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Lost Holidays
Chapter Three
written by destinyawakened
Thursday, December 25 – Christmas Day
It always felt like a dream – the raw emotions, the escalating moments, twisted limbs wound tightly around each other, hands groping powerfully for dominance, knocking the other over the side of the bed, both taking the chance to get the upper hand, neither wanting to be submissive so the moment to gain control always turned into a game, a contest. Often they found themselves tangled up in sheets on the floor, wrestling for power, like two teenagers in a fist fight. The only time Gordon ever won, as Bruce obviously had a lot more all around body strength, was when he brought out the handcuffs. He tried to save those for serious situations only when Bruce was relentless and wouldn't allow him any authority. He didn't think Bruce minded, not much anyway. Someone had to tame the playboy, and if binding him was the only way, then Gordon didn't mind being the one to have to do it.
It wasn't often that he and Bruce had time alone; often their moments together were at crime scenes, meetings, or luncheons; but they were never alone long enough to convey their feelings to each other. Gordon, hardly the sentimental type, had trouble putting his exact feelings into words, let alone saying the word “love”, but that could have been because he wasn't really sure. And Bruce, well... Bruce had started out vocal about his feelings but had become more discreet in the last month. At least he was wasn't discreet physically, though Gordon wouldn't have minded a little reassuring conversation (and Gordon was far from the relationship conversationalist).
The sun gleamed through the sheer window curtains, making Gordon bring a hand up to cover his eyes. At least it was going to be a beautiful day for Christmas, even more so when his children arrived. He rolled over, wrapping the covers around him more tightly and curling himself around Bruce in a spooning position, melting into the younger man's body heat. It was surprisingly cold in the manor this morning, and he wondered if Alfred hadn't set the thermostat. He snuggled in a little closer to the warm body next to him. Bruce stirred, mumbling something about coffee and pulled a pillow over his head. Gordon chuckled under his breath, placing a hand on Bruce's bare hip, caressing softly.
“Why are you bugging me?” Bruce whined, voice muffled by the pillow. Gordon tried to suppress the smile that dared to play across his face. He lifted the pillow covering the younger man's head, tossing it over the side of the bed. Bruce moved his head to look at Gordon, eyes half closed in a groggy glare. “This is the last time I let you stay the night.”
“This is the only time I've stayed the night,” Gordon said, moving over a little as Bruce turned on his back, rubbing at his eyes. “Trust me, I'd much rather sleep at home. At least there I won't be woken by loud, obnoxious snoring.”
Bruce looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed and a small frown forming on his lips. “I don't snore.” Gordon knew better than to buy into the mock-hurt expression anymore, shaking his head at the other man. He reached over Bruce to the nightstand, grabbing his glasses and placing them on the bridge of his nose. He went to roll over, to climb out of bed, when Bruce caught his arm, pulling him back. Bruce's eyes were soft, almost gleaming in the morning light.
“Sorry, about last night.” Bruce said softly; his expression had relaxed. He sat up against the headboard of the bed, glancing out at the snow covered grounds of Wayne Manor. “Christmas is --”
Gordon shook his head. “Bruce, you don't need to justify anything to me.” He gave the billionaire a reassuring smile. Usually he would let Bruce explain his brooding, spoiled-kid attitude, but since Alfred had pretty much explained the playboy's behavior the night before, he didn't feel that Bruce owed him any other explanations. Christmas was a time for families, sharing each others' company, and enjoying the time spent together. Who did Bruce have for a family now? He had Alfred, and two years back he most likely had Rachel. He understood Bruce's excitement in having his kids over for Christmas; there was an enjoyment there that he had probably not experienced in twenty years. Gordon thought it was almost endearing, finding himself hoping his kids would be on their best behavior.
Bruce leaned in towards Gordon and planted a quick kiss on his lips. “Thank you.” He looked away from Gordon for a moment, and then back at him again, his eyes a little more serious this time. “What did Garcia want last night?”
“He was worried about a possible mob uprising. Apparently, someone had tipped him off to all the rumors that had been swimming around the station,” Gordon said, stretching his arms, and trying to suppress a yawn.
Bruce eyed him carefully. “He has every reasonto worry.”
“You said there was no significant proof. Did Falcone say something to you last night to –” Bruce put a hand up to stop him from going any further.
“There is no proof. Falcone didn't give anything away. He's merely here to see his father, take care of his arrangements at Arkham and fly back to Italy as soon as possible. I'm still suspicious of him, though. The Falcone's are notorious for being sneaky liars.” Brush sighed with a shrug. “Our biggest problem right now is that no one who was once connected with the mob is talking. Even with persuasion.”
“So, either they're being bought off, which we already know is unlikely, or they don't even know what's going on.” Gordon took a deep breath; if the rumors were actually true, if Falcone's son had returned to Gotham to regroup the mob and take control, then the GCPD was in for some serious backlash after last year's take-down.
Bruce seemed to notice the worried look written on Gordon face; “I'm still looking into it. Right now, like you said, just rumors.”
“I know. I know,” Gordon said with a wave of his hand. “But we should still keep an eye on Falcone's son.”
Bruce nodded, seeming somewhat distracted, and glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand; it was close to ten in the morning, far later than Gordon ever slept. The conversation was dropped; it was Christmas after all, no time to be talking about work.
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Bruce had insisted that Gordon let him pick out and buy the Christmas gifts for his kids, which made Gordon wary at first, but Bruce had given him the sad puppy dog eyes and the argument that he bought toys for homeless and needy children every year around Christmas and knew what he was doing. Gordon trusted him, which may have been a mistake. Bruce had bought the kids at least three dozen presents a piece, with not Bruce's name attached to them, but Gordon's instead. This earned the commissioner many, many bitter scowls from his ex-wife.
Barbara kept mostly to herself, arms folded over her chest and ignoring Gordon whenever he attempted to talk to her. However, when Bruce attempted to talk to her she lightened up, talked to him about her job and her handsome new boss, every now and then throwing Gordon a glance to see what his reaction was. She was being far from delightful, but the kids didn't seem to notice, as they were busy asking their father questions about how to put things together. Jimmy even asked about Batman and if the rumors that he was helping the Gotham city Police Department were true. Gordon was all too happy to tell him that it was true. Jimmy even tried to convince his mother that Gotham City was much safer to live in now that Batman was “back to being the good guy”. Gordon had held his breath, secretly hoping that maybe his ex-wife would give into the boy's pleas; he was disappointed, but far from surprised, when she told him no.
The day bled on into the late afternoon without so much as a phone call from the MCU, and Gordon couldn't help but feel something was a little amiss; there was always something going on in Gotham, even on Christmas. He glanced over at his kids, who were having fun playing with all their new toys, then to Bruce, was charming his ex-wife with tales China. He moved his eyes to Alfred, who was sitting in the arm chair by the fire, sleeping. Gordon felt his cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket; there it was, the dread he was expecting. He quietly excused himself to the bathroom, taking the cell phone from his pocket.
He stepped into the bathroom, shut the door, and hit the accept key on the phone pad; “Gordon.”
“Sorry to bother you on Christmas, Commissioner, but we have a situation down on 3rd and Morris. Another murder,” Stephens said. Great, Gordon thought. Just what he needed to deal with on Christmas, especially with Barbara and the kids in town. This was not going to go over well with her and would possibly change her mind about ever bringing the kids to visit again.
Gordon sighed. “I'll meet you down there in about twenty minutes.” He checked his watch; it was only four in the afternoon. Batman would not be accompanying him, so he'd have to fill him in later. He closed his phone, walked out of the bathroom and back down the hall to the living room. Barbara looked up at him, then to the cell phone in his hands, shaking her head with a grim smile on her face. He didn't need her to talk, he already knew what she was thinking: the kids will be disappointed,I can't believe you picked up your phone on Christmas, how could you....
It was Bruce who stood first, walking over to Jim and ushering him into the other room, obviously not caring about what it looked like to Barbara. “What's going on?”
“Another murder.” Gordon stated turning his phone over and over in his hand. nervously. “I don't know how to tell the kids. Or Barbara for that matter.” He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses up a little.
Bruce nodded, “Just tell your kids. I'm sure they'll understand. I'll take care of explaining the rest to Barbara.”
Gordon eyed him cautiously; “You're going to explain it to Barbara?”
“If you haven't noticed, Commissioner, your ex-wife not immune to my charms,” Bruce quipped whimsically, giving him a mischievous grin. Gordon felt his lips curl into a disgusted frown and Bruce laughed at him. “Go talk to your kids and get out of here.”
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Gordon arrived at the scene, a small community church with a nativity scene set out on the front lawn, skewed by the gleam of red and blue police lights. Camera crews already lined the streets, interviewing what Gordon could only assume were possible witnesses. He walked past the vans and trucks, hopping over the police line. Stephens walked up next to him, opening the door to the church for him and following him.
“Assistant District Attorney, Laurel Messing.” Stephens stated as they walked through the rows of pews. “She was found in the bathroom. Drowned to death.”
“Drowned?” Gordon asked as Stephens touched his shoulder to direct him down the correct hallway.
“In a toilet,” Stephens gave Gordon a knowing look, pushing open the door to the bathroom. The body of a young female lay askew next to the toilet bowl, head wet, hair plastered to her face. Gordon bent over the body, taking note of the bruising around the neck and on the wrists; there was no doubt that it was murder.
Stephens pointed out a small trinket on top of the toilet rim; a small Christmas tree ornament of a gold star. He looked up at Stephens; “I don't get it. Is the murderer trying to leave us clues? Or are these set here to throw us off?”
“I think the murderer only kills on holidays; that's why he leaves behind objects that are significant to the date,” a female voice said from behind Stephens. A woman stepped around him, into Gordon's full view; she was maybe a little shorter than himself, with long, curly black hair that cascaded down her shoulders, light green eyes, and olive skin. She stood over him, one hand on her hip and the other held out to him. “Selina Kyle. Your newest transfer.”
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