Pairings/Characters (this chapter): The Angel Of Death (Bruce)/Jim (See Author’s Notes), Jake Creighton, Renee Montoya
Genres: AU, Drama
Rating (this chapter): PG-13
Warnings: Not sure if warnings are necessary, but it’s quasi-religious imagery.
General Summary: The Angel Of Death becomes Jim Gordon’s Guardian Angel…but can this arrangement last?
Chapter Summary: The Angel Of Death is furious with Jim after the hostage situation.
Date Of Completion: February 22, 2009
Date Of Posting: June 26, 2009
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC and Warner Brothers do, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 731
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Notes: Yes, this is a Bruce/Jim series, though it will be pretty unusual. ;) Bruce-as-The Angel Of Death is a character I created in The Better Angels, a Clark/Bruce story I wrote last year. You need not have read that story to understand this one. And if ever a ‘verse fit…! ;)
The entire series can be found here.
The Dark Angel
And with him
"City Of Darkness"
Darkness swallowed up the flash of light, the rustle of wings loud even as the hostages screamed.
Jim saw it all in slow motion: the spark of gunfire, the contorted face of the gunman, the hostages reacting in horror.
He felt strangely calm even as he knew that he was going to die.
Then the Darkness descended, the black-handled Sword gleaming in the bank’s lights, the amethysts on the hilt glittering as the strong arm of the Angel Of Death wielded his weapon.
“What the fuck…!” screamed Creighton.
The Sword had blocked the bullet, and now knocked the gun out of Creighton’s hand.
“Insidious varlet! Would that it were your Time!”
Creighton started to run, but the Angel whacked his legs with the Sword and sent him sprawling.
Jim rushed forward and cuffed the robber. He spoke into his walkie-talkie, “All clear!” and roughly dragged Creighton to his feet, shoving him up against a pillar.
The police burst in, the Angel gone. The hostages were wide-eyed with shock.
“Good collar, Commissioner,” said Montoya.
“Book him for me. I’ll be along soon.”
Montoya nodded, and EMTs were attending to the hostages. Jim went out to the alley behind the store.
“Why?” rasped the familiar voice from a rooftop.
“It’s my job…”
The Angel of Death swooped down, rage coming off him in waves.
“It was foolhardy!”
“I can’t lead by always staying behind.”
“You should have waited for me!”
Jim’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need a babysitter!”
Death’s wings trembled. “I am your Guardian Angel, not some caretaker of children!”
“I appreciate your concern, but I have to do what I think best.”
Death’s wings lifted as he ascended from the alley. “Then I shall do the same. Goodbye, James Gordon.”
Jim watched as his Protector disappeared into the sky.
Damnit! I can’t use him as a crutch.
So why did Jim feel so empty?
Jim kept looking for his Guardian Angel as the days passed but saw him no more. He felt as if part of him was missing, the comfort of that shadowy presence gone.
He stubbornly insisted to himself that he would have done the same thing if he had to do it all over again.
I can’t lose my nerve. I can’t ask people to do what I won’t do myself.
And he had to get that across to his Angel.
But he still regretted the argument.
Jim worked his usual long hours, drinking too much bad coffee and craving cigarettes. He worked the toughest cases, occasionally glancing out the window, but no Guardian Angel was ever there.
Jim grew more withdrawn as he worked without cease…
The Angel Of Death flew ceaselessly, over mountain and meadow and sea. He needed to leave the pestilence of Gotham.
His heart ached.
Jim Gordon had foolishly allowed himself to go into danger. He was too important! Why, Gotham would be spared because of him! And…and…he was just too important. He had to be more responsible.
He let the rage course through him at Jim Gordon’s cavalier recklessness. And what if he, the Angel Of Death, had failed to prevent death?
“Your Time has not come, Jim Gordon!” he cried, lifting his concealed face up to Heaven.
He flew and flew, for days and nights, yet inevitably, found himself turning back to the decaying city on the coast.
Death’s fingers curled tightly around the hilt of his Sword, heart pounding. He crouched on a rooftop, wings folded and cape fluttering as he gazed out over the alleys of Gotham.
He felt that disturbing nagging feeling at the back of his mind again. He had experienced it more than once since his arrival in this benighted city.
He felt great pain at times but it was worse than ever in this dark alley, deep in a decaying neighborhood, old posters advertising movies long-faded on the crumbling brick walls.
And the loneliness was…so much worse now.
He rested his crossed arms on his crouched knees and bowed his head, dark hood brushing his arms, letting the cold night winds blow over his body as his cape swirled wildly around him.
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