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Friends always kept Carmine up at night. Whether that be Fish and her betrayal, Maroni and his foolishness,the longing and loss of Peter Gordon, it all cultivated in difficult nights alone. His only solace were the nights that Peter Gordon came to mind. It’s not that he was ever gone, just in fluctuating portions throughout the day. The knife Peter had given him brought back so many memories. Memories of cooking Italian dishes like his mother used to just to convince Peter it wasn’t all that bad, sitting down with a drink and talking for hours on end, and just basking in silence with each other.
That love they’d had didn’t die with Peter. It didn’t move on or fade or become more manageable. Carmine still found himself waiting for Peter, a messy folder in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, standing in the door frame with all his boyish charm. It all changed when Jim approached him, years after Peter had gone, Carmine felt the love he held explode upward in his chest. The fire in his eyes, the confidence in his strut, the stern, unreadable expression. It reminded him all of Peter.
Carmine had his heart broken many times over the years. From the girl in the schoolyard in second grade, to Liza’s recent lies. He had learnt how to control himself, how to articulate his words as to not show any bias until it was too late. Jim had momentarily pulled the plug on that part of his brain somehow. Jim, who he could’ve sworn looked more like Peter at times, managed to short-circuit him with just a little glance.
He knew what love was, understood it in great detail. He had loved Peter then, and he loved Peter now. Which made it all the more internally difficult when Jim made him feel the exact same way. Perhaps it was a Gordon thing, maybe that was just what Carmine was used to. The detective had this eagerness and valour to him that Carmine would attribute to Peter, it made him even more enraptured.
Jim interrupted his nights soon after, making it hard to even lie down properly. It was more that just his bad back. People thought him foolish with age, but Carmine was still acutely aware, just as he had been his whole life. There was a moment in said life, a moment that became the measurement for your entire existence, for Carmine, it was before Gordon, and after Gordon. He was content to live that way with his chickens and his settled down life.
Oswald would talk both scarcely and frequently of Jim, which Carmine caught onto before the words came out of the younger man’s mouth. Very little was said about Jim in any personal way, but he was mentioned so often it was hard to ignore. He’d known of Oswald’s preferences ever since they looked at one another. Took one to know one, as Carmine always said. And he knew a smitten man when he saw one. That had been him in the expensive suit conversing with a man of the law some time ago. So when Oswald glanced away at the mention of Jim, he wasn’t remotely surprised.
Jim was eye-catching, not that he flaunted his body like some men, he held himself with a strength and sternness that made you want to learn more about him. Carmine knew this, and so did Oswald. He wasn’t jealous in the slightest, letting Oswald have his little crush, truth be told, Carmine didn’t believe he had any chance himself anyway. Jim wanted someone just as ambitious as him, yet knows when to be the one protected and when to be protecting. Because Jim never liked being the one saved, as much as he needed it.
He needed someone to drowned on, and Carmine was too tired to entertain the underbelly of Gotham any longer. He wanted to retire, but not before he got a few more moments with Jim, the man who had become his base form of excitement over the months. He did miss Peter, and there was nobody who could ever compare to him. Nobody but Jim. It sounded pathetic on paper- he couldn’t have Peter because he was dead, so he got Jim, who was barely surviving half the time instead.
He was by no means the only one who saw Jim as this hope for Gotham. Oswald was becoming more, how could he appropriately explain it, obvious? Despite his attempts at hiding his emotions. He’d played the feelings game before, too bad Carmine had played a little bit more. He could see the slight eye twitch, the partial perspiration Oswald had to wipe away with the cuff of his suit jacket. It was desperation drowned in a big cauldron of devotion.
Carmine had to admit, he felt exactly like Oswald did. Reminiscing only made it stronger, when he thought of Peter, he imagined Jim saying the same words, doing the same things. Hell, they practically had the same gestures. Soon it was near impossible to distinguish between the two, Peter and Jim merging into one in his mind. It wasn’t a matter of waiting for chances to see him anymore, Carmine deliberately set them up on his own. He wanted Jim to be the Peter in his life again. Carmine decided that it wasn’t up to Jim anymore, he didn’t know what Carmine longed for deep down, but he was going to learn, he would be taught, with the help of Victor.
Jim would wake up first in the mansion, keen on making breakfast. Carmine would take his time, send a maid in advance to make sure nothing had worn off on Jim. That he was as compliant and polite as ever, then he would leave his room in preparation for whatever Jim cooked that day. He’d cook most days, as Carmine had shown him how to make all the best dishes. He appreciated them more than Peter had, but Carmine held no disdain. He had everything he wanted, with Jim under his thumb. All it took was a little brainwashing.
Jim had put up a fight, and Carmine commended him for that, but it wouldn’t discourage him from making Jim into the man that Carmine wanted. Victor would make sure that everything went smoothly, and the demand was met. Jim didn’t lose any of his wondrous traits, instead the less negative ones were directed at anything but Carmine. It made their time together all the more pleasant. They were both looking forward to many years together.
To say that Carmine was smitten would be an understatement.