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Reconciled Moments
Chapter Seven
written by destinyawakened
The week went by slowly – even slower once the Stephens informed him that the autopsies on Roger and Thelma had come back clean of drugs, alcohol, or any other substance. This meant the car accident was most likely not just an accident, but they had pretty much known that already, it was just a matter of proof. When Bruce returned from checking out the car, he said the only thing he had found was a slight scratch of black paint, and he was having Lucius run some tests on it to see if an exact match could be made. Bruce also suggested that Gordon start looking into any friends of the family that might have had a grudge against Roger or Thelma.
In the meantime, Gordon needed to clear his head of the ordeal and focus on the two things that really mattered right now: Babs and the funeral.
He was hardly looking forward to an event that he hoped would stay low key. He allowed Bruce and Alfred to help him put it together, to get it over with quicker. He thought that the sooner he got it done, the sooner he could move ahead. He hoped Babs would see it that way, too. He hoped for her sake that she was taking everything Bruce had been saying to her to heart. So far, he saw the difference in her attitude when she was around him. He couldn't be with her all the time to know for sure, but he figured she needed her time alone anyway to come to grips with everything that had happened in the past week.
He was sure in time, she'd be just fine. Bruce reassured him of the same thing. Bruce and Babs seemed to have grown close quickly, just as Gordon had expected might happen. He didn't mind, however, because he knew Babs needed someone like Bruce to confide in. Gordon only hoped Bruce's influences only went so far; he didn't need two people in his life running across roof tops avenging their parents' deaths.
It wasn't likely to happen that way. Bruce wouldn't want that. Bruce wouldn't allow that.
Gordon stood in front of his bathroom mirror, attempting to keep his hands still as he tried to knot his tie. He remembered it being a lot easier than this yesterday, his thumbs fumbling over the slick fabric, finally getting it just right, or close enough that no one would notice. He smoothed his shirt down with his fingers, trying to get the wrinkles out. He hadn't worn this suit since he had to give the speech at Harvey Dent's memorial, and it had since been through two moves, sitting in the closet. No time to think about it now, he thought. No one would notice.
There was a knock at the bathroom door. Gordon reached over and opened it. Babs popped her head around the door frame. She smiled weakly at him and opened the door the rest of the way. She stepped up to him and reached for his tie, fixing the knot that she apparently found to be crooked.
“Thanks,” he said as he looked down at his tie.
“No problem.” She sighed and walked out the door. “Bruce is here.” As if it were nothing, as if Bruce was always there and it wasn't anything to be surprised over anymore. She did catch on fast.
Gordon followed after her, grabbing his suit jacket off the counter and sliding it on over his shoulders. It was the middle of summer and he had to wear a full suit for a good portion of the day. He prayed it wasn't too hot. He walked down the hall and into the living room where he saw Bruce dressed in all black, even his dress shirt. Gordon couldn't help but imagine Bruce wearing the Batsuit to a funeral. He grinned at the thought, because it was probably the funniest thought he would have all day. Babs was already heading out the door, dressed in a simple black dress. Bruce held his hand out to Gordon, and the older man took it without hesitation.
Bruce gave Gordon a sincere smile as he led him out of the apartment and towards the elevator. Babs had already hit the button for the elevator. She turned around as Gordon and Bruce approached, glancing at their entwined fingers. She looked back up at Gordon, and he could have sworn she almost smiled. That was something on a day like today. The doors of the elevator opened and all three of them walked in. Babs stood directly in front of Gordon and Bruce, facing them.
“Despite what today actually means, I am happy to have such a wonderful new family.” She looked to Gordon and then to Bruce, her big blue eyes gleaming through her glasses. She had been on the verge of tears all morning, Gordon noticed, and now she was about to break before they even arrived at the funeral.
Bruce let go of Gordon's hand in a gesture for the commissioner to comfort his niece. Gordon held his arms out to her and pulled her into a hug, stroking her long hair and keeping her as close as he could until she had finished crying, or at least had herself under control. Finally, when she pulled back, they exited the elevator, Babs looping one arm in Gordon's and one in Bruce's, walking between them.
Gordon glanced over at Bruce who was already looking in Gordon's direction. Bruce had a smirk on his face. Gordon wasn't sure what Bruce was thinking, but he could tell from the billionaire's demeanor that he didn't mind at all, and that he, too, would consider Babs a part of his family. Not that Bruce had much family, aside from Alfred. Maybe this was what Bruce needed. Maybe Bruce Wayne needed a family, people to count on. Lord knew that Bruce needed all the people he could trust in his life after so many incidents, so many betrayals...
This could be the turning point, Gordon thought; this could be the beginning for all of us.
------
Hands deep in his pockets, Bruce watched Jim and Babs at the gravestones, heads bowed in a moment of prayer. Jim had decided he would bury Roger and Thelma in Gotham, where Babs could visit whenever she pleased. It was a noble thought and only made Bruce's thoughts linger on his own parents. He hadn't actually sat down and thought about them in years. He had blocked all emotions related to them from his mind to keep himself steady, strong and unemotional about the subject. It presented the people of Gotham with the idea that Bruce Wayne was a cold hearted bastard, squandering away his parents hard earned money.
What people didn't know was that Bruce had been more affected by his parents' deaths than anyone else ever would be or could be, despite what they wanted to think of him. If they really knew, if they really stopped to think about it and put the pieces together... Bruce shook his head at the thought; he didn't want them to know. It was better to be known as a belligerent billionaire airhead than for everyone to suspect he was Batman. Some secrets had to be kept. Some secrets if let out would ruin not only his life, but Jim's and Babs' as well.
Bruce knew he'd have to try a lot harder now to keep his night-time antics on the down low, taking extra precautions to be sure no one ever saw him in a vulnerable state. It was bad enough that Mayor Garcia and Gerard Stephens knew, along with a few select criminals still running around the streets – namely Thomas Elliot. Bruce could feel his blood boil when he thought of Tommy; just the very idea of him made Bruce clench his hands into fists, squeezing until his knuckles were white and his fingernails left indentations in the palms of his hands.
Beside him, Alfred placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder to relax him. Bruce shifted his eyes to his left to look at the older gentlemen. Alfred couldn't possibly know what Bruce was thinking, but he could obviously tell that the younger man was in some sort of distress by his body language. Bruce closed his eyes and told himself to calm down, to relax, to let it all go and everything would be fine. Meditation was key, just focus on Jim and Babs, be here for them, clear your mind. Soon Bruce was grounded again. He opened his eyes and focused on Jim, who was now sprinkling the first of the dirt into the graves as Babs threw a rose into each of them.
Next to Jim was Barbara, holding the hands of Jimmy and Susan, who hadn't really known their Uncle Roger or their Aunt Thelma; but Barbara had insisted that they come out of support for Jim and Babs. Bruce knew he shouldn't have minded, that it was Barbara's right, being the mother of Jim's children, to be there. But Bruce would have preferred to be at Jim's side in Barbara's place. Bruce wanted to be the one that was going to hold Jim when he broke down. Not Barbara. But Bruce could see in the woman's eyes that she was going to let go of their kids' hands any moment to reach for Jim, and comfort him.
“Perhaps, sir, we should start back to the car,” Alfred said from beside Bruce, hands clasped neatly in front of him as he looked at the same sight Bruce was. He was aware that Alfred was suggesting that they leave now and let the family have their moment. Bruce turned to face Alfred, lips grim and thin just as they would have been if Batman had been standing there instead. Bruce knew Alfred was right. He didn't belong here for the rest of the funeral. Jim had Babs to watch after, and Barbara could console Jim far better than Bruce could, having been married to him for years.
Bruce nodded slowly. Alfred nodded his head towards the car and began to walk that way. Bruce took one look back at Jim and his family; the rest of the funeral party had already started to dissipate, leaving the family a few moments to grieve privately before coming back to give their condolences. Jim hadn't cracked yet, Babs was on the verge of crying and Barbara looked flustered, as if she were trying to decide who she should attend to. Bruce knew Jim's ex-wife had it under control. He turned back towards Alfred, who was half way across the cemetery now, and began to walk after him.
This is Jim's family, Bruce. You have to respect that. You're just... you're just you. Bruce thought he had gotten over these feelings – the lost, empty, cold, stabbing pains that dug into his gut in a moment of distress, when he felt like he had no control over things. Was he having a relapse? Were the drugs not really out of his system? Or were these fragments of loneliness just the reality of what life was handing him? Jim Gordon had become everything that mattered in Bruce's life, everything that kept him going and believing that what he was doing for Gotham – as Batman – was truly important and worth the effort.
“Bruce...” The patter of feet in a slow jog behind him cameto a stop. Bruce sighed mentally, and straightened his shoulders as he turned his upper body first towards the person behind him. The rest of his body followed suit, relaxing a bit when he saw it was Jim. “Where are you going?”
Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but the words escaped him when he saw the worry on Jim's face. There was an undeniable look of need on his face, the wrinkles in his forehead showing more than ever as his expression slowly turned more frantic. Bruce swallowed uncomfortably. He had just made matters worse for Jim, leaving him when he should have been there, by his side or not.
“I thought that –” Bruce started, but he knew it wasn't enough, that no explanation would ever really be enough. Instead, as Jim's eyes began to grow sadder, Bruce opened his arms to the older man. Jim didn't hesitate; the rock he had been for the past week had just been hit with a sledge hammer – he was crumbling, fast. Bruce felt the other man's arms wrap around his torso, one hand grasping his shoulder, the other around his waist. Jim's face was buried in Bruce's neck, and Bruce held him, one hand on the back of Jim's head and the other holding him as close to him as he possibly could. Jim had reached up and taken off his glasses, holding them tightly in his fist.
Bruce had onl seen Jim cry once, and even that hadn't been out of loss but out of fear for his family, believing that Harvey Dent would kill them. This was different. Jim was breaking down, letting go of all the built-up of anguish and the days of holding it back. Jim sobbed into Bruce's shoulder, and Bruce began to whisper into Jim's ear that he remembered hearing so long ago when his own parents had died.
“It's alright. It's alright.” The words rolled out of his mouth smoothly, as if they were the only thing to be said in a situation such as this. Bruce pressed his mouth against Jim's ear for a gentle kiss, and another whisper. “It's okay, Jim. It's okay.”
It was a vulnerable moment for the commissioner, and Bruce knew that later he would deny it had happened, that he didn't cry and he didn't grieve – but Bruce would always know that Jim Gordon was nothing more than a man. Just like everyone else. Just like Bruce.
Moments passed, maybe minutes, Bruce hadn't kept track. Jim pulled back and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his suit jacket. Bruce was still holding him as close as he could manage. People had stopped to stare. Luckily it was just Jim's family and very close friends, but Bruce knew Jim would end up with a lot of explaining to do later. Bruce didn't care, but obviously Jim did. Jim tried to wriggle away from Bruce, but Bruce was beyond caring anymore, beyond hiding everything and receiving nothing in return for his patience.
Bruce grabbed the back of Jim's neck, bending just slightly to kiss him. Jim's body went rigid in shock and his lips firmly shut to block Bruce's needy kiss. Determined, Bruce coaxed the older man's mouth open with a flick of his tongue across Jim's lips, taking the moment where Bruce lost himself to it to delve deep into the commissioner's mouth and explore what was rightfully his. Jim's body relaxed, his fingers playing with the sleeves of Bruce's suit jacket. The billionaire let up, nose-to-nose with Jim, eyes half opened and gazing into the other man's eyes.
“I'm tired of hiding everything about myself, playing the fool and acting the idiot. I want just one good thing in my life to be real and known. I need this,” Bruce whispered against Jim's lips. He knew it was too late, everyone had seen the show, seen them, and Bruce began to wonder which of Jim's friends would be the ones to go directly to the press. But those things could easily be covered up, if needed; Alfred was good at coming up with stories to cover Bruce's ass. Hopefully, he wouldn't need to. Hopefully, it wouldn't get out too far, and hopefully, Jim wouldn't be afraid to come out to all his friends, as what little family he had left already knew.
“Bruce, I don't know that its such a good idea...” Jim began now trying to push away from Bruce, but the billionaire took ahold of the older man's arms and kept him steady and near.
“Jim!” Bruce said desperately. He let go of his grip on Jim's arms and placed his hands on either side of his face instead. Bruce steadied his voice. “Jim, I want to be there for you through all of this. Through everything else, at your side and not just as Batman, but as Bruce Wayne. As your friend, your partner, your lover.” Bruce let out a long sigh, gathering his thoughts and the courage to say what he had to say, hoping that by saying it out loud finally, it would be real. “I love you, Jim.”
It was hard, because Bruce saw in Jim's eyes that he loved Bruce as well, but the words that escaped the commissioner's mouth were far from what he needed to hear. “I- I can't do this right now, Bruce. This really isn't the time.” And with that Jim removed Bruce's already limp hands from his face and walked back towards his family – to Babs, who was crying in Barbara's arms, and Jimmy and Susan, who just didn't seem to care. Family. Bruce should have left and not looked back. Jim was obviously not ready to take the same step as Bruce.
Bruce turned again, heading first towards the car where Alfred was waiting. But as he walked a familiar path through the cemetery, he found himself walking toward his parents' graves. He stopped at the headstones, and vaguely remembered the last time he had come here. It had been at least three years. He had just returned from from being missing for over seven years, and though Alfred was good as a mentor and parent, Bruce needed his parents, specifically his father, to know he was going to finally hold true to the vow he had placed on their graves so many years back.
And where has that gotten you, Bruce? Alone, sitting at your parents' grave site.
Maybe today wasn't the best day to confess your love to Jim. Maybe today wasn't the day to attempt to make it publicly known that you ravage Commissioner Gordon in the bedroom. Maybe today would have been better if you had just stayed at home in bed – then none of this would have happened.
Bruce's phone beeped. He took it out and saw a text from Alfred asking where he was. Bruce responded with a simple “Take the Gordon's home,” and nothing else.
There was a warm breeze in the air, and Bruce slipped his suit jacket off and threw it over his father's headstone, obscuring the name. Then he got to his knees and crawled over the grave and sat, back to the stone, hands on the grass and feeling the warm earth under his fingertips. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the stone behind him. He wished for one brief moment that his father was alive, to be there for him when he needed help in these situations. Alfred was only so much help and after a while it was hard to tell the sarcasm from the real advice. Or if the gentleman was merely mocking him.
Bruce didn't feel anymore. He had stopped feeling his parents death a long time ago, but today was different. Today he felt utterly alone.
.
------
Gordon felt worse than awful. Bruce had taken the step that Gordon himself had been pondering for weeks now, and had yet to find the courage to admit even to himself. But Bruce choose the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong setting... the wrong everything. Gordon was more than grateful to have Bruce there, to be the one that held him when he shattered. But he hadn't expected Bruce to pick today, of all days, to make the two of them so very public. It should have been their decision together, not Bruce's alone; not Gordon's alone.
It was just bad timing all around. Gordon had taken Babs from Barbara and held her as she cried; now that he had gotten his wall back up, he could be strong for her. He watched Bruce walk back towards the parking lot, where Alfred most likely was waiting for all of them. Gordon wasn't sure what he would tell Bruce later, what the conversation would be like. He just hoped Bruce understood where he was coming from and that he wasn't trying to push him away altogether – just not here, not today, and not in public.
Ten minutes passed before Babs was drying her eyes and laughing roughly through her tears at a few jokes Jimmy was telling to try and lighten the mood for everyone. Barbara kept trying to get her arms around Gordon, to comfort him, but he kept telling her he was fine. Personally, he liked his ex-wife, might even still love her, but he didn't long for her the way he had when they were married, and he sure as hell didn't care about her nearly as much. Her attempts were sad and a little annoying, as it seemed she was trying hard to reestablish something they used to have. Gordon knew she regretted the day she left Gotham, left Gordon. But that was quite some time ago and Gordon had gotten over it and moved on; he was even happy now.
Even when Bruce was acting so strange. But was he really acting strange or just being completely honest? Honest. Gordon felt his stomach cramp up; Bruce was merely being honest and if this was the time he felt was best, no matter how unfitting it might have been, then who was Gordon to deny him that? Except he had.
Gordon mentally slapped his hand against his forehead.
He took a steady pace back towards the car, Babs just steps ahead of him. They made it back to the car, where Alfred stood with the doors of the Rolls Royce open, helping Babs inside.
“I've been instructed, Master Jim, to drive you and the young miss back home.” Alfred opened the passenger side front door of the car for Gordon. Gordon stared at him suspiciously.
“Where is Bruce?”
“Master Wayne never came back to the car. I'm not sure where he is,” Alfred said as he continued to hold the door open for Gordon. Gordon moved Alfred's hand and shut the door.
“Take Babs to the Wayne Manor. Barbara and the kids should be there any time now.” He stuck his head in the window and looked back at his niece. “Are you going to be alright going with Alfred? I have to find Bruce.”
Babs nodded, looking about ready to fall asleep anyway. Gordon looked back to Alfred who was raising a curious eyebrow at Gordon. “I think this time I screwed up, Alfred.” And he walked away, hearing the engine of the car start as he headed down the familiar path.
Gordon knew that sooner or later if they really wanted to live a happy life together, if that's what they agreed on, it would have to become public knowledge. He just hadn't been sure he was really ready for it – if he and Bruce could really make it forever. Times like this made it seem so far away and a bigger hassle than he might actually be worth.
No, that was a lie. Gordon had gone almost two months without Bruce, knowing he was struggling, knowing he didn't want help. It was the hardest thing he had done so far, and he ached every day until he saw Bruce again and reconciled everything. No, he did love Bruce, and he would die for him if he had to, if it meant that Bruce would go on to do what he was destined to do. Live and fight for Gotham.
It was then that Gordon knew the mistake had really been his. Bruce had opened himself up to Gordon and Gordon had shot him down. Bruce took the brunt of a lot of things, and if one of Gordon's friends decided to go to the press about what had happened... well, Gordon knew he would have no say in how it was played out – Bruce would sacrifice his personal image, no matter how diminished it already was, to preserve Gordon's, if it came down to it. That just wasn't fair. It wasn't right, and Gordon knew it. Somehow, since this had already spiraled out of control, Gordon would have to make it up to Bruce. Maybe not now, or even a week from now, but he would figure out a way to make it right.
Bruce, after all, had said it so clearly; he just wanted to stop hiding every part of his life (aside from Batman). Maybe Gordon needed to take a new perspective and do the same.
Gordon continued to walk a path he hadn't stepped foot on in nearly twenty years. It was a path he had walked alone the night after the funeral of Thomas and Martha Wayne, when no one would be around. It was different now; more manicured, a little older and more weathered, the grass a lot greener. He came to the resting spot and, just as he suspected, from knowing the younger man better than he knew anyone, was Bruce. He sat, back to the headstone, one knee up, with his arm on his knee, and his forehead against arm. It was truly a sight Gordon did not want to see.
A suit jacket lay over the headstone, and Bruce had kicked off his shoes, but where they were Gordon didn't know. He stripped off his own suit jacket and laid it on top of Bruce's, kicking his shoes off as well and letting them land just a few feet away. He sat down next to Bruce. He expected Bruce to move, to flinch, look up – something – but he didn't. Gordon spread his legs straight out in front of him and folded his hands in his lap. He tilted his head back and looked up at the sky, waiting for Bruce to say something to him. Moments passed, though, and not a whispered word escaped either of their mouths. Gordon began to wonder if Bruce was asleep.
Gordon brought his head back down and shifted his gaze to the younger man. Bruce was still in the same position, but his head was cocked a little to the side, his hazel eyes assessing Gordon. The younger man's face was completely expressionless, aside from the grim scowl on his lips. Gordon sighed and held his hand out to the man next to him. He watched as Bruce's gaze slipped down to his fingers, and then very slowly the billionaire reached out and twined their hands together.
“Think you can forgive an old man for being so insensitive?” Gordon asked softly, his voice showing just a hint of sarcasm, to lighten mood. He didn't expect Bruce to forgive him outright, or even to have a sudden change in mood, but the small smile that peeked around the corners of the younger man's mouth was more than enough to let him know that everything was going to be just fine.
“Just as long as that same old man can forgive a naïve fool for having bad timing,” Bruce replied, picking up the same tone Gordon had offered.
“Deal.” Gordon turned his body slightly to face Bruce, pulling his hand so Bruce was forced to come closer. “C'mere.” He motioned with his finger, and Bruce leaned his head forward until their lips touched. Gordon caressed the side of Bruce's face, fingers tracing down his jaw, to his neck and through his hair.
“Jim...” Bruce sighed, and before he could open his mouth to say anything else, Gordon silenced him with short, sweet little kisses along his mouth, stopping only when Bruce looked about ready to give in to him completely.
“Bruce...” Gordon started and watched as Bruce's eyes gazed back at him, half open and completely unguarded. “I love you.”
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