As the alcohol filtered out of his system, the dreams filtered in. He tried a dozen different ways to apologize to her, each one an unmitigated disaster. Always, she ended up saying: I trusted you. I put you up to the test and you failed miserably, you bastard. You don't respect me. You are just after my body and I can't respect you for that. If I can't respect you and I can't trust you, then I can't be your partner. And then she was gone...and he as lost in another dream, another failed apology, another departure. And he couldn't break the cycle...What had he done? I'm sorry...I'm so sorry...

He shifted his position and groaned. What the hell..? Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings. Vaguely, he remembered making his way home from the tavern a few blocks away. He sat up, very slowly, and rested his throbbing head in his hands. Where'd the blanket come from? He passed a hand through sweat-drenched hair and studied the empty bottle resting on its side on the coffee table. An empty tumbler lay on the floor at his feet. It didn't take much for him to deduce what had happened, though he still wasn't sure how the blanket got there. It wasn't something he'd have been likely to get, not in the condition his body told him he'd been in. Ultimately, it hurt too much to think about, so he let it go for now.

Vaguely, he wondered what had happened to drive him to this...then he remembered. And he wished he hadn't. Damn. He got up, still unsteady, and went into the bathroom. After a hot shower, he felt marginally better. Pulling on a pair of boxers and sweatpants, he made his way to the kitchen. Food just didn't sound good to him right then, so he settled for a glass of orange juice and returned to the living room. He looked around for the remote, but the phone started ringing, so he switched his search, finally locating it in the chair. "Goren."

Hi, Bobby. This is Denise.

"Hey."

We did have a date tonight, didn't we?

Tonight? He looked at the time. 7:38. Crap. He'd slept all damn day. What had he done to himself? "Uh, I'm sorry, Denise...I..." He sighed heavily. He had no excuse. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I, uh, I can't make it tonight. Sorry I didn't call."

Is everything all right?

No, everything was all wrong... "I...I just don't feel well tonight."

It's okay. I'll just take a rain check.

"Thanks. I'll make it up to you."

A soft laugh. You always do. Good night, Bobby.

"Good night."

He closed the phone. He was lucky she was so easy-going. He resumed his search for the remote.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had dozed off on the couch again and was roused by the doorbell. Getting wearily to his feet, he went to the door and opened it. "Denise?"

She smiled at him. "I'm sorry to just drop by, but I got to thinking about it and I felt bad that you weren't feeling well."

"Don't," he answered, stepping away from the door to let her in. "I did it to myself."

She frowned. "Why? What upset you?"

He was impressed that she knew him well enough to know he was upset. "Don't worry about it. I'll work it out."

He was glad he'd cleaned up as he followed her over to the couch and sat beside her. She studied his face. "Did you eat?" she asked.

"No."

"I can fix you something."

He shook his head. "No, thanks."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. He still couldn't stomach any food. She continued to study him; he looked tired. Reaching toward him, she cupped her hand over his cheek. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

That was the last thing he wanted to do. "I'm sure," he muttered.

Her fingers slid lightly into his hair and he groaned softly as she leaned toward him and kissed him. He responded to her...until the memory of the previous night popped into his head. He withdrew. He couldn't do this any more. He couldn't take advantage of her like this. She deserved better, and he liked her too much to continue using her this way. It wasn't fair to her, but what was more, it just wasn't right. She looked confused. "What's wrong?"

"I...I just..." He trailed off.

Slowly, he shook his head. He had no idea what to tell her. But Denise was a perceptive woman. "Does this have anything to do with Alex?"

He looked like she'd just hit him and he tried to deny it, but it didn't work very well. "It's about time," she said softly. He stared at her as though she had lost her mind. She gently ran her fingers up his arm and across his shoulder. "I'm really going to miss dating you, but I hope we can stay friends."

He stammered for a moment but nothing coherent would come out. She laid her fingers over his lips. "Don't hurt yourself," she said with a kind smile. "Call her. Work things out with her. She's the one you need, Bobby, and I'm glad to see something kicked you in the ass about her."

"I...but..." He took a steadying breath. "She's my partner, Denise."

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."

He frowned. "Tell anyone what?"

She smiled at his confusion. "That she's your partner." Picking up his phone from the table, she pressed it into his hand. "Everything will be fine, dear. I promise." Softly, she kissed him. "Call her. I'll see you Monday. Good night, Bobby."

He watched her leave, then stared at the phone in his hand. Call her. She's the one you need. He stared at the phone for a long time. Scrolling through his list of missed calls, he saw two from his mother and eight from his partner. His emotions were in a confused jumble and he still wasn't sure he trusted himself to talk to her. He sighed heavily. Then he placed the phone back on the table and stretched out on the couch, flipping through the channels.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She snuggled into her bed, pulling the comforter up under her chin. Warm and comfortable, she sighed in the darkness and, inevitably, her thoughts turned to the only man in her life who was never far from them. Often, she found herself wondering just what went through that brilliant mind of his. She had spent the day trying to figure out why he had taken off like he did, when she had given him no reason to freak out. He was deeply unsettled, enough to drink himself into a stupor and then refuse to take her calls. She'd never known him to do that before. Of course she'd seen him drunk many times. She'd taken him home enough after something got under his skin and upset his balance. But he had never refused to answer her calls, or to call her back if he missed any calls. She didn't know what to make of him right now. Recalling that rooftop kiss made her body tremble. And that was a very good thing. What could he be thinking?

Reaching toward the table beside her bed, she picked up her phone and dialed his number again. Listened to the ring, she let it go until it went to voicemail. Irritated, she decided against leaving a message. He was upset enough; he didn't need to sense any irritation from her right now. She hung up the phone and rolled onto her side. Tomorrow...either he was going to answer the damn phone or she was going to show up on his doorstep and get this all straightened out. She didn't like this at all; she was worried about him. For some reason, this had terribly upset his equilibrium and he had no idea how to get it back. So she would have to help to restore his balance...somehow.