Noelia (noelia_g) wrote,
Noelia
noelia_g

Fic: What blurs and what is clear (4/5)

Title: What blurs and what is clear
Pairing, Characters: Jim/Bruce (eventually), Montoya, Stephens and Bullock.
Rating: PG.
Worcount: 1290 for this part


Cautious optimism, as it turned out, translated into hours of waiting for Gordon to wake up. They all wanted to be here when he did, but it was greatly counterproductive, so they settled the system through the time honored tradition of rock-paper-scissors. Stephens wasn't allowed to try, as he was the only one who actually had someone to get back home to, so Montoya and Bullock played for it ('two out of three', 'three out of five', 'shut up Harvey, before I kick you).

They told her to call if anything changed and reluctantly left, and she thought that this was the first time when she volunteered to wait at a hospital. She hated hospitals almost as much as Bullock did, and he was pretty much pouting when she kicked him out.

She dismissed the idea of waiting in the corridor like the guard had, and settled into the slightly more comfortable chair in Gordon's room. Which turned out to be a very good idea, since Gordon woke up three hours later, and a bad idea, because she almost slept right through it.

"Where the hell are my glasses," woke her up, along with Gordon trying to find them on the side table in the semi darkness of the room, knocking over the empty cup and swearing at it.

"Good to see you feeling better, sir," she muttered, aiming for wry and arriving at pretty damn happy.

"Montoya," he nodded at her with acknowledgment. "Seen my glasses?"

"Yes, sir," she said smartly, and waited a beat until she got the slightly annoyed questioning look. "The paramedics trampled over them while they were restraining you. I think the gurney ran over them, too," she added, grinning.

"Perfect," he muttered, leaning back against the pillows, as if the conversation had been exhausting. It probably was, Montoya thought, he still looked as if he was on the death's doors, but the annoyance was a good sign. "What did I miss?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Still no sign of Isley, we've searched the river, but I don't think we're that lucky, she'll be back." They always were. "Oh, and together with Bullock and Stephens we broke a few laws, conspired with a known criminal and gave you a drug acquired by shady means," she volunteered, figuring it was better to have it out in the open while Commish was still connected to the morphine drip or whatnot.

The drugs seemed to be working, because all she got was a nod. "Well done."

So, not fired. This was a good thing. She hesitated. "I'll go and call the others, tell them you woke up. Do you need anything? Should I..." she was going to say 'call anyone', but stopped herself just in time. The divorce was recent enough for everyone to awkwardly avoid the topic.

"I'm fine," he assured her, and only then did she noticed that his gaze, however unfocused, kept sliding towards the window, trying to make out the shapes of the shadows. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

"Sure. I'll go and be... elsewhere now," she told him with a wide smile, and he pulled his eyes away from the window for long enough to send her a glare.

"I can fire you," he said, and she didn't laugh. Much. But mostly, she just grinned widely and made her escape before she did something really undignified and silly, like hugging her boss. Although it was a close call.

*

After the doors closed behind Renee, whose shoulders were shaking with a held back laughter, Jim shut his eyes for a longer moment. If a short conversation like this one was that exhausting, he really didn't want to know how close he came to dying. Thankfully, apparently they were able to manage without him, which was comforting, in a rather grim sort of way. And they worked with Batman, another thing he worried about, but it seemed it had all gone well.

"I told you they should know," he muttered to the empty room, and wasn't disappointed when the room turned out not to be that empty.

"You did."

Jim smirked at that, even though smirking made him feel woozy. But it was close to getting the Bat to admit that Jim had been right about something, so he felt he had the smirk privileges for now. "Does that mean we can start working on clearing your name?" he asked, not really expecting an answer; and he didn't get any. He rolled his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, the blurriness was making him even more nauseous than he was already.

"Here," Batman pushed something into his hand, and Jim looked down confusedly, then put on the glasses he was given.

"Thank you," he said, smiling gently, and then realised with some surprise that the glasses felt familiar, and that in fact it had been his own spare pair, the one he kept in the drawer of the bedside table back home. "Did you break into my house to get my glasses?" he asked incredulously, and had a rare pleasure of seeing the Bat look downright uncomfortable and just slightly guilty.

"You should get better locks," was all he said however, standing still, as if he realised that once he stepped closer to the bed, melting seamlessly into the shadows was going to be problematic.

"I'll look into that," he agreed, not really intending to do so in the slightest. After all, anyone really wanting to break in could do so with any kind of security measures. And besides, it's not like he had anything really worth stealing there, and any attempts at his life were more likely to be carried out at the office, where he spent the majority of his time, and the precinct had much better security. There were some benefits to his workaholism.

He wasn't called on the bluff, but nonetheless, the Bat looked as if he wanted to say something. Jim was a little surprised he could tell; neither the stance nor what little was visible of the vigilante's face had changed, no tells or signs to see.

But nothing was voiced, the silence stretching between them, yet somehow escaping the uncomfortable. Jim's eyes were beginning to close, probably courtesy of whatever they had him on. There were things to say still, but he'd settle on the one, reaching out. The Bat was standing just a little too far away, but his hand moved automatically, letting Jim's fingers grasp his.

"Thank you," Jim said quietly, and for once he didn't get the same old answer, which was just as well, because he had promised himself to actually hit Batman if he tries that 'no thanks necessary' crap again, and right now he didn't think he could raise his hand much higher, less alone form a fist.

"You should rest," Batman said, or at least something along those lines, Jim wasn't quite sure, his eyes were closed already and he took off his glasses to haphazardly place them on the table.

He thought he could at least get some sleep his body apparently needed; he was pretty sure Montoya would be back in a while, with at least Gerry and Harvey in tow, and that trio wasn't conductive to getting any rest. He wouldn't mind it if the Bat stayed till then, but it wasn't exactly the smartest idea, so he didn't say anything.

He didn't hear when the man left, but then again, that was the point of that entire stealth shtick.
Tags: batman, fanfic, gordon/batman, what blurs and what is clear
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