It was not a matter of what or who, let alone a matter of where or why. When he called, you went. There were no reasons for the inevitable, no remorse for the unmistakable courage that coursed through the veins of the unknown person standing just steps in front of him. Noise was absent, save for the soft beating of his own heart thumping against his rib cage, a pace that only quickened in the presence of the mystifying vigilante, staring him down from the shadows cast by the side of the building, the moon shining just behind it.
He was not scared; he was rarely scared. A bit unsure, maybe. He let his hands rest on his hips, casually standing his ground, but not a word escaped his mouth; the words were not there, and his mind was a little numb. He had a million thoughts, a little speculation racing through his mind, questions and concerns waiting on the tip of his tongue; but his mouth felt dry, and no matter how much he attempted to salivate, he could not find the means.
Gordon was not too sure why Batman had asked to meet him in such a secluded area. The city had been quiet for a few days, so there was nothing new to talk about, and their relationship was purely professional, was it not? Gordon would consider Batman his friend - best friend if he had to claim one - but they were hardly closer than the crime scenes and once-a-week-meetings that brought them together allowed. But tonight, Gordon had received a call in his office, a bit desperate and unlike Batman in many ways. He had told Gordon it was important, but not entirely urgent, and asked if they could meet, the sooner the better. Obviously, Gordon chose sooner. No more than twenty minutes later, he was staring at the man who rode the shadows like he would a lover: close and tight, intimately.
A thought crossed Gordon's mind. The date was approaching the one year anniversary of the death of a mutual friend: Rachel Dawes. He had nearly forgotten about it, the memories still painful from the days that followed that fateful night. And he was sure Batman had not forgotten at all. The dark knight took pride in saving others, and Gordon was sure the other man felt he had failed Rachel. But Gordon never brought it up anymore, painfully aware of the burning stare he always received when he attempted.
He was certain now the date had everything to do with Batman's urgency. Maybe he was ready to talk about the event. But Gordon wasn't sure he was ready to be sentimental, especially with the Bat.
Gordon switched footing, rocking back and forth on his feet; a whole two minutes had passed without a word being spoken, and Batman just stood in his shadowy covering, words obviously not the first thought on his mind, either. Gordon could speak first, but the dry, parchment-paper feeling in his mouth still did not let up. He was sure it was because he knew Batman needed the first word, or at least the first gesture of acknowledgment.
Finally, the other man moved - not much, but enough to where Gordon could see the shadows of his arms move upwards, making a movement he could not make out clearly. Gordon swallowed, a lump in his throat, his chest heaving as he blew out a long breath, becoming increasingly aware of what the other man was doing. He did not want to know, he did not want to see, he did not want to keep looking. He had known Batman for a few years now, and he never once even wondered; or was it he did not care? No, he cared; he cared far too much. If he knew the man behind the cape and cowl, he would be forced to care more.
He took his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, and squeezed his eyes shut. If the man before him stepped forward, he was sure he would see an unmasked face, see the eyes more clearly, the bone structure of jaw line and cheeks. He would know a man and his secrets, and he was not ready to know any of it.
Gordon bent his head low, keeping his eyes on the ground, staring at his own feet. He held a hand up in front of him as he heard the soft click of boots start forward. "No! No, please," he begged. "I don't want to know."
The steps kept up, the splash of water as one booted foot stepped into a puddle directly below Gordon's feet, and then the other foot was there too. He put his glasses in his coat pocket, so as not to be tempted to put them on. He shook his head, keeping his head bent, another sigh escaping his lips.
"Gordon..." The voice was soft, not at all the harsh, deep growl he usually used; it was not too familiar, but not unfamiliar either. "Jim." It was a whisper, one that made his the tiny hairs on his skin stand straight.
Gordon squeezed his eyes shut again. The man had leaned in a little closer and Gordon could almost make him out in the puddle below, the moonlight hitting just right. He shook his head and started to take a step back, but two strong hands grabbed his shoulders tightly, and Gordon felt bony fingers dig into his arms; the man was un-gloved.
Gordon lifted his head, eyes still shut tightly. "I don't want to know..." he pleaded again, wiggling against the grip of the obviously stronger man, aware his arms would be bruised in the morning.
"You don't have to know. Not right now." Batman said, his voice low, sounding almost dangerous, but still lacking the growl Gordon wanted for reassurance.
"Can you let go, then?" Gordon attempted again to wiggle away, the hands around his arms this time giving way just a little bit.
"Not yet." Batman whispered, and Gordon felt hot breath on his lips, the space between the two men rapidly becoming obsolete. Gordon felt the touch of soft lips brush against his, pecking softly. "I don't have a lot of time." Batman's voice cooed softly, a wet tongue licking at Gordon's mouth. He stiffened at the sudden intimacy, pulling his face away, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter. The urge to open them was strong, overwhelming. Gordon kept his ground.
Batman's left hand let go of Gordon's arm, and there was a rustling before he felt the other man slip a hand into his pocket and then out again. Batman pulled away from Gordon, who was too surprised to move.
"I have to go." Batman growled this time; Gordon heard another rustling and then complete silence. He opened his eyes after a few minutes, utterly aware he was completely alone. He stuffed a hand into his pocket, rummaging for his glasses, finding them and an envelope.
Gordon pulled out both articles, placing the glasses back on the bridge of his nose and holding the envelope in his hand. It was addressed to him, neatly written in beautiful cursive writing. Gordon shoved it back into his pocket, and started walking back towards his car. He knew what it was, and he did not want to know, and he wanted to know even less now with the circumstances and Batman's flighty and uneven approach with him just moments ago. He was not sure what Batman was up to, or why he had the sudden urgency or need to tell Gordon his secrets.
Maybe he had been wrong about Batman remembering the date. Gordon reached his hand into his pocket and took the envelope out again. He could open it and know for sure or he could rip it up and pretend it never happened. He chose the latter, of course.
He took the envelope between his fingers and ripped it in half again and again until nothing was left but tiny pieces of paper. Even if he wanted to piece it back together, there were far too many to glue back. He let the pieces fall from his hand and scatter in the sudden gust of wind. No, Gordon would not know any vigilante secrets tonight.