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David had worked for the New Jersey Motor Vehicles Commission for just under twenty years. He was branch manager of the Old Gotham NJMVC, and had been for three years. He was not entirely surprised to recieve a call from Police Commissioner Jim Gordon on his lunch break on a Tuesday.
Everyone knew Tuesdays were the worst.
"Jim," he said.
"Dave," Jim replied. They'd gone to the police academy together, until David has realized that the badge wasn't for him. They'd stayed friends, and Jim had done him a few favors over the years, and in return David didn't ask a lot of questions when the police needed rush jobs—if their paperwork was right.
"Can you stay late tonight?" Jim asked.
"What?" David asked.
Even over the phone, Jim's grimace was obvious in his voice. "Can you send everyone home at the usual time, and they keep the office open late for me?"
"How late?" David asked warily.
"Like, eight," Jim said. "Dark."
"You want me to walk home in the dark, on a Tuesday, in Old Gotham?" he asked his friend.
Jim grunted. "Please, Dave," he said quietly.
"Jesus, Jim, of course I will," David said. "But could you tell me why?"
"Not yet," Jim said grimly. "Thank you. I'll see you tonight," he added, and then hung up on him.
"Jesus," David muttered again.
He nearly muttered it a third time when the door swung open at seven fifty that night, and Jim walked in with the goddamned Batman beside him, Robin skipping cheerfully at their heels.
"Hi!" Robin chirped brightly, leaning on the desk while Jim and Batman had a low, whispered argument in the vestibule.
"Hi," David said, smiling his customer service smile and wondering what the fuck was happening.
"I need a state ID," Robin said.
David stared at the kid.
Robin produced the appropriate form and set it on the counter. The number line was still blank, but the rest of the form was filled out in neat block capitals. It announced the boy's name was Robin Bat. His mailing address was apparently "1 Cave Road, The Bat Cave, Gotham New Jersey."
David breathed very slowly. "You have got to be fucking kidding me," he told Jim over the boy's head. Because he could see over the boy's head. Because Robin was, like, twelve, or something. Though the birth date line on his BA-208 was a day in March only three years ago.
"I have his birth certificate and his social security card," Batman said. The Goddamned Batman. Said. From the other side of David's counter. Gloved hands set the two documents on the counter. The birth certificate had the same date in March. Rather than a medical professional, it was signed by witnesses, as in a home birth. The witnesses were James Gordon, The Batman, and a Carlos Ruiz Sauceda.
"That's the guy I arrested," Robin said, following David's eyes to the name and pointing at it. "It was my first patrol and everything!"
David looked back at Jim.
Jim just shrugged.
Both the certificate and the social security card looked real enough. David had never considered authenticating documents before.
To be fair, he'd never been handed such blatantly fake documents before, either.
"I need proof of address," he said tiredly.
"Oh!" Robin said, and produced a first class mail envelope.
It was addressed to "Batman and Robin, 1 Cave Road, the Bat Cave." It was from the Justice League of America.
"Six points of ID?" he asked.
Robin set a bank card on the counter between them, with "Robin Bat" as the cardholder's name, and a loopy cursive scrawl in the signature blank. Batman handed over a notarized, signed affidavit that Robin Bat lived with him at 1 Cave Road. David recognized the name of Jim's secretary, a registered Notary Public. That, with the birth certificate and social security card was everything he needed.
"Okay," David said. He turned to his computer to start the application. When he turned back, there were more papers on the counter.
A driver's license application form, a bank statement address to The Batman at 1 Cave Road, another social security card, and a US Passport Card with a picture of a stone-faced, cowled Batman. Batman's full name was apparently Batman Bat.
There was no way these were legal documents.
David sighed.
Jim, damn him, was smirking a little off to the side.
David waved at the photo backdrop.
"Nothing about the mask?" Batman asked dryly as Robin stood on the line.
David didn't look up from the camera. "It would hardly be an accurate picture if he took it off, now would it?" he asked tartly.
Robin laughed brightly. After the flash, he said, "Now you, B!"
Batman glowered at the camera, and somehow the picture managed to be shadowy and poorly lit despite all the lights in the room and the flash on the camera. David saved the picture to Batman's profile anyway.
David finished the ID application first. He printed Robin's temporary ID paper, and looked The Goddamn Batman in the face. "Is the US Postal Service going to be able to deliver his permanent card if I write 1 Cave Road, The Batcave on the application?"
"No," Batman said, and nothing else.
"Mail it to the Downtown Police Department," Robin said. "Commissioner Gordon can deliver them the next time he lights the Batsignal."
David plugged that address into his computer, and handed Robin the paper temporary.
Then he started Batman's driver's license application. He was summarily unsurprised to find the results of Batman's driver's knowledge and road tests in the system already. He'd made a perfect score on the knowledge test. David was surprised to see that Batman had failed his first road test for failure to stop completely. He'd passed the second with a nearly perfect score, losing points only for his parallel park being crooked.
The silence, as David typed, was thick. When he looked up with the paper temporary, Robin was doing a handstand in the middle of the lobby. Batman was an inky shadow despite the fluorescent lights. Jim was reading something on his phone, barely hiding the grin on his face.
"Thank you for your patience," David said by rote. "Your permanents should come in the mail in three to six weeks, depending on processing wait times. Do you have any questions?"
"No," Batman said.
"Yes," Robin said cheerfully, popping right side up again. "Do you like ice cream?"
David blinked at the kid. "Yes?" he said.
Robin beamed. "B says he doesn't, but I think he's lying because he doesn't want to take me to get any on patrol. Everyone likes ice cream!"
David had no idea what to say to that. "I don't think that's true," he said, when it became clear Batman, Robin, and Jim expected him to reply.
Robin pouted. "Really?" he asked. "I've never met anyone who doesn't!"
"Some people are lactose intolerant," David pointed out. "And some people don't like sweets, or very cold things."
Robin hummed and turned a cartwheel exactly in place. "I guess," he said reluctantly. "I still don't believe B."
Batman's mouth was tilted just slightly on one side. "Thank you," he said quietly, all gravel.
"You're welcome," David said reflexively. He narrowed his eyes at Jim as the two caped vigilantes turned towards the doors. 'You owe me,' he mouthed.
Jim only grinned and followed the pair out the door.
Twenty minutes later, as David walked home, his phone buzzed with a text from Jim. 'Drinks Friday?' it offered.
'Hell yes,' David replied. 'You owe me for springing The Goddamn Batman on me without warning.'
Jim didn't reply, but he turned up at six at their usual dive that Friday. "What the fuck, Jim?" David demanded.
"New batch of Rookies," Jim said.
"I remember, you bitched about them for an hour three weeks ago."
"One ticketed the damned batmobile."
David nearly spat his beer. "What?"
Jim hummed. "On the windshield." He shook his head. "And when Batman turned up to complain, the kid asked to see his license."
"And he didn't have one," David realized.
"Do you have any idea how much paperwork I had to do to make the ticketing, and the fine for driving without a license, go away?"
"Why didn't you make him pay them?" David asked.
"It's the goddamned Batman!" Jim said.
"He's got to be loaded, though," David pointed out. "All that gear? He could afford a, what, parking ticket? And the driving without a license fine."
"It's minimum sixty days in jail," Jim said tiredly.
"Oh shit," David said. Halloween was in two weeks. There was no way Gotham could afford for Batman to be in jail for sixty days, even assuming anyone could make it happen.
"So the rookie is now working the day shift," Jim said. "And Batman has a valid driver's license."
"And Robin has a state ID," David added. "Why?"
"He wanted one," Jim said. "When I told Batman he needed a driver's license." Then he laughed softly. "Well, first he tried to convince Batman he should have a license too, but Batman just said, 'No, you're twelve.'"
"Ha," David said, pleased to be vindicated on the kid's age. "I wish I could've seen the look on Margot's face when she had to notarize the kid's proof of address."
Jim shook his head. "The hard part was tracking down Ruiz Sauceda for his signature on the birth certificate. Margot thinks Robin is cute."
"He is cute," David pointed out.
"He's fucking terrifying," Jim said. "You've never heard him laugh while Batman is beating up criminals."
"He's twelve, what are you talking about?" David said, chuckling.
"That child is a holy terror, you mark my words," Jim said, pointing at him with his beer bottle. "Ruiz Sauceda signed the certificate while literally hiding behind Batman to keep the kid away from him."
"Jim, be serious," David said. "He's a kid."
Jim shook his head. "He's a kid with advanced combat training and without an adult's ability to make rational, thought out decisions. Or if you ask Ruiz Sauceda, or any number of other criminals, he's a feral gremlin sent from hell specifically to punish the unwary."
"No," David said. Robin was the light in Batman's shadow.
Jim produced his phone and, after frowning at it for a few moments, shoved it at David. "Listen," he insisted.
The noise that emanated from Jim's phone made the hair rise on David's nape. "What the hell is that?" he asked.
"The criminals call it 'the Robin Cackle,'" Jim explained. "I've seen hardened thieves wet themselves when that sound came bouncing out of the rafters of a warehouse. Kid's a terror."
"Only to criminals, though," David pointed out. "I mean, I'd kind of prefer them to be afraid of him, then, like, wanting to murder a twelve year old."
Jim inclined his head. "I'm about ninety percent his request for an ID was just to annoy Batman."
"Kid's twelve," David said, because he remembered his sons' preteen years with clarity.
Jim, whose daughter had just turned fifteen, nodded in commiseration. "God, can imagine what it's going to be like when he's a teenager?"
"You're going to get to see it," David pointed out.
"God don't remind me," Jim groaned.
David laughed at him. "You deserve it, for springing them on me without warning."
"Yeah, but would you have stayed?" Jim asked.
David sighed. "You know I would've," he said. "And if you'd warned me, I could've handled it without panicking, and Jack wouldn't be mad at me for not getting Robin's autograph."
Jim perked up. "I can get Robin's autograph for you," he said. "I didn't know Jack was a fan."
"I didn't either," David admitted. "But he was furious when I came home having met The Robin and I didn't get his autograph other than his signature for his ID."
"His autograph's different from his signature anyway," Jim said, smirking. "I'll ask him next time I see him for something that's not murder," he promised.
Their conversation wound on from there, the weirdness of the general public they both saw in their jobs, how their families were doing, and the usual politics and corruption of daily life in Gotham.
Four weeks later, Jim invited him out for drinks again. When David sat down next to him, Jim sat a paper on the bar. It had a loopy, cursive scrawl, Robin traced in bold strokes, with a flourish that looked like wings under the name, and a slash over the 'i' that looked more like a droplet than a dot. It was, as Jim had said, nothing like Robin's signature on his bank card or ID.
Jack was delighted, at least.