Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by DC Comics, various publishers, and Warner Bros., Inc. Any other owners, licensees, or those legally attached to the Batman name, image, etc. of whom the author is unaware are included in this disclaimer although not mentioned by name. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: So, in the middle of writing something totally different, this little bunny scampered across my living room floor. Attached to his fluffy little tail was a note: "Write Me". So…here you are. Because, after all, how can you refuse such a cute little plot bunny? A short, Jim/Barbara one-shot that is set in the same time period as "Priorities", which is still on hiatus. Please note, however, that this is a completely separate story line for that period and has no bearing on the longer, chapter fic. Ok – enough with the rambling! Enjoy!
Warning: Adult situations, sexual content.
The Slamming of a Door
Jim stepped into the stuffy humidity of his front hallway, closing the front door gently and pausing to lean against it for a moment. The silence was almost as oppressive as the July heat, he thought, briefly closing his eyes. With a soft sigh, Jim pushed his body away from the door and walked down the narrow hallway, turning right toward the master bedroom.
Ignoring the rumpled bed, Jim quickly opened the closet door and hung his suit jacket and tie on the empty hangar he'd taken them from that morning. As he closed the door, a slight hint of cedar escaped – a sharp contrast to the stale air that hung heavily in this room, as well. Walking over to the window, Jim opened it wide and then sat down on the upholstered chair Barbara kept there. When Maggie was a baby, his wife would often nurse her in this chair, watching life go by in the street below, long after her daughter had eaten her fill and fallen asleep. When the chair had outlived this useful purpose, it had become the place where Jim would sit and wait for Barbara to finish readying herself for one of their rare evenings out. He recalled how he would smile and shake his head as she looked for one missing earring, one specific tube of lipstick. If she caught him at it, he could count on a light pinch to his behind on their way out of the room in retaliation. Sometimes, when he came home after a long day he would sit, tiredly, while Barbara perched on the ottoman and listened to the details of the latest crisis, the latest reason he was late. Often, she would walk behind the chair, urging him to lean forward as she rubbed the knots out of his neck. But that was months ago; before the front door slammed with enough force to rattle their family pictures hanging on the living room wall; with enough force to rattle their family.
Jim dropped his head back to rest against the cushion and closed his eyes. A slight breeze stirred the sheer curtains – barely enough to notice the movement, but Jim was grateful for the slightly cooler air. Something in the back of his head was urging him to move through the rest of the rooms, throwing open all the windows in an effort to persuade the cooler night air to come in, but he resisted. I'd probably forget to close them in the morning and come home to a ransacked house tomorrow night. Or worse. No, this is 'worse', he added to himself.
They had planned to take ten days together – drop the kids off with Barbara's sister for their own vacation with their cousins at the lake - and drive to a secluded beachfront cottage on the coast of Maine. They'd put money away in their savings account for the past three years – largely because each year's vacation fund had gone unused due to the demands placed on Gotham's police department. He'd promised his wife that they would definitely make the trip this year; he wouldn't let work get in the way. But, in the end, it had gotten in the way.
The assassination of the former police Commissioner and Jim's subsequent promotion to the post had made a huge workload even worse. That it came on the heels of his own faked death in an effort to capture the Joker didn't help. Jim smiled softly at the memory of how Barbara's initial anger had morphed into something equally passionate once they had the chance to talk things through.
But before they could even catch their breath, Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawes had fallen victim to the Joker's intricate plot – the latter killed and the former disfigured in body, soul and mind. Bent on revenge for the death of his lover, and with the assistance of a member of Jim's own squad, Dent had kidnapped Barbara and the children, using them as bait in a plan to exact justice from the Commissioner whose men had allowed the real criminal to escape prosecution. In the end, the Batman had rescued them all – yet again - and, in return, was forced into exile, taking on the sins of the White Knight so that Gotham's residents would still have a reason to hold on to hope.
Despite the horror his family had encountered, after a somewhat rocky few days, Jim and Barbara did what they'd always done: picked up their lives, their relationship and moved forward. Jim had made a sincere effort to be home for dinner more evenings and to spend at least one weekend day with his family each week. Most of the time, he was successful and while it lasted, his life was richer than it had been for quite some time. In the end, though, the schemes and power mongering among Gotham's most nefarious criminals overcame all its Commissioner's best intentions. Gradually, Jim found himself eating dinner in his office with Gerry Stephens or, more often, alone; on the weekend, he was lucky to spend a couple of hours with the kids before they went off to bed. Barbara's patience held up much better than he could have ever envisioned – until last Thursday night.
"Barbara, I'm sorry," Jim stood in the middle of their bedroom, hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers. Barbara stood by the window, facing him, two bright pink spots coloring her cheeks – her body trembling.
"I knew you'd do this to me," she said quietly. She walked over to the walk-in closet and struggled to pull down the large suitcase from its place on the top shelf. Jim's hand came into her view as he tried to help her and she simply froze in place until he got the point and backed away. She put the suitcase on their bed, unzipped it and proceeded to begin packing.
"Barbara, the Mayor called me this afternoon to say that the FBI will have some of its top people here to set up the Task Force. It's been in the works for weeks; he never said anything to anyone until he'd gotten the official word from Washington. I'm the Commissioner, Barbara. I have to be part of this!" Jim began to pace as he watched her walk from the dresser to the suitcase, then to the closet and back again. The suitcase was rapidly filling with her clothing, shoes, now cosmetics and toiletries. Finally finished, she tried three times to force the zipper around its track before she looked a warning over to her husband. "Don't," she said, sitting down on the lid and finally succeeding in closing it.
"Barbara…" Jim began again.
"Mommy," Jimmy stood in their doorway. "I can't find my bathing suit and you wanted me to be sure I put it in my duffle bag."
"It's hanging on the fold-out rack in the bathroom, honey. Maggie's is there, too. Why don't you grab them both and I'll be in to help in a minute," Barbara smiled at the boy who glanced once at his father before nodding and skipping down the hallway toward the bathroom.
Barbara waited until she could hear Jimmy talking to his sister before she spoke. "You have to be a part of these meetings, this task force," she said, keeping her voice low. "You always have to be somewhere else, doing something else. Well now it's my turn."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jim asked, his voice tense.
"You've made your choice; I'll make mine," she replied. "I'm tired of being pushed to the side while you tilt at windmills. You've been sending me a very clear message for a very long time: there is any number of things more important to you than I am. I've finally heard you. I finally understand."
"Barbara," Jim tried again, reaching out to take her arm but she was already walking through the doorway, heading to the kids' rooms to deal with their packing.
He had showered, pulled on a pair of blue boxers and sat down in the chair by the window to wait for Barbara to return. He remembered waking up to a dark room and the dim outline of Barbara's form in bed. With a sigh, Jim had joined her; sad to feel her pull away from his hand as it gently grazed her shoulder.
The following morning arrived and with it the first day of a promised heat wave. Without saying another word to him, Barbara rose, showered, dressed and made breakfast. Soon, she was gathering suitcases, duffle bags and Maggie's snowman nightlight in preparation to depart for her sister's house. Jim carried the suitcases to the car and loaded them into the trunk before returning to the house to say goodbye to his family.
"I wish you didn't have to work, Daddy," Maggie said, kissing his cheek a second time.
"So do I, sweetheart," he replied.
"Jimmy, take Maggie to the car and help her into her seat, ok? I just want to grab my book," Barbara watched the two children walk down the steps hand in hand before turning back to the doorway. As she emerged from their bedroom with book in hand, Jim tried one more time.
"I'm sorry," he said, reaching for her hand.
"You always are."
"Barbara, please; you're not being fair…"
She whirled around to face him. "I'm not being fair? Please! Explain to me how this is possible."
"I've never tried to make you feel that you're not important to me," Jim said.
"All that means is that you're good at it without trying."
"I'm doing this to try to keep you safe – to keep the kids safe," Jim protested.
"Were we 'safe' when you pretended to be killed in the line of duty, Jim? Were we 'safe' when Harvey Dent tricked us into going to that warehouse? You were working night and day then, too and they still got to us," Barbara reasoned. "The best way to keep something safe, Jim, is to pack it up all safe and sound and store it where no one can find it. That's what you're doing to me. That's what you're doing to us!" Her voice rose as her emotions got the better of her.
Jim reached out to touch her arm. "Please don't go like this. You're upset and it's a long drive…"
Barbara covered his hand with her own; her voice was urgent. "Then come with me if you're worried. Let Garcia solve the problems of Gotham City for once."
"You don't understand," Jim said with a slight shake of his head, eyes boring into hers. "I can't."
"You won't. See? I understand perfectly." Barbara wrenched her arm away from him, turned on her heel and walked out the door, slamming it hard behind her.
Jim opened his eyes. And here we are, he thought to himself. Calls made to Barbara's cell phone were unanswered and his voice mail messages were not returned. He had checked in with his sister-in-law who assured him that Jimmy and Maggie were having a ball and that Maggie had caught her first turtle, which she'd promptly named Herman and planned to bring home with her. That ought to go over big, he thought.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. His wife was ignoring him because he'd chosen the job over her. The Task Force had proved to be a bust; the egos of the FBI clashed horribly with the very healthy ego of the mayor and the new DA. The Federal agents had returned to Washington and Gotham was, once again, left to handle organized crime on its own. Barbara was due back in four days – on Sunday evening. Briefly, Jim wondered if she would even bother to come back or if she would just collect the kids and drive back to Chicago – to her parents' home – for awhile or for good, he wasn't sure which.
Another feeble breeze crept through the screen and Jim rose from the chair. He finished undressing, tossing his shirt, underwear and socks in the hamper and hanging his trousers in the closet. Padding naked into the bathroom, Jim put his glasses on the sink then turned the shower taps until the water ran tepid and stepped under the spray. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Barbara's face as it had looked last Friday morning – just before she walked out. He missed her; he missed her badly. As he showered, he replayed their last conversation in his head and he winced. Her words weren't necessarily new; they had always had issues with the time he spent away from each other. Intellectually, Barbara understood his commitment to the city and to those who lived there. She did realize that he was working to keep them safe. Emotionally, however, the long hours spent without him had taken their toll – on her and on the relationship. As her comments played out in his mind, Jim was struck by all she had been through over the past months. He could finally see the logic in the conclusions Barbara had drawn about his actions – and where she fit into his priorities. She's right; 'safe' is a relative term. Realizing that the water had turned ice cold, Jim turned off the taps and stepped out onto the mat. Briskly drying himself, he made up his mind.
Jim returned to his bedroom and threw some clothing and his shaving kit into a small bag and headed to the front door. Halfway there, he made an abrupt u-turn, returned to the bedroom and closed and locked the window. Half smiling to himself, Jim finally left the house and was soon backing his car out of the driveway. Once on the road, Jim made a quick call to Mayor Garcia. Reporting that he would be taking a portion of his accrued vacation time starting the following morning, Jim added that he would not be available by cell phone or email but that he'd be happy to speak with the Mayor upon his return. Then, he called Gerry, smiling as his obviously sleep-groggy friend stumbled through the first few seconds of the call. Telling Gerry the same thing he'd left on Garcia's voice mail, Jim wished his friend a good night and disconnected the call.
Turning into the long-term parking area of Gotham Airport, Jim collected the automated ticket, found a spot and sprinted into the terminal, the bag over his shoulder bouncing against his hip as he ran. Ten minutes later, he had his copy of the one-way rental agreement clutched between his teeth as he threw his bag into the back seat and jumped behind the wheel of the SUV. Tossing the rental paperwork aside, Jim pulled a piece of scrap paper out of his wallet and punched it into the GPS system. Impatiently, he waited for the system to locate the satellite signal and lock in the driving directions. A sharp beep advised him when the process was complete. Jim pressed the green "GO!" button.
"Please drive to highlighted route." The feminine, electronic voice of the navigational system finally kicked in and Jim checked the screen for the projected arrival time. 4 AM. Six hours away.
"Yes, ma'am," he said aloud and, hoping that his wife would accept his visit even though she hadn't accepted his calls, Jim put the vehicle in gear and headed for the highway.
As he drove, traffic lessened and night gave way to early morning. The sky became clearer as he left cities behind and the highway wound through more rural New England towns. Jim periodically checked the screen of the GPS system and noted that he'd managed to shave time from the original arrival estimate. He knew Barbara would probably be asleep when he got to the cottage, but he figured he'd either find an all-night diner to hole up in until dawn or maybe he'd pick up some coffee and find a spot on the beach. Either way, he'd be with her soon enough; Jim only hoped that she'd be willing to let him stay.
"Welcome to Maine! The Way Life Should Be," the blue and white sign proclaimed as Jim crossed the state line. As he drove over the Piscataquis Bridge, he opened the window, hoping to catch a whiff of sea air. Having driven the entire trip with the air conditioning on, Jim was thrilled to feel the refreshing night breeze on his skin. He flipped off the air conditioning and propped his arm on the door, breathing deeply of the tangy air. Two and a half hours to go, he thought, stepping on the gas a bit and setting the cruise control.
At 3:30, Jim arrived in Rockland and the GPS system began directing him down quaint seaside lanes. The comforting sound of peeper frogs and crickets accompanied the crunch of his tires on the now dirt roads. The smell of salt air was stronger now and as he made his way along the road, Jim could hear the faint sound of waves crashing onto the shore.
"…Arriving at destination, on right." His electronic travel companion announced the end of their journey and Jim reached over to switch the device off. He told himself that the tremble of his hand as probably due to the amount of coffee he'd put away during the long drive. Jim smiled wryly and acknowledged the lie; his nerves were slowly getting the better of him.
Moments later, Jim spotted the dark shape of their mini-van parked to his left at the end of the lane. He pulled the SUV next to hers and turned off the engine; the sound of the ocean could now plainly be heard. Alighting from the rental, Jim groaned softly as stiff muscles protested the movement. He took a few moments to stretch and work out the kinks that developed from long hours of driving. Reaching into the back seat, Jim pulled out his bag, unzipped the front pocket and pulled out the flashlight he'd put there.
"Boy Scout." Jim smiled as Barbara's voice echoed in his mind, the memory of a weekend at the lake they'd taken – damn – had it really been 5 years ago? He shook his head. Too long. He slammed the door shut, then winced. When no light appeared in the windows of the cottage, he exhaled slowly.
Shouldering his bag, Jim flipped on the flashlight and used it to find his way up the walk. When he arrived at the 'cottage', he was stunned to see that it was, in fact, much larger than he'd expected it to be. He vaguely remembered seeing photos of the place when Barbara received them from the owner, but that was some time ago. He walked quietly up the steps to the white-railed porch that, Jim found, encircled the entire structure. As he turned the corner and walked toward the back, his eyes were drawn to a flashing beacon a good distance in front of him. Jim approached the railing and trained the flashlight on the ground below. His breath caught in his throat as he swung the beam in a wide arc. The land sloped down toward the water, narrowing gradually. The house was located at the very edge of the land; before him lay the vast Atlantic Ocean, with nothing but segments of rocks and sand separating them. Jim reduced the power on the flashlight and cast it to his right. He noted a small wooden table with two chairs against the back railing and, beyond it, a white wicker chaise with what looked to be a deep, comfortable cushion. Jim made his way over to the chaise and made himself comfortable. There were worse places he could spend the next couple of hours worrying about his reception, he reasoned. Flipping off the flashlight, he settled in to wait for sunrise, trying to allow the soothing sound of the sea to calm him.
XXXXXXXX
Barbara, half asleep, struggled into a sitting position and listened intently. Something had disturbed her and she tried to identify the sound she thought she had heard. The slam of a car door, her mind supplied. Ridiculous, she thought a moment later. This is the only house on a private road. I must have dreamed it. She yawned and curled back down under the soft patchwork quilt. Too many nights spent listening for Jim to come home from work, she reasoned, then allowed sleep to reclaim her. Thinking about Jim was too painful and she'd spent far too many hours of the trip crying over the fact that she was married to someone who didn't care enough to come with her.
XXXXXXXX
When Jim opened his eyes, the pink tipped fingers of dawn were just creeping over the horizon. Swinging his legs to the floor, he stood, stretching again before walking toward the railing. As he gazed at the sights surrounding him, Jim realized that no picture could have done justice to this place. A small, sandy beach was nestled between soaring, sea-worn rocks, now damp from the tide that was almost fully out. He glanced at the door behind him, half expecting to see Barbara standing there. When he did not, Jim unlatched the gate built into the side railing, clicking it back into place before making his way down the short flight of stairs and down toward the water.
XXXXXXXX
Barbara awoke to sunlight creeping across the quilt and glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Seven o'clock; that was certainly the earliest she'd awakened since her arrival. She threw the covers to one side and glanced out the window as she made her way to the bathroom. As she reached the doorway, Barbara stopped and walked backward until she reached the window again. There was a man sitting on the long, curved rock closest to the water's edge. It couldn't be, she said, shaking her head but just then, the man half turned to follow the flight of a seagull carrying a small fish in its beak. The sunlight glancing off his glasses and a glimpse of a dark mustache below a straight nose made her catch her breath. Jim. She felt her stomach clench. I can't imagine what he'd be doing here. Maybe something happened to one of the kids, she thought, but quickly dismissed the possibility. First of all, her sister would certainly have called; and Jim would never have waited to tell her. No matter what was going on between them, he would have awakened her immediately. Just to put her imagination to rest, Barbara picked up her cell phone and checked her voice mail. No new messages. The existing recordings were all from Jim – that she already knew.
Feeling relieved that the children were not the reason for his visit, Barbara went into the bathroom. As she shed her pajamas, Barbara's mind went back to the sound that had awakened her earlier that morning: the slamming of a car door. That must have been Jim, she reasoned, brought up short by another thought. He must have driven all night. Some twenty minutes later she was showered and dressed with a bit of extra time devoted to her hair and a light make-up. Whatever the reason you're here, James Gordon – whatever you have to say to me – I'll not look like I've spent my whole vacation pining over you, she thought as she made her way to the kitchen – and the coffee maker.
A short time later, Barbara pulled a heavy mug from the cabinet and poured herself a cup of the aromatic brew. Adding cream and sweetener, she leaned back against the counter top, eyes trained on her husband who was still sitting in the exact same location. The sun was shining brightly on his bowed head, and it appeared that his focus was on his clasped hands. Barbara reached up and pulled a second mug from the cupboard and poured the remainder of the pot into it. She then made her way out onto the porch, letting the spring slam the door closed as she sat at the small table. It had the effect she was looking for. Moments later, her husband's footsteps were heard coming up the stairs and when she looked up, he was standing on the other side of the gate – obviously waiting for her permission to come onto the porch.
"I wasn't expecting to see you here," Barbara said, nodding at the gate.
Jim entered, securing the latch and approaching the table. "I wanted to surprise you."
"You have. Coffee?" she offered, gesturing toward the mug.
Jim pulled out the vacant chair and sat down, lifting the mug and sipping the coffee appreciatively. "Thanks," he murmured.
Barbara watched him warily, but said nothing.
The couple sat, drinking coffee and watching the play of sunlight on the water for quite some time – both afraid of what was to come; neither one wanting to be the first to speak. Finally, Jim realized that if he didn't say something, those six hours on the road were for nothing – and he would not be able to salvage the next few days with her.
A small sound from across the table pulled him from his thoughts. Jim looked over at Barbara, who was now facing the ocean in an effort to hide the fact that she was crying.
"Why are you here?" she whispered. "Why did you drive all the way up here now when you wouldn't come with me before?"
Jim heard the defeat in her voice and rose quickly, chair legs making an urgent scraping sound against the floor. He reached down and turned her face toward his. "Because I'm an idiot," he whispered back. "Because without you I had time to think and somehow all of the shit we've been through snapped into focus. Because I've been so intent on my literal version of protecting you – your life – the kids' lives – that I couldn't see that I was destroying our life together. Because I realized that protecting you from the outside dangers wasn't the only important thing. Because I finally realized that protecting us from my single-minded stupidity was maybe more important." He knelt down beside her and reached for her hand. "Because I never want you to think that anything is more important to me than you are. And I made you feel that way, even though I was too stupid to realize that I had said that exact thing to you in everything but words. Because I love you more than anything else and, if you'll let me, I want to spend the next four days proving that to you."
Barbara watched his face, so open and sincere throughout everything he'd said. He meant it – she knew he did. But … "And when we get home? What then? How do I know that it won't be good for awhile and then go right back to the way it's been the last few months? I don't know that I can go through having you here like this if it's just going to go away again," she said.
Jim nodded. "When we get home, I want to go forward – not backward. I want to come home for dinner more often than I have been. I want to go to Jimmy's t-ball games and Maggie's dance recitals. I want us all to go to the lake on the weekends, or to the zoo, or the movies – or just sit at home and watch TV together – like a normal family. If something huge happens and I have to spend more time away from you than I'd like then I will work my ass off to make sure it doesn't last. When the crisis is over, it stops. I can promise you that, Barb, and I can keep that promise."
Barbara reached over and cupped his cheek in her palm. "Tell me," she said. "Say it again."
"I love you," he said immediately, turning his head and kissing her palm softly. He captured her hand and rose, pulling her into his arms and leaning down to kiss her lips. Immediately, Barbara's arms went around his neck and she held him tightly as their kiss deepened.
"I love you," he murmured against her lips when they finally broke their kiss. With a sly smile, Jim began walking backward, not relinquishing his hold on her at all.
"Jim, what are you …," Barbara began but when she saw his eyebrows waggle up and down, she glanced over his shoulder and shook her head. "Oh, no, you can't be serious," he nodded and she smiled while still shaking her head. "Not out here."
"Why not?" Jim asked, nuzzling her neck. "Didn't you tell me that this was a private road, a private house, with no one else around for miles?"
"Well…oh! … yes, but … mmm … suppose a boat should go by and we're seen?" Barbara gasped sharply as Jim caught her earlobe between his teeth and bit down gently.
"Does anyone up here know you?"
"No…Jim, you've got to … ahhh, do that again."
Jim licked the delicate piece of flesh below her ear and was rewarded with another soft moan and a light shiver. He lifted her in his arms, turned and placed her on the chaise, dropping to lie on top of her, holding most of his weight on his arms. Jim looked down at her, taking in her heavy-lidded eyes and swollen lips. He felt himself harden fully and he shifted to make her aware of the effect she still had on him.
"Does that feel like I care if anyone up here knows us?" he asked, his voice rough. "Does it feel like I care about anything but you – and me – and showing you how I feel about you?"
Barbara's eyes widened when she felt her husband's arousal against her thigh. The excitement his words ignited deep within her was almost more than she could bear and suddenly, the idea of making passionate love to him out here – in the relative open – held more appeal than almost anything else she could envision.
She shook her head in response to his question. He smiled and she reached for his hand, bringing it down between their bodies and guiding it under the hem of her sundress. "Do I feel like I want you?"
Jim groaned loudly as his fingers brushed against the damp silk of her undergarment.
"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that," she teased, but quickly shifted to allow Jim easier access as his fingers rose to the waistband. She started to lift upward but he leaned down to kiss her before muttering. "Don't bother," and with a single movement, the scrap of silk was lying on the floor next to them.
Barbara gasped as Jim began to arouse her further, kissing her deeply while using his fingers to bring her to a quick release that she desperately needed. "I love you," she whispered into his ear as she began to come down. A moment later, Jim sat up, removed his own clothing and entered her in one swift movement.
The lovers moved together urgently, each knowing exactly what to do to pleasure the other. Their separation and reconnection, the deep emotion they felt for each other reawakened, they let their passion soar and they rocked against each other in abandon. The back of the chaise bumped rhythmically against the shingled wall as Jim's movements became uneven and his soft cries escalated in volume. Barbara's body stilled then arched toward him as she found her release, her body clenching around Jim tightly until he, too, climaxed, crying her name as he poured himself into her.
"I love you," Barbara murmured into his damp hair. Jim lay with his head on her chest, trying to regain control of his breathing. After several moments, he lifted his face to hers and kissed her lips tenderly. "I love you," he said quietly. "I will love you always. I will do anything to make you happy. I promise you. Just don't walk out on me again."
Barbara felt her eyes fill with tears once again. "I won't," she said. "I promise, too. I love you with everything I am. I won't let you go without a fight."
Jim kissed her again, then started to lift himself up from her; a small cry of protest made him pause. "What?"
"Where are you going?"
"I'm too heavy to lie on you any longer," he smiled softly.
"I'm not ready to let you go just yet," Barbara replied. "Would you be interested in a tour of the rest of the house?"
"Starting with the bedroom?" Jim's eyes roamed appreciatively over his wife's body.
"You read my mind," she replied, performing a similar review of her husband's naked form before taking his hand and allowing him to help her up.
He bent down to pick up their clothing and his bag.
"Leave them," Barbara said softly. At his raised eyebrow, she shrugged. "Like you said, it's private and no one knows us. And I don't feel like wasting the time to pick up after ourselves at the moment. Do you?"
Jim shook his head and dropped their clothing back on the floor. As they walked, hand in hand toward the staircase, Jim chuckled. "I'm never going to be able to hear you tell Jimmy to pick up his clothing without remembering this."
Barbara smiled. "It'll be tough to keep a straight face, won't it?"
Jim nodded, then pulled her to him and kissed her thoroughly. "How about that tour?" And for the next several hours, neither of them thought about anything but each other.
The next few days were spent sunning, picking up sea glass and shells and wandering through the small shops in town. They dropped Jim's rented SUV at the local rental office, Barbara expressing her delight that they would make the long drive home together. They spent an afternoon touring the Farnsworth Museum and Jim managed to slip away to purchase a print of one particular painting that Barbara had fallen in love with. On their last evening, they steamed lobster in a huge pot over the outside fireplace and ate on the porch, wrapping themselves up in the huge quilt when they were finished and making love on the chaise until the chill forced them inside again.
The following morning, they loaded up the van then went back down to the beach one last time, "to say good bye to the ocean," as Barbara said wistfully. They watched the gulls diving into the water and rising triumphantly with gleaming, dripping fish clamped tightly in their sharp beaks. They stood with their arms around each other; exchanging gentle kisses from time to time until Barbara lifted her head from Jim's chest and, with true regret in her voice, suggested that it was time to leave to pick up the children.
"Maybe we'll come back someday," she said wistfully as they walked toward the van, stopping to cast one more look over her shoulder at the tranquil water.
"Oh, I think that's a safe bet," Jim replied opening her door for her to climb into the passenger seat.
"Are you a betting man now, Commissioner?" Barbara teased him then kissed his cheek.
"I am with this one; it's a sure thing."
At her curious look, he continued. "Remember that call I was on when you came into the kitchen yesterday afternoon?" She nodded. "It wasn't Gerry. I lied."
"You lied…" Barbara repeated.
"I'm afraid so. I was actually talking to Mrs. Belden; you remember her – she owns the place?" Without waiting for her to reply, Jim continued. "Well, I called her and told her how much we loved the place and how we never seem to find the time to just be by ourselves and she's agreed to rent the place to us for two weeks next year and every summer after that – for as long as we want to keep driving to Maine." His broad smile faltered a bit when he saw Barbara's sober expression. "What's wrong? Doesn't that make you happy? I thought you'd be excited…"
She nodded her head rapidly. "Oh, Jim, I'm thrilled, really. And the idea of 2 weeks with you – alone – here, or anywhere else is heaven but how can we afford it?"
Jim leaned in and kissed her. "Mrs. Belden gave me a very good price. Turns out, her husband was a cop in Boston, so she understands the challenges of being a cop's wife. Told me that her David would be proud of her. And besides, we never go anywhere, do we? We don't live a lavish lifestyle, we don't own fancy cars – why shouldn't we do this? We can afford it and knowing I've got you all to myself for 2 weeks every year will make the other 50 bearable!" He kissed her again, deepening it when he felt her fingers wind through his hair. "Ok?" he asked quietly, pressing his forehead against hers when they finally broke for air.
"Ok," she whispered back.
"Let's head home," he said.
Jim gave the door a little slam to make sure it was tightly closed. As he walked around the back of the van to get into the driver's seat, he chuckled. This whole experience started with the slamming of a door, launching them both on a journey that would enable them to rediscover their passion for each other. This door signifies their journey home – together – stronger, more committed to each other and their lives in Gotham, whatever it brought. And they would return to this place next year and, God willing, many more years to come. To replenish themselves, to reconnect, to celebrate their love.
Jim got into the van and closed the door. He fastened his seat belt and turned the key in the ignition.
"Ready?" Barbara asked, leaning over and squeezing his hand.
Jim lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. "Ready."