Chapter 4

Eames was nervous as she followed the nurse to Bobby's bed in the Intensive Care Unit. She couldn't stop the small gasp that escaped her when she first saw him. She could barely see any of him beyond the bandages covering the top of his head and the assortment of wires and tubes all around him that seemed to converge into a single monitor above his head. If the nurse hadn't assured her that the man in the bed was Bobby, she would never have known. Cautiously, she approached the bed, listening to the sound of the monitors doing their job.

"He's improved some since last night," offered the nurse. I wish I could give her more encouraging news. Head wounds can be so difficult.

Eames tried to squeeze out a small smile for the woman's effort. "Thank you. Has he regained consciousness at all?"

"No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "I'm afraid not. That happens sometimes with head wounds like this. We're monitoring the intra cranial pressure closely. The doctor drained off some fluid and blood during surgery, but there's a still a chance of more swelling."

Eames nodded. "I appreciate you letting me see him. I just… after seeing him shot, I needed to see for myself that he was… "She almost said okay, but then realized that he wasn't okay. Alive was a more accurate description. She had needed to see that he was still alive because every time she had dozed off last night, she'd had dreams to the contrary. As difficult as it was seeing Bobby this way, it reassured her. There was hope.

"It's okay, I understand."

A slight groan caught both their attention, bringing them closer to the bed. Bobby moved his mouth in what looked like an aborted attempt at licking his lips. His upper lip twitched beneath the nasal cannula.

"Bobby, it's me, Alex. I'm here, Bobby, you aren't alone." She reached out, only to encounter a frightening mix of pain, confusion, and fear. The whir in her mind made her dizzy, so she pulled back, leaning heavily against the bed railing.

"Miss, are you all right?" The nurse was looking at her with concern in her face.

"Fine, I just got a little dizzy." She squeezed Bobby's hand. "Bobby, can you hear me? It's Alex, I'm here."

Bobby's eyelids fluttered a moment and another slight groan escaped his lips. He almost seemed to sigh before going still, both in body and in mind. Eames looked up at the nurse, who smiled at her. "Well, it's a start," the girl said.

ooOOoo

Eames stayed for the rest of the two-hour visiting period, after which she was ushered out to the waiting room. There she stayed, waiting, until time for the 2pm – 4pm visiting hours and repeated the whole process for the 7pm-9pm hours. The only reason she succumbed to the prodding of Logan to leave for the night was that Bobby had shown no further signs of waking. Logan had come by to be sure she had no plans of camping out in the ICU waiting room for the night, threatening to drag her to the elevator, if she didn't come willingly. She didn't have the energy to fight him and allowed him to escort her home.

"I try not to admit when you're right," she said testily as he escorted her from the building.

Logan chuckled. "Now that, I've noticed. Go home and get some rest. Bobby's in good hands."

Eames sighed. "I know." And she did know. She'd made sure of that every chance she got. Everyone she had spoken with had genuinely seemed to care about the patients in their ward and that had eased her mind. A couple of the nurses had seemed particularly concerned about Bobby, replaying news accounts they had seen about Bobby being shot as he rescued the little girl. She knew they would be keeping an extra close eye on him and she'd made sure they had her number if he needed anything.

Logan saw her home, again admonishing her to get some rest. She was surprised when she actually did sleep rather soundly. Apparently, smoke inhalation, huge amounts of coughing, and having nightmares all night the previous night while you worried about a friend took a lot out of you. After a solid nine hours of sleep, she was back at the hospital by 9am, an hour before the first visiting hours started.

From 10am-noon, she sat beside Bobby, holding his hand and talking to him as he slept. She repeated the cycle from 2-4pm and again from 7-9pm, without so much as a flinch from him. Her thoughts kept straying to the unimaginable - what she would do if Bobby never woke up - and spent most of her time trying to keep these thoughts at bay. Finally, the nurse came to tell her it was time to leave, catching her wiping her tears away with the hem of her shirt as those fears assailed her once again.

"Honey, I hate to tell you, but it's time to leave. I'm sorry."

Eames nodded, not trusting her voice. She started to relax her hold on Bobby's hand when she felt his tighten against hers for a moment. Her breath hitched as she shot to her feet and leaned over him. "Bobby, I'm here. Bobby, can you hear me?" She looked up at the nurse, who had come over to start checking the monitors. "He… he squeezed my hand."

Bobby coughed a little and shifted his head slightly, stopping almost instantly and squeezing his eyes tight as he grunted.

"Bobby, it's Alex, can you hear me?" Eames almost cried with relief. She could feel him fighting to get past the pain, to make some sense of what was going on.

"It's okay, Bobby, I'm here. Just hang in there."

Eames flinched away when the nurse touched her arm. "I'm going to get the doctor, I'll be right back." Eames nodded and went back to talking softly to Bobby. After a few moments, he finally got his eyes to stay open. He blinked, his eyes rolling a second before they focused on her, making her smile.

"What . . . happened?"

Eames felt like her stomach had taken a three-story fall. She watched as Bobby's eyes roved the room and land back on her. He didn't have any idea who she was. He seemed to know who he was, but not her. She barely noticed when the nurse returned with Dr. Gibson until they were right across from her.

"Bobby," the doctor said brightly. "Nice to see you awake." Eames watched in fascination as the doctor checked her patient's pupil reactions and had him follow her finger. She checked the monitors and asked Bobby about his pain level and what his name was. Bobby's answers were sluggish and slurred, but the doctor didn't seem concerned. She finally could stand it no longer.

"He doesn't know me," she said quietly.

The doctor frowned at her a moment and then looked down at Bobby. "Detective Goren, do you know what day it is?"

Bobby's face clouded and she could feel him struggling for an answer. "Not . . . sure."

"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked.

Bobby closed his eyes as he tried to process the question. The flashes of firing synapses finally slowed until they solidified into a viable memory. "Going… to arrest…Nicole Wallace." The memory cut off abruptly at him looking at a little girl standing in a doorway.

Eames had to think. She found the doctor looking at her and she shrugged her shoulders. She opened her mouth to reply but stopped when she saw the doctor shake her head slightly, nodding toward the door. Don't say it, not in front of him. Not yet.

Eames nodded and they both looked back down at Bobby, who seemed to be drifting off again.

"Bobby?" prodded the doctor. Bobby made a slight groaning noise before returning to the even breathing of sleep. Dr. Gibson took another look at the monitors and then turned to address the nurse. "Stay with him a few minutes." Eames then followed her into the hall outside the unit.

"Do you know what he was talking about?"

Eames sighed. "We arrested Nicole Wallace several times over the years, but not recently."

The doctor nodded. "I need to check on another patient and then I'll get back with you in a few minutes. How long have you been his partner?"

"Almost eight years… and he doesn't remember me. This isn't permanent is it? I mean, it'll come back to him, right?"

Dr. Gibson chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. I hate these kind of questions. They're so hard to answer. "Detective Eames… Alex…"

"Eames. It's just Eames."

Dr. Gibson smiled at her as she gave her a small nod. "Eames, then. It's hard to tell at this stage. A certain amount of memory loss after a severe head injury isn't unusual. Patients often lose several hours up to several days immediately before the injury, sometimes continuing into several days after the injury."

"This is more like amnesia than short term memory loss. For now, let's focus on getting him back on his feet."

Dr. Gibson nodded again, her easy manner and graying hair, reminding Eames of distant memories of her grandmother. She laid a reassuring hand on Eames' arm as she spoke, "I know and I understand that you're upset that he doesn't remember you. Many times the memories come back as the patient's condition improves. I'll be honest with you, though, there's no way to predict exactly what will happen. He may regain everything, or only bits and pieces, or nothing. Anything in between is possible as well. I'll see what I can find in the journals as this appears to be selective memory loss, but let's not worry to much, just yet."

The impact of knowing Bobby may never remember her or the things they had shared in the past hollowed her insides out, leaving her empty and scared. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that it was still better than losing him entirely, which she had almost done. They could rebuild…

"How long? If he's going to remember, how long will it take?"

The doctor gave her a kindly smile again and she sighed even before answering her. If the voice she spoke with hadn't given it away, her body language would have. "There is no timetable for this kind of thing. Things will happen in their own time." Then she shrugged her shoulders once. "Although it usually begins fairly shortly after the injury, the important thing is to be patient and don't push. Don't make him feel like he's doing something wrong because he can't remember. This isn't his fault."

Eames nodded. "I know." She suddenly looked up with concern. "What about his memory after he heals. I mean he won't suddenly not be able to remember things that happen day-to-day or anything like that will he? He's usually got this almost scary memory about things and it's… a very important part of him."

The doctor frowned and pursed her lips. "It's possible there could be some long term effects due to his injury, but I have no reason to particularly expect it. Let's not create more things to worry about. The main thing is to be supportive at first because he's going to be confused and frustrated."

Eames nodded again. She was beginning to feel like a bobble-head in a car on a gravel road. "Can I stay with him? I know you have the hours, very strict hours, but . . . he's so confused and scared and…"

The doctor shook her head and put one hand on Eames' shoulder. "Not tonight, but if he continues to improve, perhaps tomorrow we can bend the rules a little. It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to have someone there when he wakes up since he's so disoriented. But I'm wondering if it should be someone he remembers."

"There really isn't anyone else," said Eames. "I mean, there's no one who's really close to him that can do that right now, but me. We have a strong connection. I think he'll pick up on that quickly."

The doctor looked skeptical, but seemed to accept it. "All right. Try to give him a chance to remember you before announcing he has amnesia. You need to be careful what you tell him and how, try not to upset him any more than necessary. I wouldn't tell him anything until he's lucid enough to really start asking questions."

"Don't worry," she said with a small, knowing smile. "I can read him like a book."