Author's Note: Well, here we are. For a while I wasn't sure it would happen, but we've arrived at the end of the story. Who dunnit? Will she? Won't she? All of these questions and more are about to be answered, but before I do that, I need to acknowledge some people both living and dead. First, the living: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story throughout the writing process. Your support and kind words have been invaluable and I'm anxious to hear how you like the ending. Thank you also to Dick Wolf for unwittingly lending me his characters (and for not suing me). And thanks to two very dead people, without whom I would have had no words to build from. They are William Faulkner and Ernest Hemingway.

Carver doesn't even wait for the door to shut behind the detectives before starting to shout. "Would you care to explain to me why Donald Markham's son is in there without a lawyer, detectives? And why he's confessing to a murder that you're not assigned to? Please tell me he was at least mirandized before you pulled that stunt!"

"He didn't ask for one," Bobby starts to say before Deakins cuts him off with a forceful tirade of his own.

"You realize, of course, that the mayor can have all of our badges for this," the captain fumes. "In fact, we may already be fired – I just got off the phone with him two minutes ago. We can probably all kiss our pensions good-bye!"

"And while he was on the phone with the mayor, I was on the phone with Markham's attorney," Carver doesn't give either detective a chance to speak. "They're probably going to sue us over this! We could all lose our jobs."

"Wait," Bobby's brows are furrowing again and he holds out a hand in an effort to deflect their words so he can hear his own thoughts, "how did Markham know that his son was here? Andrew was picked up at work an hour ago and there wasn't even time for him to…"

He trails off and turns to Alex, who reads his eyes and knows they're on the same page. After all, they've only spoken with one other member of the Markham family today – and it wasn't Donald.

They speak in one breath: "Abby."

"How Dr. Markham found out isn't important…" Carver begins a new rant before Bobby starts running at full speed again, blatantly ignoring the attorney.

"She knew about her mother all along," he turns to face Alex now and she can feel the nervous energy coming from him in waves. It's palpable; every time a piece falls into place in his mind, it's like an electric jolt surges through both of them and everything he's thinking becomes perfectly clear to her, as if he's transmitting his thoughts into her mind even before he speaks the words.

"She knew Markham arranged to have Andrew kill their mother," he's gesturing with his left hand while he expounds. "How she knew or when isn't important, but she knew about it and she also knew that we'd figure it out if we had the medical records."

"Especially because we were bound to question Andrew," Alex picks up the thread. "We'd questioned the rest of the family and she had to have seen the alteration in his behavior following the murder. It was probably easy for her to put things together…"

"No, she counted on us putting it together," Bobby corrects her, perched on the verge of frantic. "She set us up to do it all along and she probably staked out the coffee house where Andrew works right after she left us because she knew we'd be picking him up. We played right into her hand and she couldn't resist calling Markham to rub it in. The way she sees it, the man is about to be exposed as a murderer and she'll get justice for her mother after all of these years."

"But she has to know that Andrew won't be a good witness in his current mental state and that his word alone won't be enough to convict, considering he was six at the time," Alex shakes her head, confused.

"That's not what she's trying to do…" Bobby is suddenly pensive and distracted as multiple ideas collide inside his head. "This is personal. It's between she and Markham and it's what their lifelong feud has been building to – in fact, it's what started it in the first place…"

Alex watches a thought – the truth – careen into her partner's consciousness and explode like a meteor on impact. His eyes widen in fear and then he's a flurry of motion, scrambling for the door, notebook tucked haphazardly under his arm as he cries to Alex, "We have to get to Abby's apartment – now!"

Deakins and Carver are clearly bewildered as they watch the detectives race away mid-chastising, and Alex feels a slight twinge of guilt for leaving that is soon replaced with trepidation – because if Bobby's right, they're about to enter a potentially deadly situation.

***

Bobby doesn't even have a vest on.

This is the thought that keeps running through Alex's head half an hour later as she stands by the door of Abby Markham's apartment, gun raised and ready. She's positioned at the outskirts of one of the most confusing – and dangerous – stand-offs she's ever witnessed and that one persistent thought won't let go of her.

Bobby doesn't even have a vest on.

They raced out of One Police Plaza in such haste that they barely had time to request the SWAT team backup that now waits in the hall, poised and ready for the cue to step in. There was no time to grab a kevlar vest, no time to grab their overcoats, no time to even speak; they just raced to the parking lot, leapt into the Explorer, and prayed that they'd make it to Abby's in time.

And now Bobby is standing smack in the middle of things, gun raised but utterly vulnerable. He removed his tie on the drive over – yanked it off in frustration is more like – and left his suit jacket in the car as well. He was in such a hurry to get there, to prevent Abby and her father from hurting each other, that he's made himself into a very tall target in a pale blue shirt.

And his ire at the situation isn't helping either.

He spent the entire drive gesticulating wildly with his hands and shaking his head, all the while repeating over and over to Alex that he can't believe Markham's audacity, that he can't fathom how someone with such an ego hasn't been caught before.

"He had to have slipped up before now!" Bobby had said. "The man turned his own son into a murder weapon and got away with it for twenty years!"

"He's been careful to protect that legacy he's so bent on having," Alex tried to soothe him while weaving in and out of traffic.

"He's ruined his legacy for sure now," Bobby shook his head, face still distorted with frustration. "I just hope we get there in time to save Abby's."

In a way, Alex supposes, they did arrive in time. In fact, they found Abby very much alive upon arrival – alive and holding her own with her off-duty pistol leveled at her father. He, in turn, is holding a 9-millimeter handgun pointed at her and even now continues to spout furious words in her direction, blaming all of the recent events on her. The door was wide open when the detectives arrived – kicked open, by the look of it – and they approached with caution to gauge the scene. But then, before Alex could talk him out of it or call for more back up, Bobby was in motion. With that catlike grace that only he possesses, her partner somehow managed to weasel his way into the middle of the room and wedge himself practically in between the Markhams so that now they stand in a sort of deadly triangle.

All are poised to shoot. It's a deadly replay of lunch at the diner – a giant game of chicken that this time has more players and live ammunition instead of loaded words.

Alex stays by the door, rooted in place and holding her breath while trying to keep her hands from shaking as she holds her firearm level, pointed at Markham but ready to do whatever it takes to protect her partner. Bobby was so upset when they arrived that Alex knows he wasn't thinking clearly when he put himself in danger. He is thinking only of capturing Markham, of making him pay for his crimes - and of preventing Abby from being his third victim. Bobby may die to bring about the justice he so strongly desires and Alex doesn't think this fact has even occurred to him, so focused is he on his goal.

It's occurred to her, though, and she can't help but stand on the brink of panic.

And then, inexplicably, she recognizes this moment for what it is: This is the one. The moment of choice has arrived – though it doesn't look anything like she expected. Yet this must be the one – it has to be because otherwise she wouldn't recognize it.

In fact, it's almost funny, she thinks with bitter irony. All along, she thought the choice of where she wanted her life to take her would be hers; she thought that because this time she would recognize the crossroad, it would be up to her to decide where to go instead of being pulled into the current like before. Yet it appears that Fate has a wicked sense of humor because he's taken it out of her hands again. One shot, one pull of a trigger, and Bobby will be taken away like Michael was. One shot and Alex is back at square one without even the barest hint of guidance.

And suddenly she's angry because it's only now that she realizes what she would do if it were left up to her. Despite its chaos, despite its lack of routine and normalcy, and despite the inhumanity she faces every day, Alex would choose this life over those once-treasured suburban dreams of the picture-perfect family. She would choose to solve crimes and clean up her little corner of New York City. She would choose to work hours that aren't written on any clock. She would choose bad coffee and bloody crime scenes.

She would choose her life with Bobby.

It's a life she didn't ask for and one that she didn't expect. It's a life that drives her crazy when it isn't annoying her to no end. And it's a life that's hers and no one else's. It's a life filled with little moments of intimacy and humor that you have to be looking for in order to see – and it's all because of Bobby Goren. No one understands her the way he does. No one relies on her or trusts her – needs her - the way he does and she realizes that theirs is a very special and unique relationship. What they have goes beyond partnership and friendship - even beyond love. It's that rare meeting of two souls where the uniting of the halves forms one complete and perfect whole, a union that burns so brightly that all other relationships seem dim. Bobby makes her job bearable – and he makes her life more complete than she ever thought it could be without the things she once thought were necessary for happiness, things like a husband, two point five children, and a dog.

She can't live without him.

She could survive without him – that's certainly possible - but she wouldn't be truly alive ever again if Bobby were to be killed today. Their lives are inextricably bound – like that of Amy and Andrew Markham – to the degree that their futures must likewise coexist. If Bobby's future ceases to be today, then so does Alex's, just as Andrew's ended with that of his sister. Without Bobby, Alex can't move forward; instead she'll be stuck in a world where everything – every man in a perfectly tailored suit, every couple arguing on the sidewalk, every chai latte – will remind her of him – of them - and of what they had.

In fact, it's almost preposterous now to even think she had a choice in the first place, Alex realizes. How could she have ever thought the universe would allow them to be parted just because she had once planned a different life? They're Bobby and Alex, for goodness sakes – Goren and Eames. They're inseparable.

And if the universe knows that, Alex prays that Donald Markham does too – because his gun is pointed directly at her partner's chest.

"This doesn't concern you, Detective," Markham's voice is shaking and the cool, superior demeanor he exuded when the interviewed him in his office has vanished. Like his son, he's a man who has stepped over the edge – and judging from the expression on his face, he doesn't want to even try to return.

"I'm afraid it does," Bobby's tone is low and calculating. "You see, your daughter's murder is my case – and if you kill Abby, that will be my case too."

"The bitch ruined everything," Markham hisses. "She deserves to die."

"Which one ruined everything?" Bobby tilts his head, his fury apparent as his tone becomes smoother - dangerous. "Abby or Amy? They both certainly messed up your idea of how their lives were supposed to be. They both ruined your legacy – just like you're doing right now by holding a gun on your own daughter."

"Abby's been a thorn in my side from Day One," Markham tells him angrily. "She has it in for me – and so do you. You're threatened by me and you've been waiting to come after me for no good reason since the day you were in my office. I can spot a failed psychologist a mile away, Detective."

Bobby snorts derisively. "Then you haven't looked in a mirror lately."

"You're not fit to wear a badge," Markham retorts.

"And you're not fit to be a parent," Bobby spits the words. "Your own daughter wants you dead or in prison – what does that say about you?"

"There is nothing wrong with my parenting skills," Markham snarls.

"He killed my mother and he thinks he's a good parent," Abby tells Bobby, her voice cutting through the thick air between the two men. She is still holding her gun on her father and her stance is the only one that is unwavering. It's as though she's been planning this moment for a long time – and Alex guesses that she has.

Abby vents to Markham: "You were tired of using her as your test subject and she was ruining your reputation in Upper East Side society so you wanted to be rid of her. But heaven forbid you should dirty your own hands so you got Andrew to do it for you." Her voice cracks. "He was six! He loved the zoo and cartoons on TV and you made him a murderer! He killed his own mother! And worst of all, you think this makes you some sort of genius. You make me sick!"

"I didn't kill her!" Markham alters his position so that he can see both she and Bobby more clearly. He waves the gun a bit erratically and Alex winces with fear. One slip of a finger and it's all over.

"No – you got a child to do it for you!" Abby raves. "An innocent child! And to hear you tell it, it proves that you're a brilliant psychologist worthy of all of those ridiculous accolades people heap on you. You're a murderer – and a coward – and I think it's about time the world knew it."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Markham argues, eyes glinting dangerously. "You never do – the only thing you care about is ruining me. You've been out to do it since you were nine years old."

"Andrew was a child!" Abby repeats, shouting. "He was a child and you turned him into a murderer – who does a thing like that?"

"Your mother was sick," Markham tries to put her off. "She was tired and she…"

"She didn't deserve to die!" Abby screams.

"You don't understand," Markham lowers his tone. "You don't remember clearly what it was like…"

"Hey, I understand where you're coming from," Bobby jumps in, switching to an icy, soothing tone while he inches closer to Markham. Alex can still recognize the anger hidden behind his words, though. He doesn't want to kill Markham – but he certainly wants to get his hands on him. Bobby continues: "Living with a person who has a mental disorder is very hard. You want to help them in any way you can…"

"Oh he helped her alright," Abby fumes, her voice still cracking and angry. "Just like he helped us growing up. Do you know what it's like, Detective, to grow up in a household where your father tries to predict your every upcoming behavior based on statistical data from your age group? Where your father manipulates your siblings to see how it will effect their development so he can write some paper on it?"

Bobby shifts his attention to her briefly. "That's why you and Amy took care of Andrew. You were protecting him. You, Abby, you personally tried everything you could to protect him from your father – you even developed a drug habit to draw attention to you and away from Andrew."

Alex is inching forward as unobtrusively as possible, trying to get closer to the scene in case things go bad, still clinging to the hope that Bobby can diffuse it before anyone gets hurt. So far, he's doing all right, but her heart still races with fear. There are a lot of things she's never said to Bobby, little things like the fact that she loves the sound of his laugh, the genuine one that rumbles out of his chest so rarely. It's entirely different from the one he affects when they're working undercover or the half-laugh he gives when something strikes him as mildly amusing and she doesn't think it's a sound she can ever get enough of.

Now she can only pray she'll hear it once more.

"She was on drugs because she lacks self-control," Markham snarls to Bobby. "Making me look like a bad parent was just a happy bonus for her."

"Maybe," Bobby agrees with a waggle of his head. "But after you sent her to rehab and then college, things got better. Amy made peace between all of you – I can only imagine how hard that was for her to do."

"And then he got Andrew to kill Amy," Abby is still fighting mad and agitated by Bobby's attempt at disarming the situation. If anything, he's getting calmer and she's getting panicky.

"Amy was killed by a robber!" Markham shouts at her.

"No she wasn't. Andrew told us the truth," Bobby shakes his head. "He told us everything. Abby's right."

"You'd take the word of a crazy person over a respected psychologist?" Markham is raving – an ironic contrast to his words.

"If Andrew's crazy, it's because you made him that way," Abby tells him.

"I did no such thing," Markham's face reddens. "You cops are all the same – lying, filthy…"

"Yeah, we're not all educated doctors like yourself," Bobby taunts. He's toying with the doctor again. "Some of us are just failed psychologists. Funny thing though, we're right a lot of the time."

"You bastard," Markham's voice is dangerously low. His gun is still pointed at Bobby's chest and his finger twitches on the trigger.

And then Alex has another flash – an image flits across her mind's eye of the days, weeks, and even months after Michael died. She remembers sitting in the apartment all alone after her friends and family departed, listening to the sound of the clock ticking, the refrigerator cycling, and her own sobs, all the while wondering if the silence that seemed to press around the everyday noises would ever be filled. And now she has Bobby, whose presence is so loud in her life that she sometimes wishes for just a few seconds of peace and quiet, an evening without a phone call to share a new insight or a night with dreams that don't convey his voice. Yet then she hears that laugh and it makes the silence seem much too small.

Bobby flashes a white grin – a sardonic one – at Markham and says, "Oh yeah, you did write one article – 'The Guilty Child,' I believe it was called – that you might want to revise and submit for re-publication. I bet those psychology journals would love to get their hands on it once this all goes public."

"You're taunting me, Detective," Markham's voice comes up again and he squints at Bobby, trigger finger relaxing again. "You're attempting to provoke me by belittling my authority. I bet it's a tactic that works for you an awful lot, given that you're rather practiced at it. But you're also angry – I can sense that. Are you angry with me or with your own father – that's the real question. In the meantime, though, I'm guessing you'd like to just shoot me to save time."

"I know I would," Abby puts in while Bobby gives the slow, agonizing blink that indicates Markham's words have hit home and he's regrouping.

"You stupid little girl," Markham says to her in a superior tone, diverting his attention from Bobby for a moment. "You think you're so far above all of this when in reality you're no better than anyone else. You slept with your sister's fiancé on the night before her wedding, for God's sake. It's the kind of thing I expect from you, I suppose – the kind of thing I've been cleaning up after for years."

"Yes I did," she nods. Then she tilts her head in Goren-esque fashion and her voice becomes conspiratorial. "And you know what the funny part is? You went to a lot of trouble – a lot of cleanup - for nothing. Keith would have been at that church on Saturday. He would have married Amy and I would have let him. You made Andrew kill her for nothing."

"You lie," Markham hisses dangerously. Bobby is inching closer to Markham while the doctor is distracted.

Abby's face flickers with the briefest of hesitations, and then something else washes over her – acceptance, Alex thinks, but it's gone before she can really identify it. Abby tells her father evenly and with finality: "They'd be on their honeymoon in Barbados right now and you'd be prepping for the Today show. Your obsession with your ridiculous legacy just took out everything you've spent your entire life working for."

Markham's eyes widen and the moment of truth arrives.

Bobby must sense it too and now everything is happening in slow motion – or at least it seems that way to Alex:

Markham whirls to face Abby at the same time that Bobby hurls himself into motion. He'll try to protect her, Alex knows – he'll die to protect her because he empathizes with her – understands her pain – and because he hates to lose. He'll take the bullet meant for Abby and not think twice.

Markham fires.

Abby moves too, so that at the last possible second she is in front of Bobby, firing her own weapon at her father.

Alex has a clear shot and fires at Markham.

Bobby and Abby fall, two bodies twisting in midair and landing with a dull thud.

Markham crumples to the floor, mortally wounded by the two rounds fired by the women.

Alex rushes forward, only halfway hearing the SWAT detail clamoring in behind her, barking into their radios.

And then silence.

For a long moment, Alex hears absolutely nothing – not even the sound of her own pounding heart – nor does she see anything but blurry shapes as she races across the room in the direction of where her partner lays on the floor.

Then a welcome and familiar voice cuts through the chaos and asks, "Eames, you okay?"

Suddenly the scene before her is clear: Bobby is sitting up, his blue shirt stained with blood that Alex instantly knows is not his.

"Are you okay?" she wants to know, reaching him in two strides and crouching, feeling her knees shake and putting her hands on them to steady herself.

He nods hastily and is already in motion, attempting to staunch the floor of blood from Abby's chest. "I need an ambulance here! Officer down!"

Behind the detectives, the SWAT team checks the body of Donald Markham and indicate that he's dead while a tall blond officer follows Bobby's order and radios in a 10-13 – officer down.

Abby is on her back and her eyes don't seem able to focus as she gasps for breath. There is a question there, though – one that Alex answers.

"He's gone," she tells her softly. She leans her shoulder against Bobby's to touch him and make sure he's really there. It's all she can do for now because he's caught up in the last battle of the day, the one to save Abby's life. He lost against Markham – the psychologist has taken the easy way out – and Alex knows that to lose Abby too will indicate an utter and complete failure to her partner.

Abby inhales sharply and manages to croak, "Take care of Andrew for me. He doesn't deserve prison."

"We'll make sure he gets help," Bobby assures her. How he can sound so together after what just happened, Alex isn't sure. Bobby's shoulder is the only thing keeping her world from spinning out of control right now.

Abby gives a small, weak smile. "My father should have read more Faulkner – if he had, he might have seen this coming."

And with a final gasp, she ceases to be.

"Dammit," Bobby hisses, rising and waving his bloodied hands in frustration. He looks down at Abby's prone form again and repeats the word with more force: "Dammit!"

He stalks out of the apartment, past the SWAT officers securing the scene and the paramedics who have arrived to late. Alex knows he's headed outside for fresh air.

Bobby hates to lose.

She glances at Abby one last time. Abby hated to lose too – as did her father. Pitted head to head, neither was in a position to win and ultimately their similarity proved to be their undoing. In fact, in this situation, there were no winners – except maybe Alex, and her prize is the very tall and distraught man waiting for her outside.

She finds him leaning against the driver's door of the Explorer, staring at the sidewalk and garnering stares from passersby at the bloodstains on his shirt and hands. He's frowning and everything about his stance suggests that he wants to be left alone, but Alex knows that he'll let her in. He has no one else to turn to – no one who will understand anyway.

And neither does Alex.

She walks over, leans up beside him so that her shoulder rests on his arm and asks a question, the first one that comes to mind.

"So what did she mean when she said that thing about Faulkner?"

Bobby turns and looks at her quizzically for a brief moment before he gives a shake of his head as though to clear his thoughts. He answers, "In the end of Absalom, Absalom, the entire family dies except for one son and he's crazy."

Alex nods thoughtfully. "I guess Markham should have read the book then."

"It was better than anything he ever wrote," Bobby's frown returns.

"Bobby, you couldn't…" she starts to say before he interrupts.

"I know." A wave of his bloody hand to stop the flow of her words.

"You can't win all the time," she tries another tact, the words sounding hollow to her own ears.

He looks at her for a long moment. "I wanted to win this one."

"I know," she nods in understanding and they stand side by side in silence, waiting for CSU to arrive. There's nothing else they can do for the Markham's now.