Devil's Playground • Gotham Fanfiction •

XVI - Dear Sister

The words came out with an unintended sigh, he knew everyone processed trauma differently and he'd been around Bird enough in the aftermath of it see how much she'd shut down.
To the point of not saying a single word.

But he also wasn't sure how much, if any, of her acting that way was put on.
After all, it wasn't like this was the first time someone had tried to kill her.

"What are they going to do with Barnes?"
She asked, seeming to wait the exact amount of time to stop him just as he'd started to walk away.

"Arkham." He answered, "There was some talk on how he might lose his hand."

She didn't respond.

"How are you holding up?" He repeated his earlier question.

"I've been better, Bullock." Her voice was dry; sounded as painful as her throat felt.

He readjusted his stance and pulled in a deep breath.

She was an expert at getting on his nerves, always had been -but he could take the shots she'd diss out and fire them right back.
He always knew what to say or how to react then.

This was something different.
Those times when she seemed to be in such turmoil that it radiated off of her and thickened the air; those where the times when he didn't know what to do, or what to say.

Now he was the one staring over to where Jim was.

"You know-" He carefully said, "There's one thing I don't get it. Why didn't you kill him?"

For the first time in several minutes, Bird moved, turned her head and looked up to where he was standing.

Feeling like he needed to further explain, he added, "I mean, you hated the guy and it's not like-"

"I didn't hate Barnes." Bird stated, "I just didn't like him very much, but not enough to hate him."

"Killing him wasn't necessary." Bird continued, feeling a heat rising to both of her cheeks, "Is that what you think of me? That I... what? Just go around murdering people that I don't much care for?"

"No..."
His answer didn't sound confident.

Not because that's really what he thought of her but more so by the look on her face; she looked offended, hurt even.

And she was.
She and Bullock had never been what she'd call friends, usually only brought together for Jim's sake, but what he'd said had stung.

It was like he didn't know her all.

"Look, I wasn't trying to..." His expression softened some, "I didn't mean to upset you-"

"Please." He voice was still scratchy from the damage inflicted on her throat earlier in the day but her tone was clean, callous, "As if you could hurt me."

"Fair enough." He breathed, looking around them before revealing his main intention for coming over there, "I need to see the gun you shot the Cap with."

"Why?"

"'Cause I do."

Bird shrugged off the blanket one of the medical staff had draped over her shoulders and reached over to where her purse was.
It had been returned to her after her belongings were recovered from the trunk she'd been locked in.

She'd already nestled the weapon back in it's satin wrought display.

When she opened the box to show the revolver, he stared at it in disbelief.
He'd never seen anything like it before, the gold detailing and diamonds glittered even in the shadows they were casting over it.