Wow, thanks for all the reviews! Happy New Year, everybody!
(x)
Dr. Madeline Scott opened up her briefcase and pulled out a clean, crisp sheet of paper from inside a black folder. "Before we get started, Bruce, I wanted to share this with you."
Bruce accepted the paper. The title read 'HIPAA Confidentiality Agreement'.
The doctor pointed and said, "As you can see from her signature, your mother gave her consent for you to be involved in her treatment or for you to be treated individually, should the need arise."
He read the words, but just barely, just enough to ensure their validity. He found himself focusing on his mother's flowing, feminine handwriting. Her swooping capital 'm' and how she ended the cursive 'e' with her own unique flourish.
She said, "I was sorry to hear about her passing."
Bruce lifted his head at the words. He figured the doctor chose the nicest, softest way to call attention to their murders.
She continued, "Your mother was… She taught me a lot about strength and empathy."
Bruce questioned, "She taught you?"
"Yes." Madeline smiled just slightly. "I may have been her therapist, but Martha had a way of bringing light to even the darkest …" She'd spoken too much, Bruce realized, but she also seemed to be unable to pull back. "Even the darkest enduring tragedy."
Martha. Martha. The name reverberated within his mind until the echoes overlapped each other. It had been a long time since he had heard anyone besides Alfred say his mother's name. He'd almost forgotten what it sounded like when spoken by anyone else.
She kept talking, "And she was funny, too. She told me about how your father would try to give her pet names, like sunshine or cutiepie. She just hated all of them." She laughed a little, though sadly. "I mean, truly hated them. But then she, she gave him one of those little books."
He said, "It was a book of Shakespearean nicknames from the plays. He called her Ladybird."
Madeline snapped her fingers. "And she called him, um… What was it? Duckie?"
"Duck," Bruce corrected softly. "But close."
They shared a smile with each other, and then the lightness seeped out of their faces. Bruce had experienced this sudden blow of emptiness many times before. It filled him with joy and warmth, remembering his parents, the way they used to be when they were still alive. But then, a dark hole opened up inside of him that their deaths left behind. The darkness pulled apart and unmade every good feeling. While the fondness of his parents' memory initially brought him comfort, in the end, he wound up feeling even worse than he'd felt just before.
"There's no hell quite like grief," she said.
Bruce looked her openly. He'd learned only recently in the last year that if you held eye contact and kept quiet, the other party eventually would fill the silence.
Madeline stared back non-threateningly, looking perfectly comfortable.
Inwardly, Bruce began to question his immediate plan, but then the doctor said, "Because it's not just the death of your parents. It's the death of an assumption."
"An assumption," he said, inviting her to continue.
"Yes, the assumption that your parents were going to be with you throughout most of your life."
The more he played with the thought in his head, the more it resonated.
She searched his face, looking for something, but what Bruce wasn't sure. "I know you're hurting."
He smoothed out his features, tried to make himself empty of emotion aside from a calm, even stare. "I'm making my way through."
"Are you feeling your way through?"
He considered this and said, "Is there a difference?"
"There is." Madeline became intent on what she said. "There is a significant difference."
"Well, then...Could you explain it to me?"
The request caught her off guard, but she rose to the occasion nonetheless. "People who can't or won't feel, they have a hard time connecting. But they still crave connection. So those people connect in other ways, more dangerous ways, more upsetting ways. Family feuds, lawsuits, abuse, or worse. I know you're young, but I don't… I don't know. You've had to be an adult, I'm sure, many times in the absence of your parents. That means you must have seen how people get hurt when others are in pain and lash out."
His voice came out not only just above a whisper, "Yes."
Madeline nodded. "Your mother did not want that for you. I don't have much I can give to her memory, so let me give her this. Let me help you."
Bruce didn't reply, only waited to see what would happen next.
She took out her cell phone and said, "You're off from school tomorrow, right? No clubs, practices, anything like that?"
"No," he said without commitment.
Madeline took out a pen and a business card. She wrote a date and time and handed it to Bruce.
After a moment's hesitation, he took it.
"I know we don't know each other, and aside from one xeroxed copy of a consent form that's technically void, there's not much that connects us." She stood up and lifted her briefcase. "But believe me when I say I hope I'll see you in my office tomorrow. Thank you for the tea."
"You're welcome." Bruce said, "Alfred will show you out."
They said their good-byes, and shortly afterwards Alfred came to escort Dr. Scott back downstairs. He apparently had already called her a taxi. Bruce suspected… no, in fact he had no doubt Alfred had been listening to every word spoken.
Instead of a feeling his privacy had been breached the thought brought him comfort. At least someone he trusted had their fingers on the pulse of what was happening. Bruce walked to the window. He watched Dr. Scott climb into the taxi and kept watching until the red taillights faded into the darkness and then winked out completely.
She seemed nice, and some part somewhere inside him wanted to trust her. But people had seemed nice before, and it had very nearly cost him everything.
(x)
Jim and Harvey worked the case until it could be worked no further, at least not until the sun rose in the morning. Jim parked his car and looked up at the sky. A ribbon of dawn peeked out just above the horizon, hinting that morning wasn't as far away as he would have liked. He sighed and quietly unlocked the door to Lee's apartment, using the key she'd given him only a few weeks ago.
He opened the door to see the lights on, to hear soft music playing, and to smell the welcome scent of breakfast being cooked on the stove. He turned the corner and found Lee with spatula in hand in the kitchen.
"Hey," he said, sending her a look of mild surprise.
"Hey yourself."
Jim put his keys down, looked absently through the mail, and then walked into the kitchen. "I guess sometimes you just need midnight pancakes?"
"No. Sometimes your child just needs midnight pancakes."
Jim slid his hand over her stomach, moved his grip to her waist, and gently pulled her in for a kiss. Lee deepened the kiss and lingered there. Jim laughed a little.
Lee pulled back slightly and said, "Okay, what?"
"It's just, you know you must have it bad for someone when the lingering scent of formaldehyde means you're home."
Lee's laugh sparkled out of her. Jim never tired of that sound. He took a seat at the table and loosened his already loose tie.
Lee asked, "Another long night on a stake-out?"
"No, I wish. That would mean we were closer to figuring out who's behind this … recent outbreak."
"You think some pancakes might help?"
"Couldn't hurt." He stood up and got out two plates and silverware.
Lee looked over at him. "You can sit down. I've got it."
"Excuse me, miss." He took on his all-important detective voice. "I'm going to need you to step away from the cutlery."
Lee grinned. "I'm sorry, officer. I didn't know I was breaking the law."
Jim relaxed his tone and said, "I don't know much about the role of expecting father, but I know that I'm not supposed to let you do anything around here if I can help it." He kissed her lightly on the side of her forehead as he passed. "That includes kitchen clean-up, too."
Lee seemed to like the sound of that. "Who knew being knocked up had such fringe benefits?"
Jim set the table and accepted the fresh plate of pancakes from Lee while she turned off the stove. He said, "I heard that the Captain gave you a compliment earlier today."
"Yeah, he said…" Lee mimicked Barnes' voice as she sat down at the table. "'Good work, Thompkins. Nice to see some initiative around here.'"
Jim pointed to her. "That impression's not half-bad."
"Neither was the compliment. From what I understand that's high praise coming from him."
Jim thought back to a conversation he'd endured earlier in the day. He cleared his throat and said, "Do you remember that … talk Barnes gave me? Telling me about how I need to shape up or-"
"Ship out and look for a new job."
"Yeah, that one." Jim dug into his own plate and said in between bites. "Well, he wasn't joking. He ordered me to go to therapy sessions with Dr. Scott."
Lee nearly choked on her first bite of pancake. "Therapy sessions?"
"Bright and early. 9 a.m."
"Well…" she drew out. "With everything you've been through? It's not like it's gonna make anything worse."
Jim nodded, not completely accepting the comment but not willing to argue it either. "Well, I
figured I'd let you know. Seemed like something a future wife should know about."
That earned a smile. "You know a girl could get used to this 'fiance', 'future wife' sorta talk."
Jim returned the smile. "Good thing we can talk about it all we want. It's not like there's anybody at the station who hasn't heard it through the rumor mill by now."
She couldn't help but ask. "Yeah, so speaking of which, what's the deal with your new therapist and Harvey? Every time I overhear them talking they sound like they're acting out a scene from the Honeymooners."
"Old flame. Or his therapist. Or both." Jim cleared the table and put the dishes in the sink. "I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine."
Lee finished off her pancakes. "Well, at least it's nice to know we're not the only ones with our share of problems."
Jim looked at her to convey that he'd heard her. She seemed to be looking for more from him, a response. Another problem they had was that he found himself empty of one.
Lee opened her mouth to say something and then must have thought better. She said, "Thank you in advance for kitchen clean-up."
Jim jokingly saluted her. He leaned in and kissed her once more. "Thank you for the midnight pancakes."
Lee found something funny about that. "I think it's a little late to call them midnight pan-" She gasped and held her stomach.
Jim went on alert. He drew close to her. "Lee, are you…?"
A look of pure joy swept across her face. "She kicked." Lee pulled him in for a crushing embrace. "Oh my God, Jim. I just felt the first kick."
Jim placed his hand immediately on her stomach just in case there was a second act. When none came, he blinked and said, "She, huh?"
She realized along with him. "That's what I said." They both gazed down at the tiny swell of Lee's abdomen. Lee traced her finger on her belly. "She."