1A/N: I own none of the LO:CI characters. I only own the (so far) two chapters of this story.

Also, "props" to Original Ray's Pizza - the best (IMHO) pizza in NYC

The Value of a Friend

Another Monday morning. Alex arrived to find Bobby already at his desk, as usual. She also took note of the tin of home-baked cookies and brownies that Bobby had placed in the center of their adjoining desks, easily within reach for the two of them to share and enjoy with their morning coffee.

Alex had questioned Bobby as to the origin of the homemade goodies several weeks earlier, the first time he appeared at work with a similar tin. Bobby had explained that they were simply leftovers that had been sent home with him after a get together. It seemed plausible to Alex.

Alex neared her desk: "Good morning" she cheerfully greeted him. "I see you brought breakfast."

"Oh, hi!" Bobby smiled. "Yes, help yourself – – before the Captain sees them!" he joked.

Alex reached across her desk, grabbing Bobby's coffee mug. "Here, let me get you a refill." Bobby smiled a silent "thank you."

Alex returned with their coffee and selected a couple of cookies for herself. "Mmmmmm, delicious," she smiled. Bobby nodded in concurrence.

"So," Alex continued, "your family have another get together this weekend?"

Bobby stammered, "oh, um...yeah." He felt himself blushing at being caught not remembering his previous lie.

Alex leaned forward in her chair, scrutinizing him. "You're blushing! You have a girlfriend!" she exclaimed. She was only partially teasing him. She had felt a twinge of jealousy at the thought of some other woman taking care of Bobby; baking for him. She kept observing him, thinking to herself, "well, they say the way to man's heart is through his stomach...but Bobby...with some 'Suzie Homemaker' type?"

Bobby stared back at Alex, his face full of surprise and indignation at her comment/accusation. "I don't ha-have a girlfriend."

"Uh-huh," Alex teased... "Well, whoever she is, she's an excellent baker," Alex ribbed him, forcing a fake smile and doing a poor job of hiding her sarcasm and pang of jealousy – especially from the observatory powers of one Robert Goren.

Bobby became more emphatic in his denial. He lowered his voice to a hush, "I do not have a girlfriend." Alex merely raised her eyebrows, giving Bobby that look of hers that meant "yeah, right."

Bobby persisted, "Can we talk about this later?"

"Oh, so there IS someone you wanna' talk about," she chided him. "Okay, drinks after work?"

Bobby shook his head, "no, somewhere private."

Bobby's request for privacy both peaked her curiosity and caused her to worry. Alex attempted to play it cool, trying to mask the growing concern in the pit of her stomach. Bobby looked serious; he looked like he had something to confess.

"My place, then?" Alex suggested. Bobby nodded in agreement.

Alex picked up the stack of files from her "IN" box and went to work. She was almost now dreading 6 o'clock, fearful of hearing what Bobby might have to say. "Damn it," she cursed herself, "Why did I have to be so nosey? Why couldn't I just eat the damn cookies and shut up?"

As quitting time approached, Alex could sense Bobby getting "antsy." He was now actually anxious to get back to Alex's apartment so they could talk.

They barely spoke on the drive to Alex's. Bobby could sense her tension. His thoughts took him back to earlier that morning – he replayed it in his head: "I almost felt flattered. There was no hiding the jealousy in her voice when she accused me of having a girlfriend –and also no masking the hurt in her eyes – but it was so damn cute of her to try." He was amused by it.

Bobby knew Alex far too well for her to successfully pull off that type of deception.

They entered her apartment and, as they had done a hundred times before, Bobby headed for the couch while Alex went to the fridge to get each of them a cold beer.

"You want some chips?" she offered.

"No, th-thanks."

Alex sat beside him on the couch. "Well, here we are. You wanted to tell me something." It was both a statement and a question.

Bobby took a large gulp of his beer, shifting nervously in his seat. "Um, about this morning."

"Uh-huh," Alex nodded.

Bobby continued: "The cookies, the brownies...they weren't baked by any girlfriend."

Alex tried to hide the relief of the unwinding knot in her stomach. "So, who then?" She asked.

Bobby looked at her with those piercing brown eyes. "H-her name is C-Catherine."

Alex raised her eyebrows, waiting for more details, nodding at Bobby to continue.

"Catherine Ta-Tagman."

Alex's jaw dropped in astonishment, looking at Bobby with disbelief.

"Don-don't look at me like that." It was both a command and a plea.

"I don't know what to say, Bobby."

"Just hear me out" he asked. Alex gestured with her hand, giving bobby the "ok" to continue.

He tried to look at her, but maintaining eye contact was difficult. He thought that this conversation was a mistake, after all, but it was too late to turn back. "You know how I felt about that case..."

Alex interrupted: "I'll say! How could I forget?" she snapped at him, but instantly wishing she could take her words back when she saw the hurt look on Bobby's face."

"I'm sorry." She inched closer to him and put her hand on his knee. "Go ahead, tell me." Her voice had softened; her body language gave Bobby the confidence to continue.

They were each on their third beer and eating leftover slices of Ray's pizza. Bobby had been talking non-stop about how he had been haunted by the case and its outcome; how he had felt ostracized for his opinions; how he felt compelled to visit Catherine Tagman to return the precious item from her son's childhood; to tell her about his understanding of why he did the terrible deeds he did; to make sure she knew of her son's heartfelt confession.

They were difficult things for a mother to hear, but Catherine was genuinely grateful to Bobby for his compassion towards John and herself and for his taking the time to make the trip and tell her everything about her son's final days.

Bobby continued, telling Alex about how he and Catherine had talked for hours. How Bobby had listened patiently, empathetically, to Catherine's stories of how John's actions had affected her life. How she, too, had been ostracized by her community, even being forced to quit her gardening club, losing her so-called friends, and having to endure the stares and whispers every time she ventured to the hair dresser or grocery store. She knew what people were saying: "That's the cannibal's mother," or "Her son is that crazy murdered..." She no longer wanted to leave her house.

Alex listened attentively as the flood-gates of Bobby's pent-up thoughts and feelings over the past few months came rushing out. It was a tremendous relief to Bobby to get these things off his chest, out in the open; even more of a relief to him was the compassion he was now seeing in Alex's eyes as he told his story.

Bobby told Alex about how Catherine had invited him to stay over when, after talking for hours, it became too late for him to make the long trip home. He had slept in John's old bedroom –a room frozen in time from his high-school days; about how well he had slept that night, for the first time in months, and how he awoke the next morning to the scents and sounds of coffee brewing, cinnamon rolls baking and bacon and eggs frying. It reminded him of Sunday mornings when he was a boy – before he turned 7 and his world was turned upside down.

Although Alex was still listening sympathetically, Bobby noticed a look of concern in her eyes.

"There's still something wrong," he quietly said. "I thought you were understanding all this, but.."

Alex interrupted: "I don't know, Bobby. I mean, I just can't help but wonder if this is really helping her. I mean, you can't take her son's place – you can't go on pretending, like you're some kind of substitute for the good, normal son she never had."

Bobby looked at her, almost in disbelief – she wasn't "getting it." "Th-that's not it, besides, she did have a good, normal son, un-until he got sick." He took another large gulp, finishing off his beer.

"Well, what is it then?" Alex questioned.

Bobby leaned forward on the couch, resting his head in his hands. He couldn't look at her. "Maybe it's me, Eames. Maybe I'm the one pretending. Maybe sh-she's the substitute for the normal mother I never had."

The room fell silent. Alex's hand alternately stroking the curls on the back of Bobby's head, then rubbing his back, trying to console him. She didn't know what to say.

No words were needed. He sat. Still. Enjoying the comfort of her touch. It spoke volumes.

End.