OVER THE RIVER
Alex settled in her chair and prepared to write the report on the case she and Bobby had just concluded in spectacular fashion.
"Good job, both of you," said Deakins as he approached their desks. "Carver's grateful for the confession…he didn't want to face preparing for a difficult case over Thanksgiving."
"Always happy to oblige," Alex responded cheerfully. "And, truth be told, I didn't want to work over the holiday either."
Bobby gave his captain a brief nod of gratitude and returned to writing his report. Although his hatred of paperwork was legendary, he wrote vivid, clear reports, some of which were viewed at the academy as prime examples of how to write one.
"I want to let you know…neither of you should have to work at all during the Thanksgiving weekend…there's plenty of people to cover…and I'd like you to have the time…including you, Goren…" Deakins looked pointedly at Bobby.
Bobby barely glanced from his computer screen. "It's ok, Captain…I don't mind…"
Deakins sighed, gave Alex his standard "well, what can you do about it" look, and headed to his office.
Alex briefly studied Bobby. "Hey," she said quietly. "You heard what the captain said…he almost ordered you to take some time off…"
Bobby scarcely looked at her. "We've talked about this before, Eames…I'm happy to work on holidays." With an air of ending the discussion, Bobby returned to his report.
Alex considered Bobby. It was, she thought, a huge exaggeration to say they had talked about this previously. From the early days of their partnership Alex had watched Bobby consistently signing up to work Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's; trading days with other officers who needed to make birthdays, anniversaries, ball games, plays, recitals, Bar-Mitzvahs and other events; reserving only his Saturday mornings as his. In addition to his extraordinary talents and capacity for hard work, it was Bobby's willingness to take on extra duties and adaptability that earned him the grudging admiration and cooperation of his fellow detectives.
Alex chewed on her pen as she looked at Bobby. During the early days of their partnership she was more concerned with whether the relationship would survive than in observing her partner's behavior. By the third year of the partnership, Alex became aware of the fact that Bobby appeared not to celebrate any events. By the fourth year, in spite of the interruption of her pregnancy, she became convinced that Bobby did his best to actively avoid holidays. Her several attempts to get her partner to her family's gatherings were met with polite but definite refusals. Bobby had been wonderfully attentive and watchful during her pregnancy, but he had also quietly and efficiently disappeared whenever members of her family appeared. If he was forced to attend some official NYPD event, Bobby usually arrived with a charming and lovely brunette on his arm, but never the same one twice. Alex recalled that Bobby arrived by himself at last year's holiday party and received considerable grief from the other detectives. Alex, slightly buzzed on margaritas and happily on the arm of a besotted stockbroker with a fascination for cops, had joined the teasing, commenting, "So, what happened, Bobby? Have you run through all of the long legged beauties of New York?" Alex recalled, with a wince, that a brief flash of pain seemed to sweep across Bobby's eyes before he responded with some comment that he'd at least found all of the ones worth knowing. She had intended to spend some time with him that evening, but Bobby quickly disappeared from the party.
Maybe, Alex thought, she could try another invitation now.
"You know, Bobby," she said, glancing around her screen, "my mom and dad would love for you to come to Thanksgiving dinner…or at least visit…"
Bobby's concentration remained on the screen before him. "Thanks, Eames…it's nice of them…but I get a lot of work done…get a lot of good will… and time and a half…"
The answer sounded flat and rehearsed to Alex. She took a deep breath and moved into potentially dangerous territory.
"Seriously, Bobby...Why don't you come...My nephew adores you...heck, all of my nephews and nieces adore you...and my Dad and my brothers can talk cars and work with you..."
Bobby quietly continued to stare at his screen. "No...thank you... like I said, Eames...believe it or not, I LIKE working holidays...and this is your family...and a family gathering..."
"Bobby..." Alex pressed.
Bobby finally gave her his full attention. "Eames, I appreciate it...I do...but...I won't invade..."
"What...what do you do...besides work..." Alex asked cautiously. "Do you..." She swallowed. In spite of Bobby's reassuring words, she felt the Garret case still shadowed their partnership, and that she needed to step carefully. "Do you...get to see your Mom?"
Bobby's attention had returned to the computer screen. A casual observer might have thought him placid, calm, but Alex saw the tightening of his jaw.
"It's better," he said in a flat voice, "If I don't visit her on holidays...the crowds...the excitement...she doesn't deal with it well...I go before or after..."
"Bobby," Alex said quietly, "you don't...have to..."
"Please...Eames...I...just please..." Bobby's shoulders briefly slumped. "I...I need to...make a copy of this form...Excuse me..." He rose and headed to the copier.
Saddened and stunned, Alex sat in her chair. He had been polite, even regretful, but Bobby had clearly, if gently, rebuffed her and drawn a line defining where she could and could not go in their relationship.
Robert Goren surveyed the report, made certain every "I" was dotted and "T" was crossed, and every blank filled. He signed it, moved it to the done pile, and pulled another form from the rapidly decreasing to-do pile on his desk. The cheers from a television set in a corner of the squad room briefly broke in on his thoughts.
"Sorry!" A young officer's head popped up from behind the set. "Just checking the score."
"Right," another detective laughed. "Like anyone here cares about the Lions."
Bobby returned to his study of the files and forms on his desk and wished that Thanksgiving and other holiday thoughts would stop invading his brain. He had told Alex the truth—he liked working holidays. He had worked holidays for as long as he could remember. In college he discovered he could get a lot of studying done and make some extra money by staying around during breaks. In the Army he was the guy who would cover for everyone who wanted to take leave, and the habit followed him into civilian life. He got a lot done—several cases had solved themselves on his desk simply through hard work in a quiet office. He gained a great deal of good will by taking on shifts so that cops with families and commitments could take time off. And, in truth, being at work was far better than…well, the truth was Bobby Goren didn't have anywhere to go or anyone to see. There was a standing invitation from Lewis and his family; there was Eames, of course, but Bobby felt he leaned on both of them far too much. And visiting his mother on any holiday meant the possibility of running into his brother and was an exercise in pain and frustration—or at least more of an exercise in pain and frustration than the visits usually were.
Bobby stared glumly at the report in front of him. His visits to his mother were becoming increasingly painful. The invasion of her life during the Garrett case devastated her, but Bobby had to acknowledge her condition had been subtly deteriorating for some time. Now she was convinced her younger son wasn't her younger son at all, but some monster that was part of the conspiracy that told her that her husband was dead, that her older son was not to be trusted, and that she was insane. Bobby glimpsed his face in the reflection of the computer screen. Maybe Mom's right, he thought. Maybe her son is a monster. Maybe he should have taken better care of her and not run away to the Army and signed the papers that sent her away.
The sounds of the other officers watching the football game again broke into his dark thoughts. Bobby at least tolerated most holidays and could even enjoy certain aspects of them. (It was an open if seldom discussed secret that Robert Goren was one of the more effective and willing Santa Claus impersonators in the NYPD ranks, a fact Captain James Deakins readily exploited once he discovered it.) But Bobby actively loathed Thanksgiving. Part of this loathing resulted from his even greater hatred of football. In Bobby's mind, football belonged to his father and his brother, and to the coaches who at every new school Bobby entered (and there were more of those than he cared to remember) who licked their lips at his size. At least for basketball, the young Bobby Goren's lanky frame fit, but all the football coaches believed all Bobby needed was a few extra pounds and the proper motivation to be a great linebacker. But Bobby hated the sport—hated its brutality, its authoritarianism, its violence. Most of all, he hated the way his father screamed at his brother to kill his opponents, especially if there was a need to cover the point spread.
Football was one element, but all of Thanksgiving was a minefield for the Goren family, or at least for its youngest member. He could barely stand the taste of turkey after the many disasters of his mother's cooking (the food poisoning episode when he was nine a particularly vivid and unpleasant memory). If his father managed to be present at all he was usually drunk by noon, and his brother was usually lost to some sporting event or another. Bobby thought he hadn't experienced a real Thanksgiving until the year he accepted an invitation to Lewis' house. The wealth of food, the happiness and chaos of a real family stunned him, but even those hours were tinged with the guilt that his mother was alone.
Bobby glanced at the few other officers in the squad room. Deakins had let it be known that he wouldn't disapprove of a television's presence as long as he didn't know about it. Bobby quietly picked up his laptop and files and moved to one of the interrogation rooms; it was not that the television disturbed him as much as Bobby thought he might be disturbing the others in the office. As he sat down, he realized that the Eames family was probably just about to start Thanksgiving dinner. Alex had stressed he could come and go at any time, but that dinner would appear around one or two. She made one last appeal to him that morning, calling him just as he was about to leave his apartment. Bobby paused at his door as his machine picked up the call.
"Hey, Bobby…it's Alex. If you're there, pick up…or I'll call your cell…and then I'll try your office…I will reach you…."
Bobby smiled and picked up the phone, knowing it was the smart move in face of Alex's persistence.
"Hey," he said. "Are you at your parents?"
"Yea…listen…"
Bobby heard a friendly cacophony of voices over the phone, and for a moment his resolution not to invade the Eames family's celebration wavered.
"Please, Bobby…we'd…I'd love for you to come…" Alex's voice was friendly but tentative.
"It's kind of you, Alex…and your family…but I'm committed to work…" Bobby rubbed the back of his neck.
"Ok." He felt more than a twinge of guilt at the resignation in her voice. "But at least let me bring you some leftovers tonight…"
"Eames…you don't have to…"
"Please, Bobby…" Alex's tone changed and became softer. "Actually, you'd be doing me a favor…I'll explain…ok?"
Puzzled, Bobby agreed. "Ok…"
Bobby stared at the grey walls surrounding him. He was still puzzled by Alex's idea that he would be doing her a favor. He discovered that he was both anticipating and fearing her arrival that evening.
"Hey, Goren…you ok?"
Bobby's head jerked up from his study of the photographs on the table. Mike Logan lounged in the interrogation room's doorway. Bobby realized that several hours had passed, and it was evening.
"Uh…yea…just going over some evidence. What time is it?" Bobby began to collect the photos.
"You know, Goren, I don't think you're this super genius everyone talks about…I think you just work harder." Logan gave him a quick grin.
A smile crossed Bobby's face. "Thanks for noticing…I think most people think I pull stuff out of the air…You stuck here because you're the new guy?"
"Yea…but I don't mind…I'm headed to a cousin's who favors a late Thanksgiving dinner…but I need to get going if I have any chance at the turkey…you and I are the last ones here…ok if I head out?"
"Not a problem," Bobby said as he gathered the files. "I didn't know it was so late…I'll lock up…"
Logan studied Goren for a moment. He'd heard about the unorthodox genius of Major Case, and had been prepared to thoroughly dislike Robert Goren, but found he liked working with him during their brief encounters. And there was no question in his mind that Goren had saved his life during their confrontation with the corrupt prison guards. And the fact that a cop like Alex Eames was willing to stick with, up with, and for him raised Goren's stock considerably in Mike Logan's book. "You got plans?" Logan asked.
"Yea…involves getting reintroduced to my bed…" Bobby grinned at Logan's smirk. "Don't get excited…it also involves getting reintroduced to the concept of sleep…"
"Yea…sign of age when you look forward to sleep." Logan was about to turn away when a thought struck him. "Look…I don't mean to butt in or anything…but the Garrett case…seemed to me that you got the worst of it…"
Bobby felt a brief wave of anger, but it was quenched by the thought that Logan had received his share of bruises during the case. "You didn't see Eames on the stand…you might think differently…"
"Barek told me about that…sounds like that hit you too."
Bobby carefully gathered the files together. Logan noted, not for the first time, that for a man of his size, Goren moved with remarkable grace and speed when he wanted and or needed to.
"Well…it didn't catch me quite so off guard…truth be told…I'd be surprised if she'd never asked for a transfer…Like she said," Bobby said with grim humor, "I'm an acquired taste."
"You're ok? I know…good partners are hard to find…" Logan said quietly
"Yea," Bobby replied thoughtfully. "We're ok…and they are…and Eames…" He paused; Bobby rarely expressed his feelings about anything, especially those regarding Alex Eames, but, in spite of their considerable differences, he liked and felt a connection to Mike Logan. It might have been their status as outsiders, or their shared experience in the case of the corrupt prison guards, or the rumors that Logan's childhood was something less than ideal. Whatever the reason, Bobby felt he could relax his defenses a bit with Logan. "Eames…she's a great partner."
"Your mom ok?" Logan noted the stiffness in Bobby's shoulders.
"Yea…she's doing about as well…" Bobby disappeared into his shell.
Mike Logan wasn't a genius with psychology texts etched on his memory, but he had learned enough about human nature to recognize that he had run into Bobby Goren's defenses. "Good…I gotta get going…Happy Thanksgiving, Goren."
"Yea…same to you, Logan." Bobby was already moving to replace the files.
Bobby checked his email, shut off his computer, and made a final sweep of the office. He made sure the door was locked, headed into the elevator, and out into the late November night.
It was cold and dark; the wind whipped down the canyons of buildings and sent sharp needles of cold that pierced even Bobby's thick coat. He shivered and began walking towards his apartment; the exercise would do him good, and he doubted he could find a cab at this time on this day. Bobby looked up at the dozens of small windows of light that dotted the buildings. "Everyone," he thought, "seems to have someone…some place…something…I have…what…why do I?" Loneliness and despair overwhelmed him, and for a moment Bobby feared he might crumble to the ground.
His cell phone saved him. At its ringing Bobby pulled it from his coat pocket and felt enormous relief at seeing Alex's number on its display screen.
"Hey," he said softly.
"Hey, yourself." Alex's voice was cheerful, but Bobby sensed some strain in it. "You out of jail yet?"
"Just left…walking to my apartment. " Bobby juggled his phone and binder. "You have a good day? You sound a little tired…"
"Good…but, like I've told you…we're a horde…Are you almost home? I have goodies."
Bobby smiled in spite of his dark mood. "About ten or fifteen minutes away…I need to warn you, Alex…I may not be fit company tonight…"
There was a brief silence. "Do you want me to come?" Alex's voice was tentative.
"Yes." Bobby was surprised by how quickly and forcefully he answered Alex.
"Ok," she said. "Warning noted and appreciated…truth be told, I wouldn't mind a little peace and quiet now…see you soon."
"Ok…and Alex…"
"Yea?"
"Th…thank you."
Bobby heard a strange, muffled sound. "Al…Eames? Are you ok?"
"Fine…hurry up and get home…this stuff smells really good…I might eat it all."
Bobby's step was considerably lighter, and he quickly reached his apartment. His building was unusually quiet, and Bobby guessed that most of its residents were elsewhere. A tiny stream of light glowed from under his apartment door, and he opened it cautiously. Bobby suspected Alex was the source of the light, but years of police work had left him with a highly developed warning system.
Alex's warning system wasn't quite as developed, but she heard Bobby open his door. "Hey," she called from the kitchen. "I hope you don't mind me coming on in."
"Not at all," Bobby answered. "Particularly if you come bearing gifts." He paused in the entry to his small kitchen. Several containers filled the small counter space; something softly bubbled in a pan on his stove top; the microwave hummed; and several wonderful scents filled the air.
"Is…is my oven on?" Bobby asked with some amazement.
"Yes," Alex said as she stirred the pot.
"You're going to poison us, Eames…I'm not sure when I last used it." Bobby hung his overcoat on a hook behind the door. "What all is this? It smells wonderful."
"A little bit of everything from Thanksgiving dinner…turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, three different kinds of potatoes…"
"Pumpkin pie?" Bobby asked eagerly. In spite of his dark feelings, the food called to him.
"Some pumpkin…and some pecan…and whipped cream," Alex grinned.
Bobby studied her for a moment. Beneath her cheerfulness, Alex appeared tense and tired.
"You…you don't have to do all of this, Alex." Bobby's voice was soft and apologetic. "I appreciate it…but if you're tired…"
Alex, slightly surprised, turned at Bobby's use of her first name.
"I don't mind. Besides," she said lightly, "you're supposed to spend this day with loved ones." She smiled at the blush in Bobby's face. "The truth is," she said taking one container out of the microwave, "that I should be thanking you…you gave me an out."
"An out?" Bobby was puzzled.
"Yea…hey, you have anything to put this food on besides your desk?"
"Uh…yea…" For the next few minutes Bobby handed Alex plates and utensils and set up a card table in his living room. He and Alex filled their plates, and Bobby discovered Alex had bought everything, including mashed potatoes, scalloped potatoes, roast potatoes, and sweet potatoes.
"Eames, I count four kinds of potatoes here," Bobby said as sat his plate down.
"We don't count the sweet potatoes as potatoes in my family. They fall into a category of not side dish, but not dessert," she answered.
Bobby smiled at her. "With all the marshmallows and brown sugar, these are dangerously close to the dessert field. You still hungry? Didn't you get enough to eat today?"
"Actually," Alex sat on Bobby's couch. "I didn't get much of a chance, what with chasing my nieces and nephews…one of the reasons I wound up with all this food."
"Would you like some wine?" Bobby asked.
"Yea…that'd be nice…my family leans towards beer, and that never seemed to mix well with turkey to me."
Bobby poured the wine and for a few moments they sat quietly enjoying their feast. Both were suddenly hungry.
"This is pretty good," Alex said raising her glass to the light.
Bobby swallowed a bite of one of the varieties of potato; Alex noted he seemed to avoid the turkey. "I don't know that much about wine…"
"Which probably means you could write a book about it," Alex said.
He gave her a quick smile. "Hardly…but I…well…an associate who knows a lot…" Bobby stared at his plate. "I have a lot of…associates…but…" Bobby bit his lip. "Not a lot of friends…and you're the best of them, Alex."
Alex stared at him and then at her plate. "That…that means a lot to me, Bobby…particularly now…after…"
"Alex…I keep telling you…don't worry about that letter." Bobby had regained his composure. "It doesn't matter." He smiled at her.
Alex tentatively returned the smile, and they returned to their meal. They ate in companionable silence, and Bobby had started coffee to accompany their dessert before either spoke again.
"So," Bobby said as he sat the coffee on the table, "you never told me why I was your "out" today…"
Alex studied the depths of her coffee. "It's just…" She leaned forward. "Bobby…do you ever…is it ever hard for you…" She bit her lip. Alex had no desire to open any of Bobby's wounds, but she felt unusually connected to him his evening, one that went beyond the ESP of their work. She sensed he might understand the emotions that had raged through her during the day.
"What is it, Alex?" Bobby's voice was calm and gentle and failed to betray his fear of what Alex might ask him.
"When you see other people…people with families…children…does it…does it hurt? Do you…wonder…about what your life might have been?"
Bobby swallowed hard. "Yea," he finally said. "It…yea…sometimes…"
"That's…what it was like today….All of my brothers and sisters…" The words spilled from Alex. "Their families…especially my nephew…it just hurt…hurt so much…I love them all so much…and I'm thrilled I could help them…but…it hurt…just physically hurt…" Tears filled her eyes, and Alex struggled for control.
Bobby was helpless and lost; he had no idea what he should do. He knew what he wanted to do; he wanted to take Alex in his arms and tell her everything was all right, that he would make everything ok. But he felt that anything he said or did would destroy their tenuous relationship, that Alex would see or hear only a flat gesture or words. And, as much as he ached to help Alex, Bobby viewed and felt everything through the haze of his own pain.
Alex regained some control. "I …I'm sorry, Bobby…I used you as an excuse…told everyone I wanted to check on you…the cops in the family understood…which is more than they would have if I told them the truth…hell, I don't think I understand it…" Her lips trembled.
"Alex…" Bobby's heart melted. "It's all right…you can always use me as an excuse…"
"He doesn't trust me," Alex thought. "What have I done…what do I keep doing…hurting him…" She raised her eyes over her coffee cup, and they linked with Bobby's dark eyes. And she lost her battle for control.
Alex became aware that she was sobbing into Bobby's shirt. He stroked her hair and back and softly spoke. "It's all right, Alex…just let it out…it's ok…just cry…all of it makes sense…the mixed feelings…perfectly understandable…"
"Dammit, Goren! Stop it! Shut up!" Alex jerked away from his grasp and slammed a fist against Bobby's shoulder; he groaned and fell from the couch onto the floor. Rubbing his shoulder, Bobby stared at her. Alex began to pace up and down in front of him.
"I'm not one of your suspects, Goren…or witnesses…you're not going to pick my brains apart…I'm not some project…" Alex cried from both rage and despair.
Fear seized Bobby. Several relationships had floundered on his over analyzing of them to the tiniest detail. And the tendency was about to destroy the most important relationship in his life. "Please," he begged. "I'm sorry…please, Alex…I just…I want to help…It's all I know…what to do…I'm sorry…please."
Alex ceased pacing and stared down at Bobby. The sensation of towering over him was new and disconcerting, but the feeling of being in control of their partnership was not. Alex realized that, in spite of the appearance that Bobby was the leader in their professional and personal relationships, she was the balance, the connection to others, the true leader in nearly every way. The power thrilled and terrified her.
"Alex? Are…are you all right?" Bobby rose to his knees. "I'm sorry…so sorry…"
Alex gently touched his cheek; Bobby stared at her.
"I…I'm all right…I'm sorry too." She calmed as she spoke. "I used you…and then I got angry at you…you were just…the target…"
Bobby blinked at her. "It's…ok…I'm always glad to be of some kind of use." He tried to smile at her.
Alex held Bobby's face between her hands and leaned forward so that her forehead touched his; the contact thrilled and warmed them both. He responded by softly hugging her. A calm silence settled over them.
"I'm not used to this," Alex said. "Being the same height as you."
Bobby smiled. "Don't get used to it; my knees can't take it."
They slipped onto the couch and held hands.
"Ok?" she whispered.
"Yea."
"Really? And not just your knees?" Alex looked steadily at him.
"Really." Bobby's gaze was equally steady. "Actually," he swallowed. "I haven't felt this close to you for a long time…ever since the Garrett case…It's like there's this…this huge valley…or river…between us…and I didn't know how to get over it and reach you…"
"I know," Alex answered. She had feared this conversation for several weeks, but now that it was here she was remarkably calm. The words flowed from her. "I've been afraid to even try to cross them…I hurt you so much…I didn't want to hurt you more…"
Bobby nodded. "I know…I was afraid too…The letter…The transfer…it doesn't matter, Alex…Please believe me…You stayed…I am lucky…that's what matters…"
Alex smiled at him. "I'm lucky, too…You've made me a better cop…a better person…"
Bobby blinked and struggled to control the emotions boiling inside his head. "I…feel the same…Alex…what you've done for me…what you mean…"
Another silence settled over Bobby and Alex; neither could trust their voices to carry their feelings.
"Hey," Alex said. "Our coffee is getting cold." She untangled her hands from Bobby's and rose from the couch.
They finished their dessert and coffee.
"So," Bobby finally said cautiously. "We managed to get over the river?"
"Yes," Alex answered. "And we've got each other to get through the woods."
END