Disclaimer: No characters belong to me, the thoughts, however are mine alone. No profit made. No harm intended.
Title: Lifeline
Author: kneipho
Beta: My Man Godfry (Any errors you unearth are mine, not his.)
Rating: T
Fandom: Law and Order: Criminal Intent
Character/Pairing Codes: B/A, Bobby's POV
Spoiler Alert: Endgame, Amends, Smile and Purgatory
Warning: Another strange CI characterization, in which poor Robert Goren is the unfortuantely the victim.
Response to Purgatory. Goren's POV during Alex's big "You're the genius" speech. An echo of, rather than a sequel to, "Tempered Glass".
I don't have enough words. My throat is working, my mouth is moving, yet, I barely make a sound. I try to apologize, explain why I played the game this way, but she's in no mood to listen. Her face unfolding into set planes of resentment, of betrayal before my eyes. All I want to do is grab her hands and kiss the backs of them, bury my face in the crook of her neck and plead with her not to be angry —like a little kid who can't stand the fact that he's in trouble. The compulsion is eerily reminiscent of feelings engendered during confrontations in those last days with my mother. I can't seem to stop my brain from wrapping around the psychological implications. In some ways, it's so twisted –fitting, but strange.
She's yelling at me, yelling without screaming. Lecturing me with force, while that bastard, Stoat, contemplates his fate beyond the wall in Interrogation. Her arms, crossed vice-tight, flatten her breasts while she vents her spleen. She tells me, she could have blown my head off, reminds me how she's had my back these all these years… I stand tall. I look her in the eye. The way I would with any other cop I respect. Take my lumps like the man I am, and I try not to panic as she points out how many times she covered for me.
How many times she'd lied.
The seriousness of that statement scares the crap out of me, and I feel myself going numb. I count the sudden lack of sensation as a blessing. It makes it easier to keep my face blank, keep my emotions under wraps while my partner lays into me, makes it easier to keep my voice calm… I always let them drag me into the weeds, my emotions, especially with Eames —so, I purposely sink even deeper into myself. I play iceberg. Seven-eighths of me submerged beneath the surface, while her words, her sentences roll about, amalgamate inside my head.
I don't want to hurt her, not any more than I already have. Working with me, pairing up with "that wack-job detective" has done enough damage to her career. She pretends she doesn't bother her, behaves as if it doesn't matter, but it does. I know it does and that fact makes me crazy. Part of my job is to protect her, not screw with her reputation. It's precisely why I kept her out of the loop. What I mean when I say that there are rules… I look down at this tiny person, this petite ball of livid sarcasm that has just finished railing at me. I watch her as she turns her back and walks away.
Clearly, she's not getting it. Maybe she doesn't want to. In her place, I can't say for sure, I would.
But, I know one thing.
I need my shield back, and I'll do exactly as I'm told to get it. Rat out bad cops. Lead an expedition down the jungle of all my childhood traumas with Dr. Olivet. I'll be a good boy. Learn my lessons. I'll follow all the rules. Being a detective is what I'm made for. The only time I'm allowed to put the puzzle pieces, I can't stop myself from seeing everywhere, together, and do something useful. It's my tether to the world, a sane world, an ordered life —a life I can't seem to bring myself into sync with, no matter how hard I try… These last five months, I've lived in Purgatory. An experience I don't to plan to continue or repeat. Never, have I ever been buried so deep inside the hole.
I need it –the job. I need to work Major Case .I tell myself Alex knows that.
But I know that I don't want to. Not without her.
