One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve| Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen
Lost Holidays
Chapter Eighteen
written by destinyawakened
Tuesday, March 17, Saint Patrick's Day –
Gordon wasn't sure if he was pleasantly surprised or completely devastated. The killer known as Holiday had just been delivered to the MCU – tied up, gagged, beaten until he was practically unidentifiable, and in need of emergency medical attention. Though Gordon was thrilled to finally have the killer in custody, he was far from happy with the route Batman had taken to get the man. It had been a little over a week since Bruce had been given the last drug injection, and Gordon was damn sure the billionaire was going through some painful withdrawals by now, most likely causing his lashing out, his anger, and the need for brute physical contact. If what Holiday looked like was any indication of what Bruce was going through mentally and physically, Gordon was only too happy to not be in his line of sight. Even if he missed him more than he cared to openly admit.
Holiday, once rushed to hospital under the supervision of Gordon himself, was treated, cleaned up and then identified as Alberto Falcone. It really wasn't as surprising as Gordon thought it should have been. The killing of the assistant DA, the DA, the judge, Gordon himself almost falling victim... it all made sense. If only he had really listened to Bruce back in February when he mentioned the connection between Carmine Falcone and the murders. How Bruce actually figured it out, Gordon wasn't sure he wanted to know. What mattered was that the murderer Holiday was caught, and once he healed, he'd be thrown into Arkham with his father. Another madman caught, another case solved. Yet, there was one left, still wandering the streets: Doctor Thomas Elliot.
Gordon had set up a new security detail Monday morning at Arkham, hiring his own people rather than allowing the facility to chose their own and risk having the safety of Gotham City jeopardized, again – not to mention someone else's mental stability. Doctor Elliot was out there somewhere, and if Gordon had his way, he was going to catch the doctor once and for all, one way or another. Elliot had crossed the line one too many times. Now he was playing on Gordon's turf, and Gordon wasn't about to back down or play nice – not this time. With his best people wandering in and out of Arkham, checking in on the new security guards and features, he was sure that something suspicious would show up in the paperwork at some point, hopefully leading him directly to Elliot. The man had to falter at some point, and Gordon hoped he was the one to see him brought to his knees, especially after everything he'd put Bruce through in the last six months.
He had heard nothing from Bruce since Saturday evening. A part of him hoped the younger man would recognized his problems, along with the overall seriousness of his condition, and ask for help. Gordon knew, though, that this was unlikely, and that he shouldn't really expect to hear from Bruce for at least a month, if not longer. Alfred, who had called him Monday, said Bruce was slowly tumbling further down a deep hole: not sleeping, not eating, and obsessing over “cleaning up” Gotham. The older gentlemen also said that Bruce refused to talk about Gordon, and that whenever he came up Bruce shied away from the conversation by changing the topic or leaving the room all together. Alfred tried to reassure Gordon that when Bruce finally started to come down off his cloud of anger and frustration he would surely find the time and desire to talk to him again. Gordon hoped Alfred was right, things just weren't the same without Bruce, or Batman for that matter, next to him solving cases – it felt wrong.
The next couple of months were going to be long, boring, and extremely tedious. At least he had this children coming for the weekends now, despite Barbara's complaints that his apartment was too small. It was a good thing that he was moving into a bigger one soon, as he couldn't count on Bruce to accommodate to them at the manor any time soon. Until then, he had set up his bedroom for the kids to share while they visited, taking the couch for himself. None of the inconveniences mattered, as long as he was able to see his kids and keep his mind off everything else at least for a day or two.
Monday March 23 –
A little less than a week later, Alfred showed up at Gordon's apartment early in the morning, a small suitcase in hand, looking awkward in his neatly pressed butler's uniform, giving Gordon a look of disappointment and exasperation. Gordon, who was still getting ready for work, opened the door wider for the other man, gesturing for him to enter. His place was far from clean, with dishes piled in the sink, old take-out containers from at least three days prior sitting on the table around a pile of bills he was sure were getting to be overdue. He suddenly felt very self-conscious about having Alfred, with his all too pristine appearance, in his apartment.
“Do I dare ask?” Gordon's tone was flat. He already knew the answer, or could at least could guess well enough. He pulled his tie around his neck, fumbling with it nervously. Alfred watched him for a few seconds before setting down his suitcase, and batted Gordon's hands away to fix the tie.
“I quit.” Alfred said plainly, smoothing the tie down Gordon's chest, looking at him with a satisfied look on his face. Gordon looked down at the tie; he'd never been able to get it that straight. He looked back up at the older man, curiously.
“That bad?”
“Worse, sir. He refuses any help. I told him, 'you better go get some real help or I'm leaving'. I don't think you need me to tell you which he chose.” Alfred motioned to the suitcase at his feet. “I'm off to find a hotel until I can find more a permanent arrangement of my own. I thought I should come by and let you know the circumstances.” Alfred reached for his suitcase, turning on his heels to head back out the door, but Gordon caught him by the arm.
“If you need some where to stay, I'd be more than willing to have a house guest,” he found himself saying, part of him screaming to stop talking and the other part whispering that it was the decent thing to do, despite the fact that Alfred had far more money than Gordon could probably even imagine. “I don't have a lot of room right now, but I am moving into a larger apartment this weekend. Until then you're welcome to my room, and I'll take the couch.”
Alfred gave a him a small smile, one that Gordon had seen him give Bruce on many occasions when the billionaire did things that were surprising but admirable. “Well, I do say you could use a little help with cleaning and packing. I'll take the couch, sir. No need to put your self out for me.” He took a look around the room, placing his suitcase up against the wall by the front door. “You'll be late for work.”
Gordon gave a confused stare as Alfred helped him into his suit jacket and handed him his keys from the table. Gordon turned to face him, a question poised on his lips. “What about Bruce?”
“What about Master Wayne?” Alfred looked as if he didn't want to talk about it; it was obvious that the situation was hurting the butler, who had once been father figure to a younger Bruce Wayne. Gordon bit down on the inside of his bottom lip, trying to think of the right thing to say, wondering if he should just ask his question outright.
“I don't trust him by himself in his condition,” Gordon mumbled, unsure if the words were right, but the look on Alfred's face suggested that he understood completely. Alfred placed a hand on Gordon's shoulder, opening the front door for him and seeing him out.
“I have my ways of keeping an eye on him, Master Gordon. Don't you worry about that.” And with that Alfred gave him a little push out the door, leaving Gordon feeling a little dumbfounded and lost, standing in the hallway, staring at the door that closed promptly in front of him. Did Alfred Pennyworth just come to live with him? He knew for a fact that when he returned home that night his whole apartment was going to be spotless and he wouldn't know where anything was. This was either the smartest idea he'd ever had, or the stupidest.
Friday, May 1 –
Gordon kept mostly to himself. Alfred had helped him move over a month ago – they set up the spare room for the kids, and set the other spare for Alfred for the time being. Gordon didn't mind having Alfred around; he kept everything clean and orderly, and stayed out of the way when Gordon was home, which was never that often unless it was the weekend and his children were staying over. Alfred found Jimmy and Susan to be delightful, and kids often had fun playing Shoots and Ladders with him. Gordon caught Alfred losing on purpose on more than one occasion. He could have been happy living his life the way it was, but a part of him ached every time he thought about Bruce.
Alfred tried to comfort him when the subject came up, telling him that Bruce was working through it, that he'd be fine, and that Gordon should try not to worry so much. Gordon wasn't sure how Alfred knew what Bruce was doing, as he refused to let him know about his sneaky ways of keeping tabs on the playboy; all Gordon could do was trust Alfred. And yet he was still so lost, wandering aimlessly some nights down the streets after dark, hoping that the shadow in an ally way would be Batman, and he'd come out and tell Gordon how much he'd missed him, needed him. Gordon hoped it was true, that somewhere in the back of Bruce's mind he still needed Gordon the same way Gordon needed Bruce.
It was Friday, the day of Selina Kyle's trial. She was sentenced to one year in prison, as she admitted only to the burglaries and was let off easy because of her cooperation with the GCPD. He had watched the whole thing, glaring at her from his seat towards the back, listening to her confess. He wanted to smile when she was walked past him out in cuffs, but his eyes were drawn away from her to a man standing at the opposite side of the room. For a moment, Gordon didn't recognize him – and why would he have? Bruce's once handsome face was now covered in a thick beard, the hollow of his eyes darker than usual from an obvious lack of sleep, his hair was longer than usual, ragged and unkempt, and he wore a tight t-shirt and dingy jeans; at least he'd kept himself in shape, probably the only thing that kept him sane when his body had started to detox.
Rumor had it that Bruce had gone to Metropolis to oversee the take-over of a newspaper there – just another money making opportunity. Now, Gordon knew this story had been presented to the press by Alfred; aspects of it were true, but it was Lucius Fox who was doing the negotiating. Not that Gordon believed the rumors, anyway. Especially when he was staring right at Bruce, who obviously hadn't seen him yet. Or possibly he had seen Gordon and was just ignoring the fact that he was there. Gordon planned his next move carefully, aware that Bruce would not cause a scene in public, not when his cover could be blown.
Gordon stood up from his seat, walking casually across the room, one hand in his pocket. He stopped just short of three feet away from Bruce, who had turned his head to look at Gordon, a fiery gaze in his eyes, but his expression calm. The world seemed to slow down around them; people blurred in his vision and all he could really see was Bruce, right there in front of him, far from presentable given the usual standards of a playboy billionaire, but just a handsome as any other day, at least to Gordon. Gordon's first instinct was to touch him, to brush his fingers against the other man's arm, maybe just a handshake – something. He felt the need as a physical ache, his heart racing, telling him to do it... But his mind had the controls and was holding him back.
“You look like hell.” Gordon's tone was offhand, but he didn't want to seem to sarcastic either; it was the truth after all. Bruce's eyes stayed on his, even when Gordon looked away for a moment, pretending his attention was caught elsewhere. The billionaire seemed to be trying to put together some pieces in his mind; his lips parted half-way a few times, as if words wanted to pour out, but couldn't find their way. Gordon shook his head. Maybe it was too soon to approach him, too soon to expect him to understand that everything Gordon and Alfred had done was for his own wellbeing. Gordon turned to leave, but Bruce caught him by the arm, spinning him back around to face him.
“Meet with me. Tonight.” The words were raspy, not at all like any voice Gordon had ever heard from Bruce; it was weak, and small.
“Where?” A moment of excitement bled into his heart, but he pushed it back, not wanting to be disappointed later on.
“Anywhere.” The one word answers from Bruce in any other situation would have earned him an annoyed sigh and an eye roll, but this day was different. Gordon only nodded, trying to think of the best place, somewhere out of the way, but not too secluded. Some place he could get out of quickly, if an issue presented itself.
“How about the penthouse?” Gordon suggested. Bruce seemed to consider, and nodded. “I can be there at eight.”
Bruce blinked, still distant, still unlike himself in many ways, Gordon could tell, but at least he was making progress. At least he wasn't blaming Gordon, at least not yet. He smiled at Bruce, a wispy little grin, afraid to show too much emotion in the situation, afraid to have his heart broken again. Bruce returned the smile, almost as if mimicking Gordon, and walked out of the court house. Gordon felt his chest tighten and his stomach flop; he'd never felt as nervous as he did right then. He had the feeling that everything about the coming evening would make or break them.
-------------
Eight o'clock couldn't not have come any sooner. The day wore on forever; the constant badgering from the newest recruits, the school meetings about safety and “stranger danger”, and finally the last hours ticking away with nothing but paperwork to finish. Gordon beyond happy when the last hour faded away quickly. He actually finished all of his reports and signed off on every single paper that passed his desk. The day was looking up, which hopefully said something about the meeting he would be having with Bruce very soon.
He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, sliding it on as he headed out of his office, practically running down the stairs, through the hallways of the first floor, and out the front doors of MCU. Stepping into the slightly chilled night air, he felt his heart skip in an irregular beat of excitement. He tried to keep his calm, to hold his ground a little more firmly; it was very possible that the coming conversation with Bruce would not end the way he wanted it to, but he could hope for the best. He walked across the street to the parking garage, finding his car easily, being one of the few there this late at night. He slid into the driver's seat, and made his way to the penthouse.
The drive usually took twenty minutes, but Gordon found his foot keeping at a steady eight miles over the speed limit, bringing his total drive time down to about twelve minutes. He parked in the private garage, waving at the security man who had gotten used to Gordon coming around some months back. The man offered a wave in return, letting him through. Friday night and most tenants were out on the town, it seemed; he had a variety of spaces to chose from, not that it mattered too much. He parked closest to the elevator, just in case this meeting ended up being a bad idea. He hopped out of his car, locking the doors. The elevator was already open, waiting for him. He strolled in, pressing the number for Bruce's penthouse before entering the security code it required to go there directly.
The ride up seemed to last forever, the last few second fading by slowly, the numbers at the top of the doors lighting up, one-by-one. Gordon watched them, almost wishing they would stop all together, just to let him catch his breath before reaching the penthouse.
When the car stopped, the door slid open to a dimly lit room, black padded mats splayed out on the floor; all furniture that had once been there was gone, most likely moved. He was sure the mats were for training purposes, or even meditation – whatever it was that worked for Bruce. Gordon was sure it had gotten him through the majority of his detox.
He stepped out of the elevator, trying his best to avoid walking on the mats, looking around for some sign of Bruce. He hoped over a few more mats, looking down the hall towards the kitchen, the lights were off in there. Gordon felt a frown coming on, almost afraid he'd missed Bruce all together. They had agreed on a little past eight at the penthouse, right?
He turned away from the kitchen, to find himself suddenly faced with Bruce just a few feet in front of him. Gordon grabbed his chest, letting out a startled cry. He rolled his eyes in exasperation at Bruce. Had it really been so long since Bruce had tried to sneak up on him that he couldn't even sense it anymore? Bruce tipped his head to the side, curiously. He had cleaned himself up – shaved, had his hair cut, even styled it. He wore a newer, nicer pair of jeans and a tucked-in tight, white t-shirt that Gordon couldn't help but notice clung to every toned muscle on his torso. He looked Bruce over more than once, feeling an ache grow in his chest, a rising need to take the other man in his arms and hold him.
Bruce only continued to stare at him, a distant look in his eyes. Obviously he still wasn't quite right in his own mind. Gordon gave him a wispy smile, small and almost vulnerable. He started to feel this was a bad idea, that maybe Bruce wasn't quite ready to talk. He sucked in his bottom lip, biting down softly as he thought of what to say, wondering if he should just leave without another word. But Bruce had cleaned up, had obviously wanted to have this conversation with Gordon; he'd stay a little longer, see if he could get something out of the billionaire.
“You always did cleanup well,” Gordon offered a genuine smile, a soft smirk that was barely visible from under his mustache. Bruce blinked, looking lost for a moment, and then his eyes hardened and he looked away from Gordon. “Bruce...”
“I can't even begin to apologize, Jim. Everything started to slip away from me months ago. Seemed so hopeless.” Bruce was staring around the room, his eyes everywhere but on Gordon, avoiding his gaze. Gordon reached out his hand cautiously, touching his fingertips to Bruce's face, making the other man look at him. Bruce's eyes were darker, sadder, full of shame.
“Don't worry about it,” Gordon whispered, not wanting to risk a voice that might stir uneasy feelings for Bruce.
“No,” Bruce took Gordon's hand from his face and held it in both of his, staring down at the older man's hand for a moment before glancing back up to meet his eyes. “I have no excuse for my behavior with Selina. You deserve so much better than that.”
Gordon had let go of the Selina issue days after it had happened, aware that Bruce had been under some heavy influences, and trusting that the playboy had not gone any further with Selina than just the kiss. “I'm not concerned about that. Given the situation, your mental state, everything...”
“Jim. Please. You don't understand,” Bruce paused, squeezing Gordon's hand, eyes pleading with him now, and Gordon, who wanted to speak again, kept to himself, listening. “I wanted to kiss her. I wanted her. She wasn't what I really wanted, but at the time it felt as if it was the only thing I needed. She kept telling me that she was all I needed. I believed her, Jim. I believed her when she said that you didn't really care at all what happened, that you didn't even want me there.”
Gordon felt his heart start pumping harder, his breath quicken, and his hands begin tremble. Selina had taken full advantage of Bruce, had taken him apart at the seams, and knowing he was vulnerable, had turned him against Gordon. This made him more angry with her, desperately wishing that he had been able to prove her guilty as an accessory to attempted murder. He loathed her even more now, for her mind games and her tricks. He closed his eyes, pulling himself back into the moment; the thought of Selina didn't need to be present in his mind. When he opened his eyes again Bruce was standing just a few inches closer to him, still grasping Gordon's hand tightly, as if he was afraid to let go.
“How clearly are you thinking now, Bruce? Do you know your own thoughts? Feelings?” Gordon took Bruce's other hand, sliding the fingers of both their hands together. He let his gaze deepen, searching Bruce's eyes for a flicker of recognition, knowing, needing – something. Bruce let a very small, definite smile spread across his face, his eyes softening, gleaming in the dim light above them.
“Somethings are still very foggy. But, clear enough for me to see you, to know the pain I caused you --” Gordon cut him off, shaking his head slightly.
“Stop. It's not about what you did right now. It's about how you feel, about us. About me.” Gordon looked Bruce over, taking in the sight of him just in case this did end up going the wrong way, and not at all as he had planned or expected. He held his breath for a second, his gaze set on Bruce's eyes, opening himself up completely, letting his own defenses down. “I need to know, Bruce. I don't want to be heartbroken, again. I've been through enough already. I need to know so that if I have to let you go, I can do it now.”
Bruce let out a breath that neither of them realized he had been holding. He leaned into Gordon, letting go of his hands and bringing his own up to the older man's face, and kissed him. Their lips felt strange together at first, after being apart for so long. The awkwardness faded quickly as Bruce parted his lips against Gordon's, who slid his tongue into Bruce's mouth, searching for that puzzle piece that would connect them. He knew that in finding it he could feel whole again. Gordon had his hands on Bruce's waist, letting his fingers graze each lean muscle. He'd missed this – missed Bruce. The younger man pulled away first and gazed into Gordon's eyes as if he were the last thing he'd see on earth before dying.
“James Gordon, you are my anchor. You believed in me even when I couldn't. If I let you go now I'd be ignoring the warning bells in the back of my mind that said I was doing the wrong thing.” Bruce paused to consider his next words carefully, and then he spoke a little more softly. “I may be a little imbalanced still... but I'm stable enough to know I don't want you going anywhere. Your place is here with me. And I wouldn't have it any other way.”
~Fin~
Feel Free to let me know what you thought here
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve| Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen