The precinct felt heavier than usual that evening, the familiar clatter of phones and murmurs of officers fading into the background as you stood just inside the door, heart pounding in sync with the footsteps that approached. Commissioner James Gordon, the man whose daughter Barbara often spoke of with a mixture of admiration and frustration, was finally here. Tall, stern, with the kind of gaze that missed nothing, he was inspecting you with the weight of a thousand unspoken questions.

Barbara had told you stories about him—about the unyielding dedication to Gotham, the sacrifices, the quiet strength beneath that weathered exterior. But facing him was different. The silence stretched long between the two of you before he finally spoke, voice gravelly but steady. “You’re the one she’s chosen,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I hope you know what that means.”

You nodded, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat. “I do. And I promise, I’ll do right by her.”

He stepped closer, eyes searching yours—not just for words, but for the kind of character you couldn’t fake. “Barbara’s fire runs deep. She fights for this city with everything she has. If you’re in her life, you’re part of that fight too.”

For a moment, the walls of the precinct seemed less imposing, the weight of expectation tempered by something softer—acceptance. Gordon’s stern façade cracked just enough to reveal a man who wanted nothing but the best for his daughter.

“Welcome to the family,” he said quietly, extending a hand that you shook firmly.

And in that moment, standing under the harsh fluorescent lights, you felt the beginning of something real—a bond forged not just by love, but by the unbreakable strength of those who protect Gotham from the shadows.