Title: Remember Me?

Author: spookycc

Summary: Years ago, Robert Goren sent away a notorious drug dealer. But not without parole…

Spoilers: References to Endgame, Brother's Keeper

Timeline: This story takes place after US Season 6.

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone in here, except for Gene Palmer, who is my own creation. The LOCI characters belong to Dick Wolf and NBC/USA/Universal. I'm just taking them for a spin, and I'll return them relatively unharmed. Note the term "relatively" - if you've read my X-Files Doggettfic, you'll know what I mean ((wg)).

First chapter full-sentence italics are to indicate the note Goren gets.

Italics later in the story are first-person Bobby Goren.

Reviews devoured - I'm still trying to hit my stride channeling Goren.

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Robert Goren's Apartment The Bronx, NYC

The local market wasn't crowded. Not at this time of night. Even in the City that Never Sleeps, some of the residents here in the Bronx did, at this hour. Very few vendors stayed open this late, but it was the most convenient time for Detective First Grade Robert Goren to pick up groceries on his way home from work.

He had just made the tedious drive, from 1PP in Manhattan, to his neighborhood. Not many cops could afford to live in the city's most expensive borough, and Goren was no exception. So he lived as close as he could - next door, so to speak, in the Bronx.

Goren wandered through the market, small in space but rich in variety, and tiredly picked through produce and the like. He was dead-tired, as he often felt of late. They had laid his mother to rest less than a month before. Goren sighed. His brother Frank hadn't even made it to the funeral...

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Goren shouldered open his apartment door, and set four bags of groceries on the counter. After he put everything away, he ambled out to the hall and unlocked his mailbox.

When he opened the mailbox door, fliers and junk mail fell into his hands, along with the usual bills. Goren sat down in the living room and flipped on the TV, rifling through the mail in his lap.

One envelope caught his attention, hand-written, with no return address. Goren slipped a finger under the flap and opened it, and a small piece of paper fell out into his hand.

"Hello, Bobby. Long time no see. I'd apologize for that, but it's your fault, after all.

"I met up with someone you know this week. Your brother. You know, I think he'd actually kicked the heroin habit until our paths crossed. Now I'm taking care of him."

Goren's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't seen Frank since the week their mother died. When Frank had asked about her "financial affairs".

"If you want your brother back, call me at 212-555-9891. Don't bother tracing it; it's a disposable cell phone. I'll tell you where to meet us.

"Don't call in no other cops, Bobby. Or your brother is a goner."

Goren flipped open his own cell and dialed the number on the letter, without hesitation. It was answered on the fourth ring.

"Hello, Bobby," purred the voice on the other end of the line.

Lights went on in Goren's mind as he placed the voice. "Gene Palmer. What... what the hell do you want?"

"I thought that answer was evident, Bobby. I want you."

"What about Frank?" Goren pursued.

"I don't want that junkie. As soon as I have you, I'll let him go."

"How do I know you even have my brother?" Goren had been set up before, and he wasn't going to put himself at risk for nothing.

"Hang on..." the line was quiet for a moment, then another voice Bobby knew came on the line.

"Hey, little brother, how're you doin'?" the speech was slurred, overly relaxed, but it was Frank's voice, alright.

"Convinced?" Palmer chided Goren.

"OK... OK..." Goren stalled the man as he thought ahead. "Where can we meet?"

"Got a pen handy?"

"Um - yeah, go ahead." Goren scribbled the vague directions Palmer gave him. "OK, I have it - I got it."

"I'll be waiting, Bobby. Remember, NO cops. One glimpse of anyone who even looks like NYPD, other than you, and Frank is dead."

"How do I know you won't kill Frank even if I come alone?" Goren pushed for any assurance at all.

"You don't." The line went dead.

Goren swallowed, hard. He thought about calling Eames, or Logan, but only for a moment. He didn't think about calling Ross at all. He couldn't take that chance. He stuffed the directions in his pocket, and went out to his truck.

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Rural Cabin

Near Fillmore Glen State Park

Moravia NY

Goren parked as close as he dared to the cabin where he had been told his brother was being held. He pulled a flashlight from his glove box and turned it on. Checking the area warily, he unholstered his weapon and strode purposefully toward the clearing where the cabin sat. It looked deserted. Goren knew it probably wasn't.

He had only taken several steps when he heard a rustling behind him, and he whirled, gun in hand. A startled doe scrambled back into the brush and loped away.

If the situation had not been so serious, Robert Goren might have found humor in the scene - a towering NYPD detective nearly frightened by a deer.

Goren turned quickly back toward the cabin, and resumed his approach.

He opened the squeaky, rotting door, flashlight and gun leading his way in.

Inside the cabin, his light revealed a man seated on a straight chair, facing him. Palmer. A gun was in his hand, too. But Goren's eyes were drawn to the corner, where a man lay on a bed, atop a threadbare blanket. The man on the bed looked up at Bobby.

It was Frank. He looked a little strung-out, but no more than when Bobby had seen him outside a church in the city, not long ago.

For his part, Palmer remained seated, his gun pointed squarely at Goren's chest. "Put the gun down, and Frank leaves here."

Goren hesitated, fairly sure he could not trust Palmer, but not knowing yet what other options he had.

"Do it. Now."

Goren turned his attention back to his older brother. "You OK, Frank?"

Frank pulled himself to a sitting position. "I'm fine, Bobby. How are you?"

Goren shook his head. Frank didn't even know what was going on.

Palmer stood, bringing Goren's attention back to him. "Bobby, I'm not gonna tell you again. Put the gun down, and I let Frank go. Otherwise, I'll just shoot you, and keep him... your choice."

"You said... you said you didn't even want him," Goren pursued.

"True, true, but if you refuse me, what choice do I have?"

"Let us both go. I'll see to it that no.. no charges are filed, get you help."

Palmer laughed, and spat on the floor in front of Goren. "I don't want help, Bobby. I want revenge." He kept his eyes on Goren, but pointed the gun now at Frank. "If you don't believe I'll shoot you, maybe you'd believe this more?"

Palmer pulled the trigger, deliberately missing Frank, but not by much. His eyes never left the detective, still armed, in front of him.

"I'm losing my patience, Bobby," Palmer hissed. "And if you recall, I don't have that much to start with."

Goren kept his gun in his hand, but raised both hands slowly above his head. "OK. OK..."

"Lay your gun on the floor, and kick it over toward me."

Goren very slowly did as he was instructed. Palmer nodded to Frank. "Get outta here."

Frank raised himself from the bed and walked toward Bobby, weaving only slightly. Palmer hadn't even gotten him as high as he used to get himself, Goren mused.

Goren reached into his pocket for his truck keys.

"No tricks," Palmer watch the detective to make sure he didn't have another weapon.

"Here. Take my truck." Goren handed the keys to his brother. Frank, for his part, never acknowledged the action, nor indeed the situation. He took the keys from Bobby's hand, and left the cabin without a backward glance.

Goren stood with both hands raised, looking for a way to outmaneuver Palmer. There wasn't much time left, he didn't think, until any chance would be gone.

Palmer leaned over to pick up Goren's gun, and the detective saw his last best chance. He leaped at the ex-con, and had his fingers around his own gun for a milli-second before a blow from the butt of Palmer's gun rendered the big detective unconscious...

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Palmer pulled a tourniquet around Goren's arm and tied it off tightly, no easy feat since the detective was struggling against his bonds. The tourniquet didn't have to be that tight, but it pleased Palmer to make Goren more uncomfortable.

"Keep your damn arm still!" Palmer hissed, trying to hit the vein in Goren's arm while the detective jerked away. Goren's hands and feet were tied securely to the chair on which he sat, but that wasn't making it much easier.

Goren pulled back, rocking the chair, and kept his arms moving as much as he could. He saw the crazed look in Palmer's eyes, and knew this was his last chance to avoid the needle.

"Son of a bitch!" Palmer threw the needle on the table, and landed a solid punch on Goren's jaw. The detective's chair flew backward, and his head hit the floor. Hard.

"That should help." Palmer pulled the chair back on its legs with some difficulty. "Damn, you've gained a little weight there, Bobby. You been desk-jockeying lately?"

Goren was in no condition to answer. Semi-conscious, his head lolled to the side as Palmer retrieved the needle from the table, and injected the contents into Goren's vein.

Then Palmer sat back and waited. With a smile... He could have seen the results a lot more quickly if he hadn't knocked Goren out.

Whatever...

Goren awoke only slowly, and was surprised to feel no pain. He felt warm, flushed, and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. But he wasn't worried. For the first time in forever, he wasn't worried about how he felt, or why he felt that way...

"Hey, welcome back, Bobby! I see you're feelin' no pain." Palmer grinned down at him.

Goren shook his head and instantly wished he hadn't. He was dizzy, relaxed, and his mind was fuzzy.

Palmer untied Goren's hands and feet, and pulled the taller man to a standing position. Goren wobbled and nearly fell - Palmer supported him until he could stand on his own.

"Well? How do you like it, man?"

Goren shook his head, more slowly this time. "L--like what?"

"Heroin, Bobby - my stock and trade, until you busted me!"

Goren's muddled mind attempted to make sense of what Palmer said, without much success.

"I wanna give you a little taste of what it was like for me to go through involuntary detox, when you had me thrown in prison. But first, I gotta get you hooked."

TBC

Please R&R?