When he was sure the man was buried under enough policemen that he wouldn't escape and do more damage, Goren stumbled to where Eames lay in a spreading pool of blood. "Alex!"
"I don't think she's conscious, sir," said one of the men leaning over her. His shirt was open and he was using a large swatch torn from his undershirt as a makeshift bandage for the wound on her head. It didn't seem to be controlling the pulsing flow of blood.
He fell to his knees at the edge of the pool of blood. Her blood. Oh god. He had to force himself to keep breathing as he lifted one of her wrists and felt for a pulse.
It was there, but only barely. Thready and rapid under his fingers. The blood was coming from her head in spurts, he noticed again. Jesus, it's an artery, he thought, not realizing that he also spoke it out loud.
"I think so," said the younger man. "It's . . . bad. Does anyone have something I can use as a bandage?" he called to the room at large.
One man ran out of the room, presumably for a first aid kit, while two others handed over their handkerchiefs.
Looking back at Goren, the man said said, "If you're steady enough for it, could you give me a hand keeping pressure on this?"
Without hesitation, he put his hands down on top of the other man's and pressed. A bolt of pain shot through his right wrist and rivulets of her blood dripped from the sodden cloth and ran over his hands. He wondered if he'd ever be able to wash it off.
Her blood, he thought again, staring down at her pale form. Her blood on the floor, the walls, his hands, his clothes. His fault.
A hand fell heavily on his shoulder. "Bobby," a voice said near his ear. "Bobby, let go. The paramedics are here."
Not moving his hands, he looked up dumbly at his captain. "What?"
"You can move your hands. They're here for her," Deakins said, reaching down and turning Goren's head toward the man, woman, and bright yellow stretcher that had appeared in the room.
He looked back down at his hands, at her under his hands. The blood that saturated everything. Finally, it clicked in his head and he looked at the paramedics with eyes that actually saw them. "I'm . . . sorry." He wasn't sure if he could make himself pull completely away, and he was grateful to feel Deakins grasp his arm to steady him as he stood up.
"She'll be ok," Deakins said, trying to reassure himself as well as Bobby. "Stay with her. You need to get checked out too."
The paramedics slipped in where Goren had been kneeling. Within seconds an IV line was channeling a saline solution into her arm and they were strapping her to a backboard as quickly as they could. "No head blocks," ordered one of them. "We need to keep up the pressure." The board went up, onto the stretcher, and its white linens immediately turned red. The female paramedic followed the board onto the stretcher, straddling Eames. She held the t-shirt scraps against the wound with one hand and kept Alex's head facing directly upward with the other.
"Let's go," said the male medic after checking to make sure that his partner was in a stable position. "Sir, are you coming with us?" he asked Goren.
"Yes! Yes, yes." He felt like he was at half-speed again. Everyone was running, calling, doing something, and he could only stand there, paralyzed.
"Then let's go. We need to get her loaded into the ambulance."
Goren nodded and tried to follow them, but stumbled.
"Whoa!" Deakins said, appearing again at his side. "I'll give you a hand downstairs. You don't look too steady."
He didn't protest, just accepted the support as he trailed the stretcher into the elevator.
"Pulse?" the standing paramedic barked at his partner.
"One forty. We need to fill her up. Does either of you know what blood type she is?" she asked the two other men.
They looked at each other. "Uh . . . A, I think," Goren finally said.
"Drug allergies?"
"None."
"Good," she said as the elevator opened on the ground floor. "Let's move."
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She returned to consciousness quickly, with a jerk, and immediately regretted it when her body exploded in pain. She moaned quietly and decided that she wasn't quite ready to open her eyes, if this was what she had to look forward to.
"Alex?" a voice said, and someone picked up her hand, stroking the back of it. "Alex, come on. Open your eyes."
The voice sounded so sweet. So concerned. It sounded familiar, but she couldn't pin it down. "Hurts . . ." she managed to croak.
There was silence for a moment, and then a quick breath that could have been a sob or just a gasp. "I know, honey, but you have to open your eyes. Wake up for me and the doctor will give you something for the pain."
That was a much better bargain than waking up to pain, pain, and more pain, and she allowed her eyes to flutter open. For a few seconds, she couldn't focus, and all she saw was a large stretch of white that must have been the ceiling.
As her sight began to clear, so did her mind, and she remembered. "Bobby!" she cried, trying to sit up. She didn't know if he was ok. Had the suspect hurt him too? Oh god . . .
Her visitor put down her hand and moved his palm to her cheek, gently turning her head toward him. "I'm right here. Perfectly fine, I promise."
Feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted off of her shoulders, she fell back against the pillows with a sigh. "You're really ok?"
"I'm really ok," he said with a small smile. "Which is more than I can say for you."
"Bobby . . . what happened to me? I mean, I remember him . . . going nuts, but, well, what kind of injuries do I have?" She turned her head toward him, intending to search his eyes, but when she took in his sitting form, all questions about herself were forgotten. His clothes were covered in half-dried blood, from his neck to his thighs. "Oh my god. What happened?"
He held up his hands. "It's ok. It's, uh . . . it's yours, not mine. I'm going to go get your doctor," he said hastily, and left the room before she could respond.
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Two days later, Alex lay in her hospital bed, trying to convince herself that things didn't suck as much as they seemed to. She'd been told of all her injuries: a concussion, a laceration over her temporal artery, four broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a hemothorax. She had more of someone else's blood in her at the moment than her own. The injuries were painful and limiting, but she could deal with that. She would eventually get better and the pain would fade.
What was truly unbearable was the fact that she hadn't seen Bobby since she first woke up after surgery, and she wasn't entirely sure she hadn't just dreamed him then. In the past two days, she'd had visits from just about every family member she'd ever known, as well as an array of police officers she'd worked with over the years. Ron Carver had visited once, and Deakins and his wife had stopped by both of the days she'd been in here.
Each time, Deakins had told her that "Goren said to tell you hello," but that was all he would offer on the condition of her partner.
At least, he used to be her partner. Things weren't looking too positive on that front right now.
When Deakins had come this morning, she'd asked him flat-out what was wrong with Bobby. He'd looked away from her and mumbled something about a lot of paperwork backing up on their desks.
In other words, he was making any excuse he could not to see her.
Did he blame her? That was her biggest fear, and it overshadowed every thought she'd had since she woke up. She'd made herself into a sitting duck. She'd just stood there when the guy had thrown the table at her partner, and when she saw him coming at her, she remembered with shame, her only thought had been, "Oh god Bobby, stop him!" She hadn't even fought back.
Now she was getting all the sympathy and Goren, who'd thrown himself at her attacker to protect her and broken his wrist in the process, was left with . . . paperwork? She couldn't see how he would be able to not blame her, and she was proved right as the days unfolded and she saw neither hide nor hair of him.
He'd rather fill out expense reports than be forced to see her.
With a quiet sob, she turned on her side and curled into a ball, relishing the sharp pain the movement brought. At least the pain gave her something else to focus on.