Well, the events of ENDGAME threw this fanfic out of the realm of possibility. But think if it as an alternate. As always, thanks for the reviews.
Chapter Five
He drove deliberately, hovering just at or below the speed limit. Alex had some sense that if she hadn't been with him he would've sped away from the town, the funeral, everything. Aside from driving the car, he was motionless.
She ventured a question. "How far away is the…" What was the correct term for a mental institution these days? "Hospital?"
"About ten or fifteen minutes," he answered after a beat, and some of the tension in his body seemed to leave with the words.
Encouraged, Alex asked another question. "What's it like?"
Some of the tension returned to his body, and his grip briefly tightened on the steering wheel.
"It…It's a good place," he finally answered. "The grounds are starting to get very beautiful right now. Some of the patients work on them. The doctors encourage it. My Mom…she worked on some of them every once in a while…" Bobby tilted his head in Alex's direction. "There…that fence…That's where the grounds start."
Alex turned to see a tall mesh fence.
"That," Bobby said softly. "Is there mostly to protect the patients…Very few of them are dangerous…And those usually under extreme stress…There's a special wing…"
He turned right on a narrow paved road lined by trees starting to leaf and bud. Through the car's slightly open windows, Alex smelled flowers, grass, and warm earth.
"It smells very different from the city," she said tentatively. "It's nice…"
"Yea," Bobby said. "I always liked that…when I noticed it."
They went around a long curve and a security gate appeared in front of them. Dressed in a dark blue shirt and khakis, the guard who stepped from the gatehouse might have been waiting to play a round of golf if not for his ID badge and paraphernalia around his belt.
"Damn," Bobby said softly as he slowed the car. "I forgot…to call to let them know I was coming now instead of tomorrow…"
In spite of his efforts to stay calm, he seemed to be terribly upset.
"They like to…know ahead of time…It helps with the patients…I know the rules…I should be able to follow them…" His fingers grew white with the tightening of his grip on the wheel.
"Bobby." Alex worked to keep her voice calm. "It'll be all right…If they can't let you take her things today, we can come back tomorrow."
He looked at her with surprise and gratitude and some of the tension again left his body.
"You're…you're right," he said as the guard approached the car. "It's just…I just want to get through this…"
It wasn't a problem. After expressing his sympathy, the guard sent them through. The trees surrounding the road gradually gave way to lovingly maintained lawns and flowers. Many people, attracted by the warm spring weather, were outside, some checking on the flowers, others riding bikes, some walking, some sitting on benches and reading or writing or drawing.
"How," Alex asked before she could stop herself. "Do you tell the patients from the staff?"
To her immense relief, a smile tugged at the corners of Bobby's mouth. "Dr. Shimo says sometimes it's not easy to tell them apart," he said softly. "Or to tell the friends and families from the patients."
He pulled into a parking lot next to a three story red brick building whose style indicated it dated from the 1920s or 1930s. Two less attractive but more functional and modern buildings flanked it.
"In general," he said as he eased the car into a spot. "If someone has an ID badge with a photo, he or she is on the staff. Someone with a paper ID is a visitor. No id, a patient." Bobby shook his head. "They tried to get the patients to accept photo IDs, but the paranoid ones weren't thrilled by the idea." He nodded towards the red brick building. "The oldest building is where the administrative and staff offices are. The one on the right houses the protective wing."
"Protection from or for the patients?" Alex asked. Talking about the hospital seemed to help Bobby.
The sad smile tugged again at Bobby's mouth. "A good deal of both," he said. He unbuckled his seatbelt. "The other building…the larger one…is where most of the patients are…" He slipped deeper behind his walls. "That's where my Mom spent most of the last twenty years…"
Alex knew she had felt this helpless before in her life, but she had difficulty remembering when. "I'm here," she said simply. "I'll do whatever you want me to do."
He looked at her with his dark, pain filled eyes, and Alex struggled to hold his gaze.
"I…" He wrestled with several thoughts. "Could you come in with me?" he asked in a rush. "There's not much stuff…but…I'd appreciate the help…"
"Of course," Alex said. She paused before she got out of the car. "And thank you."
Puzzled, Bobby looked at her.
"For trusting me," Alex said. "I know that's hard for you…to trust…"
He stared at his hands on the steering wheel. "I…none of this makes sense…I should be thanking you…"
She lightly touched his sleeve. "Remember…this is about you."
He took a deep breath. "Ok," he said, more to himself than to her. "Ok."
They climbed the worn steps into the center building. In contrast to its exterior, the interior was bright and modern. The receptionist, clearly familiar with Bobby, expressed a sympathy that to Alex seemed to go beyond the professional. She paged Dr. Shimo and provided Alex and Bobby with temporary badges. Bobby fidgeted with his as they waited for the psychiatrist.
"I'm sorry," he said to the receptionist. "I know I said I'd probably be in tomorrow…but things went faster than I expected…"
"It's not a problem, Mr. Goren," the young woman said. "I would appreciate it if you could let me know the details about the services for your mother. Some of the staff and your mother's friends would like to come…if you don't mind."
"Of course," Bobby said quickly. "If they can…" His head drooped. "I…I can't imagine that there will be much of a crowd."
"You might be surprised," the young woman said.
Alex looked at the receptionist and realized that she, in common with everyone she and Bobby had encountered through the day, felt a great deal of affection and sympathy for him. "And he doesn't know it…see it," Alex thought. "He's full of insight about everyone but knows nothing about this."
"Robert." A short, bald, slightly pudgy man with a warm smile who resembled a statue of Buddha appeared at the desk. "How are you?"
"Dr. Shimo," Bobby said. "This…is my friend, Alex Eames."
Alex noted that Bobby avoided the doctor's question, and she was fairly certain the psychiatrist did as well.
"It's good to meet you, Ms. Eames," Shimo said. "Robert has mentioned you many times and brought photos with you to his mother."
Bobby shifted uncomfortably.
Alex had two reactions to psychiatrists and psychologists. There were the creepy ones, who babbled about feelings and conditions with strange, frightening names and struck Alex as emotional vampires—the woman with the cats eye glasses and frazzled brown hair the department sent Alex to after her husband's death fell into this category. The others were the quiet, sympathetic listeners who offered sympathetic ears and common sense—Alex put her current therapists in that box, and she was strongly in favor of placing Dr. Shimo there as well.
"We have your mother's things ready for you in the conference room," Dr. Shimo said as they walked through the corridors. "I thought it might be easier for you to through them there. You're more than welcome to check her room to be sure we got everything."
Bobby nodded. Alex watched as he disappeared again behind his defenses.
Dr. Shimo opened the door to a room containing a large table surrounded by several chairs. Its large window offered a pleasant view of the gardens. A half dozen boxes sat on the table.
"I'll leave you," Dr. Shimo said. "Just let someone know if you need anything…And…please…let me know before you go…"
Bobby nodded and stared at the boxes.
"Robert," Dr. Shimo said as he turned to go. "You've always tried to do the right thing. I don't think I've ever known a caretaker who tried to learn so much and to be so understanding."
Bobby stared at his shoes. "Thank you," he said so softly that Alex could scarcely hear him.
"I'll see you before you go," Dr. Shimo said. "I have the evening shift."
Bobby stared at the boxes for several minutes after the psychiatrist left. His hand began to rub the back of his neck.
"Are you sure that you don't want to get some lunch?" Alex could still barely hear him.
"It's a little late for lunch…And I'm not hungry." The thought that she might be an intruder struck her. "Bobby…Do you want me to leave?"
He turned away from her, and she saw him tremble.
"I…I don't what…I…I'm afraid," he confessed.
She moved cautiously towards him. "What are you afraid of?"
The trembling increased. "Me," he whispered. "I'm afraid of me."
She stepped closer to him "I…I don't think I understand."
He stiffened and struggled to stop shaking. "I don't understand, either," he said in a flat voice. He rushed behind his walls.
Alex decided against trying to attack those walls at that moment. "Look…whatever is going to happen…This time tomorrow…It'll be over…"
He titled his head towards her. "Yea," he said. "Everything ends."
She didn't like the words or the way he said them. "And then there's a chance for a new start."
"Maybe," he said after a moment. "And that can be more terrifying than the ending."
She stepped so close to him that she could easily touch him. "Bobby." She tried to keep the fear out of her voice. "You…I can't imagine what you're going through…But…like I've said…I'm here…"
He took a deep breath and turned slightly in her direction. "I…I know…I'm grateful…I…" He stared at the floor.
"Why don't we get started on sorting these things?" She hated how feeble the words and her voice sounded. "Maybe…well, at least it'll give us something to do…"
Frances Goren possessed pitifully few earthly goods. Her clothing consisted largely of sweatsuits, pajamas and gowns ("They are…were…easier for her to get in and out of," Bobby said in answer to Alex's unsaid question. "And with the cancer treatment and the hospital…"). There were some nice shampoos, bath soaps and gels, and perfumes ("Some of the few things she always enjoyed," Bobby told her). There were some bright but disconcerting paintings ("From some of her roommates," Bobby said. "Some of them went home."), a few photographs and books.
Bobby moved through the boxes methodically, setting aside most of the materials to leave at the hospital. Alex opened one box to find a carefully and brightly wrapped package.
"Bobby…what's this?" She held up the package for his inspection.
Bobby turned to look at her and jerked as if he'd been struck. His hand flew to his mouth.
Alex dropped the package back in the box and reached out to him. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"It…It's…" His voice was thick. "The birthday present I gave her…her last…last birthday…She…she never…"
Alex's heart shattered and she feared she might break down. "No," she thought. "Hold it together…for him…" She reached out to him again, but Bobby jerked away.
"No," he growled. Seeing her stunned face, guilt flooded him. "I'm sorry," he whispered and stumbled away from her. "I'm sorry…I didn't…Oh, God, Alex…I'm sorry…"
Alex took a deep breath. "Hey," she said. "I think you're allowed some anger right now."
"But…not at you.." His voice was a ragged whisper. "Not at you."
"Ok…maybe not at me…But it's not like we can call Ross and let you yell at him."
Bobby rocked on his feet and finally looked at her. "Yea…highly impractical…" He stared at the offending package.
"Hey," Alex said. "We're pretty much done…I can take the things you want to keep to the car…And you can talk and visit the people you need to…" She sensed Bobby needed to do some things alone.
"You…you're sure you wouldn't mind waiting?" His obvious relief told Alex her senses were right.
"Absolutely…I might take a walk…I've got a book…You take your time." Alex picked up the one box with items Bobby wanted to keep; it was terribly light.
Bobby picked up the birthday present from its perch. "Might as well give this to someone," he said. "Someone who'll want it…"
She was glad he couldn't see the tears in her eyes.
It was early evening when Alex carried the box from the building. The grounds were quiet and the parking lot half empty. Grey clouds had replaced the sunshine of the morning, and the wind had an edge to it. "I hope it doesn't rain tomorrow," Alex thought. She placed the box in Bobby's car, and sat in the passenger seat, unsure of what she should do. She'd suggested he continue on alone because she felt increasingly confused and frustrated. He appeared to want and need her; he was certainly grateful for her presence, but also pulled away from her. Alex sighed and decided to check her phone. There were concerned messages from Ross and her father; she returned them, leaving a message for Ross and reaching her mother.
Unlike her father, who accepted her partnership with Bobby, Alex's mother was at best skeptical. She found him charming and polite and appreciated his size and strength, but also tended to heed the rumors about Bobby. When Alex was in the hospital after Jo Gage's attack, her mother hadn't gone so far as to physically attack Bobby, but she didn't welcome his presence. Bobby simply avoided her or disappeared when she visited. When Alex returned home, her mother expressed considerable frustration with her daughter's refusal to take things easy or to consider leaving the NYPD or Bobby. Alex's conversation with her mother this day was a difficult one. Her mother couldn't—or wouldn't—understand why Alex was at Carmel Ridge.
"Alexandra…After everything that's happened. I know you weren't leave the department…but I don't know why you're doing all of this for this man…"
Alex tried to remember that her mother was as baffled by her daughter as her daughter was by her.
"He's my partner…and my friend…"
"I've never understood why," her mother sighed. "But your father and I will be there for the funeral…If you care so much about this man, and your father respects him so much, there must be a great deal of good about him."
Alex's heart softened. "Thanks, Mom. I'm not sure I understand it myself…But he's a good man."
She'd just said goodbye to her mother when Bobby, accompanied by Dr. Shimo, emerged from the hospital. Bobby shook the psychiatrist's hand and stepped slowly down the steps to the parking lot. When he reached the car and opened the door, he stared at her for a moment as if he'd forgotten she was with him. He was pale and vibrated with tension. After a beat he held out the keys to her. "Could…could you…"
"Of course." Alex reached for the keys, and their hands brushed. He dropped the keys in her hand.
"Thank you," he said softly.
He sat huddled in the passenger seat as Alex maneuvered the car through the grounds. Bobby didn't speak until they were back on the main road to town.
"I…I always wondered what it would be like to leave this place for the last time," he said. "And now…"
Alex glanced at him.
"And now…" His voice was low. "I don't know what I feel."
It was nearly dark, and the trees cast long shadows over the road.
"Can I buy you some dinner?" His voice startled her. "You must be starving."
"Sure," she said. "I'm a little hungry." In truth, she'd been hungry for a couple of hours. "What are our choices?"
"Not many," Bobby admitted. "There's the diner…a couple of fast food places…And a sorta bar/steakhouse on the other side of town."
"Well, let's go with the other local establishment," Alex said cheerfully. "Unless you know of a reason to avoid it."
Bobby's vague description didn't do the Welcome Tavern justice. It was a motley but friendly combination of a family restaurant with a bar attached. Alex felt she deserved something for her efforts during the day, and opted for a margarita. Bobby ordered some dark amber liquid. It was not the best timing that their drinks arrived well ahead of their food, or that Bobby and Alex each ordered a second, and Bobby a third. As she started to eat her salad, Alex realized she had more than a slight buzz, and that Bobby, in spite of his large size, was probably feeling the alcohol as well. He'd scarcely eaten breakfast, and barely touched the good looking steak set before him.
"I guess," Alex said warily. "I'm driving."
Bobby looked up at her guiltily. He'd ordered one more drink as the food arrived. "I…I'm sorry." He rubbed his eyes. "I guess I'm trying to numb myself…"
She touched his hand lightly. "Just be careful…You don't want to have a hangover tomorrow."
He smiled bitterly. "Yea…wouldn't want to show up at my Mom's funeral with a hangover…be like something out of a Eugene O'Neil play."
He switched to iced tea, but he'd drunk enough quickly enough that by the time they were ready to leave he was slightly unsteady on his feet and his words blurring together. Alex gently suggested coffee, but he shook his head.
"You know what happens, Eames…You give a drunk coffee, and all you've got is a wide awake drunk.
He didn't protest when she guided him out of the restaurant and to the car. He wordlessly handed her the keys and dropped into the passenger seat. He fumbled with the seat belt, and Alex reached to help him. He jerked away from her. "No," he growled, and raised his hand to his face. "I…I'm sorry…"
"It's ok," she said. "Please…just let me help you."
He relaxed, and she carefully snapped the belt.
She hoped that he might fall asleep on the drive to the hotel, but found she was the one fighting sleep as the long day caught up with her.
"Alex…are you ok?" Bobby's soft, concerned voice broke out of the dark corner.
She tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a yawn. "Just a long day," she said. "But it's not far…Just talk to me."
Bobby's hand covered his face. "What…what do you want to talk about?"
She could feel the exhaustion and pain pouring from him, and she searched for a topic that might be safe.
"Baseball." It was the source of frequent, friendly debates between them. Bobby was a Mets fan, Alex a Yankee follower.
"Baseball." He gave her a weary smile. "I don't have the slightest idea of what's going on this season. Enlighten me."
For the rest of the drive, Alex revealed everything she knew about recent developments in New York City baseball, and Bobby listened, or at least appeared to listen, to her. Her knowledge held out until they reached the hotel. Silence fell over them as they walked to their neighboring rooms.
"Do you want to talk…anything?" Alex asked as Bobby pulled out his key card.
He hesitated, and Alex again suffered the sense of Bobby pulling at her and pushing her away.
"It's been…a rough day…And tomorrow." He swallowed.
"Tell me again…what time do we need to get up?" She was reluctant to break their contact.
"The…the Mass is at ten…There's visitation…If anyone comes…starting at nine...I should be at the funeral home about eight-thirty."
"We should be up by seven or so," Alex said.
"You…don't have to come with me…You can come later…"
She lightly touched his arm. "I'm here…I want to help you."
"Ok."
"If you need me tonight," she said. "I'm right here." She wanted desperately to stay with him.
"I…I know," he said in a low, strained voice. "Goodnight, Alex." He opened the door and turned to her. "Thank you."
In her room, Alex checked her suit, took a shower and aimlessly flipped through the TV channels. She kept the sound low so that she could hear any noise from Bobby's room. Her eyes closed, her body drooped against the pillows, and the remote slid from her hands.
Bobby stared in the room and tried to get his bearings. He was still numbed by the alcohol and grateful for it, but reality was digging its claws on the edges of his mind. For a moment he wished he'd picked up a bottle of something and even considered leaving the room to get something—anything—that would sustain the numbness. But he was too tired, and the thought of showing up at his mother's funeral with a hangover or worse sickened him. He dragged his body into the shower, set the head to pulverize, and turned the water on as hard and hot as he could. He wanted to cry, but he was empty, drained, and without any hope of renewal. He left the shower before he became a red prune, dried his body, and slipped on boxers and a T-shirt. He brushed his teeth, desperately trying to take refuge in the mundane action. He set the alarm and also called the front desk to ask for a wakeup call—tomorrow was not a morning to be late—and fell on the bed. He clicked off the lamp and prepared to try to ride out the storms in his mind.
He was half-asleep when he heard it. He shook his head and sat up, and cocked his head to listen carefully. He heard it again and recognized the sound. It was Alex, and it was a cry of distress.
End Chapter Five