Foster returned to the floor at just past ten the next morning. The day nurse smiled at him when he asked, "How's my favorite patient doing this morning?"

"He was still sleeping the last time I checked on him, but that was about forty-five minutes ago, so he may be up now."

"Good. I'll just pop in to check on him and, if he's still sleeping, I'll come back this afternoon."

"Sounds like a plan," she replied.

He headed down the hall, knocked softly on the door and entered the room. He heard soft voices, which stopped when he came through the door. He smiled at the two detectives. Goren was dressed and sitting with one leg hanging off the bed, the other bent in front of him. Eames was facing him, in the same position, and the tray table was between them. They were playing cards. "Good morning," Foster said. "How are you both doing this morning?"

Eames returned his smile. "We're fine," she answered.

Foster was pleased to hear that. His eyes shifted to Goren. "How's that headache, Bobby?"

"Still there, but not quite as bad."

"You ready to talk or should I come back?"

Goren pushed the tray table aside. "Let's get this over with."

"Don't sound so excited," Eames teased.

He looked at her and smiled. Foster was pleased by the light interaction. He sat down and opened his briefcase. He really didn't need his notes, but force of habit had him keep them nearby. "First of all, are you still angry with me, Bobby?"

"No. Not any more."

"Good. I understand you didn't appreciate being pushed, but you needed that shove.Your test results were very interesting. You are extremely intelligent, but you play down your intelligence. Why do you think you do that?"

"To minimize the intimidation factor."

Foster nodded. "I can see that. Your size alone would intimidate many people. Any other reason?'

"To set people off their guard."

Eames smiled. "He is very good at playing roles, and he has his bumbling cop routine down pat. He's the most effective interrogator I've ever seen because he can do that. Suspects settle into a false sense of security thinking they can outwit him. But I am always ready to remind him that I know he's not stupid."

Every glimpse into the relationship between these two partners gave him a clearer sense of how much they depended on one another. He wanted to discuss it, but first things first. "I want to touch on some uncomfortable topics for a moment."

He saw the tension descend on his patient, and so did Eames. "Why?"

"Because it's important. Your childhood shaped you into the man you are today, Bobby. You know that. Children need to feel secure and loved. Those feelings were sorely lacking through much of your childhood. Part of what grew out of your childhood traumas were feelings of resentment toward both parents. You hate your father, but protect your mother. Why?"

"My mother was sick. She couldn't help what she did. My father wasn't. He made conscious choices, and they were the wrong choices."

"Abandoning his family."

"That was part of it."

"The abuse and the apathy, that was the rest of it, right?"

Eames was watching him closely. She watched his agitation increase as Foster pushed on. But he didn't try to run away from it. He allowed the discussion. He nodded in response to the doctor's question. Eames moved closer to him. He shifted his eyes toward her, and he settled a little. His biggest fear, that she would take off if she knew how really screwed up his life had been, was being addressed indirectly, and she was giving him the reassurance he needed. Foster did not missed the silent exchange. "Do you have any connection with your distant past, Bobby?"

"What do you mean?"

"Teachers, friends, anyone from your childhood."

"A friend. Lewis. We grew up together. I have other friends, from my young adulthood and a couple from my army days. I'm not a recluse."

"You and Lewis are close?"

"Yes. He...he knows more about my past, more about me, than anyone does. Eames has met him."

Eames smiled. "I like Lewis. He's nothing like Bobby, but he's a good guy."

"You aren't afraid of your past, then."

"Why would I be? It's done and there's nothing that's going to change it. What's there to be afraid of?"

"You don't readily share that part of your life."

"It's not easy to talk about."

"I want one example, Bobby. Just one, then I'll change the subject."

He hesitated. Eames held out her hand to him. He slid his hand into hers and slowly nodded, searching his memory for a suitable incident. There were so many. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose. Finally he looked up, at Eames. "We were sixteen or seventeen. It was springtime, because I had baseball practice. After practice, Lewis and I...started drinking. We were kids, doing what kids do. We were walking down the street, after dark, drunk as hell, joking around. Lewis gave me a shove...and I stumbled off the curb, right in front of a car. I wasn't hurt badly, but the cops were called...and they called my, uh, my mom. Told her what happened..and that I was drunk. Uh...it triggered an episode, and she was ranting when I got home, saying 'they' were trying to kill me. She smacked me around a bit, for letting 'them' hurt me, after all her warnings. But she'd already called my dad...and he came over." He tightened his grip on her hand slightly, as though he expected her to pull away. He tried to fight down the increasing agitation, with marginal success. "He, uh, beat the shit out of me. He hurt me worse than the car did. The next morning, I was tempted not to go to school. I hated answering questions. I mean, most of the time, he made sure the bruises weren't visible, but he...uh, he did a number on me that night. Getting hit by a car was an...acceptable explanation, though, and no one thought twice about it, except for Lewis. He knew what had happened. M-my mom got hospitalized that morning...while I was at school, and I stayed at Lewis' house for the two weeks she was there. I...I didn't really want my dad to know where I was, not that he cared. Ever." He took a deep breath, eyes still on hers. Finally, when he was sure she wasn't going anyplace, he looked at Foster. "Ok, doc, there's your incident. That's what my childhood was like."

"Did you drink often?"

"Sometimes. I, uh, I found out that if I drank enough, it didn't...hurt so bad."

"What didn't? The beatings?"

"No. Uh, I didn't hurt so bad, inside."

"Did you go to school drunk?"

"No. Hungover sometimes, but not drunk."

"And your grades?"

"They were good. You said we'd change the subject."

"Yes, I did. Just one more question, and you're smart enough to know where I'm going with this...your drinking...?"

"It's not a problem. It never was."

Foster looked at Eames for clarification, and she nodded agreement. "Ok. Good. You like your job now?"

"Very much. I've always liked being a cop."

"I talked with your captain. That's the impression I got from him, that you love your job. He thinks very highly of you and he is genuinely concerned about you. About both of you." He sighed and paused for a few moments. "Bobby, I have noticed that you rely very much on Alex, especially when things get hard for you. Is that something you have always done?"

"Yes."

"What about you, Alex? When things get hard for you?"

"Bobby knows when things are hard for me, and he makes sure he's there. He's sensitive to my feelings."

"From what I've seen you are both very sensitive to each other." He met Goren's eyes. "You need her."

Again he tightened his grip on her hand. "When she went on maternity leave, I had a temporary partner, and I felt...lost. I was flying blind, and I hated feeling that way. I...missed her. Yes, I do need her."

"Maternity leave?"

"I was a surrogate for my sister," she explained.

Foster raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That was very generous of you."

"It was very hard on me. I need him as much as he needs me, doctor."

Foster nodded. "All right, then. This afternoon we're going to repeat some of the tests we did the other day. It'll take an hour or two, that's all. I am leaning toward discussing your discharge with Dr. Barrett. Maybe tomorrow. With your memory restored and your lungs doing so well, there's not much more we can do for you and no reason to keep you." He slid his papers into his briefcase and stood up, smiling at them. "I'll be back this afternoon."

Once Foster was gone, Eames looked at her partner. He looked back at her, a little worried. She smiled sadly. "You had it rough."

He shrugged. "I survived it."

"Lewis was a good friend."

"He still is. He doesn't know everything, but he lived through a lot of it with me."

"He knew it was your dad that time?"

"My dad or my mom. Yeah, he knew. He was there when I got hit and he saw the damage the car did." He sighed wearily. "But Lewis always knew. His mom knew, too, and she always let me stay when I showed up on their doorstep."

"That was often?"

"Too often." He tilted his head and studied her. "Uh, I don't want you feeling sorry for me."

"I don't. I feel badly that you had such a rough childhood, but we can't change that. And I still love you for who you are." She leaned closer and softly kissed him. "I'm not going to leave you."

He pulled her against him and kissed her, and he didn't want to let her go. Ever.