Chapter 30

There was the awkward stop in the elevator when Alex pushed number 11 and Bobby pushed the button for the parking structure. She looked up at him, worried.

"I gotta—I'm calling it a day," he announced, still nervous. He caught the concerned expression on her face. "I—Eames, I'm okay."

"Bobby, no you're not," she said.

The doors slid open and he stepped halfway through. His eyes were on the floor as he drew his hand over his hair until it landed with a grasp on the back of his neck. "I'll… I'll see you later," he breathed.

She watched him walk from the building into the cold air of the garage. With a sigh and a shake of her head, she rode the elevator back up to the squad room.

Ross saw her at her desk alone, and quickly stepped over. "Is Goren-?" he began.

"It wasn't his brother," she declared. "I guess Bobby's coat traded hands."

Ross nodded, glad that Goren didn't have to grieve his brother. He couldn't help but notice the man hadn't returned, though.

"He said he was tired," she explained. "Bobby went home." The Captain nodded and returned to his office.

He would have just walked, if it hadn't been so cold. The icy air sent him into the warmth of a bar, and he bought himself a drink to justify the space he was occupying.

He barely touched it. Bobby's thoughts were moving so fast he completely forgot about the scotch in front of him. Frank never caught a break. That was what his Mom had said, and Bobby had to admit in a way, she was right. And once he'd fallen into drugs, he'd never been able to come back out of it. Not for any length of time, anyway.

Bobby thought back to their conversation on the street. He tried to put himself in Frank's place… all the hard work of giving up the drugs, coming clean… and then to see your brother out of nowhere and find out your Mom is dying… It didn't mean he'd relapsed, the fact that he hadn't shown up. Maybe he just couldn't… couldn't handle it. Maybe he couldn't bear the thought of seeing Mom dying in a hospital.

And Alex… he knew she was trying her best, but Bobby could tell she'd passed a judgment about him, about how he treated his brother. He bristled at the thought of her concern. She didn't understand! She didn't have a brother like Frank, or a mother like Frances. She couldn't understand!

At the same time he had that thought, all of his rational knowledge of codependence popped up. She was right. He was enabling Frank. But what the hell was the difference between caring and enabling?! All Bobby wanted was to do right by his family. He wanted to do right by Frank. It was his responsibility as his brother. But he wanted to care for his mother, too, and if that meant getting Frank to come see her, to be a part of the last months of her life…

The thought of Frances' death tugged his emotions in a new direction. He recalled the conversation with Sylveste, and he closed his fist in anger.

If inflicting unbearable pain is how your God tests faith, then he's a vindictive son-of-a-bitch!

Bobby wrapped his tense fingers around the whiskey glass. Corliss was right.

Were you angry at God for that?

No. There is no God. What happens to us is what happens to us.

He was right about that, too. Only… if Bobby really believed that, then why was he so Goddamned angry?!

He gulped down some whiskey and then scratched his fingernails against his scalp.

…and the look on his mother's face when she'd said Frank was going back to God.

All the intelligence in the world will not help this man. He needs to accept the Lord. He needs to pray to God.

He could feel the pressure building, the heat in his cheeks, the dull thud starting in his head. His blood pressure was rising. As he contemplated throwing the glass across the room, he was surprised when an angry tear slipped from his eye and pooled on the tabletop next to the whiskey.

Bobby drew his arm over his eyes. He gulped back a sob and drew in a long breath. Goren tossed some cash on the table, got up, and left.

Alex waited at his apartment. She had already changed into some night clothes, and was trying to doze on the couch until he returned. Sleep was elusive, however. She couldn't seem to stop worrying about him.

She heard his keys in the door and tensed, sitting up straight in anticipation. He didn't look her way when he came in, only stared at the floor until the door clicked shut. Finally, his eyes flitted over her.

Alex looked him over. All she could tell was he was cold. He was wearing the wool coat again, but it hung loose around him. He hadn't bothered with the buttons. His ears, nose, and cheeks were red from the wind outside. He'd left his hat, gloves, and scarf at 1PP.

"You've been waiting up for me?" He said, his voice quiet, but somehow accusing.

"I was worried," she admitted.

He turned and locked the door in one swift movement, then headed for his kitchen. He got down a whiskey bottle, but then opted for a glass of tap water instead.

Alex watched him carefully. She couldn't tell if he was drunk or not. She could, however, read his anger. "I can go if—" she offered, though her heart wasn't in it.

"No." He drank half the water and wagged his head in her direction. "You can stay."

Alex folded her arms across her chest, wondering suddenly if that was a good idea. She wasn't sure she knew what he should do with his anger. She wasn't sure being with him would help.

Bobby finished the glass of water. He set it down with a thunk and peeled off the coat, dropping it over the back of a kitchen chair. Then he walked swiftly past her to the bathroom, where he was soon in the shower.

He slid into the bed beside her, seemingly having shifted the crux of his emotions from anger to passion. Bobby kissed her eagerly, and was too harried with his attempt at foreplay. She humored him, hoping that if they made love, the release would settle him. As he swooped in to drop another round of kisses on her neck, he saw the little cross there and stopped cold. Bobby lowered himself to the mattress beside her, completely uninterested in sex.

"Does it help?" he asked her.

"What?" She had no bearings by which to follow his train of thought.

"God. Prayer."

"Bobby, are you saying—"

"Just answer the question."

"Yeah." She was thoughtful. "Sometimes. It helps."

He sighed heavily and rolled to his side with his back to her.

"Are you- do you think you believe?"

He shrugged. "I don't see any point to it." He was quiet a moment. "Maybe I do." Then the silence fell again. "But nothing can help her now. Even if I could afford the treatment, there's no guarantee that…"

"What treatment?"

He told her about the experimental treatment, and the outrageous cost. "I guess I should say I believe in God, if only to have someone to be angry with." He laughed at his own logic.

Alex was completely at a loss for words. She reached out and gently stroked his hair. Maybe something in her touch could soothe him. She was shocked a few minutes later when his body shook with sobs.

Alex scooted closer and put her arm around him. She held him until he was still again. She held him until he slept. She held him all night.