Hi, thanks for checking this out! It turns out I'm ready to post this story way sooner than I thought. I'm anticipating this to be a shorter story (by my standards). I'm thinking there will be 14-18 chapters.

Parts of this story will be rated M for (Im)Mature. This story takes place after "In Your Dreams" and between the episodes of 2X15 and 2X18. I'm excited to share this! Thanks for reading!

(x)

Dr. Leslie Thompkins couldn't tell if her stomach churned more from the morning sickness or watching the clock tick down to 9 a.m. It would be the start of another long day of court proceedings in the city of Gotham vs. Jim Gordon. She supposed it didn't help that Judge Gellar assigned the trial to take place in the ceremonial courtroom on the second floor, which only gave everything an increased air of intimidation and intensity. Normally, Lee found herself soothed by refined, aesthetically-pleasing surroundings like rich marble floors, mahogany wood, and vaulted-box ceilings. Now, every time she stared up into the judge's ornate bench, she felt dread sinking down from the top of her throat to the soles of her shoes.

The counsel sat at two tables facing the bench. Jim's lawyer had started out the proceedings with energy and hope and enthusiasm. Now, after weeks arguing opposite D.A. Dent and his disarming, all-but-brilliant performance in court, Jim's lawyer was brow-beaten. He looked very much like a man resigned to a guilty verdict. And he wasn't the only one.

Jim hunched over in his seat. Each day, he sat himself up when trial was in session, calm and alert, but Lee knew him too well not to know that many parts of him simply were not present. Most the time, he made his mind go somewhere else.

It killed her every time. To watch the man she loved, the father of her child, disconnect more and more from everyone and everything around him with each passing court date.

A railing with a swinging gate separated them from the gallery, which as usual held a packed house of spectators, most of them eager to see what fate would befall Jim Gordon.

Lee was learning that the only thing people loved more than a hero was watching one fall.

She blinked and glanced up as she saw Detective Harvey Bullock slide into the pew, wearing his usual fedora but trading his leather coat for a matching suit jacket. She moved aside her coat where she'd been saving him a seat and he plunked down.

He removed his hat and softly gruffed, "Hey, doc." Then he reached over and clapped a strong hand on Jim's shoulder. "Jimbo."

Jim turned to face them and nodded grimly before looking back. This had become their textbook exchange before each court day over the past month. Lee wasn't sure that there were any words that could decrease the anger and shame they felt over what was happening. Sometimes all you really needed to know was that someone stood with you.

There were only three more days of court scheduled until the prosecution and the defense would be out of witnesses to call. The defense put off calling their next witness for as long as could be allowed. She put up a fight after receiving her subpoena, and Lee knew why. When it came to murder trials, it wasn't just the therapist who was called into court. All their notes, evaluations, and even the most intimate details of their sessions were fair game for both lawyers to call to public record.

Initially, Lee thought was a smart move for her to delay her court appearance by trying every trick in the book to be dismissed. Unfortunately, her reluctance to testify only seemed to create more intrigue as to what she might be hiding.

The clock struck nine, and Judge Gellar welcomed everyone into court. When asked, Jim's lawyer stood up and said, "The defense calls Dr. Madeline Scott to the stand."

Her four-inch pumps clicked smartly against the marble floors, and when Jim's lawyer held open the wooden doorway at the front, she thanked him. She looked like she always did, professional, sharp, and composed. She chose to wear a midnight blue suit with a white satin top underneath. With her red hair it gave off a patriotic vibe, if Lee did say so herself.

The room fell quiet as she took the stand. She pertly tossed back her hair and held up her right hand.

The bailiff asked her, "Do you agree to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

A little smile played on her lips when she said, "I do."

(x)

Jim's lawyer asked the usual questions. How long had she been in practice? Had she provided counseling to patients presenting with Jim's diagnosis often? What progress had he made since his first session? He asked her to explain why Jim's mental health was not a factor in the court proceedings, and she rose to the occasion gracefully and with decorum.

But of course she would. This was the easy part.

All too soon, Jim's lawyer had no further questions, your honor, and Dr. Scott was D.A. Dent's witness.

Harvey Dent rose from his seat, smoothing over the crisp, black tie he paired with his smart grey-blue suit. From where he stood, he sent her an even but muted smile. "Thank you for joining us today, Dr. Scott," he said, his confident voice echoing throughout the courtroom. "I hope we haven't taken you away from any speaking engagements resulting from the bestseller you have out on the market."

It called attention to her level of expertise, which he'd no doubt done for the prosecution's benefit. But it was a kind note to start things on. She smiled to show she both understood and appreciated the sentiment. She chimed back, "It's been so long since it came out. Is it still in print?"

Their banter earned one or two chuckles from the stands, not because it was particularly funny but because it broke the hot tension of the courtroom.

From there, Dent immediately turned to business. "Could you remind the court of Jim Gordon's diagnosis, please?"

Madeline sent Jim a quick look before she returned to face D.A. Dent. "If I had my way, I wouldn't diagnose anyone, but insurance companies make me." She remained silent, and Dent waited patiently for her to answer the question. And she did, "I diagnosed Jim Gordon with post-traumatic stress disorder this past October."

The D.A. took a step toward Madeline. "It's my understanding that Jim Gordon didn't voluntarily seek out these sessions. What was Captain Barnes rationale for mandating that Detective Jim Gordon attend therapy?"

Dr. Scott answered, "He said that he wanted to take advantage of every resource at his disposal to ensure that Jim received support in his line of work."

Dent looked at her. "Was that all he said?"

Madeline smiled just slightly. "You know, D.A. Dent, I run a tape recorder in my sessions, but not outside of them." She dismissed his question with a flippant answer, but one that let him know that she understood the transition taking place.

"Dr. Scott, Captain Barnes ordered Jim Gordon into therapy just before his case regarding the death of Theo Galavan opened with internal affairs. Is that correct?"

She gave a short nod. "That is correct."

Lee sucked in a deep breath and slowly pressed it back out, holding her hands against her small but prominent baby bump. D.A. Dent was very good outside court, but he was phenomenal inside it. This was where he would build his case. Where he would attempt to substantiate irrefutable evidence of Jim's fragile mental state over the past few months.

Dent asked her. "According to what Jim Gordon has expressed to you in sessions, is the timing of Captain Barnes placing Detective Gordon in mandatory counseling, just before his case opened with internal affairs, significant?"

She sat up a little straighter and raised her voice. "I think it's significant that whenever someone challenges the status quo in Gotham that those in power immediately rush to silence them."

Gentle rumblings of quiet reactions stemmed through the courtroom. Beside Lee, Harvey Bullock shifted in place and made a short, uncomfortable noise. In front of her, Jim sat absolutely still and did not move. Breakfast jumped in her stomach.

The reactions from the gallery in the pews began to get out of hand and the judge loudly banged his gavel. "Quiet," he ordered. "I will have quiet for these proceedings."

Dent drew in a deep breath and kept his eyes on Madeline. "Your honor, witness is being argumentative."

The judge turned to her, "Dr. Scott, answer the questions you're asked."

She got back to the question but her voice was still clipped. "I don't know if the timing is significant. But when someone's innocence is brought into question when really they're not guilty, therapy is often needed in order for them to heal."

Dent ignored the point she tried to make. So much so that he feigned confusion over it. "Are you saying that Captain Barnes ordered Jim Gordon into therapy to help him cope with the results of the internal affairs case?" He looked down at his notes. "According to my documents, he ordered him into therapy before it was even opened."

Jim's lawyer called out, "Objection, your honor. Asked and answered."

Judge Gellar said, "Sustained. Get to your point, counsel."

Dent asked, "Was Jim Gordon's job performance affected in any way due to his symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder?"

She said, "I've seen quite a number of police officers for therapy over the years. The officers of this city see the stuff of nightmares and then they're sent right back into life or death situations as though nothing has changed. When really everything has changed." She said, "It's my opinion that Jim Gordon was an excellent employee, despite his work conditions. If anything, he only became even more efficient at his job, once he sought treatment."

D.A. Dent couldn't do much with the last part of her statement, so he focused on the first. "Are you saying that every single police officer in Gotham, not just Jim Gordon, but every one, can be diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder before they've even been seen for treatment?"

"I've already told you," she said, her voice icing over. "I wouldn't diagnose anyone except insurance companies make me."

"You said that for the police officers in Gotham, 'everything has changed.'" He continued to latch onto the fallacy she floated into the ether. "Are you telling us that the trauma they all experience on a daily basis inhibits their ability to serve and protect?"

Lee pursed her lips. Somewhere behind her she knew Captain Barnes was in the courtroom. Somewhere his face was turning an impressive shade of burgundy. Beside Lee, Harvey Bullock sighed a muttering 'here we go'.

With that, it appeared Madeline had enough. "I'm saying often when people experience trauma it goes untreated. And with the unchecked cycle of violence in this city, it's a city-wide problem."

Dent appeared to realize that he could use what was happening to drive his point home. He said loudly, incredulously, "Dr. Scott, are you now saying that every person in Gotham is suffering from some sort of trauma?"

Madeline seemed to get a hold of herself just long enough to say, "I don't have a theory to back that up." She could have ended it there. It probably would have led to her just narrowly being allowed to step down from the stand. But then she raised her voice, "However, I have a much more disturbing theory on why some people are arrested and involved in proceedings like these while others, such as the mob bosses and career criminals of this city, are not." The crowd started up again, and she said even more loudly, "The message is chilling. 'How dare you hold up a mirror to us?' Anyone who stands up against them is silenced and disappeared from public view and memory. Sometimes they're even thrown into a prison cell." She addressed the court in a sharp tone of voice, "And we all know it."

The gavel banged down so hard that for a second, there was shocked silence. The judge called down, "Dr. Scott. You're hereby held in contempt of court." He looked over, "Bailiff, escort her out."

Dr. Scott seemed pleased by this, and she easily stepped down from the stand as the bailiff met her and placed handcuffs around her wrists. She turned to face the jury once more and said calmly but clearly, "Pay attention. This is what this is."

She was told again to be quiet and the jury was told to disregard her statement.

Lee's mouth fell open just slightly as she watched it all play out. She let out a deep breath as the bailiff led Madeline forward past the swinging wooden gate. She didn't look at Jim, and Lee knew why. Jim hated when criminals got away with their crimes more than anything, but two things he hated almost just as much were melodramatic media stunts and watching someone fall on a sword for him. And Madeline had just done both.

Lee caught her eye as she stepped to walk past. The doctor sent her a clear apologetic look.

And she didn't have to. The cameras were rolling inside the courtroom, and even if they weren't, Lee knew it would only hurt Jim if she said something. So she dipped her head down, put her hand up, and quietly mouthed, 'thank you' to her.

Madeline nodded for Lee to look behind her as she walked. When Lee turned her head, she saw Madeline's fingers crossed.

Immediately after she passed by them, Harvey Bullock placed his hat back on his head and hopped into place right behind her, following her out of the courtroom.

The courtroom fell silent, as per the judge's order. As the door opened, a veritable mob of reporters and cameramen met the bailiff, Dr. Scott, and Harvey Bullock as they stepped out into the wide marble hallway. Cameras flashed. Reporters yelled provoking questions.

'Do you believe Jim Gordon is innocent?' 'Will you talk about Captain Barnes and the unfit conditions under which GCPD detectives are working?' 'Were you implying that Carmine Falcone should be placed under arrest?'

The doors closed, sharply blocking the media circus out completely.

(x)

Safely ensconced in the musty but comfortable loft in Selina Kyle's current hideout, Bruce Wayne watched the court proceedings live on TV. He caught the look on Jim Gordon's face as the bailiff arrested Dr. Scott and led her out of the courtroom. All throughout the trial when the cameras showed Gordon's face, he looked like a beaten prizefighter, defeated and waiting to be led out of the ring. He looked somewhat aggravated now, which was a change, but not a good one.

Bruce frowned deeply, and immediately wished he hadn't done so. He held back a wince as he gently touched the bruises on his face. He'd received hits to the face before, but it seemed like these particular injuries were taking much longer to heal.

Cat stood, leaning against the window sill, crossing her arms, the picture of teenage rebellion. She gave a snort as she watched the doctor get arrested. "Well, that was pretty stupid."

Bruce kept his eyes on the screen. "She did it on purpose."

Cat smirked and declared, "That makes it even stupider."

"She wanted to get people talking about Gotham's corruption, instead of whether or not Jim Gordon's guilty of murder."

Selina looked to her left, squinted, and then looked right back at him. "... What makes you think anyone's gonna talk about that?"

He looked at her openly. "You and I are talking about it. Aren't we?"

"No," she answered back. "-You're- talking about it, and I don't know if you've noticed, kid. But -nobody- in this city talks like you."

Bruce gave her reply some consideration. Selina made a fair point. Dr. Scott challenged viewers to get on her level, but most of them wouldn't or just couldn't. She hadn't spoken her message in a way that would resonate with most people, and for the ones who did understand, she oversold it.

He spoke his next thought out loud, "She didn't hurt anything by doing it."

"No, but she did get an all expense paid trip to the drunk tank."

Bruce knew she collaborated with the GCPD, and he'd seen Detective Bullock follow her out. Ironically, after her impassioned speech about how some people went to jail and others did not, Bruce knew she'd be out of handcuffs before the ink dried on the sign-in sheet of the holding cell.

He asked Cat, "It's possible that what she did might help though, isn't it?"

She shrugged in a non-committal way. "This is Gotham, kid." She pushed herself off the side of the wall. "Anything's possible." As she walked back to the kitchen to get herself a glass of milk she shot back, "But I doubt it."

(x)

Madeline rubbed her wrists as she settled into the passenger seat in Harvey Bullock's car. To her left, Harvey took the wheel and drove them back out onto Gotham's city streets. They had only one exchange on the drive back to her office, and it was brief.

Harvey spoke with melodic sarcasm. "Sooooo... are you gonna share?"

"Share what?"

He looked over at her. "The bucket of crack you've been smoking."

She replied, "I stay away from the hard stuff. Though I did have a red bull and a sugar cookie before I got to the courthouse."

He nodded with feigned nonchalance before he postulated, "I'm guessin' you already mapped out what you were gonna do before you stepped up there."

"I had a general idea. Though I didn't really like telling Dent where he could shove it. He seems … practical, dogged. Honest." Then she added as an afterthought, "For a lawyer."

"You really think that was the smartest way to play that back there?"

"Not really," she immediately answered. "But it was the only thing I could think of to stop them from using his therapy against him." She said, "At least now, I'm the crazy one. Not him."

"It oughtta make for an interesting sidebar on the news tonight."

Unknowingly, she asked him the same question Bruce Wayne asked all the way on the other side of town. "You think any of it'll actually help?"

Harvey shrugged. Then he said, "I think it'll help you brush up on the ass-kissing tap dance routine you're gonna have to give the Cap once he calls you up into his office."

Madeline brushed away his words with a dismissive gesture. "Please. Barnes is even more fed up with the disgusting crap that goes down in this city than I am."

Harvey glanced at her knowingly and made his point. "You questioned Barnes' integrity up there and you did everything but accuse him of arresting Gordon on false pretenses. Oh, and you insinuated that the GCPD, you know the whole little public institution he runs, has sorta got blood on their hands."

They shared a glance they'd shared many times before. Madeline hummed loudly and looked away, because there was just no argument she could make against what he said. When they stopped at a light, she shrugged. "If I get fired, I get fired," she said, unbothered. "Won't be the first time."

Harvey gave a large nod, agreeing that 'no, it wouldn't be.'

Once they reached the front door of her office, Madeline scooped up her briefcase. After she closed the car door, she leaned in through the open window. "Oh, by the way." She grinned. "Thanks for the rescue."

"Take out your card. I'll give you your stamp."

She flounced away. "Oh, now we're keeping count?"

Harvey called after her, "Once you hit ten, the next one's free."