James Gordon

@jamesgordonofgotham

The scene of the crime was grizzly, a complicated tableau of the violent tragedy of Gotham’s streets. Before anyone had even noticed his presence, an enthusiastic voice spoke up from behind the detective, “What has four fingers and a thumb but isn’t alive?”  Ed was already on the scene, crouched beside a dead body with a bright smile.

Jim: falls in and out of relationships without much effort on his part, has no clue how to keep it stable, wrecks all of them

Ed: has no clue how to enter a relationship, some how manages to have three, wrecks all of them

“Too much coffee can also effect the acidity of your stomach,” Ed pointed out, scribbling a few more notes before crunching on his last carrot stick.  

Ignore that hissing voice in the back of his head. The important thing was, for once, he had a lunch guest, and it seemed to be going well. A favor for a favor. Information gleaned. He wasn’t sure Jim understood how much this small act meant to him, but that didn’t matter.

“I think I know what will reduce that expulsion reaction next time. Is there any remaining discomfort?” A few quick notes were scribbled down, but Jim’s expression spoke volumes. “How many people could say they have bespoke antacids? Once I get the balance just right, anyway.”

He didn’t like feeling like a science experiment, but he had to admit it was nice not to be in gastrointestinal agony anymore. 

By the time Ed set the empty beaker down, he was suddenly at the ready with his notebook and pen, watching Jim’s face intently while he burped. “How do you feel? There might be one more big one…”

The look on Jim’s face went from mild discomfort to sudden suspicion. “Ed, why are you taking notes about this? I don’t think--” 

Sure enough, another, louder belch escaped him, and he barely had time to slap his hand to his mouth to muffle the noise. Jim was about to recover and tell Ed off... when he realized the pain his stomach was ... gone?

“So you think the letter would work?” Ed didn’t budge, still smiling in Full Friendly mode, clearly relishing in the comradery between them.  This was going well! They had eaten lunch together, which Jim had instigated, shared about personal issues, by all accounts- there was still that edge of doubt in the back of his mind, giving a deep sigh at his desperation. What’s a word that starts with P? Pity. Pathetic. Paltry. Puny.

He swallowed, clearing his throat as he took a polite step back to clean up his impromptu chemistry session. 

“Huh?” He was focused on the strange drink he still had yet to actually drink, and was distracted. “...Y-yeah sure. Women like that kind of thing.” His stomach lurched again and he finally decided to throw caution to the wind and down its contents. It tasted strange and had an even stranger consistency, but he managed to get it all down. 

Snapping out of his deep thoughts, Ed glanced up, snapping his fingers as he stood, “Greasy food. I know just the thing.” Humming thoughtfully under his breath, he suddenly swept about the lab, grabbing a glass beaker, purified water, practiced and measured white powders, milling about his equipment from ionic-this and magnetic-that, “I run into that from time to time, I feel like I’ve really perfected my particular formula, compared to any brand name,” He was beaming as he turned, offering out the glass and it’s hazy contents.  “It’s the least I can do.”

The relief he felt when he heard Ed say he had a “solution” abruptly disappeared when the solution started involving a chemistry set. “Ed... the generic pills are just fine, if you don’t have any, I’m sure I can go scrounge some from someone else...”

Ed straightened on his stool, chewing a carrot stick thoughtfully as he seemed to be assessing something carefully. “He’s obviously threatened and asserting his dominance because he knows.” He didn’t feel like he needed to explain who he meant, that seemed obvious, all things considered. He really felt he and the detective might be building a repor,  Ed had noticed that Jim was the only one who humored his riddles, and now outright standing up for him?  “I’ve left her gifts, with mixed results. I’ve been considering a letter. I’m not afraid of him.”

Jim had no idea who the hell this “he” Ed was referring to, but he figured the fewer details he knew about the man’s personal life, the better. “Probably. Sure.” 

Drat. He hadn’t taken the hint. Ed found himself with few opportunities for an information gathering session like this, assessing what useless crumbs Jim tossed his way before clearing his throat again, wetting his lips, flexing his shoulders, “What if… they’re never… hmm. How does one… possibly, er… adequately advertise one’s interest? When there’s multiple options for potential er- if, hypothetically, one were to want to get the attention of someone..?”

He held back a grimace as Ed pressed the subject, covering his discomfort with a bite from the burger. It gave him time to think of what he was going to say to this. 

Ed seemed pleased by Jim’s continuation of his anecdote, relaxing ever so slightly. Yes. Conversation was happening successfully. “How did you two meet?” He realized this could, potentially, be along the edge of inappropriately forward, delving into personal information, and added, a bit quietly. “My… ah… experiments regarding courtship have thus far been… inconclusive.”

“We met while I was still at the Academy. I think the only reason she wanted to date me was because I wasn’t like who her parents would have preferred her to have a relationship with.” Jim shrugged, dipping fries in ketchup now. “But we stuck it out.”

Ed finished his sandwich thoughtfully, clearly digesting Jim’s words as he chewed on a carrot, growing increasingly nervous by the silence as it grew once again.  Ed didn’t like silences between people. There were too many variables stewing, too much subtext to try to identify, to analyze. And so, he usually filled it with noise. “Did you know it’s not actually that healthy for rabbits to eat carrots? It’s sugar content is more akin to giving the animal a cupcake, and should only be a sometimes treat?”

The detective did respect him, it was an odd sort of sensation that he appreciated. He was still convinced it was pity that brought the man into his lab, though. Well, make the most of what you have, that was Nygma’s motto. 

“Your wife is very pretty,” He hedged as far as a fresh conversation starter, “I saw her come in the other day to talk to you.”

“Huh. I think I heard somewhere that the reason they had that cartoon rabbit eating carrots was because it was a parody of Clark Gable in some movie. And then it just sort of took off from there?” Jim wasn’t big on random trivia, but he remembered this from a time when he’d been ill and had taken in a lot of quiz shows to pass the time.

Again there was a moment of quiet bafflement while Ed quietly chewed, the 404 error shining in his eyes and furrowed brows. “I’m a creature of habit, but I’m not afraid of change.”

The silence fell back between them, awkwardly as they ate, Ed growing increasingly nervous the more casually comfortable the Detective seemed to be.  Finally, he shifted, giving a cough as he fumbled with a paper towel. “Most of the precinct finds me…. uh…” He tapped the counter top, his expression clearly wrestling with a variety of unpleasant descriptions he could insert into the end of that sentence. “Weird,” He settled for. “I think you’d be one of the very very few besides the Captain that appreciates what I do here.”

Jim honestly preferred silences sometimes. Small talk was something that got in the way or results, and he’d never been good at it. Certainly, he could be polite, but usually when he was working, it was better to just get to the facts before they could be lost. Funnily enough, Harvey was much better at “warming up” someone with a joke or a quip. 

“Considering the number of times that Harvey and I have come to you with the strangest and most obscure of evidence and you’ve pulled valid results from it, of course I’m appreciative. I’d be a fool not to be.” Jim sat up a little, fiddling with his coffee in his own awkward silence. “You’re not weird, Ed. You think differently, that’s all. So do I, compared to a lot of people here. I’ve lost count of the number of times that I’ve been told someone wants to smash my face into one of the men’s room locker because I don’t do things the way they do.”

“Take out Tuesdays, just like any other Joe!” The thermometer beeped and with a careful movement, he gently placed the sandwich on his paper plate and released the forceps, leaving little blonde scars on the squished bread. “There’s small fires in here often enough I disabled the smoke alarm. Would anyone notice if it did?” To that, Ed gave a laugh, carefully cutting the sandwich diagonally. “I had a panini maker, up until recently, but it had to be retired. See, the trick here is to make sure you get an even 135 degrees internally, and then crisp the outside without burning it.” He strategically refrained from explaining why it had to be retired, but they were about to eat. 

“What about you? I rarely see you getting creative with meal times.” As he cleaned up any lost drips and made sure the gas was turned off, he watched Jim carefully out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t have to eat in here just because you told them you would. Thank you for your assistance but…” He forced a nervous laugh. “I uh… I understand.”

‘Just like any other Joe’ was a bit of a stretch when it came to Ed, but Jim nodded in support of the statement. “My partner’s a takeout every meal kind of a guy, and I think I’m picking up the habit.” He watched as Ed worked, looking politely interested at the intricacies of this whole ordeal. “135. How about that.”

“Hmm? Oh, I usually eat in here.” The bread had begun to sizzle, and he carefully turned it again, keeping the flame dancing in circular motions, “This, though, is an experiment. Last night I pre-saturated the bread with butter.” A hand held ultra violet thermometer was held up in his free hand, and the sandwich was once again turned over before it could drip. “I also brought carrot sticks, if you would like to have any.” 

It was clear Ed wasn’t entirely sure what to do with lunch company, shifting awkwardly as he attempted to go about his usual business as though Jim wasn’t there.  He glanced to the door as a shadow crossed over the glass, but it was just someone passing by. 

Right. Conversation. “Did you know cheese is thought to be discovered 4,000 years ago by accident? Imagine being that first person to look at moldy, solidified milk and think, hmm, I’ll take a bite out of that! Personally, my constitution doesn’t like too much dairy in my diet, but a little once a week is fine if I counter balance with a large salad later…”

“But not always like this. You have takeout sometimes.” It wasn’t that Jim found Nygma’s at work eating habits that fascinating (besides what was currently going on), it was a policeman’s habit of noticing things. “Uh-huh. How were last night’s results?”

Ed continued to carefully turn his sandwich on the flame, expression still a cagey sort of bafflement. “I’m certain the caloric intake of that meal far exceeds your daily maximum.”

Ed stood, slightly baffled as Jim made himself comfortable, as though he couldn’t quite calculate what was happening. Detective Gordon was… actually eating lunch here? In his office? On the same counter top he would eat on? It hadn’t just been for show? Why? Was he trying to… no, he couldn’t fathom what Jim’s end game could possibly be. 

Still watching Gordon skeptically, Ed pulled up his own stool, paper bag, and the Bunsen burner.  “I like to think I’m plenty friendly,” He hedged, “Or try to be. Admittedly, my timing I suppose can be… off…” He clicked the flint thoughtfully to light the burner, before pulling out two pieces of bread and cheese, clamping them in a set of forceps to carefully toast it over the flame. “I didn’t realize I had been bothering Miss Kringle so. I’ll reassess my approach.”

With some trepidation, Jim opened the box and was greeted with not only a very greasy looking hamburger, but the largest quantity of fries he’d ever seen. “...It’s sort of depressing how good this looks,” he finally admitted, looking over at Ed with a now guilty faint smile. 

Ed had been hovering at the doorway, listening intently through the frosted glass to what he could catch of their exchange, stepping back sharply when he heard the door open, scrambling to pretend to be nonchalantly tending to his own business.

Even so, he seemed surprised to see Jim actually come in, no doubt to discourage his bully from pursuing further. “That was very kind of you, Detective. I think I’ll be alright, though.  Messages all read loud and clear.”

He’d pull up a chair to Ed’s desk, setting his own lunch down on a cleared space. “It’s fine. Bullock tells me that I need to be friendlier with people. That I can’t just work through my lunch all the time when I’m here.”