Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

★. Chapter Index. (You are here!)

I've written so much fic for this ship that it was kind of difficult to know how best to split it into sections. In the end I went for type of fic, so you'll find it categorised under:

 - Regular Ship Fic

 - Alternate Universe

 - Canon Divergence AU / Episode Specific

 - Family Feels 

 - PWP

 - Other

Regular Ship Fic

The get togethers, the relationship drama, the times it doesn't work out... you know the score.

★. 69. Harvey's never been into guys - but he's got eyes in his head. [E]

★. All Out Of Love. Jim manages to curse Harvey into falling out of love with him. [T]

★. All the Songs Make Sense. Jim realises his feelings for Harvey have changed. [T]

★. Amnesia. Jim gets injured and Harvey rethinks what is important to him. [T]

★. Amnesia - Again. Revisiting the trope; Jim can't seem to remember exactly what his relationship with Harvey is. [T]

★. Bathing Fic. Jim looks after Harvey when he's ill. [T]

★. Break Up. An argument proves final. [T]

★. Christmas Tree. Christmas themed fluff. [T] And a companion piece from Jim's POV. [M]

★. Closet Case. Jim catches Harvey watching gay porn and struggles with his own identity. [E]

★. Dancing. Harvey teaches Jim to dance. [G]

★. Decorating. When Harvey's away Jim takes it upon himself to brighten the apartment up a bit. [G]

★. Defending Each Other. Jim and Harvey stand up for one another. [T]

★. Double Date. Jim and Harvey are on a Valentines' date, kind of. At least until Ed and Oswald turn up. [G]

★. Drive You Crazy. Harvey loses his mind over Jim - literally. [T]

★. Drunk Kissing. They kiss - but Jim is too drunk to remember it. [T]

★. Everyone Assumes They're a Couple. Harvey doesn't understand why people keep giving him such a hard time for trying to score a date for the weekend. [T]

★. Fake Relationship. Jim needs a plus one for his brother's wedding. [T]

★. Faultline. Harvey gets abducted, Jim decides he needs to back off and ensure it doesn't happen again. [T]

★. First Anniversary. Jim messes up, Harvey forgives him. [T]

★. First Date. Harvey wants their first date to be perfect. Of course, Gotham has other ideas. [G] I also wrote a little prequel to this, with Harvey actually asking Jim out HERE. [G]

★. Fluff. Just some fluffy banter fic. [T]

★. Friends With Benefits. [T]

★. Fuck Buddies To Lovers. [E] 

★. Giving Up. Harvey gives up hope of Jim ever loving him back. [T]

★. Gobblepot With Unrequited Gordlock. 'It hurts that Jim would sooner fuck a psycho murderer (Penguin) than be loved by him.' [M]

★. Going Down. Inevitable 'trapped in an elevator' fic. [G]

★. Hair. Jim has a thing for Harvey's hair. [T]

★. Harvey Gets Injured. Harvey doesn't know if it's better to wait for Jim to get sick of nursing him or to simply push him away and be done with it. [T]

★. Harvey Revisits His Old School. He wants Jim to pretend to be his date for the occasion. [T]

★. Harvey Sleeps With Lee. Harvey's afraid a drunken mistake is going to result in him losing Jim forever. [E]

★. Harvey Wants More Than Sex. All his life Harvey's only ever made one kind of connection with people. [E]

★. Horoscopes. Jim doesn't believe in astrology, something Harvey ascribes to his being a textbook Capricorn. [G]

★. IKEA Fic. Harvey asks Jim to move in with him. [G]

★. In Print. Jim gets more than he bargained for when he asks Harvey to read to him. [T]

★. Jealous Jim. Jim hears that Harvey's seeing someone. He doesn't like it. at. all. [T]

★. Jealousy. When someone starts hitting on Harvey, Jim gives in to the green eyed monster. [T]

★. Jealousy, Take II. Harvey's into Fox. Jim is not happy about it. [T]

★. Jim's Always Had a Thing For Older Guys. Jim swears off the kind of guy who is only going to break his heart. [E]

★. Jim's Army Boyfriend Returns. Harvey finally screws up the courage to tell Jim how he feels when a blast from the past arrives in Gotham. [T]

★. Jim Chooses Lee. Instead of Harvey. :( [T]

★. Jim Heads a PR Campaign. Jim is so proud of his work with the GPU, Harvey does whatever he can to shield him from what people really think of it. [G]

★. Jim Loses His Memory. More amnesia fic. [T]

★. Jim Pines. 'Jim wasn't shallow, but if someone were to ask him to draw a diagram of what exactly did do it for him, it would look a hell of a lot like Harvey Bullock.' [T]

★. Jim Uses Harvey. Harvey is utterly and completely in love with Jim. Jim knows. Harvey knows Jim knows. They don't talk about it. [T]

★. Jim Woos Harvey. Jim does his best to win Harvey over. [G]

★. Last To Know. Harvey thinks they're the real deal - Jim's taking things to the next level with Sofia. [G] This one also has a sequel where Sofia lives up to her comics moniker of The Hangman. [T] Plus a domestic little curtain!fic sequel to round it off. [T]

★. Letting Go. Harvey tries to be selfless and let Jim go; Jim doesn't like the idea. [T] Also, from Jim's POV. [T]

★. Libido. Harvey says he's not in the mood, Jim worries that it's his fault. [T]

★. Life Affirming Sex. The death of a fellow cop makes them think about life and what they want from it. [E]

★. Listening In. Jim overhears Harvey says 'I'm so in love with him' and jumps to the wrong conclusions. [T]

★. Lunchtime Dates. The guys get together over a bunch of dates that aren't really dates... [E]

★. Marriage. Jim can't work out why he's so put out by the fact Harvey has found himself a boyfriend. [M]

★. Matchmaker. Harper opens Jim's eyes to his own feelings. [T]

★. Mixtape. Jim needs some help to say 'I love you'. [G]

★. More Than Words. Harvey tries to confess how he feels but it just keeps coming out wrong. [T]

★. Movie Night. Harvey takes Jim on a date. [G]

★. Mutual Pining. [T]

★. No More Angels. Jim isn't an angel - Harvey doesn't care. TW for attempted suicide. [T] Plus a sequel. [T]

★. Non-Con. The duo are kidnapped and when Jim is threatened, Harvey offers himself up instead. TW for rape. [E]

★. (Not A) Love Story. Jim tries to pick up where Fish Mooney left off. [T]

★. Now You're Gone. Jim fakes his own death for an undercover job, but doesn't tell Harvey. TW for suicidal thoughts, grief, etc. [M]

★. Oblivious. Harvey doesn't notice people hitting on him - Jim can't pay attention to anything else. [T]

★. Online Dating. Harvey finds out Jim has set up an online dating profile; he can't help but fake his own to start messaging him. [T]

★. Overrated. Jim thinks sex is overrated. [T]

★. Overworked. Fluffy fic with Harvey being overworked and Jim wanting to look after him. [T]

★. Payback. Harvey made a promise to get Jim back, now he's got to fulfil it. [G]

★. Pick Up Lines. They both try to one up each other with cheesy chat up lines. [T]

★. Presumed Dead. After an explosion Jim is presumed dead, but Harvey just can't stop hoping. TW for attempted suicide. [T]

★. Proposal. The glurgiest, most tooth rotting proposal fic I ever wrote. [G]

★. Proposal, take two. I was prompted to write another proposal fic. [G]

★. PTSD. How Jim deals or, more realistically, doesn't deal with it. [T]

★. Realisation. Jim realises he has been pining for Harvey. [T]

★. Santa's Lap. Harvey has to play the man in red for the department's Christmas outreach. [G]

★. Save The Last Dance For Me. Drifters' inspired ficlet. [G]

★. Second Chances. Jim gives his life for Harvey - but he finds a way to bring him back. [T]

★. Secret Marriage. Jim and Harvey have been married a while - much to the surprise of their colleagues. [T]

★. Secret Santa. Exchanging gifts! [T]

★. Secrets. Jim doesn't know what to do when a case he's working points to Harvey as prime suspect. TW for past child abuse. [E]

★. Sharing Body Heat. Because it is a trope as old as time. [T]

★. Sharing Clothes. Jim wants to feel closer to Harvey. [G]

★. Size Kink. Harvey knows from experience that bigger isn't always better. Plus a sequel from Jim's POV. [E]

★. Slow Burn. The guys take years to realise they're head over heels for each other. [T]

★. Somebody Else. Jim realises his feelings too late, Harvey's already found someone else. [T]

★. Stay. Ficlet - Jim doesn't know what he does to him. [M]

★. Sticks and Stones. Jim and Harvey are kidnapped and forced to beat each other up for the amusement of their captors. [T] And again with the roles reversed. [M]

★. Suicide. Harvey takes his own life. [T]

★. Suicide Attempt. Harvey finds Jim just in time. TW for the obvious. [T] I had another bash at a similar prompt set in S4 [T] and a fluffy sequel. [T]

★. Summer Holiday. Harvey wins a couples' holiday and bets Jim he can't convince the other holidaymakers they're on honeymoon. [E]

★. Talking Point. In which they're sharing a bed but Harvey is still painfully slow on the uptake. [T]

★. Tattoos. The boys get drunk and end up with matching tattoos. [T] Also, another little ficlet where it's just Harvey with the ink. [M]

★. Tell Me More. Harvey tries to turn Jim on by talking about his conquests. [E]

★. Things That Go Bump In The Night. Harvey's afraid of ghosts. [T]

★. Time Out. Jim gets injured but his time in recovery gives him a new perspective. [T]

★. Trapped. Jim thinks he isn't going to get out alive so tells Harvey that he loves him. Also a companion piece from Harvey's POV. [T]

★. Trust. Jim turns to Harvey because he's the only person he can trust anymore. [E]

★. Truth Serum. Jim has no choice but to confess his feelings. [T]

★. Too Late. Jim realises how he feels but it's too late. TW for character death. [T]

★. Unrequited. 'Being in love with Jim Gordon was the most painful thing Harvey had ever experienced.' [E]

★. Walking After You. Ficlet based on the song by the Foo Fighters. [T]

★. Watching You. People think it funny when Jim has a sex tape go viral, but the joke soon turns sour. [M]

 Alternate Universe

★. A/B/O. The obligatory A/B/O AU smut fic. [E] Other A/B/O fics include:

 - Omega Jim falls pregnant after an unintended heat. [E]

 - And the same thing with Omega Harvey. [E] Plus a sequel. [E]

★. Age Reversal AU. Gotham/Life on Mars mash up! [E]

★. Arranged Marriage AU. Set in ye fantasy olde days. [M]

★. Bartender AU. Jim is a patrol officer who befriends a bartender. [E]

★. Batman '66 Mashup. [T]

★. Cookery Show AU. Harvey is a contestant, Jim is a top chef who can't help falling for him... [T]

★. Determination. Jim set his sights on Harvey long before they ever got partnered together. [T]

★. Florist AU. Teen! Jim crushes on Officer Bullock with the intensity of a thousand firey suns. [M]

★. High School AU. In which Harvey is the patrol officer who saves Jim from the car crash that killed his father, and Jim is a troubled kid who ends up crushing on the one person he can rely on. [T]

★. High School AU - Sequel. Essentially just some jailbait wait smut. [E]

★. Hooker AU. Jim is a prostitute and Harvey is one of his regular clients. [M]

★. Love Letters. Harvey writes to Jim while he's in the army. [T]

★. Merman AU. Harvey is a fisherman waiting to be called out to sea. [M]

★. Pirate AU. Jim is an upstanding member of the Royal Navy and Harvey is a pirate captain. [T]

★. Priest AU. Father Bullock keeps crossing paths with a certain GCPD homicide detective. TW for attempted suicide. [T]

★. Priest (Seminary / College) AU. Jim is a photography major who can't stop thinking about the subject of one of his pictures. [T] Plus a sequel. [M]

★. Private Eye. Harvey is a PI, Jim wants his assistance. [T]

★. Reassignment. Jim and Harvey aren't working together in the beginning, instead they get reassigned as partners. [T]

★. Soulmarks AU. Jim thinks soul marks are outdated nonsense - meeting Harvey Bullock only confirms his opinion. [G]

★. Soulmates AU - writing on skin. [T]

★. Suit Shop/Nerd Store AU. Jim's fresh out of college and Harvey's undercover. [T] Plus a companion piece from Jim's POV HERE. [T]

★. Training Officer. Jim goes for the police academy instead of the army, and ends up with Harvey as his FTO. [T]

★. Undercover. Jim was badly injured in the car crash, they meet when Harvey goes undercover to bring down Uncle Frank [E]

★. World War Two AU. Harvey is a Detective Inspector on the British homefront and Jim is just another yank causing him problems. [T]

★. World War Two AU - Sequel. Harvey plays at being a war bride, but it's harder than he thought it would be. [E]

Canon Divergence AU / Episode Specific

★. Sexuality Angst. Harvey pulled Jim from the wreck of his father's car back when he was a uniformed patrol officer. [T]

★. Hooker AU. Harvey met Jim pre-show, when Jim was working undercover with Vice. [T]

★. Harvey Never Forgets a Face. Harvey knows he has seen Jim somewhere before, he just can't remember where. [E]

★. Locked In. Harvey doesn't care what it takes, he just needs to get Jim out of Blackgate. TW for mentions of rape. [T]

★. MPreg. Ficlet exploring the potential after effects of Jim's brush with Indian Hill. [T]

★. Phone Sex. Jim helps Harvey with his speech for the cadets in S3:E15. [E]

★. Harvey Worked for the Court. Harvey was involved in the death of Jim's father. [T]

★. Virus!Jim Angst. Written between S3:E20 and E21/22; Jim and Lee leave Harvey to die. [T]

★. Jim Refused the Virus. Divergence from S3:E20; Jim doesn't take the virus and Harvey has to dig up his body. [T]

★. Tetch Virus AU. Harvey couldn't get through to Jim in S3:E22 and paid the ultimate price. [T]

★. Harvey gets infected with the virus. Set just after S3:E22. TW for non-con themes. [T]

★. R&R. Harvey needs a vacation after the events of S3:E22. [T]

★. Redemption. Jim did way more damage throwing him into a train in S3:E22 than Harvey let on, when he's finally hospitalised because of it Jim begins to wonder how well he really knows his partner. [T]

★. Hit Me. Set during S4:E03 - Harvey always knew it wouldn't last forever. [T] Plus a sequel. [T]

★. Emergency Contact. Post S4:E08 Jim and Harvey don't speak - until Harvey gets a call to say Jim's in hospital. [T]

★. What Can I Say? Harvey doesn't walk away from Jim's request to talk in S4:E11. [E]

★. Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder. Harvey leaves Gotham for a while after S4:E11 and Jim realises what he's lost. [T] Plus a sequel. [M]

★. No Happy Endings. Post S4:E11, Harvey carries out a hit on Jim. [T]

★. Apology. Post S4:E11, Jim tries to make things right. 

★. Double Cross. Set post S4:E11, it turns out that Jim never betrayed Harvey... [T]

★. Home Truths. Harvey shows Jim how he really feels about him and Sofia. [M]

★. Get Together. Some fluff set after S4:E16. [T] Plus a sequel where Jim is being tempted away but Harvey refuses to fight for his man. [T]

★. Persistence. Jim tries to win Harvey over after the events of S4:E14. [T]

★. Soulmates AU. Jim has always seen flashes of a life that isn't his own. [T]

★. Mind-Reading AU. Kind of - Harvey can see Jim's emotions. [T]

★. Gender Swap. Weird science and body horror for Jim. [E] Plus a fix it sequel. [E]

Family Feels

★. 5 Times... People thought they were together, and one time they were certain. [T]

★. Anniversary. Jim helps Harvey through a difficult anniversary. [T]

★. Baby Blues. Harvey finds out that he's a dad. [T] Plus a sequel from Jim's POV. TW for domestic abuse, though not between Jim and Harvey. [M]

★. Cat. Jim takes home a stray kitty. [G]

★. Chip Off The Old Block. Jim doesn't know how to deal with the knowledge that his dad and Carmine Falcone were in a relationship. [T]

★. Definitions of Happiness. Happiness means different things to different people. [G]

★. Dog Day Afternoon. Harvey gets a dog. [T]

★. Don't Look Back In Anger. Jim went to school with one of Harvey's step-kids. TW for attempted suicide. [M]

★. Drunken Mistakes. Ostensibly a sequel to this PWP ficlet, Harvey has to deal with some ghosts of the past and Jim makes a confession. [M]

★. First Date. Jim and Harvey prepare for their little girl's first date. [G]

★. Fluffy Miscommunication. Jim accompanies Harvey to a family wedding. [G]

★. Half a World Away. Harvey throws in the towel and goes to stay with family in Ireland. Jim begins to realise what he's missing. [G] Plus a companion piece from Jim's POV. [M]

★. Jim is Touch Starved. Jim meets Harvey's family for the first time at the man's hospital bedside. [M]

★. Kid! Fic. Jim gets custody of baby Babs after his brother's death - he really can't cope with it. [T]

★. Lucius Plays Matchmaker. Everyone else can see what they can't. [T]

★. Memories. Harvey tells Jim why he can't quit Gotham. [G]

★. Mother Knows Best. Harvey's mom gets them together. [T]

★. No Contest. Jim meets Harvey's step-daughter and jumps to conclusions. [T]

★. Odds and Ends. Jim keeps Harvey as his bit on the side. [T]

★. Outsider POV. Jim's mother thinks about the relationship she and Jim never had. [T]

★. Sing It Loud. Jim learns that Harvey can sing, and then can't stop thinking about it. [G]

★. Trans! Fic. Jim's brother Roger comes to visit and spills all Jim's secrets. [G] Also a companion piece from Jim's POV. [G] Plus some PWP with Jim sitting on Harvey's face. [E]

★. Visitors. Future fic where Bruce visits Commissioner Gordon and his trophy husband. [G]

PWP

★. Bathtime. Handies in the bath. [E]

★. Blindfolded. Jim works through some of his trust issues. [E]

★. Cheerleading. Jim in a cheerleader outfit. For science... [E]

★. Control. Harvey has a new method for keeping Jim in line. (AKA sex toys under clothing kink.) [E]

★. 'Don't Ask Me That'. Catching Jim in a state of undress was a precise science. [E]

★. Dirty Talk. Harvey tells Jim what he's going to do to him - then goes ahead and does it. [E]

★. Double Penetration. Harvey and Alfred teach Jim a lesson. [E]

★. Drunken Hook-Up. Jim gets drunk and eager. [E]

★. Drunken Mistake. Harvey knows that's all he'll ever be to Jim. [E]

★. Dub-Con. Jim pushes Harvey past breaking point. TW for dub-con. [E]

★. Fantasy. Jim fantasises about Harvey during his time in prison. [E] When he's free once more, Harvey acts it out with him. [E]

★. First Aid. Jim wears a nurse's uniform - Harvey gets hot and bothered. [E]

★. Foot Fetish. Harvey has a thing for feet, especially when they have Jim attached to them... [E]

★. Forced Sex. Jim and Harvey are kidnapped and made to have sex with each other. [E]

★. Glasses Kink. Jim has a thing for Harvey in his glasses. [E]

★. Handcuffs. Jim misuses some GCPD issue equipment. [E]

★. Hair Trigger. Harvey can't help being over responsive. [E]

★. Heat Wave. Jim gets what he wants. [E]

★. Lap Dance. Jim gives Harvey a show. [M]

★. Like a Porn Star. For a prompt on the kink meme: Harvey stumbles across some porn videos starring a young Jim Gordon... he just can't. stop. watching. [E]

★. Making Up. A fight turns into sex which turns into something more. [E]

★. Manscaping. Written for the most fabulous prompt I ever had: Harvey walks in on Jim manscaping one morning, how does he react? [E]

★. Moustache. Jim grows a 'tache, Harvey shows his appreciation. [E]

★. Nipple Play. [E]

★. One Sided. Jim wants it to be a love thing but Harvey isn't interested. [E]

★. Oral Fixation. Harvey has an oral fixation, Jim's sure of it. [E]

★. Orgasm Denial. [E]

★. Playing To Type. Jim's porn stash is a revelation. [E]

★. Porno Tapes. Jim is surprised by the content of Harvey's collection. [E]

★. Praise Kink. [E]

★. Prostate Milking. [E]

★. Random Smutlet. [E]

★. Red Lace. Harvey likes to wear women's underwear. Jim finds the discovery very relevant to his interests. [E]

★. Reverse Size Kink. Barbara tries to humiliate Jim by revealing that he has to overcompensate. [E]

★. Rimming. Harvey gives Jim the rim job of his life. [E]

★. Sex Pollen. What it says on the tin. [E]

★. Sex Pollen Threesome. Jim/Harvey/Lucius. [E]

★. Sexting. Harvey shows Jim how it's done. [E]

★. Spanking. Harvey punishes Jim. [E]

★. Sparring. A fight turns into something more. [E]

★. Suit Porn. [E]

★. The Widow and The Devil. Jim is very demanding. In the bedroom. [E]

★. Threesome. [E] Plus a prequel [M] and a sequel [T] where Jim admits it was Harvey he really wanted.

★. Tied Up. Harvey has to act out some D/s to keep their cover from being blown. Jim doesn't object too much. [E]

★. TLC. Harvey gives Jim some TLC after yet another beating. [E]

★. Under the Desk. Jim interrupts an important phone call between Harvey and the Commissioner. [E]

Other

Meta, art, fanmixes, etc.

★. I Love How It Hurts. Fanmix. [G]

If you have a prompt, feel free to leave it here as a comment or send me an ask over on Tumblr @tunglo. :)

Chapter Text

“It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it!”

Jim glared over at him, overbearing morality seeping from every pore, and Harvey determined not to let it get to him. Just because the Great Jim Gordon had turned his nose up at the prospect of working through the haul of black market videos, it didn’t mean he had to renege on his offer of assistance to help catalog them.

Truth be told, he was looking forward to it. They weren’t dark, they weren’t deviant. They weren’t even illegal, per se. Just trashy old pornos with trashier cover graphics.

Sitting through them really wasn’t going to be a hardship.

(Unless it was. A guy could hope, couldn’t he?)

Except then he actually got started. It wasn’t as though he’d prefer to be sat around knitting and singing Kumbaya, or whatever the hell it was Jim did with his free time, it was just that it was kind of boring. Women with lacquered hair and blue mascara, and guys with mustaches and nylon y-fronts.

It was no wonder the stuff had been stockpiled, some of it looked older than he was.

Finally, finally, things began to get interesting. Fewer ill equipped plumbers and less corny dialog. Less dialog, period, and he shifted in his seat when a particularly pretty guy entered stage right because if he didn’t know better, he could have sworn he was watching a young Jim Gordon.

Harvey squinted at the screen, then scrabbled for his glasses. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

There was no way Gotham’s Golden Boy was on his knees in some low budget porn production, moaning shamelessly around the dick in his mouth.

He had to watch it through once, twice, three times before he was certain. Had to freeze frame the close ups of the guy’s face so he could scrutinize the size of his nose and the shape of his jaw. Had to take a break, heat washing over him at the sight of the flush on his cheeks and the moisture caught in his lashes.

It was.

Holier than thou Jim Gordon, the twink porn star. Jim ‘Boy Scout’ Gordon, getting thoroughly prepared and fucking loving it. If he wasn’t, the kid ought to have been in the running for an Oscar.

Harvey went through the rest of the titles with renewed vigor. Found another video with Jim on his back, on his front, propped up on hands and knees, biting back whimpers as some other guy licked into him.

This was the motherload.

With this he could do anything. Eat all the chili and garlic he wanted in the car, and offload a week’s - no, a month’s - worth of reports onto Jim’s desk. He could work loose any secret he liked from Jim’s skeleton packed closet, or insist that he finally do the decent thing and let them reopen the office pool on McKenna and the feisty new desk sergeant.

All he needed to do was stop watching.

Because it was easy enough to lift the tapes and take them home with him. Simple enough to wipe all record of their existence from the official GCPD paperwork.

Completely impossible to destroy them, or hand them over to Jim for a bit of lighthearted blackmail.

He couldn’t quit playing the damn things, over and over, alone in his empty apartment. Began to be sure he was going to do himself an injury, the way he couldn’t keep his hand out of his pants, hips jerking and breath stuttering at the idea of having Jim in front of him, reenacting the scenario.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t imagined it once or twice before, more maybe, the prospect of Jim’s mouth being too full to spout his usual self-righteous bullshit so very satisfying. Then things had changed between them, turned and twisted until he actually cared what Jim had to say, even if he didn’t agree with it. Suddenly, Jim could make all the noise he wanted in his fantasies.

Could gasp and groan and beg him to help him forget his problems. To touch him until he couldn’t remember his own name, let alone the burdens he kept piling on his own shoulders. To kiss him afterwards, and hold him close, and tell him what an absolute perfect mess of a man he was.

Now fate had seen fit to provide him with visual proof that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t being completely fucking delusional.

It screwed with a guy’s head, got him acting crazy, and that was how he found himself staring too intently at Jim’s impossibly handsome profile, filling the stagnant silence of their stakeout with,

“You missed some quality footage the other night, you know. You ever try not being so uptight all the time?”

Jim shook his head, all fond amusement, and carried right on gazing out the car window.

“I don’t think a few hours of bootleg porn is going to change anyone’s opinion of me.”

Harvey almost choked, Jim’s words entirely too pertinent to what he was really getting at, but he had been watching closely. There had been no recognition. No realization. He just had to push further,

“I dunno, this might have.”

There was a frown this time, the barest hint of color highlighting those cheekbones, and when Jim turned to look at him there was a flash of panic in his eyes that pulled at something deep inside him. Made him wish he had had the sense to keep his big mouth shut.

“Really?” Jim asked, trying so hard for casual. “What happened in this seminal piece of cinema?”

He should stop now. Should laugh it off and change the subject. Should leave Jim his dignity.

“There was this guy,” he said instead, unable to look away, “all blond hair and blue eyes. Looked a little like you, if I’m being honest.”

Jim stared back at him, and the air was too hot. Too thin. He could scarcely breathe for it.

“Yeah?” Jim managed finally, barely a whisper, and Harvey had to say it, couldn’t bear to see that fearful look on his partner’s face a moment longer,

“Yeah. He was absolutely fucking gorgeous.”

They had never talked about this. He wasn’t one for levity, and Jim struggled with anything that wasn’t directly work related, but it had always been there. Had always been obvious, really, in the lingering press of his hand against Jim’s shoulder, and the way his thumb wandered sometimes, straying to the soft skin at Jim’s nape.

Jim had to know what it meant - he was the department’s star detective.

He flushed up all the same, the tips of his ears burning as though he hadn’t heard the exact same thing a thousand times, hadn’t seen it writ clear across the face of almost everyone he came into contact with. Jim swallowed, the movement of his throat mesmerizing, and this wasn’t something they were going to be able to pretend never occurred, not when Jim said, voice rough,

“He was probably young and stupid. Needed the money.”

“I wasn’t judging.”

Jim searched his face, for what Harvey couldn’t say. He simply let Jim take his fill, figured if it was really important Jim would explain himself. Remembered that this was Jim Gordon, and of course he wouldn’t elaborate on what it was he was looking for.

What it was he was worrying about.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. It doesn’t change what I think of you.”

And, okay, that wasn’t quite true and Jim knew it.

“You’re still too stubborn for your own good,” Harvey clarified, “You’re still the most irritating son of a bitch I’ve ever worked with.” He reached out, took hold of Jim’s unresisting fingers, something that felt like electricity juddering up his arm. “I’d still take a bullet for you.”

Jim made a sound at that, breathy and helpless, and then he was kissing him, one hand curling in his hair even as the other clutched more tightly at his own fingers. This was a bad idea, a monumentally stupid thing to be doing in a parked car in broad daylight, but he kissed back just as enthusiastically. Bit down playfully at Jim’s bottom lip and got busted at his own game, Jim all but surging out of the passenger seat into his lap, grinding against him like an uncoordinated teenager.

“It’s all right,” he soothed, startled at Jim’s desperation, “I got you.”

Jim only seemed to grow more impatient, both hands tangling in his hair now, kissing like his life depended upon it, and this was such a dumb move. It was going to create so many problems. Harvey couldn’t make himself care. He had Jim Gordon panting, frantic for him, and it wasn’t as though they were sat in some residential area where anybody could see them.

He stroked down the expanse of Jim’s back, worked the seat back a little to give them some space, then settled his grip on Jim’s waistband, tried to calm his movements into something a little less fevered. Gave up and pushed his hands up under Jim’s shirt, under the soft cotton of his undershirt, brain shorting out at the way Jim gasped like it was the hottest thing he could imagine, like he didn’t have beautiful women - men too, most likely - throwing themselves at him.

Like this was Jim’s wet dream come to life, not Harvey’s, and then Jim was pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, pupils blown and voice wrecked as he said,

“I’m not usually like this.”

No kidding, Harvey thought, rolling his hips up into him. He loved the way Jim’s eyes fluttered shut, adored the way he groaned into the heated air between them, self-control slipping still further. Jim might spend the majority of his life repressed and uncommunicative, might suck at expressing anything other than anger and frustration, but that didn’t mean this was something he needed to be ashamed of.

Was really exactly the kind of thing Harvey was interested in encouraging.

“No?” He said against the shell of Jim’s ear, renewing his attempt to control the rhythm of Jim’s hips. “But I bet you want to be. I bet you’ve thought about this a hundred times, haven’t you?”

Jim whined and Harvey licked a hot stripe up the side of his neck. Latched onto the spot that made Jim shiver and cry out, teeth and tongue laving against it as his hands forced Jim to rock slow and even.

“I bet you want me to take charge. Want me to press you back against your fancy sheets and work you until you don’t care what you look like. Don’t care how loud you’re being, just so long as I don’t stop touching you.” He went back to Jim’s ear, took note of how it made Jim forget himself, fingers clutching tightly at his shoulders. “Is that what you want, Jim? Tell me.”

“Yes,” Jim begged, and it was a sound tore out of him, could have been lifted straight from one of Harvey’s late night video sessions.

It had him tightening his hold on Jim’s hips. Had him moving faster, with more purpose, suddenly desperate to see Jim come apart for him.

“That’s what I’ll do then. I’m going to take my time, going to spend hours on you. Going to get you so close to the edge you can’t quit shaking, don’t think you can hold back any longer, and then I’m going to sit back and watch you calm down so I can start all over again.”

Jim was shaking now, wild eyed and feverish, and Harvey had to kiss him. Had to push up against him even as Jim ground down, even as the edge of Jim’s badge dug in hard enough to leave bruises.

“Come on,” he heard himself plead, “come on, Jim.”

That was all it took to push Jim over. To have him pant and shudder and bring Harvey with him, the force of it leaving him sweating and breathless. Jim collapsed against him, heavy and sated, face buried in the crook of his neck.

Harvey let him cling to him, let one arm rest around him even as he shifted the other experimentally. Winced at the aches and pains from the uncomfortable seat and the awkward angle, the entirely too obvious condensation streaking the car windows.

Jim groaned against his throat, sharing at least some of the same sentiments. Inhaled deeply like he was committing the scent of him to memory - Harvey’s own body twitching at the idea - and finally slid back into his own seat, his hair mussed and his skin still damp and reddened.

Harvey grinned at the sight of him. Rolled the windows down a bit and took a long drag from his hip flask before offering it over.

“I hope you’re not going to protest that we’re on duty,” Harvey said, just to see the belligerent look Jim gave him, and then took pity. Didn’t have to try too hard, not with Jim still soft around the edges, and the waves of endorphins messing with his own thought processes. “Because by my reckoning we should have clocked off ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah?” Jim asked and lifted the flask to his lips for a long pull of whiskey, gaze never leaving his own, like the act was some kind of challenge.

“Yeah,” Harvey agreed, and now it was his voice which was a trifle unsteady. His pulse which was racing.

Jim screwed the cap back on the flask. Reached one hand to his throat and tugged at his already loosened tie, sliding the fabric free from his collar. Harvey followed the movement, couldn’t look away, and this time it was Jim who smiled.

“Good, because I think you said something about my place and taking hours.”

He had. Had the car moving almost before Jim finished speaking.

He was a man of his word.

There was no reason why he couldn't have a lot of fun proving it.

Chapter Text

Harvey’s never claimed to be a saint, never pretended to be a better person than he needs to be, but here, now, he wishes some of Jim’s inherent goodness would rub off on him.

Because Jim’s begging, pleading, cheeks flushed and arousal pressed into Harvey’s thigh, where Jim is attempting to rut against him. He looks like a wet dream, one of Harvey’s own, and with every passing second it’s becoming more difficult to remember why giving in would be such a very bad idea.

“It’s the drug,” Harvey says, as reasonably as he’s able. “This isn’t what you want, Jim.”

Not in his right mind, he wouldn’t. Harvey knows this. Knows that if they do this things will never be the same between them. Knows that Jim will never forgive him.

“Please,” Jim whines, helpless, like he can’t form a complete sentence. “Please, Harvey.”

Jim still knows who he is at least. Understands that he isn’t one of Jim’s impossibly beautiful women, all sleek hair and mega watt smiles. He must do because he seizes on the indecision in Harvey’s eyes, the urge to pull Jim close and to hell with the consequences, and slides smoothly to the floor, graceful like a professional.

Except Harvey’s all but given that up, has been all but celibate for fucking months now, and Jim’s nuzzling his cheek against the bulge in his pants. Looking up at him through his lashes, blue eyes almost black with how much he wants it, and Harvey’s only human.

“Let me,” Jim breathes, and Harvey’s nodding dumbly. Fingers sliding into Jim’s already disheveled hair, even as Jim’s fingers fumble with his belt buckle.

He can’t help but watch, couldn’t look away if his life depended upon it. He’s going to be replaying this scene for the rest of his life, on those lonely nights when there’s nothing but his right hand to turn to. He’ll know that one time, at least, he had Jim Gordon’s mouth on him.

Jim Gordon’s hand wrapped around him, his other pushed into his own underwear, movements frantic and desperate.

“Jim,” he pants, and he can’t quite believe that sound is his own voice. Can’t quite believe any of it, not when Jim moans, the vibration making his toes curl, and not when he’s the one pulling Jim up and off his cock, because he needs to kiss him more than he needs to come.

Because this might be the only chance he ever gets to do it.

He’s got Jim back against the wall, one hand cupping his jaw. Just looks at him for a moment, wants to etch this vision into his memory. The high color painting Jim’s cheekbones and the glistening sheen on his lower lip.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he says, in too deep already, and then he’s crushing their lips together. It’s hot, wet, perfect, and he works a hand between them, the mix of precome and saliva making the slide slick and easy.

Jim’s hands come up to claw at his back, to clutch at his shirt, and Harvey wishes he had the willpower to pull away because this shouldn’t be happening.

Because it would be so much better laid out across Jim’s comfortable mattress, all clean sheets and crisp hospital corners.

All he does is move his hand faster and swallow down the sounds that spill from Jim. The harsh gasps and the pathetic whimper he can’t control when his body goes taut, shaking and shuddering as he reaches completion.

Harvey has to follow, has to push into the too tight grip of his own fist and let his lips seek out the soft skin of Jim’s neck, biting down even as he spurts over his fingers, Jim panting and wrecked against him.

They just stand there for a long moment in the aftermath. His hands awkwardly settling at Jim’s hips, his waist, his shoulders, and Jim with his head buried in his shirt front, the silence stretching.

“I’m sorry,” Jim says eventually, like he’s the one at fault, and Harvey throws caution to the wind. Slides the backs of his fingers against Jim’s chin, tilts Jim’s head up until he has no choice to look at him. Leans in slow and careful, in case Jim wants to pull away, because he knows the drug is still flooding his system, and presses a chaste kiss to Jim’s lips.

Jim tries to follow when he pulls back, pupils still blown, and Harvey hopes Jim won’t hate him later for his honesty.

Hopes it won't hurt too badly when Jim claims it meant nothing.

“Don’t be. I loved it.”

Chapter Text

Jim Gordon looked like he had walked straight out of the pages of a top shelf magazine, and that alone should have been enough to prove that this was a really bad idea.

Because Harvey still remembered how it was before the easy anonymity of the internet. Knew what it was to bluff and to bluster and to pretend, the cashier totting up smokes and candy and a newspaper you both knew would never be read, just to detract from the fact you needed fresh spank material.

Understood only too well what it was to be young and idealistic. Naieve even. He had fallen for his own superior officer once, had almost fucked up his entire career before it had even got started because it had still mattered back then, who you did and you didn’t get hard at the thought of, even when you kept your goddamn mouth shut about it.

Jim wouldn’t have, that was a given.

Had no sense of self-preservation, and that was why it had to be Harvey who turned him down. Harvey who put a strictly platonic hand on his shoulder and said carefully,

“I think somebody’s shitfaced, Jimbo.”

Jim scowled and protested. Pouted and swore it wasn’t the drink talking.

Harvey bundled him into a cab all the same, gave the driver strict instructions, then went home to his empty bed and pushed frantically into his own fist, mind’s eye fixed on Jim’s teeth worrying at his bottom lip, baby blues soft and wanting.

He was only human.

The following morning he determined not to mention it. To let Jim cling to his dignity.

Jim, of course, couldn’t wait to dissect the entire conversation.

“I wasn’t drunk,” he murmured during the morning briefing, and when Harvey pretended like he hadn’t heard him he only made a point of leaning against the edge of his desk afterwards to say, “I wasn’t joking either.”

Harvey focused on his paperwork - there was always so much goddamn paperwork - and not on Jim’s backside or the proud tilt of his jaw. Chewed on the end of his pen for a distraction and said, voice light as he could make it,

“If you’re that lonely I got a number you can call. You won’t remember your own name by the time she’s done with you.”

Jim only stared at his mouth, at the way he was working the pen, and suddenly the air in his office felt stifling. It was a relief when a scuffle broke out in the bullpen, two detectives old enough to know better coming to blows over some extracurricular investigation, and this was why he wasn’t letting Jim’s pretty face override his reason.

It was why he pressed a case file into Jim’s hands, assigned him a bubbly blonde rookie to go check it out with, then found himself pacing the corridors of Gotham General a few hours later, praying to whoever might be up there that the surgery proved successful.

“He’s stable,” a nurse told him eventually, and when he pressed for further info it was either his aura of authority or the wild look in his eyes that got him admission to Jim’s bedside.

“Why have you gotta be such an idiot?” He asked Jim’s unconscious form, throat thick with emotion. “Do you actually want to end up six feet under?”

The machines blipped indifferently, the sound of the ventilator overwhelming in the small space. Jim looked so awful, matching black eyes and his lips bust up and swollen around the breathing tube. They had removed the bullet, stopped the bleeding, but there were no guarantees. Absolutely no way Jim would be bouncing right back from this one.

Harvey touched his hand, just for a moment, wary of the wires and the splint binding his broken fingers.

He had to get out of there.

Back at the precinct Steadson was pale faced but determined as she described the shooter, and the sketch artist lead her through the finer details, the resulting portrait getting close scrutiny from everyone.

Because Jim was a pain in the ass, the worst kind of moral crusader, but he was still one of their own. They weren’t about to stand around doing nothing while he lingered just outside death’s door.

“I want this bastard found,” Harvey told them all, pinning a copy of the artist’s impression to the central notice board. “If he happens to get roughed up a little along the way, well, Jim ain’t in no fit state to worry about it.”

A grim chuckle went around the room, the darker side of the job that Jim always wanted to sweep under the carpet, and then they were out pounding pavement, calling on all the usual scumbags and degenerates.

It didn’t take long, scarcely took any time at all, and Jim still wasn’t breathing independently when Harvey went back to the hospital to tell him about it. Dumped the cheap bouquet of carnations on his bedside table and ran a hand through his hair, questioning what the fuck he was playing at.

He had told Jim no, had made his position crystal clear. Yet here he was, bringing the man flowers like some lovestruck idiot. Jim would never know, at least. Showed no signs of coming around, not that day, and not three weeks later, not even when his brain remembered how to tell his lungs to suck in oxygen and the doctors downgraded him to a shared ward.

Nothing was the same without him.

There was nobody to protest about the inadequacies of his diet, and nobody to complain about the state of his in-tray. Nobody to laugh at his jokes, the curve of a smile on Jim’s face in spite of his better judgment, and nobody to simply stare at him, like he wasn’t a grizzled old cop, long past his sell by date.

It made him turn to the bottle. Made him get drunk and maudlin, and wish that he hadn’t ever tried to be the responsible one.

If he could do it over, he wouldn’t care. He’d have beat his own head against the wall a few times to knock some sense into it. If Jim wanted him, what did the hows or whys matter?

He would have hauled Jim close and kissed him back that night in the bar. Might have made the first move, even, and watched the way Jim’s eyes went wide, because the cocky little shit didn’t want to believe that Harvey was a good enough detective to put the pieces together.

He’d have done anything Jim wanted because the alternative, holding Jim’s unresponsive hand night after night and knowing he might never get a chance to make it up to him, felt as though it was killing him.

It almost killed him for real when he looked up one night to find Jim looking back at him, frightened but focused, and maybe he needed to take it easy on the drink and the take out, because the way his heart pounded in his chest couldn’t be at all healthy.

He made enough noise to wake the entire ward, got a sound telling off from the health care professionals, and learned that recovery didn’t work quite the same way it did in the movies. It was slow, it was painful, and when Lee came with him after a hectic shift to tell Jim that she was glad he was alive, even if it didn’t mean she wanted to spend any time alone with him, he realized that there were more than the physical repercussions to worry about.

Jim only frowned at her, like he couldn’t quite work out who she was, let alone why she was apologizing for not visiting sooner, and Harvey couldn’t find the words to explain.

Couldn’t do anything but press a kiss to Jim’s brow once Lee was gone and he was asleep, and wonder what it would mean if Jim was never well enough to return to the GCPD. What he was going to do if Jim never recalled that he had once been enamored of a wisecracking old bum, and how much it was going to hurt, having to watch Jim get sucked straight back into that spiral of self-destruction without the job to focus on.

Because Jim put on a brave face, and Harvey took the easy way out and went along with it. Didn’t comment when Jim groped helplessly for simple words and phrases, and said nothing when Jim stared at his own apartment building with blatantly obvious fear, clearly not recognizing anything about it.

Harvey watched closely as Jim moved around the rooms carefully, still weak from the prolonged inactivity, fingers trailing over his dust covered possessions.

He felt guilty, wished he had thought to clean the place up a bit, and then Jim stopped dead in front of a framed photograph of a couple who had to be his parents and all the bravado - all the studied indifference and the military training - crumbled away.

“I don’t like it here,” Jim said, voice strained. “I don’t think I ever liked it.”

“No, you didn’t,” Harvey agreed, for all that Jim had never come right out and admitted it, and just like that Jim was trembling. Was pressing his face into his hand, as though it would be enough to prevent an emotional breakdown, and Harvey wasn’t having any of it.

He hadn’t sacrificed god knows how many drinking hours to sit at Jim’s side, only to pretend now that he didn’t care what Jim was feeling. To pretend that what Jim was feeling hadn’t become his major preoccupation. He crossed the room in three strides and pulled Jim to him, literally felt the moment Jim gave in and stopped trying to play the tough guy.

Jim let himself be held, hot tears soaking through the fabric of Harvey's shirtfront, and when he was finally done, wiped out and exhausted, Harvey put him to bed and got acquainted with Jim's sofa for the night. Devoted all his free time to getting Jim to smile, and sweet talked HR into letting Jim return to desk duties at the earliest possible juncture, simply because he didn’t trust Jim to be left to his own devices all day.

Selfishly didn’t want him out of his sight for long stretches, and at the end of that first week realized suddenly that he had been forcing Jim to be in his company almost 24/7 since he came out of hospital.

“I expect to see you bright and early Monday morning,” he said when the day was done, his false smile threatening to desert him at any moment. “So don’t get doing anything I wouldn’t.”

Jim blinked at him, bewildered, and Harvey shrugged,

“All right, don’t do anything I would. Better?”

Apparently not, not if the wounded look on Jim’s face was anything to go by. Not if he was going to still feel responsible five drinks in, wishing that he had just followed through on all the things he had promised himself he would do if Jim ever rejoined the land of the living.

He gave up after the sixth and forced himself not to detour on the way home. Jim was ill, he didn’t need his drunk ass waking him and unloading sentiment Jim most likely couldn’t even remember he had ever wanted.

Except when he stuck his key in the door of his own apartment, he sobered up pretty quickly to find the door already unlocked, opening easily under his touch. He hesitated for a long moment to steady himself for the worst. Drew his gun from its holster and moved forward cautiously.

“People who leave spare keys in their mail box are just asking to be murdered.”

Harvey put the gun away. Sighed heavily and dropped to sit on his grotty sofa.

“People who go stealing things from mail boxes are just asking to be arrested.”

Jim grinned at him, face transformed by the expression, and Harvey was no match for it. Watched dumbly as Jim moved to sit closer to him. Sat numb as Jim took one of his hands in his own and looked him in the eye, radiating the same stubborn determination he practiced when there was a case he didn’t want to abandon, or a lost cause he refused to give up on.

“What is this about, Jim?” He asked, wary, and Jim only frowned, like he was dredging up the words of a speech he had spent all evening preparing.

“Sometimes I think the things I can’t remember are the things I don’t want to,” he said, tone even and careful, “because when you brought Lee to the hospital I knew that she hated me. I didn’t know why, but I knew that I deserved it.”

Harvey opened his mouth to protest, because Lee didn’t hate him, not really, and taking her there had never been his idea, but Jim just kept talking,

“And you looked at me like I mattered. Like,” he trailed off, the meaning clear regardless. “I knew I must have screwed it up somehow. The same way I screw up everything.”

“You never,” Harvey breathed because he hadn’t expected this. Had never imagined this - Jim Gordon admitting that he was fallible. Clinging to his hand as he laid bare his soul, like he couldn’t understand that he was the one who was supposed to get sick of Harvey’s bullshit, not the other way around.

“Whatever I did, I'm sorry,” Jim offered, contrite and so miserable it made Harvey ache to see the smile return. Made him remember that he still had hold of Jim's hand. That he was sat so close it would be nothing to reach over and show rather than tell what he was thinking.

“You almost got yourself killed,” he said, anyway, because it had to be done and he doubted Jim's ability to ever be this forthcoming again. “You left me to sit there and think I'd never get to see you do anything again. If you want this, if we do this, I don't care how badly you fuck-up. It won't matter what you do - there will be no getting rid of me.”

Jim smiled at that, positively beamed, and perhaps it really was the drink talking but, from now on, Harvey could tell that life was going to be perfect.

Chapter Text

Jim had never been much of a social drinker. Alcohol was something to be sipped, sparingly, as an aid to surviving the tedium of whatever function he had been dragged to, or else it was something to be drank neat, from the bottle, alone in his apartment when he couldn’t bear to spend another minute thinking about his latest fuck-up.

If he wasn’t looking for oblivion, it seemed pointless. If he liked his company, counter-intuitive.

Harvey took it as a personal affront, saw it as a challenge, and it didn’t take long before Jim had to admit that it was kind of nice sometimes. It was more than nice, maybe, to feel warm and buzzed, relaxed against Harvey’s shoulder and laughing unreservedly at whatever stupid joke he chose to share with him.

The problem was that Jim had never known how to quit while he was still ahead. Had always had to push just that little bit further, and it was almost inevitable when one night he went from telling Harvey not to be an idiot, to staring into the other man’s eyes, his entire world contracting until it was just the two of them.

“Earth to Jim,” Harvey said, cheeks flushed with either drink or the close scrutiny - both perhaps - and then Jim was pressing forward, suddenly desperate to know what exactly the scratch of Harvey’s beard would feel like.

Good, that was the answer. Really really good, and the fingers of one hand found their way into Harvey’s hair, because he had wondered too often whether Harvey might get off on that. More than likely, Jim decided, because Harvey kissed him back with enthusiasm. Slid a hand up his neck, along his jaw, held him still even as he squirmed, overwhelmed, Harvey’s mouth detouring to suck at his throat.

He made a noise at that, louder than he had intended, and when Harvey pulled away it took a moment for the haze to clear. To realize that they were actually in a public place, the bar booth no protection against prying eyes and strangers’ scrutiny.

“Didn’t think you were into this,” Harvey said, too casual, and finished off his drink while Jim tried to make sense of what was happening.

Because he wasn’t into any of it. Not other people knowing and not losing control of himself. He had never been particularly interested in other guys, even, but right now it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the way his pulse was pounding in his ears and the way Harvey was looking at him, eyes dark and wanting.

He drained the remnants of his own drink, didn’t look away, and said with a confidence he couldn’t quite lay claim to,

“Are you saying you’re not interested?”

Just like that they were leaving, Harvey’s hand on his back, heavy and possessive. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, the promise of it exciting, and he had never been gladder to fall through the door of Harvey’s dive of an apartment because he couldn’t wait any longer.

Had already shoved Harvey back against the wall of the building’s dingy hallway, teeth and tongues clashing like he wasn’t half terrified, like he could remember the last time he had been the one to make the first move with anybody.

“We don’t have to,” Harvey told him in the present, fingers working on his shirt buttons, and the challenge of it was enough to sweep any lingering doubts away. Was enough to get his own movements frantic, scrabbling at buttons and fastenings until Harvey simply took hold of his wrists and pushed him down onto the bed, the rush of this is really happening sending thrills through him.

“If you could see yourself,” Harvey breathed, more to himself than for Jim’s benefit, and then Harvey joined him, thigh falling between Jim’s legs as he kissed him with purpose, his fingers trailing sparks of sensation everywhere he put them.

Ordinarily he’d think about it, talk himself in and out of it being a good idea a thousand times before somebody else made the decision for him, but here, now, Jim gave as good as he got. Worked his hand between them and felt his own dick twitch at the sound Harvey made, when he succeeded in getting a hand wrapped around him.

“Jesus,” Harvey gasped, eyes wide like he scarcely knew him, and then he was moving out of Jim’s reach, tugging his pants and underwear down and off him. Got rid of two sets of shoes and socks, and then slid his hands up Jim’s legs, mouth following.

Jim had to watch, had to suck in great lungfuls of overheated air, because Harvey was looking up at him, strands of hair falling in front of his face. Was licking a hot stripe up the length of Jim’s dick, never once breaking eye contact.

It was too much, it wasn’t enough, and Harvey understood. Held a steadying hand against his hip and swallowed him down, so perfect he tried to buck up all the same, helpless, sounds he scarcely recognized as his own voice falling from his lips. Harvey didn’t let up, tongue doing things that made Jim’s toes curl, and it was only when the pitch of Jim’s desperate babbling changed that he pulled back, eyes dark as he waited for Jim to regain some control over his body.

“What do you want, Jim?” He asked when the need wasn’t quite so desperate, the peak not quite so imminent, and still Jim couldn’t keep his hand off himself. Couldn’t help the way his legs were trembling, nor the flush that was enveloping him.

“I want this,” he managed. “I want you.”

Beyond that he didn’t know. He had never been here, never done anything quite like this, and the things he had imagined seemed vague and distant, washed out in comparison to the simple reality of having Harvey look at him like this was everything he had ever wanted.

Harvey kissed him again, soft and slow, and murmured assurances. Told him it was all right, that they could do anything, and when he took over from Jim’s hand, thumb swiping through the fresh swell of wetness, Jim felt as though he were burning all over, even as the words were wrenched from him,

“I want your fingers.”

Harvey groaned, low and heartfelt, and this was something else entirely. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t let go, and every touch - the ostensibly soothing stroke of Harvey’s hand down his side, and the brush of his hair against his shoulders when he reached over to the nightstand - only stoked it higher.

He was a mess, completely at Harvey’s mercy, and when slick fingertips pressed against his entrance he gave up on pretending he wasn’t desperate. Gasped and whined and pushed back, overwhelmed at the feeling of being breached, lost when Harvey compounded it by sucking him again. By pressing hard against something inside that made him twist and writhe, fingers whiteknuckled where they were bunched in the bed sheets.

“Fuck,” Harvey hissed when he pulled back enough to watch, a second finger joining the first one. “Touch yourself, Jim. Do it for me.”

Jim tried to look, flashes of heat and want and the blush working its way down Harvey’s chest and across his shoulders, before he had to clench his eyes shut again. Harvey’s command was different, made to be obeyed, and he worked his hand frantically, grip so tight it was almost painful. He was so close, so impossibly hard, and all it took was another press of Harvey’s fingers against his prostate, his teeth clenching and his limbs shaking as it washed over and over him, come streaking his hand and his stomach.

It went on and on, the pressure firm and insistent, until it was too much and he had to claw at Harvey’s arm. Had to collapse, panting and wrecked, Harvey claiming his mouth as he bucked into his own fist, the movements of his arm sharp and juddering.

He gasped when he came, wet heat that made Jim spasm again, in sympathy, and then Harvey was crushed heavily against his side, his arm wrapping around him.

“That was amazing,” Harvey told him, words muffled in the pillow. “You are amazing.”

Jim felt himself blush, even in the face of everything they had just done, but Harvey only found his hand and linked their fingers together. Brushed a kiss against the side of his face, the bristle of his beard so outside of Jim’s usual realm of experience, and it should have been panic inducing. Should have had him reconsidering everything.

It didn’t.

He was too drunk, maybe. Too content.

Perhaps it just didn’t matter, he decided, and squeezed Harvey’s hand tighter.

They were both where they wanted to be. Nothing else seemed important.

Chapter Text

“Gordon, get your ass in here.”

It was for show, really, but it still felt good to assert some authority over Gotham’s golden boy. He was the Acting Captain and Jim was in need of disciplining, especially when he took his own sweet time about obeying the command.

Harvey wondered, idly, if Jim had been the same in the military. If there had been prolonged push up sessions, sweat dripping down the curve of his biceps because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

If there had been other punishments, later, with Jim on his knees, eyes wide and lips swollen.

What an image.

In the present Jim rapped at his office door. Didn’t even have the decency to wait for an answer before opening it.

“You wanted me?” Jim said and came to stand in front of his desk, hands on his hips, and Harvey leaned back in his seat. Raked his gaze over Jim’s form fitting shirt and his open, dominant stance.

Yeah, he wanted him.

“I’ve been reading this report you gave me,” Harvey paused, let Jim get riled up a little, brow furrowing, “and it’s a crock of shit. You think you can get away with this because you got your face in the fucking paper? That’s not how it works in my department.”

Jim stiffened at that, jaw clenching, but he didn’t back down. Didn’t look away, even, and it was clear that further action was called for. Harvey stood slowly, made sure Jim was well aware that he was taller than him. Bigger. Stronger.

Stalked around to stand behind Jim and watched the way Jim swallowed, just a little nervous, as he made a point of twisting the window blinds closed.

“What have you got to say for yourself, Jim? You think you’re too good for paperwork?”

“No,” Jim said, clipped and slightly bewildered, and before he could protest further Harvey said,

“I think you need to be taught a lesson. You were out of line and you know it.”

Jim blinked at him, getting with the program, and Harvey crossed his arms across his chest because it made him look like he meant business.

Because otherwise the temptation to touch would be overpowering.

“I want you bent over the desk, pants around your ankles.”

For a moment he thought Jim was going to refuse. Plotted furiously what would happen if Jim didn’t get his ass in gear but then he was doing it, movements awkward and hurried as he fumbled with his belt buckle. The back of his neck was coloring up, along with the tips of his ears, and he hesitated for another long moment, the silence in the office stifling.

“Do you want an audience?” Harvey tried. “Are you waiting for someone to walk in and watch me punish you?”

That drew a sound from Jim, somewhere between a gasp and a goddamn whimper, and Harvey filed it away for future reference. Relaxed as Jim shucked down his clothing and braced himself, hands on the desktop.

“That’s it,” Harvey praised. “See, you can be a good boy.”

There was that noise again, followed by a bitten back curse. Harvey decided he was going to enjoy this. Dragged out the anticipation as long as he was able, finally ran his fingertips down Jim’s spine, a wave of heat washing over him at the way Jim shivered, head hanging forward.

“I’m going to spank you now,” he explained, tone carefully even. “I’m going to give you ten strokes and you’re going to thank me for them.”

Jim nodded, the flush growing deeper, looking painful, and Harvey let his hand wander for a second. Soaked up the warmth of Jim’s bare backside before giving it a smack, palm open. It sounded obscene, almost, especially when Jim exhaled harshly at the contact.

He didn’t waste any time before delivering the second, nor the third. Jim gasped, helpless, on the fourth, and Harvey swallowed thickly, mesmerized by the way Jim bit down at his lip. Glanced down to gauge whether or not it was working and had to be pulled from the haze by Jim’s voice pleading,

“Please. Don’t stop, Harvey.”

Because Jim was hard, achingly so, from nothing but a few swats and Harvey gave him another three in quick succession, the sharp sting in his palm nothing compared to what Jim’s groans did to him. The agonized pull of want he felt when Jim tried to shift his legs further apart, restricted by his clothing.

“You really want this, don’t you?”

The calm indifference was long gone, his voice strained, and he bypassed ten, twelve, fifteen, spurred on by Jim’s wanton begging.

“Please,” Jim cried out finally, too loud and too far gone, and Harvey sank to his knees. Placed his hands on Jim’s burning skin, thumbs tracing the edges of the most obvious marks. Jim was trembling, shaking, and fuck but Harvey had to touch him. Had to spread him open and breathe against him. Had to push forward and use his tongue, Jim jerking instinctively, shocked at the sensation.

Harvey held him still. Lapped at him delicately until Jim was all but sobbing, overwhelmed and oversentisized, and only then did he press further, tongue spearing into him over and over until Jim really was sobbing, so fucking hot with it that Harvey had to push a hand against his own arousal, just for some respite.

It didn’t work, only made him more desperate, and he pulled Jim back against his face even as got his other hand between Jim’s legs. It didn’t take much, didn’t take scarcely anything, and Jim was coming, noises like Harvey had never heard pouring out of him, his legs threatening to give way.

Harvey held him up, body pressing him forward against the desk as his hand found himself, a half dozen strokes all it took before he was shuddering through his own release, panting like he had run a marathon.

“I think you broke me,” he said eventually, when his heart rate had returned to something approaching normal, and he had managed to get himself up off the floor and wipe his hand off on something disposable. Jim still hadn’t recovered, still hadn’t moved, and Harvey gave him some assistance. Got his pants up and then hauled him into his arms, loving the way Jim clung to him, limp and sated.

He hoped the cleaners hadn’t got too much of an earful. Jim really wasn’t good at keeping quiet.

“Was that how you imagined it?” He asked the top of Jim’s head regardless. Pressed a kiss into his disheveled hair for good measure and couldn’t help adding, suddenly anxious, “Did it live up to expectations?”

The silence stretched for one beat, two, his heart thumping hard, and then Jim said,

“I would never mess up my paperwork.”

Harvey grinned. Hugged Jim closer, because it was clearly no complaint, not when his words were still slurred together, his face nuzzling into Harvey’s shirtfront.

“Artistic license,” Harvey countered, easily, then made a grab for his jacket.

He wanted to get home and drink a nice cold beer. Wanted to curl up next to Jim on the sofa and watch him blush every time he remembered why he was struggling to get comfortable.

He had earned it.

Chapter Text

Harvey had an oral fixation, Jim was sure of it. He was always eating, or drinking, or smoking, or sucking on the end of his goddamn pen like he had absolutely no idea how distracting it was.

He didn’t, probably. At least Jim hoped so.

Because it wasn’t the kind of distraction that made him want to grit his teeth and rub his fingers against his temples, not like Barbara’s humming or the way McKenna cracked his knuckles. It was the kind that got him hot under the collar, his focus wrecked and his thought processes frazzled.

It made him worse at his job and for that reason - and that reason alone - he lost his temper when he found Harvey loitering yet again at the edge of a crime scene, smoking.

“It’s working with you,” Harvey told him, as usual, but ground the cigarette into the dirt all the same. “I hadn’t wanted one in months before you turned up.”

“You know it can kill you,” Jim told him stubbornly, like it was any of his business, and Harvey only rolled his eyes and went for his hip flask.

“I’ll never live long enough, not with you as my partner.”

That stung, pulled at his conscience, and by lunchtime he had spent so long sulking over it that he acquiesced too easily when Harvey suggested they actually leave not only their desks, but the precinct.

Outside the heat was sticky and stifling, one of Gotham’s fleeting attempts at summer, and Jim was already regretting the decision. Regretted it all the more when Harvey dragged him into the nearest convenience store to buy popsicles.

It was an image he could have lived without.

One that wouldn’t stop sending hot flushes over him, not as they sat on bench in the sun, Harvey slurping obscenely, cheeks hollowing, and not alone in his bed at night, his dick refusing to take no for an answer.

He gave up in the end and let his hand wander. Told himself it meant nothing, that he wasn’t thinking of anything, then pictured Harvey taking over from him, the wet heat of his mouth overwhelming, and came so hard he almost did himself an injury.

The following morning he swore it would be a one off. That he was completely in control of his body’s reactions.

Then Harvey turned up with a whole bag of suckers and a new found commitment to quitting smoking. Stomped about the place like a hirsute Kojak, until Jim began to dread looking up from his paperwork for fear he was going to publicly embarrass himself.

It was torture, pure and simple, and when he and Harvey relived old times on a seemingly endless stakeout, Jim couldn’t keep still. Squirmed and shifted in his seat and tried to concentrate on anything but the scene playing out in front of him. The way Harvey’s tongue was caressing yet another lollipop, eyes closing, blissful, as he finally drew the whole thing into his mouth.

He might have made a noise, in fact he was almost certain of it, and Harvey looked at him quizzically for a moment before handing one of his stash over.

“You only had to ask, you know,” he said, easily, and Jim fumbled with the wrapper before shoving it in. Hoped it would be enough to prevent any further mishaps. It was only later that he realized his mistake, long after Harvey had moved on to the next and he had crunched his own into tiny little pieces.

Because now he knew what Harvey’s mouth would taste like, when he first licked into it, and that was something he really hadn’t needed.

From there it was inevitable, only a matter of time before he could take it no longer. He thought about it constantly, the idea just as impossible to ignore as his self-appointed mission to root out police corruption.

Harvey was oblivious. Either that or he knew exactly what he was doing. Enjoyed watching him suffer, his cheeks flaming with color at the rustle of a candy wrapper.

“I think you’re sweet on someone,” he said one night as they sat too close on Jim’s underused sofa, pulling the current lollipop from his mouth with an obscene sounding pop. “You keep zoning out on me.”

It was too much - he had been pushed past breaking point.

He must have been because he couldn’t care a damn when the half eaten candy stuck to his upholstery. Couldn’t care about anything but pushing closer, pressing deeper, desperate to find the taste of Harvey underneath all the confectionery. Harvey kissed him back, hauled him into his lap, and Jim knew he ought to calm down.

Should try to act more like a responsible adult and less like a frenzied teenager.

It wasn’t going to happen. Not when Harvey bit down, just a little, at his bottom lip, and not when the helpless groan it tore out of him had Harvey flipping their positions, pushing him back against the sofa cushions even as he pulled Jim’s pants down to pool around his ankles.

Their eyes met then, him more worked up than he could remember, and Harvey on his knees in front of him.

“I told you before,” Harvey said, and Jim had never heard him sound like that, not outside of his late night fantasies, “you want something, you only have to ask for it.”

And then he was pressing his tongue against him, tasting him, and Jim couldn’t help the way his hips bucked upwards. Couldn’t bite back the anguished whimpers when Harvey set about proving just how much practice he had gotten in with those lollipops, tongue swirling in ways specially calculated to kill him.

“I can’t,” he whined after an embarrassingly short length of time, his thighs quaking and his heart pounding. “I’m going to.”

Harvey said nothing, channeled his response into action, and Jim cried out harshly. Pushed a hand into Harvey’s hair and tugged on what he hoped was the right side of painful when he still showed no signs of letting up, working him until he couldn’t bear it.

The kiss that followed was sweet - the traces of candy still evident, and the feel of it, soft and slow, like this was the start of something special, not the end of it. Jim pushed his hand between them, kissed and kissed Harvey as he stroked him, loving the way Harvey couldn’t get enough of him, ego stoked high by the way Harvey pulled back to look into his eyes as he came, the intensity of it sending shivers through both of them.

“Been wanting to do that for a long time,” Harvey confessed in the aftermath, one arm flung around him, and Jim forced himself not to question it. Not to pull it apart and try to ruin it. Harvey wouldn’t lie to him. He deserved his honesty.

“Me too.”

Harvey grinned, pleased, and pressed a scruffy kiss to his temple.

"Good, because I'll be wanting to do it again in twenty minutes or so."

Chapter Text

There was a time when he hadn’t been in love with Jim Gordon.

It was hard to credit now, sure, but he liked to remind himself of it all the same. Took solace in the fact that he hadn’t taken a single look at Jim’s pretty face and thrown his self-respect out of the window. It had been a week, at least, before he had woken hard at the memory of a dream featuring Gotham’s Golden Boy.

Two, maybe, before he had pushed frantically into his own fist, imagining the Boy Scout on his knees in front of him.

It was a month, almost, before he had first admitted that he wanted more than a no-strings screw.

He still did. Desperately. He would throw himself in the path of a bullet for Jim - was reasonably certain he already had at some point - and spent slow mornings at the precinct fantasizing about some alternate universe, one where Jim was going to bring him coffee and donuts with a kiss, not a fresh stack of paperwork and a disparaging comment about his personal hygiene.

He washed plenty, as Jim would know if he ever let Harvey get as close as he wanted to be.

Then again, perhaps he could never get close enough to Jim to be fully satisfied. Secretly suspected that if Jim turned around tomorrow and professed to love him he’d still feel like he was chasing rainbows. Would work himself into the ground trying to impress a guy who looked like he belonged on the cover of Entertainment Weekly.

Because the only way Harvey was going to grace its pages was as the before picture of a weight loss commercial.

He knew this. He wasn’t a fucking idiot.

Jim was so far out of his league he was somewhere in the stratosphere. He had never shown the slightest inclination for slumming it, either, all his women impossibly perfect with their fluoride white smiles and knock out figures.

And they were all women. He had subtly fished, he had unsubtly goaded, but it had all proved pointless. Even if Jim were to go for someone fast approaching the wrong side of 50, even if he were to develop a sudden interest in the pudgy and the graying, it still wouldn’t make a difference.

He knew which side Jim’s bread was buttered.

That meant his own role was clearly defined - Jim’s friend. His best friend, maybe even his only friend, but that was where Jim’s interest in him began and ended. He was the one who cracked jokes at Jim’s expense, and he was the one who took Jim out and got him drunk enough to temporarily forget his problems.

He was the one who got to see Jim at his worst. Bleeding and broken from the job, puking and snot covered from his interpersonal failures.

Jim sobbed one night, spurred on by a mixture of hard drink and harder painkillers, prescribed for the cracked rib some scumbag had given him, and the sight of it physically hurt. Every word from his lips like a knife to the heart, a thousand piss poor life decisions encapsulated in Jim’s miserable self-assessment.

“I’m a virus, Harvey. Everyone knows it.”

“You just gotta give it time,” Harvey soothed, hand drawn to Jim’s shoulder like a magnet. “With a pretty face like yours, someone will be willing to overlook your personality.”

It almost raised a smile.

Harvey’s own mind was reeling, because it hadn’t simply been idle gossip. Jim really had set himself up an online dating profile, complete with a photograph that could have served as his Blackgate mug shot, and a list of interests that were clearly hangovers from previous partners.

Art, current affairs, health and exercise.

He might look the part, but Harvey knew all about Jim’s non-existent gym schedule. Had seen the piles of empty take out boxes and long out of date newspapers. Worse, he had been living in his current apartment a year, almost, and the drapes were still what he might charitably describe as a vomit green color. The place had all the warmth and style of a bum on a cold park bench, and Jim was trying to pass himself off as some kind of modish metrosexual.

The right thing to do would be to give Jim a few pointers. Else, Harvey could hook him up with a real life woman. He hadn’t been lying about the pretty face. Not even Jim’s sullen expression and perpetual aura of anguish was enough to stop women batting their lashes in his direction. Not that he ever seemed to notice it. Kid was blind to anything that wasn’t criminal.

He thought of a few women who really might interest Jim, then, but he had never been very good at sharing and self-sacrifice.

What he was good at was detail. Detection. Taking note and mentally cataloging. Looking back over a scene and finding whatever it was that ought not to have been there.

So when he looked back at the screen he knew he wasn’t seeing things. Jim must have made a mistake, he decided. Must have clicked the wrong little button, because he knew Jim better than just about anyone and there was no way Jim was looking for a boyfriend.

He couldn’t be.

Harvey kept checking Jim’s profile over the next few days, waiting for Jim’s inevitable realization and the pertinent information to change color.

It didn’t, so it was down to Harvey to nudge Jim along a little.

The best way, the sensible way, would have been to just say something. But Gotham wasn’t the town for sane and sensible, and 2am found Harvey whisky sodden and lovesick, setting up a fake profile. It was easy enough to do; he had been specifically trained in it on his last secondment to Vice, the one where he was restricted solely to desk duties to recover, because murderers preferred to shoot first and worry about the consequences later.

He matched the details to what Jim said he liked - matched a few more to what he knew Jim liked - and dug out a photograph of one of the many dead men he had once known. What they didn’t know wasn’t going to hurt them.

That done he agonized over what to actually say to Jim. He didn’t think Jim would react well to unsolicited crassness but, then again, he was too dense to pick up on anything that wasn’t blatant. It didn’t overly matter was the conclusion he eventually came to. It wasn’t as though Jim was going to be responding to it.

‘You’re cute. ;)’

He wrote finally, then let exhaustion wash over him.

In the morning he could have written it off as a drink induced nightmare, or at least another alcohol fueled act of stupidity. Except Jim had already replied, like he wasn’t the most awkward, uptight guy Harvey had ever had the misfortune of falling for.

‘You’re not so bad yourself. :)’

Harvey watched him closely throughout the day. Sent back half a dozen messages and kept track of the way Jim checked his phone roughly every two minutes, though he usually took great pleasure in lecturing people about keeping the personal and the professional separate.

He wasn’t particularly skilled at self-awareness.

He was surprisingly well versed in flirtatious messages however, and Harvey knew he should nip it in the bud right now. He had achieved what he set out to do - discover whether or not Jim really was looking to hook up with a guy - and now there was no excuse to keep up the charade any longer. Jim would be disappointed, perhaps, but nothing like he would be if he found out Steven Wilkins had never actually existed.

And he would if Harvey didn’t exercise some self-restraint. Jim wasn’t the department’s poster boy for nothing.

Instead he went home that night and put on his reading glasses. Stared at his laptop screen for hours while he and Jim sent messages back and forth, Jim admitting with an eloquence he had never envisaged that he was better at writing than speaking. That he froze up and couldn’t get his words out, so that even those closest to him thought he had the emotional range of a cheese sandwich.

It was a fair assessment.

‘I don’t know if I’m ready for anything serious,’ Jim typed eventually, ‘I’m still hung up on someone.’

Lee, still. It had been near enough a year since the business with Mario. Harvey sighed, hesitated but then figured he was in too deep already. Why not go the full hog so they could both treat it like free therapy - the real shit was expensive.

‘I know that feeling… There’s this guy at work.’

‘What’s he like?’

Gorgeous, bull-headed, a suicidal idiot.

‘Stubborn. Brave. Full of surprises.’

‘Why aren’t you together?’

‘I’m not his type.’

‘I know that feeling.’

Jim started smiling more as the days turned into weeks, was noticeably more relaxed about everything. If Harvey had known pretending to be someone else was all it took, he’d have done it a long time ago. Because if Jim looked hot when he was stressed and strung out, he looked like he might spontaneously self-combust when he wasn’t.

It didn’t help that he was learning all of Jim’s secrets at a rate he had never considered possible. The nightmares he had refused to talk about even months after getting out of Blackgate, and what it was that had made him turn his back on Uncle Sam, in favor of signing up for the police academy.

‘I wanted to make a difference.’

‘And do you?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Is it enough?’

‘It’s better than doing nothing.’

‘Well, feel free to be my hero.’

Not all of it was miserable. Jim had been hiding a sense of humor somewhere underneath his shroud of self-righteousness, and then there were all the tiny sparks of encouragement, just enough to keep him coming back for more. To keep digging for something, anything, that might suggest Jim wouldn’t sock him in the jaw if he ever worked up the courage to come on to him.

He even got Jim to talk about what he liked in bed occasionally, his brain helpfully supplying images of Jim blushing and hesitant, biting down at his lower lip, to fill the gap between every carefully typed answer.

‘I figured you’d want to be in charge. A big tough cop like you.’

‘Outside work it’s different. Sometimes I like to be told what to do.’

‘Yeah? I could help you with that. I bet you’ve already thought about it.’

‘Maybe.’

‘You will be now. Won’t you?’

‘I’m thinking about it right now. It’s all I can think about.’

It was only McKenna turning up on his goddamn doorstep, pale faced and babbling about some crazy new serial killer as he lead him out to the waiting squad car, that prevented him from doing something idiotic, like asking if Jim owned a webcam.

He teased Jim at work, though he knew it was playing with fire. Asked when he was going to be introduced to his latest fling, the one he couldn’t quit daydreaming about.

“There’s no woman in my life right now, I’ve already told you.”

“Guy then,” Harvey said and shrugged, like his heart wasn’t attempting to pound its way out of his rib cage. “I don’t judge people.”

Jim frowned at him, trying to puzzle something out, and then the moment was gone and he was saying with all his newfound good humor,

“If you want to hear about someone’s sex life, maybe you should try getting one of your own.”

He was so stunned Jim was halfway out the door before he thought to yell,

“And what makes you think I haven’t got one!?”

Sometimes he wished he could put Jim’s advice into practice. Because as a month turned into a two it was becoming ever more obvious that he had made a serious miscalculation. All he was doing was falling further in love with Jim, while simultaneously ensuring Jim was going to end up hating him. Would never trust him again, not truly, and would start thinking up excuses not to spend time with him.

It was happening already, and Harvey knew he was on borrowed time, even as he continued digging himself deeper.

‘When did you know you were gay?’ He asked one night, curious, still smarting over the fact Jim had blown off his offer of going out with him and the rest of team and getting blind drunk, to go home and instant message with somebody Jim believed to be a good ten years younger.

He had messaged 'Steven' all through karaoke, at any rate, so that Harvey had begged off early and switched to the laptop.

‘I’m not. I think they call it equal opportunities.’

They did not. Jim was always the first to point out the correct terminology in the GCPD handbook.

‘Your profile says that you’re only into dudes?’ Harvey pushed, three sheets to the wind and way past caution.

‘I thought it might be less complicated.’

‘Is it?’

‘Not really.’

He didn’t know what to say to that. Tore himself away from the screen long enough to grab the bottle of whisky on the countertop and the cold leftover pizza. He always had liked to keep it classy.

‘What about you?’ Jim had asked by the time he returned. ‘Did you always know?’

‘Something like that.’

Except that wasn’t at all true.

It had hit him out of the blue, because he liked the ladies just fine, and it wasn’t the sort of thing you considered an option, not when you were the good Catholic boy he had been. Not when you were young and dumb, and the fear of staining your soul with sin was more powerful than accepting that life was never going to be black and white.

That nothing was ever simple.

He was drunker than he had thought. Was typing it all out, punctuation shot to hell, before he could think better of it.

Told Jim about his mother’s horrified reaction, and the way his uniform partner had refused to say more than the bare minimum to him. Weeks and weeks of disgusted looks and stilted silences, until one of Gotham’s many nutjobs had taken exception to getting arrested and put a bullet through his forehead, because it was still better than calling on someone like him for back up.

He had made the move to plainclothes not long afterwards and learned how to keep his mouth shut.

Got into fist fights in the locker room when that didn’t work and quickly learned that nobody wanted to talk trash about you, not once you had proven you were able and willing to kick seven shades of shit out of them.

‘I wish you were here,’ he wrote finally, and then barely made it to the bathroom in time to hurl his guts up because he had really done it this time. Felt his stomach twist, ice washing over him, at the sight of Jim’s reply.

‘You never said you were on the force.’

The next morning he was a wreck. He hadn’t checked the labels on the booze he had been drinking, or how long that pizza had been sitting there. Hadn’t fully understood how inconceivably awful it would feel to know that Jim was going to want nothing more to do with him.

He would have worked it out by now, and if he hadn’t, it wouldn’t take him much longer.

He was late for work at any rate, and that wasn’t Jim. That was the kind of thing he did, or at least the kind of thing he used to do, before he became Acting Captain and had to haul his ass in even when he had spent the night with his head down the toilet.

All his calls went through to voicemail, and he could do without the jolts of blind panic, not on top of his hangover.

“You look like shit,” Simmons told him cheerfully when she came to get her reports signed off, and he only flipped her the bird before sending her over to Jim’s place with strict instructions to drag him in by any means necessary.

There were a few perks to being the Captain.

When she returned empty handed he had to scramble out of his chair and open the nearest window. Had to press his forehead against cool glass and remind himself to breathe because Jim was fine. He wasn’t going to do something stupid just because he discovered someone he put faith in had gone behind his back and screwed him over.

He thought of Jim unable to shake off Tetch’s compulsion to throw himself in front of the first bus he encountered, and wanted to be sick all over again.

It had been a dumb ass idea from the very beginning, and if he had known he was going to start blabbing all his own secrets he would never have embarked upon it. He didn’t want Jim to think less of him, and he sure as hell didn’t want Jim’s pity.

He might not be able to resist taking it.

Because he hadn’t dwelt on any of that shit in years. Wouldn’t have credited it with the power to still get to him. He had been so young then, so incredibly stupid. So desperately in love he would have done anything - risked everything - and that right there was where these two scenarios intersected.

He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t go through it all over again. Had to pace his office over and over, ringing Jim’s number constantly.

Then Jim walked in of his own accord, dark smudges under his eyes but still breathtakingly fuckable.

Beautiful, that was the word for it.

“I had a few leads to follow up,” Jim said even as Harvey just stared at him, helpless. “It took longer than I thought it would.”

“Yeah?” He managed eventually, his voice scarcely more than a whisper.

“Yeah,” Jim echoed and ran a hand through his hair before meeting his eye again, jaw set with determination. Started reciting like he was delivering the morning briefing, “Officer John Saunders, killed in the line of duty. Internal Affairs looked into it, exonerated Saunders’ partner for failing to provide back-up. Ruled that the working relationship had deteriorated to such a point an incident was inevitable. Criticized the department for refusing to honor either officer’s transfer requests.”

Harvey knew the story well enough. Knew all the twists and turns, all the excruciating detail. Still he had to sink into his seat, afraid his legs were going to give out on him.

Jim swallowed, hiding whatever it was he was thinking behind the military bearing, the police training,

“I went to see the investigating officer. He said it was a tragedy. He said it wasn’t your fault.”

Harvey had to look away, the unruly strands of hair falling across Jim’s forehead not at all conducive to keeping a handle on himself. To not losing what was left of his composure.

“I’m not him,” Jim said, and his voice was rough at the edges now, “if someone told me they loved me, I wouldn’t hate them for it.”

He couldn’t breathe. Didn’t know how he was going to get through this. Jim was in front of him now, fingers ghosting along his cheek before tilting his chin up, so he had no choice but to look at him. It made his heart skip a beat, having Jim so close, being the focus of Jim’s undivided attention.

Seeing the sheen of unshed tears in Jim’s eyes, the same kind he had witnessed after Jim had argued with superior blondes or kind hearted medical examiners.

“If you told me you loved me the last thing I’d ever do is request a transfer away from you.”

It was too much, was too close to being everything he wanted, and it had to be writ clear on his face.

Had to be so fucking obvious.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to suck at this,” Jim said, then pressed forward and kissed him. Kissed him until the numb shock receded, until his brain caught up with what was happening and he had both hands cupping Jim’s face, only half certain he wasn’t dead or dreaming. If that was the case he really hoped he never had to return to reality.

His dreams had never featured the sound of Alvarez wolf whistling though, nor the sight of half the department leering through his office window. He could be dead, he reasoned, but heaven wouldn’t be that cruel and hell wouldn’t have rewarded him with Jim Gordon in the first place.

Jim pulled back, cheeks flushed and lips kiss swollen, and Harvey couldn’t help but grin at him. Stuck his head around the door and yelled,

“Don’t you got any goddamned work to be getting on with?”

Crossed his arms until dispersal was actually taking place, then turned back to Jim, the barrage of emotion from just looking in his direction threatening to floor him.

“Come on, it’s lunchtime.”

They ended up in one of their preferred diners, beloved by half the precinct for its strong coffee and staff who didn’t much care how soppily their patrons gazed at each other.

“You’re supposed to be angry,” he said, stirring yet more sugar into his coffee. Jim glanced up at him through his lashes, just so he had to pinch himself surreptitiously, and sighed,

“I’m a detective, a good one, and you’re not as clever as you think you are.”

That wasn't what he had been expecting.

“How long have you known?”

“I suspected for a long time. I knew when you started asking when I was going to let you meet the guy I was screwing.”

“I don’t think that was my exact phrasing,” Harvey countered, giving in to the urge to slide his hand across the table and link their fingers. Jim shrugged, all smiles,

“It just took me a while to work out what your motive was.”

“You can’t be that good a detective then,” Harvey said easily, unsure how it was even possible to go from feeling so utterly terrible to so completely elated in the space of an hour, “I’ve been sweet on you,” fuck it, “in love with you since about the time you decided that refusing a direct order from a mob boss was a sensible course of action.”

“I always knew it wasn’t sensible,” Jim confessed, tone conspiratorial, then he sobered, squeezed back at his hand, “You never seemed like the type to over think something. If you were interested I figured you would have told me.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow at that, not deaf to the implicit insult, but Jim kept talking,

“Then last night…” He trailed off, eyes so very very blue as he laid himself bare. “Last night I realized that maybe I wasn’t the only one afraid of getting my heart broken.”

“He wasn’t a bad guy,” Harvey said, thumb drawing circles into the skin of Jim’s hand, because John hadn’t been, not really, “he just didn’t know how to deal with it. I never wanted to put that on you. To make you feel awkward.”

“What were you going to do if I wasn't interested?”

Harvey was surprised he even had to ask.

“Carry on being your friend. Stay just as close as you let me. I never expected this, Jim,” he gestured between them, the surrealness of it almost overwhelming. “Look at you, you're like something off a catwalk. You could have anyone.”

Jim shook his head.

“I've fucked up every relationship I've ever been in. The more I love someone, the worse I mess it up. And I love you a lot. Have done for a long time now.”

“You're not selling yourself, Jimbo.”

“Is it putting you off?” Jim asked, too knowing, and Harvey could get used to this. Teasing and banter - just the same as always - and knowing he could pull Jim in close afterwards and kiss him until they both forgot what they had even been talking about.

“Nothing is going to put me off you,” Harvey admitted, something fluttering in his chest at the way Jim pulled his notebook from his pocket and smiled cheekily at him,

“Do you think I can have that in writing?”

Chapter Text

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” Jim offered, uncertain what exactly the etiquette was, “not if you’re expecting somebody.”

Harvey only raised an eyebrow, the one he had learned to interpret as ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’, and Jim felt an embarrassed flush creep up his neck even as he gestured in the direction of the bathroom.

“I saw the,” he waved a hand, encapsulating the collection of skimpy underwear he had seen drying on the towel rail. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

The eyebrow inched higher.

“If you’re offering to spare me yet more fucking paperwork, me and my right hand are always looking to get better acquainted, but,” Harvey shrugged, “otherwise you’re the only date I’ve got lined up this evening.”

Jim relaxed, relieved that he wasn’t going to have to go home to his empty apartment just yet. He didn’t want to think what his off duty hours would look like without Harvey’s company; he had burned bridges with just about everyone else he had come into contact with since arriving in Gotham.

“Is it a serious thing?” He asked, too casual, as Harvey handed him a beer. He wasn’t sure he actually wanted to know the answer. “Am I going to get to meet her at some point?”

Harvey sighed. Studied his face in a way that made Jim all kinds of uncomfortable, afraid of what the other man might be able to tell from it.

“If you’re this worked up over the sight of my skivvies,” he said eventually, “am I going to have to hose you down when I tell you I’ve never been a boxers kind of guy?”

Jim gaped for a moment because that was - Yeah, that really wasn’t what he had been expecting.

Except Harvey was watching him, straight faced and challenging, and it was just a joke. Of course it was. He would know if Harvey made a habit of wearing women’s underwear, surely?

“It depends on whether they’re red and lacy,” Jim offered, because he could give as good as he got, and hid how flustered he was with another swig of beer. Then he turned his attention back to the case files with what what he hoped was an air of professionalism, and breathed a sigh of relief when Harvey finally stopped staring and started reading.

Ruthlessly forced himself to concentrate on the reports in front of him, and not the mental image of his partner parading around in a pair of panties.

He was so not going there.

Five hours later and he was so going there.

He had his head thrown back, panting harsh and loud as he pushed up into his own fist, muscles quivering with the strain of it.

Because it shouldn’t be doing this to him. Shouldn’t have him hard and aching, pure want pooling low in his gut as he imagined how his fingers would look, skirting the flesh of Harvey’s thigh and the frilly edges of his underwear.

Really shouldn’t have him coming like a freight train, too wiped out afterwards to even worry about it.

He saved that for the days that followed, when he couldn’t stop thinking about what Harvey might or might not be wearing. It was a struggle just to keep his mind on the job, especially when Harvey was strutting around with his hands on his hips, drawing all kinds of attention he probably wasn’t intending.

Jim wondered if it was comfortable, to be pressed up tight like that all day, and if it made things more awkward when you couldn’t quite stay in control of your reactions.

How he might be able to help Harvey out, like the good friend he so wanted to be.

Harvey noticed it too. Asked him if he was all right, all platonic concern, and he had to go and splash cold water on his face in the restroom because Harvey was standing so, so close, and maybe he was wearing a pair right now.

From that moment it was inevitable.

The very next time he had a few drinks inside him he was staring at Harvey’s mouth, watching the words he was forming but not listening to them, the question pushing past his own lips before he could think better of it.

“Did you mean it?” He glanced around the bar, cheeks flaming, though Harvey was just frowning at him in confusion. Leaned in close so he could whisper into Harvey’s ear, “Do you really wear women’s panties?”

Harvey looked angry, a flash of something blazing in his eyes as he hissed,

“Really? That’s what this is about!?”

Jim lowered his gaze, contrite and guilty, and Harvey was a good detective. Was better at social cues and reading people than Jim was ever going to be. Was silent for a long moment before he leaned in to him and said,

“I bet you want to know what color they are, don't you?”

His skin was burning, his pulse crashing in his ears, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. Could do nothing but nod dumbly while Harvey just drained his drink and began stalking towards the door. Jim followed, hurrying to keep pace, unsure what was happening, and whether or not talking about it was likely to result in a fist fight.

They were only a couple of blocks from Harvey’s apartment when he suddenly pushed him back into a shop doorway. Harvey kissed him hard and fast, all wet heat and the scratch of his beard, and it was nothing like Jim had had before.

It only made him more eager, made his pulse race that much faster.

He tried to follow when Harvey pulled away, the need for more overpowering.

“Fuck,” Harvey groaned, hands still on him. “Just fucking look at you.”

Jim glanced at his reflection in the window. The high color in his cheeks and the state of his clothing. The dark eyes looking back at him, wanting.

“Come on,” Harvey urged and they were moving again. The tension building and building, until Jim was almost shaking with it.

Harvey fumbled with his key, once, twice, before getting the door open. He kicked it shut behind them, uncaring how loud it was, and then they were kissing again, Jim past frantic and into desperate.

Harvey took charge, used both hands to frame his face and keep him still as he kissed him slow and tender, to give him a few moments where he was calm enough to think clearly, before pulling back and asking,

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, are you sure, Jim? I’m not going to pretend this never happened in the morning.”

It made his heart pound, to have all of Harvey’s attention focused on him. Made something twist in his chest, to know Harvey thought enough of their friendship - of him - not to go ahead without thinking of the consequences.

He reached up to put a hand on the back of Harvey’s head. Pressed their foreheads together the way he had so many months ago, when he had wanted Harvey to know how sincerely meant it, when he said he was proud of him.

“I’m sure,” he managed, barely more than a whisper, and Harvey cast a devoted glance up to the ceiling with a murmured ‘thank you’ before ratcheting it back up from sweet and careful to hot and filthy, sucking a wet kiss into the skin of his throat.

Pushed him back towards the bedroom, and then they were on Harvey’s bed, the scent of him thick in the air and Jim scrabbling at his belt buckle, pulling his trousers down to reveal red lace.

“I heard they were the in thing,” Harvey said, gratifyingly breathless, and it was entirely too much. Was so hot Jim had to press his nose to the taut fabric and breathe in. Had to tease his fingers along the edges of the panties, the way he had imagined the first night he had gotten himself off to the idea of it.

Harvey groaned, low and loud, and Jim couldn’t bear it. Fought with clothing until Harvey had only one leg in them, the fabric bunched tight in Jim’s hand, against Harvey’s hip bone. Jim had worried he might freak out when this moment came. Had panicked that he would feel stupid, clueless and inferior.

All he actually felt was a want bordering on desperation, sucking clumsy kisses up the length of Harvey’s dick, spurred on by the other man’s sounds of approval.

“Fuck, that’s so good,” Harvey ground out, fingers petting in his hair even as his hips stuttered up, the head of his cock pressing slick against his cheek. Jim opened his mouth, put his tongue against him, experimentally, and the resulting groan was enough to make him push forward, the stretch of his jaw as new and exciting as the way Harvey was speaking to him, praising everything he did like it was something incredible.

It was so hot, so utterly, ridiculously hot, and then Harvey was pulling him up and off, crushing their mouths together.

“Jim, I have to - just let me.”

Harvey pushed him back against the bed and hurriedly undressed him. Ran his calloused hands up his legs, and followed them with his mouth, pressing open mouthed kisses to his thighs until Jim was actually shaking.

“Please,” Jim whined, though he wasn’t certain what it was he was begging for.

Harvey looked up at him, eyes so dark they made Jim shiver, and then he was licking wet stripes up along his inner thighs. Was taking just the head of his dick into his mouth, as though he simply wanted to taste it, and then they were kissing again, all slick heat and the foreign traces of himself.

He wanted more, needed more, and Harvey squirmed and shifted so that his cock was pressed between Jim’s spit slick thighs, knees locking them in place. Raised himself up on his hands and Jim got the idea, clenching his thighs tight together.

“Jesus,” Harvey cursed, reverent, and Jim did it again, and again, hand finding himself, movements rushed and frantic. “Jim, fuck. That's it, please, Jim,” Harvey gasped, plead, and that was it, he was coming, the fingers of his free hand finding Harvey's arm and clinging so tight it brought him down close, the solid weight of him drawing the pleasure out and making him shudder.

Harvey bucked against him, no finesse and no rhythm, and it still sparked through Jim like electricity, to know he was the cause of it. Had him pushing up in encouragement, then tangling his fingers in Harvey's hair and kissing him, sloppy and uncoordinated, until Harvey had to break away, panting heavily against his shoulder.

“You sure you're not going to freak out about this?” Harvey asked later, when Jim was drifting in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness. 

“Do you want me to?” Jim mumbled, his eyes refusing to open.

“No offence, but I know your type,” Harvey huffed, though the arm wrapped around him didn't loosen its grip any. “It's alright when you've got a hand around their dick, so long as you don't talk about it in the morning.”

Jim only smiled into the darkness, one hand coming up to rest heavily against Harvey's arm. “If there's anything this has taught me,” he said, words slurring with the pull of sleep, “it's that you can never judge by appearances.”

Chapter Text

Harvey had known loss before - the personal, and the professional. Had seemed to spend half his career being seconds too late to play the hero.

He had been to so many funerals they all merged together, and attended more wakes than any man should need to. He had sobbed, broken and beaten, at too many deathbeds, and stood stoic and silent as better men, more worthy men, were committed to the crematorium.

Sometimes, when they weren’t quick enough, when they weren’t clever enough, he had played pallbearer to little white coffins. Had drank himself into oblivion afterwards, mind too full of what those bodies had suffered, before death could claim them.

None of it prepared him for the crushing agony of watching the old West Gallery be blown to smithereens, knowing Jim was still trapped inside.

Time seemed to slow for a moment, the noise muted and his vision blurring, and then the details of the situation were overwhelming. The smell of fire and explosives, and the sound of screaming, the sight of blood - flesh wounds from the fractured glass - and the horrendous burns sustained by the officers stationed at the entrance.

Somebody held him back, pinned him in place though he kicked and struggled, and then a voice was registering, worn and frayed around the edges,

"He’s gone, Bullock. He’s gone. There’s only one thing you can do for him.”

Harvey looked at him, lost and wide eyed, and Alvarez looked like he wanted to break down himself.

“Keep going. Take charge. It’s what he would have wanted.”

Afterwards he suspected Alvarez would have said anything in that moment, would have done anything to stop him from losing it completely. To get a grip on himself and to stop howling, desperate like a trapped animal.

There, as it was happening, it made more sense than anything else could have.

He had to keep it together. People were relying on him. He swiped at his face, bewildered at the wetness, and fell back on his training. On years of experience of concentrating on nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other.

He co-ordinated the emergency services and saw that the first responders were where they were most needed. Organised the cordoning off of the area and briefed forensics on their arrival. Spoke to the press and delivered bad news to the families and loved ones.

Refused to think further than the next thing which needed to be done until exhaustion overtook him, and he slept fitfully on a plastic chair at the hospital, waiting on news of Detective Third Grade Marten’s surgery and whether or not they were going to have to add Officer Sanderson to the death toll.

The next day proceeded in much the same fashion, constant action, resolute distraction, until finally what remained of Jim’s badge was handed to him in a plastic evidence bag and the reality hit him.

Had him him staggering to the men’s room, retching up black coffee and bile, because Jim was dead.

Jim was gone and he had no idea how he was supposed to go on living without him.

He splashed cold water on his face and stared at his haggard reflection in the bathroom mirror. Jim had died a hero, had ignored his direct order to attempt to save a bunch scumbag criminals who had deserved everything they had coming to them, and now it was up to Harvey to ensure his sacrifice was recognized.

To secure his legacy and serve him justice, and once that was done he would either be ready to face the future, or it wouldn’t matter if he took a running jump from the roof of his apartment building.

Out in the bullpen everybody was watching, waiting to see if he was going to throw the towel in and request a transfer to take over as Captain.

“Listen up!” He called for the last few pretending to be doing something, “We all lost someone yesterday. We’re all hurting. But that doesn’t mean we’re going to give up and quit fighting. We’re going to find who did this, and we’re going to put them behind bars. That I promise you.” He looked around at his officers, at the pale faces and strained, pinched expressions, and nodded.

“Now get some goddamn work done!”

That over he went to his office, poured out a generous measure of whiskey with trembling fingers, and tipped it back in a single swallow. Let the burn down his gullet ground him and went back to the preliminaries they had had back from forensics.

The CCTV prints and the witness statements.

It wasn’t going to destroy them. That was what he told the press, and that was what he parroted to Internal Affairs, when they came sticking their noses in. It was true, for the most part, because it wasn’t as though the department was going anywhere.

On a personal level, he couldn’t make quite the same promises, and his voice cracked when he spoke at the funeral of a 22-year-old rookie because she had had her whole life ahead of her. Marten had made it through the first round of surgery but then faded fast, and his parents spoke to the papers about how glad they were to at least have his remains and the closure of being able to bury him.

Jim’s brother, Roger, flew out from Chicago and seemed to consider it an equal imposition either way. Raised an eyebrow when it became obvious he had been sleeping in Jim’s bed and said, as clipped and distant as Jim had always tried and failed to be,

“You’re welcome to keep something to remember him by.” The man looked over the physical remnants of Jim’s life with a dismissive shrug and added, “It’s only going to Goodwill.”

He took Jim’s keepsake tin, the one Roger designated trash with no more than a cursory glance at its contents, and some of his clothing. Roger pursed his lips but said nothing for which Harvey was thankful. He didn’t want to wear it.

That night he went back to his own dingy apartment for the first time in over a week, and it felt so final he put his gun in the lock box, out of reach of temptation. Drank shot after shot before giving up and swigging it straight from the bottle.

Thought about the first night he had spent in Jim’s bed - the night before the explosion - and what he would have done differently if he had known it would be the last time Jim ever shared it with him.

He would have spent hours unraveling him. Would have mapped every square inch of skin, and committed every scar, every freckle to memory. He would have told him a thousand times how beautiful he was, how very much he loved him, and not cared a damn about being thought overly sentimental.

He’d have clung close and turned the alarm off when it sounded, then told Jim the GCPD could surely make it through a single day without them.

It was that thought which haunted him when he delivered Jim’s eulogy, his dress uniform over starched and stifling, and his voice continually threatening to give out on him as he spoke of Jim’s dedication to the job and his commitment to the people of Gotham.

Barely kept it together when he got to how Jim was a good man, a good friend, and how very much he was going to miss him. Looked up to see Nygma smirking from the back of the room and was overwhelmed, just for a moment, with the white hot urge to punch every last one of his teeth out.

Then it was gone, and he was stumbling into a seat, sick of it all. He had thought, once, that justice would have kept him going in this situation. The need for revenge, at least, and the satisfaction of seeing the filth responsible rotting in a jail cell.

The reality was that none of it mattered - not the investigation, not closure, not any of it.

None of it was going to bring Jim back to him.

He stared at the head shot of Jim the funeral directors’ had gone with, at Jim’s beautiful blue eyes and the barest hint of a smile on his lips, all rookie optimism and naive idealism. It was the same picture they added to the memorial gallery, just another face of a cop who had given their all and still been found wanting.

Once that was done, the press soundbites given and the last of the paperwork filed, there was no reason left to look presentable. No reason not to get through each and every day on more than drink and cigarettes, and eventually the higher-ups stepped in to tell him thanks for his service, but he was being relieved of his duties.

He slammed his fist into the door of his locker, over and over, and tried to put a foot through it. Slid to the floor, finally, and pressed his face into his hands, like it could stop the way he was trembling.

Simmons drew the short straw and came and sat beside him, silent and non-judging.

“You know what I hate about cops?” She asked just when he thought she wasn’t going to say anything. “All the bullshit macho posturing. You don’t stop caring about life just because you see a lot of death. You only get better at hiding it.”

Harvey couldn’t look at her, could scarcely even breathe. Didn’t trust himself to talk without breaking down. Simmons just carried on without him,

“That’s why they hated, Gordon. Didn’t want to play by the rules, did he? Couldn’t stop caring about the kiddies and the girls down at the needle exchange. The little old grannies and all the nutjobs who never got the treatment they needed. Couldn’t stop showing it, either.”

“He was a good guy,” Harvey managed, voice choked.

“No, he wasn’t,” he looked at her sharply but she kept going, “he worked hard, tried hard, but he wasn’t the saint you keep trying to portray him as. He was just a guy doing his best to keep his head above water, just like the rest of us. He couldn’t have managed that, even, not without someone who had his back every time he jumped without looking. I know how you felt about him.”

It broke him, the simple recognition, and Simmons finished quietly, tone confessional,

“And I know he felt it back. You only had to see the way he looked at you.”

That was it. That was the limit, and he was sobbing in her arms, bawling like a baby.

Went home afterwards and curled up with one of Jim’s shirts, along with the entire contents of his medicine cabinet. Woke up at Gotham General, feeling like he’d been trampled by an elephant.

Lay there numb and stared at the ceiling, on and endlessly on, until McKenna and Alvarez hovered nervously at his bedside, warning over and over that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but that they had something he ought to take a look at.

The reports made little sense, the words all blurring together, and McKenna pointed out discrepancies and talked incomprehensible nonsense until Alvarez took pity on him and said,

“We got a guy in the cells willing to swear on oath he saw Gordon alive and well a week after the explosion.”

The shock jolted through him, knocked the breath from his lungs, and it was impossible. Complete crazy talk. But it wasn’t as though he had anything left to lose by believing in it and, besides, stranger things had happened in Gotham.

One time he had witnessed Jim literally punch the face off a resurrected dead guy.

“I gotta speak to him,” he said simply, and discharged himself in favor of glaring at some low level drug dealer across an interrogation table.

His replacement, the new Captain, dismissed it entirely. The rest of the precinct gave him pitying looks to his face and called him nuts behind his back, except for the ones who saw no point in pussyfooting around the issue.

“You’ve lost it,” Anderson told him, one of the few guys left who had been there even longer than he had. “Kid had plenty of enemies, it’s true, but this ain’t healthy. At some point you’re going to have to accept it.”

Perhaps, but while he still had hope he wasn’t going to stop pushing. Chased up anyone and everyone who had ever professed to want Jim dead, and spent every waking moment tracking potential leads, no matter how spurious.

Finally he went grovelling to the Penguin, because he had exhausted every other option, and because the man had always had a soft spot when it came to Jim - it was something they had in common.

“What’s in it for me?” Penguin asked, just as oily as ever, and Harvey laid it on the line,

“I haven’t got a whole lot left to offer you.”

The other man narrowed his eyes, studied his face for something, and whatever it was he saw was convincing, because the next thing he was being shown the door, with a cool ‘you can owe me a favor’ ringing in his ears.

If it got results, he’d happily owe him a thousand favors, that was what he was thinking that first night, and it was what he was thinking as he staked out some grotty little dive in the warehouse district, based on rumors that had reached the ears of one of Penguin’s henchmen.

It was a long shot, he knew that. It had been almost four months now, and he wasn’t an idiot.

It was just that this was all he had, and when the two guys he had been trailing disappeared off into the night he made the most of the opportunity. Pried the door open and pushed down the basement steps, flashlight streaking arcs across the dank walls.

There was something shady taking place on the premises, he wouldn’t have needed to be a detective to work that out. The weapons were a dead giveaway, as were the blood stains on the floor, some so fresh the scurrying footprints of rodents were still visible.

He was afraid, in a distant, apathetic kind of way. It wouldn’t be a glorious ending, getting his throat slit down in some weirdo’s murder cellar.

Then he heard a noise, something too big to be a rat, and too clumsy to be the trained goons he had seen leaving earlier. It could be anything, he knew. Wasn’t going to be what he wanted it to be, that was obvious. His heart pounded all the same, his hands not quite steady as he followed in the sound’s direction.

“Jesus,” he breathed at the sight which met him. At the tangled mess of dirty blonde hair, and the frightened blue eyes which met his own.

“Harv-,” the figure tried to say, and he had to keep it together. Hadn’t come this far to fall at the last hurdle.

“Come on, partner. We’re getting out of here.”

“I’m not made of glass,” Jim groused, “you’re not going to break me.”

Harvey wasn’t at all inclined to believe him. Had sat at his hospital bedside for hour after hour, and listened to doctors catalog his injuries. Had forced himself to stay calm while Jim recounted what had happened, and what had been done to him.

Had been half afraid to touch him even when he sobbed and cried out in his sleep, lost in his nightmares, lest it makes things worse for him, somehow.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” was the response Harvey went with, and helped Jim to sink down onto the sofa, his ribs still bound and his leg in plaster. Fussed and fidgeted until Jim simply took hold of his hand and tugged, so that he had no choice but to sit beside him.

“Sorry it’s not much,” Harvey said, gesturing at his hurried attempt at making the place look presentable. Thought of Jim’s clean and orderly apartment, and apologized again, “I shouldn’t have let him give all your stuff away.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jim said, soft and quiet. “None of it does.”

Harvey finally looked up at Jim, struck all over again by how beautiful he was. By how unspeakably incredible it was that Jim was actually here, alive and with him.

“You never gave up on me. Not even when it looked hopeless.”

“I got your back, always,” Harvey managed, trying for levity but the scratch in his voice giving it all away. Lifted Jim’s hand to kiss his knuckles, chaste in case he wasn’t ready. In case it wasn’t what Jim wanted. “You know that.”

Because just this would be enough. Just to know that Jim was okay; that he was moving towards healthy, that he was working on happy.

“I love you,” Jim blurted, color fanning along his pale sunken cheeks, and that was good too. That was the best thing he had ever heard, rivaled only by the sound Jim made when he leaned in to kiss him, the fingers of his free hand gentle in his hair.

“Life wasn't worth living without you,” Harvey told Jim in turn, too honest, and Jim only clung closer. Curled into his chest, and Harvey wrapped his arms around him, breathing in the scent of him.

Nothing lasted forever, he had learned that the hard way. The only way to deal with it was to savor every moment.

Chapter Text

“You cannot keep a dog in here.”

“I’m the freaking Captain, Jim. I can do what I like.”

Jim glared, arms folding across his chest, and Harvey reached down to scratch behind Duke’s ears. Got him to tilt his head to the side, tongue lolling, because even Jim couldn’t resist those puppy dog eyes.

Surely.

“He’s got a good nose,” Harvey said when Jim’s resolve showed no sign of wavering. “He could be an asset.”

“He’s too old for active duty,” Jim said, stubborn. “You should have called the pound like I told you to.”

Now that hurt. It wasn’t Duke’s fault he was a dog in his prime.

“That what you gonna do with me in a couple of years?” Harvey asked, wishing his back wouldn’t crick so loudly when he stood up straight. “Send me off to the farm in the sky, with all the other beat up old detectives?”

Jim just rolled his eyes.

“Get rid of the dog or I’ll do it for you.”

Harvey tried, really he did.

But while Duke wasn’t too old to learn new tricks, he certainly wasn’t some spring chicken either.

He whined at the door of Harvey’s apartment to go out, proof that he had the smarts, but snarled and lunged for old Mr Thompkins from down the hall, which spoke of all the other kinds of behavior his previous owners had encouraged.

The pound would designate him a dangerous dog, no question, and at his age they wouldn’t bother with a rehabilitation program.

Prospective owners weren’t clamoring to take Duke off his hands, either, though he stuck a card up on the notice board and - once he recovered from hearing how much it was going to cost him - put an ad in the evening paper.

There was one guy who claimed interest, but Duke bared his teeth and that alone would have been enough for Harvey, even without the ever so slightly illegal background check he had done on his credentials.

“Duke’s staying,” he told Jim finally, tone brokering no argument. “You’re the only one kicking up a stink about it.”

“I’m the only one who cares a damn about the rule book,” Jim countered, just as irritatingly self-righteous as he always was. “You could at least put him in the kennels.”

Duke butted his hand, like he knew exactly what Jim was saying, and Harvey understood. Was stuck being brow beaten by younger, fitter competition often enough that he was developing some kind of complex. Besides, the dog handlers wouldn’t treat him right.

There’d be no more donuts with sprinkles, that was for damn sure.

“Columbo took a dog on cases,” he said instead, like he didn’t know how it would piss Jim off.

“Columbo wasn’t real,” Jim sniffed, right on cue.

Harvey bit back a smirk, sensing victory.

“Are any of us, Jim? Now there’s a question.”

Jim just glared, at him, at Duke, and back at him all over again.

“It’s too early in the day for existentialism.”

Harvey only winked. “That’s what they all say.”

Jim complained about it, all the same. Sulked when Harvey picked him up for work in the mornings, Duke panting all over the back of his head, and nearly threw a fit when he left his blander than bland sandwich on his desk - only to come back and find that Duke had done him the kindness of disposing of it.

“He was hungry,” Harvey defended, and donated half his own lunch to the cause, watching approvingly when ketchup streaked down the side of Jim’s hand and he put it to his mouth to suck it clean again.

“This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him,” Jim said, still chewing, and Harvey tried to look properly contrite, not like his mind was still stuck on Jim, viscous liquids and sucking.

“We’ll make it up to you later,” he said, the potential implications not helping, and that night Jim came over, whined about his choice in beer, but though he watched Duke warily at all times, seemed resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going anywhere.

He didn’t even bitch at getting promoted to assistant dog walker, providing Harvey was the one holding the leash. Within a few weeks they fell into a routine of evening strolls, broken only by the frequency with which one or the other of them found himself too busted up or still busy being patched up at the hospital.

One day it wasn’t even a beating that put Jim out of commission, and Harvey reached the point where he was so sick of seeing him trembling and sniffling that he sent him home early from the precinct, with strict instructions to go to bed and stop playing the tough guy.

He took Duke around to Jim’s when the day finally ended to cheer him up - to check up on him - and warned Duke to be on his best behavior, just before Jim pulled the door open. Jim smiled at him, frowned at Duke, and Harvey just shrugged and said,

“We come as a package deal. Love me, love my dog, Jimbo.”

He looked around when Jim stepped aside to let them in, cop senses tingling, because by Jim’s standards the place was a tip. Dirty crockery piled on the kitchen counter, and a nest of blankets on the couch Duke went straight over to make himself at home in.

Jim was a little too pale, Harvey noted, for all that his nose was still glowing. He was moving extra careful too, awkward and anxious as he pushed past the sofa towards the armchair, and - And it was so obvious Harvey couldn’t believe that he hadn’t seen it sooner.

“You could have just said you were scared of dogs,” he stated, too blunt, and Jim scowled like he’d accused him of misappropriating GCPD property.

“I’m not scared of dogs,” Jim snapped, the tension in his posture serving as technicolor evidence to the contrary. “I just don’t like them.”

Right. Harvey didn’t push it though. Let Jim settle in the chair, legs pulled up in front of him, and did nothing when Duke decided what Jim really needed following an afternoon of sweating out fever was a thorough tongue bath.

He guessed it was true what they said, about dogs sharing traits with their owners.

Jim jerked away, the overreaction almost comical, and Harvey called Duke over, trying not to laugh. Jim was always touchy, and now he was ill on top of it.

“What can I say, he likes you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Jim said vehemently, oblivious to the damage his snuffling was doing to the angry vibe he was going for. “I don’t like him, and he doesn’t like me.”

Harvey only smiled at him, fond, and said as honestly as he dared,

“Sure he does. He’s got great taste, just like his owner.”

“I’m not afraid of dogs,” Jim reiterated, half way between stoic and pouting.

“Of course not,” Harvey agreed, easily, “you just don’t like being close to them.”

He put a hand on Jim’s shoulder, damage limitation, and wished he could give him a kiss to go with it. Because, really, plenty of people freaked out at the sight of a full grown German Shepherd, and Jim was making so much progress it made him want to glow with pride at the sight of it.

At the way Jim was currently playing sofa cushion to a dumbass dog who still thought himself an overgrown puppy, and Harvey just handed him a beer and listened to him complain about dogs making better doors than windows.

They were still going for their evening walkies, too, and he watched Jim closely the first night he was put in charge, just in case he decided now was the moment to admit to being terrified.

“I knew you’d grow to love him,” he said, as distraction from the scrutiny, “you never could resist a sob story. Remember that girl from the -”

He never got to finish the sentence.

The thugs in Gotham were hardcore. Would think nothing of taking on two armed cops and a dog with the jaw power to rip a man’s arm from its socket on the best of days, let alone when both cops were distracted and the dog was fixated on the prospect of a grubby tennis ball.

Harvey fought hard and, when that didn’t work, started fighting dirty. Bit down hard into the arm holding him back, and yelled at Jim to watch out for the blow flying at the side of his head. Had to witness Jim crumple to the floor, in spite of the warning, and got what was most definitely a cracked rib as payment for the way he retaliated.

A broken arm too, more than likely, and probably a leg, if the sickening surge of pain was anything to go by. He couldn’t see if Jim was back on his feet, not with the blood in his eyes, and he hoped that if he was still down they were too busy with him, because the only upside to a long hospital stay would be knowing that Jim hadn’t been kicked into a coma.

Let Jim be all right, please, was his last thought before giving in to the darkness and it was the first coherent thought he had on waking, right alongside what the hell happened? and where in God's name am I?

Then Jim’s face was swimming in his vision, a bruise at his temple and a sticking plaster on his forehead, but otherwise looking none the worse for what it had been through.

“You’re okay,” Jim said, scratchy and a little uncontrolled, and Harvey squeezed the fingers he could feel interlinked with his own.

“Of course I am.”

In the end they only kept him in for a few days, and then Jim was fussing over him, helping him to the elevator and out to the car park. Got him into the passenger seat, and Harvey couldn’t keep the goofy grin from spreading across his face, not when Duke did his best to clamber on top of him, bandaged paw and all.

“You brought him!” Harvey exclaimed, torn between gratitude and admiration for Jim’s constant ability to surprise him.

“He’s a hero,” Jim shrugged, the faintest hint of color in his cheeks, and Harvey was so pleased he didn’t even complain about Jim’s Sunday driving, his fingers white knuckled where they clutched at the steering wheel.

He had been told the full story at the hospital. How Duke had refused to quit, no matter what they threw at him, and finally barked full throttle in Jim’s eardrum until he managed to regain control of his gun and put an end to the situation.

They were all sitting in a cell across town, some missing more chunks than others, and if Jim was going to be staying instead of simply carting his sorry ass home it really would be a fairy tale ending.

As it was he made the most of it. Leaned heavily on Jim during the short walk to his apartment, and watched appreciatively as Jim moved about the place, fixing them lunch and making sure he took his painkillers.

“You don’t have to hang around here all day,” he forced himself to say eventually. Gave it his best attempt at wisecracking, “My right hand is just fine, and if I get bored of that I can always call in some professional assistance.”

He wouldn’t, but he had a reputation to maintain.

Jim just set his jaw, unmistakably angry, and Harvey couldn’t work it out, not even with what he knew about Jim’s self-appointed mission as Gotham’s moral crusader.

“If you need help,” Jim said, frustration bleeding in at the edges, “you got me.”

Harvey shook his head, glad for the fact Duke had decided to curl up on the sofa beside him and provide a timely distraction. A reason for him not to look at Jim as he said, voice strained where he wanted it to be airy,

“I don’t think we’re talking about the same kind of help here, Jim.”

He saw Jim’s legs before he heard him moving. Watched Jim sink down to his knees before he had worked up the guts to look up at him. Because Jim wasn’t an idiot - he was always going to work it out at some point.

Just not now. Not when he was still such a mess, hurting all over and lacking the mental fortitude to convince Jim that he hadn’t spent just about every moment since they became partners wanting him.

Jim put a hand on his good knee, the other busy fidgeting even as he met his gaze, just as stubborn as he had always been.

“I think we are,” Jim said, aiming for confident but achieving more of a hopeful whisper. It had Harvey gaping at him, regardless, and Jim went on, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips, “You’ve got a dog that could probably kill me. I’m not going to lie to you.”

“I thought you said you weren’t scared of him,” Harvey said dumbly, too shocked for anything more intelligent.

“You said the pair of you were a package deal,” Jim shrugged, awkward but determined.

He should say something, do something, but his brain was still scurrying a few steps behind and Jim’s face fell, gaze dropping as he made to get up. He was going to leave. Was going to walk out the door, hurt and dejected, and Harvey made a grab for his wrist, suddenly frantic.

Hissed as the movement pulled at something, and Jim was fussing and panicking, so that Harvey had to just get a hand around his tie and pull him in close, the blueness of his eyes a whole different kind of breathtaking.

Jim kissed like he did everything, single minded and thorough, the wet heat of his tongue startling a groan out of him. Jim pulled back then, to clear his head perhaps, and because Harvey suddenly had a lap full of curious dog.

“You know how to pick your moments,” Harvey told Jim, but couldn’t quit smiling, pushing Duke back out of the way. “If I wasn’t one of the walking wounded right now I’d teach you a thing or two.”

Jim grinned right back, and took control of the TV remote like he was planning on staying put for a good long while. Pressed a kiss into his hair and said, entirely too casually, even as Duke obediently shifted over so Jim could sit next to him,

“Sounds like I'll have plenty to look forward to then, doesn't it?”

If that wasn't motivation to make a speedy recovery, Harvey didn't know what was.

Chapter Text

Jim can’t sit still, can barely keep quiet, and when Harvey looks up from his paperwork Jim knows that he can tell exactly what the problem is. It’s there in the smirk he doesn’t bother hiding, and the way he reaches for his glasses, like Jim hasn’t told him a thousand times what the sight of him wearing them does to him.

It isn’t fair, isn’t at all sporting, and Jim waits until Harvey’s phone rings before he gets to his feet and closes the distance between his desk and Harvey’s office.

Harvey raises an eyebrow in acknowledgment but Jim doesn’t waste time with explanations. Shuts the door behind him and moves around to Harvey’s side with all the outward self-control Uncle Sam worked so hard to instill in him. Ignores the frown furrowing Harvey’s brow and sinks to his knees, hands sliding up Harvey’s thighs even as his mouth floods with saliva.

He wants it so bad, has been desperate since the night before when Harvey refused to do anything but taunt and tease him, working him closer and closer to the edge but never letting him fall. Never letting him taste him properly, though he begged and plead and whined in frustration, pre-come pooling on his own stomach.

“Y-Yes Sir, I’m listening,” Harvey stutters into the handset, fingers white knuckled around the plastic, and Jim is going to do this.

Couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to.

He holds Harvey’s gaze for a long heated moment, feels the blush staining his own cheeks a bright red, his fingers trailing closer and closer to Harvey’s zipper. Harvey’s eyes go wide when he finally pulls it down. His hips shift forward when Jim pops the button, pushing the fabric out the way and drawing Harvey’s dick out through the fly of his boxer shorts.

He’s so hard already, skin flushed dark, and Jim presses forward to inhale the scent of him. Buries his nose at the base and feels the desire shudder through him, white hot and electric.

“Jesus Christ,” Harvey breathes, free hand tangling in Jim’s hair, and Jim likes the idea of getting his own back. Likes it so much he takes his own sweet time, fingers feathering up the length of Harvey’s dick before his tongue follows, moaning in spite of himself when Harvey’s fingers tighten, his own arousal surging with the physical proof of how hot Harvey is for him.

Has him pushing one hand into his own underwear, thumb sliding through wetness already gathered there, and the other keeping Harvey still while he works on getting Harvey harder, on taking him deeper, swallowing thickly because it’s so good, so intense, and he’s so so close he can’t care about the mess he’s in, or how mad Harvey is going to be with him once it’s over.

“No, Sir, I mean, Yes, Sir, I mean,” Harvey’s voice is strangled, unsteady, and Jim pulls back for air, panting as he looks up into dark eyes. His hand is still moving, so fast and so tight it’s almost painful, and suddenly Harvey’s got hold of his wrist, has him bucking into thin air as he says, just a little too frantic,

“Something urgent’s come up. I’m going to have to call you back, Sir.”

The second the phone’s back in its cradle, Harvey’s tongue is in his mouth, hot and demanding.

“You better be about to finish what you started,” he groans, and Jim doesn’t need any further encouragement. Feels like he’ll die if Harvey doesn’t let him suck him back down, the heavy weight of his hand on the back of his head making him shiver.

“That’s it,” Harvey gasps, losing control enough to fuck up into his mouth and that really is it. It’s too much, too perfect, and Jim’s coming untouched, shaking and gasping and then sucking and sucking until Harvey can’t hold back either, Jim not giving up until Harvey pushes him away clumsily.

Kisses him again when he’s got his breath back, soft and slow, fingers tender as they comb his hair into something a little less like a bird’s nest.

“I should have known you’d never last the day,” Harvey whispers, tone fond. “You’re too damn impatient.”

“What are you going to tell the Commissioner?” Jim asks, almost embarrassed now, his lips swollen and his underwear damp and uncomfortable.

“I’ll tell him the truth,” Harvey shrugs and offers him a helping hand, Jim wincing as he clambers to his feet. Winks at him smugly, even as he reaches for the telephone, “Jim Gordon was doing his best to be a pain in my ass again.”

Chapter Text

“Won’t you take my word for it, Jim? Don’t you trust me?”

Barbara was pulling her best damsel in distress voice, eyes wide, and Harvey wasn’t blind to the way Jim grit his teeth together to better pretend he wasn’t unnerved by it. It would suck for anyone, to have your crazy ex-fiancee stand there with their new squeeze and make fun of you, and even Jim Gordon, Gotham’s number one Boy Scout, was struggling to look entirely indifferent.

The uniformed officers helping with the sweep exchanged knowing glances, even as one of their Narcotics colleagues droned on about the point of the exercise.

“We’ll be giving this place a thorough going over,” Harvey said, to deflect attention, and Barbara laughed, high and just a little manic.

It was the drink, maybe, mixed with something more potent, most probably, and Harvey made a point of watching her closely, when he wasn’t busy feeling underneath the club’s sleek work surfaces or letting his gaze stray to where Jim was crouched low, the seat of his pants pulled tight over the curve of his backside.

Barbara caught him at it, watching him in turn, and kept her voice pitched so it wouldn’t carry across the empty dance floor as she said,

“You see something else you’d like to give a thorough going over, Detective?”

He glared at her, not at all in the mood for it.

So Jim wasn’t interested in anything he had to offer, it didn’t mean he appreciated a reminder.

“Jim always likes to be thorough,” Barbara pushed, louder now, moving gracefully to sit on the table beside him, lips to his ear, dress hitching up to reveal a large swathe of milky thigh. Harvey looked away, resolute, and Barbara just sniffed - the after effects of coke, perhaps - and her tone became confessional,

“He overcompensates.”

The accompanying gesture with her pinky finger left little to the imagination, and she laughed again, Galavan’s sister smirking where she came over to put an arm around her.

Uniform sniggered, none too subtly, and Jim looked mortified, cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment. Harvey wanted to say something unprofessional, wanted to go to him and put a supportive hand on his shoulder, but Barbara beat him to it, all steel behind the little girl facade,

“See, Jim, we’ve all got secrets we don’t want made public.”

If an ex had pulled that shit with him, he’d have laughed it off. It would have been bull, anyway, and they both would have known it.

Jim refused to be drawn on the subject, spent the entire journey back to the station frowning and serious, and to Harvey’s mind his silence spoke volumes. Because it was a big deal to Jim, of course it was. Had him pale faced and wretched at the first sign of gossip, and Harvey wished it was the done thing for one guy to tell another that the very last thing which defined him was the size of his penis.

Wished that him saying it would be enough to make Jim believe it, and that he couldn’t imagine exactly the kind of shit Jim had been given for something he had absolutely no control over in high school, and the army, and at police training academy.

“You want to talk about it?” He tried instead, thinking of broken trust, and how Jim and Barbara had once been planning to make it down the aisle. Jim stared at him incredulously, hearing nothing but the original insult, and shut down all further discussion.

Stubbornly refused to acknowledge it was an issue, even when the jokes started. The bit back laughter in the morning briefings, and the snide comments about it not being the size of the latest settlement from City Hall, but what they were going to do with it that mattered.

The problem was that irrespective of what Jim was or was not packing, his default personality setting was to be a dick of epic proportions. Almost the entire precinct had a score they wanted to settle with him, and rather than give as good as he got, Jim just scowled and cringed, blushed helplessly and confirmed everybody’s suspicions.

Harvey did his best to wait for it to grow old and the focus to move on to the next thing, truly he did. Because thinking about Jim naked had long been one of his favorite pastimes, and he didn’t quite trust himself not to say something entirely too incriminating. To not confess how little the revelation had altered his opinion of him, and how badly he wanted to prove it, if only Jim would let him.

Worse was the ever present urge to jump to Jim’s defense. Shielding Jim from naysayers - and those with a genuine grievance - was the kind of thing he lived for. It was his way of telling Jim how he felt, what he wanted, without ever having to risk getting knocked back or outright rejected, and he couldn’t turn it off just because the subject matter was something more intimate than Jim’s one man crusade against police corruption.

Things came to a head when Lee delivered an autopsy report to Jim’s desk, the air between them just as frosty as it had been six months ago. She passed comment, clipped and curt, on the skill of any detective who could have overlooked a small but fatal bullet wound and Tuttle, as the first officer on the scene, couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. Cracked up at his own joke, even as he called over,

“Come on, Doc, we can’t all be experts on the barely visible, can we?”

Lee glared but didn’t offer up a comeback. Wasn’t distraught, exactly, at Jim’s public humiliation and Harvey knew it was down to him to do something. He couldn’t bear to see Jim so shame stricken and miserable, not over something so utterly ridiculous.

“Apologize to the lady,” Harvey demanded, arms folded across his chest to show he meant business, and Tuttle looked bewildered for a moment before sliding back into a smirk. Waved a mock salute and said, way too self aware,

“Sorry, Gordon. Didn’t mean to upset you.”

That was it, that was the absolute limit, and everyone knew it, at least if the way they stopped and stared as he gave the order to go to his office was anything to go by. He slammed the door shut behind them, the glass of the window panes rattling, and in that moment he didn’t give a damn how much damage he did.

Was too worked up, because Tuttle wouldn’t have pulled that shit in front of Essen, nor Barnes, and because it was the kind of thing he would once have said himself, the set up too perfect to pass by without action.

Tuttle knew it too. Kept his head up all through the dressing down, just waiting to go and bitch about it - about him - to the rest of the department.

“It’s not fucking funny,” Harvey said finally, quiet as the anger drained, and that hit home where nothing else had made an impact.

“It’s not personal,” Tuttle said, a real hint of contrition breaking through. “It’s just that he’s such a gigantic pain in the backside.”

The obvious response, the only response, hung in the air between them and Harvey shook his head. Smiled in spite of himself as he wrapped it up.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just tell the guys to start taking it easy, all right?”

That might have been the end of it. Should have been, really, but Jim was too proud and too stubborn, and cornered him at the first available opportunity to hiss,

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”

“If you think I’m going to apologize for it,” Harvey countered, refusing to give Jim the argument he was so clearly spoiling for, “you really don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Jim scowled at him, angry and frustrated, and Harvey gave in and put a hand on his shoulder. Waited until some of the tension left Jim’s posture and suggested they go get a drink as soon as the shift was over.

Did a shit job at pacing himself when they got there, and stared too openly, rethinking all the other subtle observation he had carried out since knowing Jim. Wondered if he had been right on the occasions he had been convinced there was something to the look in Jim’s eyes. The flush in his cheeks and down the back of his neck.

If he had been lacking enough data to come to the correct conclusions, because the bulge in Jim’s pants just hadn’t been obvious enough.

“Why don’t you just get it over with?” Jim snapped, gaze fixed on his beer bottle like it was the most interesting thing he had ever encountered. “You’re obviously dying to ask me about it.”

Harvey took a long swig of his own drink and warned himself not to do it. Mentally told himself, loud and clear, that this was going to be something he really really regretted once he was sober.

“The only question I’ve ever wanted to ask about your dick,” he said, all the same, “is whether or not you’d let me suck it.”

Jim spat beer all over the table in shock. Coughed and spluttered so hard Harvey had to slap him between the shoulder blades, afraid he was going to do himself lasting damage.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Jim told him, redundantly, when he regained control, and Harvey shrugged.

Waited for Jim to realize that it hadn’t been a joke, nor a throwaway line delivered for the shock value. That he was utterly serious, completely sincere.

That he was terrified of Jim’s inevitable rejection.

“I thought you said I didn’t deserve those lips,” Jim said instead, almost shy, an awkward half smile quirking his own upwards. Exhaled a little shakily and met his eyes, “You might change your mind again if you saw what you had to work with.”

“I wouldn’t,” Harvey said, scarcely daring to believe what was happening. “I can prove it to you.”

Jim stared at him, eyes wide, for a long moment. Long enough for his heart to race - for panic to set in. And then Jim was nodding, color streaking all along those impossible cheekbones, and they were leaving, the silence thick with tension.

He opened his mouth to say something more than once on the short journey to Jim’s place. Felt the words wither and die, unequal to the reality of the situation. Pushed too close to Jim on the stairs of his apartment building, and pressed a kiss to the soft skin of his nape while Jim fumbled with his keys, a wave of desire washing over him at the noise Jim made, helpless and wanting.

Jim turned to look at him, eyes dark, and Harvey had to crowd him back against the door. Almost kissed him once, twice, before Jim finally curled his fingers into his hair and crushed their lips together. Kissed him like he was desperate, all wet heat and breathy moans, and Harvey held him close even as he groped for the forgotten key, pushing the door open and them both through it before one of the neighbors’ reported them for public indecency.

As soon as they were inside Jim was attempting to get closer, hands clutching at his shoulders and hips stuttering forward. Harvey went willingly. Threw his hat in the direction of the sofa and pushed a thigh between his legs. Felt his own arousal surge at the way Jim rubbed against him, head tipping back against the wall as he gasped,

“Please, Harvey. Fuck. Please.”

It was so hot, like a vision from every wet dream he had had since being told he was getting a new partner, and Harvey had to kiss him again. Had to drop his head to Jim’s throat and raise a mark, biting down harder than he had intended when Jim writhed and groaned and begged, muscles taut as he tilted his head to give him better access.

His plan had been clean sheets and soft pillows, but they could move it there later. He didn’t want to give Jim chance to over think or to worry. Wasn’t that selfless, perhaps, and just didn’t want to give Jim reason to decide this was a mistake, and that, actually, he wasn’t interested.

He sank to his knees right there and tugged at Jim’s belt buckle. Worked his trousers down and looked up into a sea of blue, anxiety writ all over Jim’s face, even as he panted for breath, frantic want warring with fear.

“I’ve been thinking about this for years,” Harvey confessed, thumb drawing circles into the skin of Jim’s hip bone where his hand was holding him steady. “Been dreaming about touching you, about tasting you.”

He pressed his face into the fabric of Jim’s boxer shorts. Inhaled deeply and filed away the ragged sound Jim made, for lonely nights when there was nothing but his own hand for company.

“Can I, Jim?” He asked, looking back up at him, as though he hadn’t already posed the question once that evening. “Can I suck you?”

Jim just nodded again, stilted jerky movements like he wasn’t quite in control, like he couldn’t draw enough breath, even, and Harvey hooked his fingers in the waistband of Jim’s underwear. Tugged it down and out of the way, and kissed the soft flesh of Jim’s inner thigh, mouth trailing closer and closer to Jim’s erection. Told him, as serious as he had ever been about anything,

“You’re perfect.” It was true. Jim was compact, maybe, but everything about him was well formed - from the long sweep of his eyelashes to the short jut of his dick. Harvey feathered his fingers along the length of it, and drew them back wet and sticky. Sucked them into his mouth, the knowledge that Jim was watching making his own dick pulse against his zipper. “Absolutely perfect.”

There was a whimper at that, followed by a huff of disagreement, and Harvey gazed up at him again. He would never be able to get enough of looking at his stupidly beautiful face and said, voice strained,

“You make me want to be a better man just by knowing you. You make me lose my fucking mind every time you stand too close to me.” Laid it all bare because if this was as much as he was ever going to get, he wanted Jim to have at least some idea what it meant to him. “Everything about you is gorgeous, and right now I feel like the luckiest son of a bitch in the whole damn universe.”

Jim might not have agreed but he didn’t argue. Simply shook and trembled when Harvey put his mouth on him, and cried out when Harvey sucked him in. Pushed both hands into his hair, gentle rather than guiding, and bucked forward, helpless, when Harvey swallowed around him.

Harvey encouraged it. Slid his hands up the back of Jim’s legs to pull him closer and lost himself in it. Loved the way Jim felt in his mouth, the way he tasted. The sounds he couldn’t hold back, and the way his thighs quaked, every muscle tensing as he gasped Harvey’s name over and over, and begged him not to stop.

Whined, hard, as he came and still Harvey didn’t give up. Worked him until Jim couldn’t take it, sliding awkwardly down the wall, even as Harvey pushed into his own hand, too far gone to take it slow or steady.

“Let me,” Jim whispered, and it was laughable. Two grown men too desperate to make it past the hallway, Jim’s clothing bunched around his knees and his own only rumpled and pulled aside enough for Jim to get his hand around him.

It didn’t matter, Harvey decided. Nothing mattered but the fact Jim was touching him, kissing him, tongue slick where it stroked against his own.

“I thought about this too,” Jim admitted, breath hot against his ear when he broke away from the kiss. “Nobody’s ever made me feel the way you do.”

That was it, that was the breaking point, and he was coming, too eager and too loud. Was clinging to Jim as though he were liable to disappear, the whole thing melting away like a cruel fever dream. Jim clung back for his own reasons, and when they finally did move, it was at Harvey’s insistence.

“Come on,” he sighed, leaning heavily on Jim’s shoulder for leverage, wincing as his knees protested. “I’m too fucking old for carpet burn.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jim said when they were surrounded by his nice clean bed sheets. “I want you to know that I appreciate it.”

Harvey raised an incredulous eyebrow and wondered, not for the first time, how Jim was even real. If he made a point of formally thanking all his hook ups, or if he was getting special treatment because Jim was working up the courage to ask if they could pretend it never happened in the morning.

“It wasn’t some sort of pity deal,” Harvey said, and shifted on to his side to better look at Jim. Touched his face, tenderly, because if Jim was regretting it he didn’t want to squander the opportunity. “I meant every word I said to you.”

“Give Tuttle a dressing down,” Jim clarified, but he didn’t look unmoved by the declaration. His voice was thick with emotion when he spoke, and it clawed at something deep inside, to see Jim so willingly vulnerable. “Put up with me. I know I don’t make it easy.”

That was an understatement.

“You’re worth it,” Harvey said, simply, and Jim smiled at him. Not the forced grimace he favored in the workplace, or even the amused grin Harvey sometimes succeeded in pulling from him, despite Jim’s best efforts. An actual honest to God smile that transformed his entire face - that made him look so beautiful Harvey had to lean in close and kiss him.

Had to make it all too obvious because he had spent so long wanting this, and the reality was so much better than he had ever imagined. The feel of Jim, the taste of him. The eagerness in his movements, and the frank openness in his tone when he said,

“They’ll never let you live it down, you know. Once word gets out that you’re shacking up with me.”

The implication made his chest clench. That this wasn’t going to be a one time thing. That Jim had no intentions of keeping whatever might develop between them a secret.

“I don’t care if you don’t,” Harvey offered. Didn’t give a damn what any of them thought, and if Jim did, he had more than enough dirt on every member of the department to ensure none of them ever breathed a word on the subject, not if they liked their pension plans.

“I don’t,” Jim said finally, and it was Harvey's turn to smile. To beam widely and set about proving to Jim, all over again, that he didn't need to overcompensate for anything. 

Chapter Text

Jim doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s just certain that something must be because it can’t be normal, not at his age.

Because he can’t concentrate on anything. Can’t focus, can’t keep still even, squirming in his seat as his brain refuses to accept that it’s time to do his paperwork, not time to replay in vivid technicolor what it’s like to have Harvey’s mouth on him.

To watch him suck his dick like he’s actually getting off on it, like it’s his partner’s wet dream come true, and how it feels to have Harvey’s tongue inside him, so that he’s whining and sobbing and pleading, wanton like he’s some whore Harvey’s picked up off a street corner.

Maybe it’s that it’s all so new. That he has scarcely any idea what he’s doing, how he should be reacting, and that’s what makes the simple thought of going further leave him shivering with excitement.

He’s watched more porn over the last few weeks than he had previously thought possible. Has been trying to get his head around how it will work. Searching for an answer as to why just the idea of something he once would have sworn to have no interest in is threatening to blow his mind completely.

He can’t keep his hand off himself, either. Touching, teasing, on and on until he has to speed up his movements, mind stuck on how much better it would be if it were Harvey’s hand. If Harvey were watching him, eyes dark and judging as he bucks up into his fist, too far gone to feel ashamed of what he must look like. Carries on stroking until he’s shaking and trembling, come everywhere, a total mess with it.

He was never this bad even as a teenager, not even with his first serious girlfriend, for all the hours they spent heavy petting in the privacy of her bedroom. And that had felt like torture, like he was going to die if he didn’t get some relief, both of them worked into a frenzy but too afraid of what it would mean for their futures, and for the matching purity rings on their fingers.

None of that is an issue now, and the only thing slowing their progress down is his own inexperience.

Because Harvey doesn’t want to hurt him. Doesn’t quite trust that Jim knows his own mind, that much is obvious, and Jim isn’t good with words. Can’t figure out how to explain the fluttering feeling he gets in his stomach when Harvey smiles at him, and the way his chest aches with the knowledge that Harvey has never given up on him, even when Jim couldn’t bear to look at himself.

Harvey just makes him feel good, generally. Can coax a smile out of him no matter how bad things are, how terrible the day has been, and Jim wants more than anything to make Harvey happy.

Perhaps actions will speak louder than the awkward declarations he has managed, and when he heads for the locker rooms after chasing a reluctant witness through the shopping district, he can think of a thousand things he wants to do. Because Harvey is rifling through his own disorganized mess of a locker, and Jim feels the now familiar surge of lust pool low in his gut again.

Imagines sinking to his knees right there, where anyone might walk in on them, and letting Harvey use his mouth until he’s hard and desperate. Until Jim has to push his hand into his own underwear, movements slick and easy with the way his cock is already leaking. Until Harvey orders Jim to get up and turn around, shoving him up against the cold metal of the lockers, and -

“You all right, Jim?” Harvey asks, with real concern, and Jim can’t get enough air. Can’t help himself, the words spilling out of his mouth,

“I can’t wait any longer. I want you to fuck me.”

Harvey’s eyes go wide, startled, and then he regains control. Straightens his posture and slams his locker closed with enough force that Jim jumps. One of them has to be sensible.

“You think that’s an acceptable way to talk to your superior officer?” Harvey asks, and he’s joking. He’s making light of the situation, attempting to break the tension, but it feels like all the blood in Jim’s brain rushes to his dick, all the same. Has him pressing a hand back against the solidity of metal, just to ground himself, and still his cut off gasp fills the air between them.

Harvey raises an eyebrow. Takes a step closer so he can lower his voice and still be heard over the wild thumping of Jim’s heartbeat.

“Is that really what you want? Do you wish I’d bend you over right here and make you scream so loud there wouldn’t be anyone in the whole damn building who didn’t know what I was doing to you?”

“Yes,” Jim manages, mouth dry, and he doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice. It’s broken, wrecked, and Harvey hasn’t even touched him.

“I’m not going to,” Harvey says, but his gaze never leaves Jim’s face. His tone only turns darker, more full of promise. “If I thought you were ready for it, I wouldn’t let your first time be some quick frantic fuck, Jim. I’d take you apart. I’d ruin you. I’d spend hours working you closer and closer to the edge, and you’d thank me for every single second of it.”

He would, Jim has no doubts on that score. He wants to thank him now for everything they’ve already done - wants to beg to do it again. To do anything Harvey feels like.

“Do you want me to tell you what I’d do to you?”

Jim nods, feverish, though this really isn’t the time or the place. Though anyone who comes through the door will be able to see the state he is in, without Harvey talking utter filth on top of it. Harvey just steps closer still, close enough that Jim could reach out and touch him. Close enough that he imagines he can feel the body heat pouring off of him.

“I’d kiss you first. I love to kiss you. I love the breathy little sounds you make, and the way you get so eager. I’d kiss you until you were aching, trying to rut against my leg for respite. I might even let you, just for a few moments. I’d let you rub off against me like a teenager while I sucked a brand on your neck, just above your collar line.”

The noise he makes is embarrassing because it’s one of his favorite things, always has been. It had made him a laughing stock every time he returned from leave in the army, because it had always been so long, and he was always so desperate. Would lose himself in the latest girl he was convinced wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, and work on getting her wetter and wetter, until he was sure she wouldn’t simply laugh when he asked for her to really suck at his neck, and to bite down harder. To leave his throat black and blue with love bites, so that there was nothing he could do to cover them.

So that his CO would have to single him out all over again during inspection, for being such a total disgrace to the US military.

Harvey knew it without ever being told. Just buried his head in the crook of his neck that very first night and nosed along it. Had him panting and straining, but refused to actually leave a lasting memento, at least not beyond a single hickey he sucked into his collar bone.

“I’d want everyone to know,” Harvey explains in the present. “You won’t be able to walk straight by the time I’m finished with you, and I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong impression. I wouldn’t want them to waste a single moment doubting whether or not you begged me to do it.”

Jim shudders, breathing harsh, and Harvey just keeps going, every word the cause of another jolt of arousal Jim doesn’t know how to deal with.

Another stab of lust so agonizing he can’t do anything but stare at Harvey, nothing left in his world but the two of them and the obscene way Harvey is watching him.

“Because you would beg, Jim, I know you would. You’d arch your head back like a goddamn sacrifice and plead with me to mark you up properly. You could get off just from that, I know. Just from my mouth on your neck and my thigh between your legs. I wouldn’t let you though. When I promise to do something, I make sure I deliver on it.”

Jim’s dick is straining in his pants, he’s so hard he can’t see straight, and Harvey still keeps talking.

“I’d undress you, slow and careful. Touch you everywhere. Kiss you everywhere. See if the sounds you make when I suck your nipples are as good as the ones you make when I have my tongue in your mouth. You’ll be so hard, Jim. So close and I won’t even have touched your cock yet. It would just be laying there, neglected, leaking over your stomach. Do you think I should touch it, Jim? Do you think I should put my mouth on it?”

Jim’s panting, nods so hard he can feel strands of his hair brushing against his forehead.

“Or should I move lower? Lick a hot stripe down over your balls, further back. Should I push my tongue inside you and let you fuck my face? Get you so wet you’re almost there, so desperate you don’t know what to do with yourself?”

“Fuck,” Jim whines, his skin burning. He can’t breathe, can scarcely stay upright. Harvey smirks, the flush in his own cheeks rising,

“Maybe you’d prefer my fingers? Should I get you ready with them - stretch you and spread you and get you so so close you’re sobbing for me to put my dick in you?”

He can’t take it, the plea torn from him,

“Please, Harvey. Do something, now. Please.”

Harvey draws in a breath that isn’t quite steady.

“Don’t go thinking that will work on me. You could beg all you liked but it wouldn’t get you anywhere, because I think that’s when I’d start all over again. Let you calm down just enough and then I’d work you from the top down. Over and over until you can’t talk, you can’t think, until I’d have to hold your wrists down so you couldn’t cheat and try to touch yourself. Until you’re a total wreck and then, then, when you’re so far gone you’re going to come if I let you or not, that’s when I’d make love to you.”

It’s too much, he’s too worked up, and his hips push forward into nothing. He needs Harvey now - his mouth, his hand, anything. But there are voices outside in the corridor, footsteps pushing closer, and Harvey just smiles at him smugly and says, gaze flickering to the bulge in his pants and back to his face again,

“You might want to do something about that swelling, Jim. You start walking about like that and I’ll have to book you for public indecency.”

Jim does do something about it. Staggers into one of the bathroom stalls and bites into his hand to stay quiet, the other frantic around his dick for three strokes, four, and then he’s coming in his pants, chest heaving and legs shaking.

The rest of the day is torture. Every time he looks at Harvey he flushes, every time Harvey looks at him he has to shift in his chair. Has to clench his fingers into fists because otherwise he doesn’t trust them not to stray, his entire body too responsive and over sensitized.

He has never been more thankful for a relatively quiet afternoon and, by the time the day shift is starting to leave for the evening, no fewer than four of his colleagues have asked him if he’s coming down with something. He catches sight of his reflection in Harvey’s office window and understands why.

His cheeks are blotchy, burning, and his pupils are blown wide, gaze glassy.

Harvey isn’t unsympathetic. Tells him, gently, to go and take a shower while he finishes up some paperwork, and Jim has to twist the dial to almost freezing because the last thing he needs is to embarrass himself in the communal shower room. Not that it helps much, anyway, and he’s buttoning his shirt up with clumsy fingers when Harvey sticks his head around the door to tell him they’re done for the evening.

The drive to Harvey’s place is yet another exercise in self-restraint, because Harvey rakes his gaze over him and Jim feels it like a physical touch.

“You still think you’re ready to take this further?” Harvey asks, tone conversational, and Jim nods dumbly. Attempts to get his voice to work because he knows he needs to be more convincing.

“I’ve never felt like this,” he stutters. “Nobody’s ever done anything like this to me. I think about you constantly and not just, just,” he can’t get the words out. Closes his eyes for a moment and tries again, “I want to do this and I want to do it with you. I want to be with you, Harvey. Always.”

When he dares to glance up Harvey’s grip is white knuckled on the steering wheel, eyes flickering between his face and the road in front of them.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Harvey says, little more than a whisper, but it’s not an insult. The tension builds and builds between them, and Jim is so impatient he has his seatbelt unclipped before the the car even stops moving. Has to force himself not to take the stairs two at a time when they enter Harvey’s apartment building, and not to press Harvey back against the wall of the hallway, in full view of all of his nosy neighbors.

All but tackles him the second they’re through the door, no finesse, no skill, nothing, just clinging to Harvey and trying to crash their mouths together. Harvey’s the one to make it work. Pushes him back against the door and shrugs out of his coat and hat. Holds Jim still and teases him, lips so close they’re sharing oxygen, but moves back just enough that Jim can’t kiss him, even when he pushes forward.

He feels drunk with it, the rest of the world blurring around the edges, and when Harvey finally kisses him Jim doesn’t know how he’s going to last longer than five minutes, not when he’s so worked up and the things Harvey can do with his tongue are so incredible.

“You taste so good,” Harvey tells him when he’s not busy overloading him with sensation, all slick, wet heat, and the promise of completely owning him. “You always do. Smell good too,” he drops his head to sniff deeply at the base of Jim’s neck. Nuzzles up and up, under his chin, the scratch of his beard getting Jim frantic.

“You drive me fucking crazy. You know that, right?”

Jim clutches at the older man’s back, fingers twisting tight in his shirt, and Harvey licks a long line up the center of his throat, then kisses him again, his thigh pushing between Jim’s legs so he can rock against it.

“If you want to stop,” Harvey says, as though that’s ever going to be something Jim considers, “you say so. Any time. This,” he gestures between them, “us, that’s more important to me than getting my leg over will ever be. You understand?”

He nips at Jim’s lower lip, just to focus his attention, and says it again,

“Do you understand, Jim?”

The look in Harvey’s eyes makes something in his chest twist. Makes everything feel so much better, so much more, and he nods. Rests their foreheads together while he catches his breath and feels like Harvey can see into his soul. Like he’s laid everything bare, all his hopes, all his secrets, and Harvey doesn’t think any less of him for it.

“I want this,” he reiterates when it becomes too much, too intense, and then they’re kissing again, Harvey pushing him through to the bedroom.

It smells of Harvey’s cologne and his washing powder. The shampoo he uses and the scent of his skin, something Jim can never get enough of. It turns him on even as it makes him feel safe, because it’s warm and familiar, like being wrapped in Harvey’s embrace.

Harvey isn’t going to walk out on him, or give up on him. He isn’t going to mock Jim for wanting this so badly, and suddenly Jim can’t keep quiet. Curls his fingers tight in Harvey’s hair and starts begging for him to put his lips to his neck again.

“It feels so - I want it so - please, Harvey. There, oh, oh, there. Yes.”

He’s arching his head to the side, encouraging Harvey to keep going. To suck harder at the back of his neck where nobody ever touches him, where the sensation feels so new and perfect he has to grind himself against Harvey’s thigh, just as Harvey had promised he would. He’s making more noise than he ever has, gasping and cursing, shaking and shuddering when Harvey nuzzles his beard over the skin he’s been breathing against.

“Please, yes,” he whines when Harvey starts sucking again and it’s so good, so perfect. Has him keening and writhing, and Harvey’s tugging at the rest of his shirt buttons. Pulling his clothes off him and breathing,

“Christ, Jim, you’re gorgeous.”

Buries his head in the other side of Jim’s neck, just so he spasms and yelps, and starts acting out the scenario he had put before him earlier. Strips him slow and careful and spends an eternity on each new patch of skin. Sucks at his nipples and licks at the crease of his inner elbow. Trails fingertips down his side, and murmurs over and over all kinds of things that Jim doesn’t know how to believe, like,

“You’re beautiful” and “I’m so fucking lucky.”

Makes a show of unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper. Removes his pants and gives his legs the same treatment he delivered his arms and torso. Has him shivering, sensitized all over. Noses at his dick through his boxer shorts, once, but that’s it. The only attention it gets, even when his underwear is removed.

“You’re overdressed,” Jim manages in response, tongue feeling thick. Reaches a hand out for him and Harvey only catches it and kisses his knuckles.

“Got to keep some kind of control,” he confesses. “If you could see yourself, you’d understand, trust me.”

Jim flushes, embarrassed but pleased. Can almost imagine himself just as chiseled and gorgeous as Harvey’s making him out to be, not an uptight prick with a nose he still isn’t 100% convinced he’s ever grown into.

Tries to explain it but speaking is kind of beyond him, because Harvey’s sucking at his balls and how is he supposed to do more than beg for further stimulation?

“The way you looked when I suggested this,” Harvey’s saying, just to compound it. “Been thinking about it all afternoon. Want it so bad, Jim. I want you to be as loud as you like. Want you to tell me how it feels for you.”

Then he’s guiding Jim onto his front and pressing closer, lower, until Jim’s babbling and incoherent. Has to look back and then has to clench his eyes tight shut because he can’t bear it, can’t do anything but beg for more as Harvey licks him open with slow, shallow movements that are driving him wild.

They’ve done this before, twice, and each time he was ashamed of how much noise he made. How he couldn’t stay in control, pushing back where he was surely expected to just keep still and enjoy it. This time Harvey can read him too well and tells him that his losing control is precisely the whole point of the exercise. Shifts him over again and lifts Jim’s legs up over his shoulders so he can push deeper, tongue spearing into him as Jim cries out and tugs at Harvey’s hair.

Harvey responds by pulling him forward. Thrusts into him until he’s soaking and desperate, his legs shaking because he’s so close. So very very close.

Then there’s nothing but Harvey stroking a soothing hand down his side, and Jim’s ragged breathing as he realizes that Harvey really is intent on killing him.

His pulse rate is almost normal when Harvey sees fit to listen to his pleading on the subject, and Jim doesn’t know when or where Harvey acquired the bottle of lube, is simply glad that it’s about to be put to its intended purpose.

Jim’s tried this himself every night Harvey hasn’t actually spent with him since they started this. Has sat alone in his empty apartment staring at porn and rocking back on three fingers, wishing that the angle wasn’t so awkward, and that Harvey were with him. It makes all the difference, just as he had known it would, and Harvey sucks kisses along the length of his thigh as he works him open, adding more and more lube until he’s dripping with it.

Still doesn’t think he’s wet enough, can’t do, because he’s dropping his head and flicking his tongue around and between his fingers. Presses it in alongside and it’s too much. Jim’s howling, sobbing, and he can’t take any more, can’t wait any longer - can’t even begin to imagine what he’ll do if Harvey stays true to his word and starts all over, rather than finally, finally, fucking him.

He’s moving, he has to. Pushes Harvey onto his back and straddles him. Tears at the clothing he’s still wearing and watches as he fumbles with the condom. As he spills yet more lube everywhere, even as Jim chants, urgent,

“Harvey, please. Please. Now. I need you.”

Harvey’s groaning, face and neck flushed and eyes dark. His hands are at Jim’s hips and it’s happening, it’s really happening. It feels strange - not bad, just different, and Harvey’s panting, hips stuttering, as Jim’s legs quiver, muscles shifting as he inches down, mouth hanging open.

“That’s so good,” Harvey tells him, voice rough like Jim has never heard it. “You feel so good. You’re amazing.”

Jim’s sure he isn’t, but the praise makes his heart swell and his dick harder all the same. Makes him unfurl his fingers against Harvey’s chest and rock experimentally, tiny movements that make him gasp and moan, and Harvey’s grip tighten.

“Jim,” Harvey groans, like it’s so good it’s painful, and the sound is so unbearably hot he’s shifting, squirming, lifting up, just a little, and that’s it, he can’t help himself. It’s frantic, desperate, and he can feel sweat trickling down his neck, down his spine, words flooding the heated air between them as he pushes down onto Harvey’s dick and up into his own fist.

“Fuck, Jim, yes. Fuck,” Harvey’s gasping, and his own mouth is just as filthy. Has Harvey surging up to meet him in an open, clumsy kiss, him biting down too hard at Harvey’s lower lip, too far gone to hold back as he spills over his fingers.

Harvey doesn’t chastise him for it. Is too busy rearranging them, rolling Jim onto his back and hooking his legs over his shoulders. Fucks into him, shifting the angle slightly, again and again, until the head of his cock hits something inside him and Jim is sure he isn’t going to survive it. Can’t do anything but whine and keen, and tangle his hands in Harvey’s hair.

Cries out, helpless, and Harvey’s talking pure filth again about how tight he is and how good he feels. About how long he has wanted to do this, and how many nights he spent with his own hand on his dick, wishing Jim was there with him. It’s all so good, so amazing, and when Harvey thrusts in deeper, harder, the rush of sensation makes his head spin. Has every muscle in his body clenching tight, pleasure washing over and over him, the blood crashing in his ears and his vision blurring. He’s crying something, he has no idea what, and Harvey pushes into him again, once, twice, before he’s coming too, grinding out,

“Jim, fuck. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

He can’t move afterwards, his legs falling heavily when Harvey finally pulls away from him. He should do something, say something, but his limbs are shaking too bad, and when Harvey asks him if he’s alright all he can do is nod stupidly, his mouth refusing to cooperate. Harvey cleans him up, gently, and he starts to come back to himself. Is aware enough to know that his legs ache.

His stomach too, along with his arms and his teeth, where he was clenching them together. His jaw hurts, and his head is pounding. His back is in pieces, and when Harvey insists he sip at a glass of water his throat feels like it’s been attacked with sandpaper. His ass throbs, on top of it all, and he whimpers when Harvey pulls him close so that they’re spooned together under the covers, his back to Harvey’s chest.

Harvey wraps his arms around him and presses a kiss into his hair,

“I wasn’t joking when I said you weren’t going to be walking straight, Jim.”

Jim shivers in spite of himself, the ache superseded by the memory of how good it felt, just for a moment.

“It’s a good job we’re off tomorrow,” Harvey continues, tone soft, “I think you’re going to need looking after.”

“I love you,” Jim blurts, the words needing an outlet, then regrets it because it’s way too soon. Way too much, just the same as usual, and Jim braces himself to be told so.

Harvey only finds his hand and links their fingers.

“I love you too, putz. Now go to sleep.”

He does, and for the first time in he can’t remember how long, he doesn’t worry about anything.

Chapter Text

Harvey felt he should be better at this. He had been on all the training courses and dealt with it countless times in the field, convincing frightened victims and those still in angry denial to share their deepest, darkest secrets.

To go over every detail again with the SVU, and the DA’s office, and in front of judge and jury, all without any guarantee the scumbag who did it wouldn’t be let off scot-free, and come looking for retribution.

But this was different, personal, and he couldn’t even find the words to allude to it.

Could scarcely focus on what Jim was saying, on keeping his expression neutral and not letting on how desperate he was to pull Jim close and tell him that it was going to be okay. That he was going to get him out of there, somehow, and wanted to personally see to it that the fucker responsible never touched anyone again.

Because Jim had no intentions of telling him, that much was obvious. No intentions of reporting it either, or even asking to go to the infirmary. He should, Harvey knew. Had heard more than enough from his informant to understand the state Jim had been left in - had seen it himself in the way Jim moved, when they led him into the visiting room.

Jim was too pale, dark smudges beneath his eyes, and when their time was up and a flash of fear crossed his face, it broke Harvey’s heart to have to get to his feet and leave Jim there.

He had only seen Jim’s mask falter once before, in all the time since the trial, and that was on his first visit to Blackgate when Jim had told him, all broken whisper, that he deserved this. That he’d shot Galavan in cold blood, and left the Penguin to take his punishment in Arkham.

Harvey had done worse, so much worse, and it wasn’t his baby dead and his fiancee who had left it to a coward to tell him.

It had been weeks now and he still hadn’t done it. Couldn’t take what was left of Jim’s hope from him, and couldn’t bear to see the look on his face when he realized that even if his conviction was overturned, none of his dreams were ever going to come to fruition.

He didn’t trust the guards at Blackgate a damn either - what job were they going to do at suicide watch, when Jim was being openly assaulted in the protective custody unit?

A few nights later he met with one of them in a dive bar downtown, an ex-cop he and Dix had used to shoot pool with occasionally, once upon a time, and demanded to know why they weren’t doing something about the situation.

“He’s a cop and a cop killer, what do you expect? It’s the worst of both fucking worlds.”

“You got a duty of care,” Harvey shot back, like he would have given a shit before it was Jim Gordon who needed to be taken care of. Bishop only shrugged, and knocked back the glass of cheap whisky with a grimace,

“I got a duty to go home to my wife and kids at the end of each shift - if the warden thinks he doesn’t need special treatment, he ain’t getting any.”

“He didn’t do it,” Harvey said, grim, and Bishop snorted into his drink,

“That’s what they all say.”

It was in that moment that Harvey made his mind up. When he found out who was responsible for putting Jim in there, he’d kill them. Would drive them out to the docks just like he had his mob hits, and make them beg for mercy. Would give them a moment, two maybe, where they thought he was going to grant it.

That they would live to tell the tale.

And then he was going to press his gun to their forehead and blow their brains out.

In the meantime he did all he could. Put pressure on people who owed him favors and people who didn’t. Wrote letters and made phone calls, and argued over and over that Jim’s case was too high profile. That he needed to be moved to a prison out of state, one which wasn’t overpopulated with criminals he had put there, and where Carlson fucking Grey wasn’t given free reign to exercise his grudge against the only honest cop in Gotham.

None of it got him anywhere, except a step backwards when Grey used the defensive punch Jim threw a few weeks later as justification for hauling him out of protective custody and onto F-wing.

“The only way anybody ever gets out of there is in a body bag,” Harvey explained that evening, morose and morbid though it was Scottie’s last night in Gotham, and he had promised her a proper send off. She put a hand on his arm, as soft and careful as the day she had informed him it just wasn’t working, and said,

“You need to tell him the truth. About Leslie, about everything.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted, voice barely more than a whisper. Scottie gave him a sad half smile, the one that had summed up their entire relationship.

“But you know he deserves it.”

Jim did, it was true. Scottie had deserved it too, even if he had never managed it. Had let the best thing he had ever had turn to ruin because, in spite of everything, he couldn’t quit pining for a bull-headed idiot with a hero complex.

He hugged her tight when they parted for the final time, and pretended that it didn’t bring a lump to his throat, the finality of it.

“Tell him,” she said once again, and then there was nothing left but to return to his miserable apartment.

The next morning Harvey emptied his savings account and went back to Bishop with an offer he simply couldn’t afford to refuse, not when he had so many bills that needed paying.

Forced himself to give Jim the hated news, and made sure it was overheard, because there was nothing at all suspicious about a guy with nothing left to lose picking a fight with a fellow inmate intent on killing him.

Once Jim was in the infirmary it would be easier. There would be more than enough grounds to get him moved back to the PCU, even if he couldn’t get him transferred completely.

Except there were too many men who wanted to shank him, and every moment of suspense was agony. There were too many variables, too many things that could go wrong, and when Bishop told him Grey had put a price on Jim’s head he went grovelling to Falcone, desperate. Agreed to hand the man a blank check, and avoided the mirror when he got home that evening.

He didn’t want to look at himself.

Chewed his fingernails down to the quick instead and wished to God he was still smoking, filling the interminable waiting with endless pacing and nervous telling of his rosary, though he couldn’t remember the last time he had turned to it.

He felt like screaming when things were actually in motion and still Jim hesitated, like his soft heart hadn’t almost gotten him killed a thousand times already. Like it could have made any difference when Puck was already so far gone, and Jim was already convinced that the blame rested entirely on his own shoulders.

Afterwards, he imagined what would have happened if he had been the star of a movie. He’d have saved the kid, somehow, and Jim would have laughed, just a little manic, with tears in his eyes. Would have flung his arms about him in gratitude, and then their eyes would have met, the rising sun glinting in Jim’s hair and warming his skin, even as the dawning understanding on Jim’s beautiful face made his heart pound.

He would have raised a shaky hand to Jim’s cheek, thumb stroking along the blossoming bruise, and Jim would have kissed him. Would have clung close to him even as the music swelled, and Harvey would have promised that they’d root out the culprit together.

That they’d always be together.

Life wasn’t a fucking movie though, not one that could be shown without the number of a suicide hotline flashed alongside the end credits, and in the moment he had to beg Jim just to choose to keep going, and not let Gotham beat him. 

Falcone smirked at him when Jim walked away and Harvey forced himself not to make it all so very obvious. 

Told himself again what he had told himself back in that dingy diner, that whatever Falcone wanted from him it would be worth it. That there would be time enough to track down the people he needed to, and long lonely years ahead in which to piece himself back together.

So long as Jim was safe, so long as he was alive, nothing else mattered.

Chapter Text

“And we could do with some more milk too, if you get the chance.”

Harvey knocked off a mock salute. “Yes, Sir. Anything else now, or are you actually going to this meeting?”

Jim pursed his lips, looking just as snitty and uptight as he had been the very first day they were partnered together. Harvey grinned back and waited for him to go and debate the merits of spit hoods for the 47th time that year, and whether or not there was enough call to bring back the precinct canteen.

That one might have been his own suggestion, the one he gave when he was trying to convince Jim to give up on annotating his agenda and come to bed the previous night.

The Police Union was hardly likely to consider something anyone other than Jim was actually interested in.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Tuttle said when Jim had disappeared past the front desk. “I’d have lost my mind by now.”

“That is my one and only you’re talking about,” Harvey warned lightly as he turned his attention back to the case files, though there was no real bite to it. Jim was a pain in the ass and, even blinded by love as he was, there could be no denying it.

Tuttle shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Janet, but if I had to listen to her nagging at me all day and all night, we’d have gone our separate ways a long time ago. That’s what work is for - to get away from your wife.”

“He’s not my wife,” Harvey pointed out, because if Jim found out he hadn’t, he really would have something to bitch about.

“Husband, whatever,” Tuttle waved a hand, dismissive. “You’re a glutton for punishment, that’s what I’m saying.”

Harvey only shrugged and feigned interest in his cold coffee.

Tuttle had no idea.

Jim was still out when he got home, and he dumped the milk (and the bread, and the three bags full of other stuff Jim had wanted picked up) on the kitchen counter and took a moment to just look about the place.

It was hard to believe that a year ago he had resigned himself to living the bachelor life. To hopelessly wishing and wanting forever more, nothing more to look forward to than the odd night of professional company, when it felt like otherwise he might actually die of loneliness.

Now there was evidence of Jim’s presence everywhere. The scent of his cologne in the air, and his leather jacket on a peg by the door. His case clippings up on Harvey’s notice board, and his neat handwriting on the color coded cleaning rota.

And, yeah, he had it so bad he was letting Jim draw up schedules and lists and rotas, and didn’t even begrudge carrying out his assigned items. Not too much, anyway. He would let Jim do anything, follow him anywhere, and Tuttle’s words filled his mind all over again.

Because maybe it wasn’t the first time he had thought about it. You didn’t grow up getting dragged to Mass three times a week and not think about marriage when you met someone who made you want to practice sins of the flesh roughly every twenty minutes. Made you want to simply sit close and stare into their eyes for hours on end, the rest of the world fading away, unable to compete.

If Jim wanted to nag him through the whole affair, he’d let him. He could always lean in and silence him with a kiss, again and again until Jim was being just as demanding in action as he usually was in words, fingers guiding his wrist to where he wanted it.

Harvey wanted everything. As much as Jim was willing to give him, and still more.

He was still stood there, groceries half away, staring into space, when Jim finally returned - late home as usual. He looked tired, tie already loosened, but when their eyes met he smiled. A real smile that lit his whole face up and Harvey had to go to him. Had to pull him close and kiss him for real.

“What was that for?” Jim asked, when they came up for air.

Harvey stroked his thumb along Jim’s cheekbone, heart aching with how beautiful Jim was. How happy Jim made him.

“For being you.”

“That’s what usually makes people want to kill me,” Jim pointed out, blushing prettily, all the same.

Harvey only kissed him again, chaste, and said,

“They don’t know you like I do.”

In the weeks that followed it became clear that this wasn’t going to be some passing fancy. He couldn’t quit thinking about it, not during interminable finance meetings, and not on their rare days off, when Jim stood too close in public. When he let his hand stray to Harvey’s shoulder, his arm, his hand, like he didn’t care who saw.

Didn’t care who assumed they were screwing.

In fact, he seemed intent on ensuring that was exactly what people assumed. Because he wrapped an arm around his waist when he insisted they leave the apartment for fresh air, and happily kissed his cheek when they ended up leaning against the railings near one of their favorite food carts, lips warm but nose cold from the winter weather.

It got a guy thinking.

Hoping.

“Do you think we’ll ever be like that?” Jim asked him one day when the idea was still solidifying. Harvey followed his gaze to where a sweet looking pair of senior citizens were being helped up the front steps of the precinct, the husband all solicitous concern while the wife gazed up at him like he was the dashing star of some black and white movie.

It tugged at something in his chest, so hard he had to cover it with an airy,

“I never pictured you the pearls and twinset type, but I have faith you could pull it off.”

Jim rolled his eyes, exasperated, and Harvey’s hand was drawn to the warmth of his shoulder like a magnet.

“I hope so,” he said, feeling exposed and vulnerable, but Jim just smiled back at him. Shifted ever so slightly closer and said, soft and breathy,

“I hope so too.”

From there it was inevitable - was just a matter of him finding the right way to go about it. Because Jim deserved better than some beer sodden confession; his own pride demanded he come up with something better than a half-assed offer on a bleak park bench, not least because that was only liable to bring back bad memories.

“So how’d he pop the question?” He asked Marten, the bubbly sergeant on the front desk, when the news of her engagement made its way around the precinct, and hoped it wasn’t too obvious that he was fishing for inspiration.

“He didn’t,” she answered easily. “I asked him, right in the middle of Cathedral Square. Sometimes you just gotta go for it, Sir.”

Harvey watched when she left with her new fiance later, all intimate smiles and shoulders brushing, and it was Jim who followed his gaze this time and said,

“It’s the kind of thing that makes the job worth it, isn’t it?”

Harvey made his mind up.

He could do this.

There weren’t many places in Gotham that he didn’t mentally associate with death and suffering. The pretty view from the river bridge on the city outskirts was right out, and Cathedral Square wasn’t much better. Jim had almost died at the best picnic spots in the city woodlands, and forensics were still in the process of digging up human remains out by the lake, where he had once considered proposing to Scottie.

The answer, when it came to him, was blinding in its obviousness.

Had him clocking off a little early in the first time since forever, the very next day Jim was scheduled to be out late with union business. It had him panic cleaning, and stress tidying. Slaving over a hot stove and cursing when he managed to scald his hand no less than three times, wishing he had done the sensible thing and ordered a couple of pizzas.

It wouldn’t have been the same, he knew, and fussed about with laying the tiny dining table in the corner of their living space, though its primary purpose was to collect junk while they ate dinner off their laps on the sofa.

By the time Jim was due back it looked half decent, almost, and Harvey flicked the lights out and lit some candles, just to hide all the crap he hadn’t had time to deal with. That was the point, really. It might not be perfect but it was home, and he wanted Jim to understand how much it meant to him, that Jim shared his home, his life. Everything.

Half hour later and nerves were setting in. He had changed into his better suit, the one that usually only got an airing at funerals, and he supposed that it was fitting. No matter where they were, there was always going to be a hint of death hanging about them. That was what being a cop did for you.

Another thirty minutes and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it. It wasn’t unusual, not overly, because Jim always had to be earnest and accommodating, and never left a meeting without promising to do half a dozen more things any sane person would have just said they didn't have time for. But Jim was also the expert in attracting trouble and anything could have happened.

He could be in danger. Could be hurt somewhere, bleeding out on a filthy sidewalk, and Harvey was just in the process of ringing him yet again when he heard Jim’s key in the lock.

Harvey just stared when Jim succeeded in opening the door because he was laden down like a pack mule. Pizza boxes balanced precariously on one arm, and a case of beer hooked under the other. There was a bag of what looked like dessert, and another two seeming to contain the entire snack aisle of their nearest grocery store.

“What - ” They started at the same time, and Harvey stalled by helping Jim not to tip food all over the carpet. Piled it all on the sofa and pledged to do candles more often, if they were going to make Jim go all wide eyed like that.

“Did you do this for me?” Jim asked, voice awed, and it was too much. The nerves and the want, and the idea that Jim might think he didn’t deserve all of it and more.

“I thought I’d try a seance,” he snarked lightly. “Of course it’s for you, who else would I do it for?”

Jim took in the rest of it. The meal that was only very slightly burned and the wine glasses ready on the table. The uncomfortable suit and tie, and the fact he had sorted through the pile of paperwork Jim had spent the last few days nagging him about.

“You made me a candlelit dinner,” Jim reiterated, like he still couldn’t believe it, and Harvey was starting to feel awkward. Embarrassed, even, and deflected with,

“And you bought enough food to feed the 4,000. I’d say that makes us even.”

“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Jim said, and before Harvey had chance to even start thinking up a comeback, he was stepping closer.

Harvey could do nothing but watch, his pulse suddenly hammering. Because Jim had this look on his face, hopeful and determined, and then Jim was sliding down onto one knee, one hand reaching for his own. Harvey let him take it, his mind scurrying to catch up with what was happening. 

“I was going to feed you," Jim was saying, and Harvey’s heart lurched, his breath coming shallow and unsteady. “Get you drunk, maybe, so you’d take pity on how bad I am at this kind of thing.”

“I -” he tried, because how was he meant to string two words together with Jim smiling nervously up at him, laying himself bare, like Harvey was ever going to refuse him anything. When he was attempting to process the idea that Jim had been thinking of this too. That Jim had been planning to ask him.

It was unreal.

Jim sucked in a shaky breath and brushed his lips against the knuckles of Harvey’s hand, chaste and delicate, and the gentle touch sent waves of heat over him. Made it feel like his skin was sparking all over with sensation, so intense it was almost overwhelming.

“I was planning to do the same,” Harvey admitted, unable to look away from Jim’s eyes. “Feed you and ply you with wine until I wasn’t afraid to ask how you’d feel about me wanting to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The silence stretched for one beat, two, just long enough for the fear to claw at his gut. Then Jim was beaming at him, happier than Harvey had ever seen him.

“I’m told I’m kind of annoying,” Jim warned, and Harvey pulled him to his feet. Pulled him in close even as Jim's arms came up to wrap around his neck.

“I’m told I’m kind of a slob,” Harvey countered, a grin threatening to split his own face.

“I'm self-righteous,” Jim reeled off, “stubborn, sanctimonious.”

Harvey nodded.

“I wouldn’t accept anything less. A man's got to have standards, you know.”

Jim was gazing up at him again, eyes going all soft and gentle, and Harvey cupped his cheek with one hand, lost in the moment.

“I love you,” Jim whispered, and Harvey leaned in until he could breathe against Jim’s lips, drunk on the wonder of it,

“I’ll take that as a yes then.”

Chapter Text

Harvey’s never been into other guys - too much this, not enough that, nothing personal - but he’s got eyes in his head. He can see that Jim Gordon is a catch. Can appreciate his pretty-boy good looks and the toned definition of his biceps.

It’s the 21st Century.

Doesn’t mean he’s got to like it any, and he ribs Jim mercilessly during stakeouts, rather than be forced to admit that he’s admiring his big blue eyes and his handsome profile.

“That not how you did it in the army, Jimbo?” He’s maligning one night, after hearing Jim’s prim and proper objections to availing themselves of the services of the downmarket brothel they’re watching. “Saved your money and sat around circle jerking your brothers in arms, did you?”

Jim scowls as he reaches for his coffee.

“I was in a relationship. I stayed faithful.”

This would have been before Barbara, he knows from previous conversations, so he can’t help but push further, perversely itching to see Jim lose his temper.

“What happened? Too out of practice by the time you got back, I bet, and she had to go looking elsewhere. Women don’t want a lackluster goody two shoes, Junior.”

As if he’s one to talk about what anyone wants, given his track record. But Jim’s jaw goes satisfyingly tight, for all that his tone is calm and even when he says,

“His name was Steven. I told him I didn’t want to keep it a secret anymore, and he chose his career.”

That’s not what he had been expecting, not at all. It leaves him gaping, dumb, for a long moment, before he pulls himself together enough to say,

“I stand corrected. Men don’t want a lackluster goody two shoes either - if you’d put the practice in he’d have wanted to shout it from the rooftops.”

Jim shakes his head but smiles, just a little, and life goes on.

They catch villains and bust bad guys. Eat lunch and go for drinks, and do their best to keep their heads above water, and not lose themselves to Gotham’s undertow. Harvey almost gets married even, and it looks like Jim might be heading that way.

He thinks about it though, the idea of it hitting him at the strangest moments. When Jim tackles a perp to the floor, or when he smiles at him, honest and easy, his whole face lighting up for a few brief seconds.

When they’re both drunk in some dodgy bar and he’s watching Jim’s lips move, wondering what they would feel like pressed against his own. What they would feel like wrapped around his dick - what it would look like, Jim’s eyes meeting his own, his cheeks flushed and his hand pushed into his own pants, too far gone to go without touching himself.

What it would be like to switch places. To suck Jim’s dick into his mouth and watch him lose control, fingers tugging at his hair, hips stuttering up as he groans his name.

“Harvey?” Jim questions in the present, concern furrowing his brow, and Harvey orders another glass of whiskey.

He's too fucking old for an identity crisis.

His body can’t seem to get with the program however. Betrays him every time Jim leans heavily against him, or when Jim gets that look on his face, the one that tries to tie his heart into knots, chest aching with how desperately he wants to reach out for him.

Because it’s not just Jim’s lips he ‘s thinking about now. He wants his dick, sure - and that’s not a line he ever imagined himself being okay with - but he wants the rest of it too.

He wants to wake up in the morning with Jim’s head on the pillow next to him, and he wants to come home from a long day at work to flop down on the sofa, Jim’s legs stretched over his lap to keep him warm as he watches something brainless and non-taxing on the television.

Jim needs someone to want that from him, Harvey thinks, when he takes up bounty hunting. He needs someone to just be there, and to take care of him when he’s too torn up to do it himself.

“I thought you’d be pleased for me,” Jim says when he tries to do just that, bringing him beer and take out, and telling himself he’s not jealous when Jim attempts to brag about his roll in the hay with Valerie Vale. “Casual sex is what every man’s supposed to want, isn’t it?”

He’s drinking whiskey straight from the bottle, and Harvey hates that he ever would have agreed with him. Hates that he ever thought it could be any kind of substitute, and that he turned the closest lookalike he could find away after already paying, because at the end of the day he just wasn’t Jim.

“Tell me about your boyfriend,” Harvey suggests instead, sinking down to sit next to him, “the one that wouldn’t come out for you. Did he only want something casual?”

Jim goes quiet, considering. Swigs another mouthful of whiskey and says,

“I loved him. Does that bother you?”

Harvey tugs the bottle from his unresisting fingers and takes a drink of his own.

“Why would it?”

“He was older than me. I thought he had everything sorted. Then he said he was going for a promotion and I should find somebody my own age. Like I should have been happy about it.”

His treacherous hand finds Jim’s shoulder, body heat soaking through the fabric of his shirt.

“When they say age is just a number, they mean it, Jim. It doesn’t stop you making stupid fucking decisions.”

“What would you have chosen?” Jim asks, the drink slurring the words together, and Harvey can’t look away, can hardly breathe, and he doesn’t know if he’s thankful or disappointed when his cell rings and breaks the tension.

The answer is obvious.

Jim is the only thing in his life worth fighting for.

They don’t talk about it. Not before he leaves to go mop up another mess at the precinct, and not after yet another madman is narrowly prevented from completely destroying Jim. Not when Vale’s off the scene, and not when Lee makes it very clear that she’s going to marry Mario.

Jim stares at him sometimes, lost in thought, and Harvey pretends that he doesn’t notice. That it doesn’t get him hot under the collar, wishing, pathetically, that it might mean something.

He stares at Jim more often. Admires the resilience that brings him back from the brink of despair, over and over again, and dreams of all the ways he would show Jim how much he has come to mean to him.

The breaking point comes at the oddest moment. There is no crisis, no life or death situation. He’s not even drunk. It’s just that one moment Harvey’s listening to Jim talk over potential leads for a case as they eat cheap take out, and the next he can’t live another second without kissing him.

Jim goes stock still, unresponsive, and the rejection claws at his insides. Makes his throat ache, because what the fuck was he expecting? He pulls back, apology on his lips, but the expression on Jim’s face renders him silent.

He looks so lost. Hopeful but disbelieving.

Suddenly he gets it. Takes one of Jim’s hands in his own and says,

“I hate keeping secrets. If I was looking for something casual, do you really think I’d risk it with the best friend I ever had?”

Jim’s gaze flickers to their linked hand and back to his face, and then, just like that, he’s kissing him. Is all but in his lap, mouth hot and wet, and fingers curling tight in his hair, like he knows exactly what it’s always done to him.

It should be strange, awkward, but it isn’t. The rasp of Jim’s stubble registers dimly, but it’s not off-putting. The jut of his dick is more immediate, somewhat startling, but the noise Jim makes when he presses a tentative hand to it dispels any lingering doubts he might have had on the matter.

“Please,” Jim gasps, hips rolling forward, and it’s too much. He’s got to pull Jim to his feet and push him towards the bedroom. He hasn’t spent years reevaluating everything he ever thought he knew about himself to settle for a frenzied handjob on the sofa.

Jim is in apparent agreement, doing his best to strip both of them in between rubbing his cheek against his beard - and fuck but that shouldn’t be doing the things it’s doing to him - and moaning like a goddamned porn star. Then Jim is on the bed and dragging him down on top of him, squirming up against him, panting into his mouth before they’re kissing again.

“Please,” Jim begs again and Harvey doesn’t know what it is he’s asking for. More, harder, better? Buries his head in the crook of Jim’s neck and grinds out,

“You’re going to have to take the lead, Jim. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The cut off noise Jim makes in response is telling enough, without the shudder he can feel work through his entire frame. He has to smile - he always knew Jim couldn’t be quite the upstanding boy scout he made himself out to be. Glances up to see Jim’s cheeks burning, his eyes dark, and lets his hand stray to where Jim is straining for his touch.

“You’re getting off on the idea, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Jim groans and yeah, okay, he probably would.

Jim’s reaction is hot enough in itself, and when Jim pushes him back against the bed - takes charge - he realizes that this is going to end up kind of frenzied after all. Because Jim’s hands are everywhere, his mouth trailing slick heat across his nipples, up the length of his throat, the underside of his jaw, where he seems intent on attempting to raise a bruise that’s going to be visible, facial hair or no.

“Jesus,” he manages when Jim finally gives it up only to shift around and swallow his dick down deep like he can’t stand the waiting any longer. He tries to watch, even meets Jim’s blue eyes for a moment, but if he does it’s going to be over in seconds and he turns his attention to the smooth skin he can reach, encouraging Jim to push closer until he can get a hand around him.

Jim groans around his dick, so that Harvey can’t help but glance at him. Feels a fresh wave of arousal wash over him, and before he can overthink it he’s licking at the head of Jim’s cock and Jim’s rhythm is falling apart, his mouth wetter, sloppier, and it’s so good Harvey’s sucking at him properly, spurred on by the filthy, helpless noises Jim is making.

There’s a whine when he pulls back, the movement of his hand now slick and easy, and he gasps Jim’s name in warning. He can’t hold back, can’t help the way his hips are pushing against Jim’s hand, and Jim only stays with it, head bobbing, as he comes and comes, legs trembling and his hand tightening around Jim’s dick.

Jim’s hand wraps around his own when he finally lays his cheek against Harvey’s thigh, panting harshly. Harvey gets the idea, their hands moving together, and when Jim spurts hotly over his fingers his dick twitches in sympathy.

Still, it’s all he can do to wrap his arms around Jim when he unsteadily collapses beside him, his face blotchy and his hair plastered to his forehead. He looks absolutely gorgeous and maybe he says that aloud, because suddenly Jim’s kissing him soft and slow, almost sweet if it wasn’t for the fact he can taste himself.

“Not bad for a lackluster goody two shoes, huh?” He asks when he’s done, curling into his chest like they’ve laid this way a thousand times before.

Harvey grins, remembering that long ago conversation - and all the time he had spent ruminating on it since - and runs his fingers through Jim’s hair.

“Fuck the rooftops. I'll take out a full page ad in the newspaper.”

Chapter Text

He wasn’t the jealous type and that was just as well, really, because it felt like they couldn’t go anywhere without somebody hitting on Jim. If it wasn’t creepy underworld figures feigning legitimacy, it was witnesses with sultry smiles or family liaison officers with hopeful eyes.

Jim rarely discouraged them - claimed not to even notice - and Harvey chose to see it as gratifying. Proof of his excellent taste and, besides, it was his bed Jim slept in. His love bites covering Jim’s collar bone, and his name Jim called when he came apart beneath him.

Problems only arose when things became particularly blatant.

The girl who whispered something in his ear at the edge of a crime scene that made his eyes go wide, because in some ways Jim really was a pure little boy scout. Or the guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer while they waited for a potential suspect to put in an appearance at a dingy nightclub, not until Harvey flashed his badge and suggested he move along.

It was satisfying in a way it probably shouldn’t have been then when the new deputy commissioner came into the precinct to introduce herself, laid a hand on his arm for a beat too long, and said, just a touch of something in her voice,

“Please, call me Sandra.”

“Harvey,” he said in turn, instinctive, and maybe he did let it go to his head a little because she was a very attractive woman. Fiery red hair, the kind that had always done it for him, and an air of no nonsense competence that threatened to make his knees weak.

She fished, subtly, about his marital status and he felt guilty for returning her smile when he said he had never made it down the aisle.

Jim seemed to know it too. Chose that moment to interrupt them by knocking harshly at his office door, tone clipped as he told him the booking sergeant wanted to speak to him.

“I look forward to working closely with you, Harvey,” the deputy commissioner said, a barely there stress on his name, and then she was gone and Jim was glaring at him with a face like he had been sucking on a lemon.

“Harvey?” He queried, eyebrow raised, and Harvey gave him a grin and a shrug,

“I keep telling you I’m irresistible.”

That might have been the extent of it, a few moments of vanity, and the blissful certainty of being wanted - knowing that Jim actually cared enough to feel jealous in the first place. But Sandra decided she wanted to take a more hands on role, and when she announced her campaign to tackle gang violence, there wasn’t much he could do but put his services at her disposal.

Couldn’t help but enjoy it because they got on well, and it was better than having her predecessor find fault with his every action. They laughed and joked, and it might have been fun, even, if only Jim wasn’t so visibly jealous.

Because he was.

He scowled and sulked and pouted. Grit his teeth tight together whenever he was required to make polite conversation with her. When Sandra invited him to drinks to celebrate the first wave of arrests, Jim told him it was fine but gave him the cold shoulder all day before disappearing the moment he was off duty.

Harvey couldn’t understand it. Had watched far too intently when Jim was with Barbara, and with Lee, and he had never seen him like this.

He attempted to puzzle it out in the bar that evening, and wished Jim wasn’t such a stickler for the rule book. If the top brass truly thought their relationship was an insurmountable conflict of interest, they could find somebody else to carry out the thankless task of acting captain. He’d much sooner have a ring on Jim’s finger and a smiling photograph of the two of them on his desk, and not have any of the headaches of being in management.

Sandra was perceptive enough to know something was wrong. Ordered him a double whiskey and suggested he get it off his chest because this was supposed to be a celebration. Met his eyes as he knocked it back and said,

“Or, if you prefer, we could skip the talking.”

The words, the invitation, sent a jolt of lust through him and for the first time he understood what Jim’s problem was. It wasn’t that someone was interested in him. It was that he was so transparently receptive to it.

“You’re a wonderful woman,” he started, awkward, and she gave him a look that made him feel about twelve all over again. Had him putting the glass down and attempting to act like an adult.

“I’m seeing someone from the department,” he admitted, crooked his fingers into air quotes and elaborated, “Abusing my position of power.”

Her lips quirked. “You’ve had more luck at it than I have.”

He laughed, in spite of himself, and stayed for another round. Met her observations about a certain blue eyed detective with a good humored,

“I couldn’t possibly comment.”

“He’s got good taste,” she said when they parted ways, and Harvey only hoped he could prove himself worthy of the verdict.

Jim was bundled up on the sofa when he got home, knees pulled up in front of him and shower damp hair pushed back from his forehead. There was a mostly untouched beer on the coffee table, and some mindless pap on the TV that he was watching but not seeing.

He looked miserable, lonely, and Harvey hung up his coat and hat before sliding in close.

Wrapped an arm around his shoulder and suddenly Jim’s attempts to pretend he hadn’t even noticed his presence were forgotten. He curled into him instead, arms at his waist, breath hot against his chest as he said,

“I’m sorry.”

It tugged at Harvey’s heartstrings, because he knew Jim had never found apologizing easy. Because it wasn’t Jim’s duty to accept all the blame in this.

“Stop stealing my lines,” he said softly, and put a hand to Jim’s cheek, encouraging him to look up at him. “You know I would never do that to you, don’t you? I’m sorry for making you doubt it.”

“It’s just -” Jim tried, then looked away. Raked a hand through his hair and reached for his beer. Harvey waited; watched the bobbing of his adam’s apple as he swallowed, and the squaring of his jaw as he gathered up the nerve to come out with it.

“Eventually everyone realizes they’re better off without me.”

“Jim,” he breathed, knowing full well what it would have taken Jim to leave himself so vulnerable. Had to pull him in close and kiss him, slow and tender like it could convey to Jim how desperately he was in love with him.

Jim responded eagerly, a touch too frantic, and Harvey let him go for it. Let him take charge and straddle him, and arched his head back willingly when Jim went to work on the skin of his throat, though he knew the mark Jim was raising would be plenty visible.

Groaned, helpless, when Jim scrabbled at their clothing, unfastening just enough to get both their dicks in his hand, grip determined and movements hurried.

The angle was awkward, and the sweat making his shirt stick to his back was uncomfortable. None of it mattered compared to the way Jim was gasping his name, or the way he collapsed against him when he came, shuddering through it even as his hand kept moving, until Harvey had to muffle his own groan in Jim’s shoulder.

“If you really think I’m going to give this up,” Harvey said when he got his breath back, Jim loose limbed and pliable in his lap, “you need your head examining.”

“I do trust you,” Jim murmured, sounding almost certain.

Harvey let it slide. Pledged to work at convincing him and kissed his temple, the words coming easily,

“I know. I love you too.”

Chapter Text

Being in love with Jim Gordon was the most painful thing Harvey had ever experienced.

It wasn’t the knowledge that Jim was never going to be interested - though that was torture. It was having to stand by, helpless, while Jim seemed intent on self destruction.

“The GCPD needs you,” he tried when he found Jim still passed out on the sofa at three in the afternoon, empty bottles and take out cartons everywhere. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to it.”

Jim only snorted and shook his head, and Harvey wished he could tell him that it was he who needed Jim. His life that had been dragged from the gutter by Jim’s arrival. Instead he emptied the collection of blister packs from Jim’s bathroom cabinet, and appropriated the spare key to his apartment.

Spent every spare moment worrying that today would be the day Jim did something stupid.

Today would be the day he’d find him hanging from the ceiling.

He felt sick to his stomach the day Jim wouldn’t answer his cell phone, his skin cold and clammy. Panic clawed at his throat when he knocked at Jim’s door at the end of a long shift and there was no answer. Unlocked the door with numbed fingers and pushed through the mess of Jim’s living space towards his bedroom.

The relief he felt at the sight of him was rivaled only by the desperate surge of want that washed over him, the force of it making his head spin.

Because Jim was fine - more than fine. Was wearing nothing but his undershirt, skin flushed and damp as he rocked back on the fingers of one hand, the other twisting tight in the bedclothes. It was like a scene out of his every late night fantasy and he could feel the back of his neck burn red, even as he attempted to pull himself together enough to move. To apologize.

“Please,” Jim managed, a broken whine, and made no attempt to hide the state he was in. Met his gaze and it was like being drawn to a magnet. The bed dipped as he put a knee on it, his hand reaching for Jim’s and adding pressure, blood pounding in his ears as Jim gasped, squirming, his fingers being pushed deeper.

This was a bad idea. This was the worst fucking idea he had ever had.

Jim pushed back against both their hands, moaning, and he was going to do it anyway. Eased Jim’s fingers free and slicked up his own with the bottle Jim had been using. Groaned like it was his dick he was sinking into tight heat, watching rapt as Jim arched into it, one hand wrapping around his dick and the other pulling at his shirt to pinch hard at his nipple.

“More,” Jim demanded, and it was obscene, the noise Jim made when he added a second finger. The way he was straining against his zipper and the way he surged forward to catch Jim’s mouth, licking into the taste of cheap whiskey and something else that was all Jim.

It was so good, too good, and he was getting slick everywhere, determined to give Jim the third finger he was pleading for. Had to suck in great heaving breaths because Jim was so hot, so tight, and then Jim was reaching for him, hands frantic at his belt buckle, begging for him to move harder, faster, to roll him over and fuck him properly.

“Jim,” he tried because there would be no coming back from this. Nothing would ever be the same between them. Jim just stripped himself out of his undershirt and threw it over the side of the bed. Groaned when his fingers found Harvey’s wrist and pulled it back, thrusting a foil wrapper at him and going up on hands and knees like it was what he was born to do.

He had never imagined it would be like this, not the first time, because his dreams had all been of Jim’s blue eyes and watching his face as he came apart. But Jim was insistent, voice strained, and he didn’t have the willpower to dissuade him. Cursed and shuddered when Jim pushed back too fast, frantic, and matched Jim’s pace in spite of himself, panting with the effort of it.

It couldn’t last, not with Jim so worked up, and not with how unbearably hot it was, to know that it was Jim he was doing this with.

Jim cried out when he came, muscles clenching, and from there it was only a matter of moments before he was shaking and collapsing against Jim, overheated and exhausted. He did his best to shift over a little, limbs heavy and uncooperative, and hoped Jim wouldn’t object to him adding yet more filth to the floor of his bedroom.

He wanted to lay there forever, Jim in his arms as they traded kisses. Tugged gently at Jim’s shoulder so he would turn and face him, and it felt like the bottom fell out of his stomach because Jim wasn’t burying his face in the pillow to catch his breath but because he was sobbing. Was flinching away from his touch and Harvey couldn’t breathe the realization hurt so bad.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, panicked, and when Jim didn’t answer heard his own voice tremble when he added, “Please talk to me.”

He had been too rough, too desperate. Hadn’t thought any of it through, because now his head was clear Jim smelt like a brewery. Was off his face on something, pills and God only knew what scattered all over the nightstand, along with a photograph of Lee and his loaded handgun.

“Just go,” Jim grit out, without ever once looking at him, and he spent the rest of the night sat against the wall of Jim’s living room, too afraid to leave him entirely to his own devices, and too much of a coward to insist they talk about it.

“It never happened,” Jim said, voice dull and eyes blank when he found him there in the morning, and for once Harvey didn’t argue. Simply nodded, once, and hesitated for a long awkward moment before following Jim’s instructions and going.

He’d fucked up and now he was going to have to pay for it.

They didn’t talk about it in the weeks that followed. Didn’t allude to it, even, and there were moments when it all seemed like a bad nightmare. Then their eyes would meet and Jim would look away, deliberate, and it came flooding back all over again.

Because they tried to act like nothing had changed. Joked and laughed and bantered. But he’d reach a hand out to touch Jim and then pull it back, the way Jim had flinched away imprinted on his memory. The agony of seeing Jim upset and knowing he was the cause of it weighing heavily on his shoulders, so that even when Jim was smiling he couldn’t forget about it.

Jim confessed all about Vale over a couple of beers, cavalier in a way Harvey had never heard him. Met his gaze with damp eyes after the business with Tetch, and said it would be better if he never got involved with anyone.

“You don’t mean that,” he said and, though it wasn’t what he meant, Jim inhaled sharply.

They stared at each other, the air around them thick with all the things they ought to have been saying about the situation.

“I do,” Jim said finally, carefully, and Harvey soothed the burning ache in his throat with a long swig of beer. Kept it together for ten minutes, twenty, then stumbled blind down an alley beside the bar and pressed his forehead against the wall. Breathed deeply, in and out, until he was sure he wasn't going to embarrass himself, then went home to his empty apartment. 

Stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror in the morning and saw someone he didn't recognize staring back at him. 

Buried his head in work, deeper and deeper, and pretended that it scarcely registered to see Jim still so hung up over Lee Thompkins.

'You're the real virus', she told him when it all fell apart, her hopes and dreams, and Jim raked a hand through his hair that night, tongue loosened with drink and said,

“You should listen to her. I'm not worth it.”

Harvey sucked in a shuddering breath, hand hovering for a long moment before he laid it on Jim's shoulder. Begged himself not to even as the words tumbled out of his mouth,

“I'll never believe that.”

When Jim looked at him his hand fell away, body registering what his mind was still catching up with. He didn't need to say anything, neither of them did. 

“You're a good friend,” Jim said, all the same, and Harvey told himself that it was enough.

It would have to be.

Chapter Text

Jim wasn’t shallow, looked for more in a potential partner than his body’s instinctive reaction to their proximity. Dated women with spirit and guys with principles, and fell in love with good hearts and generous natures.

It was just that if were asked to draw a diagram of what exactly did do it for him, physically, it would look a hell of a lot like Harvey Bullock.

It was the hair. The beard. The height difference, and the broad shoulders. The confident swagger and the extra weight around his middle. The glasses he wore sometimes when they worked late, and the smattering of freckles that were only really visible when they were sat close together, looking through the same case file.

Not that it was a problem, not initially, at any rate. Because his first impressions of Harvey were far from favorable, and he had a fiancee he was completely besotted with, besides. Then there was Lee, and if his breath still went short when Harvey greeted him with hugs and kisses it didn’t mean anything.

Was never going to mean anything, not when he shifted awkwardly in his seat during too long stakeouts, and not when he was drunk and maudlin and couldn’t pretend it wasn’t Harvey he was thinking of, late at night, hand stroking himself.

But then Lee was gone, wasn’t interested, and somewhere along the way Harvey had proven himself to be just as spirited and principled as anyone Jim had ever wanted to be with. Was doing a job he hated because it needed doing and nobody else was willing, and had saved him from the brink of despair again and again, without ever once expecting so much as recognition for it.

It hit him all in a rush after the nightmare with Jerome and the Neo-Maniax, with him still lost and shaken, and Lee looking at him as though she wished their paths had never crossed.

“Come on, let me buy you breakfast,” Harvey said, and followed it up with the heavy weight of an arm around his shoulder. Let him cling to his back in turn, and sit too close in the booth of the diner. Smiled at him, fond, when he offered up the food he couldn’t eat and Jim realized for the first time just how incredibly screwed he was.

Watched none too subtly as Harvey cleared his plate and wished he had listened to his mother as a kid, on all the countless occasions she had told him it was rude to stare at other people eating.

He couldn’t help it then, had found it fascinating, and couldn’t help it now, though it got him hot under the collar.

“You sure you’re not hungry?” Harvey asked, concerned, and it pulled at something in his chest, painful yet perfect, because all this time it had been right in front of him, everything he had spent his whole life searching for.

And that was the problem - Harvey was always right there. They worked together, they ate together, they went for off duty drinks together, and on the rare occasions that neither of them was working, they still gravitated towards each other.

Harvey never seemed to get sick of him. Never told him he was too busy, and never looked disappointed when he pulled back the door of his apartment to find Jim standing on the threshold.

Jim alternated between doing nothing and trying too hard, not wanting to risk their friendship, but pushed to breaking point by the way Harvey smiled at him, honest and unguarded, and the way he smelled, when their thighs were pressed against each other as they drank beer on his sofa.

He daydreamed, endlessly, of what it would be like. The scratch of Harvey’s beard against his skin, and the possessive hand Harvey would lay on his shoulder, when people asked who would be crazy enough to want to get mixed up with someone like Jim Gordon.

It was obvious sometimes, had to be, and he did his best to focus on the fact Harvey had never made a move. Had never put a hand on his knee or whispered low in his ear. Had never closed the gap between them, even when Jim couldn’t tear his gaze from the older man’s lips, and surely that said everything.

Harvey knew what he was doing. Had done things between the sheets Jim was sure he wouldn’t even know names for, and if he didn’t want him then there was nothing he could do but learn to live with it.

Except that was easier said than done, especially when an embarrassing incident with a street theft and a patrol officer resulted in the new Police Commissioner announcing that every serving officer would be expected to pass the new rigorously strengthened physical ability test.

“Stupidest fucking idea I ever heard,” Harvey said when the dates and time notices were circulated, but he left his lunch half eaten all the same, and even Alvarez only disappeared three times that afternoon for a cigarette break, as opposed to his usual twelve.

Jim wasn’t worried for himself, and didn’t particularly see how any penalties would be enforceable anyway. It wasn’t as though the citizens of Gotham were desperate to join the police force, and they could hardly afford to lose experienced officers because they couldn’t hit the required number of sit-ups per minute.

“I bet you’re all for this,” Tuttle said, all the same, when the big day arrived and the locker room was full of unfit detectives getting into their PT kit. “Probably sent a brown-nosing letter the moment he announced it.”

“I had a letter published in Police News saying I thought it unnecessary,” Jim replied, unaccountably angry, and maybe it wasn’t Tuttle but having Harvey getting undressed less than three feet away, and knowing he wasn’t allowed to reach out and touch him.

Perhaps it wasn’t even that. It could be the expression on Harvey’s face, the furrow in his brow that was making Jim’s stomach twist itself into knots. Harvey never shied away from anything, never let on that he couldn’t handle whatever Gotham threw at him, and it tore Jim up inside, to see Harvey nervous and embarrassed over something so unimportant.

Because it was clear in his stilted movements, and the miserable look he gave his reflection before the bluff and bluster was back in place, and he was demanding the rest of them hurry up so they could go and get it over with.

Out in the yard they had an obstacle course set up, reminding him of his time in the army. The woman in charge put him in mind of his old CO too. It was the look of outright disgust on her face, probably. It was the way she singled him out and had him demonstrating the correct form for a push-up six times in a row for no other reason than she disliked the look of him.

Put him straight into his timed minute when she was finished, and at least he had the satisfaction of powering through it regardless.

Got to go for his water bottle afterwards and pretend not to be transfixed by the sight of the muscles shifting in Harvey’s arms and the flush on his face. Pretend that he wasn’t thinking completely inappropriate thoughts about what it would be like to be under him, those strong arms braced either side of him as they moved together.

Maybe he wasn’t doing such a great job at it because Sergeant Major blasted her whistle way too close to his ear drum, and directed him through the sit-ups and on to the assault course. Harvey shot him a commiserating smile, coming to stand beside him, and Jim felt like a breathless teenager, undone by the way Harvey’s hair was clinging to the back of his neck and how he was getting to feast his eyes on expanses of leg and arm he had never previously been given more than a fleeting glimpse of.

“Gordon!” was what he got for his troubles. “You first.”

It was okay, wasn’t too much different to a regular Gotham foot chase, and he crawled under and over the relevant obstacles with relative ease. Scrambled up and over the barrier wall in one try, even though he was almost certainly one of the shortest of their test group. He grinned happily when he was given his time and tried not to let on he was enjoying it too much, when Tuttle slammed into the same wall like a ton of bricks and landed on his backside.

Harvey was up next and Jim found himself sitting right on the edge of the bench, as though he could will Harvey through it. Held his breath when Harvey struggled with the crawl space, and was moving before he had even had chance to think about it when Harvey cleared the barrier wall only to let out a strangled yell as he collapsed on the other side of it.

“Fuck!” Harvey ground out, teeth gritting, and Jim came back to himself as he realized he had his fingers on the other man’s ankle, testing for signs of a break.

“It’s just a sprain,” he determined, suddenly self-conscious, and Harvey dropped back to the floor for a moment, forearm over his eyes as he caught his breath and shared his verdict.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

It fell to him to help Harvey to his feet, secretly thrilling at the way the other man had no choice but to lean his weight against him, and they ended up back in the locker room with him suggesting they both take a shower.

Harvey frowned at him, and though that hadn’t at all been what he was implying, Jim felt his cheeks burn at the idea of it. Imagined getting to really see Harvey, all of him, and had to swallow, thickly. Would have embarrassed himself, more than likely, if Alvarez hadn’t chosen that moment to stomp through the door, rifling through his jacket for his cigarettes without commenting on the way they were staring at each other.

As a result it was he who showered, quick and perfunctory, and he who drove Harvey home, because it was probably better that he soak that ankle in a hot bath anyway. He helped Harvey up the stairs of his apartment building, without asking if it was what he wanted, and Harvey told him there was beer in the fridge, without asking if he was planning on staying.

He sat for a few moments, then paced the living room. Stared out of the window and finally hesitated outside the bathroom, working up the courage to suck in a deep breath and rap on the door.

“Do you need a hand with anything?”

The moment the words left his mouth he regretted them. Thought of the awkward silence between them back in the locker room, but then there was the sound of a loud splash, like someone losing their balance on the way into the tub, and he pushed the door open anyway.

“Jim,” Harvey said, face too pale with pain and resignation. Muttered, bitterly, “just when you think the day can’t get any worse.”

That hurt, the rush of emotion making his throat ache, and it must have shown on his face because Harvey shook his head. Had his arms kind of crossed across his chest, shoulders hunched as he sighed,

“I liked it better when you didn’t know for sure what a slob I am, all right?”

It was Jim’s turn to frown, the dots connecting slowly in his head because Harvey naked and needing his assistance had long been fantasy territory. It was difficult to get his head around the idea that Harvey viewed the situation so completely backwards.

“I found it hard to concentrate today,” he blurted, and moved to sit beside the bath, heart thumping as he reached for the shampoo.

“Nobody noticed,” Harvey said, confused like he couldn’t work out where the conversation was going. “I think you set a record.”

“I couldn’t stop watching you,” Jim tried and, no, that wasn’t the right line at all, not with the way Harvey looked away, the same miserable expression on his face that Jim had seen him give the mirror earlier. He licked his lips, wishing he wasn’t so very bad at this. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

That was better. Harvey looked back at him. Nodded his assent when Jim gestured with the bottle and let him lather up his hair, breath coming short at the way Harvey tipped his head back obediently.

“What are you trying to tell me, Jim?” He asked quietly, eyes closed, and Jim worked his fingers against his scalp, the ache back in his chest because it felt like he was so close, so desperately close, to actually being happy.

“I want you,” he managed, and now he’d said that it didn’t seem much of a stretch to add, “I love you.”

It had always been his problem, he thought as the silence stretched. Too much or not enough, and no happy medium. He should leave. Should go and get a grip on himself, someplace where nobody would see - where nobody would know just how much this meant to him.

But when he pulled his hands back, Harvey took hold of one of his wrists, gentle but firm, and pressed a kiss to his pulse point. Met his gaze, hair wet and bedraggled around his face, and said, words light but voice breathless,

“If this is what I get for a sprained ankle what would you have done if I’d broken my leg?”

Jim laughed, helpless, and then they were kissing, soap and water everywhere. His shirt sleeves were soaking, the front of his shirt not much better, and he didn’t care. Couldn’t quit smiling, couldn’t give it up long enough to do anything useful.

It was Harvey who finally got his hair rinsed and them both coordinated long enough to get up and out and into the bedroom, Jim trying but mostly failing to get him to be careful of his ankle. It didn’t much matter once they were both horizontal, and Harvey stripped him out of his sodden clothing, in between kissing him senseless.

Had him gasping and groaning, hands finally allowed to explore the body he had spent such a long time thinking about. Had him pulling Harvey on top of him, breath coming in excited pants at the feel of it. The weight pinning him in place, and Harvey’s fingers in his hair, petting, as his kisses turned increasingly desperate.

They clambered under the bed covers afterwards, curled up close together, and Jim couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled so much. His cheeks positively ached with it.

“I love it when you smile,” Harvey told him, fingers tender against the side of his face, and he beamed all the harder. Confessed,

“I'm probably going to be doing a whole lot more of it.”

Harvey just grinned back at him, kissed him all over again, and said, voice thick with everything Jim had ever wanted to hear,

“I'll make sure of it.”

Chapter Text

“Love means knowing when to let go,” the perp shrugged, misery etched across his face, and Harvey couldn’t help the way the words hit home even as Jim took him to task over it, demanding to know whether the wife and kid he had left behind were likely to agree with him.

“If he had really loved her,” Jim complained afterwards, riled up and full of self-righteousness, “he wouldn’t have got mixed up with the mob in the first place.”

Harvey gave him the freedom to work it through, knowing it was less to do with some third rate hitman and more to do with Jim’s father. Tried not to let on that it was actually a sentiment he had been giving increasingly frequent consideration to.

Because being with Jim was nothing like he had imagined.

They still argued, and Jim still jumped without looking. He was still obsessed with playing the hero, and Harvey still yelled himself hoarse over Jim’s unrepentant idiocy on a regular basis.

But Jim was apologetic afterwards. Even listened beforehand, occasionally, and wore his stab vest when he was told to. Was way more affectionate than Harvey had ever let himself dream, even in his most private fantasies, and it threatened to undo him, every time Jim smiled at him in public, like he didn’t care who saw and what they inferred from it.

And surrounded by trained police officers there was no shortage of speculation on the subject.

“Is it true?” Lee asked a few weeks in, too busy cleaning flasks that already looked spotless to glance at him.

He thought of sparing Jim’s reputation, of outright lying. Knew that she would see right through it and compromised with,

“It isn’t serious.”

She snorted, as if to say that much was obvious, and even later with Jim clinging to him, whining gibberish, Harvey couldn’t work out why exactly he had said it. For his part he had never been more serious about anything, and Jim acted like what they had was every bit as real as the relationships he had been prepared to walk down the aisle for.

Gave him the same soft eyed look he had once reserved for his fiancees, and looked just as helplessly pleased with himself, when Alvarez congratulated him on finally getting his leg over.

Straight up admitted that they were together when a couple of girls in a club they were supposed to be staking out wouldn’t take no for an answer and, when they laughed, disbelieving, Jim pressed close like it was his interest in Jim that was ludicrous. Kissed him the very instant they were off the clock, hot and possessive, and wouldn’t let go long enough for him to do more than shuck his coat and hat when they finally made it back to his apartment, panting and gasping as they ground against each other.

He seemed embarrassed by his behavior, afterwards, and that was when it hit Harvey for the first time that Jim would probably have been just the same with anyone. Had been knocked back and kicked down, over and over again, and was always going to latch on to the first person who treated him like he mattered.

It hurt, initially, to acknowledge it, but as he twisted the idea one way and the other it made sense. Much more than the alternative, at any rate, because Jim was too young to throw away his dreams of rosy cheeks and picket fences on a loser like him. Was going to be too much of a nice guy to admit the problem when he realized it, and would end up resenting him, until even the happy memories turned bitter.

Tuttle agreed. Followed his lovesick gaze and shook his head, imparting wisdom around his morning Danish,

“You haven’t got the sense you were born with, that’s your problem. You really think your face is still going to fit when he starts going for promotion?”

Dix said much the same when he went for his regular visit, sighing and tutting and calling him a soft hearted fool for going there in the first place.

“He’s still a kid,” Dix told him, even as he worked through the cookies Harvey had brought with him, “he doesn’t know what he wants.”

“He’s 33,” Harvey protested, because the conversation really wasn’t painting him in a great light. Dix only raised an eyebrow.

“Exactly.”

It played on his mind all evening, and he made up excuses when Jim suggested he come over, because for the first time since it had started he didn’t want to see him. Couldn’t bear to hear Jim say words he couldn’t possibly mean, and didn’t know how he was supposed to do the right thing, not if Jim were there, so impossibly beautiful.

He needed to make it easy for Jim. Appraised his reflection in the bathroom mirror the following morning and decided it wouldn’t be that difficult. All he had to do was make Jim see that he would be better off without him.

So he buried his head in paperwork and scheduled extra meetings. Ate lunch over briefings with the Head of HR, and pretended not to notice the wounded look on Jim’s face, when he said he was going to be too busy to see him that evening, and the next, and quite probably the one after that.

“Can’t I help?” Jim asked, stubborn. Reached for him though his aversion to workplace PDAs was legendary, and Harvey had to suck in a fortifying breath, because Jim’s body heat was singularly distracting. “I’d rather work late than go home without you.”

“You have your priorities seriously mixed up,” Harvey said, his tone sounding forced to his own ears, “I’m practically ordering you to go out drinking.”

Jim frowned at him, and would have said more, Harvey was sure, but he spied Alvarez and the two pretty new transfers from upstate just in time. Managed to fix Jim up on some kind of quasi date, and watched all four of them leave together with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It was for the best, he knew, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t killing him.

Didn’t mean it wasn’t the worst torture he had ever known, sitting in his office until the early hours of the morning, desperately wishing that Jim would send him a text message. Finally going home only to cling to the pillow on Jim’s side of the bed, breathing in the scent of him until his throat ached and his vision blurred.

He was in better control of himself in the morning. Told himself he was glad when he saw Jim and the brunette from the previous night making polite conversation on the steps of the precinct, and forced himself to smile when Jim rapped at his office door at the first available opportunity.

Up close Jim looked like he hadn’t slept. Like he hadn’t even had time to shower, his hair dull and the rasp of stubble visible on his cheeks.

He had never expected it all to be over quite this quickly.

Tried to brace himself for Jim confessing, his goody two shoes conscience demanding it, but Jim smelled of drink not sex when he pushed into his personal space. His skin was too pale, voice too strained, and Harvey had to fidget with his pen so he didn’t reach for him when he said,

“I don’t know what I’ve done but I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t done anything,” Harvey said, in spite of all his good intentions, chest aching. Pulled himself together and added, “Look, this isn’t the time or the place. We can talk later.”

Jim nodded, silent and stilted, and if Harvey had thought the night before was awful, it had nothing on the way the day dragged on and on, so that the prospect of hashing the whole thing out with Jim was too close yet never close enough. He procrastinated as long as possible at the end of his shift, but when he looked up it was to find Jim leaning against the edge of his desk, watching his office door, like he was afraid he was going to leave without speaking to him otherwise.

They ended up at his apartment, without either of them voicing an opinion on it, and once the door was shut behind them Harvey couldn’t help but think of how this had been where it had started. Where Jim had first told him that he loved him, and where he had pledged, albeit silently, to never do anything to make Jim regret that decision.

He made to offer Jim a drink, anything to ease the tension, but Jim was already at breaking point, words spilling between them.

“I know I’m hard work. I know I’m not easy to live with.”

The worst thing was that he wasn’t, not really. They just fit together - liked the same things, had the same priorities. Laughed at the same stupid shit, and the rougher edges of Jim’s personality were easy enough to wear smooth with reassurance and kisses. At least they had been.

To hear Jim’s poor assessment of himself tore him up inside, and he could feel his resolve starting to crumble.

“But I’ll try harder. Please let me.”

It was too much, way too much. Because Jim sounded desperate, broken like he hadn’t heard him since things had fallen apart with Lee, and he had to pull him in close, knowing he was lost when Jim’s arms came up to wrap around him.

“It’s not you,” Harvey said, and Jesus but his own voice was wrecked. “It was never you.”

Jim only clung tighter, like he didn’t believe it, and Harvey had to kiss him. Had to pour his whole sorry heart into the action, wishing he were selfless enough to simply force Jim away.

“I don’t want you to regret this, Jim,” he managed instead. Pulled back enough to look into Jim’s face, thumb stroking at his cheekbone. “I don’t want you to wake up ten years from now and think, what the fuck am I doing? I don’t want you to miss out on kids and dogs and a drop dead gorgeous wife who’s going to pack you lunch and kiss you goodbye every morning.”

There it was, laid bare, and Jim blinked at him, bewildered, before bursting into laughter. Laughed and laughed until Harvey glared, and then smiled kind of sheepishly and said,

“We can do all those things if you want to. You could leave me little love notes with my sandwiches.”

“Do I look like a drop dead gorgeous wife?” Harvey countered, because Jim didn’t seem to be getting it. Only trailed fingertips across his brow and down the side of his face, then slid them into his hair, tugging until their foreheads were pressed together.

“I think you’re gorgeous,” Jim whispered. “You have no idea.”

Except maybe he did because Jim was pressing the rest of himself in close, making his thoughts on the subject very obvious.

“I’m not some confused kid. I know what I want.” Jim’s mouth was at his ear now and the last of his resistance was falling apart, “I want you.”

“There’s no way I’m ever making you bagged lunches,” Harvey warned, because his mouth wanted to wander into dangerously sentimental territory.

Jim only grinned, way too mischievous for a boy scout, and said even as his fingers started wandering,

“Challenge accepted.”

Chapter Text

“Overpaid, oversexed and over here. Look at them.”

Harvey followed Evans’ disapproving gaze and couldn’t say he disagreed with the assessment. The group of GIs were too loud, and took up too much space, no decorum between the lot of them. They were all snapping gum, irreverent, and more than one of them was watching Evans’ teenage daughter with undisguised interest.

“Had to kick them out last night for rowdy behaviour,” Evans said, drying glasses and putting them away behind the bar. “Fighting again.”

He shook his head and took a sip of his drink, even as his gaze fell on one of the quieter of their number. He looked just like one of the yankee matinée idols, all blond haired and blue eyed. Strong jawed yet baby faced, the kind of lad all the girls lost their common sense over.

Too late he realised that he was staring and turned his attention to his drink. Downed it easily to hide how flustered he was, and gave Evans his thanks but there were places he ought to be, things he ought to be doing.

The streets weren’t going to police themselves, not even with a war on.

He was halfway down the road when a hand touched his arm. Had him spinning around on nothing but reflex, training for another war half a lifetime ago imprinted on his mind.

“You forgot this.”

It was the GI with the big blue eyes.

He took his umbrella, his usual quick rejoinder stuck in his throat, and the man held his hand out.

“Sergeant James Gordon.”

Harvey hesitated for only a moment before shaking it, blinded by Gordon’s Picture Show smile.

“Bullock. Harvey Bullock.”

Harvey had been with the Force since 1921. Had had nothing to go home to in Ireland and so started again on the mainland, head fired full of the great life they were all going to look forward to now Jerry had been put in his place.

He had been an idiot because war never solved anything. Not the class divide, and not whatever the hell this one was really over.

That was why their boys were spread too thin across Europe and further afield, while GIs swarmed the town, too much time on their hands and too much money in their pockets.

Evans said they were getting paid 5s a day, and he wouldn’t be surprised if at least 4s of it was going on drink. It had to be, because the kind of stupidity he kept witnessing didn’t happen sober. No matter what the problem was, no matter where the call out came from, there was a GI involved somehow.

If they weren’t fighting with each other, they were fighting luckless Tommies home on leave to find their girls otherwise preoccupied. Else they were getting threatened by angry fathers, or disappointed mothers, or getting duped by spivs at the edges of the market, because they were too lazy to carry their currency conversion tables.

Uniform had plenty of tales to share about the kids who trailed them everywhere being just as reticent over how much change they were actually due, and the disgraceful scenes to be witnessed down the lovers’ lanes and even in the darkened corners of the local dancehalls.

He had one of the local magistrates banging on his door at ten o’ clock at night, complaining about the kind of behaviour his daughter was witnessing, and so he found himself accompanying a couple of constables to ensure there wasn’t a repeat of the problem though he had a thousand or more things his time could be better spent doing.

They arrived to find battle lines already drawn, tensions stirred up by the warm beer they all claimed to hate so much.

“I know you paid the same as them,” one of the MCs was stammering, sweat trickling down from his hairline, and when Yates pulled his pocket notebook out the group of black GIs gave it up in disgust, shoulders jostling against their alleged brothers in arms as they pledged to find a dancehall that wouldn’t capitulate so easily.

Harvey was so ready for the day to be over, raked a hand through his hair as the manager apologised over and over again, blaming the girls at the ticket desk, and the lads at the door for the oversight. Played a blame game of his own when he looked up and felt his heart lurch, Gordon meeting his gaze across the dancefloor. It was indigestion, probably. Certainly didn’t mean anything.

Gordon broke straight away from his chums and his pretty date, all the same, to come over and speak to him.

“I hope you don’t think too badly of us. The nights have all been arranged in advance, you see.”

“You’re all supposed to be on the same side,” Harvey said, brusquer than he’d intended, because it bothered him in ways he couldn’t explain, the idea that Gordon might really be that petty minded.

Except his face fell, just for a moment, and then he nodded decisively.

“You’re right. It won’t happen again.”

The next time he saw Gordon, almost a week to the day, the man was holding a hand to his bruised jaw, bewildered like he couldn’t quite believe someone had just swung for him.

Pulled himself together quickly enough to spare the private in question from being cuffed, tone brokering no argument,

“This is a military matter. I’ll deal with it.”

Harvey sighed and glanced from Gordon’s stupidly pretty face - the bruise only seeming to highlight the fact - to the rapidly sobering private.

“These are my streets,” he said, tired from a long day of sobbing parents, and sobbing siblings, and sobbing bystanders, because there had been another direct hit on a residential street and they still hadn’t pulled all the bodies free. “Do you think I’ve given them the best years of my life to see them turned into a playground for a bunch of silly boys who ought never to have been let loose from their mothers’ apron strings?”

Gordon had the good grace to look mollified, just for a second or two, before the righteous pout was back in place.

“We never wanted to fight your war,” one of the others piped up, looking barely old enough to be out of short trousers. “It’s just like last time, when you couldn’t manage without us.”

The two WRCs taking particulars looked horrified, like they expected him to swing for the kid, and on another night maybe he would have. As it was he only left the scene without a backwards glance.

He wasn’t worth his trouble.

The following morning he was called from his paperwork by the air-headed girl serving as desk officer. Watched as she breathlessly patted her hair and checked her lipstick in the glass pane of the door before leading him back through to the front of the station, where he knew without being told exactly who he would find waiting for him.

Sure enough, there was James Gordon, swollen jaw not detracting in the least from his smartly pressed uniform and the bashful look on his face.

“Can we talk?” He asked, and Harvey nodded in spite of his better instincts.

It was just about lunchtime anyway.

“I want to apologise for last night,” Gordon said over stewed tea in the WVS canteen. Harvey pulled a face as he took a sip of his own - he hoped he lived long enough to see sugar come back off the ration - and shrugged,

“You were the one that got a hiding.”

Gordon gave him a small smile, sheepish. “Segregation is the norm for most of them, back home. It was kind of bigheaded to think they were going to forget all about it just because I ordered them to.”

“Nobody needs to agree with anything to follow orders,” Harvey pointed out, remembering another war. Gordon would have been the kind to write poetry, he thought. The kind to be left hanging from the barbed wire, sightless eyes staring out across the battlefield.

It wasn’t a comforting idea.

“The officer at the desk said you’re a DI,” Gordon said, oblivious. “That’s like a Lieutenant. I want to join the Force when the war’s over.”

That wasn’t what he had been expecting.

He didn’t know what Gordon expected him to say in response to it.

“I’d like to talk about it sometime. If you’re not too busy.”

Harvey frowned. Tried to work out what Gordon wanted from him. All he knew about American police was what he saw in the gangster pictures, and he didn’t for one moment believe that Gordon would be living a life of non-stop car chases and shoot outs, no matter what misconceptions he might be labouring under.

“You want to know what being in the police is like?” He asked finally. “You’re more than welcome to come on blackout patrol.”

“What time?” Gordon asked, beaming like a school boy. Like it wasn’t an offer that anyone with two brain cells to rub together would turn down flat.

“7pm.”

“I’ll see you later.”

He did, too.

Gordon didn’t complain when he was kitted out in a spare Brodie helmet, and withstood all the good natured ribbing from every ARP warden on the beat. The WRCs too, and even the grizzled old bobbies who had been enjoying their hard won retirement before the outbreak of war was announced.

Proved himself willing to start right at the bottom, and laughed when a bewhiskered member of the Home Guard suggested he was only interested in getting a flasher uniform.

“And once you’ve walked this way,” Harvey said, a couple of hours later, when the night air was getting cold and damp, and the gangs of schoolboys were giving way to GIs and the other undesirables. “You turn around and walk it all over again. And again. And again, until your shift ends and somebody comes to relieve you.”

“How did you become a detective?” Gordon asked, undeterred.

Harvey shook his head, even as he watched some kind of exchange taking place between two men who were clearly up to no good.

“Nothing like you’re envisaging, I’m sure, Gordon.”

“You should call me Jim,” Gordon said, following eagerly.

“If you say so, Junior.”

“Can I do this again sometime?” Gordon asked afterwards, when they had a profiteer with false papers in the cells, and two shame faced young lads out by the front desk, waiting to be taken home and given a thrashing by their mother.

Harvey gave it up as a bad job.

“If you want to.”

Gordon was as good as his word. Put in appearance after appearance until Harvey asked,

“What does your CO think about this?”

“The less he sees of me, the happier he is, generally speaking,” Jim admitted and Harvey couldn’t help laughing. It didn’t surprise him, not particularly, because Jim was a bleeding-heart liberal. Was volunteering all over the place on top of whatever it was he actually did all day - Harvey didn’t ask, because the man would be daft enough to tell him.

Instead he listened as Jim told him about the city where he grew up, and how his old man had been a public prosecutor.

“You’ll make better money following in his footsteps,” Harvey told him in turn, because even with the yank wages what they were, being a police officer was never going to make anyone rich - not unless you were happy to turn a blind eye, and he couldn’t imagine Jim ever going along with that somehow.

He didn’t do any of it himself even, not anymore, because he could be patriotic when he wanted to be, and because he didn’t want to lose everything just for a few extra shillings.

“I want to make a difference,” Jim said, all firey-eyed determination like a propaganda poster, and though Harvey questioned what the hell he was doing, he taught Jim card games, and showed him around the historical sites he claimed to be interested in.

Bought him fish and chips after a long evening of moving on drunks and bemoaning the sickness rates among the WRCs, and felt something twist in his gut at the way Jim actually ate with gusto.

“It’s good,” he said, simply, and Harvey raised an eyebrow,

“You sound surprised.”

Jim smiled, the same half bashful smile that was destined to make a fool of him, and said,

“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but every meal I’ve had since coming here has been disgusting. If I never eat a brussel sprout again it’ll be too soon.”

Harvey laughed in spite of himself. Heard himself inviting Jim to tea, because what else was one meant to do when faced with such an admission.

“Really?” Jim asked, with his usual brand of over eagerness, as if he didn’t already have invites for any and every chunk of free time he chose to spend off base.

“Why not?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Harvey regretted them.

He got the impression that they both knew the answer.

In the event he saw Jim again sooner than expected. They had a dead body behind a bombed out cinema, and a doctor’s report saying the girl had been almost four months pregnant. She had been stepping out with a yank, so her mother said, and he had to jump through hoops to convince those in charge to let him have a quiet word before they let the Military Police go in, guns blazing.

When he was directed to the relevant Nissen hut, Jim was there too, the boy looking to him for advice before speaking.

“Just tell the truth,” Jim said, sounding nothing like the wet behind the ears rookie Harvey was used to, and every bit the commanding officer. “They’re not looking to pin anything on you.”

The lad nodded, once, and told him how it hadn’t been serious, and how he had a girl back home, and how it wasn’t even his baby, probably.

“But it could have been?” Harvey asked, pointedly, and the guilty flush told him everything he needed to know.

He noted down some other names, along with times and alibis, and didn’t try to soften the blow when he said,

“Maybe next time you’ll think with your head and not your prick, eh?”

Had to go and question the girl’s broken parents next, and eventually arrested the foreman at the factory where she had been working.

Jim was loitering in reception when the man was finally charged and booked into the cells, and Harvey didn’t have to ask how long he had been waiting to know that it was longer than could be considered strictly proper.

“I’m glad it wasn’t one of my men,” Jim said as he fell into step beside him, no questions asked. “I wouldn’t like to think I’d been working with a murderer.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something cutting, because Jim was so unprepared it was laughable. When they reached the front he’d hope they were all murderers, every last one of them, and if they weren’t already he’d have to stand there and order them to become one.

Harvey couldn’t do it though.

Never wanted to see that look of hopeless resignation on Jim’s face. Never wanted to see him miserable, even, and swore to himself that after this one evening, he would be strong enough to tell Jim he ought to be spending his time taking girls out dancing, not giving shy smiles to over the hill police detectives.

People might get the wrong idea.

Still, he welcomed Jim into his home and accepted his gift of coffee and a couple of Hershey bars.

“I ought to refuse, by rights,” he said, and Jim only flashed that half smile again.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

It wasn’t what Jim meant. Couldn’t mean anything if it was. But it took his breath away all the same because he was too old to lie to himself about what he was.

What it was he wanted.

He wasn’t stupid enough to act on it, at least, and fed Jim a plate of colcannon and bacon to his mother’s recipe. Watched, pleased, when Jim ate it, and then drank the sweetened tea he was given afterwards with the kind of enthusiasm Harvey might have shown for a double helping of apple tart and custard.

After that he might have stared too long, or stood too close, or any number of other acts of foolishness, but the air raid siren sounded and they went to sit in the cold damp of the anderson with his next door neighbours.

Mrs Maguire had her knitting, more than content, and the younger kids, including the twins in their matching siren suits, wasted no time in divesting Jim of all the gum and the pennies in his pockets. Enid, the eldest bar the brother fighting in Africa, looked absolutely mortified to be caught in her curlers, and Harvey wondered what it said about him, that he was actually relieved his chief rival for the evening was a 14-year-old schoolgirl with acne.

There were a couple of close calls that night, the walls of the shelter shaking with the force of the explosions, and the boys pretended they weren’t at all unnerved, lest the yank in their midst think badly of the British spirit.

“I never saw a bomb before I came here,” Jim said later, when they were helping the ARP wardens put sand over the lingering incendiaries. “I don’t know how the kids keep so calm about it.”

“They don’t know any different,” Harvey said, easily, and somehow it never seemed the right moment to tell Jim that they oughtn’t to see each other again.

Jim became a regular visitor. Heard all his old war stories, the ones that were suitable for company, and all the amusing ones he could remember from his time with the police force. Did a good job at looking interested in the tales behind his knick-knacks and photographs, and even asked about the chain he wore around his neck, the one with his dead mother’s wedding ring.

Got invited to Sunday lunch at the Maguires and attempted to swallow the plentiful sprouts with as little chewing as possible. Lied through his back teeth about having enjoyed the meal immensely, and Harvey laughed himself sick behind closed doors, at the memory of the way Jim had visibly shuddered when Enid served him a second helping of greens, too polite to refuse it.

He asked subtle questions until Harvey gave in and told him the full story, about how Mr Maguire had all but drank himself to death, and how he was happy to pay his widow housekeeping for doing his laundry and cooking some of his meals.

“You’re not planning on getting married then?” Jim asked, one Sunday afternoon, not quite meeting his eye, and the air felt suddenly charged for all that the question was innocuous.

“I’ve never been the marrying kind,” Harvey answered, too honest, and Jim fidgeted with the newspaper before risking a glance at him,

“I don’t think I am either.”

It hit Harvey then that he had to do something. Had to save Jim from himself, because he would have no hope of entering the Force with a dishonorable discharge. Would have no hope of anything, if he were locked up for not understanding that you didn’t talk about it.

That you didn’t go out looking for it, not when the walls had ears and eyes, and that it could never be the way Jim wanted - with someone who cared, someone who thought you mattered - anyway.

“You just haven’t found the right girl,” he said carefully. “You spend too much time being a good little boy scout, and not enough with your arm around pretty young things in the back row of the pictures.”

He had seen Jim’s name crossed through in the little black books of the brasher girls they hauled in, along with all the other nice boys who were too sensible to get caught in compromising situations.

Already dreaded seeing it starred or ringed in red, because he was so sensible they knew there might be money to be made in other ways, on pain of rumours about how he just wasn’t interested.

“Would you rather I think with my prick?” Jim asked, reading between the lines well enough to feel hurt. The vulgarity sounded all kinds of wrong on his lips, and Harvey refused to rise to the bait.

Spoke as plainly as he was able.

“I think that’s your problem.”

He didn’t see Jim again for a fortnight. Told himself that he didn’t care, that he was happy, and then drank too much after his last shift of the week and stayed in bed even when the siren sounded.

Moving seemed too much effort.

He finally caught sight of Jim a few days later, queuing outside the Pally with a girl who could have been a model. Their gaze met, even in the dim light, and when Jim looked away first Harvey felt nothing.

It was just as it should be.

Except that night there was heavy bombing, and he saw Jim again after the all clear sounded, helping to clear the rubble. Saw his face pale when they finally reached the girl he had been talking to, and the lad she had taken her leave of him for.

“Is this the first time?” Harvey asked quietly, because they were soldiers only in name. You could line up a hundred of them and find they hadn’t seen a day of action between them. Had never laid eyes upon a dead body, and didn’t have the first clue about how to deal with it.

Jim shook his head. “I’ve seen - but not like this. Never like this.”

It wasn’t right. Wasn’t going to help anyone.

Harvey laid a hand on his shoulder anyway, and just stood with him a moment, until he pulled himself together enough to lend a hand with the stretcher.

Jim was waiting on his doorstep when he got home the next day, blond hair glinting in the evening sun and jaw set with determination.

“Are you stupid as well as American?” Harvey asked, harsh, and Jim only pushed himself calmly to his feet,

“I didn’t know you realised the two were separable.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I asked Enid to a dance and then I came to see a friend. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

There ought to be, if the way it made his heart pound was anything to go by. He didn’t say anything though, and watched Jim eat toasted national loaf and an egg from the hens he kept in the garden, like it could fix everything.

Invited him back again and again, helpless, and pretended to only be half listening when Mrs Maguire extolled Jim’s virtues, and praised his morals.

“You can trust him to get a girl home safe, not like some of them.”

Enid flushed all kinds of interesting hues, and later he told Jim, tone too light,

“You know she’s a little in love with you? Don’t go getting her hopes up.”

“She’s just a kid,” Jim said. Swirled the dregs around his teacup and added solemnly, “I would never toy with anyone's emotions.”

He was a perfect gentleman, by all accounts, and when Mrs Maguire delivered his washing with talk of what a nice boy he was, what a good boy, Harvey hated himself for not being able to completely tamp down the spark of jealousy.

“We’re shipping out,” Jim told him at the end of May, and anybody with eyes could see they were off somewhere. The streets were clogged with tanks and trucks, and the possibilities of what it might mean were all anyone could talk about.

“I know,” Harvey said simply, and the finality of it felt like a physical ache.

“I just,” Jim tried. “I wanted.”

Trailed off, fear warring with frustration on his face.

This was it. He was going. Harvey would never see him again, and if Jim ever thought of this moment it wouldn’t mean anything. He would be home in the States with a pretty wife and beautiful children. A white picket fence, and a dog, and a gleaming electric refrigerator, just like in the movies.

What happened here wouldn’t matter at all.

Would be nothing more than a distant memory.

“Jim,” he said, and his voice sounded a mess to his own ears. Jim just stared at him, those big blue eyes full of hope, and Harvey touched fingers to the side of his face.

Leaned in close, careful, and kissed him.

It was tender, perfect, and when he made to pull back, Jim followed. Kissed him again and again until he had to press further, the slick swipe of Jim’s tongue against his own like nothing he had ever imagined.

“How long have you got?” He asked against his lips, and Jim shivered under his touch.

“Two hours, maybe.”

He pulled him in close and settled on the settee where they simply kissed and kissed. It wasn’t about sex, about getting off. He just never wanted to let Jim go. Catalogued every hitch in Jim’s breathing, and memorised the taste of him.

Finally let his lips wander down the length of Jim’s throat, helpless gasps filling the air even as he loosened Jim’s collar and sucked a mark into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“Harvey,” Jim begged when he could take it no longer and it was then their kisses turned frantic, both of them knowing that this was as much of each other as they could ever hope for.

He was the one to break away when the time came. The one to button Jim’s collar and fix his tie. To try and calm Jim’s rapid breathing, and not to give voice to all the desperate truths he wanted to confess to him.

“I want you to have this,” he said instead, and took the chain from around his own neck, the one with his mother’s wedding ring. “I wore it for luck in the trenches. I want you to stay safe, Jim.”

“I promise you’ll get it back,” Jim said, as serious as Harvey had ever heard him, and when he was lead to the front door he hesitated for a moment before flinging his arms around his neck and hugging him tight.

“I love you,” Jim whispered and Harvey couldn’t say it back.

He hoped the way he clung to Jim in return said it for him.

Everyone followed the news of the allied invasions, the yanks suddenly being hailed as the heroes they had never been considered while living among them.

There were thousands dead and thousands more missing, and Harvey found himself praying that James Gordon wasn’t one of them.

It hit him sometimes, out of the blue, the all too likely possibility that Jim was already gone. Lost at sea, perhaps, or blown to smithereens. Left face down in a ditch in his own filth, maybe, nothing but his dog tags able to identify him.

He could picture it too easily, had seen it all firsthand last time around, and the sight - the smell - still haunted his nightmares.

Because Victory Day came and went, and the Japanese surrender. Millions of service personnel were demobbed back onto the streets, including a handful of his own constables, and he hoped, endlessly, that Jim was back in Gotham rebuilding his own life.

He might have joined the Force, even, and be standing proud somewhere, in his fancy uniform.

The letter, when it arrived, didn’t seem quite real. It was early 1947 and Harvey had resigned himself to the best case scenario being never knowing. Yet there was Jim’s cramped but neat handwriting, filling every last inch of the flimsy airmail paper.

'I had to try one last time,' he wrote, the words awakening the impossible hopes and dreams Harvey had sworn were long buried. 'Perhaps my letters never reached you. Perhaps you've changed your mind about staying in contact. To know that you are well, if nothing more, would mean the world to me.'

He went on to explain that he had seen action in France and Germany. In the Far East, even, and was already the proud incumbent of a GCPD foot patrol. Described in ever smaller handwriting the precinct's high turnover, and how they were actively looking for experienced detectives, especially with the new Mayor wanting to root out police corruption. Saw nothing amiss in mentioning, in the same sentence, that getting a visa granted wouldn't be a problem, were he to consider it. 

The obvious answer, the sane answer, was no. He was nearing retirement, and he had a roof over his head and the respect of the community. He wasn't going to consider travelling halfway across the globe just to work alongside someone half his age. He certainly wasn't going to read hidden meanings into what Jim might mean by work, and he absolutely was not going to risk both their freedom should he actually find any.

“Peter said you had a letter from America,” Enid said to him when he was still trying to make sense of it. Leaned against the back garden fence and fished transparently for further information. “Peter said it was sent airmail.”

Peter was the eldest Maguire boy, finally demobbed and back with the postal service, and Harvey hoped he didn't make a point of nosing through everyone's mail. 

“Was it really from Sergeant Gordon?” She asked finally when he didn't answer, and something must have shown on his face because she said with all the innocence of someone who didn't know any better, “Mum said she had never seen you as happy as when he was around.”

He played her words over and over in the days that followed, when he wasn't busy re-reading Jim's letter. Because they were true, doubtless, and because they meant that perhaps being close to Jim - spending time with Jim - wasn't going to spell certain ruin.

It wasn't as though they were going to be careless about it. It wasn't as though they would be stupid enough to invite speculation.

They could be friends, colleagues, drinking buddies. Whatever the yanks wanted to call it.

He wrote back to Jim before he could think better of it, and received a telegram that must have cost Jim a small fortune, with dates, and times, and arrangements.

It was madness, idiocy, but he sold his furniture and packed his suitcases. Entrusted the care of the hens to the Maguire twins, and promised them all he'd write because they were the closest thing he had to family. Felt a prize fool on the boat out, surrounded by over excited war brides, and refused to dwell on anything beyond the prospect of a new job in a new city. 

Was met at immigration by an officer in patrol uniform, and held his head high when he shook hands with the Captain, aware he was being sized up and categorised. 

“Gotham's nothing like you're used to,” the man said, eventually, and Harvey shrugged, looking about the precinct.

“Wouldn't have been much point in coming otherwise.”

That raised a smile, an easing of the tension, and then he was being passed on to a competent looking secretary with,

“Gordon was right about you.”

That was a good thing, hopefully, and then he couldn't really think much of anything because Jim was there, just as blond haired and blue eyed, face soft with that damnable half smile. 

“You're stuck bunking with me for the interim,” he said apologetically, and Harvey could scarcely breathe, let alone formulate a decent answer. 

Followed Jim's lead silently, and hardly dared look at him all through the short subway ride, lest he make it all too obvious. Focused instead on the way people eyed Jim's uniform, and then looked at him as though he were some scruffbag Jim were in the process of arresting. 

Couldn't even manage that when they reached Jim's apartment building, and for the first time he realised that perhaps he wasn't the only one struggling. Had it confirmed when Jim clung to him the instant the door was shut behind them, kissing with all the helpless desperation he had been too afraid to give in to that night in '44. 

“I've got something for you,” Jim said when they pulled apart, and fished the chain with the ring out from below the collar of his uniform. 

“It's yours,” Harvey told him with a shake of his head, hand curling Jim's fingers back around it. Couldn't believe that Jim was still wearing it, even now, and admitted, breathless, suddenly overwhelmed by all of it, “I always wanted someone I loved to have it.”

“Thank you for taking a chance on me,” Jim said then, the formal words so at odds with their delivery, whispered against his jaw bone, that Harvey had to kiss him all over again. Had to pull him closer still and tell him all the things he wished he had had the courage to say the first time around.

He might be risking everything, might have left behind everything he had ever known.

It didn't matter.

Jim was worth it.

Chapter Text

Saving Jim from himself was a full time occupation, was fast becoming his reason for being, and Harvey only wished he were better at it.

Because Jim had been imploding for months and nothing Harvey did seemed to make the slightest difference.

He had tried standing back and staying silent, and he had tried getting in Jim’s face and endlessly nagging. He had shaken Jim, viciously, when he found him sitting alone contemplating his handgun, and he had rubbed soothing circles into Jim’s back, comforting, as the younger man sobbed helplessly into his shoulder.

Worst of all, he had let Jim lie about it. Had let him pretend that Tetch’s compulsion was the start, rather than simply a continuation.

Had let Jim convince everyone - convince him - that he was in control.

That he had overcome it.

Now Jim wasn’t answering his cell, wouldn’t respond to his frantic knocking, and the other tenants of Jim’s apartment block only stood around rubbernecking as he kicked once, twice, three times before succeeding in breaking the door open.

The sight that met him had ice forming in his chest, because Jim was face down on the floor, surrounded by the debris of the life he was so determined to get away from.

Take out cartons and empty whiskey bottles. Used blister packs, dozens of them, and Harvey dropped to his knees heavily, hands not quite steady as he pressed two fingers against Jim’s carotid.

There was nothing, though his skin was warm, if clammy, and Harvey was vaguely aware of barking orders at the growing knot of bystanders to call an ambulance.

Tried to focus on his training, on getting Jim onto his back and checking his airway. On pinching his nose and supporting his chin, and giving two rescue breaths, just the way they had taught it in his early years on the Force, before the days of mouth guards and face shields.

Before he had lost his way, and before Jim had finally broken his fall. Before he had understood what it meant to really love someone, to need someone, and before he had ever once considered that someone might end up being the most infuriating, self-righteous, brave, beautiful man he could hope to work alongside.

“You can’t die, Jim,” he heard himself saying, voice wrecked, “don’t you dare die on me.”

Jim remained unresponsive all through the first cycle, and the second, and it was all Harvey could do to keep it together. Leaned in close after the third round of chest compressions, and the thought hit him, with more than a tinge of hysteria, that this might be as close as he ever got to kissing Jim.

Swiped the arm of his jacket across his face, because he couldn’t see through the tears, and refused to believe that this was it. That this was how it would end - Jim cold in his grave, and him with nothing left but regrets that he had never worked up the courage to tell Jim that no matter what, no matter how, he would never have to face anything alone so long as Harvey had breath in his body.

He shared another two exhales with Jim when the time came, and then another two. Prayed and pledged and promised as he worked through cycle after cycle of chest compressions, and didn’t know what to do when Jim finally - finally - started coughing and spluttering.

Forgot everything he had ever learned on the subject and pulled Jim into his arms, his own limbs shaking and trembling. Pressed helpless kisses into his hairline and told him over and over that it was fine, that it was going to be okay.

That he was there for him, and that he loved him, the words spilling and spilling from his mouth even as he clutched Jim closer, too afraid to risk letting go of him.

Clung to his hand in the back of the ambulance, and stroked his fevered brow at the hospital. Camped out in the hard plastic chair, uncaring of who saw and what they thought of it, and had to swallow past the lump in his throat to manage a smile, when Jim was once again with it enough to focus on what was happening.

“You saved my life,” Jim whispered, voice raw and lips dry, and Harvey had been preparing for this moment. Had sworn he wouldn’t go to pieces.

Lifted Jim’s hand from the starched white bed sheets and pressed a kiss to his palm, breath shuddering as he attempted to compose himself.

“You're not on your own, Jim,” he said when he was certain he could get through the sentence. “I'm here for you whenever you need me. Always.”

“Partners, right?” Jim asked, but Harvey knew he understood. Saw it in his big blue eyes, and felt it in the way Jim squeezed his fingers.

Squeezed his in return and gave Jim a genuine smile.

Couldn't have held it back had he wanted to.

“Partners.”

Chapter Text

What attracted his attention was that it was too damn quiet. The precinct was a busy, frantic place, full of the pounding of sensible lace-ups, the ringing of telephones, and the indignant complaining of the city’s criminal element.

Outside his own office, where the detectives were nominally at work, it was supplemented more often than not with endless bitching and the clacking of keyboards, punctuated by procrastination so blatant that nothing would ever get done if he didn’t stick his head around the door every half hour.

He brought his next check forward and found a dozen or so officers old enough to know better crowded around Jim’s desk, the air full of stifled laughter and murmuring.

Jim himself was snoring, cheek pressed against the pages of an open case file, and Harvey knew he really wasn’t going to appreciate the unflattering puddle of drool forming when those cell phone pictures started doing the rounds.

Still, people straightened up as he approached. Scurried away to make it look as though they were in the middle of something. He ignored them in favor of leaning in close and shaking Jim’s shoulder gently. Waited for those big blue eyes to blink into focus and told Jim he needed to speak to him in the office.

Jim was embarrassed, contrite even, and to have him apologizing without any prompting was disturbing enough on its own merits. It wasn’t enough though, and Harvey chose to sit in the seat next to Jim, rather than have the desk between them.

Wanted to approach this carefully because Jim was all too liable to fly off the handle.

“Law enforcement not giving you the boner it once did?”

“What!?” Jim sputtered, startled, then glared at him before admitting, “I didn’t sleep very well, that’s all.”

“When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?” Harvey asked, determined not to let Jim slope off without really talking about this. “Hell, when was the last time you ate something other than a sandwich?”

Jim just frowned, like he was realizing he couldn’t remember, and Harvey wanted to pull him close and take some of the burden from his shoulders. Wanted to let Jim rest his head against his chest and simply hold him until he felt safe enough to just give in and fall asleep.

Because Jim looked terrible. His skin was gray with exhaustion, his beautiful eyes dull and underscored with dark smudges. His shirt hadn’t been ironed and, up close, the overpowering scent of cologne suggested it hadn’t been washed either.

Harvey took a deep breath.

“I think, maybe, it might be a good idea if you thought about going on reduced hours. Just for a while.”

“No!” the word came out harsh, Jim shaking his head with jerky motions. “No, Harvey, I can’t - I can’t afford to.”

He had seen Jim on the verge of tears before. Had seen him sob, even, drunk and broken. He had never seen him like this, panicked and not quite in control of himself.

“Okay,” Harvey soothed. “All right. But you’ve got to do something, Jim.”

The problem was that Jim was so stubborn. Had refused point blank to take bereavement leave, and wouldn’t accept help when it was offered. What little he would allow Harvey to do had taken lengthy arm twisting.

“Why don’t you go home now,” he suggested, thinking compromise, “take the rest of the day off and get some shuteye?”

Jim scrubbed a hand across his face.

“I can’t. I’ve got a witness to speak to, and the Riley kid’s Mom is coming in to talk to me. There’s a union meeting tonight too and -” He cut himself off and went a few shades paler. “Shit! I haven’t got a babysitter, I’m going to have to -”

The desperate edge was back and Harvey put a hand on Jim’s arm. Couldn’t bear to see him worked up like this, freaking out over nothing and heading straight for a nervous breakdown.

“I’ll do it, it’s fine.”

Jim looked at him dubiously, was gearing up to protest and turn him down.

“I’m perfectly capable,” Harvey said, “Never had a kid die on me yet, you know.”

Things were worse than he had thought. Jim simply nodded, once, and said, “Thank you.”

It was fine. He’d grown up Catholic surrounded by cousins, and second cousins, and cousins of second cousins, and offering to watch what they were up to was usually better than sitting through evening Mass. Again.

His Mother had always said he was a natural. Had never been at all subtle that it was her greatest wish to see him married and settled young so he could make up for all the siblings the Good Lord, in His infinite wisdom, had decided she wouldn’t be able to give him. It hadn’t happened, but he kind of hoped she were looking down right now because Barbara had a head of ginger curls that would have rivaled any one of the snotty nosed Bullock brats he had honed his childcare skills on.

Those baby blues were all Gordon though, and he glanced instinctively over at the photo of Jim and his brother, Roger.

It was such a fucking waste. The man and his wife both gone in a car crash that he knew had sent Jim back into a spiral of automotive nightmares he had told his shrink he was over at 14. It was his business to know what troubled Jim, after all. Just like it was his business to have keys to Jim’s apartment, and to have a little snoop around now, while Jim sat through some typically pointless union business.

“Shall we have a look at Uncle Jim’s stuff?” he asked, and Barbara corrected him.

“Jimbo.”

Harvey grinned - his conditioning was working.

He had spent plenty of time at Jim’s apartment. Just usually Jim was there too, and he hadn’t been dragged up. He had manners enough not to start pawing through someone’s possessions while they were passed out on the sofa.

Still, it didn’t look as though he had been missing much. Jim’s CD collection was horrendous. Pretentious hipster bullshit, pretentious classical bullshit, and a 20 disc compendium of what looked like enough opera to make a working man want to puncture his own eardrum. All it needed was a selection of whale noises and he’d have felt no guilt in setting fire to the lot of it.

Jim’s choice in films wasn’t much better, and Harvey found himself hoping most of it had belonged to one or another of Jim’s ex-girlfriends. There were some decent looking books, though he couldn’t imagine when Jim found time to read anything, and after putting some food on the stove he went to rifle through Jim’s bedroom.

It wasn’t like there was going to be anything racy in there. Barbara was still sleeping in a cot in the corner, because he guessed that Jim wasn’t joking about not being able to afford to reduce his workload any. He had moved apartment once already, far enough out of the city center that the building wasn’t likely to still have drunks sleeping in the stairwell when he left for work in the morning, and that kind of luxury didn’t come cheap in Gotham.

Jim hadn’t helped himself - never did. Had been busted back down to Detective 3rd grade after his most recent flounce from the Force and as much as he would like to, for all that he did more work than most of the department put together, it wasn’t in Harvey’s gift to simply reinstate him.

What he could do was make the going a little easier.

Barbara was half lost in what looked like the entire contents of Jim’s wardrobe strewing the floor, and he wasn’t going to speculate when the bed sheets were last changed. The cot bedding was plenty fresh, at least, proof that Jim was still making the effort to do some laundry. That was more heartening that the last time he’d seen Jim’s apartment in this kind of state, back when Jim had been all but attempting to drink himself to death.

He collected it all together and had a bit of a poke around while Barbara amused herself by gnawing at one of Jim’s nicer ties.

Jim’s nightstand was boring - phone charger and a collection of half empty glasses of water - and the top of his closet wasn’t much better. A keepsake tin with mementos of the various dead members of his family, Roger’s wedding ring and Thelma’s eternity band being the most recent additions, and a shoe box seemingly full of Dear John letters Jim had received back in the army.

He felt depressed just looking at it.

Put it away and sorted Jim’s laundry instead, because apparently the world had flipped its axis and Jim was the slob now, while he played the role of obsessive compulsive neat freak. It just felt better to see the place tidy. It made him less anxious that Jim was on the verge of throwing in the towel.

When that was done he put Babs to bed, and she went down so easily he suspected that the late night screaming Jim described was more to do with being able to pick up on her guardian’s stress levels. Either that or the noise of the violent nightmares that had startled him awake on more than one occasion, when one of them was crashing on the other’s sofa.

Jim looked beat when he finally arrived through the door, weighed down with paperwork and worrying.

“Eat that,” Harvey said in his best no-nonsense tone, and handed Jim a plate of shepherd's pie, made to his mother’s recipe.

“You made this?” Jim asked, incredulous.

“Just because I don’t cook, doesn’t mean I can’t cook.”

Jim took a tentative bite, then said in between the next three fork fulls,

“It’s not bad.”

“Not bad,” Harvey shook his head. “That’s a culinary masterpiece, right there.”

Jim grinned and continued shoveling in food. Started to lose momentum towards the end, clearly half asleep already.

The sight of it pulled hard at his heartstrings. Had him clearing the dishes and getting Jim to his feet, guiding him through to the bedroom. He helped him get his shoes off and slid his tie free, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt so he could breathe more easily.

Forced himself not to think about the intimacy of what he was doing, then got Jim under the blankets, watching as he went out like a light almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He kissed Barbara on the forehead, softly, and after a moment’s hesitation did the same to Jim, the rush of emotion it incited way out of proportion with the barely there press of his lips he allowed himself.

After that he flicked out the lights, locked the door, and went home to his own empty apartment.

“You did my washing,” Jim said without preamble after the morning briefing.

“It wasn’t the little laundry leprechaun,” Harvey agreed affably.

Jim ignored him. “You didn’t have to. I didn’t expect it.”

Harvey sighed. Jim looked better this morning. Not great, by any means, but less like the walking dead.

“I wanted to.” And, okay, Jim’s raised eyebrow had a point there. “You’re not on your own, Jim. If you need help you only gotta ask for it.”

Jim nodded, eyes suspiciously bright, and Harvey had to touch him. Laid his hand on Jim’s arm and forced a smile on to his own face,

“That’s what friends are for, right?”

It wasn't the right thing to say because Jim only looked away, miserable, and Harvey wished he could see inside Jim's head and know what was going on in there.

He scarcely saw Jim for the rest of the day, too tied up with HR, and paperwork, and demands for results on the latest high profile case from the press, the Commissioner, and the public. Jim had been off duty for hours by the time he was finally done and he told himself he was weighing up his options even as he began driving.

The sensible thing would be to go home and get a good night’s sleep. The sane thing would be to go drown his sorrows in some bar, maybe find some solace in another lost soul for the night and try not to think about Jim Gordon.

What he actually did was park the car outside Jim’s apartment building and sit there for long minutes wondering how it had come to this. When he had become such a coward. Because it had been months, years even, and he was still trying to pretend that all he wanted from Jim was his friendship.

The truth was that he wanted everything. He wanted to be the person Jim turned to, always, and he never wanted to have to walk away from him afterwards. He wanted Jim to know just how much he loved him and, more than anything, he wanted Jim to welcome it.

On Jim’s floor the sounds of a toddler screaming were echoing down the corridor. He knocked the door, twice, but it wasn’t much surprise Jim couldn’t hear it and he fished the spare set of keys from his pocket. Called Jim’s name and pushed through to the bedroom where his heart seized up at the sight he found.

Barbara was standing in the cot screaming, face red and sick all down the front of her pajamas. Jim was sat on the floor next to it, knees pulled up, sobbing.

Harvey took charge of the situation. Got her bathed and calm and dressed, and went back to the room to find Jim still in the process of stripping the bedding, an awful listless blankness to both his expression and movements. He stepped in and finished it. Put Babs to bed and then lead Jim from the room with the kind of gentle touch he used when taking relatives to make morgue identifications.

“I can’t do it.”

“You don’t mean that,” Harvey said, easily, and Jim only shook his head, face wet again.

Reiterated “I can’t,” and proceeded to crumble before his eyes. The cop, and the war vet, and the have-a-go hero all stripped away until there was nothing left but James Gordon, overwhelmed and exhausted. Until he didn't put up even a token protest when Harvey pulled him close, clinging to him instead like a lifeline, face buried in his shirtfront. 

“You can,” Harvey assured, and they were on the sofa now, Jim all but in his lap. Stroked at his back and said, “You will. You're stronger than you think you are.”

“I don't want to do it alone,” Jim said finally, words muffled against his chest, and Harvey's breath caught in his throat. It wasn't what Jim meant, was never going to be what Jim meant, but he had to say it all the same. Had to focus on keeping his tone even, calm, and promised,

“You'll never have to. Not if you don't want to.”

Jim clung tighter still. Said nothing but didn't move either. Linked his fingers with Harvey's own when he got his hand to co-operate, a sudden dead weight in the face of such an enormous confession - one that Jim perhaps hadn't even registered. 

Except Jim was pulling away just enough to look up at him, face a mess and hair everywhere. 

“You don't mean that,” he said, in unconscious echo of how the conversation had started. “Not really.”

Harvey thought of everything they had already been through - in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer - and smiled in spite of himself. Listened to his own advice for once and tugged at Jim's hand a little, so that Jim settled in his arms, finally giving in and falling asleep, the two of them pressed tight together.

The morning would bring its own problems but for now, at least, he had everything he wanted.

Chapter Text

“I’m looking for James Gordon,” the guy at the front desk was drawling and Harvey disliked him on instinct. Disliked him all the more when Jim’s step faltered beside him, the color draining from his face.

Because Jim wasn’t the type to shy away from anything. Had to play the tough guy, the hero, and it was disconcerting to hear how unsteady his voice was when he said,

“Roger?”

Unlikeable turned a 180, then dragged his gaze up from Jim’s sensible lace-ups to his neat side-parting and back down again. Shook his head like it was a sight he could hardly comprehend and responded with,

“I would never have recognized you.”

Jim’s jaw clenched, arms coming up to cross across his chest the way they always did when he was feeling defensive. Harvey could only guess at what the problem was because Jim was the kind of vision he could spend forever staring at, and the suggestion that he had taken a beating with the ugly stick at any point over the last few years was frankly laughable.

Perhaps it was the other way around, he thought. Maybe Jim was the ugly duckling turned swan, and somehow that idea only made him more appealing.

It said something about his own psyche, probably.

“This is my brother, Roger,” Jim said, either way and, while Harvey was still reeling from that bombshell, nodded his head in his direction and went on, “Roger, this is my partner, Harvey.”

“Partner?” Jim’s brother - and, okay, he could sort of see it now - asked, and the tone, the raised eyebrow, communicated a whole series of questions. A whole mountain of judgement too, and if it were true, if he really did mean that much to Jim, he wouldn’t stand there and let the man get away with it, brother or no. He’d have hammed it up and planted a kiss on Jim’s cheek, just to drive the point home.

He’d have waited until the first moment Jim left them alone and he’d have taken too much pleasure in the flash of fear across Roger’s face, when he warned him that if he ever attempted to make Jim feel ashamed of himself again he’d really really wish he hadn’t.

Back in the real world, where for all he knew blue eyes and a last name weren’t the only things the two of them had in common, Harvey forced a smile onto his face.

“Technically I’m his boss now.”

Roger smiled at that, all relief and understanding, and Harvey wished he didn’t care about Jim so much.

Swinging a punch would have felt so very satisfying.

A few hours and a lot of beer later, Roger was still there. Was still putting Jim visibly on edge, and still making Harvey want to commit acts of physical violence.

Because at least Jim had channelled his share of insufferable Gordon self-righteousness into something useful. Roger seemed interested in nothing more than good old fashioned moral conservatism.

Lacked any semblance of tact into the bargain, and commented on Jim’s failed engagement to Barbara with,

“I always told you it wouldn’t work. You knew she was interested in women.”

Was blind to the growing tension in Jim’s shoulders and said of Jim’s tryst with Valerie Vale,

“A journalist? I don’t know what you were thinking; you had barely known her two minutes. She could have made your life very difficult.”

Wasn’t satisfied with the shamefaced flush on Jim’s cheeks and moved on to the subject of Jim’s dreams of family life behind white picket fences,

“What a disaster that would have been. Marriages are built on trust and honesty, and there’s you, telling everyone you’re going to be a father.”

Jim was gone at that, looking like he was going to lose his dinner as he staggered towards the men’s room, and Harvey could take it no longer.

He was the third wheel, he got that. Had only come in the first place because he couldn’t work out whether Jim’s invitation to accompany them was stilted because he wanted him there - or because he didn’t.

He couldn’t ignore this though. Knew how much that baby had meant to Jim, and got that flash of fear he had imagined earlier, pressing close in to Roger’s personal space and demanding,

“What the fuck is your problem?”

The man recovered well, adopting the snitty pout that was vaguely adorable on Jim’s face but only intensified Harvey’s dislike of his brother.

“I only want what’s best for him,” Roger said, indignant. “He wants to raise another guy’s kid, that’s his own business.”

Harvey stared, bewildered, because everything he and Jim had been through together and this was the first he was hearing of it. Roger was still talking, oblivious,

“But that charade they had going, that was never going to end well.”

It didn’t make sense, no matter which way he twisted the words, and it had to be written all across his face because suddenly Roger was showing the contrition he hadn’t bothered with all evening. Was raking a hand through his hair - a few shades darker than Jim’s - and saying,

“He hasn’t told you, has he?”

“You know then,” Jim said miserably when Harvey finally found him, leaning against the railings overlooking the city park, a spot Jim had often told him had been a favorite of his father’s.

Harvey fell into place beside him, the metal cold even through his jacket as he rested his arms on the ledge of the rail.

“It doesn’t change anything, Jim,” He said quietly, because it didn’t.

Jim was still just as infuriating. Just as brave and beautiful and breathtaking, and Harvey was still just as sickeningly, hopelessly in love with him.

Would still crawl through hell and back, if he thought it might make Jim feel any better.

Jim sucked in a shuddering breath. Stared resolutely out into the darkness as he said,

“I never lied to Lee. We just didn’t talk much about it.”

The silence stretched, Harvey giving him the space to say what he wanted in his own time.

“I thought it didn’t matter, maybe - and,” he swallowed, tried again, “and I loved her, Harvey. I loved her so much I didn’t care how or why, only that she was going to have the baby and she wanted me to be the one she raised it with.”

It hurt, physically hurt, to hear Jim’s voice choked up with emotion. Hurt so bad that he had to swallow around the lump forming in his own throat, hesitating for a moment before laying his hand on Jim’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, and Jim turned to look at him quizzically, brow furrowed. Harvey shrugged slightly, wishing he had done things differently. Wished that he hadn’t told quite so many off color jokes, back in the beginning, and that he could focus on what Jim was saying about Lee, without the ever present sting of jealousy.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel you couldn’t tell me.”

Jim only shook his head.

“I didn’t want you to think differently of me.”

It really didn’t change anything. Jim was a little less stressed, maybe, but that was hard to gauge with someone who lived to throw themselves head first into danger, the way Jim did.

He certainly wasn’t dialling that back any, and after one particularly close call Harvey realized too late that he was clinging too tight to Jim, color blazing along his cheeks even as he forced himself to let go of Jim’s suit jacket.

Jim looked at him like he didn’t know him, like it was all too much for him to process, and Harvey had to turn away because he wasn’t ready for this conversation.

“Roger said - but I didn’t,” Jim was stuttering, and wasn’t that just fucking brilliant? Jim’s big brother had already warned him this was a possibility, and Jim hadn’t even wanted to contemplate it.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, because what else was there to say in such a situation, “I know you’re not interested.”

Not then, not now, not ever. Harvey didn’t know why the pain of it felt so fresh - he had had plenty of time to get accustomed to the idea.

He was going to go lick his wounds in private. Was going to go and get so drunk he couldn’t remember his own name, let alone the details of this awful moment.

“No,” Jim said, hand clamping around his wrist, and when Harvey risked a glance his eyes were full of panic. “You don’t understand what I’m saying.”

“I get it,” Harvey reassured, reaching for magnanimous, “you don’t need to explain yourself.”

It would only make things more awkward.

Would only hurt worse to be on the receiving end of Jim’s pity.

“No,” Jim tried again, frustrated, the grip on his arm tightening. “Roger said you would still be interested if you knew, and I didn’t believe him.”

Harvey frowned, not sure what to do with the knowledge that Roger had been on his side of the piece. Jim only made an impatient sound, angry at something, and finally let go of his wrist. Put both hands on his upper arms instead, as though to keep him steady, and looked him full in the face,

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

Now it was his turn to gape. His turn to stare at Jim, scouring his face for signs of doppelgangers, or hypnosis, or some mind altering substance Narco had yet to catalog. Jim met it without flinching, without backing down, and suddenly Harvey’s heart was pounding.

It was unreal, surreal, and his own hand was coming up to touch Jim’s cheek, his fingers trembling.

Then Jim was pushing forward, jumping to action, and they were kissing just the same as they did everything - Jim leading and him following.

Jim's tongue slick in his mouth, and his hands pulling Jim close, the thrill of it leaving him grinning and breathless.

“Is this going to change things?” Jim asked when they broke apart, uncertainty creeping in at the edges, and Harvey flung an arm over his shoulder as he lead the way back to the car and an afternoon of narrowly averted job related fatality paperwork.

“If you really think nothing is going to change,” he said, whispering low and promising into Jim's ear just because he could, “then you're in for a serious awakening.”

Jim flushed up prettily, kind of shivered against him, and Harvey beamed.

Perhaps he owed Roger an apology after all.

Chapter Text

Jim’s apartment getting trashed was the kind of thing Harvey’s dreams were made of. Not because the place was soulless and miserable - though it was - and not because he wanted Jim’s privacy invaded - Jim feeling uncomfortable in his own home was the very last thing he wanted.

It was because it meant Jim was staying with him, would be for the foreseeable future, and every moment he got to spend with Jim was a moment to be cherished, even when some whack job was attempting to kill them. To have Jim dropping tiredly onto the sofa next to him, freshly showered and clad in nothing more than his undershirt and his pajama pants, well, that was the sort of sight he was going to be committing to memory.

Jim stretched his long legs out in front of him, toes furling and unfurling like he was trying to work loose the ache of a punishing day spent pounding the sidewalk, and Harvey had to reach for his drink as a distraction. Took a deep swallow of his beer and watched, transfixed, as Jim twisted a slow circle with his ankle, foot arching.

It wasn’t the done thing, he knew that. But Jim’s face was pulled into a pained grimace, and he was a few beers in already. Dumped the file he had been reading to the floor and said, voice almost steady,

“Let me give you a hand with that.”

Jim frowned at him, confused, and Harvey reached out to pat at his leg, encouraging. Felt his breathing go shallow when Jim got the idea and obligingly swung his feet up and over his thighs, scooting back so he was sitting against the arm of the sofa.

The thing was that Harvey had always had a thing for feet. He had gone weak at the knees the very first time he met Fish, her stiletto clad foot pressed against his informant’s chest, pinning the guy to the floor. And he had spent too much time thinking about Jim’s, relying on the all too brief glimpses he had caught at Jim’s apartment, and in the precinct locker room.

Now they were in his lap, pale and perfect, and suddenly the room was too hot, his fingers trailing a barely there touch along the outside of Jim’s left foot. Jim shivered, the movement strong enough to be visible, and his own voice was low when he asked,

“Are you ticklish?”

“N-no,” Jim managed, and when Harvey glanced over at him it was to find his eyes wide.

Harvey turned his attention to the right foot, the one further away from his rapidly hardening dick, and slid his hands around it reverently. Dug his thumbs into the arch, just under the ball of his foot, and exhaled with a shudder when Jim moaned, helpless like it was torn out of him.

He wanted Jim to make that sound again, wanted it so bad it was making his head spin, and he started working at Jim’s foot in earnest. Massaged the abused muscles and caressed the smooth skin. Ran the blunt edge of his fingernail the length of Jim’s instep and his dick twitched, even as Jim’s foot jerked reflexively.

“Oh,” Jim gasped when he moved back to the other foot. Squirmed, overwhelmed, and Harvey was leaking now, wet and eager, into his underwear. Was straining hard against his zipper, and he met Jim’s gaze, so agonizingly desperate for more but not wanting to do anything Jim wasn’t on board with.

Jim seemed clear enough on the idea though, what with his hands raising Jim’s foot up without much conscious thought on the subject, and he nodded, sharp and stilted. Looked half wrecked, his cheeks flushed and his arousal obvious through the thin fabric of his pajamas.

It was too much, way too much, and Harvey had to put his mouth to Jim’s flesh. Had to suck kisses all along the soft side of his foot, want flooding through him at the way Jim whined and pressed a frantic hand against the bulge in his pants.

“Oh God, Jim, please,” Harvey heard himself begging, “touch yourself for me.”

There was a moment when he was afraid that he had gone too far. Afraid that Jim was going to put a stop to whatever the hell it was that was happening. Then Jim was pushing his hand under the waistband of his pants and Harvey slowly sucked at Jim’s toes, tongue flicking over and between them, unable to look away from the sight of Jim’s narrow hips stuttering up to meet the slide of his fist.

Jim was panting now, harsh and frantic, and when Harvey switched foot again he pushed his pants down to mid thigh in one fevered movement. Stroked himself with one hand while the other clenched tight around the edge of the sofa cushion and, even if this was as much as Jim was ever willing to share with him, Harvey was beyond certain he would be jacking off to the image for the rest of his life.

“Like that,” Jim urged as Harvey swirled his tongue around Jim’s toe before sinking down on it, just the way he would if it were Jim’s dick he were worshipping. “Harvey.”

It was so good, so hot, and when Jim shifted a little, pushed the heel of his free foot against Harvey’s aching erection, it was such a shock that he couldn’t help himself, shaking and shuddering as he came in his pants like an over excited teenager.

Jim groaned, watching, and his hand was a blur, leg muscles trembling as he edged closer and closer. Harvey ran his hands up his quivering calf and mouthed at his foot, wet and open, and that was it, Jim was gasping, coming in hot spurts over his fingers.

Harvey collapsed heavily against the back of the sofa. Stroked almost absent mindedly at Jim’s feet as they both got their breath back, determined not to waste the opportunity. Was glad he hadn't when Jim pulled away, the rejection crushing - but Jim only rearranged his clothing before sitting again, his legs half tucked under him so that he was leaning against Harvey’s side.

He didn’t seem to register Harvey’s wonder at all, instead kissing him briefly, soft and slow, and then curling into him when Harvey ventured to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

“If you start making a habit of that I’ll never want to go home,” Jim said, tone light, and Harvey’s heart clenched because Jim being willing to try a repeat performance was so close to and yet not quite everything he had ever wanted.

“It wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Harvey said quietly. Hardly dared to look at Jim for fear of what he might see in his expression.

He needn’t have worried.

Jim was craning his head up to look into his face, smiling. Was taking hold of his hand and rubbing his thumb in soft circles.

“Can we shower together?” Jim asked, reminding him that his clothing was uncomfortably damp and sticky. “Can I wash your hair?”

Harvey raised an eyebrow, not missing the flush that was back in Jim’s cheeks, nor the breathless quality to the question. Understood for the first time that perhaps he wasn’t the only one who had been looking on the coming weeks of enforced proximity as exquisite torture.

“I’d love that,” he said, finally, and Jim’s answering smile had his stomach fluttering and a new sense of determination forming.

Now he had Jim here, there was no way he was ever letting him go again.

Chapter Text

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s Transparent Vision of Indestructible Significance.“

“And what’s Transparent Vision of Indestructible Significance doing in the living room?”

That was harder to answer. Jim aimed for the wide eyed look Harvey had often claimed to be helpless against and went with,

“I didn’t have anywhere else to put it.”

“There’s a dumpster out front. That was made for it.”

Jim felt his cheeks burn and Harvey sighed, tone softening,

“At least tell me you didn’t pay for it.”

Jim said nothing and Harvey muttered, low and exasperated,

“Jesus Christ.”

It wasn’t that bad. Some of the squiggly things were kind of interesting, and he liked the shade of blue in the top left corner. The money was going to a good cause too, and he had never been very adept at saying no to people who needed his help, be they little old ladies raising money for the local youth center, or hardened career criminals bleeding out all over the back seats of Harvey’s beloved Diplomat.

“I thought it might brighten the place up a bit.”

That was almost the exact line the woman had used to sell it to him, but Harvey’s resolve was stronger. Either that or his delivery was less persuasive. That was okay though.

He had other tricks up his sleeve.

Moved to stand behind Harvey so that they were both facing the painting, his arms sliding around the other man’s front even as he pressed closer to his back. Said against his ear,

“Maybe I can make it up to you?”

“I dunno,” Harvey said, considering, but Jim could hear the smile in his voice, “that’s one ugly ass picture you’ve just inflicted on me. I’d be expecting some serious groveling.”

Jim grinned. Kissed the spot behind Harvey’s ear and gave it his best attempt at seductive,

“You might even end up liking it.”

Harvey laughed and it might have stung, had he not twisted around in Jim’s embrace and kissed him properly, one hand coming up to cup his cheek and the other settling low on his back.

“I’m never going to like that monstrosity, Jim, but it doesn't matter.”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for clarification, and Harvey gave him the kind of dopey smile that never failed to make his heart ache, like it was intent on reminding him just how lucky he was.

“I still got your pretty face to look at.”

Chapter Text

Jim had always wanted to be a hero. Not like the gunslinging tough men Roger chose to emulate in their imaginary games, but the real good guys. The ones who stood up for what was right and made everyone’s life better, just by making them realize all the wonderful things they were capable of.

The problem was that he was never very good at it.

He tried. He had sobbed at his father’s graveside as a teenager and swore he would be a credit to his memory. Pledged that he would make a difference, and that he would grow up to be a man his dad could be proud of.

At school he had toed the line. Did all his homework on time and never stayed out past curfew. Was made a hall monitor and split his free time between Scouts and Church and the Young Marines. Told himself that it didn’t matter that he never felt like he quite fit in at any of it, because that only meant he needed to try harder.

Needed to do more, be better, and not listen to any of the nagging doubts because his dad had always said that if you didn’t believe in what you were doing, then you were part of the problem.

His mother tried to talk him out of it when he made the announcement after graduation. Told him he was wasting his education and throwing his life away. That all he would do was make himself miserable and wept, helpless, when he wouldn’t be swayed on the issue. She tried to dissuade him until the very last moment, then suffered a fatal heart attack during his first tour, before he ever had chance to thank her for caring enough to even question his decision.

Because sometimes he worried that she had been right. That all he was doing was making things worse, watching on as mothers and children were blown to pieces over something that he couldn’t pretend to understand. Something that he increasingly questioned until, finally, he refused to obey a direct order and was given the choice of leaving quietly or being dishonorably discharged for insubordination.

Shipped home to find himself without friends and without family, because Roger had his own life, his own worries, and nobody else had ever much liked him, anyway. That was how it felt, at least, and he spent long hours staring at what he had left of his father, and thinking about what advice he would have given him.

Eventually thought instead of the cop who had pulled him from the wreckage of the crash and let him cry all over his patrol uniform. Thought of the comforting solidity, and how when he had said things were going to be all right, in spite of everything he had believed it.

So he signed up and breezed through the Academy. Felt proud, perhaps for the very first time, when he looked at his reflection in the mirror and held his head high out on foot patrol, wanting to be a credit to his warrant card. He was still a rookie when a high class blonde pressed her phone number into his hand, and he flushed scarlet at her suggestion he come back off duty to advise her on security measures, explaining that it wouldn’t be ethical.

But he met her again a few weeks later while he was serving as the precinct’s representative at a charity event at the local art gallery, and this time when she asked he could do nothing but nod, dumbly. Ignored the locker room jibes that she was only looking for someone to slum it with, and spent near enough a month’s pay on their first date - not because he wanted to impress, but because he didn’t want to embarrass himself.

By the time he was off probation they were a real couple, were going to get married, and Barbara casually mentioned a gallery she had heard about in Gotham. Hinted too obviously about the fast track scheme advertized in the Force circular, and laughed along with her snobbish friends after too much wine, when they commented on how awful it must be for him, going to work every day in such an ugly mess of polyester and command patches.

“Imagine how proud your parents would have been,” she whispered later, an expose on corruption within the GCPD splashed across the inner pages of one of the newspapers, “to see their son clean up the department.”

They would be proud he was trying, at least, and his heart pounded when he walked up the steps of the precinct, remembering the last time he had been there. His mother had helped him limp to the front desk, to leave a card for the man who had risked life and limb to get him free of the passenger seat.

And then his heart kind of stuttered in his chest, his breath coming sharp and stilted, because the man was right there. Was sneering at him like he was something stuck to the sole of his shoe, and it was like the realization of all his very worst fears.

He wasn’t good enough, hadn’t worked hard enough, and the one person left in the world who he dreamed of impressing could see it in an instant.

Except Harvey Bullock didn’t even recognize him. Was objecting to him on nothing but principle, and it almost hurt worse to know that someone he had spent more than half his life idolizing was the personification of everything he had sworn to put an end to. Harvey was lazy, sloppy and workshy, and on the take just like the rest of the department.

Didn’t even want to respond to the call out, and Jim repeated some of Harvey’s own words to Bruce Wayne, even as the man himself glared at him, disgusted. Couldn’t offer the kind of confident comfort he had once been given, and pledged instead to catch whoever was responsible. Got chewed out for making promises he had no right to, and cried hot frustrated tears in the shower when the shift finally ended, wishing he had stayed the hell away from Gotham.

There was no turning back now though. Nothing to do but keep going and he could do that, had already put in plenty of practice and, just when it felt like his life was about to fall apart, Harvey tugged him in close and told him that he was doing the right thing. That he was making a difference, and Jim shook and trembled, clinging back as long as he dared, breathing in great lungfuls of Harvey’s scent, the way he had when he was 12-years-old and his whole world had just imploded.

He attempted to fish after that. Confessed to Harvey about his father, about the car crash, and waited for the realization that never seemed to come. Asked him during never ending stakeouts about Harvey’s early years with the Force, and tried to goad him into bragging about his own acts of heroics. Never got anywhere and wondered, bitterly, if it had meant so little Harvey simply didn’t remember.

What did happen was that Harvey started, slowly, to open up to him. Began touching him with ever increasing frequency, patted at his back and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Pressed scruffy kisses to his cheek and let Jim lean against him, whenever he wanted to. Let him see past the uncaring façade, and this time around answered his questions about Dix and the shivering working girls he gave money to, so they could go get a coffee and some breakfast.

Was selfless and non-judgemental in all the ways Jim still failed at, and after Lee, after Blackgate, he heard dark whispers of the payment Falcone had extracted, in return for providing Harvey his assistance.

It made him hate himself all the more, lose himself more desperately in the bottom of bottle after bottle, and again it was Harvey who was there to save him. Harvey who held him, and Harvey who checked up on him. Harvey who told him things would be okay, and Harvey who offered up his sofa again and again, when Jim couldn’t bear to be alone in his apartment.

He trailed his fingertips over Harvey’s possessions when the other man was at work. Wondered where they had come from, and what they meant to his partner. Didn’t question the descriptor his brain supplied, even when he was adamant he was never ever returning to the GCPD. One day he even rifled through Harvey’s mess of a filing system, guilty but curious, and didn’t know what to do when he found a faded thank-you card with a message in his own childish handwriting.

Left it, eventually, just underneath the top of the pile and later agreed to Valerie Vale’s suggestion that they go home together.

Stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror afterwards and wondered what it was exactly he was trying to prove. What kind of man used someone else to feel better about the tangle of conflicting emotions he was too afraid to start making sense of.

It ended in disaster, only made things worse than they had been before, and it wasn’t until he gave in to the nagging and stood in the middle of the bullpen, Harvey smiling fondly at him, that it finally hit him that this was the one place he had ever felt the sense of belonging he had always been chasing. The one place where his best sometimes even felt good enough, and the one place where he didn’t have to pretend he was someone he wasn’t.

Except maybe it wasn’t the precinct, nor the police force. Maybe it was working alongside Harvey. It was watching him take over from Barnes without any expectation of personal gain. It was seeing the way people reacted to his words of encouragement, and admitting the way they left him so ridiculously pleased with himself whenever Harvey aimed them in his own direction.

It was the skill he had always most coveted, most dreamed of possessing, and when he thought that nobody was looking too closely he tried to emulate it. Offered stilted praise to the rookies for what they did right, rather than only berating them for the things they didn’t. Asked uniform, awkwardly, what they could be doing to make scene preservation easier, in place of simply throwing a fit about evidence contamination.

Harvey clapped him on the shoulder and told him, pitched for his ears only, that he was proud of him. It made him shiver, left him breathless, and the world didn’t topple off its axis when he finally let himself admit that what he wanted from Harvey was something more than a comforting hug and recognition that his life had been worth saving.

He wanted Harvey. Wanted Harvey to want him in return, and once the admission was made there was no hiding back behind his wall of wilful ignorance.

Instead he forced himself to re-examine things he had long pretended to be without significance. He thought of the teasing and the name calling in high school, and how his own staggering lack of interest in the opposite sex had scarcely registered in spite of it. Thought of the scout leader he had trailed around after like a lost puppy, and what Roger had really been saying the night the guy had been leaving their house when he got home from his church study group.

It had never been concern over his grades suffering, or worry that he was going to spread himself too thin. It was that everybody but him could see how desperately obsessed he was with the man. Because he had been. He had wanted to be near him every second he could, had lived for the way he occasionally clapped him on the shoulder in congratulations, and imagined the breathless excitement that came over him every time their eyes met was what anyone would feel in the presence of someone they wanted to make proud of them.

He flushed to think of it now. Cringed to realize how obvious he must have been, how blatant, and understood for the first time what his mother had been trying to tell him when she had said that he could never be himself, would never be happy, if he went ahead and joined the army. She had known him better than he had known himself, and he saw now that he had been no different in the military. Had lurched from one embarrassingly transparent fixation to another, and it was doubtless only his single minded focus on self-improvement that had saved him from becoming the subject of a DADT inquiry.

Because now he could see his interest for what it had been it was all he could concentrate on. All he could think about, and Harvey knew him too well to not be aware that something was bothering him. Watched him fidget and fluster, and raised an eyebrow when he caught him staring for the third time that evening. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t seem to control himself, and dreamed of Harvey taking the decision out of his hands by leaning over and kissing him.

“Is it Lee?” Harvey asked, like a bucket of cold water. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Once there would have been no question; Lee had been the only thing he could think of. He had loved her, adored her, even if things hadn’t been exactly the way they should have been. Even if he had never been driven half wild by nothing more than her proximity - nothing more than the idea of her proximity.

“It’s nothing,” he lied and though Harvey was clearly sceptical, he let it drop.

Gave him space and didn’t push. Didn’t say a word when Jim disappeared the moment they were off duty the following day, feeling pushed past breaking point, and answered the door at 2am a few nights later, though they had work the next day and Jim had been drinking.

They needed to talk. Jim needed to talk. Had to explain, had to try, because it was tearing him apart, the hoping and wishing and wanting. It was all he did, was going to destroy their friendship if he kept it up, and it had to be better to get shot down now so he could start attempting to get over it. He didn’t know how to get words out, didn’t know where to start, and when Harvey asked what was wrong his attention was caught by a card pinned to the notice board, where before there had been a clipping about the Lakeside killer.

Harvey followed his gaze and pushed a hand through his hair,

“I told you then that there would be light at the end of the tunnel. You’re gonna find it, Jim, you just got to keep going.”

Jim turned to look at him at that. Really looked at him, because it was the early hours of the morning and Harvey was still soft with sleep, hair mussed and the imprint of the pillow on his left cheek. Wasn’t even mad at him for hauling him out of bed to stand in the cold of the living space, clad in nothing but his undershirt and boxers.

He moved without thinking, without second guessing, and clung to him. Wound his arms tight around him and felt peace like he’d never known when after a few seconds of hesitation Harvey hugged him back. Clutched him just as close and pressed a kiss into his hair. Gasped when Jim reciprocated by dragging his mouth up the side of his neck before finally brushing their lips together.

Kissed him properly for one wonderful, exhilarating moment, then pulled away a little. Cupped his cheek and asked him, voice gravelly, if he knew what he was doing. If he had thought about how he might feel in the morning.

“I already found it,” he said in answer. “I would have found it sooner but I was looking in all the wrong places.”

“Jim,” Harvey breathed in response, like it was his heart threatening to hammer free of his chest, and Jim had to kiss him again. Lost himself in it like he never had before, but it wasn’t frightening. It felt right, it felt like everything he had ever wanted, and, later, when he was falling asleep, Harvey’s arms wrapped around him, his kisses and his praise warming him through, he came to another realization.

What he had wanted wasn’t to be a hero - it was for someone to make him feel like one.

Chapter Text

Essen would never have been subjected to this indignity. Barnes, neither, and Harvey thought longingly of the bottle of whiskey in his bottom desk drawer.

It wasn’t that he disliked kids, or even that he begrudged the precinct custom of handing out gifts and Christmas cheer. It was that Anderson had been rushed into hospital the night before with a ruptured appendix, and inconsiderately left him to wear the red suit and fluffy white beard.

The damn thing itched and chafed, but when he tried leaving it off some precocious 6-year-old told him he had seen better Santas rooting through the dumpsters outside the local supermarket.

“What are you hoping for this Christmas?” He asked, all the same, and the kid’s bottom lip kind of wobbled as he said,

“My dad to come home again.”

He might have said something encouraging, thinking of the armed forces or the many names in their Misper files, but the boy’s mom chose that moment to put in an appearance and suddenly he knew exactly where the man was. Prison, on his word, and there was no way he was going to be getting out any time in the next decade.

From there things only went from bad to worse.

Toddlers screamed, and babies cried, and one little brat kicked him so hard in the shin it brought tears to his eyes while her dad apologized over and over again.

Marten could barely stop sniggering, the bell on her elf hat jangling, and Harvey grit his teeth and forced a smile onto his face. Ho ho ho-ed and finished dispensing the brightly wrapped presents. Stumbled awkwardly over questions about how he managed to squeeze his gut down the chimney and the names of his reindeer, and collapsed in a relieved sprawl when they were finally being shepherded out and he was left to his own devices.

He ditched the cotton wool and the Santa hat, pushing one hand through his hair, and looked up to see Jim leaning against the door frame, smiling.

“I don’t know what you’re so pleased about,” Harvey griped, even as Jim started crossing the room, “next year I’m going to put you in the damn elf outfit.”

Now that was a sight which might make the whole thing bearable.

Jim didn’t say a word, and Harvey realized what his plan was right about the exact same time he found himself with a lap full of very adult detective. His mouth caught in Jim’s kiss, and his hands pulling Jim in closer, Jim’s fingers coming up to tangle in his hair.

“So have you been a good boy this year?” He asked breathlessly when they came up for air, giving it his most lecherous leer, and Jim only grinned in response, mischievous, and said,

“I can be a bad boy, if you want me to.”

Chapter Text

He and Harvey had taken to spending all their free time together. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, wasn’t something he had set out to do, but Jim couldn’t pretend that it was something he worried about. It was comfortable, easy, and Harvey didn’t care that his only real topic of conversation was the job, or that his idea of fine dining was anything which required utensils.

Harvey made him laugh, no matter how terrible the day had been, and the nights when he fell asleep on Harvey’s sofa, the other man so close he could reach out and touch him, were the only ones where he wasn’t haunted by nightmares.

He felt happier than he had in a long time, than he had ever, maybe, and Harvey was happy with the arrangement too. At least Jim thought he was, until the evening he turned up at Harvey’s apartment to find him suited and booted, hair still damp from the shower and expensive cologne thick in the air.

“You didn’t need to get all dressed up on my account,” he said, dumbly, to hide the way the sight made something twist in his chest, tight and painful. Harvey didn’t even tell some inappropriate joke about how he might get the effort if he was going to put out after dinner, instead giving him a kind of bashful smile and asking,

“It’s not too much, is it?”

Jim shook his head, his chest aching, and Harvey offered to give him a lift home even as he started rambling about how long it had been since he had last been on a real date with anybody. Looked relieved when he declined, and Jim stopped in every bar along his route back, unsure what exactly it was he wanted to avoid thinking about, only determined to ensure that he achieved it.

The next day his head pounded, the hangover refusing to dissipate, while Harvey was in such a good mood it set his teeth on edge. Made him grip too hard at his pen as he filled out his paperwork, and grit his teeth together when Harvey was too intent on being jovial and generous, buying him half decent coffee and asking his opinion on which restaurant sounded fancier.

Jim went with the one he personally thought sounded tacky, then felt guilty because friends were supposed to be pleased for each other when one of them met someone they so wanted to impress.

Harvey hadn’t given him a hard time when he started dating Lee, for all that it seemed half a lifetime ago, and he would be encouraging if he ever got his act together enough to try putting himself out there again. Jim knew it. He was just jealous, he supposed, because he hated being alone. Hated that he was such a failure at what the rest of the world seemed to find so easy, and without Harvey’s company he would have no distraction from the endless stretches of silent loneliness.

The nightmares were bad that night, worse than they had been in a long time, and he woke with tears on his face. Woke wishing that Harvey were there, and for a moment he almost considered ringing him before realizing what an idiot he was being. Harvey was probably in bed with his new love interest. Was probably doing things that would make Jim blush like a sheltered schoolboy, and the very last thing he was going to appreciate was being disturbed by a work colleague.

He tried to act like one in the days which followed. Tried to be mature and professional, and when that didn’t work he tried asking leading questions about the woman Harvey preferred to spend his time with.

“A gentleman never tells,” Harvey told him, the lecherous smirk saying everything, and Jim lost his temper while arresting a couple of low lever mob associates. Slapped the cuffs on too tight and shoved them into the car with unwarranted violence.

Put his head in his hands afterwards, in the relative sanctuary of the locker room, and attempted to make sense of what he was feeling. Gave it up as a bad job and got a front row ticket to a scene that set every tongue in the precinct wagging.

“Never took you for the prejudiced type,” Tuttle commented a couple of hours later, and Jim realized with a start that he had been doing nothing but scowling, lost in thought, for the last twenty minutes.

“I’m not,” he said, voice gruff, and turned his attention back to the case file in front of him. Slid straight back into reverie, and wondered how he had missed it. Searched for a memory of Harvey telling him. He remembered him bragging about his conquests, back in the early days, and telling tales of all manner of filth during long stake-outs, in an attempt to shock him.

There had never been mention of another guy, he was certain, and the fact hurt worse than Harvey’s apology that he was going to be busy again, doubtless with the man who had showed up at the front desk with a kiss and a smile for him.

Jim wouldn’t have made a big deal out of it, he wasn’t like that. It had never mattered to him; not at school, and not in the army. Barbara hadn’t kept it from him, and it had never been Montoya’s gender that had hurt when the truth came out about them. The longer he thought about it, the more it tore at him, because he had told Harvey everything. Had confessed all his deepest darkest thoughts, and Harvey hadn’t even trusted him enough to know that sometimes men did it for him.

He drank too much again that night, alone in his apartment, until he felt angry and hard done by. Until he felt abandoned and hopeless. Until he sobbed, helpless, into his pillow because he was bitter and jealous, and both were excellent reasons why he was destined to be on his own forever.

Why he rolled out of bed and scarcely bothered to do more than rake a hand through his hair, and why Harvey called him into his office and asked quietly,

“Is there something I ought to know about?”

Jim stared at him blankly - he wasn’t the one keeping secrets.

Harvey sighed, “Last time you were knocking it back like this someone had a hit out on you. It makes a man antsy, you know what I’m saying?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, and forced a smile to his face. Spent the rest of the day trying to convince himself he had meant it and, when the shift finally ended and Harvey asked if he wanted to come over for pizza and beer, the relief that washed over him was so strong that the smile that spread wide across his face didn’t need any coaching.

He had never properly appreciated how good it was to spend time with Harvey, he thought later as Harvey laughed at some off-color joke he was in the middle of repeating. He had taken it for granted, and maybe that was why Harvey hadn’t told him. Perhaps he had simply believed that Jim wouldn’t be interested, and Jim determined right there and then that he would be a better friend.

Started specially buying stuff he knew that Harvey liked, and wore the shirt Harvey had once complimented. Listened more attentively and made eye contact, because he had been on a course where they said that was how you showed interest in someone. Found he didn’t have to try at it, that it was something he had already been doing, and every smile he managed to coax, every laugh he was the cause of, felt like a victory.

Every evening Harvey chose to spend with him over some stranger felt like winning a battle.

So when he had the guy’s file pulled, it wasn’t snooping, not really. It was just that Gotham was the kind of place where nobody was what they said they were. He didn’t want Harvey to end up hurt and heartbroken.

That was what he told himself when he used his day off to sit for hours in the cafe opposite the guy’s - David’s - workplace, and it was what he told himself when he tailed him home, just to check that the address matched up with what his research told him. Shrank into the shadows when David looked over his shoulder, nervous, and though the place was nice - way nicer than the soulless box he was currently renting - he had to concede that it wasn’t beyond the means of some fancy bar owner.

Because that was where they had met, of course it was, and Jim twisted dates and times around in his head, wondering where he had been and why they hadn’t been together.

Wondered why he was so obsessed in the first place, and the realization hit him so hard and so sudden it knocked all the breath from his lungs.

It couldn’t be, he reasoned. He would have known before, surely. He was too old for that kind of revelation. But when he let himself think of it, tentatively, in his darkened bedroom, it wasn’t strange or off-putting. In fact it proved the opposite, and he couldn’t look Harvey in the face the following morning, afraid the older man would know, somehow, what he had been imagining.

What he had been doing as he imagined it, and he flushed, helpless, when Harvey put a hand on his shoulder.

Stared, stupidly, when they were sat close, and wished he was a better man, the kind who stayed away and let people get on with their lives, instead of selfishly clinging and distracting.

Because he still wanted Harvey’s undivided attention, the only difference was that now he understood why he wanted it. Tortured himself with comparisons, and lay awake at night wishing he knew what it was that David had and he didn’t. They were both about the same height, both blond haired and blue eyed. David wasn’t that much older than him, even, and Alvarez said once that he had mistaken David for him for a moment, when he had seen Harvey out with him.

Which meant that it was just him that Harvey didn’t find attractive. His face and his personality. His emotional baggage, and the fact he didn’t have the sense he was born with because eventually he sank one or two beers too many and asked Harvey,

“If you had met me in a bar, if you didn’t know me, would you have asked me to go home with you?”

Harvey coughed and choked on a swallow of beer. Put the bottle down and looked him in the eye, flashing a smile that was strained around the edges.

“Of course not, I’m not that much of a masochist.”

It was like a punch to the gut. Had him curling forward a little, a stupid despairing sound escaping his mouth, and he couldn’t understand why he had said it. Couldn’t understand why he was such an idiot, and he staggered to his feet, garbling out some excuse for why he needed to leave, right now. Clattered down the stairs of Harvey’s apartment building and rested his forehead against the cold brick of the nearest alleyway, giving in yet again to the hot spill of drunken tears.

He was a mess, a virus, and instead of being happy for Harvey, all he was doing was attempting to sabotage his best friend’s relationship. He needed to back off and he needed to sort his head out. He needed to get a grip and he needed to stop dreaming about things that were never going to happen.

Except when he took a deep breath and went to ask Harvey to lunch the next day, to apologize for his behavior, Harvey looked washed out and exhausted. Stood up and closed the door to his office, then said,

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable last night. You gotta know that that’s the last thing I ever wanted you to feel.”

Jim shrugged and managed a stilted,

“It’s okay.”

Nobody in their right mind would want to get mixed up with him, he got that. It just sucked to be reminded of it and, because Harvey looked less than convinced, he added,

“It was my own fault for asking. I shouldn’t have been big headed, right?”

The smile wouldn’t come, not properly, and Harvey just frowned at him in confusion. Tried to cheer him up anyway, the same as usual, and joked, tone almost normal,

“If I looked like you I’d be big headed too.”

It worked, if only temporarily. At least Harvey didn’t think he was ugly, and that was something, it had to be. Had him repeating his offer of lunch, the stupid smile on his face unshakable, and when Harvey agreed Jim put an arm around his shoulders and sat too close, determined to make the most of it.

Afterwards, when the happy glow had faded and he was sat with a beer and crushing silence in his apartment, he only felt worse for it. Recognized that he had done everything he had said he wasn’t going to do, and when the knock sounded at the door he debated not answering. He was depressed enough without a fresh homicide on top of it.

The knock came again though, insistent, and he pulled the door open to find Harvey stood on the other side of it, a little dishevelled like he’d spent the evening drinking. Jim waved him inside and Harvey slumped onto his sofa, asking,

“You ever wonder if you just made a decision you’re gonna end up regretting?”

“All the time,” Jim answered truthfully as he moved to sit next to him, and the smile it raised on Harvey’s face was so beautiful it made his heart ache. Made him wonder how he could ever have been so blind to what that squirming feeling in his gut meant, and how he was going to cope with feeling it on and on, without respite.

“I put an end to it, Jim,” he said then, smile slipping. “It wasn’t fair - it wasn’t right. Nobody wants to be someone’s second choice.”

Jim frowned, anger flaring, because he had always known - hoped, he reluctantly acknowledged - that David would eventually reveal himself to be a scumbag. But Harvey was still talking, awkward like Jim had never seen him,

“I swear it’s not going to change anything. I just -” he sighed, finally looking him in the face, expression anguished. “How is anyone supposed to get over you?”

The words took a moment to really register. Left him shocked and useless, and Harvey was shaking his head, hand pushing roughly through his hair.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Harvey said when the silence began to stretch, and that was enough to spur him into action, because he sounded so defeated. He sounded so miserable and it was his fault. It was in his power to change that, and yet he heard himself saying, the words just as pathetic out loud as they had been in his head,

“You never even told me you liked men.”

The look Harvey gave him made his cheeks flush. He felt stupid, embarrassed, though his gut twisted and his breathing grew shallow.

“I kind of assumed it was obvious.”

His voice was little more than a whisper when he managed,

“I never even realized I did.”

Harvey touched his arm, tentative, and studied his face. Asked him, not quite steady,

“Jim, what are you saying?”

He couldn’t say it. Even now, even here, and instead he gazed back into tender blue eyes. Lost himself in the heady feeling of being wanted, and then he was leaning forward. Was pushing the fingers of one hand through the scratch of beard at Harvey’s cheek before tangling them into his hair. Was half overcome with nerves even as he brushed their lips together.

There was nothing for a moment, nothing but the hammering of his own heart and the pounding of blood in his ears, and then Harvey was kissing him back, passionately.

It was everything he had imagined and more, because Harvey knew what he was doing. Had him frantic and trembling with nothing but the slick swipe of his tongue in his mouth and a hand at the small of his back. Had him all but in his lap, desperate to get closer to him.

Desperate for more, and then he was panting harsh into the crook of Harvey’s neck, his hips rocking of their own accord. He couldn’t keep still, couldn’t calm down, and suddenly Harvey was pushing him down into the sofa cushions, weight pinning him in place as his hand worked its way into his underwear.

“Please,” Jim begged, arching up into the touch. “Please.”

“Jim,” Harvey groaned in response, sounding pushed past breaking point, and Jim shivered all over. Nipped hard at Harvey's bottom lip when he succeeded in crashing their mouths back together, and did his best to thrust up against him until Harvey turned his attention to the skin of his throat, all wet heat, and Jim lost himself to it. Clawed at Harvey’s back and shuddered hard when he came, making so much noise he would have been embarrassed.

Would have been if Harvey wasn’t panting into his ear, the hard press of his arousal against Jim’s thigh, telling him over and over how hot he was. How hot being with him was, and how he only had to say the word and be given anything he wanted.

He wanted everything.

Swallowed thickly and said,

“I haven’t - I don’t know. I want you to show me how it’s supposed to be.”

Harvey looked shocked, the flush creeping down past his shirt collar.

“You don’t have to,” he said, and it only made Jim want it more. “I don’t expect anything.”

Jim answered with a kiss, grinding his thigh upwards, and Harvey had always given in to him. Had always supported him in his schemes, no matter how ill advised they were, and this was no different because Harvey followed him into the bedroom. Looked him up and down slowly, until Jim began to worry, and then pulled him in close, kissing him all over again, soft and reverent, and telling him,

“I never dreamed you could actually want this.”

It was as slow and tender as what had happened on the sofa had been rough and fevered, Harvey treating him like he was some kind of blushing virgin. Jim supposed he was, in a way, and it was so intense, so overwhelming, he was glad of it. Liked it more than he could ever have imagined, having someone touch him so devotedly. Touch him so carefully that he could hardly breathe, the sensation building and building until there were tears on his cheeks and he couldn’t stop trembling.

“That’s it, Jim,” Harvey praised when they were finally - finally - moving together, his hand wrapping around him even as he struck that perfect spot within him over and over again. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Jim whined, undone, and Harvey kissed him through it. Reached for one of his hands and tangled their fingers tight together, shaking with his own climax. Held him close and gazed into his eyes, so that neither of them were in any doubt that nothing was ever going to be quite the same again.

“Are you going to call me sweetheart all the time?” Jim asked eventually, but it wasn’t quite the joke he had intended, not when he sounded so blissed out and breathless.

Harvey beamed at him and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek,

“You keep looking at me like that and I’ll call you anything you want me to.”

It sounded good to him. Sounded so good he simply squirmed in closer and shut his eyes, content in the knowledge that Harvey wasn’t going to disappear on him. Wasn’t going to leave before sun up, or act as though this had never happened. He wouldn’t.

Because they went back to spending all their free time together. It was comfortable, easy, and Harvey still didn’t care that his only real topic of conversation was the job, or that his idea of fine dining was anything which required utensils. They made each other laugh, no matter how terrible the day had been, and his nightmares were a thing of the past, with Harvey’s solid presence to keep him grounded.

He felt happier than he had in a long time, so happy he hardly knew how to deal with it, and Harvey was happy with the arrangement too. So happy that the next time he got to see Harvey in a fancy suit and tie, hair still damp from the shower and expensive cologne thick in the air, they were facing each other, dutifully repeating the words of the officiant.

“You didn’t need to get all dressed up on my account,” Jim whispered, fond, when it was done, when it was official, and Harvey only kissed him. Took his hand and rubbed his thumb over the unfamiliar weight of the ring on his finger, smiling at him so that Jim's heart ached all the harder when he said, simply,

“Of course I did.”

Chapter Text

The last thing he managed to focus on before going over the ledge was Jim’s face and, okay, the look of horrified fear plastered across it kind of sucked, but at least he was getting to see the thing he loved most one last time. At least he had something nice to fixate on as he screwed his eyes tight shut and waited to meet his maker.

Except after the falling came not nothingness but pain. Serious, agonizing pain, and the washed out droning of sirens and screaming. Panic and people and Jim’s blond hair haloed by the bright overhead lights of the ambulance.

“Stay with us,” someone demanded and he tried to look for the source, only to find the movement halted by the neck brace and the backboard. Saw Jim reach for his hand but didn’t feel it, and finally, helplessly, gave into the darkness.

He learned later that Jim had ignored every regulation in the handbook. Had abandoned his prisoner and let their assailant flee, preferring to all but throw himself down the steps of the fire escape and cling to him with an air of desperation that helped shift copies of the following morning’s Gotham Gazette.

Tuttle brought him the clipping, when he was up to receiving visitors, and Harvey hid the threatening burn of tears behind a hissed curse as he attempted to shift up the bed a little. Because if Jim was that cut up why wasn’t he there? Why hadn’t he seen him in days, and what was he supposed to do if this was it and Jim had decided that he hadn’t signed up for playing sick nurse?

“IA’s been all over him,” Tuttle said without his asking. “The Commissioner’s all kinds of pissed; they’re going to have to bring in a replacement from upstate.”

Harvey stared at the ceiling and did his best not to react to the news. He had never wanted to be Captain anyway.

He had just felt that maybe, perhaps, he had been doing a decent job of it. He had been starting to really get to grips with things and make plans for the future. Had a training program almost ready to go, and the redeployment of uniform resources that close to being signed off by both HR and the Union. It was all for nothing now, and he’d be lucky if he ever even returned to active duty.

No wonder Jim didn’t want anything more to do with him.

But when he woke in the early hours of the morning, the pain unbearable, it was to find Jim curled up in the plastic chair at his bedside. His face was ghostly pale, dark circles under his eyes, and even in rest his brow was furrowed. Harvey reached a hand out for him and Jim jerked awake, panic flashing for a moment, before he realized where he was and what was happening. He smiled then, a real genuine smile, and put a finger to his lips.

“If they think I’m disturbing you, they’ll kick me out,” he whispered, and Harvey knew without being told that this was where Jim had been spending the better part of every night. Swallowed around the lump in his throat and whispered back,

“I’d like to see them try.”

Jim grinned and scooted closer. Folded his arms on the edge of the mattress and lay his head atop them. It couldn’t be comfortable, not at all, but Harvey slid his fingers into Jim’s hair and watched as his breathing evened out and he fell asleep again, utterly exhausted.

In the morning - the actual, light filtering through the hospital windows morning - Jim was long gone. Instead he had a tray full of slop calling itself breakfast, and a doctor telling him yet again how fortunate he was. That he could be dead, or paralyzed, or laying unresponsive in a coma. He was going to walk again, eventually, and all the broken bones would heal. His insurance premiums were up to date and, barring any new problems, he would be home recuperating in his own bed before he knew it.

That wasn’t quite true, but it wasn’t totally off the mark either, and Jim fussed and fretted as he struggled to negotiate the distance from the front door to his bedroom. Had to be helped in and out of bed, courtesy of another bout of surgery, and Jim left him his tablets and his lunch before he left for work each day, accompanied by neatly written notes with messages like,

‘Please try to eat something.’

‘You really need to eat this.’

‘Don’t lie to me, you’re no good at it.’

‘If you don’t eat today I’ll give Alvarez the key to your apartment - his wife’s kicked him out again.’

The thought of having to serve as Agony Uncle was enough encouragement to try a few bites, in the hope of getting Jim to quit nagging, and the pleased smile Jim gave him when he got back made him want to punch something. Because it was still all he could do to get out of bed unaided. Near killed him to shuffle to the bathroom and back, and one evening he stood in there sobbing, unable to get a grip though Jim was only on the other side of the door, listening.

It just hurt. Everything hurt, and at least in hospital he had been able to kid himself that being discharged was going to make all the difference. That things were going to be the way they used to be, with him standing strong so Jim could lay his burdens on his shoulders. Now he couldn’t do it physically, and he couldn’t even do it emotionally. He was relying on Jim for the most basic tasks, and it was only a matter of time before Jim grew sick of it.

Before Jim realized he had absolutely no obligation to stick around now he had nothing left to offer him.

He splashed cold water on his face, eventually, and went to face the music. Found Jim waiting, tense and silent, and instead of simply supporting him back to bed, Jim climbed in with him. Curled in close, fingers digging in just a little too tight, and when Harvey wrapped his good arm around his shoulders Jim managed a scratchy,

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

It hurt worse than anything the fall had done to him. Hurt worse even than his wounded pride, and he sucked in a shaky breath. Braced himself for Jim to say that he couldn’t do it. That he had tried, but they would both be better off without the other. But Jim only pressed closer still, the hot spill of tears soaking through the fabric of his t-shirt.

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. We should have waited for back up. You told me we should wait for back up.”

“No,” Harvey shook his head and he wished he could move to pin Jim beneath him. Begged Jim to look at him instead, thumb swiping his cheek clean, and said, “Don’t ever say that. I’m a grown man - I was the senior guy on the scene. I knew the risks, Jim.”

Jim kissed him, messy and desperate, and that night Jim slept in his bed for the first time since it had happened. Twitched and mumbled, restless, and Harvey tried to be positive. Tried to believe that they could make it work, and that it was what Jim actually wanted, not simply a manifestation of his needlessly guilty conscience.

It wasn’t Jim’s fault.

Not that some scumbag had succeeded in shoving him off a rooftop, and not that Harvey couldn’t seem to get a handle on his own emotions.

Some days he felt almost normal. Watched repeats of police procedurals on his ancient television and made wagers with Jim via text message on who dunnit. Complained bitterly when Jim won them, but took his punishment like a man and went for short painful walks around the neighborhood. They stopped off for drinks, Jim sitting just a little too close, and it felt like he really was getting better.

Other days weren’t so good. Jim was too busy to text, and he was bored and uncomfortable. Hated being cooped up in his apartment, and was frustrated at his slow progress. Brooded endlessly about all the reasons why Jim was going to leave him, and the terrible things he had done in his life that meant he deserved all the misfortune that came his way.

Then there were the bad days, the dark awful days when it all seemed hopeless. When he was angry and bitter, and wished Jim would just put them both out of their misery. When he thought it would be better if he made it easy, and made an extra effort to be snide and nasty.

He had plenty of ammo, because Tuttle had already rung him to say that the perp was getting off. That the judge had believed it was an accident, and Jim’s performance in the dock had been less than stellar. Jim certainly looked defeated when he put in an appearance that evening, tired and vulnerable. Still he turned away when Jim tried to kiss him, tender and needy, because he wanted him so badly but there was no way it was going to happen, not with the state his back was in.

Not when they had reduced his painkillers again, and half the time his body refused to react to the signals his brain was sending him. Jim did his best not to let on how it stung, but failed miserably. It encouraged him to push still further, even as his gut churned and twisted.

“I don’t know why you’re even here. That isn’t happening, and we both know your conversation is about as thrilling as watching paint dry.”

“You don’t mean that,” Jim said, sounding less than certain, and Harvey knew he was standing at a crossroads. He could apologize and beg for Jim’s forgiveness. Pull Jim close and accept his pity.

Or he could finally put an end to it.

“Don’t I? Look, Jim, it’s cute that you keep trying but there’s nothing you can offer that I can’t get better elsewhere. At least if you pay for it you get someone who knows what they’re doing. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Jim flinched like he’d been hit, and he’d taken a lot of his shit over the last few months. Had been stoic and silent and endlessly supportive, but even he had his limits, and the room was deathly quiet as Jim laid the spare key he had since before they had ever even kissed each other on the coffee table.

“If you need anything you’ve got my number,” he said at the door, as though to prove what a disgustingly decent guy he always strove to be, and then there was nothing but the weak beer in the fridge and his own guilt to keep him company.

The next day was dire, hideous, but only paled into insignificance compared to the day afterwards. Because he couldn’t bring himself to make the first move, and Jim made no attempt to contact him. Had his own life to get on with and, while he would be upset for a short time, probably, he doubtless knew he was going to be better off in the long term.

By the third day he was wishing the fall had finished him off, and when the knock sounded at the door he moved too quick and too eager, hoping in spite of everything that Jim might be a glutton for punishment.

“Your boy sent me round to keep you company,” Charmagne told him without preamble when he pulled the door open, and when she pushed past him he caught the scent of fast food and cheap perfume. “He said to make sure you ate,” she shrugged, by way of explanation, and went to help herself to coffee in the kitchen.

Returned to find him off kilter and bewildered, and said, motioning at the rapidly cooling fries,

“You going to eat those or what? You look like shit, anyone told you that?”

That had always been what he liked about Charmagne, she never bothered to sugarcoat anything.

He shrugged in answer, suddenly very aware that he couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a shower.

“What did Jim say?” He asked eventually, unable to stop himself, and she just smirked, self satisfied, and ate the food he couldn’t face.

“Not much. He didn’t try to haggle, either.”

Harvey rolled his eyes - that argument was age old - and wondered if this was Jim’s way of making a point, or of rubbing salt in the wound.

“He looked worse than you do,” she said when she was done eating, consolingly, and it would have been the kind of bonding moment Hallmark made movies about if she hadn’t added, “I hope you’re not expecting a refund.”

It should have left him feeling worse, probably, but it didn’t. It put things into perspective. This was what his life would have been if he had never met Jim. Drinking himself into an early grave and paying people who thought him pathetic to spend the odd hour or so in his company. Even if he was stuck behind a desk until retirement, even if Jim made him grovel every day for the rest of his life, it would be better than living one more day without him.

He had to at least try to make things right between them.

It was slow going, because he had to wash, and dress, and get himself to Jim’s apartment, but he did it. Waited nervously in the hallway of Jim’s building and prayed to God he wasn’t going to slam the door in his face when he saw who was standing there.

He needn’t have worried.

Jim just stared at him in shock. Looked every bit as bad as Charmagne had implied. Worse, even, and when Harvey reached for him, tentative, Jim clung to him, half desperate. Accepted his apology and told him, voice rough,

“I don’t expect it to be easy. Nothing I ever wanted came easy. But I love you; I don’t understand why you won’t believe it.”

“I don’t deserve it,” Harvey told him in turn, simply, and this time when Jim kissed him he didn't attempt to put a stop to it. He kissed him back instead, overwhelmed with how close he had come to never having the solid heat of Jim in his arms again, and Jim whispered against his jaw,

“Why don't you try letting me be the judge of that?”

“I don't want to hurt you, Jim,” he managed, finally, because as much as he wanted to, he couldn't promise that he wouldn't slip up again. That this would be it, and from this point on everything would be perfect. 

Jim just smiled at him, kind of lopsided, and said, bluntly, effectively putting an end to the conversation,

“When did the risk of getting hurt ever stop me doing anything?”

Chapter Text

“Don’t argue, Jim,” Harvey said and he supposed it wouldn’t hurt if, just once, he did what he was told to do.

The bath looked appealing, anyway, and the thought of getting out of his rain sodden clothes and getting warm into the bargain wasn’t one to turn his nose up at. Harvey watched, expectantly, and Jim liked the way his eyes widened, ever so slightly, when he started stripping off in front of him.

He wasn’t quite the prude Harvey made him out to be.

It was too cold to make a show of it - even if he had had the first idea how to - and he fought his way out of his wet pants and socks, shivering helplessly. Hissed in happiness at the sting of hot water and then raised an eyebrow as Harvey swiftly unbuttoned his own shirt and said,

“Budge up, then.”

Harvey clambered in behind him, and it was kind of awkward for a few moments. A knee in his back and soapy water sloshing over the side of the bathtub. But then Harvey was pulling him back against his chest, arms wrapping around him, and that was nice. That was really nice, because Harvey was warm, and comfortable, and if Jim was getting a different kind of shivery, that was only because Harvey was intent on sucking at the tip of his ear.

Was letting his fingertips trail over his skin and when Jim gasped, head tipping back against Harvey’s shoulder, he told him breathlessly,

“Do you have any idea how fucking hot you sound?”

The words sent another shudder through him, and Harvey started washing him. Made the act as drawn out and sensuous as he would have quick and perfunctory, and punctuated his every move with hot wet kisses against the sensitive skin of his neck, and a steady stream of dirty talk seemingly designed to ensure that he was going to be burning up like a furnace every time he thought of it.

Grinned filthily when Jim tried to twist around in the restricted space, kissing Harvey desperately and attempting to guide his hand to where he needed it.

“I love it when you get demanding,” Harvey said, and Jim figured it was just as well because the frantic grip he had on the other man’s wrist was likely to leave bruises. The way the fingers of his other hand were digging into Harvey’s thigh wasn’t much better, and he was biting down hard at his own lip, muscles tensing up as Harvey finally touched him.

Finally stroked him, sure and slow, until he was all but begging for more, harder, faster.

“Fuck, Jim,” Harvey groaned into his ear, grip tightening, “I want to see you come for me. Please.”

He whined, Harvey’s mouth at his neck only making everything more intense, and he was dimly aware of the fact he was getting water everywhere. Vaguely recognized that he was making a lot of noise, but it didn’t seem important, not particularly, and when Harvey scraped his teeth against the side of his neck, that was it, and he was panting and shuddering and collapsing back against Harvey, exhausted.

At least until he felt Harvey pressed up against him, desperate for attention.

“The water’s getting cold,” he said, as casually as he could manage.

“Yeah?” Harvey responded, arms back around his chest, and Jim smiled. Thought about how neither of them were on the rota to work tomorrow, and how it wouldn’t matter how little sleep they got over the next few hours.

Squirmed a little so that Harvey gasped and he could look up into his face, giving it his very best innocent look.

“Yeah. You’re going to have to find another way to warm me up, aren’t you?”

Harvey grinned at him, the kind of grin that never failed to get a reaction out of him, and said smoothly,

“I think I’ve got a couple of ideas.”

Chapter Text

They didn’t argue often. He was wrapped around Jim’s little finger, and Jim knew it. Knew exactly the right words to say and the right buttons to press, and nine times out of ten he got his own way without even breaking his stride.

This was different though. This was Jim offering himself up like a lamb to the slaughter, and there was no way Harvey was going to stand back and let him do it. Refused to be swayed on the issue and called in every favor he was owed to ensure the Commissioner overlooked Jim when it came to the setting up of her new and improved Task Force.

“You had no right!” Jim told him, all but vibrating with frustration. “You knew how much I wanted it.”

“Anyone else would be thanking me,” Harvey snapped in turn. “It’s a goddamn suicide mission!”

“What, you think I’m not up to it?” Jim demanded, because when playing fair got you nowhere it was time to play dirty. Harvey rose to it, couldn’t help himself, and realized too late that he was yelling in retaliation,

“Was that what I said? Jesus Christ, Jim, why have you gotta twist every fucking thing I say to you?”

On the rare occasions they did argue, this was usually the point where one of them made the decision to be the better man. To turn the hate into love, or whatever hippy bullshit was in vogue that week, and channel that aggression into kissing each other senseless.

But Jim was wound too tight, and the whole thing had spent too long building. Jim yelled back, he said things he didn’t mean, and when Jim slammed the door behind him he felt like putting a fist through the wall.

Drank too much and stared into space, pausing only to check his cellphone roughly every four minutes or so, just in case Jim had tried to contact him. He didn’t. Had gone to his own apartment, probably, and then the worry that he hadn’t began to kick in. The fear that Jim was angry enough to do something stupid and reckless, and he was going to get a call from one of his colleagues to say that Jim was in hospital or - and it didn’t even bear thinking about - waiting for formal identification in the mortuary.

Jim didn’t pick up when he gave in and tried calling him, and he ended up passing out on the sofa, angry at Jim and furious with himself for losing his temper.

When he woke he was already late for work, and everything was a blind rush as he battled against the hangover. As he swore and cursed and charged up the steps of the precinct, every head in the place turning to look at him. It was unnerving, unsettling, and as he made his way to his office Tuttle blocked his path and said,

“You’re doing the right thing, putting in an appearance. We’re on your side, not Gordon’s.”

It sounded ominous, had him panicking, and then he was swiping the Gotham Gazette from the nearest desk, appalled to find his own photo on the cover under a headline proclaiming,

GCPD Captain Accused of Sexual Misconduct with Subordinate

He swallowed, skin icy and palms clammy. It had always been a possibility, he wasn’t stupid, but it had never seemed very likely. They kept things discreet, didn’t go around advertising it, and it wasn’t as though he had coerced Jim into a relationship.

The Gazette hadn’t received the memo.

Was telling its readers that he had pursued Jim ever since he transferred to Gotham and been inappropriately intimate from almost the very beginning. That he had abused his position to rearrange Jim’s shift rota and pulled strings to keep him desk bound, where he could keep his lecherous eye on him.

It was true, all of it, but not in the way they were suggesting. Because in black and white it sounded sordid and disgusting, a promising young detective being endlessly harassed by a dirty old man with a previous verbal warning on his file for attempting to solicit a prostitute while on duty. They had a quote from her, even, and it didn’t matter that he had cleaned his act up, not when there were plenty of people willing to attest to his years of alcohol dependency and propensity for accepting backhanders.

The phones were ringing off the hook by 9am, and he had two uniform officers outside wasting their time keeping the press in check. The Commissioner arrived at half past, no commenting all the way, and the look she gave him when he admitted that he had no idea where Jim was made his stomach churn.

“Is it true?” She asked, clipped and curt, and he only hesitated for a second before nodding miserably.

“I love him,” he said stupidly, as though she gave a shit about the details and she just shook her head.

Would likely have told him exactly what she thought of the statement, if there wasn’t a sharp rap at his office door, and then Jim was standing there, face ashen and hair dishevelled.

“I’m sorry,” Jim said, voice scratchy, “I didn’t mean to.”

He had to sit at that, knees as weak as water, because it simply hadn’t occurred to him.

The Gazette really had had an inside source.

“I was angry,” Jim explained later, when they were trying for damage limitation. “I just wanted to complain. I never thought she would make a story of it.”

Harvey didn’t know what hurt worse. The rubbish in the newspapers, or that Jim had been so very eager to spill his guts to one of his former hook-ups. For her part, Vale was claiming that she had written nothing that she hadn’t heard confirmed from Jim’s lips and, besides, it was in the public interest to know if high ranking officers felt themselves above the department’s regulations.

He was put on temporary suspension, the humiliation burning as he handed over his badge, and nobody wanted to meet his eye as he made for the front entrance. Plenty of them were happy to be quoted in the tabloid press though, and things only grew worse because his closet was packed with skeletons, and everything from the accident that put Dix in a wheelchair to the speeding tickets he had once written off for a mob widow was used to pad out column inches.

Jim apologized, over and over, but it wasn’t something that words could make better. Wasn’t something he could laugh off, no matter how desperately he wanted to, because the way people looked at him, the way they spoke to him - he had never known how glad he was for the second chance at being a decent guy, not until it was stripped away again.

It died down eventually, and he got to go back on duty. Got bumped down three pay grades in the process and offered a sideways move into Fraud or a straight transfer out of the city. He went for the former and wished he had taken the latter, because it didn’t matter how many times he said it was fine, or how many times Jim said he was sorry.

Things could never go back to the way that they had been before.

He was proud of Jim, all the same, when his career went from strength to strength, and they exchanged awkward smiles when Jim made Commissioner and gave a speech on his commitment to rooting out misconduct and corruption.

“I wish you’d reconsider,” Jim said later when Harvey could keep the truth from him no longer, because he was sick of seeing the stories raked back over and Jim’s name dragged through the mud. “The department needs experienced officers like you.”

Harvey drained his drink, just to have something to focus on, something other than the finality of the moment, and said, simply,

“But not as much as it needs you.”

Chapter Text

“I’ve got a tie like that.”

Jim shifted, awkward, and Harvey figured it was only natural. His wardrobe had ceased to be fashionable - if it ever had been - at least twenty years previously, and the idea that Jim had gone out and spent good money on a tie that could have come from it was just too perfect.

Not that it phased Jim, not overly, because he wore it again a few days later, and then again the week after that. It wasn’t even a particularly nice tie, which wasn’t to say that he had any better, but Jim certainly did. Fancy silk numbers you couldn’t even chuck in with the rest of the laundry. He was learning though, because the poly-blend stripe went into regular rotation, and though Harvey stopped commenting on it he still noticed it.

Tried to find his own because Jim would really hate that, the pair of them turning up for work in the same shirt and tie combo, but he had either lost it or gotten blood over it. That was how it usually went.

It was what happened to his third favorite shirt, and his second best suit jacket. The spare sweater he kept in his locker was missing, even, and at this rate he was going to have to actually go out and buy some clothing.

The idea was about as appealing as spending an evening with a nutjob like Nygma.

So when he caught Jim changing out of his second ruined shirt of the day he couldn’t help but ask,

“Where the hell did you get my sweater?”

Jim jumped, startled, clearly thinking he was alone in the locker room, and Harvey was only further convinced of its provenance. It was way too big for Jim and he looked guilty as sin, jaw tightening as he tried to fob him off with,

“You must have left it at my place.”

He hadn’t. He was certain of it, and though he tried to puzzle it out he couldn’t understand why Jim was so weirdly defensive on the subject. Why he continued to insist that he had thought it was his own when anyone with eyes in their head could see that it was probably older than him.

Still, he let it go. Let Jim have his dirty little secrets, and only brought it up occasionally, like the night when it was so cold Jim was shivering and he shrugged out of his coat and handed it over, ignoring Jim’s protests.

“I’m lending it to you,” he said, stressing the verb. “You still haven’t given me my damn sweater back.”

“Should I be worried about how much you love that sweater?” Jim asked, but he put the coat on. Pulled it tight around him and popped the collar, so that Harvey had to look away before the sight made his mouth run away from him. Jim looked kind of adorable, all bundled up like that, and when he wound an arm around his shoulders it was only because it was cold and they had both been drinking, not because he desperately wanted to be closer.

He got the coat back when they arrived at Jim’s place, and as he walked home he imagined he could still smell Jim’s aftershave clinging to it.

Found himself wishing that he really did have something of Jim’s he could sniff at, and that was the real reason he wasn’t ribbing Jim mercilessly about his misplaced sweater. He liked the idea of Jim wearing something of his - that some part of him would get to know what it was like to be pressed tight against Jim, because he was under no illusions as to the likelihood of his ever actually experiencing it.

Jim was designer and he was thrift store, he got that, but it didn’t stop him dreaming.

Didn’t stop him wanting and, when he was woken in the early hours with news of a big case that required his attendance, he drove to Jim’s place to pick him up, hoping pathetically that he might catch a glimpse of Jim in his underwear.

He was disappointed when Jim pulled the door open, just for a moment, because then he looked closer and the filter between his mouth and brain was useless, his tone breathy rather than accusing,

“You’re wearing my shirt, Jim.”

It was definitely his, no question, and there was no way Jim could claim he had taken it off and left it there. Sadly. Jim just flushed, embarrassed, and Harvey had to look away and think about anything other than how Jim looked, hair dishevelled with sleep and his shirt brushing against his bare thighs.

How badly he wanted to reach out for him and discover if the cotton felt different, smelled different, after being on Jim’s body.

They didn’t talk about it though. Not as Jim disappeared back into his bedroom to get changed, and not as they left the crime scene, witnesses to track and leads to follow up. It didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about it though, and Jim was too, if he had any read on the younger man. He kept glancing at him, nervous, and by the time the case was wrapped up he could keep quiet no longer.

Followed Jim up the stairs to his apartment and accepted his offer of a drink, asking too casually,

“So what’s the deal, is law enforcement not paying enough for you to buy your own clothes anymore?”

Jim stayed silent, transfixed by his beer, and Harvey kept his tone light. He wanted to know what was happening, not make Jim feel bad about himself. Jim did a good enough job of that without his input.

“Don’t tell me, I’m your fashion idol. I do look good in a suit, I keep saying -”

“You do,” Jim agreed, and Harvey gaped as the other man risked a sidelong glance at him before returning his attention to his beer bottle. Fidgeted with it and exhaled shakily before continuing, “I just wanted to feel close to you.”

That didn’t mean what he thought it meant, it couldn’t do, but Jim’s shoulders were tense and his face was too pale. He was miserable, frightened even, waiting for his reaction, and Harvey decided that it didn’t matter if he was about to get knocked back and rejected. It was better than Jim thinking he was going to turn his back on him.

“How close are we talking?” He asked, and slowly put a hand on Jim’s arm. Watched his face carefully as he queried, “a friendly arm around the shoulders, a kiss on the cheek? Waking up next to each other in bed where I can screw your brains out?”

Jim shut his eyes, head dipping, and Harvey shifted closer. Touched the fingers of his free hand to Jim’s jaw and waited until he opened his eyes and met his gaze.

“I want all of it, Jim. I’ve wanted it for a long time.”

He had just never imagined he would get it, and it didn’t feel real even as Jim pressed forward. Even as Jim kissed him, soft and tentative, and let his own fingers tangle into his hair. The kiss deepened and it had to be real, because his pulse was pounding and Jim’s overenthusiastic grip was sending sparks of arousal through him.

Had him pulling back a little, just to regain control, and the way Jim looked at him, dark eyed and wanting, was so perfect that it made his heart ache. Made him whisper sincerely,

“I’ll even let you keep my sweater, if you want it.”

Jim smiled at him and leaned back in for another kiss, nerves finally beaten into submission.

“Good, because I was going to anyway.”

Chapter Text

“It was the husband.”

“You can’t just say ‘it was the husband’ and walk out of here. You haven’t studied the scene, you haven’t spoken to a single witness. You don’t even know for sure that she was married.”

Harvey made a show of peering around the room. He tapped a finger against the framed photograph of a happy couple on their wedding day, held a whispered conversation with the fish tank on the far wall, then said decisively,

“It was the husband.”

Jim scowled and Harvey sighed. Came over and put a hand on Jim’s shoulder because he was too soft, and he hated the idea of Jim being in a mood with him.

“We’ll do it your way but it was the husband. Bet you anything.”

“Anything, really?” Jim’s tone was disapproving, arms going across his chest and Harvey let it drop. Brought it back up later when they were done for the day, and Jim had a couple of drinks inside him.

Riled Jim up enough that he agreed to the wager, and went so far as to say, boldly,

“If it was the husband I will do whatever you like, no argument.”

“And if it wasn’t?”

Jim blinked at him, like he hadn’t thought that far ahead. Finished off his drink as though it would provide inspiration, before finally settling on,

“You have to take me on a date. A proper one.”

“I take you on dates,” Harvey protested, indignant. “We’re on one now.”

“We’re at a cop bar talking about work. It’s not a date.”

Harvey thought about that over the days which followed. Watched Jim sleep one night, curled up close to him, and wondered if maybe he could be doing better. Because they didn't really go anywhere special, do anything special. They just spent all their time together already; it had never really seemed an issue.

Still, when they arrested the husband for his wife’s murder he didn’t gloat. Not too much anyway. Let Jim sweat a bit over what depraved acts he might ask of him, and refused to explain further when he told him to get changed after work and meet him outside the precinct.

“So where are we going?” Jim asked, no little trepidation, and Harvey took a moment to enjoy the sight of him in jeans and leather jacket. Slid an arm around his shoulders and said,

“I’m taking you on a date. Obviously.”

It was all worth it for the smile on Jim’s face. That was what he told himself when they got to the cinema and he caught sight of the ticket prices. When he was subjected to the jostling of teenagers and the endless advertisements for movies that looked terrible.

There was a limit to what he was willing to suffer though, even for Jim, and when he caught him looking at the poster for something with subtitles demanded,

“Is that an art film?”

“Not that kind of art film,” Jim rejoined, all sniffy, and that was everything he needed to know.

“If you think I’m sitting through two hours of foreign trash without a decent set of jugs to ogle, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“And they say romance is dead,” Jim grouched and Harvey pointed to a poster that was 100% guns and explosions.

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? That’s a classic of the future. Probably.”

“You think A Dirty Western is a classic.”

Harvey grinned, “Damn straight it is.” Capitulated somewhat and asked, “What do you want to watch then? What about that one with all the happy little animals?”

Jim rolled his eyes, like that was going to lessen his suitability for the kids’ movies, but Harvey changed his mind on closer inspection.

“Not that one - you’re too partial to penguins as it is.”

He realized too late that he had said that last part out loud, but Jim only leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Smiled soppily at him and said, entirely too pleased,

“You’ve nothing to be jealous of.”

He knew. It was nice to hear, all the same. So nice that when Jim suggested the generic looking horror film, he was willing to compromise. Barely complained at all about the disgusting amount of money he was forced to part with at the concessions stand, and when Jim was careless with the popcorn restrained himself to a very reasonable,

“Jesus Christ, Jim, that’s ten dollars worth you just dropped on the floor!”

Jim didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Settled in with a smirk and started eating, and waited until the first jump scare to whisper,

“What sort of date is this? You haven’t even tried to cop a feel.”

He got the message. Put an arm around Jim and smiled when he cuddled in close. Smiled harder still when the next scare spooked him, and filed it away with all the other things to tease him mercilessly about.

“It’s all right,” he reassured, lips against Jim’s ear, “I’ll protect you.”

Jim gave him the look - the long suffering with a hint of judgemental one - but softened it by resting a hand on his thigh, perfectly chaste and perfectly maddening, and said,

“You’re lucky I love you.”

Harvey didn't say anything, even as the second partygoer was slaughtered up on screen, and pressed a kiss into Jim's hair. Held him tighter and hoped Jim understood what he was trying to tell him.

He was lucky. 

The luckiest guy in the whole damn universe.

Chapter Text

Harvey had his evening all planned out. Television, bottle of Jack, potentially a visit from Mrs Palm and her five lovely daughters. Hardly the high life, true, but still a damn sight more appealing than the evening he was actually living through.

Jim had to rush in head first, as usual, and he hadn’t called for back up because he was Jim Gordon, and he thought himself Superman. Bullet proof. He wasn’t though, and now they were both locked in some dank freezing cellar, Jim’s blood soaking through the makeshift bandage wrapped tight around his thigh.

They had already been through the denial stage, and the anger. The door was none the worse for it, but Jim’s knuckles were raw and bloody. They had had the bargaining and a few pained tears too, illuminated by the eerie glow of cell phones lacking a signal, though Jim would doubtless later blame those on the blood loss. Now they were at acceptance. Nothing to do but sit it out and hope to fuck Alvarez had been paying attention when he had mentioned, earlier, the tip-off Jim was eagerly working on.

He had once imagined becoming Captain was going to change things. That he was going to be able to reign Jim in occasionally - dampen the extremes of his impetuousness and outright order him to think before leaping into dangerous situations.

The truth was that nothing he said or did made the slightest impact on Jim and, okay, perhaps he was still stuck on depression. Jim meant everything to him. He was the last thing he thought about at night and the reason he hauled himself out of bed in the morning. He worshipped him, adored him, and Jim was refusing to contemplate even sitting next to him.

Had slumped instead against the opposite wall, pale and shivering, when he was right there. When he had taken the shirt off his own goddamn back to dress Jim’s bullet wound with. When all he had wanted for months - years even - was to know what it would be like to hold Jim in his arms, and tell him how desperately he was in love with him.

Except maybe Jim was stuck on depression too. His shoulders were shaking, head buried in his hands, and when the sound of a sob filled the frigid air, Harvey couldn’t take it. He crossed the small space and settled beside Jim. Reached for him and this time Jim didn’t hesitate. He pressed his face into Harvey’s chest, tears burning hot in contrast to his chilled skin, and Harvey pulled him into his lap. Cradled him close and crooned in his ear, alternating sugar coated reassurances with helpless outbursts of frustration.

“Why have you got to be so stubborn, Jim? I’m here. I’ve been here the whole damn time and you’d still sooner freeze to death.”

Jim hadn’t even been wearing his suit jacket when they were forced down here, guns confiscated and held to their own temples. Had nothing to protect him from the cold but his shirtsleeves, and Harvey took hold of his hands and slid them inside his own jacket. Winced as the icy cold soaked through his undershirt, but wound his arms around Jim all the same.

“You really think I’d let you die on me? When we get out of here I’m going to put you on desk duty for a month. You even think about complaining, and I’ll make you wear the mascot costume. You’ll be doing nothing but school visits until you turn gray, so help me.”

Jim laughed, albeit weak and watery, and Harvey had to clench his own eyes shut for a moment. Sucked in a shaky breath and said,

“I’m not joking.”

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped tightly around each other. Until the battery of his cell phone was completely dead and they were left in darkness. Until Jim was starting to drift in and out of awareness, because it made sense that getting what he most wanted should be accompanied by his very worst nightmare. Jim might actually die in his arms, it was an increasingly likely possibility, and Harvey wished they had at least left him his pocket knife. If Jim really did - he couldn’t even think the word. If Jim did, he didn’t want to get out alive. It was that simple.

Jim seemed to know it too.

Mumbled - slurred - slowly,

“If I die, Harvey -”

“Don’t. You’re not going to fucking die.”

Jim ignored him.

“If I die, promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

He wanted to, he really did. Jim was shivering hard, breath too shallow, and he would do anything to make him feel better. But this was his very own Meatloaf moment. He couldn’t do that.

He couldn’t make Jim a promise he knew he couldn’t keep.

“Promise me,” Jim repeated. “Please.”

“I’ll try,” Harvey managed. “I promise you I’ll try, Jim.”

It was the best he could do. He hoped Jim understood that.

Jim was silent for a few long minutes, anyway.

“I was afraid I’d mess up if I got too close,” he said finally, solemn and quiet. “I couldn’t let that happen. You’re the best friend I ever had, Harv.”

“Don’t - Just don’t,” Harvey tried again, voice cracking. Attempted to regain control of himself while Jim’s breathing grew ever more laboured. While he tried to keep speaking, little more than a whisper,

“I love you. I want you to know that.”

He couldn’t hold back at that. Clung to Jim even as tears streaked his own cheeks. Rocked him back and fore and told him over and over that he loved him too. That he loved him more than anything, because even if they weren’t talking about the same kind of love, it didn’t make Jim’s confession any less breathtaking.

Jim was fading. Was struggling to swallow, to breathe, and when the door was forced open Harvey scarcely registered anything, not until Jim was pried away from him.

“You had a close call,” the doctors said later and Alvarez gave him an oddly pitying look. Clapped him on the shoulder and said, all false cheer,

“Gordon’s tough. He’ll pull through.”

He would, Harvey told himself, over and over. Did nothing but stare into space, sick to his stomach and skin icy, waiting for news. Shook all over, slightly hysterical with relief when he was given it, and staggered through the hospital corridors to be at Jim’s bedside, refusing to take no for an answer.

He had to be there when Jim woke up. Had to see with his own eyes that Jim was safe and recovering.

“You really going to put me on desk duty over this?” Jim rasped when he came around, the hint of a smile on his lips even as he frowned with the effort of talking.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Harvey confirmed, gripping tight at Jim’s fingers.

Jim squeezed back and looked at him, unwavering, until his gaze was focused. Until what he wanted to say couldn’t simply be blamed on the drugs or the trauma.

“I meant what I said.”

“Yeah?”

He couldn't say more. Couldn't work up the courage to check that they were singing from the same hymn sheet. 

Jim just smiled at him, genuinely happy even under all the cuts and the bruises.

“Yeah. I don't want to let you out of my sight either.”

Chapter Text

It could have been him in that casket. It could have been any of them - could have been Harvey - and Jim shivered at the thought of it. Stood up straighter and focused more intently on the words of the eulogy. Stared at the misery etched on the face of McKenna’s partner, and the emotion in Harvey’s eyes, when it was his turn to speak about the sacrifice McKenna had made for the people of Gotham.

It wasn’t the first time he had heard the speech, and it hit him with a sudden surge of grief that it wouldn’t be the last time either. He was going to stand here again and again, uncomfortable in his dress uniform, and watch good officers - better officers - be lowered into their graves, until either it was his own funeral or he simply couldn’t take it any longer.

Because afterwards, when his colleagues turned to each for comfort, he felt more alone than he ever had. Nobody sought him out, and nobody wanted his company. He had no family to go home to, and no lover waiting for him.

He startled when somebody touched him, a heavy hand on his shoulder, and when he looked up Harvey offered him a sad half smile.

“Come on, partner, let’s get out of here.”

He wasn’t on his own, he realized. He hadn’t been for a long time.

He had someone who had risked everything for him, over and over again.

Harvey had never demanded anything in return, had never even expected anything, and Jim felt like he was seeing him for the first time in spite of all the years they had known each other. He took in the way Harvey’s hair was already fighting loose from the tie at his nape, and the imposing figure he cut in his dress uniform. The way Harvey’s arm felt wrapped around him, and the reassuring warmth of his body heat, because somehow he had never noticed before how reliant he was on Harvey’s constant proximity.

They joined the rest of the department at the precinct’s favorite bar, and Harvey didn’t even have to ask what he wanted, or where he wanted to drink it. Harvey knew him better than anyone, better than he knew himself even, and now he had started Jim couldn’t stop looking at him. He wanted to commit every facet of him to memory.

Wanted to press closer still and breathe in the familiar scent of him.

He wanted -

“You all right, Jim?” Harvey asked, concerned, and his standard response was on the tip of his tongue. He was always fine, even when he wasn’t. Even though Harvey knew that he wasn’t.

Except…

What was the point in lying to Harvey? Harvey hadn’t cared when Jim had a price on his head, or when he had been cruel and bitter, intent on drinking himself to death. He wouldn’t turn his back on Jim now, not for being honest with him.

“No,” he admitted quietly. “Maybe. It depends, I guess.”

“Depends on what?”

Jim glanced down at his hands for a moment, then met Harvey’s gaze. Lost himself in the way Harvey was looking at him - the way he always looked at him - as though whatever he had to say was going to be worth listening to. He could feel the flush working its way across his cheeks, the result of the drink and the scrutiny, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears when he answered,

“You.”

The bar was packed, noise and bustle all around them, but it was scarcely registering. It all seemed far off and distant, nothing compared to the pounding of his heart in his chest and the confused frown furrowing Harvey’s brow.

“It could have been me today,” Jim said, trying to explain, “it could have been any of us. I’m sick of pretending that I’m happy with the way things are between us.”

Harvey paled, gaze dropping as though he were ashamed of all the ways he made Jim’s life more bearable, and that hadn’t been his intention. Had him groping for Harvey’s hand across the table, desperate, and the implication was obvious. Had to be, because Harvey’s eyes went wide, just for a moment, and then he was taking charge.

Stood, slow and careful, and pulled Jim to his feet. Ribbed Jim good naturedly for being a lightweight, loud enough for everyone around them to hear, and then he was being lead out into the cool night air. Down the emptying streets and Jim was more grateful than he could ever say for the guiding arm around his shoulders.

Later, he wondered how things would have happened if they hadn’t been in uniform. If Harvey would have risked kissing him in the middle of the sidewalk. If they would have found some darkened alleyway and pressed frantically against each other. As it was all he could do was concentrate on walking and breathing, his pulse rushing in his ears, and it wasn’t until the door of Harvey’s apartment was safely closed behind them that Harvey finally gave in and whispered low and hot in his ear,

“Just tell me what you want, Jim.”

Jim responded by winding his arms around the back of Harvey’s neck, gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips and back again. He hadn’t had many but in that moment he felt every bit as drunk as Harvey had made him out to be, his breathing shallow and his awareness of everything but the man in front of him dulled and distant.

Harvey seemed just as moved, just as lost, and when Jim tentatively brushed their lips together he could feel Harvey’s breath hitch. Felt Harvey’s hands pull him in close, and waves of heat flood through him when the kiss deepened and Harvey’s tongue slid against his own. Jim tilted his head to make the angle better, to let Harvey plunder his mouth, hot and wet and perfect.

When Harvey pulled away from his mouth it was only to kiss at his jaw and then his ear, beard scratching against his skin and sending sparks of arousal coursing through him. He was panting already, aching, and he groaned when Harvey sucked at the sensitive skin of his throat, clinging closer to make up for the way his knees were threatening to buckle on him.

He wanted it all, wanted everything, and he was tugging feverishly at Harvey’s jacket and his own shirt buttons. Knocked his cap to the floor and pulled Harvey’s hair free from its tie, tangling his hands in its length even as Harvey flung his own cap somewhere. Started walking him backwards towards the bedroom, capturing his lips again and pushing his hands up and under his shirt, the skin on skin contact only making Jim moan for more.

Harvey gave it to him, touch lingering as he succeeded in getting him out of his shirt, and encouraged him to lay back against the bed. Looked him over for a long moment, like it was a sight he had spent a long time imagining, and then their eyes locked again and Jim was pulling the older man down on top of him. Was working his hands under Harvey’s shirt and running them against hot skin, never once breaking eye contact.

He had fallen into bed with friends before. Had had drunken one night stands and had made love to people he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It had never felt like this, like this was exactly where he was meant to be. Like every breath they took was binding them closer together, and all he could do was help the process along. Lick wantonly into Harvey’s mouth and push up against him, his cock leaking and desperate in the confines of his clothing.

“Anything you want,” Harvey reiterated, voice not quite steady. “You only gotta tell me.”

Harvey would do it too, he didn’t doubt it. Would do anything he asked just because it was him asking, and he had to swallow back the rush of emotion, the certain knowledge that he was never going to have to feel alone again.

“I want you to tell me what you want,” he said, the smile coming unbidden, and Harvey cupped his face as he kissed him. Pushed himself up on his hands when Jim began to lose himself in it, so that he was gazing up at Harvey - at the freckles visible under the flush spreading across his cheeks, and at the strands of hair falling between them, begging Jim to reach out and run his fingers through it.

“I want you, Jim,” Harvey told him, so sincere it sent shivers through him. “Any way I can get you. I want to make you call my name, and I want to see your face when you come. I want you so bad,” he faltered, Jim biting at his lip at the sound, “wanted you since the first damn time I clapped eyes on you.”

“Thought you hated me then,” Jim said in turn, ending on a groan because one of Harvey’s hands was at his belt buckle, and suddenly Jim was a mess of limbs and movement, attempting to get the rest of their clothes off.

“Still wanted you,” Harvey confessed, finally stripping him naked. “God, look at you. You’re even prettier than I thought you’d be.”

“I’m not pretty,” Jim protested, blushing, but Harvey was sliding down the bed, breath hot and damp against his dick, and frankly he couldn’t care less what Harvey called him, so long as he did something. So long as he didn’t stop sucking kisses into the skin of his thighs, fingers trailing closer and closer to where he most needed them.

He raised himself up on his elbows, watching, and the intensity was back again, Harvey’s eyes meeting his own as he sucked at his fingers. As he rubbed them slowly against sensitive skin, tongue flickering out to taste the head of his cock. Really went to work and Jim had to close his eyes, head tipping back. It was good, ridiculously good, and he cried out, stricken, when Harvey swallowed him to the root and pushed a finger into him.

“That’s it,” Harvey praised when he came up for air, finger moving within him, “you ever do this before?”

Jim shook his head, feeling green and stupid, not least because he couldn’t get his legs to quit trembling. Harvey only surged up to kiss him again, a strange mix of comfort and desperate turn on, and then Jim had to focus to make out what Harvey was saying,

“We don’t have to. We’re not gonna do anything you don’t want to.”

It surprised him just how much he did want to. He wanted to be reminded that he was alive and he wanted to experience new things. He wanted to give Harvey what he wanted, and he gripped at Harvey’s wrist when he moved his hand away from his body, trying to push it back between them.

“I trust you,” he said and he didn’t just mean the sex. This was going to change things, was going to mark the beginning of something, and Harvey kissed him soundly. Sucked at his ear and mouthed at his neck. Raised a possessive bruise against his hip bone and slicked his fingers, sliding one into him so that he gasped and squirmed, his own fingers tightening in the bedclothes.

Another finger joined the first and Jim whined, loud and shocked, when Harvey swallowed his dick again. Made so much noise it was embarrassing when Harvey crooked his fingers and pressed them firmly against something inside him.

“Please,” he ground out when Harvey did it again. “Harvey - fuck! - please.”

He wasn’t even sure what he was pleading for. For Harvey to stop or for Harvey to keep going. He couldn’t tell, couldn’t think. Could hardly breathe, and Harvey was mouthing up the length of his dick now, unruly hair brushing against his abdomen, three fingers filling him.

“Please,” he begged again, overwhelmed, and Harvey refused to be rushed. Brought him to the edge and then backed off just enough for him to regain control of himself. Did it over and over, until his cheeks were wet and he was little more than a shaking mess, Harvey murmuring praise against his overheated skin.

“You’re doing so well,” he told him, “you look gorgeous like this, desperate for my dick in you. I’m going to make you feel so good, Jim. I’m going to make you come so hard. Do you want that? Come on, Jim, tell me what you want from me.”

“Want you,” he managed, sounding nothing like himself. “Want to feel you.”

Harvey groaned, hand pressing hard against the erection trapped in his own underwear, and Jim shuddered all over. Watched and wanted and tried to get his limbs to co-operate enough to reach out for him. Harvey went to him instead. Kissed him and stroked him, and Jim was too far gone to keep track of what was happening. Simply clung and begged, and panted, open mouthed, as Harvey fumbled with a condom and moved over him until the blunt head of his cock was nudging against him.

Jim sucked in air, bracing himself for it, but nothing happened. Not until he pulled himself together enough to get his eyes open, gaze meeting Harvey’s. It sent a fresh wave of heat through him, seeing Harvey’s eyes so dark and knowing he was the cause of it. Knowing that Harvey wanted this just as much, and that getting to do this, getting to come home to this, was about to become his new normality.

It hurt a little, just enough to center his awareness, and Harvey held still, watching his face carefully. Finally pushed forward and it was so different to anything he had ever felt before. Was entirely too much for his self-control and Harvey was rolling them onto his side, one hand at his ass, holding him in place, and the other at his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Jim buried his fingers in Harvey’s hair, even as he wrapped his other arm tight around him.

Gasped and whimpered as Harvey thrust into him, until he was so close, so very close, and he was pushing Harvey back against the mattress. Was straddling him now, and he was pushing back, his own weight forcing Harvey deeper, so deep that Jim couldn’t keep quiet, one hand on his cock and the other scrabbling for something - anything - to hold onto as he rocked back, Harvey’s dick rubbing against his prostate.

“You like that, Jim?” Harvey was panting, hands gripping at his hips, “Fuck, you feel so good. You’re so tight, so fucking perfect.”

It was too much, too intense, and then Harvey was rolling them again, a tangle of limbs, and then he had his legs hooked up and over his arms and was thrusting hard in just the right spot that had him seeing stars. Had him sobbing and cursing, and then Harvey pushed in further, crashing their mouths together, and he was coming, shaking apart even as Harvey kept moving, voice rough and gritty as he spoke,

“Fuck, Jim, that’s it. Oh, Jim.”

His vision was blurred as he tried to watch Harvey’s face, tears clinging to his lashes. Harvey fell forward to kiss him anyway, soft and slow and tender, nose brushing against his own playfully. Harvey was the one to clean him up; rubbed the wetness from his cheek with his thumb, and stroked down his arms and his flank, until he stopped trembling.

Jim kissed him in return. Brushed his hair back from his forehead, and spent long minutes doing little more than gazing into the older man’s eyes.

“Do you really want this, Jim?” Harvey asked eventually, reluctant like he was afraid the answer wouldn’t be what he was hoping for.

“Do you?” Jim countered. Smiled widely at Harvey’s ‘of course I do’ and said, “I told you. I want what you want.” Cuddled in closer and endeavoured to be serious, just for a short while. “I want something worth fighting for. Something worth trying to be one of the good guys for.”

“And you think I’m it?” Harvey asked, sounding dubious, and Jim thought of how intense the experience had been. Thought of how relaxed and comfortable he was, and how he couldn’t even work up the energy to care that he was spilling all his inner thoughts and feelings.

He kissed Harvey, getting lost in it for a moment, then said, simply,

“I know you are.”

Chapter Text

Jim didn’t do as good a job of hiding it as he thought he did, not even at the very beginning. Harvey could smell it on him, sickly sweet where it reacted with whatever medication he was on, and he wasn’t getting caught in the crossfire when Jim forgot to take the correct dosage and became a homing beacon to every nutjob alpha in the city.

He went to Essen, laid it all out before her, and she read him the riot act. Told him that the GCPD did not discriminate on the grounds of biology and, when he still refused to back down, looked him over with disgust and said,

“What, are you telling me you can’t control yourself?”

That rankled. He was a slob, sure, and he had never pretended to be the most by the book guy on the Force. He wasn’t a scumbag though, and he certainly wasn’t the type to go around forcing himself on anyone, not least uptight little pricks with chips the size of Fort Rock on their shoulders.

Because Jim was textbook. Totally obsessed with proving how genetics had no bearing on how tough you could be, to the exclusion of any hint of common sense or reason. Jim could look after himself, no question, but it wasn’t an admission of failure to ask for help once in while. It wasn’t a slippery slope straight back to the bad old days, where the most taxing police career he could have hoped for was as a secretary or to provide eye candy for the recruitment posters.

And Jim was eye candy, that was the worst of it. Not so much that he couldn’t pass easily enough, maybe, but it was there all the same. Those big blue eyes and distractingly long lashes. His elegant fingers and the arch of his cheekbones.

He could ignore it, mostly, but it hit him sometimes. Took his breath away when they were stuck in the car on some never ending stakeout, or he caught Jim staring at him, instead of focusing on his paperwork. It made him shift awkwardly in his seat, and cover with bad jokes and insults. Had him fighting back all his natural instincts, because the better he got to know Jim, the more protective he felt of him.

The more he wanted to preen and posture, and outright threaten anyone who dared to look at Jim.

When Jim shacked up with Lee Thompkins, it was torture. He wanted to touch Jim constantly. Wanted to pull him in close and rub his scent all over him, until every last trace of her was gone. She knew it too, had all the medical training and the beta indifference to nature’s cruelty to see straight through his increasingly pathetic attempts at pretending he didn’t care less who Jim shared his bed with.

Jim wouldn’t thank him for his interest, that was a given. Chose to keep up the pretence right until he was arrested for Pinkney’s murder, and even then he prevaricated around the issue until Harvey stood up to the plate and said frankly,

“Look, it’s okay, I’ll sort it. Let me know which pills you’re on and I’ll make sure you get them.”

He stayed true to his word and got them pushed through the official system. Went the unofficial route too, up and over the recommended dosage, because he knew Blackgate and they both knew that there was just as much crime going on on the inside as there was on the outside. Stuck with it when Jim was out because he wasn’t taking care of himself, and Harvey didn’t need that on his conscience.

Couldn’t bear to see Jim upset, even, and spent long evenings watching Jim get drunk and maudlin. Listened to him talk about his mess of a love life and how in spite of it all he had ended up an Omega stereotype, pining endlessly for someone who didn’t want him. It tore Harvey up inside, broke his heart, but he never once tried anything. Never once slipped up, not even when Jim was so drunk he forgot himself. Not even when Jim curled up close and pressed his nose into his neck. Inhaled deeply and made him half lose his damn mind because it was like a scene out of his favorite fantasy, the one where Jim was wanting and desperate, but still aware enough to beg for it be him who helped him through it.

It wasn’t going to happen, he had long resigned himself to that fact.

He wasn’t completely delusional.

Jim didn’t get any less appealing though. Didn’t quit tugging at his heart strings, and when he kept swiping at his face one afternoon, cheeks blotchy and overheated, Harvey couldn’t help but worry. Asked if he wanted to see a doctor, needed the hospital, and Jim only shook his head and said that he wasn’t feeling too well. Lasted out the entire day then went straight home rather than to the bar, and Harvey did his best to put all thoughts of Jim and stupid fantasies about taking care of him through his cold from his mind until the following morning.

Rapped a few times at Jim’s door when it came because there was no answer, and finally fished the spare key from his pocket and pushed the door open. Had to breathe shallowly through his mouth from the moment he set foot over the threshold, pulse racing and hands shaking, because suddenly Jim’s malady was incredibly obvious.

Even modern suppressants couldn’t work forever, not continuously. Harvey knew all the details, had been on all the training courses, and for all he knew of Jim’s stubbornness he still hesitated in the hallway in case Jim had planned ahead and was already dealing with it. There was some old flame who’d be happy to lend a helping hand, maybe, or some buddy from the army. One of those classy services you could book in advance, or one of those kinky freelancers who left cards in telephone boxes.

Gotham catered to all sorts.

But Jim’s was the only scent he could smell, and it was only Jim’s voice he could hear, wrecked and desperate. He followed the sound, couldn’t stop himself, and the sight of Jim was completely overwhelming. The expanses of flushed skin and the sweat slicked hair stuck to his forehead. The tears on his cheeks and the huge blue eyes that sought him out, aware enough that he sobbed in relief,

“Please, please. Harvey, help me, please.”

Harvey needed to get out of there. Needed to turn around and walk away before he did something they both ended up regretting. But Jim was pleading, writhing, and even from the other side of the room Harvey could see the wet trails down Jim’s thighs. He couldn’t look away from it, nor the fevered grip Jim had on himself, hips pushing forward, chasing the kind of release his hand was never going to be able to give him.

He started moving without thought, without consideration. Just crawled onto Jim’s bed and pressed his cheek against Jim’s heaving chest. Pushed up across his overheated skin, and up the side of his neck, Jim winding his limbs tight around him in an attempt to get closer. When their mouths met Harvey knew he was lost, knew that the best he could hope for was to try not to lose control completely, because Jim tasted so good, and he was never going to be the powerless submissive type who lay there quietly.

Instead Jim was giving just as good as he got, fingers tangling in his hair and teeth nipping at his lower lip. Started tugging at his clothing when he didn’t remove it fast enough, and strained up against him, muscles trembling, rocking and squirming in an effort to get Harvey in him.

It would be so easy to give in. So easy to just push into that wet heat and bite at Jim’s neck. To rut and snarl like an animal - to pin Jim down and take what he wanted.

But this was it. This was going to have to last him a lifetime, sustain him through endless lonely nights of remembering how perfect Jim felt and tasted and sounded, and that meant he needed to focus. Needed to commit all of it to memory, and Jim cried out, frantic, as he drew things out as long as he could bear it.

He sucked at his peaked nipples and licked broad stripes along the outlines of his ribcage. Kissed his way along shaking limbs and swirled his tongue around Jim’s cock, his own aching painfully as Jim whined and cursed, dark eyes wet and glistening whenever he succeeded in getting them open. He held Jim’s gaze for a long moment, shivering at the intensity of it, then hooked his hands under the backs of Jim’s knees and dropped his head.

Licked and sucked and thrust his tongue as deep as he could manage, spurred on by the fevered, desperate sounds Jim was making.

“Please, please, please,” Jim was chanting, begging, and he was so wet Harvey was certain he could drown in it. Had to physically force himself to stop, regardless, and watched, rapt, as Jim took two fingers, then three, all while trying to move back against them.

He couldn’t make it last any longer - captured Jim’s mouth with his own and swallowed his gasps and whimpers. Threw all his good intentions out the window and pushed into Jim in one long movement. Scarcely managed to stay still long enough for Jim to signal that it was okay, that he should keep going, and then it was just a blur of want and need and more.

Jim kissed him in turn, all slick tongue and sharp teeth, and clawed his fingers down his back, too far gone to care about anything beyond reaching completion.

“Harvey,” Jim whined as he came and the rush of emotion that came with it, the surge of lust and the primal feeling of belonging was enough to tip him over the edge with scarcely any extra stimulation. Had him shuddering and rolling his hips, prolonging the sensation, and Jim whimpering, limp and sated and clinging to him as the knot settled, tying them together.

It was then that the guilt began to set in. The cold reality of what he had just done, and he thought of the way Essen had sneered at him all that time ago, when she accused him of not being about to control himself. He had deserved her scorn, and her condemnation, because Jim hadn’t asked him for this. Jim hadn’t even wanted him to know he was an omega, let alone be his heat partner.

“I'm sorry,” Harvey managed then, and he sounded devastated to his own ears. Wished that they could bypass this awkward aftermath even as he wanted it to never end. Never wanted to have to let go of Jim. “I swear to God I tried, Jim.”

Except Jim wasn't having any of it. Pulled too hard at his hair until he looked at him, and his words were only slightly slurred when he said, 

“If I hadn’t wanted you to, I’d have said so. Trust me.”

Harvey tried to smile - wanted so badly to believe him. Jim just nuzzled into the scruff of his beard and sighed deeply. Seemed in no rush to move for once, content to simply lay still and do nothing for a while. 

“If I'd had the choice of anyone,” Jim said eventually, a good enough detective to know that he hadn't taken anything he'd said on board, “I'd still have chosen you.”

“Now I know you've lost your mind,” Harvey responded, but it meant a lot to him, more than he could ever say, that Jim cared enough to try and make him feel better. Jim knew it too, had a better read on him than he had ever imagined. He had to because he pushed his nose into the crook of his neck then, and followed it up by raising a mark, the kind that once upon a time was only ever given the other way around. 

“Who else is going to put up with me the way you do?” Jim asked, his smile audible, and Harvey had to smile back, finally relaxing enough to simply enjoy the closeness.

When you looked at it that way, they were made for each other.

Chapter Text

Jim had always known that he was different.

Other people didn’t hear things - see things - that weren’t there. They didn’t have entire other families who lived only in their heads, and they certainly didn’t throw screaming tantrums because their mom refused to smell the same way their other mother did.

His mom, for her part, broke down in tears and yelled about how she couldn’t take it. His dad told her not to be so stupid. That it was nothing but an imaginary friend, or else a silly prank Roger had put him up to. Said that all kids went through weird phases, and finally relented and took him to see a doctor who spoke to him like he was a baby and asked him if he liked to make up stories.

Encouraged him to draw pictures of the things he saw, and frowned at the resulting mess of paint and crayon, and his explanations of the dead man and the crying lady. Didn’t understand, no matter how many times he told her, and it wasn’t until he called for his mom to come, quick, when they showed them both on the television that he began to wish he had never said anything.

Later he understood why it had caused problems. Knew he would react just as badly, most likely, to a preschooler obsessed with iconography of a religion they had no reason to know anything about. As a kid it was frightening, terrifying, because his mom cried all over again, and even Roger thumped him hard in the arm when their dad decided the best way forward was for his brother to drop baseball practice in favor of them all spending more closely supervised family time together.

He learned not to talk about it after that. Did his very best to pretend that it was all make believe, just the way adults told him it had to be. Failed spectacularly the fall he turned eight because one minute he was glaring at Roger for making fun of him, and the next it felt like his heart was being torn out of chest. Felt like he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, and he sobbed for almost three days straight, while doctors poked and prodded and attempted to make sense of what was wrong with him.

“He’s a freak,” Roger told the other kids on their street with all the confident certainty his extra three years on the planet afforded him. “They’ll probably have to send him to Arkham Asylum.”

They didn’t lock children up there, his mom assured him, but Jim worried about it anyway. Panicked before every new medical appointment, and wished that someone would run their fingers through his hair, the way he was sure his other mom would have, if she hadn’t had to die and leave him. Because she had, he knew she had, and it was months before he stopped waking up with tears on his face.

It came less frequently after that, the strange awareness of things that he wasn’t actually experiencing. The confusing dreams and the waves and waves of sadness he didn’t know how to deal with. He began to hope that one day it would be nothing more than a distant memory, and his dad was telling him how proud he was that he had chosen to start acting like a grown up, to be sensible, when a drunk driver slammed into the side of them and he recognized the renewed agony in his chest for the grief it had been.

He didn’t escape the crash unscathed, not physically and certainly not mentally. Had endless nightmares, over and over, about people - men, women, children - dying while he had to watch and do nothing. Tried instead not to sleep at all and, when the school rang home for the umpteenth time because he had fallen asleep in class, his mother announced that they were moving away from Gotham.

Roger hated him for it, blamed him for all the ways in which his own life subsequently fell apart, but Jim chose to see it as a fresh start. A chance to be normal, and to be alone in his own head. Denied that it had ever been something he experienced, at least until a whole bunch of them went to a fortune teller for a laugh, and the woman dropped the entire mystical routine as soon as she clapped eyes on him. Reached for his hand, like she couldn’t help herself, and said,

“I’ve never seen a bond this strong. It’s almost as though I could touch it.”

“Don’t tell me,” one of his friends joked, attempting to lighten the atmosphere, “he’s going to meet someone tall, dark and handsome.”

She only smiled, somehow more chilling than the serious solemnity that had gone before it, and said,

“I can’t see, but you could, if you put your mind to it. I don’t doubt it.”

It shook him up bad because he had never told anyone in Chicago. Had spent years by that point suppressing it. But he still saw things in his head. Still felt like there was someone with him, sometimes, their presence like an itch he couldn’t scratch. They were always just out of his reach.

He began researching it. Ducked his head as he checked books out of the city library, and tentatively broached the subject with his mother, because she was ill and getting weaker, and he didn’t want to upset her. She patted at his hand, comforting, and revealed that she had once done her own research. Confessed that she had been convinced that he was remembering some past life, and reminisced about the time a crazy old man had approached them at the city park, and ranted and raved that it wasn’t right, to have a child with only half a soul wandering about the place.

He shivered, even as she said it, because of all the ways he had ever attempted to explain what he felt, that was easily the most accurate. After she died he went to spiritualist meetings and read weird blogs on the internet. Lit candles and wore crystals and, when he finally worked up the courage to try the positively medieval sounding ritual he had read about, it was so effortless it was frightening. Truly, because he was there and he wasn’t. Himself but someone else, and it hit him for the first time that he wasn’t the only person involved in this because he could feel the other person’s panic. Smell the scent of their aftershave and hear the sound of their voice.

When he pulled himself out of it he couldn’t stop shaking. Staggered to the bathroom and was sick everywhere, the pain throbbing in his head and his heart hammering like he had just been sprinting.

He shouldn’t have done it he learned afterwards. It was stupidly, idiotically dangerous, and all the examples he came across tended to involve people ending up in some kind of institution. It wasn’t surprising, not exactly, because even as he completed basic training, even as he was shipped out on his first tour, it still felt as though there was a gaping chasm in his psyche. Like huge chunks of him were missing, and at night he dreamed of being pulled close and clinging to broad shoulders, as though he wanted to ruin his career with the military.

People could sense it too - all of it. Gossip went around barracks about him, and when they patrolled civilian areas dark eyes watched him with open curiosity, even as people shied away when he got too close. Mothers pulled their children to their sides, and one of their translators refused to go anywhere near him until the air around them stank of burning esfand.

Back home Roger laughed about it when Jim visited him in rehab, hollow and bitter, and told him for the first time that he had used to talk in his sleep. That he had run off once, when they had been out with their father, and that they had found him on the steps of a church in the East End of Gotham, an elderly priest trying to console him as he howled nonsense about needing to wait for his other family. He didn’t remember it, not clearly, and Roger turned haunted eyes on him and said,

“You knew their names, you knew where they lived. If I’d believed you it could have been different. Everything could have been different.”

It was too late now.

There was no going backwards.

Yet he ended up in Gotham, all the same, and his attempts at building a life for himself, at ignoring the constant ache in his heart, were for nothing. Because he suspected from the moment Harvey first put a hand on his shoulder but he fought it, battled it, until after things fell apart with Barbara and Harvey pulled him into a drunken hug and Jim never wanted to let go again. Never wanted to be parted from him, not even for a moment, and felt drunk on his proximity, how right it felt, until Harvey let him go and then he fought harder still, determined not to let some stupid superstition ruin his entire life.

They could be friends, brothers, they didn’t need to get any closer.

He did his best to avoid Harvey’s touch. Scrubbed the feel of it from his cheek and put all of his energy into falling in love with Lee. To taking hold of his last chance to live the kind of life he had always dreamed about. Easy, uncomplicated, normal. He pushed away when he wanted to press close, and acted as though he couldn’t see the hurt on Harvey’s face, when the older man proved again and again that he was willing to offer him anything.

It didn’t work, deep down he had always known it wouldn’t, and finally he drained a bottle of whiskey and decided it was time to stop fighting against it. Turned up at Harvey’s place in the early hours of the morning and recited all the details he remembered. The images on the stained glass windows at the church Harvey’s family had attended, and the fragmented memories he had of the cases Harvey had been working, the ones that had haunted his teenage nightmares. The time of day his mother had died and the hymns they had sung at her funeral.

“That’s not funny,” Harvey warned, raking a hand through his hair, and Jim struggled to keep his tone even as he agreed,

“It wasn’t. It was awful.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying, Jim,” Harvey said, even as he gravitated closer. Even as his hands came to rest on Jim’s shoulders, like he couldn’t help himself.

“Yeah, you do,” Jim said, making eye contact. He raised his own hand, slowly, and touched his fingers to Harvey’s cheek, warmth - comfort - radiating through him. “You know you do.”

“You’re drunk,” Harvey accused but didn’t pull away. “You’re talking bullcrap.”

Jim shook his head. He was sick of lying and pretending. Sick of knowing that he could be happy, could be whole, if only he had the courage to fight for it.

“You can feel it too. I know you can.”

He had to be able to. He had to because Jim didn’t know how he was supposed to carry on if Harvey didn’t want this. If Harvey decided that it wasn’t worth it, that he could manage just fine, and left him lost again, now that he knew what it was like to feel the connection.

He kissed Harvey then, desperate to convince him, and he couldn’t even begin to describe it, the wet heat and the scratch of Harvey’s beard, combined with the way it sent sparks up the entire length of his spine. The way the world spun but made sense, and all the burdens on his shoulders eased, because he wasn’t carrying them alone, not with Harvey’s arms wrapped around him.

“I thought I was going mad,” Harvey whispered when they came up for air. “It felt like something had broken inside me. Like I’d lost something I never even knew I had.”

It had been the day he had tried the ritual. The day he had attempted to break down the barriers and almost killed the both of them in the process.

“You’ve been in my head all my life,” he confessed in turn. Swallowed around the lump in his throat and attempted to smile, “I guess that means it’s your fault I turned out this way.”

Harvey kissed him again. Kissed and kissed until they were both a mess, both shaking with what it meant, and the sheer intensity of it.

“It’s not my fault,” Harvey told him eventually, gaze meeting his own, “it just means you were made for me.”

Jim laughed, at the surreal absurdity and at the lopsided grin on the other man’s face.

“Maybe I was,” he conceded. “But what are you going to do about it?”

Harvey’s expression went soft, fingers petting at his hair as he pulled him close against him. Walked him through to the bedroom and simply held him as they lay in the darkness.

“We’ll work it out together,” Harvey assured him, pressed so close Jim could feel the words being spoke. Could feel the fear lifting, and knew the struggle was ending. “That’s why we’re partners.”

Chapter Text

Harvey’s initial assessment of Jim Gordon was that he needed to get laid, and he needed it badly. If he was the one to lay him, well, so much the better. He had never claimed to be immune to a nice ass and a pretty face, especially not when he was forced to spend all day every day with their owner.

It had surprised him, legitimately, that the kid actually had a girlfriend. A fiancée, even, and by all accounts was getting it on the regular.

But the more he saw of Jim, the better he understood the problem. Jim wasn’t the type to just let go and enjoy anything. He was terrified of losing control of himself, and had turned the act of self-denial into an art form. Seemed convinced that fun was a byword for failure, and strove to be endlessly dour and miserable.

Harvey tried. Told bad jokes and livened up boring stakeouts with lightly embellished stories of the kind of things he had been indulging in when he was Jim’s age. Jim blushed and frowned and occasionally looked faintly horrified, and if it wasn’t balanced out by the occasions he squirmed about in his seat, nowhere near as subtle as thought he was being, Harvey might have given it up as a lost cause.

Maybe.

Because somewhere along the way, his interest in Jim turned personal. Became an outright obsession, and he no longer cared about finding a way to get Jim to lighten up and stop nagging him. Jim could be just as irritating as he liked. Could nag and bitch and moan, and Harvey would only try to spend more time in his company. All he really wanted was for Jim to be happy. For Jim to smile and laugh, and to stop stressing about things he had no influence over.

He was falling for Jim he realized eventually, falling hard, and by the time he first allowed the word ‘love’ to creep into the equation, his every fantasy involved working past Jim’s myriad trust issues. Proving to him that the world wouldn’t fall apart if he let someone else past the walls he had built around himself.

If Jim let him in, because he wasn’t the good guy Jim still believed he could be. He wasn’t selfless and he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t leave Jim alone and when Jim pressed their lips together one night, drunk and desperate, Harvey didn’t try to stop him. Just pulled him in closer and moaned into Jim’s mouth. Kissed at his jaw and sucked at his throat - pushed his hand into Jim’s pants and went off like a rocket just from the knowledge that it was Jim coming over his fingers.

He put Jim to bed afterwards. Tucked him in, even, and spent long minutes just watching him sleep. Rubbed his thumb over his temple, and imagined all the ways things were going to change now. Went home with a big dumb grin on his face and in the morning, at the precinct, greeted Jim with coffee and a lingering hand on his shoulder. Smiled at him, helpless, and it was only when Jim met his gaze that he took his hand away.

Because Jim wasn’t smiling back at him. He looked awkward, embarrassed, and it hurt so much Harvey didn’t know what to do with himself. Jim had been drunk - completely wasted. It had meant nothing to him, of course it hadn’t, and now he simply wanted to forget all about it.

Harvey did his best to keep his expression neutral. Forced himself to keep his stride even until he reached his desk. Stared unseeingly at his paperwork and cursed himself for the biggest fool to ever graduate the academy.

“About last night,” Jim stiltedly attempted to explain later. “I didn’t -”

“I wasn’t expecting wedding bells and commitment rings,” Harvey scoffed, to better hide how much it stung. “Figured you were looking for somebody to scratch an itch with, that’s all.”

Jim colored up, just to make his stupid heart flip flop in his chest, and questioned quietly,

“What, friends with benefits?”

“I think fuck buddies is the term you’re looking for,” Harvey said, deliberately crass, and then he didn’t know what to do because Jim was turning those criminally pretty eyes on him and saying, as though he were reciting the GCPD handbook,

“That wouldn’t make for a good working relationship.”

By rights he should have simply laughed it all off as some big joke. Agreed with the sentiment, there and then, and put an end to it. But he had never been any good at self-preservation when it came to Jim, and what he actually did was smirk, challenging,

“You couldn’t handle it anyway. I’d blow your mind, Jimbo.”

Jim’s jaw tightened, predictable as ever, and that evening they went from sharing a couple of beers as they talked over a case file, to Jim moaning, fingers petting uncertainly at his hair, as Harvey set about putting all his years of experience to good use. There were a considerable number of them, he couldn’t lie, but Jim didn’t seem inclined to complain, not when he stroked at his hip bone with one hand, to help keep him steady, and swallowed through his gag reflex.

“Oh God!” Jim cried out, startled, and it was so fucking hot Harvey had to push his other hand against his own straining erection. Had to rock his hips forward, frantic, because Jim tasted so good, smelled so good, and he couldn’t even begin to quantify the number of nights he had spent alone in his bed, wishing he could know what it felt like, just once, for Jim to actively want his hands on him.

“That’s it,” Harvey praised when he pulled back to catch his breath, his hand picking up the slack. “You’re so close, aren’t you, Jim? You gonna come for me? I want to hear you. Come on, let me hear how good it feels.”

Jim whined at that, fingers tightening in his hair, and Harvey put his mouth back on him. Swirled his tongue around the head, precome flowing, then sank lower, Jim gasping and panting and coming with a strangled,

“Fuck, yes, Harvey!”

It was almost too much, hearing his name on Jim’s lips like that, and he surged up to kiss him. Pushed Jim back against the sofa and plundered his mouth, half afraid Jim would push him away, even as he worked his hand into his trousers and stroked himself with hurried movements. Jim’s hand joined his own, tentative, and that was all it took. He shook and shuddered and never once stopped kissing Jim, not until Jim broke away from it.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Jim told him, one hand raking through his hair and the other reaching for his neglected beer bottle. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

Harvey searched for something to say. Something that would salvage their friendship without revealing his heartbreak, but Jim sucked in a shaky breath and said, lips quirking,

“I’m glad we did though.”

And just like that, trading stress relief with Jim was his new normal. They exchanged hand jobs on the sofas of their respective apartments and once, even, in a squad car. He jerked Jim off in the bathroom stall of a dive bar they were meant to be investigating, and he blew him every chance he got, including against the wall of Jim’s living room, Jim’s thighs trembling as Harvey snuck a hand behind his balls and knew without being told that nobody else had ever touched him there before.

“Please,” Jim begged, rough and desperate, and Harvey would never get enough of this. Would never be sated when it came to Jim, and they ended up on Jim’s bed, Jim sobbing and cursing as he worked his tongue inside him. “More,” Jim managed, rocking back to meet him, “please, more.”

Who was Harvey to deny him?

He slid a finger into him, slow and careful, and the heat, the tightness, took his breath away. He could imagine his cock in its place. Could picture Jim’s face, flushed and tear stained, as he made love to him - as he watched him come apart, blissed out with the force of it. That wasn’t what Jim had asked for though, and Harvey made himself concentrate on the task in hand.

Crooked his finger firmly and groaned at the sound Jim made, because it was so utterly pornographic.

“You sound so fucking hot,” Harvey told him, unable to hold back. “The way you moan my name, I can’t bear it. I’ve been thinking about it all day. Been staring at my goddamned paperwork and thinking about making you come. About the noises you’re gonna make when you come for me.”

“Fuck,” Jim ground out, panting hard into the pillow beneath him, and Harvey kept up the stimulation against his prostate. Added another finger and watched, mesmerised, as he worked them in and out of Jim’s body before pressing them both to the right spot, so that Jim whimpered and wrapped his hand around his cock, clearly desperate.

“Come on, Jim,” Harvey encouraged, moving his fingers with short sharp thrusts. “I need to hear you. I need you so badly.”

Jim came, loud and long and messy, and Harvey rubbed soft circles against his back afterwards. Held him close, peppered his jaw with kisses, and thanked whatever kindly deity might be looking down on him that had convinced Jim this was a completely normal and expected part of the arrangement. That he had been just as intent on kissing and cuddling with all his casual fucks, and wanted nothing more than to feed them and hold their fucking hand afterwards.

He wanted everything and more from Jim, and if this was as much as he was going to get, well, he was pathetic enough to settle for it. If he made it good, if he made it really good, Jim wouldn’t care who was attached to the mouth and the hands on him. Would keep coming back for more, at least in the short term, even though he fell far short of the kind of lover Jim really wanted.

They’d be just as gorgeous as Jim, no doubt, all perfect body and perfect smile, and when Jim found them Harvey was going to have to go back to being nothing but the friend who hauled his drunk ass home from the bar on Friday nights. It was going to kill him, he thought, as Jim fell asleep in his arms, too relaxed to even panic about the situation. He knew what it was like to touch Jim now, to kiss him and hold him, and giving it up would be torture.

To stave off the inevitable he redoubled his efforts. Employed a few tricks he had learned from the professionals, and mentally catalogued each and every place on Jim’s body that got him squirming and vocal. Went to town on using them to drive Jim crazy, teasing the sensitive skin of his neck with his tongue and the scratch of his beard, and trailing fingertips down Jim’s side until his eyes were dark and wild, and he was turning the tables and pinning Harvey down against the soft mattress.

“It’s not fair,” Jim said, beautiful and breathless, “how am I supposed to return the favor when you get me worked up like this?”

Harvey cupped Jim’s cheek with one hand, kissed him deeply, and promised to let Jim do whatever he wanted. Could scarcely keep his eyes open when Jim proved he had been keeping notes of his own, sucking wetly at the ridge of his ear until he was aching, grinding up against Jim’s leg, and then he was turning the air blue, Jim’s fingers scrabbling at his belt buckle and removing the remaining layers of clothing between them.

Jim’s mouth on him was everything he had always imagined it would be. Wet and hot, and the sight of Jim’s lips stretched around his length was so arousing he had to clench his eyes tight shut so he wouldn’t embarrass himself.

“Don’t stop,” he heard himself plead, voice wrecked, and once he had started he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Please, Jim, please, don’t stop. Oh, fuck, Jim, that feels so good.”

Jim moaned around him, like he was the one being sucked by the hottest catch in all of Gotham. Like he was every bit as turned on, and Harvey made a grab for him. Hauled him over and into position, and sucked him down, hands on his ass, even as Jim never let up on what he was doing, mouth so wet on his dick Harvey could feel the excess dripping down the insides of his thighs and lower.

It didn’t last much longer, not surrounded by Jim as he was, and Jim gave him a goofy smile afterwards, all the tension drained from his shoulders for the time being. The words burned on his tongue, the ‘I love you’ Jim was never going to welcome, and Harvey settled for kissing him sweetly.

He had known the score when he signed up for this, it was no good getting upset about the situation.

It was easier said than done, that was the problem, and it became harder and harder to keep a lid on his feelings. He felt sick with jealousy whenever anyone flirted with Jim - and looking the way Jim did, that was near fucking constantly - and he had to remind himself over and over not to reach out and touch when they were in public. Not even whenever he felt like it, because if he got clingy Jim would lose interest, and he’d be back to long nights with his right hand and fantasies about waking up with Jim next to him in the morning.

“She gave me her number,” Jim grinned at him one lunchtime, showing him the slip of paper, and suddenly Harvey wasn’t hungry. Glanced up to see the waitress smiling back at Jim, tight fitting dress leaving very little to the imagination, and he was clambering to his feet and shrugging into his coat.

“I’ll get out of your way then. Give you lovebirds some privacy.”

“Harvey, wait -”

He didn’t. Didn’t look back, even, and kicked a dent into the door of his locker when he arrived at the precinct out of petty frustration. It wasn’t Jim’s fault he wanted more than the other man could give him, and it wasn’t the rest of the department’s either. He snapped at them, all the same, and deliberately avoided meeting Jim’s eye though he stared longingly at the back of his head, lovesick.

He couldn’t keep doing this, he knew. It was killing him, sure and slow, being so close to Jim and knowing that he was never going to get what he really wanted. That Jim was never going to love him back, and wasn’t even going to feel guilty about ditching him for the first person who showed an interest. He had no reason to. This was supposed to be about sex, plain and simple, and Harvey wished he had listened all those weeks ago when Jim had warned it would ruin their working relationship.

His good intentions lasted another two days. Two nights of drinking himself to sleep and pretending to ignore the concern etched across Jim’s handsome face. In the end it made no difference, because Jim turned up at his apartment on the third night, pushed past him without being invited, looked around the place, then said bluntly,

“I thought you’d gone back to keeping professional company.”

“They expect paying,” he said in turn, heart hammering, “all you need is a couple of beers inside you.”

It wasn’t what he’d say if they were truly an item. He’d cover Jim in kisses and promise that he’d never go looking elsewhere. Would sink to his knees and prove it to him. They weren’t though, and it was better that he pushed Jim - that he kept some kind of distance between the world of fantasy and reality.

Jim only snorted, amused. “Lucky for you I stopped for a drink on the way here. Guess that means we can get right to business.”

Business.

The smile on his face felt brittle and fragile, and when Jim stepped closer it was clear he had stopped for more than a drink in the singular. Harvey could smell the alcohol on his breath, and even without it the color in his cheeks and the glassiness to his eyes would have been a dead giveaway.

“What do you want, Jim?” He asked and he meant it to sound cold and demanding. It came out breathy and vulnerable, and Jim pressed closer still. Rubbed his cheek against Harvey’s own, the gesture oddly touching, and said,

“I want you.” He took hold of Harvey’s wrist, pulling his hand down until his meaning was obvious. “I need you.”

It wasn’t what Jim meant, but Harvey took it anyway. Was so desperate that he let his pledge of distance and restraint slide away, and sank to his knees right there in the living room, mouthing at Jim through the fabric of his trousers before letting Jim fuck his face, like it really was some sordid business transaction. Jim left when it was done, finally sick of his desire for coddling it seemed, and Harvey swore that it was really over this time.

Failed over and over again because Jim was like a drug and he was addicted. Treasured every moment they spent together, and began to blur the lines between what he wanted and what was happening, because he wasn’t just sucking Jim, he was snuggling up to him on the sofa. Was kissing his cheek without thinking, and rubbing his feet at the end of long days, breath coming short at the way Jim gasped and groaned, so excited he left damp spots on his underwear.

Jim didn’t make things any easier. Stole soft kisses from him at work, when no one was looking, and encouraged him to sit close when the day had been tough, fingers stroking against his scalp and messing with his hair until he felt drunk on it, his entire body tingling with the sensation. Jim wound his arms around him, chest pressed to his back, and rested his chin on his shoulder.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re gorgeous?” Jim asked against his ear, making him shiver, and Harvey reached up to link his hands with Jim’s own.

“Only some crazy dude,” he smiled. “Think his name was Gordon or something.”

Jim rewarded him with a sucking kiss to his neck and, when the haze cleared, Harvey did his best to cling to the blissful feeling of contented happiness.

That was how he wanted to remember this.

The breaking point came long after it should have, after weeks and weeks of Jim blowing red hot one minute, and claiming to be too busy the next. Clinging to him like a limpet one day, then keeping him at arm’s distance, like he was being punished for how blatantly he had enjoyed it. Jim came to him one night, making all the first moves, and before Harvey knew it they were both laid out on his bed, Jim begging him to give him more than his fingers. To fuck him, properly, and God help him, but Harvey considered it. Let himself imagine how the scene would play out if this were all real, and he could satisfy his every ridiculous fantasy, telling Jim again and again how desperately he loved him.

He was going to do it regardless, was that close to giving in, but Jim was gazing up at him with trusting eyes and that was the reason he was in this mess. He had wanted Jim to trust him as much as he wanted him, and suddenly he was sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he whispered,

“I can’t do this, Jim. I just can’t.”

Jim’s hand was on his shoulder, damp with sweat, and Harvey couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t stand to know he was so close to what he really wanted, yet still so very far away.

“What’s the matter?” Jim asked, tone anxious. “Did I do something wrong? I haven’t, I mean -”

That was the whole crux of the problem. For everything they’d done together, Jim had never gone that far, had never asked him to, and now it was happening Harvey couldn’t do it.

“I can’t give you what you want,” he managed, voice strained as he stared at his hands, “not now, not ever.”

Jim made a sound at that, pained, and Harvey had to risk looking at him. Was met with frightened blue eyes and he stumbled over himself to clarify,

“I’ll always be your friend. I’m always going to be there for you. Always. But I can’t keep doing this - it’s killing me.” He shook his head. “I love you, Jim. I adore you. I can’t pretend like this is just some casual fuck to me.”

Jim laughed, actually laughed, and Harvey couldn’t hide the way he flinched at the sound. Swallowed thickly, desperately, as Jim reached out his hands to frame his face, forcing Harvey to meet his gaze and realize that he was half crying along with it.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that?”

He frowned at Jim, understanding slow in coming, and Jim kissed him. Stroked his tongue into his mouth and it began to dawn on him what Jim was attempting to tell him.

“You said you weren't interested - that you only wanted something casual. I've spent the last six months trying to convince you otherwise.”

Harvey gaped, shocked dumb, and Jim had to visibly screw up his nerve to confirm,

“I love you too. So much.”

He scarcely knew what to do with himself. Wanted to laugh and jump and sing, but settled for wasting no time in plundering Jim’s mouth, hot and possessive, and the emotional charge only served to make Jim more responsive, clinging to him like he might disappear.

“It’s all right,” Harvey murmured, hands sliding down to Jim’s ass and using the grip to help Jim frot against him. “I got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jim calmed a little. Gazed up at him, eyes soft, and it him all in a rush that he had hit the jackpot and just been handed everything he wanted. Couldn’t help but kiss Jim all over again, and let his hand wander, fingers slowly sinking into Jim’s still slick hole. Jim had been close before, excruciatingly close, and he groaned deeply now, pitch rising when Harvey pressed the pads of his fingers to his prostate.

“You’re so beautiful,” he told Jim as he continued his careful movements. “I’ve wanted to tell you that for so long. You’re gorgeous - you make me lose my mind, Jim. Every time I touch myself, I think of you. Your pretty face and the sexy sounds you make. The way you beg me to let you come, it gets me so hard -”

“Please,” Jim begged, writhing back on his fingers. “Please, Harvey, I need you, please.”

There were tears on his cheeks, his face flushed pink and rosy, and Harvey licked desperately up the side of his neck, chasing the blush. Nipped at his jaw and then captured his mouth in a kiss, swallowing his whines and his whimpers as he struggled to get his hands to co-ordinate. To get the condom on and the cap of the lube open.

He fought for control at the feel of his hand, and held Jim’s hips steady as he moved forward, biting his lip at how good it felt and how good Jim looked. He used one hand to brace himself, giving Jim a moment to adjust to it, and reached for Jim’s hand with the other. Linked their fingers together and squeezed tightly, finally allowing himself to spill all the sentimental nonsense he had been too afraid to give voice to.

Told Jim over and over how much he loved him, how much he was always going to love him, and how happy he was - how stupidly, ridiculously happy - that Jim wanted to be with him. That Jim was with him right there, right then, and how incredibly exciting it was to watch Jim lose control, frantic and desperate as he put his trust in Harvey to send him over the edge, and to be there to catch him.

He was there.

Groaned and trembled through his own climax even as he kissed Jim through his. Carried on kissing him, slow and sweet, and held him close, hands soothing and petting, because he had to be touching Jim. Had to have him wrapped around him as he asked, light but sincere,

“Does this mean you’re going to stop arranging dates with waitresses?”

“I was trying to make you jealous,” Jim confessed, the hint of a smile on his lips, and it tugged at his heart strings. Made his heart turn cartwheels in his chest, overwhelmed with it all, and he admitted, honestly,

“It worked. I never thought I was the jealous type.”

“You’re my type though,” Jim said, relaxed enough to let his mouth run away with him, and Harvey only held him tighter.

“You really need to work on your lines, Jim.”

Jim found his hand again, fingers tangling with his own, and gave him the cheeky grin he already knew he was never going to tire of,

“Jealousy again. They're just better than yours, and you know it.”

Harvey grinned right back at him. That was the kind of jealousy he could live with.

Chapter Text

Generally speaking, Jim was a man of few words. His reports were clear and to the point, and he couldn’t seem to understand the rationale behind making conversation for the sake of it.

It had driven him around the twist at first, had him convinced that Jim was nothing more than a stuck-up rich kid, but he had learned to read between the lines. Had managed to get Jim’s life story out of him, with the bare minimum of alcohol for encouragement, and come to grudgingly respect him.

Had grown to genuinely like Jim, to value his friendship, until eventually he was forced to recognize the breathless joy he felt in Jim’s company for what it really was.

He had fallen head over heels in love with him.

Would follow him to the ends of the earth and back, and risked his career and his reputation - his life - for him, over and over again, because what would any of it mean without Jim?

Jim was never supposed to know, that went without saying, because Jim was gorgeous and going places, while he was over the hill and heading for retirement. He had nothing to offer Jim beyond his love and devotion, and when he tried to explain that, Jim proving why he was the department’s star detective, he didn’t know what to do when Jim looked him in the eye and said,

“That sounds like everything I’ve ever wanted.”

He had figured he was dreaming, or else laying in a coma somewhere, but Jim had maintained eye contact. Had reached a hand out for him, fingers curling around the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, while his thumb brushed at the edge of his jawbone. Stroked at the skin there, slowly, until it was just too much and he had to kiss Jim, determined to ensure that if Jim came to his senses in the morning, he would at least have the memory of the slick heat of Jim’s mouth to look back on.

Except the morning came and Jim remained in the grip of Gotham’s madness. Was certifiably loopy because within weeks Jim was living with him. His books were piled on Harvey’s shelves, and his clothes were hung in Harvey’s closet. His toothbrush and razor were next to his own in the bathroom, and his frantic cries filled the still night air, the memory alone enough to get him hard and aching.

Because he had always assumed Jim’s stoic silence would extend to the bedroom. Had always imagined, even when he had his hand on himself, spurred on by his favorite fantasies, that he would be lucky to get more than a gasp or two out of Jim. That he would be restrained and reticent, and Harvey would have to coax every single murmur.

It was the happiest surprise of his life to find that Jim was vocal. 

What was less positive was how ashamed of it Jim seemed to be. How desperately he fought to bite back every sound, and how embarrassed he got when Harvey told him that he loved it. Begged him not to hold back because it had always done it for him, hearing how much his partner was into it, and getting constant proof that Jim was enjoying himself was the kind of thing wet dreams were made of.

Jim tried, he knew that. Heard him admit as much, stilted and quiet as they lay together afterwards, and Harvey only kissed him silent. Cupped his face and did his best to convince Jim that it didn’t matter - nothing mattered beyond Jim feeling happy and comfortable.

“I want to,” Jim confessed, frustrated, and Harvey simply held him close and mulled the problem over.

Jim was so obsessed with being in control of himself. Was terrified of sliding back into the darkness of depression, and of giving in to the oblivion of drink all over again. Harvey needed to prove to him that he could relax sometimes.

That he was going to be there to break Jim’s fall, and that he wasn’t facing things alone any more. Never would again, not so long as Harvey had life in his body.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Jim admonished a few days later, and Harvey frowned at him in confusion,

“Do what?”

“That,” Jim said pointedly, and eyed up the pen he had been chewing at, lost in thought over what he might do to help Jim to let go a little. Jim glanced around to check they were alone and lowered his voice, “How am I supposed to concentrate when you’re putting on a show like that?”

Harvey smirked, gave the end of the pen a parting lick for good measure, and said,

“If you think that’s a show you need your eyes tested.”

Jim sniped back, good natured, and Harvey let him get the last word in for once, thoroughly pleased with himself.

That was the answer, he was sure of it.

Still, he broached the subject with Jim carefully, and made sure he gave him plenty of time to think about it. Left the decision in Jim’s hands, and had to force down the urge to drag Jim into the precinct locker room when he told him in between calls,

“I want to try. I trust you.”

Instead he had to wait until the end of shift. Had to deal with a potential witness off their face on Gotham’s latest recreational drug, and ruined a brand new pair of socks traipsing around the dockside, following up a lead that proved fruitless. He groaned in relief when the day was finally done, and then groaned for another reason entirely, Jim pressing him against the door of their apartment and proceeding to kiss him senseless.

He grabbed hold of Jim’s tie in response, reversing their positions so that he was the one pushing Jim into the wall, his thigh falling between Jim’s legs as he slid his tie free of his collar in a satisfying rustle of silk against cotton.

“You sure you want to do this?” He asked during a brief respite from kissing, gaze flickering over Jim’s dark eyes and flushed cheeks. “You don’t have to.”

Jim smiled at him, so honest and beautiful it took his breath away,

“I know.”

He kissed Jim all over again. Manoeuvred him into the bedroom and out of most of his clothing, until he was pressing Jim down into soft sheets, kissing and kissing as he reached again for Jim’s tie. Wound it carefully around his head, covering his eyes, and knotted it off center, so that it wouldn’t dig into Jim’s skull.

“All right?” He murmured, peppering chaste kisses along Jim’s jawbone, and Jim nodded slightly. Exhaled shakily and confirmed,

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

Harvey kissed his cheek, once, in reassurance because he knew what a step it was for Jim, to willingly hand over control to somebody else, and then he took a moment to simply admire the view. Trailed his fingertips down Jim’s side, to the waistband of his boxer shorts, and swallowed thickly at the way Jim gasped, startled.

He did it again, and again, then detoured to brush his thumb against a nipple, and when Jim moaned his own restraint faltered, his head dropping to work at it. Jim’s hands came up to tangle in his hair as he started sucking and it was hot, so unbearably hot, especially when Jim gave up on trying to keep his mouth shut.

“Oh God, like that,” he breathed, grip tightening, and Harvey could take orders. Kept at it even as his fingers found the other nub, rolling and pinching, and Jim was squirming and whimpering. “So good,” Jim whined when Harvey switched his attentions, and Harvey smirked widely as he said,

“I haven’t even started yet.”

He took his time. Was in no rush in spite of his aching erection, and made sure to avoid giving Jim’s any stimulation, pulling his hands away whenever they got too close, until Jim was outright begging, hips stuttering up in search of any kind of relief they might encounter.

“Please, Harvey. Please. Touch me, suck me, anything, just please, please, do something.”

How was he supposed to resist a plea like that?

“Shhh, it’s all right,” he soothed, palms stroking over Jim’s flank and down his thighs. Removed his underwear and slid his hands back up, making the same journey with lips and tongue, sucking kisses into the soft flesh of Jim’s inner thighs as Jim got louder and louder. “I’m going to take care of you.”

He set about doing just that, pushing a hand into his own underwear as he breathed in great lungfuls of Jim’s scent. As he lost himself in the taste of him, mouthing his way up the length of Jim’s dick before taking him deep, loving the way Jim cried out and pulled at his hair. The way his hips bucked, helpless, and Harvey reached up to push two fingers to Jim’s lips, a fresh wave of arousal washing over him when Jim sucked at them enthusiastically, tongue teasing at his fingertips.

“Fuck, Jim.”

His own voice was wrecked, ragged, and the sound Jim made when he pressed his fingers to his opening had his dick twitching. Had him straining and desperate, and Jim didn’t help matters by pushing back and moaning like a porn star. By bending his knees and pulling him closer, and when Harvey crooked his fingers just so, Jim cursed like a sailor.

Pleaded for him to keep going, to never stop, and Harvey didn’t know what he had ever done to deserve it. Was thankful beyond measure, all the same, and the way Jim tipped his head back, mouth hanging open, as he pushed into him was enough to have him scrabbling for composure. The way Jim tore the blindfold free, gaze meeting his own, was enough to make him fall in love all over again.

“I need to see you,” Jim said, and Harvey had never heard him like that. There was no restraint, no attempt at hiding how affected he was. “I need you.”

“You got me,” Harvey managed, and it was too intense. He was too worked up, and Jim was too responsive. So ridiculously beautiful that he couldn’t make it last. Couldn’t help himself, and the best he could do was aim for the right angle, Jim’s cries so much of a turn on that he had to push close enough to kiss him.

That was it, that was all he could take, and Jim didn’t seem to need any extra encouragement, his whole body tensing as he came.

Was wiped out afterwards, clingy and affectionate, and Harvey loved Jim in all of his moods but that was definitely one of his favorites. 

"Maybe next time you'll let me cuff you," he suggested when Jim nuzzled in close, and Jim only raised one sleepy eyebrow.

"If anyone's getting tied up, I think it should be you."

Harvey grinned. He was game for it.

Chapter Text

Harvey loved to tease him. Joked and bantered ceaselessly at work, and was absolutely merciless in the bedroom. Drove him out of his mind, got him frantic, and Jim was determined to press his every current advantage.

The other man deserved a taste of his own medicine.

Deserved everything he had to give and more, and Jim wasn’t blind to the way Harvey attempted to turn the tables and, when that failed, to try and keep his undershirt on.

“I want to see you,” he murmured, breath hot against Harvey’s ear and, okay, maybe he was playing dirty because he knew full well that it was Harvey’s weak spot. Knew exactly what it did to him, getting his ear worked over with lips and teeth and tongue, and the moan Harvey couldn’t hold back only made him more desperate.

“Please, I want you, Harvey. Want you so badly.”

Their gaze met, Harvey’s eyes already dark and wanting, and Jim had to kiss him. Had to slide his hands up and under the soft cotton, revelling in the expanses of heated skin. When he pulled away from Harvey’s mouth it was only to suck at the skin of his throat. To rub his cheek against the scratch of beard and then continue downwards, pressing kisses to the freckles along Harvey’s shoulders and the top of one arm.

Licked at the crease of his elbow and mouthed delicately at the pulse point at his wrist. Spent long minutes worshipping his hand, kissing and nuzzling and finally sucking at two fingers, gaze flickering between Harvey’s face, flushed and stricken, and the movement of his other hand, pushed beneath the waistband of his boxers. He moaned around the fingers, helpless, and Harvey tipped his head back, panting,

“Fuck, Jim, you keep doing that and I’m not going to be able to help myself.”

Jim shivered, cheeks burning still hotter, and he forced himself to pull off with a final lick to the pads of his fingertips.

He was on a mission and couldn’t afford to get distracted.

Surged forward to capture Harvey’s mouth again, and tugged at the hand the older man had wrapped around himself, nipping at his bottom lip and saying,

“If you can’t control yourself, maybe I’ll have to restrain you.”

Harvey groaned, the sound tore out of him, and Jim was so hard it was kind of painful. So desperate he felt drunk on it, and he was yanking at the hem of Harvey’s undershirt, frantic, and then had to take a moment just to take in the view. Had to press a hand to his own arousal, couldn't bear it, because the flush was creeping down Harvey’s chest, and the sight was just as breathtaking as he had known it would be.

Just as exciting and Harvey still didn’t get it, just didn’t understand, and Jim wished that he were better with words. Wished that he could explain what a turn on all that pale skin was, and describe the nights he had spent in his lonely bed, touching himself at the idea of having Harvey laid out like this before him. At the memory of his solid weight and broad shoulders, and how he imagined it would feel, to be allowed to put his hands all over him.

Now he was actually living it, and he couldn’t get a words out. Had to settle for letting his fingers wander, exploring, and followed with his mouth, breathing in lungfuls of Harvey’s scent as he kissed and licked and sucked a hickey into the flesh of his hip.

Got rid of the rest of Harvey’s clothing and made sure they were making eye contact when he put his tongue to the head of his dick. Harvey groaned his name, reverent, and it was just as thrilling as it had been the first time. Got him just as eager, just as frantic, and he lost himself in the taste and the feel. In the breathy noises Harvey was making, and the movements of his own hand, pushing him closer and closer until Harvey hauled him up into a kiss, getting a hand around both of them, the extra friction everything he needed.

Had him panting and trembling, desperate, and then he was coming, Harvey working him through it, on and on, until he had to push away, jaw slack as he watched Harvey spill over his own fingers.

“How did I get so lucky?” Harvey asked him after, catching his breath, and Jim still couldn’t find the words. He didn’t know how to convince Harvey that he was the lucky one. That Harvey was everything he had ever wanted, everything he could ever want, and maybe all he could do was keep trying. 

Keep proving it, until Harvey didn't doubt his sincerity. Until he had no doubts, whatsoever, about his attraction to pasty police detectives. 

“You know I love you, right?” He managed, fingers petting at Harvey's hair. “I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it.”

Harvey smiled at him, expression soft, and it made his heart clench. Made him push on, though he was never going to be a wordsmith. 

“And I'm not kidding when I say you really do it for me. I'm not that good an actor.”

Harvey snorted, straddling the line between amused and embarrassed, and Jim kissed him in lieu of waiting for an answer. Knew that Harvey didn't believe him, not really, not yet, but that was okay. 

He wasn't going anywhere. 

Chapter Text

Harvey had made some bad decisions in his life. Had done some criminally stupid things, some stupidly criminal things, and had more regrets than some men had had hot dinners.

None of it compared to waking up with a splitting headache. To turning his head to the side and forcing his eyes open and realizing that he hadn’t gone to bed alone the previous night. To realizing that he wasn’t even in his own bed, and that the face he saw in front of him was really, actually, there, not just some alcohol fuelled nightmare.

“Morning,” Lee groaned with a grimace of her own and that was it. He was moving, staggering, retching his guts up in her pristine bathroom, over and over, because Jim was never going to forgive him.

Jim was going to hate him, despise him, and he had to rest his forehead against the blessed coolness of the tiles. Had to focus on breathing, in and out, and then splashing cold water over his face. On meeting his horrified reflection in the mirror and pulling himself together enough to start apologizing.

Lee was looking calm and collected by the time he emerged. Had brushed her hair and found her robe, and was clutching at a mug of coffee, nothing but the pallor in her cheeks as proof that she had been just as wasted as him the night before.

“You really know how to make a woman feel special,” she told him, not best pleased, and he couldn’t blame her. He deserved all of her derision and more, and could only nod at her, grateful, when she added, “I think it would be best if this stayed between us.”

He felt guilty, all the same, because Jim could be too observant for his own good. Never missed a beat when it came to what Lee was doing, and even sniffed deeply when Harvey shrugged into the jacket he had been wearing the night before, and accused obliviously,

“So that’s why you didn’t want to hang out last night. You had a better offer.”

Harvey attempted a smirk. Tried for his usual wisecracking and banter, but his words fell flat and the smile wouldn’t quite settle. Jim misinterpreted it. Proved again why Harvey was so helplessly devoted to him, and put a hand on his arm, tone painfully sincere as he said,

“If she can’t see what she’s missing, you’re better off without her. Trust me.”

“You’ve been reading Seventeen again, haven’t you?” Harvey mocked, but it was without malice. This was the side of Jim people didn’t see. The side they doubted existed, because Jim came across as gruff and uncaring. Too absorbed in his own problems to have time for anything other than the job.

The truth was that Jim was a good friend. The kind of friend who always had your back, and who wasn’t afraid to sound soppy when the situation called for it. Jim was the best friend he’d ever had, and that was why he had gone to see Lee last night. He knew she still cared about Jim, even after everything that had happened between them, and he had wanted her to reconsider.

Had forced himself not to think about how seeing them back together would break his own heart, and asked that if she couldn’t give Jim another chance, then perhaps at least they could try to be civil. They had to work together, and everyone’s life would be easier if they got on better.

If Jim were happier, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he could take them back again. Lee had been hurt too, he knew that. Had gone through hell and back, and he wasn’t insensitive to the fact. He was just on Jim’s side of the thing. Would always be on Jim’s side, no matter what he did or how dangerous it got, and suddenly they were bonding over it, the agony of being in love with Jim Gordon.

Because he did love Jim. Loved him desperately, as a friend and as a brother. In all the other ways Jim could never know about, and he kept drinking, on and on, listening to Lee exhaust her anger and her tears, and then start talking about what it had been like, to wake up wrapped around Jim every morning. To fall into bed with him each night and it was all kinds of wrong, all kinds of inappropriate, but they had drawn closer and closer, and suddenly Lee was telling him what Jim had been like in bed. His single minded intensity and the things he did with his fingers. The way his hair hung in his eyes, damp with sweat, and the sounds he made when he came, the ones Harvey was ashamed to admit he had strained to overhear, back when Jim had been sleeping on his sofa.

“Perhaps I should just show you,” Lee had breathed, and if he had had any sense he would have gotten out of there. Would have laughed it off or chalked it up to drink induced insanity. But Lee was drunk, and he was plastered, and they ended up on Lee’s bed, his face between her legs, lost in the scent and the feel and the filthy fantasy that they could do this again with Jim present, his tongue chasing the taste of Jim within her as he watched on, face flushed and eyes dark.

In the present Jim’s gaze was just concerned, brow furrowed, and Harvey spent the whole day avoiding questions and plead the world’s worst hangover. Cursed himself for a fool and prayed to God Jim never found out about it. Didn’t know what to do when Jim simply accompanied him home, without a word, and raided his kitchen, made them both dinner, then settled contentedly on his sofa, like it was exactly where he was meant to be.

It was where he was most evenings, at least, and the guilt was so thick in his throat that Harvey couldn’t eat anything. He had never planned to tell Jim about his visit, or that it was made to try and fight his corner. Had kind of assumed it would come out eventually anyway, and hadn’t worried, not overly, because he was sure Jim would come to accept it in the spirit he had meant it in.

This was different though, something else entirely, and Harvey struggled through the next few days, unable to appease Jim’s growing anxiety.

“Are you ill?” Jim tried during their last shift of the week, the genuine worry in his voice making Harvey feel worse than ever. “Has something happened? You would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m fine, Jim,” he said, all false bravado, “you nag worse than my mother.”

“I bet you’d have listened to your mother,” Jim groused back, nudging his shoulder and smiling. “I could see you as a mama’s boy.”

“Feeling brave, are you, partner? You should know better than to bring up a man’s mother.”

Jim smirked, pleased to see him acting more like his old self, and Harvey clung to the sense of normality. Thought helplessly of his mother and conceded that the reality was that he probably would have been, had she lived longer. He managed a real smile then because his mother would have loved Jim. Would have fussed and nagged and hovered over him, and warned him in Jim’s earshot that he had better take good care of him, because people who tried to act tough were always hopelessly fragile.

He was still smiling when they reached their destination, and then it slid off his face because it wasn’t Lucius waiting to talk them through their victim’s autopsy report but Lee. Her face fell at the sight of him too, the pair of them awkward and flustered, and Jim wasn’t blind.

He wasn’t an idiot.

Harvey could feel curious blue eyes on him all through Lee’s professional explanations, and his stomach churned as she bit at her lip, like she was considering saying something. He did his best to hurry the meeting along, to get out of there before the tension grew any thicker, and he was so relieved when they were back on the streets that he began to get careless.

Didn’t notice the messages Jim was sending, nor the meeting he was arranging. Didn’t think anything of it when Jim wandered off when they arrived back at their desks, not beyond the usual pang of loss at the fact Jim was no longer in his immediate eyeline.

Wished he had paid more attention when the sound of raised voices began to filter over the usual noise of the precinct, more and more of those on duty dropping what they were doing in favor of eavesdropping.

On exchanging knowing looks as a seriously irate medical examiner yelled that her private life was absolutely none of Jim’s business.

Harvey was moving before he could think better of it. Before he had had chance to think about the consequences, and the look Jim gave him, the devastation in his eyes when he asked if it was true, turned his skin to ice. Had him groping for something, anything, to say to make it better, and Jim just shook his head, jaw clenched and lips pressed tight together, then turned around and walked away.

There was no screaming, and no yelling. No tears and no threats of violence.

It hurt like nothing he had ever experienced, all the same, and the rest of the day was nothing but a numb blur, punctuated only by the breathless hope every time his cell buzzed, just in case it was Jim trying to contact him.

It wasn’t, though he left Jim too many messages, begging to be allowed to try and explain himself. Went straight to Jim’s place when his shift was over and, when he found it empty, started trawling the bars and the nightclubs, and anywhere else he thought Jim might have gone to. Eventually he was left with no choice but to return to his own apartment, ready for the welcoming embrace of whisky and oblivion, and he near jumped out of his skin when he switched on the light to find Jim sat in his favorite armchair, knees hugged to his chest.

“Why were you sitting in the dark?” He asked, choosing the least painful topic, his throat still aching and his heart thumping.

“How long has it been going on?” Jim countered, and his eyes were rimmed red as though he had been crying. “Do you love her?”

That wasn’t what he had been expecting, weren’t questions he had even considered Jim asking, and all he could do was shake his head stupidly. Stumble forward to sit opposite and only manage to restrain himself at the last moment from reaching out and taking Jim’s hand in his own.

“We were drunk, Jim, that’s all. It didn’t mean anything.”

Jim swiped a hand across his face, silence reigning, and Harvey had to fill it. Rambled, panicked, about how he had only wanted to talk to Lee, to make her see that Jim had only ever done what he thought was right, that he had only ever tried to protect her. That what had happened next was all his fault, and that he shouldn’t think any differently of Lee because of it.

He couldn’t bear to lose Jim’s friendship. Could hardly breathe at the mere idea of Jim hating him. But if this ruined any chance Jim had ever had of making things right with Lee - of Jim being happy… He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jim asked finally, scarcely more than a whisper, and Harvey weighed up his options. He could say that he was ashamed, because he was. That he was embarrassed by his lack of self-control, and worried, just a little, that Jim would want to swing for him. That it would make their working lives difficult, and they would never regain their easy camaraderie.

It all boiled down to the same thing and suddenly he was sick of lying to Jim.

“I was scared of losing you,” he said simply. “Your friendship means everything to me.”

“Clearly,” Jim shot back, justifiably bitter, and Harvey hung his head. Leaned forward until his elbows were resting on his knees, his face in his hands, and he had to fight to keep it together. Had to battle to stop his hands shaking, and to force away the urge to get on his knees and beg for Jim to tell him that it was going to be okay, and that he hadn’t destroyed the only thing that got him out of bed in the mornings.

The only good thing in his life and if this was it, if Jim was never going to speak to him again, he might as well compound the issue.

“I was jealous of her, Jim. I always was.”

“You wanted to hurt her?”

Jim sounded shocked, bewildered, and Harvey forced himself to meet Jim’s eyes. Couldn’t pretend a moment longer, not with Jim in front of him, genuinely trying to understand.

“Of course not. I’m just a drunken old fool, okay? I wanted -” he faltered. Licked his lips and tried again, “It seemed like being with her, being with someone who had been with you…” He shrugged, bracing himself for Jim’s judgement. “It felt like it was the closest I was ever going to get to being with you.”

Jim gaped at him, speechless, and Harvey felt exhausted. Wished that it was all over, that Jim would do what he would - yell, swear, laugh - and leave him alone to wallow in his misery. Wished, conversely, that he could stretch this moment out forever, the last moment before Jim decided he was pathetic as well as past it.

That he wasn’t worth his time, or even his anger.

Instead Jim found his voice. Spoke calmly and clearly as he said,

“I love Lee. I’ll always love Lee.”

It hurt, more than he had expected, but he nodded stiltedly. Jim carried on talking, leaning so far forward he was on the edge of his seat. So earnest it took Harvey’s breath away.

“But I’m not in love with her. Not anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.”

Harvey frowned, disbelieving, and Jim reached out and did what he had so wanted to do earlier, taking his unresisting hand and linking their fingers together.

“When I saw the way you were looking at each other. When I realized…” Jim gave him a self-deprecating half smile, the very same one that had first made him realize how desperately he was in love with him, and finished, “I was jealous of Lee too. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I’m hearing it,” he answered truthfully, heart pounding as he tried and failed not to get his hopes up, “I’m just not sure I’m processing it correctly.”

“I’m in love with you,” Jim clarified and that breathy sound was falling from his own mouth. The giddy happiness was overpowering his senses, and he pushed forward. Ended up on his knees in front of Jim, hands framing his face as he held Jim’s gaze, checking it was true.

Ensuring that he wasn’t dreaming.

Then he was kissing Jim, completely overwhelmed with what it meant. Totally overcome by the knowledge it was Jim he had in his arms. Jim he was touching.

“This is where you're supposed to say it back, you know,” Jim admonished, a wide smile transforming his face, and Harvey didn't care how much of a sap he sounded. Said it over and over, grinning stupidly and punctuating it with soft kisses. 

He had made some bad decisions in his life but this one, coming clean and laying himself bare, wasn't going to be one of them. 

Chapter Text

“Is this someone’s idea of a joke?”

Harvey eyeballed all of the detectives in his immediate vicinity. Kept a lookout for guilty twitches or signs of too knowing amusement. Was met with nothing but a few stifled bursts of surprised laughter and he settled for glaring at each and every one of them, softening only at the sight of Jim’s frown, before storming back to his desk to lick his wounds in private.

He got it. He wasn’t the fittest guy on the Force. Never had been, was never going to be.

That didn’t mean he wanted constant reminders of it. That he was going to simply ignore the fact somebody had left a damn salad on his desk, complete with a patronizing smiley face on a post-it note.

He was still seething when Jim rapped at his door, and if it had been anyone else he would have carried on moping regardless. Jim was one of a kind though. Just the sight of him got his pulse rate up and his stomach fluttering, so he resolved to push all thoughts of his mystery health adviser aside so he could better enjoy a few moments in Jim’s company.

Jim had other ideas.

“Are you going to eat that?” He asked, tentative, and Harvey glowered at the thing.

“Why, you hungry?”

“No, I just,” Jim faltered, rubbed at the back of his neck as he tried again, “Somebody went to the trouble of making it. You might like it, if you try it.”

“Do I look like a rabbit?” He snapped and was suddenly very glad that Jim wasn’t privy to his school years, when a question like that would have been an outright plea to be ribbed mercilessly over the never-ending stream of Bullock cousins on the roll. For the nastier kids to ask if he was doing his best to eat for all the siblings his own parents hadn’t succeeded in giving him.

Instead he pushed on, trying to make sense of Jim’s uncomfortable stance and strange behavior,

“Do you know who left this? You do, don’t you?”

“No. But maybe they were trying to be nice. Maybe they just wanted to make you dinner.”

Harvey only raised an incredulous eyebrow.

Maybe he’d look out the window and see a pig flying by.

Jim broached the subject again that evening, when they were downing a few drinks in the precinct’s closest bar. He must have downed a couple too many because he said more than he otherwise would have. More than he wanted Jim to know because if there was anyone on the face of the planet he didn’t want thinking him a total loser, it was Jim Gordon.

“They probably didn’t think how it would look to you,” Jim said finally, frowning at his beer, and Harvey swallowed down the comeback on the tip of his tongue along with the rest of his drink.

Stranger things had happened.

Except the next day he got back from a meeting with HR to find a wrapped sandwich and a donut on his desk, accompanied by a post it note with a neatly printed ‘sorry for yesterday :(‘. The day after he went to a nearby diner with Jim, but still returned from giving a stressful press interview that afternoon to see somebody had fixed him fresh coffee, paired with an offering of two of his favorite candy bars from the vending machine.

Jim grinned when he stuck his head around the door and caught him eating them, and Harvey fixed him with his best warning look,

“Don’t say a word. It’s been a hard day, all right?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Jim protested, hurt, and Harvey felt a flash of guilt so strong it had him offering the unopened bar to Jim and insisting he sit with him and eat it.

“I’ll have half of it,” Jim agreed finally, “if you have the other half.”

He could do that, it was no hardship, and then he was cursing his poorly thought through word choice because watching Jim eat anything was maddening. Watching Jim rhapsodise over vaguely phallic chocolate was enough to have him shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Jim sucking his fingers clean, the sound almost obscenely loud, was enough to have him breathing heavy, unable to look away as Jim pulled his fingers free and said,

“That was good. Somebody must really like you, huh?”

“I think I like them too,” Harvey said, sincere as he finished off his own half with a flourish, and Jim looked so happy anybody would think he was the one getting bought sweets and pastries.

The truth was that he just wasn’t sure what the reason behind it all was. He had thought it a joke at first, and then chalked it up to whoever it was realizing that, actually, it wasn’t very funny. But he had lunch left for him again on Thursday, some mystery mix of pasta and God knows what that he was dubious about but ate anyway, and then wished that there was more of it.

Friday was the best day. He had the weekend off for once, the prospect of a long lie in, and there was a whole Tupperware container full of home made cookies on his desk, plus a loveheart on the now standard post-it note.

It made him a little giddy to see it, a doubtlessly stupid smile spreading across his features. Somebody liked him, really liked him, and if he had to grill every officer in the station until he found out who it was, well, it was better than making a start on his paperwork.

The problem was that nobody was talking. Wouldn’t admit to having seen anybody loitering or acting suspiciously, and Marten from the front desk told him bluntly he should either work it out himself or wait for them to reveal themselves because,

“That’s the whole point of having a secret admirer. It’s the mystery that’s romantic.”

Tuttle shook his head, crashing everyone down to earth with his usual brand of pessimism, and said,

“You should have taken them down to forensics. It could be someone out to poison you.”

Alvarez sniggered around his own lunch, crumbs clogging the keyboard, and said, “Too late for that. The food is long gone.” He went on in amusement, either oblivious to or simply uncaring of the way Harvey was scowling at him, “Perhaps you’re both right. She must be crazy, whoever she is!”

“Do none of you have anything better to do?” Jim snapped, appearing from nowhere, and Harvey twisted around to look at him.

He hadn’t even known Jim had finished at his latest crime scene.

People began to get back to work, albeit with bitter muttering, and Jim’s cheeks were still flushed with righteous anger. It was enough to make Harvey feel guilty, almost, for wasting time and he polished off the last but one cookie - Alvarez didn’t have the first idea what he was talking about - as he steered Jim away and asked him to bring him up to date on the case.

“Maybe you could stop by later?” Jim suggested after outlining the basics and when Harvey hesitated, he added, “I’d really appreciate your input.”

The reality was that he was trying to be less pathetic when it came to Jim. Was attempting to follow the advice of the bartender at his favorite watering hole - the closest thing he’d had to a good friend before Jim turned his life upside down - and give Jim chance to finish moving on from Lee and meet somebody.

Jim was ready for it. He could talk about and, more importantly, to her now without tearing up, and he could go weeks without mentioning her name in a context outside an autopsy report. He needed somebody in his life, deserved somebody who was going to be completely devoted to him, and he wasn’t likely to find them with Harvey at his side.

He was too obvious, tongue lolling at the sight of Jim’s trim waist and handsome face. He couldn’t keep his eyes off him, nor his hands, and the inclusion of drink in the equation only made it worse. He was forever touching Jim; putting an arm around a shoulder or smacking a kiss to his cheek. Sitting too close and glaring daggers at anyone who had the audacity to try and steal Jim's attention away from him.

Mooned over him, maudlin, and generally acted like a lovesick teenager.

“I thought you’d be going out tonight,” was what he actually said, aiming for casual, and Jim met his gaze properly. Turned those big blue eyes on him and he was lost, all his good intentions forgotten.

“If you’re busy, it’s okay.”

Harvey swallowed and shook his head, feeling drunk on the strength of the connection it seemed only he could feel between them.

“I’m not busy. I’ll be there.”

A few hours later he was stood at the door of Jim’s apartment, heart hammering in helpless anticipation. He had been home to shower and change, and it was way too easy to imagine this was a date. That Jim was going to greet him with a smile and a kiss, and that he would be allowed to return the favor. To hold Jim in his arms and tell him how stupidly beautiful he was looking.

Because he was. There might have been no kiss when Jim pulled the door open, but his smile was absolutely stunning. He had changed too, into dark jeans and a black top that clung to his biceps, and he smelled of soap and some fancy cologne that made Harvey doubt himself.

“Did you change your mind about going out? I don’t want to hold you up, Jim.”

Jim frowned, confused, and Harvey waved a hand to encapsulate his entire get up.

“You’re looking very put together just to keep me company.”

He watched as Jim’s expression changed, the frown becoming a pleased smile. It was like the sun emerging from behind rain clouds, or something equally as ridiculous.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, you know,” Jim said, voice soft, and Harvey felt the color hit his cheeks, unable to do a damn thing about it, because maybe he had been through half his closet trying to find something that he didn’t completely hate the look of himself in. Jim just carried right on smiling up at him, so perfect it was all he could do not to throw caution to the wind and kiss him anyway.

He wasn’t that much of a masochist.

Instead he started rambling about the case, about the half formed ideas he had been considering as he got ready, and it wasn’t until he’d set up base on Jim’s sofa that he realized there was no sprawl of notes and files. None of the usual debris was cluttering up the place, even, and he was suddenly all too aware of the appetizing smell of food cooking.

Jim handed him a drink - poured into an actual glass, no less - and said, like it was nothing,

“Dinner should be ready in ten minutes.”

He flitted back and fore between the living space and the kitchen, and finally emerged with two plates of food that looked entirely edible. Harvey felt a little guilty at the thought. Jim was a grown man, of course he was capable of cooking and taking care of himself. He had just never seen Jim do the former, and he was forever butting in and attempting to take over the latter.

“This is really good,” he praised, to make up for it, and his heart twisted in his chest at Jim’s bashful look of pleasure.

“I’ve had plenty of practice recently.”

“Yeah, what have you made me for dessert then?” Harvey asked, light and joky, and the look Jim gave him in response took his breath away. Had him putting two and two together and coming up with fifty because it was so obvious he didn’t know how he had missed the signs.

So impossible that he could scarcely allow himself to contemplate it.

Jim put his plate down and sucked in an audible breath. Was flushing all across his pretty face and down his neck as he said, voice not quite steady,

“I was kind of hoping I’d be sweet enough.”

It was such a terrible line. So unspeakably awful coming from Jim’s lips and, really, the entire scenario spoke of another’s involvement. A cheesy self-help manual, or else some questionable dating guide Jim had found on the internet. Jim looked so desperately embarrassed when he laughed at it, all the same, and Harvey put his own plate down.

Moved to sit beside Jim and slid a hand into his hair, to cradle his skull, exactly the way he had so often wanted to do. Just that simple touch sent sparks through him. Had him overwhelmed with how perfect it felt, the heat of Jim’s skin and the soft slide of his hair.

“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” he said, lost in Jim’s gaze, trying to make Jim understand that this was more than he had ever imagined. That not even in his wildest dreams, his most far out fantasies, had he let himself believe that not only could Jim come to want him, but that he would think he needed to try and win him over.

Jim broke eye contact briefly, gaze flickering to his lips and then back, and Harvey all but shivered at the wave of want that washed over him. He wanted to kiss Jim. Wanted to hold him tight and never ever let him go.

“I’m no good at this sort of thing,” Jim confessed, somewhat redundantly. “All my life I’ve gone straight from one relationship to another, and I’ve messed up every single one of them. I - I tried to do it properly because I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to mess us up.”

“Oh, Jim,” he breathed, utterly charmed, and leaned forward to kiss him. Had to kiss him again and again because it was so good, so right, and when he finally did pull back it was only to rest their foreheads together. “I would never let that happen.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you on Monday,” was Jim’s response, like he didn’t quite trust that he hadn’t started messing things up already.

“I know,” Harvey promised, kissing him in reassurance. “I shouldn’t have been so paranoid.” Kissed him again, already knowing that he’d never get enough of it, and added, “If you feel like baking me more cookies though, you should know that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Yeah?” Jim asked, gaze straying to the dinner plates they had managed to almost clear, in spite of all the revelations and tension.

Harvey gave him his most winning smile.

“Definitely.”

Chapter Text

“If you don’t behave,” Jim said, batting a pair of wandering hands away, “I’m going to have to restrain you.”

He was only joking, smile quirking his lips as he spoke, but the look it put on Harvey’s face had him really thinking about it. Had him envisioning Harvey spread out before him, at his mercy, and suddenly it was a struggle just to draw breath, let alone keep the color out of his cheeks and the cut of his suit presentable.

He thought about it all through his morning paperwork, and he thought about it as he slapped the cuffs on some lowlife they picked up down in the East End, because Harvey met his eye as he was doing it. Pushed a hand through his hair, like he needed to take a moment to compose himself, and Jim had never wished harder for a shift to be over.

Had never been gladder when the day was finally done, and he pulled Harvey to him behind a pillar in the car park, fingers twisted tight in the other man’s tie, absolutely desperate to get his hands on him. To press their lips together, and Harvey kissed him back, hard and passionate, before breaking away to tell him, breathless,

“Come on, partner. Quicker we get home, the quicker you can show me your technique, yeah?”

Jim nodded, the movement awkward and clumsy, and he had to force himself to focus on the journey, on looking like a respectable law enforcement officer, because he wanted so badly it made him feel light headed. Had him aching, dripping, and he stumbled up the stairs of Harvey’s apartment building, the back of his neck already burning.

He didn’t waste any time once they were finally alone. Kissed him frantically as he tugged at knots and buttons and fastenings, throbbing at the way Harvey let him, the easy submission sending wave after wave of heat over him.

“On the bed,” he managed when he had succeeded in stripping Harvey to the waist. “Hold onto the headboard.”

“Yes Officer,” Harvey smirked, gaze heated, and Jim couldn’t help the shudder the words sent through him. It was all kinds of wrong - all kinds of inappropriate - but from Harvey’s mouth it was so hot he couldn’t think straight.

Couldn’t look away from the sight in front of him, because Harvey never failed to drive him out of his mind. Knew precisely where to touch and how to get him frantic. Used all his experience to have him begging and pleading before he had even begun plotting how to turn the tables.

Now he was going to get his chance, and he had to bite at his lip as he cuffed Harvey’s wrists to the bed frame, then concentrated on trailing his fingertips up the lengths of Harvey’s arms. He did it again and again, the touch barely there, until a stifled gasp fell from Harvey’s lips and he hardly recognized the sound of his own voice as he said,

“Maybe if you start talking, I won’t need to play bad cop.”

Harvey grinned at him, filthy and encouraging, and Jim didn’t know where it was coming from. He had never been the adventurous type, not behind closed doors, and whenever the topic had been broached before it only sounded awkward and embarrassing. Harvey had never pushed him though, never made him feel like anything he did was lacking, and it was such a heady mixture - lust and love and trust - that he had to kiss Harvey deeply.

Had to feel that connection, and when he moved on to Harvey’s jaw, to his throat, he could hear the smile in Harvey’s voice when he said,

“I bet they never taught you this at the academy.”

“You’d be surprised,” he answered, because he could do mysterious, and he was sure Harvey would have had another wisecrack at the ready if he hadn’t dropped his head and laved a tongue against his nipple, suitably distracting him. He worked at the other with his fingers, pinching and rubbing, because he knew Harvey was more sensitive there than he was, and he had spent plenty of boring stakeouts wondering how Harvey would react to overstimulation.

Vocally, was the answer, and Jim thrilled at every curse and moan he tore from Harvey. Only grew more enthusiastic, and Harvey was groaning, hips shifting, and all he did was switch his attentions between them, his mouth licking and sucking at one reddened nub, while his fingers never ceased their explorations of the other.

“Oh God,” Harvey near whined when he made as if to move on, only to roll both with his palms, and Jim shivered with the sudden rush of realization.

He was in control, could do whatever he wanted, and if he decided to tease Harvey all night, there was nothing Harvey could do about it. Harvey knew it too, could read him better than anyone - than himself, sometimes - and told him, voice rough,

“I’m in your hands, Jim. There is absolutely nowhere I would rather be.”

It was all the encouragement he needed. He was tugging at Harvey’s belt buckle, removing the rest of his clothing, and then he was charting every freckle on the pale skin before him. Was admiring the almost painful looking flush down his chest, and the way his thighs quivered, when he feathered his fingers closer and closer to his erection.

When the cuffs clanked against the headboard, Harvey’s arms straining, and when he raised his head to look at Jim, to see what he was doing, eyes hooded and bottom lip swollen where he kept biting at it. He did it again as Jim maintained eye contact and swiped his tongue over the head of Harvey’s dick, tasting precome.

“Jim, fuck,” Harvey swore, squirming at the brief touch, and Jim was so turned on he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. Was hurriedly ridding himself of his own clothing, and then went back to breathing against Harvey’s dick. Watched in fascination as another drop of precome formed, and Harvey never could keep quiet, his words only serving to stoke Jim higher,

“I want to touch you so badly right now. You have no idea, Jim, no idea what you do to me. All day I’ve thought of nothing but you. The way you look at me, the way you roll your shoulders at your desk, groaning the same way you do when I’ve got my mouth on you. You’re so hot, you know that?”

Jim rewarded him with a sucking kiss to the base of his dick, then another, and another, working his way up the shaft and giving a solitary lick to the head before raising an eyebrow.

“You were telling me about how hot I am?”

“Jesus,” Harvey breathed, hips stuttering as Jim quit teasing and began sucking in earnest, “I always knew you’d have a filthy mouth on you. I seen you pouting, that first day, and I wanted to see your lips wrapped around my dick. Wanted to hear what you’d say when I had my mouth on yours. I fucking love your dick, Jim. Come here, let me suck you. Please, fuck, please. I need to taste you.”

It was kind of awkward, not the easiest arrangement, but he couldn’t deny a request like that. Pushed his forehead against the wall and watched as Harvey took him deep, his knees either side of Harvey’s shoulders and Harvey moaning around him like a porn star, pulling helplessly at the restraints and groaning encouragingly every time his own control slipped and his hips bucked forward.

He was so turned on, so achingly hard, and he had to pull back because it was too much. It was too good, and if he didn’t he was going to come in the wet heat of Harvey’s mouth. Harvey groaned in protest, and it was a tangle of limbs as he attempted not to knee Harvey anywhere too sensitive as he crushed their mouths together desperately. Chased the taste of Harvey underneath the taste of himself, and when he found it he couldn’t get enough.

Could never get enough because in spite of what the older man might say, Harvey was the one who was hot. He was the one with the gorgeous blue eyes, and the expanses of skin that never failed to get him worked up and panting. He was the one with the criminally perfect mouth, and all that hair Jim loved to run his hands through.

He had his fingers tangled in it now, petting and caressing, and he knew Harvey liked it. Had listened to his breathing grow unsteady as Jim played with it when they sat together on the sofa in the living room, and seen the flush on his cheeks when he scratched his fingertips through the scruff of his beard, eyelids growing heavy like he was drunk on the sensation.

Jim tried it now before mouthing at Harvey’s throat, scraping his teeth lightly over the hickey he was raising, and the desperation in Harvey’s cry made his mind up. Within moments he was scrabbling in the nightstand for the lube and, when he reached his slicked fingers behind him, he shuddered at the sound of Harvey’s drawn out,

“Fuuuck.”

The angle was off, his movements clumsy, but it didn’t matter. It was going to be so much better in a few moments. Was going to be absolutely mind blowing, and he gave Harvey a few slick tugs before rolling the condom down.

Sex with Harvey was always good, because Harvey knew exactly what he was doing. Could work him like he came with a manual, and Jim wanted to repay that a little. He wanted to watch Harvey’s face as he made him come and, when he explained his plan out loud, sliding down slowly until he was fully seated, Harvey near whimpered and said shakily,

“I really don’t think it’s going to take long, Jim.”

That was okay, that was more than okay, because he was so close he had no idea how he would ever last more than a few minutes. He rocked, squirmed a little, and the noises Harvey was making were pornographic. His own weren’t much better, especially when he found the perfect angle, Harvey hitting that perfect place within him.

He was moving without hesitation, desperate, and Harvey fucked up into him, pushing his feet into the mattress for leverage until Jim was gasping with every thrust. Was tightening his grip around himself and jerking harder, faster, sweat streaking his face as he kept up the frantic pace. Harvey didn’t let up either, and even cuffed and pinned he still gave as good as he got, turning his greatest weapon on him, panting as he said,

“That’s it, yes, fuck. You love it, don’t you? You love having my dick inside you; you love the feeling of me fucking you like this, don't you?”

“Yes.”

He came, spasming and sobbing, and Harvey rolled his hips. Kept working him through it even as the sweat trickled down the sides of his own face. Jim panted for breath, shaking, overwhelmed, and then he ground down, groaning loudly. Did it again, Harvey’s hips stuttering, rhythm all over the place, and that was so insanely hot, knowing that he’d done that. Knowing that he was pushing Harvey closer and closer, and he reached for Harvey’s nipples with sticky fingers.

Pinched and tormented, and Harvey was losing it beneath him. Thrusting up wildly into the grinding movements of his own hips, and head arching back, eyes clenched tight shut against the raw pleasure.

“Harvey,” Jim managed, voice wrecked, “Oh, God, please Harvey, come for me.”

He did, mouth hanging open and a cry lingering in the air.

Jim drew it out as best he could with small movements, on and on, until Harvey begged him to stop. That he couldn’t take any more and then he finally shifted, wincing, and captured Harvey’s mouth, needing to kiss him. Groped blindly for his catch on the cuffs and then rubbed at Harvey’s abused arms and wrists, knowing that they had to be aching. The cuffs had dug deep into his wrists where he had been pulling against them, and Jim worked his thumbs in small circles on first one, then the other.

“Don’t apologize,” Harvey said, forestalling him, and moved to cup Jim’s face. “The damn things could have cut me to ribbons and I still wouldn’t have wanted you to stop. That was amazing.”

“But -” Jim started, all the same, and Harvey silenced him with a kiss, soft and slick and slow, and then said again,

“Amazing.”

“Just like you then,” Jim said, unable to help himself, and Harvey only laughed and kissed him again as they cleaned up, then pulled him in close. Held him and coddled him, and Jim returned it in equal measure. Squirmed in closer still and told Harvey that it was true and that he had better accept it.

Otherwise he'd be forced to take punitive action.

Chapter Text

The realization crept up on him slowly, in total contrast to the initial recognition that he had fallen for his partner. That had hit him like a sledgehammer, knocking the breath from his lungs and turning his life upside down. He had believed he could deal with it, all the same.

That he could work alongside Jim, day after day, and keep his feelings to himself.

He couldn’t.

It was driving him insane, proving absolute torture, because Jim was perfect. Was everything he had ever wanted, everything he could ever imagine wanting, and being so close to him and yet so far away was killing him. It was the not knowing that was the worst. The devastating sparks of hope that kept him continually on edge, taunting him with what could be, if only he had the courage to lay himself open to the very real risk of rejection.

Jim would say no, he was 99% certain. Why wouldn’t he? Harvey had nothing to offer him, not really, and Jim was the kind of guy who could walk into a club and leave with anyone he wanted. But at least he would know - at least he could stop torturing himself - and his heart hammered in his chest even as he asked Jim if he wanted to go for a drink that evening, just the same as he had a thousand times before.

It wasn’t the same though, far from it, and he spent an embarrassingly long time getting ready, as though his choice in shirt was all that stood between a neverending life of bachelordom and being completely, ridiculously, happy.

The bar was still quiet when he arrived, early for perhaps the first time ever, and he downed a double whiskey or three, in need of some Dutch courage. It took the edge off his nerves, softened the world at the corners, and when Jim walked through the door he didn’t try to hide the stupid grin the sight engendered.

Jim, if possible, was looking better than usual. He had changed too, his shirt bringing out the blue of his eyes, and Harvey thought the easy smile on his face made him look younger, freer somehow. It made his stomach clench, his heart twist, to think that he was the cause of that smile, and then -

Then it felt like he had been doused in cold water because Jim wasn’t alone, and he wasn’t smiling at him. He hadn’t even noticed him yet, too caught up in conversation with his companion, and Harvey hadn’t spent almost his entire adult life in the police force without learning how to put two and two together. He knew what the subtle touching meant, and the adoring look on Jim’s face.

It was the same look he had given Barbara, and later Lee Thompkins. It was the look he had so long dreamed of seeing directed at him and it hurt so much worse than he had prepared himself for, to be confronted with proof that it was never going to happen.

“This is Chris,” Jim introduced when the pair made their way over, “we served together in Afghanistan.”

Harvey was sure that wasn’t all they had done together, taking in Chris’ muscled frame and magazine cover good looks with a brittle smile. Chris held a hand out, all calm confidence, and said with the kind of politeness that made his own lack of manners that little more pathetic,

“Nice to meet you. Jim’s told me so much about you.”

“Shame I can’t say likewise,” he said in turn, meaning it equally for both statements, and the guy’s smile didn’t even falter. He just nudged Jim with his shoulder, tone fond, and sighed,

“Sounds like Jim.”

Harvey drank too much that night. Kept drinking long after Jim and Chris disappeared for the night, Jim pausing to thank him sincerely for being so understanding. So accepting, and that only made the outcome of the evening inevitable.

He was a complete mess by the time he got back to his apartment. He couldn’t see straight, couldn’t walk straight, and when he woke in the morning the pounding in his head was so bad he wished he hadn’t. Then the memories of the night before began to filter back to him and he really wished he had simply checked out without ever regaining consciousness.

It was all hyperbole, of course. Wasn’t so very bad when he’d had time to get accustomed to the idea.

That was what he told himself, at any rate, and Jim started bringing Chris everywhere. Invited him to join them for dinner, sometimes, and turned up on his doorstep with him for their regular schedule of pizza and beer. Didn’t seem to think it would be in any way awkward, and Chris appeared only too happy to humor Jim, as though Harvey’s presence was no threat to the bond between them.

It wasn’t, that was the reality, and one night he caught sight of their shared reflection, and cursed himself for a fool for ever considering that anyone might think differently. There was no contest, no comparison, and when he turned to look at the two of them together it was with the recognition that they made a handsome couple. That he had never had a chance, not outside of his misguided fantasies, and that he deserved all of the heartache he was now experiencing.

Because Jim beamed like his face was fit to split when Chris met him from work after a long shift, and out of hours updated all of his social media statuses while Chris flooded his timelines with cutesy couple photographs that made Harvey feel sick with jealousy.

“We had to keep it a secret in the army,” Jim explained to him one mercifully Chris free evening, sinking a few beers in front of his ancient television, “and it got too much in the end. It’s hard to live a lie all the time.”

Jim wasn’t wrong on that score, and he felt suddenly guilty for the way he had been behaving. If this was what Jim wanted, if Chris was what made Jim happy, he was just going to have to get used to it. Was going to have to suck it up and be supportive, and he forced himself to pull his hand away at the last moment, settling for saying,

“I know I’m not the best at showing it, but I’m happy for you, Jim. I’m glad things worked out for you.”

He would have said more, would have clarified further, but the words wouldn’t come. He could scarcely swallow around the lump of emotion in his throat, even, and Jim didn’t even bother with words, preferring to all but lunge at him, hugging him tight in gratitude.

It undid him, having Jim in his arms, and he had to excuse himself when Jim pulled away. Had to brace himself against the bathroom sink and attempt to regain some kind of control over himself. Jim was happy, Jim was taken, and, if he couldn’t handle it, the best thing he could do was put enough space between them that he didn’t ruin everything.

He tried, really he did. Went back to spending time in his old hangouts, the dive bars and the dingy back rooms, all the same old faces lined with the same old regrets, like he had never broken away in the first place. When that didn’t help he worked late. Put in hour after hour, until he could go home and fall asleep exhausted before starting over again.

Even then he got no respite. His dreams were full of Jim’s pretty face and the warmth of his body heat, and his days were beset with Jim’s concern, worry writ clear in his big blue eyes.

Jim tried to talk to him, and to ask if anything was wrong. Tried over and over again, but Harvey couldn’t bear it. Because one night he listened, careful and intent, as Jim rambled about the pros and cons of really committing to his relationship with Chris, nodding in the right places, and promising that no matter what happened he was always going to be there for him. The next he refused to meet Jim’s eyes, hating himself for his lack of control, encouraging him in his doubts and his second guessing until he finally succeeded in getting enough of a grip to tell him he ought to just go home and get on with things, pretending he couldn’t see the hurt Jim didn’t cover quickly enough.

One night he was perfectly civil to Chris, made strained small talk and even thanked him for making Jim so happy. The next the envy clawed at him, all encompassing, and he excused himself early with a bitter ‘three’s company’, and warned Chris when Jim was out of earshot that if he hurt him he knew every spot in the city where a body could lie for years without being discovered.

It was Chris who actually broached the subject. Accosted him at the annual public open day, and Harvey felt more of an outsider than ever. Stood on the bylines as his usually dour colleagues were transformed into proud parents and grateful children, devoted spouses and pillars of the community. Watched as Jim introduced Bruce and Alfred to one of the dog handlers, almost relaxed about the lumbering German Shepherd shedding hair all over his best suit jacket.

“He’s worried about you,” the man said, entirely uninvited, and Harvey schooled his expression into something approaching neutral. “He thinks you’re avoiding him.”

“I’ve been busy,” Harvey said defensively, gaze fixed on Jim’s encouraging smile directed at Bruce, his easy interaction with the two men who had become his friends, “the streets don’t police themselves.”

“I get that you don’t like me,” Chris responded, proving that he wasn’t even doing a good job in that department, “but this isn’t going to be like last time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Harvey dug his blunt fingernails into his palms, fighting for composure, and gave it his best public relations smile,

“I don’t remember asking you to.”

He avoided Chris for the rest of the day. Avoided Jim too, but they still kept finding him, giving him a front seat view of half smiles and barely there touches. Gave him nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and he had no choice but to watch on, ice in his veins, as Chris dropped to one knee right there, in front of everyone, Jim flushing bright red and the sound of cell phone cameras snapping all over the place.

It was like the world slowed down, like he was watching frame by frame, the way Alvarez gaped, disbelieving, and the way one of the rookies who worked traffic clapped her hands together and squealed, swept away by the supposed romance of the thing. The way Chris pulled a ring from his back pocket and the way Jim’s eyes met his own, just for a moment.

He didn’t wait for Jim’s answer. Didn’t need the sight of happy kisses and love declarations etched into his memory, and pushed through the crowds without a backwards glance. Blinked back shameful tears and picked up as much drink on the way home as he could carry, slamming the door behind him and cranking up his sound system as loud as it would go.

Fished his stash of medicinal cigarettes from their hiding place and set about getting wasted.

Played all the same records he had sobbed to when his first serious girlfriend he had walked out on him. When Jim would have been just a kid, and he was still young and dumb enough to believe that one day she would come to regret it.

She was married to some hotshot lawyer last he heard, with three kids and a swanky beach house for the weekends.

He was sprawled on his threadbare couch, nothing but a dead houseplant and the angry pounding of his next door neighbor’s fist for company. He wished he could turn the music up louder, just to annoy the guy, and when the banging moved from the wall to the door, accompanied by a threat to call the police, he only yelled back at him to carry on and do whatever the fuck he wanted.

Harvey didn’t care. Didn’t give a shit about what a noise nuisance call out might do for his career, and drained the whiskey bottle in his hand just so he could throw the bottle against the door in retaliation. It shattered, shards exploding all over the carpet, and he laughed, half hysterical. Sobbed, helpless, and when the banging started up again he lost his temper and hauled himself up to open it. Was ready to remind the idiot of all the nights he had blasted his own vastly inferior music choices, and instead found Jim staring back at him, jaw clenched and shoulders set with the familiar look of determination. “

We need to talk,” Jim said, and Harvey just waved him in, suddenly exhausted. Slumped back into his seat and didn’t protest when Jim twisted the dial down until the guitar riffs were barely audible.

“Congratulations,” he managed, wishing his head was clearer and that the world wouldn’t insist on spinning. “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating? Or in celebrating, that’s probably the done thing -”

“I said no,” Jim cut in and moved to sit beside him. Sighed deeply and rested his elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. “I just couldn’t do it.”

Harvey didn’t know what to do. Struggled to formulate an acceptable response when one half of him wanted to punch the air in triumph, and the other wanted to pull Jim close and kiss him senseless. Neither option was suitable, but his hand was on Jim’s shoulder before he could think better of it.

“It’s a big commitment,” he said, groping for the kind of thing someone who wasn’t so disgustingly pleased about the situation might say. “Maybe you just need time to think about it.”

Jim gave no indication he had heard a word of it, instead speaking quietly, almost to himself,

“Everyone was watching, everyone could see, and all I could think was that if he had really understood me - if we were really right for each other - he would have known that that was my worst nightmare.”

Jim hated workplace PDAs, Harvey knew, at least the kind that made people watch and gossip. He figured it was some hang up from the army, or else part of his boy scout ‘time on the clock is sacrosanct’ mentality. He certainly wouldn’t have done something like that in front of everyone, if he had been the one proposing, but he had the advantage of having seen Jim freak out over it with Lee and, besides, the only proposals he was making were in his lovesick daydreams.

“I tried to explain it to him,” Jim was saying, sounding so miserable that Harvey had to push closer. Wrapped his arm around Jim properly and swallowed thickly when Jim responded by leaning against him. His voice was small when he finished, “He was upset, lost his temper. He said that you would never have done it that way and that we both knew that was the real problem. He said that you hated him and that I couldn’t even hide how happy it made me.”

He couldn’t make sense of what Jim was telling him. Was too drunk, was too lost in the sensation of having him so close. What was clear was how upset Jim was, and he pressed a kiss to his temple without any consideration of what a terrible idea it was. Pressed another to his cheek, and then another to the corner of his lips. Kissed him properly and Jim responded, kissed him back, just for a moment, and it was everything he had ever dreamed it would be.

Then Jim was on his feet and he was stumbling over himself attempting to apologize. Was failing miserably and Jim was gone, and he was left alone. Twisted the dial right back up again and passed out in spite of it, waking up late in rumpled clothes with the hangover from Hell.

His inbox was bursting, missed messages galore, and he started checking some of them as he climbed the steps to the precinct. Frowned in sympathy at the number of links he had been sent to footage of Jim turning down a marriage proposal in front of everyone he knew. It was on the website of the local newspaper, even, and somebody whose identity he could take a guess at had festooned Jim’s desk in cheesy wedding decorations.

He swiped all of it into the waste paper basket, daring anyone to challenge him, and then went to lay his head against his own desk for a few moments and pray for death.

There was a rap at the door and he didn’t even look up as he called for them to come in. Took a few steadying breaths and braced himself for some new disaster, only to find Jim setting a cup of coffee and a bottle of water on his desk.

“I never got around to asking last night,” Jim said conversationally, dropping in to the nearest seat without being invited, “why were you drinking yourself into oblivion?”

“I thought you were getting married,” he answered bluntly, too ill to obfuscate. He distinctly remembered planting numerous unasked for kisses on Jim, it was too late for either of them to claim they didn’t know what he was talking about. Too late for him to take it back, and all he could do was pick up where they had left off the night before, with him grovelling for Jim’s forgiveness. “I’m sorry about, you know. I’d had a lot to drink.”

“Was that the only reason?”

He looked up sharply then wished he hadn’t. Had to rub at his temples and watched as Jim opened the water and handed it over, along with a painkiller. Took them gratefully and weighed up his options as he swallowed the pill. It had to be done, he realized finally.

It was way overdue.

“You know it wasn’t.”

Jim just nodded, seemingly satisfied, and said,

“Good. I'd say we should go for a drink to celebrate, but I think you're going to need to lay off the stuff for a few days.”

“You're going to have to help me out here, Jim,” he responded helplessly, the throbbing in his head warring with the fluttering in his stomach, “what are we celebrating?”

Jim clambered to his feet and put a hand on his shoulder, friendly, and glanced over his paperwork. Leaned in ever so slightly too close and said, like it was obvious,

“Us.”

Then he was gone, yelling for Alvarez to hurry up because they had a call out, and Harvey was left to sip at the coffee - fixed just the way he liked it - and smile as stupidly as his hangover would let him. 

Jim was going to be the death of him, no question, but as deaths went, it was going to be beautiful.

Chapter Text

The invite had been mocking him for almost three weeks now, complete with the dreaded question about his intended plus one. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go - he did, he loved his family, and there was going to be an open bar besides - but they still hadn’t forgiven him for messing things up with Scottie. Kept badgering him, endlessly, about how he needed somebody in his life. How he needed someone to devote himself to.

What they didn’t understand was that he had already found someone.

Someone drop dead gorgeous and unflinchingly generous. Caring and kind hearted, and braver than anyone he had ever known.

They also happened to be completely uninterested in being the subject of his devotion, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. Jim was his friend, at least, and if it wasn’t everything he wanted, in some ways it was so close it was painful. Had only become closer in recent weeks, and Jim being comfortable enough to wrap an arm around him, or fall asleep pressed against him on the sofa was exquisite torture.

It had him struggling to remember that friends were all they were ever going to be, and when Kathleen rang and demanded to know whether or not he was going to be attending the wedding, because she was stressed enough without worrying about not having enough food to go around, he sucked it up and hammered the final nail into the coffin of his dreams of getting to introduce Jim as his significant other and simply asked if he would go with him as moral support.

“You want me to meet your family?” Jim asked, incredulous, and that stung more than it had any right to. His family were kind of nutty, it was true, but so was everyone’s if you dug deep enough.

“Well, yeah,” he answered, going for casual. “You don’t have to.”

Jim just beamed at him, suggesting maybe he had misinterpreted his response, and said eagerly,

“I’d love to.”

He puzzled over the reaction occasionally over the next few days, not least because Jim kept asking questions about what he should bring and what he should wear, until he was forced to point out that it wasn’t going to be the kind of fancy pants ceremony he had been planning to have with Barbara or Lee. Jim only nodded and shrugged, and moved straight on to asking how he was related to each and every person likely to be in attendance.

“There was just me and Roger growing up,” Jim explained over a few beers. “Uncle Frank didn’t have any kids and all my mom’s family were back in Chicago.”

Harvey couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, not really. He hadn’t had any siblings of his own but it had hardly mattered. His one aunt had lived three doors down, and the other three were all within walking distance. Everybody was in and out of everyone else’s business, constantly, and he had so many cousins even his mother had sometimes struggled to keep track of all of them.

He had never been alone as a kid, had never known how awful it could be until he was stuck staring at the walls of dive bars and his dive of an apartment night after night. Until he started throwing himself at anyone who would tolerate him, until he started paying for company, anything rather than having to admit how lonely he felt.

“Do you think they’ll like me?” Jim asked after the drink had put some rather fetching color in his cheeks, pulling him from his maudlin thoughts, and Harvey’s heart kind of twisted in his chest at the earnestness.

“How couldn’t they?” Harvey asked in turn, drink loosening his own tongue, and Jim’s bashful little smile was completely worth it.

Putting a smile on Jim’s face was the kind of thing he lived for, but when he went to pick Jim up that Saturday all the wisecracks he had been working on deserted him because Jim was wearing a new suit and had been for a haircut. Looked like some kind of movie star, and the filter between his brain and his mouth failed, the words spilling between them,

“Hot damn, you hoping to get laid tonight, are you?”

Jim smirked, helpless, and Harvey swore silently that if anyone so much as looked in Jim’s direction he’d kill them, family or no. Couldn’t stop himself from touching Jim, laying claim to him, with a hand on the small of his back as he steered him into the church, and he sat too close during the nuptial Mass, Kathleen sniffling loudly into a wad of tissues the entire time at the sight of her youngest slowly becoming a married woman.

So slowly Jim was fidgeting all over the place by the halfway point, and more than one kid had taken to crawling between the pews, bored out of their tiny minds. His Great Auntie Pat whacked one over the head with the order of service, still sprightly - and vicious - at 97, and the resultant wailing really added a special something to Communion.

From there it was onwards and upwards, three blocks over to the reception venue, and frantic whispering about how much longer it was likely to be before the buffet opened. Kathleen was back in control of herself, just as fearlessly no nonsense as she had been during their childhood, and she pulled Jim into a crushing hug when he made the introductions, saying,

“It’s about time, I was beginning to think you were a product of his overactive imagination.”

Harvey glared at her, warningly, but Jim seemed oblivious. Laughed politely and Harvey managed to give him instructions about what to get him from the bar before he was beset by kids, damn kids everywhere, and he had no choice but to give up the pretence that he wasn’t thrilled to be so enthusiastically greeted by yet another generation of Bullocks. Had long accepted his role as drunken uncle, and it wasn’t until the bride came over to rescue him that he realized something had been lost in translation when he had sent back his RSVP slip.

“I’m so happy for you, Uncle Harvey,” Shannon told him after he’d congratulated her and hugged her, and praised the dress like all Godfathers who liked their face in its current arrangement knew how to, “look how cute he is!”

He followed her gaze to where Jim was struggling to balance drinks, answer his Uncle Eamon’s yelled questions and seem interested in one of his cousin Patrick’s rambling tales of how much money he had been forced to spend on his own children’s weddings.

Jim looked adorable. And hot. Really really hot.

“We’re just work colleagues,” he pointed out, regretfully, and she winked.

“Of course you are.”

That was how it went all afternoon, with everybody from his cousin Sheila’s latest husband to the distant cousin he hadn’t seen his mother’s funeral congratulating him with winks and nudges, so that even Jim couldn’t be in any doubt as to what they thought their relationship was. He blushed and cringed, and tried to shield Jim from the worst of it, until the humiliation culminated in Father Declan telling him, three sheets to the wind already,

“Sure, it wouldn’t be my usual advice, but I could recommend a nice Minister who’d officiate for you. It’s what your Mammy would have wanted.”

His Mom would have been horrified that he was considering arguing with a priest but Jim got in before him. Slid an arm around his waist that left him shocked dumb and said,

“We’ll bear it in mind. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to play along, Jim,” Harvey told him quietly once they were out of earshot. “I can set everyone straight if it’s making you uncomfortable.”

He would too. Would do anything Jim asked him to, but there was the tapping of silverware against glass - and none too subtle groaning as silence was called for. They found their seats and Harvey watched Jim watch the speeches. Felt his heart clench tight in his chest at all the talk of love and forever, and thought of the last thing his mother had said to him on her deathbed, about how she’d be proud of him no matter what he did, and how all she wanted was for him to be happy.

It must have shown on his face, some part of it at least, because Jim met his eye then and his expression softened. Took on the same adoring aspect that Harvey usually took as a sign he was thinking of Lee Thompkins, and reached over to put a hand over his. He sucked in a surprised breath, the simple touch destroying his composure and, suddenly, he saw exactly what Jim was doing.

Jim had taken pity on him. Had decided to help him save face, and the mix of gratitude and despair stuck thickly in his throat. Had his eyes burning, helpless, and he was more than thankful that the Father of the Bride had gone the sentimental route, and plenty of people were blinking back tears and sniffles.

He needed to pull himself together. Needed to get a grip, because they were onto the Best Man and the scripted jokes now, and then that was done and the queue for the buffet was already forming, while he still couldn’t trust himself to speak properly. Couldn’t do anything even as yet more relatives made their way over, all wanting to know how he had met Jim, and why he hadn’t brought him to Caitlin’s wedding, or Adrian’s funeral.

“We’re just friends,” he protested again, withdrawing his hand from Jim’s grip and trying not to read disappointment into the look on Jim’s face, “we work together.”

“Did your Mother raise a liar?” Auntie Pat asked him, cataracted gaze shrewd, and his palms stung with the visceral memory of having her wooden spoon thwacked across them every time he decided against honesty as the best policy.

He would have said something he regretted. Would have reminded them all of a time when they would have been only too happy for him to spend his entire life lying about it. Would have done any number of things, but there were kids who wanted his attention, and one of the bridesmaids, one he wasn’t even related to, was fluttering her lashes at Jim and asking on Kathleen’s orders whether or not he was going to eat something.

Harvey settled for drinking. Ended up sat on the steps leading out onto the patio, somebody’s baby in his dubious care and a seven year old attempting to explain to him all the reasons why a helicopter would win in a fight against an armed submarine. They were just getting to the crux of the thing when he felt somebody drop down to sit next to him, and he made to hand the baby back before he realized it was Jim.

He wasn’t empty handed either, a paper plate piled high with food resting against the knee nudging his own, their thighs pressed tight together.

“Thought you might be hungry,” Jim said easily. “I’d have brought it over earlier, but I didn’t know where you’d got to.”

Guilt sparked in his gut for abandoning Jim to fend for himself, but Jim didn’t sound accusing. Was pressing closer still, leaning in against his side, and Harvey didn’t think he could be that drunk, not yet at any rate.

“We were hashing out what would win in a fight - a submarine or a helicopter,” he said by way of explanation.

“A helicopter,” Jim said decisively. “No question.”

The kid grinned smugly, even as his parents called for him, and Jim just made a start on a mound of potato chips and confessed,

“We met earlier.”

“You have been busy,” Harvey said and snagged a sandwich. Jim raised an amused eyebrow at the sleeping baby.

“Not as busy as you’ve been.”

Harvey rolled his eyes and the two of them ate in silence for a few moments. Exchanged a few words when the baby’s father finally came over to retrieve it, and he stretched his arms out a little, cramped from keeping so long in the same position. It would be a dumb idea, he thought, then did it anyway. Curled his arm around Jim’s shoulders and shut his eyes for a moment, imagining that Jim really was his date and that he’d want nothing more than to share body heat and be clung to.

Except Jim really did snuggle in close, so close Harvey could smell the intoxicating scent of him, and said out of nowhere,

“It means a lot you invited me, I know you’re close to your family.”

If he turned his head his nose would be pressed into Jim’s hair. If he breathed in deeply he could smell Jim’s shampoo, overlaid by the pomade he was using. He did both.

“I’m the one who should be thanking you. I didn’t tell them we were an item, I swear. I don’t even know where they got the idea from.”

The sun was setting now, the sky streaked with red, and Jim reached for his hand again. Linked their fingers and shrugged,

“It doesn’t matter, does it? They seem fine with it.”

Harvey swallowed. What mattered was that maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week, but eventually he was going to have to come clean. He was going to have to explain that, actually, Jim had just been doing him a favor, and even then they wouldn’t believe him.

He was going to live the rest of his life pining for Jim, while his family asked at every single gathering until he dropped dead what it was he had done to drive Jim away. Would offer awful relationship advice, and dredge up every other time he had ruined things with somebody who could have learned to love him.

“They would have found out eventually,” Jim said, and it took a moment to realize that he wasn’t actually following Harvey’s train of thought.

“Found out what?” He asked, confused, and Jim twisted a little so he could look up at him. Smiled at him, the same adoring smile from earlier, and said,

“About us.”

“About us,” he echoed, dumbstruck, and Jim’s hand was pulling free. Was reaching up to cup his face instead, and indoors a slow song was starting. There’d be couples drunkenly swaying, he was sure, lost in each other, and then he was lost in Jim. Couldn’t think of anything but the fact Jim’s lips were pressed against his own, Jim’s tongue was pressing slickly into his mouth, and when they pulled apart, just enough to breathe, his heart was hammering.

He felt drunk, giddy, and Jim kissed him again. Rubbed their noses together and gave him a final kiss, soft and chaste, before approaching footsteps broke through the haze, and Kathleen was complaining at him that if people were going to sit outside, what was the point in hiring a hall and a DJ.

“When it’s your own wedding, you can scuttle off whenever you want. Right now I have children in need of supervising.”

He gave in, knew better than to argue, and offered Jim a hand up as he said, “See, I keep telling you I’m a responsible kind of guy.”

“I thought the kids were going to be supervising you?” Jim asked, all mock confusion, and he laughed in spite of himself. Jostled Jim’s shoulder as he followed him indoors, and inclined his head in recognition of the less than subtle thumbs up Kathleen sent him.

He had no idea what had just happened but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

If Jim wanted him, absolutely nothing else mattered.

[From the opposite POV...]

“You want me to meet your family?” Jim asked, and couldn’t help the thrill the idea sent through him. What they had was still so new, so delicate, and the thought that Harvey wanted to take him to meet everyone who meant anything to him made him want to give up on all his pledges to go slow and just lean in close and kiss him.

“Well, yeah,” Harvey said, a hint of color in his cheeks as he focused on his drink. “You don’t have to.”

Jim just beamed, wide and stupid, “I’d love to.”

He obsessed over it in the days that followed, determined to make a good impression. Barbara’s parents had hated him, thought him nothing but an uncouth money grabber, and Lee had never introduced him to any of her family.

It wasn’t a good track record.

So he asked questions. Slowly built up a picture in his head of who would be there, and loved Harvey all the more for the way he was happy to share stories of his childhood, turning people Jim had never met into recognisable characters.

He had only really had Roger for company, growing up, and he wondered sometimes how different his life might have been if he had spent less time living in his own head, and more realizing that the world wasn’t what it seemed in his favorite swashbucklers. If he had spent more time learning how to make friends and less convincing himself that a good man was measured by his enemies.

“Do you think they’ll like me?” He asked eventually, drink making him too honest, and Harvey gave him a look that took his breath away.

“How couldn’t they?” Harvey asked in turn, and the sincerity had his heart aching and his stomach fluttering. Had him pledging that somehow, some day, he really would deserve Harvey’s unwavering faith in him.

He went a little overboard, maybe, but he wanted Harvey to be proud of him. Was terrified Harvey would come to regret taking a chance on him, so he went and got his hair cut. Bought a new suit too, and endured the awkward small talk and his own sense of discomfort as the shop assistant advised him on what kind of shirt he should choose, and which tie would bring the blue of his eyes out. It was worth it, he had no doubt of that at least, when Saturday rolled around and he considered the reflection staring back at him.

“Hot damn,” Harvey said when Jim answered the door to him, “you hoping to get laid tonight, are you?”

He couldn’t help the wave of heated want that washed over him, nor the smirk that settled across his features. They hadn’t done anything at all yet. Hadn’t kissed properly, even, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about it. Hadn’t dreamed of it, because Harvey was gorgeous. Smelled great and looked perfect, especially all scrubbed up, hair so neat his fingers were itching to mess it up and suit jacket highlighting his broad shoulders.

Later, he promised himself. Later he was going to taste that mouth. Was going to get his hands in that hair. In the present he would have to make do with standing as close as he dared, and at least he wasn’t the only one suffering, not if the possessive hand Harvey kept on the small of his back was anything to go by.

The way he steered him into the church and pressed close when they were shepherded into a pew, and Jim squirmed about in a mixture of boredom and frustration, because the press of Harvey’s thigh against his own was singularly distracting, and because he had never considered before how long a Mass might last.

There were a handful of hungover looking twenty-somethings in the row in front, yawning behind their hands, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked down to find a couple of kids crawling along the floor at his feet. He did his best to ignore it, to keep his eyes forward like everyone else around him, and then a wizened little old lady smacked one of them over the head with a pile of excess orders of service and nobody seemed even remotely disturbed by the tantrum that completely drowned out the sound of the altar bells.

“Lovely Mass,” the guy in front of them told the priest as they filed out, then laughed out loud when Harvey nudged his shoulder a few steps on, complaining,

“Lovely Mass, my ass. He’s drunk already.”

“Ten bucks says he’ll be passed out before the first dance.”

“You must think me a total idiot,” Harvey admonished, “I’ve not been to a wedding yet where he hasn’t!”

The other guy smirked, all freckles and a shock of red hair, and Harvey introduced them briefly before getting called away to help a woman in heels that would have put Fish Mooney to shame with a double stroller.

“How long you two been together then?” The cousin, Mark, asked and Jim suddenly felt awkward. He didn’t know what Harvey had told people, how much he wanted them to know, and he said vaguely,

“We’ve known each other a few years. We work together.”

“It’s all right,” Mark reassured, “everyone knows. Great Aunt Pat credits his coming out with her third heart attack - people made their gosh darn minds up in my day,” He quoted with a wink and Jim laughed in spite of himself. Was pleased in a way he couldn’t explain that nobody was going to give Harvey a hard time because of him.

Instead relative after relative came up to shake his hand and tell him how happy there were that Harvey was settling down. Explained how, over the years, he had only ever brought along a select few of his squeezes to family gatherings, and not one of them had put a smile on his face like the one he was currently sporting. It put a smile on his own face, wide and goofy, or maybe it was the whiskey chasers people kept pressing on him.

Either way, he ended up leaning contentedly against the bar watching as Harvey was beset by dozens of kids, all of them clambering for his attention, and it made him grin all the harder because Harvey tried to make out he was a jaded old cop. The truth was that he was more soft hearted than Jim had ever been. Was sweet and sentimental under that gruff exterior, and when a gaggle of kids cornered him on the outdoor balcony, he did his best to keep a straight face at a particularly forthright seven-year-old who warned him that if he did anything to upset his favorite uncle, he would have the kid’s entire under-11s judo class to answer to.

He found Harvey afterwards, to tell him about it, but he was stuck in the midst of some rambling conversation with the priest from the church about how there was no excuse now, not since the law had changed, even if they’d have to settle for a Protestant service. Harvey’s temper was slipping, he could tell, and Jim stepped in to diffuse the situation. Slid his arm around Harvey’s waist and steered him away, secretly kind of charmed that Harvey was so worried about him feeling pressured.

“You don’t have to play along, Jim,” Harvey told him quietly once they were out of earshot. “I can set everyone straight if it’s making you uncomfortable.”

He would have reassured Harvey at that. Would have cracked a joke, maybe, about how he wasn’t going to get rid of him that easily, but the speeches were starting and he had to settle for watching Harvey get emotional though Jim was sure that, if asked, he would claim it was all in Jim’s imagination. He reached a hand for his partner’s, all the same, and stroked his thumb over soft skin a few times, wondering if Harvey could tell all the stupidly sentimental thoughts running through his own head.

They started serving the food afterwards, and he got separated from Harvey in the rush of people. When he had been dating Barbara it would have been his worst nightmare, having no choice but to make small talk with her extended family, but this felt nothing like that. Everybody was welcoming, friendly, and he filed away all the embarrassing anecdotes Harvey’s relatives couldn’t wait to tell him, for the next time Harvey wanted to veto his suggested lunch venue.

He piled a paper plate high, going for everything he knew Harvey liked, and the Mother of the Bride - Harvey’s favorite cousin, he knew from all his questioning - told him he’d find the man in question outdoors, playing babysitter.

“He gets on well with kids,” she said, all fond smile, “on account of being an overgrown one.”

Jim grinned back and she put a hand on his arm, the sincere expression on her face making the family resemblance all the more striking.

“Don’t let him mess this up, Jim. He’s clearly crazy about you.”

“I’m going to do my best,” he said, determined, and went to go and make good on the promise. Dropped down to sit beside Harvey out on the steps, and nodded an acknowledgement to the burgeoning judo champion.

“We were hashing out what would win in a fight - a submarine or a helicopter,” Harvey explained, jiggling a snuffling baby in the crook of his arm, and Jim couldn’t help but press close. Had overheard the very same argument taking place earlier, and enjoyed the way the kid beamed in victory before running off, when he said,

“A helicopter, no question. We met earlier,” he clarified for Harvey’s benefit, and simply enjoyed the quiet and the closeness for a few minutes, clearing the plate and waving the baby back off to its parents.

Harvey pulled him close instead, and Jim didn’t hesitate to make the most of it.

It was how this had started, after all, with Harvey letting him press closer and closer. Letting him fall asleep all over him, and petting fingers through his hair when he woke up again. Letting him take things as slowly as he wanted, like he knew just how afraid he was of ruining everything, and Jim had to thank him. Had to say,

“It means a lot you invited me, I know you’re close to your family.”

Harvey buried his nose in his hair and breathed deeply, the sensation sending shivers through him. Said apologetically,

“I’m the one who should be thanking you. I didn’t tell them we were an item, I swear. I don’t even know where they got the idea from.”

The sun was setting now, the sky streaked with red, and Jim reached for Harvey’s hand. Linked their fingers together and marvelled again at how invested his family were in each other’s lives, and how he hadn’t even had to explicitly tell them anything.

He hadn’t known Roger was going to be a father until it had already happened, and even then they hadn’t invited him to the christening.

“It doesn’t matter, does it?,” he questioned simply. “They seem fine with it. They would have found out eventually.”

“Found out what?” Harvey asked in turn, confused like he hadn’t quite been listening, but Jim wasn’t angry. Didn’t mind, not really. Not when Harvey was still wrapped around him, and he twisted a little so could smile up at him and say, tone only slightly chastising,

“About us.”

“About us?” Harvey echoed, like he was having to think about what he could possibly be referring to, and Jim was lost. Couldn’t wait any longer, because there was some sappy love song playing in the background, and because he could never get enough of Harvey teasing him.

Would never get enough of Harvey’s mouth on him, he decided, and pressed closer still. Kissed and kissed, head swimming with how good it felt, and Harvey kissed him right back. Anchored a hand in his hair and rubbed their noses together, letting him kiss him one last time even as footsteps approached behind them.

Gazed at him, eyes soft, even as his cousin complained that she had spent too much money for people to be sequestering themselves in corners this early in the evening, and that Harvey was clearly shirking the understood quid quo pro when it came to the bar tab and the number of rowdy kids who needed supervising.

“See, I keep telling you I’m a responsible kind of guy,” Harvey said as he helped him up and Jim frowned, because Harvey wasn’t the only one who could play dumb,

“I thought the kids were going to be supervising you?”

Harvey just jostled his shoulder. Slung an arm around his shoulders and split the rest of the evening between turning over-energetic children in circles around the dance floor, and talking close in his ear. 

“They'll want you to go to everything now, you know that?” Harvey told him later, when things were beginning to wind down a little. “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

Jim only leaned against him more heavily, the drink and the late night starting to get the better of him, and smiled stupidly. 

That was the kind of concession he didn't mind making.

Chapter Text

Harvey wasn’t a hero.

He had just done his job, done what he was paid to do and, when his watch commander told him he had been put forward for a medal, he replied in no uncertain terms that he wouldn’t accept it.

Stuck to his guns too, at least until the Captain himself demanded to see him, yelling loud enough for the entire precinct to hear exactly what the guy thought of officers who refused to do their bit for the glory of the department.

“There are two types of people under my command,” the Captain told him, “those who make my life difficult and those who have a future in the GCPD. You need to decide which of those you’re going to be. The kid would be dead if you hadn’t pulled him free, so get down off your damn high horse and accept the medal.”

He did, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it. He felt like a fraud when the day arrived, uncomfortable in his starched shirt and shined shoes, and couldn’t wait for it all to be over. Couldn’t wait to get wasted and did his very best to drink away the memories of the way the poor kid had clung to him, sobbing and trembling as his old man’s blood soaked through Harvey’s patrol uniform.

It didn’t work, not the booze, and not the pills he took in the club afterwards. He knew all the risks, knew full well it was a stupid thing to do, and it served him right if he hooked up with a bad batch and found himself freaking out in the toilets, shaking and sweating, heart hammering just as hard as it had that night out on the freeway, blood and glass and the smell of leaking gasoline everywhere.

The car had blown afterwards, filled the air with the scent of burning flesh, and when he staggered out of the club straight into a hot dog stand, he heaved half a week’s pay into the gutter. Went home and collapsed into bed, his nightmares haunted by frightened blue eyes and the sight of the open tibia fracture.

Anderson laughed when Harvey let on something of what the problem was the next day, and told him bluntly,

“Your problem is you’re too soft hearted. Don’t get invested and don’t make promises, that’s the way it’s gotta be if you want to make it in this game.”

Harvey tried to take his partner’s words to heart. Used the hangover to help him walk away rather than get caught up in domestics he was never going to be able to solve anyway. To hand over cases to protective services and not spend all day worrying about their outcome. It had to be done, he understood that. He couldn’t carry on the way he had been, not if he wanted to make a real career of the police force. He would burn out, get chewed up, and be left with less than nothing to show for it.

“You’re learning,” Anderson said when they loitered long enough to miss a call out, and they both accepted hush money from the clubs along the dockside, though it made him feel like shit every time he thought about it.

He was thinking about it again the following Friday morning while he waited for Anderson to collect his equipment, and a few moments either way he would have completely missed it. As it was he watched with open interest as the boy approached the front desk, limping heavily, his mother waiting just outside the doorway. He exchanged a few words with Williams, and then his colleague was yelling over to him, voice like a foghorn,

“Bullock, visitor for you!”

People didn’t often recognize officers who were there in times of crisis. Didn’t recognize officers who arrested them, half the time, and even with the training the reverse was true way more of the time than the movies liked to make out. He’d know the kid anywhere though, and could tell the boy knew exactly who he was too. Saw it in the intent blue gaze, and in the unsteady step he took towards him, his jaw set with determination as he held out a card and said,

“I wanted to thank you for saving my life.”

“I was just doing my job,” Harvey pointed out, but it lacked the usual bite. The kid just nodded, once, and said,

“Okay, then I want to thank you for joining the police force.”

Harvey smiled in spite of himself. He couldn’t really argue with that one.

“You’re welcome.”

The kid held out a hand, painfully formal, and Harvey pulled him into a hug instead, brief but tight, and said with mock seriousness,

“Now you’d better go and make my life choices worthwhile. I’ve got a double shift today.”

“Yes Sir, I mean, Officer.”

“My name’s Harvey,” he said, amused, and the kid smiled wide at him, the expression kind of adorable on his pale face. He’d be a looker when he was older, Harvey didn’t doubt it.

“Come on, Bullock!” Anderson yelled and he shrugged apologetically, excusing himself, and they were already out on the street when he realized he still had the card. Stuffed it in with his pocket notebook and finally opened it when he got back to his apartment.

He stuck it on his notice board and smiled to himself as actually made an attempt to clean the place up a bit. Got out of bed before his alarm went off the next morning, and conceded there was something to be said for starting the day without a hangover. He passed on an ‘anonymous’ tip to Narco about the dealer he had scored from after the awards ceremony, and told Anderson he wasn’t accepting any more backhanders.

He wasn’t a hero, but maybe he didn’t have to be.

All Jim Gordon wanted from him was to keep trying to be one of the good guys.

His low scale tip off had lead to bigger and better things, and there had been a big drugs bust down in the East End.

What it meant was scrabbling from all the usual lowlifes to fill the gap, and they had reports of teenagers selling in and around Gotham High, complete with pressure from the Captain to do something about it because it wasn’t the kind of thing that made the department look good in the newspapers. He and Anderson collared two likely candidates on an evening shift. The one capitulated easily, looked like he might piss his pants at the mere thought of his dad finding out, while the other shrugged, all false bravado, and said,

“You can tell my old man whatever you like. He’s too dead to care about it.”

The accent was all off, wasn’t street or tough, and when Harvey frowned and looked him over again he was sure he recognized him from somewhere.

“Name? Come on, don’t keep me waiting.”

The kid scowled but only dragged it out a couple of seconds before answering,

“Roger. Roger Gordon.”

It clicked into place then, and he thought of the card he had moved to his dresser, where he could see it in the mornings.

The damn medal was delegated to the back of a draw, out of sight and out of mind.

That had been months ago, six he calculated quickly, and he patted Roger down and demanded he turn out his pockets, eyeing up the pitiful amount of cash, a pager, and a couple of tabs of LSD that would only get written off as personal use. He and Anderson exchanged a look, silently agreeing that a suitable scare would probably do the job well enough.

They dropped the other kid - Jason - off first, his parents satisfyingly appalled and his own face remorseful. That done, it wasn’t long before they were pulling up outside the Gordon residence. It was a nice neighborhood, solidly middle class, but the front yard was looking unkempt and the nets needed washing. There was no answer when Harvey banged on the door, though there were lights on, and he tried again, Roger still sullen and uncooperative.

Finally there was movement, his posture unconsciously straightening, but it wasn’t the mother who pulled the door open, but Jim - his hair a couple of inches longer than the last time he’d seen him, and the headphones around his neck attached to an old cassette walkman. Harvey took in all the details as they pressed on in, his gaze cataloging the dust on the skirting boards and the empty space on the TV stand where the VCR should have been.

“Mom’s not well,” Jim explained nervously, and Roger only snorted,

“What he means is that she’s too drunk to talk to you right now, officers. I’d suggest coming back some other time but, chances are, it wouldn’t make a difference.”

Jim tried to cover, rambling, and Harvey was glad to see that the leg was a lot better at least. The limp was scarcely noticeable. Anderson peered at the photos on the wall, and the badly concealed gaps in the contents of a decorative display cabinet, and Harvey would have moved things on. Would have spared the kid the indignity, at least, but Mrs Gordon chose that moment to put in an appearance, wrapped in a robe and her words more than a little slurred.

She ranted about robberies in the area, about the gangs and the violence on the evening news, and asked why they were wasting time harassing innocent teenagers on the streets when they could be solving real crimes. Anderson made a show of filling out a crime report, Jim’s face going paler and paler, and Harvey wasn’t surprised when Jim caught him up at the door.

Wasn’t shocked in the slightest when Jim confessed that he had taken the stuff to the pawnbrokers himself, because there were bills that needed paying and his Mom had so much to deal with that she had simply forgotten.

It was nothing he hadn’t seen before. Nothing he wouldn’t see again.

Anderson inclined his head, keen to get on, but Harvey hesitated. Dawdled, and pulled his card from his pocket, hand drawn to Jim’s shoulder like a magnet,

“If you need help, you call me, all right? Any time.”

Jim did call him, three months later when Harvey had been pretty much convinced it was never going to happen.

There were debt collectors at the door, and they weren’t taking no for an answer.

Anderson rolled his eyes when he said where he was going, telling him again not to get invested, and not to make promises. What Anderson didn’t understand was that he already had. The night of the crash he had told Jim that everything was going to be okay, that he had him and that he was safe, and he had rang the hospital afterwards to check on how he was doing.

Had gone to the father’s funeral, though the department was already being represented by some of the top brass, and following their visit to take Roger home, he had made calls to Jim’s school and the organiser of the local youth cadets program. Just in case Jim did want him to get involved, after all.

The problem, he determined, was that Jim was stubborn. Too proud and too private, and Harvey had to bite back the urge to tell him that he had his whole life to turn down any and all offers of assistance.

He knew from experience.

Because the house was that little bit shabbier compared to the last time he had seen it, that little bit barer. There were empty booze bottles piled up in the kitchen bin, and the air smelled stale, like it had been too long since the windows were opened.

The debt collectors had taken the TV and some jewellery in part payment, and Jim looked lost and shaken up, so bad Harvey kind of wished it wouldn’t be completely unprofessional to hug him again.

“How are things at school? You keeping your grades up?” He asked instead to fill the silence, because Jim seemed the type who had the smarts to do well if he put his mind to it.

Jim shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.”

It reminded him of his own school days. Absent Dad - though his own hadn’t had quite as good an excuse - and a Mom who needed looking after, for all that his Mom had been ill rather than attempting to drink herself to death. She was at work now, apparently, and Harvey didn’t push for more information on that. He could chase it up later.

“How’s your brother?” He tried, and only got another awkward shrug. Harvey had heard plenty more of Roger, even if he hadn’t seen him. Dealing, again, and hanging around with all kinds of unsavoury characters. He’d have been in deep shit if some friend of his father’s - some friend of Carmine Falcone’s - hadn’t come and bailed him out and pulled strings for him.

Shame they couldn’t do something for the brother keeping out of trouble.

“You know I’m going to have to file a report,” Harvey said then, carefully, and the look on the kid’s face made his heart ache. The panic and the despair, and the desperation in his big blue eyes as he begged,

“Please don’t. Please. I was being stupid, childish. We’re fine, really. Everything’s fine.”

“It’s for your own good. You gotta believe that, Jim.”

Jim only turned away, hand swiping harsh across his face as though Harvey hadn’t already seen the tears.

“I thought you wanted to help me.”

CPS paid them a visit but didn’t take things any further. That was their decision, Harvey told himself. It was nothing to do with the positive spin he had put on things, nor his advice to give the place a good clean and tidy.

It wasn’t his fault they were too lazy to investigate properly, or that they accepted Sandra Gordon at her word simply because she had been the wife of a DA and graduated college.

She was in a short stay bed at Arkham he learned a couple of months later, when he collared Roger for the third time, and the kid wouldn’t meet his eye when Harvey suggested that as the elder he had expected him to be doing more to keep things together. Finding himself in prison without even his high school diploma to fall back on wasn’t going to do him or anyone else any favors.

“I’ve got prospects,” Roger told him evasively. “And we’ve got an aunt out in Chicago who said Jim could go stay with her. It’s not my fault he’s too stupid to take her up on it.”

“What about your Mom?”

Roger shrugged, Harvey struck by how alike two kids could look yet be so far apart in attitude.

“It’s not her first time in the nuthouse, won’t be her last either.”

He pledged to keep an eye out for Jim himself. Endured Anderson’s eye rolling and ignored his own misgivings, choosing to count it as a victory when Jim gave up on his poor attempts at indifference to beam widely at the sight of him.

When Jim accepted a lift home one night after he saw him soaked through, shivering at a bus stop, and when Jim started turning up at his scheduled neighborhood engagement meetings, the youngest member of the public in attendance by at least a couple of decades. He always loitered afterwards, to exchange a few words, though he claimed he had nothing he actually needed to tell him.

“Don’t you got anything better to be doing?” Harvey asked eventually, because he couldn’t imagine any way he would have least rather spent his time when he had been rapidly approaching 15.

“I want to be a police officer when I’m old enough,” Jim told him, so intense Harvey didn’t even try to dissuade him. It wasn’t until later when he was drinking the stresses of the day into oblivion that it hit him what had been weird and jarring about the sentence.

He guessed some kids knew full well that their allocated time for growing up was already over.

Still, that confession meant he had done his duty. Meant he could finally hand Jim’s details to Kowalski and the youth cadet program.

“That kid you wanted me to get in touch with?” Kowalski asked him a few weeks later, as they wolfed down lunch in the same diner, “Said he wasn’t interested.”

Something settled low in his gut. Disappointment, maybe.

“He’s come to his senses, eh?” Anderson grinned around a mouthful of his own food. “I’ve been telling you for almost two fucking years now, not even some mess of a kid is going to look at you and see a role model!”

Fate wasn’t about to let his association with Jim Gordon end that easily.

Harvey saw him at the precinct, paying bail for his brother, and he saw him out on his beat, walking home from school on his own, shoulders hunched and headphones on. Jim didn’t make it easy for people to get on with him, that had been his principal’s verdict when he had made his initial enquiries, and it didn’t look like things had changed any.

He stopped and spoke when he could, and the smiles Jim gave him were always honest so far as he could tell.

Were open and eager, and he didn’t really understand what it was that Jim’s peers found so abrasive. Kids were just like that, he supposed. You were either worth knowing or you weren’t, there didn’t need to be a reason.

He was on a date with his latest girlfriend, a waitress at one of their favourite lunch venues who was always up for a good time, when he spotted Jim and a few other kids going at it. They had his backpack, his ancient walkman, and every time Jim made a grab for it, they passed it from one to another, laughing.

“Leave it,” Toni said, “you don’t need to impress me.”

“I’ve got other methods for that,” he promised with a wink and walked into the fray regardless. Used all of his increasingly imposing bulk to his advantage, and demanded they hand Jim his stuff over and apologize.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Jim told him quietly once it was done and they were moving off. “I was in control of the situation.”

“Yeah?” Harvey asked, eyebrow raised, and Jim flushed red when he risked a glance up at him. Swallowed awkwardly and said,

“Yeah. But thank you anyway.”

Harvey shook his head, amused as usual by Jim’s too formal manners, and did his best to untangle the mess that was Jim’s walkman.

“What you listening to? Anything decent?”

“Floyd, Styx, Rush.”

“Could be worse,” Harvey conceded and the smile Jim gave him was blinding. Almost had him missing the bruise blossoming along his jaw line, and Harvey touched two fingers to the other side of his jaw, holding his head still.

“Did they do that?”

He could hear the anger in his own voice. The outrage that people wouldn’t stick to beating on guys their own size, because Jim was small for his age and the kids tormenting him had all been well blessed by puberty.

“Gym class,” Jim said but Harvey wasn’t convinced. He had known Jim too long, and had all the training besides. Knew that it would do no good to push, but the anger lingered all the same, even after Jim thanked him again and said, like he wanted it to be true, that he had to get going or his Mom would worry.

Even when Toni slipped an arm around him and said, from nowhere,

“Do I need to be jealous or have you got a type I don’t know about?”

He frowned at her, confused, and she laughed as they made their way to get dinner. Said only,

“You’re too soft.”

Harvey smirked, hands wandering as he shoved all thoughts of Jim Gordon firmly from his mind,

“Now that’s one complaint I never hear.”

Toni didn’t last long. Nikki either. He had only had a one night stand with the guy whose name he couldn’t remember and Tracey had smacked him across the face the week before, with clear instructions to go fuck himself, so he didn’t have a clue who might be knocking at his door in the early hours of the evening.

It wasn’t a police knock, so he wouldn’t have to go back to the precinct, at least.

He peered through the peephole, curious, and the person stood on the other side of the door was just about the one he had least expected.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed when he succeeded in getting the door open and got a good look at him. “What happened?”

Jim just stared at his feet, fists clenched at his sides, voice wobbly as he said,

“If it had been a fair fight, I could have beat them.”

Harvey didn’t waste any more time with questions. Pulled him in and guided him to the sofa, going for water and something to mop the blood up with. Jim’s face was bruised and swollen, but it looked worse than it was, and Harvey’s initial fears that his nose was broken proved to be unfounded.

He tried to be gentle as he dabbed at the cuts, Jim struggling not to hiss at the sting of the antiseptic, and rather than risk losing his temper Harvey asked,

“How did you know where I live?”

Jim glanced away, seemed to flush a little. It was hardly surprising behavior, he supposed, when you were asked why you had turned up on a stranger’s doorstep.

“It was in the phone book,” Jim said quietly, and Harvey frowned because he was supposed to be ex-directory. He’d have to check the damn thing. “I didn’t want my Mom to see me like that. I don’t want to give her anything else to worry about.”

Jim pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes, looked like he might cry, and the sight tugged at his heart strings.

Had him patting at Jim’s shoulder and, when Jim surged forward, sniffling, letting him cling to him until he regained control of himself.

“It’s okay,” he assured, one hand petting through soft blond hair, “It’s going to be okay.”

“When?” Jim asked, voice strained.

Harvey didn’t have an answer.

Somehow it became a semi-regular occurrence, Jim Gordon getting his face kicked in and turning up on his doorstep. Acting stoic and silent as Harvey cleaned him up, and then acting every bit the kid he really was when Harvey offered him cookies and soda and the chance to rifle through his record collection.

“Can I tape this?” Jim asked, too excited even to wince at the split lip, and Harvey would have offered to simply let him borrow it if he didn’t already have a fair idea what had likely happened to the Gordon’s sound system.

“Knock yourself out,” he offered instead, and Jim grinned at him so eagerly his lip started bleeding all over again. He went quiet and studious then as he went through the rest of the records and moved on to his cassette holders, and actually sounded impressed when Harvey told him which of the bands he had seen in concert.

It was an ego boost, he supposed. It was the first time he had seen Jim so genuinely happy, that was beyond question. Whatever the reason, he heard himself saying that Jim was welcome any time he liked, not just when he had been used as a punch bag. Said he could tape anything he wanted, and didn’t mention that normally he was so zealously protective of his music even Anderson wasn’t allowed anywhere near it.

Said nothing about the fact that Jim was in the middle of an obvious growth spurt, sprouting up and bulking out, nor his private belief that if this wasn’t the last time Jim came to him because of school bullies, it wouldn’t be far from it.

Perhaps it would have made a difference, perhaps it wouldn’t have, but Jim thanked him profusely and then seemed to remember he was supposed to be at an age where that was spectacularly uncool, and tried to play it casual instead.

He turned up the next week, all the same, and the week after. Started to become a regular fixture and it legitimately surprised Harvey what good company he was. He was clever and his wit was so dry it never failed to startle Harvey into laughter. He was too young to be completely jaded, unlike most of the guys Harvey worked with, yet too mature for his own good. So mature that Harvey forgot, sometimes, that Jim was barely 16 and just about everything concerning the situation was entirely inappropriate.

Jim was lonely, that was what Harvey told himself. Had a lot of burdens on his young shoulders, and could only benefit from spending time with a friendly face, and knowing that somebody cared enough to ask him how he was doing. Because they weren’t doing anything wrong, not really. No laws had been broken, and no harm had been done.

Except there was a major incident in the East End one night and Anderson didn’t bother ringing ahead before coming to pick him up. Looked from Harvey to Jim when he pulled the door open, his expression darkening, and suddenly Harvey was all too aware how it must look from the outside. Tuttle was skulking further down the corridor, bumming a ride, and Harvey said something too loud and too stilted about how he hoped their talk about Roger had helped, and how Jim really ought to be getting on home now.

Anderson shook his head once they made it out to the squad car,

“You told me he you hadn’t seen him in months. You told me he had stopped following you around like a goddamn puppy. Now I find out you’re inviting him in and giving him candy. What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

“You’ve got to be careful,” Tuttle agreed, the same monotonous drone he had had when he was back in uniform, “he could argue coercion.”

“I’m not a pervert,” Harvey spat, disgusted, and Tuttle only said in that miserably calm way he had about him,

“You know that, and I know that, but who is IA going to believe when an underage boy claims a police officer tried to touch him?”

“You’ve got it all fucking wrong,” Harvey swore. “It’s not like I make a regular fucking thing of it; he was upset, wanted to know if there was anything we could do to help his brother.”

Roger was going from bad to worse, it was true, and Jim had expressed concern about it. The rest of the statement was nothing but a pack of lies and, somehow, Harvey got the impression both Tuttle and Anderson knew it.

It might have gone further, might have made his life awkward, but Anderson was shot in the early hours of the morning, the life draining out of him even as Harvey applied pressure to the wound, telling the man over and over to hold on and that he had better not fucking die on him.

Anderson didn’t listen and when Harvey got home it was already light and he was still covered in his partner’s blood.

He peeled his uniform off, feeling numb, and stood in the shower until the water ran cold, trying to make sense of what had happened. Anderson hadn’t been a hero, hadn’t even been a good guy, not really. He still hadn’t deserved to get blown away just for trying to make Gotham a better place to live.

Eventually he forced himself to move. Pulled on a t-shirt and some underwear, and sat on his sofa with a bottle of whiskey, staring at the semi-circle of detritus that marked where Jim had been busily working on putting together a mix-tape before everything went to hell in a handcart.

He wouldn’t have moved all day. Wouldn’t have done anything beyond drinking until he couldn’t feel, but there was a frantic pounding at the door that wouldn’t let up, and even the burn of the whiskey wasn’t enough of a distraction for him to ignore it.

He didn’t even see who it was, just felt them launch themselves at him, clinging too tight and sobbing into his shirt front.

“Jim?” he managed finally, having manoeuvred them indoors and out of the view of his nosy neighbors. “Jim, what’s the matter?”

Jim couldn’t even speak. Scrubbed his sleeve across his face and tried at least three times before succeeding with,

“Th-they said, o-on the radio, that a police officer was killed last night. They said it was an officer from your division.”

He dissolved into tears again and Harvey couldn’t help himself. Was too strung out, his head all over the place, and he clung back. Held Jim close and felt a few tears slip down his own cheeks as he explained that it had been Anderson, not him, who had taken the bullet.

“I was so scared,” Jim whispered eventually, all but in his lap, and Harvey knew he had to put a stop to this. Knew that it was for both their sakes, because Jim was supposed to be at school and he was pushing 30. Jim was a minor and he was a police officer, and though he knew and Jim knew this wasn’t anything sinister, Harvey was no longer under any illusion about the kind of conclusions anyone else might jump to.

He just couldn’t do it today, he compromised, not with the memory of Anderson dying in his hands so fresh in his mind. He pressed a chaste kiss into Jim’s dishevelled hair instead and took a moment to simply enjoy being close to someone who cared what happened to him.

“I’m like a bad penny, me,” he pledged, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kept putting it off, the final severing of the ties between them. Attempted to pull away with one foot, even as he stepped closer with the other. Because although he had made up excuse after excuse as to why Jim wasn’t to come to his apartment, he was nowhere near breaking contact completely.

Was telling himself that it would come to a natural end, because Jim mentioned more people when he told him stories now. New friends, and new things that he was doing. Basketball and football and boxing which, combined with the few inches up and the few pounds out he’d packed on, served to ensure that his erstwhile bullies thought better of bothering him.

He was fighting on behalf of the weaker now, was winning too, and the calm confidence that was beginning to shine through only made it more important that he reminded himself constantly that Jim was a child, and that he should treat him as such, not like a friend whose company and opinions he valued.

Simmons, his new partner, raised an eyebrow when Jim came over to say hello when they were out on patrol, and he distracted her easily by revealing that the vision of polite elder-respecting youth was the brother of Roger ‘you can’t touch me, I know all the loopholes’ Gordon. The second time she wouldn’t drop it, and he told her briefly about the car crash and how he had tried to keep an eye on him.

“That makes sense,” she said, “erotic transference.”

“Exotic what now?”

Harvey liked Simmons well enough but sometimes he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

“I bet he’s got a picture of you taped to the inside of his locker, and two shoved under his mattress,” she explained bluntly, adding in response to his protests, “He’s got a crush on you. I thought you wanted to be a detective?”

He had been thinking about it more often lately, but it would mean plenty of studying and testing ahead, and he didn’t know if he was ready for it. Certainly wasn’t ready for yet more scrutiny of the time he was spending with Jim and, now the idea was in his head, Harvey found he couldn’t stop considering it.

Second guessed the pleased look on Jim’s face when they ran into each other, and how close he sat when they met up for him to hand over a bunch of new tapes he had for him.

“You made this one for me?” Jim asked of the mix-tape among them, breathless with emotion or something else entirely, after he had given him a quick run down of which albums he had taped. Harvey shrugged, and wondered if Jim’s cheeks were flushed because it meant a lot to him, or simply because it was a hot summer day.

He could feel his own skin burning, the curse of his Irish ancestry, and he was glad when Jim acquiesced easily to his suggestion that they go find some shade and buy ice pops. Jim pulled his shirt off as they walked, the tank top underneath providing visible proof of the good all that sport seemed to be doing him.

Harvey tried not to look, refused to believe Simmons hadn’t been yanking his chain, and then Jim was slurping at his popsicle and Harvey wished the day wasn’t so damn warm it was making him feel light headed.

“You should be more careful in the sun,” Jim said when he was done, and touched cool fingertips to the overheated skin of his cheek so that he shivered. “You’re burning up.”

“A doctor now as well as a smartass, huh?”

Jim just gave him a smug little smile. “Something like that.”

He was still thinking of that smile when he got home. Thought about it as he ate and as he showered. Thought about it as he crawled into bed and debated whether or not it was a sign Simmons had been right, and whether Jim really did have a misplaced crush on him.

Fell into restless sleep and woke panting, heart racing and dick aching. His dream was still half real, still all consuming, and he could remember every detail of the way Jim had been looking up at him with those pretty blue eyes, cheeks rosy and brow damp with sweat, lips stretched wide around his shaft instead of the damned ice pop.

Could remember the desperate sounds he had made when Harvey plundered his mouth, and the way his fingers had curled tight in his shirt, limbs quaking as Harvey pushed a hand into his pants and breathed into his ear that he wanted to see him come for him.

He felt too hot and yet too cold. Felt agonizingly close to release and physically sick to his stomach.

Simmons had been wrong. He had been wrong. Jim wasn’t crushing on him, and Jim wasn’t the one who kept seeking out his company. It was him - it had always been him.

He cleaned his teeth until his gums bled. Scrubbed his skin until it was raw and the patches of sunburn were sore and tender. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough, and his fingers trembled as he pulled on his patrol uniform.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Simmons asked at the morning briefing, no sense of decorum, and Harvey just shook his head.

“I had a weird dream. I don’t feel so good.”

Simmons talked of nothing but dreams all day. About how they rarely meant what people thought they did, and how they weren’t supposed to be interpreted literally. Harvey wished he could believe her. Wanted so badly to believe her because there were only so many ways you could interpret getting a hard on at the thought of taking a schoolboy’s virginity.

Because he couldn’t help himself. Worried at the idea like a loose tooth, thinking about it over and over and coming to the horrifying conclusion that it wasn’t just some crazy dream he was going to be able to forget all about. He liked Jim, he really liked him, and it was all kinds of fucked up because the poor kid had enough problems without one of the few stable points in his life being a dirty old man who drank too much and stroked himself off thinking about how soft his skin would feel under his fingertips.

The answer was to avoid Jim. To pretend he hadn’t seen him out on patrol, and to sit in ridiculous silence so he wouldn’t have to open the door to him. The other part of the plan was less uncomfortable, simply involved screwing anybody who’d let him, proof to everyone that he could.

That he wasn’t fixated on jailbait.

He picked up women in bars and guys in clubs, and when the new transfer batted her eyelashes at him, they ended up back at his place, her fingernails clawing chunks out of his back as she told him exactly how and when to move, and ordered him to call her M’am and not to come until she decided he could.

Ginny was about as different to Jim as it was possible to get, and Harvey liked that about her. Liked it so much they had been dating three weeks by the time a Saturday morning and his 30th birthday rolled around, and her gift to him was to pull at fistfuls of his hair and tell him to keep his head where it was until she was satisfied, the knocking at the door be damned.

He staggered to his feet when she was done, light headed and desperately turned on, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth even as he went to see who it was and why they couldn’t take a hint. Except when he pulled the door open he wished he hadn’t, Jim’s observant gaze raking over him and taking in the sight of Ginny wandering about in nothing but her underwear in the background.

“I’m sorry - I didn’t think -” Jim stuttered, flushing to the tips of his ears, and it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right and wasn’t decent because, if anything, the sight only made his dick harder, and his heart clench along with it. “I just wanted to give you this,” Jim finished and held out a card and a gift wrapped cassette tape.

“You really shouldn’t have,” Harvey managed, voice thick with emotion, and Jim only stood his ground and said,

“You’re my friend and it’s your birthday.”

Jim left him to it after that, and Harvey watched him walk away, hitching his backpack further up his shoulder, the ruined hems of his jeans scuffing along the floor of the corridor. Ginny didn’t give him any time to dwell on it, at least, and had plenty of ideas to keep his attention occupied. It wasn’t until she had gone home for the evening that he finally read the card and stuck the cassette in the player.

That he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and prayed to God for the strength to do the right thing.

He needed all the help he could get.

He listened to the tape more often than was healthy - until his damn tape player chewed it up and even then he wound the reel back around as best as he could and put it in his dresser drawer along with his bravery medal and the thank you card. Tried not to think about the words written in Jim’s neat script, the heartfelt message about how much his friendship meant to him, and how the songs on the cassette all made Jim think of him.

Now they all made him think of Jim in turn, and he called things off with Ginny because he was in such a mess even the promise of mind blowing sex wasn’t enough to make up for the fact it wasn’t her face he saw when he closed his eyes.

He begged off his next community engagement meeting, claiming a stomach bug, and Simmons reported back that Jim had been there asking where he was, and how he was doing.

“You need to be careful there,” she warned, “people could get the wrong impression.”

Harvey only nodded glumly, all his usual wisecracks and banter deserting him.

The showdown came later than he had expected, knowing Jim’s stubbornness and the frequency with which their paths crossed. It was no less painful for all that, and his heart twisted up in his chest when Jim asked, begged,

“What have I done wrong?”

“You haven’t done anything.”

That was true. It wasn’t Jim’s fault he was a sicko. None of it was Jim’s fault, but he was the one who was going to suffer. The one who was struggling to keep it together because everyone who meant something to him had turned their back on him. Roger was rarely home, too busy with climbing the greasy ladder of criminality, and his Mother had attempted suicide again, Harvey reneging on all his silent pledges so he could sit with Jim at the hospital, and help him try to get the blood out of the carpet.

Now he was walking away too, and Jim couldn’t hide the tears streaking his cheeks as he demanded again to know why.

This was why Anderson had said not to get invested.

Not to make promises.

Harvey sucked in a fortifying breath. Reminded himself that it was for Jim’s own good.

“I don’t need a reason, Jim. I just don’t want you around any more, you understand that? I don’t need some stupid kid getting under my feet all the time.”

“Is that what you think of me? That I’m just some dumb kid who gets in your way?”

“How else am I supposed to think of you?” Harvey shot back and Jim shook his head, the tears drying up and his jaw clenching tight.

“I don’t think I’m the problem,” Jim said finally, voice calm and cold.

Harvey didn’t argue.

He went out instead and got wasted. Drank until he couldn’t stand, until he couldn’t see straight, and Simmons wrinkled her nose when they were assigned to a squad car the next day, holding out her hand for the keys and saying,

“Don’t think for one moment I’m letting you drive in that state.”

His head pounded all day, his stomach churning, and he sipped tentatively at a glass of water at lunch, Simmons digging into her lasagne and starting up with her usual psycho-babble.

“I didn’t think you and Ginny were serious?”

“We weren’t,” Harvey said warily and Simmons went on casually,

“Why are you acting like somebody broke your heart in two then?”

“You’re crediting me with actually having a heart, that’s your first mistake.”

“Don’t bother pulling that macho cop bullshit with me,” Simmons admonished, “you’ve been moping about for weeks.”

“Can’t a man be depressed?” Harvey asked, making no attempt to bite back the whining, and Simmons rolled her eyes.

“Fine, forget I mentioned it.”

That suited him just fine. He had fucked up, made a mistake, but it was over now. All he needed to do was move on and forget about it. Learn from the mess he had created and ensure that in future he maintained a proper level of professional distance.

It was harder than it sounded.

He missed Jim, that was the reality. He missed his dry humor and his conversation. He missed the way Jim smiled at him, his whole face lighting up, and he missed the way Jim made him feel, like he had somebody worth trying to be one of the good guys for.

Like he had somebody who appreciated his efforts, and who wanted to be impressed by him.

He missed it so much he got his hopes up when Williams called him over to the front desk when he got off shift a few weeks later, telling him somebody was asking for him. He stood up straighter without thinking about it, the tiredness draining away, and then Williams elaborated,

“Yeah, Roger Gordon. He’s in interview room three.”

Roger had been arrested again and, by all accounts, had fallen out with his usual crowd. Had been making enemies at a rate of knots, and Harvey didn’t waste time. Simply dropped into the seat on the other side of the desk and asked what he wanted.

“I know about you and my brother.”

“Know what?” Harvey scoffed even as ice settled in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t know what he’s been saying, but I can tell you now you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.”

“He didn’t need to say anything. He’s 16. You’re a police officer. You don’t have to be a genius to see the problem.”

Harvey swallowed thickly, saw now that he had walked straight into it. Roger kept talking,

“I always thought it was kind of weird, you know, a grown man inviting a vulnerable kid around to his apartment. Buying him gifts, complimenting his appearance. Grooming, I think that’s what they call it?”

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, his palms slick with sweat and his pulse racing.

“You just think you can trust the police. I mean, who would suspect it? Imagine the scandal it would cause. An upstanding officer of the GCPD whose idea of helping a messed up kid is to convince them they should put his dick in their mouth.”

“What do you want?” He managed, the words little more than a whisper, and Roger grinned smugly.

“I want off this charge. It’s bad for business, you know what I’m saying?”

He did it too. Leaned heavily against the wall out in the corridor and struggled to get his heart rate under control. Groped for some sense of composure, and blagged his way into the evidence lock-up. Tampered and misplaced, then went out and threatened a witness.

Collapsed into the nearest seat when he heard that Roger was being released without charge, and took a sick day because he couldn’t quit shaking.

Couldn’t believe he had ever been so stupid, and when he woke from a fractured nap it was to find a note pushed under his door with the simple message,

‘Thanks for today. Looking forward to working with you long term.’

Roger made the most of it, eked out every scrap of leverage, until Harvey felt constantly on edge. Was jumpy and nervous, and Simmons went to the watch commander to complain about his performance.

“Anything going on I should know about, Bullock?” The man asked, and Harvey shook his head and hoped his explanations of needing more sleep sounded convincing. Protested but didn’t have a leg to stand on when he found himself stuck on desk duties until he did just that, and Simmons gave him an apologetic look before heading out and said,

“It’s for your own good.”

Harvey decided he hated that phrase. Absolutely despised it, because it was what Roger had signed off his latest request with, and it was what he repeated over and over in his head when he saw Jim in the City Park, sitting in the same spot Jim had once taken him to, the place where his dad had used to take him and his brother to feed the ducks when they were little kids.

“How have you been?” He asked in spite of all the reasons why he shouldn’t, and Jim stood up to reveal that there was no longer much of a height difference between them. “How’s your Mom?”

“What do you care?” Jim asked, voice rough, then raked a hand through his hair and said, “She’s gone to stay with my aunt in Chicago for a few weeks. She forgot my birthday.”

He flushed up at that last part, like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud, and Harvey knew in that moment that absence had done nothing but make the heart grow fonder. Jim had only grown more attractive, and he had only fallen harder.

Had lost all the sense he was born with because he took Jim for a burger and a milkshake to try and make up for it - to apologize for the card he had bought but never sent. Jim filled him in on what he had been doing at school. The books he had read and the films he had seen. The music he had listened to, and confessed that he had been to knock on his door more than once, in case he had changed his mind about how much of a stupid kid he was.

“I’m 17 now,” Jim told him before Harvey could try to explain. “I could join the army if I wanted. Get married. Become a father.”

“Not without your Mom’s permission,” Harvey pointed out, finishing off his fries. Tilted his head for a moment, considering, “Especially that last one.”

Jim glared at him, made him laugh so hard he drew disapproving glances from the people at surrounding tables, but Harvey couldn’t hide how much he was enjoying himself. Let Jim talk him into following up the food with a terrible horror movie because,

“The MPAA screwed me over. I wait 17 years to get to watch as much gore as I like, and they decide I still need to be accompanied by a responsible adult to get in for this masterpiece.”

“Masterpiece?” Harvey asked dubiously, eyeing up the poster, and Jim gave him the smile he had missed more than anything,

“I think the real take away from that sentence is that somehow you’re considered a responsible adult.”

Harvey laughed even as he shook his head. Leaned in close and talked all through the bad dialog and the bad cinematography, and walked Jim home afterwards, ignoring his protests that he was a big boy now. It was all so easy, so comfortable, and it wasn’t until he was stood on Jim’s doorstep, watching him search his pockets for his key, that it hit him full force just why he wasn’t supposed to be doing this.

“So, did you have a good belated birthday?” He asked, to fill the sudden silence, and Jim turned to look at him. Gazed up at him, and Harvey swore it was like something out of one of the soppy romance films they had both vetoed.

“There’s only one thing that could make it any better.”

“Yeah?” His own voice was breathy, his focus pared down to nothing but Jim, and he really might have done something unspeakably stupid. Might have convinced himself that Jim really was interested, but the sound of footsteps approaching broke the spell, and a cold shudder went down his spine at the sound of a too familiar voice,

“Officer Bullock? What could possibly bring you here?”

He was heading for meltdown.

He was back on patrol, at least, but he knew deep down that he was in no fit state for it. He was drinking too much, surviving on little more than coffee and pep pills, and seeing Jim, apologizing to Jim, had supplied none of the closure he had thought it might do.

It had only made things worse, made him face up to uncomfortable truths like maybe it wasn’t even just sex that he wanted from Jim. He wanted everything from Jim. He wanted Jim to want him.

Wanted Jim to love him, because he had never felt like this about anyone. Had never lay in bed and wondered what they were doing, what they were thinking. Had never been consumed by possessive jealousy, his mind straying to their conversation in the burger joint, in an attempt to decode whether or not Jim had already started practising when it came to the baby making.

It was none of his business, either way. Was something he obsessed over, all the same, because he had been nowhere near a virgin at 17. The idea alone would have been laughable. But Jim was nothing like the kid he had been. He didn’t drink, didn’t smoke. Didn’t skip classes and not only did his homework, but actually handed it in on time.

Jim could be, that was what he was getting at, and the idea that Jim might let somebody else touch him - some dumbass kid who didn’t know what they were doing, who didn’t appreciate the gift they were been given - made him want to punch something.

Got him worked up and frustrated and he went back to picking up dodgy hook-ups in dodgy bars, all too aware that for the first time in his life he had a type he was actively looking for. That he was only interested in dark blond hair and blue eyes. That he was skewing hard towards young guys who fit the bill, and Simmons came to all kinds of conclusions he didn’t want to know about when one of them ended up being interviewed as a witness to a robbery. The guy - Ryan, Bryan, he couldn’t remember - approached him afterwards to ask if he was interested in meeting up again, and Simmons gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing.

He gave him his number anyway, and he and Ryan struck up a mutually agreeable arrangement whereby he fucked Ryan senseless on a regular basis, and Ryan disappeared before he hauled himself out of bed in the morning.

It wasn’t a bad life, not really, and Roger began backing off too, less to be gained maybe now that Jim was getting older. Or perhaps he had simply found some other poor chump to blackmail. Harvey didn’t know and told himself that he didn’t care.

He didn’t care that the radio silence could mean gearing up for something big, and he didn’t care that Jim wasn’t at his evening community engagement meeting, though he had changed into a fresh uniform and combed his hair, pathetically desperate to make a good impression on a guy he had seen wretched and snot covered on more than one occasion.

All through the meeting he kept glancing at the door, hoping Jim might walk through it, and when it ended he debated calling off his scheduled meet with Ryan so he could go home and mope about in privacy. The thought of some decent stress relief won out, and he was more insistent than he usually was. Didn’t want to talk and wasn’t interested in getting dinner.

Instead he kissed and touched him all the way to his apartment, and pressed his back against every wall they passed, grinding their dicks together, Ryan panting and his hands everywhere. They were finally on the right floor, and Harvey really hoped none of his neighbors were planning on wandering about. He didn’t need a note on his file about displays of public indecency.

Because he had Ryan hitched up against the wall, shirt undone so he could get his hands on him, Ryan’s legs wrapped around his waist, rocking in a rhythm that even old Mrs Schmidt who lived at the end of the hall wouldn’t be able to mistake.

“Harvey,” Ryan whined when he moved from his mouth to his throat, sucking and nipping, and he was so into it, so lost, that he nearly jumped out of his skin when another voice entirely sounded up with,

“That you, Bullock?”

He pulled away from Ryan like he had been burned, then hated himself for it. This was legal, this was fine. If he liked it that Ryan was dressing younger, that it highlighted his painfully blatant resemblance to the owner of that voice’s little brother, it meant absolutely nothing.

Less than nothing.

Except before he could even begin to convey any of that Roger was on his feet and in his personal space. Was spaced out on something, sweat pouring down his face, and his voice wasn’t steady when he said,

“Thank fuck you’re here. You've got to help me.”

“I’m kind of busy,” Harvey said, waving a hand in Ryan’s general direction. He wasn’t going back to this. Wasn’t losing any more evidence or forgetting to interview any more witnesses.

Roger shook his head, seemed just a little hysterical.

“It’s Jim.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ryan said, incredulous, because he was still half undressed and aching, and it was beyond obvious that Harvey wasn’t going to be sparing him another thought all evening. “You do this and that’s it. It’s over.”

“He needs me,” Harvey countered, fear for Jim overriding any guilt or sorrow he might have otherwise felt about the ultimatum.

Ryan stared him down for one moment, two, and then he was turning and walking away, and Harvey had a grip on Roger’s shirt front, demanding to know where Jim was and what had happened.

“I didn’t think they really would,” Roger said and all the confidence was gone now, nothing but a scared kid underneath it all. “I thought it was just an idle threat. He’s 17, Bullock. He’s 17 and they’re going to kill him and it’s all my fault!”

“You’re fucking right it’s your fault!” Harvey agreed when he got more detail out of him. When Roger confessed how much money he owed and to who, and how if he didn’t cough up the goods, didn’t bring it to them within the hour, they were going to blow Jim’s brains out.

Harvey paced, frantic, because he ought to call it in but they had expressly said no cops. Might kill Jim anyway at one wrong move, and finally he made his mind up. Rooted through his drawer of miscellaneous weaponry and handed Roger a set of brass knuckles and a police issue Smith & Wesson.

“Don’t get trigger happy,” he warned even as he loaded his own firearms, “we only shoot if we have to.”

Roger nodded, pale and solemn, and Harvey sent up a silent prayer that, no matter what happened to him, Jim got out of this all right.

The house wasn’t hard to find which filled him with equal parts hope and dread. They weren’t professionals, might make mistakes - but, by the same reasoning, might freak out and shoot first, think later. He did his best to scout the place, pulse pounding in his ears, but the curtains were pulled closed and he couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the television.

Time was ticking and he decided to simply go for it. Hoped that the element of surprise might give them some advantage, and shouldered through the door, sweat and fear and adrenaline flooding over him.

“I thought I told you no fucking cops,” a controlled voice said and Harvey swallowed as the cool metal of a gun barrel was pressed to his temple.

“Drop the gun,” another voice said, and he only hesitated for a moment before complying.

He wouldn’t be any help to Jim with a bullet in his head.

They were lead through to a back room, he and Roger, and his heart flipped right over when Jim looked up at him from where they had him knelt on the floor, blood from a busted lip smeared across his face and a bruise forming on his cheekbone.

“I take it you’re not here to give me my money,” the guy with a gun trained on Roger said, and up close he looked every bit the oily drug dealer. Roger shook his head, the movement clumsy and frightened, and the man sighed, tone tinged with disappointment, “You had real promise, Gordon. Real potential. You just couldn’t keep your nose out of the merchandise, could you?”

The other guy laughed, and Harvey couldn’t believe this was how he was going to go out, blown away by some third rate drug runner. Except the guy was still talking, still posturing, and suddenly there was a scuffle of movement, a blur of confusion, and Jim had a gun gripped in shaking hands, the guy who wasn’t still pressing a gun to Harvey’s own temple clutching at his forearm and yelling,

“He bit me. The crazy son of a bitch bit me!”

Jim really had, hard enough to draw blood, and now he was fumbling with the safety catch and threatening to shoot if they didn’t let all three of them go, right now.

This was bad, this was really bad, because kids who volunteered for extra credit weren’t the kind who knew their way around a handgun. He was near certain that this was the first time Jim had even held one, and his grip was so unsteady he had about as much chance of shooting himself in the foot as he did of hitting either of his captors.

“I’ll do it,” Jim threatened, swiping the sweat from his eyes with the sleeve of his upper arm. “I swear to God I’ll kill you.”

“Just put the gun down,” the guy with the bite said, recognizing the determination in Jim’s tone for what it was. “Put it down and we’ll come to some arrangement.”

It might have worked. Would have, Harvey thought later, if a third guy hadn’t chosen that moment to put in an appearance and Jim hadn’t fired wildly, dumb luck sending the bullet into the newcomer’s stomach. Jim’s face blanched, terrified, and the other two didn’t look much better, staring in shock at the blood welling through the guy’s white shirt before one of them hissed,

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Harvey took charge in their absence. Tugged the gun from Jim’s unresisting fingers and ordered Roger to go find a phone and call it in, anonymously. Cradled Jim’s trembling form to his chest, and repeated the same soothing nonsense he had spouted the night he had pulled him free of what was left of his father’s car. Told him that it was okay, that he had him. That he was safe now and, when Jim regained his composure enough to pull away and thank him, he managed a real smile and said, voice thick,

“What are you thanking me for? You saved my life this time.”

IA had their suspicions but they couldn’t prove anything. The two guys who had fled had gone to ground, and the dead man was not only one of Falcone’s close associates but a total scumbag with a record for everything from drugs to kiddy fiddling into the bargain.

Nobody was going to be shedding tears.

Roger had flown to Chicago to stay with his aunt and his mother, and when IA asked where he had found the money Harvey only shrugged and played stupid. Insisted that he had run into Roger in the street and a seemingly innocuous comment had made him suspicious. Repeated over and over that he had gone to the address alone and that, while Jim attempted to stage a distraction, he had been forced to discharge his firearm.

“They’ll probably give you another medal for this,” Danziger said eventually, distaste dripping from every syllable, “Harvey Bullock, the Righteous Crusader.”

“Protect and Serve,” Harvey said, deliberately neutral, and the other man sneered.

“You’ll trip up one day, Bullock, and when you do, I’ll be waiting for you.”

After the last few months, Harvey didn’t feel it was a threat he was going to be losing any sleep over.

Instead he took Jim to dinner to celebrate being cleared by Internal Affairs and Jim asked him for the thousandth time why they couldn’t have just told the truth. Jim was beautiful like that, trusting and a little naive, and Harvey pointed out the benefits. Highlighted how this way Roger had a chance to go back to school and make something of his life, and didn’t let on that he knew exactly the methods Roger had employed to avoid earning himself a real criminal record.

“And you have more important things to be worrying about than court cases and criminals. You’ve got exams to be focusing on. Prom dates to be finding.”

Jim ducked his head, went quiet. “I killed a man, Harvey. I should be made to pay for it.”

Harvey had to fight back the urge to reach for his hand. Settled for simply leaning forward a little.

“It was self-defence, Jim - that’s what IA said to me. He was a bad man, an awful man. Why should you be made to go over it five hundred times when I can do it for you?”

That was the real benefit of this arrangement: that Jim could move on. Jim was going to graduate with flying colors, would have his pick of colleges, and there was no way Harvey was going to allow his brother, his mother, even himself to fuck that up for him. It was why Jim hadn’t gone to Chicago to be with his family, why he was sleeping on a friend’s sofa now that the house had been foreclosed. He just needed to stick with it until the end of the school year and that would be it.

He’d be 18 and free to do whatever he wanted.

He’d have his whole future ahead of him.

“Do you need anything?” Harvey asked when they were done eating, trying not to push but needing Jim to know he could ask. Being a teenager never got any cheaper. “You all set for prom? You need new shoes or something?”

“I’m not going,” Jim said, like it ought to be obvious, and Harvey lead the way to the car and shook his head.

“You’ve gotta go to prom, Jimbo. You’ll regret it all your life. At least that’s what they tell me.”

He hadn’t seen much of his own - too busy with one of the chaperones in a darkened little corner - but that was besides the point. He wanted Jim to have some normality in his life. Wanted him to be able to look back on his school days and see something other than being scared or sad or hungry.

“Don’t you have a date yet, is that it?” He asked genuinely curious because Jim was a good looking guy, even if he looked at the thing objectively, and he couldn’t imagine that there wouldn’t be plenty of girls willing to go with him. “There’s still plenty of time.”

“There’s nobody I want to go with.”

“Nobody at all?” Harvey pushed, incredulous, and they were in the car now, Jim avoiding his gaze by staring out of the passenger side window. “You know I was a teenage boy myself once, right? I don’t remember having particularly high standards.”

“Yeah,” Jim said, still facing away, voice muffled but tone bitter. “So you've told me.”

The atmosphere changed at that, the light hearted teasing giving way to awkward tension, and Harvey gripped the steering wheel too tightly. Cursed himself for being such a fool. For being so obvious, so blatant, and for not seeing how it would make anyone uncomfortable, being forced to talk about your love life - or lack thereof - with some creeper almost old enough to be your father.

“If you change your mind, if you think of something - anything - you need, just call me, okay?” Harvey said when they reached the friend’s house and Jim hesitated. Fidgeted with the seatbelt and Harvey thought suddenly of the first real date he had ever gone on, and his awkward flustering as he tried to work up the courage to ask if she was interested in taking things further.

This was nothing like that at all, he told himself sternly, and he didn’t know why it had even come to mind. It had though, and by the time Jim met his eye he would have promised him anything, pledged him his very soul if he had asked for it, if only it meant wiping that miserable uncertainty from his face.

“Can I start coming to your place again? I know you don’t want me there all the time, and I won’t be, it’s just that Kieran’s Mom is getting sick of me and -”

He didn't even have to think about it. Blurted,

“Go and get your stuff.”

Jim tried to backtrack, startled, “I didn’t mean you had to take me in, I just wanted to see you sometimes, honest. I -”

This was a dumb idea, no doubt one of his dumbest, but it was too late now. He was jumping in with both feet.

“You don’t have to but if you want to stay with me, well,” he shrugged, the smile curling across his face without his permission, “I’d really like to have you there.”

Jim just stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity, and then he was grinning back, as genuinely happy as Harvey had ever seen him.

“Give me five minutes, I’ll be right back.”

Living with Jim was going to kill his inappropriate attraction to him, that was what Harvey told himself that first night. Jim was probably going to be annoying and childish, and he was going to have to play the bad guy, nagging at him to get up for school on time and to clean up after himself.

That wasn’t how it was going to pan out at all, that was the realization he quickly came to. Jim had spent years taking care of himself, and was up and dressed and making breakfast before Harvey had even succeeded in silencing his alarm clock. Had cleared off the table he never used and dished up the food onto plates, instead of eating toast over the sink and swigging it down with tap water from the least objectionable looking mug.

“Do you want me to cook anything in particular for dinner?”

Harvey scrubbed at his face, he didn’t normally start thinking about dinner until he was trudging up the stairs to his apartment and realizing he had forgotten to go grocery shopping. Again.

“Uhh,” he managed then reached for the coffee, Jim having taken note at some point of how he preferred to take it. “I’m not at my best at this time in the morning.”

“I’m sensing that,” Jim grinned and Harvey tried again. Tried to get his act together and said,

“I don’t expect you to cook me dinner. I’m not expecting you to do anything for me.”

“I want to,” Jim insisted. “I’m going to be cooking for myself anyway.”

“You sure your friend’s Mom wanted you to move out?” Harvey quizzed but let it go. Refused to give Simmons an answer when she asked what had put a smile on his face, and for the first time in he couldn’t remember how long he looked forward to the end of his shift for a reason other than the ability to down a stiff drink and pass out on the sofa.

Felt a sense of home like he hadn’t experienced since his mother had died when he stuck his key in the door, and opened it to have Jim look up and smile at him, dropping whatever it was he was doing - homework by the looks of it - to come and ask how his day had been.

Jim really had cooked, and tidied the place up a bit. Had put all his stuff away in the drawers Harvey had cleared for him, and they were eating in companionable silence when Jim couldn’t wait any longer to point out that he hadn’t made a thorough job of it.

“This was in the back of the top drawer,” he said, and Harvey knew his cheeks were coloring, there was just nothing he could do about it. “You really kept it all this time?”

He did his best to play it cool. To act casual.

“You don’t get many people who want to thank you in my line of work.”

Jim gave him that smile, all soft eyed, and he had to add,

“It meant a lot to me. It still does.”

“It kept me going, those first months in physical therapy. They said I could go and say thank you once I could walk the length of the ward corridor. You have no idea how many times I cried over the length of that stupid corridor.”

It was the first time Jim had talked about it, about the weeks and months immediately after the crash, and Harvey asked,

“Does it still hurt? Your leg, I mean.”

“Sometimes, a bit,” Jim admitted, reaching to rub at his shin like he was unaware of the action. “Only when it’s really cold or I overdo it at football practice, that kind of thing.”

“So you can dance just fine then?”

Jim frowned, bemused, and Harvey elaborated,

“That’s not the reason you’re bailing on prom.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” Jim said, guarded again, and Harvey went back to eating. Praised the food and talked of other things, even if part of his mind remained stuck on the same topic.

He’d work it out, eventually.

The next few weeks were some of the best of his life. Living with Jim was so easy, so comfortable, and even if he had to lock himself in the bathroom every evening so he could frantically jerk off in the shower, turned on beyond reason at the thought of Jim’s smile and the definition of his biceps, it was worth every moment of discomfort.

Was worth Simmons’ disapproval when she found out, but Jim was almost 18 now, and there wasn’t much she could do about it. Wasn’t much she wanted to do about it, it turned out, because she watched them talking one evening, Jim on his way to see friends and the pair of them out on their regular beat.

“I still think you’re playing with fire but at least now I understand why,” she said once Jim was gone, and Harvey raised an eyebrow. Had a filthy comment on the tip of his tongue about her own roving eye, but she was too busy dropping bombshells, “You love him, and I’m a romantic. Just keep it to yourself and what I don’t know I can’t talk about when IA comes asking, that sound fair?”

“I don’t know how many times I need to say this, but nothing is happening. He’s probably gone to see some girl right now.”

The idea hurt. The truth always did.

“That’s exactly what I mean. Plausible deniability.”

Harvey opened his mouth to protest further but there was a scream, and they were both running, nothing but the job, and possibly the overtime, occupying either of their minds for the next few hours.

Jim had been home some time when he got in, and he had to take a moment to get a grip at the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. This wasn’t Jim’s home. This was somewhere he was staying until he moved on to the next stage of his life.

He had the blankets spread out over the sofa, ready for bed, and Harvey realized too late that he was staring at his bare arms. That his breathing was coming short at nothing more than the sight of Jim in his pajamas.

“Did you have a good time?” He asked, grasping for something neutral and normal to talk about.

“Yeah,” Jim said, fussing with positioning the cushions where he wanted them. “I was thinking about what you said. About prom. Maybe there is someone I would like to go with.”

“You’re cutting it a bit fine, aren’t you?” Harvey asked. It was two days away already. Jim clambered under the blankets, pulling them up to his chin so he looked about as young as he had been the first time Harvey met him.

“It’s still worth asking, don’t you think?”

Harvey forced a smile on to his face.

“Of course it is.”

He worked late again the next day, everyone on high alert after a random shooting in the shopping precinct, and Jim was in bed and out for the count by the time he was finally done for the evening. Harvey watched him sleep for a few minutes, totally overcome with just how much he could feel for another person. By how desperately he wanted Jim to be happy, even if it meant he was left to pine, painful and pathetic, for the rest of his life.

As the seconds ticked by the pain only grew more acute. The need to touch Jim, to be close to him. He let himself stroke the stray strands of hair back from his forehead. Hesitated and then pressed a careful kiss to his temple.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, stupidly, appalled by the almost crack in his voice.

He needed to pull himself together.

Went to bed and twisted and turned until he gave in to the urge to touch himself, closing his eyes and imagining it was Jim’s hand on him. Jim’s fingers, careful and tentative, unsure, so that Harvey would have to kiss him and pull him closer. Would tell him how perfect he was and how much he loved what he was doing, until the nerves gave way to confidence, and his grip would tighten.

Would grow exploratory, and he couldn’t bite back a breathy whimper when he trailed his own fingertips against the flesh of his inner thighs.

He wanted Jim so badly, loved him so desperately. He would push Jim back against the pillows. Would cover him in kisses, in touches, and show him what his body was capable of. He’d work him until Jim was in tears, until he couldn’t hold back, and he’d have Jim come in his mouth only to keep going until he was hard again. Until he was shaking and sobbing, and he’d press a finger into him. Would touch him just so, and Jim would arch up off the bed, crying his name as he came just as hard a second time.

Harvey had to bite at his hand, had to try and stifle the sounds he was making. He had never been so worked up from his own touch, from nothing but his own imagination, and his every muscle clenched when he finally came, spilling hot and wet over his fingers.

He shuddered, sucking in breath after breath as he unwound from it, and hoped against hope that Jim hadn’t heard any of it.

Jim was nowhere to be seen when he got up in the morning, and fear settled heavily in his chest until he spotted a new note stuck to the fridge,

‘Got a few things I need to do. I’ll see you later. :)’

He didn’t bother with breakfast and didn’t bother with sitting at the table. There didn’t seem any point without Jim there to share it with. The thought loomed over him that Jim would be leaving in a couple of weeks. A couple of days, maybe, depending on what he decided to do, and the prospect seemed so bleak and crushing that even Simmons was content to leave him to fester in his bad mood.

It was prom night for Gotham High, and one of the guys who worked traffic was waxing lyrical about the prettiness of his daughter’s dress, and less lyrical about its price tag. Harvey fixated on thoughts of Jim, and who it was he had decided was worth the risk of rejection.

He was miserable by the time the day was done. Maudlin and angry, not sure if he wanted to drink himself to sleep or go and pick a fight and get himself knocked out. That was a lie he conceded as he climbed the staircase of his apartment building.

He knew exactly what he wanted.

Jim wasn’t an option though, and when he shut the door behind him it was to find that Jim was still out. Had returned and left again, maybe, because there was an envelope on the coffee table he didn’t remember seeing that morning. He tore it open and opened the card inside, recognizing Jim’s neat handwriting.

‘I wanted to say thank you. For saving my life, for being there for me, for telling me that things would get better. For doing what I couldn’t and giving me the space to make my own mind up. And I have. I’m old enough to choose what I want - who I want - and if you haven’t worked out what that is yet I’m going to make detective before you. (That’s not insolence. That’s fact.)’

Harvey read it through three times before he could make sense of it. Before he could believe it.

Before he could move on to the postscript.

‘PS. I saw the tape I made you got chewed up. I made you a new one.’

He saw it laying next to the hi-fi and shoved it in the tape deck even as he ran his eye over the carefully transcribed and annotated track listing. Grinned helplessly at the repeated mentions of prom, from It's Raining On Prom Night (it probably will, this is Gotham) to If You Leave - OMD (don't try to pretend you don't know why, I bet you saw yourself as Molly Ringwald). 

He heard Jim's footsteps behind him, and turned to see him chewing at his lip, nervous but determined. 

“I told you there was someone I'd want to go to prom with. And this way I didn't need to buy new shoes or anything.”

“You're always using your head, Jim, that's what I love about you.”

“Do you? Love me?”

Jim sounded so hopeful, looked so cautious, and Harvey couldn't bear it. Didn't care that ten minutes ago he had sworn he would never burden Jim with any of his feelings for him. Jim wanted him. Jim had done all of this for him.

“More than anything,” he said, honestly, and Jim smiled at him, relieved and happy.

“I love you too,” Jim said, bashful but sincere. “In case the last four years I've spent stalking you weren't enough of a giveaway.”

“You'd be surprised,” Harvey managed, and Jim took a step forward, and then another. Pressed close enough that Harvey could feel his body heat. Smell his aftershave.

“Are you going to kiss me?” 

Harvey nodded, seriously,

“I think it's the done thing in these situations.”

“You sure?” Jim asked, the playful smile on his face doing all kinds of things to him, and in answer Harvey leaned in and brushed their lips together. Touched Jim's face, tenderly, and kissed him slowly and carefully. Kept at it until Jim was the one to push closer - the one to deepen the kiss - and the heat, the slick slide of Jim's tongue against his own, was so perfect that he had to pull away before he lost himself in it completely. 

“Did it live up to expectations?” He asked, nose bumping against Jim's, and Jim just wrapped his arms around his neck and said, every bit the future police officer,

“I don't know. I think I'll need to gather more evidence.”

Chapter Text

Harvey had never been known for his subtlety. Had never wasted any time getting from first base to naked and horizontal, but he had never been with somebody he cared so much about before - never been in love before - and it was enough to make him question everything he thought he knew about himself.

Because Jim deserved to be treated right, deserved to be made to feel special, and Harvey pledged to do both to the best of his ability.

“You should probably know that I haven’t,” Jim confessed stiltedly that very first night, when Harvey asked if he wanted to sleep in his bed instead of on the sofa. Flushed all down the back of his neck and said, “I don’t want you to be disappointed or anything.”

It clawed at his heart, knocked the breath from his lungs, and he had to pull Jim into his embrace. Had to press soft kisses to his face and say,

“We’re just going to sleep tonight, that’s all. You can’t rush these things.”

Jim looked dubious but, ultimately, let it slide because he didn’t know any better. Cuddled into him beneath the blankets and Harvey might have been so hard it hurt, might have been leaving a damp spot on his underwear, but all he did was hold him. Breathed in the scent of him, scarcely able to believe that Jim was actually in his arms, and swore that he would take his time.

That he’d take it slow, make it perfect, because, if he succeeded, maybe Jim would never need to go looking elsewhere.

Over the next few days all they did was kiss. Kissed and kissed until Jim’s pretty face was scratched up with stubble burn and Harvey had grown addicted to the taste of him. Dreamed about it at work and couldn’t get enough of it at home, only pulling away long enough to tell Jim how much of the day he’d wasted thinking about getting to kiss him again.

Jim was kind of shy at first, tentative, but by the end of the week he had his hands in Harvey’s hair, breathing ragged as his tongue pushed into his mouth with wanton enthusiasm. Made helpless little noises that went straight to Harvey’s dick, and he stroked his hands down Jim’s back. Slid them up and under his shirt, touching bare skin, and when he rubbed his thumb over one of his peaked nipples Jim gasped, fingers clutching at him as he tensed and shuddered.

“Oh, God,” he moaned, voice not quite steady, “oh, God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

It hit him in a rush that Jim had just come in his pants, had come completely untouched, and that kind of thing was supposed to be funny. Was supposed to be some sort of turn off, and all Harvey could do was pant for breath, so incredibly turned on he was afraid to move lest he follow Jim’s example.

“Don’t be sorry,” he managed, kissing Jim all over again, the slick heat of his mouth way too enticing, “don’t ever be sorry. That was so hot. You’re so fucking hot, Jim.”

The noise Jim made in response was pure sex, unintelligible and electrifying, and he could feel the heat pouring off him. Couldn’t calm himself down enough to do anything about it, and then Jim was latching on to the skin of his neck. Was licking and sucking, and pressing his palm against the bulge in his pants. Groped at him, awkward and without enough pressure, but it didn’t matter. Absolutely nothing mattered because Jim was touching him, Jim’s hand was on his dick, and his hips thrust up of their own accord once, twice, three times, and then he was whining out something incoherent, spilling in his shorts like he hadn’t since middle school.

Harvey kissed Jim again afterwards, and it felt so different to anything he had ever done before. Felt like he was handing his heart and his soul over on a platter, and Jim responded by nuzzling in against his cheek, pliant and content like all he had ever wanted from life was to be close to him.

“Is now a good time to tell you I scratched your Jailbreak album?” Jim said finally, when their heart rates were back under control, and all Harvey could do was press another kiss to his cheek and say, almost surprised by how little he cared,

“You’re lucky I love you.”

It terrified Harvey sometimes just how much he did love him. How just the thought of Jim was enough to bring a dopey smile to his face, and how willing he was to lie to himself rather than face up to any of the thousand and one reasons why Jim was going to come to his senses and leave once the summer was over.

He was going to go to college, was going to want to live the life of a college student, and somehow Harvey didn’t think all the love in the world would provide enough scope within that for a monogamous relationship with a middle aged beat cop.

“You’re not middle aged,” Simmons told him when he used the descriptor for himself. “You’re what, 38?”

“I’m 32!” Harvey protested and Simmons only smirked, so he couldn’t be sure if she had been serious or was deliberately trying to wind him up.

He should talk about it with Jim, he knew. Ought to find out for sure what Jim’s plans were, and whether or not he was worried about the fact he had left school before Jim had even started it. He was too much of a coward. Too afraid of what Jim might say and, besides, when he was with Jim he couldn’t think of anything so miserable and depressing, not when Jim was in his lap, mouth hanging open as he ground down against him.

“That feels so good,” he encouraged the night before Jim’s 18th birthday, lost in how unbearably hot it was, Jim knowing what he wanted and taking it. This was still as far as they had gone, increasingly desperate make out sessions, and he wasn’t prepared for Jim fumbling with his zipper, hand gingerly working its way into his underwear.

It shouldn’t have felt so mind blowing, shouldn’t have been enough to have him dripping over Jim’s fingers, but everything was different when it came to Jim - more intense, better. He had to tug at Jim’s wrist, had to twist their positions and push him back against the sofa, well aware that if he didn’t he was going to come embarrassingly quickly. Jim was close himself, eyes dark and cheeks burning, and Harvey could feel his good intentions slipping, breathing hot and heavy against Jim’s ear as he said,

“Can I touch you, Jim? Do you want me to?”

“Please,” Jim managed in response. “Please, Harvey.”

This was really going to happen. Was going to happen right now, and Harvey kissed Jim deeply as he got his jeans undone. As he got Jim to lift his hips enough to push them down, and Jim’s head tipped back into the sofa cushions when Harvey touched him through the fabric of his boxer shorts, a low groan escaping him.

He needed more, needed to touch him for real, and when he wrapped his hand around hard heat Jim arched up into it, like he couldn’t help himself.

Harvey watched the movement of his own hand, fascinated. Turned his attention to Jim’s face, swiping his thumb through the gathering wetness at the tip, and his own dick throbbed at the way Jim bit down hard at his lower lip.

“I can’t,” Jim whined, hips shifting and muscles straining. “Harvey, please, I need to.”

It really hit him then that this was the first time, the very first time, that Jim had had another’s hand on him. The first time anyone had seen him like this, exposed and aroused, and he was moving before he could think better of it. Had one hand in his own pants, frantic, and the other flat against Jim’s hip bone, helping to keep him steady as he tasted Jim the way he had spent so long dreaming about.

The noise Jim made tore through him, white hot, and the weight of his dick against his tongue, the precome flooding his mouth, was just too much. Had him taking Jim deep, had him moaning around him, and that was all it took, Jim not even able to warn him before he was coming, his strangled cry enough to push Harvey over the edge in sympathy.

They showered together before bed, pressed tight in the cramped space, and Jim seemed embarrassed about the renewed erection he was incapable of hiding. Didn’t understand what a welcome ego boost it was, and Harvey pulled Jim back against his chest, raising a possessive love bite on the side of his neck as he stroked Jim with sure, even movements.

Worked his way up to Jim’s ear, kissing and nibbling, and Jim couldn’t keep quiet. Couldn’t keep still, and they ended up face to face beneath the spray, Jim’s hand seeking out his growing hardness, tentative and uncertain.

Harvey had fantasised about it so many times, had jerked himself off to the idea again and again, convinced that it was as close as he would ever get to the reality. Now Jim was touching him, breathless and desperate, and it was even more incredible than he had imagined it would be. Because Jim was coming, hot and slick, over his fingers, and his grip was tightening reflexively, so painfully pleasurable that Harvey couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Yes, Jim, like that. Don’t stop. Oh, Jesus, Jim, please don’t stop.”

Jim didn’t. Stroked him harder, faster, and Harvey anchored one hand in Jim’s hair, kissing him like his life depended on it. Like he was drowning and Jim was oxygen, and when he came it was with such force he had to brace his free hand against the tiled wall, his legs not quite steady.

“Was that okay?” Jim asked, and it took a moment for Harvey to realize that he wasn’t joking. Another to cup Jim’s face in his hands so he could kiss him sweetly.

“That was amazing. You’re amazing.”

“I think maybe you’re kind of biased,” Jim said, equal parts pleased and embarrassed, and Harvey only turned off the water and handed him a towel.

Dried himself off and clambered under the covers, Jim curling in close enough to lay his head on his chest. With anyone else it would have been suffocating. Would have had him pulling away, eager for his own space. With Jim he wouldn’t have it any other way and as he fell asleep he wondered, hoped, if it was a sign that, in spite of all the obstacles, they could really build a future together.

By late afternoon the next day, Harvey was all but convinced that it was over, his every stupid dream in tatters because Jim had packed everything he owned into his backpack and was looking at him with tear swollen eyes as he waited for him to take back his front door key.

The day had started so well.

He had begged and borrowed and pleaded, and finally succeeded in finding somebody who was willing to swap shifts with him so he could spend the entire day with Jim. Had chosen to ignore Jim’s assurances that it didn’t matter, that the day wasn’t a big deal, and he knew he had made the right decision when Jim beamed at his announcement and agreed to sleep in for an extra hour.

Not that they did much sleeping, not with Jim being so inescapably distracting. Harvey blew him again, losing himself in the taste and the feel, and Jim squirmed and moaned and tugged at his hair, just the way he liked best.

Called his name when he came, arching up and around him, his stomach muscles quivering.

Cried out, wordless and inarticulate, when Harvey didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop, because he knew it wouldn’t take much, knew Jim would be hard again within minutes, and by the time they got there Jim was cursing and pleading, twisting and writhing, and Harvey had to hold him still. Swallowed past his gag reflex and ground his own dick into the mattress as Jim sobbed and howled, already close to the edge again.

Harvey pulled back to kiss his way up Jim’s shaft. Mouthed at his balls and sucked at the soft skin of his thighs. Took a moment to simply memorise the look of agonized pleasure on Jim’s face, and then he was swallowing him down again, the tip of one finger just pressed to his entrance, and that was it, Jim making so much noise Harvey was sure all of his neighbors could hear as he came for the second time.

“Oh, God,” Jim panted over and over, limbs trembling as he collapsed into the sheets, face rosy and sweat slick. “That was amazing.”

“That’s nothing,” Harvey told him, hand pulling at himself in quick, fevered motions. Kissed him, slick and passionate, and went on, “One day I’m going to cuff you to the headboard and just make you come over and over again. I’ll kiss you and touch you and suck you, and you’ll be so sensitive. You’ll be crying and desperate and certain you can’t come again, but I’ll get you there, Jim. You’ll come for me and you’ll look so beautiful and I’ll - oh, fuck! Jim.”

He was coming himself, shaking, and Jim was staring at him wide eyed, like speech had just given up and deserted him.

“That’s if you want to do any of that,” Harvey clarified sheepishly, still struggling for breath, and Jim kissed him eagerly, hand curling around the back of his neck.

“So long as it’s with you, I want to do everything.”

They did manage a little more sleep then, limbs heavy and sated, and when he next opened his eyes it was to find Jim already up and out of bed, the radio playing quietly in the living room. Harvey forced himself to move. Washed and dressed and found Jim beaming fit to split his face, so ridiculously pleased over the cheap birthday card Roger had mailed him that Harvey reaffirmed his commitment to ensuring Jim never discovered it had taken three phone calls and a promise to wire the guy $50 to get it there.

That Jim never knew he had bought and wrapped the trinket ostensibly from his mother, or that when he had tried to speak to the woman herself all he had achieved was getting lectured by Jim’s aunt for 20 minutes on his lack of morality, and how it was his fault Jim’s soul was destined to burn for all eternity.

He got the feeling that Jim’s family would be be one of those topics on which he was going to be forever silent, on the basis that he would never have a good thing to say about them.

Jim seemed overjoyed with the wristwatch, all the same, and Harvey couldn’t help the way his heart flip flopped in his chest when Jim sniffed at the cuff of his shirt sleeve after he had finished fastening the catch. It was one of his old shirts, hanging too big on Jim’s frame, but that was the way they were supposed to be worn Jim had assured him numerous times in the short period they had been together, layering it up over clean white tank tops.

It couldn’t hurt for Jim to have some stuff that fit properly though. To have some more stuff in general, because Harvey wasn’t used to having to do such regular laundry, and he could swear Jim’s sneakers were actually falling apart. Still, Jim had to protest when he told him they were going to the mall, stubborn streak on full display,

“I can buy my own clothes, as soon as I find a job.”

“You can,” Harvey agreed, “but it doesn’t change the fact I’m going to go buy some decent outfits for my gorgeous boyfriend.”

“That doesn’t sound very fair,” Jim said, tone neutral, and when Harvey turned a quizzical eye on him Jim couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face, “what if I get jealous?”

Harvey jostled his shoulder in retaliation. Grabbed his keys and his wallet and got Jim moving, barely biting back the urge to kiss him senseless in the stairwell, because his neighbors seemed to make a special study of turning up at inopportune moments.

Instead he settled for picking out the most atrocious items of clothing he could find and making Jim try them on. Laughed himself stupid at a mixture of pleather and rhinestone detailing, then sobered up quick when the shop assistant asked if he and his son had been able to find everything they were looking for.

Had to play along before Jim could correct them because Jim was an idealist, but he had seen just how ugly things could get and how quickly.

Jim wasn’t impressed, acted sullen and standoffish, and Harvey was careful to stay out of his personal space. Wished he knew the right thing to say, the right thing to do, because by the time he had succeeded in getting Jim to pick out a couple of dress shirts and a carbon copy of the outfit he was already wearing, the atmosphere between them was decidedly frosty.

When he suggested they go get lunch things only went from bad to worse, because they had been there just long enough to order when he looked around to realize that Ryan was sat at the table next to them. Had little choice but to exchange a few words of awkward small talk and make even more awkward introductions.

“This is Ryan. We, er,” he hesitated, searching for a word that wasn’t ‘fucked’, “dated for a while.”

Ryan looked Jim up and down with undisguised curiosity, no doubt noting all the similarities. Quite obviously putting two and two together because he had cancelled on Ryan too many times, had mentioned Jim’s name more often than was reasonable, thoughts of Jim never particularly far from him.

“And this is?” Ryan asked anyway, playing the innocent, and Harvey hesitated again. Worried suddenly about the things Ryan knew, and the things Ryan had seen, and downplayed the link between them entirely with,

“Jim. Jim Gordon.”

Jim scarcely grunted in acknowledgement, feigning intense interest in the back of the menu, and Harvey didn’t know how to salvage the situation. Plastered a false smile on his face as Ryan introduced him to his new boyfriend, a trendily dressed guy who looked like he had plenty of money, and once their own food arrived scrabbled helplessly for a neutral topic that might get Jim talking to him again.

He asked him if he was planning to meet up with any of his school friends later, not wanting to presume that Jim would be content to spend all day and all night in his company.

“Maybe,” Jim answered, shoulders tense and tone non-committal.

“Oh,” Harvey managed, the disappointment sharper than he had expected. He tried for casual, for levity, “Just make sure you don’t get so drunk I need to bail you out in the morning, eh?”

“Yeah, because that’s the kind of thing a stupid kid like me would do, isn’t it?” Jim snapped, and before Harvey could say anything he was pushing away from the table. Stating in a clipped tone that he had better things to be doing and Harvey watched him go, lost and bewildered, trying to grasp what exactly had just happened.

“It’s the kind of thing you’ve got to expect when you’re going with a schoolkid,” Ryan said in a too loud whisper to the guy he was eating with and Harvey pledged he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Finished his dinner without tasting a bite of it and tried to convince himself that things were going to be okay. That Ryan was right and it was hormones, or something as equally benign, and he’d get home to find Jim listening to Alanis Morisette on repeat, worked up and wanting to apologize. He had been 18 himself once, after all, and Jim had never been the best at reigning in his emotions.

The sensible thing to do, he told himself, would be to give Jim some time to calm down and cool off, and perhaps it would do him good too.

Except underneath all the rational reasoning he felt sick with fear. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, wasn’t supposed to fall apart so quickly. He had been certain he would get the summer, at least, before Jim realized he deserved so very much better.

He trailed around the mall when he was done eating, aimless and nervous, and wished that he had someone to talk to about it. Wished, painfully, that his Mom was still around and could tell him to stop worrying about the things that might be, and go deal with the things that already were. He ended up in the fragrance section of one of the department stores, spraying a card with his Mom’s favorite perfume and thinking about how wonderful things had been just that morning, when Jim had wanted to wear one of his shirts just because it smelled like him.

It was enough to galvanize him into action.

Enough to have him silently promising his Mom that he was going to try, that he was going to fight, and he was out of breath by the time he was unlocking his apartment door, nerves and the speed with which he had climbed the stairs conspiring against him.

Jim was sat with his backpack at his feet, stuffed full of his meagre belongings, fidgeting with the front door key he had given him that very first night he had brought him home and made up the sofa. His stomach sank, ice flooding through him, because Jim was going to leave. Was going to walk away, and Harvey hadn’t known anything could hurt so badly.

“I didn’t want to leave before I’d said thank you,” Jim said and he had been crying. His eyes were rimmed red and his face was swollen. “And before I’d apologized.”

“Where are you going to go?” He asked, the panic audible. Gotham was a dangerous place. “At least stay until you have something sorted.”

Jim didn’t argue. Looked away as though it would hide the fact he was crying, and Harvey couldn’t take it. He had seen Jim cry before and it had hurt. It had tore at his heart and made him feel helpless. Now it was unbearable, felt as though it might kill him, and he pulled Jim to him.

Clung too tight and had to fight for control of his own emotions when Jim begged brokenly,

“I’m sorry. Please let me stay.”

He cupped Jim’s face in his hands. Swiped the moisture from his cheeks with his thumbs and heard his voice catch as he said,

“Jim, I love you. I don’t want you to go anywhere. Not now. Not ever.”

“I thought you were ashamed of me,” Jim blurted. “Embarrassed. I thought that was why you didn’t want anyone to know about us.”

It made sense, he supposed, in a twisted kind of a way. In the kind of way a highly strung guy he had never bothered to make clear his intentions to might interpret things.

“I spoke to Roger,” Jim went on and Harvey’s heart knotted, knowing without being told that Roger had told Jim everything. “You did all that for me. You put up with all that for me and I acted like an idiot. Like a stupid kid.”

Jim had really taken that line to heart. Had clearly been way less secure than he had ever realized, and Harvey kissed him, soft and sweet, before sucking it up and addressing all the elephants in the room,

“You’re not a stupid kid. You never were. I was afraid of what I felt for you - I still am. You’re so young, Jim. You could do so much better. You should be out getting drunk with your friends, not crying over some schmuck who can’t even work up the courage to ask you where you’ve decided to go to college.”

“Gotham,” Jim said without missing a beat. “You’re not a schmuck and I’ve had enough of drink to last me three lifetimes. I know I’m young - I can’t help being young - and I’m afraid all the time that you’ll decide I’m not worth the effort because I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“That’s never going to happen,” Harvey assured because now they had started spilling secrets, it seemed impossible to put a stop to it. “All I’ll ever want is for you to be honest with me. If you don’t like something, if you want to try something, all you need to do is say. You can tell me anything, ask me anything.”

Jim kissed him in answer, frantic and unrelenting, and Harvey slowed it down. Turned it soft and gentle, until Jim was calm enough to question,

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Jim nodded to himself, coming to a decision, and they spent the evening on the sofa eating delivery pizza with Jim asking him about everything from his Mom to when was the first time he had thought of him as something more than an annoying kid who trailed around after him.

Harvey didn’t try to sugar coat it. Admitted how hard he had fought it, and how ashamed he had felt of himself. Confessed that he had never realized, never registered how Jim felt, not until it was too late to do anything about it.

“I don’t think you could have,” Jim said in turn. “I tried everything already. It didn’t make any difference.”

He told him stiltedly then of how he hadn’t understood what it meant, not at first, the desperate need to see him, to be close to him, and how painfully jealous he had been of his girlfriend the day he had stepped in and rescued his walkman from the school bullies.

“How many girlfriends have you had?” Jim asked next, and that wasn’t the kind of question Harvey had been expecting. But he had said anything. Jim kept talking, “What about boyfriends? How many people have you slept with?”

It was stupid, but he hesitated for a moment. Tried to fob Jim off with “it’s not something I’ve ever really kept tabs on” before accepting that he had said they were going to be honest with each other. He just didn’t want Jim to think less of him. He didn’t want Jim to see him as this loser who went out, got wasted, and couldn’t remember the name of the person he woke up to, then repeated the same process over and over again.

“Fifty,” he said finally, “Sixty, perhaps. Less than a hundred.”

That was a conservative estimate but Jim looked appalled. So horrified that Harvey wished he could take it back. That he could lie and laugh it off like he had been joking all along.

“I’ve been tested. I wouldn’t put you at risk.”

“I just - it’s not that.” Jim met his gaze, nothing but stubborn determination keeping his head up, embarrassment writ clear all over his expression. “How am I supposed to match up? That guy earlier - how can I compete with that?”

The thing was that he could see Jim’s point. Could understand, intellectually, that it was something Jim felt he needed to worry about. It was just so completely out of synch with how things actually were. Because, sure, he had screwed around. Had had good sex and bad sex, absolutely mind blowing sex and had even been half convinced he was in love a couple of times.

All of it paled in comparison to what he had now.

“Do you know how many people I’ve made love to?” Harvey asked finally, not able to find the words to explain exactly how different this was to his usual hook ups.

Jim frowned at him, confused, and Harvey could feel the heat in his own cheeks. The corny line and the picture Jim made like that, waiting for him to reveal where he was going with this.

“Just you, okay? You don’t need to compete with anyone.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?” Jim managed, incredulous, and Harvey shrugged, glad nobody else was around to hear him say,

“I’ve got it bad for you, Jim. Really really bad.”

He wasn’t so great with words, with declarations, but now it was done the air felt clearer. Sweeter. Like the morning after a long awaited storm, when everything smelled fresh and anything seemed possible.

Jim was calmer, more centered, and when he landed a part time gig at one of the diner’s near the precinct Harvey dragged Simmons there almost every day for a month, just to catch glimpses of him in his cap and dickie bow.

“You’re a sick man, Bullock,” Simmons said one day after Jim had delivered their order and the judgement hit him hard, made him feel ill, but she was only glaring at the sandwich he was dousing in chilli sauce. “Don’t think I’m covering for you when you’re doubled over with indigestion.”

“I’ve got the constitution of an ox,” Harvey protested, grinning widely, and when her prediction came to pass she watched on smugly as he struggled to chase a perp through the City Park.

He complained about it later, seeking sympathy, and Jim let him lay across his lap, fingers stroking at his brow even as he shook his head and said,

“You brought it on yourself.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” Jim soothed, smile playing about his lips. “That’s why I’m going to make sure you get served nothing but salads from now on.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Harvey warned and Jim just grinned and asked him what he’d do to convince him otherwise.

Jim was coming out of his shell like that, and wasn’t at all the good little boy scout he liked to make himself out to be. He watched the entire stash of shoddy blue movies he had liberated from the precinct before pronouncing them too terrible to be effective, and looked at him with unconcealed interest when he got home late one night without bothering to change out of his patrol uniform.

Backed him up against the door before kissing away any suggestion of exhaustion, then slid deliberately to his knees, expression only slightly nervous.

“You don’t have to, Jim,” he managed, but Jim just mouthed over his rapidly hardening erection, hot and wet even through two layers of fabric.

“I want to,” Jim breathed, and Harvey could only tip his head back against the wall, eyes falling closed as Jim made quick work of his button and zipper. He had to look then, had to see, and Jim gazed up at him, eyes impossibly blue and cheeks flushed as he lapped at the head of his dick, like a scene out of one of his wet dreams.

Like a scene out of the very first wet dream he had had about Jim and he had to tug Jim to his feet, had to plunder his mouth, feeling like he simply couldn’t get close enough. Like he would never be able to get enough, and the kiss was ratcheting up from eager to filthy, Jim all but trying to climb him, clinging and clutching.

Harvey moved it to the bedroom. Pushed Jim back against the sheets and kicked his own shoes off before joining him, taking things slower, letting his hands wander. Stroking his fingers over Jim’s skin and enjoying the breathy sounds he made in response, and the helpless gasps when he rubbed at his nipples and sucked at the sensitive spots on his neck.

“Nobody’s ever made me feel the way you do,” he confessed, too into it to care how syrupy or sentimental he sounded. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. You’re so beautiful, Jim.”

It took his breath away sometimes, tied his heart up in knots, and Jim was tangling his hands in his hair, pulling him closer, panting in his ear,

“I don’t want you to stop tonight. I want to go all the way.”

He didn’t ask if Jim was sure - didn’t need to. He had pledged to wait until Jim was ready, until Jim told him outright that he wanted it, and now the moment was finally here all Harvey could do was kiss him. Lick into his mouth and push his hands through his hair. Bite at his bottom lip and strip him out of his clothing.

Jim kissed him back, over and over, his gasps and whimpers filling the air as Harvey refamiliarised himself with his body. Trailed kisses everywhere, touched him everywhere and kept eye contact as he pressed a slick finger into him. As he crooked it, firmly, and Jim clenched his eyes tight shut, losing himself in it. Was loud and frantic and so unbearably hot, pushing back against his fingers and wrapping a hand around himself, overwhelmed by the sensation.

He scrabbled at Harvey’s shirt buttons when he pulled his fingers free, eyes dark and wild, and Harvey kissed him into submission, hands tender against his face and neck, even as he worked on getting the condom on and moving Jim into position.

It would be easier on hands and knees, probably more comfortable, but he had to see Jim, had to kiss him, and Jim wound one hand into his hair, the other finding his thigh, alternately pulling him closer or signalling for him to stay still, his body adjusting.

“Are you okay?” He asked when they started to move together and Jim just keened. Couldn’t keep still and couldn’t keep quiet, and Harvey couldn’t keep his own mouth shut, the feel of being inside Jim, of being so close to him, making it impossible.

“Please,” Jim begged when he shifted the angle, when he hooked one arm under the back of Jim’s knee and found what he was looking for, and from there it couldn’t last long. Not with the way Jim was reacting, whimpering into his mouth and crying that he loved him.

“I love you too,” he promised, so close it hurt. So close he couldn’t help himself, and he kissed Jim deeply as he wrapped a hand around his dick, following Jim’s increasingly vocal cues to stroke him up and over the edge. It didn’t take much more than seeing Jim’s face, than feeling him clench around him, and he was coming too, reduced to a shaking mess as he did his best to collapse to Jim’s side and not on top of him.

“Am I going to have to worry about you at the academy?” Harvey asked later, Jim spooned against his chest, loose limbed and comfortable. “You seem to have a thing for uniforms.”

Jim just kissed absently at the arm holding him, too tired to move.

“Only when you’re wearing them.”

[a couple years later…]

“You do what Evans tells you, right? Exactly what he tells you. Unless he tells you to do something stupid or dangerous, then you can tell him to go fuck himself.”

“Harvey,” Jim chastised, “I’m going to be fine, okay? You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I’m always going to worry about you, Jim, it kind of comes with the territory.”

Jim’s gaze softened, made Harvey’s insides squirm about, and he glanced around to ensure they were alone before pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Just be careful out there, all right?”

“I promise,” Jim said and Harvey made the final adjustments to his own uniform before leading the way out of the locker room.

It would have to do.

He spent the entire morning worrying, all the same, a thousand and one scenarios playing out in his head, each one more horrific than the last. Jim getting beat up. Jim getting stabbed. Jim getting shot, and gasping out his last breaths in Evans’ arms while he was stuck across town dealing with accusations of dognapping and neighbors who couldn’t agree to disagree over the height of their boundary fence.

“He’s going to be fine,” Simmons said, too observant as usual. “He graduated top of his class, he’s a clever kid.”

“He’s book smart,” Harvey corrected. “When it comes to common sense, he hasn’t got any. He jumps before looking. He’s got no sense of self-preservation.”

“He looks kind of dishy in blues,” Simmons added, mischievous, and Harvey just flipped her the bird in response.

The truth was that Jim looked spectacular in his blues. Harvey had never been much interested in service uniforms, spent too much time wearing one, but the sight of Jim in his shirt and tie, duty belt slung around his hips… It did things to him. Got him hot and bothered, and he had to take a moment simply to compose himself when they met up with Jim and Evans for lunch.

He was so proud of Jim, still so ridiculously in love with him, and it was all he could do to keep the adoration off his face as he dropped into the seat opposite him, snagging a handful of his fries.

“He doing as he’s told?” He asked Evans, knowing how it wound Jim up to be talked about as though he wasn’t there, and Evans said without preamble,

“At least he hasn’t picked up any of your bad habits. Jesus Christ, Bullock, when was the last time you shaved? Got a haircut?”

Harvey glanced at his reflection in the window. Scrubbed a hand across his chin. He was lazy, what could he say? Scruffy, slovenly. Suddenly all too aware that he ought to be trying harder, especially if he wanted to keep the vision in front of him.

“It suits him though,” Jim said, tone casual but gaze intense. “He’s got a reputation to maintain.”

Evans sniggered, reading sarcasm, but Harvey could see the hint of color in Jim’s cheeks. Could feel where his foot was jostling him, ever so slightly, under the table, and he swore his heart could burst he was so damn happy.

It wasn't going to be all plain sailing perhaps - living together, working together - but they'd make it work, that he had no doubt of.

Chapter Text

“Listen up! Deputy Commissioner Saunders here has requested a volunteer. Which of you is it gonna be?”

It was amazing, Jim thought, how quickly the department switched from open procrastination to intense concentration. If they could bottle that kind of power, make it work consistently, they’d have their entire backlog of unsolved cases cleared before the week was out.

“Come on,” Harvey wheedled, attempting and failing to make eye contact with someone. “It’s for a good cause.”

“Not such a good cause he’s willing to do it,” Alvarez complained under his breath and Jim shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Nobody else was going to offer, he knew.

All he was doing was delaying the inevitable.

“It will look good on your file,” Saunders tried and Jim sighed.

Gave in and stuck his hand up.

“I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Gordon,” Saunders said, clipped and professional, and Harvey beamed at him so widely it almost made the imposition worth it.

“You’re a soft touch,” Alvarez told him later as they stood at the records desk, snapping his gum and generally being irritating.

Jim was proud of Harvey for stepping up to the plate as Acting Captain, really he was, but sometimes he wished that he hadn’t. Wished that they were still spending the entire working day together, and that he had Harvey’s playful teasing to deal with instead of Alvarez’ impatient idiocy.

“Here you go,” Evans wheezed, dumping a cardboard box onto the counter. “Back copies of Police News and the GCPD Gazette.”

It wasn’t so bad, Jim thought. It would take him a few hours to get through the whole box and find the relevant material. A couple more to write it up into something usable, and then he could hand it over to Saunders for her ‘GCPD and the Community: Bridging the Divide’ masterpiece.

With any luck she would be so pleased he would be exempt from actually having to attend the exhibition.

Except when he heaved the box into his own arms, Alvarez having offered to give him a ride to his apartment, Evans called out,

“Wait up. There’s another eight boxes where that came from!”

Jim hardly knew where to start. There was material dating back to the 1910s, creased and falling apart, dumped right in alongside Xeroxed circulars from the AAPL and GOAL.

In the end he decided to go through the national literature first, on the basis that if there was no direct mention of Gotham or its environs it could go back in a box and be forgotten about.

That still left boxes and boxes of ephemera to be read, and Alvarez laughed himself sick every time he remembered the fact it was something Jim had willingly signed himself up for.

Roughly every 20 minutes or so.

“It was a rookie mistake,” Tuttle told him when they ended up eating lunch at the same diner.

McKenna nodded. “Never volunteer for anything, Gordon. That’s how they get you.”

Jim just pushed his food around his plate listlessly and wondered what Harvey was doing.

Because a week in and his apartment looked like an extension of the records room, piles of paper everywhere, and he had been through four packs of color coded post-it notes already.

Most of it was total rubbish. Reactionary articles about what was wrong with the latest proposed piece of police related legislation, and adverts for equipment and insurance from providers across the country.

There were a few gems though.

An interview with the first female Captain in the state, and a day in the life of a long dead GCPD patrol officer from 1919. A picture of Tuttle - looking just as ancient as he had the day before - receiving a commendation for his quick thinking in 1993 and a double page spread on how the short sleeved uniform was revolutionizing inner city Gotham policing back in the 1970s.

Jim barely skimmed over the mentions of himself. The unfolding saga of Pinkney and his wrongful conviction. It wasn’t a time he ever wanted to be reminded of.

Mentions of Harvey, on the other hand, were something else entirely. Something he was eagerly searching for, and he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face when he found an early one, complete with a picture of Harvey in patrol uniform and crash helmet, posing alongside a police issue bicycle.

Officer Bullock of the GCPD deems LEBA training day a wheely great success!

He stuck a few copies of it up on the station notice board, ensuring the original caption got due prominence.

Feigned total innocence when Harvey slapped one of them onto his desk, and flushed, helpless, when Alvarez smirked at Harvey’s retreating back and commented,

“He’s just pissed that a bike’s about the only thing he can ride these days.”

Jim thought about it a lot over the next few days. Couldn’t really do otherwise, not with all the bike jokes doing the rounds, and the extra energy he put into watching Harvey through his office window.

Alvarez, for all his linguistic charm, had a point maybe, because Harvey hadn’t mentioned any of his dates - paid or otherwise - for weeks now. Months, even, and Jim couldn’t pretend not to understand why the fact made him so happy.

It wasn’t that he wanted Harvey to be lonely. He knew better than most what it was to be single and miserable. It was just that it gave him hope that what he actually wanted wasn’t completely impossible.

He trawled through the boxes again that night, making good headway, and simply stared for long moments when he came across another picture of Harvey, not quite sure what to make of it.

Except that was a lie because he knew exactly why he was staring. Why he was already dreaming up ways of how he might get Harvey to recreate it, because he had often wondered if Harvey even owned an iron and yet here was photographic evidence of him in a full tuxedo.

The caption claimed that he and his dance partner had been runners up in the thirteenth annual Gotham Amateur International Ballroom Championships, under a banner exploring the weird and wonderful ways GCPD officers were involved in their local community, and it seemed so fantastical Jim went back and forth over whether or not he believed it.

It was an inside joke, perhaps, or else some kind of mix up. Harvey wasn’t the kind of guy to go in for ballroom dancing.

He wasn’t the kind of guy Jim would have pegged to deem a Law Enforcement Bicycle Association training day ‘wheely great’ either, and maybe it was proof that people changed, or just that Harvey had hidden depths he didn’t know about.

He wanted to know though. Wanted nothing more, and he didn’t make copies of this latest discovery. Took it to Harvey directly instead, and watched the color flood Harvey’s cheeks even as he said,

“Bruce Lee was a Cha-Cha champion. There’s nothing wrong with knowing how to dance, Jimbo.”

“I never said there was,” Jim pointed out and added, before he could think better of it, “I bet you couldn’t do it now though.”

Harvey definitely was the kind of guy who couldn’t resist a wager, and Jim fought to keep his expression neutral. Not to squirm or fidget under the other man’s scrutiny and, by the time he went back to reading through his witness statements, somehow he had succeeded in getting Harvey to agree to giving him a private demonstration.

This wasn’t the stupidest thing he had ever done, but it was up there. Top three, even, Jim thought as he finished packing up the records boxes and pushing them against the wall.

They were going to need the space, after all.

Harvey turned up right on time - at least by his standards - and Jim couldn’t help the way his stomach fluttered at the sight of him, for all that he was wearing exactly the same outfit he had been when Jim left the precinct.

“You really want to do this?” Harvey questioned, dubious, and Jim wondered how obvious, on a scale of one to ten, he was being.

If Harvey could tell how nervous he was, and how fast his heart was racing.

“I’m leading,” Harvey said, leaving no room for argument, and when Jim failed to protest he asked, “Do you even know any dance steps?”

“Do I need to?”

The look Harvey gave him suggested the answer was yes, don’t be such a dumb-ass, and he wished he had made it to one of the dance classes Barbara was always nagging him to accompany her to.

“Can’t you just show me?” He asked finally, and he didn’t know what Harvey could see in his expression, hear in his tone, but his face softened a little as he sighed and said,

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

There was some fussing then. Setting up the music, and Harvey showing him how to stand, and where to put his hands. Correcting him every 20 seconds and walking him through the slowest waltz in history.

“It’s not as easy as it looks, is it?” Harvey asked smugly at one point, and Jim trod on his foot in retaliation. Acted even more of a klutz than he actually was, and laughed along with Harvey when the older man huffed in exasperation, and made him start all over again.

Felt kind of proud of himself when he finally mastered it, and as soon as he wasn’t concentrating so hard on what his feet were doing, there was nothing to stop him focusing on how close Harvey was, and how good his cologne smelled.

Harvey met his gaze, seemed lost in it, and it wasn't long before they were both simply standing there, the air feeling charged around them.

“You didn’t want to learn to dance, did you?” Harvey murmured, and Jim only pushed closer and pressed their lips together, chaste and tentative. Smiled, relieved, when Harvey kissed him back, held him tighter, and when they eventually pulled back enough to look at each other he confessed, Harvey smiling right back at him,

“No, but it was an added bonus.”

Chapter Text

It was only a little illegal. Moderately unethical.

Absolutely necessary.

Because Harvey had pulled all kinds of strings to get this dinner reservation, was shelling out a frankly obscene amount of money, and if Jim was only going to sit there sullen and unresponsive, refusing to eat anything for fear of making his toothache worse.

Well.

It wasn’t going to happen.

Anyone else would have just taken a damn painkiller, but not Jim Gordon. Jim had to be stubborn and stupid. Had to play the martyr and, okay, maybe it wasn’t just the money and the effort, it was the way Jim kept wincing in pain, hand coming up to shield the side of his jaw protectively.

He hated seeing Jim hurt. Would do anything to spare him a single moment of it, and if that meant surreptitiously spooning soluble acetaminophen into his coffee, so be it.

Jim pulled a face when he took a sip, obviously detecting something off with it, but Harvey only challenged,

“Drink up, Jim. That’s the proper stuff, none of your latte-ccino bullshit. It’ll put hair on your chest.”

It worked, Jim way too predictable, and Harvey went back to his paperwork with a satisfied smile. Let himself daydream about how perfect the evening was going to be, because three years after they had started working together, two and a half years after he first acknowledged that he had fallen like a ton of bricks for his boy scout of a partner, and they were going on a date.

An actual honest to God first date, the kind they showed on TV and in all the cheesy movies.

Harvey couldn’t remember the last time he had been on one. Wasn’t sure he had ever been this worked up over the mere idea, his heart racing and his palms sweating whenever he thought about it.

Jim was worth it though. Was worth everything he had to give and so much more, and Harvey was pleased to see that he was in a better mood by the time they wrapped it up for the day.

In fact, Jim was in a ridiculously good mood. Was a little nervous maybe, because when Harvey put a hand on his shoulder and handed him his jacket, Jim started laughing. Was gesturing in the direction of the front desk and giggling helplessly.

Laughed until there were tears on his cheeks and, though Harvey squinted and frowned, he couldn’t work out what it was that Jim found so hysterically funny.

Jim couldn’t seem to get enough of a grip to explain either. Started laughing all over again as Harvey lead the way to the car, and had to clutch at his sides as he tried and failed to get his seatbelt on.

“I worry about you sometimes,” Harvey groused, only half joking, and subtly pushed his thumb into Jim’s cheek when he reached up to wipe the moisture from it.

Last time Jim had been acting this weird he had been someone else entirely.

There was no real give, no malleability, but Jim was still acting strange all the way to the restaurant. Put the radio on and drummed his fingers against the dashboard. Hummed under his breath and even sang a few lines, turning to beam at him and say, tone incredulous,

“I like this one!”

If his own nerves hadn’t been so strained perhaps he would have realized sooner. Perhaps he would have recognized how out of character it was for Jim to press so close as they waited to be seated. To all but lean against him as they followed the waitress, and then simply stare up at the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

As it was the pale column of his throat proved way too distracting.

Then his cell rang, the caller ID showing he had better take it, and he heaved a sigh and told Jim to look at the menu. Found a quiet corner in which to take the call, and felt cold fear settle in his gut at the sound of McKenna’s panic. Listened dumbly to explanations of how a sample of Gotham’s latest recreational drug of choice had been left on his desk, but now the lab were saying it was nothing but over the counter acetaminophen.

“Never mind what happened to it,” Harvey snapped in response to McKenna’s hesitant query. “It shouldn’t have been left lying around in the first place.”

Sometimes he felt like he was running a kindergarten, not a police department.

He would have lost his temper big time, but his mind was full of remembered images of what Viper could do, and he had cold sweat trickling down his neck at the knowledge it was his fault. He who had potentially signed Jim’s death warrant.

“It’s not dangerous exactly,” McKenna hurried to clarify, “it’s just strong. Really strong. You gotta stay hydrated, have someone make sure you don’t wander into traffic, and all it’s going to do is leave you with one hell of a hangover.”

Harvey would have said more. Would have questioned further but it really hit him then that Jim was off his face, was more adept at getting into trouble than anyone he had ever known, and he pushed past customers and staff alike, relief flooding through him when he saw Jim hadn’t moved from where he had left him.

Not far, at least, because a waiter was attempting, unsuccessfully, to convince Jim that he really didn’t want to be taking his shoes off in the middle of one of Gotham’s swankiest establishments.

That he didn’t want to be pulling his tie free either, or trying to get out of his shirt, complaining loudly that it was too hot and the material was itching.

“Harvey!” Jim whined when he joined the fray. “Tell him.”

“It’s all right, we’re going,” Harvey appeased, giving it up as a bad job and simply collecting Jim’s shoes in one hand and steering him out the door with the other.

Forced himself to keep his eyes on the road all the way back to his apartment, and not the way Jim was methodically stripping himself out of his clothing. Managed to get him back into his shirt and pants once they pulled up, and plastered a false smile on for old Mr Schmidt who rode the elevator up with them, the man shaking his head and tutting as Jim fought his way back out of his undershirt.

Harvey put Jim to bed when they got in. Made him drink a glass of water and finally laid down beside him, one arm anchoring him in place as Jim waggled his fingers in front of his own face, pupils blown as he watched the movement, fascinated.

“Just hear me out,” Harvey begged in the morning when Jim rejoined the land of the living, groaning and burying his face in the pillow. “I was only trying to help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” Jim countered after listening to his explanations, teeth gritting tight together, and apparently the toothache was back too because then he was wincing and touching tentative fingers to his jaw.

Curling tighter in the blankets and murmuring pathetically when Harvey made to leave,

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to turn it down.”

Harvey felt some of the tension ease. Coddled Jim to the best of his ability, laying a damp cloth across his forehead and making him tea to sip at, knowing better than to suggest he try taking a painkiller.

“I’m sorry I ruined our date,” Harvey managed later, when Jim was looking a little less pitiful.

When he wasn’t quite so certain Jim was never going to give him a second chance.

Jim just gave him a half smile and nudged at his shoulder, forgiving.

“I'm not always this easy, you know. You'll have to work harder to get me into bed next time.”

“Really?” He asked, voice lowering without any conscious effort, and Jim swallowed in response and tried to look unaffected.

“Maybe.”

Chapter Text

“Bless you,” Jim said for the fifth time in a row, the response automatic, and Harvey would have had to say something about it if he couldn’t feel it building all over again.

He concentrated instead on rifling through the junk on the dashboard for a napkin, finding one just in time to sneeze again, eyes streaming with the force of it.

“You coming down with something?” Jim asked, distracted, gaze fixed on the guy they were meant to be watching, and Harvey just gasped for breath, certain he could feel the damn skin rash spreading.

Because Jim had wanted to call in at his apartment during lunch. Had told him, breathless and excited, that he had something to show him, and Harvey knew he had been living in cloud cuckoo land when he hoped it was going to be something sexual, but he still hadn’t expected to see Jim go to pieces over a ball of fluff, cooing and smiling.

“She followed me home,” Jim said, big blue eyes lighting up like that was a sign of devotion and not that he had still stunk of the food stand they had gone to for lunch. “Isn’t she lovely?”

Harvey forced a smile for Jim’s gaze then glared at the animal once his back was turned. He hated cats. Not so much that he was going to shoot one - Tuttle had that covered - but enough that he went out of his way to avoid them.

Didn’t have a lot of choice, really, because he only had to get within spitting distance and his skin started itching. His eyes watering. Then came the coughing and the sneezing, and the general sensation that his throat was going to close up if he was forced to spend much longer in feline company.

Jim, true to form, didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Put some food and water down for the cat and then insisted they not be late going back on duty, though Harvey had a perfectly good pack of antihistamines at home in his bathroom cabinet.

Now he was suffering for his inability to say no to Jim, and Jim’s lack of sympathy was even more painful than usual. Was enough to have him feeling sorry for himself, angry at Jim for being so oblivious, and furious with their suspect for refusing to do something other than just stand there, leaving him stuck sniffling and sneezing.

But when they finally got back to the precinct he had been sat at his desk less than fifteen minutes when Jim knocked at his office door, expression concerned as he handed him a mug of TheraFlu and suggested he should come to his for dinner so he could recuperate.

He could feel the lovesick grin spreading across his face. Could tell that he was going to regret it.

He said yes, all the same.

No damn cat was going to deprive him of an evening in Jim’s company.

The problem was that the cat was smart. It was well aware it had a good thing going with Jim, and curled up lovingly on his lap even as it hissed and clawed every time Harvey went near it.

It knew, Harvey could tell. Just knew that he was attempting to plant the seeds of discontent in Jim’s mind, suggesting that the cat would be happier in a home with people around all day.

“Do you think it’s cruel?” Jim asked, genuinely worried. “I don’t want Boots to be lonely.”

He’d give Boots lonely. Was tempted to just give it a damn boot most days, and it preened as Jim scratched behind its ears, looking at him smugly as if to rub it in that Jim was never going to work his fingers into Harvey’s skin like that.

“It’s nice to have someone who cares if I come home or not,” Jim told him a few days later, Harvey sniffling into a tissue again. “I was starting to forget what it felt like.”

He started to protest. Wanted to demand how Jim could be so wilfully blind - how he continually failed to notice that Harvey would crawl across hot coals for him. Would fall apart if anything happened to Jim, and had never done a particularly good job of hiding it.

Sanity prevailed though, and he settled for swiping at his eyes and sneezing, Boots scratching scags into one of his few decent pairs of trousers. The cat seemed to revel in it. All but clawed his favorite jacket to rags and, while he tried to reign in his temper, Jim baby talked the thing and told Harvey that it was a sign it liked him.

Harvey knew better. Knew the truth and jabbed a finger at it when Jim was in the kitchen getting them a couple of beers.

“Don’t get too comfortable. This isn’t over.”

Three weeks in and Harvey felt like he was dying. He had bought a spray and a cream and finally been prescribed something stronger by his doctor that actually seemed to be working.

The damage was already done though, because he hadn’t been able to stop scratching at the allergy rash and now the irritation was driving him out of his mind. Had him squirming in his seat, desperate for relief, and the cat had won.

Had got Jim all to itself because he turned down an invite from Jim for possibly the first time ever, the need to be close to Jim just edged out by the need to sit in a cool bath and smear himself head to toe in Benadryl.

For a moment he could swear Jim looked disappointed. That was wishful thinking though, and the glances Jim kept sending his way were doubtlessly because he couldn’t keep still. Because he was worried, probably, that it was something catching because he just couldn’t stop scratching.

Had to get up in the end and seek solace in the locker room, filling one of the sinks with cold water and sticking his forearms in it, wishing he could simply give up on being responsible and go and stand under one of the shower heads.

“What happened?” A voice said then and he turned to see Jim taking the scene in, eyes wide.

He got it, really he did. His skin was in a state, raw and blotchy, and he had scratched hard enough to draw blood in places. It was just hard to deal with, because Jim was so flawless, perfect, and nothing served as a better reminder as to how impossible it was that Jim could ever want something more than friendship from him than Jim staring at him in horror.

“It’s only an allergy rash,” he said, not up to meeting Jim’s eye. “It’ll be gone in a few days.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Jim asked, so sincere it made his heart clench in his chest.

He could tell Jim the truth. Tell him to get rid of the stupid cat and, maybe, if he laid it on thick enough Jim would actually do it.

Jim loved it though. Legitimately lit up every time he talked about it, and Harvey couldn’t take that from him. Sucked it up and squared his shoulders instead and said, clearly joking,

“You’re more than welcome to rub anti-itch cream in all the places I can’t reach.”

Jim had always had something of a strange sense of humor so Harvey didn’t think anything of his eager agreement. Not beyond his usual idle fantasizing. Except when he pulled up outside Jim’s apartment building after shift, Jim just told him to wait and that he would be right back.

Scarcely gave him time to check his cell phone, teeth sinking hard into the side of his cheek as he struggled not to give in to the urge to scratch again, and then he was clipping his seat belt back into place, stubborn streak on full display as he explained their plans for the evening.

Harvey didn’t argue. Was too busy feeling lost and bewildered, and then Jim was taking charge completely, every bit the former Army Sergeant. Ran him a bath with half the contents of his kitchen cupboards and, when that proved surprisingly effective, used his most no nonsense tone to get him to lay down on the bed and did wonders with the allergy cream.

It had him shivering, helpless, because it felt so good to not be itching, and because it was Jim applying it.

Jim touching him, careful and tender, and it was probably a good job he was in such a mess. Else he’d have been displaying all kinds of inappropriate reactions.

“Has it helped any?” Jim asked eventually, and it took Harvey a moment to find his voice. To not read more into the softness of Jim’s tone, the intensity in his gaze, than the act of friendship Jim had intended.

“Lots,” he managed finally. “Thank you.”

Jim smiled back at him, pleased, and Harvey froze when Jim reached over and stroked his hair away from his forehead. Wondered if he had fallen asleep already, or had some kind of hallucinogenic reaction, and then Jim was pressing dry lips to his cheek and saying, equal parts nervous and hopeful,

“We should try this again when you’re feeling better.”

“Did you ever find out what you were allergic to?” Jim asked him a couple of weeks later, petting at the cat on his lap, and Harvey marvelled once again at Jim’s powers of selective observation.

The new medication was doing its job though, and Jim was pressed close against him on the sofa besides. Was giving him the soft adoring look that never failed to overwhelm him, and Harvey found he didn't have the heart to draw attention to it.

“It’s a mystery,” he said, the white lie coming easily, and the cat raised its head to give him a calculating look.

Set the little jangly bell on its collar off with the movement, and Harvey smirked back at it. That had been his suggestion. Had ruined the cat’s love of messing up Jim’s spotless apartment with dead animal carcasses, and they stared each other down until Jim’s voice recaptured both their attention.

He still hated the cat, and the cat still hated him.

But for Jim, they were both willing to compromise.

Chapter Text

It was a slow news day.

It had to be, because Jim had made the front page of the newspaper. Had been captured giving a double thumbs up to the photographer, grinning like an idiot, standing in front of a backdrop proclaiming the Gotham Police Union’s latest social media friendly strapline.

“Detective Gordon of the GCPD calls for all police officers to be a Force for good, in and out of uniform. ‘Whether it’s volunteering at your local school or taking the time to check on elderly neighbors, off duty GCPD officers have the power to make a real difference in our communities,’ said Gordon yesterday.”

“I bet he fucking did,” Alvarez said, snapping out of the mocking tone he had been using to read aloud the article. “He’ll have us all pulling double time as unpaid social workers if he has his way.”

“If he thinks I’m wearing one of those,” McKenna sneered, pointing to the pile of ‘I’m happy to help :)’ badges that had been delivered that morning, “he’s got another thing coming.”

“He’s lost what was left of his mind,” Tuttle complained, shaking his head, “the department’s going to be a laughing stock.”

“His heart’s in the right place,” Harvey defended even as he cast a disbelieving eye over the rest of the news piece. Over the posters the Union had had printed, and the ‘Help Us Be Your Helping Hand’ checklists intended for the notice boards and the outreach training programs.

It was like Jim wanted to be made fun of.

By the time Jim got back from his latest crime scene, all fired up and determined, some of the checklists had already been defaced. Jim’s picture in the paper at the front desk had been given a mustache and glasses, and somebody had attached Jim’s cell number to half a dozen happy to help badges and stuck them in the toilets of the men’s locker room.

Harvey collected them all together during a post coffee break and pledged to make whoever the culprit was regret it.

Because at least Jim was trying. He cared, genuinely, about the city and wanted it be a safer, better place to live.

He just went about it entirely the wrong way because by the end of the week kids were out giving patrol officers the thumbs up to their face and the middle finger to their backs, and the holding cell was full of comedians who wanted to know exactly what kind of helping hand the GCPD was going to offer them.

“It’s really taking off, isn’t it?” Jim asked pleased when they passed a graffiti covered GCPD recruitment poster asking passers by if they wanted to feel the force, apparently unaware the spot was a favorite with prostitutes of all persuasions.

“Yeah,” he managed, carefully non-committal, and Jim just beamed at him,

“It was all my idea, you know.”

Harvey didn’t share that information with their colleagues. Did his best instead to shield Jim from what people really thought of his foray into public relations, and lied through his back teeth to claim that he didn’t know enough Spanish to translate Alvarez’ increasingly bitter mutterings.

Played dumb and pretended he didn’t know what had happened to the copies of Law Enforcement Quarterly with the double page spread on the GPU initiative, and stuck them all through the shredder when he had a spare moment, certain Jim wouldn’t appreciate his fellow officers’ commentary.

It was pathetic, really, because if the situation were reversed Jim wouldn’t sugar coat anything. Would tell him straight, he had no doubt, and wouldn’t feel even a twinge of guilt about it.

Harvey had it bad though. So bad he couldn’t bear the thought of Jim being mildly disappointed, let alone publicly humiliated, and when Jim was scheduled to do a school visit to promote the scheme, Harvey spent a small fortune bribing some of his younger relations into convincing their friends to act as though it wasn’t the stupidest idea they had ever heard.

Jim was so happy when he got back to the precinct. So earnest and so sincere, and when McKenna slipped through the net, mocking the campaign to Jim’s face, Harvey put a hand on his shoulder afterwards and told him that McKenna was just jealous of his out of the box thinking.

“I know,” Jim said, like it was obvious, and Harvey’s mind was still boggling at that statement when he went on, “but thank you for supporting me with this. It couldn’t have been successful without you.”

That was kind of what other people were saying, albeit not quite as nicely, but Harvey had never known he was so desperate for Jim’s praise.

So starved for any hint of affection.

“You’ve been keeping everyone in line,” Jim said gratefully, and it was a statement not a question. “I’ve seen the posters. And somebody made up another batch of these.”

He pulled a doctored 'happy to help' badge from his pocket and Harvey’s heart sank. His frequent sweeps of the place obviously hadn’t been frequent enough. Jim just shrugged though, and looked up at him through his lashes. Pressed the badge into his palm and said, all nervous smile,

“If it was you asking, I’d be more than happy to help with anything.”

Harvey gaped back at him, speechless. Jim Gordon really was full of surprises.

Chapter Text

“Call me.”

Harvey watched her go with an appreciative leer, sliding the number into his wallet.

He just might do.

Except Tuttle raised an eyebrow when he dropped back into the car seat, disapproval writ clear over his haggard features.

“You really think that’s a good idea?”

“What?” Harvey demanded. Okay, so Cindy over there wasn’t exactly the type you took home to Mother, but his Mom was long dead and he wasn’t the kind of guy to judge someone for how they made their living.

He was no saint, and everyone knew it.

Tuttle just shook his head.

“I never knew you had a death wish.”

It wasn’t the done thing, not officially, but he looked up her file when they got back to the precinct. Tried to read between the lines when it came to her previous convictions and her known associates, coming up with a total blank.

There was no reason, so far as he could see, why a roll in the hay with an interested party was likely to end with him in a body bag. Still, perhaps Tuttle knew something he didn’t, and he made the decision to steer clear.

He wasn’t that desperate.

It had been a while though. A long while, and he slumped onto the sofa after work, glad for Jim’s comforting presence next to him. Jim had been the one to suggest their current living arrangement, pointing out that they already spent almost their free time in a single apartment, and Harvey’s bank balance was already thanking him for it.

His stomach too, because Jim could be surprisingly domestic when he wanted to, ensuring the kitchen cupboards were well stocked and even making dinner occasionally.

Sometimes, like tonight, went all out with dessert too, and as Harvey scraped the dish clean he figured he deserved some kind of recompense for turning down a legitimate offer to get laid that evening.

The next time it happened he went back for seconds and started on the good whiskey into the bargain.

Because there had been a boutique owner who hadn’t seen the shooter they were tracking, but most definitely had been giving him the come on. Harvey knew he hadn’t simply been imagining it. She had had her hand on his arm, had been batting her lashes right at him, and then Alvarez - of all people - had stood there tapping his foot and glaring daggers.

Told him as soon as they were out in the street that it was for his own good, and that he would be thanking him later.

“Trust me,” Alvarez said, as intense as Harvey had ever seen him, “I know his type. You’ll think everything is fine, you’ll think he doesn’t know, then you’re gonna wake up one morning and he’ll have taken all your stuff to Goodwill. All of it. Your signed baseball cards, your games consoles. Your motorbike. Everything.”

“You speaking from experience?” Harvey asked, unnecessarily, and Alvarez only shoved another piece of gum in his mouth - a sure sign of stress - and said simply,

“Don’t do it.”

What he needed was to find someone who wasn’t attached. Someone who didn’t have a crazy ex lurking in the background - who the fuck donated something they could sell, after all?

Someone with money, probably, and he supposed it was better than Cindy and her potential cop killer.

Luck, for once, was on his side, because there had been a shooting down in the dock district and IA were sniffing about, looking for blood. Were looking for a good time too, or at least Ginny was, and it wasn’t the most romantic of locations but he gave it his best shot, all the same.

Flirted with her over the morgue table, and Lucius flashed him a dubious look, pulling him aside in a quiet moment and saying,

“It’s a bit close to home, isn’t it? What you do in your own time, that’s your own business, but,” he shook his head, looked almost disappointed, “I see it going on under my nose and I’m not going to keep quiet about it.”

That was sobering. Embarrassing even, and Harvey spent the rest of the day playing the consummate professional. Asked Jim when he got home if he thought he needed to clean his act up, and Jim just wound an arm around him and planted an encouraging kiss on his cheek.

“You’re doing a great job. I’m proud of you.”

Harvey hugged him back for that, and slung an arm around his shoulders at the precinct. Ruffled his hair, just to be annoying, and Jim retaliated by making a show of straightening his tie for him, commenting that a man of his advanced age really ought to be capable of dressing himself.

He would have had something to say about it, a suitably cutting comeback, but a cough sounded behind him and it was the new secondment from Vice, looking every inch the kind of woman who lead unsuspecting men astray.

Jim made himself obligingly scarce, went back to his desk, and Harvey wasn’t a total sleazebag. Didn’t set out to stare at the movement of her hips nor the tight pull of her jacket. It was just difficult not to, and McKenna hissed at him after he had finished giving her a tour of the department, complaining,

“You trying to have your cake and eat it, Bullock? What’s Gordon going to say about it?”

“It’s none of his business,” he responded automatically, because he was a big boy now and he didn’t need to ask Jim’s permission if he wanted to bring girls home. Jim didn’t ask his, that was certain, and if that was only because Jim was still keeping himself pure for the day Lee decided to take him back, well, that wasn’t his problem.

McKenna didn’t look impressed.

“He’s the most irritating son of a bitch I’ve ever had to work with and, personally, I’d love to see him taken down a peg or two. But, you know, I’m not the one with the swanky office. I’m going to be stuck out here with him. Why would you want to do that to me?”

Harvey glanced over to where Jim was busy with his paperwork, a frown settling over his features. He wasn’t treading on Jim’s toes. Jim would have told him if he was seeing someone. If he was thinking of seeing someone. Surely.

“You don’t like it,” McKenna went on, oblivious to his confusion, “tough. You made your bed, now you gotta lie in it.”

He tried to make sense of the outburst all week. Brought it up awkwardly with Jim, trying not to rock the boat and suggest that perhaps it really was time he start moving on. Jim wasn’t listening though, instead jumping to his feet and babbling excitedly about a potential connection he had just made, and there went his early evening.

There went his early morning too, and he couldn’t hold back the yawning during his scheduled meeting with HR. His attempts to look interested, to sound invested, were really not up to scratch, and the head of HR let him know it. Put her hands on her hips and gave him a dressing down in the middle of the hallway before finally turning on her heel and storming off.

He raked a hand through his hair, tried to shake off the exhaustion, and when he looked up it was to find Lee Thompkins glaring at him. She wasn’t his biggest fan, never had been, and though the feeling was kind of mutual he dredged up a smile for her.

It didn’t work because she only folded her arms across her chest and said,

“I don’t hate him. He’s not a bad man.”

“Why don’t you try telling him that?” He asked, because it was his shoulder Jim always ended up crying on. His beer stash that always took a hammering.

“He deserves better than the way you treat him. Lucius told me what he saw.”

He opened his mouth to protest - what passed between a police captain and his assistant ME should be confidential, dammit - but Lee was having none of it. Looked him up and down with a sneer and finished with,

“At first I thought he was trying to make a statement. Now I just feel sorry for him.”

He was really going to protest then. Was going to do all kinds of things but the realization hit him so hard it almost knocked his legs out from under him. Had him hurrying back into the main part of the building and pulling Jim towards the locker room for some degree of privacy,

“Did you know people think we’re - that you and me,” he lowered his voice, the walls weren’t soundproofed, “People think we’re fucking.”

“I know,” Jim told him in turn, tone calm and brow only slightly furrowed. “Didn’t you?” He broke into a smile then, bright and happy. “Alvarez told me he was ‘cool with it’ three months ago.”

The world had gone mad. It was the only explanation.

“Why didn’t you tell him the truth? Why didn’t you say something?”

“I thought you knew and I didn’t care. It’s not like you’re a bad catch.”

“You didn’t care,” Harvey echoed, incredulous. “So it doesn’t matter to you that the entire precinct thinks we’re screwing? You don’t mind that your former fiancée thinks I’m some scumbag who’s out to cheat on you?”

“Really?” Jim asked and Harvey thought he had cracked it. Had finally succeeded in making Jim see the reality of the situation. “Maybe we should have a fake argument so you can make it up to me.”

“It’s not funny,” Harvey admonished. “I’m not a cheater. I’ve never cheated on anyone.”

Not unless he was so drunk he couldn’t remember it, but that was a can of worms he had no intention of opening.

Jim was still smiling, for all that it was a little softer at the edges.

“It’s probably your loyalty that hooked me in the first place. I like that in a guy.”

“You don’t even like guys,” Harvey pointed out and Jim shrugged,

“Your words, not mine.”

“So, what? You’re saying if I came on to you for real you wouldn’t run a mile?”

He raised an eyebrow, challenging, and Jim just responded with,

“I don’t know. You’d have to come on to me first.”

And that was how he ended up kissing Jim senseless against his own locker, Jim’s hands coming up to tangle in his hair and his tongue stroking into his mouth.

How he ended up with Tuttle flashing him a thumbs up when he walked in on the scene, and Alvarez clapping him on the shoulder later that afternoon and congratulating him on making the right decision. Lucius seemed a whole lot more comfortable with him, and even Lee was a little less frosty when their paths crossed for the second time that day.

McKenna nodded at him at the end of shift, and he didn’t have to be a mind reader to make sense of the look Jim was giving him.

He’d made his bed, now he was going to get to lie in it.

Chapter Text

Jim knew exactly what he was doing, and how pathetic it was. He just couldn’t help himself.

Because Harvey looked good in his glasses, really good, and if Jim liked to encourage Harvey to wear them, well. There was no harm in it. Harvey wasn’t quite as convinced, perhaps, and preferred to squint at the computer screen and the faded type on the files from the records store. Gave himself a headache trying to decipher Jim’s tiny scrawl, complaining,

“I know we’re tight on funds, but I’m sure we could have stretched to another sheet of paper. How am I supposed to read this?”

“Those aren’t just for decorative purposes,” Jim replied, gesturing to where Harvey’s glasses were laying on his desk and it had to be his over active imagination, but Jim could have sworn there was a hint of color in Harvey’s cheeks. He had it confirmed a few days later when Harvey whined about the license plate he was trying to distinguish in a grainy CCTV image. He huffed a sigh eventually, slid the frames on, then glared when he caught Jim staring and snapped,

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting old. I don’t want to hear it.”

“You’re not old,” Jim protested, instantly, and Harvey turned his attention back to the print outs, muttering,

“I know. I said I’m getting there.”

Now Jim was looking for it, he noticed it again and again. The disparaging way Harvey spoke about himself, and his reluctance to let on to Jim when he was feeling the strain of a long day. When his back was aching or he needed his glasses. Jim didn’t draw attention to it, or at least he didn’t mean to. He hated to hear it though, couldn’t bear the idea that Harvey believed Jim was going to think any less of him, and he got himself too drunk one night and started to ramble on about types and whether or not Harvey might have one.

“Willing,” was Harvey’s deadpan answer, and Jim could feel the flush in his own cheeks because he knew he was being ridiculous.

Harvey was hardly likely to start describing an idiot cop who couldn’t go a full week without inciting someone to attempted murder. An idiot cop who couldn’t keep his own mouth shut, gazing too intently into Harvey’s eyes as he said,

“I’ve always liked people older. With experience.”

“I can’t say I’ve noticed,” Harvey told him, and Jim supposed it was a fair enough comment based on the evidence Harvey had to go on. He hadn’t known Jim before Barbara, and had no idea what a huge departure that relationship had been. All he actually succeeded on saying on the subject was,

“Trust me.”

In the morning the memory made him want the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Had him shame faced and awkward because he had been so obvious, had gone so far as to put his hand on Harvey’s knee at one point, and Harvey hadn’t been interested. He had brushed it off, gentle and discreet, and said goodnight as though Jim hadn’t all but begged Harvey to bed him.

He didn’t know how he was going to make it through the day, the hangover making his head pound and the humiliation churning his stomach over.

Harvey didn’t mention it though. Didn’t even allude to the night before, no matter how many times Jim glanced nervously at him. No matter how much of a lovesick idiot he acted, staring stupidly at Harvey when he put his glasses on to read the newspaper, and sitting too at lunch close in spite of everything, silently hoping that Harvey would put an arm around him.

It surprised him when Harvey actually did. It made his heart race when Harvey leaned into his back the following day, one hand on his shoulder for balance as he looked at the case file Jim was working on.

It had him fighting for composure when Harvey didn’t let up.

Shivering when Harvey’s thumb strayed to the nape of his neck, and staring up at Harvey, helpless, when the other man pressed in close to whisper in his ear,

“I figured you might appreciate my input. The benefit of my experience.”

Harvey smirked back at him, too knowing, and Jim was nodding along helplessly with Harvey’s suggestion that they finish up for the evening. Was following him out to the car and then up the stairs to his apartment. Was standing there, dumbstruck, as Harvey poured them both a generous measure of whiskey and said,

“Before I give you this, I want to be 100% certain the other night wasn’t just the booze talking.”

His tone was light, expression neutral, but Jim could see the tension in his body language. Understood, instinctively, that Harvey wasn’t just giving him an out - he was afraid that Jim was going to take it. That, even now, he might start laughing and confess to playing a cruel practical joke on him.

“Are you saying I can’t hold my drink?” Jim managed, and the smile Harvey gave him in response made his stomach flutter.

He took the glass from Harvey’s hand, downed it in a single swallow, then pushed forward into Harvey’s personal space. Felt the warmth of the alcohol flood through his system, even as being so close to Harvey sent heat of a different kind washing over him.

“I might be old, but I’m no fool,” Harvey said, forgetting about his own drink in favor of cupping a hand around the back of Jim’s neck and bringing their foreheads together. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Really?”

“I got better things to dream about.”

“Tell me about them,” Jim breathed, lost in Harvey’s gaze. In his scent and his touch, and the prospect of them becoming even more than partners.

“I can do better than that,” Harvey promised, lips finally finding his own, “I’ll show you.”

Chapter Text

The US military was supposed to be the best in the world. Its recruits trained to be elite fighting machines, equipped with physical strength and mental fortitude.

All Harvey could say was that he was glad there wasn’t any imminent threat of homeland invasion.

Jim’s only claim to stealth was the ability to spell it, if the noise he was making was anything to go by. Harvey buried his head in the pillow and did his best to ignore it. Grimaced as he heard Jim stumble over something, hand patting along the wall as he searched for a light switch to guide this latest visit to the bathroom, every step seemingly as loud as he could possibly make it.

Harvey was about to give in. About to sit up and turn on the bedside lamp. Then he was scrabbling to do it, desperate, because there was an almighty crash from the far side of the room that could only spell disaster.

It was worse than he had thought, and his skin went cold and clammy as his eyes adjusted to the light. Jim had tripped over a basket of laundry he had totally meant to do something about, hitting his head against the corner of the dresser. Was out cold on the floor, blood trickling ominously, and Harvey had seen people finished by less.

He was out of bed and on his knees in a moment, panic gripping him completely as he searched for a pulse. The relief when he felt it, when Jim groaned and blinked his eyes open, had him feeling unsteady, sick and light headed.

“Thank God,” Harvey murmured, reaching a hand out to touch Jim’s face, to assure himself that he really was okay, but Jim flinched away from it. Jerked back so violently he almost hit the back of his head, blood flowing freely down the side of his face as he scrambled into a sitting position.

“What happened?” Jim demanded, his gaze wary as he took in his surroundings. “Where am I?”

The fear flooded back full force.

“You fell over and hit your head,” he said as calmly as he could. “You’re safe. You’re at my place.”

Jim put a hand to the gash on his head, pulled it away streaked with blood, and his face went pale. His gaze went from his own state of undress to Harvey’s, then back again, and Harvey had to swallow back the burgeoning hysteria when Jim told him, like it was the most obvious reaction to his current predicament,

“I want to see Barbara.”

“He’ll probably be okay,” that was the verdict of Gotham General’s great and good. “Confusion is common following a head injury.”

“Confusion!” Harvey snapped, stressed and more than a little frantic. “He thinks he’s married to a psycho killer.”

“Could be worse,” the doctor responded, “at least he’s in for a nice surprise when he gets his memory back.”

Harvey would have really lost it. Would have had the guy arrested on whatever spurious charge he could come up with between there and the precinct, but Jim was making for the exit and there was nothing Harvey could do but follow him.

Because the cut had needed stitches, and Jim was still adamant that it was some kind of trick Harvey was playing on him. Told him in no uncertain terms that there was no way the two of them would ever have been friends, let alone anything more intimate, and even as the doctors were explaining what had happened, Harvey could see him plotting how he was going to get free of the watchful eye being kept on him.

“Leave me alone, Bullock,” Jim said, clipped and cold, and Harvey just fell into step beside him.

At least Jim knew who he was, that was what he tried to tell himself. He was going to remember the rest within hours, days at the most, and everything was going to be fine. It had to be.

“That’s not going to happen,” he pointed out, as reasonably as he was able. “You might be concussed. You don’t even know what day it is.”

Jim glared at him but gave up on attempting to give him the slip. Agreed to his suggestion that he take him to see Barbara, and only set his jaw, tight and determined, when Harvey said that Barbara would confirm all the things he had told him.

Except news travelled fast in Gotham, unnaturally fast, and when his finger found the buzzer for the apartment Barbara was occupying above her nightclub, the pressure unrelenting, Barbara pulled the door open and flung her arms around Jim. Acted every inch the trembling waif to Jim’s face, and smirked at Harvey behind his back, so very obviously pleased with herself.

“What do you stand to gain from this?” He asked, numb and disbelieving after Jim demanded he leave, and Barbara only shrugged easily.

“Who knows? You’ve got to speculate to accumulate.”

Three days in and Jim was just as convinced that he and Barbara had gone ahead and tied the knot. That their love would have survived anything and everything Gotham had to throw at it, and even the sight of Lee Thompkins hadn’t inspired so much as a glimmer of recognition from him.

Harvey tried being rational, tried being reasoned. Got angry, frustrated, and finally pleaded with Jim to trust him. To look him in the eye and say that he felt nothing. That there was no spark, no connection.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Jim said, pity etched across his face. “I’m not interested.”

It really began to sink in then. This could be real, this might be forever. Jim wasn’t even comfortable in his company, seemed to dislike him more than he had right at the beginning, or perhaps he just wasn’t as good at hiding it.

Perhaps Harvey was just watching more closely, and the pain was so bad he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He assigned two detectives to tail Jim’s every movement, to keep him out of trouble, and he spent every spare second he had begging Jim to just let him try and jog his memory.

Barbara didn’t help matters. She wanted petty revenge for all the wrongs she believed Jim had done her, and had him updating all his insurance premiums to name her his primary beneficiary. Was spinning him so many lies Harvey didn’t know how she was keeping track of them all.

She wasn’t, he decided eventually, because her chief interest seemed to be in Jim humiliating himself. In Jim allowing her to visit him at the precinct - securely desk bound - and messing with his head until he handed over the keys to his apartment and by the time he was done for the day she had systematically slashed every one of his suits to pieces.

Tore pages from what she knew were his favorite books, and smashed his crockery all across the kitchen floor.

Took a hammer to the face of his father’s wristwatch and Harvey wanted nothing more than to pull Jim into his arms when he saw the wretched look on his face. He had to give in when Jim swiped a hand across his eyes, the tell tale moisture clinging to his lashes, and Jim only hesitated a couple of seconds before hugging him back, fingers clutching tight in the fabric of his suit jacket.

“We’ve done this before,” Jim said, a statement rather than a question, and Harvey could scarcely swallow past the lump in his throat. Couldn’t put into words what an absolute state he was in - so ridiculously happy to be this close to Jim, so utterly terrified that it might be the last time.

That Jim might push him away at any moment and decide he wanted nothing more to do with him. That even if his memories returned Jim might confess that this was how he really felt, and everything they had, everything he had thought they had, was based on pity or loneliness.

“I’m sorry,” Jim whispered before he pulled away and Harvey had to take a long moment to compose himself.

Three weeks in and, physically, Jim had made a full recovery. The stitches were out and the headaches had gone. He wasn’t doing so bad mentally either. Remembered why he and Barbara hadn’t worked out, and all about Lee, and the baby, and Blackgate.

Even remembered the details of his recent cases, and was well enough to give evidence at a trial on Tuesday morning while Harvey sat at his desk with his head in his hands, wondering how he was supposed to keep it together.

Because Jim still claimed to remember nothing about them. He knew that they were partners, accepted that they were friends, but anything further and Jim tensed up and changed the subject. Acted almost as though the very idea frightened him and it hurt worse than anything Harvey had ever known, the way Jim avoided his touch and making eye contact.

Jim was everything to him. Had been for a long time before he worked up the courage to confess it to him, and when Jim had kissed him and touched him, and told him that he loved him back, Harvey was so happy he was certain he would never stop grinning.

Couldn’t imagine ever being miserable again, and to think that it was all gone, all because he had been too lazy to tidy the place up… it was killing him.

He did everything the doctors recommended. Got second, third and fourth opinions, and scoured the internet for information. Broke down, finally, at the six week mark because it would have been their second anniversary and he presented Jim with his father’s watch, the repairs worth every penny for the smile it was responsible for.

Willed Jim, silently, to realize what the significance was, even as he took him to dinner at the little restaurant which had served as the venue of their first proper date, and insisted they walk the long way back afterwards, pausing to lean against the railings overlooking the city park, where less than two months ago he had asked Jim to move in with him.

“It’s cold,” was all Jim said in the present, sounding maudlin and exhausted. “It’s always cold lately.”

He cried that night for the first time since it had happened, bitter frustrated tears, and clung to one of the shirts Jim had left at his place, imagining he could still detect Jim’s scent lingering on it.

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Jim complained the following day, when they met up for lunch at one of the diners near the precinct. “I kept thinking I had forgotten something.”

Any other day and Harvey would have had a wisecrack at the ready. Would have teased and bantered and made one big joke of it. But he hadn’t slept himself, couldn’t shake the despair that had settled over him, and Jim watched him too intently. Asked suddenly,

“Do you hate me? For not remembering?”

The question startled him. Knocked him off kilter so badly he was answering honestly before he had chance to think better of it,

“Of course not. I could never hate you, Jim.”

It was true. Jim could have literally ripped his heart from his chest and he’d still forgive him with his dying breath.

“It’s not your fault,” he added, struggling to keep his tone even, and Jim just tilted his head to the side, considering, and said,

“You know, there’s one thing we haven’t tried to jog my memory.”

It was a bad idea, Harvey knew. A really bad idea. Because just being close to Jim was enough to overwhelm his senses, but Jim was simply curious.

He rubbed at his jaw after they kissed, like the sensation of Harvey’s beard against his skin was something to catalog, and frowned when Harvey couldn’t keep his mouth shut, murmuring over and over that he loved him, his mouth and fingers worshipping the expanses of skin he had begun to accept he would never touch again.

Harvey pledged to make the most of it. Dragged it out as long as he dared, lavishing attention on all the spots exploration had taught him got Jim frantic, until Jim was babbling nonsense, begging and pleading and then pushing him back against the bed covers, nipping at his bottom lip and unerringly seeking out the answering places on his own body.

Pressed slick fingers into him and they had never really done that, Jim had never shown any inclination to, but Harvey didn’t stop him. Lost himself to it, and Jim kissed him again before latching on to the skin of his throat. Licked and nibbled his way up the side of his neck to his ear and confessed brokenly,

“I don’t know what I remember, and what I only want to be a memory; it’s all mixed up in my head.”

“It’s okay,” Harvey promised, clutching Jim tighter, and Jim’s fingers had him seeing stars. Had him desperate, and Jim was fumbling between them, gaze never leaving his own as he panted out,

“You make me feel things, things I never thought I’d feel, and I don’t know if that’s the way it was before.”

It was intense, as emotionally charged as it was physically, and Jim kept kissing him. Moved with him, slow and tender, and spilled secret after secret, lips against his mouth as though it wouldn’t count that way.

“I lied when I said I wasn’t interested. I was scared. I was scared the first time too. Scared you’d get sick of me. Scared I’d ruin everything.”

For once in his life Harvey couldn’t form words. Couldn’t do anything but thread his hands into Jim’s hair and kiss him harder. Push back into Jim’s thrusts and gasp and groan, panting for air as Jim worked him closer and closer to the edge, blue eyes looking at him just the way Harvey remembered, so perfect that he couldn’t hold out any longer.

The noises Jim made in response were so hot. Had him shivering through it, and Jim followed his example. Collapsed next to him in a sweaty heap and Harvey held him close. Hid a couple of treacherous tears in Jim’s already damp hair, and that night Jim stayed, Harvey watching him sleep until he couldn’t keep his eyes open, afraid to ever take it for granted again.

Jim was still there when he woke up. Was watching him, brow furrowed, and Harvey tried not to get his hopes up.

To brace himself for the worst case scenario.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever remember all of it,” Jim said, steady and determined. “I don’t know if I’ll ever remember the first time you told me you loved me, or how I felt the first time we kissed each other.”

Harvey nodded, the movement awkward, but Jim reached over and linked their fingers together.

“I hope I do. I hope I remember everything. But even if I don’t,” Jim kissed his knuckles, the action making Harvey’s heart twist, and finished, “I want to make new memories with you.”

He could feel the grin on his face, knew he must look like an idiot, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but rubbing the thumb of his free hand - carefully - over the healed cut on Jim’s head and pledging,

“I'm going to do my best to make you fall in love with me all over again.”

Jim's expression softened, the smile on his lips reaching his eyes for the first time in weeks as he admitted,

“I have a feeling you won't need to try very hard.”

Chapter Text

“Wisdom teeth, eh? I wouldn’t have thought they’d be something you’d ever need to worry about.”

Jim spared Harvey a glare and went back to staring out of the car window, the fingers of one hand pressed to the side of his jaw. He had hoped he’d escaped the problems of cutting teeth as a damn adult too, and the dull throbbing spreading towards his temple was doing nothing to endear him to the situation.

“Have you taken anything for the pain?” Harvey went on. “I got some great pills from that lab Narco busted a few weeks back.”

Jim glared harder. It was toothache, he could handle it. He was a Gordon.

And, okay, maybe being a Gordon didn’t count for as much as he had once thought. Maybe what his dad said didn’t tally so good with what his dad did, but if Jim let go of it everything he was, everything he had built his world view on, might start unravelling.

“Suit yourself,” Harvey sighed, slouching back in his seat and flipping through a magazine. Tossed it back on the dash and squirmed about like he couldn’t get comfortable. Crunched noisily through half a pack of potato chips until Jim couldn’t think of anything but how hungry he was, and how much he wished his stupid tooth would stop hurting long enough for him to eat something.

Sucked his fingers clean until Jim had to shift in his own seat, his dick not caring how awful the timing was, nor how much he was already suffering.

“Do you have to do that?” He snapped finally, instantly regretting it, because not only was the rush of cold air seriously bad for his tooth, Harvey was now giving him his full attention.

He was raking his gaze over Jim’s flushed cheeks and the awkward way he was sitting, eyebrow raising at the sight of his hands clutching the bottom of his jacket over his lap, and drawing all kinds of conclusions Jim fervently wished he wouldn’t.

Because he had kept it to himself for months now. Had pined in silence, cursing the day he had come to the realization that Harvey Bullock was the kind of guy he was destined to fall for. Harvey was irreverent where he was serious, cautious where he was reckless. Loyal no matter how much of an idiot he was, and the harder Jim tried not to look, the more aware he became of exactly how much he liked everything about Harvey.

The hair, the beard, the pull of his shirt across expanses of skin Jim had taken to dreaming about catching a glimpse of.

“I could help you with that,” Harvey said and Jim swallowed thickly. Could scarcely believe what he was hearing and then Harvey was continuing, “You must be starving. There’s a cafe around the corner that sells take out soup. You could manage that, right?”

He nodded, dumbly, and then pinched the bridge of his nose when Harvey sifted through the junk in the bottom of the cup holder for some change and then left him to it.

It was worse, somehow, than outright rejection. Worse even than a sneer of disgust or a fist to the face. Because this was going to change things between them, subtle and insidious, coloring their every interaction.

Jim was still stuck on the same miserable thoughts when Harvey returned, hardly daring to look as he dropped into his seat and dumped another pack of chips in among all the other clutter. He accepted the soup silently, his frozen fingers appreciating the warmth even if his swollen gums wouldn’t, and Harvey started speaking as he sipped at it tentatively.

“I could help you with your other problem too,” Harvey said casually, “not here though. At least not the first time. I got standards.”

Jim choked on his soup, the shock of it all too much, and Harvey shrugged, crunching again,

“Okay, you win, I would totally go down on you on the department’s dime, but I know it’s not your style.”

“What is my style?” Jim managed, bewildered, and Harvey gave him a smile that made his stomach flutter. Made other parts of him take notice and Harvey only smiled harder in response.

“I was thinking dinner - somewhere fancy, naturally - and then back to mine for a nightcap.”

Jim could feel his cheeks growing hotter, torn between imagined scenes of Harvey wining and dining him, and Harvey sucking a brand into the skin of his neck as they moved against each other.

“Sure of yourself, aren’t you?” He commented, breathless, and Harvey only pointed out movement on the steps of the club they were watching. Grabbed for the camera and spared him a sly glance, smile still curled across his features.

“Not really, but sometimes you just gotta listen to your gut instinct.”

Jim grinned to himself and readied himself to go catch a couple of criminals red handed.

Even his tooth was feeling a little better.

Chapter Text

His mother told him it was a gift. That he was lucky, blessed, and that it meant he was destined to help people.

Harvey was less convinced. Learned to keep his mouth shut about the details and to ignore it to the best of his ability. Lost his temper sometimes when it became too much, when he couldn’t focus, couldn’t sleep, for the noise in his head because he could see his mom fading. Could sense it, feel it, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

All he could do was watch on as she slipped away, the promises he had made to live well and to be happy echoing in his ears.

They sounded hollow, empty, because he did his best, tried hard, but months later, years later, and he still couldn’t truthfully say that he was managing either.

He drank too much, smoked too much, screwed around too much. Anything to blot out the constant chatter. The infernal buzz of indecipherable thoughts and feelings.

The problem was that they weren’t indecipherable, not all of them. By rights it should have been helpful. He could tell when people were lying, sometimes, and see when there was something weighing on their conscience. But in a city like Gotham the truth was rarer than a sunny day, and everyone was guilty of something.

The auras he saw were dark and murky, even the children he interviewed shrouded in misery. The closer he got to people, the worse it felt. The more it hurt to see how he brought them down. To know that something was wrong, to know that someone was in pain, and not to be able to do anything about it.

Then Jim Gordon turned up, stubborn and self-righteous, and the haze around him was so pretty it made Harvey want to reach out and touch.

His damn face had the same effect, and Harvey couldn’t bear to see Gotham break Jim the way it broke everyone. He pledged to push Jim far away - out of his life and out of the city - before the sickness spread too far and there would be nothing anyone could do to stop it.

Except maybe Gotham had already burrowed its way beneath Jim’s skin. The guy had grown up there, after all, and for all the good qualities he had there was a darkness that still followed him. Flared up and threatened to consume him, and it made Harvey’s head pound painfully because outwardly Jim was calm and collected, while in his head he was screaming, desperate for somebody to notice.

Harvey was powerless in the face of it. He wanted to be the one to make it better. He wanted to be the one to soothe away the hurt, and have Jim curl into his arms, so close that neither of them would ever need to feel alone again.

That wasn’t what Jim wanted though, couldn’t be, and all Harvey actually did was put a hand on Jim’s shoulder and tell him to stop worrying.

“I’m not worrying,” Jim said, uptight as usual, and Harvey only looked at him for a long moment before withdrawing.

It didn’t get any better. Jim was conflicted, losing himself, and Harvey only fell harder. Fell so hard that it didn’t matter what he did, how he tried, nothing and nobody could compare to Jim. He gave up on something that was for the fantasy of what could be, and swallowed down the bitterness that Jim was never going to reciprocate his feelings.

That Jim was going to play happy families with someone else and when it fell apart, when Jim was arrested for Pinkney’s murder, it didn’t matter any longer that it wasn’t his place to respond to his silent cries for help.

Jim needed someone.

“I didn’t do it, I swear,” Jim said, pleaded, and Harvey would have believed him even if he couldn’t see the truth of the statement.

It didn’t help though, his support didn’t make any difference, and when Lee came to him he knew before she said a single word. He could see the grief well enough and, when she asked him to tell Jim, he agreed though he knew exactly how much it would hurt.

How much it would hurt him to do, and how it would completely devastate Jim to hear.

Because Jim needed to get out of Blackgate. He was fading away just as surely as he had seen his mother do all those years previously, was losing the will to fight it, slowly but surely, and if Harvey had to stain his own soul with more darkness to get him free, then so be it.

He did what he could. Sold himself to first Falcone, and later to Ginny. Gave everything he had to give until finally he couldn’t take it any more. He could hear Jim screaming out in his living room, feel his suffering, and he didn’t care that it was three in the morning, he simply crossed his darkened apartment and pulled Jim to him.

Jim resisted for a moment, tense and startled, and then he gave himself over to it, clinging to Harvey and burying his face in the fabric of the older man’s t-shirt.

“I know,” Harvey told him, clutching him still closer. “It’s all right, I know.”

He thought of lying. Wondered if perhaps Jim might not even ask about it. He did though, kept digging, and for the first time in his entire adult life Harvey found himself stiltedly confessing all. Explained to Jim about the things he saw, the things he heard, and instead of freaking out, instead of hating him for it, Jim put a hand on his arm and asked,

“What do you see when you look at me?”

“A fighter. A survivor.” He met Jim’s gaze. “A man I’m proud to call a friend.”

“Does it hurt?” Jim asked then, “How do you deal with it?”

It took him by surprise, was so out of kilter with what he had always imagined somebody’s reaction might be, and all he could do was shrug.

“It’s just one of those things,” he managed eventually and, for once, Jim was quiet inside and out, content just to sit beside him.

They didn’t talk about it much, not really, but Jim gave him grateful looks when Harvey put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Thanked him quietly when it got too much and Harvey stepped in, when he reminded him that he wasn’t facing his demons single handed, and it meant so much more than Harvey could ever say.

Made him stop attempting to blank it all out quite so completely, and Jim frowned at him when he pushed and pushed a perp with the murky grays of a guilty conscience. Trusted him to keep at it, even when the pain in his head had his hands shaking, his words jumbling, and when the missing child was reunited with their parents Jim beamed at him so brightly it was almost blinding.

“You did that. You really did that.”

Harvey tried for a smile of his own. Faltered and had to collapse in to the nearest chair, exhausted, and this time Jim took care of him. Petted careful fingers through his hair and everything about Jim was so sweet, so honest, that Harvey wished he could bottle this moment forever.

Wished he could return to it whenever he wanted, a perfect moment when it was so very easy to believe that Jim could actually love him.

Jim was his friend at least, his partner and his whole damn world, and when he didn’t turn up for work one morning he couldn’t ignore the uneasy roll of his stomach. He rang Jim’s cell, pounded on the door of his apartment, and checked out every one of his regular haunts, including the sterile corridors of Gotham General.

There was no sign of him, nothing at all, and Harvey threw the net wider. Had the entire department on the case, and spent a sleepless night knocking up pond scum and lowlifes, demanding to know where they had been, and whether they had heard anything.

By day three he was a wreck, a total mess, and he slept for a fitful hour at his desk, surrounded by case files and half empty cups of coffee. Woke with a start, heart racing, and didn’t question why or how, simply went back to one of the very first scumbags he had thought to call upon.

Kicked in the door when no answer proved forthcoming and tightened his grip around his gun, the buzzing in his head almost overwhelming.

He could be wrong. Might find absolutely nothing, but somehow he knew that wouldn’t be the case. Thought of his mother telling him that he wouldn’t be able to do it if there wasn’t some greater reason, some purpose he was destined to fulfil, and as far as he was concerned this was it.

It had to be.

Jim wasn’t conscious when he found him. Was scarcely breathing, even, and Harvey couldn’t help but touch him. Couldn’t be parted from him, not even as they loaded him into the back of an ambulance, and kept a silent vigil over his bedside, Jim’s hand heavy and limp in his own.

“I knew you’d find me,” Jim told him when he finally came around, voice little more than a dry croak. “I knew you’d hear me.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Harvey rasped in turn, tears blurring the sight of Jim’s bruised face, and the misplaced faith in his big blue eyes. “I’m not a mind reader.”

“I know,” Jim managed and Harvey helped him sip at a glass of water. Stroked his hair back from his forehead just to have an excuse to prolong the contact, and when he moved to step back Jim reached for him. Linked their fingers back together and said carefully, “If you were I wouldn’t need to say it.”

“Say what?”

Jim gazed back at him, the warmth, the sincerity, still there even after everything Gotham had put him through. The goodness still surrounded him, the desire to help people, to do the right thing, still strong enough for Harvey to feel it.

It was more than that though. It was something bright and genuine. Clean and soft and so beautiful it took his breath away.

“I love you,” Jim whispered, like he was afraid to say it any louder. Like he was afraid of what Harvey’s response might be. “I just. I swore I’d tell you, if I got out of there. I wanted you to know. You deserve to know.”

He had to look away. Had to clench his eyes shut against the burn of emotion, sucking in air until he was back in control of himself. Until he could press both of his hands around one of Jim’s and press a kiss to it.

“You know this means you got to start trying harder not to die on me, don't you?” He said in turn, a little gruff but otherwise steady, and Jim smiled back at him, all giddy relief as he played along eagerly,

“You gonna give me an incentive?” 

Harvey just shook his head, so stupidly happy for the first time in he couldn't remember how long, and pressed a chaste kiss to Jim's cheek before settling in for some storytelling.

If Jim wanted a frustrating hospital stay, he had years worth of idle fantasies to occupy his imagination.

Chapter Text

Bullock was so obvious it was painful. Trailed around after Jim Gordon like a lovesick puppy, and took every opportunity to press close or wrap an arm around his shoulder.

“He’s got it bad,” was Alvarez’ verdict. “And I bet that Gordon knows it.”

“Nah,” McKenna disagreed. “Gordon’s clueless. Look at him.”

Lucius did. He had spent a lot of time watching the pair of them since joining the payroll of the GCPD, and as the weeks turned to months he was inclined to agree with the latter verdict.

Everyone else could see it, that was beyond question. Bullock’s infatuation with Gordon was legendary both within and without the department. It was the subject of gossip and rumor among the city’s criminal fraternity, and the topic of intense speculation and unregulated betting throughout the precinct.

“My money’s on him keeping shtum forever,” the records’ clerk told him, matter of factly, and the sergeant from the front desk had no scruples about explaining why it couldn’t be much longer before Bullock broke down and confessed all.

“Even Gordon can’t be that blind. He’s going to work it out before long, he has to.”

Lucius liked to study human behavior, psychology, in what spare time he had, but he couldn’t claim to be an expert on the subject. He was fairly certain, all the same, that Bullock wasn’t the only one pining away.

Because Gordon wasn’t as blatant about it, not in comparison, but he was hardly subtle either. He smiled at Bullock when he had nothing but a frown for anyone else, and he didn’t even seem to realize how often he touched the older man, arm winding around his waist or hands straightening his tie.

He walked in on Gordon tidying Bullock’s hair up once, stroking it back behind his ears before admiring his handiwork, and Lucius wondered silently how any crime was solved in Gotham, not when the two of them remained so totally oblivious.

Not when they missed each other’s lovelorn gaze, over and over again, and when Gordon pledged to never go away on leave again, his fingers clutched tight in the lapels of Bullock’s jacket as Bullock all but melted at the touch, grinning stupidly as he complained unconvincingly about the damage Gordon was doing to his nice suit.

The problem was that people could be given all the evidence, given enough proof to secure any conviction, but they still came to the wrong conclusion.

Still came up with the wrong answer, that was what his ongoing enmity with Edward Nygma was teaching him, because sometimes the only way to be sure something was done right was to do it yourself.

It was the work of a few moments to deliver a message to Bullock via Tuttle that Gordon required urgent assistance, and to Gordon via Marten that Bullock was requesting back up.

Bullock gathered up half a dozen uniformed officers and, while Cathedral Square was renowned as Gotham’s most romantic location, it really lost something of its charm when Gordon burst onto the scene, brandishing his gun like a madman.

The camera crew of the local evening news certainly thought so, ditching their original story about the dangers of uneven flagstones for the entirely unGordon-like display of emotion they managed to catch on film.

“I thought you were…” Gordon was heard to say all too clearly, and the hand he had on Bullock’s cheek was simply the clincher that made the way Bullock clutched him close, eyes sliding shut in a silent prayer of thanks before releasing him, the icing on the cake.

Deputy Commissioner Saunders told reporters she had faith in her officers not to let their personal relationships get in the way of their duties, and stormed through the precinct to give Bullock a vocal dressing down for not exercising more caution.

“There’s nothing going on between Jim and me,” Bullock protested, loud enough for everyone listening in to hear, and Jim looked so wistfully miserable at his desk that the undeniable truth of the statement was almost beyond comprehension. “We’re just good friends.”

“Well, tough,” was Saunders’ response, “the only way out of this public relations nightmare was to make the two of you our diversity poster boys. Act convincing for the cameras, never cause me this kind of headache again, and we’ll let that be an end to it.”

It took longer than he had envisioned, even with the forceful push. The two of them blushed furiously when a photographer turned up to provide some pictorial interest to a piece on the number of police departments still lacking codified fraternization regulations. Got predictably antagonistic when the published article claimed it impacted on their ability to do the job they were paid for, and Bullock lost his temper with a journalist at an unrelated press conference for implying that his appointing Gordon as lead officer on the case was an obvious act of favoritism.

“He’s the most capable detective this city has. I’m saying that because it’s true, not because I want to stick my tongue down his throat.”

“You do though?” She pushed, all smug smile, and Bullock was never the greatest at reigning it in, snapping viciously,

“Of course I do, just look at him.”

Things settled down after that, got back on track, but that was the soundbite that went viral, and that was the soundbite that got Gordon knocking on the Captain’s door after his shift was over, body language anxious but hopeful as they talked about something more than the suspect’s last known whereabouts.

The smile on his face when he went back to his desk said it all, so much so that even at that late hour there was a huddled frenzy in the corner of the rec room, with arguments over how much particular pay outs from the betting pool were going to be.

“Have you heard about our respected police captain and his blue eyed boy? I thought I detected a third party’s fingerprints all over it,” Nygma said when they next clashed, eyes bright with admiration for a job well done, and Lucius had to fight to keep his expression innocent and his tone entirely beyond reproach, as he said in turn,

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Chapter Text

Jim Gordon had once been a good man, a moral man, and the mere thought of what he was about to do would have sickened him.

Gotham had changed him though. Life had changed him, and for all that he understood he ought to feel ashamed of himself, the reality was that he didn’t feel much of anything. He felt distanced from the situation, indifferent to the damage he was doing, and, when Harvey attempted to look away and hide the emotion on his face, Jim only pushed closer.

Harvey wanted him, that much had been obvious almost from the very beginning. He stared too openly, let his touch linger too blatantly, and it only took a few beers for the older man to start asking him whether or not he was strictly a ladies man, under cover of his typical banter.

Jim had been - still was, really - and he wouldn’t have needed to be a detective to decipher the disappointment on Harvey’s face.

Back then he had pledged not to use it against him. Stayed true to his word even as the lustful looks gave way to something more pitiful. It wasn’t right to rub it in the man’s face, and was downright cruel to taunt him with something Jim was never going to be able to give him.

Because Harvey loved him. Truly, devotedly loved him, and in spite of all his self-righteous moralising, Jim liked knowing it. It was an ego boost, priceless validation, and the brutal truth was that he enjoyed seeing the flash of hurt in Harvey’s eyes when he caught him making out with his beautiful new girlfriend.

He had to know that his jealousy was pointless, had to be well aware that in Jim’s eyes there was never going to be any comparison, but it was there regardless, Harvey scarcely able to swallow down his bitterness when it came to Lee Thompkins.

“You really think it’s a good idea?” Harvey asked when the news of their engagement went public. “You sure you’re going to make each other happy?”

“I love her,” Jim said, bluntly, and he felt an ugly thrill at the way his partner’s shoulders tensed, the misery etched clear in his features.

When things fell apart with Lee, when Harvey was the one to get him free of the hell hole that was Blackgate, Jim almost wished that he could return the man’s feelings. Harvey would be so good to him, he knew. If he said the word Harvey would do whatever he asked of him. Would debase himself in any way Jim wanted, and even without the word he didn’t care who saw that he already worshipped the ground he walked on.

It made Jim angry sometimes, confused and frustrated. He hadn’t asked for Harvey’s devotion. He had never done a thing to encourage it. Yet no matter what he did, how petty his spite or how viciously he kicked, Harvey stood by him. Refused to be driven away, and Jim broke down once, drunk and over emotional, and asked Harvey what it was he saw that was so worth salvaging, sobbing messily into his shoulder.

Harvey only clutched him tighter. Pressed fervent kisses into his hair and told him that things were going to get better. That he was strong and that he was destined for greatness.

“If you could see what I see, if you knew the Jim Gordon I know.” Harvey trailed off, sucked in a shaky breath. “You’re going to get through this, Jim. I won’t let Gotham break you.”

Other than that they never spoke of it, and rarely even alluded to it. It was always there, regardless, the understanding that Jim knew, and that Harvey was well aware of it.

It festered between them, Harvey unable to let go of his desperate hope that some day, somehow, Jim would come to feel something for him, and Jim straying further and further from the man he had once believed he was.

The man Harvey was so pathetically in love with.

Finally he lost sight of that man completely. Went willingly to the dark side, blinded by his uncle’s promises, and Harvey tried to make him see sense. Begged him to reconsider what he was doing, and Jim simply touched his hand to Harvey’s knee. Slid it up the length of his thigh and said, voice dropping,

“We both know what you really want from me, Harv. Why don’t you just admit it?”

Harvey looked away, cheeks flushed and gaze lowered, and part of Jim told him to stop now. Warned him not to take this any further, not to ruin the one good thing he had left to cling to, but it wasn’t loud enough. Was drowned out easily enough, and he moved his hand still further.

Let his thumb just graze along the heated crease of Harvey’s thigh and went on,

“I’m not saying I feel the same way. I’m not saying that I ever will. But we’re both adults. We don’t need to pretend not to know what the score is.”

“You don’t want to do this,” Harvey whispered, but Jim could already see that he’d won. Already knew that Harvey couldn’t say no to him, and when he inched his hand up that little bit higher, when he squeezed ever so slightly over the fabric of Harvey’s trousers, Harvey surged forward suddenly, like he couldn’t hold back any longer.

It surprised him, legitimately, how good it felt. He had known that Harvey would be eager, passionate, but he hadn’t realized that he would react in kind. Had never guessed that the rasp of Harvey’s beard would be anything other than a necessary evil, and he groaned, low and helpless, when Harvey sucked at the skin of his throat, his dick hardening in his pants as Harvey pushed his hands up under his shirt.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harvey told him as he set about exploring every inch of him, the floodgates opened. “I want you so badly. I’ve wanted you for so long, Jim, you’re absolutely fucking gorgeous.”

Jim panted, swept away by the way Harvey looked at him. The way he touched him, tender and reverent, and the heat of his mouth as it followed the path of his fingers, pushing aside his clothing and kissing each patch of newly revealed skin like it was something precious.

“I love you,” Harvey told him finally, voice choked up with emotion, “I’m always going to love you.”

It was enough to make his stomach turn. To clench his eyes tight shut against the honest emotion in Harvey’s eyes. The misplaced hope on his face.

“I want you,” was the best Jim could manage in response. “I want to feel your mouth on me.”

Harvey didn’t make him wait. Blew him like he had been waiting his entire life for the opportunity, lips and tongue doing things to him that he had never even thought were possible.

It was too much, too good, and he tangled his fingers tight in Harvey’s unruly hair. Bucked his hips forward, powerless against the tide of overwhelming sensation, and Harvey simply took it. Encouraged it, even, and groaned around him when he lost control, his own hand moving feverishly in the confines of his pants as he willed Jim to come for him.

He felt ill in the aftermath. Cold and dirty, because he didn’t deserve the lovesick adoration on Harvey’s face, and he didn’t want the swirling emotion in his own chest, simmering just beneath the ever present numbness.

“It’s okay,” Harvey soothed, reading him like a book. “It’s not your fault. You never promised me anything.”

Jim let himself be coddled and petted. Wished that he was the man he had once been, or even a shadow of him. He wasn’t though, and he was too far gone to find his way back to him, because he would do it again.

He would use Harvey again, over and over, until he had taken everything he had to give and still more, and only then would he move on to his next victim.

“Don’t be sorry,” Harvey whispered, finally, and Jim wondered if he would come to regret those words one day. If he would end up wishing their paths had never crossed, and that he had never allowed himself to be duped by a man who claimed he wanted to do the right thing.

“I’m not,” was all the answer he gave, and the worst thing wasn’t even that it was true. That he wasn’t at all sorry, not really.

It was that he never would be.

Chapter Text

“What are you wearing?”

“Jim Gordon! I always knew you had a kinky side.”

He could practically hear the eye roll.

“Tomorrow, I mean. What are you wearing tomorrow?”

Harvey sighed, flopping back against his pillows and pressing the line of the cell phone more comfortably to his ear.

“I dunno. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

That was a lie. A big stinking lie because he had been stressing about having to speak at the graduation ceremony from the moment he received the invitation. The cadets needed somebody who was going to inspire them - somebody who would put the fire of justice in their bellies and convince them they had made the right decision.

They didn’t need a walking talking example of what not to do.

Jim wasn’t about to give up that easily, “You should wear your nice suit.”

“That don’t narrow it down any. All my suits are nice.”

There was the sound of rustling over the line, like Jim was shifting about, trying to get comfortable too.

“Haha, yeah, you keep telling yourself that. I’m talking about the one you wore to court last week. With the blue shirt.”

Harvey grinned stupidly, kind of glad that Jim wasn’t there to see it. Jim didn’t need more proof of how ridiculously bad he had it for the department’s star detective.

Then again, it was a little late to worry about being too obvious.

“Why have you got to be so far away? How is it anyway?”

“Rustic,” Jim answered and Harvey didn’t even have chance to comment on the obviousness of that before Jim was elaborating, “I don’t know. He seems okay. I - I don’t know.”

“You said that already,” Harvey pointed out, but the words were soft. The truth was that he wished he were there, or Jim was here, or they were both some place else. Just so long as they were together. Just so long as he was free to give so-called Uncle Frank the warning talk about what happened to flaky relatives who turned up out of the blue and upset his favorite person.

If he had some long lost uncle they’d have done a normal thing. Drank a lot of cheap whiskey, possibly had a punch up in the middle of some dive bar, then sang a few tearful choruses of The Fields of Athenry and been the best of friends again.

Gordons always had to go the extra mile. Didn’t speak for decades then organised some weird bonding session out in some shack in the middle of nowhere, the itinerary consisting of shooting defenceless animals and trading stories about their near death experiences.

Probably.

“And don’t try to change the subject,” Jim chided, apparently oblivious to his own eagerness to switch topic. “You write your speech yet?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a no then.”

He couldn’t even think up a snappy comeback, let alone settle on an order of words that would ready an auditorium of graduating cadets for the realities of street policing. What was he supposed to say - get out while you still can? Don’t fall behind with your insurance premiums and try not to piss your pants the first time some scumbag pulls a gun on you?

“Don’t over think it,” Jim advised, his voice sounding absurdly intimate up close in his ear, “tell them that it’ll be hard sometimes, really hard, but that they just gotta keep going.”

It was too perfect an opening.

“It’s really hard, huh? Why don’t you tell me more about that?”

“Harvey!”

“Yeah, just like that,” Harvey breathed, wishing all over again that Jim was with him. He hated letting Jim out of his sight at the best of times, and now that they were more than friends, more than partners, he’d cuff Jim to the headboard and blow off work for a week to do nothing but commit every inch of him to memory if he thought he could get away with it. “Maybe I should ask you what you’re wearing?”

Jim huffed a laugh, more rustling over the line.

“Don’t get your hopes up, I’ve got two sweaters on top of my pajamas. It’s freezing here.”

“I can think of something to warm you up.”

“You’re not serious.”

He hadn’t been, not particularly, but Jim had hesitated a moment as though he were considering. Sounded just a touch breathless, and maybe that was just the cold air in his lungs, but it was certainly doing the trick as far as he was concerned.

“If there’s anything I don’t joke about, it’s my commitment to getting you off.”

“My uncle is sleeping next door.”

It wasn’t a no.

“You’ll have to be quiet then, won’t you?”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Jim said in response but the accompaniment of blankets shifting, the sound of his cell being switched to the other hand, was enough to get Harvey’s heart rate up. This was really happening. “Maybe I just want to get some sleep.”

“Maybe you do,” Harvey agreed. “Or maybe you’re just dreaming about all the filthy things you want me to do to you. I bet you are. I bet you’ve got a hand under the blankets already, haven’t you?”

“Maybe,” Jim conceded and the mental image had his own dick taking interest. Had his own fingers stroking lightly, teasingly, through the fabric of his boxer shorts.

Fuck how he wished Jim were there with him.

“I wish I was watching you,” he admitted. “You don’t know what you do to me, Jim. You’ve only got to look at me and I can’t think straight. You’re so hot, so fucking hot. It’s all I can do to keep it together sometimes, when you’re sitting close to me, looking at me, and I’m fucking aching just thinking about how badly I want to feel your dick in my mouth. I love the way you lose control when I’ve got my mouth on you. The way you tug at my hair and the sounds that you make, and please tell me you’re touching yourself right now because I don’t think I can keep my hand out of my pants.”

He couldn’t, there was no way, because Jim’s breathing was harsh and heavy in his ear, and he could picture exactly what Jim would look like. Could practically see the pretty flush in his cheeks and the way he was periodically biting down at his lip, determined to keep silent. Jim always got worked up so easily. Was always so eager and so very willing, and Harvey had to push his hand into his underwear, his dick hardening under the touch even as Jim moaned quietly and said,

“How should I touch myself? If you were here, if you were watching me, how would you tell me to do it?”

That was new, that wasn’t at all what he had expected, and he shuddered on the upstroke, precome gathering, because Jim was such a good little boy scout and yet here he was asking Harvey for instructions. He had to concentrate on breathing in and out for a moment, had to collect his thoughts, and then he was focusing on the task in hand, so to speak.

“I want you to take it slow. I want you to push your pants down off your hips and put your hand on your thigh. Can you do that for me?”

There was the sound of movement, shifting and squirming, and then Jim was whispering ‘okay’ and Harvey feathered his fingertips up the length of his own dick before directing Jim to do likewise.

“How does that feel? Do you like that?” He asked, voice breathy, and Jim was a little unsteady as he answered with,

“Y-yeah. I want - I need. I’m so hard for you, Harvey.”

It was lines like that which were going to be the death of him. That were going to give him a heart attack and send him off on a high note because Jim claimed he didn’t do dirty talk, but he was getting by just fine from where Harvey was standing.

Lying.

Whatever.

“Are you wet, Jim? Do you want to stroke yourself? Wrap your hand around your dick and push up into your fist, so wet and slick just from knowing that I’m listening to what you’re doing?”

“Fuck,” Jim cursed, rough with just a hint of frantic, and Harvey had to make good on his own suggestion, heat flaring across his face at how good it felt, and how hot Jim sounded, panting into the handset.

“Please, Harvey,” Jim tried again after a moment because apparently now was the time he decided to follow orders. “Please say I can stroke myself.”

It was probably a good job Jim usually disregarded everything he told him to do, what with the way the obedience had him thrusting into his own touch, ridiculously turned on at the idea that Jim was waiting for his permission.

“Oh God,” he managed and Jim all but whined in response,

“Please.”

“Do it,” Harvey breathed, the movement of his own hand slick and easy. “Go on, Jim, I want to hear you come for me.”

He could hear Jim trying. The feverish motion of his hand, and the rustling of the bed covers. The hitching in his rapid breathing, and finally the bit off whimpers as he pushed closer and closer.

“That’s it,” Harvey encouraged. “Don’t stop, you’re so close, I can tell. Come on, Jim. Don’t stop now.”

It didn’t seem a particularly likely occurrence, but then it was hard to think particularly clearly, knowing that Jim was about to come all over himself. Listening to Jim gasp and pant and stifle back a groan of his name, the quality of his breathing telling Harvey exactly what was happening.

He had no choice but to follow Jim’s example. Gasped and grunted and spilled over his fingers, heart pounding so hard he was half convinced Jim would be able to hear it.

“Fuck, that was hot,” he panted as he struggled to get his breath back, and he could hear Jim squirming back into his pants and fussing about to get cleaned up.

“I can’t believe you talked me into that,” Jim told him after a few moments, the words accusing but his tone sated and happy. “You’re such a bad influence.”

“That was all your doing,” Harvey countered, grinning. “You were the one talking about hardness and how good I look in my nice suit.”

“You look nice out of it too,” Jim offered, yawning through the end of the sentence, and Harvey didn’t try to excuse away the pleasurable fluttering in his gut at the statement.

“Don’t get into any trouble tomorrow, all right? I want you back in one piece.”

“Same goes for you,” Jim mumbled, fast approaching sleep already, and Harvey swiped his hand clean and burrowed into his own blankets, rounding off the call with,

“When do I ever get into trouble?”

Chapter Text

Jim was afraid, terrified even, and Harvey had never seen that look on his face before. Not when he was squaring up against the reanimated dead, and not when Harvey was forced to walk away and leave him in Blackgate.

It was there now though and for the first time Harvey began to doubt that they were ever going to get out of here. Began to question the ability of the department to piece the clues together, and the sincerity of their captors’ promises not to put a bullet through their skulls if they played along and co-operated.

“I asked you a simple fucking question,” the ringleader spat again, fingers bunched tight in Jim’s shirt front, slamming him back against the wall. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how much I hate to be kept waiting?”

Jim winced, that flash of fear back again, and Harvey realized suddenly that they hadn’t been targeted because he was acting captain. They had been targeted because the scumbag who had bound his hands so tight behind his back he was losing feeling knew Jim.

Had history with him, and if Harvey could just get free of the damn chains around his ankles he’d kill the fucker. Would bite his damn jugular out if that was the only option open to him, would do anything, because he recognized the meaning of the tattoo visible on the back of the guy’s neck all too well.

A long stay in Blackgate, and Jim’s body language gave the rest away. The desperate attempt to act unmoved - to keep his head up and his shoulders straight - just the way he had been when Harvey was sat opposite him in the prison visiting room, wishing he could find the words to tell Jim he ought to report what was being done to him.

They had never spoken of it. Not then, when he was writing a blank check for Falcone, nothing but getting Jim free of the godforsaken place mattering, and not afterwards, though the words stuck in his throat often enough.

It was one thing to encourage a stranger to talk about the assaults they had been a victim of. One thing to get them to submit a report, and to stand up in court and point the finger at the animal who had wanted to see them broken and humiliated. It was another entirely to even broach the subject with Jim, the one person in the world he most wanted to keep safe and protected.

He hadn’t been able to then. Had had to watch Jim fade in front of his eyes, nobody else caring a damn because, as far as they were concerned, he was a convicted cop killer who deserved everything he had coming to him.

He could do it now though, and he had often been told that it was his big mouth that landed him in trouble. He put it to good use now, insulting and wheedling, until the filth quit beating Jim bloody and announced that if he didn’t shut up he’d be taking Jim’s punishment for him.

“You think I’m scared?” Harvey scoffed, Jim’s breath rattling as he slumped to the floor, his legs giving out without someone else’s fist to hold him up. “You think I’ve never had a few busted bones before?”

“I’m planning to do worse than break a bone or two,” the guy said, and his sidekicks, two gormless looking goons who Harvey was sure he had collared once or twice before, laughed darkly. “Do I need to draw you a diagram?”

“Just keep quiet,” Jim warned him, voice muffled with the blood still pouring from his nose and his busted lip, and Harvey couldn’t bear it. Fought against the cuffs all over again and only stirred things further.

Cast aspersions on the guy’s mother, and his sister, and his ability to deliver on his promise when what he was packing was so visibly inadequate.

Tried to force a smile on his face even with the pain in his gut when the kicks started landing, wanting Jim to understand that he knew what he was doing. That it would be worth it, all of it, if it meant Jim was left the fuck alone.

Jim didn’t get the message.

He strained and struggled instead. Refused to keep still, seemed incapable of keeping quiet, at least until the bundle of cloth they had used when transporting them was stuffed back in his mouth, and the sight of the tears that streaked down Jim’s grimy blood stained face was more painful than what was being done to his own body could ever be.

Because it wasn’t as though he had never taken it rough before. It had just never been real then, would have been over whenever he said the word, and besides he had usually been off his face or half out of his mind with the drink into the bargain. In the present he had nothing to numb the sensation, and no choice but to have his face scraped against the dirty concrete floor, his hands stuck behind his back and a hand between his shoulder blades forcing him down.

The truth was that it hurt. Really fucking hurt, and he grit his teeth tight together, willing it to be over. Cursed himself for getting his hopes up when the supposed brains of the operation pulled out, only for one of the others to take his place while brainbox twisted a hand into his hair and yanked his head up so he could force his dick into his mouth.

He choked and gagged and thought of biting down, hard, but that was kind of an obvious move, and he was warned in no uncertain terms that if he tried it there was a bullet with Jim’s name on it.

It seemed to go on forever, one long painful blur until finally - finally - there was sticky wetness trailing down his thigh and his mouth was full of bitter tasting come. He did as he was told. Swallowed as best he could, then retched it all back up again, coughing and heaving and wishing he could wipe his face somehow, even as he collapsed back to the ground, shaking controllably.

They were left alone after that, his awareness drifting in and out, and he was vaguely aware of Jim attempting to shuffle closer. He couldn’t get close enough to touch. Wouldn’t have been able to do anything if he had, his hands cuffed behind his own back and the gag tied too tight to get out of.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he managed for Jim’s sake, the world still spinning too much to try and move anywhere. “We’re gonna get out of here.”

Jim didn’t have to say anything for Harvey to know he didn’t believe it.

“He’s not too bad. Broken nose, cracked rib, you know how it goes. They let him go home a couple of hours ago.”

Harvey swallowed, thick and painful, and fought not to let on how the statement affected him. He had just thought - expected - that Jim would be at his bedside if he could be. That he would have come to see how he was doing, at least, because Jim knew better than anyone how welcome a friendly face would be right now.

But then, perhaps, that had been the last thing Jim had wanted, and he figured Harvey would want some space too. Maybe he thought Harvey wouldn’t want to see him, blamed him somehow and, no, it turned out that there were worse explanations than the idea that Jim just didn’t care enough to spare him a few minutes.

“The doc said - Tuttle saw -” Alvarez ventured, looking as uncomfortable to be saying it as Harvey was to be hearing it. “Do you want me to leave it out of the report?”

He did and he didn’t. Didn’t want to go through it again in detail, no way, but on the other hand he didn’t want to get to court and find himself lying on oath to save face. Watching the case fall apart if they were willing to confess to worse if it meant exposing the investigation as unsound and getting loose on a technicality.

“What’s Jim saying?” He asked finally, and Alvarez just sighed.

“So far? Nothing.”

They opted to keep it quiet for the time being, and it wasn’t long before Alvarez was herded from the room by a no-nonsense nurse and he was left alone to wallow in self-pity.

He passed the time by cataloging his injuries. Plenty of cuts and bruises, no surprise there, and a badly dislocated shoulder. At least it was the left, he supposed. Bruised ribs, all the hallmarks of a good kicking, and though he had been poked and prodded and generally embarrassed beyond belief, there would be no lasting physical damage as a result of any of the rough treatment he had experienced.

If the mental aspect was another matter - If he couldn’t help the way his vision blurred with unshed tears as he stared at the empty chair beside the bed, well. It was nobody else’s business.

It was all just going to hurt for a while, and when Alvarez came to pick him up in the morning, Harvey was very aware of the truth of the statement, even with the painkillers he had been given.

“Where we going?” Alvarez asked, eyes on the road. “Your place? The precinct?”

“Is Jim in?” He asked in turn, then wished he had kept his mouth shut. He was so pathetically obvious.

Alvarez shifted, awkwardly, and it wasn’t doing Harvey’s blood pressure any favors. He had a moment of blind panic, worrying about what might have happened to Jim, and why it was so terrible Alvarez didn’t want to tell him.

“Saunders sent him home,” Alvarez said finally. “He, er, gained access to the interview room and bust the guy’s nose open. I might have had to include some of what we talked about yesterday in the report. You know, damage limitation.”

Harvey slumped his head back against the head rest, suddenly exhausted.

He wished that, just once, Jim would simply talk to him.

He hadn’t been home long when there was a knock at the door. Didn’t even have chance to haul himself off the sofa before there was the sound of a key in the lock, and then Jim was just standing there sheepishly, a thick plaster across the bridge of his nose and two matching black eyes to go with it.

Not that Harvey could talk. He had graze marks all down one side of his face, and his jaw was swollen and bruised.

“Sit down,” he managed all the same. “You’re giving me a crick in my neck.”

There was a flash of a smile, so quick Harvey would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching Jim so intently, and it warmed him through from the inside, to know that even when things were bad he could put a smile on Jim’s face.

“I hear you’ve been busy,” Harvey said when Jim dropped into the chair opposite, watching the shame that crept across his expression. “Look, I’m not about to say it in front of IA but -” He swallowed, voice catching, “thank you, yeah? I appreciate the sentiment.”

Jim just shook his head. Thinned his lips like he was considering what to say then launched into it.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he said quietly, gaze fixed on his hands. “I did it for me. I did it because I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t stop it, and you -” Jim broke off, finally glancing up at him. “Why didn’t you just keep out of it like I told you to?”

His tone was harsh, accusing, but he looked as though he might cry again and Harvey understood where the anger was coming from. He had dealt with it himself, cutting up his knuckles on the wall outside of Blackgate every time he left the place and Jim was still stuck inside.

Harvey thought carefully about his answer. Debated how much to give away, and whether or not honesty was the best policy. Eventually he just had to say it, because the painkillers were really kicking in now, and because he had never been able to deal with the sight of Jim suffering.

“I wasn’t strong enough,” he admitted. “I couldn’t have watched them to do that to you. It would have killed me.” He sucked in a breath, heart thumping. “It was bad enough knowing that it happened, Jim. Knowing that I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Jim sniffed wetly against the threat of tears. Winced visibly at the pressure it put on his nose, and Harvey wanted to cry right along with him. Wanted to burst into peals of hysterical laughter because they made a right pair, two idiots who couldn’t say a word of what they were feeling.

Two messed up idiots who both wanted things they couldn’t have.

Jim wanted life to be simple, easy. Black and white. The good to be clear, pure, and to triumph each and every time over evil. He wanted the white picket fence and the rosy cheeked children. The smiling wife who loved him and didn’t begrudge the job, and the city streets to be gleaming clean and free of corruption.

Harvey, for his part, just wanted Jim.

He figured that Jim was the more realistic of the two of them.

“I’m sorry,” Jim croaked then, hand swiping viciously at his eyes, apparently uncaring of the bruising. “I’m really sorry.”

“You haven’t got anything to be sorry for.”

Jim looked up at the ceiling, blinking back more tears, and smiled bitterly.

“Yeah, I have. If I hadn’t been such a fucking coward he’d have still been in prison, and none of this would have happened.”

It took a couple of weeks for Jim’s nose to heal. A few more for the ribs to be fully fixed, and yet another few before the doctor was willing to sign off on Harvey’s shoulder.

“You ought to be more careful at your age,” she said dismissively as she updated his file, and he couldn’t help the bitter sarcasm that dripped from his tone,

“Yeah? I’ll tell all the villains you said to take it easy on me.”

He was still smarting when he got back to the precinct, and all through the resolution of some long winded dispute over who had said what to the press about the ongoing O’Reilly case.

It was still there at the back of his mind, getting his hackles up, when Jim finally returned from being interviewed, pale and subdued, and maybe that had more to do with his foul mood than anything the medical profession had to say.

He tried to play it cool, didn’t want to crowd Jim, but it was scarcely ten minutes later when he found himself stood at the side of Jim’s desk, pitching his voice quiet to ask how it went.

“Fine. Not bad.” Jim flipped through a case file without seeing it, shoulders tensed up, until he exhaled shakily and actually looked at him. “I don’t know. It didn’t feel like I was reclaiming control of the situation.”

Harvey smiled softly - the force counsellor used exactly the same lines on everyone, himself included. He was glad Jim had gone, all the same, and he was proud of him for filing a report against the guards at Blackgate. It had been eating Jim up inside, he didn’t doubt, knowing that it was in his gift to try and do something, yet be too afraid to act upon it.

He put a hand on Jim’s shoulder, let it linger just a few seconds too long, and said quietly,

“You wanna talk about it, you know where I am.”

Jim didn’t. Couldn’t, maybe, not to him, and as the court date approached Harvey supposed he could understand the reluctance. The trial had been delayed over and over already, lawyers leaving no stone unturned in search of a loophole or a reduced sentence. The latest word was they were pleading guilty to unlawful imprisonment and battery, on the assumption that the GCPD was no more keen to make the rest public than they were.

Even so it affected him worse than he had expected. Had him unable to sleep the night before, and battling the urge to nervously fidget on the witness stand. Had him feeling sick and filthy when it was all over, and he loosened his tie the second he was free of the court room, almost barrelling straight into Jim in his haste to get out of there.

For a moment he wished Jim would go away and leave him alone. Wished the whole world would do likewise, but Jim simply fell into step beside him. Didn’t push for answers or conversation, and only slid an arm around his shoulders when they were outside and Harvey would have turned right to return to the precinct for the last hour or so of the day.

“I told them not to expect us back,” Jim said with a shrug, like it was something he would have even considered on any other day, and lead him left instead, to one of Harvey’s favorite dive bars.

It was awkward at first. Him unable to meet Jim’s eye, and Jim fussing with the label on his beer bottle, uncertain what he ought to say - if anything. But the drink soon ground away the rough edges, made everything that little bit easier, and when Jim returned to the booth with a round he had lost count of the number of, he sat on the bench next to him instead of in the seat opposite.

Wound an arm around his waist at some point, fingers curled tight in the fabric of his shirt, and Harvey only pulled him closer. Pressed sloppy kisses into his hair to punctuate whatever it was he was talking about, and Jim just laughed at his stupid jokes. Looked so captivating with his dishevelled hair and the flush in his cheeks that it took the bartender at least three attempts before Harvey realized the guy was trying to tell them it was chucking out time.

He sobered up a little out in the cold night air. Not enough though, and they ended up at his apartment building, giggling stupidly as he attempted to get his key in the door. They fell through it when he finally succeeded and, in his right mind, he’d have set about finding the spare blankets and making up the sofa.

As it was they sprawled heavily across his bed, Jim fighting to get his shoes off before curling in close, so close his face was pressed into the crook of his neck and all Harvey could do was wrap his arms about him. Pull the blanket over them both and cling to Jim like he was a dream he might be forced to wake up from.

“Thank you,” Jim mumbled into the skin of his throat when Harvey was just straddling the line between asleep and awake, not entirely sure it wasn’t just his imagination, “for everything.”

When he woke it took him a good long moment to work out what was happening. Why his arm was stiff and numb, and why there was a dead weight on his chest, drooling all over his collar bone.

“Ugh,” Jim groaned when Harvey attempted to move, and only held on more determinedly.

“Come on, Jim,” he tried again, half tempted to just stay like that forever. “Wakey wakey.”

Jim whined, sounding pained, but when those big blue eyes blinked into focus Harvey saw embarrassment. Shock, maybe, at the position they had found themselves in, and it clawed viciously at his heart because this was probably Jim’s worst nightmare, even as it was something out of his own pathetic fantasies.

“Sorry,” Jim managed, and before Harvey could say anything reassuring Jim was swiping his neck clean, looking still more embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I’ve had worse.”

It wasn’t the best thing to say, not given recent events, but Jim just huffed a soft laugh. Finally got off his arm but then lay his head back on his chest, showing no inclination to move anywhere.

“If my head wasn’t hurting so bad right now, I’d make it up to you.”

His own head was telling him not to go jumping to conclusions. To not let his heart start pounding, his mouth suddenly dry and his arm twitching with more than simple pins and needles.

“Yeah?” He prompted, carefully, and Jim’s breath was hot even through his shirt as he nodded slightly.

“Yeah,” Jim sighed, still not entirely with the waking world, “because I’m never going back to your sofa.”

By the time Harvey succeeded in getting them both out of bed, Jim was really looking the worse for wear. Shook his head grimly at his offer of toast and coffee, choosing to sip warily at a glass of water as Harvey searched his closet for something that wouldn’t swamp Jim until he went home and changed.

As he tried not to think pitiful thoughts about how much he wished Jim never had to go home. That Jim was already home, and waking up to a dead arm and Jim’s sleep addled conversation was something he could look forward to every morning.

Because he would.

“You should know better than to try and drink an Irishman under the table,” Harvey joked when he handed over a t-shirt and the pants of a suit he hadn’t been able to get into for at least ten years. “You’re lucky we’re not at Gotham General getting your stomach pumped.”

He was expecting a swift comeback. A long lecture about the realities of alcohol poisoning, and the preferred treatment methods, but Jim was silent. Plucked at the clothing in his hands so that Harvey stopped what he was doing to sit next to him, concerned.

“I should have stayed with you, at the hospital,” Jim admitted, finally, and the jump between topics was so vast it made his head spin. “You deserve so much better than me, Harvey.”

It wasn’t the first time he had heard that kind of sentiment from Jim, though it more usually related to his girlfriends. It hurt to listen to then and it felt like it was breaking his heart now. Like a knife being plunged deep and twisted, the pain of it raw and overpowering.

“Do you know what they say in therapy?” Jim asked, voice scratched up with more than the hangover. “They say you can’t control what happens to you, but you can -”

“You can control how you react to it. Yeah, yeah, I know how it goes. The thing is, Jim,” he said, leaning in closer, catching Jim’s downcast gaze and holding it, “sometimes that works just fine. When you’re in front of the Competence Panel, convincing them you’re fit for duty, that’s exactly how it is. But in the real world, when it’s really happening, that’s nothing but a crock of shit.”

“It wasn’t happening to me though, was it?” Jim pressed, and Harvey wished they had had this conversation the night before when they had been drunk enough for hugging and tears. When it wouldn’t have mattered what they said, how honest they were, because they could have blamed the drink and gone on with their lives.

Now they were sober, if ill and dehydrated, and there was going to be no glossing over anything they said to each other.

“That doesn’t make it your fault. That doesn’t mean you weren’t freaking the fuck out, does it? Look,” he sighed, searching for the right words before giving it up as a bad job and stating, “I’m not going to be sorry I did it, and I’m not going to play along with your pity party. You got me whether you think you deserve it or not. I’m not going anywhere.”

The day dragged interminably. Victims, witnesses, suspects, scumbags. A never ending cycle of things to do and places to be, and the hangover flaring and waning until he was making spurious pledges never to drink again.

Jim was flagging by midday, and looked completely done in by the time the day was almost done. Harvey was just pondering the unfairness of how good Jim looked, even when exhausted and feeling the after effects, and then there was a flurry of panic around the front desk and he turned around to see a kid pointing a gun at his face.

“”Let’s just take it easy,” he started in very best negotiation voice, willing somebody to get with the program and start evacuating the balcony as per protocol. “Why don’t we sit down and talk about this?”

“Just shut up!” The kid countered, frantic and unsteady, and Harvey could recognize the face of someone flying high when he saw it. Could recognize when someone was past reasoning, even if he couldn’t remember the kid’s case, or why he looked so familiar.

“Come on, Leighton,” Jim piped up from somewhere behind the kid’s shoulder and, of course, the O’Reilly case. It was always the O’Reilly case. “Put the gun down. You don’t want to do this.”

“Don’t tell me what I want to do!”

“Okay, well, I don’t want to shoot you. None of us want you to shoot you.”

“Speak for yourself,” someone - a someone who sounded suspiciously like Alvarez - muttered - and Jim was taking a step forward, sweat visible across his pallid forehead.

He was in command of the situation regardless, calm and controlled, and uniform stood down on his signal. The rest of the department followed his lead, and the gun was surrendered without a shot being fired. The usual hustle and bustle returned by degrees, what passed for normality resuming, and when the kid was finally booked in and being taken care of, that was when Jim all but collapsed into his desk chair and gave him a wry smile.

“How was that for controlling my reaction?”

“I’ve seen better,” Harvey deadpanned, then smiled back. “But I’m not leaving here in a box so, you know, I’ll cut you some slack this time.”

“Very generous of you.”

“That’s me. The soul of generosity.”

Jim hauled himself to his feet, slow but steady, and gave him a look Harvey couldn’t quite interpret. Sounded less confident than he had when talking down a potential shooter, and put a hand on his arm.

“You gonna invite me back to your place then?”

“I don’t know if you deserve that kind of accolade,” Harvey blustered, because it wouldn’t do to let on how he’d let Jim move in if he only gave the word he wanted to. Wouldn't do at all to jump at the opportunity, desperate, and beg Jim to come with him, right now. Jim looked relieved of all things. Said softly,

“You already said it didn’t matter if I deserved it or not. I’ve got you.”

He had said that, only that very morning.

Was so bewildered, all the same, that he just stared for a moment. All but gaped at Jim until uncertainty found its way back into the other man’s expression, and that was the very last thing he wanted.

“If you want me,” he managed, feeling his cheeks heat up like he was a kid again, trying to fix up a prom date with someone way out of his league.

Jim beamed at him tiredly.

“I don’t risk my life for just anyone.” At the look on Harvey’s face he smiled still wider and conceded, “Okay, but I certainly don’t go to counselling afterwards and talk about it.”

That much was true. So very definitely true and Harvey couldn’t help but laugh. Couldn’t help but sling an arm around Jim’s shoulder and make his way for the parking lot. Drove them both back to his place and watched on, stupid smile still spread across his face, as Jim made himself at home.

As Jim loosened his tie and toed off his shoes. As he stopped off in the kitchen for some water, then shed more clothing, folding it rather haphazardly and falling in to Harvey’s unmade bed like there was nothing else he would rather be doing. There certainly wasn't anything Harvey would rather be doing than crawling into bed beside him, Jim squirming close and clinging with the kind of grip that spoke of yet another life and death situation. Of being aware how easily things could turn sour in their line of work, and wanting to make the most of every moment.

He got it because he felt the same way. Would do anything for Jim, go to any lengths, and he forced himself not to interrupt as Jim explained to him in quiet whispers how he had misinterpreted Harvey's actions. How he had seen pity and a lack of faith to dig himself out of his own mess, and how being made to talk about it had maybe had its merits. How it made him rethink things, and make sense of things, and how perhaps it was better to look forward than mire himself forever in long ago events he would never have control over.

“You gonna talk about this in therapy?” Harvey asked eventually, curious, and Jim just gave him an earnest look that threatened to steal his breath away. 

“I thought I might try talking about it with you.”

Harvey pressed a kiss to his forehead and found his hand, heart fit to burst with what that meant, coming from Jim.

“Sounds good to me.”

Chapter Text

Harvey never forgot a face.

He wasn’t always the best at putting a name to them, at recalling where and when he had seen them, but he got there eventually.

And Jim Gordon? His was definitely a face he’d seen before.

Where, that was the only question. It drove him mad, frustrated him beyond reason, because the answer was so near he could almost reach out and touch it. He thought he had it, sometimes, the how and the why just within his grasp, and then it was gone and he was staring at Jim’s pretty profile again trying to work out why it was so familiar.

Jim was a Gotham native he learned early on in their association, and for a while he told himself that had to be it. He had seen Jim’s teenage visage in the middle of a crowd, or else up close on some dismal school visit to talk about the dangers of drugs, and why the kids ought to simply say no to them. Or, knowing Jim, it was at some even more dismal neighborhood watch meeting, because even at an early age Jim was bound to have been an insufferable goody-two-shoes.

It didn’t quite fit thought because, while he might have come across Jim all those years ago, the face he remembered was that of an adult.

He tried quizzing Jim during boring stakeouts, asking about his work history and his family, and how closely or otherwise he resembled them. Not close enough, that was the answer, and Harvey went back to puzzling over it.

Began to stare at Jim for other reasons too because Harvey was only human. He had eyes and he had blood in his veins, and he had a pathetic excuse for a heart that beat faster in his chest every time Jim so much as looked in his direction. Jim was gorgeous, Jim was caring, and by the time Jim narrowly avoided walking down the aisle for the second time Harvey was so ridiculously in love with him that he was willing to go grovelling to Carmine Falcone if it meant making Jim’s life even a little easier.

Jim even smiled at him occasionally, in reward, and he had it so bad that was more than enough to keep him going. To keep him hoping, and to forget all about Jim’s mood swings and his reckless idiocy. To excuse away his sarcastic derision, and all the ugly things he heard via the department grapevine Jim had once said about him.

It was in the past, wasn’t how he felt now - and, even if it was, the sad truth was that Harvey would love him regardless.

Because he fell hard, harder than he had ever thought possible, and though Jim’s face still bugged him, it was more because it looked so stupidly stunning, the shadow of his lashes cast along his cheeks in the dim light of the club they were hoping to find their guy frequenting.

There were plenty of guys frequenting it though, and that was kind of the problem. Harvey was no stranger to the city’s gay bars - wasn’t much of a stranger to any of its night life - but Jim was another prospect entirely. He didn’t look uncomfortable; in truth, he looked just as disgustingly perfect as he always did.

But that didn’t really count for much.

The Jim Gordons of the world were too progressive and too liberal to freak out about being the center of unwanted attention. They smiled benignly, declined politely, and left a guy with nothing but wet dreams and filthy fantasies.

Harvey had so many of those. So very many, and he stopped mid stride on the way to the mens’ room because suddenly he knew exactly where he had seen Jim before.

Couldn’t understand how he could ever have forgotten it, even for a moment, because he may have been permanently off his own ugly mug at the time, but the encounter itself had helped him through more lonely nights than he cared to put a number on.

“You okay?” Jim asked, brow furrowing, and Harvey had to get out of there. Pushed through the throngs of people until he was out in the street, sucking down cold night air and waiting for the world to stop spiralling out of control.

Jim knew. Jim had to know, because he didn’t have a long standing drink problem or whatever drugs some dodgy guy in the toilets happened to have been peddling that week to excuse the memory lapse. Jim knew and he had never said a word.

He had watched Harvey fall for him. Had given him plenty of polite smiles when Harvey slipped up, when he couldn’t quite hold it all together and looked too long and too hard. When Jim had thrown himself head first into danger yet again, and Harvey had to cling to him.

Had to cling to his own self-control because all he ever wanted in those moments was to kiss Jim. To hold Jim tight and tell him what he meant to him. How desperately he loved him, and what he’d give to be able to demonstrate it.

The reality was that he had already had the chance and squandered it.

Because it had been eight years ago now, nine maybe, and he had been looking for another sin to add to his next confession. The guy at the bar had been looking at him, big blue eyes contrasting with the flush in his cheeks, and if Harvey had been sober he wouldn’t have risked it. Would have been certain it was some kind of set up, because he was a wreck of a man, and the vision in front of him could have walked straight off a movie set.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asked though, endearingly nervous, and with his line stolen Harvey could do nothing but nod and think about how proximity only made the guy more attractive.

Harvey looked him over with a cop’s eye and quickly came to conclusions. James - if that was even his real name - was new to this. Was trying to act like he wasn’t and, though he said he worked in security, Harvey recognised the hand of Uncle Sam when he saw it.

He wasn’t going to ask, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell, and he spun tall tales of his own about what he did for a living, knocking a couple of years off his age for good measure.

James didn’t seem to care either way, was eager enough when Harvey dared to push in close enough to kiss him, and perhaps things would have been different if they had gone back to his place.

He would have been overcome by the sight of Jim in his bed, all that soft skin and hard muscle, and he’d have played it casual in the morning and told Jim to be careful when he got wherever it was he was being stationed to. Jim would have been suitably awed, bewildered that he had worked it out, and maybe they’d have spent the next six months writing sappy love letters to each other until Jim was back on home ground and he could do something stupid like get down on one knee and beg Jim to swap out his dog tags for a warrant card.

In the event they went to James' hotel room, some cheap dive of a place where one of his informants worked the front desk, the guy raising an eyebrow as Harvey gave him a smug smirk on his way past.

The elevator was out of order so they took the stairs, and James - Jim - started to freak out once the door was closed behind them, even greener than Harvey had counted on. He didn’t usually sleep around, he confessed, didn’t usually do casual, and Harvey got an image of a guy who figured life was going to work out with his high school sweetheart, if only he tried hard enough.

“We don’t gotta do anything,” he said in turn, because he might be worked up and half desperate, but he hadn’t yet sunk so low he couldn’t control himself.

James shook his head, unwilling to back down, and Harvey waited until James made the first move, wanting to be certain. Needing to know that James really wanted to do this.

“I didn’t think it would be -” James told him, dazed, after another round of kissing. After Harvey had pushed him back against the hotel sheets and worked a hand beneath his waistband. “I never knew it would be -”

Would be what exactly remained unsaid, and Harvey wished he was, maybe not sober, but clearer headed. Wished he was going to remember more of what was happening because James gasped and moaned so prettily, whining when Harvey put his mouth on his dick like he’d never been sucked before.

Perhaps he hadn’t, not with feeling, and Harvey hoped he was doing the act some kind of justice because James was so responsive it had his own dick aching for attention. Had him kind of regretting that James wasn’t up for something altogether kinkier, and he couldn’t take a few pictures or maybe even a video to help him relive the experience.

As it was he made do with patiently working a couple of fingers into him, on making him cry out and beg for more. Then he had to concentrate on not embarrassing himself because James' hands were tangled in his hair, kissing intently as Harvey tried not to think about how tight and how hot he was. About how incredibly good he smelled, and how every sound he made was driving him closer and closer.

He wasn’t much of a gentleman afterwards. Passed out drunk and insensible, and woke up to find James already gone and the cleaners laying in wait for him to do likewise.

“Good night was it?” Leveson asked when he finally turned up at the precinct and Harvey only grunted, already wishing he had had the good sense to ask James for his number before they got down to things.

“You don’t look so good,” Jim said back in the present, all solicitous concern and a kindly hand on his shoulder.

Meant it in all kinds of ways, doubtless, and Harvey was overcome with the horror of it. Jim wasn’t interested, that was something he had long resigned himself to. But he had been once, had wanted him once, and maybe Jim had laughed himself sick night after night, at just the idea he’d ever let history repeat itself.

“Do you remember that night?” Harvey asked before he could swallow the words down. “Was it really that awful?”

He trailed off, helpless, and though Jim blanched, he made no attempt to say anything. Looked away, embarrassed, and Harvey didn’t know what to do.

Thought about stepping out into oncoming traffic, but Jim didn’t need that kind of thing on his conscience, and he was so fucked up that Jim’s state of mind was more important to him than whether or not he continued breathing.

Jim didn’t follow him when he finally succeeded in walking away, and he didn’t make any effort to contact him. There were no texts, no missed calls or emails, and when Harvey decided to play along as normal and went to pick Jim up for work there was no answer at his apartment. He kept his head down at the precinct, avoiding eye contact, and Harvey wondered if this was divine justice, for all the shitty things he’d ever done.

It went on like that all day, and most of the next, the pain of Jim pretending not to notice that he wanted to speak to him white hot and torturous.

“I’m sorry,” Harvey said eventually, cornering Jim in the locker room, unable to take it a moment longer. “If I’d known I’d have -” He didn’t know what he’d have done, that was the reality of the situation. Still didn’t know what to do and started babbling about how they need never speak of it again, not if Jim decided he didn’t want to.

“You can’t just say you’re sorry,” Jim hissed in turn, anger directed squarely at him for the first time since the early days of their partnership. “I thought we were friends. I thought -”

Jim broke off mid sentence and shook his head, frustrated.

“I thought we were past this. You didn’t want to know, I didn’t know what I was doing - it was a long time ago. You didn’t have to throw it in my face like that.”

Nothing Jim was saying was making sense. They had never spoken about it before the other night, had never even alluded to it. At least, not to his knowledge, because it hit him with a sickening wave of certainty that Jim didn’t know just how wasted he had been. How wasted he had spent whole chunks of his life being, and how little he remembered of any of it.

Why, exactly, his liver was in the state it was, and the stints in department mandated rehab.

Jim was making to leave, righteous anger pouring off him, and Harvey reached out blindly. Grabbed at the sleeve of his suit jacket and ignored the furious glare Jim gave him in favor of maintaining eye contact and stating, quietly,

“Let me explain, please. I would never ever use what happened against you. You’ve gotta believe that.”

They were still staring each other down, Jim frowning and confused and him desperate and beseeching, when the door swung open, two uniformed officers avoiding their eye as they headed for their lockers. Jim shrugged his arm away then, still angry, but softened enough to say,

“We’ll talk later.”

The rest of the day crawled by, his gut churning as he attempted to figure out what he wanted to say. How he was going to convince Jim that he had simply forgotten - and, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, that didn’t mean the encounter hadn’t been important to him.

He just hadn’t known how important. Why it was so important. He was a complete wreck by the time the day was done, frantic to get it over with even as he wished the awkward drive to his place could last forever, lest Jim decided that, actually, he didn’t want to be drinking buddies with someone who was such an utter loser.

Didn’t want to be friends, partners, his principle reason for breathing, when he was such a total mess.

“Go on then,” Jim said shortly once his apartment door was shut behind them. “You were the one who wanted to explain it to me.”

Even with an afternoon of thinking about nothing else, Harvey still didn’t know where to start. Settled eventually on the very beginning and handed Jim his good whiskey, hoping it might make things a little easier.

“I lost it for a while after Dix,” he confessed, not quite able to meet Jim’s eye. “I lost it for a long while. It was drink mostly, pills sometimes. I was a mess, Jim. A liability. There are whole years I don’t really remember. Great chunks of time that are just a few fractured memories.”

Jim raised an eyebrow but kept quiet. Kept drinking, and that was better than him simply getting up and walking out at least. Harvey sucked in a deep breath and risked another glance up at Jim’s handsome face, wondering in what universe he had ever thought his cherished hopes might actually be validated.

“I screwed around a lot back then. Screwed anyone who’d have me and most of it -” he shrugged, pouring out his own measure of whiskey and downing it to help steady his nerves. “I don’t remember much of it. Names, faces, they’re in there somewhere,” he tapped two fingers to his temple, “but it’s a jumble. When I saw you that first day at the precinct I knew I’d seen you somewhere.”

He gave Jim a bitter smile, forcing the next words out.

“I just didn’t know where. I couldn’t remember.”

The silence stretched for long moments, Jim staring into his glass and considering.

“When did you remember?” He asked finally, tone clipped.

“The other night, in the bar. I was thinking about how - well, I was thinking and, suddenly, I knew it was you. I never forgot that night, Jim, if that counts for anything. I wondered so many times whether you came back in one piece.”

“I never told you I was in the military,” Jim pointed out, back ramrod straight and shoulders tense.

Harvey drained the renewed liquid in his glass, as though it hadn’t caused him more than enough trouble already.

“I know you think I’m a shit excuse for one, but I am a detective. Gorgeous guy like you in a grotty dive like that? That alone was a dead giveaway.”

Jim flushed at that, every bit as easily as he had back then, and it was Harvey’s turn to be shocked when he said quietly,

“I don’t think you’re a bad detective. Not now. Not for a long time.”

The silence filled the air again, awkward and stifling. So painful Harvey itched to say something, anything, to break it. Jim broke before him.

“It’s a lot to take in. I need to think about this.”

Harvey forced himself to nod and smile and act like it didn’t feel as though he were falling apart inside.

“Of course. Take all the time you need.”

The days that followed were a nightmare. The weeks they formed torture, because on the surface everything was fine. Jim acted just the same as he had before his epiphany. Joked and bantered, but then claimed he had other things to do of an evening.

Was distant in all the ways only someone who devoted so much time to watching him would notice. Disappeared at the end of the third week before he could even try and ask if Jim wanted to do something, then turned up at his door not long after kicking out time, drunk and determined.

Pushed him back against the wall and kissed him like it was going out of fashion, all tongue and hands, smelling of smoke and tasting of cheap beer. Was so eager, so persistent, and it took everything he had to put his own hands on Jim’s shoulders and ask him what he thought he was doing.

What he was going to think of it in the morning.

“I thought it was so bad you just didn’t want to remember it. You said that the other night too. That it was awful. It wouldn’t be now. I know what I’m doing.”

Jim punctuated it with a hand at his crotch, knowing and confident, and doing the right thing really really wasn’t delivering the kind of satisfaction Harvey needed it to.

He did it regardless, putting space between them before he could lose control and change his mind.

“It wasn’t awful, Jim, at least not from my perspective. It couldn’t be, not with you. But if we do this - if you still want to do this - it’ll be when we’re both sober.”

“You’re turning me down?” Jim asked, and it wasn’t vain or incredulous. He sounded genuinely upset, humiliated, and Harvey couldn’t help but press a kiss to his cheek, chaste and brief and so perfect it made him want to hold on and never let go.

“I’m saying you’re welcome to my sofa and if you’re still interested in the morning, I will do my very best to blow your brains out. That's a promise.”

Jim frowned and pouted and generally tested his better instincts to their limits, but ultimately saw the sense of the argument and settled down with the spare blanket on the sofa.

Clearly got sick of the arrangement at some point during the night, because when Harvey opened his eyes it was to find Jim sprawled across the bed next to him, on top of his bed covers with the blanket he had provided draped over him.

It was going to be uncomfortable when Jim woke up, Harvey thought. Jim would be angry all over again, probably, and things would only deteriorate between them. With that in mind he tried to make the most of the time he had, admiring how peaceful Jim looked, and how attractively unruly strands of hair tumbled over his forehead.

But when Jim opened his eyes, slowly blinked them into focus, he smiled. Kept on smiling even as Harvey braced himself for the fall out, and Jim only stretched and squirmed and said,

“Last time I woke up in bed with you I almost missed my flight back. You’ve always been a bad influence on me.”

“I thought you just regretted it,” Harvey confessed stiltedly. “I wished so bad I had asked for your address or your number, at least. I used to imagine writing you soppy love letters or sending you a care package. I really don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

It was stupid, embarrassing, but Jim looked sincerely touched. Shifted a little closer and admitted,

“I’d have liked that. If, you know, it wouldn’t have gotten me thrown out on my ear. All I ever seemed to get were Dear John letters.”

“It was probably your charming personality.”

“Is that what put you off?”

Jim was playing it casual, scarcely looking at him, but Harvey had made a study of the expressions and body language of Jim Gordon. He knew that Jim was nervous, almost certain already of his answer, and Harvey took great delight in proving Jim wrong sometimes, especially on issues as close to his heart as this one was.

Especially when his heart was beating frantically in his chest, scarcely able to believe what was happening.

“Nothing could put me off you, Jim. I thought you’d know that by now. You’re so beautiful, inside and outside.”

“Plenty would disagree,” Jim protested, but it was soft and breathy, his cheeks starting to color up a little.

“They’re idiots. All of them.”

“Yours is the only opinion that matters, anyway.”

Harvey gave his own smile at that, helpless and adoring. Pressed a scruffy kiss to Jim’s cheek, followed by another and then another, fingertips tracing across Jim’s features, wanting to commit every inch of him to memory.

“I’ll remember that.”

Chapter Text

Awareness came to him in degrees, each new piece of information convincing him further that it would have been better if he had just stayed asleep. If he could just roll over and have a few more hours before he had to face the world again.

That wasn’t going to be an option though. His alarm kept going every five minutes - set by the cruel bastard he had been while still sober - and, besides, he felt too ill to drift back into whatever dream he had been having. The details were gone, blurred and distant, but he had been enjoying it, whatever it was.

He had woken up with a smile on his face.

Now all he could muster was a grimace, jabbing viciously at his cell phone as it started bleeping again. Sitting up was a whole new exercise in torment. His stomach churned and his head spun. He kept still for a long moment, breathing shallowly, and once he was relatively certain he wasn’t going to throw up all over his bedroom carpet he noticed for the first time that there was plastic wrap bound tight around his upper arm.

That wasn’t a good sign.

Snippets of the night before flashed before his eyes. They had gone to the bar, practically the whole department, to celebrate the successful - long anticipated - conclusion of the O’Reilly case. He had been drinking, anything that was going, but the pounding in his head had already told him that.

It had been a good laugh, everyone in a decent mood for once, and he had ribbed Lucius mercilessly for calling it a night at 9:30 pm. Simmons had dropped off not long after, and Tuttle had disappeared around half ten, because his wife was threatening to make him sleep out on the porch if he rolled up drunk and insensible again that week.

Things started to get a little hazy after that. There had been more drink, plenty more of it, and when the bar they were in told them to drink up and get lost, they had simply moved on to the next one. Had been to quite a few different bars if the ache in his feet was anything to go by, until it had been just him and Jim, Alvarez and McKenna.

That was an even worse sign.

He cornered Alvarez as soon as he reached the precinct, demanding he fill in the gaps between having a quiet - if excessive - drink, and falling through the door of his apartment with a permanent reminder of the evening.

“Don’t you remember?” Alvarez asked, genuinely, and Harvey pinched at the bridge of his nose.

He was always surrounded by idiots.

“If I did I wouldn’t be asking you, would I?” He sighed, reigned in the temper. It wouldn’t get him anywhere. “Where did Jim get to? Why didn’t he talk me out of it?”

That was the real question.

Jim - stress induced drinking notwithstanding - was the kind of guy who thought the body was a temple. Wouldn’t eat take out every night, and went to the gym in his spare time, as though the trip from sofa to bathroom and back again wasn’t enough exercise for any man.

(As though he needed to put effort into his disgustingly attractive appearance, when his face looked like that and his big blue eyes haunted every one of Harvey’s fantasies.)

He wouldn’t have watched on while some dubious looking guy with a tattoo gun went to town on his partner’s pasty skin.

Harvey was almost certain of it.

Alvarez just snorted, a huge grin slowly unfurling across his face.

“You really don’t remember.”

“It’s not funny!” Jim hissed for the third time that morning and even with the hangover from hell, even with the painfully tender skin on his own arm, it was all Harvey could do not to smile at the indignant pout on his face.

“I tried to talk you out of it,” McKenna pointed out.

“Me too,” Alvarez agreed. “Even Bullock said you should just pay up and accept defeat.”

Because somewhere in the swirl of drink and banter the conversation had turned to tattoos - how many each of them had, and which had been the most painful.

Alvarez had been as keen as ever to show off his backpiece of the Madonna. McKenna bitched about the cover-ups his numerous short lived marriages had necessitated, and Harvey was drunk enough to think stripping half naked in front of Jim a good idea, reminiscing about afternoons spent bunking off school and getting amateurish images scratched into his skin with India ink and a compass.

Jim, of course, had lectured everybody on their stupidity, and McKenna had refused to accept that Jim had made it through three tours without a single piece of body art to show for it.

“He’s got sensitive skin,” Harvey said in response, with the very best of intentions, because it was true, and because he was too drunk to realize that Jim’s preference for Eco laundry detergent and unscented soap probably wasn’t something he wanted broadcast all over the station.

Probably wasn’t the kind of thing people who weren’t obsessed with him would have noticed in the first place, and Jim just pursed his lips and argued that it wasn’t the pain of the thing that had ever prevented his getting one.

“Bullshit,” Alvarez opined, as succinct as ever. “You act the tough guy but, when it comes down to it, you just haven’t got the balls for it.”

That was Alvarez’ way, to be as infuriating as possible, because nobody doubted the scope of Jim’s pain threshold. Even those who couldn’t stand the sight of him would grudgingly admit that no matter what knocked him down, Jim got back up again.

Jim fell for it, all the same, arguing back and posturing as outrageously as Harvey had ever seen him.

Got himself worked up and up and up until McKenna’s suggestion that they all go and prove themselves right there, right then, or hand over a couple of hundred bucks to the worthy cause of the less cowardly’s future alcohol consumption was met without the derision it deserved.

Instead they all piled into some scummy looking tattoo parlour and even that might not have been a disaster. Alvarez had another date etched along his side - symbolising what Harvey didn’t know and didn’t care to ask. Knowing Alvarez it could be anything from the birthdate of one of his kids to the day he broke his latest dry streak.

McKenna went for some tacky trendy rubbish on his shoulder blade, and Harvey shifted over on the sofa in the waiting area and told Jim that it wouldn’t matter if he backed down and walked away.

“It don’t matter what anyone else says,” he promised, words slurring together. “You gotta do the things you want to do, you know what I’m saying?”

Jim gazed back at him, those impossibly blue eyes every bit as affecting when they were slightly unfocused, and Harvey wished he could close the gap between them. Wished he could capture those perfect lips and tell the rest of the world to go screw itself.

“What are you getting done?” Jim asked instead, soft and conspiring. “Whatever it is, I want the same thing.”

“No you don’t,” he laughed, enjoying Jim’s oft buried sense of humor, then realized that Jim was being serious. Was being so earnest it made his heart ache, the desperate sting intensifying as Jim lay a heavy hand on his arm and said,

“You’re the only one who believes in me. You’re the only one whose opinion I care about. It’s what friends do anyway, isn’t it? Comrades. Partners.”

“It’s not too late to back out, Gordon,” Alvarez crowed, already getting his own mistake wrapped up, and it hit Harvey like a tidal wave.

He could put his mark on Jim. Not for real, maybe, not the way he wanted to. But he could let the whole world know how much Jim meant to him, forever and always.

Before he could think better of it, before he could sober up any, he had pen and paper and was drawing out a simple angular lovers’ knot.

“What does it mean?” Jim asked, curious, and Harvey had never believed in fucking up in half measures,

“Why does everything have to mean something? It just looks nice.”

“Don’t scratch at it,” Harvey admonished a few days later, noting the way Jim kept fussing with his shirt cuff. “It’s not going to heal if you don’t leave it alone.”

Jim grimaced but made a show of pulling his hand away. His reasoning for choosing the wrist had been sound, as far as bad decisions made while drunk went. It was small and unobtrusive, and would generally be covered by the strap of his wristwatch. If there was some part of him that wanted to prove to Alvarez that he didn’t care how painful a place it would be to get tattooed, well, Harvey wasn’t going to begrudge him it. He had done far stupider things with much less provocation.

Still, Jim seemed to be regretting it now, his inability to stop fidgeting giving it all away. Harvey took pity on him - felt guilty enough about the whole debacle - and called Jim into his office just before lunch.

“What are you doing?” Jim asked, confused, when Harvey reached for his hand without preamble, his touch just the wrong side of impersonal before he started unbuttoning and rolling up his shirt sleeve.

“You should be taking better care of this,” he said simply, smearing cream over Jim’s wrist with his fingertips. It should have taken a couple of seconds, at most, but he could feel the fluttering of Jim’s pulse underneath the delicate skin. Could feel it speeding up, matching the sudden racing of his own heart, and when he looked into Jim’s face he would have sworn he was drunk, if all he had was the way his head spun to go by.

Because it felt as though he couldn’t get enough breath. As though he could hardly stay steady on his feet, and Jim was staring right back at him, looking at him the same way he did in Harvey’s fantasies, eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

Time seemed to slow, nothing else seemed to matter, and for a moment Harvey was sure they were going to kiss. They were so close, so intent on each other, and when the rap on his office door jolted through their awareness and forced them apart, they had been standing so close he had been able to feel Jim’s breath on his face.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Lucius said, glancing from one to the other, entirely too knowing.

“I was just, er,” Jim stammered, cheeks burning, and Harvey watched him as he made for the sanctuary of his desk before forcing his attention to Lucius, and the job, and anything other than how desperate he was to know what Jim’s lips would feel like, pressed against his own.

They didn’t talk about it in the days that followed. Kept catching each other’s gaze regardless. Kept reaching out for casual touches and thinking better of it at the last moment, except for the times when they didn’t, hands lingering and skin tingling.

Harvey swallowed thickly on one such occasion, Jim slowly realizing that his hand was actually on his knee, cheeks burning bright, and if it weren’t for the crackle of the car radio Harvey wasn’t sure how much longer his sense of self-preservation would have held out for.

As it was they made for the scene of a jewelry store robbery turned homicide. They shook their heads at the blood smeared carnage, listened to the initial findings of the uniform patrol officer, and then Jim studied something out in the shop front while Harvey offered stilted comfort to the store assistant who was still shaking.

He joined Jim afterwards, figuring it must be something important if the department’s golden boy was giving it such close scrutiny. But Jim only turned away and left him in front of a glass cabinet advertising all manner of Celtic designs, complete with little information cards explaining just why they made the perfect gift for any romantic occasion.

For once, he had to concede, he had only brought it upon himself.

Jim was silent all through the ride back to the precinct. Threw himself into his own enquiries, and was nowhere to be found when it was finally time to clock off for the evening, though he had written up his reports and been in to collect the wristwatch he was still having trouble wearing.

Harvey went for a drink to drown his sorrows. Let Alvarez’ chatter wash over him without listening to any of it, then gave into the inevitable - going home to his empty apartment.

Except it wasn’t empty.

He could see the light spilling under the door as he made his way down the darkened hallway of his apartment building, and in his experience that meant one of two things. Either he was in the process of being burgled or Jim had let himself in.

He supposed there was a third. That there had been a fire, or a faucet left running, and his landlord had been forced to enter but it seemed unlikely. The guy wouldn’t be waiting quietly to give him a piece of his mind.

Jim looked up when he pushed the door open, expression an odd mix of nerves and accusation. He had been there some time; time enough to loosen his tie and shed his suit jacket. To rifle through Harvey’s record collection, along with his drinks cabinet.

He looked at home, and that was more than Harvey could take. It was like everything he wanted, tied up with a damn bow, and he crossed the room without thinking about it. Settled on the sofa next to Jim and tentatively put a hand on the younger man’s arm.

When Jim didn’t object, didn’t pull away, Harvey slowly slid his fingers down the fabric of Jim’s shirt sleeve. Kept going until he touched bare skin and Jim was staring at him the way he had that day in his office.

Like he was just waiting for Harvey to do something.

“It’s supposed to symbolise everlasting love. Being bound together mind, body and soul.”

“I know,” Jim said, but his tone was soft, breathy even, and of course he did because Harvey had seen him studying the cards in that display cabinet like they explained all the mysteries of the universe.

The silence stretched, the air feeling thick and stifling, and then something snapped. It was too much, the constant tension wearing them both thin, and Harvey didn’t know if it was he or Jim who moved first, only that one moment they were looking at each other, spellbound, and the next they were kissing.

Jim kissed like he did everything, focused and determined, and Harvey had to pull him closer. Had to haul him into his lap and push his hands through Jim’s hair. Had to stroke them down Jim’s back and up under his shirt.

Had to try and tell him with actions what he had never been able to explain with words.

I want you.

I need you.

I love you.

He reached for Jim’s wrist, stroking his thumb over his pulse point. Over the stupidest, most foolish, absolutely best mistake he’d ever made and suddenly all of Jim’s careful focus was stripped away. Jim was lost to it, falling apart, panting and desperate and grinding down against him.

It was the hottest thing he had ever experienced, hotter even than he had ever imagined, seeing Jim excited and frantic. Watching him lose control, knowing that Jim trusted him enough to just let go, and when Jim gasped and shuddered, mouth hanging open in startled pleasure, he couldn’t hold back any longer either.

“That was,” he started, breathless, and Jim pressed his sweat slick forehead into his shoulder and interrupted,

“If you try and claim that didn’t mean anything, I swear I’ll -”

Harvey interrupted him in turn, shifting until he could capture Jim’s lips all over again and kiss him until they were both clear that it had meant everything.

Chapter Text

Jim was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of hurting, tired of trying to live up to the memory of a man who had never even existed.

His whole life he had been striving for the approval of his father. It didn’t matter that he was dead and buried, and it didn’t matter how many times his mother told him how proud Peter would have been of him.

It wasn’t enough, nothing was ever enough, because his father had been his hero. He had placed him on a pedestal so high it was always inevitable it would topple. It was simply the scope of the betrayal which threatened to break him.

The mob, the Court, the lies and the treachery.

Jim wondered, sometimes, about the accuracy of his own memories. If the devoted husband and loving father was just an invention of his mother’s, and if the reality had been the fragmented flashes of heated arguments he had pretended not to overhear. The hours he spent looking longingly through the living room window, waiting for the moment when his father would finally walk through the front door and have a few moments for him.

He couldn’t trust his own judgement, felt as though he no longer knew himself, and there was nobody else he could turn to. No family, no lovers, no friends. He had pushed everyone away, burned every bridge, and he was so lost, so lonely, he couldn’t stand it.

The silence of his empty apartment was deafening, the sterile blankness stifling. He had lived there over a year and the place still wasn’t home. It wasn’t even somewhere he liked to be, not unless Harvey were with him, cracking dumb jokes and drinking his beer.

Harvey was all he had left - the one person in the whole of Gotham, the world maybe, who was willing to put up with him. The only person who trusted him and whom he could trust in return, and now Jim was angling to ruin that too.

Was standing in front of the door to Harvey’s apartment, nerves strained and heart hammering, wondering if he could really go through with this.

He could claim some crisis or other had kept him away. Could simply not say a word in explanation and Harvey wouldn’t hold it against him. He would accept it, resign himself to it, and their relationship would remain unchanged - Harvey watching him with undisguised interest but never overstepping the line.

Never taking advantage, never intentionally making Jim uncomfortable, and it was that last thought which galvanized him into action. He knocked at the door then put his hands at his side, fingers clenching and unclenching, reminding himself over and over again that he could change his mind at any time. All he had to do was say the word, and it would be as though none of this had ever happened.

Not the stupid tears he had spilled staring around at what little he had to show for over three decades on the planet, and not the way he had struggled to keep his tone calm and neutral when he gave in and rang Harvey’s cell number, desperate to hear the sound of the other man’s voice.

The truth was that he wanted something his father never would have approved of. He wanted somebody else to take charge for once. Somebody else to tell him what to do, to make him stop over thinking. He wanted Harvey to be the one because there was nobody else he could rely on. Nobody else he could ever imagine handing so much power to.

Jim didn’t know how much - if any - of this had been clear to Harvey from his stilted phone call, but when Harvey pulled the door open Jim decided that something had been obvious in his vague words and strangled tone. The place was tidier than Jim could ever remember seeing it and Harvey himself was fresh from the shower, the ends of his hair still damp.

“Jim,” Harvey breathed as their eyes met, and Jim realized for the first time what a state he must look. He had been crying, drinking, and Harvey reached out as though to touch his reddened cheek before thinking better of it. The hand dropped, gestured instead for him to come in, and Jim felt the denial like a physical ache.

Completely ignored Harvey’s offer of a drink in favor of putting a hand on his arm. Of watching Harvey swallow, gaze raking up from his hand to his face, lingering on his lips like he couldn’t help it.

Even now Jim was at war with himself. He wanted it but a Gordon didn’t beg. He needed it but a Gordon didn’t leave himself vulnerable.

“Harvey,” was all he actually managed, his voice pathetic to his own ears, but apparently that was enough.

“I’m here. It’s okay, Jim, I got you.”

He had always supposed it would be kind of impersonal, being with another man. That was the way it had looked in the army - for all that he swore he wasn’t looking. Quick, functional trysts to be guiltily denied in the cold light of morning. He saw nothing to challenge it when he made the move to patrol uniform, booking rent boys and their punters, and taking victim statements about acts that only ever seemed to turn rough and bloody.

It was narrow minded perhaps, bigoted even, and when Harvey cupped his cheek, his touch tender and reverent, he felt ashamed of himself. He had known Harvey wouldn’t hurt him, that he would make it good for him, but he had never expected anything like the breathless devotion he was actually handled with.

Harvey kissed him sweetly at first, soft and gentle until Jim pressed deeper. Until Jim clutched at his broad shoulders, needing more, and then he kissed him like he was the only thing on Earth that mattered, only pulling back to gaze into his eyes like he could see right through to his soul.

It had him shivering, trembling, and he could say it was the drink or the exhaustion but he would only be lying to himself. It was excitement, anticipation, and by the time they made it to Harvey’s bed he was flushed and frantic. He couldn’t keep still, couldn’t keep quiet, and Harvey simply encouraged it, whispering heated words into his ear.

Groaned, helpless, when Jim had to push a hand into his underwear, and Jim felt himself flush harder at the way Harvey watched what he was doing, eyes dark and wanting.

“You’re so hot, Jim. So goddamn hot. I can’t believe you’re touching yourself for me. I can’t believe you’re here with me.”

Jim could hear the honesty, the almost awed wonder, and he had to kiss Harvey again, hands pushing into Harvey’s hair as the other man finally touched him.

In his careful, cautious imaginings Jim had never been sure he could actually go through with this. Had been dubious about his own capacity to deal with the new and the uncharted. Harvey was too broad, too bearded, too male, and he was too afraid of what it might mean if it turned out that, actually, none of those obstacles posed much of a problem.

He had spent his whole life being afraid of things he would never admit to; terrified of showing the cracks in the facade - of confessing to weakness, of being a failure. Harvey touched him as though he knew, without Jim needing to say anything. He kissed him and stripped him and trailed his fingertips everywhere, pausing to lavish attention on each scar marring his skin. On every freckle and blemish.

“I love you,” Harvey told him, without artifice or hesitation, one hand flat across his abdomen as he mouthed kisses against bullet wounds and ugly scar tissue. “I love everything about you.”

Jim made to protest, in his own mind if not out loud, but Harvey put his hand back on him. Stroked him, slow and slick, and explained that it was his imperfections that made him who he was. His faults and his flaws that made him human and drove him to do better, be better, even if - to Harvey’s eyes - he was already perfect.

He cried out as he came, startled and overwhelmed, and Harvey worked him through it. Held him and kissed him and made him realize that he had got more than he bargained for, because he had been looking to lose himself and instead he lay sated in Harvey’s embrace, feeling as though he had finally found everything he had been searching for.

“I love you so much,” Harvey whispered again, clearly not expecting any kind of reciprocation even as he pressed a kiss to his temple.

Jim sought out his mouth and offered up the one thing he had never been able to truly give anyone, hoping that Harvey would understand.

“I trust you.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t the first time they had done this. Anderson owed money, a lot of money, and he had his own vices. All they needed to do was do nothing.

Respond a little too slow, dawdle a little too long, and nobody need be any the wiser. The world wasn’t going to miss a couple of scumbags, and that was how Harvey slept at night, by telling himself over and over that anyone who got in that deep had to be.

Except when the call came through it was accompanied by intel they hadn’t been expecting.

“You know what we were told,” Anderson said, pale faced and uncertain, and for a moment Harvey felt as though he were standing at a crossroads. Then the radio crackled into life again and he realized that there had never been a choice.

They had to move.

He yelled at Anderson to keep the public back, the motorists who stood by lost and appalled, and ignored any and all advice that he do likewise.

The kid was concious, terrified, and panic washed over Harvey because for all he knew the fire department were just as happy to be on the receiving end of generous donations. There  was no word on an ETA for back up and that meant there was nothing but him crouched low on his stomach, praying to God the kid spoke English as he asked if he could try and unclip the seatbelt.

He could hear the driver of the other car rambling in shock to Anderson, propped up against the side of the squad car and repeating over and over, blood garbling his words, that there was never any mention of a kid being involved.

That wasn’t going to make it into any official report, the thought twisting his face into a grimace, and then he was trying to get closer. Was trying to work out how he was supposed to get the boy free, when his leg was twisted at such an angle, and there was so much blood he couldn’t begin to know where the best place would be to try and touch him.

“Do as the man says, Jimmy,” the car’s other occupant croaked, “there’s a good boy.”

Harvey looked at the driver, really looked at him, for the first time. Saw the fear in his eyes and the blood streaking his face. Wondered if he understood what had happened and why, then glanced at the suitcases above what remained of the back seat and stopped wondering.

He had the kid’s name now, at least, and he made good use of it. Coaxed and encouraged and finally succeeded in hauling his trembling form through the shattered glass of the passenger side window. Clutched him close, tear stained face pressed to his chest, and cursed the continued lack of flashing lights and sirens, or even the distant sound of the air ambulance.

“You’re not going to leave me here,” the other man said, realization dawning as he desperately attempted to work free, because Harvey surely wasn’t the only one who could smell the leaking fuel. “If this is about money, I can pay you.”

It wasn’t about money.

“You can’t do this.”

Their eyes met again and this was it. This was the crossroads, because if he started now - if he really wanted to - he could do it. He could be the patrol officer who got them both free. A real good guy.

A hero.

He kind of liked his life though. Loved his family and enjoyed his job. Had nowhere to go but Gotham and no interest in having to start over.

“Don’t just walk away!”

Harvey drowned out the fear and the accusation. Staggered to his feet with the kid in his arms and didn’t once look back.

He didn’t know what the guy had done - he just had to believe he deserved what he had coming to him.

“What do you want?” Harvey asked into the handset, hating the note of the fear in his voice. The slick sweat covering his palm, and the way he felt sick when he looked out of his office window and spied the car parked across the street, its occupant talking on his cell phone.

“You know what I want,” the voice said, cool and completely calm. “I’ve been very lenient but you owe me, and it’s high time I collected.”

Harvey swallowed, thickly, and put the phone down.

He had been waiting a long time for this day to come.

Because it hadn’t happened straight away. It had taken years, really, for his conscience to catch up with him, but that wasn’t how it worked in Gotham. You didn’t simply change your mind and decide you were a white knight all of a sudden.

Anderson had tried to warn him. Dix too, and they had both paid the price for it.

Then Jim had turned up and he had tried all over again. Tried to be a decent man, a better man, and even though he knew the risks he threw his lot in with Jim and did his best to pretend he wasn’t afraid of the consequences.

Jim couldn’t stay out of trouble though. Never knew when to quit, or even when to walk away, and Harvey had begged for Falcone’s help. Had written a blank check and known, deep down at least, exactly what he was offering.

That night he dreamed of making a run for it. Went so far as to pull the suitcase down from the top of his closet and start piling his shirts into it. Then he was struck by a sudden flash of memory and understood what an exercise in futility any such attempt would be.

Peter Gordon had tried it. Had taken Jim as an act of love or out of extreme selfishness - Harvey had never made his mind up, and wasn’t certain which side of the fence his own desire to take Jim with him fell on - and it hadn’t worked. Would never have worked and Harvey resigned himself to the inevitable.

Perhaps it had always been destined to end this way.

“You could make a real difference,” an icy blonde said to Jim just a few days later, his own hands bound tight behind his back and his legs strapped to the chair. He was really getting sick of being used as bait by total nutters. “Gotham needs men like you.”

“If it’s me you want, let Bullock go,” Jim demanded in turn, gun gripped too tightly, blue eyes glancing between the woman and Harvey. “He hasn’t done anything.”

“And isn’t that the point?” the woman questioned, seemingly unconcerned that Jim was threatening to put a bullet in her skull. “If you do nothing, if you don’t take advantage of the opportunity we are offering you, good men will die. Men like your father will die.”

“You had my father killed. Are you saying you’ll kill me too?”

“What I’m saying is that your father could have been saved if different choices were made. Bullock here will tell you.”

Jim frowned at him, confusion evident, and this was it. This was how he was going to repay his debt.

“You’ve read the files,” she went on, “You were there. Your father wasn’t dead on impact. No attempt was made to pull him from the wreckage.”

Jim looked lost, afraid to confront memories he had spent almost his entire life trying to bury, and Harvey refused to go out a coward. Refused to live out his worst nightmare and bleed out forgotten and alone, an afterthought in somebody else’s game move.

“Everybody used to do it,” he started, voice scratchy with the tension and the dehydration, “it was easy money. Ignore a call when you were told to. Turn up late and be of next to no assistance when you got there. It was always people who deserved it. That’s what we all told ourselves.”

He licked his dry lips, felt his hair hanging greasily over his forehead, and concentrated on the pain in his shoulders. In his ribs and his left leg, and the back of his head where they had knocked him unconscious.

Anything other than the look of disbelieving horror on Jim’s face.

“But that night, when the call came through, there was a kid involved. A little kid trapped in a wreck nobody was rushing to attend and we - I broke ranks. When this is over, I hope - I was never a total monster, Jim.”

“My father?” Jim pushed, and even with the woman’s smug smirk firmly in his frame of vision, it was as though he and Jim were the only people in the room. As though this was the moment he had lived his whole life for, because all he had wanted for so long was for Jim to look at him like he mattered. Like he was worth listening to, and the reason didn’t much matter now.

It was too late for niceties.

“He said he’d pay me if I got him out. I walked away.”

Harvey remembered the fear on the man’s face. The desperation in his voice.

The way Jim had screamed, and how his mother had broken down, sobbing and howling, when she rushed to the hospital to hear that her husband was already dead.

What he had been told to say, and what the sanctions were for straying off script.

“If I had to do it over I’d make the same decision. Doing nothing, looking the other way, it’s still a choice, Jim. Sometimes it’s even the right one. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The woman glared at him, startled, and Jim stared at him, eyes full of hurt and betrayal. Harvey stared back, forced himself not to look away, and took solace in the satisfaction of watching the decision coalesce in Jim’s mind.

Felt his own vision blur even as he smiled stupidly at the sight of Jim holstering his gun and turning away. Kept it there for Falcone and whoever else might be watching, because they had always underestimated what Jim was willing to do for what he thought was just.

How far he was willing to go for the greater good, and Harvey clung to that thought, determined to accept his fate with all the grace he could muster.

Even a police captain’s death could be covered up but he had faith in Jim. Knew if anyone could use it to bring an end to the corruption at Gotham’s rotten core it was Jim Gordon.

He closed his eyes and sucked in a final shaky breath.

It was past time to wipe the slate clean.

Chapter Text

“Stop covering for him.”

“You don’t understand.”

Lee shook her head and took a step closer, the bitter anger just as fresh now as it had been the first time he had seen her in the aftermath.

“Oh, I understand. I understand perfectly. I’ve been there, Harvey.”

He fought the urge to take a step back - to put space between them. He had never succeeded in being particularly subtle about what he felt for Jim, it was true. He heard what people said about him when they thought his back was turned.

The pitying looks they gave him when they knew it wasn’t.

It was too late, there was no way to reverse it. Jim was it as far as he was concerned. Jim was everything he had ever wanted.

Lee kept talking,

“You think he’s going to change. You think that one day he’s going to look at you and be grateful for every sacrifice you’ve made for him. That he’s going to give a damn how you feel about him.”

Harvey had to look away at that, the shameful burn of tears threatening to overcome him. Lee just swept her gaze over him and said dispassionately,

“He won’t. Trust me.”

Lee’s words ate away at him in the weeks that followed.

Tore him apart every time he thought about them, because she was right and he couldn’t keep lying to himself. Jim was never going to care. Jim was never going to look at him as anything other than a convenient second gun in times of crisis.

Jim would never be interested and at first it made him want to weep. Reduced him to a snivelling wreck, and he didn’t know when he had first sunk so low as to choose a night of fantasizing about what could never be over a pretty face that could help him forget about it.

When the tears were done it made him angry. He had given Jim everything. Done anything he asked, no matter how dangerous, no matter the consequences, and one night he drank and drank until he couldn’t take it any more.

Went to Jim and laid the situation out before him.

“You’re my friend,” Jim said, frowning, “I don’t know what you want from me.”

Harvey crowded Jim back against the wall of his apartment, a dull thrill of satisfaction at the hint of concern - fear even - on Jim’s face.

“I want more than you’re willing to give and that’s why this is over. You’re on your own. You can find some other fool to clean up after you.”

There was definitely fear this time, Jim’s eyes so beseeching that Harvey almost crumpled. Almost clutched him close and begged Jim for forgiveness - to forget that he had said anything, and promise that he would always be there.

He stayed strong though. He had to. If he didn’t make the break now he would never do it. He would lose himself completely to Jim’s orbit.

“Don’t say that,” Jim protested, the anger Harvey had always expected in this moment conspicuous by its absence. “Don’t give up on me. Please, Harvey.”

It wasn’t the reaction he had expected, not at all, but perhaps he should have. Jim had lost everyone he had ever cared about. Had pushed them away, refused to give in, and it seemed that even Jim Gordon had his limit.

Even Jim Gordon didn’t want to face the world entirely alone.

Harvey knew he had to cling to his anger. Channel it into action because Jim said these things now, might even mean them in his own way, but a few weeks down the line they would be back to square one and he’d have nothing but more heartache to show for it.

“It’s all give and no take, Jim, can’t you see that? I’m sick of it.”

They were so close now, too close, and Harvey couldn’t help track the movement of Jim’s tongue as he swiped it across dry lips. Couldn’t help but stare at him, dumbstruck, when Jim stuttered,

“I could - if it’s - if you want. I would.”

“Don’t taunt me,” Harvey managed and it came out low, threatening, because Jim had no idea. No fucking clue how long - how desperately - he had waited to hear an offer like that fall from Jim’s lips.

“You’re all I’ve got,” Jim said, voice little more than a whisper, and later Harvey would blame the drink. The stress of being acting captain and the unbearable tension.

The truth was simply that he was weak.

He wasn’t a good guy, not really, not beneath the surface. There he was still the same scumbag he ever was. The same mess who could never say no, who could never turn away from what was on offer, and his heart was racing, breaking, even as he pushed still further into Jim’s personal space and breathed into Jim’s ear.

Warned, quietly, “If you don’t want this tell me now. Tell me to go and I will. I won’t even make you talk about it.”

“What about us?” Jim asked, breath shuddering out of him. “Will things stay the same?”

The man Jim thought he was would have said yes in an instant. The man he wished he was would have laughed the whole mess off and told Jim not to worry.

The man he spent all his time pretending he wasn’t braced one hand on the wall next to Jim’s head and said,

“If I leave now there is no us.”

Jim nodded.

Shut his eyes and waited for him to do something, his entire body tense and unresponsive. It should have been enough to convince him it was a terrible idea and put a stop to it.

It wasn’t.

He kissed Jim, one hand on his jaw to prevent him turning away. Moved lower to suck at the skin of his throat, raising a mark of possession and pushing his calloused hands up and under Jim’s shirt. He ignored the way Jim flinched when he groped at the front of his pants, the flesh there as soft as his shoulders were stiff, and when he sank to his knees he told himself that it was only nerves preventing Jim from really getting into it.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he confessed, glancing up to see the embarrassed flush on Jim’s cheeks and the harsh way he bit at his lower lip, eyes still clenched shut.

That was okay though, Jim watching had never been part of the bargain, and he lavished all his attention on the task in front of him. Kept at it until Jim was hard and straining, the air charged with cut off whimpers and his own heavy breathing, and when Jim spilled in his mouth Harvey staggered back to his feet and reclaimed his mouth. Thrust his tongue deep even as he pulled Jim’s hand to where he wanted it, groaning helplessly at the feel of Jim’s fingers wrapped around him.

Pushed Jim down onto his neatly made bed and let him lay on his side, facing away. Kissed at the side of his neck as he worked him open, slow and steady, and told Jim he loved him as he rolled him into position, refusing to think past his impending orgasm.

Jim wouldn’t meet his eye when it was over. Pulled the blankets around him instead and rubbed his hand against the fabric over and over, like it would help wipe his mind clean of the whole experience. For his part, Harvey didn't say much. Fumbled back into his clothing, awkward and empty, thinking of all the times he had stuck his hand in his pocket once his shoes were on and left a few crumpled notes on the nightstand.

This wasn't the same though. This was so very much worse.

He felt sick, disgusted, and there was no point in apologizing. The damage was already done.

This time it was he who had sold himself - and Jim who was left with buyer's remorse. 

Chapter Text

“I’m just going to ask Dr. Narula to step in,” the woman said, face pale, and Harvey did his best not to let the sickening lurch of fear he felt show on his face.

That was what doctors said when their patients were dying. When people who looked healthy, appeared to be in the prime of life, were about to start wasting away until even those who loved them most could scarcely recognize them.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Jim rasped, brow furrowed with the pain, and Harvey was suddenly glad he had pulled out of Alvarez’ scheduled poker night. He wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Because Jim was the one on the bed. Jim was the one with the crippling stomach pains and the inability to keep anything more filling than water down. Not even that, sometimes, and Harvey pledged there and then that there was no way he was going to allow Jim to die on him.

It wasn’t the done thing, they both knew that. It flew in the face of departmental policy, and still wasn’t the kind of move that was encouraged in public. He gripped one of Jim’s hands in his own all the same, squeezing tightly and hoping that the message was getting through:

I’m here for you.

I’m not going anywhere.

The doctor returned, a tall serious looking man following in her wake, and Harvey watched them intently as they conversed in whispers and poked and prodded at the machine.

“We just need to get another reading,” the new doctor said, either less concerned or a better actor than his colleague. “There seems to be a problem with the equipment.”

That was another wait. More tension and more worry, and him fighting back the urge to pull Jim into his arms when he was sick again, settling for rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

Then came a flurry of activity. Medical staff crowded everywhere, and Jim leaning back into his touch for reassurance even as he answered endless questions about how long he had been experiencing these symptoms, and whether or not he was completely certain his medical records were up to date.

“Did you have any involvement with Indian Hill?” One of them asked eventually, cautiously, and Jim nodded his head while Harvey swore a newfound commitment to tracking down everyone responsible and bringing them to justice.

Seethed and panicked and demanded finally that someone tell them what the hell was going on.

“I can take it,” Jim agreed. “Whatever it is, however long I’ve got, I want to know.”

Narula fidgeted with his glasses, composure cracking.

“We just need to run a few more tests.”

“What do I do now?”

Harvey didn’t know. Didn’t have a single clue but Jim was looking to him. Had a hand clutched tight around his own, like it was the only anchor he had left to sanity, and Harvey was nothing if not committed to going above and beyond where Jim was concerned.

Would support him in anything, no matter how crazy, no matter how dangerous, and he said as confidently as he could,

“Whatever you want to do. If you do - If you - ,” he couldn’t say it. “You’ll have to go on light duty. That’s non-negotiable.”

The silence fell thick and heavy between them, stretching long enough for him to be afraid that he had said the wrong thing. The wronger thing, at any rate, because he couldn’t imagine there was a right thing to say to a guy who had just been told he was pregnant.

Jim let go of his hand, even, and hauled himself into a sitting position.

Took his hand back and managed a wry smile.

“I don’t think HR is going to have a form for that.”

Harvey studied his face for a long moment until he was suddenly sure that Jim would get through this, no matter what, because Harvey had no intention of letting him try it alone, not even for a moment.

“You underestimate HR,” was all he said, a smile curling across his own features, “they have a form for absolutely fucking everything.”

Chapter Text

There weren’t many things Harvey Bullock was good at. Holding his drink, maybe. Soldiering on past the point a sane man would give in, definitely.

Leaving his bed partners with a smile on their face, without a doubt.

He had plenty of practice at it. Had started young - too young, probably - and determined that if there was one thing he wanted to be able to do better than those around him, this was it.

Mrs Maguire from the floor above had been only too happy to give him the benefit of her experience, and when Mr Maguire came home early one day he had nodded with unseemly eagerness when the older man suggested they find some other way for him to make recompense, because it would be such a shame to have to bust his pretty face open.

In retrospect it was obvious that they had had it all planned. That the threats and his fear were all part and parcel of what they wanted, but he had been young and stupid and, besides, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t enjoyed it.

Wasn’t as though he hadn’t gone out looking for more, screwing and getting screwed by anybody who would have him, until the guilt started to filter through and the priest who had used to lead his Sunday School classes warned him that he couldn’t fill the emptiness in his heart with mindless rutting.

“Don’t you think your mother would have wanted better for you?” The man asked, the very worst mix of insipid concern and righteous patronizing, and he bolted from the confessional without looking back.

He didn’t need to be lectured to.

Didn’t need people bringing up what his mother would and wouldn’t have wanted. She was dead, gone, and it didn’t matter what he did. He couldn’t disappoint her.

Couldn’t make her proud either, though he went to her graveside the day he graduated the Academy, still dressed in his over starched uniform.

“I’m going to help people,” he told her, fingers tracing along the letters carved into the headstone. “You’ll see, I promise.”

That night he went out and got wasted, and put his new handcuffs to good use, writhing and sobbing on some stranger’s bed as they raised bruises all over his pasty skin.

It didn’t take long before his reputation began to precede him. Before word got around that he’d do anything, go anywhere, and his training officer seemed to truly believe that he needed to be blackmailed into sinking to his knees, as though their watch commander wasn’t already well aware of his talents in that particular area.

He didn’t care, couldn’t give it up, not any of it, because he wasn’t good at words or at making friends. He wasn’t the type of guy to let people close or make connections, and if the best he could manage was a few moments when somebody else positively needed him, he was more than willing to take it.

Was willing to pay for it, even, and his first real partner introduced him to a world of seedy back rooms and seedier trysts around the back of the squad car, laughing at his initial reluctance and claiming it was one of the perks of the job.

Anderson made good use of it, at any rate, and if he carried on laughing at Harvey’s preference for working a girl past faking and play acting over twisting a hand into her hair, it was of no real matter. It wasn’t like he was about to admit to wanting to feel wanted any more than Anderson was going to confess that he most feared feeling powerless.

“I don’t want to die,” Anderson begged when a stray bullet caught him in the chest, face nothing but regret and fear, and later, when he left the hospital covered in the other man’s blood, it really hit Harvey that when his own time came there wouldn’t be anyone to miss him.

Nobody to mourn and nobody to notice, and when he was partnered up with Simmons she turned her psycho-babble on him and suggested that if he stopped fucking around long enough to get to know someone, he might have some kind of life outside of the job.

Dix said much the same, if not as nicely, and he argued back that he was perfectly content. Perfectly happy, because getting close to anyone was only ever a recipe for heartache.

Another date to remember, and another grave to pretend to be too busy to visit.

“You’re going to fall hard someday,” Simmons told him on a visit back to the city, new letters after her name and the wedding ring missing from her finger, “and when that day comes you won’t even want to go looking elsewhere.”

“I’m not a cheater,” he protested, because he wasn’t an addict. He could keep it in his pants if he needed to.

Simmons only laughed, eyebrow raised, and asked if he had ever been in a relationship that lasted long enough to put the theory to the test.

He had been willing to try, had thought that was where things were headed, but she laughed all over again in the morning. Went suddenly contrite and solemn when she realized he had been serious, and put a hand on his arm as she said,

“I just don’t think of you that way. I’m sorry if last night gave you the wrong impression.”

“It was a good night though, right?” He managed, all forced smile and hair of the dog to soften the harsh edges, and her smile was full of relief because it really was the thing he was best at.

The only thing he was good at, he thought sometimes, because the drinking was getting worse, and his commitment to the job was slipping. His interest in it waning, and he started going through partners like he got through cheap whiskey, at high speed and with nothing left to show for it but a bad taste in his mouth and a distant wish that he hadn’t even bothered.

People were better off without him, would be better served by staying the hell away from him, and then Jim Gordon turned up with his macho posturing and his indignant moralizing. Refused to mince his words and told him he was every bit as bad a cop - a man - as he had ever feared, and possibly worse.

Apologized to him, sincerely, in the aftermath of the business with The Goat and Harvey felt as though something had twisted inside him, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. Had him dreaming of things he had long since given up hope of.

Had him trying, really trying, for possibly the first time ever, and the smile Scottie gave him when he worked up the courage to ask her for more than a roll in the sheets made him think of Simmons’ words from so long ago, about love and what it did to a man.

It made him soft, made him lose himself, and he wondered if it meant Simmons was right or wrong when weeks - months - passed and his conscience would have been clear if only his heart wouldn’t lurch, painful and desperate, every time he caught sight of Jim Gordon.

“I love you,” he told Scottie when she said it was over, and the look she gave him in response made his stomach crawl. Made him look away, swallowing thickly, because Scottie knew all about lies and fear and said softly,

“It’s not always enough, Harvey.”

Her words haunted him constantly, convincing him over and over of their truthfulness. He saw it in the mess that was once Jim’s relationship with Lee, and he felt it in his own heart, an ache that never faded, because it didn’t matter how much he loved Jim. Didn’t matter how hard he had fallen or how desperate he was to be near him - Jim was never going to feel the same way, and that was all there was to it.

He tried to go back to his usual coping methods. Drank too much but it didn’t make him forget. Smoked too much but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Screwed around and understood, finally, what it was that Simmons had been trying to explain to him. What Father Donnelly had been attempting to make him realize. What his own mother had wanted for him when she patted weakly at his hand and told him he was going to find someone who made him happy.

It wasn’t that the sex was bad, and it wasn’t that he regretted it even when it was. It was that sex was all it was. Was all it was ever going to be, and he wanted so much more.

“You’re either getting old or you’re hung up on somebody,” Ginny told him after he had done his very best to get Jim what he needed from her. “You were always easier to read than you thought you were.”

He shrugged, gaze falling on the sofa Jim had been sleeping on. The blankets he had spent the night wrapped in.

“A bit of both, maybe. You saying I’m losing my touch?”

She just smirked, every bit as filthy as she had ever been. “I didn’t think you asked me here to stroke your ego.”

Jim remained oblivious.

He didn’t seem to think it strange, the frequency with which Harvey touched him. The lovesick looks he couldn’t help bestowing, and the hours they spent on the phone each night while Jim was away, supposedly rekindling the flame with the love of his own life.

It didn’t work. Not for Jim, and not for him either, because Jim came back more broken than he had been before he left and Harvey told himself that Jim needed someone to look out for him. Ignored the vicious voice of self-recrimination, because Jim didn’t need some pathetic old fool to literally watch over him, sitting at the edge of his bed and letting his fingers trace along Jim’s sleeping features in a sad mockery of the kind of caress he dreamed of giving.

Jim didn’t tell him to stop though, not even when he returned to the department, and Harvey only fell harder and harder, until the mere thought of looking elsewhere for what his body was so desperately craving made his heart clench in retaliation.

If he couldn’t have Jim, he didn’t want anyone.

Nobody could compare, nobody else could make him feel a tenth of the things Jim did. They didn’t set his heart racing every time they smiled, and they didn’t leave him breathless and useless, just by standing too close to him.

That left him with his right hand and his overactive imagination, until it was a wonder he could get through any of his paperwork, between the daydreaming and the cramp in his hand. Because Jim was such a good little boy scout, if some of the crueller station gossip was to be believed, that his idea of adventure was leaving the lights on.

It was almost criminal.

So were the things Harvey wanted to do to him, and sometimes it was all he could do to remember the difference between fantasy and reality, and how unlikely Jim was to actually welcome his superior officer hitching him up against the wall of the records room.

He didn’t seem to have quite the same reservations when it came to Barbara Keane, and Harvey did the polite thing and looked the other way when Barbara pushed herself right into Jim’s personal space and announced,

“I wish I could help you, Jim. This case has obviously got you very excited.”

Jim flushed, shame writ all over his pretty features, Barbara laughing at his discomfort.

“It happens to the best of us,” Harvey offered when they were back in the car, because discovering somebody was a homicidal maniac wasn’t always the passion killer it ought to be. God knew he had gone crawling back to Fish Mooney often enough, drunk on the way she could make a man feel special.

“I don’t - It wasn’t -” Jim protested, a hint of color lingering in his cheeks. “It’s just been so long since,” his voice grew quiet, still more embarrassed, “you know.”

Harvey knew.

Had his mind stuck on the concept like a needle on a scratched record.

“Do you ever miss it?” Jim asked before he could put his own foot in it, and his incredulity must have shown because Jim hurried on, gaze fixed on his knee. “If I hadn’t messed things up you’d be married now. We’d both be married now.”

“It wouldn’t have worked,” he countered, palms suddenly sweaty. “Scottie and me, we wanted different things, Jim.”

Scottie had wanted stability. A peaceful life and long weekends in which nothing much ever happened.

He wanted Jim and all the drama that came with him.

“I couldn’t stop putting the job first,” Jim admitted, summing up the faults with his own relationships.

“Sometimes the job is all we have.”

Jim glanced up at him, finally, and the atmosphere was so charged Harvey could think of nothing but the many and varied ways he wanted to make Jim lose control of himself.

“It’s not always enough, Harvey.”

The echo of another time and another place was too much. The knowledge that even now, even after everything, he still wanted the exact same thing robbed him of his sense of self preservation.

“What if you could have both? The job and someone who understands how much it means to you.”

“Someone else I can disappoint, you mean. Someone else whose life I can ruin.”

He hated to see Jim miserable. Hated to hear the bitterness in his voice and see the shame in his eyes. Hated it so desperately that getting his own heart shattered seemed the lesser evil, and he was pleased that his hand was steady, at least, as he laid it on Jim’s thigh.

“You’ve never disappointed me, Jim. My life was a disaster before you came into it.”

It wasn’t the kind of line that was going to make it into a romance novel. Certainly wasn’t the kind he would have used when all he wanted was a single night with someone. It was true though, more honest than he had once believed himself capable of being, because even if he didn’t have everything he wanted being close to Jim, having Jim’s friendship - it was so much more than he had ever had before.

His hand was still on Jim’s thigh, Jim’s body heat soaking through into his skin. He rubbed his thumb across the fabric of Jim’s pants, watched him swallow in response.

Let his gaze linger on the visible bulge in Jim’s lap before raking it up and over Jim’s neat shirt and tie. Met Jim’s own gaze and waited. Waited until the tension crested, until Jim made a frantic, desperate noise, and then they were kissing, clumsy with longing.

“We can’t do this here,” Jim whimpered when Harvey dropped his head to kiss at the skin of his throat. To nip at his earlobe and stroke his hands down Jim’s back, over his shirt but under his suit jacket. “We’re still on duty.”

It took everything he had to put space between them. He gasped for air, tugging at his tie to loosen it, and watched Jim struggle for his own composure.

“The job comes first,” he muttered, mostly to himself, but Jim laughed - a real genuine laugh that made his teeth ache it was so sweet - and said,

“It was a close call though.”

Harvey laughed along with him, couldn’t help himself, and they both put on their very best professional fronts for the rest of the afternoon. Kept capturing each other’s gaze, all the same, and losing themselves in the potential of the heavy atmosphere surrounding them.

He felt feverish with it by the time the day was finally done, and they barely spoke as they made their way from the precinct to Jim’s apartment. As they climbed the stairs and as Jim unlocked the door.

Then the rest of the world was shut out and it was just the two of them, staring at each other. Staring into each other, and Jim reached for him. Pulled his hat free and pushed a lock of errant hair behind his ear so that Harvey shivered, not caring how often Jim had used the exact same move on women he had been in the same situation with.

It wasn’t the same. Nothing could have ever been the same as what he was feeling right now, that was the way it seemed to him, and he pressed just as close as Barbara had earlier that day, until he could feel the same proof of just how long it had been since Jim had had any real human contact.

Jim didn’t try to get free this time, didn’t want to, clearly, and Harvey cupped one hand around the back of his neck. Held him still as he kissed him, slow and steady until Jim began rocking into his thigh. Until Jim started biting at his lower lip and tugging at his hair, soft breathy sounds escaping him on every exhale.

He was losing control, falling apart beneath him, and Harvey didn’t know whether to slow it down or speed things up. Couldn’t decide what to do first because there were so many things he had dreamed of doing to Jim, with Jim, that it was completely overwhelming.

Jim made his mind up for him.

Reversed their positions and made short work of his belt buckle, kissing him soundly the entire time, slick heat that had him attempting to follow when Jim pulled back abruptly. Had him twitching, helpless, when he realized what Jim was planning, dark blue eyes meeting his own as Jim sank to his knees.

“Oh God,” he managed when Jim breathed in the scent of him through his underwear. Gave up on forming words when Jim trailed his open mouth along the length of him, the damp heat of his breath almost too much even through the fabric of his boxer shorts.

Then he couldn’t think, could scarcely stand, because Jim was making enough noise for both of them, moaning around the flesh in his mouth and pushing his hand beneath his own waistband. Harvey knew because the lights were all on, nothing hidden, and the sight of Jim getting off on the act of sucking him was so hot it was near painful.

Jim didn’t let up. Used his free hand to make up for what his mouth was struggling with, and perhaps it was inexperience or simply that he was out of practice. Harvey couldn’t tell, didn’t care, because the fact it was Jim touching him outweighed every other possible consideration.

“I -” he tried to warn, and maybe it was that he had gone longer than at any other point in his entire adult life. Maybe it was simply that it was Jim on his knees in front of him. All he knew was that he couldn’t hold back, couldn’t last another moment, and Jim only took him deeper. Touched his spit slick fingers to his balls, further back, and he was coming, shaking and panting, completely undone by Jim’s moan of encouragement.

Jim sat back on his heels when he couldn’t take any more, looking up at him as his hand moved frantically. As Harvey ran his thumb over the wetness of his lower lip, and Jim flickered his tongue against it, like he was intent on killing him with the desperate shudder the touch sent through him.

“Jim,” was all he managed in response, low and agonised, and he was shuddering all over again at the way Jim gasped and tensed, his muscles straining and tightening as he came messily over his fist and the pants of the suit he was still wearing.

He ran his fingers through Jim’s hair afterwards, petting as Jim got his breath back, his sweat damp forehead leaning heavily against the bare skin of his thigh.

Jim kissed him sweetly when he made it back to his feet. Wound his arms around his neck and let himself be lead into the bedroom, beneath his cool bed sheets, and Harvey didn’t know how to describe the blissful ache in his chest. The way his skin tingled, his breath still coming too fast and too shallow, so unbearably happy to have Jim cuddled against him.

“I was supposed to be the one getting you off,” he confessed when Jim started tracing fingertips over the freckles dusting his arms, comfortable enough to be honest with him, “that’s how it usually works.”

“You did,” Jim told him bluntly, smile quirking at his lips, “I distinctly remember you looking so good I couldn’t help myself.”

He opened his mouth to protest, to explain, but the soft expression on Jim’s face gave it all away. Jim already knew, already understood, and he paid it back by pulling Jim closer. By pressing kisses along his hairline and winding a possessive arm around his waist.

Perhaps they had both been waiting for the right person. Someone who would understand, without being told, what it was they were waiting for.

Jim wanted him, needed him, even, for more than what he could do with his mouth and his fingers - and nothing Jim did was ever going to be reason enough for Harvey to turn his back on him.

Chapter Text

Jim Gordon did not believe in soulmates.

They existed, of course. He wasn’t one to fly in the face of centuries worth of scientific evidence. He had a name on his own wrist, even, in cramped scruffy script that he couldn’t imagine belonging to anyone he would want to associate with.

What he didn’t believe was that he needed to find them. That he couldn’t be just as happy with a partner of his own choosing - someone who wanted to be with him because of the man he was, not because tradition said they were already bound to each other.

His parents hadn’t been born marked and they had loved each other just as truly as any of the characters in his childhood storybooks. It was getting rarer and rarer for children to be born with a mark anyway, certain proof to Jim’s mind that there was no real rhyme or reason to it.

Soulmates belonged to the past, a relic of some earlier time when failure to cross paths with a fortuitously named stranger meant being condemned to a life of loneliness. It was just nature’s way of keeping the birth rate down before the invention of effective contraception, or some other equally mundane explanation.

It was no longer necessary, no longer relevant, and it didn’t matter how much his wrist itched and chafed and drove him mad with irritation, Jim refused to believe any of the stupid superstitions on the subject.

His one and only wasn’t waiting just around the corner, and he wasn’t about to start swooning in the middle of a shift because his tortured heart ached for a man he had never clapped eyes upon. Barbara had probably switched laundry detergents, and when he came over faint in the middle of his induction interview it was because he was nervous about the new job and the fact that the weather had been unseasonably warm in Gotham.

Then he turned up for his first day as Detective James Gordon and knew that he had been correct to write soulmates off as so much nonsense.

There was no way he was destined to spend the rest of his life with a Neanderthal like Harvey Bullock.

“So this is how it’s going to be?”

Jim ignored the question, staring deliberately out of the car window. This was exactly how it was going to be. He was engaged, was looking forward to a happy marriage, and if his heart pounded with excitement every time Bullock so much as glanced in his direction, it was neither here nor there.

It was like sneezing in a dusty room or blinking in the face of a sudden bright light. An instinctive - involuntary - reaction.

It didn’t mean anything.

“You’re not what I envisioned either, you know,” Bullock said, tone conversational around yet more artery clogging food. “I was hoping for someone tall, dark and handsome.”

Jim only scowled harder.

It wasn’t a surprise when they came to blows, not beyond the fact it hadn’t happened sooner. They scrapped like schoolboys, clumsy and vicious, and when Harvey raised his hand to wipe across his newly bloodied lip, Jim caught sight of his name for the first time.

There was something about seeing it in the flesh, right in front of him, that took his breath away. It was no longer something distant and academic, but a real phenomena close enough for him to reach out and touch it.

He did, couldn’t help himself, and Harvey just frowned at him as he traced his fingertips over the familiar flow of his own handwriting.

“You know I took a course on graphology once. I always thought you were gonna be boring.”

Jim smiled slightly in acknowledgement of the implied apology and looked at the name on his own wrist.

“I had my doubts you were even literate.”

“I could grow to dislike you,” Bullock - Harvey - groused, but it was good natured, and when the older man suggested they find a bar so he could drown his newly single sorrows, Jim agreed without hesitation.

It became a regular thing, after duty drinks with Harvey. From there it became one of his favorite things, and though he wasn’t about to admit to looking forward to it with breathless anticipation, he got the impression Harvey had a fairly good idea.

He had to, because Harvey didn’t bother playing it tough or brushing it off, instead telling him straight out that spending time with him was the highlight of his evenings.

And, okay, his actual words might have been more akin to ‘so long as you’re buying, Junior, I’m not going anywhere’, but Jim could read between the lines. Jim could interpret the hopeful glances Harvey kept sending his way, and the hand that sent sparks all over from the contact point on his shoulder.

He was a detective.

Still he hesitated. Because they were friends now, good friends, and he didn’t want to mess that up. Just because two people seemed destined for each other, it didn’t mean that was how things would actually play out. He had thought he and Barbara would be together forever. He had seen too many domestics turned tragic, barbaric acts committed by people with and without soulmarks on their skin.

“I think we should call it a night,” Jim said eventually, the drink sending his thoughts in circles and leaving Harvey slumped forward across the table. “We’ve got work in the morning.”

Harvey just gave him an odd look, searching, then nodded to himself though he seemed disappointed.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to be late. Scout’s honor.”

It took a while but Jim diagnosed the uncomfortable feeling in his chest as jealousy. Marrow deep jealousy because it might be hypocritical, might be childish, but the idea that Harvey would want to go looking elsewhere when he was right there was enough to have him grinding his teeth together.

To have him gripping his pen hard enough to all but snap it in two.

Harvey was joking about it now with Alvarez, if the hand gestures were anything to go by, and Jim fell back on the faithful burn of self-righteousness as he demanded that Harvey actually get some work done.

“Maybe you ought to think about getting some stress relief,” Harvey said too knowingly, “it would do you the world of good.”

“I’m not stressed.”

To prove it he reached for the stapler to attach the covering sheet to yet another witness statement, and slammed the thing down so hard it refused to open again.

Harvey simply raised an eyebrow.

Jim wasn’t going to be beaten by an out of date ritual, and he wasn’t going to be beaten by a piece of office equipment either. Set about trying to pry the damn thing open and jerked back at a sharp pain, watching as blood welled up on his fingertip. He stuck it in his mouth before thinking better of it, and when he looked up it was to find Harvey staring at him, color painted all across his cheekbones.

The sight was a head rush. Had him feeling a confidence that was usually lacking and he made a show of sucking his finger clean. Gave it a final lick as he held Harvey’s gaze, feeling inordinately pleased with himself.

“Definitely not boring,” Harvey muttered, referencing their long ago conversation, and Jim made the conscious decision to stop fighting it.

They were meant for each other, maybe, but the reality of it would be only as good as they made it. How much effort they put in and how honest they were willing to be about what they wanted.

Jim was willing to work for it.

“I thought you were holding out for someone tall, dark and handsome?” He asked, as lightly as he could as Harvey shifted in his seat, attempting to cover his too obvious reaction.

Harvey looked back at him, searching again, and this time whatever it was he was looking for, he found it. He must have done, because the smile he gave Jim in response was blinding.

“I’m not greedy. One out of three isn’t bad.”

Chapter Text

The music was blaring, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat, and Harvey leaned in close to whisper in Jim’s ear,

“You could at least try and look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Jim was way too uptight, his distaste way too obvious, and this was why Harvey had suggested anyone but Jim ought to accompany him. Alvarez would have bitched and moaned but ultimately got on with it, and even Tuttle wouldn’t have had to be continually reminded of the importance of keeping cover.

It was too late now though. Their guy was nowhere to be seen and they were attracting too much attention, Jim’s body language screaming to anyone who so much as glanced in his direction how desperately he didn’t want to be there. How uncomfortable he was with what he was witnessing, and judging by the look on the barman’s face they had 30 seconds or so before somebody approached and felt them up for a wire or a firearm.

There were two options, realistically.

He either shoved Jim up against the wall and did his best to extract the other man’s tonsils, or he shoved Jim up against the wall and staged an epic break up scene. As nobody with two brain cells to rub together would ever believe he would willingly part ways with someone who looked like Jim Gordon, he braced his hands on Jim’s shoulders and put his weight behind it.

“What -” Jim started, knocked off balance and hitting the wall with more force than Harvey had intended. It only riled him up further, made him still angrier, because they were surrounded by some of the most dangerous men in Gotham. The country, even, and perhaps Jim hadn’t had to see what happened to cops who were caught in the lion’s den but Harvey had.

Jim might not give a damn about his own welfare, but all it meant was that Harvey had to care for both of them.

Had to kiss him, so harsh their teeth clacked together, and then pull back to snarl, loud enough for their onlookers to hear,

“You had plenty of opportunity to back out of it. If you think I’m going to let you show me up like this, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Jim glared back, confused and panting hard, and Harvey got it. Understood that it wasn’t Jim’s scene. It wasn’t exactly his, either. He liked a bit of pain sometimes - a couple of well placed slaps and a set of handcuffs. A hand tangled in his hair and a sharp nip to his bottom lip. Nothing too adventurous. This was something else entirely. Whips and chains and muffled screams from the back rooms that made The Foxglove seem like a tea party. If Jim didn’t play along it wouldn’t be him meting out his punishment, and the sooner Jim understood that the better it would be for both of them.

The easier he would be able to breathe because when he splayed his hand over Jim’s throat, controlling and possessive, he could feel the frantic thrum of his pulse. The harsh bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed, struggling for composure, and Harvey leaned in so that his lips were brushing against Jim’s ear, Jim shivering helplessly against him.

“Do you trust me?”

Jim went wide eyed, hesitated just long enough to really think about the question, then nodded all the same. Harvey found himself nodding in turn, relieved, because if they tried to walk out of here right now they would be given the third degree. Likely would never make it out onto the street alive, not even with Jim’s military training and his own commitment to ensuring the city’s scumbags kept their grubby fingers away from his boy scout. “

Do as I say and if you really don’t like it, well,” a smile curled across his face, unbidden, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

It had been a while since he had indulged in this particular vice, but it was like riding a bike. The basics soon came flooding back. He pushed Jim down a dimly lit hallway, the bass of the music thudding through the air, and then steered him into an empty booth. The privacy was nominal at best, and he hoped Jim would forgive him once it was all over. Prayed Jim wouldn’t hate what he was about to do to him, at least, and watched the emotions flicker in Jim’s eyes, his face remaining a good approximation of impassive.

“I’ve been very lenient with you,” Harvey said, pitched for their unseen audience, “too lenient. I see that now.”

“I -”

“Did I say you could talk?”

Jim looked at him as though he had never seen him before. Watched, rapt, as he reached for one of Jim’s wrists and unbuttoned his shirt cuff. Ran his fingers over the fluttering of Jim’s pulse, still wildly elevated, then set about loosening the knot of Jim’s tie and divesting him of his shirt. He kissed at the side of Jim’s neck as he worked - had watched Jim cosying up with Lee often enough to know what it did to him - and hoped it would be distraction enough to stop Jim freaking out when he undid Jim’s belt buckle, and when he pushed Jim’s wrists into the wall above his head and began binding them in place.

There were plenty of restraints on hand but they had both found themselves bound up with rope more than once. It was familiar, almost, and he hoped that would count for something because from what he knew of Jim’s relationships, it was going to be just about the only thing they were going to do that Jim had much experience with.

He could feel eyes on his back, could tell they were making a scene from the embarrassed flush on Jim’s cheeks, and while it wasn’t exactly his top fantasy involving Jim and semi-public displays of indecency, it wasn’t a million miles away from it.

If Jim weren’t so very green - if this wasn’t simply a way to avoid getting a bullet through the skull - Harvey thought he would really go for it. Some fancy knot work, maybe, just enough to really set off Jim’s golden skin. Jim’s legs in the air, bound and spread. As it was he kept it simple: Jim’s hands tied to the railings above his head and separate bonds at each ankle. He had to take a moment to admire his handiwork, even so, along with the strands of Jim’s hair which were now falling over his forehead.

“Are you just going to stare at me?” Jim demanded, pushing his luck the same as always, squirming against the ties and finding them secure. Harvey figured it was good enough to be in the spirit of the thing without forcing Jim to be silent too. If Jim was going to sock him in the jaw for this later he wanted some auditory memories of Jim begging him for more to make up for it.

“I should have put you over my knee first.” He grinned at the way Jim blushed harder, the color creeping down his neck and along his collar bone. “But you’d have enjoyed that too much.”

“I’m not into this,” Jim protested, nerves or something else entirely making his tone lack the conviction he had been aiming for.

“That’s not what it looks like.”

Jim’s face went redder, his eyes downcast, and Harvey pitched his voice to stay between them,

“I’m not going to hurt you.” That wasn’t quite it, Harvey knew, and he went back to the column of Jim’s neck, listening for the gratifying hitch in Jim’s breathing. “You want to stop just say, yeah? We’ll think of something else. I’m not trying to take all your control away.”

When their eyes met again Jim was nervous but determined. Nodded, ever so slightly, for him to get on with it and Harvey glanced at the clock on the far wall. An hour, at least, before the guy they were waiting on was likely to show his face again, so that meant he had to drag this out.

He didn’t think it would be a difficulty.

Not for him, at any rate. Jim, on the other hand, was already on edge and over responsive, twitching and shivering as soon as he began skating his fingertips down his side. Gasped and tipped his head back and Harvey wondered how long it had been since Jim had had anyone else touch him. Wondered whether Jim would ever consider granting him a repeat performance, if he made it good enough.

Put his all into it, just on the off chance, and enjoyed the sounds Jim made when he sucked wetly at his nipple. When he licked a broad swipe across the bottom of Jim’s rib cage, and when his fingers skirted the edges of his underwear. Leaving off the gag had definitely been the right decision.

Jim looked so good like that, desperate and a little vulnerable, and if Harvey had to tell him in increasingly filthy language, he was only getting into character. Only ensuring that everyone understood they were there to use the facilities, just like all the other people who would be ruined if their proclivities made it into the newspapers.

“Oh,” Jim gasped, hips pushing forward, when he finally let his fingers stray along the outline of his dick and he kept at it, feather light and teasing, until Jim’s chest was heaving and his thighs were trembling.

“What do you want, Jim?” He asked, all confident smirk, and Jim was always going to have the power to surprise him. Was going to be the absolute death of him, no question, because instead of the obvious Jim looked up at him, pupils blown wide, and managed,

“Kiss me. I want you to kiss me.”

He couldn’t refuse a request like that, not now and not ever, and he pushed his hand across Jim’s abdomen, fingertips just edging under the waistband of his boxer shorts as Jim writhed as best he could, and kissed him like it was a lifeline. Like he was afraid of losing himself completely, and Harvey used his other hand to cradle the side of his head, reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere.

His initial plan, if ‘plan’ was the right term for it, had been to just go through the motions. Get Jim worked up a bit and then claim he hadn’t earned the right to get off at the end of it. Untie him and give him chance to regain his composure while he pulled his clothes back on. The problem was that that really wasn’t going to cut it. Jim was a frantic, beautiful mess and he was so hard he couldn’t think straight.

Couldn’t give either of them the breathing room to calm down again, and all he actually succeeded in was pressing yet closer to Jim, until his dick was pushing against Jim’s hip through the fabric of his trousers. Jim moaned into his mouth, body heat pouring off him, and Harvey didn’t have the willpower to resist wrapping his hand around Jim’s erection.

The noise Jim made was enough to make it all worthwhile, the kind of noise he was going to be thinking about for years to come, and he kept his movements slow and steady even as Jim tried to twist and buck and force him into stroking faster. Took his hand away every time Jim got too enthusiastic, just long enough for Jim to look like he might start sobbing.

He was waiting for a sign, waiting for the perfect moment, and it came with Jim’s gaze losing focus. With sweat trickling down Jim’s face and his expression twisting, the frustrated desperation obvious.

“Please,” Jim whined finally. “Please, I can’t take it.”

That was his cue to recapture Jim’s mouth. To quit teasing and give him the kind of pressure he was clearly so in need of. Jim was really fighting against his bonds now, falling apart under his hands, and Harvey didn’t think he had ever seen anything quite so mesmerising. Came to the conclusion that he was already in way too deep with this and dropped heavily to his knees, yanking Jim’s boxers down just enough to get his mouth on him, his tongue sliding along hard heat.

Jim slammed his head back against the wall, his entire body tensing up as he came, his thighs quivering where Harvey braced his hands against them, swallowing until Jim was crying out all over again, overwhelmed by the sensation.

He rested his forehead against Jim’s stomach for a long moment, attempting to get his own self-control back. Jim’s leg twitched with some kind of aftershock and he knew that it was no use. His problem wasn’t going to be going away any time soon, not without a little assistance.

“I’ll let you loose now,” he started, pushing back to his feet and up the full length of Jim’s sweat damp body. “I’ve just got to - I need to -”

“Oh God,” Jim groaned, voice utterly wrecked, and Harvey realized with a start that Jim was watching. Jim was panting and shaking and watching him with dark eyes as he touched himself. It was more than he could take, more than anyone could take, he reasoned, and he pressed close so he could suck at the skin of Jim’s neck, the taste and the scent of him driving the movements of his hand faster and faster.

He clung to Jim as he came. Kissed him soundly in the aftermath, wiping his hand off and then pushing it into Jim’s wet hair. Finally pulled himself together enough to fix his clothing and start untying knots.

Jim was shaky without the extra support and Harvey was only too willing to let him lean against him. Took more pleasure than he probably should in helping Jim back into his clothes, and lingering over the buttons of his shirt and the knotting of his tie. He didn’t want the intimacy - the ‘moment’ - to end, not now he had tasted Jim’s mouth and heard what he sounded like when he was too far gone to worry about anything.

“We’ve probably missed him,” Jim whispered, glancing at the clock.

Harvey was going to apologize. Started mentally bracing himself for Jim’s impassioned lecture about why the whole thing had been a terrible idea, from start to finish. But Jim blindsided him yet again, and set about straightening Harvey’s tie and pushing his hair behind his ears. Kissed him, soft and chaste, and sighed,

“I think I need to sit down.”

There it was - Jim admitting to not being superhuman. Jim implying for possibly the third time in their entire acquaintance that it might be reasonable to make the job his second most pressing priority. He wasn’t going to rub it in though. If Jim wanted to go home and be looked after, that suited him just fine.

That was kind of like a dream come true, if he was truly honest.

“We can always try again another night,” was all he did say, hot and breathy in Jim’s ear as he began steering him towards the exit.

Jim just gave him a sly smile, the one that never failed to get his blood pumping.

“And I can show you my rope skills. I was a boy scout, you know.”

Chapter Text

Harvey isn’t under any illusions about the long term viability of whatever it is he and Jim have got going here. They get drunk, they make out, sometimes they fuck - sometimes they pass out - and in the morning neither of them so much as alludes to it.

It’s stress relief, he supposes. Easier for Jim than arranging dates and buying flowers, and cheaper for him than paying one of his old regulars.

That’s what he tells himself, at any rate, because the truth only ever makes him want to punch something. Makes him want to weep pathetically, curled up in some darkened corner, because he’s too old to feel this way. Too young to know that it will never get any easier.

Too smart to let himself believe, even for a single moment, that Jim really gives a damn about him.

He tries for it regardless. Blocks the doorway and warns Jim that if he doesn’t listen, if he goes ahead with his death wish of an operation, he’ll never forgive him.

“You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do,” Jim snaps, so wound up he can’t keep still. So fired up Harvey isn’t certain Jim won’t use force if he doesn’t let him pass in the next couple of minutes.

“I’m your Captain,” Harvey responds with a confidence he doesn’t really feel, “it’s my job to tell you what to do, Jim.”

They stare each other down, his gaze beseeching and Jim’s furious. Jim looks away first, but it doesn’t feel like a victory.

“Fine.” Jim says, unclipping the badge from his belt and dropping it to the ground between them. “I quit. Now let me go, Harvey.”

Barnes would have told him to get out of his sight. Essen would have given him that disappointing look she did so well, and then forced him to talk about it.

Harvey can only swallow thickly and beg, sounding nothing like himself,

“It’s too dangerous. Don’t do this.”

“I have to. I’m going to.”

He wants to say that if Jim does this, they’re through. If Jim won’t listen to reason then he should never bother darkening his door again.

He’s too much of a coward.

“What am I supposed to tell the Commissioner? IA? The media?”

Jim just shrugs and Harvey doesn’t voice the real question.

‘How am I supposed to carry on living when I identify your dead body?’

“She’s in danger,” Jim says finally, hand trembling as he rakes it through his hair. “I don’t care what happens to me, I have to try. Can you understand that?”

The tension is so thick he could cut it with a knife. The strength of Jim’s conviction so overpowering it’s almost as though he could reach out and touch it.

He can understand, that’s the reality of the situation. He knows exactly what it means to be willing to throw away everything if it might save the one person he loves the most.

Is more than willing to put theory into practice.

Jim grunts when he hits him, eyes wide in startled shock, and Jim might be younger and fitter, but Harvey’s got 50 pounds on him and is desperate into the bargain. Is focused and determined, and he grapples Jim to the ground, securing him with both their sets of handcuffs.

He tugs at the knot of Jim’s tie - pulls the material free of his collar and attempts not to reflect on how this is the first time he has ever done it sober. Then he’s forcing it between Jim’s lips, gagging him tightly enough to keep him quiet, but double, triple, checking it’s not going to obstruct his breathing.

Jim strains against his bonds. Tries to curse and scream and Harvey has to hold him still just long enough to press a single kiss to his cheek and whisper,

“I’m sorry.”

He’ll do his best to save her. Will do his damnedest to save himself, but they both know the score: this time it really is a suicide mission.

He doesn’t look back at Jim as he walks away. What they had wasn’t built to last.

At least this way Jim will never see him cry over it.

Chapter Text

Harvey had always been there for him. Had covered for him, risked everything for him, and as Jim ran through the dark city streets he wondered if Harvey had any idea how much he appreciated it.

How hopelessly lost he would be without Harvey, and how terrified he had been since the moment Harvey had gone missing.

His legs were burning, his lungs aching, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow down, not even for a second, because it could mean the difference between life and death, and if it did Jim knew he would never forgive himself.

Might not manage it anyway, because he had been too blinkered. He hadn’t listened when he should have, and spent too long refusing to negotiate. Now there was the very real possibility that he was already too late, and Jim couldn’t tell if it was rain, sweat or tears dripping down a face - or a combination of all three.

The sight of Harvey’s prone form gave him the final push he needed, his pulse pounding in his ears as he flung himself to the ground beside Harvey, horror washing over him as he realized that the dark pool surrounding his body was blood not rain water.

They had shot him in the back, like the filthy cowards they were, and Jim forgot all his first aid training along with anything he had ever learned about scene preservation. Instead he was pulling Harvey into his arms, begging, fingers streaking more blood over his pale face as he pleaded with Harvey to open his eyes and look at him.

Harvey’s skin was cold, his limbs heavy and unresponsive, and it took Jim three attempts to find a pulse. Three long moments of mindless panic and stomach churning sickness.

He sobbed when he found it, his face buried in Harvey’s wet hair, and continued to cling to him until the wail of sirens and the flashing of lights surrounded them.

“Is he going to be all right?” He asked the paramedic, as frightened and helpless as any of the other loved ones they would deal with that night, and the guy only paused long enough to give him a pitying look.

“We’ll do our best, that’s all I can promise.”

People gave him a wide berth in the hospital waiting room, no doubt a combination of the blood covering his clothing and the misery etched on his features. A nurse almost laid a hand upon his shoulder when she came to inform him that Harvey was out of surgery, then changed her mind at the last moment, suggesting that he might like to wash up and get a cup of coffee or something.

Jim tried. Stared at his reflection in the restroom mirror instead and struggled to recognize the man looking back at him.

There was no mask, no secrets. Just someone who had almost lost the one person who mattered most to them. Someone who couldn’t understand why he had ever tried to deny it, or why he had spent so long pretending he felt nothing more than friendship for Harvey.

Harvey was so pale when he was finally allowed to take up his place at the man’s bedside. The only splashes of color were the livid bruises, and Jim had to reach for his hand - couldn’t have stopped himself even if he had wanted to. Harvey was the only person who ever touched him these days, who ever let himself be touched by Jim in turn, and Jim wondered if he could even live without it.

Couldn’t truly fathom how awful it would be, if the only human contact he had to look forward to was a criminal landing a lucky punch every once in a while.

The emotion settled in his throat, thick and cloying, and he concentrated on the cool skin in his grip. Made pledge after silent pledge that things would be different if - when - Harvey woke up again.

He wouldn’t take Harvey for granted. He wouldn’t turn away when he wanted to press closer.

He was done with being a coward.

Yet what seemed so simple in theory was harder in practice, because for all the time Jim had spent in hospital, he had no experience of the constant stream of visitors and well wishers Harvey attracted.

When it was him in bed, bleeding and broken, the only constant was Harvey. Lucius came by sometimes, if it was a particularly long stay, and once Bruce had paid him a visit accompanied by Alfred.

Harvey had friends though, rather than just colleagues. It felt like the entire department called in on him, and the room was festooned with get well cards and chocolates. He had touched all kinds of lives in positive ways and, when even his elderly neighbor dropped in to see him, Harvey gestured at the grapes piled on his bedside table and quipped that he was gearing up to open his own vineyard.

Then there was Harvey’s family, a seemingly endless web of complicated relationships bound together by shocks of red hair and raucous laughter. Jim hovered awkwardly, uncertain whether his continued presence was welcome, before a cousin ushered him back into the uncomfortable plastic chair and told him jovially that Harvey talked about him so much it was as though they were already acquainted.

Harvey shot him a tired smile, almost shy, and Jim flushed with the potential implications.

He wished he hadn’t been so stubborn, so obsessed with his own toxicity and second guessing every olive branch that was handed to him. Because Harvey invited him to every Bullock family gathering, no exceptions, and every time he made up some excuse or other, rather than take charity.

That had never been Harvey’s intention, it was so startlingly clear now, and he remained long after official visiting hours ended watching Harvey sleep, the deep dark smudges under the older man’s eyes testament to his utter exhaustion.

Finally he kissed Harvey’s brow, careful and tender, and hoped against hope that Harvey hadn’t already given up on him.

“I’ll be fine,” Harvey protested when Jim pulled up outside his own apartment. “I’ve got everything I need at my place.”

It hurt. Not that Harvey didn’t want to stay with him, Jim didn’t believe that for a moment, but that Harvey had assumed all the assurances Jim had given the doctors were worthless. Harvey had only been discharged on the proviso someone was going to be there to look after him, and Jim had piped up before any of Harvey’s relations could make the offer.

Had filled out his application for leave in triplicate, and endured the incredulous look on Tuttle’s face when he requested it be fast tracked, or he simply wouldn’t report for duty.

“Come on,” he said, tone as lighthearted as he could manage, “I’ve already cleaned the place now.”

Harvey snorted as he accepted his help to get out of the car, Jim secretly revelling in the solid weight braced against him.

“Don’t lie, Florence Nightingale. You just don’t want to have to return your nurse’s uniform, do you?”

Jim grinned, shouldering Harvey’s bag and sliding a supporting arm around him, “How did you find out about that? I was trying to keep it a surprise for you.”

The look on Harvey’s face was priceless. Amused, fond, kind of startled. Hopeful, even, and it filled Jim with a renewed sense of confidence. They had hardly had a moment alone since that first terrible night at the hospital, and then he had been the only one aware of what was happening.

Safe in his apartment, there was no reason left for him not to start talking. No reason other than his own fear of rejection, and he fussed about settling Harvey on the sofa with a drink to give himself enough space to pull his courage together.

“Do you want anything to eat?” He asked, procrastinating, and Harvey just looked up at him from the leave confirmation he had left on the coffee table, like he was a view he could never get enough of.

“This might be the painkillers talking but I want to say thank you. You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“It’s nothing, not really.”

“So you’d take two weeks off work for anyone? Who are you and what have you done with Jim Gordon?”

Harvey was smiling, keeping it casual, but Jim couldn’t take it. Moved to sit next to him, the intensity of what he was feeling threatening to overwhelm him.

“I thought you were dead.”

The silence stretched, thick and stifling, and then Harvey was reaching for his hand clumsily, voice strained,

“If I disappeared for two weeks every time I thought I’d never see you again, I wouldn’t have a job to go back to.”

Somehow words seemed superfluous, the sincerity in their gazes and the electricity sparking at their touch saying it all for them.

Jim lead Harvey into his bedroom, both of them remembering nights when Jim had been drunk and insensible, sobbing into Harvey’s chaste hold, too proud to simply ask him to stay. This time he wrapped his arms around Harvey. Breathed in the comforting scent of him and rubbed his cheek against the scruff of Harvey’s beard.

There was no scope to do much, no way they could go far, not with Harvey still beat up and hurting. He settled for lying down beside Harvey on his freshly changed sheets, uncaring that it wasn’t long past midday or that there were doubtless plenty of worthwhile things he could be doing.

He wanted to be with Harvey. Needed to feel his heartbeat under his palm, physical proof that he had been given a second chance at happiness.

“You gonna wear that nurse’s uniform for me later then?” Harvey slurred eventually, sleep already pulling at him, and Jim curled closer into his side, fingers tracing patterns over the material of his shirt front.

Felt a smile tug at his lips and didn’t need to lift his head to see the outraged expression on Harvey’s face.

“Nah. I’ve got to think of your blood pressure.”

Jim didn’t push it when they woke wrapped around each other, waiting for Harvey to decide how quickly they should take things. Attempted to hide his disappointment when Harvey didn’t even kiss him, and told himself not to be so self-absorbed. If he had just been shot multiple times he probably wouldn’t feel much like fooling around either.

Just because he wanted to be wound around Harvey, it didn’t mean the older man had stopped valuing the concept of personal space.

Harvey’s proximity just did things to him. Always had done, even in those early days when they could barely exchange two civil words with each other. Barbara had laughed the first time she had seen them together, and whispered in his ear that his daddy complex was showing again.

He had glared at her, righteously upstanding as usual, and didn’t understand how desperately he would miss that once it was gone, the comfortable teasing and the banter.

It was yet another thing he relied on Harvey for instead, and Jim wished all over again that he could be more like the man he once was, because he would have taken the risk and told Harvey everything. The man he was now had nothing but Harvey left, and for all he trusted him, for all he needed him, he was still terrified of getting it all wrong and Harvey turning his back on him.

“I’m so beat even your snoring couldn’t keep me awake,” Harvey joked when it grew late, some of the color beginning to return to his cheeks, and though he ached to join him Jim stayed out on the sofa, thinking and worrying, until the need for sleep finally overpowered him.

It was strange starting the day without anywhere he needed to be, anything he needed to be doing. It wasn’t bad though, and that surprised him, because when he was injured it was normally a matter of hours rather than days before he was itching to get back to the precinct.

To get back to Harvey, he realized, and something of the revelation must have shown on his face because Harvey raised an eyebrow behind his glasses and asked if there was something bothering him.

Jim shook his head, busied himself with dinner, and felt as though the bottom was dropping out of his stomach when he emerged from the kitchen to find Harvey had repacked his overnight bag and was shrugging painfully into his jacket.

“What are you doing?” He asked, appalled at the way the words wavered, and Harvey gave up on trying to button the coat in favor of shoving his hat on his head.

“I don’t want to outstay my welcome, Jim.”

Jim just stared. He hadn’t said anything to suggest he didn’t want Harvey there, he hadn’t done anything.

Not this time.

Maybe Harvey had decided it wasn’t worth trying. That he wasn’t worth fighting for, and it was like the shock of seeing Harvey on the ground, wet and cold in a puddle of his own blood, suddenly caught up with him. It had him trembling, shaking, and he had to suck in breath after frantic breath, his chest feeling tight and constricted.

Harvey took a step towards him, then seemed to think better of it. Scrubbed a hand over his face and said, sounding just as much of a mess as Jim was feeling,

“I can’t do this again. Not yet. I can’t bear it.”

“So you’re going to just walk away?”

He couldn’t say more, couldn’t get the words out, but Harvey glanced down at the floor rather than look at him. Didn’t coax or encourage him to speak, the way he usually did, and picked up his bag with a grimace.

“I’m gonna go and stay with my cousin for a few days.”

Jim knew he ought to do something. Knew he was going to regret it if he didn’t, but it was too late by the time he forced himself to move, because Harvey was the practical one in the partnership and had called ahead for a cab while he was too busy showing off his limited culinary skills.

That last put him into a new panic, and he spent the night staring at the TV, numb and disbelieving, the smell of burned food lingering in the air and the imprint of Harvey’s head on his pillow.

Jim didn’t know how it was possible to have so many cousins. He was soaked through from the rain and bone tired from traipsing all over the city attempting to track down the right Bullock.

Harvey wasn’t answering his cell phone though, and Tuttle was reciting chapter and verse on data protection. That left him with no choice but to track Harvey down the old fashioned way, and Jim hoped to God Harvey wasn’t just going to just slam the door in his face.

Because he had been thinking about what Harvey had said to him - had thought of nothing else, if he were being honest, and he thought that maybe he understood exactly what Harvey had been trying to tell him. It wasn’t the first time he had slept in a bed with Harvey. It wasn’t the first time he had clung close and dreamed of how it would be if that were his life, being allowed to touch just as much as he wanted.

It wasn’t the first time he had chickened out in the morning and pretended that nothing had happened.

Finally he struck gold, recognition flashing across the freckled face peering back at him, and he was ushered inside even as a bewildering number of kids came to see who was at the door, and why the dog wouldn’t stop barking. Harvey looked at him wide eyed when his host lead him through to the living room, and significant glances passed between half a dozen people Jim was only half certain he had never clapped eyes on before.

“Has something happened?” Harvey asked, trying to haul himself to his feet. “Is it the precinct?”

Jim moved before he could think better of it, lightly pushing Harvey back down to the sofa, the brief contact enough to make his pulse race, and assuring,

“There’s nothing wrong, nothing’s happened. I just wanted to see you.”

Harvey gazed at him silently, stunned, and then there was the bustle of questions and drinks being offered, and Jim found himself pressed tight against Harvey’s side, giving it his best shot at polite conversation as his head spun and his heart lurched around in his chest.

When the visit wrapped up, when the cousin Harvey was staying with showed the others out and left them to it, Jim was almost at a loss. He was no good at this, never had been, because when he tried to explain himself all he ever did was say the wrong thing. When he tried to show people how much they meant to him, it only ever seemed to end badly.

“I thought you didn’t like family gatherings,” Harvey said, when it felt like the silence would never end, and Jim knew it was something he had said, even if he didn’t remember it.

“I didn’t want to meet your family,” he confessed, and Harvey flinched as though he’d been hit, as if to prove all Jim’s predictions about how terribly he was going to mess this up. He forced himself to keep talking, “I didn’t want them to make you see how much better off you’d be without me in your life.”

Jim fidgeted, looking around at the photographs and the homely comforts of the room, both things that were lacking from his own miserable apartment.

“Why would they do that?” Harvey asked, sounding genuinely confused, “All they ever want to do is ask questions about you.”

“Because they don’t know me. Now that they do…” He trailed off, hating that it was so difficult. Hating that he couldn’t make Harvey understand what he was saying, not when he could scarcely understand himself. “You deserve so much better, but I want you to choose me anyway. I’m not a good man, Harvey.”

That was the crux of it. He had been once, or maybe that was an illusion too. Perhaps he had never been anything but a virus.

He stood, suddenly desperate to get away. He was going to cry otherwise. Was going to completely embarrass himself, and Harvey didn’t need to deal with that on top of everything.

Except Harvey’s fingers were around his wrist, holding him in place, and Jim felt like he was falling apart, lost in Harvey’s gaze.

“Promise me you’re not doing this because you feel sorry for me. Because you feel responsible for what happened. I couldn’t live with it, Jim.”

Harvey sounded just as lost, just as desperate, and Jim tugged at his grip and helped him stand. Pressed himself in close until Harvey’s arms slowly came up to wrap around his shoulders, the tension leaching out of Jim as he buried his nose in the soft fabric of Harvey’s shirt.

It felt so good, so right, and although it was little more than a whisper he succeeded in saying what he had gone there to admit.

“I can’t live without you.”

They went back to his place, so like the day he had driven Harvey home from the hospital, and yet so utterly different.

Harvey had to lean on him, just the same, but Jim’s heart wasn’t hammering with anxiety but anticipation. He didn’t bother with the sofa or offers of hospitality, instead pushing Harvey down onto his bed sheets and letting his fingers wander along the side of his face and into his hair.

Kissed him, silent and tentative at first, and then Harvey’s good hand found the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and it was like the floodgates opening. Jim moaned, helpless, and suddenly everything was happening at once, so that he could scarcely keep track of it.

Harvey’s tongue was in his mouth and his hand was in his hair. His thigh was between his legs, the pressure maddening, and his breathless praise was filling the air, interspersed with vivid descriptions that made Jim blush, full of all the filthy things he wanted to do to him.

“You’ve given this some serious thought,” Jim panted in turn, fingers tugging frantically at buttons and fastenings, “no wonder you never get any work done.”

“If I’m not worrying about you, I’m dreaming about you,” Harvey agreed, and the words sent a jolt through Jim. Want and need and happiness, all mixed up together, and Jim knew that he was terrible at this. At being with someone, at doing the things other people seemed to manage so naturally.

He couldn’t mess this up. Couldn’t have Harvey doubting his intentions again and thinking that this was in any way a one sided attraction.

“Me too. I mean, not about me - about you. I mean -” He sucked in air, found courage in the feel of Harvey’s lips against his throat. In the hand that was making short work of his zipper. “I think about you at work. I watch you through your office window sometimes and think about you fucking me over your desk because you can’t wait any longer, because you want me so badly.”

His cheeks were burning, the confession at once exciting and embarrassing, and Harvey made a weird noise as he clutched him closer. All but keened, desperate, and wrapped his hand around the heat of his erection, gasping out,

“Jesus Christ, Jim, I’m never going to be able to concentrate in there again.”

The feeling was mutual, really, and Jim wished that Harvey wasn’t still bandaged and bound. Hated himself for making Harvey wince in pain, even as he pushed up into his palm, his weight resting against Harvey in all the wrong places, unable to keep away from the expanses of bared skin he had spent so long wanting to feel under his palms.

He tried to suggest they move, stop, anything, but Harvey kissed the words from his lips. Replaced them with his own and started begging Jim to come for him, his hand making some kind of twist on the upstroke that had Jim’s head spinning and his attempts at reciprocation faltering all over the place.

“Come on, Jim,” Harvey urged. “I’m gonna make you see stars when I’m fixed up. I’m going to do things to you that you’ve never even dreamed of. But right now I just need to see your face. I need you to come for me.”

Jim whimpered. Trembled and shook and tipped his head back, certain he was going to see stars anyway because he was so desperate, and Harvey’s touch was so perfect. He was so close, so very close, and then Harvey was kissing at his ear, teeth grazing against overheated skin, and he was coming explosively, whining as Harvey kept at it, working him through every last shudder.

He collapsed against Harvey when he was done, his limbs feeling heavy and uncooperative. Tried to get his hand to do his bidding, all the same, because Harvey was still rock hard and wanting.

Their fingers tangled together, awkward and counter productive. And then Harvey was taking control of the situation, closing his hand around Jim’s own and setting a fast, hard pace, his breathing growing heavier and heavier until Jim gathered enough energy to recapture his mouth, the kiss slick and frantic.

Harvey groaned when he came, the sound making Jim flush hot all over again, so that he couldn’t even find the words to protest when Harvey wiped their hands off in his blanket. Instead he let Harvey hold him close. In truth did his very best to push in still closer, loving the heat and the sense of belonging.

“I never took you for a cuddler,” Harvey said as their heart rates slowed and the world began to come back into focus, “you’re always full of surprises.”

“Good surprises?” Jim asked, not at all certain he wanted to hear the answer. Harvey only tilted his chin up to kiss him again, stroking hands down his back and smiling goofily at him, so that Jim was sure his own expression was a mirror image.

“The best kind.”

Chapter Text

If it was just sex, perhaps Harvey could have lived with it.

Sex meant nothing. It was the scratching of an itch. The fulfilment of a basic need. Who you did it with was of little to no importance.

That was what he told himself, at any rate, when the girls snapped their gum and held out their hands disinterestedly. When they pocketed his cash and stared at the ceiling, waiting for it all to be over.

It was how he reasoned away the bruises on Jim’s neck and the cut to his swollen lip. A fight turned primal. An informant who had nothing but still wanted to be useful.

Cobblepot looked worse, most likely, and it was in that thought Harvey took comfort.

That thought which had him thrusting into the tight channel of his own fist. His other hand was braced against the cool tile of the shower stall, Harvey hating himself even as his blood burned white hot, imagined images of Jim forcing the King of Gotham into some dank alley wall seared into the backs of his eyelids.

Jim grinned the next time he returned from such a rendezvous, his customary anger no longer a heavy weight around his shoulders. Harvey refused to look at him as he slid into the passenger seat of the car. Refused to comment on the scent of sex which clung to him, or the fact the buttons on his shirt were fastened out of order.

It was none of his business.

None of his concern, and later, alone in his miserable bed, he pretended it wasn’t Jim he was thinking of. Not when he came, breathing harsh and desperate in the silence, and not when he wept, broken and undone, for the painful realization that Jim would sooner fuck a psycho murderer than be loved by him.

He did his best to look out for Jim. Made excuses and lied about the younger man’s whereabouts. Claimed to know nothing about his intimacy with the city’s former Mayor, nor the reasons for it, and finally stumbled across the pair of them in the act, the view making his dick ache even as his stomach churned.

It wasn’t vicious, wasn’t violent, and Harvey wanted to retch at the sight of it. Felt sick at the tender touch of Jim’s lips to Cobblepot’s jaw, and wished himself dead at the adoration in Cobblepot’s eyes as his pale fingers worked Jim open.

He drove his own fist into unyielding brick. Lashed out over and over again, even as Jim’s wanton gasps sounded in the still night air, then drank himself numb until a bartender rang him an ambulance, complaining that the blood and the flashes of milk white bone were losing him custom.

Cobblepot smirked when he saw him bound and bandaged, sharp gaze seeing more in his face than Jim had ever cared to.

“You never stood a chance,” he said, so smug Harvey ground his teeth together to resist the urge to swing for him, “but you knew that, didn’t you?”

Harvey looked away, as though Cobblepot didn’t know the answer already.

Jim was out of his league, out of his reach, and still he would continue to hope for more. Would scavenge for the meagre crumbs of Jim’s affection, and risk anything and everything, again and again, just for the chance to remain in Jim’s orbit.

“I’m always going to be there for him,” he said, relieved that his voice stayed steady, and Cobblepot only arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow in amusement.

Let the humiliating realization wash over him, his throat aching with emotion.

Cobblepot wasn’t afraid - wasn’t even jealous.

He had no need to be.

Chapter Text

Harvey hated wasting time being lectured on stuff he already knew.

The only thing he hated more was being forced to interact with the sort of sanctimonious prick who volunteered to go on extra training courses. His current table was full of them, intent on asking twenty questions and exchanging best practice from their relevant departments, when all Harvey wanted to do was stare down the facilitator’s top while she read out her powerpoint presentation.

He was too hungover to do much else, truth be told, and perhaps that was the one good thing about being sent off for a refresher on interrogation techniques for the modern law enforcement officer - Essen wasn’t around to bust his balls for drinking himself into a stupor again.

The problem was that none of the other, considerably less principled, women in his life were around to do anything with his balls either, and though he didn’t exactly know the area, it didn’t take long to figure out the parts that were deemed disreputable.

He headed straight for them the second class let out for the day, determined not to remain sober a second longer than necessary.

His classmates were going for a meal, were all willingly spending yet more time with each other, and Harvey couldn’t imagine anything worse than another evening of awkward conversation. At least he couldn’t until he moved onto the third bar, and it might have been beer goggles, but his heart flip flopped in his chest when his gaze adjusted to the dim light and settled on the guy perched on the corner bar stool.

Harvey wasn’t the kind to discriminate, was plenty happy to take whatever he could get, but even if he had never looked twice at a man before he had no doubt this kid would have changed everything. He was something else entirely, was so obviously in another league to the dive bar they were drinking in, and though Harvey knew it was a fool’s errand he sat next to him all the same.

Offered to buy him a drink and scarcely knew what to do with himself when the guy smiled shyly in thanks, coming over as desperate and breathless as a teenager attempting to secure a prom date.

“So what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” He tried, embracing the corniness of the line, and the stars must have all been in alignment, or else there was some seriously strong shit in the water supply. Whatever the reason, the vision in front of him didn’t brush him off or turn away.

He seemed interested in what Harvey had to say, asked questions about what he did and whether or not he lived locally, and if he lied a little it was only because there was nothing like telling someone you were a cop, and that you specialised in dead bodies, to act as a passion killer.

“I work for a paper,” he offered, because sometimes he figured he might as well do, the number of stories which originated with him. He and Charlie Billington on the city beat went back a long way, after all. “How about you?”

Jimmy could have been a model. Could be a TV stalwart or a porn star, with his pretty face and well defined biceps, but he only ran a hand through the close cropped hair at the back of his neck and gave a vague answer about doing this and that and the other since getting home. From where, he didn’t say, though Harvey was leaning towards the military.

The reticence did things to him, either way. The flush in Jimmy’s cheeks got him worked up and wanting, while the way he fidgeted with his beer bottle made his chest clench painfully. In that moment he was certain he would do anything, give anything, just to be stuck in this guy’s friend zone.

He was an idiot, always had been, and he splashed cold water over his face when he paid a visit to the bathroom in an attempt to pull himself together. He would be home this time tomorrow, and he was probably old enough to be Jimmy’s father.

It didn’t make him any less appealing.

Because things were going so well too, might actually lead to a hand in his pants or a dick in his mouth, but then he got back from the can to find Jim gone and nothing but the crushing sense of disappointment to keep him company.

He had money in his pocket, enough to hook up with someone - anyone, he wasn’t fussy - but somehow the idea didn’t appeal. Instead he drank and drank. Drank until he could hardly stand, could scarcely see, and misjudged the distance between the stool and the floor, missing his footing entirely and landing face down. He was kicked out for it, the pain distant but tangible, and he prodded at his nose out in the cold night air, wincing when his fingers came back streaked with blood.

The only thing to do was stagger back to the hotel and sleep it off.

All he had to do was remember where the hell he was staying.

It was easier said than done, even with the way he was slurring, and as he seemed to wander in ever decreasing circles he had time to sober up enough to at least be aware of the problem.

To start recognising land marks, and to realize that it was not as late as he had expected. To rifle through his pockets and his wallet, and to quickly make sense of the grotty street he had found himself on, along with the shivering figures pacing up and down the sidewalk.

He was debating it, wondering whether there would be much of a price discrepancy with the back streets of Gotham, and then he spied Jimmy leaning against a wall, his posture tense and his shirt half unbuttoned.

It made sense. It explained Jimmy’s reluctance to talk about himself, and why he had upped and disappeared. Free drinks were all well and good, but they weren’t ready cash, and the girls back home never failed to make clear the distinction. Reminisced sometimes about the early days, and how difficult it had been when they and a John hadn’t been on the same page with what was happening.

For all that it made his stomach twist, sudden and painful. Jimmy could do better, deserved better undoubtedly, and he was fired up on fantasies of saving the guy from whatever demons were haunting him.

Was equally fired up at the idea of getting him spread across his bed, begging for his attention, and if he had to pay for it, well. That was something he was more than familiar with.

Except Jimmy’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him, and in his haste to explain himself his words were stumbling over each other.

“It’s all right,” Harvey soothed, one hand braced against the wall behind Jimmy’s head as he leaned in close. “I’m not asking for a freebie. I promise I’ll make it good for you.”

Jimmy flushed still harder, the tips of his ears reddening, and Harvey couldn’t think because the guy was so pretty. So new and fresh and Harvey ached to take him in his arms and never let him go again. To promise him the world and fix it so he’d never have to turn tricks again, not when Harvey could play the white knight and sleep on his broken down sofa, if only it meant coming home to the bashful smile he had seen earlier, after a long day of dealing with the cesspit that was Gotham city.

“I don’t think - “ Jimmy tried, clearly uncomfortable, and then there was relief written plain all over his face. Gratitude evident in his eyes and in his body language.

“You have the right to remain silent,” a female voice began behind him, pulling his arms into cuffing position, and Harvey closed his eyes for a long moment.

There was something worse than being made to sit through yet another training course, after all.

Harvey had it so bad that instead of trying to save face, instead of attempting to spare his own ass, he started arguing Jimmy’s case.

The guy was young, green, and besides that Harvey was willing to stake money on him having fought for his country. In normal circumstances he wouldn’t have cared either way, but this was different, and something about the woman’s neatly scraped back hair and upright posture told him that she would be impressed by that.

Instead she simply snorted, amused, across the interrogation table and said,

“I’m sure Officer Gordon appreciates your character reference.”

Because it turned out that Jimmy wasn’t embarrassed about working the streets. He wasn’t a lost soul in need of salvation. He wasn’t even a messed up vet fallen on hard times. Jim Gordon had only flushed and stuttered because he had been on the beat a mere matter of weeks, and while he was capable enough to be used as bait for a wanted murderer, he wasn’t experienced enough to cover his nerves and how uncomfortable it made him.

“We told him to keep you talking for a bit, rule you out,” Detective Harper explained, eyeing him curiously over her case notes, “but you just wouldn’t let up, would you?”

Harvey shrugged, too drunk and too sick to care overmuch about the fact he could be out of a job when news of this got back to the precinct. Everyone knew Essen was just looking for a reason.

“You know the risks,” Harper pushed, a copy of his GCPD profile on the desk between them, “and it wasn’t like he was giving you any encouragement.”

That stung. Hurt like a bitch because, to his mind, that was exactly what Jimmy - Officer Gordon - had been doing. The way he listened so intently, and the way he leaned in close to hear him better. The way he had been doing his job, thoroughly and professionally, Harvey thought with a sudden wave of bitterness, and for the first time he focused on his reflection in the two-way mirror.

His nose was swollen, broken possibly - it certainly throbbed badly enough - and a black eye was rapidly forming.

He saw himself through Harper’s eyes. A wreck of a man. A mangy washed up old cop hitting on a guy so gorgeous just the thought of his strong jaw and blue gaze was making him weak kneed. Trying to buy sex from someone who was so blatantly undercover Harvey almost felt ashamed of his lack of judgement.

Just felt ashamed, period.

“I wanted to make a connection with someone,” he said finally, though he had intended to remain silent. “I just wanted not to feel alone for a couple of hours.”

It was so pathetic, hearing it spoken aloud like that, but Harvey figured it didn’t much matter. He was going to have plenty of time to drink away the memories when he no longer had a job to go to. Except Harper was looking at him with an odd expression on her face. Not quite pity, he had too much experience with that one, but something not a million miles from it. Empathy maybe.

Understanding.

She turned her attention back to the notes she had been making, reading aloud from the statement,

“Detective Bullock, noting the discrepancies in Officer Gordon’s story and how ill at ease he appeared, became concerned for his welfare and attempted to speak to him when their paths crossed on Bridge Street. In order to maintain Officer Gordon’s cover, Detectives Harper and Lyle made an arrest and conducted Bullock to the station where the situation could be explained without fear of compromising the operation.”

Harper set the paper down, holding out a biro for him to sign his name with.

“Does that sound correct to you, Detective Bullock?”

Harvey swallowed, the pain in his nose merging with that in his head and his heart, so overpowering it added the sting of unshed tears to the mix.

“Thank you,” he managed, feeling old and broken, and Harper simply folded her arms across her chest and watched him sign on the dotted line.

“Don’t thank me, Bullock. Get your act together and sort yourself out, yeah?”

It was over a year later when he saw Jim Gordon’s face again. The spark of recognition was instant, obvious, and Harvey hated himself for the way his heart lurched and his cheeks flushed.

He acted as though he hadn’t noticed, as though he recalled nothing of their previous encounter, but they both knew it would only last as long as Jim was willing to play along with it. Jim held out longer than he had expected, weeks rather than days, but then he wasn’t the same fresh faced rookie Harvey had met all those months ago.

Jim was still full of enthusiasm, there was no question there. He still had almost everything to learn too, that was just as apparent. But he was more confident now, had more experience under his belt, and and when the confrontation finally came Harvey had already decided how he wanted to play it.

“I didn’t want to embarrass you by bringing it up,” Harvey said easily, not even taking a break from his sandwich, “it’s not every day you get a partner you knew as a hooker.”

“I was never a hooker,” Jim hissed, as predictably insufferable as ever, and Harvey smirked because he knew how much it infuriated him,

“True enough. Your cover was so bad it was only the falling down drunk who took an interest.”

Jim seethed, hating any suggestion that he wasn’t competent at the job, and Harvey went out of his way to rub his face in it. Turned up at his swanky penthouse apartment with a girl who owed him a favor, and enjoyed the look of horror on Jim’s face when he left him alone in the middle of a shift to go and get his leg over.

“You’d better not take long,” one of his old regulars warned, panting and writhing against his fingers, “your partner looked like he was about to have an aneurysm.”

“Let him,” Harvey intoned, trying for indifference, and got his thumb in on the action, enjoying the breathy moans and the rhythmic clenching it resulted in.

“You sure you don’t want to?” She trailed off, eyebrow arched, when he had achieved what he had set out to, and Harvey shook his head. Sucked his fingers clean with a leer and said, all mock outrage,

“I’m on duty!”

His good humor lasted about as long as it took to walk back to the car. Jim looked like he had been sucking on a lemon, expression murderous, and Harvey wished he had at least had the foresight to toss one off before returning because Jim had only seemed to grow more attractive since their first meeting.

Perhaps it was just that he had had more time to catalog everything about Jim that he found so enticing. The long column of his throat and the tight pull of his shirts. The flush that spread all the way to his ears, and the scent of him, so perfect it had Harvey sniffing at the collar of the jacket Jim had left in the car one night, and imagining if Jim would taste even better.

He wanted it so badly. Would get on his knees right now if Jim gave the slightest indication he was interested. Would let Jim do what he would to him, no holds barred, if only Jim would look at him, just once, as though he didn’t hate him.

“You’re disgusting, Bullock,” was what Jim actually said. “Men like you are why I joined the police force.”

“I always knew you had masochistic streak,” Harvey winked, anger and hurt and lust all simmering just beneath the surface. Jim scowled back at him, eyed him up like he was filth clinging to the sole of his shoe, and went on,

“If I had been the arresting officer that night, I wouldn’t have felt sorry for you. I’d have made an example of you.”

“Tell me what it’s like, Jim,” Harvey snapped, the frayed edges of his temper slipping through his fingers. Jim just frowned at him, confused, and Harvey slammed on the brakes, sick of it all. “Is it hard work being so fucking perfect?”

“I don’t claim to be perfect,” Jim said, voice quiet but full of self assurance, “I just know that I’m better than you.”

Jim never apologised for it. They never spoke of it again, even, simply turned up for work in the morning and followed Essen’s order to act like adults instead of school children.

Harvey never forgot it, all the same, and clung to the words as they grew closer. As animosity slowly gave way to indifference, and then to grudging respect for one another. As they became friends, best friends, and as he fell so desperately in love it hurt to be apart from Jim.

Killed him, almost, to see him lose his way, serving time for a crime he didn’t commit and being robbed of everything that had ever mattered to him.

“I deserve it,” Jim slurred to him one night, stinking of the whiskey he had spilled down himself, “that’s what you think, isn’t it?”

“Why would I think that?” Harvey countered, taking his own swallow from one of the half empty bottles. “Why would I be here if I believed that?”

Jim stared at him, searched his face for something, then brushed a hand against his fingers as he reached for the bottle. Never looked away, even as he took a slug of the drink, and then surged forward and smashed their lips together. Took advantage of the way Harvey gasped, helpless, and pushed his tongue into his mouth, all slick heat and whiskey driven determination.

It was over as soon as it started, Jim swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, and bursting into tears.

“I do deserve it, Harvey. You’ve no idea how much.”

Harvey settled for holding him close. Pressed soft kisses into his hair and whispered soothing words into his ear. Put him to bed when he had cried himself into exhaustion, and tucked the covers in around him, his pathetic heart aching at the pitiful sight Jim made.

He looked so lost, brow furrowed even in sleep, and it reminded Harvey of the night he had first met Jim. Made him think of the ridiculous fantasies he had entertained over those few short hours, about shielding Jim from the ravages of the wider world and keeping him all for himself, like some fairytale princess locked away in an ivory tower.

That wasn’t what Jim needed though, and instead he sent Alvarez around the following day with some case files for Jim to look through, hoping that his message were clear -

There were better men than him depending on Jim.

They never spoke of that night either. Jim, perhaps, didn’t even remember.

Harvey tried to be content with that.

He had tasted Jim’s mouth once, and that was once more than he had allowed himself to believe he would ever experience. Jim was his friend, his partner, and if that was all he ever had Harvey knew he ought to be thankful for it.

Because Jim did what Harper’s words couldn’t. He gave Harvey back his sense of self-respect. Gave him a reason to haul his ass out of bed in the mornings, and his informants began to bitch that he was no fun anymore, not when he started playing by the book again for the first time in years. The acting Captain had to set an example, had to behave with integrity, and Charmagne demanded to speak to him when she was brought in for street walking, threatening to go to the newspapers.

Charlie Billington was gone, victim of an overdose, and the new city editor would love nothing more than to discredit both him and the department. Charmagne knew it too and folded her arms across her ample chest,

“You think you’re better than us now, that it?”

Harvey swallowed thickly, too aware of Jim’s silent presence at his side. Too hung up on long ago conversations that he always knew would come back to haunt him.

“I’m not better than anyone.”

He left the room then. Slumped against the wall of the corridor and attempted to get a grip on himself. He had broken the rules and now he was going to have to pay for it, that was life.

That was justice.

Except Jim laid a hand on his shoulder when he finally emerged from the interrogation room, gently leading him out towards his office.

“I didn’t lie to you,” Jim said, picking up the thread of a discussion Harvey didn’t remember. At least not until Jim began elaborating, “If I had been the arresting officer that night, I wouldn’t have felt sorry for you. I didn’t feel sorry for you.”

Harvey sank into his seat, wondered how much longer he would be able to think of it as that, and scrubbed a hand across his face. He wasn’t ready for this. Would never be ready to hear how little Jim thought of him.

“I respected you for what you did,” Jim went on, contrary to all his expectations. “Your job was on the line and you cared more about what a record would do to some rent boy who ran out on you. No other cop in this city would have given a shit.”

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to explain what the words meant to him. Jim just kept talking,

“I wouldn’t have given a damn, not then. You’re a better man than I am.”

The sincerity in Jim’s tone left him speechless. Had him too numb to interject, even as Jim assured that Charmagne wasn’t going to say anything. That she had just wanted off the charge, and Jim wasn’t too high and mighty to exercise his discretion when it came to filling out the paperwork.

“You don’t have to compromise yourself for me,” Harvey managed eventually, wishing he could think up some joke, some easy banter, to hide the scratch in his voice.

Jim gave him a watery smile.

“I know. That’s why I did it.”

Something changed between them after that. It was nothing tangible, nothing Harevy could point to. They just grew closer. Trusted each other more. Told each other everything - everything except the depth of what he felt for Jim, though he was increasingly certain that Jim knew anyway.

Jim started telling him his crazy plans. Rang him as soon as he could to assure that he was safe, and let Harvey touch his arms and his shoulders when he returned to the precinct, needing the proof that Jim really was none the worse for the experience.

“You shouldn’t worry about me so much,” Jim told him once, jaw tight as Harvey carefully swiped at the latest gash on his arm with antiseptic. Harvey only let his fingers trail tenderly for a moment and sighed,

“You know I can’t help it.”

It was as close as they had ever come to talking about it, and Jim nodded sharply. Avoided eye contact and Harvey went home when he was sure Jim was patched up and free from lasting side effects, thinking wistfully of the days when he would have gone to Fish or one of the other Madams and screwed the pain away.

Instead he shut his eyes and dreamed of Jim, of the softness of his skin and the blue of his eyes, stroking himself to yet another unsatisfying climax.

In the morning things were back to normal, or at least what passed for it in Gotham, and Jim went with him to see a stiff in situ in the back of some filthy alleyway, a cursory examination of the scene enough to convince them both that they had a pattern and a serial killer on their hands.

Charmagne told him what she could, but Benji glared at him when he walked into the store where he was working now and hissed at him that he had escaped that life and had nothing else to say to him.

“It could have been you last night,” Jim wheedled, “could have been one of your friends.”

“It was one of my friends,” Benji snapped. “We grew up together, got hooked together, sucked our first Johns together. I’ve got a life now. A job, an apartment. If I wouldn’t risk it for him, I’m certainly not going to risk it for you, am I?”

Jim was quiet after that encounter. Quieter than usual, even, and Harvey allowed himself a brief touch to Jim’s shoulder as he asked him what was bothering him.

“If it wasn’t for you it could have been me last night,” Jim said, deliberately not looking at him. “Another fucked up war vet with nothing left but the needle or the bottle.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Harvey chided. “You’re strong. You’d have got it through with or without me.”

Jim shook his head. “It’s not about strength. It’s about having somebody who cares what happens to you. Somebody willing to put up with all the shit you put them through.”

He’d stick around if that was all Jim ever wanted him for, but he didn’t want Jim to know that. Didn’t want to admit it to himself, even, and he was still struggling to deal with the knowledge of just how desperate he was when Jim put a hand over his own.

Met his gaze and said earnestly,

“We need to get this guy. I need you to let me do this.”

Jim was older than he had been last time Harvey had seen him like this. Wasn’t as jumpy or as fresh faced, but that only worked in their favor. Their guy wasn’t targeting teenage runaways, preferring men who looked like they had give up all hope. Like they had lived and fought and been beaten black and blue for their troubles.

It was disturbing how well Jim played the part. How his unwashed hair only seemed to highlight the bags under his eyes, and how his too thin shirt had him shivering in the cool night air, giving him the air of a needy junkie.

“I don’t like this,” Harvey said for roughly the twelfth time that evening, “you know what those alleys are like. If we lose sight of you anything could happen.”

“I’m a big boy,” Jim grinned, the expression incongruous with his general downtrodden appearance, “I can look after myself.”

“That’s what they all thought,” Harvey offered, thinking of the latest bodies down in the morgue. Thinking of the relief on Jim’s face when Harper had stepped in to stop him hassling him, and how Jim had no idea what a difficult customer could do.

What it meant to be faced with someone who refused to take no for an answer.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” he asked instead, carefully keeping his tone steady, and Jim surprised him by sliding his fingers into Harvey’s hair and bringing their foreheads together. By looking deep into his eyes and saying, soft and breathy,

“I promise.”

The first night they got nowhere, nor the second, though Jim was pinched and groped and catcalled for his troubles. Almost got his nose bust open by a couple of thugs when the bars began to close their doors, and Harvey dug his knee into their backs with far greater forced than was necessary as he fastened the cuffs.

Nobody got away with threatening Jim, not if he could help it.

On the third night Alvarez was bitching about what a waste of resources this was, when there plenty of really innocent citizens who needed their protection.

“They matter just as much as anyone else,” Harvey protested, nervous tension bringing his temper to the fore. “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone, eh?”

Alvarez scowled but his fingers went to the chain around his neck, all the same, and Harvey realized with a start that he had lost sight of Jim. Felt sick dread wash over him, panic growing, and as the seconds crawled by he knew he had to do something.

Bit out the command, stomach churning, and decided he didn’t care a damn if it ruined the operation.

He gestured at Alvarez to cover him, hefting the familiar weight of his gun in his grip. The back alleys in this part of Gotham were a maze of short cuts and dead ends, all but impenetrable to outsiders, and Harvey was glad for once of a childhood spent being dirt poor, with nothing better to do than wander for entertainment.

It seemed to take forever regardless, each moment an eternity of torture, and then his blood was running cold in his veins at the sight of Jim on his knees, a knife pressed against the column of his throat.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jim said, sounding calmer than he could possibly be feeling, and Harvey quickly calculated his chances. Gave the guy half a second longer than he normally would have, on account of Jim’s sensibilities, and then put a bullet through his skull, heart hammering as blood and tissue spattered Jim’s pale features.

He shot him again when he hit the floor, and again for good measure, and Jim looked up at him in horror.

“I could have talked him down.”

There were footsteps sounding behind them, the heavy tread of GCPD issue boots and lace ups, and Harvey reholstered his gun with shaking hands.

“You said you respected me for caring more about a rent boy than myself. You had it all wrong. I cared more about you than myself. That’s never going to change, Jim.”

The clean up dragged. The paperwork and the debriefings. The reports for Internal Affairs, and the statements for the media. By the time he finally left the precinct he was exhausted.

Shaken up, still, by the image of Jim with a murderer’s knife to his throat, and it was only through force of will that he drove to his apartment instead of stopping off to see how Jim was doing.

Jim was angry at him, at the confessions he couldn’t keep to himself probably, and Harvey knew it would break him if Jim took it out on him right now.

Except Jim was already waiting for him, sat with back against the door to his apartment. He had showered, shaved, and after the last few days it was a big enough difference to put Harvey in mind of the young man he had so wanted to be a white knight for.

“Why didn’t you wait inside?” Harvey asked, “I gave you a key months ago.”

“I didn’t want to presume. I wasn’t sure it meant what I hoped it did.”

Harvey was too tired, too confused, and then he noticed for the first time that Jim had a holdall with him. That all his nervous tics were on full display, a cut on his hand reopened and bleeding.

“Come on,” he urged simply, “I need my sofa.”

He offered Jim a drink once they were inside. Settled for a swig from the bottle for himself, and struggled to make sense of what was happening. What Jim was doing in his apartment at gone two in the morning, fidgeting with the frayed cuff of the shirt he had been wearing the very first time he met him.

“You’re not the first person I’d kill for,” Jim said just as he was going to suggest they get some sleep. Harvey felt his stomach clench at the revelation. Of course he wasn’t, Jim was a police officer. Had served in the military. It hurt anyway, because of where it was inevitably leading.

Jim ran a hand through his hair. Got up from the chair he was occupying and moved to sit next to him, one hand laying across Harvey’s forearm, the heat soaking through the fabric of his shirt sleeve.

“You’re the first person I’ve lived for. I want to impress you. I want you to want me.”

“You know I do,” Harvey said quietly, mind reeling with the unexpectedness of it. “From the very first moment I saw you there’s nobody I’ve wanted more.”

“Why?” Jim pushed. “I’m a mess. A hypocrite. I’ve got nothing to offer you.”

“You’re human,” Harvey countered, knowing that it was too late to try for self-preservation. “You try not to be. You believe that things can change. You believed in me.”

Jim looked dubious, less than convinced, and Harvey finished softly,

“I love you.”

“Would you love me if I had been working the streets? If I was like one of those guys on the slab, lost and hopeless?”

“Yes,” Harvey said without hesitation and the impact was immediate. Jim shook with the release of tension, looked relieved beyond measure, and Harvey reached for him before he could think better of it. Found himself with an armful of Jim Gordon and gave voice to his own worries, “You can do better than me, Jim. So much better.”

‘You’re disgusting,’ rang in his head even now, even after everything they had been through together, and Harvey wished he was strong enough to do the right thing and to leave Jim free to find somebody who truly deserved him.

Jim kissed him, tasting of toothpaste rather than whiskey, hands holding his head in place.

“You can do better than me,” Jim echoed, tone leaving no room for argument, “but when it comes to you I’m selfish. I’m never going to be perfect.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be,” Harvey breathed, overwhelmed by the situation. By how closely Jim was pressed against him, and the way his thumbs were stroking along his cheekbones.

“Can I stay then?” Jim asked, those big blue eyes looking up at him beseechingly so that all Harvey could do was nod wordlessly and hope that Jim understood what he meant by it.

Jim could stay as long as he wanted, and Harvey hoped that was going to be forever.

Chapter Text

“I bet this takes you back, doesn’t it?”

Jim gestured at the little wooden desk and grinned widely when Harvey’s response was to give him the finger. They were at Gotham Museum for the opening of the Deputy Commissioner’s ‘Policing and the Community’ exhibition, and Jim couldn’t help but rile Harvey up when faced with a display of Victorian education.

“You ought to be careful,” Harvey warned, the smirk on his face betraying his real feelings, “you’re not too old for me to tan your hide.”

“You’d have to catch me first,” Jim countered, enjoying the banter even as he fixed the old school cane with a wary eye.

Harvey snorted. “I bet you never even had a detention, did you? Jim Gordon, the model student.”

Jim’s smile faltered, just for a moment, and he hoped Harvey hadn’t seen it. He was a grown man - a police officer and a war veteran. He had done things his younger self could never have imagined, from serving time in prison to witnessing a corpse come back to life.

It was ridiculous to be hung up over things which happened in middle school.

“I bet you were never out of detention,” Jim said as cover, “you probably had your own designated seat with its own ass groove and everything.”

Harvey jostled his shoulder, good naturedly, and Jim wondered not for the first time what Harvey was like back in high school. Jim had been a goody two shoes. Did his homework, ran track, and ended up Class President three years running, validating his mother’s decision to get them the hell away from Gotham.

He couldn’t imagine Harvey doing any of that. Harvey would have been cutting class and smoking behind the bleachers. Lounging around the hallways and sporting some disastrously bad 1980s haircut.

“The problem,” Harvey told him, tone turning confessional, “was that all the teachers had it in for me. Five minutes late, detention. Falling asleep in class, detention. Not wearing your blazer, detention. I’m telling you -”

Jim cut him off, “Wait, blazer?”

That had never featured in his imaginings.

“I keep trying to tell you, Jim,” Harvey said, with just the barest hint of embarrassment, “I’m a good Catholic boy. St. Bede’s, Class of ‘85.”

He stood up straighter then, ready for the Deputy Commissioner’s approach, and Jim just concentrated on schooling his features into polite neutrality.

Somewhere out there was photographic evidence, and he was going to make it his mission to find it.

The opportunity came sooner than he expected, when a potential witness in a case he was working turned out to be a physics teacher.

“I really can’t help you,” she told him testily as she moved around the room, setting things up for the next lesson, and Alvarez gave him an indifferent shrug from behind her back, code for ‘what were you expecting?’

Jim sighed and handed over his card. Spied a wall of framed class photographs on the way out, and lingered shamelessly, taking advantage of the way Alvarez was flirting with the pretty young secretary who had been tasked with accompanying them around the building.

He scanned the rows of acne ridden faces. The brace filled smiles and the copious amounts of styling mousse and hairspray. He felt his own face break into a smile when he caught sight of Harvey, all long red hair and slouching posture. Button badges pinned all over his blazer and tie knotted skinny side out, no doubt just to annoy whoever had been in charge of herding them together for the photograph.

“What are you so pleased about?” Alvarez asked, suspicious, when Jim caught him up and Jim only shrugged, the dumb smile refusing to dissipate.

“Nothing.”

He told Harvey about it later, teasing, and the older man raised an eyebrow and asked pointedly,

“What is this obsession with my school uniform? Are you trying to tell me about some kink you’ve been hiding?”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Jim admonished, shifting in close enough on the sofa to steal a few chips from the bag Harvey was set on demolishing. “It’s just weird, you know, thinking of you in uniform.”

“I was in blues for 12 years.”

“It’s weird to think of that too,” Jim offered, pensive. “You were born to be a detective.”

“So you don’t want me to dig out my patrol uniform for you?”

Jim sucked his fingers clean of crumbs and gave it his best innocently seductive look.

“When was the last time you wore it? You might not get it on.”

“You cheeky -” Harvey started, moving quicker than Jim would have given him credit for and pinning him down to the sofa. Tickled his fingers along his ribs, merciless, until they were both flushed and panting. Until Jim had to distract him from another round of torture by writhing up against him, and doing his best to kiss him senseless.

It ended with half their clothing strewn around them, his legs hooked around the backs of Harvey’s thighs, Harvey’s lips sucking a brand into his neck as his hips snapped forward. It was so good, it was always so good, and Jim couldn’t help the frantic noises he was making. Couldn’t quit the shameless way he was squirming, and Harvey groaned helplessly at the sensation.

Pushed himself up enough to kiss him, hot and slick and wanting, and hitched his legs up higher. Thrust into him deeper, harder, and Jim cried his name when he came, completely lost in the moment.

“Oh God, I love you,” Harvey moaned into his ear, his own rhythm devolving into desperate movement, and Jim echoed the sentiment, encouraging. Shivered, happy, when Harvey collapsed atop him, his weight warm and comforting.

“Are you falling asleep?” Jim queried after a long moment, Harvey making no attempt to sit up or move over any.

“Mmm,” Harvey managed, his beard scratching against Jim’s collar bone as he moved to lay his cheek flat, Jim’s heart clenching up with the display of open trust, “I’m just resting my eyes a minute.”

Jim was still towelling his hair dry when there was a knock at the door of Harvey’s apartment. He picked up the pace, fearing some new call out, rifling through Harvey’s closet for one of the shirts he kept there.

It wasn’t Tuttle’s dulcet tones that filtered in from the living room though, or Alvarez’ impatient complaining. Instead it was a woman Harvey was inviting in, two women even, and Jim peered through the crack between the door and the frame, flushing a little at the sight of Harvey gathering their discarded clothes together.

At the way Harvey fussed about unfolding the throw for the sofa, and Jim really hoped he wasn’t going to have to meet some of Harvey’s relatives while he was still coming down from the high of being screwed across the sofa they were sitting on.

“You’re still an unrepentant slob, I see,” the older woman said, choosing to sit in one of the armchairs as though she were all too aware of Harvey’s habits, “you never could tell the difference between the floor and the laundry hamper.”

“You gave up your right to nag me about it,” Harvey whined, clearing the junk mail and varied detritus from the other chair, “I’ve got it in writing somewhere.”

Jim smoothed his shirt down. Combed his fingers through his hair and readied himself to go make his introductions. But then Harvey pushed the door open a little, dumped the laundry and the junk to the bedroom floor and gave him a quick apologetic look before pulling the door firmly closed, the message clear.

Your company is surplus to requirements.

Jim sank to sit on the edge of the bed, feeling hurt and confused. They had been partners for years, friends for almost just as long. Had been dating, or whatever label he was supposed to give it, for four months and Jim had assumed they were past the stage where they kept secrets from each other.

Where they acted as though they were nothing more than work colleagues to the people who mattered to them.

He was put out enough that he moved back to the door, his view mostly obscured but the ill fitting frame affording him a glimpse into the room beyond. Recognition buzzed through him, because the other woman had chosen to sit in the far chair, where he could see her face, and he placed her immediately as the teacher he and Alvarez had gone to St. Bede’s to interview.

“It’s Andrew,” the woman he couldn’t see was saying, and she sounded tired.

“It’s always Andrew,” Neave Graham, the teacher, sniffed.

“What do you want me to do about him?” Harvey asked, nowhere near as sarcastic as Jim had been expecting.

“Talk to him. Try to get through to him. You were always his favorite, Harvey.”

Harvey sighed, and slipped into his professional facilitating voice, “I’ll try but I’m not promising anything.”

“And you were too embarrassed to tell them you’ve been fucking a guy. I know, you said already.”

It was lunchtime the following day, and Jim wasn’t through being hard done by. Didn’t know how to deal with frustration thrumming beneath his skin every time he thought about Harvey’s lacklustre explanation last night, the one he gave before Jim spited himself by going home to his apartment and tossing and turning for hours, unable to sleep without Harvey beside him.

“That is not what I said, Jim,” Harvey protested, sounding genuinely hurt by Jim’s attitude. “I just thought it would be awkward for you, that’s all. Me and Deb, we didn’t part on the best of terms, you know that.”

Jim did know, that was the worst of it. Harvey had never kept it from him, had divulged all his personal history, even when Jim refused to reciprocate beyond the vaguest outline of his family dynamics. He knew all about Harvey’s attempt at marriage, the good times, the bad, and how afraid Harvey was that what they had would fall apart in the same way that had.

His pettiness wasn’t helping the cause, that much was obvious, but Jim couldn’t help himself. He was appalled at the way he was behaving, ashamed of how childish he was being, but he pushed further all the same, not even sure what he was hoping to achieve with it.

Proof that Harvey would put up with it, maybe. Some twisted determination to find Harvey’s breaking point - to force an argument and give himself an excuse to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“Why was that, did you cheat on her?”

The words surprised him even as they left his lips, and Harvey looked just as startled at hearing the question as he was to have asked it.

“Jim,” Harvey breathed, one hand curling around the back of his neck, the other cradling the side of his face, gazing at him so intently Jim felt his heart race in his chest. His skin was tingling, his throat aching with the sudden surge of emotion. “You’ve nothing to be jealous of, I promise.”

“I’m not,” Jim stammered, in lieu of ‘I’m sorry’, and Harvey only kissed him softly, right there on the park bench where anybody might be watching, then pulled back and smiled at him bashfully.

“Don’t spoil it now, I always wanted somebody who was willing to fight over me.”

Jim felt his cheeks flame, the back of his neck burning, but Harvey wrapped an arm around his shoulders and carried on happily,

“Can I suggest a wet t-shirt? Maybe a vat of strawberry jello?”

“You’re an idiot,” Jim grumbled, even as his mood improved rapidly. Trust Harvey to work the real problem out of him, then sweep it away as though it had never mattered in the first place.

Harvey pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“It takes one to know one, buddy.”

Jim dragged his feet at the end of the shift, changing into a clean shirt and deliberating the best way forward. Harvey simply slammed and banged through his own locker, battling the sticky lock he still hadn’t bothered to get fixed, then laid a soothing hand on his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to be there. Quit over thinking it.”

“How do you do that?” Jim asked, rather than tackle any of the serious issues, “Have you taken up mind reading as well as procrastination?”

“The two dovetail nicely,” Harvey agreed, playing along. “I couldn’t get anything else done after a stint in your mind. It’s too filthy.”

“You wish.”

Harvey just brushed a kiss to the back of his neck then stepped away to let him finish getting ready.

“You know I do.”

With that they made for the car park and Jim did his best not to fidget, or let on that he was nervous. He didn’t think Harvey would have invited him to this if he hadn’t kicked up such a fuss over his ex-wife’s visit, and Jim couldn’t imagine what he would have to say to a guy his own age who knew Harvey as his former step-dad.

“It’s hard,” Harvey had confessed once, over more beer than usual, when the conversation turned to failed relationships, “because you grow to love the kids, you think they’re going to be a part of your life forever, and then it’s over with their Mom and you’re less than nothing to them. You’re some sort of weirdo if you even want to keep a photograph of them.”

Jim wondered if any of his Mom’s boyfriends had ever felt that way about him, but somehow doubted it. He hadn’t been an easy kid to get along with.

But then neither had Andrew, by all accounts, and Jim thought of another late night of traded confessions. Harvey had told him that he felt responsible, sometimes, for the prison sentences the guy had served, and the bumpy path his life had taken. As though greater stability would have been all it took to turn everything around. As if his Mom marrying a beat cop had been the entire impetus for petty criminality in the first place.

“He’s a good kid really,” Harvey said in the present, and Jim bit his tongue rather than remind Harvey that he and Andrew were the exact same age. He didn’t really want Harvey dwelling on the implications of their age difference, especially not when he knew Andrew’s Mom had been a good 8 years older than Harvey, at least.

He wasn’t completely intent on self-sabotage.

Except when they walked into the bar Jim wished he had said something. Wished he had followed his initial instincts and found something else to occupy his evening.

“Jimmy Gordon!” Andrew exclaimed before Harvey could make the introduction, “My God, it’s been, what, 20 years?”

Jim swiped his suddenly sweaty palm against his pants leg, then forced a grimace of a smile onto his face as the other man shook his hand with a grip that ground the bones of his hand together.

“About that,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t long enough.

“So you and Andrew were at school together?” Harvey questioned carefully later that night, Jim realizing with a start that he was chewing at his fingernails, something he hadn’t done since he was a teenager.

“Yeah.”

He couldn’t say more, couldn’t get the words out even if he knew which ones he wanted, and Harvey seemed to understand. Dropped the subject and let him be silent and unresponsive, choosing simply to spoon up close behind him and hold him tight.

Jim pretended to be asleep. Tried to relax into Harvey’s embrace but it was useless, pointless, and when he finally did give in to exhaustion it was to wake a couple of hours later, shaking and sweat sodden, his heart pounding with memories of running, and his ears ringing with the pounding of artillery shells.

“Andrew Callahan,” Jim announced when he arrived at the precinct, nothing but the dark smudges under his eyes to show for the nightmare.

“Was your prom date?” Alvarez mocked, “You’re going to have to give me more than that, Jimbo.”

Jim glared, at the nickname and at the insinuation, and slapped the case files he had requested down onto Alvarez’ desk.

“He knew the victim, works around the block from the shooting. That teacher, the one we both agreed was holding out on us, she’s his sister. Family members always cover for each other, always. It all fits.”

Alvarez flipped through the file, shaking his head.

“Petty theft, disorderly conduct, low level possession. It’s a hell of a jump from that to homicide.”

“He’s served time,” Jim insisted, neglecting to mention that it was for car theft not battery, “he’s capable of it.”

Alvarez looked less than convinced. Sighed anyway and said, “Fine, I’ll speak to the Captain when he gets in.”

“No!” Jim raked a hand through his hair, casting an anxious glance in the direction of Harvey’s empty office. “I mean, I’ll do it. It’s my idea, it’s only fair I take the heat if it turns out to be nothing.”

“Okay,” Alvarez said slowly, frowning at him, and Jim couldn’t keep still. Bumped his foot back and fore as he tried to sit at his desk and focus on some paperwork, and only noticed when he smeared blood across a covering form that he had been nervously biting at the skin around his thumbnail.

He had to do something, had to make progress, and finding that Alvarez was out following up a lead of his own, Jim gathered his essentials together and determined to go and dig up some dirt on Callahan.

It wasn’t as easy as he had envisioned. The guy’s neighbors all claimed he was a decent guy, if prone to letting his dog bark and playing his music too loud. His boss already knew about his criminal record and didn’t appear bothered by it, asking him sardonically what difference it made to his ability to pack boxes and answer phone calls.

Jim kept at it. Spent the rest of the week devoting himself to it, the frustration growing and growing as he hit dead end after dead end. He finally managed to get hold of Andrew’s estranged girlfriend, his throat prickling at the sight of her obvious baby bump, and he did his best to convince her she ought to stay as far away from his as she could, all while telling him everything she knew about his shady dealings.

“What has he done?” She demanded, giving him nothing, and maybe he implied too heavily. Maybe he outright told her. Either way there was a pounding on the door of his apartment that night which Jim ignored stubbornly. At least until the key sounded in the lock, and Harvey crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing up the paperwork and the take out littering his usually immaculate surfaces.

“Jim, you better have a good explanation or I swear to God I will kick your ass.”

In truth Jim had nothing. Just felt ill, like his skin was crawling, and Harvey caught hold of his hand before he could scratch at his arm again, gently examining the mess it was in.

“I’m not actually a mind reader,” Harvey said then, moving slowly to pull him into a hug, as though he expected him to startle otherwise, “If you don’t tell me what’s going on up there, I can’t help you.”

Jim rested his forehead against Harvey’s shoulder for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of the man and regretting the last few nights he had spent at his own apartment.

“He just,” Jim said shakily, struggling for composure. “I know he did it.”

To his credit, Harvey listened to his evidence. Stayed silent as he went through his case notes, and the scene of crime photos.

Then he took the pile of papers from Jim’s hands and said calmly,

“He’s got an alibi, it checks out. You need to stop this now.”

Jim sat. More fell, really, and suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Looked around at the state of his apartment, at the rumpled state of his clothing, and scrubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin.

“His Mom said she wanted you to talk to him. That there was something wrong.”

He was nothing if not stubborn.

Harvey gave up on his attempt to tidy the pile of paperwork, dumping it down onto his coffee table.

“Christie’s having a baby. She wants Andrew to grow up and make things right between them before her grandchild’s old enough to call some other broad Grandma.”

Jim nodded, sharp and stilted. Of course, that made sense. Much more sense than the kid who had made years of his life a living hell growing up to become a murderer. That was how it worked on TV and in the movies.

In real life the bad guys won, because Andy Callahan had a job and a dog and was about to be a father. He had a family who loved him, and friends who didn’t believe for a moment that he was capable of killing someone. He was well liked, well adjusted, and he had shaken Jim’s hand as though they were old friends, not a middle school bully and the kid who had been terrified of him.

“I think I need to lie down,” he said, not making eye contact as a pay off for keeping his voice steady. “I’ll see you tomorrow maybe.”

He didn’t look back to check if Harvey was leaving. He just toed off his shoes and crawled under his bed covers, curling in on himself the way he used to when he got home from school to find his mother was at work and Roger was out at football practice.

Sobbed just the way he had used to then too, helpless and painful.

He was a mess, had been forced out of the military and only still had his job because Harvey was so willing to make excuses for him. He had no friends and the only family he had left hated him. Roger had written him a letter after he was convicted of Pinkney’s murder, claiming that he was dead to him, and though Jim had tried since it was overturned, all his letters came back marked ‘return to sender’.

The only person able to put up with him was Harvey, and he had fucked that up too because everyone had their limits. Barbara had hit hers, as had Lee, and he had only kept pushing and pushing until they cracked completely.

He owed Harvey more than that.

The least he could do was stay away from him.

Things didn’t look so bad on Monday morning. It helped that he had slept, and eaten, and stuck plasters around his bloodied fingers, to make it more difficult for him to slide irredeemably into old habits.

Harvey had rung him, text him, been around to bang on his door again, but Jim hadn’t answered. Had kept the chain locks on and braced a chair against the door for good measure.

He hadn’t been ready to deal with it.

“Thank God,” was how Harvey greeted him when he arrived at the precinct, looking like he hadn’t slept the entire weekend. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

Jim ducked his head, awkward, and Harvey pulled him into his office for some modicum of privacy.

“I knew I should have stayed. I’m sorry I didn’t, I just -” Harvey trailed off, gaze raking over his face as though he could hardly believe it was in front of him. “I thought you wanted some space, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there.”

“It’s okay.”

It was. It was his own fault for acting like such an idiot. For letting stuff that happened a lifetime ago get him so worked up and behaving every bit as crazy as the other kids used to accuse him of being.

Harvey wanted to say more, that was clear, but Tuttle was rapping at the door and Jim had never been so happy to see the other man. He spent the bulk of the day at his desk, catching up on all the paperwork he had neglected while indulging in his one man crusade against Andrew Callahan. He followed up a few leads after lunch, and was just about to call it a day when the desk sergeant called him over to say he had a visitor.

Jim swallowed, hoping that his stride hadn’t broken, and held his hand out.

“Harvey’s in a meeting at the moment, but he’ll be done in fifteen or so.”

“It’s you I wanted to see,” Andrew admitted, and they ended up in a diner down the street, Jim spooning too much sugar into his coffee, the way he would have drank it when he was a kid.

He sipped at it numbly, trying for calm and cool and professional, and Andrew sighed in a way that reminded Jim a little of Harvey.

“Look, I don’t blame you for thinking the worst of me. I never gave you any reason not to.”

Jim shrugged. Reminded himself how very long ago it was and how very little it mattered, in the grand scheme of things. Andrew went on,

“I should have said something that first night, in the bar. I didn’t want Harvey to know what a bastard I’d been to you. I didn’t want him to think less of me.”

He could understand that, at least. He went out of his way to try and impress Harvey, even when he knew it was stupid and more to do with his own vanity. Harvey made him want to be worthy of the praise he invariably heaped upon him.

“It was a long time ago,” he managed finally. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

The vehemence in the other man’s tone surprised Jim, and he stared at him over his coffee cup.

“I heard you tried, you know. I’m sorry - I was sorry then and I’m sorry now. If I could do it over…” He trailed off and shook his head. “I just want you to know that I’m sorry, Jim.”

Jim blinked at the hand being held out to him. Hesitated a long moment and then took it, shaking firmly. They nodded at each other, once, and then he was alone at the table with his over sweetened coffee, wondering if this meant he was truly an adult now.

It was already dark when he let himself into Harvey’s apartment, and the smile Harvey gave him was enough to convince him he had made the right decision.

Harvey fussed over him. Got him a drink and offered him food, and there was a joke on the tip of Jim’s tongue about absence making the heart grow fonder. Then Harvey was looking at him cautiously, obviously trying to choose his words carefully,

“Andrew rang me. He said he’d been to see you.”

“I’m sorry about the case,” Jim pre-empted, relieved that Alvarez had made an arrest that afternoon and its closure was imminent so they could start to move on from it. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Harvey bit at his lip. Reached for his beer bottle and took a long pull before speaking again.

“I met your mother, you know. I never made the connection before today. She looked a damn sight more murderous than she does in your photos.”

Jim frowned, lost at the fork in the conversation, and Harvey elaborated,

“You were still in the ICU, they didn’t know if you would pull through or not, and she told me that your death would be on my conscience. That kids only behaved the way they were brought up to.”

That sounded like his Mom; everything they did reflected on her, on their father’s memory, and why wouldn't they think of that?

“She was scared of losing you,” Harvey said with conviction, apparently reading his expression as easily as ever. “She couldn’t understand how she hadn’t seen how desperately unhappy you were.”

Jim pinched at the bridge of his nose. Covered his burning eyes with a hand and winced at the memories of that afternoon. Of his ruined schoolbooks and the bruises that were already forming. The laughter ringing in his ears and the certain knowledge that he had years more of it ahead of him.

Of waking up to the starched white of the hospital and his mother’s tear stained face as she begged him over and over again to tell her why he had been so stupid.

“We don’t gotta talk about it if you don’t want to,” Harvey said, the sound of his voice grounding him back in the here and now. Jim opened his eyes and simply gazed at him, mentally cataloging the arch of his brow and the sweep of his eyelashes. The fullness of his lower lip and the kindness in his eyes.

“I hadn’t thought about it in a long time,” he said eventually, slowly, as though he had to dredge the words up from deep inside himself, “I didn’t expect it to hurt as much as it did, being reminded. The last few days it felt like I was back there, like I was living it all over again.”

Harvey shifted closer, reaching for him tentatively then hauling him against his side when Jim proved willing.

“You’re no good at dealing with how you feel now,” Harvey said fondly, “God only knows how bad you were at it then.”

“I barely spoke a word for six months after my father’s death. That’s why everyone said I was crazy.”

It was the first time he had willingly told anyone that, but Harvey didn’t visibly react at all. Just kept his arms around him and kissed his temple tenderly.

“You were a kid, Jim. You were all just kids.”

He clung to Harvey in turn, the simple acceptance doing more than all the years of repression.

“I guess this really means you’re not into school uniform then,” Harvey said finally, the curve of a smile against his ear, and Jim laughed helplessly, the tension draining out of him.

“Do you ever think of anything other than food or sex?”

Harvey nipped at his ear, still cradling him close.

“Have you met me?”

“You signing up for this?” Alvarez quizzed, gesturing at the flyers that had been left on everyone’s desks that morning.

“Might do,” Jim said non-committally, aware enough of his own reputation not to let on that he had been the one to put them there. “It’s a good cause.”

“You and your causes,” Alvarez muttered, dismissive, but Jim spied him later adding his name to the sign-up sheet. Was pleased to see others following suit, and Harvey congratulated them on showing concern for something other than the ETA on the repair of the vending machine during his afternoon debriefing.

Jim loitered after everyone else had returned to their desks, or some task or other. Handed over the last candy bar from the news-stand on the corner like it was illicit contraband, and Harvey kissed his cheek in thanks before attacking the wrapper.

“I knew there was a reason I love you.”

 “I thought it was my good looks and charm.”

“It’s not your work ethic,” Harvey countered, glancing at the clock on the wall.

“You’re not funny.”

Everyone knew what a stickler he was for time keeping and by the book policing.

“The Deputy Commissioner’s pleased,” Harvey said around a mouthful of chocolate, “she reckons your schools and bullying initiative is going to be an even better PR coup than her Policing and Community exhibition. High praise, that is, coming from her Ladyship.”

“You’re just pissed she won’t sign off on that new vending machine.”

“She’s all big pictures and blue sky thinking,” Harvey snarked, “She’s forgotten how much of pain in the ass the boots on the ground actually are. Seriously though,” he abandoned the candy for now, giving a cursory glance out of the office window before kissing him, “I’m very proud of you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Jim chided, though the tips of his ears were heating up already.

“We’ll see,” Harvey said easily, returning to his chocolate and coffee, and Jim went back to his desk with a stupid grin on his face.

He had no doubt they would.

Chapter Text

Harvey wanted Jim to be happy. Lived to try and make that goal a little more achievable. He was there for Jim when he was upset, and he had his back when he was in trouble. He heaped on the praise when Jim was feeling insecure, and wouldn’t stand to hear a word said against him, no matter how much Jim might deserve it.

The problem, he supposed, was that he was selfish. He wanted to be happy too. He wanted to be the one to make Jim happy and though he tried to hide it, did his best to wish them well, every second he was forced to spend watching Jim and Lee together felt like torture.

Like his heart was breaking.

“Nobody’s ever made me feel the way she does,” Jim confessed one night, the two of them drinking beer at Jim’s apartment, and Harvey swallowed around the painful lump in his throat. Stared unseeingly at the television and wondered how long it would be before he was no longer welcome.

Jim would want to move back in with her soon, if they hadn’t talked about it already, and Harvey would be back to drinking with strangers in dive bars or sitting by himself in his miserable apartment. Playing the same sad songs over and over again and wishing he could have just one night to show Jim what he meant to him.

It would never happen though. Jim wasn’t interested, couldn’t be less interested, and Harvey told himself he was content with the way things were.

He would be best man at Jim’s wedding, perhaps, and maybe even godfather to his children. He would be invited to holiday meals, and family barbecues, and Lee would smile at him with pity in her eyes because she had always known what Jim didn’t want to see.

That was what he was thinking about when Jim rapped on his office door with breathless excitement. Showed him the ring he had chosen and Harvey scarcely recognized the sound of his own voice when he managed,

“Congratulations, Jim. Really. I’m so happy for you.”

Jim beamed, slipped the box back into his jacket pocket, and Harvey wasn’t sure if the pain in his chest was the last of his hope shattering or the onset of a heart attack. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t keep still, and finally he left his desk to wander through the rain slick streets.

He ended up at a florists, the guy behind the counter looking at him expectantly, and Harvey ignored the aesthetically balanced bouquets on display in favor of asking for something as outrageously bright and colorful as the guy could manage. He took the result to his mother’s grave, and sat heavily on the sodden ground, not caring about the wet or the dirt or the curious looks the other mourners gave him.

“Sorry it’s been so long, Ma,” he whispered, scraping back the overgrowth, “I just don’t know who else to turn to.”

It was raining again, steady, and the water was dripping from the brim of his hat and down his shirt collar. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered, and suddenly he couldn’t help himself. He was sobbing, harsh and broken, because he would give Jim everything he had - mind, body, soul, all of it - and Jim had still chosen somebody who had tried to kill him.

Still preferred someone who had professed to hate him, again and again, until Jim had nearly cracked with it. Until he had been so hurt and so lost it was Harvey who had found him passed out on the floor of his living room, the stink of pills and drink and desolate despair in the air.

Harvey who had sat at his bedside and mopped his brow. Harvey who had held him close and promised that things would get better.

He didn’t know how long he spent there, helpless and pathetic, but when a hand touched his shoulder the sky was beginning to darken and he turned to find Jim’s concerned face in front of him. It was embarrassing, shameful, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t do anything but cling to Jim and sob into his shoulder, Jim starting out stiff and awkward before wrapping his arms about him, rubbing at his back until he finally regained control of himself.

They went back to Jim’s apartment, Jim digging out an oversized sweater and handing him a towel for his dripping hair. Changed into dry clothes himself and sat next to him on the sofa, asking softly,

“Was it the anniversary today?”

The question tore at him. Had him scrubbing a shaky hand across his face and reaching for the beer Jim had offered. He could almost still feel the comforting warmth of Jim’s embrace, was wrapped in the scent of his cologne and his laundry detergent, but he couldn’t find the words to tell Jim that he had been reduced to such a mess by nothing more than the thought of Jim asking Lee to marry him.

Instead he let Jim believe what he would, and Jim confessed that he had already done it. That Lee had refused to give him an answer, said that they ought to take things slowly, and so he had gone to the cemetery to seek some solace at his father’s graveside.

Harvey nodded, faintly disgusted by the relief that washed over him. The ugly anger that twisted in his gut, because Lee had just been offered everything he had ever wanted and rather than jump at it, welcome it, she was content to simply keep Jim dangling on a fish hook.

“Tell me about your Mom,” Jim said, no doubt wanting a distraction, and Harvey did. He had mentioned her to Jim before, in passing. Had told him a few stories, even, back when they had been stuck on long and boring stakeouts. Now he meandered from tale to tale, the timeline jumping all over the place, and Jim listened intently.

Laughed at her choice turns of phrase, and commiserated over the all of the harebrained plans of his she had vetoed. Smiled wistfully at him when he came to a pause and said,

“She was lucky to have someone who loved her so much.”

Harvey met Jim’s gaze, those big blue eyes he could so happily lose himself in, and willed Jim to make the connection. To understand how completely he worshipped him.

“It’s late,” was all Jim said, “you should stay here tonight. I’ll get you a blanket.”

He lay awake for a long time, curled up beneath a throw blanket from Jim’s own bed and hating the way he couldn’t quit wondering whether Lee had slept under it. Whether Jim had fucked her - made love to her - under it, and whether Jim was touching himself behind his bedroom door, wishing that it was her company he had this evening.

This was only a reprieve, he realized then. Lee hadn’t said yes this time, and maybe she wouldn’t next time. But the time after? She would be Mrs Gordon and he would be surplus to requirements. Some sad, lonely old man they included in their plans out of some misplaced sense of duty.

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t just sit by and watch it happen. He had to get out now before it was too late, and he didn’t have the power to.

He wrote up his letter of resignation the following morning. Stared at it for a long time before putting his signature to it, debating whether or not he was doing the right thing. Then he looked up to see Jim whispering something into Lee’s ear outside his office window, the way she giggled in response and the resulting smile it put on Jim’s face.

It was stamped, sealed and in the mail to the Commissioner before most of the department had even shaken off their hangovers.

He felt strangely free once it was done. Relieved, he supposed. He had served enough time, would get his full pension entitlement, and then he could - he didn’t know. He had never imagined he would live long enough to reach retirement.

Jim turned down his offer of drinks that night, told him he was taking Lee out to dinner, and Harvey went to one of the cheapest dive bars on his roster. Shook his head at the tacky décor of the week, shamrocks and tricolors, and thought about how his Mother had always wanted to make the trip back home, and how unfair it was that she got so sick before he had a chance of earning enough money to make it happen.

He could do it for her, he figured. Go see all the places she used to talk about, all the places that had still been deemed too dangerous for tourists the last time he had made the trip, crawling with armed police and checkpoints.

His favorite cousin, Kathleen, lived there and she was always inviting him to go and stay with her.

It didn’t take much to arrange, and that in itself was somehow strangely anti-climatic. His resignation was accepted without fuss, on the proviso he served out four weeks notice, and Kathleen was so eager she rang him without the slightest consideration for the fact it was four o’clock in the morning in Gotham.

He couldn’t get back to sleep afterwards. Looked around at his possessions, at everything he had to show for fifty years on the planet, and felt kind of sick with the realization that there was hardly a thing worth salvaging. He had thought of keeping his lease on, maybe renting a storage unit, but now it seemed pointless.

He would be taking his clothes and his photographs with him. The few things that held real sentimental value too. That left run down furniture and chipped crockery. Faded bedding and dog eared paperbacks. He could buy some equally shabby replacements when he returned.

If he returned.

Two weeks in he had boxed most of it up and donated anything that was decent to Goodwill. Left the bulk of it out front with the rest of the garbage, and asked Alvarez if he wanted anything from his record collection, remembering long ago conversations from when Jim was in prison and they were forced to partner.

“You downsizing or something?” Alvarez asked when he came around to look through it, “Because the only thing smaller than this dump is a cardboard box on the sidewalk.”

“People been telling me for years that I look like a bum, it’s only fitting.”

He was trying for banter, for levity, but Alvarez saw straight through him. Frowned and dug and generally detected, until Harvey dropped heavily into his creaky armchair and sighed.

“I’m calling it quits, okay? The new Captain’s starting a week Monday. I’m going to stay with family.”

Alvarez stayed silent a long moment, absorbing the news. “Does Gordon know?” he asked eventually, and the color that flamed along Harvey’s cheeks gave him the answer. “You’ve gotta tell him.”

They had never talked about it, he had never talked about it with anyone. At least not anyone living. But he guessed it was obvious. The desperate panic he couldn’t hide every time Jim was in danger, and the gormless grin he sported every time Jim smiled at him. The way he had been wandering around like the shadow of a man, half dead now all the hope had been kicked out of him.

“I will.”

The truth was that he had been trying. Had almost done it every day since he had made the decision. Had taken every opportunity he could to bask in Jim’s presence - at the precinct, at the greasy spoons and the bars in its vicinity, at Jim’s apartment and at his own, though Jim hadn’t even commented on the bare notice boards or the fact he had already thrown out all his glassware.

It never seemed to be the right moment. He could never seem to find the right words. Finally Alvarez forced his hand and made a big announcement on his last day with the department, ushering Marten over with a card and a watch and a bunch of flowers because, in his words, it was traditional.

Everyone on duty shook his hand. Clapped his back and wished him well, and Harvey laughed emotionally when he finally got the card open and saw all the names congratulating him on being the least crazy Captain they had ever worked for.

“We’re going to miss you,” Lee said and gave him a hug he tentatively returned, looking up to see Jim watching him with an unreadable expression.

Harvey tried calling for him, to speak to him, but he wasn’t quick enough and there was still no sign of him when he finished his final shift with the GCPD. He went to his Mother’s grave afterwards, to lay the flowers he had been given and to warn her that he might not be around for a while, then sat and finished the last of his whiskey, staring at his packed suitcases.

A pounding at the door roused him a couple of hours later, and he opened it to find Jim standing there, upset and angry.

“When were you planning on telling me? Why are you doing this?”

Harvey didn’t know what to say. Nothing he said was going to justify it.

“I’m old, Jim. Tired.”

“No,” Jim shook his head, pacing his sitting room now, vibrant and beautiful in contrast to the drab gray all around him. “You’re the best guy this city has. You can’t just turn your back on it.”

Harvey looked away but it was too late, he had already seen the real accusation on Jim’s face.

You can’t just turn your back on me.

Jim seemed to notice the suitcases for the first time then. Swallowed audibly and asked,

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to go and stay with my cousin.”

“Where?” Jim pushed, like he couldn’t help himself. Like he was afraid of what the answer was going to be.

It took Harvey two attempts to get his voice to work, his throat tight with emotion as he managed,

“Ireland.”

“Ireland,” Jim repeated dumbly, shock written all over his face. “That’s on the other side of the world, Harvey.”

“It won’t be forever,” Harvey assured, the words tumbling from his lips. “And you’re gonna be just fine without me. The new Captain they’re bringing in, she’s good, and you’ve got Lee. You don’t need me.”

“You’ll stay in touch?” Jim’s voice cracked and Harvey couldn’t bear it. Felt the tears burning even as Jim did his best to cover it, trying for light hearted and teasing and simply sounding plaintive, “Will you miss me?”

Harvey took a step closer, and then another. Brought one hand up to slide into the soft hair at the back of Jim’s head and pressed their foreheads together. Gazed deep into Jim’s eyes and attempted to tell Jim without words that no matter where he was in the world, he would always be there for him. He would be at the end of the phone, a moment’s away by email. If Jim said the word he would come to him in an instant.

His other hand came up to rest on Jim’s cheek, his thumb stroking across the arch of his cheekbone.

It was now or never.

“You have no idea how much. I love you, Jim.”

He kissed him then, a soft brush of lips that made his heart clench and his pulse race. It wasn’t challenging, wasn’t demanding, just a simple statement of fact. A confession that he should have made a long time ago.

Jim didn’t attempt to follow when he pulled away. He just stared at him for a long moment, no reaction either good or bad, and then he sucked in a shaky breath.

“Let me know when you get there, okay?”

In the movies he would have given up hope. Gone to board his flight resigned to getting over it and starting afresh, and Jim would have moved heaven and earth to get past airport security and beg him to stay.

To tell him that he loved him too, that he always had done.

Then they would have kissed to the soundtrack of some cheesy pop song while a crowd of extras watched on and cheered.

This was real life and he hoped and prayed until the very second the plane left the runway. He tried and failed to read some trashy novel he had picked up at the airport, then curled into the window and pretended to be asleep, hoping that the burly guy next to him wouldn’t pick up on the tears he couldn’t hold back.

It was finished, over.

He had to move on from Jim Gordon.

Kathleen was happy to see him at least, and for his part Harvey had never been so glad to see a welcoming face. A whole gaggle of welcoming faces, as it went, and it was hard to believe some of them were the same gap toothed little kids from his memories. Some of them had kids of their own now and Kathleen confided in him that it had been touch and go whether or not Gerald was going to make them all arrive wearing name tags.

He still couldn’t believe that Kathleen had married Gerald, not really. Not when she had been so outgoing and vivacious, and Gerald had been none of those things. The guy had made her happy though, obviously still adored her, and Harvey thought about that as he lay in their spare room wearing the sweater he had deliberately forgotten to return to Jim, wondering if he was ever going to find something similar.

The first couple of weeks passed in a blur, the strangeness of being surrounded by family for the first time in so long quickly giving way to comfort. It was nice, fun, and though he could see it grating in the long term, for the present he was more than content with the situation. Caught up on family history, and took the kids to the local parks. Reminisced with Kathleen and actually finished a book for the first time since he took on the role of acting Captain.

Sent a pretty picture postcard to Jim, emblazoned with ‘Wish You Were Here!’, and had all the breath knocked from his lungs one morning at breakfast, when Kathleen handed him a card Jim had sent in return.

It was a grimy looking cityscape of Gotham, the kind Harvey hadn’t even realized there was any call for, and on the back Jim had printed in his neat angular script:

Not as scenic but I still wish you were here instead of there.

Kathleen looked at him in concern, saw the color drain from his face and the shameful dampness that came to his eyes, and she touched his hand the moment they were alone. Promised that he could tell her anything, and for a moment he was a kid all over again, clinging to her in the aftermath of his Mother’s diagnosis.

“I thought it would be easier here,” he said slowly, “if I didn’t have to see him all the time. I still think about him though, every second of every God-damn day. Why can’t I just stop loving him?”

“Oh, Harvey,” she breathed, pulling him into a hug. Let him talk and talk and talk, about the first time he had seen Jim and the first time he had realized he was in love with him. About how desperate he had been when Jim was in Blackgate, and how it had almost killed him when he had found Jim not breathing and unresponsive.

How hard it had been to pretend, day in and day out, that the only reason he cared was because Jim was his partner, and how he had been driven half mad without anyone to talk to about it.

“You could have told me,” Kathleen admonished, gently, and he knew because it wasn’t 1985 any more. Nobody was going to hate him, and nobody was going to disown him, but the fear had been there all the same.

She read it in his face, had always been able to know what he was thinking, and told him with the kind of conviction she had once been infamous for, back in high school,

“We’re going to find you a guy so hot you won’t even remember the name Jim Gordon.”

He laughed, weak and watery, and thought that if anyone could, it would be Kathleen.

The fact that she didn’t wasn’t for want of trying, in spite of all his protests on the subject. She even dragged him to speed dating, once, flirting with a dozen guys while Gerald sat at the bar sipping a shandy and reading the newspaper.

“He knows it’s nothing,” she said when he queried it, then nudged his shoulder and added pointedly, “that’s the only way any relationship can work - open communication.”

Harvey thought of Jim and his problems with all types of communication, and tried to convince himself that he was better off out of it. He didn’t do a very good job at it, never did, and instead sent Jim postcards of every tourist attraction he visited. Every beach and every castle, along with cards featuring silly cartoons and some covered in Gaelic.

They were proof that he was thinking of Jim. That he was there if Jim wanted him.

That he was still head over heels in love with him.

After that first card Jim didn’t acknowledge them. Didn’t send any in return and, in the end, it was Alvarez who emailed him to say that Jim was on leave because his brother had been killed in a car crash. Harvey stayed up until the early hours of the morning, desperately trying to get through to Jim, and when he finally succeeded it was Lee who answered and told him that Jim would call him back when he got a chance.

Harvey lay back against his pillows and stared up at the ceiling, imagining he could still smell Jim’s cologne clinging to his sweater.

He had only ever been kidding himself.

There was no moving on from Jim Gordon.

“You don’t have to do this,” Gerald said.

“You won’t do yourself any favors,” Bridget, their eldest, warned.

“He has to learn that he can’t snap his fingers and have you come running,” Kathleen said finally, worry for him making her words harsh, and Harvey knew it was pointless trying to come up with any explanation other than the obvious.

He loved Jim, and Jim had asked for his help. It was that simple.

The letter had arrived almost six weeks after Roger’s death, Jim’s usual neat hand all over the place. The ink smudged in places like he had been in a rush. Like he had been crying, maybe, and Harvey wasn’t under any illusions. He knew Jim had been drunk when he had written it. Probably when he mailed it, too, but Harvey didn’t care.

Couldn’t stay where he was when Jim had reached out for him. When Jim had finally admitted that he missed him. That he was his best friend and that he didn’t know how to cope with the grief, with trying to be a father to Roger’s daughter, with Gotham, without his support to lean upon.

Instead he herded the kids around the shopping precinct and got them to advise him on what to buy a toddler who was missing her parents. Bought them all something too, and the older ones caught on immediately that he was about to disappear on them.

They made him badly spelt cards and clung tight to him his last night, eliciting promises that he wouldn’t forget about them even if he had another kid to be friends with. It got him emotional, was overwhelming, because it was so different to that final night in Gotham he hardly knew how to thank them for it.

“Don’t let him walk all over you,” Bridget advised when they went to wave him off at the airport.

“If he can’t see what’s he’s missing he doesn’t deserve it,” Kathleen told him, attempting to squeeze the breath from his lungs.

“Good luck,” Gerald said and held his hand out, but hugged him back when Harvey went for it in gratitude.

“Thanks, I’ll need it.”

The flight was long and uncomfortable, doubts over what he was doing sending his thoughts in circles. He hadn’t spoken to Jim about what he was planning, couldn’t bear to hear Jim try to talk him out of it. Perhaps Jim wouldn’t even want to see him. Perhaps he was still angry he had walked out on the GCPD and left them in the lurch.

Then he made it through Customs to find Jim stood there waiting for him.

He looked tired, dark smudges under his eyes and skin a little too pale. He was still the most beautiful sight Harvey had ever laid eyes on. More beautiful than in his memory even, and this time Jim all but lunged at him, arms coming up to wrap around his neck, the force of it knocking the hat from his head.

“How did you know?” He asked, clinging to Jim in turn, and after a few moments Jim pulled away, looking faintly embarrassed as he said,

“Your cousin, Gerald. He rang me to say which flight you were on.”

Harvey blinked at him in surprise, glad that he had made more effort with the man this time around. Kathleen really had known what she was doing when she said yes to his proposal.

He made to retrieve his hat then and spied the stroller for the first time. Crouched down to make his introductions to Jim’s niece, noting how her eyes were the exact same shade of blue as her uncle’s.

“She’s beautiful,” he said quietly when he pushed back to his feet. Forced himself not to get carried away and added, “I bet Lee adores her.”

Jim hadn’t said anything about her in his letter, and Harvey assumed that he had been trying to spare his feelings. It had touched him deeply, proving the deciding factor in his choice to return. So long as Jim didn’t rub in his face he could do it. So long as Jim remembered that he loved him just as much as she did, he could live with not being able to show it.

Lee’s been great,” Jim agreed, starting to lead the way out to the car park, “she came out with me for the funeral, and she helped me sort out the nursery.”

Harvey nodded, trying to read between the lines of whether this meant they were living together or not, and whether she had finally agreed to wear Jim’s ring on her finger. He wasn’t up to simply asking outright, and assumed he would find out all the details soon enough because when he admitted his vague plan to find a motel room, Jim told him firmly he would be staying with him for as long as he wanted to.

Jim had moved apartment in the time he had been away, to a building with security doors that worked and the graffiti in the elevator was conspicuous only by its absence. It was easier with two wages, he guessed, and braced himself to make small talk with Lee.

Except when Jim shut the door behind them, there was no sign of Lee’s presence. No ladies’ coats on the pegs, and no women’s shoes lined up in the hallway. No purse on the sideboard and no evidence of any additions to Jim’s collection of books and knick-knacks, at least not any that didn’t clearly belong to a one-year-old. What was there was every postcard he had sent to Jim, tacked up on the living room wall, a collage of every moment he had wished he was sharing with Jim. If nothing else, it meant that Jim hadn't been irritated to keep receiving them.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Jim said suddenly, “nothing’s been the same without you.”

Harvey settled on the sofa with the baby, glad for the refresher course he had been subject to, and for some reason Kathleen’s words came to mind, about relationships only working with open communication. It was an idiot move, he knew that. It would only set him up for a fresh bout of heartache.

“I missed you every day,” he said anyway, glancing up to see Jim’s smile falter, just for a moment.

“I thought we’d ring out for pizza.”

The smile was back in place, the pleasantly neutral tone, and Harvey did his utmost to play along.

If this was the way it had to be, he would have to live with it.

It was surprisingly easy in spite of it. He was so happy to be with Jim - to see him, to touch him. To bask in the glow of his smile and laugh at his stories, and to get to listen to Jim’s in turn. They ate and talked, and Jim put Babs to bed, Harvey knowing he shouldn’t but watching from the doorway all the same, his heart seizing up at the way Jim settled her down and kissed her forehead.

Jim pulled the door to carefully when he was done, and suddenly the mask was stripped bare and Jim looked so nervous it was all Harvey could do not to reach out for him.

“I’m sorry for sending that letter,” Jim started and it was like the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

He had got it all wrong. Jim regretted it. Jim didn’t want him there, had never wanted him to come back, and Harvey thought he might be sick before Jim even had chance to verbalize it.

“I’ve been such a coward,” was what Jim actually said, voice strained. “You told me how you felt and I did nothing. Lee and I, we broke things off, and I couldn’t pick up the phone to tell you.”

“It’s all right,” Harvey excused, just as eager as ever to wipe that look off Jim’s face. Somehow the news didn’t give him the satisfaction he had thought it would, not if it meant Jim had been left alone to face whatever horrors Gotham had been throwing at him. “You never owed me anything.”

“It’s not all right,” Jim countered, tone vicious but his hand gentle when he reached out and took one of Harvey’s in his own, the simple touch sending shock waves over him. “Can’t you see that? I didn’t even have the guts to explain myself to you, but I still wanted you to give up your chance to be happy for me.”

It was so much more than he had ever expected, even if it wasn’t everything he wanted. It had him sliding his free hand up into the soft hair at Jim’s nape, bringing their foreheads together the way he had the night he had left Gotham.

“I can be happy anywhere, Jim. It’s just easier the closer you are to me.”

Jim gazed into his eyes, brought his own hand up to rest his palm against Harvey’s cheek, thumb stroking tenderly.

“I missed you,” Jim whispered. “So much.”

Then Jim was kissing him, soft but insistent, and Harvey couldn’t be entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming as he cupped Jim’s face and kissed him back. Jim didn’t melt away though. Didn’t disappear into smoke and leave him alone and wanting. Instead he pressed in close and kissed him harder. Stroked his tongue into his mouth and only then broke away to give him a smile so stunning it made his knees weak.

“I didn’t understand what I felt for you,” Jim said. “Even when you left, I didn’t understand why it hurt so much. Why I thought about you every second of every day.”

Harvey’s heart was pounding, hope and disbelief warring with each other. Jim kept talking,

“Then Roger died and it made sense. The idea of you not being there, not even on the other side of the world, it terrifies me. I love you, Harvey.”

It was stupid, it was childish, but Harvey squeezed Jim so tight he lifted him off the floor. Turned them in a semi circle before putting him down again, grinning fit to split his face with happiness.

“You haven’t changed your mind then?” Jim asked, expression just as gleeful.

Harvey kissed him again, just because he could.

“Never.”

"So, what, are you gonna be a police wife now?”

“So, what, are you looking for a punch in the mouth now?”

Alvarez looked startled for a moment then broke into a grin.

“Fair enough. I say you deserve a medal for putting up with Gordon, especially now you’re not getting paid for it.”

“Maybe I’m getting paid in kind,” Harvey said, taking a swig of his drink and enjoying the way Alvarez started coughing and spluttering.

The guy just asked for it.

Jim put in an appearance then, still in the process of knotting his tie, and Harvey enjoyed that sight even better. Smirked, pleased with himself, at the memory of why Jim was running so late in the first place.

“Come on,” Alvarez whined, tapping at his wristwatch. “You know Dalton ain’t as understanding as your boyfriend was about timekeeping.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jim agreed dismissively, taking time out to kiss Babs’ cheek all the same, and then pressing one to Harvey’s own, taking advantage of the distracting thrill it sent through him to steal a piece of his toast and grab his coat from the peg by the door.

“I’m going to make you pay for that,” Harvey called, even as he narrowly avoided a fistful of Babs’ own half chewed breakfast.

Jim just gave him a cheeky parting smile, promising,

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Chapter Text

“You really think this is a good idea?”

“It’ll do them good. Some inter-departmental bonding.”

Tuttle glanced doubtfully through the slats of the window blinds, and Harvey did his best not to let on that he was sharing the sentiment.

Covered his misgivings by going to the door of his office and barking at Alvarez to get moving or he’d be tempted to pre-empt the night’s festivities, and book them all for disorderly conduct before they got started. Jim met his gaze sullenly, still blaming him for being forced into accepting the invitation, and Harvey gave him what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

Jim just turned away in favor of talking to Lucius, and the sight went some way to assuaging Harvey’s nerves. With two finicky do-gooders in their midst, even the usual suspects couldn’t get into too much trouble.

Surely.

Except Harvey had been on the last three of McKenna’s bachelor parties and none of them had been pretty. If anything they had only become more outrageous with each failed marriage behind them, and with Alvarez put in charge of organizing he didn’t even want to think about the coming levels of drunken stupidity.

“Janet went on one of them bachelorette parties a while back,” Tuttle was telling him when the desk sergeant dropped off another armful of paperwork, and Harvey wondered if this was what old age was going to be like, staying in and doing respectable things while he slowly died of boredom.

“Hmmm?” He managed, out of politeness, and then spat coffee all over a pile of requisition forms when Tuttle went on,

“I had to take her to the ER for a tetanus shot. She had a bite mark right -”

Harvey gave in to the coughing fit and tried to drown out the rest of the story.

He would never be able to look at Janet in the same way again.

Jim rang him almost the second his scheduled break started, club music blaring in the background, launching straight into a litany of complaints that rounded off with,

“I’ve shown my face, can I go home now?”

“No,” Harvey answered firmly, giving an equally firm kick to the vending machine that was intent on eating all his spare change. “This is about integration. Communication. Team building.” He bent down to retrieve a candy bar in triumph. “And I bet Alvarez you would last longer than midnight.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like anything.”

“I can think of a few things you like.”

Harvey shifted his cell to the other hand and determined not to let that tone of voice to get to him. Jim was entirely too good at wrapping him around his little finger.

“Look, why don’t you have a few drinks, try to enjoy yourself? Stick it out past twelve and I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Sound good?”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Jim sighed heavily.

“I hate you.”

Harvey grinned. “I love you too.”

The call came at quarter to twelve and Harvey was all ready with his pep talk when he realized it was Lucius’ number, not Jim’s. Panic washed over him and Harvey didn’t think he was being dramatic.

Jim had once been literally buried alive after being let out of his sight for longer than five minutes, he was entitled to a little overreaction every once in a while.

“It’s nothing like that,” Lucius reassured quickly, “it’s just that I think Jim would really appreciate it if you came to get him.”

Lucius made it sound like Jim was about 12-years-old and had had a falling out with the birthday boy, and when he pushed for more detail Lucius told him all he needed to know with,