Throwing open the door Goren drew his gun, carefully shutting the door with his foot. He strained his ears, listening for any sign of movement, and heard nothing. The house was old with the smell of mildew and moth balls hovering in the air, and the wood inside was grey with age. The wood underneath his large feet was soft, peeling as he steeped cautiously farther into the house. It was vintage, which reflected on most of Livingston's gun collection. He swallowed loudly as his eyes adjusted to the dark, and he spotted a set of worn stairs. He slowly walked to the stairs, setting his foot vigilantly on the first step and adding his weight. It did not creak, but he was not taking any chances. Army instincts kicked into high gear, and swiftly ascended the stairs, not making a sound.

There were only two rooms upstairs: a bathroom and a bedroom. Goren could see the bathroom from his position on the top stair. No one was there, and all that was there was a shower with no curtain and a toilet. He could hear snoring from the other room, and another noise reached his ears, crying.

Gritting his teeth he approached the bedroom, the door shut but not fully closed, a single thread of light emitting through the cracks around it. It produced a halo effect around the door. He could smell iron, leading him to suspect blood. Goren slowly raised his hand and placed it on the door, giving a little weight behind his hand. It moved, not making a sound, and the light fell across his face, illuminating one side of his face but leaving the other side in darkness.

"Come on in, detective," said a raspy voice. "You're not interrupting anything."

Goren pushed the door fully open and was met with a gruesome sight. Lying on the floor were the bodies of four men, the four felons hired to torture Eames. They were all shot execution style, their eyes open and their faces full of horror. Blood was pooled about their bodies, coagulating around their heads, and was beginning to smell of death and beginning decay.

Standing in the middle of the bodies was Livingston, in his hand a gun and in his arms Eames, who was bound with her own handcuffs with her hands in front of her. Her eyes were full of tears, some streaming down her face, and she met Goren's eyes.

"Drop the gun, detective," ordered the agent. When Goren did not comply he pointed the barrel of the gun at Eames' temple, and Goren slowly set the gun onto the floor. His eyes never left Eames', he trying to give her some assurance.

"How touching. I'm fighting the urge to cry," mocked Livingston.

Goren felt his anger morphing in his chest, curling under his soul and fusing with hate to form rage. But he had to keep control, for now, at least. Eames' eyes were soft but broken, as was her figure. She was physically beat. Sores, cuts, bruises, and burns covered her exposed skin, and her clothes were tattered from the whipping she had received. Goren could see her knees shaking, she being weak and unable to hold herself up. The only support she had was from Livingston's grip around her shoulders.

"You sick little bastard," growled Goren.

Livingston laughed "Thank you, I'll take that as a compliment. You know, this was fun."

"Fun?" rumbled Goren. How this was some lunatic's idea of fun Goren did not know, but he did not really care about it either. He heard a sound emit from Eames' throat, a whimpering sound. She was frightened and she needed him to keep control.

"Yes, fun. Ecstatic, actually. I was able to under-mind the greatest detective in New York State just by napping his little partner." The agent shook Eames viciously and smiled. Goren knew his partner was angered at the agent mocking her height, but he also knew that she did not have the strength to express it.

"I can see it now: the headlines," continued Livingston. "They'll be saying how sad it is that Detective First Grade Robert Goren was killed when he was caught by Special Agent Joseph Livingston of the FBI for kidnapped his own partner. It'll be great. I'll have to put it on the wall, along with all the other newspaper clippings I have at home."

Goren cocked his head at the agent. "Why?" he stammered, gritting his teeth.

"Why? Oh I love this part of the job, when I get to tell you why I did this. Especially since I get to kill both of you, and the dead are very silent from what I hear…"

"Answer the question."

"YOU don't tell ME what to do!" shouted Livingston. He jabbed the gun into Eames' ribs, and she winced in pain, almost losing her footing. Goren fought the urge to reach out and catch her before she swayed, knowing that taking one step, making one single motion forward could result in her death. He knew there was no way he was going to make it if Eames died. He had barely been able to make it for these past few days.

"Please…" begged Goren. Livingston grinned, pulling the barrel from Eames' ribs. Goren's eyes remained focused on his partner.

"You're begging—this is great! I have the greatest detective begging! Oh, this is so good…" He stifled a laugh and hardened his look, staring straight at Goren. The detective looked from Eames to the agent, his eyes watery but full of hatred.

"Please."

Livingston's eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting into the most unnatural of grins. "Have you ever heard life referred to as a game, detective?"

Goren's expression did not change, but he nodded.

"Well, I go through life seeing it as a dancing game, because it is. It's one with many players and one with hidden agendas. You and I and everyone here in this room—alive or not—are players in this game. I played it my way and you played it yours. It just so happens that we crossed paths, but it takes two to tango, doesn't it? We've danced throughout this game, you and I, and now it's the closing move. The final twirl, final sway, the final stare, it's here. You were leading, but you succumbed to me, just like the dance steps go. And once we're done, you'll sit atop my mantle with all the other trophies I've collected throughout the competition. Only this time there's a special prize."

Eames closed her eyes and lowered her head, and Goren understood the agent clearly. This was just a game, like he said, but not in the way the man viewed it. Livingston saw this as a contest, one requiring luck and chance, an ultimate high. Goren saw this as a competition, one requiring skill and perception, an ultimate test. Livingston's path crossed his because the agent had wanted it to, but in crossing his path he crossed Eames' as well, though unintentional. Luck and Chance were the man's confidants. But Goren had the upper hand, for he was one up on his rival. He had Skill, Perception, and he also had Eames.

"And how many trophies have you collected?" queried Goren. He watched the corner of Livingston's mouth twitch.

"Plenty."

"And why do you collect?" The detective had to get into his opponent's head, and soon, if Eames was going to be safe. She was looking very pale, her body shaking ever so slightly, but he could see it clear as day.

"I collect so I understand what I'm doing. Isn't that why you collect?"

Goren was caught off-guard, but he shook his head softly. "I don't collect," he stated.

"Oh but you do." Livingston smirked. "I collect the physical, you collect the…psychological. You go after the bad guys, as do I, only I keep an actual piece of them. You, on the other hand, you take a piece of their sanity." He searched Goren's eyes. "I've been watching you for a long time, detective, a very long time. You helped me discover how to completely disable a person, and I thank you."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I thank you dearly. You were the perfect specimen for my experiment, proving my hypothesis."

Interested slightly, Goren inquired, "And what was that?"

"That people are feeble and can be destroyed by the absence of a certain physical object which holds a powerful psychological attachment to the person's humanity and sanity. I found yours." Livingston brushed some of Eames' hair from her face, revealing eyes torn, empty, and calling. "She's a beautiful woman, no?"

"Fuck you," glowered Goren. Eames was most definitely his most important anchor to reality, and Livingston not only knew that but he exploited that as well. No one exploited Eames, not in Goren's mind.

"Interesting choice of words, detective. Tell me, what went through your mind after that last tape you saw, eh? You should have watched the last tape. She was a beauty, an absolute beauty," cooed Livingston. The agent bent over towards Eames, brushing his lips lightly across her cheek before throwing her body to the floor. She fell in a heap, too frail to catch herself.

Goren was tottering on the fence, his balancing failing to hold him, and he felt himself falling into the abyss he dreaded. Yet he could feel someone grab his foot, someone who was trying to pull him back in the other direction. It was Eames, her will wishing for him to come back, but she did not have enough strength to save him.

Rage exploded from Goren's chest, and he lunged at the armed agent, forgetting the fact that he was unarmed.

---

Eames did not move after her body hit the floor. Her muscles would not obey her commands of, Get off this dirty floor and kick some ass. She lifted her head and watched Goren's reaction.

Her partner had leapt towards Livingston, catching him in the jaw with a swift left hook. The agent twisted on his feet and performed two full spins before Goren delivered a right cross to his face. Eames heard a loud cracking sound as knuckle collided with cheekbone, and a shiver passed through her. Livingston knelt to the floor in defense as Goren gave a left jab, and the agent sent Goren in a tailspin of his own with a right uppercut.

He revolved once before he managed to stop himself, and that was when the shot exploded in the air, piercing Goren's chest just under his heart.

Eames expected Goren to freeze and feel where the bullet entered his flesh, seeing the blood running down his shirt. Instead he roared and charged again, delivering jab after cross and uppercut after hook relentlessly. It was a darker side of Goren she had never seen before, and she was not sure whether she should be frightened or relieved by it.

Livingston managed to shoot Goren again in the chest, but Goren either did not feel it or did not care enough about it, for he did not even slow his attack on the agent. The fighting continued as Eames forced herself to sit rather than lay on the floor. She watched her partner fight for her, bleed for her, while she could do nothing. A distant part of her mind told her that she had fought and bled for him long before he returned the favor, but thinking that was not adequate in the present situation. In fact it was completely absurd and evil to think. She felt dirty for even thinking that.

She was brought back to the current battle unfolding in front of her by the sound of another shot and a pain throbbing in her upper right arm. She yelled out as she grabbed her bleeding wound, the pain shearing down her arm as her cuffed hands moved dependently to one another. Blood was seeping through her fingers and a grinding noise reached her ears from inside her arm. She did not know it, but the bullet was dangerously close to her humerus and her ulnar nerve. Even the slightest wrong move could render her permanently defenseless.

Her eyes lifted to her partner and the agent before her. Both were not moving, their eyes on her. The agent's were daring to curl into a selfish grin, the barrel of the gun pointing at her. Goren's eyes were completely different. They were filling with tears as they followed the blood through her fingers and down her arm. Eames met his eyes, holding him in her gaze for a moment's time and ignoring the two bullets in his chest as he somehow remained standing, blood dripping from his shirt and to the floor.

Another shot rang out, and Eames jerked in pain as it entered her right calf. Her sudden movement drew her eyes from Goren, and he let a single tear run down his cheek before his body turned onto Livingston. He grabbed the agent by the neck with both hands and raised him off his feet. He began to choke the man, shaking him violently and threatening to snap his neck. Eames turned her face back to them and saw Livingston shoot her partner four times in the chest, but Goren only paused briefly after each bullet traveled through him. She watched his eyes narrow and his arms tense as he found the power to throw Livingston across the room.

Eames watched Livingston's body sail through the air, his body colliding with the wall and sending him into the bathroom next door. She was frozen in shock. It was not the fact that he crashed through that astounded her, but the fact that her partner had taken six shots to the chest and managed to throw their assailant. Goren turned slowly to her, blood tainting his lips, and he collapsed to the floor.

"No…" Eames could barely speak, for her body was exceptionally weak due to not eating, being tortured for the past two days, and the loss of blood. For once in her life she had been prepared to surrender to the force controlling her, but Goren had come to her, just like she willed him.

She crawled to him, her handcuffs and bullet injuries preventing her from traveling at a desirable pace. He coughed as she stopped beside his body, his chest rising and falling very weakly. His mouth moved as if he was trying to speak, but he made no sound. Tears that had clung to her eyes were now falling, rolling down her cheek and landing on the dusty floor.

"You're not supposed to be like this…" she whispered.

The sound of creaking and shifting boards reached her ears, and Eames turned to see Livingston rising from under the rubble. He was badly bruised and cut from Goren's fists, but it was nothing in comparison to what he had put them through. He grabbed Goren's gun and aimed it at the man's motionless body, cocking it. He was determined on his psychopathic will, on killing them, it not mattering who he killed.

Eames' mind was full of scenarios that could unfold with both her and Goren caught in a vulnerable position. It was not a question as to who the agent would attack, for regardless of which one of them he chose to kill he would be inflicting pain on both. They were connected on a more spiritual level, their souls intermingling in such a way neither of them could fully comprehend it.

A shot rang out, dust around her rising into the air as a bullet pierced the floor just before her knee. She immediately covered her partner's head and wounds, protecting him and ignoring her pain. Livingston let out a cackle as he shot at the floor again, this time hitting a floorboard near Goren's leg, tearing some of the fabric that made up his pants.

As the agent laughed again Eames' eyes found the Beretta Livingston had used to kill the four men who tortured her. She took it in her hand and lifted it off the floor, aiming it at the FBI agent. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, but she was going to make him pay for what he did to them.

I'm not a cop tonight.

"Drop it," warned Eames. Her voice was shaky and hoarse, both uncharacteristic of her.

Livingston grinned, aiming the gun at her instead. "You won't shoot me."

Eames desperately wanted to put a bullet into the man's skull, but she did not have enough control of her body to achieve anything close to an injury or a threat of one. She felt so alone, even with Goren there beside her. He had come all this way to save her, suffered with her through it all, and yet she was not able to repay him for everything. Livingston took advantage of her short spell and took a few confident steps forward, the hollow sound of his shoes snapping her back to the ordeal unfolding before her.

She licked her lips as she tried to stay still, her subconscious willing for guidance. She felt a strong hand reach up and help her hold the gun steady. It completely covered hers, a single finger resting against her trigger finger.

"Drop it, asshole," repeated Eames, more firmly than before. She felt confidence beginning to swell inside her. "Do I need to clarify?"

The agent's grin widened. "I'm coming to collect my winnings."

The finger that had rubbed her knuckle curled around her trigger finger, though no pressure was applied on the weapon. Livingston took another step, and both hands on the Beretta stiffened.

"Or should I take my prize now?"

They both knew what he meant by his statement, and both were appalled enough to end it. Both fingers pulled back simultaneously, their action representing itself in the form of a single hole in between the eyes of Special Agent Joseph Michael Livingston. The shot went straight through the agent's head, exiting from the back and stopping in the tile of the bathroom wall. His body crumpled to the floor, his eyes open and his face one of denial. Blood was spattered and smeared on the walls, with bone and brain matter clinging to the building surrounding them.

He had lost the game.

The fingers loosened their grip around Eames' hands, and she heard Goren's arm fall to the floor with a dull thud. She let the warm metal in her hand fall and clattered loudly on the floor next to her, and she turned quickly but painfully to see his eyes fluttering. Her mouth fell as she adjusted her position and pulled his body painfully into her lap.

"No!" Her voice choked in her throat, but she forced herself to continue speaking. "Be strong, stay with me…"

Goren's eyes were open but his eyelids were heavy over his brown irises. Eames supported his head against her chest and petted his curly hair with her cuffed hands, taking care not to aggravate her arm and wishing desperately that she could stop the blood flowing from his wounds. It hurt her to see him like that, her tall and rugged partner lying broken in her lap. But he had come for her, he had taken six shots to the chest, and he was still clinging to life.

In the distance Eames could hear sirens, loud and piercing through the still November air.

"Listen, do you hear that? Sirens, they're coming…hang in there, please…oh God…"

Eames was crying, not loud sobs, but silent tears. It was times like those which showed her that silence was more dangerous that helpful. She wished that it was her lying with the bullets inside her, not him. Great men like him did not leave this world like that. He meant so much more. She could hear Goren cough, his breathing shallow and murky with blood, and he swallowed. Licking his lips, he closed his eyes, and his body went limp in her arms.

"No, no…you can't die…"

You're not going to die!

Her voice hardened into an ordering tone, piercing through her tears. "You can't die, you hear? You're not going to die, not like this. Don't you die on me, don't you dare. You're not going to die until I tell you, you understand? You're not going to die until I tell you to. Now stay with me. Men like you don't go out like this…"

Goren coughed, blood escaping his mouth and running down his face. Eames tried to wipe it off him with her sleeve, but she did not clean up very well with handcuffs on her wrists. Suddenly but slowly his eyes opened, and he looked at her.

"…Eames?" he said weakly.

"Yes?"

"Could you…in my coat pocket…the left one…"

Eames forced her hand away from him and reached into his coat, her small hands both fitting into his pocket, and her fingers closed around a pack of cigarettes and a match book. She pulled them out, taking out a cigarette, and went to place it in his mouth.

Goren shook his head slowly. "No, I want—" he swallowed, coughing as he did so "—I want you to…to throw those thing away…those things can kill you, you know…"

Eames grinned weakly, laughing silently as he closed his eyes and swallowed again. "And I won't…die till you tell me…"

---

Deakins and the squad cars arrived at the address Tyler told him. Someone had reported hearing gunshots in the rickety old house, and Deakins knew it was related to his detectives. He leapt from the car, dressed in grey sweat pants and a NYPD t-shirt, and raced into the house, calling out his detective's names. He heard Eames answer, and he ran into the upstairs room to find both of them in the middle of the room, surrounded by dead bodies. Goren's chest was riddled with holes, and he was bleeding badly; Eames had her share in injuries, but she smarted off to her captain, saying, "Nice of you to drop by, sir." The paramedics raced passed the captain as he felt some Supreme Being smile upon him.