Chapter title inspired by "Feelin' Good" by Michael Bublé.
"Do you want Hans and I to pick you up in the limo? Or is Jim driving you?" Grace asked the morning of the ball. She'd called while Claire was throwing together a bag of hair supplies, makeup, and clothes for the party that evening.
"Neither," Claire said dejectedly. "I'm on the committee at work pulling all this together so I have to oversee the decorators, meet last minute with the caterer, and get the most up-to-date guest list to the staff working registration. At least Kay didn't stick me with the registration job. I'll have a whopping thirty minutes to get ready before the doors open. Let's hope Jim doesn't have his expectations set high."
"Jim Gordon would still think you're the most beautiful woman in the world, even if you showed up in your bathrobe," Grace replied. "In fact he'd probably prefer it because it would mean he could get you naked faster."
Claire laughed. "Probably true. The man is surprisingly horny. But anyway... Hans stayed in town! That's amazing! I know you're so happy. You'll make him behave, right?"
"Claire, he's retired. He has no reason to make trouble. He's just coming to support your benefit and to make sure no one else dances with me," Grace said coyly.
"I know," sighed Claire. "I'm just nervous about him possibly meeting Jim. This weekend is supposed to be special... me and Jim finally being together for real, and I don't want anything to mess it up."
"It will be fine, Claire. Promise. You've got to calm down, okay? It's going to be an incredible night."
It started snowing heavily around three that afternoon, which was the absolute last thing Claire needed. It made for a beautiful Christmas scene for the party, of course— snow covered shiny black cars, icicles hanging from the ornate gold trim on the entrance to the Royal Hotel, and delicate flakes dotting the fine dark overcoats and fancy updos of the arriving guests. But it made Claire's afternoon even more of a headache with vendors arriving late, so she was frazzled when she finally appeared back on the scene a few minutes after seven. She'd managed to throw on a fortunately simple dress— winter white lace atop a nude sheath that gave a rather risqué illusion from a distance. She was looking forward to Jim's expression when he saw it.
The crowd was already thick with folks rushing to nosh on the nice selection of heavy hors d'oeuvres. Jim's securing of the Wayne donation helped them upgrade the menu with the caterer. Claire had considered just talking to Bruce herself at the club, calling him an "old friend" to Kay, but Kay had insisted they let Jim handle it through proper channels. He must have been very persuasive, because the hefty check allowed them to put on a breathtaking event and far surpass their fundraising goal.
The gold ballroom was decorated in mid-century Hollywood Regency holiday festoons and featured a large tree as its centerpiece. Its shiny, snowy white branches were adorned with huge baubles in red, teal, purple and gold. A jazz band played an assortment of Christmas favorites mixed with big band hits, and Claire couldn't wait to slow dance with her sexy commissioner to his favorite style of tunes.
"Claire!" Grace's excited shout greeted her, and Claire turned to see her best friend, a gorgeous cranberry vision on the arm of a very debonair Hans Gruber. Or Mark Sullivan, as the case may be. Claire had noticed the moniker ranking very high on the donor registration list. Grace was proudly wearing her collar: a delicate silver necklace whose charms spelled out "MINE" in Morse code.
"Now, now— meine liebe, don't shout," Hans chastised her. "I believe I've been away too long. You're becoming a bit... unruly."
"I'm sorry, Hans," Grace said immediately, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. Hans responded by squeezing her hand and bringing it to his lips.
Claire felt herself swooning a bit just from watching how sensuously the German's mouth appreciated her friend's skin. They'd been drawn together like magnets from that very first night eighteen years ago. Claire scoured the ballroom for her own handsome prince. She finally spotted him just outside in the lobby, removing snow-covered gloves before checking his coat, a good-natured smile on his face as he greeted his staff working registration. Claire drew in a sharp breath when he straightened up from signing for his ticket pickup.
The man had gone all out, dressed in a dapper tux with black bow tie and white pocket square, shoes shiny, hair perfectly styled. She'd noticed since their return from Cleveland in the fall he'd started to let his chin stubble grow a bit and trim his mustache a little, but Mistress had been sure to tell him to never shave it completely. She did like this particular look though, especially with his stylish tux. He'd also taken to wearing his other pair of glasses lately with their clear, slightly more ornamental rims. The man honestly looked like he'd stepped off a GQ cover, and everyone seemed to take notice as he was immediately pulled into making rounds.
"He'll find you as soon as he can, I'm sure," Grace assured her cheerfully.
Claire nodded, the zipliner in her tummy once again zooming back and forth as she stole glances his way every so often, hoping to catch him looking for her. He was surrounded though, with it being a GCPD event and everyone wanting to accomplish their greetings early in the evening. Claire and Jim had agreed over the phone last night to be a casual pair, meeting here and there for a drink, a snack, and some light conversation. Dancing too, of course, interspersed with some pairing off with others. Someone really watching could probably figure it out, but to most it would just look friendly. Right now, Claire just needed him to look at her. He was playing his part way too well.
"Which one is your plaything, darling?" Hans asked her with a cool glance over the room. "I'm assuming it's the Esquire cover model in the tuxedo, since your eyes are stuck to him with glue?"
Claire opened her mouth to answer, but that was the moment Jim finally looked in her direction. He paused in shaking a woman's hand, his eyes roving over Claire head to toe and back again. His face broke into a warm smirk that threatened to melt her into a puddle on the floor. She noticed him excuse himself and begin making his way toward her.
"Identity confirmed," Hans noted. "Very dapper indeed, meine häschen."
Claire was grinning with pride as Jim got closer, but he was pulled into conversation yet again by Detective Foley and his wife. At least Claire knew Foley and could get away with nonchalantly coming over to say hello. She was about to do just that when she heard a deep, taunting voice behind her.
"Mistress Claire."
She whirled around to see Bruce Wayne also in a tux with silk cummerbund and matching bow tie, the same light teal color of the mid-century decorations, over a crisp, pleated white shirt. It was odd to see him without the cape and mask, and outside of the shadowy neon of the club. Or at all, really. He'd kept to himself so much lately.
"Master Wayne— good evening," Claire returned.
"Grace," Bruce added, being sure to give a look of deference to her Dom, who nodded his permission for Grace to acknowledge the greeting.
"Care to take a turn on the dance floor, Mistress Claire?" Bruce asked.
"I'd love to," answered Claire, glad to have something to keep her busy besides staring at Jim Gordon like a lovesick teenager. She stole a quick glance in Jim's direction as she accepted Bruce's arm. He looked to be in deep conversation with Foley but stopped mid-sentence when he saw Claire fall into a rhythm with Bruce to the jazz band's Sinatra song.
"I was a bit surprised to see you here," Bruce commented. "Are you here with someone?"
"Hmm? Oh, well... I work for Gotham PD. On the admin staff. I know we're not really supposed to know each other's jobs and all, but since we bumped into each other..."
A small smile twitched at the corners of Bruce's mouth. "Gotham PD, huh? You sure you don't have a date?"
Claire just studied him blankly, not sure what she was missing here. "I'm here with someone, sort of," she said hesitantly, but her eyes gave her away, trailing over to see Jim's jaw clenched not unlike that night months ago when she'd come out of Room 9 with one of her regulars. Bruce followed her gaze.
"I knew it. Jim Gordon, huh? Interesting choice."
Claire tensed a bit. "Why's that?"
"Well, he's Jim Gordon," Bruce laughed. "I mean he's a great guy, but... a little straight-laced, don't you think?"
"You'd be surprised," Claire responded with a small grin. Bruce twirled her around several times and pulled her in close. He was a smooth dancer and very light on his feet.
"I always thought he was married?" mused Bruce.
"He was until last summer. She left him and took the kids. Couldn't handle his workaholic lifestyle from what he's told me. That's better now though, thanks to the Dent Act."
"Ah, yes, of course— Harvey Dent. God rest his soul." Bruce sounded a little... sarcastic. Claire frowned, not quite sure what to make of his mockery of a dead hero. Then again, Bruce did parade around dressed like a wanted vigilante murderer. The man wasn't exactly PC.
"I don't think Jim wants a lot of people to know though," Claire cautioned. "We're supposed to be keeping it on the DL tonight."
"Well, he's doing a good job," Bruce teased. "Or he was until I started dancing with you. He's looking like an irate cartoon character over there right now. What's the one with the big mustache and the two guns? Yosemite Sam? Is that smoke coming out of his ears?"
"He does like cowboys," Claire giggled, allowing Bruce to twirl her again and press his chest to her back this time, wrapping his arms around her from behind. Now she had a good view of her adorable little cowboy, who excused himself from the Foleys and headed to the refreshment table. He looked crestfallen, and Claire couldn't believe he'd had that reaction to one innocent dance. They had discussed dancing with others to keep up the ruse. She made a move to check on him, but Bruce pulled her tightly against him.
"Tell me one naughty, depraved thing you did with the Commissioner," he whispered in her ear. "I gotta know. It's too damn entertaining for me to let slide."
"I'm sure there's some hidden security camera footage if you really want to know, Mr. Wayne— knowing your tech toys," Claire laughed. "Otherwise you'll just have to keep imagining. Merry Christmas." Claire winked and pulled herself free, sauntering over to where Jim was loading a plate to eat his disappointment.
"Sorry to bother you, Commissioner... but tradition, as well as your unfortunate placement right now, is kind of forcing my hand."
Jim turned around and eyed her up and down once more, his mouth dropping open slightly like a panting pup as he took in her dress up close. "I beg your pardon, Greene?" he feigned, recovering quickly.
Claire stood on her toes a little and pressed a lightning-quick kiss to his lips, raising her index finger to indicate the pointedly placed mistletoe above the buffet. She lingered with her hands on his lapel, enjoying the textured wool of his tux and the honeyed notes of his signature cologne.
"Considering you oversaw the decorators and the caterer, I'm going to assume this was entrapment," Jim said with a sly smile. "Have you eaten?" he added. "I'm guessing no, as busy as you were today. Eat up, Princess."
Claire tried to ignore the warmth coursing through her at Daddy Gordon's presumptuous command. She promptly added some spinach canapés, caprese skewers, and tempura shrimp to a plate until Jim gave her a nod of satisfaction. He gripped her elbow possessively, leading her to one of the empty round tables covered with white linen and topped with a center poinsettia.
"Are we allowed to eat together alone like this?" Claire whispered. "This is so awkward!"
Jim shrugged as he bit into a cheeseburger slider. "I'm sure Kay will be over here in a few minutes if she doesn't approve. Just look friendly... like we're having small talk."
"Wine?" a passing server inquired.
"Yes!" Jim and Claire said in unison, both snickering once he was out of earshot.
"So...Bruce Wayne, huh?" Jim began casually. "I didn't realize you were such good friends."
"I didn't realize my dancing with him would bother you that much," Claire returned. "And we're not really friends."
"What makes you think it bothered me?" Jim downed a sip of wine, the fingers of his other hand fidgeting. Claire fixated on their tiny movements and how exquisite those fingers would feel inside of her...
"I don't know... you looked kind of like a sad puppy," she managed to answer. "A very cute sad puppy though."
Jim sighed and started in on his small silver dish of loaded fries, lifting and nibbling carefully to avoid spoiling his pristine tux. "He's handsome and rich, Claire. And young. You're young. I can't help but feel jealous."
Claire almost laid her forearm over his and give him a squeeze but caught herself just in time. They had to be careful with body language.
"I love that you were jealous over me... not going to lie. But you have no reason to be. I'm crazy about you, Gordon. Seeing you work the room like a pro and knowing I couldn't be on your arm was driving me nuts."
She sipped her wine and leveled her eyes with his over her glass. The toe of her dress shoe tickled his calf lightly under the protective veil of the linen tablecloth.
Jim almost said to hell with it; would it be the worst thing in the world to have a sexy woman on his arm and leave people guessing? But he looked around at the sea of faces and was filled with the kind of uncertainty one would only feel if they'd seen what he'd seen— the dark underbelly of Gotham, of humanity in general. Parading his Claire out in front of the world felt irresponsible when there would always be targets on his back.
There were hundreds locked up in Blackgate cursing him every night; of that he was certain. How many family members, friends, and associates of those mob families were now fueled with hatred? The potential threat was exponential now, especially with the added numbers of those inspired by the Joker— unpredictable renegades Jim had to watch for at every turn. Barbara was right to get herself and the kids the hell out of dodge. He'd almost lost them; he did lose Commissioner Loeb and Rachel Dawes. Rachel... Jim hated it when his friend's face crossed his mind. One of the many ways he'd failed... failed them all.
Claire grabbed onto Jim's bicep before he could spiral too far down that road. The jazzy tenor voice onstage began singing the next song:
Birds in the sky
You know how I feel
"Dance with me, Jim. Don't let the crowd bother you," she pleaded. "It's just once little dance."
Jim pressed his lips against his teeth as he exhaled sharply.
"Fine. But it's been awhile, Claire... I'm sure I won't be as good as Bruce was."
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Claire rolled her eyes. "I don't want Bruce, silly. I want you. Come on, we're gonna miss it, and I love this song." The couple promenaded around the room to quickly find a dark corner, somewhat out of the way of prying eyes.
Breeze driftin' on by
You know how I feel
Claire wrapped her arms around Jim's neck, nestling in close. She inhaled, enjoying his scent as he wrapped his strong hands around her waist. They started swaying to the music, not unlike a high school dance.
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
Jim kissed her chastely. He couldn't help it, damn it. She was in his arms, in a dress that pretended to be see-through and hugged her every curve. She'd just uttered the magic words "I want you," and that made him come undone.
Jim leaned in to whisper in her ear, "I might have a few tricks up my sleeve, if you'll let me lead." His mustache quirked up in that adorable way that made Claire swoon.
"Mmm. I can't wait."
And I'm feeling... good
Claire rubbed her hands down Jim's triceps, squeezing the ropey muscle that she knew hid beneath his tailored layers. As the music swelled, she felt Jim slide his left leg between hers. Her senses awakened as she felt his suit fabric brush against her womanhood. She inhaled sharply as he tightly grabbed her waist. He dipped her backwards, and she oscillated her body until he gave her a little push to encourage her upward. He crashed his chest to hers when she straightened back up. Claire felt flushed and a bit breathless as he led her into a basic box step next, throwing in a few twirls for some flair.
Luckily they weren't the only couple on the dance floor showing off to the Michael Bublé hit; Claire could see Hans and Grace swaying not too far off, the Foleys, Kay with a massive bodybuilder-looking guy with a shaved head. That was interesting. Claire's boss had said she wasn't bringing a date that night, so one or the other must have decided to dance spontaneously. Claire took a moment to search for Bruce while the steps remained somewhat basic, finding him seated with a drink at the bar. He winked and toasted to her with his high ball glass.
"You'll be happy to know our secret's safe from the Mayor," Claire whispered to Jim. "He called with his apologies around lunchtime... said he had strep throat."
"Lucky for us... not so lucky for him," Jim chuckled. "Though it probably won't take too long for word to get around that I twirled someone around on the dance floor that was not Barbara Gordon."
Claire grimaced. "I know. Should we stop?"
"Hell, no," Jim growled lowly in her ear. He whirled her outward with a hand behind her back, giving a little kick to the side that someone applauded with a whistle. He pulled her back in for a couple swings before pushing her outward with extended arms, then he drew her back flush against him, leaning her onto another dip.
More whistles. Jim knew he was getting carried away, but stepping out like this gave him a rush. Rushes like these were becoming a frequent occurrence with Claire Greene in his life, whether it be at the mercy of her crop, on one of her rollercoasters, or here on the dance floor. The jazz band was in full swing now, the swells of the brass encouraging Claire to give a couple sexy kicks and a quick sashay of her hips, which was met by applause along with more whistles and laughs. She made a show of backing away from him, hands flared at her face and hip like a pinup girl, giving him a teasing grin as he prowled after her. She gave the center of his chest a sassy push until he kidnapped the offending hand and yanked her back into more twirls and dips. When he brought her close in order to box step once again he was grinning, leveling his nose with hers.
Oh, freedom is mine
And I know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
They stepped side-by-side through the final crescendo before he entwined their arms in a bow tie, a classic swing dance move he'd learned from many a first responders' ball back in Chicago. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but his body still remembered the moves, and Claire followed him beautifully. He ended the bow tie by bringing her arms around his neck and locking his pelvis to hers before one final dip. Instead of letting her rise back up, Jim grabbed her and lifted her off the floor, propping her up with his body as he spun them both around. He lowered her down against him, half laughing and half gasping for air. Claire's infectious giggle filled his ears, and their foreheads met as they slowly swayed to the fade out of the horns.
"Oh my, god!" Grace exclaimed. "Did you two practice?"
"Shh!" Claire chastised her quietly. She glanced around nervously at all the eyes still gawking at their police commissioner. She cleared her throat and tried to recover. "Um, no, he's my boss," she said offhandedly, with the tone of a disgusted teenager. Jim gave her a wink and crossed his arms, obviously very proud of himself. Claire caught Kay chuckling and shaking her head. Her companion, whoever he was, had already moved on.
But Hans Gruber hadn't. "Excuse me, my dear," he said to Kay. "I couldn't help but notice your admirable skills on the dance floor... and those of your companion. He looked so strangely familiar... do you mind refreshing me on his name? And yours of course." Hans charmingly grabbed Kay's hand and gave it a kiss. Grace looked perplexed but obviously couldn't question in her collared state.
Kay laughed. "Oh, him? I have no idea. Just some random guy who grabbed my hand. I'm Kay Hereford by the way. And you are?" Kay was batting her eyelashes now, evidently under the Hans Gruber spell. But Hans had lost his previous interest and linked his arm tightly through Grace's with a dismissive mutter of his fake name. The couple disappeared in search of refreshment, leaving Jim and Claire still on the floor as the band began the 1948 instrumental version of "Sleigh Ride."
"I wonder what that was about?" mused Claire, watching Hans and Grace as the Dom fed his sub tiny berry tarts. Grace closed her mouth around them sensuously, and Hans licked a bit of custard from the corner of her mouth. The couple made everything look sexy.
"Who is he?" Jim asked curiously.
"Oh, crap, I'd didn't introduce you!" Claire exclaimed. "That's, um... Mark. Grace's Dom."
Fuck... I just lied. To Jim. Claire felt like she'd gotten kicked in the gut. She'd had every intention of using his real name if it came up tonight, but she'd panicked in the moment.
"Um, Mark isn't his real name though," she added hurriedly. "I'm just not allowed to say his real name here, in front of all these people." They were walking hand in hand to the bar now, Jim ordering them both a cocktail.
"Sounds sketchy," he replied in that low, sexy 'work Jim' voice that she loved so much.
"Yeah, well, you're in our world now, Jimbo. It isn't always squeaky clean."
XXXXXX
Jim sipped his bourbon— his last drink other than water for the evening, since he was already counting down the minutes until he would be driving them to her place for the weekend. He felt like a kid whose girlfriend's parents were away for a couple of days, finally giving him a chance in her bed. He was so giddy that his rational mind glossed right over their conversation in favor of picturing her actual nudity beneath the nude-colored tease of her dress.
"May I borrow you, Commissioner?"
Jim was whisked away by a councilman, then his banker, then a couple of retired officers with whom he enjoyed catching up. Claire busied herself dancing with some additional younger guys, but Jim tried his best not to be bothered by it. He was the one spending the weekend at her place, not them. Besides, they looked hopelessly vanilla. Jim was proud to admit he was now well-versed in many flavors, but vanilla actually sounded rather tasty tonight.
As the party was winding down, Jim found Claire dancing in the arms of this "Mark" guy while Grace had apparently been granted permission to chat with Bruce. Enough people had left that the monumental job the hotel's cleanup crew had ahead of them was evident. Grace looked bored and kept glancing impatiently around the room; it was clear she and her Dom were only there to keep Claire company until Jim finished up.
"May I cut in?" Jim asked the Mark guy. He was older, refined— maybe a little intimidating to most. He held Claire warmly but at a distance, their body language more like a father-daughter wedding dance. Jim was pleased to see Grace attached to someone even older than himself; it made him feel more confident about his chances with Claire.
"Of course," the older man said silkily, turning Claire's hand over to Jim with a flourish. "Have a delightful evening, Bunny," he added with a kiss to Claire's cheek. "Grace?"
Grace sprang up from her barstool with a quick wave to Bruce and followed excitedly behind her Dom. Jim snickered as he thought of the interesting night the submissive little minx likely had ahead of her. Part of him wondered if he should have a medic on standby.
"Do you need a lift home, Greene?" Jim asked casually, fingertips lightly in his pants pockets. The tux hugged him in all the right spots, and Claire felt like she might salivate over the man, or throw a leg over him and ride him for three hours straight. Maybe both.
"Thanks, Commissioner— that would be amazing. I'm guessing Ubers are hard to come by with all the snow and the big crowd that just left," she replied, hoping they didn't sound too rehearsed. The stragglers remaining in the ballroom weren't the type to care all that much anyway; they seemed more preoccupied with how much they could drink from the open bar before last call. Claire accepted Jim's arm and allowed him to steady her as they collected their coats and made their way onto the icy sidewalk.
"Well, we made it," Jim declared cheerfully.
"We did," she agreed. "But do you think your divorce will be on page six by Monday?"
"Nah, I'm not that important," he dismissed.
"You certainly seemed that important tonight. It was super sexy, Commissioner. Got me all wet."
"Oh, really?" Even in the lamplight, Claire could see him blush.
"So wet," she murmured, nuzzling his arm through his thick layers.
Jim opened the passenger door and walked hastily around to the driver's side. He was uncomfortably hard and tried to focus long enough to pull into the line of traffic without sliding on the ice. "What should we do about that, Greene?"
Claire leaned her arms back over the headrest and stretched, arching her gorgeous body into the air. Jim set his jaw and focused on the windshield, certain she was going to cause him to wreck.
"Fuck for days," was her answer.
"Make love for days," he corrected her, letting his hand drift over her bare leg before squeezing her knee.
"You're such a romantic, Jim Gordon."
"You love it, Claire Greene."
"Yes... I do."