Spoilers for Frame, definitely, and probably others. T for language. What else? Oh, and BA eventually (I promise this time). Takes place right where Frame ended--I know it's been done before, but I wanted to write what I thought could have happened. And I don't own them or anything.
"Let the decision stand"
Chapter One
Two officers come in and take Declan away, but Goren stays frozen at the interrogation table. Eames and Ross stay behind the glass, watching him.
"Should we go in?" Ross asks Eames, his voice floating down around her like a moth, or a gnat, something small and annoying she wants to swat away. But he is the captain, so she pulls her forehead off the glass and gives him a tight fake smile.
"I'll go."
"Tell him to take some time off. As long as he needs." Eames nods, but she's not really listening. "And tell him that I'm…sorry."
Sorry.
Right.
"Make sure he gets home okay," Ross directs, and she thinks well, duh, and then she nearly smiles because at 42 she sounds like the rebellious teenager she never was.
She leaves Ross standing by himself and knocks briefly on the interrogation door before slipping in. He hasn't moved, so once she gets in the doorway she doesn't, either. At first. He's pushed her away before, after all ("Back off").
But then he cuts his eyes over to her and holds her gaze, so she pushes herself forward off the door frame and goes over to him.
"Bobby."
He immediately looks away, but he doesn't flinch when she lays a hand on his shoulder.
"Let me take you home," she says softly. "Okay?"
A faint nod, nothing else. Once it is apparent that he isn't going to move of his own volition anytime soon, she takes his elbow and tugs until he stiffly stands.
"Ready?"
He doesn't move and she drops her hand, steeling herself for the inevitable withdrawal she's sure will follow.
His voice is quiet when he speaks, though, quieter than usual and sad, not angry or bitter. Lost, maybe. "I don't know. I guess so. What…what else is there, really?"
"Well, there's the park."
He stares at her not so much as if she's insane, but as if he's afraid he is. "I'm sorry? The park?"
"We could go for a walk."
"A walk," he repeats uncomprehendingly.
"People walk," she prods him.
"Right." He looks like he wants to laugh, but maybe he wants to cry. "Let's go for a walk."
The pass through the squad room takes so long Eames is surprised it's still daylight by the time they reach the elevator. It's not just Bobby's slow, jerky movement, it's all the eyes on them, coming to conclusions and recalling rumors and searching for any sign or reason why anyone would kill for one half of this duo, and any sign or reason why the other half of the duo hasn't run away screaming yet.
In the elevator, Goren leans back against the grip bar and stares at the buttons. Eames is the one who pushes 1 and hits the door close button so no one else can intrude on them. He's getting so old, she thinks suddenly. Where did that come from? But right now, with his gray hair and unshaven beard and achingly labored movements he could easily pass for ten years older than he actually is. There's really nothing she can say that doesn't sound ridiculous in her head, so she rests her hand on his back and hopes it's enough. Hopes it's not too much. She couldn't touch him when they were in the elevator earlier, right after he had found Frank dead in the street and the whole thing began to unravel, and not just because there were other people around. He had closed himself off then, to try and focus on the task at hand of finding his brother's killer.
And he had. They had. What's left? He needs something to hold on to, Eames thinks blindly. Me, she thinks. She takes his hand, dangling limply at his side, and presses it against her waist. "Hold on to me, Bobby," she murmurs, and she doesn't care that it sounds odd as soon as the words are out there in the open to be judged and parsed and carefully picked apart by him, because that's what he does. He picks away at things (Joe's murder) until he solves them and understands them and it's got to be exhausting, she thinks suddenly. He has to be so tired from all that mental effort devoted to other people's idiosyncrasies.
His fingers tighten imperceptibly around her waist and she gives him a faint smile. He closes his eyes. They don't move until the elevator doors open and they maneuver their way out into the parking lot and into the rain.
"Guess we can't go for a walk after all," Eames says. He hasn't let go of her yet, and although it's a small thing for them it feels huge, pressed up against her skin as it is. "It's raining."
"It is?" He looks up into the sky and reaches both hands straight up, palms to the clouds, like an overgrown five year old. "Mmmm."
Eames shepherds him into her car and the next thirty minutes are spent fighting traffic and in what is possibly sleep, for Bobby (good, she thinks, looking at the dark circles under his eyes), until he opens his eyes again and she can see that he hasn't slept for a very long time. He's just…numb, and as inexpressive as Goren could ever be.
"It's probably a good thing we couldn't go for a walk," she says at last when they pull into the parking lot. "You need to go to bed."
He closes his eyes again, and if she had to take a guess she'd wager that he is thinking of all the inevitable nightmares ahead for him, dreams where he finds Frank's body in the street (eyes open blank and staring body stiff and lifeless black strips of thread from the autopsy stitched across chest); dreams where he opens the styrofoam carton and finds not only Nicole's still bleeding heart but her head and fingers and various other body parts, mocking him with ghosts of voices and airless whispers; dreams where she herself, maybe, is back in Jo's or maybe Declan's uncaring hands now, being tortured and killed away where she can't be found and she can't protect herself.
"We can stop at a drugstore and get some sleeping pills," she offers, letting the car idle. "Knock you out for a while."
He shakes his head. "No. Thanks, though. I'll be all right." He gives her what she supposes he thinks is a farewell smile, and she smirks and turns the car off.
"I'm coming up with you."
"You don't have to.
"I'm too tired to drive back to my house," she lies, getting out of the car. "Plus, captain's orders."
"I won't tell," he says with something approaching bitterness. "Don't worry."
"Don't be an ass."
He glares at her and she glares right back. He is the first to break, dropping his eyes and shrugging his shoulders. "Whatever you want, Eames. Don't put yourself out on my account."
"Don't be so maudlin." She hits him in the arm, hard, but instead of getting mad at her and maybe showing some sign that he is still capable of processing emotions through all this numbness he just cringes and seems to collapse into himself even more. Wrong tactic, she thinks with a sudden streak of fear. "Bobby. Hey." She steps in front of him and puts her hands on his shoulders, leaning her weight into her hands a little so she'll fall if he moves away. "I want to stay, okay?"
He puts his hands on her waist (okay, she thinks. Good. And, good) but then he shifts her weight back to herself so she's still standing when he extracts himself from her hands and heads towards the door. She follows him, not letting herself feel the disappointment lurking around the edges, and they walk up the stairs in uncomfortable silence.
His apartment is dark, and quiet. Eames flicks the light above the stove on so they are bathed in a semi-circle of dusky light, but that only makes the rest of the darkness seem…extra-dark. Malevolent. As if it's searching for them.
Eames shakes her head to get rid of all these inane thoughts and turns to her still silent partner, who won't look at her.
"Do you want me to leave?" she asks him finally. "If I'm bothering you I can go."
"You're not bothering me." He runs his hand over his head harshly. "I don't know what I want."
"How about some sleep?" she suggests gently.
He doesn't answer but he doesn't protest, either, even when she pulls on the sleeve of his jacket and leads him to his even darker, even quieter, bedroom.
"Go to bed," she says, nodding towards it. "I'll be on the couch if you need me."
"I…do," he says softly, so softly.
Eames stops halfway out the door and turns back to him. "What? Do what?"
He shakes his head distractedly, shifting his weight from foot to foot like always, except now he is slower, leaden. "Nothing."
"Need me?" she asks gently. "You need me?" She looks at him, particularly at his eyes, which are watching her warily but bordering on desperation. He nods slightly. Slowly, very deliberately, she walks back over to him and pauses in front of him before wrapping her arms around his neck and whispering into his ear, "Then you've got me."
***
He shivers once and then can't stop shivering, so she tugs him down to the bed and lies down beside him under the covers. He is awkward, unsure: too many choices.
Side or back?
Touching or no?
Eyes open or closed?
Cry or suck it up?
Drink?
Drink.
Yeah, maybe drink.
Eames?
Yeah, maybe Eames too.