Disclaimer: the character of Robert Goren does not belong to me.

A/N This is actually a rewrite of this story, originally a one-shot. I updated to include information unavailable when I first wrote it, nearly a year ago. And I decided to add another chapter, which I will post soon. (It's almost done.) Please R&R and let me know what you think!

Mother's Day

It was Mother's Day. It was also Detective Robert Goren's day off, so naturally, he spent it with his Mom. They didn't go to a fancy restaurant, however, nor did they do anything special at all. Instead they spent it at Carmel Ridge Psychiatric Hospital where his mother resided, for treatment of severe schizophrenia. Detective Goren, or Bobby, as he was known, knew that this place would forever be his mother's home. His mother hardly knew he was there. He felt bad for her; this disease had virtually ruined her life. And he felt bad for himself, too, because, for the better part of his life, he'd never really had a mother. A real mother who could take care of him; a mother he wasn't either frightened of or ashamed of. Just a regular Mom.

Frances, his mother, had seemed out of sorts and anxious all morning and he hoped it wouldn't mean another adjustment in her meds. Or maybe they should be adjusted. Hell, he didn't know; he wasn't a doctor. But he did know that this thing with his Mom, her illness, had taken over both their lives for far too long. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Then, out of the blue, she whispered to him, "They're trying to kill my baby". She was holding on to a baby doll that she always carried with her.

"It's okay, Mom," Bobby said soothingly, "Nobody's going to hurt your baby."

She looked around anxiously. "Didn't you hear me?" Her voice became shrill and louder by the second. "They want to take my baby! They're going to kill her! Please help me! Please! Somebody help me!" She held on desperately to her baby.

Bobby tried to put his arm around her shoulders in a protective manner. "It's okay, Mom, I won't…."

But she jerked away from him. "You!" she whispered savagely. "Get away from me! You're one of them! I've seen you! YOU want to kill my baby!" She then started hitting Bobby, in the face and chest, totally out of control, all in an effort to protect her "baby". Bobby did nothing to protect himself. He wasn't really hurt physically; he was a big guy, but emotionally, he was devastated.

"Mom…it's me, Bobby…it's okay…" he said repeatedly, hoping to regain some semblance of her trust. She continued lashing out at him, alternately screaming at him to get away from her, or pleading with him to help her. Before too long, the doctor and two aides were there, trying to calm her. Bobby watched helplessly. It took a while; she fought them to the end. They finally got her on her bed and sedated her, the baby falling to the floor in the chaos. As the sedative took effect, she murmured, over and over, her words slurring "My… baby…help…me…".

Bobby fell back wearily onto a chair. He couldn't bear to watch any longer. Sometimes her anguish was so great he almost wished she'd die. Then he'd hate himself for thinking that.

The doctor turned to Bobby. "She'll be out pretty much the rest of the day, Detective Goren. If you'd rather leave…?"

"No" Bobby said quietly. "It's Mother's Day." Both of them understood that it really wouldn't matter to his mom, and the doctor said "Of course. Stay as long as you like."

Bobby watched as his Mom slept. He put his head in his hands and wondered, for the thousandth time, how this could have happened to his wonderful and once beautiful mother. He knew she'd never really "be" with him again, and thought of the many times in his life when he was alone as a child. These were due to the off-and-on hospitalizations of his Mom (mostly due to her schizophrenia) and the outright abandonment by his father. Seeing the baby doll, now laying haphazardly on the floor, he thought of the first time his Mom had been taken from him.

He remembered it like it was yesterday. Bobby was about five years old at the time. He was a pretty cute little tyke, with big brown eyes, a little Cupid's mouth with an adorable pouting lower lip, and a mop of unruly dark curls. He and his brother Joey, older by five years, looked very much like their pretty Italian mother. Bobby was a mother's dream, a very, very smart, very imaginative and very beautiful child. He was also very precocious. But at the moment, that was not so much a dream as a nightmare; as she was seven months pregnant and a precocious Bobby was quite a handful. Bobby was a handful for anyone, let alone a pregnant woman.

But Bobby's precociousness wasn't the problem this time. The problem now was her husband, Joe. Joe had a few bad habits, not the least of which were drinking, gambling, and an occasional fling with other women. Right now Frances was still waiting for him to cash his check and bring some groceries home with the money. That was yesterday. If it hadn't been for Mrs. Rizzo next door, Bobby and Joey might not have had supper again. At times like this, Frances would wonder what right she had to be having another baby when she could barely feed the children she had. But she was determined to make things better for them all, and never let on to her children what a louse they had for a father.

Frances had a fairly good idea of where her husband was: at the track, his usual stomping grounds. She could only pray that he didn't squander his whole paycheck this time. Frances was very upset, and sent Bobby and Joey to bed early, despite their protests of still being hungry, and lay down on the couch to wait for Joe. She was exhausted and soon fell asleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night Bobby woke to a vicious battle between his parents. He hated it when they fought, and would get very scared. Sometimes he would try to stop them, which never worked and usually ended up with him in trouble. This was one of those times. Right now though, he was just happy that Daddy was home.

"Daddy!" Bobby ran to his Dad and wrapped his arms around his Dad's leg. Joe was drunk again, and barely noticed him, other than as a nuisance. But Bobby held on as tightly as he could, so his Dad would never leave. After a few moments Bobby got a confused look on his face. "Daddy, you smell like a lady," he said wonderingly.

Hearing this, Frances was incensed. "Do you hear that! Even a child knows where you've been!" And she stormed out of the room.

"Frances...wait!" Joe tried to follow her, with Bobby still clinging to him. Impatiently, he shoved Bobby away, and went to the bedroom door, which was now locked.

"Open the door, Frances," he said evenly, attempting to portray a false sense of calmness. He tried the door again, then angrily tried to force the door open.

"Go run back to your whores!" Frances shouted at him.

Joe was furious. "OPEN THE GODDAMNED DOOR!" he bellowed, kicking the door and pounding it repeatedly with his fists. When that didn't work, he became enraged. He looked around angrily for something to force the door open. His eyes fell on his son, who was watching him with huge eyes, clearly frightened. In his drunken rage, Joe turned on him.

"This is your fault you little bastard!" he roared. With that, he gave Bobby a vicious backhand in the mouth, knocking him down and splitting his lip. Bobby started bawling like he was being murdered.

"You want something to cry about!" Joe whipped off his belt. "I'll give you something to cry about!"

He started in on Bobby with the belt, and got in a few good blows before Frances was there, trying to pull him away from Bobby. "Stop it!" she cried, "He's just a baby!'

Joe pushed her away. "Yeah? Well he's gonna grow up now!" He started swinging at the screaming Bobby again. Once more, Frances tried to stop him. But Joe was a big man, and Frances was no match for him. He shoved her hard, and she fell, crying out in surprise. Joe turned back to Bobby. "I'm gonna teach you once and—"

"Mama!" Bobby said, sniffling and crying, he watched as his mother clutched at her stomach, crying out in pain.

"Oh my God!" she gasped, as the sharp pain engulfed her, and even Joe, drunk as he was, seemed concerned.

"Oh, God, baby, are you alright?"

Frances clutched at her stomach again as another wave of pain hit her. "The baby…Joe, something's wrong!"

Bobby ran to his mother, and though hurting himself, tried to comfort her. "Mom…don't cry, Mama". He couldn't stand to see his mother cry.

By this time Joey was also up, and staring at them all from around the corner. Unlike his little brother, he knew better than to get in his father's way when he was like this. But this time Joe sobered up quickly. Regaining a little bit of composure, he quickly got to Frances. Pulling Bobby up by his t-shirt, he told him, "Go get Mrs. Rizzo. Now!" Then he called for an ambulance. By the time old Mrs. Rizzo made it over, the ambulance was there. As Joe left to accompany his wife to the hospital, he shot Bobby a look. "You better behave!" he told him threateningly.

It was late the next night when Joe returned. Both boys were already in bed, asleep. Mrs. Rizzo had stayed the entire time with them.

"How's Frances?" she asked anxiously.

Joe couldn't meet her eyes. "She's… not good," he said ashamedly. "The baby," and here his eyes welled up with tears. "The baby…is gone. It…she…was a little girl. Frances knew it would be a girl. Frances…she… wanted a little girl so much. She's so depressed. They had to sedate her. It's not looking good at all."

"I'm so sorry for her," Mrs. Rizzo said. "You try again sometime," she encouraged him. "When she come home, you try again," she said in her broken English. "You get a little girl".

Joe shook his head. "She won't be coming home for a while. Something happened. She just snapped… I don't know what to do…what about the boys?"

"You go to sleep. We talk in the morning," Mrs. Rizzo said comfortingly. Then, in a sterner voice, "you keep your hands off your boy."

Joe lowered his eyes. "I will," he promised.

After Mrs. Rizzo left, Joe went into the little room where his sons slept. Even in his sleep Bobby seemed agitated. His little Cupid mouth was swollen and bruised and the split still hadn't healed. Joe was overwhelmed with shame. He was a big man, and he had hit Bobby hard, then beat him with a belt. He was also scared. This time he had really done it; he had seriously hurt his wife, and even his little boy. And what was it they said? With violence like this, each time would be worse than the last.

Joe sat down on the little bed next to Bobby, waking him up. "Hi, Daddy." Bobby said sleepily, wrapping his arms around his dad's neck as he climbed onto his lap.

"Bobby…you, uh, doing okay?" Joe said, indicating Bobby's lip. That was the best he could do in the way of an apology.

Bobby nodded his head, almost shyly.

Joe found it very difficult to tell Bobby about his mom. Finally, he woke up Joey, too; he wanted to get this over with. "Bobby…Joey…something bad has happened." After a pause he continued. "Your Mom… she lost the baby."

Bobby's eyes grew wide. How could anyone lose a baby, 'specially one that's in your belly? He was full of questions. "Well, why did Mommy lose the baby? Why can't she find it? Didn't she look under the bed? I can help her find it—"

"You're stupid Bobby!" Joey said angrily, hitting him on the arm.

"Stop it, Joey," their dad said. Then he continued. "No, Bobby. I mean…the baby, she had to go to heaven." He waited for that to sink in. It didn't take long. Bobby's dark eyes filled with tears. "Is my little sister with Jesus?" The tears overflowed. "Is she an angel now?" Bobby's little voice was soft, almost a whisper. "Is Jesus holding her now?"

Joe could hardly speak. "Yes," he choked, his own voice barely above a whisper.

"Can I go to heaven too and be an angel with my baby sister?" Bobby pleaded. "So she won't be so scared?"

"No, Bobby. Not yet. Someday…okay?" Listening to his sweet little boy he wondered briefly how he could be so violent with him. And now he had to give his sons the rest of the bad news. "Listen, Bobby…you—and you too, Joey--you have to be a big boys now, cause Mama's going to be away for a long time…"

Bobby knew it was his fault. He was bad. He was always bad. If he weren't so bad, his Mom would come home. "Please tell Mommy to come home! I'll be good! I won't be bad anymore…" He shook his head back and forth.

"She can't come home, Bobby, she's too sick," Joe stressed. Bobby and his brother looked totally miserable, and Joe's conscience got the better of him. "Listen boys, this is never going to happen again, I swear. I'm gonna come home every night, I'm gonna make sure there's always food on the table. And, I promise, I'm never going to hurt you or your Mom ever again."

That promise was just the first of many to be broken over the years.

"Detective Goren?" An attractive young nurse woke Bobby from his reverie. To his surprise, Bobby's eyes were hot with tears as he remembered the cruel way he, his brother, and his sick mother were later abandoned.

"Detective Goren?" the young nurse said again, "Are you alright?"

"Yes" Bobby answered, a little embarrassed. "I'm fine, thanks. I should get out of here and let you people do your work. Sorry…"

"That's okay," the nurse smiled at him. She'd always had a thing for him. "You can stay as long as you like. Anytime."

"Thank you," Bobby said politely, then went over and stood by his mom, watching her sleep, peacefully at last. His poor Mom, all she ever wanted was to be a good mother to her children, and even that was taken from her. Picking the baby doll up, he leaned over and kissed his mom tenderly on her forehead, and laid the baby doll gently in his mother's arms. "Happy Mother's Day, Mom" Bobby said softly.

tbc