Title: Life Is Not All Fun And Games
Author: gaudy night
Rating: G
Summary: Bruce Wayne lays awake in bed the morning following the events of In Cold Blood.
A/N: Cliché #8 in my NaNoWriMo series, Jim Gordon’s Life As a Series of Clichés.
Word Count: 1,139

Bruce Wayne was no stranger to injury or nightmares. His regular nighttime activities as well as a traumatic childhood event had given him plenty of experience on both accounts. But he learned to handle it well, to rise above it. As a boy, he’d had his father there for comfort, and later, Alfred, to guide him through some dark nights. As a grown man, he’d learned at the feet of Ra’s al Ghul how to conquer his fears and use them to his advantage.

He could handle almost anything on his own. And if he needed more, Alfred would be there. Or Fox. And now, Gordon.

Bruce shifted slightly to study the man beside him, being careful not to disturb the bed’s other occupant. He looked down at Jim Gordon sleeping by his side. Gordon was tough, and Bruce knew he would pull through sooner or later. Yet it grieved him to see Gordon struggle in his sleep, in obvious pain. The bruise on the other man’s upper shoulder was deepening to almost black, gradually spreading over the entire area. Bruce winced.

At the distance, he saw the first rays of light appear over Gotham. Gordon would wake soon. Bruce debated whether to leave or stay. Leave meaning, getting out of bed under the pretense of making breakfast, but really in a effort to prevent Gordon from waking up in an uncomfortable situation. Their physical relationship was progressing quite nicely, slowly building into the inevitable. They were still exploring each other, discovering what the other liked. But they had steered clear of the bed or any mention of it. They’d agreed they would take it slowly, but a small, selfish part of him wished Gordon would wake and see them like this. Bruce liked pushing against Gordon’s sensibilities, to see how far they could go until Gordon stopped them. They had their little games to play. He had to admit it turned him on a little when he caused Gordon to panic. He shook his head. He really should reevaluate that not-so-healthy aspect of their relationship.

But the better part of him knew Gordon didn’t need a reality check at this moment. He carefully lifted the other man’s arm away from him and attempted to extricate himself from his embrace. Gordon instinctively gripped him tighter. He slept on, a slight frown on his face.

Never mind.

Bruce continued to study him. Gordon looked so worn. Dark circles were under his eyes. His brow furrowed. A light stubble growing along his jaw line. Mouth slightly open in sleep. He looked beautiful. Bruce pressed a kiss to Gordon’s forehead and hugged him tighter.

Last night had felt like the longest night of his life. Bruce tried to hold him tight, but Gordon fought against him in sleep, crying out and trying to free himself, kicking the covers away over and over again. Bruce let him go, but Gordon thrashed wildly, aggravating his wound. Bruce turned on the lights and tried to shake him awake, “Jim, Jim. Wake up!”

Gordon moaned, “No… no… don’t shoot… God, please.”

Bruce was scared. He felt helpless as he watched Gordon battled his demons on his own. He tried again, “Shh, shh. It’s okay.”

Eventually, Gordon settled into an uneasy slumber, a thin sheen of sweat covering his body. Bruce relaxed. He placed the covers back on Gordon, and he lay back down on the bed, allowing sleep to overtake him, only to wake up a few minutes later to Gordon’s cries. The cycle repeated itself again and again.

After the last bout, Bruce raised his eyes to the ceiling and prayed for the first time in a long time. He pleaded, “God, please help him.”

As Bruce lay in bed, contemplating what he should do, he felt Gordon stir beside him. Jim was awake. Before he could say something to calm the other man, Bruce felt him tense up. Gordon stifled a harsh groan. With a lot of effort, he pulled away from Bruce and fell onto his back, breathing heavily. The tremendous pain in his shoulder overtook his senses. He clenched his fists, his eyes tightly shut. He turned his head into his pillow, biting the fabric to keep from screaming.

Immediately, Bruce was up in a flash. “Jim!”

Gordon writhed in pain.

Shit. Bruce grabbed his pants from off the floor and pulled out his phone. “Alfred, we need you.” He gave Alfred a brief summary. Then, “Please come quickly.”

He hung up and waited for help to come.

Alfred arrived within ten minutes. Bruce answered the door and led him to Gordon. Alfred knelt beside the bed, assessing the injury. “Master Gordon, we need to wash your wound. Then we’ll apply this salve to the bruise.” He held up a small bottle. “It will go on cool, but it will keep the pain down. Is the pain manageable?”

With an effort, Gordon opened his eyes. He nodded yes. Behind him, Bruce shook his head. No.

Alfred stood to walk to the bathroom and came back with a wet, warm washcloth. Bruce propped Gordon up and Alfred ran the cloth lightly across Gordon’s shoulder, his patient wincing at the contact. Bruce looked on in worry and brushed Gordon’s hair back from his face. Then Alfred opened a small bottle, pouring its contents onto his hands and rubbing them together. He looked up at Master Wayne. Ready?

“Hold on, Jim.” Bruce held him down as Alfred began working the salve deeply into Gordon’s shoulder. It was all Gordon could do to keep from screaming out. Alfred pressed down harder, and Gordon passed out with the intensity of the pain. Bruce and Alfred waited as Gordon’s panicked breathing subsided.

A few minutes later, Bruce and Alfred stood in the front hallway. Alfred spoke, “When Master Gordon wakes up, he’ll not be pleased with us.”

Bruce smiled. “I know. Thank you, Alfred.”

“My pleasure, Master Wayne. Please give Master Gordon my regards.” The older man paused, speaking from experience. “He’ll need plenty of rest. The pain is not just physical. His mind is still seeking to process what happened. His body’s taking the toll. When he wakes—it should be in four or five hours—give him this.”

He handed Bruce a small bottle of pills. “Courtesy of Mr. Fox.” Alfred said by way of explanation. “Will you be staying with him, sir?”

Bruce nodded. The other man acknowledged his response and left.

Bruce closed the door and walked back up to the bedroom. He watched Gordon sleep a deep sleep. When Jim woke up, most, if not all, of the pain should be gone. Bruce drew the curtains in the room, throwing the room into partial darkness. He climbed back into bed and lay close beside Gordon.

He wasn’t going anywhere.