Part One | Part Two
Trust Factor
Part One
written by destinyawakened
It had been exactly five years to the date. Gordon knew undoubtedly that Bruce wouldn’t be in the mood for company – he never was. Rachel Dawes, Gordon also knew, had been Bruce’s long time childhood friend, whom he had been rather close to and had even considered marrying at one point (if not for her untimely demise, and of course, her relationship with Harvey Dent). Gordon had grown accustomed to giving Bruce his space on this day, to allow him to mourn, just as he did for the anniversary of the younger man’s parents’ death.. Gordon often thought maybe Bruce did need someone to be with him on these days, but the billionaire always insisted he wanted to be alone. When Gordon asked Alfred about the situation, he reassured him that Bruce was accustomed to grieving on his own and didn’t like to talk about Rachel or the situations surrounding her death. It was obvious that Bruce preferred to fight his demons by himself.
Which, as horrible as Gordon knew it sounded, he didn’t mind at all. He could be sentimental, understanding, and open, but when push came to shove, he’d rather not have to find the means to be comforting to a man who was too stubborn to want it anyway. He felt, instead that he needed to be the strong, firm hand on Bruce’s shoulders, guiding him in the right direction, keeping the once-playboy’s head straight and focused. Bruce had done wonders with Wayne Enterprises in the last two years since he and Gordon had become involved, since he dropped the playboy facade and took the reigns of his father’s corporation. With the help of Lucius Fox, he had made it into something much more than it ever had been. They jump-started the economy with new jobs, and started producing cheaper, but more effective military equipment. Gotham was thriving, and Gordon couldn’t be more proud of the man Bruce had become.
Which was a whole other matter in itself. Before they had started having sex, or even consider themselves a “couple” (which he still didn’t even think of them as), Gordon had been wary. He had had the thoughts of being a pervert and a dirty old man, and as well he should have, being a good fifteen years (if not more) older than the younger man. He knew, though, that those thoughts were completely false and only true to his own misguided attempts to shun Bruce off. It was an excuse not to admit his own attraction to the handsome face of the Gotham’s Prince. But as he spent time with the Bruce, he found that the younger man was much more than he led on. The man had passions, endeavors, wants, and needs as everyone else, but he also seemed a little lost in his personal life, as if everything he had once wanted was too far out of reach. Gordon had placed it on himself to push Bruce in the right direction by giving him the extra confidence and words to step into his company with full force and make of it what he wanted. Gordon had a feeling that Bruce would have done this, anyway, had he been there or not, but Bruce insisted that Gordon grounded him, kept him sane and focused.
That was a little over two years ago and still Bruce counted on Gordon to be there for him, to hold him without a word when things were unbearable. They didn’t exchange words of comfort, never had a “there, there, it will be okay” between them, because the sentiments naturally hung in the air and never needed the unsatisfying whisper that never seemed quite good enough anyway. Sometimes Jim Gordon wished their relationship were a little more open – a little more normal.
And today, of all days, Gordon had set out to go to work early, or thought he would. But Bruce was now standing in front of him, arms folded around himself in shadowy sort of way that made Gordon shiver down to his bones. Bruce, though Gordon had never seen a tear from the man, looked as if he might have been crying. Gordon felt the unsoundly urge to reach over, pat his back, and give the gradual sentiment he promised never to give. He stopped himself, fingers about to touch the other man’s shoulder, and dropped his arm back down to his side.
“I’m going into work early today. The Mayor needs these reports by tomorrow. If you need me, I’ll have my cell phone on.” It was to the point, maybe even more distant than he intended it to be, but he wasn’t sure exactly what Bruce wanted of him. Bruce gestured a slight nod – almost nonexistent – and stepped out of Gordon’s way, allowing the older man to pass him. Gordon pulled his keys from his pocket, turning back to Bruce who was watching him carefully, almost mournfully. Gordon opened his mouth to speak, the words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat, caught between the need to comfort and the promise to let it go. He smiled instead, a small grin that disappeared under his mustache, faint, easy, and often misguided. He turned to leave, halfway out the door, hand on the knob, and ready to close it behind him.
“Jim!” Bruce was pulling the door open again, arms finding their way around the wiry frame of the older man, pulling him in close. Gordon dropped his brief case with a clank onto the cobble stone walkway. He wrapped his arms around Bruce tightly, hands feeling every curve, toned muscle in the billionaire’s back, fingers gliding over the scars that Bruce claimed so often were from polo (which Gordon had never once seen him play) and a few from random car accidents (which, considering Bruce’s driving record, could be true). Gordon never pushed the subject of the scars, never wanted to know, and wanted to know even less when new ones showed up. Bruce was never willing to divulge any information about his wounds, but Gordon trusted that if they were important, Bruce would tell him.
“Bruce...” Gordon ran his hands through the thick, chocolate brown threads of the playboy’s mane, fingering the few misplaced hairs from sleep. He looked Bruce in the eye, a more genuine smile creeping across his face. There didn’t need to be words, Gordon just knew that Bruce was feeling the grief and loss of the day, and that with Gordon leaving it might just make it worse. But Gordon also knew if he stayed, Bruce would just be off at the cemetery, alone for most of the day and then wandering around the mansion the rest of the day with a blank stare – brooding. No, there was no point in staying.
Gordon leaned in and kissed Bruce on the lips, lingering for just a split-second, a fluttering touch, eyes never losing contact. “Tell Rachel I said hello,” he let the words linger for a moment, waiting for Bruce’s reaction. There wasn’t one, just a soft sigh, an unsure nod, and arms that squeezed Gordon in a little closer to the unbudging warmth in front of him. Gordon slid his fingers down the side of Bruce’s head, to his temple, down cheeks, and across his jaw line, stopping at the younger man’s lips to give him one last brief kiss before pulling away.
There was a long moment where Gordon thought about saying the words they agreed never needed to be said, because it made everything a little more difficult and misunderstood, and all the more wrong. Gordon clamped his mouth shut, not saying a word, letting the thoughts slide back down his throat in a faded memory. He bent down to pick up his brief case, aware that Bruce was watching his every move. He took the other man’s hand, squeezing it one last time, a goodbye, a distant sentiment and apology for his grief and loss. He waved, heading down the steps to his car.
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It figured, of course, that the Joker would find a way to break out of his holding in Arkham on the anniversary of the death of Rachel Dawes. Leave it to the insane criminal to have something up his sleeve; exactly what, Gordon wasn't sure. He was surprised he didn't hear of any activity revolving around the man. However, he was less surprised when he received one of those anonymous text messages from Batman, asking him to meet up with him at the bridge. The bridge had become their secondary meeting place over the last five years, somewhere they didn't have to worry about being seen talking. The Bridge had a small alcove between the road and the rails where they often met up and no one could see them.
Gordon had a feeling it was about the Joker. Time to plan the next course of action.
Luckily the bridge was on the way to Wayne Manor, and he wouldn't have to detour on his way over there.
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Gordon hadn’t even had time to call Bruce and let him know he’d be late for dinner – really late at the rate the situation was going. Gordon had been on the bridge for over forty-five minutes now, coat wrapped tightly around himself. He was about ready to just call it quits and leave. It wasn't unlike Batman to not show, things happened sometimes that were out of his control. Gordon turned to leave, when he heard the shuffling of footsteps from behind him and the click of what sounded to be a switch of some sort. He turned around slowly, eyes reaching the menacing white grease painted face first, glaring at the blackened hollows of the man’s eyes before him. A smeared red Chelsea was spread across the scarred-up lips, the ruined face of a man that might have once been considered sane at some point. Gordon cringed outwardly, not afraid to hide his disgust when the other man’s yellowed teeth splayed across his face like a bad plague.
Shit, Gordon thought. This was definitely not the way he expected this meeting to turn out. If he got out of this, he was definitely telling Batman to use a regular cell number when he texted him from now on. Situations like these had to stop.
“Commissioner...” the other man drawled, letting the title linger on his longer than was necessary. Gordon already had his gun out, pointed at the clown, safety off and finger on the trigger. The Joker had a switchblade in his right hand glinting off the florescent glow of the bridge lights. “So glad you could make it.”
“Should have known you'd be here,” Gordon growled through his teeth.
“You don't seem too happy to see me, Jimmy! I'm hurt! I went out of my way to come and see you! And You didn't even give me a hug.” Joker was pushing his chest into Gordon's gun, as if daring him to pull the trigger.
“I'll give you one hell of a hug --” Gordon started. He had his fist balled up and was about to bring it around to sock the clown in the face when his arm taken a hold of, gun knocked out of the other, and the Joker had his knife to his throat.
“Ah-ah. That's not how we give hugs.” The Joker dug the blade a little deeper into Gordon's neck, his face just inches from the commissioners now. Their eyes made contact for a second longer than Gordon would have liked, a shiver sliding down his spine. Then, the Joker broke the shared glare and motioned to the men holding Gordon's arms back. “Show him how its done, boys.”
Gordon wasn’t a stupid man, and in most situations he would have the upper hand, but he definitely could not take on two burly men with guns and knives; that was suicide. The first goon grinned at him and pushed him to the ground. He tried to scramble to his feet, but wasn't fast enough. He heard the sound of the crack to his skull long before he felt it, the blackness taking over his senses.
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Something wet drizzled down his forehead, past his nose, sliding into his parched mouth. He reflexively licked his lips, tasting the untainted water. It was then he realized the rest of him was completely drenched. Gordon opened his eyes to the darkness around him, pulling on his aching arms, hands bound tightly behind him. His head was bent, chin to chest, looking down at his feet, also bound. He was in a chair, he could tell, from the way his back was screaming from being hunched over. He brought his head up, looking for a light or something, but could only tell he was most probably in some rundown building, roof detached, being rained on. Everything else was pure black – dark.
“We’re going to play a little game,” a voice said from somewhere to Gordon’s left, “and all you have to do is sit still and be a good boy.”
Gordon squeezed his eyes shut, the rain coming down harder now, plastering his hair to his face, his glasses speckled with water. “What kind of game?”
“Trust.” Simple and yet very unnerving for Gordon. Trust could be a lot of things. Trust could be anything and everything. Trust made him nervous. A small light flipped on the left side of the room, a small beacon that looked like a flashlight. Gordon could see the Joker standing behind it, walking closer to him. He knelt down next to Gordon, light directly under his chin, facing becoming more daunting than ever as the shadows played across the pitch-black paint around his eyes. “See... I’ve had a lot of time to myself. I’ve had time to think. And in my time alone I had a wonderful and all together exciting revelation! Which is why you are here.”
Gordon hated the way the clown talked, the way he drew out his words, emphasized syllables that were meaningless, making everything sound so... well, serious. It contradictory to the Joker in every sense, and yet it made everything come into light. Except for now, when the Joker played little words games with him, expecting him to start guessing and grow frustrated with it. No, this time Gordon would keep his mouth shut and listen, and try to piece the puzzle together.
“Mmm…” the Joker groaned in annoyance when Gordon didn’t even flinch. “We’ll just have to wait for our other contestant. The game is all about him, after all.” The Joker made a slurping noise and ran flicked his tongue over the scars around his mouth. Gordon had seen the man do that one too many times, usually up close and personal. He felt his gut wrenched in disgust. The Joker turned the flashlight off and patted Gordon’s face gently with one gloved hand. “Shouldn’t be too much longer, Jimbo.” And the other man skipped – or so Gordon assumed from the sound of shoes tapping on the concrete – away.
Gordon didn’t need to know whom it was the Joker referred to. There was only one person the madman really enjoyed torturing to the ends of the earth. Batman. What Gordon couldn’t understand was how he played into this game with Batman. Trust? Well, he trusted Batman more than he would trust anyone else; the man was always there for him, always protecting the city; he wasn’t one to back down, even in the down time when the GCPD hunted him for the murders he never committed. Batman never let them down – never let Gordon down. If this was a game of trust, then he and Batman were surely going to win, and the Joker had another thing coming to him.
And then Batman was there, in front him, searching Gordon’s face for something, an answer, maybe? A clue? He only shook his head, indicating he had no idea what to think of the situation either. A light from one of the few poles holding up the building, lit up and the Joker cackled from the opposite end of the room, holding a switch in one hand – the detonator to a bomb somewhere. Gordon locked eyes with Batman who was searching the older man over in what looked to be despair written on his face. Gordon strained his neck to look below and behind him, noticing for the first time the explosives strapped to his chair. He brought his gaze back up to the Bat, feeling his eyes grow hot with disappointment. The stakes had just gotten a little higher, but Gordon was finding he didn’t really mind if they weren’t in his favor. All part of the job.
“Oh, goodie!” the Joker squealed. He began heaving a series of giggles, only stopping to look Batman straight in the eye. “The rules, my dearest Bat, are simple. You reveal to the commissioner here your true identity and I won’t blow him to bits.”
“How do I know you’ll play fair?” Batman rasped, glaring the clown down, firsts balled at his side and at the ready. Gordon wished Batman would just go after the Joker and take him back to Arkham; to forget trying to save him and do what needed to be done. Why was the vigilante focused so much on saving him anyway? They were friends, trusted allies, but they had a pact and so far Batman was not holding up on his end. Just go get him, bring that bastard to justice...
“I’m a man of my word,” the Joker replied. Batman only continued to stare down the other man, jaw clenched. Gordon wanted to feel bad for Batman, to feel he had to give up his secrets to save him, but at the same time he was growing angry that the other man was putting Gordon before justice. There were two situations running through the commissioner’s mind: One, that Batman did reveal his identity and they both got away safely, and so did the Joker; or two, Batman went after the Joker, threw him back in to Arkham where he belonged and Gordon died. Gordon didn’t want to die, like everyone else who had something to live for. But he promised himself years ago that protecting the city from criminals like the Joker was much bigger than himself. Why wasn’t Batman adhering to their promises to each other, to sacrifice one for the better of Gotham? There was something different here...
“See, I figured it out some years ago. Placed the pieces together. It should have been obvious, but you hide it so well with your charade, Batsy. I’m just wondering how the commissioner here went so long without ever figuring it out for himself.” There was a pause, and what sounded to Gordon like giggle – he wasn’t sure. “That is I assume ol’ Jimmy here hasn’t figured it out. You are quite blind. Love must do that, eh Commissioner? Bruce Wayne keeping you so wound up that you can’t even see what’s in front of you?”
Gordon had had quite enough of the clown, of everything that was happening.. He had no control over the situation now, what happened to him was completely up to Batman. And one way or another, depending on the route the Bat took, Gordon was not going to be pleased. Gordon craned his neck to look the disgusting criminal in the face. “Why do you care?”
Another fit of laughter echoed around them, and Gordon felt himself grow angrier. He didn’t care how the Joker knew he and Bruce had a relationship. He didn’t care what the game was anymore. He was tired of the games the Joker continued to play over the past five years. Batman continually threw him back into Arkham and the Joker continually broke out again. Over and over and over again. Gordon was tired of it. He was tired of all of it. Maybe this was his fate after all, to be blown to bits so that a city would mourn their commissioner and be resentful enough that they finally put that sick son of a bitch in the gas chamber. Gordon would do it; he would die for the Gotham. But how to get Batman to see that and not fuck everything up?
The Joker began to talk again, dragging Gordon out of his thoughts for a brief moment. “I know that what keeps Batman and Commissioner together is their complete trust in each other. You two are a fantastic duo,” -- that slurping sound again -- “but if I’m ever going to regain control of my city, things have to change.”
And there it was, laid out before him like old rug he’d stepped on a few times before realizing it was even there. The Joker knew that Batman could do his job just fine without Gordon and vice versa, but they always worked better together and the city was thriving because of it. Joker knew who Batman really was and Gordon began to panic at the thought that it must be someone he knew or else the issue of trust wouldn’t work to the crazy clown’s schemes. It was starting to make sense as to why Batman was being so hesitant on just letting Gordon take the fall. Oh, this was bad. Very bad. Gordon started to list names in his head, avoiding all together the one name he didn’t even want to think. Deny. Deny. Deny. No. It’s not. He would have told you.
Gordon looked at Batman.
Batman had obviously stopped listening to the Joker and was staring Gordon straight in the eye. He had a new look on his face, one that showed far more emotion than Gordon had ever seen from the man. Gordon shook his head, repeating the word “don’t” over and over in his head. He’d rather die not knowing than having the information in his brain forever; a tempting thought, information someone else might find out he knew and attempt to gain leverage on. No, he’d go to his grave before that. But then he thought about Bruce and his kids. Bruce would understand. The kids would grieve, but hopefully one day know it was for the greater good of Gotham that Gordon did anything.
He had to get Batman’s attention, to somehow let him know that he was willing to sacrifice himself if it meant the city could finally be rid of the Joker. “Batman... don’t. There are --”
But Batman cut him off quickly.
“No, Jim. I should have told you long before now.” Batman knelt down in front of Gordon, hands on cowl, tugging it gently over his head, and very slowly. Gordon started to make out the shape of the man’s clavicle, his jaw line, his ears, the hair color as the first few strands fell out of the mask. Gordon felt his heart freeze and his veins burn, the low thud in his ears growing louder as an intense realization exploded in his mind. His thoughts were in a jumble, incoherent and misplaced, tossing out the image that stood before him. He was sure, just plain sure that he was hallucinating. He shook his head and clamped his eyes shut. Deny. Deny. Deny. If he didn’t look anymore, it wouldn’t be true. Maybe it was all just a bad dream.
Denial started to turn into dread.
Dread turned into betrayal. Gordon didn’t know what he was angrier at now, the fact the truth was kept from him or the fact that Batman outright ignored the plans they made years ago for when a situation such as this presented itself. Couldn’t just let me die not knowing, could you...
Everything fit together perfectly. Maybe he’d had known all along. And yet it still didn’t make up for the fact that the other man had never told him, never hinted – never gave it a second thought. The Joker, for what it was worth, had won. He knew that trust was a factor in their working relationship, and obviously he and Batman didn’t have that, or else this situation would have gone far differently and far from the outcome they were headed for.
A wicked laugh sounded from behind them and the sound of the bombs deactivating was heard along with some murmur on how he didn’t really think Batman would do it. There was a small thunk and Gordon opened his eyes to see the device had been thrown to his feet, turned to off.
“How does it feel, Commissioner, to know your whole relationship is one big lie?” The Joker cackled. There was more laughter, sinister this time, and the what sounding like mumbling, something Gordon couldn't quite hear. “I wish I had a camera! Your expression, Jimmy, is priceless!"
Gordon was too caught up in staring at the unmasked man in front of him. His chest felt bogged down with a hundred pound brick. Gordon told Batman many times he never wanted to know, but he never guessed – never suspected – this...
“No one going to talk to me now?” The Joker asked, he seemed disappointed. “Well, looks like you win this round. But I will be around to check up on my favorite little couple. Toodles!” Though the Joker sounded, well, happy, he also had a hint of agitation in his voice; Gordon knew that the clown got what he wanted, but probably didn't go exactly as he planned. He heard footsteps, dirt being kicked and the sound of gun shooting. Gordon assumed one of the thugs had to take the fall for the situation gone awry. The Joker, for the time being, was gone.
Gordon let his eyes drift up to man now standing before him; the man he said good morning to on a daily basis and had for over a year now. The man he often let devour his soul in the more intimate moments of their lives. Bruce Wayne. And all this time Gordon had been too blindsided to see it. The clues were there, all of them, spread out on the table like a deck of cards, but he was just too ignorant to really take a step back and look at the bigger picture. Polo, car accidents... how had he let himself be told such frivolous lies? Because you didn’t want the truth, you didn’t want to know.
And now Bruce was staring at him, eyes soft, concerned and full of regret. “Jim, I --”
Gordon cut him off with a shake of his head, “Not here. Cut me out, will you?” A nod from Bruce, who pulled a bat-shaped-something-rather from his utility belt and began sawing at the thick rope around Gordon’s ankles. No other words were said, and the silence let Gordon finally find his own thoughts on the situation, and how disheartening it truly was for him.
Trust. He had trusted Bruce to be honest with him. Gordon knew the Joker intended for this to not turn out well, for Gordon to feel betrayed, let down, heartbroken. The Joker wanted them apart, wanted them separated. Because if they weren’t working together, they were nothing, and Gotham would fall. Oh, the Joker knew how to play games very well. He definitely won this round.
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“DON’T!” Gordon yelled. He had driven his own car back to Wayne Manor, and Alfred had let him back in, saying something about Bruce being in his study. Gordon hadn’t even thought about how fast Bruce got to the Manor. He didn’t care right then. Didn’t care at all. “You lied for two years...Don’t start apologizing now.”
“Jim...” Bruce’s voice was soft and low, his hands were spread out on the top of the desk in front of him. He was still seated, not wanting to make matters worse, apparently. It only made Gordon even angrier.
“No, Bruce. No.” Gordon should his head. “You can’t just lie to me in one of your lives and promise the opposite in another. You made me a promise, as Batman, that if either of us were in a hostage situation like that, that we’d let the other go. That is how it was suppose to work! The Joker is out there now, running around scheming who-knows-what kind of chaos! And it’s all your fault!” Gordon had been pacing around the room, throwing his hands in the air in a gesture that he was, in fact, very angry. He stopped, closing in on the front of Bruce’s desk, splaying his hands over the smooth wood finish. He bent over the desk to get down to Bruce’s eye level.
Bruce remained silent. He showed no emotion on his face, no regret anywhere in his eyes – nothing. He placed his elbows on the arms of his desk chair, clasping his hands together. He glared at Gordon, as if daring him to continue. And, oh, what a dare that was. Bruce, you might just regret that...
“Nothing to say for yourself? No, ‘sorry I lied, Jim’? Or ‘Sorry, I broke our pact, Jim’?” Gordon waited for an answer, or a sign that Bruce was feeling something, or at least listening. Bruce blinked. Good enough. “Well, I guess I can’t expect too much from a man who can’t even openly express his feeling as it is. A man who mopes around the house on the anniversary of the death of an old girlfriend who never really loved him anyway.” That did it. Bruce stood from his chair, face-to-face with Gordon now, hands balled into fists on his desk.
“Watch it, Gordon.” The growl. The gravel-ground voice of Batman that Gordon so often thought was synthetic and modified by some sort of gadget.
“Or what?” Gordon dared him this time, but Bruce didn’t respond. Gordon didn’t let him. He went on. “You know it’s true! She loved Harvey Dent. She was going to marry him. You can keep your delusions and believe what you want, but I saw the way they looked at each other. Maybe she didn’t want to marry you because you lied so much. Because you lived a damned double life. Did Rachel know? About your secret life?” Gordon waited for an answer, but a verbal one never came, but the silence and the harsh glare Bruce was producing it clear that Rachel did, in fact, know. This made Gordon even angrier. After all these years Bruce didn’t even once hint that he was Batman; Gordon always thought he and Bruce had something a little stronger – deeper – than what Bruce had had with Rachel. That hurt the most; Rachel knowing, the billionaire trusting her far more than he trusted Gordon. The commissioner considered that Bruce didn’t trust him at all. It was becoming pretty obvious.
“I trusted you,” Gordon whispered. He was so angry he could almost not even find his voice. “Why couldn’t you just let that bomb go off? This heartache would be gone, and the Joker would finally pay for all the damned chaos he’s caused over the past five years. You selfish son of a bitch.”
Gordon didn’t expect what happened next, didn’t even think Bruce would be capable of throwing a punch at him. The fist hit him squarely in the jaw, sending him reeling backwards to the floor, mostly from him being stunned. He looked up at Bruce, hand on his face where the other man’s balled up fingers made contact. He didn’t feel it, not yet, anyway. He jumped to his feet and threw his own fist at the younger man, socking him right on the cheek. Gordon felt his knuckles burn on contact, but didn’t take the moment to cradle his hand – he had the upper hand. Bruce was in shock and surprise that Gordon had fought back, so Gordon took the lapse and threw his fist at Bruce again, punching him right in the eye. This sent the younger man reeling backwards into the desk chair.
Bruce cried out, Gordon suspected from the surprise, and this time the billionaire wasted no time in getting back up and throwing himself at Gordon again, tackling him to the ground and pinning him to the floor. Bruce straddled Gordon’s chest and locked his hands around the older man’s wrists tightly, keeping him down and immobile. Gordon watched Bruce as he took a few deep, calming breaths, bringing himself under control. Gordon couldn’t say he was feeling the same, he had so much adrenaline coursing through him that he felt he could have dealt a lot more – taken a lot more.
“Jim, stop. Please. Let me explain...” Bruce might as well have been begging, and it made Gordon want to punch him again. He couldn't explain, even to himself, why he felt so angry. Everything that Bruce was to him seemed like a distant memory now, something from a dream – a bad nightmare.
“Get off of me.” Gordon said calmly, voice shaking. Bruce shook his head and held onto the other man’s wrists tighter. “Get off me, damnit!” And Gordon used whatever strength he could muster, whatever he had left in him for tonight, and threw Bruce off him. He scrambled back to his feet. “You let the Joker win. He was right, you know. Trust does make the relationship.” He paused to look Bruce deep in the eye, a moment of regret in his own mind for what he was about to do, because he knew it would change everything for them and for Gotham. “I’m done with broken promises. I’m done with the lies. I’m done with not being emotionally open. I'm done trying to be understanding. I'm done not telling you how I really feel. I’m done with you not being over Rachel. I more need than this, Bruce.”
Bruce had come to a sitting position on the ground in front of Gordon, biting his lip, a little frustrated. “Jim... I'm not sure...” And that was all Gordon needed to hear for what he had to do next. He was tired of playing this game and he'd be damned if he was going to continue to do it. He was too old for this shit.
“No Bruce. You aren't sure. And that's the problem.” Gordon looked at the billionaire's face, and felt a pang of remorse as he watched the light in his eyes fade out. No. He couldn't let Bruce make him feel bad. This had to end, now. “I'm done with this. With us. With You. With Batman. Don't attempt to come see me. Don't call. As far as I'm concerned we don't even know each other anymore.”
“Jim, you can't do this. What about Gotham? Are you really going to let Joker win?” Bruce's voice was frantic and Gordon knew he was trying hard, fighting for what he wanted. A little too late to start now, kid.
“He already has.” Gordon took out the set of keys Bruce had given him to the Manor and the penthouse. He threw them at Bruce's feet and walked out
Part One | Part Two