You don’t have to say you love me, just be close at hand. You don’t have to stay forever I would understand. Believe me. Believe meeeee. Damnit, Linda! Bobby Goren cursed Officer Cornell’s overly chipper wife who always felt the need to bring her husband his lunch practically everyday, usually while humming.
See, this was why he couldn’t work without Eames – he got distracted. With no impending case to work on and nothing but paperwork to fill out, his mind wandered. Even before they were romantically involved, Alex was always there, prodding him along with the promise of the food they were going to have for lunch, if he’d just finish filling out the paper in front of him. At the very least, there would be someone to talk to. And Ross kept making excuses to hover around his desk and Alex wasn’t there to run interference. So he tapped his pencil. Threw himself back in his chair. Looked around. If only he had something to do. It drove Alex a bit nuts, his inability to focus on some things, but his capability to have a militant focus on others.
For example, she was good at surveillance, like sitting on park benches for hours on end looking for faces, yet, if there was forty-eight hours of security camera tape to pour over or recordings of interviews and phone calls from rambling murderers, he was your guy. He just needed to feel like he was doing something as opposed to waiting for someone to come to him.
And that’s what he felt like he was doing now – waiting.
Coffee, he thought, time for coffee. Time for an excuse to get up and move, really, but coffee was as good a pretense as any. Bobby stood up from his chair, glad to stretch. He turned to make his way to the coffee machine.
For the umpteenth time this morning, his thoughts wandered to what Eames was doing at that very moment. He checked his watch while he poured his coffee. She should be back by now. That was, if everything with her parents had gone smoothly. Considering he’d never met her family and all impressions he got of them were second hand from Alex, he couldn’t be confident.
Whenever circumstances with her family presented themselves, like when she was in the hospital, he always visited at off hours, so as not to intrude on family time. He was the one who had given her a window into his family, most of which had been unintentional – randomly running into his brother on the street, his mother’s failing health butting into his work hours and coming up in cases.
Alex had always kept her professional and private life separate. If there were stresses at home, she never brought them into the precinct and vice versa. They were opposites in that way. She was able to remain detached, always, whereas he threw himself in emotions first then was led by his gut. If there was any aspect of their partnership they got frustrated with each over, it was that. When his emotions got involved in a case, he grew distant and despondent. If she got emotionally involved at all, she got angry, but her head was always above water, in the game with him as a team, which was much more conducive to the job – and their partnership.
It’s a wonder she ever agreed to get involved with me, he thought, thinking over his past history. Hell, I wouldn’t get involved with me. Now that his mother had passed and Frank had gotten his life more or less together, Bobby’s life had calmed significantly and he and Alex hadn’t gotten together until after that. It wasn’t by design, well, maybe it was on her part. He wouldn’t have been a very good partner outside of work before that time.
The first few years of their partnership, he had dated women without major incident. But, in about the fifth year of their partnership, life had begun to butt in. And he hadn’t been in a serious relationship since then until now. Every spare minute had been spent either throwing himself into a case or visiting his mother or doing research for both. It was all for the best in the end. Alex had been a major fixture in his life during that time, whether she knew it or not. A touchstone for him, even if she felt he was pulling away. Just the fact of her allowed him to sleep at night. It still did.
Lost in thought, Goren accidentally filled two coffee cups out of habit and his hand was moving to scoop up a handful of sugars for Alex’s cup. Sighing, he threw the sugar down, checked his watch again, compared it to the clock on the wall, and went back to his desk.
“Goren!” an unfamiliarly deep voice boomed across the precinct. The entire Major Case Squad looked up at the burly man hurrying across the floor. He abruptly stopped in the middle of the room, looking around. Bobby could tell the man was agitated and wasn’t entirely sure which one he was. People who were on the phone abruptly ended their calls, those who were milling around the break room found a reason to return to their desks. “Which one of you’s Goren?” Yet, when twenty-five pairs of eyes landed on him, no one came to his aid.
C’mon guys, Bobby thought, you’d think you’d be safe in Goddamn police headquarters. The man had a visitor’s badge on, so he had cleared security. He took a quick glance at the door to the Captain’s office and took slight comfort in the fact that Ross was hanging out his doorway confusedly, taking some tentative steps toward the man. Though Goren was fairly certain Ross wouldn’t be in a complete hurry to take a bullet or punch for him, he might feel inclined to break it up a scuffle just to save himself paperwork and grief.
An older man, who had to be approaching his seventies, though he didn’t move like it, appeared behind the visitor. You could tell he and the younger man came from the same stock. Wait a minute, Bobby took a few seconds to really study them. The younger one looked familiar. From a picture. He ran his mind quickly over the cases they had recently gone over. All the lineups. No, not from work, somewhere else. Alex’s. Alex’s house. The pictures on her bookshelf. Pictures of her family. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. Eames’ brother. And father.
Jesus Christ they are going to shoot me.
Bobby found himself unable to form words so he just stood there like a damn guppy. The two men continued to search the room. “Dad look!” Eames’ brother pointed at the desk across from Bobby. He followed their eyes. The Santa mug. Figures, of all the people in the room, Saint Nick was going to be the one to give him up.
Eames’ brother took his index finger and followed a direct line from Alex’s desk to his, then up to Bobby’s face, who continued to stand there dumbly, coffee cup in each hand. There was a few seconds of a standoff before the two men started forward. Right then, he heard a voice of an angel break through the fog. “Nick!” she hissed, running after her brother and father. Never since knowing her was Bobby more relieved to see Alex. Though, “relief” nor any of its synonyms could be applied to her at the moment. Her livid eyes bounced around the room, visibly embarrassed at the scene her family was making. She shot some whose eyes lingered a little too long a pointed look and they instantly found whatever was on their desks suddenly fascinating.
She caught up with her family, who had continued to advance on Bobby, neither of them turned to look at her. “Dad!” she said, taking a deep breath. “They caught the first elevator and didn’t wait for me,” she explained, the last four words were hard as she glared at her brother and father. Her eyes met Goren’s apologetically.
Neither her father nor brother looked particularly sorry. Bobby took comfort in the fact he had some height on both the male Eames – apparently no one in the family was particularly tall – but where they lacked in height, they made up for in mass. Both men looked liked they’ve been around the block a few times, and wouldn’t mind going again if it’d be worth their while. “We told you, we didn’t want to hurt him, just . . . scare him a bit,” Nick shrugged. Bobby felt his blood pressure finally begin to drop.
“Fine,” Alex ground out, “you got what you came for, now both of you can leave.”
“In a minute,” her father said, absentmindedly patting his daughter on the arm.
“Eames!” a voice rang out. All four of them turned. While her father had not worked in Major Case, apparently he had been one popular guy. A couple of older men who worked in the precinct, who Goren didn’t know very well, were approaching the group, big smiles on their faces. Her dad’s old buddies. No wonder no one was in a hurry to come to his aid, they knew him.
“What are you doing here?” the other man laughed, shaking the eldest Eames’ hand.
Eames’ father turned a stern eye on Bobby, “Seems this one here got my baby girl pregnant.”
This was surreal. If this is what having a well-adjusted childhood meant, Bobby wasn’t sure he’d be willing to trade his in.
“Fitz, you didn’t know anything about this, did you?” he asked warningly.
Fitz shook his head dutifully, “No sir, or I would’ve been on the phone.”
“Oh, for the love of . . .” Bobby heard Alex grumble under her breath. He knew how much this bothered her – the buddy-boy system. He liked to think that was a part of why they worked together – professionally and personally – he wasn’t in the buddy-boy system. None of his close friends were cops. When he arrived at Major Case, most cops thought he was too out there, so he was left out of the loop, which was fine with him. Being eccentric or “an acquired taste” kept him out of all that. Maybe that’s partly why she dropped her partner reassignment request, she could do so much worse.
“But seriously,” his father’s stance finally relaxed, “we just wanted to come down and take you two to lunch. With Alex, who knows when we’d ever meet you. No hard feelings, huh son?” he held out his hand for Bobby, who took it.
Goren shook his head, “No sir,” he replied, a slightly dazed look on his face. He met Alex’s eyes over her father’s shoulder and didn’t read “danger” in them, so he just rolled with it.
“C’mon, grab your jackets you two, I know a place.”
TBC
Monday, July 21, 2008
CI: Telling the Fam' Chapter Two
“I’m pregnant.”
Alex stood in the doorway of her childhood home. She hadn’t even taken off her coat yet. She didn’t know what she thought would’ve happened had she at least took the time to sit down, but no, she acted like Nicole Wallace herself was hot on her heels and any minute was going to burst in the door behind her, screaming the news.
So okay, in her mind she had it playing out better than this. But then she had walked in and her dad wasn’t in the chair she had pictured him being in and there was her mother coming out of the kitchen, offering her coffee or tea and she just . . . she just . . . blurted it out.
Clang!
That would be her mother’s good china hitting the floor.
To see the blank stares of her parents made her secretly wish she had taken up Bobby on his offer to come, he would have (at the very least) got a couple eyes off her and onto him.
“What?” her mother gasped, but Alex’s eyes were on her father, who had silently accepted the news and sat there, considering his coffee. “Oh Alex,” her mother (always eager for a new grandchild) sighed happily, hands clasped at her heart. She rushed over to her youngest daughter, yanking her into a tight embrace. And for a moment, for a split second, Alex closed her eyes and thought everything would be okay. But just then she felt her mother tense and pull back hesitantly, “but . . .” she searched her daughter’s eyes, “we didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” she commented cautiously, throwing a nervous glance at Alex’s dad. The tone in her mother’s voice faltered considerably. Her hands dropped.
Oh -- so everything’s not so hunky-dory. “Well, I was . . . I mean, I am,” Alex quickly amended.
“Well . . . who is he?” her mother asked expectantly.
She knew this moment would be coming, obviously. But she found the name stuck in her throat just the same. What her family would think . . . if only she could explain first, work backwards somehow.
“It’s that partner of yours, isn’t it?” Alex’s head snapped up startled. It was her big brother, who stood leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, beer in his hand; he wore a dark blue t-shirt with his firehouse’s logo emblazoned on the left pocket. He must have stopped by to visit when he got off work.
Of all her siblings, this one she had the most problems with. Whereas her youngest brother was the jokester and her older sister her closest friend, Nick was the big protector of the four kids. Growing up this hadn’t been a problem for her sister, the princess, but Alex the tomboy had fought him tooth and nail since birth. He was a great father, and Alex got along with his wife Megan, but almost twenty years after high school, he still thought he knew what was best for Alex, just because he was first out of the womb. Alex had no idea he was going to be there, lurking. Had she known, she would have had considerably less of a problem keeping her mouth shut.
And his reaction and his accusation, however right it may be, did not bode well for Alex. If Nick was good for one thing, it was being used as a barometer to see where her father would fall on the issue.
By this time, Alex had gained back the use of her voice, “What? How did you . . .?”
“When you were pregnant for Lisa and Steve, do you know how many people thought you were having his kid? I lost count on the number of people I had to threaten to get the story straight.”
Alex had never heard that particular rumor. If there was ever a time Alex rued her family’s connections to the NYPD, now was it.
“What are his intentions?” her dad had finally spoken.
“Intentions, dad, really?” her old man was as old-fashioned as they came in all areas of life, including her own. While Lisa may have been the princess, Alex and her dad had always been sort of buddies – working on cars, the police department. As many differences as they may have had, Alex wanted him to be okay with this, maybe more than okay. Alex and Bobby had already made their decision, but it would be nice for some support.
“Well, are you getting married?” her mother piped up optimistically.
“We haven’t talked about it,” the questions were coming from all sides now.
“Haven’t talked . . .” her brother scoffed, “that’s the first thing I would’ve . . .”
“I thought you’d sworn off cops, what happened?” this from her sister, who had come out of the back bedroom.
“Lisa! God, is the whole family here!?”
“Almost,” Lisa commented offhandedly. Alex peered over Lisa’s shoulder, waiting for the in-laws or maybe her kid brother to come out of the woodwork. Why hadn’t she noticed the cars?
Her sister had been right, after her late husband, she had sworn off cops. But not out of fear of losing them in the line of duty. Joe had been a nice guy, and treated her right, but she had begun to doubt the lastingness of their marriage even before his life had been cut so tragically short. It didn’t make losing him any easier, but she had learned that she wanted to be more than just her job.
And then there was Robert O. Goren who, quite literally, was the job. But it was different. At work, she was NYPD and his partner “Eames” who he never mollycoddled because he was either too busy working out a case in his head and he didn’t have room in there, or confident she could take care of herself. Alex voted for the latter, but she was pretty sure it was a 50/50 mix.
But off the clock she was “Alex” his significant other who was carrying their child. Yes he would sometimes wake her up at odd times of the night to tell her about connections he had made about the case they were working on, but he was easily set back on course. Besides, they never got each other personal gifts, instead going on weekend trips to a place where no one knew them.
“Goren . . .” Lisa recited, “Isn’t he the crazy guy that throws himself off of buildings and slices his hand open in interrogation rooms? My friend Connie had to stitch him up once.”
“Yeah,” Nick agreed darkly, “and he’s also the one who got you kidnapped and tortured by that crazy mentor’s kid. Alex, this is hardly the type of man you want to have a kid with.”
Alex shook her head; of course he was going to bring up that incident even though it happened years ago.
Her mother gasped audibly, “Alex how could you?” She was almost certain she heard the words “mentally unstable” being mumbled by her father.
“It’s done,” Alex’s voice rose, putting the others to rest, “it’s already happened. We’re going to have this baby.” She looked at her family and was sick of the runaround. Better to get their bottom lines and work from there. Suddenly tired, she sighed, “So? What do you think?”
More silence. But everyone seemed to be looking at her brother, so Alex did the same.
“I want to meet him.”
TBC
Alex stood in the doorway of her childhood home. She hadn’t even taken off her coat yet. She didn’t know what she thought would’ve happened had she at least took the time to sit down, but no, she acted like Nicole Wallace herself was hot on her heels and any minute was going to burst in the door behind her, screaming the news.
So okay, in her mind she had it playing out better than this. But then she had walked in and her dad wasn’t in the chair she had pictured him being in and there was her mother coming out of the kitchen, offering her coffee or tea and she just . . . she just . . . blurted it out.
Clang!
That would be her mother’s good china hitting the floor.
To see the blank stares of her parents made her secretly wish she had taken up Bobby on his offer to come, he would have (at the very least) got a couple eyes off her and onto him.
“What?” her mother gasped, but Alex’s eyes were on her father, who had silently accepted the news and sat there, considering his coffee. “Oh Alex,” her mother (always eager for a new grandchild) sighed happily, hands clasped at her heart. She rushed over to her youngest daughter, yanking her into a tight embrace. And for a moment, for a split second, Alex closed her eyes and thought everything would be okay. But just then she felt her mother tense and pull back hesitantly, “but . . .” she searched her daughter’s eyes, “we didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” she commented cautiously, throwing a nervous glance at Alex’s dad. The tone in her mother’s voice faltered considerably. Her hands dropped.
Oh -- so everything’s not so hunky-dory. “Well, I was . . . I mean, I am,” Alex quickly amended.
“Well . . . who is he?” her mother asked expectantly.
She knew this moment would be coming, obviously. But she found the name stuck in her throat just the same. What her family would think . . . if only she could explain first, work backwards somehow.
“It’s that partner of yours, isn’t it?” Alex’s head snapped up startled. It was her big brother, who stood leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, beer in his hand; he wore a dark blue t-shirt with his firehouse’s logo emblazoned on the left pocket. He must have stopped by to visit when he got off work.
Of all her siblings, this one she had the most problems with. Whereas her youngest brother was the jokester and her older sister her closest friend, Nick was the big protector of the four kids. Growing up this hadn’t been a problem for her sister, the princess, but Alex the tomboy had fought him tooth and nail since birth. He was a great father, and Alex got along with his wife Megan, but almost twenty years after high school, he still thought he knew what was best for Alex, just because he was first out of the womb. Alex had no idea he was going to be there, lurking. Had she known, she would have had considerably less of a problem keeping her mouth shut.
And his reaction and his accusation, however right it may be, did not bode well for Alex. If Nick was good for one thing, it was being used as a barometer to see where her father would fall on the issue.
By this time, Alex had gained back the use of her voice, “What? How did you . . .?”
“When you were pregnant for Lisa and Steve, do you know how many people thought you were having his kid? I lost count on the number of people I had to threaten to get the story straight.”
Alex had never heard that particular rumor. If there was ever a time Alex rued her family’s connections to the NYPD, now was it.
“What are his intentions?” her dad had finally spoken.
“Intentions, dad, really?” her old man was as old-fashioned as they came in all areas of life, including her own. While Lisa may have been the princess, Alex and her dad had always been sort of buddies – working on cars, the police department. As many differences as they may have had, Alex wanted him to be okay with this, maybe more than okay. Alex and Bobby had already made their decision, but it would be nice for some support.
“Well, are you getting married?” her mother piped up optimistically.
“We haven’t talked about it,” the questions were coming from all sides now.
“Haven’t talked . . .” her brother scoffed, “that’s the first thing I would’ve . . .”
“I thought you’d sworn off cops, what happened?” this from her sister, who had come out of the back bedroom.
“Lisa! God, is the whole family here!?”
“Almost,” Lisa commented offhandedly. Alex peered over Lisa’s shoulder, waiting for the in-laws or maybe her kid brother to come out of the woodwork. Why hadn’t she noticed the cars?
Her sister had been right, after her late husband, she had sworn off cops. But not out of fear of losing them in the line of duty. Joe had been a nice guy, and treated her right, but she had begun to doubt the lastingness of their marriage even before his life had been cut so tragically short. It didn’t make losing him any easier, but she had learned that she wanted to be more than just her job.
And then there was Robert O. Goren who, quite literally, was the job. But it was different. At work, she was NYPD and his partner “Eames” who he never mollycoddled because he was either too busy working out a case in his head and he didn’t have room in there, or confident she could take care of herself. Alex voted for the latter, but she was pretty sure it was a 50/50 mix.
But off the clock she was “Alex” his significant other who was carrying their child. Yes he would sometimes wake her up at odd times of the night to tell her about connections he had made about the case they were working on, but he was easily set back on course. Besides, they never got each other personal gifts, instead going on weekend trips to a place where no one knew them.
“Goren . . .” Lisa recited, “Isn’t he the crazy guy that throws himself off of buildings and slices his hand open in interrogation rooms? My friend Connie had to stitch him up once.”
“Yeah,” Nick agreed darkly, “and he’s also the one who got you kidnapped and tortured by that crazy mentor’s kid. Alex, this is hardly the type of man you want to have a kid with.”
Alex shook her head; of course he was going to bring up that incident even though it happened years ago.
Her mother gasped audibly, “Alex how could you?” She was almost certain she heard the words “mentally unstable” being mumbled by her father.
“It’s done,” Alex’s voice rose, putting the others to rest, “it’s already happened. We’re going to have this baby.” She looked at her family and was sick of the runaround. Better to get their bottom lines and work from there. Suddenly tired, she sighed, “So? What do you think?”
More silence. But everyone seemed to be looking at her brother, so Alex did the same.
“I want to meet him.”
TBC
CI: Telling the Fam' Chapter One
Summary: “Isn’t he the crazy guy that throws himself off of buildings and slices his hand open in interrogation rooms?”
A/N: Everyone has their own take on what Alex’s family must be like, here’s a sampling of mine. Since the writers haven’t given us a clear picture of the Eames family, I took some liberties while still trying to be faithful to what we do know. This could be considered a continuation of my story "Overprotected".
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? Seriously Alex, I’m responsible too ya know. This is my child too.” He was making a last-ditch offer to accompany her to her parents’ house to break the news she was pregnant. Since Nicole Wallace had so thoughtfully revealed to the captain and certain other key players in their professional lives, Alex could no longer put off telling her family. God forbid they heard it from someone else. She’d never hear the end of it.
She looked at Bobby from across his apartment. “I know that and you know that,” she reasoned, “But honestly, your being there might . . .” Alex searched for how to put it into words he’d understand, “heighten emotions and further aggravate the situation,” she finished finally. Cop terms, she thought, word it like one of those criminal profiles he likes so damn much.
She could see by the look on his face that her carefully chosen words hadn’t had their desired effect. “What?” he asked genuinely perplexed. “How can that be? Wouldn’t your family want the man responsible there?”
She leaned her hip against the counter, put her hand on her waist, and looked at him from underneath her eyelashes, “My family are cops, firefighters, nurses . . . they could make New York a very uncomfortable place for you, Bobby.”
“You make it sound like the mob,” he grumbled scrunching up his neck in an effort to look down, trying for the third time to knot his tie properly amongst their exchange.
She smiled at him exasperatedly, leaving the omelet she was making on the stove to walk across the wood floor to stand in front of him. She gently pushed his arms down to his sides, evening the silk in her hands, “I come from a family of cops, Bobby. They have guns.”
“Well, so do I,” he countered weakly.
“Yeah but they wouldn’t hesitate to use them,” she replied, straightening his tie.
“I’m going to have to meet them eventually,” he commented quietly in the voice that usually broke her heart, like a pathetic little boy. But today she was putting her foot down.
She gave him a look, “Come on, Bobby, this is the Eames family – we have a picnic for everything, you’ll get to meet them.”
He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off by quickly pressing her mouth to his and picking up his jacket, “Go to work. I’ll be right behind you.” He didn’t complain, just rubbed his hands over his mouth a few times and grumbled some words under his breath she chose not to acknowledge and saw him out the door.
TBC
A/N: Everyone has their own take on what Alex’s family must be like, here’s a sampling of mine. Since the writers haven’t given us a clear picture of the Eames family, I took some liberties while still trying to be faithful to what we do know. This could be considered a continuation of my story "Overprotected".
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? Seriously Alex, I’m responsible too ya know. This is my child too.” He was making a last-ditch offer to accompany her to her parents’ house to break the news she was pregnant. Since Nicole Wallace had so thoughtfully revealed to the captain and certain other key players in their professional lives, Alex could no longer put off telling her family. God forbid they heard it from someone else. She’d never hear the end of it.
She looked at Bobby from across his apartment. “I know that and you know that,” she reasoned, “But honestly, your being there might . . .” Alex searched for how to put it into words he’d understand, “heighten emotions and further aggravate the situation,” she finished finally. Cop terms, she thought, word it like one of those criminal profiles he likes so damn much.
She could see by the look on his face that her carefully chosen words hadn’t had their desired effect. “What?” he asked genuinely perplexed. “How can that be? Wouldn’t your family want the man responsible there?”
She leaned her hip against the counter, put her hand on her waist, and looked at him from underneath her eyelashes, “My family are cops, firefighters, nurses . . . they could make New York a very uncomfortable place for you, Bobby.”
“You make it sound like the mob,” he grumbled scrunching up his neck in an effort to look down, trying for the third time to knot his tie properly amongst their exchange.
She smiled at him exasperatedly, leaving the omelet she was making on the stove to walk across the wood floor to stand in front of him. She gently pushed his arms down to his sides, evening the silk in her hands, “I come from a family of cops, Bobby. They have guns.”
“Well, so do I,” he countered weakly.
“Yeah but they wouldn’t hesitate to use them,” she replied, straightening his tie.
“I’m going to have to meet them eventually,” he commented quietly in the voice that usually broke her heart, like a pathetic little boy. But today she was putting her foot down.
She gave him a look, “Come on, Bobby, this is the Eames family – we have a picnic for everything, you’ll get to meet them.”
He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off by quickly pressing her mouth to his and picking up his jacket, “Go to work. I’ll be right behind you.” He didn’t complain, just rubbed his hands over his mouth a few times and grumbled some words under his breath she chose not to acknowledge and saw him out the door.
TBC
CI: Out of It
Summary: Begins with Eames and Ross busting Bobby out of the Psych Ward. PostUntethered
This was taking too long.
Eames leaned forward in her chair and tried hard to focus on the sound her boot heel made against the wood as her leg shook with impatience. For a full minute she managed to make Ross’ baritone and the warden’s placating assertions fade into a dull buzz. She had to. She couldn’t focus on whatever formalities they were going through -- couldn’t listen to that hag go on or she was going to lunge across the desk and shake the witch like a rag doll. And who could blame her?
She didn’t know where Bobby was. He was in this building, somewhere, but that hardly gave her any comfort. On the contrary, it made her more anxious. Alex had a deep suspicion he was in “Heaven” – whatever that meant. Bobby had only told her the manic ramblings of his nephew and she was hesitant to fully believe him. Now she was terrified it was all too true and not a one-time incident. She’d seen the body, the autopsy report, and she’d let him go in there undercover anyway – not that she could’ve stopped him, but the cycle kept playing though her head nonetheless – what if she had just told Frank to go to hell and not told Bobby? But Bobby would’ve wanted to know and they didn’t keep secrets from each other – they gave each other the honest to god, non sugar coated truth, always. The fact that he had even told her his plans and entrusted her to be his outside contact spoke volumes – he wouldn’t have told her anything up to a year or two ago, he would’ve just pulled away, told her to “trust him,” and that would’ve been it. And now he had landed himself in the psych ward.
And his fragile psyche couldn’t take it. Alex wasn’t worried so much what the guards were doing to him as what he was doing to himself – Bobby could be his own worse enemy and torture himself worse than any sadistic guard ever could. When she hadn’t heard from him in hours, she tried not to panic, tried to give him time to get to a phone, get to her, get himself out of whatever mess they had gotten him into. Again Eames cursed herself for ever letting him go on with this stupid plan. Instead, she’d given in to the silent threat of him pushing her away, retreating into his own head, and going on with the arrangement on his own with no contact on the outside. She could have been blissfully ignorant – imagining him on leave up in the mountains visiting his buddies and tinkering with cars and motorcycles. But what was the alternative? The abuse would still be going on and those bastards would continue without so much as a reprimand – a proper investigation and trial would take months, years. She couldn’t not be with him through this – not anymore, not after all they’d been through.
She knew she had had tears in her eyes when she went to the captain, begging him to get him out. She was fully willing to go by herself – no problem. She may not have been willing to play by their rules and go through protocol to get though the door, but instead would’ve charged in like a bull in a china shop – just like Goren. Instead she had stood next to the captain and danced in place, her legs visibly twitching to move, to get closer to him – to tear the place down looking for him. He would’ve done the same for her . . . he had. More than once Ross had given her the up and down, and towards the end a few glares punctuated the “what’s wrong with you? This is actions more becoming to your partner, not to you” question in his eyes. Even now the looks continued, willing her to keep calm, just relax, they had to go through the right channels. Screw the channels. She hadn’t heard from Bobby in hours and hadn’t seen him in days.
And the channels weren’t getting them anywhere. As she sat there and stared at the warden’s hard eyes as Ross tried in vein to convince her Goren/Brady was not a nutcase, but an important NYPD detective, she knew they had hit a wall. The evil wench was talking about making a few phone calls, calling together a meeting . . . things that would take hours, days even and neither Ross nor Alex was convinced that the Chief of D’s or any of the higher ups would be in a particular hurry to come to her partner’s aid.
Alex could stay silent no longer. “This is ridiculous. I want to see him and I want to see him right now,” she interjected.
The warden sat back in her chair, in no hurry to acquiesce, “And who are you?” Alex’s icy reception of her and the lack of impressive credentials in front of her name meant she didn’t have to concern herself with any of Alex’s demands.
The words were out of her mouth before she knew what happened.
“I’m his wife!”
Ross just about fell off his chair, but Alex fought the urge to look at him, and instead sat up taller, meeting Nurse Rachett’s eyes across the desk.
She was trying to recompose herself. “Oh,” she stammered, “well . . . why didn’t you mention that in the beginning?”
“Forgive me for thinking a Major Case badge and the Captain of the Major Case Squad would be enough,” Alex forced out, still fighting the reddening of her face, silently asking Ross not to contradict her or ask any questions. “And if you don’t let me see him I’ll sue you and this place so fast it’ll make your head spin. You have no idea of my means. I’ll have the Assistant District Attorney on the phone right now.” Actually, straitlaced Carver wouldn’t do crap for her, and once he heard her and Bobby’s names, probably would deny ever knowing them, but this lady didn’t know that. “I’ll own this place when I’m done and you’ll be out in the street.”
What the suggestions of a lengthy investigation and police couldn’t do, a direct threat of a pricey lawsuit did. The good warden must not have many friends in the legal system.
“I’m afraid your . . . husband . . . won’t be the same man you remember. He’s suffered a complete mental break. What you see may upset you,” she said trying to dissuade her. “Your husband will not be recognizable. If you could wait until we stabilize him . . .”
“I think I can handle it,” Alex interrupted her. Despite the certainty in her voice, the warden had planted a seed of fear in Alex. With Bobby forced to face his demons, would he still be there when he came back. Would he ever come back to her?
“Follow me.” The warden stood up primly and took her sweet damn time leading them through the twists and turns of the prison. Alex’s heart was in her throat when they passed under the ominous words “MENTAL OBSERVATION UNIT” painted above the doorway.
Ross saddled up next to her and spoke though his teeth, “I know we hit a wall in there, but I don’t think lies are going to help us or your partner in the end.”
Alex kept her eyes straight ahead and shrugged, “It got us in, didn’t it?” He may have replied but right then they reached Bobby’s cell. Alex tried to breathe evenly while they unlocked the door. Alex was peering over the shoulder of the guard that opened the door and forced herself past him to her partner’s side. With trepidation she took shaky steps into the small claustrophobic room. God, how horrible it must have been for him in here. Bobby didn’t like small spaces. She was slightly mollified to see him passed out on the shabby looking cot, like they had just thrown him there – at least he wasn’t awake to experience it.
“When was the last time he had something to drink?” she demanded, framing his face with her hands she looked accusingly from the woman to each of the guards. They looked at each other dumbly. “When!?” her voice rose. Ross had smartly stepped aside at this point and allowed her run the show. The guards each shook their heads and shrugged. The warden looked down at the floor. “I want some water in here right now!” Her forceful words had Sparky the guard, who she would personally seen burned at the stake, on his toes and running in the general direction of the requested beverage.
Ross turned to the warden, “May I speak to you outside a moment?” his stern tone reverberated off the walls. With a parting glare at Alex, she stepped out of the doorway into the hall.
With the enemy out of the room, Alex was allowed to fully focus in her partner. He was fading in and out of consciousness and ever once in a while opened his eyes weakly and looked at her with a mixture of confusion and relief. His eyes were cloudy and drugged – what the hell had happened in here? Giving him a once over, she could she he’d visibly lost weight but hoped he wouldn’t suffer any other short or long term damage if they got him to a hospital soon. She made the shaky call herself on her cell phone.
Alex didn’t know how long she sat there next to him, but didn’t move or talk to anyone until the paramedics edged her out of the way. “Four days without water” – Rogers’ words from the autopsy – kept flashing in front of her eyes -- “Chronic and acute trauma.”
Alex’s boot heels clicked and echoed off the pale green walls of the hospital, following the painted lines on the linoleum floor that led her to the correct wing of the building and Bobby’s room.
At the prison, when he had come to and was sitting up drinking water and conversing with Ross, she had stayed silent, leaning against the wall with her arms around herself watching him, afraid if she blinked she’d miss some sign of impending trouble. She didn’t say anything to her partner, and he’d said nothing to her, but their eyes met frequently. When they were taking him to the hospital she’d murmured to Ross she’d see them at the hospital while Ross rode in the ambulance to continue briefing the paramedics on what her partner had been exposed to.
Now at the hospital, she turned the corner into the doorway and was relieved to see he was looking a degree better. His color had returned but his brows were still furrowed and his eyes listless, though they had been for a good part of the year. He was in the street clothes he’d entered the prison in, his right sleeve of his button down was folded up to his forearm and he was playing with the spot where his liquid IV had been.
She crossed her arms and steeled herself as she entered the room.
He gave her a weak smile, happy to see her but tired and wary. They hadn’t spoken in something that wasn’t code in days. “Hey,” he greeted.
“Hey yourself,” she replied, her voice a degree harder. She couldn’t help but let her eyes give him the once over, double checking he was still more or less intact. He took her silence for something else.
“Look, Eames, I’m sorry . . .”
She shook her head, “You can apologize to me later, that’s not what I want right now. What I need to know is, is that it? Are we done now? Have you decided you are not the son of a serial killer? That you’re not crazy? Are you’re back with me?”
“I never left you Eames,” he defended.
“Yes, you did,” she insisted. “Who were you thinking about when you were in that cell, strapped to that table? When you threw that brick through that window?”
“You knew what I was doing when I did that.”
She was upset and let all the worry and the stress that he’d put her through wash over her. She was too tired to censor herself and hadn’t been sleeping properly. “I could say that was selfish of you, Bobby, but I don’t think you were even thinking about yourself. And you sure as hell weren’t thinking about me or you would have never had done that.”
“I never left you Eames,” he repeated, softer this time.
“Alex,” she insisted, tears pricking her eyes. “Call me Alex.” He only ever called her Alex in the most intimate of situations. Whereas she’d taken to calling him Bobby most of the time, he still held to calling her Eames, only now with a varying degree of softness and fondness that hadn’t been there before.
“Alex,” he concede and he looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, “How did you get to me?”
Alex visibly reddened. “I . . . I told Nurse Rachett I was your wife.”
By her tone, he knew she meant the warden. Bobby nodded and was silent, staring at his hands. “Was Ross there?”
Eames nodded and held her breath. Now she was the wary one.
“Well,” he started, rolling down his sleeve, hiding the restraint marks from her, and reaching out to her. Her shoulders relaxed, and relieved she took his hand immediately; he tugged her over between his knees. She rested her hands comfortably on the back of his neck, now almost eye level with him. Her thumbs caressed over his pulse points. He took one arm off her back and reached into his pocket, retrieving the familiar object and offering it for her inspection between his thumb and index finger. “Well, I guess you can wear this now, huh?”
Even the unflattering overhead fluorescent lighting of the hospital room failed to downplay the brilliancy of the family heirloom that he slipped into her left hand, the hand that she hadn’t realized how naked and vulnerable she felt without it.
END
This was taking too long.
Eames leaned forward in her chair and tried hard to focus on the sound her boot heel made against the wood as her leg shook with impatience. For a full minute she managed to make Ross’ baritone and the warden’s placating assertions fade into a dull buzz. She had to. She couldn’t focus on whatever formalities they were going through -- couldn’t listen to that hag go on or she was going to lunge across the desk and shake the witch like a rag doll. And who could blame her?
She didn’t know where Bobby was. He was in this building, somewhere, but that hardly gave her any comfort. On the contrary, it made her more anxious. Alex had a deep suspicion he was in “Heaven” – whatever that meant. Bobby had only told her the manic ramblings of his nephew and she was hesitant to fully believe him. Now she was terrified it was all too true and not a one-time incident. She’d seen the body, the autopsy report, and she’d let him go in there undercover anyway – not that she could’ve stopped him, but the cycle kept playing though her head nonetheless – what if she had just told Frank to go to hell and not told Bobby? But Bobby would’ve wanted to know and they didn’t keep secrets from each other – they gave each other the honest to god, non sugar coated truth, always. The fact that he had even told her his plans and entrusted her to be his outside contact spoke volumes – he wouldn’t have told her anything up to a year or two ago, he would’ve just pulled away, told her to “trust him,” and that would’ve been it. And now he had landed himself in the psych ward.
And his fragile psyche couldn’t take it. Alex wasn’t worried so much what the guards were doing to him as what he was doing to himself – Bobby could be his own worse enemy and torture himself worse than any sadistic guard ever could. When she hadn’t heard from him in hours, she tried not to panic, tried to give him time to get to a phone, get to her, get himself out of whatever mess they had gotten him into. Again Eames cursed herself for ever letting him go on with this stupid plan. Instead, she’d given in to the silent threat of him pushing her away, retreating into his own head, and going on with the arrangement on his own with no contact on the outside. She could have been blissfully ignorant – imagining him on leave up in the mountains visiting his buddies and tinkering with cars and motorcycles. But what was the alternative? The abuse would still be going on and those bastards would continue without so much as a reprimand – a proper investigation and trial would take months, years. She couldn’t not be with him through this – not anymore, not after all they’d been through.
She knew she had had tears in her eyes when she went to the captain, begging him to get him out. She was fully willing to go by herself – no problem. She may not have been willing to play by their rules and go through protocol to get though the door, but instead would’ve charged in like a bull in a china shop – just like Goren. Instead she had stood next to the captain and danced in place, her legs visibly twitching to move, to get closer to him – to tear the place down looking for him. He would’ve done the same for her . . . he had. More than once Ross had given her the up and down, and towards the end a few glares punctuated the “what’s wrong with you? This is actions more becoming to your partner, not to you” question in his eyes. Even now the looks continued, willing her to keep calm, just relax, they had to go through the right channels. Screw the channels. She hadn’t heard from Bobby in hours and hadn’t seen him in days.
And the channels weren’t getting them anywhere. As she sat there and stared at the warden’s hard eyes as Ross tried in vein to convince her Goren/Brady was not a nutcase, but an important NYPD detective, she knew they had hit a wall. The evil wench was talking about making a few phone calls, calling together a meeting . . . things that would take hours, days even and neither Ross nor Alex was convinced that the Chief of D’s or any of the higher ups would be in a particular hurry to come to her partner’s aid.
Alex could stay silent no longer. “This is ridiculous. I want to see him and I want to see him right now,” she interjected.
The warden sat back in her chair, in no hurry to acquiesce, “And who are you?” Alex’s icy reception of her and the lack of impressive credentials in front of her name meant she didn’t have to concern herself with any of Alex’s demands.
The words were out of her mouth before she knew what happened.
“I’m his wife!”
Ross just about fell off his chair, but Alex fought the urge to look at him, and instead sat up taller, meeting Nurse Rachett’s eyes across the desk.
She was trying to recompose herself. “Oh,” she stammered, “well . . . why didn’t you mention that in the beginning?”
“Forgive me for thinking a Major Case badge and the Captain of the Major Case Squad would be enough,” Alex forced out, still fighting the reddening of her face, silently asking Ross not to contradict her or ask any questions. “And if you don’t let me see him I’ll sue you and this place so fast it’ll make your head spin. You have no idea of my means. I’ll have the Assistant District Attorney on the phone right now.” Actually, straitlaced Carver wouldn’t do crap for her, and once he heard her and Bobby’s names, probably would deny ever knowing them, but this lady didn’t know that. “I’ll own this place when I’m done and you’ll be out in the street.”
What the suggestions of a lengthy investigation and police couldn’t do, a direct threat of a pricey lawsuit did. The good warden must not have many friends in the legal system.
“I’m afraid your . . . husband . . . won’t be the same man you remember. He’s suffered a complete mental break. What you see may upset you,” she said trying to dissuade her. “Your husband will not be recognizable. If you could wait until we stabilize him . . .”
“I think I can handle it,” Alex interrupted her. Despite the certainty in her voice, the warden had planted a seed of fear in Alex. With Bobby forced to face his demons, would he still be there when he came back. Would he ever come back to her?
“Follow me.” The warden stood up primly and took her sweet damn time leading them through the twists and turns of the prison. Alex’s heart was in her throat when they passed under the ominous words “MENTAL OBSERVATION UNIT” painted above the doorway.
Ross saddled up next to her and spoke though his teeth, “I know we hit a wall in there, but I don’t think lies are going to help us or your partner in the end.”
Alex kept her eyes straight ahead and shrugged, “It got us in, didn’t it?” He may have replied but right then they reached Bobby’s cell. Alex tried to breathe evenly while they unlocked the door. Alex was peering over the shoulder of the guard that opened the door and forced herself past him to her partner’s side. With trepidation she took shaky steps into the small claustrophobic room. God, how horrible it must have been for him in here. Bobby didn’t like small spaces. She was slightly mollified to see him passed out on the shabby looking cot, like they had just thrown him there – at least he wasn’t awake to experience it.
“When was the last time he had something to drink?” she demanded, framing his face with her hands she looked accusingly from the woman to each of the guards. They looked at each other dumbly. “When!?” her voice rose. Ross had smartly stepped aside at this point and allowed her run the show. The guards each shook their heads and shrugged. The warden looked down at the floor. “I want some water in here right now!” Her forceful words had Sparky the guard, who she would personally seen burned at the stake, on his toes and running in the general direction of the requested beverage.
Ross turned to the warden, “May I speak to you outside a moment?” his stern tone reverberated off the walls. With a parting glare at Alex, she stepped out of the doorway into the hall.
With the enemy out of the room, Alex was allowed to fully focus in her partner. He was fading in and out of consciousness and ever once in a while opened his eyes weakly and looked at her with a mixture of confusion and relief. His eyes were cloudy and drugged – what the hell had happened in here? Giving him a once over, she could she he’d visibly lost weight but hoped he wouldn’t suffer any other short or long term damage if they got him to a hospital soon. She made the shaky call herself on her cell phone.
Alex didn’t know how long she sat there next to him, but didn’t move or talk to anyone until the paramedics edged her out of the way. “Four days without water” – Rogers’ words from the autopsy – kept flashing in front of her eyes -- “Chronic and acute trauma.”
Alex’s boot heels clicked and echoed off the pale green walls of the hospital, following the painted lines on the linoleum floor that led her to the correct wing of the building and Bobby’s room.
At the prison, when he had come to and was sitting up drinking water and conversing with Ross, she had stayed silent, leaning against the wall with her arms around herself watching him, afraid if she blinked she’d miss some sign of impending trouble. She didn’t say anything to her partner, and he’d said nothing to her, but their eyes met frequently. When they were taking him to the hospital she’d murmured to Ross she’d see them at the hospital while Ross rode in the ambulance to continue briefing the paramedics on what her partner had been exposed to.
Now at the hospital, she turned the corner into the doorway and was relieved to see he was looking a degree better. His color had returned but his brows were still furrowed and his eyes listless, though they had been for a good part of the year. He was in the street clothes he’d entered the prison in, his right sleeve of his button down was folded up to his forearm and he was playing with the spot where his liquid IV had been.
She crossed her arms and steeled herself as she entered the room.
He gave her a weak smile, happy to see her but tired and wary. They hadn’t spoken in something that wasn’t code in days. “Hey,” he greeted.
“Hey yourself,” she replied, her voice a degree harder. She couldn’t help but let her eyes give him the once over, double checking he was still more or less intact. He took her silence for something else.
“Look, Eames, I’m sorry . . .”
She shook her head, “You can apologize to me later, that’s not what I want right now. What I need to know is, is that it? Are we done now? Have you decided you are not the son of a serial killer? That you’re not crazy? Are you’re back with me?”
“I never left you Eames,” he defended.
“Yes, you did,” she insisted. “Who were you thinking about when you were in that cell, strapped to that table? When you threw that brick through that window?”
“You knew what I was doing when I did that.”
She was upset and let all the worry and the stress that he’d put her through wash over her. She was too tired to censor herself and hadn’t been sleeping properly. “I could say that was selfish of you, Bobby, but I don’t think you were even thinking about yourself. And you sure as hell weren’t thinking about me or you would have never had done that.”
“I never left you Eames,” he repeated, softer this time.
“Alex,” she insisted, tears pricking her eyes. “Call me Alex.” He only ever called her Alex in the most intimate of situations. Whereas she’d taken to calling him Bobby most of the time, he still held to calling her Eames, only now with a varying degree of softness and fondness that hadn’t been there before.
“Alex,” he concede and he looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, “How did you get to me?”
Alex visibly reddened. “I . . . I told Nurse Rachett I was your wife.”
By her tone, he knew she meant the warden. Bobby nodded and was silent, staring at his hands. “Was Ross there?”
Eames nodded and held her breath. Now she was the wary one.
“Well,” he started, rolling down his sleeve, hiding the restraint marks from her, and reaching out to her. Her shoulders relaxed, and relieved she took his hand immediately; he tugged her over between his knees. She rested her hands comfortably on the back of his neck, now almost eye level with him. Her thumbs caressed over his pulse points. He took one arm off her back and reached into his pocket, retrieving the familiar object and offering it for her inspection between his thumb and index finger. “Well, I guess you can wear this now, huh?”
Even the unflattering overhead fluorescent lighting of the hospital room failed to downplay the brilliancy of the family heirloom that he slipped into her left hand, the hand that she hadn’t realized how naked and vulnerable she felt without it.
END
Spuffy: Out of the Rubble Chapter One
RATING: R
SUMMARY: Buffy Summers is living out every parent’s worst nightmare and it’s up to Special Agent William “Spike” Giles to find the person who kidnapped her daughter and bring her back (hopefully) alive. But as these two will learn, the closer they get to the truth, the closer tragedy will bring them together.
CHAPTER 1 --
Buffy Summers sat at her kitchen table, staring at absolutely nothing, ignoring the coffee in front of her that had long ago gone cold. A half-dozen police officers filtered through her house, their heavy boots echoing off the walls -- a constant reminder to Buffy that they were there, who would give anything at the moment to curl up inside herself and temporarily forget everything.
One uniformed man was on her phone, another two were huddled over her kitchen counter pouring over stacks of papers, and she could hear some others upstairs taking stock of her daughter’s room.
Molly.
Buffy had been sent by her local law-enforcement agency to the FBI because of the threat of her daughter being taken over state lines. In less then half a day she’d had local, state, then FBI law enforcement take over her house, setting up their temporary control center. The individual officers were faceless to her. Only the shade of blue of the uniforms changed.
Her front door opened and closed for the one-thousandth time in the past ten hours. The slamming rattled the doorframe and surrounding walls but Buffy showed no sign of having heard it. She was to sit and wait until she was needed to answer a question or answer the phone in case whoever had taken her daughter tried to contact her. If she was so called upon, she was to do it as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Though Buffy didn’t understand how she was to do both at once. But nothing had really made sense to her for hours now. She vaguely remembered Willow sitting by her side while the police asked her questions. It seemed so long ago now, but only a few hours could have elapsed.
So she sat. And the officers, for fear of getting emotionally involved, basically ignored her.
Ten hours. It had been ten hours since her Molly had been reported missing.
“Giles,” one of the officers acknowledged from her living room.
“Giles,” Buffy thought. She hadn’t heard that name yet. He must be new. So far she had encountered and Officer Joseph, Platt, Menendes, a hand full of Smiths . . .
“Ms. Summers . . .”
Buffy jumped in her seat at the sound, which was deafening to her ears. She took a moment, taking a deep breath, before swiveling in her seat to look up at the new officer before her. He was younger than most of his FBI contemporaries. He seemed to be of average height, lean, and muscular for what she could tell under his navy windbreaker which had ‘FBI’ emblazoned across the left breast and back. Though his most telling feature was his hair, which was dyed an unprofessional shade of blonde.
“I’m sorry to startle you,” the man apologized. “Ms. Summers . . .”
“Buffy,” she interrupted quietly. “Call me Buffy,” her voice sounded flat and lifeless and she made no attempt to alter it.
Agent Giles nodded and lowered himself into the seat across from her. He regarded her with a gentle firmness that suggested he’d done this many times before. “I’m sure you already went over this with the local officers, but I need you to answer some questions.”
Buffy nodded in consent.
“Do you have a recent picture of your daughter?”
“Oh . . . Yes,” she fumbled for and reached into her purse, sliding a picture across the table. “I took it last week,” her voice cracked, “At her fourth birthday party.”
Spike picked up the picture, studying it. A little girl with blonde pigtails and bangs beamed at him. And hazel eyes. She looked just like her mother.
“She weighs thirty-five pounds and is forty-two inches tall.”
Spike looked up from his paper, surprise at her anticipation of his next questions. Buffy shrugged, “This is the fifth time I’ve gone over this today.”
William “Spike” Giles was content with her answer. Good, she was talking and offering extra information. An agent he had talked to earlier told him he feared she was incapacitated, but Spike could see she was anything but.
“I’m sorry,” he heard himself apologizing.
Buffy made no answer.
Spike’s brow furrowed, “Who’s this with her?” he asked, pointing at the other two people in the picture.
Buffy leaned forward to see, “Willow and Xander, friends of mine. They’re practically family.”
“And her father?” he questioned his absence.
Buffy shook her head, “Haven’t seen him since I told him I was pregnant.” Spike continued to study her, “We were never married,” she added.
He opened the file in front of him. “It says in here she was abducted from her room.”
Buffy nodded solemnly, “That’s correct. Her aunt, my sister Dawn, was babysitting her. I first noticed she was missing when I came home and she wasn’t in bed where she was supposed to be. Or anywhere else for that matter,” she added quietly. “That was around a quarter after ten at night.”
He couldn’t help it, but a little bit of Spike’s heart pained for Buffy. She looked like a broken angel. But that was all she was going to get from him because Spike Giles never got personally involved. Ever.
“And where were you?”
His question must have sounded accusatory because the color drained from her face. “I was at . . .” she choked up, “at The Bronze with Xander and Willow. It’s the first time I’ve been out in years.”
“It’s not your fault,” he found himself saying instantly.
“That’s what the police kept telling me,” she looked down at her hands that rested on her lap. “Do you have kids, Agent Giles?”
Spike was momentarily thrown by the random delve into his personal life, but gamely answered, “No, I don’t.”
He had never had an affinity for kids, but it’s not that the thought had never crossed his mind. He was an only child and a loner of one. He had never been around small children and was in no position to settle down anytime soon. His job required more time than he could ever fairly split with a woman.
“Buffy, do you have any idea who might want to hurt you or your child?”
Buffy shook her head, “No one. Molly’s popular with the kids at school and I don’t have any close friends outside Willow, Xander, and Xander’s girlfriend Anya.”
“Was she at the party also?” Spike asked, motioning to the picture.
“Yes.”
“What about family?”
“We don’t have any. It’s me, Dawn, and Molly.”
Spike nodded. “Ms. Summers, I know this is going to sound trite and in no way comforting, but we will find her.”
Spike hoped she didn’t take note of his leaving “alive” out of his promise. He’d been on one too many cases where that promise would not come true. She answered with a nod that ended with her head hung towards the floor.
Though a parent’s worst nightmare had come true for Buffy Summers and she was rightly devastated, Spike knew that she was anything but defeated. She had conviction, although it was currently hidden behind sorrow, and he had the suspicion that Buffy Summers was going to show him a thing or two about what it meant to be strong before this ordeal was over.
TBC
SUMMARY: Buffy Summers is living out every parent’s worst nightmare and it’s up to Special Agent William “Spike” Giles to find the person who kidnapped her daughter and bring her back (hopefully) alive. But as these two will learn, the closer they get to the truth, the closer tragedy will bring them together.
CHAPTER 1 --
Buffy Summers sat at her kitchen table, staring at absolutely nothing, ignoring the coffee in front of her that had long ago gone cold. A half-dozen police officers filtered through her house, their heavy boots echoing off the walls -- a constant reminder to Buffy that they were there, who would give anything at the moment to curl up inside herself and temporarily forget everything.
One uniformed man was on her phone, another two were huddled over her kitchen counter pouring over stacks of papers, and she could hear some others upstairs taking stock of her daughter’s room.
Molly.
Buffy had been sent by her local law-enforcement agency to the FBI because of the threat of her daughter being taken over state lines. In less then half a day she’d had local, state, then FBI law enforcement take over her house, setting up their temporary control center. The individual officers were faceless to her. Only the shade of blue of the uniforms changed.
Her front door opened and closed for the one-thousandth time in the past ten hours. The slamming rattled the doorframe and surrounding walls but Buffy showed no sign of having heard it. She was to sit and wait until she was needed to answer a question or answer the phone in case whoever had taken her daughter tried to contact her. If she was so called upon, she was to do it as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Though Buffy didn’t understand how she was to do both at once. But nothing had really made sense to her for hours now. She vaguely remembered Willow sitting by her side while the police asked her questions. It seemed so long ago now, but only a few hours could have elapsed.
So she sat. And the officers, for fear of getting emotionally involved, basically ignored her.
Ten hours. It had been ten hours since her Molly had been reported missing.
“Giles,” one of the officers acknowledged from her living room.
“Giles,” Buffy thought. She hadn’t heard that name yet. He must be new. So far she had encountered and Officer Joseph, Platt, Menendes, a hand full of Smiths . . .
“Ms. Summers . . .”
Buffy jumped in her seat at the sound, which was deafening to her ears. She took a moment, taking a deep breath, before swiveling in her seat to look up at the new officer before her. He was younger than most of his FBI contemporaries. He seemed to be of average height, lean, and muscular for what she could tell under his navy windbreaker which had ‘FBI’ emblazoned across the left breast and back. Though his most telling feature was his hair, which was dyed an unprofessional shade of blonde.
“I’m sorry to startle you,” the man apologized. “Ms. Summers . . .”
“Buffy,” she interrupted quietly. “Call me Buffy,” her voice sounded flat and lifeless and she made no attempt to alter it.
Agent Giles nodded and lowered himself into the seat across from her. He regarded her with a gentle firmness that suggested he’d done this many times before. “I’m sure you already went over this with the local officers, but I need you to answer some questions.”
Buffy nodded in consent.
“Do you have a recent picture of your daughter?”
“Oh . . . Yes,” she fumbled for and reached into her purse, sliding a picture across the table. “I took it last week,” her voice cracked, “At her fourth birthday party.”
Spike picked up the picture, studying it. A little girl with blonde pigtails and bangs beamed at him. And hazel eyes. She looked just like her mother.
“She weighs thirty-five pounds and is forty-two inches tall.”
Spike looked up from his paper, surprise at her anticipation of his next questions. Buffy shrugged, “This is the fifth time I’ve gone over this today.”
William “Spike” Giles was content with her answer. Good, she was talking and offering extra information. An agent he had talked to earlier told him he feared she was incapacitated, but Spike could see she was anything but.
“I’m sorry,” he heard himself apologizing.
Buffy made no answer.
Spike’s brow furrowed, “Who’s this with her?” he asked, pointing at the other two people in the picture.
Buffy leaned forward to see, “Willow and Xander, friends of mine. They’re practically family.”
“And her father?” he questioned his absence.
Buffy shook her head, “Haven’t seen him since I told him I was pregnant.” Spike continued to study her, “We were never married,” she added.
He opened the file in front of him. “It says in here she was abducted from her room.”
Buffy nodded solemnly, “That’s correct. Her aunt, my sister Dawn, was babysitting her. I first noticed she was missing when I came home and she wasn’t in bed where she was supposed to be. Or anywhere else for that matter,” she added quietly. “That was around a quarter after ten at night.”
He couldn’t help it, but a little bit of Spike’s heart pained for Buffy. She looked like a broken angel. But that was all she was going to get from him because Spike Giles never got personally involved. Ever.
“And where were you?”
His question must have sounded accusatory because the color drained from her face. “I was at . . .” she choked up, “at The Bronze with Xander and Willow. It’s the first time I’ve been out in years.”
“It’s not your fault,” he found himself saying instantly.
“That’s what the police kept telling me,” she looked down at her hands that rested on her lap. “Do you have kids, Agent Giles?”
Spike was momentarily thrown by the random delve into his personal life, but gamely answered, “No, I don’t.”
He had never had an affinity for kids, but it’s not that the thought had never crossed his mind. He was an only child and a loner of one. He had never been around small children and was in no position to settle down anytime soon. His job required more time than he could ever fairly split with a woman.
“Buffy, do you have any idea who might want to hurt you or your child?”
Buffy shook her head, “No one. Molly’s popular with the kids at school and I don’t have any close friends outside Willow, Xander, and Xander’s girlfriend Anya.”
“Was she at the party also?” Spike asked, motioning to the picture.
“Yes.”
“What about family?”
“We don’t have any. It’s me, Dawn, and Molly.”
Spike nodded. “Ms. Summers, I know this is going to sound trite and in no way comforting, but we will find her.”
Spike hoped she didn’t take note of his leaving “alive” out of his promise. He’d been on one too many cases where that promise would not come true. She answered with a nod that ended with her head hung towards the floor.
Though a parent’s worst nightmare had come true for Buffy Summers and she was rightly devastated, Spike knew that she was anything but defeated. She had conviction, although it was currently hidden behind sorrow, and he had the suspicion that Buffy Summers was going to show him a thing or two about what it meant to be strong before this ordeal was over.
TBC
CI: A Woman Scorned
Okay, so she’d been annoyed with him before, sure. Even to the point where he knew she disliked dealing with bodies that had to do with their cases: he always came in and took over – poking everything, smelling things she’d never even contemplated smelling before -- in her eyes basically violating the corpse and her sacred professional space.
He always jumped the gun on things – over eager to connect the next set of dots in his brain. Impatient, asking questions she planned on eventually getting to, not standing to the side, bowing to her expertise like Eames had the common sense to do, and always offering up the answers before she gave them all the pieces.
As much as Bobby could read people and successfully manipulate personal space – when it came to getting answers, he was decidedly blind to others’ uneasiness. Or maybe he chose not to see the signals, he didn’t know. That’s what he liked about Eames -- she would tell him outright when he was doing something that annoyed her. And he’d stop . . . or try to.
But Rogers . . . Eames had clued him in multiple times about Rogers’ annoyance with his . . . over excited methods in her morgue. But he always shrugged them off – he’d gotten what he wanted, she’d get over it. He was just doing his job.
But that all faded into the blue when it came to how she was acting towards him now.
He could be wrong, but she seemed to be going out of her way to be extra nice to Eames. And Rogers was never extra nice to anyone. He’d ask a question and she’d either choose to ignore it and eventually answered it later, or she’d give the answer but give it directly to Eames. She hadn’t made eye contact with him since he’d entered the room – and even then it had been an icy one. Not that she usually gave them an overly warm reception, but he swore he saw her smile at his partner, not a hint of condescending to it.
Whatever she was trying to do it worked -- her actions had effectively silenced him. Instead of bending over to get up close and personal with the late Mr. Wilkenson, he stood to the side, trying to concentrate on the corpse in front of him. But he kept looking at Rogers, trying to diagnose her strange behavior. A glance at Eames offered him nothing. Alex either didn’t notice or was pretending like nothing was out of the ordinary and had the same look of polite, professional interest on her face as she always did -- looking but not getting too close out of personal choice, taking Rogers’ word for it.
Bobby wasn’t sure how many minutes had passed, but Rogers had deemed them informed enough and asked if they, or Eames really, had any questions. Well, he had a million of course, but was too apprehensive to ask them at the moment. Rogers dismissed them quickly and ushered them out of her hallowed workstation.
They rode the elevator back to their floor in silence, Bobby contemplating Rogers’ strange behavior.
“Eames,” he finally reached out plaintively.
“Huh?” she asked, eyes flitting over the copy of the autopsy in her hands.
“Did . . . err, I mean . . . did Rogers seem . . .,” he turned to face her, his hands fumbling with his words, “different, to you?”
Pause. Eames snapped the folder shut as she looked up. “I know you’ve been concentrating on other things, Bobby, but Rogers has been blonde for a while now.”
“No,” he shook his head frustrated, like a child who couldn’t find the right words to communicate properly, “No, that’s not it.” The elevator pinged and Eames continued to their desks, Bobby trailing doggedly behind her, not able to see the amused smirk on her face. “I mean, the way she was acting, did anything seem a little . . . off to you?”
She spun on her heels to face him finally, that smile still tugging at the side of her mouth. “You really don’t know why she’d be mad at you?”
Bobby tried, he really tried, but nothing in his brain was connecting any of his actions to Rogers. He hadn’t even seen her in the days leading up to his forced leave and this was his first day back in the morgue since. He shook his head, truly trying not to give up – it didn’t feel right to give up.
Alex sighed, looking around the squad room, not really sure how much she should be divulging. “When we came to bust you out of the psych ward,” she began, he lowered his head expectantly, “she and Ross . . .” she trailed off, feeling absolutely ridiculous discussing this – like a gossiping teenager at the mall. Alex was personally proud of herself, especially with having him as a partner, for staying above and out of the gossip mill. But if this was truly bothering him, and she could tell it was, she was not going to have his undivided attention on this case unless he got an answer, but he at least needed to meet her halfway. “They were dressed up . . .” but she could see he wasn’t. He shook his head and blinked slowly at her, giving her a look that made her feel like the idiot. Alex sighed and rolled her eyes, “You interrupted their date, Bobby,” she injected, a little louder than she had planned. Just rip the Band-Aid off, Alex.
Bobby was physically taken aback, and it took him a second to gather himself, “But Ross hasn’t acted differently toward me,” he argued.
“Ross is in a perpetual state of being exacerbated with you. You wouldn’t know it if he was mad at you,” she answered.
“Oh,” comprehension came over his face, looking off in the distance. “Oh!” he repeated, his eyes focusing on her. “So this is a girl thing.”
Alex smiled at him and fought the urge to pat him on the head, “Yeah, Bobby, a girl thing.” She turned away to sit down at her desk, this time knowing he was right behind her.
A few hours later brought a call in to Eames from the morgue – another body with wounds similar to those found on their guy.
Bobby paced a little bit in the cool room while he and his partner waited for Rogers to join them. When she did, she didn’t even look up from the autopsy report in her hands. Bobby cleared his throat. She didn’t even blink. Alex looked on amusedly. “Uh,” he started. Rogers’ hand stilled from where she was turning the page. “I’m sorry I uh . . .” he lifted up off his heels,
“I’m sorry I wreaked your date,” he finally got out. Her eyebrows shot up, but that was the only motion she made that insinuated she had heard him. After a moment, Roger took a deep breath in, held it, then exhaled slowly, bringing her head up to give him one of those looks of hers that let you know you’ve been studied and found wanting.
“Yeah,” she drawled doubtfully. “Sure you are.” She snapped the folder shut and nodded at the both of them and then to the body before them: “Annabelle Chester, female, age thirty-five, died of a self-inflicted gun shot wound to the head, but that’s not the interesting part . . .”
And they were off.
He always jumped the gun on things – over eager to connect the next set of dots in his brain. Impatient, asking questions she planned on eventually getting to, not standing to the side, bowing to her expertise like Eames had the common sense to do, and always offering up the answers before she gave them all the pieces.
As much as Bobby could read people and successfully manipulate personal space – when it came to getting answers, he was decidedly blind to others’ uneasiness. Or maybe he chose not to see the signals, he didn’t know. That’s what he liked about Eames -- she would tell him outright when he was doing something that annoyed her. And he’d stop . . . or try to.
But Rogers . . . Eames had clued him in multiple times about Rogers’ annoyance with his . . . over excited methods in her morgue. But he always shrugged them off – he’d gotten what he wanted, she’d get over it. He was just doing his job.
But that all faded into the blue when it came to how she was acting towards him now.
He could be wrong, but she seemed to be going out of her way to be extra nice to Eames. And Rogers was never extra nice to anyone. He’d ask a question and she’d either choose to ignore it and eventually answered it later, or she’d give the answer but give it directly to Eames. She hadn’t made eye contact with him since he’d entered the room – and even then it had been an icy one. Not that she usually gave them an overly warm reception, but he swore he saw her smile at his partner, not a hint of condescending to it.
Whatever she was trying to do it worked -- her actions had effectively silenced him. Instead of bending over to get up close and personal with the late Mr. Wilkenson, he stood to the side, trying to concentrate on the corpse in front of him. But he kept looking at Rogers, trying to diagnose her strange behavior. A glance at Eames offered him nothing. Alex either didn’t notice or was pretending like nothing was out of the ordinary and had the same look of polite, professional interest on her face as she always did -- looking but not getting too close out of personal choice, taking Rogers’ word for it.
Bobby wasn’t sure how many minutes had passed, but Rogers had deemed them informed enough and asked if they, or Eames really, had any questions. Well, he had a million of course, but was too apprehensive to ask them at the moment. Rogers dismissed them quickly and ushered them out of her hallowed workstation.
They rode the elevator back to their floor in silence, Bobby contemplating Rogers’ strange behavior.
“Eames,” he finally reached out plaintively.
“Huh?” she asked, eyes flitting over the copy of the autopsy in her hands.
“Did . . . err, I mean . . . did Rogers seem . . .,” he turned to face her, his hands fumbling with his words, “different, to you?”
Pause. Eames snapped the folder shut as she looked up. “I know you’ve been concentrating on other things, Bobby, but Rogers has been blonde for a while now.”
“No,” he shook his head frustrated, like a child who couldn’t find the right words to communicate properly, “No, that’s not it.” The elevator pinged and Eames continued to their desks, Bobby trailing doggedly behind her, not able to see the amused smirk on her face. “I mean, the way she was acting, did anything seem a little . . . off to you?”
She spun on her heels to face him finally, that smile still tugging at the side of her mouth. “You really don’t know why she’d be mad at you?”
Bobby tried, he really tried, but nothing in his brain was connecting any of his actions to Rogers. He hadn’t even seen her in the days leading up to his forced leave and this was his first day back in the morgue since. He shook his head, truly trying not to give up – it didn’t feel right to give up.
Alex sighed, looking around the squad room, not really sure how much she should be divulging. “When we came to bust you out of the psych ward,” she began, he lowered his head expectantly, “she and Ross . . .” she trailed off, feeling absolutely ridiculous discussing this – like a gossiping teenager at the mall. Alex was personally proud of herself, especially with having him as a partner, for staying above and out of the gossip mill. But if this was truly bothering him, and she could tell it was, she was not going to have his undivided attention on this case unless he got an answer, but he at least needed to meet her halfway. “They were dressed up . . .” but she could see he wasn’t. He shook his head and blinked slowly at her, giving her a look that made her feel like the idiot. Alex sighed and rolled her eyes, “You interrupted their date, Bobby,” she injected, a little louder than she had planned. Just rip the Band-Aid off, Alex.
Bobby was physically taken aback, and it took him a second to gather himself, “But Ross hasn’t acted differently toward me,” he argued.
“Ross is in a perpetual state of being exacerbated with you. You wouldn’t know it if he was mad at you,” she answered.
“Oh,” comprehension came over his face, looking off in the distance. “Oh!” he repeated, his eyes focusing on her. “So this is a girl thing.”
Alex smiled at him and fought the urge to pat him on the head, “Yeah, Bobby, a girl thing.” She turned away to sit down at her desk, this time knowing he was right behind her.
A few hours later brought a call in to Eames from the morgue – another body with wounds similar to those found on their guy.
Bobby paced a little bit in the cool room while he and his partner waited for Rogers to join them. When she did, she didn’t even look up from the autopsy report in her hands. Bobby cleared his throat. She didn’t even blink. Alex looked on amusedly. “Uh,” he started. Rogers’ hand stilled from where she was turning the page. “I’m sorry I uh . . .” he lifted up off his heels,
“I’m sorry I wreaked your date,” he finally got out. Her eyebrows shot up, but that was the only motion she made that insinuated she had heard him. After a moment, Roger took a deep breath in, held it, then exhaled slowly, bringing her head up to give him one of those looks of hers that let you know you’ve been studied and found wanting.
“Yeah,” she drawled doubtfully. “Sure you are.” She snapped the folder shut and nodded at the both of them and then to the body before them: “Annabelle Chester, female, age thirty-five, died of a self-inflicted gun shot wound to the head, but that’s not the interesting part . . .”
And they were off.
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