Beta'd by buterfliesandresistance/thekeyholder.

Jim continues to adjust to his transformation. Oswald continues to educate him.

Harvey showing up at the mansion bothered Oswald more than he let on to Jim. It meant that word had somehow got out that Jim was recuperating in Oswald's home and that was not a good sign. He was sure no one else had been around the night he had found Jim dying in an alleyway. Likely, it was someone in his employ who had gossiped, which meant they had to be dealt with.

Oswald had Victor Zsasz checking for the source of the leak, while he attended to his own matters surrounding the Iceberg Lounge. He'd neglected the club for a few days while Jim was in the most critical stages of his transformation, but he couldn't put it off any longer. Besides, the longer he was away, the more likely it was that his staff would grow lax in their duties.

He started off with legitimate business first, sorting through the accounts for the past few nights, but then there were license applications to approve or reject, and one frustrated group of young thugs who had been refused an application to deal with.

"Crime levels cannot be permitted to rise too high at present," Oswald snapped at their leader, a heavily-built youth with a shaven hair and too many facial piercings. "And your little 'gang' here already has a reputation for going too far in certain matters."

"If you mean that fight last week, those assholes had it coming," the guy muttered. He was barely more than a boy really. Oswald was sure his file said they were all barely eighteen.

"And the week before that? Or last month? In fact, you've regularly been in trouble with the GCPD over minor infractions for the past few years," Oswald pointed out.

"Well, if you give us a licence, then they've gotta leave us alone, right?" the leader said.

Oswald sighed, and switched tactics. He smiled, pleasant on the surface, but there was danger lurking beneath. "You're young, and impulsive. I understand. I was much the same, myself, when I was your age, but you must understand that you are loose cannons right now. I cannot risk you upsetting the balance. If I grant you a licence for robbery, and you murder your chosen victim either by accident or on purpose, then I cannot protect you, and Gotham will doubt me, and then chaos will follow. Do you understand?"

From the blank looks he was receiving, Oswald doubted it, but the boys nodded nonetheless.

"Now, if you can keep from getting into too much trouble for, say, a month, then I will reconsider your application," Oswald offered.

"We gotta wait a month?" the leader protested.

"One month. Four weeks. If you can fly under the radar of the GCPD for one month, then come back and I'll review your application," Oswald replied.

The leader still didn't look happy.

"Now, if that's all, I do have some rather important work to get back to," Oswald said, gesturing to the door.

The leader looked like he might argue, but Victor chose that moment to stroll in.

"Hey, boss."

"Victor," Oswald greeted, biting back any remarks he wanted to make about the importance of knocking.

The sight of Victor Zsasz was enough to have the gang of boys scurrying out in a hurry. Oswald doubted their ability to be discreet for an entire month, but at least he was rid of them without having to resort to more drastic measures.

"I found out who's been spilling the beans about Gordon sleeping in your spare room," Victor said. "One of the cleaning staff blabbed. She's sitting out there now, if you want to talk to her, or should I just —" He made little finger guns and mimed shooting her.

Oswald scowled. "Is she a spy or just stupid?" he asked.

"Just stupid," Victor said, shrugging. "So… shoot her?" He mimed the action with finger guns.

"Yes. Wait, no," Oswald said. "I need Jim to cooperate with me for a while, and if he finds out I've had her killed for gossiping, I'll never get him to listen to me. No, just… send her in."

Victor left, and the young woman was sent in. Oswald could hear her heart beating frantically with fear. She was one of his maids, a recent hire after another had moved away from Gotham.

"Mr Cobblepot, sir, I'm really sorry, I didn't know it was meant to be such a big secret," she babbled nervously. "And I didn't even really say anything important. Just said he was there and… well. Um. I'm very sorry." She turned red and looked down at her clasped hands. Her dark hair fell forward, obscuring her face.

"And what?" Oswald asked. "What else did you say?"

If not for enhanced vampiric hearing, he doubted that he would have been able to make out what the woman said next.

"It's sweet, the way you were looking after him. That's all I said, I swear!" She looked up at him with tearful eyes. "Are you gonna kill me?"

"I need staff I can trust," Oswald said. "But your infraction is… minor. You're fired, and as long as you don't talk about anything else you may have seen or heard while working for me, you may yet live a long and happy life. Get out."

The woman nodded, eyes wide with disbelief, and fled.

Oswald sat back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. Today was just one long headache after another, and he doubted dealing with Jim later would improve his day much.

There was no way he would change his actions in that alleyway, though. He would never have let Jim die. The fact was that no matter what he did, no matter what Jim did to him, there would always be a part of Oswald that longed for Jim to see him as something other than a criminal. Every time he told himself that he was going to let go of his stupid crush, the ridiculous desire for even a true friendship, part of him stubbornly clung to the idea of Jim Gordon standing by his side willingly.

But now Oswald didn't know what was going to happen between himself and Jim. Previously, Jim had often regarded him with anger, distrust and hostility, but he had never looked so horrified as when Oswald had shown him his fangs. Thinking about the way Jim had recoiled from him stung.

But Jim was going to be his guest for a little while longer, regardless of how they both felt about the situation. Oswald still had much to teach him about surviving successfully as a vampire without attracting undue attention. In time, Jim would come to terms with what they were, and there would be no more fear between them. Perhaps it would even make them closer. If nothing else, perhaps a lesson on what happened to vampires who didn't drink blood regularly would aid Oswald in keeping himself out of either Blackgate or Arkham in the future, if Jim feared for the consequences of Oswald not being able to feed himself.

Yes, there would be advantages to this. Oswald just needed to approach matters in the right way from now on.

But first, he needed to make sure the bar was fully stocked in time for the club opening later that night.

—

Once the headache receded, Jim spent some time writing down his questions and dozing. There wasn't much else to do while he waited for Oswald to return. He was so bored, and itched to get out and do something. But it was too bright to leave the room. The small amount of daylight creeping past the curtains proved that.

He must have slept properly at some point, though, because the next time he opened his eyes, the room was darker.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, but Oswald didn't wait for Jim's response before he let himself in.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Jim sat up. "Fine. Just bored."

"I'll see what I can do to provide entertainment tomorrow," Oswald promised.

"Thanks," Jim said.

It struck him as strange to be on such cordial terms with Oswald now, when previously he had always rejected Oswald's attempts at friendship. But his situation was still very new, and Oswald was the only one able to help. Jim wasn't especially happy about that, but at least Oswald was willing to help instead of leaving him to fend for himself. Of course, without Oswald, he would have bled out that night. With all that had happened between them, Jim felt Oswald would have felt justified in leaving him to die in that alley.

"Do you feel up for a walk tonight?" Oswald asked.

"Yes," Jim replied instantly. Even if he hadn't felt up to it, he would have agreed, just to get out of the room for a while. "But… should I dress?" He indicated the unfamiliar pajamas he was wearing — that he had presumably been wearing since being brought to the mansion a week before.

"If it would make you feel better," Oswald replied. "I took the liberty of having some of your clothes brought from your apartment." He waved to the wardrobe. "You'll find all you need in there. I'll wait in the hallway for you."

Jim found a couple of shirts and trousers, as well as t-shirts and jeans hanging in the wardrobe. The drawers contained his underwear and socks, all sorted out far more neatly than Jim himself ever managed these days. He wondered who had fetched his clothes and sorted them out so neatly, feeling a flash of embarrassment for whoever had had to go through his belongings.

He dressed quickly in a plain t-shirt and jeans, then grabbed his list of questions and joined Oswald in the hallway.

It was brighter than his room, with the orange sunset filtering through the window at the end of the hall, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been earlier.

"I thought a walk at sunset would help you get used to sunlight again," Oswald said. "You should be able to build up your tolerance quickly enough, but you won't tan again."

"I don't care about that," Jim said. "As long as I get back to work."

"You will. Shall we?" Oswald gestured down the hall and began walking. "I'll show you around the mansion and grounds, then we can retire to the living room to discuss your questions."

"Sounds good," Jim replied.

"Out of respect for your occupation, I've requested that any criminal activities take place elsewhere," Oswald said. "You're unable to arrest anyone right now, until you're able to handle your new life, but I know that wouldn't stop you from trying."

"Thanks," Jim replied dryly.

"And because of that, I do ask that you not try to arrest anyone you may see here. I do have others staying here from time to time that you may recognise, and I've asked that they give you space too," Oswald continued.

Their tour took them around the mansion first, Oswald pointing out bathrooms and bedrooms that Jim should leave alone, as well as Oswald's own room if Jim should need him after he had gone to bed. Then Oswald showed him the study and living room downstairs, and the kitchen where Olga prepared meals.

"There are only a few people who I've told of my vampirism, and I would appreciate it if you could also keep this secret," Oswald said once they were alone again, stepping out into the gardens. "Do not trust the serving staff. I've been let down before, and you may find that people react badly to the news."

"How do they not notice you drinking blood, though?" Jim asked.

"Red wine can look remarkably similar, in a low light," Oswald replied. "And I'm very discreet anyway. I collect a supply personally, and stock it in a locked refrigerator in my room. No one but me touches it."

"So you don't drink from people?" Jim asked, surprised.

"I prefer not to, for many reasons," Oswald replied. "Not necessarily because I dislike to, but I find there's risk involved to my safety and reputation. You may find you don't have any such trouble, if you would prefer to drink from the source. But I have a contact at the bloodbank if you would prefer that instead. The amount available is limited, though. We cannot have too much blood go missing. It attracts attention."

Oswald took Jim around the gardens as the sun finally sank below the horizon. The moonlight was more than enough to help them find their way without tripping.

Jim was fascinated by the night blooming flowers, the insects and nocturnal animals. If he had still been human, even as observant as he was, he would have missed so much.

He watched the fox from the previous night hiding beneath a bush on the far side of the gardens. Before, he would have had no idea it was there.

"This is actually quite amazing," he murmured. He turned to find Oswald watching him with an indulgent expression.

"This was my favourite part of being turned, back when it was still new," Oswald said. "I used to take walks, feeling invincible for the first time, but then…" He glanced down at his leg, then across the garden. "Well, circumstances change. Shall we go inside?"

"Okay."

Oswald led him into the living room, instructing the staff that they passed on the way that they were not to be disturbed for any reason. They sat by the fire, and Jim pulled out his list of questions.

"Where do you want to start?" Oswald asked.

"Well…" Jim glanced down at his list. There wasn't any order to the questions. He'd written them down as he'd thought of them, without any organisation.

"Show me," Oswald said, coming to sit by him.

He sat close to Jim, and leaned closer still. This close, Jim could make out his heartbeat.

"I thought vampires didn't have heartbeats," Jim said. "How come we do?"

"A lot of vampire lore in movies and books is nonsense," Oswald explained. "I thought the fact that neither of us burned up in the daylight this morning would have proved that."

"I can still eat garlic then?" Jim asked, joking.

"When you can handle the flavour, yes. I did tell you flavours would be more intense, right?" Oswald asked.

Jim nodded. "Bland food at first, right?"

Oswald smiled at him, pleased. "Yes, that's right. Anyway. Heartbeats. As it's been explained to me, our muscles still require oxygen, and our system is still designed to supply the oxygen by carrying it in our blood — except that our blood no longer carries blood. That's why we drink from other people. But I don't know more than that. There hasn't exactly been a lot of research done into it, that I know of."

Jim nodded as he spoke. "I guess it's not a research subject people want getting out, huh?"

"Not at all," Oswald replied.

"Next question then — how often do I have to drink blood and how much?" Jim asked.

"Daily," Oswald replied. "I find a packet from the blood bank usually suits me, but you may find you require more. If you drink from people directly, you'll learn to judge how much to take."

"What if I kill someone?" Jim asked. This was the question that had bothered him most during the day.

"It's unlikely that you would be able to drink enough to kill someone unless you're severely injured," Oswald replied. "But if such a thing should happen, let me know as soon as possible and I'll deal with it."

"You'll get rid of the body and cover it up, you mean," Jim said unhappily.

"Of course." Oswald looked at him as though he was stupid. "If one of your victims turns up in your own morgue, what would you do? Own up to it? Oh yes, I killed him and drank his blood, lock me up."

Jim still wasn't happy.

"Look, be careful and if the worst should happen, we'll deal with it together," Oswald said. "I made the decision to turn you, and I won't leave you to deal with this on your own. I wouldn't do that to you." There was a hint of reproach in his voice.

Jim felt a familiar surge of guilt, for all the times he had let Oswald down. Even after finding out that there was something bad happening at Arkham, he had left him there.

"Oswald, I —" he began.

"Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?" Oswald asked, interrupting.

"Um." Jim hesitated, thrown by the interruption. "Are there many vampires in Gotham? And what about other things?"

"Other things?"

"Like werewolves and things like that," Jim replied.

"I don't know how many vampires there are, but there is a community of us. I'll introduce you later. As for 'other things' — generally, they still like to be called people," Oswald answered.

Jim flushed. "Yeah, okay. But that means they exist, right?"

"Yes, they exist. There are werewolves — two packs, as far as I'm aware, though one pack seems to only consist of two members, as far as I'm aware," Oswald said. "And there are other shape shifters, witches, fae-kind… You'll generally be able to tell them apart by scent or taste, except for witches, because they're just humans who cast spells."

"Spells? Magic?" Jim asked, frowning. "That's all real?"

Oswald looked at him with a sigh. "You're a humanoid mosquito now, and I just told you werewolves and faeries exist. Of course magic is real."

"Right." Jim blushed. "It's just a lot to accept all at once."

"At least we're past the first hurdle of you accepting your vampirism," Oswald said, patting him on the arm. "After this, all you need to do is learn how to cope with your new abilities, gauge how much blood to drink from a person, and learn about all the things that have been kept from you, like magic."

"Right." Jim's head was spinning with all of the new information he was taking in. "Is anyone else I know not human?"

Oswald shrugged. "I don't know all the people you know, and a lot of the time, it isn't my place to say anything, but… you know Selina, yes? She's part faerie."

"Really?" Jim asked. She'd seemed so normal, when he met her. But then, so had Oswald.

For a given value of 'normal'.

"I'm not sure what kind of faerie, even she doesn't know that, but it's part of why she never falls when she's jumping around rooftops and such things."

"Anyone else?" Jim asked.

"Not my place,"Oswald said. "You'll find out for yourself. Anyway, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

Jim could tell from his teasing smile that Oswald knew something. "Not even a hint?"

"Not even a hint," Oswald said.

"Even if I say I'll owe you a favour?" Jim asked, leaning forwards just a little.

"Even then," Oswald replied. He drew back, standing up. "Are you hungry? I should get something for us to drink. Or…" He turned back to Jim. "Come with me."

The change was so abrupt that Jim wondered if he had done something wrong. Nevertheless, he followed Oswald up to his bedroom. Oswald locked the door behind them. Jim felt a brief flash of anxiety, but forced it away. Oswald wasn't going to hurt him or do anything else. This was just more vampire stuff.

Oswald crouched down by a cabinet in the corner and unlocked it. Jim peered over his shoulder and saw that it was a disguised fridge, with several packets of blood hanging inside. Oswald took two out, and handed one to Jim.

"I prefer mine a little warmer, but you can drink it cold," he said. "As long as it isn't coagulated." He pulled a disgusted face.

Jim accepted the blood bag with some trepidation. Until now, he'd only had the blood Oswald brought to him in a cup. This felt different, though.

Oswald had installed a microwave in his room as well, for the purpose of heating his blood, and kept cups to warm it in. Jim watched him as he set the timer and waited for the microwave to ping.

"You do this every night?" Jim asked.

"Yes, and unless you hunt or find yourself a willing Thrall or two, so will you," Oswald said.

He stepped out of the way and let Jim heat up his own meal. It was easier, somehow, if he pretended it wasn't blood, but maybe some kind of liquid MRE that he once had to live off in the military. Even if it didn't taste like any food he'd ever had before.

"Thrall?" Jim asked, once his blood was warming.

"A willing food source, someone who agrees to let you drink from them regularly. According to Lillian, they were once more common, and sometimes were magically enthralled to serve vampires, but that time has passed. Now it's better if they're willing," Oswald replied.

"And you don't have one?"

"No," Oswald said. "It's usually too risky for me. There's always someone ready to betray me or I run into trouble. It's best that I stick to a supply from the blood bank, but even then, there is risk involved."

The microwave pinged and Jim retrieved his cup of blood. He looked down at it, trying to brace himself for the first sip. Oswald had shown no such hesitance, but he'd been a vampire for years.

"One day, you'll gulp it down enthusiastically," Oswald told him. "Best just to drink it quickly for now, if you're squeamish about it."

Jim nodded, grimacing. "Okay. Fine." He took a deep breath, then tipped his cup back and drank.

It wasn't quite as bad as he was expecting.

"It's better from the source," Oswald said. "If you're feeling up to it tomorrow, we can take a trip into the city to let you try hunting."

"Where would we go?" Jim asked.

"The Iceberg Lounge, of course. Lots of young, pretty people getting drunk. There will be plenty of opportunity for you there, and I have a private office you can use for privacy," Oswald said.

"What if I'm seen there?" Jim asked.

"Seen in general, or seen feeding? Because those are different problems," Oswald pointed out. "And I should point out that word has probably already got around that you are recuperating from an illness in my home. Your colleagues are probably already making up plenty of stories about what we're really getting up to."

Jim paled. "You're right. They're terrible for gossip. They'll all assume you're poisoning me, or I'm going to come back as your lapdog or something. They'll never respect me."

He ignored the look Oswald gave him at that, the look that said quite clearly 'they don't respect you anyway'.

"So if you're seen at the Lounge, they'll speculate as to why, but as long as none of them suspect that we're vampires and you're hunting, then we'll be fine," Oswald said.

"What if someone does find out?" Jim asked.

"Then we end up with hunters stalking us," Oswald said. "And dealing with them is never as simple as just killing them."

"You'd hesitate over killing someone?" Jim asked, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

Oswald glared at him, annoyed. "I know you don't think much of me, but I'm not a mindless killer."

"But you are a murderer," Jim pointed out.

"I'd be careful what you say to me right now, Jim," Oswald said, stepping close. The threatening effect he was going for lessened by the fact that he had to glare up, rather than down. Also, the fact that he was still holding his cup rather than a weapon likely didn't help. "You're a guest in my house, and as you still have rather a lot to learn from me, I'd say that puts me at the advantage here."

"That doesn't change the fact that you have killed people for your own gain," Jim replied, not backing away. "You're a criminal."

"I saved your life," Oswald snapped. "A little gratitude wouldn't go amiss!"

Jim scowled. "Fine. Thank you," he said, not holding back on the sarcasm.

Oswald flashed an equally sarcastic smile at him. "You're welcome." He stepped back and turned away. If he had been anyone else, Jim would have thought he was conceding in their argument, but he knew better.

"And by the way, killing hunters will only attract more hunters, and that brings more trouble that I could really do without. So if you run into hunters, evade and escape, but do not kill them. Fight if you have to, but it's best to incapacitate them," Oswald explained, still obviously angry. "A few of them may be inclined to talk first, and see reason, but most are of the opinion than anything supernatural in nature is inherently evil and must be killed, so you understand why the supernatural community of Gotham would prefer to stay low profile."

"Yeah, makes sense," Jim replied, sullenly.

"We've known each other for years now, Jim," Oswald said. "You know very well the forethought and planning I'm capable of. It cannot shock you that I would let someone live if killing them would only bring greater problems."

"I guess not," Jim admitted reluctantly. Then he gave Oswald a speculative look. "But if the death couldn't be traced back to you..."

"Still risky," Oswald replied, shaking his head. "Hunters keep track of their own. But if you come up with any ideas for dealing with them…"

He smirked as Jim glared at him.

"I won't help you kill people," Jim said. "Or cover it up."

"Of course not. I know better than to ask that of you by now," Oswald replied soothingly. But the smug, teasing smirk never left his lips. "There are plenty of other officers who would be much more amenable anyway."

"Oswald!" Jim's angry shout was punctuated by a loud crack. The cup in his hand shattered, spilling blood over his hand and the carpet. Sharp shards of ceramic cut into his palm. "Shit!"

"Oh!" Oswald grabbed his forearm and pulled him over to the en suite bathroom. "That was clumsy. Let me take a look."

Jim didn't resist, too shocked by his own actions.

Oswald rinsed the blood from his hand under the sink, then set about pulling the shards from Jim's hand. Jim watched in silence as the cuts stopped bleeding and sealed themselves before his eyes.

"At least you don't need to be bandaged up,"Oswald commented. "I hate to think what Bullock would say if I sent you back to work injured."

"I'll never need another hospital stay," Jim replied.

"Think of the money you'll save," Oswald added. He pulled the last sliver out, and rubbed the blood away with his thumb. "Do you feel any more pieces still inside you?"

Jim shook his head.

Oswald brushed his thumb over Jim's palm one last time and then released him.

Jim held his palm up to the light. It was hard to believe that he had been cut and bleeding mere moments ago.

"Vampiric healing. Wonderful, isn't it?" Oswald said, watching him carefully. Expectantly, even.

"Yeah," Jim said. Try as he might, he couldn't prevent himself from looking at Oswald's damaged leg.

"Go on," Oswald said. "I know you want to ask."

"Why didn't your leg heal?" Jim asked, flushing guiltily at being caught.

"Wood," Oswald said simply. "Wood is our biggest weakness. I know it may seem like that makes no sense, but it's true. You can get shot, stabbed, beaten to a pulp and you'll heal in minutes. But wounds inflicted with wood will heal as though you're human still. Unless you have splinters you cannot remove."

"So you have splinters in your leg?" Jim asked.

"Fish beat me with a wooden chair leg. By the time I was able to do anything about the injury, it was too late. The splinters were too deeply embedded," Oswald explained.

"I'm sorry. That was when we… when I —" Jim began.

"It's not your fault. I was stupid, overconfident. I paid the price, and I have a permanent reminder," Oswald said dismissively.

"But still, getting pushed into the river can't have helped," Jim said.

"What's done is done. You showed mercy. Kindness. I knew you would, and you didn't let me down," Oswald replied, turning away. "Come on, you need more blood. You didn't finish your meal and you really should."

"Wait, what do you mean?" Jim asked, hurrying after him.

"You're still newborn, for a vampire. You need to feed regularly," Oswald said. He found Jim's discarded blood packet, which still had enough for another cup, and then fetched a clean mug for him.

"I meant about me showing you mercy," Jim said. "What was that about?"

Oswald looked up at him, cheeks flushed pink. "I haven't thought of it in years, really," he said. "Our first meeting. The circumstances that led to my being in the trunk of Bullock's car, being led down the pier. I was injured, didn't yet know why my leg wasn't healing, but I'd begged Falcone to give you the task of shooting me. If you had, I ...don't think I would have died, but a bullet to the brain wasn't going to be good for me whether it did or not. But my gamble was right. You didn't shoot me, and I was free to work my way into Maroni's gang, snitching on him for Falcone." He smiled. "Simpler times, but not a period of my life that I miss."

Jim snorted. "I can believe that. You climbed all the way to the top. There can't be many mob snitches who go on to control all the organised crime in a city," he said before he could catch himself.

Oswald gave him a sly smile, handing him the mug of blood. "Why, Jim, that almost sounds admiring."

Jim blushed and looked away. "You're… persistent. It can be a good thing, if you put it towards good aims."

"I have money and power. I'd say I put it towards a good aim," Oswald replied.

"Earned through illegal means. You're a criminal. If you gave that up, became a legitimate businessman, then I'd admire you," Jim said.

Oswald's smile grew. "Perhaps in my next life," he said. "When immortality forces us to move on."

Jim snorted in disbelief. "I'll believe that when I see it." He sipped from his mug with only a small pause this time. He'd already drunk blood, had already tasted it and smelled it, and despite his initial rejection of the whole thing, his body wasn't rejecting it. It didn't make him feel ill. It just… was.

Oswald watched, a pleased expression on his face. "You're adapting quickly, given the circumstances," he said. He drained his own cup of blood.

"So you'll take me to the club tomorrow?" Jim asked. He was nervous about the idea of going, but he didn't want to stay cooped up in Oswald's mansion all the time.

"Yes, if you'd like," Oswald said. "Now, I suppose I should let you out of my room before the staff get any wrong ideas about us and start spreading rumours."

"Can't imagine you'd tolerate that," Jim said, following Oswald to the door.

"I don't. I already fired one maid for gossiping, and I'll happily fire any others who do the same," Oswald said. "And before you ask and insult me, yes, all I did was fire her. She won't be turning up in a ditch somewhere, and there will be no missing persons report, because she's not missing. Just unemployed."

The suspicious expression cleared from Jim's face, replaced with confused surprise. "That's… more magnanimous than I expected from you."

"Then you clearly haven't been paying enough attention," Oswald said waspishly. "Now, how would you like to spend the rest of your night?" he asked, when Jim looked suitably chastised.

A final note: Thanks for reading! Find me on AO3 as Sabulana or Tumblr as Emmageddon.