A/N: So I lied about it being a one shot. Sue me. Except, don't really. It's now a two part series, with a possible third part. I don't know, what do y'all think?
"I'll cover for you."
To be honest, I think I said it all then. But Bobby being Bobby – what I said two hours or twenty four hours ago didn't matter. What I said now, mattered. Frankly though, what I say now wouldn't be anything he wanted to hear. Maybe needed to hear, but want? Hell no. I watched as he stalked out – for the second time that day- I mean, that day, come on now. Watched a she tossed his prized portfolio on the desk and stalked off, and my first reaction was that I couldn't breathe. It felt like I had something sitting on my chest and my skin became alternately hot then cold. I knew Ross was looking to me – as usual – for the explanation. Always me explaining Bobby to them.
I walked away from him, and his expectant gaze, and sat at Bobby's desk, staring blankly at the surface – at the portfolio in front of me. Ross must have sensed the dangerous vibes rolling off of me in waves, because he never came near me. Neither did anyone else for that matter, but I could feel their looks. Poor Eames, having to deal with that loon Goren. They didn't understand- they didn't get what had just happened, but I did.
With Bobby- it's always take what I say at face value, but I'll over think every word that comes out of your mouth. At the best of times it's annoyingly endearing, and at the worst- it made me want to stab him with the letter opener tucked away in my drawer. This was definitely one of those letter opener moments. I sighed as the guilt crowded in after that thought. Now was not the time to be thinking these things – he deserved my patience, and the benefit of doubt. Knowing the thoughts were wrong didn't stop me from getting angry. Angry that he was being uncooperative, angry that I was doing more than half the work, angry that he could tell me to back off.
I can admit- I had a moment, a petty bitter moment where I thought to myself – fine. You want me to back off? I'll back the hell off. The petty moment had carried over into my work, which it shouldn't have. But when he had come back- didn't say anything, not one words of apology- not a look, nothing – and stepped out of Ross' office like nothing had happened, I was pissed. I had been prepared to let it go – he'd apologize silently with his eyes – the way he always does, and I'd smile and nod understandingly and we'd go forward. But he didn't do what he was supposed to do, and suddenly my plan to reconcile turned into a plan to piss him off as much as possible. How much was I supposed to take?
Alright so I find out about his mom during an interview, for christ's sake, and I don't say anything. I set it aside, and try to be there for him. I ask him how she is- if he needs anything, I do everything someone is supposed to do for a friend. And I get avoidance in return – he hardly answers my questions, barely explains himself and just expects me to step up and understand. The rational side of me understands that he doesn't talk about it because talking about it makes it real. I remember that, very well, despite the eight years that have passed since I lost my husband. Problem is, my rational side is fighting a losing battle to what I like to call the bitter selfish side. The side that screams that it's not always all about him, and why the hell does he have to make it that way? The side that taunts me with thoughts about how if he doesn't want a friend – I don't have to be one. The part that looks at the easy way out and begs to take it.
That side is a lot louder. It often drowns out the rational thoughts and wins temporarily, allowing me to ask questions I know he'll hate, and get pissed and be childish about it. I knew he would identify with the suspects reasons – after all, Goren was better equipped to understand this killing than most. He'd seen war – he'd known how things change when you're stationed with a military unit- and those men are your life for a short time. I knew all that – and I attacked in that room anyway. I chose to see the black and white, chose to ignore all the shades of gray, chose to condemn him. Biting my lip, I pulled the portfolio closer to me, running a hand over the soft leather surface, almost willing the anger it had been thrown in away.
The bitter side is louder, but it's not about volume. It's about longevity, and my rational side has that in spades. It needs it, believe me. It always wins out in the end- and I see more clearly, I hear more acutely, and I understand more fully. In a game where we play who can hurt the other the most- there are rules. I indulge in the action of anger, and by indulging I understand that it will most likely be me repairing the damage done. Normally this is easily accomplished. We argue, I balk, he gets quiet, I get irritated, I bring him lunch and we share the look. The look that apologizes and says it's an off day and I'm better now. The look he wouldn't give me when he got back. The look I childishly refused to give him in that interrogation room. The look I wanted to give him as he left, but he wouldn't look at me.
Sighing, I grip the portfolio in my hands, pulling it closer to me as I stand. He'll be needing this back.