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5. What is this knife in your hand?
Is it yours? Is it mine?
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Julia's nails click against the table relentlessly. A steady rhythm; click, click, click. The sound is invading her brain. She's not sure if she's effectively calming herself or irritating herself, but the latter seems to win.
Unlike, as it turns out, most people in Gotham, she's never been in an interrogation room before. It's a wonder; whether they're proven guilty or not, and whether they are or not, at least half of the people her age and social class – and complexion – have got to have seen the inside of this room. Todd himself has seen it. She's pretty sure Edith has, too. Maybe this was all some sort of self fulfilling thing she could have done without this evening. Or this life.
All of it felt like it was a long time coming. From her finding herself here, to her biological father being killed on TV.
She remembers when her adoptive dad died – barely, but there's some pieces here and there; Alfred remembers him more than she does. She's now convinced that he was present at the funeral, and half sure that she loved him like her actual father. It's not much; she was ten. Twenty two years later, time has done its job of rounding the edges and softening the harsh lines of their relationship. She knows she cared about the man, but she had known him for two years when he died.
She'd known Judge Gupta was her father for one, two, three, four seconds before he choked on the acid, on his blood. She's not sure which of the two men are supposed to define her now. The one she shares blood with (spilled), or the one who cooked her dinner for five hundred seventy three evenings? The lines blurred.
Her whole self blurred. And she was still stuck in that room.
James Gordon – 'Jim, please' – has a jovial face and kind eyes hidden behind glasses that have Julia relaxing an inch in her chair. Despite his obvious link to the Batman, it's hard to trust him. She thinks trust has become too hard for her, lately. Or it always has. She did con the Bat into staying in her apartment based on a game of trust, on the fact that they were both as trusting of the other. Surely that says a lot. She thinks, but she's not sure. Again. It's all blurred.
