Disclaimer: Don´t own them, they´re Dick Wolf´s…

A/N: My muse got me this night, I warned you. And therefore she´s the one to blame that the storyline I had mentally prepared got out of control and this turned out quite differently from what I wanted it to be…

I set this right after the ending scene of "The Good Child" of the fourth season. This episode particularly bothered me, because I´m adopted too… and I just couldn´t understand how Rachel Burnett sought out her biological parents, when her course of action represented danger for her parents. I tried to show my thoughts with a discussion Bobby has with Alex.

Eames´ centered, again.

C&C is welcome, as usual, and please point out any grammar/spelling mistakes to me (a poor German native speaker), if you find them (still have no BETA)… if you want to rage at me, do so in a private message. Oh, and I named Eames sister Claire... I don´t think her name was ever mentioned on the show., was it?

Origins

I watch in stoic silence how Bobby lays a supporting hand on the trembling young woman, before two uniformed officers lead her away. Rachel Burnett holds the two small boxes tightly to her breast in a mocking resemblance of a caressing embrace, which would never again warm the ashen remains of the two people who loved her as a daughter for real.

And yet it was not enough for her.

Everyone wants to know where they come from.

Her eyes are full of guilt, when she passes me.

It was not your fault.

During the early stages of our partnership Bobby´s ability to display deep understanding and compassion to the victims has never failed to amaze me, as much as his unique way to do the same for the criminals we were prosecuting has disquieted me more often than I want to admit even to myself. To say that now, after more than four years, I´ve grown used to it would be somewhat exaggerated, but my comprehension of this complex, intriguing man has altered tremendously since then.

I´ve reached a point on the rocky path of understanding and therefore trusting Bobby Goren, where most of the others cannot or don´t want to follow. It proved to be one of the columns of our partnership and friendship alike.

Still, I learned over the years that there were certain moments when even I can´t keep up with him. The Tagman Case surely ranked on top among them.

And right now I feel myself falling behind again.

"Not her fault, huh?" I ask as we walk towards the exit of the building. Despite my best efforts I can´t keep the bite out of my voice and he´s noticed it too. Even though I keep my gaze fixed on the glass door in front of us, taking in the reversed image of the word "Funeral Parlour" printed on it, I know he is looking at me now with that little frown, the head tilted to the left side.

Considering, evaluating.

"Eames?" His tone is softer than before when he talked with Rachel, more tentative.

"What´s wrong?"

He´s so lucky to have already stepped in front of me to open the door – after all, the famous Robert Goren is a man with manners – otherwise I would´ve taken great pleasure in slamming it into his face. Sometimes I almost forget how unbelievably dense this genius of a man can be.

The whole world is wrong if the love and support of two people for a child isn´t enough. Because if it isn´t, what will be?

I decide against the childish notion to stump on his toes when I rush past him towards the SUV. His heavier steps are following me as well as his voice.

"Eames, if this is about the girl´s decision -"

I snort loudly, which isn´t quite lady-like, as my mother is wont to point out, but when does any kind of behavior stop my partner from speaking out things no one wants to hear in the first place?

So, he stubbornly carries on: "If this is about Rachel´s decision… you have no reason to be afraid."

What the hell is he talking about?

I stop in front of the car, turning around to face him. Immediately wishing that I didn´t. Goren has cocked his head now to the other side, hands clasped behind his back and there is THIS look in his eyes… the one, witnesses and suspects receive, when he´s about to reveal something to them, they haven´t realized… yet.

My reaction to his cryptic babbling is a raised eyebrow.

Beware, Bobby, don´t open a box you can´t close again…

"The people who brought life to Rachel Burnett turned out to be bad people and that was her misfortune… They had no love for her or for each other. Not anymore."

He stops, apparently unsure how to continue.

"But if they´d have been different… it´d might have been a chance for her to see them as an enrichment of her life…"

I still don´t get the picture he´s trying to paint for me – not that I´m very fond of his taste in art anyway – but I don´t like the arising coldness in my gut either.

"And - and… unlike her, Nathan is lucky enough not to have to make this decision."

Silence.

I can´t think. I can´t speak. I only look up into my partner´s beautiful dark-brown eyes and see my reflection there. A small, blonde woman, her usually intelligent and strong personality wiped away by some carefully chosen words.

Leave it to my partner to poke his restless fingers into open wounds after one finally has found a way to block out the pain…

It flares up again, piercingly hot.

And with it comes the sadness, the helplessness I experienced in the hospital every time I watched my sister and her husband holding the small boy I´ve given birth to. Numerous times I´ve stomped on the sparks of anger and self-deprecation I felt for the moments I longed for a child I couldn´t and wouldn´t ever call my own.

I know Claire and her husband raise Nathan well and they´ve done everything to involve me in his life. I visit him and my sister at least once a week and Ive become simply "Alex" for him, more than an aunt, but less than a mother.

I´m okay with it, really, I am. Except during the moments when the memory of his warm, little body in my arms right after his delivery is searing my brain and my heart. When the pain is too much, like right now.

"Eames?"

His voice trembles a bit and I refocus on his bulky frame, towering over me. One of his hands has taken hold of my arm, in a supporting gesture, the warmth of his palm seeping through my jacket and sweater. Uncertainty and shock are written all over his posture.

Well, good to know I can still unsettle him…even if I look like shit.

"God, Eames, I´m – I´m so sorry… I didn´t want to...-"

"Of course you did."

Abruptly his nearness is overpowering and his unique scent, a peculiar mixture of coffee, his aftershave and something that is simply Bobby and always reminds me of dark chocolate, makes me dizzy and I move away from him, shrugging his hand off. He doesn´t follow.

"I never meant to hurt you… it was just…"

"What?" I hiss angrily. "Was it an effort to assuage the nagging thoughts that keep me up during the night by intruding into my private life?"

My bite is back as well as my anger.

"Do you think I haven´t already considered the questions I might have to answer when Nathan grows up? Why I chose to let him grow in my body for nine months and to give him away almost the very moment he took his first breath? Even if I did it for my sister and he knows all about the surrogate-situation, it was me who gave him away…"

I reach up to brush my long bangs behind my ear, a familiar gesture to calm my quaky nerves.

"I dread the moment he realizes this, Bobby, not only on my behalf, but also on Claires. What if Nathan thinks they are not enough, just like Rachel obviously did about the Burnetts?"

"She – she only wanted to know her origin. It was her very right to know."

"If she would have been satisfied with what she had, that is to say the family who loved her, she´d still have one!"

He jerks back, both surprised and hurt by the venom in my words. Some passengers slow down to look at us curiously, like we´re a couple caught up in an argument.

Which might not be so far from the truth, I think and venture a few cautious steps towards my big partner to catch his eyes.

"I don´t say that wanting to know where one comes from isn´t important, Bobby and just like you said, everyone has the right to be told about their origin. But to leave or even endanger the people who loved you? Who clothed and fed you and supported you? Who taught you to read, how to tie your shoes or how to ride a bike? Who helped you become the individual you are?"

Somehow I´ve managed to back him up against the SUV, my petite frame confronting this bear of a man. His shoulders are slumped over and he valiantly tries to evade my angry gaze.

"It´s a choice, Bobby, one has to make when they´re confronted with the truth. But always in consideration of the cost this will take. And I don´t see that Rachel Burnett has considered it, so in my opinion it´s her fault that her parents have been gunned down by these two… maniacs."

Goren frowns at my choice of words, but I don´t bother. Not now.

"And Nathan will make the right decision when the time comes?"

I laugh mirthlessly.

"Like you said, Bobby, he´s lucky to most likely not to have to make a decision. But we won´t take away his choice."

"Because all of you… you love him."

"Yes."

He doesn´t respond to my sincere answer, but I can see him his jaw line go tense. After all he´s the one of us who lacks nearly any family.

Sighing I step around him and open the door to the driver´s side of the SUV.

"Eames, what..."

"It´s winter, Goren and my butt is getting cold. Besides, we have to finish the report for the Captain."

We both know this escape from the tension between us into the normalcy of our work won´t resolve anything and I´m really not in the mood to face Deakins, who has the uncanny ability to detect any kind of trouble between his favorite pair of detectives. But this is not the place nor the time to figure out what has happened to us during the last half an hour. So I thank whatever deity is finally listening to me and watch my partner get into the car without making a complaint.

I´m still angry at him for bringing all this up, but now my emotions are predominated by a growing weariness, which leaves me silently wishing for enjoying a glass of wine (or something stronger) and the cushioned depths of my full-size bed. Preferably alone.

During the silent drive to One PP it starts to snow again. Big, fluffy flakes are dancing in front of the windshield, coating the streets with a fine layer of white and muffling the sounds of this restless city.

It´s just a shame it can´t muffle the things we say or do to hurt each other, I think. The world would be a better place to live in.

A subtle movement on the passenger´s side catches my attention and then a large, warm hand curls slowly round my smaller one.

"There´s a small, but quiet place… it´s just around the corner."

When I throw him a dirty glance he huffs in mock-annoyance, even though his ears go pink.

"Not that kind of place. A small bar, I´ve heard they serve excellent margaritas there…"

"What about the captain?"

Maybe for the first time in the last hour he fully looks at me, the ghost of his boyish smile lingering in the edges of his face.

"He can wait."

Sometimes Robert O. Goren, even after he has shaken you to the very core, displays a talent to lessen the pain of your emotional upheaval by simply uttering the right words for a change. Not as good as the snow-flakes maybe, but he comes damn close.

"You´re buying."