The storm had blown over by morning. He got up just before the sun and pulled on a pair of sweats and running shoes. Leaving the room, he headed down to the beach and began to run near the waterline. Hitting his stride, he let his mind go. He wasn't surprised at all at where it went, but he went along with it, not fighting, not analyzing, not thinking. He just let himself feel. And he ran harder.
When he got back to his room, he was drenched in sweat. He took a shower and headed down to the diner to get a bite to eat. After breakfast, he walked around town again. And again, he let his thoughts flow freely. Eames. He couldn't get away from thoughts of her. His heart kept telling him You have to tell her. Lay it all out on the table and see what she does with it. She loves you; she's not going to destroy you.
Then his rational mind would kick in. Idiot! Confess your love and you destroy the partnership that means so much to you. Do you really want to embark on another great partner search...and lose her in the process...
Lose her? Would a confession of love drive her away? He couldn't believe that. It very well could destroy their partnership, but it might lead to an even better partnership, one that involved her in his bed. And that would be Heaven...
But work, which he had always loved, would be hell. He and Eames worked so very well together. She complemented him perfectly. Good cop, bad cop. Bad cop, good cop. They knew exactly which role to step into and when. She knew when to push and when to back off. She knew how to read him, and he knew how to respond to her. They could set people at their ease and then destroy them with a couple of well-placed questions or statements. They could feign disagreements and anger just when they needed to, and the confessions usually came tumbling out. How could he sacrifice that for his own selfish ends? Simply put, he couldn't. If it meant giving up their partnership, he would never act on the desires of his heart. And he had to come to terms with that, because he could never give her up.
Love the woman, destroy the partnership.
Ignore his heart, destroy...him.
Either way, he simply could not win. There had to be another way. Confession is good for the soul, and love is good for, well, everything, his emotional mind said. Talk to her. Feel her out, his rational mind told him. Then came another voice, one he recognized, though it had been long silent. It was the part of him that housed all his insecurities, and it spoke to him in his father's voice. Go ahead, you fucking moron. Talk to her. Drive her away once and for all. Screw up this relationship, too; you always do. Right now you have her in your life, every day. You don't need her at night, too. The kick of it all was that he did. Day, night, whenever...he did need her.
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Returning to his room, he washed his clothes in the guest laundry on the first floor, then he went out onto the balcony and leaned against the railing. The swells were bigger than normal, residual from last night's storm. He closed his eyes and listened to the waves breaking on the beach. Walking around town had done one thing for the dilemma in his mind. He had his life narrowed down to two choices: tell her or don't tell her. If he told her, he placed their partnership in the balance. If he didn't tell her, the stress of suppressing such powerful feelings would eventually take its toll on him. He wasn't happy with either scenario. There had to be a happy medium, but if there was, he wasn't seeing it.
A knock on the door drew him from his thoughts. Coming in from the balcony, he went to the door and opened it. He was mildly surprised to see Carrie on the other side. She grinned at him. "Hi."
He smiled back. "Hi."
"My mom sent me over to invite you to dinner. And Freddie is very anxious to meet you."
"Freddie--your little brother?"
"Yeah."
He thought for a minute but found no reason to refuse the invitation. All time alone was doing was driving him out of his mind. "Ok, Carrie. Dinner sounds nice."
So does a little company, he mused as he pulled the door closed behind him. They headed toward the stairwell, where the elevator was also located. She turned toward the elevator as he headed for the stairs. He raised a curious eyebrow at her. She smiled. "I'm a teenager; we're lazy by nature."
He laughed. "Ok. I'll meet you downstairs."
"Deal," she said.
He was leaning against the wall when she stepped off the elevator. They headed for the house, which adjoined the motel. Stopping outside the office, she said, "Hold on a sec."
Running inside, she replaced the Be back in five minutes sign with one that read For assistance, dial 88 or knock on the front door of the house. She came out carrying her history book. He looked at it with interest. "That's your, um, history text?"
"Yeah," she said with disgust. "I hate history."
He seemed surprised. "Really?"
"It's so boring. I mean I guess it's important to know how the country came to be, but who really cares about what a bunch of guys who are dead did two hundred years ago?"
"'Those who forget the lessons of history are doomed to repeat it.'"
She looked at him oddly. "What?"
"A philosopher named George Satayana said that. We need to study history so we can learn from it and avoid mistakes that were made in the past. That's why they say history repeats itself, because people don't learn from their mistakes."
"So you're saying that if I don't learn anything from the secession of the South, I'm going to get shot and die in a cornfield in Pennsylvania?"
He looked at her for a moment before he started laughing. He liked this girl. She was smart and spunky... a lot like Eames. "No, Carrie. Not quite."
She opened the front door, which he took and held for her. She stopped in front of him and looked up at him. "So convince me that studying the War of 1812 is going to improve my life or make me a better hire than someone who is clueless about the battle of New Orleans."
She continued toward the dining room, and he followed her. "It sounds to me like you already know quite a bit about it."
"Just because I know it doesn't mean I like it."
"Hm. I've always loved history."
She looked at him, mystified. "Why?"
He gave it some thought as they stopped outside the dining room door. "It has always interested me, like cars and fishing."
"It must be a guy thing."
"No. My partner likes cars and fishing, too."
"Like I said, a guy thing."
"No," he repeated. "My partner's not a guy."
She pulled open the door and looked at him. "Really?"
"Really."
As they approached the table, a door on the far side of the room opened and a woman came through carrying a large bowl in her hands. He stepped toward her and took the bowl from her. "Here, let me help."
He set it on the table as Carrie said, "This is our new guest, Mom."
She smiled at him, but it was a tired smile. "Welcome," she said. "I am Martha Rasden."
He smiled back with a nod. "Bobby Goren. You have a nice place here."
"Thank you."
"Um, do you need any more help?"
"No, thank you. You are a guest here. Carrie, please come and get the tea."
"I'm coming, Mom."
She handed her textbook to Goren and followed her mother into the kitchen. He smiled and leafed through the book before he placed it on a table in a far corner of the room. The door he and Carrie had come through banged open and a young boy trotted in, followed shortly by a man and a woman. Carrie came in from the kitchen, placed a pitcher of iced tea on the table and addressed her brother. "Hey, Squirt, this is the guest I told you about."
A look of awe crossed the boy's face. "Are you really a New York detective?"
"Yes."
"Can I see your badge?"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge, handing it to the boy. Freddie turned it over in his hands and said, "Wow...This is sooo cool!"
The door to the kitchen opened again and Martha returned to the room, saying hello to the other two guests and scolding her children. "Carrie, Freddie, leave the man alone and sit down."
Freddie handed back the gold shield as they took their places at the table, steering Goren toward the chair between them. Martha rolled her eyes as she took her place at the head of the table. She picked up a serving bowl, which apparently signalled the start of the meal.
As bowls of vegetables and a platter of carved turkey made their way around the table, Carrie introduced Goren to the other two guests. Patrick Harris was a traveling salesman, a self-described "remnant of a dying breed." Dressed in a suit, he was a young man, in his late twenties, with the air of a hustler about him. His dark hair was already touched with gray, and the small wrinkles around his mouth told Goren he was a smoker. He wore a wedding band on his left hand. Carrie introduced the woman as a nurse named Regina Drake who was in town with her fiance for his brother's wedding. At the moment, her fiance, named Bill, was at his brother's bachelor party and she had been to her future sister-in-law's bridal shower that afternoon. She was pretty, full-bodied and young, with a large engagement ring on her left hand.
Goren didn't involve himself much in the dinner conversation, preferring to watch those around him as he was wont to do. Harris monopolized much of the conversation, saving him from being more involved in it. He was certain Regina had taken more than a couple glasses of wine during the afternoon's bridal shower, since her face was flushed and she was almost too interested in the salesman's stories. His impression of Martha was a positive one. She seemed to be an attentive mother, responding to her children with patience and affection. Carrie and Freddie were well mannered, at least pretending to listen to Harris' stories, though he recognized the look of boredom when he glanced at each of them. He smiled to himself. He knew the feeling...
Halfway through the meal, a pager on Harris' belt went off. "Please, excuse me," he said as he hurried for the door.
Now what did a travelling salesman need with a pager? As if reading his mind, Carrie leaned toward him and said, "His wife is expecting and due to deliver any time."
"And he's here?"
"She's in New Jersey, so he can be there in a few hours."
"Carrie," her mother scolded. "I'm sure Mr. Goren has no interest in Mr. Harris' personal life."
He offered Martha a smile. "She's not bothering me," he assured her.
"That's kind of you, but she still shouldn't gossip."
"It's not gossip if it's true, Mom, and it's nothing bad. Just information. He's a cop; they live for that stuff."
He almost choked on his tea. She was right about one thing--he was always seeking information about people. That was just how he was. But as a cop... "We're interested in information if it's relevent to a crime. Mrs. Harris' imminent delivery doesn't really constitute a crime."
Freddie laughed. "I like you," he said.
Regina coughed politely and said, "I am going to excuse myself. I am going to meet some friends for a movie and I really have to go. Thank you for dinner. It was wonderful." She smiled at Goren. "It was nice to meet you, detective."
He smiled at her and rose as she got up. Martha smiled, as much at his manners as at the young woman. "Enjoy your movie."
That left Goren alone with the family after Harris poked his head in and said he had to hurry home, but to save his room because he'd be back the next day. Martha looked at her remaining guest. "You have nice manners," she observed.
"My mother made certain her sons had manners."
"She raised you well."
That was a matter of opinion... "Thank you."
Carrie looked up at him. "So do you like being a cop?"
Relieved at the change of topic, he nodded. "Yes, I do."
"Do you get to shoot people?" Freddie asked.
"Frederick!" his mother said, apalled.
Goren just laughed. "It's ok," he assured her, turning to Freddie. "No. I don't get to shoot people. I prefer to use words so I don't have to shoot people."
"That's boring," the boy said.
"No, it's not boring. When you shoot people, they die, and death is forever. I don't want to do that to someone unless I absolutely have to."
"Well, have you ever been shot?"
"Yes. It hurts. A lot." His face was stern. "It's not all guns and shooting, Freddie."
"So what's it like?"
"It's one of those jobs described as hours and hours of sheer boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror. Translated, that means lots of paperwork. Shootings generate a lot more paperwork, so we try not to shoot people."
Carrie was interested. "Have you ever been scared?"
"Of course I have."
"What scared you the most?"
That was easy. "When my partner got shot."
"Why did that scare you if she was the one who was shot?"
"It's, uh, not easy to explain."
Freddie leaned forward. "She?" He wrinkled his nose. "Your partner's a she?"
He looked at him. "Yes, my partner's a she. And don't look like that. She's a good partner."
"You mean you don't want a guy for a partner?"
"No, Freddie. I don't want anyone else for a partner. I've had guys as partners. A lot of them. She's the best partner I've ever had."
"Why?" Carrie asked.
Why? There were hundreds of reasons. He pushed his empty plate away and looked at the children, first one, then the other. "She always stands by me, and she's never let me down. I trust her, and that's very important to me."
"You're uncomfortable," Carrie observed.
He shook his head. "No. But I do need to go. It's getting late." He looked at their mother. "Thank you for dinner."
"If the children bothered you..."
He shook his head. "They didn't. They're great kids." He gently nudged Carrie. "Study that history. It is important."
He ruffled Freddie's hair as he got up and left the room. The children were just being children, but the truth of the matter was that the conversation had disturbed him. It wasn't their fault. If his mind weren't in such a turmoil, it wouldn't have bothered him, but in his current state...
Back in his room, he changed into sweats again and headed to the beach. It was dark, but there was a quarter moon out, adding to the lights from the seaside motels and businesses. Looking out to sea, though, he saw nothing but darkness. A cold wind blew inland across the water and he shivered. He started running, slowly at first, but his mind began to wander. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, his heartbeat, and he ran harder. He wasn't letting his mind travel tonight...just his body...
