Chapter 12

Over the next week, Bobby began to more closely guard what he shared with her. His mother had been diagnosed with Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, and given only months to live. He'd managed to keep it together in front of Frances, but when he finally closed the door at his apartment, his anger got the better of him.

It was all so unfair. She had done her best, all her life, given as much as her illness would let her to raise two boys. As terrible as his childhood had been, Bobby could imagine much worse. His mother, when she wasn't sick, had instilled in him a love of life and learning, and a respect for the strength and intelligence of the fairer sex. There had been good times, a lot of them.

He owed so much to her. Without her influence, he would never have developed his passion for reading, which in turn had profoundly influenced the course of his life.

Yes, Frances Goren was difficult to relate to, but if anyone in the world could, it was Bobby. They were more alike than he usually cared to admit. Tonight, he was proud to be her son. She had listened to the prognosis, and fired back with all her might. She'd asked question after question, as if her schizophrenia diagnosis was a hoax.

His mother was a fighter. She had been all her life. And she wasn't going to stop fighting now.

Bobby wracked his brain, trying to think what he could do to help her. The first step, obviously, was a second opinion. Even as they moved forward with a course of treatment, he had to search for someone credible to either confirm or refute her diagnosis.

Bobby sat down in front of his laptop and typed furiously. He forgot to call Alex.

"Goren," he said when it rang, sounding distracted.

"Bobby?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, realizing his lapse. "Alex, how-how are you?"

"Maybe I should be asking you?"

"I'm okay. I'm distracted."

"Working?"

"Y-yeah."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I don't mean to interrupt."

"Alex: what do you need?"

"I was hoping we could talk."

He bookmarked his page on the computer and slammed the top shut. "I'll be right there."

He was still wearing his suit, and Eames thought that a little odd. Then again, he said he'd been working. Maybe she caught him before he'd had the chance to change.

"Hi," she said quietly.

"What's up?" he said, and though he tried to sound friendly, his tone was off. She studied his face, and could tell he was stressed about something. Again, Eames attributed it to the job.

She closed the door and locked it behind him and gestured for him to sit on the couch. "I saw Olivet again today."

"And?"

"I want to go back to work."

"Eames, c'mon…" His face was pure disapproval.

Alex sighed. "That's pretty much what she said." She folded her arms and stared at her socked feet. "I just feel like this isn't real. You know, being home all the time, it's not the real world, and how can I know if I've got this thing beat if I'm not really in there, living?!"

"It's too soon. You're… you're bored, and you're rushing."

Alex threw her head back against the couch and looked at the ceiling. "Bobby, my life… it's defined by what I do. Even when… even when I married, Joe knew that I would never be a housewife. It's not enough for me."

"You're no housewife," Bobby agreed, and tried to get a smile from her. Alex was too preoccupied to smile. "It's… it's not about you. Coming back, I mean."

"Excuse me?"

"Your return to active duty. It's not about you. If you're not ready, Eames. You put a lot of people at risk."

"You."

He nodded. "Me, and the rest of the team. And the public. What if something happens? Something that triggers… that panic?"

"I'm stronger than that now."

"Strong enough to act when you can barely breathe?"

She grew indignant. "It worked for me the last time."

His breath caught. He rolled his eyes and looked away. "You're not ready. You shouldn't jump the gun. In this instance, you should follow Dr. Olivet's advice."

Alex sighed. She wasn't sure what she'd been hoping for. "You're just being overprotective."

"Maybe so," he conceded, "but I'd rather err on the side of caution."

They sat in silence for several minutes, and finally she stirred. "Hey," she said. "You and Johnny are on the same page, for once."

He gave her a crooked smile. "Miracles never cease."

Alex frowned, but she reached out for his hand. Bobby held her hand for all of forty seconds before pulling away. "Look, I, uh… I have work to do."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot." Alex felt spurned, but she didn't try to touch him again. "I miss you, Bobby."

He gave her a polite smile. "Yeah. Me too."

All the way home, he old himself that with his mother to worry about, he couldn't handle taking a chance on a relationship with Alex again. He convinced himself that Alex couldn't handle it, either.

Logan opened the door and started to walk into the interview room, but Bobby held up a hand and waved him away. "Okay, okay, so… 2:00 on Thursday? Yes. Thank you." He hung up his cell and scrawled the information on a clean page in his binder. Logan opened the door again.

"How you doin'?" Logan asked. "I thought we would have that Trace report by now."

"No, nothing yet," Bobby said, seeming very distracted as he shuffled the papers in his binder.

"Alex okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Why?"

"Nothing. Forget about it." Mike continued to watch him as he spoke. "Wheeler is going after Naranja. She says that's where the keystone is."

Bobby nodded. "Yeah. Could be."

Logan noticed the bags under Goren's eyes and found himself wondering if Goren was up to par, himself. He was just a third wheel, assisting Logan and Wheeler until Alex came back. Chances were it didn't matter. Logan shoved the thought aside. "Well, let me know when you hear from Trace."

"You got it."

"I'm dying, Bobby."

"Ma…"

"You heard the doctor, yourself. Four months, Bobby. That's all they'll give me."

Bobby scratched his head. "With the right treatment, Mom, anything could happen. Some people live for years with NHL."

"You look me in the eye and tell me I'm one of them."

He looked her in the eye, but his vision blurred and he looked away.
"There. You know it, too. Just take me home, Bobby. Forget about all this… chemo and what have you. Let me die in peace."

He took a deep breath. "You're just feeling down today, that's all. Tomorrow, you'll feel like fighting again."

"Have you thought what it will be like, Bobby? Life without me?"

He scoffed, and offered her a smile. "No, Ma. It's not gonna happen."

"It happens to everyone. When my mother died… you were seven years old, Bobby. Do you remember that?"

He swallowed hard and nodded. Yes he remembered. That was when she had her first break.

"I still find myself talking to her. Do you think you'll talk to me, Bobby? When I'm gone? I'd like to think you'd maybe share a book with me or something."

"Sure, Ma. I'll read to you," he said, conceding the argument. She was stage four. It was unlikely the second opinion would be any different. He decided to stir the pot, just to get her going. "Maybe I'll pick up some of those romance novels from the booktrader's."

"You read that slop to me and I'll come back from the grave and haunt you forever!"

"Maybe I'll read you one now."

She smiled at him. He'd made her fight again, and she knew it.