With the return of the six teenagers, word quickly spread around Gotham, and dozens of news reporters and journalists piled into the GCPD building unexpectedly. Not only did they make a sudden appearance, but Mayor James was also there, relieved that this nightmare was over and the press could stop hounding and pointing the finger of blame at him. If he was actually relieved that the children were safe from harm, he had a funny way of showing it. As Mayor James made his way to the balcony, Captain Essen, Jim, and Harvey stood to one side of him while the children, still huddled together and shielding their eyes from the bright flash of cameras, stood on the other. 

"On behalf of all the citizens of Gotham, I want to thank you brave gentlemen, from the bottom of my heart," Mayor James looked to Harvey and Jim before he looked to the children. "And I want to promise you kids... we will take care of you as if you were our own children. But here's the thing. The people who victimized these kids are still out there. And hundreds of vulnerable youngsters are still living rough on our streets. Alone, unprotected, and let's face it, that's the real crime here. So, what are we going to do to help these kids?"

The press started muttering to each other, wondering and waiting for the mayor to further explain. "Yesterday, I made a phone call to Juvenile Services and the GCPD to initiate a humane but tough-love program to get these kids off the streets and into the loving arms of Juvenile Services," Hearing those two words left a bad taste in Jim's mouth. If anything, it sounded like Mayor James was punishing the kids for their way of life that they never should've had to experience in the first place. They didn't ask to be out on the streets, fighting, scrapping, and stealing just to survive an extra day.

Once the press meeting was over, all the media left the precinct as Mayor James followed Captain Essen and the detectives into her office. "I think that went very well," Mayor James spoke confidently. "I think so. A small toast, Your Honor?" Essen offered as she grabbed a few shot glasses and the bottle of rum resting on the counter behind her. "You read my mind," Mayor James nodded as Jim shut the door behind them. "Mr. Mayor, where are you sending all the children that get rounded up?" Jim questioned.

"Foster homes for the cute, undamaged ones. Upstate for the rest," Mayor James replied. Jim squinted, pressing him further about what he meant by upstate. "I'm sending them to the Alpena Youth Corrections Facility. A fine institute, I might add," Mayor James explained. "In other words, you mean prison," Jim clarified. Essen could sense the tension in the room and tried to break it up, warning Mayor James that Jim was their house firebrand. "He also has a daughter of his own, hits close to home,"

"I see. Well Jim, I may not be a parent, but I hope you know where I'm coming from. Those children need structure, people who care for them. Half the petty crime in the city is homeless kids. I'm doing this for the greater good of Gotham. They are the future, and we must work to fix the trauma they've endured if we want them to be the future our city needs. You see?" Jim stared at Mayor James as they stood less than two feet apart. Behind that mask of a caring expression, Jim could see a man who couldn't care less about the lower class. They needed a strong advocate, and Mayor James clearly wasn't the right one. "What I see is you using the child snatchers as a pretext to lock up children without a trial," Jim responded.

Harvey and Essen exchanged looks of worry as ominous silence filled the room. Mayor James could only nod, thanking Jim for the 'refreshing' input. Stepping closer to the two men, Harvey held up his glass in a toast. " L'chaim," he spoke as he, Essen, Mayor James, and Jim toasted their glasses. Once Mayor James left, Jim could only shake his head in disgust. He remembered how corrupt people in power could be. He'd seen it firsthand with his father during his time as DA. He may have portrayed the face of a caring and compassionate soul on the outside, but on the inside, he was just as cold and careless, accepting bribes from shady defense attorneys, associating with the wrong crowds, and even more that threatened to bring Jim back to that dark place.

"Yo, Gordon!" A voice brought Jim out of his thoughts. He looked up and saw one of his colleagues looking over at him. "There's a man waiting for you upstairs," Jim nodded, thanking him as he went to speak with the unexpected visitor. It was Bruce's butler Alfred. "Mr. Pennyworth, pleasure to see you again," Jim shook his hand. "Alfred, please," he corrected Jim, looking at the chaotic and busy river of work below them. "It's bedlam, isn't it? Rough job you got," "Not necessarily, I'd say it's the best job in the world," Jim answered.

Alfred turned to look at Jim again. "I was wondering if it might be convenient for you and your daughter to visit us tomorrow," the butler requested. "Of course. Is something wrong?" the detective inquired. "I don't know, I've never had a child before," Alfred replied with a sigh. "But I can see it in his eyes, he's suffering. He needs friends, someone he feels comfortable confiding in. Something I can't provide no matter how hard I try and talk to him. Bruce respects you, and I think your daughter and him could be good friends. Teatime, shall we say?"

"Teatime, it is," Jim agreed. With one last shake of hands, Alfred left the building. But as everyone in the GCPD thought they could all sigh with relief as the intense pressure subsided, it was only about to get worse from there.

~~~~~~~~

Hours later, the GCPD phones started blowing up again as incoming calls came from the left and right, claiming that a whole busload of the homeless children had taken off. People were demanding answers, and some witnesses who were there when it happened, provided descriptions of the people who took control of that bus. Jim and Harvey were called back into Captain Essen's office when Mayor James returned, furious and his face threatening to turn beet red. "One or two or three, I could explain that. But a busload? A whole busload of the little bastards! What am I supposed to say? Oops? Just tell me it wasn't them; I'm begging you. Just tell me it wasn't the snatchers!" Mayor James demanded.

"The bus driver was a man, and the guard was a woman. It could be them," Captain Essen described. Mayor James exhaled a shaking breath, hands clenching into fists. "We're working it, your Honor," Essen assured. "You're killing me. You're killing me!" Mayor James muttered under his breath. Slowly, Essen looked towards her detectives, remembering Mr. Quillan was still in their custody and having been associated with the snatchers, he must be hiding some valuable information. No words were spoken, but Jim and Harvey understood their next assignment perfectly.

Stepping into the jail cell of Mr. Quillan, Harvey's rage had hit its peak. Grabbing the closest thing nearby, he took a thick address book and started beating Mr. Quillan while Jim sat against the bars, arms crossed, waiting for their suspect to crack. "I swear to you! I told everything I know!" Quillan pleaded. "Shut up! Now, you see that man there? He doesn't like it when I beat people, but for you, he's got no objection. Why is that, Jim?" Bullock looked towards his partner. "Math. The lives of 30 children versus one scumbag," Jim spoke coldly.

"So I can beat you like a bongo drum, and Saint Jim here won't intervene!" Harvey said before starting to beat Quillan again. "Give us something..." Jim spoke lowly. "Stop! Okay okay, The truck, when they came to pick up the last bunch of kids. On the side of it, there was a-a picture. Like a logo. I-I didn't want to say it before because it would give a bad impression. See, it doesn't reflect really you know..." Quillan stammered, hoping the detectives would understand. "What was it?" Jim interrogated.

"It has a... a blue plate and a silver fork," Quillan answered. "A plate and a fork?" Bullock squinted. "Yeah, like the..." Quillan tried to explain as his hands were still cuffed together, indicating the logo was something involving food. "Like a catering company?" Bullock elaborated. "Yeah, like that, but that doesn't mean..." Quillan trailed off, shaking as he feared being hit again. "Doesn't mean what?" Jim questioned. "Look, I don't know what they do to them!" Quillan insisted just as Harvey brought the book down on him again. As he went in for another hit, Jim stopped his partner, pulling out a notebook from his pocket.

"Draw the logo. Uncuff him," Jim instructed. As Harvey took off the handcuffs, Quillan immediately started drawing the logo, losing grip on the pencil a few times as the fear coursed throughout his body. "H-here..." Quillan handed the notebook back to Jim. The more he looked at that logo, the more he feared something far more sinister was going to happen to those unfortunate children. 

And as they called up every food catering company in Gotham checking for the logo, they came up empty-handed. There were no food companies in Gotham with a plate and a fork as their logo. "Selling children for food? Is that even possible?" Bullock questioned. "We've got officers searching all the trucks on every bridge and tunnel. But they had a three-hour window. We can only pray they stayed in the city. If not, they could be any place on Earth by nightfall," Essen spoke to the detectives.

Jim's eyes landed back on the notepad, the logo wasn't what they originally thought it was. It wasn't a blue plate or a fork at all. "It's a trident, and that blue plate is supposed to be a globe!" Jim spoke up, eyes widening at the quick realization. And as he looked back at Bullock and Essen, their eyes widened too. "Trident Intercontinental Shipping..." Essen gaped. "You have to hurry!"

As quickly as possible and not caring about the speed limit, they rushed to the shipyard, hoping those children hadn't been loaded onto a ship and already sailing out of Gotham. But as they pulled in, they were relieved to know that no boats had docked or left yet, meaning those children were still inside. "We split up. You go look for those children, and I'll watch for the snatchers," Jim instructed. Harvey nodded, wishing him good luck before going their separate ways inside the building. Every footstep Jim took echoed, along with the sounds of clanging against metal and the whirring of heavy lifting machines.

His half of the building went dead silent, and with a sickening feeling threatening to turn his stomach into knots, Jim pulled out his handgun, eyes constantly moving as he feared those snatchers could blindside him at any moment. Then, far to the left, he heard a woman talking. And as he ducked behind one of the large crates of cargo, he saw a girl, with messy curly hair around Holly's age standing on top of one of them, hands in the air. "Well, you are a very naughty little girl!" The woman shook her head. And as Jim heard the cocking of her gun, he rushed towards her, knocking her to the ground and kicking the gun out of her hand.

"Hi. What's your name?" Jim asked, looking up at the teen girl. "Why is that your business?" She retorted. The sounds of a nearby scuffle caught Jim's attention, and he looked to see that Bullock had found the other snatcher and was holding him at gunpoint. "Where are the kids?" Jim asked. Doug didn't respond, shaking his head and keeping his lips tightly sealed, as if that would stop him from being held accountable for his actions. "Where are they?!" Jim bellowed.

~~~~~~~~

As Holly and her father sat in the living room of Wayne Manor that next afternoon, she smoothed the skirt of her light blue dress with tiny daisy prints before taking a sip of her cinnamon tea. Bruce had yet to make an appearance, so it had just been the two Gordons and Alfred. Jim told his daughter very vaguely about the conversation they had the day prior, but just from the brief explanation, she knew that Bruce was still feeling the urge to hurt himself in order to gain control of his fears.

"He's not been sleeping, and when he does, he has these nightmares. Now he's burning himself, he's even cutting," Alfred explained, grimacing at the horrendous details. "Is he getting professional help?" Jim asked. "You mean a psychiatrist? He won't have 'em. That's a rule," Alfred insisted. The father-daughter duo looked at each other, the same thought crossing their minds. If Alfred was Bruce's guardian now, what was stopping him from getting Bruce help? Jim brought it up to Alfred, and he provided them an explanation, although it still didn't make much sense.

"Bruce's father gave me very firm orders were him and his missus to die. Now, I will raise the boy the way his father told me to raise him," Alfred elaborated. "Which is how?" Holly asked. "Trust him to choose his own course. He's after all, a Wayne," Sounds like a recipe for disaster. Holly thought to herself. "So what do you want us to do?" Jim questioned. "He wants you to talk some sense into me," A voice called out from the living room entrance. Everyone looked over to see Bruce had been watching them for quite some time, and they hadn't noticed it.

"Haven't I told you to stop creeping up on people like that before? It's bloody rude!" Alfred scolded. As Bruce sat in the chair across from Jim and Holly, the detective asked him to open up. "I'm perfectly fine. Alfred's just a worrywart," Bruce quietly muttered, his voice barely loud enough for Jim and Holly to hear. "What did you do to your hand?" Holly pointed to his white-clothed bandage wrapped around it. "I-I burned it," Bruce answered, noticing Holly's caring look. Jim stood up from his spot on the couch and crouched next to the boy. "Listen to me, Bruce. You've been through a terrible experience, talking to someone can be very helpful," he consoled.

Bruce looked down at his injured hand. Even days later, he could still feel the flames making contact with his skin. He digested Jim's words before looking up again. "You must have seen terrible things in the war. Does it... does it help you to talk about what you saw?" He asked. "Yes. A little," Holly knew from the get-go that was not true. Her Dad was not the easiest book to read in the library, and he barely opened up or talked about his time overseas. It couldn't have been easy for him. Neither she nor her mother could ever imagine the things he saw because they weren't there to witness it themselves.

"You're not a very good liar," Bruce shook his head. "Bruce, I can't say I know what you're going through. But I..." Holly took a moment to compose herself, that night still fresh in her mind. "...I saw something horrible happen in front of me too. And it was hard, having to live with that image of what happened, but I've never once thought of hurting myself. It can't feel good, and it's something you should never do," Holly sighed.

Bruce looked at her with a questioning look. "When did it happen?" "A few nights ago. I don't know if you've heard about those child snatchers. I saw what they did, killed an old man trying to protect them," Holly opened up. Bruce looked at her with pity, even though their events were on different levels, it proved that he truly wasn't alone. "Please Bruce, stop hurting yourself," Holly pleaded. "I'm testing myself, there's a difference!" Bruce insisted. "I appreciate you and your father's concern, but I'm perfectly fine!"

Jim returned to his seat on the sofa, both he and Holly watching Bruce take one of the biscuits. "Speaking of those children, I've been following your adventures in the newspapers. I feel very sorry for them," Bruce commented. "Us too," Holly nodded, taking another sip of her tea. "I'll give you some money to give to them," Bruce offered. But Jim shook his head, saying it didn't work that way. It wasn't money that would help those children, it was kind and caring souls that they needed. "They need someone to care for them. Like what you have," Jim gestured to Alfred, who had been standing to the side during their entire conversation.

"There must be something I could do," Bruce whispered. Then, an idea came to mind, and the darkening thoughts and painful memories faded away for the briefest moment. "What about clothes? They all looked awfully ragged," He suggested. "They did, didn't they?" Holly looked over to her dad and then to Bruce. Without warning, Bruce ran out of the room, his hurried footsteps going up the staircase were heard from the living room. About half an hour had passed before he came downstairs again, dragging a few garbage bags full of clothes. "These should help them, right?" He asked, trying to catch his breath.

Alfred walked over to him to check the bags, Alfred's eyes widening at the overwhelming amount of clothes he put inside. "I must say, Master Bruce. I am rather impressed!" Alfred's gaze shifted from the bag to Bruce. Holly and her father also looked rather impressed. Underneath all that grief and pain, there lay a gentle but damaged soul. Bruce had a long way to go before he started to feel like himself again, but Holly knew this was a good start.