As Bobby Goren stood outside Lucy's door, he realized he was so drunk he could not even manage to knock. So, he simply pounded his forehead against the door, once maybe twice. The lights came on right away, as if she had been waiting for him. He could hear the locks open, and he knew the door was soon to follow, but he couldn't seem to command his limbs to move, so when she opened the door, he literally fell onto the floor of her entry way.

"Oh my God, Bobby." She said, her voice a soft whisper, as she knelt beside him. There she went again, invoking God in the things she said. He smiled, or at least he thought he did, as he pushed himself up to his knees, he only used God to take his name in vain, she used God in a way to give her strength.

"Sorry." Bobby mumbled, barely comprehensible.

"You should've called." Lucy said, kind of helping him to his feet, a little too quickly because as soon as he stood he over rotated and slammed backward into the wall.

"You can't drive." He mumbled, his eyes closed, as he leaned against the wall, trying to gain some semblance of balance.

"You could've called." She said, standing close to him, almost touching him, not knowing what to do.

Jimmy Deakins was dead. He had died of an aneurism in his sleep. Peaceful, the people kept saying all day long. Peaceful. Bobby thought that death was probably anything but peaceful. It certainly did not leave a peaceful feeling for the people left walking this earth.

The funeral had been that morning. What felt like hundreds of people crowded into the church, crowded into the Deakins home, to be near Jimmy Deakins one last time, to give sympathies to his wife, to hug his daughters. The funeral had been attended by cops mostly, which Bobby found ironic, for it had been cops that had chased Deakins out of the department.

Lucy had attended the funeral. She had known Jimmy Deakins as well, and was friendly with some of his friends. Though, Lucy had attended by herself, encouraging Bobby to go with Eames and Logan, and even Barek had come back for a few days. Even though people close to Bobby knew of the friendship he had with Lucy, not a lot of people in the department were aware of the connection. So Bobby kind of kept his distance from Lucy at the funeral reception at the Deakins home, but he couldn't seem to help himself from watching her.

At one point, he found himself leaning just inside a doorway to a room, out and out starting at her. She was talking with one of Jimmy's daughters. Lucy was holding a baby across her left shoulder, maybe about 5 or 6 months old. The baby had been fussy at first, probably picking up on the stress of the day. But Lucy had simply laid a blanket over her shoulder, gently put the baby across, and was stroking the baby's back as she talked to the mother. After a few minutes, the baby was dropping off to sleep. Lucy was probably one of the most centered people Bobby knew, and even that little baby had appreciated that fact after just few minutes of contact.

Bobby found himself remembering that day in the car. The day Lucy had fallen into pieces. She had thought she was pregnant, and probably she had been, or at least her hormone levels had said she was. But when she had gone in for her visit, there had been no heart beat and no sign of a developing pregnancy. She had barely been able to say the words to him. For a moment, he had not known what to do. They were sitting in his car on the side of a city street. He had gotten out, taken a deep breath of cold winter air, and come around to her side. When he had opened the door, thinking about getting her out of the car, maybe going for something to drink, she liked tea, maybe he could find a place with the kind of tea she liked. But when he had opened the door, he realized there was only one thing to do, so he reached in and pulled her forward into his arms. In the end he had lamely suggested they go for ice cream. She had smiled a bit at that. He thought maybe she was smiling of the ridiculousness of the suggestion, ice cream on such a cold winter's day, or that ice cream would make the hurt go away. But he didn't care; whatever he had done had been the right thing. She brought that out in him, he realized, she brought out the right thing in people.

"Bobby." She said his name softly. He had pretty much passed out leaning against the wall in her entryway.

"Sorry." He muttered the word again, trying to focus on her. He had gone out with Eames, Logan, and Barek afterward, for a wake of sorts. He and Logan had quickly gotten drunk, and that went quickly from recounting different times, to Bobby feeling very belligerent. Fortunately, Bobby was only feeling belligerent. Unfortunately, Logan started acting that way. So, Eames and Barek had beat feet, to leave Bobby with Logan. In the end the bartender had cut Logan off. Bobby dimly remembered that fact, because he himself was almost passed out across the table.

"Bobby." Lucy softly said his name again, as if to bring him around.

"Sorry." Bobby replied, managing to stand on his own. She helped him to the couch in her family room, kind of controlled his fall until he was lying down. She pulled off his shoes, and threw and afghan over him.

Bobby was thinking about Jimmy Deakins dying of an aneurism in his sleep. A lot of people had mentioned the Bell's Palsy from a few years back, and wondered about the connection between that condition and the aneurism. The paralyses from Bell's Palsy was idiopathic, and the idiopathic nature is what made it Bell's Palsy. And, while Bobby intellectually knew there was likely no connection, emotionally he could feel his chest constrict. He couldn't help but think of Lucy, of her seizures, of her migraines, of her doctor's saying they had ruled out a lot of the serious potential causes. He reached for her before she could walk away, and pulled her into his arms on the sofa. She didn't resist him. It was as if she knew he just needed to hold onto her for a while. She felt so tiny against him.

He remembered he had been standing nearby when she had paid her respects at the closed casket. He had heard her say "until we meet again, may God holdyou in the hollow of his hand." He recognized the words as part of an Irish blessing, and in as much as Lucy was not Irish, Jimmy Deakins had been, and the words carried great weight, and conveyed her generous heart. He thought of those words, and prayed that God hold her in the hollow of his hand, and keep her safe, and keep her healthy - funny thinking from someone with out a lot of faith in God.

"Bobby." He heard her say his name one last time, and he thought about apologizing, as if it was the only word his brain could form. He felt like such a sorry soul. He felt sorry that he just couldn't seem to pull it all back together. He felt sorry for constantly showing up at her door step like some bedraggled stray cat. But he couldn't seem to say anything; he just let his brain close to black.


Bobby's brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton and his eyes felt like they were glued shut. He was lying very still trying to decide if he was going to get sick, when he realized that he was holding someone in his arms. He could feel her slender spine curved close against his chest, and he could feel her soft curls catch against his unshaven face. He lay there trying to remember last night, trying to remember how it came to be that he should be asleep, with Lucy, on her couch. Yesterday had been a miserable day. He hated funerals.

He opened his eyes slowly, almost painfully against the rising light of dawn in the room. He wasn't sure if he felt sick, or if he still felt drunk. Each time he did this himself, he told himself he needed to start acting differently. He randomly remembered something Mike Logan had said recently - I feel sorry for people who don't drink. They wake up in the morning and that's the best they're going to feel all day. He realized his life was more Fitzgerald lately - first you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you. He remembered when he had used that Fitzgerald quote in response to Mike Logan, Logan had said Lucy had used the same one.

He reached forward and ran his left hand down her left arm, feeling her smooth bare skin underneath his palm. She was wearing a cotton camisole and flannel pajama pants and socks. Her arms were cold, and he thought about pulling the blanket up and around her, when his eyes caught sight of something, something that really made him feel like he was going to be sick. He recognized the pattern immediately, the pattern of bruising on her upper left arm – a thumb print and three finger prints.


Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews. They motivated me to go ahead and put this chapter in writing. I loved Jimmy Deakins. I was so sad when the character left the show. And since I will never get to see him again, I suppose he is "dead to me." So, sorry for making him dead to you too. Poor Bobby, I can't possibly leave him on even footing. It sucks that LOCI may not come back any time soon. I am left with the misery Bobby was feeling in Untethered, so I keep revolving him back to it in my writing.