Fic: Dark Side of the Sun (TDK/Leon)
Title: The Dark Side of the Sun (3/?)
Rating: R
Pairings: Undecided
Warnings: Violence, character death, language...and people may have cause to take issue with my portrayal of our good Commissioner (Which reminds me - implied drug use as well)
Disclaimer: 'The Dark Knight' and 'Leon' belong to various people who aren't me. And apologies to the almighty Pterry for nicking the title of one of his books.
Summary: Everybody lies. Everybody has secrets they never want revealed. And Jim Gordon's secrets are about to catch up with him in spectacular and devastating fashion.
Notes: I apologise for not having updated as quickly as I'd like. Apparently (As those of you who keep an eye on my LJ may have noted) being doped to the eyballs on painkillers is not conducive to writing.
~*~
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three - Garlands
Days passed without any significant progress on any front whatsoever. The Head of Forensics - a tiny Indian woman called Jaladhija Nagheenanajar, known universally at the station as Doctor Jay - had come up to Gordon's office to personally point out that if they had already done every test they could carry out six times, doing them again for a seventh time was unlikely to give a different answer. Everyone was on double shifts, carrying out questioning, following leads, making patrols, and generally trying to work out what the hell was going on.
And those were only the problems stemming from that specific case. Gotham proved quite enough to keep the police on their toes even at the best of times, and it wasn't going to put everything else on hold because they had their hands full already.
As if to remind him of this fact, the intercom on his desk buzzed. He pressed the button with a certain weary resignation: "Yes?"
"Commissioner Gordon," Laura's voice came through the speakers; "DA Fielding is here to see you."
"Wonderful." A sigh; "Alright then, send him in."
Gordon hadn't had the opportunity to get to know Terry Fielding yet. They'd bumped into each other once at some godawful charity fundraiser, and he hadn't been quite sure what to make of the man. He had the sort of friendly, open manner you couldn't help but trust. That was something Gordon instinctively mistrusted in anyone, especially a lawyer.
Fielding walked into the office with an easy smile on his lips, and Gordon stood to shake his hand. It was firm and steady, not that it meant anything. Gordon had never put much faith in the rubbish about judging someone by their handshake - all a steady handshake meant was that a person had to shake hands with strangers on a regular basis. Fielding was a clear head taller, looming over him a bit, but Gordon was unfortunately used to being shorter than most of his colleagues and didn't let it bother him.
"Please, take a seat," he said, sitting back down himself.
"Thank you," Fielding replied, pulling out one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Your secretary's a lovely girl. Ah, to be young again."
Gordon felt his eyebrows rising. If Fielding was a day over thirty-five, then he was the Queen of England. "You couldn't pay me to be that age again - the first time round was bad enough."
"Really? What a shame. Anyway." Fielding's manner abruptly changed, suddenly all business. "I'd rather like to know why I have a succession of police officers trailing after me like lost puppies."
"There's been a threat made against your life," Gordon explained patiently. "I'm sure my office must have told you."
"Yes. But I've had plenty of threats on my life before now," Fielding said, stubborn and determined.
Gordon gave a short laugh that had nothing to do with humour. "Those were more or less Commissioner Loeb's last words."
"We're not dealing with the Joker this time." A flicker of worry crossed his face. "We're not, are we?"
"No. No." Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose wearily and sighed. "How much have my men told you?"
Fielding looked unamused; "Very little."
"Right then." Gordon pressed the intercom button again; "Laura, could you please get me the file on the Arkham case?"
"Of course, sir. I'll just be a minute"
"Thank you."
Gordon sat back in his seat and studied Fielding. Generally the lifespan of a Gotham DA tended to be rather limited: there had already been two threats to kill him, one of which had actually developed into an attack. But there hadn't been anything like this. Whoever had issued this threat was more than capable of carrying it out.
"I hear there was an attempt against your own life recently," Fielding commented.
Gordon shrugged. "That was nothing major. Just a man with an elderly pistol and a brother in prison."
"Nothing major? GCN had footage of you being rushed to hospital."
"Did they?" Gordon winced. He was glad he hadn't been watching the news lately. "It was just a flesh wound."
"Attracting armed lunatics seems to be a professional hazard."
"The DA and the Commissioner are always targets."
"I'll say. I feel like I'm walking around with a bullseye on my chest."
There was a neat little rap at the door and Laura came in, carrying the file he'd asked for. She laid it on his desk and he nodded in thanks. The file was getting bulkier by the hour, padded out mainly by infuriatingly inconclusive test results.
"Here we are," Gordon said, opening the file. "How much do you know about the incident at Arkham?"
"It was attacked, and the Director was found dead afterwards," Fielding said, looking puzzled with an option on irritated; "But what does that have to do with anything?"
"Bear with me," Gordon replied. "At seven twenty-three am on Wednesday morning, Arkham Asylum was attacked by hired muscle. None of them knew anything apart from that they were getting paid for it. A few guards were killed, a few more injured, but there were no breakouts. None of the thugs got any further than the entrance hall. With me so far?"
"Yes."
"Well listen close, because this is the good bit. That was the situation when we arrived and set up a cordon around Arkham. The line held,we picked up a few of the attackers, and there wasn't any more fuss. The Director was uncomplimentary about how long it had taken us to get there."
Fielding blinked. "The Director wasn't killed in the fighting?"
"No, he was alive and well when we got there. But after that someone got in and out of the cordon without a single one of my men noticing. When we got to the Director's office, he was dead."
He took out the crimescene photos and spread them out on the table. Fielding paled a little and swallowed hard, then marshalled himself and asked in an admirably steady voice; "And?"
"The killer had left behind a little present for us."
He handed a copy of the photo they'd found with the Director to Fielding. His face went completely blank as he stared at it, and after a moment he laid the photo down again, very carefully.
"Oh," he said. "Not just an armed lunatic, then?"
"Not really, no," Gordon replied. His opinion of the man had just gone up a few notches.
"Well. Looks like I'll be playing host to some of Gotham's finest for a while to come then."
"We'll try to inconvenince you as little as possible," Gordon said; "But you will have to be careful."
Fielding gave a slightly shaky smile. "Yes, that...sounds like it might be a good idea."
"If you wait downstairs, Lieutenant Harris will brief you on the basic security meaures."
"Right. Yes." Fielding stood, still looking a little shell-shocked, and extended his hand; "Thank you."
Gordon shook his hand again, and didn't fail to note that it was quite a bit less steady than last time. "You're welcome. Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
He'd assigned Harris and Goldman to head up the protection detail. The debacle with Wuertz and Ramirez had brought home to him once again the value of constant paranoia, and Harris and Goldman were two of the few he was almost certain he could trust. Neither of them had been involved in anything particularly distasteful even in the old days, and they couldn't have family used as leverage over them the way Ramirez had: Harris had no living relatives, and Goldman's only surviving family member - her brother - lived in Ireland.
They were the easy ones. Between the Joker and the Narrows, most of the old guard had been wiped out, and he didn't know the transfers and new recruits well enough to judge how trustworthy they were. It was so much better to know whether or not someone could be trusted one way or the other, because at least then he knew to keep an eye on them. Ramirez, for example, had been demoted and put under surveillance rather than fired or prosecuted. After all, God knew he hadn't the right to judge anyone. He'd be the worst kind of hypocrite to deny her a second chance.
At around three in the afternoon, he finally tore himself away from his desk long enough to go out and get some lunch. He ate in the restaurant and prayed that no-one would find him there. It had to be Gotham, he thought wryly; you had to end up in the one place even crazier than New York.
Just my luck.
[...on to chapter four...]
Rating: R
Pairings: Undecided
Warnings: Violence, character death, language...and people may have cause to take issue with my portrayal of our good Commissioner (Which reminds me - implied drug use as well)
Disclaimer: 'The Dark Knight' and 'Leon' belong to various people who aren't me. And apologies to the almighty Pterry for nicking the title of one of his books.
Summary: Everybody lies. Everybody has secrets they never want revealed. And Jim Gordon's secrets are about to catch up with him in spectacular and devastating fashion.
Notes: I apologise for not having updated as quickly as I'd like. Apparently (As those of you who keep an eye on my LJ may have noted) being doped to the eyballs on painkillers is not conducive to writing.
~*~
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three - Garlands
Days passed without any significant progress on any front whatsoever. The Head of Forensics - a tiny Indian woman called Jaladhija Nagheenanajar, known universally at the station as Doctor Jay - had come up to Gordon's office to personally point out that if they had already done every test they could carry out six times, doing them again for a seventh time was unlikely to give a different answer. Everyone was on double shifts, carrying out questioning, following leads, making patrols, and generally trying to work out what the hell was going on.
And those were only the problems stemming from that specific case. Gotham proved quite enough to keep the police on their toes even at the best of times, and it wasn't going to put everything else on hold because they had their hands full already.
As if to remind him of this fact, the intercom on his desk buzzed. He pressed the button with a certain weary resignation: "Yes?"
"Commissioner Gordon," Laura's voice came through the speakers; "DA Fielding is here to see you."
"Wonderful." A sigh; "Alright then, send him in."
Gordon hadn't had the opportunity to get to know Terry Fielding yet. They'd bumped into each other once at some godawful charity fundraiser, and he hadn't been quite sure what to make of the man. He had the sort of friendly, open manner you couldn't help but trust. That was something Gordon instinctively mistrusted in anyone, especially a lawyer.
Fielding walked into the office with an easy smile on his lips, and Gordon stood to shake his hand. It was firm and steady, not that it meant anything. Gordon had never put much faith in the rubbish about judging someone by their handshake - all a steady handshake meant was that a person had to shake hands with strangers on a regular basis. Fielding was a clear head taller, looming over him a bit, but Gordon was unfortunately used to being shorter than most of his colleagues and didn't let it bother him.
"Please, take a seat," he said, sitting back down himself.
"Thank you," Fielding replied, pulling out one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Your secretary's a lovely girl. Ah, to be young again."
Gordon felt his eyebrows rising. If Fielding was a day over thirty-five, then he was the Queen of England. "You couldn't pay me to be that age again - the first time round was bad enough."
"Really? What a shame. Anyway." Fielding's manner abruptly changed, suddenly all business. "I'd rather like to know why I have a succession of police officers trailing after me like lost puppies."
"There's been a threat made against your life," Gordon explained patiently. "I'm sure my office must have told you."
"Yes. But I've had plenty of threats on my life before now," Fielding said, stubborn and determined.
Gordon gave a short laugh that had nothing to do with humour. "Those were more or less Commissioner Loeb's last words."
"We're not dealing with the Joker this time." A flicker of worry crossed his face. "We're not, are we?"
"No. No." Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose wearily and sighed. "How much have my men told you?"
Fielding looked unamused; "Very little."
"Right then." Gordon pressed the intercom button again; "Laura, could you please get me the file on the Arkham case?"
"Of course, sir. I'll just be a minute"
"Thank you."
Gordon sat back in his seat and studied Fielding. Generally the lifespan of a Gotham DA tended to be rather limited: there had already been two threats to kill him, one of which had actually developed into an attack. But there hadn't been anything like this. Whoever had issued this threat was more than capable of carrying it out.
"I hear there was an attempt against your own life recently," Fielding commented.
Gordon shrugged. "That was nothing major. Just a man with an elderly pistol and a brother in prison."
"Nothing major? GCN had footage of you being rushed to hospital."
"Did they?" Gordon winced. He was glad he hadn't been watching the news lately. "It was just a flesh wound."
"Attracting armed lunatics seems to be a professional hazard."
"The DA and the Commissioner are always targets."
"I'll say. I feel like I'm walking around with a bullseye on my chest."
There was a neat little rap at the door and Laura came in, carrying the file he'd asked for. She laid it on his desk and he nodded in thanks. The file was getting bulkier by the hour, padded out mainly by infuriatingly inconclusive test results.
"Here we are," Gordon said, opening the file. "How much do you know about the incident at Arkham?"
"It was attacked, and the Director was found dead afterwards," Fielding said, looking puzzled with an option on irritated; "But what does that have to do with anything?"
"Bear with me," Gordon replied. "At seven twenty-three am on Wednesday morning, Arkham Asylum was attacked by hired muscle. None of them knew anything apart from that they were getting paid for it. A few guards were killed, a few more injured, but there were no breakouts. None of the thugs got any further than the entrance hall. With me so far?"
"Yes."
"Well listen close, because this is the good bit. That was the situation when we arrived and set up a cordon around Arkham. The line held,we picked up a few of the attackers, and there wasn't any more fuss. The Director was uncomplimentary about how long it had taken us to get there."
Fielding blinked. "The Director wasn't killed in the fighting?"
"No, he was alive and well when we got there. But after that someone got in and out of the cordon without a single one of my men noticing. When we got to the Director's office, he was dead."
He took out the crimescene photos and spread them out on the table. Fielding paled a little and swallowed hard, then marshalled himself and asked in an admirably steady voice; "And?"
"The killer had left behind a little present for us."
He handed a copy of the photo they'd found with the Director to Fielding. His face went completely blank as he stared at it, and after a moment he laid the photo down again, very carefully.
"Oh," he said. "Not just an armed lunatic, then?"
"Not really, no," Gordon replied. His opinion of the man had just gone up a few notches.
"Well. Looks like I'll be playing host to some of Gotham's finest for a while to come then."
"We'll try to inconvenince you as little as possible," Gordon said; "But you will have to be careful."
Fielding gave a slightly shaky smile. "Yes, that...sounds like it might be a good idea."
"If you wait downstairs, Lieutenant Harris will brief you on the basic security meaures."
"Right. Yes." Fielding stood, still looking a little shell-shocked, and extended his hand; "Thank you."
Gordon shook his hand again, and didn't fail to note that it was quite a bit less steady than last time. "You're welcome. Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
He'd assigned Harris and Goldman to head up the protection detail. The debacle with Wuertz and Ramirez had brought home to him once again the value of constant paranoia, and Harris and Goldman were two of the few he was almost certain he could trust. Neither of them had been involved in anything particularly distasteful even in the old days, and they couldn't have family used as leverage over them the way Ramirez had: Harris had no living relatives, and Goldman's only surviving family member - her brother - lived in Ireland.
They were the easy ones. Between the Joker and the Narrows, most of the old guard had been wiped out, and he didn't know the transfers and new recruits well enough to judge how trustworthy they were. It was so much better to know whether or not someone could be trusted one way or the other, because at least then he knew to keep an eye on them. Ramirez, for example, had been demoted and put under surveillance rather than fired or prosecuted. After all, God knew he hadn't the right to judge anyone. He'd be the worst kind of hypocrite to deny her a second chance.
At around three in the afternoon, he finally tore himself away from his desk long enough to go out and get some lunch. He ate in the restaurant and prayed that no-one would find him there. It had to be Gotham, he thought wryly; you had to end up in the one place even crazier than New York.
Just my luck.
[...on to chapter four...]