A/N: Thank you to everyone for the reviews! Keep them coming!

6th Avenue Hotel

Prospect Heights, Brooklyn

The hotel he chose to stay at was out of an six-story brownstone. It was rundown, not yet under new management and restored, and the owner didn't care too much about who stayed there, as long as the bill was paid on time. He didn't even have to show identification as he paid cash for the night. It was a six story walk-up but he didn't mind as he headed up to the last room on the sixth floor. He had no baggage, only the three shopping bags in his right hand from various stores along the way.

After he had followed the detectives to their department, he didn't stay long. He found which precinct they worked out of and that was enough for now. He needed to get himself cleaned up and to think of a plan of action. It was hard to figure out what was the right decision since he still didn't understand everything that had happened and that was happening now. Detective Eames didn't give him much information; she didn't tell him why he was wanted for questioning. And with no answers to give, he figured it was pointless to turn himself in anyway.

Dropping the bags on the bed, he took the smaller of the three into the bathroom with him. He took his time showering, enjoying the feel of the hot spray on his body as he felt free to relax. Once done, he changed into the clothes he'd bought. He didn't buy much, only three pairs of clothes, sweatpants, and two packages of t-shirts, one of black shirts and the other white. He dressed in the jeans, a t-shirt, and a black button-down dress shirt before grabbing the jacket and ball cap and slipping them both on as he opened the door.

He left the hotel using the stairwell that was at the end of the hallway and exited out into the dark alley in-between the buildings. Out on the sidewalk he could see the setting sun peeking out between the row houses that lined the streets of Prospect Heights. A couple of blocks over was the Brooklyn Public Library's Central Library on Grand Army Plaza.

He didn't get more than five steps into the library when he spotted a woman at the information desk looking his way. She smiled and waved him over. He felt his chest clench as he went to turn around and head back out.

"Detective Goren," the woman said, coming around the desk.

Looking back at her, he took a moment to really look at her and realized that she wasn't a threat. Smiling slightly back, he said simply, "Hi."

The woman stopped in front of him and extended her hand. He shook it as he read her nametag. Melanie. She was tall for a woman, and too beautiful to be a librarian. She was also too young. He would guess her age to be late twenties to early thirties.

"Long time stranger," Melanie said as she smiled brighter at him. "I haven't seen you in at least…" she thought about it and gasped slightly, "Two years, not since you moved. How's Greenpoint?"

He cocked his head a little as he gave a shrugged. "It's nice."

She gave a smile and asked, "So, what brings you back?"

Another shrug and he told her, "I was in the neighborhood."

"Well, it's nice to see you again. And if you need any help, let me know."

"Thanks, I uh…I will."

Melanie gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and then walked away, back to the information desk. As he walked toward the aisles, he smiled slightly. This hadn't been such a bad idea after all. In the matter of a few seconds he found out a few things. One, he was a regular at libraries, and two, he lived in Greenpoint, having moved there roughly two years ago from that neighborhood.

He sat down at a computer and was relieved to find that he could use it without having to have a library card. He immediately brought up the internet and did what anybody would do trying to find themselves, he did a Google search of his own name. He also clicked on the library website and started a search through the electronic periodicals and newspapers. That was when he finally hit a brick wall.

He couldn't search the database unless the provided a barcode number. Shit. Checking on the Google search, he saw over 4 million results of the name Robert Goren. Revising the search, he added NYPD and hit search again. That gave him half a million results.

Skimming over the first page, he clicked on a newspaper article from the New York Ledger. It was an article published three years ago about a suicide of a man named Dan Croydon, the note he'd written had been addressed to the detective on the case. It was to him, and it said that he was the one to blame.

Sitting back in the chair, he reread the headline and stared at the picture on the front page.

"Are you okay, detective?"

He nearly jumped at the woman's voice beside him as he turned and looked at Melanie. She approached him with a worried look on her face.

"Yeah, uh…" he turned back to the computer screen and quickly clicked on the library website, covering up the newspaper article. "I, uh…I was going to um, to do a search and I realized I had forgotten my uh…my library card."

Melanie looked at the computer screen and the smile returned as she said, "That, I can help you with." She pulled out a card and leaned forward so she could use the keyboard.

He watched as she typed in a barcode number and pin before hitting enter. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know, and I don't just do that for anyone," she said with a teasing smile and wink. "Need anything else?"

He shook his head as she continued around the chair and down the aisle. She must have known he was going to watch her walk away from the way she was moving. He wondered if they were friends, or if they'd ever been anything more. The way she was smiling and teasing him, he figure that they either had been or that she wanted them to be.

It was flattering seeing how he would put his own age at somewhere around forty. Turning back to the computer, he tried to focus on the task at hand as he continued to search the articles and journals and anything he could think of in trying to find out more about himself. Apparently he was a popular guy with the media. There were numerous newspaper articles dating back to the early 90's from when he was just a patrol cop. He also found profiling journals that mentioned his name several times, along with another mans' name quite frequently. For what he could gather reading between the lines, he worked with an Forensic Psychologist for the FBI, Declan Gage, for a good portion of the late eighties and well into the 90's. What also surprised him was that they were military journals. He had been in the military.

He also searched Greenpoint residents with him name in the hopes of getting an address. However, after thirty minutes of searching, he realized his address was unlisted and not available, which was smart seeing how he was a cop. He wouldn't want a psychopathic killer he'd put away finding out where he lived. Then, he thought of something. A way to get his address.

Getting up, he closed out the account and went in search of Melanie. He found her helping a young girl get a book from the top shelf. He stood off to the side and watched her talking enthusiastically to the girl about the book. The moment the girl walked away, he started for her.

Melanie turned and spotted him coming toward her and she smiled slightly. "You look like a man on a mission. Very serious."

He stopped in front of her as he stuffed his left hand in his pocket, involuntarily rubbing at his neck with his right, he said, "I am. I uh, I actually need your help again."

"I'm at your service. What'd you need?"

"A replacement library card. I was thinking about it and I realized I hadn't just forgotten it. I uh, I think I lost it actually."

She laughed a little and shook her head. "Come up to the desk and I'll see what I can do."

As they started walking toward the front of the building, he asked, "Is there a way that one can be sent to me?"

"That can be arranged," she told him as they got to the desks. Melanie went behind one and started typing on the computer. "It's Robert, right?"

"Yeah," he said as he leaned on the desk and watched her, "and can I verify my address first?"

"Sure, and apparently you're the one and only Robert Goren in the system. It says your address is 210 Mather Street, Greenpoint, Brooklyn, area code 11222. Is that correct?"

"You said 210 Mather Street? That's it."

"Okay, a replacement card will be mailed. All you have to do is pay the fee."

"How much?"

Melanie looked at him and said, "It's only two bucks."

He pulled out two dollars and handed it to her. "Thank you."

She took the money, saying, "Not a problem, detective." Melanie then looked slightly embarrassed as she told him, "If you're not busy, I get off in a few minutes."

He felt his own embarrassment as he saw the expectant look in her eyes. He did feel drawn to her, but Detective Eames voice echoed in his head. For all he knew, Eames could have been lying to him since she knew he had no memory and wanted him to trust her. However, he couldn't be for certain. If they were together, and they did love each other, than he didn't want to ruin that.

Smiling slightly he told her, "I'm sorry, Melanie, but I am busy and I'm with someone."

"I should've asked that first. I'm the one who's sorry, I don't mean to-"

"It's okay," he told her. "If I wasn't, absolutely. Again, thank you, and have a good night, all right?"

"Okay. Have a good night too, Detective."

He gave her one last look over his shoulder before leaving the library. Even though he had to turn her down, it was nice to know that he had a friend. He wouldn't forget that.

Special Victim's Unit

16th Precinct, Manhattan

"There I was in my old bar back in Baltimore, trying to be a good host to this New York detective, and do you know what he does? He not only beats me in pool, in my own bar, but then he proceeds to tell me that he slept with my ex-wife. With Gwen! My one true love."

Fin stared over at Munch and then, having enough, said, "Enough, Munch. I've heard this story already. It's done, over with. If you want to keep complaining, go sit at another bar somewhere and mope. I'm trying to work."

Munch tilted his head at Fin and said, "You know, I've forgiven her for it. And Lennie. In fact, when I decided to move to New York, I looked into being his partner in homicide."

"Why didn't you? I'll be a lot happier," he muttered under his breath as he continued to fill out the police report.

"I know you're just saying that because you're angry about Detective Goren. I'll let that slide," Munch said as he peered over his glasses, "for now."

Fin sighed and shook his head as he dropped the file in his hand and picked up the phone. "I'm calling the hospital, maybe they got some results back."

"Last I remember, a tox report took weeks. Unless they have a some kind of special power to speed up the machines-"

"John, shut up," Fin told him as he leaned back in the chair and waited for someone to answer the phone.

"Now that hurt," he said as he got up and went to leave. Turning back, he asked, "More coffee?"

"Yes, thanks," Fin said as the ringing stopped and a woman answered.

"Saint John's Hospital. How may I help you?"

"Yeah, this is Detective Tutuola with Special Victims. Can I speak with Doctor Kendal? Is she still there?"

"Let me check, detective. She could be gone for the day."

Fin rubbed over his head as he waited.

"If you had no memory, where would you go?" Munch asked as he handed him a cup of coffee.

Glancing up at Munch, Fin shook his head as he took the coffee, saying, "I have no idea. Somewhere out of the cold."

"Exactly," Munch said as he sat down at his desk. Picking up his phone, he said, "He had no wallet, right? So that means he has no identification. He can't stay at any of the fancy, rodent free hotels. That limits it to dumps that don't check for ID, homeless shelters, or the YMCA. My guess is that he's at some dump somewhere."

"So you're going to call all of them in the five boroughs?"

Munch glanced over at him as he took out a phone book. "I doubt he's on Staten Island. He wouldn't go too far. He'll more than likely go some place familiar."

"He has amnesia. Nothing's familiar."

"I beg to differ. You know, our subconscious minds are amazing things. Consciously nothing's familiar, but I guarantee you that he's being drawn to certain places and doing certain things on a subconscious level. He's from Brooklyn, right? I'm starting there."

Fin went to say something when the nurse come back on the line.

"I'm sorry, detective, but Doctor Kendal has already left for the evening."

"That's okay. All I wanted to know was if the results came back for Detective Goren yet? He's the guy that came in earlier as a John Doe."

"I can check for you," she told him before putting him on hold again.

Fin thought about what Munch had said and had to admit that it sounded pretty good. "Once I get off here, I'll help you out."

Munch just gave him a cheeky smile as he leaned back in his chair with the phone up to his ear.

The nurse came back on the line, telling him, "The file we have for him only has the x-rays, CT scan, MRI, and results of the his physical. The blood won't be done for a couple more days, a week at the latest."

"Anything interesting on the x-rays or scans?"

"There's evidence of a Grade III concussion-"

"Grade three, what does that mean?" Fin asked as he looked over at Munch who gave him a frown of concern.

"It's the most severe type of concussion, detective. It means that after he hit his head he lost consciousness and experienced amnesia of the events before and after the injury. However, in his case, he lost all his memory. Whether that was due to the fall or not is unseen, but it could be an attributing factor. It also explains the pressure in his head and the ringing in his ears that he complained of. Those are classic symptoms of a concussion. Thankfully, there is no evidence of bleeding of, in, or around the brain."

"How long do the symptoms usually last?"

"It depends. It could be days, weeks, or sometimes months."

Fin let out a sigh and said, "Okay, thanks."

"Oh, and there's one more note at the bottom. There was no evidence of recent intercourse. If there had been, either a condom was used or he cleaned up afterwards."

"All right, thanks again," Fin said before hanging up. Looking at Munch, he told him, "Our boy has a pretty nasty head injury, but no bleeding in the brain. And it looks like nothing happened in that motel room. Whoever took him just wanted to make him think it."

"But why?" Munch asked as he searched for a number in the phone book. "What would the prep gain from only making him think he was violated."

"Honestly, I don't know, but when we catch her I'll be sure to make that my number one priority."

"You take the 6th Avenue Hotel in Prospect Heights, and I'll call the Motel 6 in Wingate."

Fin took the number Munch passed over to him and picked the phone back up. He dialed the number and took a sip of the coffee. After two rings a man picked up.

"Sixth Avenue Hotel, what'd you want?"

"What'd I want? I want to know if anyone's checked in recently who didn't offer up an ID?"

"Who're you, the cops?"

"Yeah, I'm the cops. I'm looking for a man, six foot four, packing light."

"How'd I know you the cops?"

Fin sat up straight in the chair as he told him, "You'll know when I came down there and stick my badge and a warrant in your face. Then I'll go through each room-"

"Okay, I get it." The man was quiet for a moment before telling him. "I had a guy come in about an hour ago. Big guy, tall, with only a shopping bags. He paid cash."

"What'd he look like?"

"I don't know. He was wearing a Yankees cap."

Fin wrote that down as he asked, "He still there?"

"I don't know. I didn't see him leave but there's a side exit and fire escape."

"Good. Stay there and don't go anywhere. I'll be there soon with that warrant."

"Mother-"

Fin hung the phone up before the man could finish. Smiling over at Munch, he told him, "I think we got him. The 6th Avenue Hotel. He got there an hour ago."

Munch got up to follow him as he asked, "How'd we know it's him?"

"We don't, but I got a feeling. Oh, and he's wearing a Yankees ball cap."

"Huh," Munch said as they left the building, "I would've taken him for a Mets fan."

210 Mather Street

Greenpoint, Brooklyn

He paced along the sidewalk, staring up at the building as he smoked a cigarette. It was a two story house on the corner a block over from Franklin Street. The house had been renovated and converted into three separate apartments. From the mailboxes he looked at, the basement apartment was being rented by two people with last names Allen and Ouwinga. The top floor was being rented by a Mr. Victor Bachmeier. It actually had the "Mr." in the name. The first story floor had two names: Goren/Eames.

The detective had been telling him the truth. They were together, and she lived with him. He wanted to go in, but he couldn't. Not yet. The light was on in the front room and he had went around back and saw another light on in what looked to be the bedroom. There was a back door to the building as well as a very small yard. In the yard was a covered grill on a small concrete patio. The yard was fenced in with a wooden fence while the house was fenced in by a chain-linked one. There was a thin alley running behind the houses, only room enough for one car to get through at a time, but a parking area had been made with use of concrete slabs and spray paint to mark the spaces.

Right behind the house was a vacant lot with overgrown grass and bushes and shrubs. Building materials and old bicycles and flat basketballs littered the lot along with patches of rocks and puddles from the melted snow. Next to the vacant lot was another house, next to another, next to another. All the neighborhoods streets looked the same to him. Stifling, suffocating, with nowhere to move or to breath. Everyone was right next to each other and on top of one another with shared yards, shared spaces, shared mailboxes, and shared houses. Yet, everyone minded their own business. No one even took a second look at him as he continued to pace out on the sidewalk, smoking, and staring at the light waiting for it to go off.

It took hours. He was trying to keep warm as he pounded his feet on the pavement and smoked his fifth cigarette. His hands were numb in his pockets and he was starting to shiver when the light finally went off. Blowing smoke out of his throat, he waited a little longer before circling around to the back of the building. The light in the bedroom was still on and he saw her come into the room.

Eames was using a towel to dry her wet hair as she disappeared out of his sight. He wondered if they always left the blinds open or if it had been an oversight. She, or he, forgot to close them. Going over to the back steps, he sat down as he continued to watch her through the window. She was putting clothes away, bringing hangers from somewhere off in the room that he couldn't see, and putting clothes on them before taking them back. She picked up a tank top and went to take the shirt off she'd been wearing. He quickly looked away, and feeling partly ashamed and partrly confused by doing so.

He was with this woman, probably having seen her dress and undress hundreds of times, but he ducked away. It was because at that time in his life, he didn't know her. He didn't know the way her body looked, he didn't know how it felt under his fingertips or the way she tasted in his mouth. He didn't know how she thought or who she was as a person.

She was a stranger to him. And he felt like a stranger to her.

Looking back, he saw her standing there, staring down at the bed. Her look was one of worry and sorrow as she picked up a shirt. A man's shirt. He watched as she brought it up to her face as she clung to it.

Feeling a tightness in his chest, he looked down at the steps as her tears fell into the shirt. She was missing him deeply as he couldn't manage any feelings for her other than sympathy. He couldn't miss someone he didn't know, but it hurt none-the-less. It also angered him. He was furious that he couldn't remember her. He was furious that his life was so empty and blank and lifeless.

By the time he looked back up, the room was dark.

Taking out another cigarette, he lit it and thought as he waited. When he finished the smoke he felt it safe to enter. He stood and pulled out the set of keys he had. Going through the keys, he found the right one that fit the locks.

Quietly, he opened the door that brought him into a small foyer and right into the kitchen. He shut the door and locked it behind him as he stuffed the keys back in his pocket. Taking a moment to let his eyes adjust, he listened for any noise in the house. It was so quiet he heard the refrigerator hum and then the central heat kick on. He took his time looking around the kitchen, taking in the room and the evidence of his life.

Home, he thought. This was his home.

He had flyers and reminders all over his refrigerator. A home phone sat on a counter along with a notepad, calendar, and a police shield. Picking it up, he read the numbers 3798 and didn't know if it was his or hers. He put it back down and headed into the living room. A bookshelf was the first thing he noticed. It was on the wall to his right and on it were more than just books.

Picking up a picture frame, he took in the sight of himself and Eames. They were seated together at what looked to the Policeman's Ball, dressed in their dress uniforms, and she was leaning into him as he had his arm wrapped around her shoulders. They were both smiling, both looking happy. Putting the picture down, he shifted his eyes to another. It made him smile. In the picture of the two of them, they were both standing outside in the cold and Eames had pulled his wool cap down over his eyes while he yanked her scarf up over her mouth and nose. From the smile on his face and the look in her eyes, they were both laughing about it. He wondered who had taken that photo.

Taking his eyes off the two of them, he looked to the next photo and stilled. It was of Eames but she was in the hospital and in her arms was a baby. The blanket wrapped around the baby was blue, making him assume it was a boy.

Looking around the living room again and into the kitchen, he didn't see any signs of there being a child living there. But, she had been the one to deliver the baby boy. So…was he a father? Did he have a son? Running a hand through his hair, he tried to steady his raising thoughts. He had to calm down and continue looking.

After taking a look over the rest of the pictures on the shelves, he realized something. Of all the pictures of the boy as he'd gotten older, the only one of them in the picture was Eames. He wasn't in any of them. If he had been the boy's father, wouldn't there be a couple with him holding the boy or smiling with him as well?

So, maybe the child wasn't his. He was so confused. Shaking his head, he looked over the books on the shelf instead. There were lots of books and it also explained why the librarian knew him. More than a couple were old library books. He heard a noise off to his left, startling him. He turned and saw a cage with a bird flapping around in it.

The bird started chirping and jumping from one bar of the cage to the other. He looked toward the foyer and hoped that the bird didn't wake Eames. Finding nothing more in the living room, he rounded the corner and opened the first door on the left. It opened to a study with more bookcases and an old roll-top desk. Going into the room and shutting the door, he sat at the desk and went through every drawer one at a time.

He read over all his records, found his social security card and birth certificate. He was born to William Liev Goren and Frances Rosina Anello, and his full name was Robert Oliver Goren. He was born on August 20th, 1961 in Brooklyn. He found medical records in a bottom drawer, his own along with his mother's. He took those with him to the couch under the windows and read through them all. He also found his father's death certificate. Dropping the files to the floor, he rubbed over his pounding head as he read about his mother and her illness.

Holding his head in his hands, he groaned against the pressure in his head as the ringing got louder. Leaning back against the cushions and closing his eyes, he tried to relax as it got harder to stay awake. He was exhausted.

Before he realized it, he was asleep.

TBC…