Waiting...
He hates waiting.
There were things to be done, but they were the routine tasks; the mundane daily rituals of signing off paperwork, shuffling the roster, authorising leave, chasing incomplete reports, memos to be read. And for once there were no controversial cases, no Chief screaming at him for results, no hungry reporters sniffing at his heels for a story.
He glances at the Squad room, at detectives hunched over their desks, the support staff moving between them purposefully. There are murmured conversations, the muted sound of the occasional phone ringing. There is no sense of urgency, no hurried exits, no voices raised in heated discussion. There is just the quiet industriousness of loose ends being tied up, old cases being reviewed, files being put in order.
And that sense of waiting...
Waiting for the answers to a thousand speculative queries; each one having the potential to throw a case open wide, to send it veering off in a new direction, to revive a stagnant investigation. Waiting for the call to come in; shattering the peace, energising the atmosphere, transforming drones into dynamos.
Worse than the waiting, there is the sense of impotence.
The knowledge that he cannot speed up the results of inquiries, make the call come; that he can do nothing... And his thoughts now to turn to matters he has been avoiding. There had been the initial terror of finding a lump in Angie's breast, the whispered frightened conversations about whether to tell the kids yet, the frantic round of doctor's appointments, tests, scans, biopsies. But now all he could do was wait for the results...wait, and hold her hand, and hope for the best and try to avoid fearing the worst...
His thoughts are interrupted by an abrupt intrusion into his office.
"...even if you think they're a waste of time, they still need to be eliminated ..." Her voice trailing off as she realises her words have carried with her through the door, Detective Eames takes a seat in front of his desk, neatly composed and opening the manila folder in her hands. Her partner, by contrast, throws himself dismissively into the seat in the corner, radiating antagonism as he stares out of the window, fingers fiddling with the zip on the binder in his lap.
His Tuesday 2 o'clock torment; case review with Eames and Goren.
When he had taken over as Captain of the Major Case Squad, one of his first tasks was a review of personnel. The outgoing Captain had left him with a competent crew of seasoned, experienced detectives but he had seen the need for some new blood, some fresh ideas and when the opportunity to recruit Eames came up he had seized it. He had not been disappointed.
Goren had been more of a gamble. An impressive track record, anecdotes of bizarre methods and unconventional behaviour from colleagues, the suspicion that the glowing recommendations from former supervisors were attempts to shift this frustrating and challenging detective away from their responsibility onto another. But every department needed a wild card and he could see that with careful management, Goren could be a valuable asset. Careful management and the right partner.
He sits and listens to Eames' clear concise summary of the status of their latest cases and when she has finished, he asks:
"Goren, you got anything to add?"
Startled out of his reverie, the big man shakes his head and mumbles:
"No, uh ... she's pretty much covered it all."
He sees Eames tense, and is aware that there is something left unsaid, a matter under dispute between them but there is no further comment. As he watches them leave, he feels mounting frustration; he knows they will make a good team, that they are a good balance for each other but it is driving him mad knowing that he can't force their partnership in to effect, he has to let them learn to work together.
All he can do is wait...