The sensation of fingers being drawn across her flesh heated her skin and she groaned softly, turning in the bed. Nestling her face into the pillow, she drew in his scent and rolled toward him, her arm settling over empty air, which woke her. It took a moment for her to realize where she was and why she was alone. She felt more profoundly alone than she ever had before in her life and she softly sobbed. "Denise?"

The voice came from the hallway and she sat up, wiping her eyes. "Come in, Alex."

The door opened and Eames came into the room. When Denise was released from the hospital, Alex had insisted she come home with her, at least for a few days, to recuperate and to find some way to cope with their loss, together. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Eames studied the kind, soft-spoken woman who had married her partner. "Nightmare?"

Denise shook her head. "No. But just as bad."

"I've been in your shoes, you know. My husband was also killed in the line of duty, nine years ago."

She nodded. "Bobby told me. He felt bad about reopening Joe's case. But he...he cannot leave any question unanswered. He always has to search for the answers...the right answers. He doesn't always like what he finds, but he sleeps better when he knows he's done the right thing."

Eames recognized the present tense she used when referring to Bobby, and she understood. It had taken months before she'd been able to talk about Joe using the past tense. And losing her partner, she found, was no easier. "Right and wrong," she said softly. "He has very clear views of right and wrong."

"Uncompromising. It really hurt Kenny Moran to watch Sang walk free. He was livid."

"I can imagine."

"And he didn't want to hear the argument that Bobby was right, that we needed to find the person who actually was responsible for Kevin's death. Ken never forgave him for that. And I think he's still irritated with me for defending Bobby."

"He'll get over it."

"He will now." She looked at her hands. "He isn't sorry about the way this turned out. Alex...I'm not sure I can keep working for Kenny now."

"Only you can make that decision.."

"He was...appalled...to learn I'd married him. He's come to really dislike Bobby over the last few years, and I'm not sure why." Tears filled her eyes. "When he heard that he was probably dead...he actually smiled. How can someone be that way?"

"Face it, Denise. One way or the other, people reacted to Bobby with strong emotion. But he had few friends on the force."

"I know."

Eames took her hand and held it tightly. "Try to sleep."

Denise nodded, and Eames got to her feet, leaving the room. Denise slid down under the blanket and couldn't hold the tears back any longer. Quietly, she cried herself to sleep.

Starr Newsome stood in the doorway of the room, watching her comatose patient. She was tired of thinking of him as 'John Doe,' and the night before she had gotten the idea of having the local police run his fingerprints. Ted Cunningham had come over from the station and collected the prints, warning that it was a long shot, unless the man had a criminal record or worked in law enforcement or some other security field. Starr felt it was worth a shot. Somewhere, she was certain, this man had to have family that cared about him and was wondering what had become of him. She knew that she would want to know.

Three days had passed. Several liters of warmed saline and electrolytes had treated his hypothermia and dehydration. She had treated him for stress and inhalation pneumonia and had given him a complete physical examination. She was able to attribute his prolonged unconsciousness to his head injury and severe exhaustion, which should resolve itself soon, hopefully allowing him to waken. The other injuries his body had suffered in the ocean were minor, amounting to little more than bumps and bruises. All she could do now was continue supportive care and wait. It was the waiting that was the hardest of all.

Ted Cunningham walked across the office to the fax machine and pulled off the paper that had just come in. Studying it, he let out a low whistle, grabbed his jacket and his hat, and called to the clerk, "Tammy, I'll be over at the hospital talking to Dr. Newsome about our John Doe."

She waved a hand in acknowledgment but did not look up. Cunningham climbed into his patrol car and drove off. He found Starr at the nurses' station on the medical unit where their John Doe was recovering. "Dr. Newsome, we got a hit on those prints. Guy's name is Goren. He's an NYPD detective, attached to the Major Case Squad."

She took the fax from him when he held it out. "Robert Goren...Thank you, Ted."

"Sure. Let me know if there's anything else I can do. I...I'd really like to know how he ended up in the ocean."

She nodded and said, "I'll call you later." Heading back into the small conference room off the nurses' station, she picked up the phone and made a call.

Eames was in the kitchen, fixing something to try and coax Denise to eat. She understood her depression; she was struggling with similar feelings herself. As difficult as he could be, she still loved her partner. Working with him for as long as she had, she'd come to know the heart of the man, and it was a good heart. Knowing him as she had made it easy to love him.

The phone rang and she walked to the counter, picking up the receiver. "Hello?"

Are you busy, Eames?

"I'm making lunch. Why, captain?"

Is Miss Rhodes still there with you?

"Yes."

I'll be there in twenty minutes to pick you both up. We're going to Hyannis, Massachusetts.

"Massachusetts? What for?"

They found your partner. He's in a coma in the hospital there. Be ready.

The line went dead and she stared at the receiver. What had he said? Found him? Alive? Her knees suddenly went weak and she slid to the floor, trembling. That was where Denise found her a few minutes later. Dropping to her knees beside her, she laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, her voice filled with concern. "Alex? Are you all right?"

Eames looked at the receiver that was still in her hand, now loudly protesting not being hung up. Slowly, she got to her feet and replaced the receiver. "Captain Ross just called, Denise. He's on his way over to pick us up. They...they found Bobby in Massachusetts."

Denise's face paled. "They...oh, my God..."

Eames gently grabbed her shoulders and looked into her pale face. "He's not dead. He's in a coma, but he's still alive. Get dressed. Ross will be here soon."

They would have time to reflect on what this meant on the flight to Hyannis. Right now, they each clung to one thought: he was alive.

Starr was writing in a chart in front of her when three people approached the nurses' station late that afternoon. Looking up, she found herself meeting a pair of sharp green eyes in a rugged, masculine face. He was accompanied by two women, their faces a mixture of concern and apprehension. "May I help you?"

The man tipped his head to read her name tag. "Dr. Newsome?"

"Yes."

"I'm Danny Ross. We talked earlier about Detective Goren."

"Yes," she said, rising to her feet. "I am so glad you could make the trip, captain."

"This is Denise Rhodes, Detective Goren's wife, and Detective Eames, his partner."

Shaking hands in greeting, Starr said, "My nephews found him on the beach Saturday morning. Do you have any idea when he went into the ocean?"

Eames nodded. "Thursday night."

"The tide would have brought him in Friday night." She nodded slowly, her brain making quick calculations. "That explains a lot. I figured he had to have been in the water more than twelve hours. He's a very lucky man. Something out there saved his life because he would have lost consciousness fairly quickly. He suffered a head injury and I've treated him for hypothermia, dehydration, exhaustion, stress and pneumonia."

"You said he's in a coma," Ross mentioned.

"Yes. But he's recovering. His heart has recovered and his last EKG was normal. His pneumonia is improving, but he is still too deeply unconscious to trigger his cough reflex. His latest bloodwork is much improved and his fever is slowly coming down. Right now he's stable. Come with me; I'll take you to him."

She led them to a room down the hall, where she stopped and turned to them. "He looks much better than he did when we brought him in. He would not have lasted much longer if the boys had not found him."

Pushing the door open, she held it for them. Ross hung back while the two women walked to the bedside. Eames hesitated at his waist and waited while Denise approached the head of the bed, her cheeks moist with silent tears. "Look at you," she said softly, reaching out to touch his cheek.

Caressing his cheek with her fingertips, she leaned down and softly kissed his lips. Turning her head, she motioned to Eames. Silently, she stepped closer, stopping near his shoulder. Denise slipped her hand into his, and Eames did the same on the opposite side of the bed. Slowly, she shook her head as she studied her partner's still face. "What am I going to do with you, Goren?" she said quietly, struggling to keep her voice from breaking. After a moment, she said, "I have never seen him so still."

Denise slowly shook her head. "Not often," she whispered.

Quietly, Ross said, "I'm going to get us rooms for the night. I'll be back."

He headed for the door, but Eames called him back. "Captain?" When he turned to look at her, she said, "Thank you."

With a nod and a small smile of encouragement, he continued out the door.

Late the next morning, Ross returned to New York, certain that Goren was stable and Eames and Denise were all right. Starr Newsome brought food for them from home, and Eames assured him she would call him when anything changed. It was not too long before she was able to keep her promise.

The two women left the hospital at the same time each night, but Denise always returned during the night sometime. Eames always found her by his side each morning. Joe had not lasted this long after being shot, but she had stayed by his side, so she understood how Denise felt. She could tell by the haunted look in her eyes that she was afraid something bad would happen in her absence, that he would slip away and she would not get to say good-bye. That was a fear Eames was not willing to face. She forced herself to be optimistic. He was going to be all right. He had to be.

Consciousness came and went. He was not aware of his delirium, and yet he was. Every breath was a struggle and every time the water closed in over his head he felt panic rise. Before it could take hold, his head broke through the surface and he could take another breath. His cough was deep and he could not control the trembling of his muscles. A brief thought touched his mind...and the ocean closed over his head again. He was submerged longer this time, and he did not return to the surface on his own. Something beneath the water bumped him upwards until his head once again broke through into daylight. He could not force his eyes to focus, but he looked around anyway. He saw nothing but ocean...and a slick, streamlined body in the water beside him. Another one circled in the water by his other side. He knew...but he couldn't bring the identification into his mind. He was losing his grip on consciousness, drifting away and slowly coming back, for briefer and briefer periods of time. The two sea creatures were there every time he woke, buoying him to the surface and pressing him on, presumably toward land. He gave himself over to their care and finally, he let go. He could no longer maintain his tenuous grip on consciousness. Two images floated before him in the darkened sky. He was seeing things. He had little time left before the sea would claim another life. But the last images that would touch his delirious mind were those of his partner and his wife. It was only for them he had held on as long as he had, and it was to them his final thoughts drifted. 'I'm sorry...'

He coughed, a deep, rasping sound, and struggled against the water, surprised to meet no resistance. What was happening? How did he end up back in...air? He coughed again and shivered. Something touched his face and he jumped, trembling again. He heard words, but they did not register in his fevered mind. Struggling to open his eyes, he left darkness behind, squinting into the light and coughing again. A hand...that's what caressed his forehead and his cheek. A gentle, familiar touch. "Denise?" he whispered, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded.

He raised a hand to touch her cheek. Moisture? She...she was crying. No... "Don't cry," he managed.

Slowly, his eyes focused and he was finally able to make out her face. Pale, tear streaked, worried... He moistened his lips and flattened his hand against the side of her face. A dull ache muffled his head, and his brain felt wrapped in cotton, but it was clearing, although more slowly than his vision did. He shifted in the bed, and his muscles were sore but he didn't really hurt. Every time he coughed, his chest burned and his head throbbed dully, but there was little pain in his body. Nothing he could not manage. His eyes strayed past her, around the room. A hospital room...and beyond the windows, it was dark. He had not dreamed any of it. Every moment of it had been real. "Denise?"

"I'm right here, baby," she whispered, and now his mind could translate the sounds into words.

Pushing himself up higher in the bed, he reached an arm toward her, drawing her into a hug. He felt the tremor of a sob shake her and he tightened his arms around her. Slowly, the events that had led up to this moment came to the surface and he leaned his head to the side, brushing her cheek with his lips. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

She hesitated for a moment, unwilling to leave the warmth of his embrace, then she pulled back and stared at him. "Am I all right?"

He looked confused. "Yes...I left you, with Alex...in that..."

She pressed her fingers against his lips, silencing him. "That was a cakewalk compared to how I felt when we thought we had lost you. I am fine now. You're the one who went into the ocean. How did that happen?"

He settled back against the pillows and coughed. She cringed at the sound of the rattle deep in his chest. With a sigh he shrugged. "I...I don't know how it happened. Has...has she turned up?"

"I don't think so. She has a thing for you, you know."

He nodded and looked away with a frown. "I never encouraged that."

"I never thought you did."

She rested her hand on his chest and gently rubbed. When he coughed again, she could feel the rattle in his chest and she cringed again. Shifting closer, she moved her hand to his cheek, caressing warm skin. Leaning over, she kissed him gently, then continued to stroke his forehead and his cheek until he drifted back to sleep. This time she knew that he wasn't going to slip beyond her reach; he was simply asleep. Reassured, she sat in the chair beside his bed, rested her head against his arm and let herself also sleep.

Denise was awake when Eames came in after breakfast. She shook her head and smiled, but she could not blame her for being here. If Joe had survived, she would have done the same thing and remained at his bedside. "How is he?" she asked when Denise looked in her direction.

"Better. He woke up during the night. Dr. Newsome is certain he'll be fine."

"What do you think?"

"He was lucid. He seemed like himself."

"That's all I wanted to hear. Did he tell you how he ended up going off the end of the jetty?"

She shook her head. "He doesn't know how it happened. He did ask if she's turned up. She hasn't, has she?"

"No. But I don't trust her. She's like a cat and she hasn't used up her nine lives yet. I keep hoping she was shark bait, but this annoying little voice at the back of my mind tells me she's not done torturing him yet."

The voices roused him and he stirred, again coughing deeply. Slowly he opened his eyes and, seeing both women there, he smiled. First his eyes sought his wife's, then his partner's. "Hi, Eames."

"Hi, yourself. Have a nice swim?"

"Not really."

She smiled. "You gave us one hell of a scare, Bobby."

"I didn't mean to..."

"Just don't do it again, please."

"I'll try not to."

She walked to his side and leaned over to lightly kiss his cheek. "She did not handle it well at all," she whispered into his ear.

When she straightened away from him, he met her eyes again, then looked at Denise. "I'm sorry," he said softly before looking away. He never meant to hurt them, but it seemed like that was what he always managed to do. The two women looked at each other, then back at him. They both knew him well enough to know what his apology meant.

Denise stood up from the chair and reached out to run her fingers lightly through his hair. "There is always a price to pay whenever you love another person, you know. And in spite of what you think, the price I pay is very small." She looked at Eames. "What do you think, Alex?"

"He doesn't give me half the trouble he gives you. I'm good."

He looked from one to the other. It was clear from the expression on his face that he did not agree, but he was not inclined to argue with either of them. He recognized it was not an argument he would ever win, and he settled back, closing his eyes. Fingers stroked the side of his face in a light caress a moment before a set of warm, soft lips pressed against his. He raised a hand to cradle her face and relaxed.

Drawing back, Denise smiled at him. "So, think you can try to eat something?"

"I don't know," he replied, another cough rattling his chest.

She walked to the tray table at the foot of the bed, returning with a small plastic cup. "You like jello," she coaxed.

Again, he considered arguing but it wasn't worth it. He took the cup and made them both happy by taking a few bites. Then he began feeling sick to his stomach, and he handed it back with a weary shake of his head. His breathing became a little more labored as he fought against his sick stomach and spinning head. Rolling onto his side, he grasped her hand and closed his eyes.

As he drifted off, his breathing eased once more and she kissed his temple. Eames gave her a reassuring smile. "It'll take a little while for him to get back on his feet."

Denise nodded. "I know it will. But at least he will get back on his feet. I don't care about survivor's benefits, Alex. I would rather have him."

"I agree. Bobby makes life interesting."

Denise smiled. "That's an understatement." Reaching out, she toyed with the hair that curled at his temple. Pressing a kiss to the side of his forehead, she whispered, "I love you."

At the edge of sleep, he heard her, and mumbled a reply. "Love you, too..."

Eames watched and listened, and her heart warmed. Initially jealous of this woman's place in Goren's life, she now felt nothing but gratitude toward her. He deserved a chance at real happiness, and he found it in Denise. In her own way, she loved him, with the steadfast heart of a friend. It was a heart that would never waver.