It was a sad, depressing, miserable truth, but facts were facts: he was in love with Jim Gordon.
And he knew, he knew better. He knew that Jim would be the death of him and likely would never love him back. But the truth remained, he loved him, would do anything for him, even die for him, and... frankly, he’d had a couple of years to get used to that by now; so his standard reaction was to shrug, drink, and pretend those cute girls at the clubs still got him off. They worked hard, he felt he ought to give them some acknowledgement, even if he was way past saving.
Sticking with Jim today, pulling him away from the funeral, Jim pulling him out of range of Zsasz, today was worse than usual in the department of just how hard up he was for Jim Gordon. Jim had taken his arm, more than once, looked at him with that lost, wide-eyed softness that he was somehow still capable of after all this time. It was enough to make Harvey want to slug him. For about two seconds, and then kiss him until that lost look turned into certainty. The punching him in the face urge was more of a token now, really.
He’d almost got himself shot, in fact, lost in thought about kissing Jim until the intense blue of his eyes yielded to his fluttering eyelids as he gave up entirely, and oh, how soft and giving Jim would be if he just let... Zsasz’s bullets winged by, nearly missing Harvey’s hat.
“He went THATAWAY, I thought Jim said you were a professional!” Harvey screamed at Zsasz.
“Sorry!” Victor apologized, raising his gun and jogging past after Jim, “Having an off day today!”
“Yeah, well, you better hope that I...” but Zsasz was already out of earshot. Harvey groaned and shook himself out of it. Focus, Harvey, focus. Remember, if you let him out of your sight for 3 seconds, Jim’s bound to kill himself. Harvey puffed after the team of mercs, following the sound of bullets and since no screams could be heard, it seemed all was well. Considering.
But he kept slipping back into thinking about the smile lines around Jim’s eyes, on the rare occasions he deigned to smile. Not those bitter smirks or the cold, lifeless things he’d give the public. But the real ones, the wide, open smiles that were pure Jim, all Jim. The unblemished, hopeful boy who still believed he could make a difference, who was still trying. The real Jim. Harvey loved those smiles, savored them, cherished them in a little box in his heart and took them out and looked at them when he wanted to strangle Jim for being so damn foolhardy.
The bullets had stopped, sending a shiver up the back of Harvey’s neck. This could either be good or... He burst through the first door he saw, thundered down some stairs and came to a kitchen where Zsasz was just regaining consciousness.
“Where’s Jim?” Harvey snapped, gun cocked at Zsasz’s head.
“Long gone by now,” Victor sighed, sitting up slowly, “Hey, would you tell him not to throw me so hard next time? He’s going to leave marks.”
Harvey ignored him, heading back up the stairs and outside, figuring Jim’s next move. He stowed his gun and headed back to the GCPD, knowing Jim wouldn’t lead them there. But Harvey needed some fire power before he saw Jim again.
On the way, he got lost pondering why Jim had been so receptive today. Probably had to do with his martyr complex, taking all the crap for killing Mario and breaking Lee’s heart in the process. The putz was suicidally noble, refusing to justify his actions and letting Lee hate him. Not that Harvey could really argue, he could see Lee wouldn’t listen even if he did tell her. But it hurt his heart to watch Jim take all that heat, stoically, silently, believing he deserved it. So that’s why- Harvey blinked awake as he was almost smashed into running a red light. Whoops.
It was times like this he missed Fish. Fish would take one look at him and know his ache. She’d say “Uh-uh baby, that boy is bad news, he will get you killed.” She’s say “Why were you stupid enough to fall for his type in the first place? You know no good can come of this.” She’d pat his cheek, run her fingers through his beard, and look at him hard saying, “I can’t help you now, baby, you got it bad. Ain’t no cure for what you got. Either fuck him or break his heart, that’s all you got left.”
“I know Fish, I know,” Harvey murmured to his absent friend. She’d be right too, about everything. But it would be nice to have some sympathy, nice for someone to talk to about it, even once. But he was very sure there was no one left he could talk to in this city, not about Jim Gordon.
Harvey grabbed the guns out of the arms closet, refusing to answer any questions about it, threw them in his car and headed out to Jim’s. Enough of the sad shit, he had work to do and a partner to save. And Jim wouldn’t thank him for going all misty-eyed about him now.
“Whoa! Hey! Hello to you too,” Harvey eyed Jim’s combative greeting of a cocked gun as he came through the door, “You didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?”
Jim relaxed immediately, uncocking his gun, relief to see him evident down to the way he moved. Unfortunately, the relief was not to last as Zsasz turned up, almost on cue, 5 seconds later with a loud spray of bullets. And while greeting Zsasz’s trigger finger cerebellum first was not Harvey’s idea of a good time, it certainly beat having the situation reversed with Jim in his place.
But, all in all, Falcone turning up like he did was probably the most amicable way to end things. Just bullet shells littering Jim’s place, but no blood-
“Harvey, your arm,” Jim snapped, focusing on Harvey’s right shoulder.
Harvey looked down, surprised to find a slit in his coat and a gash of red underneath, “Huh... don’t even feel it.”
Jim rushed into action, throwing his gun down and ripping Harvey’s coat away to see what the damage was.
“Whoa, hey, take it easy, partner!” Harvey frowned, pushing at Jim gently, trying to get him to slow down, “It’s just a scratch, probably glass from Zsasz shattering that good whiskey bottle.”
“Then you could have broken glass embedded in your skin, let me look,” Jim insisted, pulling at Harvey’s shirt too to see the clean cut beneath.
“There, see,” Harvey reassured him, a little frantic at Jim’s energy, “It looks worse than it is, now will you please stop mothering me.”
Jim pulled back, contrite, and swallowed, “Y-Yeah, you’re right... it’s probably fine. Just let me bandage it up in the bathroom.”
Harvey winced, regretting calling Jim off, since now he was all awkward and shy about it, but Jim had just shocked him with the sheer zeal of his care. Jim was normally so calm in a crisis, he’d never seen him fly off the handle for a minor wound before... Kinda made a guy wonder...
Harvey followed him to the bathroom and dutifully allowed Jim to wrap him up. Jim took his time examining his work, as if it were even possible to wrap bandages wrong, when he had basic medical training from both the army and the police academy.
“Your face is going to stick like that if you worry any more,” Harvey muttered, breaking Jim out of whatever fear was gripping him.
“Oh... oh, sorry,” Jim faintly smiled, the frown not quite leaving his brow as he stepped back to let Harvey put his shirt back on.
“Zsasz is called off now, so you can quit babysitting me and get back to your chair and liquor supply...” Jim was saying when they were both out of the intimacy of the bathroom, making excuses for Harvey to leave, “I’ll clean up-”
“Are you kidding? This is a two-man mess here, I’m staying,” Harvey grunted, taking in the broken windows, bullet shells, dry wall, and other debris scattered across every surface, “And I’ll expect full payment in whatever booze you have that isn’t currently dripping onto the floor.”
Relief returned to Jim’s features as he cracked a grateful, warm half-smile. “And if I can’t find any?”
“Then you better believe you’re making a supply run, brother. Now, what can I clean up that requires only the use of my feet?”
Jim groaned, “Harvey...”
“What, I'm an invalid, you said it yourself. This cut on my arm could become seriously damaging... to my modeling career.”
The chuckle was dragged out of Jim’s throat with its characteristic, gravelly tone of ill-use. The sound always made Harvey’s insides melt. Fuck it, if Jim wanted to hover and coddle him, who was he to say no? He’d stare up into those big, blue, anxious eyes any day. Every day, come to that. If Jim was offering.
Oh yes, he had it bad.
