We've come to the last chapter. Thank you all so much for reading, for all the feedback, and for encouraging this little piece of insanity. I'm working on another story that I hope to start posting in the next two weeks. The title is "The Life You Save". (Because I think we can all agree Jim Gordon needs more therapy.)

This story is dedicated to my husband who read every word of this. He doesn't like to read and he doesn't even watch Gotham. He read it because he loves me. He's the only reason I figured out how to write a love story in the first place.

Thanks for taking the ride! Here's hoping Gotham Season 3 will inspire you writers out there to post even more fanfic. :)

This chapter is rated M because Bullock. It takes place smack dab in the middle of 1X7: Penguin's Umbrella.

(x)

1 Year Prior

A chilly breeze swirled an old newspaper and debris across the expansive metal platform of the train station. Detective Harvey Bullock slung back his fifth of Jameson with one hand and grabbed a healthy handful of ass off the Duchess of Devonshire with the other.

She giggled loudly in response and whispered something in his ear. He grinned and cackled out, "You freak my mind, you filthy girl." In the streets beneath them, he heard lintbags cursing each other out, cars laying on their horns, and bottles being broken.

Just another beautiful day in the neighborhood. Gotham was no Shangri La… But it'd been getting worse lately.

Together, he and the Duchess stumbled arm and arm down the tarmac. Midnight was creeping closer to one a.m. The leaves on the trees were a week away from reaching their fall climax. The good people of Gotham were turning in, and the junkies and maniacs were coming out. Harvey was unaware of all the subtle changes taking place around him. All he knew for sure was that Gordon was trying to kill him again.

That goddamn putz. How difficult was it just lay low and get with the program? He tried telling him - don't hurt yourself trying to work too hard. Being a GCPD cop was just a job, and by the way, it wasn't a very good one.

It'd been pretty fucking simple. Shoot Penguin. You know, so he's dead. Over. Done. Or so Harvey thought. Then who should stroll in through the doors at the GCPD? You remember Penguin, don't you? Little pissant with the umbrella, walks with a limp, very strange - supposed to be very dead, except, you know, he's not?

That meant Harvey's ass was horsemeat. All because Gordon couldn't follow a basic instruction.

Even if by some miracle he survived this, the crime bosses were doing their very best to start a city-wide mob war. Though to be fair, Harvey figured it was about that time. Every four or five years it happened like clockwork. Gotta clean the palate. Either way, shit was getting stirred. Whatever was gonna happen next, it wasn't going to be pretty.

And on top of it all, he went and screwed over Fish. Choosing Gordon over her. Talk about the dumbfuck move of the century. Hopefully, they'd leave all his colorful cavorting out of his obituary. Here lies Harvey Bullock. He liked his whiskey and women Irish and his bed filled to the brim with prostitutes. He leaves behind to all you drunks and perverts a drawer full of mostly illegal weapons and a VCR.

Jesus H. Christ. He felt like he had a sign on him that said, "if you're fruitcrackers, please bother me and never go away". Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder what it might be like to -not- have life hitting him full-on in the gonads every time.

He stumbled for a second and just barely caught his balance on a railing. His head started to spin. He mumbled something to the Duchess about "taking a fiver" and told her to keep that sexy ass of hers closeby.

The danger and crisis Gordon brought to the table were astronomical in stature. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before, and Harvey had seen some major shit go down. It made Johnson Pickering look damn near risk-averse in comparison.

And just like that he thought of the kid.

How many years? Five years. (He'd be creeping up to his thirties now.) Harvey was still waiting for it not to screw up his insides. He kicked back a long gulp of booze to waffle-stomp any thoughts that might follow.

He guessed that meant he was dealing with things the only way he ever did. As far back as he could remember, he'd always been up for getting drunk as a flea in a gin bottle … but it got pretty bad after the kid took one in the neck. He did a halfway decent job of keeping the alcoholism to himself. At first. Until Madeline called him out on it. Because recycling bins don't lie. She'd been a little more understanding about that than he'd wagered. She got him into a program, meetings, all that happy horse shit. He even went to one couples counseling session with her, just so she might not leave his ass.

That worked. 'Til it didn't.

Standing there on the metal tarmac, Harvey stared up and away, trying to ballpark how many more hours he had left to live. He gave himself a rough estimate. More than ten. He tipped back the bottle. Less than twenty.

All of a sudden, he noticed movement in his peripheral vision. His attention was diverted to a lone figure walking up to the tracks from the ticket booth, softly clicking her heels with each step.

A thought crashed through. I'd know that ass anywhere.

It seemed so impossible for her to be there, standing there, the second her name popped up into the ether. But there she was. Dr. Madeline Scott. Psychoanalyst extraordinaire. Cinnamon hot red hair, trim legs, nice bust, and oh, stiletto heels that'll crush your heart like it's an heirloom tomato.

For a long moment Harvey stared at her, making sure it wasn't just his imagination. Nope, his imagination wasn't that good. He could tell it was her all right, even in spite of the darkness, his beer goggles, and the thirty or so yards that separated them.

Next came an all-too-familiar hot spark of anger. Well, la-ti-fuckin-da. Look who waltzed her way back into Gotham. Without so much as a damn phone call. He got a sudden image of himself taking out his cell phone and trying her number. Just so he could watch her reject his call in real time.

His chest tightened. He wanted to shout a lot of damn-near-hateful things at her. They all cued up, all the comebacks and biting sarcasm and rage. All the fights he never got to have with her, but always won in his head.

He shook his head. Look at her. Standing in her heels and skinny jeans, wind whipping back her red hair. Sitting pretty, waiting to take a Gotham train out of town alone at one 'o clock in the morning.

Now, he only wanted to shout one thing. Have I taught you -NOTHING-?!

She stared off, completely oblivious to the time of night and high likelihood of violent crime surrounding her. Probably having deep thoughts about some idealistic idea that would take a total nose-dive if ever put into practice.

Those were things he didn't miss. It was right up there with that condescending voice and laser stare and the literary allusions that sometimes made him smile but more often left him feeling inferior.

They had a good run for awhile after the incident. Harvey rolled his eyes. 'The incident'. Even with all the rampant boozing around, she hung in there. Things were okay, not great, but okay. Right up until she started to suspect that something in his work life didn't add up. So did she walk up, tap him on the shoulder, and ask him about it? Hell no. Maddie decided she'd rather play junior detective instead.

"I know what's going on."

"Oh, you -know-, huh? And just how do you know that?"

"Because I followed you. I was there."

"You followed me. YOU FOLLOWED ME?" Into the recesses where only the truly dark whackjobs and reckless street kids dared tread. "Are you outta your fuckin' mind, Maddie?!"

Then of course, she made with the textbook overreacting. Blowing shit way out of proportion.

"What do you think's gonna happen when you decide you've had enough of their bullshit and you tell them to fuck off?! Huh? What then?"

"Stop. Just… Time-out. You need to calm down and stop talking about shit you don't comprehend."

"I only have one role to play on their chessboard! They will move me around to get you to do -whatever- they want you to do."

He stabbed the words at her. "Listen to me." He shouted down at her, "It ain't like that, okay? I -cannot- have you doubting me-"

"Harvey… They're -gangsters-. What am I gonna do if they come after me? … I can't … I can't even run…"

"Sitting here and freaking out about shit that's not happening isn't gonna change things."

"You think things haven't changed?"

It just didn't stop. Them fighting. Her flashing her eyes at him. Lobbing insults like they were facts. Slamming the door behind her and spending the night at her office. They were less like two people who loved each other and more like two opponents locked in a long, bitter struggle.

Then one night she went nuclear.

"It's not about them! It's about you!"

"Don't put this shit on me! You think I want this? You think I had a fucking choice?"

"Everyone has a choice! Don't you get it?! When you act like this it makes you…"

And what did she do? What she always did. She tried to walk out on him.

"Don't you walk away! Stay here and say what the fuck you mean! For once!"

"Like them! Like a thug! It puts you on the same level as the criminals you put away. It makes you like -them-."

He couldn't remember what he'd said next, but it'd been said in a blind rage. She could have stopped there. It would have been bad enough, but she didn't.

Her voice shook with anger … and then with grief. "If anything, ANYTHING AT ALL, happens to us because of this … It makes everything that happened, everything HE did, all for NOTHING!"

Her statement hung in the air and absolutely could not be taken back. He felt as if he'd been slapped. He didn't say another word, and for the first time in their history, he was the one who left. After that, he gave her what she wanted. He gave her space. Harvey thought she might use the time to get all the poison out of her system. Hoping when she did that just maybe she'd be ready to hear some sense.

Instead she steered them in the complete polar opposite direction.

She sounded so tired when she said it. "We can go away. I don't even care where, as long as it's not here. All we have to do is get in the car. We can leave right now."

"Maddie, I'm bound to this thing. I'm … I'm in deep with this. I'm not like you. I can't … I can't just pick up and leave."

"Can't? Or won't?"

...What would she have him do? He couldn't explain to her that joining forces with Fish was a greater good thing. Like teaming up with China to defeat Hitler. The only thing he wanted more than to tell her that the only way - the only way - he'd gotten her out alive was by accepting help from Fish… was for her to never, ever know at all. Harvey knew all about guilt. Too much. And that type of guilt was the kind you don't come back from.

Even if Harvey decided to pack them up and ship them out, he'd still have a target on his back. He would have asked the last snitch that left Fish high and dry if he had any ideas for him. But if there were any pieces of Fuentes left in the river, they weren't saying much.

Then one day…

"Look, Harvey, I… I can't do this any more."

He walked inside their apartment, and he found the ring he gave her sitting on the pass through in the kitchen. She was just… gone.

Things were pretty rough for awhile. He couldn't get her to pick up the phone. It depressed the shit out of him. When he did try to get himself laid, he received exactly fuck all interest from any of the skirts at the bar, even the desperate ones. It was tumbleweeds out there. But really what did he expect? What the heck did he have to offer them? "Hi, I'm Harvey Bullock. I'm a morally relative, alcoholic cop who enjoys sordid encounters and long walks through the crime-ridden alleys of Gotham. I like to make the same mistakes over and over again. And never grow."

He didn't stay unfuckable, praise all the choirs of angels. He got back in the saddle, though it took a little longer than he preferred. He learned to take it where he could get it. After not too long, most days if he really needed some tail, he could find a pick-up game.

Things started looking not-so-grim. After a good year or two, she barely even crossed his mind. Then he caught her on the nightly news one day last year, right after her book hit the stands. She looked … goddamn. She was a bombshell. Fresh-looking, brilliant, so beautiful it hurt. Then he saw it. That rock on her ring finger. That night he somehow managed not to drink himself to death. So, you know, mad props to him for that accomplishment.

Looking at Madeline across the way, Harvey huffed a humorless laugh. He couldn't help but wonder what she'd make of the latest health crisis that his fucknuts of a partner dragged him into this time. Nevermind. He just realized whose side she'd take. Oh-ho-ho, she'd just loooooove Jim Gordon. Throwing crooked cops in jail. Putting his neck on the line to challenge the wealthy and connected. Engaging in constant fast and loose, man-of-actioning foolishness. Stirring the mother fucking pot. Making his reputation as a doesn't give a fuck freedom fighter. He was just her brand of strawberry jam.

The Duchess rested a cigarette in the crook of her full lips. "Hey, stud. You got a light?"

He obliged her with an, "Always, darlin'."

Harvey lifted his gaze up to Madeline again. Standing all alone by the tracks, just asking to be … Damn it to hell. He didn't want to, but he'd walk up to her. He'd do it. He'd try not to be a complete jackass if he could help it. If it meant she might actually get to wherever she was going without making the top story in the Crime section of the Gotham Times.

Harvey took a step forward and stopped. All of a sudden, a man dressed in business casual with a head full of dark hair hurried out from the ticket station and came to a halt next to her. He grabbed up her hand. She smiled. He handed her a ticket, right before he kissed her.

Harvey automatically slung back a good hard swig of whiskey, hoping to kill off any brain cells that might dare to commit that image to memory. After drinking a triple shot, he took in the guy and gave him the best inspection he could with his bleary, bloodshot eyes. A few inches taller than her. Short but trim. He wasn't a younger model by any stretch… but he had less mileage. Probably had one of those jobs everyone had, working in IT or finance. Probably named something like Stew or Roy or Ted. The guy looked like…

Nice functional suburbs.

Harvey breathed a hard, whistling breath. There was a lot of crap rolling around through his upstairs attic at that moment, but one truth rang through. All throughout their relationship, the thing that bothered him the most was that on a basic logic level they made exactly zero sense. The numbers just didn't add up. But … him standing there with the Duchess, her standing there with Stew/Roy/Ted.

This made sense.

And just like that. His anger disappeared. Poof. Like the end of a freaking magic trick.

His face softened into an almost smile. ...This guy looked like he was taking care of her. He looked like he wouldn't make a wisecrack when she said things like "the whole paradigm has sexist overtones" and he didn't look like the type to loudly concern himself with the sugar content of her breasts. He definitely wouldn't drink himself under a table every night or get her mixed up in mad shady situations with mad shady people.

He growled out a short, proud sound. No way he rocked her little world though, not like Harvey did. Guys named Stew or Roy or Ted never could.

More importantly though, Madeline looked like she was getting around okay. She swapped her weight from foot to foot, and he knew why. He wondered if she was still chewing through Advil and icing her leg at night. He hoped that was just as far back in the rear-view mirror as everything else.

… It hadn't been all bad. Right, Maddie? They had their good times. And they both got out alive. They'd done that part together. At the end of the day, when all was said and done, he supposed that was all that really mattered.

Harvey shook his head at himself. If someone would have asked him yesterday what he thought about Dr. Madeline Scott, he would have said, "I don't." Now he stood here reeling through sweetly nostalgic memories, barely even registering that she was cozying up with the guy whose ring she chose to wear over his. He guessed imminent death had a way of simplifying things.

Harvey looked up to see her train chugging into the station loudly, scraping metal against metal as it threw on its brakes. When the train pulled to a stop, the guy helped her up the steps carefully, taking her leg into consideration. Then, for a second, Madeline paused at the top the stairs.

He all but panicked. Shit. A rush of anxiety kicked up as he realized that she might turn and notice him right back. He wondered what she'd see if she did. A shit for brains drunk parading around with a hooker? Someone she no longer recognized or connected with? … Something worse?

Without looking over at him, she squared her shoulders and boarded the train. He released a heavy breath, all too thankful that she hadn't looked his way.

He stayed there on the tarmac and watched her train start to power out of the station. It unlodged an old thought from way back in his mind. What was that mumbo jumbo she'd always yakked about? Something about tragedy looking different from a distance.

Harvey released a loose, satisfied sigh. Beside him, the Duchess whined, "Harvey, I'm bored." She pressed herself up against him and walked her fingers up his chest. "But I bet we wouldn't be bored… if we went back to your apartment…"

A wry smile curled upon his lips. He laughed wickedly as he looped an arm around her waist. He suddenly thought of the perfect way to thank Gordon for getting him involved in this shitting mess. "Nuh-uh, I got a better idea," he said. "C'mon, sugarplum, let's beat feet. I know just the place…"

Ah, what the hell. Fuck it. He was doomed anyway. He may well go join up with Team Jimbo and prepare to go down in a fiery blaze of glory. Who knows, maybe, just maybe he'd find some way to actually save both their miserable hides. Though of course, he doubted it.

Harvey turned back around as Maddie's train disappeared into the distance. He felt a pull in his chest, some long dormant emotion.

His eyes shone and he smiled, when he whispered after her, "Ride or die, baby."

Which of course meant...