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Lost Holidays
Chapter Thirteen
written by destinyawakened
Sunday, February 15 (Continued)
Stephens had finally left about two hours later, said he had to take care of business down at the MCU, “things just don't take care of themselves, you know,” he said. Gordon had laughed at him, knowing all too well that nothing ever got done unless one of them was there, and obviously that person wasn't going to be Gordon this time. Selina Kyle had swung by for a visit, though she seemed more distant than usual, if that was even possible for her. She didn't ask questions, didn't even mention the incident, and Gordon felt his heart grow even more weary of her attitude. He couldn't place it, but something about her had changed since she first started at MCU, and Gordon was determined to find out what it was.
Bruce had convinced Barbara to pawn the kids off on Alfred, who drove them back to the Manor with promises of warm milk and cookies and perhaps a movie before he set up one of the many guest rooms for them to sleep in. Barbara was hesitant, of course, and made the excuse they had school in the morning, but Bruce had butted in, pointing that their father had just been in serious danger and was in the hospital, that them staying for one day wouldn't hurt much in terms of their education. He even offered to bring in a home-school teacher for the one day that they would be at the Manor. Barbara humbly refused the teacher, but in the end agreed that they would stay until the following evening. Gordon was impressed; if only he had been able to negotiate with Barbara the way Bruce did, they might still be married. But then he wouldn't have Bruce, and if he was completely honest with himself, he was happier with Bruce now than he had been in over ten years with Barbara.
Of course, the minute Bruce left the room in search of food for Gordon, who insisted on the hospital cafeteria because he didn't want Bruce to go out of his way for something extravagant, Barbara cornered him, sitting down at the edge of the hospital bed, arms folded over her chest, watching his every move, which admittedly wasn't much.
“You've been avoiding my phone calls since Christmas. You'd think you'd want to see your own children now and then,” she said, snidely. Gordon felt trapped; but without Bruce here he should almost have expected something like this from her.
“If I actually thought you'd bring them by or even allowed me to visit one Sunday, I might be willing to talk,” he said plainly, hoping that his words would break through her shell and make her realize that a lot of this was her own fault. She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped, looking as if she couldn't find the right words. “Barbara, I love those kids. If you'd allow me to take them Saturday evening through Sunday afternoon, I'd do it in a heartbeat.”
“You don't have the space, Jim. I've seen that cruddy little apartment you call home. It's no place for children.” At least she sounded sympathetic this time, as if he had shattered just a tiny piece of her rigid exterior.
“They don't have to stay at my place,” he said, voice soft so as not to sound threatening. Sooner or later it was going to come out, and it may as well have been now.
“And where would they stay?” she asked knowingly; obviously she knew the answer, had suspected long before now, but had not said anything.
“At Wayne Manor,” he said quietly, looking her straight in the eyes, watching her gaze right back at him, her eyes showing some understanding. It was all real now; he didn't have to say more, and her speculations was right.
“Does he at least make you happy, Jim?” Her face turned a little sad; she turned her gaze to her hands, wringing them together in an emotional tick, something he remembered she did only when she was terribly nervous. Gordon only nodded at her, unsure what words that would make this easier for her. “What does a man like Bruce Wayne have to offer you that I couldn't give you?”
Gordon tipped his head to the side, trying to see her eyes again, but she didn't budge, keeping her head down. “Barbara, you left me, remember?”
“You weren't there for me emotionally. You were always at the office, and when you did come home you were always too tired, even to talk.” She paused, lifting her face to look at him, she seemed on the verge of tears, her eyes red. “But just seeing you with Mr. Wayne, I can see you two have that emotional connection you and I lost long ago. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous, Jim. But, I am happy for you.”
Gordon reached over and took her hand, squeezing it. He gave her a half smile. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“Oh, I know that,” she said, pulling her hand away from his and wiping at her eyes. “Somethings aren't meant to last.” She sighed heavily, looking around the room, at the machines working away, calculating Gordon's heart beat, the IV by the side of the bed dripping fluids into him. “The kids can stay with you on weekends. Since Bruce does have Alfred to help him out when you aren't there, I can assume they'll be in good hands.”
“You'd be right,” Gordon said with a big smile. Maybe he shouldn't have ignored her phone calls for so long; maybe he had just needed to give her the time to talk, to get out her frustrations, and most of all to let her find out the truth about Bruce and himself. He hated to see her cry, but she had been the one to leave him, and for good reasons; if she had stayed their marriage would have been terrible. They just didn't love each other anymore, not the way they had when they first met – when every smile she gave made him melt into a puddle, when everytime she laughed he couldn't help but want to kiss her. That was well over fifteen years ago, and they had been naïve, young, twitterpated, and most of all, in love. But what did they know then? They couldn't predict what would happen in Gotham; no one could have.
Bruce walked in carrying not one but two trays from the cafeteria. “You have the choice of chicken, chicken or more chicken,” he said with a grin. Barbara looked up at him, eyes still red, a little stained with tears. Bruce gave Gordon a curious glance.
“Later,” he said, grabbing for one of the trays. Bruce handed it over, helping him place it on the pull around table so he could eat. He stared at it disgust; could they even call that chicken? He looked up at Bruce, who shrugged his shoulders.
“I did offer to go around the corner to Big City Burger, but you said this would be fine.” He bent over Gordon's food and sniffed. “Mmmmm.... smells great,” he said sarcastically. “You enjoy that. I think Barbara and I are going to step out for a bit and get some real food.”
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Bruce drove Barbara back to the Manor, returning to the hospital just before the end of visiting hours. He tossed a brown bag onto Gordon's lap, grease stains running up the sides and the aroma of a hamburger and French fries waifing out of it. Gordon opened the top of the bag yo find a big, fat burger inside, along with a super large order of fries. He looked back to Bruce, a grin growing on his face.
“Where's my milk-shake?”
Bruce laughed, pouring water into a glass for Gordon and placing it into his hand. “You are not allowed near anything even remotely frozen.” Gordon frowned, taking the water and placing it on the table next to him. He reached inside the bag, taking out the burger; just the smell was better than eating the hospital food. Gordon took a bite. Much, much better. He closed his eyes, enjoying it; he hadn't had a burger in months, since it wasn't something Bruce normally ate, and Gordon had been told by his doctor to watch his his intake of high fat-foods. If there were times to bend the rules on diets, this was definitely one of them.
Bruce glanced at his watch, then back to Gordon, furtively. Gordon swallowed his bite, wiping his mustache with a free hand. “Somewhere you need to be?”
“Not particularly.” Bruce chewed on his lower lip, glancing above Gordon's head. Gordon turned his head to find, a clock on the wall, reading eight in the evening. He looked back to Bruce and rolled his eyes.
“You can go. I'm not going anywhere.” Gordon wanted to laugh at Bruce for being so protective of him, especially when he was at the now high security Gotham General.
“I still don't trust the guards here,” Bruce said, bending over and kissing Gordon softly on the forehead, a gesture the older man would usually give him crap for, but considering his situation thought better of it. He could get back at Bruce later for being such a softy. “I do need to go make the rounds. I'll be by later to check on you.”
“You're just going to walk in here later wearing a cape, cowl, and Kevlar and expect no one to notice?” If anything Gordon was amused by the thought of it, the nurses all scrambling to figure out what to do, security unsure if they should try to take the vigilante down or just let him go. He could use the laugh, almost hoping Bruce would do it, now.
Bruce shook his head, not giving a real answer. “I'll see you later, Jim.” He reached over, grabbing Gordon's hand and squeezing it. “And get some rest.”
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Monday, February 16 –
Alfred had picked him up from the hospital early that morning; the doctor released him under the condition that he had constant care for the next day, which meant that he'd have to go stay with Bruce. So Alfred drove him to the Manor and told him to make himself at home along with the rest of his family. Gordon sat at the table over-looking the back court-yard where the children where playing tag. Alfred had just put on a fresh pot of coffee and was now drying dishes, watching the children out the window by the sink, smiling. Gordon could hear Barbara in the other room making phone calls, to the kids' school and one to her work, to call in sick for the day. And Bruce, well...
Bruce was out for his twice-a-weekly session at Arkham, something Gordon swore he was going to look into after he was up and running at full capacity again. There had to be a way to get Bruce out of it. Gordon didn't see a need for the playboy to be going, not when the judge who had assigned him to the sessions dead, and no one else keep the secret of Batman. Gordon had talked to Garcia about it, but he dismissed his concerns saying that Bruce needed the meetings. The reports coming back to him were inconclusive about whether Bruce would be stable if taken off the drugs they were giving him. Gordon knew Bruce was just fine without the drugs, knew he had gotten along all these years without them. So why were they making him do this now? Gordon knew it wasn't the mayor's doing; it was court-ordered, and without the court and a doctor saying Bruce was fine, or cured, or whatever they wanted to call it, he would be stuck going to those sessions for quite some time. There had to be something Gordon could do.
Alfred had poured a cup of coffee for Gordon, putting the cream and sugar in front of him and allowing him to doctor it which ever way he found fit. He pushed the sugar aside and added just a dash of cream. What good was coffee if it was tainted with artificial flavors? Gordon usually added the dash of milk to cool it down just a smidgen. He sipped on it, enjoying the rich flavor; he'd never get over just how much better gourmet coffee tasted than the mass-produced brands he bought for his apartment.
He wished Bruce would get back soon and end the awkward silence between Alfred, Barbara, the kids and himself. If it had been just him and kids, that would be one thing, but Barbara and Alfred were there with their judging eyes, watching him and wondering what he was going to do, what he was thinking; it put him on edge. The talk he'd had with Barbara, though refreshing, had still left him feeling like he was a terrible person because of everything that had happened between them. And Alfred was just being the protective parent he had always been to Bruce, but Gordon was still pretty unsure as to how the older gentlemen felt about him. Their run-ins with each other were few and far between and it was rare for them to carry on a conversation lasting longer than two minutes without Bruce being there.
Gordon sighed to himself; maybe he just hadn't given Alfred a chance yet. Maybe he had the man all wrong. He had helped him through the Christmas Eve party quite a bit. He didn't't realize he was staring at the poor man until Alfred glared right back at him, raising his eyebrows.
“Sir?” the butler questioned, wiping the inside of a mug with a dish towel. Gordon blinked, shaking his head and sipping his coffee again.
“Sorry. Just thinking,” Gordon replied. He glanced Alfred again over the rim of his coffee mug and the man gave him a slight smile of understanding.
“Jimmy reminds me quite a bit of Master Wayne when he was a boy. So full of life...” Alfred drifted off, as if memories had overwhelmed him, lazily wiping clean a china plate. “They grow up so fast.”
“Did you raise Bruce completely by yourself after Thomas and Martha died?” Gordon asked. He had never brought this up with Bruce – it seemed taboo, awkward even – but with Alfred, it seemed only natural; he was practically the billionaire's second father.
Alfred nodded. “I certainly did. And might I just say, the teenage years are the worst.” Gordon suddenly got an image of a teenaged, brooding Bruce, annoying Alfred with banter about why he didn't need to do his homework. Gordon smiled at this, amused.
“Trust me, I'm not looking forward to it.” He gave Alfred a teasing sort of grin. “But at least I'll be able to pawn them off on you when the time comes.” He was kidding, of course, but Alfred looked a bit befuddled, as if trying to fathom the idea.
“I think that is about the time I'll find myself a nice place to retire,” Alfred said with a slight smile; Gordon could tell the butler was kidding for the most part, but then again, so was he. Barbara walked into the room, turning her cell phone off, glancing between Gordon and Alfred; she didn't say word, however, as she walked past them and out the back door to the courtyard. Gordon watched her interact with Jimmy and Susan, who were going on about something. It must have been big since Jimmy was using his arms in exaggeration.
Gordon heard footsteps from down the hall leading to the kitchen. He turned his head to the door-way, and saw Bruce walking through, looking a little tired, ragged. Alfred must have heard him long before Gordon did, as he had a cup of coffee poured and in Bruce's hands no more than five seconds later. Bruce made an “mm” sound, nodding a thank you to Alfred, and sat next to Gordon at the table. The younger man winced as he sat down, favoring his left side just a little.
“What happened to you?” Gordon asked as Alfred came over to refill his cup.
“Checking out one of those random burglaries again last night. Apparently Fox was wrong about this suit being cat-proof.” Bruce said with annoyance, but with a smile still present on his face.
“Cat?” Gordon asked, the memory of the other day still lingering in his mind – the woman in the black leather cat getup, and her razor-claws. Gordon shivered; it was a moment he no longer wanted to relive, let alone physically experience ever again.
Bruce nodded. “The burglar used to just be masked, but now she wears a full costume. A cat costume.” Gordon felt his stomach turn. He placed his coffee on the table, no longer interested in finishing it. Bruce looked at him worriedly. “What's wrong, Jim?”
“This cat-woman have long, razor-sharp claws, by chance?”
“Yes. How did you –” Bruce didn't have to finish his question to know the answer. Gordon watched his eyes as he pieced together the puzzle. “She's Holiday?”
Gordon shook his head. “No. She works for – no, with him. She's dangerous, Bruce. Whoever she is.” Gordon watched as Bruce bit down on his lower lip, thinking. “I failed to mention this earlier, but Thomas Elliot was there, too”
Bruce turned his gaze to Gordon, eyes blazing and stern, but curious. “Elliot? There has to be some connection here. Something that brings all of them together.”
“I think first we need to find out who this catwoman is. By finding that out, we might be able to find Holiday. Elliot didn't seem to be working for them, if anything he was trying to rid of me to get to you.” Gordon reached out and placed a hand on Bruce's thigh.
“Elliot,” Bruce repeated, and it was obvious that he was replaying the events of a few months ago in his mind. “Why hasn't he come after me? He's had all this time. What's he up to?”
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