I'm working on my next piece now, and I'm including everyone's names... so
read and review, please! *big smile*
Two days later, Eames was bending over her work when she saw Deakins rush to the front door and hold it wide open. Curious, she peered around Goren's computer and caught a glimpse of Deakins's wife, Sarah Owens, holding a baby in her arms.
"Hey." Eames tapped Goren's shoulder. "Look over there, it's Olivia."
"Olivia who?"
"Olivia Sarah Deakins," Eames rejoined, looking exasperatedly at him. "Honestly, Goren, pay attention!"
Goren raised an eyebrow at her in that unsettling way of his. "Hey, the last time I babysat, I got burped on twice, the kid wouldn't stop crying, and I spilt the bottle on the carpet. No more babies for me, thanks."
He got a flash of white teeth for an answer. "Fine, you stay there. I'm going to see."
Goren made a face as she got up and left, moodily spinning a pencil on the blank sheet of paper. He forced himself to concentrate on the notes in his book and scribbled away in the margins-at least, for about five minutes. It was rather hard to focus when Eames came back... pushing the stroller with Olivia in it.
"Eames...!"
"Just over lunch, I promise," Eames smiled. "Deakins and his wife are going out, and they wanted somebody to watch her-"
"No way, nada, not a chance-" Goren quickly got to his feet, shoving his things aside. "I'm out of here."
"Will you get me lunch?"
Scoffing, "Why would I want to do that?"
"Because you love me," Eames coaxed in response, her eyes dancing. And because he did-although, as of yet, he would rather die than admit it-Goren grumbled and growled all the way to the front doors, but ending up buying her a hearty meal at the restaurant.
When he got back, Olivia was gurgling and giggling away while Eames hunched over her desk. Goren laid the takeout bags to one side and was about to lightly tap her on the shoulder when he saw it: she was scrawling away in her notebook, drawing a picture of Olivia.
So instead he rested his arms about her shoulders, watching her work in silence. She gave him a quick smile before returning to her sketch, filling the outlines with shades of shadows and depths of dark eyes. A few lines here and there, and the baby's hands emerged; a bright flash and a sparkle in the right spot, and Olivia's eyes were full of light.
They stayed that way for a long time-Eames working intently, her hands moving with deft sureness and sudden inspiration, and Goren gazing at both her and the picture in admiration. The noises of the workplace receded, and the work on her desk faded away; it was a rare moment of peace, one that Goren would remember long after the events afterward.
All too soon, though, Sarah was thanking Eames as Deakins tickled his daughter's feet and played with her small hands. Then Sarah wheeled the stroller about, gave her husband a final kiss, and was gone.
Goren watched Deakins closely as his wife and child left. His boss was smiling openly, without a trace of his normal reserve, his face alight with pride. Eames saw him and winked at Goren as the detective sat back down to his desk. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
But Goren was not smiling. "It can't last," he muttered, half to himself and half to Eames. "He's too happy. Something's going to go wrong."
Eames felt a secret shiver run down her spine. "Don't be stupid," she said aloud. "Why shouldn't it last? And what does that mean, anyway?"
Goren shook his head. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I can't explain it. It's just a feeling I've got."
Eames would remember his words, the distant look in his eyes, for the rest of her life, and would shudder whenever she recalled it. For Goren's prediction did come true, in a horrible way, the next morning.
It was a cloudy day, threatening to rain as the detectives met each other at their usual coffee stand. Eames showed Goren her finished sketch of Olivia-coloured in, with warm brown, red, and gold hues-as they walked up the steps to the headquarters. "It's fantastic," Goren proclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "An artist is born!"
"Oh, shut up," Eames yawned, albeit with a smile. "It's no good, it's just- Hey, what's wrong with Deakins?"
Goren peered over her shoulder and saw Deakins hovering over the phone. The captain's face was white with dread, his eyes blazing with fear, and his hands were trembling. Eames slowly approached her supervisor and spoke softly. "Sir?"
"Go about your work, Detective." The voice was low and ragged, choking at the end.
Goren came up behind his partner. "Sir, what's-"
"Get back to work!" The two detectives, and perhaps half the building, heard the raw agony and anxiety in Deakins's voice as he roared hoarsely at them. Goren and Eames stared at him, then at each other, and then hurried to obey in silence.
All morning work was carried out in complete quiet. Goren kept sneaking looks at Deakins's white face and Eames shot glances at his clenched fists. A pall hung over the station like a thick mist, choking up the throats of everyone who came and went, and those inside found it hard to speak above a whisper.
About noon the phone rang, and Deakins dove at it. The noise he made rattling the receiver startled Eames so that she ran into Goren and dumped her papers all over the floor. "Sorry," she murmured to her partner, gathering the scattered sheets as he dropped to his knees to help her.
"Shhh," he hissed softly, putting a finger to her lips. "Listen."
They held their breath and waited, crouching on the carpet, as Deakins spoke into the phone. "Yes? Yes... no, I haven't... no, sir, we never did that... what? But how... what... why did you do that? ...yes, I see... No, that's alright, I'll see her later... Yes, thank you. Goodbye."
And he hung up with a click. Goren stood up to see Deakins swaying on his feet, dazed, as if hit by a sudden blow. "Sir, what happened?"
Deakins didn't answer. He put his hands over his face, briefly, before stalking past Goren into his office and slamming the door behind him.
Two days later, Eames was bending over her work when she saw Deakins rush to the front door and hold it wide open. Curious, she peered around Goren's computer and caught a glimpse of Deakins's wife, Sarah Owens, holding a baby in her arms.
"Hey." Eames tapped Goren's shoulder. "Look over there, it's Olivia."
"Olivia who?"
"Olivia Sarah Deakins," Eames rejoined, looking exasperatedly at him. "Honestly, Goren, pay attention!"
Goren raised an eyebrow at her in that unsettling way of his. "Hey, the last time I babysat, I got burped on twice, the kid wouldn't stop crying, and I spilt the bottle on the carpet. No more babies for me, thanks."
He got a flash of white teeth for an answer. "Fine, you stay there. I'm going to see."
Goren made a face as she got up and left, moodily spinning a pencil on the blank sheet of paper. He forced himself to concentrate on the notes in his book and scribbled away in the margins-at least, for about five minutes. It was rather hard to focus when Eames came back... pushing the stroller with Olivia in it.
"Eames...!"
"Just over lunch, I promise," Eames smiled. "Deakins and his wife are going out, and they wanted somebody to watch her-"
"No way, nada, not a chance-" Goren quickly got to his feet, shoving his things aside. "I'm out of here."
"Will you get me lunch?"
Scoffing, "Why would I want to do that?"
"Because you love me," Eames coaxed in response, her eyes dancing. And because he did-although, as of yet, he would rather die than admit it-Goren grumbled and growled all the way to the front doors, but ending up buying her a hearty meal at the restaurant.
When he got back, Olivia was gurgling and giggling away while Eames hunched over her desk. Goren laid the takeout bags to one side and was about to lightly tap her on the shoulder when he saw it: she was scrawling away in her notebook, drawing a picture of Olivia.
So instead he rested his arms about her shoulders, watching her work in silence. She gave him a quick smile before returning to her sketch, filling the outlines with shades of shadows and depths of dark eyes. A few lines here and there, and the baby's hands emerged; a bright flash and a sparkle in the right spot, and Olivia's eyes were full of light.
They stayed that way for a long time-Eames working intently, her hands moving with deft sureness and sudden inspiration, and Goren gazing at both her and the picture in admiration. The noises of the workplace receded, and the work on her desk faded away; it was a rare moment of peace, one that Goren would remember long after the events afterward.
All too soon, though, Sarah was thanking Eames as Deakins tickled his daughter's feet and played with her small hands. Then Sarah wheeled the stroller about, gave her husband a final kiss, and was gone.
Goren watched Deakins closely as his wife and child left. His boss was smiling openly, without a trace of his normal reserve, his face alight with pride. Eames saw him and winked at Goren as the detective sat back down to his desk. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
But Goren was not smiling. "It can't last," he muttered, half to himself and half to Eames. "He's too happy. Something's going to go wrong."
Eames felt a secret shiver run down her spine. "Don't be stupid," she said aloud. "Why shouldn't it last? And what does that mean, anyway?"
Goren shook his head. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I can't explain it. It's just a feeling I've got."
Eames would remember his words, the distant look in his eyes, for the rest of her life, and would shudder whenever she recalled it. For Goren's prediction did come true, in a horrible way, the next morning.
It was a cloudy day, threatening to rain as the detectives met each other at their usual coffee stand. Eames showed Goren her finished sketch of Olivia-coloured in, with warm brown, red, and gold hues-as they walked up the steps to the headquarters. "It's fantastic," Goren proclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "An artist is born!"
"Oh, shut up," Eames yawned, albeit with a smile. "It's no good, it's just- Hey, what's wrong with Deakins?"
Goren peered over her shoulder and saw Deakins hovering over the phone. The captain's face was white with dread, his eyes blazing with fear, and his hands were trembling. Eames slowly approached her supervisor and spoke softly. "Sir?"
"Go about your work, Detective." The voice was low and ragged, choking at the end.
Goren came up behind his partner. "Sir, what's-"
"Get back to work!" The two detectives, and perhaps half the building, heard the raw agony and anxiety in Deakins's voice as he roared hoarsely at them. Goren and Eames stared at him, then at each other, and then hurried to obey in silence.
All morning work was carried out in complete quiet. Goren kept sneaking looks at Deakins's white face and Eames shot glances at his clenched fists. A pall hung over the station like a thick mist, choking up the throats of everyone who came and went, and those inside found it hard to speak above a whisper.
About noon the phone rang, and Deakins dove at it. The noise he made rattling the receiver startled Eames so that she ran into Goren and dumped her papers all over the floor. "Sorry," she murmured to her partner, gathering the scattered sheets as he dropped to his knees to help her.
"Shhh," he hissed softly, putting a finger to her lips. "Listen."
They held their breath and waited, crouching on the carpet, as Deakins spoke into the phone. "Yes? Yes... no, I haven't... no, sir, we never did that... what? But how... what... why did you do that? ...yes, I see... No, that's alright, I'll see her later... Yes, thank you. Goodbye."
And he hung up with a click. Goren stood up to see Deakins swaying on his feet, dazed, as if hit by a sudden blow. "Sir, what happened?"
Deakins didn't answer. He put his hands over his face, briefly, before stalking past Goren into his office and slamming the door behind him.