Chapter title inspired by "Unforgettable" by Nat King Cole
******
Three years later
******
"Your water, Mistress," Zac said brightly, decorating the rim with a lemon slice and leaning on the bar. He surveyed Claire's protruding belly with a grin. "I truly think you're the only pregnant woman to ever set foot in this club, you know."
Claire rubbed her left hand over her bump and felt a fluttery ripple beneath her ribs. "Come on, Zac. You guys are our only family in Gotham, so of course I'm not going to give up hanging out here just because I have a baby onboard."
She felt Jim's sturdy hands grasp her upper arms from behind, and she turned for him to press a kiss to her cheek.
"How did your speech go?" she asked him.
"Same ol' Harvey Dent Day spiel," Jim answered with a sigh after ordering an old-fashioned. He'd considered doing something different this year. Hell, in the weeks leading up to the public holiday each year he always gave into bouts of fancy, of what it would be like to step behind the podium, conscience clear, and finally cast the weight of the truth aside. He'd even sat in front of his laptop and prepared to type the truth out this time, even if just to temporarily release some of it from his chest and onto a page. But he didn't. It was still bottled inside.
Jim turned his head and regarded his glowing pregnant wife with a smile. The last thing his little family needed right now was to be embroiled in some front page controversy. So Jim would keep on trudging, keep on fighting. Though on the surface, to everyone else, there didn't seem to be that much to fight.
"Check this out," Zac said, tossing a copy of the Gotham Globe onto the bar. "I know it's been months since we've seen Master Wayne around here, and now we finally know why."
"Yeah, I read it this morning," Jim said, pushing the paper toward Claire. "I don't think Kiddo did, though. She was too busy unfolding and re-folding baby onesies for the thirty-seventh time."
Claire rolled her eyes. "Nesting is a real phenomenon, Jim," she defended herself. "It just shows what an amazing mother I'm going to be."
"I never had any doubt," he returned, leaning in for a kiss before standing. "If you'll excuse me, I promised Ben I'd meet him for a drink or two tonight. He's really having trouble coping with Grace being gone."
"Still?" Zac said incredulously. "She hasn't set foot in Gotham for two years, even for a visit!"
"He says she's 'unforgettable,'" Jim replied. "We've got to find the man another sub. Any new prospects?"
Zac shook his head somberly. "Our new memberships have been dwindling. The old crowd has moved on to playing Leave It To Beaver like you two, and no one new is coming in. And now with this news about Wayne, I'm starting to think I need to look for a new job."
Claire patted Zac's arm sympathetically and skimmed the article in the paper. The headline read: Wayne Energy Project Officially Declared Dead, Billionaire Playboy MIA. It proceeded to confirm what the investigator had apparently suspected for awhile now, that the R&D division at Wayne Enterprises had shelved its promising energy revolution near the end of last year, and that the last public sighting of Bruce was ten months ago at a picnic and golf event.
"I guess that was about the last time we saw Bruce here, too," Claire mused as she watched Jim meet up with Ben in front of Members Only. Her husband put a consoling arm around the dejected looking Dom and led him into the neon shadows. Claire couldn't help but smile a little at how Jim was a natural here now. The club was truly a refuge for him — a place where he could escape the pressure of being himself.
Her smile turned into a frown though as she finished reading the article. "There goes my hope of clean air for this little one to breathe," she said with a sigh. "Dreary Gotham will stay dreary Gotham."
"You know, you two could follow Grace out to the Golden Coast," Zac pointed out. "Officer Daddy could retire... rest on the laurels of these clean streets."
Claire laughed and shook her head. "Good luck convincing him of that one. He thinks Gotham needs him more than ever."
"To read books about traffic safety to kindergartners?" Zac joked. "The mob's been gone for years. MCU has to be a relic from the past at this point."
"Not to Jim," Claire insisted. "He swears he has a sixth sense about these things. And there may not be 'major' crimes much these days, but petty crimes are escalating. And Jim swears that's a sign of greater escalation... of 'discontent and desperation,' he says. Jim's so intelligent— he doesn't just study criminology, but also history, military conflicts, revolutions... the rise and fall of societies. He may more have time on his hands on the work front, but he spends it pouring over books, documentaries... he's always processing something."
"Surprised he would want to bring a kid into all that, if he really believes it." Zac refilled her water and added some orange slices this time for variety.
"It's sort of because of all that, in a way," Claire said quietly. "I told him I was lonely, and that he seemed so far away lately. With Grace gone and me obviously not playing Mistress to regulars anymore, I wanted a new project. A new person to care for. I started really craving being a mom. And even though he's scared, he also likes the idea of a second chance— to get things right this time as a dad."
"So the kids still don't know they have a stepmom, huh?" Zac said in disbelief.
Claire sighed. "No. Kids are blabbermouths, and Jim still refuses to let anyone know about us besides Kay and you guys at the club. Barb knows — they have to co-parent, and he figured if he kept a secret that big she'd cut him off from the kids completely. But of course she never really approved of me after the 'butter' incident."
Zac snickered.
"And with her being remarried to Dan, they've all kind of moved on as their own family," continued Claire. "Jim tries, and they talk here and there. But over time it just gradually falls away... the calls get shorter, then fewer and far between. There's no real 'falling out,' just a fading away. I know it haunts him. And I feel like this baby will be good for him." Claire lovingly stroked her bump again, her tone trying to convince herself just as much as Zac. She had no doubt Jim would be a fantastic, devoted father. But she was also nervous it would push his growing paranoia over the edge.
"So I guess I'm going to be playing father of your child now, too?" Zac teased her with a grin.
Claire laughed sheepishly. "Only at the rare public event, 'husband.' Luckily most of our after-hours events are sans children."
"Oh, good. Playing your husband at charity balls is one thing; slinging a screaming kid over my shoulder is quite another."
"First hint: I don't think you're supposed to 'sling' a kid," joked Claire. "Really though, it's all kind of silly, isn't it? Being so careful to hide a marriage and a baby during the most peaceful time in Gotham's history? And when we were in the worst of times, he was openly married to Barb and parenting the kids. I mean, I know it came back to haunt him, from what he's told me. But still. All this constant caution over what seems to be some phantom threat. I just don't know, Zac. I love Jim more than my life, but sometimes it's just exhausting."
Zac came around from the bar and gave her a hug. His half bare chest with its leather harness was sweaty, but he smelled like his signature Abercrombie and Fitch cologne, so she forgave him.
"We'll get through it, Mama," he assured her. "I got you."
XXXXX
Claire opened up the clock on her computer and watched the seconds tick by torturously. She dug around in her desk drawer for snacks, feeling nauseated at the options. She was well beyond the first trimester morning sickness, but that queasy feeling still threatened sometimes when she was too hungry, or she smelled a strong smell, or her food options were less than appetizing. She couldn't bring herself to eat another granola bar or bag of "healthy" whole-grain chips. She and Baby Coconut wanted a real dinner.
Yes, she'd gotten in the habit of naming the baby whatever food object popped up in her weekly "What to Expect" email from . Last week she'd told Jim over burgers at the diner that perhaps little Endive Gordon needed a real name instead of being dubbed various veggies and fruits. Especially now that they knew it was going to be a son. Jim seemed to favor the historical route, throwing out names of presidents or world leaders, while Claire played around more with fictional characters from her favorite books and films. But nothing had jumped out at them yet.
6:45 p.m. Jim and Foley were holed up in the conference room and had been for two hours now, with a small team that had eventually trickled out and left only the commissioner and his recently named deputy commissioner behind. Peter Foley had joked for years about Jim needing one, and apparently Garcia had heard the joke so many times that it stuck.
Truthfully, it made Claire a little uneasy. Jim didn't always hear the sarcastic comments the team made after he left a room. They'd call him old school and laugh about his cautiousness and his adherence to the old protocols. Foley seemed to be the ringleader of the jabs, and Claire wondered how much of the mayor's ear he'd managed to bend in his favor and away from Jim's. But she didn't know how to bring it up to her husband without crushing him. So she just kept observing, hoping instead to steer him towards retirement and excitement about their future together.
The door finally opened fifteen minutes later, and Claire's hungry stomach somersaulted with relief just before she noticed the frazzled look of dread on Jim's face.
"Come in here, kiddo," he said quickly, pointing back toward the conference room. Claire stood and followed nervously, noting that Foley was watching her with curiosity.
"What do we need Greene for? What's this about, Gordon?" he asked.
Jim shut the door and snapped down the blinds that covered the window beside it.
"It's about protecting my wife," Jim answered.
Foley nodded slowly. "Okay. We can get a unit out to your house. You still in the Tricorner? Your kids at Gotham Middle and Elementary? Or are you guys at Anders?"
"My kids are at Cleveland City Schools, and have been for nearly four years. And if anyone asks you about Barbara, you're to tell them the truth, which is that she took the kids and left for Cleveland. I don't have any family here. As far as my actual, current wife, she never existed."
"Huh?" Foley looked at him quizzically, then glanced at Claire. "Has he lost his marbles, Greene?"
"I'm not sure, deputy," Claire answered honestly. "Commissioner?"
"Claire is my wife, Peter, and she has been for three years."
"Claire who?" he laughed. Then his face fell. "Greene? Seriously? You knocked her up? What the hell, Gordon?"
"I didn't 'knock her up!'" Jim snapped. "I'm having a baby with my wife of three years. Barb left after the Batman mess, and I moved on. The fewer people that know, the better. Believe me, I never would have told you either if my hand wasn't forced by this." Jim pointed at the wall, where a mugshot of a thin woman, younger than Claire, graced the projector screen. She had defined, angular features and wore a hardened scowl.
"Hey, I know her," Claire said quickly, walking over to get a closer look.
"What?" Jim asked sharply.
Claire nodded. "We used to run in the underground club circuit together."
"Club circuit?" Foley interrupted.
"Never mind," interjected Jim. "Continue, Claire."
"But she disappeared almost as quickly as she came onto the scene," Claire told them. "My friend Nancy and I used to joke that she must have gotten arrested. She always had this kind of delinquent quality about her."
"Appropriate, clearly, considering she's a felon," Foley remarked. "You and Gordon, though? Wow."
"Focus, Peter," Jim reprimanded through gritted teeth, pacing. "Claire, we've been profiling a serial killer for a couple of months now. She leaves a calling card, calling herself 'the Cleaner.' The crimes seemed to point to her being female, but she operates a lot like the Joker in that with every kill, she leaves clues as to her next. She seems to be getting sloppy, because our team was able to pull prints from the last scene. Her name is Mathilda Lando. She grew up not too far from..." Jim stopped short, seeming to catch himself. "That is, she grew up in Little Italy. Not Gotham... NYC." He looked at Claire pointedly.
She nodded, understanding completely, and feeling that all too familiar dread creep alongside the hunger in her already nauseated stomach. She'd been out of regular therapy for a good year, having addressed her PTSD through cognitive behavioral techniques with her skilled therapist. She only checked in occasionally now, and she rarely thought of Benny, even though she did still think of Stan sometimes. She could never forget him, even if part of her wanted to.
"She's been in and out of the system since she was a juvenile," Jim continued. "Mostly theft and prostitution, until her last release, when she escalated into this role she plays now."
"So what does all this mean?" Claire asked, her voice shaking and her hands instinctively protecting her bump.
Foley stood and lifted an evidence bag, crossing over to hold it in front of her face. Inside was a newspaper clipping of Jim speaking at the Harvey Dent Day celebration weeks earlier, a note in red Sharpie scrawled across: I know about your dirty little secret, Commissioner. Maybe it needs to be cleaned?
Claire gulped and looked at Jim, who had gone pale as he stared at the note again along with her. Claire had worked at the station for almost a decade now, and she saw threatening notes and frightening pieces of evidence left behind daily. She was almost immune to them. But they hit much differently when they were targeted at her and those she loved. She suddenly understood why Jim was always so protective, so cautious. This baby wasn't even born yet, and he was already a target. Claire had never felt so fierce, so desperate— in her entire life.
"What do I need to do, Jim?" she asked quietly. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect him."
"Protect who?" asked Foley blankly.
"The baby, Peter," sighed Jim. "Claire, we will talk about it in the car. But Peter, I needed someone on the team to know what this threat really means. I need to be able to trust someone. And that someone has to be you. But I mean it, you can't let anyone know about Gree— Claire. If anyone talks about my wife, she left me and took my kids. Understood?"
Foley blinked and nodded. "Yeah, Gordon. I get it... I think. I have about a hundred questions, but I get it."
Jim set his jaw and pointed to the newspaper clipping with a rigid finger. "And this, Peter... THIS is the reason I never stop worrying. You and the team can laugh all you want, but until you're staring in the face of someone you love, telling them everything's going to be okay when you know it's not, you have no room to talk. I've been in that place more times than anyone should have to.
"There's an underworld out there... simmering," continued Jim. "Anger rising, where we were vain enough to think we buried it. You ever study exponents in school, Foley? Think how many family members, friends, associates in other cities, other states... that those thousand prisoners in Blackgate have here on the outside. Prisoners locked up with questionable due process, at best, under the Dent Act. Sure, it made our lives easier, but at what cost? All those people building up hatred for cops, learning everything they can about their families. This girl is only one of them, mark my words."
"But you don't know that Gordon," Foley protested. "We look at evidence... patterns... follow logic... not some arbitrary gut instinct."
"This is a pattern, Peter. From the dawn of time. What civilization has ever lived in peace without some kind of uprising? You and Garcia think we live in some utopia... Gotham is far from it."
Foley shook his head. "It's getting better. And it's a hell of a lot better than it used to be."
"Yes," Jim agreed. "And it's our job to keep it that way. Come on, Claire, let's go home." He was struggling to breathe a bit after his impassioned tirade, and his eyes looked heavy, like he could curl up at her side and sleep for twelve hours.
"Hey, don't worry, Greene... um, I mean Gordon... eh, uh— Claire." Foley said cheerfully, coming to his feet. "We'll find this girl. Take her down."
Claire nodded numbly. "Thanks, Foley."
Jim made his usual show of checking the office and sidewalk for witnesses before they left together. Sometimes they had to leave a few minutes apart, just to be safe. Occasionally he would let her drive the car Hans had "sold" to them back and forth to work, but only when it was absolutely unavoidable.
"What else do you know about her?" Jim asked as soon as he pulled into traffic. "How is she connected to Stan?"
"I— I didn't know she was," stammered Claire. "I mean, maybe he was seeing someone else? No... that math doesn't work. She's quite a bit younger than me. He was a lot of things but not a child molester."
"That's debatable," growled Jim. "Okay. Well, you said Stan died because of some hitman, right? A hitman with a personal vendetta. What was the vendetta?"
Claire shrugged and shook her head, at a loss. "I honestly don't know, Jim. I told you, Stan didn't really share that kind of stuff with me."
Jim smacked the steering wheel with frustration. "Good god, I can't believe I'm dealing with this shit again!"
"So what do I need to do?" she asked, quietly repeating her earlier question.
"Same thing you did before," Jim answered dryly. "Turn to your other daddy for help. Only this time we'll let him rescue you before something has a chance to happen. I'm sending you to stay with him and Grace."
Claire's eyes flew open. "What? Without you? For how long?"
"As long as it takes to make sure you're safe. Forever, if need be."
"Jim! You can't mean that. I'm not having this baby without you. We literally stood up and vowed to be together until death. Together, Jim. Not living on opposite coasts."
"I'll come see you when it's time for the baby to be born," Jim promised. "I'll still need to spend some holidays with the kids here and there, but you normally stay with Hans and Grace when I do that anyway. All my other time off, I'll spend out there with you. And there's FaceTime. Every night, if you want. Hell, we'll have phone sex if you want. Is it still called phone sex over FaceTime?"
Claire felt tears stinging her eyes. "Jim, how can you even joke right now? You're honestly suggesting we split up?"
"I have to get you out of Gotham," he said tersely. "Hans can protect you better than I can. You said you'd do anything for our son. This is what has to be done."
"Come with me," she begged. "You've given Gotham everything for decades. Just let it go, Jim. Let it be someone else's problem now."
"And do what, Claire? How do I provide for my family? If you think I'm living off of Hans Gruber, you have another think coming."
Claire smiled a little at his use of that old phrase. Every once in awhile he would still throw out something so adorable that it melted her heart. How was she going to live without that, without him?
"There are other jobs, Jim. We'll find something. We'll make it work."
Jim shook his head adamantly. "Not yet. It's not time."
"When will it be time?" Claire pressed. "Is there some magic moment, some jet stream painted in the sky, that's going to alert you one day that Gotham doesn't need you? Or do you just keep this up forever?"
Jim didn't answer her. He just stared ahead at the road, hands digging into the wheel. At first she waited, thinking an answer was forthcoming. Soon she realized it wasn't. Her attention faded slowly to the radio instead, hearing Cher's voice playing through the car at a muted volume.
Come on baby show me what that loaded gun is for
If you can give it
I can take it
'Cause if this heart is gonna break it's gonna take a lot to break it
I know tonight
Somebody's gonna win the fight
So if you're so tough
Come on and prove it
Your heart is down for the count and you know you're gonna lose it
Tonight you're gonna go down in flames
Just like Jesse James
Of course it would be this song. Claire would remember it as long as she lived. It played in the background one night when Stan came to find her in one of her shadowy clubs. She could smell and feel and hear that night still, like it still surrounded her. Fast forward to over three years ago, when she'd wandered into her living room to ask Jim what he was watching on TV.
"The True Story of Jesse James," he'd answered. And she'd mounted her cowboy on the sofa and fallen in love all over again as that song played in her head.
"Jesse James Gordon," Claire murmured softly, her fingers tracing the gearshift, her eyes staring into the bright dashboard lights beginning to glow in the final rays of the setting sun. Her other hand came to smooth over her bump once again.
"Huh?"
"Baby Coconut needs a name. I want to name him J.J. Like your nickname at the club. But for Jesse James. You know, the cowboy."
"The outlaw cowboy," Jim corrected. "I can't name my kid after a criminal."
"But you like the movie, right? We made love on my couch while you watched it."
"I'm also not naming my kid after something having to do with sex."
Claire allowed herself to laugh. "Um, Jim— babies come from sex. I hate to break it to you. Haven't you ever heard of people naming their daughter 'Tequila' because of the wild night she was conceived?"
"Um, no," Jim answered. "Can't say that I have. And we didn't conceive J.J. that night, so it doesn't make sense."
Claire grinned. "You just called him J.J. See? It's growing on you already."
Jim sighed, already sounding defeated. "Besides," he continued, giving it one last shot as he turned onto their street. "I already have a son named James. Is that even legal? To have the same name as a sibling?"
Claire giggled now, already feeling lighter hearted somehow. Just talking with Jim had the power to lift away the gloom, if only temporarily. "Yes, it's legal, silly. Your first son is James Worthington Gordon, Jr.— Jimmy. Our son will be Jesse James Gordon— J.J. Not the same at all. But both named for their amazing dad."
Jim shut off the ignition and turned to her with a sad smile. "I guess since I'm sending him off to be raised by a criminal, the name fits."
Claire leaned over and allowed her hand to drift into his hair, stroking his head. He fell forward at her touch, and he immediately melted. Again, she wondered how they could possibly survive without this magical power they held over one another... the power to comfort, and to make each other laugh.
"He'll be raised by you, Jim," she assured him. "Even if you have to do it over FaceTime."