Disclaimer: Never have I owned anything concerned with the characters of L&O: Criminal Intent. I borrow them from time to time—torture, twist them, and make them burn a few calories in various ways—but then I return them to Mr. Wolf. He has many lawyers, and if they sue, not much money can be squeezed from me. The story and plot are mine, however.
A/N Ok, people have been asking when I was going to do another CI story. Well, I am a procrastinator (hangs head) sorry about that. I'm not good with deadlines for fic challenges, I tend to write when the inspiration hits. And after seeing the episode "Gone", I felt there were simply too many story tid-bits sprinkled throughout the show for plot inspiration. Again, I tend to write for the dark-side of Bobby Goren (cause he's so easy to work with in that way), so here we go again. I hope you like it! This will be R rated eventually, so USE your own JUDGMENT!
Mild SPOILERS: "Gone"
"The Energy of Nothing" by Alamo Girl ©
Part 1 "A Relative Constant"
"People with great gifts are easy to find, but symmetrical and balanced ones…never." Ralph Waldo Emerson
"Talent is a Flame. Genius is a Fire." Bern Williams
People will tell you "Find your niche in life, and stick to it." It sounds a lot easier than it truly is. It's not as if one can just stumble upon that one thing that allows them to display their God-given talents—with the ease and grace one can allot to a creature in its domain. No, that naturalness, the perceptible finesse that comes from doing one thing—and doing that thing better than anyone else—is not the easiest thing to find. Some people spend their entire life searching for that 'one thing'—what they were always meant to do. Others, are simply lucky enough to be born into their talents—and follow that yellow-brick road right to the place they belonged—occasionally with the added prize of finding a partner to share their journey with, along the way.
Detective Robert Goren, with all of his faults, quirks and little eccentricities that most, (save his partner, Alex Eames), never allowed themselves to fully understand—had always, underneath it all, managed to believe that he was one of the lucky ones. He, from hard work and extraordinary talents, had been able to find a job doing what he felt he was always meant to do—namely becoming a New York City detective for the Major Case squad. And up until this case, that relative constant—his knowledge that his job would always be his number one priority—would never change.
But God has a way of changing the variables…altering the formula—and proving that the universe is definitely not static.
"Shit!" Boiling hot coffee sloshed over the lip of the Styrofoam cup and trickled down the grungy hand of Bobby Goren.
He swore as quietly as he could—shaking his hand and wiping the spilled liquid on his tattered pants leg. Miniscule flakes of freezing rain were still drizzling through the air, and the dim street lamps gave little lighting along the seedy neighborhood. A couple of adult bookstores, a tavern, and a run-down bodega lined the opposite side of the street from Goren's post. People in varying degrees of drunkenness ambled up and down the sidewalk, some talking and laughing, while others skulked in and out of the scummier establishments.
Goren pulled his stained army fatigue coat closer around himself, his eyes scanned the walkers and the doors of the adjacent buildings. Stakeouts had become a norm for him while he worked Narcotics. Being cold, tired and hungry—much to the dismay of his former partners—never seemed to bother Goren very much. He reveled in the hunt—allowing his honed skills of observation and profiling take over until he was nearly completely fixated on his task at hand. The sketchy profile of their quarry was burned into his mind, especially since, in this case—their afore-mentioned quarry seemed to be very adept at giving the detectives the slip.
And underneath the façade of a controlled, Holmesian style, head-tilting, psycho-analytical detective genius—was an ego that did not like to loose.
Zoned in again, Goren jumped slightly when a voice crackled in his ear piece.
"All clear at station two."
He looked over his shoulder at the heap of a car parked in an alley just down from him—Detective James and a newbie to the force, Breuteli.
"No sign of our boy at station three," the fuzzy voice of Detective Howser, one of the grey haired veterans that sat behind his and Eames' desks back at One P.P., "Although, I have learned that cockroaches can pick up donut pieces twice their body size."
Goren sighed heavily—rolling his eyes somewhat, as he looked up to the darkened room in the two-story ramshackle building across the street. Howser and Tempson were station there in one of the old rooms, with telephoto lenses and other surveillance equipment.
The slightly lightened mood caused a few more snickers over the mic lines, and Bobby knew despite himself, that it was the lightest the Major Case team had been since the beginning of this case. He tensed again, as his mind wandered back to their prey—and how he'd first come on their radar. He had been dubbed, "Digger"—his favorite form of disposing the strangled corpses of the call-girls was burying them in shallow graves all over Brooklyn. For three months now, Goren and Eames had been on his trail, following leads from various call-girl services and tapping into their underground sources—staying up to allhours pouring over an infinitesimal number of psychology books (although that was mainly Goren).
But, much to their frustration, Digger seemed to be two steps ahead of them. No prints, no fluids, he changed strangulation tools every kill—and to top it off, he seemed to be a master of disguises. He was a chameleon, blending into the seedy shadow-world of hookers and adult entertainment. And probably the thing that was pissing Bobby off the most was he simply couldn't get a line on his psychopathy. The guy kept changing every time they'd think they were close. Leaving little toying inconsistencies with every kill, intended to further confuse New York's finest, seemed to be his new fetish.
And now, when they'd finally been able chase down the myriad of connect-less clues—and might be able to get a glimpse of this guy—the detectives under his command, were joking around on a stakeout! As if the Mayor and Chief of Detectives, as well as Carver and Deakins breathing down his neck, wasn't enough to deal with.
"Cut the chatter, guys." Goren growled into his mic., his anger welling up again. He should have nailed this little asshole by now. It shouldn't have taken three months, and 6 dead women, for him to be able to trip this little shit up...or get in his head and see his next move.
"Sorry guys. Looks like Hobo Goren's getting his rags in 'ah twist. Whats'a matter Bobby - you seein' your near perfect arrest record slidin' a little?" The taunting of Breuteli's Italiano-Brooklyn accent set Goren's teeth to grinding. He knew they were all worn out, dejected and tired of having the Brass looking over their shoulders.
What was worse though, in the back of his mind…Goren knew Breuteli was right. Losing was a foreign concept to him. But he certainly wasn't about to let some sawed-off little rookie prick mouth off.
"This hump has killed 6 women - probably more. If we don't stop him, he's going to kill again. This is the closest we've gotten to him, down to the - street we think he's going hunt next. Now, keep your eyes peeled and your mouths shut!" His eyes fixed into the darkness with a cold, icy stare.
A chorus of - "Yeah, you're right Goren" - came over the headsets from the other, older detectives. Bobby moved to the doorway of the building he was crouching next to, leaning his bulky frame against the doorframe—crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to look casual.
After a beat, he added, "And Breuteli…"
"Yeah, boss?"
"Blow me." Goren allowed the small smile of triumph to creep over his face, when he heard the older detectives' muffled laughter. The rookie, wisely, remained silent.
Bobby's eyes had begun to scan the forms of the working girls trolling up and down the block—one form in particular he was searching for. A petite, blonde form—who had drawn the short straw and had to don her former Vice attire to walk the street's length in ankle-aching stilettos. They needed someone on the front line—who would see Digger first, hopefully while he was coming out of one of the brothels, stores or bars—working a deal with his next call-girl victim. Bobby only hoped Eames would be in the right place, at the right time to catch a glimpse of this guy (since the only concurring ID trait was that he was short and muscular—all else was unusable data from the amount of disguises this guy used) and she might be able to snag his attention.
Eames, after hearing where her station was to be, only muttered something about "the ol' worm-on-a-hook post", to which Goren assured her that she was merely the only one who could cover the post near the adult bookstore, without looking conspicuous.
"Oh, I'll just blend in with the rest of the hookers. No problem there, huh Bobby?" She'd said with a wry smile, and sardonic tone. She always had a knack for making Bobby smile, even if at the time, he felt like his size 13 foot was firmly planted in his famous mouth.
Goren's eyes glazed somewhat, as he remembered how he'd stuttered and tried to recover himself that day. His hand tilted again, spilling more coffee down his wrist. He dropped the cup, swearing again under his breath, and returned his beacon-like eyes to the street—starting to worry when he'd lost track of Eames somewhere during his lookout for a physical match to Digger.
"You're wasting perfectly good coffee, Bobby." Alex's voice was warm and smooth over the mic, instantly settling his darting eyes. As always, she was perfectly aware of him, as he was of her. And even though he couldn't see her, he knew she had a soft, knowing smirk on her face. He relaxed a little.
"Yeah, well I should…probably cut down on that stuff anyway," he said, resuming his watch. "Any action?"
Alex sighed wearily, hugging her long, leather coat to herself and working her neck side-to-side to pop the kinks.
"If you call nearly getting thrown up on, while some drunk is trying to hit on you 'action'," she muttered.
She could nearly feel Goren begin to tense with frustration. They been out in the cold half the night, and were still no closer to this Digger-schmuck. She understood Bobby's building anxiety over this case. It had become "high-profile", garnering press from all the news and bringing down subsequent heat from the politicians up the food chain. All expectations were on Major Case, which, not surprisingly—meant those expectations were laid on Goren and Eames' shoulders.
Mostly Goren's, if Alex was honest with herself. Every time Digger would slip through a sting operation, baffle investigators with oddball clues, or do a complete 180 turn-around from the path they thought he should have gone—Bobby blamed himself. And now he was responsible for a task force—the very one that was freezing their asses off out here with she and her tall partner, tonight.
Commanding others wasn't up there on Goren's "like" lists either. He had trouble tactfully conveying what he wanted them to know (without sounding condescending), and for the most part, not many could keep up with Goren's ever-churning, erratic mind. He preferred to follow his own deductions, speeding off to follow up on his own theories leaving others lost in his dust, go his own route (stubborn as he was)—which usually succeeded in pissing off the ADA, and making the higher-ranking Brass wary of his methods. They didn't mind his impressive arrest rate, however—or using the fruits of his and Alex's labors, to better their own gains.
So, Alex quickly added after a moment of strained silence, "Nobody that matched the rather crappy description of Digger, though. I've seen tall and lean, short and fat, old and ugly…but not short and muscular." She smiled, "If any of you guys want to trade places, I'll be glad to help you into these heels and the push-up bra, though."
Another chorus of - "No thanks," and "Hell no" - crackled over the ear pieces, tickling her ear.
Bobby's voice came back after a moment, deep and rich with sincerity, "You're the one at ground zero, Alex. If he shows, and something goes down…y-you'll be in the middle."
Alex paused in her walking, hearing the underlying meaning in Goren's soft voice.
"Just wanted you to know… we're watching." He said sincerely, his eyes following her movements.
"I never doubted you'd have my back," she answered, her tone trying to be cheerful.
Goren exhaled though his nose, his warm breath sending up a plume in the frigid blackness in front of his face. Methodically he began to catalog every male walking up and down the street again—knowing Digger was near by—and flitting in the back of his mind, was Alex's comment. Though meant for the entire team—he knew, deep down, she was relying on him.
Another weight to bear.
"Tremendous amounts of talent are lost to our society just because that talent wears a skirt." Shirley Chisholm
Another two hours slogged by—the weather seemed hell-bent on making their night of vigilance frost bitten and soaked to the bone. Alex had found herself an eve of one of the adult bookstores to huddle under, clutching her leather coat around her thin frame and shifting her weight from leg to leg, trying to get some feeling back in her toes.
With expert eyes, she scanned the pickings up and down the street.
Wino passed out in a trash heap—I wonder how many parts of his anatomy will be frozen off by morning.
Couple of working girls on each corner—you'd get more work if ya lost a couple'a pounds sweetie.
Bar's are gettin' plenty of business, nothin' like staying in with a nice watered-down whiskey to warm your insides.
Alex flipped an errant strand out of her eyes as she casually turned to the other "lady of the evening" a few paces from her. The girl couldn't have been more than twenty; with honey-blonde curls and innocent cherub cheeks. She was thin, painfully thin from too many things shot in her vines and not enough put in her stomach. Alex had noticed she'd gotten a few hits tonight, but no buyers.
Alex herself, had received a few drunken passes, but she'd tactfully turned them down. She needed to be out in the open, watching. It would take too much man power off the surveillance to have Alex bring unsuspecting patrons off into an alley somewhere, have them carted off by her fellow officers, and then get back to her post in time.
Blondie passed by Alex, giving her a knowing "this is one'a those nights" smirks—continuing to a shadowed area just beyond the alley next to the bar.
She'd be the mark he'd be looking for, Alex thought to herself.
Several of his victims had been youthful, innocent-looking hookers - the kind who'd just arrived in the Big Apple and the hardness of life on the street hadn't worn them down yet. And while Alex fit the victim's standard of being slim and athletic—she had a feeling her "innocent" look had waned long ago.
Alex checked her watch—knowing full well that every minute ticking by meant this guy could be strangling another woman, and they were no closer to catching him. Something cold twisted in her chest—like a nervous butterfly crossed with a coiled up viper. It was Bobby—it was as if she was tuned into his radio station, only it was his emotions coming over the air waves. He was pacing somewhere in the darkness, probably with his arms crossed—maybe rubbing the back of his neck angrily. Alex wondered if he was muttering under his breath yet.
If something didn't happen soon, all the built-up anxiety, all the 'I should have done this, I should have done that's'—they were all going to erupt in a torrent. And she didn't know if she would be able to patch up his holes this time. This case had taken so much of him with it, there wasn't much left to hold the dam together.
The bar door opened, and a faded orange jacket caught Alex's eye. She eyed him casually, as he stood next to the curb, lighting a cigarette. He was short, maybe five eight or nine; shaggy, cropped dirty-blonde hair and when he turned and looked her way, Alex was chilled to see his eyes were so pale blue they almost had no color at all. He looked her up and down for a moment, as if appraising her…and as if on cue, Bobby's voice hummed in her ear.
"Heads up."
"He fits the height and the build," James said.
"Give it a second, let's see what he does," Goren said, his eyes twitching from Orange Jacket-guy to Eames. He was about fifteen feet from her, but if this was Digger, that was way too damn close for Goren's comfort. He seemed to be looking her up and down, assessing if she was worth his time.
Bobby moved out of his doorframe post, carefully edging his way to the curb. He had to get closer. His vast mental catalog was filing and photographing every nuance of Orange Jacket-guy, and the more he stared at Eames, the tighter Bobby's chest seemed to constrict around his heart.
He's lingering too long…too long. He fits the profile…same body-build…doesn't look like he's wearing a disguise this time. Damn it! He smokes. All of the victims had cigarette burns on their arms and legs.
This is him…it-it's got to be him!
Alex knew Bobby was about to snap his leash—this guy was eyeing her a little too long for comfort.
"Easy, Bobby," she muttered softly, sensing his agitation on the air. "Just wait."
Even though she'd whispered below the mic's range to receive, Bobby felt the tension in his muscles lighten somewhat. Alex was willing him to calm down, and he swallowed thickly. He was still to far away to do anything if this guy made a break for Alex.
Then, Alex Eames did something that made her partner's heart freeze in terror. She walked - taking smooth, confident strides - right up to the guy. She smiled, keeping an eye on his hands in his pockets.
He seemed nervous, as though her approaching him wasn't what he expected.
"Mind if I bum a light off you, buddy?" she asked.
Orange Jacket looked down, "Uh…sure."
He reached out with a crumpled pack and shook out a smoke for Eames. She took it, and allowed him to light it for her—she only pretended to take a drag, blowing the smoke out immediately.
Bobby's head was exploding with all the horrible scenarios that could come from the sight of his partner, his ALEX, talking and walking with who he was sure was Digger. He could have a gun, and shoot her before they could even get the call out to go in. He could push her into an alley and do God-knows-what to her before he could get to there!
Bobby's teeth began to unconsciously grind, causing the muscle in his cheek to quiver. What the fuck was she thinking…approaching this guy!
The mic lines remained silent, as every ear was glued to Eames chatting-up the suspect—and Bobby trying to listen to any subtle clues he might give away in conversation—while battling the vicious images of his partner joining the other six victims on the coroner's slab.
"Those things will kill you, ya'know," Orange Jacket guy said as he turned from Alex to continue on to the alley beyond the bar. Alex smiled wryly, and dropped the cigarette, snuffing it out.
"Well, that was ten minutes of my life that I'll never get back." Eames sighed. She was hoping to tempt the guy, make him do or say something that might indicate that he was Digger. All in all, this guy seemed about as exciting as counting rain drops on a wind shield.
Bobby released the breath he didn't know he was holding, when Jacket guy walked away from his partner. This guy didn't give anything away, didn't try anything—and Bobby was torn between being thankful Alex wasn't walking side-by-side with the Brooklyn Strangler, and being soul-sick that Digger had probably slipped through their—his—fingers, yet again. He had begun to seriously question his abilities during this case—that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't the best man for this job anymore.
"What was all that crap about Brooklyn's soil, Eames?" Brueteli asked. "He one of those 'greenie-beanies' or something?"
Bobby's thoughts worked themselves out of the fog and back into the present.
His brows furrowed, "What soil crap, Brueteli?"
"I don't know, Mr. Personality down there was telling Eames, he hates Brooklyn in the winter. Somethin' about it being hard."
Eames narrowed her eyes, stopping in her tracks as she cut Brueteli off, "Hard to work the soil - to work in the mulch in his gardens."
Bobby froze in step with Alex, looking up towards her from across the street. His head found its usual, left-side tilt as his deep brown eyes took that far away gaze he got when he was putting all the little pieces together. Goren waggled his head somewhat - his thoughts must have seriously been on other things (like worrying about Alex) for him not to catch that soil remark.
After a moment, he added, "They were buried shallow…only a couple of feet down."
"He couldn't get the shovel through the ice-cold ground," Alex muttered in Goren's same hushed tone.
The other detective were listening to this little private exchange between Goren and Eames—as though they were standing side by side, finishing each other's sentences. James and Breuteli exchanged befuddled glances, before James cleared his throat into his mic.
"Uhmmm…do you two want to share with the class, here? This inside track you guys seem to be on?" James asked.
Alex jerked her head back toward the alley, "Have you guys seen Blondie in a while?"
"No." answered James and Brueteli.
"Not since she passed you," chimed in Howser.
Bobby was still standing with his knuckles on his lower lip, when Alex stated she was going to head down the alley to look for Blondie. He was jolted from his thoughts in an instant.
"Eames! No, wait…we- I think Orange Jacket guy was Digger!" He started walking quickly toward James and Brueteli's car, "Did you guys see where he turned?"
So engrossed in his thoughts of Eames and his seeming failure on this case, Bobby hadn't even seen which street Digger turned down. He reached the heap of a car with James and Brueteli looking up at him from the windows.
Neither one of them had continued to watch Orange Jacket guy after he left Eames.
"Howser! What did you see?" Bobby was becoming frantic. He fidgeted back and forth—looking like an enormous, broad shouldered, schizophrenic-hobo talking to imaginary people in his coat sleeve.
"We were watching another potential guy after Orange Coat started to walk away from Eames. Sorry Goren, we didn't think he was a danger."
Goren let out a clenched-fisted snarl—one that caused the two detectives nearest him to stare wide-eyed and mute. Over the commotion of the detectives spouting-off at each other about who was supposed to be watching what—Goren moved away from the car, pinching the bridge of his nose in weary frustration. Brueteli stepped out of the car.
"Hey! Where's Eames?"
Goren whirled around, dark eyes probing the eerily quiet streets for his partner. She was nowhere in sight. Goren's chest began to burn with every breath—his heart pounded in his ears.
"Eames!" He tried in the mic, "Eames, what's your position?"
Nothing. All was still—the silence deafening.
"Alex!" Bobby's voice boomed over the mics, causing the other detectives to flinch as they stepped from the car, with Howser and Tempson already on their way out of the ramshackle hotel room.
With his long, disjointed gate, Goren sprinted across the street; pausing in the last place he'd seen Alex—in front of the bar. She was out of his sight, out of his reach—in that horrible place where he might not be able to get to her in time. He spun around in a circle, a hand running erratically over his hair and down a gritty cheek.
Bobby called again and again over the mic—only static was his reply.
Then, just as he was about to rip his mic out of his ear, pull his gun and go screaming up and down the street like a madman for his partner—he heard something that turned his stomach to liquid, and fixed his heart painfully in his throat.
It was a scream—a woman's scream. And it was coming from somewhere in the pitch-black shadows.
TBC….
Please READ and REVIEW! What do YOU think?
Ah yes, return of the cliffie-queen! I hope that was a good set up. You wouldn't believe how much distraction I went through to get this chapter out. Next chapter should be easier—angst factor is going up as well. This story is hopefully going to be on Bobby more than "Push, Pull" was, and on the Goren/Eames connection. Let me know what ya think!
Stay Tuned!
