Thanks to those of you who favorited/followed this time around! I really missed writing therapy sessions with Jim. I know Madeline's glad to be back in therapy, too. I'm having a good time playing in Gotham's sandbox. I hope you're all enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it. Happy Friday! And thanks again for keeping up with this story! :)

(x)

Jim Gordon stood there in the room, giving no reply, while behind him Wilson Bishop shut the door. He heard the click of the guard's sharp, booted footsteps disappearing back the way they came.

She looked him up and down. "How've you been holding up?"

His voice hardened when he asked again. "Madeline, what are you doing here?"

"I told you," she said. "I'm here for your session."

"You can't be here. You need to leave. Now." He spoke in a voice that could not be disobeyed.

...Except that it could be. "Jim, I'm not going anywhere." She gave him a calm, patient look. Underneath her chair, she delicately crossed her ankles. "C'mon. Sit. Drink your coffee."

Jim sat down, quickly. Then he reached across the table and gently but firmly took her hand at the wrist.

Madeline looked down at her hand and shot him a look of what could have been misconstrued as alarm. Her reaction spoke volumes. Even the smallest outreach from him was more shocking to her than her trespassing into a prison that held the most dangerous criminals in Gotham.

He said, "I appreciate everything you've done for me. But I'm not letting you do this." He spoke in a voice he regularly used on the job. "That's why you're getting out of here. Right now."

She remained still, watching him. She sunk down just slightly, and Jim thought he knew why. She was figuring out what taking her hand was about. It wasn't done out of affection. It was done so she would leave and never come back.

She settled back into pure therapist-mode. She didn't move her hand. "How are you sleeping?"

They sat awkwardly, neither of them budging. Then Jim pulled back his hand. He said, "Just fine."

She repeated a question. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine."

Madeline sent him an even stare. "If you want to tell everyone else that you're fine, that's your call. But don't try selling it to me. Not in here."

Jim's face fell into a look of gruff chagrin. A thought struck him and he dryly changed the subject. "Does Harvey know you're here?"

He watched the words take effect. Her voice became all business. "That's... irrelevant, as far as you and I are concerned. Though, of course, whatever you decide to tell others or not to tell them about your therapy is up to you."

Jim nodded curtly to himself. So, no.

She stared back, in that bland way she often did, patiently awaiting his next response.

He considered taking off, heading back the way he came. But knowing Madeline she'd try to follow him. That meant noise. Noise meant attention. He was fairly certain that Bishop was keeping close by, but he couldn't say for sure. In Blackgate, the rules he lived by were black and white. Staying alive depended on absolute certainties.

With a frustrated sigh, Jim settled into his seat. Across from him, she drank from her coffee cup. Even though his nose was stuffed up, the strong scent still broke through. It was the gourmet coffee from down the street at the precinct, dark roast. He closed his eyes as he had a thought Madeline wanted him to have. … If he didn't drink the coffee now while it was hot, it could potentially be decades before he'd get his next cup.

He kept his arms crossed and set himself in stone.

Madeline set down her cup. "I have a weird question to ask you, if you'll allow it." She looked at him. "What's Lee's favorite type of flower?"

She used an older-than-the-hills interrogation tactic. Get them talking about something, anything, preferably something they wanted to talk about. Once you get that first word out of them, you're in.

He remembered his partner telling him to watch out for Madeline. She was a shark with teeth. He also remembered Harvey telling him that if he gave an inch she'd taken the whole football field.

It was good advice. ...But he hadn't realized how long he'd gone without human contact, not until he experienced it again in full force. He'd never been much for talking. But a week without any conversation at all, save for orders from guards or inmates muttering ugly, violent things at him under their breath, had apparently taken its toll. Madeline no doubt knew that, too.

He could feel himself relenting. It was … depressing and humiliating. Though in all fairness, those were feelings he was becoming accustomed to having on a daily basis. He found himself answering her. "White roses."

"Have you gotten her letters?"

"First one came yesterday."

Madeline spoke gently. "When you get them, don't rush through. Read each word, one at a time."

Then the thing he feared most happened. Nearly all the way. ...And did she know how dangerous that was for him? What would happen to him out there, when he walked back out onto his block with his guard down?

She zoned in on him. "Talk to me about what's happening to you in here."

He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't felt stressed or tired or empty, and since his arrival at Blackgate it had only gotten worse. And all because he just couldn't … He looked to Madeline with staunch resolve.

His voice took on a cold, harsh tone. "Over the past year, I've rebelled against every power structure there is here in Gotham. I didn't care who got hurt, and I didn't think about how hard and fast that beast would swipe back."

Worry set into her eyes. "So we're back to this then. That everything that happens is your fault-"

"Too many people have stuck their neck out for me and paid the price," Jim spoke overtop of her. "Because I didn't stop and think about where I was leading them."

She didn't deviate from her point. "No. That's your guilt talking."

His piercing eyes bore into hers. "You're taking risks." He said, "If you don't stop doing this, you'll be the one behind prison bars."

She blinked and sat back. She began to look agitated. "I know you want me to heed these warnings you're giving me, but all I hear is you continuing to keep me at arm's length. You're afraid that I'll do or say something that will unwittingly put you in touch with what you're feeling-"

"The more reckless you are, the more you'll gain their attention. If you keep bringing scrutiny to them, they won't hesitate to shut you down." Jim felt himself losing momentum. He needed to stay angry at her, but it was a struggle. Maybe she'd say something soon to get his fury back in place. He made his voice savage, "That's why you need to get out of here, and stay the hell away from me."

All good nature fled from her face. Good. She was getting angry. She'd do something she'd regret, and she'd leave.

Then she said in a tight voice, "You're right."

The words surprised him, but he didn't let it show. "If I'm right, then you need to go."

She spoke a little more loudly. "You're right that either of us could die, doing what we feel needs to be done." She leaned in. "I hear you offering me chivalry, Jim, but it's not what I need. I'm a mature, educated woman, and no one is forcing me to be here. I'm here of my own volition."

His voice was a tense growl. "This isn't about your gender-"

"Oh, it's not? Well then in that case, this is just one more way that you're trying to stand tall on your own and dispatch of one more person trying to help you." Her voice was clipped, "You are disinclined to let people get close. Then you're alone, just like you want. But you are then without support when you need it most."

His voice held a warning. "I'm not trying to be alone. I just want to do my time."

She kept going, not even acknowledging that he'd spoken. "Now, you're in the center of Blackgate in a prison cell. You are officially cut off from all of society, from your family who needs you, and from every person out there who's ever cared about you-"

"You think I want to be cut off from them?!" The words burst out of him. He felt a something sharp and angry spike up inside him. "That is the last thing I ever wanted! I don't have choices, not any more. But if I do my time and do what needs to be done, away from them, it'll be worth it if it means their lives won't ever be put in danger again."

Silence followed directly after. It was so complete that for a second Jim found it physically painful.

(x)

Madeline told herself two things before she left to go to the prison that day. She told herself the same thing she did the day of her court appearance. That she would break the rules and laws in this same situation for any client, not just for Jim Gordon. She also told herself that because she was aware of and understood Jim's relationship with Harvey that it would not impact either of them in session.

...Now who was lying to themselves?

The truth was that she was here under the guise of therapy, when really, she wanted to put eyes on Jim for herself. The points he made about the risks she took were accurate, and they'd gone about sixty seconds before he spoke Harvey's name into the room. The whole point of therapy was to talk to someone who was uninvolved in your life, someone objective, someone with no stake in what happens.

Also, they were in a little too deep for her to turn back now.

Madeline watched her resulting silence fall upon Jim Gordon. Prison had washed dull his once-sparkling blue eyes but not the intense quality of his gaze, not yet. As he looked down and away, she noticed that the tough guy squint left his stare. He wore that look a lot, too much. It was clear to her that Jim was a man who had seen a lot of Clint Eastwood movies.

The real eye-opener had been his hand on hers. She'd been all but shocked when he'd reached out physically, but what shocked her more was that his hand was terribly rough and callused. The hand of a blue collar worker on the clock all day every day twelve hours a day.

And he'd only been here a week. A week.

Though it took a little effort, she brought herself back to the present. She softly repeated his own words back to him. "If I do my time, away from them, it will be worth it if it means their lives won't ever be put in danger again."

Jim looked back up at her. But he didn't say anything, couldn't, she imagined. He'd flung his anger at her, and in doing so, it snuffed out, leaving him cold.

She said, "Be honest with yourself. Do you really believe that Lee is better off with you in a prison cell?"

He was raw and ragged and absolutely exhausted. He looked older than he'd ever looked to her before. "She's better off not being a target, not having to live her life looking over her shoulder."

So this was a sacrifice. His life for theirs. "Are you trying to tell me that this is the only way she can be kept safe from you?"

He frowned at the question. Right before he went back to his original point. "This is the only way that I can keep anyone connected to me safe from harm right now."

Madeline ignored it as easily as she had every other time. "I hear you making that decision for them. But what about what Lee wants?"

"We both want the same thing. To see our child grow up healthy and safe," he said in an intense voice. "If that's going to happen, they need to be as far away from me as possible."

"So the only way they can be happy is if you're not there." Though it was clear that he didn't appreciate the interpretation, she continued, "Help me understand something. Lee wants nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with you. And you know better than anyone the impact a missing father can have. How is their happiness not directly connected to yours?"

Jim stared back at her with weary eyes. He seemed empty of a response.

She asked him, "What about you, Jim? Why don't you deserve happiness?"

He looked down and away. He didn't answer, and they stayed in silence for what felt like a long time. Madeline decided that it wasn't terribly important if he answered out loud, just as long as he was interested in finding the answers for himself.

The longer they spent in silence, the more she looked around at the walls surrounding them. She took in the peeling paint, the scratched up concrete floor where cheap carpet used to be. To her own surprise, she started talking in a much softer voice. "Back when I used to work here, I didn't believe that anyone deserved to be in a prison cell. No matter what they'd done."

Jim looked up. The frank admission seemed to regain his attention.

She said, "I learned the hard way that some men, not many, but some do belong in here." She spoke with great clarity, "But you're not one of them."

Jim seemed to be waiting for her to say something more, but she managed to stay quiet. He summoned up a little something and raised his head. "Madeline, you don't have to do this. I can handle this."

"You think I don't know that?" she said. "I know you can handle it-"

"Then let me."

She sent him a determined expression. "You're trying to do two hard things that you've never done before. You're trying to survive living in a cage locked up away from your family, and you're serving out a prison sentence for a crime you didn't commit. I know you want to do these things alone, but like I said, I'm not going to let you."

Jim looked at her and she saw him sink down, not unlike he had at his trial. Despite how badly she wanted to see him back down, to let her help him, she felt something deep inside her twist. His time spent in Blackgate had already taken its toll. The prison had already begun chipping away at his strength, his power, his determination. She didn't want to think about what might happen next if he wasn't exonerated and freed from his sentence … and soon.

It was then that she heard Wilson Bishop's footsteps echoing through the empty halls. They both looked to the door at the sound.

It prompted Madeline to say, "I think that means it's time for me to go." She sat back in her chair. She tilted her head a little, causing a few red strands of her hair to fall into her face. "Is there anything you'd like for me to pass onto Lee?"

He sat up straight, and after a moment's consideration, he said, "Do you have paper and a pen?"

Madeline lifted up her purse, and she only had to root around for a second before she handed both to him.

He thought for a moment about what to write, and when he did scribble something down, he kept it short. It kept with his pattern in most things. He folded the note neatly in half and handed it back to her, and she stuffed it down into one of the pockets of her purse.

She decided against telling him that she wouldn't read the note. She trusted at this point that it could go without saying.

Jim looked at her. She watched him struggle with what to do or say next. Finally, when he did speak, his voice sounded quieter and gentler than it had the entire time they'd spent together. "Have you … seen Lee? Is…" He swallowed. "Is she…"

"She's back at work," she said. "Came back Monday."

He nodded at the answer, which was good. It felt like the only safe one to give him at the moment.

They both shifted a little, as their session came to a close. Madeline scooped up her purse, and then she cast Jim a careful look. "Do you… have a cold?"

He cleared his scratchy throat. "Yeah. It set in last night."

She made a face. "They call it 'Blackgate Lung'. Probably because the cough makes it sound like you're trying to dislodge one." Then she rummaged around in her purse, until she found it. She held it out to him. "Cough drop?"

To her surprise, he accepted it.