Eames didn't know what to do. First, she pulled herself together. She had never hurt like this; she could only imagine how much he was hurting. But she had no idea where he would go or what he would do to deal with that pain. While she turned over in her mind where he might go, she kept busy by cleaning up the apartment. If she didn't keep busy, she'd lose her mind. She didn't dare leave without a plan, and she had nothing. Her phone had rung several times, but it had been Deakins, and she was still too furious to talk to him. Besides, Goren would really be furious if she caused an APB to be put out on him. Every plan she came up with would only make matters worse. She just didn't know what to do.
After two hours, the apartment was clean, and she still had not heard from him. She tried calling him, but was not surprised when he didn't answer. She dropped onto the couch, burying her face in her hands and letting her anger and grief and frustration take over again. She felt helpless, and she hated feeling that way. She wanted to go out and look for him, but New York was a big place and she had no idea even where to start. Again she thought about calling Deakins, and again she vetoed that idea. So she alternated between pacing and trying to call him, crying and talking to herself. She should have told him, and she hated herself for listening to Deakins.
It was past midnight, and she had a knot of dread sitting in her stomach like a molten rock. Where the hell could he have gone? She was sitting on the couch when she heard a key scraping the door. She looked up as the door flew open and hit the coat rack behind it, knocking it over into the wall. Goren stumbled into the room, stopping when he saw her sitting there. He didn't say a word. He looked around the room, then back at her. "Bobby…"
He shook his head. "Don't," he said, raising his index finger. His hand was crusted with dried blood. He shook his head. "No. I don't want to talk about it."
He crossed the room and headed down the hall, slamming the bedroom door. She got up and closed the front door, turning the lock. She set the coat rack upright. Then she stood there looking down the hallway. She was relieved he was home and okay…if you could call his condition ok. She was torn between leaving him alone and seeing how far she could get with him. Concern finally winning out, she headed down the hall to the bedroom.
Opening the door, she entered the dark room. "Eames…" he started.
"Don't say it," she answered.
She opened the bathroom door and turned the light on so she could see. He was lying on the bed, arms beneath his head, staring at the ceiling. "You didn't have to clean up after me," he mumbled.
"What else was I going to do? I didn't even know where to start looking for you."
"Why bother at all?"
Self-pity was the one thing she could not handle from him. "Goddam it, Bobby! I can't do this. I just can't. Go to sleep."
She left the room, slamming the door like he had a few minutes before. She heard a thud, and the door yanked open. He stumbled into the wall, then yelled, "No! Don't…"
She stopped and turned. "Don't what?" she yelled at him. "I don't know what the hell to do, Goren!" She slumped against the wall, utterly miserable.
He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Swearing, he slammed his fist into the wall, busting right through the drywall. She frowned at him. "That's going to hurt in the morning when you sober up."
"It can't be worse…" he trailed off.
"Worse than what, Bobby? Worse than that clenching feeling in your gut, knowing that one of the people you care most about in the world is hurting and you have no idea where the hell he is? Oh, wait…that wasn't you. That was me." Then she got angry. She turned toward him. "Damn you, Goren! It wasn't my idea! Ok, I screwed up! I should have known better! I didn't want to hurt you!" She approached him, leaning into his face, entering his personal space. "I never wanted to hurt you, dammit!" She threw her hands up in the air. "I'm no good at this. I…I don't know what to tell you, or how to make this right. So when you wake up tomorrow, if you feel like working it out, call me."
She turned and started to walk away, but she didn't get far. He grabbed her arm, yanking her back toward him and spinning her to face him. He pulled her against his chest and covered her mouth with his. She pushed against his chest, but he wouldn't release her. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, taste it on his tongue. She could also feel his desperation. He didn't know what the hell to do either. She relaxed, stopped struggling, and put her own fear and pain and anger into her response to him.
Releasing her from his embrace, he was still angry. "Go if you want," he said. He turned and went back into the bedroom, slamming the door again. She heard another slam…another hole in the wall…then silence. She had no idea what to do. He was desperate to find some relief from his inner pain. Alcohol obviously wasn't the way to go---it made him angrier.
She went into the kitchen and poured a glass of milk, pulling out her cell phone. She dialed Deakins. He came on the phone and she could tell he was furious, even though his voice was level. "I've been calling you all day, Detective."
"I've been busy, Captain."
"Any word from your partner?"
"He's home."
Deakins sounded relieved. "Is he ok?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Yes, Captain. He's ok."
"We found his car, Eames."
"And?"
"It was at Battery Park. There was blood on the steering wheel."
"From a hand injury."
"You sure that's it?"
"Yes."
Deakins sighed heavily. "Look, Eames. I'm sorry, ok? I was trying to do what was best for him."
"This was not it. I knew that."
"This wasn't your fault, Alex."
"Try telling him that."
"I did."
"And you see how well that worked."
He was smart enough to know he wasn't going to get anywhere with her, not right now, and certainly not over the phone. "Is he going to be all right?"
She paused. God, she hoped so. "I'll make sure of it," she answered, hoping she could.
"Call me tomorrow."
"What should I tell him about his car?"
"I had them take it to my house instead of the impound. When he feels up to it, he can come to get it."
"Ok. Good night, Captain."
She closed her phone. Battery Park?
Walking down the hall, she opened the bedroom door and looked in on him. He was on the bed, on his side. She could tell from the steady rise and fall of his chest that he was sleeping. That was good. Sleep was good for him. She pulled the door closed and left him alone to sleep off the result of his anger and pain at her betrayal.