(remember - three different stories :)

Crash, Scene 4

"God help me." Bobby groaned as he rolled over on a small bed curtained off in the corner of the ER. His head was splitting, his hand was pounding, his mouth was dry, and his eyes felt like fractured glass.

"I'm not sure that it is God that you need help from." Bobby sat up slightly to find Dr. Lucy Jones looking at him. He realized sitting up was a mistake, for he also felt on the verge of puking.

"Did I spend the night here?" He asked, looking at her, watching her hand him a small cup of water. When he moved his arm, he noticed he was also receiving some kind of fluids through an IV.

"The question is – did I spend the night here." Lucy replied, not moving to stand any closer. Bobby looked at her, a bit blankly, not exactly having the cognitive function to process the distinction she was making with her statement. "I was supposed to go home last night and sleep in my own bed. But I was here, with you." She looked at him. She watched him slowly try to sit up. "Wait, I can probably remove that." She referred to his IV, which she deftly removed before he could say anything.

"So I spent the night here." He moved his legs over the edge of the bed, the room violently spinning, his head almost blinding him with pain. He closed his eyes against the light, and rubbed the heel of his left hand on his forehead.

"Let me check your right hand." Lucy stepped forward and took his bandaged hand gently in hers. His right palm was face down across her left palm, and he watched as she unwrapped the bandage with her right hand. His knuckles were a deep purplish, some were split, the bruise changed colors as it went up the back of his hand. She watched him wiggle his fingers very slowly, and watched the rest of the color drain from his face. She pulled a fresh bandage of a drawer, and rebandaged the hand. "So you can feel that? You can feel that hurt." Lucy observed.

"Yeah." He replied, she was still very close, and since he was sitting, they were almost at eye level. Again, he was taken with the deep hazel of her eyes, the soft pink of her lips, the angle of her cheeks, the soft sound of her voice.

"You weren't feeling pain last night." She observed, and he realized that he could see her smile in her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah I was." He said, and he could tell his reply surprised her a bit. He watched her expression change, as she realized he was not talking about the physical pain of his injuries.

"I didn't admit you. I kind of put you back here to let you sleep it off and monitor you." She said and she moved to step away. "So you're free to go Detective."

"Bobby." He replied, standing up off the ER bed, now even closer to her in such small quarters. "My name - its Bobby." He purposefully held his stance inside of her personal space, forcing her to look up at him.

"Bobby, you're free to go." She said, her eyes not wavering from his. He found himself stepping away first, grabbing his jacket with his uninjured left hand.

"Lucy," He found that he liked saying her name. "If I need you, can I call you?" He asked, and she looked at him for a long moment. He studied her, the way she tucked her hair behind her left ear, the way she kind of tugged at her dark blue scrubs. He was especially distracted by the way she quickly licked her lips, and he thought about what it would feel like to kiss those lips.

"If you need me?" She repeated, as if she didn't understand his question.

"You stitched up my head, you just bandaged my hand." He replied, making it seem as if his question was simply about needing her for advice or help with his injuries, when in fact he had meant it to be much deeper.

"Yes, you can reach me here in the ER." She allowed, and she watched him go. As he walked from the curtained area, she found herself reaching out and touching the table for balance, and taking the first deep breath she had managed since he had opened his eyes and looked at her. He was a magnetic wreck, and she found she couldn't get her mind off the image of him.

A few hours and a shower later, Bobby found himself on the steps of New York Public Library, 5th Avenue branch. Ever since he was a kid, he had loved the building. His mother had been a librarian, and even through the horror that was his childhood, she had managed to instill a love of books in both of her sons. Hence, Frank was a history buff and a history teacher, and Bobby, well Bobby simply read practically every he could get his hands on.

He had swallowed a couple of the prescription pills on his way over on the subway. He had taken them dry, like aspirin. So, he was back to not feeling much physical pain. He sat down on the steps near one of the gigantic lion statues and watched people go by. He looked up at the sky, feeling the clouds spinning as they danced across his view. He closed his eyes and almost fell over backward as he was flooded with images from his life; his mother, he remembered that she had once had a sweet smile and a soft touch; his brother, the disappointment and frustration in his eyes from the other night; Alex Eames, the fire in her amber eyes that reminded him of his favorite scotch; and Lucy Jones, there was something earthy about her, the deep mahogany of her glossy curls, the lichen green of her hazel eyes, the ivory smoothness of her skin, the softness of her voice.

He breathed in deeply, slowly, letting the oxygen swamp his brain, clear his thoughts. He had called into work. His hand was a great excuse to not go in. However the truth of the matter was that he did not want to go in, he was not engaged today, he realized he would be a liability. He leaned back on the steps against his elbows and opened his eyes, blinking against the sunlight.

No one even looked in his direction. He felt invisible, and on the meds he felt a bit invincible. He liked that feeling, it beat the hell out of feeling vulnerable. He was content to sit a while and let the day pass him by. But he realized that his detective's senses were doing their mighty best to penetrate his brain and send out some alarm bells. He turned, someone in particular catching his eye, the guy was medium build, maybe 5'10", brown hair, White. Bobby studied him for a moment, the way the guy stood on the steps in front of the library, looking up at the structure. Bobby could not help but notice that the guy was standing exactly in the middle. The guy hadn't simply stopped on his way up the steps to admire the building. If Bobby had a measuring tape, he felt pretty certain he would find that the guy was exactly in the middle of the step on which he was standing, exactly half way up the flight of steps. Who could do that? Not many normal people would do that.

So, Bobby continued to watch him, and the guy was watching other people. Bobby would follow the guy's line of vision, the guy didn't watch just anyone, or even the rather interesting ones, the guy's eyes seemed to follow a certain type of someone – women, 5'4 to 5'6, hazel eyes, long, straight brunette hair, a curvy classic hourglass build. Maybe he was looking for someone, maybe he had a type that he was attracted to, but since there was something not normal feeling about this particular guy, Bobby instinctually knew there was something not normal about the way the guy was visually seeking out these particular women.

A/N: Thanks for the support and talking to me with your reviews! To be continued...