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This was the kind of event Gotham organizes. Because you see, only in Gotham could the citizens sum up the kind of petty hatred it took to decide it would be a good idea to demonstrate your new disdain for a figure by physically destroying the device you'd used to communicate with him.
Well, when Gotham turned her back on someone, she really turned her back on someone.
Since it was an important show, it was figured that important officials had better be there.
And since officials were going to be there, they might as well invite some other people.
And since it was going to be an event, it might was well be for a good cause.
The entrance fees from the rich socialites that had paid their way in to watch would cover the GCPD's budget for bulletproof vests for the next year all on their own.
They had picked Gordon because he was a recognizable public official. He’d become a well-known face at some point. And he’d been the one using the damn thing.
Jim had been all set to unplug the floodlight, put it in a basement somewhere, maybe take it out again in an emergency. But no. That wasn’t dramatic enough. Maybe everyone in the city has a drama problem. Maybe that’s it.
The mayor hands him the ceremonial fire axe. He'd had to skip lunch to practice that step, in case one of them was prone to fumbling it or something.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen!" the mayor says to the small crowd, and then starts in on a speech about how they'll smash the light at ten precisely, and it's time to destroy the symbol the noble city of Gotham would use to condone a horrible murderer blah blah blah. Gordon relaxes for a second.
"Jim!" says a cheery voice behind him. Gordon jumps a bit. A hand claps down on his shoulder. "Great night for it, eh?"
"Mr. Wayne," he says, turning to face the blankly smiling man behind him. "It's good to see you. You're not supposed to be up here." He'd snuck up on him, right behind the light. Now that was ironic. Someone else normally did that.
"This is a good day for the city of Gotham, eh?” Wayne is saying, not really saying anything. “A new chapter!"
“Right,” says Gordon. “You’re really not supposed to be up here, Mr. Wayne.” The mayor hasn’t stopped talking, but there should still probably not be affluent partygoers up close to where there’s going to be breaking glass. He’s seen Wayne injure himself on a champagne fountain before. “We’re about to…we’re about to smash the…” He gestures.
"Aw, this old thing." Wayne reaches out and raps the signal on the edge with his knuckles. "Good riddance, eh? The city doesn't need to ask for help from a vigilante!"
Jim thinks his eye might twitch. "No it doesn't, Mr. Wayne. If you'll go back to the crowd, Mr. Wayne."
He leans down next to Gordon's ear. "You're doing well, Jim," he says, voice going oddly scratchy for a second.
And then he's gone, vanishing somewhere amongst the glad-handing socialites.
"Commissioner!" says the mayor, to his left. "It's ten! Time to smash the light!"
Well. Time to smash the light.