Pairings/Characters (this chapter): The Angel Of Death (Bruce)/Jim (See Author’s Notes), Renee Montoya, Harvey Bullock
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: Jim soldiers on without his Angel.
Date Of Completion: February 23, 2009
Date Of Posting: June 29, 2009
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC and Warner Brothers do, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 483
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 HOUSE ON THE HILL
Sits on the hill,
Dark and brooding,
"City Of Darkness"
Jim woodenly went through the motions of working his cases, hardly bothering to go home. He hit the streets as often as possible, still protected by his Guardian Angel…only through reputation now. He didn’t bother to disavow anyone of the myth. If criminals realized that his Protector was gone, they would gleefully come gunning for him.
“Sir, there’s a call in for a murder on the Upper West Side,” Montoya said as she poked her head into the office.
Jim grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and hurried after her.
The Commissioner’s limousine rolled through the streets of Gotham. They passed through the decaying downtown and neighborhoods, eventually emerging into better neighborhoods on the outskirts of the city.
It was here that high up on a distant hill, the silhouette of Wayne Manor could be seen. The house had been long-abandoned, the son of Thomas and Martha Wayne long-missing. He had disappeared after the parole hearing of Joe Chill, his parents’ killer. Chill had been murdered by a Falcone hitman, and no one could find the young Prince of Gotham after that.
Jim remembered the young man as a shell-shocked eight-year-old boy, huddled in the squad chief’s cramped office, clinging to his father’s coat. He hadn’t spoken a word since he’d been taken from his kneeling position by his parents’ blood-splattered bodies.
Jim had tried to comfort the child, even putting Thomas Wayne’s coat around the little boy’s shoulders. He’d been so cold and trembling.
He wondered what had happened to that little boy all those years later.
The limousine stopped in front of the gates of an impressive mansion. The heavy iron gates opened and Jim’s driver guided the car up the winding driveway.
Jim felt like he was in an old Agatha Christie novel as the distressed butler ushered him and Montoya into the drawing room where two detectives were already waiting. A body was sprawled in front of the fireplace.
Detective Harvey Bullock said, “Fireplace poker’s missing.”
Jim bent down and examined the wound in the back of the victim’s head.
Montoya took notes while Jim studied the scene. Forensics arrived and began their work.
Jim jammed his hands into his trenchcoat pockets, watching his people at work. Police work calmed him in its nuts-and-bolts, much needed in this city of chaos.
He watched everything, wandering out to the garden after the work was done. He hunched against the cold, glancing at the brooding Manor overlooking the decaying city.
Fitting that Gotham has a haunted house keeping watch over her.
Shaking his head, Jim left the garden to go to his car.
High up on the hill, a dark-winged figure hovered over Wayne Manor.
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