A/N: Wow… again, it's been a while. While this is an update, sadly, it is just a filler. ducks behind large rock Don't kill me yet! The real chapter will be up shortly. I wrote this Monday and meant to update it then, but homework… it's the damnedest thing. Also, I was rereading this and I noticed that in the second chapter, I created Lauren as a seventeen-year-old. In chapter three, however, the flashback in which she was fifteen was four years previous. To correct this mistake, I ask you to ignore her age in Chapter Two. She is really nineteen and just graduated high school. She was held back in kindergarten, which will be explained later.
Dedication:
This is to honor the men and women who lost their lives five years ago. May their memories live on forever and their sacrifices not be in vain. God bless America.
Captain Deakins,
The presence of you and your squad is requested at Borough Hall on Monday, September 11, 2006 for a memorial service to honor our comrades, family members, friends, and fellow citizens who lost their lives five years ago. The service will start and 10:00 in the morning. Full uniform is required. The commanding officers of each squad will be making brief speeches to honor those lost. Please have one prepared. In addition, there will be a group to sing patriotic songs. We are in need of a few more members. If you have any suggestions, we will be welcome to consider them.
It is understood that there are many people affiliated with your squad, but not members of the NYPD. They are welcome to join us. We await your response.
Sincerely
Charles Sanders, Chief of Detectives
James Deakins read the letter over one more time. It was hard to believe that it had already been five years since 9/11. Five years since he lost countless friends and colleagues. Five years since the first foreign, direct attack on US soil since the War of 1812 (Hawaii was not a state when Pearl Harbor was bombed). Five years since thousands of lives had been shattered. Yes, it was a day he remembered well.
FLASHBACK
It was a sunny autumn day. Pleasant. He had a meeting with the new ADA… what's his name… Oh, Carver. The previous ADA, Melissa Greenewood was a kickass attorney. She got a conviction nine times out of ten. But, she was offered a better job… in California... damn California.
He heard a muffled boom and shrugged. It's New York - strange sounds were commonplace. It wasn't until ten minutes later that Gregory Mitchell, who had been on the Force for thirty-six years, came running into the squad room out of breath that he realized something was wrong.
Between gasps Greg managed to say, "Turn on the TV... There's… been an… attack… on the World Trade Center." For a moment a dropped pin could have been heard. Then everyone clamored for the television set. There, on Fox, was live footage of the first tower burning.
As if hypnotized, the squad room watched in a daze as a second plane hit. For several minutes every eye was glued to the screen. No one spoke. They watched with bated breath.
Then Greg spoke up. "We need to help."
Everyone turned to Deakins expectantly. He sighed, not wanting to send any of his detectives into such a dangerous situation, but it had to be done. "Alright. Mitchell, Anderson, Dufrey, Cullen… are you willing to go?"
The four of them nodded. Deakins continued, "Then take any willing uniformeds and go. I need the rest of you to stay here in case something else happens. Be careful." Again they nodded and left with seven uniformeds.
Only Dufrey and two uniformeds came back.
END FLASHBACK
He still regretted the decision to send his men out. Dufrey saw Cullen, his partner and closest friend and confidant, die by being crushed by a falling ceiling beam while getting survivors out. He committed suicide a month later because he couldn't bear the pain.
One uniformed, Ashleigh Cole, was awarded a medal of honor for bravery and then promoted to detective five months later. There were, however, whispers that she had the most God-awful nightmares, but nothing was said to prove or disprove the rumors.
The other, David Houseman, quit the force and moved to a small, virtually crime-free town in Kansas.
Deakins stood and exited his office and reentered the squad room. To get everyone's attention, he rapped an empty desk. No one heard. He sighed (which he noticed he was doing a lot of lately) and let out an ear-piercing whistle. Everyone quieted.
Projecting his voice, he began, "We all know that Monday is the five- year anniversary of 9/11. At 10:00 am, there will be a memorial service at Borough Hall. The dress is formal uniform, and everyone is expected to attend. Also, anyone not on the Force, but is still in anyway affiliated with it is permitted to attend."
Deakins looked at Lauren as he said this, and a few people chucked. In the three months that Lauren had worked on the 11th floor of One Police Plaza, she had become a solid fixture in the squad room: the first person visible upon entry, a friendly face to greet you with coffee every morning… and speaking of coffee, hers was the best the unit had in years. That wasn't StarbucksÔ or Dunkin' DonutsÔ, that is.
She smiled, "Good to know, Captain. I'll be there."
He nodded. "One last thing: I've been asked to pass along a request. For the memorial, there will be a group to sing a selection of patriotic songs. The Chief is looking for volunteers. If anyone is interested, see me sometime today."
And with that, he returned to his office.
After Deakins left, Lauren made her way from her desk to Bobby's. She plopped herself on top of it and looked at him. Bobby looked up expectantly, knowing that something was on her mind and waited for her to say it. "Can we talk somewhere private?" she asked.
He looked at her with concern evident in his eyes. "Uh, sure. C'mon." Bobby led her into an empty interrogation room and closed the door. "I know this isn't perfect for a, um, heart to heart talk but…"
"It's private. It'll work." Lauren sat down in a chair, elbows on the table and head in hands. Bobby took the seat next to her, reminding himself to be patient for her to open up. Even though they were in the environment in which he thrived, Lauren wasn't a suspect. He couldn't force answers out of her.
She took a deep breath. "How do you deal with it?"
"Deal with what?" Bobby asked quietly.
"This," Lauren motioned to the room around her, "the violence that you see on a regular basis, the fact that in three days, you'll be going to a memorial service for men and women who were friends and comrades, the depravity of the world."
He sighed, so that's what this was about. "You haven't talked to Dr. Skoda about this yet?" Lauren had been seeing the psychiatrist from the 2-7 since her mother's death.
She shook her head, "No, I haven't. To be perfectly honest, I didn't think I ever would, but working here, seeing the reports of some of the things you deal with, it's been hard. I don't want to leave. I love you all, but it gets difficult – makes me happy you aren't with SVU. I don't know if I could handle it there."
Bobby took one of her hands in both of his. "I know it's difficult," he said, "But someone has to do it. I feel better knowing that what I do is for the good of the city, and when I was in the army, the good of my country. I guess that's why I do it. It never gets easier, though, and I'd be worried if it did."
Lauren scooted her chair closer to his and rested her head on his shoulder. Bobby enveloped her in a hug. "Thanks, Uncle Bobby, I needed that."
He smiled at the endearment. While they found out that Lauren was indeed the daughter of Richard Goren, Bobby never expected her to call him "uncle". She was an adult now and didn't need a father figure anymore, right?
How wrong he was. She was like a child in some respects, looking up to him and wanting everything to please her "daddy". In three months, he became the closest thing she had to a father, and she was his little girl.
Lauren straightened up and asked, "So… do you want to volunteer with me to sing for the service?"
Bobby looked surprised, "Um… well… I don't think…"
The nineteen-year-old pouted and adopted the "puppy eyes", "Please, for me? I know you can sing well."
Bobby chuckled. "Oh, alright… Wait, how do you know I can sing?"
Grinning, Lauren replied, "Have you already forgotten that I've stayed at your apartment a few times? You sing in the shower!"
Blushing, Bobby defended, "I didn't think you could hear."
Lauren laughed. "C'mon, let's tell Captain Deakins that we're singing". They stood and exited the interrogation room together.
Approaching his office, the captain motioned for them to come in. "Are you here to volunteer to sing?" he asked, looking to Bobby in surprise. That's one person he wasn't expecting.
Nodding, Lauren replied, "Yes, sir."
Deakins pulled out a piece of paper. "I'm supposed to indicate what voice parts you are".
"I'm an alto," Lauren supplied.
He then looked to Bobby who looked to Lauren, "He's a baritone, Captain."
Deakins wrote it down. "Alright," he said, "You both are expected to be there and hour early to rehearse. Lauren, you will have to borrow a uniform from someone to make the choir look uniform. I'm sure Eames will let you borrow her extra since you both are about the same size."
Lauren nodded again, "Yes, sir, I'll ask her."
"Good."
Bobby and Lauren stood and left the office. Walking back to his desk, Bobby asked, "You're an alto? You don't strike me as one."
Lauren laughed, "Never could I ever be a soprano two, let alone a soprano one. Well, if I've been warming up for an hour, then I could hit a second soprano's highest note, and let's face it; I don't have the time to warm up for an hour. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need coffee."
While she poured herself some coffee, Mike Logan walked up to her. "Did I ever tell you that you make the best coffee I've ever had?"
Lauren looked up to him. With a very straight face, but eyes dancing with mirth, she replied, "One, that is the worst pick-up line I have ever heard, and two, I don't go for older men. Sorry, Logan, but we just won't work out."
Mike let out a bark of laughter, "Touché, but really you make great coffee."
She sighed, "What do you want, Logan?"
He reached over for a Styrofoam cup. "Oh, nothing. Just information."
Lauren rolled her eyes, "Info on what, precisely?"
"Goren and Eames," Mike answered.
Looking at him curiously, Lauren asked, "What about them?"
"Have they admitted their feelings to each other yet?"
Lauren glanced back to Bobby's and Alex's desks. They were deep in conversation, Alex smiling a little and Bobby looking at nothing but her. Hmm… I thought I was the only one who noticed.
"Yet?" she questioned. "I thought I was the only one who noticed."
Logan grinned, "It's obvious to everyone here, with the exception of Deakins and themselves."
"Hmm…"
"Y'know what? I'll bet you thirty bucks that they hook up by Christmas," Mike suggested.
Smirking, Lauren retorted, "Sorry, I don't take suckers' bets".
Logan grinned, mock saluted her, then walked away. She shook her head and walked back to her desk to finish her work.
September 11, 2006
Lauren and Bobby entered Borough Hall together at 8:55 the morning of the memorial service. Both were in uniform, even though Lauren's was borrowed. They followed the signs to an empty conference room where the choir was congregating. Signing in, they were directed to the proper sections.
With a "see you later", Lauren walked over to her section. Going over her voice exercises in her head, she wasn't paying attention to where she was walking. She hit something solid.
"Oh! I'm so sorry!" she apologized. She looked up into the most amazing green eyes she had ever seen. Oh, wow. They're beautiful. Hey! He looks my age.
Lauren laughed self-consciously, "Well, I feel really embarrassed."
He smiled, "Hey, it's no problem. I wasn't looking either. My name's Joe, by the way, Joe McGowan. I'm out of the 1-9", he introduce with an outstretched hand.
She shook it. "Lauren Grant. I'm working a desk job at Major Case."
"Really?" he asked interestedly. "What's it like working in such a high profile unit?"
"Eh," she shrugged, "I don't get to be in the spotlight so it's okay."
Lauren studied Joe. He was tall, not as tall as Bobby, but a respectable six-two with chestnut-brown hair. Broad shouldered, he would be a powerful presence in a squad room in a few years, and an intimidated detective should he be promoted.
"So, how old are you?" she asked.
"Twenty-one," he answered, "and you?"
"Nineteen," she replied.
"Alright, everyone! If you could gather in your groups, we'll start rehearsing!" The conductor shouted over the din.
"I'll see you afterwards?" Joe asked.
"Uh, sure."
And they parted ways.
After an hour and a half of practice, the group walked up the stairs to the backstage of the auditorium.
"Okay, everyone," the conductor whispered, "we're singing in five."
From behind the curtain, Lauren could hear the muffled sound of Deakins' voice. He must be giving a speech. Then there was a round of polite applause and then quiet.
From her place on the bottom riser, Lauren pushed down the feeling of butterflies in her stomach. Then the curtain opened. The auditorium at Borough Hall was filled with people. If anyone from outside wanted to come in, it was standing room only. Every officer there looked intimidating in full uniform.
The piano began to play.
Watching the conductor and counting in her head, Lauren waited through the intro. Then they began to sing:
Breathes there a man with soul so dead.
Who never to himself hath said?
This is my own, my native land,
This is my native land.
--
This is my country! Land of my birth!
This is my country! Grandest on earth!
I pledge thee my allegiance, America, the bold,
For this is my country to have and to hold.
--
What difference if I hail from North or South
Or from the East or West
My heart is full of love for all of these.
I only know I swell with pride and deep within my breast,
I thrill to see old glory paint the breeze!
--
This is my country! Land of my birth!
This is my country! Grandest on earth!
I pledge thee my allegiance, America, the bold,
For this is my country to have and to hold.
A/N: Wow. This was a pretty difficult chapter to write especially the beginning. As always, I own nothing recognizable, and flames will be used to burn my old biology workbook. Review, please!