14. Reveal
A man does what he must – in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures – and that is the basis of all human morality." - John F. Kennedy
He surfaced slowly from his dreamless sleep. He knew he was safe. He knew he was home. He rubbed his head against his pillow for the last tiny bit of reassurance before opening his eyes. But he didn't need to open his eyes to know she was there. Her soft breaths were hardly audible, but she radiated gentle heat that was so comforting he had to sigh. He turned his head to look at her and his lips curved only slightly as if any greater a smile might waken her. He was glad she was here.
Alex lay on her side facing him, huddled in the blanket from the couch. Ropes of honey blonde hair cascaded over the blanket and coiled on the pillow. Her face was mostly buried in the folds of the blanket hidden from him. One hand lay exposed, palm up, fingers gently curled. Vulnerable. Trusting. Her other hand stretched out from the comfort and warmth and ventured into a less certain place. It rested on his bare arm. It must have been there for quite a while, because without moving, he would not have realized it was there. One set of her toes peeked from under the blanket.
He watched her for a long time, feeling he might need to hold this memory close during the coming weeks. It occurred to him with surprise that what he was feeling was probably contentment. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that way. And his partner was responsible. She crossed some huge barriers in the last few days. Barriers that they'd both built over the last seven years. Barriers they had needed in order to maintain their precious working relationship. He was happy there were changes happening. They seemed to be on the brink of something.
He checked the clock on the dresser and noted it was 10 a.m. Next to the clock was the photo from the Café Brazil. He wondered if she had noticed it last night and if so, what she had thought. He felt a little embarrassed at having been caught being sentimental. Oh well, there was nothing he could do about it now. Perhaps the admission of preserving the photo was a good thing.
His thoughts could not stay away from the serious situation at hand any longer. He needed to find Donny and the first place to start was with Frank. But he doubted Frank really knew Donny very well or would know where Donny might go to hide. But Donny might just contact Frank. Bobby had gotten a pretty good read on Donny the few times he'd talked to him, but didn't know enough background to anticipate what he'd do. He needed to get Donny back in custody to mitigate the damage he'd done. He had given him more credit than he should have. Escaping from Tates was going to cause serious repercussion to his sentence when he was caught. It would be far better if he could find him and convince him to turn himself in. He couldn't trust Frank to tell Donny that basic common sense. He couldn't imagine what Frank would suggest.
He needed to get his report about Tates completed and submitted and get that warden put somewhere she could never hurt another person. Finding the right words for that might take him some creative thoughts. After all, he and the warden were suppose to be on the same side. It had to be done soon. If Donny surrendered and ended back up in Tates and his connection to William Brady ever surfaced, Tates would be a very dangerous place for him. That warden had to go. So much to do…..
There was also the fallout from his unauthorized entry into Tates to deal with. There were two ways that it could go. He could lose his job, which he doubted or he would be touted a hero, which he also doubted. Somewhere down the middle would suit him just fine.
He frowned. But what about Eames? He would have denied she helped him in any way. But once she had brought Ross into the mix, that possibility went out the window. Ross was not going to back him in any way, shape or form. Yes, Ross had accompanied Eames to Tates and had been instrumental in his release. In fact, the Captain had saved his life. He guessed Ross didn't dislike him enough to let him die. It had never occurred to him that he would actually need to implement a back-up plan should his time in Tates go bad. He had been full of such confidence in his plan that Eames' assistance should not have been required at all. If only he could have relied on Frank, then he wouldn't have needed Eames and she would have been safely distanced from the events.
He wished Eames could have left Ross out of it. Not for him, but for herself. She would have known that Ross's involvement would put her in a professionally vulnerable position, yet she did it anyway. What was she thinking? He guessed she had done it as a last resort. She must have felt Ross's rank was the key to unlocking him from Tates and she had used it.
As he returned to watching her sleep, he gave his head a little shake against the pillow, once again silently apologizing to her. At least here in his own bedroom, he didn't have to be subversive to watch her sleep, there were no uniforms around to interrupt this small pleasure. Eames in his bed. Whew. That was one he couldn't have anticipated. It'd been a long time since he'd shared a bed with a woman. And usually it wasn't here. The day Eames had been kidnapped she had become the center of his universe. He hadn't had much interest in any woman for some time before, but afterwards, he had no interest in anyone but her. He still had nightmares about those hours she was gone.
He'd kicked himself that he'd been so cool to her when he saw her in the hospital after her kidnapping. The only clue he'd given to his distress had been that he "looked like hell" according to her, but he wasn't sure she'd understood the significance of his disarray. He'd done a good job compartmentalizing his feelings during those few minutes before she fell asleep. When he sat down beside her, he had noted her bandaged head, her struggle to be lighthearted with her observation of his appearance and her bandaged wrists, a testament to her restraints.
With a jolt he thought rocked the bed, he realized she would understand the emotional scars of captivity he'd just experienced, as he could now begin to comprehend her ordeal as more than just an intellectual observation. He swallowed a lump in his throat and resisted a fantasy of taking her in his arms and trying to wipe away every memory associated with those days. But they would both forever carry the physical and mental scars of their imprisonments. It was becoming part of who they were.
That day she came back to him, Alex had quickly volunteered all the information about her abduction in a few short words. She knew he would need the information to catch her abductor. She'd even silently answered his last question with a frown just as the powerful drugs she'd been given snatched her away from him. Eames then lay completely relaxed. As she became quiet, the monotonous beeping of the monitors and the muffled background sounds of the bustling Emergency Ward seemed louder.
Goren had looked around to see if Eames' guard detail was within view, then slowly reached out his hand to hers. Suddenly she gasped and with eyes shock-wide sat completely upright and would have pitched out of the bed if he hadn't caught her. The flash of terror on her face as she rocketed towards him shocked him. She slammed against him as he came up from his sitting position. As suddenly as she had sat up she collapsed, head against him, arms limp. If she'd been awake she could easily have heard his heart hammering in his chest. He didn't want to put her down and disturb all the wire and monitors and assumed a nurse or doctor would be running in right away to help lay her back down, but no one came. She hadn't set off any alarms, so he perched on the side of the bed and continued to hold her. A long minute ticked by. Then another. He rested his cheek carefully on top of her head, seeing the streaks of dried blood in her hair up close. He closed his eyes and tightened his hold on her, inhaled her scent, reassured that it was not for the last time. This was no longer a mechanical embrace necessary to prevent her from tumbling to the floor, it was an embrace of tenderness, sublime relief, thanksgiving and maybe even hope. Both his arms encircled her; one hand held her head against his chest and the other, with his fingers caught under her hospital gown caressed the exquisitely soft skin of her naked back. As the minutes ticked by he relaxed into the embrace and a slow tear squeezed from the corner of his eye, rolled down the side of his nose, clinging to its tip until gravity pulled it into the strands of her bloodied hair. No one was ever the wiser. Not even Eames knew the comfort she had unknowingly given him in those few minutes.
Once again he shook his head casting aside the memory. She had come back from the kidnapping and continued to work with him. He was a lucky man. She was an amazingly strong person. He'd seen guys that couldn't come back from similar traumas. The guilt he carried because he'd been unable to find and save her was a continuing reminder to more carefully tend their relationship.
He started to roll on his side and reach out to her, to once again seek the comfort of holding her in his arms. But then stopped. This was not the time. This time she would be awake. Maybe there never would be a time. He didn't know what he'd do if he reached out to her and she were to look at him in horror. He wouldn't be able to stand the pain of rejection, the feeling of stupidity and the crush of feelings.
It was far better to maintain the status quo than to ruin everything they had. The only time he really felt secure with Eames, that she was almost part of him, was when they were deeply involved in a case and their partnering became a wonderful dance of entrapment.
The time finally came when he had to get up. As Lewis would say, his back teeth were singing Anchors Away. He was going to have to extract his arm. As he slowly and carefully pulled away, she stirred and began to raise her head.
"It's all right", he spoke quietly to her in his husky voice. "Little Boy's Room..."
"Come right back", she whispered and nestled her head deeper into the pillow.
Music to a man's ears... It was with great reluctance that he left the warmth and comfort of the bed. He continued to watch her as he slid out of bed and went quietly to the door.
But he wouldn't be coming back. Her only reason to ask him to return was so she could monitor him. He couldn't go back. Not without ruining the status quo.