"Bastard!" Startled and hurt by his abrupt departure, Alex picked up the nearest throwable object on the kitchen counter and hurled it at the door that had just closed behind him, barely registering the sound of the salt shaker shattering against the metal. "I should have known you'd run away again! Bas-" She broke off there, trying to swallow the lump in her throat, but it wouldn't budge. "Bastard." The low, hoarse voice that said the word this time was hardly recognizable as her own, and she bit her lip hard, trying to stave off the tears that were threatening to flood her eyes. "Damnit, Bobby . . ."

A wet nose brushed her hand, and she looked down to find her dog pressing against her leg, obviously disturbed by the raised voices he had just heard.

"I'm sorry," she attempted, the words catching in her throat and coming out as a voiceless whisper. "Oh, god . . ." Using the dog's back for balance, she lowered herself to the floor and leaned back against the wall, covering her face with her hands. "Bobby . . ."

Her life was spinning out of control, and she was powerless to stop it. Her mother, her beloved mother who had been her best friend for so many years, was gone. Just . . . gone, without a goodbye and without warning. Alex hadn't even been able to comfort her in her last moments, let alone keep her alive.

And then there was Bobby, who had been nothing but caring and gentle since he arrived. . . and all she seemed to be able to give him in return were words that were evasive, hurtful, or both. He'd taken it at first, but tonight had showed her that the old wounds hadn't healed for him any more than they had for her. And now he was gone, to where she had no idea, and she wouldn't blame him if he didn't come back.

So she was alone with the silent echoes of harsh words and raised voices, those from tonight and those from a year ago, and as Canis whined and climbed into her lap, she closed her eyes and allowed the pain to flow through her.

She deserved it.

Bobby walked on autopilot for what felt like hours before he raised his head and took stock of his surroundings, realizing that night had fallen while he wasn't paying attention. Unsurprisingly, his legs had taken him back toward where he had spent most of the past few years: One Police Plaza. He was standing on a corner next to the wrought-iron fence that surrounded City Hall Park. Beyond the barrier, he could see two small children exploring the wooden playhouse at the edge of the park, and he took a second to enjoy their lighthearted antics. When was the last time he'd been free enough of his burdens to even really laugh, let alone play?

Probably back at some point before his mother and his partner had become two powerful magnets pulling him in different directions, he thought with a sigh, allowing himself one last look at the children before moving on down the street. And now Alex was isolating herself further, attacking him because she didn't know what else to do to protect herself.

He'd been hurt and angered by her words, and he had left the apartment more on instinct than anything else, but the long walk had drained away the pain and left his heart pounding only from exertion, not anger. With a slightly clearer head now, he knew that her insult had had nothing to do with his mother and everything to do with being uncomfortable around him. His presence seemed to be a double-edged sword for her, providing comfort yet dredging up memories she didn't want to face.

With a quiet groan, he wrapped his hands around the bars of the fence and leaned against it. God, what a pair they were. A year ago, he'd forced her away rather than face the reality of the choice he had to make, and now she was returning the favor. If his past experience was any indicator, she was probably sitting in her kitchen now, wavering between rage and desolation at the prospect of having driven him away.

For the umpteenth time, his conscience reminded him that she had enough to deal with without him calling up old pain with his clumsy attempts to console her. He shouldn't have left her, damnit, not just to go lick his own wounds!

Once they'd been best friends. Lovers. Now they couldn't be in the same room without verbally attacking each other, and god knew they were both good at hitting each other's weak spots. Still, they were both adults, and even if her self-control was overwhelmed by her pain right now, his shouldn't be. He should know better than to allow his knee-jerk reactions to rule him when it came to her.

Alex was alone in her apartment, wounded and wondering if he was coming home, he though suddenly.

A moment later, he was striding up the street, back toward her apartment. A second after that, he was running.

Her apartment door was unlocked when he twisted the knob, and a flash of panic ran through him at the thought of her sitting inside alone, without the protection of a deadbolt. He gave the door a gentle push and stepped inside, not sure if she would welcome his return or yell at him to get out. "Alex?"

Silence answered him, but when he turned to bolt the door behind him, something crunched under his foot as he shifted his weight. He looked down, hoping he hadn't broken something the dog knocked to the floor.

On the ground near his heel lay shards of glass, some smeared with blood, surrounded by what looked like salt or sugar. He couldn't immediately identify what the glass had come from, but that worried him far less than the blood. It's just a few drops, he reminded himself. If she was hurt, there would be much more.

That didn't make him any happier about seeing it. "Alex?" he called again, a little louder, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.

She still didn't answer, but this time a dog's whine broke the silence that followed his call. Tracking the sound led him to the far side of the couch, where he found the apartment's two occupants. Alex was sitting on the ground with her back propped up against the arm of the sofa and her knees drawn in to her chest. She appeared to be asleep, with her tearstained cheek resting on Canis's back, and as he took in the redness around her eyes, the dog looked up at him and whined again as if asking for help.

Bobby gave her sleeping form a once-over, looking for any obvious wounds that could have been the source of the blood by the door, and found none. His heartbeat slowed a little at seeing that she didn't seem to be hurt, and with a sigh, he crouched down beside her and gave the the dog a comforting pat as he whispered, "Alex?"

She didn't even twitch, and after another second of observation, he decided that she must have finally given in the exhaustion that had been dogging her. As gently as he could, he pulled her right hand out from her hunched-over body and examined it.

Her fingertips had a number of small cuts on them, and there was a shallow slash across the bottom of her index finger. Nothing seemed to be bleeding any longer, although there was a visible crust of blood around the slash and a tiny shard of glass embedded in the center of it. He glanced over his shoulder at the debris near the door, mentally putting the scene together. She'd thrown something - a salt shaker, maybe - against the door, and then tried to clean it up with her bare hands and cut herself in the process.

She knew better than to try to pick up broken glass with unprotected hands, just like anyone else who'd ever dropped a teacup or a plate. She had to have been very angry, very distraught, or both to have not thought that action through. He wasn't sure he wanted to know which it had been, but either way, the glass needed to come out of her hand. Lowering his lips to her ear, he whispered her name, this time accompanying it with a gentle shake of her shoulder.

She groaned quietly, her eyes fluttering open. "Huh?"

"Hi," he said quietly, moving his hand to her tangled hair and trying to smooth it out of her face. "You ok?"

"I'm . . ." Drawing in a breath, she sat up straight and wiped her eyes, then grimaced at the pain that caused her hand. "You came back."

Bobby swallowed nervously, not sure how to respond to that. "Uh, yeah, I did. Come on," he added, giving her arm a tug to get her to stand up. "Let's clean that hand."

"My . . ." She looked down, taking in the cuts, then turned her head to see the broken glass that lay in the entryway. "I was trying to clean up the glass."

"I figured." He put a cautious arm around her shoulders, subtly herding her toward the bathroom. "Don't worry about it; I'll get it later. Right now, I want to get the glass out of your hand."

Alex shrugged disinterestedly and allowed him to pull her along. "Why did you come back?"

"I . . . here," he broke off, closing the cover of the toilet and waving her to it. "Sit." When she did, he nodded his approval and turned to the medicine cabinet, hunting for tweezers, antibiotic ointment, and band-aids.

A few seconds later, with the items in hand, he turned back around and squatted in front of her, putting everything but the tweezers down next to him. "These aren't sterile, but I can't think of a better option."

She just gave him an impatient look. "Bobby . . ."

He took hold of her hand and, as gently as he could, tried to tweeze out the glass. "I came back because I shouldn't have left in the first place."

"I . . . ow!" She jerked her hand away, giving him an indignant look. "You don't need to stab me with the damn tweezers."

"Sorry. I think I've got it now . . ." He let his voice trail off as he reclaimed her hand and carefully drew the glass out of it. "There. That was the worst of it."

"Good." Fascinated, she watched his fingers stroke over her hand as he applied the ointment and began to cover the cuts with band-aids. "You don't have to -"

"Shush." He smoothed on the last bandage, then set her hand back on her leg and stood up. "That should do it. How does it feel?"

"Like I sliced my hand open on broken glass," she said with a sigh, copying his motion and getting to her feet. "What time is it?"

"I'm not sure. It's dark out, though. Probably about eight."

"Oh." Once they were out of the bathroom, she started to inch away from him. "You were gone for a couple hours, then," she said, trying to sound casual instead of painfully curious.

"Yeah." He didn't miss her attempt to distance herself from him, but he forced himself not to comment on it. "Did you eat?"

She shook her head and headed for the couch. "No. I . . . wasn't hungry."

"Well . . . are you now?"

"No."

"Alex . . ."

"You didn't really answer my question. Why did you come back? After I said something like that, and when you don't have to be here anyway . . ."

With a sigh, he sank down beside her on the couch. "I walked . . . for a long time . . . until eventually I got my head clear. Did some thinking." He shrugged. "Once I stopped being angry, I realized that you said it because you knew it'd hit me hard, that it would keep me from pushing you any further. And it worked. I should have understood that and given you space, not gotten mad and run away."

"You're human, Bobby." She drew in a slow breath, her shoulders rising and falling with it, and reached for his hand. "You reacted the way any human would. And I'm sorry I said it. Your mom . . . I know how much she means to you."

Surprised by the unexpected contact, he looked down at the bandaged hand lying on top of his. "It's ok. I'm . . . sorry for pushing you."

"It's what you're good at. I don't know why I was surprised." She followed his eyes down to their hands and tightened her grip slightly. "I felt like shit, Bobby. You left and I just sat here, thinking about how everyone I love is slipping away, and I'm just making it go faster by starting fights."

He thought about that for a second. "Are you going to believe me if I say that's not an unusual reaction during the grieving process?"

"Probably not. Not with how I feel right now."

"Ok. Well, is there anything I can say that'll make you feel better?"

She shook her head, sighing. "I doubt it. Just the fact that you're here helps, though."

He stroked a thumb over the back of her hand, being careful to avoid the edges of the bandages. "I'm not going anywhere."

That was a lie, she knew. An inadvertent one, but a lie nonetheless. Bobby might be with her now, but sooner or later - probably sooner rather than later - he'd pack his bags and return to California, and then she'd be alone again.

"Alex?"

"Huh?" She forced his departure out of her mind and looked up at him questioningly.

"You were squeezing my hand, hard. Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing." Giving him her best attempt at a reassuring smile, she shook her head. "I just wasn't paying attention. Did I hurt you?"

"Nah." Something had gone through her head, something unpleasant; it had been clear on her face. But if she didn't want to discuss it, he'd respect that for now. Needing to do something to distract himself, he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and pulled her a little closer. "Come here."

She went willingly, curling up against his side and resting her head on his shoulder. "Thanks."

He rubbed her arm lightly and leaned his head back against the back of the couch. "Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about what I did. When I moved, I mean. I, uh . . ." He sighed. "I know you're still angry at me. Even my mother thinks I was a jackass. She's been telling me for a year that I should apologize. So . . . I am."

"Bobby . . ."

"I was too caught up in worrying about my own choice to think about the fact that you know me too well to accept my 'nothing's wrong' act at face value. And I . . . I took the easy way out and just left, instead of trying to resolve things with you."

"Bobby, don't."

"I'm sorry. I, uh . . ." He swallowed. "I'll stop. I just . . . wanted to say that."

She raised a hand to his face, laying her palm lightly against his cheek, and looked up at him. "You're right on both counts. I am still angry, a little . . . and I can see through you, even now. Enough to know that you regret what happened, without needing hear the words. But we . . ." She sighed. "You know how complicated it is. I need to get myself straightened out before I can really talk about this."

He raised a hand to cover the one she'd laid on his cheek. "I know. I don't expect you to say anything. I just needed to tell you."

"Bobby," she said with quiet intensity, catching and holding his eyes, "I understand, ok? You don't need to keep . . ." He was watching her as if she was everything important to him in the world, and her words trailed off as she felt herself fall under the spell of his eyes. "Bobby . . ."

He released her hand and moved his fingers to her chin, gripping it gently and tilting her face a little more upward. "I shouldn't do this."

"No," she agreed quietly. "It's not a good idea." Even as the words crossed her lips, though, she was leaning closer to him and laying a hand on his chest.

"Alex . . ."

"I know."

They stopped fighting it.

TBC...