the Batman stand before him.

The two stared at each other for a solid minute, neither speaking, not even blinking.

"Bruce Wayne is dead," Gordon said finally.

The Batman inclined his head. "Yes, sir, he is."

The voice was certainly not the Batman Gordon had known. It was not gravelly but smooth, quite a bit higher. And rather familiar, too.

"Blake?" asked Gordon in disbelief. "How are you…?"

"This was the whole point of Batman, sir," said Blake-Batman. "He can be anybody. Gotham's hero doesn't die with a single man."

"Still the idealist," said Gordon with a fond smile.

"Yes, sir."

"I suppose it's right." Gordon sighed and turned to rub his dry, callused palm along the metal surface of the Bat signal, then looked back at Blake.

"Some things never-" he began, but the rooftop was deserted, save for a few scavenging pigeons. Gordon laughed to himself. "…change."