A/N: This is a fic based on the ep 'Untethered'. I wrote the first two chapters before i saw the episode but once i'd seen it, i kept them in, so it's kind of a pre and post ep fic. It doesn't follow ep canon so it also could be classed as AU too. All errors, grammatical and otherwise are mine. The characters in this fic, Bobby, Alex and Capt. Ross are the property of Dick Wolf et al. The character of Michael Fisher is mine. I'm not sure what this fic actually is but i hope you like it. All reviews and thoughts as always are appreciated.
Fractured.
Fracture The act or process of being broken; a break, breach or split.
He wasn't surprised that his brother didn't make it to their mother's funeral. He had been kind of expecting it to be honest, the moment he'd explained to him that there was no money, no estate and definitely no inheritance, unless schizophrenia was classed as an inheritance, he'd seen the interest fade from his brother's traitorous eyes and he'd stood in the hospital corridor and watched him walk away. When he'd gone back to his mother's room, he'd seen how her eyes had travelled past him, fully expecting Frank to return. Bobby had mumbled an excuse that Frank was looking for a vending machine and would be back in a couple of moments but those moments turned into longer and he'd known with a sick sense of certainty that Frank Goren had disappeared into the ether once again.
He'd attended the service in a numb haze, essentially alone except for the presence of his partner and his boss and he'd been grateful in a small, barely perceptive way that they were there. They had offered condolences, Ross had told him to take all the time that he needed and Eames…Alex had looked at him with concerned eyes and asked him if there was anything that he needed. Yeah, a cynical voice inside of him answered, how about a double-barrelled shotgun so I could blow my stupid brother the fuck away? Instead he just shook his head, went back to his apartment and locked the door. Got lost in his grief and his torment and a nice bottle of Glenlivet.
Time seemed to pass with a sense of indeterminable slowness coupled with the feeling that every unbearable moment of his life was being stretched out. It felt as though every ounce of his grief, his anger and rage infected him instead of being absorbed and dealt with, and that was the thing, he couldn't deal with it. Instead it distilled inside of him and just sat there. He could feel it almost boiling inside of him and he wondered when it would erupt.
His grief made him vulnerable, almost dizzy and he found it hard to cope with. Logically he knew that his mother's passing should have been seen as a blessing. She had suffered with so much for so long and now she no longer had to. It was the bombshell she had left him with that caused this sense of all pervading pain, of betrayal. His childhood had never been a happy one to begin with but this…if nothing else, he had prided himself on the fact that he was Robert Goren, he knew who he was, that despite everything he and his mom had gone through, he'd had that sense of identity. Now it was all gone and he felt utterly lost and completely alone.
He had gone back to work, and his first case back hadn't been an easy one. It had opened up the old, partially healed scars of someone he had come to respect and admire very much. He had hated to be the one to put the pain in his partner's eyes, as the murder of her husband was re-opened. Alex had believed for a long time that her husband's murderer was behind bars, and that the clock was ticking down until the day a needle would be stuck in his arm. But of course it wasn't destined to be that easy and Bobby had to put away his grief and try to make her see and understand that however painful, justice had to be done. She hadn't been happy but she'd seen it. And justice had been done.
They settled into a working pattern that was, he hoped, a comfortable one. He had also hoped that their original camaraderie would begin to return and that some semblance of their previous, easier friendship would return but it didn't, not really. He thought that it was beginning to, until Leslie LeZard accused him of holding her back, that she would never achieve Captain with him hanging like an albatross around her neck. Why had her comment hurt so much? In the past, such comments had always bounced off his thick skin but hers had stuck and worked its way underneath like a burr. Alex's enigmatic response didn't help to calm matters either. It made him extra careful when he was around her; it made him wonder, to question her reasoning for still partnering him until that self questioning threatened to drive him crazy.
He watched her walk into the bullpen and there was a frown on her face. The first thought in his head was what had he done now? He knew that he had tested her patience and understanding during their last case. Lionel Schill and his wild child wannabe author had rubbed him the wrong way and he had exalted in the way he pushed and taunted, niggled and downright disrespected them both. It satisfied him in a way that much later ashamed him but once he'd started, he'd been unable to stop. There was still a slight chill between them even now, almost a month after the fact.
"You and I need to talk," she told him, pointing to an empty conference room.
Instantly he could see that she was uncomfortable. She stood in the middle of the small room, her hands on her hips, her head bent. As he closed the door behind him, she lifted her head and looked at him.
"What's up?" he watched as she took a deep breath and then folded her arms. A moment stretched out between them.
"I saw Frank…" she began and her voice faltered when she saw him frown.
"Frank? What….just now?" he interrupted .
"Yeah, just now, outside the building" she confirmed. His eyes darkened and he folded his arms and hunched his shoulders over.
"What did he want?" he demanded. Alex straightened her shoulders and regarded him steadily.
"To talk to you. He needs your help" A short laugh escaped from him then as he unfolded his arms and slowly shook his head in disbelief.
"He needs me? For what? To see how much he can hit me up for this time? I guess he didn't understand me the last time when I told him…" he reined his growing anger in.
"Damn it! He doesn't show up at our mother's funeral, I don't hear a word from him and he has the nerve to ask you…why couldn't he have come to see me himself?" his voice rose again.
"Maybe because he was afraid he'd get this kind of a reaction…" she reminded him. He looked at her.
"And he'd be right. Did he tell you… what the problem is, or is he hiding out somewhere?" Alex sighed again and pointed to a vacant chair.
"You need to sit down," she told him.
His head was lowered, his gaze fixed on his shoes when she told him about his nephew, his nineteen year old nephew who was in trouble and reaching out. She watched him as he looked at her, and she saw the blank shock in his eyes.
"He's nineteen, his name is Donny and he's scared Bobby…according to Frank he's really scared" her partner didn't immediately speak.
"According to Frank. Damn it." He suddenly straightened.
"He gave me this number…he asked me to give it to you" he watched Alex take a crumpled slip of paper out of her jacket pocket and hand it to him. Bobby looked at it and then stood up. He was already a million miles away, thinking about how to handle the situation.
"Bobby…" she called after him as he opened the door and headed out. He lifted his hand in reply and left.
