He sits there silently on my porch railing, looking like the lost boy he is. If it wasn't for the 50 pounds of Kevlar and titanium on his frame, the knives and projectiles covering his body, I would tell him so.

I'm brave, not stupid.

He's talking to me about something, something that has absolutely nothing to do with my thoughts at the moment.

He's Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne.

It explains some things. Why his mansion burned down last year for one. Why he crashed his car to save that informant. In fact, it explains a lot of things. The look Bruce gets in his eyes sometimes, the lines that have formed on his face almost overnight, from pain.

He cocks his head, asks me, "Gordon?"
"Sorry, what was it?"
He shakes his head, "It doesn't matter. Just talking to myself." His voice is more natural now that he's not trying to disguise it.

"Sorry."
He just shrugs, "It's all right." He rubs a hand along his face, "God, I'm tired."
"You should take tonight off."
He smiles a little, wearily, the top of his face still heavily masked, "I'll take it under advisement Jim."
I watch as he sways a little, then shake my head, "No. I'm taking you home."
"Jim - "
"Batman."
"Jim – "
I'm very close to resorting to extortion, but he finally sighs, "Yeah. All right." which means he's even more exhausted that I thought. He lets me get into the car before he pulls himself in, sitting against the window still and silent. It reminds me of the first time I'd seen him, his parents both dead, him covered in his mother's blood. He'd screamed and cried for his mother, when the paramedics first pulled him away, and it was only once the butler, Alfred, I think his name was, appeared that the boy stopped crying and calmed enough that he could talk sense. Looking at him now, I can't reconcile the scared little boy who'd curled up in his butler's arms to this man, who didn't look capable of curling up anywhere.

He doesn't sleep as we navigate the city until we reach his penthouse, then he hits something on his suit and murmurs, "Alfred? No, 'm fine. Jus' tired. Gordon brought me home. We'll be up in a minute."
He looks at me, then says, "He says it's only polite to invite you up."
I nod, a little amused. Who knew the Dark Knight could be so completely cowed by an elderly Englishman?

He tromps up the fire escape stealthily, tells me to go around and Alfred will buzz him in. I obey and by the time that I'm upstairs his armor is removed and he's lying on the couch, tucked in under several blankets while Alfred makes him something to eat. The butler looks at me, then says, "My apoligies, Master Bruce has fallen asleep."
"I understand." because I do. He must be exhausted. I'm exhausted and I only have a day job. He nods and asks, "Would you like something to eat?"
I shake my head, accept the cup of tea that Alfred's already made and watching as he sits down beside the sofa that Bruce is asleep on. As I watch he stirs, muttering something discontentedly and flinging an arm out. Alfred puts a hand on his forehead, soothing him, and he slides back into sleep again.

All these years later, and some things never change.