A/N: Now, now, now. I was appalled at the review from the last chapter. Especially considering that none of the people who have this story on alert are review it. It makes me sad.


Bobby sighed, staring at the door of Wilma's apartment – his sister. Hesitantly, he knocked on the door and Wilma opened it only a moment later. She was dressed in a loose pair of jeans and a sweatshirt for Brown University.

"Hi," she said with a slight smile as she motioned for him to come in, "I wasn't expecting you so soon – the food's not ready yet."

Bobby's nose picked up some very pleasing smells coming from the kitchen, "You can cook?" he asked dubiously.

Wilma grinned, "Yeah, I learned as a kid – one of my friends was the daughter of a gourmet chef and he taught me."

"Was?" Bobby asked, following his sister into the kitchen.

She tensed up slightly as she checked on the food that was still on the stove, "She died seven years ago. Beer or white wine?"

Bobby squinted slightly, wondering how she was able to switch topics so effortlessly, "That depends: What are we eating?"

"Bulgur risotto with peas and asparagus," she replied, turning toward him with a grin.

"White wine," he said. "I may not know much about the culinary arts, but I know enough to know that drinking beer with risotto is a cardinal sin if you're in a restaurant."

Wilma laughed at that, "All too true, Bobby. The wine's in the refrigerator, you can help yourself. Glasses are above the sink."

Soon the siblings were settled in at the table, plates in front of them and glasses of white wine beside their food. Bobby was slightly surprised that the risotto was as good as it was, but just added cooking to the list of things most people wouldn't expect Wilma Carson to be able to do.

"So … tell me about yourself," Wilma asked as they walked into the living room to sit on the sofa.

Bobby grimaced slightly: he hated talking about himself. "Why don't we start with you telling me what you already know?"

"Okay," Wilma could do that, "I know you were seven when your mother first had to go to the hospital because of her schizophrenia, we have an older brother named William who left home when you were thirteen, your dad abandoned you and your mom when you were twelve … at eighteen you joined the Army and were sent to Germany and Korea as a member of the CID. Now you have a very nice pension from the Army for your top secret work in Germany, and your skill as a profiler. When you got back to the states you joined the Police Academy and are praised as one of the best detectives in NYPD history despite the fact that you haven't been able to keep a partner for more than six months. The arrest that took place today marks twenty arrests for you during your time in Narcotics. You have an almost perfect record of arrests and convictions … and you're one of the best profilers I've ever had the pleasure of meeting."

Her words made Bobby slightly uncomfortable. Somehow she made his life seem so … important when it hadn't been. How could she think so highly of him when she already knew so much about his past?

Wilma noticed immediately when he started retreating into himself, and knew that if she let him go, she'd never get him out again. "Bobby," she called softly, resting one of her hands on his curly black locks, "I know you don't think so, but you've done a lot in your life. A lot more than I can ever hope accomplishing. I know it's sudden and you're probably still in shock at finding out you have a sister … but I'd like to be a part of your life – an active part. Will you let me?"

Bobby's haunted eyes turned and found hers. She wanted to be a part of his life? No one had ever asked that of him before … or, at least, no one he'd ever consider letting in. Now he was face to face with a woman who he knew was his sister – he didn't need a blood test to prove that. It was in her eyes. She had their father's eyes – Bobby's eyes. Could he let her in? Did he want to? Yes, yes he did. He wanted that relationship with this woman that would give him someone to talk to when he didn't know what to do. He wanted to have someone who would love him unconditionally – the way a sister should.

He nodded, mutely.

Wilma grinned, revealing a dimple on her right cheek that caused her face to lose ten years. Her eyes welled with tears as she fiercely hugged her brother. After a pause of hesitation, Bobby wrapped his own arms around his sister's body, his emotions overwhelming his mind completely as he let the tears fall.

It felt like hours later when they pulled apart, both drying their tears. Wilma smiled softly at her brother, "I guess you'll want to know about me, then?"

Bobby nodded, "That would be … helpful."

Wilma nodded, focusing her attention on an abstract painting that hung opposite the sofa, "After my mom found out she was pregnant she moved to Indianapolis where she … digressed back to her days of cocaine." Her eyes, full of sadness and pain, met Bobby's, "I was born six weeks early. I have sleep apnea and tremulousness – but I've learned to control it to some degree. That's how I was able to call up that tick in my hands when we were under cover. When I was ten my mother sent me to live with my grandfather, Eric Epstein, and that's where I finished high school. I … got into Brown and got a full scholarship from their board after writing a rather … moving essay on what cocaine had done to my life. I got my Ph.D. in psychology then moved back to Indianapolis and joined the Police Academy."

She grew silent, thinking of those days, so many years before. Bobby gently touched her shoulder with one of his big hands and she accepted his gesture of comfort gladly. "My mother … died the day before my graduation from the Academy. She overdosed on cocaine and was pronounced DOA by the paramedics."

Bobby didn't know what to say to that. His mother was still alive … just ever so slowly slipping away from him through a disease he couldn't stop. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Wilma shook her head, "It's not your fault, Bobby. Anyway, after graduation I met a very nice man named Steven Boufe and we got married about a year later."

"Wait, Steven Boufe – defense attorney?" Bobby asked.

Wilma nodded, "Yep. We have a son, Jeremy, but when we divorced last year Steven got custody of him and moved out here. He even went so far as to get sole custody. I can only see Jeremy when Steven says it's okay … and even then I have to pay to fly not only Jeremy out to see me, but Steven and his little preppy bimbo as well."

"How'd he do that?" Bobby asked.

"The judge wanted to believe one of the best defense attorneys in the country over a Police Sergeant."

"Oh. Do you have a picture?"

Wilma grinned, "Yeah, I do." She got up and walked over to one of her bookshelves, taking out one of the photo albums inside it. When she opened it up for Bobby to see, he was confronted with a little boy of four years in age gazing back at him with the same dimpled smile that his mother had … and his grandfather's eyes. Goren eyes.


A/N: Explain enough for you? PLEASE review!!!