One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve| Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen
Lost Holidays
Chapter Twelve
written by destinyawakened
Saturday, February 14 – Valentine's Day (Continued)
It could have been hours, for all Gordon knew; time had come to a stand-still in his mind. Whatever that cat lady had made him drink had started to make his vision more than a little blurry, his mind completely disabled. Holiday and the woman had left, turning off the lights, leaving Gordon in complete darkness, hoping to God that he had somehow been able to activate the device. If by some chance he did get out this situation, he knew the Bruce and Stephens' 'I told you so's' would be taunting him for days, if not weeks or months. Why was he even thinking about that? He could die here and he was worrying about a little teasing he survived. Oh, you are a piece of work, Jim. He attempted one more time to wiggle some part of his body – anything would have been nice. But he wasn't sure if his paralysis was because of the drugs given to him or because he was slowly going numb from the freezing cold water.
Long moments passed, maybe just seconds, he wasn't sure anymore. His hearing had faded, probably another effect of the drugs. He thought about his kids, Bruce, even Barbara. God, he was such an idiot to get himself into this mess, to fall into such an easy trap; he really should have known better. Should have kept your head out of your ass, he thought to himself, and really if he had just listened to Bruce, to Stephens, to everyone, to himself, maybe he wouldn't be there. Maybe he'd be out catching Holiday instead of becoming his next murder victim. Oh, what a way to go, Jim. What a way to go.
The blur of his vision made it hard to see what happened next. He was aware of his body being moved, shifted, touched. He couldn't get his eyes to open further, and when he tried his lids drooped down. He knew he wasn't sleeping; he could faintly hear the hum of voices, someone saying his name, but it sounded so distant, and when he tried to respond he felt his every word choke up in his throat, and come out as terrible gurgle. He was aware that it wasn't Holiday that had returned for him – no a murderer wouldn't be calling him by his first name, nor would a murder be moving him from the spot in which he wanted him to die. He attempted one last time to open his eyes, but that was an impossible feat.
He finally thought he was getting better. Noises started to become more clear, there was some feeling in his skin, though mostly it was cold and sore. He couldn't find his voice, still, but he didn't need to; he could hear the hum of a car, the shifting of gears. He was able to open his eyes just barely, into slits; he was wrapped tightly in a blanket like a mummy. He could tell he was in the back seat of someone's car, someone safe at least. His mind was still terribly foggy, he couldn't think, didn't want to think. The numbness was wearing off all over, only making him feel worse than before, his body shaking from the icy bath he had just been in not more than minutes before, he was sure.
“Jim, if you can hear me, it's going to be fine.” The voice was familiar, strong, steady, even, but there was a hint of concern in it, maybe even a little terror. He worked the puzzle in his mind; Stephens cared but not that much. It had to be Bruce. Bruce Wayne, the name lingering in his mind, he wanted to say it, to feel the words in his mouth, but his mind failed him, his tongue choked in his throat. “Jim, just relax. Don't strain. I'm taking you to the hospital.”
Oh God, the hospital, he thought. If there was one place he loathed to be in, especially for himself, it was the hospital. The endless hounding of nurses and doctors, the smell of disinfectant, white halls, sick people. Oh, the things he would have to go through because he was so, so stupid today. Next time, he was bringing back-up. Next time. Yes, there was going to be a next time. Jim Gordon did not fall this easily. He was at least aware, awake, sensing. He couldn't have been in that bath too long, he was cold, yes, but it was far from what someone with acute hypothermia would be feeling. Right? He honestly didn't know, but he was trying to be optimistic about it.
Gordon attempted to shift his gaze to Bruce, in the driver's seat of one of his many cars, opening his eyes just enough to see the blurry outline of his head a few feet away. Gordon was surprised, actually, that he hadn't come as Batman, but the warm glow of the sun through the front windows of the car put the thought out of his mind. However Bruce had found out where he was, he didn't care, and Gordon sure as hell wouldn't be mad at who-ever had told him, be it Selina or Stephens. Maybe it had been the tracking device? Why was he focusing on these little facts? He should have been resting, not worrying, and felt thankful that Bruce cared enough to go after him.
Gordon tried again to move his tongue. The words mostly garbled in his mouth, which was dry as sandpaper, yet wet enough that his tongue slipped all over the syllables, ruining any chance Bruce might have had to understand anything he said. What he wanted to say was “No hospitals,” but he was sure the other man didn't catch it. Bruce glanced at him, worry written on his face, shaking his head slightly.
“Don't try to talk. Just keep still. We're almost there.” Bruce's voice was steady, but there was the rasp of batman's undertone, which worried Gordon; he didn't need Bruce slipping in and out of Batmode, making himself suspicious. Gordon kept trying to convince his tongue to form some sort of words, anything, but his tongue felt like a dead fish in his mouth, much like after he went to the dentist for fillings.
Gordon felt his body grow very cold, shaking uncontrollably, convulsing in the blankets. He felt his teeth chattering, and vaguely heard Bruce mutter something to him, but he wasn't paying attention to the billionaire, just trying his hardest to keep his body under control, to stop shivering. The car had stopped, paramedics were rushing the car, but Gordon was unaware of anything that was happening. His mind was off in a daze,trying to stop thinking about everything that was happening at the moment, and then when he thought he had it, thought he had regained control, he felt his thoughts fade to a blank nothingness.
------
Sunday, February 15, Day After Valentine's Day:
Dreamless sleeps were the ones that went the quickest, always leaving Gordon feeling more drained than he really was. Only this time, he didn't doubt that he was still as tired as he felt. He attempted to roll over, uncomfortable lying on his back, but he found that something was attached to his right arm. He groaned, opening his eyes though he didn't want to. He first glanced at his hand, an IV stuck into the back of it. He looked to his left to find his glasses sitting on a small bedside table. He put them on, able to see a little better now, everything a little more clear.
To his right Bruce was sound asleep in a chair, positioned awkwardly; head back, legs out, arms folded over his chest, mouth slightly agape, snoring softly. To his left, in another chair, was Stephens, head down, chin to chest, arms similarly folded, sleeping. Gordon felt like laughing, but his throat was tight and dry, probably from whatever drug that crazy cat woman had made him take. There wasn't anything to drink nearby, and he'd hate to wake one of the two men who were fast asleep; lord knows they probably hadn't slept much that day themselves.
Beside him he saw the nurse call switch and he flipped it. A moment later a middle aged doctor walked in, clipboard in hand, positioning his glasses on his nose, and walking over to the bed. He took Gordon's wrist, staring at his watch, timing his heart beat by his pulse. He jotted something down on his clipboard. He then looked at Gordon, placing the clipboard down on the side table, and allowed his hands to rest at his sides. He saw Gordon eye the sink in the corner and motioned to the nurse behind him.
“Get the Commissioner a drink of water, please,” he said politely. He smiled at Gordon genuinely. “How are we feeling?”
Gordon held up a hand as he took the cup of water from the nurse, nodding his thanks. He took a few gulps, keeping the cup in his free hand. “Now? Better.” He said it a little too loudly, miscalculating how his voice would sound. Bruce stirred in his chair, moving just enough to reposition himself, but not waking.
“Good,” the doctor said, lowering his own tone, catching on that Gordon didn't want to wake the billionaire. “You are very lucky. Had Mr. Wayne not found you when he did you could have been in some serious danger. Luckily, I'd say you were in that ice bath ten, twenty minutes tops. Who ever put you in there obviously didn't do their homework well enough. It would have taken hours and a lot more ice for you to freeze to death. You might have come out pretty sick by the time someone found you, but alive nonetheless. What caused most of the reactions was the drug you were given. We're still working out exactly what it is.”
“Even the uncontrollable shivering and shaking?” Gordon asked, taking another sip of water. His mouth felt like a desert, each drop of water being soaked up as quickly as he put it there. He licked his lips impulsively, trying to get some moisture into them.
“That could have been the beginnings of the hypothermia, but you weren't in there long enough to cause any real damage. This drug is dangerous. Never seen anything like it.” The doctor put a hand on Gordon's shoulder. “But at least you're looking better than you were yesterday. You had a lot of people scared.” Gordon only nodded, gulping down the rest of the water, still feeling dehydrated. The nurse took the cup, walking over to refill it for him, bringing him a whole pitcher of water as well. She set them both on the table, and smiled at him softly. The doctor nodded, motioning for the nurse to follow him.
“I'll be making my rounds a little later. I'll check on you then.”
“Thanks.” Gordon grumbled, voice a little raspy still. He picked up the cup of water off the table, taking a few gulps. On the edge of his vision he saw Bruce open his eyes, wiping at them with his palms, looking around a little wide-eyed, as if he had forgotten where he was for a moment. He looked over at Gordon then, a weak smile on his face.
“You're up, finally,” he said, elbows perched on the arms of the chair, hands folded together, tapping his chin. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Gordon coughed out, clearing his throat. Whatever that drug was, it had to have been pretty bad, like the doctor had said. He only wished he hadn't been on the receiving end of it. Bruce watched him with curious eyes, and Gordon could almost tell what he was thinking, what he wanted to say, but he was holding his tongue. “I know you're thinking it. You may as well just come out with it.”
Bruce shook his head, his smile turning into a bit of a frown. “No. It's not a matter of who was right, Jim. What matters is that you're alive.” His gaze turned soft, melting through Gordon like a knife through butter. Sometimes, just when he thought he had the younger man pegged one way or another, Bruce surprised him. Had Jim been in Bruce's shoes, he'd have made the remark about being right, -- sarcastically – of course, and returned to being serious again. Just another way they were different.
“How'd you know where I was?” Gordon asked, sipping his water again, every time he spoke it felt like he was rolling rocks around his mouth.
“Well, when Lt. Stephens told me you were going to check out more leads, I knew you were up to something. Especially when Stephens wouldn't tell me where you were.” Bruce smiled, genuinely this time. “I should be honest, that tracker I gave you, it doesn't need to be activated for me to find you. The button just alerts me to the fact that you probably need help.”
Gordon didn't know what to think, he wanted to be angry, because it was a huge invasion of his privacy to have Bruce know where he was at all times, or even just occasionally checking up on him. But on the other hand, had it not been for that feature he would most likely have spent more time in that tub of ice water before Stephens had come looking for him. It could wait; Bruce did come to the rescue after all. Gordon sighed. It was a talk they would have to have later on, one that he knew would not end up being very pleasant. Bruce seemed to sense his hesitation, as if he could read his mind.
Bruce stood, taking the few steps to Gordon's bedside. “I won't make excuses. I'm sorry.” He reached his hand out to take Gordon's, but his eyes moved to Stephens, who was awake and now staring at them curiously. Bruce dropped his hand back to his side, sliding the other into his pocket. He nodded at Stephens, giving Gordon a weak smile. “I'm going to get some coffee. You want some?”
Gordon nodded, catching Stephens' eye. “That would be great, thanks.” Bruce walked out of the room. Gordon turned his head to Stephens, who had quirked an eyebrow at him, hands in his lap.
“So, you and Wayne, huh?” he asked, with a knowing nod towards the door through which Bruce had just left.
Gordon narrowed his eyes on the other man, “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Yeah. Okay,” Stephens said, shifting in the chair, sitting up a little. “I didn't tell him you know.”
“I know.”
“But I will next time you decide to pull a stunt like this. You're real lucky that nothing worse happened, Jim.” Stephens said, concern written on his face, unwavering sincerity in his voice; Gordon knew he meant it. Stephens didn't use his first name unless he really needed Gordon to listen to him, a way to bring his attention.
“I don't make a habit of –” Gordon began but Stephens raised a hand to stop him, shaking his head.
“Need I remind you of the Hush incident? Or the time Nygma set up that trap for you with the riddles and you insisted it wasn't one?”
Gordon sighed. “Alright. I get the point. I'll start accepting the help when its offered. Will that get you and Bruce off my back?” Stephens gave him a knowing, and Gordon realized that he used Bruce's name instead of calling him 'Wayne' as he usually did around Stephens.
“For now.” Stephens looked past Gordon to the doorway, standing up quickly and walking towards the door, where Mayor Garcia and Bruce, two cups of coffee in hand, had just entered. Stephens shook Garcia's hand. “Mayor.”
“Lt. Stephens,” Garcia said, turning to Gordon, an almost fatherly look on his face, suggesting that he was far from pleased with the situation. He looked to Bruce and Stephens. “Gentlemen, would you mind excusing us for a moment?” Bruce handed Gordon a cup of coffee, nodded to the Mayor, and walked with Stephens out of the room.
“I know what you're going to say,” said Gordon, holding the hot coffee between both hands, feeling its warmth radiate into him. “It was not a very well-thought-out move on my part.”
“No it wasn't. You're the best commissioner Gotham City has seen in well over a decade. Crime is at an all-time low for the first time in twenty years. Things are starting to look up. I'd like to keep it that way for a while.” Garcia paused, as if making sure he was choosing his words wisely. “I'd like to keep you around as commissioner for a while, too.”
Gordon was a bit taken aback. He knew he had been the mayor's choice for commissioner when Loeb was killed, but he didn't think he was doing that great of a job. The mayor was looking him over, concerned, “Well, I'll let you get back to recovering. Keep me posted when you get out.” He patted Gordon on the arm, and left. Gordon wasn't sure what to think; he felt a little befuddled, and wondered if maybe he was still a little out of it from the drugs.
Bruce popped his head into the room. “Are you up to having a few guests?” Gordon opened his mouth to say no, but before he could answer, two little blond haired kids ran into the room, tackling him almost before he could get his coffee onto the side table. He gathered them both up onto the bed with him.
“How did you guys get here?” he asked Jimmy, who was staring at him a little wide eyed, watching all the monitors his dad was hooked up to.
“Mom,” he said quietly. “Are you okay, Dad?”
Gordon smiled at his son, giving him a little nod; “I'm fine. Still breathing aren't I?” Susan put her hand on his chest, waited a moment, and nodded at Jimmy. Gordon hugged both of them to him again, tighter this time, until Susan made a squeak and wiggled away.
“Did Batman save you Dad?” Jimmy asked, hopeful. Gordon wanted to tell his son yes, but he wasn't sure if the news had started reporting that Bruce Wayne had been the one to find and save him. Gordon shook his head.
“Afraid not, son. Mr. Wayne was the one that saved me this time,” Gordon said softly. Jimmy turned his head to the door way where Bruce was standing and talking to Barbara, obviously trying to keep her calm. Jimmy turned back to his dad, smiling.
“I like Bruce,” he said. Gordon had forgotten that Bruce had allowed the kids to call him by his first name, saying he hated being called Mr. Wayne by kids, that it made him feel old. Gordon returned his sons cheerful smile.
“Me too.”
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve| Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen