http://kingofrooks.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] kingofrooks.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] capeandcowllogs2011-09-19 01:35 am

another love i would abuse; no circumstances could excuse

WHO: Jim Gordon [[livejournal.com profile] finestdetective] and Batman [[livejournal.com profile] kingofrooks]
WHERE: DOCKS because that is the most sensible.
WHEN: Right after Jim's post. Night, I think.
WARNINGS: Alternate universe shenainegans. The usual. TL;DR.
SUMMARY: Nolanverse meets comicsverse. Things probably won't go well. Shit.
FORMAT: Paragraphs of doom.

It was a City of ghosts.

Or perhaps he was a ghost, faded, rewound and placed on ground that his feet had tread but his mind could not remember. Bruce had sieved his memories over and over, looking for hints and clues of being here before- but there was nothing. He was from the past, planted into the future, looking into the faces through a thousand mirrors. Reflections of people he knew who no longer behaved as he expected them to. A house of distorted mirrors.

Or perhaps he was the one distorted. Turned back, changed again, taking a road travelled by the future but not the past. The timeline didn't make any sense, and that was one aspect of it that helped in convincing him that this was real. Or as real as anything could be, when it came to multiple universes and timelines.

(He missed the raw visceral nature of Gotham. Of its darkened streets and small-time crooks. Of its mob bosses and the sharp jerk of teeth against his knuckles. Of the ringing sound of broken bones echoing against high walls. He did not put on this uniform for the sake of the universe. Only a city.)

But.

Gordon, however, had not changed much. Less lines on his face, with brown hair instead of stark white. An uneasy smile, and a reference to a bright light and a mob boss that he didn't understand. Something about Gordon that he didn't know. Shadows instead of distortions. Bruce wanted to shine a bright light and chase it all away, because at least this- this, he could change. He was not of Bruce's world; not of a future that everyone seemed to know better than he did.

Docks. Bruce lingered on a rooftop, watching him from a distance. Far enough to not be seen; near enough to be felt. Nine minutes and twenty-four seconds. He stepped off the ledge and swung, feeling the light grow taut in his hand. Familiarity. As familiar as the shape of Gordon's jaw, or his overcoat. In the shadows, Bruce could almost forget the differences.

Ten minutes. His feet touched the ground, the cape flaring out then settling on the floor around him. Bruce tipped his head up, and followed the motion to stand. This close, the differences were starker. Shorter. It was startling.

"Gordon."

[identity profile] finestdetective.livejournal.com 2011-09-18 06:01 pm (UTC)(link)
It had taken him hours to get to the docks, even though he knew it'd be dark by the time he got there. He had to see the coast. Had to look out, and more importantly the walk did him good. It let him breathe the city in as the sun went down, let him feel it in the long worn callouses on his feet and the chill that bit into his exposed hands. His eyes grew tired.

Batman, he knew, crossed the city much faster. He was almost jealous. And while he could have waved down a squad car and flashed his badge at them, it just wasn't the visceral introduction to the place he needed.

It let him focus, let him take his mind off Barbara and the kids, paralysed in time and left behind. Let him browse through the network and quietly drink in some of the details. He still felt like he was on a tiny island in a sea of information. It was easy to pick out the things he was looking for: Batman, Joker, Harvey. To identify the Mayor. To look up Stark and just brush over the echoing vastness that awaited if he delved any deeper.

His anger hadn't dimmed yet. His hands were on the wall, and they were cold. It felt good, because the chill and the anger were the first thing about this place that felt real.

And then something else. The shadows taking form, the voice behind him, unmistakable in its authority despite the jarring difference. He turned around.

His denial was instant, even if it left an opening. The evidence to the contrary stood before him. Height, costume, voice. And yet Gordon wondered if he was the only one from Gotham who had enough experience to tell. Who had stood beside this man as he was born - or was that 'created' - and knew the intricacies of his disguise. Who had watched it evolve.

"You're not him."

[identity profile] finestdetective.livejournal.com 2011-09-18 07:21 pm (UTC)(link)
The moment stretched out, and Jim wasn't used to it. Not from Batman. Batman was always immediate. He always knew what Jim was going to say, so he always had a response waiting. This time he seemed to be right in the middle of balancing and weighing all the weight on his shoulders. So much more weight than Gordon thought he'd ever seen there.

This man was older. Or was he? Was that an illusion? Had he simply more experience? It was impossible to tell through the cowl, the confident stance, the shadows that the cloak made eating at any hint. Gordon knew old, and Batman wasn't it.

The man was just different. The pieces he'd put together in time. He had a handful of them now; more than he'd been able to pluck from that conversation, anyway.

"So I gathered."

The Joker. The guy gave him the creeps, and that was almost an insult. People who could make you that angry, fill you with such loathing--how could they also creep you out. That was a definition you gave to ghost stories you told around the campfire as a kid, not freak faced clowns who threatened your family.

Batman seemed about to go on, then changed his mind, and Gordon followed his upward glance with a glance and a grimace of his own. He seriously hated that grapple line. He'd gone by it before, once, and once was enough. But that time, Batman had grabbed him by surprise, and Jim hadn't had a choice.

This time he knew what was coming.

"Just so you know, I can think of about a hundred ways I prefer to travel."

But he didn't argue. He trusted him by instinct, placed his hand into Batman's gloved fingers, and raised his eyes toward the rooftops.

[identity profile] finestdetective.livejournal.com 2011-09-19 12:12 pm (UTC)(link)
Hard - that was his first thought - Batman was hard, not soft and warm and fleshy like a human should be but hard and cold. He had more time to soak it in this time, not overcome by shock, secured rather than snatched, so that he knew that he was safe. He had time to examine the fabric, to feel the armour under his fingertips, the hard shell that meant that Batman could take a fall down four stories, and get up and run away again.

So he lifted his hand and touched it - the symbol on his chest - and behind his eyes there was the tiniest flash of Gotham as he knew it. Skyscrapers and familiarity, even the smell of the place. Maybe he was getting sentimental--it passed.

How much must this thing weigh? His own kevlar vest was heavy enough--he was wearing it now, after all, and his shoulders would be bruised by the time he took it off. To carry all this, Batman must be as strong as an ox beneath it all. The cape alone--

And then they were flying upward, swooping higher, the cape wrapping around them. Gordon was introduced to that weight very personally, to the stresses and force of the grapple line, and against his better judgement he held on for dear life, clutched handfuls of the thick cape and summoned all his strength just to keep his eyes open.

The city flickered again. He saw Tri-corner from above, and he closed his eyes and inhaled. Gotham.

They landed.

Just like last time, he pretended to be just fine after the landing, keeping well away from the edge just until his stomach could catch up with him. The disorientation didn't help. He'd started seeing things. Right. Distance--distance was what he needed most.

"Different. You could say that."

He cast a glance at Batman, walked away, and braced his foot against the opposite ledge, looking over. It was dizzying, now he was looking down, but at least it was still an unfamiliar street. Carefully he stepped away, keeping his feet steady beneath him, meeting Batman's eyes across the space between them.

"You're going to ask me to tell you everything."

[identity profile] finestdetective.livejournal.com 2011-09-19 01:56 pm (UTC)(link)
"Scarecrow. Jonathan Crane." Who is Selina Kyle, he wants to ask, but doesn't. "And an enemy you wouldn't name. Crane was their agent, poisoning Gotham's water supply with his fear toxin. That was earlier this year."

"And then Maroni. Falcone. The usual scum. You want my colleagues and my social circle too?"

If he sounds impatient, it's because he is. He leans back too. It's odd watching Batman lean. Reminds him of the last time he saw him, struggling back to his feet, leaning against a wall as he gathered his strength to run.

His mouth was suddenly very dry.

"They don't remember any of it, and I'm pretty sure I didn't make it up."

[identity profile] finestdetective.livejournal.com 2011-09-19 04:48 pm (UTC)(link)
There was a certain feeling around Batman, an unmistakable sensation of belonging to something greater than he was. It was just a man in a cape, but the bearing of him said Gotham and reminded him of home. It said I know what I'm doing, and Gordon found comfort in that he couldn't deny. He was drawn to it, like water into a sponge, or light sucked up by the deepest, blackest darkness. And whether he liked it or not, he was a part of Batman, a peripherary to him, a satellite.

Like hell.

The 'Mine, not yours' jarred him back to life, brought back that edge of anger that said no way are you keeping me out of the loop, and he whirled to watch Batman, not about to let the man out of his sight. He would go, he knew, before Gordon had all the information he needed--just as long as Batman had asked all his questions. Not this time. Not this time; he wasn't going to take his eyes off him.

"Members of the MCU. Corrupt cops working for Maroni. There was a gambit--Joker set it up. Rachel Dawes, Harvey Dent, different sides of the city. You went after her, but they'd pulled a switch. You saved Dent, but she..."

A heavy pause.

"I'm sorry."

He remembered Batman's growl. Which one are you going for? he'd asked. Rachel. Anger and passion and fear. But Gordon, he'd been the one who was too late. Too late to save her, while Harvey burned.

"They were my cops. Dent warned me about them, but I refused to listen. My fault. That's why he put a gun to my son's head."

[identity profile] finestdetective.livejournal.com 2011-09-19 11:28 pm (UTC)(link)
As though there couldn't be anything more jarring than that. Gordon snapped his eyes toward him again, eyes flashing with the briefest spur of confusion before he got it under control.

"Rachel Dawes was Harvey's Assistant DA. She was the daughter of a family that used to serve the Waynes before the shooting that left their son an orphan. I'm sure you've heard the story."

Heard. Ignore the obvious, keep moving. It wasn't obvious if he wasn't looking, and he didn't want to know.

"You saved her life when the Joker threw her out of a party in Wayne's penthouse suite. I mean literally. Threw her.

"The name really means nothing to you, does it? I'll guess it means nothing to Dent either. Damn it--"

He wants to drive his fist into something, but the stonework is too hard, and his hands are too frail for all this self-flagellation.

"This thing's changed my life. All of it. And the three most important players in it don't remember a damned thing! Not even Rachel Dawes. Damn it." Because once wasn't enough.

Dropping his shoulders onto the ledge, Gordon crumpled over it. He'd done what he hadn't meant to, turned away from Batman, closed his eyes tightly against the City and the sound of the gulls, the waves crashing below. He was shaking again, from frustration and exhaustion. If he hadn't been sleeping before, how was he supposed to now?

"What the hell am I supposed to do?"

[identity profile] finestdetective.livejournal.com 2011-09-20 11:33 am (UTC)(link)
So he'd been right all along. "You're going to ask me to tell you everything." And so he had. Jim found himself exhaling the tension he felt at the soft touch on his shoulder. The reassurance was a welcome one, even from as unlikely a source as this.

Tell me so I will know it. So that someone else in this damn city would. Tell the man who he could rely on to stand there and understand everything. Tell the man to whom it would be enough if he did just that. They could stand in silence then, and everything could be fine for just a little while.

He wanted to ask: "Are you sure you have the time?" He didn't. The answer wasn't one that he actually wanted to hear. So instead he leant into the wall, looked out across the city.

"We were running a sting. Targetting the mobs' money with your help. Way above and beyond what we could have done down at the MCU otherwise. Radioactively marked bills. The Joker ran off with some of it, and then the whole lot vanished. A leak from within my department." That was the bitterest pill of all. As Captain he'd put his faith and trust in those people, and they'd screwed him.

"I never asked how you did it, but you dragged their accountant back from Hong Kong and we nailed the whole lot of them. And that's when they get wise. You're our strongest link, and without you we're only as good as we were before. So they set the Joker loose on you. Crazy--" He spits the curse out under his breath, takes off his glasses. "Said if you didn't turn yourself in people would die, then went after all the people connected to the case; Judge Surrillo, Commissioner Loeb, Harvey Dent. Two out of three isn't bad work, is it?"

And he blamed himself for that. He'd been standing in the damn office, the words on the tip of his tongue, when Loeb had crashed to the floor. Too late. Too fucking late.

"Joker named the Mayor as his next victim, and that's where I dropped out of the game. Took a bullet, faked my own death. I couldn't have him going after my family."

He wondered if that would even scan.

"After that they were out for your blood. Dent held a press conference - announced he was Batman - and I end up driving him down the underpass with that psychopath firing goddamn bazookas at me."

The story stops here. Gordon, falling quiet, slid his glasses back onto his nose and patted his pockets. Somewhere--there. His wallet, a picture of his family inside, just opposite the glistening GCPD badge. It said 'Captain Gordon, Major Crimes Unit, Gotham City Police Department' underneath. They hadn't even had time to change that. He pushed it along the wall.

"Barbara's eight. James is ten. They're my world."

[identity profile] finestdetective.livejournal.com 2011-09-20 03:10 pm (UTC)(link)
The truth was that Barbara had suffered the most from his efforts. She had been so torn up in grief over his death, and he had hated that he had to do that to her. It would - he had no doubt - have put an unreasonable strain on their marriage. Adding to the rest of them, he wouldn't be surprised if she left him this time; took James and just left. Back to Chicago, or maybe Keystone--somewhere safer.

"Thank you," he said, watching Batman as though he were a wild animal that had been tamed to alight on his doorstep. He touched the badge with care, traced his fingers above his family's photograph. It was touching to watch, and for the first time it really struck him:

This man is Commissioner Gordon's best friend.

It was a relationship that had been building, but it was by no means what Jim would call a friendship at home. They worked together. They relied on each other. They trusted each other. Gordon had become protective of Batman; even when it came to Harvey Dent it had been a matter that was discussed before it came to fruition. But this man. This terrifying man, this man who was fear to his enemies, cold even to the people who knew him - and oh, he had been watching - was warm with him in a way he couldn't have predicted. Warm like the Batman he knew. Human, and familiar.

He could almost deceive himself that they were the same.

Gordon didn't take the badge back. He soaked in the silence too and let his mind run like an engine warming up, the calm before the storm of his story's conclusion.

"I couldn't tell him--he had to believe I was dead." Batman. "He almost ran the Joker down. Dodged at the last second, almost killed himself. I was still dazed but I managed to take the Joker in myself. That's when everything went wrong. Maroni kidnapped Dent and Dawes. He used corrupt officers in my MCU to pull it off--officers Harvey had warned me about, people I trusted. So I have Joker in the MCU, my DA is missing, and the clown won't talk to me."

There's a bit he skips here. Batman's interrogation, his outrage, his anger, the door locked from the inside so he can beat his prisoner half to death. He doesn't have to say it, does he?

"Two bombs, two hostages, and only one of us with a military grade vehicle and the recklessness needed to get there in time. He saved Dent, but not before half his face was burned off. We were too late. Same time, the MCU is blown to pieces."
Edited 2011-09-20 15:12 (UTC)

[identity profile] finestdetective.livejournal.com 2011-09-20 05:39 pm (UTC)(link)
Again. It was an interesting word to just use like that, and immediately it had Jim wondering what he meant by it. 'Again'. Was it Harvey? Was it just the whole act of fighting and winning, but losing far more in the process? The Harvey here had the same face, so whatever had happened to him could count as 'again', couldn't it?

He tried not to think about it too much, and shook off the words with his shoulder.

"No point reassuring me of that. The story's not over yet, and even if it was, Batman, there's not much you can do for my guilt. That's something I have to live with. It makes it real. The moment I give it up, or forget, is the moment I let this place win."

He picked up his badge now, folding it closed and dropping it into his breast pocket where it belonged. It must have wandered during the commotion with the TV studio. Was that all today?

"The Joker's free still, and some guy comes forward to say he knows who Batman is. Joker puts a price on his head, and while we're busy he pays a little visit to Dent in hospital, gives him an idea. Harvey went after the corrupt cops with his coin, and he went after me. Indirectly, of course. You were busy with the Joker, and my family was in danger. So I went, even though I knew it was a trap."

He'd expected to die. But it was Harvey. Harvey who had been District Attorney for Gotham City and still been bright, still been untouchable. Harvey who was above hurting innocents. "I thought I could reason with him. He was a good man."

"Instead he puts his gun to my son's head, and tells me to tell him that it's going to be alright, even though I know it isn't. Just like he did for Dawes. That's when you sweep in--I don't even know how you found us, I just know what happened next. That you couldn't catch both of them. You couldn't even stop yourself falling.

"Damn it... I thought you were dead. Dent was. And there had to be an explanation. Someone had to take the fall."

Words unspoken. His look said it all: it said 'Forgive me'.
Edited 2011-09-20 17:43 (UTC)

[identity profile] finestdetective.livejournal.com 2011-09-20 06:30 pm (UTC)(link)
But not murder.

His mind echoed it with as much certainty as he knew was behind that mask, that voice.

"But for as long as it does, Dent's prosecution lasts. Those people stay in jail, and there's time to do something about it. If they'd known what he became - that he killed Maroni and those cops - the city would have never have forgiven him. And right then they needed their hero. They needed to believe in Harvey Dent."

And it wouldn't last. Yes. That was why he was begging for forgiveness. The cops would waste their time chasing Batman halfway across the city, and the slur would be there forever. The story would become uncertain, and Gordon's role in it would be thrown into question. He could be demoted again. He didn't care.

But it was the same look of determination he'd seen in Batman's expression then, too. It had been his plan, after all.

"You know me, don't you? Not just as Commissioner. It's more than that. How long have we been working together in your..." He didn't want to say it, but now the idea had been planted in his head it was the only thing that made sense. He ground his teeth before forcing out the word: "--world."

The whole thing made him sick. Alternate worlds, people who were the same who weren't his people. His daughter, her friends. Other Batpeople. Child soldiers. An older Commissioner Gordon, with so much sadness in his life--with the Joker in his life.

[identity profile] finestdetective.livejournal.com 2011-09-21 12:07 am (UTC)(link)
"Universe." Echoed, because it implies something greater than just the Earth, and that gives him a sick feeling of futility deep in his gut. Not something a police officer needs. There's aliens here. Aliens, from alien worlds. Not humans. Gotham is already big enough. The world is already big enough. He can't get his head around being that tiny. That insignificant, because if they are then what's the point of fighting to save Gotham?

After if the city is the same as everything else, then it has a cycle of growth--and eventually it turns back to dust, just like everything else. Futility. Uselessness.

His life is far too visceral, too full of gristle and struggle, to even let the thought in. He hasn't the time or patience to deal with it. Instead he listens to Batman talk. Fifteen years alongside him. Fifteen years older--that's the Gordon that these freaks know. It's honestly terrifying, or it would be if he had time for fear. Times of difficulty focused him, rather than spooking him, and more often than not it was that spirit that kept him alive.

"You're wrong. I didn't change the city. I sat on my hands for twenty years and watched corruption from the passenger seat of my squad car. My own partner for half of it. I wasn't a hero. Then you drop into my office and tell me you want to take down Falcone and fight corruption at the same time. Clean Gotham up. I asked you if you were one man, and you said 'Now we're two.'"

His meaning is sharp and clear, meeting those blank white eyes.

"We. Is that how it's going to be here?"

[identity profile] finestdetective.livejournal.com 2011-09-21 12:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Jim considered the question. He closed his eyes and thought about it hard for a few seconds. Would he wait for Batman? A man beneath a signal, staring up into the soft glow of light pollution that was the Gotham sky with a bleakness that said 'This is bigger than us' and a hopelessness sinking into his heart? No. No, he wouldn't. He couldn't afford to. As good as Batman was, Jim knew that he could be late. That a second more and his son would be dead. If it all happened again he would rush him; he would somehow get his son to safety and run Harvey over the edge and kill them both.

He couldn't wait for someone who might not come.

The same went for corruption. The same went for the killers that this Porter had brought here. They wanted Batman--fine. But that only meant they wouldn't see Gordon coming. He had to hope for that.

His hand reached out, brushing over the back of the other man's gauntlet, a fond touch - a farewell if he wanted it to be - and for a moment he saw a signal transposed over the unfamiliar skyline, as though they were standing on the roof of the MCU in another city. Waiting. His mind was made up.

"No," he answered, softly, all warmth rather than accusation. "I'm done waiting."

His hand fell away again, back to the wall in front of him, and Jim let his eyes fall away. If Batman wanted to vanish in that moment then he wouldn't blame him, but he hoped that their working relationship could continue here, as at home. He hoped, for the sake of the already deep feeling of loss in his hollowed out chest, that Batman would not add to it, and leave him alone here.

[identity profile] finestdetective.livejournal.com 2011-09-21 03:47 pm (UTC)(link)
"Other than the fact that he's crazy? Not much else. We got no name, no history, no record of him ever existing when we ran his prints. What we know about him could have been written on the back of a postage stamp."

Jim took off his glasses. They were still scratched up from when he fell; struck by Harvey on the back of the head. He was usually so careful with them, and now that he was here, he had neither their case nor his spares. He felt the imperfections on the surface rather than saw them, running his thumb back over the scratches.

"You see a lot of criminals in a career like mine. Everyone is doing it for some reason. People do it because it's easy, or because they can't see any other way to support themselves or their kids. Mostly it's money. What isn't? But him? He stole the mob's money; millions and millions of dollars. And from what I hear he burned it. It's easy to write him off as crazy, but he's not. He's a genius. The DNA evidence he left on a body belonged to his next victims. The traps he'd planted were carefully chosen so they wouldn't be triggered until exactly the right time. He even maneuvered us into shutting down the bridges and tunnels so that we'd end up shipping prisoners out by ferry."

And the last bit, the bit that really stung:

"I faked my death to catch the son of a bitch, and you know what? He was planning for that, too. I've never had to deal with that kind of criminal before. Someone who's so much leaps and bounds ahead of the mobsters and slum lords that it's all I can do to keep up, let alone get the jump on them." A look. "It was all you could do, too. That's why it couldn't just be you--that's why I had to save you."

[identity profile] finestdetective.livejournal.com 2011-09-22 06:02 pm (UTC)(link)
James paused, just listening to the other man, quietly judging what he was saying. He's not a performer. Meaning that this Joker was. He has a goal. Meaning that this Joker didn't. It was a terrifying thought. An audience...was that what this man wanted? He tilted his head slightly, frowning at the faraway city lights. Rich people spending money, poor people struggling over it. This city, like any other--like Chicago, New York and San Francisco. Not like Gotham. Gotham was special.

And Gotham's villains were special too--seemingly no matter which world they were from.

"You were. You were able to deal with him." He didn't know why he felt he needed to reassure him - this was Batman - but he did so none the less. He did so with all the warmth and companionship he could muster into his voice. For this man it was plenty.

"The ferries didn't go up. You caught Joker, and then you were even there for me. It can't happen like that again. I can't hold my breath and expect you to fly in and save the day at the last second. The real world doesn't work like that.

"So me, the Joker. Gotham or this city, I don't care. I'll be ready."

Determination. Confidence. He turned around again and sat on the very edge, arms folded, looking Batman straight in the eye.

"'Now we're two,' Batman. Partners."

He was looking for an equality that he wasn't sure the other could really offer him.