Happy Sunday! Thanks for reading along/giving feedback/encouraging writing mayhem. Here's hoping everybody out there is getting whatever weekend they most wanted.

ladylampetia: Yay for field trips! And I took you all there without the $15 bus fare or signed permission slips...

ScaryScarecrows: Kidnapping can work! I typically prefer the scenic route but sometimes when characters are being especially uncooperative we need the expressway.

TheOneder5: Thanks! One more fluffy chapter after this and I'll bring in, um, some plot? Maybe? But no promises!

(x)

7 Years Prior

Harvey had a little pep in his step as he and Johnson walked through the industrial strength doors past rows of cells on either side of the hallway in Blackgate Penitentiary. He kept one ear tuned into the ebb and flow of his partner's running commentary. Johnson had been talking stream of consciousness style, which as Harvey was learning was the only way the kid ever talked about anything. For today's discussion topic, he'd chosen just about the most baffling subject on the face of the planet.

Women.

Johnson said, "I mean, I'm all like where you do wanna go to dinner? And she's like, I dunno, where do -you- wanna go to dinner? And I'm like, can we just ... not?"

Harvey snorted in reply.

"The face she gave me? I thought she was having an aneurysm or something. Twenty minutes later, we finally pick some place, and we sit down. And she points to this other girl across the room and she asks, 'do you think she's hot?'"

"Yeah, that's a trap," Harvey said, carrying two cartons of cigarettes underneath his arm. When Johnson didn't respond, he thought, But you're you... "So you answered her, right?"

"What was I supposed to say? She -WAS- hot."

Harvey nodded, unsurprised. "Women are like those CIA interrogation experts they got down at Guantanamo. The line of questioning never stops. You pause, flinch, show any sign of weakness?"

Johnson muttered to himself. "Yelled at me in the middle of the restaurant."

"Hope you like waterboarding." They turned a corner. "Give 'em an answer they don't like, y'know? Like the truth? You're screwed. They'll keep it mentally filed away, bring it up every month like clockwork, just to make sure you know the score. That shit'll drag on for decades."

His partner sighed out. "Threw her drink in my face. It was like reality TV in there."

"Listen," Harvey said, breaking it down for him. "You want to get laid? Rule number one. Nod and smile. A lot. Rule number two. No current address. No personal history. You are a ghost. Keeps 'em interested. Gives you an exit strategy. Rule number three. Practice these words. 'I'm sorry. You're right.'"

Johnson rolled his eyes. "How many of these rules are there?"

That's right. He forgot who he was talking to. The boy king of short term memory loss. Harvey said, "I know thinking gives you headaches. But don't worry. Class is over for the day. I'll lecture in installments."

"Whatever. Why am I taking advice from -you- on gettin' laid anyway?" He motioned around to the cells on either side. "That's like takin' advice from one of these losers on how not to get caught at a crime scene."

Harvey smirked loudly, but said nothing.

Johnson looked around at the cells. "Wait, who are we here to see again?"

"Dale Hentzman. Loves his cigarettes. Loves to talk. This oughtta be quick."

Harvey heard Madeline before he saw her. That sharp, crisp click of high heels against the aging, faded tiles. She walked up to the guard booth, knocked on the window, and stood on her tiptoes to lean in to talk. He glanced at Johnson and ambled smooth-like up to the booth.

Perfect timing. This was gonna be good...

Harvey saddled up beside her and lightly placed his hand in the small of her back. He said in a smooth voice, "What's a nice psychologist like you doin' in a prison like this-"

Madeline grabbed his hand and flicked it back at him in one nimble movement, like he was the playing card and she was the dealer. "Hey," she growled. It echoed down the hall. "Hands off, asshole."

She shot him a glare and turned an about-face, clip-clopping back the way she came. The guards in their booth gave a low whistle and a "daymn", taking their roll of peanut gallery a little too seriously.

Harvey's mouth dropped open soundlessly, and he opened up his hands expansively in wild confusion.

Madeline disappeared around the corner and back through one of the double-locked gates. The buzzer sounded and the door slammed and locked behind her.

Johnson pointed to her as she made her exit. "So, which rule was that one?"

Harvey put down his hands and closed his mouth, and he walked back the way they came towards their informant. He said to him, "Yeah, forget what I said. There's just one rule." He turned to his partner and said with energy, "All women are batshit insane."

Harvey and Johnson held court with Dale Hentzman. They got the name of the the latest explosions expert to cross paths with the Russian mob. At least in that way, Harvey got somewhere.

Their prison visit took about as long as Harvey predicted, and they walked back through the doors of the GCPD with just enough time left to call it a night. Johnson hightailed it out of there to go try to work things out with his bird. Harvey sent him off with a lazy salute and a 'godspeed'.

With a grueling sigh, he collapsed down into his desk chair, and he grabbed up his flask, deciding now was as good as any to talk things over with his good friend Jack Daniels. Mid-swig, his telephone on his desk rang shrilly. He swallowed down another double-shot's worth before he cleared his throat and answered. "Bullock."

"Hey."

He sat straight up. "Oh," he said. "So should I hang up now? Or do we know each other? 'Cause, you know, I can't keep it straight."

Madeline responded calmly. "I'm sorry about what happened. You just gotta understand..." Something about her tone made him give her an inch. "For the most part, I trust the guards here to watch my back." She got down to brass tacks. "But those men gossip more than old Yentas outside a synagogue."

Harvey released a low sigh through his nose.

It was loud enough that he knew she heard it. She said, "So, they see you with me. They start gettin' careless, start talking around the other guards, my boss, the guys in lockup? Then all of a sudden I'm in session, and an inmate knows just what button to push to get a rise outta me. I can't have that."

Harvey nodded sagely on the other end of the phone call, though of course she couldn't see it. He started to say something, but Madeline kept going. "Look, I'm not trying to hide you. It's not like I'm seeing anyone else. I'm..." She made an awkward sound of frustration and got mixed up. "I mean, and if you're seeing someone else, that's fine. It's whatever. It's ... not what... I'm tryin' to ..." She released her own sigh. "I just get readings on people sometimes. … And you just seem like the type of guy who's gonna think that what I did is about you. And it's not like that."

A teeming silence stemmed over the line. Until Harvey said, "So, I'm a button, huh?"

That stimulated a short nervous laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, you're a button."

He leaned back in his chair, taking the receiver with him. "Just so you know, you had me pretty much sold on the fact that you were one of those multiple personality cases they cover late at night on the I.D. channel."

"I think you mean Dissociative Identity Disorder."

"Yeah, whatever condition that Dr. Jekyll Mr. Hyde guy never got cleared up."

"In my case, I prefer to think of it as feisty but balanced."

Harvey shook his head, a will-wonders-never-cease look washing over him. "When am I gonna see you?"

"What're you doing right now?"