Another experiment with an original character...
LOCI isn't mine. Don't sue me; I bruise easily.
Detectives Goren and Eames sat at a cramped diner table together, across from one another, Goren's legs jittering a little with nervous energy. As Alex sat there, dreading her next move, his reaction, and whatever else may come, she ordered a cup of decaf coffee and heard her frazzled brain protest.
"So, I don't want you to get mad about this or anything, Bobby." She remarked casually, flexing her fingers carefully. "Promise me you'll just listen?"
His nervous jittering stopped and he tilted his head, trying to get a read on her. "Sure. I can listen."
"Just don't walk out on me, okay?" She smiled gratefully as a cup of coffee was delivered. She wrapped her cold fingers around the cup and let the steamy warmth soak through her skin, warming her through and through.
Goren's nose scrunched a little and he pulled his elbows off the table, drawing himself up to his full height. He scratched the back of his neck, feeling an awkward disappointment. "I wouldn't, Eames."
Sighing as though not fully convinced yet, she reached inside her coat pocket and pulled out a battered, folded envelope addressed to her. He'd remembered that letter coming to her through their captain, Danny Ross, and he'd remembered Ross congratulating her whole-heartedly.
"After you said they could fire you if they wanted—" Alex seemed to hitch as if preparing for him to interrupt and blast her away for bringing it up, but instead he just sort of slouched, his eyes scanning the table for sugar packets.
"After that, I thought maybe I needed some time by myself, but I need to keep working. There's an elite undercover going on in Colorado right now. Through the narcotics branch, I think." She sighed and accepted the sugar he handed her.
"You applied to get moved out of Major Case?" He asked quietly. "Because of me?"
"Not permanently, Bobby." She reached and touched his hand briefly. "For those few days when I was so upset, I thought we were coming apart. I can feel we're starting to come back together, but it's shaky. I just think the time apart might strengthen something, or make us remember why we have each other. I think we both need the space."
Goren ventured a guess in his head if he hadn't seen her frown while she'd been opening the letter she held in her hand now, she wouldn't have felt compelled to tell him about it and might have dismissed it altogether. But now he wasn't so sure. Now she was making it sound like a decision made while irritated, and only bolstered by her fear they weren't back up to snuff in their partnership.
"How long is temporary?" He observed his hands and laced his fingers together neatly.
Alex sighed and put the letter down, tearing open four sugar packets and turning them over into her coffee. As she stirred, she replied, "They aren't sure. Anywhere from six to eighteen months."
Goren gave her an accusing stare.
Eames only gave it back, turning her palms up defensively. "I applied for an undercover, Bobby! Did you think I'd go in there, play Barbie, and bring back the crooks overnight?"
"Who the hell am I going to work with for six months?" He asked, miserable, his voice rising in pitch a little. "Bishop?"
"I'll screen. I don't have to leave for two weeks. I have that much time to prepare, say goodbye to family, friends, coworkers." She took a sip of her coffee. "I'll help pick out someone who won't drive you up the wall or give up on you. I'm a good judge of character, remember?"
Then how come you ended up stuck with me? He pondered miserably, realizing she had decided to stick with him and now she realized she needed the time away. She just hadn't been able to hack it, and he didn't quite anticipate her leaving this way.
He had predicted a meltdown. She'd been supportive, trying to help him move on and forget, but the back of his mind was almost full of worries, and soon the spillover was going to distract him at work. It wouldn't filter into his quirks, showing his restless energy or inquisitive mind. Soon he'd be the inept high school boy he'd been as a teenager: restless, quiet, gloomy, and reclusive. Totally and irrevocably socially retarded.
Eames touched his hand once more. "Bobby, I promise I won't let you get stuck with someone who can't handle the pressure, okay? If I have to transfer someone in out of Interpol, or the CIA, or Memphis…"
"Just…you're coming back, right?"
"Assuming I don't get shot, sure." She took another sip, her eyes on his. "I'm not giving up, Goren. You don't scare me."
"I never meant to. You're a person I didn't want to scare." He slouched further. "I didn't want to scare much of anyone, actually."
Eames just shrugged and patted his hand before drawing away. "Barring a miracle, I'll be back before you can start to miss me."
Goren had made it through about fifteen potential files, found something he didn't quite like in each, and weighed each against Eames' infallible judge of character. Unfortunately, to get someone who meshed well with Goren, it meant finding someone who was brilliant, something of a dabbler in both the dominant and submissive sides of the partnership, and willing to aim and fire. As far as Eames knew, Goren had never fired his piece except while at the firing range.
She had to admit, even while she told him there were three distinct possibilities in the files they were looking at, they didn't look good. She wanted to extend her reach, but Ross was quite unhappy with her request.
"You want me to fly someone out of Alaska or something, Alex? So the big goof doesn't throw temper tantrums every time she doesn't understand the fragmented sentences and intimidation?"
She pleaded, and she was allowed access to the files across the country. She checked neighboring special forces, a couple promising CIA agents, and the FBI. Nothing she had the power to convince to join her partner for six months for the pay they got.
She scanned pages and pages on her computer of official files of her fellow officers and detectives. As she started to grow drowsy, she couldn't help but notice the Portland branch had a growing number of officer arrests since 2003. Their solve-rate was growing, nearly matching the MCS solve-rate. Intrigued, she tried to pinpoint who had left or joined the team when the solve-streak had shot up.
The only new recruit in 2003 was a young woman, named Kailah Cairn. She had, before joining up with the police, worked in army intelligence. Eames was getting to the point she was considering calling Goren over to have a look when she found out why. She was fluent in Chinese, Russian, German, and more. She had been used as a translator, mostly, but toward the end, an interrogator.
"Goren!" She finally called. "This one, from Portland…"
He read over her shoulder, and clicked a link at the bottom of the page. The picture that came up was of her "graduating class" of the academy, straight from 1992. She was, he found her name in the caption at the bottom of the paragraph, standing front and center.
"Well?" Eames asked impatiently.
A sudden and heavy apathy settled heavily on Goren's shoulders and he shrugged.
Eames called the Portland, Oregon squad, asked permission to fax some information to the officers there, and sat on her heels for the next few days while interested takers replied. She noted with some annoyance that Officer Cairn had yet to reply.
She called a few days later, asking for Cairn's superior. After a few heated moments of discussing, Eames grudgingly turned the phone over to Ross, and in twenty minutes, Cairn's application, file, and current photo were faxed.
"What'd take?"
"That officer has been trying to get into the FBI since she landed in Portland. I said I had connections and told her MCS looks good on any résumé, especially when you work with Goren."
"She knows timeframe, then?"
"Yes."
Eames carefully combed the girl's file. Cairn had no undercover experience except for a brief stint in Vice, had worked briefly in a security branch around the time of some NFL nonsense, worked NHL hockey security when she lived in Anaheim, and as far as her solve-rate, she seemed to be just as precocious as Eames hoped. She was rebellious to a point, very yielding to another. She had an inane ability to "sweet-talk," her superior had noted on her evaluation, but later on said she had a "sharp, wicked tongue, and a left-hook that could shatter Mike Tyson's jaw."
With just three days before her departure, Eames was looking at her final choice, and the best so far. She had Goren's apathetic approval, and faxed a long thank-you to the Portland P.D., though she mailed a separate letter to Officer Cairn. She was officially MCS Detective Cairn the moment she arrived in New York.
While Eames packed and prepared for her stint in Colorado, Ross arranged for a cheap walk-up near 1PP, a rental car, and several other necessary commodities. Goren almost seemed to sulk as he and Eames finished up a routine investigation just in time, filed their paperwork, and exited for their last drink before Eames' departure.
"Bobby, I think you'll be all right. This girl is up to snuff, even by my standards, and some days I wouldn't wish you on my worst enemy." She smiled encouragingly, and oddly enough, Goren felt reassured.
"You feel it?" She asked suddenly, her smile fading. "You're afraid you broke something and we can't fix it."
"Something personal, Alex." He murmured. "We could work until we ran it right out of us, but when I'm spilling over into the rest of my brain…I need something more than that."
She slid her Colorado phone number across the table. "Call there in a few days. They'll give you my undercover cell. I'll play it off. Ex-boyfriend or something."
"Or you could call me when you have time so I don't—"
"For the first couple of weeks, no matter what a girl-wonder this Officer Cairn is, nobody can help you dam up the spillover. I'll try, but nobody can."
"Just don't want to bother you." He muttered, pocketing her phone number.
"You won't, Bobby." She tossed back the last of her margarita. "C'mon, let's get you home. Oh, would you mind hefting my suitcases into the car for me first, though?"
"Sure," she helped her with her coat and followed her out.
Goren had expected the temporary to be there bright and early, full of cheer. He had expected her to stick her hand under his nose, demand a healthy handshake, and then clap her hands and demand to get going because she was just so eager to catch the bad guys.
He was somewhat annoyed by his morning already. Even as he sat restlessly at his desk, waiting for Ross to call him in, introduce him, get it over with, he couldn't help but stare at Eames' number, which he'd tacked to his computer screen already.
He was in the break-room getting more coffee for himself when he heard Logan's voice cheerily ask, "Hey, need a little help?"
By the time he'd poked his head out to see who had arrived or over-burdened himself, all he could see was Wheeler staring after her partner with a shake of her head.
Goren drew nearer, his ears attuned for any sounds.
"No really, thank you." A woman said, sounding exasperated. "I don't need any more help, thanks."
"You su--?"
"Yes, I'm quite sure. Now, do I tip you, or how do I get you to leave?"
"All right, all right. Just thought I'd extend a little hospitality, jeez!"
"Consider it extended. And let that be a lesson to you New Yorkers; the other coast is just as mean."
Logan left the locker room looking a little amused, but a little puzzled as well. Goren waited, not necessarily eager to look Eames' temporary replacement in the eye, but feeling it necessary.
He stuck his head in. "Good morning, Detective."
The woman, lowering a messenger bag to the floor, nodded blankly, her back to him. She turned, a black eye drawing his eyes away from her extended hand.
"Nice shiner," he commented quietly.
She offered him a brilliant smile. "Nice bags."
He felt the touch of a smirk coming to his face and he offered a tilt of his head. "I didn't get much sleep." They shook hands.
She lifted an eyebrow and gestured at the bullpen. "You're Goren then?"
"Yes." He leaned against the door jamb and watched Cairn unpack a pile of yoga pants, tee-shirts, and gym socks into an empty locker.
"That makes me Kailah. Who was your charming friend?" She tilted her head. "Mr. Helpful?"
"Mike. Logan."
Cairn nodded yet again and turned, her chin thrust forward just a little bit. "So, if you don't mind my asking," she waited for his head to tilt again, this time in the opposite direction, "why did your partner call Portland looking for a temporary?"
"I'm an 'acquired taste.'" He replied dully, sizing this woman up.
Laughing lightly, Cairn turned and deposited a pile of tea bags, lozenges, and vitamin C tablets into her locker. She shut the door and crumpled her duffel bag before tucking it into the front pocket of her suitcase. She stood up straight and placed her hands on her hips.
"Why were you willing to move to New York City for six months?" He asked.
"I don't know." She smiled and shrugged, rolling back the sleeves on her top so they were just below her elbows. "Sounded like an adventure to me."
"We'll probably get our first call tomorrow." He felt, and he hated himself for coming out of his stupor now, almost excited to see her in action.
"And what am I going to learn my first day, Sir?" She straightened, almost mocking him for treating her like a rookie, though she knew he had every right to.
"Detective Cairn!" Captain Ross interrupted before Goren could reply. "I just heard Logan saying he met the new recruit. How was your flight?"
She allowed herself to relax a little and shook the captain's hand, smiling. "Decent, thanks. Detective Goren here just told me we probably won't see a call until tomorrow, so if I could catch up on my jet-lag, I think I'd be useful that way."
"Your rental car should arrive any minute now, and your apartment is furnished and ready to go. Eames made sure of it before she boarded her flight."
"Great." Cairn smiled again, but Goren saw traces of relief and exhaustion finally etching themselves there.
Goren sighed, counting the day as a waste already, and nodded gently. "See you tomorrow, Cairn."
"Bobby, you'll need her cell phone number. Just stop by my office for it. I'll get her the NYPD issue phone…" Ross turned and disappeared for a moment. Goren settled back against the door jamb, his arms folded.
"Bobby?" Cairn had lifted her eyebrow again.
"An acquired taste, mind you." He lifted his eyebrow in return. "Kailah."
She flashed him another brilliant, toothy smile. "If I were over six feet and my name were Tiffany—"
"Bobby is not the equivalent to Tiffany."
"It is on you." She touched her side gently. "Bobby was my high school sweetheart. You are not a Bobby."
Ross returned. "Detective—"
"Please call me Kailah." She accepted the phone with a polite smile. "I'm still an officer when I go home after all this. I'm not used to answering to 'Detective.'"
"Fine with me." Ross dipped his head toward Goren. "You can call it a day too, Bobby."
"You'll call me if we get a case?" He lifted his eyebrows.
"You have no paperwork, and Logan and Wheeler are here. Let your partner catch up on New York time." He put his hands in his pockets. "You have friends you could visit, right?"
He blinked, deciding getting agitated probably wouldn't do much other than alert his new partner something was seriously off-kilter. So he just smiled. "I have no friends."
"Well, I'm sure National Geographic has something interesting on." Ross turned and tossed a "See you both tomorrow!" over his shoulder.