Ch. 4
In truth, it was easy to see why Miranda Tate and Giulia Sforza were friends, Gordon thought. A cynic would label them as the ultimate bleeding hearts. They contributed to similar causes, each were possessed of similar personalities and mannerisms that might have led some to believe they were sisters. Miranda Tate was notoriously private as well, and trying to set up an appointment with a very busy executive was nearly a coup when he succeeded.
He'd arranged to meet the reclusive Ms. Tate through her secretary, whose number was provided by Mrs. Sforza. That was how, on an overcast Monday afternoon, the Commissioner was sitting alone at a beautifully prepared table at Fox Gardens in the Fashion District.
He watched other customers at their tables, some men in suits chatting reservedly, while there were also well-dressed housewives sipping on champagne despite the earliness of the hour. He supposed that was the thing to do, if you lived that life. Gordon took care to wear an ironed blue cotton dress shirt and creased grey slacks. He brought a black sport coat, the first he ever purchased after making sergeant, and hoped there weren't any holes caused by hungry moths he hadn't spotted before he left for work that day.
That didn't mean that he felt comfortable in an environment like this. He surveyed the pristinely polished utensils arranged before him, the gold trimmings on the plates. The entire dining set probably cost more than his entire disposable income when he was a beat cop. If you drove out to where the Diamond District overlapped with Old Gotham, you'd still find families scraping by on far less than the national average income. The disparity was easy to forget about if you spent all of your time in places like this.
They were supposed to meet at precisely noon and thirty two minutes after, the woman hadn't shown up yet. He was contemplating leaving a note with the maitre d', but right when he stood he was confronted by a dark haired woman in a collared white blouse tucked primly into a knee length pencil skirt. She looked apologetic as she strode toward him in her high heels and greeted him with a firm handshake that suggested a career in the corporate world.
"I'm so, so sorry Commissioner Gordon! The board meeting ran a little overtime and there was the traffic of the lunch rush. Have you ordered?"
"No harm done, and no I haven't ordered yet."
"You must try the baked salmon and lobster here. It's the freshest in the whole city."
He marveled at her as a waiter immediately responded to her raised hand and came to jot down their orders.
"We'll have two of the salmon-lobster specials. A mineral water for me, with a twist of lemon too. And for you?—"
"I'll have tap, thank you," He interjected.
"Very good madam, sir." The waiter left them alone and Gordon felt a rush of impatience to get to business.
"Do you have any idea why I wanted to meet you today, Ms. Tate?"
She settled her purse on the empty chair next to him. She seemed relaxed, her eyes unshuttered, compared to her colleague Daggett. He wondered if this was a front while she calculated her next moves in the belief that he suspected nothing. If it were so, she was a damned good actress. He knew he had to tread carefully.
"No, but Giulia practically sings your praises. She's not usually so trusting of high-level law enforcement, which means that I can trust you."
"You decide who to trust based on her input?"
"She is an uncanny judge of a person's true character."
Just then, the waiter reappeared with a pitcher of water and filled his glass to the top. He produced Ms. Tate's mineral water and then left them alone once more, with the practiced economy of movement instilled in waiters of this caliber.
"Mrs. Sforza hasn't mentioned the reason why she agreed to give me your contact information?" Gordon enquired politely.
"No," Miranda Tate scooted her chair in closer to the table. "Please, Commissioner, let's not beat around the bush. What is it?"
Without skipping a beat, he shifted gears and narrowed his eyes slightly.
"The break-in and burglary at her husband's penthouse was actually a botched attempt on her life. GCPD is investigating the possible reasons why anyone would want her dead and it comes down to Mr. Daggett and yourself, so you'd better start explaining before I have to haul you downtown. I'm here out of respect for you, or I would have sent in some rookies to collect you."
Ms. Tate's eyes widened but she made no sound that would make her reaction look overly surprised. Her breathing remained even, but her face turned pale in shock.
"She never said anything," She remarked in a pitch slightly higher than normal.
"Well she's been instructed to keep the knowledge to herself while we go about our investigation."
"What—and you think I had something to do with it?"
"There's some pretty damning evidence on your business partner John Daggett, who might have been acting on instructions from Mr. Sforza. That's motive. We all know you certainly have the means. Now opportunity remains to be seen-"
"Giulia is one of my closest friends, Commissioner."
"I've found that money trumps all, in most cases. If you testify against Daggett or Alessandro Sforza, you might be able to negotiate on jail time. I don't think Blackgate would be any good for a woman like you."
"I have nothing to do with what you're saying. You think I'm somehow implicated in this absurd plot? I know that Alessandro and Giulia don't see eye to eye but I can't believe that he'd do—that!" She hissed, hoping to avoid attracting unwanted attention from the surrounding tables.
Her ire grew exponentially when she saw him raise a single eyebrow in response, as if to say that he could see right through her. Anger wasn't an expression that suited her face. One of the most noticeable traits that Miranda Tate shared with Mrs. Sforza was her level-headedness. To see Ms. Tate give in to her anger was disconcerting, to say the least.
"Let me explain something to you. When my father died, I didn't leave my house for days. I mourned him so deeply that I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. Giulia took care of me without me asking. I hated her for it when I most wanted to be alone, but she knew what that feels like, to be abandoned and have no one." She paused for a breath. She made impassioned indignation look quite fetching, but Gordon felt that something was still…off about Miranda Tate.
"I'm the one who stayed with her in the hospital when Alessandro first left, after she miscarried their first child. I won't tolerate your baseless accusations because I'm the one who picked up the pieces of her life when no one else would help her!"
There was an intensely uncomfortable moment of silence. Ms. Tate suddenly deflated, ashamed that she revealed such a private thing about her friend to a stranger. The gravity of it shocked him deeply. Mr. Sforza's callousness was utterly unconscionable but knowing what he did of the investment banker, Gordon shouldn't have been so surprised.
He would deal with this knowledge later, for now he had to get Ms. Tate back on topic. After all, there wasn't anything solid that connected her to the two men in GCPD lockup but she still might have valuable information.
"I apologize for offending you, Ms. Tate. It wasn't my intention."
"When is it ever, with you people?" Tate said with mild irony, but with her composure regained.
"The sewer tunnels, I need to know what renovations are being done. Thus far, no one's been willing to come forward."
She sat, her back impossibly straight as she stared him down and he waited patiently for her to speak.
"Gotham's unemployment rate has been on the rise in the past five years. Higher paying jobs are going to those people with graduate degrees and at least a few years of solid work experience. The number of unskilled workers is growing because the children who were orphaned due to mob violence are now coming of age. Through my Clean Energy Project, we're able to alleviate this pressure on the economy by providing jobs to these young adults."
Gordon jotted this down in his notepad, he found he was filling the pages more substantially than he'd done in a long time. When he finished he looked back up at her.
"I assume your managers went through all the proper legal paperwork and such. I'd hate to learn that half of your employees are underage without work permits. And Daggett's construction crews, what exactly are they working on that they don't want the DWP to know?"
"We're simply repairing the deterioration that poses a threat to any contractors and district crews who might inspect the tunnels. Gotham's sewer line carries approximately one million gallons of wastewater to the D'Angelo Treatment Plant, of which there's a twenty five percent chance it might spill into the ocean by accident. Our engineers have advised us that immediate repairs are necessary, for the sake of the environment. I authorized the project and provided for the startup costs. It's a win-win situation, Commissioner, but I understand why there might be legal troubles…Sometimes, you just can't afford to wait for the system."
An image of the Batman flashed through Gordon's mind, forbidding and untouchable, above the system, as Ms. Tate inadvertently reminded him.
The waiter arrived with their fish, presenting them their dishes as swiftly as possible as he'd overheard snippets of their heated conversation.
He stared at the forks, wondering which to pick up first, when he heard Barbara's voice in his head tell him 'Start from the outside.' He speared a piece of the creamy salmon and bit into it, letting the flavors fill his senses.
"Delicious, isn't it?" Ms. Tate asked solicitously, eager to see if she'd made a successful recommendation, or perhaps just eager to change the subject.
"It is, indeed."
The rich food at lunch put Gordon into something of a food coma. It was yet another reminder that the wining-and-dining was now an occupational hazard, he thought with no small amount of self-deprecation. He returned to his office slightly drowsy, but determined to sort through what he'd learned from Miranda Tate. He sensed that there was far more fueling her act of goodwill than what she revealed on the surface. In truth he understood her need to bypass the normal legislative channels. Why would she subject her initiative to them when she clearly had enough time, money and capital to devote to such a project?
And yet, that didn't explain why Daggett would get involved with such a good-hearted endeavor unless it benefited him in some way. Something wasn't adding up. He needed a second person to run his muddled thoughts by. Trying to piece facts together without setting up a war room was considerably difficult.
Gordon strode toward Blake's tiny desk and found the young man sitting in his chair, staring blankly at his computer screen. His walkie was spouting words that were indistinguishable if one didn't listen closely, a kaleidoscope of police codes and cop-speak that once might have confused a rookie but now were the clear signifiers of chaos.
"What's wrong?" Gordon asked as he came to stand behind Blake's swivel chair.
Blake jumped when he realized his boss was there but wasn't quick enough to minimize the screen before Gordon gently pushed him aside to have a look.
"This is city property, rookie," He said mock-exasperatedly.
He read the updated police report entry on the screen—just a few minutes old, reading that a teenager at the tender age of sixteen had been found dead in one of the main outflows of the city's underground tunnel system. The cause of death was drowning.
Gordon peered back at Blake, noticing his creased brow and agitated expression.
Without further prompting the younger man swiveled to face Gordon fully.
"This is the fourth kid they've found washed up in the basin. It's gotta be Daggett. Put me on this case officially. Things aren't what they seem, Commissioner."
The Sforza-Daggett case was beginning to broaden ominously and it was clear to both men that there was far more to this than met the eye. These deaths were solid facts, facts that could give them leverage against the construction mogul.
Doubts about whether it was the right call to keep the details down to just two people began to grow in Gordon's head. Surely in all of his experience he knew that they could accomplish more with a full task force and all of GCPD's brain power to back them up? Gordon thought of Foley, should he be notified of what they were up to? He was a good subordinate most of the time despite what Gordon might privately think of him.
And yet it seemed like it could easily go south, if they weren't able to dig up any more substantial evidence then a task force of that size was more likely to offend and alienate those in the upper echelon of Gotham society—never a good move for a man appointed by the mayor to this position. Gordon felt disgusted by himself; he'd always claimed that politics never influenced his decision making as an officer.
Harvey Dent was the biggest secret he'd ever kept from anyone. If he was going to execute this correctly, he wanted to do it efficiently. Blake made a worthy assistant, and Gordon told himself that between the two of them they could bring Daggett to justice. Another secret kept was a reasonable price to pay for that kind of success. Even if he felt his morals bending to fit his desires to suit his own admittedly warped sense of justice.
Lord, let it never be said that he couldn't rationalize things away like the rest of them! Just then, Gordon arrived at his decision.
"Alright. Go with the Crime Scene Unit and the coroner and take the witness' statements."
Blake didn't need to be told twice. Gordon suspected that Blake's empathy for a young street rat extended from his background. He watched sadly as Blake exited the bustling squad room.
Gordon was doing paperwork in his office when Blake got back later that afternoon. The younger man looked troubled when he sat in the chair in front of the Commissioner's desk. He started speaking without any attempt at a preamble.
"It turns out I knew that kid they found. They took him to the morgue since the cause of death is suspicious. His name was Jimmy, he was from the same place I came from."
Gordon was taken aback by the name, the same as his son's, and a version of his own, come to think of it.
"I took some time to go to the boy's home, to tell his next of kin. He had a little brother called Mark."
The corners of Blake's mouth tightened.
It was grief, Gordon knew, that caused the hitches in the young man's normally fluid speech. He'd not yet experienced what it was like, to lose a witness, or a source to the forces that proved to be far mightier than a single cop no matter his intentions. He remained quiet as Blake finished what he needed to say.
"Mark said that as soon as the boys age out of the home, they immediately go looking for work in the tunnels. He didn't say much more than that, but then he didn't have to. I know in my gut that Daggett's men drove that kid to his death. And who knows how many others."
The stone cold rage in Blake's eyes spurred a sense of urgency in his boss. Gordon knew where that rage could take a man and it wasn't a place he'd ever wish anyone visit.
"John, believe me the bastard will get what's coming to him but we've gotta play our hand wisely and we've got to do this by our rules. The mafia was tough but nobody's tougher than the fat cats who act like they can rewrite the rulebook however they want. The law has to speak for itself, or what good is our code in the end?"
Gordon paused to remove his glasses and set them on his desktop.
"You know, rookie, there's gonna be a day when you step up and the only person you should count on is yourself. I won't be…here forever."
Blake looked slightly confused at this tangential statement but he nodded anyway. Gordon cursed inwardly. This wasn't the time to be dropping ambiguous hints. He shifted gears a little.
"We need an ally, someone who can get us in where we can't go without raising red flags with the Mayor."
Blake noticed the speculative gleam in his boss's eyes.
"Harvey Dent Day is coming up. The Memorial Dinner will be brimming with information if we can search it out. I can't go unless I'm working security. And I won't be much use to you from the sidelines." Blake mused.
Gordon nodded, now appearing a little distracted.
Blake stood slowly, straightening out his jacket before his face morphed from its previous dour expression to a look full of mischief.
"You'll have to ask her soon, don't you? The dinner's in three days."
The fact that the junior officer knew exactly who Gordon was thinking of registered in his mind but didn't slow the momentum of his thoughts.
"It might draw unwanted attention. I've never brought a guest to the dinner before."
"You just said that we need an ally who's completely comfortable with Daggett and his entourage. I can't think of a better person. And if it's the idea of approaching her that makes you nervous, I think that she's a little sweet on you too."
Blake hightailed it out of the Commissioner's office after being subjected to his infamous glare.
Harvey Dent Day was most certainly not an occasion that the Commissioner enjoyed. It was an unabashedly glitzy dinner that seemed to focus less on the tragedy of Dent's demise, which he supposed was rather the point, but the festivities' lavishness seemed to grow every year. Perhaps it retained special meaning to a few who truly knew him, but to Gordon it had began to feel like the city was just going through the motions for the past few years. He looked over his invitation distastefully; it was to be held on the grounds of the old Wayne Manor at the very heart where the city's old money families lived.
You are cordially invited to the eighth annual Harvey Dent Memorial dinner at Wayne Manor in Crest Hill, Gotham County. Please RSVP for yourself and one guest no later than October the 23rd at 7:00 pm…
Gordon sighed and lay back onto his bed beside his rented tux where it lay rumpled atop his duvet. Blake had hit a nerve when he teased Gordon in his office. The younger man was right in his assessment of the advantage Mrs. Sforza brought them in this context but Gordon doubted she'd be willing to accompany him for this purpose. His intrusions on her personal life due to police business as well as his brush-off were two marks against him already. He wondered how he could invite her to the dinner in the most platonic manner possible and not come off as an ass. No matter which way he spun it, it looked pretty inevitable.
On another note, he was once more contemplating revealing what really happened to the ill-fated District Attorney and the truth about the Batman. He'd seriously looked at the now careworn speech he'd written before the first one of these blasted dinners, imagined himself delivering it. It was partly the reason he began to drop hints of his resignation to Blake.
He rubbed at his eyes beneath his glasses and picked up the manila folder he'd dropped on top of his tux a few minutes ago. The paper was crisp, fresh off the presses so to speak. The Mayor's security detail passed their background checks and vetting reports to GCPD, something that was easy to get a hold of. He wanted to know who'd be there and start devising a strategy.
He scanned over it quickly to see how many familiar names were there and was not so surprised to see Daggett, Stryver and Miranda Tate were included. His eyes continued to run past the last names that began with S before he did a double take and went back to right before Stryver's name.
Giulia Sforza was conveniently on the Dent Dinner invitation list.
It was to be expected that Gotham's most eminent benefactress would be included but for some reason his chances of running into her in one way or another seemed to increase by the day. She'd not yet sent in her RSVP though, meaning that she wasn't planning on attending as there was only one day more before the deadline. Gordon wondered if she was simply heeding his instructions to stay away from danger—attending a social function at a Gothic Manor where her alleged assassins would also be was definitely an unwise course of action.
Gordon thought of her, wondered if she'd be willing to play at being a sleuth for an evening. She moved expertly through events just like these, as far as he's seen, as her elegant carriage and inherent charisma made her the consummate guest.
What if she declined? She didn't seem like media scrutiny bothered her. She'd weathered probably the worst of it because of her husband so a night on Jim Gordon's arm was hardly gonna rock the boat. Yet he was still wary of the possible conflict of interest that could arise from any further contact with Mrs. Sforza. Her case was still subject to debate in the Justice Department, whether extraditing her husband from Italy was possible.
The catalyst for this divisive tug-of-war between factions of his mind came in the form of the incorrigible Officer John Blake, who took the initiative to remind him of his task by leaving a stapled magazine article on Gordon's desk. There was a post-it slapped on right next to the title that read, 'Happy reading!'
He'd torn off the note and chucked it in the trash can beneath his desk but he made sure to shut his door before he began to read. Blake was becoming utterly insufferable; no one would dare tease Gordon about a woman like he did. The rest of his team walked around him on eggshells in that particular aspect—they'd all encountered Barbara at one point whether it was when she'd surprise him with lunch on occasion or bring baskets of homemade pastries for every cop in MCU.
The editorial on Mrs. Sforza reflected her understated taste; she wore draped silks and cashmere sweaters. In one picture, she was alone in the middle of an empty ballroom. Her hair was wildly curling and the skillful photographer managed to capture her right when she'd flown into a grand jeté. Only her profile was visible but he'd know the curve of her nose and cheek anywhere.
Truly a force of nature, Giulia Caterina Sforza has shown the world that giving back to her community is a worthwhile endeavor. Her impressive donations and volunteer projects to rebuild Gotham have proved their worth in higher literacy rates among elementary school children in public schools downtown, a beautifully constructed library, and lower instances of homelessness in the immediate area near Crime Alley.
When she isn't working with disadvantaged youth or teaching history of classical ballet at Gotham State University, she takes a pointe ballet class at Gotham's Conservatory. Ever humble, she admits she's lost the agility of her youth but it's all about striving to be her best that fulfills her. Regardless, audiences are still captivated by her lightness of foot and her near legendary brand of grace that allows her to defy the laws of physics onstage.
"I find that now, at this age, it is far easier to be relaxed about everything. What frightened me as a young woman in Gotham has shaped me into who I am now and I am grateful despite it all. I sense that more and more people are getting involved in improving this community and that they can carry on what we've started. It's a safer place now, thanks to so many brave men and women in the Justice Department and law enforcement."
Turning the page, there was a picture of her from a distance, dashing through a dirt covered path toward the camera. She was grinning mischievously, her lips pulled back to expose her teeth and her loose hair completely blown back by her forward momentum. He'd never seen her smile like that in person. There were autumn leaves falling around her, in front of her, so perfectly timed that he was almost convinced that it was a candid shot by a friend and not carefully orchestrated by a director.
"Those days when I feel most alone, I remind myself that solitude is a blessing and go for long runs. Through the parks, near the river. I love to be near the river," She gestures to the tall windows of her living room where she chose to be interviewed.
"I entertain a small circle of friends. They are quite protective of me, and I of them. I cook for them," Sforza admits with a little laugh.
When asked of the future and possibly finding new love, Giulia Sforza casts her eyes down to her lap.
"I cannot blame the past nor the present for the way things are now. I love my life but I wouldn't want to spend the rest of it alone. Whether I will be lucky enough remains to be seen. I won't tempt fate by elaborating further."
Gordon shut the magazine article a little more forcefully than necessary into his desk drawer. He knew her better through printed articles, newspaper clippings and police reports. He was beginning to feel a little bit like a stalker and he didn't particularly relish the thought.
When at last Gordon couldn't stand his internal debate any further, he poured himself a scotch and took a swig just before he hit the 'call' button on his phone.
It rang four times. He expected it to go straight to her answering machine. He hoped she wouldn't think it uncouth of him to call her landline instead of her business number but by the time he'd thought of it, it was too late.
"Hello?" Her voice washed over him, and his heart rate jolted.
"…Mrs. Sforza. This is Commissioner Gordon," He said, feeling mildly stupid at his own formality.
"I hope you aren't calling to tell me more bad news. I've already noticed a car parked outside my home on odd days of the week. You've appointed me a guard without my consent, haven't you?"
He sat up in bed, alarmed by her unreadable tone.
"I thought it a necessary precaution." He answered honestly.
There was hardly a pause before she shot back her reply.
"I must thank you for your vigilance then. I assure you no harm has befallen me since we last met. Now, how may I help you?"
And just like that his purpose shot swiftly through him. He clutched the invitation tightly in his left hand.
"Yes, uhm…This is…perhaps somewhat awkward but would you…" He trailed off as he swallowed audibly. "Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the Harvey Dent memorial ceremony tomorrow evening?"
There, now he couldn't take the words back.
"I find it odd that you'd call me to ask me to go with you considering how you nearly bolted out of my house that time you visited me. What else are you not telling me?"
The woman was sharp. He'd forgotten, to his embarrassment.
"There've been some new developments. Your case is not just your own anymore."
"Meaning?"
"A series of deaths are being linked to Daggett's movements in the city tunnels. We're trying to strengthen the connection between them and the attempt on your life."
"Who else has died?" Her voice was hard, effectively disguising any shock.
"Orphans, street kids who find work with Daggett and Tate. Ms. Tate herself has told me that they employ underage workers. I doubt these kids have work permits, and Daggett pays them in cash so there's no paper trail. They're obviously violating several labor laws. Four of the kids have been found washed up in the past month. It's only now that a connection has become more apparent."
"My God. That's…that's terrible." Her voice had lowered to a whisper. "You talked to Miranda?"
"She agreed to a business lunch."
"You're not going to tell me what you discussed." Her tone was flat, like she already knew his answer. It didn't bode well for him.
"It's against policy to do so at this stage."
There was silence but he pictured her nodding.
"I still find it hard to believe that my best friend may have been involved in a hit on my life."
"Then help us, Mrs. Sforza. If you come with me to the dinner, we can gather information together. We'll find the answers that neither of us can by ourselves."
Silence again. She was weighing her options. He heard her intake of breath and he found that his pulse quickened with anxiety.
"…Fine. I'll go."
Gordon breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He sat up on his bed, pressing his phone slightly tighter against his ear. His eyes traveled over his tuxedo beside him, the reality of the situation cementing rather quickly in his mind.
"I'll pick you up at your place around six."
"—And to think I'd tossed the invitation as soon as I received it."
"I will RSVP for the both of us then. I'll bid you goodnight Mrs. Sforza."
Suddenly, her voice rang out urgently across the line.
"Will you please call me Giulia?"
He was surprised at the liberty she was allowing him. He felt he could only extend the same to her as a courtesy.
"You should call me Jim," His voice was hesitant.
"Alright."
"Goodnight Giulia."
There was a pause and then she responded.
"Buona note, Jim."
Jim Gordon stood in the sharpest suit he owned, on her doorstep, at precisely six fifteen the next evening. He'd rung the doorbell twice but there was no answer. He waited several more moments, clutching the single white rose in his right hand. It might've been a bit overcompensating on his part. He'd only wanted to be polite and thank her in some way for agreeing to suffer an evening of people who were more concerned about networking than actually paying their respects to the fallen district attorney.
He shifted his weight twice, staring at the shiny tops of his black leather dress shoes that he took the time to polish. Then the white glass door opened and he jerked his head up.
For the shortest moment, the fact that this was a business alliance slipped his mind. Her hair was swept back to reveal her darkened eyelids and nude lips. On her ears hung diamonds fashioned in the shapes of miniature chandeliers. Her gown had a fitted lace bodice with long sleeves and a demure neckline, and a skirt that flared gently outward from the narrowest part of her waist where the black lade ended.
The black silk of the skirt rippled sumptuously as she walked, hinting at the slim silhouette of her legs. He raised the flower up to her neutrally but feared that his expression betrayed him.
What did she mean by outfitting herself like this? Was it intentional, did special effort go into her appearance for the night? He wasn't very comfortable with the idea and he felt the same way he did when he spoke to her in her house that first time.
"This is for you," was all he could manage at that moment.
Giulia—for he was allowed to think of her by her first name now—looked at him but didn't smile. She was carefully guarding herself, he could tell, and somewhat guiltily thought that she had good reason to.
"You didn't have to," She declared as she nevertheless accepted it and held it to her nose. "Thank you."
"I apologize once again for the last minute notice."
She shook her head, conveying it was no trouble.
"Let me fetch my mantella and we'll be off. Will you come inside?"
Following her lead, Gordon stepped into the entryway of her house. She pivoted on her silver satin-covered shoe. He nearly dropped his jaw when she spun around. While the front of her gown was indeed stunning, it was a study in refined demureness. The back dipped just low enough to still be tasteful, ending just where there were two small, perfectly formed dimples that were proof of her toned dancer's body.
He dragged his eyes upward, struck by the thought that this might be her small vengeance for his rudeness before.
She disappeared into what he presumed was the kitchen. He heard the rustling of her movements but shortly after she reemerged, with the white rose pinned to the side of her hair. She cut the stem almost completely off. The gesture was strangely intimate; that she would take the gift he gave her and fasten it to her person.
He watched her open a small closet beneath the staircase, determined not to stare at her dainty shoulder blades as she rummaged through for her garment. She found it just in the nick of time, shutting the closet door and walking back to him while pulling what looked like a shortened, crème-colored cape over her shoulders and fastening the jeweled clasp around her neck.
It effectively hid the scandalous back of her gown, much to his relief.
"Jim?"
"Yes?"
"We'll be late if we dawdle any more than we already have."
He felt a little irritated at his reaction to her appearance, and it might have come through in his voice.
"Let's go."
He offered his arm to her and led her outside. He opened the car door for her and made sure she embarked comfortably. He climbed in after her and told his driver to go. Gordon ensured that the window between the driver's seat and the back was closed to give them maximum privacy.
They sat an acceptable distance apart, but it was difficult for him to avoid her gaze. She was staring at him unabashedly.
"So how are you?" Giulia ventured to ask. She angled herself toward him, leaning against the tinted window.
"A little…tired, maybe. And yourself?"
"I'm fine. Today I taught two classes after my three o'clock lecture at GSU."
"Sounds like a busy day," He remarked easily.
"Yes, yes it was rather a busy day."
When she didn't continue the conversation, he interpreted her reticence to mean that she wasn't sure if he'd be interested to hear more. The car rumbled quietly along and filled the silence between them.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gordon could sense her shifting in her seat, like she was doing her best to restrain herself from fidgeting or otherwise convey her shyness. When it seemed she could bear it no longer, she drew a breath to speak.
"Are we going to sit here and force me to make idle small talk, or are you going to tell me what this is all about? Because I had a perfectly good plan to curl up with a book tonight."
It wasn't often that he turned up completely wrong about a person. She wasn't being shy at all. He must have looked a little taken aback by her brusqueness because she laughed at him.
"Spare me that, you made it perfectly clear how you wanted to define yourself in terms of me. You, the stern police commissioner, and I the helpless victim. Now you call me almost begging for help. So you can't blame me for wondering what, exactly, changed your mind."
"I told you already, last night."
"All you said was that four previously unrelated deaths can now be somewhat linked to my almost-murder."
"I have to admit, Mrs. Sforza, I don't know. I was hoping that we would play it by ear."
She fell back in her seat, the sound of her body thudding against the leather underscoring her exaggerated surprise.
"So you have no plan? And I'm going to be paraded around in front of the man who tried to kill me, as nothing more than your bait?"
It sounded pretty bad when phrased that way. He noticed her accent thickened as her ire grew. Gordon wondered how things could go so pear shaped when barely ten minutes had passed.
"If it's your safety you're worried about, you just have to make sure that you don't get caught alone with Daggett. Officer Blake as well as half of MCU will be there so I doubt they'd try anything in front of so many guns."
She laughed again, quietly, but it was devoid of any mirth.
"I think you've made the mistake that many people make."
"What's that?"
"You've put too much faith in me, and what I'm worth to those people."
The depth of her meaning was resonant to Gordon in that there were so many levels of disappointment, mistrust and what might have been resignation. It once more battered at him, to see the deadness in her eyes.
"Giulia, I'm not here to validate anyone's opinion of you. I asked you to come with me because you know how these people think, and I was hoping you'd shed some light on them. You know how it would rankle Daggett, to see you unafraid as if nothing happened."
His tone was gentle now, his irritation dissipated fully.
"Back to first names, are we?"
"Yes. And I apologize for the bad impression I made during your first interview, and that I might've encouraged just now. I assure you it was unintended."
He held out his hand for her to shake, hoping that they could make peace before the true battle. She eyed his hand but accepted his apology and shook it.
"I'm sorry as well, for my temper. It's in my blood it seems."
When they released each other, Gordon settled back into the seat and stared out the window at the darkness. Nothing was visible more than perhaps three feet away from the car but he found it somewhat calming. She seemed content to do the same. He thought of how it could've been had he gone it alone like he planned to, like he had so many times before.
The car ride continued in silence until she started to speak again, on another subject entirely. Grateful for her change of topic, he turned his full attention to her.
"The last time I went to Wayne Manor was for a charity ball by the Foundation, probably about four years ago. The place was splendid considering how it was completely burned down. It's so strange that they'd host the Dent dinner there."
"You think so?"
"Mmm," Mrs. Sforza made a noncommittal sound of affirmation. "The idea that a house can be rebuilt better than before, when a man's life can be extinguished in an instant, never to be reborn…is a bit cruel. Then again, I expect the committees that decide these things don't ponder philosophy as I do."
"My speech tonight might remind you of what you've just said. I…I sort of have touched upon the philosophical I suppose."
Understanding lit her eyes.
"Of course…you were there when he died."
Gordon nodded. The past flashed briefly through his mind and he unconsciously patted the spot where his speech was tucked into his overcoat.
Right at that moment, the little divider window lowered and his driver announced they were pulling up to the driveway of the manor. There was already a significant amount of traffic in the roundabout, so Gordon told his driver to stop quite a while back before they got too close to the manor in order for them to make a quick exit.
This is it, Gordon thought to himself.
His driver opened the door and Gordon slid out of the leather seat, turning to reach a hand out to her while she followed suit.
He tucked her arm snugly into the crook of his as they walked along with the rest of the crowd entering the reception. There was a line for the guest list but it was moving quickly. His driver left, and before he knew it he felt his picture being snapped by at least a few of the paparazzi. Photographers shouted directions at them, turn this way and that, smile, until he felt her move.
"People are looking at us," Giulia whispered, leaning her head closer to him so that only he could catch her words that carried slightly above the frantic clicking of telephoto lenses.
"Sorry," He felt irritated again that he always seemed to feel obligated to apologize to her for things beyond his control.
She smiled enigmatically and turned to face the offending photographers, while nestling into him a little more snugly. After a few seconds, she looked back at him with none of her former unease in her demeanor. It was astounding how different she was in the public eye. Two distinct personas blended into one woman, one fragile where the other was resilient.
"The way to deal with them is to always greet them with a smile, nothing more and nothing less," Giulia leaned closer again to whisper in his ear.
Her sudden nearness startled him, as well as the inadvertent opportunity to catch her intoxicating scent. Gordon wondered if this was a good idea after all, under the glare of what felt like a thousand paparazzo's cameras.
"Come on," He pulled her gently along as the line progressed ever forward. So far he recognized no one significant around them.
From the perimeter of the mansion grounds at his station, John Blake smirked at the sight of his boss and his lady.
Author's Note: I hope you guys are still with me! We're gonna get into the Dent Dinner now, with the addition of Giulia at the Commissioner's side. Please feel free to leave a review, tell me what you think, if there's something nit-picky. I really love reading reviews, so I can improve. :) I can't wait until TDKR dvd comes out because at the moment I'm writing the dialogue from the movie almost from memory and very hasty notes I jotted down while I watched the movie the one time, as well as context from other fics and other such Internet resources. Thank the lord for the Internet, haha. And it's super late in the night, I'm starting to ramble and I have a morning lecture to attend, so I'm going to log off now. Hah. (I'll ask one more time: please review? Sorry 'bout my incessant babbling, even in my writing...)