WITHOUT WORDS

Setting: after S06/E03 Siren Call

Eames said something to me. I heard her voice, but the words didn't register.

I turned toward her as she drove. She looked as stunned as I felt. I didn't reply, and it didn't seem to matter to her. I went back to staring straight ahead.

Even in this numb state I could analyze myself. I knew why I was so shaken by Ray Wisnesky. I'd sensed it almost from the start. First, there was the similarity of his wife's illness to my mother's – I couldn't think of him impassively. Then there was Eames' recent kidnapping and torture. Neither of us had recovered; I was hyper-aware of any danger to her. I probably should have gone to a counseling session, too.

We're not supposed to let an investigation become personal. Technically, Eames and I did the right things and we got to the truth, but everything felt personal. Painful. Ray's suicide completed the destruction of his family; his young daughter Emily would soon be left alone.

"Bobby?"

I realized the car wasn't moving. Eames had pulled into a parking area – we were at the shady edge of the lot, farthest from a strip of shops. There was some kind of playground right ahead of us.

"I needed to stop," she said. From the way she was gazing at me, I knew she was worried.

I wasn't in the mood for discussion.

She turned off the engine. It was a warm day; even in the shade the car heated up quickly. I opened my door and set a foot outside. I glanced back at Eames. She got out, too, and pointed to the playground, which was empty. There were a few seats along the side, and we headed there.

For a while we simply sat on a bench, listening to the sounds of passing cars and voices drifting over from the strip mall behind us. I didn't want to talk or even think about anything.

Eames' phone rang in her pocket. She checked the caller ID. "It's the Captain," she said, frowning. "Great." She looked exhausted.

I reached over and took the phone. "I'll tell him... Yeah, Goren."

Captain Ross said, "I heard about Wisnesky. What the hell happened?"

I resisted the urge to respond that if he knew about Wisnesky, he didn't need to ask what happened. Ross stepped right into these obvious inconsistencies a lot. I peeked over at Eames – she was still worried, still weary. For her sake I needed to keep it courteous.

I quietly answered, "He asked one of his fellow cops to cuff his hands in front. When they got outside Wisnesky grabbed his gun. It was over in a couple seconds."

The captain asked about our interview at the house. When I told him about Wisnesky pointing a gun at himself and us, Ross toned down his hostility.

He asked, "Were either of you hurt? Is Eames okay?"

"We're okay. He surrendered to us, but then we were forty, fifty feet away when he, uh... shot himself," I replied. "We weren't injured."

"Good job on talking him down, Goren," Ross said. "It's... there was nothing more you could have done."

Really? Maybe I could have warned that other officer about Wisnesky's history with holstered guns being snatched. Hadn't the young guy known? I sighed. "Thanks."

Ross said, "I'll deal with the locals. You and Eames were acting on my orders. Don't give them any statement without my say-so."

"Yes, sir." None of the cops or family had paid any attention to us. We'd left as the ambulance screamed into the driveway.

I hung up and told Eames what he'd said.

She looked up at the sky and shook her head. "I bet they find a way to make Officer Wisnesky the victim and Major Case the heavies. Not that I care at the moment."

I stretched my arms out on either side and let my fingers touch her shoulder.

I asked, "What do you care about at the moment?"

"You." I hadn't expected such a quick, intense answer. She said, "I know I wasn't on my game..."

"No, Alex–"

"I wasn't. Not a hundred percent. Don't bother denying it." She touched my hand as it lay on her shoulder. "You had to pick up the slack."

"It's, it's what we do for each other."

She looked up at me. "When you were in that room with him..."

I'd known she was just on the other side of the flimsy wooden door. With Wisnesky waving his gun around, she'd hardly been safer than I was. I pressed more firmly on her shoulder.

I said, "I thought he would want to spare his wife and Emily."

"Not him," Alex said, shaking her head. "This guy made the wrong choice at every step – with Ashley, with Jason Raines, with his partner, his wife... Not once did we see Wisnesky do a selfless thing. I was..." She took a deep breath. "He wanted to kill you and himself. He would have done it. And..." I felt her trembling. "...and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to help you."

We moved toward each other at the same moment. I wrapped my arms around her as she tucked her head under my chin.

This was another reason why this investigation had become so unnerving: as my partner and I grew closer it was much harder to see each other in danger. Walking in on Wisnesky was the worst possible circumstance.

I pressed my mouth against her hair and whispered, "You did help me. You –"

Her fist thumped against my chest. "Cut the crap, Bobby. I barely kept it together enough to do the job." She pressed her head against me. "I hate that I let myself feel so afraid."

I rubbed her back and shoulders. "I was afraid, too – for you," I said. "The thought of losing you... it scares me. I'm not used to feeling so, so..."

"I know," Alex replied in a slightly muffled voice. "It used to be easy to shut off the emotions, but now… I'm glad you're alive. Thank God we're both alive."

Yes. We were alive. A few months ago those words wouldn't have affected me the way they did now. My heart leapt into my throat.

When she pulled back a little to look at me, I didn't hesitate – I kissed her. In no time at all her arms were around my neck, and the emotions I'd been trying to block came rushing to the surface.

I'd kissed Alex before, but never with this kind of intensity or need. I held her as tightly as I dared. When we finally paused for breath, I realized tears were streaming from my eyes. I brushed at them with my fingers, and Alex rubbed my cheeks, too.

She held my face and we kissed again, this time with less urgency. I slowly stroked her back and sides as her fingers combed through my hair. I didn't think about what lay ahead for us – I just wanted to relish the break from numbness and frustration.

Alex seemed to understand. She rested her head on my chest and let me hold her for a long time without speaking.

She finally looked up at me. "We keep doing this," she said. "I'm not complaining, but... Is it going somewhere?"

"Mmm…" I had no idea. "Right here is pretty good." I kissed her.

"If Captain Ross ever suspects we're, uh – whatever it is," she said with a shrug. "He'll split us up, no questions asked."

I stole one more kiss.

"I'm serious, Bobby. We're not even sure what we're doing – it's not worth losing our partnership."

"We'll keep it out of the squad room."

"We have to. Deakins made a point of not asking, not wanting to know. But you realize," she said, "that we were on Captain Ross's blacklist from his first day at MCS."

"You mean I was," I said.

She shook her head. "He questioned me coming back early for this case. He's waiting for me to screw up."

I traced my thumb along her jaw line. "I don't think so. He's counting on you to keep an eye on me."

She smiled. "That's got to be–"

My cell phone rang. I was surprised it still worked, considering I'd thrown it across Ray Wisnesky's office. I pulled it out of my pocket and checked the display.

"It's my mom," I said, and suddenly my contented mood faded. "I'd better, uh…" I touched Eames' shoulder lightly as I rose. I walked a few steps away before answering the call.

I took a deep breath. This wouldn't be an easy conversation. Mom was suspicious of doctors, even the ones she'd known for years at Carmel Ridge. She questioned every step of the cancer treatment.

I'd told Eames Mom was a fighter; that was true, but she fought me as well as the cancer. Every day I had to persuade her to let the oncologist do his job, and some days she refused him anyway. If she was like this when the treatment only involved a brief radiation treatment a few times a week, what would happen when she started chemo?

Today I didn't have enough energy to deal with Mom's anger and fear. I let her go on for several minutes – the same complaints, the same accusations – and then interrupted. "Mom, Mom… Mom! I'm working now. I can't talk."

"Bobby," she said, "are you listening to me? These people can't even find a vein to draw blood! I swear, Bobby–"

"Ma, we've been through this over and over. I'll call you later – soon. Okay? Bye." I flipped the phone shut, but didn't move yet. I closed my eyes and counted to ten a few times until I felt my heartbeat slow down. I was afraid of what lay ahead for Mom, and it was getting harder and harder to be strong for her.

I finally turned back toward Eames. I was grateful she didn't ask about Mom.

What was I doing, fooling around with my partner? She was still recovering from physical and mental trauma. There was a dark cloud over my head. I had no business doing anything that would screw up Eames' future. Besides, I was barely going to have time to do the job, let alone spend personal time with her. Personal time? No. It all had to go to Mom now.

"Eames," I said, "I'm sorry about…" I gestured to the spot on the bench beside her. "About that. I shouldn't have…"

She stared at me for so long I wondered if I should explain or apologize again. She finally shrugged and said, "Of course we shouldn't have. That's what I was saying. But guess what? I'm glad we did."

I took a step closer. "I mean, I'm realizing what... how much... how big a commitment my mom's treatment..." It was one of my tells: when I was emotionally worked up I spoke in sentence fragments.

"What kind of treatment is she getting?" Eames asked.

I trusted Eames, but this was just what I didn't want: broadcasting my mess of a private life. But it was my own fault – I'd mentioned Mom's cancer in front of Eames. Did I think she wouldn't remember?

I dropped onto the bench, leaving plenty of space between us. "She, uh..." I rubbed the back of my neck. "They're doing radiation... that's the first, um... first step. It's targeted, so the, it, it's more effective... And then... they follow-up with chemo..." It was so hard to talk about this.

I peeked at Eames. She nodded as though I'd been speaking intelligibly. "She's lucky in one thing," she said. "She's got you in her corner."

I exhaled in a loud "Pff!" at that.

"Seriously," she said. "You've probably researched all the meds out there, all the therapies. You talk to the doctors, ask questions, track her progress. Am I right?"

I rose again and looked at Eames. I appreciated her kindness, but it didn't change the problems or my obligations.

She stood and reached for my hand, then started to lean forward, and I felt a moment of alarm. Although she wasn't asking for a lot, I couldn't let her take it further. I had to keep my focus on Mom. I quickly kissed Eames on the cheek.

"Sorry," I said. "We should, uh..."

She was holding my hand pretty firmly – I didn't want to drag her toward the car, so I stood there like an idiot, shuffling my feet and looking at the ground.

"Hey." Eames squeezed and tugged my hand. I peeked at her. She said, "I wish things were different, but... it's no use wishing. Right now we have to get back to One PP, and then you need to be with your mom. Sometime down the line we'll get a chance to figure out what's going on with us. Okay?"

I nodded. "'Kay."

"In the meantime," she said, "we're good. If you need to take any time, I'll cover."

I didn't want to put any extra burden on my partner because of my personal problems, but before I could even start to say that, Eames shook her head and pointed a finger in my face.

"I mean it, Bobby," she said. "Do I have to remind you how much you've covered for me when I had to be at therapy or counseling? So just shut up and let me do this for you."

I spent the rest of the trip to the city in thought.

Eames had responded passionately when I kissed her, but then she'd backed off easily when I pointed out the obstacles we faced. She was a master of compartmentalizing her life, I knew – probably better than me – but even so, I was surprised how she could switch her focus back onto work without a hitch. Maybe our personal relationship wasn't that big a deal to her?

We'd gone out once in the brief gap between Captains Deakins and Ross. I had a lot of fun, and I'd been sure she did, too. We'd agreed to stop until we knew more about our new captain.

Now it looked like we might not start again.

It was probably just as well.

.