Chapter 3

Bobby was in and out for the rest of the afternoon. One minute he was reading his notes, the next he was ruminating over them, and the next he would flee to the elevator and land in the basement to pepper Dr. Rodgers with questions and ask about the plausibility of his theories.

Alex, on the other hand, stayed at her desk. Her intestinal pains were becoming more vicious, and she found herself in the bathroom more than once in the latter part of the day. When Bobby came skidding back after his third trip downstairs, she was wearing her coat and heading for home.

Her black coat was in stark contrast to the pallor of her face. She looked weary and uncomfortable. Bobby raised his hand to touch her arm gently. "You're going home?" he asked as he silently nodded his approval.

She nodded and stepped past him into the elevator. She raised a hand to wave goodbye to him, but said not a word.

Bobby stood in the hall, staring at the closed elevator doors. He was glad she'd decided to take care of herself, but he was full of concern for her.

Christmas was drawing closer. Alex needed her rest if she wanted any chance to enjoy the holiday. Bobby resolved to crack the case as quickly as possible.

He took the knowledge he'd gained from Rodgers and did some research on the computer. Then he contacted evidence. It took almost an hour to retrieve the evidence he needed, and it would take another day before the lab could process it.

Aggravated that he had not accomplished more, he closed his binder and called it a night.

She was on his mind. Every ten minutes or so, his mind would take a respite from exploring the possibilities in the Paloma case. Then his thoughts would turn to Alex. He remembered how pale she'd been, and how little of her lunch she'd been able to eat. He wondered if she'd been able to keep it down.

His hand was on his phone more than once, but his mind would go back to the Paloma case, to the office romances that ultimately led to Hugh Paloma's death.

There were just some lines that must not be crossed.

It was that way for him and Eames, as well. Bobby did not love her. She was his closest friend, and the finest partner he'd ever had. He cared for her deeply, and if it came down to it, he would sacrifice himself to save her without a moment's hesitation. But he could not love her.

So he found himself picking up the phone and torturing himself playing out the possibilities of calling her. Would a call to check on her cross that line? Or would that be acceptable within the parameters of their relationship?

In person, at work, it was easier. With her beside him in the car, or across from him in the bullpen, a concerned comment was acceptable, and meant nothing more than that: concern. Calling her after hours, from his home could be construed as much more.

At midnight he finally set the phone down and settled into bed for a fitful sleep.

He didn't buy her anything for breakfast. Usually, she came in to a steaming cup of ridiculously sweet coffee and sometimes it was accompanied with a scone or a bagel. Bobby stopped for his own coffee in the frigid morning air, but he decided against buying her anything. He doubted she would be able to tolerate her usual fare.

She was late again. His knee started to bounce under the table as he decided the evidence he'd sent to the lab was unlikely to provide the link he needed to solidify his case.

When the phone rang in his pocket, Bobby jolted in surprise. He dug it out of his trouser pocket and held it to his ear.

"Hello."

"I'm not coming in." Her voice was quivering.

"Bad?" he asked, closing his eyes to try and picture her as she spoke.

"I think we can safely say I have the flu." A chill went through her, and he heard her draw in a shaky breath through clenched teeth.

"Can I do something for you?" he asked, ready to make a drugstore run if she asked him to.

"Just close the case, Bobby. I'm sorry I can't help you with it."

"I'm almost there, I think. Do you need any food or anything?"

"I don't think I'll be eating for a while."

"Oh." He frowned, then had a new thought. "Ginger ale?"

"I think I should just go back to bed," she said. "I'll manage."

"You'll call me if you think of something?"

"Okay. Thanks, Bobby."

"Feel better, Alex." She hung up first, and he slowly replaced the phone in his pocket. Bobby frowned, wishing there was something he could do for her. He sighed, knowing there wasn't.

His mind replayed his last visit with Marla Faust. He closed his eyes and visualized every detail of her office: the hotel art, the window, the coat rack. His mind went back to the coat rack. More specifically, he thought of the coat on the rack.

The temperatures had been steadily below freezing for more than a week now. Although many women had multiple coats to compliment many different outfits, he doubted that was the case for Marla Faust. Several years struggling through bankruptcy had probably not allowed for the luxury of a large wardrobe.

He grabbed his wool coat and pulled it on. He was going to see her. With any luck, he could catch her before she went to work.

Captain Ross tried to stop him in the hall to get a quick update, but Bobby raised his hand in the air and spun in a circle while stammering something about being in a hurry to 'get there.'

Ross watched him disappear behind the elevator doors. Then he turned and headed for his office. He could catch up with Goren and Eames later.

Her face fell when she saw him towering on her doorstep. "Uh, I'm just getting ready to leave for work."

Bobby wormed his way into the warmth of her house. If Eames had been with him, she would have marveled at how smoothly he did it. Polite, slow, and with generous thanks for offering him inside (which the woman hadn't), he was across the threshold and looking down at her aggravated face.

"I just wondered if you always adopt a family at the high school for Christmas."

"Well—yes."

He smiled. "That's admirable. You know, especially with all the financial worries you have of your own, that you find a way, you know, to give to someone less fortunate."

"It helps me to c-count my blessings." She walked around him, opened the closet, and wrapped herself in her knee-length winter coat.

"That's a nice coat," he said, closing the closet for her after taking a long look. "D-do you always wear that coat in the winter?"

She finished buttoning it and held her hands up. "When it's cold. That's what it's for, right?" She turned away from him, sighing and shaking her head as she tugged her gloves over her fingers. "I have to go to work," she said.

"Oh, oh… sure." He held her front door open for her, then pulled it shut and marched down the porch steps of the duplex. Bobby spun back to her. "Have a nice day," he said cheerfully, smiling at her.