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Jim used to wonder who the man behind the mask was. He used to think about it constantly, wondering what it took for someone to don a mask and cape and take justice into their own hands, and in Gotham of all places. The pinnacle of crime, a cesspool for all the worst kinds of people, an almost lawless land where murder is commonplace and peace is rare and rarely lasting.
Gotham was nothing less than infatuated with the idea of unmasking Vengeance, each person having their own wild theory on who would be unveiled beneath the mask. From the crazy person next door to the mayor of Gotham, no one was above, or below, suspicion. As the masked man began to take on bigger and bigger criminals, seemingly hiding within every shadow and unpatrolled alleyway in the city, the man’s identity turned from coffee shop gossip to police speculation.
It was universally understood among the police department that anyone who got close enough to even entertain the thought of taking the mask off him was well within their right, and duty, to arrest him on the spot. Jim, considering himself someone who did things by the book, someone who valued doing things the right way, the honest way, had accepted this. He didn’t search for the Bat, like some of his colleagues did, but he had nothing against enacting true, lawful justice if called upon to do it.
Then Jim met him. Truly met him. Not like the others on the force who would spin a tale so tall that simply seeing movement in the shadows turned into speaking to the masked man and almost arresting him before he inevitably escaped, as every ghost story and urban legend about the Batman concluded with.
Because Batman was just that, a ghost story, a legend. Until he wasn’t. Until Vengeance was standing right in front of him. Cape, mask and all.
The descriptions he had heard of the Bat, tall, bat ears, army worthy armour and a tendency for appearing from the darkness in silence, painted him as something inhuman, something closer to a monster from an old wives tale than a man. But then he saw him and he knew the truth. The white of Vengeance's eyes stood out like a saw thumb against the black grease paint on his eyes and all black suit. Despite everything else about him, the draw to his eyes always reminds Jim of one thing: he is not a ghost or a monster. He is a man. He is human.
Jim’s not sure if it makes this whole situation better or worse.
When Bat himself was finally in front of him for the first time, covered in dirt and grime, it was not at the scene of some common criminal act, some everyday occurrence. No.
There had been rumours of a human trafficking ring starting up near the docks. Whispers of cruelty under hushed breaths lingered around both rich and poor, eventually finding a resting place in the GCPD. And, apparently, the whispers also snuck into the bat’s lair, or cave, or hideout, or wherever he was when he wasn’t stalking Gotham’s streets like a phantom. It didn’t matter where the Bat was, all Jim knew was that somehow Vengeance found out about the trafficking ring, and somehow managed to catch the man in charge before the Police even knew his identity. Jim had to hand it to him, whoever he was, that was quite impressive. Hell, it was more than just impressive– it was almost scarily superhuman the way he deduced a man’s identity before the government funded authorities even caught a whiff of the man in charge.
Jim had been first on the scene, gun in hand, stalking around the docs after an anonymous tip called in commotion between an unknown man and ‘gotham’s bat problem’ near the water. When he arrived, he was met with a scene that would be forever immortal in his mind. The Bat beside a man tied to a chair, battered and bruised.
“Detective,” Vengeance said, voice caught between a growl and a whisper.
“Who’s that?” Jim asked, pointing at the tied up man in front of him with his gun, before directing it back to the vigilante.
The Bat looked at him, eyes white like porcelain, then at the man beside him as if he forgot he was there. For a moment it was quiet and still, everything Gotham is not. Jim’s grip on his gun was tight, he was ready to move when the moment was right. After all, it’s both law and duty that calls for him to apprehend the masked man. But something stops him, something in his porcelain eyes that keeps Jim’s mind screaming at him: He’s just a man, not a monster.
“Trafficker.”
Vengeance’s voice is hoarse when he speaks, like it hasn’t been used in decades. Maybe it hadn’t, Jim reminds himself, he doesn’t know anything about this man. He only knows what he does is illegal, case and point the bloodied man next to him.
“What?”
“Trafficker.”
And in that moment it clicks for Jim. Trafficker. This was one of the traffickers the GCPD was trying to find. This was no innocent man’s blood shed by unlawful justice, this was a man with no morals.
It had been quiet for too long again when Jim realised he should have responded. But it’s already too late. There is a sound of other officers coming, and Jim’s eyes rushes to meet the Bat’s. The cold stare is only held for a moment. Vengeance nods, Jim nods back on instinct. Then he’s gone. He’s in the shadows. Or the water. Or the skies. Jim doesn’t quite know how he disappears so quickly for view but he does, and all that matters in the end is that he is gone and the trafficker remains.
Jim stared into the traffickers eyes. There was no humanity there, not like he saw in the Bat’s.
Jim knew, as he stared out into the darkness of Gotham’s midnight hour, that he did not fulfil his duty to the GCPD by letting the masked man escape. But he can’t help but feel like he has honoured his duty to the people of Gotham, because that night there was one less criminal on the street and it was not because of any officer of the law, but the honour of a man. There is one less threat to the safety of Gotham’s people that night, and it was thanks to a man’s vengeance and not an officer’s duty.
Now Jim keeps seeing him, more than he expected to, after that night. It becomes often enough that Jim worries the vigilante is stalking him, or maybe even has a tracker on him somewhere. Jim is a paranoid man, but he pays to be paranoid in Gotham. Jim doesn’t find a tracker. He just keeps finding the Bat in the shadows near crime scenes. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does it’s important so Jim has learnt to focus his hearing on the man’s whispered words. Even in the chaos of Gotham’s worst nights, Jim will make sure to hear every word the Bat utters. Everything is important, always.
He sees the Bat almost as often as some of his colleagues, but it is not the same for the other officers and detectives. Vengeance is still a ghost story to most, he is still a scary story criminals used to scare each other and kids used to feel safer in the darkness. No matter who tells the story, the Bat is always a mystical watchfu eye. But to Jim, he is human. He is human in the ways he drags his feet when it stretches into the early hours of the morning. He is human when the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly when Jim cracks a joke or offers a snide remark about those he works with. He is human when he bleeds. He is human when he looks to be on the verge of tears. He is human when his hands shake ever so slightly. He is human when his eyes pierce Jim’s, like stars in the night sky. He is human. The Bat plays judge and jury but never executioner. He is human in the way he won't kill.
There are many ghosts in Gotham, they follow those who try to hide skeletons in their closet. Which really, in Gotham, who doesn’t have a few misplaced bones hiding away in draws no one will ever see? But the Bat is not one of these phantoms. They think he's hiding in the shadows like a ghost, but that is just what he wants them to think. The ghost stories are the Bat's biggest allies in the field. Fear follows those with guilty hearts like a markesman's aim, always at their back . Who is to say that Vengeance isn't waiting from them within shadowed alleyways to enact unlawful justice? No one can afford to let their ego outweigh their fears in a city like Gotham, not even Jim.
He doesn’t wonder about Vengeance’s identity anymore than wonders about the mundane happenings of his reclusive neighbours. He only wonders nowadays after a bad scrap as Vengeance limps into the shadows, only wondering as far as to hope he has someone at home waiting for him to help lick his wounds. But in the end, despite the pit in his stomach every time he lets the man limp away without medical attention, it’s not his place to know. For all the man does, for Gotham, for its people, he deserves that sliver of privacy Jim can give him. By law, Jim knows he is wrong each time he lets him go. But his gut has its own law book, and it has never let him down before.
The Bat stays in Gotham and every time Jim looks into his eyes, he is reminded why he lets that happen.