It took Jim Gordon a moment to process what was going on. He was lying on something hard and the world was blurry, but that could be because he no longer seemed to be wearing his glasses or because he couldn't seem to open his eyes more than a crack. His bullet proof vest seemed tight around his torso, making it difficult to breath and it felt like a fire was burning in his back.
Two large fingers roughly pushed themselves on to his neck and Jim could hear the familiar voice of Detective Stephens shouting.
It was then that the sounds of the rest of the world came in to focus; the screaming, the occasional popping gun shots, the desperate sounds of people trying to out race each other to safety, and Jim remembered what happened. He remembered the events of the past few days, the bank robberies and murders, arguing with Dent on the roof, the death threats successfully carried out. He remembered seeing that horribly scarred face, sans make-up for the first time, as he turned a firing squad rifle to the podium. The fact that the Joker had stolen a police uniform held a kind of symbolism for Jim Gordon as he lay, still unmoving, on the street stage.
The memories hit Jim like a freight truck and at the same time a sudden sense of panic and desperation fell upon him. No one could be trusted. Nothing he knew was safe anymore. His family wasn't safe. They weren't safe because of him. He just had to have jumped on the Batman and Harvey Dent idealism train. It was one thing not to join the criminal world of Gotham, but it was something else all together to antagonize them. But he did. First with the money tracking, then Lau, then helping Dent with those arrests. And now the whole world is upside down and he has risked his family's safety.
"Get out of the way people! Let the medics through!" Detective Stephens was still there kneeling next to Jim. "C'mon Gordon, you're okay, c'mon a sick sonofabitch can't take you down, c'mon!"
Something in the detective's desperation relit the little light of hope inside of Jim. Jim had worked with the detective for 20 years. He knew when he was a young cop he had some gambling issues and had some illicit connections but Jim knew that it was all in the past and Stephens was a good man trying to stay clean in a dirty city. Jim could trust him, at least he hoped.
"S..." Jim tried to speak but found his mouth was dry. He wanted to get Stephen's attention but if he wanted his plan to work he couldn't risk moving too much. He swallowed hard and tried again, "Stephens..." It wasn't much more than a throaty rasp but it worked. In a moment the detective's face swam into Jim's blurry vision.
"Jim?! Jim, c'mon you say something? Don't worry you're gunna be fine, I know it."
Jim swallowed harshly "Family. Not safe if I'm alive. I have to be dead until a plan...?" Jim trailed off breathing heavily.
At first Stephen didn't say anything at all and Jim wondered if had spoken loud enough or if he had made any sense. Then the detective's face was gone from view but not before he breathed out "Damn it Gordon." Jim felt Stephens pat him on the chest. He wanted to tell him that it hurt but he knew it was meant to be a comfort so he stayed still, besides, anyone who saw him had to think he was dead.
He let his eyes close completely and soon felt himself being gently prodded and moved onto a board. He heard Stephens saying in a hushed but very forceful voice, "This man is Jim Smith. I don't care what you find in his pockets or wallet, he is Jim Smith, do you understand me?" Knowing his family would be safe Jim let himself slip to oblivion.