The sound of someone knocking on the apartment door woke them early the next morning. Groaning, Alex raised her head and glared, bleary-eyed, toward the offending door, then flopped back down to her original position, half-covering Bobby. " 'S too early," she mumbled into his arm. "Make them go away."
Not feeling much more awake than she looked, he sighed. "Who is it?"
"How'm I supposed to know? Lent my x-ray vision goggles to Jo," she replied without picking her head up.
Bobby sighed again. She obviously didn't have any plans to get out of bed in the near future, and their early-morning visitor, whoever it was, needed to be gotten rid of. "I guess that means I'm supposed to go answer it?"
"Mmhmm." With that, she rolled away from him and buried her face in the pillows.
He gave her back an annoyed look - as annoyed as he could manage when looking at her bare skin - and then rolled out of bed and pulled on the sweatpants he'd discarded when they went back to bed after her nightmare. "This better be good."
"Mmm," Alex commented disinterestedly. "I'll make the coffee when I get up."
"Yeah, whenever that is," he teased, giving the mattress a gentle shake before turning away and heading for the source of the banging noises.
It occurred to him as he pulled open the door that he probably looked very much like he'd just rolled out of bed, with his hair sticking up and his eyes half-closed, and he should hope whoever was on the other side didn't scare easily.
A second later, he realized that he should have been careful what he wished for.
Jimmy Deakins, standing in the hallway and staring at him, appeared to be having much the same thought. "Uh . . . Goren," he managed after a stunned moment. "Morning. Did I, uh . . . wake you guys up?"
Alex was going to kill him, he thought as he fought the urge to slam the door in the captain's face. "Bad night," he mumbled weakly by way of explanation, getting enough control of himself to swing the door wider and motion the other man inside. "She had nightmares."
"I, er . . . didn't realize you were still staying here. At night, I mean." Deakins, obviously wary of a half-dressed Eames popping into sight at any moment, shifted his eyes from side to side as he spoke.
It was too early for him to be able to make coherent excuses, Bobby decided with a mental groan. "Like I said," he muttered, turning his back to Deakins and heading for the coffee pot, "it's the nightmares. She feels better if I'm around."
"Oh. Well I, uh, just stopped by to see how she's doing. I guess I should be glad you're here, since she still seems on edge around me."
Bobby didn't respond to that except to gesture to the coffee pot and look at Deakins questioningly.
"Yeah, please," the captain said with a grateful nod. "I had to drop Jenny off at dance practice this morning, or there's no way I'd be awake this early, either."
"Dance practice?" Alex asked from the doorway, stifling a yawn as she stumbled toward the life-giving scent of coffee. "This early?"
Both men froze for a moment, and Bobby was pretty sure that he and his boss were once again sharing the same thought: please let her have had the presence of mind to get dressed before coming out of the bedroom.
"Morning, Eames," he said after a second, managing to sound casual as he turned to face her. "I, uh, thought you wanted to sleep late."
She gave him a knowing look as he took in her full-length flannel pajamas, but she cleared the smugness off her face before Deakins copied Bobby's movement and turned around, too. "It's hard to stay asleep with two gorillas making noise in my kitchen. Why did your daughter have dance practice this early, Captain?"
"What? Oh," the older man mumbled as he seemed to let out an inaudible sigh of relief. "She has a recital tonight and they're spending the day embroidering each other's tutus, or something like that."
"Embroidering tutus?" Alex echoed with raised eyebrows. "I bet she's just thrilled that you're the parent playing taxi today."
"Hey," he said with a shrug, "I never claimed to know anything about ballet. Now, I'm more interested in hearing how you're feeling than in what my daughter's thinking at the moment."
"I'm fine." She accepted the mug that Bobby was holding out to her and set to work doctoring her coffee up with cream and sugar. "I'd be even more fine if I hadn't been woken up at seven in the morning on a Sunday, but other than that . . . I'm fine."
"Sorry." Deakins looked from one detective to the other cautiously before adding, "So, I hear you're still having nightmares?"
She shot a quick glare at Bobby, who shrugged helplessly, then looked back at Deakins. "Only every now and then. Last night happened to be one of the 'now and thens.' Why?"
"Just . . . concerned about you. I wanted to know if, uh . . ." He looked at Bobby as though seeking help, but found only an impassive face looking back at him. "I wanted to know if you've made any plans to get counseling. Like I told Goren, I know he's good, but he's not that good, and -"
"Calm down," she told him with a dry smile. "I had my first appointment with the, uh . . ." She trailed off, not sure what to call Laura.
"Therapist," Bobby supplied easily.
"Uh, right. I had my first appointment with the therapist last night. Which is the reason for tonight's nightmares, according to our resident genius over here," she added, tipping her head toward Bobby.
"Any improvement with . . . things?"
Both detectives looked at Deakins with amusement. "I'll let you know once I've done more than sleep between then and now," Alex said. "The evidence is a little limited at the moment."
"Oh." He stared into the cup of coffee Bobby had poured him, feeling like he'd blundered into the middle of something he obviously hadn't done enough homework on. "Sorry. I'm just . . ."
"Concerned," she finished for him. "I know, Captain. And I appreciate it, really, but . . . well," she said with a shrug, "I just don't appreciate it quite so much this early in the morning."
"Yeah. Well, uh . . . sorry 'bout that." Setting his mug on the counter, Deakins took the opportunity to study Eames's face, deciding that she didn't look upset or overly stressed. In fact, she looked quite . . . relaxed. He didn't really want to think about why that was. "I'll leave you to it, then. Sorry for interrupting your . . . uh . . . your, uh, sleep."
Alex, not sure she could contain her giggles at the look on his face, stayed in the kitchen as Bobby escorted Deakins to the apartment door.
When Goren appeared back in the kitchen doorway, he found her leaning against the counter, shoulders shaking with either laughter or sobs. "Alex?" he asked cautiously, not sure which it was.
A snicker escaped her as she raised her head to look at him. "I don't know who enjoyed that less - him or you!"
He blinked. "Can you blame me? I just opened your apartment door to our boss, looking like I'd been doing god-knows-what in bed before getting up to let him in!"
She grinned and moved forward to hug him. "I know, but it's still funny. I guess I never told you exactly what he said when I talked to him about my dad, did I?"
"Huh?" He fixed his eyes on her suspiciously. "What did he say?"
Resting her head against his shoulder and letting him support her weight, she slipped her arms around his waist. "Oh, nothing much . . . basically just that he knew we were sleeping together and he wasn't going to complain."
He stiffened against her, shocked. "But . . . we weren't, not then!"
"True, but we are now. And his point stands. He doesn't want to know about it, either way."
"You've got to be kidding me," Bobby sputtered, setting her away from him so he could stare down at her face. "He came out and said that?"
"Well, no. As I recall," she replied, looking thoughtful, "he referred to 'some things' he didn't want to know about, and other 'things' he wanted to avoid finding out about."
He shook his head. "Alex, I can't deal with . . . revelations like this this early in the morning. Give me a break."
"Wuss." Sighing, she rubbed her side and turned away. "I should have taken some aspirin before bed last night. That run-in with the kids is catching up with me."
Grabbing her hand before she could move out of reach, he pulled her back and brushed his fingers over her ribs. "I didn't even think of that. Are you ok?"
"Yeah, yeah. Nothing bad," she said quickly, "I promise. Just a little sore."
"Hmm." He glanced at their coffee mugs, sitting on the counter, then looked back at her. "Want to take the coffee and go back to bed? I'll even . . ." He paused, clearing his throat nervously. "I'll even make some breakfast if you'll tell me about your conversation with Laura while we eat it."
"What kind of breakfast?"
He thought about that. "Pancakes?"
Alex grinned. "You've got yourself a deal. Meet me in bed when you've got the food," she added over her shoulder as she turned toward the bedroom.
"Ok," she said half an hour later, enlivened by the scent of warm maple syrup coming from the plate in front of her. "What do you want to know?"
He swallowed his bite of pancake and shrugged. "Everything. What did she say to start?"
"Well, as I recall," she said thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her chin, "she said, 'How are you, Alex?'"
He gave her a dirty look. "You know what I mean, Eames. Don't make me pry it out of you or this is the last time I'm making you breakfast in bed."
She stared at him in mock-horror for a second, then grabbed her plate and hugged it to her. "I knew this was too good to be true! But . . . oh, fine," she broke off as his eyes narrowed, "I'll talk, ok?"
"Ok," he replied with a solemn nod, returning his eyes to his plate.
"We talked for a little while just about how I was feeling, physically, and how everything I do lately seems to be against doctor's orders . . ."
"For the simple reason that the doctor said you shouldn't overtax yourself," he interrupted, pointing his fork at her accusingly.
"Yeah, fine. That's not my point." She leaned forward and snitched the bite off his fork before he could move it toward his mouth, smiling brightly as she chewed. "Now, as I was saying before you interrupted, we talked about how I felt. She asked me if there was a reason I wouldn't take it easy like I'm supposed to."
"And what did you tell her?" he prompted, moving a safe distance away from her and attempting another bite.
Alex shrugged and said simply, "I can't not do anything. If you think I'm annoying like this, you don't even want to think about what I'd be like if I was stuck in bed."
"How come?"
"What, do they teach you these lines in shrink school? I'm getting deja vu, here."
"It's the logical question to ask," he pointed out. "So what's the answer?"
"Bobby . . ."
"Hey," he said, crossing his arms and looking at her sternly, "I help up my half of the bargain and made your breakfast. Are you going to punk out of your side of it?"
"Jerk." She reached out and used her fork to poke the back of his hand playfully, then sighed. "I don't like being taken care of, I guess. It makes me . . . uncomfortable."
He looked down at his hand, where there was now a patch of sticky syrup where her fork's tines had been. "You're letting me take care of you," he said as he raised the hand to his mouth. "And it hasn't been horrible."
She grabbed his hand and licked off the syrup before he could. "Yeah, but if I were stuck in bed, trust me - I'd have killed you by now. Or you'd have killed me. Laura said she thinks it's something to do with my self-esteem, which I think is bull, but -"
"No," he interrupted," she's probably right."
"What?"
"You feel guilty about how things happened." He rubbed his hand on the comforter, drying it, then grabbed her hand and raised it to his lips. "You think it would be using them, to let people help you."
She frowned. "If you two are going to share a brain, there's no way I'm dragging my ass all the way to Laura's house next time. You can just channel her from bed. And yeah, ok, I feel a little guilty. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing," he said with a shrug. "Except when you let it get in the way of your safety by refusing help."
She shifted her eyes away from him, concentrating on forking up another bite of pancakes. "You say that like your guilt issues aren't five times the size of mine."
"That's . . . irrelevant," he said dismissively. "What did Laura say next?"
"Well, let's see. She asked how I'm doing with friends and coworkers, if I'm getting along with them. I told her . . ." She paused to sigh. "I told her than when I'm not busy panicking when they get near me, I get along fine."
"Did you talk about the panics?"
"Yeah, of course. That's why I went in the first place. Shove over," she added, setting her plate down on the nightstand and sliding down in bed until she was snuggled against his side with her head on his shoulder. "She said it's not unusual for people to have panic attacks after a trauma."
Her words sounded good, but he knew her well enough to see that there was something more underneath that statement. "So then why don't you sound convinced?"
"I'm convinced," she protested. "I mean, I can read . . . and you've dropped enough tidbits about how people respond to trauma . . ."
"But . . .?"
Shaking her head, she turned her face away from him slightly. " 'Everyone' isn't me. I'm supposed to be better than that."
He slid his arm under her head and hugged her to him. "Alex, you're -"
"I know, I know. Trust me, I got this lecture from her last night, too."
"Oh." Obviously she didn't want to delve deeper into why she felt she wasn't entitled to human weakness; he'd oblige her for the moment and move the conversation along. "Did she give you any tips for coping during the . . . I mean, when you're, uh, scared?" That sounded dumb, he thought. Unfortunately, there wasn't a word that could conveniently describe her problem without carrying connotations of loss of control, which he knew she hated.
Alex sighed against his arm. "Kind of. She said . . . she asked me how the, uh, attacks felt, and when I told her it's like everything goes into slow motion and I'm watching someone get ready to hurt me, she said . . ." Fidgeting nervously, she groaned. "This is hard."
He sat up, startling her, and put his plate on top of hers on the nightstand. Then, returning to the bed and lying on his back, he pulled her on top of him and wrapped his arms around her without speaking.
He was warm, she mused as she relaxed on top of him, resting her head in the crook of his neck. "She said that I should remember that if I have time to get scared when someone corners me, then I also have time to react."
"Hmm. You're not as trapped as you feel like you are?" he translated.
"Yeah, something like that. I don't know, though . . . I mean, I already knew she was right, and that hasn't stopped me from freaking out up 'til now."
"It's not a magic cure, Alex."
"No kidding," she said with a snort. "You're preaching to the choir, Goren. Hell, right about now I'll take whatever help I can get."
"Well," he murmured, tipping her chin up so he could look into her eyes. "Did talking about it make you feel better? Worse? The same?"
"I don't know," she said slowly. "It hurt to talk about it . . . I felt so damn pathetic, and then she asked me to tell her about Brewer and I nearly started crying right there . . . and you saw me when I came out."
She hadn't answered his question, and they both knew it. He remained quiet, waiting for her to add to her thoughts.
"But now I do feel a little better. Not 'better' like I'm fixed, but just . . . a tiny bit farther away from bursting into tears than I was yesterday, maybe."
He tightened his arms around her as much as he dared and brushed his lips against hers. "That's good, Alex. That's how it's supposed to work."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
She sighed and lowered her head for another kiss. "It's still Sunday, right?"
"Uh, yeah . . ."
"And you locked the door behind Deakins?"
"Yeah," he repeated warily, willing to abandon the topic of her therapy, but not sure whether these questions were leading somewhere good.
"Good," Alex said firmly, kissing his ear. "Now, I'm not getting off you anytime soon, so you might as well settle in."
"Mmm." He glanced at the plates and mugs sitting on the table next to the bed, then at the woman stretched out above him. "I'm not going to argue with you. The dishes can wait."