Chapter title from "In the Mood" by Glenn Miller

It did take a bit of time to drive from East End to the Tricorner, but Jim took advantage by asking Claire a new slew of questions. She definitely felt more relaxed after their dinner, armed with the knowledge that it was truly a work function that had pulled him away. The crazy zipliner in her tummy had now been replaced with pleasant butterflies as she anticipated joining him in Cleveland next weekend. And he had promised to fulfill her little dream to spend a day in rollercoaster heaven. She didn't even know how to feel about that— no one had ever taken the initiative to grant a wish for her unless the Mistress commanded them to do so.

"So where are you from?" Jim asked her, checking all mirrors multiple times before pulling from the bridge to the main thoroughfare. He was so detailed and careful; she found herself randomly imagining what he must be like as a dad, hovering over a little one riding a bike, meticulously checking their homework, or cutting their food into perfectly even bites. Claire imagined any person he chose to take care of must feel very loved.

"A small town in Pennsylvania. Amish country, mid-state. Small town, not much to tell," she answered, hoping he wouldn't dwell on this point long. Her childhood hometown seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Oh, what brought you to Gotham?"

"School."

"Gotham University, from central PA?" he mused. "Why?"

"I transferred after my freshman year."

"Why?" he repeated, his smile still amused. She understood the reason he was asking — it was more of a school for locals. But she had chosen to relocate to be closer to Stan, who had lived and operated out of New York. Her parents couldn't afford NYC schools, so she'd chosen Gotham. But Jim didn't need to know any of that.

"Just the way it ended up," she finally answered vaguely. "I was drawn to big city life. What about you? Are you from Cleveland?"

"No, Barbara's family is. She went to school in Chicago— my hometown. I served a stint in the military before coming home and working on a Chicago SWAT team. That's when we met. I went to school and studied Criminology while working, hoping to rise up in the ranks and provide a better life for her."

"That's amazing... and sweet. So how did you land in Gotham?"

Jim shot her a wink and a smirk. "I stirred the pot too much back in the Windy City. Asked too many questions. Ended up being not-so-gently pushed to transfer."

"You? Ask too many questions? Surely not," Claire laughed.

"Hey, that's what first dates are for. I let you off easy. Just wait until date two."

"Well, luckily we'll be too busy screaming at the top of our lungs on a Twisted Horseshoe Roll."

"What the devil is that?" Jim asked as they sailed past the station.

"One of the many fun things you'll experience next weekend."

"I hope some of those fun things include non-roller-coaster thrills," he commented, his voice growing thicker. "I wouldn't mind hearing you scream over a few of those too."

"Mmm. Such an appetite, baby boy. Were you always this insatiable?" Claire let her hand drift to rest on his thigh, feeling it flex as he moved from gas pedal to brake.

"No," Jim admitted. "I guess having more free time on my hands opens up some avenues that were closed off. And having a beautiful woman around that seems like she wants me."

Claire gave his leg a squeeze. She did want him. Something about his swagger— so confident yet so modest at the same time— had always turned her on. It was like subconsciously he knew he was exceptional, dedicated, brilliant, and brave— but his conscious mind refused to admit it. The results were adorable moments of uncertainty and awkwardness that made her want to cradle him and remind him of what a hero he was.

Claire turned her attention to the change of scenery from Old Gotham to Tricorner, the southernmost part of the city. They'd just passed Wayne Tower and crossed the bridge, and they were now greeted by an industrial island of warehouses, shipyards, and brick row homes. It was a densely populated but peaceful part of Gotham, full of hardworking people like Jim and their families. This time of night, you could hear a pin drop in the clean, deserted streets as everyone rested.

Jim pulled his car to a stop in front of a two-level brown brick series of homes, interconnected and sandwiched between taller condominiums on either side. The brick building seemed much older than the condos and was accented with stone chimneys and wooden staircases.

"This was the original tenement housing for some of the nearby factories," Jim told her. "The owner was parceling out the building and selling off parts right when Barbara and I moved from Chicago. They remodeled the upstairs apartments to become part of the lower level ones, making them more like row homes. Barbara and I always knew we wanted kids, so we were excited to find something affordable but with the extra space. Everyone in this building has lived here for decades; I don't even know what mine would go for now if I decided to sell it." He gazed up at his home wistfully through Claire's window.

"I can help you find out," Claire offered. "If you decide that's the route you want to go."

Jim nodded. "Then I guess I better give you a tour. Come on, kid."

He hopped out and Claire waited for Jim to open her door before following him up the small set of stairs to the porch. There were many neglected houseplants sitting on the brick window ledges and the wooden stair rails, faded lawn chairs, and a circular charcoal grill gathering cobwebs. Jim unlocked a faded red door and flicked on a lamp to reveal a fairly basic kitchen, clean but in need of a remodel. The space was certainly well-lived-in, with evidence of children's fingerprints and stacks of unopened mail. School awards and hand-colored pictures of animals lined the fridge, and a wilted arrangement of apricot roses sat in a blue vase on the kitchen table.

He led her to the living room next, with its brown plaid sofa, pleated lampshades, and a record player with vinyl albums sitting in the corner. Claire thumbed through them eagerly and took the initiative of selecting Glenn Miller, since he'd declared his love for big band earlier. She wiggled her eyebrows a little and reached for his hand, which rested on his hip as he surveyed the place with furrowed brows beneath his glasses.

"New memories?" she reminded him, and Jim acquiesced with a smile, allowing her to swing him into a dance.

"I lead though, little girl," he whispered in her ear, his arm extending hers downward as his chest crashed to hers and his body spun them around. She closed her eyes and willed her breath to steady the blood pumping through her veins. He held her close and swayed for a moment, her hand creeping beneath his suit jacket as she breathed in the citrus woodsy, rosy leather, and honey vanilla notes in his cologne.

"You smell incredible," she murmured, her nose tickling his earlobe. "What's your cologne called?"

"Gentleman," he said with a laugh.

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Wanna see one of the bottles? I think Barb and the kids gifted me about ten of them over the years." Jim twirled her around a couple more times before tugging her back to the bathroom, where he opened a medicine cabinet and confirmed the identity of a black and silver cologne bottle. They moved on to his bedroom next, simply decorated with a muted multi-colored quilt and plain white sheets. Family photos hung on the walls and lined old, knotted oak furniture surfaces. Jim ran a thumb over the faces thoughtfully.

"What are their names?" Claire asked, perching on the bed. That move was probably presumptuous, but she was really trying to intersperse the new with the old in hopes she could coax him out of a hotel and back into a home. She ran a hand over the cotton pillowcase, allowing her perfumed wrist to rest on the soft fibers.

"James and Barbara," he answered sheepishly. "I know, I know."

Claire laughed. "So very traditional. I love it."

"Really?" he asked, turning around and glancing at her hand on the pillow. "You seem like anything but."

She shrugged. "I grew up pretty traditionally myself. Maybe it's not so bad after all."

Jim took a few steps toward the bed then hesitated, like he wanted to touch her but thought better of it. "How about the kids' rooms upstairs, then that walk?"

"Sure." Claire felt a bit of relief. As much as her body ached for him to take her, she still wasn't sure if the real her was ready. Even though Mistress got laid frequently, "Claire" hadn't had sex in sixteen years.

They toured the kids rooms quickly, Claire holding his hand and not allowing him to dwell. Most of their things were packed and gone anyway; only some less well-loved items or things they'd outgrown remained. The furniture was still in place, Jim explaining that the kids and Barbara were living in the extra rooms at her parents' house currently.

"I bet you could rent it fully furnished and get more long term," Claire pointed out, trying to keep the conversation practical and not burdened with too much emotion. "I can help you clean and get it ready one weekend. And maybe help you find a new spot. Something smaller, less work?"

"Thanks, kid. I'd appreciate that."

It was approaching midnight, but Jim holstered his gun and they took off toward the park. Walking through Gotham that late at night would have been unheard of just a few years ago, but if the Commissioner felt comfortable enough to take the chance, so did she. The moon was nearly full and the sky clear in the crisp fall air.

"Need my jacket?" he asked her when a chilly breeze sailed through.

"Then you'll be cold," Claire laughed.

"I have long sleeves, and your arms are bare. Here." He held the lined wool jacket in place as she shrugged into it, immediately enveloped by his scent and his warmth. She wrapped it tightly around her, crossing her arms. Jim pulled her right back to his side.

"Besides, you're going to keep me warm." He gave a small, teasing smack to the flesh of her hip and kissed the top of her head. They walked down twisted trails beneath a canopy of trees that filtered the moonlight. The trails ran alongside a man-made pond with a center fountain. It was quite the typical romantic scene, done so many times in novels and rom-coms, but it made it no less dizzying to Claire, a novice in such things. They passed by a large man dozing beneath an old trench coat on a park bench, the only other sign of life besides ducks floating sleepily along the silvery ripples of the pond. Their chats ran the gamut from Jim's kids and his early career in Chicago, to Claire's favorite books and her pointing out constellations in the night sky.

"You know I'm always out at night, but I never look up," he told her. "I'm always looking down, or around, running from one scene to the next. It's nice to slow down."

Claire slid an arm around his waist, fulfilling her promise to keep him warm. Her hand slid into his back pocket and gave his firm behind a squeeze. He responded by coming to a stop as they were circling back to his house, turning to face her with a caress to her cheek. His kiss was soft, his head dipping to hers in slow motion. The seconds before impact felt like an eternity to her heart, which literally felt it might be skipping out of rhythm. When they finally collided, his lips were firm and sure, his warm breath marrying with hers atop the pinprick mustache tickles on her sensitive upper lip. His other hand came up so he now cupped her face, holding it in place as his tongue gently teased the bottom of her pout, asking permission. Of course she granted it, a wave of heat rushing over the back of her neck when the tip of his tongue began to stroke the side of hers.

It's a kiss, Claire! How many tens of thousands of kisses have you had in your lifetime?

She felt her muscles tremble and swore she understood the meaning of the word "swoon." Jim seemed to sense her sudden weakening, for he lowered his hands from her face to scoop beneath her back. He brought her against his chest as the kiss deepened, his tongue now bolder in taking what it wanted. He was panting when he finally backed away, lantern light reflecting in his glasses. The eyes beneath them locked to hers, telling her silently how much he wanted her. She slid a hand up his chest to feel his heart pounding beneath it, and her mind raced at the absurdity of how these sweet, innocent actions could fire the adrenaline of two people who had already done nearly everything under the sun.

Da da dum, dum dum, da da dum dum.

Claire glanced down at a blue light glowing through Jim's pants pocket. He sighed and pulled out his phone.

"Barbara," he told Claire, and he stepped away to answer.

"Is everything okay? It's so late, Barb..." His voice grew fainter as he walked closer to his house, leaving Claire alone on the sidewalk. She heard footsteps back in the direction of the park and turned around, but she didn't see anyone. She hugged Jim's jacket more tightly around her, thinking how old habits and fears never really died, no matter how strong of a persona you developed to deal with them.

"Barbie has a stomach bug," Jim called to Claire after hanging up. "Barb's been up all night with her and was frustrated. I think she just needed to vent."

Claire nodded and followed his lead in walking to his car. "That's good that she called you. I'm sure you wanted to know."

"Yeah," Jim agreed. "I'll probably call back and check on them in a bit. Okay if I drive you home?"

"Of course. Or I can get an Uber. There's more of them around Gotham lately... easier to get one late night than when it first started a few months ago."

"No," Jim said as he started the car. "You have a regular chauffeur now. Just forget about that mess." He patted her bare knee with a grin, and they headed back over the bridge. It certainly wasn't the most efficient night, all this back and forth, but it was somehow perfect nonetheless. Claire was pretty sure she'd be content in the man's passenger seat no matter where they went.

She gave him another brief kiss goodnight upon their arrival to her apartment and made a move to return the jacket, but he shook his head.

"Keep it, kiddo. That way I'm guaranteed another date. I know you won't risk returning it to me at work." He gave her a little wave but made no move to drive away, clearly wanting to watch her safely inside. She did notice him glance anxiously at his phone on the dash, and she smiled. He was a wonderful dad, a wonderful cop, and a wonderful man. She went to bed that night feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.