[ SECRET POST #3762 ]

[case]

⌈ Secret Post #3762 ⌋

Warning: Some secrets are NOT worksafe and may contain SPOILERS.

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Notes:

Secrets Left to Post: 03 pages, 57 secrets from Secret Submission Post #538.
Secrets Not Posted: [ 0 - broken links ], [ 0 - not!secrets ], [ 0 - not!fandom ], [ 0 - too big ], [ 0 - repeat ].
Current Secret Submissions Post: here.
Suggestions, comments, and concerns should go here.

Comments

Re: Post a few sentences...

[(Anonymous)]

I've been fooling around with this Law & Order: Criminal Intent Goren/Eames fic for ages. For context, in season 6, Eames is kidnapped and held captive by a serial killer. She manages to rescue herself (which I love) but I thought it'd be a good reason for them to get together even though I don't see it as a longterm romance. This is how it starts.


Goren knew the call would come, though he wasn't sure when.

He'd formulated a plan: a good single malt scotch for him and a bottle of Maker's Mark for his partner, a pile of take-out menus for places near her house in Rockaway Beach, and a few precious days' leave saved up. She would do -- had done, he corrected himself-- the same for him, when necessary. It wasn't an original plan, but he thought Eames would appreciate its simplicity.

It had been nearly two months since his partner climbed, kicked and clawed her way out of a serial killer's dungeon, leaving her bloody handprints on the walls. Goren half expected his phone to ring on the one month anniversary. He'd waited up all night, drinking cup after cup of coffee, his car keys lined up on the kitchen counter next to his phone. The call hadn't come, and he'd been... relieved? Regretful? He wasn't really sure, and for once he managed to avoid the painful self-scrutiny that kept him awake at night, for fear of what he'd find.

Eight weeks to the day at a quarter after ten, the phone rang.

"Hey," Eames' voice was rough, with all the emotion wrung from it. In the background, he could hear waves lapping at the shore and the dim, sonorous boom of a ship's horn as it passed Breezy Point.

"Hey. Can't sleep?"

"Not in the cards tonight. Thought I'd take a walk and clear my head."

Getting out of the house was a good sign, he thought. He'd kept track of all her appointments, every visit to her sister's, even the occasional drop-in at work. Eames projected a nonchalant calm that might've fooled a more casual acquaintance. Five years in Vice had taught her that the best lies were the ones you told without words. Her dress was neat but casual, telling him she was out running errands and just happened to be in the neighborhood. The small talk about other cases told him her head was still in the game and that she was just biding her time until the requisite number of department mandated counseling sessions were over. Her easy posture and the way she leaned against his desk told him they were okay.

But, Goren noticed, she never stayed long. Invites to grab a drink were given a raincheck and an excuse, and the Captain's pointed suggestion of getting away from the city for a while went unheeded. Eames was there to see and be seen, her way of marking time until her leave was up. She was careful like that. Goren knew what the effort cost her and that her resources were nearly tapped out. Her call meant she knew it, too.

"I hear Rockaway Beach is nice this time of night."

Eames' snorted at this, not quite laughter but close enough. "Yeah. Think I stepped on two used condoms so far. It's like Paradise."

He chuckled softly, but his fingers tapped a nervous tattoo on the kitchen table, not quite daring to pick up his car keys just yet.

"Well, you know me. I'd rather stay home than be at the beach."

"You'd rather catch a week old DB than go to the beach," retorted his partner.

They both not-quite-laughed in companionable understanding and he decided to take a chance. "You hungry?"

Eames was silent for so long, he thought she'd hung up. Then she cleared her throat. "Yeah. Maybe."

"I could... I could pick something up. If you want. And come over, I mean." Inwardly, Goren cursed. He'd meant to be more subtle than that, meant to let her make the suggestion rather than risk being shot down for his presumption.

More silence.

"Hey, Eames? I didn't--"

She cut him off. "Yeah. Why don't you do that."

He hadn't fooled her at all, her sardonic tone told him as much.

"It's my turn to get dinner, anyway," he offered.

"Mmm," Her response was nearly lost amidst the sound of the water. Then in that eerily prescient way of hers: "Empire Wok. I always get extra shrimp toast."

Relief flooded Goren. "Got it."

He replaced the phone in its cradle slowly, so it barely clicked. Rubbing his jaw, he decided against a shower. It'd look suspicious; Eames had an eye for detail that people underestimated, especially in his presence. If he took especial care with his appearance, she'd notice, and then she'd wonder why. Ditto his clothing. Jeans would do, and a beat up pair of sneakers instead of the Italian leather he favored for work. He pulled on an old shirt that'd been ruined by an untimely splash of bleach across the sleeve.

Five minutes later, Goren was out the door, shopping bag in one hand and car keys in the other.