Prologue:
It was the sound of papers fluttering to the ground. The slight ruffle as they shifted together, little whispers brushing together. Soft, soft, nothing. It was too loud, too heavy, too...too...everything. It was denial, it was degradation, it was breakdown. Falling apart, crumbling, melting, slinking down, tripping, losing...grip.balance.faith.
Eames watched him from the doorway, her hand resting on the frame, not sure what to say, do. His hand was in the air near his temple, faltering and shaking. An injured bird, a seemingly separate entity from the rest of his body. The look on his face was absolute contortion. It was so painful to look at. Hurtful, even. It was like a train wreck, she couldn't look away.
"I-I..."
Alex stepped forward, "Bobby..."
Her voice. It was automatic. He was pulling himself together. Fast. He was stitching himself up. Loose stitches, but enough to momentarily hold up. He'd go home later and pull at the strings...Oh no. He told himself he'd tighten them. He was useless in pieces. It was all so useless. He dropped his eyes to the table full of strewn out folders and tumbled sheets of information. So useless. He blinked, his front teeth together in quiet frustration. Containing. Containment. Squish.
Eames watched as his head finally turned to her. His gaze was always down when he was contemplating something. Thinking. And then he wasn't anymore, and his eyes flickered up to her face. It was such a slow reaction. But it was a reaction. Alex bit her lower lip, shuffling up the right words. She had to paw for them, and even then, it wasn't easy. "Bobby, I'm sorr-"
The hand that had found rest on the messy table, raised to stop her words. Pause her apology because there was no rewind afterward. To her horror, he was dispelling it all with a quiet, "It's not your fault." He wasn't looking at her anymore, but down and a little to the left. She opened her mouth to protest, the blank expression on his face was almost unabearable. She didn't get another word in, because the sound of his chair scuffing back and the quiet movement of him getting up, gathering papers and shoving them into his binder were interrupting. Purposeful, deliberate interruption.
He walked passed her without a glance. "See you tomorrow, Eames."
"Bobb-"
He didn't look back.
