The Informant Chapter 5
Bobby was in the throes of depression. He was sad, and he was angry (the main ingredients of clinical depression). He knew why he was angry, being shot had a tendency to make one angry, but he wasn't sure why he was so sad. He figured part of it was that he had been doublecrossed; he had trusted Nicky and paid for it dearly. And that had a tendency to make one a little wary; Bobby had started to lose some of his trust in people. The depression, which unfortunately had a way of tainting one's outlook on life, also instilled in him an apathetic attitude. He was getting to where he really didn't care much about anything, or feel that others really, truthfully, cared about him. And why should they? He knew what he was, someone who was so unlovable that his own father either was completely indifferent to him, or abused him and later abandoned him; his mother had never been able to care for him, either; she tried, but she was schizophrenic and had her own problems. No one had ever really cared for him; that's just the way it went. And a big part of his sadness stemmed from that, and it was manifesting itself in his adult life.
Robert Goren, detective extraordinaire, extremely efficient, sometimes arrogant but always passionate, was caught up in the lonely world of depression. And he needed help.
A few days later, Bobby's doctor, Dr. Adams, came by Bobby's room on morning rounds along with another doctor.
"Morning, Bobby," Adams said pleasantly. "How are you today?"
"Not too bad."
"How's the mental outlook?" Adams asked pointedly.
"Fine," Bobby said, a trifle annoyed.
Adams looked at the tray of food still sitting on Bobby's bed tray, untouched except for the coffee. "Not hungry today?"
"Just don't like hospital food," Bobby answered.
Adams stared at him for a moment, then said, "how about if I set you up to see Doctor –-"
"No," Bobby said simply.
"You do know what depression is, how it works?"
"Would you like the psychiatric clinical definition, or the simple layman's term?" Bobby asked cynically.
"Alright," Adams said. "We'll talk about that later. But I am going to put you on some anti- depressants for a while, and we'll see how that goes. In the meantime, you ready to get that shoulder fixed?"
"Hell, yeah!" Bobby said, with a little excitement in his voice. But just a little.
"Well, then, this is Doctor Ghiradi. Doctor Ghiradi, Detective Bobby Goren. Doctor Ghiradi will be performing your surgery."
The two men shook hands, and Ghiradi looked once more at Bobby's chart. "Looks like you've had a rough go of it…"
Bobby didn't comment.
"We'll need to run a few more tests today," Ghiradi continued, "and see if we can get you in surgery…tomorrow? How's that?"
"That'd be great," Bobby replied. Finally.
Later that evening, on her way home from work, Alex Eames stopped by for her nightly visit. They chatted a little, mostly about work, Alex doing most of the talking. Bobby was very quiet. Alex was concerned, she'd never seen him like this before. One of the things Alex told him was the latest on Nicky Jackson.
"He's laying low," Alex said. "We've got feelers out, but nobody seems to know anything."
Bobby just nodded.
"But at least he won't be coming here. We've got more police here than they've got patients."
That got a slight smile from Bobby, which pleased Alex. She was hoping for an outright laugh, but she'd take the little smile.
"He'll turn up," Bobby said. He grimaced, and unconsciously reached for his shoulder, which was really hurting.
Watching him, Alex asked, "So, any news on when they're going to take care of that shoulder?"
"They…uh… ran some tests today," Bobby said vaguely.
"Really? What'd they say? So when's it gonna be?"
Bobby got even quieter. Finally he said, "It's tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? That's great!" Alex said. "So when were you going to tell me? I have to tell the Captain, he'll want to be here, too—"
"You don't have to be here," Bobby said unemotionally.
"I know that—"
"There's no need for anyone to be here."
"Bobby," Alex said, exasperated, "Of course I'm going to be here. I'm not going to let you go through—"
"I'd prefer no one be here," Bobby repeated. "I can pretty much take care of myself." He turned to stare out the window.
Alex was shocked. Where was this coming from? "Fine! If that's the way you want it!"
"That's the way I want it."
Alex was pissed. "Guess I'll be leaving then." She started for the door, then turned back angrily. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe —just maybe—there might be people out there who care for you, truly care for you? Who can see that you're hurting, and want to help?"
"I don't need anyone's help."
"Maybe if you'd just once let someone in—"
"Eames—"
Alex started for the door again. "Good luck with your surgery, Bobby. I guess I'll see you later." And she was out the door.
Once Alex had gotten to the parking lot she calmed down. She could see there really was something wrong with him; he'd told her they started him on anti-depressants. She didn't know what else to do, except wait for them to start taking effect and hope he made it till then.
Bobby was angry, too. Why should he have to let anyone "in"? What good could it possibly do to burden others with his problems? Nobody really understood him anyway. Alex "got" him better than anyone, but even she couldn't really understand. How could she? She'd been brought up in a normal family with two loving parents who cared for, and supported their children both physically and mentally. Hell, she was so well adjusted, she once told him, that she'd been elected prom queen, for God's sake! He, on the other hand, had barely survived his childhood. But survive he did, and on his own, too, and he wasn't about to ask for help now, not at this stage of the game.
He thought about the upcoming surgery. Part of his clavicle had been completely destroyed by the bullet; they were going to have to do a bone graft, and attach it all with a metal plate and screws. Nothing about his ordeal had been easy, and this was no exception. Nicky Jackson had gotten him good.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Come on, Robert, wake up!" the nurse was gently trying to get Bobby to wake up after his surgery. But Bobby didn't want to wake up, he was so tired, so wore out, and both his body and mind wanted sleep.
"Robert! Wake up! C'mon, Robert."
Damn you're getting on my nerves..
But it worked. He was awake now, not necessarily happy about it, but awake from the surgery, although still under the very sleepy effect of the anesthetic.
He again tried to move his arm. It still didn't work, but the reason was that now it was splinted in such a way as to prohibit any movement.
As they wheeled him back to his regular room, drifting in and out of sleep, he wondered vaguely if Eames would be waiting for him. In actuality, Bobby wanted her to be there. In his depressed state of mind he thought of this as a kind of test. Was she angry enough to blow him off when he said he didn't want her there? Or did she know him well enough to know he really wanted her there? If she truly cared about him, like she said, she'd be here, despite his protests.
As they got to his room, and moved him onto his own bed, Bobby tried to look around. He was falling in and out of sleep, but he didn't see her.
"Eames!" he called out. There was no answer.
Alex was not there.
TBC