1Before beginning this chapter, I'd like to give a shout out to those who took the time to review. I appreciate the feedback. As you all know, posting stories here is an effort of love– of the show, its characters and just writing, in general. You all know the investment of time required and the trials and tribulations of the thought process to actually get something down "on paper." So, BIG thanks to: Lina-Baggins, The X-Pig, justawriter, Sw33tangelgrl, 08Starbaby08.

An interesting fact (well, to ME, anyway ;-) - This is the 6th story I've post on FanFiction. My other stories have "hits" numbering anywhere from "3" to "18." As of the time of this writing, THIS story has 661 "hits." ! So, either my five other pieces really stink, or this one is really good! LOL

Again, "thanks" to those of you who take the time to review. It's a great (and sometimes my only) incentive to keep on going and get that next chapter out.

Broken Heart, Fragile Mind

Bobby struggled himself to consciousness, fighting off the effects of the sedating medication that had been injected the evening before.

He willed his eyelids to open, but they wouldn't. He was uncomfortable, needing to stretch and roll over, but he couldn't.

Thoughts began flashing through his mind as he became more alert. Were they memories of a terrible nightmare or the truths of an even more terrible reality. He couldn't summon enough clarity in his mind to discern.

His eyelids fluttered momentarily, but nothing would come into focus. He laid still, now using his ears and that infamous nose to gather information: clean, sterile air...antiseptic...muffled voices, activity–peoples' footsteps, phones ringing, loudspeaker paging doctors. He spoke to himself, somehow finding comfort in putting the pieces together, "I must've been in a car accident, or shot...I'm in a hospital." He began taking inventory, "I can feel my legs, my arms, move my toes and fingers, turn my head...I'm not paralyzed...I'm all right...there's no oxygen on my face...no heart monitor beeping..." He froze at the thought.

"Oh God...the monitor stopped beeping. It wasn't a dream...it was real." Tears once again welled up in his eyes. It all came rushing back. Raw wounds to his heart and mind. The sickening reality overwhelmed him, panic set in, adrenaline surging, finally enabling him to force his eyes open. He looked around the room: nothing. ..nothing but the bed he was in...strapped in. The tears made Bobby's vision blurry, so he tried turning his head, attempting to wipe his eyes on his shoulders, but couldn't reach. He laid his head back down and began sobbing – uncontrollable, mournful sobbing. He cried at the pain of losing Alex, the thought of never again seeing her smile or hearing her voice; he cried for himself – and felt guilty for being selfish – but he couldn't stop.

Dr. Rizzo had arrived early that morning to attend to his normal rounds but, especially, to check on the status of Detective Goren. Rizzo had spent the better part of the previous evening going through Bobby's personnel file – everything from his first rookie assignment right up through 11 days ago. The doctor took special note of Bobby's medical/personal history and the regulatory "fitness for duty" psych evaluations. He was quite impressed and definitely intrigued by his new patient.

The doctor peered through the small window in the door of Bobby's room and saw that Bobby was awake; he was coughing from the tears and phlegm caused by his latest crying jag. Dr. Rizzo grabbed the box of Kleenex from the corner of the nurses' station and punched in the combination on the lock of Bobby's room.

Deakins awoke that morning after a fitful night of tossing and turning. He felt like hell. The only good thing that had happened to him yesterday was the stiff drink and the hug that his wife had for him upon his arrival home. He felt a headache coming on and it was only 7:15 a.m.

His wife had asked him if he wanted breakfast, but he declined, "Just some coffee, hon. I wanna' get back over to the hospital and check on Bobby before I head to the office."

As he drove towards the city, a hundred thoughts swirled through his mind. He silently went through his mental list: "First, how's Bobby? I hope that no media got hold of any information about what had happened at the hospital yesterday...I doubt it, but you never know who's watching; second, Eames' family and the funeral arrangements; third, the status of the hunt for the gunman...I wanna' nail that bastard; fourth..."

Bobby heard the door handle move and tried to look through bleary eyes at the figure that had entered the room.

"Good morning, Detective Goren. I'm Doctor Rizzo. How are you feeling today?" The doctor approached the beside and gave Bobby a small smile, as he took some Kleenex, dabbed Bobby's eyes and wiped his nose and upper lip, where tears and mucous had been running.

Bobby turned his face away–partially in protest and partially in embarrassment.

"Well," the Doctor continued, "You've been through quite an ordeal. Do you remember any of it?"

The thought process of answering sped through Bobby's mind. Bobby looked at the doctor, pretending to still be blinking away tears. He didn't want to show anger, contempt or any other negative emotion. He knew how to play the psychology game; he quickly went through his emotional-response Rolodex —just as he had once advised "Chops" to do–– looking for an appropriate response that the doctor would find suitable. After all, Bobby surmised, if this is the guy who has the final say as to when I get out of these damn restraints and this hospital, I'm gonna' give him my best performance.

Bobby decided and said to himself, "sad, vulnerable, apologetic, remorseful for my actions...yeah, those'll do."

"Y-yes, doctor, I remember," he said, letting out a heavy sigh; "I'm so sorry for making a spectacle of myself...and for the trouble I've caused."

"I'm very sorry for your loss. I know it's a very traumatic thing."

Bobby looked up at Dr. Rizzo, giving him the best, sad brown eyes he could muster. "Thank you." Bobby made an obvious point of raising his head to view the restraints around his wrists and ankles; he tried to shift his torso, attempting to find a comfortable position, making the doctor notice the discomfort of his situation. Of course, the doctor did.

"I bet you're a little stiff...you were...sleeping for about 12 hours."

Bobby forced a friendly tone...he was in no mood for this banter, but if that's what it was going to take to get him out of here, he'd play along. "I didn't know I was out for that long...I'd just love to stretch and get a washcloth for my face...use the restroom."

Dr. Rizzo smiled. Bobby thought he made a breakthrough. The doctor stepped closer to the bed and looked Bobby straight in the eyes, "I was up most of the night reading your file, Detective Goren. I'll have a nurse bring a warm washcloth...and a urinal."

Bobby sank back into the bed. Defeated.

End. Chpt. 5