Chapter Ten
July 20, 2006 – New York Downtown Hospital, Manhattan, NY
Goren and Logan waited, (conspicuous as the cops they were), near the ER check-in area.
Logan remained conscientiously silent, while Goren couldn't stop fidgeting, his anxiety in full bloom. Reports and medical staff be damned, Goren needed to physically see Eames before he would be able to relax.
"Hang on," Logan's voice snapped him out of his anxious state, "I know that nurse." Logan mobilized quickly, dashing after a tall brunette.
From a distance, Goren quietly observed the body language and verbal exchange between Logan and the rather attractive RN. On any other day, Goren might have been fascinated with studying the behavior of his cohort, but today, he only had tunnel vision for Eames.
After several minutes past, Logan strode back, a look of confidence marked his expression, "ER treatment room 6, but," Logan paused, "they are still running a few diagnostics. My gal will wave us in when it's clear."
"Thanks," Goren voice was hoarse, he tried to smile, but the nervous energy and anticipation was coursing through his body, overriding his senses.
"I've been in your shoes. So I know what it's like," Logan paused before adding, "she's your partner. When Barek and I worked with you guys during the Garrett case, it was pretty easy to pick up on, you know, that you guys click. You are in synch, and in all my years, I've only had a few partners that really clicked with me."
"Eames is, uh," Goren nodded, looking at his feet, "I've never clicked with anyone else."
"She's going to be okay," Logan reassured, "really. And before you know it, you guys will be back at it just like before. Strong as ever."
"It could take time before she feels," Goren stumbled, "uh, there is a chance she might not want to come back, she's been through this experience and - "
"Eames is tough," Logan insisted, " She'll rally. She's got that je ne sais quoi, and I mean, come on, she's Irish!" Logan flashed his best Cheshire cat grin, and nudged Goren lightly, "we don't take anything sitting down."
July 20, 2006 – Hallway outside of ER Treatment Room 6– New York Downtown Hospital
Goren peered through a rectangular window slit that ran vertically through an industrial style hospital door. Wire glass, he thought, a relic from the past that had once been a popular alternative to tempered glass. He opened the door tentatively, afraid to wake or disturb Eames.
When he first caught sight of her, his breath hitched. Fuck. She looked like a child: helpless, slight, and pale under the fluorescents. Perhaps it all came down to the psychological effect of the sterile walls, all washed in white, a color that was beyond prevalent in this particular arena. Eames head was wrapped tightly, such that the images of a mummy, or a sikh perhaps, filled his head. Eames' motorized hospital bed was angled as an obtuse L-shape, a large white pillow nearly swallowing her head whole.
As Goren entered, an aide was laying several extra blankets over his partner's feet. As if asked, the aide dutifully explained that Eames complained of being cold. A surreal concept as he'd nearly died from the humidity during his drive to the hospital with Logan.
Approaching Eames' bedside, he noticed that there were deep, dark bags under her eyes. If not for this slight discoloration, the rest of the room was nearly absent of any color.
He was so happy to see her, and yet, his emotions were strangely tempered by the fact that she looked so different. It wasn't until he got within five feet of her bed that she stirred.
Eames blinked repeatedly and tried to sit up. He raised his right hand, gesturing that she should remain at rest.
"You look like hell," Eames smiled gently. In all honesty, her smile broke his heart in two. Instantly.
What affected Goren the most, was in no way related to the strength and honesty of her smile. Rather, it was her beautiful brown eyes that were now slightly dulled in color, moist and soft, which contrasted slightly her overall expression. And it was this tiny contradiction that pained him: seeing her smile at him while her eyes clearly lacked their usual luster. Years of working as both a profiler and detective reinforced the concept that "the eyes never lied." And what could he discern from her eyes, was that they clearly reflected the stress she'd been under during her abduction, the accumulative effect of the drugs currently coursing through her veins, and the true sorrow she felt knowing that he'd been put through the ringer.
A nurse came by and checked her vitals before administering what appeared to be a dosage of pain medication.
"Five minutes," the RN warned him, "she'll probably conk out in four."
Before leaving them, the nurse drew the curtains around Eames bed, allowing Goren his first moment of privacy with Eames.
Eames immediately cringed, simultaneously her heart rate monitor starting beeping at an increased tempo. Eames nostrils flared around the oxygen tubes and her breath quickened visibly, her eyeslids fluttering rapidly. He wanted to take hold of her hand. But something stopped him. His instinct told him that if she was having a reaction to the sound, touch might also set Eames off in the wrong way.
"Eames?" Goren's eyes glanced up towards the ceiling curtain tracks, "What, the sound?"
"There was a curtain," Eames whispered, her breath shallow, "where he kept me."
Eames took another deep yet ragged breath, her soft brown eyes blinked hazily, "there was a woman on the other side," her voice was breaking, the crease between her eyes deepening with each breath, "screaming. He tortured her all night."
"Amanda," he spoke softly, fighting the urge to take hold of her hand, "the video clerk."
Eames sighed, and turned her head away from his, fighting tears as the realization of who the victim was, sunk in. Her eyes blinked several times, slowly, as if she were fighting the medications, "he blindfolded me, he kept me blindfolded - but he took my gag off. He wanted me to scream."
Eames glanced back at him quickly as if for reassurance, "but I didn't."
"That's what kept you alive."
"Mmmmm," Eames head shook slightly, unconvinced.
"I'm sorry," he spoke gingerly, looking her up and down. The strength and confidence he tried to wear into her room was fading by the second.
Eames closed her eyes, the corners of her mouth raised in a mock frown, as if to chastise him for apologizing to her.
If only she knew the depths of deep self-loathing he was wading through at this very moment. He was treading water, (and getting goddamned tired), ready to fucking sink.
"You, uh, you didn't recognize his voice?"
But Eames eyelids were heavy, too heavy now, the drugs were winning – and it was important that he let them win and so that she could recover. Her brown eyes opened one last time, lingering on his for a split second, before disappearing from plain sight.
And that, was that. He had a job to do. It was all he could do after all. He'd better catch this fucker and fast. That or sit around and drown in a pool of self-doubt.
With Ross in tow, Goren inspected the crime scene where both Eames and Amanda Shin were tormented. The entire setup was rather curious: it seemed to be too much, and at the same time - perhaps it was too little. Ross had seen enough, and was ready to formally charge Declan Gage.
Goren raised his right index finger, as if to let Ross know that Goren was starting to have doubts about Declan Gage's involvement.
But Ross didn't have time for Goren's alternative theories, "You got your partner back – and now you are going to have to let your mentor go."
Well said, Goren thought. And for now, Goren was going to have to be okay with that.
Goren would come back to Eames' bedside the following day, ready to relay the horrific news: Sebastian was not a he, but a she. In fact, Sebastian was his former mentor's daughter, Jo. Jo Gage, yet another person he knew and cared about. Frankly, it was becoming difficult to process all the emotions that were twisting through his head. Not to mention that it was now difficult to look at his mentor in the same vein, knowing that Declan's behavior and the environment Gage provided for his daughter, were as toxic as Goren's own childhood experience.
So as Goren broke the news of Jo Gage's culpability to Eames, Goren watched as his partner's facial expressions morphed from surprise, to horror, and ultimately to sorrow.
After everything was said and done, he sat with Eames for the duration of visiting hours. Ross had given Goren a week off minimum, with the option to choose to return to work, or take an additional week, if needed. Ross also highly recommended that Goren see the department shrink. Needless to say, Goren was careful to neither accept or refute the offer.
"What can I do?" Goren asked gently, his eyes locked onto her. It was so very difficult to see in a debilitating condition: reposing in a hospital bed, the dressing over her left temple, the oxygen tubes and IV tubing taped to her skin.
Eames blinked a few times, a look of uncertainty crossing her face, "Did they find Polly? I um, I meant to ask my sister, but my nephew ended up distracting me. In a good way of course."
Goren looked down, his leg fidgeting, "Jo, uh, J-jo-"
Eames nodded, "I get the picture. Polly was, well, I don't know how old Polly was. I inherited her after my great Aunt died a few years back."
"Look," he mentioned, his eyes looking up, "I want to help. I can't, uh, I-I'm sorry about Polly."
"Thanks," she managed a smile, "Whatever you do, just don't pick up another bird for me Goren. I don't think I'd have one if it wasn't for my Aunt."
"I can get your apartment in order," he said, "I've got the week off – I'm sure your sister is busy, uh, with uh, well, I'll put everything in order, if you'd like."
"I'd like that."
"Do you think you'll want to stay there, uh, go back there after this?"
"In the apartment?" Eames left eyebrow raised slowly, "I guess I never thought about it."
"If you want me to find an interim place for you to stay," his right hand was moving through the hair at the base of his neck, "I can start looking, or you know, whatever you need right now."
Eames eyes filled with tears, her chest quivered as she exhaled shakily, "I, I can't believe this happened."
And suddenly, he didn't give a damn about who saw him holding her hand. Fuck it, he thought. Eames isn't nearly as jumpy as she was the other day, I'm going for it. His hand closed around hers, but not too hard, as there was an IV attached to that same arm. She squeezed back gently, simultaneously grabbing a tissue with her other free hand.
Damn. He'd never seen Eames break down. Never. Not even close. This – this concept was pulling strongly on the seams of his heart.
"I'm so sorry this happened to you," he voiced shakily. Trying hard to be the strong one this time around.
She nodded, dabbing at each eye before blowing her nose.
"And, uh," he cleared his throat, "I want you to know that I'm here to support you, uh with anything, as well as support whatever decisions you make after this whole thing is said and done. I, uh, I just want you to get better Eames."
Eames sighed, her muscles finally relaxed, her eyelids heavy, indicating she needed more sleep. He released her hand, and stood up slowly to clear the handful of used tissues into the nearby trash bin.
"I'll come by again tomorrow, uh, same hours." Goren managed a smile, "meanwhile, I'm going to get things squared away at your place. I'm sure, you uh, you are getting sick of this place."
Eames nodded, her eyelids shut.
He brushed a few stray hairs from her forehead before leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.
On the transport home, the self-loathing came at him in waves. Self-doubt, disgust and utter sadness about his Eames. If he didn't have a job to do right now, a.k.a. make things right at Eames' place, he'd be lost in that bad place in his head.