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The feeling of peace that has settled over Jim is unusual, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. It’s not anything near what he’s used to, this lack of weight on his shoulders, this lightness in his heart. Even when he thought that he had been doing something right, he had never had this feeling before.
And it isn’t just that he and Alfred had had quite a long discussion when the two of them had woken from their impromptu nap, though it hadn’t been about anything in particular. It wasn’t just that he’d talked with Lee when he’d gotten to his hole in the wall apartment for the night, telling her that he’d done it and that it was all going to be okay. It wasn’t just the knowledge that he loved and was loved by two amazing people. It isn’t just because everything in the G.C.P.D. is finally coming together, finally going right.
It is all of those things, and more. He’s hit the ground running, and he’s happy.
The unsolved case he receives, then, almost immediately upon entering work is simply a challenge. Something that he can look over, acknowledge, work on. He’s determined after the impassioned speech from the uniformed officer, though not entirely hopeful. If the case has been cold two weeks, there was very little chance justice was going to be found for the girl. But damned if he wasn’t going to try.
Of course, he’s even less sure that he can actually figure out this case three hours later, his eyebrows pinched together. The girl had been missing four months before she turned up dead. She’d been young, pretty; successful. There was no indication that she’d been sexually assaulted and dumped, hadn’t been sold into sex-trade, none of that. It leaves him feeling mildly frustrated, and starting to understand why the case had gone cold.
There just, simply, wasn’t enough evidence to go off of. It’s maddening, to say the least, but he finds himself still caught up with it. There was something compelling about this case, something that is tugging at him. Something magnetic, something insisting that he do something about this case, that he solve it.
He doesn’t quite realize what it is until he’s gone to pick up Lee for their lunch date, nerves making his stomach doing flip-flops because it wasn’t just Lee that he was taking for lunch. She’s looking over the file, having asked him for the details of the case, and he gives them. Honesty between them, knowledge, is something that has always been there. Plus, maybe she can talk him out of pursuing this.
But her words, though. They stick in his brain, worry him.
“God, we were almost the same age. We could have been friends.” And this was after the comment about where the girl—Grace—had lived.
He remains distracted with the thought even after they’ve handed off the quest for knowledge to Ed, who takes the puzzle from them eagerly with the promise to get the information while they’re at lunch.
They’re sitting at the restaurant, the place setting to his left still open and waiting, before Lee finally huffs at him, reaching out and touching the hand closest to her, holding the menu utterly still.
“That wasn’t an invitation to obsess over it,” she tells him, startling him. Her words make no sense, and his confusion is clear on his face up until she gives him a long, soft look. “Look, Jim; I was just saying, earlier, that I was upset that this happened to that girl.”
Right. The case. And, of course, she’d read him so damn easily. He coughs, ducking his head, shaking it before shifting his hand to take the hand pressed against hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. He gives her a soft, warm smile, rubbing his calloused thumb gently over the soft skin covering her knuckles.
“I know. I just…” He breathes out a sigh, regretful. “I just hate the thought that…” He doesn’t even want to say it, physically finds himself utterly unable to get the words out past the thick lump that lodges itself in his throat.
Not right now. Not so soon after… everything. And Lee gets that, her sharp brown eyes softening to a warm chocolate, leaning in and gently pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“I know,” she tells him softly, sadly. There is soft, sweet understanding in every essence of her being, radiating out towards him, and he basks in it. Takes it in, acknowledges that he isn’t along. Finally, truly, he isn’t alone.
Both of them share a soft, sad smile before Jim squeezes her hand gently, releasing it, glancing towards the door.
“I wonder where Alfred is,” she says the words he’s thinking, glancing in the direction of the door for herself. A change of subject, not quite smooth but definitely needed, something they both silently agree on. A subject that is just as important as the case, though slightly more immediate.
“Good question,” Jim sighs as begins to reach into his suit pocket for his phone. His eyebrows jump when he has barely curled his fingers around the plastic device before it begins to go off. Her own eyebrows shoot up in return, curious, as he rises and steps away from the table, outside, not wanting to be rude.
“Detective Gordon,” he answers, officially, glancing up and down the street, hoping to catch sight of the man he and Lee were waiting on.
“Detective, it’s Bruce,” comes the familiar voice on the other end, and Jim freezes, heart stopping in his chest.
“Where’s Alfred?” he asks, and he would applaud himself for how steady his voice is if he wasn’t using all of his concentration to keep himself steady. Never mind that the words themselves are more than a little short, to the point.
“I think he popped his stitches; he told me to call you. He’s trying to fix it, but he won’t let me call for the doctor,” Bruce tells him, and it’s the tone of the boy’s voice more than anything that gets to him.
He huffs out a soft, relieved breath, closing his eyes against the wave of that nearly suffocating relief.
“Being stubborn, is he?” Jim returns, unable to hide the affection he holds for the boneheaded man. Bruce’s snort on the other end has him out-right laughing. “Alright, then.”
And rather suddenly, a thought hits him, genius and taking care of the issue at hand.
“You know… I think I may have a solution,” he tells Bruce, glancing into the front window of the restaurant, catching sight of the beautiful woman who is patiently waiting at their table still, studying the menu intently to pass the time. The sight has him smiling, just a little bit regretful, but determined.
“Think you’re both up for a couple of house guests for lunch?”
***
Lee had been more than a little vexed when he’d gotten off the phone and gone back inside to her. The entire way to the car, she’d muttered about stubborn men and other things that he is pretty sure he doesn’t want to know anything about, not with how sharp her mutterings are. Not with the way she keeps shooting him looks, as though this was all his fault. That the stubbornness of the man they’re on their way to see is because of him.
At least, that’s what he’s assuming. He doesn’t really want to think about what else her dark look could be about.
Finally, though, they pull once more up to the familiar house, and if Lee is phased by the grandeur and the darkness of the beautiful old house, she doesn’t say so. Doesn’t react in any way that could be visually construed, at least. It would be worrying, if there wasn’t purpose in every step she takes towards the front door of the grand old house, determination written over her face.
It’s more than a little frightening. Would be even more so, actually, if it was aimed at him. Jim vows, then and there, never to get injured and then fight the treatment of his doctor. At least, that’s what he tells himself for now.
She’s already knocking by the time he catches up to her, hands tucking into her pockets while she waits. Smartly, he doesn’t say a word to her, doesn’t dare comment.
Bruce is pale when he answers the door, and Jim would mistake it as being completely from fear if it wasn’t for the anger that sparks in his eyes, making them a dark storm cloud that looks about ready to shoot lightening at any moment.
“Bruce, this is Doctor Leslie Thompkins,” he introduces once they’ve stepped into the cool entryway, once the sunspots have faded from his eyes. “Lee, this is Bruce Wayne.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Thompkins,” Bruce says, ever the gentleman, offering his hand to the woman. Her face eases at the manners, lips quirking in a warm smile that breaks through the severity of the look on her face.
“Such good manners. But please, call me Lee,” she instructs, eyes bright as she shakes his hand.
“Thank you for coming Doc—Er, Lee,” Bruce tells her, eyes flicking to Jim as though to make sure it was actually okay. He simply nods silently, encouraging, knowing that Lee would protest until Bruce actually did call her by her given name. Then, all at once, the fire is back in both of them, and Jim is horribly grateful not to be caught in it. Once again, he silently vows not to get on Lee’s bad side, adding Bruce into that thought as well.
“Alfred is this way,” Bruce tells them, already leading them down familiar halls to the study that Bruce has claimed as his own.
They hear Alfred far sooner before they see him, Lee shrugging out of her coat at the sound of the cursing and pressing it into Jim’s hands. He takes it almost gratefully, the fabric giving his hands something to hold onto, giving him something to do, when they get to the study. Alfred is on the couch, suit jacket and waistcoat set aside, and his white button down is open, one side off. The dressing over the stab wound has been peeled away, and Alfred is struggling with something in his hands, trying to stem the flow of bleeding while also trying to stitch the wound closed again.
“Alfred, the doctor is here, along with Detective Gordon,” Bruce informs the butler, who startles like a child who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, shooting them all reproachful looks, though he pauses over Jim. But the pause doesn’t last long before the tight look has returned to Alfred’s face, sharp eyes narrowed.
“As you can see, I—“ Alfred starts, primly, fully intending to protest. But Lee cuts him off in her own way, waving it away.
“Now, now; none of that, Mr. Pennyworth.” She is all business, a force to be reckoned with as she moves into the room, snatching up a pair of gloves from the box near Alfred’s hip. “Let me see.”
“Now, see here—“ Alfred starts, bristling, only to freeze at the look he’s given. Jim can’t see it, but he can imagine how it looks, based on the look on her face earlier.
“Now, please.” The man goes utterly quiet, relinquishing control without protest, still shooting Bruce and Jim looks as though they’d betrayed him all the while.
Feeling mildly uncomfortable under the look, Jim clears his throat, gently laying Lee’s coat over the chair before putting his with it. He then turns to Bruce, whose eyes are riveted on the way that Lee is checking over the healing wound, gently tugging on the boy’s arm.
“C’mon, Bruce, let’s go get Alfred a clean shirt and get us all some lunch,” Jim tells the boy. Lee shoots him a curious look, only briefly, before turning back to her work.
It is definitely a relief to get out of the room and away from the doctor and her stubborn patient. Once in the hallway, sure that he doesn’t need to hold any longer, Jim releases Bruce’s arm as they start the trek towards Alfred’s living area.
“Remind me to never piss her off,” he mutters to Bruce once they’re well on their way away from the study, more to himself than anything. When Bruce doesn’t answer, Jim comes to a stop, brow furrowed as he studies the confused look on Bruce’s face. He doesn’t even hesitate to press his hand to Bruce’s shoulder, offering comfort if it’s necessary.
“Bruce?” He gently prompts, wanting to make sure Bruce is okay. This wasn’t the first time that he’s seen his guardian hurt, but so close on the heels of Alfred getting out of the hospital…
“I thought you… I don’t understand your relationship,” Bruce finally says, after a long moment, as though he’s been trying to put together his own thoughts. The words are completely out of left field, as far as Jim is aware, and he turns the words over in his mind. Trying to figure out what Bruce is referring to.
“What do you mean?” he finally asks, has to, because he wants to make sure that everything is laid out on the table, here. With Bruce, he has always strived for honest, has wanted to make sure that he’s been completely transparent, and Bruce seems to trust Jim for it. More now than he had, previously.
“You’re clearly with Alfred. But then, you bring doc—Lee, and it’s clear you two were on a date before this,” Bruce tells him, brow furrowing, confusion on his face. Clearly wanting to understand, to have this laid out to him.
Even though Jim has no idea what he’s doing, himself.
Finding himself utterly at a loss, he lets his hand fall away from Bruce’s shoulder, stuffing both into his pockets. After a long moment, he breathes out a sigh, shifting under the gaze that has not let up on him since Bruce’s askance for more information.
“I… I want to be with Alfred,” he finally admits to Bruce, struggling to come up with the right words. God, Lee was so much better at this. Alfred was better at this, and neither of them were here, at the moment. “But I also want to be with Lee. And I want them… They both have to know about it. I’m not—“ He can’t even finish the thought, finish the words.
But Bruce seems to understand, confusion clearing as he cocks his head to study Jim with thoughtful, though shadowed, eyes.
“You are in love with both of them.” Then his brow is furrowed again, and his frown returns. “Isn’t… Isn’t this awfully selfish, though? Being with two people, I mean.”
The question is like a blow to the gut, stealing his breath for a moment, leaving him to swallow. His hands fist in his pockets, and it takes a great deal of effort not to bow his head under the weight of the accusation.
Especially since it has been a niggling concern at the back of his mind, one that has now been given light and likely won’t go away.
“It’s something I’m worried about.” And why, why is he saying this to a 14 year old?
Right. Because, in all of this, Bruce is being affected. After all, one of the members of this bizarre triangle was Alfred. Something settles in his gut making him smile wistfully, and he forcefully uncurl one of his hands in his pockets, to pull it out and press it again to Bruce’s shoulder.
“But it’s something that the three of us need to discuss, and not something you need to worry about right now, okay?” He gives Bruce a small smile, feeling encouraged to let it widen when Bruce nods slowly, thoughtfully.
Clearly, Bruce is thinking about something rather hard in that genius brain of his. Sometimes Jim feels an ache, a want to just protect Bruce and not let him see the darkness of the world. But that wasn’t always possible, he knows, no matter how much he wants to let Bruce keep that innocence just a little longer.
But Bruce has seen death, has faced it in a dark alley on a dark night with the sound of a gunshot ringing in his ears.
“C’mon. Let’s get that lunch together, alright?” He pats Bruce on the shoulder, earning a blink and the look of Bruce coming back from wherever his brain had gone. Bruce doesn’t answer Jim verbally, but the two move off again down the hallways.
***
This time, when it comes to helping, Jim manages to talk Bruce into letting him carry the heavier of the two trays, laden down with an assortment of light finger foods that won’t take much to eat. They had both silently agreed on this particular avenue, especially seeing as Jim is sure that Alfred won’t really be hungry for much once Lee gets him patched up.
When they return to the study, Jim has to pause, letting Bruce precede him into the room Because as he watches, staring, he finds an ache growing in his chest, leaving him breathless, as though all the air has been punched out of him. He isn’t sure what it is about the sight of the two most important people in his life sitting together, easily, chatting softly until they catch the movement of Bruce coming into the room. There is nothing in their postures that screams at him ‘distrust’ or ‘jealousy’ or any such nonsense that part of his brain had been convinced would happen.
He should have known better, considering who the two are, but that had certainly not stopped his brain from doing what it wanted to in this matter. He’s so, so damn glad he was wrong, though.
He moves a beat after, smiling softly, feeling like maybe this was all going to be okay. It would work out; would be hard, considering the amount of stubborn contained in the room at present, the amount that simmered beneath the surface just among the three of them. Then, too, there was Bruce to consider; Alfred is Bruce’s guardian, and there was no going around the fact that the boy was more than old enough to understand that the dynamics of this particular relationship are going to be complicated.
Still, though. Even as he’s setting out sandwiches for everyone, mock-scowling at the two who tease him when he does, he can’t help but feel at least mildly hopeful.