The weakest link in the chain, that was what their intel said. Harvey looked through what they had accumulated and had his doubts that Jim Gordon could be described as part of the chain at all.
"He's family," Danziger countered when he voiced his concerns, tone defensive, "He must hear things."
"He's all we've got," Simmons shrugged, apologetic, "If we don't go for it now who knows if we'll ever get this kind of chance again."
Harvey let it sink in. Looked back over the sparse briefing notes - Jim's academic results from residential school and how he was related to all the major players - and asked finally,
"Why me? Kid's clearly hurting for a friend, why not go for someone more his own age?"
Danziger grinned, all shark teethed and nasty.
"Because, Bullock, you're going to be playing substitute daddy."
That was the kind of line that wasn't going to be minuted, was never going to form part of the official record, but it rolled around in Harvey's head all the same, making him feel like even more of a skeevy old man than he already was, sitting in the central library and staring at Jim over the top of Gotham: A History.
He had never been one for studying. Had truthfully kind of balked at what tailing Jim was going to mean. Then he had set eyes on something other than an out of date school photo and had all the breath knocked from his lungs. Had had to roll his tongue back in his mouth and remind himself that he was supposed to be a professional. An undercover police officer with almost a decade of experience, not a lovesick teenager.
Jim really was a vision though. Blond hair and big blue eyes. Strong biceps that shifted under his shirt as he took copious notes from the textbook in front of him, bottom lip a little swollen where he kept chewing on it in concentration.
It was a relief when the opportunity finally revealed itself, not least because Harvey didn't know if he could have stood still and done nothing, seeing the slight flush color Jim's cheeks as he strained to get closer to the book he was reaching for. Harvey had been loitering since a few moments after Jim had left his table. Had been waiting for some kind of in, and now he simply stepped up behind Jim and pulled the book out for him.
"Criminal Law and Its Processes - I hope you're not the one with the court date!"
Harvey cringed even as he said it, feeling like some middle aged sitcom character trying to sound down with the kids. Jim just gave him a shy little smile, putting him in mind less of prime time and more late night PIN protected, and said,
"Hopefully I'll be the one defending, in a few years."
He weighed his options quickly. Didn't want to come on too strong the very first time he spoke to Jim but, by the same token, if Jim wanted to talk he didn't want to rebuff him.
"Yeah?" was what he went with, "You sure you want to go criminal? It sounds exciting, sure, but contract's where the money is."
"Are you an attorney?" Jim asked, so earnest and eager it had him wishing he could change his cover story.
"Me? I wish - I was never smart enough for all that. I'm a writer, researching a book on the history of Gotham. Murder, intrigue, secret societies. You know, all the good stuff."
"That sounds so cool," Jim told him, no hint of either suspicion or irony, and later Harvey would look back on that as the moment his heart decided it belonged to the little brother of one of Gotham's most dangerous rising stars.
At the time he only smiled, wide and helpless, and exchanged a few more lines of chit chat. Jim divulged that he was studying law at college, that he wanted to follow in his father's footsteps, and Harvey wished him luck with it before returning to his spot and pretending to read up on nineteenth century immigration patterns for another hour or so.
They nodded in acknowledgement the next couple of times their paths crossed. Shared a few words on progress at the returns shelf, and he held the door open for Jim one afternoon, having moved like the wind to pack up and make it through the check out desk before Jim did.
"You didn't have to," Jim said, obviously torn between self-sufficient pride and the fact that he was lonely and wanted somebody to pay him some attention.
"It was self-interest. I'm hoping you're gonna remember me when you're some hot shot lawyer."
"You planning on committing a crime?" Jim asked, smile returning, and Harvey wished he could take a picture to save the image for later.
"Not planning, exactly, but you never know, do you? I always got a couple of unpaid parking tickets hanging over me."
Jim shook his head a little, smirking, and Harvey reported back to base that he was making headway. Had established a rapport and was working on gaining some real trust. It happened quicker than he was expecting, the very next week finding Jim exhausted looking and soaked through to the skin, the weather outside only growing more horrific.
"My Mother was supposed to be meeting me," Jim admitted, albeit reluctantly, "but she can't get away."
Something big was going down, that was what all the little birdies were saying, but Harvey played dumb. Asked Jim if he had far to go as though he didn't know exactly where Jim lived. Kept it low key, assured it would be no problem, and suddenly found himself with an armful of dripping college freshman, desperately trying to think about anything other than how good Jim felt as he helped him out of the chair and into the passenger seat of his beat up Diplomat.
"You look like a drowned rat," he said once he had Jim's books and chair stashed, dropping into his own seat and pouring the rain water from the brim of his hat into the footwell.
"You don't look much better," Jim said pointedly, and they both ended up laughing. Grinning stupidly at each other so that Harvey had to forcibly remind himself he was going for paternal mentor figure, not the kind of guy who came on to vulnerable youths stuck in his proximity.
It was tough going, all the same, and when Jim invited him in for coffee to say thank you he hated himself for the thoughts that sprung immediately to mind.
"I wanted to live on campus," Jim said, unlocking the front door Harvey was willing to bet good money had never seen a cop actually welcomed through it, not unless they were corrupt to the core, "but my Mother said it was a waste of money."
Money wasn't exactly a problem, Harvey thought, looking about the place as Jim lead the way into a rather grand kitchen. No problem at all, not if any one of those pretentious looking prints on the wall were the real deal.
"She worries, I think, that I wouldn't cope on my own. I'm an adult now though. If it wasn't for this," he drummed his fingers along the arm rest of the wheelchair, "I'd be making a real difference - joining the army, or applying for the police force."
"It's not all it's cracked up to be," Harvey said without thinking, and Jim looked up at him curiously. Had him focusing on the towel Jim had thrown over to him for his face and hair, and deflecting as best he could with, "you know, until 1926 all unmarried GCPD officers had to live in a section house."
Nobody could say that he didn't do his homework.
They chatted easily - too easily - and Harvey jumped out of his skin at the sound of the front door closing, realizing with a start that it was dark outside and Jim was like something off a movie set with the lamplight glittering in his eyes.
"Who's this?" a voice demanded and there was Roger Gordon in the flesh, two other faces Harvey recognized well from the persons of interest board flanked either side of him.
Jim made the introductions. Told Roger enthusiastically of the book Harvey was supposedly writing, and how Harvey had driven him home from the library. Roger looked him over, taking in the glasses he was wearing and the elbow patches on his jacket.
He smirked, finally, and shook his head derisively.
"Only you, Jimmy. Only you."
"Roll with it," Danziger laughed when they had a full debriefing. "Nothing in the rule book that says you can't lead him on a bit."
"You wouldn't know," Harvey snapped, angry, "you've never read it."
It was for the greater good, he got that. It was about keeping innocent people safe, that was why he kept getting out of bed in the morning. This was something else though, using someone who hadn't done a thing wrong. Even joking about it made him feel sick to his stomach.
At least it was a joke, he hoped, because the honest smiles and genuine interest Jim was bestowing on him was tempting enough already. If he really believed they stemmed from Jim wanting more than friendship from him, Harvey wasn't sure how long he would be able to cling to his willpower. As it was Jim met him for some lecture on Gotham's old slum districts Jim had seen advertised on a campus notice board, all smiles, and apologized yet again for his brother being an asshole.
"Inflicting embarrassment is what older brothers do," Harvey said, as though he were some kind of expert on the subject, and then he had to nod along and pretend to be an expert on another topic entirely. It wasn't too bad, truth be told. Was really kind of interesting, and he nudged Jim and pointed out one of the tenement blocks he had spent his own childhood in when it was brought up on the overhead projector.
Jim quizzed him about it later, seemingly torn between horror and fascination, and Harvey laughed as he bought them both coffee and pastries.
"It wasn't that bad. Rats in the stairwells, maybe, but a much more civilized one family per apartment by that time."
That made Jim blush, right up to the tips of his ears, and Harvey imagined, just for a moment, what sound Jim might make if he leaned in close and sucked one of them.
"Nah, seriously. It was all I knew and I didn't mind it. There were loads of kids. A good sense of community. Everybody knew everyone."
He thought about that, a little wistfully. Contrasted it with his current apartment building - the neighbors he wouldn't be able to pick out of a line-up, and the fear that if anything happened to him he would lay there rotting for weeks before somebody noticed the smell and reported it.
"Sounds like something out of a story book," Jim commented, sounding wistful in his own right, and Harvey steered the conversation around to Jim's own childhood. To how close he and Roger must have become, after the awful accident Jim stiltedly confided in him about, the one that killed their father and left Jim in a wheelchair.
He felt like the worst kind of pondlife when Jim's face fell, obviously unable to control the reaction, for all that it needed to be done if he were to prove to his superiors that this operation wasn't going to get them anywhere.
"Roger blamed me. Blames me, maybe." Jim was focusing on the dregs of his coffee cup, shoulders tense. "I never shut up as a kid, was always asking questions, and they thought at the inquest that Dad might have been distracted."
"The other guy went into you. There was no question whose fault it was."
He had read the background report and the press clippings enough times.
Jim just shrugged a little. Visibly made the effort to plaster a happy look across his face.
"Anyway, I wasn't a lot of fun afterwards. It was all hospitals and operations, and then Mother sent me away to school because I could never have caught up in mainstream. We've just never spent enough time together to be close, I guess."
The revelation wasn't enough for those in charge, far from it.
"He's living under the same roof," Simmons pointed out reasonably. "We've had an officer working the inner circle for eight months now and they've never made it onto the driveway. This isn't even your primary case and you've got a standing invite."
That was how he found himself spending his Saturday traipsing around Gotham Museum, Jim Gordon in tow. Except that was the way he was trying to describe the event in his own head, downplaying everything about it. The reality was that it felt more like a date than most dates he had ever been on. He was having a better time than he had had on any of those over the last few years too, helped along by Jim's dry commentary and the way Jim laughed at his own stupid attempts at humor.
They went for dinner afterwards, Jim talking about the assignments he was working on and which of his classmates were more interested in girls and beer pong than maintaining their GPA.
"Why aren't you out partying every night then?"
"My Mother would kill me?" Jim shook his head, picking at his fries, "I worked too hard to get where I am."
Harvey didn't doubt it. Was quickly coming to consider Jim the single stubbornest person he had ever met, because it wasn't enough for Jim to do something - he had to be the best at it. Had to go above and beyond, and fill every second of his day with something productive and worthy. He was writing for the student papers, about all the injustices they could be doing more to counter, and he was volunteering with the campus nightline and one of the legal advice services operating in The Narrows.
"You have to do the right thing," Jim told him intently when he questioned it, and for the first time Harvey understood why it was that the family had vetoed the idea of Jim living independently. It wasn't for his protection, or because they worried about his ability to cope with it. It was because they wanted to keep an eye on him, and monitor exactly how much he knew about what was happening.
Not a whole lot, that was still Harvey's verdict. Not just because he suspected Jim would be plenty vocal about how much he disagreed with it, and because when he talked about his own fictitious projects Jim only listened, captivated, then suggested he talk to his Uncle Frank about Gotham's secret societies.
"I don't know what it is exactly, some offshoot of the Masons, maybe. They're always having fancy dinners and secret meetings though. It's silly but I suppose everyone needs a hobby."
If Jim knew anything at all about the high profile murder cases and the money laundering - the trafficking and the corruption - Harvey was certain he would never say such a thing. Harvey had to fight to play it cool, even so, because this could be the kind of lead that the investigation had been waiting for. Nobody had ever succeeded in getting mud to stick to Frank Gordon.
When he reported that back to headquarters the decision was made to pull him off most of his other cases. To tighten up his cover story and make sure the paper trail was in place should anybody decide to go looking.
"This could be huge," Danziger said and clapped him on the shoulder like they were long-term buddies. "Nailing that bastard would be the highlight of your career."
Harvey wasn't so certain about that, but he worked diligently at getting closer. Started spending time at the Gordon residence, supposedly helping Jim with a couple of assignments. Told Jim that he had worked as a PI for a while, his usual cover story to explain away anybody who associated him with a badge and too many questions, and helped him unpick the logistics of getting a case from arrest to conviction.
He met Jim's mother, as cold a character as he had ever encountered, and fronted out the raised eyebrow she sent his way at the treacherous hand which had latched on to Jim's shoulder.
"You must be so proud of him," he said, reaching for responsible grown up, even as Jim's cheeks pinked at the praise, "it's been an absolute privilege working with him on this."
Mrs Gordon didn't return his smile, gave him the terrifying impression that she could see right through him, and when she was gone Jim compounded matters by looking up at him through his lashes and saying,
"She thinks that everyone's out to take advantage of me. I'm forever ten years old in her eyes."
"Moms worry," Harvey said, too casual, and ignored the guilt in the pit of his stomach that knew in this instance, at least, it was for good reason.
Because the more he saw of Jim the more he wanted to see him. They got on well, better than he would ever have imagined, and soon it wasn't just Jim divulging personal information. He couldn't seem to help himself around Jim, telling him about his own mother, and his failed relationships, and his naive dreams of making the world a safer place.
"It's only by learning the mistakes of the past that we have any hope of avoiding them in the future," Jim said, because to him he was an academic not a cop, and rather than it shame him into pushing such ideas from his mind, all Harvey could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss him.
How he wanted to hold Jim in his arms, and soothe away his unnecessary worries that he was ever going to find himself approaching middle age single.
"You only gotta look in the mirror to see the difference between you and me on that score," Harvey told him over one of the lunch dates that had become a regular habit, "you're never going to be stuck for company."
"It's not that simple though, is it?" Jim pushed, glancing at him intently before picking at his food. Before forcing the maudlin expression away, so that Harvey only admired him all the more for his drive and his ability to get on with things. For the way he refused to let any of it break him, not the frustration when half the places he wanted to go had no access, and not the way it had to hurt, when the blind date some of his classmates set him up on took one look and told him she wasn't prepared for all the implications.
"It was a first date," Jim groused, tone light hearted, "I was only going to suggest we get coffee or something. I have manners."
"That's obviously where you're going wrong. You've gotta bust out the whips and the chains these days, right from the get go."
Jim laughed, a gorgeous sound Harvey didn't think he could ever get tired of, and then shot him a kind of reluctant look and told him he'd have to go or he'd be late for class. Harvey offered to walk him to it, got told to finish the mid-morning snack he'd already paid for, then ended up going over to see what all the commotion was about when he was done, feeling his blood run cold.
Somebody was already crouched beside Jim, people gathering around as they waited for an ambulance, and it was like he couldn't quit noting all the spurious details of the scene - the smell of rain in the air, and Jim's books and color coded notes strewn down the central campus stairwell. He barrelled his way through the crowd to get to Jim. Stroked a thumb through the blood trickling from his temple, and mentally catalogued the grazes and abrasions where Jim had tried to halt the fall.
The worst thing, the most horrendous thing, was the sheen of tears in Jim's eyes. The tears that escaped down his cheeks though he was obviously doing his best not to give in to them, too overwhelmed by the shock and the pain, and the humiliation of being unable to do a thing about the puddle he was laying in.
Harvey simply hauled him in close. Let him bury his face in his shirt front, arms around him to shield it from view, and spoke platitudes to the top of his head about how it was okay, and how he wasn't going anywhere.
Later, at Gotham General, when Jim was cleaned up and bandaged, quiet and subdued like Harvey had never known, the heretofore oft mentioned but never seen Uncle Frank came to collect his nephew. Held his hand out formally and thanked Harvey for everything he had done.
"It was nothing," Harvey assured, "it was no trouble."
"You'll have to come to dinner one night," Frank went on as though he hadn't spoken, "Jim speaks so highly of you."
Just like that he was on first name terms with, so rumor had it, the next elected Mayor of Gotham City.
It wasn't the job that had him calling in on Jim the following day though, and it wasn't the job that had him gently touching Jim's forearm as they spoke, needing the assurance that Jim really was okay.
"I'm fine," Jim said, though he looked deathly pale and exhausted, "it was probably somebody playing a prank. People don't realize the damage they can do."
Harvey had no idea where Jim had got that story from, and for the moment chose not to pursue it. They already had a body in the morgue, a member of one of the leading street gangs - a gang, incidentally, that had been taking warning shots at Roger Gordon's interests for some time now. A gang that were stupid enough to think they could send a threat via Jim and get away with it.
There had been no getting away with it. Just the memory of the state of the corpse was enough to turn Harvey's stomach.
"You're not fine," was all Harvey said aloud, gaze travelling from the stitches just below Jim's hairline, to the left arm he had in a sling, to the tension bandage around his sprained ankle.
"At least I can't feel all of it," Jim offered, following his gaze, and Harvey huffed out a pained little laugh.
The kid was going to be the death of him.
Especially when Jim's mother, apparently softened somewhat by his playing the white knight, told Jim he ought to lie down, and that it wouldn't hurt any if Harvey wanted to sit with him for a while in his bedroom. It was the first time Harvey had been in there, at least for longer than it took to grab a book or a folder, and the impact of the extra intimacy it afforded over the prim and proper sitting room was immediate.
"Let me help," he breathed, powerless to stop himself, and Jim only hesitated for a moment before nodding his assent. Wound his good arm around his neck, fingers tangling in the back of his jacket, and Harvey pulled the bedsheets back with one hand before lifting Jim out of the chair and onto the bed. He tucked the blankets over him, hands lingering ever so slightly as he smoothed it out, Jim watching him silently.
He read to Jim for a while, some dry assigned text, from the chair beside the bed. Placed the book down carefully when Jim's breathing evened out into sleep, and then dared to reach out and stroke the rebellious strands of Jim's hair back from his forehead. Kissed it even, chaste but tender, and had to steady himself against the upswell of emotion before he could go and face Jim's mother.
A week later he was back at Jim's side, sipping obscenely expensive red wine as Frank Gordon expounded on the glories of Gotham. Jim shot him a long suffering look, clearly having heard it all before, so that Harvey had to struggle to school his face back into something approaching neutral when his uncle turned to look at him.
"I'm proud of both the boys, obviously," Frank went on as the main course was served, "but it's Jim who is destined for greatness. Jim is going to change this city's history."
"I don't think I am," Jim countered, reaching for his own wine glass to hide his exasperation. Explained for Harvey's benefit, "Uncle Frank is always saying stuff like that. He thinks I'm some kind of genius."
Harvey glanced at the look on Frank Gordon's face, self-satisfied and cunning, and felt a shudder of unease work through him.
"I just know that you are going to make us all so very proud, Jim. You're going to achieve things the rest of us could only dream of."
There was something about the statement that made his skin crawl. Something about the 'us' that made him think Frank was talking about a wider circle than Jim's immediate family.
The ramifications were hashed out endlessly back in the briefing room, Simmons speculating aloud that they were looking for some squeaky clean new defence lawyer. Harvey shook his head,
"It goes deeper than that. It was the way he said it, like - like they were fattening him up ready for the sacrificial slaughter."
"I think you're picking up on undertones that don't even exist," Danziger said pompously. "I think you've always been a soft touch when there's a pretty face involved."
"You insinuating something?" Harvey demanded, voice low and fists clenched, and rather than back down Danziger only went for the jugular,
"I'm not insinuating anything. I'm saying that your judgement is compromised." He sighed, held his palms out in supplication, "I still say the kid is giving you the run around. No way is he as clueless as you make out he is."
"You don't know him," Harvey snapped, anger rising. This was the first he was hearing of this, at least laid out so plainly, and it pissed him off on so many levels he wanted to punch something. "You don't have the first idea what you're talking about."
Somebody else intervened then. Told them both to sit down and shut up. Try acting like adults. Danziger had to get the last word in though, just the same as always, Harvey glaring at the note he passed to him as they left the room.
'Time will tell.'
It would prove him right, Harvey knew, but still he watched Jim more closely for signs that he was making a fool of him. Succeeded only in noticing things like how very blue Jim's eyes were, and how very long the lashes framing them. How dismissive Jim was of his own achievements, yet how flustered he got at the slightest word of praise from him.
How happy he seemed that Frank Gordon had taken a shine to him - had offered him access to his private library no less - and confessed to Harvey unguardedly,
"Frank's the only one who didn't treat me differently, you know, afterwards. Mom, she pushed me harder, wanted to control everything I did, and Roger didn't know how to be in the same room as me. But Frank just said it didn't change my destiny."
Harvey had to force a smile, the words only producing the now familiar thrill of unease, but Jim knew him well enough by now to recognize the strain. Asked him if he liked Frank, if his uncle had something to give him reason not to, and Harvey fell back on lesser truths to admit,
"I don't think he trusts me. I think he believes there's something inappropriate going on between us."
"He doesn't, trust me," Jim countered immediately, so adamant it surprised him a little. Had him wanting to ask questions, to delve deeper, but Jim was asking him about his dumb cover of a book instead so he had to make all the right noises, and concentrate on sounding like he had some idea of what he was talking about.
To make things easier he said that he was researching a couple of old cold cases on the side, somehow talked for three hours on one of the open files he had worked on intermittently since he had puked over his own shoes at his first ever murder scene, and that weekend sat too close to Jim in the Gordon's sitting room as they pored over yellowing press clippings and piles of photocopies.
Jim had a good eye for it, picked up on all the little inconsistencies, and made comments that had Harvey rifling through paperwork to cross-reference what had and hadn't been chased up.
Roger turned up in the early evening, when they had a couple of pizza boxes and half a dozen soda cans in among the debris, and frowned at the pair of them.
"I didn't think you'd be here. Mom said you were going to go visiting with her."
Even in the lamplight the flush in Jim's cheeks was obvious, the implication that he had lied about having no plans clear, and Roger just heaved a sigh and lead a couple of guys who kept their voices carefully lowered through to the kitchen.
"I told her I was swamped with coursework," Jim admitted, still looking a little guilty, and rather than try to go eavesdrop on what could be a major deal going on a few feet away, Harvey simply smiled at him and said,
"I don't mind being your dirty little secret."
It wasn't so far off the mark, not really, because over the next few weeks they only spent more and more time together. So much time that it was a physical effort not to reach out and touch, or sit too close, or any number of other inappropriate behaviors. Jim didn't seem to have a problem with it, started touching his arm whenever they were speaking, and when he handed over his revised timeline of the Reilly murder to the Cold Case team they came back to him a couple of weeks later to say that they had a potential lead for the first time in over half a decade.
He couldn't help but relay that to Jim, as though he had heard it third or fourth hand, and Jim insisted they go out to dinner to celebrate. Introduced him to a severe looking blonde seated at another table, then informed him in an amused whisper that she was one of Uncle Frank's secret society brethren. Harvey didn't recognize her, couldn't recall ever hearing her name before, but when he fed it back to those in charge of the investigation everything ramped up a little.
Her name was being traced back to all kinds of transactions, was leading in all sorts of directions, and Harvey only hoped that when the dust settled Jim wasn't going to end up hurt too badly.
Started to feel devastated by the idea of Jim getting hurt at all, and maybe it was the pressure of the job, maybe he really had lost his marbles, but he started dropping heavy hints to Jim in the hope he would piece the puzzle together.
All Jim asked him in response to an article about a high profile murder case, one they suspected was the work of some secret order he left on top of his notes, was whether or not he could have Harvey's home address.
That was right up there on the list of things not to do. A request he ought to fob off in any way possible.
"I want to send you a postcard on vacation," Jim told him, smiling so sweetly that Harvey simply pulled a ballpoint from his pocket and printed it out for him.
"Have a good time, won't you?" He implored when they parted ways, genuinely hoping Jim had chance to be a regular college kid for a couple of weeks, and went home to wait for somebody to call by and put a bullet in him.
It would be karma, he supposed. Divine justice. Exactly what he deserved for the filthy dream he woke up from that first night, and the things he went on to do, still hard and straining with the ghost memory of Jim's skin beneath his fingertips. He lay breathless and sated against his pillows when it was done, and wished he could turn back time and refuse to take the case on.
Changed his mind almost instantly, belatedly acknowledging the hollow ache in his chest for what it was.
He would never regret meeting Jim, for all that the circumstances behind it were going to end in Jim hating him. He'd never regret it because he couldn't. Because it wasn't the job that had Jim on his mind constantly. It wasn't lust, or even simple infatuation.
Jim was always in his thoughts because he had gone and done the stupidest thing anyone in his position could do.
He had fallen in love with him.
Two days later a picture postcard arrived, a sunny beachscape of Miami professing that Jim wished he were there, and Harvey stared at Jim's handwriting for a long time, wondering what the Hell he was supposed to do now.
He was still no closer to a conclusion when a knock sounded at his door that weekend, though he tensed and panicked, and wished his gun wasn't in the lock box. He peered through the peep hole, heart hammering, but there was no assassin stood on the other side. Nobody stood there at all, in fact, and he pulled the door open, apologizing profusely even as he tried to shift the worst of the clutter so it looked like he was something approaching a functioning adult.
The place was a tip, an absolute state, and he was heaving debris from the sofa to the side table when it hit him that Jim probably wasn't going to want to make use of it anyway.
"It would be kind of nice to get out of this," Jim said, like he could read his mind, and Harvey was glad to have something to do other than freak out over the fact Jim was in his apartment.
Offered him a drink, and food he was almost certain he didn't have, and then sat down at Jim's urging, heart kind of seizing up at Jim's proximity and the golden tan the Miami sun had given him.
"I hope you don't mind me just turning up here," Jim said, "but I really wanted to see you."
He didn't mind at all. He ought to, no question, but that ship had already sailed.
"How was it?" He asked instead, "I'm expecting tales of drunken debauchery."
"It was amazing. I went in the sea everyday."
Jim went swimming regularly anyway. Hit the gym more often than Harvey ever had, even way back in the distant days of the academy, but there was something about the way he said it that really captured Harvey's attention. It was sort of breathless, overawed, and Harvey couldn't look away from the intensity in Jim's eyes as he carried on talking,
"All the time, every day, I'm telling people that the accident isn't going to stop me living the life I want. That it's not going to mean I miss out on the things I want to do. For the first time I really believed it."
"Are you trying to tell me you pulled?" Harvey joked, trying to dispel some of the tension sparking between them, and Jim only reached for his hand. Searched his face, expression so painfully earnest, and said,
"I'm trying to tell you something you must already know. I lo- like you, Harvey. I like you so much you're all I can think about."
Harvey froze. Steeled himself in readiness for doing the right thing, the noble thing, and it must have shown on his face because Jim let go of his hand. Looked like he might be sick, like he wanted the ground to open up, and stuttered out a resigned sounding apology that broke Harvey's heart clean in two.
"It's not that I don't like you," he heard himself saying in place of the unambiguous no he had planned to give.
Jim nodded, eyes damp, as a bitter smile curled his lips.
"It's just that I'm a paraplegic."
"No." The word came out more forcefully than he had intended, softened only by the fingers he touched to Jim's cheek, urging him to look at him. "It's that I'm too old for you. That you can do a thousand times better than me without breaking a sweat. You don't even know me, Jim, not really."
"But that's what I'm asking for. A chance for us to get to know each other properly. To find out if we can be more than friends."
If Jim had said something - anything - else there was a chance he could have withstood it. But Jim was there in front of him, saying the exact words he most wanted to hear. That he didn't need to know about every skeleton in the closet. That there was a chance, however slim, that when they were dragged out into the light of day he would forgive him for them.
"How am I supposed to refuse you anything?" was what he actually murmured, his hand still on Jim's cheek as he pressed their foreheads together. As Jim slid a hand around the back of his neck, slowly brushing their noses together.
It was too much, more than he could take, and Harvey had to kiss him.
Had to taste the sweet heat of his mouth and caress the ridge of his ear. Trail fingertips up and down the nape of his neck, feather light and teasing, until Jim was panting. Until he pulled away to find Jim dazed and drunk looking, face flushed and eyes so blue Harvey understood what people meant when they said they could drown in someone's gaze.
"We've got to take this slow," he told Jim, fighting to regulate his own breathing. "I don't want to risk our friendship."
He didn't want to lose his job either. Nor sign off on his immortal soul completely. Hoped he would come up with the requisite willpower before things went too far, then knew it was too late for that already when he spent hours that night trading text messages back and forth, gut lurching with excitement every time his cell vibrated.
In the cold light of morning he tried to look at things objectively. If he did this he would be risking everything. Throwing it all away on something that probably wouldn't work out anyway, even if he wasn't a lying scumbag and Jim didn't throw him over as soon as he found someone more his own age and with better prospects. He didn't know how it would work, had no idea how much further than kissing they'd be able to get, then Jim sent him a text message from a break in his first class of the morning claiming that he had explained the criminal booking procedure so much better than his Professor.
None of it mattered, Harvey realized. He needed Jim - there was no way he could go cold turkey.
He kept it quiet at debriefings, at least, and assumed that Jim was planning on doing likewise. Had that assumption turned on its head when Frank Gordon turned up at his favorite diner, just to put the fear of God into him, and told him how happy he was that he had seen sense. How Jim was so mature and responsible, and how he'd always known that Harvey would see how ridiculous it was to have hang ups about the age difference.
"I expect to see more of you now," Frank said, and left Harvey stood there gaping a few minutes later, with an invite to some swanky dinner party and a thinly veiled warning that he ought not to try and wriggle out of it.
He had no choice but to call it in, being as vague as he could about why the invitation had been extended. He and Jim still hadn't really done anything. The Department would have a tough time sacking him for a kiss or two.
Except that night the elevator in his dive of an apartment building broke down and when he offered to carry Jim down the stairs, trying not to think of the number of steps involved, Jim gave him a hopeful smile and said,
"Or I could just stay the night?"
"Yeah, that could work," he managed, and let Jim go and get ready for bed in the bathroom while he hurriedly stripped the sheets and changed the bedding. Shoved all the dirty laundry in the bottom of the closet, and found a t-shirt for Jim to sleep in if he wanted it.
It was big on him, slipped down to reveal the dip of collar bone, and Harvey had to resist the urge to lick across it even as he helped Jim settle back on the mattress. Couldn't help but enjoy the sight of him laid out before him, legs bare and still holding a hint of a tan from the trip to Miami.
"You're sure this is okay?" Jim asked, pulling him from his reverie, the sudden attack of nerves audible in his voice, just in case it wasn't coming across loud and clear in the way he plucked at the hem of the t-shirt. Smoothed out the leg of his boxer shorts, like the motion would hide the crisp white fabric of the leg bag holder extending down the length of his thigh.
"The first time we spoke, you know, that wasn't an accident. I was loitering around all afternoon, trying to find some excuse to talk to you."
It was true. Missing some context, perhaps, but true nonetheless.
Jim relaxed a little. Smiled at him as he moved to get into bed beside him, and confessed,
"That wasn't even the book I wanted. I was just so happy you were talking to me that I didn't care."
He laughed, couldn't help himself, then leaned in and kissed Jim in gratitude. Tasted toothpaste and smelled soap, and didn't understand how either could be such a powerful turn on. Jim kissed him back, fingers tangling in his hair, and it was like a switch was flipped in his head. He had the most gorgeous guy he had ever seen in his entire life in his bed. A gorgeous guy who wanted him, needed him, and he couldn't even begin to deny him.
"What can I do to make you feel good?" He asked, fingertips trailing the length of Jim's arm, pulling a breathy whimper from him at the sensation. "Tell me where you want me to touch you."
Jim closed his eyes for a moment, like he needed the time to compose himself, then he was looking up at him like he was everything Jim had ever wanted. Like he was something special. It made his heart ache with the idea. Made him want to pledge himself to Jim, forever and always, so he could spend the rest of his life worshipping at his feet.
"My neck," Jim managed. "I - when I. Like this." He demonstrated with his own fingers, touch barely there as he started at the edge of his jaw and traced down. It was obviously sensitive, shifted the quality of his breathing almost immediately, and Harvey felt his own pulse race at the idea of Jim laying in his bed at night, working himself until he was shivering.
Harvey copied the movement. Watched the way Jim squirmed and bit at his lip, his own fingers teasing along his sides, rucking up the fabric of his t-shirt.
"You are so hot," Harvey told him, wishing he had the kind of vocabulary that could really capture the scope of it. "You're beautiful, Jim."
Jim looked dubious but didn't argue. Took off the t-shirt at his suggestion, then told him shakily that it was good manners to return the favor. Reached for him to help with the buttons, and then kissed and nuzzled at his chest. Skimmed fingertips over his skin, the same way he had been doing to himself, so that Harvey tingled all over with the sensitization, from the tips of his toes to the top of his scalp.
He was shuddering, helpless, by the time Jim started tracing along his shoulders and down his spine. Felt like he was floating, like the world was some heavy haze reduced to the two of them, so that all he could do was try to make Jim feel as wonderful. Stroked and touched and teased, and finally started brushing kisses over the skin of Jim's throat. Licked at it, devoted, when Jim started moaning, and then worked on sucking a hickey into the sensitive flesh, Jim desperately holding his head in place as he shook and trembled.
It was so good, so achingly good, and Harvey couldn't help but roll his hips when his cock made contact with the heated skin of Jim's leg. Did it again, and again, until Jim pushed up onto his elbows and begged him to let him see.
"Can I?" Jim asked after a while, breathy and eager, and touched him so gently it felt like torture. Like the sweetest agony he had ever experienced, until he couldn't bear it any longer and had to use his own hand to show Jim the kind of pressure he was used to. Guided him through it, for a few strokes, and then went back to the mark he had been raising on Jim's throat, suddenly frantic with the need for Jim to feel the same kind of pleasure he was.
Jim's rhythm fell apart, grip alternating between too tight and not enough, and Harvey just pushed into it, lips and tongue working at Jim's throat until Jim was keening with the sensation. Until he was coming apart in his arms, clutching at him like an anchor. He gentled it up. Wrung a few more tremors out of Jim, just because he could, and when Jim groaned his name, overwhelmed and a little fevered, Harvey reached his own peak, capturing Jim's mouth in a messy kiss as his body pulsed and shuddered.
"You don't have to say it back," Jim said later, when they had cleaned up and he had his head resting on Harvey's chest, "but I love you. I want you to know that."
It was the same matter of fact approach Jim used with everything. Setting out what he could do, and what he couldn't alter. It still filled him with equal parts elation and terror, because he loved Jim - loved him like he had never loved anyone - but it was only going to end in heartache.
Sooner rather than later.
"Of course I love you," was the best he could manage, "do you think I'd have put fresh sheets on the bed for just anyone?"
In the morning Jim looked adorable, groggy with sleep and hair everywhere, and Harvey lost the battle to keep his hands off him, stealing kisses right up until the moment they really had no choice but to leave the apartment.
Everything was perfect that morning, the sun shining and the birds singing. His bank balance not in the red for once, and his favorite donuts still cooling on the rack, when he called in at his favorite coffee place. Life was good, life was only going to get better, then he answered his cell phone to Frank Gordon and everything went to hell in a handcart.
Because he knew - they all knew - and now he was going to have to be punished for it. Plans were being brought forward, details swapped around a little, and if he was quick maybe he'd get a mention in the newspapers for his attempted heroism.
Harvey dropped the coffee and the donuts. Ran like he hadn't since he was 15 and old man Tschetter's Alsatian was after his ass. Panted in a barely intelligible call to headquarters, requesting back-up, and still arrived on campus to the sounds of screaming and panic. There had been gunfire, one kid down on the ground clutching at their leg, and all Harvey could think about was finding Jim.
Felt his heart falter in his chest at the sight of him, painful and debilitating, and pushed through it regardless, his lungs burning so hard at first he didn't even notice the shot. Didn't register and didn't react, too busy covering Jim like a useless human shield, and then it didn't really matter, because Jim was safe - Jim was going to be alright - and when he passed out it was with the parting memory of Jim's big blue eyes fixed on his own as he told him he loved him.
He came to in the hospital, every muscle in his body feeling like it had gone ten rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson.
"I told you your judgement was shot to shit," Danziger said, voice disembodied as his vision slowly swam into focus, "damn kid nearly killed you twice over."
"J-" He tried, throat aching and swollen, and it was Simmons this time who picked up the slack,
"Is fine. You want to hope your insurance premiums are in order though. Three shots, one through the lung. You're lucky you're still here to tell the tale."
She filled him in on the rest quickly. Confirmed what he had already suspected - that Jim was being groomed to be the perfect sacrifice. The perfect innocent who would lose his life and catapult Frank Gordon, and the shady characters funding him, to the Mayoral victory on the back of a sympathy vote. A promise to clean up Gotham, starting with Roger taking out swathes of gang territory. They'd probably stab him in the back when that was done, another sacrifice to the greater good.
"They're both in custody," Simmons said, "nothing watertight yet, but we're following the money."
Jim's mother wasn't implicated in any way and Harvey had nothing more to offer on that front. He wouldn't be surprised either way.
"I don't understand why they brought it forward," Harvey rasped out eventually, because they must have always known he was a cop. It wasn't news to them. They had been planning to use him for something, because why else would they have given him the invitations.
"Danziger told you," Simmons chided softly, "you've got a blind spot. The kid worked the bulk of it out somehow. Decided there was nothing to be done but report it to the police - he had an appointment to speak to a detective that afternoon."
The thought filled him with pride even as the tears brimmed and fell. Jim was committed to doing the right thing, the just thing, even if it was going to tear his family apart. Even if meant believing that his beloved uncle could be so cold and heartless. He was still struggling for composure when Simmons told him that she had to go because there was someone else who wanted to see him.
Someone who had been at his bedside the entire time, and who she was sure was smart enough not to jeopardise any case they might be building on the back of his evidence.
He wasn't even listening, just nodded dully, eyes clenched tight shut against the sting of further tears until a hand took his own and he turned his head to see the face of the one person he figured would definitely not be visiting.
"I'm not an idiot, Harvey," Jim said quietly, "I might not have worked it out straight away, but you couldn't keep making no progress on the same book forever. You had to be paying the rent somehow."
"I wanted to -" he tried, voice failing him. Cleared his throat painfully and attempted again with, "If I'd known you were in that much danger -"
"I feel like it happened all over again," Jim whispered, clutching tighter at his hand, "like I woke up and lost everything. Please don't disappear on me too. Not yet."
"I never lied about loving you," Harvey croaked, "I didn't want to lie to you about anything."
He reached for Jim's face. Swiped away moisture with his thumb and wished he was well enough to pull Jim into his embrace. He had no choice but to settle for bringing Jim's hand to his lips. For kissing Jim's knuckles and clinging to his hand like a lifeline.
"Tell me how I can make it up to you?" He begged finally, pushed past common sense and fighting against the pull of the exhaustion and the painkillers, so he couldn't be sure if he was imagining it when Jim gave him a sad smile and said,
"Help me try and pick up the pieces."