It had been 1 week. Bobby's days had dragged on. He had talked to the captain only once. The irritating politics of it all were out of his control and, he hated it. He had heard that Eames' condition was stable, but that had been all he could say. He finally had gotten the call he had been waiting for. He could see her. If Alex had been with him when he was driving to the hospital she might have shot him. The thought made him smile. The smile faded when he pulled up at Saint Vincent's.
The nurse led him to a quiet room with blue curtains. He saw Eames lying in the bed sleeping. "Her condition is stable. She's in a coma." the nurse said matter-of-factly. He felt the room spinning. Coma. The word echoed in the corners of his head. He looked at his partner. This woman had changed him, made him a better human-being. This woman had stayed with him, never losing hope in him. He had put her here, in this abyss of hopelessness.
He stayed next to her. He held her delicate hand. She seemed so small and frail. He always saw Eames as the no nonsense, sarcastic detective. He saw the pail in her face. Unlike something even the hardened criminals couldn't do, seeing Eames this way scared him. When he finally slept it was his restless, nightmarish sleep. He constantly woke up to check on her, to protect her. The next day he went to work with Bishop as his temporary partner. He was all but silent, talking minimally to her. After work he drove to his apartment and grabbed a suit and pillow. He went straight to the hospital. He talked to Alex, an odd one-sided conversation. He talked about the case and how annoying Bishop was. He wished she could talk back; he needed to hear her voice.
The days rolled together for him. The cases too. He still had his logic, but without her it was dull. Without Alex the world seemed to fade in and out of focus. Until the day he got the call. The real call he had been waiting for.