Hooray for new episodes of Gotham! Hope you all had as much fun catching up on the new episode as I did. Here's the next chapter as promised. Happy Tuesday!

(x)

The next morning Jim Gordon sat across from Dr. Scott. He arrived on time, but that didn't mean all parts of him were present. He and Harvey spent most the night and the early hours of the morning chasing down every shifty figure who dared to cross their path. Jim made some arrests. Harvey rattled some skulls, and they ended with a stake-out at the psychiatric wing of Veteran's Services. It was a productive night, in theory. But aside from ruling out the usual suspects, it had gotten him exactly nowhere, except deeper into debt after borrowing against his ever-dwindling sleep bank. You never realize how important sleep is until you miss a little, or in Jim's case, a lot.

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. The two aspirin he'd taken beforehand hadn't kicked in. He could still feel the throb of a headache pulsing just behind his eyes. He drank the coffee Madeline offered him, though he knew he needed more of a Hail Mary than any amount of caffeine could offer.

They sat in relative silence until Madeline observed ever so astutely. "Long night?"

"Yeah," Jim said. "Still working what we're now calling the Paycheck Pharmacist."

Madeline blinked and asked, "Why are you calling it that?"

Jim set down his coffee on the end table next to him. "Whoever's administering this drug to the victims is sending it through the mail. Average everyday people pick up their check one second, destroy the neighborhood the next."

She frowned. "I'm sick to my stomach just hearing about it. I can only imagine what it must be like for you, having a front row seat to the aftermath."

Jim noticed that the doctor jumped in quick today. Looked like she'd had her coffee, too. He cleared his throat. "About that. I meant to thank you for your help, both with speeding up the retrieval of case notes and for going in and getting Gruber to talk."

She smiled. Jim was the first to admit he was sleep-deprived, but even in this state, he could sense something sad behind that smile. "That's why they pay me the medium bucks." She kept on track. "How are the new elements of the case affecting you?"

Jim looked up at her and nodded, unsurprised by her redirection. "Last night, I started focusing on the motivations of the person behind this. Probably male. Post-graduate degree. No doubt has a noted history of academic accomplishments. He's cold and removed, given the detached intensity with which he's attacking his victims."

Madeline said, "I asked how this case was affecting you, and you rattle off the beginning of a profile of the criminal you're after. I should have been more clear. What kind of feelings is this case bringing up for you?"

Jim searched himself. "I feel like someone out there on the street is killing people faster than we can get to them, and I feel that we have to bring a stop to whoever's behind this."

"No," she said just above a whisper. "You're starting your sentences with 'I feel', but you're still describing actions."

Jim made a noise of discomfort and hoped his facial expression alone would cause her to cut him some slack.

She appraised him. "Are you putting up a wall? Already? We're only five minutes in."

He sat up straighter and raised a satiric eyebrow. "Do you really think telling me I'm putting up a wall is the best way to engage me?"

She seemed to hear that and rephrased herself. "So, when I see someone who's survived trauma, they'll sometimes answer in a way you just have. This one time I asked a police officer, who'd been placed on administrative leave, 'If you looked up and saw a car was heading right for you at full speed, how would you feel?' And he said…'I don't know how I'd feel, but I'd get the hell outta the way.'"

Jim half-smiled. He understood the sentiment all too well. "Smart plan."

"It was," she agreed. "But he lived in a world of actions, not feelings."

"That could be a strength, in the right situations."

"It is. People in your line of work who find they can suppress their feelings typically excel at what they do."

Jim sat back and smoothed down his tie. "You're making this whole bottling your feelings, putting up a wall decision sound like a reasonable one." When she said nothing, he continued, "So why do I feel like you just haven't gotten to the part where you say there's a problem?"

It earned a short laugh. "You're onto me," she said. Then, her voice became more serious. "Suppressing your feelings makes it possible to attend to the business of the world, but it comes at a price." She said, "That price is usually paid for in our relationships outside work."

He began to see what she was driving at. "You mean, Lee."

She shrugged and adjusted her glasses. "How is your relationship with Lee?"

Jim said, "We've had our … rough patches. I'd like to think most relationships couldn't withstand the types of things we've been through. I think that makes what we have all the more…"

She offered, "Substantial?"

He nodded, allowing it. "Meaningful."

Dr. Scott asked, "Does she know about Barbara? About what happened at the stained glass window?"

Jim gritted his teeth for a short moment. Right for the jugular every time. He looked at Madeline and said, "She knows because she was there when it happened."

Madeline flinched and sat up straighter. "She was there? When Barbara tried to kill herself?"

Jim paused and said again, "Like I said, most relationships wouldn't survive what we've been through." Her stare seemed to be asking for more, and Jim decided at this point he couldn't find much of a reason not to allow it. "We were both abducted by Barbara. She was sick and deluded … and armed. She wanted to kill us, because I'd found happiness with Lee after our relationship ended."

Jim watched Madeline's face pale just ever so slightly. "She punished you by trying to kill both you and Lee?"

He thought about his answer before saying, "Yes. Among other things."

"That's … a huge, devastating…" She decided upon, "It's an unreal consequence, just for being with someone you love."

Jim wanted to assure her of how real it had been, but didn't think he could phrase it in a way that wouldn't have been impolite. "Thankfully, Barbara's plan didn't succeed. In part to Lee's quick thinking and thanks to my partner and everyone else who followed him to get us out of there."

Her lips thinned down and pressed together. She seemed to consider something before she asked, "Was there a part of you that wasn't sure anyone was coming to save you?"

"I'm sure there was," he said simply. "Though I try not to listen to that part. I haven't found it to be particular helpful in life or death situations."

"No, it certainly isn't," she said. "But you did experience it, so … stick with it. When you were there with Lee, knowing that at any moment the two of you could die, what did it feel like?"

"I was upset."

Madeline watched him and said, "Was that all you felt?"

"No, I was…" His voice darkened just slightly. "Angry."

She said, "Take it deeper."

He looked up at her. "I was furious." He told her that. What he didn't tell her was that the anger, the fury had been a relief. It granted him clarity in a city of only gray. He remembered the cold feeling of that anger as he pointed his gun forward, smelling smoke and blood and sweat. His mind and body felt disconnected, bereft of energy and reason from the car accident, from the senselessness, from the drugs shot into his body. He said aloud to Madeline. "I wanted to kill Barbara for what she'd done so she could never harm anyone ever again."

Madeline said, "And underneath that?"

Jim began to feel hot and cold all at once. He closed his eyes. The reel began to play in its full splendor of sight, smell, and sound. His head began to dip. The headache drew strength from the onslaught of memories and pounded in his skull.

Madeline sat forward suddenly. She spoke in a calm, soothing voice. "It's okay. You're okay. Take a deep breath. Relax…" She breathed in loudly, and then breathed out in the same fashion.

Jim followed her lead. He caught his breath and expelled hard through his open mouth. He hadn't even realized until she'd given him the direction that he'd been holding his breath.

She continued to talk softly, "Feel the ground beneath your feet. Move your toes inside your shoes. You have solid ground beneath you. Today is Monday, October 12th. It's days and weeks since the event happened. This office is quiet. It's safe. It's secure. There's no danger here."

Adrift in the haze of his memories, Jim did each action as Madeline suggested. He felt his body beginning to relax as he listened to her speak. He waited until his breathing returned to normal and looked back up at her.

She stared back. As he began to relax his muscles, Madeline said, "I apologize-"

"No," Jim quickly said, sitting back and running his hands over his face. "You were just … doing your job."

"I was trying to get you in touch with your emotions, but I didn't mean to induce a flashback." When he didn't correct her, she asked, "That is what happened just now? You remembered things quickly and suddenly without warning?"

Jim cleared his throat. "I think my partner would call it 'the black box'. You don't open the black box."

Madeline offered up a crooked smile, surprisingly familiar to the one his parenter managed to dig up from time to time. She opened her mouth to say something, but then she changed gears. She asked, "Is this the first time you've ever experienced a flashback?"

"I've had memories or reminders crop up before, usually when things are quiet. But it's never…" He said, "It's never come out quite like that."

"Anger can be tricky that way. Mostly because it's a secondary emotion," she said.

Jim frowned. "Secondary to what?"

"Sadness and fear," she said simply. "You tell yourself that you won't be able to handle the realization that you could have died. So you toss those thoughts and feelings somewhere else, so you don't have to look at them. Hence, the black box thing."

Jim began to realize why she'd used the analogy of putting up a wall. It was overdone, but at least part of it was true. He shook his head. "I still don't understand what can be gained from going back and re-experiencing something when the danger's already passed."

"Well, if we were just re-experiencing it for kicks, that would be pretty screwed up. But the nightmares, the flashbacks. It's your body's attempt at making sense of what happened. The thing is it's not something that happens on your schedule. It happens to you, just like that night with Barbara."

Jim asked, "So if I wanted to gain control, how would I do it?"

"Long story short, we'd need to find you an outlet. Is there anyone in your life who reaches out to you? Who wants to help you?"

Jim had the answer immediately. "Lee. In the past she's said she wants me to open up more."

"Are you able to?"

"At times. But … not as often as she'd prefer, I'm sure."

"What's stopping you?" When he came up without an answer, she asked, "Maybe you're trying to protect her?"

"I certainly don't want her having nightmares. Or worrying about me at all, not in her condition."

Madeline paused before she said, "Pregnant or not, like you said, if she's stuck with you this long through everything you've told me? Maybe she's stronger than you think." She glanced up to the right at the clock and looked at Jim. "Okay. We're at time."

Between his long night at work, experiencing a flashback in session, and the dull thumping of his headache, Jim hadn't even realized how much time had passed. He sat back and said, "Do you have another client?"

"Uh, no, actually," she said. "But I heard the fax machine come to life in the room next door. I'm betting it's the case notes coming through for Lucy Grimwold. I told your Captain I'd bring them in as soon as I had them."

Jim pushed himself to his feet and rested his right hand on his holster. "No time like the present. Do you need a lift to the office?"

She huffed a short laugh. "You're volunteering to spend another fifteen minutes with a psychologist hired to pick apart every word you say? You're braver than I thought."

Jim found himself smiling back. "On one condition."

"Name your terms, detective."

"As long as you can promise that no psychological terms or feeling words will be spoken for the duration of the car ride."

Madeline held up her pointer and middle fingers pressed together. "Scout's honor. Let me grab up those papers."

When she returned with a stack of papers barely able to be stapled together, Jim relaxed. It looked like she'd be spending most the ride reading anyway.