Disclaimer: L&O CI is not the property of me and that is not a proper sentence ... oops! Whatever dude ... I don't own or have any rights to CI but all of my mistakes ... yup ... they're mine, I own them!

Summary: Shipper story, I know ... you must be sick of my B/A shippers! If so click off now! Rated M for later chapters ... maybe.

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Anger: an·ger

an·ger [áng gər]

n

displeasure: a strong feeling of grievance and displeasure

Detective Robert O. Goren was angry. At Declan, at Nicole Wallace, at Frank, his Mother, Captain Ross, Dr, Rodgers … the list goes on. The truth be told, he had been angry at his Mother his entire life but this wasn't the case when Eames decided to follow him home this night. He was not himself but then again, he hadn't been himself in years. She could hear through the walls … actually down the hall … glass breaking and bookshelves falling. She would have used her key but the door was ajar. She stood back and drew her gun. Not knowing what was happening inside, she kicked the door open with her gun aimed. A vase flew passed her head and missed her by inches. Bobby was trashing his own apartment out of shear anger. He stopped and looked at the barrel of her gun … not for the first time.

"They lied to me!" He was ignoring the fact that she indeed was still pointing the gun at him. He was advancing towards her, yelling, he had fire in his eyes … she had fear in hers. He grabbed her gun and placed it back in her holster … she found this to be oddly erotic. He turned his back on her, grabbing the end of his coffee table, flipping it over on his way passed it. She had pressed her back up against, the now closed door, and was shaking.

"Bobby … who lied to you?"

He spun around and finally saw the fear that he had put there but he continued … surely Alex knew that he would never hurt her. "They did Eames! My God damn parents … he knew … that bastard knew that I wasn't his kid! He knew I was the bastard child of that psycho!" As he said it, he realized that Eames could be afraid of him … he could be the bad seed. It could have manifested itself after all these years. That was the real reason that she went along with Ross and the investigation. She saw a murderer in him. He dropped his head. He stopped yelling and whispered …

"I'm sorry Eames … I didn't mean to frighten you."

She approached him cautiously. "You didn't. I'm afraid for you, not of you."

Still whispering … "Are you sure about that … knowing who my real Father was."

Eames laughs … a sarcastic laugh. "Real Father? … Biology is not as important as environment … he wasn't around you … he didn't teach you the tricks of the trade."

"My environment wasn't that great either."

"Somewhere along the line … someone or something made you into the wonderful man that I know and … care about."

He finally sits down … after he rights up two chairs that he had previously knocked over.

"Declan … your favorite person. He gave me a purpose … showed me what I was good at."

"Why do I have a feeling that you're lying to me now."

"Why would you think that?"

"What kind of grades did you get in school?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Humor me."

"I was bored … got in trouble a lot. Never did my homework but scored really well on my tests." He starts to smile at a memory.

"What's that smile for?"

"My junior year … I hated my Chemistry teacher … he didn't like me either … I liked to blow things up. So we made a deal. I would skip class and just take his tests. That's all I had to do. He thought for sure I'd flunk. My buddy … Julio, would let me know when to come in for the tests. I come in test day … take the test and leave. I got a 98 average in his class."

"Figures."

"We have lunch from time to time … we still don't like each other though."

"So, he influenced you?"

"What are you doing here Eames?"

"I don't want you to be angry anymore Bobby, I want you to see that there are positives in your life … that there is happiness in your horizon."

"What are you the happiness guru? I don't remember the last time I saw you smile … really smile … Goren is angry again. One stupid memory isn't going to put my family in a time machine and change my life! Make William Goren step up to the plate and be a good husband and Father, make my Mother's illness go away, make Mark Ford Brady go away, turn Frank into someone that he wasn't. One stupid fucking memory Eames! I have nothing in my horizon … what do you have?"

"You know what Goren? I thought I had you! I thought that I was glad that you were Mark Ford Brady's bastard son! I'm happy that you have his genetic material … half of his DNA. God only knows what you would have been like if you were William Goren's son … you probably would have been a womanizing son-of-a-bitch. I thought I had you on my horizon Goren … I guess I was wrong."

"You're glad that I'm the son of a psychotic serial killer? Wasn't it bad enough that my mother was a schizophrenic? Personally, I would prefer to be a womanizer with a normal Mother!"

"I probably would have sent in that letter if that's who you were."

Confusion: con·fu·sion

con·fu·sion [kən fy'n]

(plural con·fu·sions)

n

1. bewilderment: the act of confusing somebody or something, or the state of being confused or perplexed

tried to hide his confusion

Detective Robert O. Goren was still angry … life did that to him but now he was confused … Eames did that to him. He rose from his seat and started pacing. He turned their conversation over in his head. She cared about him, he was on her horizon and she would have sent that letter in all those years ago if he had been a womanizer. It brought his memory right back to that day … her on the stand … he, helpless in the public gallery. She was crying or holding back the tears that were threatening to come … he sat … astonished … blindsided by her betrayal or near betrayal. He came back to present day and realized what she had said about Mark Ford Brady … he picked up yet another glass and winged it across the room … they both watched it shatter into a million pieces … it was symbolic.

"How could you Eames … how could you wish that on anyone?"

"Wish what?"

"Mark Ford Brady!"

"I never said that I wished he was your Father, I said that I'm glad that you have his DNA. Don't you get it Bobby? I like the man that you are even if part of you came from him."

"I could be his bad seed."

"What? Bad seed?"

"There are theories on this stuff. Like musical ability is inherited, my Mother's illness … I could theoretically be … his bad seed. I could be a killer."

Eames starts laughing, a real hardy laugh.

"What? I could be a killer."

"No, not you, sorry Goren … you are not a killer." Eames can't wipe the smile off of her face. She just keeps shaking her head no.

He whispers again … "Yes I could … if someone tried to hurt you."

Thankful: thank·ful

thank·ful [thángkfəl]

adj

1. feeling gratitude: feeling or expressing gratitude

We must be thankful for small mercies.

2. glad about something: glad or relieved about something

Detective Alexandra Eames was thankful. She followed him home because she knew Bobby's self destruct mode. She also knew that she loved him but wasn't yet ready to reveal that bit of information to him. She was thankful that he didn't interrogate her further, she was thankful that she didn't scream her intentions the moment he baited her … he did bait her but she baited him … he bit. She was thankful for that. He would kill for her … that made her smile … he wasn't a killer … she was thankful for that.

"Thank you Bobby."

"For?"

"Being you."

"That's nothing to be thankful for."

"You're not sitting where I'm sitting."

"And where's that."

She mumbles so he can't hear … "On your lap … I wish."

"What was that?"

"I said, on the gap … you know, the space between the arm of the couch and the couch."

He looks confused again … she does that to him.

"I thought we were talking … theoretical … not physical."

She mumbles again … "I was talking physical."

"You know Eames … my sense of smell is great, my hearing on the other hand."

"I said, I was talking physical … my proximity to you. We … you and I … we're close … ya know. I'm thankful for that. I've come to that realization, I wish you would."

"I can't … I'm too angry."

"At me?"

"At are lack of proximity."

Proximity: prox·im·i·ty

prox·im·i·ty [prok símmətee]

n

closeness: closeness in space or time

[15th century. Latin proximitas "nearness" proximus "nearest," superlative of prope "near"]

Detectives Goren and Eames proximity was about to become … proximate. He was angry and confused but the man wasn't stupid.

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Next, if there is a next ... they do indeed, become, eh'hem ... proximate.