A Long Walk

A/N: This is a companion piece to my fic Beginnings and takes place between chapters 7 and 8, though you won’t be completely lost if you haven’t read that. This shows Eames’s POV as she reflects on where they are in their relationship and meets Goren’s mom for the first time. Please review.

Part One: Getting There

This was his idea.
He’s spent the better part of two months coming up with excuses so he can retract his invitation. She’s been really paranoid about new people recently; Dr. Shimo says her delusions have increased; she’s still getting use to the new medications.

Bullshit.

He’s finally run out of excuses and as I guide the car onto the interstate I watch him from the corner of my eye. He’s unusually quiet and his leg keeps bobbing up and down. I swear he’s making the whole car shake and I’m on the verge of threatening to cut the damn thing off.

He only speaks to give me directions and mostly just stares out the window.

Why does this have to be so difficult?

I’m just meeting the mother of the man whose child I am having. Sounds simple, right?

Well, maybe not completely simple.

We are cops, and not just cops, but partners (well were partners), his mother’s schizophrenic, we’ve only been together (romantically) for a year and I’m seven months pregnant (I’m sure you can do the math).

Not exactly where either of us thought we would be a year ago, but here we are and even if I have to drag him kicking and screaming he’s going to be happy about this.

I think most of him is, but he just doesn’t know what to do with this: having someone else to share in his life.

Oh, Jesus, now he’s tapping his finger and bobbing his knee.

I swear to God, “Bobby!”

“What?” he asks, his neck snapping toward me.

“Can you please stop fidgeting?”

He sighs and runs a hand down his face.

“No,” he shrugs.

I’ll never quiet understand how a six foot four, forty year old man can look and sound like such a little boy.

“I can tell right now we are never taking long family road trips.”

“Look I’m sorry all right…”

“Can you at least talk to me…drown out the noise…something”

“What do you want me to talk about?”

What does he think I want him to talk about?

“Maybe why you can’t sit still…why you even invited me in the first place?”

I feel him thinking as I hear him shift in the seat and I realize he has partially turned toward me.

He still doesn’t speak, but I know he’s trying to figure out the right words.

If one thing is true about Robert Goren it’s that everything he says he says with purpose.

“My…my mom doesn’t have the best track record when…when it comes to meeting my girlfriends,” he says.

“She’s not going to scare me away.”

He shakes his head. “She may call you things…she can catch you off guard…it can be very startling if you’re not use to it…”

“Bobby, I worked Vice for four years…I’ve been called just about everything in the book…”

He’s quiet again, staring out the window.

This is the dance we do. He gives a little, decides it’s too much and begins to retreat again. We get so close, so many times, to being a whole working entity that it’s infuriating.

Maybe it’s not worth it.

Maybe it would have been better, easier, if I had never knocked on his apartment door that night; if we had worked the rest of our partnership swimming in what ifs.

But then I wouldn’t have this little girl growing inside me; a little girl I have fallen desperately in love with and I know it’s all because of one knock on one door.

When I was very little I always got very afraid when my parents argued. One time my mom found me crying at the foot of the stairs, after dad stormed out to the garage, and she cradled me like an infant in her arms. In my five year old mind, fights meant mommy and daddy didn’t love each other, because love wasn’t supposed to be hard work. Then she said to me, “Life isn’t about easy; it’s about fighting.”

You fight for the things you care about; the things that are worth the sacrifices.

“Eames,” his soft voice cuts through my thoughts and I realize I’m on the verge of tears.

Maybe he noticed, hell he probably just noticed a change in my breathing.

“Yeah?” I reply, keeping my eyes straight ahead.

“I do want you with me today…it’s just…everything with my mom…can be…unpredictable.”

“I understand that—“

“N-no you don’t,” He knows the comment pisses me off and raises a hand, asking for permission to explain. “One minute she’ll beg me for a grandchild and…and the next I’m the neglectful son who spends all his time with his girlfriend…”

He lets out a long sigh and we both know that he has only scratched the surface of the thoughts and fears rolling around his head.

“So, what?” I blurt, my mouth bubbling with annoyance and too many raw emotions to count.
Maybe I can just blame the pregnancy hormones. “What are you so afraid of?”

He scoffs and leans back in his seat. He’s annoyed now too; good.

He’s used to me giving him his space when he’s like this, knowing that eventually he’ll come back to me. Well I don’t feel like waiting right now. I’m tired and fat and I don’t feel like his carry the world on my shoulders bullshit.

“I’m afraid of what you’ll see,” he says so softly I’m not sure if I just imagined it.

“I see horrible things everyday…you’re going to have to be a little less cryptic…”

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

“I don’t want…” his voice trails followed by a long sigh. “I’m scared of what you’ll think…of…of her…me…”

I want to wrap myself around him and burn the knowledge into his skin that I’m not leaving, but since I’m driving that’s probably not my best course of action.

What can I say to get him to believe me?

Great, now the baby’s getting restless too. Only his child would figure out a way to pace while still in the womb.

I grab his hand, tugging him out of his corner, and place his palm flat against my belly. I clamp my hand over his and feel the faint roaming kicks through his skin.

Do you see now? Do you see why I’m not running away from this despite every complication that might prove it to be the wiser, easier, choice?

I remove my hand to navigate a turn, but am washed with relief when his remains on my stomach.

“I get that this is hard for you…I do…but can you just have a little faith in me—“

“I do, Eames—“

“It doesn’t seem that way…it seems like you’re still waiting for me to run the other way…”

His thumb moves against my stomach in a slow sweeping motion and I hear him sigh.

“I…I know…you’re not going to run away from this…from me,” he says. “But…a-a part of me still thinks maybe…you should.”

I don’t know whether to scream at him out of frustration or cry for the broken hearted little boy, who never got a chance to be a little boy.

“Well, you’re lucky I don’t give a damn about what you think.”

I hear him snort and see the first genuine smile I’ve seen in days.

He leans his chin against my shoulder and lightly kisses the fabric of my hoodie.

“I know I’m not making this easy…but visiting my mom is stressful anyway…and having you with me just adds more things to worry about…to keep in mind…can you please just drop this for now? Tonight…we can talk about it…however much you want…but right now I just need you to let me…freak out.”

I glance at him briefly and see the sincerity in his chocolate eyes.

I sigh. “Okay, I’ll drop it for now, but promise we will talk about it…everything…later.”

“I promise,” he nods.

I nod back and return my attention back to the road. He kisses my temple before retreating back to his corner, but he leaves his arm stretched across the space between us and his fingers
draw circles in my stomach.


Part Two: Maneuvering

He’s still fidgety as he leads me into the facility.

It’s not exactly what I was expecting, though I guess I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s warmer than any other hospital or nursing home I’ve visited and looks as if the staff actually puts forth the effort to make it homey.

There’s an older black nurse at the sign-in desk, who gives Bobby a warm smile and me a pleasantly surprised look as we continue on.

His tension seems to only be noticeable to me and I am trying hard to ignore it as my own nerves are starting to bubble up in my stomach.

Naturally I want his mother to like me, but I also have no idea how to get her to do so. Joe’s mom and I never got along, but I at least knew how to communicate with her.

The first time I visited my grandmother in the nursing home as a kid, I learned I’m not very good at dealing with sick people or hospitals. First that sterile smell clogs your head and then you have no idea what’s okay to say and what isn’t. Do you address the issue head on? Do you ignore it completely like some stray cat you don’t want to get stuck feeding?

If only they made etiquette books on how to meet your boyfriend’s schizophrenic mother.

He stops abruptly and I realize we are standing outside her door.

“I…uh…I’m just going to go in first and let her know…you’re here,” he says.

I nod. “Okay…I’ll be right here.”

He nods back and then softly knocks before disappearing behind the beige door.

I lean against the rose colored wallpaper and find my hand resting on my stomach. Beneath my palm I can feel our daughter restlessly waiting. She’s probably going to be just as perceptive as her father and can feel the tension radiating off of us.

I take in a deep breath, willing both her and me to settle.

“Eames,” Bobby says, poking his head back into the hallway.

He holds the door open for me and I walk in to find Frances Goren sitting primly on a small sofa. She keeps her chin high and her lips thinly pressed as she studies me with large dark eyes.

So that’s where Bobby gets that look.

“See, I told you,” Frances says, as Bobby makes his way between where I stand and she sits. “I make her uncomfortable.”

Well, I can see this is going to go brilliantly.

“Mom…”

“Probably all those stories you’ve told her about me,” Frances said.

“He hasn’t…” I say, though I’m not sure if I’m over stepping my boundaries. “…told me many stories.”

Frances nods tensely. “He’s always been very secretive. Even as a kid he would never bring people to meet his crazy mother.”

Bobby rubs a hand down his face and I don’t know whether to speak or wait for them to work it out, but then she continues.

“He didn’t bother telling me about you until after you got yourself pregnant.”

“Mom, please.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly do it by myself,” I mutter, and then remember that this isn’t my family and snide comments may not be treated the same as hugs and kisses.

She watches me with cool eyes and I have no idea what she might be thinking of me. For some reason I didn’t think about the fact that she might look down on me for getting pregnant five months into a relationship.

“In my day, it was always the woman’s responsibility,” she exaggerates her point by pressing her forefinger into her knee and pauses for a long moment as she watches the tip of her finger bend. “Well come here and let me get a look at you. If we can trust these doctors then I’m not contagious.”

She gestures to me as if coming out of a daze and pats the seat beside her.

I don’t look at Bobby as I pass him, since I know the uncertainty in my eyes will only exacerbate his tension.

From my seat beside her I can see the two book cases on the wall by the door and a simply framed picture of a young Bobby Goren right after he joined the army.

Some of the books look very old and well read, ranging from a variety of authors and eras. The shelves look as if they might bust at the seams, but they still don’t look full enough, judging from what Bobby has told me about her love of literature.

“Bobby,” Frances says as she grabs and then tugs on his wrist until he kneels in front of her. “I finished that copy of Mrs. Dalloway you brought, but I need you to find To the Lighthouse.”

“You have To the Lighthouse.”

Frances shakes her head and says, “Well then someone took it. You need to find it.”

Bobby sighs. “You probably gave it to Mrs. Rogers down the hall…she’s always barrowing books from you.”

“She takes them,” she says firmly.

“You always say that and she always brings them back,” Bobby says.

“Don’t patronize,” Frances says and then abruptly turns toward me. “He always does this…acts like I don’t know what’s going on.”

I have no idea how to respond to the scene in front of me; unsure if I should remain an outsider looking in or if I’m allowed to participate.

“I’m not…” Bobby tries to defend himself.

“You go find it then,” Frances says.

“Mom—“

“Go on,” she says, shooing him with a wave of her hand.

Bobby glances at me with worried eyes.

I nod, hoping to reassure him. “We’ll be fine.”

He gives each of us one last look before reluctantly turning and heading out the door.

“He told me it’s a girl,” she says with her face just as stoic and unreadable as when I walked in.

“It is,” I say.

“He gave me one of the sonograms a few weeks ago,” she pulls the now worn picture out of the pocket of her house coat as she speaks. “I think he was keeping it in his breast pocket.”

I can’t help but smile at the thought as she passes me the picture. It is over a month old, but looks like it has been handled for years. I’m not sure if it is from her hands or his, though it’s probably both. It makes sense that Bobby would be just as secretive about his excitement as he is about his fears.

“I didn’t realize he had this,” I say as I pass it back to her.

“He loves you,” she says, but keeps her eyes on the picture. “I’ve never seen him as relaxed as he’s been this past year.”

“If you call this relaxed,” I snort.

She looks as me rather startled and I’m scared I’ve said the wrong thing, but then she lets out a small laugh.

“He was always very worrisome.” A sadness that I’ve glanced a few times in Bobby’s eyes creeps into hers and she turns her face away from me. “Though I don’t guess I gave him much choice in that. You make him happy.”

I part of me knows he is, but the other part of me is slightly jealous that I never seem to get to see it.

“You will let me see her on occasion, I hope,” she says.

It takes a minute for what she’s asking me to register and the truth is I never really gave it any thought. It has never been a necessary debate in my family as to whether or not it’s safe for the children to see their grandparents.

“Of course.”

“Well, make sure Bobby brings her…he’ll be worried how I might act,” she says. “I’m sure he was worried about what I might say to you.”

I can’t help but smile a little at her candor.

“He’s been driving me crazy all week,” I say with a laugh.

She nods, still looking at the sonogram.

“He’s spent his whole life worrying about everyone but himself…he doesn’t know any other way to be.”

I can feel my eyes misting over. The annoyed part of me that’s tired of being this touchy feely, emotional person wants this whole pregnancy thing to be done with, but another part brings my hand to my stomach in a slow, steady caress, needing to feel close to him at that moment.

All I want to do is hug this woman who made this amazing man and for acknowledging how hard it’s been for him. I can’t help but wonder if he knows that somewhere in her mind she understands how much he’s sacrificed.

“I know,” I finally manage to say after swallowing the threat of tears.

Bobby comes back into the room with the same perfect timing we had when working over a suspect. I half wonder if he wasn’t outside listening to us.

He holds the book up so his mother can see and then places it back on the shelf in a small vacant slit.

“Well did she have it?” Frances asks.

Bobby nods.

“I told you she took it.”

Bobby nods again, but this time also sighs and I can tell that he just doesn’t want to argue with her.

“What have you two been talking about?” he asks as he pulls a rocking chair up to sit in front of us.

“We can have our secrets too,” Frances says. “Now, you two come have dinner with me and tell me more about my grandchild.”

She begins to push herself up from the sofa and Bobby rises to help, but she lightly bats him away.

I reach for his hand and he smiles down at me before helping me to my feet. I know he expects me to let go and I can tell he’s surprised when I don’t, but, whether we’re both capable of admitting it or not, we both need the comfort.

Frances tugs on his other arm and we follow her hand in hand.


Part Three: Slowing Down

I pass him the keys as we walk back to the car in the half moonlight and he turns with a startled look.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah…just tired. This kid is sucking up all my energy.”

I give him a tired smile as he opens the passenger side door and I can feel him studying me. Most of his tension is gone, but there is still some uncertainty in his eyes.

“Don’t be offended if I fall asleep on the way,” I say.

He shakes his head. “I won’t.”

“Well enjoy the time by yourself, cause you’re not getting out of talking to me,” I say as I climb in and then look up at him.

He smiles faintly, nodding, and closes the door.

I don’t remember the ride as I am true to my word and dose on and off most of the way, occasionally coherent enough to catch a rode sign.

The next thing that I remember, that I’m sure isn’t a dream, is the feel of Bobby’s fingers against my cheek. I lean toward the sensation and slowly open my eyes to find him watching me with a small smile.

“We’re home,” he says.

I look up to find that we’re parked in my driveway and I smile as it dawns on me that he used the term “we.”

“I guess we should go inside,” I say.

“There are more comfortable places to sleep inside,” he says.

I nod with a soft chuckle and we begin going through the motions of getting into my house.

I head straight for the bathroom and slip into my most comfortable pajamas before washing my face and then brushing my teeth.

I know better than to push him into talking and trust that he will honor his earlier promise, so I don’t venture back out to the living room or kitchen, but go straight to my bed.

I lie on my back, because it’s starting to be the only comfortable position, with multiple pillows supporting me and stare down at my swollen belly.

“I don’t know about you, little one, but I think that went pretty well,” I say. “I think she’s very excited to meet you.”

“She is,” I hear Bobby’s voice in the doorway and I smile as I turn to look at him. “She may not always seem like it…but she is.”

We just watch each other for a minute and I can feel him hesitating to join me. He looks more relaxed in his worn sweats and T-shirt, but I also know how truly talented he is at hiding what he doesn’t want to be seen.

“You just going to hover there all night?” I ask.

He pushes himself off the door frame and eases down beside me. I’m a little surprised when he lays his head above my breast and places his hand on top of my stomach. My hand seems to automatically find its way into his hair and I make small circles with my finger tips.

“How is she doing?” he asks.

“Restless,” I say with a tired smile. “Like her father…”

“Sorry,” he says, but I can hear the smile in his voice.

“You know, there’s worst people she could end up like.”

He’s quiet and begins to pace with his hand, letting it roam around my stomach.

“I…I hope she’s like you…” he finally says.

I snort. “You may regret that when she’s a teenager.”

He softly laughs and then leans his face closer to the top of my stomach.

“Go easy on your mom, okay?” he whispers. “She has enough to deal with putting up with me.”

He lays his head back down on my chest, while his fingers continue to wander the span of my stomach and I think back to the worn sonogram Frances passed to me earlier. I wonder how many times he privately stared at the little blur of our daughter and what he might have thought. Did he make promises or give voice to all the fears he will only give me a little insight on?

Or maybe he actually said he was happy, though I don’t guess I readily tell him all the things I’ve been feeling either.

“Bobby?”

“Hmm?”

“You…you know I’m happy, don’t you?”

His hesitation tells me it wasn’t the question he was expecting and after a beat he looks up at me with a puzzled, almost worried look.

“I…I know she makes you happy,” he says.

I shake my head. “No…I don’t mean her…I mean you,” I say, a little annoyed at how small and tentative my voice seems to sound. “Do you know how happy you make me?”

He stares at me, still perplexed. “I…I hope I do…”

“You do…you have no idea what you’ve given me,” I say, but can’t look him in the eyes when I do. It’s too true and too emotional for me not to feel exposed and a little embarrassed. “I had given up…I didn’t think I had, but I did.”

I feel his palm against my cheek as he tilts my head up, forcing me to look at him.

“A-all I want is…is to make you an-and her…happy…to…to deserve you.”

“You do…are you? Are you happy?”

He looks almost wounded by the question.

“Of course I am…I…I never meant to make you think I’m not…I-I know I haven’t been a prince through all this…” his voice trails as he looks down at my stomach. “…but the more I think of her the happier I am…it’s just I don’t really know what to do with that…”

I run a finger along his cheek, enjoying the feel of the barely there, but still scratchy stubble.

“Just accept it,” I say softly.

He gave an amused but still unsure smile.

“Wish it was that easy,” he says.

I feel the weight of his head once again, this time a little higher on my shoulder and his fingers resume their pacing across my abdomen.

“But it did go well today, didn’t it?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says, but there is a hint of reservations in his tone.

“But…”

He sighs. “But…it was just a few hours…you can’t know for sure that next time something won’t go wrong…”

“So it goes wrong…what’s the worst that could happen?”

He’s quiet, though I know that in his mind he’s gone to a very specific place and time, one that he’s scared to open to me.

“Bobby, I know she can’t help the way she is—“

“It’s not just that,” he says with a huff and pulls away, propping himself up on his elbow. “It’s…what if she eventually does something that scares you…or hurts the baby…even if it’s years from now?”

“We’ll deal with it—“

“Sh-she never meant to be violent,” he says as if he didn’t hear my last interjection. “But on occasion…”

His voice trails and he stares down at the sliver of fabric between us.

I place my hand on his cheek. “Eventually you’re going to have to tell me the bad stuff…if we’re going to make all of this work you have to trust that I can handle it. Yeah…I’ll probably get angry or sad, but the point is we’re angry and sad together. We’re not going to survive if we keep things from each other and I want this to work.”

He brushes my bangs out of my face and then kisses my forehead.

“I know…” he sighs. “S-so do I.”

He shifts, so that instead of me cradling him, he’s holding me; as much as my current condition allows anyway.

“I don’t even really know where to start,” he says.

“I’m not expecting some detailed, chronological retelling of your childhood, Bobby,” I say. “I just want to know what you’re thinking about…I know there’s something specific that happened that made you so worried.”

“It-it’s a lot of things. For as long as I can remember I’ve spent all my time with her gauging where her mood was going. As a kid…when I was off…it…it was rough,” he says.

My hand ventures and my fingers link with his, hoping it will be enough of an encouragement.

“Wh-when I was seven…my father had been gone for a couple days…without a word an-and I could see her getting agitated, but I didn’t understand then. See before then her delusions were like games to me…I-I thought she was playing with us…” his voice trails and I feel him tense slightly.

I rest my head on his shoulder and run my thumb along his forefinger; back and forth.

“I remember she was leaning against the kitchen counter, looking out the window…i-it over looked the street…and she was mumbling and crying something like ‘they took him away.’ Looking back sh-she may have meant the other women or something she dreamt up…I was never sure,” he says. “I-I wanted to comfort her…to make her happy again, but when I tried to hug her she pushed me away…and she…she laid into me. Hitting me…going on about how I had done it…I made him go away…”

My heart turns over for him, feeling guilty for having a generally happy childhood and a desperate need to give him a family he can depend on.

“Bobby, I—“

“Don’t say you’re sorry…I don’t want you pitying me.”

“I don’t pity you, but you can’t expect me not to feel…” I say. “I…I love you…that gives me the right to hurt with you.”

“I don’t want you to hurt,” he says. “I don’t want either of you to be…affected by her…”

“But we will be…because you are…that’s what being a family is about.”

I hear him swallow and then he kisses my hair.

“I-I guess I never had much of a family…”

“I know, but now you do,” I say and then feel him hold me a little tighter. “We both have a second chance at something here…”

“You promise you won’t let me fuck it up?”

I snort, because I know he is at least partially teasing.

“As long as you make sure I don’t.”

He smiles and raises his hand to cradle my cheek, this thumb lightly caressing the bone and I respond with a similar move, cupping his neck and pulled his lips down to mine.

We are lost in our explorations until I burst into laughter as our daughter begins to swim and pace inside me. His soft laughs join mine and he moves his hand to rest on my stomach.

“Not even born yet and she’s already finding ways to interrupt us,” I say and lay my hand over his.

I relax against him again and close my eyes, while he draws small circles on my stomach, calming both me and our daughter and lulling us to sleep.