Eames woke during the night, and she found herself unable to return to sleep. She was worried. She had sworn he would not do this to her, but she couldn't help it. Sometimes the dictates of your heart got the better of you. She got up and left the room. The blue flicker of the television told her he probably wasn't sleeping. She stopped at the end of the hallway and looked at him.

Sensing she was there, he looked toward her. "Did I wake you? I had the volume down..."

"It wasn't the TV, but yes, you woke me...indirectly."

"You were worried. I'm sorry."

"You're always sorry, dammit. It doesn't change anything, so stop saying it."

"I'm...uh..." He trailed off and dropped his chin to his chest.

She approached him and sat beside him on the couch. "Your shoulder woke you?"

"Uh...partly." He looked at her. "I...never make it through the night."

She was surprised by his willingness to talk to her, but he was always more receptive to her at night, when they were alone, even before she had ever shared a bed with him. At night, he'd always relaxed, away from the squad room and the demands of their job. His guard dropped as far as he ever let it once the sun was gone. Perhaps it was the anonymity of the dark that allowed him to open up a little more. She reached out and laid a tentative hand against his arm. "Did you take your medicine?"

He nodded, averting his eyes. "About ten minutes ago, with a sandwich."

"You ate? Grilled cheese?"

She remembered that he liked grilled cheese...but then again...seven years..."Yes. I get sick if I take it on an empty stomach."

"I'm glad you ate something."

He looked back toward her. "You care."

"Yes, I do."

"That's why you're here."

Sensing progress, she nodded. "Yes."

"But it's not why you stay."

He was thinking now, trying to understand, and she wanted to encourage him. This was what she had been pushing him toward. "You don't think so? Then enlighten me."

"You already know. It's where you went wrong, Eames."

She knew he was fully aware that she did not feel she was wrong to love him, but she didn't point that out. "Because I love you."

"Do you regret that?"

"I thought I did, yes. But only because it hurt so damn much, and there was nothing I could do to make it stop. I just had this...hole inside me that was never going to get filled. It was worse than when Joe died."

He frowned. "Why is that?"

"Because Joe never meant to go. I still miss him, and I will always love him, but I had closure. I got to say good-bye to him, as hard as it was to do that. You...you left intentionally, and you never gave me the chance to say good-bye, never gave me closure. So I have had this raw, open wound to deal with deep inside me. Now you know. Feel better?"

He looked away. "No. But if I apologize..."

"I will smack you. You're not sorry, Bobby. It was a choice you made, one you stood by. You're not sorry for that or you would have come home."

"It's not that simple."

"Bullshit. Tell me your pride kept you away."

He snorted. "I have no pride, Eames. My mother stripped me of that when I was little."

"I don't understand you. This never had to happen, Bobby. All you ever had to do was talk to me."

"You mean burden you. I couldn't do that, and you made no attempt to understand that. You preferred to turn your back on me rather than try to understand me. After my mother died, and everything between us fell apart...I hit rock bottom and there was no reason for me to fight my way back up. Without you, I had nothing. I was nothing."

"Only because you let yourself believe that." She really didn't want to argue with him. They had done enough of that at the end of their relationship. "So what do we do now?"

"I don't know."

She moved a little closer and leaned forward, taking his glass from the coffee table. "It's water," he assured her.

She gave him a brief smile and took a drink, setting it back on the table. He looked disappointed. "You didn't believe me?"

"I did. I was thirsty."

She watched the medicine catching up with him and she rose from the couch. "Lay down and go back to sleep. You have an eight o'clock appointment."

He couldn't come up with an argument as she walked across the living room. "Good night, Bobby."

She switched off the television, listening to the soft groan of pain he couldn't fully suppress as he laid back on the couch. She moved toward the hallway. Already half-asleep, he murmured, "Good night, Alex."

As she snuggled down into his bed, she pulled the comforter around her and she smiled. It had been nearly two years since he'd said her name with deep affection untainted by anger and resentment. It had been far too long since she'd felt that he loved her, and now it was coming back to her. He was coming back to her.


Kathleen Monahan shook her head. "Something isn't right, detective. I want you to see Dr. Conklin as soon as he can get you in."

"Doctor..." he began.

But Eames cut him off. "Just tell us where his office is."

He shot an annoyed glare at her but she ignored him, waiting for the doctor. She tore a sheet off the pad she had been writing on and handed it to Eames. "Down the hall. Suite 200, near the elevators."

Eames nodded and Monahan gave her a look of gratitude. She wished this woman had been there when she was arguing with Goren about staying in the hospital. Then he wouldn't be in this situation."Come on," Eames motioned to him.

He hesitated, but finally followed her, looking annoyed. Monahan smiled as she wrote in his chart, closed the folder and left the exam room to see her next patient.


Trevor Conklin studied the x-ray on the screen in front of him. He pointed to an opaque spot on the film. "That is a bullet fragment. I'll bet a month's pay that it has nicked a blood vessel."

"Why hasn't it healed over?" Eames asked.

"My guess is that the damage is serious enough that the vessel pressure is keeping it open."

Goren knew what that meant, and he didn't like it. "What are the options?" he asked. "Any chance it'll still heal on its own?"

"At this point, it's unlikely. Your best option is surgical repair."

"Just what does that mean?"

"I'll go in and..."

"I know that," he snapped impatiently. "I mean for recovery, my mobility."

"Once I seal off the bleeder and remove the fragment, you should heal quickly, provided you get enough rest and proper nutrition. A couple of weeks and you'll be back on the job."

"Suppose I opt to not have the surgery?"

He raised a hand, sensing her upcoming objection, and waited for the doctor's reply. She also waited for the doctor before saying anything. Conklin sighed and twisted his pen in his hands. "You'll continue to bleed, detective."

"It won't heal on its own?"

"Not before you start to feel the blood loss."

Eames finally spoke. "So he'll collapse and you can fix it then."

Conklin nodded. "Yes, but by then there could be irreparable damage to the shoulder, or that fragment can shift and cause even bigger problems. I can't stress enough the importance of getting this taken care of right away."

"Right away when?" she asked.

"This afternoon, if I can book an OR."

She nodded, shifting her eyes toward Goren, daring him to challenge her. "Do it," she said firmly.

Conklin looked at Goren, who was glaring at Eames. After a moment, he nodded, fully aware that the doctor was waiting for his consent. Conklin left the room and Goren leaned toward Eames. "You had no right..."

"Shut up," she growled. "I really don't give a damn if you think I have a right or not. You haven't been inclined to take proper care of yourself lately, so I am going to see that you do it now. If you don't like it, tell me to go home."

He opened his mouth, but couldn't find the words to tell her to do something he didn't want her to do. He said nothing and slumped back against the wall. "I thought so," she said with finality.

Conklin was back ten minutes later. He sat down and began to write on a paper he'd brought with him. "Six o'clock," he said absently as he wrote. When he was through, he handed the paper to Goren. "Head over to the hospital and get yourself admitted and prepped. Nothing to eat or drink, and I'll see you between four and five. We might be able to get in a little sooner, depending on how the case before us goes."

Goren took the paper, angry. He slid off the exam table, grabbed his jacket and left the room. Eames said, "He's a little moody."

"I'll bet that shoulder hurts like hell."

She nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Conklin."

"Will you be there?"

"He may not be happy about it but, yes, I'll be there."

Conklin looked relieved. "See you then."

Goren was waiting impatiently by the clinic door for her. She followed him into the hall and said, "Don't start with me."

"It's my shoulder," he grouched.

"Do you want me to go back in and tell him never mind?"

"No. It's done."

"It can still be undone."

"Forget it. Let's just get this over with."

He jabbed the down button at the elevators, and she smiled behind his back. His apathy was gone, and that made her happy. She was getting to him, whether he wanted her to or not.


They didn't talk much over the course of the day. She knew he was annoyed and she let him stew. It was good to see some emotion in him. She really didn't care if he wanted to get this done or not. It was enough for her that he consented to it because she wanted him to get it done, because it was the best thing for him. Somehow, she was regaining the upper hand in their relationship and she wasn't going to debate it. Anticipating a long wait, she'd gotten herself a book to read, and a book of crossword puzzles for him, which he settled into, glad to not have to interact with her. He was angry and he didn't particularly want to take it out on her. His temper had gotten him in enough trouble over the last year. She was feeling better, even if he wasn't talking to her. That spark of emotion she had wanted to kindle was still smoldering. All she had to do was wait for it to ignite.

As the afternoon passed, he simmered, until a nurse came in to get him ready for surgery. It didn't take long for her to prepare him. She had him put on a pair of surgical scrub pants instead of a hospital gown because he needed to be bare-chested. Eames didn't object to that. She had always liked to watch him shirtless, and she welcomed her memories as she watched him troll around the room restlessly. When they came in for the final preparations, she could tell the nurse thought he was anxious about the surgery. It was a logical conclusion, even if it wasn't accurate. It wasn't the impending surgery that had him restless; it was her.

The nurse made him sit on the bed as she started the IV in the back of his hand, and then she had him lay back as she injected the contents of a syringe into the line. "This will help you to relax."

"I'm fine," he replied irritably.

The nurse just gave him a smile, finished the injection and raised the side of the bed. "They'll be in for you soon."

Eames moved to sit by the bed. "I'll be here when you wake up," she promised, her voice soft.

Her gentle tone found its way past his irritation and he felt better. He looked at her as the sedative hit him. Reaching toward her, he stopped short of touching her. He was offering her a chance to let him know he had not completely destroyed their relationship, a chance to reassure them both that there could possibly be something left to rebuild on. She took his hand without hesitating. Raising her hand to his mouth, he gave it a soft kiss before the medicine overtook him completely and he drifted off. Nothing he had said or done reassured her as much as that simple gesture of affection. He knew she cared, and now she knew that he did, too. They had a second chance.

When they came to take him to surgery, she placed his hand back on the bed and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I love you," she whispered into his ear before she straightened away from the bed and stepped out of the way.


Eames spent three restless hours in the surgical waiting room before Conklin came out to talk to her. "He's fine," the surgeon assured her. "There was more damage than I had anticipated, and the fragment did shift again. But I got it out and everything has been taken care of. He needs to still use the immobilizer for the next week or so. He'll be in recovery for about an hour before they take him back to his room. I'll be by first thing in the morning."

"Thank you, Dr. Conklin."

A half hour later they were looking for her. Apparently, when he woke from the anesthesia, Goren was agitated, and they couldn't get him to calm down without sedation, which they were reluctant to use. Placing a call to Conklin, he had suggested they bring Eames back to deal with him, which they did. As Eames walked with the nurse across the recovery room, she heard a shout from the general direction they were headed, and three orderlies ran past them before they reached Goren's bed.

The orderlies were holding him down and a nurse was yelling for them to be careful of his shoulder. Goren was struggling. Eames was furious. "Let him go!"

"He's going to hurt someone," one of the orderlies insisted.

Knowing how much he hated being restrained, Eames knew he would never calm down if they continued to pin him to the stretcher. "I said let him go."

The two nurses backed her up and the orderlies stepped away. As soon as he was released, Goren stopped struggling, but he was still clearly agitated. Eames stepped up to his bedside and spoke to him. "Bobby, it's me. Calm down."

His head turned toward her voice and he sought her out. "Eames..." he murmured.

She grasped his hand. "I'm right here. You need to settle down and stop upsetting the nurses."

His face clouded in confusion. "I just...I couldn't...find you," he replied.

"I was waiting, just like I promised."

"No...you were gone..."

Her fingers brushed across his lips, silencing him. "Shh...I am going to stay right here. Now relax."

"P-Promise?"

"Yes. I promise."

He settled back as his agitation eased and he relaxed. An orderly brought her a chair as the anesthesia in his system overtook him again. She stayed by his side. When he woke again, about fifteen minutes later, the first thing he did was look for her. She rose from the chair and took his hand again. "How do you feel?"

Struggling to focus, he squeezed her hand. "It...h-hurts," he groaned.

She looked at the recovery nurse, who didn't hesitate to inject something into his IV line. "That will help," she said.

Eames nodded a thank you and turned her attention back to Goren. His eyes lost the little focus they'd had and she leaned down to kiss his forehead. "Don't fight it," she encouraged.

Barely coherent, he murmured, "Don't...go..."

"Not a chance," she replied, gripping his hand more firmly. She looked at the nurse, who smiled at her. Biting her lip, she looked back at him. His guard was down, his inhibitions gone. He wanted her close and would panic if he woke and she wasn't there. He was swinging between extremes and she wondered where he was going to settle when he was coherent once again. Did she dare raise her hopes that he would still want her when he returned to his senses? Hope, yes...but prepare yourself for more rejection, she warned herself. If he was anything, it was unpredictable, especially now.

Forty-five minutes later, they returned him to his room and she made herself comfortable in the chair beside his bed, waiting for the anesthesia to wear off so he could wake up. Every fifteen minutes a nurse came in to check his vitals and reassure her. She fell asleep waiting.


The light caress of a gentle touch woke her. Turning her head, she looked at him as he withdrew his hand. She looked into eyes bright with pain and remorse, and she knew he was remembering. "Tell me what you're thinking," she said, her voice more gentle than it had been since they'd reunited.

He shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to stir up old feelings long gone. He had not intended to wake her. She sat up and stretched, then leaned toward him. "Are you still insistent on shutting me out?"

"I've missed you," he said suddenly, surprising her.

She stoodand stepped up to the bed, slipping her hand into his. "Do you mean that?"

His mouth tensed, and he wondered if he should have told her that, but he nodded. It was the truth. She reached out and touched his cheek. "You could have called me any time."

He shook his head slowly. "I couldn't even think about you without hurting more than I ever have before. That's why it took me so long to call...and even then...it was too hard..."

He trailed off and looked away, raising his hand to his shoulder and rubbing it. Grabbing his hand, she drew it away from the injury and interlaced her fingers with his. "Don't do that."

His eyes strayed to their hands, then back to her face. She expected him to parrot her words back at her, but he didn't. He settled back against the pillow and closed his eyes, tightening his grip around her hand. "I was thinking," he said softly, answering her earlier question. "That I still..." He swallowed and took a deep breath. "I still love you."

She was too surprised to reply, and by the time she recovered, his grip had loosened and he was asleep. I still love you...

She trailed her fingers along his cheek. She still loved him, too, for all the pain it had caused her. "Damn you," she whispered, swallowing a lump in her throat. "I love you, too, you jackass."

She spent the night in the chair beside his bed, but she did not sleep well.