Sorry for the long delay, but I was so whacked from the last exams and the tour through half Europe I did with my Dad.
Thanks EVERYONE who's read and reviewed the first two chapters: Hargiteam42, cifan, betty keen, JadeEyes9, judeey, Serienjunkie91, Handmade Freak, Oxiate, YaneDirnt20 and rangergaray.
I promise the next ones will be a) shorter and b) follow up quicker. :D
Sorry for the loads of digging and detail but I'm just such a psycho, loving to explore characters. The story will really continue soon.
Please also don't frown at a bit more - free - realizations of "Amends". Some of those scenes I wrote from memory. *blushes*
So, everything's said... and chapter four already in the making. :D
CHAPTER 3 ~ REFLECTIONS
I don't only feel like a dead rat I also look like one, Alex thought sarcastically when she looked in the mirror of the Women's bathroom; after the first shock about her appearance had ceased.
Her hair hung around her face in slack tresses. The make-up she'd applied in the morning had mostly vanished and no longer hid the deep wrinkles that had etched into the corners of her mouth and eyes and her forehead. Her nose stuck out from between her hollow cheeks like a stiletto and a pair of dull eyes with dark circles around them stared back at her. She looked at least five if not ten years older and she was only thirty-eight.
She turned away, washed her hands, then dug brush and make-up out of her purse. She combed her hair and tied it in a ponytail. Then she reapplied her make-up. It maybe covered the traces the last weeks had left but not took away toll they had taken.
It began five weeks ago. Kevin Quinn had been her late husband Joe's former partner and also a good friend of hers. He testified against Joe's murderer and so majorly contributed to him being put behind bars.
It was like déjà vu to see Theresa Quinn at the hospital. She'd seen shock and disbelief, grief and pain in her features… recognition in her eyes. They'd had the same thought that moment and this realization made her pulse quicken. However Theresa didn't answer her call but quickly turned away…
She put her stuff back into her purse and left for the elevator. Inside she pushed the button for the basement and leaned against the wall next to the panel.
Bobby had questioned Patrick Copa, Quinn's partner who wasn't present during the shooting. He contradicted himself when it came to his alibi and Bobby didn't let go until he got the truth out of him: that he'd met a few streets north of the crime scene with a hooker he knew for a quickie.
However that wasn't the reason Copa got so mad at her partner. It was because Bobby dismissed his identification of Johnny Sang as the man who he'd seen running away from the crime scene. Sang was head of one of the rivaling drug circles Quinn and Copa investigated against and him being put away would've been a great success in the Department's war against drugs. Copa however suffered from a visual defect and hadn't been too pleased to be reminded of it by her partner.
Less than an hour after he'd stormed off the Chief of Detectives appeared. It amazed her how stoic Bobby had taken the Chief's tirade and how he defended his point. It was a miracle that the Chief didn't fire him right away due to the stress Bobby's... special nature caused on the executive floor. To her greatest surprise and according to his disbelieving look also surprising for him, Ross had backed him up although this would have been a great opportunity to get rid of his greatest trouble shooter-
The elevator came to a halt with a jerk and a low "pling" and the doors slid apart. She exited and went to her car. She got in but didn't fasten the seatbelt. Her mind drifted back to the confrontation with Quinn's wife…
She'd driven to the Quinn house to talk to Theresa.
"I never told you," Theresa said, "but nine years ago… after seeing you in the hospital when Joe…" her voice broke and she took a shaky breath "I was relieved that it hit you and not Kevin and me." She burst into tears.
She was dumbfounded, not sure what to answer.
"I k-know I-I'm h-horrible," sobbed Theresa and gave her a pleading look, "but I j-just-"
"It's okay," she'd assured her and put her arm around her shoulders.
"R-really?"
"I probably would've felt the same."
They fell silent. Theresa's crying slowly ceased. Finally she raised her head and gave her a piercing look.
"Patrick called me. Is it true that your partner let the man who shot Kevin go?"
She'd hesitated. If she agreed she'd automatically denounce her partner and it could have drastic consequences for Bobby. She didn't want that. Despite his carelessness for the rules he always stayed loyal to her and tried to adapt for her sake. It would be illoyal. When she bent the truth a bit however Theresa not necessarily would notice it but she would feel shabby for having done so. The woman had just lost her husband and had stuck with her after she'd lost hers.
"Patrick has an eye defect, Theresa," she finally answered, "he could've never clearly recognized the man who ran away from their car. He could barely in plain light. Even if we would've turned a blind eye it would've come out at court." She paused briefly. "I can't promise you that we'll get him, but we – my partner {i}and{/i} I – will do anything we can to get him."
Theresa didn't buy it but she didn't say anything, only gave her a skeptic look and a slight nod.
She'd meant every word and cleared the obstacle well enough, but there was still a foul taste about it. She sighed and started the engine and navigated the SUV out of the narrow underground car park. One block before the ramp to the bridge she had to stop at a red light…
Bobby had driven her to Quinn's reception the next day. When he'd parked the SUV opposite of the Quinn house he'd hesitated.
"What?" she asked.
"Go inside alone. I assume they wouldn't be too happy to see me in there and... I won't ask that of you."
A warm feeling rushed through her at his consideration for her, but a also sadness because he couldn't express his condolences like everyone else. His procedure with Copa had indeed annoyed many colleagues and Copa didn't exactly contribute to making it stop, on the contrary.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah, I'll wait here."
Being at Kevin's reception felt unreal. It mirrored Joe's, only that it wasn't her who received comforting words or got told funny stories of the deceased. She condoled with Theresa again, her children, Kevin's friends. They all recognized her and were grateful for her words. Some even asked her how she was doing. Most of them knew about Joe and had been at the hospital with her nine years ago.
"You know the strange thing?" she asked Bobby when they drove back to work. "After Joe's… death all these people I saw again at Kevin's reception were at the hospital with me after he was shot. I got all these offers, you know? 'Whatever you need, just ask. We'll be there for you.' And so on. It only took a short time and no one was there anymore. They'd all forgotten. I saw them again for the first time in {i}eight{/i} years."
She felt the hurt from then again and regret that it probably would be the same with Theresa. She vowed silently that she'd not forget. She'd felt so lost and forsaken then…
Bobby nervously cleared his throat, shifting restlessly in his seat, his large hands clutching to the wheel so firm that his knuckles turned white.
"You know, after such a loss you just… shut down. When you don't let anyone get near you you mustn't admit to anyone how you really feel… feel at all. You can pretend that… it isn't real. When someone's there who was with you during or shortly after the loss, witnessed it…"
His already strained voice finally broke and he briefly covered his eyes with his large hand. He didn't look at her and swallowed a few times. Then he took in a shaky breath.
That moment she realized how much it took him to say these few words. He'd forced them out, wasn't ready yet to talk about it, but did nevertheless to give her comfort. He'd strictly refused to talk about his mother's death before therefore it meant a lot to her that he at least then let his walls down and shared this bit with her. It made these few moments even more precious and almost intimate.
Loud honking rudely snapped her back to reality. She gasped and flinched. "My God – I'm already gone!" she snarled, stepped on the gas and sped up the ramp of the Brooklyn Bridge. "Oh {i}no{/i}!" she groaned when she saw the still rows of cars. That was the last thing she needed now! Usually the drive to Brooklyn Heights took about fifteen minutes but with the traffic it'd take at least twice as long. While she crawled over the bridge at a walking pace her mind wandered back to the Quinn investigation.
They'd been assigned to a new murder concerning a gang member. Alfred Minaya had also testified against Joe's murderer. He'd been caught by a patrol after fleeing the crime scene and decided it was smarter to cooperate with the authorities.
You really don't do things half way, Delgado. But why now after nine years? She was totally convinced that the man who had murdered her husband was also responsible for the murders of the two men whose statements brought him behind bars. It couldn't be just a coincidence. Her partner agreed and they drove to Dannemora to question him.
The moment she saw Delgado all what she'd tried to suppress and keep under control forced itself back into her mind. Images of Joe and her together, like spotlights, suddenly replaced by his pale face with bluish lips and the ugly wound in his stomach where the bullets had hit him.
She barely could hold back when she saw these empty black eyes, his smug smile and voice saying with fake surprise that she was the last he'd expected to see. She almost jumped in his face. She wanted to shout out all her hurt and hatred, sorrow and grief at him, beat him until he understood what he'd done to her.
Bobby, sensing the uproar in her, took over the interrogation, and Delgado, obviously disturbed by her presence, eagerly turned to him. She couldn't bear the lies that dropped from Delgado's lips and left. Even less she could stand the fact that Bobby obviously believed him.
"Come on, Eames. There was no sign that he lied about his whereabouts during the murder. What he told made sense, there was no contradiction, nothing that directly hints at him."
"Do you imply that Kevin lied about this?" She was dumbfounded. "That you believe this slug in there more than a colleague?"
"I imply nothing. Kevin was exposed to a lot of stress and his testimony… would've served both the case and solving the death of his partner-"
"It was Delgado, basta! Joe and Kevin investigated undercover in Delgado's business. Joe's cover blew up and Delgado shot him. Kevin saw it and testified against him as well as Minaya. Their statements majorly contributed to put him behind bars. Last month his petition for appeal was turned down again. He ordered someone to kill them. Everything fits, what else do you need?"
He didn't reply, only shook his head what annoyed her even more. The look he gave her was something between alarm, worry and disappointment, maybe sadness. She didn't care, was too caught up in herself.
Her stomach had clenched into a tight knot when Ross called her into his office and talked about taking her off the case because of her personal involvement. That was the last thing she wanted and she really put her back into convincing him to let her stay. Ross finally gave in but only with the promise that she'd cooperate more with her partner.
She'd left Ross' office to go looking for Bobby and trying to convince him that she was right. How could he not see it? It was so clear. Why was he looking for things that weren't there? She'd found him in a conference room. She felt like sucker-punched when she saw the cork wall that was used for case presentations. She couldn't believe it. Joe's murder had nothing to do with their current case so why did he have to drag it back to the surface? She couldn't believe that he hurt her like that. She didn't even listen to him trying to justify himself. There was no excuse for this blow.
"This isn't just one of your damn puzzles, Bobby! This is my life."
Her voice cracked and she couldn't hold back her tears. She would've burst with hurt and regret, anger and sadness about his betrayal. She still remembered how he paled, pressed his lips together and his hands so firm onto the table that they'd turned white, the compassion in his dark brown eyes and the pain because of her attack.
The first lab results arrived. It turned out that both victims had been shot with the same weapon, a rare model that had only been produced and used by officers during the Vietnam War. The gun led them to a certain Emilio Delgado. She'd felt a perverse glee of satisfaction – after all this results strengthened her theory of Ray Delgado as initiator of the shootings – and almost sneered at Bobby. This urge however quickly ceased after they drove to the Delgado residence to interview Emilio. The old man suffered from advanced Parkinson and took heavy meds which made him physically unable to commit the shootings. She couldn't believe it. The new facts had fit so well. Daddy shot the men who'd put his son behind bars with their statements, his anger fueled by the petition for appeal being rejected by the parole board once again. The friendly, calm and most of all cooperative old man with the shaking limps just didn't fit.
Later they drove to the evidence storage unit in Queens because it wasn't too far away from the Delgado residence. She wanted to see through the evidence of Joe's murder. She knew that it was self-destructive but she couldn't help it. A listless officer told them after less than a half-hearted search that he couldn't find "the stuff".
"Well, then go and look again," Bobby ordered.
"Hey…"
"Listen, pal, I have no problem with coming with you. I'll tear the whole place apart until I find the box my partner Detective" the officer had only called her a scornful 'lady' "Eames wants to see. You've heard of the latest events? Quinn?" The officer nodded slightly confused, then it hit him who was talking to him and his eyes widened in disbelief. "Well, I am a whack job and you certainly don't want a sample of it; and now go back and only come back with that box!"
The officer trotted off, cursing him under their breath. She'd almost forgiven him then.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He only gave her that shy little smile he seemed to have reserved for her and nodded.
A few minutes later the officer returned with the evidence of Joe's case. Bobby began to shift restlessly next to her. He'd narrowed his eyes and gnawed on his lower lip.
"What's up?" she wanted to know.
"I just had an idea," he answered absently. "Do you care if I go after it and pick you up later?"
"Oh-kay…" she said, drawling the word, hoping that he'd fill her in. But he just turned away with a half-hearted "Bye".
Later she was glad that she was alone in the large evidence room, surrounded by shelves full of similar cartons all containing the remnants of other lives which had been ended violently. No one saw how cautious she acted with the evidence. As if they were jewelry or porcelain, old, precious and fragile. Carefully she'd taken each item out of the box and placed it on the table before her: his clothes, the cartridges of the projectiles which had killed him, his gun... No one saw how her knees buckled and she sank on the single chair, crying silent and heavily, her face buried in his bloody shirt, sensing his still familiar smell, giving in to the memories that overwhelmed her.
When Bobby picked her up later she was amazed at how busy he'd been. He'd returned to the Delgado residence to get a glance at Emilio's gun. The gun hadn't been there and Emilio seemed truly upset about its absence. She was pissed at Goren for reopening Joe's case but she trusted his judgment. He often acted like the first man but he could read those around him like books. She'd never met anyone before who had such profound knowledge of the human nature.
Emilio's grandson Victor had been there. When he learnt who Bobby was he became very nervous and tried to get away. When he asked him directly if he knew where the gun could be Victor ran. That was it. He'd called for back-up and a patrol had caught Victor a few blocks further. Bobby had managed to convince Emilio that he'd do anything possible to get Victor fair treatment and then told him about his plan. Emilio wasn't pleased but agreed. That was also a great talent of Goren. He had a knack for finding peoples' weak spot and using it to his advantage.
"Where are they?"
"At Police Plaza. I made sure that they're kept separated. Gotten there in different patrol cars and Victor doesn't know that we also brought his Granddad in. Maybe we don't even need Emilio; that would be the best. He looked at me as if I made him choose between plague and cholera."
"Understandable. When it was Victor he wants to protect him. He already lost his son; he wants to keep at least his grandson on the right track." Goren wasn't the only one who knew a bit about the human nature.
Back at Police Plaza Bobby questioned Victor in a glazed conference room. She sat at her desk a few feet away and watched them. It was pathetic how Victor tried to act cool and how at the same time his chin and lower lip quivered. A little kid, wanting to be a badass.
For a split second Bobby made eye contact with her before turning back to Victor. She nodded at the two uniforms in the corridor outside the squad room like he'd asked her to. The two cops led Emilio Delgado in while she entered the conference room.
"Goren, you've had your fun. Stop messing up the kid. Delgado Senior was just brought up from ID."
Bobby pulled a face like a disobedient kid who's Mom had taken away its favorite toy to punish it.
"That's Grandpa!"
Victor jumped up when he saw Emilio. The two officers pretended to remove handcuffs from his wrists.
"What is he doing here?" Victor's voice shook with helpless anger and he got a panicked look in his dark eyes.
"Well, his gun was used to kill Quinn and Minaya." Bobby shrugged. "He claimed he did it."
"But it was me! He has nothing to do with it!"
"C'mon, Goren, he only wants to brag. We're wasting time here."
Bobby got up and followed her.
"No it was me, me, ME!" Victor's voice cracked. "He has nothing to do with it!" He cried by now.
Bobby nodded and she went over to the officers so they'd "release" Emilio.
Victor's motive was indeed revenge. The anger and hatred towards Kevin and Minaya had boiled in him for nine years, since his father was put behind bars. He didn't know why his father was taken away from him. He only knew that his father was gone and that the two men he shot were responsible for it because of their testimony. The last drop that made him snap was the petition for appeal that the parole board had refused his father.
She could understand Victor to some extent. If it had been her father... she wouldn't have reacted that violent but certainly thought about how it would be to punish those who would've taken him away from her. She would've had a great hatred in her as well... But otherwise Victor had taken away a husband from his wife, a father from his son as well, a son who'd done nothing to him, whom he didn't even know and who ended up as traumatized as he was once and... yes, a close friend of hers. Therefore her understanding kept within... limits to put it mildly.
After Victor had been taken away, the case seemed closed. They'd gotten their confession and that was it. Later that day however they got a call from the crime lab that changed everything.
A cigarette butt found at the site of Joe's murder had been tested, but DNA tests had been inconclusive back then. Bobby had the butt tested again. The Crime Scene Technician informed them that the DNA neither belonged to Ray Delgado nor to Alfred Minaya. The reality of the third man… hadn't reached her. She'd shut down emotionally, switched back into investigator mode. That had made getting through the investigation till the bitter end more bearable. What Ross had earlier openly denied her now kicked back in: emotional distance.
They got the final lead from the Minaya family, that at the time the crime occurred Alfred and his young cousin Manny were inseparable.
Her stomach had rolled and churned when she'd faced the man who'd murdered her husband for the first time: an idealistic, bright surgeon in his mid-twenties, a life saver, no longer a lifetaker. While she listened to Bobby gently leading the young man back to the night nine years ago she had to muster the little strength still in her to not lose it completely. She almost did when Beltran realized what her partner was talking about and burst into tears.
"My God, I didn't want to murder him! You have to believe me. I wasn't even sixteen… I was so messed up back then. My cousin… Alfred was my best friend, my confidant.
I know it's nuts but I felt… like I belonged to something, someone. I tumbled through life with no purpose and nowhere to go and then… I found a place where I was welcomed and acknowledged. I didn't care who or what they were. I even found it cool." He shook his head.
"That night I went with Alfred and… Delgado?" she nodded, unable to speak because of the huge lump in her throat. "They met with a man… to do business. Alfred told me to stay in the background. Suddenly the three started to argue and the man stuck his hand into his pocket…
At the place Delgado and Alfred hung out were lots of guns and I… felt cool and important when I held them and such and so… I took one. I shot the guy… Later I read in the papers that he only wanted to pull his shield. But I didn't know that! I thought he pulled a gun and wanted to protect my cousin. Please, it was an accident!"
She could barely hold back her tears. An accident! Her life had been destroyed, her love ripped away from her by a stupid kid. She wanted to hate him so badly for it, but she couldn't. The young doctor, swimming in tears, confessing so voluntary, giving her the answers she so desperately yearned for, so eagerly, took even that away from her.
"Manny Beltran," she'd announced in a flat, almost mechanical voice she barely recognized as her own "you're arrested for the murder of Joseph Dutton."
"I didn't even know who he was, if he had a wife or children…" His voice finally cracked.
We never had a chance to find out, she thought, then took a deep breath to regain control about her raging emotions before saying aloud: "He was a damn good cop."
The traffic slowly dissolved and less than ten minutes later she turned into his street and parked. She killed the engine but didn't get out. Instead she looked around.
Directly to her right was an iron banister, separating a promenade from the street. Benches were scattered about it and old people or couples, baby carriages "parked" next to them, or with children sat in the sun and talked to each other. Others walked or bladed the promenade, again others cycled on a separate cycle track. She looked beyond it, over the East River to Governor's Island and Liberty Island far off. She quickly turned away again because the sun sparkling on the water blinded her.
To her left slender houses in decked colors with beautiful ornaments on their facades and neatly trimmed front yards stood in row. Several cars passed hers. The drivers looked at her – curious, suspicious, some annoyed. Some of them were greeted by their families, wives and children. It was a quiet, idyllic little oasis in the jungle called New York City, where the world still was intact. The last place one would expect Robert Goren to live. Everything seemed so average, almost bourgeois and Bobby wasn't both.
She hesitated. Of course she wanted to talk to him, wanted to hear with her own ears what he'd told Ross. On the other hand she wasn't sure at how to approach him.
They once could read each other's minds, knew each other's needs or how to work a subject or crime scene. They'd been in tune. She'd gotten a glimpse at that again when they'd tricked Victor into confessing the shootings of Quinn and Minaya. It had hurt to watch Bobby coaxing it out of him. It had reminded her of the time not too long ago. It seemed so far away now, so unreachable... She felt tears sting in her eyes. She blinked several times to clear her vision and took in a shaky breath.
Now they were more estranged than they'd even been in their first year, when she'd still been taken aback and, yes, sometimes disgusted, of Bobby's tics and quirks. They looked at each other with both suspicion and yearning, but none of them had the nerve to take the first step to overcome the abyss between them. They didn't dare to talk to each other out of fear that the little bit that kept them together would totally dissolve then and leave them totally disconnected.
The Quinn case wasn't the only reason. He'd to take a lot in the last year and a half and it had also affected her.
There'd been the Sebastian case a year ago. The serial killer seemingly had returned after years of inactivity, but several inconsistencies in the new murders hinted at a copycat. It turned out to be one. Jo Gage, the daughter of her partner's mentor Declan had kidnapped her to get her father's attention. She'd managed to free herself and call for help but seeing her partner blaming himself for not finding her in time was tough. No matter how hard she tried to make him see that it wasn't his fault but Jo's, she failed repeatedly what left her frustrated and confused.
The next blow to their cracking partnership was Mark Ford Brady, a serial rapist and murderer. Only days before his execution he had decided to talk about those victims who'd never been found. He'd hoped to get away from the deadly needle that way. However he'd not chosen the direct way but only given them cryptic hints at the evidence he'd hidden.
They'd found two photo albums among other things. One of them was dated in the eighties and showed not only the victims for whose murders he'd been sentenced but also a few more young women no one knew about yet. The second was dated back in the sixties, but to their great surprise most of the women they traced were still alive and well.
What made it personal for Bobby was that it also contained shots of his own mother what implied that Brady and Frances Goren had known each other personally. Of course he wanted this to have cleared but Frances refused to talk about Brady. She couldn't understand why Bobby must wake sleeping dogs and punished him with stubborn ignorance. He only got her as far as to admit that along the time the shots were made she had trouble in her marriage and turned to other men, Brady among them. She'd died that night, her mind eaten up by schizophrenia, her body by aggressive cancer.
Bobby had been inconsolable. He would only communicate with her on a strictly professional plane. When she'd try to make him talk about it he'd shut down and ignored her. She knew that he suffered, eaten up by grief, regret and loneliness. She'd wanted to comfort him and guide him out of the darkness that slowly consumed him. His relationship to his mother had always been troubled – that she'd gotten him to admit once – but nevertheless he'd loved her and her death was a heavy blow.
His rejection had hurt her badly. She cared for him. He was so special to her and she was so happy being able to finally call him her friend. She wanted to show him by sticking with him and that he wasn't alone in the world, that he still had her and she wouldn't let him fall.
She'd shut down as well. She was fed up with being shoved away all the time. They'd buried themselves in work and ignored each other's needs beyond it, soon reaching the awkward status quo that was now strengthened after the latest events…
The circumstantial evidence in the Quinn case had been ambivalent what had made it so easy for her to bend it to her liking. For her Ray Delgado had murdered her husband, period. There was a seemingly rock solid verdict that confirmed it. She'd lived with that reality for nine years, laboriously built a new life on it.
As long as the image she'd built her life on after her husband's death was still intact she could pretend that she'd gotten over it. She considered everything and everyone who or what contradicted her theory about the murders, one free of Ray Delgado, as personal affront and reacted as such.
Ross had only seen a danger for the investigation in her. She almost laughed as she remembered her flimsy excuses to convince him to let her stay: that she was familiar with all concerned parties, that it was too time consuming to fill in a new investigator, her experience. Emotional distance and objectivity, my ass! She snorted.
Bobby however had really worried about her, had sensed the reason behind her obsession with Delgado. What she'd considered betrayal when he seemingly doubted her and even stronger when he reopened Joe's case was his reaction to her obsessively clinging to the false reality she'd built up to be able to live on.
What she'd encountered as mistrust and misunderstanding had been his try to open her eyes. He'd known somehow that the fateful little bit of info from the crime lab would come sometime and tried knock some sense back into her before it was too late. He'd tried to make her see the truth that was too hard for her to face. She'd punished him for finally giving her what she'd actually yearned for almost a decade. But her own lie blowing up right into her face had hurt too bad to see beyond it, to see his real intent: giving her the opportunity to close the chapter Joe, to finally let him rest in peace, get some peace herself.
After what she'd learned earlier from Ross she understood better why he'd acted like he did: he'd not taken all the crap she'd thrown at him during and after the investigation because he was her partner and friend and sensed he had to but because he loved her! Although she hadn't known she felt shabby as hell. But she was also pissed because she felt this way.
She swallowed and opened her seatbelt. She opened the door and hesitantly got out. Although the sun was shining it was a cool day and the stiff breeze immediately tugging at her pantsuit made her shiver. But even more did the idea of confronting him. Actually it surprised her that he'd told Ross of all people since they were at daggers drawn with each other - and not her directly.
She leaned back into the SUV, gripped her purse from the passenger's seat and slammed the driver's door shut. She locked it and then stomped towards his door, getting more and more agitated.
She couldn't bear this emotional rodeo anymore. It was almost as if he was afraid of nearness, of emotions. In general or just those he has for me? Whenever he'd let his protection wall fall and given her a glimpse at him he'd quickly rebuilt it and she could begin at zero in trying to tear it down again. She'd seen several times in the past how he reacted when someone held the pistol to his head but that she was willing to risk. She had every right to do so in her eyes. She deserved clarity, especially since she was concerned directly.
She climbed up the narrow stairs to his door. No flowers or flower beds in the frontyard, just a cockeyed white post box, the lawn in urgent need of a mow (what surprised her since he was almost obsessively neat) and a bare, dull brass banister. She rang the bell, waited a few seconds, then rang it again... and again. No answer.
"Stop that shit, Goren!" she called furiously and pounded on the massive green door. "I know you're home! Your car stands in the driveway."
The metallic green MG convertible had left her speechless when she found out. She'd seen and admired it often in the underground car park at Police Plaza but never known that it was his. From the few times she'd made the mistake to let Bobby drive she wouldn't have thought that he even possessed a driver's license. The man drove like a cab driver! Or like someone who was suicidal… but wasn't that synonym? Secretly she'd always been happy to arrive at the destination in one piece.
"You won't get away that easily!" She fumbled her key ring out of her purse and began rousing through the keys. When she'd found the right one she shoved it into the key hole. A few moments later she stood in his hallway and slammed the door shut behind her. The bang echoed through the hallway. No reaction.
"What the hell…?" she wondered. "Bobby?" she called. No answer. She shook her head. Where was he?
She took a few steps into the hallway. A little table stood next to a mirrored door. It was covered with knick-knack: mail, a key ring, a portable phone. At the end of the short, narrow corridor she saw cupboards and working surfaces through an half open door. To her right the reddish – orange light from the already setting sun fell through a large passage a few feet away from her and lured her to take a look. It was then that she heard it. The silence was broken by a distant pattering and rush of water. He didn't hide from her; he was only taking a shower and therefore didn't hear her. She chuckled at her own paranoia.
She turned, went back and stopped at the foot of narrow stairs leading upstairs. She hesitated, unsure what to do. Should she stay here and wait until he was finished? Or go upstairs and…?
She decided for the latter. That contained the most surprise. Actually it was childish but after seven years she understood to some extent how he ticked. He could adapt incredibly quick to new situations. Connected with his talent to avoid difficult subjects the element of surprise was her only chance. When she caught him off guard he probably didn't have the chance to shut down and shove her away again. She had the strong idea that he would because emotions were a tricky thing for him.
First hesitant than with more confidence she climbed up the stairs to the second floor. It was dark and no light beyond the reddish glow from the crack of a door at the end of the corridor lightened up the darkness. She felt for a light switch, found it next to her at the wall. She saw four closed doors, all ornamented and painted in burgundy red. The walls were painted in white and bare. No pictures like in her house or that of her parents or siblings or paintings. Naked, almost neglected. Solely a place to sleep and probably eat. She cocked her head. The sound of running water sounded nearer, but still distant. She looked up. The rushing came from there… the attic. When he has his private space up in the roof then what's here? she wondered briefly but resisted her curiosity. She wasn't here to find out the way he lived or why... at least not primarily.
Instead she climbed up the stairs to the attic. She wanted answers and she wanted them now. She almost burst with nervous anticipation and brooding anger at him for keeping it from her. Loving someone wasn't something bad. Why did he act as if it was? Why this secrecy? She just didn't get it.
She was greeted again by ornamented, burgundy red doors. The one directly left to the stairs was open. She stopped at the doorframe and peeked into the room, gasped with surprise. The dome at the ceiling immediately caught her attention. The sun shone on it and bathed the room in a mosaic of green, red, blue and orange. Directly under it stood a king sized bed with a dark comforter - blue, black, brown, maybe violet; because of the sunlight and the reflections of the dome she couldn't see it clearly -, a night stand with a little lamp on it next to it. At the opposite wall facing it was a narrow sideboard with a TV on it. Around the walls a narrow shelf was built into the structure, filled with books, both paperback and hard covers. She chuckled. No wonder her partner spilled with info. Her head would've exploded if she'd only read a fraction them. But she'd bet a month's salary that these weren't even all books he possessed… Around the room small windows and a bigger round one on the far wall next to the bed let in the orange glow from the setting sun.
Suddenly the shower was turned off and the silence broken by a hearty "Shit!" She quickly backed away into the corridor, feeling a little caught. She gripped the banister made of dark, massive wood and slowly stepped closer to the door in the middle rear of the corridor. She leaned against the banister and waited. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Suddenly it opened.
She jumped and so did he. His eyes widened – for an instant she meant to see horror in them - and his jaw dropped. He didn't expect her. She was surprised as well. She'd never seen him wearing something different than a suit… or uniform the day of Quinn's reception. Seeing him in dark, tight jeans and a grey sweatshirt with still wet hair caught her off guard as well.
"Alex!" He looked at her as if he was seeing a ghost. "What-"
"We must talk." She'd caught herself by now, was focused on them again.
He tensed up like earlier in the squad room and dropped his gaze. Guilty. Caught. A frown furrowed his forehead when his eyebrows rose slightly. He pressed his lips together and slowly shook his head. It didn't look as if he'd refuse himself but more as if he wanted to clear his mind. When he looked up she saw how it worked behind his forehead, saw it in his frown and slightly narrowed eyes. His reaction had shown her that he knew why she was here, especially that he didn't ask how she'd gotten in.
He was battling with himself and she considered that a good sign, although it made her sad at the same time. Why was everything so complicated with him? Why did she put up with that, with him, at all? Partly because she understood his dilemma. He feared that she'd shove him away when he opened up because of what had built up between and separated them now. When he'd open up he'd be totally dependent on her reaction and he didn't want to expose himself to her possible rejection. Suddenly she had the strong idea that this attitude of his majorly contributed to the communication problem between them what lastly caused the strain of their partner – and friendship.
"Eames," he said with a pressed voice and an almost pleading look in his eyes. He tried so hard but it paled compared to the rush of helpless anger at his response that suddenly rushed through her.
"Don't 'Eames' me!" she gushed out. "Stop shutting me out, Bobby! I can't stand it anymore. It makes me so sick! It hurts me and I don't deserve that. Partners and friends don't do this to each other. You… You mean so much to me and I can't stand seeing you put yourself through all this crap. Whatever it is you can tell me. I won't judge you and I won't leave, I promise. I want to help you, but I can't when I don't know what's wrong. You maybe can read minds but I can't so please, finally talk to me!"
She was shocked at how close she'd come to admitting not only her feelings to him but also that she knew about his. The shock about her verbal attack in his features vanished, slowly replaced by realization… and resignation. He knew that he couldn't back away now. Well, of course he could, but if he really was serious concerning his feelings for her he wouldn't, even less after her reassurance. She'd meant every word and hoped that she had finally reached him.
"Okay," he said in that same pressed voice and gave her a strained smile. "We'll talk…Alex."
Her heartbeat skipped for a split second at hearing him say his first name. "Here?"
"No, downstairs." Instead of leading the way he suddenly got fidgety. His left leg began to twitch and his bare foot to lightly tap on the wooden floor, a nervous habit of his. "Would you go ahead and... give me a few minutes?"
"Oh no, Goren! You just try to figure a way out of this. I won't allow this."
"I promise you I won't but… please Alex. I... I need this time."
His broad features contorted as if he was in pain and he wiped his hand over his face before dropping it at his side. Her heart clenched at this sight. He looked so exhausted, so much older than forty – five. It was not only because of the graying hair, the loss of weight or the current strain but also because of that constant inner fight in him she didn't understood but that seemed to rage in him all the time, slowly crumbling him inside.
She was about to resist when she saw this pleading look again. She had no idea why he asked that of her and even less why she followed but slowly she backed away to the stairs, began her descent. His dark eyes never left her face until she was out of sight. At the foot of the stairs in the second floor she listened. She heard his bare feet pat along the corridor above her head, then a low squeal when he opened a door. The ceiling above somewhere left of her creaked lowly under his weight. The room at the opposite end of the attic to the right of the bathroom... What's there and what's he doing in there? She briefly considered going back and look but instead she continued her decent wondering what the hell was going on and what to expect from what was about to follow.