"Jake, no…what are you doing here?" Mark was shocked to find himself standing in the entranceway to Bobby's apartment with his son Jake. A clearly disgruntled, manic Jake with a loaded gun.
"Let's go see your friend," Jake repeated.
"He's not my friend!" Mark retorted. "He's one of my detectives, a…"
"A son?" Jake prompted.
Mark sputtered. "No… not a son. A… you're my son! He's—"
"Dead?"
Mark looked stricken. "Dead? Oh God, Jake! No! Please!"
"Let's go, Dad. Don't want to keep whoever he is waiting."
They made their way up to Bobby's apartment.
"Knock," Jake ordered, nudging his father with the gun. He stood off to the side, out of view.
Mark knocked on the door. A few moments later Bobby opened it. "Chief?" he asked, still wondering what Connelly wanted with him. "Come in." Mark entered, and Bobby was starting to close that door, when suddenly Jake slammed it back into Bobby's face. The impact and the shock knocked him backwards.
"What the…?" Joe said, reacting to the commotion.
In a matter of seconds Jake was in the room, brandishing his gun, and Bobby was pulling his hands back from his bloodied face, Joe was standing there in shock, and Mark just watched numbly.
Jake looked at Bobby and his newly broken nose. "Sorry about that. Does it hurt?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm.
The way he was waving that gun around made all of them stand stock-still, afraid any movement would cause Jake to lose it.
"Close the door, Dad. And lock it." When Mark still stood there numbly Jake said, in a very controlled rage, "Shut it, Dad, or I blow his head off." The gun was now pointed at Bobby.
"Alright! J-Jake…please," Mark pleaded. He shut the door and locked it.
"Great! Now if you would kindly take a seat on the couch." He waved the gun around again, indicating where he wanted them all to sit. "Not you," he said to Bobby. "I want you here, on the floor, on your knees."
As Joe and Mark lowered themselves to the couch, Bobby said, "Look, I don't know what the hell's going on, but—"
"ON YOUR KNEES!"
Bobby hesitated, not wishing to be put in that position for any number of reasons.
"Have it your way," Jake said, very nonchalantly, and turned the gun on Joe.
"Okay!" Bobby said, and got on his knees, not one bit happy. This put him in a very vulnerable position. The uncomfortable feeling came to him that Jake had it in for him really bad.
Jake started pacing back and forth. He held the gun carelessly, putting them all on edge. He was talking to himself, not all of it intelligible. He looked at them. "Now what am I supposed to do?" Without waiting for an answer he continued. "Kill you, Dad? Kill him?" He refused to call Bobby by name. "And what about this other guy?"
"WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO DAD?" Jake appeared to be very out of control, and didn't seem to have any idea of what he was doing or what he even wanted to do.
Bobby spoke, very quietly, in a non-threatening manner. "Jake, listen. We can still work this out—it's not a done deal. There are things we can do—"
Jake was on Bobby in a flash, hitting him in the back of his head with the butt of the gun, knocking him sideways. He had to catch himself to prevent himself from going completely down. Bobby clutched his head. It didn't knock him out, but he cracked him pretty good. Then he put the gun right up to Bobby's head.
"You say one more word, just one fucking word, and your brains are going to be splattered all over that wall! Got it? Got it?"
"Yeah," Bobby mumbled, somewhat dazed. He pressed his hand to his head again to try to alleviate some pain. Christ, it hurts!
Joe made an attempt to get to Bobby, and Jake turned a gun on him. "Don't touch him. Sit down." Jake warned.
Joe sat back down, and both he and Connelly sat there in shock. Despite being a lawyer and dealing with dangerous criminals, Joe himself had never been on the receiving end of anything like this.
Bobby nodded his head at Joe, indicating he was all right.
"Tell him what you were gonna do, Dad."
When Mark remained silent, Jake continued his non-stop talking. "Wanna hear something funny?" He addressed Bobby. "I've got good news and bad news for you. The good news—Dad was coming here to clear you. The bad news—it won't do any good, since you'll be dead."
Bobby closed his eyes briefly, as if to shut out Jake's words.
Jake continued. "Did you ever hear of a father doing that? What kind of father turns his own son in! And for the likes of you? Huh?" He pushed the gun into Bobby's temple.
Bobby didn't say anything, figuring it wasn't worth a bullet in his head. But he was scared, very scared. How many times was Jake going to put the gun to his head before he finally pulled the trigger?
"Go on, Dad, tell him," Jake insisted.
Mark was shaking as he told them, "I…I was going to turn Jake in—Jake, you need help! I want to—"
"I need help?" Jake sneered. "I think it's this guy who's going to need some help." Still holding the gun to Bobby's head, this time he cocked the revolver. And Bobby reacted. A million things seemed to go through his mind in an instant. He was going to die, that was a given, but he was not going to just kneel there and let Jake execute him. In that split second he turned his head sharply and the bullet exploded into the wall, missing his head by a quarter of an inch.
Despite the burning pain in his face Bobby grabbed for the gun, and Jake and Bobby both struggled with it, with Jake seemingly getting the edge, thanks to his position on top and Bobby's weakened condition. Jake finally got the gun turned and pressing hard into Bobby's gut. Bobby shut his eyes and braced himself for the impact of the bullet. A shot rang out, and suddenly Jake stopped struggling. Bobby opened his eyes to find Jake falling on top of him, a confused look in his eyes, and blood all over both of them.
It took Bobby a moment to realize he was not shot, and he turned his head just enough to see Mark standing with a gun in his hand and a horrified look on his face. The gun fell from his hand, and Mark hurried over to Jake, dropping to his knees and pulling Jake into his arms. Jake looked at his father with that same confused look and said, "Dad?"
Joe helped pull Bobby up, and both turned away to give Mark and Jake some privacy as Mark cradled the dying Jake in his arms, rocking him back and forth, crying, "Jake, oh, God! I had to do it! I'm so sorry, I love you!" over and over.
Bobby sat on the couch at Deakins' house later that evening, nursing a broken nose and a gun flash-burned face, alng with a throbbing headache. Angie and Alex were both there, helping with the nursing, fussing over him. Alex was both very concerned and very relieved for her partner. Relieved because Bobby had escaped yet another attempt on his life and it now appeared that Bobby would be exonerated. Concerned for his latest physical injuries, and even more for his mental ones.
It had been a hell of a day. Jake had died in his father's arms, and Mark had turned himself in after giving a statement. Police and CSU were at his apartment nearly all day. Bobby had been taken to the hospital where he had been treated for minor flash burns to his face from the gun, a broken nose and less serious injury to his ribs this time. He was physically wore down, and having a gun placed to his head numerous times had mentally wore him down.
Bringing Bobby a cup of coffee she set it down in front of him on the coffee table, and handed him his pain pills and some water. Angie and Jim Deakins had prepared a bed for him in the spare bedroom, but for tonight at least, Bobby felt more comfortable on the couch. Figured he'd be less trouble there, too.
"How are you feeling now?" Alex asked.
Bobby sighed, putting the pills in his mouth, along with a big gulp of water.
"I don't know…god, am I ever gonna stop hurting?" He pressed lightly on his ribs.
"You'll feel better soon, Bobby. There's no one going to go after you anymore—"
"You going to see to that, Eames?" Bobby managed a smile, and a yawn. "I could use a full time bodyguard."
"How bout just a partner again, to watch your back?"
Another smile. "That would be great, Eames." He yawned again. "Sorry, don't think I'm going to make it through that coffee."
The stress of the day, the physical hurting, and the narcotic effect of the pain pills had left him exhausted. He started to drift off. Alex helped him lie down and get comfortable. He slept easier that night, with Alex's words going through his mind as he fell into a deep sleep.
How bout just a partner again, to watch your back? No words had ever sounded sweeter.
tbc