Title: Glitter and Gold
Rating: T
Jim's phone rings, breaking the silence betwixt him and Harvey. Jim checks the caller ID, sighs and mouths, it's my mom to Harvey when the other tilts his head questioningly.
"Hey mom," Jim says, forcing himself to sound cheerful. "What's up?"
"James." His mother's tone is one that makes him dread what she'll say next. "You're coming to Aunt Maggie's tomorrow, aren't you?"
Jim swallows. Shit. He's forgotten. "Y-yeah, of course," he says, trying to sound convincing.
His mother's tone brightens. "Oh, that's great sweetie- Arthur's going to be there, you remember him? Melinda's son?" Jim does, sadly. Arthur is the son of a family friend, and his mother has been-
"I thought you two might...hit it off!" she says, brightly. Jim stifles a groan.
"Sorry, mom," he says. "I actually have a boyfriend."
"Oh." She sounds disappointed, which makes sense, seeing as how she's been trying to set them up- unsuccessfully- for ages. "Well, then, I hope you'll bring him with you."
Shit. He groans. Why did I tell her that? Jim doesn't have a boyfriend- hell, he hasn't had any sort of partner since the disastrous relationship with Charles the first year of college, and that ended in flames, to say the least. After that, he finished college, went to law school, and became a D.A. in Gotham.
Harvey, meanwhile, is sat in the chair across the table from Jim, gaping at him. "Close your mouth before you catch flies," Jim snaps irately.
Harvey seems to recover quickly, though, clapping him on the back. "Congrats, Jimbo! Who's the lucky guy?"
Jim sighs. "That's just the problem, Harv. I don't have a boyfriend. And now if I turn up at Aunt Maggie's without a date, my mom will inevitably figure out a way to coerce me into dating Arthur."
Harvey grimaces at the mention of Arthur. "Well, that's..."
"I know," Jim drags a hand through his hair, paces around the small kitchen of his apartment.
Harvey checks the clock, frowns. "I gotta go," he says, apologetically. Jim waves him off. The door makes a slight creak as Harvey opens it, then closes it, leaving Jim alone with his thoughts- and an impending sense of doom.
The sound of the window snapping shut a few hours later draws him back to reality. The sight that meets him makes one eye twitch. There stands Victor Zsasz, cool as cream, drinking milk straight from the bottle, the refrigerator door swinging shut.
"Hi, Jim!" Victor says, flashing him a grin, complete with a small, energetic wave. "What's up?"
Jim feels a migraine coming. "What do you want, Victor," he bites out.
"Can't I just stop by to check on Gotham's finest D.A.?" he asks innocently, shrugs, a graceful roll of his shoulders under the black leather jacket. The assassin wears a lot of black, especially tight black, flush to his skin. It's slightly distracting- not that Jim will ever admit it.
Jim glares at him, trying to banish the unwanted thoughts. "No. And you drank the last of my milk," he says, and Victor stops trying to hide the empty bottle.
"Sorry," Victor shrugs. He doesn't sound sorry at all. "I'll buy you a new bottle."
Jim's eye twitches once again at the thought of the assassin breaking into his house again. It's not that he doesn't trust Victor- he doesn't, but they have...an understanding, of sorts. Jim turns a blind eye to Victor's...less than legal activities, and in return, Victor keeps the underworld of Gotham in line and doesn't target Jim.
"What do you want?" Jim repeats.
"Word has it that you are in a spot of trouble," Victor says. How the-? "I'm here to offer my services."
Oh. Jim relaxes. Victor said services, so he must mean the case Jim's working on. Cautiously, he asks, "What's your price?" Victor blinks, the equivalent of confusion. Jim taps his foot. "Well? You said services, so I assume you want compensation."
Victor's face smooths out, and he seems- dare Jim say it- amused. "Not that sort of- perhaps I wasn't clear enough; I ran into your friend, Detective Bullock, earlier. He mentioned your problem."
Jim mentally curses Harvey. "So...you're offering to pretend to be my date to save me from my mom's matchmaking?" he asks, disbelieving.
Victor grins, -and it should be unnerving, but Jim finds he is, frightening as the notion is, accustomed to it- and makes finger guns at him. "Bingo!"
"And what do you want in return?" Jim asks, suspiciously, and hurt flickers across the assassin's face, but it must be Jim's imagination.
Victor waves his hand dismissively. "That'll be decided later on."
"Well then," Jim exhales. "Since you're going to be here for a while- don't give me that look, we are going to plan this out- do you want anything else to eat?" It's a deliberate jab at Victor, but the other only winks.
"Take a right onto Leighton Ave. in five hundred yards," The monotone of the GPS announces, and Jim blinks the tiredness away. His aunt lives down in Florida, right by the beach, but it's a long drive. In the passenger seat, Victor dozes lightly, a Guns & Ammo magazine spread open across his chest, rising and falling slightly with each breath he draws.
Despite the black on black, in the dusk light, the assassin seems almost...soft, if that's possible. The light of the setting sun behind the clouds plays along Victor's face, shading his cheekbones and casting half of his face into a light shadow. His dark lashes flutter lightly on his pale skin, a far cry from the usually intimidating assassin, and Jim realizes, with a start, that Victor must trust him a hell of a lot if he's willing to let his guard down.
Jim wonders when that happened.
However, it isn't to last, as the GPS states, loudly, "You have arrived at your destination," and Victor's eyes snap open and he tenses. He picks up the magazine, closes it, sits up and stretches, and Jim's reminded of a cat. "We're here," he states unnecessarily.
Victor hums, asks, "I thought this was a family get-together? It seems awfully late."
"It's more like a dinner party now since everyone's grown up," Jim replies, checking the rearview mirror as he backs into his aunt's driveway. There's a pause, hanging awkwardly in the humid air.
"So no disco music." Victor's tone is sad, and Jim bites back a laugh.
"No, but my aunt has cats."
At that, Victor brightens, and Jim thinks he looks, quite frankly, adorable. The look of excitement on Victor's face makes Jim want to melt, but instead, he pulls the key out of the ignition, opens the door and steps out, Victor following suit.
Despite not being in his usual getup, Victor still poses an intimidating- and handsome- figure, a black button-up shirt draped over his lean frame, that, coupled with his black dress pants and vest, accentuate his dark eyes. Jim steps forward and rings the doorbell.
After a minute of waiting, the door opens, and Jim's mother stands in the doorway. "Jim!" she greets, pulling him into a hug. She pulls back from the embrace, catches sight of Victor. "Oh! You must be-"
"Victor, ma'am," he greets, "Jim's spoken of you quite highly."
She blushes slightly, scolds, "Oh, you!" and leads them inside. The atmosphere is quiet and muted, the room lit with chandeliers that hang from the high ceiling, and the other members of the family sit around a large table, chatting quietly. Jim sits down near the end of the table, and Victor slides into the seat next to him.
Dinner itself goes smoothly, and Victor instantly becomes a favourite, giving funny quips and generally just blending into the conversation seamlessly. Somehow, within the hour, their hands become interlaced, and Jim finds he doesn't mind at all.
It's after a few drinks that things start going south. Everyone's gotten up, split into groups, and Jim and Victor've drifted towards the edge of the room, seated together on the small sofa, Victor cooing to the longhaired Siamese in his lap. Jim is pleasantly buzzed, content to watch the other. Sadly, it isn't to last. Arthur appears, along with a few of his friends, a sneer on his face.
"So, how much is he paying you?" he asks Victor.
Victor freezes, turns to face Arthur. "Excuse me?" There's a darkness in his voice, but Arthur either doesn't hear it or doesn't head it.
"How much is he paying you?" Arthur repeats. "C'mon, man, there's no way a loser like him would ever be able to attract a catch like you."
Victor's hand moves towards his leg where Jim knows he has a gun hidden, a feral look in his eyes, and nope, Jim is not going to let Victor shoot Arthur, no matter how annoying he is. Jim places his arm around Victor's shoulders, leans over and whispers, "Victor, do not shoot him."
Victor remains undeterred, glaring at Arthur and his friends, and in a last-ditch attempt to stop the assassin from causing a commotion, Jim leans forward and presses his lips to Victor's. It has the desired effect, as Victor stops reaching for his gun, hand going slack, and one of Arthur's friends makes a small noise of disgust before they wander off. Jim pulls back after a moment, and he can feel the flush on his cheeks. Victor remains unruffled, and Jim feels something within him shrivel up and die.
"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean…" he says, averts his gaze; god, Victor's probably ready to kill him. He wonders, briefly, if fleeing now would be a viable option, but no, he can't just leave Victor to figure out a way get back to Gotham by himself, so Jim sucks it up, pastes a pleasant expression on his face, and asks, "Would you like another piece of cake?"
Victor regards him oddly for the briefest fraction of a second before his face smoothes out. "Nah, I can get it myself," and carefully sets the cat down, and moves off to the kitchen, leaving Jim alone and markedly off-kilter.
Afterwards, it's coming up on midnight, and half of the people are gone, so they bid their goodbyes and walk down the driveway to the car. "I'll drive," Victor offers stiltedly.
"No, it's fine, I can drive- considering as how I dragged you along with me, I should be driving," Jim argues. Victor looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn't, instead nodding and getting into the passenger seat. Since Jim was aware that it would be late when the party ended, he's already called in to the nearest hotel. Though the drive isn't far, it's still stifling, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Victor certainly looks ready to try.
When Jim wakes up, the sun hasn't yet come up, and he stretches, yawns, and turns on the bedside lamp-
And stifles a small shriek of surprise. There, at the foot of the bed, Victor is balanced on an ottoman, rocking back and forward lightly, a bouquet of pink roses held tenderly in his hands.
"What are you- are you trying to give me a heart attack?!" Jim exclaims. Somehow, his utterance startles the other, and Victor crashes to the ground gracelessly, landing splayed on the carpet. Jim covers his mouth, tries to hide the laughter bubbling up, but it's a lost cause- the usually graceful assassin is laying on the floor, pouting at him, and, well, it's kind of adorable.
Jim clears his throat, pretends not to notice as Victor clambers back up. "I take it that there's a reason why I woke up with a flower-bearing hitman at the foot of my bed?"
Victor fidgets. Coughs. Mumbles something.
"Sorry, what?" Jim asks, "I didn't catch that.
"Are you free for dinner sometime."
There's a moment of silence, and Jim laughs, doubles over, wipes away tears. Victor stands, fozen.
"No...no, I- erm, it's just funny that you asked me out after I introduced you to my mom as my boyfriend," Jim says, still gasping for breath.
"So is that a yes?"
Jim sits up, "Well, you brought me flowers, which is more than any of my other dates. And you're cute, so yeah. It's a yes."