Disclaimer: See previous chapters. Don't own them…never did.
To Piaffe417: Oh thank you SO much for reviewing and catching those tensemistakes, darling! I should have caught those mistakes, just goes to show you how distracted I've been while writing this. Apologies all around! Piaffe417, as always, you inspire me with your Criminal Intent work, and getting reviews (especially good ones) from a writer of your caliber—ALWAYS gives my day a huge dose of ecstatic, run-around-the-office-cheering glee! (Okay, that sounded kind of weird) So let me just say—it really gives me an enormous boost…so Thank You Heartily for reviewing. Smoochies
A/N: And SMOOCHIES and chocolate to everyone who has read and reviewed, especially the ones who've returned to read more of my work. You have no idea what it means to get return readers! This chapter is going to go in places some of you might not think Goren is capable of. All I can say is that Goren might be a little OOC, but please keep and open mind about what I have him do. You all know I like to torture the characters—and the dark side of what happens when you take away the one thing a person is meant to do, is the focus of my story. Please keep in mind…when the walls come down, inhibitions are turned loose! Glad you like the quotes; I have fun researching and pulling them together!
--- Title of this Chapter is from an Angel episode, which seemed appropriate for my story. I do not own the Angle episode of this name, just borrowing the wording of the title.---
"The Energy of Nothing" by Alamo Girl ã
Part 3 "Slouching Toward Bethlehem""Darkness, darkness, be my blanket—cover me with the endless night—take away the pain of knowing." The Youngbloods
"About halfway through the course of my pathetic life, I woke and found myself in a stupor in some dark place. I'm not sure how I ended up there; I guess I had taken a few wrong turns." Canto I- Dante's Inferno
Most people, if they're lucky, will never truly fathom the feeling of being in total, utter darkness. The feeling that slinks into one's chest—slithering up around the soul like an ethereal snake and ever-so slowly constricting every last ray of light out of that soul. The emptiness that remains—choking and heavy, until all that's left is to crawl into some pit and pull the lid in over you. Bobby Goren knows those feelings all too well, flailing in the blackness without direction. He's felt this before, only to a somewhat lesser degree—when his partner and foundation, Alex Eames temporarily left his life to pursue the feat of giving birth to her sister and brother-in-law's child. That time, the shadows of doubt and fear loomed behind him, but only grazed his neck with great, spindly fingers— reminding Bobby that he was near the precipice, just inches from falling into the abyss.
But his job was there, he had a purpose and he understood what he had to do. So, in her absence, fumbling and merely muddling his way through the cases with his inadequate (and stifling) temporary partner—Goren was able to continue. His job, seeking justice and finding the tiniest pieces to the complex myriad of puzzles that made up the criminal psyche—kept Goren in the game until Alex returned to him. And it was then, that he realized two things: One - that being Detective Robert Goren was invariably the only thing he could possible be. And two - without Alex Eames at his side—giving him her quiet approval and support, reading his almost telepathic communications as to the next step in the investigative "dance" they do so well, feeling her loyalty and understanding every time a twist arises that makes Bobby second-guess himself—Goren simply ceases to "be".
But now, his job had been taken away, and he was unable to do the very things to which his gifts and talents had been honed to fine points for. He'd been torn from his partner, his lightning rod and anchor—and Bobby felt himself plunging deeper and deeper into his own Hell.
So, it was unsurprising, that Bobby found himself trudging down the icy, slick sidewalks of West 43rd heading toward Times Square—hands shoved into the pockets of his brown leather coat, and head tilted downward as scores of people passed him by, going to their favorite nightspots or to warm, inviting beds. He'd had a chance to catch a cab home to change from his hobo garb—choosing a pair of dark blue jeans, black button-up cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up, brown leather coat and thick soled Doc Martin-style boots that seemed to add an extra three inches to his towering six foot four frame.
Bobby's entire body felt numb—as though the bite of the wind couldn't penetrate the air of hopelessness that haloed him. His eyes—usually alert and scanning, stayed fixated on the path ahead of him. His path into his own self-deprecating Hell. His mind, however, continued to roll through scenarios. The planning sessions in the squad room, the infinite number of psychology books and notes he'd jotted down in his omnipresent brown notebook; all of the scenes of the past few weeks flipped by the projection reel in his mind—trying to figure out where exactly he screwed-the-pooch on this case.
He left clues… little pieces of himself at every crime scene. He-he knew someone… would be profiling him…trying to get into his head.
Had he gotten advance notice on our progress?
From where…?
Everything he left… the cigarette burns, patterns of ligature marks…everything was different just enough to piss us off, but not enough that—Bobby had to sidestep quickly around a raucous couple who'd obviously downed a case of Crown, and were now about to experiment with the methods of having sex up against a street sign. Bobby cast them a glare as he continued thumbing through his mental filing cabinet, looking back over this case. He lumbered forward in his gangly gait, brows knitted in frustration.
We should have had that bastard weeks ago…what was I missing that I didn't see…that I should have seen.
Should have seen it sooner, then none of this would have happened…his pace slowed somewhat, his eyes closed for a few moments.
The image of Brueteli falling to the ground took over his mind's eye—his chest ripped open, with that horrible look in his eyes Goren had seen before. The look of confusion and shock, as if he was pleading with Goren to tell him why this had to happen to him of all people - burned itself into his memory. Then, the sensation of unbridled rage washed over Bobby, like the first wave of radiated heat enveloping one's skin when one steps too close to an open flame.
I'm the one who dangled Alex out there like…a worm on a hook.
I put her in the cross-airs, while I hung back on the sidelines…and when she disappeared…and th-the scream- he stopped and ran both hands through his curly hair. Bobby opened his eyes, though he wasn't really seeing. People moved around him, careful to give the big, muttering man a wide birth.
I told them I didn't want a Task Force… I told them Eames and I could handle it!
Bobby moved to the wall of the brick building he'd stopped in front of, leaning his broad back up against it heavily and keeping his dark eyes on the ground in front of him. It had stuck him so hard—a freight train slamming in to his psyche. He'd nearly lost Alex, and it was his terror of losing her to the evil hiding in the darkness, that caused him to bolt without realizing the consequences of his actions. He knew Brueteli wasn't ready, and that he was going off into a dangerous situation that most likely would get him killed. That thought had actually slinked into Goren's mind somewhere along the way during the mayhem of the moment. The thing was…he hadn't cared.
Bobby nearly doubled over with the wave of nausea at that realization. He'd sent a rookie off to die, and when push came to shove—the only thing he cared about was Alex's safety. Not stopping Digger from harming another hooker… not even when he watched Brueteli's body fall—and Digger stood, gun in hand, ready to sever the lifeline that connected the Goren and Eames duo—did Robert Goren allow the consequences of his actions weigh on his mind.
Running a large, long-fingered hand through his salt and pepper hair, Bobby tilted his head back. He didn't want to think anymore—he didn't want to "feel". All he wanted was a release; to be unfettered of the knowledge of the evening's loses that thundered within his battered soul. The resonating thud of bass reached Goren's ears, vibrating somewhat within his chest.
Across the street, a red and orange sign caught his eye: The Tenth Circle.
People were flocking into the entrance, which were two ornate dark, wooden doors. Bobby thought he could make out some of the carvings—body's wrapped together forming a whirl-wind, some in pain some in ecstasy. He stared at the doors, as if contemplating a huge temptation. As though walking through those doors would mean the damnation or salvation of his soul. Slowly, he made his way across the street as the music grew louder. People laughing and dancing could be seen for brief moments when the doors opened, and Bobby felt the eerie sensation he was being pulled there—as though his pleas for respite from his internal torment and loneliness might be answered just inside those doors.
Once he reached the entry, the carvings on the doors became clearer—and more hauntingly frightening. They were, in fact, people - tied and twisted together in some gruesome tornado, tormented. Bobby blinked slowly, a half-hearted smirk tugging the corners of his lips.
Ironic, he thought. He pushed the solid door open, entering the large club's inner sanctum. The music's bass thrummed in his chest, but he didn't feel it. Bobby only had one thing on his mind—numb the pain, take it away. And he knew all to well what was the best elixir for sending the over-worked nerve endings and ever-firing neurons into a state of suspension. But it had been a long time—he'd consciously made an effort to stay away.
Now, he was rushing into temptation's arms, willing to do anything to ease his anguish—even if that meant unleashing his demons. Inside the doors, a second gateway lit with neon and black-lights, opened up before him. It took a moment for his eyes to readjust to the smoky darkness, as people moved about languidly on the dance floors and around the bar. If he wasn't concerned with his increasing need to make it over to the solid-wood bar—with its array of beautiful bottles holding that all-important ache-numbing substance—Bobby might have thought this place beautiful…in a Gothic sort of way.
The sign above the second gateway, its lettering illuminated with the eerie effect of the black-light, caught Bobby's eye as he paused. He stood there, reading the words—feeling them resonate within his soul, more than simply understanding their meanings.
THIS WAY TO THE CITY OF PAIN, ALL LOST SOULS MUST ENTER HERE.
JUSTICE INSPIRED GOD TO MAKE THIS PLACE, IT IS ETERNAL.
ABANDON ALL HOPE UPON ENTERING HERE.
A slow, ironic smile re-appeared on Bobby's stubbled face. He, of course, recognized the quote from Dante's Inferno, though the appropriateness of it made him chuckle lightly as he entered.
He became a "lost soul" the moment he thought he'd lost… Alex…and his hope abandoned the moment his badge and gun clanked down on Deakins' desk. What more could he possibly have to loose now?
----
"Being a woman is a terribly difficult trade, since it consists of principally dealing with men." Joseph Conrad
"As the things in the darkness, that whisper before they feast; They are to be placated and persuaded; They are to beloved and sacrificed to; They are to be prayed to and distrusted." Unknown
-----
Alex Eames angrily flipped a strand of her hair out of her eyes as she descended the steps of her partner's apartment building. She'd called his home phone, his cell phone—if the man had a pager, she'd have called that too, but Bobby was answering none of the above. After her outburst in Deakins' office, she flew out of One Police Plaza in an attempt to catch Bobby. But true to his nature, he disappeared. So, Alex went home long enough to peel out of those ankle-breaking stilettos and ass-short mini-skirt—opting for a pair of comfortable worn blue jeans, and a V-neck sweater with a zip-up front. She'd dialed and re-dialed Bobby's cell phone, almost to the point where she'd mashed the redial button into oblivion.
"Damn it, Bobby! Answer the stupid phone!" she'd hissed as she arrived at his apartment. She'd beat on his door until the neighbors had crooked their heads out of their apartment doors, staring at her in confusion. Alex sent them a no-nonsense glare that said, "If you know what's good for you, you'll pull your big, fat noses back inside!"
Now, standing on his stoop, Alex gazed up and down the street. Where would he go in this state? He wouldn't do anything stupid, would he? Alex started walking toward the corner, her lips a thin line of concentration.
Stupid? Define stupid, Alex darling. You know Bobby well enough, he's not going to go blow something up…he's not exactly the "postal" type.
She paused as she came to the corner, noticing the clubs that dotted the sidewalks as she neared Time's Square.
Then again, you've never seen him like this. You've never seen him completely shut down—shut you out.
Alex shuttered. The cold, hollow look in Bobby's eyes, they way he looked when he left Deakins' office, caused Alex's heart to stutter mid-beat as she walked. For the first time in their partnership, Alex didn't know what to do for him—she didn't know how to help.
Alex paused among the beating music from surrounding clubs and bars—fear gripping her when the terrible thought that if she didn't find Bobby, if he did something stupid and she would be too late to help him, inched its way into her soul.
Suddenly, she remembered something from a previous case. Something Bobby had said about what happens when you're not allowed to do what you're meant to do… "It makes you insane." She swallowed thickly, as a sudden flash of panic gripped her. So wrapped up in her thoughts was she, that Alex looked up, and just then, realized where she was. In her days as a Vice cop, she'd patrolled these streets and bars, knew them all well. Though one bar seemed completely out of place.
"The Tenth Circle," she muttered, brushing her hair out of her face. "That's a new one."
As she watched people go in, Alex felt this odd feeling in her gut—as if something was beckoning her, wanting her to enter those haunting doors. Before she knew what her feet were doing, they were carrying her across the street to the club's looming entrance.
Alex read the chilling inscription above the second gate inside, and sighed.
Yep, this would be the place he would pick… of all the bars in the city to end up in…
Inside, The Tenth Circle was a deceptively large place. The dance floor wound around the seating areas and pool tables; to a back area that was shrouded in smoke and strobe-lights, beyond a far doorway in the back. The bar—a large, mahogany number, with brass fixtures and neon lighting seemed a little old fashioned for the club's neo-gothic air. The music's decibel range seemed to be lessened in the front area, than in the back where Alex could see scores of people (mainly young ones) gyrating together in one mosh-pit style herd. Their bodies were pressed together as though making love in a bedroom was completely out of date. Doing it on a dance floor, with fifty or sixty strangers crushed in around you, was the new thing.
Alex smirked at that thought,… you couldn't pay me enough.
Her eyes finally found him, his enormous shoulders slumped forward and his head lowered at the far end of bar. Immediately, Alex made her way to him—her heart brightened at the thought that she had found him safe, no worse for wear. That is, until she got closer to him. Even in the din of the club, with people in various forms of debauchery—Alex felt it emanating off him in waves. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt from him…not anger, not the buzzing intensity of the normal energy field that seemed to surround her partner, like the buzz of a power line. This was something darker, colder.
"You ever hear of answering your cell phone once in a while?" she tried. Though she was glad to see him, something told her she did not want to see his eyes…not now.
Bobby brought a solid tumbler up and downed what had to be straight Scotch in one shot, without a blink.
"Turned it off," he answered. "My way of saying Do Not Disturb."
After a moment, he worked his head to the side, slowly—bringing his eyes to hers in a cold stare, "Guess it didn't work."
Alex fought down the shutter that threatened to shake her to her knees when her partner, whose eyes are normally warm and probing, fixed her with a look that would freeze the Devil's balls off. Bobby's eyes were haunted, and dark—so much darker than the warm brown Alex was accustomed to.
For a moment, she didn't recognize him.
"How long have you been here?" she asked, noting the pronounced slur in his 'S's.
Bobby snorted, reaching back with a large hand that engulfed the new Scotch glass awaiting him.
"Not fucking near long enough, Alex." Again, he slurred her name, drawing out the 'x', almost seductively.
Alex shivered again; this was not something she was prepared to deal with. Not now, not after what they had gone through this night.
'Upset-Bobby' was one thing. 'Agitated or Frustrated-Bobby', she'd dealt with countless times. Even 'Slightly Manic-Bobby', Alex had seen before and could handle. This Bobby was one she'd never seen before. This Bobby… cold, empty …Drunk-Bobby Goren, was a totally different animal.
Taking a deep breath, she gathered herself into 'Alexandra', the tough detective who had dealt with unruly and uncooperative men plenty of times while she was pulling herself up by the bootstraps.
"You're drunk, Bobby." She put a hand tentatively on his shoulder, "C'mon, let me take you home."
His hand snaked around her waist before she could even blink (so much for alcohol slowing Bobby down), pulling her to his side with the steel strength of his massive arms. Alex's breath caught in her throat, as Bobby swiveled his head around, bringing his face to mere inches with hers. Languidly his eyes traced her features; her face, lips and down to her chest—a seductive smile gracing his lips.
"Home?" he purred. "But I'm having such a good time here…Al-lex. Now that you're here… I think…I could have an even better time."
The smell of Scotch mixed with Bobby's own intoxicating scent, made Alex's mind whirle. Bobby's face came up beside her cheek, as he allowed the tip of his nose to caress her skin. He was breathing her in—holding her tight to him as his hand made its way up her sweater—sending goose-bumps all over her body. He straightened himself on the bar stool, so that he was even with her eyes—pinning her gaze.
"Actually," Bobby murmured, soaking up the feeling of her skin under his fingers—the scent of her flustered anxiety that sent shockwaves through every testosterone-saturated part of his anatomy, "I think, I may like letting you take me home…I think you'll like it too."
Snap out of it Alex! Where is your tongue, girl! Salivating at the pure magnitude of this version of Bobby Goren and wondering if…Alex blinked hard a couple of times, trying to pull herself together.
Why was she having this kind of reaction to this "alter" of her beloved partner—who for all intents and purposes is not the man she knows as Bobby Goren? This man was… frightening…feral—and seductively…well…hot!
Get a grip, Alex…this is not Bobby, it's the stress and the pain of what happened.
It's the alcohol.
Bobby pulled her in a little closer—nuzzling her neck ever so lightly, and sending her nerve endings on fire.
"Bobby…I know you're…uh, upset...a-about what happened," she stuttered as his hands continued to roam. One was making its way down her flank to her butt. She squirmed a little against him, trying to break some of the contact. It was the only way her brain was going to be able to form coherent sentences.
"It wasn't your fault, Bobby…Deakins knows that. He'll get the Brass to understand that too."
Bobby pulled back and gave Alex the disdainful look he usually reserved for suspects who'd said something stupid.
"They've been waiting a long time, Alex, for me to fuck up enough to take my badge." Bobby swung his bulk fluidly back around to his drink.
"A man is dead…" his voice lowered, "a cop is dead."
Alex sighed, relieved, as he broke physical contact (though her skin missed the warmth).
"The suspension is not forever. You can't just give up. We're going to figure this out," she said with some force.
Bobby stared at the glass in his hand—all the tension of the past three months culminating within him, like steam pressure under a lid. He wasn't a cop any more, be it two weeks… or two eternities. It was all the same to him. He'd let his captain down, and his partner…Alex.
He'd nearly lost Alex…without ever telling her, anything. Bobby closed his eyes, shutting out any further words from the woman at his side. Despite the Scotch haze, Bobby's ever-cranking mind began to sweep through the scenarios of his life, out of his niche…in a place where he definitely didn't belong. Anger arose in him again—seething and stifling, until his breath was coming in deep heaves. Suddenly, the glass—the thick, solid tumbler in his fist exploded into a thousand shards under the force of his grip.
Alex jumped. Bobby continued to stare at his hand, which was now bleeding, his voice was low and menacing, "Don't you get it, Detective Eames? I'm done…even if I ever get my badge back… who will be able to trust or believe anything I do or say?"
He whirled around before she could answer, standing up to loom over his petite companion the way he towered over a suspect in the interrogation room. Alex stepped back, but kept a defiant gaze locked with his piercing stare.
"The One thing," he said, the tone icy, "the "one" thing I know…they took it...they took it…"
His voice had gained some of its normal, halting manner—though Alex knew it was from sheer fury, not sobering from the alcohol. Bobby's head suddenly found its patented place to the left, studying Alex in a way that sent chills down her spine. She felt like he was stalking her.
"Go home, little Alex. I wouldn't want you to…" he paused and smiled lasciviously down at her, "to bite off more than you can chew tonight."
For a moment, Alex had felt the niggling tingle of fear bubble up inside her gut. It was alien to her—she'd never associated that feeling in the presence of her partner Bobby Goren. Even in the times when Goren seemed to fall into the abyss of a killer's mind—and the defining lines of her partner fuzzed and melded with that of the suspect's in such a way (if she didn't know him as well as she does), she might not be able to tell where psycho-killer ended and Robert Goren began…even then, she didn't fear him. Because, she knew her importance to the Goren/Eames duo, her job as the grounding element or cement.
She would pull him back with a nod or a look, silently conveying the message to come back to the here and now, and step back over the line to her side. And she was the only one he would allow in—the only one to whom he would consent to being pinned by a personal question, and he would always give her a well-thought-out answer because, being forthright with her was ultimately important to him.
But now, the fear receded into resentment and anger.
He'd called her "little" Alex… and that pissed her off.
"Fuck you, Goren," she muttered, pressing a napkin into his cut palm and guiding him (albeit unsteadily) to the door.
"I'm not going to leave you here to drown in Scotch and self-pity. Enough with the self-flagellation, already."
----
The decision to walk Bobby home had been because Alex thought moving him about would help work the alcohol out of his system. His apartment wasn't too far away, and as it was, she didn't feel like being confined in a close-quartered cab with him. His hands were roaming enough already. At one point, Bobby decided to try to imitate the "sex against a road sign" maneuver he'd seen the amorous couple earlier demonstrate—and Alex found out just how big a man her partner really was. Maneuvering around his broad chest and long, entangling arms was proving to make the 'walk home' scenario seem like a very stupid idea.
All the while, Bobby's mind was cranking out emotions that were completely unfamiliar to him. Well, in actuality, they were feelings he kept buried deep down—safe in the knowledge that because of their working relationship, he'd never be able to act on them. But with Alex's warm, smooth body pressed against his side, her sent assaulting his senses and making him wish he'd chosen a fabric of pants not as restricting as jeans—the penned up frustrations of working with a partner for four years, whom he found very attractive in a million different ways… was beginning to push violently to the surface.
As they staggered up the stairs into his apartment, Bobby leaned his nose down into her hair, sucking in a deep breath and letting a bestial smile spread across his lips. It had been too long… he'd kept these feeling in for too long. The alcohol had numbed the pain from the bust-gone-bad and from the suspension, but it hadn't banished the subdued longings and desires that often plagued Bobby in the darkness of the night. He was always meant to be a police detective, it was his place in life—where he could let his talents shine without the fear of sticking out as an odd-ball or freak. A tornado of thoughts assaulted Bobby's weary brain as they came to his door, and Alex fumbled the keys out of his coat pocket.
What am I to do now? Sit on my ass for two weeks reading the Smithsonian?
What about the cases? Alex will be alone…I'll be alone. Alone. In the dark.
The thoughts swirled and jumbled themselves into knots—Bobby felt like his head would explode that very minute.
Then, he thought he heard Alex say something like, "Come on, let's get you inside and get some coffee in you…then to bed."
Bobby just wanted to feel again. He wanted to feel something other than pain—something other than this torture conceived of his own mind. In the blackness of his apartment, Alex situated him against the wall before closing the door. He could barely make out her out-line in the shadow—but he could feel her.
And he wanted more…right then…he wanted so much more. Bobby wanted her.
As she started to go for the near-by lamp, Alex felt a large, steel hand clamp onto her wrist, whipping her around and slamming her against a wall she couldn't see. The air whooshed from her lungs, her mind stalled.
"What the f-," she was cut off by the massive bulk of a muscular chest pressing against her frame. Before she could react, a knee was prying her legs open wider, while one hand came to hold her jaw and head still. Another long-fingered hand ran down her chest—pulling the zipper of her sweater down with it.
Bobby's breath was slow, smelling of liquor and lust. She couldn't see his face, but then again, she knew the feral smile that was most likely on his lips. Bobby leaned down while she was frozen in shock—running his lips up her neck over her jugular vein—and suckled her ear for a second.
Alex's breathing shuttered; her heart was beating as though she'd run a marathon. The fear she had stamped down with resentment and anger back in the bar, now came flooding back with the force of a dam breaking. This wasn't Bobby Goren anymore… this was someone else. Someone, she might not be able to handle.
"You know," Bobby thrummed against her ear, his arousal pressing into her stomach painfully, "technically… I'm not your "working" partner for the next two weeks."
Alex put her hands against his chest and squirmed, but to no avail. His chuckle rumbled out of that massive chest as he stilled her again.
"No more…fraternization rules."
"Bobby," she breathed
He nipped her ear, making her gasp, "Told you it might be more than you can chew…Alex…"
----
"Fools live to regret their words, wise men to regret their silence." William Henry
----
TBC…
PLEASE READ and REVIEW! Tell me what you think!
I am very sorry about the wait. I got incredibly distracted while writing this, and then I wanted to make it just right and warn of the twists the Bobby's character was going to take. Also, I've only been to NYC once, so I do not know what is on West 43rd. All I have is a little map of Manhattan with street names on it, and we don't know where Bobby's apartment is.
Have faith, I told you Bobby's walls would come down and unleash the demons within, and some of those had to be concerning his connection with Alex. Don't be scared, it'll get better…eventually. :evil wink: I hope you liked this chapter!
Stay tuned! Part 4 soon!