A/N: I basically have no f-ing clue where I'm going with this story. I'm open to suggestions (please!) from you guys...

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She waved goodbye to Deakins, closed her apartment door, and turned around to lean against it. Home was so comforting, even with two weeks worth of dust covering everything. She gave her suitcase a kick, moving it from just inside the door to the edge of her kitchen wall, and walked deeper into the apartment with a sigh.

Everything was still in its place. She knew her mother had come by a few days ago and re-stocked her fridge and changed her sheets, and she was thankful for it, since it removed two tasks she wasn't sure she could do alone. Making a mental note to call home and thank her mother explicitly, she shuffled into the kitchen to take stock of her supplies. She was now the proud owner of eggs, bread, and a fresh gallon of milk, as well as two boxes of cereal, three of pasta, and a large jar of spaghetti sauce. Her freezer held two pints of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Therapy - thank you, Mom! - and a number of TV dinners.Good, she had more than enough food to get by for a few days until she was up to going shopping on her own.

With a sigh, she opened one of the TV dinners and slid it into the microwave, swallowed a painkiller, and went to take stock of the rest of the apartment. Her bed had been made with sheets she didn't recognize, and when she pulled back the comforter she found a note from her mother saying that she had bought the satin sheets so Alex could rest more comfortably on her injured skin.

She folded the note and set it aside, wondering if it had occurred to her mother that satin sheets weren't usually associated with "rest" in the first place. All the same, they did feel wonderfully cool and smooth, and she decided that the second she finished the TV dinner, she was taking a long, luxurious nap.

As if on cue, the microwave beeped. She flipped the comforter back over her pillows and headed for the kitchen and the tray holding a rather unappetizing serving of salisbury steak. She decided to stand at the counter to eat, rather than try to fold herself into a chair and end up hurting her ribs again.

It turned out not to matter much, because she managed only a few bites before she felt uncomfortably full. Probably had something to do with her poor choice of food, she mused, but it was too late to worry about that now. Time for a nap.

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Sitting in his kitchen the next morning, Bobby hung up the phone for the third time. He'd been calling his partner since he woke up an hour ago, and had succeeded only in leaving three increasingly agitated messages on her voice mail. He knew she was supposed to be home, since Deakins had called the previous night and told him she'd made it there safely, and even allowing for the fact that she might be asleep, it wasn't normal for her to not answer a ringing phone. He waited a few minutes and dialed again, leaving one more message, then decided that there had to be something wrong.

Half an hour later, he unlocked the door to her apartment using the spare key she'd given him years ago, and slowly walked into the room. Nothing appeared out of place, other than her suitcase, which was leaning against a wall, looking like she'd kicked it across the room - which she probably had.

Her kitchen was more interesting; he found a half-eaten, congealed TV dinner on the counter, next to a bottle of painkillers with the top screwed on wrong. Obviously she was either too tired or in too much pain to be concerned with cleaning things up right away.

He moved on to her bedroom, which he'd never seen before, and was relieved to find an Alex-sized lump under the covers. After a few seconds, the lump moved and emitted a whimper, and he realized that she was probably dreaming again.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, a bedspring creaking as the bed dipped under his weight. He sat there for a moment, debating whether to wake her or not, and then he leaned forward and lightly brushed her hair out of her face. "Alex," he whispered, not trying to wake her so much as provide comfort to her unconscious. "He can't hurt you."

A quiet moan escaped her and he cupped her cheek in his palm. "He can't hurt you," he repeated. "He can't hurt anyone anymore."

Her eyes snapped open and she stared up at him, paralyzed for a second. "Bobby?"

He smiled. "Yeah. You were dreaming again."

She blinked. "Aren't I back at home?"

"You didn't answer your phone. I got worried and came to check on you."

"Oh."

He stood up. "Have you been asleep since you got home yesterday?"

"Uh . . . I think so. More or less. I ate something first and I took a pill. You didn't need to come."

He shrugged. "It's not like I have anything to do for the next week other than bug you. You hungry?"

"Huh?"

"I checked your kitchen," he said. "It looked like you ate all of two bites of that TV dinner. So I figure you're probably hungry. I can make you something to eat, uh, if you want."

Her stomach growled at the mention of food and she gave him a sheepish smile. "I guess my stomach likes that idea. But you don't have to cook for me; I can do it."

He was beginning get the hand of dealing with her - it clearly wasn't a good idea to tell her she was too sick or injured to do something - so he just nodded and said, "You can supervise, how's that? Let me do the grunt work so you don't tire yourself out."

She sighed and said, "Ok." Her bed was lower than Goren's, and, thankfully, she was able to get out of it without having to ask him for help.

"You didn't even bother to change?" he asked as she stood up.

She looked down at herself. "Guess not."

"Well, get yourself into some fresh clothes before you come out to the kitchen. You, uh . . . can you dress yourself?"

"Mostly," she said, refusing to look at him. "That is, I can manage."

He wished he hadn't asked. "Well, you can, uh, call me if you need help. I'm serious," he said when she shook her head slightly. "I don't want you trying to do something you can't and hurting yourself again."

"I can dress myself," she growled.

Stubborn woman, he thought. She'd probably rather break another rib than ask for help. "If you say so," he told her, deciding that he was just going to have to humor her. "Any preferences for what to eat?"

"Nothing big," she said as she began to sort through her closet for something she could put on. "Soup or toast or something."

He stared at her back for a second, waiting for her to turn around, but when she didn't, he just sighed. "Sure. See you in a few minutes."