A.N. Well, were we overwhelmed or what? What a fabulous episode --- And Eames has now officially redeemed herself.
As always, I own nothing. But I really, really hate Frank Goren.
And whose nightmare was Ross and Rodgers??? Ew ---
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She sat beside his hospital bed in the darkened room, sipping the coffee Ross brought her before he left for 1PP and the questions awaiting him there. He told her she should go home, get some rest herself; but she wouldn't leave, couldn't let Bobby wake all alone, not after the torment he suffered at the hands of the prison guards.
She stood and quietly moved to the bedside, looking down on his haggard face. Even in a drug induced sleep, the lines and tension had not completely smoothed away. His lips were still dry, parched and cracked despite the fluids flowing into his veins from the IV attached to his right hand. He had been nearly two days without water; lord only knew how long it had been since he'd last eaten. For a man his size, he ate less than she did, and not at all when under stress. And she couldn't imagine there was anything on the prison menu to tempt his capricious appetite. Gently smoothing the hair back from his forehead, she had to smile at the thought that the only times she'd really seen him eat were those times when he cooked for her, and even then, he didn't always eat enough, in her opinion. It constantly amazed her that a man as large as Bobby could function on such minimal nutrition. Adrenaline and caffeine seemed to be his two major food groups.
Sighing deeply, she resumed her seat. On top of everything else were the drugs they'd coerced him to take and pumped into his system, the same drugs that had failed to alleviate his mother's condition. Their effects on Bobby were potentiated by his lack of hydration. Right now, he was sedated, but only mildly, just enough to keep him calm and to keep the pain from his severely bruised ankles, wrists and torso at bay so he could rest. His deep sleep stemmed mostly from the exhaustion following the heightened tension and anxiety of the events of the last several days. Physically, they assured her, he would be fine. Mentally and emotionally remained to be seen.
She snorted lightly into her coffee. Schizophrenic, indeed. Bobby must have really put on a show for the prison guards and the doctor to convince them of that, perhaps too much for his own good. He was no more schizophrenic that she or Ross, and not ever likely to become so. If Bobby suffered from anything at all, it was his nearly pathologic desire and need for a family to love and to love him in return -- for the relationship he should have had with his parents but never did, and for the love and companionship he should have enjoyed with his brother, but never would. In this instance, that unrequited longing had led him into grave danger, and nearly gotten him killed.
How could she fault him for that? She understood family probably as well or better than anyone, she who had been raised in the heart of a large and loving group of people, bound by blood, who were always there for each other and who would do nearly anything for each other. Because of her own family experience, she was willing to back him up in his venture to try and save his nephew, crazy though it seemed since he'd only become aware of Donny's existence a few days ago. Because she too had a nephew she would willingly sacrifice anything for, including her own life. How could she not understand?
She leaned back in her chair, stretching. That they would all pay for this fiasco, there was no doubt in her mind, Ross included. She didn't really care what penalty they exacted from her, reprimand, write-up, even suspension, as long as they allowed them to remain partners. She was much more worried about what they would do to Bobby. He loved his job, loved Major Case; most of all, he loved their partnership, and it would be a horrific blow for him to be removed from the squad, or worse, discharged from the force altogether. But first, he had to get better.
A small sound, much like a whimper, roused her from her gloomy reverie. Rising, she moved to the bedside to see that he was tossing slightly, frowning in his sleep, seemingly in the throes of a nightmare. His breathing quickened as the dream took firmer hold, and she gently grasped his hand and stroked his face and hair. "Bobby" ---
Another cry and his eyes flew open, at first glazed and unseeing, and then clearing as they focused on her and her soft touch. "Eames", he croaked, so quietly she could barely hear him even in the silence of the hospital at night.
"Shhhhh," she said, much as she would to her four year old nephew. "You're all right, Bobby, you're going to be fine. Shhhh – " She could feel him relaxing as the dream relinquished its grip on his tired, drugged mind, even as he grasped her hand more firmly. She reached for the water glass sitting on the bedside table. "Here -- you need to drink as much as you can to replenish your fluid levels." She held the glass and straw for him.
After a few sips, he laid his head back against the pillow, still clinging to her hand. "Eames", he said, his voice still barely more than a whisper. "How – how long --- ?"
"Have you been here?" He nodded slightly. "About twelve hours now." She turned her body to face him more fully, and slid one hip onto the edge of the bed to sit more closely beside him. "How do you feel? Are you in any pain, Bobby?" She couldn't keep the edge of anxiety out of her voice.
He shook his head. "Tired," he said, wearily. She gently rested her other hand on his chest. "Then go back to sleep," she said softly. "We'll talk when you're more up to it."
He continued to gaze at her from half-opened eyes. "Donny?" he asked.
She tightened her hold on his hand. "Bobby – " She stopped, for a minute not certain how to continue. Being Bobby, he noticed her hesitation immediately despite his own condition, and she could see his anxiety level starting to rise as he assumed the worst. "Bobby, calm down, please. Please," She bit her lip, once again resting her hand on his chest. "He's not dead, Bobby. He --- escaped." She watched for his reaction, anxiously.
He stared at her, dumbfounded, for a few seconds, and then closed his eyes, slumping against the pillow. "How?" he said, without opening his eyes. The word was barely a breath.
She gently began to rub small circles on his chest. "He – pretended to have an appendicitis attack so they would bring him to the hospital, and he slipped away from there." As she watched, she saw the tears starting to flow from the corner of his tightly shut eyes. Concerned and just a little frightened, she leaned closer to him. "Bobby? What's wrong? Do you need the nurse to bring you something for pain?"
Shaking his head no, she could see he was beginning to cry in earnest. "Bobby – Bobby, please, tell me what's wrong Bobby. Bobby --- " She was on the edge of panic herself, and reached across for the call button to summon the nurse. Just before she pressed it, he took a deep, sobbing breath, and said so softly she almost didn't hear, "They played me. Both of them. They played me." Stopping short of pressing the button, she instead began running her free hand over his forehead and down the side of his face, over and over, in what she hoped was a gesture of comfort. "Who, Bobby? Who played you? Tell me, please", she said.
Opening his tear-filled eyes to look directly into her warm hazel ones as she leaned still closer, he gasped, "Frank. And Donny." Tears continued to stream down his face.
Her hand paused in its gentle caress of his cheek. She thought about it for a few minutes, never taking her eyes from his as she once again began to stroke his face. "You mean --- if Donny truly had been set up ---- why didn't Frank try to contact you for help then." He nodded, once, the pain and misery of this new betrayal evident in his dark brown eyes. "Oh, Bobby, Bobby, I am so sorry, " was all she could think of to say. "Please, Bobby, please, don't cry. You can't afford to, and they don't deserve your tears, Please, Bobby." Trying to calm him without success, she finally pushed the call button. A nurse responded almost immediately, and seeing his agitation, pulled a syringe from her pocket and injected the contents into his IV. Giving Eames a quick smile, she said, "He'll calm down now, and go back to sleep. That's the best thing for him. He'll be all right." After checking the IV bags, the nurse left the room again.
She remained where she was, watching as the sedation overwhelmed his anxiety and sent him back to what she hoped would be a dreamless sleep. She was angry, extraordinarily so, more angry than she could remember ever having been in her entire life, more angry than she had been even at Jo and Declan Gage. Frank Goren had played her, too, used her to get to Bobby. She laugh, a brief, bitter sound. Profiling must run in the family, for Frank to have picked up on the connection between herself and Bobby on such short acquaintance and then be so quick to exploit it for his own ends. For that, and for what he and his worthless son had done, she would never forgive him, either of them, and they had best not ever cross her path again.
Resuming her seat in the chair next to Bobby's bed, she once again grasped his hand in hers, and leaning back, closed her eyes.