Chapter title inspired by "When You're Gone" by Shawn Mendes.

Claire opened her eyes to a dim amber light, the weight of a soft ivory blanket, and an incessant beeping sound. Her right hand had a sharp sense of pressure and aching, her skin an overall sensation of feeling raw but numb. Her mind snapped into a panic as her memories flooded back, and her parasympathetic system kicked in at the possibility of yet another unknown place. She whipped her head around frantically for some sign as to her location. Blank walls the same ivory as the blanket, a television in the corner, faux plants providing ambience and embellished lamps providing the muted light.

A hospital... she realized as she looked down at the IV in her right hand, but the decorative touches— paintings of classical figures in rather suggestive poses, ornate bronze canisters for the medical supplies— all suggested that this wasn't Gotham General. Or anything even remotely like it.

Claire turned her head sharply right and saw a second bed with a blanket-draped lump resting upon it. The inhabitant was hooked up to far more medical equipment than she seemed to be; his machines were the ones emitting the constant beeping sounds. She caught a glimpse of feathery brown hair peeking above the blanket; he was positioned on his side with his back turned to her, looking like he'd made an earlier attempt to flee the bed but was stopped by exhaustion, tubes, and wires. Her heart jumped into her throat, and she wanted nothing more than to bound over and kiss him. But then she remembered he wasn't hers to kiss anymore. And she was far too sore to be leaping over to anyone at the moment.

"Fuck," she muttered, wincing at the pain both physical and emotional.

"You're awake!" came an excited whisper.

Claire turned back to her left to see Grace entering the room in jade green scrubs. Her long dark hair was piled high in a bun, and her eyes looked tired in spite of her big grin.

"Grace?" Claire asked confusedly. "Why are you in scrubs? Is this what Gotham General looks like after the rebuild?"

Grace laughed. "No, silly. This is a 'different' kind of hospital... for people who need to recover... quietly."

"And they just let you work here? I don't understand."

Grace perched on the foot of Claire's bed. "There's only one doctor here. Nurses kinda come and go as needed. There are only a few people here right now and it's so early in the morning... the doctor didn't keep an overnight staff."

"Huh?" Claire was beginning to think she was dreaming. Or maybe she died and this was some kind of stair step to heaven... or hell. Hospital purgatory... with mobster decor. "Where are we? Where's my phone?" She wasn't too well-versed on an iPhone's features yet, but she knew it could at least tell her where she was.

"It's still where you left it in your apartment. Jim will get his back when you leave," Grace assured her, stroking her hand gently. "They can't risk the location being compromised."

Claire jumped and threw a glance in Jim's direction. "But work? Jim? He needs his phone... someone needs to call the station..."

"Shhh," Grace commanded. "Just rest and stop worrying. You've been through so much. Hans brought you and Jim straight here after picking me up. He got on Jim's phone and texted Kay when we were at my place — got both you and him off for a few days. When you and Jim get home, you need to teach him how to lock his phone with a passcode... he's the police commissioner, for crying out loud," she giggled.

"You can lock your phone with a passcode?" Claire asked. She was feeling a bit delirious... something being pumped into her veins was making her feel floaty and only halfway coherent, but she was worried about their jobs. "What did Hans tell the station?"

Grace smiled dreamily. "That Jim found you, and you got back together and needed a few days to celebrate."

Claire's eyes widened. "But that's not true! What happens when we go back to work and never speak to each other? Kay will know something's up, and..."

Grace raised a finger to Claire's lips with a reprimanding look. It wasn't all that threatening; Grace never was a very good Domme. "It is true," she insisted. "By the time you get out of here, you will be back together. Trust me."

Claire sighed forlornly and sank back against the pillows. They were rather plush for a hospital. "He hates me, Grace. He's ashamed of me... thinks I'm corrupt, tainted..."

Grace shook her head. "He loves you, Claire. He was a wreck when he couldn't find you and found the photo of you all bloody and bruised. He even punched Hans he was so frustrated."

Claire gasped. "He punched Hans?"

"Don't worry, the German got his revenge," a dry voice off to her right managed to croak.

Claire's heart skipped, and her face flushed. She was suddenly so nervous she just wanted to run away. She stared at the weave of the blanket, too scared to look in Jim's direction.

She heard Grace laugh. "What did he do to you, Jim?"

"Made my face become very acquainted with the dashboard of his fancy foreign rental car," grumbled Jim.

"Serves you right," Grace huffed. "No one messes with Hans Gruber."

Jim growled. "Where is your genius boyfriend anyway?"

Grace stood and waltzed over to Jim's bed, using the opportunity to check his monitors and vitals while she answered him. "Cleaning up the mess you two left behind. Making sure you don't take the heat if someone comes around asking questions. In other words, saving your ass. You owe him a thank you when he gets back, you know."

Jim did not look at all in the mood for supplication. "I owe him nothing. He owes Claire... and me... and you... for taking advantage of you when you were essentially still children."

"And you've benefited from that greatly, have you not?" the normally shy Grace challenged. "It is where Mistress was born."

Jim ignored that comment, still spewing. "He tangled you both up in this disgusting web... where the hell are we even?"

"Nowhere you need to worry about," Grace answered coolly. "You just underwent surgery and should be focused on getting better. Not to mention being grateful that such surgery was available to you when using insurance or setting one foot inside Gotham General would have caused about ten cops to be standing at the foot of your bed right now."

"So instead I get ten mobsters sleeping in the rooms next door," Jim spat.

Claire heard an "Ouch!" accompanied by a hiss.

"Oops, sorry about that catheter bump there, commissioner," Grace said sweetly. "Time to turn over now for your rectal temp."

"The hell it is!" Jim shouted. "Stop touching me!"

"Someone's pain meds have him on edge." Grace giggled and rubbed Jim's bare forearm affectionately. "Now straighten up and be grateful to be alive, to still have a job, and to be here with your beautiful woman. Who you could say a few words to, you know. Twelve hours ago you thought she might be dead." Grace moved to open the dark wooden window blinds before making a quick exit and allowing the couple some alone time.

Claire nervously watched as Jim slid his glasses on and his gaze fell on her for the first time since her rescue. He seemed to take in all of her injuries, a frown holding firm beneath his mustache.

"How are you feeling, kiddo?" he finally asked.

Claire felt tears well up behind her eyes at just the sound of his voice directed at her. "Awful, Jim. I don't even know what to think, what to feel. I'm so damn scared and I don't even know what of. I'm tired, and I hate myself for all the dumb shit I did as a kid. I'm confused, at how I could love Stan as much as I did and love you as much as I do. And I miss you, and I'm sorry." The words came tumbling out in her delirium before she could stop them.

Jim met them with a light, somewhat sad laugh. "I meant 'how are your cuts and bruises?' but I guess that answer works."

Claire gave a small laugh too, in spite of herself. "Those hurt like hell too. And... down below," she added embarrassingly."

Jim nodded solemnly. "I'm sure if this is any kind of reputable place at all, they did a full assessment of your trauma when we arrived here. Benny didn't... did he?"

Claire shook her head tiredly. "No. I don't think so. My clothes never came off. And I think I would... just know, right?"

Jim let out a relieved sigh. "We're just going to hope he didn't. Try to block the thought. I know it's easier said than done. When we get home, we need to find you someone to talk to... to work everything out. But all things considered, it could have been a lot worse. Grace is right. We just need to be thankful we're here... together," he added hesitantly. His dark blue eyes widened behind his rectangular rims and locked to hers as best they could across the cold white marble floor separating them.

"I'm sorry, kiddo," he breathed. His voice was raspy and strained from his abdominal surgery and the cannula. "I failed someone again. I'm no good to anyone. I'd understand if you never wanted to lay eyes on me again once we get out of here. But those hours where I didn't know where you were... if you were alive... I thought it might kill me, Claire. I'm not going to get over all this mess overnight." He waved his hand around, indicating the rather shady hospital as a symbol of the overall dirty mire he'd suddenly gotten himself into. "But whatever feelings I have about it, it doesn't mean I stopped loving you."

Claire went silent for a few minutes and looked away from his sad gaze, not sure she could handle the weight of it. The medicine being pumped into her veins compounded her mental exhaustion, and the thought of forming words made it worse.

"Is loving me enough?" she finally asked. "Enough for you to forgive me? To learn to live with this?" She too waved her hand around the room, straining to see outside the blinds Grace had opened for some clue as to their location.

Jim sighed. "I don't know, kiddo. But it's enough to make me try. Because I do know that life without you sucks. And I've got some soul searching to do, clearly. Now the whole fact that I still have a career is thanks to that damn Hans Gruber." He made a face like the name was arsenic to his tongue.

Claire didn't say anything, still floating in a confused haze. Of course she was elated that Jim wanted to work things out. But he didn't sound enthusiastic about it... almost like it was some kind of chore or destiny he was helpless to shake off. She feared things would never be the same between them... never be easy again.

"Ah, good, you're awake," an abrupt voice came from the doorway of their hospital room. Hans stalked toward Jim's beside like he was on a mission, brandishing a leather portfolio, which he placed in Jim's lap. "The doctor expects payment before noon, and not a minute past. I suppose you'll have instructions for me on how to obtain your funds. A wire from your account to mine would likely be easiest, then I can pay the good doctor in cash."

His dazzling white smile fell upon Claire as he tapped a foot, impatiently waiting for Jim. "Oh, hello, Bunny. Such a relief to see your lovely face."

"Hang on one damn minute, Gruber," Jim protested. "This isn't you actually suggesting that I foot the bill for this royal shitstorm your antics got us into, is it? Because if you think for one second..."

"My antics?" Hans repeated, his baritone gliding through the room. "Who went off slamming doors and left Claire alone to be kidnapped in the first place? Your little temper tantrum almost cost her her life, Gordon."

"Oh, get off it, Gruber. How was I supposed to know some minion of her dirty DEA boyfriend from nearly two decades ago was on the corner stalking her? Especially considering I never even knew about dirty DEA boyfriend until three weeks ago."

"Hmph," Hans replied, sinking onto the foot of the commissioner's mattress with a thud. The sudden jarring caused Jim to grimace with pain and clutch his incision site, the impact of which made him jump again.

"Dirty, hmm?" continued Hans. "And are you really so clean, Commissioner? It seems to my way of thinking that one must be a dirty boy indeed to have a sweet, innocent, proper lady like Barbara Jean Gordon pack up her children and put a whole state between you and them. Wasn't it 'til death do us part?' For two such honorable people to abandon such a lovely platitude, something rather 'mucky' must have appeared on the scene, yes?"

"Hans, please," interjected Claire. "That was a low blow."

Hans held up a hand to silence her. "Shocked, Commissioner, that you're not the only one in the room who can do some detective work? Yes, I know all about saintly, dutiful homemaker Barbara Gordon. I'll leave it to your midnight mind-wandering how much I may know about you, but I think it's safe to assume your road to success was paved with some questionable deals, as, admittedly, is mine. I've just spent hours cleaning up last night's trail, and assistance with such did not come cheap. My connections aren't what they used to be, nor are the favors owed to me. It's time for you to pony up your fair share to account for your role in the deal."

Hans lifted the portfolio once again and slid it directly under Jim's nose this time. "The doctor. Noon."

"Fuck you, Gruber," Jim muttered. "How am I supposed to be okay with a wire from my account to one with your fucking name on it?"

Hans stood with a pat to Jim's shoulder. "I would never expect you to stoop to such, my good man. You'll be wiring Mark Sullivan this morning, and I, Mark, will happily be on my way to collect and transact on your behalf. Oh, and in case you're concerned with your finances ever becoming a matter of public record, you'll be happy to know that the automobile you purchased from Mark will be parked in front of your home within a week. I'm terribly sorry though... it's not American made."

Jim's face wrinkled, perplexed. "How am I paying for this if you bought me a car? Why don't you just pay the doctor and call it a day?"

Hans laughed. "I didn't buy you a car, friend. It's one of mine— I have seven. I'm rather tired of this one. And though it's in your name, Bunny will be driving it. I no longer trust her safety to Uber and the monorail; my network with Stan was wide, and I don't know who all has heard Benny run off at the mouth. The car is hardly worth half of what you're 'paying,' but perhaps meddlesome noses will find that the commissioner isn't the smartest with his finances. Maybe an impulse buyer? Mid-life crisis?"

Hans reached into his back trouser pocket and produced an old flip phone... certainly not his, and handed it to Jim. "We wouldn't want calls from this location traced back to your 'honorable' name or a Gotham PD issued phone number either. Nor should you have any record on your person of the location today or when you depart. Prepare yourself for departure day. You will both be blindfolded and outfitted with headphones. You may choose your preferred music for the journey, of course. I do consider requests."

Jim rolled his eyes and shook nearly all over with anger as he dialed his bank. Hans just glanced over at Claire with a wink.

XXXXX

The rest of that day in the hospital was still a bit of a blur to both Jim and Claire. Jim was admittedly huffy and sour, not to mention completely stressed, by the swift exit of tens of thousands of dollars from his savings. He made a decent salary of course, but Gotham wasn't the cheapest place to live, and now he had to factor child support into his budget. At least the house was long since paid off and the divorce finalized. As he laid in his hospital bed hooked up to and being pumped full of god knows what, his brain again pondered the possibility of just selling the old place and being done. What use did he have for two extra bedrooms and a second bath? He could certainly use the proceeds from the sale right about now. But where to go?

To his guilt and annoyance, his mind answered that question with a memory of warm textured blankets, fluffy pillows, thriving green houseplants, and twinkling string lights. Jim loved Claire's little place. It was like a tiny cocoon of comfort where he could snuggle with her and forget the world. Of course it was way too small for the both of them, practically speaking, but he could see himself maybe renting some storage and holing up there with her for a few months while he figured things out. Besides, he didn't like the idea of leaving her alone again. Ever. Not that he was all that great at protecting those he loved, but it didn't stop the responsibility he felt to try.

They spoke little that first full day in the mysterious hospital, both needing rest and of course feeling delirious. A few dry jokes passed between them though, as well as some mutual anxiety about missing work. They didn't talk about Hans Gruber or Norman Stansfield, or Benny, or any subject that threatened to drive them apart. Even though those topics still nagged at Jim, he didn't want them to. He just wanted her.

Even battered, bruised, tired and pale, Claire was still radiant. When Grace cheerfully disconnected her IV hydration later that night, Jim watched as she flexed her wrists and stretched, wincing at the movements her body had forgotten over the past twenty-four hours. Claire swung her legs over the bed and shakily stood, grasping back onto the bed rail for support.

"You okay there, kiddo?" Jim asked warmly.

"Yeah... just fully back in my body for the first time, I think," she answered. "It's strange... going through something like that. It's like your mind disconnects to protect you, and when it comes back, it feels eerie... unnatural."

Jim nodded. "I wish they had a therapist in this joint. You need someone to talk to."

Claire waved a hand dismissively. "I'm fine, Jim. Just ready to move on."

Jim examined his own hands, a bit swollen from the IV. He traced their veins and lines with his eyes, avoiding her gaze. He wanted to move on, too. Just wanted things to be simple.

"Come here," he finally said. "If you feel up to it."

Claire looked at him doubtfully, her eyes trailing over his machines and wires. "I don't want to hurt you, Jim."

He smiled. "You won't. I'm a tough old cop, remember?" He opened his arms toward her and shifted a bit to make room. Claire slid into the vacant spot next to him carefully, afraid to touch him. Jim took the lead in closing his arms around her instead, instantly feeling relief wash over him when her head nestled in the crook between his shoulder and neck. His hand splayed over the soft cotton hospital gown covering her hip, his fingertips refreshing their memory of its gentle curve.

"I'm sorry," Jim said for the second time that day. "Being angry at you for something you did eighteen years ago was dumb. I never should have left you alone. I was scared, though. I'm a suspicious guy, and my first thought was that you came after me to get closer to intel for Gruber. It's still hard to believe that a woman like you could want a guy like me without an ulterior motive."

Claire kissed the underside of his jaw delicately. "No ulterior motive. I promise. You're my hero. You're gentle and sweet... honorable... admirable. And so fucking hot I'd ride you right now if Grace wouldn't kick our asses for making her stitch us up again."

Jim laughed. "Let's take care of each other when we get back home, okay? Some nights at your place, some nights at mine. Until I figure out what to do with the old dump."

Claire nodded against his chest.

"Claire," he began hesitantly after they enjoyed a few minutes of silence with only their breaths gently synchronizing against the backdrop of beeping machines.

"Hmm?"

"Why keep all this from me for so long?" Jim asked carefully. "I think that was the hardest part of all. I need honesty... transparency... trust."

"I know, Jim," Claire said softly. "I was just so scared of losing you. Even from the beginning, I guess. I love you so much, and I felt like I'd do anything to keep that feeling. I've gone half my life without it. I kept telling myself that if I just let it grow stronger, you'd overlook everything because you were in too deep like I was. I'm sorry."

"I forgive you, kiddo. If loving me's the reason, I guess I'd be a jerk if I didn't forgive you. Just be patient with me. It's gonna take some time for me to wrap my head around all this."

Jim traced her chin with his fingers and coaxed her face upward, touching his lips to hers somewhat shakily. But Claire kissed him back with everything she had, her fingers coming to his cheek before moving back to rest in his hair.

"Aww, I knew it wouldn't take long for you two to be back together," Grace commented as she returned with their dinner. "But you be careful with that incision there, Commissioner. No thrusting for a few weeks, okay? But tomorrow you two are getting dressed and heading out to the gardens to walk. Start moving those muscles a bit. Of course gardens in February leave a lot to be desired, but it's better than staying cooped up."

The next day Jim approached that activity eagerly, wanting to search for clues as to where they were. The ornate mansion hospital was truly in the middle of nowhere, it seemed, surrounded by forest on all sides. He knew from his half-aware state during the drive there that they couldn't be too far from Gotham or New York, so they were likely tucked away in the Jersey Pinelands. He half expected to encounter the Jersey Devil scampering and howling from the tree line as they walked arm in arm through the winter evergreens.

"So this where the mob comes when they get shot," mused Jim. "All those years fighting this together at work, and here we are."

Claire squeezed his arm and laced her fingers through his. "It's just meant to teach us that not everything is as black and white as we'd like," she offered. "But there can be a lot of beauty in the gray."

"A hell of a lot," Jim reluctantly agreed. He stopped along the brick pathway and turned to face her, pulling her close as his lips drank her in. His tender ribs cursed him for their tight embrace, but he didn't care. After all, Mistress had certainly caused him worse pain.