2013.06.30 - Father, Daughter

"It's been a long time since we came here, you know."
There are many fights that Jim Gordon has to face on a daily basis, and one of them is the most important of all. It's not painted in the color of diplomacy, or peppered with the rigamarole of police procedure, but rather the fight shared by every single dad across the globe.
It's the fight to make enough damn time to spend with your daughter before she's your own damn age.
"Too long, Babs. You know, I think the last time we made it to the museum, you were still in your undergraduate?" The unassuming Commissioner of the GCPD looks over at his daughter, grinning fondly at the memory. "Pretty sure you had the hots for one of the guys working in the south wing."
With the summer heat comes a less dramatically dressed Gordon. Today, he's off work, and as such is dressed in a short sleeved shirt with slightly wrinkled collars and a very light plaid pattern, tucked into a pair of blue jeans that are about fifteen years out of style. As he walks through the museum's entrance, he does so with the slightest touch of a swagger to his gait. There weren't many things to be proud of in Gotham City, but one of them was Barbara Gordon.
"It has been too long, yes," Babs says with feeling to her father. She smiles, however. It's as much her own fault as his, however. She's got her own 'workplace' obsessions to deal with.
As he mentions the fellow in the south wing, however, she covers her face with a hand. "Oh, please. I'm allowed to look!" And, hey, at that point in time, she wasn't in this chair. So, there was a greater possibility of something coming of her flirting. 
Not that anything ever did. 
For her part, her garb is fairly casual as well. Jeans, a t-shirt, sneakers that show hardly a scuff of wear. 
"This was a good idea, Dad."
"You really should see the one in Chicago. Museum of Science and Industry. I know that stuff's your favorite." Perhaps she's already been there. Has she? Did she ever tell him? If his distracting conversation wasn't enough of an effort to down play her compliment, the sudden thought that he may not know her as well as he should only makes him stammer further. "I mean, you know that stuff is over my head. Give me the history wing, any day. Did you ever hear about the 'Great Civil War Siege of Cincinnati'? The battle that was never fought."
Regardless, Jim seems to be leading Barbara right toward the Science and Technology wing.
"So, anything new in your life you haven't already texted me about?" he asks. "I'm... sorry, you know, for being so slow in responding." He smirks a bit and his own expense, adding, "I'm not as good with that little keyboard as I am on a walkie."
Barbara flashes a grin at that. She doesn't really expect her dad to be 'hip' to the latest gadgets. Just as well, really. It's meant she could keep an awful lot of her extracurricular activities off his radar, when she was still living at home. "I was there once," she tells him, as to Chicago. "it was pretty awesome, yes." 
And, of course, she's heard about the Siege of Cincinnati. She's his daughter. His stories were probably where she got her own love of history, and the motivation to get at least one degree in the subject. Of course, she collects degrees like she does computers. "Yeah," she tells him, chuckling. "You told it to me back when I was in high school." Freshman year. They were studying the American Civil War in detail in her history class. She had to build little dioramas, and everything. 
Now, she gives a shrug. "There's not a lot new, no," she tells him. "I've gotten another really big client, though," she smiles. "It should keep me in groceries for the foreseeable future." 
Okay, technically, she's talking about Oracle's new association with Tony Stark, but nevermind. 
Actually... that reminds her of something she's been sitting on for a while. And she chews on the inside of her cheek as she debates how much to say about it. False hope isn't kind.
She, of all people, should know. 
"That's right," remarks Jim, stopping and turning to face Barbara with a bit of renewed vigor. "I remember, there were dioramas and everything!" He turns back around, walking again with her. "Seventy-five thousand civilians against six-thousand armed confederates. They turned around and walked right home. Seventy five to six." He shakes his head in wonder at the story, before coming to a rest upon one of the museum's many balconies.
Dad, as it were, leans his forearms up against the guardrail and watches as people pass by below. "That's good. I'm proud of you. The Mayor isn't going to fire me either, so that means we'll both remain gainfully employed."
At least... the Mayor doesn't want to fire him -this week-. Give him until Monday to consider yet another escape from Arkham Asylum and that might change.
The mayor has threatened to fire the long-standing commissioner time and time again. Somehow, though, Jim Gordon always pulls through. As much as she doesn't see him nearly as much as she used to, he's a constant in her life. Knowing he's the commissioner is something like knowing the sun will come up the next day -- reliable and sure. It'll be a sad day, for Barbara, when her father gives up (or is forced out of) that post. 
Her chair coasts up to one of the displays. She hits the little green button that causes some of the display to light up and move, scrolling through a computerized slide presentation to describe the view beyond the glass... not that she really needs it. It's just habit. (Pushing buttons?) 
She flashes a grin at him. "Don't worry," she says to him. "Monday's coming." And she winks. 
"So, what's new with you?"
Father and daughter share one of those looks. She knows the story well. Like a broken record.
"Well, there's an investigation into the most recent incident at Arkham," answers Gordon, and not without a touch of annoyance in his voice. "Honestly, though? It's the same old story. The security's not good enough. Every time, I recommend additional funding. I've talked with the Governor, Homeland Security, the FBI. I'm damn near close to writing the White House, or seeing if we can't just turn the whole place over to someone like... I don't know. S.H.I.E.L.D.? The League of Super Heroes?" He shakes his head slightly, and moves over to press one of the buttons on a display next to the one Barbara is inspecting.
"So, now, we've got the Joker on the loose again. Maybe others." He suddenly stops himself and looks over at Barbara, frowning. He made an effort to never speak of the Joker around her, but sometimes... well, he slips. Old age, perhaps.
A hand comes over to rest on the arm of her chair. "I swear to God, he'll never touch you again."
"I know, Dad," Babs says quietly, laying a hand over his. Her smile is tight, nonetheless, of course. There are very few people Babs can say she truly hates. The Joker is right at the top of that list. "It's okay." She squeezes his hand reassuringly. "I'm okay. I've put it behind me." Which doesn't mean she particularly wants to make him a regular topic of conversation. But, reality is what it is. Until the bastard's dead, he's going to come up in discussion every once in a while. 
And, the funny thing is, as much as she wants him dead, she'll never be the one to pull the trigger. She doesn't have that in her, either. She's learned that. And made her peace with it. It's better that way. 
"Any idea how it happened? Or who else might be out there, now?" A beat. "Does Batman know?"
Justice is a funny thing when its personal. Jim Gordon is a man of the law. He believes in the American Judicial System. It, the Miranda Rights, and the Right to a Fair Trial are his Holy Trinity. However, when it came to men like the Joker, there is a tiny part of his soul that is afraid he -could- pull the trigger.
And if not him... there is a dark part of him that might want someone else to do it.
There is a similarly distraught look that casts a shadow over his face when this thought skirts his mind. He quickly puts it behind him, in an effort to hold a shield of justice over his heart. In that moment, he squeezes her hand back, and gives her a silent nod; as if to say that he won't be the one to pull that trigger. A promise.
Of course, information related to an investigation cannot be released. Barbara knows this. He doesn't have to tell her. There is, however, one question he can answer.
"You bet he does."
Babs gives her father an easier smile. If Batman knows, then everything will be fine.
Besides, it's not like Oracle doesn't already know the answers to the earlier questions. The best way to hide her identity as the heroic super-hacker, however, is to ask the questions her father would expect her to ask. Because, even though she's known since she was a kid that there are questions he simply can't answer while the investigation's ongoing, she's still always asked them. You never know, after all, when that investigation's wrapped up. 
"So..." It's time to change the subject. "You expect to take a vacation this summer at all?"
She's betting she already knows the answer to that.
An easier question brings an earnest smile to Gordon's face. He turns back to face her for a moment, then nods his head the other way, before leading her down toward some of the other exhibits. "Actually, yes," he answers. "Come hell or high water, the City Manager has made me -promise-. Some long spiel about taxpayer dollars and H.R., I really only promised to get him to shut up." He glances her way again, lifting an eyebrow behind his spectacles. "I'm thinking somewhere quiet. Gatlinburg, Santa Barbara, somewhere that -isn't- classified as a major metropolitan area." He reaches out jab to Barbara in the shoulder. "You ought to come along, you know. We'll rent a nice van with all the hookups, so you won't have to use the city bus. Hell, I'd like to go some place where there isn't a city bus."
Barbara laughs at that. "You might be able to convince me," she tells him speculatively. "We can always take my van, if you promise we'll stay in proper hotels along the way." Yes, she has her own disability van -- complete with driver controls for a paraplegic and all the electronic bells and whistles that allow her to maneuver as well as any fully-able person. 
Proper hotels, of course, are those with disability access and swimming pools.
"Oh, come on," answers Gordon. "We'll take a -plane-. Well, though, a road trip. Doesn't sound half that bad!" His mustache curls upward with a grin, and he shakes his head at the exhibits. "Alright, this is middle school stuff here. Let's go and get something to eat, huh?"
With a bright smile, Commissioner Gordon turns and leads the way in search of the museum's cafe. It was moments such as these that brought brightness to him, and something tells him he's going to need all the brightness he can get.
Category:Log