Author's Note: I promised you more introspection in Chapter 6 and here it is! Who says Goren has to do all of the thinking? Let's give Alex a chance, shall we?
"Let me get this straight," D.A. Ron Carver looks down his nose at the detectives seated before him in Captain Deakins' office, "you want me to subpoena the Markham family medical records because of a novel that William Faulkner wrote in 1936?"
Bobby tilts his chin up to meet the attorney's eyes, then looks down again. "No, the book gave me the idea, but it's not actually connected to the murder."
Carver's beginning to look a bit annoyed so Alex tells him, "We need Amy Markham's medical records to prove that Keith McMillan wasn't the father of her baby."
"And what do you think you're going to find in the rest of the family's records, detectives?" he asks, biting off the words.
Bobby looks down at the floor, then glances sideways at Alex before he replies, "I need them to prove that Andrew Markham was the father."
Deakins, who up until now has been standing quietly in the corner of his office observing, steps forward, voice incredulous: "Incest? In the Markham family? Do you have any idea what you're saying, Goren?"
Bobby's head waggles and he puts up a hand in his defense. "It's the only answer that makes everything fall into place – the need for Amy to marry Keith and the hasty arrangement of the marriage altogether. Markham was worried about what would happen to his reputation if anyone found out."
"But how would anyone find out?" Carver wants to know, crossing his arms over his chest. "Even if she didn't marry McMillan and had the baby out of wedlock, how would anyone know it was her brother's?"
"Markham would know," Bobby says simply, as though that's enough. "He would know and it would taint his legacy. That baby would be a constant, present reminder that he failed as a parent not once, but three times and it would have eaten away at him. He couldn't live with it. Men like Markham need to believe their own press; it gives them a sense of worth, of making a mark on the world."
"But why murder her?" Carver frowns. "Why not an abortion?"
"Unacceptable," Bobby shakes his head. "He needed to wipe the slate completely clean. Besides, with Amy still alive, there was always the chance that it could happen again. He thought he could control both she and Andrew, but it turns out he was wrong."
"Do you think he was the one who actually committed the crime?" Carver wants to know.
"No," Bobby shakes his head. "Most likely he got someone to do it for him – probably Andrew since he spends so much time counseling him. It would have been easy for Markham to convince him that he needed to clean up his own mess and that killing Amy was the only way."
Deakins collapses into his chair and covers his eyes with a hand. "Do the two of you live to make my life difficult? If you do, it's working. The mayor has already called me three times this morning – the last time after that stunt you pulled in Markham's office."
He lifts his hand to peer at Bobby. "You accused the man of using his children as psychological guinea pigs, Goren."
"It's the truth," Bobby shrugs nonchalantly and Alex fights the urge to roll her eyes. Her partner has never learned the fine art of tactfulness where press cases like the Markham family's are concerned.
Carver, meanwhile, is still perturbed. "Even if this outlandish story is true, Detective, but I can't take any of it to a judge to subpoena the family medical records."
Bobby's face washes over with frustration now and Alex knows that this is another one of those cues – she's supposed to come up with something that will smooth the situation, some miniscule detail that she can hand to Carver that will make the subpoena happen and get Bobby and his investigation back on track. There's even a long silent pause in the room as everyone – including Alex herself – waits for her to do just that.
And today she can't.
Bobby's hanging out on a limb waiting for her to pull him back in and instead of helping, she rises suddenly and hears her own voice say, "Excuse me a moment, please."
They watch her go, expressions stunned, but no one says a word as she makes her way through the bullpen and down the hall to the ladies' room. Inside, she splashes cold water on her face and stares at herself in the mirror for a long moment, searching the familiar features for some sign of recognition of what's happening with her lately and finding only more confusion in the furrowed brow and probing eyes.
Why is she so annoyed with Bobby all of a sudden? Is it because he represents such a large part of this life that she never asked for – a life that to hear William Faulkner tell it might have been chosen by some power higher than herself?
Maybe that's it. Maybe she resents the idea that she might very well be stuck here despite the fact that no one asked her if "here" was where she wanted to be. No one asked if she would be okay playing Tonto to Bobby's erratic Lone Ranger. No one asked if she minded helping him load silver bullets into the weapon that is his brain and putting him back up on Silver when he falls off.
No one asked her - but now here she is, doing the job anyway. And what does she get in return? A pat on the back from Deakins and Carver every now and then and a side mention under Bobby's name in the newspapers.
Granted, it's not like she took this job for the accolades. In all honesty, she's uncomfortable with being singled out for praise – one thing that she's always admired in her partner too. Yet it's hard to hate such attention (or have feelings about it at all) when it seldom comes your way and Alex feels more and more pushed into the background and taken for granted lately.
"Better let Goren interview this one – he's tricky," they'll say, and, "Don't know how he does it – it's the damndest thing. Talks to them a bit, jumps around – even took his shoes off once – and they crack. Genius!"
Never mind the fact that Alex is in the room too, reeling Bobby in with her eyes when he starts to venture into dangerous territory and setting him up for success with the various performances she has perfected over the years, playing everyone from overly-masculine female police officer to simpering member of the "fairer" sex.
She might as well be wallpaper as far as those outside observers are concerned.
Yet usually it's only the outside observers who treat her that way. Usually Bobby is careful to give her full credit for all of her contributions and even for some of his, careful to remind them that the Goren/Eames partnership is fifty-fifty. But lately he's been slipping. Lately he's been setting her up with his little stage cues and expecting her to be there without giving it a second thought, which is the mark of a good partnership but also makes Alex feel a bit used.
And that's probably why she's been annoyed with him all day.
With a sigh, she dries her face and hands with a paper towel and heads back to her desk, telling herself that it's probably just a temporary phase brought on by stress and the fact that they've been spending too much time together. It will pass.
But as she reaches her desk, the niggling thought in the back of her mind is still the same one that was there earlier, the one that she is living her fate right here and right now and that she's somehow trapped and unable to escape.
She wonders again – more angrily this time – why things are this way. If she and Bobby were "fated" to be together, why couldn't they be like normal people or even like characters in the movies - "soulmates" who find each other and live a happy normal life like everyone else? She knows it's possible because she found it with Michael. Theirs was a relationship that made her feel completely safe in her own skin and free to step outside her cop persona, to let her guard down. She feels that sort of security with Bobby most of the time, but unlike with Michael, she never really gets a sense of being off-duty when she and her partner are together. Sure they talk about things other than their caseload when they go out for the occasional drink after work, but Alex still finds herself monitoring his behavior and weighing his words the way she does when they're interviewing suspects, watching him constantly for any indication that he's out of balance and poised to pull him back onto his feet again. They work in tandem this way and part of her wishes he had somewhere else to turn so that she doesn't always have to be the one to reassemble the pieces when he breaks. But that's her lot in life – her fate, it seems – and the only saving grace seems to be that she's good at it.
Yet before she goes blaming too many of her problems on Bobby, she has to admit to herself that, despite the fact that his brain doesn't appear to possess an "off" switch, she does like spending time with him – usually. On those days and in those moments when he's telling her tall tales from his tour of duty in Europe or she's relating incidents from her wild teenage years and they're just laughing like the friends that they ultimately are, there's no place else in the world she'd rather be.
Lately, of course, that hasn't been the case.
A glance through Deakins' still-closed door reveals that Bobby is in the midst of arguing his case with both the captain and Carver and she decides not to re-enter the fray. They'll need to speak with Andrew Markham next and she hasn't studied his file very carefully so she walks around her desk to Bobby's to retrieve it.
The folder lays open in his much-abused and ever-present notebook and she picks it up, lifting it from the rest of the strewn contents with care, though not before something else catches her eye. She's never really paid too much attention to the notebook (save knowing that it goes wherever he does – including the restroom on more than one occasion), so she's never glanced inside long enough to see the scattered bits of paper that float there like confetti, each scribbled with notes in his slanted, left-handed scrawl. Most of them are written in a stream-of-consciousness manner and probably only make sense to him, but the scrap of paper that Alex has noticed is written in straight lines and appears to have been copied with care, as the letters are all carefully placed and the words are (frankly) legible. She glances stealthily towards Deakins' office again, embarrassed to be snooping, but sees that Bobby is now standing and has begun waving his arms at the men. She knows that this will extend the argument a bit longer and curiosity overcomes any guilt she might feel as she uses the tips of her fingers to slide the paper into the open, her eyes quickly scanning the words:
Well, so that is what happens and what has happened and you might as well admit it and now you will never have two whole nights with her. Not a lifetime, not to live together, not to have what people were always supposed to have, not at all… Not time, not happiness, not fun, not children, not a house, not a bathroom, not a clean pair of pajamas, not the morning paper, not to wake up together, not to wake and know she's there and that you're not alone. No. None of that… You ask for the impossible.
For Whom the Bell Tolls, Ernest Hemingway (page 168)
And below, a one-word note from Bobby himself: Moments.
Alex feels her eyes narrow in surprise and feels something catch in her chest as she finishes the passage, hastily moving to tuck the paper back in with its mates before someone sees her. Another furtive look at the captain's office reveals that Bobby has apparently won because the arm waving has ceased and he's moved towards the door while Deakins and Carver look annoyed but beaten. She snatches up Andrew's file and hurries back to her own desk, sinking into her chair with a heavy sigh.
He sees it too.
She shouldn't be surprised, she thinks, because after all, who ponders more about abstract ideas than Bobby Goren? Fate and destiny and other concepts that twist the brain into knots are right up his alley.
Still, Alex finds herself unsettled at what she has just read because it's as though Bobby has looked into her mind and pulled out her very thoughts by the roots. Even more frightening is the fact that she hasn't shared her philosophical questions with him at all - meaning that what she has just discovered is evidence that Bobby too has examined their partnership and found it to be more than just coworkers and friends. In fact, his carrying the passage around with him puts the Robert Goren stamp of authenticity on all of her thoughts from recent days, verifying that she's right and this is her fate – their fate. And – maybe even worst of all – it appears that Bobby accepts this. He sees the path they're on and has arranged his life to fit it rather than seeking change. That's his way after all, as Alex knows: never ask for more so that you don't end up with less in the end.
Alex sits in stunned silence, Andrew's open file before her but unread while questions flood her mind, most of them now concerning Bobby's take on their partnership and what it means to him.
You're turning into him, you know, the voice in her head informs her. You've been living in your head for the last few days – which is what he does all the time. Of course, you know what they say about married couples becoming like each other…
Bobby's walking towards her now, face a bit concerned about how she's doing, and she suddenly has an appreciation for how he must feel all the time – trapped inside his head and surrounded by ideas and thoughts that all clamor for his attention simultaneously. How he makes them all behave is beyond her and she suddenly feels a bit sympathetic towards him – and much more forgiving than she's been recently.
"You okay?" he asks, seating himself at his desk facing her. His eyes are narrowed and soft and she can tell that he's sincerely worried about her. Usually he's the one whose behavior is unpredictable and her doing visibly puts him off so.
"I've had a lot on my mind lately," she tells him honestly, trying to smile reassuringly. "But it's no big deal."
"Anything I can help with?" he offers earnestly.
Explain to me why we accept without question these lives we've found ourselves leading, she thinks ruefully, but says only, "Not really, but thanks, Bobby."
He doesn't like being pushed away and it shows on his face as he formulates a plan to work around the barriers she's put up between them. It's the method he usually reserves for suspects and Alex tries not to become annoyed with him again for reducing her to a psychological puzzle to be assembled. To quell the annoyed feelings that rise, she reminds herself that Bobby doesn't really know any other way to behave – it's a reflex that he can't really control.
"So are we getting the medical records?" she finally asks to change the subject.
"We should have them this afternoon," he nods. As he looks at her, his face grows concerned again and he asks, "Want to go grab some lunch while we wait?"
She doesn't really want to, afraid that he'll find a way inside her head and then she'll have to confront the questions that she has finally begun to push aside for the moment. She doesn't feel ready to deal with them again so soon, but at the same time, something inside her is telling her to go, to spend time with him and see if she can't find some answers to match to her questions. Her stomach has also chosen this moment to rudely remind her that breakfast was a long time ago, which ultimately seals the deal.
"Sure," she tells him.
"Amanati's okay?" he looks a bit relieved and rises to retrieve his overcoat.
"Sounds great," she gives him a half-smile and they head out the door.
***
Amanati's is a cop hangout around the corner from the courthouse (as well as being the workplace of Bobby's waitress-friend and current crush, Gina) and the partners eat there often enough to know most of the regulars. Today, though, they also encounter Abby Markham, who is finishing up lunch with her narcotics squad, a ragtag group of men of mixed racial heritage who all sport battered street clothes and wear their badges on chains around their necks. Abby fits in perfectly in washed-out jeans with the bottom hems let out and a faded navy blue FDNY sweatshirt, though her badge is absent.
"I can't seem to get away from you people," she observes as they make their way past the group's table to a booth in the back.
"Abby," Bobby nods a hello and Alex does the same.
Choruses of "Hey, Goren," spring up around the table as the four men Abby's with recognize a former member of their department. A few tease too – "Nice suit." "Lunch is on you, right?"
"Hey guys," Bobby is shaking their hands and patting them on the shoulders in greeting the way men do when they have lots in common. Then he teases too, "They giving you lunch breaks now?"
"Yeah," a wiry Latino man tells him with a grin. "Since you left anyway."
"We deserve it since we're short a team member and all," says a bulldog-looking guy with a shaved head.
"Hey, we're working as fast as we can on the case, Berlutti," Bobby tells him.
"Yeah, well Cash didn't do it so they should just let us have her back," the Latino puts in simply.
"You know the rules, Sandoval," Abby tells him. "As long as the case is open, I'm on administrative leave. Technically, I probably shouldn't even be having lunch with you losers."
"Good – then you're buying," says the dark-skinned man seated directly across from her.
"You wish, Liston," Abby snorts. She turns to the detectives. "How is the case going?"
"You know we can't discuss it with you," Bobby tells her with a blank face. "And I hope it goes without saying that you should stay out of it."
"Can't blame me for being curious," she shrugs with a disappointed smile.
"Come on, Cash," Berlutti says, "let's head out and let the detectives eat. Goren needs to keep up his strength."
He rises and shadowboxes with Bobby for a quick second as the others grab their jackets and deposit tips on the table. Then they move towards the door and Bobby and Alex make their way to a booth in the back.
"Old friends, huh?" she comments with a raised eyebrow, sliding across the red vinyl seat and stowing her jacket by the window.
He nods. "Worked with Berlutti my first year in narcotics. Good guy."
"They care about her," Alex nods in the direction of the group, who have stepped outside but are still chatting easily on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Berlutti says something to Abby that causes her to slap him on the shoulder and the five laugh as one.
"She fits in with them," Bobby agrees as he observes them over his shoulder. Then his head turns back around and he focuses his gaze on Alex.
"So what's going on with you?" he asks curiously.
She pretends to study the menu (which she's memorized) in order to buy time and says only, "I've just been thinking a lot lately. It's nothing important."
His brow furrows and she fights the urge to scowl with annoyance because she recognizes the expression creeping over his face: it's the patented "I don't buy what you're saying for a minute and I intend to get to the bottom of your lie" look.
He doesn't speak, just continues to stare and ultimately she does scowl at him and snap, "I don't really want to talk about it, Bobby. Can we just order?"
Help arrives then in the form of the beautiful Gina, who brings their usual drinks – ice tea for her and coffee with one cream for him - and says, "Hey you two! Chicken Parmesan on special today. What'll you have?"
"Chicken Parmesan sounds great," Bobby doesn't tear his eyes from Alex's face.
She glares back at him. "Bowl of minestrone and a Caesar salad."
"Be out in a jiff," Gina sounds confused at their behavior – disappointed even – as she departs.
The staring contest continues for a few more moments, then Bobby finally breaks the contact with a resigned blink and leans back in his seat, an indication he's changing tactics.
"Fine, we don't have to talk about it," he tells her.
"Thank you," Alex doesn't believe he's let it drop for a moment.
Silence ensues and Alex plays with her straw wrapper while her partner stares out the window, apparently lost in thought. Normally, a silence between the pair is comfortable and even welcomed, but this one is strained and ultimately Alex feels the need to make it cease – all the while regretting that there's only one way to accomplish such a feat.
"Do you ever wonder how your life ended up where it is, Bobby?" she ventures.
He turns to face her, face puzzled. "What do you mean?"
She continues to fiddle with the wrapper. "I mean, do you ever think maybe fate stuck you here without asking your opinion about it first?"
His face clouds over in thought and she waits patiently for the answer he's constructing. Many people would be flippant if asked such a question, but Alex knows that Bobby will take it very seriously because she has asked him with the utmost sincerity. He learned the hard way that he couldn't make light of her questions after she asked him his opinion on abortion and he shot off a rather careless, "I'll let you know if I ever get pregnant." Cut to the quick, she had forced him to re-answer in earnest and he must have seen something in her expression because when he did, he'd moved his chair close enough to her that their knees touched and looked right into her eyes. He's always been careful of her feelings since and she knows that this time will be no different. He will think and speak carefully because he knows she will accept nothing less.
"I think," he finally says, tone soft, "that fate gets blamed for a lot of things that maybe it shouldn't." He isn't meeting her eyes, but directing his words towards the table. "The truth is, I don't know if there's anything to the whole concept of fate or not. What I do know from personal experience is that there comes a point where you have to make a decision about whether you will accept your life as it is or do everything in your power to change it. Then whatever decision you make, you have to embrace it fully, otherwise you'll spend the rest of your life agonizing over your choice and make yourself miserable in the process." Another pause and he looks up to meet her eyes. "And that's what I think."
He looks nervous as he waits to see what she will say in response to his words and she gives a nod to reassure him that she appreciates his candor.
"You chose change," she infers.
"Yeah," he nods and his eyes continue to shift a bit uncomfortably. Bobby likes to put people on the spot but is uncomfortable with role reversal. Alex knows, however, that he will let her hold him there until her curiosity is satisfied simply because it's her – and that knowledge causes a small wave of guilt to wash over her as she thinks about how poorly she's treated him all day.
"You chose to leave the army for narcotics and then to leave narcotics for major case," she adds another layer.
"Yeah," he nods again.
"So is that it or do you see another life-altering choice on the horizon?" she wants to know. Part of her pictures she and Bobby working cases involving missing dentures and bingo scams in a nursing home when they're ninety, but the rest of her is coming to realize that, whether she and Bobby are fated to be together or not, this thing they have going right now is not permanent. Somehow she knows that her choice is coming soon and that she will have to do exactly what her partner just said, choose to accept this place she's in or find a new one.
"I don't really know," Bobby shrugs and gives a slight smile. "I kind of like where I am right now. It has its moments."
Moments.
That was the word he'd written below the Hemingway passage in his notebook and Alex feels as though she's starting to get it. If you can't have normal things and a normal life, you have to grab those moments whenever they present themselves – moments like this one where she's sitting in an Italian restaurant having a frank discussion with her best friend and feeling better than she has in a few days.
Of course, the next thing she knows she's back in reality because Abby Markham is storming through the restaurant doors and making a beeline for their table.