When Goren awoke the following Tuesday he was in a hospital bed, his body sore and oxygen under his nose, he felt eyes watching him. He looked to his left, seeing nothing but monitors. He looked to at the foot of his bed to see his chart sitting in the tray. His eyes cut to his right, where he saw his partner sitting in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs. She was awake but her head was lowered, her eyes preoccupied with her fingers as they wrung her hands. They were trembling. He sat up and reached out to her, his hand falling atop both of her own, and her head lifted to reveal sad eyes. Something was heavy on her conscience, something that was consuming her slowly.

"Hello," said Goren. His chest had a stiff twinge spike, but he ignored it. Eames managed to grin, but it was not as full of life as it should have been.

"Welcome back. The parade hasn't come by yet," said Eames. Her sarcasm was not the same, and Goren knew it; her voice was not the firm and defiant tone it usually was. He knew he should not press, but his mind was warning him that Eames needed him.

Goren gave her hands a small squeeze. "I don't need a parade."

"That's what I told them, but you know those rookies." Eames' eyes fell to the floor, her focus on something on her mind. Goren cocked his head, trying to make her look at him. Her eyes avoided his for a moment before glancing at him, and he flashed a boyish smile in hopes of lifting her spirits. She smiled, but her eyes were very empty.

"Eames?" Goren lightly shook her hands. "Are you okay?"

Eames bit her lip and brushed her hair out of her eyes. Her face had three deep cuts; two below her left eye and stretching from her nose to her cheekbones, and another rising from the bridge of her nose to above her left eyebrow. Her right eye was tainted with a healing black-eye, it being blue-green. Her lower lip had a cut and there were countless other healing scratches across her face. Her right forearm was in a cast from a fracture caused from the pipe-blow she received, but she was trying to hide it under her coat, along with the bandage over her bullet wound. She had a sling around her neck which her right arm was to rest in but it was hanging empty. Goren could only imagine the innumerable bruises and cuts she had, not to mention fractured ribs and light burns.

Eames lowered her gaze and pulled back her hands, wrapping herself in a hug with her left arm. Goren did not take his eyes off her.

"Eames?"

She forced herself to look at him before she began to cry.

Goren had never seen Eames cry before him, and the deep compassion he had for her ached in his heart. He shifted on his hospital bed and patted the bed next to him, offering her comfort. She at first made no move towards him, but he looked at her reassuringly. I'm here, he was telling her. She stood and approached his bed, sitting on it and then leaning into him, her head resting on his chest as he stroked her hair. He felt her take his free hand and hold it tight, a motion asking him for help. He knew it was a little proposal, but he also knew that a little can go a very long way.

Goren felt Eames take a deep breath and exhale, calling to him without uttering a single syllable.

"Yes?" he responded.

"Those guys…they…" she began. Her grip on his hand tightened, and he squeezed back, giving her the courage to continue.

"Deakins told me about the tapes when I gave him my statement. He said you were pretty pissed off." She was trying to approach her troubles from a different angle, telling her partner that whatever happened was something that would be heavy on her soul for a very long time.

"Yeah," replied Goren. "I busted a TV with a chair."

"I feel sorry for the TV," chuckled Eames. Goren grinned at her remark.

"I bet IAB is going to take this hard, the FBI too," he said. He felt Eames shudder suddenly, the shivers racing through her and channeling into him. Whether it was the mention of the FBI that made her shiver he was not sure, but he had a feeling that the entire incident with Livingston was replaying in her mind. He even figured that she had been seeing it in with her eyes open as well as closed, never being to escape its clutches fully.

"Eames?"

She gave a quaking breath, her body curling towards him and her hand tightening. Without looking at her face he knew she had closed her eyes.

"There was…they did…something…" She was trembling in his arms.

"You don't have to. I'll hear it from Deakins—"

"No!" Eames' body shook as she spoke, forcing the words through her teeth. Goren was unsure as it how he should approach her actions; if there was one person who could mask themselves from him, it was his partner.

She sighed. "I told Deakins I'd tell you," she said. Her voice was in an apologetic tone, saying she was sorry for snapping at him. He pulled her closer to him, his actions telling her he had forgiven her even before she apologized.

"Okay," replied Goren. He rested his chin on her head. She needed his full support, and he was willing to give it all and more. Eames was silent for a few moments, breathing slowly and adjusting her position against her partner's large and muscular frame much like a frightened child does against a parent when in need of comfort. Goren said nothing, giving her the space she needed to tell him what she needed or wanted to tell him. He was unsure if she needed to tell him or just wanted to, but regardless he knew she was determined to let him know.

Eames lifted her head and looked him in the eye, the sparks that usually resided in them dull. "After the…the third tape…on the fourth one…they…all of them, they…" She paused and took a deep but shaky breath.

"They…they all…they raped me…I…God…" Eames began to cry again, her small frame quivering against him, and she lowered her head into his chest. Goren pulled her into him and rocked her gently, quietly shushing her. It had taken a lot of trust for her to say that to him, and he respected that.

"Hey, now," he whispered. "It's okay."

"No, no it's not." Goren ceased the rocking, and Eames turned her body so she could face him, tears streaking her cheeks and filling her eyes.

Goren realized that a part of Eames had shattered when those men raped her. She was not the same person any longer, she was not the same strong force that steadying him as he wobbled on the picket fence. He had safely arrived on the right side of his fence, and it was now Eames atop a fence of her own, her balance wavering. She needed him to spot her, to catch her as she fell, just like she did for him. She needed him now more than ever, and he would be there.

Eames lowered her eyes and curled into a tight ball, not taking up a lot of space in Goren's narrow hospital bed. He leaned forward and kissed her on her forehead, the first kiss he had ever given her. Her head lifted, and her eyes met his.

"Alex—"

"No, Bobby. I can't…"

"Yes, yes, you can. I'll help you. We'll get through this together, I promise."

I promise.

He squeezed her hand and pulled her into his body, her head leaning into his shoulder and her arm gripping him around his neck. He stroked her hair as he held her close to him, feeling her muscles relax as her body stopped shaking. Soon she had fallen asleep in his embrace, and not having the heart to wake her he too felt his eyelids drooping as he gave in to sleep. Goren promised, and he meant it. Eames needed him to spot her, and that was exactly what he would do. He would do anything for her, absolutely anything.

---

Promises have many different levels, varying from those which are completely false to those which are set in stone. But this promise was of a completely different genre, one that was everlasting and set in the soul. Stone erodes and smoothens, taking the promise set inside with it. A soul could crack under enough pressure and detach itself from a person, encrypting the promise for forever more. Both are equally as flawed, yet were not equal entities.

Goren's soul was not invincible, for he was only as human as the next man, and his own soul had been repeatedly ripped from him and hastily replaced by a psychopathic individual. Eames' soul was tattered and threatening to fade from existence altogether, it being repeatedly broken and forced to remain intact by the same evil creature. Yet a soul is a special, powerful, and spiritual level of a person's psyche. Two damaged souls could repair each other of given the chance to morph into one.

Eames had been seized from a grey reality, dragged through a gate, and promptly locked inside. Goren had traveled through a complex maze and had come across a barrier at the finish, where on the other side his partner was calling to him. These two souls were already mingled beyond the point of no return, the restoration of souls beginning upon the very sight of each other.

Once he had leapt over that white picket fence.

---

Captain James Deakins walked into the large building commonly known as One Police Plaza around eight on a cool Friday morning. It was a light November day, the breeze letting the fallen leaves dance around on sidewalks, and to him it was a most beautiful day indeed. As he entered the building he knew what lay in store for him once he reached his office on the eleventh floor. He approached the elevator and was joined by another three people, all of which were in a deep conversation with each other, and as he hit the eleventh floor button one of them hit the eight floor button.

It was only one stop, no big deal; Deakins' mind was filled with other more important things that the current FBI investigation into the death of one of its members. It did not matter to him that this death had occurred on his watch, or that he had been killed with his own gun. It was definitely unimportant. He glanced at his watch, the time being three till eight o'clock. The elevator stopped temporarily on the eight floor, and the three men exiting the lift as they continued their conversation about the corrupt government system.

The doors closed and the remainder of the captain's trip was made in silence, his eyes watching the digital sign above the doors change as he approached the eleventh floor. The doors opened and he stepped out, his eyes falling onto two empty desks, both covered with Gavin Hatcher's files. But those could wait until tomorrow, or even next week. They were not coming in today anyway. There was no rush.

He walked to his office and opened the door to see Carver and another man waiting on him. The unknown character was tall and thin, with awkwardly broad shoulders and a rectangular head. There was no hair on his head except the goatee that decorated his mouth. His small and very close eyes were very dark, and he folded his arms as his gaze fell onto the captain.

"Captain, this is Special Agent Harmon Wilson," said Carver.

Deakins sat at his desk, nodding to the agent as he picked up his pen. "Morning." His eyes focused on the papers before him, and he ignored the agent's and the lawyer's presences. The agent decided to press.

"Sir, I'm here—"

"I know why you're here, Wilson, but I'm a bit busy here, at the moment. You can go, now," ordered Deakins, his eyes never leaving the page. The agent looked at the prosecutor before leaving the captain's office, slamming the door loudly as he left. Carver turned his head to look at Deakins, who was placing his glasses on his nose.

"You know that won't be that last time we see him," warned Carver.

Deakins looked at the prosecutor over the rim of his glasses. "Pardon my French, but I don't give a damn."

Disclaimer:
The preceding story was fictional. No actual person or event was depicted.

Author's Message:
I thank all of you who have read this. I hope this piece has been as thrilling to read as it was for me to compose. I bid you happy future readings.