Song title inspired by "Shallow" - Lady Gaga/Bradley Cooper

"Meine Häschen."

Claire felt herself enveloped by strong arms and overcome by a spicy citrus musk. The owner of these two things had barely changed in eighteen years. If there was a fountain of youth, Hans Gruber had found it when he survived his great fall four years before meeting Claire and Grace. He truly was a beautiful man.

"Hans," Claire greeted him with a kiss to the cheek. They took their seats at a small table draped with fine white linen, upon which sat a bottle of champagne on ice.

"What are we celebrating?" she asked. "Beyond Grace's upcoming birthday of course."

"Merely an occasion to be together again, my dear Claire. I don't make it to the East Coast nearly as often as I should these days."

"I can tell," she teased. "That's the most perfect tan I think I've ever seen on a pale guy. That sunny house on the sea must be agreeing with you."

"It's paradise," Hans agreed with a grin. "Though paradise well earned. I've dealt with copious amounts of mistakes and overinflated egos and idiocy over the years to get here. I must say I'm enjoying retirement."

Claire smiled and began exploring her menu. The man had a tendency to martyr himself when it came to overseeing his operations. He especially liked to bemoan babysitting Stan the two years the men had worked together before the latter's death.

"Have you dined here before?" Claire asked, already torn between about five different appetizers on the expansive list.

"Yes, I brought Grace here a few years back," Hans answered. "She kept saying the entire time how much you'd love it, so I made a mental note to bring you here one day. May I take the liberty of selecting for you?"

For a criminal, the man was very thoughtful and generous— if you found yourself on his good side.

"Yes— I've been feeling a bit on the submissive side lately," Claire laughed. "Order away."

Hans raised his impeccably maintained eyebrows at this news. "Well, that is something to celebrate, when one does a complete 180. Assuming there is a positive reason behind this mood?"

Claire had decided ahead of their scheduled dinner that she wouldn't be mincing any words when it came to Jim. Hans was family to her, and if Jim was going to become a significant part of her life— assuming he passed her little test with Grace tonight— then Hans was going to have to know about him. She wasn't nearly as nervous as she would be for the flip side, when the time came to tell Jim the depths of the world she and Grace had flirted with for half their lives.

She would have to make Jim understand— the girls had just separated the men from what the men did for a living. Hans and Stan rarely spoke of it, and the girls weren't really permitted to ask. Aside from pure kink, the men's penchant for violence hadn't even entered into their interactions with the girls; when they were with them, they laid down their guard and had even been romantic. In later years to Claire, in the aftermath of Stan's death and as he fell more in love with Grace, Hans became more fatherly. Jim would just have to understand that family was family, when the time came. Her stomach knotted a bit when she thought of the conversation, so she decided not to dwell on it for now.

"I'm in love," Claire announced simply once their server delivered a bottle of red wine and departed with Hans's list of delectable choices for their meal. She noticed Hans had adopted a distinctly American accent when ordering; she figured he could never be too careful since he was technically still presumed dead.

"He's no Dominant," Claire continued. "In fact he's my submissive. But for some reason I don't feel that insane need to be in control now that he's in my life. I kind of like letting him drive a bit, though he's kind of a 'hands at ten and two' kind of driver."

"Ah, a spielverderber?"

Claire giggled. "I have no idea what you just called him."

"Hmm, let me see..." Hans shifted in his seat adorably and flashed her a grin. "I believe the American equivalent is 'muddy stick?'"

"Stick in the mud! And no, he's not. I'm good for him... I'm getting him to lighten up a bit."

"I have no doubt, meine Häschen. You are a true light. Now tell me, what does this responsible driver do for a living? Is he worthy of your hand?"

Their server delivered bowls of silky pumpkin soup to the table topped with sunflower seeds, bacon, and crème fraîche. Claire took her time cooling hers off and taking her first bite before answering.

"He's... a cop. You know Stan was technically a cop," she reminded him hurriedly. "And my parents were cops. So it's only natural. I just have a type I guess. And of course I work at the station." She felt like a teenager racing to explain her choices before her parent could scold her.

"A cop?" Hans wrinkled his nose and reached for a roll before delicately spreading butter into its folds. "Don't you have loftier ambitions, darling?"

"Well, not just any cop. Not that it matters— I would love him anyway. But he's the police commissioner. Please don't kill him."

Hans laughed rather manically before dipping his buttered bread into his soup. He even ate elegantly; Grace had remarked on that before, and that she often forgot to eat her own meal for the distraction of watching him.

"Darling, if you love him, I will overlook his flaws as long as he is willing to overlook mine."

Claire frowned. "Yeah, about that..."

Their server returned, this time with a plate of cheeses, flatbreads, and fig jam. Claire stuffed her face one more time to avoid finishing her thought.

"Well, he can't be too straight-laced, can he, to be in your lifestyle?" Hans pointed out. "I'm sure he has a certain openness to experience, and that he can be persuaded. I can be very charming, dear Claire."

Claire actually felt relieved at this. Hans was indeed persuasive, so much that she foolishly believed they could all happily co-exist, eventually.

"But I'm curious," he continued, "as to your sudden change of heart. I thought you'd decided to be single and free for eternity, choosing your own partners, bending them to your will?"

He spoke with an amused smile. Claire got the feeling he understood completely what she was feeling and just wanted the pleasure of hearing her say it. In fact, she knew he understood; he wouldn't have invited her here to plan Grace's surprise birthday if he didn't.

"I guess there comes a time," Claire began softly, "when what we need trumps what we want... becomes what we want. I need Jim for some reason. He makes me feel... safe."

"Hmm," Hans remarked. "Then you have my blessing, bunny. All I've ever wanted was to see you safe. May I offer you some free but valuable advice?"

Claire nodded. "Of course. I've been so overwhelmed these past few months by all that I'm feeling... I can't even think straight. I'll take whatever wisdom you have to bestow, Herr Gruber."

The server delivered filet mignon topped with asparagus and shrimp— a melt in your mouth combination Claire had nearly forgotten. It had been a long time since she'd eaten on a Hans Gruber budget.

"Don't... how to say this delicately?" Hans mused. "I suppose I can't. Don't fuck it up, darling. People like you and I... we set these boundaries, to maintain control. But boundaries make rather lackluster companions, in the end."

Claire gave him a sympathetic smile and reached for his hand while they were in between bites. She felt him bristle a bit at the prospect of the conversation turning to him and his own emotions, but Claire kept him firmly in her grasp.

"Well, this is certainly not the end," she reminded him. "For either of us. After all, I believe before I distracted you with all this 'love' mess, you were here for a love mess of your own? So what is the plan for the birthday girl?"

"A nice dinner, of course, and tickets to the opera. I've rented the presidential suite at the Royal Hotel here in Gotham."

Claire's eyes lit up. "Fancy! That's actually where Gotham PD is hosting our Holiday Ball next month. Now it's a charity event, Hans Gruber. Don't you go getting any ideas."

Hans raised his eyebrows innocently. "Now wherever would you get the idea that I'd want to interfere with holiday merriment?"

Claire laughed before closing her eyes in bliss at the last bite of her entrée and polishing it off with a sip of the fine Cabernet. They finished the meal with coffee and small eclairs— Hans making a cute comment about eclairs for his Claire. She couldn't wait for her best friend to be spoiled like this for her birthday next week. Grace worked long hours as a nurse at the recently reopened Gotham General, and she deserved some time with the man she loved. It had been too long.

Hans slid his black AmEx into the leather portfolio on the table and settled back in his chair. Claire knew the elite card had a different name on it entirely— Mark Sullivan— a carefully crafted legitimate identity with which he could conduct business in the real world. Hans Gruber was dead and had only existed underground for the last two decades, in shadowy clubs and private meetings at the homes of the rich and the dangerous. Even as he planned something romantic for his beloved Grace, with the help of a dear friend who was like a daughter, his look was still calculating and could be interpreted as frightening by an onlooker.

"The reason I brought you here tonight, Claire, isn't so much about the birthday, although at that occasion I will certainly start planting the seeds. But once springtime ushers in the finest of sunny California days, I would like to invite you both to join me for a week at my home. I'll be persuading Grace to join me permanently, but do not breathe a word to her," he warned sternly. "I am simply enlisting your help and therefore educating you on the aim of the game."

Claire nodded eagerly. The prospect of seeing what promised to be a grand dwelling in the most picturesque landscape in the country was impossible to turn down. She never really took vacations, save for her little Cleveland adventure, so she had a healthy PTO bank saved up at the station. So did Jim...

Jim? Staying a week in a criminal mastermind's mansion bought with the dirtiest money on the planet? Who am I fucking kidding?

"You may bring your plaything, if you like," Hans said silkily, reading her mind like a book laid open on the table. "As long as he behaves and keeps his nose between your legs where it belongs and out of my... dealings."

Claire bit her lower lip to stifle a laugh, knowing Hans was dead serious. "Yes, of course. If I decide to bring him along. Obviously he and I have a lot to talk about first."

"Ah, Mr. Sullivan— such a pleasure having you and your lovely companion dining with us this evening. Do come again." The server slid the portfolio back on the table with an almost worshipful smile. A black AmEx did tend to have that effect.

"Ah, yes, it was truly an unforgettable meal. Thank you," Hans returned, flashing the whitest of smiles and a glimmer from the warmest of eyes. He was truly, utterly charming. And Claire was suddenly certain Jim Gordon would see right through it.

"A lot to talk about, hmm?" Hans returned. "Have you told him about... our dearly departed mutual friend?"

Claire swallowed. "Sort of. Not really. No, not at all, actually. He knows I had sex with someone at eighteen. That's about it."

Hans gave a sinister chuckle. "Darling, don't you think that would be an important piece of 'getting to know you' information to a good cop? Although I wouldn't blame you if you chose to keep it a secret. I suppose I'm skilled enough at 'Mark Sullivan' that I could maintain the pretense in my own home. However it would be much more enjoyable... convivial... if you laid your cards on the table?"

Claire nodded meekly. She'd already told Jim she would tell him everything, of course. She had to, in order to move on. But she dreaded it. There was a very real possibility that the conversation could be their last, and she wasn't ready to give him up... not yet. She needed some more time with him first. Time to bask in being loved and cared for and enjoying silly things like dinner dates and rollercoasters. Not just canes and floggers.

Jim had mentioned to her in the break room at work yesterday that he wanted them to cook together at his house sometime soon; that sounded fun and amazing. Learning something new, making messes, feeding each other... things normal people did. Claire could only imagine interrupting such a domestic scene with a tale of the time Stan ate her out her against the wall with a revolver tucked between her ass cheeks. Okay, maybe Jim didn't need that much detail. But still... her unconventional sex life with Norman Stansfield was the easy part to tell.

"Yes, Hans," Claire said confidently. "I'll make sure he knows about Stan. And whatever you need me to do to help you with Grace, I'm in. Although I don't think you'll have to do much persuading."