1964-03-08 - What Makes A Hero
Summary: When Officer Gordon is set upon by a group of thugs, there's only one man to save the day! But he wasn't around, so Ford stepped up instead.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
gordon ford 

It's late at night in Hells kitchen. The son's gone down and the moons gone up. A low breeze blows its way across the city, carrying with it the bite of a light spritzing of rain. Cars roll past their lights shining in through the open windows of concrete and steel reflecting off the hoods of the parked vehicles left there for the night.

Save for the sounds of the city outside these concrete walls all is quiet tonight. The low hum of music plays off in the distance a home stereo plays End of the World, the melody drifting through the air is warped by the winds echoing off the winding ramp.

Under the glow of a lone bulb, Gordon stands hagered and bloodied, his nose broken, hands held up in front of himself like a boxer. His breathing is labored, and pained as out from the darkness a bat swings, slamming into the back of his head and sending his glasses flying off into the darkness.

Gordon hits the floor hard, surrounded in the middle of a circle of men in black masks each holding their own baseball bat. Bats are raised and slammed down in methodical precision, while the men in the circle laugh to themselves, and Skeeter Davis sings about love and time lost.

Wood splinters as one of the bats breaks clean in two down the middle. The force of impact letting out a loud KATHUNK which echoes out through the garage. The handle goes wide flying into the darkness right beside those cracked glasses.


Ford didn't typically go through Hell's Kitchen. Not at night, at least. He always grew up knowing not to. Even though now, he had absolutely no reason to fear the Kitchen. His skin could shrug off bullets like rain. He could bench a dumptruck. And frankly, he didn't need to be riding his motorcycle right now, since he could outpace it on foot. But he never found a need to show off his powers. And he liked the wind in his hair and the rev of the engine.

It is by sheer coincidence that he had passed by this particular garage and stopped, consulting his map. He so rarely traveled this way, he was fairly lost right now. Sitting on the bike and looking through his city map, he blinked as he noticed a half a bat skid to a stop in front of him. Looking up and following the path it took, he spied a group of masked thugs wailing on… somebody! No… no, don't get involved. You're not a hero… you'll only make things worse for yourself. You've got a girl to think of now… don't go playing tough guy in the streets like this.

That's what he told himself, even as he sighed and kicked the motorcycle to a stand, putting his map away in his black leather jacket pocket. Stepping off his bike, Ford walked towards the beatdown, clenching his fists. "Hey! You punks better have a good reason for wailing on someone like that! Or we're gonna have a problem!"


And a beat-down is exactly what it is from the looks. Ten men in all circled around one redheaded mustachioed man laying on the ground in a pile. When Ford speaks up, the beating stops if but for a moment for all but one of the men who takes it onto himself to give one last violent swing of his bat, slamming into Gordons side.

The group backs off from him a bit, fanning out slightly. The biggest of the bunch, the one who just had to take that last swing speaks up. "Just giving Jimmy here a warning, man needs to remember he's got a pregnant wife at home." A light kick to Gordons side as he starts to walk. "Don't have any problems with you."

On the ground Gordon tightens his fist slightly, his briefcase completely smashed in by one of the bats. As he moves he finds a bloody bat lightly tossed onto his back, the group all making their move to walk off into the night.


Ford stood fast as the group spread out, keeping a good eye on the big guy who just had to prove his size by getting in one more swing. And had he just left it at that, Ford might not have done anything. But then he mentioned the man having a pregnant wife… and that about tore it for the greaser. Something about that miffed him. Perhaps it was the prospect of being a dad himself that made him mad, but the notion that these guys might be trying to threaten this fellow's family? For whatever reason? That pissed him off.

As quick as greased lightning, Ford made full use of that super speed and immediately moved to cut off the big fellow, before reaching up to grasp him by the neck with one hand and choke him. "Oh, you do now. Just haaaaad to be the big man, didn't ya? You aren't going anywhere…" Ford snarled as he aimed to carry the man back to the bloodied Gordon, leaning down to offer him a hand up. "C'mon, let's get you standing."


The group is walking tall as they make to stream out into the night. Right till Fords hand grips around a throat with the speed of a cheetah. "Hey what the he-" Is all he manages to say before grabbing at the hand trying to break free. For all his gravitas and strength the man is still only human. "What are you waiting for? Help me?" He chokes out kicking his legs hard.

Of course the other thugs don't run to his help. They're too busy running for their own lives, bloodied bats slung over their shoulders leather greaser style jackets fluttering in the wind while they scatter. No way were they going after a cape.

Gordon tries to push himself back to a stand, just falling right back down onto the cold floor. His vision is blurred to the point he can't hardly see, blood running down his face covering his once pure white undershirt, the splotches all over his dark brown trenchcoat. He looks like hell, and feels even worse.

Gordon was never too big a man to turn down help when offered. The bloodied man taking that hand mutters out a "Thanks" his voice gravely and somewhat weak from the beatdown. Eyes narrow while he tries to focus on faces but all he can see are blurs and splotches. His blood-soaked badge under his jacket gives away his status as a member of NYPD's finest.


Ford scowled as the man kicked at him, watching the others run into the night. Cowards… not that he blamed them. He knew when to get out when things got nasty. And he was one good sock away from making this far uglier. Helping the man to his feet, Ford blinked, realizing he was NYPD. "No problem… I hadn't planned on jumping in, but… well, I hadn't planned on it." Clearly, Ford's heroic dialogue still needed a bit of work.

"You look bad… I… erm… hrm… I know of someone around here who can patch you up… assuming she's home. She… wasn't too pleased with me last we met, but… she's a nurse." He looked up at the squirming man in his hand, scowling again. "What do you want me to do with this punk? I imagine he'd be a font of interesting information…"


"You did fine kid." Howard speaks with a bit of a groaning voice as he gathers his senses. A single hand reaches out towards the struggling goon, grabbing down onto his hood. With a slow pull of the hand that hood comes off revealing the blond haired blue eyed face of the NYPD SWAT, the poster child for the new group.

"Alright Jimmy, you got me, slap the cuffs on and let's go down to the station." The big man comments with a smile. "I'll be off with a warning and a slap on the wrist."

Gordon takes a long moments pause, pulling out a pack of smokes from his pocket. He strugles with his battered and bruised fingers to be able to pull one out of the pack, and stick it into the corner of his mouth. "Got a light?" He asks ford after patting himself down trying to find the lighter.


"Don't tempt me. A slap on the wrist from me would break it, buddy." Ford said. There was the warning. Now one had to pray he didn't follow through with the slap on the wrist. About the only reason he wasn't right now was because he had a new Colombian girlfriend. Who was here illegally. And a mutant. He really could pick 'em, couldn't he?

"Yeah, should have one here somewhere…" Ford replied, digging into his coat with his free hand, still dangling the goon by his throat with the other. Pulling out a polished lighter, Ford flicked it open and held it out to light up his smoke. "Don't smoke… but I find a good lighter is always handy to have. Name's Ford, by the by…" He looked up at the SWAT fellow, shaking him a bit in his grip. "Any idea why they tried to beat candy out of you like a pinata?"


"Gordon." The orange glow bathes Gordon in a warmth of a moment, the embers on the end of that no brand cigarette pack glow bright as he takes in a deep puff relaxing some of the pain away even if blood is still running down his face. "James Gordon, never leave the house without one myself, but lost the damn thing under the car."

Smoke rolls out from the corners of Gordons mouth as he moves up to the SWAT thug. "Not everyone's willing to compromise what they believe in, for a new car and some jewelry." He spends a long moment thinking. "Let him go." He says finally his expression still a stern one.

"Hey come on Jimmy, it was just a-" The thug starts off with a smile pleading in his voice before stopping dead in his tracks. "What?" He's not even kicking anymore, just hanging there confused.


Ford smirked, shaking his head. "Yeah. I hear it's bad for you… looks cool as hell, though." Clearly a guy with his priorities straight. He looked up at the thug, ready to choke him into submission before Mr. Gordon actually told him to let the guy go! "…wait, yeah, I'm with him. What?" Ford paused, looking back at Gordon, before turning up at the guy and frowning. After a moment, he sighed, letting him go… not so politely.

"You say so…" Ford conceded, shaking his head and finally putting his arm down. "Then… at least, let's get you looked up? A hospital or… wait, how far is… oh, what was it? 5…556… West? And… I think it was 125th street? Yeah, 556 West and 125th. How far to that? I know someone who could help at least get you looking less… bloody."


The moment Mr. Big and Tall hits the ground he's stumbling and running fast as he can, half about falling over himself to get away. There's no thanks, no actual sign of gratitude, just a quick run right out the garage fast as his legs can carry him. He almost manages to run head first into the path of an oncoming bus, barely able to stop himself before running to his car.

Gordon walks over a short ways away to his glasses on the ground, broken right down the middle one of the lenses gone spiderweb on half of the lens. He picks the two halves up off the ground, and places them back on his face, watching out in the direction the Blonde was running. "I bring him in, and sure he'll serve a week or two, but I'll be transferred out of town faster then I can sneeze." His cigarette bobbs with each word he speaks even as he starts to walk back towards Ford. He rolls his shoulder trying to pop it back into place, a loud POP as he forces it back into the socket, making his way towards his briefcase. His cold exterior cracks with a good deal of pain for a moment. "Few blocks at most."


Ford nodded, smirking and placing his hands on his hips as he watched the guy run away, wincing as he nearly got hit by the bus. "Dumbass… can't say I blame him, though. I mean, look at me. I /was/ kinda awesome back there…" Humble, isn't he?

Letting the guy get his glasses, Ford nodded as he mentioned the place wasn't too far away. "I know a lady who, I think, is good at patching all this kind of stuff up. And given your state… well, I suspect she won't say no. Can you ride?" Ford motioned to his motorcyle a ways away, moving quickly to bring it closer so the man didn't have to hobble far. "I don't get it… you're NYPD… why would they want to knock you around like that?"


"I'd say so." Gordon comments with a bit of a chuckle at the humble comment. Though he has to wince at the pain, feeling his own ribs fighting back against him. "I can ride," Said calm and collected as he tries to block out the pain, his glasses pushed back together as he pulls out a small roll of tape from his briefcase on the ground. The locks had been broken in the smash. "Like I said, even with the superheroes running around we still have a few crooked cops." He leans back against a rather plain, and somewhat rusty 1938 Opel Olympia, matt grey and looking like it had seen much better days.


Ford frowned as Gordon spoke. He noted the Olympia he leaned again, nodding at the car. "That yours? We can take it, if that'd be easier. Promise, I'm a helluva good driver." He made a mental note to come back and give this thing a much needed tune up. "Well… I'm no superhero. Just a jackass from East Village. Mechanic by trade. But… I couldn't sit back and let that happen. And his threatening your family pissed me right off." Ford hopped off the bike, offering to take the case from Gordon. "So… I'm no hero… but, if you need a hand, I'd be happy to teach these guys what having power is about."


"Trust me, you're enough of a hero to step up and do what's right." Gordon slowly pushes himself back off the cars door, once his glasses are back firmly on his face taped into place. Briefcase under hand he hops shakily onto the back of the bike. "I'll make sure he doesn't go near my family,"

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