Nolan's office sat quiet around him, sunlight cutting in through the windows and stretching across the desk where papers still lay scattered from earlier. The faint hum of the building carried through the walls, distant and ordinary.
Everything about it was grounded. Except the three figures occupying the space with him.
Kieran leaned lazily against the edge of the desk, as if he had always belonged there, his posture relaxed and his expression carrying that familiar, dangerous amusement. Quentin stood a few feet away, pacing with restrained energy, his movements sharp and deliberate. Vey remained near the window, arms crossed, watching the others with a level, patient gaze.
To anyone else, Nolan was alone.
To him, the room was full.
"We need to decide how we are approaching Batman," Vey said, his tone measured, already bracing for what this conversation was going to turn into.
Quentin stopped pacing just long enough to glance at Nolan, his expression flattening.
"Oh, I think Nolan already handled that for us," he said dryly. "That exit you made last night? Dramatic. Clean. Almost poetic really."
He tilted his head slightly, unimpressed, "It is going to be very embarrassing when we have to contact him again."
Nolan frowned immediately, sitting up a little straighter in his chair.
"It was not embarrassing," he said. "It was effective. I made my position clear."
Quentin let out a short breath through his nose.
"You said, 'it's up to you, Bruce' like you were closing out a monologue," he replied. "And then you walked away. You do realize we are going to have to follow that up at now, right?"
Nolan scoffed, irritation slipping through.
"Oh, please. If you had it your way, you would have ended that conversation by threatening Alfred or something equally reckless."
Quentin's eyes narrowed immediately.
"I would not—"
Kieran straightened slightly, his grin widening as he turned his attention fully onto Quentin, clearly enjoying himself.
"He absolutely would," Kieran cut in, his tone bright with amusement. "I can practically hear it now. Something subtle, of course. Maybe a vague implication. A little psychological pressure."
He tapped the desk lightly.
"Very on brand."
Quentin pointed at him without hesitation.
"You are such a suck-up," he snapped.
Kieran's smile only widened.
"I prefer supportive," he replied smoothly, not even attempting to hide the satisfaction in his voice.
Nolan, for his part, looked vindicated.
"Thank you," he said, gesturing lightly toward Kieran. "At least someone here understands basic communication."
Quentin shook his head, clearly unimpressed, "Yes, because he is definitely the standard we should be holding ourselves to."
Before the argument could escalate any further, Vey pushed himself off the wall and stepped forward slightly, inserting himself between them—literally and figuratively.
"Enough," Vey said, his tone calm but firm.
That alone was enough to cut through the noise.
"We are not here to critique Nolan's flair for dramatic exits," he continued. "We are here to figure out what comes next."
His gaze moved between them, steady and grounding.
"Batman is not going to ignore this," Vey added. "And neither are we."
The room settled, the tension shifting from chaotic to focused, even if just barely.
Nolan leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose as he ran a hand along the edge of the desk.
"Fine," he said. "Then let's talk."
Nolan leaned forward slightly in his chair, resting his forearms against the desk as he looked at the three of them.
"We have to approach him," he said. "That part is obvious."
There was no disagreement there.
Kieran nodded almost immediately, pushing himself off the desk as he considered it, his expression thoughtful but still carrying that underlying edge of amusement.
"A Bat-Signal on the roof is not the best idea," he said. "Aside from being painfully obvious, our building is likely the safest location we control. Even then, we both know how that goes. Someone always notices eventually, and I would rather not rely on luck where Batman is concerned."
He tilted his head slightly.
"And again," he added, almost as an afterthought, "the signal itself is just… obnoxiously conspicuous."
Quentin exhaled slowly, clearly conceding the point even if he did not enjoy doing so.
"The docks," he said after a moment. "They give us space, fewer eyes, and multiple exit routes. It is the most practical option."
There was a brief pause.
"Agreed," Nolan said.
"Agreed," Vey followed.
"Agreed," Kieran added with a small nod.
Quentin gave a short, final nod. "Agreed."
Nolan straightened slightly.
"Then we will use the docks," he said. "That solves the location."
His gaze shifted between them.
"Now we need to decide who is going to speak."
There was half a second of silence.
Then—
"Me obviously."
"Obviously me."
Kieran and Quentin spoke at the exact same time. They both froze. Then slowly turned their heads toward each other.
The room shifted instantly, tension snapping into place.
Kieran's smile crept back, sharp and amused. Quentin's expression flattened, already irritated.
Nolan closed his eyes briefly.
Vey let out a quiet sigh.
It was going to be a long night.
***
The docks stretched out under the dim wash of industrial lighting, quiet but never truly empty. Water lapped softly against the pylons, and the distant hum of the city carried just far enough to remind anyone standing there that Gotham was always watching.
Kieran stood just outside the warehouse, a cigarette resting between his fingers as smoke curled lazily into the night air.
The building behind him was legitimate—completely clean, at least on paper. After the war, securing assets like this had become a priority. No contraband. No hidden operations. Just a normal warehouse.
Which made it perfect.
Three guards stood in plain sight nearby, positioned like standard security, while the rest of his people melted into the docks as if they belonged there. Some lingered near makeshift shelters, others drifted along the edges of the pier, indistinguishable from the usual population that occupied the area.
Anyone looking would see nothing unusual.
Kieran took a slow drag from his cigarette, ignoring the running commentary in the back of his mind.
Quentin had not stopped complaining since they arrived.
'This is unbelievable,' Quentin muttered
Kieran exhaled smoke, unbothered.
'I won,' he replied casually. 'As expected.'
There was a pause.
'You did not win,' Quentin snapped back. 'You argued louder.'
Kieran smiled faintly.
'Nolan would have tried to reason with him,' he continued, as if Quentin had not spoken. 'And you…'
He let the sentence hang for a moment, just long enough to be insulting.
'…you are exactly the kind of low brow gang boss Batman deals with regularly.'
Quentin let out a short, humorless chuckle.
That was enough to set off a spike of irritation from him, sharp and immediate.
'Oh, that is rich,' Quentin shot back. 'Coming from you—'
The thought cut off.
Something shifted.
A presence.
Kieran's instincts caught it a fraction of a second too late.
A shadow moved overhead, silent and sudden, blotting out the dim light above him.
Kieran looked up—and immediately stepped back.
"Do you have superpowers I am not aware of?" he snapped, genuinely caught off guard. "Jesus Christ!"
From somewhere in the back of his mind, Quentin's voice surged forward.
'Hide the signal,' he hissed. 'Quickly. We can still avoid the embarrassment.'
'With what?' Kieran shot back internally.
There was no time.
Batman was already there.
Kieran steadied himself, taking another drag from his cigarette as if nothing had happened, forcing the moment back under his control.
"I am busy, Batman," he called out, his voice carrying across the dock. "If you have not come to talk about the Court, then leave."
The statement directly contradicted everything they had just been doing.
He ignored that.
Batman did not respond.
In fact, he was not even looking at him.
Kieran's brow furrowed slightly as he followed Batman's line of sight.
And found himself staring at it.
The massive, unmistakable Bat-Signal they had been seconds away from turning on.
It sat there in all its poorly timed, overly dramatic glory.
Kieran slowly turned back.
Batman was now looking directly at him.
There was no visible expression, as always—but somehow, it felt worse than if there had been.
Kieran could practically feel the judgment.
Maybe even a hint of amusement.
He took another drag from his cigarette, buying himself half a second.
"First of all," he said, gesturing vaguely behind him, "I do not know what that is."
A beat.
"Second of all," he continued, meeting Batman's gaze, "what do you want?"
Batman continued to stare at him, unmoving, unreadable.
Kieran let out a quiet sigh, rolling his shoulders slightly before lifting a hand and gesturing to his men.
"Stand down," he said. "He is not going to try anything. Not yet."
There was hesitation.
Of course there was.
A few of them glanced between Kieran and Batman, weighing the order against instinct. Then, slowly, they nodded and began to move, drifting out of earshot while still staying close enough to intervene if things went wrong.
Kieran waited until they were far enough away before turning his full attention back.
"So," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, "what do you want, Bruce?"
Batman's eyes narrowed slightly at the name.
There was no denial.
No deflection.
Just a single question.
"How?"
Kieran shrugged lightly, as if it were the least interesting part of the conversation.
"I figure things out," he replied. "It is kind of my thing."
He took a slow drag from his cigarette before continuing.
"Do not worry though," he added, exhaling smoke into the night air. "I am not going to tell anyone. Consider it a secret between friends."
His smirk widened just slightly.
"Besides, you have donated to my hotel. The orphanage too," he went on. "You have attended more than a few of my events."
Kieran tilted his head, studying him.
"Although," he added, voice light with curiosity, "I am starting to wonder if there was an ulterior motive there."
Batman shook his head faintly, dismissing the deflection.
"The Court bothers you enough that you are not willing to sit on something like that," he said. "You are not leveraging it. Not using it."
His gaze sharpened, "You are not even from Gotham," he continued. "So why does the court bother you more than the war, I'm assuming you knew during the war too of course."
The question hung for only a moment before Batman answered it himself.
"Actually," he said, cutting off Kieran before he could respond, "I already know."
Kieran's smirk faded slightly.
Batman stepped closer, his presence pressing into the space between them.
"You built your organization out of outsiders," he said. "People Gotham ignores. People it pushes aside."
His tone remained steady, certain.
"You were one of them once," he continued. "Maybe not here, but somewhere. You found people like you. You understood them. Then you built something out of that."
Kieran's expression stilled.
"Now you belong," Batman said. "For the first time."
The words landed with precision.
"And the Court is trying to take that from you," he added. "You cannot allow that."
Silence followed it was heavy.
Batman held his gaze.
"I understand you perfectly well," he said.
A brief pause.
"Kieran," he added. "It is Kieran right now, isn't it?"
The question was not really a question.
"You're good," Kieran admitted, the smile returning to his face, easy and genuine despite the tension. "But if you're going to figure out how I learned your little secret, you're going to have to do better than that."
He took another drag from his cigarette, buying himself a moment before continuing.
"Let's make a deal," he said. "We handle the Court our own ways. In return, I tell you what you want to know… and you give me maps of Gotham."
He gestured vaguely, as if the scope of it didn't matter.
"All kinds," Kieran added, his smile brightening. "Everything you have."
Batman studied him for a long second, "You already figured out they are in the tunnels."
It wasn't a question.
Kieran's smile did not move.
Internally, irritation flared sharp and immediate.
'Of course he would already know, god I hate this guy.'
"From what I have heard," Kieran replied smoothly, "it is less tunnels and more of a labyrinth."
Batman said nothing for a moment, weighing him.
Then, finally—
"The maps for the information," he said. "But you do not go down there without me."
His tone hardened slightly.
"And the leaders face justice my way."
Kieran let out a short, amused breath, smoke curling into the air as he shook his head.
"I thought you worked alone," he said. "Or with that sidekick of yours."
Batman's gaze shifted briefly, scanning the docks. Not just the obvious guards, but the ones hidden in the shadows, the ones blending into the background.
He saw them.
All of them.
Then his eyes returned to Kieran.
"If you take your people into those tunnels," Batman said, his voice low and certain, "how many of them do you think will survive?"
The question landed heavier than it sounded.
Kieran didn't answer immediately.
Batman took a step closer.
"Gotham is mine," he said, "Even the criminals."
The statement wasn't rooted in pride or arrogance.
It was responsibility.