To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.
~Ecclesiastes 3:1
The morning of the funeral, Goren overslept, which sent him out the door in a bad mood. At his request, he hadn't seen his partner since the day after he'd lost Malicek, the day he had confessed his love to her. Although his feeling had not changed, he had a lot to work through in his head, and he couldn't do that if she was there, distracting him. She made it a point to call him in the evenings, though, to make sure he was okay. It was much easier to convince her he was all right over the phone than it ever would have been in person, especially since he really wasn't doing well. Not at all.
Sequestering himself from everyone, he'd tried to get his head on straight. The night before, he'd stayed up late, very late, finally sleeping only because the pain medication he still needed, with a little help from Mr. Dewar, made him sleep. His partner would never have approved, but she wasn't there to serve as his conscience. He did what he felt he needed to do in order to cope with his loss. He had few alternatives.
Eames insisted that he expected too much. After all, he'd only been out of the hospital for three days, and he'd taken a load of buckshot to his knee, which had done considerable damage to the joint. But he was impatient. He wanted—needed—to get back to work, but he wasn't ready for that, physically or mentally. He needed to heal, body and soul, and he was not letting himself do that. He was too hard on himself in all areas, and he had no one around to reel him in.
He still needed the damn cane, and he hated that more than anything. When he tried to walk without it, his knee buckled under his weight and the pain flared to an excruciating level, which led to a string of angry curses. No, Eames didn't need to be around him right now. It never occurred to him that she might be able to calm his raging storm of frustration and grief. He never gave thought to what she could do for him. His only thought concerning her at the moment was that he didn't want to add to the burden he had already placed on her. He needed to protect her from himself. Love, which had never before been an option for him, had not once crossed his mind.
He arrived at the church for the funeral in a cab. Eames watched him get out, and she struggled against an impulse to hurry to his side. He would not have welcomed that. He looked rough, like he hadn't been sleeping, which she guessed he probably hadn't. He seemed to lean more heavily on the cane than he had the last time she saw him. She exchanged a look with Logan that told her he noticed it as well. Worry colored the expressions of both detectives and, as a team, they approached Goren.
He saw them coming, and he braced himself for...what? An outpouring of emotion? Hell, no. They wouldn't. So what was he expecting? Pity? He wouldn't tolerate that. They would know better. Then they were there, standing in front of him, assessing him in that way worried friends do. Worry. That was what he saw, and it was legitimate. No one spoke. In silence, all pertinent information was exchanged. How are you? I'm fine. No, you're not. Fuck off.
Eames bristled at his dismissal, anger flaring. She had to calm herself with a reminder of what he was going through, of his determination not to need a living soul. She shook off the anger like a heavy cape, saw that Logan had done the same, and they walked with him into the church.
She wanted to sit near him, to offer some kind of support, but she knew he wouldn't accept it, not in his current state. He was overwhelmed with grief, with pain, with the heaviness of it all. This time, the successful outcome of the case did not matter, to any of them. The price had been too high. Or had it? Was the life of one whose job it was to lay down that life for the masses too much to pay? It was when the life wasn't given for the masses. The life was given for the sadistic pleasure of the man they pursued. There was no satisfaction in seeing his lifeless body on the floor near hers. There was no feeling of a job well done for any of them. If anything, they all felt the same sense of failure, and of them all, Goren handled that with the least amount of grace. He bore the burden more heavily than the rest of the team, and, whether he had loved her or not, he had cared deeply, and his heart and soul would bear the scars of his failure—their failure—for a very long time.
She watched him settle himself uncomfortably at the far side of the pew he chose, two pews behind the family—Edgar, his wife and son, their deceased father's brother and his wife, two cousins and a family friend with his family. The only missing family member was Celia, the eldest sister, institutionalized by a childhood accident. Eames chose to sit in the same pew as her partner, but she left half the pew empty between them. Logan slid in beside her, and they were joined by Nugent and Moretti. Ross and Harrison sat in a pew across the main aisle from them. The rest of the church filled with law enforcement officers—NYPD and FBI—who turned out for the funeral of one of their own. Popularity was never a consideration for a fallen officer and the turnout was more than respectable. It was a full house.
The funeral Mass was over after about forty-five minutes. The family followed the casket out of the church, and brother and sister officers trickled out the doors, readying a large assortment of vehicles, many of them official police cars, for the procession to the cemetery.
The church emptied slowly; the hearse was in no hurry. It would wait until all were ready. Moretti and Nugent would ride with Ross and Harrison in an unmarked NYPD vehicle behind the two family cars. Logan would be in the black Explorer with Goren and Eames right behind them.
As people made their way to their vehicles, Eames and Logan waited on the sidewalk beside the Explorer for Goren. "Are you as worried as I am?" Logan asked.
"More," she answered. "I never should have left him alone for these past few days."
"What could you have done? He chased me off, too."
"I could have pushed it, made him let me in."
"Because that always works," he snorted.
"You know what I mean. I could have just...been there. He didn't have to talk to me or even acknowledge me."
Logan shrugged. "It would have done no good. He has to work through this on his own, Alex. No one can help him with that. He knows we're here for him. He knows he can turn to us if he needs to..."
"But he won't, and that's the problem. He knows we're here for him, but he doesn't know that he needs us."
Logan considered that, and he was still thinking it over as Goren approached them. Everything about him was closed off to them. Silent and brooding, he pulled open the passenger door, his body language daring anyone to talk to him. No one took him up on his dare and they got into the car.
Five minutes later, the hearse began to move. The drive to Holy Cross Cemetery in East Flatbush was taken in stony silence. Goren stared out the passenger window, not inviting conversation. Eames was tempted to talk with Logan, but she ultimately decided that antagonizing her partner wouldn't help the situation any. She had to find a way to reach him, but antagonism was definitely not the path to take. The way had to be gentle, subversive almost. She knew that she had the way to reach him within her; she simply had to find it.
After the graveside ceremony, people began to disperse. Goren remained by the freshly dug grave, lost in his head as he looked down at the casket. Eames and Logan remained by him, offering silent support. Nugent and Moretti approached them, and Moretti hung back a few paces as Nugent moved closer and extended a hand to Goren. Despite his grief and withdrawal, he wasn't rude to Malicek's partner and he shook the man's hand. "How are you doing, Bobby?" Nugent asked.
Nugent had saved his life, and he felt a level of affection for the agent. Nugent was a good man and he'd loved Malicek with the heart of a partner. "I'm getting by," he said, which was partly true. He was getting by, just not very well.
"How's the knee?"
"Not so good right now."
Nugent's expression reflected the guilt he felt. "I'm so sorry. If I'd been faster..."
Goren waved a hand. "Don't go there, Jeff. None of this was your fault, and you saved my life. My knee will heal. I just...I'm not very patient with it." He returned his gaze to the casket. "I'm the one who should apologize because it came to this, because we didn't get him before he took another life. I...I just wasn't...good enough this time. I wasn't good enough to save her."
"Bobby, you were instrumental to getting him at all. No one predicted this. He broke profile when he took Corrie. This is no one's fault...or if it is, we all share in the blame. If I'd been watching the cameras, we could have gotten him before he got away, before he ever had a chance to hurt her."
"Or he would have killed her right there," Logan said reasonably. He was the only truly blameless one among them, and his was the voice of reason. "There's no changing what happened, and taking blame is pointless."
Goren frowned at him. "Really, Mike?"
"I know, I've done it. We all do it. I'm just pointing out the futility of it."
"Because it's so easy to be on the outside looking in," Goren snapped.
"You think so?" Logan shot back. "You think this is easy for me?"
Nugent rested his hand on Goren's shoulder and Eames grabbed Logan's arm. Goren's temper was simmering close to a boil at the edge of his control and Logan was easy to provoke when emotions ran high. "This isn't the place for an argument," Nugent said softly.
"Or a fight," Eames added, looking pointedly at her partner.
An angry retort sat on the tip of Goren's tongue, but he wisely remained silent, turning away from the entire group. Nugent squeezed his shoulder. "We're gonna raise a few pints in her memory, if you all would like to join us. It's not a public party. It's at my place, uh, Andy's and mine." He paused, then stepped closer to Goren and spoke softly, so no one else would hear him. "I've got a lifetime of memories I want to share with people who will understand my loss. And I really want to share yours, Bobby. I want to see Corrie through your eyes. It's...a need I know you understand. Please."
Goren didn't look away from the grave, but he nodded. Another squeeze of his shoulder and Nugent walked off with Moretti. Eames and Logan remained in silence, a few feet away from the casket, waiting. Logan broke the silence with a soft apology, then silence returned. Even the birds were quiet.
Another man approached them, once he had finished speaking with the last of the departing mourners. Edgar Malicek stood with them in the silence of the cemetery. His wife and son waited with his aunt and uncle by the family cars. After shaking hands with Eames and Logan, graciously thanking them for attending to say good-bye to his sister, Edgar stepped up to stand beside Goren. He was almost Goren's size, with sandy hair and red-rimmed eyes the color of slate. They hadn't spoken more than a few words the day Malicek had died. Now, they shared a moment of silent grief in her memory.
Then Edgar spoke, his voice quiet and reverent. "Corrie spoke well of you."
"Did she?" He laughed in a bitter way. "We had a...complicated relationship."
Edgar smiled. "All of Corrie's relationships were complicated. She wasn't a simple person."
"No, she wasn't."
"She cared about you."
"She told you that?"
"Not in those words, but the way she talked about you, well, I could tell...because I knew her so well."
"I...I'm sorry for your loss, Edgar."
"And I, yours," Edgar answered. "Thank you, for making her happy."
"Did I...make her happy?"
Edgar smiled a little. "She was hard to read, but yeah, you did. She always smiled when she talked about you. I could hear it in her voice. It had been absent for a long time, that happiness in her. She let the job consume her these past few years. I felt like I was losing her, until you came along. You brought the happy back into her life."
Goren studied the casket in silence for a moment, considering Edgar's words. His grief lifted just a little. "If I did, then I'm glad. She, uhm, she deserved to be happy."
"Doesn't everyone?"
Goren shook his head. "No, not everyone."
Edgar gave that a moment of thought before he nodded briefly, understanding. "Maybe not. It was nice to meet you, though. You...were important to her."
Goren watched him walk away, and Eames moved a little closer to him. As he turned his attention back to the grave, another man approached. Suppressing his annoyance, Goren looked at Matthew Harrison, who nodded at him. "Detective," he said in greeting.
"Agent Harrison," Goren replied.
Harrison let loose a deep sigh as he looked down at the grave. "I'm sorry for the way this ended, for everything this team went through, but you got him, and for that, I shall always be grateful to you."
"Me?"
"You were instrumental in leading us to the right man. Your profile was right on the money." He paused. "Detective, don't think I didn't know what was going on. You're a smart man, and you had what it took to handle Malicek. You...You brought her back from wherever it was this case drove her. Because of you, she came back to us. You saved her from being consumed entirely."
Goren shook his head, although Nugent had told him the same thing. "Don't, sir. Please."
Harrison nodded, understanding. He stood beside Goren in silent respect. Finally, he turned and extended his hand to Goren. When Goren accepted it, the senior agent said, "The NYPD is lucky to have you, but if you ever feel the need for a change, give me a call. I'll always have a place for you, detective."
"Thank you," Goren answered.
Silence settled around them once more after Harrison walked away. The wind began to pick up and the afternoon became cooler. When a gentle hand settled on his shoulder, Goren looked at his partner. His eyes scanned the area. Logan was waiting by the SUV and the cemetery workers stood by patiently, but everyone else had gone. He returned his gaze to her, tightening his grip on the cane in his right hand.
She slid her hand to his forearm and gently squeezed. "Ready?" she asked.
He looked at the casket one last time. Sliding his hand into his pants pocket, he pulled out a piece of paper and slid it under the wreath of flowers that lay on the top of the casket, weighting it down against the wind. Three words were written on the paper, words that carried a deeper meaning that only their team would understand. Eames read the words as he straightened away from the grave.
Rest in peace.
