Das heilige Om

AN/1: Hello everybody! Here I am with another G/E fic, this is a post 'Frame' episode angst story, and I hope you'll like it. Enjoy it and forgive me my grammar mistakes, unfortunately I don't speak English very well…

Disclaimer: DON'T own anything!

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After what seemed to be the longest and toughest interrogation of his whole life, first grade detective Robert Goren dragged his drained body outside 1PP's eleventh floor. Away from all the foul-smelling slime and putrescent air that lingered in that place because of only one person: the great former CID profiler Doctor Declan Gage. The man Bobby considered his mentor was the same person that killed and destroyed what little was left of his family.

He drove the black Mustang silently trough the dark city's streets. The radio was turned off. After all what's the purpose in listening to the radio when you can't even focus on the local weather station?

_Y_es! Bobby Goren felt depressed. And alone. In addition, the thought of reaching his own house, that empty and cold apartment that looked more like a cage than a safe place, only made him feel worse.

Once he turned the key and entered the threshold his stomach tightened up in knots, making him feel as nauseous as ever. He hurried toward the bathroom and barely reached the toilet bowl in time before emptying what was the little content of his battered and almost empty stomach in it. Empty in his soul and now in his body as well.

After he cleaned himself up and flushed, he went straight into the living room.

Bobby thought for a moment of changing into something more comfortable. He gave up the idea, what was the point? He would not feel the comfort provided by the softer fabric anyway. He would still feel naked.

He stood still in his living room, looking around his house; the space he created around himself and for himself over the years now looked too small, definitely oppressing and, most of all, bare; deprived of any sign of humanity. The bookcases he once loved to fill now and then with new books and magazines towered over him looking like giants, tall guardians hostile to let a small child into their kingdom of peace and knowledge. Goren leaned against the nearest of them, the very one he chose to fill also with family photo albums and the few framed pictures he owned of his mother and, of course, of his brother.

_Frank…_

Tears started forming in his eyes, his breath became erratic and the grip on the shelf was so hard his knuckles turned white from the effort. He felt so small, so helpless, so empty, so naked, so… the same old shit. The last words Declan told him were dancing, swirling and floating in his mind sounding like a rhyme less mantra, a cursed nursery rhyme.

_You are free now Bobby. Free!_

Bobby felt like he may be sick again, but this time instead of running to the toilet he swallowed the lump forming at the entrance of his stomach, took a deep fast breath and screamed as loud as he could.

"Free from what Dec?! Free from who?! Son of a bitch, you are so fucking wrong! I'll never be free!"

In a sudden rage outburst, he put all the strength he was capable of in his arms and pulled the whole bookcase down with a loud growl coming from the innermost depths of his throat and an even louder noise of books falling and glass shattering all over the floor.

"**Deeply, he had been entangled in Samsara, he had sucked up disgust and death from all sides into his body, like a sponge sucks up water until it is full. And full he was, full of the feeling of been sick of it, full of misery, full of death, there was nothing left in this world which could have attracted him, given him joy, given him comfort."**

_You are free now Bobby. Free!_

Bobby stood again in the middle of the room, with his head down and fists clenched, trying to take his breath and his heartbeats back to normal levels; once he looked up again after several minutes, he realized the mess he had made.

At least he had something to do until he felt tired enough to sleep. Right?

Right, as if sleep will come easily to him. Truth to be told every night he came home he was totally wiped out by his workday, but sleep would either elude him or plague his rest with dreadful dreams forged by the memories of his childhood or of his job.

This whole case involving his now deceased brother, his formal mentor and himself seen as a suspect did nothing but worsen the situation, it worn him out and drained all the little energy and mental stability left in him after the Tates experience.

"**Was it still at all possible to be alive? Was it possible, to breathe in again and again, to breathe out, to feel hunger, to eat again, to sleep again, to sleep with a woman again? Was this cycle not exhausted and brought to a conclusion for him?"**

_You are free now Bobby. Free!_

That damned rigmarole again.

Bobby kneeled in front of the reversed bookshelf and pushed it back up against the wall. Empty. All its contents were on scattered on the carpet, he sat down next to it and began recollecting all the items within his arm reach but stopped almost immediately; he felt like those books were the heaviest things he's ever lifted.

He felt like fainting.

The first books he had tried to set into place were his oldest books about criminal profiling and psychology he read in his youth, during his period in the Army's CID. When he first met Declan Gage.

His mentor, his killer.

Using the detective's nemesis to kill his brother had on Bobby the same effect of a Chinese torture, it filled his body with pain everywhere, in every bone, in every jointure killing him slowly from the inside out…

While putting the books back in place he began turning randomly the pages reading several passages, all of them about possible connections between mental illness and crimes, especially in cases of serial murderers.

He could not stop thinking about his destiny. Was he to turn into one of them? Into one of the criminals he profiled so meticulously in every single case? Or would fate decree that he should turn into his father? Goren found himself chuckling with cynical amusement as he suddenly realized that, unlike most people, he had the good fortune of two to choose from, each as bad as the other; which one do you prefer as a role model? The alcoholic womanizer gambler or the charming serial killer?

Declan already lost his mind; his own genius lead him to disgrace, he crossed the infamous thin red line between madness and mental stability. The only question left was how long would it take to Bobby?

Reading about serial killers' perverted minds did not help him at all in finding some sort of peace.

_You father…_

_My father! Yeah he was a killer. So I'm a killer right?_

_Right captain… _

_It's some sort of genetics' transitory property isn't it? What he was then, I am now… Why?_

_Because he was my father, that's why.._

Ross' suppositions about his paternity and Rodger's betrayal remembered him the painful decision he took months ago about running a DNA test in order to discover the truth about his mother's death bed confession, her not knowing for sure who his real father really was, had been haunting him.

Robert Goren never believed in destiny and faith, he always believed that he's been able to determine the man he became; nor his mother illness, nor the abuses he suffered as a child managed to transform him into a violent man. Or at least that was what he thought until this very moment.

His frustrating trip through the manuals' pages continued until a particular section called "Why do we become serial killers? Psychopathy and sexual perversions" caught his attention.

He started reading.

"In 2001 De Luca presented a new serial killers' classification model based on…"

_Blah, blah, blah…_

"….the SIR model follows the schematic perspective that…."

_Yadda, yadda, yadda…_

"In synthesis, homicidal behavior is the product of three factors: socio-environmental, individual and relational…"

_Here we are, now it comes the most interesting part…_

"…. frequent abandonments, physical and psychological abuses and affective deprivation are just some of the many traumas a serial killer suffered during his childhood…"

_Check_

"…. the individual shows an ostensible external façade of normalcy. On the other side, inside they're haunted by inner agonies and deep anxieties…"

_Check_

"…some kinds of neurological deficits and predisposition to mental illnesses may be the cause of violent episodes that may end in murderous episodes and…"

_Ahahahahah, check!_

A feeble bittersweet smile touched Goren's lips, amused by his little 'I've got it' game, similar to the one he played as a kid with his brother Frank when they were confronting their collections of baseball picture cards.

_Frank…_

Warm tears replaced his smile. Frank was a junkie but was still his brother after all; they have grown up together through thick and thin during what were supposed to be the sweetest years for children. Bobby will definitely miss his big brother.

He wiped with a hand a tear rolling down his cheek, and with the other one he replaced the book on the shelf with a soft _'thud'_.

"**Tiredness and hunger had weakened him, and whatever for should he walk on, wherever to, to which goal? No, there were no more goals, there was nothing left but the deep, painful yearning to shake off this whole desolate dream, to spit out this stale wine, to put an end to this miserable and shameful life."**

_You are free now Bobby. Free!_

Bobby felt his left side ribs hurt, and he realized that his gun still holstered at the belt had caused the pain he was feeling. His piece was literally spurring him to be grabbed, he had to obey.

Goren stared at the gun resting in his hands for a long time while he thought back of his life, and considered its emptiness, its decay and, consequently, its end. The disturbing easiness of the act scared him the most. How can an object that small kill a human being all together with his ideals, his hopes and ambitions? A simple combination of black powder combustion and physical laws has the right to stop the complex biological mechanisms that allow the progress of human life; a life lived with all its joys and regrets?

_Maybe no_, thought Bobby, _but in this case I'll just be an exception. _

His hopes died at the tender age of seven and his mother had been diagnosed with schizophrenia; his ambitions ended the day he realized he could never make a career inside the NYPD.

Perhaps he simply never had any ambition at all.

Just a few ideals survived in him but usually the same ideals he fought so hard for were also the same ideals that put him into so much trouble.

_Tates_

_In Tates there's Heaven _

_And Heaven it's a living Hell_

_Hell _

_After Hell there's Purgatory_

_And after Purgatory?_

_Redemption? _

_No._

_Hell all over again._

_You are free now Bobby. Free!_

What was left of him now? Just a bunch of bones kept together by a few muscles and definitely too much fat. How did he get there?

Nobody knows, not even him. One day he was just tired of trying to be liked. He simply gave up on his appearance.

In his best days he was a beautiful 'Bobby-shaped-box', a dark handsome mahogany box with engravings on its sides. However, once opened the box's lid, its contents will reveal itself and it will probably disappoint you. Who needs a deck of Trivial Pursuit's Q&amp;A? It's like the proverbial Christmas gift from that old aunt Betty of yours, beautifully wrapped but useless in every day's life.

Now a day even the people who really need a bunch of trivia are not going to open the box because they're too scared of its cussed appearance and its worm-eaten, rotten wood. Not even aunty Betty would give you such an awful present, it is too esthetically ugly to be wrapped in her sumptuous Christmas paper.

Robert Goren was tired of being empty.

"**There was nothing left for him, except to annihilate himself, except to smash the failure into which he had shaped his life, to throw it away, before the feet of mockingly laughing gods. This was the great vomiting he had longed for: death, the smashing to bits of the form he hated!"**

_You are free now Bobby. Free!_

He verified that the bullets where lined up in their proper place

_Should I clean it one last time?_

_No, no need, it will not fail the last shot of its career_

He gently took the safety off

_Should I put some towels around here? The blood won't stain the tiles?_

_Yes, it will be easier for my landlord to walk in and empty it if it doesn't look too much like a slaughter house._

As Goren moved to stand up a small object caught his attention, it was an old dog-eared book, barely two hundred pages long. Bobby recognized it immediately as soon as he took it in his hands; he had already read it a couple of times during his life. He had liked it, sure he did, but he never really understood how some people, mostly young kids, are able to find some sort of answers by simply reading it…

_**Siddhartha by H. Hesse**_

He lifted the thick leather cover, skipped the introduction and read the first paragraph; he did not stop there but carried on reading until he finished the first two chapters. Somehow reading about unconfined knowledge and inner peace, and self-realization made him momentarily forget about his brother, his mentor, his nemesis, his captain, his colleagues, his mental stability, his mother, his father(s), his unreachable nephew, his anger, his frustration, his death, his… his partner.

Truth to be told this isn't the first time Goren forgot to include his partner in his thoughts; during the first year of their partnership this exclusion was a constant in Alex's life, as a matter of fact she even wrote a letter to her superiors asking for a new partner. Someone who was really capable of listening.

The last time he forgot about her was when he went undercover in that goddamned prison in order to rescue a kid he barely knew; that had been his latest selfish bravado. That time he took an oath to himself, he swore he would never ever forget about Alex again.

The following "authorized" undercover job was only the fastest way he disposed of to get back to his desk in front of hers, in front of his partner, his Eames, his lighthouse in the tempest, his balance of mind, his… whatever other metaphor you have in mind. And during all those six damned months he spent alone Bobby kept thinking of her.

He did not forget her that time.

She just didn't get his honesty and his disarming concern about her safety. He, on the other hand, understood her wrath only too well and allowed her to vent it on him during the days that followed; it was his own form of silent and continuous apology.

"**Then, out of remote areas of his soul, out of past times of his now weary life, a sound stirred up. It was a word, a syllable, which he, without thinking, with a slurred voice, spoke to himself, the old word which is the beginning and the end of all prayers of the Brahmans, the holy 'Om', which roughly means 'that what is perfect' or 'the completion'".**

_You are free now Bobby. Free!_

An idea struck him to the core crossing his skull and penetrating his heart the same way a bolt crosses the dark stormy skies and hits the ground with a loud and frightening _bang_: he was not hollow not anymore; his days where filled by the only remaining constant in his life.

_Eames…_

He almost broke his sacred vow.

He almost forgot about her.

_No, not anymore, she does not deserve this… I don't deserve her…_

With a deathly dance of a single finger on the trigger, Bobby risked losing everything he had: his life and her respect.

"**What all agony of these recent times, all sobering realizations, all desperation had not brought about, this was brought on by this moment, when the Om entered his consciousness: he became aware of himself in his misery and in his error."**

_You are free now Bobby. Free!_

Goren put his gun down on the floor sliding the safety back in place, he took a few deep breaths and leaned his back against his old leather couch; when his erratic breaths turned into convulsed sobs Bobby rested his head in his hands and finally allowed himself to cry.

He cried out of desperation for his no longer living brother.

He cried out of rage for a lost mentor.

He cried out of regret for the melodramatic scene he made at work.

He cried out of joy because he was still alive.

He cried out of relief because he still had a partner at his side.

"**Om! He spoke to himself: Om! And again he knew about Brahman, knew about the indestructibility of life, knew about all that is divine, which he had forgotten."**

_You are free now Bobby. Free!_

"Yes Declan, you're right this time, I am free and I'll show you!"

That said Bobby grabbed his jacket, his keys and left his apartment in a hurry with a single thought in mind

_Eames…_

He parked the car in her neighborhood and in a matter of minutes he was standing at her front door; it was already half past ten but he decided he did not care, he knew he would find her still awake.

He knocked at the door once, twice, trice…

"Bobby?"

"Hi"

Since the moment she opened the door Alex had been studying him from head to toes, she noted his face red and puffy, his blood-shot eyes and his wrinkled shirt. He looked like hell.

"Come in."

"S-sorry, am I interrupting anything?"

"Of course no…"

As Bobby entered her apartment he took off the jacket from his shoulders and hanged it on the coat rack by the door without uttering a single word, Eames was wondering if he was breathing at all. Overwhelmed by all that silence Alex could do nothing but reach the couch, sit down and watch her partner, or better say the ghost of what once was her imposing and cocky partner, stumbling around the furniture in her house looking for the most appropriate moment to speak.

The first words leaving his mouth were almost a whisper and barely audible by Eames who was sitting at the other end of the room.

"Bobby sorry but you'll have to come closer; I can't hear you if you stay where you are…"

"I said I'm sorry Eames." Bobby said rising a little his voice.

Hearing those words Alex jumped to her feet and headed toward his partner, who was resting in one of his favorite and most classical poses: leaning against the doorframe with the hands in his slacks pockets.

Eames did not know how she'd been able to keep an authoritative tone in spite of the tremors running back and forth her throat…

"No Bobby, don't do this!"

"Why not?!"

"What are you sorry for?"

"What?!"

"What are you sorry for?"

"No Eames, don't… Can't you just accept it?"

"No Goren, I won't _just_ _accept it_ until you explain it to me!"

"Is it relevant? Listen, I- I didn't come here to argue, I really don't wanna fight…"

"Good, neither I do; now answer my question. What are you sorry for?"

The tension between them was so thick you could have easily cut it with a knife. Bobby felt sorry for so many things he lost count: for everything that happened to them, and to her in particular, during the last two years; but most of all he was sorry for what he _almost_ did, how he _almost_ left her in the dark again.

"I'm sorry for… this."

"_This _is a pretty vague concept…"

Bobby was so full of anger he throw a punch at the wall beside him causing the furnishing to stagger at first and then to fall miserably on the carpet. Eames took an involuntary step back from him.

"Jesus Eames! Don't you see?!" Bobby immediately regretted his outburst and began panicking, vaguely gesticulating in her direction with his long arms and impossibly beautiful hands… "I- I scared you I'm no good, I… I've got it in me…"

His tone lowered and Alex's glance softened at the same time.

"Bobby…"

"No Eames. Brady was right, Ross was right; I am evil. I'm the sick product of my family history and my environment, and…" He chuckled in spite of the tears building up at the back of his eyes "… and I may become like one of _them_ in no time, so… so that's basically what I'm sorry for. I'm sorry that you have me as your partner and that you have to bear everything that comes with me."

Alex eventually moved closer to him, reaching out with her hand for his cheek but he withdrew leaving her with a cold bitter feeling of emptiness under her fingers.

"I'm not finished yet. There is something else you have to know, or at least I want you to know… I would have not made it through this sea of shit if it wasn't for you, thank you for that. I don't deserve your friendship, and now that you know who I really am you have every right to require a new partner or a transfer."

Eames' tentative hand reached for his face again, surprisingly Bobby did not move away this time, quite the opposite he leaned into her loving touch.

Her hand moved down from his cheek, sliding across the arm and finally finding his hand.

"You're cold." It was more an affirmation than a question "Come on, sit down with me."

Alex gently led him to her small couch sitting beside him and spoke as calmly as she could.

"Bobby… You need to know something too; I would never ever request a new partner just because of a DNA test's result and, most important, you are the last person who has to feel sorry in all this; you're the victim, the victim of an old lunatic's delirium. You have nothing to be sorry for, that's what drives me mad."

"You are not afraid of what I may turn into? There are several studies that prove how people with my same family history are more likely to…"

"To what? To follow a path of crime and violence? That's bullshit and you know it! How could you forget something so important?"

_Forgot what? Not you Eames, I'm sure, this time I haven't forgot you…_

"One of the first things you taught me about criminal profiling is that all serial killers show a deep lack of empathy. You Robert Goren are one of the most empathetic men I've ever known… on my personal list you're right behind Gandhi and Mother Teresa."

Her cracked joke helped to lighten up the mood, she could swear she saw a hint of a smile on his lips.

"I really mean what I'm saying Goren, believe it or not."

Bobby stood still and silent for a long while just staring at her, mulling over his next words.

"I know you mean it."

"Good."

_Eames…_

Alex was getting up when his voice dissuaded her from doing so.

"You're my balance. You always… keep me grounded, remind me where I stand..."

"I'm your partner, I…"

"…You've never forgotten me."

"And I never will you're my friend Bobby."

A single tear flew down his cheekbone and the tip of his nose, hanging there until it dropped hitting the carpet.

"Uhm it's, it's late I don't want to keep you up, I should go…" Said Bobby as he stood and headed toward the hallway and the door.

"It's fine; actually I was going to ask you to sleep here…"

"No, no, I have to go, I…"

"Bobby it's late and you're in no condition to drive or to be left alone, please…"

"Alex…"

"I'll make you a decent breakfast."

Goren sighed, looked down at his hand on the doorknob and then closed his eyes.

_You are free now Bobby. Free!_

A voice echoed in his head.

_You are free now Bobby. Free!_

It was the same voice that until a few hour ago reminded him of a funereal march; but now it sounded like an ode to joy, a hymn to freedom drumming back and forth in his skull and in all his bones.

_You are free now Bobby. Free!_

"I suppose this is an offer I can't really refuse…"

All his remaining reluctance finally disappeared the moment his hand left the brass handle.

"Never wiser words had been spoken partner. C'mon, what are you waiting for?"

…_What am I waiting for?_

Maybe he looked down at her for too long because she suddenly got impatient, crossing her arms over her chest and nodding in the direction of her living room.

"My couch awaits you."

"Right, right…"

Together they spread a set of linen sheets on the soft cushions of her sofa and, while she picked out a blanket from a closet, he went into her bathroom to get ready for the night. When he emerged stripped down to t-shirt and boxers, she was already in her night attire waiting for him.

"Bobby I'm going to sleep, if you want to read a little before turning the light off feel free to pick up any book or magazine you want from the shelves…"

"Thank you Eames, but I already have…"

He went straight to his jacket on the rack and pulled out of its hidden pocket an old, small, dog-eared book, barely two hundred pages long…

Alex focused on the title engraved on the cover.

_**Siddhartha by H. Hesse**_

"Siddhartha?"

His choice surprised her, and Bobby found himself surprised in turn at her astonishment.

"What? Not good enough?"

"No, I just did not expect this choice from you…"

"Oh…"

"Goodnight Bobby."

"Night Eames…"

Alex turned her back to her partner and walked down the hallway, once she reached her bed and started to lie down his voice startled her…

"Eames!"

Eames marched through the corridor back in the living room where Goren was lying down with a thick blanket covering him, waiting for her to arrive.

"Yeah Bobby?"

"Just don't believe him ok? Don't believe anything that bastard said…"

"Who? Declan?"

"Yeah, that son of a bitch is a disgusting manipulator, knows exactly what buttons push and what soft spots hit. Whatever he said to you it's not true, don't let him ground you down. You and I both know your real worth Alex… I'll never forget it…"

"Thank you Bobby, but Dec also told me and the captain that I care deeply for you; that's not a lie Bobby, not in the slightest. Sleep well partner."

Alex got back to her bedroom; Bobby thought for a moment about her words and, as he started reading his book again, could not help but feel a warm sensation of happiness rising in his chest, right behind his heart.

A while later, when Alex went into the kitchen in order to pour herself a glass of water, she saw him sleeping peacefully, with his right arm draped over his eyes and his left hand still holding _Siddhartha_ on his chest. At first, she simply stood in the semi-darkness, quietly listening to his light snore; then she gently approached the sleeping giant, retrieving the precious volume from his hand and tucking him better under the cover.

"Om Bobby… Om…"

After having tenderly whispered 'the completion' in his ear Eames kissed the same spot on his cheek where some time before a single tear dug its path like a river digs its furrow in the ground.

Alex eventually went to sleep and the night could finally follow its natural course without further interruptions; lulling in its comforting darkness two troubled souls, separated in a physical space but close one to the other in the oneiric dimension.

The sun rose and its bright rays penetrated through the curtains in Alex's living room rousing him from sleep. The first thing he realized was that he wasn't in his apartment, he wasn't even in a bed, he was in Alex's apartment on Alex's couch; the second thing he noticed was the din coming from the kitchen were his partner was busy preparing the promised breakfast.

"Look who woke up, morning Goren…"

"Morning."

"How did you sleep?" Eames was already bracing herself for a prospective closure on his side and the subsequent verbal sparring.

"I slept fine Eames. Thanks for asking."

She gestured to Bobby to scoot over a little so she could seat right beside him, he obeyed and, while she was moving to sit, he looked at her with one of his most intense gazes; Eames felt like she could not wait any longer, so she leaned over and kissed him fully on the mouth. The kiss did not last too much but it has been long enough to make him understand what its real meaning was.

When they parted, they terribly missed the contact established between their lips, for that reason they immediately sought other kinds of physical contact. Bobby encircled Alex's shoulders with his arm while she grabbed his free hand with her own placing another kiss on his knuckles.

"Alex…"

"Shhh Bobby, don't even think about it, this is too right and too perfect to be a mistake."

Goren did not understand what was happening to him; he was depressed, his life was a mess, his brother was dead, his mentor was a traitor and a serial killer, his nephew was wandering God only knows where and yet he was happy, yet he wasn't felling left and abandoned, he still had hope. He still had someone to lean on. He still had Eames…

_Eames _

"So now what about we eat the amazing breakfast I made you? Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving actually…"

"Good news…" she said rising from her seat, pulling him up with her "…I think I cooked for a whole platoon while you were still sleeping."

"You're saving me Eames…"

"Oh yeah? And from who?"

"Mostly from myself."

"I'm really glad Bobby." Alex did not pursued the topic any further, right now she was happy with not knowing what it meant…

"But now I wanna hear less talking and more jaws gnawing and chewing some food."

None of them talked for a while, they just ate in silence and enjoyed the present together since, now, they could not care less of what was and what's going to be.

_Om…_

_Eames…._

_Om…_

_**THE END**_

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AN/2: Did you like my story? Did you hate it? Let me know your idea in reviews and PMs, your opinion matters to me.

The quotations about Serial killers and De Luca's work are taken from a book I'm currently reading about criminology, De Luca is one of the book's authors and he's a rather famous Italian criminologist. The other quotations are from Siddhartha by Hesse.

A huge, huge, huge THANK YOU goes to HeathRowTottie for her help, her support and her numerous advices, thank you so much dear!

Another THANK YOU goes to SilentG, who's one of my favorite authors and who gave me some precious advices as well.

This story is dedicated to my best friend Vale who first introduced me to ff world.

Ali


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