Chapter Three: Sibling Love

A/N: I love writing this chapter! Happy Thanksgiving, peeps! D

Alone in my hospital room, I was left with the television hanging on the wall opposite of me for company. Gotham General could lavish my guests with esteemed furniture but when it came to cable, it spared every penny. There was a total of ten channels to choose from: Four of them were Soap Operas, one of them was completely Spanish-speaking. The remaining six were divided up between the news, cartoons (for the kids), and cooking shows. I chose the lesser of evils and placed it on the Spanish-speaking Opera—the positive spin on it was that the actors looked like they actually wanted to play the part they were given and every now and then, one of them would slap the other dramatically in the face…. that was the most amusing part for me.

I'd only gotten up once to review the other gifts that had been lined against the wall: A fruit basket from Capt. Essen; milk chocolates from Tomas and Gabe (how sweet); a bouquet of tulips from Jim placed in a vase, much appreciated by Nurse Ally (as she called herself); a book of Sudoku puzzles from Ed Nygma (also sweet); and from Harvey Bullock, he'd placed a bottle of cheap strawberry wine under a vast amount of tissue paper—the decoy was a medium-sized version of Pop-eye, the Sailor Man.

Giving me a Pop-Eye doll was something of a joke, I was sure, but at this moment, I still hadn't figured it out. I figured if Harvey came to visit, I would ask him.

In front of me was a tray—lunch time had arrived. Spoiled by Chef Billy's cooking, I was certain that even I could have made something a great deal more appetizing than what had been brought out to me. Long stalks of asparagus were placed on a plate beside a stiff, crunchy-looking biscuit; canned meat (maybe spam?) was scooped and plopped next to it. The staff called it 'chicken', but I had not been out so long as to forget that chicken didn't come out of a can looking like vagina lips.

Needless to say, I pushed my plate away and was currently eating the strawberry yogurt—mostly, I was eating the yogurt while making an adamant effort of avoiding the fruit at the bottom. When I had eaten half the cup, I drank the amazing refreshments that had come with my lunch: water.

There was a knock against the door frame. I looked up and saw Jim grinning widely at me. Nurse Ally, a young-looking female with voluptuous curves and big brown eyes smiled just as widely saying, "Detective James Gordon is here to see you."

"Cool." I said, gesturing him in.

Nurse Ally followed Jim inside, and she looked at my tray. Disappointment.

"You've not eaten anything." She said.

"That's a lie," I returned coolly. "I ate my yogurt."

"That's not nearly enough."

"Well, sue me."

"Miss Gordon, you need to keep up your strength…."

"I have my strength. What I don't have is an appetite. Especially for whatever this is supposed to be." I said, lifting the tray. Even Jim made a face at the meal.

"If you want something else from the kitchen, we can whip something up," Nurse Ally offered kindly.

"Don't make such a fuss. I'm fine." I said calmly, covering the plate once again.

"Sylvia…."

"What?" I questioned. "I said I'm fine."

Jim stepped forward, smiling.

"I've got this," said Jim, nodding for the nurse to leave.

Nurse Ally sighed, reluctantly taking my tray and walked out of the room, closing the door halfway. I pushed the end table to the side, watching Jim sit in the arm chair to my left. It was only then that I realized he had been holding his right hand behind his back—particularly unusual. I gave him a look but my curiosity was answered as he placed a bag in front of me.

"Tacos," said Jim, smirking at me. "Soft shell, meat, cheese, tomato, lettuce, extra sauce."

I grinned widely at him.

"Thank youuuu," I said happily. "You're a godsend, Jimmy."

Jim reclined back in the chair. He wore his usual suit—not the Arkham correctional officer uniform like I had been expecting—so I assumed what Oswald had told me was true. Not that I ever doubted him, but Commissioner Loeb reinstating a guy like Jim sounded more like a rumor than a fact.

"You're looking better," Jim said gently, watching me eat.

"Well, I feel better," I returned. "Aside from having a hole in my neck, I'm just peachy."

"Yes…." Jim muttered.

His face was crestfallen, the smile had suddenly disappeared.

"I have a question for you," I told him. "Two actually."

"Sure," said Jim.

"How come you didn't shoot him?" I asked him coolly.

"Who?"

"Mike Travinsky," I answered.

Jim cleared his throat, smiling cynically: "You were his hostage. He was holding you in front of him, Vee. I didn't have a shot."

"I told you to shoot him," I emphasized. "That was your shot."

"I couldn't take the chance of hurting you."

"Like the way he hurt me?" I retorted.

"You can be angry at me all you want," said Jim quietly, "but I'm just glad you're okay."

"No thanks to you," I said sardonically.

Jim furrowed his eyebrows at me, like he didn't understand.

"He hurt me," I told him, gesturing to the gauze over my neck. "He'd have done it regardless of the circumstances—police or no police."

"Why did he?"

"Why did he what?"

"Shoot you?" Jim questioned. "You said he would have done it either way. What reason did you give him to shoot you?"

I chuckled, sitting back against the upright bed.

"I have a real job, James. I work as a shift-leader in Oswald's restaurant. At one point, Mike had been under his employ. After he made a comment about me fucking my boss, Oswald fired him."

"You are fucking your boss, if you're working in his restaurant," said Jim pointedly.

"Very true," I agreed. "However, it needn't be said. Contrary to what you may think about him, Jimmy, Oswald's a true gentleman. Anything said against me that remotely damages my honor is not only an insult to me, but an insult to him as well. Mike knew this. He was fired because of me."

"Cobblepot fired him," Jim reaffirmed.

"Because of me," I emphasized. I smirked saying, "You'd be amazed how far he will go to make sure I am taken care of, to defend my honor, to make sure nothing happens to me. And, Jim. I hate to tell you this, but if Oswald had been in your shoes, he would have shot the prick when I asked him to—like when I told you to."

"You would have gotten killed…."

"You could have tried!" I snapped. "And look at me! Regardless of your actions, I would have been harmed. But you hesitated. I told you to shoot him, James. I told you."

"That's not how it works, Vee," Jim insisted curtly.

"Tell me how it works then," I demanded. "Tell me. What else could have happened, huh? What's the worst that could have happened if you'd have taken the shot? You—what—might have killed Michael? He was a flagrant baboon, a man who brought a gun into the restaurant and knew what he was going to do before the situation ever escalated."

"I could have killed you," Jim said.

"And that would have been fine."

"Not with me."

I frowned.

"What if you killed Michael?" I asked. "What if you could have killed him? Seeing your sister in the literal hands of life and death, didn't that piss you off?"

Jim glared at me.

"You know it did."

"What kept you from pulling the trigger?"

Jim looked at me. The same look he had given me when he was only seconds away from shoving the samurai sword into Sionis. During that time, he had glanced at me only seconds before considering it and then after he had met my eyes, seeing me, he had just hopped off the desk and threw the weapon down.

The same look, the same glance, the identical hesitation now shown before me.

"It's the same thing that kept you from killing Sionis," I spoke quietly, more out of my own realization than directly to Jim.

He looked surprised.

I placed the bag of tacos to the side, leaning forward.

"What did you see when you looked at me, Jim?"

"Sylvia…."

"Don't. You saw something in me that kept you from killing Sionis. Despite everything he put you through—putting you in a trap with six men who tried to kill you, knowing you were a cop, knowing they could die. What kept you from killing the man who put your sister in the line of these six guys, huh? Something kept you from doing it. You looked at me, saw me, and then stopped. And the same thing happened with Mike." I said adamantly.

Jim's lips were parted, eyebrows furrowed, eyes glistening with knowing but hesitation. He then drew back, reclining against the chair, and he crossed his arms.

"Don't shut me out, James," I said, my voice hardening. "You saw something in me. It kept you from doing what is necessary…."

"Murder isn't necessary!" Jim suddenly snarled. "It is never right."

"Says the man who killed people."

"That was war."

"Gotham is war," I retaliated. "Gotham isn't black and white—it's full of gray, blue, and purple, and lots and lots of red. You should have killed Sionis, Jim, just like you should have killed Mike."

"No."

"'No'?"

Jim grimaced.

"You want to know what I saw that day, Sylvia?"

"Obviously!" I exclaimed, gesturing to him.

"I saw you." Jim stated coldly.

I stared at him.

"What do you mean?"

Jim's face softened, but his voice remained detached and stern.

"I saw the difference between you and myself, the line between us." Jim whispered, looking at me endearingly, but sympathetic. "We've walked different paths all the time—I joined the Army, police academy, and you chose…. well, a different path than I would have thought you'd have chosen."

"A line?" I questioned, chuckling. "You think there is a line separating us?"

"You think murder is necessary," Jim emphasized harshly.

"In Gotham, it is."

"It's not right."

"No one ever said it was," I told him coldly. "I'd have killed Sionis, James. I'd have killed him because of what he has done to you, to us. You saw what he was—you saw that he was a monster, but you hesitated. You saw Mike Travinsky—he held a gun to my neck, to my head, and you hesitated. If we had switched places and he was holding a gun to your head, I would have shot the motherfucker in the face."

Jim frowned.

"Fine," Jim said quietly. "You got me. I hesitated both times."

"Tell me why."

"I told you."

"I want you to say it," I said coldly. "I'm in a fucking hospital with a hole in my fucking neck. I think I deserve that much. Tell me why you hesitated."

Jim winced before he managed carefully and painfully: "I don't want to become you."

I gave him a look, clearly offended, I was. Then I smiled.

"Thank you for the tacos, Jimmy. They were great," I said calmly. "But you know…. it's not that you don't want to become me. You want to be me, you want to be free. I've always told you that the only difference between us is that I embrace my darkness—tenfold. You're afraid to let it control you, to give in to your dark intentions, and you say you don't want to become me, but I can tell you want nothing more than to be me."

Jim's frown deepened.

"You're wrong," Jim muttered.

"Am I?" I challenged.

"Yes."

"Well," I sighed, leaning back into my bed. "You continue to be self-righteous, big brother, but all those years of being a good boy has only shrouded what you have tried to cover. One day, all that anger you have in your brain will come a-calling. And then you will see that I have been right. Until then, thanks for the tacos. I'm glad you came to see me."

Jim looked at me coolly.

"I love you, Vee," Jim said softly, getting to his feet. "If I could, I would turn back time and make it so you would have never been hurt."

His words touched my heart and I smiled.

"I know you would." I said gently. "And I love you too."

Jim took the empty bag of tacos and threw it the trash.

"Do you want a coke?" Jim asked. "I'm about tired of water."

"Don't tease."

"Bottled or can?"

"Don't make me beg," I joked.

"Bottled, it is," said Jim.

He bent forward, kissed my forehead, and then walked out of the room. He returned shortly with a bottled coke for me and a Styrofoam cup of coffee for him.

He took a sip and grimaced.

"Hospital coffee isn't gourmet," I laughed as Jim poured the rest down the sink.

"I've been spoiled by your coffee-making skills," Jim chuckled, sitting in the arm chair to my left.

"I have a knack for it, I admit."

"It's an art."

"Speaking of art," I mused. "How's Barbara?"

Jim's face fell and he admitted quietly, "We're not together anymore."

I touched his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I said sincerely. "Did she leave?"

"Yes. She's been gone a while, not answering any of my phone calls. I dropped off my keys at her place a week ago," said Jim quietly.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I know how much you love her."

He looked reluctant to talk anymore about her so I changed the subject: "Oswald told me you were in Arkham—patrolling the criminally insane?"

"Yep."

"How'd that go?"

"Messy," Jim returned.

"Sounds fun."

"It wasn't."

"Enlighten me," I offered. I held out my coke: "Sip?"

"I'm fine."

"Drink it, Jim. I don't have cooties."

Jim conceded and he took a gulp of my coke, handing it back to me.

He said coolly, "I never want to go back. The place is a nuthouse."

"Well, you can't complain about the nuts when you're working in a peanut factory," I said humorously. "Who was Jack Gruber?"

"Read the papers, have you?"

"Some," I returned. "Oswald pretty much updated me when I woke up."

"He was here?"

"Don't change the subject."

Jim nodded dutifully.

"Jack Gruber escaped, and tried going after Maroni."

"Tried?"

"Obviously, he failed. The man's still alive, isn't he?"

"Did Gruber get caught?"

"Yes," said Jim.

"Is that how you're able to wear your starched suits again?" I said, smirking. "It's a pity I didn't get to see you in the Arkham get-up. I bet you look like a real boy scout."

Jim looked offended saying, "I thought I looked okay."

"Sure—that's what you said about your boy scout's uniform. Dork."

Jim chuckled, "Well, the important thing is that I am back in the line of duty. It's good to be back."

"Oh yeah—homicide here, a suicide there," I chortled. "Keeps you on your feet."

"Always."

"Have you been swept off those feet of yours by any chance?" I asked curiously.

"What do you mean?"

"You're a detective, Jimmy. Read between the lines." I said coolly. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"That's inappropriate."

"No, it's not. I'm your sister. We can talk about murder and the like, but I can't ask about your relationship status? Doesn't that sound a little weird to you?" I questioned logically.

"Not at all."

I grinned broadly.

"Tell me about her," I said.

"I didn't say there was anyone."

"You didn't have to. I know you by now. I knew when you had your first girlfriend, and I know when you have one now. So, tell me about her." I insisted, taking another drink of my coke.

"Sylvia…."

"Fine, don't tell me. I'm going to ask you questions, and you just say 'yes' or 'no'." I offered.

"This isn't a game."

"It is for me. Humor me—I have a Spanish-speaking Soap Opera on my TV, the only tolerable channel for Gotham General, so please…."

Jim lowered his head in mock surrender.

"Thanks," I chirped. "So….is she tall?"

"No."

"Is she shorter than you?"

"Yes."

"Awesome, height difference is nice." I mused, smirking at him. "Is she blonde?"

"No."

"Redheaded?"

"No."

"Brunette?"

"Yes," Jim said smoothly.

I grinned broadly and asked, "What color eyes does she have?"

"I thought you were only going to ask 'yes' or 'no' questions," Jim recalled smartly.

"Well, I thought I would give you some leeway. This isn't an interrogation."

"I have to disagree with that, but go on." Jim said, getting to his feet.

I looked up at him curiously then asked, "Green eyes?"

"Not exactly."

"Hazel?"

"Sometimes."

"Do they change colors?" I asked.

"Yes."

"She sounds beautiful."

"She is."

"What's her name?"

Jim smiled secretively.

"Fine, don't tell me her name." I reconciled, crossing my ankles. "Does she work at Arkham?"

"Yes."

"Is she a corrections officer?"

"No."

"Director?"

"No."

"Nurse."

"No." Jim said, "But you're close."

"Doctor."

"Bingo."

I smirked saying, "Ooh, look at you. Suave Detective Gordon getting in the circle with a lovely female doctor—aren't you just a sly little devil."

"Don't poke fun," Jim responded, but he smiled in spite of himself.

"How'd you meet?"

"You're breaking your rules again."

"Rules were meant to be broken."

"I disagree."

"Of course, you do," I sighed, rolling my shoulders back. "But that's irrelevant."

Jim gave me a look, and I held up my hands in surrender saying, "Fine, fine—let's not start that argument again." I leaned forward: "Have you taken her anywhere? Date-wise?"

"Not yet."

"Ooh, playing the field."

"Not really."

"I know—I just like teasing you." I admitted, grinning devilishly. "You make it too easy."

Jim's agreement was nonverbal as he took a seat again.

"All joking aside," I said lightly, "Does Barbara know you've moved on?"

"I've not been able to get a hold of her," said Jim seriously. "She's not returning my phone calls."

"She said she needed time for herself, right?"

"Yes."

"Did she say how much time?"

"No," said Jim. "But it's been a few days, and she hasn't tried to get in contact with me. So, I can only assume we're done." He looked at me pointedly: "Now it's my turn."

"Excuse me?"

"You've interrogated me. So now I get to ask you questions."

"I doubt you want to know the answer to any of them," I reassured wholeheartedly. "You have a vein that pops out of your forehead anytime we talk about my relationship."

"I do not."

"You do too." I teased. "It's kind of funny. It's hard for me to take you seriously when you're pissed. You could always wear a hat to cover it up."

"I'm not wearing a hat."

"Couldn't pull it off, even if you tried."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I try," I said, smirking.

"Back to the topic…."

I shrugged my shoulders saying, "Fine. You want to talk about Oswald? Have at it, but let me assure you that I am a hundred-percent certain that you will not like what you hear. And just so you know—if these medical peeps hear you shouting, they'll probably come in full force."

"Duly noted," Jim returned coolly. "I won't get mad."

"Promise?"

"My word."

"Good." I said, smirking. "Then you should know this first. Oswald proposed to me yesterday and I said 'yes'."

Jim's eye twitched.

My smirk just widened ear-to-ear as I said, "How badly do you want to yell at me right now?"

"I'm exercising a great deal of control not to yell," Jim said, his voice was strained.

I shrugged saying, "Didn't I say you wouldn't like it?"

Jim took a long inhalation before breathing out very deeply, and I chuckled at his response.

"So…." Jim began, clearing his throat. "When…. when's the wedding?"

"Don't know."

"No time or date?"

"Not yet," I informed.

"And you're fine with this?"

"Yep."

Jim sighed saying, "You really want to marry him?"

"I do." I said smoothly. "He makes me happy."

"For whatever reason, he does that at least," Jim muttered, jaw clenching.

"If you want," I said slyly, "when we have our wedding, I can throw my bouquet to your doctor lady friend. Then I can go to your wedding."

Jim chuckled despite his need to scream at the top of his lungs that this was a mistake. I watched him grip the arms of his chair and his eye twitched again. It was hilarious.

"There's that vein…." I said, leaning forward and pointing at his forehead. "There. Right there."

"Vee. Stop."

"What?"

"Stop touching me."

"I'm not touching you," I taunted. "See?" I pointed without touching his forehead. "No contact."

"That doesn't make it less annoying."

"Childhood revenge," I giggled. "And it is delicious."

"Vee."

"I'm not touching you; I'm not touching you; I'm not touching you," I taunted.

"Seriously." Jim caught my wrist and said pointedly, "That's really annoying."

"Says the same kid that annoyed me when I was trying to read my 'People' magazines" I recalled coyly.

"It's annoying when you're on the receiving end of it," Jim muttered.

"Well, now you know." I returned, getting back in my bed.

Jim's anger was lost on him as he couldn't help smiling.

"It's nice to know your injury hasn't dulled your spirits," Jim said gently.

"I figured if I get another one, it could go right here," I humored, touching the other side of my neck. "Then I could call myself 'Frankenstein'."

I hopped to the counter full of antiseptic supplies and placed two tongue depressors on both sides of my neck. I mimicked the monster as Jim took a gulp of my coke and when he saw me, he snorted.