A/N: I have all these little "Moments" written up that I really like and want to share. I may incorporate one or all of them into a story someday, but until then, I really liked them and wanted to share.
I'm starting a CI episode guide of sorts (just the good bits) at http://cithegoodbits. It's just getting started. Please check it out.
"Hmm hmmmm hum hum la de te da do doo doo dooooooo." Bobby Goren squinted at the pages of notebook paper on the couch in front of him, focusing hard, and effectively tuning out his five-year-old daughter's soft singing of a tune that had no real rhythm and only intelligible to her. The constant noise didn't distract him at all – he had long ago learned what kind of work he could bring home and successfully focus on and the kind he should complete in the confines of the precinct -- so the constant interruptions didn't bother him. It was when she wasn't making noise that he should worry.
On the floor between his feet, spread out, was his daughter, today decked out in a blue and purple striped rugby shirt, a pink tutu, green leggings, and red high-top sneakers, her loose curls pulled up in pigtails. Dressing herself was her new thing, usually hitting somewhere between the mark of dirt-covered, frog-catching tomboy and regal princess. Sitting up on her legs, she was hunched over the coffee table "doing her paperwork" as she liked to call it. When her parents brought home work with them, in order to not be left out, Emma would carry her own makeshift briefcase containing her "important stuff" (i.e. her crayons, coloring books, and the markers that changed colors, a gift from Uncle Mike) to the couch or table and join her parents in their "work."
As her parents would complete their reports and research notes to take into work the next day, Emma would finish her "paperwork" – pictures she drew and colored and sent off to work with her parents for various members of Major Case. Wheeler had pictures of a ginger cat and other animals tact up to the side of her desk with her name on it, Logan received hearts of every shape and color, and the more surreal stuff was designated for Barek – trippy swirls and geometric designs covered her desk, the deep stuff only she and Emma could decipher. Even behind Ross' head were sketches of clouds and rainbows with Emma's signature below it.
"What is this, Daddy?" she inquired, gesturing dangerously with an orange marker at the envelope in front of him and the notepad he was scribbling on.
"This is a letter from Mr. Stevens," he stated clearly. "I'm writing him back."
"Mr. Stevens," Emma drawled, letting the name roll off her tongue and finding it satisfactory. "I like Mr. Stevens," she announced confidently, despite having never met him or heard the name before. "Can I draw him a picture?"
Bobby smiled, "I think Mr. Stevens would like that very much."
"I think I'll make him a picture of Mr. BoBo," she decided, propping her stuffed giraffe on the coffee table, tilting her head to take him in at all angles as she outlined him on a fresh piece of paper.
Despite what the others may say about linking Emma's eccentric actions to his, it was moments like this when Bobby saw himself most in his daughter. Her sense of people was akin to his own, as was how she both studied them and followed her instincts. Maybe that's why he worried less about her when it came to the "don't talk to strangers" rule – she naturally gravitated to the same individuals he did.
Maybe that's why her mother worried more than most.