Chapter 3 - Gamesmanship

This isn't good.

Bobby wasn't answering and Alex knew he was home – she could hear the soft strains of music seeping through the door. She pressed her ear to the wood.

This really isn't good.

Stevie Ray Vaughan, 'Leave My Girl Alone.' With the mood Bobby was in when she last saw him, his choice of Stevie Rays' blues did not bode well.

"Bobby? Open the door," she tried calling out, letting him know it was her. "I know you're in there." She knocked again, harder this time. Still no response. "Bobby, don't make me pick the lock." The song track changed to 'The Sky is Crying.' Ahh, Bobby. What's going on in your head?

"C'mon … either open up or I'll be in there in a minute anyway." An idle threat since she really didn't have her lock pick set with her.

She thought she heard some noise, but it was hard to tell over the music. Sonofabitch! Her fist was raised to pound on the door when it suddenly opened.

He looked down at her, his eyes scanning her from head to toe, and Alex now wished she'd gone home first to change into a pair of jeans and a sweater. But all night she couldn't stop thinking about Bobby and what she'd seen in the conference room. As soon as the off-off-Broadway play was over, she'd made her excuses and come right over here. She had to know what the hell was going on.

Finally Bobby stepped away from the door and walked down the hall toward his living room. Alex closed the door behind her and followed.

One dim light glowed in the room. The air smelled of alcohol and cigarettes as Stevie Ray's guitar cried a mournful song of love and loss. Bobby slumped back into the chair he'd obviously been occupying and she saw the bottle on the table next to him.

"Mind if I join you?" Without waiting for a reply, she picked up the scotch off the end table and took it with her to the kitchen. After pouring a small amount into a glass, she left the bottle on the kitchen counter. On her way back into the living room, she walked over to the stereo and lowered the volume before settling onto the couch with one leg tucked beneath her.

"There's ice," he said, nodding toward her glass.

"I like mine neat."

"I didn't know you even liked scotch."

"There's a lot about me you don't know," she said quietly.

Actually, she really didn't like scotch. To her it tasted like turpentine. But pouring a glass for herself accomplished two things – it got the bottle out of his reach, and it gave her something to do with her hands. The fiery burn down her throat was just an added bonus.

"What's going on, Bobby?" she set her glass down on the side table and leaned forward. "Why is Mark Foster's case file spread all over the conference room at work?"

He was staring into the depths of the drink in his hand, as though the amber liquid held answers. Alex let the silence grow between them. The ball was in his court and she wasn't about to let him off without explanation.

"She's back," he raised his head and his eyes met hers.

"She … ?" Alex was confused. What 'she' could he possibly … oh shit! "Nicole Wallace?" He nodded.

Alex felt anger building within her. Why couldn't she just stay away and leave him alone? Nicole ripped Bobby apart every time she came near, and Alex wound up with the job of putting him back together and assuaging the damage she'd done.

"Shouldn't she be locked up somewhere?" she unknowingly reflected his first reaction. Bobby's smirk held no amusement.

"I don't understand, Bobby. What does she have to do with Mark's file?"

"She's opened … every wound in my life and made it bleed. This time … she's doing it through you."

"I still don't …"

"She said we didn't do enough to investigate your connection to Foster," he interrupted her, sounding more than a little angry. "She hinted that you … you knew his killer." Bobby leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and dangling his drink between his knees. "Do you know anything? Did we … miss something?"

"About José Valderez?" She only vaguely remembered the name of Mark's killer.

"About any of it."

"Bobby, I can't imagine what she's talking about."

He leaned back into the chair and took another swallow of scotch. "She … made remarks … about you not working the case with me." His eyes held a sheen, almost feverish. That's when Alex realized he'd probably had more to drink than she'd first thought.

"She sounded like she knows something."

"Bobby, she's guessing." Alex hesitated, wondering how she could possibly go about convincing him that Nicole really didn't know everything about him – how to remind him that her uncanny knack for hurting him came from the same understanding of human nature that he possessed. "I'm your partner and I've worked every case with you for the last five years, other than during my pregnancy."

Bobby frowned and his eyes quickly darted away from hers then back.

"The fact that I wasn't with you on that one is unusual and Nicole's certainly smart enough to know that. She's playing you and she'll base her moves on your reactions." Alex couldn't tell if she was getting through to him. "Don't you see," her voice softened. "What she thinks is your weakness is really our strength." He cocked his head, questioning her meaning. "We know the real reason I didn't work that case."

Warm, dark brown eyes held hers as she saw the memories and emotions that were surely reflected in her own.

"I don't see how that helps," his voice rasped.

"It's the truth. That has to be worth more than whatever crap she's cooked up."

Bobby scrubbed at his eyes with his fingertips then dragged his palm down his face to rub the stubble on his jaw. He's tired. That's his tell for when he's totally exhausted. He let his head fall against the back of the chair and looked at her.

"Who is he Alex?"

Four little words should not have the power to tilt her world at this sickening angle. Dammit, Bobby! Why'd you have to ask? She wished she knew who he was trying to punish with the question – her or himself. She figured it was probably a little of both.

"A friend of a friend," Alex answered vaguely, guessing that he didn't really want to know who he was, just if he existed. Judging by Bobby's reaction he must have hoped she'd deny it altogether, and maybe she should have. Surely her heart would break in two for the pain she saw in his eyes – Bobby most certainly was bleeding. Alex couldn't remember ever seeing him look so miserable.

He focused on the drink in his hand, at the swirling ice and the light ringing sound it made against the glass. "Make sure he treats you right," he said before taking a long swallow.

"Well … I'm pretty sure he isn't a cokehead," Alex tried to joke. Her only reward was a small twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Bobby, tomorrow … hey," she was determined to have him look at her and she paused until he finally raised his eyes. "Tomorrow we're going in and together we're going to look at those files."

He nodded his head, but didn't say a word. Draining his glass, he got up and headed to the kitchen. Alex let herself out the front door. She didn't want to be there when Bobby returned with the bottle of scotch.

TBC…

A/N – Okay … I'll get past the angst now, move on with the story and try my hand at an actual plot.