A/N: Miri-chan, this chapter should be perfect for you. ;) Enjoy!

Armand, thank you for sticking with me! :)

Epilogue

Finally, John Blake admitted to himself that he wouldn't get anywhere this way. He hadn't given up on the idea of stepping in and picking up Batman's mantle – clearly, the other man had wanted him to do exactly that – but John had no idea how to do it. Mr. Pennyworth had long returned from his mysterious trip to Europe but was being as unhelpful as ever, keeping away from Wayne Manor and the estate altogether, as far as John could tell. He'd even thought about asking Lucius Fox for help but dismissed the idea as fast as it had formed. Even if the scientist could hack into the system, somehow find out where all the secret stuff was hidden and how to access it, the other man would never betray his friends' trust like this.

Sighing, John bent to pick up the flares and the rope he had brought for his current investigation when a looming shadow approaching from behind made him turn around too fast. He lost his footing on the slick surface and fell over the edge of the stone elevation he had perched on – into the pool beyond.

John couldn't stop the undignified yelp that escaped his throat when he hit the ice cold water, and emerged seconds later, swearing loudly. He was furiously wiping his eyes and pushing the hair clinging to his forehead from his face when an unbelievable sound reached John's ears. A few feet away from him stood Bruce Wayne, very much alive and…laughing?

"You bastard!" was the only thing he could hiss before a full body shiver made his teeth rattle.

Bruce merely snorted and threw him a line to reel him in. Then he reached down and gripped John's outstretched hand. He didn't pull him up right away, though, but asked with the most intent expression the former cop had ever seen on anyone's face, "Are you game?"

The younger man didn't even hesitate. "I'm in!" Quite suddenly, he got his first flying lesson when the former billionaire easily hauled him up to where Alfred Pennyworth was patiently waiting with an unfurled blanket.

John knew he had just taken a leap into another world.

"I hear you've got a new job!" A familiar voice stopped John dead in his tracks.

He sighed and turned back toward the entrance of the MCU and the commissioner walking down the steps in front of it. When had the other man become so sneaky anyway?

John took a deep breath before replying. "Yes, sir. Sports coach for the kids at the Martha and Thomas Wayne Home for Children." He tried to look calm and relaxed but knew that he was failing miserably. Get a grip, John! He chastised himself. You can't start fidgeting every time you meet him.

Gordon stopped right in front of the younger man and looked him over thoughtfully. "This isn't turning into some kind of obsession, is it? Going back there?"

John shook his head, as sure about his future as he'd ever been. "No, sir. But it's something I have to do." A treacherous voice in his head added, "And I'm going to be Batman!" but John immediately clamped down on the thought.

Gordon regarded him with a scrutinizing gaze, searching for something in John's expression, and finally nodded. "I understand."

John could tell that the commissioner really did – at least the part of John's new occupation he knew about – and it made him glad.

They parted by shaking hands, and John couldn't help but feel that something fundamental just happened, although he couldn't say exactly what. Neither man looked back when they went their separate ways, but John knew they would see each other again very soon.

Arriving at his destination, the former cop entered the grounds of Wayne Manor deep in thought. He cast a glance in the direction of the tombstones as had become his ritual whenever he came home – and wasn't that a very strange thought? Coming "home" to this imposing house with its many secrets and its tragic history? He decided not to dwell on it and went inside to find Father Reilly. They still had a lot of arrangements to make.

The priest was already expecting John, waiting at the bottom of the grand staircase. They walked down one of the side passages of the house to avoid the dozens of teens that were running around, still exploring – almost – every corner of the house and grounds which had been their new home for only a short time.

"Why don't you take Mister Wayne's office in the south wing as your room?" Father Reilly suggested with a sly smile, motioning in the direction they were heading.

John shrugged uncomfortably. "It wouldn't feel right." They turned down yet another hallway, and John started to get the feeling they were walking around in circles. This house was huge!

The other man held up a hand in protest. "Why not? You're going to be a teacher. You're gonna need an office. There's enough room there to store the materials you need, plus there's a small bedroom and a bathroom right around the corner. It's out of the way so the boys won't badger you night and day. I think it's perfect for your new job."

His voice had a funny note to it, but John couldn't quite make out what it meant. Suspicious, he asked, "Are you sure we're talking about my job as sports coach here?"

Father Reilly only laughed and handed him a brass key. "Of course we are," he said and turned to walk back the way they had come. "What else?"

John narrowed his eyes at his old friend's – no, boss's – retreating back and called after him. "Thanks!"

The older man kept walking and simply waved a hand to show he'd heard.

John took a few steps and suddenly found himself in front of the entrance to the south wing Bruce Wayne had lived in not so long ago. Shaking his head and wondering just how much Father Reilly really knew about his latest employee's "hobby", John turned the key in the ancient lock and went inside to take a look at his new domain. His future.

Jim Gordon needed air! He pushed open the door to the MCU's rooftop and shut it behind him with an audible thud. Tonight his work was really getting to him. He'd nailed one gangster last week, only to learn that all witnesses to the crime had suddenly changed their stories, exonerating the thug who'd murdered a woman in cold blood. Angry, Jim stalked to the railing and looked out over the city, trying to calm his mind and his breathing. He wasn't getting any younger indeed.

He didn't know how many hours he'd spent up here during the past eight months, trying to finish some paperwork without thinking about the broken batlight standing only a few feet away from his makeshift workplace – a rickety chair and a dim desk lamp he'd stolen from his office. Jim knew some of the officers on the force were making fun of him behind his back, but he didn't care. There were memories tied to this special place, good ones and bad.

Sometimes he was tempted to try if the light was working again, but almost immediately the realization hit him that it never would, that there simply was no need for it to cast a shadow into the sky above a city that would never know her savior's sacrifices.

Today was one of those days. Cursing himself for his foolishness, Jim turned around. He faced the broken light of a dark but glorious past and gasped in shock: The batlight was repaired! He stumbled over to where the heavy apparatus stood in the half-light cast by the city below and ran his hand over the new bat symbol centering the floodlight. The metal felt cool to his touch. Familiar. Invigorating!

Jim couldn't help himself, he looked up into the empty sky – and laughed. He gazed around in exhilaration, not knowing whether he should call out or not. In the end, he settled for the sensible thing: He kept silent but let his hands roam over the mended symbol of hope, daring to wish for one last miracle. Yet nothing happened.

Eventually, he dragged himself away and finally got down to finishing tonight's work. He glanced over at the bat signal every few minutes, though, making sure he hadn't been dreaming.

Jim had been holed up on the roof and poring over his latest case load for more than two hours when he finally decided to call it a night. Suddenly, a shadow in the periphery of his vision and a slight wisp of displaced air made him turn around. He'd started to draw his gun when he recognized the silhouette of a man-sized bat standing behind him. Stuffing his sidearm back into his holster, he regarded this new Batman in front of him. And it was a new one, that much was obvious in the particular perk of the bat ears on top of the cowl, the shorter stature, the slightly different and definitely pent-up bearing.

Jim quickly recovered from the shock of having Batman swooping down on him for the first time in years and addressed his nightly visitor as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "Batman."

"Commissioner."

Jim snorted and inwardly shook his head. He should have known Blake wouldn't be able to leave well enough alone. Not showing that he'd recognized his former detective under the Batman's mask, he replied, "You sound different than him."

Blake relaxed a fraction and shifted his weight. "Yeah, well, that rasp of his is murder to the vocal cords. So I'm sticking with the new voice modulator in the cowl."

Jim winced in sympathy. "Good choice."

A rough voice rang out from the shadows near the entrance to the roof. "He still needs to practice in case the system ever malfunctions. And he talks too much."

Jim froze in shock, not quite believing his ears. He swiveled around and strained his eyes in the direction from which the words had come. A dark-clad figure stepped into view. His face was mostly concealed by the shadow of a baseball cap, his whole body hidden by black clothing and gloves, but Jim would have recognized the Batman's rasp anywhere in the world. Ignoring Blake's muttered "I hate it when he does that," Jim went to meet his long-lost friend.

They both stopped halfway between the floodlight and the door that led to the rooftop, a few feet apart, silently appraising each other.

Bruce Wayne looked older than Jim remembered. No wonder, he'd last seen the former billionaire in person during the mad days of the Joker after Wayne had smashed his Lamborghini and saved Coleman Reese's life. His eyes still glittered with the keen intelligence Jim had always associated with Batman; his bearing was upright and proud, not stooped or hindered by his old injuries as Jim would have imagined after hearing Alfred's horror-stories of Batman's pain and suffering. Whatever Wayne had been up to during his absence and since his supposed death, it had definitely worked in his favor.

They stood in silence for a whole minute, Batman taking in any change – or lack thereof – in his former partner in crime as well.

Jim spoke first. "So…"

Wayne smiled – an honest, open smile – and stretched out a hand. "Commissioner."

Jim took a step forward and, instead of accepting the offered handshake, stopped right in front of the other man. Wayne tensed but withdrew his hand without punching him, and Jim took that as a good sign – of change, yes, but also of trust and a newfound balance. Before he could stop and talk himself out of it, Jim threw his arms around Wayne in a hug and quickly stepped back again, not daring to stay too close for too long. "It's Jim, you moron. Welcome home."

Wayne looked dumbstruck but recovered quickly from this unusual greeting the old Batman would never have allowed. His lips quirked and an eyebrow rose in wonder. Then he nodded and flashed his enigmatic smile again. "Well then, it's Bruce."

"Bruce," Jim parroted, glad to have his head still attached after his reckless display of affection. Silently chastising himself for his sudden outburst of emotion, Jim cleared his throat and turned around to cast a glance at Blake – who was long gone and could only be seen gliding through the urban canyons of Gotham a few blocks away.

Snorting at the very Batman-like disappearance of his former colleague, Jim turned back to Bruce who simply raised one shoulder as if to say, Kids…what can you do? Then he added out loud, "What do you say we take this somewhere else? I'm sure you have a lot of questions." Bruce continued before Jim could interrupt. "I can't promise I will answer all of them, but I'll do my best. All right?"

Jim could only nod. "Sure. Uh, where do you want to go?"

Bruce shrugged. "Somewhere where there's coffee at two in the morning, I think. Meet you downstairs in five?"

"Okay. How will you…?"

Before Jim could finish his question, Bruce started sprinting across the rooftop, somersaulted over the balustrade and simply threw himself into the abyss beyond. Jim watched in horror and ran after his friend. When he reached the edge of the roof, he saw Bruce dangling from a line clipped to his belt that he had attached to an iron rod protruding from the wall. He swung to safety on a balcony a few stories below.

Shaking his head at the still unpredictable and danger-addicted younger man, Jim went to gather his long-forgotten files and then stepped indoors at a slightly slower pace. "In for a penny…"

The End

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