Jim learns a little about the hometown and childhood that helped create his often mysterious Mistress...

Hopefully there's at least a fall nip in the air wherever you're reading from today, because we're headed into some Christmas fluff. I put on the Sinatra version of "Home for Christmas" while I was writing this one, in honor of our old-fashioned kind of guy.

Think of this chapter as the calm before the storm...

"Your place or mine?" Jim asked nonchalantly as he pulled back into the Gotham streets.

"I don't have my stuff," Claire protested.

"Then yours," he supplied. "Which is fine— I like your place better anyway." He gave her a wink, which was made all the more adorable accompanied by those fine, sexy dress blues.

"I guess I..." Claire hesitated.

"Yes?"

"I'm just not clear on how all this is supposed to work," she said with a sigh. "I mean, we said we love each other. But how do we decide when overnights are appropriate? What meals to eat together? When to drive separately to work? What nights to go to the club versus just being ourselves? I need some rules."

Jim just shook his head. "You just let it happen naturally. Relationships aren't D/s contracts, kiddo. Speaking of... should we make one of those?"

Claire laughed. "How, exactly? Who is the 'D' and who is the 's?' I'm so damn confused now."

Jim reached the hand that had been firmly at two o'clock on the wheel and squeezed her hand instead. "I guess we are kind of beyond all that now, aren't we? Too bad... I really wanted that collar."

"I can still do that if you want," she said quietly, surprising even herself with the words. "You said one time that you'd never make me give up the Mistress stuff."

"And I won't," agreed Jim. "I would never want to be without it. I'm in love with Mistress too... Princess, Greene, Kiddo, Claire... and however many more personalities you throw at me— I'm game. I just love you."

Claire smiled and stared out her window as they came to a stop at the light. She watched as families walked into the heavy red doors of an elementary school, the kids dressed as Santas, elves, angels, and gingerbread men beneath their little wool coats. Their parents were smiling proudly, walking hand in hand behind them. It made her realize how far removed she was from that world herself, and how much Jim was probably missing it, his first year on his own. She traced his hand with her thumb.

"Let's take a detour to your place," she suggested. "And pack a suitcase... or two. Why don't you stay with me awhile? I know you talked about your Christmas tree... but what if we bought one for my place? Picked out some ornaments ourselves... ones that are just ours."

Jim dared to take his eyes off the road, and the look he gave her was enough to take her breath away. It was the same look of pure bliss he gave her sometimes in the club, when she was hitting all the right buttons to ease his stress away. This time it was married with so much sincere love that she just wanted to fall into him, meld into him, and become something greater than they each were on their own.

"Eyes on the road, Commissioner," she reminded him softly. Her heart fluttered as she returned his hand to the wheel.

XXXXX

"I like these, don't you?" Claire asked excitedly. She was standing on a two-step ladder and placing shiny, mid-century atomic stars and snowflakes on the slender evergreen they'd purchased. "They remind me of the holiday ball."

"They remind me of the ones I grew up with," Jim chuckled. "What's retro to you is my actual life, kiddo."

Claire laughed. "I grew up with a lot of painted satin balls, hand knitted cross-stitch ornaments, and red felt ribbons. They were cute I guess but kitschy. It was the 80s. Yours are way better."

Jim set the Sunday Gotham Globe aside and cleared his throat, folding his hands decidedly in his lap. It wasn't the perfect opening, but it was the closest they'd gotten over the past week of nesting together.

"Speaking of... any more thought to the idea of going home for Christmas?"

"I am home for Christmas," Claire promptly corrected him, busying herself fluffing branches to her satisfaction.

"I mean to... Lititz, was it? I Googled it Friday over lunch. Looks like a homey little spot to spend a holiday. I bet it's postcard-perfect in the snow."

"You work for the chamber of commerce now?" she asked dryly.

"Claire..." he began again. "How many years has it been since you've seen your folks?"

She kept working silently while she did the math. "Seven years, maybe? I went home for my grandmother's funeral and saw everyone."

Jim paused and took a sip of his coffee, carefully weighing his words. "If Barbie or Jimmy didn't see me for seven years, Claire, I don't know what I'd do. I'd be a wreck. I bet your parents really miss you."

She sighed. "This is not the kind of 'Daddy Gordon' I need, Jim."

"Isn't it?" he challenged. He knew he was running the risk of getting the toe of one of Mistress's stiletto pumps in the ass and his welcome in her home permanently revoked. But for some reason the magnitude of his feelings for her and his desire for her to be happy was outweighing the risk at the moment.

Claire finally stopped fiddling with the branches, wincing and rubbing her forearms where the artificial needles had pinpricked her skin. Jim suddenly remembered the aftercare from the spiky little wheel Grace had shown him at the club, and he jumped up to grab some lotion from Claire's bathroom.

"Come here," he instructed, nodding toward the sofa. She joined him slowly, and he pulled her to sit in his lap. He began rubbing the lotion into her arms, placing kisses on her fingertips. Claire still wore a slight pout from their little tiff, but he kissed it away, his hand coming to her cheek to steady her as he probed her mouth. He heard her breath hitch — one of his favorite sounds— as it seemed to signal the gentle lowering of the walls she worked so hard to keep up.

"I won't pressure you," Jim assured her, pulling back to lock his eyes to hers. "But I'd enjoy meeting your family, seeing your hometown. Watching you let some other people love you. I know how good it feels to be let in here." He placed a hand over her heart, watching her melt into a soft laugh.

"You're such a softie, Jim Gordon. And that was kind of cheesy. But since I love you, I'll let it slide."

"Oh yeah? How about this? Will you let this slide?" He began tickling her ribs and stomach mercilessly, grinning at her shrieks as they pierced the air.

"Fuck no!" she gasped when he finally stopped. She was laughing so hard tears appeared in the corner of her eyes. "That earned you a very big punishment. If it wasn't breaking my Sunday rule, I'd put you in the car and drive you to the club right now..."

"I guess it will just have to wait until tomorrow night," Jim said with a wink.

Claire's face turned somber. "I'll have to punish you for this too, I guess."

Jim looked at her quizzically. "For what?"

"For making me even consider the proposal you're trying to sell me."

"Proposal, hmm?" Jim replied with an arched eyebrow.

Her eyes grew wide and her face turned beet red. "No! Your idea about going to my parents' house. Not proposal proposal. Jesus."

It was Jim's turn to laugh himself to tears. "You know you're really easy to tease sometimes. Once those first few walls crumble, you're putty in my hands."

"Don't remind me."

Jim kissed those pouty lips one more time before reaching toward Claire's phone on the coffee table. He handed it to her, his face expectant. "Call Mom and Dad? Tell them my favorite pie is apple, but since it's last-minute notice, I'll settle for pumpkin."

Claire clutched her phone with one hand and buried her face with the other. "I can't believe the hold you have on me. And yes, get that ass ready for tomorrow night, because Mistress will show no mercy."

"I can't wait," replied Jim, and he settled back against her sofa pillows as she dialed the phone.

XXXXXXX

Claire hurried to keep up with Jim in the airport. He walked with long, confident strides, absolutely beaming in his black and white sweater layered over white button-up and crew neck tee. He was toting a wheeled leather case packed with laptop, work phone, and plenty to keep him busy during downtime. Taking the extra few days around the holiday required him to juggle a bit, but he seemed excited to do it. Claire was certain he was going to be quite disappointed with the difference between expectations and reality.

Her mother seemed nearly as excited as Jim. She'd had a habit of calling Claire at work all week and asking questions— Jim's favorite foods, if he slept late or not so she'd know what time to have breakfast ready, how they met, how long they'd been together, what he did for a living... every day it was a new question.

Claire refused to answer anything except what was pertinent to the actual visit; she figured the other items at least gave them something to talk about during what promised to be a very awkward three days. She spent the flight dozing against the warmth of Jim's sweater while he worked on another speech he had to deliver once he returned from his New Year's trip to Cleveland.

"No podium adventures this time, okay?" he'd teased her before she fell asleep.

She'd just shaken her head with a smile and sighed against his arm. Living with him these past two weeks had been so much better than she'd expected. Her space was tiny, and she'd lived alone since she and Grace got their own places six years ago. She wasn't used to sharing her fridge contents or negotiating a bathroom schedule, making sure the bedcovers were evenly split, or compromising when it came to nightly television. But all that with Jim was actually pretty easy. He was opinionated, yes, but so easygoing about it all that even banter was fun. And more often than not, banter led to playtime... which was always a good thing.

Claire also liked that he was fairly neat— he kept the small space tidy unless he was working, too engrossed in strategizing and putting pieces together in his mind to worry about his surroundings. But for the most part he liked things orderly just like she did and liked to follow a routine. He was dependable, and knowing she could count on him for the small things allowed her to imagine counting on him for the bigger things... and longer term. She already found herself growing wistful whenever she thought about him returning to the Tricorner. The little southern island suddenly seemed a world away now that she'd been spoiled by having him so close.

They landed to light snow floating through the air and began their 90-minute drive to Claire's small hometown. The roads were barely lit as they moved further north from Lancaster, which made Jim's drive challenging. She was grateful he was so cautious. They crossed a wooden bridge so rickety he actually expressed fear they'd fall through, but Claire assured him it was the most efficient way to get to her parents' house, and the family's old Mercury Villager had made it across thousands of times growing up. They passed one of the area's trademark black horse-drawn carriages, a mere shadow in the twilight.

"So the buggies aren't just a cliché, huh?" Jim mused.

"Nope. We're not far from town though. Believe it or not, it's pretty cute."

"Then why not come home more?" His interrogation voice was already creeping in.

Claire shrugged.

Jim decided not press further. Just as promised, they soon entered a truly picture-perfect small town with buildings as colorful and detailed as gingerbread houses lining the streets in the falling snow. Nearly everything was historic but incredibly preserved or restored, the exterior landscape still pristine and well-maintained despite the winter season.

Jim had never seen so many shops centered around food— cheese shops, wine shops, bakeries, candy shops, ice cream parlors, pubs... the signs and storefronts beckoned his hungry stomach, but Claire had told him her parents would have dinner prepared for them upon arrival. There was a town square, old churches, antique shops, art galleries, a park with a cobblestone encircled pond and a giant gazebo for events... Jim looked around in awe. For a guy who grew up in the gritty city, this was like a small-town America fairytale. It was the kind of American dream he longed to fight for as a young kid as he made the decision to serve.

He glanced over at Claire, her features framed by the light of the street lamp and twinkling Christmas lights. In that moment he truly couldn't fathom what had made her stay away so long — what would make her give up this for dreary Gotham.

"Right here on your right," she told him. "Light blue shutters."

Jim pulled the rental car to a stop along the curb and gazed at the old colonial home with its stone courtyard and flag waving out front. Its bushes were draped with white lights, and a pinecone wreath hung on the door. As soon as he stepped carefully out onto the icy street to open Claire's door, he could smell the wood burning fire inside.

"Charming, huh?" she laughed.

"Very," he agreed. "I think I'm going to like it here."

She put her hand in his and fastened herself to his side once she stood, squeezing his arm. At that moment she was one-hundred percent Claire, Mistress abdicating the throne and clearly entrusting Jim to protect her and ease her nervousness. He had no idea what made her so timid about all this, but he gave her his most reassuring smile as she rang the doorbell.

"Merry Christmas!" a petite brunette exclaimed. She wore a dark green wool sweater with satin collar and wrist cuffs, accented with pearl jewelry. The interior of the home behind her was draped in evergreen garland with Claire's aforementioned red felt ribbon. The woman threw her arms around Claire, and Jim felt his girlfriend as tense as a board next to him.

"Hey!" another voice echoed from inside, and a small statured man with a gray beard gave an awkward wave as he entered the doorway. His face suddenly narrowed in confusion when he laid eyes on Jim. Her mom backed away from hugging Claire and surveyed Jim as well, brown eyes blinking.

"Hello, Jim," she said slowly.

Jim was happy to see that they were in fact older than him— probably by about ten years. But they continued to eye him with suspicion, presumably since their daughter looked so young standing next to him.

"Forgive us— we're just not used to Claire bringing anyone home. Or coming home, for that matter," her Dad joked.

"Douglas," her mom said warningly.

Claire cleared her throat. "Jim— my mom and dad, Diane and Doug. Mom and Dad— Commissioner Jim Gordon."

Both her parents' demeanor immediately changed.

"Commissioner... of Gotham? What an honor to meet you!" cooed Diane. "Claire never told us... how did you two meet?"

"I work at the station, Mom," Claire reminded her.

Diane laughed and hooked her arm through Jim's free one, leading him into the clean, meticulously decorated living room with its roaring fire. "Sorry, dear... we thought you were just a secretary somewhere."

"Claire is on Gotham PD's administrative staff," Jim spoke up. "She helps keep us in line."

"Wow... a police station with an administrative staff!" Doug marveled, taking a seat in an oversized suede armchair. "We're lucky if we have more than two officers on duty, right, Di?"

"I saw your station on the way in," Jim mentioned as he helped himself to a seat on the sofa beside Claire. "Really charming old building— the whole town is. I'm sure you're proud."

"It's not much, but it's safe at least. I never understood why Claire wanted to run away and put herself in danger in the big city," said Diane. She perched on the edge of her husband's chair and followed Jim's gaze to the street blues hanging prominently on a wall rack near the door. "I'm retired from the force now, but Doug still makes the rounds. The town would fall apart if he ever left."

"You getting near retirement there, Jimbo?" Doug asked, his eyes surveying him again. He was clearly angling for Jim to divulge an exact number for evaluation.

"Uh, no," Jim said with a shake of the head. "Not quite sure what I'd do with myself, and I don't want to find out."

Claire squeezed his arm and looked up at Jim with a smile. "Jim's a hero in Gotham. You would never believe the things he's seen and survived. Our streets are the cleanest they've ever been, and he has more time now to do things to help the community."

Diane looked impressed, her expression a bit fawning as she asked, "And how does a hero like that manage to be single at your age? Didn't you want a family?"

Jim heard Claire's barely audible sigh. He did sort of understand that her parents' abrupt demeanor left something to be desired.

"I'm divorced," he answered simply. "I have two children— fifth grade and second."

"Oh," said Diane, exchanging glances with Doug.

"Claire, a mother of two?" her father laughed. "She used to leave her baby dolls out in the rain so she could come in and get back to her books!"

"Or watch Mister Rogers and his neighborhood of make-believe," Diane chimed in.

"We're dating," Claire reminded them through gritted teeth. "I'm not a mother."

"Claire is very imaginative. I never knew it came from Mister Rogers, though," joked Jim. "And if things progress beyond dating, I'll make sure the kids always carry umbrellas." He could feel a Mistress glare burning into his right side. "Just in case."

Her parents both chuckled, then her dad grew serious again, stroking his beard. "So how long have you been divorced?"

Jim knew the man could and likely would mine every semi-public record for answers whether Jim gave them or not, so he decided to be forthright. "It's still in process. Should be wrapped up any day now. Very amicable split."

Doug let out a low whistle. "Still married, huh? And a divorce at your age? What the hell happened?"

"Don't tell me you were flirting with him at work, Claire," her mom said disapprovingly.

Jim heard Claire swallow. She suddenly looked very tired.

"The force went through a hell of a year in 2008, and it took a toll on my family," Jim stepped in. "I'm still dealing with the fallout."

"Hmm. Well, alright. So tell me about your first date," continued Diane. "How did he ask you out, Claire?"

"I asked him out," Claire answered quietly.

"So you did go after the married guy!" her dad laughed. "I have to say I'm disappointed in you, Jimbo. I would think as lovely as our Claire is, it would be you who stepped up to the plate. I don't agree with how people date nowadays. Girls asking out the boys, meeting online... seems like people are sleeping together before they even know each other's names. Don't even get me started on..."

"Mom, can I do anything to help with dinner?" Claire interrupted sharply. "Jim and I haven't eaten since this morning." She stood and made her way proactively to the kitchen. Jim followed her quickly.

"Oh, it's just a chicken casserole... nothing fancy since we have the Christmas Eve feast tomorrow. Let me heat up some green beans, then we'll eat."

"I love chicken casserole," Jim told her. "Grew up with the stuff. Cream of chicken soup and the stuffing topping, right?"

"That's the one!" Diane confirmed. She dumped three cans of french-style green beans into a pot on the stove. "Say... I remember seeing you on the news a couple years ago when that hospital blew up. That was you, right?"

Jim smiled and took some of the forks and napkins from Claire's hand to help her set the table. "Yep, that was me."

"Look at that... our Claire dating someone famous. I would say you were her most impressive boyfriend ever, but she's never had a boyfriend. Doug was afraid she was going to wind up with Grace for the longest time."

"That wouldn't have been the worst thing. Grace is a great girl," Jim commented, eyeing Claire the whole time. Her face was somber, her mouth in a solid line. "But I'm rather happy she chose me."

That simple dinner in that lovely brick Colonial was one of the most awkward meals of Jim's life. But it was a fascinating study in personality and family dynamics. Every once in awhile he would reach for Claire's hand, even if it meant he had to pause for awhile between bites. As the meal wore on she seemed to wilt, like a flower whose every drop of vital liquid was being forcefully drawn from its stem. As they assisted with the last of the dinner dishes, Claire began to hint at an early bedtime, but her mother was having none of that.

"I have two bowls of sugar cookie dough in the fridge! We have to bake and decorate!"

And so the uncomfortable small talk continued for two more hours as trays and trays of glittered bells, snowmen, candy canes, and trees filled the shaker-style kitchen. It was a very homey and comforting spot, its "Merry Christmas" banner twinkling over the farmhouse sink, snowflakes hanging in the window, and red and green candles placed all over shelves featuring perfectly matched china and glassware.

Barbara would appreciate the atmosphere, Jim knew. It was the kind of house she would watch wistfully on HGTV and hint that she wanted Jim to take off more weekends to help her recreate. He probably could have been a better husband in that regard. Claire obviously shared the same need for aesthetically appealing surroundings; her own home just as cozy even though her style was drastically different.

"I took all your things out of the car and up to your rooms," Doug said cheerfully as they were lifting the last tray of decorated dough from the oven.

Jim wasn't all that surprised to hear the plural form of "room," but he was still disappointed. He hadn't planned for sex in her parents' house, of course, but he would have appreciated the opportunity to decompress from what was undoubtedly a stressful evening for Claire. With separate rooms, he figured they wouldn't get a chance to really speak for the next three nights. Sizing up her pained expression as she arranged cooled cookies into shiny metal tins, Jim wasn't sure she was going to make it that long.

Diane led them up a narrow wooden staircase to a small hallway off of which sat four doors— three bedrooms and a hall bath.

"You're our guest, Jim, so you get first dibs on the bathroom," she offered, opening a small linen closet and piling a handful of towels in his arms.

Jesus Christ, their room is up here too, Jim realized. And they'd all be sharing a bathroom. He was beginning to regret his enthusiasm in encouraging Claire to take this trip. He saw Claire shake her head and enter the room on the right. He could see that the walls of the room were bubble gum pink instead of her favorite sunny yellow, which he would have expected to see in her childhood room. Knowing what he knew about her folks, she probably wasn't given the choice.

"I'm going to help Claire unpack and say goodnight for a bit," Jim told Diane. "You and Doug go ahead and take your turns if you'd like."

"Now don't go closing any doors," Diane warned with a wink, but she mercifully retreated down the stairs.

Jim heaved a huge sigh, and Claire flopped onto the Queen Anne bed with its floral coverlet, letting a shriek escape into the muffling power of a lacy pillow. Jim sank beside her, immediately massaging her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he said solemnly. "I'll trust your judgment from now on. They're not horrible, but I can see it's just not a good fit. I shouldn't have pressured you."

"'Don't go closing any doors?'" Claire repeated shrilly. "What am I, fifteen? It's fucking ridiculous! Do they realize how stupid and naive they sound?"

She finally unburied her face and laid her cheek dejectedly on the pillow. Jim leaned down and kissed her lips. He realized that's the longest he'd gone without kissing them in two weeks, save for their workdays. Even then they sometimes managed to sneak away for lunch at a cafe or a lightning quick peck in an empty corner.

"No, they don't," Jim answered her, gently brushing a blonde curl away from her face. He kissed her forehead this time, her eyelid, her cheek... before returning to her lips again. "They're in their own little world. But it's theirs, and it's where they're comfortable. We only have to make it until Sunday morning. I bet you don't hate me for booking that cheap 6 a.m. flight anymore, do you, kiddo?"

Claire allowed herself a small smile as she rolled over and traced the patterns on his sweater. "You're a genius, Jim Gordon. Now just figure out a way to silently and invisibly fuck tomorrow and Saturday, and we're golden."

"No can do, Princess. Deprivation makes it so much better in the end, remember?" Jim retreated to the hall with a grin just as heavy footsteps began to trudge up the stairs.

Doug gave him a look of mock disapproval. "Caught ya,' didn't I?" he said with a hearty laugh and smack on Jim's back. Diane winked at them from the top of the steps.

"Ah, I guess you did," Jim feigned. "Can't pull one over on an old cop, even when you're an old cop."

"Damn right."

These next three days were going be trying, to say the least. But at least he was with Claire. He perched on the edge of the guest bed while he waited for his bathroom turn and emptied his suitcase, folding his things neatly into the empty dresser drawer. He glanced at his second suitcase that held his gift to her. He grabbed it and ran back downstairs to tuck it in among the other gifts under the large balsam fir. It was a pretty large box, and he sat it next to a shiny red gift that featured his own name, scrawled in Claire's handwriting. He hadn't even noticed her leave to get it. Mistress was stealth.

Turning his attention to the ornaments highlighted by the warm white glow, he saw the satin balls and the gold-rimmed cross-stitched scenes she'd mentioned, but most of the tree was filled with testaments to Claire herself. He saw her "My First Christmas 1974" hand painted baby cradle and some ornaments she'd made with popsicle sticks and yarn that bore her childhood signature in all caps. There were small photos of her at different ages all hanging inside construction paper frames. Jim smiled at her big toothy grin, gold ringlets, and plaid jumpers.

"Weren't my teeth awful?" a quiet voice behind him mused. She had brewed herself a cup of tea and sipped it while hugging her waist. "Luckily I grew into them. My lips filled out."

Jim grinned and pulled her to him gently, kissing her 'filled out' lips. "You were adorable," he told her. "And still are." He glanced at his watch to find it five minutes past midnight. "Merry Christmas Eve, kiddo."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed. "Merry Christmas, Gordon."