A/N: Many thanks to the reviews and to everyone reading!

Enjoy!

6th Avenue Hotel

He had gotten the call while on his way out of the 1PP parking garage. It hadn't been confirmed yet, but the SVU detectives had a possible on Goren's whereabouts. He hurried as fast as he could over the bridge into Brooklyn and into the neighborhood of Prospect Heights. He drove past streets of brownstones and row houses on his way to the hotel. Pulling up along the curb, he saw both detectives, Fin and Munch, talking amongst themselves.

He got out of his car and met them at the bottom of the steps. Fin looked toward the car then at him, expecting an answer. Logan shrugged, explaining, "I didn't want to call her. She hasn't slept good in days and if Goren's not here then there's no reason to interrupt her night." He continued toward the door, following behind both Munch and Fin.

"And if he is here," Munch asked Logan as he stopped beside the door.

"Then I'll wake her up," Logan said as he pulled his coat around his body tighter. "What happened to our nice warm front. It's freezing out here."

"It's called winter," Munch told him as Fin walked between the two of them to open the door. "A once a year occurrence that starts in November and doesn't end until April if we're lucky. You know it actually snowed in August once."

"Oh, yeah, when was that?"

"The ice age, my friend."

Fin turned as they approached the desk and glared at Munch. "You mean the year you were born, old man."

Munch narrowed his eyes at him while Logan just laughed.

"Can I help you?"

Fin turned to face the owner as he pulled out his shield. "Yeah, I got that warrant." When the man behind the desk went a few shades pale as he went to speak and nothing came out, he pulled out the picture he had of Goren and showed it to the guy. "Was this the man you checked in?"

The manager looked it over and shrugged, saying, "Like I said before, he was wearing a ball cap. It could'a been him, I don't know."

"But it could have, so hand over the key to the room," Logan told the man who did as he was told.

Fin took the key as he and Munch started for the staircase.

"You know this thing about Global Warming," Munch said as they approached the third floor. "The public's got it all wrong. It's not going to lead to global heating, but to global cooling. We're doing nothing but accelerating our planet back into another ice age."

"I swear Munch if you start back on this Global Warming thing, I'm going to kick you down the stairs," Fin told him.

"And if you do that, I'll fall back into you. Taking you along for the long tumble down."

"Do you two do this all the time?" Logan asked as they continued up. "Maybe you two should take a vacation…away from each other. You sound like an old married couple."

As they approached the door, both SVU detectives stood off to the side of it as he knocked, yelling, "Goren, it's the police, open up."

When there was no answer, Fin used the key and unlocked it. Giving a nod, they all readied to enter the room as he turned the knob. He went in first followed by Fin and then Munch who stayed by the door so he could keep an eye on the hallway.

The room was very small and it didn't take long to clear the room and the attached bathroom. It was empty; there was no sign of Goren.

"Someone was here. There's still moisture on the mirror and the shower and sink's been used," Logan told them as he turned off the bathroom light. "There's a travel kit on the counter included with enough toiletries to last a few days."

"Bed hasn't been unmade," Fin said as he looked around the room and then in the dresser drawers. "I've got a couple pairs of clothes, newly bought. He's planning on returning."

Logan didn't hesitate as he told him, "I'll take the first watch."

"And I'll call it in," Munch said as he stepped out into the hall to make the call.

As Munch made the call, Logan asked Fin, "Hey, what did you find out at the motel?"

After they had broke from the hospital earlier that day, he and Eames had gone to the park while the SVU detectives headed to the Royal Motel.

Fin shook his head, telling him, "By the time we got there the place had already been cleaned. I talked to the cleaning woman, she told me that the cabinet in the bathroom had been pulled off the wall and it was broken all over the floor. She also cleaned up some blood on the floor. I got CSU there now going over the place. I also had them collect the bed sheets, pillows, and blanket from the laundry room. They hadn't been washed yet. If there's anything left, hopefully they'll find it."

Bobby/Alex's Apartment

Her laughter was infectious. It sounded heavenly in his ears and before he realized it, a tremor started deep in his gut, heated up into his chest, and then tumbled out of his mouth as he shook against her body. He couldn't have stopped his own laughter if he'd tried. His eyes stung from the unshed tears as he turned his face into her bare stomach that trembled and clenched.

"Oh, God, Bobby," she breathlessly got out of her mouth before another fit of laughter rocked her body.

It was getting harder to breathe and as he looked up at her, seeing her face beet-red and smiling wide, he lost it again. He felt her arms wrap around him as she pulled him to her, holding him as they both let out their frustration and despair of the day that had proceeded that night into the blustering laughter that filled the dimly lit bedroom.

He felt the contrast of the silky satin sheets over him and her silky smooth skin under him as he slid further up her body. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he pulled her closer as he turned them onto their sides as the remains of their laughter died. She grew quiet in his arms as he stared at the ceiling. Her warm breath shivered over his chest as his arms held her tighter.

The moment of pure euphoria faded as the seconds ticked by. Her hand roamed over his chest, along his sides, and it was getting harder to remember what it was that had been so damn funny just minutes before. The more he thought about it, the more ludicrous it had been. It hadn't even been that funny, but in that moment it was what they both had needed to let go. To laugh. Especially after the horror they witnessed earlier that day.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

She cupped his cheek and turned his head toward hers. Kissing him over the lips, chin, and then over his jaw, she told him, "Thinking about it. It's not good to bring it home. You have to let it go, Bobby."

He gave a nod but knew that it was easier said than done.

He woke with a start as he blinked back against sunlight that streamed through a set of maroon colored window drapes. Closing his eyes, he tried to hold onto that quickly fading memory. He grasped into the darkness that threatened to take it away from him. The more he fought to keep it, the worse his head felt. The pressing pressure grew in his head and the ringing vibrated in his ears again, causing him to groan in anguish against the pain, but more at the memory he couldn't hold onto. It vanished in the depths and he opened his eyes once again into the room and stared at the light pouring through the window, feeling lost once again.

Turning onto his back, he felt the muscles in his neck pull and the ones along his ribs ache from having laid on that side the entire night. Stretching out, he felt his legs hit a wall and he peered down at his shoes that he still wore. Realizing where he was, he pushed up off the couch as he jerked his head around.

He was alone. That was a relief; he didn't want to be found yet and it was a mistake to have dropped his guard enough to fall asleep. He couldn't have helped it. Last night was the first time he remembered feeling safe.

Getting up off the couch, he stepped on the files on the floor as he headed to the door. He could smell coffee along with the frying bacon in the air. It made his stomach growl. Easing the door open slowly, he listened for any sounds. In the distance he could hear her voice; Eames. She was talking to someone but he didn't hear any other voice. Stepping out into the hall, he looked toward the end of the hallway and into the bedroom. Another door was catty-cornered to the study; it looked to be the bathroom. He needed to use it, but not while Eames was still in the apartment.

"Logan!" she exclaimed, causing him to jump. "You found him and you didn't tell me?"

He approached the corner of the hallway and leaned against the wall as he listened.

"So what if he wasn't there, you still found where he was staying. I-…I can sleep after Bobby's found."

He stiffened at that as he realized she was talking about him. They had found him? That meant that they had found the hotel room he'd booked last night.

"Where are you now?" she asked in a sigh of defeat. "Okay, get some sleep, but don't forget that Caleb's autopsy is scheduled for ten this morning and we have an appointment with Carver and McCoy at one. I'm not planning on going in there without armor and ammunition, Logan. I want everything we can get to prove Bobby's innocence, or to at least put off this indictment until he's safe and his memory returns."

He had to smile at hearing her say those things. She was on his side, and he really believed now that he could trust her. Yet, it would have to wait. He had things he needed to do before he made his move to turn himself in, and he knew that he would have to do just that.

There was no way he could continue hiding out and avoiding having to face whatever lie ahead of him. However, he could choose when, where, and how it was done. And he wanted to wait until he knew more and had enough protection of his own so not to be railroaded.

Eames had barely answered his questions yesterday so he still didn't know what was going on exactly or why. She had only given him enough information to bait him, but not enough to satisfy his right, and need, to know, and that was frustrating. If he were innocent, he wanted to make sure he had people behind him to defend him when he couldn't. But, if he were guilty, he would want to know that too.

Going back into the study, he quietly shut the door behind him and then cleaned up the room just as quietly. From the look of the study, he was certain that Eames didn't come into it often. There were no signs of a woman in this room. It was perfectly organized, nearly obsessive-compulsive in its arrangement.

The bookshelves, which lined two of the walls, were full of textbooks on various subjects from psychology, criminal law, criminology; which he figured were common for a detective. The ones that weren't common for a cop were the books on Art, Military History that included not just the American involved wars but all the way book to the Greeks, Rome. There were books of Poetry, fiction written by great writes such as Hemingway, Dickens, Tolstoy, Poe, Homer, all the writers where a name was all anyone needed to know who it was. But also some that weren't so well-known, like James Baldwin, Malcolm Lowry, and Arthur Rimbaud.

All the books were in alphabetical order by author and then in sequence of publication. Over and over again, not a single book misplaced. And that was just the first bookcase.

The other had the bottom three shelves dedicated to magazines: 'Guitar World', 'Classic Cars', 'National Geographic', 'The Smithsonian', and the 'American Journal of Forensic Psychology'. The rest of the shelves were covered in whole collections of encyclopedias including a worn down collection of Catholic encyclopedia's, along with just about every type of language dictionary. He looked over old copies of the Bible, both old and new testaments, a worn copy of the Qur'an, and a Torah, all stacked together on one shelf.

He was well-read, well-educated, and it explained a lot. He couldn't remember any personal details about himself, but he could remember every detail about the books on those shelves.

In-between the books were various items such as signed baseballs and model cars and boats. There were also mementos from places all over Europe like Germany, the Netherlands, the UK, along with artifacts from China, Japan, and Korea. He spotted the Army beret next to the NYPD cap.

Then there was the old roll-top desk, and on the desk in a triangular case was a folded-up American Flag; through the glass on top of the case he could only see the blue with white stars. Behind that sat a single nameplate. Picking it up, he read the name that was inscribed on it: Sgt. Robert Goren.

He looked up above the desk at all the certificates that Robert Goren had received while in the Army and the few from the NYPD. Hanging up with the certificates were photographs of several Army units, and individual people. He realized that there were no pictures, not a single one, had family members in them. Maybe he wasn't close to his family, or he didn't have any.

The case that caused him the most pause hung right in the middle of the wall. It showed off the Army medals and accommodation pins. There were two separate, smaller cases, hanging to the left and right of that case: one held a set of dog tags, the other held another medal, the Purple Heart.

This was his life laid out before him. Everything he'd ever accomplished in his adult life, and career. It was not only intimidating, but disconcerting. All the evidence in that room pointed to a good cop and a hero, yet, he felt he didn't deserve any of it. He wondered if that feeling was one he always had, or if it was a new one due to what was going on now.

He heard someone walking down the hall and the door at the end of the hall shut. Eames was finishing getting ready for work. And, she had walked right by the room without attempting to open the door. He saw the lock on the inside of the door and reached over to lock it. For some reason, he was certain that Eames never once tried to open the door and come into the room since he'd been gone. There would be no reason for her to do it today. She thought he was on the lamb somewhere in the city.

Picking the files up off the floor, he sat down at the desk and looked through them again. This time with a clearer head. Last night he'd been tired and he in a hurry to read everything he could as quickly he could. This time he went slower, taking everything in and making connections he hadn't last night. According to the file, his mother was officially diagnosis with schizophrenia in 1970, at the age of thirty-two, making him nine years old. That made him wonder how long before then she'd suffered without anyone knowing what was wrong with her. He didn't have to read over a book on the subject to know that symptoms usually started a few years or more before any diagnosis could be made. He also wondered how he lived during those days. What his life was like; it had to have been difficult.

He heard the hurried clicking of the heels on the hardwood as Eames came back down the hall. Again, she passed right by the door and kept going. Listening for a moment, he felt more than heard a door shutting in the distance and then silence. Putting the file down, he got up and unlocked the door and stepped back out in the hall. He listened for another couple of minutes before going into the bathroom.

Once done, he went into the bedroom. The first thing he noticed was the big queen sized bed. It's headboard was up against the middle of the wall and on either side was a nightstand. On the bedside table closest to the door, he saw the small lamp and a couple of magazines stacked under a copy of 'The Stand' by Stephan King. There was also a cell phone charger cord lying across it with the opposite end still plugged into wall. On the bottom shelf under the closed drawer he saw a laptop computer.

On the other nightstand-the one on the other side of the bed and closest to the far wall-he spotted an alarm clock, a lamp, a stack of various library books, and a man's gold watch. He saw no cell phone charger or laptop on the bottom shelf, just more books. Picking up the watch, he felt the embroidering on the back. Turning it over, he read what was written: 'To my partner, Robert Goren'. He returned it to the nightstand and left it there as he walked around the rest of the bedroom.

The closet door was open, revealing a walk-in with two separate sides. To the right was her side of the closet. To the left was his. He didn't have a lot of suits, he counted six. But he did have an array of dress shirts. Near the back of the closet he spotted a dress blue uniform. The nameplate that was still attached to it read 'Goren'. He had a couple of ribbons representing various awards he'd received over the years. From the two blue hash-marks on the left sleeve, with each mark indicating five years of service, he determined he'd been on the police force at least ten years but not exceeding fifteen. If he'd been in for fifteen years or more, there would be three blue hash-marks. He looked at the other uniform in the closet, the one that read 'Eames'. It also had two blue hash-marks on the sleeve.

The only thing he took from the closet was an empty black backpack. Going over to the dresser, he started to search it. There was a picture frame on the dresser, on what to appear to have been her side, and it caused him to pause. Eames was in it with another man, and they looked happy. Picking the picture up to study it more closely, he realized it was a wedding photo. She had been married, and it wasn't to him. He didn't know what to think of the picture, or the other ones in the living room with her and that baby boy. Maybe he wasn't the father afterall, but this other guy. A husband that she was no longer with but still kept their wedding picture on the dresser in their home.

Trying not to think too much about it and what it meant, he put the picture frame down then opened the drawers. He took some clothes out and tossed them on the bed before heading to the bathroom. He took his time showering but didn't shave again, opting to let the beard grow out. Right now his face was plastered all over the news and now possibly on the front page of newspapers. The picture looked like it was a few years old and he had been clean-shaven in the photo. He knew it wouldn't do much to hide him, but he no longer at the moment looked like a cop.

He changed into the clean clothes and picked up the watch; after slipping it on his right wrist he left the bedroom. Before he left the house, he grabbed an empty file folder out of the study and collected some paperwork including his birth certificate, social security card, bank statement, and the most recent bills with his name and address on it and put them in the backpack.

There was a lot of loose change and one dollar bills in a big coffee cup on the counter in the kitchen. He emptied it out before taking one last look around. He spotted an address book by the home phone and he took it along with him as well before leaving.

Office of Medical Examiner

One Police Plaza

Alex entered the room and immediately felt confused as she looked around for Rodgers. The office was empty and there was no body being prepped for an autopsy. Checking the time, she saw that she was right on time. Going through a set of double doors, she spotted an assistant wearing a pair of earphones and eating either a late breakfast or early lunch at a desk while bopping his head to whatever music he was listening. She walked over to him and leaned against the desk, causing the young guy to jumped out of his skin.

He yanked the earphones out of his ears and she could hear the rap music that blared out of them. "Detective-"

"Where's Rodgers?"

"Sh-she had a meeting," he told her as he looked around the office nervously. "She, uh, she had to push the autopsy back until eleven."

"A meeting with whom and why wasn't I informed?"

He blushed at that as he sheepishly told her, "I-I was going to call. I got distracted," he stammered out. "Sorry."

She waited a beat and then asked again, "What meeting?"

"Oh, uh, the PD's office. She said it was for an upcoming trial. They wanted to go over the file."

At hearing that, Alex started out of the office as she pulled out her cell phone. The moment she went to turn the corner, Logan was coming around it.

"Whoa, hey," Logan exclaimed as they nearly collided. "What's the hurry? I thought we had an autopsy?"

"It's been pushed back an hour. Rodgers was called out to a meeting at the Public Defender's Office."

Logan narrowed his eyes at that as the turned to follow her out. "You're thinking it's McCoy?"

"No, he would have her go to his office. I think it's that guy Starks, Paul Savoie's lawyer."

"You think he's trying to get her to testify for the defense?" Logan asked incredulously.

Alex hit the button on the elevator to take them up to the eleventh floor. "You make it sound like that's implausible. Rodgers is a great M.E., Logan, but she has testified for the defense before, when it was clear that the evidence ruled in their favor. She unbiased, just like any good Medical Examiner should be."

"Yeah, but…I don't see her going against Goren."

"She has before," she told him as they got onto the elevator.

Logan looked at her with confusion as he asked, "When was this?"

"During his first year with Major Case. He thought for sure that a man had been murdered. Swore up and down that it wasn't a suicide. Rodgers ruled it a suicide, and when he tried to fight it, well, he didn't win the fight. They started off on the wrong foot and they still rub each other the wrong way every now-and-again." Then, before Logan could ask, she answered him, "And yes, it was a suicide. Eventually he came around to see it that way, but he never apologized to Rodgers for the temper he threw in her office over it. Beyond popular belief, Goren has been wrong."

Logan held up his hands as the doors slid open. "I didn't say it, but you're right. I saw him get blinded on a case once on Staten Island. Once he's made up his mind, it's very hard to change it. He's like a pit bull once he sets his jaws into a suspect. Kind of like all of us, though."

"Yeah, but with him it's worse because most of the time he refuses to see the other possibilities, especially when he believes so deeply that he's right." Alex sat heavily at her desk as she rubbed at her head.

Logan was watching her, she could feel it. "How're you holding up?"

She glanced over at him and said, "Don't worry about me, Logan. Let's worry about the case. We still have that meeting with McCoy this afternoon and we've got nothing but a video surveillance footage of a woman that could maybe or maybe not be Nicole Wallace."

Since Saturday, she had updated Logan on everything they had on Nicole. It was a pretty extensive file and she remembered how Logan had made a joke about her. Beauty, brains, and a complete psychopath, my dream girl. That had been his exact words and she couldn't help but think that Bobby had once upon a time nearly told her the exact same thing about the women he went for. Although instead of saying psychopath, he had told her he liked the crazy, feisty types because they seemed to be more passionate and he loved their energy. But, then he had told her that with those type of women, he nearly always got into some serious trouble.

She didn't know where she fell in line with what he wanted or needed from a girlfriend. He never talked to her about it. All he ever told her was that he wanted and needed her, but never explained what it was about her that drove him so much crazy and in love. He'd told her the things he didn't like about her, and how she drove him crazy mad, but never what settled him, never what brought that goofy and yet sweet smile that always seemed to be kept especially for her.

After all these years together, he was still a mystery to her. And now, with the added knowledge of amnesia, she feared what that would do to not only him but to them. He was a hard man to figure before, now, she thought it would be nearly impossible to predict his moves. She hoped that he would recover from this injury, whatever it was, and get back to her.

The anger she had felt for him yesterday had all but evaporated. Bobby wasn't missing because he didn't want to confront her; he was missing because he had something happen to him. Something so severe that he didn't want to remember it. She wondered if it was the knowledge of Caleb's relationship to him, or his death, or a combination of everything that had happened to him over the past year and it had all finally crashed down on him.

Or, if it was something else entirely. They didn't know what had happened in that motel room. They didn't know why his car was abandoned. They had no leads but plenty of speculation. At this point, that was a very dangerous place to be.

"Eames, Logan, my office," Deakins called out to them from his office.

They both looked at each other with a sense of dread. What now, she wondered as she walked to his office. Once inside, she closed the door and sat down in the chair.

Deakins was looking tired and worn down. She wondered if he slept at all last night and figured he hadn't. The brass was beating down heavily on him over the recent developments that had spiraled out of control over the past couple of days.

He sat on the edge of his desk and rubbed over his tired-looking eyes before breathing out. "At the request of the DA's office, you and Logan are off the Caleb Cunningham case."

"What?" she exclaimed as she bolted out of the chair. "They can't do this."

"Yes, they can. The Chief agrees, and so does the Commissioner. Eames," he said looking straight at her. "It was my mistake putting you on it to begin with. You both have history with Goren as partners, and you're currently in a relationship with him. It's a conflict of interest. There's no discussion, no battle to be won. You're off the case. The both of you," he said looking at Logan.

"Captain," Logan went to protest yet more calmly.

"It's final, Logan," Deakins stressed again. "Now, get back to work."

"Doing what?" she asked a little too sternly.

Deakins stared at her as he said, "For one, you can finish up what you got and have the file on my desk by noon so I can get it to someone else before anymore time is wasted. You're still point of contact if Bobby's spotted again, but that's as far as your involvement goes. The first new case that comes in will be yours."

She looked over at Logan who avoided all eye contact as he stood to leave. She swung the door open and stalked out, head held high as she tried to steady her anger and focus it on a plan of action. The only thing she could do was hope Bobby called her again or turned up somewhere.

Until then, all she could do was wait.

TBC…