The night before, after the diner conversation, after she'd dropped Bobby off, after she'd parked the SUV in her garage, and after she'd dragged her tired ass up to her apartment, she'd still been unable to sleep.
Dammit.
She rolled over onto her back in her darkened bedroom and stared up at the ceiling.
Did she have post-partum depression? Was all the ibuprofen affecting her brain? What was it?
The baby was where he belonged, she had no doubt of that.
Her work still meant what it always did.
But just as her pelvis was now permanently spread wider, her ribs opened further, her breasts made heavier. Just as these had changed and could not be returned to their previous form no matter how much diet or exercise she employed... Just as all of this was now her, so too had come a sort of shift within that she was at a loss to explain.
She'd been opened up and had given in the most basic and intimate of ways.
And she had been closed and silent for such a long time before.
Since that noisy night of bullets.
But here she was. Open again.
What the hell was she supposed to do about that?
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"What do you know?" Deakins called as he rushed from the elevator and down the hall toward him.
Bobby looked up at him from where he was pacing before a pair of closed doors.
Deakins took in his blood-spattered appearance and dazed look.
"Nothing yet. I... I rode the ambulance over with her. She was unconscious when we got in."
"Fucking drunk driver most likely," spat Deakins. "You both could have been killed!"
Bobby waited quietly until he was finished.
"I... uh..." he began, running his hand over his coarse hair, struggling for something to hold onto.
"The case..."
"Don't worry about the case right now, Bobby. I'll have Lampley and Valdez follow up on some stuff tomorrow."
Bobby nodded absently.
"I tried to keep her awake... head wound..."
Deakins looked sharply at him then.
"Bobby, have they checked you out? I think you might be in shock. Maybe you should see a doctor yourself."
"No, I'm fine. I'm waiting here to hear about her," he said softly, glancing back at the closed doors again.
"Okay, Bobby."
"Is there any news?"
They both turned to a pretty brown-haired woman who was hurrying past the nurses station. The usually merry crinkles around her eyes creased with concern.
"Sylvia," said Bobby, "I... no, there's no news."
"Are you alright, Bobby?" she demanded immediately. "You're awfully pale. Maybe we need to get you to a chair someplace..."
"No, god dammit!" Bobby shouted, as he turned and paced away from Deakins and his wife. "I. Am. Staying. Here. Until I know something!"
They lapsed into silence immediately.
He looked up at them, "I'm... sorry. I just..."
"It's all right, Bobby," soothed Sylvia. "We understand."
Bobby nodded.
They all turned as one then as the doors finally, miraculously, swung open.
"Detective Goren? Captain Deakins?"
"Yes?" they answered the doctor together.
"I am Dr. Raijmura. Detective Eames has given her permission for me to inform you of her condition."
"How is she?" demanded Deakins.
"They're cleaning her up now, she's still pretty groggy. The head wound received six stitches and she has a concussion. You did well to keep her awake for as long as you did, Detective Goren. Two ribs on her left side are badly bruised and a third fractured, but, at this point, there appears to be no internal bleeding. I'm here to tell you that if not for the side airbags, I would be making a much more serious report to you. I need to keep her for the night for observation, but will send her home tomorrow afternoon. The weather has overrun us with some pretty severe accidents."
"She's... she's going to be okay then?" checked Bobby.
The doctor smiled at him, "Yes, she will."
He sighed then, dropping his forehead into his hand.
"She's still pretty out of it, but I understand that she recently had a baby?"
"Yes. She was a surrogate for her sister," supplied Deakins.
The doctor raised his brows, "Really? Admirable. Well, I'm guessing there may have been some complications at the time? It was difficult to get information from her."
Bobby's head snapped up.
"Complications? What do you mean?"
"I don't know. Possibly significant blood loss. At any rate, my point is that she's seriously anemic and it should have been caught by now if she's only just had the baby. I'll try to track down her doctor tomorrow."
The three digested that for a moment.
"You can go up to see her in twenty minutes," he concluded. "I will look in on her later."
"Thank you, doctor," said Bobby.
His mind was awhirl. He hadn't let himself think too much about the realities, the details, of Alex giving birth. He'd been so distracted by her absence at the time, and, of course, she'd never said anything later...just a joke now and then. He'd wanted to get back to normal as soon as possible upon her return. Had assumed she did as well.
"I think... I'll sit down now," he said.
The Deakinses exchanged glances.
"I'll get you some coffee," said the Captain, once they had him seated in the nearby waiting area.
Sylvia appraised him for a moment.
"She's going to be fine, Bobby."
He blinked and looked at her.
"She... she had complications. And now, anemia. I should have realized..."
"Oh, make sense, Bobby. How could you?"
"I'm her partner. I didn't even let myself think about... things when she had the baby. Just waited until it was over. And I've known she hasn't been feeling too well lately, not sleeping. I thought she was just readjusting."
Sylvia smiled sympathetically, "She has been readjusting and my experience is that most men don't want to think about it. You weren't the father, Bobby. You had your own job to do."
They sat quietly together for awhile over this, Bobby reevaluating his powers of perception, until Deakins strode towards them again, cup of coffee in hand.
"I've called her parents. They can't get in. Snow plows in Long Island haven't reached the residential areas."
"How'd they take it?" asked Bobby, accepting the steaming cup.
"They're a cop's family. When a call like that comes, they expect the worst. When it's a concussion and bruised ribs, they're relieved."
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He steepled his fingers together as he sat in the dim light.
From all he could gather, Christine Larkins had changed in habit and, though more subtly so, in attitude as well, dating from her return from her fall international tour.
Her dresser found her withdrawn, less likely to laugh.
The Stage Manager for her current show said she no longer came early to hangout with the crew, as she had done with previous productions he'd worked on with her.
Her cleaning woman said she'd given her several boxes of pricey clothes for her teenage daughter. Yet, there'd been no new ones in her closet to replace them. A few evening dresses for performances in her dressing room. At home, sweats, some jeans, a simple black dress. All of the finest quality. But pretty slim pickings for a young, beautiful, international celebrity. And no jewelry to speak of.
And then there was Eames' intuition about the pierced navel. David Drew had said she didn't have it before the tour...
He scrubbed his hand over his face.
If he could just focus, he should be able to make something out of all this...
Instead he sighed and turned again to look at Alex lying in the bed.
She was still asleep. Had been since he'd come up to her room two hours before. He watched her breathe for a moment, her chest rise then fall... then leaned forward when he saw her shadowed face contort slightly.
A shallow word erupted from her then as she began to shift fretfully in the bed, "Stop.."
He rose and went to her bedside.
"It's okay, Eames," he murmured, as he tentatively brushed his fingertips across her brow, pushing her hair aside.
She breathed more deeply, then settled.
"Knock, knock," he turned to the whispered voice at the door.
"Sylvia, come in," he replied softly.
"How is she?"
"Restless."
Sylvia nodded, "We've been to her place. I've brought clothes, a coat, some boots, her toothbrush... you know, the things she'll want to feel human again."
He took the bag she proffered.
"Thank you. They cut her clothes off in Emergency. Eames'll sure be pissed about that coat, it was her favorite," he laughed hollowly.
Sylvia smiled.
"I was glad to do it, Bobby. Can I get you something from the cafeteria before I go?"
"No, that's fine. Hurry back down. Deakins will be anxious about driving you home in the snow."
"I'll call in the morning."
"Thanks again, Sylvia."
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She stood a few feet before him, completely nude.
He took a breath in, openly surveying her body, as she smiled knowingly, waiting for him.
"I'm fine, Bobby," she assured him.
She seemed fine. There were no bruises along her side, no bandage at her temple. Only smooth, pearl-like skin from her throat to her toes...
Which were painted scarlet.
He swallowed.
And looked back up.
Her breasts were fuller than he'd imagined, and the slight, softening of her belly, curving to a thatch of hair below, stirred him.
She was... beautiful. He tried to think of a more meaningful word than this but drew a blank.
"Are... are you sure you're alright?" he checked.
"Of course," she nodded merrily. "Come on..."
She turned and walked away from him then. He, entranced by the way the muscles in her lower back flexed with her strides, jogged after her.
"You should be resting," he told to her when he caught up.
She stopped and turned around, appraising him with an arched brow.
"Why? Don't you want me, Bobby?"
"Alex..." he closed his eyes as if to answer might be painful. "Of course I do."
"But your work is more important?"
He opened his eyes and looked at her, unable to answer.
"Don't agonize so, Bobby," she sympathized. "I'm not leaving you. But we've got now. Tomorrow the building could burn to the ground, but we've got now."
"I need to know there's tomorrow too," he tried to explain.
But she'd come closer now. And then his clothes were gone. Her small cool hand smoothing across his chest. His, seemingly of its own volition, had wrapped around to slide down her back, to cup her and gently squeeze.
She lifted up on tip toe then, stretching her body against his, snaking her arms about his neck, sighing a little moan in his ear. He felt her nipples press against him.
"Oh, God, Alex..." he groaned, wanting all of her then. Wanting all of her and tomorrow too. "Alex..."
"Bobby...
Bobby...
Bobby!"
He startled at the voice and blinked his eyes open.
The hospital room. Morning. Alex. He flicked his eyes to her bed and saw her there, her brown eyes peering at him curiously.
"You were dreaming," she told him with a smile.
He rubbed his eyes and nodded, trying to stretch his cramped limbs.
Then cleared his throat.
"H– how are you feeling?"
"Probably better than you if you slept in that chair all night."