A/N: This is a crossover with the wonderful show Ghost Whisperer. It takes place at the end of Season 7 after Frame in CI and at the end of Season 3 of Ghost Whisperer after Pater Familias.
A sensible man will remember that the eyes may be confused in two ways - by a change from light to darkness or from darkness to light; and he will recognize that the same thing happens to the soul.
-Plato
In all her life, Alex Eames had never known a man who made her feel more raw emotion than her partner did. No one could make her so boiling angry or so deeply hurt, and yet, when she was suffering the most pain, he always knew what to say or do to make her feel better. She wished she had the same ability with him.
His moods seemed to revolve around her own emotions. Her feelings toward him were as complicated as he was, but the more she tried to figure them out, the more clear one thing became. Deep inside her, within an ongoing storm of conflicting emotion, existed a single port of calm: love. Her love, however, came with a price. He was a tortured soul. She knew that his mother's death the year before had hit him hard. He had not yet recovered from her death when Gage took it upon himself to "save" him, and his brother's recent death at Nicole Wallace's hand had compounded his already profound grief. His estrangement from Frank only made it worse for him. He had withdrawn into himself and Eames did not know how to reach him, how to help him to deal with his losses. He could be unpredictable, especially after his experience at Tate's, and she wasn't sure how he would respond to her.
Declan Gage had never been her favorite person, but she hated him for what he had done to Goren. Gage had played him for a fool, using his intimate knowledge of Goren's life to frame him for Frank's murder. In spite of the evidence, Eames knew her partner. While Ross began to suspect that the man had finally snapped, Eames gathered the evidence and studied it to find a way to exonerate him. Although Goren had gone off on her, deeply hurt to think she, too, had turned against him, she had been able to finally get him to see that she hadn't, that she never would. He was her partner and she was always in his corner, especially when he needed her most.
After the arrest and interrogation of Gage, Goren was a raw, open wound. The one man he had loved and respected like a father had betrayed him, and that cut him very deeply. With the ferocity of a caged tiger, Eames had shielded him from Ross and the rest of the squad. He neither wanted nor needed sympathy or pity. Once they were clear of the squad room, though, he'd taken off, a wounded animal, gone to find a safe, quiet place to lick his wounds in private. She'd seen it before, but this time, she was troubled because he thought he was alone in the world. For once, though, he was wrong. He wasn't alone; he still had her. The universe, it seemed, had turned against him, except for her, but he did not see it. He was blinded by his pain.
She stopped in at his favorite diner for something to eat, disappointed that he didn't show up for dinner. Worried, she began to search for him, checking all his usual haunts and dropping by his apartment twice. She tried to call him, but he did not answer his phone. Once again, as it had so often lately, her mood shifted toward anger, which was the only emotion she had that would keep her worry at bay. It was so much easier for her to give in to the anger than to the worry, especially with him. It was a war of titans that raged in her heart, anger over worry.
Night had long settled over the city before Eames decided to head for home, her exhaustion finally overriding her deep concern for her partner. She didn't know what else to do. When he was ready, she hoped, he would come to her. Only then would the anger fade away, perhaps collapsing the walls around her heart to allow her love for him to finally shine through.
Goren sat on his couch, holding a tumbler in both hands as he watched his cell phone. The illuminated screen bore the words Eames cell and the phone moved as it vibrated against the wood of the coffee table. The hum of the phone's vibration against the table was the only sound in the room.
Eames. When he lost his temper with Rodgers for failing to keep his trust, Eames had ushered him out of the morgue before Ross had a chance to say anything to him. She had to have interceded on his behalf with the captain-or maybe Rodgers did-because he never got called on the carpet for frightening the M.E. After he finished interrogating Gage, Eames walked out of the squad room with him, making certain no one bothered him, not even Ross. He knew Ross had read the results of his paternity test to her, so she knew exactly what he'd come from. He worried about losing her respect, which was why he hadn't told her. Hell, he'd lost his own self-respect, considering his paternity, but Eames treated him no differently. He had no idea what to make of that.
He remained where he was, his drink untouched, until well after the sun had set. He heard someone in the hall outside the apartment a couple of times, followed by a hesitant knock, but he made no move to answer the door. Every so often, his phone would buzz on the coffee table, but all he could do was stare at it. Suddenly, he felt unsettled, claustrophobic and out-of-place. He needed to get away, away from everything about his life. He needed a break.
Getting up, he moved to set the glass on the coffee table, but he missed and it fell onto the floor, spilling all over the carpet. He ignored it, went into the bedroom and packed a bag. Then he left the apartment, got into his car and headed out of the city. With no real destination in mind, just needing to get away, he simply drove.
Melinda Gordon put the finishing touches on the gift bag sitting on the counter in front of her. She straightened the bow and, with a smile, handed it to her customer. "Come again," she said brightly.
Not long after the woman left with her purchases, the door opened again. Melinda looked up, expecting Delia Banks, her business partner, with lunch. Instead, a tall man entered the shop, looking fatigued and defeated. She watched him wander around the store. There was something about him, a profound sense of deep sadness, of grief, that drew her to him.
She stepped around the counter and approached him. "Hi. I'm Melinda. Can I help you?"
He looked at her, his dark eyes sad. "Uh, no, I don't think so. I'm looking for, uh, an apology."
"An apology?"
He shrugged, unwilling to explain himself. "I, uhm, I'll just look around, if that's okay."
"Of course. Let me know when you find your apology."
His mouth twitched, and she got the impression he had a nice smile, if he would let it come out. He turned his attention back to the table in front of him. She stepped away from him, but still watched. After a few minutes, she asked, "Do you have any idea what you're looking for?"
He shook his head as he looked at an angel figurine. "Not a clue."
"Maybe if you tell me a little about who you're shopping for...?"
"I don't want to trouble you."
Melinda smiled. "It's no trouble. I'd like to help."
He looked up and studied her for a moment with an intensity she found almost uncomfortable. She took an unconscious step backward. He looked away with a muttered apology, resuming his examination of the knick-knacks on the table in front of him.
Before she could reply to his unnecessary apology, a woman appeared beside him. She was petite and blond, and she circled him like a predator, sizing up its prey. "What's the matter, Bobby?" she taunted. "In trouble again?"
She seemed to take delight in his misery. When she noticed Melinda staring right at her, the expression on her face changed and darkened. "You can see me? How can you see me when he can't?"
"It's a gift," Melinda answered.
The man looked at her. "Excuse me?"
Recovering quickly, she picked up a figurine from the table closest to her and held it up. "It's a gift...for your friend."
"Uh, yes." His eyes shifted to the ceramic statue in her hand, a Hummel figurine. He was very familiar with the work of Sister Maria Innocentia Hummel. He'd brought several of them back from Germany as gifts for his mother. Currently, they were nestled in a box in his bedroom closet. This one was a figure of an angel, looking toward heaven with a bluebird sitting on his finger. The angel had a child's face that was the spitting image of Eames' nephew. Reaching out, he took the figurine from her hand.
Melinda watched him handle the figure with gentle reverence. "Is it for your wife or girlfriend?" she asked softly.
The ghost snorted. "He wishes."
Melinda gave her an annoyed look as the man she called Bobby answered, "Uh, no, neither. She's...she's just a friend."
"Understatement," the ghost taunted.
"Shut up," Melinda hissed.
Bobby looked up at her. "Excuse me?"
She shook her head and smiled at him. "Nothing. What does your friend like?"
"She doesn't like him," the ghost taunted as she continued to circle him. "Not the way he wants her to...or does she, Bobby? Maybe the problem is with you and not with her. But that's something you've heard all your life. It's never them. It's you. It's always you."
Melinda watched him as he shook his head in answer to her question. She wasn't surprised that he chose not to answer. He looked defeated, and her heart went out to him. She wondered if his depression had to do with his ghost or with the friend she taunted him about. Although she knew he couldn't see or hear the ghost, she wondered if he could sense her presence, and if he could, how much damage she was doing to him.
"It will always be you, Bobby," the woman hissed into his ear, and then she was gone.
Melinda watched him move away to wander around the store, noting that he hadn't set down the Hummel. Instead, he cradled it in his hand as he studied a couple of paintings on the wall. He seemed drawn to one in particular, an impressionist seascape. Its muted blues and greens mingling with the earthtones of rock and land to emit a powerful energy. He leaned in to examine the brush strokes of the oil painting, lightly touching the frame. He seemed to know what he was looking at, and Melinda wondered if, perhaps, he was a gallery owner. He turned his head in her direction. "Uh, would I be able to buy this now and pick it up before I leave to go back to the city?"
"Of course. I'd be happy to hang onto it for you."
He nodded, seemingly satisfied. After wandering around the rest of the store, he set the Hummel on the counter as well as a musical snow globe of a winter scene mounted on an intricately carved ceramic base. Melinda smiled warmly. "Very nice. These are all for your friend?"
He nodded. "She'll appreciate them."
He pulled out his wallet and opened it. She noticed his city identification card. "You work in the city?"
"Uh, yes. I'm a police officer."
She accepted his credit card and his license, and she ran his purchase through. "Would you like me to wrap these for you? I can have them ready by the time you leave."
"Thanks," he said with a brief smile which did not reach his eyes. She watched him leave the store, joined on the sidewalk by his ghost. Her sensitive heart ached for him, and she made up her mind to help him get rid of his ghost and move on to recover from whatever it was that drove his grief and sorrow, if she could.
