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Jim was positive Bruce would be fine, but it still didn't stop his chest from aching after all the adrenalin had finally left his system. He sat slumped in a waiting room chair, exhausted; he wanted to close his eyes and sleep the situation away. It wasn't like this had never happened before – Bruce got injured almost nightly. Sure, it wasn't usually bullets to the chest, but every wound could be life threatening if not treated properly. Gordon pushed his glasses up as he rubbed at his eyes with his palms, feeling the fatigue hit him hard, and as much as he wanted to sleep a part of him wouldn't allow him to settle down just yet. He had to know Bruce was alright; despite what he believed, he needed the reassurance.
There had already been so much pain between them since the start of their relationship, and this one more piece had the potential to break Bruce down. The billionaire had already started blaming himself for Thomas Elliot and presence in Gordon's life, when it was nonsense. Bruce tried to take blame for a lot of things that were simply out of his control. But that was Bruce Wayne – often over-zealous on saving everyone, fixing everything, and fighting crime. There seemed to be no room for mistakes in Bruce's book, not for himself, anyway. He expected the best of himself and only that.
The issue with Elliot was bound to send Bruce over the edge of they didn't catch him soon. Right when Gordon thought they might get him – that shooting him in the legs would keep him down – he's no where to found where Gordon left him. Gordon kicked himself mentally for not shooting the bastard in the head; God knows he'd have deserved it. Gordon had decided back when Bruce had started to detox that Thomas Elliot was going to pay for his actions, one way or another – a bullet in each leg hardly seemed enough to constitute revenge. No, it's not revenge, Jim. It's merely repayment.
“Jim?” asked a proper British accent from next to him. Gordon raised his head to see Alfred staring down at him, his graying eyebrows furrowed in concern. Gordon wasn't used to Alfred calling him by only his first name, but the ease in older gentleman's eyes suggested that he didn't quite care about the semantics of his word choice of right now.
“Alfred,” Gordon said with a breathy sigh as he stood to face the butler. Except, Alfred was more than just Bruce' s butler; Alfred was Bruce's father.
“What's the news?” Alfred asked, placing a hand on Gordon's shoulder, comfortingly.
“Nothing yet,” Gordon replied. He had found that in the last hour he kept wringing his hands together nervously, and he was doing it again. Alfred even looked down at Gordon's hands thoughtfully and gently put both hands on Gordon's shoulders, promptly pushing him back down into the chair.
“I'll go check on Master Wayne's status,” Alfred stated, and Gordon knew there was no point in arguing. The butler turned the corner to go talk to the nurses at the desk.
Babs stirred beside him, curled up in a chair. She had fallen asleep about twenty minutes ago, after they had gone to the cafeteria to get something to eat. She adjusted her glasses and looked over at Gordon groggily. He smiled at her the best he could given the situation.
“Was that Alfred?” she asked as she sat up in the chair. Gordon nodded, but didn't say anything in return. Babs seemed to notice that Gordon wasn't really taking the situation as well as he would have liked to have been, and she scooted next to him, hugging his arm, laying her head on his shoulder. She didn't say anything either; sometimes there was just nothing to say.
-----
It was seven hours before the doctors actually allowed anyone to see Bruce. According to the surgeon who had operated on Bruce, he was pretty lucky. The bullet that Gordon had been able to remove nicked the billionaire's clavicle but otherwise had just embedded itself into some ligaments and muscle tissue. Had Gordon not been able to get the bullet out when he had, there could have been more damage. One of these days Gordon knew Bruce was not going to be so lucky, and one of those injuries was going to be end of him.
Hopefully that day wasn't anytime soon.
Gordon entered the pristine white room. He had the vague memory of being the visited last time instead of being the visitor. Hospitals made him physically ill, mostly due to having seen so many of his own officers struggle for life here – or when he had watched as Harvey Dent slipped into the realms of darkness, only to die there. And when he saw Bruce lying there, hooked up to monitors, tubes running oxygen through his nose, an IV in his left hand, and two huge patches covering the stitches from both bullet wounds, Gordon nearly broke down. This was the last state in which he ever wanted to see Bruce, and he instantly wished he could trade places with him.
Gordon stepped up to the bed, placing his hands on the cool railing. He wanted so much to reach out and touch the billionaire's face, a part of him feeling that if he did then Bruce would simply melt away forever. It was a stupid thought, he knew, but it was just enough to stare down into Bruce's face and know that he was alright – that no matter what, right now he was going to come through this with flying colors. It most definitely could have been a lot worse.
Thank God for first-aid requirements, Gordon thought. He let out a breath slowly, suddenly aware he had been holding it. He pulled a chair around to the side of the bed and sat down. He grabbed Bruce's free hand, twining their fingers together, hoping for some kind of response. Slowly, Bruce's hand squeezed around Gordon's, just enough that he looked up at Bruce's face to see half awake eyes staring at him. The doctors had said Bruce probably wouldn't wake for another couple hours, but they obviously didn't know Bruce Wayne at all; he always recovered quickly. 'Years of training', Bruce had said. Or just years of growing immune to certain drugs, was Gordon's thought. From what Bruce had told him of Ra's al Ghul – which wasn't much – Gordon wouldn't have put it past him.
“Well, look who's awake,” Gordon grumbled sternly. As much as he wanted to tell Bruce how much it scared him, he kept the feelings down and to himself. Seemed to him that it was Bruce's turn to get the lecture he had received a little over four months ago.
“Where?” was all Bruce managed to croak out, coughing as he tried to clear his airways of the gunk in his throat.
Gordon squeezed the younger man's hand reassuringly. “Hospital.” He saw the panic in Bruce's eyes. “Didn't have much of a choice. Couldn't risk you losing more blood on a two hour drive to Gotham.”
Bruce closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again he wasn't looking at Gordon; he was looking around the room frantically, assessing his situation. Gordon watched the rise and fall of the younger man's chest, the quickening of his breath, and he knew Bruce was starting to panic even more. Gordon laid a hand on Bruce's chest to steady him, help him think of something else – take his mind off the situation momentarily. If Gordon could get him calm maybe he could reason with Bruce a little, get him to see that a hospital was where he should stay for right now.
“It's safe enough here for now. At least for the day. I don't think they would allow me to move you until then, if at all. If the doctor had his way you'd be in for a week,” Gordon explained. He knew Bruce though, knew that with money came power, and that Bruce could pull stunts that no one else could pull off. Bruce would be out of here in a day. Bruce let his eyes come to rest on Gordon, now assessing him with those gold-flaked hazel eyes.
“You should get some sleep,” Bruce whispered, voice cracking as he attempted to clear his throat again.
“Oh no. You aren't getting rid of me that quickly;” Gordon teased. “You are never allowed out of my sight again.” He reached out with his free hand and cupped the side of Bruce' face gently, letting their eyes meet slowly, and the world around them seemed complete again. There was never a moment that Gordon didn't know that he and Bruce were simply made for each other; everything fit.
“Don't ever scare me like that again,” Gordon whispered as he leaned his head towards Bruce's, kissing him gently on the forehead. It was about as tender as Gordon allowed himself to get, especially in public. He pulled back to look Bruce sternly in the eye. “Remember that rule about backup? It now applies to you, too.”
Bruce rolled his eyes in annoyance, and Gordon knew the words that were coming next by heart, as they had had this conversation many times, even before the reveal of Batman's identity. “I can take care of myself. This doesn't happen every day. You can't be there every moment to make sure I'm not getting shot at.” Exactly word-for-word what Gordon was thinking.
“Maybe you can as Batman, but as Bruce Wayne you don't have any protection.” Gordon relaxed back against the chair, sighing in a bit of annoyance.
“I have plenty of protection,” Bruce stated, attempting to give Gordon a flirtatious grin. Gordon pointed at him accusingly; he hated when Bruce tried to get out of situations by using his playboy attitude – sometimes it worked, but not today.
“I'm being serious, Bruce. With Elliot running around and most likely recruiting God knows who, you can't be at your best all the time.” Gordon paused and made sure Bruce was paying attention, and this time the billionaire's face was as serious as Gordon's. “You can't be Batman all the time.”
“What would you have me do? Hire a bodyguard?” Bruce asked. In most cases he would have said it in a way that suggested he was kidding, but this time Gordon could tell he was quite serious and a bit worried. A bodyguard could be good, but it could also be trouble.
“You might consider it,” Gordon replied. “I could ask Gerry...”
Bruce shook his head slightly. “No. Gerry has enough to do at Major Crimes. I'll have Alfred and Lucius look into it for me.”
“Bruce, it should really be someone you trust. There's a lot at stake. I could pull a few names from the PD, maybe you could pick some from there.”
“Jim, you're right, it has to be someone I can trust. So I'll go through my people to find someone,” Bruce explained. Gordon almost felt hurt by that, but he couldn't exactly blame Bruce, either, the GCPD had been known to harbor untrustworthy cops in the past.
Gordon sighed. There wasn't much else to say on the matter; he trusted Bruce would have Alfred on it right away. He just hoped 'right away' was soon enough, and that Elliot didn't recover quickly. Gordon found himself wishing, again, that he had just shot the sick bastard dead. Gordon rested his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair and back down his face, exhaustion and worry overwhelming his senses. There was just never a dull moment, never a chance to catch their breath before something else provoked an attack on Gotham or on their personal lives.
Never going to stop.
“Jim, I am so sorry,” Bruce whispered, breaking through Gordon's thoughts; the older man lifted his head to glance over at his companion, who was attempting to sit up in the bed, but wincing with the pain as he tried to move.
“Why are you always trying to apologize? No one's perfect,” Gordon said as he stood up, helping Bruce sit up in the bed and straightening the pillow behind his back for more support. “Not even Bruce Wayne.”
Bruce smiled at Gordon as he stood, running a hand through Bruce's greasy hair, and Gordon found himself absently thinking that Bruce needed a shower, which lead his thoughts to a sponge bath which actually sounded quite erotic. He gave Bruce a sly, thoughtful look.
Bruce quirked an eyebrow. “Jim?”
“Hm? Oh. Just thinking about all the trouble and care these bullet wounds are going to cause,” Gordon said nonchalantly, still running his fingers through Bruce's hair as he thought about soaping up the younger man, washing all his delicate parts... And now that he thought about it they hadn't once taken a shower together – that would definitely change.
Bruce seemed to take notice the change in Gordon's body language and tone, shaking his head. “Is this what it takes to get you to make the first move?”
“No!” Gordon said, but his eyes didn't meet Bruce's again because he knew it was true; there was just something about Bruce being helpless that made Gordon more turned on than ever. He thought about how it really was too bad that Bruce was in the hospital. “Well, all I know is that you better tell those nurses no sponge baths.”
Bruce let out a laugh that ended up being a cough and then a groan. He pressed a hand over the wound in his side. “I'll tell them my boyfriend wants the pleasure of giving me my first bath,” he teased, motioning Gordon to bend down over the bed.
Gordon dropped his head until their lips barely touched. “You're lucky you're in a hospital bed, otherwise I'd...” He let the thought trail off, thinking about all the things he wanted to do to Bruce just then, causing his groin to twitch.
Bruce bit at Gordon's bottom lip playfully. “You'd what, Commissioner?” Bruce egged him on with a tone that had dropped into a deep rasp. Gordon couldn't help but wonder how on earth a man who had just gotten shot could even be thinking this way, let alone have the drive to want it. But Bruce was a bit of a masochist, and Gordon had never taken full of advantage of that tidbit of information.
Gordon thought at first that he could easily just spend the rest of the afternoon whispering to Bruce about the naughty things he wanted to do to the younger man, but then the thought that it wouldn't be right to do that in a hospital crossed his mind – especially right after Bruce getting out of surgery.
“Well, that's for me to know and you to find out later,” Gordon whispered before standing back up. He didn't hide from Bruce the fact that the thought of all this had turned him on and that he was now semi-hard. Bruce glanced from Gordon's groin to the older man's face. “You'll have to wait until you're discharged.”
Bruce pressed his lips together in a little pout. “You're a tease, Gordon.”
“You like it, Wayne.”
There had already been so much pain between them since the start of their relationship, and this one more piece had the potential to break Bruce down. The billionaire had already started blaming himself for Thomas Elliot and presence in Gordon's life, when it was nonsense. Bruce tried to take blame for a lot of things that were simply out of his control. But that was Bruce Wayne – often over-zealous on saving everyone, fixing everything, and fighting crime. There seemed to be no room for mistakes in Bruce's book, not for himself, anyway. He expected the best of himself and only that.
The issue with Elliot was bound to send Bruce over the edge of they didn't catch him soon. Right when Gordon thought they might get him – that shooting him in the legs would keep him down – he's no where to found where Gordon left him. Gordon kicked himself mentally for not shooting the bastard in the head; God knows he'd have deserved it. Gordon had decided back when Bruce had started to detox that Thomas Elliot was going to pay for his actions, one way or another – a bullet in each leg hardly seemed enough to constitute revenge. No, it's not revenge, Jim. It's merely repayment.
“Jim?” asked a proper British accent from next to him. Gordon raised his head to see Alfred staring down at him, his graying eyebrows furrowed in concern. Gordon wasn't used to Alfred calling him by only his first name, but the ease in older gentleman's eyes suggested that he didn't quite care about the semantics of his word choice of right now.
“Alfred,” Gordon said with a breathy sigh as he stood to face the butler. Except, Alfred was more than just Bruce' s butler; Alfred was Bruce's father.
“What's the news?” Alfred asked, placing a hand on Gordon's shoulder, comfortingly.
“Nothing yet,” Gordon replied. He had found that in the last hour he kept wringing his hands together nervously, and he was doing it again. Alfred even looked down at Gordon's hands thoughtfully and gently put both hands on Gordon's shoulders, promptly pushing him back down into the chair.
“I'll go check on Master Wayne's status,” Alfred stated, and Gordon knew there was no point in arguing. The butler turned the corner to go talk to the nurses at the desk.
Babs stirred beside him, curled up in a chair. She had fallen asleep about twenty minutes ago, after they had gone to the cafeteria to get something to eat. She adjusted her glasses and looked over at Gordon groggily. He smiled at her the best he could given the situation.
“Was that Alfred?” she asked as she sat up in the chair. Gordon nodded, but didn't say anything in return. Babs seemed to notice that Gordon wasn't really taking the situation as well as he would have liked to have been, and she scooted next to him, hugging his arm, laying her head on his shoulder. She didn't say anything either; sometimes there was just nothing to say.
-----
It was seven hours before the doctors actually allowed anyone to see Bruce. According to the surgeon who had operated on Bruce, he was pretty lucky. The bullet that Gordon had been able to remove nicked the billionaire's clavicle but otherwise had just embedded itself into some ligaments and muscle tissue. Had Gordon not been able to get the bullet out when he had, there could have been more damage. One of these days Gordon knew Bruce was not going to be so lucky, and one of those injuries was going to be end of him.
Hopefully that day wasn't anytime soon.
Gordon entered the pristine white room. He had the vague memory of being the visited last time instead of being the visitor. Hospitals made him physically ill, mostly due to having seen so many of his own officers struggle for life here – or when he had watched as Harvey Dent slipped into the realms of darkness, only to die there. And when he saw Bruce lying there, hooked up to monitors, tubes running oxygen through his nose, an IV in his left hand, and two huge patches covering the stitches from both bullet wounds, Gordon nearly broke down. This was the last state in which he ever wanted to see Bruce, and he instantly wished he could trade places with him.
Gordon stepped up to the bed, placing his hands on the cool railing. He wanted so much to reach out and touch the billionaire's face, a part of him feeling that if he did then Bruce would simply melt away forever. It was a stupid thought, he knew, but it was just enough to stare down into Bruce's face and know that he was alright – that no matter what, right now he was going to come through this with flying colors. It most definitely could have been a lot worse.
Thank God for first-aid requirements, Gordon thought. He let out a breath slowly, suddenly aware he had been holding it. He pulled a chair around to the side of the bed and sat down. He grabbed Bruce's free hand, twining their fingers together, hoping for some kind of response. Slowly, Bruce's hand squeezed around Gordon's, just enough that he looked up at Bruce's face to see half awake eyes staring at him. The doctors had said Bruce probably wouldn't wake for another couple hours, but they obviously didn't know Bruce Wayne at all; he always recovered quickly. 'Years of training', Bruce had said. Or just years of growing immune to certain drugs, was Gordon's thought. From what Bruce had told him of Ra's al Ghul – which wasn't much – Gordon wouldn't have put it past him.
“Well, look who's awake,” Gordon grumbled sternly. As much as he wanted to tell Bruce how much it scared him, he kept the feelings down and to himself. Seemed to him that it was Bruce's turn to get the lecture he had received a little over four months ago.
“Where?” was all Bruce managed to croak out, coughing as he tried to clear his airways of the gunk in his throat.
Gordon squeezed the younger man's hand reassuringly. “Hospital.” He saw the panic in Bruce's eyes. “Didn't have much of a choice. Couldn't risk you losing more blood on a two hour drive to Gotham.”
Bruce closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again he wasn't looking at Gordon; he was looking around the room frantically, assessing his situation. Gordon watched the rise and fall of the younger man's chest, the quickening of his breath, and he knew Bruce was starting to panic even more. Gordon laid a hand on Bruce's chest to steady him, help him think of something else – take his mind off the situation momentarily. If Gordon could get him calm maybe he could reason with Bruce a little, get him to see that a hospital was where he should stay for right now.
“It's safe enough here for now. At least for the day. I don't think they would allow me to move you until then, if at all. If the doctor had his way you'd be in for a week,” Gordon explained. He knew Bruce though, knew that with money came power, and that Bruce could pull stunts that no one else could pull off. Bruce would be out of here in a day. Bruce let his eyes come to rest on Gordon, now assessing him with those gold-flaked hazel eyes.
“You should get some sleep,” Bruce whispered, voice cracking as he attempted to clear his throat again.
“Oh no. You aren't getting rid of me that quickly;” Gordon teased. “You are never allowed out of my sight again.” He reached out with his free hand and cupped the side of Bruce' face gently, letting their eyes meet slowly, and the world around them seemed complete again. There was never a moment that Gordon didn't know that he and Bruce were simply made for each other; everything fit.
“Don't ever scare me like that again,” Gordon whispered as he leaned his head towards Bruce's, kissing him gently on the forehead. It was about as tender as Gordon allowed himself to get, especially in public. He pulled back to look Bruce sternly in the eye. “Remember that rule about backup? It now applies to you, too.”
Bruce rolled his eyes in annoyance, and Gordon knew the words that were coming next by heart, as they had had this conversation many times, even before the reveal of Batman's identity. “I can take care of myself. This doesn't happen every day. You can't be there every moment to make sure I'm not getting shot at.” Exactly word-for-word what Gordon was thinking.
“Maybe you can as Batman, but as Bruce Wayne you don't have any protection.” Gordon relaxed back against the chair, sighing in a bit of annoyance.
“I have plenty of protection,” Bruce stated, attempting to give Gordon a flirtatious grin. Gordon pointed at him accusingly; he hated when Bruce tried to get out of situations by using his playboy attitude – sometimes it worked, but not today.
“I'm being serious, Bruce. With Elliot running around and most likely recruiting God knows who, you can't be at your best all the time.” Gordon paused and made sure Bruce was paying attention, and this time the billionaire's face was as serious as Gordon's. “You can't be Batman all the time.”
“What would you have me do? Hire a bodyguard?” Bruce asked. In most cases he would have said it in a way that suggested he was kidding, but this time Gordon could tell he was quite serious and a bit worried. A bodyguard could be good, but it could also be trouble.
“You might consider it,” Gordon replied. “I could ask Gerry...”
Bruce shook his head slightly. “No. Gerry has enough to do at Major Crimes. I'll have Alfred and Lucius look into it for me.”
“Bruce, it should really be someone you trust. There's a lot at stake. I could pull a few names from the PD, maybe you could pick some from there.”
“Jim, you're right, it has to be someone I can trust. So I'll go through my people to find someone,” Bruce explained. Gordon almost felt hurt by that, but he couldn't exactly blame Bruce, either, the GCPD had been known to harbor untrustworthy cops in the past.
Gordon sighed. There wasn't much else to say on the matter; he trusted Bruce would have Alfred on it right away. He just hoped 'right away' was soon enough, and that Elliot didn't recover quickly. Gordon found himself wishing, again, that he had just shot the sick bastard dead. Gordon rested his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair and back down his face, exhaustion and worry overwhelming his senses. There was just never a dull moment, never a chance to catch their breath before something else provoked an attack on Gotham or on their personal lives.
Never going to stop.
“Jim, I am so sorry,” Bruce whispered, breaking through Gordon's thoughts; the older man lifted his head to glance over at his companion, who was attempting to sit up in the bed, but wincing with the pain as he tried to move.
“Why are you always trying to apologize? No one's perfect,” Gordon said as he stood up, helping Bruce sit up in the bed and straightening the pillow behind his back for more support. “Not even Bruce Wayne.”
Bruce smiled at Gordon as he stood, running a hand through Bruce's greasy hair, and Gordon found himself absently thinking that Bruce needed a shower, which lead his thoughts to a sponge bath which actually sounded quite erotic. He gave Bruce a sly, thoughtful look.
Bruce quirked an eyebrow. “Jim?”
“Hm? Oh. Just thinking about all the trouble and care these bullet wounds are going to cause,” Gordon said nonchalantly, still running his fingers through Bruce's hair as he thought about soaping up the younger man, washing all his delicate parts... And now that he thought about it they hadn't once taken a shower together – that would definitely change.
Bruce seemed to take notice the change in Gordon's body language and tone, shaking his head. “Is this what it takes to get you to make the first move?”
“No!” Gordon said, but his eyes didn't meet Bruce's again because he knew it was true; there was just something about Bruce being helpless that made Gordon more turned on than ever. He thought about how it really was too bad that Bruce was in the hospital. “Well, all I know is that you better tell those nurses no sponge baths.”
Bruce let out a laugh that ended up being a cough and then a groan. He pressed a hand over the wound in his side. “I'll tell them my boyfriend wants the pleasure of giving me my first bath,” he teased, motioning Gordon to bend down over the bed.
Gordon dropped his head until their lips barely touched. “You're lucky you're in a hospital bed, otherwise I'd...” He let the thought trail off, thinking about all the things he wanted to do to Bruce just then, causing his groin to twitch.
Bruce bit at Gordon's bottom lip playfully. “You'd what, Commissioner?” Bruce egged him on with a tone that had dropped into a deep rasp. Gordon couldn't help but wonder how on earth a man who had just gotten shot could even be thinking this way, let alone have the drive to want it. But Bruce was a bit of a masochist, and Gordon had never taken full of advantage of that tidbit of information.
Gordon thought at first that he could easily just spend the rest of the afternoon whispering to Bruce about the naughty things he wanted to do to the younger man, but then the thought that it wouldn't be right to do that in a hospital crossed his mind – especially right after Bruce getting out of surgery.
“Well, that's for me to know and you to find out later,” Gordon whispered before standing back up. He didn't hide from Bruce the fact that the thought of all this had turned him on and that he was now semi-hard. Bruce glanced from Gordon's groin to the older man's face. “You'll have to wait until you're discharged.”
Bruce pressed his lips together in a little pout. “You're a tease, Gordon.”
“You like it, Wayne.”