186

Designed Intent

Chapter 39

Very Early Saturday Morning

Gleason sat rocking on the edge of the tub, pulling great, deep breaths, both arms vertical against her chest. Oh, she could not breathe! Her chest felt as though it was under a ton of bricks. She slammed shut her eyes and forced herself to calm down, fighting to control each breath.

Slowly, the weight lifted and she was breathing normally. She used the toilet and took a washcloth from the narrow closet. She ran the hot water and cleaned herself several times. Then she cried. Goddamn him!

She had been gone nearly twenty minutes when she returned to their bed. Bobby was sleeping soundly. It was three-twenty-one Saturday morning.

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"Bobby, Bobby! Your phone, answer your phone!" Gleason nudged him and finally he roused.

"Wha-?"

"Answer your phone."

He found it on the bedside table, flipped it open, cleared his throat and grunted, "Goren," and then dropped back onto the pillow.

"It's me. Get dressed. Deakins thinks it's the beginning of a spree." Eames waited for it, but it didn't come. "Did you hear me? . . . Bobby?"

Slowly and somewhat slurred he answered, "I heard you."

"Are you getting up?"

"What time is it?"

"Almost five. Get out of bed."

He said nothing for almost too long and then, "Eames. I got home after three, we made love and then we went to sleep. I've had less than two hours of sleep, I'm not going to do you any good. Take Sledge." He nearly flipped shut the phone, but Gleason got up and headed to the kitchen to start the coffee and juice. Besides, Eames started yelling at him and he said, "Ok, ok! Jesus, I'm getting up; right, twenty minutes. Buzz when you get here." With that, he flipped shut the phone and went into the bathroom.

Gleason didn't think she had ever been so angry. Not about him being called away from dinner, not even this – being called out again. What riled her was that – one, he had told his partner about their sex; and – two, he considered what he did to her making love. She shook with her anger. In short order, the coffee was dripping, the juice was poured and the travel mugs were set out. She slid two slices of bread into the toaster for him.

Bobby came around the corner with, "Honey, I'm sorry I have to go out again. I'm sorry." He crossed to her leaning against the sink and reached to hold her.

"Don't touch me, you bastard," she hissed at him and twisted away.

He was shocked; Gleason had never used a foul word against him before. "What?! This is not my doing, Sweetheart, I don't --,"

"You have no idea, do you?"

Bobby was genuinely clueless. He stared at her and then said softly, cautiously, "No, apparently I don't. What did I do?"

"First, don't you ever, under any circumstances, speak of what we do in bed to anyone. Understand?"

"Ok, ok. I, I'm sorry."

She did not want to cry with this next bit, but it happened anyway, "Do you, do you honestly think that what happened in that bed earlier was making love?"

What is going on here, he wondered. "Gleason, I came home, got into bed, and . . . yeah, we made love."

She stared at him and then it all came out, loudly, "We did not make love. You had sex with my body. I served as your receptacle. I was barely wet! Had I not been in that bed, you would have masturbated onto the sheet." Oh, she was angry!

Bobby stood with his mouth open. He reran the whole thing in his mind. At no point did he think she was not enjoying it. Ok, so it happened a little quickly, and, there wasn't a lot of foreplay, and he did seem to be doing everything, but . . . receptacle, masterb-? No, no, she's upset about something else. "Honey, why didn't you stop me if you didn't want to? I would have stopped; you know that, don't you?" He was truly contrite. "Honey, please, let me hold you."

"Stay away from me! I did tell you, Bobby. I did. But you didn't hear me or didn't want to."

Incredulously he asked, "When? When did you tell me? What did you say? Gleason, I do not remember this."

She knew she had to calm down because that pressing feeling on her chest was beginning. Gleason took the tea towel from the counter and wiped her nose, and then she pulled out a chair and sat, as she didn't trust her legs to hold her up. She tried to breathe slowly and deeply and finally was able to hitch out, "You wrapped yourself around me and kissed me, and pulled up my nightgown, I told you that you needed to get some sleep and that we would make love in the morning. I told you that, but you didn't listen or you ignored me. You kissed me again and then you were on your way. Bobby you were already hard when you slid up next to me. You couldn't wait to come."

Well. That certainly was not the way he remembered it. Bobby sincerely did not know what to say. He stood there with his arms crossed. Gleason stared at him, expecting some kind of response. "Why didn't you say something afterward?" he asked softly.

She shook her head sadly and said, "I did. I told you to get off of me, that I couldn't breathe."

"No, why didn't you say something about it before now?"

Gleason stared at him, stood up, and said bitterly, "Because you were asleep." The door buzzer sounded and they both jumped.

"We need to talk this through, Gleason. Honey, I, I'm sorry that I did that. I don't, I, we'll talk more when I come home. This won't take long, we'll talk then. Honey, I don't want this between us. Baby, I'm so sorry. We'll talk when I get home, ok?"

Gleason started down the hall. He watched her and then it occurred to him what she might do and he started after her, "Gleason, you'll be here, right? When I get home, you'll be here?" The buzzer sounded again, and he felt the heat begin. Bobby turned and strode to the speaker next to the door, stabbed and held the button to unlock the lobby door, and then started back to the bedroom. She was getting back into bed, "Honey, will you be here? You're not going to leave, are you?"

She lay with her back to him, ignoring him. Don't, don't lose it, he told himself, it will only make it worse. "Gleason, tell me that you'll be here." Eames was at the door. Goddamn it!

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Bobby yanked open the door and Eames stepped through, "Would you finish with the coffee?" he said, pointing toward the kitchen and then marching back toward the bedroom. "Yeah, sure no prob-," she said to the sound of the bedroom door slamming and she headed into the kitchen.

"All I want to know is – are you going to be here when I get back?" Bobby shouted.

"Lower your voice!"

He was tired, hungry, and mad as hell. "Then answer me!" he yelled.

"Yes, I'll be here."

Bobby glared at her for a second and then turned, slamming the door shut behind him.

Eames was in the hallway outside the apartment, embarrassed to tears. She could not believe what she had heard. He was shouting at Gleason! Jesus, she never imagined him to yell at home. Poor Gleason; his temper is a problem at home, too. Dear God.

Bobby met her in the hall and she continued to hold both travel mugs while Bobby locked the door. "You ready?" he asked. All she could do was nod.

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Gleason alternated between anger, frustration, hurt, and disappointment. He had never done that before, just taken her like that. Bobby was the gentlest, most giving lover. He always made sure she was satisfied before he came. She knew that her orgasm launched his. That fact always gave her such a warm feeling, knowing that what he did, they did, could take her to such heights and that her heights brought him to his.

Gleason had so looked forward to being in bed with him again. She missed him totally. She missed his voice; it wasn't the same on the phone. She missed his scent. Gleason turned over and faced his side of the bed, pulling his pillow close and inhaling his smell. She missed his touch. Bobby always, every chance, touched her. She loved that, him touching her for no reason. She missed their lovemaking. Slowly, Gleason fell asleep.

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Bobby hadn't said a word since the hallway and Eames certainly wasn't going to say anything. They rode in silence. At the scene, Eames got out and began pulling on the gloves she kept in her coat pocket. Bobby rummaged through her glove box and found the plastic bag of extra large that she always kept for him. He exited the car pulling on the gloves and walked past Eames and the officer she was speaking with.

He walked straight to the body and knelt over it. He used his pocket flash light to examine the neck first. "Can I get some light over here, please?" he shouted out. Two uniforms walked up, pointing high power flashlights on the body whilst Bobby continued to probe.

Eames walked over, but stood back, watching. "Bag his hands," Bobby said to the CSU member as he stood. "It's, it's the same," he said to Eames without looking at her. "The ligature looks the same, same kind of gash on the back of the head, and the hands have that same, taco chip smell." Eames just nodded.

"Did anyone locate a weapon, something that was used to hit this guy on the head?" he asked one of the officers holding the flashlight.

"We got guys out there looking, Detective."

Bobby nodded. "This is the third one in what, ten hours?" he hadn't looked at Eames yet, he spoke to the body. "Someone is cleaning house? They all have the same taco chip smell on the hands. They were all at the same place, eating chips? A party? A bar?" Bobby thought out loud, rhetorically almost. 'Who found the body? Who called it in?"

The same officer replied, "Me and my partner, we was on patrol and came across him just laying there. I called dispatch and somehow you guys from Major Case got called."

"Thanks," Bobby said to the officer. Finally, he looked at Eames and said, "What? Are you upset with me, too? What did I do to you?" Eames looked at him for a minute and walked back to speak with the same officer she started with.

Bobby knew immediately he was wrong to snap at Eames like that. His skin crawled; he hated fighting with Gleason. It seemed they fought every time they were together after being apart. Bobby could not believe he had done what Gleason claimed. He would not do that; that was his father, his brother Frank, not him. He was not like them. His gut churned.

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