A/N: So yeah, if last week was the week from plain old hell, this week is the week from the ninth circle of hell. I won't say there won't be any updates in the nect few days, 'cause whenever I say that I end up being wrong, but I will say that you shouldn't expect too much writing out of me until next thursday-ish

Alex awoke a few minutes before sunrise, as if her old habit had been resurrected by the presence of the man next to her, and for a long moment before the fog of sleep began to fade from her brain, the only thing she was conscious of was the reassuring warmth of the familiar arms that surrounded her.

She had always enjoyed the experience of sharing a bed with Bobby - the protective way he curled his body around hers, the tickle of his rhythmic exhalations on the back of her neck, the scent that was distinctly him that surrounded her - and during the first few second after she returned to full consciousness, she simply savored these physical sensations.

Then she became aware of the fact that she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, not pajamas, and the arms wrapped around her were covered with long sleeves. That wasn't right; both of them rarely wore clothes to bed at all, let alone street clothes. Something was . . . wrong.

Mom.

It hit her like a body blow: her mother was dead and the man sharing her bed had been gone for a year.

The jerk of her body as reality penetrated her sleepy mind was violent, as if she had been shot, and even as Bobby opened his eyes a few seconds later, he was reflexively tightening his hold on her in response to it. "Alex?" he murmured quietly, trying not to let her hear the instinctive concern her movement had caused in him.

She pressed her lips closed to suppress a sound that she knew would be disturbingly like a whimper if she let it out, and drew in a slow breath through her nose, then let it out. "Yeah," she muttered, acknowledging his query. "I'm ok."

Loosening his arms and shifting his weight backward, Bobby put a few inches of space between them, then pressed a hand against her shoulder, urging her onto her back while he remained on his side so he could see her face. "You don't sound very 'ok'."

There was silence for a second as she considered denying it, but in truth, she knew it was really only a matter of whether he got the information out of her the easy way or the hard way. "I am, really. I just . . . for a second, I forgot she was gone, and then . . . I remembered."

Dropping his head closer to hers, he took one of her hands in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. "I'm sorry."

Alex just shook her head. "I woke you up," she said apologetically, purposely changing the subject. "I'm sorry. I'll . . . you can go back to sleep," she went on, moving to reclaim her hand. "I need to get in the shower."

He tightened his grip just enough to counter the force she was pulling with. "You didn't wake me up." Well, technically, she had, but he knew that telling her that would do neither of them any good. "I'm still on LA time. My sleep schedule is just screwed up." Belatedly processing the second part of her statement, he looked at the clock and then at her and added curiously, "Why the shower, this early? Do you have somewhere you need to go this morning?"

Not meeting his eyes, she nodded slightly. "I have to go over my parents' house. There's . . . you know, people to be called and stuff, and we . . . no one wants to be alone while they do it, so we're all going to do it together."

"What time?"

"Uh . . ." She shook her head. "I'm not sure. Probably around nine, once everyone gets the kids off to school." Moving to pull away again, she found herself restrained now by both his grip on her hand and an arm he slid around her waist. "Let go, Bobby. I need to get up."

He ignored that. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"To the shower?" she replied lightly, although they both knew that wasn't what he'd meant. "No thanks, I think I can wash my hair just fine on my own."

"Alex."

With a sigh, she temporarily abandoned her struggle against his greater strength. "You don't have to go over there. I know you don't want -"

He raised a hand to cut off her speech. "That's not what I asked," he reminded her pointedly. "I asked you whether you want me to go, not whether I have to go."

"You don't want to deal with my family. That came through loud and clear yesterday."

"I know it did," he said with a sigh, "and I apologize for it. I . . . panicked. About dealing with your family, I'm . . . well . . . ambivalent, let's say - but what I want is to give you whatever support you need. If you'd like me to be there with you, then you've got me."

"No." She gave her hand another experimental tug. "It's not like you're my servant or something, Bobby. I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want -"

"Hey," he interrupted.

"What?"

Propping himself up on his elbow to kiss her temple, he released her hand. "It's my decision, not yours. You're not 'making' me do anything. Just answer the question: do you want me there?"

She hesitated, then nodded.

"Ok, then I'm coming. Now, go take your shower."

"Why is he here?"

Alex replaced the hanger she had just slung her coat over, then turned to Maggie. "Why is your husband here?" she countered. "Same reasoning goes for me. Why would I do this alone if I didn't have to?"

"Newsflash, genius," Maggie shot back. "My husband's my husband. Him. . .he's not even your boyfriend!"

"Maggie, please, just leave it." Turning away from her sister, she relieved Bobby of his coat with more force than necessary, giving him a look that cautioned him against interfering in this conversation as she did it.

"Alex, I don't -" he attempted weakly.

"That goes for you, too!" she snapped, pointing a threatening finger at him. "Leave it alone. None of this has anything to do with my social life, and neither of you has any right to try to bring it into it."

For a long moment, the three of them were frozen in a silent tableau, and then Maggie threw up her hands in exasperation. "Fine. Don't listen to me. I'm just your sister."

Alex was preparing to launch a last-ditch counterattack when she was saved by the appearance of her brother Sean. No slouch in the perceptiveness department, within seconds he'd taken in the obvious tension between his sisters and put a hand on Maggie's shoulder. "Mags, I think Laurie's looking for you. Why don't you go check." His tone made clear that it wasn't just a suggestion.

With a scowl, Maggie spared her sister one last look before turning on her heel and doing as Sean ordered.

"Thanks," Alex told him quietly. "She's . . ."

"I know. She's Maggie." He took another step forward and pulled her into a tight hug. "And you're Alex, and that means you're not going to tell anyone jack shit on your own, so I'm going to ask: how've you been doing?"

She sighed into his shoulder. "I'm ok. I'm . . . dealing."

Sean, his expression guarded but not hostile, looked over her head at Bobby, whom he had met numerous times in the past but never known well, and then lowered his eyes back to his sister. "I'm glad you have someone with you."

"Don't," Alex said sharply, pulling away from him.

Confused, Sean released her. "Don't what?"

"Just . . ." She shook her head, frustrated. "Just don't. I need to . . . who's doing what?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject as she gestured deeper into the house. "What do I need to do?"

"Need to do?" Sean repeated, giving her a probing look. For the usually-stoic Alex to be this jumpy, she had to be a lot less 'ok' than she wanted him to believe. "Uh, you should go ask Laurie. She's directing who does what. I think she's in the den. Um . . ." He glanced at Bobby again. "Sandy - my wife - is in the kitchen with most of the, uh, in-laws," he told the other man, stumbling over what term to use for the group. "I think they could use help with lunch . . . you know, if you want to."

Resisting the urge to just reach out and gather Alex back into his arms, Bobby looked at her and waited to be told what to do.

Meeting his eyes, she shrugged and tilted her head toward the kitchen. There'll just be more questions if you stay with me, her look told him. I'll find you if I need you.

"I . . . I know, Aunt Anne," Alex said into the phone a few hours later, using her free hand to tiredly cover as much of her face as she could. "She . . . would have wanted us to . . . well, just . . . can you get here?" Her aunt informed her that of course she'd get there - come hell or high water, she wouldn't miss her sister's funeral - and with the pain in the woman's voice, Alex could almost feel felt the last threads of her self-control slipping through her fingers. "I'm sorry," she said thickly to her aunt. "I have to . . . I have to go."

She dropped the phone in a movement that only somewhat resembled hanging up. The distant squawk of her aunt calling her name came through the receiver just before it hit the hard plastic of the cradle, and she knew that she'd be hearing about this later, from one family member or another. God, she wished they would all just . . .

A hand fell heavily on her shoulder and she jumped in surprise. "What . . .?"

"Sorry," Bobby said quietly. "I didn't mean to scare you. You, uh . . . I'm glad to see I'm not the only person you hang up the phone on." Bending down to put his eyes almost on level with hers, he took a second to study her face. "You look -"

"Like shit?" she supplied. "Like I've been crying for three days straight, maybe?"

"I was going to say 'like you could use a break,'" he told her, not rising to the bait her sarcasm provided. "Why don't you give the phone a rest for a while and come eat something? It's just about lunchtime, anyway, and you hardly ate anything for breakfast."

"I . . ." Alex just looked at him for a second, then sighed. "Yeah, ok." Allowing him to help her to her feet, she added hesitantly, "You're, uh . . . you're pretty good at this."

"Good at what?" he asked absently, his attention mostly focused on making sure she stayed upright now that she wasn't supported by the chair.

"Taking care of me."

He stilled for a moment, giving her an unreadable look as he tried to figure out how she could consider his offering her a sandwich to be "good" care. Then, forcibly returning his mind to the moment at hand, he shook his head. "You took care of me for years without saying a word, Alex. This is the least I can do for you now."

"Bobby . . ." Her eyes met his for a long moment, until what she saw in them began to seem too overwhelming, and then she looked away. "Never mind. Forget it. Let's get some lunch."