Ruining it for everyone.
"Armistice"
Criminal Intent
Ross/Goren
About things expectedly coming from left field. Post-s8, no particular spoilers
R-ish, ~5,300 words
A note. This is what we like to call 'self-indulgent fluff'. No apologies! Those of you who have me friended know where this came from. To everyone else: trust me, the subtext is there, I can provide notes if you're interested. I get a coupon for Amazon.com with every recruit to Team Ross/Goren. No kidding. Those still weirded out, rest assured that this is (mostly) comedy.
Another note: I got the information on how to distract bears from QI, so standard 'may not be true' disclaimers apply.
Danny Ross prides himself on being able to predict what his detectives will say at any given moment. Down to vocal inflections. It would be a neat party trick except the impersonation, while perfect in his head, turns awkward and unfunny out loud. Most people in the squad do a passable Captain Ross, he knows he's no wild card; Liz throws his faces back at him, Mitch does a near-pitch-perfect replica of his voice (a move that increased in frequency after Ross accidentally called him "Rich"), Eames knows his vocabulary well enough to crack Goren up, but then Goren laughs at anything Eames says that's remotely funny. Got the poor guy's emotions on a short tether.
Part of being a good captain, knowing his people. Saves effort, aggravation, opens an in for any necessary manipulation. He's never had the knack for the quick-read all great detectives can do, but what he lacks in speed he makes up for in depth, and lack of any particular empathy - not that he doesn't care, but he'd never make it anywhere crying all over the place.
He knows them. Like, mental spreadsheet kind of knowing: sort by person, then situation, then mood, and then he just waits to find out which of the few remaining options they'll choose. For example:
Zach Nichols, Ross has had years of nerve-wracking practice to master the modulations where modulations don't quite belong, the gee-whiz fake surprise, the grin when he thinks he's saying something that will sting, except it's hard to get under Ross' skin when he'd already imagined the exchange ten minutes ago. Even called the undertone of shame and fear (overlaying a deeper, more truthful undertone of not giving a fuck) when he called up asking Ross to yank those carefully-laid political strings and get him not just back on the force but into Major Goddamn Case. Just like old times, he'd said, and Ross thought well how about that and then told him he'd see what he could do. Zach acting like of course he'd get into MCS because he was Zachary Nichols and deserved nothing less, and when could Ross ever refuse him?
Zach's knowing self-parody contrasting with Logan's unwitting cop-cliche lockstep. Is that even worth going into? Like a TV detective or one of the characters in the pulps Liz chewed through at an alarming rate. Playing by the book of not playing by the book. One part bad cop pun, one part old-school gumshoe, dash of authority issues, shake. He wasn't gonna fault the guy, cliches come from somewhere and it's not like he wasn't genuine, but half the time he'd wanted to tell him he didn't really need to pull the defiant act, that it was understood and they'd all save time by skipping it.
And their partner, Wheeler. Less metronomic but no less obvious, from the sweet kid trying to be tough school of personality. What's that, a chin wobble? Resolved set of the jaw? The frown preceding a question? He'd been a little thrown by her pregnancy but more out of his own expected male response of cluelessness and don't-want-to-deal-with-it than any real confusion. He'd sent flowers, because he knew she'd appreciate them but never admit it, and he sent some on behalf of Nichols because he knew he'd forget. He can picture how she'll be when she comes back: a touch of preemptive reassurance that she can still do her job, thank you very much; wanting concern from others but brushing it off when she gets it; can we get back to work now please? after every awkward pause.
From the tough detective trying to remember how to have a personal life school of personality, there's Eames. Probably the most reliable detective he has, can be trusted not to fuck up or flip out, though she has a need to prove she won't even when she really ought to be taken off the case (and that "I can handle this" speech she keeps giving him, which takes him for a sucker every time despite the fact he knows it's coming before she opens her mouth). Legacy-cop flippancy, check. Buffering Goren, check. Steely determination, woman in a boy's club restrained anger, question-inflection when she's upset. Despite the widow's black hole suck of rationality when her romantic past came under scrutiny, and her weak spot where her partner is concerned, he'd probably have gone nuts long ago if it weren't for her. Like what, there's the solid unremarkable detectives on art-theft watch and then all the ones good enough for homicide have issues the size of a house? That's the best the academy can produce? Except for Eames, who if she ever bothered to untangle herself from Goren had as good a shot at Chief of D's as Ross did.
And, hey, speaking of Issues with a capital 'I' and IMAX surround-sound summer blockbuster bombast, Mr. Compromised By Personal Problems himself. Like Nichols, Goren has a particular way of speaking, that just sticks in his head and he'll be trying to unwind after work and hearing those, you know, John Wayne...pauses and the emphasis on certain words, and the like, y'know, filler words and mumbles, that he throws in either because he isn't quite sure what he's going to say next, or uh, maybe is trying to soften the blow of esoterica and unexpected eloquence, like not wanting to come off as...snobbish, yeah? That husky cigarette growl rising into clarity occasionally, when he bothers to turn up the volume. The maybe-unhinged, maybe-calculated violence. Predictably unpredictable. The eggshells he walks on around Eames, looking like he's about to hit the big red Missile Launch button whenever he so much as nudges her. The barbed wire they have around themselves, Ross emphatically on the other side, except he always looks slightly hurt when Ross rebuffs him. Well, what does he expect? Hugs and post-case drinks? Gold stars for not throwing hissy fits? "Pulling a Goren" is NYPD shorthand for losing it on the job, it'll take more than a few well-played cases to change that.
So, yeah, he knows them. Forgive him for maybe looking a little bored sometimes. All these people on tracks, whether they know it or not, crossing with his in easily quantifiable ways. Everything in its place, and that's how you control your squad, and that's how you get anywhere in this world.
~
The first time Goren throws him for a loop, it's not even really anything he does. Ross is sitting in his office, excavating the mountain of paperwork, choking down the inexplicably shitty department coffee. He breaks for an eye-rub and constitutionally guaranteed moment of indulging in self-pity, does a quick scan of the squad room through the glass walls. And there's - Michaels? Montgomery? Manfield? whoever, a CSU grunt working under Rodgers, small guy, not someone who'd ever really stuck out to him, but for some reason he latches on and watches him walk over to Goren and Eames, hand over a folder, watches Eames get distracted by something and then watches Manuels (?) give Goren a quick hair-tousle, watches Goren lean into his hand for a split second then snap back with a "not here" look, Matthews (maybe it wasn't even an 'M' name) coming over all smug, Goren quickly draining all emotion from his face before Eames notices.
Okay, he doesn't care about that sort of thing. And getting laid is good for morale. But, Goren? Gay? Seriously? You think he would've noticed before. He spends a few minutes getting over the surprise until he's sure that the next time he talks to Goren, the first words out of his mouth won't be "So you sleep with men?".
To test that, Eames drags Goren into his office for a state of the case address and to plead for a search warrant. What few beats Ross misses aren't noticed, because his "don't know what to do with this information" face is interchangeable with his basic aggravated face. Does his best to wipe any mental images away as they leave.
Does she know? She has to. She's had eight years to figure it out. And Ross, okay maybe a little curious, has seen old interrogation tapes of him, and after moving past the shock of finding out that lean, well-dressed, energetic guy is the same Goren he knows now, notes the fluttering hands and camp phrasing, and gets that she must have needed to answer the gay or metrosexual? question. Not that he cares. It's immaterial. Information filed away, and forget about it.
~
The second blindsiding is less an event and more a sudden realization on Ross' part. Goes like this: he's leading Goren on a walk-and-talk past the soda machine, washes down the pill that theoretically lessens the effect of his daily headache down with a not-cold-enough can of Coke, and catches Goren pretty blatantly following his hand to his pocket, opening the vial, up to his mouth, then lingering there with a curious look on his face. Ross' mind helpfully recalls previous appearances of that look, maybe mingled with concern, maybe understanding, maybe something Ross can't quite put his finger on. He's, what, trying to figure Ross out? Looking for weakness? A reason to sympathize? Goren loves being able to sympathize with people he doesn't like, an emotion that would be touching coming from anyone else turning into a kind of weapon, a lever to turn the tables in his favor. In a case it usually comes right before the confession and arrest. Here, though.
Then Goren keeps talking and huffing at Ross' distracted 'mm-hmm's and Ross is thinking maybe all this would be easier if he could just shut his detectives up sometimes, when he feels a tug at his arm and there's Goren hanging on, hand wrapped easily around his elbow, tilting down to look him in the eyes. Goddamn it, no wonder perps give up so easily. This bear of a man looking at you simultaneously like you're his best friend and like he's about to tear your throat out with his teeth. So Ross says "yes," to whatever it is Goren's asking for. Just, yes. Please. What is it you're supposed to do? Flashes of bad late-night documentaries. Take off your clothing and throw it at the bear so it'll get distracted. No, wait, bad mental image -
~
Nichols is even worse alone than he is with Wheeler. He can't dump him with Eames now that Goren's back from Tennessee, and he's not ready to deal with him and Goren on the same case, so he assigns him to cleaning up the loose ends of the past year's cases, drops hints about helping out the cold case squad, and hopes for the best. The best is apparently a Zach Nichols who can't stay at his desk for more than five minutes, disappears to chase up long-shot leads on God knows what crimes, makes origami out of inter-office forms and hums bars of jazz standards slightly off-key. All the time. All the time.
Which is why, against his better judgment, he tells Nichols to help Goren and Eames out. Just a little, just some back-up support on the grunt work. Which, inevitably, leaves them all in his office, the stress-headache already forming behind his eyes, waiting for the deluge. "What've you got," he says behind the half-hearted massage attempt he's making on his temples.
"It's gotta be-"
"We're thinking-"
Nichols and Goren look at each other, Eames rolls her eyes. "You first," Goren says, with a deferential gesture.
Uh-huh. There's no real road-blocks in this case, nothing he needs to monitor particularly closely, so he just nods and makes yes I'm getting it comments, a few frowns when Nichols tries to gauge Ross' disapproval at him taking such an active role here (he expects it, he gets it). Out of the corner of his eye sees Goren lean against a filing cabinet that tilts back a little with a squeak of protest, watching the mini-argument Nichols needs to feel he's really doing the right thing. For a second, holds Ross' gaze, raises his eyebrow with a not-quite-smile, and here comes that headache.
"You'll have the warrant by morning. Anything else?" The subtext being, please go now, I have actual things to do. He slides his glasses on and starts flipping through a stack of papers.
"No, no," Goren says, still with that almost-smirk. "That's all, cap'n."
~
The third surprise isn't much of a surprise, if he thinks about it. Maybe wasn't consciously expecting it but there it is and he isn't too taken aback.
Possibly he's snooping, also. Pausing at a blind-spot corner by the kitchenette, sensing Something about to happen. Nichols putting some coffee into his milk, Goren pouring his usual black, shifting around with just-one-more-thing jitters.
"So you and Ross-" he says.
"Were partners," Nichols finished.
"Yeah? How, uh. How was that? I mean, he seems...the two of you are kinda..." He does a quick boxing one-two. "You know?"
"He grows on you. And I've heard you've had your own- well, I don't want to pry, but you don't seem to be the best of friends."
"I haven't been the best person to be around, lately." They trade shrugs and whaddaya-gonna-do eyerolls.
Ross, starting to feel silly in his hideout, taking casual sips of his soda, avoiding eye-contact with passers-by, thinking either he has to fake a phone call or give up, is startled out of awkwardness by Goren slumping against the counter and scratching the back of his neck, a classic Goren move, indicating some kind of-
"But, no, he seems. Uh. Good people. And he's got enough- I mean, he shouldn't have to deal with my shit. I've been trying..." Goren trails off.
You know, Ross supplies silently.
"Y'know, trying to, I guess, fix...things. Any suggestions?"
What?
"Don't get him coffee, he'll think you're mocking him."
Oh, shut up, Zach.
"Try putting some good coffee in the machine, though, it'll improve his mood. Oh, and you do the case write-ups, not Eames. He likes your writing."
How did you even fucking know that-
"Huh," Goren says, with a pleased smile. "Huh." He nods, Nichols nods back, they take near-synchronized drinks from their matching MCS mugs. The two of them, really, Ross is just grateful Goren gained weight so he can tell them apart. Otherwise he'd have to enforce some kind of color-coding system, or - stop it, Danny. And stop hiding, this is getting weird.
Pushing off like he'd just been having a Thoughtful Moment, he walks quickly (not too quickly) out into the bullpen, knowing without a doubt that Goren is watching him go.
Next morning, of course, there's some fancy Columbian in the coffee maker, the bag peeking out just enough from the rack of filters and coffee cans to be noticed. Perfectly brewed. His mug, even, sparkling clean when he knew that A) he'd done nothing more than a perfunctory wipe when he'd finished yesterday, and B) had left it on his desk, which was where he found it, except moved maybe a little to the left. Moved just enough. You know, so he'd...notice. Because Goren had known he was listening. Goddamn it.
~
Goddamnit. This isn't ending. Ross doesn't know how to say Thank you but all is forgiven! You can go back to normal! without coming off as an asshole, so mostly he just endures it. A comment about his ex-wife gets an almost sweetly concerned expression, his impatience at not getting the importance of a particular detail is derailed by that please-listen hand on elbow or shoulder or, once, upper back, between the shoulder blades, this gentle rubbing activity that leaves Ross a little freaked out and a little, maybe, sorry to see it go.
And he's firmly in the loop now, both detectives hurtling past the total-secrecy phase and directly into constant checkup mode. Too far, he wants to say. I don't actually need to know everything you do every second of each day, but thank you for the consideration. Goren keeps writing the reports, thankfully not showing off, just the usual careful attention to detail plus that concise, near-poetic phrasing. Which he now tries to find fault with, but can't, of course. A fact of his life, he genuinely enjoys reading them. He should be happy.
They invite him out for drinks, he declines. They invite again, declines again. He's not even going there. And again, and Goren knocks on his office door to say he, y'know, hopes - hand wave - to see him at the, uh, bar. Ross makes a 'really now' face, and starts making vague plans to maybe call Liz up, it's been awhile since they did anything together, and he does like her, and she seems to like him, and it's a sensible relationship. So, obviously, eight that night, he finds himself outside of Cop Bar #14875. Stands in someone's abandoned cigarette smoke cloud, listens to the muted chatter and glass-clinks from inside, decides he probably shouldn't do this, goes in anyway.
"Captain!" Nichols yells, waving him over. Nichols never really drinks, just nurses something along for show, and there's a barely-touched swizzlesticked thing in front of him. Eames is halfway through an eye-roll, three-quarters through a martini. Goren looks sloshed, flushed to somewhere near a tomato-type shade, his draft pint surrounded by a few shot glasses. He stands, because he's so considerate, so polite, and gestures down at the booth. Ross holds up a forefinger, beelines to the bar to pick up a triple of something brown. David Bowie on the jukebox singing about modern love. Goren's still standing when he comes back.
"Siddown, siddown, here," Goren says, reaching for his shoulder and kind of tossing him into the booth, following him with a touch too much force, slamming into him and squishing him against Eames for a good two seconds before moving over.
"You okay there, champ?" Eames asks.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm great, never been better." Goren motions the waitress for a refill, turns to Ross with an up-down hey there look, and a wide grin that shows a few too many teeth, and right here Ross realizes he can't tell if Goren is actually drunk or just playing at it. All hulking over him even sitting down, and he's rightthere, like Ross's got enough space to stay upright and out of Eames' lap but there's no appreciable distance between him and Goren. He watches three years of propriety and inter-rank distance fly out the proverbial, wonders if there's any way he could roll back the past few months and get to a place where his brain was not being perpetually rocked out of status quo.
So let's think facts here. Basic stuff. Whatever is happening to him is just because of the novelty of Goren the Overly Nice Guy suddenly replacing Goren the Surly Jerk. Or because Liz has been cold-shouldering him lately and he isn't the type who just 'picks up chicks', and sure he's flattered, and flattered by what he could possibly be misinterpreting. Maybe Goren is just overcompensating for past transgressions. Probably is. Vanity isn't one of Ross' flaws, knows he wasn't a perfect draw even before middle age teamed up with gravity to play a practical joke on his face. Even assuming that his detective (key word being 'detective', since he's the captain) is for some reason hitting on him, Ross isn't particularly gay, and if he were to sometimes consider certain men maybe, he wouldn't consider Goren. Not really. Maybe - maybe - the younger Goren still living in those interrogation tapes, going in for the kill, all feline grace and sharp jawline, thin and bright-eyed. But here, now, after the ravages of his peculiarly literal midlife crisis, edges blurred and broadened, hair grayed, thinning; still handsome but just - not his type. Not that he has a type, in terms of men. Y'know. And this fast heartbeat, short of breath, awkward, stupidly comfortable bullshit he's feeling now is just a mental hiccup. Something misfiring, emotions misplaced, transferred, whatever.
His drink is gone. Goren is pretty much stem-to-stern pressed against him, sprawled out sleepily (fake sleepily?), and Ross for some reason isn't pushing him away. Nichols is talking about the films of John Sturges, Eames is twiddling at her cellphone. This was a bad decision, he has made a bad decision, he should leave right now. Right now. He orders another drink.
Waves at Eames as she holds up the phone apologetically and begs off for another engagement. Stares at Nichols who knows he's kind of a third wheel now and Ross can't decide whether he needs him to stay or wants him to go. Still talking about Sturges. The ending of The Great Escape.
A GREAT ESCAPE! a voice says inside Ross' head. YOU SHOULD DO THAT YOURSELF, MAYBE. Now that Eames is gone there's a fairly obvious gap that Ross would move into if he had any sense. Nichols across from them twirling the swizzle around his watered-down whatever it is, taking it out to gesture about this really interesting thing that happened when Steve McQueen came on set, you gotta hear this. Ross zones out. Nichols says something apparently funny enough to make Goren laugh, and he feels more than hears it, kinda vibrating against him, and he doesn't know whether the solution here is another drink or a glass of water and a swift exit.
"I'm gonna order some food, you guys want-? No?" Nichols vanishes to find a menu.
Two wheels now, ha ha.
"What," Goren drawls quietly. "Hmm?"
Here's a solution. Ross leans forward and clunks his elbows onto the table, rubs hard at his eyes, tries to flex out some of the tension from his neck. At least if he turns his head he won't get a faceful of Goren. Also he could just shift over, just a few inches, c'mon. Think with your head and not your evidently wayward dick. You're the captain. You're the captain and he's - well. Running a hand up Ross' back, pressing hard into the muscles around his neck, and what is this, a Harlequin Romance? Back massage, really. Really?
"Maybe I should eat something," he says. "Soak up some of the alcohol."
"Yeah? Sure, I'll get you something," hands still tight on his shoulders, withdrawing only when Nichols comes bumbling back.
"Oooh, sweet potato fries." Nichols puts his glasses on with a flourish. "What else, what...what? Hey. Hey, hey. I'm not done." Oh I see what you're doing there appraising look directed at Goren, who's tugging the menu free of his hands.
"Shhh." Goren holds the menu open under Ross' face. "Captain first."
He takes a breath then exhales slowly, feeling his eyes go wide, into their 'oh hell, why not?' position. "French fries, there you go." Tosses the menu back at Nichols, who looks positively gleeful.
"French fries! Sounds good. Yep. Yee-"
Ross buries his head in his hands.
"-ehhhp."
The waitress rolls up.
"Uh," Goren begins, like he usually does. "Fries-" jerking a thumb at Ross. "And," pointing at Nichols, "fries? Yeah? Two orders of-" enunciating carefully - "French fries. And. Uh. Cheeseburger. Rare? Thank you."
"Cheeseburger," says Nichols, who at this point is just saying things to hear the sounds they make, but Goren must've taken it as directed towards a sensitive spot because he quick moves away from Ross (the dumb animal part of his brain going Hey, no) and scritches irritatedly at the stubble on his chin.
"Yeah, well. Hence why I'm a fatass."
"I didn't say a word." Nichols, hands up in supplication.
"You did," Ross says. "Say a word. One. You-"
"Moving onwards, yes? Hey, uh, The Magnificent Seven, you know that scene-" Blah blah blah. Oh, Nichols, never change.
Ross somehow finds himself tugging Goren back towards him. Even giving him a c'mere head tilt. Nichols burbling on about the death of the American Dream as portrayed in the Hollywood western. "Don't be such a delicate flower," Ross says under his breath.
Goren laughs, nudges back into him. "Nah, I'm more like a. A, y'know, towering redwood. Broad and majestic."
"Which makes me, what, a cactus?"
"Cacti flower, you know. The desert rose. Yeah? Nichols, right? Desert roses."
Nichols grabs onto that just long enough to diverge into a dissertation on The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, which featured flowering cacti as a metaphor for-
"And him?" Ross whispers. "Bamboo?"
"Ah, cat-o-nine-tails. Like, a long, skinny stick, and then. Uh. The head? Yeah?" He looks inordinately pleased at making Ross laugh.
The conversation topic's rolled along to Sergio Leone by the time the food arrives. Ross approaches his fries with methodical determination, as if eating four at a time was a time-honored Sobriety Inducer. Nichols is using his as exclamation points and segue-markers. Goren spends a doleful moment staring at the burger like they were star-crossed lovers.
Ross, in that vein, asks, "Her dad tell you to get outta town?"
"What?"
Ross points. "Go ahead, unless you want us to leave the room? Give you two some privacy?"
"Uh." He frowns, like he's not sure if he should be offended or not.
"Just. Eat the damn thing. You remember how?" He eats an exaggerated fry in demonstration. "Like so."
Nichols is still on Clint Eastwood when they pay the tab and wander outside. Ross has long known that the guy doesn't need anyone else in order to conduct a conversation, but Goren cuts in a few times half-heartedly, something about how modernist architecture changed because of high-contrast black and white photographs in magazines and what now? Ross zones out again.
The first cab up, Nichols ushers them in. "You two! In you go! Have fun, be safe!" The door's closed and the cabbie revving the engine before Ross realizes what happened. He watches the streets zoom past, Goren's jittering knee in his peripheral vision.
Out of the cab, he fumbles a few bills from his wallet, trudges away. Halfway up the walk, he realizes Goren's still with him. "You don't live here, detective."
"Yeah, I know."
"So you should have stayed in the cab and taken it to your place?"
"Yeah, probably."
"But you're still here?"
"Well. Obviously."
"Detective, this is - I'll just say it's 'inappropriate' and hope you appreciate how much of an understatement that is."
"Captain, I think...what people don't know, can't hurt them."
"And a stitch in time saves nine. I'm going in. You're going home."
"I just. I thought?" He steps forward, and with a great deal of internal coaching Ross doesn't flinch. Staring down at him, eyes wide and intense with concentration.
And here, yeah right here, is when he knows Goren is stone-cold sober, and to be honest he's coming out of it too. So act like it, Danny. "If anyone finds out-"
"No one's gonna find out."
"Nichols knows already."
"He thinks he knows. That's different."
"He'll use this-"
"He'll use it whether anything happens or not."
They're still on the sidewalk, Ross notices. Standing around, and it's cold, and people might see. He still doesn't know what he wants, not really. "What happened to, what'shisname. Your boyfriend."
"Anderson?"
Not an 'M' name, then. "That guy."
"Not my boyfriend. Just a, you know." The hand-wave is supposed to mean 'person I see sometimes for sexual activity but not anyone important.' He guesses. "What happened to your girlfriend?"
Oh. Right. Liz. "She's. We're. It's on again, off again. Currently off again. But that doesn't mean-" Through this, Goren has been backing him up, towards the house, and now he's absentmindedly unlocking the door and letting him in. Well, whoops.
"Doesn't mean what?" His voice in that almost sub-audible rumble, Marlboro-and-scotch rasp, close enough and tilted in such a way that Ross can feel his breath hot against his neck.
"Chain of command!" Ross says suddenly, pushing Goren away with two hands flat on his chest. Goren sways back more out of a sense of responsibility for Ross' self-esteem than because Ross is actually strong enough to budge him. A theory proved when he goes to brush past him and sort of bounces back, Goren smirking at him.
"Captain," Ross says, pointing at himself. "Detective," pointing at Goren. "Not gonna happen. You may be comfortable risking your career, I'm not."
"Yeah?" He swallows, eyebrows twitch in such a way that Ross is slightly scared he might once again bear the brunt of a breakdown, then he backs Ross into a wall, says "Yeah?" again, and "So you can just blame it all on the whackjob, huh?" That being a cue evidently for Ross to tug him down by the scruff of his neck and kiss him. Shut him up, anyway. Was the basic idea.
"Jesus," Goren says as he pulls back, maybe a minute later.
"'Captain' will suffice, thank you."
"You, uh. Might want to sit down for this next part?"
"Pardon?"
"Yeah, here, just." He guides Ross to the couch. "There you go. Okay?" His hands comically large on his hips, tugging at his belt, and before Ross knew what was happening, oh fuck.
Shut him up, anyway. Ross woulda made some comment like finally you're putting that mouth to good use instead of just shooting it off all the time, if he had any wits left. Which he doesn't for the next couple of minutes.
"You good?" Goren, wiping his mouth, looking smug.
Yeah, yeah, you bastard, and you know it. "Your turn," he says instead. "Yeah?" Meaning it as a little ice-breaking mockery, but his impersonations never turned out right. Goren doesn't notice.
Right, so, this shouldn't be too hard. Ha ha. Lets the rest of the post-blow job goodwill brush away any remaining insecurities he has about doing this, wrestles with the button on Goren's kinda tight jeans (tighter from the mildly intimidating hardon), leans in to kiss him rough as he can manage to pre-empt any self-deprecating remark, closes his eyes, shoves his hand in, and, hey, goes for it. New horizons and all that. Goren's hands scrabbling over his back, in his hair, making these little needy noises, breath catching. Something to remember the next time he gives Ross shit at work. Yeah, you recall that time you were practically begging for it? Thank you, that will be all.
Goren is gone in the morning. No note or anything. What, he expected flowers or something?
At work, Nichols is no more insufferable than usual. Ross decides not to bring anything up. Eames is at her desk, looking hungover. Goren is, where? Fancy coffee in the pot, freshly-made. His mug cleaned out again, this time hanging on the rack next to the sink.
He catches a glimpse of Goren at the fax machine, impatiently tugging at the printout. Waits until he glances up, holds eye-contact, no fireworks or fuck-yous or never-agains, just hey there. Hey.
At least now he knows what those looks mean.
Criminal Intent
Ross/Goren
About things expectedly coming from left field. Post-s8, no particular spoilers
R-ish, ~5,300 words
A note. This is what we like to call 'self-indulgent fluff'. No apologies! Those of you who have me friended know where this came from. To everyone else: trust me, the subtext is there, I can provide notes if you're interested. I get a coupon for Amazon.com with every recruit to Team Ross/Goren. No kidding. Those still weirded out, rest assured that this is (mostly) comedy.
Another note: I got the information on how to distract bears from QI, so standard 'may not be true' disclaimers apply.
Danny Ross prides himself on being able to predict what his detectives will say at any given moment. Down to vocal inflections. It would be a neat party trick except the impersonation, while perfect in his head, turns awkward and unfunny out loud. Most people in the squad do a passable Captain Ross, he knows he's no wild card; Liz throws his faces back at him, Mitch does a near-pitch-perfect replica of his voice (a move that increased in frequency after Ross accidentally called him "Rich"), Eames knows his vocabulary well enough to crack Goren up, but then Goren laughs at anything Eames says that's remotely funny. Got the poor guy's emotions on a short tether.
Part of being a good captain, knowing his people. Saves effort, aggravation, opens an in for any necessary manipulation. He's never had the knack for the quick-read all great detectives can do, but what he lacks in speed he makes up for in depth, and lack of any particular empathy - not that he doesn't care, but he'd never make it anywhere crying all over the place.
He knows them. Like, mental spreadsheet kind of knowing: sort by person, then situation, then mood, and then he just waits to find out which of the few remaining options they'll choose. For example:
Zach Nichols, Ross has had years of nerve-wracking practice to master the modulations where modulations don't quite belong, the gee-whiz fake surprise, the grin when he thinks he's saying something that will sting, except it's hard to get under Ross' skin when he'd already imagined the exchange ten minutes ago. Even called the undertone of shame and fear (overlaying a deeper, more truthful undertone of not giving a fuck) when he called up asking Ross to yank those carefully-laid political strings and get him not just back on the force but into Major Goddamn Case. Just like old times, he'd said, and Ross thought well how about that and then told him he'd see what he could do. Zach acting like of course he'd get into MCS because he was Zachary Nichols and deserved nothing less, and when could Ross ever refuse him?
Zach's knowing self-parody contrasting with Logan's unwitting cop-cliche lockstep. Is that even worth going into? Like a TV detective or one of the characters in the pulps Liz chewed through at an alarming rate. Playing by the book of not playing by the book. One part bad cop pun, one part old-school gumshoe, dash of authority issues, shake. He wasn't gonna fault the guy, cliches come from somewhere and it's not like he wasn't genuine, but half the time he'd wanted to tell him he didn't really need to pull the defiant act, that it was understood and they'd all save time by skipping it.
And their partner, Wheeler. Less metronomic but no less obvious, from the sweet kid trying to be tough school of personality. What's that, a chin wobble? Resolved set of the jaw? The frown preceding a question? He'd been a little thrown by her pregnancy but more out of his own expected male response of cluelessness and don't-want-to-deal-with-it than any real confusion. He'd sent flowers, because he knew she'd appreciate them but never admit it, and he sent some on behalf of Nichols because he knew he'd forget. He can picture how she'll be when she comes back: a touch of preemptive reassurance that she can still do her job, thank you very much; wanting concern from others but brushing it off when she gets it; can we get back to work now please? after every awkward pause.
From the tough detective trying to remember how to have a personal life school of personality, there's Eames. Probably the most reliable detective he has, can be trusted not to fuck up or flip out, though she has a need to prove she won't even when she really ought to be taken off the case (and that "I can handle this" speech she keeps giving him, which takes him for a sucker every time despite the fact he knows it's coming before she opens her mouth). Legacy-cop flippancy, check. Buffering Goren, check. Steely determination, woman in a boy's club restrained anger, question-inflection when she's upset. Despite the widow's black hole suck of rationality when her romantic past came under scrutiny, and her weak spot where her partner is concerned, he'd probably have gone nuts long ago if it weren't for her. Like what, there's the solid unremarkable detectives on art-theft watch and then all the ones good enough for homicide have issues the size of a house? That's the best the academy can produce? Except for Eames, who if she ever bothered to untangle herself from Goren had as good a shot at Chief of D's as Ross did.
And, hey, speaking of Issues with a capital 'I' and IMAX surround-sound summer blockbuster bombast, Mr. Compromised By Personal Problems himself. Like Nichols, Goren has a particular way of speaking, that just sticks in his head and he'll be trying to unwind after work and hearing those, you know, John Wayne...pauses and the emphasis on certain words, and the like, y'know, filler words and mumbles, that he throws in either because he isn't quite sure what he's going to say next, or uh, maybe is trying to soften the blow of esoterica and unexpected eloquence, like not wanting to come off as...snobbish, yeah? That husky cigarette growl rising into clarity occasionally, when he bothers to turn up the volume. The maybe-unhinged, maybe-calculated violence. Predictably unpredictable. The eggshells he walks on around Eames, looking like he's about to hit the big red Missile Launch button whenever he so much as nudges her. The barbed wire they have around themselves, Ross emphatically on the other side, except he always looks slightly hurt when Ross rebuffs him. Well, what does he expect? Hugs and post-case drinks? Gold stars for not throwing hissy fits? "Pulling a Goren" is NYPD shorthand for losing it on the job, it'll take more than a few well-played cases to change that.
So, yeah, he knows them. Forgive him for maybe looking a little bored sometimes. All these people on tracks, whether they know it or not, crossing with his in easily quantifiable ways. Everything in its place, and that's how you control your squad, and that's how you get anywhere in this world.
~
The first time Goren throws him for a loop, it's not even really anything he does. Ross is sitting in his office, excavating the mountain of paperwork, choking down the inexplicably shitty department coffee. He breaks for an eye-rub and constitutionally guaranteed moment of indulging in self-pity, does a quick scan of the squad room through the glass walls. And there's - Michaels? Montgomery? Manfield? whoever, a CSU grunt working under Rodgers, small guy, not someone who'd ever really stuck out to him, but for some reason he latches on and watches him walk over to Goren and Eames, hand over a folder, watches Eames get distracted by something and then watches Manuels (?) give Goren a quick hair-tousle, watches Goren lean into his hand for a split second then snap back with a "not here" look, Matthews (maybe it wasn't even an 'M' name) coming over all smug, Goren quickly draining all emotion from his face before Eames notices.
Okay, he doesn't care about that sort of thing. And getting laid is good for morale. But, Goren? Gay? Seriously? You think he would've noticed before. He spends a few minutes getting over the surprise until he's sure that the next time he talks to Goren, the first words out of his mouth won't be "So you sleep with men?".
To test that, Eames drags Goren into his office for a state of the case address and to plead for a search warrant. What few beats Ross misses aren't noticed, because his "don't know what to do with this information" face is interchangeable with his basic aggravated face. Does his best to wipe any mental images away as they leave.
Does she know? She has to. She's had eight years to figure it out. And Ross, okay maybe a little curious, has seen old interrogation tapes of him, and after moving past the shock of finding out that lean, well-dressed, energetic guy is the same Goren he knows now, notes the fluttering hands and camp phrasing, and gets that she must have needed to answer the gay or metrosexual? question. Not that he cares. It's immaterial. Information filed away, and forget about it.
~
The second blindsiding is less an event and more a sudden realization on Ross' part. Goes like this: he's leading Goren on a walk-and-talk past the soda machine, washes down the pill that theoretically lessens the effect of his daily headache down with a not-cold-enough can of Coke, and catches Goren pretty blatantly following his hand to his pocket, opening the vial, up to his mouth, then lingering there with a curious look on his face. Ross' mind helpfully recalls previous appearances of that look, maybe mingled with concern, maybe understanding, maybe something Ross can't quite put his finger on. He's, what, trying to figure Ross out? Looking for weakness? A reason to sympathize? Goren loves being able to sympathize with people he doesn't like, an emotion that would be touching coming from anyone else turning into a kind of weapon, a lever to turn the tables in his favor. In a case it usually comes right before the confession and arrest. Here, though.
Then Goren keeps talking and huffing at Ross' distracted 'mm-hmm's and Ross is thinking maybe all this would be easier if he could just shut his detectives up sometimes, when he feels a tug at his arm and there's Goren hanging on, hand wrapped easily around his elbow, tilting down to look him in the eyes. Goddamn it, no wonder perps give up so easily. This bear of a man looking at you simultaneously like you're his best friend and like he's about to tear your throat out with his teeth. So Ross says "yes," to whatever it is Goren's asking for. Just, yes. Please. What is it you're supposed to do? Flashes of bad late-night documentaries. Take off your clothing and throw it at the bear so it'll get distracted. No, wait, bad mental image -
~
Nichols is even worse alone than he is with Wheeler. He can't dump him with Eames now that Goren's back from Tennessee, and he's not ready to deal with him and Goren on the same case, so he assigns him to cleaning up the loose ends of the past year's cases, drops hints about helping out the cold case squad, and hopes for the best. The best is apparently a Zach Nichols who can't stay at his desk for more than five minutes, disappears to chase up long-shot leads on God knows what crimes, makes origami out of inter-office forms and hums bars of jazz standards slightly off-key. All the time. All the time.
Which is why, against his better judgment, he tells Nichols to help Goren and Eames out. Just a little, just some back-up support on the grunt work. Which, inevitably, leaves them all in his office, the stress-headache already forming behind his eyes, waiting for the deluge. "What've you got," he says behind the half-hearted massage attempt he's making on his temples.
"It's gotta be-"
"We're thinking-"
Nichols and Goren look at each other, Eames rolls her eyes. "You first," Goren says, with a deferential gesture.
Uh-huh. There's no real road-blocks in this case, nothing he needs to monitor particularly closely, so he just nods and makes yes I'm getting it comments, a few frowns when Nichols tries to gauge Ross' disapproval at him taking such an active role here (he expects it, he gets it). Out of the corner of his eye sees Goren lean against a filing cabinet that tilts back a little with a squeak of protest, watching the mini-argument Nichols needs to feel he's really doing the right thing. For a second, holds Ross' gaze, raises his eyebrow with a not-quite-smile, and here comes that headache.
"You'll have the warrant by morning. Anything else?" The subtext being, please go now, I have actual things to do. He slides his glasses on and starts flipping through a stack of papers.
"No, no," Goren says, still with that almost-smirk. "That's all, cap'n."
~
The third surprise isn't much of a surprise, if he thinks about it. Maybe wasn't consciously expecting it but there it is and he isn't too taken aback.
Possibly he's snooping, also. Pausing at a blind-spot corner by the kitchenette, sensing Something about to happen. Nichols putting some coffee into his milk, Goren pouring his usual black, shifting around with just-one-more-thing jitters.
"So you and Ross-" he says.
"Were partners," Nichols finished.
"Yeah? How, uh. How was that? I mean, he seems...the two of you are kinda..." He does a quick boxing one-two. "You know?"
"He grows on you. And I've heard you've had your own- well, I don't want to pry, but you don't seem to be the best of friends."
"I haven't been the best person to be around, lately." They trade shrugs and whaddaya-gonna-do eyerolls.
Ross, starting to feel silly in his hideout, taking casual sips of his soda, avoiding eye-contact with passers-by, thinking either he has to fake a phone call or give up, is startled out of awkwardness by Goren slumping against the counter and scratching the back of his neck, a classic Goren move, indicating some kind of-
"But, no, he seems. Uh. Good people. And he's got enough- I mean, he shouldn't have to deal with my shit. I've been trying..." Goren trails off.
You know, Ross supplies silently.
"Y'know, trying to, I guess, fix...things. Any suggestions?"
What?
"Don't get him coffee, he'll think you're mocking him."
Oh, shut up, Zach.
"Try putting some good coffee in the machine, though, it'll improve his mood. Oh, and you do the case write-ups, not Eames. He likes your writing."
How did you even fucking know that-
"Huh," Goren says, with a pleased smile. "Huh." He nods, Nichols nods back, they take near-synchronized drinks from their matching MCS mugs. The two of them, really, Ross is just grateful Goren gained weight so he can tell them apart. Otherwise he'd have to enforce some kind of color-coding system, or - stop it, Danny. And stop hiding, this is getting weird.
Pushing off like he'd just been having a Thoughtful Moment, he walks quickly (not too quickly) out into the bullpen, knowing without a doubt that Goren is watching him go.
Next morning, of course, there's some fancy Columbian in the coffee maker, the bag peeking out just enough from the rack of filters and coffee cans to be noticed. Perfectly brewed. His mug, even, sparkling clean when he knew that A) he'd done nothing more than a perfunctory wipe when he'd finished yesterday, and B) had left it on his desk, which was where he found it, except moved maybe a little to the left. Moved just enough. You know, so he'd...notice. Because Goren had known he was listening. Goddamn it.
~
Goddamnit. This isn't ending. Ross doesn't know how to say Thank you but all is forgiven! You can go back to normal! without coming off as an asshole, so mostly he just endures it. A comment about his ex-wife gets an almost sweetly concerned expression, his impatience at not getting the importance of a particular detail is derailed by that please-listen hand on elbow or shoulder or, once, upper back, between the shoulder blades, this gentle rubbing activity that leaves Ross a little freaked out and a little, maybe, sorry to see it go.
And he's firmly in the loop now, both detectives hurtling past the total-secrecy phase and directly into constant checkup mode. Too far, he wants to say. I don't actually need to know everything you do every second of each day, but thank you for the consideration. Goren keeps writing the reports, thankfully not showing off, just the usual careful attention to detail plus that concise, near-poetic phrasing. Which he now tries to find fault with, but can't, of course. A fact of his life, he genuinely enjoys reading them. He should be happy.
They invite him out for drinks, he declines. They invite again, declines again. He's not even going there. And again, and Goren knocks on his office door to say he, y'know, hopes - hand wave - to see him at the, uh, bar. Ross makes a 'really now' face, and starts making vague plans to maybe call Liz up, it's been awhile since they did anything together, and he does like her, and she seems to like him, and it's a sensible relationship. So, obviously, eight that night, he finds himself outside of Cop Bar #14875. Stands in someone's abandoned cigarette smoke cloud, listens to the muted chatter and glass-clinks from inside, decides he probably shouldn't do this, goes in anyway.
"Captain!" Nichols yells, waving him over. Nichols never really drinks, just nurses something along for show, and there's a barely-touched swizzlesticked thing in front of him. Eames is halfway through an eye-roll, three-quarters through a martini. Goren looks sloshed, flushed to somewhere near a tomato-type shade, his draft pint surrounded by a few shot glasses. He stands, because he's so considerate, so polite, and gestures down at the booth. Ross holds up a forefinger, beelines to the bar to pick up a triple of something brown. David Bowie on the jukebox singing about modern love. Goren's still standing when he comes back.
"Siddown, siddown, here," Goren says, reaching for his shoulder and kind of tossing him into the booth, following him with a touch too much force, slamming into him and squishing him against Eames for a good two seconds before moving over.
"You okay there, champ?" Eames asks.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm great, never been better." Goren motions the waitress for a refill, turns to Ross with an up-down hey there look, and a wide grin that shows a few too many teeth, and right here Ross realizes he can't tell if Goren is actually drunk or just playing at it. All hulking over him even sitting down, and he's rightthere, like Ross's got enough space to stay upright and out of Eames' lap but there's no appreciable distance between him and Goren. He watches three years of propriety and inter-rank distance fly out the proverbial, wonders if there's any way he could roll back the past few months and get to a place where his brain was not being perpetually rocked out of status quo.
So let's think facts here. Basic stuff. Whatever is happening to him is just because of the novelty of Goren the Overly Nice Guy suddenly replacing Goren the Surly Jerk. Or because Liz has been cold-shouldering him lately and he isn't the type who just 'picks up chicks', and sure he's flattered, and flattered by what he could possibly be misinterpreting. Maybe Goren is just overcompensating for past transgressions. Probably is. Vanity isn't one of Ross' flaws, knows he wasn't a perfect draw even before middle age teamed up with gravity to play a practical joke on his face. Even assuming that his detective (key word being 'detective', since he's the captain) is for some reason hitting on him, Ross isn't particularly gay, and if he were to sometimes consider certain men maybe, he wouldn't consider Goren. Not really. Maybe - maybe - the younger Goren still living in those interrogation tapes, going in for the kill, all feline grace and sharp jawline, thin and bright-eyed. But here, now, after the ravages of his peculiarly literal midlife crisis, edges blurred and broadened, hair grayed, thinning; still handsome but just - not his type. Not that he has a type, in terms of men. Y'know. And this fast heartbeat, short of breath, awkward, stupidly comfortable bullshit he's feeling now is just a mental hiccup. Something misfiring, emotions misplaced, transferred, whatever.
His drink is gone. Goren is pretty much stem-to-stern pressed against him, sprawled out sleepily (fake sleepily?), and Ross for some reason isn't pushing him away. Nichols is talking about the films of John Sturges, Eames is twiddling at her cellphone. This was a bad decision, he has made a bad decision, he should leave right now. Right now. He orders another drink.
Waves at Eames as she holds up the phone apologetically and begs off for another engagement. Stares at Nichols who knows he's kind of a third wheel now and Ross can't decide whether he needs him to stay or wants him to go. Still talking about Sturges. The ending of The Great Escape.
A GREAT ESCAPE! a voice says inside Ross' head. YOU SHOULD DO THAT YOURSELF, MAYBE. Now that Eames is gone there's a fairly obvious gap that Ross would move into if he had any sense. Nichols across from them twirling the swizzle around his watered-down whatever it is, taking it out to gesture about this really interesting thing that happened when Steve McQueen came on set, you gotta hear this. Ross zones out. Nichols says something apparently funny enough to make Goren laugh, and he feels more than hears it, kinda vibrating against him, and he doesn't know whether the solution here is another drink or a glass of water and a swift exit.
"I'm gonna order some food, you guys want-? No?" Nichols vanishes to find a menu.
Two wheels now, ha ha.
"What," Goren drawls quietly. "Hmm?"
Here's a solution. Ross leans forward and clunks his elbows onto the table, rubs hard at his eyes, tries to flex out some of the tension from his neck. At least if he turns his head he won't get a faceful of Goren. Also he could just shift over, just a few inches, c'mon. Think with your head and not your evidently wayward dick. You're the captain. You're the captain and he's - well. Running a hand up Ross' back, pressing hard into the muscles around his neck, and what is this, a Harlequin Romance? Back massage, really. Really?
"Maybe I should eat something," he says. "Soak up some of the alcohol."
"Yeah? Sure, I'll get you something," hands still tight on his shoulders, withdrawing only when Nichols comes bumbling back.
"Oooh, sweet potato fries." Nichols puts his glasses on with a flourish. "What else, what...what? Hey. Hey, hey. I'm not done." Oh I see what you're doing there appraising look directed at Goren, who's tugging the menu free of his hands.
"Shhh." Goren holds the menu open under Ross' face. "Captain first."
He takes a breath then exhales slowly, feeling his eyes go wide, into their 'oh hell, why not?' position. "French fries, there you go." Tosses the menu back at Nichols, who looks positively gleeful.
"French fries! Sounds good. Yep. Yee-"
Ross buries his head in his hands.
"-ehhhp."
The waitress rolls up.
"Uh," Goren begins, like he usually does. "Fries-" jerking a thumb at Ross. "And," pointing at Nichols, "fries? Yeah? Two orders of-" enunciating carefully - "French fries. And. Uh. Cheeseburger. Rare? Thank you."
"Cheeseburger," says Nichols, who at this point is just saying things to hear the sounds they make, but Goren must've taken it as directed towards a sensitive spot because he quick moves away from Ross (the dumb animal part of his brain going Hey, no) and scritches irritatedly at the stubble on his chin.
"Yeah, well. Hence why I'm a fatass."
"I didn't say a word." Nichols, hands up in supplication.
"You did," Ross says. "Say a word. One. You-"
"Moving onwards, yes? Hey, uh, The Magnificent Seven, you know that scene-" Blah blah blah. Oh, Nichols, never change.
Ross somehow finds himself tugging Goren back towards him. Even giving him a c'mere head tilt. Nichols burbling on about the death of the American Dream as portrayed in the Hollywood western. "Don't be such a delicate flower," Ross says under his breath.
Goren laughs, nudges back into him. "Nah, I'm more like a. A, y'know, towering redwood. Broad and majestic."
"Which makes me, what, a cactus?"
"Cacti flower, you know. The desert rose. Yeah? Nichols, right? Desert roses."
Nichols grabs onto that just long enough to diverge into a dissertation on The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, which featured flowering cacti as a metaphor for-
"And him?" Ross whispers. "Bamboo?"
"Ah, cat-o-nine-tails. Like, a long, skinny stick, and then. Uh. The head? Yeah?" He looks inordinately pleased at making Ross laugh.
The conversation topic's rolled along to Sergio Leone by the time the food arrives. Ross approaches his fries with methodical determination, as if eating four at a time was a time-honored Sobriety Inducer. Nichols is using his as exclamation points and segue-markers. Goren spends a doleful moment staring at the burger like they were star-crossed lovers.
Ross, in that vein, asks, "Her dad tell you to get outta town?"
"What?"
Ross points. "Go ahead, unless you want us to leave the room? Give you two some privacy?"
"Uh." He frowns, like he's not sure if he should be offended or not.
"Just. Eat the damn thing. You remember how?" He eats an exaggerated fry in demonstration. "Like so."
Nichols is still on Clint Eastwood when they pay the tab and wander outside. Ross has long known that the guy doesn't need anyone else in order to conduct a conversation, but Goren cuts in a few times half-heartedly, something about how modernist architecture changed because of high-contrast black and white photographs in magazines and what now? Ross zones out again.
The first cab up, Nichols ushers them in. "You two! In you go! Have fun, be safe!" The door's closed and the cabbie revving the engine before Ross realizes what happened. He watches the streets zoom past, Goren's jittering knee in his peripheral vision.
Out of the cab, he fumbles a few bills from his wallet, trudges away. Halfway up the walk, he realizes Goren's still with him. "You don't live here, detective."
"Yeah, I know."
"So you should have stayed in the cab and taken it to your place?"
"Yeah, probably."
"But you're still here?"
"Well. Obviously."
"Detective, this is - I'll just say it's 'inappropriate' and hope you appreciate how much of an understatement that is."
"Captain, I think...what people don't know, can't hurt them."
"And a stitch in time saves nine. I'm going in. You're going home."
"I just. I thought?" He steps forward, and with a great deal of internal coaching Ross doesn't flinch. Staring down at him, eyes wide and intense with concentration.
And here, yeah right here, is when he knows Goren is stone-cold sober, and to be honest he's coming out of it too. So act like it, Danny. "If anyone finds out-"
"No one's gonna find out."
"Nichols knows already."
"He thinks he knows. That's different."
"He'll use this-"
"He'll use it whether anything happens or not."
They're still on the sidewalk, Ross notices. Standing around, and it's cold, and people might see. He still doesn't know what he wants, not really. "What happened to, what'shisname. Your boyfriend."
"Anderson?"
Not an 'M' name, then. "That guy."
"Not my boyfriend. Just a, you know." The hand-wave is supposed to mean 'person I see sometimes for sexual activity but not anyone important.' He guesses. "What happened to your girlfriend?"
Oh. Right. Liz. "She's. We're. It's on again, off again. Currently off again. But that doesn't mean-" Through this, Goren has been backing him up, towards the house, and now he's absentmindedly unlocking the door and letting him in. Well, whoops.
"Doesn't mean what?" His voice in that almost sub-audible rumble, Marlboro-and-scotch rasp, close enough and tilted in such a way that Ross can feel his breath hot against his neck.
"Chain of command!" Ross says suddenly, pushing Goren away with two hands flat on his chest. Goren sways back more out of a sense of responsibility for Ross' self-esteem than because Ross is actually strong enough to budge him. A theory proved when he goes to brush past him and sort of bounces back, Goren smirking at him.
"Captain," Ross says, pointing at himself. "Detective," pointing at Goren. "Not gonna happen. You may be comfortable risking your career, I'm not."
"Yeah?" He swallows, eyebrows twitch in such a way that Ross is slightly scared he might once again bear the brunt of a breakdown, then he backs Ross into a wall, says "Yeah?" again, and "So you can just blame it all on the whackjob, huh?" That being a cue evidently for Ross to tug him down by the scruff of his neck and kiss him. Shut him up, anyway. Was the basic idea.
"Jesus," Goren says as he pulls back, maybe a minute later.
"'Captain' will suffice, thank you."
"You, uh. Might want to sit down for this next part?"
"Pardon?"
"Yeah, here, just." He guides Ross to the couch. "There you go. Okay?" His hands comically large on his hips, tugging at his belt, and before Ross knew what was happening, oh fuck.
Shut him up, anyway. Ross woulda made some comment like finally you're putting that mouth to good use instead of just shooting it off all the time, if he had any wits left. Which he doesn't for the next couple of minutes.
"You good?" Goren, wiping his mouth, looking smug.
Yeah, yeah, you bastard, and you know it. "Your turn," he says instead. "Yeah?" Meaning it as a little ice-breaking mockery, but his impersonations never turned out right. Goren doesn't notice.
Right, so, this shouldn't be too hard. Ha ha. Lets the rest of the post-blow job goodwill brush away any remaining insecurities he has about doing this, wrestles with the button on Goren's kinda tight jeans (tighter from the mildly intimidating hardon), leans in to kiss him rough as he can manage to pre-empt any self-deprecating remark, closes his eyes, shoves his hand in, and, hey, goes for it. New horizons and all that. Goren's hands scrabbling over his back, in his hair, making these little needy noises, breath catching. Something to remember the next time he gives Ross shit at work. Yeah, you recall that time you were practically begging for it? Thank you, that will be all.
Goren is gone in the morning. No note or anything. What, he expected flowers or something?
At work, Nichols is no more insufferable than usual. Ross decides not to bring anything up. Eames is at her desk, looking hungover. Goren is, where? Fancy coffee in the pot, freshly-made. His mug cleaned out again, this time hanging on the rack next to the sink.
He catches a glimpse of Goren at the fax machine, impatiently tugging at the printout. Waits until he glances up, holds eye-contact, no fireworks or fuck-yous or never-agains, just hey there. Hey.
At least now he knows what those looks mean.