Some hijacking of this chapter by characters and situations.

Chapter 12

There were bumps, but Alex and Mike Logan worked well together, well enough that the Major Case Squad's solve rate dripped only slightly. The dip wasn't enough to catch the Brass' attention, but enough to cause Ross and other members of the squad to miss Bobby Goren. Logan wasn't Bobby, but he was smart, funny, tough, and occasionally willing to reach into those inherited reference books resting on Alex's desk. There were some things she couldn't share—the Santa Mug remained firmly on her desk. She saw her nephew several times a week. Her parents and siblings encouraged her to go out and even presented a couple of candidates for dating purposes. Alex smiled and didn't refuse these suggestions as much as she ignored them. She sold the house with remarkable ease and little regret, and made enough to make a down payment on a studio apartment within walking distance on a good day of One Police Plaza. As a consequence, she returned the Mustang to Lewis, who told her she could borrow a car any time. She sold nearly everything in the house, and her discovery that very few traces of Joe remained there stunned Alex. As she packed her albums and scrapbooks, she felt little as she glanced at the ones depicting her life with Joe. The more recent ones, the ones showing where Bobby entered her life, produced lumps in her throat and tears in her eyes, and she lingered over them until she was in danger of not being ready for the movers. Her move to a much smaller home in Manhattan puzzled her family.

"Are you having some kind of crisis?" one of her sisters asked.

"No," Alex answered. "Just feel the need to simplify things."

Her life had always revolved around her job, and now, aside from the time with her family, she scarcely existed away from it. She accompanied Logan for a few after work drinks, but never drank to excess. Leary of his reputation, Alex kept her defenses up at first with Logan, but, to both her relief and minor disappointment, he made no moves towards her. It took Alex roughly a week to learn about Logan and Ross' promises to Bobby. The concern of all three men touched her, although Alex warned her partner and her captain that if she ever caught them looking out for her, there would be dire consequences.

The job and the apartment took up much of her time. During her few moments available for reflection, Alex missed Bobby terribly. The feelings were vaguely familiar. One night, as she struggled to sleep, she realized she was mourning for Bobby. The symptoms weren't exactly the same as the ones she experienced at Joe's murder, but the dull ache in her heart and the fog in her brain were very much like what she felt. At times she didn't know if the fact Bobby was alive made everything better or worse. She lived for his calls on Sunday nights or for the emails (very few of those since he was rarely near a computer), or for the letters bearing Bobby's scrawl (usually from somewhere Alex had never heard of). These communications provided little information regarding Bobby and his state of mind. She was always glad to hear his voice, even if he sounded as lost and exhausted as she felt. His letters were wonderfully descriptive about where he was, if not informative regarding what he thought and felt. "I'm doing ok," he said, or "This wasn't too bad of a day." The envelopes' postmarks suggested he wandered the wilds of northern New York with occasional forays into Canada. His letters mentioned a rare Army buddy, but he appeared to remain solitary for his travels. He camped a great deal, and several letters offered hilarious accounts of his fishing efforts. He didn't write or speak of missing her or of what happened between them before he left, and he signed his letters with nothing more than his name. The length and frequency of his communications rested on where he was physically or mentally. Sunday nights became sacred to Alex; in response to her family's questions, she explained that time was hers. One awful Sunday night Alex waited by the phone with increasing anxiety as the minutes and hours clicked by. She had no idea if Bobby still had his cell phone, but she was ready to call it when her phone rang. Her relief and his guilt stayed her anger.

"I'm sorry," he said when he heard the distress in her voice. "I…I was hiking…and I lost track of time…It was so beautiful…And then it was so late I was afraid to call…"

"It's ok." Alex curled up on her bed. "I was…I was waiting for your call." Alex feared she sounded like a love struck teenager.

There was a beat. "You…you were waiting…" He was stunned. "Oh, Alex…I'm sorry…You must have been worried."

"It's ok," she said. "But I was about to call your cell phone."

"Sorry," Bobby said. "I'm not carrying it…"

Alex could only hope that Bobby received as much pleasure from hearing her voice as she did from hearing his. His letters revealed a little more than his phone calls. He rarely wrote about his feelings, but Alex sensed that the vivid descriptions in his words were an attempt to maintain their connections. The letters provided small steps—a "I wish you were here to see this" or "I miss you"—that reverberated in Alex's heart.

Her family thought the changes in her life might be a delayed reaction to the assault on her. Only her father sensed that her partner's absence might be a factor in Alex's behavior, and even he saw it only as A reason rather than THE reason. During the funeral of Bobby's mother, Alex registered her mother and father's presences only on her mind's edge. It was only after Bobby—in a rare acknowledgement of his mother's passing—wrote asking her to express his gratitude to her parents that Alex recalled they had been at the funeral. She quickly forwarded Bobby's thanks to them; her mother surprised Alex by expressing sympathy for Bobby.

"He wrote us a wonderful and charming note just to thank us for being there," her mother told her. "And everyone at the funeral had such good things to say about him. He must be a very good man."

In spite of Bobby's efforts, bits of his life seeped into hers. There were phone calls from concerned friends and even a few sessions over coffee with Lewis. Alex checked in occasionally with the daughter of the Smithsonian director. The bright young woman—who loved the apartment and the books—reported one day that two large men dressed in very expensive dark suits approached her on the previous day to ask if she knew Bobby Goren. She told them that she did, but that he was out of town and she had no idea where he was. She did know that his partner might be able to contact him, but the men were surprised and nervous when the young woman mentioned that Bobby Goren and his partner were NYPD detectives.

"Frank," Alex thought, and urged the young woman to call her if the men appeared again.

The men didn't reappear, but Frank Goren did. Alex and Logan were in the middle of a tough case and decided that a break from the squad room might clear their minds. As they walked to the nearest coffee shop, Alex noted with a slight smile that Logan attempted to adjust his stride to match hers. He hadn't quite mastered the skill yet, and Alex remembered that it had taken several weeks for her and Bobby to figure out how to walk together.

"Hey!" A voice called from behind them. Alex and Logan's cop ESP immediately went on full alert. Their hands hovering near their guns, both cautiously turned. The faced an anxious Frank Goren. He was dressed well and seemed sober, but he nervously approached. Alex and Logan regarded him with jaundiced eyes.

"Frank," Alex said in exasperation.

"Uh…hey." He nodded absently at Logan. "I…I was trying to find Bobby…"

Logan stepped closer to Alex, a move she found surprisingly reassuring.

"He's not around," Alex said calmly. "And I don't know where he is."

"I…I need to find him," Frank said.

Alex sighed. "Do you need money?"

"Uh, no…no," Frank said. "God's been good to me lately…"

Logan snorted. "I've never really understood why God would take an interest in anyone's gambling activities."

Frank glared at Logan. "I'm talking to the lady," he said.

"Whose name you've apparently forgotten," Logan said dryly.

As much as she enjoyed watching Logan take on Frank, Alex wanted to end this conversation. "Frank, what do you want?"

Frank shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Alex wondered that a behavior that was so endearing in Bobby could be so irritating in Frank. "I need to talk with Bobby about my Mom's stuff…I know she left me something…"

Logan grunted, and Alex didn't try to hide her anger.

"Bobby told you…There was nothing to leave…Your mother didn't have anything." Alex stared at him.

"But…" Frank whine.

"And stop sending people around his place," Alex said quietly. "He's not there."

Frank did a poor impression of a fish.

"And remember," Alex continued. "I'm a cop…Bother me again and you'll be in trouble like you've never known." She turned to Logan. "Let's get out of here."

"It didn't take you very long," Frank growled.

Alex didn't respond—she was through with Frank.

"What are you talking about?" Logan said in a low voice.

"Logan…don't…" Alex touched him lightly on the sleeve.

Frank sneered at her. "Didn't take you long to find someone else? Someone to take his place?"

"Listen." Logan's voice took on an edge. "You don't know anything about her…or your brother…"

"I'll say this for you," Frank said. "You train them well…But Bobby was always a wimp with girls…Always so polite and nice and letting them walk all over him."

Alex flared at the attack on Bobby. "Well, you don't seem to be doing all that well," she said coldly. "And Logan and I are professional partners and friends…"

"Oh, yeah," Frank sneered. "Friends…"

Logan moved quickly. Before Alex or Frank could react, he rushed Frank into an alley and pinned him against a brick wall.

"Listen," Logan said coldly and in a low voice. "Only the fact that you're Goren's brother keeps me from wiping the ground with you. You can say what you want about me, but you cross the line when you badmouth her or your brother." His head jerked towards Alex.

Frank twisted helplessly. "I…I'll report this," he gasped.

"Go ahead," Logan said. "My jacket could use some new material."

Alex stood near the alley's entrance, her arms folded. "You boys go ahead," she said dryly. "Don't mind me."

Frank opened and shut his mouth.

"Here's the deal, Frank," Logan said almost genially. "You leave Eames alone. You leave Bobby alone…And we'll leave you alone." His grip relaxed slightly. "How's that sound?"

Frank looked frantically from Logan to Alex.

"It's a good deal, Frank," Alex said. She enjoyed the moment more than she should have.

"Ok…Ok," Frank whimpered.

Logan released him, and Frank started to slink away. "You…you won't tell Bobby about this?"

Alex thought Frank actually looked scared and sensed that this fear of his brother was a relatively new development.

"Not a word, Frank," she said. "Not for you, though…but because of Bobby…for some reason, he still cares about you."

His shoulders slumped and shooting quick, frightened glances over his shoulder, Frank shuffled away.

"Whatya think?" Logan asked. "Think he'll stay away?"

"I think we've put the fear of God in him," Alex said. "Or at least the fear of the NYPD." She looked at Logan. "Thanks for your help."

Logan waved a hand. "Not a problem," he said cheerfully. "I owe Goren…I owe you…" He grinned. "Besides, I've been wanting to something like that since I saw how he treated his brother."

Alex said nothing about the encounter with Frank when she spoke with Bobby the next Sunday. For his part, Bobby seemed even more distracted than usual.

"Hey," she asked softly. "You ok?"

"Uh…yea…" he answered. In her mind, Alex could see him rubbing the back of his neck. "I…I'm sleeping better…I've lost some weight…" Alex heard a truck's motor in the distance. "But last night…Alex, do you know what day this is?"

She ran through the files in her mind. "Uh, no…I…" She glanced at the calendar on her wall. "Oh, Bobby…I didn't realize. It's three months since your Mom died."

There was a long silence; Alex feared he'd hung up. "Yea…three months…Alex…Thank you for everything…Your patience…I…I…don't deserve…don't know what…" His voice trailed away.

"It's all right," she assured him quickly. "I'm glad to be of help."

Another long silence followed.

"I…uh…thank you…I …miss you, Alex…I…I'm sorry…So sorry…Good by…" And he was gone, leaving Alex thrilled at his admission that he missed her and terrified by his depression.

A letter from Bobby arrived three days later. The sight of an envelope with Bobby's handwriting filled Alex with anticipation, and she ripped it open as she waited for the elevator.

"My dearest Alex," it began.

"He's never started a letter like that," Alex thought.

"I love you so much. You've given me so much. I don't deserve you."

Alex's heart fell at the words, and for several moments she couldn't continue to read the letter.

"I spent the anniversary of my Mom's death hiking in a state park. It was beautiful, and for the first time since her funeral, I noticed how beautiful the world could be. And then I thought of how much I wished you were there with me. I love you. I want to share things with you. These may be the only things I really know—that I'm really sure of. I love you. I can't give you anything but me, but you already know that. I'm not sure I've figured myself out. Maybe no one ever really figures themselves out. But I've come to believe what you told me. That what we do and what we've done is what makes and shows what we are. And I guess that my actions—at least a lot of them—mean I'm a good man, or at least I've tried to be a good man. I know you're good, so if I love you, there must be something good about me. I will come back. I hope that you will be there, that you'll be waiting. I understand if you're not. I only hope. That may be the greatest thing you've given me. Hope.

Love,

Bobby"

A smudge blurred the ink on the paper. Alex realized her tears were dropping on the sheet. Clutching the letter, she stumbled out of the elevator and to her apartment. She fumbled with her keys, unlocked the door, and found a tissue. She wiped her eyes and looked again at the few lines.

"Oh, Bobby," she whispered. "If only I could talk to you. If I knew where you were, I'd run to you right now."

She hoped she might use the next day to search for Bobby, but an early call in the morning from a grumpy Logan yanked her from a restless sleep. His mood wasn't improved when the case proved to be a simple one that they kicked back to the locals after a day wasted in paperwork and tap dancing for and around the Brass. They were able to leave work at a reasonable hour, but Alex lacked the energy both to accept Logan's offer of a drink and to walk to her apartment. The driver of the cab she hailed was about to protest such a short trip, but Alex smiled wearily and charmingly at him.

"It's been a long, rough day," she said. "And I promise you a good tip."

"I can understand that," the cabbie said, and cheerfully drove her the few blocks. He became even more cheerful when Alex asked him to stop at the corner to save him the trip down the street.

It was a lovely summer evening, and Alex regretted the loss of the walk home. August in New York City often felt as if a very hot and very wet blanket covered the world, but several days and evenings of thunderstorms created a brief respite of cool breezes. Alex ran a hand through her hair. "A nice, cool shower…some iced tea…maybe a Long Island Iced Tea…an early bedtime…" she thought. As she walked, she saw a large figure sitting on the steps of her building. In her short time in the area, Alex hadn't noticed any problems with vagrants in the neighborhood, and hoped that this wasn't the sign of trouble. As she drew closer, the figure stood and walked to her. She recognized its frame and step.

"Bobby," she breathed.

END Chapter 12