A/N: This is a companion piece to my fic Beginnings and takes place between chapters 7 and 8, though you won't be completely lost if you haven't read that. This shows Eames's POV as she reflects on where they are in their relationship and meets Goren's mom for the first time. Please review.

A Long Walk

Part One: Getting There

This was his idea.

He's spent the better part of two months coming up with excuses so he can retract his invitation. She's been really paranoid about new people recently; Dr. Shimo says her delusions have increased; she's still getting use to the new medications.

Bullshit.

He's finally run out of excuses and as I guide the car onto the interstate I watch him from the corner of my eye. He's unusually quiet and his leg keeps bobbing up and down. I swear he's making the whole car shake and I'm on the verge of threatening to cut the damn thing off.

He only speaks to give me directions and mostly just stares out the window.

Why does this have to be so difficult?

I'm just meeting the mother of the man whose child I am having. Sounds simple, right?

Well, maybe not completely simple.

We are cops, and not just cops, but partners (well were partners), his mother's schizophrenic, we've only been together (romantically) for a year and I'm seven months pregnant (I'm sure you can do the math).

Not exactly where either of us thought we would be a year ago, but here we are and even if I have to drag him kicking and screaming he's going to be happy about this.

I think most of him is, but he just doesn't know what to do with this: having someone else to share in his life.

Oh, Jesus, now he's tapping his finger and bobbing his knee.

I swear to God, "Bobby!"

"What?" he asks, his neck snapping toward me.

"Can you please stop fidgeting?"

He sighs and runs a hand down his face.

"No," he shrugs.

I'll never quiet understand how a six foot four, forty year old man can look and sound like such a little boy.

"I can tell right now we are never taking long family road trips."

"Look I'm sorry all right…"

"Can you at least talk to me…drown out the noise…something"

"What do you want me to talk about?"

What does he think I want him to talk about?

"Maybe why you can't sit still…why you even invited me in the first place?"

I feel him thinking as I hear him shift in the seat and I realize he has partially turned toward me. He still doesn't speak, but I he's trying to figure out the right words.

If one thing is true about Robert Goren it's that everything he says he says with purpose.

"My…my mom doesn't have the best track record when…when it comes to meeting my girlfriends," he says.

"She's not going to scare me away."

He shakes his head. "She may call you things…she can catch you off guard…it can be very startling if you're not use to it…"

"Bobby, I worked Vice for four years…I've been called just about everything in the book…"

He's quiet again, staring out the window.

This is the dance we do. He gives a little, decides it's too much and begins to retreat again. We get so close, so many times, to being a whole working entity that it's infuriating.

Maybe it's not worth it.

Maybe it would have been better, easier, if I had never knocked on his apartment door that night; if we had worked the rest of our partnership swimming in what ifs.

But then I wouldn't have this little girl growing inside me; a little girl I have fallen desperately in love with and I know it's all because of one knock on one door.

When I was very little I always got very afraid when my parents argued. One time my mom found me crying at the foot of the stairs, after dad stormed out to the garage, and she cradled me like an infant in her arms. In my five year old mind, fights meant mommy and daddy didn't love each other, because love wasn't supposed to be hard work. Then she said to me, "Life isn't about easy; it's about fighting."

You fight for the things you care about; the things that are worth the sacrifices.

"Eames," his soft voice cuts through my thoughts and I realize I'm on the verge of tears.

Maybe he noticed, hell he probably just noticed a change in my breathing.

"Yeah?" I reply, keeping my eyes straight ahead.

"I do want you with me today…it's just…everything with my mom…can be…unpredictable."

"I understand that—"

"N-no you don't," He knows the comment pisses me off and raises a hand, asking for permission to explain. "One minute she'll beg me for a grandchild and…and the next I'm the neglectful son who spends all his time with his girlfriend…"

He lets out a long sigh and we both know that he has only scratched the surface of the thoughts and fears rolling around his head.

"So, what?" I blurt, my mouth bubbling with annoyance and too many raw emotions to count. Maybe I can just blame the pregnancy hormones. "What are you so afraid of?"

He scoffs and leans back in his seat. He's annoyed now too; good.

He's use to me giving him his space when he's like this, knowing that eventually he'll come back to me. Well I don't feel like waiting right now. I'm tired and fat and I don't feel like his carry the world on my shoulders bullshit.

"I'm afraid of what you'll see," he says so softly I'm not sure if I just imagined it.

"I see horrible things everyday…you're going to have to be a little less cryptic…"

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

"I don't want…" his voice trails followed by a long sigh. "I'm scared of what you'll think…of…of her…me…"

I want to wrap myself around him and burn the knowledge into his skin that I'm not leaving, but since I'm driving that's probably not my best course of action.

What can I say to get him to believe me?

Great, now the baby's getting restless too. Only his child would figure out a way to pace while still in the womb.

I grab his hand, tugging him out of his corner, and place his palm flat against my belly. I clamp my hand over his and feel the faint roaming kicks through his skin.

Do you see now? Do you see why I'm not running away from this despite every complication that might prove it to be the wiser, easier, choice?

I remove my hand to navigate a turn, but am washed with relief when his remains on my stomach.

"I get that this is hard for you…I do…but can you just have a little faith in me—"

"I do, Eames—"

"It doesn't seem that way…it seems like you're still waiting for me to run the other way…"

His thumb moves against my stomach in a slow sweeping motion and I hear him sigh.

"I…I know…you're not going to run away from this…from me," he says. "But…a-a part of me still thinks maybe…you should."

I don't know whether to scream at him out of frustration or cry for the broken hearted little boy, who never got a chance to be a little boy.

"Well, you're lucky I don't give a damn about what you think."

I hear him snort and see the first genuine smile I've seen in days.

He leans his chin against my shoulder and lightly kisses the fabric of my hoodie.

"I know I'm not making this easy…but visiting my mom is stressful anyway…and having you with me just adds more things to worry about…to keep in mind…can you please just drop this for now? Tonight…we can talk about it…however much you want…but right now I just need you to let me…freak out."

I glance at him briefly and see the sincerity in his chocolate eyes.

I sigh. "Okay, I'll drop it for now, but promise we will talk about it…everything…later."

"I promise," he nods.

I nod back and return my attention back to the road. He kisses my temple before retreating back to his corner, but he leaves his arm stretched across the space between us and his fingers draw circles in my stomach.