Pairing: Jim/Bruce, eventually.
Rating: PG-13 for now.
Word count: 1756
Jim managed to get about two hours of sleep between getting home and Montoya’s morning call to his cell.
“Boss, I think I have something on why Zsasz is back,” she said the moment he picked up and gave a semi-coherent hello.
“That about Timmy Fallon waking up from his coma?” he asked, feeling blindly for his glasses and almost managing to knock over the lamp on the bedside table.
There was a pause, and then she sighed. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed or annoyed when you do that,” she told him dryly. “You have him under the security detail already?”
“Of course,” he put on his glasses and sat up, glancing at the clock. “Listen, get Bullock and Stephens and meet me for breakfast at Kelly’s, there’s something we need to go over.”
She was quiet for another moment, pondering the implications, then he could almost hear her smile. “If you’re buying, boss, I’m there,” she said before disconnecting.
By the time he got to Kelly’s, Stephens was already there, studying his heart attack in making of a meal with fascination. “I missed this,” he informed Jim before digging in happily.
“I would think you capable of getting a breakfast on your own,” Jim said, waving at the waitress, Sandy, who had been working here two years ago and who hadn’t changed one bit.
“Easier said than done. The wife insists I eat healthily. And besides, it’s really not the same without you. And it’s not politeness, it’s the harsh truth; they like you better than me and when you’re here, we get better food.”
Jim shook his head at that, stopping only when the waitress approached. “Your usual, commissioner?” she asked, and he raised his eyebrows.
“You actually still remember?” he asked, pleased, and Sandy shrugged.
“Told you so,” Stephens said pointedly. “They like you better.”
“I tip better,” Jim said, turning in the direction of raised voices entering the diner, belonging to Montoya and Bullock.
“All I’m saying is, you should introduce the guy to us, Renee. We’ll see if he’s good for you, and threaten him a little, just in case.”
“One, I do my own threatening when necessary. Two, there’s no guy, Harvey,” she said, a little bit too loud, all too close to stomping her foot. Stephens snorted into his coffee, which meant that he apparently figured it out sometime while Jim was gone. Bullock apparently hadn’t.
“Renee, come on, we worry,” Bullock insisted, causing Gerry to snort more openly. Montoya just gave Bullock a hard look, and proceeded to order enough pancakes to feed an army.
“Why we here, commish?” Harvey asked finally, after half of their breakfast was gone, and Jim sighed.
“Montoya probably told you about Timmy Fallon already,” he paused to get the nods before continuing. “Someone had to clue Zsasz in to his awakening, we need to find out who.”
“You think it’s someone on the force. One of us,” Montoya got it first, pushing away her plate, grimacing as if she had just lost all the appetite.
“I don’t think anything, Montoya. But I have a rather bad feeling about it and would like this figured out sooner rather than later.”
Just the suspicion was enough to ruin the cheerful mood for a long while, as they seriously discussed the steps and ways to find out the leak. Montoya’s tea had gone completely cold, and she grimaced drinking it, but downed it nonetheless.
“You know,” she said slowly, pushing pieces of pancakes around her plate aimlessly. “Me and Anna, we joined the force around the same time. She lived three streets away. I wonder sometimes, what if it was me?”
“Don’t be stupid, Montoya,” Bullock said gruffly. “It would never be you.”
She shrugged, smiling sadly, fingers tightening around the fork. “What if it was my mother? My hospital bills?”
“Montoya,” Jim said sharply, looking at her long enough for her to look back. “I don’t think you would ever expose my family to any danger,” he said, letting his voice rise in a question and she shook her head wordlessly, her expression enough of an answer. “So no, it would never be you.”
She nodded, and sat silently for a long moment, before nodding again, more decidedly. “I have a few C.I.s that may know if anyone is selling out the information. Provided it’s not just Zsasz’ informant, we might have some luck.”
“It’s a start,” Jim agreed. “I know someone else who’s looking into that,” he said slowly. “Along with Montoya’s informants, let’s hope something will turn up. The other priority now, is getting Zsasz off the streets, we can look for the leak later. I want everyone who is available on this one, six bodies is more than enough.”
“On it,” Montoya nodded, standing up and reaching for her wallet. Jim waved her away.
“You’re getting the next one, detective. Take Harvey and start on those informants of yours,” he added and she hesitated before leaving, already being bugged by Harvey about her ‘boyfriend’ again.
“One day someone has to take Bullock aside and explain things to him,” Stephens said wonderingly. “Or else Montoya will lose her patience and spell them out, and that isn’t going to be pretty.”
“Be my guest,” Jim shrugged, taking a sip of his cold coffee and grimacing. “I had no idea she was so worked up about Ramirez.”
“They were sort of friends. It got to everyone, she was one of us, from the MCU…” he glanced at Gordon pointedly. “You’re not the only one beating yourself up about the corruption and the dirty cops, Jim. But if you don’t mind me saying, we’re also not the only city in the world that’s fighting those.”
“It somehow seems worse here,” he muttered and Stephens shrugged again, tearing off a piece of bread and wiping the remnants of the melted butter from his plate with it.
“Everything does,” he agreed. “Speaking of,” he added, seemingly a propos of nothing, “how are things with the Bat?”
“What do you mean?”
“Jim, how long have we known each other?” Gerry asked, but from the way he continued immediately it was clear that he meant it as a rhetorical question. “I’m here if you want to talk about anything, although if it’s what I think it is, I’d rather you didn’t want to talk about it,” he declared and stood up, dropping two notes on the table, then, after glancing at Sandy, adding another two. “We’ll see if the coffee improves for me,” he said in a wondering tone of someone conducting an experiment.
Jim rolled his eyes after him, but it was not really heartfelt. If Stephens had seen it, it meant the entire thing was worse than he thought. He would be more comfortable in ignoring it, but in the last few days he had seen the Bat more times than in months before he had left.
It was slowly shaping up to be inevitable, and, to be honest, he had no real desire to fight it. Which meant that he was going to be spending at least a part of his evening on his balcony, pretending to be enjoying the night air, pretending to wait only for the information on the case.