James Gordon remembered the day that his daughter was born. His wife had labored for almost ten hours, and for most of it Gordon was taking down a smuggling ring in outer Gotham. He'd missed five calls from the hospital, and when he finally arrived, his baby girl was handed to him. She was dressed in light pink and wrapped in a white blanket. She had no hair, as with most newborns, but James Gordon was convinced from the moment he first saw her that his daughter was the most beautiful child to ever exist.

Now he stood, twenty-one years later, in the same hospital that she was born in...only this time she lay, unmoving, in a hospital bed. There were no words to express the grief that flooded his senses. He had witnessed every manner of crime imaginable, and seen many parents mourn their children, but he never imagined that he would experience it himself. Not his daughter. His smart, funny, beautiful daughter...surely the universe had a greater plan for her.

"Commissioner?" Doctor Lora said in a gentle voice. The one she reserved specifically for the distressed family members of her patients. "What should we do with this?"

She had taken him into an empty room, after prying him away from Barbara's side, and held out something that he had never expected to see up close. Batgirl's costume. It was folded neatly in the doctor's hands but even that couldn't mask the blood staining the yellow bat symbol.

At first, Gordon had thought this was some kind of sick joke. Then he reasoned that, perhaps, it was only a costume. People dressed up like their favourite superheroes all the time...but not Barbara. He knew his daughter like he knew his own face. She wasn't the type to play dress-up, even less to parade around the streets pretending to be some crime fighter. No. This was real. All those nights that she had snuck out...all those days she came home bloodied and bruised from 'sparring' at her kickboxing class...it all made sense now.

"How..." Gordon paused, swallowing a whimper that desperately wanted to be released. He reached out, running a finger along the cowl. He had never seen Batgirl in person. She always disappeared whenever he was nearby. Still, he should have known. How could he be so blind? "How many people saw her in this?"

"Five or six, including me. The paramedics covered her up as they brought her in, and the person that found her insists that he didn't touch her mask."

Gordon breathed for what felt like the first time in hours. "You've got good people here. Thank them for me...then tell everyone that saw her that this is classified information and if any of them leak it, I'll toss them into a cell with no toilet."

Doctor Lora nodded, albeit a little uncomfortably. "I'll tell them."

Gordon took the costume from her and stuffed it into his duffle bag. He had only packed a few things when he was called to the hospital, like Barbara's phone and the dreamcatcher that she couldn't sleep without. A bag full of his daughter's life, now plagued by a secret that she had kept from him for too many years.

Gordon zipped it up and only carried it for long enough to chuck it beside the chair in Barbara's hospital room. It felt heavy, like the costume alone was weighing him down.

The commissioner collapsed into the chair, unable to take his eyes away from Barbara. She was still unconscious, but she only looked like she was sleeping. She had no real injuries to her face or arms, it was only that bullet that had shot through her spine...and that was enough. The doctor said she'd never walk again, and no amount of surgery or therapy could fix it.

Gordon's lip trembled, red eyes glistening with every tear that he had held back since arriving. Barbara still looked like a child when she slept. Her long, white eyelashes pressing against her cheeks and her long red hair in disarray. She used to wait up all night for Gordon to come home as a child, and he would often find her asleep on the sofa or at the foot of the stairs. He would scoop her up in his arms and carry her to bed. Sometimes her eyes would flutter open and she'd smile, the biggest and purest smile you could ever imagine, and she'd say 'I waited for you, daddy. Did you see the Batman?'

The world around him disappeared. It was hidden behind the veil of his own grief, and without knowing or caring what else was happening, he buried his face into the sheets of Barbara's bed and cried.

Every wave of sorrow was only followed by another, until Gordon felt like it might drown him. He prayed, because he don't know what else to do. He prayed to God, to the Devil, to anyone that could spare her. In the throes of anguish and being completely powerless to fix it, that was all he could do. That was probably the worst part. He was her father. It was his job to protect her, to help with anything in her life that troubled her...but he couldn't mend a broken spine. He couldn't make this okay.

Someone touched his shoulder, steadying him as he trembled and wept. Gordon didn't want to acknowledge the world around him, but still he forced himself to look up to where Bruce Wayne stood beside him; hair meticulously styled and business attire freshly pressed. "Gordon...I'm so sorry."

For a moment, Gordon didn't know why Bruce was there. He was about to whack his hand away, stand up and yell at him to leave before he remembered the meeting. Bruce always donated a very big sum to Gotham's police force, and had monthly meetings with Gordon about how it was being spent. Gordon wasn't in charge of the finances, but as commissioner, he needed to know just as well as Bruce did where this money was going. Someone must have told him why Gordon didn't show...and he'd come to offer his sympathies. Gordon didn't want sympathies, he wanted his daughter back happy and healthy, but he had always been close to Bruce. Especially after they both watched Harvey Dent lose his mind. He trusted him, and there was something about the sheen in Bruce's eyes that made him think that he truly was upset by Barbara's state.

"Thank you, Bruce." Gordon managed to choke out, but his voice was little more than a whisper. "They say she'll be paralysed from the waist down...that there's nothing that can be done for her."

Bruce tensed. Gordon saw it, though his eyesight was now blurred with tears. He moved his hand away from the commissioner's shoulder, completely silent for a long time. He swallowed, then cleared his throat as if there was something stuck in it and he couldn't speak unless he dislodged it. "There has to be something... I'll take a look around for you. I know a lot of talented doctors overseas. They might be able to help."

Gordon nodded gratefully, but he didn't have much hope that he would find anything. There were some injuries that simply couldn't be fixed, try as they might. "I'd...appreciate that."

They fell into silence once more. Gordon's gaze finally shifted from his daughter and landed on the duffle bag beside him. He needed to be rid of that costume. The one that had ruined his daughter's life.

"Bruce, could you do me a favour?" Suddenly, his voice didn't tremble with sorrow, but with rage as he thought about all those years he had glorified Batman to his daughter. He didn't blame Batman, though, he blamed himself. He shouldn't have encouraged her idolisation of him as a child.

"Of course. Anything."

"Keep an eye on Barbara for me. I need to take care of something."

Bruce nodded, and within seconds Gordon had snatched the duffle bag and stormed out. He went home. Into his backyard. He doused the Batgirl costume in fuel, threw it into an empty garbage bin, and lit it on fire. The smoke burned in his lungs, but Gordon stayed and watched until every last shred of that cursed costume was turned to ash.

When he returned to the hospital Barbara was awake, and talking to a panic-stricken Bruce. Gordon entered the room, and Bruce hurried away without so much as a goodbye. He had looked pale when he left...almost like he was going to be sick.

"Dad..." Barbara's voice was pleading, shaky with anguish. "I can explain-"

"How are you feeling, sweetheart? Are you in pain?" Gordon interrupted her before she could continue. Barbara was clearly aware that her father had found out about her secret nightlife, but Gordon felt no need to discuss it. She was injured, facing the rest of her days bound to a wheelchair, it was more important that she focus on herself. Not on him or what he might think. It didn't matter now anyway. She couldn't be Batgirl anymore. She never would be again, so what was the point in talking about it now?

Barbara hesitated, then dropped her gaze to her lap. She understood that this subject was something to be swept under the rug. At least for now. "No. I don't...feel anything."

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