He settled on a wobbly wooden stool by the bartender. The bottom of the floor below him was a sticky mess. His shoes would make a sticky ripping sound similar to a very sticky duct tape ripping off a smooth surface if it weren't for the bar's inhabitants drowning it out. He didn't mind. There was an awful mess at home so he really couldn't complain. At least here, he had access to alcohol, a means to an end: to forget. If you want constant drinks, be where the bartender can see you. Goren chose a seat to the left of the bartender's eye line but not directly in front of him that he will try to engage him in conversation. It was dark in the bar and a normal loud buzz of casual conversation created a low ambient hum around him. Conversation, he wanted nothing of it. But, he was grateful for the ambiance of voices rather than the silence that was his home. Maybe just maybe, he could escape his pain. He's been holding onto that shred of hope since he was a child so chances felt slim.

He leaned his body forward, belly pressing against the bar counter just slightly as his eyes went low to high to catch the bartender's eye and motioned to the bartender with his fingers that he wanted a drink. Then, without any word from the bartender, he gave his order unenthusiastically, "Scotch and beer. Uh, whatever's on tap." The bartender showed him a dark bottle of scotch and Goren nodded that it was okay. He made quick work of the scotch and reveled in the feeling of it burning his throat as he swallowed it whole. He drank the beer slowly.

His phone rang in his pocket. He dug around in his coat pocket to retrieve it and glanced at the display. Eames. How does she do that? He shot off a text: Call you later. Goren placed the phone back in his pocket and returned to his drink.

His hand was starting to hurt a bit and while part of him wanted to stop the pain immediately, the other part of him was glad for the pain. It was physical and he was able to deal with it easier than his emotional turmoil plus it served as a distraction. It was hard to think of trauma when your brain was sending an energetic SOS to your nervous system: PAIN PAIN PAIN. His receptors were firing rapidly alerting his attention to the throbbing piercing sting under the bandaged mess.

"Hey, can I smoke in here?"

"Yeah, go ahead. You need a lite?"

Goren placed another cigarette in between his lips and pulled out his lighter as he shook his head briefly. He puffed as he placed his lighter against the tip. It glowed orange as it lit.

"What happened to your hand?" The bartender cast his eyes downward towards his hand, "it doesn't look too good."

Goren just smiled briefly and shook it off dismissively, "you know just one of those days, I guess."

He ordered another beer and glanced away to send the message that he was in no mood to talk.

His mind was stubbornly playing back his interactions with Brady.

"You're scared of dying."

"I've seen a lot of death."

I've seen a lot of death too but for you it's about control."

Goren was satisfied with how quickly he was able to surmise Brady's motivations. He understood Brady's need for control as synced with aggression and arousal like most serial killers. Brady shriveled cowardly when he couldn't control the outcome.

Brady wanted to choose his death not leave it up to state. A nice little parting gift for the boy. He can see how the apple didn't fall far off the tree. I'll get my son to carry on where I left off. My son, born from the one I could have loved, Bambi.

Goren shook his head as tears welled up inside. Brady filled in the gaps of conversation hoping to get under Goren's skin.

"The magic was still there, that's what you really want to know."

He was baiting him. He knew that but couldn't help but play into it. He tried to stuff down all his anger and pain but it boiled on the surface like lava burning him from the inside out.

"I can't." His lip quivered as he slid backwards pushing his chair back with an annoying scratching sound and bolted to his feet. He gripped Brady by the neck, pushed him against the wall, and squeezed tight. Goren liked control too but he wasn't driven by inflicting pain onto others like Brady.

Go ahead kill me. You can do it. They'll let you do it. You have it in you.

Bobby teared his hands away and slammed them onto the table as the top half of his body fell onto it. He couldn't help the wail that escaped his lips as the tears fell from his swollen tired eyes. He felt bile rising up from his belly.

He closed his eyes softly trying to change the memory like an old view master clicks to change the image displayed. He wasn't sure how much of this he could take but because he was who he was, he could not stop picking apart the details like the sweaty stench of the interrogation room in the prison or the rapid heartbeat thumping in both of their chests. He remembered the similarities of being in the army and in Germany. In any other circumstance he would have beamed with delight of a common bond with a father figure but Brady was not exactly the epitome of role model.

He remembered his assessment of Brady as coming from a broken home with an absent father and being very charming. He could have been talking about himself for all he knew. Charming...he always had a way with the women they liked him. I always thought I picked up that trait from William. Goren was always able to pick up women and manipulate them to fulfill his needs. He didn't like that quality as he hated himself for it afterwards but it was a handy skill for a loner that didn't do well in intimate relationships.

Could I actually commit to a relationship and give it the old college try? He had been trying very hard with Eames. He really cared about her and thought if anyone would get him to put in the effort, it would be her. God knows why she puts up with me. With my family roots, why would she even bother. I am not worth the effort but she...she is.

He pulled out his phone again and tossed his butt in the ashtray in front of him. He dialed and waited for the dial tone to start. He also motioned for another scotch and beer.

"Hello." Eames' voice was sweet in his ear.

"Hi."

"Is that all you got for me, Bobby."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I just don't get it. Why do you keep doing this? I mean, I know you are hurting but you aren't being fair to me."

"Yeah..uh.."

"You know how I feel about you."

"I do."

"So why do you keep doing this to me?"

"I don't know." He honestly didn't. He didn't want to but he couldn't help but emotionally isolate from her. He knew he was hurting her and he knew she didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve him.

"Are you home?" She sounded tired or maybe she was crying. He couldn't tell which but he would found out soon.

"No."

"Where are you?"

"How about I come to you," he didn't want to deal with the shame that would rise up if she saw his place and how he wrecked it. "Actually, can you pick me up?" He tossed back the drinks and waited with a nervous and self-deprecating attitude.