Chapter title inspired by "Somewhere Only We Know" by Keane

Smut warning - very beginning of chapter. :)

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Two Years Later
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"If you were here I'd have you sitting on my face," Jim murmured. His hand squeezed his cock hard, reacquainting itself with every vein and ridge. He was impressed at his length and rigidity tonight, and his pride was making the surge inside all the more powerful.

"I'd smother you," affirmed Claire. "You'd be begging for air." She was panting for air herself, a bittersweet long-distance orgasm building like a fiery whip through her insides.

"Sucking your clit into my mouth... listening to you scream my name..."

"Oh, yes, Jim... don't stop..."

"Mmmm... that's it, princess... touch yourself for Daddy... come all over those fingers... let me see it." Jim let out his own escalating grunts as he white-knuckled his cock. The sight was enough to push Claire over the edge into a trembling, gasping mess. She angled the phone so he could see her fingers working between her legs, swirling her wetness, and he could almost taste it. She tried to recover her breath as she watched her husband shoot an impressive load into the air, but she still managed to take a quick screenshot to commemorate the moment.

"Wow, commissioner... it must have been awhile," she teased with a grin, flopping her sweaty body flat on the soft lilac satin of the bed she'd called her own for way too long. She twisted a blonde strand of hair around her fingers and licked her lips. "Wish I could have had that big load in my mouth."

Jim smiled sexily then let out a sigh. "It has been awhile. I can't do it without you anymore. I need to at least hear your voice."

"Awww. I'm sorry I haven't been able to FaceTime more," replied Claire. "J.J. insists on falling asleep in my bed, and by the time he does, I'm too exhausted to do anything but crash."

Jim cleaned himself up and returned into her phone screen wearing plaid boxers and a grey ribbed undershirt. Claire let out a little moan. Even at 57, he was still luscious to her. She wanted to touch herself all over again just looking at his toned thighs and the sparse chest hairs peeking out from the top of his tank. She missed him like crazy and longed to just rub herself all over him.

He hadn't visited California since Easter, having spent his summer time off in Cleveland with Barbie and Jimmy. Now that they were both teenagers, he'd finally sat them down over dinner one night and told the truth about his "other" family in California. It hadn't gone well; Claire knew that much. But Jim hadn't divulged many details, and she hadn't pressed for them. Her husband was typically an honest, straightforward man, but she respected the few secrets he guarded and knew he had his reasons, if only just to maintain a strong front for her.

MCU had locked up Mathilda Lando nearly six months ago after a long game of cat and mouse, yet Claire and J.J. were still confined to the west coast. Claire didn't begin to understand it; it was like Jim liked his life segmented like this, fitting into separate boxes that he opened and closed at will, each with their own rules, expectations, and protocol he followed in order to protect their precious contents: his new family, his old family, his city.

Lando had finally confessed her motives after hours under face-to-face interrogation with Jim. Her case was still being tried, so Jim had been intentionally vague to his wife. But Claire gathered it was along the lines of "Stan killed my family, so now I'll kill his." Claire had managed to create boxes of her own, refusing to label Stan as a killer in her own mind all those years, even though she knew he was. He just wasn't to her. But his actions still had consequences decades later, clearly, and Jim insisted that because Hans's and the commissioner's own did as well, the boxes remained necessary.

Jim settled back against the pillows and returned his glasses to his face, lifting the phone so they could actually talk rather than play. "Thanks for letting J.J. call tonight," he said solemnly. "I really needed that. Big day tomorrow. It was good to hear his little voice. He sure is smart for not-even two... but I'm afraid he's picking up a German accent."

"Oh, he is not!" Claire laughed. "Hans barely even has one anymore, since 'Mark' runs the winery. It's all in your head."

"Maybe," Jim admitted. "I really love that he calls me 'dad'... even without you having to remind him."

"Of course he does, Jim. He loves you so much. Do you think you'll be able to make it for his birthday?"

"I should. I went ahead and bought the plane ticket today. It may be that I have some more time on my hands soon..." he trailed off, and Claire could see him staring down at the blanket.

She sat up, suddenly alert. "What do you mean, Jim?" She didn't dare to hope for retirement, yet she couldn't stop her stomach from giving a little flutter at the thought.

Jim sighed, still not looking back at the phone. "You know I gotta give that damn speech again tomorrow, kiddo. I was... kicking around the idea..."

"Yes?" Claire prodded.

"Every year I think of telling the truth about Harvey Dent," he finally began, his eyes sharp as he finally met hers through the screen. "And every year I back down. But I'm tired, kid. This may be the year I finally do it. Because once I do, I won't have a job anymore, I'm sure."

"What truth, Jim?" Claire asked slowly, her wheels turning. "Is this about that night with Barb and the kids? And the Batman?"

He nodded grimly. "I don't want to say any more just yet."

"Are you sure? You could practice on me?"

Jim shook his head. "No. It will be hard enough to say just one time. But I'll call you when I can, after it's over. If... they'll let me."

"What do you mean, if they'll let you?" she asked, panicked. "This sounds scary, Jim."

He looked overwhelmed and helpless but gave an off-handed shrug. "It's a damning secret. I'll have no choice but to resign. And I don't know how they'll react. I suppose technically it could be seen as obstruction, and..."

"Jim! No! Don't do it! Just announce your retirement and go. Get on the next plane to California and forget Gotham. Whatever it is, just let it die."

"I can't live with any more secrets!" Jim replied, his voice raising, teeth gritted. "I helped kill a man, and I let Hans bury it. And I buried the truth about Harvey and the Batman. How can I live with myself knowing what all I've done?"

"You just move on," Claire said emphatically. "You move forward and do good, to counteract the bad, just like Hans does every day. Well, Mark. It's about balancing karma. He's an amazing father to Wren, husband to Grace, uncle to J.J. The town and all the tourists love him — he brings all kinds of money into the economy here... legit, clean money... people flocking to the winery and the lavender fields because of his promotions. And he's serious about buying that inn, whenever you're ready. He—"

"I'm not going to be a damn innkeeper, Claire!" Jim bellowed. "You don't go from taking down the mob in one of the grittiest cities in the world to being all smiley-faced and shaking hands and serving scones in some bed and breakfast."

"Why not?" she challenged. "There's nothing wrong with smiling. Besides, I'm pretty good at smiles. Maybe I can be the happy one and you can be the stodgy old guy with the mustache behind the desk." She flashed him a huge grin through the phone to prove her point.

Jim let a chuckle escape as he shook his head. "Keep smiling like that, kiddo. Give me something pretty to think about tomorrow night. I'm gonna need it." He sighed again. "I sure do wish I could kiss you. Orgasms work over the phone, but nothing can replace those lips."

Claire smiled and turned over on her side, curling herself into a ball. "Soon, Jim. Do what you have to do tomorrow, then come home."

XXXXX

"Mommy? Gruffalo, please!"

Grace lifted Claire's son gently. "Shhh, J.J., not now," she told him. "We'll read the Gruffalo book later, okay? Mommy needs some time."

"Time for what?" Claire wailed. "What can I do besides wear a hole in the floor? Why hasn't he fuc— I mean, why isn't he answering his phone? It's been days... I want to claw at something and rip it to shreds! How does he think this is okay? What if he's in jail? For telling whatever the hell was in that speech? Don't you get a phone call in jail? I swear to God, if he called Barb..."

"Come along, Jesse James," Hans said quickly. "I'll read your book to you. Little Wren, you too. Upstairs." The man walked swiftly up the marble stairs with a child in each arm, both of them giggling at being carried like "Kartoffelsäcke," as Hans frequently called it.

"Come on, Claire," coaxed Grace. "Let's just pour a drink and try to watch some TV. You know how Jim's job is— something probably just came up. If he's chasing some crazed murderer, he can't exactly tell them to wait a minute while he calls his wife."

"Crazed murderer, Grace? Really?" Claire admonished. "That does nothing to make me feel better."

"Well, if you want to do something... why don't you call Kay?" suggested Grace. "She knows about you two. If something big is going on, she might know."

Claire shook her head. "Kay left the station a year ago to go sell some printed leggings out of her spare bedroom or something. LouLou Lee? Lorelai? Something like that."

Grace wrinkled her nose. "The Gilmore Girls created leggings?"

"Oh, I don't know!" Claire cradled her head in her hands. "I can't take this, Grace. Not anymore. What if he didn't give the fucking speech? What if he pussed out again like all the other years? What if he just keeps at this forever, and I literally die decades from now still lying here wondering if he's okay and waiting for him to call?"

"You sound like Barb," Grace commented quietly. "Or at least that's how you always told me she was, before their split, according to Jim."

Claire flopped back on the sofa and sighed, shaking her head violently. "No. No... I'm different than Barb. I'm Mistress... calm... in control... rational. I'll just wait. It's fine. It will be fine. Let's watch some TV..."

Grace grabbed the remote hurriedly and switched on their giant wall-mount, only to be met with a BREAKING NEWS ticker that read: Missing NJ Congressman Found in Gotham- Sustained Bullet Wound to Leg."

"Claire- that's it!" cried Grace. "Congressman Gilly was missing. That has to be where Jim was— trying to find him. I'm sure he's fine. He'll probably call any minute."

Claire finally allowed herself to breathe. This was something concrete— something she could research and wrap her head around, something to give her hope. But it didn't exactly bode well for Gotham— a congressman shot in the streets— and it didn't bode well for Jim, either. Where was he when Gilly was shot? Was he shot too? Who was doing this shooting? Maybe Jim was right and Gotham was finally devolving back into chaos. In that case, Jim would never leave. He would literally go down with the city.

"Maybe call him again?" Grace suggested warily, seeing that Claire was spiraling. Claire did, to no avail. In fact, this time it didn't even ring, going straight to: "Hello, you've reached Commissioner James Gordon..."

Claire threw her own phone, watching it bounce off of Wren's pink blow-up chair and land on the Persian rug. Curling up at Grace's side, she burst into tears.

XXXXX

"All right, the time has come to do something," Hans declared at dinner the following night.

Claire abruptly paused in pouring her second glass of wine and nodded in vehement agreement. "Yes. What do we do?"

"Grace, I want you to get on the phone with any of your old friends from the hospital," Hans directed. "See if he's been brought in. Claire, is there anyone from the station you could trust enough to call? Anyone who knew about you and Gordon at all?"

Claire thought for a moment. "Well, Foley did. But I don't trust him. At all."

Hans's mouth formed into a firm straight line. "Call him anyway. We can't waste any more time."

Grace scurried away to make her calls, and Claire searched for Foley's number in her contacts. She couldn't even remember if she had it, to be honest. Her life at the station seemed a world away now. She worked in promotions for the winery now, using both her administrative skills and her beautiful face to help Hans on the marketing side of things. Before she had time to find Foley's number, an "Unavailable" number flashed on her screen, and her heart stopped.

"Well? Answer it," Hans said impatiently.

Claire's voice shook. "Hello?"

The voice that replied to her was deep, raspy, and garbled. "Commissioner Gordon has been shot. He's in Gotham General. He is all right, but he has a long road ahead."

Click.

Claire felt her hand clap to her mouth as Grace rounded the corner.

"Remember Myra from the club?" Grace asked hurriedly.

"Yes... she's Ben's new sub..." Claire answered numbly, staring straight ahead.

Grace blinked for a second at this news. "Well, I called her, and she was on duty at Gotham General the night they... brought Jim in. He was shot, Claire, he..."

"Is okay but has a long road ahead..." Claire finished, all emotion drained.

"Yes... how did you know?"

"The Batman," Claire replied, raising her eyes to Grace's blankly.

"Huh?"

"That was the Batman that called me just now. I'm certain of it. Deep, raspy voice. Short, terse sentences. Mysterious. Things must be awful in Gotham, Grace, if the Batman is back."

Grace scrunched her face. "You don't know it was him, Claire. Plus the Batman is a murderer. If he's back, it's probably just to create chaos again."

"A murderer who cares about Jim," Claire insisted. "And who apparently knows we're together. Jim must be working with him again... must have told him. But why wouldn't Jim just call me himself? Why send me a message through the Batman? It makes no sense." She stood, wiping the tears that had formed in her eyes when she'd received the news. "I've got to get back to him. I'm booking a flight now."

"Are you insane?" Hans sneered. "You just said things must be bad in Gotham, yet you're throwing yourself back in the place Jim Gordon forbade you to ever set foot in again?"

"He needs me," Claire said stubbornly.

Grace nodded in nervous agreement, glancing apologetically at Hans. "Myra said he's been there all alone. One of his officers came in to bring him some work stuff and a fruit basket, but that's it."

"Why wouldn't they call me?" Claire cried in anguish. "Everyone has an emergency contact. Hell, even Norman Stansfield did."

Grace frowned. "Myra said they called Barb; she was his emergency contact on file still. But she hasn't called since or come to visit."

Claire started crying again.

"Oh, Bunny," Hans consoled her. "Gordon probably never updated his records with the hospital system from all the years he's been in and out. No one remembers to do those things." He rose from the dining room table to give her a hug.

"Or, he did it on purpose to protect you," Grace pointed out. "Everyone in Gotham already knew about Barb, so it would be less risky to leave her on there. He takes your safety so seriously, Claire."

"So she gets to be his emergency contact yet doesn't even show up," Claire said sourly. She pulled her phone back out with resolve and navigated to her airline app, searching flights to Gotham. "But I'm not Barb," she added. "I'm his wife. I love him, and I'm going to be with him until he gets better. Grace, can you handle J.J.?"

Grace nodded. "Of course."

"Claire..." Hans warned.

But Claire ignored him and ran upstairs to begin packing a bag.

XXXXX

"Brought you an extra chocolate pudding tonight, Commissioner," Myra said cheerfully. "Heard you moved around a bit today and thought you could use some extra energy." The brunette adjusted Jim's pillow behind him with a wink.

He was grateful he'd finally been able to turn over on his back somewhat today. It was still tender, but he was glad for any movement at this point, even if breathing was still a challenge. Jim just wanted to get back to normal. He couldn't stand being useless and trapped like this. At least he had the rookie Blake out there being his eyes and ears.

The boy went by his gut, just like Jim. If the officer hadn't, Jim would be dead. Blake was the one who'd deviated from the plan enough to come around and check the outflows, thus finding the commissioner bruised and shot and barely breathing in the rush of sewer water. Jim had honestly thought he was a goner in those last few minutes before the rookie had rescued him. But he had known unquestionably that he stood a better chance against the roaring waters than against that monster Bane and his underground army. He'd completely left his life to chance, and he'd won.

But Gotham still had a massive battle to fight, and Jim knew they weren't prepared. Most of his men still thought Gordon had hallucinated the threat until today. Hell, in those first moments after waking in the hospital, Jim himself even doubted. It jived just too perfectly with the brewing nightmare Jim had envisioned over the past few years— a secret, angry insurgence with a thirst for destruction. All they had needed was a leader, and that leader had arrived. Jim had to get ahead of Bane and figure out his plans, and it seemed the rookie Blake was the only one he could trust. The boy deserved a promotion.

Jim had talked to Foley, of course, but Peter never really liked thinking outside the box, always met challenges with a dose of skepticism, and tended to cut corners to keep himself safe, comfortable, and keep his career on an uphill climb. Few Gotham cops were in it just for the mission, like Jim. And now he needed a strong team more than ever.

"Myra, could you turn the evening news on, please?" Jim requested, digging into the bland tray of soft foods she'd delivered. He'd switched off the television to focus on his phone calls with the team, but now the ringing had stopped, and Gordon wanted to find out why.

He found his mood a little brighter on nights Myra was on shift. She'd been a club regular for a few years but had a falling out with her Dom. After sharing a drink with her and Claire one night, Jim had decided she might make a good match for Ben. The man had borne a torch for Grace for way too long. When he'd chatted up the friendly brunette nurse, he'd decided to play matchmaker— setting up a double date with Ben, himself, and Claire on one of his wife's last nights in Gotham. Myra had shown her gratitude this past week with extra desserts, making sure he had his newspaper and favorite shows on, and ensuring his privacy was respected when he was on work calls.

Foley had finally delivered his new phone since his old one was lost to the Gotham sewers. It had quickly dawned on him that he'd never dialed Claire's number outside of her contact entry in his cell — the one he'd created that night at the club years ago, when she'd finally agreed to a date. He thought he remembered most of it— maybe a few numbers mixed up— but he hadn't made the attempt to call. He hadn't called before going after Gilly either, because he'd failed her again. Once again his intentions to tell the truth and leave it all behind failed the moment those papers went back into his jacket pocket. He couldn't bear hearing the disappointment in her voice. Claire was safe where she was, and with this new evil rising in Gotham, it was in her best interest and J.J.'s for him to just disappear. Just like when he'd pretended to be dead to protect Barbara and the kids. He'd been right; his coming back had almost cost them their lives.

But god, did he miss Claire Gordon. He tried to concentrate on the political talking heads running their mouths on GCN, talking about the stock market fallout from today's attack. But the back of his mind couldn't stop thinking about the exotic jasmine of her perfume, the throaty sound of her laugh, the sound of her heels clicking on a hard floor...

Wait one damn minute... he thought.

"Commissioner, you have a visitor," his security detail announced. "Err... female... blonde... really pretty."

"Claire?" he sputtered, reaching frantically for his glasses to make sure he wasn't in some medication-induced haze. "What the hell are you doing here? Get in and close the door!" He sounded more abrupt than he meant to, but seeing her here, in Gotham, now of all times, kicked his panicked defenses into high gear. But as he zeroed in on her sad face with her quivering lip, he felt himself soften.

"I'm sorry," he muttered immediately. "But you shouldn't be here."

She stiffened. "Don't tell me what to do, Toy. You forget your place." Her deep red lips pursed as she appraised him, then they finally relaxed into a bit of a smile. Her heels clacked along the final steps separating them, and she bent to seal her lips to his for the first time in six months. Jim felt his entire body relax under her spell, and he momentarily forgot the million reasons why they shouldn't be together and only thought of the one reason they should: this crazy love that defied all practicality.

"How?" he sighed when he finally pulled back. "How did you know?"

Claire opened her mouth to answer, but his attention was visibly drawn away from her that instant. Her gaze followed his to the television mounted on the wall.

Breaking News: Return of the Batman?

Claire dragged a chair over to his bedside and sank down, watching the high speed chase unfurl in the Gotham night. Just like days of old, chaos had taken over the streets. The entirety of the force seemed to be in pursuit of the vigilante who'd chosen tonight to resurface.

"Why the Batman, Jim?" Claire asked. "Why tonight?" She just assumed he knew.

"Did you not get any news on your way here?" he asked grimly. "A bunch of revolutionaries took over the stock exchange today and held everyone there hostage. Foley and the guys moved in on them but somehow got caught up in chasing the Batman instead. I haven't heard from Peter in two hours; he's obviously going out on his own."

"Revolutionaries?" repeated Claire. "Are you sure?"

Jim gave her an annoyed look. "Yes, Claire. Quit talking down to me like I'm a preschooler or need to be committed. It's just as I said it would be— I saw it for myself. A literal underground army. Paid mercenaries, I would guess... but when one is desperate, a livelihood paired with a mission inspires devotion. And a movement only grows from there. I've got an officer I trust trying to find them but it's like another damn cat and mouse game. And Foley thought I was nuts until today. But now they won't think old Gordon's a nutcase anymore..."

He scratched his chin thoughtfully and stared at the screen— footage of a giant winged aircraft launching into the air and soaring over the flashing blue lights in the sea of stunned GCPD officers below. Claire saw Jim's face curl into a smile as he watched the Batman evade capture. The man went from looking bitter and defeated to hopeful, even proud, in a matter of seconds. Whatever his past with the Batman was, it had to be more complex— and clearly more emotional— than what she'd always assumed.

Jim watched for a few more minutes then switched off the TV, ripping the top off of a pudding cup. He ate it in silence, not even looking at her.

"Jim," Claire began with a sigh. "Are you really mad at me for coming to take care of my husband in the hospital?"

He repeated his question from earlier. "How did you know?"

Claire stood and adjusted his pillow, smoothing a fallen strand of his hair." What do you mean how did I know? Didn't you have the Batman call me?"

He frowned. "No. I didn't. What would make you think that?"

Claire paled. "Really? Then how did he get my number?"

"He jumps off skyscrapers and disappears silently from a room while you're right there talking to him, Claire. I would think getting a little old phone number would be a piece of cake for a guy like him."

It was Claire's turn to frown. "But we've always been so careful about the marriage... do you have any idea who he might be, Jim?"

He shook his head adamantly. "No. And I don't care. None of that matters. It's what he does... that's what counts. And Gotham needs him now more than ever. Though why he'd put your life in danger by bringing you back here is beyond me."

Claire smiled sheepishly and lifted his hand from where it rested on the quilted blanket. "In his defense, he just told me you were in the hospital and had a long road to recovery. I'm the one who decided to come. But maybe he cares about you enough that he didn't want to think about you suffering here alone. And maybe, unlike you and Hans, he trusts me to take care of myself."

"You're saying he knows you?" Jim said abruptly. "And clearly he doesn't. You've been in a bad spot before, Claire. And this new ringleader of whatever this movement is... well, he's about five hundred times worse than Benny or Mathilda Lando. Even with Lando locked up now, you still have a target on your back because of me. You need to lay low... somewhere safe. Not my place. Well, your place. I mean our place... whatever. Hell, where are you staying?"

The cocktail being funneled through his IV had him agitated. Claire rubbed his arm soothingly. She couldn't be mad at him, even if he was rather cantankerous at the moment. She loved the man too damn much.

"I knew it wasn't safe to go back to my old apartment," she answered. "You've lived there long enough I'm sure it's on radars. I texted Zac. I asked if I could crash on his couch until you're discharged, and he said yes. I'm actually excited... I'll finally get to meet his Dom."

Jim gave a small nod. "I've met him. He drops by the club sometimes now. And if I hadn't met him, you wouldn't be staying there. He seemed like a good enough guy. Quiet."

Claire raised her eyebrows. "Really? Well, I guess Zac talks enough for the both of them. I like the idea of quiet dominance... it's kind of sexy."

"Well, I suppose I should be happy he's gay then, since you're living there," Jim said wryly.

"He could be bi," Claire pointed out.

"He's not," affirmed Jim.

She laughed. "You really are quite the expert on the club now, aren't you? If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd been there scening without me."

"Nope. I just like having a place to drink in relative secrecy. But it's not the same. Wayne's got some manager over it now. Never visits. Not as much staff as there used to be. I bet the rooms aren't even cleaned like they were back in the day. I'm kind of glad we've moved on."

"I'm not," Claire said sadly. "I miss the old place. Miss the old us." She studied him, her jaw set and eyes no-nonsense. "Come to California, Jim, when you get discharged from the hospital. Don't go back to the force."

"What do you mean 'back to the force?' I still am in the force. I'm doing whatever I can from this hospital bed to bring down this threat before there's nothing left to save. You were by my side through the Joker, Claire. You know what it's like to have a whole city at the mercy of a madman's whims. We were dealing with smarts back then; as long as we could play his games we had some hope of staying afloat. This man doesn't play games; I can already tell. He's pure strength... and pure evil. I'm not going anywhere until he's defeated."

Claire felt every cell of her body bristle. Up until this point, she'd held a certain respect for and detachment from Jim's job. It was off limits even for Mistress; she could ease his stress, give him a distraction of pain, teach him control and release— but those things operated in their own realm, apart from his world there on the ground. Today, though, watching his stubborn jaw twitch and his fuming eyes darken, Claire realized this was an endless spiral he'd never escape unless she de-railed the train.

"This is it, Jim," she said calmly, evenly. "If we survive this, you're hanging it up. Leave it to the Batman, leave it to Foley... maybe to this new officer you trust. But you're out. Promise me."

She folded both of his hands in hers and bent her head so she was in his line of sight, forcing his eyes to hers. Jim didn't answer, and she could see the internal battle he waged with himself.

"Jim, it's me," she whispered. "Me and J.J. Don't we deserve you as much as Gotham does?"

"Of course you do," he said with a tired sigh. "You deserve more than me. And that's the problem. If I keep failing Gotham, how do I even have a prayer of not failing you?"

Claire squeezed his hands even tighter, pleading, "I don't care if you do! A hundred small failures with you is better than a hundred successes without you. We just want you, Jim— home and safe and happy. Please promise me that this is it. Please?"

Jim's thumb came up to stroke her cheek, and Claire felt herself fall into his touch helplessly. She hoped he said yes, because she didn't have anything to threaten, anything to withhold, if he didn't. She could never leave like Barbara had; he was hers, for better or worse— even if the agony of his decision killed her.

"Yes, kiddo. This is the end. I promise."

XXXXX

And soon, it seemed like it would be the end. The end of everything, to be exact. Weeks passed just like this, Claire spending nearly all day by his bedside before retiring to Zac's each night. Every day Jim tried to convince her to return to California to their son, to safety— but she wouldn't listen. Then one beautiful fall day it was too late.

"Daddy's gotta run, J.J., but I'll see you soon. Make Uncle Mark turn on the TV and let you cheer on the Rogues today, okay? It's almost kickoff time."

Claire laughed as Jim handed her phone back and switched on the wall television. "It still cracks me up thinking of Hans as 'Uncle Mark.' Time does some crazy things," she said.

"That it does," Jim sighed.

The dulcet tones of the national anthem faded out as Myra hurried in for a quick vitals check. "Word on the hall is you get to go home soon, Commissioner," she said cheerfully. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"Thank god," Jim replied. "Kiddo, grab my phone. I need to call Foley and set up some face time for tomorrow."

Claire did as asked, and Myra exited quickly when a machine beeped loudly in the adjacent room.

"You should stay with me at Zac's," advised Claire. "I'd be willing to bet the crazies have guards stationed outside our apartment."

Jim nodded in agreement, noticing he'd missed a call from John Blake while FaceTiming J.J. "If Zac will have me, yeah. I need to— "

He was interrupted by screams of terror on the television screen. Jim's eyes blinked, thinking surely he was hallucinating. The field was crumbling, players falling underground into heaps of exploded metal and concrete rubble. A haunting, booming voice sounded, "Gotham— take control of your city!"

"Get to Zac's while you still can," Jim ordered. "Go now. Stay off the bridges and the main roads. Turn your phone up and answer if I call."

"But Jim, I need to be with you..."

"Now!" Jim barked, his eyes never leaving the massive masked man now filling the screen. When he finally glanced to make sure Claire was following his orders, he saw tears pooling in her eyes.

"Come here," he said as calmly as he could. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down to him, kissing her hair. "I would tell you it will all be okay, but I'm done saying that. Just please go. Keep aware of your surroundings— listen to your gut. I love you, kiddo."

Claire nodded, the tears flowing freely now. "I love you too, Jim." She gave him a long, hard kiss, and Jim couldn't help but feel it would be their last. He watched her grab her purse and turn on her heel, leaving bravely without looking back.

Jim listened to the ominous orator on screen, of course, but his gaze was fixed on the collapsed rubble. His own words echoed gratingly in his brain: "No more patrols, no more hide and seek. Send every available cop down there to smoke him OUT."

Every available cop... down there...

He'd done it again. Only this time he'd probably sacrificed thousands of lives. Part of him wanted to jump out of the window and end his useless existence. But the other part, the louder part, continued to demand that he get out there and finally become useful...

A blaring security alarm sounded in that instant, and his heart pounded as his brain calculated whether Claire could have made it out in time.

Calm down, Gordon. If they're here, they're here for you. They don't know about her. They'll let her pass.

As his thoughts raced, his hands began removing his wires of their own accord, disconnecting his machines. Their beeping joined the chorus of security alarms as he stood shakily, willing his weak muscles not to betray him. Somehow he managed to grab his gun and duck into the corner just as the door to his room burst open. Two mercenaries scanned the room, noting his empty bed with looks of panic. The men were young... no doubt innocent, idealistic, easily swayed youth jumping on Bane's bandwagon for some sense of importance and a handsome sum. Normally Gordon would reach out to them, call them "son," try to empathize, to talk reason and sense to them, but not today. This was war.

Bang. Bang... Bang. Bang...

Jim's adrenaline pumped through his veins and made him tense his trigger arm again at the sound of approaching footsteps. Then he quickly registered the familiar confident gait of now-Detective Blake, whom he greeted with a barrel to the head.

"Clear the corners, rookie. Get my coat, son."

The finale chapter is on hold until we get some artwork we commissioned for it. Hopefully it will be worth the wait! The chapter itself is done, edited, and ready to go once the art is here. :) So stay tuned...