The darkness was replaced by a gray fog, which he allowed to stay wrapped around him for awhile, keeping the darkness at bay. When the fog began to get lighter, he let it drift away, and he opened his eyes.

The lights outside the room were bright, but in the room they were subdued. He silently took stock of how he felt. Other than an annoying burning deep in his chest, he didn't feel too bad. Painkillers...he did recognize that fog in his head. What could possibly have happened to land him in the hospital?

He fought the grogginess in his head and his mind began to clear. MacIlvey...that's right...the shooting... He moved and the burning became a fire. He groaned. Someone moved at the bedside, and he felt pressure on his hand. He turned his head in that direction. His eyesight cleared slowly, though he recognized his partner's form before his vision fully cleared. "Eames," he murmured.

Her eyes filled with tears as she watched him struggle to full awareness. "You need to learn to duck faster, Goren."

He laughed, which was very much the wrong thing to do. When he recovered, he looked toward her again. "Don't make me laugh," he warned.

"Sorry." But she wasn't, not really. She squeezed his hand for a moment before she was gently ushered out of the way by the medical staff. He kept his eyes on her until his view was obstructed by a doctor and two nurses, and the questions and poking and prodding began.

It seemed like forever before they were done with him, but he caught a glimpse of Eames on the far side of the room, watching and waiting, so he cooperated. But he was disturbed by the look he saw on her face. Something had her deeply troubled and he wondered what it could be. He couldn't imagine Ross upsetting her; she got along with the captain. He wondered if MacIlvey had done something else to set her off, as if stalking her weren't bad enough.

He was distracted and starting to get irritated by the questions the doctor kept asking. His eyes narrowed and he snapped, "How many times are you going to ask me how I feel? It's not going to change in five minutes. If I'm not giving you the answer you want, tell me and I'll change it. I told you four times, I feel okay, other than some pain in my chest. I don't want any drugs. I just want to get out of here and go home so I can go back to work."

The doctor seemed to understand his irritation, and he smiled. He got the response he wanted, pleased by the light of irritation he saw in his patient's eyes. It was that fight he wanted to see, the attitude that told him this cop was going to be all right. "You told me what I need to know," he replied. His examination complete, he motioned to the nurses. "Let's let him rest."

After telling him to call if he needed anything, the two nurses followed the doctor from the room, and Eames returned to his bedside. "I guess you told him, huh?"

He settled back into his pillow and looked at her. "Something is troubling you."

It wasn't posed as a question. He could read her better than anyone. But she could read him as well, and his outburst at the doctor taxed his strength. She rested her hand lightly on his chest, reassured by the beating of his heart beneath her hand. "Later. Get some rest."

"Eames..."

"Not now," she said softly.

The brick wall at the end of his endurance was a lot closer than he was used to having it and he didn't have the strength to fight his fatigue. He tried to argue with her, but in the end, he lost the battle against the darkness, and he let it claim him at last.

He had no concept of the passage of time, and no awareness of what transpired while he slept, but when he woke, he felt better. Eames wasn't there, so he called a nurse. She told him his partner had gone home to sleep and asked him how he felt. "I feel like I am going to get sick of that question," he replied, but there was a light of amusement in his eyes and he gave her a smile. Then he supplied her with a real answer, "I feel better."

She gave him a cup of water and urged him to drink it as she checked his IV lines. Gently jiggling one, she said, "We should be able to remove this one tomorrow. Are you hungry?"

He shook his head. "Not really."

When her brow furrowed, he saw that she was disappointed with his answer and he amended it. "But I'll try to eat something, if it'll make you feel better."

That brought a smile to her face. "It would. Jello or broth?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Not much of a choice," he complained.

"Okay, how about cherry or orange jello and chicken or beef broth?"

"Better," he answered. "Let's try the broth. Chicken."

"Good choice. I'll be right back."

He watched her leave, then turned his attention inward, to assess how he was healing. His mood was good, although he was still disturbed that his partner was troubled. His pain was manageable, though it probably would not be without medication. He turned his mind toward St. Justin's and tried to remember what had happened to land him in the intensive care unit of a hospital. The memories were fuzzy, but he recalled facing off with MacIlvey. The man was on the edge but so was he. He struggled with a mounting rage at what that man had done to Eames, stalking her silently for twelve years. In Logan's words, the guy's creep factor shot through the roof. He couldn't even imagine how she must have felt, finding out about it. And that shoebox...He took a deep breath, focusing on the pain to calm himself and draw his mind from his anger. It wouldn't do him any good here. He would save it for MacIlvey.

Moving past his anger, he remembered feeling there was a chance for him to talk the man down, to disarm him without anyone getting hurt. Had he underestimated the man? Did MacIlvey really feel that he had stolen his partner's heart? He found that laughable. Only one man had claimed her heart, and she'd buried him ten years ago. Eames cared about him, yes. But she didn't love him that way, no matter what MacIlvey thought he ever saw, and he knew it. So what had happened?

You're in love with her. Had MacIlvey really tossed that accusation at him? His own feelings were neither here nor there. It was what MacIlvey felt that he concentrated on. All Goren wanted was to know where that last bomb was planted, but the suspect was focused on Eames. The bomb...could that be why Eames was so troubled? Were they too late in finding that last bomb? Another failure on his part...

He chased away the melancholy. That was counter-productive. He'd have to find out from her what went down after he did. Back to the memories...

Put the gun down, Eddie. Eames...She'd understood his reference to Father Capanna and showed up at St. Justin's. His cavalry or his downfall? In either case, her appearance in the church was what ultimately destroyed his chance to disarm MacIlvey. He'd lunged at the man, hoping to disarm him before any shots were fired in the church, but he moved too late. He heard the report of MacIlvey's gun and its echo through the nave.

That was all he remembered, but it explained why he was where he was. He looked at the bandages that encircled his chest. That was a lot of bandage for one bullet wound. He was wondering at that when the nurse returned with his broth. She set it and a cup of red jello on the tray table and slid it in front of him. "Here you are." Noting his puzzled frown, she asked, "What's wrong?"

"I was just thinking that this is a lot of bandaging for one bullet wound."

"Maybe it is, but not for two. You were shot twice."

"T-Twice? But I only remember one shot..."

She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Memory isn't always reliable after a trauma like this. Eat your broth."

He took a sip of the broth and wondered where the second bullet could possibly have come from.

He heard someone enter the room, and he turned over, opening his eyes. Eames stopped. "Did I wake you?"

"No. I was awake. I've been waiting for you."

She stepped up to the bed and handed him a book and two magazines. "Let me know when you're done with these. I can't have you being bored."

He gave her an affectionate smile. "Thanks. Why aren't you working right now?"

She'd been hoping for a little more time before she had to discuss this with him. She was nervous because she could not predict what his reaction would be to the discovery that she had shot him.

"I haven't been cleared to return to duty yet."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"Internal Affairs is taking their sweet time about it." It isn't every day a cop shoots her partner.

He was still confused. "But why do you need to be cleared for duty?"

"Standard procedure in any officer-involved shooting. You know that."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I...don't understand. What happened, Eames? The nurse told me I was shot twice. How did MacIlvey get off two rounds?"

"He didn't. He shot you once, in the chest at close range. You were moving toward him. He almost killed you." He waited silently as she shifted where she stood, running the edge of the sheet through her fingers. She would not look at him; she did not want to see his reaction to what was coming. "The other bullet that hit you...was mine."

He was stunned, to say the least. He frowned and tried to wrap his mind around what she'd just said, but he couldn't. "You...you shot me?"

"Indirectly." She still would not look at him. The incredulous tone of his voice was enough for her. "MacIlvey and I fired at almost the same moment. I didn't see you start toward him. My bullet hit him, passed through and then hit you. You took two bullets in the chest, but his was the one that did all the damage."

"Ballistics verified it?"

"Yes. Bobby, there were only two shots fired. It's not rocket science."

"Eames, look at me."

Reluctantly, she looked up. When he saw her eyes, bright with unshed tears, his face softened. "How could you have predicted that?"

"Predicted what?"

"Any of it. Me, trying to disarm him before any shots were fired. Your bullet passing through his body and hitting me. No one could have predicted it. It was, at best, a fluke." He touched her hand. "You'll be cleared for duty and I'll be back soon. It'll be all right."

"Yeah, well, my interview with IAB didn't go too well."

His face darkened. He already had a dim view of Internal Affairs. "Are they trying to pin it on you?"

She shook her head. "No. They're trying to pin it on you. I gave them a piece of my mind and walked off."

"On me?" His mind shifted gears slowly. "How do they figure that?"

"I'm not sure. But Ross and Logan gave them what-for as well."

"Tell Logan to watch himself. If he gets sent back to Staten Island on my account, I'll come looking for him."

"Logan's okay. Ross has his back, and yours, too."

That news also gave him pause. "Ross does?"

"Yes. In spite of the friction between you, he values you as a member of the squad. He talked to both Logan and me. He knows exactly what went down."

He mulled over that for a moment before another thought crept into his mind. "There was one more bomb..."

She nodded. "We found it."

"How? We had no idea where it was."

"You managed to get to a clue out of Eddie and passed it on to me. Logan, Ross and I figured out the where and found the device."

He shook his head. "I don't remember."

"You were critically injured."

He leaned back, releasing her hand and looking toward the white ceiling. "What did they charge him with?"

"Who? Eddie? They didn't charge him."

"Why not?"

"Because he died shortly after they got him to the hospital."

He closed his eyes, feeling a sense of loss. A small part of him regretted the loss of life, any life, but he was used to that feeling, even when it happened to someone the rest of the world felt deserved it. But the biggest part of his regret was never being able to confront the man for what he had done, having to let this one go, unresolved. This case was very personal, and while justice was served in its way, he felt unfulfilled. Slowly, he forced his eyes open and looked at his partner, who was watching him with concern. "How do you feel about that?"

She shook her head. "I'm glad it's over."

"Eames..."

"That's how I feel about it. Relieved. What about you?"

"That's...a difficult question to answer."

"Why does that not surprise me? You can't regret what happened."

He looked down at his bandaged chest and then back at her, eyebrows raised quizzically."Do you want to rephrase that?" he asked with a weak smile.

She cast her eyes down. "I am so sorry, Bobby. I never intended to shoot you. I...please, forgive me."

This time she could not keep the tears at bay and they spilled from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. "Eames," he murmured, reaching for her.

He pulled her against him and held her. "It's all right, Eames. How could I ever think you intended to do that?"

She let him hold her while she regained her composure. Then she pulled back and straightened away from the bed. She met his eyes, searching for forgiveness. He was running out of steam, but he still sensed her need. He reached toward her and took her hand, holding it firmly. "Let it go, Eames. You did nothing wrong and I don't hold it against you. You're my partner and I trust you with my life. That hasn't changed. Don't carry this with you any longer. Please. Just let it go."

She continued to hold his gaze, and she saw the forgiveness she sought. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He gave her a soft, weary smile and closed his eyes. His grip on her hand relaxed and she lifted it back onto the bed. Leaning down, she pressed her lips against his forehead, then she sat down in the chair beside his bed and watched him sleep.