Author's Note: Yes, I do know how many times "Goren and Eames first case" has been done, but I ask you...can it ever really be done enough?

Disclaimer: Law and Order: Criminal Intent is the intellectual property of Dick Wolf. I make no money from this. And if he wanted to take my idea for an episode I wouldn't object or sue.

Kind of Like Evil

Chapter 1: First Impressions

Friday, July 20th, 2001

The Blue Monday Bar was an unassuming, somewhat gritty, unapologetically utilitarian place that, while large, had a cozy feel. It was a popular hangout for cops. Detective Octavio Raub sat down at the bar after a long day on the job. "The usual," he called to the bartender, Brice, who was himself a retired cop.

Brice poured him a thick beer. When Octavio reached for his wallet, Brice waved dismissively. "You're being treated today. Lady cop at the end of the bar. She's been waiting for a while. Lucky you."

Octavio glanced over and caught the eye of the petite blonde Brice nodded toward. She moved over to sit beside him. "I'd like the same, Brice." She smiled at Octavio, who was still trying to figure out why she'd buy him a drink.

"Have we met?" he asked, even though he was sure they hadn't.

"No, but I've heard of you. I'm Alex Eames, from Vice."

"A pleasure to meet you. I'm not sure what I owe it to."

"I should say I'm formerly from Vice. I just got reassigned to Major Case."

"Ah," Octavio nodded with dawning comprehension. "Let me guess: you're partnered with Bobby Goren."

"How'd you know?"

"It explains why a lady like you'd buy a guy like me a drink. You want to know what you're getting yourself into." Octavio took a gulp of his drink. "It took them long enough," he said a little regretfully. "Did you request this assignment, or..."

"It requested me. Captain Deakins heard about my solve rate at Vice and pulled some strings to get me transferred."

He nodded. "That's quite the compliment, a big boost for your career."

She smiled. "I'll miss my colleagues in Vice, but I can't say I'll miss the pimps."

He regarded her, considered her. "You seem like you're easy to get along with, Eames. And I'm guessing, since Deakins wants you, that you're as tough as they get."

"You're half right; I'm not that easy to get along with." She took obvious pride in this assertion.

Octavio took another drink, then another long look at the woman sitting beside him. "What have you heard about Detective Goren so far?"

"That he's brilliant, he's unconventional, and he's not much of a team player."

"That's...one way to say it."

"What's he really like?" she asked.

"Goren's intense," he said with a shrug. "He's a genius; I honestly can't say why he chose to be a cop. He can wheedle the truth out of any witness or suspect. He's really a nice guy, and if I had the guts to look him in the eye after asking for a transfer, I'd invite him out for a drink."

"So why did you ask for the transfer?"

"Like I said, he's intense. The way his mind works is...it's like he's on a different plain from us mere mortals. And he can get into the heads of perps like...like he lives there. It can get on your nerves, and more than that, it can get scary. You've already accepted the assignment?"

"Yeah," she confirmed.

"Then I don't mind telling you you're in for a hell of a ride. One suspect we interrogated, about a month into our partnership...the guy'd killed his girlfriend's elderly parents with a carbon monoxide time bomb. I was afraid Goren was going to kill the guy with his bare hands right there in the interrogation room. He didn't even touch him, but I was just sure he was going to smash his face in and I couldn't stop him. I like the guy, but I don't trust him. I could never be sure he'd have my back. He's off in his own world half the time. He's unstable." Octavio recited the reasons like he'd rehearsed them. He'd been over them in his mind over and over when he decided to ask for a new partner. "One more thing: I hope you've got a strong stomach. Goren'll poke and sniff and even taste stuff most people wouldn't go near. Just a heads up."

"Thank you," she said as she motioned the bartender over and paid for the drinks.

"I want to wish you good luck, Eames, 'cause you're gonna need it," Octavio said.

Monday July 23rd.

Detective Bobby Goren sat at his desk on the eleventh floor of One Police Plaza. In front of him was the file on his impending partner, Detective Alexandra Eames. He noted the bland facts: age, years of service, solve rate. She came from a family of cops. Her statistics were glowing, her record untarnished. He had the ability to read between the lines, to deduce more of the truth from what wasn't written than what was written. What he saw here was a passionate, competent cop who worked inside the rules but didn't pull punches. A woman who knew how to take care of herself, and proved herself not just equal but superior to her male colleagues, and did it all in such a way that she avoided making enemies. Resilient, dedicated. She'd been married to a cop, who died in a drug-related shootout two and a half years earlier. That note gave him pause. She'd been back on the job in a week, and her solve rate went up. Was throwing herself into her work a coping mechanism, in which case it would probably slack off as she returned to normalcy? Or had her husband's death given her a personal motive for fighting crime? A vendetta? Demerit, either way. She'd been married for five years, and had no children. They had either been incapable of having children or chosen not to.

He noted all this with a slightly disinterested objectivity. He wanted to know how to work with this person, but he took it as a given that he wouldn't be working with her for long.

He put the file in his desk to revisit and re-evaluate after meeting her in person, then he went over the paperwork from his last case. It was almost 10 a.m., which was when Detective Eames was scheduled to meet with Deakins. He expected she would be at least five minutes early.

He was right. At 9:53 the elevator door opened, and Officer McGowan entered beside Detective Eames (Goren recognized her from her file photo) and pointed her in the direction of Deakins' officer. Goren kept his eyes fixed on his paperwork as she walked by. A minute later, Deakins poked his head out the door. "Goren, my office please."

He complied, curious as ever to meet a new partner. Detective Eames stood and offered her hand as Deakin's introduced them.

"Detective Goren, your new partner Detective Alex Eames."

Her grip was firm, just like he expected. "Nice to finally meet you." Her voice surprised him a little. It was deeper than he would have expected from a woman her size, a little bit chalky, almost bored. It was a voice well suited to sarcasm.

He unobtrusively examined her face. Her chin had a slightly defiant tilt. Her thin lips were edged with harsh creases. There was no trace of weakness in that face. Even her closed-lipped smile seemed hard. Her eyes were wary, and they were also evaluating him. He guessed that he wasn't what she expected.

I hope you know what you're getting yourself into, Alex thought to herself. This was the renowned Detective Robert Goren? He didn't look like a genius. He was large and tall, with a heavy jowl, shadowy stubble, and dark eyes. He looked like a thug, a bouncer, or a bodyguard. She'd half expected a pasty, skinny guy with thick glasses and a pocket protector. He didn't look all that "intense" either. For all his size, she was pretty sure she could have taken him down. She'd learned in junior high—and again working Vice—that the big ones moved slowest and fell hardest, and were easily thrown off guard by anyone with the guts to stand up to them.

"Welcome to the Major Case Squad," Goren said.

She was also surprised by his voice. It was higher than she would have expected from a man his size, and softer than his face suggested. Was it her imagination that it was slightly condescending, like the voice a doctor might use to comfort a scared young patient?

Captain James Deakins, arms folded, shook his head almost imperceptibly as he watched the detectives size each other up. He hoped this partnership would work out, but he didn't hold much more hope than Goren did. Goren worked alone. Even when he had a partner, he worked alone. "Why don't you bring Eames up to speed on your last case, Detective?" he suggested.

"Right." He led Eames to her desk, and watched peripherally as she tested out her chair, glanced over the desk, and started arranging her computer, pens, and notepads.

"The last case...we're close to closing it. Edward Chapel shot his best friend, Charles Luis, then moved the body to Luis's girlfriend's apartment. The girlfriend was a judge's daughter, which is why they called in Major Case. We already have a confession."

"Why did he do it? Jealousy?" Eames asked.

"Nothing so prosaic. They got in an argument over a poker game after having a few drinks, it got out of hand, the suspect accidentally shot his friend while trying to scare him with the gun, and tried to cover it up. He never did like the girlfriend very much."

"How did you get him to confess?"

"It wasn't hard. The guilt was killing him. When we arrested him, he was trying to overdose on sleeping pills."

"Are all your cases that easy?"

"Not even close."

"What do you still need to close the case?" She flicked the hair out of her face with a quick, practiced toss of her head that she probably didn't even notice.

Goren always noticed.

He slid the case file over to her. "State of mind before the killing. The suspect isn't even sure if it was premeditated or not."

"How do you plan on determining that?"

"From the crime scene and from his personality. I'm convinced the murder itself was accidental, but ADA Carver would really like it to be premeditated."

"To get the hardest time possible for trying to frame a judge's daughter." She pushed an exasperated breath through her teeth. "Those ADAs..."

"I imagine you're no stranger to politics, working in Vice," he said, glancing up at her with a guarded expression.

Her eyebrows rose. "You've been reading up on me." She assumed as much.

"Of course. And you've been looking into me."

"I wouldn't be much of a detective if I didn't," she said. She opened the folder and started reading.

Three hours later - hours that had been soaked up in paperwork, phone calls, and occasional impersonal smalltalk - Deakins emerged from his office to talk to them. "You can finish up the Chapel case later. There was just a shooting downtown. A political refugee may have been assassinated."