One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen| Eighteen | Nineteen
Reconciled Moments
Chapter Four
written by destinyawakened
Jim Gordon opened the door to his quaint, three bedroom apartment allowing Babs to enter before him. He hadn't had time to clean up, no expecting to have to entertain at his own place. He looked over her shoulder at the piles of paper work and mail on the small kitchen table, the dishes stacked in the sink, and the cupboards half open from a few days ago when he had been looking for clean glass. Babs wasn't moving and Gordon had to push her forward so he could shut the door behind them. He thought maybe he should have let her stay at Wayne Manor one more night so he could at least have picked up a little bit before bringing her here. Too late for that.
“Sorry about the mess, Babs,” he grumbled, throwing his keys onto the kitchen counter, the one spot there wasn't a mess. He watched as Babs shrugged her shoulders, eyes still scanning the room in horror. Gordon started to feel ten times worse. “Let me show you your room.” He reached down and took her suitcase from her hand and walked down the hall to the guest room. He pushed the door open and placed her suitcase down next to the bed.
Babs followed slowly and Gordon couldn't help but notice her relief when she saw the guest room to be immaculately clean. Gordon rarely used the room and Alfred had been the last person to use it, so it was possibly the cleanest room in the whole apartment. She stepped in a little further, glancing at the pure black and white color scheme of the room. Gordon noticed.
“You can redecorate however you want.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at him with a weak smile. “I'm gonna go clean up while you get settled.” He wanted to add that he was there for her if and when she wanted to talk, but the sentiment didn't make it past his thoughts. He had tried that earlier and basically got shot down by the rush of teenage angst. She would come to him when she was ready.
“Thanks, Uncle Jim.” Babs picked her suitcase up and placed it on the bed, and Gordon retraced his steps out of the room. He walked back down the hall and to the kitchen, where he stood for a good minute just staring at the mess; he honestly wished he had Alfred here to help him. Where to start was the question, and the answer was clearly to load the dishwasher with everything in the sink. It was a good start, at least one that would make the place a bit more appealing.
------
Around six that evening there was a knock at the door. Gordon was sitting at the kitchen table filing his bills – the last of the mess. He looked up at Babs, who was sitting at the opposite end staring at the screen of her laptop. She didn't even flinch at the knock, nor did she look up as if wondering who it might be. Gordon hated how cold and uncaring she seemed to have become since yesterday. He hoped it didn't last long, and that slowly she would become the beam of sunshine she used to be. However, if Bruce was any indication of how kids reacted to their parents' untimely deaths, then Gordon had room to worry.
Gordon pushed away from the table and stood. He walked to the door, peering through the peephole first. He wasn't surprised to see Bruce's rather bored face staring at the door. Gordon turned the handle and opened the door, gesturing the younger man inside. Bruce walked in carrying a few brown bags, which he handed to Gordon.
“I know how you are with food in this place,” Bruce said with a smirk. He was dressed in one of his Armani suits, a contrast of dark and light gray pinstripes, a stark-white dress shirt and a shiny, deep green tie that Gordon swore made Bruce's eyes even more beautiful; he really couldn't help but stare and feel a little awkward, having changed into his holey jeans and an old Chicago Police Academy t-shirt that was nearly twenty-five years old.
Gordon took the food and placed it on the table. He took the last of his bills, filed them away and placed the mini file box back on top of the refrigerator. He looked at Babs who had lowered the screen of the laptop, and was staring at the brown bags on the table. Gordon opened a few of them and set out what was inside, which happened to be lots and lots of fries and hamburgers. He stared at Bruce, knowing full well the billionaire didn't eat this kind food, meaning he and Babs were going to be forced to gorge themselves. Gordon suddenly felt the need to have a cigarette, but by the way Bruce's eyes were burning into him, he knew that wasn't likely to happen while he was around.
“Thank you,” Babs said quietly as Bruce sat down to her left, hands folded on the table.
Bruce smiled genuinely at her. “I know the kind of cook your uncle is. It consists of bread, peanut butter and, if you're lucky, some jelly.” He glanced over at Gordon as he said it, but the older man was looking at his niece and not paying attention to Bruce at all. Babs had smiled – a real, heartfelt smile showing the beginnings of a giggle behind it. Gordon felt the knot that had been sitting in his stomach since Friday evening begin to unravel a little. At first Gordon was afraid that having Bruce around Babs wouldn't be such a good idea; that his often sour, serious attitude would rub off on her. What Gordon had forgotten was that Bruce did have a sense of humor now, and then he and had this weird ability to relate to children, even if he didn't want to admit it. Gordon immediately threw the notion of having to separate his life with Bruce from his life with Babs out the window. He could make this work – they could make this work.
Gordon would need to be honest with her first. He really had wanted to wait a while longer to tell her about him and Bruce, but there was never going to be a moment where something like that would be any easier to say. It would be better if she heard it now rather than finding out on her own and feeling betrayed that Gordon hadn't been honest with her. Treat her as an adult; she'll respect you more for it.
Except Gordon wasn't even sure how to bring it up. It wasn't something you just blurted out over the dinner table and expected the other person to swallow down with their food. He glanced at Bruce, who moved his eyes from Babs to Gordon for a brief moment. He gave Gordon a small grin that suggested he knew what the older man was thinking. Bruce tipped his head a bit, the way he often did when he had a trick or two up his sleeve.
“What were you looking at on your laptop?” Bruce asked Babs, who had just taken a bite of one of her burgers, and hurried her chewing to answer him.
She swallowed. “Checking out the system for the local library.” System? Gordon wasn't sure what that meant, if she was hacking or what. He wasn't too smart with computers; the most he could do was check his e-mail. Bruce, however, seemed to know exactly what she was speaking of.
“Planning on doing a lot of reading this summer? Books you need to read before school starts?” Bruce leaned his elbow on the table held his chin in his hand as he questioned the sixteen-year-old.
“I've already read the required books for senior year. But there are a few books I'd like to check out that I didn't have time to read this year.” She was smiling again, and Gordon began to wonder what it was about Bruce that made her relax around him and want to talk.
“Senior year?” Bruce asked. Gordon almost expected him to give her the dumbfounded playboy face that he gave to anyone who said something that “confused” him – but he didn't. Bruce was giving Babs his full attention and kept his face as serious and open as he could. Everything was already changing Gordon could feel it and he wasn't sure now if it was the sort of change he wanted.
“She's smart,” Gordon said as he poked his head into their conversation. “Always has been.” And this time Gordon received the same smile from his niece that she had given Bruce, and it warmed his heart.
“She must take after her uncle.” Bruce shot Gordon a flirtatious grin that made Gordon roll his eyes. Babs giggled.
She looked at Gordon. “Don't think you two have to tone yourselves down for me.” And with that she glanced at Bruce and then to Gordon, raising her eyebrows and gesturing between them with her hands. “You two make a show of trying not to look obvious. But really, it just makes you more obvious.” Not even two days had passed and Babs had caught on; Gordon wondered if it really was that obvious.
Bruce laughed. “Definitely smarter than you gave her credit for, Jim.”
------
Jim had gone out, said he needed to go to the corner store to pick up a few things. Bruce wasn't stupid. He had begged Jim to give up smoking. But like any addicting habit, the older man had trouble breaking it. So Bruce knew that Jim had really just gone out for a smoke and to walk off the smell a bit so he wouldn't think Bruce would notice.
Too bad Jim often forgot that he couldn't hide things from Bruce, even if he still wasn't one-hundred percent. Bruce, after all, was Batman.
He sat down on the couch, arms splayed over the back of it, legs crossed. Babs was sitting on the floor next to the outlet with her laptop, charging it as she looked a few things up. Bruce just watched her. He hadn't known a lot of kids aside from those he had known when he was in school himself and Gordon's biological children, which left him pretty unsure how to act around them. He liked Babs though; she was smart and full of life, even given the current situation. She was going to be good for Jim, giving him something else to worry about besides Bruce. Bruce could take care of himself.
“How long have you and Uncle Jim being dating?” Babs asked as she typed a bit on her keyboard, glancing up at Bruce over the top of the screen.
“It's been off and on for around nine months.” Bruce answered casually.
“Off and on?”
“We've had a few rough patches. But nothing we couldn't over-come.” Bruce uncrossed his legs and moved forward on the couch motioning at her laptop. “You aren't blogging about this are you?”
“No,” she said simply, and suddenly her attitude went down again. Bruce watched it in her eyes as her mood sunk down the abyss he remembered so well from when his own parents had died. It was difficult to see someone else go through the same turmoil and confusion without being able to do much about it.
“I know your uncle is going to do whatever he can to make this a great home for you. I can tell he loves you a lot.” Bruce wanted to get down on the floor with her, to see what she was doing, to bond a little. He really couldn't pin-point it, but he had this overwhelming urge to be there for her as much as possible. Bruce wasn't sure what this was, if it was a type of fatherly instinct or just the part of him that always wanted to protect the innocent. But that last part wasn't very true ,either; he was more about serving out justice to criminals first, protecting innocents second. Wasn't he? So this is the effect that Jim Gordon had on Bruce Wayne.
But Bruce didn't seem to mind. He had taken Jim for granted at the start of the relationship, thinking he'd be there for him through anything and everything; they had that bond, that connection. But Bruce didn't expect to lose sight of himself or his feelings in the process. He didn't expect to be deceived by a doctor on whom he had dione an extensive background check – he didn't expect to be drugged. To Bruce, the world had been against him and he had been drowning in a never-ending pool of despair. Had he known what he knew now, he might have been able to take control of the situation and over-come it. Maybe...
Babs' voice chirped in over his thoughts. “Yeah. But, I think he's trying too hard. Or trying to not try too hard.” She smiled wearily at Bruce and he rolled his eyes knowing exactly what she was talking about; but that was Jim Gordon.
“He does that. But, I think he'd understand more than you realize.” Bruce got down on the floor, not even caring that he'd quite possibly wrinkle his suit, and scooted over to her slowly, seeing if she was going to mind at all. “See, your Uncle Jim was there for me the night my parents were killed. He didn't have to say much to me, but I knew he cared and that if I wanted to talk he would be there. I never did; what kid really wants to talk about it right after it happens?” Bruce paused to catch the surprise on Babs' face as she realized that Bruce had once been just like her – a kid without parents, left to be raised by whatever guardian had been assigned to them. If anything, he hoped her hearing this from him would at least let her know she wasn't alone.
She looked down at her hands, fidgeting. “How- how did your parents die?” Bruce could tell she was a little worried that he wouldn't want to talk about it, that he would still feel mentally bruised from it.
“They were shot in front of me,” Bruce explained. He didn't feel as though he could really get into it fully; like anyone who'd seen something tragic, reliving and recalling the incident wasn't something he necessarily wanted to do. Fortunately, that was all Babs needed to hear to understand.
“How did you manage through the pain?” Her voice was quiet, cracking as she tried to keep down the sudden tears that threatened to spring from her eyes. Bruce pushed himself up against the wall next to her, legs out straight, hands in his lap. It was a question no one had asked him in quite some time, and he really wasn't sure he had any answers for the young girl; all he had were experiences.
“There is no easy way through it – to forget. You'll always feel it, always remember it somewhere in the back of your mind. But slowly, as each day passes, it becomes easier to go on. I went years being miserable before I realized that I needed to put my anger into something productive and to surround myself with things that made me happy. I just didn't know what they were. I don't think I truly knew what would make me happy until I came back to Gotham after being away for seven years. And even then what I thought would make me happy turned sour. But then I started to see the things in front of me in a different light, and that was when I found my true happiness.” Even Bruce wanted to admit it sounded entirely too sappy, but looking into the eyes of of that sixteen-year-old and seeing how she had started to look up to him broke his defenses down. And, sappy or not, it was the truth.
“Where did you go for seven years?” Babs asked. Bruce began to answer, but Jim had walked through the door and was raising a questioning eyebrow at Bruce as if to say he'd rather the billionaire keep the reasons behind that quest away from Babs.
“Uh, maybe another time, Babs.” Bruce patted her shoulder and gave her one of those simple, yet heartfelt smiles he didn't often give many people. He stood making his way over to Jim to poke around the bag he had in his hands from the corner store. “What did you buy that you just had to have tonight?” Bruce got close enough that he could smell the remnants of cigarette smoke on Jim's shirt and his breath. Bruce eyed him knowingly and Jim shoved the bag into his hands.
“Milk, coffee, the usual things I need in the morning,” Jim answered, giving Bruce an innocent look, as if really trying to hide that he had just gone for a good smoke. Bruce shook his head.
“And ice cream too, I see.” Bruce knew Jim didn't eat ice cream; he didn't eat many sweets, either. Bruce took it out of the bag and threw it to Babs. “I'm assuming that was for her.” Babs caught it with fairly quick reflexes. She looked at the label and beamed a smile up at Jim. Bruce saw Jim sigh, completely worn down and he couldn't help but wonder if he was going to be able to help Jim de-stress tonight before going on patrol.
----
Gordon sat on the couch, watching the news on mute. He didn't need the volume to know what they were saying; he'd watched most of the same crap every day. Bruce was making coffee in the kitchen and Babs had gone to bed, saying she was tired. It was a little past eleven in the evening and he had a good hour or so until Bruce left for the his patrols. Bruce brought two mugs and sat down next to him as he handed one over. Gordon took and cradled it in his hands.
“I'm sorry, you know,” Bruce whispered over the top of his cup. “I wasn't going to tell her exactly what I did for those seven years away.”
Gordon shook his head, dismissing it. “Good. She doesn't need to know. Whatever you did during those years, I'm sure she doesn't need those ideas in her head.”
Bruce smirked. “Afraid that I'll try to convince her to be a vigilante with me? That it's the only way for her to come to grips with her parents' death?” He was teasing, of course, but Gordon knew all too well that it was a huge possibility that Babs could be heavily influenced by the actions Bruce had taken in his life if he told her the whole story. “I really don't wish that on anyone, Jim. The reason I do what I do is for the sake of justice. Sure, fine, you can say it: 'and to avenge your parents' death, Bruce'. But it's so much more than that now. It's something I have to do. Batman is me. It's everything.” And even if Gordon didn't fully understand what Bruce was trying to tell him, he got the notion. Bruce had tried to quit being Batman once, tried for the normal. He had reached out to Rachel for everything that he thought “being normal” would entail, but that, too, had failed. Gordon knew that the night when Harvey Dent died, when Batman had become an outlaw and a killer, that Bruce had given himself wholly to a cause he might never see an end to.
And Gordon, even if he didn't know it at the time, loved him for it.
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen| Eighteen | Nineteen