Chapter 12

Lewis marched into the emergency room and headed in the direction he'd been pointed. He went around a curtain and found Bobby, sitting on the edge of the bed, swaying slightly. His cheek was red and scabbing and he had a fresh white bandage just above his left eye.

Bobby saw his friend and straightened up, turned his head, and tried to hold still. "They called you?" he slurred.

"Jesus, Bobby, you're still drunk."

"That's… why this happened," he explained.

"What happened?"

"I was mugged."

"Because you were drunk."

"Easy target."

"Yeah. Well, what are they saying?" Lewis asked.

Bobby slouched again, his energy running low. He leaned over, putting his weight on his palm. "They said, 'be right back.'" He smiled at the irony. He'd been waiting a long time for someone to come back.

Without a word, Lewis spun on his heel and went to find someone who could finish up with Bobby and discharge him.

"Detective Eames? This is Lewis. I had to pick up Bobby at the hospital. He's okay, he just got a few stitches. I'm gonna have him stay over at my place tonight. I didn't want you to worry. Good night." Lewis frowned. He hated leaving voicemail messages, especially about things that were important. He raised one eyebrow and looked at Bobby, who was sleeping sprawled out on his couch. On the other hand, it was probably better she didn't see him like this.

The light sent daggers into his eyes, right through the closed lids. Bobby groaned and threw his arm over his face, turning toward the back of the couch.

"Rise and shine, Bobby, I gotta go to the shop." Lewis was already in his coveralls. He poured himself a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal and sat down at the table to eat.

Bobby groaned again.

"C'mon, Bobby, you can't stay here."

Bobby sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. He then explored the bandage with his fingertips. "Why not?" he asked quietly.

"Because you've got your own place. You know, your girlfriend's there, wondering what the hell is wrong with you."

Lewis rarely confronted Bobby about anything. Just his irritated tone was something completely foreign. "Lewis, I… I'm sorry they called you. I guess they couldn't get hold of Alex, and…" As he got to his feet, he saw the stony look on his best friend's face. Bobby had never seen Lewis so angry.

"Lewis?"

"Why the drinking, Bobby?"

"What?"

"You were drunker than a skunk last night. Why?"

"Uh, I, uh…"

"You're a fucking mess."

"Lewis?"

"You're so fucking down on yourself you'll do anything to prove to her you're an asshole. And then she'll get sick of it and tell you off and then you can tell the world what a sorry-assed loser you are."

Bobby gaped at his friend.

"Get some help, Bobby. You need a fucking shrink. I don't have time for this shit." Lewis gulped down his coffee, grabbed his keys, and left.

Bobby's phone rang, shaking him out of his thoughts. He found his coat and ran his hands through his pockets until he found it. It stopped ringing before he could answer, but he saw the call had been from Alex. Bobby hung his head, sighed, and slowly dialed her back.

"Bobby? Are you okay?" She asked, sounding a little frantic.

"I got some stitches."

"What happened? Are you still with Lewis? Do you want me to come get you?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. His head was pounding. He was hungover, and tired, and her questions weren't helping.

"Bobby?"

"I… Don't worry, Alex. I'm headed home now." He hung up the phone and realized it was going to take a while before he could head home. He had to go to his apartment and find the paperwork to cancel his credit cards. And he had to pick up the mustang, if it was still there.

Thankfully, Lewis had left a splash of coffee in his coffee pot. Bobby poured it into a cup and guzzled it down, wondering just how pissed Lewis really was.

Bobby finally got home at 10:30. She'd tried to call him while he was at his place, but he didn't want to risk losing the call with the credit card company, and so he hadn't answered.

She was cleaning the kitchen sink when he walked in. She heard him, but she didn't even try to turn around. He stood by the front door in silence, and his eyes skimmed over the living room.

"Where are the boxes?" he asked.

She turned long enough to glare at him. "In the closet." Alex went back to scrubbing.

"Who put them in the closet?" he asked.

She didn't even turn this time. "I did, Bobby."

Worry washed over him, and he grew angry. "You're not supposed to be lifting things!"

"Somebody had to do it."

With a kind of reluctant shuffle, he approached the kitchen. "I told you I would take care of it."

"You were taking too long."

"Are you all right? You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" His hand brushed against her back and she stiffened and pulled away.

"I'm fine."

He drew back his hand and used it to grab his other arm. "I, uh, I'm sorry it took so long. They got my wallet, I had to you know, call all the credit cards and…" his voice trailed away.

"You could have called."

He looked down, nodding in agreement.

Finished with her task, she turned to him, studying him from toe to head. "You're all right?" she asked quietly.

Bobby, encouraged, looked up with a smile. "Just three stiches. I'm uh… kinda banged up."

She took his chin in her hand and studied the scrapes on his face. "Why, Bobby?"

He had no good answer for that. Sadly, he shrugged. "I don't know why." He cleared his throat. "Lewis is mad at me, too."

She'd been thinking about chewing him out, breaking things off. But he was hurt, and she could see the dark circles under his eyes. Alex sighed. "Why don't you go lie down a while, get some rest."

With the tips of his fingers, he brushed her hair back over her ear. Bobby leaned down and kissed her sweetly on the cheek. "I love you, Alex."

She patted his arm gently, and he walked down the hall.