Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or Commissioner Gordon.

This is a sequel to Gordon's Shadow, and starts immediately after that story ends.

Why was Batman lurking in Gordon's office? And how much does Gordon know? Two lonely people trying to find commmon ground.

After the Door Closed

o0o

"Good man," Batman remarked as he closed the door behind Officer Martin.

"His father was, too," Gordon agreed. "We were partners for awhile. The brass split us up, and six months later he was killed on duty."

"He told me."

Gordon huffed in exasperation. "Just how long a conversation did you have while I was asleep? Come to think of it, how did he even realize you were here?" He took a closer look and noticed something that Officer Martin, less attuned to Batman than Gordon was, probably hadn't; that he was slightly disheveled and somewhat the worse for wear. "What happened? Bad night at the office?"

"You could say that," Batman said with an amused snort.

When had Batman begun to relax enough with him to permit himself even this small display of emotion?

"How bad a day? And does it have anything to do with why you're lurking in my office watching me sleep?"

"No. I… didn't want to wake you." There was a short pause, then the smallest hint of a shrug. "I fell asleep waiting for you."

Gordon laughed, for what seemed the first time in a long while, amused at the image of the apparently invulnerable Batman nodding off in his office. "And I suppose Martin woke you up? And you didn't have time to hide?"

"I was clumsy, and he heard me." Was there was the slightest touch of embarrassment in the harsh whisper?

"It's a good thing it was someone trustworthy, with a half-ounce of intelligence. Otherwise things could have gone very badly." Gordon shuddered. The best outcome would have been a firefight in his office. The worst scenario involved the two of them dead, and the guilty officer receiving acclaim both from the underworld for getting rid of them, and from Gotham's upright citizens for avenging Gordon's death at the hands of the "killer vigilante".

And how depressing was it that he had to think of things like that?

"Yes. Providential. It was an illuminating conversation. You aren't as devoid of allies as I was afraid. He says they would follow you to hell and back."

Slightly embarrassed, Gordon waved off the compliment. "Oh yes. I knew there were good men left on the force. The problem has always been knowing who. I'm afraid by virtue of his adventure tonight, young Martin has earned himself a place on the short list to promotion."

"That's not a good thing."

"No, though I'm sure he thinks it is. But in Gotham City, I'd say promotion is the fastest way to martyrdom. Just like his father." The recollection was bitter. "He was a better man than I am. I saw the corruption and tried to work around it. He tried to change it. That's what got him killed."

"You stayed alive long enough to do something about it."

"Yes. I suppose so." Not much of a comfort to George Martin, Gordon thought. Or to his son. Not something he wanted to think about now. "Was that all you discussed?"

"Apparently our attempts to blacken my name haven't been totally successful. It's been noticed I haven't killed anyone since Dent died."

"Good to know some of my officers at least are capable of basic observation," Gordon remarked archly.

"I could always take credit for some of the unsolved killings in the city."

"No!" Gordon snapped. "Absolutely not. If you take the blame for a murder, that means the real killer gets off the hook. There's been too much of that here in Gotham for years. As far as possible, on my watch, it stops." He was adamant on that point.

"Very well. As long as you realize people are wondering."

"That may be for the best. Some day we may want to be able to rehabilitate you." The sooner, the better, Gordon thought. Having Batman take the fall for Dent's actions had never been his plan, and he still wasn't totally convinced it was a good idea.

The dark figure didn't reply. He walked around Gordon's desk and stood staring out the window, as still as one of the buildings on the skyline he was watching. The silence grew uncomfortably long.

"Well, what were you here for tonight anyway?" Gordon prompted, to change the subject.

Batman stirred. "That was one thing. The need for more police officers you can rely on." He came back over to the desk.

Gordon nodded. "That's taken care of, as best as I can. The department has started an aggressive recruitment drive to fill the vacancies left by the recent upheavals." Between death, injury, sudden retirements, and corruption convictions, the Gotham police force was strapped for people. "Each applicant's associations are being very carefully screened, and our hope is that now the general environment is less pervasively corrupt, more of them will stay honest."

"That's a start," Batman said. "I also have these." He laid some pictures and papers down on the desk "Some of your officers have been seen in compromising situations."

Gordon sighed deeply. "I'll go over them tomorrow." Discovering just who else among his people he couldn't trust was something he wasn't looking forward to, but it had to be done, he knew. Still, it could wait.

"The other reason was this," Batman continued. He took a device from his belt and handed it to Gordon, who studied it, turning it over in his hand. It looked like a small cell phone, not very different from the one he already had. "Since you destroyed the light, you need some discreet way to contact me. Speed-dial number nine."

"Untraceable, I assume?"

Another nod of the black-masked head. "The signal is encoded to prevent eavesdropping. It will work as a regular phone, but it will show up as a blocked number. No one but me can call you on it."

Gordon closed his hand around it, feeling for the first time in months a lessening in the sense of isolation that had enveloped him. He missed the signal light, and those nights waiting on the roof. It felt good that he could contact Batman again. Or try to, at least.

"Will you actually answer when I call?" he asked skeptically.

"The chances are that you'll have to leave a message," Batman admitted. "But I will check it frequently."

Gordon snorted. "Batmail?" he couldn't resist joking. "Nice to know I rate so high on your list of priorities."

"You are high. But I have responsibilities outside this suit as well."

"Yes. I imagine so," Gordon remarked dryly. "Responsibilities that wear you out enough to make you fall asleep in my office. The life of the rich and powerful must be tiring."

The dark figure froze into total immobility. "What do you know?" he asked carefully.

He shouldn't have started this, Gordon realized. Chalk that bit of indiscretion up to overtiredness. Still, a part of him wanted to show off, show Batman that he wasn't the only one who could make connections. "I don't know anything. And I don't want to know, because what I only guess about, I can't be put on a witness stand and forced to reveal. But I am a detective, after all." And, he prided himself, a good one.

That had kept him alive through many bad years. He had been useful. And smart enough to put the pieces together and know who not to antagonize.

"It doesn't take much intelligence to realize that, whoever you are, you have to have the money and the resources for all that equipment you use," he continued. "That limits the field considerably. You're obviously not Donald Trump. Bill Gates might be a slightly higher probability, but I don't think so."

Batman ignored the small joke. "And… have you reached any conclusions?" he asked, very quietly.

Gordon nodded. "Oh yes. I'm reasonably certain I know who you are." Once he had started thinking about it, it really hadn't been difficult to come to a tentative conclusion, and since he had, everything else had only served to prove it.

Then his innate sense of caution took over. "But I probably shouldn't say anything else. As long as you don't confirm it or deny it, it stays just a guess."

"I understand." Was there the slightest hint of disappointment in that flat statement?

Quite possible, Gordon thought. "I'm sorry," he said.

Being Batman must be a very lonely job. Gordon understood loneliness. For far too many years, he had been one man, alone against the darkness.

"Do you have anyone you can talk to, anyone who knows who you are?" he blurted. At least he had had his family to go home to, and for awhile, other officers, until they too were gone, either quit in disgust, killed, or fallen into shadow. If his deductions were right, Batman had no family, and probably few real friends.

And that number had gone down. Gordon remembered what Rachel Dawes had said when she brought him the antidote to Ra's al Gul's fear toxin. "Our mutual friend," she had called Batman. Gordon was fairly sure she had known his identity. Now she was dead.

That tragedy itself had given him another clue, for with Harvey Dent gone, the chief mourners at her funeral had been family and friends. Including a very old one from childhood.

"I have associates who help me out."

Not what he'd asked, Gordon thought, but better than nothing. "That's good," he said sincerely.

There was a long pause. "Well, I had better be getting home or Barbara really will kill me for being so late." Gordon started gathering his things.

"Your wife and family, how are they coping now?" The sudden question was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Gordon was happy to break the stillness.

"Oh, they're fine. As well as can be expected, at any rate. The kids' excitement at being saved by you is helping them get over being afraid."

"And your wife?"

"Cops' marriages have to be resilient, or they don't last long." Barbara had taken longer to come to grips with what had happened, but she was doing all right. There had been a rough period, but things were finally settling down.

"Good."

"The salary increase that came with the promotion has enabled Barbara to indulge her search for the perfect little black dress at last," he continued with a smile.

He paused for a moment, then added deliberately, "Just in time for Bruce Wayne's benefit dinner on Friday. She's looking forward to it, so I hope he doesn't run off with the Russian Ballet again and cancel it."

The ever-generous Bruce Wayne, sponsoring a dinner to benefit a fund for the Joker's victims. The same Bruce Wayne whose vanishing act with the ballet had perfectly coincided with Batman being in Hong Kong. Who had totaled his Lamborghini, not, Gordon was sure, trying to run a red light, but to save the life of a former employee. A former employee who had claimed to know who Batman was.

"I'm sure Mr. Wayne will be pleased he made your wife happy." There was a pause. "You'll need a security detail for the night."

"Yes. A very good job for our young Officer Martin, I think."

Batman nodded approval. "That would have been my suggestion."

Gordon stood and slipped his arms into his jacket, which was inexplicably draped around his shoulders. "I could have sworn I left this hanging up on the coat rack."

"You looked cold."

Gordon raised an eyebrow. "Thank you." He was touched. And that small echo of past events was another bit of evidence, if he'd needed one at this point.

He carefully locked the report Martin had brought up in his desk drawer along with the material Batman had given him, and put on his trench coat, making sure he had the cell phone in his pocket. The Batphone, he supposed he'd have to think of it.

"I suppose you can see yourself out?" he asked rhetorically, walking to the door.

There was no answer, and when he turned back to the office, Batman was nowhere to be seen. A smile twitched Gordon's lips. He suspected that, however Batman managed his vanishing trick, he wasn't far away. Gordon would have an escort to the parking lot, whether or not he saw it. Still, if that's the way Batman wanted to play it, let him. There was something comforting about it.

He closed the door behind him. Carefully locking it, he murmured into the darkened hallway, "See you on Friday, Mr. Wayne."

There was no reply, but then, one wasn't necessary.