Part One | Part Two| Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve|
Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen
Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen
So, what was it about Jim Gordon that tamed the beast in Bruce's heart? What exactly did the commissioner do that was so different from anyone else? Everyone else wants you down, everyone else thinks your insane. Everyone else thinks they know everything about you. But Jim Gordon doesn't. He doesn't pretend to know, or care; he doesn't try to put anything past you. Gordon believes in you, Bruce. He believes that everything you used to stand for and he just wants to see that again. That was the one truth Bruce could believe about Gordon. If anyone did believe in Bruce still, it was the commissioner. Everyone else, Alfred included, seemed to think that everything was a lost cause now. Bruce wasn't damaged; a little lost maybe, but he wasn't gone, yet.
Gordon was standing in front of Bruce, hands on his hips, and his eyes searching the cracks in the wood floor for the right words. Bruce could tell the man was conflicted with whether he should be angry with Bruce or more sympathetic. Bruce didn't want either. If anything, Bruce just wanted a little understanding. How can you ask for understanding when you can't even understand yourself? A valid and clear point, not at all fuzzy or disoriented. Gordon's present, no matter how it would turn out after he spoke, was a welcome one. The rage was sitting further back in Bruce's chest now, holding it's own. He knew – felt – that the minute Gordon left it would only come back.
He'd just have to keep the older man around as long as possible, at least until he could figure out how to control it himself, how to get his life back on track and push out all those thoughts that drove him to do things he never thought he ever would again.
“I'm not sure what happened just a few minutes ago,” Gordon started to say, his hands still resting on his hips, but now he was looking at Bruce with more concern. “But it has to end. It cannot keep happening.”
Bruce narrowed his eyes on Gordon; was he about to give Bruce an ultimatum? He could feel the words hit him before they were even spoken, because somewhere in his soul Bruce knew it would come down to that. He turned his head just slightly, curiosity washing over his face.
“Garcia isn't as lenient as I am,” Gordon said. His eyes were searching Bruce's face for a reaction, but Bruce kept his calm. “I've called the psychiatrist I mentioned earlier, and she's going to be here later this afternoon. I suggest trying to talk to her, if not things could get ugly and the consequences of that aren't going to be what you want, Bruce.”
“Consequences?” Bruce asked. He knew the what Gordon meant, because it was bound to be the exact thing he was dreading. Bruce needed to hear it, to feel how it felt in his gut when the words were spoken; maybe then the rage would still and let him move forward instead of continuing to spiral backwards.
“I've been ordered to take you to Arkham if things don't get better or if another incident like last night happens. This problem with Alfred, you're going to have to let it go or resolve it, because outbursts like that are not going to make this any easier.” Gordon had dropped his hands to his sides, letting out a long sigh. This was obviously harder for him than even Bruce thought it might be. Gordon didn't get his job by luck alone, or working alone for that matter; he got his job by having a partner he could count on and trust to be there for him. Bruce was, or had been, that partner. What was he now?
Nothing.
“Alfred doesn't understand,” Bruce stated firmly. “Every time I think I can trust him I feel he's pushing me in a direction I can't go. He's ashamed of what I've done. I can see it in his eyes.” The words weren't his own, though, and Bruce knew that. They were the thoughts and feeling, the indirect influence of the pent up rage. Even in hiding he could feels it's energy and whispers.
“He just wants what's best for you,” Gordon replied softly. “I just want what's best for you.”
“You don't really understand,” Bruce whispered, squinting his eyes a little as his brows furrowed together in contemplation. How could Gordon understand when you don't explain yourself? And how can you explain yourself when nothing seems to to make sense, even to you?
Gordon took a step forward and look up into Bruce's eyes. “But I want to. God, do I want to understand what is going on in your head.” Gordon placed a hand on either side of Bruce's head, tangling his fingers in his hair. “You know I won't judge you. You know that my concern for you outweighs everything else I could possibly think about you.” Bruce felt the commissioner's lips just inches from his, Gordon's hands pulling Bruce's face closer to his. Gordon let their lips brush against each other as he spoke again; “You can trust me.”
------
Doctor Thompkins had helped Gordon's kid's shortly after the incident with Harvey Dent. They saw her for nearly a year, once a week. Babs and Jimmy had gotten over the nightmares and the fright of going out alone, and Gordon had Doctor Thompkins to thank for that. He only hoped that she was able to do the same for Wayne.
Gordon had set Wayne up in the study, and had asked Alfred to send the doctor back when she arrived. Wayne was pacing the room, restlessly. Gordon wanted to calm him, but he felt it was better to let the younger man have it out before the doctor arrived; maybe the session would go better than Gordon was predicting.
A knock at the door brought Gordon's attention back to the present, hurrying to to open it before Wayne attempted. Doctor Thompkins stood at the door with a smile on her. She looked a lot more wary than Gordon remembered a few years ago, but Gotham did that to people. He held his hand out to her and she took it in a casual shake.
“It's good to see you, Commissioner,” she said, her gaze turning to Wayne. He was standing by the window now, staring out at the rose gardens. Thompkins looked back at Gordon and sighed.
“I wish we were meeting under better circumstances,” Gordon replied, gesturing for her to step into the room. She shook her head to let him know not to worry about it. She placed her notebook down on the desk.
“Let's not worry about that now,” she turned her attention to Wayne, who had slowly moved his gaze to her as she walked across the room. She stood a few feet from the billionaire now, hand outstretched and warm smile on her face. “Mister Wayne, I'm Doctor Thompkins.”
Gordon watched as the sullenness in Wayne's eyes faded and was replaced with something else that Gordon didn't like at all. Wayne pasted on his best, fake smile. “Pleasure,” he said taking her hand in firm shake and quickly letting it go. He folded his arms over his chest, leaning back against the window.
Thompkins nodded slowly, finally understanding what Gordon had meant about distant and uncooperative. “Mister Wayne why don't you take a seat on the couch or in a chair? It might be more comfortable for you.” She didn't once let her smile or friendly tone waver, despite Wayne's cold shoulder.
Wayne remained where he stood, staring at her. She nodded, taking her notebook off the desk and then taking a seat in one of the chairs. “I hope you won't mind if I sit. I find it's easier to relax.” She crossed her legs, opened her notebook, clicking her pen open. Wayne said nothing. Thompkins looked over at Gordon, who was standing against the door. “Commissioner, if you could just wait outside, I'd like to talk to Mister Wayne alone.”
Even though Gordon knew full well what could likely happen if he left, he simply just nodded. Maybe Wayne would be able to have some control, maybe he could just hold on to his sanity for an hour. Gordon pushed away from the door, taking the handle and opening it.
“Gordon stays,” Wayne said roughly, staring Thompkins intensely. Gordon raised an eyebrow, but wasn't necessarily that surprised. Bruce knew what would keep him in check, and Gordon leaving was not it.
“I don't think that's a good idea, Mister Wayne...” Thompkins started to say, but before either of them knew what happened, Wayne was in Thompkins' face, hands grasped on either side of her shoulders, eyes raged.
'If you value you're life,” Wayne growled, “you will let Gordon stay.” Thompkins nodded and Wayne slowly let go of her. Gordon shut the door behind him, catching the doctor's fearful eye. He took a seat closer to her, mostly for her peace of mind than his own.
Thompkins cleared her throat, turning her notebook to a fresh page. “I understand that as child you went through some rather intense therapy sessions, Mister Wayne. Care to talk about them and the reasons you needed them?”
Wayne up to that point had been looking at her, watching. He blinked and looked back to the grounds outside. “Anger issues,” he said plainly. “I didn't have a control of it at the time.”
“And you believe that you have control of it now?” Thompkins asked, writing down a few notes. Gordon watched Wayne's expression drop suddenly, as if a realization had taken place. He looked over to Gordon briefly before letting his eyes wander back to the doctor.
“I used to,” Wayne mumbled, wincing at was probably the thought of what happened just days earlier.
“What happened, Mister Wayne?”
Wayne finally sank down into the chair by the window, elbows on his knees, leaning forward. “Recently? Or the first time?”
“Which ever you want to talk about first.”
“First time was when my parents were murdered. Not right away, but over time I got so tired of grieving, because I knew part of it was my own fault. I was the reason my parents were killed. I was the reason we were in the alley that night. Guilt over that. Anger for the man that shot them. Everything.” Wayne closed his eyes and wiped his palms slowly over his face, as if he didn't want to remember it again. Gordon could see there was turmoil in his expression, but maybe he needed to have it out.
“How was it your fault?”
“We had gone to see an opera. I didn't like it; it scared me. We ended up leaving early.” Bruce folded his hands together in front of him, resting his forehead on his thumbs.
“So you think because you wanted to leave early, that it was the reason your parents were killed?” Thompkins asked, taking more notes, scribbling somethings down Gordon couldn't even begin to read.
“Look, Doctor, I've been over this before many times in the past. I've been told time and time again that it was never my fault, but that doesn't change the fact that I still feel that a big piece of it is,” Bruce said, his voice started to verge on the edge of anger, but he seemed to still have a little control.
“I'm sorry,” Thompkins replied. “You were talking about the first time you lost control of your anger. Please, continue.”
Wayne turned his head sideways and looked at Gordon pleadingly. Gordon wasn't going to bail him out of this one; Wayne needed it. Gordon nodded his head at the younger man encouragingly. Wayne sat up straight, leaning back in his chair.
“It was a few years later, after a lot of therapists and not one of them understanding. I started to get into fights at school, little things set me off. Looking back, nothing matter at that point.” Wayne bit his lower lip, a grimace on his face. Gordon let out a silent sigh, he never knew just how much Wayne had gone through after his parents died. Had Gordon really cared back then, maybe he would gone to check up on the boy now and then. Maybe things would have been... different.
“And what finally brought it all under control?”
“I was twenty-three, returning from Princeton. I had bought a gun to kill the man who killed my parents. I wasn't given the chance, but I wanted to so bad. I thought for sure that if I could just do that it would end all of the rage and guilt. Rachel ended up talking me out of it, convinced me that Gotham didn't need more people like Joe Chill. I ended up leaving Gotham and traveled overseas. I met a man in Tibet and I learned from him how to channel and control... it.” Wayne looked placid now, his eyes weren't really looking at anyone. Wayne talked like he had practiced what he was going to say for days, weeks even. I came out smooth and rehearsed; maybe he had had to have this conversation before. It wasn't with Gordon.
It was weird to hear Wayne talk about his life, the pieces that no one knew about, what he did when he left Gotham. It all made a lot of sense, now that he knew Wayne was Batman and just exactly where he had learned everything he knew how to do.
“It?” Thompkins asked, raising an eyebrow at Wayne as he scribbled something down.
“The voice, the rage. Whatever it is,” Wayne explained. “I had complete control by the time I left seven years later. It's always been there, though, lingering. I always had enough control to keep it in check; it never took over completely. It only fueled my need for...” Bruce stopped himself, looking to Gordon briefly. Gordon hadn't told the doctor about Bruce's nightly employment. Bruce moved on. “That is until the recent incident happened. I had a lapse in what needed to be done, I didn't think it through. I started to doubt myself and it returned.” Wayne looked the doctor directly in the eye. “I've tried everything to control it, but it's not working it. It contradicts everything I believe in or have believed in. I find that I just let it take control because its so much easier than fighting it.”
Thompkins gave Wayne a warm smile. “You seem to be doing well now. Why do you think that is?”
Wayne's gaze reached Gordon just seconds later. Thompkins tipped her head at the commissioner and then looked back at Wayne for an answer. “For whatever reason, he keeps it down. I feel... safer? Controlled? Whatever it is, it's because of him.”
-----
Thompkins left, saying she'd come back in a few days. She didn't have anything important or vital to tell Gordon regarding the situation, that everything she could deduce had already been done in the past and Wayne was perfectly aware of it. She said she would continue to talk to him, but there wasn't a lot she could really do that hadn't been done already.
“I'm only doing this for you,” Wayne said from the desk chair. He was sitting with his bare feet up on the desk, crossed at the ankles. Gordon shrugged in a not-too-surprised fashion. “It's a waste of her time.”
“Perhaps. Maybe you need someone to talk to though. Work it all out,” Gordon suggested. Wayne tipped his head to the side, a blank stare on his face.
“I'd rather do that with you. If talking is all I'm going to get out of it.” Wayne dropped his feet from the desk, standing from the chair. “I don't know what it is about you, Jim.” Gordon expected Wayne to say something else, but he dropped the sentence there. Whatever it was, Gordon was happy to oblige. He had grown to like Wayne more than he would care to admit. Whether it was because of the current situation and feeling sorry for the billionaire, or if it was just the need to take care of him; it didn't matter what it was. There was something between them and it felt purposeful, real and raw.
Perhaps that was it. Maybe it was the fact that Wayne had someone else to focus on that he could be himself around and have a potential relationship. Someone to rely on and support him; to tell him that nothing was his fault. Perhaps that was what Ducard (that was the name Wayne used wasn't it?) gave the billionaire. Confidence and control combined. Gordon could do that.
“I'll call and cancel the other session,” Gordon found himself saying, taking the steps to fill the gap between them. “But you gotta promise me that you will try your hardest to regain control.” Gordon was laying himself on the line; his job, his life... everything. Wayne knew it, Gordon could see it in his eyes.
“I promise,” Wayne said quietly. Gordon started placed a hand on the younger man's chest, pushing him back into the wall a few feet behind him. Wayne stumbled a bit, jolting his hands out behind himself to keep stable. Gordon was quickly right in front of him again,taking hold of Wayne's wrists and holding them up against the wall. Wayne trusted him, he knew because the billionaire didn't fight back and didn't resist him.
Gordon tipped his head to the side just slightly, his lips hovering over Wayne's possessively. He could feel Wayne's breath against the tiny hairs in his mustache as he parted his lips to speak firmly. “Say it like you really mean it.” And there might have been more to those words than Gordon first intended, and maybe he meant it that way.
Wayne's golden hued, hazel eyes latched on to Gordon's, open and deep. “I Promise.”
Gordon was standing in front of Bruce, hands on his hips, and his eyes searching the cracks in the wood floor for the right words. Bruce could tell the man was conflicted with whether he should be angry with Bruce or more sympathetic. Bruce didn't want either. If anything, Bruce just wanted a little understanding. How can you ask for understanding when you can't even understand yourself? A valid and clear point, not at all fuzzy or disoriented. Gordon's present, no matter how it would turn out after he spoke, was a welcome one. The rage was sitting further back in Bruce's chest now, holding it's own. He knew – felt – that the minute Gordon left it would only come back.
He'd just have to keep the older man around as long as possible, at least until he could figure out how to control it himself, how to get his life back on track and push out all those thoughts that drove him to do things he never thought he ever would again.
“I'm not sure what happened just a few minutes ago,” Gordon started to say, his hands still resting on his hips, but now he was looking at Bruce with more concern. “But it has to end. It cannot keep happening.”
Bruce narrowed his eyes on Gordon; was he about to give Bruce an ultimatum? He could feel the words hit him before they were even spoken, because somewhere in his soul Bruce knew it would come down to that. He turned his head just slightly, curiosity washing over his face.
“Garcia isn't as lenient as I am,” Gordon said. His eyes were searching Bruce's face for a reaction, but Bruce kept his calm. “I've called the psychiatrist I mentioned earlier, and she's going to be here later this afternoon. I suggest trying to talk to her, if not things could get ugly and the consequences of that aren't going to be what you want, Bruce.”
“Consequences?” Bruce asked. He knew the what Gordon meant, because it was bound to be the exact thing he was dreading. Bruce needed to hear it, to feel how it felt in his gut when the words were spoken; maybe then the rage would still and let him move forward instead of continuing to spiral backwards.
“I've been ordered to take you to Arkham if things don't get better or if another incident like last night happens. This problem with Alfred, you're going to have to let it go or resolve it, because outbursts like that are not going to make this any easier.” Gordon had dropped his hands to his sides, letting out a long sigh. This was obviously harder for him than even Bruce thought it might be. Gordon didn't get his job by luck alone, or working alone for that matter; he got his job by having a partner he could count on and trust to be there for him. Bruce was, or had been, that partner. What was he now?
Nothing.
“Alfred doesn't understand,” Bruce stated firmly. “Every time I think I can trust him I feel he's pushing me in a direction I can't go. He's ashamed of what I've done. I can see it in his eyes.” The words weren't his own, though, and Bruce knew that. They were the thoughts and feeling, the indirect influence of the pent up rage. Even in hiding he could feels it's energy and whispers.
“He just wants what's best for you,” Gordon replied softly. “I just want what's best for you.”
“You don't really understand,” Bruce whispered, squinting his eyes a little as his brows furrowed together in contemplation. How could Gordon understand when you don't explain yourself? And how can you explain yourself when nothing seems to to make sense, even to you?
Gordon took a step forward and look up into Bruce's eyes. “But I want to. God, do I want to understand what is going on in your head.” Gordon placed a hand on either side of Bruce's head, tangling his fingers in his hair. “You know I won't judge you. You know that my concern for you outweighs everything else I could possibly think about you.” Bruce felt the commissioner's lips just inches from his, Gordon's hands pulling Bruce's face closer to his. Gordon let their lips brush against each other as he spoke again; “You can trust me.”
------
Doctor Thompkins had helped Gordon's kid's shortly after the incident with Harvey Dent. They saw her for nearly a year, once a week. Babs and Jimmy had gotten over the nightmares and the fright of going out alone, and Gordon had Doctor Thompkins to thank for that. He only hoped that she was able to do the same for Wayne.
Gordon had set Wayne up in the study, and had asked Alfred to send the doctor back when she arrived. Wayne was pacing the room, restlessly. Gordon wanted to calm him, but he felt it was better to let the younger man have it out before the doctor arrived; maybe the session would go better than Gordon was predicting.
A knock at the door brought Gordon's attention back to the present, hurrying to to open it before Wayne attempted. Doctor Thompkins stood at the door with a smile on her. She looked a lot more wary than Gordon remembered a few years ago, but Gotham did that to people. He held his hand out to her and she took it in a casual shake.
“It's good to see you, Commissioner,” she said, her gaze turning to Wayne. He was standing by the window now, staring out at the rose gardens. Thompkins looked back at Gordon and sighed.
“I wish we were meeting under better circumstances,” Gordon replied, gesturing for her to step into the room. She shook her head to let him know not to worry about it. She placed her notebook down on the desk.
“Let's not worry about that now,” she turned her attention to Wayne, who had slowly moved his gaze to her as she walked across the room. She stood a few feet from the billionaire now, hand outstretched and warm smile on her face. “Mister Wayne, I'm Doctor Thompkins.”
Gordon watched as the sullenness in Wayne's eyes faded and was replaced with something else that Gordon didn't like at all. Wayne pasted on his best, fake smile. “Pleasure,” he said taking her hand in firm shake and quickly letting it go. He folded his arms over his chest, leaning back against the window.
Thompkins nodded slowly, finally understanding what Gordon had meant about distant and uncooperative. “Mister Wayne why don't you take a seat on the couch or in a chair? It might be more comfortable for you.” She didn't once let her smile or friendly tone waver, despite Wayne's cold shoulder.
Wayne remained where he stood, staring at her. She nodded, taking her notebook off the desk and then taking a seat in one of the chairs. “I hope you won't mind if I sit. I find it's easier to relax.” She crossed her legs, opened her notebook, clicking her pen open. Wayne said nothing. Thompkins looked over at Gordon, who was standing against the door. “Commissioner, if you could just wait outside, I'd like to talk to Mister Wayne alone.”
Even though Gordon knew full well what could likely happen if he left, he simply just nodded. Maybe Wayne would be able to have some control, maybe he could just hold on to his sanity for an hour. Gordon pushed away from the door, taking the handle and opening it.
“Gordon stays,” Wayne said roughly, staring Thompkins intensely. Gordon raised an eyebrow, but wasn't necessarily that surprised. Bruce knew what would keep him in check, and Gordon leaving was not it.
“I don't think that's a good idea, Mister Wayne...” Thompkins started to say, but before either of them knew what happened, Wayne was in Thompkins' face, hands grasped on either side of her shoulders, eyes raged.
'If you value you're life,” Wayne growled, “you will let Gordon stay.” Thompkins nodded and Wayne slowly let go of her. Gordon shut the door behind him, catching the doctor's fearful eye. He took a seat closer to her, mostly for her peace of mind than his own.
Thompkins cleared her throat, turning her notebook to a fresh page. “I understand that as child you went through some rather intense therapy sessions, Mister Wayne. Care to talk about them and the reasons you needed them?”
Wayne up to that point had been looking at her, watching. He blinked and looked back to the grounds outside. “Anger issues,” he said plainly. “I didn't have a control of it at the time.”
“And you believe that you have control of it now?” Thompkins asked, writing down a few notes. Gordon watched Wayne's expression drop suddenly, as if a realization had taken place. He looked over to Gordon briefly before letting his eyes wander back to the doctor.
“I used to,” Wayne mumbled, wincing at was probably the thought of what happened just days earlier.
“What happened, Mister Wayne?”
Wayne finally sank down into the chair by the window, elbows on his knees, leaning forward. “Recently? Or the first time?”
“Which ever you want to talk about first.”
“First time was when my parents were murdered. Not right away, but over time I got so tired of grieving, because I knew part of it was my own fault. I was the reason my parents were killed. I was the reason we were in the alley that night. Guilt over that. Anger for the man that shot them. Everything.” Wayne closed his eyes and wiped his palms slowly over his face, as if he didn't want to remember it again. Gordon could see there was turmoil in his expression, but maybe he needed to have it out.
“How was it your fault?”
“We had gone to see an opera. I didn't like it; it scared me. We ended up leaving early.” Bruce folded his hands together in front of him, resting his forehead on his thumbs.
“So you think because you wanted to leave early, that it was the reason your parents were killed?” Thompkins asked, taking more notes, scribbling somethings down Gordon couldn't even begin to read.
“Look, Doctor, I've been over this before many times in the past. I've been told time and time again that it was never my fault, but that doesn't change the fact that I still feel that a big piece of it is,” Bruce said, his voice started to verge on the edge of anger, but he seemed to still have a little control.
“I'm sorry,” Thompkins replied. “You were talking about the first time you lost control of your anger. Please, continue.”
Wayne turned his head sideways and looked at Gordon pleadingly. Gordon wasn't going to bail him out of this one; Wayne needed it. Gordon nodded his head at the younger man encouragingly. Wayne sat up straight, leaning back in his chair.
“It was a few years later, after a lot of therapists and not one of them understanding. I started to get into fights at school, little things set me off. Looking back, nothing matter at that point.” Wayne bit his lower lip, a grimace on his face. Gordon let out a silent sigh, he never knew just how much Wayne had gone through after his parents died. Had Gordon really cared back then, maybe he would gone to check up on the boy now and then. Maybe things would have been... different.
“And what finally brought it all under control?”
“I was twenty-three, returning from Princeton. I had bought a gun to kill the man who killed my parents. I wasn't given the chance, but I wanted to so bad. I thought for sure that if I could just do that it would end all of the rage and guilt. Rachel ended up talking me out of it, convinced me that Gotham didn't need more people like Joe Chill. I ended up leaving Gotham and traveled overseas. I met a man in Tibet and I learned from him how to channel and control... it.” Wayne looked placid now, his eyes weren't really looking at anyone. Wayne talked like he had practiced what he was going to say for days, weeks even. I came out smooth and rehearsed; maybe he had had to have this conversation before. It wasn't with Gordon.
It was weird to hear Wayne talk about his life, the pieces that no one knew about, what he did when he left Gotham. It all made a lot of sense, now that he knew Wayne was Batman and just exactly where he had learned everything he knew how to do.
“It?” Thompkins asked, raising an eyebrow at Wayne as he scribbled something down.
“The voice, the rage. Whatever it is,” Wayne explained. “I had complete control by the time I left seven years later. It's always been there, though, lingering. I always had enough control to keep it in check; it never took over completely. It only fueled my need for...” Bruce stopped himself, looking to Gordon briefly. Gordon hadn't told the doctor about Bruce's nightly employment. Bruce moved on. “That is until the recent incident happened. I had a lapse in what needed to be done, I didn't think it through. I started to doubt myself and it returned.” Wayne looked the doctor directly in the eye. “I've tried everything to control it, but it's not working it. It contradicts everything I believe in or have believed in. I find that I just let it take control because its so much easier than fighting it.”
Thompkins gave Wayne a warm smile. “You seem to be doing well now. Why do you think that is?”
Wayne's gaze reached Gordon just seconds later. Thompkins tipped her head at the commissioner and then looked back at Wayne for an answer. “For whatever reason, he keeps it down. I feel... safer? Controlled? Whatever it is, it's because of him.”
-----
Thompkins left, saying she'd come back in a few days. She didn't have anything important or vital to tell Gordon regarding the situation, that everything she could deduce had already been done in the past and Wayne was perfectly aware of it. She said she would continue to talk to him, but there wasn't a lot she could really do that hadn't been done already.
“I'm only doing this for you,” Wayne said from the desk chair. He was sitting with his bare feet up on the desk, crossed at the ankles. Gordon shrugged in a not-too-surprised fashion. “It's a waste of her time.”
“Perhaps. Maybe you need someone to talk to though. Work it all out,” Gordon suggested. Wayne tipped his head to the side, a blank stare on his face.
“I'd rather do that with you. If talking is all I'm going to get out of it.” Wayne dropped his feet from the desk, standing from the chair. “I don't know what it is about you, Jim.” Gordon expected Wayne to say something else, but he dropped the sentence there. Whatever it was, Gordon was happy to oblige. He had grown to like Wayne more than he would care to admit. Whether it was because of the current situation and feeling sorry for the billionaire, or if it was just the need to take care of him; it didn't matter what it was. There was something between them and it felt purposeful, real and raw.
Perhaps that was it. Maybe it was the fact that Wayne had someone else to focus on that he could be himself around and have a potential relationship. Someone to rely on and support him; to tell him that nothing was his fault. Perhaps that was what Ducard (that was the name Wayne used wasn't it?) gave the billionaire. Confidence and control combined. Gordon could do that.
“I'll call and cancel the other session,” Gordon found himself saying, taking the steps to fill the gap between them. “But you gotta promise me that you will try your hardest to regain control.” Gordon was laying himself on the line; his job, his life... everything. Wayne knew it, Gordon could see it in his eyes.
“I promise,” Wayne said quietly. Gordon started placed a hand on the younger man's chest, pushing him back into the wall a few feet behind him. Wayne stumbled a bit, jolting his hands out behind himself to keep stable. Gordon was quickly right in front of him again,taking hold of Wayne's wrists and holding them up against the wall. Wayne trusted him, he knew because the billionaire didn't fight back and didn't resist him.
Gordon tipped his head to the side just slightly, his lips hovering over Wayne's possessively. He could feel Wayne's breath against the tiny hairs in his mustache as he parted his lips to speak firmly. “Say it like you really mean it.” And there might have been more to those words than Gordon first intended, and maybe he meant it that way.
Wayne's golden hued, hazel eyes latched on to Gordon's, open and deep. “I Promise.”