The wheels hummed on the highway as the black SUV headed back toward Manhattan. Behind the wheel, Eames glanced at the passenger seat, where her partner had dozed off. She had been surprised when he'd asked her to accompany him on his weekly visit to Carmel Ridge. He never asked anyone to go with him. His mother, and her illness, was his burden to bear, and his alone. She had no idea why he asked her to go with him, but she was glad to do it. She'd even let him drive.

It had been a very difficult visit. She was agitated and she did not even recognize her son. She was ranting about "them," although Eames had no idea who "they" were. Bobby didn't either, but she had been going on about "them" for most of his life, so he was used to it. Eames sat quietly in a chair near the door, where he had asked her to stay, while he tried to calm his mother down, to convince her she was safe from "them" and to get her to realize that he was indeed her Bobby and not one of "them" impersonating him. To his relief, she had never even noticed Alex. As the visit wore on, she got more and more agitated, and when she showed signs of becoming violent, Goren calmly asked his partner to go out to the desk and let them know. She had returned with two nurses and two orderlies, and she'd watched while he continued to try to verbally calm her. But she slipped over the edge and attacked him. He had no trouble subduing her, gently pulling her into his arms, her back to him, and holding her while they got the restraints and the medication ready. Twenty minutes later, she was sedated and restrained. Eames slipped back into the chair by the door while he sat beside his mother for a short while. Convinced she was ok, he got up and left the room, lightly brushing his hand against Eames' shoulder as he passed her, to let her know they were leaving. She got up and followed him. He talked with the doctor for awhile as she waited near the nurses' station, listening to them talk in quiet tones about how glad they were he had been there this time. She hadn't realized before how much of a common occurrence this was for his mother. Finally, he had come to her with a quiet, "Let's go."

He hadn't said much on the way to the car, but he'd handed her the keys. He looked exhausted, defeated. Seeing him like that was more difficult for her than watching his mother slip further away from him into her own paranoid reality where she saw her devoted son as a stranger who was out to get her. Sliding behind the wheel, she had hesitated before starting the car. "Bobby…" she began.

He held up his hand and shook his head. "Not now. Please."

She nodded. In his own time, when he was ready, he'd talk to her. For now, she left him alone. By the time she'd pulled onto the highway, he had dozed off, more emotionally exhausted than anything else. She left him alone.

They were still a good half hour from the city when he stirred. Sitting up, he lowered the window and looked out into the night. "Eames," he said softly. "Do you smell anything?"

She sniffed the wind. "Smoke, I think."

He scanned the surrounding countryside, finally pointing. "There. Let's go."

She could see the black smoke pouring from a house not far off the highway. He flipped on the light and siren as she pulled onto the shoulder and drove down the embankment to the access road. Pedal to the metal, she headed toward the burning house.

He jumped from the car before she had even come to a full stop. Running after him, she saw a woman coming at them from the house. She fell into his arms, sobbing and pointing. "He's still in there!"

"Who's still in there?" Goren asked.

"My son! He's two! He's in his room, upstairs, toward the back of the house!"

Goren met his partner's eyes. "No, Bobby…"

He gently handed the mother off to her. "What's his name?"

"Tommy."

He met Eames' eyes again, then ran toward the house. She knew better than to argue. He was going to do what he felt he had to do, and he counted on her to back him up. She turned to comforting the mother, glancing up in time to see him enter the burning house and trying without success to force down the worry that gripped her gut.