A/N…Angst alert! This is a tough chapter BUT it's also a major turning point in the story and you will get some relief. I really like the way it came together. Thanks for sticking with me!

A/N 2: I listened to the song mentioned below on repeat while writing this.

"The broken clock is a comfort, it helps me sleep tonight.
Maybe it can stop tomorrow from stealing all my time…"

-"Broken" – Lifehouse

Bobby's POV

x.x.x.x.x

~Earlier...~

"You don't like gay men."

"I didn't say that."

"You can't stand to look at these pictures. This repulses you."

"No."

"You sure about that?"

"I'd rather look at naked pictures of your partner…"

x.x.x.x.x

Didn't get very far with Treith. He kept directing everything back to Eames.

Or some sick fantasy he had over women in general. It just got worse and worse.

I find it hard to believe that he doesn't already have a rap sheet full of sex crimes. I tried redirecting him at first, but then I just started ignoring every other comment.

I knew he was responding to the pictures, and there were enough signs of physiological discomfort to back that up. I just couldn't get him to admit it.

But I was probably more uncomfortable with his remarks about my partner and I think he realized this. I knew that if he had come on to her she'd handle it, but I still didn't want him anywhere near her.

I used to be able to channel things like that better. It finally got on my last nerve, so I busted his lip. But hell, he provoked it.

Deakins sent me home. Said he'd deal with Moran and the fall out over the incident. I'm probably going to owe him as many favors as I owe Eames.

There's a knock on the door. I glanced at the clock—5:52pm. I didn't have to guess who it was.

I screwed up earlier, haven't called her back or responded to her texts, and I know she's angry. She has every right to be. But I don't have the energy to take what I know I probably deserve.

She knocks on the door a couple more times. I remember her emergency key just as I hear it in the lock. I get up from my usual spot on the floor in the kitchen, take one more drag of my cigarette and then put it out in an ashtray just as she opens the door and walks in.

"Hey, Eames," I greet her. "Sorry… I heard you knock, but I was in the middle of something," I say. It's a lie and we both know it.

Of course I'm happy to see her. Always happy to see Eames. I just didn't want the tongue lashing I was about to get. On top of dealing with me, she's also had to endure Carver and Treith this afternoon, and I'm afraid to hear how all of that turned out.

She avoids eye contact, glancing around my apartment for a minute without saying a word. She's very upset, looks like she might have even been crying.

And of course, it's my fault.

Lately it's been easier to just push her away, and I've had to tell myself often that it's to protect the both of us.

"You hear from Deakins?" she asks, as she wanders further into the apartment. I know she's asking if I got suspended.

"Yeah," I reply, smiling at her. "He worked it out. But of course, I'm on very thin ice."

She looks at me disbelievingly.

"I owe him big," I add.

"You're damn right," she retorts. Neither one of us speaks for a couple of minutes. All I hear is the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall and the hum of the refrigerator.

"Bobby… I can't do this anymore," she says softly.

"What? Can't do what anymore?"

"I'm putting in for a transfer. Might take the captain's exam and if I pass, I'll fill in wherever there's a spot. I don't know exactly, but I'm leaving Major Case."

To get away from me… But she didn't have to say it.

It was like re-living Treith's punch all over again. It's not like I didn't see this coming, though. "Well…" I begin. I try to come up with something encouraging to say but I hesitate too long.

"Just thought you should know," she says.

"Okay."

She looks disheartened. "Okay? Really?"

"Sure. If it's what you want," I answer. I didn't want her to leave, but who am I to stand in her way? Especially with the way things have been going between us lately. She deserves better.

She strolls slowly toward the door. Suddenly she stops and turns back toward me tearfully. "You know… I can't say that I'm regretting this decision…," she sniffles and rubs her nose with the back of her hand, "but at least I'm upset to have to walk away from this partnership."

I'm wishing there was some way to just push a pause button on my life until I figure everything out.

"I guess I was kind of hoping you'd be a little upset too, Bobby."

I look at her, but words won't form. And anyway, I'd either say too much or too little.

"Well…It's been real. " She turns and her hand is on the door knob.

"Eames, wait!"

"What?"

I take a couple of steps closer. "I want you to be happy. I think you'd make a great captain."

"Thanks," she says quietly. It's not very convincing.

I know she's going to leave and but I can't seem to let her. "So-um… What happened with Treith?"

"Settled," she replies, taking her hand off the door knob. "Life without parole."

"He's a prick."

She walks back toward me. "So why'd you punch him?"

I look away from her, hesitating a bit on my answer. "He- um, he…kind of provoked it."

"How?"

"By being himself."

"I hope it helped," she says dryly

"Kind of," I reply. "Rather see him get the needle."

"So what exactly did he say in there?"

"He was just…you know….being rude. Saying…things." My eyes probably didn't hide the fact that she was focus of the dispute.

"About…me?"

"Yeah," I confirm.

"So- That punch? That was…for me?"

I shrug. "It was for both of us."

She finally smiles. Well, a slight smile anyway. "You know I'm a big girl, right?"

"He was pushing my buttons. Being…repulsive. Anyway, I'm sorry. I know I only made things worse."

"Well, for Carver."

"So how pissed was he?"

"You don't even want to know," she replies, shaking her head. "Guess…I'll go," she says quietly.

"Okay."

She turns and walks toward the door, hesitating just a minute with her hand on the knob. I can sense the pain she's in and I hate myself for it. But I can't continue to hurt her the way I have. I'm biting the inside of my cheek and trying my best not to delay her again. I know I have to let her go.

Finally the door opens, then she's on the other side, and then it's closed again.

She's gone.

The ticking of the kitchen clock seems louder all of a sudden. I find myself counting the clicks of the second hand. It's a distraction at best.

Thirty-three clicks later, I rush toward the door and pull it open. I expect her to be out of the building by now, but she's still standing there. Her head is down, arms are folded and she's facing the door.

I remain at the doorway and she's about a foot away. "Eames?"

She suddenly pushes past me and marches back into my apartment. "I don't understand," she says as she enters.

I shut the door and turn to face her.

"I need you to help me understand!"

"Understand what?"

She folds her arms defensively. "Bobby, what in the hell happened to us? To this partnership? What have I done?"

"You haven't done anything."

"Then, what's going on?"

"Nothing!"

Eames shakes her head bitterly. In her eyes, there are tears. There is anger, hatred and pain.

"No! Don't you dare! It's about damn time you come clean! Explain to me why in the hell we can't work together anymore! I've been patient, I haven't pushed you about any of this, but enough is enough! I've taken a lot of crap from you through the years, I've defended you and all you do lately is snap at me or shut me out. I don't know where your head is half the time, and you know we can't work like that! I think I at least deserve an honest answer before I walk away from this partnership and I'm not leaving here until you give me one!"

She's shouting and I suspect that a couple of my neighbors probably heard her.

"I'm sorry, Eames! Just haven't been myself." I can't hit her with everything. She's leaving and doesn't need to endure anymore of it.

"No! That answer's not going to work for me anymore!" she says gruffly.

"It's nothing you need to worry about anymore!" I shoot back. And I'd just raised my voice to match hers.

"Where the HELL do you get off?"

Right then, one of my neighbor's pounds on the door, saying we're being too loud.

We ignore him, but she tries to keep her volume down as she speaks again. "You don't want to be partners? Then why didn't you just tell me this weeks ago? Could have spared me a lot of grief!"

"If you want to transfer, then go ahead and transfer!"

She takes a deep breath and tries to compose herself. "What I want, is to find out what in the hell is going on with you. I've tried to be a friend and a supportive partner. What the hell did I do that was so wrong?"

"I don't need this, Eames!"

"I don't need this either!" she snaps. "You know… You're going to piss off the wrong person some day and end up either in jail or in a body bag. If that's what you want, then I guess I can't stop you."

I sigh heavily.

She continues. "I'm trying to figure out what I could have done differently! Bobby, I'm stuck here! Why the hell won't you just answer me honesty?"

"Just leave it alone, Eames!"

"Go to hell!"

I'm mad at myself for not handling this better but she's pressing and I just don't have it in me. All I'm doing is taking it out on her, but I can't seem to stop myself.

"Go….be….captain somewhere," I tell her, then I walk past her and plop down on the couch. She sits on the arm of the couch to my left. "I'm sorry I've been such a burden," I say quietly. "Hopefully you'll have better luck with the next person you work with. Or supervise."

About ten minutes pass and she hasn't left or said a word.

Dammit, she's a stubborn woman.

I finally get up, walk over to the kitchen and grab my pack of cigarettes. I don't want to smoke around her because I know she doesn't like it, but she's intent on staying. I remove one, tap the butt of the cigarette on the edge of the counter, and grab the lighter from my pocket. But I hold off on lighting it when I see her start walking toward me. I sit the pack, lighter and the cigarette down on the counter.

She now has me cornered in the kitchen.

She takes a couple of steps closer and we're inches apart. "To think I used to care about you," she begins tearfully. "I used to call you a friend. I need answers because I'm trying to figure out what I could've done to make you shut me out. I don't want to have this ever happen again, because you know what? It hurts! I don't think I deserve it and I'm tired of being treated this way. Have a nice life!"

She turns and walks out of the kitchen. She's finally done with me.

Fear takes over. "Eames!"

She doesn't stop. I follow her into the living room.

"Eames!"

Her hand is on the knob and the door's open.

"Dammit, stop!"

She finally does.

"Fine, you want to know what's up?"

The door closes, she turns back toward me. "Would it hurt you that much to tell me?"

"Yes! Yes, actually, it would!"

"Why?"

I start to pace. "Because, this is too much! It's too much for me and I'm trying not dump anything else on you!"

She folds her arms. "Why don't you let me be the judge of what I can and can't handle?"

I take a deep breath before I speak. "I…have cancer."

Her eyes widen. She looks stunned. "What?"

"I've got a mass in my right lung. It was diagnosed a couple of weeks ago."

She approaches me sluggishly.

"That answer your question?" I snap. Like I said, I can't seem to stop hurting her.

She lowers her gaze back toward the floor but doesn't reply. After a couple of minutes pass, she glances back up at me. "How does telling me the truth hurt you?"

"Like you said… We're friends," I respond shyly.

"Are we?"

"I guess…"

"I still don't understand. If we're friends, then why couldn't you tell me?"

"I- I didn't know how to tell you!" I argue defensively.

"You just needed to be straight with me."

Dead silence again. I wander back into the kitchen and sit down on the floor. I reach an arm up and retrieve the cigarette and lighter I left on the counter, and then settle back against the cabinet.

She walks into the kitchen. "You think that might have something to do with it?" she asks wryly, pointing to the cigarette in my hand.

I place it between my lips. "Yeah, but you know what? I don't care. I've got to deal with this!"

"You could try eliminating the cause!"

I roll my eyes at her.

"Bobby, are you really just going to let this play out?"

I shrug. "Don't have much choice."

"No, see…I think you do! First of all," she grabs the pack and snatches the cigarette from between my lips, "no more cigarettes!" She walks out of there, and seconds later I hear the toilet flush. She returns to the kitchen and starts opening the cabinets and the refrigerator. "Buy some food. Preferably something healthy." She closes the refrigerator door and turns to me. "I don't know what you're supposed to eat or not eat, but I know that somewhere there's a list of recommended foods for cancer patients."

"Yeah, I've got that."

"Where?"

I finally stand back up. "Somewhere… Look, why are you doing this?"

"Because if I don't, who will?"

"You can't fix this, Eames! There's nothing you can do! You can't make this all go away!"

She ignores my rant. "What stage is it? What about treatment? What did the doctors tell you?"

"Stage 1 or 2. Surgery's possible but it's iffy that they'll get everything," I reply. "I'm supposed to set that up," I add, mostly as a reminder to myself.

"Good. When?"

"Next week. Look, it doesn't matter! You're done with me, remember? I'll figure all of this out. You go be…Captain Eames." I walk out of the kitchen, grab my coat from the back of a chair and head for the door. Have to clear my head.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Out."

"To buy more cigarettes?"

I turn back toward her angrily. "What? No! Eames, you know I'm not a chain smoker! You want me to quit, fine I'll quit. But I need to get out of here right now. I need a break from all of this!"

She moves to where she's blocking the door so that I can't leave. "A break from what? From me?"

"From all of this! From fighting with you! The cancer… I'm tired of thinking about it. Sick of dealing with it. Too many doctors! Too many appointments! It's taken over my whole damn life! I'm done talking about this!" I try to push past her but she blocks the door.

"Stop! Bobby…"

"Dammit, Eames just leave me the hell alone!" Right then, I start one of my bad coughing spells. There's not a lot I can do for those, but I do have something to quiet the cough. Medicine's in the bathroom, so I head for bathroom and slam the door.

. . .

x.x.x.x.x

Alex's POV

I sit down on the couch not knowing what to do. I can't leave him like this. I hear him coughing hard and although I want to go make sure he's okay, he's also wanting space and I have to respect that.

My tenacity is gone. I'm still a little angry at him, but I'm mostly scared. My concern is for Bobby. I'm not letting go.

Twenty minutes later he still hasn't come out. I know he's probably waiting for me to leave. He's expecting it.

Suddenly, I hear a big crash in the other room.

It scares me enough to get up from the couch and go check on him.

He's in the bathroom. I listen at the door for a second. It's quiet again.

And then I hear the gasps.

He could be hurt. I don't care how stubborn he wants to be, I'm going in there.

Fortunately he didn't lock me out. I open the bathroom door and see Bobby sitting on the floor beside the bathtub. He's got a blood-soaked hand towel pressed to his right palm and he's holding it over the tub. There are fragments of glass all over the bathroom. I glance up and discover that it was a large glass light fixture that made the crash.

What almost breaks me in half though, is the sight of this man hunkered down on the floor sobbing. His shoulders are hunched over, his head is lowered and he's turned away from me so I can't see his face.

He's finally reached his breaking point. Of course, I'm probably the only person to get him worked up enough to finally break. He's not made of steal, even though he'd like to believe otherwise.

"Bobby?"

"God…I'm sor-ry…Eames." His voice is broken, words are breathy and barely above a whisper.

There's no way to keep myself from crying at this point.

Everything is crystal clear to me now. He's been trying to deal with the diagnosis and thought he had nowhere to turn. He has a hard time letting people in, although I used to think I was an exception. And to top it off, this has probably brought back memories of when his mom had cancer.

I walk across the broken glass that litters the tile floor, shove his bath scale out of the way, squat down behind Bobby, and wrap my arms around him.

He sniffles, and reaches his uninjured hand over and secures my arms. He's letting me in.

I can't even speak. I just lean in close and continue to hold him. My chin is tucked down against his shoulder. His shirt is getting wet from my tears.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

"It's okay."

"I don't know how to handle…any of this."

I don't respond, but I don't know how to handle it either. My heart's broken. I don't even know how to accept the fact that he's got cancer.

A mass in his lung? God…

Soon it's anyone's guess as to who is crying harder.

We're like this for a while and my legs start to give out, so I shift to my knees, checking the bathmat that's under my feet to make sure that I'm not about to kneel on some glass.

He clears his throat and starts to speak again. "I didn't mean… what I said earlier."

"I know."

"Just… too easy to give up."

"I won't let you give up," I reply.

"Please don't…leave. Don't…tr-transfer."

"I'm not going anywhere, partner."

TBC..

A/N… Still plenty of excitement to come!