Chapter Text
Gotham City was known for many things. However, given that the majority of those things were related to how corrupt and crime ridden the city was, most people just went with bad. Gotham City was known for being bad. However, there were some people in positions of power that did their best to try and fight for the people of Gotham. Mainly, there was the GCPD.
The Gotham City Police Department had come a long way in recent years. It had boasted record amounts of corruption for many years, until Commissioner James Gordon had been appointed. Within almost ten years, the city had turned from a depressing hellhole to a slightly grubby hellhole.
A lot of that was due to the 99th Precinct.
Or, at least that’s how Commissioner Gordon was trying to sell it. His daughter Barbara had passed the detectives exam – with flying colors – and as she was determined to make it within the GCPD without a hint of nepotism, Gordon had left the placement up to fate – and by fate, he meant Lieutenant Montoya.
While Lieutenant Montoya was biased towards Barbara, it was less of a ‘your dad is my boss’ kind of way and more ‘you are not a useless idiot and I don’t regret my life choices when I interact with you’ kind of way. This was apparently an acceptable kind of favoritism, and Barbara had accepted her post with no small amount of excitement.
But this left James Gordon with a problem. A problem that began and ended with the GC99.
It was a fine precinct by any standards. They always made their numbers, their paperwork was exemplary, and no major complaints were ever really filed about them. However, this was the closest precinct not directly in Crime Alley, and therefore one of the most dangerous placements in Gotham.
And now his daughter was assigned there.
Lord help him.
***
Detective Barbara Gordon was ready to work. She was top of her class at the academy and one of the best beat cops in the history of the city. Yes, her father was the commissioner but she had earned her rank in the force. As she sat across from her new Captain’s desk, she couldn’t help imagining that this would one day be her office.
As she looked around the room waiting for Captain Wayne to arrive, she began to mentally change and fix things, starting with the broken blinds and ending with the uncomfortable couch that she currently sat on.
Outside, Detective Dick Grayson swung his feet up on his cluttered desk, basking in the high that always came with a truly excellent arrest.
“Tim, tell me I’m the best.”
At the desk across the aisle from him, Detective Tim Drake answered his best friend without ever looking up from the police file he was perusing. “Statistically, the probability of you being the best is far too low to allow me to congratulate you.”
“Rude. Cass, tell me I’m amazing.”
The slight, dark haired woman that sat across from Tim looked up from the knife she was sharpening. “You’re not the best.” At first glance, Detective Cassandra Cain was not the slightest bit imposing. Barely over five foot three and skinny, the very idea that most criminals would stop or stall jobs once they heard she was on duty would be preposterous to most people.
However, most people hadn’t watched her take down three bounty hunters and a mid-level mob boss with nothing more than a knife, a single round of ammunition, and a bobby pin. A woman of few words, she had earned her legend and then some, having done most of her beat cop work within the Narrows themselves. Most legit cops only lasted a couple of weeks. She had survived three and a half years.
“I’m offended.” The fake hurt was clear in the man’s voice as he pouted and sank lower in his chair.
“Dick, I think you’re the greatest. Truly, the baddest of all the bitches.” Stephanie spoke up then. Even though she was technically only a civilian assistant, Stephanie “The Spoiler” Brown was a might unto her own. The daughter of disgraced crime boss Arthur Brown, she had earned her nickname when – at the tender age of twelve – she had sent the GCPD a series of letters and clues that had led to the arrest and sentencing of her father. More importantly to her, she had over three hundred thousand followers on Twitter.
Also, a massive bromance with Dick.
“Why are we feeding your ego this time, Dick?” Alfred Pennyworth was the Sergeant of the 99th as well the heart and soul. He wasn’t a large man, but he carried himself with enough confidence that most thugs thought twice about getting into a fight with him. His desk was also covered in pictures of his daughter, Julia, a second year law student at Harvard.
“Because right about now, Captain Wayne will come out that door,” The man gestured dramatically to the elevator, “and tell me what an incredible job I did tracking down and arresting the gang that robbed all those bodegas on Eleventh.”
With a ding, the elevator doors opened and Captain Bruce Wayne walked out, trailed by his twelve year-old son, Damian. Bruce had been the Captain of the 99th Precinct for almost three years now and had acquired a reputation for being a gruff, stern tactician. His placement as Captain had been highly contested, though less for the fact that he was married to a man, and more to the fact that he was one of the richest men in the world.
Everyone knew the story of the Wayne Family. How Thomas and Martha Wayne had taken their son Bruce to the movies and took a shortcut through an alley. How a mugger had pulled a gun and stopped them. How only Bruce had walked out alive, having witnessed his parent’s murder. This would have broken most people, but Bruce became determined to make sure that what had happened to him would never happen to anyone else. He applied to the Academy the day he turned eighteen and had never looked back.
Damain Wayne was an interesting addendum to the story. The product of a drunken, one night stand between Bruce and his self-proclaimed arch-nemesis, Talia al Ghul, he hated criminals with the passion and spite of the child of two cops.
At age eight, he had made a hardened mercenary wanted on ten counts of murder wet himself in an interrogation room.
“Boss man!” Jason Todd’s call echoed in the bullpen. The detective was notorious in the GCPD for having faked his own death three years into his beat and gone undercover to bring down the Black Mask gang. He had gotten a permanent white streak in his hair for his troubles (Steph claimed it was from being shot in the head, while Tim maintained that he dyed it, just to fuck with everyone) and a reputation for being just the slightest bit batshit crazy.
Guiding Damian with one hand on his shoulder, Captain Wayne didn’t even glance over to the larger man. “Todd, I refuse to sign off on your request for a rocket launcher. Don’t put shit on my desk if you know I’ll just deny it, I hate doing more paperwork than I have to. Dick, you’re in charge of Damian for the duration of my meeting.” And with that, he walked into his office and closed the door.
Tim finally looked up from his file. “Dick, you’re right – that sounded exactly like ‘you’re the best.’” He dodged the crumpled ball of paper his partner threw at his head as Cass and Jason laughed.
“Dude, you know extra paperwork pisses off Wayne. If you keep it up, I’m pretty sure you’ll be the first person to be killed by their commander over paperwork.” Steph leaned back in her chair as she stared up at Jason. The giant man was made of muscle and was – as of last Drunk Night at Shaw’s – the biggest man in the precinct. The only person taller than him was Artemis, one of the sergeants in charge of the uniformed officers.
“I figure that I’d loosen him up with a bunch of useless requests so by the time I ask him for the grenades I want, he’s more likely to say yes.”
Stephanie looked impressed.
“See Brown, I’m not just a pretty face.”
Tim snorted. “You’re not pretty at all, Todd.”
Jason turned to glare at the smaller detective. Tim Drake was the shortest man on the force at five seven, but what he lacked in height, he had in brain power. He had been the youngest detective in the history of the GCPD at only twenty-three and boasted the highest arrest record for both the 99th and the city.
Dick tuned them out and turned to his small charge. “Hey Dames, want me to take you out for ice cream?” Dick had worked with Bruce for almost his entire career. Born and raised in a circus, he had traveled the world with his parents as the “Flying Grayson’s,” the most famous acrobats in the world. After a close call that almost ended with his parent’s death, the Grayson’s had settled down in Gotham and still ran a small gym in the financial district.
When Dick had joined the GCPD, Bruce had been his sergeant and then his lieutenant. When he had been promoted to Captain and transferred to the 99, Dick had followed him over. He had known Damian for his entire life and was a regular baby-sitter, as he was one of the only people the boy put up with for any amount of time.
“Tt. Grayson, don’t use me as an excuse for your sugar fixation. I have homework and I refuse to sit on the floor to do it.” The sullen boy looked around disdainfully at the lack of chairs in the bullpen before walking towards the interrogation rooms.
“Yeah Dick, admitting you have a problem is the first step in getting help.” Dick ignored Jason as he followed Damian.
“Dames wait, I have to let you in.”
“I know how to pick locks.” Was the last thing heard as the two disappeared around the corner.