More wild speculation on my part. I've given Bobby a Medal of Honor, which isn't LOCI Canon, and I've assumed Bobby and Alex have given each other some comfort for the past year.
UNTETHERED: MISSING SCENES 4
In the middle of one of the busiest and noisiest places on earth, he was alone. He knew this feeling of being completely alone in a crowd of people. He thought that the feeling might be more common to him than a sense of belonging. He remembered the high school banquet he'd attended at the insistence of the English teacher who'd given him awards in writing and speech and couldn't understand why any parent wouldn't want to see a fine son like Robert Goren receive an honor. Wearing an ill fitting jacket he'd lifted from his brother and one of his father's long abandoned ties, he spent the night at a corner table trying to explain away the deepening bruise around his right eye. At his graduation from Basic Training, he'd pushed purposefully through the newly minted soldiers and their families to reach his barracks. He spent several minutes packing for his assignment before his cascading emotions forced him into the showers to hide. When he received one of his many commendations during his time in the Army, his commanding officers and fellow soldiers wondered why no congratulatory letters or telegrams appeared. By the time he graduated from the Police Academy, he was at least somewhat prepared for the loneliness and emptiness he felt at the ceremony. When he later received some token of esteem from the NYPD, he'd perfected a few words that usually managed to deflect any inquiries about the lack of any presence of family or friends. But some moments could still bring him to his emotional knees. When he hugged the wall after he received his Medal of Honor, the wife of his captain cornered him.
"Your mother must be very proud," Angie Deakins told him, and Bobby Goren knew that, while she knew of his mother, she didn't know his mother. She certainly didn't know that a few hours before he accepted the small piece of metal identifying him as a hero that his mother was screaming at him and accusing him of stealing from her, of locking her up and away from the world, of arranging for her to be poisoned, and of keeping his brother from reaching her. Later in the evening, Bobby was sure that Captain James Deakins had no idea why the department's current golden boy had hid himself in a side room and sat turning a medal over and over again in his hands.
Alex found him that night, coming to him after a puzzled Deakins spoke to her. It was early in their partnership, although he realized several years later that it occurred after she wrote but didn't send that letter requesting a new partner.
"Hey," Alex said to him from the hallway. The bright light of the large hall glowed around her as she leaned against the doorway. "The Captain says you're in a funk."
He looked up at her, aware, not for the first time, of how beautiful she was. And, also not for the first time, his fears shrank before her.
"You…you look great," he said. "You make the uniform look good."
"So do you." She smiled at him. "Especially with that medal."
He blushed. "I…I really don't deserve it." He continued to twist and turn it in his hands. "Anyone…Any good cop…"
"That wasn't the impression I got from the Commissioner and your past Captain," Alex said as she sat next to him on the small bench. She felt soft and warm next to him. "Could…could I see it? Hold it?" she asked eagerly and carefully.
"Sure." He handed it to her, and she took it reverently.
"Wow," she said. "I've never seen one of these up close, let alone held one."
Bobby stared at his feet and studied his reflection in his highly polished shoes.
"I've got a partner who won a Medal of Honor," Alex said proudly. "Very cool." She handed the medal back to Bobby, who reluctantly accepted it and slipped it back in its case.
"I…I don't know what to do with it," Bobby confessed.
"Your Mom?" Alex asked cautiously.
"I guess…I could try," he answered.
The next day he visited his mother and tried to show her the medal and explain its significance, but she barely acknowledged it aside from asking how many parking tickets he had to write to get it. He briefly considered leaving it with his mother, but one of her nurses gently discouraged him. She pointed out that his mother's things tended to disappear, sometimes after his brother's infrequent appearances, sometimes because of her confusion. He kept the medal, shoving it to the back of his closet and wearing the small green slip on his dress uniform only when he had to.
As he wandered Times Square, Bobby thought that the medal was undoubtedly one of the major reasons why he could retain some hope of holding on to his job and his place at Major Case. It wouldn't look good for the NYPD to cast out or reassign a Medal of Honor winner, even if that winner had violated half of the rule book. Bobby ran a hand across the back of his neck. He knew the rule book, knew it very well. In spite of what the Chief and so many others thought, he had read the book and tried to abide by it. He hated cops who believed that the badge gave them special privileges. Bobby believed firmly that the badge gave him special responsibilities. Cops were not better than other people, but they had to act better than other people. In this case, he saw no alternative to abandoning the rules. One of the reasons he turned with terrible reluctance to Alex for help was because he wanted, needed, to know if there was anything else he could do. As much as he wanted to shield her from the results of his actions, Bobby knew he had to have someone he could trust outside the prison if he wanted to have any chance of saving Danny and others. His own safety barely registered as a concern, something for which Alex severely chastised him. Even during his worst moments in the prison, he retained a strangely strong and calming center of knowledge that he had Alex to save him.
He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. There were so many sounds, so many bright lights. As a child he'd developed a hyper sensitivity as a matter of survival. Hearing or not hearing his mother's steps or father's voice often meant the difference between escape and pain. But the same heightened awareness often caused him to question his sanity, an occurrence far more frequent than Bobby would like the Chief of Detectives or anyone else to know. The sound of a voice in his head or a blaze of light in his eyes produced a fear that climbed his spine until the source of the voice or light appeared. He believed that as long as he questioned his sanity he was safe. His mother insisted that she was perfectly sane during some of her worst delusions—the worst the delusion, the more she insisted on its reality. During her periods of clarity, she recognized the depths of her illness and constantly questioned her doctors, nurses, and son on her symptoms and if she showed any signs of falling into its clutches.
Bobby spent much of his life waiting for and fearing that illness. He thought he knew what to expect and that every day that passed lessened his chances of becoming like his mother. But inside that hot, bright, terrible room at Tate, Bobby realized he knew nothing, could expect nothing, and was nothing but a thing. And he feared that all he was to the NYPD was a thing to be used. It was certainly all he was to his brother, and it might be all he was to Donny. The only person he knew that cared for him was Alex.
The thought of Alex briefly eased the storm in his mind. The lights faded, the many voices stopped clamoring. Calmer, his breathing quiet, he stood in the middle of Times Square. "This," he thought. "Is far from the only place Donny could be…Even if he were here, my chances of finding him are almost nonexistent." He ran a hand through his hair. "I've got Frank's cell…If Donny calls…I need to contact his mother…See if some of my sources can help me..."
His cell phone vibrated and rang. Moving to the edge of the sidewalk, he pulled it out and checked the number.
"Alex," he said hesitantly. They hadn't spoken since he gave her a quick, tense summation of the hearing.
"Bobby…I…I…" Her voice was equally hesitant. "I know…This is a horrible time for you…But…but I had a dream…a bad one…"
"Are you ok?" He was already looking for the nearest cab. He knew she wasn't all right. Alex called him only if her nightmares were true terrors.
"I…I'm sorry…" He hated the fear he heard in her voice. "I…I need you…Please…Bobby…"
"I'll be there as soon as I can," he said as he waved down a cab.
"Ok…I'll be here," she said with relief.
There was a short debate with the driver about traveling the distance to Alex's house, but the offer of a large tip and Bobby's explanation that it was an emergency overcame the man's objections.
"After all," Bobby thought bitterly. "It's not like I have a family to buy presents for."
They arrived at Alex's house in one piece and record time. Bobby presented the driver with most of the contents of his wallet.
"Thank you," the driver said. "I hope things work out."
"So do I," Bobby said softly.
He was relieved to discover Alex's house wasn't blazing with lights. As he climbed the steps, the front door opened to reveal Alex bathed by the soft lamp on her porch.
"Hey," she greeted him. "Thanks for coming so quickly."
Confused but pleased she was so calm, Bobby hesitated on the steps. "I…I…Are you ok?"
She smiled. "I am now." Her hand hovered near his back as he stepped into the house. She carefully locked the door behind him. "C'mere." She lightly touched his arm and guided him to the kitchen.
He was exhausted, puzzled, and his body protesting his recent treatment of it. He meekly followed her.
"Sit." She pointed at a chair.
"But…" he protested.
"Bobby…Don't argue…Sit…" She pulled out the chair.
He sat. Alex moved to the oven and pulled out a large container wrapped in foil. She opened it, and the wonderful rich and spicy scent of lasagna filled the kitchen. Alex sliced it and placed one large chunk on a plate and another, equally large, piece on another plate. She pulled silverware from a drawer and sat it and the plates on the table. She turned to the refrigerator.
"What would you like to drink?" she asked. "I don't think either of us should touch alcohol tonight." She took out a pitcher. "How about some strong, sweet, tea?"
Bobby looked at her, his confusion growing. "Alex…I thought…Are you all right?"
"I told you," she said firmly. "I'm fine now. You're here. I know you're ok." She handed him a glass of tea and sat across from him. "Let's eat. It's from Mamma Leone's…Your favorite." She picked up her fork. "Eat, Bobby."
He was too tired, too hungry, too full of emotional and physical pain to fight her. As he poked at the lasagna, Bobby realized he hadn't eaten in several hours, perhaps not for a day. He ventured a bite, Alex kept refilling his plate, and he realized he'd inhaled half of the lasagna.
"I thought you might have forgotten to eat," Alex said quietly. "Now…go take a shower…I've got a change of clothes for you on the sink."
A great current swept against Bobby, and he couldn't fight it. A large part of him didn't even want to attempt to fight it. He stumbled into the bathroom, shed his clothes, and allowed the hot water to pound his body. He leaned forward and rested his palms against the tiles. He stared at the fading bruises on his wrists and tried to quell his rushing thoughts. The water suddenly cooled, and he shut off the water. He stepped out into a thick steam and found that Alex had replaced the clothes he'd taken off with a pair of boxes, pajama pants, and a T-shirt that had snuck into her house in the past year. He dried, slipped on his clothes, and brushed his teeth with the toothbrush that had arrived with the clothes. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and opened the door to Alex's bedroom.
She sat in her bed and looked up from a book. She smiled at him, and Bobby's heart melted into goo.
"I…I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I…I used all the hot water…"
"It's ok," Alex said calmly. "I got my shower earlier."
He stood uncertainly.
"C'mere, Bobby," Alex said gently. She lifted the covers.
Pulled by an invisible force, Bobby lurched to the bed and slipped in gingerly beside Alex. She pulled the covers over him and tenderly brushed an errant curl from his forehead.
"Alex…Did you really need me tonight? Or did you know that I needed you?" His voice was a soft mumble.
She wanted to wrap her arms around him and to absolve him of his real and imagined sins. She settled for tentatively rubbing his back. "Both," she said. "I was worried about you…I needed to see you…I thought you might need a friend."
"And you knew the best way to get me to come was to say that you needed me." There was no anger in his voice.
"Yes."
He reached for her almost against his will. Alex responded by wrapping her arms around him. He didn't resist when she pulled him down so that his head rested in her lap.
"I…I went to see Frank," he said, his voice muffled in her arms. "He didn't know where Donny was…But Donny has called him…I've got Frank's cell phone, so if Donny calls him again…" Bobby swallowed, uncertain if he should or could tell Alex of Frank's betrayal.
"Bobby…Did Donny call Frank when he escaped? Did Frank know you were in that awful place?" Outrage entered her voice. "Frank knew what was happening to you and didn't do anything?"
"He…I don't know how much he knew," Bobby said weakly. "Maybe Donny didn't tell anything…But Frank…he…he's using again…I told him…I told him never to contact me again…We had a fight…I told him…Never to contact me again…I told him…If he was on a bridge getting ready to jump…I'd listen for the splash…" He shook. "Oh, God…What have I become…"
Alex held him tightly. "Listen to me," she said furiously. "Listen…You are a good, brave man who's beaten the odds…You've had to deal with a lot of terrible things…You are my partner and my friend…You were there for your brother long after most people would've given up…You do what you have to…More than what you have to…Even when you know how bad the consequences will be…"
"I'm sorry…I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry you got caught in this…I'm sorry I told you to back off…I'm sorry I couldn't save you…I'm sorry I kept pushing you away…I'm sorry I ruined your career and your life…I'm sorry…Sorry…"
"Bobby." She turned his head so that he had to look up at her face. "We've talked about all of that…You've apologized…Most of it wasn't your fault…You ruined nothing…Knowing you has made me a better cop…A better person…I'm sorry I can't make you see that…"
Her words calmed him. "You…you certainly don't have to apologize for my stubbornness," he said.
Her hand rested on his head. "Well, I'm certainly not going to apologize for mine." She rubbed his temples. "Better?"
"Uh…yea…"
"We'll work it out, Ok? You'll get the psych exam, serve the suspension, and we'll be back in business."
"All…All right…"
"And anything you want…need…to talk about…We'll talk." Alex took a breath. "Like what happened at Tate…"
Silence hung heavily for several minutes, and Alex feared she'd pushed too hard.
"I…I'm not quite ready for that," Bobby said softly. "But…but knowing you're here…Thank you, Alex."
"You're welcome," she answered. "And thank you for being here…for helping keep my nightmares away."
One of Bobby's hands found one of hers and held it tenderly. "I…I think…We help keep each other's nightmares away."
END