To Serve and Protect - Chapter 2
Title: To Serve and Protect
Pairing: Batman/Gordon
Rating: (eventual) NC-17
Summary: The beginning of the partnership that would change the face of Gotham.
Chapter One
I'm a couple chapters ahead of myself here, but I've never actually posted anything in segments, so this has been interesting...
Title: To Serve and Protect
Chapter Two
Pairing: Batman/Gordon
Rating: (eventual) NC-17
Summary: In which Batman knows what's going on and Gordon is confused.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Unfortunately. Can’t imagine what I’d do with these two sexy men if they were left in my delicate care…
Chapter Two
When Gordon woke up, he had the distinct and disturbing impression that he ought to be dead. This idea was supported by the fact that even the action of opening his eyes seemed to bring with it immense amounts of pain.
The bright white lights and ceiling made him think of hospitals and antiseptic, but there was no accompanying smell or noise, no reassuring heart monitor beeps or muffled silence to indicate sound proofing. In fact, with as much pain as he was in, it would have really helped to be able to hear the steady beep-beep-beep of his heart. Just to remind him it was still there. Nausea swept across him slowly.
He forced himself to stillness and tried to look at his surroundings, preferably without moving his head. His first impression was about accurate. White ceilings, white walls, white flooring. Wide open space, no identifying markers, no color and no details. And, looking down, he was lying on something so piled with pillows he rather thought it should be more comfortable than it felt, but maybe that was just the pain talking. The top blanket was red and he hoped it had been dyed that color originally.
"Try not to move."
Gordon leapt about a foot in the air, quickly defying these instructions and heartily regretting it when his entire body seemed to light up with pain in the next instant. He opened his mouth - to shout, scream - but bit off his muffled groan of pain and forced himself to pant through the worst of it, riding out the waves, feeling sweat break out on his forehead. Illness threatened.
A hand supported his head as he gasped, another gripping his shoulder to steady him and, despite his faint protests, ease him into a semi-sitting position against his - cot? Gordon wished those hands would release him; he’d been in at least three times less pain lying down, thank you. But then they were offering him a glass of water and he forgave them instantly. He gulped down a third of the glass before he had to force himself to stop and clutch his middle, which felt rather as if he’d been shot.
Which he had been. By his own officers. It Gordon hadn’t already been aware that there was almost no one on the force he could explicitly trust, the thought would have seriously depressed him. As it was, he was just glad to be alive. He sipped the remainder of his drink, belatedly thinking he probably owed a lot of the alive part to the person next to him and turned to tell them so. His eyes caught first on bare, long-fingered hands, standing out pale and ridiculous from sleeves of hard black kevlar, then trailed up the chest and shoulders of armor into the familiar, impassive visage of the Batman.
This, Gordon thought faintly to himself, was becoming something of a habit. He tried to think of something, anything, to say, but it all seemed so inadequate. Eventually he settled on, "what happened?"
"You were shot."
Batman’s eyes blinked at him solemnly from behind his mask, but if Gordon didn’t know better he could swear he was being laughed at.
"Oh, really?" He sniped sarcastically, gesturing to his upper torso that felt, and probably looked like, raw hamburger. "I couldn’t have guessed that."
"Now that you’re awake," Batman continued as though he hadn’t heard, "you should take some of these." He held out several capsules, and Gordon prayed they were painkillers. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow to ask as much and Batman smiled - more, twitched his lip as though smiling - and let his silence speak for him. Gordon sighed and almost shrugged before the pain blindsided him and he hastily took the pills, swallowing them dry. He couldn’t feel any worse for whatever they were, and this was hardly the time to be demanding details from the man who’d saved his life.
Curiously, he felt them begin to work almost at once, and his entire body relaxed as the ache dulled. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until some of it began to disperse. "Thank you," he breathed out, closing his eyes momentarily, opening them again seconds later.
"Well?" He demanded.
Batman did him the courtesy of not misunderstanding him. "Ramirez is a plant. She’s been in someone’s pocket from the start. She picked up Rachel Dawes." There was a momentary flash of something - pain? despair? - on that hidden face but it was gone too quickly for Gordon to be sure, and the Bat continued. "She was the one who called your family that night."
"What?" Gordon leapt up and nearly fell. A hard shoulder balanced him, fingers catching at him, steadying him when he swayed.
"Ramirez was the one who called off the officers watching your home the night Dent…" Batman didn’t finish, but Gordon got the point. His mind was racing, frantically trying to find a way to disprove what he’d just heard, but of course, it all made horrible sense. Ramirez had been as close to him as any other detective in his unit - she was well known and well trusted in Major Crimes. Rachel Dawes had trusted her; Gordon had trusted her. And so had his wife.
Numb, he could only hang, heavy and in pain against the Batman’s bracing strength. "I didn’t think…" he said finally, one more piece of his faith in humanity gone. "I didn’t ask how Dent got a hold of them, I just assumed the officers watching the house had been… and it’s all happened so fast, we, my wife, we haven’t spoken since then about-"
He trailed off, flushing slightly, feeling rather ridiculous for airing his dirty laundry in front of this man, who probably had a thousand other things occupying his mind. The hands holding him up were steady though and those eyes never left his; they seemed to encourage him to continue and he did, haltingly.
"I can’t sleep, since that night, I have…" nightmares, he wanted to say, but it all sounded so cliché he couldn’t bear to voice it. "My wife and kids, we’re all having… trouble adjusting." He played it down, but under the weight of those compassionate, encouraging eyes, he got the feeling he wasn’t fooling anyone. Feeling so exposed made him bold, or stupid, and he kept on. "Sometimes I go days without thinking about it, and other times it’s like I can’t stop, I see Dent with that gun, and his coin, and Jimmy…"
He stumbled, energy draining from him like water from a sieve and he blinked owlishly at Batman, frowning in sudden consternation. "What, exactly, was in those pills? I’m babbling on like-"
"You were shot twice," Batman interrupted, and Gordon shut his mouth with a snap. "The pain and the painkillers are making you…" emotional, he didn’t say, but Gordon scowled at him all the same, pulling away from those hands before he lurched back onto the bundle of blankets he’d woken in. He wasn’t emotional. He was just. Frustrated. That was it.
"Twice, huh," he mused, feeling cautiously along his left arm and abdomen, where the pain seemed to concentrate.
"Allow me," Batman’s low, rumbling baritone rolled over him like a comforting old blanket and Gordon thought sourly that it was a bad day indeed when the one man you could trust in your city was the one being hunted by everyone in it. He grudgingly allowed Batman’s hands to take the place of his own and tried to think of it as a medical exam - did Batman have any medical experience? Competent fingers parted the buttons of his shirt and traced in professional, clinical patterns over the large swathes of bandages covering his chest.
Goosebumps peppered Gordon’s skin and he flushed, awkward and too aware of the intimacy of the Batman’s touch. And, it occurred to him, someone had to have undressed him to patch him up earlier; Gordon felt the flush spread from his cheeks down his neck and shoulders. He refused to look at the man whose fingers were deftly - and painlessly - checking his injuries.
"How long have I been here?" He asked suddenly, desperately searching for something else to discuss. The topics seemed many even though his mind remained stubbornly blank.
"Two days." Batman said absently, reaching into a medical kit he’d withdrawn from - somewhere. Gordon felt a flash of pain just beneath his ribcage that almost succeeded in distracting him from what he’d just heard.
"Two days?" He exclaimed, voice raised incredulously. "Two days? What about my family? Or the station, what-"
"I called your family," he was interrupted, and subsided again at a driving ache as a new wound was investigated. "You wife was… displeased (I’ll bet, Gordon thought). I asked her to tell the station you’d be taking a few weeks off."
"A few weeks off?" He repeated, like a puppet. "I can’t take a few weeks off. Ramirez-"
"Detective Ramirez and Officer Bannik are in custody pending an investigation of their illicit drug activities." Batman said firmly and the words swirled through Gordon’s head like the morning mist, there and gone.
"Illicit drug-" he began, then cut himself off, annoyed. No need to go parroting everything the man said, like an idiot. "Ramirez was never involved in any drug busts, I would have known, and Bannik-"
"The investigation is pending after an anonymous phone call directed police to a hidden cache of drugs in the Narrows. Ramirez and Bannik had their fingerprints all over it." Batman and Gordon stared at one another, and Gordon didn’t like to think that the Bat could feel his heart racing through the hands pressed against his chest. They withdrew at his attention, pausing to check his pulse, and Gordon ruthlessly suppressed a shiver.
"I’m sorry," Batman continued, and Gordon stared at him uncomprehendingly. "I knew Ramirez was involved with… that night." He clarified, and Gordon stiffened, unwilling to think that this man had let a woman who’d so endangered his family walk free, and yet, if he’d known.. "The drug charge won’t hold them, but it should keep them long enough for me to trace this back to the source."
Gordon must have still looked halfway accusing because Gotham’s dark knight seemed to fold in on himself, wary and unapproachable. "I leave it to your department to check into their backgrounds," he said at last, accusing in turn and Gordon looked away. "The investigation will give you enough leeway to drop them from your unit with no questions asked."
"In the meantime," he continued, "you need rest, and I’ll need to investigate who’s trying to have you killed." He paused. "Well, who’s trying to have you killed aside from the obvious."
Gordon could think of nothing to say to that, but as the Batman turned away he became once more aware of the stark emptiness of his surroundings.
"Where are we?" He blurted out before he could think better of it.
Batman pivoted to face him, and Gordon’s eyes were drawn (again) as though on strings to those hands, naked and compellingly vulnerable against the only color in here. They fascinated him. It occurred to Gordon that this was the first time he’d ever seen anything aside from the unmasked portion of the vigilantes face outside of uniform, and it must be that, he assured himself, that he found so compelling.
"Well," said the Batman at last and Gordon cut his eyes to his face guiltily, but the Bat was looking around him in a bemused fashion, oblivious. "If Batman had a place, this would be it for now, so," and turning that intense stare back to Gordon, "welcome, Commissioner Gordon, to my home."
Pairing: Batman/Gordon
Rating: (eventual) NC-17
Summary: The beginning of the partnership that would change the face of Gotham.
Chapter One
I'm a couple chapters ahead of myself here, but I've never actually posted anything in segments, so this has been interesting...
Title: To Serve and Protect
Chapter Two
Pairing: Batman/Gordon
Rating: (eventual) NC-17
Summary: In which Batman knows what's going on and Gordon is confused.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Unfortunately. Can’t imagine what I’d do with these two sexy men if they were left in my delicate care…
Chapter Two
When Gordon woke up, he had the distinct and disturbing impression that he ought to be dead. This idea was supported by the fact that even the action of opening his eyes seemed to bring with it immense amounts of pain.
The bright white lights and ceiling made him think of hospitals and antiseptic, but there was no accompanying smell or noise, no reassuring heart monitor beeps or muffled silence to indicate sound proofing. In fact, with as much pain as he was in, it would have really helped to be able to hear the steady beep-beep-beep of his heart. Just to remind him it was still there. Nausea swept across him slowly.
He forced himself to stillness and tried to look at his surroundings, preferably without moving his head. His first impression was about accurate. White ceilings, white walls, white flooring. Wide open space, no identifying markers, no color and no details. And, looking down, he was lying on something so piled with pillows he rather thought it should be more comfortable than it felt, but maybe that was just the pain talking. The top blanket was red and he hoped it had been dyed that color originally.
"Try not to move."
Gordon leapt about a foot in the air, quickly defying these instructions and heartily regretting it when his entire body seemed to light up with pain in the next instant. He opened his mouth - to shout, scream - but bit off his muffled groan of pain and forced himself to pant through the worst of it, riding out the waves, feeling sweat break out on his forehead. Illness threatened.
A hand supported his head as he gasped, another gripping his shoulder to steady him and, despite his faint protests, ease him into a semi-sitting position against his - cot? Gordon wished those hands would release him; he’d been in at least three times less pain lying down, thank you. But then they were offering him a glass of water and he forgave them instantly. He gulped down a third of the glass before he had to force himself to stop and clutch his middle, which felt rather as if he’d been shot.
Which he had been. By his own officers. It Gordon hadn’t already been aware that there was almost no one on the force he could explicitly trust, the thought would have seriously depressed him. As it was, he was just glad to be alive. He sipped the remainder of his drink, belatedly thinking he probably owed a lot of the alive part to the person next to him and turned to tell them so. His eyes caught first on bare, long-fingered hands, standing out pale and ridiculous from sleeves of hard black kevlar, then trailed up the chest and shoulders of armor into the familiar, impassive visage of the Batman.
This, Gordon thought faintly to himself, was becoming something of a habit. He tried to think of something, anything, to say, but it all seemed so inadequate. Eventually he settled on, "what happened?"
"You were shot."
Batman’s eyes blinked at him solemnly from behind his mask, but if Gordon didn’t know better he could swear he was being laughed at.
"Oh, really?" He sniped sarcastically, gesturing to his upper torso that felt, and probably looked like, raw hamburger. "I couldn’t have guessed that."
"Now that you’re awake," Batman continued as though he hadn’t heard, "you should take some of these." He held out several capsules, and Gordon prayed they were painkillers. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow to ask as much and Batman smiled - more, twitched his lip as though smiling - and let his silence speak for him. Gordon sighed and almost shrugged before the pain blindsided him and he hastily took the pills, swallowing them dry. He couldn’t feel any worse for whatever they were, and this was hardly the time to be demanding details from the man who’d saved his life.
Curiously, he felt them begin to work almost at once, and his entire body relaxed as the ache dulled. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until some of it began to disperse. "Thank you," he breathed out, closing his eyes momentarily, opening them again seconds later.
"Well?" He demanded.
Batman did him the courtesy of not misunderstanding him. "Ramirez is a plant. She’s been in someone’s pocket from the start. She picked up Rachel Dawes." There was a momentary flash of something - pain? despair? - on that hidden face but it was gone too quickly for Gordon to be sure, and the Bat continued. "She was the one who called your family that night."
"What?" Gordon leapt up and nearly fell. A hard shoulder balanced him, fingers catching at him, steadying him when he swayed.
"Ramirez was the one who called off the officers watching your home the night Dent…" Batman didn’t finish, but Gordon got the point. His mind was racing, frantically trying to find a way to disprove what he’d just heard, but of course, it all made horrible sense. Ramirez had been as close to him as any other detective in his unit - she was well known and well trusted in Major Crimes. Rachel Dawes had trusted her; Gordon had trusted her. And so had his wife.
Numb, he could only hang, heavy and in pain against the Batman’s bracing strength. "I didn’t think…" he said finally, one more piece of his faith in humanity gone. "I didn’t ask how Dent got a hold of them, I just assumed the officers watching the house had been… and it’s all happened so fast, we, my wife, we haven’t spoken since then about-"
He trailed off, flushing slightly, feeling rather ridiculous for airing his dirty laundry in front of this man, who probably had a thousand other things occupying his mind. The hands holding him up were steady though and those eyes never left his; they seemed to encourage him to continue and he did, haltingly.
"I can’t sleep, since that night, I have…" nightmares, he wanted to say, but it all sounded so cliché he couldn’t bear to voice it. "My wife and kids, we’re all having… trouble adjusting." He played it down, but under the weight of those compassionate, encouraging eyes, he got the feeling he wasn’t fooling anyone. Feeling so exposed made him bold, or stupid, and he kept on. "Sometimes I go days without thinking about it, and other times it’s like I can’t stop, I see Dent with that gun, and his coin, and Jimmy…"
He stumbled, energy draining from him like water from a sieve and he blinked owlishly at Batman, frowning in sudden consternation. "What, exactly, was in those pills? I’m babbling on like-"
"You were shot twice," Batman interrupted, and Gordon shut his mouth with a snap. "The pain and the painkillers are making you…" emotional, he didn’t say, but Gordon scowled at him all the same, pulling away from those hands before he lurched back onto the bundle of blankets he’d woken in. He wasn’t emotional. He was just. Frustrated. That was it.
"Twice, huh," he mused, feeling cautiously along his left arm and abdomen, where the pain seemed to concentrate.
"Allow me," Batman’s low, rumbling baritone rolled over him like a comforting old blanket and Gordon thought sourly that it was a bad day indeed when the one man you could trust in your city was the one being hunted by everyone in it. He grudgingly allowed Batman’s hands to take the place of his own and tried to think of it as a medical exam - did Batman have any medical experience? Competent fingers parted the buttons of his shirt and traced in professional, clinical patterns over the large swathes of bandages covering his chest.
Goosebumps peppered Gordon’s skin and he flushed, awkward and too aware of the intimacy of the Batman’s touch. And, it occurred to him, someone had to have undressed him to patch him up earlier; Gordon felt the flush spread from his cheeks down his neck and shoulders. He refused to look at the man whose fingers were deftly - and painlessly - checking his injuries.
"How long have I been here?" He asked suddenly, desperately searching for something else to discuss. The topics seemed many even though his mind remained stubbornly blank.
"Two days." Batman said absently, reaching into a medical kit he’d withdrawn from - somewhere. Gordon felt a flash of pain just beneath his ribcage that almost succeeded in distracting him from what he’d just heard.
"Two days?" He exclaimed, voice raised incredulously. "Two days? What about my family? Or the station, what-"
"I called your family," he was interrupted, and subsided again at a driving ache as a new wound was investigated. "You wife was… displeased (I’ll bet, Gordon thought). I asked her to tell the station you’d be taking a few weeks off."
"A few weeks off?" He repeated, like a puppet. "I can’t take a few weeks off. Ramirez-"
"Detective Ramirez and Officer Bannik are in custody pending an investigation of their illicit drug activities." Batman said firmly and the words swirled through Gordon’s head like the morning mist, there and gone.
"Illicit drug-" he began, then cut himself off, annoyed. No need to go parroting everything the man said, like an idiot. "Ramirez was never involved in any drug busts, I would have known, and Bannik-"
"The investigation is pending after an anonymous phone call directed police to a hidden cache of drugs in the Narrows. Ramirez and Bannik had their fingerprints all over it." Batman and Gordon stared at one another, and Gordon didn’t like to think that the Bat could feel his heart racing through the hands pressed against his chest. They withdrew at his attention, pausing to check his pulse, and Gordon ruthlessly suppressed a shiver.
"I’m sorry," Batman continued, and Gordon stared at him uncomprehendingly. "I knew Ramirez was involved with… that night." He clarified, and Gordon stiffened, unwilling to think that this man had let a woman who’d so endangered his family walk free, and yet, if he’d known.. "The drug charge won’t hold them, but it should keep them long enough for me to trace this back to the source."
Gordon must have still looked halfway accusing because Gotham’s dark knight seemed to fold in on himself, wary and unapproachable. "I leave it to your department to check into their backgrounds," he said at last, accusing in turn and Gordon looked away. "The investigation will give you enough leeway to drop them from your unit with no questions asked."
"In the meantime," he continued, "you need rest, and I’ll need to investigate who’s trying to have you killed." He paused. "Well, who’s trying to have you killed aside from the obvious."
Gordon could think of nothing to say to that, but as the Batman turned away he became once more aware of the stark emptiness of his surroundings.
"Where are we?" He blurted out before he could think better of it.
Batman pivoted to face him, and Gordon’s eyes were drawn (again) as though on strings to those hands, naked and compellingly vulnerable against the only color in here. They fascinated him. It occurred to Gordon that this was the first time he’d ever seen anything aside from the unmasked portion of the vigilantes face outside of uniform, and it must be that, he assured himself, that he found so compelling.
"Well," said the Batman at last and Gordon cut his eyes to his face guiltily, but the Bat was looking around him in a bemused fashion, oblivious. "If Batman had a place, this would be it for now, so," and turning that intense stare back to Gordon, "welcome, Commissioner Gordon, to my home."