1Unfortunately, I own none of Dick Wolf's characters.

The Price of Empathy

It was Saturday morning. Bobby had gotten out of bed early, as if it were a work day. His mind had been preoccupied for weeks and "sleeping in" was no longer an option or luxury–it was practically torture to remain in bed for one second longer than necessary, after tossing and turning through yet another sleepless night. Every day after work, but especially on the weekend, he would try to busy himself with anything to distract his thoughts from what had been eating at him. Reading, errands, music, watching a movie – they were all temporary fixes and, inevitably, the nagging of his conscience would, once again, overtake him.

Bobby never had a problem expressing his opinions and sticking up for anything he believed in. More often than not, doing just so had landed him in the position of being the "odd man out". But even though his opinions or theories may not have made him popular, Bobby always felt he at least had the understanding and respect of his boss and his partner – except for this time.

He had mulled it over long enough and had decided over his second cup of coffee that today would be the day. Just as he rose and was about to shower and dress, his phone rang.

"Goren," he answered, with more than a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Whoa, remind me not to call you before 9 on a Saturday morning! Sounds like you got up on the wrong side of the bed!"

"Oh, um...sorry Eames. What's up? We getting called in?"

"No, I just wanted to catch you early. My sister's having a bar-b-que so I figured I'd ask if you wanted to join me," Alex cheerily said.

"Oh, ummm, thanks, but, I can't make it today. I have pl-plans."

"Awww, too bad. Well, maybe next time."

They said their good-byes. Bobby wasn't sure what to make of the call. She had sounded genuinely disappointed that he turned down the invitation, but he couldn't figure out why she would be. Ever since the case was closed, Bobby felt the vibes from Carver and Deakins–and he could deal with that. The thing that hurt most was the way Alex had been looking at him and treating him– she had become abrupt, even short with him. It seemed to him, of late, that he was the persona non grata of the squad room.

"Maybe I'm overreacting– okay, maybe not the whole squad room, but definitely out of the four of us...Am I being paranoid? Maybe they were right and the 'stand' I took was the wrong one?" he questioned himself.

"No!" The emphatic response from his conscience snapped him back from his wandering thoughts. "No," he told himself again; "I'm not gonna' compromise for the sake of being popular. Hell, I was never popular to begin with."

Bobby headed for the shower, more hell-bent than before to make the trip that day.

It was a long trip, but Bobby enjoyed the drive, harkening back to some of the outrageous road trips he'd taken with Lewis when he was young. The comfort of his favorite tunes blaring from the CD player and the fresh air blowing through his hair had a definite positive impact on his mood. He felt as if it was clearing his mind, as well. He knew he had made the right decision.

Bobby pulled his car into the winding driveway, taking note of the well-manicured lawn and the colorful array of flowers that bordered either side. It was a small, but inviting looking home, obviously maintained with care.

He brought the car to a stop when he saw a woman kneeling up ahead in the driveway, taking special care in the placement of some red and white geraniums in a large wooden planter.

He exited the car, carrying a small package, appreciating how good it felt to finally stretch his long legs.

The woman rose to her feet and smiled at Bobby as he approached. She looked warm and friendly – like the type of woman every neighborhood had when he was a kid – the woman who didn't mind when the kids ran through her lawn sprinkler on a hot summer day; the one who always had a pitcher of lemonade and some homemade cookies waiting for the kids who rode by on their bicycles, knowing that she would offer them her treats.

"Can I help you, young man," she asked with a smile, shielding her eyes from the sun with her gardening-gloved hand.

Bobby returned the smile, questioning her: "Are you Catherine...?"

Before he could even complete his question, she anxiously interrupted: "Yes, yes, I'm Catherine," she offered, still smiling, but with more inquisitiveness in her eyes.

"My name is Robert Goren; I'm a Detective with the New York City Police Department."

Her smile faded; concern knitting her eyebrows together; her shoulders slumped as a soft sigh escaped her throat.

Bobby reached out and touched her shoulder, trying to give her a reassuring look; "I wanted to come and give this to you," he said, as he offered her the package wrapped in brown paper; "I thought you might like to have it."

A slight smile returned to Catherine's lips upon the realization that the purpose of the Detective's visit was not to deliver any more bad news. She took the package, hands still slightly shaking, as she removed the brown wrapper.

Giving a slight gasp, placing her hand on her chest, she looked up at Bobby, smiling. "You traveled all this way, Detective?" She gazed at him appreciatively...and somewhat incredulously.

Her eyes returned to the object in her hands, a smile of pride crossing her lips as she read aloud: "Get Hooked on a Book...1st Prize." As her eyes welled up with tears, Bobby handed her his handkerchief. She gratefully took it, dabbing at her eyes; "Johnny was such a good little boy...I don't know what happened..." her voice trailed off.

Bobby placed his arm around her shoulder as he asked her, "would it be all right if we talked for a while?"

She smiled at him, still clutching the little plaque; "I'm sorry...where are my manners?" she laughed; "you've had such a long drive...why don't we go inside and get out of this hot sun...I just made some fresh lemonade."

A broad smile brightened Bobby's face; "that'd be nice, Mrs. Tagman...th-thank you." She held his arm as they ascended the porch steps.

Relief washed over Bobby – more cleansing than the actual shower he had taken in the morning, this cleansing of his heart and conscience brought the peace of mind he needed. He knew he would sleep well that night. And whether Deakins, Carver and Eames would ever understand, he didn't know – nor did he care.

End.