So long as little children are allowed to suffer, there is no true love in this world. ~Isadore Duncan
From your lips to God's ear.
The case had taken a toll on him that he was not willing to admit. The tragedy of Jason and Sam Connors' lives hit him hard, and he felt himself floundering, wondering just what it took to survive something like that. Everything had been fine for them, it seemed, until their parents' marriage fell apart and their mother attempted to use their past as a weapon against their father. It never turned out well when children were dragged into their parents' problems.
He didn't say anything on the way back to 1 PP from the hearing, but he could feel Bishop's eyes on him. He was glad she left him alone and at the moment didn't care that it was uncertainty and not understanding that kept her quiet. They rode the elevator in silence and completed their paperwork in silence. Eames would never have let him get away with it, but Eames wasn't there to chase away his dark thoughts, and so they got darker.
Eames had started working the case with them, but she didn't last long into the investigation. She was only a month away from delivery and he doubted she would show up in the squad room again. Bishop seemed to be relieved that Eames was no longer around, but Goren missed her. He felt himself floundering in a way he never did when she was there to ground him.
Once the paperwork was done, he said good night and headed home. He let himself in to his apartment and laid his sidearm, keys, cell phone and wallet beside the phone. He was restless, agitated. Some cases were routine. When consenting adults killed one another, that was one thing. But when children were brought into the mix...then, it became something else entirely.
He tried to settle himself, but he had no luck. In the kitchen, he invaded the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of German beer. Maybe the beer would help to calm him. Three beers later, he was still uptight. Those boys were loved and well-treated by both parents. They were cherished. But sometimes, damage done early could never be undone. When drawn into their parents' problems by their mother's insecurities, Jason and Sam's fears resurrected a primal survival instinct that led to Russell Connors' murder.
He recalled Jason's stoicism as he and Bishop played the adults who loved him. Imprisonment would finish off what the orphanage began. And what would become of Sam? His nightmares were becoming real. He was losing the brother who had protected him all his life.
He thought of his own brother, who had done what he could to protect him when they were children, the brother who had slipped away from him into a dark world of gambling and drugs, and he felt Sam's fear.
His restlessness increased and he grabbed his phone, wallet and keys. Stopping at the coffee table, he opened his binder and pulled out a DVD he'd had the tech guys make for him and he left the apartment.
When Eames opened her door, she did not seem surprised to see him. Without a word, she backed up and let him into the house. In silence, he slipped off his coat and hung it up beside hers, pulling the DVD from his pocket. He held the disc up. "I want you to see something," he said.
She caught the odor of beer and cigarettes on him, mingling with the residual scent of his aftershave. It was a scent she knew well, one she had come to associate with him. It stirred feelings in her she preferred not to feel, but so far, she'd managed to keep them well hidden from him, not an easy thing to do. It was a good thing that she'd long ago laid down ground rules for their partnership. Rule number one: Do not profile me, Goren!
Sometimes, he couldn't stop himself. It was his nature to read people. But over time, he had trained himself not to read her, and she appreciated his effort. Had he been unable to curb his natural tendencies, the skills that enabled him to live in the world, she doubted they would have been able to remain partners. But he tried hard, and she gave him credit for that.
She watched him place the DVD in the tray of the player. He was humming with unfocused energy. Just watching him exhausted her sometimes. Usually, she was able to help him focus and calm himself, but tonight, he was worse than usual. He picked up the remote and pressed 'play.'
"This is Jason Connors, the older son of our victim, Russell Connors," he said by way of preface.
Jason Connors' face filled the screen and the child began to sing. Transfixed, Eames watched Jason's performance. Equally transfixed, Goren watched her, and his restless bouncing eased. As the last haunting note of the boy's voice died away, she looked at him. "That was beautiful."
With a nod, he repeated what he'd said to Bishop. "A voice like an angel."
Raising the remote, he found the most technically difficult part of the song and played it again. Softly, he said, "He sang that as his father lay in his home, dying. He hit every note flawlessly and kept perfect tone and pitch after just bludgeoning his father to death with a field hockey stick."
The voice, the face of an angel masking the soul of a killer...
He began to pace. "This wasn't a kid like me, Eames. This boy and his brother were cherished by their parents, by the nanny, by their aunt and uncle. Each and every one of them adored these boys, to the extent that they were each willing to cover for them, to take the blame and protect them."
"So what happened?"
"They became pawns in their mother's jealous vendetta against their father. She used him to fuel fear in them. They became terrified that he was going to send them back to the orphanage where they found them. They came to associate him with the fear and insecurities of their past and saw him as a threat. So Jason removed the threat, a threat that did not exist, one his mother created."
Eames covered her mouth with her hands as Goren dropped heavily onto the couch beside her. "What's going to happen to them?" she asked.
He sighed heavily. "I don't know. Sam...I think Sam will be placed in the nanny's custody. Of them all, she has been the most steady, loving presence in their lives. They're deeply attached to her, moreso than to either parent. But Jason..." He shook his head. "I don't know. That's up to Mr. Carver. If he chooses to try him as an adult...that boy will go to prison."
"You don't agree with that, do you?"
He shook his head. "He doesn't...shouldn't...he shouldn't go to prison. That will destroy any chance at rehabilitation he has, and it will destroy Sam, too. He should be sent to juvenile court, put into therapy. There may be hope for him."
"Did you tell that to Carver?"
"Yes. He said he would...take it under advisement."
"He'll talk to Branch. I trust Carver. He'll do what's best for the boy."
She watched him as his breathing settled into an easy, more relaxed pattern. His face lost some of its tension. His eyes were heavy, fatigued. This one had taken a lot out of him. She rose from the couch and went into the kitchen. When she returned, he'd closed his eyes. She placed a bottle of beer in his hand, and he turned his head toward her, opening his eyes.
"You shouldn't drink beer," he said.
"I don't. I keep it for you."
He looked surprised. "Thank you."
"Stay the night," she encouraged. "I'll welcome the company and you don't need to be driving."
"Didn't drive," he replied, taking a drink. "Subway."
"That's quite a walk from the nearest subway station."
"Walking helps me to clear my head."
"Still, I think you should stay. You've got clean sweats in the spare room, and an extra suit."
He took another deep drink. "It's only Monday."
Seeking to lighten the mood, she said, "Halloween is coming up. I was thinking of dressing as a blimp, or maybe a whale." When he didn't react, she added, "An elephant?"
He finally smiled. "You're not that big, Eames."
"I feel that big," she argued.
"It's almost over."
"Then what?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean once it's over, then it's really over for me. No more pregnancy, no baby, nothing."
He sat forward, tense once more, but he didn't know what to say. "Uhm..." was all he could manage.
She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean it. These damn hormones are playing a number on me."
But he watched her with those dark, understanding eyes, and she knew he understood what she thought no man could. He looked into the soul of her and he felt her grief and he understood. She turned away, hoping he didn't see what was in her eyes. But he saw. And when he touched her shoulder, she let him guide her into his arms. She accepted his embrace, settling her head against his shoulder.
She found herself engulfed by him, surrounded by his arms, his scent, the very presence of him, and she no longer felt so alone. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck, and he lightly stroked her hair and her back. Shifting herself, she nuzzled his neck, and she felt, more than heard, a rumble in his chest. She nuzzled him again, and he shifted, pulling back to look at her. She turned her face toward his, her expression open, vulnerable, and she moved closer.
When her lips brushed over his, he made a soft noise and then he pulled away, up off the couch, across the room. His face bore an expression of horror. "I...I...I'm...sorry..." he stammered.
And she realized that he was horrified, blaming himself for what had just happened. When he bolted for the door, she struggled to get off the couch, hindered by her ever-expanding belly. "Bobby, stop!" she commanded, relying on her voice to intercept his departure since her body couldn't move that fast.
He stopped, coat in hand, and she hurried to him. Reaching out, she took his coat and replaced it on the hook beside hers. Then she took his hand. "Come back to the couch," she encouraged.
He shook his head, no longer trusting himself. "Really, Eames. I'd just better...go."
"Do you want me to spend the rest of my pregnancy worrying...about us?"
"Why would you...?"
She knew him too well. If he left now, she would not see him again until she returned to work, and things between them would be awkward and uncomfortable. "Sit down. Please."
He finally gave in, sitting on the edge of the couch, well away from her. She sighed. At least he was still there. "That was my fault," she said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..."
"Eames..."
"No. Hear me out. You don't get to apologize for this."
When he remained silent, she went on. "I...I went too far. But I've been feeling so lonely lately, and isolated, and these hormones don't make it any better. I just got...impulsive, and I thought...well, never mind what I thought. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or take advantage..."
As she talked, some of his tension slid away and he moved from his perch on the edge of the couch to sit beside her. "You didn't," he interrupted. "I...I overreacted. I just...I don't want things to be weird between us. You...you're too important to me."
"Why would you think it would be weird between us if I initiated it?"
His brow furrowed. "Uhm...I know that hormones during pregnancy make you...uh...more...uhm..."
"Read that, did you?"
He nodded. "I wanted to...know what you were going through. I was curious...and...and, well, you...you matter to me."
"That is possibly the most considerate thing anyone has ever done for me."
He gave that some thought. He hadn't done it to be considerate. He'd done it because he really did want to understand, maybe to offer something in the way of comfort, though he wasn't very good at that. But he didn't elaborate.
She laid a hand on his arm and moved closer, reassured that he didn't take off across the room again. "Please stay," she said. "I really could use the company."
He hesitated a moment longer before he nodded. He looked at the time. Barely nine. He wasn't sure when she went to bed, but he was good for hours. He didn't think he could carry on a conversation for that long, even with her, so he sat there, fidgeting, wondering what to do.
Eames was amused by his discomfort. She leaned forward as far as she could toward the remote, which he grabbed for her when he realized that was what she was doing. She switched the input to the television. "How about watching a movie with me?"
He took another drink of the beer she'd given him. "That...sounds like a good idea."
He was relieved. A movie would fill in the emptiness, and he could still offer the company she craved without the added pressure of being entertaining. She settled on The Notebook, which was just starting. "Have you seen this one?" she asked.
"Uh, no. Not yet."
"Good."
She knew that chick flicks were not his preferred movie genre, but he always seemed willing to watch them with her. Sometimes, she chose them just to see how far she could push him, but she had yet to find a movie he would not watch with her. She settled back on the couch, careful to keep her distance so he wouldn't be uncomfortable.
As the movie progressed, Goren shifted closer to her, and eventually, she leaned against his chest and he put his arm around her. He readjusted his position so she could rest comfortably on him, but by the time the movie was over, he was sleeping.
She turned off the television and slid gently from his embrace, retrieving a blanket with which she covered him. He stirred, opening his eyes to give her a sleepy look. She smiled. "Good night, Bobby."
He offered her a smile in return. "'Night," he murmured.
He shifted onto his side and closed his eyes again. She listened to the easy rhythm of his breathing in the silence of the room, then leaned down to place a tender kiss on his temple. She turned off the light and left the room. He opened one eye, smiled again, and drifted back to sleep.