Full Version: The Worth of A Friend
I really like this story. I only read the first chapter for now. But it's really intresting. Keep up the good work.
Chapter 12: I Didn't Mean For You to See It
The nurse had just given her a dose of painkiller and she was drifting in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness. She sensed she was not alone in the room, and her eyes searched the shadows. In the corner of the room near the window, the shadows coalesced into a familiar form, and Marcy approached her bed.
The pretty psychic smiled at her, and she could see an inner beauty that had escaped her attention before. Marcy sat on the edge of the bed and Eames could swear she was really there, in form with substance. She could feel the hand that rested on her arm. "You wanted to know if my visions could be changed, Alex. Until now, I wasn't sure they could. But I changed this one. Someone had to die but I couldn't bear to lose him. So I went in his place. It all worked out." She closed her eyes for a minute. When she opened them, Alex could swear she saw tears there. "He's a tender, sensitive man, Alex, and a complicated one. I could more than see his attraction; I could feel it." A soft smile flickered across her face. "It's impossible not to respond to his intensity." Warm gray eyes bored into her. "I know you care about him, Alex. I could see it in your eyes when you thought no one was looking, and I could feel it in you. Let him see it. He needs to see it, especially now. He has powerful doubts and you have to do whatever it takes to remove them or his uncertainty and grief will destroy you both."
Eames' eyes drifted closed, and when she jerked awake, she was alone in the room. Had it been a dream? It must have been. But how true were the words Marcy had spoken in that dream? She agreed that it was impossible not to respond to Goren's intensity. But could she save him from himself? Her eyes drifted closed again.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was well-documented in his service file that Goren had difficulty with authority. Independent and strong-willed, he simply preferred to do things his own way. If he didn't like the way things were being done, he changed them to suit his own agenda. And most of the time he was right. But he never gloated over that fact. He just plowed on to the next task. He didn't have time for 'I told you so's.' He dealt with medical staff in the same manner.Eames should not have been surprised when her door opened and her partner came into the room. She was at least glad he was using the crutches they wanted him to use. But he was bored and restless, annoyed with his body for not keeping with the program and for holding him back. "What are you doing in here?" she scolded, but there was no heat in her tone and he knew she was glad to see him.
"I wanted to see you," he answered simply.
"And when the nurses find you out of bed?"
He shrugged. "They'll know where to find me."
"Goren..."
He smiled. "Eames."
He eased himself into the chair beside her bed, propping his leg up on a pillow in a second chair. The nurses had found him there during the night, sleeping in that same chair. They were finding it impossible to keep him in one place. Always, he sought out Eames. "How are you feeling today?" he asked.
"Better," she answered. "They're going to graduate me to soft foods today. Maybe three more days and I'll be ready to go home. They'll be getting me up to walk soon."
"I'll walk with you."
"You shouldn't be up so much." she scolded.
"If I don't get up, how am I going to heal?"
"If you get up too much, you won't heal."
He reached out and grasped her hand. "I will heal better here than I will in my room, I promise."
She tightened her fingers around his hand and turned gingerly onto her side to look at him. He had said nothing about Marcy's death, and she wondered what was going on in his head. She wondered how muddled his mind had been when she'd told him and if he even remembered the conversation clearly. Just because he had appeared coherent did not necessarily mean he was. Bobby used a multitude of coping mechanisms to get him through life. Avoidance was one and withdrawal was another. Sometimes he was an impossible read. "We need to talk," she said softly.
His eyes searched her face. "About what?"
"About what happened in the park three days ago."
His hand strayed absently to the wound on his head. The laceration was healing nicely, but there was still extensive bruising that caused him discomfort. He knew how lucky he was. He closed his eyes.
Eames tightened her grip on him and reached out with her other hand. When she touched his cheek, he leaned into her hand. She was encouraged by the fact that he was neither withdrawing nor pushing her away.
She withdrew her hand and turned onto her back when the door opened. He leaned back in the chair and let her retreat. One of the nurses came into the room and stood there with her hands on her hips. "I think I'll give up looking for you in your own room, Robert."
He shrugged. "I like this room better."
Eames stifled a laugh which triggered a half smile on his face. The nurse was not amused. "Back to your room, buddy."
"Come on. What difference does it make if I sit in there or if I sit in here? You know where I am."
She stared at the bandage on his right arm. "Where is your IV?"
"Right where I left it."
"Bobby!" Eames hissed.
"What? I'm eating fine and I can take anything I need by mouth. Besides, I can't get around tied to a machine."
"That's the point," the nurse snapped.
"All right then. Either I ditch the machine or the crutches. Which would you prefer?"
She glared at him. "Your doctor will be in to talk to you."
"I'll be right here," he promised, smiling at her.
Some of the hard anger left her face at that smile as she turned and left the room. Once the nurse was gone, Eames smacked him. "You took out your IV?"
"It was bothering me."
"Bobby..."
The door opened again. This time it was one of the doctors standing beneath the television, arms crossed. But the look on his face wasn't nearly as annoyed as the one the nurse had worn. "Are you ready to go home, son?"
"More than ready," Goren admitted.
"Think you can handle the pain on oral medication?"
"I'll manage, yes."
The doctor motioned to him. "Come with me. Let me examine you and we'll discuss it. Then you can come back in to visit her."
Goren looked at her as he stood and grabbed his crutches. "I'll be right back."
She smiled at him. "I'll be waiting right here."
His mouth curved into a smile and he followed the doctor from the room. Twenty minutes later, he returned, pain etched clearly on his face. He dropped the crutches, sitting heavily in the chair, bracing his elbow on the armrest and propping his temple on his fingers.
She reached toward him, touching his other hand. He moved his hand to close it around her fingers; his mouth set in a grim line. She remained where she was, laying on her side and holding his hand, while he fought against the pain.
The same nurse returned to the room, holding out a medicine cup with two pills in it and a cup of water. He released his partner's hand and looked at the nurse, accepting the medicine. She waited while he took it, then looked at Eames. "Do you need anything?"
Eames shook her head. "I think my gut is doing better than his knee."
"Painwise? It is." She rested her hand on his head in a maternal fashion. "Let me know when you're ready to go back to your room. That medicine is likely to knock you for a loop."
He nodded and she left the room. Finally he looked at Eames. "They're releasing me tomorrow."
"Good. Maybe then the nurses won't look so harried."
He was quiet for a moment. "You wanted to talk...about the park."
"Maybe now isn't the best time..."
"You wanted to talk..." he interrupted gently. "...about Marcy."
It was spooky sometimes the way he could read her, understand what she was thinking, predict her motivation. "Yes, I did."
She needed to know what he was feeling, but she knew better than to share everything she knew. Marcy had died in his place, and she knew exactly what that would do to him. It was something she would take to her grave. But not knowing that did not mean he would bear her death lightly.
She took his hand again, stroking it lightly with her thumb. "You haven't really said anything since I told you."
He looked at her hand, resting in his, her thumb making gentle circles around his. He shook his head slowly. "No. I haven't."
"But you've been thinking about her."
He nodded, still looking at their hands. Quietly, he asked the question that had been on his mind. "Do you know...what happened?"
"No. But Logan and Wheeler have been talking to witnesses, trying to piece it all together."
He leaned back in the chair and looked at the ceiling, but he left his hand in hers. "I should have...left her at the apartment. I could have managed...driving..."
"Bobby...please...that line of thought will get you nowhere. And you know she would never have stayed. I warned her to stay back several times. What happened...was no one's fault...no one's but his..."
"That doesn't change what happened."
This was just running them around in circles, getting them nowhere. She tightened her grip on his hand. "What happened is done. We can't change it. What does matter is you and what's going on in that head of yours. I'm worried about you, Bobby."
He shook his head, loosening his grip on her hand. "Don't bother, Eames. I'm fine."
She shifted her hand, threading her fingers into his. She was not willing to break physical contact with him and she did not want him to withdraw from her, as was his tendency. She had to lead him into this conversation. He wasn't willing to find his own way into it. "Just...how close to her were you?"
He became tense. "I never slept with her, if that's what you mean."
She wasn't certain about his tone or about her own reaction to what he said. Her cheeks flushed, but whether it was from embarrassment or guilt, she wasn't certain. "It's not," she insisted, but that was only half-true. She searched herself for her true motivation. If he had slept with her, his connection, and his grief, would be much deeper. But that only made her wonder why he hadn't, if it had been by choice or through lack of opportunity.
His eyes searched her face. "Then what?"
She let a slurry of words tumble through her head, searching for the right ones to explain herself to her partner. She sensed he knew what she meant, but he wanted to hear her say it. "Bobby," she said softly. "I don't know how close you were to Marcy. But I could see...your attraction to her. I could see that you wanted to be closer to her. And I know how sensitive you are, how much this...murder might affect you. I just want to help. What happened to Marcy was not your fault."
He drew his eyes from her face, focusing again on their hands. On an impulse, she drew his hand closer and softly kissed his fingers. His eyes snapped up to her face, catching her eyes, confused by the warmth he saw in them. "Eames?"
She looked away, allowing him to withdraw his hand. She had not expected him to look up.
"Eames..."
She wouldn't look at him. "I have to know that you're okay, Bobby."
Okay? He was confused as hell. How had a conversation about Marcy's murder led to confusion over what he thought he saw in Eames' eyes? He had to have been mistaken. The medicine...that was it...he was mistaken. "I, uh, I think I should lay down..."
"What's wrong?"
"Just, um, feeling a little dizzy..."
"Stay where you are." She sat up and carefully slid out of the bed. "Why don't you lay down here?"
He arched an eyebrow. "Eames..."
"It's fine, really," she insisted. "They'll be in shortly to get me up and walking anyway."
Reaching forward, she took his arm and gave him a gentle tug. "Come on. I'll be out of bed for awhile."
He got to his feet unsteadily, his protest lost when she stepped up and guided him to the bed. He grunted when he put a little weight on his knee and it gave way, catching himself on the bedrail. She coaxed him onto the bed, pulling the sheet and blanket over him.
His eyes began to lose focus as he asked, "What was that?" He touched her cheek below her right eye. "What...was in your eyes?"
"I...worry about you," she said, unable to answer him because she did not know the answer herself.
His struggle was brief, and he lost the fight to keep his eyes open. She watched him sleep, concerned by the sheen of sweat that had broken out across his forehead. Leaning down, she kissed his temple.
"I didn't mean for you to see it," she whispered, using his own words to apologize to him as he slept. The last thing she wanted was to cause him more grief and confusion in trying to find some sort of connection that would allow her to help him to cope with his loss. But before she could go any further with him she had to figure it out herself.
The nurse had just given her a dose of painkiller and she was drifting in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness. She sensed she was not alone in the room, and her eyes searched the shadows. In the corner of the room near the window, the shadows coalesced into a familiar form, and Marcy approached her bed.
The pretty psychic smiled at her, and she could see an inner beauty that had escaped her attention before. Marcy sat on the edge of the bed and Eames could swear she was really there, in form with substance. She could feel the hand that rested on her arm. "You wanted to know if my visions could be changed, Alex. Until now, I wasn't sure they could. But I changed this one. Someone had to die but I couldn't bear to lose him. So I went in his place. It all worked out." She closed her eyes for a minute. When she opened them, Alex could swear she saw tears there. "He's a tender, sensitive man, Alex, and a complicated one. I could more than see his attraction; I could feel it." A soft smile flickered across her face. "It's impossible not to respond to his intensity." Warm gray eyes bored into her. "I know you care about him, Alex. I could see it in your eyes when you thought no one was looking, and I could feel it in you. Let him see it. He needs to see it, especially now. He has powerful doubts and you have to do whatever it takes to remove them or his uncertainty and grief will destroy you both."
Eames' eyes drifted closed, and when she jerked awake, she was alone in the room. Had it been a dream? It must have been. But how true were the words Marcy had spoken in that dream? She agreed that it was impossible not to respond to Goren's intensity. But could she save him from himself? Her eyes drifted closed again.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was well-documented in his service file that Goren had difficulty with authority. Independent and strong-willed, he simply preferred to do things his own way. If he didn't like the way things were being done, he changed them to suit his own agenda. And most of the time he was right. But he never gloated over that fact. He just plowed on to the next task. He didn't have time for 'I told you so's.' He dealt with medical staff in the same manner.Eames should not have been surprised when her door opened and her partner came into the room. She was at least glad he was using the crutches they wanted him to use. But he was bored and restless, annoyed with his body for not keeping with the program and for holding him back. "What are you doing in here?" she scolded, but there was no heat in her tone and he knew she was glad to see him.
"I wanted to see you," he answered simply.
"And when the nurses find you out of bed?"
He shrugged. "They'll know where to find me."
"Goren..."
He smiled. "Eames."
He eased himself into the chair beside her bed, propping his leg up on a pillow in a second chair. The nurses had found him there during the night, sleeping in that same chair. They were finding it impossible to keep him in one place. Always, he sought out Eames. "How are you feeling today?" he asked.
"Better," she answered. "They're going to graduate me to soft foods today. Maybe three more days and I'll be ready to go home. They'll be getting me up to walk soon."
"I'll walk with you."
"You shouldn't be up so much." she scolded.
"If I don't get up, how am I going to heal?"
"If you get up too much, you won't heal."
He reached out and grasped her hand. "I will heal better here than I will in my room, I promise."
She tightened her fingers around his hand and turned gingerly onto her side to look at him. He had said nothing about Marcy's death, and she wondered what was going on in his head. She wondered how muddled his mind had been when she'd told him and if he even remembered the conversation clearly. Just because he had appeared coherent did not necessarily mean he was. Bobby used a multitude of coping mechanisms to get him through life. Avoidance was one and withdrawal was another. Sometimes he was an impossible read. "We need to talk," she said softly.
His eyes searched her face. "About what?"
"About what happened in the park three days ago."
His hand strayed absently to the wound on his head. The laceration was healing nicely, but there was still extensive bruising that caused him discomfort. He knew how lucky he was. He closed his eyes.
Eames tightened her grip on him and reached out with her other hand. When she touched his cheek, he leaned into her hand. She was encouraged by the fact that he was neither withdrawing nor pushing her away.
She withdrew her hand and turned onto her back when the door opened. He leaned back in the chair and let her retreat. One of the nurses came into the room and stood there with her hands on her hips. "I think I'll give up looking for you in your own room, Robert."
He shrugged. "I like this room better."
Eames stifled a laugh which triggered a half smile on his face. The nurse was not amused. "Back to your room, buddy."
"Come on. What difference does it make if I sit in there or if I sit in here? You know where I am."
She stared at the bandage on his right arm. "Where is your IV?"
"Right where I left it."
"Bobby!" Eames hissed.
"What? I'm eating fine and I can take anything I need by mouth. Besides, I can't get around tied to a machine."
"That's the point," the nurse snapped.
"All right then. Either I ditch the machine or the crutches. Which would you prefer?"
She glared at him. "Your doctor will be in to talk to you."
"I'll be right here," he promised, smiling at her.
Some of the hard anger left her face at that smile as she turned and left the room. Once the nurse was gone, Eames smacked him. "You took out your IV?"
"It was bothering me."
"Bobby..."
The door opened again. This time it was one of the doctors standing beneath the television, arms crossed. But the look on his face wasn't nearly as annoyed as the one the nurse had worn. "Are you ready to go home, son?"
"More than ready," Goren admitted.
"Think you can handle the pain on oral medication?"
"I'll manage, yes."
The doctor motioned to him. "Come with me. Let me examine you and we'll discuss it. Then you can come back in to visit her."
Goren looked at her as he stood and grabbed his crutches. "I'll be right back."
She smiled at him. "I'll be waiting right here."
His mouth curved into a smile and he followed the doctor from the room. Twenty minutes later, he returned, pain etched clearly on his face. He dropped the crutches, sitting heavily in the chair, bracing his elbow on the armrest and propping his temple on his fingers.
She reached toward him, touching his other hand. He moved his hand to close it around her fingers; his mouth set in a grim line. She remained where she was, laying on her side and holding his hand, while he fought against the pain.
The same nurse returned to the room, holding out a medicine cup with two pills in it and a cup of water. He released his partner's hand and looked at the nurse, accepting the medicine. She waited while he took it, then looked at Eames. "Do you need anything?"
Eames shook her head. "I think my gut is doing better than his knee."
"Painwise? It is." She rested her hand on his head in a maternal fashion. "Let me know when you're ready to go back to your room. That medicine is likely to knock you for a loop."
He nodded and she left the room. Finally he looked at Eames. "They're releasing me tomorrow."
"Good. Maybe then the nurses won't look so harried."
He was quiet for a moment. "You wanted to talk...about the park."
"Maybe now isn't the best time..."
"You wanted to talk..." he interrupted gently. "...about Marcy."
It was spooky sometimes the way he could read her, understand what she was thinking, predict her motivation. "Yes, I did."
She needed to know what he was feeling, but she knew better than to share everything she knew. Marcy had died in his place, and she knew exactly what that would do to him. It was something she would take to her grave. But not knowing that did not mean he would bear her death lightly.
She took his hand again, stroking it lightly with her thumb. "You haven't really said anything since I told you."
He looked at her hand, resting in his, her thumb making gentle circles around his. He shook his head slowly. "No. I haven't."
"But you've been thinking about her."
He nodded, still looking at their hands. Quietly, he asked the question that had been on his mind. "Do you know...what happened?"
"No. But Logan and Wheeler have been talking to witnesses, trying to piece it all together."
He leaned back in the chair and looked at the ceiling, but he left his hand in hers. "I should have...left her at the apartment. I could have managed...driving..."
"Bobby...please...that line of thought will get you nowhere. And you know she would never have stayed. I warned her to stay back several times. What happened...was no one's fault...no one's but his..."
"That doesn't change what happened."
This was just running them around in circles, getting them nowhere. She tightened her grip on his hand. "What happened is done. We can't change it. What does matter is you and what's going on in that head of yours. I'm worried about you, Bobby."
He shook his head, loosening his grip on her hand. "Don't bother, Eames. I'm fine."
She shifted her hand, threading her fingers into his. She was not willing to break physical contact with him and she did not want him to withdraw from her, as was his tendency. She had to lead him into this conversation. He wasn't willing to find his own way into it. "Just...how close to her were you?"
He became tense. "I never slept with her, if that's what you mean."
She wasn't certain about his tone or about her own reaction to what he said. Her cheeks flushed, but whether it was from embarrassment or guilt, she wasn't certain. "It's not," she insisted, but that was only half-true. She searched herself for her true motivation. If he had slept with her, his connection, and his grief, would be much deeper. But that only made her wonder why he hadn't, if it had been by choice or through lack of opportunity.
His eyes searched her face. "Then what?"
She let a slurry of words tumble through her head, searching for the right ones to explain herself to her partner. She sensed he knew what she meant, but he wanted to hear her say it. "Bobby," she said softly. "I don't know how close you were to Marcy. But I could see...your attraction to her. I could see that you wanted to be closer to her. And I know how sensitive you are, how much this...murder might affect you. I just want to help. What happened to Marcy was not your fault."
He drew his eyes from her face, focusing again on their hands. On an impulse, she drew his hand closer and softly kissed his fingers. His eyes snapped up to her face, catching her eyes, confused by the warmth he saw in them. "Eames?"
She looked away, allowing him to withdraw his hand. She had not expected him to look up.
"Eames..."
She wouldn't look at him. "I have to know that you're okay, Bobby."
Okay? He was confused as hell. How had a conversation about Marcy's murder led to confusion over what he thought he saw in Eames' eyes? He had to have been mistaken. The medicine...that was it...he was mistaken. "I, uh, I think I should lay down..."
"What's wrong?"
"Just, um, feeling a little dizzy..."
"Stay where you are." She sat up and carefully slid out of the bed. "Why don't you lay down here?"
He arched an eyebrow. "Eames..."
"It's fine, really," she insisted. "They'll be in shortly to get me up and walking anyway."
Reaching forward, she took his arm and gave him a gentle tug. "Come on. I'll be out of bed for awhile."
He got to his feet unsteadily, his protest lost when she stepped up and guided him to the bed. He grunted when he put a little weight on his knee and it gave way, catching himself on the bedrail. She coaxed him onto the bed, pulling the sheet and blanket over him.
His eyes began to lose focus as he asked, "What was that?" He touched her cheek below her right eye. "What...was in your eyes?"
"I...worry about you," she said, unable to answer him because she did not know the answer herself.
His struggle was brief, and he lost the fight to keep his eyes open. She watched him sleep, concerned by the sheen of sweat that had broken out across his forehead. Leaning down, she kissed his temple.
"I didn't mean for you to see it," she whispered, using his own words to apologize to him as he slept. The last thing she wanted was to cause him more grief and confusion in trying to find some sort of connection that would allow her to help him to cope with his loss. But before she could go any further with him she had to figure it out herself.
The plot thickens! Another good chapter. Why am I not surprised that Bobby slept in the chair in her room? He sat with her while she was in the hospital after Jo Gage kidnapped her.
Nice job!
Nice job!
Chapter 13: Uneasy Separation
Goren was glad to be home, but he hated that Eames would have to remain in the hospital for another day or so. He was glad she was doing better than they anticipated, but truthfully, he missed her. Since he forced himself to be mobile, he guessed that was why his doctor decided to send him home. Being hospitalized was of no benefit to him. The fact that he charmed the nurses did not change the fact that he was a difficult patient. Besides, together both he and Eames were driving the hospital staff nuts. He was leading his by-the-book partner astray, to her father's delight.
He never seemed to be in his room. If he was awake, he was with Eames. Then he began coaxing her to get out of bed, and they would wander. Goren loved to explore, and he took his partner exploring with him. The nurses found them in the gift shop, in the surgical observation suite, outside the nursery and, more than once, in the playroom on the pediatric floor. Goren liked telling the children stories while Eames enjoyed sing-a-longs. Goren taught them a song in German that he refused to translate for her. He loved Play-Doh, Legos and jigsaw puzzles and Eames played along, delighted to see her partner revel in making the children laugh. For a little while, the kids were able to forget that they were sick.
Now he was home with strict orders to avoid bearing weight on his knee, at least until his first follow-up appointment the next week, but he always had to test the limits of his own endurance. He began trying to bear weight the afternoon he got home. He was bored; what else was he going to do? The sharp increase in pain made him question the wisdom of disobeying the doctors, but a double dose of painkiller put his doubts to rest.
He spent a little more time testing out his knee, then laid down on the couch and slept. The phone woke him. The apartment was dark and he was disoriented as he fumbled for the phone. "Yeah," he muttered into the receiver. "Uh, Goren."
I'm sorry, came Eames' voice. I didn't mean to wake you up.
He sat up slowly, his head still a little fuzzy. "No, it's all right. How are you doing?"
I'm bored, she admitted. My playmate went home this morning.
He laughed softly. "Want me to come back?"
No. They might release me tomorrow afternoon. Have you had dinner?
He looked around the room, searching in the dark for an illuminated timepiece before he realized he wasn't in his bedroom. "What time is it?"
Almost seven.
"Oh. No, I fell asleep sometime around two, I think." He leaned back on the couch and moistened his lips. "I hate this," he grumbled.
Her voice was soft. What did you do?
"Do? Nothing. Why?"
She softly sighed. Have you been trying to bear weight on that knee?
Did she really know him that well? "Uh...I..." he trailed off with a huff and scrubbed a hand over his face.
Just stay put, all right? I'll call Logan and ask him to bring you some dinner.
His voice betrayed his annoyance. "I don't need a babysitter."
No, Bobby. You need a friend. I'll call you later.
The line went silent and he closed the phone. As a compromise to his partner, he used one crutch to get around, so he wasn't bearing his full weight on his knee. Either way, he wasn't able to get around as quickly as he wanted, and he felt his patience with himself wearing thin. He grabbed a glass of water, swallowed another dose of pain medicine and made his way down the hall to the bathroom. After a quick shower, he turned on the light in the corner of the living room and sat on the couch to rebandage his knee. He was almost done when a cop's knock sounded through the room. "It's open."
Logan came into the apartment carrying a paper bag. His eyes immediately scanned the room, noting the pair of crutches leaning against the couch and Goren's leg propped up on the coffee table. His eyes shifted to his friend, wearing cut-off jeans and no shirt. His eyes were drawn to the sutured laceration that ran down his side, but it looked like it was healing well. He looked again at Goren's knee. "A little bird told me you haven't been behaving."
Goren grinned. "I'm fine."
Logan set the bag on the coffee table and sat beside him. "She's trying to talk them into letting her out tomorrow. Apparently, she doesn't like you recovering all on your own."
"She's just bored."
"Yeah, I'm sure that's all it is. What about you?"
"I'm bored, too."
Logan laughed. "That's never a good thing." He pulled the paper bag closer. "Your partner suggested I bring you comfort food. Meatloaf or pot roast?"
Goren's mouth turned up in a smile of soft affection for his partner. "Uh, pot roast is fine."
Logan pulled out a take-out box, checked the contents and set it aside. He handed the second container to Goren and studied him. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm doing all right, Mike."
"Using those crutches like you're supposed to?"
Goren looked at the crutches and shrugged. "I'm using them."
"For what? Stickball?"
Goren smiled. "Not yet, but thanks for the idea."
"Just don't tell Alex I was the one who gave it to you," he said with a laugh.
Goren started to get up. "I can make coffee..."
Logan grabbed him by the waistband of his jeans and yanked him back down. "Oh, no. I know my way around a coffee pot. I'll make the coffee."
Goren gave him a funny look and Logan waved a hand at him. "Don't start. You may not have any fear of your partner, but I know she won't hesitate to kick my ass if I let you get hurt on my watch."
Goren watched him walk into the kitchen. "On your...watch?"
"She doesn't trust you to behave. Does she have reason to be suspicious?"
"Well, uh, maybe..."
"Okay, then." He bustled about making fresh coffee. He looked at the prescription bottle on the counter and rattled the bottle. "Are you taking this stuff?"
"I don't have a lot of choice."
He set the bottle back on the counter. "It hurts that much, huh?"
"I guess."
"When was your last dose?"
Goren scratched his head. "Uh, before I got in the shower."
Since his hair was still damp, Logan knew he wasn't due for another dose. He poured two cups of coffee, black for him, cream for Goren, and carried them into the living room. "Mind if I crash on the couch?"
Goren raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "Why would you do that?"
"I thought we made it clear that I don't particularly want to have my ass kicked by your partner."
He took his coffee from Logan and smiled. "She told you to spend the night?"
"In so many words, yeah. And if you have any feeling of friendship for me at all, you'll use those crutches the way they intended you to while I'm here."
Logan grabbed the remote and switched on the television. Goren took the remote from him and switched it off. "Before you get engrossed in something...what have you found out about Marcy's death?"
Logan had been hoping he wouldn't bring that up, even though he knew better. "We're still investigating."
"Level with me, Mike."
"I am. We are still investigating. We've talked to a handful of witnesses, and we have some more to talk to."
Goren studied him. "You have an idea of what went down. I want to know what happened to Marcy."
"Why, Bobby? What purpose could it possibly serve? What I know for certain is that she took the guy out with a rock before he could take out you and Alex. I'm not sure exactly when or how he got her with the knife. That part of it is still confused. But she saved you both. Leave it at that, pal. Please. Anything else we find is not going to change a thing."
Logan held out his hand for the remote, and Goren studied him for a moment. Then he set the remote back in Logan's hand. As Logan channel-surfed, Goren picked at his food. Logan let him be for the moment. He had a feeling Eames would be calling soon. "Oooh, look," he said with a laugh. "Cindy does Detroit...and Toledo...and Phoenix..."
Goren couldn't help laughing with him. Logan dropped the remote between them, glad that Goren made no attempt to grab it. He finished his dinner, hoping his injured friend would be distracted enough to finish his. When the phone rang, he muted the sound as Goren grabbed the phone. "Goren."
You sound better.
He smiled. "Yes and no."
Is Logan there?
"Yes."
And you're eating dinner?
"Yes, Eames."
She was quiet for a moment. Don't get mad because I care.
His mind recalled the heat he thought he saw in her eyes. At the time, he thought he was mistaken, but the more he thought about it, the less certain he was that it had been his imagination. He moistened his lips. "I'm not mad. I...don't like you being where you are."
Tomorrow, partner. I'll see you sometime tomorrow...promise.
"Who's picking you up?"
Dad. I'll have him drop me off there, if that's all right with you.
"It's fine with me. I mean, if you...uh, I..." He sighed, his eyes straying absently toward the television, then away. "Yes. I would like that."
He could hear the smile in her voice when she replied, I'll see you tomorrow then. Sleep well, Bobby.
"Good night, Eames."
He closed the phone and Logan unmuted the television, pointing to the screen with the remote. "Is that even physically possible?"
Goren laughed and studied the screen. "I don't know. You'll have to find out and let me know."
With another laugh, Logan set down the remote and stretched out his legs, folding his arms behind his head.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Goren tossed restlessly in his sleep, ultimately yielding to pain and troubled dreams. His normal routine was to get up and watch television or read to try to unwind. He rarely returned to sleep before it was time to head in to work. On nights he didn't have to work, he would usually have a few drinks until he was able to sleep again. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn't.
He got out of bed and, using a single crutch, made his way to the kitchen. Alcohol wasn't an option for him at the moment, but the pain medicine they gave him usually did the job. He swallowed two pills, made himself some toast and went back to the bedroom, pausing to watch Logan snore on the couch. He smiled. Logan had proven himself a loyal friend. He didn't have too many of those. He returned to the bedroom, switched on the bedside light and pulled out a book from the drawer in the nightstand. Within the hour, he was sleeping again.
When he woke again, Logan was gone. He fixed a light breakfast and sat on the couch. His plan was to try to get through the day without taking any pain medicine. He wasn't sure how successful he would be, but he was going to try. He really did want to be clear-headed when Eames got there. He was still troubled by what he thought he had seen in her eyes, vacillating between believing it had been there and convincing himself that he was wrong.
Goren was glad to be home, but he hated that Eames would have to remain in the hospital for another day or so. He was glad she was doing better than they anticipated, but truthfully, he missed her. Since he forced himself to be mobile, he guessed that was why his doctor decided to send him home. Being hospitalized was of no benefit to him. The fact that he charmed the nurses did not change the fact that he was a difficult patient. Besides, together both he and Eames were driving the hospital staff nuts. He was leading his by-the-book partner astray, to her father's delight.
He never seemed to be in his room. If he was awake, he was with Eames. Then he began coaxing her to get out of bed, and they would wander. Goren loved to explore, and he took his partner exploring with him. The nurses found them in the gift shop, in the surgical observation suite, outside the nursery and, more than once, in the playroom on the pediatric floor. Goren liked telling the children stories while Eames enjoyed sing-a-longs. Goren taught them a song in German that he refused to translate for her. He loved Play-Doh, Legos and jigsaw puzzles and Eames played along, delighted to see her partner revel in making the children laugh. For a little while, the kids were able to forget that they were sick.
Now he was home with strict orders to avoid bearing weight on his knee, at least until his first follow-up appointment the next week, but he always had to test the limits of his own endurance. He began trying to bear weight the afternoon he got home. He was bored; what else was he going to do? The sharp increase in pain made him question the wisdom of disobeying the doctors, but a double dose of painkiller put his doubts to rest.
He spent a little more time testing out his knee, then laid down on the couch and slept. The phone woke him. The apartment was dark and he was disoriented as he fumbled for the phone. "Yeah," he muttered into the receiver. "Uh, Goren."
I'm sorry, came Eames' voice. I didn't mean to wake you up.
He sat up slowly, his head still a little fuzzy. "No, it's all right. How are you doing?"
I'm bored, she admitted. My playmate went home this morning.
He laughed softly. "Want me to come back?"
No. They might release me tomorrow afternoon. Have you had dinner?
He looked around the room, searching in the dark for an illuminated timepiece before he realized he wasn't in his bedroom. "What time is it?"
Almost seven.
"Oh. No, I fell asleep sometime around two, I think." He leaned back on the couch and moistened his lips. "I hate this," he grumbled.
Her voice was soft. What did you do?
"Do? Nothing. Why?"
She softly sighed. Have you been trying to bear weight on that knee?
Did she really know him that well? "Uh...I..." he trailed off with a huff and scrubbed a hand over his face.
Just stay put, all right? I'll call Logan and ask him to bring you some dinner.
His voice betrayed his annoyance. "I don't need a babysitter."
No, Bobby. You need a friend. I'll call you later.
The line went silent and he closed the phone. As a compromise to his partner, he used one crutch to get around, so he wasn't bearing his full weight on his knee. Either way, he wasn't able to get around as quickly as he wanted, and he felt his patience with himself wearing thin. He grabbed a glass of water, swallowed another dose of pain medicine and made his way down the hall to the bathroom. After a quick shower, he turned on the light in the corner of the living room and sat on the couch to rebandage his knee. He was almost done when a cop's knock sounded through the room. "It's open."
Logan came into the apartment carrying a paper bag. His eyes immediately scanned the room, noting the pair of crutches leaning against the couch and Goren's leg propped up on the coffee table. His eyes shifted to his friend, wearing cut-off jeans and no shirt. His eyes were drawn to the sutured laceration that ran down his side, but it looked like it was healing well. He looked again at Goren's knee. "A little bird told me you haven't been behaving."
Goren grinned. "I'm fine."
Logan set the bag on the coffee table and sat beside him. "She's trying to talk them into letting her out tomorrow. Apparently, she doesn't like you recovering all on your own."
"She's just bored."
"Yeah, I'm sure that's all it is. What about you?"
"I'm bored, too."
Logan laughed. "That's never a good thing." He pulled the paper bag closer. "Your partner suggested I bring you comfort food. Meatloaf or pot roast?"
Goren's mouth turned up in a smile of soft affection for his partner. "Uh, pot roast is fine."
Logan pulled out a take-out box, checked the contents and set it aside. He handed the second container to Goren and studied him. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm doing all right, Mike."
"Using those crutches like you're supposed to?"
Goren looked at the crutches and shrugged. "I'm using them."
"For what? Stickball?"
Goren smiled. "Not yet, but thanks for the idea."
"Just don't tell Alex I was the one who gave it to you," he said with a laugh.
Goren started to get up. "I can make coffee..."
Logan grabbed him by the waistband of his jeans and yanked him back down. "Oh, no. I know my way around a coffee pot. I'll make the coffee."
Goren gave him a funny look and Logan waved a hand at him. "Don't start. You may not have any fear of your partner, but I know she won't hesitate to kick my ass if I let you get hurt on my watch."
Goren watched him walk into the kitchen. "On your...watch?"
"She doesn't trust you to behave. Does she have reason to be suspicious?"
"Well, uh, maybe..."
"Okay, then." He bustled about making fresh coffee. He looked at the prescription bottle on the counter and rattled the bottle. "Are you taking this stuff?"
"I don't have a lot of choice."
He set the bottle back on the counter. "It hurts that much, huh?"
"I guess."
"When was your last dose?"
Goren scratched his head. "Uh, before I got in the shower."
Since his hair was still damp, Logan knew he wasn't due for another dose. He poured two cups of coffee, black for him, cream for Goren, and carried them into the living room. "Mind if I crash on the couch?"
Goren raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "Why would you do that?"
"I thought we made it clear that I don't particularly want to have my ass kicked by your partner."
He took his coffee from Logan and smiled. "She told you to spend the night?"
"In so many words, yeah. And if you have any feeling of friendship for me at all, you'll use those crutches the way they intended you to while I'm here."
Logan grabbed the remote and switched on the television. Goren took the remote from him and switched it off. "Before you get engrossed in something...what have you found out about Marcy's death?"
Logan had been hoping he wouldn't bring that up, even though he knew better. "We're still investigating."
"Level with me, Mike."
"I am. We are still investigating. We've talked to a handful of witnesses, and we have some more to talk to."
Goren studied him. "You have an idea of what went down. I want to know what happened to Marcy."
"Why, Bobby? What purpose could it possibly serve? What I know for certain is that she took the guy out with a rock before he could take out you and Alex. I'm not sure exactly when or how he got her with the knife. That part of it is still confused. But she saved you both. Leave it at that, pal. Please. Anything else we find is not going to change a thing."
Logan held out his hand for the remote, and Goren studied him for a moment. Then he set the remote back in Logan's hand. As Logan channel-surfed, Goren picked at his food. Logan let him be for the moment. He had a feeling Eames would be calling soon. "Oooh, look," he said with a laugh. "Cindy does Detroit...and Toledo...and Phoenix..."
Goren couldn't help laughing with him. Logan dropped the remote between them, glad that Goren made no attempt to grab it. He finished his dinner, hoping his injured friend would be distracted enough to finish his. When the phone rang, he muted the sound as Goren grabbed the phone. "Goren."
You sound better.
He smiled. "Yes and no."
Is Logan there?
"Yes."
And you're eating dinner?
"Yes, Eames."
She was quiet for a moment. Don't get mad because I care.
His mind recalled the heat he thought he saw in her eyes. At the time, he thought he was mistaken, but the more he thought about it, the less certain he was that it had been his imagination. He moistened his lips. "I'm not mad. I...don't like you being where you are."
Tomorrow, partner. I'll see you sometime tomorrow...promise.
"Who's picking you up?"
Dad. I'll have him drop me off there, if that's all right with you.
"It's fine with me. I mean, if you...uh, I..." He sighed, his eyes straying absently toward the television, then away. "Yes. I would like that."
He could hear the smile in her voice when she replied, I'll see you tomorrow then. Sleep well, Bobby.
"Good night, Eames."
He closed the phone and Logan unmuted the television, pointing to the screen with the remote. "Is that even physically possible?"
Goren laughed and studied the screen. "I don't know. You'll have to find out and let me know."
With another laugh, Logan set down the remote and stretched out his legs, folding his arms behind his head.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Goren tossed restlessly in his sleep, ultimately yielding to pain and troubled dreams. His normal routine was to get up and watch television or read to try to unwind. He rarely returned to sleep before it was time to head in to work. On nights he didn't have to work, he would usually have a few drinks until he was able to sleep again. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn't.
He got out of bed and, using a single crutch, made his way to the kitchen. Alcohol wasn't an option for him at the moment, but the pain medicine they gave him usually did the job. He swallowed two pills, made himself some toast and went back to the bedroom, pausing to watch Logan snore on the couch. He smiled. Logan had proven himself a loyal friend. He didn't have too many of those. He returned to the bedroom, switched on the bedside light and pulled out a book from the drawer in the nightstand. Within the hour, he was sleeping again.
When he woke again, Logan was gone. He fixed a light breakfast and sat on the couch. His plan was to try to get through the day without taking any pain medicine. He wasn't sure how successful he would be, but he was going to try. He really did want to be clear-headed when Eames got there. He was still troubled by what he thought he had seen in her eyes, vacillating between believing it had been there and convincing himself that he was wrong.
Chapter 14: Reunited
Goren's determination to avoid medicating himself for the pain lasted until lunch. Distracted and nauseous, he gave up and swallowed two pills as he forced down a tomato sandwich and a glass of juice. He limped back to the couch and propped his throbbing knee on a pillow, absently changing channels as he waited for the pain to fade. Angry with himself for what he saw as his failure, it took a long time for him to calm and finally yield to the analgesic effects of the medicine. Unfortunately, its sedating properties caught up with him as well.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The room was dark when he woke. He could feel someone's presence in the room and he pushed himself onto his elbows. "Eames?"
"No," came a familiar voice.
He frowned. This wasn't happening. "Who...? This isn't funny."
"No, it's not. I need to talk to you."
"But...you..."
He trailed off, unwilling to put voice to the reality of her fate. So she did it for him. "I know I'm dead. But I left something important undone."
"Yes. Your life. I'm sorry, Marcy."
"No," she whispered. "Your life. I could not bear the thought of losing you, or of you losing her. I have no regrets, and neither should you. I know what I did, and it was a fate that was meant to be, believe me. Bobby, you feel emotion very intensely, and I almost let your attraction for me overwhelm a deeper emotion that you try to hide. Life is too short, and nothing is worse than the feeling of something that should have been but wasn't. Look into your heart and be honest with yourself. You and I were not meant to be. You and her...that's a very different story."
He dropped back onto the couch, eyes searching the dark room, but he saw only shadows. "She's my partner," he protested weakly.
"Follow your heart," her voice whispered on a non-existent breeze.
He closed his eyes, then suddenly sat up. The blue flicker of the television lit the room. Damn...his dreams were getting weird. He combed his fingers through sweat-drenched hair, got up and limped into the kitchen. He looked at the time. Seven-thirty. He took another dose of pain medicine and returned to the couch.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Are you sure you don't want me to come up with you, Alex?"
She smiled affectionately at her father. "I'm positive, Dad." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for the ride."
"Say hello to Bobby for me."
She stepped out of the car. "I will."
Waving at him as he drove off, she turned and looked up at the building through the darkness. She didn't see a light in his apartment window, but sometimes he liked to sit in the dark, watching television and letting his mind wander. She went into the building and rode the elevator to his floor. Stepping from the elevator, she walked down the hall to his door and knocked. Her side was still sore, but she felt a lot better, especially now that she was no longer confined to a hospital room. She hadn't minded being in the hospital too much when Goren was there with her, but once he went home, she found herself bored and lonely. She missed him.
She was also worried about him. She had a feeling he was avoiding his real emotions. Logan told her he was pushing for details that she had asked him not to give, but he was going to find out. Back at work, he would have access to the file, and he would read it. No, not read--he would analyze it. She didn't have a lot of time to prepare him for what he would find and the conclusions he would arrive at, and she had no idea how she was going to do it.
She knocked again, but still received no reply. Placing her hand on the doorknob, she turned it and the door opened. Stepping into the cool, dim interior, she eased the door closed and gave her eyes a moment to adjust to the lighting change. The television was the only light, and the volume on the set was low. She saw the outline of his figure on the couch and she crossed to the corner, turning on the lamp between the couch and the bookcase that ran along the adjoining wall. He didn't stir. Her eyes searched the room, and she found his crutches on the floor between the couch and the coffee table.
Lightly, she sat down in the curve of his hip and slid the remote from where it rested on his chest beneath his hands. His breathing changed and he shifted his position, groaning softly. His tongue swept over his lips and he opened his eyes. He pressed his lips together and tried to focus on her. "You escaped," he murmured with a trace of an amused grin, not questioning her presence in his apartment.
"Yes," she replied. "In a high-speed wheelchair chase."
He laughed softly. She never failed to amuse him. He slowly sat up, running a hand through his hair. His head was still swimming from the last dose of medicine he'd taken. "What time is it?"
"Nine-thirty. Dad insisted on taking me to dinner before he dropped me off. Have you eaten?"
He shook his head. "I've been sleeping."
She started to get up. "I'll fix you something..."
Gently grasping her arm, he shook his head. "No. I'm glad you're feeling better, but you just got out of the hospital. I can take care of myself."
She looked at his hand where it rested on her arm. Her skin came alive, vibrating with a need she denied. He misread her intent as she stared at his hand, and he withdrew it. She swallowed disappointment, quickly hiding it from him. "You...you need to eat," she said quietly.
"I know. I'll fix something."
"Suppose I order a pizza," she suggested.
He thought for a moment, measuring how he was feeling against his desire for food, and he nodded. He could manage a slice or two of pizza. She gave him a smile of encouragement and pulled out her phone. Dialing a number from memory, she reflected sadly that they ate too much take out. After ordering a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza, she returned the phone to her pocket and studied her partner. She didn't like the unfocused look in his eyes, but she knew it was the price he paid for the relief of pain severe enough to drive him to take the medicine in the first place.
She met his eyes and held his gaze for a moment. With great difficulty, she looked away and she found herself unable to speak immediately. Getting up from the couch, she went into the kitchen for a drink of water to distract herself. She wondered about the odd uneasiness that had suddenly sprung up between them. She couldn't explain it, and she wasn't sure he had noticed it. Usually, nothing got past him, but he was distracted by pain and his mind was fogged by medication. There were no guarantees he would notice anything.
She returned to the couch with her glass of water and sat down, but she put a little distance between them. Again, she didn't think he noticed. But he did, and her sudden uneasiness disturbed him. He thought about asking her what was wrong, but changed his mind and sank back into the corner of the couch. Leaning his head back, he let out a slow breath. His mind returned to the dream he'd had. Follow your heart... How was he supposed to do that if he didn't know where his heart lay?
Her voice broke into his thoughts. "What's on your mind?"
He shrugged. "You know how I get."
"Yes, I do. That's why I asked."
He sighed and remained quiet for a while. Finally he said, "We...failed, Eames."
She frowned in confusion. "Failed? Failed what?"
"We didn't do our job. You know, to serve and protect. We failed, and it cost a civilian her life. IAB is going to have field day with us."
"Is that what's bothering you? IAB?"
"Only as far as you are involved."
She was quiet, pensive. "What do you think we could have done differently? You definitely were not at your best. I told her to stay back, more than once. She didn't listen. Tell me how that comes back on us."
"It does, because she died, and that's our fault."
She knew she wasn't going to convince him differently, and she didn't have the energy at the moment to try. She decided to shift the subject a little. "She really liked you," she said quietly. "And I know you felt the same."
It was an observation but he read it as an accusation and the silence between them hung heavy. "Was I wrong?" he finally asked.
She shook her head. "No, because you were genuine. That's one thing I have always admired about you. Your heart is genuine."
His thoughts turned inward, to memories that would never again see the light of reality, because Marcy was gone. He hated the way the medicine tended to make his thoughts disjointed, and that frustrated him. He felt restless, unable to focus his thoughts and his emotions.
Eames watched his restlessness increase, wondering if she'd made a mistake. But which was the mistake: coming to see him or trying to reach him? Did she prefer it when he tried to deny his feelings? If she did, why was she trying to bring him in touch with them? Why? Because she cared about him. She knew that if he didn't come to terms with this, it was going to eat him alive. She could handle it, losing him to a woman of flesh and blood. She would not lose him to a ghost.
Quietly, he said, "Logan told me they're having trouble piecing together what happened in the park."
She nodded. "He told me the same. They're trying."
"I got the feeling there was something he wasn't telling me."
"What makes you say that?" she asked, not certain she quite managed the disinterested tone she was going for.
He was looking at his hands, but her tone made him turn to look at her. She saw suspicion flash in his eyes, and she cursed herself for being unable to hide from him, even when he was impaired. His brow furrowed. "What do you know?"
"Only what Logan told me," she answered, and it was the truth. As she studied his face, she grew uncertain. She had responded to his obvious affection for Marcy with jealousy. How was she going to handle his grief without alienating him? She knew that his playfulness in the hospital had been avoidance. After discussing the incident with Logan, he was faced with the reality of what had happened, and it wasn't so easy to ignore it any more. Now, he wanted to know exactly what had gone down, and she was afraid of how he would react if he ever got his answers.
He had no reservations about wanting to know what had happened. His partner had been injured and a civilian had died at the hands of a man they were in the process of taking into custody. That did not sit well with him. He had to know what happened, how the events had played out, how Marcy had died. He hated not having answers.
He continued to study Eames, and his eyes strayed to the hand she placed absently over her injured side. When she moved her hand, he reached toward her, and his fingers brushed over her side. He felt the bandage, and even through her shirt, he could tell her skin was warm to the touch. "Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice carrying a tone he rarely used with her.
She could not help her reaction to the tone in his voice. Deep, soft affection made his words tender, and she felt her pulse quicken. "A little, yes."
"Do you...remember...how it happened? I mean...when..."
"Yes, I do." She touched the healing knife wound on his side. "Do you remember what happened to you?"
He nodded. "Yes. Do you know when Marcy was injured?"
"No. I never saw that. It was after he took out both of us. That's all I know." She watched his expression as he stared in the general direction of her hip. "Bobby..." She struggled to keep her voice gentle. "You did not pull the trigger. You did not wield the knife." She rested her hand over his. "You do not own this injury, and you are not responsible for Marcy's murder. We did not fail anyone. We did our job. You cannot take ownership for every nut job we encounter." He stiffened and she moved her hand to rest on his arm. "Listen to me. Do not think I am saying this because I didn't like Marcy. I was getting to like her. I really was." She did not add that she was jealous of his attraction to her; that was not something he needed to know. "What happened was unfortunate, and I am very sorry Marcy died. I wish we could change that. But we can't, and I don't want to see this eat at you. Maybe you think it should have been you. I disagree, and you belittle her memory by thinking that way. She made a sacrifice, willing or not, and we cannot take that away from her. So honor her memory and her sacrifice by accepting what happened and moving on."
Before he could answer, someone knocked on the door. She touched his cheek gently, then got up and went to the door. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. Honor her memory... follow your heart...
Two women he deeply cared for, one gone, one right here, alive and well. Eames. He watched her as she paid for the pizza and carried it to the coffee table. She went into the kitchen, returning with two cans of cola. He continued to watch her. Eames...deep, intelligent eyes the color of warm honey, hair that reminded him of spun gold, a loving heart that allowed her to bear her sister's son...the same heart that led her to stay with him, to put up with him and challenge him, to love him...
To love him...The more he considered it, the more certain he became that, on some level, she did love him. But how did he feel? She opened the pizza box and withdrew a piece of the pie, placing it on a paper towel and handing it to him. He accepted it, keeping his eyes on her. She met his gaze without hesitation. "Thank you," he murmured, turning his attention from her.
He was not referring just to the pizza, but he wasn't sure he was ready for her to know that. She answered, "You're welcome."
Once he finished eating, his restless anxiety faded some and the tension between them eased. He noticed when she started to doze where she was sitting, and he reached out to touch her cheek. She turned her head and looked at him. "Why don't you go into the bedroom?" he asked. "You can sleep in the bed."
"Thanks, but I am not going to chase you out of your bed."
Her choice of words caused a funny reaction deep in his stomach, but he ignored it, blaming the medication. "I don't mind. I sleep well on the couch."
She smiled. "So do I. Your couch is more comfortable than my bed." She reached toward him and closed her hand over his, giving it an affectionate squeeze. "Go to bed, Bobby. I'll be here in the morning."
He could not deny his fatigue. He resented the loss of his energy and stamina, and Eames seemed to understand that. She lifted the crutches from the floor and held them for him. He took them and stood, bracing the crutches beneath his arms. "Thank you, Eames. You, uh, you know where the extra blankets and pillows are."
"Yes, I do. I'll be fine."
He nodded and crossed the room. When he got to the hallway, he turned and looked at her. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Finally, he said, "I'm...I'm glad you're here."
She sensed that wasn't what he wanted to say, but she accepted it as though it was. "So am I. Good night, Bobby."
She watched him make his way down the hall. The pain was sapping his energy and she hated to see that. As much as his endless supply of energy drove her up a wall, when it was diminished in any way, it troubled her deeply. She waited for the door to close before she pulled out her phone and called Logan. She had not had a chance to talk to him and she wanted to know how Goren had been the night before when they talked.
He answered with: Now, suppose I was asleep, Eames.
She rolled her eyes. "I would have woken you up, but you weren't, so stop bitching."
He laughed quietly. How's the big guy?
"Probably about the same. He's decided to try to get by without his pain medicine, but it's not working and that annoys him." She sighed. "Tell me how it went last night when you talked to him."
He didn't have to ask what she meant. He wants to know the details.
"He can't know the details."
Sweetheart, I don't have what he wants to know, and I'm not sure it'll ever come out. Half the witnesses we talked to didn't know what they were seeing, until they saw the blood. Then they shut down. Blood does that to people. But Bobby's smart. He's going to piece it together from the bits of the puzzle we do have. He will have access to the full file when he goes back to work. The truth of the matter is that she sacrificed herself to save the two of you. That's going to go against his grain.
"He already knows it. It's something he has to come to terms with, and he's struggling."
There's one thing strongly in his favor.
"What's that?"
He has you. I think he'll be all right, Alex.
"He has me..." She smiled sadly. "Thanks, Mike."
If you need me, you know where I am. Try to get some rest. You're still healing, too.
The rumors circulating the department about Logan, like the ones about Goren, were not kind, but Eames found that, like most gossip, they had little basis in fact. Maybe Logan was a hothead, but he was also a loyal, caring friend, if one chose to draw him in that close. "Good night, Mike."
Good night, Alex.
She closed the phone and set it on the coffee table. Again, she looked down the hall at the closed door of his bedroom. Retrieving a pillow and blanket from the hall closet where he kept them, she made herself comfortable on the couch and went to sleep.
Goren's determination to avoid medicating himself for the pain lasted until lunch. Distracted and nauseous, he gave up and swallowed two pills as he forced down a tomato sandwich and a glass of juice. He limped back to the couch and propped his throbbing knee on a pillow, absently changing channels as he waited for the pain to fade. Angry with himself for what he saw as his failure, it took a long time for him to calm and finally yield to the analgesic effects of the medicine. Unfortunately, its sedating properties caught up with him as well.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The room was dark when he woke. He could feel someone's presence in the room and he pushed himself onto his elbows. "Eames?"
"No," came a familiar voice.
He frowned. This wasn't happening. "Who...? This isn't funny."
"No, it's not. I need to talk to you."
"But...you..."
He trailed off, unwilling to put voice to the reality of her fate. So she did it for him. "I know I'm dead. But I left something important undone."
"Yes. Your life. I'm sorry, Marcy."
"No," she whispered. "Your life. I could not bear the thought of losing you, or of you losing her. I have no regrets, and neither should you. I know what I did, and it was a fate that was meant to be, believe me. Bobby, you feel emotion very intensely, and I almost let your attraction for me overwhelm a deeper emotion that you try to hide. Life is too short, and nothing is worse than the feeling of something that should have been but wasn't. Look into your heart and be honest with yourself. You and I were not meant to be. You and her...that's a very different story."
He dropped back onto the couch, eyes searching the dark room, but he saw only shadows. "She's my partner," he protested weakly.
"Follow your heart," her voice whispered on a non-existent breeze.
He closed his eyes, then suddenly sat up. The blue flicker of the television lit the room. Damn...his dreams were getting weird. He combed his fingers through sweat-drenched hair, got up and limped into the kitchen. He looked at the time. Seven-thirty. He took another dose of pain medicine and returned to the couch.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Are you sure you don't want me to come up with you, Alex?"
She smiled affectionately at her father. "I'm positive, Dad." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for the ride."
"Say hello to Bobby for me."
She stepped out of the car. "I will."
Waving at him as he drove off, she turned and looked up at the building through the darkness. She didn't see a light in his apartment window, but sometimes he liked to sit in the dark, watching television and letting his mind wander. She went into the building and rode the elevator to his floor. Stepping from the elevator, she walked down the hall to his door and knocked. Her side was still sore, but she felt a lot better, especially now that she was no longer confined to a hospital room. She hadn't minded being in the hospital too much when Goren was there with her, but once he went home, she found herself bored and lonely. She missed him.
She was also worried about him. She had a feeling he was avoiding his real emotions. Logan told her he was pushing for details that she had asked him not to give, but he was going to find out. Back at work, he would have access to the file, and he would read it. No, not read--he would analyze it. She didn't have a lot of time to prepare him for what he would find and the conclusions he would arrive at, and she had no idea how she was going to do it.
She knocked again, but still received no reply. Placing her hand on the doorknob, she turned it and the door opened. Stepping into the cool, dim interior, she eased the door closed and gave her eyes a moment to adjust to the lighting change. The television was the only light, and the volume on the set was low. She saw the outline of his figure on the couch and she crossed to the corner, turning on the lamp between the couch and the bookcase that ran along the adjoining wall. He didn't stir. Her eyes searched the room, and she found his crutches on the floor between the couch and the coffee table.
Lightly, she sat down in the curve of his hip and slid the remote from where it rested on his chest beneath his hands. His breathing changed and he shifted his position, groaning softly. His tongue swept over his lips and he opened his eyes. He pressed his lips together and tried to focus on her. "You escaped," he murmured with a trace of an amused grin, not questioning her presence in his apartment.
"Yes," she replied. "In a high-speed wheelchair chase."
He laughed softly. She never failed to amuse him. He slowly sat up, running a hand through his hair. His head was still swimming from the last dose of medicine he'd taken. "What time is it?"
"Nine-thirty. Dad insisted on taking me to dinner before he dropped me off. Have you eaten?"
He shook his head. "I've been sleeping."
She started to get up. "I'll fix you something..."
Gently grasping her arm, he shook his head. "No. I'm glad you're feeling better, but you just got out of the hospital. I can take care of myself."
She looked at his hand where it rested on her arm. Her skin came alive, vibrating with a need she denied. He misread her intent as she stared at his hand, and he withdrew it. She swallowed disappointment, quickly hiding it from him. "You...you need to eat," she said quietly.
"I know. I'll fix something."
"Suppose I order a pizza," she suggested.
He thought for a moment, measuring how he was feeling against his desire for food, and he nodded. He could manage a slice or two of pizza. She gave him a smile of encouragement and pulled out her phone. Dialing a number from memory, she reflected sadly that they ate too much take out. After ordering a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza, she returned the phone to her pocket and studied her partner. She didn't like the unfocused look in his eyes, but she knew it was the price he paid for the relief of pain severe enough to drive him to take the medicine in the first place.
She met his eyes and held his gaze for a moment. With great difficulty, she looked away and she found herself unable to speak immediately. Getting up from the couch, she went into the kitchen for a drink of water to distract herself. She wondered about the odd uneasiness that had suddenly sprung up between them. She couldn't explain it, and she wasn't sure he had noticed it. Usually, nothing got past him, but he was distracted by pain and his mind was fogged by medication. There were no guarantees he would notice anything.
She returned to the couch with her glass of water and sat down, but she put a little distance between them. Again, she didn't think he noticed. But he did, and her sudden uneasiness disturbed him. He thought about asking her what was wrong, but changed his mind and sank back into the corner of the couch. Leaning his head back, he let out a slow breath. His mind returned to the dream he'd had. Follow your heart... How was he supposed to do that if he didn't know where his heart lay?
Her voice broke into his thoughts. "What's on your mind?"
He shrugged. "You know how I get."
"Yes, I do. That's why I asked."
He sighed and remained quiet for a while. Finally he said, "We...failed, Eames."
She frowned in confusion. "Failed? Failed what?"
"We didn't do our job. You know, to serve and protect. We failed, and it cost a civilian her life. IAB is going to have field day with us."
"Is that what's bothering you? IAB?"
"Only as far as you are involved."
She was quiet, pensive. "What do you think we could have done differently? You definitely were not at your best. I told her to stay back, more than once. She didn't listen. Tell me how that comes back on us."
"It does, because she died, and that's our fault."
She knew she wasn't going to convince him differently, and she didn't have the energy at the moment to try. She decided to shift the subject a little. "She really liked you," she said quietly. "And I know you felt the same."
It was an observation but he read it as an accusation and the silence between them hung heavy. "Was I wrong?" he finally asked.
She shook her head. "No, because you were genuine. That's one thing I have always admired about you. Your heart is genuine."
His thoughts turned inward, to memories that would never again see the light of reality, because Marcy was gone. He hated the way the medicine tended to make his thoughts disjointed, and that frustrated him. He felt restless, unable to focus his thoughts and his emotions.
Eames watched his restlessness increase, wondering if she'd made a mistake. But which was the mistake: coming to see him or trying to reach him? Did she prefer it when he tried to deny his feelings? If she did, why was she trying to bring him in touch with them? Why? Because she cared about him. She knew that if he didn't come to terms with this, it was going to eat him alive. She could handle it, losing him to a woman of flesh and blood. She would not lose him to a ghost.
Quietly, he said, "Logan told me they're having trouble piecing together what happened in the park."
She nodded. "He told me the same. They're trying."
"I got the feeling there was something he wasn't telling me."
"What makes you say that?" she asked, not certain she quite managed the disinterested tone she was going for.
He was looking at his hands, but her tone made him turn to look at her. She saw suspicion flash in his eyes, and she cursed herself for being unable to hide from him, even when he was impaired. His brow furrowed. "What do you know?"
"Only what Logan told me," she answered, and it was the truth. As she studied his face, she grew uncertain. She had responded to his obvious affection for Marcy with jealousy. How was she going to handle his grief without alienating him? She knew that his playfulness in the hospital had been avoidance. After discussing the incident with Logan, he was faced with the reality of what had happened, and it wasn't so easy to ignore it any more. Now, he wanted to know exactly what had gone down, and she was afraid of how he would react if he ever got his answers.
He had no reservations about wanting to know what had happened. His partner had been injured and a civilian had died at the hands of a man they were in the process of taking into custody. That did not sit well with him. He had to know what happened, how the events had played out, how Marcy had died. He hated not having answers.
He continued to study Eames, and his eyes strayed to the hand she placed absently over her injured side. When she moved her hand, he reached toward her, and his fingers brushed over her side. He felt the bandage, and even through her shirt, he could tell her skin was warm to the touch. "Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice carrying a tone he rarely used with her.
She could not help her reaction to the tone in his voice. Deep, soft affection made his words tender, and she felt her pulse quicken. "A little, yes."
"Do you...remember...how it happened? I mean...when..."
"Yes, I do." She touched the healing knife wound on his side. "Do you remember what happened to you?"
He nodded. "Yes. Do you know when Marcy was injured?"
"No. I never saw that. It was after he took out both of us. That's all I know." She watched his expression as he stared in the general direction of her hip. "Bobby..." She struggled to keep her voice gentle. "You did not pull the trigger. You did not wield the knife." She rested her hand over his. "You do not own this injury, and you are not responsible for Marcy's murder. We did not fail anyone. We did our job. You cannot take ownership for every nut job we encounter." He stiffened and she moved her hand to rest on his arm. "Listen to me. Do not think I am saying this because I didn't like Marcy. I was getting to like her. I really was." She did not add that she was jealous of his attraction to her; that was not something he needed to know. "What happened was unfortunate, and I am very sorry Marcy died. I wish we could change that. But we can't, and I don't want to see this eat at you. Maybe you think it should have been you. I disagree, and you belittle her memory by thinking that way. She made a sacrifice, willing or not, and we cannot take that away from her. So honor her memory and her sacrifice by accepting what happened and moving on."
Before he could answer, someone knocked on the door. She touched his cheek gently, then got up and went to the door. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. Honor her memory... follow your heart...
Two women he deeply cared for, one gone, one right here, alive and well. Eames. He watched her as she paid for the pizza and carried it to the coffee table. She went into the kitchen, returning with two cans of cola. He continued to watch her. Eames...deep, intelligent eyes the color of warm honey, hair that reminded him of spun gold, a loving heart that allowed her to bear her sister's son...the same heart that led her to stay with him, to put up with him and challenge him, to love him...
To love him...The more he considered it, the more certain he became that, on some level, she did love him. But how did he feel? She opened the pizza box and withdrew a piece of the pie, placing it on a paper towel and handing it to him. He accepted it, keeping his eyes on her. She met his gaze without hesitation. "Thank you," he murmured, turning his attention from her.
He was not referring just to the pizza, but he wasn't sure he was ready for her to know that. She answered, "You're welcome."
Once he finished eating, his restless anxiety faded some and the tension between them eased. He noticed when she started to doze where she was sitting, and he reached out to touch her cheek. She turned her head and looked at him. "Why don't you go into the bedroom?" he asked. "You can sleep in the bed."
"Thanks, but I am not going to chase you out of your bed."
Her choice of words caused a funny reaction deep in his stomach, but he ignored it, blaming the medication. "I don't mind. I sleep well on the couch."
She smiled. "So do I. Your couch is more comfortable than my bed." She reached toward him and closed her hand over his, giving it an affectionate squeeze. "Go to bed, Bobby. I'll be here in the morning."
He could not deny his fatigue. He resented the loss of his energy and stamina, and Eames seemed to understand that. She lifted the crutches from the floor and held them for him. He took them and stood, bracing the crutches beneath his arms. "Thank you, Eames. You, uh, you know where the extra blankets and pillows are."
"Yes, I do. I'll be fine."
He nodded and crossed the room. When he got to the hallway, he turned and looked at her. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Finally, he said, "I'm...I'm glad you're here."
She sensed that wasn't what he wanted to say, but she accepted it as though it was. "So am I. Good night, Bobby."
She watched him make his way down the hall. The pain was sapping his energy and she hated to see that. As much as his endless supply of energy drove her up a wall, when it was diminished in any way, it troubled her deeply. She waited for the door to close before she pulled out her phone and called Logan. She had not had a chance to talk to him and she wanted to know how Goren had been the night before when they talked.
He answered with: Now, suppose I was asleep, Eames.
She rolled her eyes. "I would have woken you up, but you weren't, so stop bitching."
He laughed quietly. How's the big guy?
"Probably about the same. He's decided to try to get by without his pain medicine, but it's not working and that annoys him." She sighed. "Tell me how it went last night when you talked to him."
He didn't have to ask what she meant. He wants to know the details.
"He can't know the details."
Sweetheart, I don't have what he wants to know, and I'm not sure it'll ever come out. Half the witnesses we talked to didn't know what they were seeing, until they saw the blood. Then they shut down. Blood does that to people. But Bobby's smart. He's going to piece it together from the bits of the puzzle we do have. He will have access to the full file when he goes back to work. The truth of the matter is that she sacrificed herself to save the two of you. That's going to go against his grain.
"He already knows it. It's something he has to come to terms with, and he's struggling."
There's one thing strongly in his favor.
"What's that?"
He has you. I think he'll be all right, Alex.
"He has me..." She smiled sadly. "Thanks, Mike."
If you need me, you know where I am. Try to get some rest. You're still healing, too.
The rumors circulating the department about Logan, like the ones about Goren, were not kind, but Eames found that, like most gossip, they had little basis in fact. Maybe Logan was a hothead, but he was also a loyal, caring friend, if one chose to draw him in that close. "Good night, Mike."
Good night, Alex.
She closed the phone and set it on the coffee table. Again, she looked down the hall at the closed door of his bedroom. Retrieving a pillow and blanket from the hall closet where he kept them, she made herself comfortable on the couch and went to sleep.
Chapter 15: Echoes of Reality
After a restless night plagued by dreams of the shooting, Eames woke to the smell of bacon cooking. She got up and went down the hall to the bathroom. Returning to the living room, she crossed over to the kitchen, where Goren stood at the stove. His crutches rested against the counter beside the refrigerator. He looked at her, and his brow furrowed with concern. "You look...tired."
"Don't be diplomatic. I look like crap."
He shook his head. "You never look like crap, Eames, but you do look, um...troubled."
She shook her head. "I just didn't sleep well, that's all."
"You should have slept in the bed."
"That's not it. Your couch is very comfortable. I still hurt enough to disturb my sleep."
It was mostly the truth. She wasn't willing to bother him with her nightmares; he had enough of his own. After he dished out the eggs and bacon, she took the plates to the table, returning for the coffee. They ate in companionable silence, both lost in their own thoughts.
When they were done eating, she carried their dishes into the kitchen and started to clean up, but he stopped her. "Don't baby me, Eames. I can clean up my own mess. Right now, I want you to go into the bedroom and get some sleep."
"Bobby..."
"Don't argue with me. If you don't rest, you won't heal. Now go on."
"I'm fine..."
"You don't let me get away with that," he interrupted, steering her out of the kitchen.
"Your crutches..."
"If you lay down in the bedroom, I'll use the crutches."
"That's bribery."
"Yes, it is."
"Dammit, Bobby. You're not playing fair."
"I don't care. Go on."
She glared at him, but he refused to give in. She knew he would not yield when he felt strongly about something, and finally, she gave in. If it got him to use the crutches, it was worth it. "Promise you'll use the crutches?"
"You have my word."
She sighed heavily. "Fine. But if you don't, I'll beat you with them."
He smiled, and she couldn't help responding with a smile of her own. He watched her leave the kitchen, remaining still until he heard the bedroom door close.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When she woke, she swore she heard voices coming from the living room. She got up, went into the bathroom, and then walked down the hall to the living room. Logan was sitting on the couch, talking to Goren who was in the kitchen. As soon as she came into the room, he switched off the television and grinned at her. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty."
"What are you up to, Logan?"
He feigned an innocent look. "Me? I just came by for lunch."
Goren came limping out of the kitchen with a plate and a cup of coffee, stopping when she crossed her arms and looked at him. He gave her a smile. "Sleep well?"
"Yes, I did. I thought we had a deal. Why aren't you using those crutches?"
"I asked the same question," Logan insisted.
Goren handed him the plate and cup. "Shut up and eat, Mike. Don't help."
Logan took his lunch with a chuckle as Goren defended himself. "I was, but I can't carry anything and use the crutches."
"So you get Logan to do the carrying."
"I offered," Logan said, unwilling to risk incurring her anger.
Goren glared at him. "Just eat, will you?"
Eames stepped up to him, pressing her hands into his chest. "You promised," she said softly.
"All right," he conceded. "They're right here. I swear, I was using them all morning."
Logan took a bite of his sandwich and took another shot at helping Goren by distracting Eames. "That shooter from the park woke up this morning. You guys won't believe the crap he's spouting."
Eames motioned for him to wait as Goren went back into the kitchen. She watched him fix another sandwich, which she took before he could take another step. She grabbed his lunch, too, and carried both sandwiches to the living room. Returning to the kitchen, she prepared two more cups as Goren used the crutches to hobble into the living room and sit down. She brought the coffee into the room and sat beside Logan on the couch. "All right, Mike, what's he saying?" she asked.
"He's crying self-defense. You know, the old police brutality defense. He was a little taken aback when we told him the one who hit him with the rock was neither armed nor was she a cop, and he turned white when he found out he is going to stand trial for her murder." He looked at Goren. "Try explaining that one. He goes on a shooting spree, then acts surprised when we charge him with murder. Then there's IAB, snooping around and trying to cause trouble. They've already read the file from cover to cover and they'll probably be trying to talk to you guys at home, but I don't think Ross will let them. He's been watching them like a hawk and just before I left he was going off on them about letting you two recover in peace. He told them he'll bring you in to talk when you've had a chance to heal some. So if they come knocking on your door, call Ross. He'll send Wheeler and me over to stomp on them. I'll do anything you want if you call him anyway. I'm dying to put these two in their place. They're looking for any excuse to pin this on you. They claim it's fishy that Marcy showed up on the scene with you."
Eames gave an annoyed huff. "We tried to leave her out of it."
Logan nodded. "Several witnesses said they heard you telling her to stay put. But you know IAB. They don't want to clear you in this shooting. The more it looks like they'll have to, the more unhappy they get." He paused for a moment, suddenly uncomfortable. He looked at Goren. "Uh, they're digging for any evidence that your relationship with her was more than professional, so if you slept with her, I hope you were careful and kept it buried deep."
Irritated, Goren snapped, "I didn't sleep with her. And even if I did, there's nothing wrong with it. My private life is my own damn business and I resent anyone poking around in it."
"That's not how IAB sees it," Logan ventured. "I'm telling you, buddy, they're trying to pin this on you. They're pissed that a civilian consultant showed up at the scene of a shooting with two NYPD officers and was killed. They like Eames, so guess who's getting the heat."
"Fine," Goren growled. "Let them try. I didn't do anything wrong and neither did Eames."
Logan's voice was quiet. "Who did she show up at the scene with?"
"She was with me," Goren answered, and Eames knew he was in protective mode.
"Bobby..." she began, knowing any heat that was turned on her would be quickly dissipated.
He waved a hand irritably. "No, Eames. She was with me. Let IAB come after me."
"You are not bulletproof," she said.
He met her eyes. "Neither are you...and you have a hell of a lot more to lose than I do. They want to focus on me; let them. I didn't do anything wrong. Not this time."
Logan interjected. "When has that ever mattered to IAB or stopped them from going after an innocent cop because they want answers?"
Goren raised his chin defiantly. "I'm not afraid of IAB."
Eames didn't back down. "I know you're not. But we're partners..."
"Don't, Eames," he warned quietly. "I'll stand alone on this. It was my decision to let her drive me to the park. She was there because of me. If it's going to come down on anyone, it will come down on me."
She pointed a finger at him. "Marcy was a big girl, Goren. She made her own decisions." She was not willing to let him take the fall for something that was not his fault. "This is on her, damn it, not you."
Logan stepped in again to defuse the tension between the partners. "That's what the evidence is pointing to as well." He looked at Goren. "Don't let your guilt lead you to do something stupid, Bobby. You bear no blame in this. So, she showed up with you. That is entirely beside the point. There were lots of people in the park that day. It was lunchtime on a nice day. It wasn't her fault, or yours, that some nut chose to hold target practice from Belvedere Castle that afternoon. But it was her fault that she didn't listen to your partner and stay out of the way. I'm sorry to say it, but that makes it her fault that she was killed."
...And you weren't, Eames added in her head, watching the parade of emotions that crossed her partner's face. Aloud, however, she only said, "He's right, Bobby."
As Logan finished his sandwich, Goren's agitation got the better of him. Angrily, he got to his feet and began pacing, casting a brief glance at his partner that dared her to challenge him. She let his challenge go unanswered for the moment. Logan set aside his empty plate and said, "I need to get back. After IAB talks to you guys, I know they're going to reach the same conclusion we did..." He pointed at Goren. "If you don't sabotage yourself. But it's your partnership and your job." He shrugged. "And the memory of a woman you really liked."
Goren's eyes narrowed. "That was low, Logan."
"Maybe so, but deny it if it's not true."
Goren glared at him, but he turned away without responding. Logan looked at Eames, who gave him a brief smile. He shrugged. He'd tried. "I gotta get back to work. Later, guys."
"Thanks, Mike," Eames said, but Goren said nothing.
Logan knew he was annoyed, but Eames would take care of him. He left the apartment and Eames studied her partner. "Don't punish yourself, Bobby."
"She..."
He trailed off, but even in that one word, Eames heard his grief. In the silence that filled the room, she heard Marcy's voice as clearly as if she were standing there with them. You do know that he loves you...I wonder if you realize just how much he cares...You will never regret loving him...
She crossed the room without saying another word, placing her hand flat against his back. He turned his head toward her and looked at her, wondering if she was still angry, surprised to see she was not. Even more surprising, though, was what he did see in her eyes. The desire he had seen in the hospital, the love she had not meant for him to see then, was now clear in her eyes. There was no mistake this time, no way to misinterpret, no reason to doubt. ...nothing is worse than the feeling of something that should have been but wasn't.
Eames was tired of fighting, tired of hiding. It was time to be honest with him, and she prayed he could be honest with her in return. She was taking a chance, hoping he felt the same way. It's impossible not to respond to his intensity...He loves you...
He raised his hand to touch her chin, applying enough pressure to raise her face toward his as he brought his mouth closer to hers. She closed her eyes in anticipation half a second before he kissed her.
After a restless night plagued by dreams of the shooting, Eames woke to the smell of bacon cooking. She got up and went down the hall to the bathroom. Returning to the living room, she crossed over to the kitchen, where Goren stood at the stove. His crutches rested against the counter beside the refrigerator. He looked at her, and his brow furrowed with concern. "You look...tired."
"Don't be diplomatic. I look like crap."
He shook his head. "You never look like crap, Eames, but you do look, um...troubled."
She shook her head. "I just didn't sleep well, that's all."
"You should have slept in the bed."
"That's not it. Your couch is very comfortable. I still hurt enough to disturb my sleep."
It was mostly the truth. She wasn't willing to bother him with her nightmares; he had enough of his own. After he dished out the eggs and bacon, she took the plates to the table, returning for the coffee. They ate in companionable silence, both lost in their own thoughts.
When they were done eating, she carried their dishes into the kitchen and started to clean up, but he stopped her. "Don't baby me, Eames. I can clean up my own mess. Right now, I want you to go into the bedroom and get some sleep."
"Bobby..."
"Don't argue with me. If you don't rest, you won't heal. Now go on."
"I'm fine..."
"You don't let me get away with that," he interrupted, steering her out of the kitchen.
"Your crutches..."
"If you lay down in the bedroom, I'll use the crutches."
"That's bribery."
"Yes, it is."
"Dammit, Bobby. You're not playing fair."
"I don't care. Go on."
She glared at him, but he refused to give in. She knew he would not yield when he felt strongly about something, and finally, she gave in. If it got him to use the crutches, it was worth it. "Promise you'll use the crutches?"
"You have my word."
She sighed heavily. "Fine. But if you don't, I'll beat you with them."
He smiled, and she couldn't help responding with a smile of her own. He watched her leave the kitchen, remaining still until he heard the bedroom door close.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When she woke, she swore she heard voices coming from the living room. She got up, went into the bathroom, and then walked down the hall to the living room. Logan was sitting on the couch, talking to Goren who was in the kitchen. As soon as she came into the room, he switched off the television and grinned at her. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty."
"What are you up to, Logan?"
He feigned an innocent look. "Me? I just came by for lunch."
Goren came limping out of the kitchen with a plate and a cup of coffee, stopping when she crossed her arms and looked at him. He gave her a smile. "Sleep well?"
"Yes, I did. I thought we had a deal. Why aren't you using those crutches?"
"I asked the same question," Logan insisted.
Goren handed him the plate and cup. "Shut up and eat, Mike. Don't help."
Logan took his lunch with a chuckle as Goren defended himself. "I was, but I can't carry anything and use the crutches."
"So you get Logan to do the carrying."
"I offered," Logan said, unwilling to risk incurring her anger.
Goren glared at him. "Just eat, will you?"
Eames stepped up to him, pressing her hands into his chest. "You promised," she said softly.
"All right," he conceded. "They're right here. I swear, I was using them all morning."
Logan took a bite of his sandwich and took another shot at helping Goren by distracting Eames. "That shooter from the park woke up this morning. You guys won't believe the crap he's spouting."
Eames motioned for him to wait as Goren went back into the kitchen. She watched him fix another sandwich, which she took before he could take another step. She grabbed his lunch, too, and carried both sandwiches to the living room. Returning to the kitchen, she prepared two more cups as Goren used the crutches to hobble into the living room and sit down. She brought the coffee into the room and sat beside Logan on the couch. "All right, Mike, what's he saying?" she asked.
"He's crying self-defense. You know, the old police brutality defense. He was a little taken aback when we told him the one who hit him with the rock was neither armed nor was she a cop, and he turned white when he found out he is going to stand trial for her murder." He looked at Goren. "Try explaining that one. He goes on a shooting spree, then acts surprised when we charge him with murder. Then there's IAB, snooping around and trying to cause trouble. They've already read the file from cover to cover and they'll probably be trying to talk to you guys at home, but I don't think Ross will let them. He's been watching them like a hawk and just before I left he was going off on them about letting you two recover in peace. He told them he'll bring you in to talk when you've had a chance to heal some. So if they come knocking on your door, call Ross. He'll send Wheeler and me over to stomp on them. I'll do anything you want if you call him anyway. I'm dying to put these two in their place. They're looking for any excuse to pin this on you. They claim it's fishy that Marcy showed up on the scene with you."
Eames gave an annoyed huff. "We tried to leave her out of it."
Logan nodded. "Several witnesses said they heard you telling her to stay put. But you know IAB. They don't want to clear you in this shooting. The more it looks like they'll have to, the more unhappy they get." He paused for a moment, suddenly uncomfortable. He looked at Goren. "Uh, they're digging for any evidence that your relationship with her was more than professional, so if you slept with her, I hope you were careful and kept it buried deep."
Irritated, Goren snapped, "I didn't sleep with her. And even if I did, there's nothing wrong with it. My private life is my own damn business and I resent anyone poking around in it."
"That's not how IAB sees it," Logan ventured. "I'm telling you, buddy, they're trying to pin this on you. They're pissed that a civilian consultant showed up at the scene of a shooting with two NYPD officers and was killed. They like Eames, so guess who's getting the heat."
"Fine," Goren growled. "Let them try. I didn't do anything wrong and neither did Eames."
Logan's voice was quiet. "Who did she show up at the scene with?"
"She was with me," Goren answered, and Eames knew he was in protective mode.
"Bobby..." she began, knowing any heat that was turned on her would be quickly dissipated.
He waved a hand irritably. "No, Eames. She was with me. Let IAB come after me."
"You are not bulletproof," she said.
He met her eyes. "Neither are you...and you have a hell of a lot more to lose than I do. They want to focus on me; let them. I didn't do anything wrong. Not this time."
Logan interjected. "When has that ever mattered to IAB or stopped them from going after an innocent cop because they want answers?"
Goren raised his chin defiantly. "I'm not afraid of IAB."
Eames didn't back down. "I know you're not. But we're partners..."
"Don't, Eames," he warned quietly. "I'll stand alone on this. It was my decision to let her drive me to the park. She was there because of me. If it's going to come down on anyone, it will come down on me."
She pointed a finger at him. "Marcy was a big girl, Goren. She made her own decisions." She was not willing to let him take the fall for something that was not his fault. "This is on her, damn it, not you."
Logan stepped in again to defuse the tension between the partners. "That's what the evidence is pointing to as well." He looked at Goren. "Don't let your guilt lead you to do something stupid, Bobby. You bear no blame in this. So, she showed up with you. That is entirely beside the point. There were lots of people in the park that day. It was lunchtime on a nice day. It wasn't her fault, or yours, that some nut chose to hold target practice from Belvedere Castle that afternoon. But it was her fault that she didn't listen to your partner and stay out of the way. I'm sorry to say it, but that makes it her fault that she was killed."
...And you weren't, Eames added in her head, watching the parade of emotions that crossed her partner's face. Aloud, however, she only said, "He's right, Bobby."
As Logan finished his sandwich, Goren's agitation got the better of him. Angrily, he got to his feet and began pacing, casting a brief glance at his partner that dared her to challenge him. She let his challenge go unanswered for the moment. Logan set aside his empty plate and said, "I need to get back. After IAB talks to you guys, I know they're going to reach the same conclusion we did..." He pointed at Goren. "If you don't sabotage yourself. But it's your partnership and your job." He shrugged. "And the memory of a woman you really liked."
Goren's eyes narrowed. "That was low, Logan."
"Maybe so, but deny it if it's not true."
Goren glared at him, but he turned away without responding. Logan looked at Eames, who gave him a brief smile. He shrugged. He'd tried. "I gotta get back to work. Later, guys."
"Thanks, Mike," Eames said, but Goren said nothing.
Logan knew he was annoyed, but Eames would take care of him. He left the apartment and Eames studied her partner. "Don't punish yourself, Bobby."
"She..."
He trailed off, but even in that one word, Eames heard his grief. In the silence that filled the room, she heard Marcy's voice as clearly as if she were standing there with them. You do know that he loves you...I wonder if you realize just how much he cares...You will never regret loving him...
She crossed the room without saying another word, placing her hand flat against his back. He turned his head toward her and looked at her, wondering if she was still angry, surprised to see she was not. Even more surprising, though, was what he did see in her eyes. The desire he had seen in the hospital, the love she had not meant for him to see then, was now clear in her eyes. There was no mistake this time, no way to misinterpret, no reason to doubt. ...nothing is worse than the feeling of something that should have been but wasn't.
Eames was tired of fighting, tired of hiding. It was time to be honest with him, and she prayed he could be honest with her in return. She was taking a chance, hoping he felt the same way. It's impossible not to respond to his intensity...He loves you...
He raised his hand to touch her chin, applying enough pressure to raise her face toward his as he brought his mouth closer to hers. She closed her eyes in anticipation half a second before he kissed her.
Chapter 16: Interrogation
Goren sat at the table in the conference room, glaring at the two officers who sat across from him. They'd already talked with Eames, and when she came out of the room, she'd looked angry and upset, but he had not had a chance to talk with her. The last he saw of her, she was talking to Ross and Logan, gesticulating angrily. Her shoulders shook with emotion, and that upset him, that these two men would do that to her. He knew the tactics; he'd used them himself. Divide and conquer. But that only worked when there was some fundamental weakness to exploit.
Perhaps that approach would have worked a few months ago, when his partnership with Eames was on rocky ground. But things had stabilized between them. Whether she had intended to or not, Marcy had brought them closer together. Initially, she had caused some tension between them, but somehow, she had managed to smooth it over. He had given thought to that late the night before, while Eames slept beside him in his bed. It had started in the hospital, after the shooting. Now, for the first time in many months, they were on solid ground with one another. The IAB detectives could use any tactic they chose; it wasn't going to work.
He leaned back in his chair, watching the two men with intense eyes. He betrayed no emotion; he knew how to play the game. The lead detective sat back as well and let his junior partner take the lead. “Detective Goren, I am James Trelaine, and this is my partner Kevin Shaw. We work with Internal Affairs, and we are investigating the death of Marcy Chambers. You are aware of the circumstances surrounding her death?”
“I am.”
“You understand that neither you nor Detective Eames stand accused of the murder, don't you?”
“I understand that.”
Trelaine opened a file in front of him. “We are investigating the manner in which you contributed to the events that led to this investigation. Did you witness her murder?”
“No. I'd been grazed in the head by a bullet and was unconscious at the time she was killed.”
“Detective, why was Miss Chambers in the park that afternoon?”
“She was there with me.”
Shaw spoke up for the first time. “That's odd. Detective Eames said she was with her.”
Goren's eyes flashed, but he held his temper. “No. She didn't.”
Trelaine folded his hands on the table. “You seem certain.”
“I am certain. Miss Chambers was there with me. Eames would not say anything different because that's the truth.”
“All right,” Shaw said with a nod. “We'll play it your way for the moment. Let's say Miss Chambers was there with you. Why?”
“That is none of your business. Being in a public place with someone is not a crime. We had no way of knowing there was going to be a shooting there. We were meeting Eames.”
Shaw consulted the top paper of a small stack in the file in front of him. “You called Detective Eames at twelve-thirteen that afternoon.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Right after that, you called Detective Logan.”
“I did.”
Shaw studied him for a moment before he asked, “Why?”
Goren's demeanor betrayed nothing. “Why do you call people, detective? I wanted to talk to him. Detective Logan and I are friends.”
Shaw consulted his notes. “Detective Eames went to the park after speaking with a suspect. That suspect told us he mentioned the park to her. Twenty minutes later, you showed up with Miss Chambers, just before the shooting began.”
Goren remained unperturbed. “I'm sure you verified that with Detective Eames. The suspect's testimony was flaky at best, and he had no prior contact with the shooting suspect. Eames went to the park for lunch.”
“Why were you at home that day, detective, and not on the job?”
“I was still on sick leave, following an injury I received while rescuing Teddy Yarborough. I was still taking medication that prevented me from working.”
Shaw nodded toward the table, indicating Goren's knee. “Your knee...the injury was exacerbated in the park. Weren't you told to stay off it as much as possible?”
“I was, and I did.”
“But in the park...”
“In the park,” he interrupted. “It wasn't possible.”
Trelaine mimicked Goren's calm demeanor. “Miss Chambers was there with you. How did she come to be there with you, if she was working the Richards murder with Eames?”
“She stopped by my apartment to bring me lunch.”
Trelaine couldn't keep a note of victory from his voice. “I thought you were meeting Eames in the park for lunch.”
Goren folded his hands on the table. He knew that Ross was watching, and he suspected the captain was not alone in the observation room. His gut told him Kenny Moran, the chief of detectives, was with him, waiting for him to trip himself up, to say something that contradicted Eames' testimony, something that would hang him. But he knew better. He had told Eames to be honest. Nothing she said in honesty would hurt him. As long as she had done that, he would be fine. She had promised him she would do nothing to try to cover for him; there was no need for that. He trusted that she kept her word, so he could be honest as well. However this turned out, Eames would be fine, and that was what mattered to him. “I didn't say that,” he answered. “I said we were meeting her there, and that she went to the park for lunch. I never said we were meeting her for lunch, because we weren't.”
The two detectives looked at one another before changing direction with their questioning. “What was your relationship with Miss Chambers?” Trelaine asked.
Goren did not hesitate; he'd been expecting that line of questioning. “What bearing does that have on your investigation?”
Shaw answered, “That is for us to determine, and we are asking the questions, Detective Goren. Please answer my partner's question.”
Goren looked from one detective to the other before he finally replied, “We had become friends.”
Shaw pounced on that statement. “And lovers?”
Logan had been right. He worked hard to keep his anger in check, giving no outward sign that he was upset. He raised a hand, extending his index finger toward the two detectives. “My private life has no bearing on what happened to Marcy Chambers.”
“Are you refusing to answer the question, detective?”
“I am, because it's not anyone's business what my relationship with her was. That was between her and me, and it's going to stay that way.”
Shaw pointed a finger at him, annoyed. “This brings your judgment into question, Detective Goren.”
“Why? I was no longer part of the active investigation into the Richards murder. I have no professional association to Miss Chambers. We were both adults, neither attached to another person. If I chose to enter into any kind of personal relationship with her, how does that bring my judgment into question?”
The two investigating detectives looked at each other, unwilling to concede the point to him but unable to come up with any kind of valid argument to refute his argument. Tremaine once again changed the direction of the questioning, increasingly frustrated that Goren was not in any way nervous to be questioned by them. “Tell us what happened when you first heard the shots, detective.”
“Eames and I ran toward the castle.”
“Where was Miss Chambers?”
“I didn't take notice. I assume she ran after us.”
“Did you hear your partner tell Miss Chambers to stay back?”
“No, but I have no doubt she did. I was engaged with the suspect at the time. I had no idea Marcy was even there.”
Shaw spoke up. “She arrived at the park with you, detective. You heard shots, and you and Eames abandoned her to run toward the site of the shooting, even though you were not vested or armed?”
“Eames was on duty, so she was armed, and she gave me her back-up piece. But no, we were not vested. I don't know about you, detective, but I don't wear my vest unless I have to. I did not anticipate needing a bulletproof vest to go to Central Park.”
Shaw's eyes narrowed dangerously. “This is a serious investigation, detective. A civilian is dead.”
Goren became very still, and his jaw tightened. “Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I bear no personal responsibility for what happened to her?”
Shaw moved in for the kill. “What personal responsibility do you bear, detective?”
Goren was not stupid. He knew exactly what he'd said. He met Shaw's eyes, defiant. “Just what I said, Detective Shaw. She was my friend, and she was there because of me.”
Shaw pressed the issue. “Would you say she died because of you?”
The door slammed open, and the three detectives turned . Eames stood in the doorway, eyes blazing. At that moment, Goren knew she'd been watching the interview. Ross came up behind her. “Eames...”
She stepped into the room, approaching Shaw. “Don't you dare do that to him,” she growled.
“Eames...” Goren began.
She waved a hand at him. “No. This charade has gone far enough. You two know that we played no role in Miss Chambers' murder. You want to blame someone? Blame the man who killed her. Do not lay any more guilt on my partner than he already carries. Marcy Chambers clobbered the suspect with a rock after he delivered a lethal injury to her. If she hadn't had the courage to do what she did, my partner and I would both be dead. We know that. We have to live with that. Isn't that enough? Leave him alone.”
Goren had gotten up from his chair and walked toward her, frowning. “Eames, go with Ross. Let me finish up here and then...we'll talk.”
He noted the subtle tremor that assaulted her muscles as she struggled to maintain control, and she stood her ground until Ross closed his hand over her arm, giving it a gentle tug. “Come on, Eames.”
Goren watched her leave before turning back to the two Internal Affairs detectives. Their attention was focused on him. Shaw was frowning as he said, “Do you want to explain that, Detective Goren?”
“My partner...is protective.”
Tremaine said, “Just like you protect her. It's what partners do. We get that. So who's job was it to protect Miss Chambers?”
“Mine. I...I didn't mean to get shot, gentlemen, and I certainly never meant for any harm to come to Marcy." A dark look crossed his face. "If I could trade places with her, I would. Are we done here?”
Tremaine and Shaw looked at one another. Tremaine nodded. “We're done, detective.”
Goren wasted no time leaving the room to find his angry, distraught partner. Shaw and Trelaine gathered their files and followed him, interested to see how the partners interacted with each other. They were not done yet.
Goren sat at the table in the conference room, glaring at the two officers who sat across from him. They'd already talked with Eames, and when she came out of the room, she'd looked angry and upset, but he had not had a chance to talk with her. The last he saw of her, she was talking to Ross and Logan, gesticulating angrily. Her shoulders shook with emotion, and that upset him, that these two men would do that to her. He knew the tactics; he'd used them himself. Divide and conquer. But that only worked when there was some fundamental weakness to exploit.
Perhaps that approach would have worked a few months ago, when his partnership with Eames was on rocky ground. But things had stabilized between them. Whether she had intended to or not, Marcy had brought them closer together. Initially, she had caused some tension between them, but somehow, she had managed to smooth it over. He had given thought to that late the night before, while Eames slept beside him in his bed. It had started in the hospital, after the shooting. Now, for the first time in many months, they were on solid ground with one another. The IAB detectives could use any tactic they chose; it wasn't going to work.
He leaned back in his chair, watching the two men with intense eyes. He betrayed no emotion; he knew how to play the game. The lead detective sat back as well and let his junior partner take the lead. “Detective Goren, I am James Trelaine, and this is my partner Kevin Shaw. We work with Internal Affairs, and we are investigating the death of Marcy Chambers. You are aware of the circumstances surrounding her death?”
“I am.”
“You understand that neither you nor Detective Eames stand accused of the murder, don't you?”
“I understand that.”
Trelaine opened a file in front of him. “We are investigating the manner in which you contributed to the events that led to this investigation. Did you witness her murder?”
“No. I'd been grazed in the head by a bullet and was unconscious at the time she was killed.”
“Detective, why was Miss Chambers in the park that afternoon?”
“She was there with me.”
Shaw spoke up for the first time. “That's odd. Detective Eames said she was with her.”
Goren's eyes flashed, but he held his temper. “No. She didn't.”
Trelaine folded his hands on the table. “You seem certain.”
“I am certain. Miss Chambers was there with me. Eames would not say anything different because that's the truth.”
“All right,” Shaw said with a nod. “We'll play it your way for the moment. Let's say Miss Chambers was there with you. Why?”
“That is none of your business. Being in a public place with someone is not a crime. We had no way of knowing there was going to be a shooting there. We were meeting Eames.”
Shaw consulted the top paper of a small stack in the file in front of him. “You called Detective Eames at twelve-thirteen that afternoon.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Right after that, you called Detective Logan.”
“I did.”
Shaw studied him for a moment before he asked, “Why?”
Goren's demeanor betrayed nothing. “Why do you call people, detective? I wanted to talk to him. Detective Logan and I are friends.”
Shaw consulted his notes. “Detective Eames went to the park after speaking with a suspect. That suspect told us he mentioned the park to her. Twenty minutes later, you showed up with Miss Chambers, just before the shooting began.”
Goren remained unperturbed. “I'm sure you verified that with Detective Eames. The suspect's testimony was flaky at best, and he had no prior contact with the shooting suspect. Eames went to the park for lunch.”
“Why were you at home that day, detective, and not on the job?”
“I was still on sick leave, following an injury I received while rescuing Teddy Yarborough. I was still taking medication that prevented me from working.”
Shaw nodded toward the table, indicating Goren's knee. “Your knee...the injury was exacerbated in the park. Weren't you told to stay off it as much as possible?”
“I was, and I did.”
“But in the park...”
“In the park,” he interrupted. “It wasn't possible.”
Trelaine mimicked Goren's calm demeanor. “Miss Chambers was there with you. How did she come to be there with you, if she was working the Richards murder with Eames?”
“She stopped by my apartment to bring me lunch.”
Trelaine couldn't keep a note of victory from his voice. “I thought you were meeting Eames in the park for lunch.”
Goren folded his hands on the table. He knew that Ross was watching, and he suspected the captain was not alone in the observation room. His gut told him Kenny Moran, the chief of detectives, was with him, waiting for him to trip himself up, to say something that contradicted Eames' testimony, something that would hang him. But he knew better. He had told Eames to be honest. Nothing she said in honesty would hurt him. As long as she had done that, he would be fine. She had promised him she would do nothing to try to cover for him; there was no need for that. He trusted that she kept her word, so he could be honest as well. However this turned out, Eames would be fine, and that was what mattered to him. “I didn't say that,” he answered. “I said we were meeting her there, and that she went to the park for lunch. I never said we were meeting her for lunch, because we weren't.”
The two detectives looked at one another before changing direction with their questioning. “What was your relationship with Miss Chambers?” Trelaine asked.
Goren did not hesitate; he'd been expecting that line of questioning. “What bearing does that have on your investigation?”
Shaw answered, “That is for us to determine, and we are asking the questions, Detective Goren. Please answer my partner's question.”
Goren looked from one detective to the other before he finally replied, “We had become friends.”
Shaw pounced on that statement. “And lovers?”
Logan had been right. He worked hard to keep his anger in check, giving no outward sign that he was upset. He raised a hand, extending his index finger toward the two detectives. “My private life has no bearing on what happened to Marcy Chambers.”
“Are you refusing to answer the question, detective?”
“I am, because it's not anyone's business what my relationship with her was. That was between her and me, and it's going to stay that way.”
Shaw pointed a finger at him, annoyed. “This brings your judgment into question, Detective Goren.”
“Why? I was no longer part of the active investigation into the Richards murder. I have no professional association to Miss Chambers. We were both adults, neither attached to another person. If I chose to enter into any kind of personal relationship with her, how does that bring my judgment into question?”
The two investigating detectives looked at each other, unwilling to concede the point to him but unable to come up with any kind of valid argument to refute his argument. Tremaine once again changed the direction of the questioning, increasingly frustrated that Goren was not in any way nervous to be questioned by them. “Tell us what happened when you first heard the shots, detective.”
“Eames and I ran toward the castle.”
“Where was Miss Chambers?”
“I didn't take notice. I assume she ran after us.”
“Did you hear your partner tell Miss Chambers to stay back?”
“No, but I have no doubt she did. I was engaged with the suspect at the time. I had no idea Marcy was even there.”
Shaw spoke up. “She arrived at the park with you, detective. You heard shots, and you and Eames abandoned her to run toward the site of the shooting, even though you were not vested or armed?”
“Eames was on duty, so she was armed, and she gave me her back-up piece. But no, we were not vested. I don't know about you, detective, but I don't wear my vest unless I have to. I did not anticipate needing a bulletproof vest to go to Central Park.”
Shaw's eyes narrowed dangerously. “This is a serious investigation, detective. A civilian is dead.”
Goren became very still, and his jaw tightened. “Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I bear no personal responsibility for what happened to her?”
Shaw moved in for the kill. “What personal responsibility do you bear, detective?”
Goren was not stupid. He knew exactly what he'd said. He met Shaw's eyes, defiant. “Just what I said, Detective Shaw. She was my friend, and she was there because of me.”
Shaw pressed the issue. “Would you say she died because of you?”
The door slammed open, and the three detectives turned . Eames stood in the doorway, eyes blazing. At that moment, Goren knew she'd been watching the interview. Ross came up behind her. “Eames...”
She stepped into the room, approaching Shaw. “Don't you dare do that to him,” she growled.
“Eames...” Goren began.
She waved a hand at him. “No. This charade has gone far enough. You two know that we played no role in Miss Chambers' murder. You want to blame someone? Blame the man who killed her. Do not lay any more guilt on my partner than he already carries. Marcy Chambers clobbered the suspect with a rock after he delivered a lethal injury to her. If she hadn't had the courage to do what she did, my partner and I would both be dead. We know that. We have to live with that. Isn't that enough? Leave him alone.”
Goren had gotten up from his chair and walked toward her, frowning. “Eames, go with Ross. Let me finish up here and then...we'll talk.”
He noted the subtle tremor that assaulted her muscles as she struggled to maintain control, and she stood her ground until Ross closed his hand over her arm, giving it a gentle tug. “Come on, Eames.”
Goren watched her leave before turning back to the two Internal Affairs detectives. Their attention was focused on him. Shaw was frowning as he said, “Do you want to explain that, Detective Goren?”
“My partner...is protective.”
Tremaine said, “Just like you protect her. It's what partners do. We get that. So who's job was it to protect Miss Chambers?”
“Mine. I...I didn't mean to get shot, gentlemen, and I certainly never meant for any harm to come to Marcy." A dark look crossed his face. "If I could trade places with her, I would. Are we done here?”
Tremaine and Shaw looked at one another. Tremaine nodded. “We're done, detective.”
Goren wasted no time leaving the room to find his angry, distraught partner. Shaw and Trelaine gathered their files and followed him, interested to see how the partners interacted with each other. They were not done yet.
Chapter 17: A Warning and A Choice
Goren left the conference room, angry. He scanned the squad room, searching for his partner, finally locating her in Ross' office. Struggling not to limp, he made his way toward the office, aware of the scrutiny of the other detectives as well as of the two officers from Internal Affairs. But he was used to being scrutinized. He stopped in the captain's doorway.
Ross was seated beside Eames, talking to her. He looked up when Goren appeared in the doorway. “Come in, detective.”
The captain got up, offering his seat to Goren. “I'm...going to get a cup of coffee.”
Goren didn't miss the full cup of coffee sitting on the captain's desk. Ross just nodded at him and left the office. He turned his attention to his partner. “Eames?”
She waved a hand at him. “I know, I know. I lost my cool.”
“Why? I had it under control.”
She took a deep breath. “I had enough, Bobby. I couldn't stand listening to them trying to heap more guilt on you.”
He rested his arms on his knees and clasped his hands together. “Eames, I do bear a personal responsibility for what happened. Shaw pointing that out doesn't change it. I know what role I played in what happened.”
No, you don't, she thought. “Marcy knew what she was doing,” she said. “She was very fond of you, and she did what she felt she had to do.”
His brow furrowed into a frown and he looked at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She shook her head. “It means that nothing we did or did not do could have changed the way things worked out.”
While the partners talked in the privacy of the captain's office, Shaw and Trelaine stood nearby, watching them. Mike Logan had had enough experience dealing with Internal Affairs to know that these two men were going to read anything they could into every movement the partners made. He approached the two men. “Goren and Eames,” he said quietly. “They're a great team.”
Shaw and Trelaine looked at him. “Detective Logan,” Shaw said by way of greeting. “What do you know about Goren and Eames?”
“As much as anyone does,” Logan answered cautiously.
“Their relationship?”
“They work very well together. They balance each other.”
“And their personal relationship?”
Logan swallowed a surge of anger. “Nothing there for you two to be snooping around. They respect each other, and I have never seen anything more than that.”
“Detective Goren said you are friends, so do we correctly assume you have observed them outside the duty environment?”
Logan's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I am not going to be your mule. And there's nothing to see. They've been partners for a long time, and whatever they do, it works. Leave them alone.”
Ross saw Logan talking to the two detectives and it made him uneasy. He approached them as Logan walked away. “Is your investigation complete, gentlemen?”
Shaw drew his eyes from the detectives who sat in the captain's office and answered, “Almost. Why did you leave them alone in your office, Captain Ross?”
“So they could talk. What are you looking for, detectives? I thought you were investigating Miss Chambers' death.”
“Not all our questions were answered to our satisfaction, Captain Ross. Goren was uncooperative with regard to his personal relationship with Miss Chambers.”
“He was within his rights, Detective Shaw. His personal relationship with Miss Chambers had no bearing on her death.”
“What do you know about his relationship with Eames?”
The question caught the captain off-guard, and he was at the end of his patience. “With Eames? Goren and Eames are partners, Detective Shaw. That's all you need to concern yourselves with. You have all the information you need from my detectives, gentlemen. Leave them alone.”
Trelaine nudged his partner's arm. “Let's go, Kev. We have what we need for our report.”
Ross straightened his shoulders. “Am I correct in assuming your report will concur with mine?”
Shaw glared at Ross. The captain had shadowed their every movement. He knew what they had found. “They're cleared, Captain. You'll have our report by the end of next week.”
Ross watched them leave, then he looked toward his office, where Goren and Eames were still deep in conversation. “Logan,” he called, waiting until the detective was at his side. “You know Goren, and this will be received better from you than from me. Go in there and tell them to watch their steps. IAB thinks they see red flags. Let them see that they're wrong.” Logan looked at the captain for a moment, suspicion on his face. Ross sighed heavily. He should have known Logan would be protective. “I don't know, and I don't want to know. Whatever is between them is just that, between them. As long as it's left out of my squad room and beyond prying eyes, I don't care what they do.”
The suspicion did not leave Logan's face. “Do you think...?”
“I try not to, detective. It gives me a headache. Go tell them.”
Logan walked off, careful to keep his gait casual. He poked his head into the captain's office. “Knock, knock.”
Goren and Eames looked up at him. “What is it, Logan?” Eames asked, annoyed.
“Warning from the captain. IAB is going to be watching you guys, so if you're playing house, play smart. Keep it out of the public eye. This is one cookie jar you don't want to get caught sticking your hand in.”
“What does the captain think?” Goren asked.
“He doesn't. Let's not plant those images in his head. Just behave.”
Goren looked out into the squad room, where Ross was talking to another team of detectives. “Where did Shaw and Trelaine go?”
“They talked to Ross and then went to crawl back under their rock.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
Logan grinned at them. “I do what I can. Let me know when you're ready, Bobby, and I'll drive you home.”
Eames looked at her partner once Logan was gone. He stood. “I'm going home, Eames. I have to put my knee up, or Dr. Harris is going to have my head.”
“You should have brought your crutches.”
He shook his head, watching Ross. “They're wolves, moving in for the kill. You never bare your throat to them. They'll exploit any weakness.”
He looked back toward her, meeting her eyes. They looked at each other for a long moment, and no words were necessary. Finally, Eames said, “I'll pick you up around four. We'll have dinner at my parents'.”
He hesitated, but finally nodded and left the office, motioning to Logan when he looked his way. Logan nodded and spoke to Wheeler. Ross approached Goren. “You did well, detective.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I know you didn't do anything wrong, Goren, and so do they now. They're going to clear you and your partner. But watch your step. They're still watching you.”
“I'm used to that.” He tipped his head and studied Ross' face. Ross did not particularly like being under Goren's scrutiny. “Captain, correct me if I'm wrong, but what I do in my own time, and who I do it with, is no one's business.”
Ross nodded. “You'll get no argument from me. But why make things unnecessarily difficult for yourself...or her?”
Goren stiffened and he met Ross' eyes. Without saying anything more, he moved past Ross and limped to the elevator where Logan met him. They got into the elevator and the doors closed.
Ross returned to his office, where he met Eames in the doorway. “I'll tell you what I told your partner, Eames. Be careful.”
“You say that like we're doing something wrong, captain.”
“Are you?” When she opened her mouth to reply, he changed his mind. “No. Don't answer that. Just beware: IAB is watching your partner.”
“That's nothing new, sir.”
He watched her walk to her desk, grab her coat and continue toward the elevators. Neither Goren nor Eames were back on duty yet, and he'd hated bringing them in for this, but it had to be done, sooner, rather than later. He was glad it was over, then he wondered if it really was.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Goren answered the door just after four. He stood in the doorway, looking down at his partner. Slowly, he shook his head. “I...I can't, Eames. I can't do this to you.” His eyes were bloodshot and his voice was strained. “I've damaged your career enough. I won't let you fall the rest of the way with me...or for me. It's not worth it.”
Eames had been expecting that from him, and she was prepared. “Can I come in?”
“That's...not a good idea.”
“I don't care. Can I come in?”
He was on the verge of saying no, but at the last moment, he closed his mouth and stepped back. She stepped into the apartment and laid out her argument. “Did Marcy mean anything to you?”
“Don't bring her into this, Eames. This has nothing to do with her.”
“This has everything to do with her, Bobby. You said you didn't sleep with her.”
“I didn't.”
“Lack of opportunity?”
He frowned, his anger rising quickly. “That's not any of your business.”
She moved closer, and he closed his eyes. “None of my business,” she repeated. “So whatever goes on behind these walls is...whose business? IAB's? Ross'?”
He shook his head, slowly opening his eyes. “No.”
“Are you going to let those bastards dictate what your heart can feel?” she whispered.
Follow your heart... He struggled with his desire for her and his desire to protect her, and both boiled down to the same thing: he loved her. But he couldn't have it both ways. He had to make a choice, and it was the most difficult choice he'd had to make in many years. For him, it came down to a decision between love or torture. But he had to do what was best for her, and that was ultimately what he did. He chose what was best for Eames.
Goren left the conference room, angry. He scanned the squad room, searching for his partner, finally locating her in Ross' office. Struggling not to limp, he made his way toward the office, aware of the scrutiny of the other detectives as well as of the two officers from Internal Affairs. But he was used to being scrutinized. He stopped in the captain's doorway.
Ross was seated beside Eames, talking to her. He looked up when Goren appeared in the doorway. “Come in, detective.”
The captain got up, offering his seat to Goren. “I'm...going to get a cup of coffee.”
Goren didn't miss the full cup of coffee sitting on the captain's desk. Ross just nodded at him and left the office. He turned his attention to his partner. “Eames?”
She waved a hand at him. “I know, I know. I lost my cool.”
“Why? I had it under control.”
She took a deep breath. “I had enough, Bobby. I couldn't stand listening to them trying to heap more guilt on you.”
He rested his arms on his knees and clasped his hands together. “Eames, I do bear a personal responsibility for what happened. Shaw pointing that out doesn't change it. I know what role I played in what happened.”
No, you don't, she thought. “Marcy knew what she was doing,” she said. “She was very fond of you, and she did what she felt she had to do.”
His brow furrowed into a frown and he looked at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She shook her head. “It means that nothing we did or did not do could have changed the way things worked out.”
While the partners talked in the privacy of the captain's office, Shaw and Trelaine stood nearby, watching them. Mike Logan had had enough experience dealing with Internal Affairs to know that these two men were going to read anything they could into every movement the partners made. He approached the two men. “Goren and Eames,” he said quietly. “They're a great team.”
Shaw and Trelaine looked at him. “Detective Logan,” Shaw said by way of greeting. “What do you know about Goren and Eames?”
“As much as anyone does,” Logan answered cautiously.
“Their relationship?”
“They work very well together. They balance each other.”
“And their personal relationship?”
Logan swallowed a surge of anger. “Nothing there for you two to be snooping around. They respect each other, and I have never seen anything more than that.”
“Detective Goren said you are friends, so do we correctly assume you have observed them outside the duty environment?”
Logan's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I am not going to be your mule. And there's nothing to see. They've been partners for a long time, and whatever they do, it works. Leave them alone.”
Ross saw Logan talking to the two detectives and it made him uneasy. He approached them as Logan walked away. “Is your investigation complete, gentlemen?”
Shaw drew his eyes from the detectives who sat in the captain's office and answered, “Almost. Why did you leave them alone in your office, Captain Ross?”
“So they could talk. What are you looking for, detectives? I thought you were investigating Miss Chambers' death.”
“Not all our questions were answered to our satisfaction, Captain Ross. Goren was uncooperative with regard to his personal relationship with Miss Chambers.”
“He was within his rights, Detective Shaw. His personal relationship with Miss Chambers had no bearing on her death.”
“What do you know about his relationship with Eames?”
The question caught the captain off-guard, and he was at the end of his patience. “With Eames? Goren and Eames are partners, Detective Shaw. That's all you need to concern yourselves with. You have all the information you need from my detectives, gentlemen. Leave them alone.”
Trelaine nudged his partner's arm. “Let's go, Kev. We have what we need for our report.”
Ross straightened his shoulders. “Am I correct in assuming your report will concur with mine?”
Shaw glared at Ross. The captain had shadowed their every movement. He knew what they had found. “They're cleared, Captain. You'll have our report by the end of next week.”
Ross watched them leave, then he looked toward his office, where Goren and Eames were still deep in conversation. “Logan,” he called, waiting until the detective was at his side. “You know Goren, and this will be received better from you than from me. Go in there and tell them to watch their steps. IAB thinks they see red flags. Let them see that they're wrong.” Logan looked at the captain for a moment, suspicion on his face. Ross sighed heavily. He should have known Logan would be protective. “I don't know, and I don't want to know. Whatever is between them is just that, between them. As long as it's left out of my squad room and beyond prying eyes, I don't care what they do.”
The suspicion did not leave Logan's face. “Do you think...?”
“I try not to, detective. It gives me a headache. Go tell them.”
Logan walked off, careful to keep his gait casual. He poked his head into the captain's office. “Knock, knock.”
Goren and Eames looked up at him. “What is it, Logan?” Eames asked, annoyed.
“Warning from the captain. IAB is going to be watching you guys, so if you're playing house, play smart. Keep it out of the public eye. This is one cookie jar you don't want to get caught sticking your hand in.”
“What does the captain think?” Goren asked.
“He doesn't. Let's not plant those images in his head. Just behave.”
Goren looked out into the squad room, where Ross was talking to another team of detectives. “Where did Shaw and Trelaine go?”
“They talked to Ross and then went to crawl back under their rock.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
Logan grinned at them. “I do what I can. Let me know when you're ready, Bobby, and I'll drive you home.”
Eames looked at her partner once Logan was gone. He stood. “I'm going home, Eames. I have to put my knee up, or Dr. Harris is going to have my head.”
“You should have brought your crutches.”
He shook his head, watching Ross. “They're wolves, moving in for the kill. You never bare your throat to them. They'll exploit any weakness.”
He looked back toward her, meeting her eyes. They looked at each other for a long moment, and no words were necessary. Finally, Eames said, “I'll pick you up around four. We'll have dinner at my parents'.”
He hesitated, but finally nodded and left the office, motioning to Logan when he looked his way. Logan nodded and spoke to Wheeler. Ross approached Goren. “You did well, detective.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I know you didn't do anything wrong, Goren, and so do they now. They're going to clear you and your partner. But watch your step. They're still watching you.”
“I'm used to that.” He tipped his head and studied Ross' face. Ross did not particularly like being under Goren's scrutiny. “Captain, correct me if I'm wrong, but what I do in my own time, and who I do it with, is no one's business.”
Ross nodded. “You'll get no argument from me. But why make things unnecessarily difficult for yourself...or her?”
Goren stiffened and he met Ross' eyes. Without saying anything more, he moved past Ross and limped to the elevator where Logan met him. They got into the elevator and the doors closed.
Ross returned to his office, where he met Eames in the doorway. “I'll tell you what I told your partner, Eames. Be careful.”
“You say that like we're doing something wrong, captain.”
“Are you?” When she opened her mouth to reply, he changed his mind. “No. Don't answer that. Just beware: IAB is watching your partner.”
“That's nothing new, sir.”
He watched her walk to her desk, grab her coat and continue toward the elevators. Neither Goren nor Eames were back on duty yet, and he'd hated bringing them in for this, but it had to be done, sooner, rather than later. He was glad it was over, then he wondered if it really was.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Goren answered the door just after four. He stood in the doorway, looking down at his partner. Slowly, he shook his head. “I...I can't, Eames. I can't do this to you.” His eyes were bloodshot and his voice was strained. “I've damaged your career enough. I won't let you fall the rest of the way with me...or for me. It's not worth it.”
Eames had been expecting that from him, and she was prepared. “Can I come in?”
“That's...not a good idea.”
“I don't care. Can I come in?”
He was on the verge of saying no, but at the last moment, he closed his mouth and stepped back. She stepped into the apartment and laid out her argument. “Did Marcy mean anything to you?”
“Don't bring her into this, Eames. This has nothing to do with her.”
“This has everything to do with her, Bobby. You said you didn't sleep with her.”
“I didn't.”
“Lack of opportunity?”
He frowned, his anger rising quickly. “That's not any of your business.”
She moved closer, and he closed his eyes. “None of my business,” she repeated. “So whatever goes on behind these walls is...whose business? IAB's? Ross'?”
He shook his head, slowly opening his eyes. “No.”
“Are you going to let those bastards dictate what your heart can feel?” she whispered.
Follow your heart... He struggled with his desire for her and his desire to protect her, and both boiled down to the same thing: he loved her. But he couldn't have it both ways. He had to make a choice, and it was the most difficult choice he'd had to make in many years. For him, it came down to a decision between love or torture. But he had to do what was best for her, and that was ultimately what he did. He chose what was best for Eames.
Chapter 18: Challenge
Are you going to let those bastards dictate what your heart can feel?
He forced himself to look away from her. He could not look into her face and do what he needed to do. “Not what I feel,” he said quietly. “No one tells me what to feel, but they can affect what I do about it. Eames, your association with me...”
“Has been the most challenging, most interesting time of my life, Goren. Why do you think that whatever my aspirations might be, they could possibly be more important to me than you are?”
He stepped away from her and began to pace, thinking. She didn't quite know what to make of it. Sometimes, it was a good thing when he thought; sometimes it was not. Finally, she intruded on his introspection. “Do I have a say in this, Goren?”
He wanted to tell her no, to send her away and let her know there could be nothing between them because if there was, it would ultimately destroy her. But he couldn't quite bring himself to tell her that. “Why are you here?”
“Because sometimes it's not the best thing for you to be alone.”
He laughed bitterly. “I am very used to being alone, Eames.”
“I know you are. Maybe it's time for that to change.”
It was time to take a hard line with her, to push her away for her own good. “I don't want to change it,” he insisted, his tone firm and unfriendly.
Eames was not stupid, and she knew exactly what he was doing. He had done it before, and he thought he was protecting her. The ball was now in her court. Was she going to let him get away with it? What purpose could it possibly serve to avoid one another? More than that, did either one of them deserve the pain such a separation would inflict on them both? Along the same lines, why did he think it was his duty to decide what was best for them? She didn't miss the fact that he had not answered her question, which told her that he did not think she had a say in what path their personal relationship took, and that made her angry. Now she was faced with a real decision. She could approach this in one of two ways. If she dealt with him in anger, he would get defensive and shut down. She had no doubt of that. Despite his pig-headed chivalry, she had no desire to see that. There was one other hand she could play, one that would put his feelings to the test. She wondered just how much resolve he had, and she was going to find out.
“Are you sure about that?” she asked.
“Yes.”
He was convincing, but she didn't believe him. He had a lifetime of practice pushing people away, and he was very good at it. “Suppose I refuse to leave?”
She walked over to the window on the far side of the room and looked out into the neighborhood street below. She hid a smile. He had no idea how to respond to that. She'd never challenged him this way before. After a few false starts, he said, “It-it's my apartment.”
She shrugged. “And? I like it here, and I happen to like the company.”
“C-company? What company?”
He was off balance now, and she decided to turn up the pressure. Turning from the window, she approached him. Reaching out, she smoothed her hand over his shirt. “I do have a say in this, Goren,” she said softly, challenging him, but not in a confrontational way. He responded to gentle coaxing, and she knew he did.
What was she doing? This was a side of her he had not seen before, and he had mixed feelings about it. Her hand continued to smooth his shirt, and he could feel his resolve beginning to crumble. He struggled to pull it back together. “Eames...”
She moved a half step closer and waged a full scale war on his senses: the scent of jasmine and strawberry, an odd combination that he recognized as being all hers, the sensation of her hand on his chest, their skin separated only by the fabric of his shirt, the combination of challenge and desire bright in her eyes, the sudden increase in her breathing rate...and her pulse rate, he imagined. Did she have any idea at all what she was doing?
She saw confusion in his eyes, and she knew he was struggling. That alone would leave him floundering. Bobby hated anything he could not explain and she knew he couldn't explain this. But this was no longer about him. It was about them. She slid her other hand onto his side, impressed when he didn't move away from her. She wondered if he'd lost the ability to move until he blinked his eyes and moistened his lips.
She closed the last of the distance between them, bringing her hand from his chest onto his side. He looked down into her face, still uncertain. She remained right where she was, looking up into his face and daring him to chase her away now. She slid her hands down to his waist and hooked her thumbs on his belt...and she waited. If he was stubborn enough to tell her to leave now, then she would. And there would be no going back. He would end any chance he would ever have of being in this situation again. She was not going to give him any more chances, and she hoped he realized this. Sending her away now would destroy their personal relationship and possibly end their friendship. She waited. It was all up to him.
He didn't move, didn't think, didn't breathe. After a moment, he finally drew in a slow breath, hoping it would kickstart his brain, but it didn't. He looked into her face and he saw the same desire he'd seen in the hospital, the same love he'd seen the other day when he'd kissed her and let her sleep in his bed. Let her, hell. Who was he kidding? He brought his hands up slowly with the intention of drawing her out of his personal space, but that was not what happened. Before he could process what was happening, one hand buried itself in her soft hair while the other splayed gently over her back, pulling her against him. He couldn't take any more. Dipping his head, he claimed her mouth with his, unable to suppress a soft groan. Her hands slid from his waist up his back and every bit of sense he'd struggled to hold onto slipped away from him. His intentions had been right. His motivation had been sincere. His downfall was complete.
Are you going to let those bastards dictate what your heart can feel?
He forced himself to look away from her. He could not look into her face and do what he needed to do. “Not what I feel,” he said quietly. “No one tells me what to feel, but they can affect what I do about it. Eames, your association with me...”
“Has been the most challenging, most interesting time of my life, Goren. Why do you think that whatever my aspirations might be, they could possibly be more important to me than you are?”
He stepped away from her and began to pace, thinking. She didn't quite know what to make of it. Sometimes, it was a good thing when he thought; sometimes it was not. Finally, she intruded on his introspection. “Do I have a say in this, Goren?”
He wanted to tell her no, to send her away and let her know there could be nothing between them because if there was, it would ultimately destroy her. But he couldn't quite bring himself to tell her that. “Why are you here?”
“Because sometimes it's not the best thing for you to be alone.”
He laughed bitterly. “I am very used to being alone, Eames.”
“I know you are. Maybe it's time for that to change.”
It was time to take a hard line with her, to push her away for her own good. “I don't want to change it,” he insisted, his tone firm and unfriendly.
Eames was not stupid, and she knew exactly what he was doing. He had done it before, and he thought he was protecting her. The ball was now in her court. Was she going to let him get away with it? What purpose could it possibly serve to avoid one another? More than that, did either one of them deserve the pain such a separation would inflict on them both? Along the same lines, why did he think it was his duty to decide what was best for them? She didn't miss the fact that he had not answered her question, which told her that he did not think she had a say in what path their personal relationship took, and that made her angry. Now she was faced with a real decision. She could approach this in one of two ways. If she dealt with him in anger, he would get defensive and shut down. She had no doubt of that. Despite his pig-headed chivalry, she had no desire to see that. There was one other hand she could play, one that would put his feelings to the test. She wondered just how much resolve he had, and she was going to find out.
“Are you sure about that?” she asked.
“Yes.”
He was convincing, but she didn't believe him. He had a lifetime of practice pushing people away, and he was very good at it. “Suppose I refuse to leave?”
She walked over to the window on the far side of the room and looked out into the neighborhood street below. She hid a smile. He had no idea how to respond to that. She'd never challenged him this way before. After a few false starts, he said, “It-it's my apartment.”
She shrugged. “And? I like it here, and I happen to like the company.”
“C-company? What company?”
He was off balance now, and she decided to turn up the pressure. Turning from the window, she approached him. Reaching out, she smoothed her hand over his shirt. “I do have a say in this, Goren,” she said softly, challenging him, but not in a confrontational way. He responded to gentle coaxing, and she knew he did.
What was she doing? This was a side of her he had not seen before, and he had mixed feelings about it. Her hand continued to smooth his shirt, and he could feel his resolve beginning to crumble. He struggled to pull it back together. “Eames...”
She moved a half step closer and waged a full scale war on his senses: the scent of jasmine and strawberry, an odd combination that he recognized as being all hers, the sensation of her hand on his chest, their skin separated only by the fabric of his shirt, the combination of challenge and desire bright in her eyes, the sudden increase in her breathing rate...and her pulse rate, he imagined. Did she have any idea at all what she was doing?
She saw confusion in his eyes, and she knew he was struggling. That alone would leave him floundering. Bobby hated anything he could not explain and she knew he couldn't explain this. But this was no longer about him. It was about them. She slid her other hand onto his side, impressed when he didn't move away from her. She wondered if he'd lost the ability to move until he blinked his eyes and moistened his lips.
She closed the last of the distance between them, bringing her hand from his chest onto his side. He looked down into her face, still uncertain. She remained right where she was, looking up into his face and daring him to chase her away now. She slid her hands down to his waist and hooked her thumbs on his belt...and she waited. If he was stubborn enough to tell her to leave now, then she would. And there would be no going back. He would end any chance he would ever have of being in this situation again. She was not going to give him any more chances, and she hoped he realized this. Sending her away now would destroy their personal relationship and possibly end their friendship. She waited. It was all up to him.
He didn't move, didn't think, didn't breathe. After a moment, he finally drew in a slow breath, hoping it would kickstart his brain, but it didn't. He looked into her face and he saw the same desire he'd seen in the hospital, the same love he'd seen the other day when he'd kissed her and let her sleep in his bed. Let her, hell. Who was he kidding? He brought his hands up slowly with the intention of drawing her out of his personal space, but that was not what happened. Before he could process what was happening, one hand buried itself in her soft hair while the other splayed gently over her back, pulling her against him. He couldn't take any more. Dipping his head, he claimed her mouth with his, unable to suppress a soft groan. Her hands slid from his waist up his back and every bit of sense he'd struggled to hold onto slipped away from him. His intentions had been right. His motivation had been sincere. His downfall was complete.
Chapter 19: Don't Make Me Haunt You
It was pure, dumb luck that led them to the man who murdered Cora Richards. A routine traffic stop in Montauk led to a suspicion of drugs which gave probable cause for a search. When the search turned up Cora's wallet, the driver and his friend were arrested. A home search found a necklace that Vicky Yarborough identified as Cora's, one they had given her for Christmas. She'd been wearing it the day she was killed.
Faced with the evidence, the driver of the car sang like a songbird, fingering Cora's ex-husband, who had hired him to kill her so he would no longer have to pay alimony. He had taken the necklace as part of his fee for services rendered, and it was instrumental in his conviction.
Since Goren and Eames were still recovering from the shooting, as a favor to them, Logan and Wheeler finished up their paperwork on the case.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The bedroom was dark, except for the glow of the streetlight as it illuminated his outline near the window where he sat. He watched the vacant street, casting a glance into the depths of the room when he heard her move, but she didn't get up. He was glad. At the moment he simply wanted to be alone with his thoughts. What had he done? When had he allowed his desire control over his better sense?
A breeze fluttered the curtains, caressing his bare chest which had been coated with sweat a mere hour and a half ago. He looked back into the dark room toward the bed. Something moved in the shadows near the closet and he tensed, until a soft voice spoke, for his ears only. "Why is this such a dilemma for you?"
"Aren't you dead?" he snapped irritably.
Eames stirred in her sleep, and Marcy said, "Keep it down unless you want to involve Alex in this little talk, too."
"I have involved Alex in quite enough, thank you."
"Does it matter to you at all that she loves you...or that you love her?"
He turned back toward the window. "I have...always loved her. I am used to that. But this...I don't know. It's too much of an investment. What happens to me when I finally do chase her off?"
"Now why would you do something stupid like that?"
"I wouldn't, intentionally. It's just something that always happens. I've learned not to invest myself too deeply into a relationship." He looked at her. "It's easier for me that way, when she leaves."
"Did it ever occur to you that maybe that was why they left, because you weren't really part of the equation?" His silence gave her the answer she expected. He knew. "Bobby, don't repeat the mistakes of your past with her. This is probably the best chance you have to actually be happy for the first time, and for the rest of your life." The ghost of her image wagged a finger at him. "She loves you, and if you blow this, so help me I'll haunt you for the rest of your life. Invest yourself for once. Let her know that you love her, too. Don't just give her what she needs or what you think she wants. Let her give back to you. It's all right to let her love you, too."
He looked at the floor. "I'm not twenty. I have to unlearn a lifetime of conditioning. That won't be easy to do."
"No one said love was easy, but it is worth it. Talk to her. I'm sure she'll understand, and she'll be patient. She does understand you."
"I know she does, and that scares me."
She smiled. "Everything about her scares you and intrigues you and enchants you..."
"Yeah, yeah...I get it."
"I sure hope so. Now stop second-guessing yourself and go to bed. Remember, Bobby, as badly as you want her, she wants you, too, or she would not be where she is now. Please tell me you won't be an idiot, so I don't have to keep an eye on you."
Goren got up from the chair by the window and moved deeper into the darkness of the room. His eyes adjusted to the dark and he watched the sleeping form of the woman he loved. "Let her love you," Marcy's voice sounded beside his ear.
He made up his mind and gently grasped the blanket in his fist. He glanced toward the opposite side of the room where he could only barely make out Marcy's fading form. "Rest in peace, Marcy."
"Now, I will," she responded as she became one with the shadows in the corner and was gone.
Sliding under the blanket, he reached out and laid gentle hands on the woman in his bed. She stirred, opening her eyes and offering a sleepy smile. "What is it?" she wondered, smoothing her hand over his hair and down along the side of his face.
He needed no words to convey his desire, and she did not hesitate to respond to him. Cushioned by her love, he was no longer afraid to fall, knowing she would be there to catch him as surely as she knew he would be there for her. And he vowed to try never to let her down.
fin.
It was pure, dumb luck that led them to the man who murdered Cora Richards. A routine traffic stop in Montauk led to a suspicion of drugs which gave probable cause for a search. When the search turned up Cora's wallet, the driver and his friend were arrested. A home search found a necklace that Vicky Yarborough identified as Cora's, one they had given her for Christmas. She'd been wearing it the day she was killed.
Faced with the evidence, the driver of the car sang like a songbird, fingering Cora's ex-husband, who had hired him to kill her so he would no longer have to pay alimony. He had taken the necklace as part of his fee for services rendered, and it was instrumental in his conviction.
Since Goren and Eames were still recovering from the shooting, as a favor to them, Logan and Wheeler finished up their paperwork on the case.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The bedroom was dark, except for the glow of the streetlight as it illuminated his outline near the window where he sat. He watched the vacant street, casting a glance into the depths of the room when he heard her move, but she didn't get up. He was glad. At the moment he simply wanted to be alone with his thoughts. What had he done? When had he allowed his desire control over his better sense?
A breeze fluttered the curtains, caressing his bare chest which had been coated with sweat a mere hour and a half ago. He looked back into the dark room toward the bed. Something moved in the shadows near the closet and he tensed, until a soft voice spoke, for his ears only. "Why is this such a dilemma for you?"
"Aren't you dead?" he snapped irritably.
Eames stirred in her sleep, and Marcy said, "Keep it down unless you want to involve Alex in this little talk, too."
"I have involved Alex in quite enough, thank you."
"Does it matter to you at all that she loves you...or that you love her?"
He turned back toward the window. "I have...always loved her. I am used to that. But this...I don't know. It's too much of an investment. What happens to me when I finally do chase her off?"
"Now why would you do something stupid like that?"
"I wouldn't, intentionally. It's just something that always happens. I've learned not to invest myself too deeply into a relationship." He looked at her. "It's easier for me that way, when she leaves."
"Did it ever occur to you that maybe that was why they left, because you weren't really part of the equation?" His silence gave her the answer she expected. He knew. "Bobby, don't repeat the mistakes of your past with her. This is probably the best chance you have to actually be happy for the first time, and for the rest of your life." The ghost of her image wagged a finger at him. "She loves you, and if you blow this, so help me I'll haunt you for the rest of your life. Invest yourself for once. Let her know that you love her, too. Don't just give her what she needs or what you think she wants. Let her give back to you. It's all right to let her love you, too."
He looked at the floor. "I'm not twenty. I have to unlearn a lifetime of conditioning. That won't be easy to do."
"No one said love was easy, but it is worth it. Talk to her. I'm sure she'll understand, and she'll be patient. She does understand you."
"I know she does, and that scares me."
She smiled. "Everything about her scares you and intrigues you and enchants you..."
"Yeah, yeah...I get it."
"I sure hope so. Now stop second-guessing yourself and go to bed. Remember, Bobby, as badly as you want her, she wants you, too, or she would not be where she is now. Please tell me you won't be an idiot, so I don't have to keep an eye on you."
Goren got up from the chair by the window and moved deeper into the darkness of the room. His eyes adjusted to the dark and he watched the sleeping form of the woman he loved. "Let her love you," Marcy's voice sounded beside his ear.
He made up his mind and gently grasped the blanket in his fist. He glanced toward the opposite side of the room where he could only barely make out Marcy's fading form. "Rest in peace, Marcy."
"Now, I will," she responded as she became one with the shadows in the corner and was gone.
Sliding under the blanket, he reached out and laid gentle hands on the woman in his bed. She stirred, opening her eyes and offering a sleepy smile. "What is it?" she wondered, smoothing her hand over his hair and down along the side of his face.
He needed no words to convey his desire, and she did not hesitate to respond to him. Cushioned by her love, he was no longer afraid to fall, knowing she would be there to catch him as surely as she knew he would be there for her. And he vowed to try never to let her down.
fin.
Infinity Star - If this isn't an entire screenplay for LOCI, I've never seen anything that is! What a masterpiece of writing you've done here. The character development is great, the plot has everything to keep the reader/viewer intrigued all the way, it would require only a few changes of background (not too expensive to produce), would involve another female character (always a winner) plus a child and a dog (always appealing). It's got everything!! You are so very talented you really should be submitting some of these to Vincent, himself - look at all the stories he's self-produced - if he didn't you your story for LOCI he might well use your talents to write a screenplay for another project! I was an English Major for my B.A., have done graduate work in Creative Writing and I am telling you very honestly that you have a great future ahead of you with your stories. Start sending these out, girl!
P.S. PM me with your Tantric ones!
P.S. PM me with your Tantric ones!
QUOTE (icarus74 @ May 4 2009, 04:03 AM) 
Infinity Star - If this isn't an entire screenplay for LOCI, I've never seen anything that is! What a masterpiece of writing you've done here. The character development is great, the plot has everything to keep the reader/viewer intrigued all the way, it would require only a few changes of background (not too expensive to produce), would involve another female character (always a winner) plus a child and a dog (always appealing). It's got everything!! You are so very talented you really should be submitting some of these to Vincent, himself - look at all the stories he's self-produced - if he didn't you your story for LOCI he might well use your talents to write a screenplay for another project! I was an English Major for my B.A., have done graduate work in Creative Writing and I am telling you very honestly that you have a great future ahead of you with your stories. Start sending these out, girl!
P.S. PM me with your Tantric ones!
P.S. PM me with your Tantric ones!
Thank you, icarus! I appreciate your feedback and am glad you liked this story. I enjoy writing casefiles and stories with "meat" more than any others. I like plot!!
IStar -- great job! I'm not a shipper by any stretch of the imagination, but what you wrote here was very good, very compelling, and very satisfying. I got a happy ending and I like happy endings. I was rooting for Goren and Eames to get it together and realize what they felt for each other. Takes a good story to make me want to root for the leads to get together, whether I like them or not.
Please keep sharing your stories. You are one of my fave writers!
Please keep sharing your stories. You are one of my fave writers!
QUOTE (flashymom @ May 4 2009, 03:38 PM)
IStar -- great job! I'm not a shipper by any stretch of the imagination, but what you wrote here was very good, very compelling, and very satisfying. I got a happy ending and I like happy endings. I was rooting for Goren and Eames to get it together and realize what they felt for each other. Takes a good story to make me want to root for the leads to get together, whether I like them or not.
Please keep sharing your stories. You are one of my fave writers!
Please keep sharing your stories. You are one of my fave writers!
Thanks, FM! That's really nice to hear, especially from someone here on this board. I really am pleased that you like my stories and I do appreciate hearing from you :-)
This is a "lo-fi" version of our main content. To view the full version with more information, formatting and images, please click here.