Chapter Nine

October 17, 2004 – New York Downtown Hospital, Manhattan, NY

The hospital was only minutes away by vehicle, but getting there seemed to take hours.

He kept coming in and out of a deep fog, Eames appeared in abstract patches of color, but all that intense focusing hurt his eyes - thus he opted to close them entirely, relying instead on the wonderful sense of touch: her hand held his, massaging it repetitively in a circular motion, and even through this simple, selfless act, he could sense her fear. Eames was now on rote, he heard her voice now and again: her conversations directed at one of the two EMT's that were busy running peripheral scans of his over-exhausted body.

"Is he going to be okay? I mean, what sort of tests do you think they'll run – will they need to admit him? He doesn't have family in the area, I'm his partner, I can sign off on some items, we filled out the appropriate legal paperwork together because of our line of work, you know?"

It was Eames' voice all right. But this time her voice sounded muffled and strangely uncertain as she rambled on, which contrasted sharply against her usual straight-to-the-point vocalizations.

When he felt her hand slip from his grip, he panicked for a split second before realizing that she'd only let go in order for them to take his blood pressure. The hands that were now on him were clearly more mechanical than Eames: quickly releasing his arm from his jacket, unbuttoning the cuff and releasing his tie, unbuttoning his shirt to expose the skin just above his elbow joint. He wondered if Eames was still there, watching him helpless, observing quietly as they pulled him apart in this rather haphazard way.

Within moments he could sense that she was back, stroking his hair just above the elastic of the oxygen mask.

"We are almost there Bobby - almost there, and you know I won't leave you unless I'm busy filling out insurance paperwork or some other bureaucratic bull. Deakins has pulled Barek off the Michaels' case, and in addition, Kaminsky is available to fill in – temporarily of course, his partner is a witness for Carver this week and, um, okay, we've arrived."

He imagined that she was trying to smile, trying to stay in control and remain calm, but her voice, it was so . . . different.

From there it was lying on a makeshift gurney in one of the many open holding areas in the ER, staring aimlessly at the ceiling lights that dangled just below a grid of colorless paneled rectangular ceiling constructs. Periodically, a nurse would come by to check his vitals. The nurse marked a few notes on a clipboard, asked him if he was comfortable, and mumbled something about how Eames was not allowed to come back with him just yet as there was something about his union insurance, that and the rather awkward questions associated to his relationship to her, and whether legally she would be allowed to be present during evaluation. This all came in spurts, his eyes open and closed as needed until finally the doctor arrived.

"How long have you been having symptoms?"

"For a few days, I guess," his voice croaked strangely.

"I'm looking at the workup and everything is in range. I mean, your cholesterol is a little high, but that's probably in line with the fact that your body mass index is also on the higher side of normal. What I'm more concerned about is your blood pressure: it's definitely out of normal range, high as opposed to low. More puzzling yet, is the fact that you are experiencing extreme flu-like symptoms yet your white blood cell count and other determinant factors such as your temperature do not indicate that you are fighting a virus or some other foreign intruder."

"So I can be released?"

"In my professional opinion," the doctor started, "you are suffering from exhaustion."

"I don't understand," he started to say before the doctor quietly waved him off.

"I've interviewed your partner to get a better understanding of your general lifestyle, and considering the volume of stress you've been under - the insomnia, the extra caseload, being the main care provider for an ill family member, workaholic tendencies and not to mention your rather unhealthy diet."

"Eames," he grimaced.

"Oh, don't be upset at her," the doctor gently chided, "she only volunteered this information in light of your current situation. It's not hard to see that she cares for you tremendously, and based on your emergency contact information, you should be glad that someone does. Not a day goes by when I don't treat hundreds of folks each day who've got no one looking out for them. Mostly elderly, but you get my drift."

He nodded and swallowed thickly.

"You best start looking after your needs first, or you'll wind up right back in my care."

"Okay," he nodded again.

"I'm releasing you with a note to your current employer – it states that you should seek a professional to help you deal with the stress that is associated with your profession. I also personally recommend that you take at minimum: a week off from regular duty and then return the following week with a lighter workload."

"With all due respect," Goren shook his head slowly, "most adults don't have the luxury to act upon your suggestions, I mean, uh, we have to act accordingly – and in my profession, murders and criminal behavior are a constant."

"I'm not trying to be condescending detective, but I'd hate to add you to the body count. If you keep up this destructive behavior, you're likely to end up at the morgue with your clients."

He started to laugh, and honestly he wasn't sure why. Was it because the doctor had the same quick wit of his partner, or was it that he was still exhausted off his ass and everything was starting to sound rather humorous?

Without much more to note, his doctor slipped off to see another ER patient. Eames seemed to appear out of nowhere, a paper grocery bag in her hand. The worry-line that creased the middle of her forehead was still quite distinct, that and as she stepped closer towards him, he noticed that there were bags under her eyes, perhaps she'd been crying? No. Not that, Eames didn't cry.

"Here are your clothes," she added rather stiffly, before looking away, "I'm out in the main corridor, um, you take a right at the end of the hallway through the doors – I'll be waiting there to give you a lift home."

He nodded, unable to meet her gaze, "I'll be there in a minute."

"Okay," she spoke quietly and bit down on her bottom lip reflexively.

There was an awkward silence that followed before she turned away and walked towards the main corridor in silence.

All he could do was focus on dressing, it was a great tactic, one piece of clothing at a time, trying to avoid having his feet touch the cold antiseptic floor – which was proving to be a difficult task considering that his dress socks were at the bottom of the bag; balled up in his work shoes. What was most strange was the fact that he remembered all the iterations of putting on each element of clothing, but couldn't recall walking down the hallway turning right, finding Eames and piling into the passenger side of her car.

But now, time stalled yet again as he sat next to her, preparing for a very long ride to his Brooklyn stoop. Alleys, double-parked delivery trucks and local shops whizzed by the wayside, as silence sat quietly between them.

Eames was the first one to break the oppressive silence.

"They, um, they found the car."

"Eames?"

"They found the car, the one identified by Jimmy outside of the park."

"Oh," his mind whirred slightly, frowning when he noted that he smelled like a hospital, he must have washed his hands, yes, now he remembered stopping by a men's room on the way out, his hands smelled of hospital antibacterial soap, "do you have any hand cream?"

"Yes," Eames cocked her head and raised an eyebrow, "yes, in my purse."

He felt her eyes scan over him as he sifted carefully into the main compartment.

"Side pocket, zipper." Eames instructed.

"Uh, thanks," he pulled out the lotion and lifted the cap, smelling it briefly before he applied it to his hands – the scent reminded him of her – and he didn't hide the fact that he dabbed a bit under his nostrils, "I don't like the smell of hospital soap."

Eames nodded, slightly bemused .

"Barek said that CSU would have volumes of material to work with," Eames rubbed the crease between her forehead with her index and middle finger, "I guess old Edwards is gonna hafta take his acting to the courtroom."

He nodded and smiled before pausing to say what he'd been meaning to say the entire length of the car ride, "thanks for taking care of me."

She nodded back, looking straight ahead into the sea of red taillights, "when you are better, I mean, when you feel that you can-"

"I'll tell you," he rubbed his eyes, "I'll tell you everything right now."

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Eames biting down on her upper lip before exhaling deeply through her nose.

"It started a while back, uh," he fidgeted a little, readjusting the strap of his seat belt, "but it culminated a few days back when I got a call on my answering machine."

And with that, he threw all his chips on the table.