Tagline:
Everyone has to climb their white picket fence.

Notes:
Set after Season 3, post "Unrequited," but before Season 5
No Major Spoilers
Minor Character Death
Not Beta'd

Disclaimer:
No credit was assumed for any of the characters, whether major or minor, from the Law & Order: Criminal Intent television series.
The author takes credit for any of the personalities not designated to the Law & Order: Criminal Intent television series.
The following story is fictional and does not represent any actual person or event.

Author's Message:
What would happen if the strong Eames/Goren friendship was seriously tested by a psychotic force which threatens to rip them apart?
Well, let's find out.
Happy Readings.

Detective Robert "Bobby" Goren walked into the large building commonly known as One Police Plaza around eight-thirty on a cool Thursday morning. It was a bustling November day, the wind at that point where it slightly stings a person's exposed cheeks as it brushed by, and if Goren excluded the mound of files he had rummaged through for the Hatcher Case it was a beautiful day. He entered the building, his six-foot-four frame managing to not hit the doorframe as he went in, and took roughly ten to twelve long strides to reach the elevator. He was joined by another two people, both of which were in deep conversations on their cell phones, and as he hit the eleventh floor button the two men hit the third and seventh floors.

The ride was one full of more stops than Goren was used to, seeing that when he usually came in he either had the elevator to himself or he was sharing it with his partner. He wondered how her date had gone last night. She had seemed eager about it before she left, and Goren had been happy for her. He glanced at his watch to check the time. It was two till half past. The elevator lurched to a stop on the third floor, and one of the men stepped out, he still jabbing on his phone about swabs.

The other man was in a more normal conversation, discussing curtains and colors, and Goren figured he was moving in with the wife and that they were having a debate about the color scheme for the family room. As the man stepped out on the seventh floor, he heard the man say, "honey," verifying the detective's observations. For the next three floors Goren rode in silence, and he wondered if Eames would be there. He could tell how well the night had been for her by when she came in. If it was a very bad date, she would already be at her desk when he arrived. If it was fairly good she would be skipping into the squad room no later than nine o'clock. If it had been reasonable she would swagger in some time between eight-thirty and eight-forty like always.

The doors opened and Goren stepped out onto the Major Case floor, his eyes scanning the room. His desk was still covered in files, but his partner had yet to show herself. It was exactly eight-thirty, right on time.

He walked over to his desk and took off his coat, laying it across the back of his chair and sitting down, and he took a pen in his left hand and opened Gavin Hatcher's file. He found that he only had a few more parts to fill out before he could turn the file over to Carver and await the People versus Hatcher trial. After discovering his train of though from yesterday, he quickly began to finish his report.

At eight-forty Goren glanced at the clock and then at the elevator. Eames had not shown herself, and he smiled, thinking of the large grin that would be on her face when she came into work at nine. He returned to his work.

Once nine o'clock came around he looked to see that his partner had not arrived yet, something very unusual about her schedule. She rarely called in sick, and when she did she would call him first before calling their captain, and she would call no later than eight-forty-five. Goren decided that she had become trapped in traffic and would come bounding in at any moment with a sharp remark ready to greet him with. So he continued with his papers.

He completed his subsequent reports on Hatcher by ten after, and Eames was no where to be found. A nagging feeling was cramping in his stomach, and he rose to see his captain. He knocked firmly on the office door and peered through the window to see his Deakins ushering him inside. He opened the door and entered.

"Sir, has Eames called you?" he asked.

"No, Goren, should she have?" Deakins removed the wire-framed glasses from his face and folded them in one hand. Goren took another step forward, his hands clasped behind him. He did this to keep his hands from flying about and to hide his nerves.

"It's just that, well, she's not here, and she hasn't called," he replied. He watched Deakins as he picked up his phone and dialed Eames' cell phone. Both men waited in dead silence with set faces, Deakins' eyes on his detective and Goren's on the office phone.

"She's not answering," said Deakins, hanging up the phone. "Why don't you wait a few minutes and try again, okay?"

Goren nodded, trying to ignore that feeling in his gut. "Yes, sir. Sorry to bother you."

Goren left the office and returned to his desk to see that his partner was still not there, and seeing that he did not want to do paperwork without her there to help ease the pain, he chose to wait for her. He drummed on his desk, fumbled through his drawers, checked his pens, but after ten minutes she still was not sitting in front of him. He picked up his phone and dialed her cell phone, he rubbing the back of his neck to preoccupy himself.

"The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable—"

He set the phone back on the receiver and dialed her apartment, a number he remembered but barely used. It began ringing, but after the fourth ring he concluded she was not their either. Hanging up the phone he fiddled with his fingers, tracing his fingerprints with the end of a pen, and tried to entertain himself for another ten minutes. By minute six he was dialing her numbers again, receiving the same message and constant ringing.

Something was not right about Eames not being there, and nine-thirty was exceptionally late for her to be coming in. Goren took one of the pictures from her desk and looked at it. It was a picture of her beloved young nephew, Ioan Lú Braverman. He remembered when his partner had put the picture in that very frame and how excited she was about him. There were always pictures of him on her phone, and whenever she went to see him she would always return beaming.

Goren replaced the picture on her desk and took the paper from his zippered notebook, pulling out the crossword puzzle and grabbing a pen. Filling out all the across words he looked at the clock again and fought the urge to try and call her again, even though it was a quarter till ten. He reverted back to his crossword and completed the down words. It was ten o'clock when he called her numbers once more.

When the same message and the monotonous rings reached his ears, he rose quickly and approached Deakins' office again, knocking loudly. Deakins met his eyes and Goren entered, he not trying to hide the nervous feeling twisting his insides into knots. His hands were unusually still, and Deakins rose from his desk as Goren closed the door.

"Any luck?" asked the captain.

"No, sir," said Goren disappointedly. Deakins looked at his phone and then at his detective, slipping his hands in his pockets, and sighed.

"Go see about her." Goren nodded and swiftly left the office. He grabbed his coat and half-walked half-jogged to the elevator and hit the down button. He bounced on the balls of his feet in impatience, his eyes focused on the grey above the elevator doors. The doors opened and he stepped inside, quickly hitting the first floor button and then the close-door button. As the doors closed he heard a cry in the back of his mind, one he thought he had completely imagined but one that sounded like Eames.

---

Detective Alexandra "Alex" Eames woke up feeling extremely groggy and did not know why. It was six-thirty in the morning, and she had to get ready for work. Moaning at her beeping alarm, she untangled her legs from her sheets and slammed a hand onto her clock with a quiet verbal flare of curses as she made her way to her shower. She turned on the warm water and shed her clothes, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She did not feel wasted, but after catching seven continuous hours of sleep she appeared that way. Her hair was disheveled and there was a lot of dried sleep caught in her eyelashes.

She stepped into the shower to find the water amazingly cold, and she nearly slipped on her shampoo bottle on the floor as she shrieked and jumped back. She was awake then, and now very agitated. The water in her building had been acting up the past few weeks, and the superintendent had not gotten around to fixing it. The tenants in the building did not pay an extra fifteen dollars a month to have ice water shooting at them in the shower.

Eames turned the water as far to the left as it would go, but the water was only lukewarm, and barely at that. She decided that it was either that or no shower at all, and the alternative was definitely not an option. She quickly showered and shaved, very proud of herself for not nicking her legs, and she exited her shower and grabbed a towel from the rack. Wrapping it around her small body she used a dry cloth to wipe the little condensation from her mirror. It was fairly chilly inside her apartment because her floor had lost their heat. Again a problem an extra fifteen dollars should fix.

Once dry, except her hair, she meandered to her bedroom and picked out one of her usual business suits to wear to the station. She entered her bathroom almost completely dressed, her jacket for the suit still lying on her unmade bed. Drying her hair and applying the little bit of make-up she did wear only took her about fifteen minutes, and she replaced her towel on the rack and turned out the light. Her alarm was beeping again, and she angrily clicked the alarm off. She cursed whoever decided that a loud beeping noise was perfect for waking up people, but kept her language to a low whisper. Picking up her badge and gun she clipped them to her waist. Her clock told her it was seven-twenty, and she began making her bed and reflecting on last nights events.

Her current attraction lay with a local store owner's son named Levi Littman. He was only two years her senior, which worked out nicely. He was currently enrolled in Atlantic Eastern College studying to be a doctor, and she did have to admit he was very good with his hands. She grinned at the thought, but buried it behind other memories from the previous night. They had been seeing each other for a few months, she taking her time and the two of them only becoming physical twice. But he was becoming very possessive of her, and in her mind he was dehumanizing her. That night she had decided to call the relation off, and they did it over a movie. It had not been a very good movie in her opinion since it was more like a soap opera that a movie, but she had gritted her teeth and taken it. Afterwards she finally told him it was over, that their relation was only one-sided, and Levi had seemed angered by her. He had tried to act threatening but she ended up laughing at him, thinking of all the bad-boys she had locked up and seeing how pathetic he was. She had left him at the movie theatre and gone to her apartment.

Basically this was a come-in-early day.

She completed her task of making her bed and slipped on her jacket, fixing the collar as she walked out of her room and into the kitchen. She grabbed her handbag and keys and opted to grab breakfast on her way to work. Slipping on her coat and moving her badge from her waist to her coat, she brushed her hair from her face and had opened her door to see someone standing there. He was a tall man, around five-foot-ten, with hard dark eyes, brown hair, and a jutting chin. His lips were thin and pale, has face long and heart-shaped, and his slightly prominent brow was decorated with dark eyebrows and a scar.

"Levi?"

The man took a step towards her and pressed something to her face, a cloth with no smell. Eames automatically screamed but it came out in a low muffle, her body feeling weak. Her arms did not want to claw at the man in front of her, nor did her feet want to kick the man in the shin or groin. Instead she slumped into his arms, unconscious.

---

When the Major Case Squad SUV pulled up at Eames' apartment there were at least twenty-thousand different warnings buzzing in Goren's mind. He parked the Mercury Mountaineer and walked up to the front of the building, pressing the button next to Eames, A. He did not lift his finger for roughly thirty seconds before he released, but no one responded or buzzed him in. But then again, Eames would never just buzz someone in without knowing who they were, and he was no exception. Yet there was nothing, no phone calls or messages telling him she was ill and not coming into work. The idea of her playing hooky was a definite wash-out, for Eames never did that.

The wind bit at his ears and he wrapped his scarf higher to protect them from the elements. He waited another few moments before hitting the buzzer again, but after he let go and stepped back there was nothing. His finger found the superintendent's button and he buzzed it quickly, hoping for a response. Luckily he got one.

"Who the hell is this?" said a gruff man's voice.

Goren cleared his throat. "Police. I'm Detective Goren. I'm looking for someone."

"Yeah, who?"

"Alex Eames."

"Hey, wait a minute, she's a cop. What the hell?" Goren borrowed his partner's infamous eye-roll and hit the system once more.

"I'm her partner. Can you let me in?"

"Hell no! Make her—"

"Sir, no one is responding. Please let me in?"

There was a pause, one that Goren thought lasted for longer than five seconds, but the superintendent buzzed him in, and he entered the building. Once inside he lowered his scarf from his ears and heard heavy footsteps coming towards him. A short and rather stout man approached him, armed with a receding hair line and wispy grey hair. His small eyes were a dull grey and his nose was round and flat. Goren's first thought was that Eames had to feel like a giant when compared to this man.

"What the hell is this about?" barked the superintendent.

"You're Colin Portis, correct?" asked Goren, his hand motioning to the short man before him. The man sighed heavily.

"Yeah, that's me. What'd she do, buy the wrong kind of donuts or somethin'?" chuckled Portis. Goren could tell he was really getting a kick out of his own joke and was sure Eames would have spouted something crafty back at him. But Eames was not there, therein lied the problem.

"Sir, Detective Eames didn't show up for work this morning," explained Goren. "I was wondering if you could lead me to her apartment."

"Wait, don't you need a warren or somethin'?"

"Sir, it's a 'warrant', and no, I don't need one," said Goren. He pointed to the badge clipped to his coat. "I'm authorized."

"Fine, okay, whatever," groaned Portis, and Goren followed him to Eames' apartment. Even though Goren knew exactly where it was, he was only being hospitable to the superintendent of the building. And being hospitable meant having to listen to his complaining about his partner.

"That Eames gal, she's one bossy lady. Always comin' in and complainin' about somethin' ain't right, like the water's never hot or the roof's leakin' or somethin'. She ever that way to you?"

"No, not really," said Goren. He did have to admit, Eames had a way with people.

"Oh, figures you'd say somethin' like that." Portis turned to Goren and lowered his voice to a whisper. "She's one sexy little piece of ass, ain't she?"

Goren walked passed the man and approached Eames' apartment. "I'll pretend I didn't hear you say that. This is it, right? Thirty-four-B?"

"Yep, that's the one," said Portis, taking his keys from his pocket and knocking on the door with a loud bang. "Bet it's her bra size too—Yo, Eames! You in there? I'm openin' the door!"

Even though the man's actions and thoughts were primitive in Goren's point of view, at least he had the decency of knocking, if that one thunderous sound could be called a knock. Portis finally gripped his stubby fingers around a key and stuck it in the lock, opening the door and venturing a step inside. Goren reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

"I think I'll go in alone, thanks," he said.

"You sure? What if you need up-back, I know she can get pretty wild," warned Portis.

Goren grinned. "It's 'back-up', and no, I think I can handle her myself." As Goren entered his partner's apartment he heard Portis make a comment about how some people had all the luck. Goren turned on a light, and her apartment lit up. She was much neater at home than she was at work, he knew, but there were glasses in the sink and newspapers from up to three days ago lying on her table from where she had not been able to read them. But the apartment was rather quiet.

"Eames?" called Goren. He walked to her small den and clicked on a lamp. A large dark blue afghan was wadded on the couch, and there was a glass half-full of water sitting on a costar. A copy of Frankenstein was sitting beside the glass, and he smiled. He had let her borrow it. From where the bookmark was placed she was three-fourths of the way through it. He turned to the bedroom, where the door was closed.

"Eames, you here?"

"Uh, you sure you don't need me?" came Portis' voice from the hallway.

"I'm sure, sir," said Goren. He traveled to her door and knocked, his ear almost touching the door. "Eames?"

He knocked again and the door creaked as it opened slightly. Goren placed a hand on the door and pushed it open, finding the shades down and the lights off. He felt around for a switch, finding one on his left and flipping it up. Her bed was made and her room tidy, but lying on the pillow was a lock of hair on top of a piece of paper.

What's going on, Eames?, thought Goren. The tightening of his stomach increased into a silent ache, and he strode towards her bed. The lock was sitting in the middle of the paper, a message scribbled in fast black pen. It took him a moment to read what it said, but once he did the words bounced inside his head.

We have her. We'll call you.

Goren took his phone from his side and speed dialed the precinct, hoping that Deakins was at his desk. It rang twice before someone answered.

"James Deakins, Major Case."

"Sir, it's Goren. Eames isn't in her apartment, but there's a note. She's been abducted, sir." Goren spoke with shaky words, something uncharacteristic of his usual charisma.

There was an empty silence on the other line, but Deakins responded. "CSU is on the way. Stay put and work your magic."

"Yes, sir." Goren shut his phone and replaced it at his side. He retreated from the bedroom and turned to find Portis standing in her kitchen about to open a cabinet. Goren rushed to him and grabbed the man's wrist.

"Shit! What the—"

"Sir, I'm sorry, but you'll have to step outside."

"Fuck you—"

"Sir, this is a crime scene," snapped Goren. Portis seemed to understand that. "Now, if you would kindly walk into the hall so I can ask you some questions…"