"You're free now. Bobby, you're free."

Eames watched through the one-way glass, her eyes riveted to her partner's face. Gage's words sent a tremor of rage through her body. Free? What the hell did he mean by that? Gage murdered Frank and Nicole...to set him free?

She had to admit, Gage knew Goren. Gage knew that he blamed himself because no one ever came through for him. He knew that Goren felt it his destiny to be alone in life, with few people that really cared about him. Gage acknowledged that she was one of those few. Right now, her stomach churned with worry for Goren and hatred for Gage.

She looked at Ross before leaving the room to follow the two uniformed officers into the interrogation room. As they pulled Gage to his feet and cuffed him, the old man kept his eyes on Goren. "You'll thank me, Bobby. Some day, you will thank me."

Goren didn't look at him, but he heard Eames telling the officers to get Gage out of there. Yes, get him out. He folded his hands on the table in front of him but did not look up. A hand settled on his shoulder, a small hand. Eames...

"I'll take care of the booking, Bobby," she said.

Her voice was soft, kind. He inclined his head, acknowledging the fact that he heard her. He was unable to say anything, to thank her, but he sensed words were unnecessary. She knew. Her hand tightened on his shoulder, as if in response to his thoughts. Then it fell away and he felt a sudden empty sensation, followed by panic and a need to insulate her from Gage, from the poison he had injected into his life, into their lives. But he couldn't move, couldn't talk, and she was gone.

The door closed and he scrubbed his hands over his face, propping his elbows on the table. He paid no attention to the time that passed as he sat there, numb. He tried to form some connection to his emotions, but he found none. He was past the ability to feel.

The door opened, then closed, but he did not move. The chair across from him, recently occupied by Gage, scraped the floor and he heard it shift under the weight of a man. After a long moment, he looked up.

Ross sat there, watching him, his green eyes filled with both curiosity and compassion. "That was a difficult interview for you, and I appreciate that, detective. I know you are close to Gage, and what he did...it must be difficult for you."

Goren nodded acknowledgment, but he made no clarification to Ross. He remained silent, and the captain went on. "It seems that Nicole Wallace is now out of commission permanently. How do you feel about that?"

Goren stared at his hands for a long time. How did he feel? He wasn't up to having this conversation, but something deep inside him gave voice to his thoughts. "I...I don't know, captain. She...challenged me like no one else ever did. She kept me guessing, always running just half a step ahead of me. No one else has ever been able to do that."

"She was a criminal, detective."

"I know that. But...I would have preferred a different ending to our relationship. I would have preferred to...to deal with her myself, on my own terms."

"What terms would those be? Murder?"

Slowly, Goren raised his eyes to look at Ross. "You would like to hear me say yes." The serial killer's son, inclined to follow in his father's footsteps...

"Not necessarily. I'm looking for an honest answer."

"Honestly...no. I don't think I would have had it in me to kill her...unless..."

He trailed off and when he didn't speak again, Ross pressed him. "Unless?"

"If she forced me into making a choice between her and Eames...I would always choose Eames."

"You and Eames have had a rocky time the past few years."

Now Ross was venturing into territory Goren had no desire to discuss with him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed his fingers into his temples and rubbed small circles to no avail. His head still pounded. He still had not wrapped his mind around what Gage had told him. Free, my ass, he mused bitterly. When the enormity of what Gage had done finally hit him, it wasn't going to be pretty.

Ross reached out a hand and touched Goren's arm. It was a gesture meant to convey compassion, but Goren pulled his arm away. Forcing his eyes open, Goren glared at his captain, his face stormy. But he was caught off guard by what he saw. Compassion shone in Ross' eyes, and it meant something to him. Eames, he knew, would always feel compassion for him, but Ross? To see that in the captain's eyes, it had an impact. His body trembled under the force of the emotions that suddenly coursed through him, emotions with neither definition nor connection. He looked away. The chair scraped against the floor, and the door opened and closed. He was alone again.

He did not have the energy to move, so he remained where he was, head resting against his hands, alone.

Eames took care of the booking, charging Gage with the murder of Nicole Wallace. They had her heart, ultimate proof that she actually did have one, and they had Gage's confession. Tell Bobby he's the only man I ever loved. Those words cut right into her. That was not something Goren had needed to hear, not that Gage cared. Given his history in law enforcement, the DA would likely cut him a deal that would involve imprisonment in a hospital setting. Bobby had made it clear that Gage was losing his mind. Gage had been so confident that Bobby would solve the case, he had not hesitated to frame him for his brother's murder. He banked on Bobby's intelligence and skill to overcome the emotional traumas he'd recently been through and solve the case. Gage had put himself on the chopping block in order to bring Bobby back into his own, to restore the passion for truth and the thrill of the chase to his tortured soul. And he had succeeded. But at what cost? Had Gage foreseen that his efforts could have brought Goren to his knees, maybe even destroyed the man? She doubted it.

There was no hiding her anger and resentment. She was seething and Gage easily read her. "You don't like me, Detective Eames."

"How can you tell?" she snapped, not trying to keep the sarcasm from her tone.

"Believe me when I tell you that everything I did, I did to save him."

"Save him? You've got to be kidding me."

Gage spoke with clarity, and she wondered how much of his mind he actually had lost. Maybe it just went wandering from time to time. "Do you have any idea what you mean to him, Detective Eames?"

"I'm his partner." It was the only answer she was inclined to give him. She was not going to talk to Gage about the man he tried to destroy, whether he actually meant to or not.

Gage kept talking. "I am the father that Bobby never had. I care about him more than either father of his ever did. And yet, when you were missing, he turned on me when he thought I had something to do with your disappearance."

You did have something to do with it. You raised the psychopath who tried to kill me. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of a verbal answer.

And he went on. "Because of his upbringing, Bobby does not form attachments easily. It took time for me to earn his trust. You are the only other person outside his family, aside, perhaps, for Nicole, that he has formed a strong attachment to. I am being removed from his life and Nicole is dead, so now, all he has is you. Take care of him, Detective Eames."

Eames thought it ironic to hear those words coming from the man who orchestrated Frank's death, the man who killed Nicole Wallace. As much as she had always hated Nicole, her fate had to leave her partner feeling incomplete. There was no resolution for him in her death. None at all. The dance was done, but it was incomplete. The challenge was gone and, in reality, no one won the game. So he was floundering, and she wasn't sure she could reach him. She wasn't sure anyone could.

She heard Gage calling after her as she left following his booking, but she did not hesitate. Nothing he had to say held any interest for her. Her mind was focused on one thing. She had to get back to her partner.

When Eames returned to the squad room, Ross was waiting for her. "He's still in there," he told her. His words were soft; his voice was filled with concern. "He's just sitting there."

She looked toward the interrogation room and then she looked back at Ross. "He didn't kill his brother. He doesn't have the heart of a killer."

Ross nodded. "I realize that." He looked around as though he'd lost something. Finally, he looked back at her. "Take care of him, Eames."

Ross walked away, and Eames wondered just what he meant. Make him better? She didn't have that ability. Lately, all she had was the ability to tear him down. Before she went into the interrogation room, she stepped into the observation room and watched him. She knew that as soon as she entered the room, he would change. Somehow, he would seem stronger than he was, tell her he was okay, that he was going home and he'd call her later. And they would both know he was lying. He wasn't okay, and he wouldn't call.

She watched him where he sat, not moving, just staring blankly at the table in front of him. He was tense and she knew that one small push in the wrong direction, and he was going to fall apart like a Lego construction. She'd never been great with Legos...what the hell was she going to do with him? Take care of him. She had to, somehow. She had to find a way to reach him. Nicole always managed to find her way to the heart of him, but she lashed out to injure, to take a part of him and claim it as her own. Eames did not know how to do that, to reach out and find her way into the heart of him. But she had to find a path; she had to find a way to his heart.

As she continued to watch him, she felt an unaccustomed warmth fill her. She was overcome with affection for the shell-shocked man sitting alone in the gray room on the other side of the glass. Her heart brimmed, not with pity, but with love. She did not know how to transfer that deep affection from her heart to his, but there had to be a way to reach him, and she was determined to find it.

She left observation and slowly opened the door into the interrogation room. She wondered how receptive he would be to her now. She sure had lashed out at him often lately, drilling into him with sharp words, leaving wounds because he had hurt her in some way and she wanted to get back at him. Or worse, ignoring him, giving him the cold shoulder because she was hurt and, in her opinion, he deserved it. He had worked very hard to make it up to her, in his own uncertain way. And she had forgiven him, although she wasn't so sure he knew that.

Goren's mind wandered away from the room where he sat, into the past, before Gage came to New York, before his descent into the dark realm of the minds he spent his long career profiling. Sebastian. That case was the beginning of the end for the brilliant man who had taught him to profile the criminal mind. Get into their heads, Bobby. Understand their motivation, and you're almost there!

Dammit, Bobby! These are criminals! They do not deserve your compassion! But he did feel compassion, even for the worst of them. John Tagman. Nelda Carlson. Nicole Wallace. Nicole...His emotions roiled through his chest into his head, where they added to his headache. She was dead, in his name. What was he supposed to do with that? How was he supposed to handle it?

He did not hear the door, so he was surprised when movement in front of him drew him back to the present. He focused on the woman who lowered herself into the chair most recently occupied by the captain. She met his eyes, looking deep but remaining silent. She knew, somehow, that now was a time to remain silent, not a time to tell him what to do or how to feel. She watched him, and she waited.

He remained silent, and she finally stretched her hand toward him. His eyes shifted and he watched her fingers slide along the back of his hand. More than that, he felt the tender touch of skin on skin, and he lifted his eyes back to hers. "Is he..." What did he want to know? "Is he all right?"

She did not withdraw her hand. Instead, she slid her fingers closer, bringing her palm down onto his hand. "Is Gage all right?" she repeated, managing with difficulty to mute her surprise. "What about you, Bobby? I don't give a damn about Gage, but I do care about you. I'm allowed to care about you."

Her admission that she cared about him was exactly what he needed to hear at that moment. Slowly, he lowered his head until his forehead came to rest on her hand. He had no control over the emotion that caused his body to tremble. Gently, her other hand came to rest on his head and she stroked his hair. He felt nothing but affection from her in that moment, and it was exactly what he desperately needed.

In his nightmares, he still saw her busting through the door into Testarossa's office, gun at the ready, pointed at his head as he held his gun leveled on her. If it had been anybody else...you would be dead. He did not doubt that for a moment. But it hadn't been anybody else, and he'd found himself in the lethal position of staring down the barrel of Alex Eames' gun. He'd lowered his immediately, and she arrested him. He still had no idea what she'd been thinking, if she thought he actually had turned bad. He found that was something he really didn't want to know.

At the moment, though, resting his head against her hand as she stroked his hair, he felt only comfort and affection from her. She was giving him what he needed without reservation, reaffirming their connection, something he thought he had lost.

Ross kept looking up from his desk toward the interrogation rooms, waiting for Goren and Eames to emerge. Finally, they came into the squad room proper and he watched them. There did not seem to be any tension between them, but Goren looked drained. Rising, he went to the door and called to him. "Come in here, please, detective."

He did not miss the fact that the big detective looked at Eames before he crossed the room to his office. Ross waited until he closed the door before he held out a bulky envelope. Goren frowned as he took it. Opening the envelope, he pulled out a brief note.

Dear Detective Goren,

You probably don't remember me. Five years ago, you and your partner brought my son's killer to justice. Six months later, his beautiful girlfriend gave birth to my grandson, the joy of my life. I have been able to get past losing my son because you gave us a chance to have closure although I will always grieve for my loss. I was recently in contact with Jimmy Deakins, and he told me of the personal challenges you have faced over the last two years. I am pleased to make this offer to you. I have a vacation home in Branford, Connecticut, near the Thimble Islands, in a nice community called Stony Creek. It's a beautiful rambling home in a quiet location, and I would be honored if you would be my guest there for as long as you need to recover your bearings. Please, let me do this for you to thank you for what you have done for me. More than anything, I appreciated your kindness during the most trying period of my life. Accept my sympathy for your losses and take the time you need with my gratitude.

Sincerely,

Carole Mayfield

In addition to the note, the envelope held a key and a paper with an address on it and directions to Mrs. Mayfield's summer home. He looked at Ross, who said, "We think it's a good idea, detective."

"We?"

"Dr. Olivet and myself." He waved a hand. "Don't look at me like that. You're not being ganged up on. You have been through a hell of a lot lately, and we think time away is exactly what you need. After your brother's memorial, go. Don't worry about Eames. She can help Wheeler while I look for a replacement for Logan. It's time to look after yourself, detective. Get some good rest and let yourself recover."

Goren's jaw knotted and he closed his fist over the envelope. The last time Ross had forced him to take time off he'd ended up almost dying, followed by a six month suspension. What the hell was going to happen to him this time?

Eames watched him come out of the office and walk to his gun locker. He placed his weapon in it, feeling an odd sense of deja vu. Turning, he looked at her, meeting eyes that were filled with concern. He held up the envelope. "I have time off, to rest and recover. I don't know why people can't just leave me alone to deal with things my way."

Quietly, she said, "Your way isn't always the best way, Bobby."

"Do you agree with him?"

"I don't know, but he outranks me. And Olivet does agree with him."

He sighed. "I don't seem to have a choice in the matter."

She tried to sound reasonable. "You know that if you stay here, all you'll do is go to visit Gage and dwell on what happened."

He looked at her, but he did not raise his gaze any higher than her mouth. "So now all I'll have to do is dwell on it, somewhere in Connecticut, alone. That's such a better option."

He started to walk away. "Bobby." He stopped but did not turn. "Frank's memorial?"

"He was cremated yesterday. The memorial is tomorrow at 9, at St. Justin's. I-I thought that was...fitting."

She understood. "It is fitting. I'll see you in the morning, then. In the meantime...if you need me, call. Please."

He hesitated before finally nodding. As she watched him leave, she knew he wouldn't call. As always, he would deal with his feelings alone, whether it was good for him or not. She wanted to reach out to him, but she was tired of getting shut out. He was in a place where no one could reach him, and her gut churned with worry as she watched him leave.