I almost didn't write this last chapter, but when I finished up the story, I turned to Harvey and went, "You have anything you want to add in here?" Turned out (as usual) he had plenty to say.

I can't thank you all enough for taking this ride with me. I've had an excellent time writing this. To my surprise, it's led to a romance/crime backstory that I'll start posting in another couple weeks. Look for the title "Devil's Jump". Thanks as always for the love, reviews, and good vibes, everyone!

(x)

Harvey walked back to the file room and dropped off the final paperwork on the Paycheck Pharmacist file. He sighed out contentedly, feeling some weight lift off of him as he closed that biznatch of a case.

High above the precinct, thunder cleared its throat, asserting its authority. He was about to get up out of there, perhaps congratulate himself with something dark, liquid, and alcoholic, when he glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye. He saw Madeline standing on her tiptoes, trying to reach a folder on the top shelf.

He ambled over to her. "All right, short stack." He stretched up easily and got it for her. "Don't hurt yourself."

She accepted the folder. "I would have gotten it."

"Uh-huh."

"I was almost there."

Harvey leaned down to whisper to her. "Little spoiler alert, I think this is the part where you say 'thank you'. Or you trek yourself down to the hardware store and haul back a footstool."

Madeline broke open the file as they walked out of the back room together. She hid it well from the rest of the planet, but he caught that slight limp in her gait. A dark frown settled across his face and disappeared just as quickly. Like hell, he was gonna speak that into existence. He reminded himself that her left leg doubled as a built-in barometer. It really was gonna storm.

Beside him, Madeline said, "I think I'll wait to say thank you until after you give me the background on this next case."

He peeked over her shoulder to try to catch a glimpse at the name on the index tab. Not Theo Gallivan. Not Theo Gallivan. Nope, the name ended in 'ott'. Thank Christ on a bicycle. Maddie thought she was the only one could see things coming up the path. But Harvey saw that shit storm brewing from nine miles out. Little Miss Can't Leave Well Enough Alone unpacks her fine tooth comb, starts running it through the desert of their closed files. The one sure thing you could always bet on in Gotham? What can go wrong will go all the way wrong.

Yeah, so he knew Jim had something, maybe not everything, but something to do with Gallivan's body showing up underneath a white sheet.

… And? Raise your hand if you're surprised, Gotham.

No? Nobody?

Yeah, he thought not. Whether his partner put Gallivan's lights out or not, it didn't register on his Richter scale. No matter who pulled the trigger that bullet had been flyin' straight for that psychopath from a long way back.

But Gotham had a way of dividing down men like Gordon, long division like, to their lowest common denominator. Harvey could appreciate it from time to time, how it evened out the playing field. But it turned his stomach watching the number it did on his partner, how this city drug him down and beat him with experience. Not a lot of people root for the underdog, but nobody likes seeing the underdog take one right in the chest cavity. Not to mention, Jim dealt with the aftermath in only the worst way possible, by turning up the volume and being ten times the pain in the ass he ever was. When just Gordon on his 'quiet storm' setting was enough to make Harvey's day harder.

So things finally start to, you know, maybe halfway settle down. And who should enter stage left? Dr. Madeline Scott, the answer to a question Gotham didn't ask. The minute he saw Maddie sitting pretty up in that conference room, he'd already resigned himself to the fact that it was just a matter of time before she'd get all twisted up in the Gallivan case. Why wouldn't she? It was the one that'd truly turn his precinct crap-side down.

But … no, huh? Even with all the therapy sessions? Digging her way into Gordon's goulash, pulling all sorts of fucked up shit outta that grab bag, lining it up all nice and neat, and asking him to take a good hard look. See you next week. Good luck not going batshit in the meantime. By the way, Harvey, I figure I'll send him back your way right after, maybe just before you take off guns blazing into some perilous life or death type situations. You're welcome. Don't mention it.

By now, she had to know something in the numbers with Gordon didn't add up quite right. Because Maddie was Maddie and Jim was Jim. But she didn't look like a ball of nerves, and Jesus Christ, could that woman wear anxiety. She'd avoid Harvey like the black plague if she knew something that could send his partner straight into an open case with internal affairs.

Or maybe, just maybe she'd evolved after all. Maybe she was learning that her brand of fire and brimstone was only good for getting yourself third degree burns and ruining a perfectly decent haircut.

He glanced down once more to get a better look at the name on the file. Huh, or maybe not. He shook his head. "You know how to pick 'em, doc. I'll give you that much."

"Gotta start somewhere."

"Good luck with that one."

Madeline said, "I don't need luck. I just need a few hours with a copy of my unabridged DSM-V."

"Trust me, whatever's wrong with Oswald, you ain't gonna find it in those psychology books upstairs. We're gonna have to name it after him."

"An Oedipenquin complex?"

Harvey said, "Bird-erline personality disorder? If you can 'cobble' that together." He smirked at her. "Get it? It's a pun."

"Ha. Ha. That and three bucks'll buy you a beer."

He reached his desk and sat down. "Finally, some free advice I can take. I think a drink or five is just what the doctor ordered."

On the coattails of his reply, thunder boomed above them. Madeline flinched at the sudden sound.

Harvey frowned at her. "Still doin' that, huh?"

She sent him a pointed look. "An aversion to electrical storms is an ingrained, evolutionary response to what we logically understand is not a serious threat."

Her cool response drained any concern from his face. "They teach you that in head shrink school or are you quoting directly from your memoirs?"

Madeline leaned against the black metal railing that surrounded his and Gordon's desks. "Don't talk to me about a book you haven't read."

"Don't tell me what to do. And while you're at it, don't talk to me in your high society dame voice neither."

"Oh, is that a quote from your book? What's the title again? 'The Firm Handling of the High Class Temperamental Broad?'" She gasped dramatically. "Oh, wait, nevermind. You never wrote a book."

From downstairs, Alvarez barked a laugh as he overheard the comment. He said loudly, "Somebody better pass Bullock the burn cream."

Harvey called down to him. "Watch it, Britney Spears. Unless you want another office screening of you singing 'Hit Me Baby One More Time'."

Alvarez rolled his eyes. "That was like six years ago."

"The internet never forgets," he shot back. He looked over as Maddie leaned down to steal a pen off his desk. He thought about mouthing off a comment about grand theft larceny and then decided against it. He could already hear her reminding him that possession was nine-tenths the law. Instead, he breathed in deeply as she neared him. He took in the scent of, oh, a touch of makeup, that same shampoo - the one that smelled like strawberries, and something else. Something he couldn't quite pin down, like a song where he could remember the tune but not the lyrics.

As she pulled back and wrote something in the file, Harvey said, "Hey, I need you to answer me something."

"Green," she said, without looking up.

"...The hell are you talkin' about?"

"Virgo. Autumn. Size seven…"

"All right. Calm down, Georgia Brown."

Madeline looked up, giving him her attention.

Harvey asked, "How come my clothes don't smell like yours?"

Her eyes widened as she looked at him from overtop her glasses. "You really want me to answer that here? In front of all your co-workers?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talkin' about. I shell out for that same detergent you always brought around. What are you doin' to yours that I ain't doin' to mine?"

She leaned in, as if sharing a secret. "It's called fabric softener." She said, "Or if that's too much trouble you could just use dryer sheets."

"Yeah," Harvey said. "Those worked great for me. Until I pulled one out of the sleeve of my shirt in the middle of a debriefing." He mimed it. "It was like the end of a magic trick."

Madeline burst out laughing at the image he provided.

"All I was missing was the 'abracadabra.'"

Her laugh tapered off. "Aisle 19. Green bottle. Can't miss it."

"Thanks for the tip." Harvey stood up, shrugged into his leather jacket, and placed his hat atop his head.

She said, "Time to 'knock off'?"

"All that gin ain't gonna drink itself."

"Be seein' you."

Harvey cast her half a stare. "You never know." He turned an about face and began to strut as he walked away from her. "Better drink it in now, doc."

He heard her press out an exasperated sigh from behind him.

"Don't fight it. You hate to see me leave, but you love to see me walk away!"

"Just keep dreaming, Detective Bullock," she called back.

He pointed back to her with both hands, his back still turned. "You got it twisted. I'll see you in your dreams later."

He chuckled to himself as he left the office. Then the chuckle morphed into a curse muttered under his breath as he walked straight into sheets of rain pouring down in buckets from the skies. Harvey held onto the top of his hat as he ran out to his car, thinking back to Maddie inching in all nice and close-like. After all this time, wouldn't you know it. He was thinking about tryin' to take her, and maybe for all he knew she wouldn't mind being taken.

But not tonight. The bartender, a couple of brewskies, and a fifth of gin would keep his glass and his dance card full. He started up his car and pulled out into the streets of Gotham, still smelling her fabric softener from Aisle 19.

(x)

"Patrick."

"Too Irish." He said, "Noah."

"Too… Old Testament."

"Igor."

"... Well, now you're not even trying."

"Lorelei?"

"That one I like." Lee seemed to have a thought and suddenly started laughing.

Jim looked over. "... Did I miss something?"

She got ahold of herself and said, "I was just putting the names altogether. Lorelei Igor Gordon."

He smiled at her. "Might be tough to say correctly. Like Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers…"

Jim Gordon worked on setting up a crib that they'd gotten second hand a few weeks ago. They'd haphazardly stored away the pieces in a back closet, and in doing so they'd managed to misplace the instructions. He had a thought that his life was a lot like putting together deconstructed parts of furniture without instructions. It may never look just like it should in the picture, but eventually, he'd pull it together.

Lee relaxed on the sofa, leafing through a tiny book of baby names made all the more tiny by the way she perched it atop her ever-growing baby bump. She said, "What about… Robin?"

As he searched through a packet of nuts and bolts, he repeated, "Robin. For a girl or a boy?"

"Beats me. Either, I guess." Lee sighed out serenely in thought before she said. "I know we've been calling the baby 'her' but… what would you rather it was?"

Jim bought himself some time. "... Rather than what?" He worked on attaching short wooden posts across the bottom of the crib. "I'd rather it was a happy, healthy child."

Lee sent him an impish stare from across the room. "I already know," she said, turning another page in the book. "You may as well just tell me."

He let out a sigh between his teeth, as he continued to construct the crib. And why shouldn't he hope for a boy? He imagined a boy would … better survive this city. Though he had to admit, the way he watched Lee take on Gotham might be just enough to change his thinking on that score. He walked over to her and knelt down beside her. "As long as the baby looks like you?" He ran his hand through her hair. "That's all I care about."

Lee raised her eyebrows, impressed. "That's a … good line."

Jim walked back over to the crib and stood it up on its four solid legs. He presented it to Lee. "What do you think?"

She stood up carefully, setting aside the book of baby names. "I think little Lorelei Igor Gordon's gonna love it."

"Just promise me you won't write that on the birth certificate."

She was about to say something, but then her stomach spoke up first, with a loud, insistent growl. "Oh, what's that?" She looked down and held her belly, as if speaking directly to their child. "You want … Chop Suey from down the street? What an excellent idea. That sounds delicious."

Jim glanced out the living room window to see fat raindrops pattering heavily against the glass pane. "Regular or high octane?"

"Ugh, as mild as they can make it, please. Pregnancy they name is heartburn." Lee glanced over at the clock as Jim threw on his raincoat. "Oh, wait, when do they close? You don't think it's too late, do you?"

Jim watched Lee standing there in her maternity tank top and old gray sweats, her hair sloppily pulled back in a lazy ponytail. How she had the look of a woman who knows she is strong in mind, body, and soul and is no longer self-conscious about it. In that moment, she'd never looked so beautiful.

Jim walked up to her and kissed her deeply. She blinked, pleasantly surprised, as he pulled back and said, "It's never too late."

Outside the rain poured down from the sky and puddled on the streets of Gotham, but inside the falling rain was a safe, secret sound closing them in together.