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Reconciled Moments
Chapter Eleven
written by destinyawakened
Gordon tapped on the door leading into Babs' room. He tapped again after a few seconds when she didn't answer. He knew she had been awake not more then ten minutes ago; she couldn't have fallen back to sleep that fast. This time he heard shuffling and she opened the door. She didn't look tired, but she did look as though she had just crawled back into bed in a attempt to look like she'd been asleep. He pushed his way into her room and began packing her things as he spoke to her.
“Get dressed. We have to go now,” he said sternly. She was staring at him with her mouth slightly agape, obviously trying to comprehend his rush.
“It's really late, why are we leaving now?” she groaned as she found her regular clothes in her suit case and headed for the bathroom. Gordon found her lap top and began to pack it up as well, thinking it was a good thing she didn't bring too much into the hotel room. Bruce had taken their things down to the truck already, despite his injury
“There's, uh, been an emergency in Gotham. Stephens called and I'm needed back ASAP,” Gordon said hurriedly.. She walked out of the bathroom and packed the rest of her things quickly, throwing them into the suitcase. He handed her the laptop case as well. “Got everything?”
She nodded lazily. “Yes.” He could see the confusion and worry in her eyes. They started down the stairs. Gordon could tell, without even having to look his niece in the eye, that she was suspicious and not at all happy about this late night sneaking around. Gordon took her hand and quickly lead her to the truck, and he helped her inside. He saw Bruce coming from the manager's office, grim-faced and pale. Gordon knew he should probably drive; Bruce didn't look well. He started to suggest it when Bruce climbed into the driver's seat and gave Gordon that glare that burns holes into skulls.
Babs looked over at Gordon as if to question Bruce's driving – Gordon never let Bruce drive. He simply shook his head at her. “Later,” he offered and sat down in the seat next to her, buckling up. Bruce started the truck and they were off, quickly.
Babs fell asleep on Gordon's shoulder about half an hour into the drive. Gordon saw Bruce glance over. “This is all my fault,” he said in a whisper, as if afraid Babs might still hear him in her sleep.
“What are you talking about?” Gordon asked, his voice rough from lack of sleep, head starting to droop a little. He didn't know what Bruce was thinking, but a part of him was hoping it wasn't something that required a lot of brain power to deal with, he was too tired for this.
“All of this. With Tommy.” Bruce slammed the palm of his hand on the steering wheel in frustration. “I should have never involved you. This should have been my fight alone. And now he's coming after you and your family. Jim, I...” Bruce was growing more angry, more upset with each word, and Gordon saw the conflict on his face as he tried to keep calm by using one of his many techniques.
“Bruce. Stop. This is not the time to start placing blame. If I didn't want to be involved, I would have removed myself from the situation. Neither of us could have known he'd go this far to get revenge for something that happened over twenty years ago.” Or so Gordon assumed. He had never gotten the whole background story of Thomas Elliot from Bruce; he only knew what he had pieced together, and that wasn't much. Crazy childhood friend with jealousy issues, though there was bound to be more to it than that.
“I don't think you understand, Jim. I didn't just put you in danger – I put everyone around me in danger, including your family.” Bruce's jaw was clenched tight, and Gordon wanted to reach out and calm him, tell him that he was reading too much into the situation; but that would be a lie. Bruce was right because of whatever Bruce had done to Elliot in the past, he really wanted revenge in any form he could take it. Unfortunately Gordon was a part of that puzzle in the beginning and an even bigger piece back during the Holiday Case. He had a feeling Elliot wasn't just out for Bruce anymore.
“Bruce,” Gordon said softly, trying to get the younger man to look at him.
But Bruce was silent. He didn't look over at Gordon, and he didn't move his head even an inch for a good ten minutes. Gordon knew Bruce wasn't angry at him, that the billionaire was more angry at himself. Gordon closed his eyes half way and pretended to be sleeping, but kept a close eye on Bruce. Periodically the man's hand tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles white, fingers digging into his palms. Gordon wanted to tell Bruce to pull over so he could drive instead, but he had the feeling that might just make the whole thing worse.
Instead, Gordon let himself drift off to sleep only to wake around six hours later, accidentally of course, to Babs whining to Bruce to that she was hungry and needed to use the bathroom. Bruce was pulling off at one of those run-down truck stop diners. He parked the truck and told Babs and Gordon to get out, order some food and do what they had to.
“What about you?” Gordon asked as he watched Babs walk into the bathroom.
“We've been followed since we left. I'm staying out here in case Elliot tries something,” Bruce said as he unbuckled his seat belt and hopped down out of the driver's seat. Gordon didn't complain; he went to wait for Babs outside the bathrooms. Then they ordered a few breakfast items to go and went back out to the truck – except Bruce wasn't there.
“Where did he go?” Babs asked. Gordon shook his head and helped her back into the truck.
“I don't know. But do me a favor, stay here and lock the door until either Bruce or I come back,” he said as he shut the door. He saw Babs open her mouth to protest but with the door slammed in her face she sat back, and he heard the doors lock.
Gordon sneaked around the back of the truck slowly, wishing he had brought his gun with him, but getting it through airport security would have more been trouble than it was worth. He had some hand-to-hand combat skills, fighting in the academy that trained them for things like this... but he was so used to having a gun that he was almost afraid he might have lost his touch. Maybe he wouldn't need either though, maybe Bruce had just had to go to the bathroom...
Except that wasn't too likely given the situation. He moved away from the truck and walked towards the side of the restaurant where the dumpsters were. And just as he had assumed, there was Bruce, throwing a punch at who Gordon assumed was Thomas Elliot. Elliot was really crossing a line that Gordon was afraid would make Bruce snap. First, the constant onslaught of criminals broken out of Arkham to distract Bruce and bring him down, then the drugs that were forced on him during his sessions at Arkham, and now this. Gordon wasn't sure what this was anymore, if it was to get back at Gordon or another attempt to break Bruce down by going through Gordon, hoping the loss would break him as well.
Or was it just a game, with Gordon unfortunate enough to be caught in the middle? Maybe this was what Bruce was talking about; maybe he felt bad for pulling Gordon into something neither of them had a lot of control over. Well, it was too late now; if Gordon had wanted to leave he would have done it a long time ago. He'd invested too much into their relationship – their partnership – to let some whack-o former doctor control their lives through terrorism.
Bruce had landed a punch to Elliot's jaw which sent the man reeling backwards to the ground, and then Bruce kicked him in the shin and the face. Elliot was down, at least for now. Gordon ran over just as Bruce fell to his knees and growled in pain. Gordon noticed he was bleeding through his white t-shirt. Gordon placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder, offering him his other hand if he needed help up.
Bruce looked up at him. “Jim...” It was weak and frail. What Gordon had thought was the same wound from the night before, reopened, was actually a new wound bleeding at the top of his chest. Bruce started to fall sideways and Gordon laid him gently on the ground. Gordon worked quickly to remove Bruce's shirt and tie it around the new bullet wound just above where his heart was. He hoped it had missed anything vital, and so far Bruce was still alive. But that didn't mean he was in the clear.
Gordon heard Elliot stir behind him, letting out a disgruntled growl. Gordon looked back quickly to see that the man was struggling to get to his feet, obviously thrown off-balance by Bruce.
He looked down into Bruce's eyes as they started to get that distant, shock-induced glaze. “Bruce, hold on. I'll be right back.” Gordon ran over to Elliot's body and took the gun from his fingers. Elliot was looking up at him, ready to attack, and Gordon shook his head.
“You son of a bitch. Don't even think about it. If I had time I'd call you in now or finish you off myself.” And Gordon raised the gun and shot the red-headed bastard in both legs. Elliot screamed in pain, and Gordon threw the gun down on Elliot's chest. “Consider this payback. Except we're far from even.” Gordon turned to go back to Bruce.
Elliot was laughing, a maddening sort of rasp in deep, heavy breaths that made Gordon want to turn back and throw a fist right into the other man's jaw. “You make threats, Commissioner, but so far you haven't made good on any of them. I've been winning. This was your one chance to step up and take the medal, but you can't even do that! You're no better than Bruce with your rules. Watch your back. This isn't even close to being over!”
Gordon felt his hands ball up into tight fists; it took all of his will and strength to keep himself from turning back now. He caught sight of Bruce, and there was no doubt in his mind that the needed to get him help; Elliot could wait. So, Gordon continued forward towards Bruce and knelt down beside him, throwing the younger man's arm around his shoulder, trying to hold him up while Bruce tried to walk the best he could. Gordon was half-dragging Bruce to the truck; people from inside the restaurant had stepped outside to see what was going on with all the gunfire. Gordon tried to ignore the accusing glares. Babs saw him coming and had apparently unlocked the passenger door scooting over a bit when she saw that Bruce was bleeding all over.
“What happened?” she asked hurriedly as she helped her uncle place the now unconscious Bruce into a prone position in the passenger seat, his head in her lap and his legs unfortunately splayed down to the floor, which couldn't be helped. Gordon had stripped down to his under shirt and handed his t-shirt to her.
“I'll explain later, sweetie. Hold this to that gunshot wound at the top. I'll be right back.” She looked at him, more terrified than he had seen her, even when he told her her parents had died. If Bruce died there was one less person for her to trust in the world, to be her friend... She'd have lost someone else. No, Bruce was not going to die; he was too strong to be taken down by a few gunshots.
Hopefully.
Gordon walked back towards the group of people gathered outside. He pulled out his badge and flashed it at them. “My friend has been shot. The man who did this is behind the building over there. I'm going to quickly call the county sheriff and let him know what happened. I suggest you all stay away from the man back there though, he's very dangerous.” It felt like talking to a brick wall – people staring at him with big, dumb faces – and once he was through talking they shrugged and walked back inside. As if nothing mattered – as if they didn't care. They don't care. Forget it, calling the police would do no good, not out here.
Leaving Elliot to die in his own blood was more than feasible. He made a phone call to Stephens anyway, explaining what had gone down and asking him to call the local police station and have them send someone out to investigate the issue.
Gordon headed back to the truck, hopped up to the passenger side and tossed Babs the first-aid kit. “There should be a pair of sterile tweezers and a needle with thread in there. Can you hand them to me?” He was poking around Bruce's already open wound. There wasn't a lot he could do for the fresh one; he did see the bullet, it hadn't gone in too deep. Bruce must have tried to dodge it. Babs handed him the tweezers from the first-aid kit (thank God for Alfred) and removed the bullet; he was no doctor but he was sure it had just missed the bone and wasn't deep enough to hit any vital organs.
Babs handed him the needle when she found it. Gordon took it from her and began to stitch up the small wound on Bruce's side. It didn't take much; the hole was small enough, and by the time he'd tied off the end the bleeding had pretty much stopped except for a small amount of oozing. He then stitched up the new wound, where the bleeding was still pretty bad.
“Do you have any antiseptic?” Babs asked as she continued to go through the first-aid kit for things that might help.
“If it's not there, no.” He stuck one of the bigger bandages over the stitches and shut the passenger door, then slid into the driver's seat. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Once out on the highway he pressed on the gas a little harder, boosting their speed to eighty miles per hour. Getting clocked by highway patrol was the least of his worries as he watched Bruce keep losing more blood by the minute.
Babs kept her hand pressed tightly over the shirt covering the fresh wound, but blood kept seeping out. He had a feeling that a two-hour drive to Gotham was not going to be the best idea. A glance at Babs suggested that she knew this as well; her face showed a bit of panic, and her hands trembled over wound. She was a brave girl; had she been any other teenage girl and not related to Gordon, she'd have been down for the count with Bruce.
“Okay. We're going to take him to the hospital in the next town. We have to get away from here first.”
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Everything felt like a blur from the minute they pulled into the emergency lane at the hospital, to the filling out of paperwork, right down to the cell-phone in his hand that was now dialing Wayne Manor. He had to tell Alfred. There was no way this was staying out of the news; it was only a matter of time...
“Wayne Manor,” said the pristine voice of the butler on the other end. Gordon let out of a sigh of relief.
“Thank God, Alfred,” Gordon said into the receiver of the cellphone. He ran his free hand in his hair nervously. “There's been an accident.”
“Accident, sir?” Alfred's tone suggested he wasn't surprised, but there was a worried tension behind it that was apparent.
“Bruce has been shot.”
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Gordon had given Alfred the name of the little town they were in along with the hospital name. He was driving over and would be there in an hour or two. He told Gordon not to answer any press questions or talk to reporters if they happened to find out before then; the butler would take care of them himself. So that left Gordon and Babs in the cafeteria. Babs was sitting at one of the tables while Gordon poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to have to start guessing?” Babs asked. She had her elbows on the table top and her face cradled in her two hands, gazing at Gordon from behind those purple-rimmed glasses, with those cool blue eyes. He wanted to tell her, but it wasn't his place.
“There is a lot more to Bruce Wayne than meets the eye, Babs. But it's not my place to tell you what that is, and I'm not sure Bruce is really ready for you to know yet.” Gordon sighed as he put his cup down and then placed his palms flat on the table. It was pretty clear Babs hadn't put the pieces together yet, but given enough information she would be able to do so on her own. Gordon would prefer she hear it from Bruce personally; a 'polo accident' was not going to fly for a bullet to the chest.
“He's not in any kind of trouble, is he?” she asked quietly.
“No, no. Not the kind you're thinking of, anyway. It's been a rough year so far for Bruce. Lots of friends he'd rather have forgotten about keep coming out of the woodwork,” Gordon explained with a half smile. It wasn't a lie; Tommy had been Bruce's friend at some point in his life, even if it was years ago.
“He's going to be okay, though, right?” Babs had a worried look on her face, and Gordon couldn't help but be a little amazed. Babs had known Bruce a little less than two weeks, but he had made a bigger impact on her life than Gordon ever thought possible. There were definitely worse people for her to look up to.
“He's gone through, uh...” Gordon couldn't really think about it; he'd seen Bruce a lot worse than this back in October, practically bleeding to death in the interrogation room. A bullet wound shouldn't be much to worry about; except usually when Bruce was shot he had on some kind of armor to keep the bullet from going too deep. “I'm sure he'll be fine.”
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