A/N: This story has been stuck for months. I guess that's the price we pay when we ignore the muse. So I decided to take this in a different direction. First, I deleted chapters 11 and 12. They just were not getting me anywhere. I considered revising chapter 10, to let him go home with exotic and sexy, like the muse wanted in the first place, but I decided against that, too, and left chapter 10 untouched. Now, before everyone freaks out and goes all ballistic on me because of the way this one ends, I want to assure you all that I am beginning work on a sequel, based on an Air Supply song, Here I Am. Remember that Choices started with Air Supply, too. So...it's something everyone can actually look forward to. And this ending is better than the other one that occurred to me. At least this one can be resolved outside of a cemetery...
Goren slept late the next day, waking up just past noon, still on the couch. He was not surprised to find the apartment empty, and he didn't wonder where Eames had gone. He had accepted her ultimatum and he came home. She'd wanted to talk; he had not. He still had no desire to discuss his life with anyone, not even with her. The difficulties of his past were his alone to bear, as was his mother's terminal illness and approaching death. He wasn't sure how much time the chemo was going to buy her, although he knew she was angry with him for subjecting her to it. He just...he was not prepared to lose her. And the rest of his life was in jeopardy because of it.
He poured himself a glass of orange juice and returned to the couch. His mind wandered into the past, following the course of his mother's illness and the impact it had had on his life. As a young child, in the early days of her illness, he had been confused, wondering what he had done to cause his mother to stop loving him. He also wondered why the demons didn't come after Frank as often as they did him. As he entered his teen years, he came to understand that his mother was sick, and he began to research schizophrenia once he realized it had a name. But understanding had not made it any easier to handle. So he began to experiment with alcohol and marijuana, finding some escape with them. Sometimes he smoked and drank with Frank, whose usage far exceeded his own and began to branch off into cocaine and amphetamines. He never went that route after seeing how messed up it made his brother. So he drifted away from Frank, spending more and more time with Lewis. He graduated from high school at seventeen and turned eighteen two months later. He'd had a few minor run-ins with the police, but nothing in any police station was more frightening than his mother when she went off her medicine, which was often. Her non-compliance compounded her disease. He went to college and worked hard to earn his degree in three years, in spite of some more minor scrapes with the law, usually in collaboration with Lewis.
His mother entered into a period of relative stability when Frank made an appearance, broke and jobless. That did not keep his mother from praising his resourcefulness for coming home to get on his feet. Bobby had had enough. Nothing he ever did was good enough for her. The worse thing he had ever done was to be born different from his brother. He joined the Army, where he was put into law enforcement. The Army was the turning point of his life, and Declan Gage had turned a potential screw-up into a brilliant investigator. Dec had always said he could have gone either way, and taking the young, out-of-control cop under his wing had straightened him out. Bobby was the son he had always wanted but never had. Bobby liked his young daughter Jo, but by and large, neither he nor Declan had paid too much attention to the girl. That was a mistake that had come back to haunt him with a vengeance.
He had loved the Army, but Frank was unreliable at best and, after twelve years in service, he was forced to leave when Frank took off and his mother attempted suicide. Somehow, that had been his fault. He came home but the Army had taught him to love law enforcement. Dec had brought forth his profiling skills and he had found his niche. He joined the NYPD. After graduating from the Academy at the top of his class, he was forced to make his mother a permanent resident of Carmel Ridge.
He excelled as a cop, but his past continued to haunt him. He had trouble keeping partners because of his unusual approach to, well, everything. He had never professed to be conventional, but he did get results. Unfortunately, that wasn't good enough for most of his partners. There were two who had seemed willing to stick it out, but one had been killed in the line of duty during a stake out and the other had taken an early retirement after a crippling injury. He had never forgiven himself for those accidents, even though he had in no way contributed to either. In fact, his actions had saved the life of the partner who had lived and he had received a commendation for that. It meant nothing to him, although his mother had kept the framed citation. He never could figure out why. She constantly berated his choice of a career; his brilliance was wasted as a cop when he could have been a scientist like his brother. Well, he wasn't an alcoholic or a drug addict either, and he had not been unemployed since he was sixteen, but that didn't matter, not in her mind.
Then came his transfer to Major Case, a reward for his four years in Narcotics, and ultimately, his partnership with Eames. And she stayed. Why, he had no idea, but she did, and he was grateful for her. He would do almost anything for her, except for the one thing she seemed to want the most. He could not open up to her. He had no idea how to, and he was terrified that the monsters in his past would consume her and prove to be too difficult for her to handle. So he kept his past locked inside his head and his pain sequestered in his heart, not allowing her access to either. It was for her own good, after all. But she still resented it, and he began to resent her for that as well.
When she returned to the apartment after spending the morning at her house, she tried to get him to open up to her, but fully sober, he closed himself off. He had never let anyone in, and he had no intention of starting. A week and a half later, they met Mark Ford Brady.
Emil Skoda leaned back in his chair and studied the couple in his office. She was sitting in a chair near his desk. He was standing across the room, looking out the window. He had been remote for weeks, and Skoda wasn't sure there was much more he could do for them. They seemed to be at an impasse. They were shutting down on one another, driven by his withdrawal. What amazed the doctor most was their ability to function so well as a team at work while their personal relationship was disintegrating. "Bobby, how is your mother?"
Caught off-guard by the sudden question, Goren turned from the window to look at the doctor. His eyes shifted to Eames and then back. "She...decided to stop her treatments. She has...a few weeks, at best."
Skoda looked at Eames, who was watching her partner. "Did you know that, Alex?"
"Yes."
"So how do you feel about it, Bobby?"
Goren stared at him. "About my mother dying?"
"It's a technicality. Didn't you say she's been slipping away from you all your life?"
"So this is supposed to be easy for me?"
"I didn't say that. You're defensive and belligerent right now. Why is that?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"You never do," Eames accused.
"Don't start," he growled.
"Why don't you get that I just want to help you?" she demanded, unconsciously raising her voice in frustration. "I'm tired of always being on the outside looking in with you. I'm tired of trying to guess what you're feeling. If all you want is a fuck buddy, Bobby, maybe you need to look somewhere else. Because I need more from you."
The words were out before she could stop them. He stared at her, hurt. "Is that what you think?"
"It's what I feel."
He ran a hand over his hair, and Skoda could tell he was on the verge of bolting. His agitation was getting the better of him and he was feeling overwhelmed. "Bobby, you need to separate your emotions. Try not to project your anger and frustration with your mother onto Alex."
"The case we're working doesn't help matters any," Eames commented.
Skoda raised his eyebrows curiously. "Go on."
"Mark Ford Brady," she said. "He has some fascination with Bobby we haven't figured out. It's unsettling."
"Bobby?"
Goren shrugged. "We're learning about victims that were never found, bringing closure to their families."
"What about Brady's interest in you?"
"What about it?"
Skoda looked at Eames. "Alex?"
"It seems personal. I don't like it."
Goren waved her off. "What's the problem? It's not the first time I've offered myself up to get justice."
"It's more than that, dammit! His interest..."
"...is irrelevant. We...we're bringing closure to families, Eames. They deserve to know."
"At what cost, Bobby?"
He waved his hand in the air. "He's going to die at the end of the week. I can handle it."
Skoda watched him. "Can you?"
The dark look that settled on his face disturbed Eames. But before he could lash out at either of them, his phone rang. Pulling it out, he looked at the caller ID before he answered it, saying only, "Hold on for a minute."
He looked at Skoda. "I have to go."
Glancing at Eames, his eyes held a brief apology. He headed out the door as he put the phone up to his ear. "Yes?"
The door slid closed and Eames shook her head. "How did I lose him?"
"You didn't. He retreated too far for even you to reach."
"So what do I do?"
"There is nothing you can do, Alex."
"He's never going to open up to me, is he?"
"No. He's not. If you can accept that, then there is a chance you can salvage your relationship. If not, then you are going to lose him for good. You are asking him to do something he simply cannot do. He has everything locked away so securely, he doesn't know how to turn it loose."
She crossed her arms in front of her, hurt and angry and determined not to break down over it. He had caused her enough pain. She simply could not handle any more. She would remain his partner, but the rest of their relationship was not salvageable. It was over.
Six months after his mother died, he was gone. He had not discussed it with her at all. She came in one morning to find his desk cleared out and a single rose in the middle of her desk with a brief note of apology: I can't handle this any more. Everything in my life has fallen apart around me, and it's time for me to make a fresh start. Never doubt that I love you, but it's better this way. Trust me, like you always did with everything, except your heart. I am sorry, most of all, for the pain I caused you. Maybe now things will be better for you.
She had no idea where he went, and she decided not to look. He had hurt her enough. So she moved on with her life and sequestered the memory of him into a corner of her heart that was irreparably broken.
I lose my way
And it's not too long before you point it out
I cannot cry
Because I know that's weakness in your eyes
I'm forced to fake a smile, a laugh
Every day of my life
My heart can't possibly break
When it wasn't even whole to start with...
Because of you
I never stray too far from the sidewalk
Because of you
I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt
Because of you
I tried my hardest just to forget everything
Because of you
I don't know how to let anyone else in
Because of you
I'm ashamed of my life because it's empty
Because of you
I am afraid
Because of you
Because of you