A/N: I was at a wake. Once. When I was six. So I'm basically working on imagination here - do let me know if I make any glaring mistakes in funeral ettiquette or anything

Alex was enveloped by her family within minutes of their arrival at the funeral home, and Bobby soon found himself alone at the side of the room. He hung back, watching people file past the coffin where Mary Eames lay and trying to plot a course for how to deal with Alex when they got home. He wasn't even sure if she'd go home crying or if she'd be feeling some amount of peace; he definitely didn't know how she was going to react to him or a possible conversation about his leaving. He needed all the brain cells he could dredge up to work on that problem; leaning back against a wall, he let his neurons go to work.

He was so deep in thought, in fact, that he jumped, startled, when a voice said from beside him, "Why am I not surprised to see you here?"

Regaining control of himself, Bobby turned to look at the newcomer. "I don't know, sir. Why aren't you?"

Deakins rolled his eyes. "Remind me not to ask you an open-ended question like that again. You look good, Bobby. LA must agree with you."

"Hmm."

"You just back for the funeral?" he persisted. "Or am I finally going to get my best team back together?"

Bobby shook his head. "I'm here for Eames right now. I . . . don't know when I'll be back permanently."

"Well, how's your mother? You're waiting on her, right?"

He nodded. "She's doing well. Extremely well, actually. The drug trial, though . . ." He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know."

Deakins pondered that for a moment, then looked over his shoulder at where Alex stood with her arm around her father. "How's she doing?"

"She's coping. I've been trying to keep her from thinking too much about it."

"Riiight. And how's that going?" he asked sarcastically.

The got a reluctant smile out of Bobby. They both knew that trying to keep Alex from doing anything she didn't want to do could be bad for a person's health. "A little better than you'd think, actually. I'm a novelty, I guess."

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't be such a novelty if you'd just move your ass back to New York, where you belong."

Deakins had the bit in his teeth now; he wasn't going to let go until Bobby gave him something on this topic. With a sigh, he shrugged. "I'm trying, Captain. Believe it or not, I do miss home."

The older man nodded, satisfied by that, at least for the moment. "You really have no idea when the drug thing will be over?"

"No. I could theoretically . . . you know, before . . . but there's logistics to be handled, and -"

"But?" Deakins echoed incredulously. "But? You're a smart guy, Bobby. If you wanted to come home, you could work out the logistics - so what's stopping you?"

"Sir . . ."

"Look," Deakins cut in, "if you and Eames are having problems, we can work that out. I know she wants you back as much as I do."

He knew? The captain had never even hinted that he might know about the relationship between the two detectives, and now it turned out he knew? Horrified, Bobby could only stare at him, wondering what revelations would come out of his mouth next.

"What?" Deakins said, noticing and promptly misinterpreting his discomfort. "You guys were on the skids even before you moved; I'm just saying, if you haven't resolved whatever it was, I'll get Eames to work with you on it. Partners fight," he added with a shrug when Bobby's face didn't change. "So stop looking like you think I'm going to split you up just because I know you did."

False alarm, he thought with a mental sigh. Moments later, he was saved from having to respond to Deakins's statement by the appearance of the woman in question at his elbow, looking pale but composed. "Bobby, could you . . . Oh, uh, hi Captain." She offered him a weak smile. "Thank you for coming."

Deakins nodded politely and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "She was a hell of a women, Alex. I'm sorry she's gone. My thoughts are with you and your dad." He paused, noticing a look that passed between the partners, then nodded his head toward Bobby and asked, "Sorry, did you need him?"

"Yeah, if you can spare him."

"He's yours," he said with a wave of his hand. "Didn't mean to monopolize the guy."

Alex gave him a distracted smile and, without further comment, took Bobby's arm and pulled him away.

Halfway across the room, he dug in his heels and forced her to a stop. "What's wrong?"

She looked at him blankly for a second, then realized that their hasty retreat was a little too hasty to be normal. "Nothing's wrong. I just . . . need you."

Surprised by her frank admission, Bobby just nodded and lifted her hand off his arm so he could take hold of it, instead. "Oh. Ok, you've got me."

"Thank you," she said quietly, leading him out of the room and into the hallway. "I just need a minute away from my family . . . and all the people . . ."

He sensed that she wouldn't appreciate his trying to convince her that no one would think less of her for letting her emotions show at her mother's funeral, so he just nodded again and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Let her have her time, he thought; she'd speak again when she was ready to.

Alex closed her eyes and sighed, shifting a little closer to him until she was pressed against his side with her head resting against his arm. "She looks . . . peaceful," she half-whispered after a few seconds. "Like she didn't mind dying. Did you see her?"

"Yeah." He paused, then added tentatively, "I think maybe she came to terms with dying well before it actually happened."

"After the first stroke, you mean?" she asked softly, looking up at him with what appeared to be polite interest.

Bobby knew he was treading on dangerous ground. They were talking about Alex's mother, not his, and everything he knew about the woman, he'd learned as an outsider who was just visiting the Eames household. He'd need to moderate his comments, so that it didn't sound like he was trying to tell her about her mother. "The stroke," he finally said, lowering his head so he could see her eyes, "yes. I mean, I always got the impression that she . . . she knew it would come, and she'd accepted that."

Swallowing, Alex nodded slowly. "Maybe she did. It's just . . . I didn't."

He had no answer for that, no way to make things look better. Using the arm he had around her shoulders, he pulled her into a tight hug, resting his cheek on her hair. "I know. I'm so sorry, honey."

She buried her face in his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist so quickly that he wondered if she'd just been waiting for him to give her the opportunity to do it, and he could tell the exact moment that she finally let go of the self-control she'd been clinging to all evening - her body seemed to go limp and he suddenly found himself supporting most of her weight. She let out a shaky breath, the air warm against his shoulder, and as he continued to hold her, he could feel the wet of her tears soaking through his shirt.

"Alex . . ." he murmured, not really expecting an answer and not getting one, as he used one hand to cradle the back of her head gently.

It felt like only seconds later that there was a quiet cough from behind them and Webster appeared at Bobby's elbow, expression watchful. "Sorry," he told the younger man, keeping his voice low and his eyes on what he could see of Alex. "Uh, Alex?"

Alex, who had been too sunk in her pain to hear the warning cough, started at hearing her name and quickly raised a hand to wipe away her tears before lifting her head off Bobby's shoulder and facing the newcomer.

Webster, not an idiot, pretended as best he could that he didn't notice her spiky lashes or wet cheeks. Giving her a rueful smile, he backed up a step and nodded to her. "Your dad sent me to find you and make sure you were ok. Which, I guess," he went on, glancing at Bobby and then looking back at her, "you are. Thankfully."

"I, uh . . ." Although she dropped her arms from around Bobby, she didn't pull away from him as she made another furtive attempt to dry her tears. "I'm ok, yeah." Reluctant to look directly at Webster and let him see her face, she just nodded awkwardly, then looked up at Bobby and, meeting his eyes, said quietly, "We should probably get back."

Bobby studied her face for a long moment before deciding that she appeared slightly better for having let herself cry, and therefore she was probably steady enough to return to the crowd of people inside the room. "Ok," he said, nodding. "Whenever you're ready."

Webster, seeing that everything was well in hand, at least for the moment, patted her shoulder, smiled encouragingly, and turned to return to the main room.

She watched his retreating back for a second, then looked back at Bobby and smiled tremulously, laying a hand against his cheek. "Thank you. I . . . I really don't know what I would have done if you weren't here."

He turned his head slightly to kiss her palm. "You'd have survived, the same as you always have whether I'm with you or not."

She gave that a few seconds of thought, then looked up at him with dawning acceptance. "Yeah . . . Yeah, I guess I would have," she said slowly, taking his hand. "But I'm glad I don't have to do it without you. Let's go back in. I don't want my dad to worry."