The Resurrection [Gordon]

[Deleted]

Cool winter air traveled along his skin as he stepped through the empty snow packed streets of Gotham. The city was always so cold…so dark…so…sinful. His feet were bare and tickled with the wet melting snow with each stepped forward. His eyes scanned the darkness, the shadows pulling and stretching as if the hand of the devil were attempting to wrap his claws around his legs and pull him down to hell, and then he saw it.

A glimpse of a small girl in pure white, his head snapped to the image as he took quicken steps to it.

Agent Tiff…the voice called out to him, and he turned to see the small girl behind the window of a small boutique store.

“I’m here,” he said sweetly, walking towards the window.

Save me….she mouthed through the window her eyes widened in horror as darkness exploded around her and the city.

No…no! He couldn’t fail her! He had tried to save her! He had tried!

The darkness turned into cells, iron bared cells. His eyes darted between each one of them, a giant crocodile, a short fat penguin, a poisonous green woman, a man without a face, fear itself, the man who held two personalities in a toy, the clown woman, the man with a black mask. He caught them all, they were all in their cages, the demons caught, the city safe. He had caught them. He had…but as the thought repeated, he saw them circling him, surrounding him, coming closer.

No, you’re trapped! God banished you! The bared cells got closer and closer until he realized, it wasn’t them that were trapped in the cage, no, it was him all this time. The demons had trapped him! And they laughed and laughed.

He collapsed on his knees, pulling out the cross from under his shirt, and cupping it in his hands. He brought his clasped hands to his mouth and prayed. Prayed for guidance, prayed for strength, prayed for the power to wipe the cruelty, the evil off this fowl city.

Please God…please save me…

He shot out of the bed in a hot sweat. His eyes darted around the room in a panic, looking for the cage, but his eyes came across no bars. It was dark, but a florescent light flickered outside the door. He looked around the room and saw people, all people in bed sleeping. Were they sleeping? They had ivs sticking from their wrist and they were the blue gowns. It smelled similar to a room in a retirement home. Death waiting around the edges to grasp them.

He looked down at himself and noticed he was one of the many here. His breathing started to escalate in panic. What had happened? Was he alive? He remembered jumping. He remembered giving up to be with his creator, so his creator could punish him. He was alive…

He ripped out the iv, and went to get out of the bed, but collapsed immediately to the floor. Had God kept him alive to punish him? Or was this his way to stay he had yet to complete his work? He bit his lip in frustration. I failed you.

As he laid their curled on the ground, his necklace swung in front of his face. The golden cross swaying back and forth in front of his eyes. He watched it carefully as if it might disappear at any moment.

He was saved for a reason.

He swallowed thickly before pushing himself up from the floor. He started to walk, unsteady and uneven, but he kept walking. He was saved for a reason. He had to enforce the laws, and punish the evil. God had sent him here on a mission, and while his heart succumb to the cruelty and evil as did Eve succumb to the viper, God had forgiven him and given him another chance.

He needed to save this city. He wouldn’t be able to leave until he saved this city.

He walked through the darkness until he finally ended up in front of a door. He hadn’t thought of where he was walking, but his limps lead him to the only man that could see the importance of rules and laws. He knocked on the door still in his hospital gown.

[Deleted]

Water and suds dripped from Gordon’s fingers when he pulled the plate from the tepid water. He scrubbed with the dish sponge before setting aside on a towel to dry. He pulled a cup from the water next, rinsed the sponge, and took to cleaning it out before it too sat upside down on the side cloth to dry. The house was quiet, which to Jim was eerie. The police commissioner was used to coming home to the sound of water running or the quiet hum of his wife sleeping, but for a few days it had just been Jim, his job, and late night television. It brought back memories of his bachelor days; of take out and microwave dinners. He was better with the oven now, but even so he’d fixed a pre-made lasagna he’d bought from the grocery and would probably reheat for dinner again tomorrow. He quite missed his wife.

Barbara was away visiting family in Chicago while her sister remarried and that left Jim alone. He’d wanted to go, but with the back log of cases still in the courts from the days of the FBI and his job being what it was, Jim couldn’t afford to take a vacation just yet. There was no argument of it, of course, but now the commissioner knew just how his wife felt as she waited for him to come home now that Babs and James Jr. were no longer in the house. The silence beyond the thrum of whatever sitcom he’d turned on for background noise was deafening. Jim had nothing to worry about with his wife, though.

Chicago was a bad city, he’d admit, but Barbara wasn’t a cop and she was surrounded by family. It was Jim who went out every night, being the involved police commissioner he was. He didn’t just sit behind a desk and sign papers and speak for the public. He was at crime scenes, he investigated, he kept tabs with the officers and contact with some of Gotham’s darkest criminals. He was cited as being a partner with Batman. Jim was a target and every night his wife put with that, knowing that one day the person at the door late at night wouldn’t be him, but one of his colleagues come to tell her that’d he passed in the line of duty. If the smoking didn’t kill him first that is.

Jim shut off the tap and dried his hands and arms with the paper towels that hung above the sink. He grabbed his pipe next as the water drained with audible groan through the pipes. He stuffed with his tobacco and had just lit it and sat down to actually watch the television when someone knocked on his door. It did in fact startle the commissioner. It wasn’t as if it was seriously late, but it was late enough that knocking usually spelled nothing good. Jim got up and after momentarily debating on whether he should grab his hand gun, he was wearing his dark house coat, gun in hand as he peered through the peephole. He hastily stuffed the gun out of sight once he saw it was, but that left him with more questions than answers, but he acted instantly.

The door was opened and Gordon stared at Matthew Tiffany. He’d known the man was still alive, had helped in that concealment to most sources, in fact lest certain parties wanted another go at him. Yet that didn’t explain why the man was outside his door and obviously not properly discharged. He opened the door.

“Agent Tiffany, come in,” he said and moved out of the way, gesturing him in.

It didn’t matter how he felt about what the FBI had done or how this man had handled it. He was a human being and from the looks of it, he was lost. Something was wrong. Years in the force and in the military had taught Gordon to know the look of a man troubled and this man certainly was. It was the way he held himself, the way he stared at him. The man had a weight and for whatever reason he’d come to him. Jim knew what he’d have to do, but he could call the authorities or return Matthew back to the hospital later, for now the FBI Agent needed an ear and personal opinion or not, James Gordon never turned away someone seeking advice or someone to listen to them.

[Deleted]

Tiffany did not know what had led him to this home, this door, to see this man. Similar to a ghost, it seemed as if a force beyond him had pushed him forward without his knowledge. He could feel the force holding up his very weak limbs, keeping him standing. He just wasn’t sure if it was the touch of god that kept him right or if the darkness of this was leading him into the black hole to be consumed by all.

The door opened, and he saw the older man. He smelled like smoke, another vice of the devil seen on a seemingly decent man, but true good men no longer exist in this city. So much evil. He had failed. He hadn’t been powerful enough to stop it. Why had god brought him back? To punish him? Or forgive him?

His eyes shot up to Gordon when he was spoken to. It wasn’t fear in Tiffany’s eyes. It was doubt.

Agent….voices laughed and snickered in the background. He is no agent. He got fired. Failed. Ya he totally thinks he’s can destroy us? It was followed by more laughter and banter. He can’t even dress himself.

“Do you hear that?” he muttered to himself, glancing around at the corners of the darkness, seeing as it seemed to mold as if something was moving beneath it. No, he had to ignore the demons. God is here. God led him here.

He took steps into Gordon’s home, his feet comforted by the wood floor instead of the cement he had traveled on. “I apologize for disturbing you so late,” he said, but the words sounded so far away, as if he was not use to using them, “Do…….do you happen to know the date?”

[Deleted]

Of all the people the Commissioner had expected to appear at his door, Matthew Tiffany was not one of them. Out of all the people the once FBI agent could go, Jim would never have guessed himself to be amongst them and yet there the man was. For Gordon it was like looking at a ghost too. He’d seen him the hospital when he’d been brought in. He’d looked lifeless in his sleep and so to see him now it was a shock. The man still looked weak and it was for that reason he’d also vacated the door for him. He needed to be sure the man was safe.

It was obvious that he’d come from the hospital. It was obvious that he’d not been checked out. Gordon wanted to know how he’d gotten out so easily. What had brought him here of all places. He took in the man’s face, it was clear he was confused. He looked almost defeated. It unnerved Gordon slightly, but he was able to hide it. He had no need to cause the man any further and undue panic.

But it appeared Tiffany was accomplishing that on his own. Jim watched his eyes flutter around and caught his voice. He didn't hear anything save the noise of the city, but he knew the signs of a breakdown. It must have been a lurch to awake from a suicide attempt and discover it had failed. But was that all there was to the trauma? He stepped back further as Matthew entered his home and grabbed the remote from the arm of the chair. He turned the television off and shook his head.

“No, no, Matthew, right? You’re not disturbing me. Don’t worry about it. I was just…” But he trailed off as the agent asked him the date. It wasn’t an odd question, people often asked about the date. He did whenever he wrote a check, but it was odd in this context with the way Matthew said it. “It’s the twenty-ninth of September. 2013.” It was obvious then. Matthew Tiffany hadn’t been awake again for all that long and his first stop had been here.

Even James Gordon was question just what had made him think of him? Why was he here.

“You want to sit on the couch, the chair? Make yourself at home. I’ll get you some water.”

[Deleted]

Tiffany had never been one who easily made friends. He had his friends from school that still lived in his home time and went to same church every week for the past thirty something years, but as Tiffany moved higher and higher in the FBI, he was moved to multiple different cities, including Gotham. Within those cities, he was given a job to do, a job that Tiffany held at the highest regards. He could be friendly with people, but after work, he did not go grab drinks with the team. Instead, he would bring his work home and bury himself in it until he had fallen asleep.

He found himself drawn to Gordon’s door for one reason. It wasn’t for friendship or his expertise in police work. Gordon was a good man. A good man, surrounded by an evil city. Tiffany did not believe the man knew how to correctly fight the evil he faced, but he believe Gordon did his work for the right reasons.

The date caused his eyes to gloss over. “2013? September 2013?” he mumbled to himself over and over as he stepped into the man’s home. It had been over a year since he had thrown himself from the bridge. It had been over a year. It explained the thick beard that grown on his chin and why he found moving his body difficult. Why had God brought him back after a year?

You lost…God doesn’t love you.

He wanted you to die.


No, the voices were lying. They were attempting to trick him into believing in the end, but God had brought him back. He could only imagine how the darkness must have spread in his time away. It must be terrible. “Has the city survived?” he asked softly as he sat in the chair offered to him.

He didn’t know how to get a grip of reality. He couldn’t imagine what must have happened within the year.

[Deleted]

When he’d lived in Chicago, he’d not been interested in making friends either, but he’d seen how well making friends there came out for the other parties. Such a corrupt city. He’d met Barbara there, though, the memory now ash. He was a church-going man then, every Catholic mass he could attend out of work he and her would go. Yet then he’d transferred to Gotham and again he defaulted at first on making friends, yet then Jim Jr. had come along, Batman had come along, and Jim found that some people were worth trusting. From that moment on, he didn’t grab drinks with his fellow officers often off the clock, but he stopped bringing home his work.

He loved deeper, forgave easier, and lived.

And whether anyone knew it or not, he still attended Mass. He did not judge a man by the color of his collar or the dust on his face. He judged a man by action and deed. He believed in the principle that “let he amongst without sin be the first to cast a stone.” Jim didn’t always believe he was a good man, but he tried to be and as for his opinion on Matthew? His actions spoke enough. How misguided he was. He was only of those people who clutched so tightly to religion it became fanaticism, the reason the Crusades happened.

There was a right way and wrong way to worship, and one could become so disillusioned in the throes of religion.

Gordon left the man to mutter about the date and sort out its implications as he fetched a clean glass and the jug of water from the refrigerator. He was still in need of fixing the filter on the faucet. He carried it back out to the living room just as Matthew took his seat and again addressed him. He placed the glass in front of him and nodded. He could have joked in answer about how the city wasn’t crashing down on them yet, but this wasn’t the type he’d joke like that too. And he knew the gravity by which the question was asked.

“Yes, Gotham has survived. It’s a hardy city filled with more good people than you think. We may live in shadow, but even the Israelites had to cross the desert to make it to the Promised Land.” The answer was given as Jim himself took a seat on the couch, able to still face Matthew.

Within a year nothing had happened. Gotham was Gotham and the progress was steady, slow, but there. Always there like a light or a trumpet or even a divine promise.