A/N: In this story, Goren's background is altered a bit. His mother went missing when he was twelve and has been presumed dead. His father abandoned the family a year before that without keeping in contact with his sons and they did not try to find him after their mother disappeared. Fifteen-year-old Frank was solely responsible for keeping both himself and Bobby out of foster care. He delayed college to stay home and watch after his younger brother until he turned eighteen. That brought the brothers closer, and despite Frank's drug use, Bobby remains close to him.

After joining the NYPD, Goren tried to find out what happened to his mother, but he only ran into dead ends and cold trails. After several fruitless years of investigation, he came to the same conclusion the state had two-and-a-half decades earlier, that his mother was dead. Undeterred and dissatisfied with the conclusion, he continued to investigate, seeking the how and the why. To date, he did not have the answers he sought.

This case takes place during the summer of 2006, after Jimmy Deakins' departure in the spring but before the events of Blind Spot.

Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.

~Mark Twain

As the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, Alex Eames parked the black SUV outside the United Nations Headquarters building, slipping the 'police vehicle' placard onto the dashboard. The day was already warm. She and Goren walked toward the crime scene, sectioned off with yellow police tape and guarded by several uniformed officers. As Goren slid his badge onto the breast pocket of his suit jacket, she made sure hers was visible on her belt. They were allowed passage into the crime scene.

The victim lay sprawled beneath a huge bronze sculpture of a gun with a knot tied in its barrel. Goren looked up at the sculpture for a moment. "Non-Violence," he said, pointing to the sculpture. "This was a gift to the UN from the country of Luxembourg. The artist, Karl Frederik Reutersward, designed it following the deaths of John Lennon and Bob Crane. He was inspired by the outpouring of grief that followed those murders."

Eames smiled at the casual way in which he offered the details of the statue. Bless his heart, she thought. Some people got entirely the wrong impression of her brilliant partner. The only time he tried to be an arrogant know-it-all was when it would serve a purpose with a suspect. Any other time, like now, he was simply trying to be informative, to place things into proper context. For a few seconds, she watched him scan the raised pedestal upon which the sculpture, and the body, sat, then she asked, "Think our perp is making a statement?"

"What would that statement be, Detective Eames?" came a voice from behind them.

She turned to face their new captain, Danny Ross, as Goren climbed up onto the pedestal to examine the body. "We don't know yet, captain," she said. "We just got here."

Ross looked past her, watching Goren do his thing. He was impressed by the gentleness with which Goren handled the body as he examined the gunshot wound to the victim's torso. When he spoke, his voice carried a note of gentle reverence for the victim. "Entry wound in the chest, just to the left of the sternum. Bullet likely struck the heart," he said, not looking up.

Eames moved to help him gently roll the body onto its side. He leaned forward to examine the victim's back. "Exit wound here," he muttered, motioning to her blood-saturated orange silk shirt. Gently pulling the shirt up to expose the ragged exit wound, Goren also noted the huge pool of blood beneath the victim. "Uhm, even if the bullet didn't instantly kill her, she would have bled out very quickly. She'd have died within minutes of being shot."

He rolled her back into position, leaning down to sniff the victim's mouth. Ross looked at Eames, his eyebrows arched. He leaned toward Eames and softly asked, "This is normal procedure?"

"For him it is," she answered just as softly. "He's very thorough. Nothing puts him off."

Goren sat back on his heels, processing the odor and paying no attention to the conversation taking place a few feet away from him. "Alcohol, cigarettes, uhm..." He scratched the back of his neck, thinking. "Uh, d-durian fruit."

Eames looked up at him. "Durian fruit?"

He nodded, his eyes casting nervously toward Ross. "It's, uh, it's native to southeast Asia. It has a particular odor that some people find...revolting. One of the last things she had to eat contained durian."

As he returned to his examination of the body, Eames gave Ross a look that said See? Aloud, she explained, "He spent some time in South Korea when he was in the Army. That's how he knows so much about durian fruit." After a pause, she added, "And octopus stew," remembering another case and his boyish amusement at recounting a story of octopus stew for her.

Ross frowned, wondering where that reference had come from, but Eames didn't elaborate. Goren, however, heard what she'd said and he smiled to himself. Ross' arrival on scene sent his stress level through the roof, and he had a feeling Eames knew that. From the moment they'd been introduced, Ross had treated him like a freak without even giving him a chance to prove himself, and he didn't appreciate that. Deakins had his moments where Goren wore on his nerves—everyone did—but the former captain had respected him and, in turn, he'd earned Goren's respect, something that was not easy to do. He'd once heard Eames speculate that Deakins was a father figure to him, a comment that left him thinking for a very long time about his captain before he'd concluded that she was right. Deakins had also served as a stabilizing influence, a quiet presence that enabled Goren to keep on track when a case might otherwise consume him. Only Eames had a greater impact on him, moderating his obsessive tendencies and calming him when he began to get out of hand. Without her, he would have been lost long ago.

Glancing up from the body, he watched Ross talk in hushed tones with Eames. When Deakins resigned, Goren knew he would miss his captain, but he'd had no idea just how much. He returned his attention to the victim sprawled before him.

Eames stayed with the captain, running interference between him and her partner. She knew that Ross didn't trust Goren; he listened too much to the rumors. Goren didn't help matters any, but she felt a need to protect him. He was unconventional, to say the least, but she was happy to be his partner. He'd earned her respect, and more, and she wasn't going to let Danny Ross harass him while he did his job. She didn't care whether Ross approved of her partner's methods; his only concern should be the results Goren got. She made sure that Goren didn't compromise a conviction with his aggressive interrogation technique by keeping him in line and reminding him of the parameters within which he had to work. He often skirted the line, but rarely did he ever cross it.

Goren spent the next twenty minutes with the victim, uncovering everything she had to tell him. He didn't miss anything, a fact that Eames deeply appreciated. In the squad room, he might miss an elephant walking by his desk, but at a crime scene, nothing got past him. He could be easily distracted in most any environment, but when the victim of a crime was telling its tale, Goren remained focused on what the body had to tell him.

As they walked away from the scene with Ross, Goren scribbled in his binder, trusting Eames not to let him walk into anything. Female victim, mid-to-late-30s, Asian/African American, COD: GSW to the chest, last meal: alcohol, durian fruit, ?.

"According to the graveyard officer on duty," Eames informed the two men. "She wasn't there when he made his last rounds through here at 3. When he came back at 5:00, there she was. They're going to pull the security tapes and send them to us."

Goren stopped suddenly, turning and looking up to scan the area for security cameras, which he had subconsciously noticed when they arrived. Confirming the position of each one, he nodded, satisfied that the camera tapes could possibly be of some use. As he turned to continue walking, he said, "She was dressed to the nines. Was there a function last night?"

"Yes," Ross answered. "A reception hosted by the Secretary-General..."

"...who is Asian," Goren completed, earning a frown from his boss and a covert smile from his partner.

Goren very clearly made Ross nervous, and the feeling was mutual. When Deakins was their captain, Goren had been confident, even arrogant at times. Since Ross had become their captain, his manner was often one of faltering uncertainty. Although he had no doubts in his ability to work their cases and arrive at successful conclusions, his outward display of arrogant self-assurance was gone. To her surprise, Eames missed it. She hated to think he might be doubting himself under any circumstances. She certainly did not doubt him, and she resented Ross for the negative changes she saw in her partner.

The captain stopped near the parked police and crime scene vehicles. "Watch your step here, folks," he cautioned, looking at Goren. "This is international territory and these diplomats do not have to talk to you. Handle them with kid gloves. Let's not spark an international incident, okay?"

Goren opened his mouth to reply, but Eames covertly touched his hand, silencing him. She answered, "Don't worry, captain. We'll be on our best behavior."

As Ross watched them walk away, he felt a knot form around the lump in the pit of his stomach. Exactly what was Goren's best behavior?

As she pulled away from the UN headquarters building, Eames tried to distract her partner from his agitation. Ross showing up at the scene had him riled. "Have you ever eaten durian?" she asked, willing to bet money that he had. He had an insatiable curiosity about, well, everything, and if given the opportunity, she had no doubt he would have tried the much-maligned fruit.

Goren seemed to settle. "Uh, yes. A couple of times."

"So what's it like?"

"That depends on the variety and how it's prepared. It's a very...distinctive fruit. The raw fruit can be off-putting to some, but properly prepared, it's good."

"What about the raw fruit would put someone off?"

"Well, it has the consistency of custard and, uhm, it has a very pungent odor. It's actually been banned in some hotels because the odor is so...overpowering."

"What does it smell like?"

"That depends on the variety, too. Some people say it smells like almonds while others describe it as more of a raw sewage or rotting onion kind of smell. One of my buddies said it smells like dirty gym socks and stale vomit, kind of a 'day after' smell."

Stopped at a red light, she looked at him, her nose crinkled in disgust. "For real?"

He nodded. "For real."

"There's a quite a difference between something that smells like almonds and something that smells like raw sewage or dirty gym socks. Those odors are on opposite ends of the spectrum."

He shrugged. "It all depends on the variety," he said simply.

Her brow furrowed and she shook her head. "I'd like to know what kind of person breaks open the husk of anything, finds something inside that's mushy and slimy and smells like dirty gym socks and says 'Gee, I wonder what this tastes like'?"

He laughed softly and they both relaxed. After a few minutes, he said, "We need to find out what food was served at the reception last night."

"I'll request a menu from the staff."

He shifted his binder on his lap and bounced his knee, a manifestation of his restless anxiety. "Why do you think he was there?" he asked.

"Ross? Well, he's the new captain. I guess he's trying to see how his officers work in the field. Don't you remember Logan complaining that he was looking over his shoulder at a scene the other night?"

A worried frown creased his brow. He remembered. "I hope he's not going to pop up at every scene."

She glanced at him. Some people classified him as a show-off, but she knew better. He hated being under scrutiny. He preferred to just be left alone to do his job, which he did very well, by anyone's standards. His methods might not suit every taste, but there was no denying the results he got. "Don't worry about it, Bobby. You just do your thing. I'll handle Ross."

He looked at her and gave her a small smile, which she returned. He felt a sudden surge of affection for her, and he had no idea what to do with it. He flexed his hand, fighting an urge to reach out to her, to touch her. He doubted physical contact would be welcome, and he had an unreasonable fear that, having appeared at the scene unannounced like he did, Ross was still monitoring their behavior. Irritated at the captain, he had a pressing desire to test the limits of Ross' tolerance, but respect for his partner would ultimately prevent him from acting on that desire. Resting his hand in his lap, he watched the passing scenery and his mind drifted back to the case.

Goren sat up straight in his chair and stretched his back. He stifled a yawn, which Eames caught as she returned to her desk from the bathroom. "It's almost nine o'clock. Why don't we call it a night?" she said. "I'll drive you home."

"Thanks, but I want to go over my notes some more. You go on."

"Nothing in your notes is going to change between now and tomorrow morning, and the surveillance videos won't be here until tomorrow."

"I know, but I'm too keyed up to go home right now."

With a sigh, Eames pulled out a folder, unwilling to leave him to work alone. "Okay, so then, let's review." She opened the folder, which contained the medical examiner's preliminary report. "Annie Kim," she read. "Thirty-six years old. Apparent cause of death: .38 caliber gunshot wound to the chest. Time of death between midnight and 4am."

Goren shuffled through the papers in front of him. "Uh, stomach contents...what did they find in her stomach?"

Eames scanned the pages in front of her. "Stomach contents," she murmured to herself as she looked. "Stomach contents...here we are...let's see...they found fish, rice, nuri seaweed, avocado, carrots, cucumbers, durian, pumpkin, saki."

Goren pulled out a paper and studied it. After a moment, he waved it in the air and said, "This is the menu for the reception they faxed over...a full range of sushi and sashimi, an open bar that contained twelve different kinds of saki, a wide range of desserts, including eight different items made with durian. Uhm, it was a buffet-type setting, not a full dinner service. Everything in her stomach is accounted for in the menu, so most likely, she ate at the reception. Uhm, did they tell us how late the reception lasted?"

Eames looked through her notes. "No, I don't see that, but the ME noted that she probably finished eating between nine and ten."

She picked up her pen and turned to a notepad on the desk near her phone, adding reception hours to a list of questions they'd come up with over the course of the day. He also noted it in his binder. Something just wasn't adding up in his mind, and that contributed to his unsettled restlessness. Across the room, the fax machine fired up. "Someone else is keeping late hours," he said as he got up and walked to the machine. "Here's our guest list."

As he returned to his desk, he read over the list. "Here we are...Annie Kim. She was a guest of Sutter Industries. Right under her name is another guest of Sutter Industries, Morris Franklin. Annie's date, maybe? Another employee? We need to find him and have a chat." He paused, leaning over his desk to jot down the names Sutter Industries and Morris Franklin. "Sutter Industries," he mused. "What kind of agency is that and why would they be invited to attend a function at the UN?"

Eames turned to her computer and began typing. "Sutter Industries," she read. "They provide a wide range of consulting services, from construction and catering to imports and interpretation. Looks like they have their fingers in a lot of very different pots."

"Is it a corporation?" he asked as she continued to type and click.

She shook her head slowly. "According to our database, one man owns the whole thing outright. Colonel Terrance Sutter, U.S. Army, retired." She typed some more as he scrawled in his binder. "DMV records say Col. Sutter lives on the Upper East Side. Not bad for an old Army man, huh? Want to pay the colonel a house call tomorrow?"

"Sounds like fun."

She smiled. "Now can we leave?"

With a sigh of reluctance, he gathered the papers and reports he'd scattered over his desk, realizing she was not going to leave until he did. She put away her computer and gathered her papers as he stuffed everything into his binder. "The offer of the ride still stands," she said.

He shook his head. He had no intention of heading right home. "No thanks. I'll take the subway."

"Have it your way. I'll pick you up in the morning at 9."

He nodded. "See you then."

She watched him cross the squad room and jab the 'down' button with a finger. He shifted restlessly as he waited for the elevator. With a final glance at her over his shoulder, he got into the elevator car. She opened her lower desk drawer to grab her purse, then paused. Like her partner, she was adding two and two and getting five for an answer. She wasn't going to be able to sleep until she sorted it out. Goren was rubbing off on her.

Pulling her laptop back out of her desk, she opened it and began to type. She spent another forty-five minutes doing some preliminary research before she also left for the night.