All recognizable characters belong to Dick Wolf. Don't even bother trying to sue, I don't own anything…
An explosive device goes off right outside the Major Case bullpen. Goren is fine, but where is his partner, where is Eames?
All You Need or Want
The crushing weight pressing against his chest made him long for oblivion again, but tendrils of awareness eased him back towards consciousness. Deep breaths were impossible, so he gasped with rapid, shallow pants in an effort to force air into his pain-wracked body. He could smell smoke and something sharper, more pungent, tainting the air.
Sounds were garbled and distant in his ringing ears: voices were shouting incoherently, bleeding into one another with their urgency, the crackle of flames, the thud of large objects falling or being moved, a loud hiss that could have been pressurized gas...no, the sound came from a fire extinguisher.
He tried to form words in the dryness of his mouth, but only the slightest whisper escaped, lost in the cacophony of noises. "Eames?"
There was no answer to his nearly silent plea, so he struggled to remove the weight pinning him down. It wasn't as heavy as he'd first feared. It was only a toppled desk chair. He was able to shift it, although the effort took almost all of his remaining energy.
He looked around before attempting to rise. He was wedged between the wall and Eames's desk. At least he thought it was Eames's desk -- most of the contents lay scattered on the floor around and atop him, so there was no immediate way to recognize the desk itself. Although it lay skewed from its normal alignment, it was in the right location in relation to the wall and side door of the bullpen.
Reaching up, he gripped the edge of the desk and pulled himself up. A moan escaped his lips as new aches made themselves known, but the act of sitting up gave him a greater sense of control.
The bullpen was a mess. Much of the ceiling had collapsed; great gaping holes revealed the crawl space above. Several ceiling panels hung down, swinging slowly in the aftermath of the blast. Cables and wires dangled from above, but if there had been a fire, it wasn't apparent anymore. A uniformed police officer he didn't recognize held an aggressive stance in the middle of the room, a fire extinguisher held like a weapon in his hands as he searched for any errant sparks that had escaped his first assault.
In fact, the room was quickly filling with people in uniform, people in suits, and people in fire gear, people he didn't recognize, people who had converged from all over the building to help.
Goren did his best to assess his own injuries. He'd taken a solid thump on his head, which caused a dull headache that thudded in time with his rapidly beating heart. But, his vision was clear - well, mostly clear - so he figured he had avoided any serious head injury. Numerous cuts stung his cheeks, and he could feel tiny rivulets of blood trickling down his chin. He continued his inventory by flexing his fingers. They were all in good working order, although his left wrist felt extremely tender; maybe he'd sprained it in the fall. Arms, feet, and legs all seemed to be functioning properly.
His chest ached where the chair had struck him, but he was breathing without major difficulty. His ribs hurt the worst, and he reckoned he'd bruised or maybe cracked a few.
With his personal inventory complete, he figured it was time to try standing up. Easing his legs beneath him, he pushed himself to his knees.
Whoa! Some dizziness here. He clung to the desk until the whirling of the bullpen slowed and finally stopped. The wave of dizziness brought on a cold sweat and a churning nausea, and he waited with dreadful anticipation for it to pass. He breathed deeply despite the resulting stabs of pain, and his stomach finally settled down again.
"You should stay there," an unfamiliar voice advised. "EMT's and fire department are on the way."
He never saw the speaker clearly, but nodded as the figure swept past him deeper into the turmoil of the bullpen. Ignoring the advice, he pulled himself up and managed to stand. The room spun wildly again, and he grimly held on to the desk in an effort to maintain his hard-won upright status. The dizziness lasted longer this time, and he felt chilled and weak when it finally passed.
He didn't have time for this, he needed to find his partner. He looked around; seeking the familiar figure he most wanted to see, most need to see. There was no sign of her amid the chaos. Straightening up with focused determination, he began a slow, shuffling circuit of the room.
He found Megan Wheeler first. Her desk had been one of those closest to the doors and had taken the brunt of the explosion. She was sitting against the wall, the floor around her littered with shards of glass and other debris. Logan was beside her, helping her hold a towel against a deep gash in her scalp.
She was conscious and looked at him with bleary awareness. "Goren, are you all right?"
His first attempt to speak led to a painful bout of coughing, but he swallowed a few times and found his voice. "I think so. How about you?"
She gestured vaguely in the direction of the hallway. "Not bad, considering the alternative."
Goren hardly spared a glance for the destruction in the hall outside the bullpen, where several officers were taping off the crime scene and its grisly remains. It was funny, but the explosion was etched permanently in his memory. He recalled glancing down the hallway and saw the nervous deliveryman exiting the elevator. He could see the box clutched desperately in the man's shaking hands the moment before it exploded. He was already starting to rise from his chair, when the concussive force sent him sprawling. "Do they know who he was?"
Logan stood up with a groan and eased a hip against the ruins of Megan's desk. "I doubt there's enough left of him to identify." Although his words were calm, the wide-eyed expression on his face and the ashen pallor of his face testified to his own level of shock. "Do you smell that though? I think he used TATP as the explosive. That smell, it's distinctive."
"It's instability might… It… it might explain why the device exploded before he got inside the bullpen." Goren didn't care about the bomber. He was grateful the bomb had gone off prematurely. Even if the bomber had planned to sacrifice himself in the blast, it was likely he'd intended to detonate it inside the bullpen rather than in the hallway. He had a more pressing and urgent matter on his mind. "Have you seen Eames?"
Logan flexed his shoulders as if working out some stiffness. "No, I don't think she's here. I don't remember seeing her all morning." He looked down at Megan. "If you're okay here, Wheeler, I'm gonna see if anyone else needs help."
She gave a casual salute with the bloody rag she'd been holding to her head and waved him off. "I'll be fine, Mike. Go on."
Logan looked at Goren. "You should sit down until the paramedics check you out."
Goren managed a slight smile. "So I've been told." Grateful that at least two of his colleagues were relatively unharmed, he continued his halting tour around the devastated bullpen. Ricardo, one of the uniformed officers who regularly worked with the detectives, was unconscious, and paramedics were checking him out. Two other officers hovered nearby anxiously awaiting word on his condition. Firefighters in full gear clomped through the room clearing away wreckage and securing potential hazards.
Ritchie sat on the floor against a toppled desk, and he was clearly in a lot of pain. Judging from the way he rocked slightly from side to side and cradled his arm, he probably had broken a bone. Jamison was tending to him, and Goren decided not to interrupt. Sometimes all you wanted or needed was your partner.
Firefighters and police were still racing into the bullpen, scrambling to lift debris off those still buried under the rubble. Goren searched their faces, looking for the one he most needed to see. Everyone caught in the explosion, even the uninjured, looked stunned by the sudden violence that had shattered the day's normal routine. He watched it all with a sense of detachment, his thoughts fixated on finding his partner and making certain she'd survived the blast.
"Goren?"
It took a moment to recognize the sound of his name, and he turned sluggishly toward the speaker.
Ross, looking equally dazed, studied him with concern. "Goren, you need to sit down." He held a cell phone to his ear, listened for a moment, and then snapped an impatient, "Yeah, we'll get right on that Chief." Ross closed his cell phone and looked at it uncomprehendingly. "Chief wants me to get a team on this ASAP. I don't even know what teams I have that haven't been hurt in this…"
"How are you, Captain?" Goren asked, noting the myriad tiny cuts crisscrossing the captain's face.
"I feel like… I'm OK. The blinds in my office blocked most of the flying glass. Goren, sit down."
"Can't." He shook his head stubbornly, then instantly regretted the motion. "Um, I gotta find Eames."
Ross looked perplexed as he extended a hand to place a steadying hand on the other man's shoulder. "Goren, she's not here."
Doubtfully, Goren looked around at the tumult. For the first time, he noticed the two shrouds covering motionless figures on the floor. The sight sickened him and filled him with a deep dread. He turned desperate eyes back to Ross. "Is Eames all right?"
"Goren, Eames is fine as far as I know. She had to give that deposition in the Janssen case this morning, remember? She's still probably down at the DA's office. I'm sure she'll be back here as soon as she hears what happened."
The words finally made sense. Eames is all right. She hadn't been there when the bomb had gone off. She was all right.
Some of the tension faded from Goren's ragged thoughts. He nodded. "Thanks, I'd… I'd forgotten...about the deposition. I think I'll sit down now."
"Good idea." Ross moved off to continue monitoring the care his people were getting. He walked over to one of the EMT's and pointed out Goren to him. The man turned, nodded, and began to gather up his kit.
Goren picked his way through the rubble and returned to Eames's desk. Everything had been swept from its surface in the blast, so he didn't have any trouble finding a place to sit. Hitching a hip over the edge of the desk, he slid back on the desktop until only his lower legs hung over the edge of the desk. He closed his eyes and hung his head, blocking out the sights and noises around him, seeking to calm the turmoil of his thoughts and ease the growing pains flaring through his weary body.
Miraculously, Eames was suddenly beside him. "Bobby, you all right?"
Goren raised his head and smiled. "Eames. You're OK."
Eames looked surprised at the comment. "Of course I'm OK. I wasn't even here. Let me check you over."
He felt hands brush over his head and neck, then prod his torso cautiously for punctures and fractures. He winced when the fingers touched an especially tender part.
"I think you're OK. You may have some ribs that may be cracked. You should wait here for the EMT's to check you out."
"Think so? People keep telling me that," Goren agreed woozily. "Can we go home now?"
"Soon, I think."
"OK." He started to sag and felt her arms wrap around him in support. His cheek rested against the soft fabric of Eames's shirt, and he could hear the reassuring cadence of the heart beating strongly beneath his ear.
"Easy, partner. You're white as a sheet. Just sit still until the EMT's have a chance to look at you." She helped him into a chair, which miraculously had remained upright.
"Why do you keep saying that?"
"If you could see what I'm looking at, you'd be saying the same thing."
A cool palm stroked away the thin sheen of sweat beading on his forehead, further sweeping away the tension. She was worried by his unfocused gaze, and looked around for someone to tend to him, now.
"OK, detective. I think we should sit you down on the floor for now." The EMT knelt down to look up at man. He thought the detective was ready to go out any second, and he didn't want the guy bouncing his head off the warped and buckled flooring surrounding them.
"I think I'd like to pass out now, Eames," he mumbled, satisfied with the knowledge that his partner was beside him and unharmed. Eames and the EMT were easing him down as he did just that.
Sometimes all you wanted or needed was your partner, before it was all right to let go.