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Bruce – no Batman – had only that split second to react, to somehow calculate where bullet was going to hit, and from the aim of Harleen's gun, it was obvious that it was going to make contact with his chest. Thank God for the Kevlar plates and there not being a lot of space between them. The bullet smashed into the left breast plate, knocking Bruce to the ground with the force. He looked down and saw the bullet wedged into the armor and gave an inner sigh of relief. He fingered the arm blades with the trigger inside his gloves, two of them embedding into the woman's shoulder and others flying right past her, and she dropped to the ground, grasping her shoulder.
Bruce used what strength he had left and ran at her, knocking the gun from her hand foot and taking her the rest of the way to ground. She was glaring up at him, black grease paint around her eyes, a familiar make-up job that reminded him all too much of the Joker. It was possible she was still working for him, but the Joker would never send her to kill Batman, the Joker liked the chase and the game that they played. That left only possible person who Harleen would be working for and it was the one person who he was dearly looking forward to seeing face-to-face again, if even to prove that he couldn't be brought down by the hands of a gun.
Bruce took her by the wrist pulled her up towards him until their faces were mere inches apart. He narrowed his eyes on her and he began to see a fear in her face, a common reaction with most criminals. She began to tremble a bit, and Bruce, for just a split second, began to feel bad for her. But she was expecting that from him, so he hardened himself and looked past her quivering shoulders and watering eyes.
“Where is he?” Bruce growled, grabbing her other wrist with his other hand. Harleen shook her head, blue eyes wide in a fear that Bruce almost loved seeing on her face.
“Why don't you put the girl down?” came a gruff, suave voice from Bruce's left, a broad shouldered figured emerging from the shadows. Bruce had grown quite angry in the two minutes he had been holding Harleen in his grips, knowing full well it was Tommy Elliot who had put her up to this. And then, there he was in front of Bruce; without mask or disguise, just a hand gun in hand, but pointed to the floor. Bruce pushed Harleen to the side, hearing a light thump as she hit the ground. She got up quickly though and ran – to where, Bruce found he just didn't care right then.
“Son of a bitch,” Bruce cursed as Elliot ran a hand smoothly through his red hair, giving a quirk of his lips that simply said he, yet again, had Bruce right where he wanted him.
“Oh Bruce, when will you just admit defeat and let me have my way? There is only so much even you can take until you break completely,” Elliot said casually, the gun in his hand now pointed at Bruce, trained on one of the few spot where Bruce would be vulnerable. Somehow, Bruce knew he would get out of this unscathed, because he honestly didn't want to feel wrath of Jim when he got back to the Manor. Bruce made a promise and he meant to keep it. Elliot was just more scum that Gotham produced – Bruce could handle this. He would handle this.
“You haven't defeated me yet. This has only just begun,” Bruce said in a harsh whisper that was barely audible, barely there. Elliot heard it and the smirk that had been plastered on his face melted away as Bruce gritted his teeth and ran at him full force. Bruce knew the other man was likely still injured from the gun shots Jim had given him, so this would be easy. Bruce heard the gun shot, but had tumbled to the ground into a roll just a split second before, rolling back to his feet in a squatting position and kicking his left leg out from under him, hand firmly planted on the ground, to balance his weight. His foot came up and made contact with Elliot's jaw and sent him reeling backwards to the ground, letting off another gunshot accidentally. Luckily, that one didn't hit anywhere.
Elliot struggled to scramble back to his feet, jaw slacked now – possibly broken. “You aren't better than me! I'm always two steps ahead of you, Bruce. Even if you take me down now there is still something I've had planned that will break you in the end. Maybe not right away, maybe not months from now. But when you least expect it –” Elliot was taunting him and Bruce, with all the rage and hatred built up in his gut, the tension in his muscles from months and months of dealing with childhood friend gone sour, the torment and the pain, Bruce was done. He dropped both hands in front of him, pulling his upper body weight onto them, pounding his feet into Elliot's chest, and bouncing backwards off him as the man hit the ground again with a loud thunk. This time Elliot didn't even move.
Bruce landed back on his feet, body back into defense stance and watching as Elliot's chest rose and fell, but he didn't stir. Finally, just finally. Bruce pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his utility belt, kicking Elliot to lay on his stomach, pulling the man's arms behind his back and linking the bracelets over his wrists. After all that, after everything Bruce and Jim had been put through over the last nine months, it was finally going to come to an end. Maybe now the quiet of Gotham would bring them the peace they needed for a few weeks, months if they were lucky.
But when had they ever been that lucky.
Bruce pulled out a device from his belt and pushed the button. It was to tell Jim to call for backup.
----
Gordon made sure they secured the interrogation room, turned off the cameras, and Stephens was planted outside the hall so that no officers “accidentally” made their way over there. Elliot was seated, handcuffed to the chair, glaring at the two way mirror. Bruce was standing next to Gordon, still in the Batsuit but had taken off the cowl and cape and placed them on the table behind them. He had his hands on the glass, in fists, looking worn down and tired. Gordon knew the younger man was angry, but the constant struggle, the battle, and never getting even a chance to stop had worn him down in the past year and half since Harvey Dent died. Maybe now that Elliot would finally be behind bars, and the city otherwise still, Bruce would have time to finally have time to collect himself.
One could only hope.
“Couple of choices here, Bruce; Arkham or Blackgate?” Gordon sasked as he watched the red-haired man in the other room sit gloomily under the dull florescent lights. Gordon flicked his gaze over to Bruce when he didn't answer right away and saw the younger man was obviously thinking it over.
“Arkham is too risky. He's had his hand in there for far too long. It would be a mistake. He's not crazy,” Bruce said almost regretfully, and Gordon could tell there was a part of Bruce that didn't even want to say the words he would say next, because it meant banishing someone he use to be best friends with, to a life where he might not ever seen daylight again. “Blackgate.”
Gordon was relieved, to be honest. Arkham would have been a bad choice, and Bruce was right – the man was crazy, in fact he was smarter than anyone would probably ever give him credit for. Thomas Elliot fooled a lot of people, Bruce included. Elliot knew how to push Bruce's buttons, his weaknesses and faults, how his mind worked, the way he worked his strategies. Elliot was dangerous to even be alive, but there was no way of knowing if he'd eventually get the death penalty for the deaths of Roger and Thelma, being it had never been cleared of more than just a hit-and-run accident. Elliot wouldn't fess up to any of that, but Bruce had him on enough accounts of everything else, from arsons to attempt of murder of the commissioner, his hands in Arkham, bribery of an official Arkham doctor; the list was long and he'd be spending the rest of his life in jail, likely no parole. Gordon could live with that and knew his brother would rest in peace now that his killer was behind bars.
Bruce splayed his hands flat against the surface of the glass in front of him, resting his head on the window, looking utterly spent. Gordon reached out and wrapped his fingers around Bruce's. Gordon tugged on him gently and Bruce allowed himself to be maneuvered away, his eyes finally leaving the figure in the other room, meeting Gordon's for the first time since they got there. Gordon offered him a half smile and pulled him a little closer. Bruce rested his forehead on Gordon's shoulder, arms weaving around the older man with ease. It was hard for Gordon to get his arms around Bruce with all the Kevlar, but he managed some how, if only to comfort the younger man the best he could.
“I am so sorry, Jim,” Bruce whispered to Gordon, his voice cracking just a little, trying to keep down the flood of emotions Gordon knew he must've be feeling.
Gordon held him a little tighter, right hand caught up in Bruce's brown sweaty locks, caressing. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Bruce pulled back and looked Gordon in the eyes, but whatever he was going to say he kept to himself, because it was likely he'd already said it all before, and there was nothing more that could be said again. Gordon knew Bruce regretted ever involving the commissioner when Elliot started his mental attack on Bruce in October, but Gordon saw that it was never a mistake, and if Bruce had no asked for help, or at least hinted that he needed it, things could have gone terribly wrong for the billionaire. No, there were no regrets or mistakes here, just incidents that they could wish never had happened.
Time they could never get back.
-----
Gordon threw down the newspaper on the table in front of Babs, who was eating a piece of toast. Dick was sitting across from her poking at his eggs with a fork in mild disgust. Gordon noticed the boy perk his head up a little to see what the newspaper said. Babs scowled at him and held it up closer to herself so the other teen couldn't see it.
“Not sure we'll get him on charges for your parents death, but we're gonna try.” Gordon said as he smoothed down a piece of Babs' hair behind her ear. She looked up from the paper, the head reading: BATMAN CATCHES ARKHAM CRIMINAL. She finished chewing her toast and then smiled at Gordon, a bit of peace coming over her.
“I'm glad he got him.” Babs replied quietly, remembering that Dick didn't know Bruce's secret yet, and not wanting to give it away too early; at least not without Bruce's consent. Gordon sat down next to Babs and looked over at Dick, taking the paper from Bab and showing Dick the article at the bottom of the front page.
“Just so happens that Batman was able to catch the woman responsible for your parents accident as well,” Gordon said, not really aware if the boy was up to talking about his parents yet or not. He hadn't really said a word to the commissioner since the night it happened, and so far the only one he had been seen talking to was Bruce.
Dick's face went grim as he took the paper to read the small article at the bottom, covering how Harleen Quinzel had been coerced into working with Elliot to do his dirty work once more. She had worked with him once before back with is first attack on Batman, when Joker was still on Elliot's leash. Dick threw the paper down, placed his hands on the side of the table and pushed away in his chair. He slid out of the chair gracefully and walked out into the backyard, towards the rose garden.
Babs looked up at Gordon and he shrugged. Bruce was in the door way, having seen the whole thing. “He'll be okay. He just needs to find a way to deal with this on his own.” Bruce ran both hands through his wet hair, giving Gordon a knowing smile, a flashback of the day Bruce's parents died faded into his thoughts. Even though you tell a kid that you caught the person responsible, it still doesn't change anything; their parents were still dead.
Bruce walked past Gordon, brushing his hand against the older man's fingers tips for the briefest of moments. He took a cup of coffee from the counter and walked out the back door without another glance to Gordon or Babs. Gordon had talked to Bruce just half an hour earlier about the paternity test results, and just how to go about telling Babs. Bruce said the longer he put it off, the worse it would be. So, it was a matter of getting it out. Gordon reached into his back pocket and took out the now creased envelope. Babs eyed him suspiciously.
“What's that?” she asked.
“Test results,” Gordon said plainly, opening the envelope and taking out the slip of paper inside. “Remember a few weeks ago when we had to take that DNA test, to see if I was really your Uncle – for the courts?”
Babs nodded and Gordon took a deep breath.
“Well the good news is we are related. The other news, depending on how you feel about the your current situation, might not be so good,” he explained and Babs looked at him with annoyed look on her face.
“You've spending far too much time with Bruce. Can you just get to the point?” she asked with one of her sassy attitude tones that Gordon had grown to despise, but figured it was just a part of the teenage persona.
“I'm your biological father.”
------
“And how did she take the news?” Bruce asked as Gordon walked onto the porch, hands in his pockets, watching him sip his coffee.
“Better than I thought. She isn't unhappy about it, at least,” Gordon said walking up beside Bruce, leaning back against the rails of porch. Bruce looked at him curiously.
“I've been curious,” Bruce started, “You mentioned a few weeks ago when this first came up that this all happened shortly before you married Barbara when you were living in Chicago seventeen years ago. But you've been on the Gotham Police force for over twenty years.” Bruce wasn't really asking a question, he was stating some hard facts he had obviously had on his mind for a while. Gordon sighed heavily.
“I trained here in Gotham. Chicago PD told me it was the best place to get real hands on experience. Of course, they had no idea. They tried to pawn me off here after the Chicago Police Academy, but when the force in Chicago ran low on officers, I was called back. That was about five years after your parents died. I was only in Chicago for a year, met Thelma three months in, but when I expressed interest in moving back to Gotham, she ran to Roger. That was when I found Barbara and the rest was history. Moved back to Gotham less than a year later with Barbara at my side.
“It wouldn't have been long enough for a fifteen year old boy to notice or care, Bruce,” Gordon said as he saw quizzical look on Bruce face, as if he had thought he knew everything about Jim Gordon. “Don't act like you should have known or something. Gotham PD never really noted my absence in their files, so a lot of people assume I'd never left.”
Bruce scowled a little, as if disappointed in himself more than anything. “Why had you never told me all this?”
“Was it really that important? A year of life wasted in a city that never wanted me there,” Gordon paused, parting his lips a little as he thought about that, since now the tables had turned and things were different. “Well, maybe it wasn't wasted. Wouldn't have Babs if not for it.”
Bruce moved his arm over Gordon's shoulder and to the railing, so that he was leaning over the commissioner. “I think it's best to say that somethings happen for a reason.”
“That what you've been telling the boy?” Gordon asked as he stared deeply into Bruce's hazel eyes. He could see just how far they've come in less than a year, how everything did change and how no matter the awful consequences, they were better for it.
“I see a lot of myself in Dick. He's so determined but bogged down with this hatred for what happened to his parents that he can't see past everything in front of him.” Bruce had looked away from Gordon for a moment to search the ground that lay behind Gordon, where Dick was out taking a walk.
“I know I'm going to regret saying this, but it seems to have done a lot of good for you in being focused and moving forward from your parents murder.” Gordon took a deep breath and waited for Bruce to look in the eye again. “Maybe he needs that training just as much Babs does. Something they can both put their energy into, for a bigger purpose – something bigger than them. Letting that teenage boy brood over the 'what if's' instead of the 'I can's' would be the biggest mistake.”
“Jim... I never wanted anyone to take on the responsibilities that I have. I started this so that –” Bruce tried to continue but Gordon had pulled him down into a delicate kiss.
“I know, Bruce. You can't stop everything though. And one way or another, Babs and Dick are going to seek some vengeance, with or without you. You can either mentor them to become more, or they fall down another path and risk destroying everything you worked to build,” Gordon whispered to Bruce, lips touching with each word. Bruce had closed his eyes half way, very small slits staring at Gordon, but Gordon could still see the realization of what he said take affect on the younger man.
“I can't let let under aged children run around in costume at night, fighting crime,” Bruce replied in a tone just as soft as Gordon.
“We told Babs eighteen, the same can apply for Dick. Train them now and they'll be ready when the time comes. I know it's weird coming from me, but I've really started to see the potential in Babs and I can see that same thing in Dick. You won't live forever, Bruce and neither will I. Think of it as a good investment.” Gordon pause to gather what he meant to say and to let Bruce take in the information. “It's like you said, everything happens for a reason.”
Bruce used what strength he had left and ran at her, knocking the gun from her hand foot and taking her the rest of the way to ground. She was glaring up at him, black grease paint around her eyes, a familiar make-up job that reminded him all too much of the Joker. It was possible she was still working for him, but the Joker would never send her to kill Batman, the Joker liked the chase and the game that they played. That left only possible person who Harleen would be working for and it was the one person who he was dearly looking forward to seeing face-to-face again, if even to prove that he couldn't be brought down by the hands of a gun.
Bruce took her by the wrist pulled her up towards him until their faces were mere inches apart. He narrowed his eyes on her and he began to see a fear in her face, a common reaction with most criminals. She began to tremble a bit, and Bruce, for just a split second, began to feel bad for her. But she was expecting that from him, so he hardened himself and looked past her quivering shoulders and watering eyes.
“Where is he?” Bruce growled, grabbing her other wrist with his other hand. Harleen shook her head, blue eyes wide in a fear that Bruce almost loved seeing on her face.
“Why don't you put the girl down?” came a gruff, suave voice from Bruce's left, a broad shouldered figured emerging from the shadows. Bruce had grown quite angry in the two minutes he had been holding Harleen in his grips, knowing full well it was Tommy Elliot who had put her up to this. And then, there he was in front of Bruce; without mask or disguise, just a hand gun in hand, but pointed to the floor. Bruce pushed Harleen to the side, hearing a light thump as she hit the ground. She got up quickly though and ran – to where, Bruce found he just didn't care right then.
“Son of a bitch,” Bruce cursed as Elliot ran a hand smoothly through his red hair, giving a quirk of his lips that simply said he, yet again, had Bruce right where he wanted him.
“Oh Bruce, when will you just admit defeat and let me have my way? There is only so much even you can take until you break completely,” Elliot said casually, the gun in his hand now pointed at Bruce, trained on one of the few spot where Bruce would be vulnerable. Somehow, Bruce knew he would get out of this unscathed, because he honestly didn't want to feel wrath of Jim when he got back to the Manor. Bruce made a promise and he meant to keep it. Elliot was just more scum that Gotham produced – Bruce could handle this. He would handle this.
“You haven't defeated me yet. This has only just begun,” Bruce said in a harsh whisper that was barely audible, barely there. Elliot heard it and the smirk that had been plastered on his face melted away as Bruce gritted his teeth and ran at him full force. Bruce knew the other man was likely still injured from the gun shots Jim had given him, so this would be easy. Bruce heard the gun shot, but had tumbled to the ground into a roll just a split second before, rolling back to his feet in a squatting position and kicking his left leg out from under him, hand firmly planted on the ground, to balance his weight. His foot came up and made contact with Elliot's jaw and sent him reeling backwards to the ground, letting off another gunshot accidentally. Luckily, that one didn't hit anywhere.
Elliot struggled to scramble back to his feet, jaw slacked now – possibly broken. “You aren't better than me! I'm always two steps ahead of you, Bruce. Even if you take me down now there is still something I've had planned that will break you in the end. Maybe not right away, maybe not months from now. But when you least expect it –” Elliot was taunting him and Bruce, with all the rage and hatred built up in his gut, the tension in his muscles from months and months of dealing with childhood friend gone sour, the torment and the pain, Bruce was done. He dropped both hands in front of him, pulling his upper body weight onto them, pounding his feet into Elliot's chest, and bouncing backwards off him as the man hit the ground again with a loud thunk. This time Elliot didn't even move.
Bruce landed back on his feet, body back into defense stance and watching as Elliot's chest rose and fell, but he didn't stir. Finally, just finally. Bruce pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his utility belt, kicking Elliot to lay on his stomach, pulling the man's arms behind his back and linking the bracelets over his wrists. After all that, after everything Bruce and Jim had been put through over the last nine months, it was finally going to come to an end. Maybe now the quiet of Gotham would bring them the peace they needed for a few weeks, months if they were lucky.
But when had they ever been that lucky.
Bruce pulled out a device from his belt and pushed the button. It was to tell Jim to call for backup.
----
Gordon made sure they secured the interrogation room, turned off the cameras, and Stephens was planted outside the hall so that no officers “accidentally” made their way over there. Elliot was seated, handcuffed to the chair, glaring at the two way mirror. Bruce was standing next to Gordon, still in the Batsuit but had taken off the cowl and cape and placed them on the table behind them. He had his hands on the glass, in fists, looking worn down and tired. Gordon knew the younger man was angry, but the constant struggle, the battle, and never getting even a chance to stop had worn him down in the past year and half since Harvey Dent died. Maybe now that Elliot would finally be behind bars, and the city otherwise still, Bruce would have time to finally have time to collect himself.
One could only hope.
“Couple of choices here, Bruce; Arkham or Blackgate?” Gordon sasked as he watched the red-haired man in the other room sit gloomily under the dull florescent lights. Gordon flicked his gaze over to Bruce when he didn't answer right away and saw the younger man was obviously thinking it over.
“Arkham is too risky. He's had his hand in there for far too long. It would be a mistake. He's not crazy,” Bruce said almost regretfully, and Gordon could tell there was a part of Bruce that didn't even want to say the words he would say next, because it meant banishing someone he use to be best friends with, to a life where he might not ever seen daylight again. “Blackgate.”
Gordon was relieved, to be honest. Arkham would have been a bad choice, and Bruce was right – the man was crazy, in fact he was smarter than anyone would probably ever give him credit for. Thomas Elliot fooled a lot of people, Bruce included. Elliot knew how to push Bruce's buttons, his weaknesses and faults, how his mind worked, the way he worked his strategies. Elliot was dangerous to even be alive, but there was no way of knowing if he'd eventually get the death penalty for the deaths of Roger and Thelma, being it had never been cleared of more than just a hit-and-run accident. Elliot wouldn't fess up to any of that, but Bruce had him on enough accounts of everything else, from arsons to attempt of murder of the commissioner, his hands in Arkham, bribery of an official Arkham doctor; the list was long and he'd be spending the rest of his life in jail, likely no parole. Gordon could live with that and knew his brother would rest in peace now that his killer was behind bars.
Bruce splayed his hands flat against the surface of the glass in front of him, resting his head on the window, looking utterly spent. Gordon reached out and wrapped his fingers around Bruce's. Gordon tugged on him gently and Bruce allowed himself to be maneuvered away, his eyes finally leaving the figure in the other room, meeting Gordon's for the first time since they got there. Gordon offered him a half smile and pulled him a little closer. Bruce rested his forehead on Gordon's shoulder, arms weaving around the older man with ease. It was hard for Gordon to get his arms around Bruce with all the Kevlar, but he managed some how, if only to comfort the younger man the best he could.
“I am so sorry, Jim,” Bruce whispered to Gordon, his voice cracking just a little, trying to keep down the flood of emotions Gordon knew he must've be feeling.
Gordon held him a little tighter, right hand caught up in Bruce's brown sweaty locks, caressing. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Bruce pulled back and looked Gordon in the eyes, but whatever he was going to say he kept to himself, because it was likely he'd already said it all before, and there was nothing more that could be said again. Gordon knew Bruce regretted ever involving the commissioner when Elliot started his mental attack on Bruce in October, but Gordon saw that it was never a mistake, and if Bruce had no asked for help, or at least hinted that he needed it, things could have gone terribly wrong for the billionaire. No, there were no regrets or mistakes here, just incidents that they could wish never had happened.
Time they could never get back.
-----
Gordon threw down the newspaper on the table in front of Babs, who was eating a piece of toast. Dick was sitting across from her poking at his eggs with a fork in mild disgust. Gordon noticed the boy perk his head up a little to see what the newspaper said. Babs scowled at him and held it up closer to herself so the other teen couldn't see it.
“Not sure we'll get him on charges for your parents death, but we're gonna try.” Gordon said as he smoothed down a piece of Babs' hair behind her ear. She looked up from the paper, the head reading: BATMAN CATCHES ARKHAM CRIMINAL. She finished chewing her toast and then smiled at Gordon, a bit of peace coming over her.
“I'm glad he got him.” Babs replied quietly, remembering that Dick didn't know Bruce's secret yet, and not wanting to give it away too early; at least not without Bruce's consent. Gordon sat down next to Babs and looked over at Dick, taking the paper from Bab and showing Dick the article at the bottom of the front page.
“Just so happens that Batman was able to catch the woman responsible for your parents accident as well,” Gordon said, not really aware if the boy was up to talking about his parents yet or not. He hadn't really said a word to the commissioner since the night it happened, and so far the only one he had been seen talking to was Bruce.
Dick's face went grim as he took the paper to read the small article at the bottom, covering how Harleen Quinzel had been coerced into working with Elliot to do his dirty work once more. She had worked with him once before back with is first attack on Batman, when Joker was still on Elliot's leash. Dick threw the paper down, placed his hands on the side of the table and pushed away in his chair. He slid out of the chair gracefully and walked out into the backyard, towards the rose garden.
Babs looked up at Gordon and he shrugged. Bruce was in the door way, having seen the whole thing. “He'll be okay. He just needs to find a way to deal with this on his own.” Bruce ran both hands through his wet hair, giving Gordon a knowing smile, a flashback of the day Bruce's parents died faded into his thoughts. Even though you tell a kid that you caught the person responsible, it still doesn't change anything; their parents were still dead.
Bruce walked past Gordon, brushing his hand against the older man's fingers tips for the briefest of moments. He took a cup of coffee from the counter and walked out the back door without another glance to Gordon or Babs. Gordon had talked to Bruce just half an hour earlier about the paternity test results, and just how to go about telling Babs. Bruce said the longer he put it off, the worse it would be. So, it was a matter of getting it out. Gordon reached into his back pocket and took out the now creased envelope. Babs eyed him suspiciously.
“What's that?” she asked.
“Test results,” Gordon said plainly, opening the envelope and taking out the slip of paper inside. “Remember a few weeks ago when we had to take that DNA test, to see if I was really your Uncle – for the courts?”
Babs nodded and Gordon took a deep breath.
“Well the good news is we are related. The other news, depending on how you feel about the your current situation, might not be so good,” he explained and Babs looked at him with annoyed look on her face.
“You've spending far too much time with Bruce. Can you just get to the point?” she asked with one of her sassy attitude tones that Gordon had grown to despise, but figured it was just a part of the teenage persona.
“I'm your biological father.”
------
“And how did she take the news?” Bruce asked as Gordon walked onto the porch, hands in his pockets, watching him sip his coffee.
“Better than I thought. She isn't unhappy about it, at least,” Gordon said walking up beside Bruce, leaning back against the rails of porch. Bruce looked at him curiously.
“I've been curious,” Bruce started, “You mentioned a few weeks ago when this first came up that this all happened shortly before you married Barbara when you were living in Chicago seventeen years ago. But you've been on the Gotham Police force for over twenty years.” Bruce wasn't really asking a question, he was stating some hard facts he had obviously had on his mind for a while. Gordon sighed heavily.
“I trained here in Gotham. Chicago PD told me it was the best place to get real hands on experience. Of course, they had no idea. They tried to pawn me off here after the Chicago Police Academy, but when the force in Chicago ran low on officers, I was called back. That was about five years after your parents died. I was only in Chicago for a year, met Thelma three months in, but when I expressed interest in moving back to Gotham, she ran to Roger. That was when I found Barbara and the rest was history. Moved back to Gotham less than a year later with Barbara at my side.
“It wouldn't have been long enough for a fifteen year old boy to notice or care, Bruce,” Gordon said as he saw quizzical look on Bruce face, as if he had thought he knew everything about Jim Gordon. “Don't act like you should have known or something. Gotham PD never really noted my absence in their files, so a lot of people assume I'd never left.”
Bruce scowled a little, as if disappointed in himself more than anything. “Why had you never told me all this?”
“Was it really that important? A year of life wasted in a city that never wanted me there,” Gordon paused, parting his lips a little as he thought about that, since now the tables had turned and things were different. “Well, maybe it wasn't wasted. Wouldn't have Babs if not for it.”
Bruce moved his arm over Gordon's shoulder and to the railing, so that he was leaning over the commissioner. “I think it's best to say that somethings happen for a reason.”
“That what you've been telling the boy?” Gordon asked as he stared deeply into Bruce's hazel eyes. He could see just how far they've come in less than a year, how everything did change and how no matter the awful consequences, they were better for it.
“I see a lot of myself in Dick. He's so determined but bogged down with this hatred for what happened to his parents that he can't see past everything in front of him.” Bruce had looked away from Gordon for a moment to search the ground that lay behind Gordon, where Dick was out taking a walk.
“I know I'm going to regret saying this, but it seems to have done a lot of good for you in being focused and moving forward from your parents murder.” Gordon took a deep breath and waited for Bruce to look in the eye again. “Maybe he needs that training just as much Babs does. Something they can both put their energy into, for a bigger purpose – something bigger than them. Letting that teenage boy brood over the 'what if's' instead of the 'I can's' would be the biggest mistake.”
“Jim... I never wanted anyone to take on the responsibilities that I have. I started this so that –” Bruce tried to continue but Gordon had pulled him down into a delicate kiss.
“I know, Bruce. You can't stop everything though. And one way or another, Babs and Dick are going to seek some vengeance, with or without you. You can either mentor them to become more, or they fall down another path and risk destroying everything you worked to build,” Gordon whispered to Bruce, lips touching with each word. Bruce had closed his eyes half way, very small slits staring at Gordon, but Gordon could still see the realization of what he said take affect on the younger man.
“I can't let let under aged children run around in costume at night, fighting crime,” Bruce replied in a tone just as soft as Gordon.
“We told Babs eighteen, the same can apply for Dick. Train them now and they'll be ready when the time comes. I know it's weird coming from me, but I've really started to see the potential in Babs and I can see that same thing in Dick. You won't live forever, Bruce and neither will I. Think of it as a good investment.” Gordon pause to gather what he meant to say and to let Bruce take in the information. “It's like you said, everything happens for a reason.”