A/N: Sorry for the delay, my imagination seems to be running dry at the moment. I'm doing my best to kick-start it!
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He was back in the ambulance...
"I've got sixty over forty, we need to get more fluid in her!"
"SpO is at ninety-two; turn the oxygen up to fifteen."
"She's got PERL-no-R. Tell them they're going to need a CT."
"Detective Eames? Can you hear me?"
The woman on the stretcher uttered a tiny gasp, sounding as though she couldn't get enough air in to make a proper one.
"Detective, are you having trouble breathing?"
She opened her eyes and looked directly at him. Her gaze was steady and accusing and he could feel the hate radiating from the stretcher where she lay. "You," she gasped with her last breath. "This is all because of you, B-"
"Bobby!" she tried again, pushing frantically at his shoulder. "Wake up, come on." He had been tossing and turning for close to ten minutes, and she was becoming frightened just from watching him suffer the nightmare. She shifted closer so she could put her arms around him. "Bobby!"
Her voice had never seemed this real in his previous dreams. What was going on? He slowly forced his eyes open. "Eames?"
Figures, she thought. I wake him up at his most vulnerable moment, and he calls me by my last name. Out loud, she said only, "Yes. You were having a nightmare."
He blinked, remembering. "Jesus, this one was worse than the rest."
"What rest?" she asked.
"Uh, I've . . ." He paused, looking down at her and frowning. She was lying pressed against him, warm and soft, and that wasn't safe for either of them when his defenses were down, as they currently were. "Didn't we fall asleep on different sides of the bed?"
She immediately took her arms from around him and moved away. "Sorry. You scared me. I was trying to wake you up." With a sigh, she pushed herself up to a sitting position. "You want to do the tea thing again?"
"Not particularly. I just need to get up and do some work or something," he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
"I thought you said Deakins wasn't letting you work this week," she said.
"There's still work I can do at home, and it's a lot less likely to make me break out in a cold sweat than sleeping is."
"When was the last time you slept more than an hour at a stretch? Not counting just now."
"I, uh . . . it's been a while. But I'm still functional, nothing to worry about."
"Uh-huh. Functional."
"I am."
She cocked her head to the side and studied him for a second. It was beginning to look like guilt might be the only way to get him to do what was good for himself. "But I'm not. This, right now, was the first stretch of sleep I've had with no nightmares in . . . days. Maybe weeks. It helps me to have you here."
"I'll still be in the apartment. Right outside the bedroom."
"And are you going to come in here and wake me up when I have another nightmare about you lying next to me, dead? Your blood mixing with mine on the floor?"
He couldn't suppress a shudder. "Don't."
"Answer me, Bobby. Is that what you want, for me to not be able to sleep either?"
Rather than responding right away, he put two fingers against the side of her neck and was silent for a few seconds before ordering, "Calm down."
"Excuse me?"
"Your pulse is racing. That's not good; you're still replenishing your blood supply."
She sighed in exasperation. "Well, then stop arguing with me! Lay down on the freaking bed!"
"I can't."
"Oh?" she said with a look that said yeah, right. "And why can't you?"
"I . . . I might start thrashing around if I start dreaming again, and I don't want to hurt you."
"Well, then just lie here with me. Don't fall asleep." She knew he wouldn't be able to fight the drowsiness once his head was back on the pillow. "Come on, you only have to put up with me for a few more hours before Deakins comes to take me home."
"He's taking you home? Alone? And leaving you there?"
"Is there something wrong with me being home alone? Besides, that wasn't my point."
"What's wrong wit- . . . Eames, you nearly died two weeks ago! You can hardly move now! You can't stay alone."
She sighed. "Deakins has a wife and kids to take care of, it's not like he can move in with me. If I stayed with my parents I'd be living on the couch, which is a lot less comfortable than I want to be right now. What, you're going to volunteer to be my nursemaid? Come on!"
"But I could!" he blurted out. "I mean, I don't have any other obligations that would prevent it."
She snorted. "Bull. You've barely managed to deal with me for, what, four hours today? And you're going to stay with me for the next week or more? Not happening."
"What does this have to do with me not sleeping?"
"Absolutely nothing. You're the one who changed the subject.
He took a moment to consider his conversational options. Discussing her living conditions of the next few weeks would be a lot less traumatizing than discussing his unrelenting nightmares. "Well, I'd like to get the issue resolved and make sure you're being taken care of."
"I can take care of myself, Bobby. Been doing it for twenty-odd years, and I'm going to keep doing it."
He stood up, towering over her in the way he did to people without even realizing it. "You weren't living with four broken ribs and a head wound for those twenty-odd years."
"I'll get by. I always have." She pushed her hair behind her ears. "Look, I'm still tired. I'm going back to sleep. Stay with me or go, whatever you want." With that, she turned away from him and laid her head on the pillow. Her breathing evened out within seconds.
Bobby simply sat in an armchair and watched her sleep for a while, standing up every now and then to check her breathing and color more closely. Each time, he would put his fingers gently on her wrist to take her pulse, then bend close to listen to her breathing; each time she was perfectly fine and he told himself he was an idiot to sit and stare at her. Each time, he returned to his vigil rather than going to do the work he had told her he was so eager to do.
Just when he was beginning to think he was truly an idiot for feeling like he needed to watch her, she began to toss and turn. A small moan escaped her throat and her body tensed. He jumped up and went to her, putting a hand on her arm and feeling her muscles tighten. She was dreaming again.
He ran his hand all the way up her arm to her shoulder, gripping it gently, and felt her restlessness subside after a second. Interesting, he thought. I wonder if it's . . . He removed his hand and watched as she whimpered and turned her head on the pillow, looking like she was unconsciously seeking something. Replacing his hand, he tried not to feel elated as she immediately quieted. He looked down at her for a long moment, realizing that she hadn't been lying when she said that his presence helped keep her nightmares away.
Knowing that he'd probably regret it but that it would help her, he cautiously stretched out between her and the edge of the bed, sliding his good arm under her head and draping the other lightly over her hip to hold her to him.
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He was just dozing off again after soothing her out of her third bad dream in an hour when his buzzer echoed through the apartment. Both of them started, his arms reflexively tightening around her.
"Ow!" she yelped as his squeeze put pressure on her ribs. "What the . . .?"
"Sorry." He released her and slid off the bed. "Buzzer. What time is it?"
She checked her watch. "Five forty-two. Must be Deakins, come to retrieve me." Shifting so that she was sitting on the side of the bed with her legs dangling, she held out a hand. "Help me up?"
He took her hand and pulled obediently, but said, "I still don't think you should be left alone."
"Then go hire a nurse for me. In the meantime, I'll be taking care of myself."
"Alex . . ."
"Oh," she exclaimed in sarcastic surprise, "now you call me 'Alex'! Now, when you're trying to get me to do what you want. Not happening, buddy."
"I -"
"You going to get my suitcase, or do I need to carry it myself?"
He muttered, "I'm getting it," and snatched the suitcase off the chair.
"Good. Then stop arguing and follow me downstairs." She was happy to find that the sleep had restored her somewhat, and she really felt like she could make it out to Deakins's car under her own power. Take that, Mr. You-can't-take-care-of-yourself, she thought.
Gritting his teeth, Goren followed her out of the apartment, into the elevator, and out the front door.
"Hey!" Deakins said with a grin when they emerged. "You're both still alive! What'd I tell you, Eames?"
She just sighed and shook her head. "Can we skip the object lesson? Please? I just want to get home."
"Uh, sure." Glancing at Goren, whose face revealed nothing, he picked up her suitcase and dropped it into the backseat. "Ready when you are," he told her as he slid into the driver's seat.
She nodded silently and carefully eased herself into the passenger's seat.
"Everything ok?" he asked her when she'd closed the door behind her.
"More or less," she said with a shrug. "You were right about him blaming himself."
"I hope you set him straight."
"I tried, at least." She sighed. "Couldn't tell if he really believed me or not, though."
He patted her hand. "It's a start. Still, you guys looked a little iffy back there."
"Yeah, well, he moved from self-recrimination to overprotectiveness, which is a real pain in the ass."
"Ah. Well, you'll forgive me if I tell you that after what happened, it's not too bad an idea to be protective of you."
Alex just groaned.