Fic: The Space Between (part eleven)
Apr. 26th, 2009 10:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
noelia_gTitle: The Space Between (Time Between Meeting and Leaving)
Pairing: Jim/Bruce, eventually.
Rating: PG-13 for now.
Word count: 1756
Jim had barely entered the apartment, his hand hovering over the light switch, when his cellphone perked up, showing Montoya’s caller id.
The day had been incredibly long and tiring, he had been going through the files of every person connected with Timmy Fallon’s case, coming up with nothing substantial or relevant or helpful. Montoya hadn’t had any luck with her informants, and switched into looking for Zsasz’ hiding place, coordinating with other detectives. He really hoped she was calling about a break on one aspect of the case or another, they could use it.
“Gordon,” he muttered into the phone, and from her first word could tell she was in a good mood, her voice chipper and loud over the background noises.
“We have Zsasz. Anonymous call to the tip line, and he had some bad luck with his residence, minor accident with the stairs, you know how it is in deserted buildings…” she reported in an almost sing-songing voice, as if she was reciting a nursery rhyme, which meant that this was the official, press conference material and not the true story.
Anonymous call probably translated into Batman leaving her a message, and ‘accident with the stairs’ was a flimsy excuse for any cuts and bruises Zsasz might have suffered in the encounter with the vigilante. Jim hated the lies and half truths, but right now they were necessary if they hoped for the conviction to stick.
“You have him at Central?” he asked, and upon getting an affirmative ‘mhm’, he sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s a chance he’ll talk?”
She sighed into the phone. “I know those were good news, but let’s not get carried away. He did confess to all the murders happily, but is not giving us the name of the dirtbag who snitched. ‘Heard it on the street’ is his story, and he’s sticking to it.”
Hoping for a bigger break would be too much, Gordon supposed. They were going to have to do all the legwork themselves. “I’ll be over there in half an hour,” he said, taking a step back and fishing his car keys from his pocket. “If you…”
“Boss, we got it,” she interrupted him pointedly. “He’s not going anywhere, you’ll have the entire day tomorrow to play mind games in the interrogation room. And I bet it’ll be even easier when you’re not sleep deprived.”
She was right, of course, which would have been annoying all on its own, without the added discomfort of sounding like his ex-wife. “I guess you might have a point.”
“Of course I do. And yes, I’ll be taking my own advice and getting some shuteye myself,” she added, stealing his line. “Can’t look exhausted at the party tomorrow. And you’re not getting out of that either, boss,” she finished and disconnected, before he could protest, which was probably the point.
One of these days, he was going to fire her for insubordination. He’d have to rehire her later, which was just additional paperwork, but it might be worth it.
“Zsasz is not going to talk,” Batman said from where he was standing next to the window, and it took a lot of effort for Jim not to jump at that.
“You really think it’s wise, adding a breaking and entering to your already impressive rap sheet?” he asked tiredly, moving away from the light switch, and closing the doors carefully.
“I don’t think it constitutes breaking in, considering your security measures.”
“Was that a joke?” Jim asked suspiciously, stepping further in, sitting down on the armrest of the couch. With the Bat, it was usually hard to tell, the deadpan was very dead in his case.
“Not really. Your locks, however, certainly are.” It was a little too tired to be an attempt at humour, a little too angry. “Unless you really are aiming to be the sixth Gotham Commissioner killed in as many years.”
There was that. Of course, getting lectures on being cautious and careful from Batman was just a little surreal, and about as convincing as Jim giving advice on workaholism.
Jim thought about pointing that out, but it was late, and he didn’t think he had the strength to argue about anything right now. “Well, since you have no trouble letting yourself in, I suppose you wouldn’t have any qualms about taking care of that, too,” he offered, just a little bit irritatingly.
“Jim,” Batman said, making one step forward, his voice full of exasperation and something else. Jim had expected it, but no yet, not so soon, not now.
He looked up anyway, instinctively reaching to take off his glasses, the world becoming slightly blurred as well as dark. They were close enough now; he could reach out and touch the Kevlar. His fingers itched a little with impatience, but he didn’t move.
“I don’t,” the Bat started and didn’t finish; an unfamiliar note in his voice, slight shake that took Jim a long moment to identify as uncertainty. Paradoxically, it made him decide, no matter how bad of an idea it probably was.
“Me neither,” he shrugged, moving before he could talk himself out of it.
Kissing Batman should, as a rule, be surreal and strange. Jim doubted anyone ever thought about the man beyond the suit and the symbol. Even if they had, this wasn’t what would come to mind first, it was natural and surprisingly easy. And once you started, it was incredibly difficult to stop.
“Of all the bad ideas I ever had,” Jim muttered, somewhere between the moment when Batman’s gloves came off and the one when he was tugging at Jim’s tie and shirt. “No,” he decided. “It’s not even in the top ten of the worst ones,” he finished, shaking his head slightly.
Batman huffed, something that might have been a laugh, and then reached to his cowl, unlocking something before Jim could stop him. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, wondering, if it was dark enough, if his vision was bad enough not to make out the features.
He wanted all of this, wanted Batman’s hands back on him almost desperately, and wanted to know and to be there for the man under the mask, but he wasn’t sure if they were ready for even part of it, much less everything. That Batman trusted him enough, this was astonishing and amazing, but Jim wasn’t sure he deserved that much yet. He had left the city and just came back, and it still felt too much like a betrayal.
“Jim,” Batman muttered impatiently, and Jim unconsciously shifted closer. The voice was low and harsh, but not quite the usual growl, just a normal voice clouded with need and arousal, and Jim opened his eyes, breathing harsh.
It wasn’t only his need, and it wasn’t only him taking risks here, and that was all he really needed to know. The room was still dark and blurry, and even with the cowl out of the way, he still had no idea how the Bat looked like, but that didn’t matter. He knew what he needed to know.
Pairing: Jim/Bruce, eventually.
Rating: PG-13 for now.
Word count: 1756
Jim had barely entered the apartment, his hand hovering over the light switch, when his cellphone perked up, showing Montoya’s caller id.
The day had been incredibly long and tiring, he had been going through the files of every person connected with Timmy Fallon’s case, coming up with nothing substantial or relevant or helpful. Montoya hadn’t had any luck with her informants, and switched into looking for Zsasz’ hiding place, coordinating with other detectives. He really hoped she was calling about a break on one aspect of the case or another, they could use it.
“Gordon,” he muttered into the phone, and from her first word could tell she was in a good mood, her voice chipper and loud over the background noises.
“We have Zsasz. Anonymous call to the tip line, and he had some bad luck with his residence, minor accident with the stairs, you know how it is in deserted buildings…” she reported in an almost sing-songing voice, as if she was reciting a nursery rhyme, which meant that this was the official, press conference material and not the true story.
Anonymous call probably translated into Batman leaving her a message, and ‘accident with the stairs’ was a flimsy excuse for any cuts and bruises Zsasz might have suffered in the encounter with the vigilante. Jim hated the lies and half truths, but right now they were necessary if they hoped for the conviction to stick.
“You have him at Central?” he asked, and upon getting an affirmative ‘mhm’, he sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s a chance he’ll talk?”
She sighed into the phone. “I know those were good news, but let’s not get carried away. He did confess to all the murders happily, but is not giving us the name of the dirtbag who snitched. ‘Heard it on the street’ is his story, and he’s sticking to it.”
Hoping for a bigger break would be too much, Gordon supposed. They were going to have to do all the legwork themselves. “I’ll be over there in half an hour,” he said, taking a step back and fishing his car keys from his pocket. “If you…”
“Boss, we got it,” she interrupted him pointedly. “He’s not going anywhere, you’ll have the entire day tomorrow to play mind games in the interrogation room. And I bet it’ll be even easier when you’re not sleep deprived.”
She was right, of course, which would have been annoying all on its own, without the added discomfort of sounding like his ex-wife. “I guess you might have a point.”
“Of course I do. And yes, I’ll be taking my own advice and getting some shuteye myself,” she added, stealing his line. “Can’t look exhausted at the party tomorrow. And you’re not getting out of that either, boss,” she finished and disconnected, before he could protest, which was probably the point.
One of these days, he was going to fire her for insubordination. He’d have to rehire her later, which was just additional paperwork, but it might be worth it.
“Zsasz is not going to talk,” Batman said from where he was standing next to the window, and it took a lot of effort for Jim not to jump at that.
“You really think it’s wise, adding a breaking and entering to your already impressive rap sheet?” he asked tiredly, moving away from the light switch, and closing the doors carefully.
“I don’t think it constitutes breaking in, considering your security measures.”
“Was that a joke?” Jim asked suspiciously, stepping further in, sitting down on the armrest of the couch. With the Bat, it was usually hard to tell, the deadpan was very dead in his case.
“Not really. Your locks, however, certainly are.” It was a little too tired to be an attempt at humour, a little too angry. “Unless you really are aiming to be the sixth Gotham Commissioner killed in as many years.”
There was that. Of course, getting lectures on being cautious and careful from Batman was just a little surreal, and about as convincing as Jim giving advice on workaholism.
Jim thought about pointing that out, but it was late, and he didn’t think he had the strength to argue about anything right now. “Well, since you have no trouble letting yourself in, I suppose you wouldn’t have any qualms about taking care of that, too,” he offered, just a little bit irritatingly.
“Jim,” Batman said, making one step forward, his voice full of exasperation and something else. Jim had expected it, but no yet, not so soon, not now.
He looked up anyway, instinctively reaching to take off his glasses, the world becoming slightly blurred as well as dark. They were close enough now; he could reach out and touch the Kevlar. His fingers itched a little with impatience, but he didn’t move.
“I don’t,” the Bat started and didn’t finish; an unfamiliar note in his voice, slight shake that took Jim a long moment to identify as uncertainty. Paradoxically, it made him decide, no matter how bad of an idea it probably was.
“Me neither,” he shrugged, moving before he could talk himself out of it.
Kissing Batman should, as a rule, be surreal and strange. Jim doubted anyone ever thought about the man beyond the suit and the symbol. Even if they had, this wasn’t what would come to mind first, it was natural and surprisingly easy. And once you started, it was incredibly difficult to stop.
“Of all the bad ideas I ever had,” Jim muttered, somewhere between the moment when Batman’s gloves came off and the one when he was tugging at Jim’s tie and shirt. “No,” he decided. “It’s not even in the top ten of the worst ones,” he finished, shaking his head slightly.
Batman huffed, something that might have been a laugh, and then reached to his cowl, unlocking something before Jim could stop him. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, wondering, if it was dark enough, if his vision was bad enough not to make out the features.
He wanted all of this, wanted Batman’s hands back on him almost desperately, and wanted to know and to be there for the man under the mask, but he wasn’t sure if they were ready for even part of it, much less everything. That Batman trusted him enough, this was astonishing and amazing, but Jim wasn’t sure he deserved that much yet. He had left the city and just came back, and it still felt too much like a betrayal.
“Jim,” Batman muttered impatiently, and Jim unconsciously shifted closer. The voice was low and harsh, but not quite the usual growl, just a normal voice clouded with need and arousal, and Jim opened his eyes, breathing harsh.
It wasn’t only his need, and it wasn’t only him taking risks here, and that was all he really needed to know. The room was still dark and blurry, and even with the cowl out of the way, he still had no idea how the Bat looked like, but that didn’t matter. He knew what he needed to know.
