Eames made them ham sandwiches and a pot of coffee. Donny wolfed his down—poor kid looked like a fencepost—his eyes occasionally darting back towards her gun like it was going to go off if he didn't keep watching it. It also didn't escape her notice that he had chosen the chair furthest from her end of the table.

When the sandwiches were gone, Eames raided Goren's freezer for some Haagen-Dazs . She did it mostly to kill more time—okay, and maybe a little because Donny looked one missed meal away from starring in a 'We Are the World' commercial—but apparently handing out chocolate ice cream was all it took to convince Donny you weren't evil, because halfway through inhaling his portion he started talking to her.

"So…why'd you quit?"

She was not having this conversation with her ex-partner's fugitive nephew right now.

"Has Bobby been home?" she asked instead.

"Uh, no." He scuffed his shoe against the carpet. "I was, uh, waiting for him to get home." He looked up at her, eyes wide. "Is he gonna be mad at me? I didn't want to bother him, but, uh, I started thinking that maybe I should've, like, called…"

So Bobby hadn't been keeping things from her again.

She felt her shoulders relax, suddenly aware of how tight they'd been. The loop playing in the back of her brain—it's not like Testarossa and Stoat, don't think about that now, he doesn't have any obligation to tell you, don't think about that now, it doesn't mean he doesn't trust you, don't think about that now—began to peter out.

"He'll be glad you're safe," she said.

"I hope so." Donny rubbed the back of his neck and she had to suppress a smile: Gee, I wonder where he gets that from? "I used all my money to catch the bus up from Jersey, I been staying down by—"

Eames put up her hand. "No details. I don't want to have to testify against you."

"Oh, okay." He fidgeted. "So, you're not, uh, going to turn me in, right? 'Cause I can't go back. I heard Uncle Bobby got out so I came to see him but I can't go back, they'll kill me, you know they'll kill me—"

"Breathe," Eames interrupted. "Before your head explodes."

"But they'll—"

"Tates got closed down," she told him. "There was a formal investigation, and the director and a lot of the staff went to prison. There're going to open it up again in a few months, once all the new staff are fully vetted, and then vetted again, and then once more for luck."

"Will I have to—go back, still, though?"

"Let's wait till your uncle gets back before we tackle that one, okay?" And the ones about your father. Eames glanced up that the microwave clock. Speaking of your uncle—where the hell are you, Bobby? He really should've been home by now.

"So, how'd—how Bobby get out of Tates?"

"I drove up and got him," she answered distractedly, trying to ignore the worries that were gnawing at the edges of her mind. "He didn't call when he was supposed to."

He said 'see you around,' her inner voice insisted in response to the question she was very deliberately refusing to ask. There's no way he would…not after surviving these last couple of years—just because he's never hugged you to say goodbye before doesn't mean—

"When do you think he'll be home?"

"Who knows?" she said, going for flippant. Unconcerned. "He didn't pick up when I called. Maybe he went out to a bar, met someone."

"Oh. So you guys have, like, an open relationship?"

Her cell phone chose that exact moment to ring, and the unleashing of the full force of her sarcasm on Donny took a backseat. And once she read the text, became completely unimportant.

It was from Bobby, and it was only a single word: Jo.

(The metal of the scissors should be cold against her face, but it is warm, so very very warm and slightly sticky and she thinks she isn't screaming but that's only because all she can hear is how LOUD she is breathing, so why can't she breathe—

"Are you okay?" Donny said, and she realized that she'd been staring at the message for too long. What did Bobby mean? Why would he say that?

Maybe he didn't.

"Detective Eames, are you, like—"

"I'm fine."

"Is it from Uncle Bobby?"

"Probably." Was it possible he'd gone to see Declan? Let him borrow his phone?

It could just be a mistake, she reminded herself. He could've just hit Send too soon—it wasn't like it hadn't happened before; they didn't really make cell phones for people with Bobby-sized hands.

He'd call her, if that was what happened, wouldn't spend forty seconds ponderously typing out an explanation.

She snapped her phone shut. It didn't ring.

He would've explained if he could have. Even Bobby wouldn't expect their telepathy to go that far. So that meant one of two things—well, one of several different things, but if you disregarded motive then it boiled down to two.

And with either of the two possibilities, motive could go hang as far as she was concerned.

"Are you, uh, going to call him back?"

"Nope." She stood, walked to the fridge. She had pretended, earlier, not to see Bobby hastily tug down one of his Molly photos an inch to obscure the name and phone number of the facility where Jo Gage was being kept. Had been caught, in that instant, between irritation and a sweetly painful tugging in her chest.

She dialed the number, gave her badge number (and gave a mental sigh of relief when her suspicions that her paperwork hadn't gone through yet were confirmed). Made sure that Jo Gage was still in a coma, and that Bobby hadn't been to see her since the Declan fiasco.

"Uh, Detective Eames—"

"Thanks," she said, ending the call. "Donny, if you unpacked anything, pack it back up."

"Uh, I didn't, really…"

He was looking like a kicked puppy, but she did not have time for this right now. She pulled out her wallet—thank God I hit the ATM this morning—and pulled out a wad of twenties. "Get a haircut, sunglasses, clothes you wouldn't have been caught dead with two years ago, and meet me back here in three hours."

"Um, sure, what are you doing?"

"Hopefully, overreacting."

One click to Contacts, one click to her name, one to Options, up twice and then Select once to Create Message. One for J, three for O. One for Send.

The quickest way to send a message he knew she'd react to.

"Oh, and I left a box outside. Put that on the counter, okay?"

Leaving a flabbergasted Donny in her wake, Eames exited the apartment and made for her car, dialing a number on her cell as she went.

It was time to call in some favors.