More Bikini Madness (betcha Babs wishes she'da never bought the thing
now huh?)

Father Knows Best
**

Bullock brought breakfast. He did that sometimes. It was a simulation
of when he and Jim Gordon would go to Spanky's diner after a
particularly hairy shift, ate greasy eggs and watched the sun come
up. So now and again, in honor of old times, he'd pick up some greasy
eggs, a tin full of bacon, and would stop in at Jim's apartment,
ready to eat something and talk about old times.

He had his own key, some of the MCU had been given them during No
Man's Land, and Jim'd never asked for them back. So he knocked,
making sure his former boss was decent, then let himself in. "I got
the goods. Figure we can eat, and I'll tell you about what we heard
on the radio last…" he stopped in the door way. "Something wrong,
Jim?" He put the bag down on the lamp table near the door, wondering
what was going on now.

Gordon loaded a handgun, then placed it on the table next to an
already loaded shotgun and two boxes of ammunition. "I heard it,
Bullock. I heard it, and he's going to die."

Bullock held up his hands defensively. "Wooh, buddy. Being into kinky
shit's hardly a shootable offense. `Least not in this neck of the
woods."

"It is when it's YOUR DAUGHTER."

"Oh come on. We had pools on who the chick was, but that's
ridiculous. I mean, Barb and a Bat-freak…"

"I should have shot him the first time he looked at her. Stupid kid
in a yellow cape… LOOKING at her…"

"Um… Jim… ok… So the radio feed was upsetting. But… you don't know it
was Barb."

Jim spun around, looking his friend in the eye. "It was her. And it
was him. And he's dead." Storming out of the room, he went back to
the gun closet.

Immediately, Bullock pulled the cell phone out of the breast pocket
of his trench coat and started dialing. She was a good kid who looked
stuff up in books for him now and again, so he remembered her number.

"Hello?" a tired voice asked.

"Barb, this is Bullock," the cop whispered.

"What can I do for you?"

"I think you should come over here and talk to your dad. See, there
was some stuff on the radio last night… Batfreak and some chick doing
the hardcore nasty, and um… he's kinda hysterical. He thinks it was
you."

"OH GOD!" Barbara yelped, in a panic. "He… and…"

That didn't sound like a yelp of indignation, Bullock thought. "That
um… wasn't you, was it? Cause your dad's getting out the guns. I
think he wants to go bird shooting."

"I'm on my way over," Barbara said in a panic. "DON'T let him leave!
He'll do it! He'll really shoot him!"The line went dead.

Bullock shoved the phone in his pocket and headed for the gun closet
in the hall (formerly the linen closet). "So, Jimmy… maybe we should
talk about alternative methods of um… getting the point across.
Cause, like… Barb'll be mad if we shoot him."

"Does this look like the face of someone who cares?" Jim asked,
turning to his friend. There were hard lines etched around his eyes
and mouth, and his jaw was locked square with resolve. Jim pushed
past the cop and went into the kitchen, adding his new cache to the
already existing arsenal on the table.

"Jim… maybe think about this. Take a couple deep breaths…"

He paused from shoving weapons into a long duffel bag, no clear
concept of what he was going to do in his head. All he knew was that
he wanted to inflict pain and destroy. "Can I ask WHY you really
care?"

"Cause Barb'll be mad." Bullock shrugged. "I mean, just hold on a few
minutes…"

Jim knew when he was being delayed. Before Bullock could cut off
egress from the apartment, he hurried to the door and yanked it
opened.

Chasing his friend down the hall, Bullock felt bad. He wasn't sure
why or for whom.

THE END