Gordon woke to darkness. Night pressed in from outside, quiet and cold, like it was waiting for him to move first. He sat up slowly, muscles stiff, fresh welts burning beneath his shirt. But it wasn't just the pain that scraped at him. The meeting with Dent, Johnson, and the chief.
He wasn't out of the woods. Not yet. Maybe he'd bought a few weeks. Maybe it was time to vanish. Start over. He still had a few strings to pull. Guys from the service. Terry, out in Nebraska, ran a quiet little insurance company. Nothing exciting. No shadows. No sirens. Just wind and wheat and the sound of his kids laughing. He could make the call.
Gordon dragged a hand down his face, elbows braced on his knees then froze.
Laughter. Deep. Unrestrained.
Not a child's giggle. Not a woman's chime.
He rose, spine rigid.
Downstairs, the kids were cracking up, their voices ricocheting off the walls. In the kitchen, Alice stood at the counter, laughing, relaxed in a way Gordon hadn't seen in a long time. At the breakfast nook sat Bullock, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Junior clutched a mug of hot chocolate, copying Bullock's every move as he sipped his coffee.
"Daddy!" Barbara bolted toward him. He caught her mid-run.
"We met your new partner—Harv!"
"Mr. Bullock," Gordon corrected gently.
"Geez," Bullock muttered. "So he's always like that?" he asked Alice.
"Yeah," Alice and Junior answered in unison.
Alice grinned, and Junior ducked his head like he wasn't supposed to have chimed in.
"He told us about a car chase," Barbara said, eyes wide. "The guy wore a clown suit and a mask!"
"What were they called again, Babs?" Bullock asked.
"Red Nose Bandits!" she crowed.
They all burst out laughing, like it was some private joke Gordon wasn't in on.
"Pretty sure that was it," Bullock said. "Dumb name."
"Babs?" Gordon arched a brow at her.
"I like it! Can I use it?"
"Let your friends call you that," he said, setting her down.
"Alright, cocoa upstairs," Alice cut in, gently herding the kids out despite their groans.
"Dad and Harv need to talk," she added with finality.
Barbara and Junior murmured their goodbyes, mugs in hand, their footsteps fading up the stairs.
"There's coffee on," Alice said.
She was still upset. Questions still burning in her eyes, but the smile she'd given Bullock had been real. That hurt more than Gordon wanted to admit.
"It was nice to meet you, Harv," she said.
"Likewise. And if this one gets too rowdy, what do I do? Send him up to you." Bullock asked.
"Take a picture," she replied, smiling wider than Gordon expected.
It wasn't the joke that stung. It was Alice, smiling like she could finally breathe again. And not because of him.
Nebraska was sounding better by the hour.
When she left, Gordon poured himself a mug, then held up the pot toward Bullock in silent offering. Bullock held out his cup. Gordon filled it without a word, then sat across from him at the table. Silence settled thick as dust.
Finally, Bullock broke it. "Let's talk about the elephant in the fucking room."
Gordon took a long sip. He braced for it, the interrogation he'd been avoiding but knew was coming.
Bullock's gaze drove into him, he took a long sip, then set the drink down.
"Your wife's a knockout."
Gordon blinked. "What?"
"I'm just as surprised. You've got the personality of drywall, you're ugly fucking ginger. But somehow, you landed a ten? Never expected that."
Gordon blinked at him a few times, then scrubbed a hand down his face. The nonsense of it, like Bullock was trying to agitate him. "Why are you here, Harv?"
"We've got a lead. Two, actually. Rusty and Chen are chasing one down."
"Chief put me on leave, and Loeb's men might still be looking for me."
"Not if Loeb said to back off, and the chief won't care," Bullock said. "What's that thing people say? 'Don't ask, just do, deal with the fallout later?'"
"I'm not trying to push my luck, plus I've got my family to think about."
Bullock peered over his mug. "Don't hide behind them."
"I'm not," Gordon snapped, sharper than he intended. Bullock leaned back slightly, caught off guard. "I moved them here. And now I might have to uproot them again. That's what matters."
"I get it."
"Do you?"
"Just because I don't have a family doesn't mean I don't understand. Hell, I can barely keep my own shit together. Add a wife and kids to that?" He took a long drink. "Every damn day I understand a little more why my old man bailed. Life feels like stress stacked on stress. Who the hell wants that?"
They drank in silence for a moment.
"Two witnesses came forward," Bullock said eventually. "The city worker and a hooker. Your freak dug them up, didn't he?"
Gordon stared into his coffee. Bullock snorted.
"You know what your problem is?"
"Thought we covered that."
"Nah. We just scratched the surface. Your real issue? You're a dull blade."
Gordon frowned. "You calling me boring or stupid?"
"Well, you are boring, but no, not stupid." Bullock took a sip. "I mean you're a blunt knife that needs sharpening. And the only way to sharpen a knife is with another knife."
"You use a whetstone to sharpen a knife."
"It's a metaphor, smartass. Just go with it."
"What is your point?"
"Point is—you can't survive out there on your own. Gotham, Chicago, wherever. You need people to watch your back."
Gordon looked down, thinking. Bullock was trying. Was it real? A setup? His gut said no. This wasn't a trap. It was a hand offered, rough and clumsy, but honest. He could still make that call to Nebraska, but he should at least finish what he'd started.
"What's the lead?" he asked.