Terror
A/N: This was the depressing part of the evening…again, control rooms are not conducive to happiness.
Disclaimer: Dick Wolf is a genius.
Bobby knocked on Alex's door, the third time in the span of ten minutes. Still no answer. She said she'd be here, he thought worriedly. He stepped down her front steps hesitantly, hoping she'd only been in the shower or something and would open the door with some flustered apology. No dice. Bobby walked around the little house to the back door that led into the kitchen and knocked again. Something was up; she'd have called if she wasn't going to be there. Feeling sick that he had to, he tried the key she had given him so many years before in the lock. The door opened, the smell of fear and blood smacking him in the face as he entered the kitchen. Panicked, Bobby drew his gun and rushed to search his partner's house. He didn't make it very far. In the bathroom, in the hall off the kitchen, there she lay. Blood oozed from her slashed throat, from parts of her scalp where someone had ripped her shining dirty blonde hair out and her fingers where she had fought off, unsuccessfully, her attacker.
Bobby woke up, a sob and a scream lodged in his throat. A small hand rubbed his back gently. Slowly, Bobby realized it was just another nightmare. He lay back down next to the small form beside him.
"Eames?" Bobby asked quietly.
"Yeah, Bobby?" Alex murmured back. Bobby wrapped his arm around her and fell back asleep, reassured that Alex was indeed alive and well, warm and real, beside him.