Deviation from the Average

By Javawolf

Author's Note: I was lazy all week. I procrastinated until this past Saturday, when I couldn't sleep. I apologize if this chapter doesn't stand up to the last few, but please keep in mind, that it was written in the wee hours of the morning.

FrostySnake: No worries, nothing is wrong with you. I love it too. I guess that's why I'm having so much fun writing this! And, I still like your name, accidental or not. :)

Scifi-warper: I suppose if I'm making you cry I must be doing something right, but I hate to make you so sad. Chin up. They'll pull through. They always do!

Adina-Anne: Oh, sorry I freaked you out... I didn't mean to. But I really do like your stories. I like them a lot! Anyway, I'm glad you're still enjoying the story.

TriStateCopFan: Heh, heh! I don't guess Grim's very popular, eh? Oh, you're right! It did sound awfully... military. Thanks for pointing that out. And, naturally, there's plenty more angst for everybody.

Apartment of Detective Robert Goren

New York City

"You..."

It wasn't the first time he'd heard the voice. It had been a while yet, but he'd been able to ignore it many of the previous times. As he stood in the small apartment kitchen, preparing the sorry excuse for a meal that sat on the stove, he shook his head violently to dislodge the creeping, persistent voice. It always said the same things. Not generally word for word, but in the same ball park. As Bobby scraped his burnt Kraft maccaroni and cheese into a bowl, the voice verbally pummeled him. He did his best to ignore it, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. He hadn't heard words like these in so many years...

"...working my ass off all day, and come home to this sty ... should'a let you're mama beat you to death ... no good, whiney, smart ass of a boy ... you can't ignore me forever ... Look at me, damn it!"

It took every ounce of will power Goren possessed to keep from collapsing a fit of tears, but he managed to suppress even the slightest flinch. He couldn't let himself be seen like that. Especially not by him, he who always seemed to expect so much more of Bobby.

He stood at the far end of the rectangular table, aligned with the wall. He wore that same white and red checkered shirt he had always worn at home ... Bobby could smell the beer. The scowl that was all too familiar, the hand that he held in clenched fists, waving newspapers, shouting curses–it was him.

Calculating the possibilities as he sat down, Bobby refrained from speaking to the man before him and mercilessly stabbed at his maccaroni. He closed his eyes against the sound, but that didn't make any sense... He could still hear the curses and the screaming. Oh God, someone was screaming! Instinctively he reached for his weapon, only to find to his dismay that of course, he no longer possessed any weapon.

He was standing now, when did that happen? Glancing around the room for a clue as to what had happened his gaze stopped upon the shattered bowl and crusty maccaroni that sprinkled the floor. In a rush the memory caught up with him. He'd been the one to scream, and he'd thrown his food across the table at the wall.

"Now look what you did, you little brat."

Cupping his hands over his ears in helplessness, Bobby struggled against the desire to argue. But if he argued, or gave any attention at all, he knew he would have at that point completely lost his mind. His mind was something she saw as beautiful. His mind was all that kept the rest of him together.

With his hands still pressed tightly over his ears he sank to the floor, sobbing, fully aware of what was happening to him. With every tear his sanity slipped further away. It was the worst torture he'd ever had to endure, and yet still, he refused to give notice to the voice or its embodiment. He wasn't crazy, and this wasn't real. After all, how could any of this be real when his father was dead?

Office of ADA Ron Carver

"This is a very serious matter?" The Assistant D.A. looked up from his very own mountain of paperwork, (which in fact was simply a favor to Detective Eames, given her current condition,) To glare at Captain Deakins as he took a seat before Carver's desk.

"...of the most importance." Deakins managed, unsure of how to proceed.

"Pray tell." Carver said smoothly, setting his hands, neatly clasped, on his desk.

"You recall the incident with Detective Goren?" Deakins asked.

"Naturally."

"Well, I sent him to see counseling. I received a phone call last night concerning his behavior."

Carver sat in patient waiting while Caption Deakins folded his hands in his lap, his eyes falling to the floor. Nothing could prepare the ADA for this, and for that reason, Deakins felt he shouldn't be the one to tell him. He hadn't felt this more anxiety sense the complications in Kathy's labor during the birth of their youngest child. Goren was like a son to him, and he was in a bad way.

"James?" Carver asked hesitantly, turning his head slightly. Deakins nodded.

"Nothing can be diagnosed yet, they–they need him to come back in for an evaluation but..."

"Something is wrong?" Carver arched an eyebrow.

Making a fast decision to be blunt and get it over with, as he was not a very patient man, Captain Deakins sighed loudly.

"Detective Goren has a family history of mental illness. Particularly schizophrenia."

Carver leaned back slowly into his leather chair, unclasping his hands and holding them limply at his sides.

"Dear God..."

Alex pressed her cell phone tightly to her ear as she gripped the wheel; trying to drive, drink her coffee, finish getting dressed and brushing her hair, and get a hold of Bobby--simultaneously. She had been calling since the night before, getting the same mechanic voice every time. Now trying his cell phone, as the idea had only just occurred to her, she was getting his voice mail and quickly becoming frustrated.

She'd gotten up early, showered and was planning to visit him before going to work. Unsure of the legality of the current plan, as she was fairly certain he wasn't to be anywhere near her for the time being, she was making a rather pathetic attempt at incognito. Applying the last touch of mascara over her lashes, Alex pulled on a baseball cap and sunglasses, fighting the urge to laugh at her self in her rearview mirror.

You've reached Detective Goren's cell phone. I'm...well-obviously not here right now, I'm sorry I missed you. Leave any information I might need to get back to you, and I'll do just that at the soonest possible interval. Thanks.

With a low growl escaping her throat, Alex tossed her own cell phone onto the passenger seat and swore loudly. Why was he ignoring her? Something was wrong, either he was feeling so isolated he wouldn't even speak to her–his best friend, or he was in a bind. In his current condition he shouldn't even have been sent home, certainly not alone. Suddenly very worried, Alex pushed the gas as far as she dared... And succeeded in smearing lipstick on her chin.

A/N: Oh, BTW. I have been to New York only once in my life and even that was for a short 3 hours. My geography concerning the city is so far off it's mildly funny. I don't even really pay attention when I'm watching CI, as you can tell in the above chapter. Please forgive me!

Everyone enjoy the season premiere!