7. Re-awaken
He was struggling to no avail. As much as he tried, he could not loosen the restraints around his ankles and wrists. He was so hot, his face was burning and he was soaked in sweat. He was literally dying for water. The guards were laughing. Their laughter boasted off walls of peeling paint and ricocheted off cracked floors soaked in the stench of urine, sweat and disinfectant. Their voices knifed through the heat. He yelled once again that he was going to arrest them. They faded away, but the heat and the light continued to blaze.
Then he heard Eames' voice. He struggled again, fighting the futility that seemed to immobilize him, trying to get to her. But he could not move. He needed to warn her – he must warn her. She couldn't come here. She had to show them her badge or they would take her, too. He started to recite her badge number praying that she would chime in, as he could only say the first two numbers. Three seven… three seven…. three seven… nine?….. Why? Why can't I get this out? It's was so important. Eames! He couldn't live through her being taken again. If he could get to her, he promised he would never leave her side again. He would be there to keep her safe. He turned his face towards her voice and yelled her name, but her voice faded away. Where is she? He screamed till it hurt and he could cry out no more. His heart was pounding in his ears and he fought the restraints anew.
Now it was darker and cooler and he had stopped fighting. The coolness felt good. The guards must have returned him to his cell, but he couldn't remember. There was pain radiating up his arms and through is lower legs, even as he lay still. He knew his left arm remained restrained. His cell was no longer damp and mold-scented; the scratch of the blanket no longer irritated his bare arms. This is better. He couldn't hear her, but he could smell Eames' perfume and it helped calm him. She was here. He would keep her from harm. He made that vow and he was determined to keep it. It was Spring on the streets of New York City. He could feel the light breeze and it felt good. He would keep his eyes closed and remain in this soothing twilight where Eames was part of that Spring breeze and they were safe.
He was convinced she must be one of those women who spritzed her perfume into the air and stepped forward into the mist leaving just enough scent clinging to her skin - just enough to make a guy want to get closer…. Yes, she was close. Then why didn't she take off his restraints? Was she trapped in Tates as well? Or was she part of some new torture devised by the guards?
Rising fear ended his gentle lull. He opened his burning eyes, but didn't move. It had been a touch on his lips that had finally forced him fully awake. It was mostly dark, but the cell door was open and there was a lighted counter just across the hall. His feet and legs were covered in white. He frowned. Realization slowly condensed his blurred thoughts. He was in a hospital, a real hospital not a prison infirmary. These were not rough concrete walls, not prison antiseptic or buzzing fluorescent lighting. Is this real?
His brain was sluggish and he felt every muscle in his body ache. He tried to organize the many possible chains of events explaining his presence here, but he could not engage his mind in its usual multiple trains of thought. And that scared him. The last thing he recalled was repeatedly fighting nauseating waves of welling fear. He had lain restrained, surrounded in stifling heat cast off by the boiler in the basement of Tates Correctional Facility. His repeated requests for water had been ignored and he'd lost track of time. Eventually he'd lost consciousness as well. For the first time in his life, he knew what it was to be alone and helpless, with no control over the situation and no escape. It was numbing.
His left arm was still restrained, so he lifted his right hand. He noted there was an oximeter on his index finger. Only then did the steady rhythmic beeps of the monitor come sharply into auditory focus. He touched the oximeter to his nose knocking the oxygen cannula askew. In surprise he squinted and winced, causing his lips to spread and crack painfully. It felt like there was a gravel pit behind his eyelids. Oh boy, this seemed to be an uncomfortable reality.
Beep… beep…. beep….
He caught sight of a hand laying high on his chest and his eyes followed the length of the arm to its source. There was his partner, squeezed tightly against him. He wasn't so sure this was reality. This was not part of any scenario he could have predicted.
Alexandra Eames, what are you doing?
Her eyes were closed and her hair was pulled away from her face. Her head was thrown back slightly as it lay on the bed beside him. Her lips touched the skin of his arm just under the cap sleeve of the hospital gown. Loose tendrils of her fine hair moved gently as a fan blew across their closely pressed bodies. Her hand lay relaxed in the middle of his chest and her regular breathing matched his. A single light over the head of the bed illuminated her face like a Rembrandt portrait, accentuating that spectacular bone structure across her cheek. It threw deeply fringed shadows from her eyelashes. She had a wonderful over-pout, like that of a newborn, which gave her face such a vulnerable look when she was lost in thought.
Thank God, she's safe. She was not trapped at Tates.
This is amazing. Still in a fog, he stole the opportunity to study her as she slept. In spite of the lighting, he could see the darkness under her eyes and wondered why it was there. It took a lot to get her looking that tired.
Just watching her calmed him. If she was this relaxed, then everything was all right and he could relax. Why she was here beside him was a much more immediate and fascinating puzzle than replaying and reassessing the events at Tates and speculating how he had come to be here. It occurred to him that the injections he'd been given at Tates' infirmary must be causing this drug-induced fantasy. And they must be damn good drugs to conjure up this… this whopper. He better enjoy it, because he couldn't see this particular fantasy ever happening again.
Over the years while on stakeouts, much to his annoyance, he'd been caught by other cops as he watched her sleeping. He thought he'd been subtle, but the look on those cops' faces told him otherwise. The last thing he needed was the rumour mill to take off and buzz that he was lusting after his partner while she slept. He had already earned himself the coveted prize of departmental Whack Job, he didn't need Whack Off Job to be added to that. Just as well there had been no reason for overnighters on the job recently…… Too bad - except he was more than likely going to be caught doing it again. Watching her, that is.
He could count on one hand the number of times she'd touched him over the years and yet, here she was. Puzzling. Not touching was a pattern she had set up right away in their partnership. He had sensed it almost immediately. What was with that? She hadn't liked him much at first. She'd been an ice queen, in fact. He had known she was recently widowed and had tried to get a sense of where she was in her grieving process. But she wore a virtually impenetrable mask, one he had unexpected difficulty seeing behind. At that time he really hadn't been interested in seeing what was behind it - she wouldn't last long as a partner anyway. The work was much more interesting than trying to analyse this woman who clearly wanted to share nothing of herself.
He became obsessed with each case. Obsessed to the point of exclusion of his partner. Deakins had given him a good wake up call during that first year and from then on he worked harder to include her in his process. It really wasn't much work. He had been secretly surprised and pleased to discover how often she "got it" when he let her play. And he was even more delighted when she could add a fresh angle that had not occurred to him. Their working relationship had become better and better. But his ability to read her had not improved much.
He could however, after years of practice, almost predict an oncoming snark. He waited for them. Anticipated them. Was disappointed if they weren't delivered. Very occasionally he had to deliver them himself if she neglected to do so. Delivering a snark in her own style, then watching the expression of recognition cross her face followed by a smile, was very, very satisfying.
He lay beside her, increasingly fascinated at her closeness. Their self-imposed lack of physical contact was a way of life - yet here she lay with the whole length of her compact body warming his side. She had a sixth sense for detecting his presence and predicting his next movements even before he himself knew where he was going. On a rare occasion, her radar would malfunction and he would bump her accidentally. He never had time to apologize before she was gone and the chance was lost. She had perfected the technique of being very close to him without ever touching him. And he suspected she sometimes used him as a windbreak when icy breezes swept them during frigid city winter storms. One day he would challenge her on that theory. He wondered what she'd say. His mouth began to curve at the thought, until the splitting skin of his lips cut his smile short.
When her face was relaxed she exposed her true self. The one so few knew. Early in their working relationship he had recognized that behind her mask and brusque daily demeanour, hid a very sensitive and bruised soul. That sensitivity inadvertently revealed itself in her ability to draw astute case-related observations and conclusions, traits which he had come to value and rely on. But to most observers, Eames was an amazingly independent person; totally self-contained, intelligent, composed, seeming to need nothing from anyone – that's what the other guys in the squad thought.
As the years went by, he considered himself privileged to have seen more, as she allowed. But all too often she was an enigma to him and he would curse that mask she wore out of habit. It protected her well as she moved and worked in the "boy's club". But when it slipped, he was both intrigued and frightened. At those rare times he felt completely inadequate, dealing with a stranger who he knew so well and yet – didn't. At the same time he felt privileged to be allowed his glimpse of the inner Eames. There was no question – his feelings for her were complicated.
He had been completely taken off guard when they were investigating the murder of Kevin Quinn, Joe Dutton's partner. Eames had grasped his arm when she recognized the latest victim as Alfred Manaya, the drug dealer involved in her husband's murder. Her touch had made him jump and all his alarm bells rang. It was a testament to her level of stress that she'd reached out to him. She had not been the only one tied up in knots over that case. He was caught between the job and personal concern for her well-being. No matter where that case led, it travelled an inevitable collision course into Eames' well-guarded tragedy. She became a tightly coiled spring, fighting him every step and he had worried, albeit unnecessarily, that she would explode. Or implode. He wasn't sure which way her mask was going to slide, but he was pretty sure it was inevitable.
When he had unintentionally let her first name slip out, he was trying to soften the blow, to ease the shattering of the beliefs she'd been carrying for so many years. She had stood reading the report Rodgers had prepared on the DNA results then looked directly at him, taking a series of deep breaths to steady herself. As their eyes locked, her pain combined with confusion and disbelief was naked for him to see. He had to lower his gaze. Not only was it difficult to watch her in that moment, he wanted to give her the option of suffering in private.
This was the first time he'd ever cursed the job. He wished he'd ignored his intuition and suspicions and left well enough alone, but he had followed the breadcrumbs where they led him. He hated that this had come between them and caused her pain. The only good thing about it was that he had found the truth for her, and he was selfishly pleased that he had been the one to do it. Not quite the picture one might expect of a knight in shining armour saving a damsel in distress, he thought ruefully. This truth he had uncovered had not been a happy truth and it was he, himself who had created the distress. Just before she arrested Beltran, she had asked her husband's murderer, "Did you think it wouldn't catch up to you?" It had caught up to both of them. That tiny gold cross around her neck was not doing a good job that week. To his relief, but not to his surprise, she maintained her professional façade through to the end of the case. He wished he was brave enough to tell her how proud he was of her.
When it was all over, he was left with his Eames looking hurt and bewildered. He had tentatively taken the lead and suggested they walk. So they had walked for miles, till his feet and knees hurt. It seemed like she could go on forever, until he broke her mind-numbing march and suggested they go for soup at a favourite deli near her home. Once again she'd silently handed him the keys, as she had after Quinn's funeral. That simple gesture told him volumes about her state of mind. They talked very little but she seemed comfortable and grateful for the quiet companionship. When he took her home, he hadn't asked to come in, he had just followed her through the doorway and taken his jacket off and then his tie, expecting to be told anytime that he could leave. When she made coffee and suggested they watch a movie, he knew he'd made the right decision. Just as she had stuck to him at his mother's funeral, he was sticking to her. Over the next hours he watched her resignation settle into a type of sad serenity. Acceptance. As she came to terms with the new reality, the occasional tear rolled untended down her cheek. If she didn't wipe them away he might not notice them. But he did. He doubted either of them really watched that movie. She had not called her family, so he stayed. Her couch became his bed that night and the next.
He would never forget those two days. They created a quiet cocoon, a shelter to insulate her. She just needed a bit of time to recover her equilibrium. As her initial melancholy wore off, he set her to helping him with everyday things. After checking her fridge, he dragged her to the grocery store where they picked up steak and salad and a great bottle of wine. He'd resisted buying a second bottle. Alcoholic stupor for her was probably not the best thing right now, although it was the only thing he'd ever found to turn his own brain off. She didn't resist, just followed where he led. They worked side by side in the kitchen. She was an easy hip check when she moved into his workspace on the counter, being even shorter than normal without her shoes on. She had smiled in genuine amusement at finding him wearing the frilly apron her sister had given her. Liz had even called while he was wearing it, but Alex had given her no indication of the vision putting the smile in her voice, nor told her of the recent days' events. After eating, they relaxed cradling their glasses of wine. Her head lay on the back of the couch and she stared into space. The alcohol flushed her cheeks and she began to talk. And talk. He listened, without even an uh-huh, watching her, touched that she revealed so much to someone she'd been so angry with the day before.
Her words had slowed and she'd drifted off into an exhausted sleep. He had quietly pulled out the case paperwork and completed most of it, stopping occasionally to look at her and mull over what she'd said. He covered her with a blanket. It was his turn. She had stayed with him after his Mom had died, so it was easy to do the same for her. And she accepted it.
It wasn't like he had anything else to do or anywhere to be. With his mother gone, he had too much spare time. This was a welcome replacement. It seemed he was needed here. Maybe even wanted here.
Their days together were, regretfully for him at least, broken by ringing cell phones; first hers, then his. They just looked at each other and then he began collecting his things. It was over. She held the door as he went out.
"See you shortly" she said.
He had just nodded at her without words and turned to leave, then suddenly swung around. He looked at her and she must have seen the concern in his eyes. She just smiled gently in return. Back at the squad room, they were immediately swept up in the next case and it was almost as if those two days had never happened. She had re-adjusted her mask and life went on.
But he had seen almost everything behind that mask in those few days. And it was knowledge worth protecting.
Did you lie and watch her sleeping, Joe Dutton? He hoped Eames' grieving for Joe was done. She had carried his torch far too long and it was time for Joe's memory to be quieted, not a thin-skinned wound waiting to be scratched. She was completely satisfied that the truth had been revealed. Her head understood that, but her heart? Had she really accepted his death as something that she could look back on without anguish? Her loyalty to Joe after so many years stirred mixed feelings in him. It stunned him and disturbed him and touched deep into his heart all at the same time. That part of her life was no longer an unshared well-guarded secret. Joe's death and her emotions were part of his life now, too.
From what he'd heard, Dutton had been an upstanding guy and a good cop. A big joker - the opposite of himself. But a taser gun for her anniversary? He figured he'd done better than that with the cross. She wore it every day. Mind you, she probably wouldn't if she realized it had come from him. Ah, further indication he was experiencing a hallucination – there was no chain with its tiny gold cross encircling her neck…
He lay very still and studied her sleeping face. Having been allowed to see her well-disguised sensitivity, he didn't know why she stayed in the job, except she was so damn good at it. She put on her mask every day before she pulled into the 1PP garage and kept it there till she left. It continued to be shaped and thickened by years of working with society's aberrant. He now counted himself blessed to be one of those privileged few who were permitted a glimpse of what lay behind.
It was one of life's mysteries how he'd ended up partnered with her. And another mystery why she continued to stay. He just knew that every day she stayed was a lucky day for him.
She was so close and completely relaxed. There was no sign of the wariness present when she was awake. No frown, no snark, no annoyance setting her features. Smooth and vulnerable. She had exquisitely perfect skin which was the softest thing he'd ever felt. She didn't know he knew that though. Thank God. He would go to his grave coveting that secret.
He sighed as weariness and pain washed over him. Well, perhaps he no longer needed to keep that secret….if the way he felt was any indication, that grave might be closer than he wanted. He wished the fog would lift from his head so he could solve this puzzle. He seemed to have gone from the "Heaven" of Tates to Heaven on Earth. Well, if he didn't feel like crap, it might be Heaven. He must be dying or dead. Even then, he found it hard to believe she would care enough to crawl into bed with him.
Wake her? No. Why spoil it? This needed to last as long as possible.
He was never able to leave anything alone for long and decided it was time for a reality check. He placed his hand over Eames' and curled his fingers, including the finger bearing the oximeter, under hers. If these weren't real fingers, they were certainly warm and comforting.
He closed his burning eyes for just a moment….
Beep… beep… beep…
Alex's eyes flew open. She hadn't moved, but Bobby had. His eyes were still closed, but now his face was turned towards her and she could feel his breath on her forehead. She listened to the steady rhythm of the monitors and felt the rise and fall of his chest. But there was something else, too. His warm hand engulfed hers.
Oh, God!
The sudden sharp burning behind her eyes preceded the tears. She didn't move. Once again her tears rolled over the bridge of her nose, soaking into the sheets. She heard a nurse come in behind her and do her rounds, then leave on softly padded feet. There was nothing to be alarmed about. Alex closed her eyes.