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It wasn’t often that the Bats found themselves standing in the GCPD main precinct.
(Well, standing in any GCPD precinct technically. Usually they stood on them.)
But these were special circumstances.
An hour earlier…
“More of you than usual tonight, I see,” Gordon said wryly, surveying the whole Batclan currently on the roof. “Family reunion?” Pulling out a box of cigars, he continued without waiting for the answer he knew was never coming in the first place. “I don’t have a lot to set you all on, strictly speaking. Of course, you’re just gonna patrol around anyway and find some shit to get into, I’m sure.”
“Who? Us?” Nightwing asked cheekily. “Never.”
Gordon merely raised an unamused eyebrow at the blue-clad vigilante. “Uh-huh. Sure. Cigar?” The last bit was directed at Red Hood, box held out in offering.
“More of a Marlboro man, myself, but don’t mind if I do,” Hood accepted, making his selection and pulling out a lighter. “Can I light you up?”
Gordon grunted and accepted the light.
“Commissioner,” Batman brought the attention back to the matter at hand. “Do you have anymore information into the Learshom case?”
The tired commissioner puffed and shook his head. “None at all. Not for lack of trying though, believe you me. We had a couple of uniforms pick up a woman around dawn last night- said she saw the man’s face and was willing to sit with an artist in exchange for protection.” Another drag and release. “Been trying all goddamn day to get a sketch artist to come in to sit with her but no luck. They’re either all on sick leave or vacation, but how that all got approved at the same time is beyond me. We’re stuck for the time being.” He eyed Batman a little curiously. “Unless you got something for me?”
Batman stayed silent. Gordon sighed, weariness sinking into his bones. “That’s what I thought.”
“Shit, these are some good cigars,” Hood exclaimed quietly, almost to himself. “I feel bad for taking one now, they can’t be cheap.”
“I have one vice, kid,” Gordon said, saluting him with his own cigar. “I can spring for a little quality sometimes.”
“Hear, hear,” Hood agreed, mimicking the salute.
“Y’know, Commish,” Red Robin said, tone a tad conniving. “Our little Robin here is quite the little artist themself. Maybe they could si- OW!” Skipping away from Robin’s sharp elbow, he scowled. “What the fuck, bat brat? That was my spleen , you bitch-”
“You don’t even have a spleen, Red,” Robin scoffed angrily. “Besides, maybe you should have thought of that and your proximity to my elbows before you go offering my services without my consult-”
“Actually, it’s not a horrible idea,” Nightwing cut in- both figuratively by taking over the conversation, and literally by stepping between the two squabbling teens. Easily halting Red Robin’s lunge toward Robin with one hand- shoving him backwards into Red Hood and ignoring both their indignant shouts- and simultaneously turning Robin forward and preventing the youngest vigilante from drawing their katana with the other, Nightwing smiled at Gordon as if he wasn’t the member of this family Gordon was terrified of the most.
Robin began their protesting. “I am not going to-”
37 minutes later (present time)
And that’s how the entire Batclan ended up in the precinct.
(Gordon had started to suggest that only Robin, and perhaps another Bat, come inside to complete the task but once again, Nightwing had merely smiled unassumingly and said “Nonsense! We’ll all come!” and Gordon had never considered himself a coward before but there was a first time for everything.)
Due to the influx of Bats, the bullpen was unusually crowded. Gordon levied his best glare at the gapers but none paid him any mind. Sighing and giving up, Gordon merely retrieved a sketchpad and freshly sharpened pencil to hand to Robin. “Robin, this is Maria Renaldo, our witness. Maria,” Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Robin. They've graciously volunteered to be our sketch artist tonight. Please tell them about the man you saw.”
“Okay,” Maria said nervously, eying the teen. “How should I start?”
Robin settled into their chair, bring up a leg to balance their sketchbook and poised their pencil over the paper. “Well, let’s start with face shape. What-”
“What did he smell like?” Hood cut in imperiously. He was seated exactly like Robin- minus the pad and pencil. Instead, his arm was posed like a painter in front of an invisible canvas. “Was it woodsy? Floral? Did it smell of overt insecure masculinity, or was it more of a subtle hint of impotency?”
“Don’t listen to him,” Robin ordered. “Face shape. Can you-”
“Nevermind that, it is essential to ma délicate sensibilité artistique that you explain en détail the dinner he had the night before,” Red Robin interrupted in a horribly exaggerated French accent. He had also mirrored Robin’s position and was similarly miming invisible art. “The great French artiste , Édouard Manet , was a realist and believed in depicting his subjects’ true lives-”
“I do not sound like that!”
“Um, I have literally heard you say those exact words in that exact tone-”
“Name one time!”
“Yesterday,” Signal chimed in helpfully. “At breakfast, right after Hood lectured regarding imagery in 18th century European poetry.” Pulling up a chair, he sat down and began to mime throwing clay. “On to the important things, though.” Signal looked at Maria seriously. “What clothes was he wearing underneath his outerwear? Did you get an underwear brand? Socks, perhaps?”
Maria looked confused. “Why would-”
“You can tell a lot about a man by the brand of his socks,” Spoiler informed her seriously. Signal nodded. “It’s like women and purses, honestly. No one ever talks about it because the system is designed to oppress you by stereotyping and belittling your innate womanhood and the patriarchy would lose valuable ground to the resistance if it became public knowledge that men have such an obvious weakness into their psyche.”
“Fight the power,” Black Bat said gravely. “Fuck The Man.”
All the bats nodded in agreement. “Trust us,” Spoiler said soothingly. “We’re cops.”
“Noooooooo, you’re not,” Gordon objected. “Alright, this has gone on long enough. Nightwing,” turning to look at the black-and-blue vigilante, Gordon demanded, “This was your idea, so you get to wrangle this in. I need that sketch!”
“Of course, Commissioner,” Nightwing demurred. Facing the other bats, Nightwing’s voice became stern and slightly disappointed. “Alright, guys, you’ve had your fun. Back off, this is serious business and you heard the Commissioner, he needs Robin to finish up. Well, so do we- we all have patrols and work to get back to and the sooner we let Robin finish here, the sooner we can move on to kick some butt and I can kick all of your butts in the race back to Agent A’s. Capiche?” There were grumbles and groans of agreement. “Awesomesauce. Besides, you all forgot the most important question.” Grinning mischievously, Nightwing kicked up a leg. Exactly as Robin had done when they first sat down. Invisible pencil hovering over invisible paper. “Did he have soulful eyes?”
The vigilantes descended into shouting chaos. As Nightwing laughed boisterously and restored order once more, finally allowing Robin to work on the sketch, Batman sighed heavily next to Gordon.
“Do you ever just regret being alive,” he heard the Bat ask no one in particular.
Watching the young vigilantes in the center of the bullpen, Gordon nodded. “I’ve got whisky in my office. Someone will find us when they’re done.”
They left soundlessly together.