(remember - three different stories)


Crash, Scene 3

Going by to see Alex did not turn out to be such a good idea. Joe Dutton apparently was no longer working nights, and was due home any moment. In fact, Bobby thought he saw Joe stepping onto an elevator in the building as he was stepping off into the lobby.

"You should let me in." Bobby remembered standing in her doorway - she looked fantastic, clad only in a dark dusty olive green negligee and robe, her hair was loosely pinned up, revealing the strong lines of her collar bone.

"You should go." She replied, looking down the hall. "Joe should be home any moment." She stated, again looking down the hall. And, even in Bobby's slightly drug addled brain, he could put together what was happening. Any normal person would not have opened the door, but Alex was no normal person. She had opened the door to let Bobby know what he was missing, she had opened the door to feel the rush of adrenaline associated with Joe possibly walking down the hall with Bobby standing there admiring her scantily clad body, she had opened the door to danger.

"I still have your number." He said, using the phrase they played with as an indicator that he should come by.

"Maybe call me next week." She smiled, slyly. She stepped slightly forward as if she expected him to kiss her, but he did not give her that small satisfaction.

"We'll see if my phone is working next week." He said, and turned to go down the hall. He could feel her watching him as he turned the corner for the elevator. He really was inexplicably drawn to Alex Eames, but he wasn't going to play games tonight, he had already split his head open and nearly broken his hand messing around with her. He would give himself a few days before he stepped back into that fire.

He found himself on the subway headed back across town. Strangely he found himself getting off at the stop closest to the hospital. He had no idea what he was doing, and why he was drawn back to this place, back to the ER doctor with the soft voice and darkly lashed hazel eyes. He stopped at a liquor store and bought a fifth of scotch, thinking that he should simply head home. But instead, he walked down the block toward the ER entrance. He took a long drink of the amber liquid, straight from the bottle. He looked at the lights of the hospital, at the people out front, at the ambulance pulling in without its sirens on.

He found himself strolling toward the parking garage. He had overheard Lucy Jones saying when her shift ended, and how she was looking forward to getting in her car and driving home for a good nights sleep in her own bed. He wondered for a moment what that meant – her own bed. Who else's bed was she sleeping in? And, more importantly, why did he care.

He sat in the stairwell for a while, on the floor of the parking garage where many of the ER staff parked. He had flashed his badge to hospital security, offering some lame explanation about waiting for someone. So, security left him alone. He drank the scotch straight, not really quite knowing what he was doing. He was only somewhat aware of the parking garage spinning, and he was not at all aware at how severely his life was spinning.

He thought about the other night when his brother had come to the ER, the disappointment in Frank's eyes when he realized that Bobby had been injured in a bar fight. They had lived in the same house, with the same mother, the same father. Frank had turned into this average guy, and Bobby was anything but average. Maybe because Frank was older, he had the benefit of a few more years than Bobby of some semblance of normalcy before their mother snapped and their father left. Maybe just those precious few more years gave Frank a bit more resiliency than Bobby. Bobby had never known normal. When he was little, his life was full of such extreme emotions that he created the same extremes in his life now.

Lucy Jones came up the stairwell onto the floor where her car was parked. She had one thing in mind, getting home to her bed, her blankets, her pillows. She had spent too many nights grabbing a few hours of sleep in the ER. As she was just about to clear the stairwell, something, well someone, caught her eye. Her breath caught in her chest as she saw the tall figure of a man coming down and out of the stairwell. She recognized Detective Bobby Goren.

"Detective." She said, her voice soft, as he looked at her.

"Doctor Jones." His hair was disheveled, as were his clothes, his eyes were heavy. She looked at him, thinking it was more than the pain meds, he was drunk, and her stomach twisted up trying to figure out why he was in the stairwell at this time of night, drunk.

"Were you looking for me?" She asked, not beating around the bush.

"I'm not sure." He admitted, honestly. He scratched his fingers through his longish hair, and side stepped a bit. She watched him, she could feel her flesh break out in goosebumps. She had to suppress a shiver.

"Detective…" She said again, not sure what she was going to follow with, but he interrupted her.

"Bobby, my name – it's Bobby." He said, looking at her.

"Bobby." She said, and she watched him close his eyes, as if he needed her to say his name.

"My name is Bobby." He repeated, he again stumbled a bit sideways. She completely pushed her common sense aside and stepped forward to keep him from running into the doorjamb of the stairwell door.

"Bobby." She said his name again, and she realized they were standing very close. He had somehow managed to turn to face her. She had her back against the wall, and he was standing in front of her. He was tall, and thin, and lean, and strong. He had his left hand, palm flat, pressed against the wall over her shoulder, so she was a bit pinned. Lucy stood, very still, her breath coming rather shallowly.

"Lucy." He said her name, looking at her, standing so close to her that he could smell the minty antiseptic of the ER. He moved in, close, as if to kiss her, and she pressed her back even more firmly against the wall. She looked at him, and watched him blink, thinking she saw tears in his eyes, then he blinked again, and they were gone. He shook his head slightly as if to find some sense.

Lucy lifted up her hand and placed it lightly on his chest, over his heart. He looked at her fingers, reminded of the other night how it felt to have her hand on his heart. She closed her eyes, and stood very still, he was mesmerized for a moment, unsteady. He had no idea that she was counting his respirations per minute, the doctor in her concerned about the amount of alcohol he had ingested combined with the prescription pain meds. So, he watched her, the dark fringe of her lashes contrasting against the pale smooth skin of her cheeks.

"Bobby." She reached up placing her hand on his throat, now she was taking his pulse. Again, he watched her, thinking only about her touch, not knowing that she was examining him. She was wondering how he could possibly be standing, with his respirations so slow. She realized that he wasn't exactly standing, that he was leaning heavily against the wall. "Can you stand?" She asked, and he looked at her confused. He pushed back slightly from the wall, and over rotated backward toward the steps. "Oh my god." Lucy moved forward as he fell hard onto the floor, catching himself with his hands, including his damaged hand from earlier. He barely winced. She looked at him and realized that they were headed back into the ER for the third time this week.


Author's Note: Hi, thanks for reading. Remember, I am addicted to the chatter of reviews :) Otherwise I have a tendency to keep things on my C: drive…