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Sunday Afternoon
Chapter Five
written by destinyawakened
Gordon slowly tapped his pen on his desk to the rhythm of the rain spattering against his office window. He was more than little a agitated, and he had every right to be. He'd spent more than hour an on the phone with Arkham Asylum, just to be told that someone would be by before noon with the surveillance footage requested. Why they could not have told him this to begin with instead of tossing him around from office to office, Gordon could only guess. The whole incident was highly suspicious and left Gordon with quite a few unanswered questions: how could someone break in to Arkham? And how could that same person free four patients? Or should that be prisoners? In Arkham it could have been either. Or both.
Arkham was a high security mental institution built to secure not only the insane but the criminally insane as well. Wayne Corp. had made improvements to the security system and donated brand new technology to Arkham after Crane's fear toxin escapade two years prior. Therefore Gordon found it hard to believe that someone could just walk into Arkham with the intent of setting free dangerous criminals without knowing a thing or two about the workings of the advanced technology. It left Gordon with one of two possibilities: an inside job or one perpetrated by someone working for Wayne Corp. who had helped build the system. Either was likely, but the real question was why?
Since the lock-up of Edward Nygma there had been no terroristic criminal threats to the city, so the other side of the question was why would anyone want to spawn more havoc in an already crumbling city? Yes, Batman had been able to apprehend Nygma and Crane within a few hours, but it still left Joker and his newly-found sidekick out on the streets to create inevitable mayhem. Who-ever let the four of them out obviously had a need for their escape, but exactly what that need was was not very clear yet.
“Gordon,” a voice called from behind his shoulder. He turned his chair to face Stephens, who was standing at door, palms against the frame. “Crane and Nygma are locked in county prison, as you asked. Extra security.” He dropped his arms to his sides, stepping towards Gordon to speak in a more hushed tone. “The scouting teams couldn't find any trace of the Joker or that quacked-up groupie of his. There's been no sign of them anywhere since they left Arkham.”
Gordon chewed the inside of his lower lip; he had secretly hoped Batman had already caught the Joker. He sighed, but this was the Joker he was thinking about, not just your run-of-the-mill bank robber. At least the Joker isn't out terrorizing the city. Yet. Gordon hoped some leads would surface and GCPD could take control of the situation quickly. Hopefully before the media gets a-hold of this, he thought. So far, it had been kept silent, but it only a matter of time before someone let it slip and the GCN had it blaring all over their network.
“Keep a team out. Something's bound to come up. Let me know when it does,” Gordon said. He watched Stephens nod solemnly, pull his cellphone from his pocket, and walk back down the hall.
Gordon groaned, head in hands. He missed being on the streets and having a more physical control of situations, such as these. But being Commissioner meant that he had to finish paperwork before he could go out to play. It meant more responsibility, less activity, and a lot less fun. Not fun in the sense that it was playtime for him, but fun in the sense that it was exciting and got his adrenaline pumping. Sitting at a desk for most of the day was hardly exhilarating and had really taken a toll his physical fitness. A part of him almost hoped the Joker would appear just so that he could get out of the office and lead the hunt himself. It was a verysmall part, though.
He swiveled his chair back to his desk, staring at the already mounting pile of paperwork he had to finish. Shouldn't take too long, he thought, and set to work in the hopes of finishing before the Arkham representative arrived.
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A tap at the door brought Gordon's attention away from the last few pages of his work. He mumbled “come in” and finished signing his name to the file in front of him. He closed the folder, put his pen down, and stood from his desk to greet his visitor. He was surprised to see a nicely-groomed, red-haired man –dressed in a suit that could easily match up to ones Bruce wore -- standing in his doorway. The man held a stack of disks in one hand and had extended the other to Gordon.
Gordon took the man's hand. “Jim Gordon.”
The man smiled, gripping Gordon's hand firmly. “Doctor Thomas Elliot. I'm here on behalf of Arkham.” He released Gordon's hand and replaced it with the disks. “I was told you would be needing these.”
Gordon fingered the disks; there were quite a few to go through. He'd be watching these until the sun came up the next day. “Thank you.” He motioned to the chair on the other side of his desk. “Were you working when the break-in happened?”
Doctor Elliot took the offered seat, crossing one leg over the other. “I was not.”
Gordon took his seat again, placing the disks in his drawer and locking it shut. He turned his gaze to the man in front of him, who was sitting back in the chair now, hand on the arm rests. “Oh?”
“A doctor's entitled to a night off now and then, Jim.” Doctor Elliot said smoothly, obviously not caring to be formal, and his bluntness set Gordon a little on edge.
“Gordon.”
“Sorry. Gordon.” The man waved a hand apologetically, but Gordon half-suspected he didn't really mean it. “I know you're going to ask me where I was, and the answer is at home. You ask my housekeeper, she was there with me.”
Gordon picked up his pen and jotted down the information on a small pad at the edge of his desk, more of a reminder. The man was quick and surprisingly on top of it. Maybe a little too on top of it. Gordon filed that in the back of his mind for now; he would have to reserve judgment for later. There was no point in jumping to conclusioms.
“And what do you do at Arkham, Doctor Elliot?”
The Doctor smiled widely, eyes narrowed as his voice dropped an octave. “I'm a surgeon.”
Gordon raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Arkham needs surgeons?”
“Experimental procedures,” The man stated, tone still intact, unfaltering.
“Experimental.” Gordon had to hide the suspicion creeping into his voice. It wasn't a question, but a statement he was trying to work through his mind. He hadn't been aware that Arkham did any more experimental surgeries. The thought made his skin crawl.
“It's very classified, Commissioner. I suggest that if you want to keep asking these questions, you take it up with Arkham's Chief of Staff. I'm sure he could get you the appropriate information.” The doctor's smile was the same, but his tone had gone rather dark, and Gordon's suspicion grew to abnormal levels. Just the term “classified” was enough to send his concerns over the edge.
Gordon was about to respond to Doctor Elliot when he heard a knock at the door. He turned his head to see Bruce, one hand in his pocket, standing in the doorway glaring at the man on the other side of his desk. Gordon stood, and Doctor Elliot followed suit, extending a hand to Bruce. Gordon watched as Bruce took the doctor's hand, a heated look in his eye and a smug, fake smile plastered on his face. Hardly a combination Gordon ever wanted to see again.
“Bruce!” Doctor Elliot exclaimed. He stared at the billionaire with a gleam in his eyes that was far from trusting.
“Tommy.” Bruce's tone was flat with false excitement. Gordon stared at the two men, an obvious tension radiating from Bruce and an unusual boost of confidence in the doctor, who seemed to stand a little bit taller now, towering inches over Bruce.
“You two know each other?” Gordon waved a hand between the two men and then settled against his desk, arms folded over his chest.
Bruce looked as if he was going to answer Gordon, but Doctor Elliot stepped towards Bruce and placed an arm around his shoulder and brought him into a side ways hug. “Oh, Bruce and I have been friends a long time. Went to school together.”
Bruce winced at the strong grip Doctor Elliot had on his shoulder and his smile cracked into a thin line. Bruce's eyes met Gordon's helplessly, an obvious pain lit up his eyes. Bruce finally shrugged the man off, straightened his suit and stood a few steps back from where he had been, keeping distance between them. Gordon eyed Bruce suspiciously as he favored his left side; he wasn't doing that earlier this morning. He wondered why kind of fight Bruce had gotten into.
There was a thick silence, deafening and uncomfortable. There was tension between the two and Gordon didn't feel like being caught in the middle of a silent feud; “Mr. Wayne, would you mind waiting in the hall for a few minutes while I finish up with the Doctor Elliot?”
Bruce let his smile brighten again and gave Gordon a nod. He left the room, shutting the door behind him. Gordon looked back at Doctor Elliot, who had resumed his seat across from Gordon's desk, mischievous grin lingering on his lips and his piercing blue eyes fixed intently on Gordon.
“If you'll just write down your information for me, Doctor Elliot, one of my detectives will be by sometime in the next couple of days to talk with you and your housekeeper further. For the records, of course.” Gordon didn't want to sound accusing. He had a lot of questions he still wanted to ask, but knew the doctor was not going to divulge any useful information. Gordon would have to do his own digging around.
“Of course.” The Doctor reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a business card and a pen, quickly jotting down some information on it. He placed it on Gordon's desk and slid it over to him. “I work long hours, Commissioner. So if you need to you can call that last number there and speak with my housekeeper about scheduling a meeting.”
Gordon took the card and placed it in his pocket. He then stood, offering his hand once more to the doctor. The other man followed suit--taking his cue -- shook Gordon's hand and walked towards the door. “I'll get these disks back to you as soon as we're done with them, Doctor Elliot.”
“We have our own copies, Commissioner. You can keep those.” Doctor Elliot opened the office door and walked into the hall-way. He heard him say something to Bruce, who quipped something back nonchalantly. Gordon couldn't quite make out the conversation, something about dinner in the next few days and telling “Alf” hello for him. There was the patterned clipping of shoes and then silence. Bruce strolled in, closed the door behind him and leaned against it with his hands in his pockets.
“Nice friend,” Gordon mumbled sarcastically, as he thumbed through the last of folder of paperwork. When he didn't receive a response he looked over at Bruce, who seemed to be contemplating something.
“What did he want?” His tone came across as abrupt and cool, even a little demanding.
“He brought some disks of the surveillance footage at Arkham. I'm hoping to review them this afternoon.” Gordon closed the folder in front of him and stood up from his chair.
Bruce nodded, a distant and distracted look in his eyes suggesting he had something else on his mind. Gordon wasn't sure if it was about Doctor Elliot or something else entirely. The silence between left for a change of subject. But Gordon found himself at a loss for words. He walked closer to Bruce and placed a hand on his left shoulder. He watched the other man's face twinge in a sudden onslaught of pain, his body dipping on the left under the weight of Gordon's hand. He felt a little cruel for doing it, but knew Bruce wouldn't talk about it otherwise.
“A little mishap this morning.” Bruce grumbled, his voice low and distant, possibly even annoyed.
Gordon removed his hand from Bruce's shoulder, feeling bad that he had accidentally hit a wound. Bruce closed his eyes and started some breathing exercises. He wasn't exactly sure what Bruce was doing, but whatever it was was obviously easing the pain. Bruce face when expressionless and a few minutes later he opened his eyes. He took one last deep breath and pushed away from the door with his elbows.
Gordon would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't worried about the man, but Bruce seemed to be in control of the pain and whatever else happened to be on his mind that he wasn't sharing. For now, Gordon let it go. There was a more important matter that needed attending.
“How was the clown hunt?”
A sigh escaped Bruce's lips, one that sounded frustrated. “Tracked him down.” He let out an uncomfortable laugh, almost hysterical.“Well, he tracked me down, anyway.” His voice indicated that maybe he didn't believe it himself. Bruce rubbed his face with his hands, and Gordon noticed just how gaunt and hollow his eyes looked. Had he even slept today?
“Care to elaborate?”Gordon asked, knowing that his request was not likely to get answered.
Bruce shook his head and began to strip off his jacket. He placed it neatly over the back of a chair, and began to loosen his tie. Gordon watched him, not entirely sure what he was doing until Bruce started to unbutton his white shirt. He stared in horror at the large, purple bruise that covered the whole left side of Bruce's torso. Gordon wouldn't be surprised if there were a couple cracked ribs as well.
Bruce seemed to notice the worrisome look Gordon was giving him as his eyes examined him. Bruce shrugged. “It looks worse than it is.” That's a lie, Gordon thought,and he began to wonder how many other life-threatening wounds Batman had obtained over the last few years The question was one Gordon didn't really need answered. All a part of the job, he had to remind himself. There was nothing safe about what either of them did. He couldn't bother himself to worry so much, but it was definitely going to take some getting use to. And how many times had he told himself that today? Five? Ten? Too many. Think about it later.
Gordon wanted to reach out and softly trace the large bruise up Bruce's ribcage, but felt more than awkward even thinking about the action. Instead, he moved around Bruce, checking the damage a little more. He quickly noticed a large patch taped down with surgical gauze on the back of the man's left shoulder, tinted red with seeping blood. A fresh wound. “What happened here?” Gordon barely touched the wound and Bruce shuddered, his bodily instinctively jolting away from the source of pain.
“You know Joker and his love for knives,” Bruce mused sarcastically. Even in the situation, Gordon found Bruce's sense of humor enlightening; it was a side of him that rarely showed through in the playboy persona and never in Batman. Gordon found himself hoping the humor was a bigger personality trait than Bruce let on.
Examining the wound further, without taking the gauze off, Gordon began to wonder if the Batsuit was really protecting Bruce the way it should have been. He knew the Batsuit wasn't invincible, but he didn't think it allowed for such horrendous wounds either. Then again, he had never been around the Bat long enough to fully examine the suit up close and personal. May have to change that, he thought. He came back around to stand in front of Bruce, eyeing each and every scar and fresh wound he saw. If anything, Gordon was in awe of the man for taking such beatings almost nightly and not once complaining about it.
Bruce reached out and grasped Gordon's hand, bringing the older man's eyes up to meet his careful glare. For a moment neither of them said anything, just shared a slow silence. When Bruce spoke it was but a raspy whisper; “I'm going to find him.” He placed their hands, Gordon's palm down, over his heartbeat and took a deep breath.
Gordon awkwardly placed his free hand on Bruce's arm. He could feel the man's tension glide away, muscles relaxing under Gordon's touch. “Are you sure that's wise, Bruce? You don't really look like you're in the best of shape to be -”
Bruce pressed his lips against Gordon's, wrapping his good arm around the older man to bring him in closer. Gordon was vaguely afraid of being caught, worried that someone would walk in, but the thoughts escaped him at the light flick of Bruce's tongue against his lips. Gordon parted his lips, lapping gently with his own tongue around his partner's ravenous mouth. It wasn't rushed or lustful; it was smooth and delicate, like a trickling river. His body molded against Bruce's body like warm clay, and for a moment he forgot he was standing in his office in the middle of a city lost to chaos. None of it seemed to matter for those few lost, hopeful seconds.
Bruce lifted his mouth away, his lips brushing Gordon's as he spoke, “I could show you just what kind of shape I'm really in.” Sensual, inviting and unexpected were the only words Gordon could find to describe the way Bruce spoke those words. But it also made him feel nervous and overwhelmed, and downright unsure of himself.
Gordon snorted an uneasy laugh and pushed away from Bruce. “I've got work to do.” He gave Bruce an apologetic smile, and received one with similar sentiments in return. Gordon could already tell, once Bruce let his guard down, that the man was very passionate with his emotions. He'd seen it first-hand when the Joker kidnapped Rachel and Harvey. When Rachel died. When Harvey died and Batman told him what had to be done. Gordon found himself relishing the little things he was beginning to notice about Bruce, things that two years ago he never would have deduced about the billionaire at all.
Bruce was sliding his arms carefully into the sleeves of his shirt. “No lunch today, Jim?” His voice had a suave translucency to it. His eyes looked lazy –tired -- but were fiercely set on the older man. Gordon felt like a thousand tiny fire ants were biting at his skin as he flushed at the younger man's lustful stare.
“I've got a lot to do, Bruce. Can I take a rain check?” Gordon asked. He watched Bruce finish buttoning up his shirt and took in the last glimpse of the well-toned body, shuddering mentally. Since when was he so attracted to men? Since Bruce Wayne became Batman. Gordon ran a hand through his hair as he watched Bruce finish buttoning his shirt and start on his tie.
Bruce eyed him with an impish grin, finishing the knot and straightening the tie. “I'm holding you to that, Commissioner.” He reached over the side of the chair, grasped his jacket and tugged it on.
Gordon stopped Bruce just short of the door as he went to leave, “Be careful tonight. And you should really think about getting some rest first.” He smirked, “You look like shit.”
Bruce scrunched up his face and furrowed his brows, a frown his lips. But Gordon knew it was a facade. Bruce looked at him sideways as he headed out the door into the hall, that smug little grin plastered on his face. “Rest? I, too, have lots to do today, Jim.”
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