Chapter 11

Alex leaped from Bobby's bed. She and Bobby both winced in pain. Alex retreated to a corner as Carver entered. Bobby managed to smooth the bed clothes, and he greeted Carver with as much civility as he could muster.

"Counselor," Bobby said.

"Detective," Carver replied, "Or should I say detectives."

Alex seethed. Any anger she felt regarding her and Bobby's wounds was directed at Carver. She carefully avoided him during her time at work, and sensed he was attempting the same. Bobby, however, was all gracious manners, and it occurred to Alex that, while Bobby's professional relationship with Carver was stormy, his personal one was reasonably friendly. Her professional relationship with Carver was civil, but they scarcely had a personal one. "Must be a boy thing," Alex thought. She was suddenly tired, tired of Carver, tired of Bobby and all his problems, tired of being tired.

"I'll leave you boys to have fun," she said. For a moment Bobby gave her a look of unvarnished pain. "I'll see you tomorrow, Bobby, if only to force feed you." Bobby's expression remained guarded, but relief swept through it.

"Yea, please...I appreciate the papers and the coffee...and the company."

Alex was ready to forgive him, but felt unable to play a part in front of Carver. "Gentlemen," she said and swept out of the room.

"She's angry with me," Carver said quietly, "and I can't blame her."

"I'm angry with you, too," Bobby thought, as he remembered how warm and soft Alex felt in his arms.

"It wasn't your fault," Bobby said, and then, as the thought hit him with full force, "it wasn't anyone's fault..." He was lost in his head.

"Detective?" Carver asked.

"Sorry...drifted there," Bobby gave Carver his most charming smile.

"I have something for you—help you while away the time," Carver handed Bobby a small box. Bobby gave him a quizzical look, and unwrapped the package. He laughed—one of his first genuine laughs in a month—when he saw its contents. "A Shelby Mustang, uh?"

"And," Carver said, handing over a small bag, "some materials to use on it."

Bobby grinned.

He had some time to work on the model over the next few days. There was the physical therapy that left him feeling like a battered noodle, although the sessions in the hospital pool were relaxing. And there were the visits from Alex, the highlights of his day in spite of the strain that accompanied them. He wanted her, needed her desperately. His body and soul called for her, but he said nothing. Bobby felt he had no right. And she seemed lost in her own thoughts.

Alex was with him when his doctor told him he would be discharged the next day.

"Of course, you should have someone to check on you..." the doctor said.

"He will," Alex stated.

Bobby looked at her with gratitude.

Alex left the hospital and stopped at Bobby's apartment. She had made a point of picking up his mail, making sure that his bills were paid, but she hadn't actually spent much time in the rooms. His landlord had made sure Bobby's cleaning service did its job (the landlord liked the idea of having a policeman in the building, especially a big, strong, and quiet policeman like Bobby), but Alex decided to give the rooms a once over.

She made sure the bed had clean sheets and the bathroom clean towels. Alex was about to leave when she noticed several neat piles on Bobby's desk. Curiosity drove her to look at them. One pile contained several letters and pamphlets concerning a career with the FBI. Another contained information about several private or semi-private security firms. A third contained letters and emails from the head of the NYPD counter terrorism force. Alex sat heavily in the desk's chair.

"He's leaving me," she thought blindly. "How could he...what..." She shook her head. "This is what you get for snooping, girl...wait...he's not leaving you...he's doing it...to be with you...a contingency plan…" She took a deep breath. Alex looked around Bobby's apartment. In comparison to hers, it was spare, utilitarian. There were no family pictures or tokens of friends. Alex stood up and looked on the bookshelves. There were no photo albums or scrapbooks. She had seen in Bobby's closets—she knew there were no boxes of memories hiding in their corners. The only personal items were in another pile on his desk, one that held items collected during the past few months. Ticket stubs from baseball games, from the ballet, the opera. Pictures of Alex and Bobby, a pressed flower. Small things, but all connected with her.

Alex sat again. "No wonder he's so scared," she thought. "I'm it in his life." And Alex was afraid. "It's too much," she thought. "I can't be all of that...But he's already all of that to me."

Bobby's doctor was issuing last minute instructions to him when Alex arrived the next morning. "A copy for you," she said, handing Alex a set of instructions.

"Don't worry," Bobby said. "It essentially comes down to change the bandages, keep your appointments, eat, get plenty of sleep, and don't do anything stupid."

"Well," Alex said, "we can forget about that last item..."

Bobby grinned at her. His doctor rolled her eyes.

Bobby didn't argue with Alex as she helped him into his apartment. He wasn't sure he needed the crutches, but he also didn't want to challenge her. He sat on his couch while she took his bag into his bedroom.

"We have to talk," Bobby thought. "But I don't know what to say...she..."

"Bobby," Alex said. "We need to talk about these." She waved the job materials in the air.

End Chapter 11