If we knew each other's secrets, what comforts we should find.
~John Churton Collins

13. Re-play

"Robert Goren. William Brady"

"Well which one is it?"

"I'm also Robert Goren"

The drugs burned inside his arm as they rapidly wound their way towards his brain, carrying the poison with the power to rob him of all reasoning power. He feared the loss of his mind most of all. He broke out in a sweat. It was taking everything he had to keep on track and confuse this doctor. It was okay. He was still in control. He knew schizophrenia. He had watched its insidious miasma engulf his mother over many years. It should be easy to convince this doctor that he was its victim as well. It would work if he could control the unwelcome toxin flooding his body.

As the days in Tates wore on, it had become easier and easier to keep the dull look in his eyes. At first he was afraid he'd give himself away with a sharp glance of awareness, but that was no longer a problem. Cheeking the pills wasn't working as well as he'd hoped. They were so powerful that even a short time in his mouth allowed the drugs to seep into his system.

I'll find Donny. I'll make sure he's all right. I'll fix this. If I just keep pushing, I'll get what I want. I need to access to the Isolation wing.

"No, you don't want that", the doctor told him urgently. But it was too late. The warden was there with her entourage of guards and it was done. The shaking of his leg as he was taken away in a wheelchair was not an act. He was nervous. He was sweating. He glimpsed Donny's face in the filthy scratched window and heard his muffled incredulous "Bobby?" as he was rolled directly to Heaven. Oh, shit. No.

No.

"Come on. Come on. Let's get out of here." The adrenalin was roaring in his ears. He knew the guards could see his growing panic.

"How long do I have to be in here?" How do I get out of this? What can I say to get out of this?

It's all right. Relax. It won't be long. He tried to soothe himself as they pushed him prone onto the stainless steel slab and buckled the restraints around him. Soon he was alone. Alone. If someone was here he could talk his way out of this. But there was no one.

It was so hot. Fluorescent lights lined the ceiling above him humming and sizzling as though the sun was frying them. Every few minutes the boiler groaned and pipes banged. The drugs tried to dull him, but he struggled against them. If he just concentrated more he would figure how to get out. It wasn't long before he knew the layout of every corner of this room that was visible to him; the location of every pipe, every light, every wire and every crack in the wall. Odours were different depending on which way he turned his head. The rancid sweat of other men's bodies, the stench of stale urine. He was soaked, the sweat trickled off his forehead and through his scalp. He couldn't wipe it off. So he thrashed his head left and right, flinging the drops over the edge of his stainless steel bed and arcing them across the floor.

"Can I get some water, please?" Be polite, be submissive. If he could get them back in here he could talk his way out of this. He could control the situation like he always did. Although he was soaked, his mouth was parched. And no one came. That's when he started counting backwards from ten. He knew if he could do that that everything would be all right. It became a mantra. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. He nodded in satisfaction. He was in control.

And then panic took him and he fought the restraints. "I keep asking for water!" he shouted repeatedly. When he felt his skin tearing, he forced himself to be calm. They wouldn't let him die. Someone would come.

"I'll take the pills, just get me out!" His vision was blurring. God it was hot. Fear flooded him in waves, his face was burning. He sobbed. His breathing and heart raced. So he counted. Ten, nine, eight, seven... Jay Lowery. He didn't want to be Jay Lowery. He didn't want to be lying in Rodger's morgue with Eames looking down at him. Where is Eames? Eames!

"Ten, nine, eight... Ten, nine, eight..." Panic rose again. It was so hot. He had to get out. He rolled his head side to side. The leather cut his skin. What comes after eight? He shouted his fear...

Alex remembered hearing her feet slap the floor, but she wasn't fully awake until she was beside him.

Bobby was frightened. She'd never heard that timbre in his voice. In the dim light, she saw him lying rigid on the bed, light reflecting from the sheen of his sweat-soaked face. He was surfacing and submerging in a nightmare she was only beginning to comprehend. He had called out for water several times, which started her waking, but it was the fear in his voice that penetrated her deep sleep and had her moving with an urgency that comes upon hearing deep distress from someone you care for.

He's fine, she calmed the adrenalin panic in herself as she sat on the edge of the bed beside him. And physically, he seemed fine. There was no imminent danger. But fear was rising from him in waves, his breathing uneven, his muscles cyclically relaxing and tensing as he tried to calm himself.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one." He was breathing heavily, as though he'd been running, but seemed satisfied he'd successfully completed his task.

"Bobby." Alex spoke calmly. There was no response.

He started counting again in his hoarse voice: "Ten, nine, eight, seven..." and then he seemed to stall, forgetting what was next, bringing a new wave of distress to crest. His hands clutched the covers.

"Bobby." She tried again.

Alex considered shaking him awake. Instead she went to the far side of his bed and scooted across so she was close to his head.

"Ten, nine, eight..." His head began to roll from side to side and his frustration and fear grew as he seemed unable to complete the simplest of tasks.

"Ten, nine, eight..."

And then his voice became quieter, the words slower, the tone tinged with hopelessness.

"Ten, nine, eight... Eames!", her name was almost inaudible and so forlorn that it brought a sudden stinging to her eyes.

"Eight, seven, six," Alex continued the sequence softly and firmly as she leaned near him, forcing her voice not to break.

"Eight, seven, six," he repeated after her, as a small child might repeat when learning his first numbers.

"Five, four, three", Alex continued in the same soothing voice, relieved that he was responding.

"Five, four, three", he repeated in a voice that was gradually evening.

He was briefly silent, then his body stiffened again and his breathing quickened. His head began rolling from side to side and Alex began to worry. If he started to thrash, she might have to defend herself. That was something she was totally unprepared for. Never in her darkest dreams would she have conceived a need to protect herself physically from Robert Goren.

"Five. Seven. Nine..." Alex knew what was happening as soon as she heard his voice speak the second number. Her badge number.

"No!" his voice rose as he became more agitated.

"Five, seven, nine, eight", she whispered near his ear in the calmest voice she had. "Bobby, I'm here. Everything is fine now. You're home."

"Five, seven, nine, eight", he repeated with relief in his hoarse voice. Then more quietly, "Five, seven, nine, eight".

He relaxed and his breathing slowed. Then it was almost back to normal.

His single sob broke the quiet night. Her heart twisted, the pain more acute in the endless darkness where she was robbed of her other senses.

"Eames." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. He was awake and aware. She could hear it.

"Bobby, I'm here. We're fine." Alex soothed in the dark. She hoped she was disguising the devastation she was feeling to what she had just witnessed. This wasn't good. She'd felt fear when she'd been kidnapped and the fear for him at this moment was every bit as strong. This was not the same man she had known for over 8 years. What had they done to him?

"Thank you", his voice broke in the darkness, but she couldn't tell if it was from emotion or hoarseness.

"For what?", she whispered, curious to see what he'd answer. Except he didn't answer. Moments passed. His breathing was even. She assumed he had fallen back to sleep. And then he spoke.

" I couldn't control the situation", he confessed. "I thought...I was losing my mind. I thought. I was going to die. Alone.

"Thank you. For saving me." He spoke into the night with the ease for sharing intimacy that comes in the darkness. "Thank you for not leaving me alone".

Yes, this would be Robert Goren's deepest fears: The loss of his freedom and his sanity. His inability to control the situation. But his fear of being alone was confirmation of what she suspected. He had just shared his deepest fears with her and perhaps for the first time realized those fears for himself. Since she had no words, her fingertips found his fingertips with the lightest of touch. She was glad he couldn't see her suddenly twisted face as she reached out to him holding back her own sob. She rubbed his fingertips with the tips of her own. When he didn't pull away, she slid her palm across his. Locking their thumbs together she pulled his arm to her chest and rested her cheek on the back of his hand.

"It's okay. Everything will be okay." She rubbed his arm slowly and gently with her other hand, avoiding the bandaged wrist. He didn't resist. He didn't move.

What did he need? She was sure he'd never been coddled. He was used to standing on his own. Everyone he'd loved had always deserted him. She was sure Frances had loved him, but she may have been unable to convey it and so had deserted him emotionally. She had never figured out the type of woman he gravitated toward. His women had never lasted long. As far as she knew there had been no one in years. What did he need to sooth him? What could she do for him? She was at a loss. So she decided she would do what he'd just thanked her for. She would not leave him alone.

After a couple of minutes, she decided practicality would be her next action and she suggested he should get up. "Let's change your bed, your sheets are soaked."

"Yeah," was his quiet reply. Had he expected or wanted something else?

"You go have a shower and I'll change the bed."

"Uh. Yeah."

He didn't immediately release himself from her grip, then with a small sigh, he pulled away, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He stopped in front of his dresser and pulled some things from a drawer. He didn't look back as he left the dark room and flicked on the hall light. Alex caught a glimpse of the Policeman boxers as he disappeared out of sight. She couldn't smile about it right now, but it was noted for later.

Alex exhaled a huge sigh, then stood and switched on the bedroom light. The room smelled of musky dampness. She raised the blind and cracked the window open wider and looked out into the dark quiet street. The loudest sound was the buzzing of the street light. Snow had begun to fall and the world was muffled. As muffled as New York could ever be. She was stripping the sheets and blankets off the bed as she heard the shower rumble through the walls. Now where would the fresh sheets be?

She found them with the towels in the hall closet on shelves beside his stacking washer and dryer. The only problem was they were up so high that Alex brought a kitchen chair over to accomplish her task. She had noticed the laundry hamper in the bathroom, but opted for putting the bedding straight into the washer. She resisted turning on the washing machine. She wondered if she'd hear a scream from the bathroom if she stole all the hot water... The sheets were heavy. She couldn't imagine sweating this much. He must have lost several pounds. She better make sure he drank some more water before he went back to bed. Being busy made her feel better - and useful.

As she remade the bed, Alex realized that for Bobby, this was not going to be over when his body healed. The physical abuse would mend quickly, but the mental trauma would linger. They say there is fine line between genius and insanity. Oh, geez. Alex put her hands to her forehead and rubbed hard. She was sure she was seeing the first symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She could already foresee days of patiently waiting outside Dr. Olivet's office, in much the same way as he had so sweetly waited for her to finish her post-trauma counselling sessions after the kidnapping. No one could keep her from being there for him. The last corner of the fitted sheet snapped into place. She knew that victims needed to keep talking about their experiences in order to de-sensitize and distance themselves from the trauma. Tomorrow, or rather later today, would be soon enough for that. She hoped getting him to talk would not be like pulling teeth. He kept so much bottled up. It seemed she was the only one who bothered to be fine-tuned to Robert Goren and sensitive enough to notice or to care about his innermost feelings. For whatever reason, it wasn't right that such an amazing man, rich with insight and intellect and empathy, should be so alone.

Right now, her instincts wanted to wrap him up and insulate him from anything that would hurt him. Day to day, she thought she did a pretty good job of watching out for him and keeping him grounded when he needed it. But she couldn't insulate him from himself. This time he'd been his own worst enemy. And she'd enabled him. She sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed, overwhelmed with dismay that she had contributed to what he was experiencing. She rubbed her forehead again. Well, it did no good for both of them to be a mess. She'd allowed him to get into this. Now she better fix it. She was beginning to feel like a guardian angel and wondered if such an entity would carry a Glock.

As Alex waited for Bobby to finish his shower, she sat on the edge of the bed and observed his room. She didn't feel guilty prying into her partner's personal life under these circumstances; Goren would do the same if the tables were turned. A tiny frown unexpectedly crossed her face. She stood up and walked over to the high dresser. On its surface, covered in a fresh layer of dust, were several shallow bowls holding loose change, safety pins, odd keys and tie clips. His cell phone charger was a paper weight for a bookstore coupon. Some cards he had emptied from his wallet before giving it to Alex, were stacked neatly as they awaited his return - and the end of William Brady. Unlike Bobby, Alex didn't find it necessary to touch the trappings of another person's life. But it was none of these items which interested her. What had drawn her over was a small framed photo. A curious gentle smile spread across Alex's face as she stared into her own over-serious eyes. Close beside her in the photo was Bobby's face. He looked out at the camera with hooded eyes and a non-expression that was all understated Robert Goren at his cheekiest. The Polaroid had been snapped at the Cafe Brazil while they questioned the staff. She had seen the little glance Goren had given her as she questioned the waitress, but had been completely stunned when he turned the camera around, held it at long arm's length and bent over so swiftly to take her by surprise. Her instant reflex was to recoil from his closeness was overpowered by her awareness of how that might look to the staff at the cafe. The result was not her best pose. She looked like she was wearing a mask. Funny that he had kept this photo. And valued it enough to put in a frame. It was just a Polaroid. Ephemeral. Fading, like the moment had. Alex rested the butt of her fist on the dresser surface and touched the frame with the tip of her finger. Ephemeral, indeed. Almost another life. In retrospect the Polaroid, rather than a reminder of a fleeting moment, had become enduring evidence of their entwined lives in happier times. Right now, she could use more of these triggers to remind herself that life had not always been so serious. But there were precious few physical mementos.

Alex felt a strong surge of longing for the relationship they'd had in their early days, back when she had finally relaxed and begun to appreciate her partner. She and Goren played well together. One of their first "undercover" trips had been to the John Lobb shoe store. She had had a hard time keeping a straight face. If Goren had done that limp wrist or the nasally voice one more time, she might have blown their cover. The more flamboyant he got, the drippier she got. Darling, he'd called her. She'd almost choked. We made a good team, she smiled to herself.

She wondered if she'd ever see him do another little singing dance like the time he played delivery boy. That little dance outside the target house had been his way to check that everyone was in place. She had been able to see and hear him out the back window of the SWAT van and in spite of the adrenalin pumping and the seriousness of the situation, she couldn't stop her smile. This man never ceased to surprise her. He was so good at playing a part and seemed to love doing it. Interesting things happened when they took on a role, when they stepped outside their cop personas. They had perfected the obstinate married couple. He always allowed her to lead on those occasions and played the hen-pecked husband to perfection. She would never forget their trip to the flooring center just after her return from maternity leave. She didn't think they'd ever done it so well as that day, they were completely in sync. She had had a ball and could tell from the look in his eyes that he was having just as much fun. The salesman had fed her the perfect opportunity as he schmoozed Goren with a "Good to know who wears the pants in the family", to which she'd replied, "I just wear the badge". The pure satisfaction on Goren's face as he crossed his arms and looked at the salesman now brought a smile to her lips. There was no question that was a great day.

One time she thought he'd enjoyed himself a little too much. The day she had posed for her portrait by their leading suspect, a street artist on Columbus Avenue, Goren had moved in between them to "hit" on Alex in order to engage the man. Goren had laid on the charm so thickly, seeming so honest and open, that she had become incredibly uncomfortable. To her horror, she had blushed. He had noted it and knew full well that a blush couldn't be faked. Bastard!

He often used to banter with her about things like selling apples in front of city hall and when in a mood, would bring her coffee laced with what tasted like a pound of sugar. But he had lost that playfulness somewhere along the way. Occasionally now he would toss out a snark, practically taking the words out of her mouth, but those were becoming few and far between, too. Life had become far too serious. They seemed to get hit with one thing after another in the last year or so. Bobby, I miss you. Are you still there? She wondered if he was still capable of playing. But she was sure there would be no play until he healed physically and mentally.

Alex's thoughts were interrupted by the thump of plumbing and the shower stopping. She turned from the dresser, picked up the glass on the bedside table and padded to the kitchen in her bare feet, leaving foot-shaped condensation outlines on the cold floor. She turned on the water, let it run to cold and filled his glass.

Goren came out of the bathroom engulfed in a cloud of fragrant steam. He was now wearing a white t-shirt and old plaid lounging pants and was vigorously rubbing his head with a towel. When he pulled it off, try as she might, she couldn't stop the raising of her eyebrows and covered her mouth with a hand. Seeing her standing with her one hand on her hip, he merely raised his own eyebrow at her and returned to the bathroom mirror. Leaning back with knees deeply bent to position himself below the condensation line, he rapidly tamed his short unruly hair with a few pulls of the brush. Too bad he hadn't shaved, she thought.

At least that had broken the ice. She wasn't sure how to interact with him after what had just happened.

"Come here", she ordered and he complied. Alex opened a drawer where she had found scissors.

"Wrist", she commanded and he obediently held out his arm while she cut the hospital bracelet off and carefully laid it on the counter. Brady, William was done with. They both looked at it and then at each other, the same thought shared by two.

Alex handed him the glass of water, noting that he'd removed all the bandages covering his wrists and ankles to have a shower. Ouch.

"Drink", she commanded again.

He tilted his head forward and attempted a glower at her bossiness, but did as he was told, downing the whole glass at once. Alex took the glass, re-filled it and handed it back to him.

"Encore." And he downed another. Wow. She re-filled it once more and handed it to him.

"Are you going to try to sleep again?" Alex asked, an uncertain look on her face. He nodded his reply. She followed him to the bedroom door and leaned against the frame. She wondered if she should force him to talk right now, wondered if she'd have the nerve to do it in the daylight. She couldn't let this slide past. But he looked exhausted. It would wait.

"Just call if you need anything." She couldn't tell what his expression meant as he looked down at her. He nodded again.

Alex returned to the couch, switching off the lights as she went. She lay down, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. As her body tried to relax, she began to notice every little sound the building made. The snow outside muffled the street sounds to near silence. She was alert for any sounds from the bedroom, but heard nothing. She counted the ticks of the clock in Goren's kitchen and in spite of her exhaustion, sleep eluded her.

Long ago she'd teased Goren that men come and go, but diamonds... Other than her family and Joe, only this man had been there since their first day together.

Alex gathered up her blanket and pillow, padded silently into the bedroom and curled up on the empty side of the large bed beside her partner. Goren was right. Diamonds don't keep you warm at night.

She fell asleep to the even rhythm of his quiet breathing.

Many thanks to my beta reader who long ago suggested the scenario of Eames "counting" assistance in the waking of Goren. I hope I wrote it as well as you'd imagined.

At least one more chapter to come!