Title: When You're Standing On Your OWn

THANKS TO Warriora for beta-reading and for the song reccomendation.

Hey we're just bleeding for nothing,
It's hard to breathe when you're standing on your own;
We'll kill ourselves to find freedom,
You'll kill yourself to find anything at all.

- Augustana, "Hey Now"

His face was white and drawn, and the desolation in his eyes cut Gordon to the quick. He had always thought of Bruce Wayne as a rich playboy who'd never done an honest day's work in his life, a far cry from his illustrious parents, and if the tabloids were anything to go by, an extravagant, puffed up spoilt young man who had never fully grown up.

But looking at him now, Gordon could only think of a night years ago, when he'd wrapped a coat around the shoulders of a brutally orphaned eight year old kid and futilely whispered the words, "it's okay." The kid had looked up at him, eyes blank and devastated, and Gordon had been overwhelmed by a feeling of failure and helplessness. Here was yet another life the corruption festering in Gotham city had destroyed, he'd thought bleakly. The police force had done a bang-up job keeping the streets clean, though later he would wonder why that had hit him so hard. The police force had been a site of corruption and bribery for years, and Gotham city had been well on its way to hell long before Gordon had become an officer.

But even knowing all that, he'd still felt the crushing weight of failure when he'd looked down at Wayne's pale, angular face, and realized the kid had just lost his childhood in the worst way imaginable. And he along with the entire police force had failed to stop it from happening. He knew, intellectually at least, that it could not have been his fault. He'd just been a rookie during the Wayne murders; burning with idealism and fervour. He'd joined the police force to clean up the streets of Gotham, to fight crime and make the world a better place, clichéd as that sounded. That little boy's face, and everything it represented, had robbed him of all his idealism, leaving him with a clear understanding of exactly how difficult doing those things would be. How impossible. And how far he was willing to go to acomplish them anyway.

And now, as if mocking the resolution he'd made all those years ago, Bruce Wayne had lost yet another person to the darkness of Gotham city (as if losing Rachel Dawes three months ago had not been enough), proving that nothing had changed. Alfred Pennywroth had been shot down during a grocery store robbery that had inevitably ended in disaster when both the Batman and the police force had arrived on the scene at the same time. The cops had immediately assumed the Batman was responsible for the crime, as they always did, and opened fire on him, which had sent the gunman into a panic. The Batman had managed to disarm him, saving nearly everyone in the store, but by then it had been too late for Pennyworth. Of course, the papers had harped upon the one casualty and gone to town about how the Batman was now more psychotic than ever, trying to regain his good name by planning crimes and then trying to stop them from happening.

Gordon sighed, glancing at Wayne and wincing again at the sight of his face. What the hell was he doing here? He didn't even know Alfred Pennyworth, or Bruce Wayne, for that matter- why on earth had he come for his funeral? Wayne probably thought he was nuts. Maybe he was even offended by his presence- for all Gordon knew Wayne might hold him responsible; he was police commissioner after all. But it would be even ruder if he just left without even offering the man his condolences, although he was very tempted to do so.

He hesitated for a long while, waiting almost until the end of the funeral, putting off approaching Wayne till the last possible second. Almost everyone had dispersed before he began to draw towards him. A couple of Wayne's friends were giving him their final condolences, and Gordon overheard some part of what they were saying.

"...really sorry, Bruce..."

"...give you my condolences..."

"...should have a party in honour of his death..."

Gordon scowled at that last one, and he thought he saw Wayne's jaw tighten as well. Do these people care about nothing else? He wondered, fuming.

"That's a great idea Harrision," Wayne said, sounding like he was genuinely considering the idea. But with all the time he spent around the Batman, Gordon had gotten quite good at reading body language, and he could tell when someone was acting. "We'll set up a date for that, ASAP." He shook hands with them after a few more words, watching them leave stonily.

Gordon gave him a couple of seconds before clearing his throat. Wayne whirled around, startled. "G- Commisoner," he said. "Sorry, I didn't see you there."

"I didn't mean to startle you," Gordon said. "I uh...came to tell you how sorry I am for..." He gestured towards the gravestone, uncharacteristically nervous. "I know I didn't know him, and I hope I haven't offended you...but I felt like I had to come."

"You haven't offended me," Wayne said, frowning. "Why would you?"

"Well, it's just that I'd understand if you held me responsible for failing to stop this from happening," Gordon said evenly, "because I certainly do."

"Well you shouldn't," Wayne said, his voice harsh. "There's only one person I blame for this, Commissioner, and it's not you."

Batman. Of course.

"I'm doing everything in my power to catch him," Gordon said, his voice wavering slightly on the words. "It'll only be a matter of time." He had lied a lot about the Batman in the past few weeks, and he had hated every second of it, but never before had he felt this bad about it.

The Batman did not deserve the loathing on Bruce Wayne's face.

"If I could, I'd kill him myself," Wayne said, his voice almost a growl, his eyes dark with fury and Gordon shivered a little, reminded uneasily of something that belonged only on deserted rooftops on dark, cloudy nights.

"You won't go after him, will you?" he said, alarmed. If a man with Bruce Wayne's resources went after the Batman, he just might be able to find him.

"No," Wayne said stonily. "You don't need to worry, Commissioner. I won't go after him."

"I really am sorry for your loss," he said again.

"I know." Something in the man's face softened. "Thank you," he said earnestly. "Every time something like this happens, you've always..." He cut himself off, as if he realized he was saying too much. "Just...I appreciate your being here," he finished, turning to stare down at the grave again, his face controlled and tight.

Gordon stared at him, surprised and touched that he actually remembered. "Uh...don't mention it," he said, a little awkwardly. He hesitated a moment, feeling like he should say something more, but he couldn't think of anything that sounded even remotely right. "I should go."

Wayne didn't respond. He was staring unseeingly down at Pennyworth's grave, pain and something worse darkening his handsome features. Gordon wished to God he could say something to take that expression away, but he knew he couldn't, so he turned and walked away.

I'm going to fix this, he thought fiercely as he pulled out his cell phone. It was time to set up his next meet with the Batman, and this time he would not hold back. He would make sure no one ever had to go through anything like what Wayne had gone through, ever again. He would make sure that men as old as Alfred Pennyworth died of heartattacks and strokes and not muggings and car-jackings and fucking grocery store hold ups. If it took the rest of his life, he was going to fix this.

Whatever it takes.

END

Well, I did warn you it was going to get darker.

Stay tuned for the next story in the series, where you'll find out exactly what decision Gordon has come to, and how Batman will respond to it. (drumroll...)