1A/N: Again, thanks to all who reviewed. It's much appreciated. This chapter still deals with Bobby's hospitalization. I know it can sometimes be as tedious to read dialogue as it is to write it, but I think it's necessary for the proper development of the story and the level of bonding that I want Bobby to reach w/ Dr. Rizzo. (After all, Bobby's only been the hospital one night – I know we all want him to get well, but it can't happen that fast. :-)

Deakins' head was throbbing. His usual ½ hour commute had turned into almost and hour and a half, thanks to the idiot who tried to take his 14' tractor trailer through a 13' 9" underpass. What added to his aggravation was his inability to get through to Dr. Rizzo. He had called three times, only to be told that the doctor was making his morning rounds. Deakins wondered if Bobby was among the patients he was seeing and how is detective was doing. He was only two blocks from the hospital when he cell phone rang.

"Deakins."

"Good morning, Captain Deakins, Dr. Rizzo returning your call."

"How's Bobby, doctor? I'm just about a block away."

"Good. Why don't you come right up to see me and I'll give you an update."

"I'll be there in 10." Deakins hung up, navigated his way around a double-parked car and made his way to the parking garage.

A nurse was exiting Rizzo's office as Deakins arrived. The doctor rose from his desk and extended his hand. "Good morning...again."

"G'morning. So, how is he?"

Rizzo placed a hand on Deakins' shoulder. "C'mon, we'll look in on him." Deakins wasn't sure how he felt about the invitation. On one had, he liked seeing things for himself; on the other, the sight of Bobby in that condition, in the restraints, unsettled him. They reached to door to Bobby's room and Rizzo gestured for Deakins to have a look.

Deakins saw Bobby sleeping peacefully, on his side, his left arm slung over the pillow. He turned to look at Rizzo – Rizzo could see the relief on his face. "The restraints are off?"

Rizzo nodded and smiled. Yes, I took them off this morning. Bobby and I had a nice long talk..almost an hour, and I felt they were no longer necessary.

"Let's go back to my office and talk," Rizzo said, as he put his hand lightly on Deakins' back.

As they walked down the hall, Rizzo caught a sideways glance of Deakins rubbing his temple. "Headache already, Captain?"

Deakins shrugged. "I don't know if it's a new one, or a continuation of yesterday's," he joked.

Once back in Rizzo's office, the doctor poured a glass of water from the pitcher on his credenza and produced a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol from his desk drawer. He offered them to Deakins, "Here, these should help." Deakins took two capsules and gulped them down with the water, thinking to himself, "Glad it wasn't Nycedrol."

"So," Rizzo began, "Without violating any patient confidentiality, let me give you an update. I checked on Bobby first thing this morning." Rizzo noticed expression. He continued, "He gave me permission to call him that. Anyway, he was responsive, coherent, cooperative, all his vital's good. He's feeling the effects of his grief deeply – it's going to take a while."

Deakins questioned, "But he's okay...he's not..."

Rizzo answered the question before it was asked. "No, in my opinion, he's not suicidal. It was just the grief...the emotional pain he was feeling made him act out."

Deakins sighed, "Well, that's a relief. When's he getting discharged?"

Rizzo sat forward, folding his hands on the desk. "State law mandates that patients admitted under a suicide watch must be observed for a minimum of 72 hours. I'm going to move him to a different room once he wakes up – it'll be more comfortable for him. We'll get him something to eat and I plan to spend some more time with him later."

Deakins pushed his chair back to rise. "Do yo mind if I look in on him again? Maybe he's awake now."

Rizzo stood, but hesitated. "If he is awake, I'll have to ask him if he wants to have a visitor."

Deakins nodded, "I understand."

Bobby had just begun to stir; rolling onto his back and stretching his lengthy limbs with a yawn and a groan. He laid still and assessed himself. He felt better after his nap. It was a dreamless sleep, free of the horrible images that had tormented him the previous night.

The doctor looked in the window and watched as Bobby ran his hands over his face and through his hair. He nodded at Deakins, "He's awake. Just give me a minute." Deakins nodded in agreement.

Dr. Rizzo entered the room. "How're you feeling?"

Bobby sat up, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. Rizzo stood before him; "You feel up to seeing someone?"

Bobby's eyes met his. "Who?", he asked, with some trepidation.

"Your Captain."

Bobby looked down at the floor. "Is Carver with him?"

Rizzo shook his head, "No, he's alone." Bobby nodded affirmatively.

Rizzo touched his shoulder, "I'll be right back. I'm going to have Captain Deakins wait for you in your new accommodations." He noticed Bobby's inquiring look. "A room across the hall – it'll be more comfortable."

Deakins sat alone in the room, "Not bad," he thought to himself. "Built-in cabinets, table, chairs, a flat screen TV mounted on the wall, full size bed...pictures." He opened the door to the bathroom and nodded his head in approval, "nice...tile...shower stall."

Rizzo crouched and reached under the bed, producing a pair of slippers. Bobby expected Rizzo to hand the slippers to him but, instead, Rizzo held Bobby's ankle and placed the slippers on his feet, first the left, then the right. The gesture made Bobby feel both uncomfortable and comforted at the same time. He felt self conscious at being taken care of – – as if he were a child, yet a part of him liked it. He had a momentary memory of his mother tying his sneakers when he was little boy. He looked bashfully at Rizzo, "Th-thank you."

Rizzo stood, "No problem...you ready?" Bobby shook his head yes.

They began their trek across the hall, Bobby feeling conspicuous in his hospital pajamas. He realized his embarrassment was self imposed; none of the staff had even given him a second look.

Rizzo opened the door for Bobby, "I'll leave you two men alone." The comment didn't escape Bobby's notice. He thought to himself, "Two minutes ago he's putting my slippers on like I'm a kid...now he makes a point of saying 'men.' He's trying to make me feel cared for...safe...while at the same time trying to restore my adult self esteem...after that fiasco I caused yesterday...this guy's pretty good."

Bobby entered the room, finding Deakins half in/out of the bathroom doorway. Deakins turned to him, "Just checking out the new digs. How're ya' feeling?"

Bobby sighed, "I'm okay." They stepped towards each other –and awkward second where neither knew what to do – until Deakins opened his arms and they gave each other a hug.

They each took a seat at the table. Deakins spoke first. "Rizzo says you've got at least two days to go in here."

Bobby nodded, "I figured as much... If only I hadn't..."

Deakins stopped him. "Bobby, nobody ever knows how they're gonna' react..it's not your fault. I'm just glad you're all right."

"I want to be back at work," Bobby sighed.

Deakins knew just how he felt. "Don't worry, you will be."

Bobby looked down at his hands; he was absent-mindedly tapping the table. "H-how's Alex's family." His eyebrows were furrowed; he didn't look the Captain in the eye.

"It was rough...at first...you know, but uh, she's from a long line of cops...they took it hard, but they're dealing with it," Deakins answered, as he saw the next question in Bobby's eyes. He saved his favorite detective the pain of asking it. "No arrangements have been made yet. I'm guessing it'll be a few days – – they have family flying in and, ummm, nothing's gonna' happen 'til you're out of here." Deakins continued, trying to put Bobby at ease, "Nobody knows you're here, Bobby...except Carver. He can keep his mouth shut. Back at the office, everybody knew you used your personal time to stay...um, here...now they're assuming you're on your bereavement time."

Bobby breathed a sigh of relief. There was silence. Bobby looked at his Captain, noting the telltale signs of one of his headaches. "How are you?" he asked.

"I'm okay...woke up with a headache but, uh, your doctor gave me some Tylenol. Rizzo...he seems like an okay guy."

Bobby nodded in concurrence, as Deakins rose from the table. "I'd better get to the office...my desk is probably buried." He immediately wanted to kick himself for his poor choice of words.

"Thanks; thanks for coming," Bobby was saying, as he and Deakins exchanged a farewell hug, patting each other on the back, as Rizzo entered the room. The Captain shook the doctor's hand and thanked him as he exited.

"Your snack is here; you ready to eat?"

Bobby nodded. Rizzo brought the tray from the corridor and placed it on the table, taking a seat. Bobby joined him, all of a sudden feeling a bit embarrassed at his menu choice. Rizzo removed the lid from the tray, revealing the pile of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and two containers of chocolate milk.

Rizzo tried to put him at ease. "You like grape or strawberry jelly?"

"Grape."

Rizzo reached for a sandwich wedge, "Strawberry for me. I hope you don't mind if I join you...I didn't have breakfast.

Bobby sincerely doubted that Rizzo really wanted to be partaking in his "gourmet" breakfast. He wondered what lengths the doctor was willing to go to, to earn his trust: first, undoing the restraints; then the thing with the slippers, making him feel like a kid; then the affirmation of his manhood; now this.

Bobby's perception of the doctor became slightly less jaded as he watched Rizzo reach into the deep pocket of his lab coat and produce a bottle of strawberry Quik.

The two began eating; Bobby realizing how hungry he really was. It surprised him that he could eat, at all.

Rizzo spoke: "You should be a lot more comfortable here. At least there's TV and, um, that cabinet next to the bed is full of books. I'll get you some clean pajamas – you might feel better after a shower and shave." Bobby realized he must look pretty rough around the edges.

"You mind if we talk some more?"

Bobby replied with a question of his own, "Do you treat all your patients like this?"

Rizzo sipped his Quik and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Technically, you're my patient but, um, you're not ill. I see you more as a man who suffered a severe personal loss and tragedy. You need to let yourself grieve so you can start healing. I'd like to do what I can to make that process easier for you."

Bobby remained silent, eating his sandwich. Rizzo did the same, for the moment. He was lost in thought: "I like my new semi-patient; I'm...intrigued by his history...his behavior...that head tilting...the hand gestures are almost non-stop;" Rizzo laughed to himself: "It must've really been torture for him to have those hands tied down." His thoughts continued as he watched Bobby eating: "Look at him...a six foot four inch 210 lb. peanut butter and jelly eating man/child...with a genius IQ. I've gotta get in this guy's head."

They ate in silence for a few more moments, until Rizzo asked: "So, how old were you when your mother's symptoms first presented?"

Bobby took a drink, washing down his last bite of sandwich. "I was seven. She could've been symptomatic before that, but I – – I was first only able to tell that...something was wrong...when I was seven."

Rizzo nodded, throwing a crumpled napkin on the tray before him. "I was eight...my little sister was six."

That got Bobby's attention. "So, I guess you had it rough, too, as a kid?" Bobby asked.

Rizzo nodded. "Yeah; my mother...she took her own life right before I turned 17. We went to live with my grandparents. My sister was about 24 when she became symptomatic.

Bobby looked at Rizzo, his eyes full of understanding, compassion and empathy. Rizzo's slight smile seemed to convey a "thank you." He could read Bobby's face like an open book.

Rizzo raised his bottle of Quik in a "toasting" gesture, "Good to know we're not alone!"

Bobby nodded, sipping his chocolate milk, as the memory of Nelda's voice filled his head: 'It's important to know you're not alone, Robert,' he mocked himself and thought: "Damn! Another memory to haunt me."

Rizzo stood from the table. "Well, back to work for me. Thanks for the company."

"Thank you."

Rizzo took the empty tray, "I'll stop back later. Make yourself at home.

Bobby ran the water, waiting for the hot water to make its way up the pipes. He used the toilet...opened the drawer in the vanity and discovered soap, toothpaste, a new toothbrush, shampoo. He undressed and stepped into the shower, the warmth of the water enveloping him. It felt good. His mind wandered as he began soaping himself, "Now I know what my grandmother meant...she always said that death is hardest on the people left behind..."

He emerged from the shower after 10 or 15 minutes. There had been a rechargeable wet/dry shaver in the shower – it pinched him a little, as his whiskers were too long, but it finally did the job. He dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist, but discovered a clean set of pajamas had been left on the bed by Dr. Rizzo or the nurse, apparently while he was in the shower. He dressed, opened the cabinet by the bed and selected a book.

Bobby flopped on the bed and began turning the pages, soon realized he was looking at the words before him, but not actually seeing them. He closed the book and, instead, grabbed a pillow and turned on his side, as he eyes became sleepy. Without even realizing it, it had begun again. He felt the tears run from the corner of his eye onto the pillow. He drifted off to sleep, asking his grandmother why she always had to be right.

Rizzo did stop back, but peered through the window to see what Bobby was doing. Rizzo looked at him—hugging pillow, fetal position, but this time with a few damp curls clinging to his forehead. Rizzo couldn't help but notice the clean-shaven cheek, "Look at that baby face...bet the ladies can't resist him," he mused. He stood at the door for another minute, just observing. The thing he hadn't told Bobby before was how his mother had killed his baby brother..four years old. She had drowned him in the bathtub during one of her "episodes." He withheld the fact on purpose. Rizzo wasn't trying to get into a pissing contest with Bobby about who had the crappier childhood. What he was trying to do was establish trust, a good rapport...and Rizzo knew it was working.

Deakins had a hectic day at the office. He was deluged with paperwork and telephone calls to return; City Hall, as usual, was breathing down his back. His headache had subsided; he had had a healthy lunch with Carver. He thought of Bobby frequently throughout the day and toyed with the idea of visiting him again on his way home. He didn't like the thought of him being alone.

His phone rang, interrupting him from his work, once again. "Deakins."

"Jimmy, Bill Kowalski at the three-eight. We caught a break."

Deakins perked up, "On Eames?"

"Yeah," Kowalski said, "When can you get here?"

Deakins was already standing, grabbing his jacket. "I'm on my way."

Enc. Chpt. 7