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deadasleaves in deeply_creepy

One day I'll grow up...

I joined a RPG back in late summer based on the events after TDK, where my character - Jim Gordon - has been pretty inactive for some time due to work and other such things. I just sort of woke the character up and he'll be back in the game soon enough, even though things are pretty slow right now.

Anyway, here's some writings, mainly just for me as an attempt to make sense of what's going on in Gordon's head post-TDK.

It's not finished and couldn't even be called a work in progress. It's pretty much me wrapping my head around a character and trying to flesh him out and give him depth and purpose.

After the incident, there was this deep seated anguish, an unbearable pain born out of shock and the hurt of betrayal, that made a home in his heart. How was someone supposed to feel when their friend threatened the lives of their family? How is a person supposed to come to terms with the loss of such a great friend, such an important influence? And not only the loss, but the change, the complete shift in character of that friend? His children had been the ones with a loaded gun to their heads, but Harvey… he had been the one that died that night. Yes of course, everyone believed Dent had fallen to his death in that old warehouse, and Gordon knew this was true. For there may be a man sitting in Arkham, disfigured and making all his decisions based on the flip of a coin, a man who bore a patch on his uniform that reads "Harvey Dent", but that man is a ghost. The prisoner is not the man, the district attorney, the friend that Jim Gordon had relied on, in whom he placed all his trust and hope for a brighter future. There is nothing left of Harvey Dent save for the memories. And those hurt too much. Jim would rather have the nightmares than the memories of Dent before his descent into madness and cruelty. It is easier for him to recall his son’s frightened and pained expression as the man who wore half of Harvey Dent’s face held the boy at gun point… and this hurts as well, it ruthlessly stabs him in the heart every time he closes his eyes. But the memories of the DA with hope in his eyes, risking his own life and reputation for the good of the city they both loved are what has left Jim all but broken. The commissioner has to live with the loss of the true Harvey Dent and the loss of their once-common ally, the vigilante known as the Batman. And he blames no one but himself. He was too intimidated by his appointment as commissioner to make the right decisions at the time. Not getting the information out of that psychopath in the clown makeup sooner and letting Rachel Dawes die… it was a chain of events triggered by his incompetence, and this is what he told himself every time he looked in a mirror or let silence build until all he could comprehend were the thunderous echoes of his own thoughts. It was what he saw in his children’s eyes. In Barbara’s eyes. They had said they understood, they knew there had been nothing he could do, but then why does he see nothing but hollow disappointment spread thin behind their very faces?
This is what tears at his heart, darkens the circles under his eyes, weakens his speech.
It was he who let them down. Everyone.

He hasn’t spoken to anyone about this. There is no one he could speak to.
A psychiatrist would write it off as depression and prescribe some drug he didn’t need because in the end it wouldn’t do any real good. Medicine would not be able to change the past.
He is not close to many other officers. Those he once considered his friends have ceased any connection outside of work. Besides, everyone is too busy these days to care anyway.
Barbara… hurts as much as he does. They barely speak to one another in the rare moments they are both at home. They stay together for the sake of their children and little more.
There is, literally, no one else. Except perhaps, and the thought has occurred to him, Batman. But the vigilante is no longer a source he can tap for information or aid since Gordon ordered the manhunt last summer. They have seen each other on occasion, but only for the briefest of moments to keep their meetings of the lowest profile. There has not been time for any discussion outside of the most immediate and pressing matters. But the dark knight is one of very few people Gordon could call a friend. Anymore.