Work Text:
Ed wasn’t of the superstitious kind. He didn’t believe in magic or ghosts, as much as some begged to differ. The ideas seemed ludicrous to him, bending reality to match what they desired. It made those who experienced loss feel better, yet it clouded them with delusion. Ed didn’t want to live a lie, especially one that depended upon a shaky foundation of questionable evidence he could easily explain away without looking up from his crossword puzzle.
He would go as far as to say he didn’t believe in fate either, it would imply everything was premeditated, so what was the point in even trying? It left Ed feeling hollow at the concept of no matter what he did, it all came down to fate. There was no grand plan for the world, not one Ed could visualise. The future would continue to remain uncertain, as it had for a millennia.
That all changed the minute he laid his eyes on Detective James Worthington Gordon. Jim or Detective, as Ed would come to know him as. There interactions, even the first, were scarce and fleeting, like most conversations with the hard-headed cops of Gotham City. Jim, he was different. He took time, actual time of his own, to figure out Ed’s riddles much faster than Harvey ever had. He answered matter-of-factly, with a certainty Ed immediately appreciated.
He was headstrong, courageous and most importantly, incredibly clever. He was three steps ahead, right next to Ed, while everyone was stumbling to catch up. It was refreshing, and quite relieving to know not everybody was the same level of intelligence. Ed found himself caught off guard by Jim at times. To say that he was amazed would be an understatement.
Kristen, someone he’d been pining after for what felt like centuries, suddenly became nothing but an awkward hello when bumping into one another in the files room. Now Ed spent all his moments in the GCPD waiting for Jim to walk by, for Jim to ask a tempting question, for Jim’s eyes to meet his own for just a split second. He thrived off those moments, feeling a sense of clarity and contentment cool his nerves every time.
It usually ended when a panic of guilt and shame shot through his chest like a speeding bullet. Ed was well aware of how his feelings would most likely be responded to with, he’d been in the same situation before, but that was years ago, and Ed had chalked it up to childhood naivety, pleased to let it slide into the crevasses of his mind he only poked at when he felt too upset to ignore them.
The boy he’d had a- he’d been fond of looked greatly like Jim. He had blonde hair that was definitely soft to the touch, bright blue eyes that were stolen from an angel, and tan skin gifted to him by the generous sunlight. Not to mention he was well-built, broad-shouldered and handsome, just like Jim.
Ed wasn’t ever a popular kid, and he knew expressing attraction to men would only worsen that for him, so the feelings- the building, towering feelings- were pushed deep down inside of Ed where not even his Dad could find them. No matter how many times he threatened Ed’s life, or tied him up outside on a pole for ‘lying’. It all came crashing down when people caught onto the ‘girly’ things he did or wore. He rejected the thought of something being girly, citing it as restricting and stereotyping. His peers didn’t share his viewpoint.
He was the gay kid everyone yelled slurs at, pushed into a locker, or beat mercilessly. It reminded Ed painfully of home. It’s not that he couldn’t take it, but rather Ed knew he shouldn’t have had to. The worst part was that boy, the one he…loved, was the instigator of most of the beatings. They didn’t care when he got crushes on girls too.
“You okay?,” Jim questioned, making Ed unknowingly swoon. Still, the fear permeated “Right as rain.”
Ed went from thinking about Jim all day, to dreaming about him all night too. He would dream of Jim, smiling charmingly Ed’s way and holding his meticulously manicured hand, before gently kissing his knuckles. Jim would tilt his head, ask Ed something he could never remember and then Ed would wake up, breathing hard and heavy. Sometimes the dreams would go in other directions, and Ed would end up with more than sweat drenching his pyjama bottoms.
It was embarrassing to think about, let alone wash the afflicted clothing. All he could imagine was Jim’s disgusted face, twisted yet still just as beautiful. The corners of his mouth pulled into a tight lipped snarl as he pulled back from Ed, the image so clear in his mind he had to wonder if he’d ever seen Jim make that face before. However, he had bigger things to worry about than the dreams, at least those he could keep to himself. Some things were way more obvious.
Ed had managed to mispronounce three seperate words in Jim’s presence, all with less than two syllables. His speech was a mixture of nervously babbling and technical terminology he employed to impress Jim, it was yet to be successful. It wasn’t that different from his regular lexicon, but vocabulary wasn’t exactly an eye-catching feature to most people.
On his way out the door, Jim clasped his hand firmly to Ed’s shoulder for a few seconds, an unsaid thank you exchanged as Jim and Harvey rushed out the door, hopefully hot on the killer’s trail. Ed was willing to bet Jim had no clue he took Ed’s heart with him, nor the way his entire shoulder felt off limits so he could preserve the very ghost of Jim’s hand, or perhaps the small amount of DNA he left behind.
Ed knew it sounded creepy, but any part of Jim he got, he would cherish. He kept that particular blazer at the other end of his coat rack, a large enough distance from the others as to not ruin the feeling it gave him. It was similar to how serial killers felt going back to their killers, Ed had deduced this while reading an interesting book written by John Douglas about his experience with serial killers.
He noted on a multitude of occasions that killers, some nercophiliacs yearning for release, disgustingly, as Ed would personally note, and some obsessed with reliving the feeling of power, would return to the body. Ed would go back to that blazer whenever he had a bad day, wear it while he ate dinner and think about Jim. Most of his thoughts were Jim, and what shocked him the most was that it didn’t bother him in the slightest.
He was mesmerised by Jim, and for once in his life, it felt like someone was sent specifically for him. A white knight, a beacon, a man so charming to him that he seemed of divine nature. Ed was an indefinite believer in anything after Jim. There was magic and ghosts and a guy in the sky who created the world in seven days. Against his typical methodically thinking and cognitive prowess, Ed believed anything was possible. And…
He was absolutely smitten, how could he let Jim go?