DOUBLE TEAM

Setting: after S07/E01 Amends

Here I was again: sitting on my kitchen floor, staring at the wall, thinking nothing.

Almost nothing, that is. Every once in a while I had the impulse to call my mom. It was force of habit, almost instinctive. I'd called her every day since... at the moment I couldn't remember how long it had been.

Back to not thinking about anything, until...

Eames. Alex. I wanted to call her, but I didn't have the energy to move the ten feet to my phone. And why bother? She wouldn't want to talk to me. She'd been forced to relive her husband's murder, and I knew she blamed me. I'd told her the truth – we had to examine all the evidence – but it cut me to the heart to see her so close to tears. She thought I didn't care.

No. Don't call. Don't think.

That worked for a while. Then my phone rang.

I moved and immediately groaned from the stiffness in my back and legs. How long had I been sitting here? It was getting dark outside now.

I finally made it to my feet and grabbed the phone. "Hello?"

"Bobby? Is that you?"

It sounded like Alex, but something in the voice was off. "Uhh..." My brain was as stiff as my backside at the moment.

"It's Jackie," she said, and things clicked. I saw her face in my mind. "Sorry to bother you."

More thoughts started clicking, and I felt a surge of adrenaline. Why would Alex's sister call me? What was wrong?

"Is she okay?" I asked as I looked around for my car keys. "Are you with her? Where are you?"

"She's fine, she's fine – nobody's hurt or anything like that," Jackie said. "I didn't mean to scare you. But did something happen to upset her? Something on the job?"

I almost laughed. "Yeah, our last case was..." A disaster? A disastrous success? I asked, "What did she say?"

"Nothing," Jackie replied. "She never talks about work. But I know her – this is different. She's scared or, I don't know – stunned?"

If Alex hadn't told her sister yet about finding Joe Dutton's real killer, I wasn't going to do it now. That would only get me into worse trouble. After we got Dr. Beltran's confession and finished the paperwork, she'd left without a word to anyone.

"Are you still there?" Jackie asked.

"I'm here."

"Is she angry at you?" she asked, and I heard that same sharp, discerning edge in Jackie's voice that I'd heard so often from her sister. "Is there a problem between you two?"

That was what I'd been wondering, too. "Not really, but... well, sort of."

"I'm not accusing you," she said, "but I know how close you are, and when she gets her Irish up, it's like you can't do anything right."

"I know."

There was another long pause.

"Ooo-kay, I understand," she said, and I heard her sigh. "You can't talk about it. But tell me this: how bad is it? Should I wait, or should I try to force it out of her?"

I rubbed the stubble on my jaw as I thought about my answer. "It's... Maybe you should try to get her to talk to you. Or... I'm not sure."

"Oops, I heard the car door," Jackie said. "Alex took Jonny to the grocery store, and they're back. I've got to go. Bye – thanks, Bobby."

If anyone could deal with Alex's anger and stubbornness, it was her sister. I hoped Jackie could persuade her to open up. It would be tough, I knew, because I was just as bad about keeping problems to myself.

I stared around my apartment. Now what? I didn't want to return to the kitchen floor. I might need to do laundry. Not now. There were dishes in the sink, waiting to be washed. Not yet. Jackie's comment about grocery shopping reminded me that my refrigerator and shelves were nearly empty. After sitting alone for so long, going out for a simple errand seemed like the best choice, so I grabbed my keys.

"Excuse me, do you need help?"

The hesitant voice of a young woman snapped me out of my reverie. I realized I'd been staring at the heaps of neatly arranged bell peppers and cucumbers.

I smiled at her and the little girl she held on her hip. "Sorry, I was thinking about something else, and I kind of got..." I moved out of her way. Why was I in the produce section? I couldn't remember the last time I bought fresh vegetables, or the last time I cooked a meal.

As I stood on the checkout line my phone rang. I checked the ID: Eames' cell. She might be angry, but talking to her was better than what I'd been doing all day – nothing. I flipped open the phone. "Yeah."

"What did my sister say to you?" That was the Eames I knew – she always got right to the point. That much was normal, but I couldn't tell if she was angry at me.

"Um, she... Actually, I was going to ask you the same thing," I said. I stepped out of line and walked to a section of the store that seemed quiet.

"Bobby!"

"No, really. She asked me if something happened on the job, but I just told her she should talk to you." I hoped that was enough of an explanation.

"And...?"

"And then she said she heard you and Jonathan coming back from the store, so she hung up."

Eames was quiet for a while. I thought I heard the clink of silverware or glasses. Maybe she was washing dishes, or putting them away.

I said, "I guess she did. Jackie did. Talk to you." She still didn't reply. I hoped Eames wasn't holding a grudge against me. "Can I meet you somewhere? For a drink?"

She coughed – it might have been a laugh. "No, see, right now, drinking is not a good idea."

Why not? Because she was already drinking? I didn't hear that slight slurring that happened to her speech. No matter – it was best not to push the request.

I said, "So, you, you, you talked to Jackie about... about Manny Beltran and... Joe?" I held my breath. Every time we'd discussed her husband's murder during our investigation, she'd turned her anger on me.

She sighed. "I, ummm... Yeah, I told her."

"Good." I glanced around the store – nobody was paying any attention to me.

"Maybe it's good," she said. Her words were clipped, as though she was struggling with her emotions. I wished I could see her.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

Another sigh. "I guess. Look, I know it had to be done – checking the DNA and all that."

"I never took it lightly," I said. "It wasn't just a puzzle to me. I... I'm sorry it hurt you."

"In the end nothing's really changed for me, but... Nine years ago they rushed to judgment, and I keep thinking how many lives are ruined now because of it. How many lives lost?"

No wonder she was depressed. Cops saw a lot of bad situations, but this one was personal for her.

"Alex, there was nothing you could have–"

She interrupted, ignoring my comment. "And you were pulled back in while you were still grieving for your mom," she said. "You didn't get a chance to, to, to get your feet under you again."

I didn't have a reply for that. It was true – it was still true now.

We were both quiet for a while.

"Hey, where are you?" she asked. "I'm hearing voices and beeping... and you're talking so quietly."

"Oh, I'm at the grocery store. It's the checkout registers."

"Well, that's one good sign," she said, and I could tell she was amused. "You're buying groceries, not take-out food. I hope your frozen dinners aren't melting while we talk."

I looked down into my basket, which I'd set on the floor: two boxes of pasta, a jar of sauce, a container of orange juice, dried fruit in a cellophane bag and dish soap. It wasn't exactly fresh food, but... "No, no frozen dinners. Uh, where are you now?"

"Home. Doing pretty much nothing. Which is why I'm in such a crappy mood. You know, why does the captain think we need three days off? I feel better when I'm working."

"Yeah, me too," I said. "We should just go in tomorrow. You're pretty good at doing the opposite of what Ross tells you, and getting away with it."

She chuckled. "And that reminds me of another reason why I'm smarter than you."

Eames was finally feeling better, and therefore I was feeling better. "Why is that?"

"When you're upset, you blow up at Captain Ross, and get in trouble with him and any number of NYPD brass," she said. "When I'm upset I blow up at you, and I never get in trouble with the brass."

"So... You're saying I should...?"

"Don't even think about it, buddy!" Now she was laughing, and I felt a big smile spread on my face. "The next time you need to let off steam," she said, "take it to the firing range!"

I stooped to pick up my basket, and I headed back toward the checkout line. "Eames?"

"What?"

"How about if I meet you there in, maybe, a couple hours?"

"I can be there in one."

.