Fic: Wings Of Darkness Trilogy Book I: One Honest Man (2/5)
Title: Wings Of Darkness Trilogy Book I: One Honest Man (2/5)
Author: BradyGirl
Pairings/Characters (this chapter): The Angel Of Death (Bruce)/Jim (See Author’s Notes)
Continuity: Movie/Nolanverse
Genres: AU, Drama
Rating (this chapter): PG-13
Warnings: Not sure if warnings are necessary, but it’s quasi-religious imagery.
Spoilers: None
General Summary: The Angel Of Death is charged with a Quest to save Gotham.
Chapter Summary: Jim Gordon has no illusions about Gotham.
Date Of Completion: October 5, 2008
Date Of Posting: February 23, 2009
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC and Warner Brothers do, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 629
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Notes: Yes, this is a Bruce/Jim series, though it will be pretty unusual ;) Bruce-as-The Angel Of Death is a character I created in The Better Angels, a Clark/Bruce story I wrote last year. You need not have read that story to understand this one. And if ever a ‘verse fit...! ;)
As you can see by the chapter (first draft) completion date, I’ve had this one on the back burner for awhile. I finally worked out what I needed to (it was an Eureka! moment) so it’s time to post. :)
The entire series can be found here.
II
SHADOWS
The city never sleeps,
Shadows its currency,
Despair its coin.
Allison Simmons
"City Of Darkness"
1941 C.E.
Jim sighed. Yet another senseless murder. He looked down at the body clothed in rags in the dirty alley. Beaten to death, just for the hell of it, most likely, because there was nothing worth stealing from this poor soul.
Except his life.
He studied the body. White, male. Maybe he was gay, or Jewish, or any of the other myriad reasons a bigot might kill, if this was the work of one. An investigation would be done, cursory at best. His people were inundated with murders in addition to rapes and robberies. The murder of a homeless man had low priority.
Clouds scudded across the moon. It might rain later. Typical Gotham weather.
Suddenly, he tensed.
The Watcher again.
For the past few weeks he had felt himself being watched, always from the shadows, yet no one was ever there.
He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. If he wasn’t careful, this job would put him in Arkham.
It had already cost him his wife and kids.
Hunching his shoulders, he thought wryly that the Watcher was almost a friend by now, imaginary or not. The presence he thought he felt was vaguely…he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t feel threatened.
Jim allowed himself a brief smile before proceeding to the next murder site.
& & & & & &
Jim sighed as he settled in his chair, a glass of wine in his hand. He had forced himself to come home instead of spending yet another night at the office.
His house was comfortably furnished, befitting a Police Commissioner, ironically purchased just a few months before Barbara took the kids and left. He didn’t begrudge her leaving. After the nightmare with Harvey, he didn’t blame her at all.
He supposed he should sell the place, but he’d hired a landscaping company to care of the grounds and a housekeeper to clean once a week. He was tired of living in apartments.
Though he should just put a cot in his office, considering all the nights he had slept on the lumpy couch.
He sipped his wine, listening to the low sound of the classical CD he had turned on. He was no expert on this style of music but he enjoyed it. The strains of classical music soothed him.
As an airplane crossed the face of the moon, lights winking, he thought of the creature sightings of the last two weeks. Some denizens of the seedier parts of town had claimed to see a dark creature with enormous black wings and no face, though others said it was a concealing hood.
They’d nicknamed him the Angel of Death because dead bodies always turned up after a sighting.
Jim grimaced. All they needed was another costumed psycho in Gotham. The Joker was in Arkham and Harvey was dead, but this Angel of Death sounded more sinister.
His hand froze as he lifted the wineglass to his lips.
His Watcher had appeared a month ago, sticking to the shadows.
The Angel of Death had appeared two weeks ago, also sticking to the shadows.
Could they be one and the same?
He lowered his wineglass.
The thought disturbed him.
He had always felt that the presence watching him was benevolent. He didn’t know why or how he knew.
He just did.
He drank the wine. His faith had rarely been rewarded over the years, and now this latest development could bear that out once again.
Well, however it turned out, he would be ready.
He finished his drink and turned off the CD player and lights and headed for bed.
He didn’t see the shadow that had just appeared outside his window.
web counter code (this counter installed 6/9/09)
Author: BradyGirl
Pairings/Characters (this chapter): The Angel Of Death (Bruce)/Jim (See Author’s Notes)
Continuity: Movie/Nolanverse
Genres: AU, Drama
Rating (this chapter): PG-13
Warnings: Not sure if warnings are necessary, but it’s quasi-religious imagery.
Spoilers: None
General Summary: The Angel Of Death is charged with a Quest to save Gotham.
Chapter Summary: Jim Gordon has no illusions about Gotham.
Date Of Completion: October 5, 2008
Date Of Posting: February 23, 2009
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC and Warner Brothers do, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 629
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Notes: Yes, this is a Bruce/Jim series, though it will be pretty unusual ;) Bruce-as-The Angel Of Death is a character I created in The Better Angels, a Clark/Bruce story I wrote last year. You need not have read that story to understand this one. And if ever a ‘verse fit...! ;)
As you can see by the chapter (first draft) completion date, I’ve had this one on the back burner for awhile. I finally worked out what I needed to (it was an Eureka! moment) so it’s time to post. :)
The entire series can be found here.
II
SHADOWS
The city never sleeps,
Shadows its currency,
Despair its coin.
Allison Simmons
"City Of Darkness"
1941 C.E.
Jim sighed. Yet another senseless murder. He looked down at the body clothed in rags in the dirty alley. Beaten to death, just for the hell of it, most likely, because there was nothing worth stealing from this poor soul.
Except his life.
He studied the body. White, male. Maybe he was gay, or Jewish, or any of the other myriad reasons a bigot might kill, if this was the work of one. An investigation would be done, cursory at best. His people were inundated with murders in addition to rapes and robberies. The murder of a homeless man had low priority.
Clouds scudded across the moon. It might rain later. Typical Gotham weather.
Suddenly, he tensed.
The Watcher again.
For the past few weeks he had felt himself being watched, always from the shadows, yet no one was ever there.
He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. If he wasn’t careful, this job would put him in Arkham.
It had already cost him his wife and kids.
Hunching his shoulders, he thought wryly that the Watcher was almost a friend by now, imaginary or not. The presence he thought he felt was vaguely…he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t feel threatened.
Jim allowed himself a brief smile before proceeding to the next murder site.
& & & & & &
Jim sighed as he settled in his chair, a glass of wine in his hand. He had forced himself to come home instead of spending yet another night at the office.
His house was comfortably furnished, befitting a Police Commissioner, ironically purchased just a few months before Barbara took the kids and left. He didn’t begrudge her leaving. After the nightmare with Harvey, he didn’t blame her at all.
He supposed he should sell the place, but he’d hired a landscaping company to care of the grounds and a housekeeper to clean once a week. He was tired of living in apartments.
Though he should just put a cot in his office, considering all the nights he had slept on the lumpy couch.
He sipped his wine, listening to the low sound of the classical CD he had turned on. He was no expert on this style of music but he enjoyed it. The strains of classical music soothed him.
As an airplane crossed the face of the moon, lights winking, he thought of the creature sightings of the last two weeks. Some denizens of the seedier parts of town had claimed to see a dark creature with enormous black wings and no face, though others said it was a concealing hood.
They’d nicknamed him the Angel of Death because dead bodies always turned up after a sighting.
Jim grimaced. All they needed was another costumed psycho in Gotham. The Joker was in Arkham and Harvey was dead, but this Angel of Death sounded more sinister.
His hand froze as he lifted the wineglass to his lips.
His Watcher had appeared a month ago, sticking to the shadows.
The Angel of Death had appeared two weeks ago, also sticking to the shadows.
Could they be one and the same?
He lowered his wineglass.
The thought disturbed him.
He had always felt that the presence watching him was benevolent. He didn’t know why or how he knew.
He just did.
He drank the wine. His faith had rarely been rewarded over the years, and now this latest development could bear that out once again.
Well, however it turned out, he would be ready.
He finished his drink and turned off the CD player and lights and headed for bed.
He didn’t see the shadow that had just appeared outside his window.
web counter code (this counter installed 6/9/09)