Common Ground.

Girls' parents, Steve Finn concluded after taking three girls on first dates, came in two sorts. Those who wanted to take polaroid pictures of their little girl going out (mostly mothers), and those who watched him like hawks, as if expecting to see horns and a forked tail, or at least suspected him of trying to steal silverware (fathers, and on one memorable occasion, Betty McGregor's mom, but Steve had simply forgot he still had that spoon in his hand, the fuss was not necessary, really).

Mindful of Barbara's father being the police commissioner, he had prepared the answers to all typical questions, their destination, the time of bringing her back home ('what time should she be back, sir?' was the preferred answer), did he drive, what did he drive, did he really think he should drive, all the basics, asked with arms crossed and frown on the father's face. Steve had been through this before, but it was never a pleasant experience, and he would have gladly skipped it and just met Barbara at the movie theatre, but at the suggestion she threw her hair over her shoulder and gave him a look that clearly said he must have been kidding.

And the main problem he had with Barbara Gordon was that when she threw her hair and glared at him for the first time, a gesture that should be infuriating and really unattractive, he had asked her out before he could think about it.

This was generally how he had ended up on the Gordons' porch on Friday evening, shuffling his feet before he hesitantly raised his hand and knocked.

First response is a dog's barking, then someone saying 'Biscuit, down' and the noise subsiding. In the relative silence that follows, Steve can make out Barbara's voice, yelling for someone to open the door while she finishes getting ready. Steve smirks; taking time getting ready means that Barbara isn't as cool and composed as she seemed when he invited her, and she sighed, tilted her head, waited a long moment, and then said 'Sure, fine.'

The door opens, and Steve nods at Jimmy Gordon, who nods back, letting him in wordlessly, then turns to look up at the stairs. "Babs, your date is here!"

There's no answer from upstairs, but a man whom Steve recognises from the news, and at least one school play, as Barbara's father, walks out of what seems to be the living room. "She might be a while, why don't you come in, Steve?" The voice is certainly friendly, but there's an assessing look behind the glasses, one that Steve can recognise and doesn't really like.

"Sir," he nods, and follows Mr Gordon to the living room, stepping over a dog sprawled on the carpet. The dog gives him a lazy look, then lays its head back on the floor, disinterested.

"Some guarding dog," Mr Gordon mutters, and Steve is about to mutter a vague agreement, the other person in the room laughs from the couch, turning his head.

"He had three helpings of Alfred's pasta, which, I might add, you fed him. I believe Biscuit won't be moving for at least few good hours."

This is just about the point where Steve's jaw hits the floor, because there's Bruce Wayne on the couch of Barbara's living room, and that's not exactly something he had expected. "So, you must be Steve," Mr Wayne says, smiling, and Steve can only nod numbly.

"Where are you taking Barbara, Steve?" Mr Gordon asks, and Steve looks at him. And looks at him. His mouth simply refuse to work for too long a moment, causing Barbara's father to frown and look at him. "Are you alright?"

"Movies," he says finally, and honestly, that's lame.

Mr Gordon's frown deepens, and he crosses his arms, and right, they're on the familiar territory now. "Are you driving?"

"Dad," Barbara says pointedly, walking down the stairs, and she had done something to her hair, Steve has no idea what, but it's all wavy and shiny, and for a good few seconds he forgets about overprotective fathers and billionaires sitting on the couches, and swallows, his throat suddenly dry. "Hey, Steve."

"Barbara," Steve nods, shrugging, hoping it looks cooler than it feels.

"And what are you driving?" Mr Gordon wants to know, and Steve forces himself to turn and smile politely.

"My father's Chevrolet."

"You know, Babs, you could borrow my car if you wanted," Mr Wayne says, and Steve almost hyperventilates, because honestly, from what he had read, the man doesn't drive anything that isn't a Lamborghini or a Ferrari. Barbara, however, purses her lips.

"No one likes GPS tracking," she says mournfully, and Mr Wayne laughs, apparently delighted. "Can we go?" she adds, looking at her father.

"Home by ten."

"Movie ends at nine thirty," she points out.

"Plenty of time to get back here."

"Eleven," she fires back, crossing her arms in the mirroring image of her father's. "It's not even a school night."

Mr Gordon sighs. "Fine. Not a minute later, or I'll have Bullock pick you up in the squad car."

"That will be fun, he always puts the siren on," Barbara says, smiling widely, and waves, already pulling on Steve's sleeve to drag him out of the door. It's not going exactly how he expected it to go, but he'll take what he can get and hightail it out of there.

*

"Nice boy," Bruce says, laughing, as the doors close behind Barbara and her date, and Jim gives him an annoyed look.

"I'm still not entirely sure he should be driving. Looked a little out of it," Jim offers, sitting back on the couch and absently patting Biscuit's head.

"Come on, Dad," Jimmy says, laughing. "How would you act if you had arrived to pick up your date, and found Bruce Wayne in the living room?" he pauses, tilting his head. "Okay, bad example."

"I'd say," Jim agrees, smiling, then tilts his head, looking at Jimmy seriously. "So, what do we know about that Steve?"

"Apart from the fact that he's on the basketball team, you mean?" Jimmy shrugs. "He's okay, I guess," he glances at his watch. "Okay, I have a game to get to," he offers before heading upstairs. Jim shakes his head and glances at Bruce.

"Did he try to explain the game thing to you?"

"Total mystery to me," Bruce offers, shifting in his seat. "But it will keep him in front of the screen for at least two hours..." he drawls, his hand slipping to rest on Jim's thigh.

"You think they got to the theatre already?" Jim asks, and at Bruce's look hastens to clarify. "Babs and that Steve."

Bruce sighs, trying his best not to laugh. "I've figured. Will it make you feel better if I tell you she does have a GPS tracker in her purse?"

"Depends. Does she?"

"I'm not telling you," Bruce's hand moves along the seam of Jim's pants, on the inner side of his leg. "In case she asks. You're a terrible liar."

"It does make me feel better," Jim agrees, his voice a little breathless now, turning to face Bruce, leaning in and catching Bruce's lips in a slow, drawn-out kiss.

"I thought we had a rule about making out on the couch," Bruce points out, smiling against Jim's lips, his tongue lightly brushing the lower one.

"Hate that rule anyway," he mutters. Bruce is already pushing his shirt up, fingers skimming the skin just above the waistband of Jim's slacks. Jim reaches out, his hand resting on the side of Bruce's face, his thumb resting just by the corner of his eye. "You know, maybe we should..." he pauses as his cellphone rings, buzzing on the table, and he swears, moving to pick it up. "Gordon."

Bruce leans back against the couch and watches Jim go through the conversation, frowning. "Let me guess," he mutters, when Jim disconnects with a heavy sigh.

"They found him," Jim nods, and doesn't even have to explain, there's only one case that had them both working well beyond normal hours. Normal hours for Jim, that is, Batman didn't really have his work hours clearly defined. "He has taken seven people hostage in a cafe. Won't negotiate."

Bruce stands up, his expression deadly serious now, thoughtful. "I'll meet you there." He's soon gone, just a quick, lingering kiss placed in the corner of Jim's mouth before he walks out, and before Jim sighs and walks upstairs, to tell Jimmy he's been called to work, and to make up an excuse for Bruce's absence.

*

The officer next to Montoya shifts, standing up a little straighter, and she doesn't need to take her eyes off the cafe's windows to know that Gordon had joined them on the scene. "Commish," she says, and he moves to stand beside her, his mustache twitching as his lips settle into a tight line. "Did you let him know?"

Gordon nods. "Should be here shortly."

Renee smiles tightly, first good news of the evening, really. Officially, the warrant for Batman's arrest is still out, but no cop would dare to do anything about it, now, not after last year, and a rather public demonstration of Batman's loyalties. Even the sign is back, on every other night, but the Commish rarely goes up to the roof now, and Renee is often the one to turn the light on and leave it there, to once again strike fear in the hearts of Gotham's criminals.

"Do we even have a way of talking to Nygma?" Gordon asks. He's probably the only one stubbornly refusing to use the name the press came up for Nygma, even the guy himself seemed to like it, given that he had taken to signing his notes that way. Riddler. The city got more fucked up every month, if you asked Montoya.

"There's a phone, but he picked up once, and told us he won't be talking to us," she says, rolling her eyes. "Hasn't picked up since. For a guy who likes his wordplay so much, he sure isn't talking a lot."

"Seven people inside?"

"That we know of. The witnesses aren't sure, apparently everything happened too fast for anyone to pay attention."

"While fleeing from a psychopath, not many people do," Gordon mutters, and nods at her. "Fine, we keep calling, we wait," he adds, gritting his teeth, and she knows he doesn't like it at all. Lieutenant Gordon she had met a few years back, would be knocking on the cafe doors already, making a show of not holding any weapon, his open face calm and earnest. Commissioner Gordon from few years back would have done the same. But Jim Gordon didn't take many risks now, not unless they were absolutely necessary, and as much as he seemed to hate it, it was for the better, the kids wouldn't recover from another loss.

"Won't have to wait long," she points out, slight tilt of her head pointing in a direction were shadows had become more substantial moments ago. "Your backup's here," she jokes, and there is that quick odd look passing through Gordon's face, one she keeps on trying to call up, because figuring it out is a challenge that she particularly enjoys. Almost everyone had figured out by now that Commish and Batman are, well, using the word 'friend' in relation to Batman is beyond Montoya, but it's not entirely inappropriate, but there's something more here, and it's been bugging her for months now. And she has twenty bucks riding on this in a bet with Stephens, she'll figure it out sooner or later.

"Let the SWAT team know they should be ready to enter on my mark," he tells her, and moves slightly forward, standing in front of the squad car that serves as a semi-barricade, taking out a small phone-like device she had seen him use a handful of times, and never got to asking about it. At least someone has a way of contacting the Bat, as he doesn't often shows up when they light up the sign either.

She sighs, and pokes Krakowski, the SWAT team leader, in the shoulder. He gives her a comically wounded look. "Commish says to get your game on, we might be moving in soon."

"Our favourite vigilante has arrived?" he guesses, and Renee smiles, shrugging. His tone is dry, but there's no resentment that used to pervade every cop's mentions of the Bat up till around a year ago. The threats to Gordon's life, a normal occurrence in this line of work, had became all too serious and grave at that time, and it was by sheer luck and a minor car accident that he wasn't in his office when a bomb went off there. Stephens had arranged for a 24/7 security detail for Gordon and his family, but even this hadn't stopped a sniper, shooting from the roof opposite to the City Hall.

And this might have been tragic in consequences, if not for Batman's intervention, and by intervention, she meant pushing Commish out of the way and taking a bullet himself. The story hadn't been made public, on Gordon's insistence and for his own reason, but it made rounds on the grapevine, and there was no cop in the city who didn't know by now, and who hadn't rethought that entire witchhunt business. Some of them even know the truth behind the Dent story, but those who do, stand by the unspoken agreement of keeping it quiet. But the trust in Batman slowly returns to the city, and Renee for one is glad for that. Batman still freaks her out a little, especially his insistence to sneak up on people, but having him on their side is comforting.

"What now?" she asks Gordon, and gets a small shrug in return, as he looks towards the shut blinds of the cafe with some concern.

"Now we wait for the signal."

"What's the signal?" she asks, and her voice doesn't even fade completely when one of the windows is crashed by something flying out, something that turns out to be one of those bat-shaped throwy-things. "Oh, that's the signal," she remarks, the SWAT team already passing her by on their way in, and she realises she's talking to herself, because Gordon followed them suit, his gun already drawn. She rolls her eyes, at herself, and at him, and reaches for her own piece, running in after them.

*

Ten minutes till eleven, the car pulls into the driveway, and Steve turns off the engine hesitantly. The date went quite alright, Babs thinks, even given the unbelievably awkward first half an hour, but she supposes that anyone is allowed to be a little bit shocked under the circumstances. Sure, she might have warned him, but telling people of Bruce Wayne being a frequent guest at their house seems a bit like bragging, and besides, it leads to questions she's not sure she should be answering.

Besides, utter shock looks kind of good on Steve. Many things do, she knows, as she had a slight crush on him for the last three years, which might be slightly pathetic but she chooses to think it consistent. And at least she managed to restrain herself from drawing hearts and writing 'Mrs Barbara Finn' on anything, because then she might have to smack herself over the head with her own pink notepad. If she had a pink notepad.

"So, I should walk you to the door, right?" Steve says, smiling nervously, and she smiles back.

Wonder of wonders, the moment she stopped watching Steve semi-hopefully and started to ignore him completely, he started to notice her. She should have known reverse psychology would work, but somehow she hadn't figured it out until she asked Bruce what to do to get a guy interested in you. He gave her a terrified look before first warning her that if her father asks, that conversation never took place, and then thinking long and hard about the subject.

"Try treating him like an annoyance you have to bear." She gave him a doubtful look, and he shrugged. "I'm not very experienced at dating."

Her look turned into an 'are you freakin' kidding me' one. "Oh, come on. You must have went on a few hundreds of dates. Thousands, if the tabloids are to be believed."

"Which you know they're not," he said pointedly. "Tell me, Babs, the lucky guy, is he on any kind of a sports team?"

She blushed scarlet, which was as good as admitting he was.

"Has girls smiling on him from every side?"

"Unfortunately, yes," she said mournfully. "I know, I know. But he's really good looking. And actually smart. And occasionally funny."

"I'm sure he is," Bruce agreed, and she suspected he was laughing at her, but let it slide, mostly because with Bruce you could rarely tell. "But the point is, if he has so many girls smiling at him, a girl who frowns might stand out. And might be intriguing. And he might just want to make her smile. And when she does, it might just feel so wonderful he might want to get that smile again."

She looked at him for a longer moment, nodding slowly. "Is this you being mushy about Dad?"

"It might be, yes."

"I do not want to listen to you being mushy about Dad," she said pointedly, setting her face into a serious glare, but couldn't pull it off without cracking up. "Okay, I'll try that."

Worked like a charm, if she says so herself. She owes Bruce, and might consider not making gagging noises when she catches him and Dad making out in the kitchen again.

She looks at Steve and smiles, tilting her head, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I think you should," she nods, and doesn't wait for the pointed silence to fall back around them, just gets out of the car, and Steve follows, with a slightly baffled look on his face that she actually enjoys to be the cause of.

Steve shuffles his feet as they stand on the porch, and she keeps her hand behind her back tugging at her bracelet. "I guess I'll see you on Monday at school," Steve says, and she nods.

"Seeing as we have two classes together, I guess you will."

Steve leans slightly forward, and she closes her eyes, and then there's a racket in the house, glass breaking, and Biscuit barking, and Babs jumps a little, and then rolls her eyes, opening the doors a little. "Is everything okay?" she yells, and there's a moment of silence.

"It's fine, I broke a glass," Dad says, and she would glare at him, but she can't tell where he's standing in the darkness. "Aren't you coming in?"

"Moment," she says, and pulls the doors shut again, raises on her tiptoes, kisses Steve's cheek, and smiles cheerfully at him. "I'll better get inside," she offers and does so, not looking back, and really hoping Bruce was right about the whole challenge thing. "Safe to come in?" she asks after closing the doors again. "Or are there glass shards covering the floor?" she adds, feeling for the light switch and turning on the hall light, stopping in her tracks three steps into the living room. "Oh."

"Get me the first aid kit from the bathroom, will you?" Dad says, and she nods, hurrying. She had seen Batman at their house four or five times before, dropping by to talk to Dad on the porch, and, on one occasion, talk to Jimmy, long while ago. But still, every visit was totally unexpected, especially one when Batman was close to being unconscious, slumped on the couch, and Dad was close to panic, even under the calm composure he was trying to present.

"Here," she hands him the kit.

"Thank you. If you could go check on Jimmy?"

"Sure," Babs nods, and heads upstairs, catching a muttered curse from Dad, and a quiet response from Batman, something that sounds like 'I'll be fine, Jim.'

Jimmy is sound asleep, sprawled on the bed with a stack of comic books next to him, and he had even managed to change into pajamas for once. She debates waking him up, but decides not to, just tiptoes back downstairs.

"You should take that off," Dad is saying, pointing at the cowl, and Babs almost gasps, biting her lip not to.

"Shouldn't," Batman says, and a slight movement of his head alerts Dad, who turns, and looks at Barbara sadly.

"Jimmy's sleeping," she offers, and Dad nods.

"You should be, too. I hope that the date went well?" he says, sounding tired, and she forces a small smile.

"Yeah. I'll tell you about it tomorrow," she nods before turning on her heel and walking upstairs to her room, closing the doors behind her carefully. It's not that the curiosity is not killing her, because it really is, but somehow she's pretty sure it's not a good moment to ask questions. She wonders, how long has Dad known Batman's identity, and how, and... She reaches out to pick up her mp3 player, putting on the headphones and turning on the music, loud enough not to think, because any moment now, she might rethink the entire thing and get back downstairs and lose all the mature and responsible air she managed to call up.

*

Alright, he admits, the part where they drove to Jim's house wasn't the best idea imaginable, but the Wayne Manor was much further away, the hospitals weren't exactly safe for the Batman to turn up in, and Jim was driving, and he tended to be rather tense when Bruce went and got himself injured. At least it was Babs who stumbled upon them, Jimmy's reaction would be strikingly different, probably. He was still surprised, and impressed, by the way she handled it, too.

"Come on, off with it," Jim says, tapping the cowl with his index finger. "You're going to overheat in the suit."

"With our luck tonight, Jimmy is going to want a glass of water in a few minutes," Bruce offers weakly, because Jim does have a point, his throat is already dry, and his breathing is getting harsher, and that's only because his side really fucking hurts.

"If Jimmy's sleeping, nothing will wake him up until at least ten, and you know that. And I don't think Babs would be back. Come on," Jim urges him, and Bruce gives in, letting Jim efficiently remove his cowl, and then ease off the rest of the suit. His fingertips map the bruising, and the slight pressure hurts a bit, but Bruce doesn't mind that much at this moment. "It's not as bad as I thought," Jim says, and Bruce laughs, until it turns into a slightly pained cough. "What?"

"Your bedside manner is awful. As always."

Jim rolls his eyes, but he smiles slightly, and Bruce leans down to kiss him, just the softest touch of lips, at least that was the intention. Jim, however, moves forward, kissing back as if to let go of all the built-up worry and frustration. "I thought we had an agreement on you not getting hurt," Jim mutters, pulling back, and Bruce shrugs.

"I think it was about me not getting shot ever again. Getting hit with food carts wasn't on the list."

"I'll make you a list," Jim warns him, and moves completely back, opening the jar with salve, starting to apply it to the bruising. "Sorry," he says after a moment, shaking his head. "I just can't..."

"It's fine, Jim," Bruce says, covering Jim's hand with his, holding it for a moment, waiting until Jim's expression softens. "And hey, at least we got Nygma."

"Yes, and incidentally, Montoya is going to kill me for sticking her with the interrogation. She hates riddles even more than she hates puns."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Montoya loves puns," Bruce laughs. "When she's making them, that is."

He leans back on the couch, granting Jim a better access to the bruising, and the movement, a little bit too fast, makes his head spin. Jim glances up immediately, not fooled in the slightest by the reassuring smile he gets. "Maybe we should reconsider going to the hospital."

"It's just a concussion," he protests, raising his hand before Jim even starts to eyeroll. "Yes, I know." He might have a chance of winning the argument if he hadn't passed out for a briefest of moments in the car, causing Jim to break at least three or four traffic laws as he rushed to get them home. Arguing that it was all fine now wasn't going to fly. "Call Alfred, he can pick me up and make sure I don't fall asleep."

Jim looks like he's about to protest, but that's the best course of action at this point, he can't really stay over under the circumstances. And Jim probably hadn't yet thought about talking to Barbara, which, despite her seemingly good reaction, might not be the easiest one.

"Let me see," Jim says, his hand cupping the side of Bruce's face and tilting his head to the side, investigating the slight bump on the back of his head. "Not the worst you had," he says quietly, and it sound both comforting and apologetic, and Bruce sighs, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch, his lips brushing against Jim's palm.

It's not the worst he had, no, and it's not even the worst Jim had seen. A year ago, after getting shot (or getting himself shot on purpose, because the alternative was far worse), Bruce was curled on the floor of Jim's office; the bullet had hit one of the weaker spots of the suit, and the resulting haze of pain was thick enough for Jim's voice, yelling for someone to call the ambulance, to be muted, as if coming from a great distance.

When he woke up, hours later, Jim was sleeping in the chair next to the bed, in an uncomfortable position that was going to haunt his muscles later, and Batman's suit was gone, his face covered with a mask made of cloth, not the cowl, probably Jim's idea to combine comfort with an effort to preserve the secret. Bruce had questions, of course, but they could wait a few moments, and Jim looked tired even when he slept; it was almost possible to tell the time that had passed since the failed assassination attempt by the size of the shadows under his eyes.

"Stop watching me, it's annoying," Jim said, even before opening his eyes, reaching out to the side table to pick up his glasses.

"Sorry," Bruce muttered automatically, eyes still fixed on Jim, getting a slight eyeroll and a smile in return.

"How do you feel?"

"Remarkably well. I suppose they have me on painkillers?"

"Not as much of them as they wanted to," Jim shrugged, and the tight set of his lips told Bruce that he had been fighting the doctors on other issues than the meds dosage. "It's not that bad," he offered, answering the unspoken questions. "Only Montoya and Stephens know that you're here, save for the doctors, of course. No one had seen your face, and Stephens talked with all the doctors and nurses multiple times, they are not happy with the secrecy, but they agreed to my terms. Especially as I had the support of the Mayor... I had to tell Garcia about Dent," he added quietly, watching Bruce for reaction, not an easy thing to do when Bruce's face was almost fully covered, but he had enough experience to be able to read the shock and the wariness in his eyes.

"And?" Bruce asked, trying to keep his voice level.

"He sure didn't like the fact we had kept it from him until now. But you know Garcia, he's reasonable enough."

There was more to it, Bruce was sure, but Jim didn't see too worried, more annoyed, which probably meant Garcia made use of the occasion to rope Jim into some official appearances, or possibly actually attending the City Council meetings.

"Apart from that, Bruce Wayne had gone on a business trip to Japan, Alfred took care of everything. He wasn't able to come by here, for the obvious reasons, and you better prepare yourself for a lecture that he had four days to prepare."

"Wonderful," Bruce groaned. "How are the kids doing?"

"Fine. Babs threatened she's going to teach you how to use webcams. I don't think she's kidding, so brace yourself." His tone was light, but the smile he called up didn't reach his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Jim didn't pretend to misunderstand, like he would under any other circumstances. It wasn't that Bruce wouldn't have done that again, in a heartbeat, they weren't fooling themselves about this one. But he was sorry, for all the fear and worry it had caused.

"Just don't get yourself shot ever again and we'll be fine," Jim joked, his voice tense and strained, the joke falling as flat as humanly possible. He sighed and reached out, fingers lacing with Bruce's. "I can't even begin to imagine what I would do," he added quietly, his voice so matter-of-fact and almost casual Bruce hadn't understood the meaning at first, and then it was like a punch to the gut, overloading his senses.

"I love you," Bruce blurted out, no conscious thought involved in the confession, his words sounding unnaturally loud even though his voice was barely a whisper. Jim's fingers tightened on Bruce's hand, as if grasping for a lifeline, his lips parted, as if forming a confession that never made it out loud, words dying in his throat.

He leaned in, clumsily pushing Bruce's mask up, exposing his throat and chin and lips, material folding over his eyes succeeding in blinding Bruce temporarily, but it didn't matter at that moment, not when Jim was kissing him hungrily, as if their lips were meeting for the first time.

That was a year ago, and now, Bruce's hand moves to cover Jim's, holding it in place as he places a small kiss in the palm of it, his thumb covering the pulsating point on his wrist. "If I am supposed to get home, better go and call Alfred," he says, smiling, and the moment is broken as Jim moves away, nodding.

"He's not going to be happy about being dragged here in the middle of the night."

"He never is," Bruce agrees, bracing himself for the inevitable lecture. He's pretty sure Alfred has them written up somewhere, just in case he needs one. No one is that eloquent and creative when woken up in the middle of the night.

*

Sunday mornings are Jimmy's favourite part of the entire week. The rule on nutritious and healthy breakfasts is lifted, and no one wakes him up until he wakes up himself and gets downstairs in search of chocolate and jelly. Of course, that's on normal Sunday mornings, not when everyone is acting just a bit weird.

Dad is drinking coffee from the bucket-sized mug he and Babs gave him for his birthday last year, which is pretty normal. Babs, however, is fidgeting in her chair, turning a glass of juice in her hands nervously.

"And I'm not sure how to figure out if he had a good time or not," she's saying, apparently finishing the tale of her date with Steve, and Jimmy loses all the interest he might have had. He has nothing against Steve, he seems less of a jerk than some other guys from the team, but he really doesn't get what Babs sees in him.

Dad sighs, grimacing, and shrugs. "Why don't you ask him?" he suggests, and Jimmy is rolling his eyes in synch with his sister, because, honestly.

"Nevermind," Babs says long-sufferingly, then perks up thoughtfully. "Hey, is Bruce coming over today?"

And that's the moment when Dad takes his turn to act oddly, as he reaches to take off his glasses, blinking tiredly, and avoiding looking at Babs.

"What was that he had to do yesterday?" Jimmy asks with some interest, opening the fridge and looking for the orange juice. The carton he picks up is, of course, almost empty, and he glares at Babs. "What happened to you drink it, you throw the carton away?"

"There's still some inside," she protests, and Jimmy pointedly pours the juice into the glass, getting enough of it for one sip, maybe, if it was a small sip. Babs shrugs, and Jimmy sticks his tongue out at her, before throwing out the carton. "So, is Bruce coming today?" Babs repeats and Dad nods.

"I think so. If the business he was called to deal with yesterday is concluded," he adds, and Jimmy is about to ask what sort of business, but Babs' cellphone rings, followed by her shriek that is louder than the ringtone, and even more annoying, which, given the ringtone, Jimmy had thought impossible.

"Sophie? Hey," she starts, and then walks out of the kitchen, covering her other ear with her hand, as if she was speaking over a largest crowd and not just the sound of the electric kettle running.

Dad looks after her, then turns to Jimmy, eyebrows raised questioningly. Jimmy shrugs, crossing his arms.

"Sophie's tutoring Matt, who is on the team, which means he's friends with Steve. Which means he might know if Steve enjoyed the date. Which means Sophie might be able to find out," he explains. "Have you even been to high school?"

Dad shakes his head, which either means that he actually haven't, which is interesting and possibly a basis for further questioning on why then does Jimmy has to go, or simply means that it was so long ago he had forgotten how it was to date someone in high school. Not that Jimmy has any experience, thank god, but some of his friends start to talk about asking a girl out, and the insanity might be catching.

Biscuit perks up, running out from the living room to wait at the door, and few seconds later Bruce comes in, juggling bags with donuts and a tray with coffee and milkshakes. This is precisely why Jimmy enjoys Sundays. "Hey, Bruce," he says cheerfully, and moves to help him with the donut bags. "Any jelly ones?"

"Of course," Bruce laughs, placing the tray on the kitchen table, and pushing one of the cups towards Dad, who looks at it with some suspicion, takes the lid off and peers inside, then pours it into his own mug.

Babs marches back into the kitchen, pocketing her phone. "Bruce," she says happily, sending him a wide smile, then notices the donuts. "Did you bring the jelly ones?"

"Yes, and they are mine," Jimmy warns her. He's not going to change his mind, she owes him for the juice.

Babs glares at him, then shrugs. "Whatever. Bruce, I need to talk to you," she says, and then, Jimmy thinks, the weirdest thing yet happens, because Bruce, who normally can withstand even the most boring of Babs' diatribes, now, for the briefest of moments, seems to panic, his eyes widening in fear. Babs doesn't seem to notice, just drags Bruce to the couch, questioning him about the ways you can tell that a guy enjoyed a date.

In Jimmy's honest opining, given that the limit of Bruce's experience with dating guys seems to be Dad, he's not really the best person to ask, really.

"Jelly ones are mine," he warns Dad, whose hand is sneaking into the bag. And maybe he'll share with Biscuit, who seems to be the only normal being in the house today.

*

"He's not going to call today," Bruce warns her.

She sits on the couch, with her legs curled under her, and her elbow resting on the back of the couch, chin in her hand. "Yeah, I know. But I'll see him at school tomorrow, we have History and Spanish together."

"Smile, but don't say anything until he does," he suggests, and Babs nods seriously. "So, did you really enjoy the date?" Bruce asks, smiling.

"The movie was crap, but the date, well, wasn't," she laughs, brushing her bangs away from her face. "Well, until..." she pauses, and rethinks where the sentence was going. "When we got home, Dad kind of interrupted the saying-goodnight part."

"Kind of interrupted?" Bruce asks, and she laughs nervously. She shouldn't have mentioned this, probably. She's dying to ask Bruce whether he knows that Dad knows Batman, actually does know who the Bat is, but there's no good way to ask.

"He broke a glass, made some noise. Completely ruined the mood," she says, putting on a good amount of whine, and Bruce smiles, shaking his head, asking her if she thinks it was on purpose.

Obsessing about Batman was always Jimmy's thing, not hers. Even before... before mom died, Jimmy was always going on about the Bat, asking Dad dozens of questions, trying to work out who the guy was. She doesn't often think about Batman at all, it reminds her too much of that night, and sure, he did save their lives, and she's grateful for that, but it's not a good memory. She knows that before that, and since then, Batman had helped Dad a lot of times, too, saving his life on a few occasions.

It's just that, no matter how grateful she is, Bat is not the person she likes to see in their living room. Bad memories, and all.

"I think he was just clumsy," she says absently, shrugging. "If he wanted to sabotage the date, he wouldn't go for subtle," she adds, louder enough for it to carry to the kitchen.

"Damn right," Dad says, walking into the room, handing her the milkshake Bruce brought. "I would have went with the shotgun."

"You would have shot Babs' date?" Jimmy asks, all too enthusiastic for Barbara's liking.

"In the leg," Dad offers, as if this was much better.

"See what I have to deal with?" she asks Bruce, gesturing widely at her father and brother, rolling her eyes, but she can't help a small smile escaping.

*

On the early Monday morning, Montoya calls him saying that Nygma finally started to talk. In riddles, granted, and in rhymes, which drove Montoya up the wall, but the gist was that there was a bomb somewhere in the city, and they had about 12 hours to figure out where.

"We could use help with the interrogation," she adds, her voice lowered and conspiratory, and Jim catches the meaning immediately.

"I'll let him know," he tells her, and adds that he'll be at the station shortly, then disconnects, pocketing the cellphone and turning to the mirror, finishing the knot on his tie.

"Montoya?" Bruce asks, coming out of the bathroom, and Jim nods, trying for a smile.

"She kindly requests your presence."

Bruce gives him a worried look, and then bites his lip, reaching out absently to correct the knot on Jim's tie, straightening it, his fingers sliding along the collar, just skimming across the skin of his neck. Bruce's expression smoothens out, as if the touch had some therapeutic effect, and when he asks the question, his voice is almost calm. "What's wrong?"

Jim doesn't even bother with pretending, if Batman's help is needed the situation must be dire. "Explosives, somewhere in the city. Maybe you could make Nygma speak some sense. He must have accomplices, if only we knew whom he was working with..."

"We can stop to pick the suit on the way," he offers, and Jim looks at him, nodding.

"I still have to drive the kids to school, that would take some time," he says, thinking through the ways to speed the things up. "How about we just meet at the station?"

Bruce shakes his head, smiling slightly. Jim isn't sure he likes that smile, it's the one that clearly says that an idea has formed in his mind, an idea that Jim's going to hate. "How about Babs takes your car and drives herself and Jimmy?"

He was right, he doesn't like it. But it would save some time, and she had been asking him to borrow the car for weeks now, and frankly, he had seen her drive, and she's careful and responsible... he still doesn't like it. But standing here and debating it is wasting time.

"Babs," he calls out, walking to stand up on top of the stairs. "I need to get to the station, and fast."

"We're hurrying up," she yells back, and he hears some dishes clinking. "No, you dork, that's not for the dishwasher!" he hears her tell Jimmy about something, and he rolls his eyes, walking down.

"What I meant," he mutters, dangling his keys for a moment, before throwing them to her. "Bruce is going to give me a ride. You scratch it, you never drive it again. You get into an accident and get yourself and your brother killed, you never drive anything ever again."

"Kind of redundant," Bruce says behind him, quietly, and Jim doesn't deign it with an answer, mostly because Babs squees so loudly his ears might fall off, and pounces to hug him.

"Yes, yes, just be careful," he tells her, and watches her usher Jimmy out, almost forgetting her schoolbag in the process. "I still don't like it."

"She needs to start at some point," Bruce shrugs, his hand brushing Jim's shoulder comfortingly. "And at some point, she should get her own car, you know?"

"You are not buying her a car," Jim warns him, and it's such an old argument he smiles. "Fine, we should be going. Seeing you trash suspects always improves my mood," he says, even though it's not exactly true. But Nygma starts to really annoy him.

If Alfred is surprised on them dropping by, he doesn't show it at all, just offers Jim a cup of tea 'while Master Bruce changes into a more appropriate attire'. Jim sometimes wonders how on earth does Alfred manage to pull off everything he says with such an earnest, polite expression. Astonishing.

Montoya waits for them on the darker end of the two way mirror, her arms crossed as she watches Nygma trace some patterns on the table. "I almost wish he would try to escape, so I could give him a justified kick in the balls."

He nods and doesn't say anything, accepting a warm coffee cup from her. She glances searchingly at Batman, hesitating before she asks him if he wants some coffee. Jim almost laughs at her tone, she sounds a bit amazed, a bit like Babs the first time she saw a Santa Clause in one of the shops, slightly scared but excited. She covers it up quickly, however, and points across the glass at Nygma. "Or do you want to get right on it?"

"Yes," Batman nods, and walks out of the room, and into the adjoining one, and Montoya throws Jim a quick glance. "He's not the talkative type, is he?"

If only she knew, Jim thinks, holding back a smile, but his mustache must be twitching as he bites his lip, because she looks at him more suspiciously. "Did I say something funny, boss?"

"Just watch what's going on, will you?" he tells her pleasantly, and she obediently turns her eyes to the scene in the interrogation, but her smirk doesn't disappear but actually widens.

*

Sadly, Batman doesn't get them names of Riddler's accomplices, but he does get the answer to the damn riddle, and Renee has the presence of mind to catch Gordon's arm and steady him before he either smashes the glass, or storms out, and then into the interrogation, because she swears, the way the blood drains from his face and his hands curl into painful fists. A school. One of the worst news they could get.

"Commish," she says warningly, pleadingly, anything to get him to think and not act on the first instinct, because for all the self-control Jim Gordon has, this is one of the surefire ways to break it, in any way threaten his family.

What is surprising, however, is Batman's reaction, as violent and sudden as she would have expected if Gordon was in the room instead, sending Nygma flying through what seems like the entire length of the room, landing sprawled on the floor. Then, both of them, Gordon and Batman, are on the corridor before Montoya can even turn her head, and she catches the low urgent conversation, Gordon's voice almost as hoarse as the Bat's, filled with fear and desperation.

"I have to..." Gordon starts, and Batman is already shaking his head.

"Alfred will pick them up and drive them home. Don't worry."

Renee's eyebrows rise so high she's sure they must be meeting her hairline. It sounded comforting, soothing, something she would have never thought Batman the fearsome vigilante was capable of. Gordon looks away, down at his shoes, and the worry on his face fights with guilt, and she thinks that only the Commish would actually feel guilty about being one of the few parents able to get their kids out of the school right now, parents aware of danger. The moment the schools are going to start be evacuated, the bomb will go off. And he can get his kids out, but not all of the kids in all of the schools.

This, in her humble opinion, must suck. And she really wishes she had given Nygma that swift kick in the balls, justified or not.

"I'll make the call," Batman says, and as he turns slightly away, reaching for a device on his belt that looks very much like the one she had seen Gordon use from time to time, his hand rests briefly on Gordon's shoulder, gloved and heavy, but Gordon's reaction is immensely interesting; he relaxes minutely, looking up with some gratitude.

As Batman walks to the side, talking on the semi-phone, she moves to stand near Gordon, and it feels just a little like intruding, but she can't help that. "Boss?" she asks, and he nods, straightening up, schooling down his expression into a more professional one. She doesn't ask if he's alright, and, no matter how much it bugs her, doesn't ask who the hell Alfred is. Not the best moment, she admits.

"Get everyone. I'll notify Garcia, we're going to need a lot of help if we're to pull of a thorough search of every single school without alerting the press."

"Done," Batman says, joining them. Gordon nods, and it takes him a moment to get his voice back, and he swallows as if his throat was too dry.

"Thank you. Now," he says, taking a deep breath before his eyes harden, fear turning into more determination. "We're going to find it."

*

He is, frankly, quite appalled at how easy it is to pick up children from their school, even without any sort of signed parental consent, or documents confirming his identity. True, Miss Barbara is over sixteen, and young Master Jimmy is almost fifteen, but one would think someone would at least check if he was whom he told he was.

The bored young lady in the principal's office, however, just calls the children into the office, and allows Alfred to usher them out. And, of course, there is the fact they recognise him and greet him cheerfully, but, still, he isn't really impressed with the security of the place.

Master Bruce had explained the situation very briefly, and Alfred answers the kids' questions as best as he can without actually disclosing anything. No, he doesn't know what is going on, yes, their father asked him to pick them up and get them to the Manor, yes, they can stop on the way and get Biscuit.

"Do you have good reception here?" Miss Barbara asks, once they're back at the Manor, and Alfred sets a picnic table out in the garden, and Biscuits takes off chasing imaginary creatures all over the lawn. She holds her cellphone up, waving it around for a moment, and Alfred smiles at her politely.

"We take pride at receiving every guest warmly, Miss Gordon."

She laughs at that happily, then gives her cellphone one last accusing look, before pocketing it. "What is actually going on, Alfred?" she asks, and Master Jimmy looks up from his book, frowning.

"I really hope it's not death threats again. Those weren't fun."

The girl nods her head emphatically, agreeing with her brother. "No one else had security detail at school, not even Helena Garcia. It was totally embarrassing."

The aspects of the entire thing they choose to concentrate on puzzle him, but he supposes it's better than other things they could be considering. He took them out to the garden for the very reason of avoiding any possible news reports, he's not sure what exactly is going on, but is pretty certain that's not something they should worry about now.

"I'm sure it was necessary at the time, Miss Barbara," he tells her gently, and she shrugs.

"I guess," she admits, and he can tell what she's thinking, that they weren't the target, but their father was, and what had almost happened. Her emotions flicker quickly, but she hadn't learned to hide them yet, and Alfred reads them easily. They both had lost so much, and the danger of losing even more must have been terrible, but Jimmy seems to have dealt with it quickly, and it's Miss Barbara who still carries the fear and worry. Alfred would worry, but at least she has the support of her father, and then there's Master Bruce...

The last few years had been amazing, when you looked at the changes in Master Bruce. At the very beginning, Alfred wasn't sure he approved of all that meddling in affairs of Commissioner Gordon, it seemed all too much as if Master Bruce was trying to atone for something, be it the failure to protect Barbara Gordon, or his own parents, sometimes Alfred couldn't identify the main cause of guilt, but the sentiment was unmistakable.

But the results had proven him wrong, and he was damn glad of it. Sure it is nontraditional, but the Gordons had become to Master Bruce something he could call a family, and it made all the difference. Not enough, of course, to let go of the grief and desperation driving him to become the city's protector, Alfred suspects now nothing would do that, not with everything that had happened. But enough to grant him something akin to happiness, and for that Alfred is very grateful.

A ringing phone interrupts his thoughts, and Miss Barbara hastens to pick it up, almost dropping it in the hurried process.

"Hello?" she listens for a longer moment, then nods. "We're fine, Dad. We took Biscuit with us, he loves the garden." Pause, then another nod. "Sure," she hands the phone to Alfred. "He wants to talk to you."

The conversation is brief, Master Gordon just confirms that everything is fine, and they should soon be on their way to the Manor, and asks how the children are doing, and whether they're not causing any trouble. Alfred grumbles that they're of course insufferable, much to Master Jimmy's delight. The boy finds Alfred's deadpan and sarcasm incredibly funny, which, in turn, amuses Alfred. At least there's someone appreciating the art of irony.

*

After calling Barbara and talking to Alfred, Jim falls into silence, his head resting against the car's window, his eyes half-closed. His hands are in his lap, listless, almost curled into fists but not quite, as if he didn't have energy for that. Bruce can tell that all the adrenaline that buzzed through him during the search is gone now, it had been since the moment they'd learned that the bomb had been located and disabled. Jim sighed, long and hard, shoulders slumping, and it might have looked like relief, but it was a little bit too tired and weary for that.

This is one of the worst cases, Bruce knows, one that hits hard and doesn't let go easily, one where you feel guilty not only for those you couldn't save, but you feel guilty about every decision that might have been wrong even though it wasn't. They both had been through cases like this, all too often, and it doesn't get easier.

"I think I'm getting too old for this," Jim muses almost casually, and Bruce doesn't even look at him, just presses down on the accelerator.

"You're not," he says plainly, and switches gears. Chances of Jim, no matter how much he hates this job sometimes, giving it up, are about as slim as Bruce retiring the cape. In other words, bordering on nonexistent. "Besides, whom would you name as your replacement? Montoya? She'd shoot you before you had the chance."

"You might be right," there's no smile, though, no smirk, and Bruce was really counting on getting one for this remark. Fine, let's do it the hard way, he thinks, and takes the left at the next intersection.

Jim opens his eyes, glancing at him questioningly. "That's not the way to the Manor."

"I'm kidnapping you and we're taking a detour. Don't worry, won't take long," he says, speeding up a bit, which gets him to about a double of the speed limit here, but he doesn't care.

"The kids..." Jim starts, but stops when Bruce throws him a pointed look.

"You're going to explain your mood to them? You need a moment, to unwind, gather your thoughts. Remember the rule about bringing work home?" he asks lightly, and, slowly, Jim nods, giving in, his hands uncurling, one hand briefly reaching out to cover Bruce's, just a gentle brush of fingertips over the knuckles, as if to reassure himself.

He pulls over into the underground garage of the apartment building where he still keeps the penthouse; you never know when it may be of use. Like now. Jim lets himself be ushered out of the car and into the elevator, more puzzled now than anything else, but his movements are still slow and unsure, a distant echo of shock and exhaustion.

"Coffee?" Bruce asks as the elevator doors open soundlessly, letting them into the apartment, and Jim throws him a suspicious glance, but nods, shrugging.

The kitchen is well stocked with things that don't spoil easily, Alfred takes care of this for emergencies, just in case it was needed at some point; it may be slightly paranoid but it's definitely one of Alfred's better qualities. Bruce measures out the brown powder and starts the coffee maker, cups clinking as he takes them out of the cupboard.

While he busies himself with the task, Jim stands by the window, looking out at the city, his hand briefly hovering near the glass before he lets it fall. Bruce sighs, he can't say how many times he stood like that, looking out and over the city, and his thoughts were never of the pleasant kind. "Jim," he says, taking few steps towards him, hesitating before he reaches out, which he does only when there's no response. "Jim," he repeats, hand on the shoulder, and Jim shifts his head to the side slightly, his cheek gently resting on the back of Bruce's hand.

"I'm fine," he says, his breath warming Bruce's fingers, and the tone tells Bruce that he's not, but he will be. He moves closer, his body fitting against Jim's with well practiced ease, and after a very long moment, when their breaths find the same rhythm, Jim turns, mouth covering Bruce's. His tongue slides over Bruce's lips hungrily, and Bruce groans somewhere deep in his throat, making step forward, pushing Jim against the glass just as Jim's teeth and tongue travel down the side of his neck, taking their time.

And this wasn't exactly what he had in mind in bringing Jim here, but if it works, he's not going to complain, especially not now, when Jim's fingers are tugging his shirt up and buttons undone, as if he wasn't sure what he wanted to do first, but was just intent on exposing as much of Bruce's skin as possible, get closer for warmth.

"Bruce," Jim says, soft whisper against his skin, and it doesn't sound tired anymore, it sounds nothing if not alive and it sends Bruce's pulse racing under Jim's fingertips. Maybe he did have a little of that in mind, he'll admit.

*

By the time Dad and Bruce get to the Manor, Alfred had commandeered end to the picnic, and got them inside, predicting it was going to rain soon. Biscuit is rather unhappy, looking out through the glass door, but Jimmy spies the dvd shelf with surprising speed, and starts flicking through them, announcing that Bruce has better taste than he thought grown-ups did. Alfred rolls his eyes slightly, apparently not agreeing with the statement, and Barbara has to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

"We can watch something after dinner," Bruce offers, walking in with Dad in tow, and looking at Alfred. "What's for dinner?"

It only makes Alfred roll his eyes harder, in that Alfred way where you don't see the eyeroll at all, but you know he so does roll his eyes mentally. Babs really needs to ask him how he does that, one of these days.

Alfred starts responding, pausing at the sound of a cellphone, and Babs jumps up, reaching for it. "Please, please," she mutters, checking the caller ID, then takes a deep breath and waits out two next signals. Dad is giving her a strange look, but she ignores him, taking few steps to the side, leaning against the doorframe. "Hello?" she says, trying her best to sound nonchalant. "Oh, hi, Steve."

As she finishes the conversation, Jimmy starts making faces at her, batting his lashes and pouting his lips, and she calmly walks to the couch, picks up the largest pillow, and hits him over the head with it.

"Dad," Jimmy protests whiningly, and she points her finger at him.

"He started it," she points out.

Dad sighs. "Cut it out, both of you."

"Fine," she says, sticking her tongue out at Jimmy. "He still started it," she adds.

Bruce snorts, and she glances at him, starting to point out that the faces were totally a declaration of war, when something catches her eye, and all the words disappear.

"I so did not," Jimmy yells from next to the dvd player, and she doesn't even look at him, because oh, my, god, she must be having hallucinations caused by the joy on Steve asking her out again, but why would she imagine this of all things? Because there it is, red and really visible on Bruce's neck, and if Bruce has a hickey than it means that... Dad...

"Excuse me, I have to go bleach my brain," she mutters, and she didn't intend for this to come out loud, but it apparently did.

"What?" Jimmy wants to know, craning his neck to look around, and Babs closes her eyes pointedly.

"Nothing. I had seen nothing."

She really wishes that was true. Because she thought it was bad when she happened upon them kissing, but this is... bad. She can't find the right word for it, except... bad.

"Dinner's ready."

"Oh, good," she mutters, and proceeds to walk to the kitchen without opening her eyes, feeling her way carefully.

"What's going on?" Dad asks, his voice wondering, and she hears Bruce laugh softly.

"You don't want to know."

Sure, he can laugh. She's going to need years of therapy.

*

Few weeks after Joker had been incarcerated in Arkham (the first time), someone had put a sign on the noticeboard at the MCU: '22 days free of freaks', reminiscent of old factory signs about no accidents. Gordon had taken one look, rolled his eyes, and took it down, but it was back two days later, pronouncing 24, and this time it was an electronic sign, with bright red letters. Commish had left that one up, figuring it was a loosing battle.

Renee realises she's one of the prime suspects for all of the pranks taking place at the station, but at least she can't be blamed for this one, she had just been promoted at the time, and hadn't yet started to test the limits and everyone's sense of humour. If you ask her, she suspects Bullock, but hadn't shared that opinion with anyone.

Right now, the sign reads 41, and had been going up since the Riddler's arrest. They won't make it till 42, unfortunately. Renee knocks on the half-opened door of Gordon's office, and places the afternoon edition of Gotham Times on his desk wordlessly.

He sighs, and pushes his glasses up his nose, studying the headlines, frowning. "You think Miss Vale could for once not go for the very obvious nickname."

"Her ideas catch on quickly," Montoya shrugs, "even with the perps themselves." There's no answer apart from a slightly disgusted snort, and she ploughs forward with the real subject of conversation. "Good picture of you, though. But I bet you've been misquoted."

"Gravely," Gordon agrees, making a note on his legal pad. Not yet the reaction she was waiting for, but she has time. It's not that she's curious... oh, hell, of course she is curious. Figuring out what exactly was the deal with, for the lack of a better word, friendship, between the Commish and Batman, was one of her favourite pastimes. When Stephens wasn't around to be bugged, of course.

"What was it, really, that you said about Batman?" she asks, and Gordon glances up, and then, after watching her suspiciously, rolls his eyes.

"Don't you have work to get to? If not, I can make sure you do," he offers almost pleasantly, and she grimaces.

"No, thanks." She hovers for a moment, trying to think of her next question, when Gordon's phone rings, and with a warning look at her, he picks up.

"What is it?" he asks, and she can tell this isn't the first phonecall like this in the last hour. "No, Babs, we had a deal, you stay within the funds limit. No, you are not touching your college money. Barbara," he adds sternly, and then moves the phone away from his ear, as if surprised. "She hung up," he mutters, and Montoya is trying not to laugh at the dry surprise. He looks up at her. "Homecoming dance. Dress catastrophe."

"That bad, huh?" she asks without a shade of sympathy, and he waves towards the doors pointedly.

"Yes. Now, out with you, I need to make a phonecall." This is close enough to a direct order, and she doesn't have much to say to that. She does hesitate before closing the doors behind, though, and her reward is the opening sentence of 'Babs is going to call you in a moment, don't get roped into paying for the dress.' then a pause, and then 'What?'

She sighs. It's not fair, with the mysteries piling. up.

*

At five to seven, Jim starts to nervously look up the stairs. Babs had never been prone to spending hours in the bathroom, getting ready, but it's a Homecoming dance, and he had been warned, by Bruce (who is still not off the hook for the dress thing), and by Montoya. In a few minutes, Steve will arrive, and as much as Jim... well, doesn't hate him actively, he's not looking forward to the awkward time spent waiting for Babs to descend down the stairs.

It was made worse by the fact that Jimmy had gone on a three-day school trip, and wouldn't be back till Sunday, and Bruce had 'prior commitments' spoken in that certain way that meant it was Bat business that Jim was going to learn about at some point but not yet. So it was going to be just Jim, and Steve, waiting for Babs, and honestly, not his favourite Friday night pastime.

At three to seven, he yells to Babs, asking if she's ready yet, and she takes a dignified moment before yelling back that no, not yet, but in a three hours or so she should be.

He's not sure whom after she takes the sense of humour, but he doesn't like it, not one bit.

He's just about to tell her so, when his phone rings, and he has to fight with Biscuit for a moment, who's lying across his knees, unwilling to move even an inch. "Gordon," he says, answering after the fourth ring, and Montoya's answering voice is breathless and worried, immediately sending his thoughts into overdrive.

"We had a bit of a situation, boss, I thought you should know..." she starts, and her reluctance to get to the point, the hesitation, is making him even more worried.

"Renee, what is it?" he asks tersely, and maybe the use of her given name carries the point across.

"Batman," she says matter-of-factly. "He was in the building during the explosion, we don't know if he got out."

He's not sure how he gets through the rest of the conversation, everything is lost in the ringing in his ears, but he asks questions, and gets some answers, but not the words he wants to hear. The moment he disconnects, his fingers are already choosing the speed dial number, without any conscious thought, but there's no answer either, just the dial tone, loud and terrifying.

One more number to call before he starts to panic, and Alfred picks up after just a few seconds, thank god. "He's alive," is the first thing he says, and Jim breathes out, long and slow, and almost chokes on the relief.

"How is he?" he asks, and there's a short pause before Alfred answers, and it's not a good sign.

"I don't know yet," he admits, and before Jim can say anything, hastens to explain. "I'm on my way to pick him up. But he sounded lucid enough. I wouldn't worry that much, Master Gordon."

"Not well enough to get back himself," he points out, and when Alfred doesn't answer for a very long moment this time, it doesn't feel like much of a victory, to find the flaw in the reasoning. "I'm on my way to the Manor, I'll meet you there. Call me the moment you know, especially if you decide that a hospital visit might be necessary."

He's not fooling himself, Bruce is going to fight the hospital idea unless it's really life-threatening. Alfred probably knows that too, better than Jim does, but he just responds in affirmative and disconnects.

He steps over Biscuit, who's looking at him mournfully, and yells for Babs to come down. Something in his voice must have got to her, because this time, there's no protest, and no smartass answer, she's down in a few seconds, in her pretty dark blue dress, her hair still tangled in a few curlers she must have been just taking out.

"Dad?" she asks, worried, and he tries his best to school his expression down, not bother her further. He's probably not succeeding very well, because she makes the last few steps down, looking up at him. "What's going on?"

"I need to leave for a while," he says, shrugging, and she gives him a look that is so very much like her mother when she was calling his bullshit.

"Dad."

He shrugs again, best nonchalant expression he can call up, which is not good at all, but he tries anyway. "Montoya called, there's... something I need to check."

"It's Batman, isn't it?" she asks, and he's surprised by the resentment in her voice, the barely contained irritation. This is so like her mother, too, but it's more surprising, Barbara had more reasons than Babs has, he thinks. But as with Barbara, he's not going to lie, even though his first impulse is to deny. He just nods. "Why do you care so much?" she asks next, her voice shaking, and what can he tell her, what can he say to that?

*

It's not exactly what she expected of the night of the dance, but the moment she sees Dad's face she knows something had went terribly wrong, and it takes her just a moment to figure out what. It's always the same, and she wonders why is Batman so important, why is Dad so ready to drop everything at the first sign of...

And then it feels a little like slipping on the ice, world spinning out of control, out of focus. Dad's face is all tense lines and frown, and panic, and his hands are curled into fists, and he's so worried, as worried as she had ever seen him, and she had seen him panicked and out of his mind with worry, even if he had tried to hide it.

"He's..." she says, and her voice sounds strange even to her. "Oh my god," she covers her mouth, her breathing fast against her fingers. She wishes so hard Dad would ask what she means, and then deny it with stunned disbelief in what she could have come up with, such a ridiculous thing... he doesn't say anything.

She feels anger rolling up into a tight ball in her stomach, hot and heavy, and frustrated tears press against her eyelids as she closes her eyes for a moment, letting her hands fall. She didn't know, they should have told her. They should have... She wants to yell, and throws something, and run upstairs and shut the door behind her with the greatest force she can muster.

The doorbell rings, interrupting the influx of contradictory impulses, and she looks up sharply, then starts tugging at the curlers in her hair, removing them all haphazardly, leaving the hair messy as they are. "Wait," she tells Dad and walks up to the door, opening them. "Hey," she says to Steve, blinking back the rest of the tears. "God, I'm so sorry, but we have just learned of something... family emergency," she explains, shrugging. "I would be a poor company for tonight anyway."

He assures her he understands, and she really, really hopes he does, and her resolve wavers just a little when he tells her to call him if she needs to talk to someone, and kisses her cheek before leaving her holding the corsage he pressed into her hand.

As she closes the doors and leans against them, breathing out, she looks at Dad, some of the anger surfacing, like a weak wave, but the most important thing at the moment is his worry, not her anger. "What's with..." she wills herself to continue, not to stumble over the name, but the hesitation makes her pause momentarily, "Bruce?"

Dad sighs, resigned, as if he wasn't sure before how much she knew, and still hoped she hadn't figured it out. "I don't know. Montoya said there was an explosion, Alfred is supposed to call me when he knows..."

"Alfred knows?" she asks, and then almost rolls her eyes at herself. Of course he knows, of course. Everyone does, apparently.

"Yes," Dad says quietly, barely above a whisper. "Babs, I..." he starts, visibly struggling with words. "I didn't want you to find out like that."

She doesn't ask how did he want her to find out, just nods. "Let's go," she offers, and feels slightly guilty at the satisfaction she feels at surprising him. Not very guilty, though. "Hospital?"

"The Manor," he offers, looking at her searchingly, and coming to a decision; she supposed it was to postpone the inevitable conversation. "Come on, then," it sounds resigned, and final, and it is for a while, as they stay silent all the way to the car, and a long while afterwards, the city darkening around them as they drive to the Manor.

Dad's phone rings, and he switches it open quickly, almost barking his name into the receiver, and she watches as his grip of his hand on the wheel first tightens, and then relaxes in some relief, but his face remains tense and worried. "We're on our way," he says, and at the inevitable question follows, and Dad's mouth work for a moment around the answer. "Barbara is with me. We'll be there soon," he says finally, and apparently the 'no-further-questions' tone works on Alfred, as the conversation ends quickly.

She looks out at the moving shadows, resting her forehead against the glass. She's not really angry anymore, she feels like all the air is gone, and the hot feeling has subsided, leaving her a little bit cold. "What were you going to tell me? Us?" she corrects herself, not looking at Dad, her eyes half-closed as the tears threaten to come back, and her voice threatens to break. She doesn't want to cry now, doesn't want to act childish. "If... when, Batman got killed. What were you going to tell us about Bruce?"

And great, she is crying now. She dabs at her eyes, and the mascara probably makes her look like a panda, or worse. Through the haze, she sees Dad hold the wheel tighter, his fingers whitening.

"I don't know. I hadn't thought about it," he says, and he's lying, and honestly, if he's that bad at it, she should have seen through the entire Batman thing a lot sooner. If only it wasn't so improbable, so ridiculous.

They get to the Manor soon after this, and Dad makes his way inside, throwing her one worried glance over his shoulder. When he is certain she is close behind, he gives her a smile that he might intend as reassuring but it comes all nervous and worried.

"Miss Barbara," Alfred welcomes her warmly, and she nods at him, biting her lip. It looks as if he wanted to stop her from walking into the bedroom, but rethinks, and just holds the doors open for her. By the time she walks inside, Dad is already sitting on the edge of the bed, and Bruce... She leans against the doorframe, almost holding her breath. Bruce's eyes are closed, large patch of bandage on his shoulder, and some some bruises on his brow, above his right eye, and she had seen the cowl and it looked hard and solid, so it really must have been a hard blow, whatever it was.

If she was still a little bit angry moments ago, it's all gone now. Dad is holding Bruce's hand, tightly, with all the worry and desperation. His other hand brushes Bruce's hair away from his face, and the only hint of Bruce not being asleep is the slight movement as he leans his head into Dad's palm.

And yes, normally, she would be making with the retching noises by now, and telling them to cut it out and not traumatise her for life, but it might be too late for the not-traumatising part, and besides, she doesn't feel like theatrics.

"What did I tell you?" Dad says quietly, and she catches the words just barely, as they're mostly intended for Bruce, who smiles, and opens his eyes.

"Explosions weren't on the list," he says, and before he can add anything else, he notices Babs. And, she wonders, if this is the first time she really sees a completely shocked Bruce, but the expression he gives her is kind of funny, in a not amusing way. "Barbara," he offers, his expression closing up into a smile, but the look in his eyes is frantic and worried.

"She knows," Dad says, and Bruce looks up at him, his jaw working for a moment. "I didn't tell her, she figured it out."

"Well, she's smarter than you, you needed to be told," Bruce says, smiling widely, but it doesn't reach his eyes, and he's watching Barbara closely, following her movement as she steps further inside, walking up to the bed, wondering what the hell is she going to say, how to explain what she thinks if she doesn't know herself.

*

Jim holds his breath for a moment, as Babs moves to stand by the bed, biting her lower lip nervously. Bruce looks up at her, waiting, his fingers tightening on Jim's hand to the point where it's actually painful.

There's not many things that have Bruce scared, Jim knows, but there's a real fear in his eyes now, and Jim supposes it might be mirrored in his. It's their own damn fault, true, telling the kids was always something they intended to do, at some point, in the future, someday. They hadn't prepared for this, hadn't chosen the right words and phrases.

Babs opens her mouth, but no sounds comes out, and she shakes her head, then, as if on impulse, sits down on the bed, leans forward, placing her arms carefully, tentatively, on Bruce's sides, a gentle hug, mindful of the injuries.

The fear and worry on Bruce's face changes into surprise, and then it looks as if he didn't know whether he wants to smile or blink back the incoming tears, which is something Jim had never seen before. When teased about it, much later when the teasing will be safe and welcome, Bruce will probably deny the entire scene, and blame the meds. Now he just leans his head down, kissing the top of Babs' head, reaching out to hold her.

"Barbara?" Jim asks quietly, and she nods, her hair falling around her in waves, then looks up, smiling sheepishly.

"I'm fine," she says, and he had never been so proud of her as now, when she shifts carefully, looking at Bruce searchingly, to make sure the hug didn't hurt him in any way, then smiles slightly. "You're okay?"

"Never better," Bruce says, wide smile and theatrical overstatement, but then grows more serious. "Sorry for ruining the dance night."

Babs shrugs, and Jim can tell she's putting up a brave front over her disappointment, but her smile is close to an honest one. "There will be other dances. Without the 'Under the Sea' theme, hopefully," she makes a point of shuddering. "And Steve will understand..." she hesitates, then shrugs again, with greater panache. "Because if he doesn't, he wasn't worth it anyway," he voice wavers just a little, and Bruce nods, reaching out to touch her cheek.

"I don't think there is a guy who really deserves you, you know?" he asks, and Jim is about to agree, when his cellphone rings and he excuses himself, answering Montoya's questions about whether Batman managed to get to safety, as the searching team hadn't found anyone inside the half-collapsed building. She sounds tired, and Jim orders her to go home and get some rest, and she lies to him that of course she would. He doesn't think he had any moral ground to stand on in preaching to other people about workaholism, but he at least goes home every afternoon. Nowadays.

When he gets back to the bedroom, Bruce has scooted over on the bed, and Babs is sitting next to him, on his good side, legs curled underneath her. "You know the bat-shaped thingies?" she's asking, and Jim snorts.

"Which bat-shaped things?" he asks pointedly, earning himself a glare from Bruce, which he promptly ignores. It's not his fault that Bruce is incredibly unimaginative when it comes to design.

"The ones to throw. Can you teach me how to throw them?" she asks excitedly, and Jim rolls his eyes now. He had expected this kind of reaction from Jimmy, not Babs, but then again, she's the one who always surprises him.

"Absolutely not," he says, before Bruce has the chance to answer, and the looks he get tell him he was right to react quickly. Bruce has serious problems with saying no to anything the kids want. They will have to work on that, honestly.

Babs shrugs, as if she knew that too, and knew that Bruce is going to give in, but lets it drop for now. "Are you going to tell Jimmy?" she asks seriously, and Jim looks at Bruce before nodding reluctantly.

"Yes, soon." He's not looking forward to that conversation, there's a good reason why they put off telling them for as long as they could.

He moves to again sit at the chair by the bed, and Babs gives him a searching look, before reluctantly straightening, shifting to stand up. She makes a point of reaching for her cellphone, holding it up like an explanation. "I gotta call Sophie, see how the dance is going. And then I think I'll spend some time bothering Alfred," she ads with a pointed smile, and honestly, at some point she got really too smart for Jim's taste.

"You have one hell of a daughter," Bruce says quietly once the doors close after her, and Jim smiles, nodding.

"I know," he agrees, then moves to sit on the bed, in the place vacated by Babs, taking a moment to investigate the largest injury, the one on Bruce's shoulder. "It's not that bad," he says, pleased, and Bruce shrugs.

"The worst part was the concussion. Don't worry," he adds at Jim's look. "Alfred took all the precautions. But if you want to stay over and make sure I don't fall asleep, you're most welcomed."

Jim laughs, leaning in to kiss him gently. "Nice try," he says dryly, but he's smiling. It looks like everything is going to be just fine.

*

Honestly, Jimmy doesn't think he should be leaving home, like, ever, because he's away for two days, and things like that happen. And he's not even counting the car accident Bruce apparently got himself into, no. Mostly, he means his crazy sister.

She had been obsessing over Steve for the last few months, and then she doesn't go to the dance, and doesn't whine about it. Jimmy wouldn't have even known about it, if Dad hadn't asked if Steve called, and upon hearing the negative answer, said he was sorry. Since when? Because the last time, there were threats of shooting Steve, which, admittedly, was something Jimmy considered an interesting concept.

But the worst, or the best, or the strangest, part, is when the evening news come up, and they mention some explosion from the day before, and wonder whether the blurry black spot on the footage from the ATM camera from across the street was actually Batman or not.

"You think it was him?" Jimmy asks Dad, and before he can answer, Babs shrugs.

"Even if it was, he's Batman. He's fine, don't worry."

Jimmy looks at her in puzzlement. "Hey, you look like my sister, but the words you're saying are confusing."

She punches his shoulder lightly, rolling her eyes. "Fine, dork, you were right about Batman. He's not that bad."

"Dad, did she just say I was right about something?" he asks loudly, and Dad doesn't answer, just glances at Babs quickly, smiling. "Hey, Babs, can you repeat that?" Jimmy asks pleasantly, and she's about to punch his shoulder again, when her cellphone produces that stupid ringtone, and she's out of her seat in a nanosecond, almost running to the kitchen to answer in some privacy. Please, as if the sound didn't carry to the living room.

"Oh, hey, Steve. No, it's fine now. Yes. I don't know, why? Sure, why not. I'll see you there." She walks back into the room, and nods at Dad. "Hey, I'm off for a few hours. We're going for a pizza, so I won't be eating dinner."

And another surprise, Dad nods and doesn't even grimace much. "Back at nine," he only says. "It's a school night."

Jimmy really wishes that Bruce could be here, with everyone acting strangely, he feels outnumbered in his sanity. At least there's Biscuit, he muses, patting the dog's head.

*

Strange behaviour of pretty much everyone, save Biscuit, lasts for the entire week. Bruce doesn't show up until Saturday, but he calls them pretty much every day. The first time he does, on Monday, Babs smirks at the webcam and asks him how's Tahiti, and she has a smug expression Jimmy doesn't really get, but is not going to ask her and give her the satisfaction of explaining something to him.

She is way too smug any time she gets to explain something.

Dad, for his part, just rolls his eyes at the smugness, and leaves them to their chat, telling Bruce he's going to call him later, with that kind of inflection that means it's about something he doesn't want Jimmy and Babs to hear. If he thinks he's being sneaky, he has another think coming.

But that's the normal Dad behaviour, the strange Dad behaviour that continues till Saturday is that he's increasingly nervous about something whenever he talks to Jimmy. It's not that way with Babs, even though she keeps throwing him pointed looks. Jimmy considers asking them what is going on with them, but reconsiders, and concentrates on the WoW game he has going on. Much better use of his time than the family drama.

On Saturday, however, Bruce comes around with some donuts and a coffee for Dad, looking much less tan than one would expect from someone who has been to Tahiti for almost a week, but he mutters something about conference rooms and a lack of time, which causes Babs to snort. At least he brought jelly donuts, which he hands Jimmy on his way to the kitchen. And, as Dad is in the kitchen, Jimmy just takes the donuts to the living room, he might not be the one making disgusted noises every time they're making out, that's Babs' shtick, but that doesn't mean he wants to see said making out if he can avoid it.

Few minutes later, they join Babs and him in the living room, Dad sitting on the couch, and Bruce taking the arm chair, looking all too serious for Jimmy's liking. "Jimmy, can we talk to you?" Dad asks, and glances pointedly at Babs, who crosses her arms and doesn't move an inch.

Uh-oh, Jimmy thinks, nodding, and quickly going through the list of things he might have done in the last few weeks and coming up blank. Sides, it would be only Dad talking to him, not Bruce. And none of them would look nervous about it, Bruce hiding it a little bit better than Dad. "You are not breaking up, are you?" he blurts.

The twin looks of surprise on their faces are enough of an answer, but it's nice when Dad shakes his head. "Of course not."

"Good. Because you know, Robert's parents divorced last month, and he had to change schools. Which wouldn't be fun," he shrugs, and looks at Babs, who is covering her mouth with her hand, laughing silently, shoulders shaking in an effort to keep it in.

"God, you're a dork," she mutters at his look, and he would give her the finger, but he had done that once and man, Dad really didn't like that. It's quite possible Jimmy won't ever flip anyone off again, and that's ruining his street cred. If he had a street cred. "How are we even related?"

"That's exactly what I want to know every time you talk about your advanced math class," Jimmy shots back. "It doesn't get more uncool than advanced math."

"Like you are so cool," Babs snorts. Someone should tell her it's unattractive and she will never keep a boyfriend, snorting like that, but Jimmy knows his limits and he's not going to be the one.

"I'm defriending you on Facebook," he tells her instead, and she rolls her eyes.

"Are you both done?" Dad asks, his voice on the low irritation setting, and they settle down, Jimmy turning back to look between him and Bruce. "Thank you."

"So, if you're not breaking up... don't tell me you've decided to have the commitment ceremony," Jimmy groans. It's spreading, apparently, because Billy's moms had one last month, and really, it sounded like something out of a nightmare, if you believed Billy, and Billy had no imagination at all, he wouldn't be able to make this up.

"If you do, I get to be the bridesmaid," Babs says, and she's almost crying from laughter now. "And I get to pick my own dress."

"I'm the Batman," Bruce says, quietly, cutting into Babs' sentence, and for a moment Jimmy doesn't get the meaning of it.

"You're what?" he asks, and then it connects, and then his jaw might be hitting the floor. "What?" He looks from Dad, to Bruce, to Babs, and she nods at him, and doesn't look surprised at all, and he points a finger at her accusingly. "You knew." He looks at Dad. "She knew."

Dad shrugs, his mustache twitching, and it might be a smile and it might be a frown, with Dad it's sometimes hard to tell. "Yes."

"It's not fair that she knew before me," Jimmy says, a hint of whine creeping into his voice.

"She figured it out," Bruce offers, as if that made it all better, and Babs nods smugly.

"I am made of awesome," she confirms, and Jimmy thinks that's really, really not fair.

Dad and Bruce are still looking at him, and Bruce is almost smiling now, but underneath the eyeroll Dad looks worried. "Jimmy?" he asks, and Jimmy nods, then something occurs to him.

"Does that mean I get to see the car? Or, do I get to ride in the car?"

Bruce laughs, and Babs pokes Jimmy's shoulder lightly. "Bruce is going to teach me how to throw the bat shaped things."

"Oooh, these are awesome. Can I learn, too?" Jimmy asks, and Dad glares at them.

"Absolutely not."

But from the way Bruce looks at them fondly, Jimmy figures out it won't take long to convince him. This is going to be awesome.

*

Steve thinks he's slowly getting the hang of picking up Barbara for their dates. And it took only a few months, too, with all the charm and social skills he's supposed to possess. He would be slightly disgusted with himself, but Babs tells him the nervousness is kind of attractive, so he supposes it's alright.

At least he mostly manages not to be awed at the fact that Bruce frikin' Wayne seems to spend most of his afternoons at the Gordons' place. When he got around to asking Barbara about it, she gave him a long look, then shrugged, and said that he was good friends with her father, and the way she said 'friends' gave Steve some ideas, but her tone was also final and he wasn't going to risk it.

Zach tells him he's whipped, but Zach is dating Melissa Stewart, who hangs on his every word. Barbara cancelled their homecoming date, he's not going to take any chances.

And so, he's making effort of not asking questions, not even when he comes by one Friday, and Bruce Wayne is efficiently beating Jimmy Gordon at Halo. Besides, even if he was going to ask questions, Babs' father has a rather unsettling effect, and Steve doesn't think he sounds even half coherent under that glare. Babs seems to think that's hilarious. Easy for her to say.

"Would you like something to drink while you wait, Steve?" Mr Gordon asks him, perfectly pleasant, but Steve is not fooled in the slightest.

"No, thank you, sir."

"It might take a while," he informs Steve, and if Steve didn't know better, he would swear Mr Gordon is smiling under that mustache. "She has to try on the entire closet, and then decide that the first thing was best, it takes time."

"I've heard that," Barbara yells from wherever her bedroom is. Steve hadn't been there yet, and he thinks he might never actually be, considering how freaked out he get in this house. At least the dog seems to like him, laying his head on Steve's knees, getting fur all over his pants.

About five minutes of awkward small talk later, Babs descends down the stairs, her hair wavy in that really nice way, and Steve smiles at her. "Wow," he offers honestly, and that gets him a wide smile, and a kiss on the cheek, a first one in front of her father and Mr Wayne, and that gets Steve even more nervous. He wasn't sure getting more nervous was even possible, but it turns out to be so. He could have lived without that knowledge.

Mr Gordon is looking at them for a moment, and Steve briefly wishes the earth would open and swallow him, because that man must have practiced that look for years, and did Steve mention Commissioner Gordon must have been through thousands of interrogations? But all he says is "Have fun," and doesn't even mention the curfew. There's something wrong with the world.

"Drive safely," Mr Wayne offers, and Babs laughs for some reason.

"Good one," she mutters, and drags Steve out, her fingers tangling with his. And sure, he might be whipped, as Zach says, but frankly, it's kind of worth it.