A/N: Apologies for not getting this posted sooner, but real life reared its ugly head. My mother died last week.
Alex didn't particularly want to be alone, but she did not expect Bobby home before midday. She knew he was struggling and she was trying to give him his space, but she wanted so much to pull him close and hold on for dear life...and she needed him to hold her as well. Resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to be there for her until much later, she'd slid into the big, empty bed and tried to embrace her loneliness.
A couple of hours passed before she rolled over during her restless sleep and found herself up against his warm body. "Bobby," she whispered, relieved and delighted to find him snoring softly beside her in the bed, where he belonged.
The barest hint of his cologne reached her nostrils, masked by other scents she recognized: cigarette smoke, scotch and...the sweet, pungent odor of pot. She frowned. "What did you do?" she whispered.
With a grunt, he shifted closer to her, sensing that she was awake. He softly murmured her name. Sliding his hand along her side, he nuzzled her neck and pulled her close. She stroked his hair. "I thought you were staying at your brother's place," she said softly.
He slid his hand down to her hip and squeezed. "I wanted to come home," he insisted.
Peeking over his shoulder, she looked at the time. 3:17. "When did you get here?"
"I dunno."
"How did you get here?" she asked, hoping he didn't drive himself.
He kissed her neck. "With Mike."
"Mike? Did you call him?"
"I don't think so. He, uh, he called me, I think."
She pulled away, just a little, concerned by his confusion. "Why?"
"Ask him."
He moved closer and returned his attention to her neck. "Bobby," she protested in a loud whisper. "Talk to me."
"Love you," he murmured against her skin. "Love you so much."
His hands had begun to roam and so had his mouth. "Bobby..." she whispered more softly.
He stopped listening, focusing all his attention on her body and what he was doing to her. She closed her eyes and made an involuntary noise before she tried one more weak protest that didn't work. She made the noise again seconds before she surrendered to him. She no longer cared why he was home; she was simply happy that he was.
Bobby's head rested on his wife's chest as they both slept. He stirred first. As he lifted his head with a soft groan, she lightly caressed his back. "Good morning," she whispered with a smile.
He gave her a lop-sided grin. "Hi."
"How do you feel?"
He shifted and softly kissed her. "I feel pretty good."
"I imagine you do. You were pretty wasted when I talked to you about..." She looked at the clock. "...two hours ago."
He stroked her bare shoulder. "I, uh, yeah...I was..."
"And you still are. I smell cigarettes, scotch and pot. Am I missing anything?"
"Uhm...n-no. Frank waited until I left before he brought out his coke."
"If he hadn't waited...would you have...?"
She stopped, not sure she wanted an answer any more. He caressed her shoulder and answered, "I...no, I don't do that any more."
"But you did."
"In the past, yes. But not since I left narcotics."
She looked at his face in the dim light of the room. "How much did you use...in the past?" she wanted to know.
"That depends on when we're talking about. I, uh, when I was a kid, I did a lot of things that I would never do now. I think most people can say that." He paused and gave her a look, eyebrows raised. With a soft smile, she nodded and he continued, "Things were very different back then, after mom got sick. I needed an escape, something that made me feel...good, for a change. I had few options, and Frank had ready access to anything I wanted. He, uh, he started smoking pot when he was around twelve, and he advanced to harder drugs by the time he was a sophomore in high school. I was a little younger, ten or eleven, the first time I got high with him. I, uhm, I moved on to harder drugs earlier than he did, but I wasn't the heavy user that he was...and I stopped. He never did."
She could understand that. Many teenagers experimented out of curiosity, but for him, it was more than experimentation. She didn't know a lot about his young life, except that it had been very difficult, and the fact that he sought to escape through drugs did not surprise her at all. "What made you stop?" she asked, honestly curious.
"During Christmas break of my senior year, Frank came home from college. While he was home, he overdosed. My mother blamed me for it, of course, but it scared the shit out of me. I quit using after that. I still smoked pot, but I never did the hard drugs again...until I worked narcotics. Frank went back to using, but he was more careful."
"And when you were in narcotics?"
"Again, ready access, but only when I had to. Sometimes, in order to protect my cover, or another officer, I didn't have any choice. Sometimes, I didn't look too hard for alternatives. It...came with the job."
He was willing to talk, and she was reluctant to let the moment pass without taking advantage of it. "What about now?"
His hands had begun to lightly explore her body as he talked. He caressed her ear, playing with her earlobe as his fingers stroked her neck. She tipped her head to the side but still tried to press him for an answer. "Bobby?"
He grunted softly as he moved his fingers along her collarbone. He leaned in, replacing his fingertips with warm, moist pressure from his mouth. That always drove her nuts, and now was no exception. She wanted to talk, but her mind began to get fuzzy as a roaming hand slid down the back of her thigh. "Oh, no...don't..." she began to protest as his fingers found the back of her knee. "You...oh..."
She was finished. Talking became the furthest thing from her mind. She responded to him, surrendering to the need he created in her.
She snuggled against him as she waited for her body to calm down. Softly, she growled, "Will you cut that out now?"
"What?"
"Dammit, Bobby, I want you to talk to me."
He played with her hair. "About what?"
"I want to know what happened yesterday."
He continued to play with her hair, absently caressing her back between strokes. "Yesterday...I, uhm, I...I got ambushed. That's what happened."
His tone was laced with anger, and she knew she would have to tread carefully. "By Frank?"
He paused, but her warm hand lightly rubbing his chest calmed him. He was still willing to talk to her. "N-No. By...By my grief. It caught up with me and I didn't expect it, so it-it overwhelmed me. Your dad, my mom, Denise...everything. I...I lost control, then I shut down, completely, and that's when...uh, then, Frank was there, at the cemetery. We...stopped for a couple of drinks—he actually remembered my birthday—and then it became more than a couple, and we went back to his place, and it became...more than drinks. We talked about you and the kids, about our past, our parents, and how things worked out for us. I, uhm, I told him how lucky I am to have a wife who puts up with my bullshit and always finds it in herself to forgive me."
"Is that what you really think?"
He looked at her, surprised. "Why would I lie about that, to Frank of all people? Alex, I am very lucky that you're even in my life. But you're my wife, and that makes me the luckiest man in the world."
"It's not luck, Bobby. You've earned my love several times over."
He cocked his head to the side, his expression open and interested. "How?"
She saw in his eyes that he honestly didn't get it. From a young age, he'd been taught that he was insignificant, unworthy of his parents' love—or anyone else's—and he still struggled with that. She shifted her position and snuggled into his embrace. Once she was comfortable, she took his hand in hers and rested her head against his chest. "Oh, Bobby," she whispered, wanting him to feel cherished because he was. "There are so many reasons that I love you."
He gently played with her fingers. "Name one," he challenged.
"Only one?"
"Let's start there."
"Okay...you are a very loving man."
"Name another."
"You're a great father, a wonderful husband."
"And?"
"And you're sweet and kind. You're sensitive and strong and adorable. And you're great in bed."
He arched an eyebrow, his lips quirked into a small smile. "Really?"
"Really. There is so much more to love than not."
"So...no regrets?"
"About choosing to be with you? No. None."
"Even though we're not partners any more?"
"That doesn't matter. We're partners in a much more important way. We're partners in life, for life. I go to bed every night and wake up every morning cradled in your arms and in your love. That's huge. I love you and I need you."
He shook his head slowly. "You don't need me."
"What makes you say that?"
He kissed her head. "There's still a part of me that believes you would be better off without me. I count myself lucky for every day you keep me around."
She rubbed his stomach lightly. "I never considered sending you away," she insisted. "You frustrate me sometimes, and you make me angry, but I love you."
"So what were you planning when you talked about moving in with your dad?"
She would never again make the mistake of not knowing where Maggie was when she had any kind of serious discussion. "It was a wake-up call, honey," she insisted. "I promise that's all it ever was. I never wanted to leave and I certainly had no desire to stay away, but I had no way to reach you. You withdrew so far away from me, I couldn't find you."
She was right about that. "I'm sorry."
"I don't want you to ever do that again."
"I can only promise to try. Alex, I don't want to draw you in to...to the dark places that are inside me. I never want you touched by that. That's why I withdraw."
"It's all part of you, and I swore to love you—the good side of you and the bad. I know that you go to some dark places, and I accept that about you. You don't have to protect me from that side of you."
"That side of me is very angry and very dangerous. I do have to protect you from it. Trust me."
"That's the point. I do trust you. Bobby, I can't take it when you withdraw from me."
He kissed her again. "I'll try. That's the best I can do."
With a smile, she turned her face up toward his and kissed him. He laughed softly. "There's that look of triumph I always see when you get your way."
"Every victory with you is a hard-won battle." She hugged him tightly. "Now...I need you to tell me about last night."
She felt him tense. "Uh, what about it?"
"Were you surprised to see Frank?" she asked, knowing to start slow and go easy, to be gentle and keep her anger at bay if she wanted answers from him.
"Uh, yeah, I was. I had no reason to suspect he would be there."
"Did anything come of the visit?"
"Well, he, uh, he wants to meet the kids."
She fell silent, surprised. The idea of Frank anywhere near her kids was unnerving. "What did you tell him?"
"That he had a lot of work to do if he wanted to earn a chance to meet my children."
She nodded her approval. "Good. So...what happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're not just drunk, Bobby. Tell me what led to...the rest of it."
He was uncomfortable, but she wasn't angry. She seemed honestly curious about what was going on with him, about what he was thinking and what had gone through his head when he was with his brother. But there was no simple explanation. Everything was rooted in the past. He shifted his hips and drew his arms more tightly around her. To his relief, she snuggled more closely into his embrace, resting her head on his chest. He remained quiet, gently stroking her hair, until she pulled back and looked at him. "Talk to me, please. I need to know...how I've failed you..."
His eyebrows arched. "Failed me? Alex, you've never failed me."
"Then why...?" she stopped and swallowed the lump that was in her throat.
"Why what?"
She took a deep breath, steadying herself and reinforcing her composure. "Face it, Bobby. You've been drinking a lot lately, and now, smoking pot with your brother...I just need to know why...why you couldn't come to me."
He read the hurt in her eyes and he touched her cheek. "Alex, this had nothing to do with you. It's not because of anything you could or couldn't do for me. It had more to do with...the patterns of my life and falling back on very old coping mechanisms that are deeply ingrained. I...I have never viewed you as a coping device."
"You were there for me when I needed you. Why wouldn't you let me be there for you?"
That was not easy for him to explain. "It isn't as simple as that. Everything in my life has a function; every person has a role to play. I hit a point where I was confronted by my grief, and no one was there because I didn't want anyone there. That was why I was able to face it. It was something I had to do on my own. Frank showed up at just the right time, not because I needed anyone, but because I was able to detach. I used him as a tool to feel better. That's something I could never do with someone I care about."
"So Frank helped you to feel better?"
"No, but what I did when I was with him did. There was no real emotion tied in with my visit with Frank. He was just there, and I wasn't alone. He had no opinion. He just drank and smoked and listened. That's not something you or even Mike could have done. You would have tried to tell me what I needed instead of letting me decide. My brother made a couple of offers—he filled the ones I accepted and let the others go. I did what I wanted—what I needed—to do, and he let me."
"And you came home because...?"
"Because I wanted to be with you. I could have stayed at Frank's but I didn't want to. I wanted to be where I belonged, which is right here, with you. Was I wrong?"
She sensed the tension in him as he asked that, and she lightly stroked the arm he had wrapped around her waist. "Of course not." He relaxed again. "This is exactly where you belong. I just...I didn't expect you to come home, especially like this."
"Would you prefer I leave until I'm sober?"
"No. You're here; stay here. I just...answer me this. What does it do for you, Bobby?"
"It? What do you mean?"
She felt a window of opportunity she might not have again any time soon. He was relaxed and open and willing to talk in a way she had never seen him before. She reached up and kissed him softly, then she snuggled into his arms, letting him know she was just as comfortable as he was. "I just...I would like to know what you get from the drinking and smoking that you can't find anywhere else."
She had settled back against his chest, willing to listen without staring him down. Normally, his defenses would have skyrocketed, but he was comfortable and sleepy and willing to let her get closer than she ever had before. He nuzzled her hair as his hands gently stroked her warm skin. Softly, he explained, "I never learned how to cope with life, so I just did the best I could as I went along. After you...After you married Ricky, I couldn't cope, so I drank. A lot. A lot more than I do now. I sought escape through alcohol and sex and I was out of control, I know I was, until Maggie was born. She helped me to...settle down, to get a handle on life again. I stopped drinking so much, and I settled mainly into a monogamous relationship with Denise, to protect the baby. I...survived."
"You stopped drinking for awhile, for the most part. So what happened? Something drove you back to the bottle."
"It's complicated. I don't handle loss well, or failure, either, for that matter. Losing my mother and then your father...that was a lot for me. I lost my job, for a long while, and my agility. I was in pain, all the time. And then...Denise's illness...her...pregnancy and, and the ramifications of it...and losing you as my partner. Add that to all the changes—Maggie starting school and buying a house and getting a new son and a major shift in dynamics at work...it's a lot for me to deal with, and I haven't been coping well. The only time I can forget about it, for a little while, anyway, is when I drink. It's the only time I can relax and, well, pretend life doesn't have me by the balls in a vice grip that keeps getting tighter and tighter before it starts to twist."
Alex tended to focus on the positive, and, while she knew that change was difficult for Bobby, she had failed to realize that even positive changes were difficult for him. She understood a little better what drove him. "And the pot? That's a new thing. Why did that enter the mix?"
He paused, caressing her shoulder and her arm, sliding his fingers onto her stomach and up to her breasts. He kissed her temple. "It's not, really," he admitted as he nuzzled the side of her head and smelled her hair.
"Not what really?"
"Something new. I, uhm, I hadn't smoked it for awhile, and I kind of forgot...what it does for me...until I, uhm, lost my judgment one night a couple of years ago—before you left Ricky—and accepted a smoke...to calm me...and it did. It's not a bad thing, Alex."
"It will be if it gets you fired."
"I won't get fired."
"You don't know that."
"I do, actually. Don't ask me for details, please. Just trust that I'm right."
Alex was quiet for a few minutes before it dawned on her. "Denise..." she whispered.
He kissed her ear, exhaling softly as he lightly nipped her earlobe. "Complicated," he whispered, nipping her again, then working his way lightly along the curve of her neck. "But worth it."
"What makes you say that? Tell me what makes it worth the risk."
"No risk," he murmured, pausing to gently suck where the curve of her neck met her shoulder. "I promise."
She trembled as he continued to work her neck and his hands began their own sensual exploration. "Bobby," she murmured, breathless, as she tried to maintain focus. "Answer me. What does it do that makes it worth it?"
"It calms me," he answered without stopping. "It makes the world a brighter place, and it makes me...more carefree, kind of giddy and...and horny as hell. It has a positive impact on how I see my life. Tell me that's bad."
Goosebumps shivered up and down her spine and it felt wonderful. She couldn't find fault with something that led him to do what he was doing. She shifted against him, encouraging him to continue, and she made an unintelligible noise that he seemed to understand.
His mind disengaged as he focused on her, his body reacting strongly to her noises and her movements. He softly murmured, "And it helps take away the pain..."
His words didn't register immediately as she twisted to face him, to kiss him, to love him...and she let him conquer her again.
As she lay in his arms while the rising sun brightened the room, she dozed lightly, and words floated lazily through her head...it helps take away the pain... Her heart lurched and she was fully awake, the sweet, languid restfulness gone. "Bobby, what pain?"
"Hmm?"
"You said it helps take away the pain."
"Uh-huh. The drinking does some, and the smoking does more..."
"What pain? In your knee?"
"Some of it, but more in my chest."
Her heart skipped a beat. "In your chest? Pain in your chest? Since when?"
He'd begun to doze off and she poked him. "Bobby, answer me. What pain in your chest?"
He shrugged as he yawned. "Sometimes my chest hurts. It's nothing new. It's something that never really went away after I got shot when Maggie was little. Sometimes, it gets bad, and I need to do...something about it."
"Have you seen a doctor?"
"Al..."
"Have you?" she demanded, and he knew she wasn't going to drop it.
"Yes," he whispered. "I've been seeing a doctor."
"Does he know about your extracurricular pain control?"
"Yes, he does."
"And?"
"And he hasn't discouraged it. He doesn't want me taking narcotics all the time. This way, I only need them sometimes."
"Is it that bad? Why haven't you said anything?"
"Because you've got enough to deal with. I didn't want you worrying about nothing."
"Nothing? Nothing? Goren, you were shot in the chest and it damaged your heart! I'm your wife now and if anything interferes with your health, anything, I have a right to know about it. You can't keep something like this from me!"
"Look how upset you are," he said softly, his voice full of remorse. "Alex, I'm okay. The doctor is keeping an eye on it. There's nothing to worry about right now."
She struggled to contain her emotions because she didn't want to upset him. "What about in the future?"
"Who knows?"
"Dammit, Bobby! What did he say?"
He sighed softly. "There's a chance that it could be a problem somewhere down the line, but right now, it's not. He wants me to quit smoking, and I told him I'd try. But the pot...he said, using it occasionally may be doing me some good."
Lifting her head, she rolled over so she could look at his face. His expression changed and he was immediately sorry that he'd told her. She saw the remorse flash in his eyes and she gave him a kiss. "Don't be sorry," she whispered, pleased that he didn't try to hide it. She kissed him again. "I wouldn't get upset if I didn't love you, okay?"
He brushed her hair back off her face. "Okay," he answered. "But I don't want you to worry. Please. If it ever becomes a real problem, I promise I'll tell you. Right now, it's not serious."
"Can I talk to the doctor?"
He hesitated, but only briefly. "I have an appointment in a couple of weeks. You can go with me."
That satisfied her. She folded her arms on his chest and rested her chin on them, looking intently at his face. He looked back, curious. "What?" he asked, his mouth curved into a small smile, his eyes once again sleepy.
"I think this is the most open and honest you have ever been with me."
"You weren't mad. I tend to pull away and stop talking when you're mad."
"You realize that only makes me angrier, right?"
"I know, but you get less angry when I stop talking than I think you would if I kept going."
"That didn't happen tonight, did it?"
He shook his head. "No, it didn't."
"Give me a chance, Bobby. I can't promise not to get angry, but I want you to talk to me."
He stroked her hair, then gave it a playful tug. "I, uh, I wasn't thinking when I came home. I normally would have showered before coming to bed, so you wouldn't, uh, find out...what I'd been doing. I'd have expected you to get...really upset."
"And I don't blame you. I really would have."
"But you...you didn't. Why?"
She stroked his chest. "Circumstances. I'm so happy that you've opened up to me and talked to me about something more important than the weather that I'd have accepted anything you told me without getting mad, just so you would keep talking."
"So...later on, once you've had a chance to process it all, you won't lock me in the backyard?"
She laughed softly. "No. I promise."
He yawned again and asked, "So...I'm okay? I mean, you won't get mad at me the next time I come home...wasted?"
"It's not going to be a daily event, is it?"
"It hasn't been. It's very occasional. I have no plans to increase the frequency any time soon. If I have to, I will tell you."
"Okay. And you'll let me know how your pain is?"
He hesitated. "Al..."
Her eyes flashed angrily, but she suppressed it. "Don't protect me, Goren," she warned. "I swear, if you do, you are going to be the one needing protection."
His face relaxed and he softly laughed. "Okay, Alex. Have it your way. I promise."
"Does Mike know any of this?"
"Some of it."
"Your chest pain?"
"No. No one knows. I don't want anyone thinking they have to handle me with kid gloves. I don't need protecting. If you get mad at me, then let's have it out. I..." He paused, reluctant to continue.
"You what? Don't stop now."
"I...I don't want things to change. I want to fight with you..."
She sat up slowly and stared at him. "You like fighting with me?"
"Uh, n-no...not exactly."
"Then what?"
"I, uh, I like the...the passion in you, Alex. I like the fire in your eyes. But...well, if we don't fight...we can't make up. That's what I really like."
His eyes were bright with desire and she laughed. "Look at you. You're something else, do you know that?"
"Are you saying you don't like it?"
"No, not at all. I love making up with you."
"Okay, then. The fighting is necessary for the making up to happen. I don't want to give up either of them."
"Has it occurred to you that we actually could skip the fight and go right for the bed?"
"Of course it has, and I even tried it, but it's not the same. The passion is...different. It's not as...hot. There's not as much fire. I want the fire."
"You always run the risk of getting burned when there's fire, you know."
Leaning forward, he kissed her. "I'll take that chance."
She smiled. "You're something else, do you know that?"
"I do. And I assume that's one of those reasons you mentioned before for loving me."
She nodded. "It very much is. Very much."
She looked at the time and stretched herself out along his body. "You probably have about forty minutes before that door opens and one of the children pops in looking for breakfast. What do you think you can get done in forty minutes?"
His eyes were bright with passion. "Let's find out," he murmured.
Alex's estimate was off, but not by much. Fifty-two minutes later, when the door opened following a little knock and Maggie poked her curly head in the door to tell her parents it was time for breakfast, Alex was ready to get up and Bobby was sound asleep.