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Bruce lets the boy sit first out of some instinctive politeness, and instantly regrets it. There’s a single padded chair, too large and too tall for the boy, and his legs immediately start swinging. The only seat left is an old, very old, stool Bruce wouldn’t trust as a night table, and he gives it a look of mistrust, weighting the cons of asking for an actual chair.
He scans the room and notices the dozens of eyes watching him. He sits.
It creaks ominously under his weight, and Bruce has never tried anything as hard as he’s currently trying not to shift too much.
Next to him, the boy pauses in his glaring to snort. He’s probably hoping it breaks with Bruce on it, just so he gets to watch Batman fall. Officer Grant – Bruce has met a new member of the GCPD today, how wonderful – clears his throat, and Bruce finally starts to pay attention to the man’s words. He’s addressing the boy sat right next to Bruce, and Bruce only refrains from rolling his eyes because he’s Batman.
“Mike, you can feel safe here. We can protect you, okay? You don’t have to feel afraid.”
The boy goes stops glaring at Bruce’s left wrist for a few seconds to exchange an incredulous look with him. He goes right back to glaring, this time at Grant’s nametag. There’s not a single ounce of fear in him, and Bruce almost feels amusement before remembering how serious the situation is.
The concern in the man’s eyes deepens and Bruce squints at him in response. The policeman has been annoying ever since catching Batman in (Bruce makes quotation marks in his mind) “the act”. Bruce isn’t enjoying the situation, and in any other situations he would have simply grappled away but he figures it’d be better to avoid the fucking mess running away with a presumed kidnapped child would cause. Both in Gotham and at the Manor.
“I don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating.”
Grant’s head slowly swivels towards him as the man throws Bruce a look so full of contempt he forgets he’s six feet five and armed for a few seconds.
“And I don’t appreciate your nightly committing of crimes, but you don’t hear me complaining.”
Bruce squints back at the man – it’s the only way to show any kind of emotions, with the mask on – and tries to ignore the giggling… nine? Ten year old sitting right next to him.
He’s about to find a brilliant retort when he notices the silence shrouding the precinct, and then the presence suddenly looming over him.
He slowly turns his head towards the commissioner, who is gripping a very thin file like his life depends on it and barely manages to grit out a “My office.” before stalking away.
Bruce imagines that’s what getting called to the provisor’s office feels like – and he’s comforted in his assumption by the background’s officers’ quiet ‘ooooo Batman’s in troubleeee.’ He can’t believe the nine year old thief who went after the Batmobile is smarter than them.
He follows after the commissioner, and gleefully sits on one of the two padded chairs in Gordon’s office, the boy right behind him – far less gloomy.
“I thought the GCPD had stopped going after Batman.”
The commissioner looks up at him from where he’s sat at his desk, and Bruce realises he’s not taking the conversation nearly as seriously as the man in front of him. Gordon is looking at him so intently Bruce can feel the temperature drop in the room through the suit.
Gordon opens his mouth once, twice, and finally starts.
“The cops in this city are either one secret away from a cell in Arkham or really really sure that they’re doing the right thing. Managing them means knowing about and dealing with the bribes and the disappearing evidence and the suspicious bail bonds and the strange detours on the way to crime scenes. It means compromises.”
Bruce is glad he didn’t do the usual ‘grapple away from the sirens and ignore everything shouted your way’ because if the commissioner himself hadn’t found and killed him, Dick probably would have.
“That means I can’t remember the last time I even pretended to care about taggers. That means accepting to work with vigilantes when it’s necessary. Acknowledging when they’re doing good works and letting many, many, things slide.”
Somehow, the commissioner manages to look right through the lenses and into his eyes.
“Child abducting is not among those things. I hope you have a pretty damn good explanation, Batman, otherwise I will drag you to court myself.”
He means literally. Bruce opens his mouth to say something, probably like ‘oh it’s all a misunderstanding I’m not a child kidnapper I promise I’m a good guy’ but the commissioner raises a single finger his way and his mouth snaps shut.
Gordon turns towards the kid and becomes infinitely softer.
“Could you tell me what happened?”
He’s understood the kid’s name isn’t Mike Hawk and that makes him part of the smartest cops in Gotham. Said kid has relaxed since earlier tonight – when Bruce wasn’t forcing him into a car, thank you very much – and Bruce’s hoping the bonds forged through the trials of ‘spending almost an hour in a police station together’ will help him resolve the situation.
The kid points a single finger right at his chest, and exclaims, “That CREEP, tried to kidnap me!”
The commissioner looks in his direction again and Bruce doesn’t facepalm only because his gloves are reinforced.
“I didn’t. I noticed him attempting to… steal parts of the Batmobile and thought it prudent to make sure he got home safely. That’s all.”
He’s not defensive, he just really doesn’t need the rumors that Batman is a child abductor to spread.
The commissioner’s eyebrows raise, but he looks more tired than ready to arrest him so Bruce takes it as a win.
“That means your parked in Crime Alley, right?”
At Bruce’s affirmative grunt, the commissioner’s eyebrows raise a little higher, but this time it’s judgemental.
“What?”
“Well either the Batmobile’s not as impressive as I thought or it’s a weapon of mass destruction no one but a seven-year-old kid dared to approach.”
He’s been in the Batmobile. Gordon has been inside of the Batmobile.
“I’m twelve. And the Batmobile can’t be that impressive considering I easily stole its tires.”
The kid sounds smug, and Gordon’s doesn’t look nearly as concerned about car theft as police officer should. He looks almost impressed. Definitely amused.
Bruce wants to say something before the situation gets worse, but the commissioner glances at him, twinkle in his eyes and moustache twitching and Bruce can only sigh.
“Would you like to file a complaint?”