Chapter title inspired by "Yellow" by Coldplay
Wayne Enterprises Clean Energy Project Really Fires Up: What It Means for Gotham's Future
"Look at that, a Time magazinecover," Jim marveled as he and Claire sipped a new coffee she'd bought at the market earlier in the week. They were finally fulfilling his dream to enjoy it outside on her little balcony, as it was a gorgeous Spring morning— clouds of pink billowing out from a bright citrus sunrise. It seemed to hang above the permanent gray of Gotham like a foreshadowing of the headline itself, beckoning days of cleaner skies not just viewed from lofty places like Claire's balcony, but all over the city.
"Don't you want to save it to read on the plane ride tomorrow?" Claire asked with a yawn. She wasn't quite as much of a morning person as Jim. She huddled in her yellow bathrobe looking like she might fall back asleep at any minute.
"Good point," agreed Jim, closing the magazine and setting it down on the tiny glass table. "We need to get down to the station. Lots to wrap up. I suppose I should work like it's my last day there in case there's some raid at Gruber's. I might end up spending the rest of my life in prison as some accessory."
Claire threw her beautiful blonde head back with a laugh. "I love you, Gordon. Just look at you, jumping across to the dark side for me."
"Your dark knight," he said with a sigh, pulling her onto his lap for a few brief moments of steamy, coffee-tinged kisses before work.
She giggled against his mouth. "Everyone's a dark knight in a way, right? Or at least a gray one. I think everyone does their share of good and bad things— there are no true white knights. Well, maybe Harvey Dent." She shrugged playfully and took off inside.
"Harvey Dent," Jim muttered.
Two-Face haunted him like a damn ghost. Maybe because Jim was feeling awfully two-faced himself lately... letting Gruber get away with covering up Benny's murder. Jim hadn't even asked for the details; he didn't want to know. But he felt so tainted now, so grubby, like no good deed could ever wash him truly clean. Of course his primal, territorial love for Claire told him it was all okay; that fucker Benny deserved to die, after all, for what he'd put her through. All over a half-million dollars that was probably a lot less two decades after her benefactor's death. Jim still hadn't asked her exactly what she'd done with it all or how she spent it. It was her business, not his.
But his conscience knew it was wrong— that same annoying voice that plagued him the whole time he'd turned a blind eye to Detective Flass's shenanigans with Falcone's operation years ago. The same voice that jumped up and down when he'd heard the dogs hunting down the Batman... the same voice that screamed as he watched Harvey's giant portrait go up every year for Harvey damn Dent Day. His younger self had called out corruption whenever he'd seen it back in Chicago, and now he was barely treading water to stay above it. As a matter of fact, he would take a nosedive right into the thick of it tomorrow, on a very expensive first class flight.
But as he caught a whiff of Claire's perfume lingering on his collar, he managed to dismiss it once again. Was love the answer? The old excuse, "But I did it for love?" — was there something redeeming to that? Or was it just some convenient platitude to help a person sleep better at night?
"Hey, Jim?" Claire called, "What do you want me to pack for your lunch? I'm doing a chef salad, so that's out for you."
She had to be careful to pack them very different meals in very different containers on days they ate lunch in the office, even though they were temporarily living together. His old house was officially on the market with five showings already scheduled.
"Tuna salad sandwich works," he replied, stepping back inside with his magazine and locking the balcony door behind him. "I think there's some left."
He crossed his arms and watched her move around the kitchen. Now that she was inside and out of the slight morning chill, she'd dropped the robe and moved about in a pink and black neglige, her nipples poking through the silk, her flawless thighs peaking out from its flared skirt.
Jim was conscious of his heart beating in his ears. He didn't consider himself a very spiritual guy; he'd seen too much death and despair and destruction to have much faith in anything divine. But he was starting to believe firmly in biology and some damn plan of Mother Nature to make men lose all higher faculties when it came to gorgeous women.
"On second thought, kiddo, let me handle lunch today," he said quickly. "You go get dressed. We're about to be late."
Claire came around to the living room and stood on her tiptoes to give him a peck on the lips. She flashed him a hybrid grin and sexy pout that only reinforced the wild idea in his head. He was pretty sure there was no turning back now.
XXXXX
"Commissioner, Mayor Garcia's office called— he wants to see you for lunch," Claire announced, walking into his office timidly. She always made a point to look halfway terrified to interrupt him, just to be safe. Dean Martin's voice and big band horns emanated from his computer speakers.
"Tell him I'm busy over lunch today," he replied.
"But... it's the mayor, sir. And you have your vacation coming up." She felt like he might be joking with her.
"See if he can do 3:00 p.m. instead. I'm a police officer — things come up."
Claire waited a few seconds to see if he'd crack a smile, but he retained a stern look. What the hell had happened now? The last few weeks had been relatively uneventful, following the long-anticipated arrest of the Flannery brothers and the somber occasion of Lieutenant Black's funeral. But Jim wore a no-nonsense look that told her he wasn't kidding about relaying his message to Garcia. She did, wincing at the mayor's reply. She tiptoed back to Jim's desk.
"Um, Commissioner? He says if you can't do lunch, send Foley instead."
Jim furrowed his brow. "Foley? Why?"
"Um, just to relay the message to you, I'm sure," she answered.
"He said that?"
Claire hesitated. "Not exactly."
Jim sighed. "Okay. Go downstairs and find Foley. Don't just send him a calendar invite— he'll see it about two days from now."
"You really don't want to take the meeting yourself?" she asked again, biting her lower lip. She noticed Jim look out of his glass office walls in all directions before answering.
"Nope. But I do want you out by my car at 12:15."
Claire shook her head adamantly. "No, Jim," she whispered. "You're not blowing off the mayor for me."
"Don't talk back to me, princess. And don't keep the mayor waiting on hold."
She pursed her lips. "Yes, sir."
She was throughly confused. They were about to go on a ten-day vacation together, so a lunch date today seemed wholly unnecessary. But she did as told, confirming to Garcia that she would ask Foley and get right back to him.
Claire spent the remainder of the morning purposely buried in work, turning off any curiosity as to what her man might have in mind. Vacations gave her huge amounts of anxiety; that's why she never took them. The heaping mounds of work she returned to always made her question whether time off was even worth it. But ten days at Hans Gruber's magnificent villa with the love of her life was unquestionably worth it. She just needed to leave her regular tasks and reports in as good a shape as possible.
"Greene, can you run to the bank for more petty cash on lunch today?" Kay asked. "I'm leaving early for an eye appointment."
Claire looked at her sheepishly. "Umm... I do have lunch plans. But I'll squeeze it in after. Shouldn't be a problem."
Kay raised an eyebrow. "What kind of lunch plans? Wait... oh." She cast an annoyed look in the direction of Jim's office, but he was completely engrossed in a file and never looked up. "Ugh, that man," she huffed.
"I know," Claire laughed. "Took me by surprise too. But I'll have him swing me by the bank on the way back from the mystery lunch. I promise."
Her boss took off with a sigh, a shake of her head, and a few disapproving mumbles. When 12:15 rolled around, Claire carefully made her way to Jim's car, checking around as they always did to make sure they weren't being followed. He was already in the driver's seat, looking antsy but considerably more upbeat than he'd been in his office earlier. As soon as she got in, he gave her shoulder a squeeze and flashed a huge smile.
"Let's go," he said excitedly.
"Go where, exactly?"
"Ring shopping, of course."
Claire's jaw dropped. She'd always read that expression in books— jaw dropping— but now she experienced the phenomenon for herself as her mouth gaped open, unable to close. Jim wore a proud smirk as he darted through the busy traffic of the lunchtime rush.
"Jim Gordon!" she finally managed to sputter. "We said we were going to talk about it! What about work? We can't just walk in suddenly sporting rings on our fingers!"
"Why not?" he challenged. "Maybe you got married over your vacation. Maybe I got back together with my wife."
"What?" she said, horrified. "Ew, no! No, no, no. So you'd be married to me and pretend to be married to her?" Claire could feel a prickling as the hair raised on her arms, and once again she found herself jealous of Barb.
Jim shook his head. "Not really. But I suppose if anyone cared enough to ask, I could carefully craft my response so it could be interpreted that way. After all, I said my wife. I didn't say 'Barb.' Always pay attention to words, princess." he reminded her with a wink.
Claire crossed her arms and sighed, turning away from him to people-watch while she fought back her threatening tears. He obviously found his joke amusing, but she was too sad to laugh.
"I don't want to live like this, Jim," she protested. "I don't understand why we have to be a secret. Kay knows— she knows I do a good job, and if she was going to fire me, she would have done it by now."
Jim licked his lips nervously and cast her a serious look after pulling to a stop at a red light. "It's not that, Claire. Remember that day you were asking me all the questions about why Barb left?"
Claire nodded, afraid of what he might say next.
"Well, she had a very good reason to leave. Yes, a lot of it was the fact that I was always busy and too focused on work. I love what I do and hate it at the same time, yet the fact remains that it's what I do. I can't give it up, no matter how dangerous or exhausting it gets or how much it interferes with the life I want to lead. But mostly, Barbara left with the kids because a very real threat was made on their lives. She called me to come down and save them... and I couldn't. Someone else had to. Just like Hans had to save you," he added with disgust.
"Who saved them?" Claire whispered. But somehow she felt she knew the answer.
The light turned green, and Jim focused once again on the road— silent for about a minute. "The Batman," he eventually admitted.
Claire paused a moment too before responding, but finally she just nodded again. "Yes. That goes back to what I said this morning— no one's all bad or all good. Yeah, the Batman killed all those people... killed Harvey... but I'm sure he did plenty of good things too. The talk at MCU was always that you and he were working together at one point, so it's no surprise he would save your family."
Jim was weighing his words carefully, she could tell. He finally took a deep breath like he was switching gears rather than go down an uncertain road. "So my point was... Barbara and the kids were in a bad spot... a spot where they almost died... because of me. Because of a mistake I made, in the line of duty. I'm too high profile now, Claire, and I can't promise I won't make more mistakes. But I can do my best to ensure they won't cost you your life, because I'm going to protect you. And I've decided the best way to protect you is to keep you a secret."
"Then why get married at all?" she challenged, trying to keep her tone even and unemotional. Sometimes when she heard her own quivering voice these days, she barely recognized herself. All these feelings to interfere with her logic and sound judgment still threw her for a loop.
Jim shrugged. "Same reason anyone gets married, kiddo: for love. I'd rather keep my life under lock and key than have a life without you in it."
He pulled into a parking space at the jewelry store and scanned the parking lot, making sure he didn't recognize faces or cars. He then hopped out resolutely, holding her door open patiently as she hesitated. Her eyes took in the gold lettering on the jewelry store door and the rows of cases she could barely make out beyond the reflective window glass.
She'd be lying if she said she wasn't excited... no, thrilled to be there with this handsome, honorable, important, yet vulnerable and beautifully real man whom she loved more than she'd ever loved anyone in her entire life. Her heart beat wildly thinking she might leave today with his ring on her finger, and that they may leave California as man and wife. But a sadness hung over it all, like pollution in the air over Gotham itself. Almost as if no one knowing about it meant it wasn't truly real.
"You coming, kiddo?" His blue eyes were soft as they rested on her, and his outstretched hand was strong, perfectly molded to hers, and sure of itself.
"Yes," she said with a sharp breath. And they went inside to take the first step toward the rest of their lives together.
XXXXX
Once again Claire found herself nestled at Jim's side on an airplane, this time California bound. On her left ring finger was a thin, yellow gold band featuring a princess cut diamond flanked by a pearl. It was a lovely match for the necklace he'd given her just weeks earlier.
At her feet was her Burberry bag holding Jim's ring — a simple gold band, identical in color and size to the one from his previous marriage save for its beveled edges. Unless someone was looking closely and happened to remember his old one, they should be safe. The bag also held their IDs and Jim's final divorce judgment. He'd called late yesterday afternoon to book an appointment for a California marriage license first thing Monday morning. Her commissioner had done his research and was pleased to discover the state offered confidential marriage licenses— keeping their nuptials off public records.
Their ceremony wouldn't even require witnesses— just an officiant— but of course Claire would insist Hans and Grace be there. They did need to tell them still, however. Claire was a bit nervous at this, both at Hans's reaction to her marrying the "cowboy cop," as he liked to call him, and at the fact that Claire felt like they may be stealing Hans and Grace's thunder. The trip was supposed to convince Grace to relocate out west, after all. Hans probably wouldn't take too kindly to Jim Gordon attempting to steal the show.
Claire looked to her right, finding Grace engrossed in an e-book on her Kindle. Judging by the lovely flush radiating from her best friend's face, it had to be smut. She must be getting a head start preparing herself for Hans.
The three of them had over ninety minutes to drive once landing in San Francisco, but the route was arguably one of the most beautiful in the entire country. Jim rented an SUV that handled the cliff side turns well, and they rode with the windows down, enjoying the salty spring air.
"God, it's like heaven!" Grace exclaimed from the back seat. "We've lived in Gotham so long I forgot what the sky looked like. I never want to go home."
Jim and Claire exchanged a smile. That was a good start. Claire hoped her marrying Jim would help Hans convince Grace to take the leap too. She got the sense that Grace stayed in Gotham to take care of her, afraid to leave her alone. They'd met in middle school and shared basically every pivotal moment in life together. Going their separate ways was a huge step, and one Grace would feel less guilty about if Claire had a new caretaker bound by "til death do us part."
It was almost five by the time they reached Hans's house on an oceanside clifftop in magnificent Lavender Bay — so named for the expanse of lavender fields one would find just a bit inland. It was honestly the most breathtaking place Claire had ever seen, and Hans's Spanish mission-style home looked more like a resort than a house as they approached.
"Jesus," Jim muttered under his breath.
Claire gave his leg a reassuring squeeze. She was going to have to channel Mistress's insight and intuition over the next week to make sure she took care of her Toy's ego and self-esteem. It was no doubt about to suffer a few blows at the hand of Hans Gruber.
"Isn't this so exciting, Claire?" Grace buzzed as they strode up a wide, lantern-lit cobblestone pathway running along a man-made channel of water. The man had a literal canal on his property, winding through multi-level terraced gardens.
"It's just like the excitement that night he first led us up to his presidential suite at the hotel," Grace continued dreamily. "I have the same butterflies all over again."
Jim felt a growl rumble in his throat at that, and he felt Claire squeeze his hand to steady him.
"Welcome, little dove!" a hearty voice boomed, and Grace scurried down the path to leap into its owner's arms. The man kissed her face so hard and with such an open mouth Jim thought he looked like a cobra trying to swallow her head. He and Claire hung back a bit while the pair finished their ravenous greeting, Claire watching them with a happy smile, her hand still warm and reassuring in Jim's.
Gruber finally pulled back from his woman and surveyed Jim and Claire. "Ah, Bunny and Cowboy. So good of you to come."
He greeted Claire with twin kisses on her cheeks before grasping Jim's upper arms lightly and attempting the same. Jim tensed and tried to back away, to no avail. He felt two distinctly wet spots left in the German's wake, and only his desire to appear cool and confident prevented Jim from immediately slapping them away.
"Do come in!" Hans continued enthusiastically. "Don't worry with your baggage at all— the staff will tend to it while I give you a tour. Then we can all dress for dinner. I've arranged for al fresco dining this evening by the pool, then early to bed. I'm sure you're all very tired from crossing the country today, and I, of course, need time one-on-one to catch up with my little dove."
The "tour" took over half an hour and included seven bedrooms, ten bathrooms, two kitchens, a formal dining room, living room, parlor, and library, as well as a gym, luxurious gardens, and a grotto style indoor/outdoor pool. Just beyond the pool and gym on the lower level stood two tall, ornately carved doors that obviously led to another part of the house. Jim leaned against a hall bar and waited for the man to open them, but Hans shook his head with a smile.
"Not yet, Mr. Cowboy. I have to save some surprises for later, don't I? Now, why don't you two head to your room and dress for dinner. Liebling, follow me." Hans extended his arm to Grace and she latched on, grinning ear to ear and never breaking her stare as he led her back up the steps. Jim made a show of extending his arm as well, and Claire accepted it with a laugh.
Hans had assigned them the third bedroom on the left of the second floor, an ostentatious black and gold spectacle whose contents alone were probably worth more than everything in Jim's house combined. It featured black paneled and mirrored walls, jacquard bedding, rich herringbone wood floors, a black velvet headboard, and accents of gold and crystal.
"You like this style?" Jim asked Claire with a wrinkled nose.
Claire shrugged and wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a few soft, tender kisses to calm his nerves. "Not especially. But you saw on the tour that all the bedrooms have a very distinct look. His and Grace's is much more modern. I liked that really lux lilac and silver one down the hall the best, but I'm sure Hans wanted you to have something more masculine."
Jim decided not to debate their very different definitions of "masculine" but did launch into another possible point of contention. "Say, why did he keep saying 'dress for dinner?' What's wrong with what I have on?"
Claire busied herself opening the tall wardrobe, where the staff had already hung all of their clothes. "Nothing's wrong— you look sexy as hell," she assured him. "But it's customary to change before a nice dinner. Especially after traveling."
"Customary, huh?" Jim said thoughtfully. "Maybe you really would be better off with Bruce Wayne. I don't know about any of this crap. Especially about changing clothes just to eat at home in the backyard."
Claire's laugh danced through the large room as she stepped into a gold silk gown with swirled jewels embellishing her breasts. "Don't worry, Commissioner— I've got you covered. I did most of your packing, remember? I thought we'd dress up tonight, since we're announcing our engagement. I'm going to need you to cheer up a little bit for me though, alright? Pretend like you're somewhat happy?"
Jim gave her a sheepish grin. "I am happy. Because I'm with you. This place is just intimidating... and a reminder of what he is."
Claire nuzzled his neck and pressed kisses to his set jaw and his defined cheekbone. She dropped onto a cushioned lounge and watched him change into the fine suit and bow tie she'd packed for him, the grin never leaving her face. It was obvious that she was relaxed here and in her element, which made Jim uneasy. He could never provide a lifestyle like this for her. The straight and narrow just didn't pay like this.
Just like the night of the holiday ball, Jim found that he cleaned up pretty well. Claire snapped some photos once they reached their garden dining spot, and he found himself lightening up a little with the pleasant weather, fresh air, and lively piano that danced through the evening breezes off the ocean. Grace emerged looking red carpet ready as well, and Jim felt the need to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming of what his life had become. These women had him living some kind of fairytale, and his logical brain was barking at him to wake up.
The four of them took a seat at an elegantly laid outdoor table underneath an unobstructed canopy of stars. Grace was right; this was an unbelievable contrast to nights in Gotham, which were really all Jim had known for decades. Hans's impeccably attired staff delivered course after course of seafood, vegetables, soup, and crisp salads.
The host himself was laid back, charming, and seemed to be on cloud 9 at having the ladies back in his company and in the element he'd "worked" so hard to build. Jim's inner grumbling at this wouldn't shut up— his mind growling at the thought that all this was bought with murder and drugs and racketeering. It even made his food taste a bit bitter as he swallowed everything down.
"I trust the room is to your liking?" Hans inquired, deftly cutting filet of sole. The man wore only a shiny gold watch in terms of accessories, but somehow with his tan and his flashy smile he seemed to glow all over.
"It's perfect, Hans, thank you," Claire supplied, as Jim found chewing to be much easier than talking.
"Very good," continued Hans. "And at what point this evening might we expect the delivery of your news?" He leveled his cat-like hazel eyes with Jim's expectantly.
Jim cleared his throat. "I beg your pardon?"
Hans chuckled. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't notice the cute little diamond on my Bunny's hand?"
Jim glowered, and again Claire rested a hand on his leg to calm him.
"Yes— nothing gets by you, does it?" she laughed. "Jim asked me to marry him on Valentine's Day."
"What?" Grace sputtered in disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"She was saving the news for the trip," Jim said, finally finding his voice. "We intend to be married while we're here. It's not safe to do it in Gotham."
"Ah, the confidential marriage license. A Californian specialty," Hans said with a nod. "Very smart choice for a cop with a past and a trail of angry, vengeful victims left in his wake."
"Victims?" repeated Jim. "You mean perpetrators— monsters, thugs, lowlifes... bottom feeders."
Hans licked his lips and smiled slyly. "Tell me, good cop, do I look like I feed off the bottom?"
"No, you certainly don't," Jim sneered. "You're one who managed to keep taking from the top the entire time, but only because you didn't have anyone wise enough on your trail to stop you."
Hans's eyes narrowed, and Jim felt Claire's grip tightening on his thigh in warning.
"And you think you would have been wise enough to stop me, hmm?" Hans mused darkly.
"Damn straight," Jim replied. "But that's neither here nor there. Clearly we're supposed to be... family now or something." Jim blanched at the word. "So let's accept that we have very different philosophies on how to get ahead in life and just leave it at that, for the women's sakes."
Grace giggled. "Yes, for us little women. You are such an old cowboy," she teased.
Jim rolled his eyes. "There's nothing wrong with being an old-fashioned kind of guy."
"No, there isn't," Claire piped up in agreement. "I love that about Jim. It's such a turn-on."
"Well, an old-fashioned guy needs an old-fashioned wedding, yes?" Hans said rather brightly, considering the dig Jim had just delivered. "What are the plans?"
Jim shook his head. "City Hall. Nice and simple."
"Nonsense!" Hans said sharply. "This may be your second rodeo, Cowboy, but it's my bunny's first, and she shall have a dream wedding." He turned to Claire with a wink. "Name what you want, darling, and it will be yours."
Claire blushed a little and shook her head. "Hans, you can't plan a dream wedding in under ten days. Jim's plan is fine. Besides, we can't have witnesses."
"Who said anything about witnesses other than us?" Grace chimed in. "No reason we can't have a beautiful wedding and amazing party just the four of us."
"Tell me what you want, Bunny," Hans demanded. "I have enough connections in this town and staff to make it happen. Or rather, Mark Sullivan does."
Jim heaved a sigh and pushed his plate away half-eaten. This man left a perpetual knot in his stomach. "Look, Gruber," he began, "we don't need you buying us any favors. We're just fine on our own."
Claire shot Jim a look and said softly, "Something outdoors would be nice. It's so beautiful here. We might as well take advantage."
Hans nodded, wheels turning. "The lavender fields. I know the owner of the farm; they also own a vineyard and winery that I've been in talks with them about buying. I've been on the fence, but perhaps if they work some magic for my bunny's wedding day, I could be convinced."
"A legitimate businessman at last," Jim commended wryly, lifting his wine glass in a mock toast. "Congratulations."
Hans smiled coolly and took Grace's hand, running his thumb lovingly up and down. "Yes, I suppose sometimes someone comes along who inspires you to make an honest living. Quite frankly it's an interesting business— charming, rustic, Old World. Of course it would be a lot to manage on my own."
He was looking at Grace pointedly now, clearly moving on from the other couple's impending nuptials and honing in on the prospect of his own.
"I'm sure you can afford to have a massive staff," Grace said sweetly, sipping her wine and none the wiser to the deeper intentions behind Hans's words.
Claire snickered.
"What?" Grace blinked.
"Massive staff?" Claire repeated. "Doesn't he have one already?" Grace dissolved into laughter.
Hans rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I believe you girls are still perpetually eighteen. Not that I have any complaints in that regard. Now, shall I ring for dessert?"
Jim didn't laugh. He didn't want to hear about the criminal's big dick any more than he wanted to hear about his big mansion, his ability to throw money at a big last minute-wedding, or Claire's "little" diamond. It seemed Claire was trying to make up for her joke, though, her hand groping Jim's package under the safety of the tablecloth. Unfortunately his own "staff" wasn't all that responsive at the moment.
He remained silent throughout passion-berry mousse cake and espresso, listening to Gruber go on about the possibilities for a wedding at his soon-to-be acquired vineyard/winery/lavender field. Claire seemed to hang on every word, like an excited child listening to a storybook. Jim chose to focus on her instead— how the twinkling party lights of the terrace reflected in the amber flecks of her emerald eyes and off the sparkling gold adornments of her dress and golden hair. Her scarlet lips formed a radiant smile, accented by a deep stain from her wine, and her voice seemed to take on a low, dreamy quality as she divulged desires for her special day. Each revelation caused her to slide closer to Jim and squeeze him with happiness and girlish excitement.
She was every bit his princess in that moment, and Jim told his inner grumpy old man to shut up. She deserved this. And if Gruber could help him give it to her, then Jim wouldn't stand in the way.