A/N: The characters of Bobby Goren and Frances Goren and CI in general belong to Dick Wolf and connected people. The character of Mrs Pastorelli is mine. This is my first CI fic, which popped into my head fully formed. I have taken liberties in naming Bobby's father and brother...not having seen S5 CI yet, i don't know whether their names are canon or not. But i wondered about Frances Goren and what she could've been like before Carmel Ridge.

Frances Goren was a tiny woman. An inch maybe over five feet tall but she was no pushover. People respected her and her family even if her husband didnt. She was never afraid to stand up for what she believed in. And she would teach her children that too. It was a good thing to have faith. She felt the child inside of her move and stretch and she rubbed her swollen stomach gently, feeling the baby respond. Another son, she was sure of it. She stood in the small kitchenette and watched her firstborn sitting on the rug crashing two toy cars together, adding sound effects of crushing metal and explosions himself. She watched him for a little while and sighed quietly. Already Billy was the living incarnation of his father, would be as tall as him too. The Goren's were all tall, wide shouldered and strong, all cut from the same cloth. She turned back to the sink and massaged her back absently. Billy had been a big baby and it had been a tough labour, odds on that this little one would be too. She looked down at her stomach, the maternity dress that she wore already stretched to its limitations. She hoped he didn't grow any further, she couldn't afford any fancy new maternity wear, what she was wearing was what was left over from being pregnant with Billy. There was barely enough money to feed and clothe Billy, never mind buy herself anything new. What Bill made, he usually gambled, drank or whored away.

It was so hot today. She lifted her dark hair away from her neck, aware of the perspiration dampening the back of her neck and her hairline. Another month before this baby would be born and he was due in the height of summer. Maybe there was a connection there somehow. Maybe it was her punishment for becoming pregnant again. To deliver this baby she would effectively burn in the fires of hell.

"Billy, come get your lunch sweetheart" Five-year-old Billy Goren barely lifted his head from the toy adventure unfurling in front of him. Frances regarded him with mild frustration. Billy could be a real handful sometimes; she wasn't sure how she was going to cope with him and a new baby. God help her if the baby turned out to be just like his brother, she didn't know whether she'd be able to cope. She hoped that in time she could get back to work at the library, make some extra cash. Maybe in time for Christmas. She smiled to herself. She loved Christmas, loved seeing the look of excitement and expectation on Billy's face. She tried to make the holiday as special as she could for him and she would too for this new baby.

She went into labour two weeks earlier than expected. Her waters broke just like that, gushing over the cheap linoleum floor. The pains had set in almost immediately, pulsating, vicious and hard. She had first got on her hands and knees and cleaned up the mess, gritting her teeth and trying not to cry out too loud in case she woke Bill up. He had come home steaming drunk in the early hours, stinking of cheap perfume and belligerent with it. He'd been looking for a fight and the way he had watched his wife prepare him a meal in just her nightgown and robe, the look had been mean. Frances knew when to keep her mouth shut and her head down and when not to, she sometimes gave as good as she got, but not so much since Billy had been born. Slowly she got to her feet and braced herself for another labour pain. She breathed slowly and deeply and knew that this child would be here soon whether she willed it or not.

Billy ran to get their neighbour, Mrs Pastorelli who had been a midwife in her time. She'd birthed countless babies in her past, Billy included and she arrived quickly and checked her over.

"Yep. Baby's on his way. And in a hurry too" she had looked at Frances with lively chocolate brown eyes.

"Two weeks early. We need to get you to bed otherwise you'll be birthin' this baby on the kitchen floor" she informed her. Frances's eyes widened.

"Bill's still sleeping, he won't be happy to be woken up" she told her in a hurried voice. Mrs Pastorelli rolled her eyes. She knew Bill Goren's reputation, everyone did.

"Well that's just his tough luck ain't it? Right now, this baby is more important" Frances closed her eyes with regret when she heard the old lady head into their bedroom and presently turf the father to be out of bed. Bill protested loudly just as she thought he would and she didn't dare look at him when he stomped into the living room in an undershirt and unbuckled pants. Mrs Pastorelli followed shortly afterwards, with a determined gleam in her eye. She went to Frances and helped her to her feet.

It turned out the baby wasn't in a real hurry to arrive after all. The day passed slowly. The bedroom was stifling and Frances would've given anything for somebody to open a window. Pain after pain racked her tiny body, distorted by her huge pregnancy. Mrs Pastorelli made all sorts of muttering about how the baby would be too big to be delivered the normal way and that she would maybe have to go to hospital to have it cut out of her. Her eyes widened at that possibility. There was no way they could afford to do that, Bill wouldn't tolerate her being out of action for more than a few days, and she didn't want to begin to think how he would cope with taking care of Billy on his own. Patience was not his strong point. She took a deep shaky breath. No, she would deliver this child as God intended, whether it killed her or not.

She barely had the strength to raise her head. She stared at the shadowy ceiling instead and wondered what heaven would be like. She would be free of this never-ending pain, free of the responsibility of raising two children. The idea of freedom sounded like the best thing all around at that moment.

"Frances. I need you to concentrate now. It won't be long" she barely heard Mrs Pastorelli's voice, didn't hear the undertones of worry. It won't be long. Didn't she say that when she'd first arrived? How long ago had that been? She didn't care any more. She just wanted it all to stop and go away, she was through with birthing this baby. She closed her eyes.

"Frances!" Mrs Pastorelli's voice was sharp and reprimanding and obediently her eyes popped open.

"I can see the baby's head, he's right there. Three more good pushes and he'll be out" she told her. Frances stared at her dazedly.

"Three more pushes" she slurred and let her body take over the task.

He arrived in a rush of blood and other birthing fluid straight into Mrs Pastorelli's awaiting hands. Frances gave a big sigh and was still, thankful that it was over. She closed her eyes, already the mists of exhaustion beginning to claim her.

"A boy Frances…big too. Has to be nine pounds if he's an ounce" Frances sighed.

"That's…nice…" she breathed.

"Looks just like his dad and his big brother too" she told her as she cleaned up the wriggling child and swaddled him. He was long, possessed the longest legs she'd ever seen in an infant and huge hands…big wide palms with long graceful looking fingers along with a head of thick black hair. But it was his quietness astounded her. Normally a newborn entered the world screaming, full of rage and injustice at being evicted from their nice warm haven. But not this little boy. She looked down at him. This little boy didn't utter a sound, just observed his surroundings with wide eyes before fixing on her face and staring at her with what looked like great interest. Despite herself, she smiled.

"Well hello little man" she greeted in a quiet voice. She turned her head towards the new mother. Her eyes were closed. It had been a tough labour, even tougher than her first. She'd been really scared that it would be too much for her but she'd got on with it, which was typical of her nature. If life threw her lemons then she made lemonade.

"Got a name for this one Frances?" she asked, walking to the head of the double bed, the swaddled child in her arms. Frances opened her eyes and looked at her. Mrs Pastorelli lay the infant in her arms but she barely looked at him.

"Robert. Robert Owen. That was my maiden name"

"A fine name for a fine boy" Mrs Pastorelli told her, though she was a little alarmed by her seeming lack of interest in her newest little boy.

"A fine name for a fine boy" her voice was like a whisper of a breeze.

"What was that mom?" Frances turned her head and looked at the man who sat by her bed. Who was he? She didn't recognise him immediately, apart from the fact that he was the absolute spitting image of her husband Bill. And he had called her mom?

"I was just remembering…" she began and then paused. What was she remembering? The new medication they were giving her made her more forgetful these days. She leaned back against the pillow and closed her eyes.

"I don't know what I was remembering" Exhaustion seeped through her, weighing her down as it always did. If she wasn't feeling nauseous through the chemo then it was this constant tiredness.

"I have to go now," the voice told her. She slowly opened her eyes and looked at him. He was standing up now and he was so tall. Handsome too.

"Do you know, you look just like my husband? Do you know him? His name is Bill Goren. He was supposed to be visiting me today but he didn't show up" she didn't let her disappointment show in her voice. Bill hated it when she complained that he didn't visit enough. She closed her eyes. She had to get some rest. Maybe Bill would visit tomorrow.

New York Police Detective Robert Goren watched his mother sleep. He wondered what it was that she had been remembering. All that she'd said was 'a fine name for a fine boy' and even then he'd barely heard her. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. She had confused him with his dad again. Once upon a time when she'd done that, he'd tried to correct her but it got to the point that eventually he stopped. She was in a calm mood today; there were days when she was difficult, argumentative and sometimes even combative. For such a tiny lady, she could pack one hell of a punch.

"I'll stop by tomorrow mom," he told her quietly and leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. He straightened and continued to watch her. She barely stirred, her eyes remaining closed. He quietly sighed. Along with the paranoid schizophrenia that had blighted her life as well as his own, cancer was slowly eating its way through her frail body. The doctors had measured her time in weeks. He wasn't ready to let her go. Not just yet.

"Robert Owen. That's what I called him" he stopped in his tracks at his mother's voice. His heart thudded in his chest. Her eyes were still closed and he wondered whether she was dreaming.

"My boy. My boy" she continued to murmur, the words beginning to slur. Bobby felt tears burn the back of his eyes. He swallowed and left the room.

END