Chapter Fourteen

July 23, 2006 – Alex Eames' Apartment, 27 Beach Crest, Rockaway – 11:15 a.m.

Eames' room. Her bed. They were both sitting near the center of the bed: his arms wrapped loosely around her, supporting her weight against his chest.

Moments earlier, Eames had opened up to him about her experiences before and during her abduction. Now in the aftermath of her personal revelations, they sat together in silence.

After several minutes, his voice broke through the quietude.

"Is the medicine working?"

She nodded against his chest.

"Do you think you could eat something?"

"Mmmm," Eames considered, "I still don't feel hungry."

"How about if I make some tea?"

"Will you share with me?"

"Of course," he blinked rapidly, slightly confused.

She shook her head, and did he hear a quiet laugh?

"I meant, will you share your side of the story - your experiences with me," Eames cleared her throat, "how you made it through my absence."

He rubbed the stubble on the side left side of his chin, beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable about how to proceed, "can I get the tea first?"

"Sure," Eames nodded, her left hand probing at the area around her rotator's cuff while she moved her right arm in wide circular motions. Before leaving the room to boil some water, he didn't miss the fact that she'd winced during those rotations.

When he returned, handing her a mug, he noticed the sickly discoloration that encircled her wrists. She accepted the tea with her left hand, and again, he was treated to the view of a patch of yellowish-purple coloration that crept up from her wrist all the way onto the back of her hand. Because the discoloration was missing from the back of her other hand, he wondered if the bruising was from where her IV had been placed.

He must have looked too long, as Eames instinctively pulled her hands closer to her body.

"I uh, I found out 'Sebastian' took you about four hours after you were abducted," he offered cautiously.

"Really?" Eames immediately perked up.

"Ross had just ordered me to, uh, bunk up," he continued, "I must have looked like I needed some sleep, or rather, uh, he knew I was up all night, I mean, well, you know, he's a detective too."

Eames took a sip, and gestured that he sit back down beside her on the bed.

"I was in the fucking elevator of all things," he laughed sadly, "the goddamned elevator. I guess I need to remember to avoid them in the future. Funny things can happen in an elevator, you know?"

She returned his smile and cupped the side of his face with her right hand. He turned into her hand, breathed in and kissed it, "I uh, I got a text in the elevator, and, I knew, I uh - I couldn't fucking believe it. I-I, uh, it was more than panic, 'coz I just about had a heart attack."

He took a deep breath and breathed out, trying to regain some control. Just talking about this particular memory caused his heart rate to shoot off the charts.

Eames shook her head, "You don't have to - "

"No," his right hand fluttered nervously in the air, "I, uh, you shared with me, I can, I-I, you deserve to hear my thoughts and emotions too."

She nodded and took another sip of tea.

"I, uh, I had to believe you were being tortured, and that you'd be uh, abused, you know, uh, sexually. Then Sebastian would kill you, uh, leave you for me to find," he swallowed, and took another deep breath, "I-I," he paused again and wiped at his mouth with his right hand, "I thought, uh, I thought you were dead."

He felt tears collecting at the corner of his eyes, but he pushed on, and forced himself to make eye contact. It wasn't easy to do, but he managed. He finally fucking opened up. I mean, what was there to hide now?

Eames took his left hand in hers, her tiny little hand gripped his tightly, squeezed, massaged his long fingers.

"If you'd been hurt, tortured, if you'd been abused, touched, uh, I don't know. I can't really make my mind go there. I, uh, I was out of my mind, uh, you know, I was," he stopped, and looked right back into her beautiful brown eyes, "with you, thinking about you, uh, thinking about life without you, Eames. Without you, I'm lost, uh, out of my mind. And then, you know, the worst part, uh the part I can't get out of my head at all, is the fact that I," he pointed into his chest for greater emphasis, "I-I brought this on you. Jo took you because of me."

He could see the emotion brimming from her eyes. It was time for a light distraction, perhaps?

"Look, uh, you know what?"

She sniffled, and shook her head.

"Do you remember after we went to the ME's? Uh, you know, when we went to Carmines?"

She nodded, wiping the corner of her eyes with her pajama sleeve.

"You, uh, you got that call about the second victim at Corlears Hook Park."

"Yeah."

"Look, Eames," he sighed, "I've been very absorbed as of late, uh, I've been trying to put some things together. And uh, the situation with Ross and all the stress associated with our partnership, I mean," he paused trying to find the right words, "I guess this goes back much father, uh, back to when uh, Nicole Wallace, uh, when you were in the hospital, and uh-"

"Well," he shook his head and laughed, "you're not going to believe this. No. You're never going to believe this."

"Try me," Eames spoke in full earnest.

"Maybe you'll believe me because I picked Carmines."

"I always believe you."

"I know," he answered softly, "I know you always believe me, uh, that's one of the things that I love about you."

"You were going to ask me out again," Eames looked him straight in the eye, he wanted to deflect, but he knew she'd be able to read him no matter what his action or gesture. She really was that good. She was a professional at reading people – but moreover, she was a professional at reading him.

"There were so many times I wanted to, you know, see if you'd consider. But, uh, I kept looking for the right time."

"For how long?"

"Since, uh, you know, since the Nicole Wallace incident."

"Jesus Bobby, that was like two years ago!"

He held up his right hand in submission, acknowledging the stupidity of his rather cautious approach.

Eames set her tea on the nightstand, holding her head in her right hand, "two years Bobby, I can't believe it."

He smiled sheepishly, "should I not have waited?"

"When all along I could have had someone who's been described as 'great in the sack' by his exes?" Eames jabbed lightly.

He blushed at her pronouncement, feeling a bit self-conscious.

"So who throws away two years of great sex? It's lonely being a widow," Eames spoke half-joking, but there was a seriousness in her mannerisms.

He sighed, "I didn't know if you would have me, considering I, uh, I was the one who opted out."

"I had distractions back then," Eames bit down on her lower lip, "but, yeah, it hurt. I, um, I tried to, or rather, I managed to come up with reasons for why it didn't work. You know?"

"I was an idiot. At the time, I didn't know how to handle it."

Eames nodded, seemingly accepting his lame explanation.

He smiled again, hope oozing from his every pore, "I, uh, I know that now is not the time to ask, but, uh, when it is the right time, you should know my intentions."

Eames frowned, her expression hard to read, "okay," she spoke plainly, "this is a lot to process. But I guess I would like to hear more about your intentions when I'm feeling more like me, or rather, if I start feeling like me again."

He nodded, accepting whatever fate she threw his way. Lord knows, he deserved it.

"Is there anything else I can, uh, anything I can do for you?"

"Yeah," Eames mused, "can you bring me that pile of real estate magazines from the kitchen counter?"