Author's Note: Thank you for the kind reviews! As always, greatly appreciated. And, as before, my disclaimer did not make the first chapter. I'll figure it out one of these days. Not mine…pout.
Law and Order: Criminal Intent
The Winter Here's Cold
Chapter Two
Monday, November 8th, 2:34 am
Apartment of Robert Goren
Eames stretched her arms above her head, hands softly clunking the headboard of Goren's king-size bed. Though feeling guilty about sleeping in the bed while Goren occupied the couch for the nth time in the last month, she was grateful he allowed her to spend the night. Once out of 1PP's parking garage, the full threat of the winter storm presented itself in hip deep drifts of snow. Goren was correct, Eames' drive home would have been ridiculously long and driving was not how she wanted to spend her down time. She was content to sit in the passenger seat of Goren's car, cozy in her winter coat and his cap.
As Eames turned on her side, tucking her body further into the warm and heavy blankets, her thoughts wandered from the weather to her partner. As of late, she was spending a lot of time thinking about Goren's actions. His invasion of her personal space was nothing new to her. From the day they met, he was consistently in her bubble. Knowing it was one the many quirks that made Goren…Goren…she accepted the fact that he would always be close. In this chumminess, there were times when he touched her elbow or her shoulder to gain her attention when the words would not come out of his mouth. Prolonged physical contact, though, was something they never shared. She could remember half a handful of times where they held hands or walked arm in arm, but that was solely for the guise of undercover work and short lived.
Eames conceded that during a hectic investigation, passing notes and papers and file folders back and forth, there was bound to be a point where hands touched. She understood certain proximity was needed for two people to read the same piece of paper. She knew that Goren, when discussing theories after speaking with a witness, needed to dispel the space between them to keep their conversation private.
But in the last several months, Goren's procurement of Eames' attention came with lingering touches. Simple tapping on her arm turned into gentle fingers wrapped around her elbow or wrist, staying in such a position long after she was drawn into the discussion. Then he began to take her hand every time she had a file to give him. Sometimes his fingers found the folder, brushing hers as they took hold. Sometimes, he kept her hand in his while reading the file.
After a couple of weeks of prolonged handling, something shifted. Goren shifted…literally closer to Eames. He stood closer than necessary, she thought, when he read over her shoulder, something he did with increased frequency and little need. She noticed when they sat side by side that the space between their chairs decreased over a period of time, until there was none to be found. Resting his arm across the back of her chair, he leaned into her as he spoke quietly, even when they were they only two in the room. She tried to ignore it, tried to act as though these actions were normal, but, whether or not it was obvious, she knew she was failing.
She recalled a conversation they had in a hospital elevator two weeks earlier. The only two in the car, Goren maintained the physical intimacy, speaking quietly to her. Eames' mind came to a screeching halt, unable to focus on anything but the feeling that Goren was purposely trying to back her into the corner. The subtle smile on his face solidified that thought. He had asked a question she didn't register. Unable to answer, she watched Goren close the distance, tilting his head to the side as he leveled their eyes.
"Are you all right, Eames?" he had asked, fingers sliding lightly over her shoulder, smile tugging ever so slightly at his mouth. All she could do was nod in response. Goren pulled back when the elevator doors opened, allowing four nurses to enter. At the next floor, when the nurses disembarked, Goren again took to Eames' side. "You're sure you're all right?" This time, he asked while brushing her hair from her face, his fingers ghosting across her cheek. Before she could respond, the doors opened to the first floor. Goren stepped aside, placing his hand on the small of Eames' back as she exited.
One of many awkward moments over the weeks, it was the most intense to date. Eames closed her eyes, remembering the way Goren touched her before leaving the squad room earlier. Had he not grazed his finger across her skin, not had that look on his face, she would not have given his buttoning of her coat a second thought. She would have considered it part of his good-humored nature. And the tingle that crept across her skin from his caress was not unpleasant, nor unwelcome. She was just confused as to where it had all come from, confused as to why it was affecting her so much.
"Bobby, what the hell are you doing to me?"
-(*)-
Goren was curious by nature. He was curious about things, he was curious about people. His thirst for knowledge left him well-read and well-versed in the human psyche. He enjoyed studying people, learning and interpreting their personalities and mannerisms, predicting their interactions, good or bad, with others. Goren's liking and understanding of such things led to a successful career with the NYPD. Four years in Narcotics, he had a perfect arrest and conviction record. The last seven years, as a Major Case detective, he and his partner held the highest solve rate of any partnership in the department.
His partner…Alexandra Eames. The person behind the decision to pair him with Eames had truly given him a gift. She was smart and very good at her job. Top of the department when she worked in Vice, she was among the toughest of female cops. Eames was not only able to follow Goren's often wayward train of thought, but she also put up with his shit.
As far as Goren was concerned, that was no small feat.
Though there was an initial awkwardness at the beginning of their pairing, Goren and Eames now shared a familiar friendship. They spent time at each other's apartments, at hers when they shared a celebratory drink after a particularly hard case, at his when work demanded perusing files and autopsy reports well into the morning hours. They went out to dinner when their birthdays rolled around and when a case prevented them from enjoying a holiday.
Early in their partnership, Goren had promised Eames, under the threat of being physically assaulted, that he would not study her. He had kept that promise, for the most part. He made normal, everyday observations. He noticed when she was tired and run down, asking, as a friend would, how she was feeling. He noticed when she was grumpy, offering to take her out for a drink to let her blow off some steam. When she was thoroughly angry, he hung back and gave her space. When she was happy and excited, he listened as she shared her jubilation. Normal, everyday observations.
There were times, however, when Goren's mind wandered from natural reflection to inapposite musing. Sometimes they would flirt, a comment dropped here and there to render the other speechless. It was a game of comebacks, one he frequently let her win; one that, as of the last several months, spurred his mind to improper thoughts. Goren was curious as to what it would be like to get Eames flustered. He found himself paying more attention to her movements than her words, learning and gauging her reactions.
The first fervent thought he remembered had come earlier in the year, towards the end of April. Eames had come to his apartment near midnight with three autopsy files. It was the last piece of their puzzle and both agreed an all-nighter was in order for solving the case. Previous days of weather reports advised of severe thunderstorms but had fallen short on their counsel. The skies had been blue and clear until that night. Goren had opened the door to a thoroughly soaked and very unhappy Alexandra Eames. She had found a clean pair of jogging pants and a t-shirt in the go-bag in her car, but it wasn't enough to keep her sodden body warm. Goren had offered her one of his sweatshirts and then proceeded to mercilessly tease her about its mismatched proportions to her body. The case at hand quickly overtook the funny and the two spent the next three hours on the couch solidifying their theory.
When Goren's back could no longer handle the couch, he stood and stretched, and carried their coffee mugs to the kitchen for refills. Eames had joined his side as he poured the coffee, gratefully accepting the mug with an exhausted smile. Goren, leaning against the counter as he took his first few sips, had watched Eames as she put the cup down and stretched with a small laugh. He had been stunned by an intense need to reach out for her.
This need, regularly replayed and overly embellished in his mind over the following days, turned into a very vivid 'memory'. In his head, he reached for her hand, pulling her towards him, turning her so she was settled between him and the countertop. He unrolled the cuffs of the oversized sweater, letting them hang past her hands. Eames protested weakly, exhausted from their late night case study, faintly saying his name as she tried to decipher his actions. Before she had the mind to counter, Goren used the extra length of sleeve to tie her hands behind her back. Then he pushed her against the counter and skimmed his fingers up the back of her neck as he wound them in her hair. He imagined at this point Eames would try to remove herself from his hold, but in his scenario, he gently overpowered her and claimed her lips.
So Goren stopped letting her win the flirtatious comebacks. He pushed, lightly at first, noting the slight reddening of her cheeks when she couldn't, or wouldn't, counter. His common invasion of her personal space escalated, but in ways that, to anyone watching, would appear as normal interaction between partners. He was initially cautious and his actions were small. He would touch her arm or lean his shoulder into hers to get her attention, letting the contact last longer than necessary. As they read over files, he would lean his arm across the back of her chair, forcing more of the nearness, as Eames always shifted towards Goren to allow him a better view of the papers.
Eames, for her part, had no reaction to Goren's activities, commenting only once on his indifference to her personal space. He smiled at her remark, knowing his attention was certainly not lacking in that department. Two months ago, Goren made the decision to step up his game, his closeness becoming more personal, his touching occurring more frequently and in unnecessary moments. He could feel an awkward tense under his touch, subtle as it was, but she never pushed him away or told him to back off.
Eames' presence in his apartment throughout the last weeks did nothing to quell the thoughts he was having. One night, they had worked until three in the morning, putting together all the information they had on the three victims, working up a detailed profile of the killer and his proposed fourth victim. Sometime around three, Eames had drifted off. Goren coaxed her through a sleepy haze into his room. He walked backwards down the hallway, Eames gently in tow. She had mumbled something about not wanting to deny him his bed another night, yanking, unsuccessfully, to free her hands from his grasp. He laughed softly and continued to pull her along. After he had her soundly tucked in the covers of his bed, Goren laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling, much as he was doing tonight.
With Eames again placed against her will in his bed, Goren let his mind roam towards ill-placed fancy. He liked the thought of leading her to his room. Something about the look on her face that night furthered his need to bait her.
And he was ready to foster his entertainment.
Monday, November 8th, 9:09 am
Major Case Squad Room
"Sorry I'm late. I was meeting with the chief. Where are we on the sketches for the media?" Ross asked, stopping alongside Goren's desk.
"They'll be on air in the next hour," Goren answered.
"Good. Are we prepared if our killer steps up his schedule?"
"As prepared as we can be. Chances are he's had his next victim lined up for a few weeks now." Goren shook his head. "I hate to say this, but it's the one after that, uh, that we need to…"
"I understand," Ross sighed.
"Do you want some good news?" Eames smiled.
"I would love some."
"We got a hit on the last victim's fingerprints." Eames handed Ross a folder. "Macy Donald, twenty-seven. Picked up three months ago for prostitution. Last known address is a bust. She was a waitress at Givelle's. We're headed over after this."
"Givelle's," Ross repeated. "That's where I proposed to my ex." He handed the folder back to Eames. "Anything from the autopsy?"
"No," Goren said. "There were more stab wounds and the beating she took was more enraged then that of the first three, but we expected that."
"Still no DNA," Eames added.
"All right. See what you can get from her co-workers." Ross watched his detectives as they rose and grabbed their coats. They looked at each other and then to their captain.
"Um, was there something else, Captain?" Eames asked carefully. Ross hesitated for a moment.
"No. Let's try hard to get something this morning. I didn't want to bench this case the first time around. I certainly don't want to do it a second time." Ross turned and walked towards his office. Eames looked to Goren, eyebrows raised.
"Why do I get the feeling that he got quite the ass-chewing from the chief?"
"Ross doesn't deserve this," Goren said. "It's the chief's fault. He was the one that killed this case, not Ross." Goren followed as Eames made her way to the elevators.
"Yeah, killed the case," she scoffed. "I wonder if Ross knows that we've been holed up in your apartment working on this situation."
"Hmm…good question. But, I don't think he needs to know that we can't follow his orders." Goren smiled at Eames as the elevator doors opened.
Monday, November 8th, 9:53 am
En Route to Givelle's Restaurant and Bar
It had started a few months ago as an innocent joke spurred by Eames' irritation over the lack of Skittles in the vending machine. Goren happened across a pack of Skittles-flavored lip balm at the grocery store, tossing it into his cart with a smart-ass smirk across his face. He had given it to Eames the next morning, stating that when the vending machine was in the midst of a Skittles dry spell the lip balm would help subdue her cravings.
Eames smacked Goren for his not-so-subtle lack of compassion and asked how he would feel if she took away his cigarettes.
"Would the gum work for you?" she had snarked.
No, he conceded, it would not.
Nevertheless, Eames had enjoyed the lip balm, taking a liking to Strawberry Starfruit. Its sweet berry scent always lingered softly in the air and Goren discovered he, too, shared her fondness for that particular flavor.
As he sat in the passenger seat of the SUV, staring out the window, Goren contemplated the again existing smell. He recalled several times that Eames had used the lip balm, but none of those times played into his fictions like his present experience. He began to wonder if it tasted as delightful as it smelled. Turning his attention from the snow banks along the sidewalks to his partner, Goren made a mental note to explore that thought at some point. His mind, seemingly several steps ahead of him, was busy concocting numerous and potentially interesting ways to approach the subject.
Eames parked the SUV in an open spot along the curb half a block from Givelle's Restaurant and looked at Goren. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, as she pulled the keys from the ignition.
"What?" he asked.
"You look pensive. What's on your mind?"
"Nothing," he lied. "I'm just wondering what we're going to find here." Eames nodded, taking his explanation at face value. "Let's go." He hopped out of the SUV, waiting for Eames to join his side before venturing up the sidewalk.
"I hate winter," Eames sputtered, pulling the collar of her coat tightly around her neck with hands that were again buried in the sleeves of her coat.
"It wouldn't be so bad if you tried to stay warm," Goren chided, wiggling his gloved fingers in front of her.
"Bite me," she countered as they reached the front of the restaurant. Goren folded his hand around the door handle and quickly pulled his body between Eames and the door. She glanced up as he stepped towards her and clicked his teeth together in a quick chomping motion. Eames barely managed to keep a straight face as she pushed Goren backwards. With an exaggerated step back, he pulled open the door. Eames smiled a thank you and entered the building.
The warm, rich tones of wood throughout the establishment created an inviting atmosphere. The tables along the perimeter of the room were secluded by high-backed wooden benches, thickly padded under dark green vinyl. Dimly lit light fixtures hung over each table, furthering the cozy, intimate experience.
As the detectives waded through a handful of tables to the bar, Goren noticed the creek of the floor beneath their feet, soft and low-pitched. The old wooden planks groaned slowly under their weight.
Eames chose a stool along the middle of the bar, the spindled backrest wrapping around her in a half hug as she took a seat. Goren stood next to Eames, leaning his elbows on the granite bar top as a middle-aged man exited the back room on the far end of the bar.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were here," he smiled, genuinely apologetic. "What can I get for you folks?"
"Uh, nothing to eat or drink," Goren said, showing his badge. "We have a question about one of your employees."
"Um, which one?"
"Macy Donald," Eames supplied.
"Macy. Yeah, okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "Is she okay?" Goren looked to Eames than back.
"Why do you ask, Mr...Uh?" Goren held out his hand in question.
"No 'Mr.'. Just Mike."
"Mike. Okay, Mike. Why do you ask if…if Macy's all right?"
"She was supposed to close last night. Never showed up. I tried calling her this morning, but I haven't gotten a hold of her yet." Mike sighed. "It's not like her to call in sick, let alone not show up." Goren looked to Eames who read his signals.
"Mike," she started slowly. "Macy was found late last night, dead." Mike opened his mouth then closed it as shock started to settle in. "Anything you can tell us about her would be helpful."
"Wow. Um…well, Macy started working here eight months ago, when she first moved to New York. She's the best waitress I've ever had. Customers really liked her."
"Did she have regular customers?" Goren asked.
"Yeah, uh, lots," he said, leaning his hands on the bar top.
"Any regulars that paid too much attention to Macy?" Eames prodded. Mike frowned and shook his head.
"No. Most of the people that sought out Macy's tables were older couples, younger couples with kids. Macy had this knack for getting the wild kids to settle down and actually eat."
"Did Macy have a boyfriend?"
"Yeah. Well, kind of. There's this guy she met about two months ago. They came here for dinner twice a week. He seemed nice enough. She seemed to enjoy his company. I don't know if the relationship was serious."
"Does Romeo have a name?" Eames asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I never asked…Johnny…Jamie…I've heard her mention the name but I didn't really pay attention to it."
"Mike, we're going to need you to come to the station this afternoon and talk to a sketch artist." Mike nodded.
"Can we get Macy's address from you?"
