The ringing of Alex's phone jolted Bobby awake a few hours later, and as he automatically looked to the woman lying next to him, he found himself amazed that he'd fallen asleep yet again after spending most of the day in dreamland already. Apparently Alex was a better sleeping pill than any drug.

To his further surprise, Alex didn't even stir at the shrill ringing in her ear. He let the phone ring twice more, giving her a chance to surface from her deep sleep, then sighed and, carefully extricating himself from her arms, sat up and reached for the phone himself. "Eames residence."

"Goren?" said Deakins's voice. "Isn't this . . . You're answering Eames's phone? Why?"

"She's, uh . . . well, for lack of a better phrase, she's dead to the world at the moment. Her ribs were giving her trouble, so she's been taking the painkillers as often as she can today."

"Is she going back to the doctor?"

"Eventually. I wasn't able to get her to tell me when her next appointment is before she conked out."

Deakins sighed. "How is she . . . otherwise?"

"Mentally? Emotionally?"

"Both."

Bobby considered how to explain her status to the captain without worrying him or making him suspicious. "When she's awake, she's more or less ok, except for insisting on overdoing just about everything I let her do. She's . . . nervous about being in any position where she doesn't have an escape route, but she recognizes the irrationality of it."

"What does 'nervous' translate to, for those of us who aren't psychologists?" Deakins asked warily.

"Nothing . . . uh, really, it's just . . . she froze when I happened to block her way out of a corner, that's all. Then she asked me to back up, and once I did she was more or less back to normal." That was a bit of an exaggeration - Alex hadn't been 'back to normal' for quite a while afterward - but she'd kill him if he told Deakins that.

"Oh. How's she sleeping?"

Now, that's a very good question, Bobby thought. How IS she sleeping? How do I explain to our boss that she can only sleep if I'm in bed with her, and vice versa? "She's . . . sleeping," he managed cautiously. "She has nightmares, but I consider that fairly normal."

"What about you, Goren? How are you sleeping? It can't be easy to be taking care of her for a whole day."

He glanced over his shoulder and noticed that she had turned over; he wondered if she'd wake up with a new patch of bruising from that movement. "I'm fine, Captain. I'm really just keeping her company more than I'm taking care of her."

"Let me guess: she won't let you do anything for her."

He thought about that. "She let me make her lunch."

"And is that the only thing she didn't insist on doing herself?"

"I guess. I'm fine here with her, though. I don't mind; it gives me something to keep busy with."

"Uh-huh. Are you the same guy who practically begged me to not make you see her a day or so ago?"

He sighed. "You don't need me to answer that. Anyway, she and I are both fine, we haven't killed each other, and so far I've managed to keep her from injuring herself any more . . . was there anything else you needed to know?"

There was a pause, and then, "Can she go out in public?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Can she walk, I mean? Stand, wear something other than a nightgown, stuff like that."

"Uh . . ." He looked back at her and tried to examine her critically. "Yes, but she'd need someone with her in case she gets tired or tries to do too much. Why?"

"Steven Brewer's making a court appearance to appeal his bail. I want both of you there for the judge to see."

Bobby sucked in his breath. "Sir, I don't know if . . ."

"I know," Deakins interrupted. "Having to face the guy who almost killed her isn't exactly going to help with her nightmares, but right now I have to be more concerned with what will happen if he gets his bail reduced than with whether Alex is going to miss a few more hours of sleep. Long-term danger versus short-term discomfort."

"I understand, but . . ."

"The hearing's tomorrow morning, at nine. Can you bring her?"

"Well, I guess, but she's . . . she'll have to wear clothes that usually aren't acceptable for court."

"Not acceptable, how?"

"She can't wear anything that constricts her ribs and she can't raise her arms to pull anything over her head, so something like sweatpants and one of . . . her father's old dress shirts."

"Those are fine," Deakins said dismissively. "I'll give Carver a heads-up about it. It'll help make the point about how badly she was injured. And yes," he went on before Bobby could speak, "I know how calculating that sounds, but right now, I'm willing to be calculating to keep this guy behind bars where he belongs."

He could understand that sentiment, Bobby thought. In fact, right along with Deakins, he'd be willing to do just about anything to keep Steven Brewer out of commission. "Yes, sir. Do you want us to meet you at the courthouse?"

"Yeah. Look for either me or Carver in the lobby; I don't know about him, but I want to get a good look at you guys before I let you anywhere near that bastard."

"Ok," Bobby said, hiding his reluctance. "We'll see you in the morning, then."

"Good. Oh, and Goren?"

"Yes?"

"Tell her I'm sorry."

"I will, sir. Goodnight."

He hung up the phone and lay back down, turning to face her. "Alex?" he said quietly, putting a hand on her arm. Unsurprisingly, she didn't stir, and he tried giving her arm a hesitant shake. "Eames?"

Her eyes blinked open, then closed, then partially open again. "Wha?" she mumbled into the pillow.

"Wake up for a few minutes for me and then you can go back to sleep, ok? That was Deakins on the phone."

Her eyes opened wider. "Deakins? Why?"

"Brewer's making a court appearance in the morning. Deakins wants us there."

"Oh." There was a moment of silence as she processed that, and then her eyes widened. "Him?"

Bobby nodded. "I know. I'll be there, I promise; so will Deakins. Brewer's not going to get within ten feet of you, believe me."

She swallowed and said quietly, "Ok. What time do we need to be there?"

"A little before nine. I'll wake you up in plenty of time in the morning."

"Oh. I . . . ok." She tried to suppress a shiver, but failed. "Bastard."

He knew she wasn't referring to him. "You're right, he is, but you're going to have to face him anyway." Leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, he pulled the blankets back up around them. "Go back to sleep now. We'll deal with it in the morning."

"Ok." She paused and he could hear her breathing deepen for a few seconds before she spoke again. "Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

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They arrived at the courthouse a few minutes before nine the next morning, Bobby supporting a large portion of Alex's weight with an arm around her waist. Deakins stood just past the security gate, anxiously waiting for them; the worried look on his face morphed into an expression of shocked concern as he caught sight of them. Catching sight of his expression from where she stood just inside the door, Alex tried to see herself and her companion as Deakins was seeing them:

A slight woman with dark circles under her eyes, wearing a flannel shirt and sweatpants, both of which bagged on her and were clearly not hers. The sweatpants were rolled up at the cuffs and down at the waist, while the shirt's arms were rolled up almost halfway, only barely exposing her hands at the ends of the sleeves. She was walking slightly bent over, with one hand on her ribs, seeming to be able to move only with the help of her companion.

Next to her, obviously helping to keep her upright, walked a tall man with a cast on one wrist. In contrast to his companion, he was dressed in a neat gray suit and tie, well-tailored to fit his sizeable form; however, despite his immaculate presentation, he didn't seem bothered by the fact that the woman was clutching one side of his jacket, wrinkling and stretching the fabric with her tight grip.

They were forced to separate to walk through the metal detector; she needed the help of one of the security guards to keep her balance as she stepped through . Seconds later, he was through and replacing his arm around his waist, leading her toward Deakins, who continued to stare at her, although to his credit, he had managed to conceal most of his worry. "You look like shit," he told her bluntly as they approached him.

Alex blinked, surprised by his affectionate tactlessness, then shrugged. "I know. But you're the one who insisted I be here today, so it's your fault I'm currently out in public looking like shit."

Deakins grinned. "At least your attitude has made a full recovery."

She rolled her eyes and tried not to be obvious as she leaned more of her weight on Bobby, who looked down at her, then up at Deakins. "We had to park a couple blocks away. She looked a lot better when we got out of the car, before we started walking here."

Alex sighed. "Don't remind me. You are so getting the car and picking me up right out front at the end of this."

"Of course." He eyed the captain. "Are we going to get started soon? She's tired."

"I can speak for myself, Bobby," Alex said indignantly.

Choosing to ignore her comment, Deakins nodded to Bobby. "Yeah, they're just waiting for us inside."

"Well, let's go."

They made their way to the gallery and took seats in the front row, nodding to Carver when he turned and noticed them.

"Can you sit up like this?" Bobby whispered in her ear as they lowered themselves onto the hard, straight-backed bench.

She gritted her teeth against the pained groan she was tempted to let out. "Not really, but for now I can deal with it. Just promise me endless Vicodin after we get out of here."

His reply was cut off by the appearance of the Judge Ryan at the front of the room and the order for all to rise. Bobby had to more or less lift Alex out of her sitting position, and they were both grateful when the judge, with whom they had dealt well in the past, caught sight of Alex's pained look and hastily sat so that she could also.

"This court will come to order," the baliff recited. "The honorable Judge Ryan is presiding."

As the room began to quiet down, Ryan looked from Carver to Steven Brewer and back. "I understand we have a bond dispute this morning, Counselor?" he asked the ADA.

"That's correct, sir."

"Let's see what we've got here," Ryan said thoughtfully as he opened Brewer's file. "Mr. Brewer, you stand accused of nine counts of Murder One, two counts of assaulting a police officer, and one count of attempted murder of a police officer." He glanced up at the man's lawyer. "Have I got all the charges here, Counselor, or is there a bank robbery or two that I missed? Spousal abuse, maybe?"

A few giggles came from the gallery, but neither lawyer cracked a smile as Brewer's attorney, a wiry man by the name of Callahan, said, "Those are all the charges as we understand them, Your Honor. That is, unless the people would like to trump some more up while we're here."

"Watch your mouth, Mr. Callahan," Ryan warned sharply. "You know better than to accuse the People of something like that without evidence to back it up. Now . . ." he said, looking back down at the notes in front of him, "I see that Judge Roberts ordered your client remanded without bail?"

"Yes, Your Honor, and I, for one, find that ridiculous. My client has almost no income and no connections with anyone outside the jurisdiction, and -"

"Hold your horses, Counselor," Ryan interrupted, holding up a hand to stop Callahan's speech. "Let's get the basics first. What amount of bond are you asking for?"

"Ten thousand dollars, Your Honor."

Murmurs of outrage rose from the audience, which was mostly made up of the families of the children Brewer had killed, along with police officers who knew the MCS detectives. Judge Ryan gave his gavel one hard bang and glared in the general direction of the crowd. "The only people who should be talking in this room are Mr. Callahan, Mr. Carver, and myself. Let's keep it that way."

He nodded in satisfaction as the room quieted, then went on, "Mr. Callahan, may I ask what has possessed you to think that any judge, let alone me in particular, would overrule Judge Roberts and set bail that low?"

"The People's murder case against my client is pathetic, Your Honor, and his actions while in police custody were a desperate act in response to mistreatment by the detectives who handled him."

"Your Honor," Carver spoke up, not even looking at his opponent, "we have the murder weapon, which was found in the home of the accused, as well as skin samples that are a genetic match to Mr. Brewer from under the nails of two victims. As for his behavior during his interrogation," Carver went on, now allowing a sneer to appear both on his face and his voice, "as my opponent has already been informed, but not bothered to share with the rest of the court, we are in possession of a tape of the entire interview in question, which clearly shows that he was treated no worse, and perhaps better, than any other suspect."

"Digital evidence can be manipulated," Callahan protested. "We all know," he continued with a laugh designed to garner agreement from his audience, "how the police will close ranks, and sometimes break the law, to protect one of their own."

"Mr. Callahan, I'll thank you to stick to the facts of this case rather than tossing around allegations whenever it suits you. This is your second warning; you won't like what happens if I have to remind you again."

Callahan nodded. "Yes, Your Honor. However, I stand behind my argument that the NYPD has the ability to manipulate or alter evidence, should the so wish."

"There may be some people on the force who have the technological ability," Carver shot back, "but I'm sure I don't need to remind Mr. Callahan that video evidence from NYPD interviews has been challenged many times, and has always been shown to be valid. In fact, Mr. Callahan is welcome to have the tape analyzed by any reputable expert he wishes; the People will not object."

"How about it, Mr. Callahan?" Ryan said, looking at the other attorney.

"We'll be sure to take the People up on their offer if this case ever goes to trial," Callahan said, "but for the moment, I believe I've made my point."

"Very well. Mr. Carver?" Ryan prompted, giving the ADA a last chance to rebut Callahan's arguments.

"Your Honor, the People feel that we have presented the pertinent facts; however, if we may, we would like to play for you a short portion of the videotape in question so that you can see the brutality of the attack."

"Objections, Mr. Callahan?"

Callahan, looking like a deer caught in headlights, opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally just shook his head slumped into his seat.

In the audience, Alex stiffened and sucked in a breath when she heard Carver's request. She turned to look at Bobby and found him already watching her with a deliberately calming gaze. Between their bodies on the bench, his hand found hers and squeezed. You can make it through this, his eyes told her. We've survived the nightmares, and they've all been worse than reality. She gave him a tiny nod and squeezed his hand back.

On her other side, she could sense that Deakins was watching both of them with concern. After taking a second to compose herself, she turned and gave him a weak smile and a shrug. He nodded slightly and patted her knee in a fatherly gesture, then turned his attention back to the front of the room, where a television and VCR were being wheeled into the room.

The equipment was set up so that the screen faced only Judge Ryan, and Alex sat, rooted to her seat, as the sounds of the interview began to replay:

"Did you think that killing these innocent kids," Goren's voice said, "would bring back whatever innocence you once had, innocence that you lost a long time ago?"

"No."

"Oh? Then what was it? Did you get off on it, Steven? The sight of tiny children being broken under your hands? Did you come in your pants as you snapped their necks?"

A quiet gasp.

The sound of a chair being forced back against the tiled floor, then the hollow, metallic sound of the table being overturned. A female-sounding squeak, followed by a man's heavy breathing.

A loud thunk as her head hit the corner of the window , followed by a cracking noise as her ribs snapped.

Judge Ryan let out an audible gasp at this point in the viewing and Alex allowed herself a moment to reflect that it must look almost as bad on video as it had felt in real life. Then she turned her attention back to the sounds emanating from the TV.

The sounds of a scuffle: grunts, another chair being shoved across the floor, a growl from one of the men. Then a maddened exclamation in Bobby's voice - a vicious curse word, and hey, she didn't remember being told about that - and the sound of bodies falling. A door being pulled open, followed by shouts in many different voices . . .

Carver hit the stop button on the VCR and turned off the TV, then pushed the cart to the side of the room. "Your Honor, Detective Eames barely lived through the scene you just saw; she had four broken ribs and a lacerated artery, among other injuries, and was only released from the hospital a few days ago. Detective Goren broke his wrist during the struggle. Both detectives are present in the courtroom today, if you'd like to hear from them before you make your ruling."

Judge Ryan nodded slowly. "Please come up and join Mr. Carver, Detectives."

Wishing he could punch Carver instead of join him, Bobby reluctantly stood up and helped Alex to her feet. "I feel like I should have 'Exhibit A' written on my forehead," she muttered as her hand went automatically to her aching ribs.

"Me too, but we might as well give him a show," he whispered back, letting her take a step up the aisle by herself, so that the judge could see how difficult it was for her to walk, before he put his arm around her waist and helped her the rest of the way.

Alex determinedly straightened up as they moved to stand next to Carver behind the prosecutor's table. She knew she'd regret it in an hour, but there was no way she was standing in front of a full courtroom bent over like a crone.

Judge Ryan eyed first Alex, then Bobby, before looking back to Alex. "Detective Eames, are you well enough to be standing?"

She gritted her teeth. "Not really, sir, but I'm doing it anyway, at least for the next few minutes."

Ryan chuckled. "Mr. Carver, please give Detective Eames a chair," he said, then gave Alex a look that staved off the protest she opened her mouth to make. "Sit, Detective. Your injuries make you exempt from the usual formalities." When she was sitting, he looked back at the court. "Mr. Callahan, if you and your client would please rise."

When the two men at the defense table were on their feet, Ryan looked hard at Brewer, then back at his lawyer. "Mr. Callahan, I don't know what kind of logic you've been using, but I find myself shocked that you would would think I would lower your client's bail after seeing that videotape. The accused will remain remanded and without bail," he said, emphasizing the words.

After giving everyone a moment to absorb his decision, Ryan banged his gavel and added, "This court is dismissed."

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A/N: Everything that happens in the courtroom after the judge walks in is a product of my imagination; I have no idea if it's even possible to appeal bail, let alone what the procedure would be.