Murder, By Definition
by ysone
part 2

~*~

Chapter 8: Communication

noun
1: an act or instance of transmitting
2: a verbal or written message
3: a process by which information is exchanged between individuals

~*~

Fin glanced at the digital display on his muted car stereo and frowned. The night was nearly gone and time would soon be crawling toward the early morning hours. He promised himself a half-hour more of searching, knowing he wouldn't be fresh enough to start back in the morning if he pushed it any more than that.

He took a right at the intersection and cruised slowly down the street. This time of night, a time when suburbia was tucked safely in their beds, neighborhoods like this one were hopping with activity. His eyes scanned the faces of the men and women and in-betweens he passed, looking for any hint of familiarity; someone who would not only talk to him, but possibly have some shred of useable information.

Frustration was giving birth to defeat, and defeat was in turn breeding doubt. It'd been eight days since the attack. Eight days with no body, which gave him hope that Bobby might still be alive somewhere, possibly hiding out, certainly injured to some degree. But it'd also been eight days of not one goddamn clue to support that theory. And Fin knew that if he didn't find something soon, Deakins was going to call his hand. Both Cragen and Deakins were going to the mat for Fin, and the Chief of D's was, so far, backing both captains, but eventually this investigation was going to have to produce some positive results or Fin was going to be sent back to SVU.

Not that that would end Fins participation in it in any way other than on paper. He damn sure intended to see this through to the end... no matter what that end might be.

Fin glanced at the clock on the dashboard again, and sighed. He was going to have to call it a night. He could hear the birthing cry of frustration even now, as it pushed forth the tiny, fresh-born defeat into Fin's world. He frowned and turned his car east at the next light, heading toward home with the promise that he'd start fresh first thing in the morning.

His cell phone rang and he quickly pulled to the curb, putting the SUV into park before picking it up with a silent prayer that it was one of his many snitches with some information. He didn't immediately recognize the number, and that gave him hope.

"Speak to me."

"Fin? Please, tell me I didn't wake you..."

He pushed down a stab of disappointment. "Alex, no, you didn't. I'm just heading home now."

"Good..." The line was silent for a few seconds. "Ted told me you were going down to talk to some people you know. I just wondered..."

"You're hoping I picked up something," Fin finished when she stopped.

"Did you?"

There was so much hope in her voice that he hated to dash it. "I'm sorry, Alex, no. Nothing."

She sighed, and the sound carried all the disappointment Fin was feeling himself. "I thought we'd have found something by now."

"Yeah, me, too." Ignoring his own newly spawned doubts, he said, "Don't give up hope, Alex. Not until we've turned over ever rock out here."

"It's been eight days. If he's out there somewhere, if he's alive... where is he, Fin? Why wouldn't he have contacted someone by now?"

"I know this much about Bobby Goren, Alex: If he doesn't want to be found, he ain't gonna be. He's too good."

She didn't immediately answer, and he could picture her in his mind trying to convince herself he was right. "But..."

"I know," he said into her hesitation. "What if he's hurt? I keep asking myself the same thing. Bobby can take care of himself, Alex. He's resourceful, he'll be okay--" Fin's phone beeped, signaling another incoming call. He pulled it away from his ear and looked at the display. The number was unfamiliar. One of his informants, he hoped. Putting the phone quickly back to his ear, he said, "Look, Alex, I got a call coming in that I gotta take. You get some rest. I'll talk to you in the morning." He ended the call before she could reply, crossing his fingers as he switched over to the other line.

"Tutuola."

There was a moment of silence, then, "Tut?"

The hair on Fin's neck stood on end. The voice was nearly unrecognizable -- scratchy and hoarse -- but there was only one person on this earth who had ever called him "Tut" and lived to tell about it.

"Son of a bitch..." he muttered before he could stop himself. "Bobby!"

"Tut, please... don't hang up..."

"Hang up? You do realize I've been riding up and down the roads for days, talking to anybody and everybody who'll give me five minutes, just looking for some damn sign that you're still alive? Now why in the hell would I hang up on you? My God, Bobby..." Fin squeezed his eyes tight against the sudden burning there. "We thought you were dead, man."

"I know. I-I saw a paper..." Bobby's voice was soft, hesitant.

"Where in the hell are you? HOW are you? There was blood..."

"I'm okay now. I'm fine. Tut... I only have a few minutes. I had to borrow the change to make this call, and I've got no more, so when my time limit is up, I'll have to hang up. I have to know, Tut... Alex... the paper said she'd... Is she okay? Was she... SVU's investigating, that means she was..."

Fin realized what Bobby was thinking and hurried to put his mind at ease. "No, Bobby, she wasn't raped."

He heard an exhaled, "Thank God..."

"She's okay, Bobby. Just bruised and sore, for the most part, and she's emotionally on edge, but she's going to be okay."

"But SVU--"

"I've been temporarily reassigned to the Major Case Squad for the duration of this investigation, and believe me when I say, I had to pull in every favor I'll ever even think somebody might owe me to pull that off. So, when you get your ass back here, you are gonna owe me, man!"

"Tut, I can't... I don't..."

The desperation in the quiet voice put a hitch in Fin's breath. If there was one word he'd always associated with Bobby Goren, it was confident, but the man on the other end of the phone line was anything but. His voice, his tone was tentative, unsure. And afraid.

"The papers are saying I did it, Tut, and I want to believe that I would never, could never hurt Alex, but... I don't remember. I can't remember what I did or didn't do. And I can't convince myself that I didn't--"

"Bobby, wait, listen to me, man. You didn't do it. You hear me, Bobby? You didn't do it, I swear. Trust me, okay? You didn't hurt Alex."

"She remembers the attack? She knows I didn't do it? The paper said she didn't remember anything."

Fin sighed. "No, she doesn't. She was given Rohypnol; she's not ever gonna remember."

"That's... maybe that's why I can't remember... "

"Makes sense."

"That or the concussion. I... I hit my head... in the water, I think."

"So you were in the water."

There was a short pause. "How do you know I didn't do it, Tut? If neither she nor I remember what happened, how do you know it wasn't me?"

Fin shifted the phone to his other ear. "First off, I know you, Bobby. You ain't got violence in you, man. Ain't no way you'd ever hurt anyone, especially your partner. And she knows that, too."

"Alex believes I'm innocent?" Bobby latched onto the words, and there was a world of desperation in his question.

Fin was happy he could set Bobby's mind at ease on at least this one point. "Alex has never believed otherwise, Bobby. She knows you didn't do it."

Bobby sucked in a noisy breath, which turned into a coughing fit that last far too long. When it finally ended, Fin could hear Bobby gasping for breath, and a woman's voice in the background. He strained to hear her words, but couldn't.

"Bobby? Tell me where you are, man? I'm gonna come get you."

"No..." Bobby had to stop again to catch his breath. "No, Tut, please, don't ask me to do that. You would have to turn me in, and I can't let you do that. Not yet. I've got to... got to find something, some evidence that will clear me. I have to make myself remember."

"If you were given Rohypnol, you ain't gonna remember, Bobby. Come on, man, you're hurt and you're sick, I can hear it for myself, and you ain't going to assure me otherwise with an 'I'm fine' and 'I'm okay.' At the very least you need to see a doctor. More likely a hospital."

"Really, Tut, I am okay... I'm much better than I was."

Fin wasn't buying it, but he let it go, knowing if the roles were reversed, there was no way in hell he'd turn himself in just to be thrown in jail. "You always were a stubborn son of a bitch."

"My time is almost up, Tut. I'll try to call back when I can, but it may be awhile." Bobby took a ragged breath, followed by a soft cough. "I know I'm putting you in a tough position, Tut, so tell them, okay? Tell them about the call, and let them trace the number. Don't get yourself into trouble over me. I'll be long gone by the time they get here."

"Bobby, you sure about this? If you're not ready to turn yourself in, at least let me get some money to you--"

"And get you arrested for aiding and abetting? No, Tut, but thanks for the offer." A warning beep sounded. "My time's up, but I need to ask you something real quick... My mom... is she all right? Has she been told...?

"Don't worry about your mother," Fin assured him. "I've been checking on her, and no, I talked her doctors into waiting to tell her anything until we actually had something to tell her."

The warning beeped once more. "Tut, tell Alex--"

The connection was severed before he could finish the sentence.

Fin swore vehemently. As pleased -- hell, ecstatic! -- as he was to have gotten the call from Bobby, there'd barely been enough time to cover Bobby's basic questions, much less for Fin to ask some of his own. He'd just have to hope that Bobby called back in the very near future.

But, goddammit! Bobby was alive!

A grin nearly split Fin's face as he let the realization wash over him. Bobby was alive! All that was left to do was clear his name so he could come home.

Fin flipped back open his cell phone, knowing there was one other person who needed the information every bit as much, if not more, than he had. He scrolled through his recent calls to Alex's number, and punched the connect button. She answered on the second ring.

"Fin?" Her voice was filled with expectation. Not surprising, he figured. Why else would he be calling this time of the night if not with news, good or bad?

Making a sudden decision to give her the news face to face, he simply told her, "If you ain't dressed, get that way quick. I'm on my way over. I've got news, girl. Good news. Oh, and put on some coffee. This is turning into a long damned night."

~*~

Alex pulled a loose sweatshirt over her pajama top and headed for the kitchen to check on the progress of the coffee. Halfway there, the doorbell rang and she detoured, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to answer it. She'd been a nervous wreck ever since Fin's call, imagining all kinds of scenarios, but afraid to get her hopes up too much. His news could be anything. It could be nothing. No, he wouldn't come all the way to her house for "nothing news." Besides, she had easily heard the satisfaction in his voice.

She yanked open the door without even bothering to verify who was on the other side of it. Not a wise move, especially for a cop, but she was too anxious to do much more than silently berate herself.

Fin was standing on her stoop, with a grin so wide she thought it might just swallow the rest of his face. "Bobby called me."

Alex felt the color drain from her face. She was certain she had heard him wrong, because there was no way he had said what she thought he had said. "Bobby... What?"

Fin walked past her into the house. "He called me. He's alive, Alex."

Alex followed him into the living room and dropped unceremoniously into a chair. "He's alive... my God..." She looked up. "How is he? Is her hurt?

Fin sat down on the edge of the couch and leaned forward. "He kept telling me he was fine."

Her brow creased. "You didn't believe him."

"He didn't sound fine."

Alex closed her eyes for a long minute, collecting her wits and steadying her nerves. Opening them again, she said, "I want to know everything, every last word, from the beginning."

Fin sat back, making himself comfortable. "I gotta have some coffee first. It's gonna be a long night."

She let out a quick, frustrated breath and stood, heading for the kitchen. Barely a minute later, she returned with two steaming mugs and handed one to Fin. "I don't remember how you take it."

"Black's fine."

Alex sat and took a quick sip of the hot, bitter liquid. She was shivering, and though she suspected it had little to do with the chill in the air, she pulled the afghan from the back of her chair and wrapped it around her. Once she had settled back into the chair, she looked expectantly at the man sitting across from her.

"When you were talking to me, that was Bobby who called on your other line, wasn't it?"

Fin nodded. "Yeah, it was. Damn, girl... can you imagine how startled I was to hear his voice on the other end of the line?"

Alex lifted one corner of her mouth in silent reply. Yeah, she could well imagine. She couldn't help a tiny ember of hurt that she had not been the one Bobby had chosen to contact. She pushed it away. Her feelings weren't what was important. All that mattered in was that Bobby was alive.

"He thought I was gonna hang up on him." Fin chuckled. "Might be because I called him a son of a bitch."

"What?!"

"Alex, when I answered that phone, Bobby Goren's voice was about the last thing I expected to hear. Caught me off guard." He picked up the other cup and took a sip, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "He said he'd seen the papers."

"Damn," Alex whispered. "He probably thinks we believe he's guilty, too, then.'" She met the other detective's eyes. "Did he say what happened? Who it was that attacked us? Was it Ellis?"

Fin frowned. "He doesn't remember any more than you do."

"He was drugged, too?"

"I don't know, maybe, but he also said he hit his head."

"So he is hurt!" She uncurled and set her cup back on the tray in one swift movement, and then stood, letting the afghan fall to the floor. "We've got to go find him, Fin--"

Fin made no move to get up. "Where do you propose we look?"

Alex threw her hands wide. "I don't know, but we can't just sit here, knowing he's out there somewhere in the cold, hurt. God, Fin, for all we know he doesn't even have anywhere to go."

"We just had this conversation on the phone less than an hour ago, Alex. Bobby is resourceful. He's capable of taking care of himself."

"I know, but--"

"No buts, you have to trust him when he says he's all right."

"Even if it's a lie?"

"Even if it's a lie."

Alex sighed, long and drawn out and full of all the anguish she felt, then sat back down. She didn't retrieve her coffee or the afghan. "He's hurt, Fin."

"And sick."

Her head jerked up. "Sick?"

"He sounded rough. Wheezing and coughing... and his voice was rough."

"Like he had the flu..." Fear filled her chest. "Or pneumonia... Fin, if Ellis did throw him in the river, as cold as it is..."

Fin met her gaze, but didn't reply.

"We have to find him. He needs a doctor!"

Fin shook her head. "He won't turn himself in, Alex. I tried to reason with him, but he thinks he'll be arrested, and he's not wrong. We all think Ellis did it, but there's not enough hard evidence, and the stronger case is against Bobby. You know they'd go after him. Especially with neither of you being able to remember anything that happened. That just leaves the evidence, and you know it's damning."

"Damn it!" Alex rarely swore, but sometimes, circumstances demanded it. She stood and moved around the chair, wrapping her arms tight about herself. "If I could remember--"

"You know you ain't going to, Alex."

"I know, but... just a face... or a voice. Something, damn it! Just something that would prove that someone else was there. That it wasn't Bobby."

"That would make it too easy." He chuckled. "Since when has anything ever been that easy? Come on, Alex, you know we've all had cases way more difficult than this. We'll solve it. That's what we do, right?"

"It's what we do..." She looked at Fin, her eyes bright with emotion. "Yeah, it is, but you're missing something: I usually have Bobby's brilliant insights and intuitive leaps of logic. Without him, I'm just a cop. I miss him, Fin. And I really, really need his help on this." She laughed, the sound watery. "Ironic, isn't it?"

Fin set down his mug and leaned forward. "You may be just a cop without him, but you're a damn good one." He laughed. "To tell you the truth, I'm pretty damn good myself. Between the two of us, we are going to solve this case. We'll prove Bobby innocent."

"And Ted," Alex added, releasing her self-hug and sitting down again. She picked up her cup and took a sip of the lukewarm coffee, not missing the fleeting expression that crossed Fin's face. "Ted's okay, Fin, he just takes some getting used to." She smiled. "He reminds me of Bobby in that respect."

Fin stood and headed toward the kitchen. He returned shortly with the coffee carafe and refilled both their cups. "I'd say that's where the similarities end. He's no Bobby."

"Ted's smart, and he has a keen insight. He fancies himself a profiler, and he's good at it, but like you said, he's no Bobby. He lacks the ability to put himself in the killer's mind. No..." She paused in thought. "No, that's not exactly right. I don't think he lacks the ability, but the desire. He only goes so far, and then he pulls back. Bobby told him once that until he learned to stop pulling back, he'd never be able to profile effectively. Ted smiled politely and thanked Bobby for his advice, but I could tell it got under his skin. Of course, that might be because Bobby didn't wait until they were in private to say it to him. You know how Bobby is, he says what's he thinking. He doesn't always edit himself appropriately."

"He's honest to a fault," Fin defended, "but that's just who he is." He took a long sip of his coffee.

"So... are we going to take this to the captain?"

Fin looked at her over the rim of his cup. "I think we should."

"Even though we'd essentially be putting a bounty on Bobby's head? You know the minute they find out he's alive, they'll issue a warrant for his arrest."

"I know, and so does Bobby, but if we keep this to ourselves, we'd be risking our careers--"

Fire snapped in Alex's eyes. "You think I give a damn about my career if it means risking Bobby's life?"

"No more than I do," Fin assured her. "But I'm not going to risk getting pulled from this case and letting it get handed to the likes of Ted Waine or any of the other dozen cops in Major Case who've already decided Bobby's guilt. The most important thing to me right now is clearing his name."

Alex closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "You're right, I know. I just..." She opened her eyes. "I just don't want to see him arrested."

Fin grinned widely. "You're assuming anybody will find him.

~*~

Chapter 9: Breakthrough

noun
1: a sudden advance, especially in knowledge or technique
2: a person's first notable success

~*~

Bobby stood at the bank of phones for an eternity, his head resting against the receiver, his eyes closed. It was the deepening concern in Bambi's voice that finally convinced him to rouse. He straightened and turned to face her.

"Lord, sugar, you about gimme a heart attack!" She patted a large hand against her larger chest." I been calling your name for five minutes. I thought maybe your ears done gone deaf or something. You okay?"

Bobby tried to smile to allay her fears, but it was just too much effort. He settled for a short nod. "I'm fine. Really."

"No, you ain't fine. You look like you're gonna keel over any minute. Come on. I'm gonna get you back down to Donald's lair and off your feet."

Bobby did find a smile then, but it was so filled with sadness that it stopped Bambi in her tracks. "I can't go back."

"Wha'chu mean, you can't go back?"

"The friend I called, he's a cop. He's going to have to report my call. They're going to know I'm not dead now."

"Now wha'chu go and do a damn fool thing like that for?"

"He was the only one I could think of that wouldn't hang up on me who would have the information I need."

"About your partner."

"I had to know if she was all right."

"And is she?"

Bobby's smile was real this time. "He said she was."

"Was that worth risking getting arrested for?"

He didn't hesitate. "Yes, it was. That's why I can't go back to Donald's, though. They're going to be looking for me now."

"All the more reason you got to go back. Where else you gonna go? Ain't nowhere safer than down in the tunnels, you know that. Cops don't never go down there unless they have to, and even then, they think twice."

"I can't take that risk. You and Donald... Doc... you've risked enough already. I won't put you in further danger."

"Honey, you think Donald cares about that? Hell, he ain't scared of nothing. And me. Shit, sugar. I quit caring what anybody thinks a long, long time ago. Hell, look at me." She took a step back from him and waved a large hand up and down her ample frame. She was clad in black jeans that were at least a size too small, knee high silver boots with heels so high she teetered drunkenly with every step and a pink fur trimmed, very tight and very low cut sweater. A black velvet, waist length cape completed the costume. "Now, do you really think this is the look of someone who gives a clown's crap what anyone thinks about her?"

Bobby gave her a serious look. "I think that is the look of someone whose heart is large and filled with goodness."

Bambi ducked her head, her blonde ringlets swinging forward to hide her face. "Hell... you done got a double helpin' of charm, ain'cha?" She lifted her head. "Come on, before you fall down. And I don't wanna hear no more 'bout it."

"Not yet," Bobby forestalled. "This is the first time in more than a week I've breathed anything but tunnel air. It's... it's kind of nice." He looked at Bambi. "I know the way back. I'm just going to walk around for a bit, maybe see if I can find a paper or something, then I'll head back. I'll be all right. Really." At her skeptical expression, he lifted his hand, three fingers held up. "I promise."

Bambi laughed. "Somehow, sugar, I doubt you was ever a boy scout. How long you figure you got until the cops track that call you just made?"

"My friend, he'll stall, I think. I'm okay 'til morning."

Bambi grabbed the sleeve of his coat, and turned him around. "Come on, then." She led him to a tiny diner squeezed in between a clock repair shop and a print shop. The faded sign over the door declared it to be "Rose's Diner." Bambi reached into her sweater, and from her large breasts pulled a small roll of bills. Peeling off the top few, she leaned forward and tucked them into Bobby's coat pocket. "Get in there and sit down before you fall down. Get yourself some coffee or soup or something."

Bobby reached for the money. "I can't--"

"Don't you dare insult my generosity!" Bambi looked truly offended at the aborted suggestion.

Bobby dropped his hand like it had been slapped. "Coffee does sound good. Thank you."

A gapped-tooth smile graced Bambi's face. "Make sure you get some food in you, too. Something hot. 'Sides, you can always pay me back after you get your life back on track."

Bobby lifted her hand, touching it lightly to his lips. "You can rest assured that I will, Miss Rochelle." He turned and entered the diner, pausing to look around. It was nearly empty at the late hour, so he had his pick of booths. He chose one in the back, but with a clear view of both the door and the street beyond the window. He slid into the booth and took a moment to pull his splinted arm out of the coat pocket and settle it gently onto his lap.

"You actually got money?" a female voice asked. "Or you just in here for the heat?"

Bobby looked up into a pair of tired brown eyes. They were set into a face that looked like it had seen too far much life for its three-dozen or so years. "The heat is nice, but yes, I do have money."

"Sorry, hon," she said, looking only slightly sincere. "In this neighborhood, I get a lot of 'I'm just waiting for someone' types that never order anything." She tucked a strand of dull brown hair behind her ear and pulled a small notepad out of her jeans pocket. "What can I get you?"

"Coffee and whatever you've got that's hot."

The woman lifted an eyebrow. "Whatever, huh?"

Bobby smiled. "Your hands look more than capable-" he glanced at her name tag, "-Lois, so I'm putting myself into them. Surprise me."

The woman's laugh lines deepened. "You may well regret that decision, but far be it from me to argue with a customer." She turned away, returning a few minutes later with a cup and a pot of coffee. Setting the cup on the table in front of Bobby, she filled it to the brim. "You want cream?"

Bobby ordinarily took his coffee black, but figuring he needed as many calories as he could pack into one small meal, he nodded. She set a couple of individual cream containers beside the cup.

After she'd gone again, Bobby busied himself lacing his coffee with as much cream and sugar as he thought he could stomach. He took a sip and winced at the heat, but relished the burn on the back of his raw throat.

Lois returned a few minutes later carrying a large bowl with steam lifting tantalizingly from it. As the scent reached Bobby's nose, his traitorous stomach let out a low, mournful roar of anticipation.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Lois laughed.

"As it was intended," Bobby assured her. "The stew smells wonderful, Lois."

She smiled and set down some flatware and napkins. "It was the freshest thing back there. Besides, I figure you can't go wrong with comfort food on a cold, November night."

"No, you can't." He leaned forward and cocked his head, looking up to catch her gaze. "You made a good choice, Lois. Thank you."

The color in her cheeks deepened as her smile grew. "You need anything else, you just give a yell."

Bobby picked up the spoon and dipped it into the stew. He ate tentatively at first, praying his stomach wouldn't rebel this time. Once he was certain it would stay down, he tucked in, emptying the bowl in record time.

He was just scraping the bottom of the bowl when Lois returned with a saucer of biscuits. "I think I'm a bit late."

Bobby chuckled sheepishly. "It was good."

"How about some more?" She reached for the bowl without waiting for an answer.

"That would be nice, thank you." Bobby sipped at the hot coffee until she returned with the bowl and the coffee pot.

He drained the second bowl of stew as quickly as the first, finished off the biscuits and even drained the second cup of coffee. His stomach had not been so full in over a week, and he dearly hoped it wouldn't prove to be a mistake. There was no denying, however, how much better he felt. He'd have to remember to thank Bambi once more for the money and the idea.

Lois cleared away the dishes and refilled his coffee cup. Bobby turned down her suggestion of a slice of pie, not wanting to push his luck with his fickle stomach.

He sipped the coffee and stared out the front window at the busy sidewalk. It was late, but this area of town was still lively. Bobby recognized, if not the people, their types. He'd seen more than his share of them when he'd worked in Narcotics. The faces changed, but little else. Hell, even some of the faces were the same, he realized as a man he recognized from years ago, stopped near the door of the diner to talk to another man.

Andre something; Bobby couldn't remember his last name after all these years. Small time thief and even smaller time drug dealer, and from the looks of the exchange of money Bobby could see, Andre was still in the same business.

Bobby looked away. It wasn't his problem tonight. He had troubles of his own. Troubles he had to solve if he wanted his life back. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind, not an easy feat, given the persistent headache and ever-present fog in his brain. After a few minutes, he gave up trying to focus his thoughts and opened his eyes again.

Though the only information Bobby had was what he'd read in the paper, he did know that whoever had framed him had done a damn good job. According to the paper, it was an open and shut case. He'd attacked Alex and then killed himself. It was suspected that he'd had a mental breakdown. The reporter had made a point of mentioning how an unnamed source had told her that Bobby had been suffering depression for weeks prior to the attack.

Bobby frowned. That unnamed source had to be someone he worked with. Who else would have noticed a change in his mood? Bitterness rose in Bobby, but he quickly squashed it. It was only natural that someone would come forward to talk about him. Hell, they all clearly believed that he'd attacked his own partner. Their loyalty would naturally go to Alex, and he was honest enough admit that was the way it should be. She was the victim.

Of course the paper had mentioned his mother's own mental issues. Bobby scrubbed his good hand over his beard. It wasn't exactly a secret, though he hadn't really talked about it with too many people. Still, he hated the idea of everyone knowing his personal business. But he couldn't dwell on that, either.

What he needed was to remember what had happened Friday. If not the night, then earlier in the day. Maybe something had happened, something that might give him a clue as to who had attacked him. And Alex. He pushed away thoughts of his partner, not willing to be distracted into worrying over her. Fin had assured him that she was going to be all right, and he had no reason to believe it wasn't the truth.

Where had he and Alex gone Friday morning? Bobby stared into his coffee cup and tried to force the memories back. He remembered the case well enough -- the one the papers had dubbed the "Mr. Clean" killer, because of the way he made his victims wash. The women had scrubbed clean with harsh soaps. The hair was washed, the fingernails and toenails were scoured to perfection. The bodies were even dressed in brand new, though generic, clothing. Not one clue remained on the bodies or the crime scenes, making the investigation difficult.

Was the frame related to that case? Bobby pursed his lips in thought. He didn't really see a connection. They had no suspects, very few clues, and only the profile he'd worked up to go on. He'd easily determined that the perp was obsessed with hygiene. The depth of the cleaning had been overkill, leading Bobby to suspect mysophobia, bordering on full blown OCD. It was the only way to explain the obsessive attention to scrubbing the bodies. Unfortunately, that conclusion was too nonspecific to lead them to any viable suspects.

"Troubles, hon?"

Bobby looked up, startled from his thoughts. Lois was watching him with a blend of curiosity and concern. She slid into the booth opposite him. "You look like you got the weight of the world on your shoulders. A friendly ear help?"

Bobby picked up his newly filled mug -- when had that happened? -- and sipped it, pulling a face at the lack of sugar. "Not unless you have a cure for memory loss," he said jokingly.

"Amnesia?" Lois looked surprised. "Thought that only happened in the movies."

Bobby quickly shook his head. "No, nothing that exciting, I'm afraid. Just... well, just one night in particular, and part of the day before it."

Lois laughed. "Honey, it's nothing to lose a night now and again. Too much drink, too much partying..."

"I wasn't drinking." Bobby stirred sugar into his cup. "I know something very important happened in the missing time frame."

"Something you need to remember?"

"It's important."

Lois leaned back, clasping her hands on the table before her. "When I can't remember where I left my keys, I retrace my steps."

Bobby considered the suggestion, then shook his head. "I can't go back there."

"Maybe not physically. Just close your eyes and imagine yourself there." She stood and picked up the coffee pot. "Give it a try. What have you got to lose?"

With a mental shrug, Bobby took her advice, closing his eyes and clearing his mind. His thoughts were still foggy, but this time he didn't fight it. He simply waited, letting his subconscious choose a direction. It didn't take long. A picture of Alex filled his mind's eye. She was wearing a black pants suit with a soft green blouse. He recognized the outfit as the one she'd had on when he arrived at the station Friday morning. The mental image smiled at him, just as Alex had done that morning, and he found himself smiling back

He fast forwarded the mental tape. His memories of the early morning were clear enough. It was later, as the afternoon wore on, that gaping holes began to appear. Bobby slowed the tape as he approached the first memory hole.

He clearly remembered lunch -- a hastily swallowed sandwich at his desk. Alex had gone out, meeting her brother at a nearby deli. She'd invited him, of course, but he had declined because he wanted to look up something... What was it?

Bobby screwed his eyes shut tighter in an effort to remember. It was something he had written in his notebook. He could see it laying open before him, could see the writing on the pages, but he just could not, no matter how hard he tried, make out the words. He only knew it was something he'd felt an urgent need to research.

Trying a different tact, Bobby moved backward in his memory, trying to figure out when he'd made the notes in question. He and Alex had gone to the warehouse where the last of the prostitutes' bodies had been found. They had been canvassing the area, speaking to anyone they could find who might have seen or heard something, but both of them were growing frustrated with the lack of leads. He remembered Alex talking to a dock worker, a greasy man who'd looked at her in a way that made Bobby want to take his head off. Alex had handled the man well enough on her own, though. Bobby chuckled, remembering the look on the man's face when she'd very smoothly put him in his place. He couldn't remember her words, but he clearly remembered the man's reaction to them.

Bobby had been distracted, though, and had wandered off while Alex finished her questioning of the man. He frowned, trying to pin down the memory of what had lured him away. He'd seen something... a woman...

"Bobby."

A well-worn face coalesced in his mind's eye. Gray hair, pulled into an old, tatty wool hat. Men's rubber boots two sizes too big. A host of threadbare coats, layered one on top of the other over a small frame.

"Bobby... copper-buttons..."

Bobby's eyes snapped open. Dictionary Mary! No wonder her scattered, disjointed phrases had stirred something in his memory. He'd met her, talked to her before! The morning of the attack! He remembered it clearly now. He'd seen her picking her way carefully through the rocks along the shore of the river. She'd been carrying her two shopping bags, one, he knew now, holding her cat, Ganymede. He'd wandered over to talk to her while Alex finished up with the now subdued sleaze ball.

He remembered Mary's disjointed ramblings, and how he'd dutifully written her words in his notebook. He cocked his head, straining to hear the memory of her words.

"Bobby."

He'd been surprised she'd had known his name.

"Copper buttons..."

He could see the words on the page, flowing from the end of his pen as he wrote.

"..."

Something else... She'd said something else. Something he'd written down. But what?

"..."

Try as he might, he couldn't make himself hear the words, couldn't see them at the end of his pen. What had she said?

Was it important?

Bobby opened his eyes, surprised for a brief moment to find himself still sitting in the diner. Were Mary's words important? He thought about it, taking a sip of the now-cold coffee. He'd thought so on Friday. He remembered sitting at his desk in the Major Case squad room, contemplating them. Bobby and copper buttons. Had he made the connection? Had he figured out Mary's puzzle?

And what about the third thing she had said? What was it? He squeezed his eyes shut again and tried to see the words on the paper as he wrote them, but they wouldn't come. He gave up with a sigh. What he needed was to talk to Mary, to see if she could tell him again what she had told him that day.

Bobby gently worked his splinted hand into his coat pocket and stood. He pulled the bills Bambi had given him out and glanced at them to make sure it was enough.

"You have any luck, hon?" Lois asked from behind the counter.

"Maybe. I think so." He crossed to the counter. "Do-do you know a woman called Dictionary Mary? An older woman... talks strangely."

Lois' forehead creased in thought. "I don't think so. No, can't say I do." Bobby handed her the money. "Thank you, Lois. You've been a tremendous help."

~*~

Bobby wandered aimlessly until he felt he could walk no further. His limp had grown more pronounced, his still-healing feet aching with every step he took, and all he could think about was finding a warm spot and pulling off the borrowed shoes.

He'd spoken to probably three dozen people, and not one could tell him where to find Mary. Some knew her, some could even tell him where they'd last seen her, but no one seemed to even know where she lived.

He'd have to remember to ask Donald about that... and hope Donald was in the mood to actually make sense today.

Bobby almost glanced at his wrist before remembering he no longer wore a watch. He squinted around the street lights toward the sky at the tops of the buildings and guessed the hour to be close to dawn. With a bone weary sigh, he turned back the way he'd come. The crowd would switch soon, the nightly crew giving way to the set who actually held down legitimate jobs.

Bobby made his way back into the tunnels, stopping several times to make sure he wasn't being followed. Not that he expected to be, but he felt he owed it to Donald to exercise every caution. Donald was nowhere to be seen when Bobby entered his lair. He peeled off the coat, loath to part with its warmth. Though he'd eaten heartily at the diner, it had been hours ago, and his stomach was beginning to growl. He didn't feel right plundering through his host's limited stores, so instead, he collapsed on the pile of dirty rags he'd called home for the past week and pulled the coat over him for a blanket.

He laid there for too many minutes, trying to decide which was more important, just going to sleep, or removing his shoes to give his feet some relief. He finally opted on shoes first, sleep second. With a groan, he sat up and with no little effort, pulled them off. He wasn't at all surprised to find his thin socks soaked with blood.

"Ouch, you really did a number on those." Donald stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. "You want Doc to come see about 'em? I can send Spud..."

Bobby shook his head. "No point dragging him out of bed. It's not as bad as it looks."

"Right." Donald knelt on the concrete floor, bringing himself to eye level with Bobby. "Looks like it hurts like hell."

"Then it is as bad as it looks." Bobby pulled the wet socks off, gingerly working the cloth free in the places where it had stuck. "Could I have some-some water?"

"You do realize that water ain't exactly easy to come by down here? I ain't seen you lug none in."

Donald was in one of his moods, it seemed, but Bobby had years of practice in dealing with surprise mood shifts. Donald was an amateur compared to Frances Goren.

Making his voice as submissive as he could manage, Bobby apologized. "You're right, Donald, and I'm sorry. I haven't been pulling my share of the work load, but I just don't know all the ways to get water or food... or any of the supplies that we need. Maybe if you teach me... show me how to do it, I could start contributing." He pasted on his most remorseful smile.

Donald sat back on his heels and gave one short, quick nod. "That's a start. Gotta pull your weight if you want to stay here, you know. I can't do it all. Can't get up top at all, so that can be your job. You can do the up top stuff."

Bobby gave up on the water, but figured it likely wouldn't have been very clean anyhow, so he was really no worse off. Using the socks he'd just pulled off, he dabbed tentatively at the few deep cuts that were oozing blood.

"Is there any of the ointment here that Doc left?"

Donald tilted his head, appearing to think about it. "Maybe."

Bobby waited a minute, but it didn't look the other man was going to say anything else. "If you tell me where it might be, I can look for it."

With a put-upon sigh, Donald stood. "You're a lot of work, you know?" He kicked aside a dirty towel in one corner. Bobby recognized the tin can that was revealed as the one he'd seen Doc with before.

Donald picked it up and tossed it at Bobby. "There. Keep it."

Bobby's reflexes were slowed by exhaustion and pain. The can hit him square in the chest. He barely winced, though it had been thrown pretty hard. What was one more bruise at this point, he figured. He pulled off the tin-foil top and his senses were immediately assaulted by the distinctive scent of tea tree oil.

...tea tree...

Mary's voice... tea tree, isopropyl, cadamer...

That was the third thing Mary had told him! That's what was in his notes, what he'd been struggling all night to remember.

Tea tree oil... Bobby remembered now, Mary had given him the strange, seemingly disjointed list that Friday morning, the morning of the attack. He remembered writing it in his notebook. Something about it had touched a memory so vague he couldn't immediately place it, but he'd written it down, knowing it would come to him eventually. The puzzle pieces that Mary had given him -- the ingredient list, the words "bobby" and "copper buttons" -- hadn't connected for him, but he knew there was a link, and his seldom-wrong instincts warned him it was important.

Tea tree oil. Bobby sniffed the tin can; the odor was distinctive and strong. Tea tree oil was used for treatment of everything from dandruff to acne to minor wounds and rashes. It was a base ingredient in any of a number of over-the-counter medicines, ointments, shampoos, toothpastes, cosmetics... the list was long.

Bobby frowned. Something about the essential oil was ringing a bell in the far recesses of his mind, just as it had the morning Mary had spoken the words to him. But just like that morning, it was something too vague to immediately pin down. Had he pinned it down later? Had he made a connection between Mary's cryptic words? Put her convoluted puzzle together?

"You just gonna smell that all day, or you gonna put it on your feet?"

Bobby blinked owlishly at Donald. "What?"

Donald pointed to the tin can, which Bobby was still holding up to his nose. "Don't know why you'd want to smell it anyhow. That shit stinks like dead track-rabbits, if you ask me."

"The smell... reminded me of something."

"Yeah? Dead track-rabbits?" Donald laughed at his own joke.

"Track-rabbits? You mean rats?"

"Not just rats." Donald held his hands about two feet apart. "I'm talking RATS!" He dropped his hands to his lap. "Make good eating, though. Kind of stringy, but when you can't get anything else, it's filling. And there's plenty of 'em."

Donald seemed disappointed that Bobby didn't recoil from the notion of eating rats. "That don't bother you? Eating rats?"

Bobby scooped up some of the salve from the can and began slathering it on the bottoms of his feet. He shrugged at Donald's question. "I once ate hachi no ko in Japan... bee larvae... and Casu marzu in Sardinia. Maggot cheese."

Donald scrunched his face. "Damn, man. You win. Guess a rat would seem tame after that."

"Well... in all honesty," Bobby leaned toward the other man and smiled conspiratorially, "I pulled the maggots out before I ate it. Don't tell my hosts, though; it'd have been seen as an insult."

"Shit, copper, even you have your limits, huh?"

Copper... copper buttons... Ah, hell. Bobby dropped the tin can of salve and slapped himself in the forehead. "Of course!"

Donald peered at him. "You all right?"

"Copper buttons! I don't know how I missed it. It's so obvious." At Donald's bemused expression, he elaborated. "The story goes that a hundred years or more ago, police uniforms were made with copper buttons. That's where the nickname 'copper' came from, later shortened to 'cop.' And-and 'bobby'... she wasn't saying my name. She meant 'bobby,' like the policemen in London. She was trying to tell me it was a cop!"

It made perfect sense, now that he gave it serious consideration. Who better than a cop to cover his tracks so thoroughly? Who better than a cop to know which evidence forensics would look for and how to avoid leaving it? But what about the tea tree oil and the rest of the list of ingredients Mary had given him? What did that have to do with the killer being a cop? Was it another clue to the identity of the murderer of those women? Bobby was sure he was missing something vital, some clue that Mary had been trying to tell him. "I have to find Mary."

"Dictionary Mary? Literary Mary. Not-so-ordinary Mary." Donald chuckled at the lame rhyme.

"Do you know where I could find her?"

Donald shrugged. "She's a river rat. She'll be down to the river later on."

"Do you know where she lives? Here in the tunnels?"

"Hell no, she don't never come down here. Scares her."

Bobby frowned. "She was here the other day."

"She wanted to talk to you. Besides, she knew I would watch out for her."

"Do you know where she lives?"

"Don't know. Don't care." His expression grew suspicious. "Why do you want to talk to her anyway?"

Bobby decided on honesty. "I think she knows something about a case I was working on. She... she might have been a witness."

Donald raised one eyebrow. "That's a weird fluke, don't you think? A witness in your case and a witness to your murder."

"Coincidence, yes... maybe."

"Or not?"

Bobby shook his head. "I won't know until I can talk to her. First, I have to find her."

~*~

Chapter 10: Coincidence

noun
1: the occurrence of events that happen at the same time
by accident but seem to have some connection
2: the act of condition of coinciding

~*~

Alex arrived at the station early the next morning. She was operating on far too little sleep and far too much coffee, but adrenaline would keep her going for the time being. Too soon, she was afraid, even that would give out and she would crash, but until that happened, she fully intended to push herself to the limit.

Fin was on the phone at Bobby's desk when she walked into the squad room. She crossed to her own desk and pulled her coat off, draping it over the back of her chair.

The room was nearly empty. No one worked Sundays unless they were on a case that wouldn't keep over the weekend. Alex looked over the few men in the room, wondering if any of them were working the Mr. Clean case she and Bobby had been working before the attack. She hadn't thought to ask Deakins about it, but she should have. She should have taken the time to bring them up to speed. She shook her head. No point really in that, considering they didn't have much to go on. Bobby might have been able to give them insight, but then if Bobby had been there to share that with them it wouldn't have been necessary in the first place.

She sighed and sat down to wait for Fin to get off the phone. A few minutes later, he wrapped up his call and hung up, turning to her.

"Deakins and Waine should be here any time now."

"Are you sure about this?"

"No." Fin lowered his voice. "Not a lot I am sure of right now. But I don't really see a more viable option." He met Alex's gaze. "You okay with this? You having second thoughts?"

Alex shook her head. "No, you were right last night. We can't take the chance of being taken off the case." She shook her head again, more adamantly. "No, we tell Deakins, like we agreed. It's what Bobby would do. He'll understand."

Fin nodded and leaned back in Bobby's chair, clasping his hands over his stomach. "I been on the phone with everybody I can think of, trying to get the word out to Bobby to call me back. We're gonna need to talk to him and get his version of what went down."

"I thought you said he didn't remember anything."

"Not about the attack, no, but maybe he knows something else. Maybe something from earlier Friday."

Alex thought about it. "We need to ask him about the coffee. Where he went after he got it, if he set it down or left it unattended at any point before he got up here."

"And that's just the tip of the iceberg. I've got a couple of dozen questions, and I'm sure you've got at least that."

"We've got to hope he calls one of us back."

"Alex, you know why he didn't call you."

Alex nodded. She knew, not that the knowledge took the sting out of it. "He didn't know if I believed he was innocent or not."

"Hell, he didn't know if he believed he was innocent or not. I'm not sure I convinced him, either. There wasn't enough time to get into the tape and lack of fingerprints on the cell phone, or even our suspicions about Ellis, for that matter."

"Like I said, we'll just have to hope he calls back."

They sat in contemplative silence until Captain Deakins entered the squad room a few minutes later. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a sweater.

Both Fin and Alex rose to meet him as he crossed the room.

"I'm going to assume this is worth pulling me in on my off day."

"You would be assuming correctly," Fin said. "I called Ted in, too. He should be here any--"

Waine entered the room before Fin finished speaking.

Deakins waited until the younger detective crossed to them, then gestured to his office. "Let's take it in there."

Alex waited until they were all in the room, the door closed behind them, then blurted it out. "Bobby's alive!"

It was a toss up as to who was most shocked at her words, the captain or Waine. Both stared at her as if she'd suddenly grown a horn out of her forehead. It was Deakins who spoke first.

"You want to explain that, Detective?"

"He's alive, Captain. He called Fin last night."

Deakins glanced at Fin. "Last night? And I'm just hearing about it now?"

Fin had the decency to drop his gaze to his hands. "He wouldn't tell me where he was, and I knew it would take time to track the call, so I didn't see any point in waking you up."

"You sure that was your only motivation?"

"What else would there be?"

Deakins rolled his eyes at the evasion, but didn't pursue the question.

"You did track it, though?" Waine asked.

"To a bank of pay phones near the Fish Park. Not much point in sending anybody down there. We all know Bobby's smart enough to be long gone by now."

"Which is why you should have called someone last night," Waine said, his voice rising. "We might have had a chance to apprehend him."

Alex shot the detective a glare, but Fin beat her to the verbal punch. "Technically, it was this morning, not last night, and technically, I handled it by the book. There is no warrant for his arrest, to the best of my knowledge."

"Technically," Waine answered, sarcasm dripping from his tone, "he was dead, as far as anybody knew. Now that we know he's alive, you know damn well we'll have a warrant within the hour."

"Detectives!" Deakins voice drowned out whatever reply Fin might have made. "As you both damn well know, I'm still the captain and this is still my office, which means I am the only one who gets to yell in this room."

Waine scrubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry. The news just... caught me off guard." He dropped his hand and pasted on a smile, though Alex didn't think it quite reached his eyes. "But hey, Goren's alive. This is great news, right?"

"For those of us who don't want to slap the handcuffs on him, it is," Fin replied, a note of anger still in his tone.

"What if I don't press charges?" Alex said. "I'm the only one who was hurt. If I don't press charges against him--

"You know it's not that simple." Deakins frowned. "He'll be considered 'dangerously psychotic' and a threat to the general public." He moved around his desk and sat down. "Let's not borrow tomorrow's problems. Right now, I want the whole story. From the beginning."

Alex sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk. Fin sat next to her, not caring that it left no seat for Waine. He quickly related the short conversation he'd had with the missing detective.

"So he doesn't remember any more than Alex does?" Waine asked.

"Said he didn't." Fin clearly wasn't quite ready to let go of his anger.

"Then we don't know any more than we did before."

"We know he's alive," Alex put in. "I'd say that's huge."

"Of course," Waine said quickly. "I didn't mean anything. I just... well, it's disappointing not to have any more to go on than we already had."

"He's out there hurt," Deakins said. "We've got to find him, and bring him in--" He stopped, held up a hand to forestall Alex's protest, "-- for medical treatment."

Alex was shaking her head before he finished. "You know as well as I do, he'll be arrested. We don't have enough on Ellis to pin this on him, which leaves Bobby to take the fall."

"Then we're going to have to make finding evidence on Ellis our number two priority."

At Alex's raised eyebrow, he added. "Getting Goren medical help is number one."

~*~

"I need to see the crime scene photos."

Fin looked up at Alex, surprise in his expression. "I don't think that's a good idea--"

"No, probably not," she interrupted. "But I need to do it, nevertheless."

"I'm with Fin on this one, Alex," Waine said. "We've both seen them. It's not pretty, and it's not something you need to see."

Alex understood their reluctance to let her have access to what she knew would be difficult photos to view, but she also knew that there was simply no getting around it. There might be something in one of them that would spark a memory. It was a risk she'd have to take.

Fin had clearly been around her long enough now to recognize the stubborn set of her lips. He sighed and gave in. "I don't know how Bobby deals with you." A ghost of a smile belied his serious tone.

"He's learned to back off and let me have my way," she said, grabbing the file with the photos from the stack on Waine's desk and heading back to hers. Both men followed, taking up positions on either side of her chair. She recognized and appreciated the show of support. Bracing herself, she opened the folder.

The first photo was of the outside of the warehouse in which she'd been found. There was nothing really to set it apart from any of a thousand others in the city. It was clearly abandoned. Huge panels of the façade were broken loose and left to dangle dangerously. One door was off its hinges and hanging at an odd angle. Weeds, brown and dead in the midst of November, grew right up to the front wall.

Alex turned it over to the side and continued through the pile. When she reached the ones of herself, she didn't even slow down, preferring not to have to look too closely unless it became necessary.

The second half of the stack were photos of the same building, inside and out, but plainly taken the next day, after the sun had risen. She took her time with these, hoping against hope that something would jump out at her.

She came to one taken on the pier and stopped. The photo showed a clear handprint in blood on the gray weathered boards of the railing. Bobby's print, a sadistic part of her brain whispered, made only minutes, maybe seconds, before he was thrown or pushed into the water. She stared at the photo, her vision blurring. A burning in her chest reminded her to take a breath.

"You all right?"

Alex forced herself to set the photo down. "I'm fine."

She continued on through the photos. She was nearly to the bottom of the stack when something finally caught her eye. She leaned in closer, squinting to bring it into focus.

"See something?" Waine asked.

"I don't know, maybe," She stood and reached over to Bobby's desk in front of hers, taking his small magnifying glass out of the pencil cup there. Still standing, she bent over the photo, looking at it again through the glass. "Yes! There!" She pointed, handing the glass to Fin.

He leaned over and looked at the area she'd indicated. "I'm not sure I follow..."

He handed the glass to Waine, who took his turn trying to see what had Alex excited. "It's a woman... an old woman, looks like." He glanced up at Alex, a question in his eyes.

"We need to get it blown up." Without waiting for their replies, Alex grabbed the photo and flew from the room.

~*~

With a few mouse clicks, Leo Chang zeroed in on the woman in the photo. A couple of clicks more and he turned to Alex. "That's as clear as I can get it. The resolution is high, but she's just too far away from the camera for a clear shot of her face."

"That's better than I expected. Thanks." Alex leaned forward, peering closely at the face. It wasn't really clear, but it was enough. "I know this woman." She straightened and turned to face Waine and Fin. "I've seen her before; the morning of the attack, in fact."

"Are you sure?" Waine asked. "It's not really very clear."

"I'm sure. Completely."

"Now that's a pretty big coincidence, don't you think?" Fin said.

"I don't believe in coincidence," Alex stated flatly. "Belinda Wilson's body was found just a block from the docks. That's one of Mr. Clean's victims. Bobby and I were down there questioning anyone we could find in hopes of turning up something, anything before another body turned up. We were grasping at straws, but we had run out of leads. I was talking to this real sleaze of a scum ball, and Bobby wandered off. When I finished, I found him talking to this woman." She tapped photo on the computer screen. "He was taking notes on what she said in his notebook."

"Did you catch her name?" Waine asked.

Alex shook her head. "No, and I have no idea what she told him, either. If she gave her name, it would be in his notebook, along with what she said."

"Damn it!" Fin paced around the computer table. "We need that notebook."

Waine nodded. "Unfortunately, we don't have it." He looked at Alex. "He didn't say anything about what she might have told him? Anything at all?"

Alex shook her head again. "Not that I remember. A lot of the rest of the day is just a blur."

"We have to find this lady," Fin said. "Find out what she told Bobby."

"You're thinking the case we were working had something to do with the attack?" Alex asked.

"That's a stretch, don't you think?" Waine asked. "What about Ellis?"

"I don't know what to think," Fin admitted. "It could be this woman has nothing to do with anything, and what she told Bobby was little more than her recipe for sugar cookies. Once we find her and ask her, we can stop speculating."

Alex turned and headed for the door.

"Where you going?"

"To see Deakins about getting put back on active duty." She glanced at the two detectives over her shoulder. "There's no way in hell I'm sitting this one out."

~*~

Half a day into the search for the woman, they got their first break. Someone recognized her, and that same someone gave them a name. Mary. Dictionary Mary, to be more precise. The moniker was based, it seemed, on her proclivity to speak in jumbles of definitions and literary quotes.

Alex peered out the car window at every face they passed on the sidewalk and sighed to herself. It wasn't much to go on, but it was more than they'd had before. They had split up. Waine heading down to Penn, and she and Fin heading back toward the docks near the crime scene. Hopefully, one of them would find the mystery woman soon. Alex could only pray that they weren't on a wild goose chase and that Mary would be able to give them something concrete to proceed with. Alex didn't even want to think about how much time they would have wasted if it didn't pan out. Time was one thing Bobby might not have.

He was out there somewhere in the cold. Hurt. Maybe sick. Where was he? What was he doing for food? Shelter? She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cold glass. She had to get a grip on herself. Professionalism was what was needed now. She had to detach herself and treat this like any other case. It was what she'd promised Deakins in exchange for reinstatement to active duty, even though she wasn't "officially" even on the case.

"We're close, Alex," Fin said into the silence in the car. "Don't give up now."

Alex opened her eyes and turned them toward him. "Do you believe that? That we're close?"

"Hell, yeah. I feel it in my bones. That woman being at the crime scene after talking to Bobby? That ain't no coincidence. I'll stake my career on it."

"God, Fin, I hope you're right."

Fin pulled the car to the curb. "We find her, we'll find out."

Alex kept her doubts to herself and looked out the windshield. She recognized the area as the same place she and Bobby had been that Friday morning. Had it really been ten days? God! Ten days! She pushed aside the encroaching despair and climbed out of the car to follow Fin down the sidewalk toward the river.

Two hours later the sun was inching ever closer to the western horizon, and they were no closer to finding Mary than they had been when they'd started. They'd walked more than two miles, questioning everyone they'd met. A few had recognized the picture, validating what they already knew about her. One had even verified that Mary was a river rat, scrounging the shore for what she could find of value. Someone said they thought she lived in the tunnels, but wasn't sure.

Basically, they were stuck at square one.

Fin's phone rang. He stopped to answer it, but Alex kept walking, her focus on a man with a fishing rod further down the shoreline.

"Alex, wait up."

Alex stopped and turned to wait for Fin to catch up.

"That was Waine--"

"Nothing?" She read the answer on his face and sighed.

"No," Fin confirmed her fear. "He's calling it and heading back to the station." They resumed walking toward the fisherman. "He still feels Ellis is our best bet. He's going to work that angle."

"Maybe he's right."

"If you really felt that way, we wouldn't be out here schlepping through these stinky rocks looking for a crazy lady that talks in rhyme."

"Definitions."

"I stand corrected." Fin chuckled. "Like that's so much better."

Alex smiled and kept walking.

~*~

Chapter 11: Desolation

noun
1. grief, sadness
2. loneliness
3. barren wasteland

~*~

There wasn't a lot of daylight left. Bobby squinted at the horizon, calculating his remaining time, and decided he was going to have to call it quits soon. It was a long walk back to the tunnels.

Assuming he went back.

He was still undecided. By now word would be out that he was still alive, and that meant they were actively searching for him. Bobby's fear now was that he would bring trouble down on the two people he owed his life to. Three if he counted Doc. Sooner or later, someone would track Bobby to Donald or Bambi, and they would be dragged downtown for questioning... at the very least. Bambi, he didn't worry about so much. She could handle herself just fine. But Donald... Donald wouldn't react well to being forced from the safety of his tunnel.

Bobby pulled his collar up as the wind whipped off of the river, swirling the garbage in the street. There were a good many people out, but then there nearly always was around this part of the riverfront. As darkness settled and the temperatures dropped, that would change. The night owls preferred the streets further in, away from the river.

He crossed the street and headed for a bait shop that was still open. A few men stood around the front door, smoking and talking. Bobby approached them and slowly worked his way into their conversation. It wasn't difficult. He looked and smelled the part of just another hard-luck story. When the conversation lulled, he asked about Mary and was met by one shake of the head after another. Trying not to feel too disappointed, he thanked them and turned away.

It would be dark soon. He was going to have to call it quits and make a decision on where to spend the night. He decided he'd give himself another half-hour of searching, and then use the long walk back toward Penn Station to decide if he was willing to risk going back to the tunnels. Maybe by then, he'd come up with an option for the night that included a warm place to sleep. Preferably one that smelled better and with no rats.

Guilt immediately assaulted him for the ungrateful thought. God only knew where he'd be now without Donald's lair to call home, temporary though it might be. He wouldn't disrespect the man's generosity by complaining about the accommodations. Not even in the privacy of his own thoughts.

Bobby rounded the side of the bait shop and stopped. Before him stretched the rock covered shoreline of the East River. Where the river twisted to the south, he could just make out the dark lines of the Rock Point pier.

Icy blackness...

He took a step forward, closer to the water.

Bone crushing cold...

He closed his eyes against the flashes of memory.

Gravity ceased to work. He was falling up. And always there was the crushing pain. The bone deep cold. The burning of lungs that wanted nothing more than to suck in a breath of air that wasn't there. No, to breathe was to die, and God, he didn't want to die.

I didn't want to die. Bobby's eyes flew open. God, no, he hadn't wanted to die! He'd wanted to live! He remembered wanting to live. A smile twisted his face. He'd been desperate to live. Fighting for it. Struggling toward a light... a light that wasn't Death, but the shore.

Bobby took another step forward. This was the crime scene. It was where Alex had been attacked, where he'd been thrown into the water. He had to go there. His colleagues -- former colleagues, maybe -- were good; they wouldn't have missed anything. But he still wanted to see it for himself. Something might come back to him.

It'd been ten days; surely it was safe. The area looked deserted, except for a few fishermen further down the shore and a distant couple weaving their way erratically through the rocks toward him. It was risky, but he estimated the risk to be small if he exercised caution.

He ducked his head against the chilly wind and stepped off the boardwalk, heading toward the far distant pier. He'd only taken a few steps when he stopped. There was something oddly familiar about the couple approaching. They were still several hundred yards away and, given the falling dusk, their features were indiscernible, but there was something about the way they walked, their bearing, that ignited an odd mixture of both anticipation and... danger.

Bobby didn't question his instincts. He turned abruptly and headed back the way he'd come, ducking around the corner of the bait shop and plastering himself to the wall. His gut told him to leave, head back to the safety of the tunnels and Donald's lair, but another part of him, the part that had recognized the couple, even on a subconscious level, begged him stay. For long minutes, the two halves did battle with no clear winner.

Bobby risked a glance around the corner. The two were closer now, but had stopped to talk to one of the fishermen standing amongst the rocks. As he watched, the female drew something from her pocket and showed it to the man, who looked at it briefly and shook his head. Her shoulders slumped and she turned away, and Bobby got his first good look at her.

His heart froze mid-beat and his throat seized. He ducked back around the corner, his eyes squeezed shut. She was still a hundred yards or so away, but there was no doubt in his mind as to her identity.

Alex.

Bobby took a deep breath, and then another, willing his heart to beat again. Once it had obeyed, he opened his eyes.

Alex was here. Mere yards away. So close he could call her name and she would hear. The urge to do just that was so overwhelming that he had to physically grab hold of a loose board on the side of the building to keep from responding. He needed to hear from her own lips that what Fin had told him was true. That she didn't blame him, that she didn't believe he had hurt her.

But Alex was not solely his friend; she was also a cop. He couldn't force her to choose between him and her career. He couldn't put her in the position of having to arrest him.

Blinking away the sudden burning in his eyes, Bobby edged back to the corner of the structure and peered around it. The male had turned now, too, and Bobby easily recognized his old friend from Narcotics. Fin, he knew, was investigating the attack, which meant Alex must be working with him on the case. They were here, looking for someone... him? Was it his picture they were showing around?

Alex glanced toward the bait shop. Bobby slid back, but not completely out of sight, knowing it was highly unlikely she could see him from this distance, hidden as he was by the deepening shadows thrown by the waning sunlight.

Bobby narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the details of her face. It was pointless. They were too far away. Did she carry marks from the attack? Were there bruises? Probably not after so much time. Cuts, though, maybe. His vivid imagination painted a picture in his mind's eye of Alex, her face covered in purple and blue mottled bruises, blood smeared, dripping... Bobby swallowed hard, suppressing the cough the action elicited through sheer willpower. He pushed away the mental image. He wanted nothing more at this moment than to go to her and see for himself that she was all right.

At least she had Fin looking out for her. Bobby knew his old friend would take care of her, make sure she didn't overdo it. She should be resting. God, it'd only been ten days since the attack. What was Deakins thinking letting her work a case, much less this case? What happened to the rules?

Even as the thought crossed his mind, Bobby almost laughed aloud. He knew Alex well enough to know that Deakins hadn't stood a chance if she had made up her mind to join the investigation, which she obviously had. If she wasn't working it in an official capacity, then she wouldn't hesitate to worm her way into it unofficially. And Bobby knew Fin well enough to know he wouldn't have fought her intrusion. No, he would welcome her input.

Bobby whispered a brief prayer of thanks that he had two friends who cared enough about him to go to such lengths. He knew his best chance at being proven innocent lay with the two people he was watching walk toward him.

Panic flared in Bobby's chest. While he'd been lost in introspection, the two detectives had begun walking toward Bobby's hiding place, and they had closed more than half the distance between them. He was trapped. He couldn't risk moving. Dressed as he was in dark clothing, his face hidden behind his dark beard, he was nearly invisible in the shadows, but if he moved, they would see him.

He held his breath and prayed they would adjust their course, veer off to the far side of the building, but they continued on, straight at him, now only a hundred feet away. Had they seen him? Did they know he was hiding there? No, they couldn't. Bobby knew his vision was sharper than most people's, so even if they had looked right at him, they probably couldn't have distinguished him from the darkness surrounding him.

A couple more minutes, and they'd be on him. He would be arrested, carted off to jail like the felons he'd spent the vast majority of his adult life pursuing. Bobby was still debating his options when the sound of a cell phone ringing reached his ears. Both detectives stopped, while Fin pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and flipped it open. Bobby watched as his dark face grew grimmer. After a few seconds, he snapped the phone shut and said something to Alex, who's own expression darkened. The two turned and hurried back the way they'd come.

Bobby stepped from his hiding place, his eyes on the retreating figures and his heart squeezing tighter with every step they took. Desperation swept over him, and it took every ounce of restraint he could muster not to follow them or hail them or something. Anything to stop them from leaving him here... alone. Desperately, utterly alone.

He stared after them until they were nothing but far-away specs in the distance. Until the blurring of his vision completely obscured them from sight. Until the sun slipped below the horizon, and an icy fog settled over the water and seeped into his bones.

Then, he turned and walked away, his search abandoned.

~*~

Chapter 12: Roadblock

noun
1: an obstruction in a road
2: something that blocks progress or prevents accomplishment of an objective

~*~

"The body was found behind a dumpster, only about a mile from the pier."

Alex didn't acknowledge Ted's statement. She didn't take her eyes from the body lying on the Medical Examiner's table. A tiny slip of a woman, covered to the shoulders with a thin sheet. Frail, elderly... lifeless.

Dictionary Mary.

To be more accurate, Mary Hawkins Quimby. Retired school teacher, seventy-eight years old. The elderly woman's Social Security checks had stopped being cashed more than ten years previous, about the same time she'd dropped off the government's radar. With no family or close friends to report her missing, she'd simply fallen through the cracks.

In the end, it had been surprisingly easy to identify the woman. In her coat pocket there had been a worn, well read copy of Shakespeare's Othello, and on the inside cover had been a short inscription addressed to "Miss Mary Quimby, teacher, role model, friend." It was signed with a girl's name and dated "1959." Once they'd had her name, it had been a simple matter, really, to track her to a small private high school in Queens.

The only question in Alex's mind -- well, other than why someone with a guaranteed, comfortable income had chosen to take up a life on the streets -- was: Who had killed her?

"That the cause of death?" Fin pointed to a large patch of blood dried to the side of the woman's head.

"You would think so." Dr. Elizabeth Rogers stood at the head of the table, her arms crossed over her blue scrubs. "But you would be wrong. It was cardiac arrest. My guess is she hit her head when she fell."

"So it was natural causes." Ted shoved his hands into his pockets, shaking his head sadly. "What are the odds? She lives a nice long life, only to die now, just as we start looking for her."

"A mighty big coincidence, don't you think?" Alex finally broke her silence. "We identify her as a possible witness and within hours she turns up dead?"

"She was an old lady," Ted pointed out needlessly. "Old people have heart attacks."

"It wouldn't be the first 'murder by heart attack' we've seen," Alex said.

"Alex..." Fin started.

She rounded on him. "You told me just a few days ago that you don't believe in coincidence. Did that change?"

Fin turned to Rogers. "You find anything else? Any signs of struggle, fibers..."

"She lived on the streets," the ME replied. "There were literally hundreds of fibers." She shook her head. "Nothing that stood out, though, unless you count cat hair--"

"There was a cat found with the body," Ted supplied. "It was turned over to animal control, but there was nothing on it. No collar or tag."

Rogers spared the man a glance, then continued. "There were no bruises or scrapes, nothing under the fingernails that would suggest a struggle."

"She could have been frightened into a heart attack," Alex maintained adamantly. "She wouldn't have been in a position to protect herself. If she felt threatened... if she saw something or someone that scared her..."

"Alex, come on," Ted said, placing a hand on her arm. "I know how you must feel, but you're stretching and you know it. She was old. She had a heart attack. Sometimes it really is that simple."

Alex pulled away and left the room. She didn't stop until she reached her desk, dropping leadenly into the chair and burying her face in her hands.

"I take it Rogers gave you bad news."

Alex looked up to find Deakins standing over her, his expression showing both disappointment and sympathy.

"Natural causes," Fin said, approaching with Ted on his heels. "Heart attack."

"Did she have a previous heart condition?" Deakins questioned.

Alex let out a loud huff of breath. "Thank you! At least someone else is willing to consider that it might not have been natural."

"Only it was," Ted said. "Rogers said there was evidence of at least one prior attack a few years ago."

"So she had a weak heart," Alex said, standing. "It wouldn't have taken much of a scare to send her into cardiac arrest, then, right?"

No one said anything. Alex sat back down. "Either way, we're looking at a lot of piling up bodies here. Mary, the four prostitutes and almost Bobby."

"None of which seem to be connected," Ted said.

"We don't know that," Fin put in.

Ted threw his hands wide in a gesture of frustration. "I don't see anything that connects any of them. I still say our best bet is Ellis. What happened to that line of investigation?"

"I'm just trying to keep an open mind," Fin answered. "Like any good cop." He looked pointedly at Ted.

"You got something to say about the way I'm handling this case, Fin?" Ted threw back at him.

Deakins held up his hands. "Not out here, folks. Let's take this in my office."

The three detectives followed the captain into his office. Alex and Fin took chairs in front of his desk. Ted elected to stand. Deakins shut the door and moved around his desk, but didn't sit.

"Someone want to tell me what's really going on here?"

No one spoke for a minute. Finally, Ted scrubbed a hand over his face. "I think we're all just frustrated, Captain. We thought we had something with this woman. It's only natural we're discouraged that she died before we could question her."

Deakins looked to Fin for verification. "That all it is, Detective Tutuola?"

Fin cut his eyes to Ted before answering. "Like Waine said, Captain, we're frustrated."

Deakins looked at Alex.

She considered agreeing with the other two detectives, just to smooth over any ruffled feelings. God knew they had better things to be doing than to be sitting here discussing attitudes. She felt like she was in the principles office in high school. But she was too tired and too annoyed to parse her words. "It just seems..." She hesitated, but for only a brief moment, then plowed ahead. "It seems like Ted is shooting down every idea we come up with."

"What?!" Ted exploded. "What ideas have I shot down? Logical ideas that is?"

Alex held her temper in check. "Everything, Ted. Every last idea, clue, or lead we've come up with you've argued against or tried to explain away."

"I'm trying to be objective, something that you and Fin," he pointed his finger at them both, "are not!"

Deakins folded his arms over his chest, but didn't interrupt.

Alex jumped to her feet. "That's because Fin and I went into this investigation without having already convicted Bobby."

Ted dropped his hand and sighed. When he spoke, his voice was calmer. "I'll admit that I was wrong about Detective Goren. You have to admit, though, the evidence against him was damning from the start."

"A good detective knows when to look beyond the obvious," Fin said quietly.

Ted shot him a look, his expression darkening. "That's twice now you've insinuated I'm not a good detective."

Fin clasped his hands and rested them on his stomach. "A better word might be 'inexperienced'."

Ted's face turned a dark shade of purple, but before he could do much more than sputter in response, Deakins interrupted.

"Okay, I think all our dirty laundry is out in the open." He sat down. "I take it there's a difference of opinion on how to proceed with this investigation."

Ted opened his mouth to reply, but Deakins spoke first.

"That wasn't a question, Detective Waine."

Ted turned away quickly, pacing across the room.

Deakins continued, speaking to the man's back. "I told you from the start, Ted, that Detective Tutuola was taking lead. If there's a problem, I have no choice but to reassign you--"

Ted spun back to face him. "What? You can't do that!"

Deakins raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because I thought that one of the perks of the promotion was the freedom to make decisions like that."

Ted took a few seconds to visibly calm himself before speaking again. "I'm sorry, Captain. I'm operating on too little sleep and too much coffee, I think. I'm not usually this argumentative. You know that, sir."

"Which is why I'm cutting you some slack."

"Thank you, sir." Ted took a deep breath. "If you feel it best to take me off the case, I understand."

Deakins studied him hard for a moment. "At this point, I think you might be of more use to Segala and Hensley on the Mr. Clean case. I'm going to let Tutuola and Eames finish this one out."

Ted stared back silently. Alex could almost see the wheels in his brain turning. Finally, he nodded and turned to Fin. "No hard feelings, huh? I learned a lot from you."

Fin gave a short, quick nod. "No hard feelings."

Once Ted had left the office, Alex felt herself relax. She hadn't even been aware of the tension until it fled, leaving a deep, bone weary exhaustion in its wake.

"You two okay with this?" Deakins asked.

Fin nodded.

"Ted's a good man," Alex said. "He was just taking this case personal. I think he might see too much of himself in Bobby, and it scared him to think Bobby might have been guilty."

"Too much of himself?" Deakins questioned.

"Ted fancies himself a profiler."

"He's no Goren," Deakins said. "And as good as he might one day be, I doubt he could ever fill those size thirteens." He looked up at Alex. "You do remember that 'officially' you are not working this case?" At her nod, he sat back in his chair. "Just as long as we're still clear. If Ted makes any waves about your involvement, I'll have no choice but to pull you back and put you on something else. If I have to put my career on the line to get Goren home safely I will, but I'm not quite willing to do that until and unless it becomes necessary."

"I understand, sir, and I hope you know how much I appreciate the latitude you've allowed us and the risk you're taking. I'm doing my best to stay off the radar on this."

Deakins nodded, and then turned to Fin. "So, where are we at on this thing?"

Fin answered. "Our potential witness is dead."

"Which I think is a mighty big coincidence," Alex added.

"Even if Rogers says it's natural causes?" Deakins raised an eyebrow.

"Even if."

"Far be it from me to question your instincts."

"It does seem to be a long string of coincidences connected to this lady," Fin said. "Bobby questioned her the morning of the attack, she shows up in a crime scene photo, we start looking for her, spreading the word we wanted to talk to her, and now she's dead."

"I see what you mean."

Alex leaned forward. "These two cases have to be connected."

"With Mary the link," Fin said.

"We need Bobby's notebook," Alex said. "It's the only way now to find out what she said to him."

"You have another potential witness," Deakins pointed out. "One other person can tell you exactly what she said to Goren."

"Bobby," Fin said.

"We've got to find him." It wasn't like they hadn't come to the conclusion before. "We have no idea where to even begin looking."

"If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be," Fin said.

"Double check with his known friends," Deakins told them. "Maybe he's been in touch since you talked to them last. Make sure they know how important it is to let us know if they talk to him."

Alex sighed. "I'll check, but Bobby won't call them. He wouldn't put them at risk by contacting them."

"He was reluctant enough to call me," Fin said. "And he made a point of telling me to report it."

"What about the uniforms canvassing the area near the phone he called from?"

"All we've got are his prints on the phone to even show he was there," Alex said. "No one in the area recognized him, but that doesn't surprise me. He wouldn't have been careless enough to call from anywhere near where he's hiding."

"So we're stymied," Deakins concluded. He sat forward. "Keep looking for the notebook, and don't give up on his friends. If he gets desperate enough, he'll contact someone."

~*~

Chapter 13: Cadywhompus

adjective
1: askew
2: out of kilter
3: inclined or twisted to one side

~*~

A squad car cruised slowly past, and Bobby lowered his head, burying his chin in his chest. He kept walking, trying to maintain an air of purpose. The car passed him, close enough he could hear the squeak of the wipers as they fought to clear the freezing drizzle from the windshield.

As he approached the corner, Bobby risked a glance back and could no longer see the car. He released the breath he'd been holding. Never had he expected to be in such a position, running, hiding from this own colleagues. It was a risk to return to the area, Bobby knew, but he didn't know where else to go. He needed something that he couldn't get from Donald or Bambi, and he knew only one other person who might be in a position to provide it.

Bobby's limping pace slowed even more. He desperately wished he could talk to Alex. He wanted, needed to hear her voice and know she really was all right. To know she believed he was innocent. A large part of him regretted he hadn't made his presence known last night on the shore. If he'd just stepped out of the shadows...

He would be in jail right now.

He pulled the collar of his coat higher, vainly trying to halt the drip of freezing rain from his shaggy hair down his neck and into his clothes. He was soaked to the bone from his long walk, and his limp was growing more pronounced with every step. At least in jail he'd be warm and dry.

And fed.

And clean.

Bobby sighed and pushed himself to a quicker pace, consciously trying to control his limp. He couldn't afford to draw attention to himself. It was foolish enough to even be in the area.

Another block and Bobby passed the bank of phones from which he'd called Fin -- how many nights ago? He'd lost all track of time. He forced himself not to slow. A few more steps, and he reached the door of the diner. He pulled it open and slipped inside.

Warmth washed over him, and he gratefully unbuttoned his wet coat so the warm air could more quickly penetrate the layers. A swift glance around found Lois serving an older man at a table by the back window. Bobby sat down at the counter and waited.

A few minutes later, she stepped around the counter and stopped in front of him. "Well, if it isn't tall, dark and scruffy."

Bobby smiled. "Hello, Lois."

She grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee. "You look like a drowned rat."

"A drowned, freezing rat." He wrapped his cold hand around the mug. It felt good, and he smiled at her appreciatively.

"How 'bout something hot to eat? Want me to surprise you again?"

Bobby shook his head. His stomach growled in memory of the stew she'd fed him last time, but he was thinking ruefully of the lone dollar bill and handful of change in his pocket, another loan, this time from Donald. He was starting to feel like a street corner beggar. "No, thank you. Just... just the coffee... and company, if you have the time."

Lois smiled and set the coffee pot down. "Hon, for you, I'll make the time." She rested her elbows on the counter.

Bobby sipped at the hot liquid, closing his eyes in a moment of pure bliss. He didn't know which he enjoyed more, the comforting aroma wafting up with the steam or the hot, robust flavor sliding across his taste buds to tumble joyously down his throat.

"You must have met some mighty hard luck if you think my coffee's that good."

Bobby opened his eyes. "Hard luck. Now there's an understatement."

Lois stared hard at him for a moment, and then leaned forward, dropping her voice to a near whisper. "Some folks been looking for you."

He looked up. "Cops?"

"You in some kind of trouble?" A ghost of a smile touched her lips. " Are you dangerous?"

"I'm not dangerous," Bobby said. "But I am in trouble."

"Does it have something to do with your memory problems the other day?"

"Only everything." Bobby sipped at the coffee.

"They showed me a picture, asked me if I've seen you around. I told 'em no." She smiled. "Gotta say, though, cleaned up, shaved, you're a good looking man."

Bobby felt heat rising in his face and was thankful for the beard which masked it.

"I don't suppose you want to talk about it?"

He set down the cup, though he kept his hand wrapped around it, loath to part with the warmth. "I would like nothing more than to tell someone, but... I-I can't put you at risk."

"Hon, I already lied to the cops for you. I'm not already at risk?"

Bobby chewed his bottom lip, stalling while he debated with himself the wisdom of telling Lois his story. Actually, there was no debate, because there was no wisdom. He barely knew her. She was just someone who'd treated him decent. Instinct told him he could trust her, but he wasn't entirely sure he could trust his instincts anymore.

His life... everything in it was catywhompus . Truth be told, he could use a friend right now. Besides, if he was going to ask a favor of her, he felt he had to give her something in return.

"Bobby..." he said. "My name is Bobby."

Lois smiled. "Detective Robert Goren, actually."

Bobby's eyes widened. "You know who I am."

"They did show me your picture, hon. Now, granted, it didn't have your name splashed across it, but I recognized it from the papers couple weeks ago."

"Then you already know..."

"About what they say you did to your partner?" Lois shrugged. "Who believes what they read in the papers anymore? Besides, my mama taught me there's two sides to every story. Three, if you count the paper's version. I'd like to hear your side of it. If you're of a mind to share, that is. If not," she shrugged again, "that's okay, too."

Bobby drained half his cup of coffee, relishing the sear all the way to his belly. He set the cup down, and told Lois his story, beginning with that long-ago Friday morning and ending with him sitting on the stool at the counter of a diner in a part of town he'd only ever visited in passing, spilling his guts to a woman he barely knew.

He tried not to color the tale with too much of his perspective, tried to remain as objective in his telling as he could manage. Not an easy feat when he was feeling so much despair, so much persecution. Hell, he was feeling sorry for himself. He could admit it, even if he did loathe the useless emotion.

Lois listened with no interruptions and no expression, her whole focus on his words until he reached the end and wound to a slow stop. Even after he stopped talking, she continued to hold his gaze. Bobby forced himself not to lower his eyes. She was judging the worth of his words -- the worth of him -- and he owed it to her to allow the assessment.

Finally, she sucked in a noisy breath and straightened. "Well."

Bobby raised an eyebrow and waited. She'd either ask him to leave and then pick up the phone to call the cops, or she'd ask him not to move and pick up the phone to call the cops. Either scenario ended with her calling the cops.

He should just leave now, and save her the trouble of having to decide. But a part of him wondered if maybe it was time to throw in the towel. He was tired of hiding. Tired of being sick and in pain. And he was tired of being alone. He needed help and he needed his friends. Even if he would have to see them from behind bars.

"You sure you don't want something hot to eat?"

Bobby just stared, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Lois picked up the coffee pot and started to refill his cup. He raised a hand, stopping her.

She poured anyhow. "You're soaked to the bone, and it's clear you're not exactly in prime health. You need something warm in you." She smiled at him. "Refills are free."

Bobby blinked at her. "T-t-thank you," he stammered.

"And a nice hot bowl of chili." She disappeared through a swinging door behind the counter, but stuck her head right back through. "You do like chili, right?" She didn't wait for his answer, but disappeared again. Just minutes later, she reappeared, a steaming bowl in one hand, a saucer with a large slice of cornbread in the other.

"Lois... I can't..." Bobby was embarrassed. He probably had less than three dollars total in his pocket. Enough to pay for the coffee and leave a small tip, and that was it. "I don't have enough money." The admission cost him the last bit of his pride.

The woman raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't recall asking for any. Now shut up and eat something. If your stomach growls any louder the other customers..." She glanced at the lone customer at the back booth. "... customer... will start complaining."

Bobby frowned and looked down at the food. His stomach really was getting pretty vocal, and the aroma rising to his nose wasn't helping matters any at all.

Lois leaned across the counter and waited until he looked up, meeting her very serious gaze. "Bobby, I've been hungry. It's not pretty, and it's not fun. What you really need is medical help. Don't think I didn't notice that cough, the way you're limping or the fact that you haven't taken your left hand out of your pocket since the first time you came in here, and it's pretty obvious that you're not right-handed. Look, hon, it's not charity when friends help one another out. It's friendship."

Bobby bit the inside of his cheek, and blinked hard. He was a private person. He wasn't used to wearing his emotions so close to the surface. Blaming it on a combination of pain, cold and a bone-weary exhaustion, he simply nodded and tucked in to the food.

Lois disappeared to tend to her other customer... her paying customer, Bobby reminded himself, swallowing a bite of the hot chili along with an acrid helping of humiliation.

By the time she returned, he was scrapping the bottom of the bowl, but when she tried to refill it, he put his foot down. She stared to argue, but one look at his face, and she backed down, settling for refilling his coffee cup.

His stomach satisfied and happy, even if his sensibilities were somewhat wounded, Bobby cleared his throat, drawing the woman's attention. "Lois..." He hesitated. How could he ask for a favor after what she'd just done? Still, there was no one else.

"What is it, hon?"

"Do you have a library card?"

The woman blinked wide-eyed at him. "A... library card?"

"I-I need information from the internet, and I need a card to use the library computers. I... don't have mine."

Lois laughed. "Of all the things to ask a person. A library card! Bobby, you're priceless!" She glanced at the customer in the back booth. The old man was pulling on his coat. "Hold on a sec." She quickly checked the man out. Once he'd disappeared out the door, she crooked her finger at Bobby and pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen. "Come on."

Bobby hesitated only a minute, then followed.

An older, Hispanic man looked up from where he was perched on a stool, reading a dog-eared magazine.

"Gus, can you keep an eye on the front for a minute?" Lois asked.

The man gave Bobby the once over, then nodded and wordlessly headed out the door they'd just come through.

"Gus is my cook," she explained.

"Your... cook?" Realization dawned. "You're Rose?"

"More or less." Lois smiled. "I came to this town twenty years ago, a foolishly brave eighteen year old with less than a hundred bucks in her pocket and a big dream about living in the big city. Long story short, I got a job waitressing here, and when Rose was ready to sell a few years ago, I took out a loan and bought it. The neighborhood is seedy, and business ain't always great, but I clear enough to live decent, and I'm content. The American dream, right?"

She stopped in front of a small, cluttered desk shoved into a corner, away from the prep area of the room. On the desk was an older model computer.

Bobby's eyes lit up. "If you tell me you have internet, I may have to propose."

Lois laughed. "You might want to save that proposal until you've seen how ancient this old clunker is... plus it's still using a dial-up internet connection." She pulled out the straight back chair. "Have a seat, surf to your heart's content." She eyed Bobby as he sat down. "You're not going to do anything stupid, are you? Like hack into the police computers or something?"

"Just a simple Google search, I promise." He hit the space bar on the keyboard, instantly banishing the bouncing-ball screensaver. With a little searching, he found the shortcut key on the desktop that connected to the internet and double-clicked it.

"Looks like you know where everything is. I'm gonna leave you to it. Holler if you need anything."

Bobby scarcely heard her leave. As soon as the internet was connected, he brought up the search engine, and one-handedly typed in his search parameters... tea tree oil, isopropyl, cadamer...

The slow connection took a few minutes to return the results. Bobby waited patiently, then scanned the list as it came up. Nothing immediately jumped out at him. Most of the results were listings of homeopathic websites offering balms and salves for various maladies.

Had he made this same search that fateful morning? Nothing on the list looked familiar. Of course, he didn't really know what he was looking for. He clicked to go to the next page of results and waited for the slow machine to bring it up. It took two more clicks, bringing him to the fourth page of results before something caught his attention. He clicked on the link and was taken to a web site with a recipe for homemade hand sanitizer.

Hand sanitizer... Why was that familiar? Why did that stick out of the four pages of results he'd scrolled through already?

He scanned the list of ingredients for the sanitizer, his mind struggling to find the connection. On a whim, he backtracked to the search engine and typed in a new search. After several minutes and a few more clicks of the mouse, he managed to find the ingredients list for some of the more popular brands of waterless hand sanitizer. Only one contained tea tree oil: Natural Essence Hand Sanz.

Bobby frowned. He was missing something, something vital and something that should be obvious. Why was he missing it?

He grabbed a pen from a jar beside the monitor and rummaged for a scrap of paper. A scratch pad materialized under an open ledger. Bobby pulled off the top piece of paper and with some trouble, managed to scribble the name of the sanitizer right-handed. It was legible, but barely. After shoving the paper into his pocket, Bobby took a few minutes to delete his searches from the computer's history. It wouldn't fool more than the most casual searcher, but chances of someone tracing him to this computer were slim enough that he felt secure with the small measure.

Lois looked up when he came through the door. "Find what you wanted?"

"I think so... yes." He pulled the crumpled dollar bill and handful of change from his pocket and set it on the counter.

"I told you it was on the house."

"Then consider it a tip." Bobby smiled, hoping he didn't look as embarrassed as he felt. He grabbed back two quarters. "I just need to keep enough for a phone call."

"You can use my phone--" Lois started.

Bobby shook his head. "It'll be traced. I've put you at enough risk." He met her gaze, hoping she could read the sincerity in his expression. "Thank you, Lois."

She frowned. "You're not coming back, are you?"

"I don't think I'll be able to."

"Turning yourself in?"

Bobby took a deep breath. "That's not the plan, but... well, it might be the end result."

Lois pursed her lips and nodded. "We do what we have to do, I guess. Are you sure about this?"

Sure? Bobby almost laughed. All he was sure about was that he was sick, in pain and tired of running... and he missed Alex. There seemed only one solution to solve all of those problems. "Yes. I'm sure."

"Good luck, Bobby." Lois stuck out her hand.

Bobby took it in his right hand and gave it a squeeze. "You've been a tremendous help. I won't forget it."

"See that you don't. You get this all straightened out, I'm gonna expect you to bring that partner of yours by for a hot meal. And to make it fair, I'll be expecting a hell of a tip."

"It's a deal."

Bobby turned and left. He stopped outside the door, under the awning. The freezing drizzle had turned to a light snow. The wet flakes danced on the late afternoon breeze, hitting his face and sticking in his beard. He ducked his head, pulled his collar up and headed for the nearby bank of pay phones, praying he wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of his mistake-ridden life.

~*~

Chapter 14: Together

adverb
1 : with each other, as a unit
2 : considered as a whole
3 : counted or summed up

~*~

Alex grabbed her desk phone on the first ring. "Eames."

"Alex, hey... it's Lewis again."

"Lewis." She lifted her eyes to Fin seated at Bobby's desk across from her. He smiled, and she picked up her stapler and made like she was going to throw it at him. His smile grew. "What can I do for you?" As if she didn't know.

"I'm just checking... you know, hoping maybe you've heard something."

Alex counted to ten before answering, all the while reminding herself that Lewis was Bobby's friend, too, and unlike her, he only knew what he read in the papers, which was little to nothing now that they had moved on to more current stories.

"Alex?"

"Sorry, Lewis, I'm a little busy. We still haven't heard anything. I promise you, I'll call you personally if anything changes." Same promise she'd made the past half-dozen times he'd called, and just like before, it wouldn't matter. He'd still call back, probably before the day was over.

"Okay... yeah... thanks, Alex. Look," he hesitated, "um, I'm sorry to keep bothering you. I'm just worried about him."

Alex's irritation fled in the face of his open anxiety. "I know. We all are."

"This is not like him. He'd call if he could, I know he would. If not me, then you. I can't help thinking he might be hurt... or worse."

"Lewis, stop. You're not doing yourself any good by imagining the worst. You know as well as I do why he hasn't called us. He wouldn't put us in the position of having to report it."

"He knows I wouldn't do that. I doubt you would either."

"I'd have no choice." Alex spoke the words because they were what she should say, but her heart was arguing with her the whole time. There was no way in hell she would put Bobby in further danger by turning him in. Whoever had framed him was still out there somewhere, and whoever it was had already proven himself or herself more than capable of gaining access to the inside of the precinct. In jail he'd be a sitting duck. Even hurt and possibly sick, he was probably safer where he was. Wherever that was.

"Lewis, you have to trust us, Fin and me, we're doing everything in our power to make it safe for Bobby to come home."

Lewis sighed, sounding just as weary and scared as Alex felt. "I know. Thanks, Alex... and sorry about being a pest. I... well, just thanks."

He hung up before she could respond.

She set the receiver back on it's cradle.

"He's just worried," she said, finding Fin still watching her, though his smile had faded.

"He can join the club."

Alex glanced at the clock on the wall. "I think I'm going to call it a day. We're not doing anything but beating the same bushes here, anyway." She stood and reached for her coat.

"Go ahead." Fin reached for another in his dwindling stack of files. "I'm going to finish up here, then head that way myself."

"We've gone through those a hundred times already." Alex gestured to the old case files.

"This makes a hundred and one."

"Really think we've missed something?"

"No." He closed the file and tossed it to the side. "But I unless you've got a better idea...?"

Alex hesitated, a mistake, she realized. Fin was sharp. Almost as sharp as Bobby.

His eyes narrowed as he looked up at her. "You ain't heading home, are you?" His voice took on a warning note." Alex..."

She didn't even try to deny it. "You really think I can go home to a nice cup of tea and a hot meal in my warm, dry apartment? Have you even noticed it's snowing, Fin? And Bobby's out there... somewhere... and he's hurt..."

Fin stood and grabbed his jacket. "Come on."

"I'm not going home."

"I don't recall asking you to. So we cruise the streets looking for him. What's one more night with no sleep?"

Alex smiled. She opened her mouth, but before she could thank him, her cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the caller ID. No name. The number was local, but unfamiliar. She flipped it open. "Eames."

Her greeting was met with silence. She waited a second, then said, louder, "Hello?"

Still nothing. She was about to hang up when a thought hit her. She dropped into her chair and lowered her voice. "Bobby?"

Fin's head snapped around. He lifted an eyebrow in silent query, to which she just shrugged.

"Bobby, is... is that you? Talk to me, please! Don't hang up..."

The answering voice was so soft she had to strain to hear it. "Alex..." The one word was hoarse, raspier than she'd expected, but she'd know it anywhere.

She closed her eyes, offering a quick, silent prayer of thanks. "Bobby... my God! It's really you, isn't it?"

A hand tugged on her arm and she opened her eyes. Fin was pulling her up from the chair and steering her toward an empty conference room. She immediately realized her mistake. She glanced quickly around, but no one was staring at them. No one seemed to have heard.

In the relative safety of the empty room, Alex allowed herself to collapse into a chair, acutely conscious of the glass walls that gave her only limited privacy for what was, without a doubt, the most important phone call of her life.

She was aware that he'd not answered her last question. "Bobby? Are you still there?"

"I'm... I'm here. I needed to hear you... hear you tell me... you're okay?"

She laughed, surprised at the watery sound of it. "I'm fine, Bobby. I got nothing more than a few bruises. You, though..."

"I'm okay," he rushed to say.

"Don't lie to me, Bobby." Her anger at the obvious obfuscation surprised her. "I'm your partner, remember? Partners don't lie to each other."

A long silence met her outburst. Then, "I've been better." He chuckled. "Nothing a week's vacation in a hospital ward and a round of antibiotics wouldn't cure."

"Bobby, Fin is here with me. We... we need to talk to you. We've found some evidence to help you, but we have some questions that only you can answer--"

"I need to talk to you, too. I have some information that I think is important, but... well, to be truthful, my brain isn't really functioning at full capacity right now. I'm just not seeing the connection. I... I need you, Alex. We usually do this together. It's not easy alone."

Alex almost cried at the desperation in his confession. "I know what you mean. I feel the same way." She took a deep breath. "We need to do something to remedy the situation."

"What you found... it's not enough to clear me, is it?" There was no hope in his voice.

She hated to have to say it, but she couldn't avoid the truth. "No. It's not."

"Then if I come in, I'll be arrested."

"Yes."

She heard him sigh. "I can't clear my name if I'm in jail."

"Bobby, Fin and I are doing everything in our power to clear you..."

"I know you are, Alex." His voice broke. He stopped for a moment. When he continued, it was barely audible. "I'm just... I'm so tired..."

Alex closed her eyes and fought back tears. She'd never heard him so despondent, so... lost.

"Maybe it's time to come in, Bobby." She hated herself for saying it. She couldn't even open her eyes to see the shock she knew would be on Fin's face, but he wasn't listening to Bobby. He didn't hear the hopelessness in his voice. "We'll keep working on it. We'll clear you, Bobby. We won't give up."

A long silence, then, "I don't know... I... I need to talk to you. Both of you. But not at the station."

"We'll meet you." She opened her eyes. Fin was staring intently at her. "Tell us where you are. We'll come there. We'll talk. You said it yourself, Bobby, remember? We work better together. We'll figure something out. I swear it to you."

"I don't... I hate to put either of you in the position of having to arrest me. I don't want to do that to you."

"I'm not arresting you!" Alex shot back, insulted that he even though that was a possibility.

"And I'm not letting you risk your career by not doing your duty." He sucked in a breath. "I'll meet you, but bear that in mind, Alex. One way or another, it'll end with you taking me in."

She had no response that wasn't purely emotional, so she remained silent.

"Alex... it's... I think maybe it's what I want. I'm tired of hiding. I'm cold and hungry... I need a doctor... and, to be honest, I'd probably kill for a shower and some clean clothes."

Alex laughed despite herself. Bobby was always so meticulous about his appearance, his hygiene. She could only imagine how he must feel after a nearly two weeks on the streets. "Where are you?"

"Not here. The crime scene... the warehouse by the pier where you were... where you were found."

It was appropriate, she decided. "Okay. An hour?"

"That's good." A long pause. "I'll see you then, Alex."

The line disconnected before she could respond, but she clung to the phone for a few more minutes, hoping, irrationally, that he would pick up again and let her give him a proper goodbye.

She looked up at Fin. "He wants to meet. The warehouse at the pier... the crime scene." She stood.

"He's turning himself in?"

Alex stood and looked out over the busy squad room. "He's tired." She blinked hard as her vision blurred. "He just wants to stop running."

Fin moved up behind her. His voice was gentle. "Maybe it's time."

"He'll be arrested. You know that. All of the evidence points to Bobby. All of it. Our 'gut instinct' isn't going to stop an indictment."

"Then we'll just have to find something else."

"Hell, Fin, isn't that what we've been trying to do?"

"Then we'll have to try harder. I heard what you told Bobby on the phone... that the two of you work better together. So, you'll just have to put your heads together and find what we've missed so far." He put his hands on her shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. "Listen, Alex, Bobby needs to see a doctor, and if the only way to get him to one is to arrest him, then so be it. We'll deal with it, and we will prove him innocent. I give you my word."

~*~

"Sure you're up for this?"

Up for it? No, Alex admitted to herself, how could she be? But could it be any worse than the crime scene photos? And she'd survived that relatively intact, body and soul. Besides, Bobby was in there.

"I'm fine." She opened the car door and climbed out, her eyes still on the façade of the dilapidated building. There were trailing ends of yellow police tape flapping in the icy wind coming off the water, but that was the only sign that this was the scene of... of what? Her attack? Bobby's frame-up? What should she call it when no one really knew what had happened here?

She took a breath and headed for the door. "That's why we're here," she murmured to herself.

"What was that?" Fin asked, on her heels.

"I said, maybe now, between us, we'll be able to piece this thing together."

"From your lips to God's ears."

Giving the door a push with one gloved hand, Alex stepped into the shadowy front room. From the looks of it, it had once been a reception area of sorts. A couch and several chairs, covered in dust, still lined the walls. There were doors on either end of the long narrow room.

"This way." Fin took the lead, heading for the door to the right.

He turned on his flashlight as he stepped through the door, Alex following suit. As it turned out, they didn't really need the extra illumination. The back wall of the large storage space was lined with windows, most of the panes missing. The late afternoon sun filtered in, lighting the cluttered room in fits and starts. Long shadows reached toward them. She cut off her flashlight and slipped it back into her coat pocket.

"Bobby?" Alex called, her voice as wobbly as her knees. There was no answer.

She stepped further into the room, moving slowly toward the back wall and the large double doors there. Fin moved away a few dozen feet and did the same, playing his flashlight into the shadows along the near wall, where rusty machinery of some sort stood.

"Bobby?" Alex tried to keep her voice steady, but had a feeling she failed. What if he didn't come? What if something had happened after they'd hung up? What if... what if someone had seen him? He could be on his way to jail right now! She reached for her cell phone, no idea who she was going to call or what she was going to ask.

Something moved in the deeper shadows near the back doors. Alex froze in place as a figure stepped out, into the light. Her heart nearly stopped. "Bobby..." It was barely a whisper, but he must have heard her. A ghost of a smile lifted his lips as he returned her gaze.

Alex wanted to cry at the sight of him. He was dressed in a thin, shabby coat over jeans and a sweater, all of which were well worn and not especially clean. He sported a full beard and his hair was unkempt and in need of a trim. Unruly curls framed a face that was almost gaunt, eyes that were sunken and underscored by dark smudges that spoke of ill health and too little sleep. And yet, Alex had never seen a sight so beautiful.

He took a step toward her, and she didn't miss the fact that he was limping badly. The spell broke and Alex flung herself forward, decorum thrown to the wayside as she all but launched herself into his arms. She clung to him for dear life.

"Bobby! Bobby... God, it's really you... you came... I was so afraid you wouldn't, that something would happen, or that you'd be spotted before you got here."

He returned the embrace with one arm. "Alex..." It was the only word he spoke, and it was barely a whisper, but to Alex's ears, it was the Halleluiah Chorus by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir for all its sweetness.

Alex heard movement behind her and Bobby's arm loosened its grip. She moved backward a step, suddenly embarrassed by her unprofessional display. One look at Bobby's emotion-filled eyes and she dismissed the foolish misgivings. Now was not the time to worry about respectability.

"Bobby. Damn, man, it's good to see you."

Bobby reached out his right hand to Fin, but the man pulled him into a full hug. Bobby grunted softly, the sound giving way to a short coughing spell.

Fin looked like he'd been punched. "Did I hurt you?"

Bobby shook his head. "No... just... just a little sore."

"Your left hand..." Alex had noticed Bobby had it tucked protectively into his coat pocket.

"Broken." He started to pull it from the pocket, but aborted the move. "It's... it's okay. A doctor set it."

Fin raised an eyebrow. "A real doctor?"

Bobby lifted one corner of his mouth. "Not exactly."

"The same one who's been treating your pneumonia, too, I'd wager."

"It's just a cold..." At Alex's and Fin's twin looks of disbelief, he changed his tune. "The flu, maybe."

"Pneumonia, almost certainly," Alex corrected, lifting a hand to his forehead. "You have a fever."

Bobby shrugged.

"That's what happens when you go into the river in the middle of November." Fin chuckled, but the sound held little humor. "We need to get you to a doctor, Bobby."

"Not... not yet." Bobby reached for Alex's arm almost absentmindedly, as though he needed to reassure himself that she was real. She moved closer and took his hand, giving it a squeeze.

"We need to talk first, Tut," Bobby started.

Alex shot a look at the other detective. "Tut?"

"You will never speak of that name again, woman," Fin said, his voice gruff in spite of the grin that threatened to split his face. "If Bobby wasn't bigger than me, he'd have already paid the price for disrespecting the name."

Bobby didn't respond to the gentle teasing. His expression had grown grim. Lines appeared around his eyes and mouth.

"Bobby...?" Alex grasped his arm as he swayed. "Are you all right?"

He attempted a smile, but it fell flat, never doing much more than tugging at the corners of his mouth. "The adrenaline... it's, it's starting to wear off, I think."

Fin dragged a packing crate closer. "Sit down before you fall down. Unless you're ready to get the hell out of here?"

Bobby sat, but shook his head. "Not yet. We need to talk first. I don't know if we'll get much of a chance after you take me in."

Alex grasped his shoulder. The physical contact acting as both an anchor and a reminder that yes, ohmigod, Bobby really was alive and in one piece. Relatively speaking. For too long her over-active imagination had practiced scenarios of this moment that included neither. "Bobby, we're not going to arrest you--"

"I don't think you have a choice." A sad look crossed his expression as he looked at her. "And it's what I want, Alex. Really." He looked at Fin. "I need to know what you have on the case, why you believe it wasn't me."

Fin sank his hands into his pockets. "First off, there was your 911 tape--"

"I-I called 911?"

"No, you didn't," Alex said, "but it was made to sound like you. The voice was off, but the speech patterns were very similar."

"The perp called from your cell phone." Fin took over the story. "He pretended to be you and apologized for hurting Alex. He put on quite a show, had everyone convinced until Alex heard the call. She knew instantly it wasn't you."

"How?"

Alex smiled. "You don't stammer when you're upset. At least not that much. The voice in the tape was hesitating and stammering so much it was really nothing more than a bad caricature of you."

"It was someone who knows me well enough to do a reasonably accurate imitation."

Alex nodded. "One good enough to fool almost everyone."

"Alex was the only one who knew," Fin said. "And she was sure enough to sell it to the captain."

Bobby met her gaze. "If not for you..."

"Someone else would have figured it out eventually."

Bobby shook his head. "No one else knows me that well." He threw a half-smile at Fin. "Not even Tut."

"But he knew you would never commit suicide. He was adamant about it. By the time I'd gotten out of the hospital, he'd already transferred to Major Case and convinced Captain Deakins that something was fishy."

"I knew, but didn't have anything concrete to go on. Once Alex confirmed it wasn't you on the tape, we had a starting point. Your cell phone was our second solid clue.

"My cell phone...?"

"We found it on the pier, next to where it was assumed you jumped, but it only had your prints on it."

Bobby's brow creased in puzzlement. "How is that a clue?"

"You must really be sick," Alex laughed. "Normally, you'd be the first one to figure that one out. My phone died earlier in the day, remember?"

He thought about it for a few seconds. "I loaned you mine."

"Which means my prints should have been on your phone."

"Unless I cleaned it."

"Did you?" Fin asked.

Bobby dropped his gaze. "There are large chunks of that day missing. I-I can't say for sure what I did..." He looked up. "I don't know why I would have... but-but it's possible."

"Speaking of large chunks missing..." Fin crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't suppose you know where your notebook ended up."

"Funny you should ask," Bobby said, his eyes narrowing. "That's something I've been trying to work out myself."

"There's a crime scene photo," Alex continued, "taken the morning after the attack that shows a woman in the background. I don't know if you remember it, but Friday morning, you talked to that same woman--"

"Mary."

"You remember her?" Fin asked, surprise and hope tingeing his tone.

Bobby nodded. "I... yes, I remember." His gaze wandered the room as he spoke. "We were interrogating her about the Mr. Clean case."

"But only you talked to her. I didn't hear what she told you," Alex reminded him. "And without your notebook, no one but you knew what she said. We're hoping it wasn't a coincidence that the same woman turned up again just hours later at the crime scene."

"But even if it was," Fin said, "we're hoping she saw something."

"Actually," Bobby said, frowning, "I think it might have been. A coincidence, I mean. The river is Mary's territory. She's a river rat. But-but she did see something. That night. She witnessed what happened. I... I talked to her..."

"When?" Alex asked, shooting a glance at Fin.

Bobby thought for a moment. "I've lost track of the days." He looked up at Alex. "I've been living in the tunnels--"

Alex suppressed a shudder at the pronouncement. She knew too much about life in the tunnels to not be scared spitless just thinking about Bobby down there... the sort of people he'd been forced to hide among.

"There's no night or day down there," Bobby continued. "But it wasn't long after I woke up, which was four days after the attack, I think."

Fin let out a long, emotion-filled breath. Alex flashed him a quick look, and could tell his thoughts were running along similar lines as her own. But neither of them voiced their concerns at Bobby's matter-of-fact revelations. There'd be time enough for that later.

"Did she see who it was?" Alex asked, even though she knew it wasn't going to be that easy. It was never that easy.

Bobby shook his head. "She has a strange way of talking--"

"In rhyme," Fin said.

"Quotations," Alex corrected.

"And definitions," Bobby added with a ghost of a smile. "It makes it a little hard to follow her initially. And I wasn't exactly at full brain power at the time."

"What did she say?" Alex pressed. She sat down beside Bobby on the crate and grasped his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Do you remember what she said she saw?"

"A battle... a fight on the pier." His gaze turned inward. "And me... in the water..." For a moment he was silent. When he looked up, locking gazes with Alex, her heart nearly broke at the anguish in his eyes.

"I remember the water." His voice was soft, tortured. "I've forgotten everything else about that night. Everything! But I remember the water. Doesn't really seem fair... to-to remember how it felt to die, but not to remember the important things."

Alex squeezed his hand tighter. "No, it's doesn't. I'm sorry." She was at a loss for words, wanting desperately to comfort him somehow, but knowing nothing she could say would banish the memories for him.

"Mary saw you fighting with someone on the pier?" Fin asked.

Alex threw him a smile, grateful for the distraction. Bobby would have to deal with the emotions of the last two weeks at some point, but what he needed right now was to focus on what he could do to help himself, to move forward.

"Did she see who it was? Could she at least give a description?"

Bobby shook his head. His expression grew anxious. "She didn't say. I-I should have asked her directly, but... but I wasn't thinking straight. Why didn't I ask her?" He looked to Alex as though expecting her to explain the blunder to him.

"You were hurt, Bobby," Fin answered instead. "Cut yourself some slack, man. No matter what anyone else may think, you're not superman." He finished with a smile, letting Bobby know he was merely teasing. "What else did she tell you?"

Bobby turned troubled eyes to him. "She saw a struggle. Someone threw me in the water. And-and me, coming out of the water. That's all she said about it. I didn't ask her if she saw who did it." He thought for a few seconds. "We have to find her. I was looking for her... to ask her about something else, but we need to ask her if she saw who I was fighting with."

Alex and Fin exchanged looks. The gesture wasn't lost on Bobby. "What?"

"Mary is dead," Alex told him. "Her body was found yesterday, a few blocks from here."

A stricken expression crossed his face at the news. "Was she..." He trailed off, unable to complete the question, but Alex knew what he was asking.

"Officially it's listed as natural causes. Heart attack."

"Hell of a coincidence, don't you think?" Fin asked. "You questioned her that Friday morning. She was a witness to at least part of the attack. We were looking for her, you were looking for her. And now she's dead."

"You're not buying natural causes," Bobby stated.

"Do you?" Alex asked.

Bobby was quiet a moment. "If it was, it was incredibly fortuitous for our perp." He looked up at Fin. "There are too many coincidences." He locked gazes with Alex. "It was the same man. From the Mr. Clean case. Whoever killed those women... he's the same one who attacked us. We were getting too close."

"But why this..." Fin waved a hand, encompassing the room they were sitting in with the gesture, "this elaborate set up, attacking Alex, framing you. Making it look like you killed yourself. Why not just kill you and be done with it?"

Alex recognized the expression that crossed Bobby's face and almost smiled. Even with the beard, the sunken, haunted eyes, the dirt, this was the Bobby she knew best. The one who was meticulously analyzing all the obscure bits of evidence to form a theory that seemed like an impossible jump in logic to anyone watching. It was the first sign of the old Bobby she'd observed yet, and damn, but it was good to see!

"Because it became personal to him. The... the thrill, the challenge of outsmarting us. It became a game, and when he began to feel like he was losing, it became personal. He had to strike back at Alex and me personally, in a way that would hurt more than simply killing us." He looked from one to the other of them. "He had to destroy us." He settled his gaze on Alex. "By destroying your trust in me, making you believe I would hurt you like that. And by forever destroying my reputation. Making everyone's worst fear for my... my sanity... come true."

"And it almost worked," Alex murmured.

"He has to have connections in the station," Fin said, "to have played you like that. He knew you were getting close. He spiked your coffee."

Bobby nodded absently, his mind clearly racing ahead. "Connections in the station... or... or... " He jumped to his feet.

Alex grasped his arms when he swayed, but he shook her off and paced away a few steps, rubbing at the back of his neck. She gave him his space, knowing the signs. He was on the verge of figuring something out. Something important.

When the silence stretched out for too many minutes, she exchanged a look with Fin, who simply shrugged. "Bobby..." she said, hoping to call him back to the present.

Another minute of silence, then a softly muttered, "Son of a bitch..." He spun around, nearly falling over from the sudden movement. "Son of a bitch! I-I-I know what Mary was trying to tell me. I know who it is!"

There was the unmistakable snick of a gun's safety being taken off. "That's a shame, Goren. A real, damned shame."

~*~

Chapter 15: Murder

transitive verb
1: to kill (a human being) unlawfully and with premeditated malice
2: to slaughter wantonly
3 a: to put an end to

~*~

The familiar voice sent a chill through Bobby. He turned slowly, taking a step to the right as he did.

"Nice try, Goren," Ted Waine said. "I'd expect no less from the almighty Detective Robert Goren, but it just won't do. Step out from in front of Eames, and do it quickly."

Waine had already killed four people -- five if, as Bobby suspected, he was also somehow responsible for Mary's death -- and he'd tried to kill him. He wouldn't have any qualms about killing again. Still, Bobby hesitated, not willing to leave Alex to face the wrong end of the man's gun. "You're going to shoot anyhow. You have no choice."

"True, but I have plenty of time. I can make it as slow as I want. Move," he lowered the muzzle of the gun, "or I'll start with the knee."

When Bobby still didn't move, Alex stepped out from behind him. "Don't, Bobby," she warned in a low voice.

"Listen to her, 'Bobby.' Let's make this easy on everyone, shan't we, and not do anything stupid. I want everybody's hands where I can see them. Nice and easy. Get your hand out of your pocket, Goren."

Bobby pulled his broken left hand out and lifted it to the side in plain view. "It's broken. Not much I could do with it." He raised it high enough for his coat sleeve to fall down, showing Doc's homemade splint. "I imagine that's your doing."

"And the omnipotent Goren's record remains intact. Seriously, man, are you ever wrong?" He wrinkled his nose. "Well, other than your current taste in hygiene, of course. How can you stand the filth?" With an exaggerated shudder, he directed his gaze to Alex. "You can bring me your guns... by the barrels, if you please. And you might want to bear in mind, I have my own aimed right at your precious partner's head."

"You can't make it look like murder/suicide this time," Fin said, as Alex pulled his gun from its holster.

"Well, to be fair, you're technically only half right about the murder/suicide." Waine grinned. "If I'd intended to kill Alex, she'd be dead." He pointed the end of his gun to the floor at his feet briefly, and then back to Bobby's head. "Eject the clips and set them down right there. Now back over there by your friends."

Alex followed his directions, moving back to a spot halfway between Bobby and Fin.

"Friends," Bobby repeated. "That was your mistake the first time. You didn't count on my friends."

Waine shrugged one shoulder. "All hail the mighty Goren."

"Oh, I make my share of mistakes. Ask Alex. Or Tut. He and I have worked together." Bobby eyed a broken piece of lumber laying halfway between him and Waine. He risked a step forward, closer to it, stopping abruptly when the barrel of Waine's gun lifted a little higher in response. "Everyone makes mistakes. Yours, Ted, was not counting on my friends... isn't that right?"

Waine's lips stretched thin in a grimace. "I didn't count on their loyalty. True."

"You thought everyone would be quick to believe I could snap. You thought it was what they were waiting for. But you didn't count on Alex and Tut standing up for me. Believing I was innocent."

Waine directed his gaze to Fin and Alex. "You should have believed it. Everything would have worked out perfectly if you'd have only let it go and bought it like everyone else."

"Not everyone," Fin contradicted. "Captain Deakins was never completely sold on the idea of Bobby hurting Alex and offing himself. He was only too quick to turn the reins of this investigation over to me to prove otherwise. And I'm sure there were others. Anyone who's ever worked with Bobby knew better, no matter what it looked like."

"No... no that's not true," Waine protested. "They all believed it. I know, I was right there, working beside them. Everyone bought it until you took over the case and started grasping at straws."

"Whatever," Fin said with a half-shrug. "If you sleep better nights thinking that, go right ahead." He cocked his head. "Guess we know now why you were so gung-ho to make Ellis look guilty."

"Don't forget," Alex added, "he's the one who brought Ellis and Barco to our attention in the first place. Not very imaginative, but then criminals seldom are when they're panicked."

Bobby recognized the names, if not the reference.

"It may have lacked creativity," Waine conceded with a frown, "but it served its purpose."

"Not if its purpose was to frame Ellis," Alex pointed out. "Otherwise, why would we be here? Why wouldn't Ellis be in jail and you be in some bar drinking to your victory?"

A flicker of anger flashed through Waine's expression.

"You made rookie mistakes from the start," Bobby said, drawing the man's attention back to himself. "One after another, the mistakes started piling up." He held up his fingers, ticking them off as he named them. "You miscalculated my friends' loyalty. You failed to kill me. You left a witness--"

Waine smiled, flashing a row of perfect, white teeth. "Now, granted you being alive is a huge miscalculation on my part, one that I'm about to remedy, but the witness... she's been taken care of."

"I'm not talking about Mary." Bobby grinned, taking another small step toward the two-by-four when Waine's gun wavered. "And I'm not talking about the attack. I'm talking about the murders... the prostitutes. There's a witness, and that's just sloppy, Ted. Poor planning, if you ask me. Hell, I've arrested two-bit drug dealers who thought things out better than you."

Color drained from Waine's face. The unnatural whiteness of it nearly glowed in the fading light. "What... who are you talking about?"

"The first one. The very first hooker you picked up." It was a guess, wild and unsubstantiated, but it made sense, and it was their only hope, so he ran with it, embellishing as he went. "The very first one, all those years ago in Philadelphia. You forced her to scrub herself clean and wash her hair before you'd even touch her. Remember that, Ted? Washing her and making her dress in brand new clothes? Only you didn't kill this one. You left her alive to tell her story... and she is. Once she realized that it was the same MO as the murders, it all came back to her, and she's telling anyone who'll listen. It's only a matter of time before her story gets to the cops and they sit her down with a sketch artist. Your clock is winding down, Ted. The clock on your freedom."

"No, there's no witness. You're lying!"

"Then why are you panicking? Hmm?" Bobby cocked his head to the side. "Why are you getting nervous, if it's all a lie?" He smiled, the white of his teeth bright against the black of his beard. "Is it because you don't know for sure? You can't remember if there was one... way back at the beginning, before you became a killer? One who could have made the connection to the killings? Granted, your methods became more... refined over the years, but the basic MO was the same. You made her wash. You even made her scrub under her fingernails, didn't you? Did you do that, Ted? Make her clean under her fingernails?" He clicked his tongue in mock admonishment. "That seems a-a-a little... OCD to me, Ted. Don't you think? But you... you can't make love to a woman who isn't clean. I mean really clean... can you? Can't you... get it up with an unclean woman? I mean, really... does the idea of getting a little dirt on you... does it scare you that much?"

Despite the cold, sweat broke out on Waine's forehead. The hand holding the gun shook ever so slightly. Enough to tell Bobby that his bluff was hitting a mark. He pressed the advantage.

"It does, doesn't it, Ted? It scares you. You washed them because you're afraid of dirt. We've all noticed it. The way you subtly wipe your hand on your pants after a handshake. How you wipe chairs down with your handkerchief before sitting down. The extra large bottle of hand sanitizer on your desk... That's what gave you away, you know. The sanitizer -- it was the clue that gave you away."

"Shut up!" The end of the gun came up.

Bobby took a breath, waiting for the bullet. When it didn't come, he pushed again, harder. "Mary told me, the morning of the attack... speaking of Mary... she must have really creeped you out. I mean she was... she was dirty. Living on the streets like she did. She smelled, too. I noticed that about her. She smelled like... like eggs... old eggs and older cheese. The smell must have driven you crazy." He started to edge closer, but a spasm in his leg stopped him. He shifted his weight to the other one. He couldn't stop while he had the advantage. He had to keep Ted off balance, out of control.

"I didn't understand what Mary was trying to tell me at first. 'Bobby,' she said, and I thought she was just saying my name... but 'copper buttons'... that was the thing that made me realize... she-she was talking about a cop. And then there was the other thing she said... tea tree, isopropyl alcohol, cadamer... I looked that up when I got back to the station. It's the ingredients of a certain brand of-of hand sanitizer. The brand you use, Ted. That really large bottle on your desk... I remember the tea tree oil. It has a distinctive scent. I remembered the odor lingered around you. Very subtle... but you do know that scent is a memory trigger, don't you, Ted? Mary... she must have seen you use the sanitizer. You did, didn't you, Ted? You washed your hands with it after touching that woman's body, the one she saw you kill...because you can't have... you can't have a dead woman's germs on you, can you?"

It was subtle, only the slightest twitch of the lips in tandem with a narrowing of eyes, but Bobby didn't miss it. It might have been a guess, but it had hit it's mark. Not that it was a stretch. Common sense reasoning, really. He pressed on. "There is a witness out there, Ted. Even if you find a way to get away with killing the three of us -- and that's doubtful -- can you find her and kill her, too? Do you even remember who she is? Where she is?"

"He can't kill us and get away with it, Bobby," Fin said. "He's not that smart. Look how he screwed it up the first time he tried."

"I think you're right, Tut, but I'm betting his ego's big enough to delude him into thinking he can get away with it."

"There is no witness!" Waine took a deep breath, repeating in a calmer tone, "There's no witness. You're lying. I see through you, Goren. You forget that I understand you. I know how you work."

"Oh, yes, I... I forgot." Bobby smiled. "You fancy yourself a profiler." He cocked his head to the side. "If you're a profiler, Ted, then you're already in my head. You know how I operate... how I think." Another step. "Just like I know you."

"You don't know anything about me!" Waine's chin -- and his gun -- lifted, his eyes hardening with defiance.

"I know that you think you're got this all planned out. Let's see if I've figured it right. You're going to shoot Alex and Tut first, with one of their guns, of course. Then you're going to shoot me with the same gun, point blank in the head. And you'll then 'find' the bodies. Or... or maybe you'll just leave them for someone else to stumble across, like you did Mary's. Either way, you'll convince everyone that I set this meeting up to kill them. That I overpowered Alex, took her gun and shot them both, before turning the gun on myself to finish the job I didn't quite get right the first time."

"But that won't work," Alex said. "Because no one believes Bobby is guilty of the first attack and suicide attempt."

"You're wrong -- they will believe it." Ted smirked. "When they find your bodies and see what he's done, they'll forget the flimsy evidence you conjured up to clear his name. They'll be quick to believe he could snap, because it's what they want to believe. It's what they've expected all along."

"Are you so sure of that?" Fin asked. "Are you sure enough to stake your life on it? Because if you shoot us, that's what you'll be doing... staking your life on the chance that they'll be willing to fall for your little fantasy."

Bobby watched Waine's face as Fin spoke. He saw the tiny flicker of doubt cross his expression. "They're right, Ted. The first time, you had the element of surprise on your side. Not... not this time. No one will believe it."

"Even if you convince everyone else," Alex said, "Deakins will never buy it. He never really believed it the first time."

"Shut up! All of you, just... just shut up!"

"What I don't understand," Fin continued to push, "is why you killed those girls. You couldn't find any who'd willingly clean themselves up for you?"

"Oh, he could," Bobby answered for Waine. "But then the idea of them going back to their lives of filth was too much for him. He made them... he made them perfect... pristine... but only for the time they were with him. Afterwards, they would just go back to what they were when he picked them up, and... and you couldn't have that, could you, Ted? You wanted to preserve them as they were... in that perfect moment. Perfectly clean, immaculately dressed. Every hair... in place. If you killed them then, in that moment... you could have that memory untainted... forever."

"It's over, Ted," Alex said, starting to lower her hands. "You can't make this work. You're best bet is to leave now and try to get a head start."

While Waine's attention was focused on Alex, Bobby took one more step toward the potential weapon.

Fin noticed Bobby's movement and made one of his own, stepping to his right to draw Waine's attention even further away. Waine responded by swinging the gun toward Fin. Bobby knew it was the best opening he was going to get. He dropped to one knee and his hand wrapped around the two-by-four in one much-too-awkward movement. Waine, spun back around bringing the gun up and to bear, but Bobby was already hefting the piece of lumber. He couldn't get much momentum with only his non-dominant hand. It found its mark, but with no strength behind the swing it did little more than graze Waine's ear, hard enough to draw blood, but not hard enough to bring him down or loosen his grip on the gun. Before either Alex or Fin could do more than step forward, Waine brought the gun up and fired. A deafening roar echoed through the building.

Dimly, Bobby heard Alex yell his name. He looked up at her, confused by the horrified expression on her face. Why was she so upset? Why were tears filling her eyes? The cold from the floor seeped into Bobby's muscles. Funny, he didn't remember laying down. He blinked slowly, finding it ridiculously difficult to keep his eyes open.

The roar in his ears increased. He looked around. Waine was still waving the gun, yelling something, but no sound was coming from his mouth. At least none that Bobby could hear. Had he gone deaf?

God, he was tired all of a sudden. Somewhere, someone was calling his name, but he ignored it, and let his eyes slide shut. Why fight it? A short nap might give him a second wind. Might... might...

No! Wait... no, he couldn't sleep yet. There was something he had to do...

With a will he didn't know he possessed, Bobby forced his eyes open. It took a minute for his vision to focus. Waine had his back to Bobby. He was pointing something at Alex and lifting his arm. Gun... yes, it was a gun. God! It was a gun, and he was going to shoot Alex.

An ungodly roar filled the empty room for a second time. Bobby realized dimly that the sound came from him and he wondered at its purpose. He had no memory of standing, or even how he had managed it given the absolute exhaustion that had enveloped him just seconds before. He only knew that he was running full tilt.

Waine turned just seconds before the impact, his eyes widening impossibly large just as Bobby's huge frame rammed him. They both hit the floor. Bobby nearly screamed at the agony that shot through him on impact. He rolled off of the other man, but his energy, adrenaline, strength... all of it was gone. He laid there like a deflated balloon. He heard shouting...

...a shot...

God, Waine shot... Get the hell off the floor! Please, God, don't let him... but he had... he shot Alex... I failed to stop Ted. I failed and he shot Alex. She's dead and it's my fault... my fault because I can't get the hell up off of the floor ...

Oh, God...please, no...

"Bobby!"

Hands rolled him to his back, lifted his head enough for something soft to slide under it. He tried and failed to open his eyes.

"Bobby, please... Bobby!"

Alex?

"Bobby, hang on..."

The roar in his ears increased. He could hear her voice, but the words were becoming less distinct. But she was safe... alive! God, she was alive! Nothing else mattered. He could sleep now. Alex was safe.

"Damn it, Robert Goren! You'd better damn well listen to me! Open your goddamn eyes! You hear me? Open your eyes!?"

She sounded so angry... and... and sad...

"Don't you dare die, Bobby! Don't you dare... Please, Bobby..."

Why did she sound so sad? With a monumental effort, he opened his eyes. Alex's face was directly above his. He tried to reach up to her, but his arm was just too damned heavy to lift. He settled for a smile... or what he hoped was a smile. He couldn't really tell if he actually moved his lips or not, but clearly Alex noticed the effort. She smiled in return, some indefinable emotion sweeping over her wet face.

"Bobby!"

"Hey..." Was that his voice? It was so... weak. Much like he felt.

"Hey, yourself." She laughed, a watery, bubbly sound. "Stay with me, Bobby. Okay? Help is on the way. You hang on, okay?"

"You... not shot...?"

"I'm fine... I'm okay. Fin, too." She looked away for a minute, then back down at him. "He's okay...." But her voice didn't sound too certain.

"Ted..."

Alex looked away again. "Fin went after him. I... I heard some shots... but..."

"Go..." Alex looked down at him. "Go help him, Alex..."

"I can't leave you, Bobby."

"I'm not... going anywhere... Go..."

Alex opened her mouth, but before she could voice what was likely another protest, Bobby heard a sound somewhere out of his line of sight. Alex looked toward it, a grin splitting her face. "Fin!"

A moment later, his dark face appeared over Bobby.

"Tut..."

The man smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "How many times I gotta tell you to stop calling me that?"

Fin was fine. Alex was fine. Bobby let his eyes slide closed. There was nothing left to worry about. Everyone was fine... and he was just so damned tired.

"Bobby! Open your eyes!" Fin commanded. A soft slap stung the side of his face.

Surprised, Bobby opened his eyes. "What...?"

"Stay with us, Bobby," Alex said, running her fingers lightly over his forehead.

Her hand was warm. It felt good. He was so cold.

"Tired..."

"I know you are, but you can't sleep yet. Okay? You have to stay awake until the bus gets here. I need you to do that for me, Bobby. Okay?"

For Alex... "'kay..." He blinked. When had it gotten so dark? Had the sun gone down?

"Talk to us, Bobby," Fin ordered. "Keep talking, that'll help you stay awake."

"'kay," he said again, but made no effort to do as he was told. An ache in his chest was beginning to make itself known, and talking made it worse.

"Bobby?"

Bobby blinked at the concern in Alex's voice. Why was she so upset? "Wha' hap'n'd? You.. okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Why... are you so... sad...?"

"Oh, Bobby!" She choked back a sound like a cross between a hiccup and a laugh. "You were shot, you big idiot! Of course, I'm sad!"

"Shot..." Bobby exhaled a chuckle that turned into a gut-wrenching cough. "'splains a lot."

"Waine shot you," Fin explained. He grasped Bobby's arm and squeezed. "Stay with us, Bobby. Come on, open your eyes."

When had they closed? Bobby complied, the effort impossibly harder each time.

"Waine shot you, and he was about to shoot Alex when you threw yourself at him. It was enough to give us a chance to get the upper hand."

"You... you got him?"

"Hell, yeah, I got him." A grin split Fin's face. "The son of a bitch is outside, and he ain't going nowhere no time soon."

Bobby wanted to grin in return, but his body refused the command. It was getting darker... so dark he was having trouble making out Alex's face. He blinked a couple of times. The last time, he didn't bother opening his eyes again.

"Bobby?"

It was the last sound he heard.

~*~

Chapter 16: Repair

verb
1: to restore by putting together what is torn or broken
2: to restore to a sound or healthy state
3: to make good

~*~

A clock ticked.

Rain tapped against the window.

The scent of alcohol tickled annoyingly at his nose.

And his chest hurt like hell.

All of these thoughts assailed him within a millisecond of waking up. It was enough to make him quickly reach for the mantle of sleep once more. But try as he might, he couldn't fully draw it back over himself. The ache in his chest was too sharp, too strong to ignore.

A new noise drew his attention away from the discomfort. It was a scratching sound, very close by. He couldn't immediately identify it, and curiosity finally convinced him to abandon attempts to reclaim sleep. He opened his eyes.

A man stood over him, busy writing something on a clipboard. The source of the scratching sound. Bobby blinked in an attempt to focus on the man. Not too tall, balding, thin face, sharp features... the face wasn't familiar. The white lab coat, however, was. A doctor. And the alcohol/disinfectant scent...

Hospital.

Which explained the growing pain in his chest.

"Ah, you're awake."

Bobby blinked up at the doctor.

The man set the clipboard on the side table. "I'm Doctor Booth. I've been taking care of you." He frowned. "Judging by the confusion on your face, you have some questions."

Bobby tried to clear his throat, wincing at the pain that met his effort.

"Hold on." Dr. Booth turned away. After a minute, he turned back, a cup of water in his hand. "Brace yourself," he warned, raising the head of the bed slightly before putting the straw to Bobby's lips. "Small sips... that's good." Too soon, he withdrew the cup. "Let's see how that's going to sit in your stomach first. Some patients have trouble keeping anything down after surgery."

Bobby tried again and this time, the freshly lubricated throat cooperated. "Surgery...?" Even that one word took more of an effort than it should have.

"To remove the bullet... but I can see you don't remember even that much." He rested a hand briefly on Bobby's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. It's not at all unusual for memories to take a few minutes to return. You've been on a lot of heavy duty sedatives and pain reducers for the past 24 hours. We're starting to taper those off now, so your mind will begin to clear as they leave your system."

Dr. Booth offered the cup again. "Looks like that's going to stay down. Let's try again." This time he let Bobby drink until he was satisfied. "Better?"

Bobby nodded. "Yes... thanks." He was pleased to hear his voice sounding a bit more like it should.

"I know you have some questions, but let's deal with the medical issues first." He set the cup on the bedside table and picked up the chart he'd been writing in earlier. "To start off with, you're recovering from surgery to remove a bullet in your chest."

Bobby looked down, noticing for the first time that his chest was swathed in thick white bandages.

"Luckily, it missed anything vital, a miracle in itself, considering how much there is in the chest that is vital. But it did tear a nasty hole through the muscle, which is why you likely feel like hell right now."

Bobby couldn't argue with his assessment. Now that the medications were wearing off and he was more fully awake, the pain was fast taking on a life all its own.

"Once we got you stable, our orthopedic surgeon had a go at your wrist. He had to re-break and reset it, though to hear him tell it, whoever did it the first time did a pretty damn good job. If it'd had better protection, it likely wouldn't have had to been reset. Hope you like blue."

When Bobby frowned at the seeming non-sequitur, he nodded toward Bobby's left arm. Bobby looked down at his wrist to find it wrapped in a dark blue fiberglass cast. Not only was it more attractive than his old wooden splint, but it was infinitely more comfortable.

"Blue... is good."

Dr. Booth smiled. "Beats wood slats any day, in my book."

"Doc... the guy who splinted it... he-he tried."

"I'm sure he did the best he could, but you could have used a real doctor. You nearly pushed your luck too far."

Bobby looked up at him.

"You've been entertaining a hearty case of walking pneumonia for the past two weeks, not to mention the condition of your feet. How you were walking at all is beyond me. You've got an infection going that would have brought a lesser man to his knees, and that's on top of the glass still embedded in the deepest of the cuts. It looked like you'd been dancing on a bed of crushed glass."

"I don't remember exactly how I did that," Bobby admitted sheepishly. "I think I was running for my life at the time, though, so a few cuts... that's not the worst that could have happened."

"We're not talking about a few cuts, but I think you know that already." The doctor sighed. "You don't even want to know how many stitches you have in you right now. Still, as bad as it all could have been, and probably has been, it's nothing that time and antibiotics won't cure. And by time, I really mean rest. Lots and lots of rest. You've been sleeping for nearly twenty-four hours now. Repeat that times five or six, and maybe you'll earn yourself a pass out of here."

"Not-not a problem," Bobby assured him.

Dr. Booth chuckled. "That's the remnants of the sedatives speaking. I'm going to hold off on any more if you promise me you won't get cranky about having to lay in the bed and sleep." He waited until Bobby nodded, and then added, "I'll send a nurse in with something for the pain. I can tell by the furrows in your forehead that you need it, so don't argue. It might make you sleepy, but it won't make your head as fuzzy as the sedatives. I want you to try to stay awake long enough to eat something, too. IV fluids might be nutritious, but they're not very satisfying, and I can hear your stomach growling from here."

He gestured over his shoulder, toward the door. "There's a very unhappy contingent out there, angry with me for throwing them out so I could examine you, but I think I can smooth their ruffled feathers by telling them you're awake. If you're up for the company, that is...?"

Alex. Bobby smiled. "Yes... please... send her in."

"You know it's a 'her', then, huh?" He quirked an eyebrow before turning to disappear through the door.

Bobby could hear voices on the other side. A few seconds later the door burst open, and Alex charged through. She was followed by Fin, and to Bobby's surprise, Captain Deakins. Alex moved to his side and took his hand in hers, leaving the other two standing at the foot of the bed.

"Bobby!" There was no mistaking the pleasure and relief in her voice. "We were beginning to think you were going to sleep straight on through Christmas."

"Feel like I could."

"Don't you dare try," she cautioned. "I know you need your rest -- believe me, the doctor has warned us about that -- but we've been going crazy waiting on you to wake up and assure us you're really okay."

"I-I'm sorry that I worried you."

Alex smiled. "Only you would apologize for getting yourself shot, Bobby Goren. Only you." Her smile faded. "How do you feel... really? Are you in pain?"

He shook his head. "It's not too bad."

"You certainly look better -- almost human," Fin said, rubbing at his own chin. "Beard's gone."

"Nice to be clean again," Bobby agreed.

"I'll bet. Hate to tell you, man, but you were smelling a bit ripe back there at the warehouse."

"You go two weeks with only a bowl of water to bathe in... see how you smell."

Fin chuckled.

"I, for one, don't care what you smell like, it's good to have you back," Deakins said.

"The pleasure's mine, believe me." Bobby's eyes slid around the room, noticing for the first time that it was filled with flowers and balloons. "What... who...?"

"Everyone," Alex said. "The guys at the station and your friends. I don't know all of the names."

"Nothing like being resurrected from the dead to shake people up," Fin said.

"That," Deakins added, "coupled with a healthy dose of guilt, I'd wager. People are feeling pretty bad for having believed the worst."

"The flowers are nice," Bobby said, "but the guilt... it's unnecessary. The evidence was really strong against me, from what I hear."

Deakins shook his head. "Maybe so, but guilt isn't always a bad thing. They need to make it up to you to feel better about it, so let them. I don't think you'll be fetching your own coffee for a long time to come."

"Long as it doesn't come from the shop next door," Alex said.

Bobby chuckled. A short barking cough followed. Alex poured more water into his cup and held it to his lips. He sipped it gratefully, closing his eyes in pleasure.

"Are you tired? Should we go?" Alex asked.

Bobby opened his eyes. "No... no, I was just..." He chewed his bottom lip, embarrassed to admit the truth. "I was relishing the taste of clean water. It's... it's been a while..."

Alex nodded, understanding in her eyes. "I guess it's a hard commodity to come by down in the tunnels."

"Yeah..." Bobby left it at that. He didn't want to talk about his time in the tunnels right now. He changed the subject, hoping she would understand. "What happened at the warehouse?" It was beginning to come back, just as Dr. Booth had predicted, but there were still uncomfortable gaps. He didn't remember getting shot at all.

The three exchanged glances. It was Fin who took the initiative. "You sure you're up to this? We've been threatened, you know."

Bobby smiled. "I promise to fall asleep in the middle if it gets too boring."

"Just like old times, huh?" Fin chuckled. "Do you remember any of it?"

"Some... it's beginning to come back. I-I... I remember Ted..." He scrunched his face, focusing inward as he tried to dredge up details that were evading his tired mind. "I remember the gun... He shot me?"

Alex nodded. "After you tried to take him out with a board."

He remembered the failed attack. "Not my finest moment."

"Maybe not, but it rattled him enough for you to get the jump on him just as he was about to shoot Alex," Fin said. "And that was after he shot you."

Try as he might, Bobby couldn't remember that part of the story at all, and for once, he was glad for the memory lapse. He didn't want the image of Ted aiming the gun at Alex, on the verge of pulling the trigger to haunt his dreams. That was one memory he could live without. "What happened to him?"

No one spoke for a long minute. Bobby looked from one to the other, his mind making a leap that left him with a dry mouth. "He... he got away?"

"No... no, he's safely in jail," Alex said quickly, putting Bobby's mind at ease.

"Then why the long faces?" Bobby pressed.

Deakins drew in a long breath. "His lawyer's already filed the paperwork for a psych evaluation."

"They're claiming insanity?"

"He's not insane," Alex said, frowning. "He's..."

"Eccentric?" Bobby supplied.

"I was going to say evil."

Bobby nodded. That fit, too. Waine wasn't insane, that was as clear to Bobby as his own sanity, but eccentric? They could both claim that moniker.

The door opened and a young, red-headed nurse in bright pink scrubs entered with a tray. "Hello there, Detective Goren. I'm Diane, your nurse for the night. Dr. Booth ordered you some Dilaudid for the pain. It'll make you sleepy, so do you want to wait until your visitors leave?"

"We should go and let you rest--" Alex began.

Bobby tightened his hand around hers. "No, not... not yet."

"It's okay," Diane said, placing the tray onto the mobile table. She took a syringe from it and put it into the large pocket on the front of her scrub top. "I can come back and give it to you in a bit. Enjoy your visitors for a while longer." She swung the table over the bed and adjusted the head of the bed up, bringing Bobby into more of a sitting position. "I brought you some broth. Sorry, nothing solid for another day or so, but this should feel good in your belly."

She looked at Alex, who was still holding Bobby's hand. "He'll need some help with it."

Alex nodded. "I'll help him."

"Call me if you need anything, Detective Goren." With another smile, she disappeared out the door.

"I'm going to head back to the station and let the guys know you're awake," Deakins said. "They'll be glad to have the news." His expression grew serious. "They really have been worried."

"Tell them... tell them thanks... for the flowers and-and balloons."

Deakins nodded. "I'll tell them. As soon as you're up to it, we'll need to get a statement from you. There's no hurry, though. Right now, just get some rest." He lifted a hand in farewell and left.

Fin moved around the bed and pulled a chair close. Sitting down, he said, "I hope you don't mind if I stay. I didn't hang around watching you sleep for a day and a half just to leave the minute you wake up."

Bobby smirked at his friend. "Thanks, Tut."

"I told you to stop calling me that." His face was serious, but his eyes twinkled with amusement.

Bobby pulled his hand from Alex's and reached for the spoon, but she was quicker. "I can do it--" he started, only to be hushed with a skeptical look. "I'm not going to let you feed me like I-I'm a small child," he protested.

"Hold up your hand."

"What?"

"Just hold it up, Bobby."

He complied, mortified to find it was noticeably shaking. He quickly dropped it again.

"So unless you want to take a bath in chicken broth, you're going to have to swallow that overblown male ego and let someone help you." Her expression softened. "Would you rather I call the nurse back in to do it?" There was no recrimination or reproach in her tone, and understanding shone from her soft brown eyes.

Bobby released a soft sigh. "No... you... you do it."

"How about a compromise?" Alex grabbed the water cup from the bedside table and emptied the remaining fluid back into the water pitcher beside it. She took the bowl of broth and poured it into the cup and stuck the straw back into it. "How's that?"

Pleased with Alex's ingenuity, Bobby reached for the cup, and again was stopped by her skeptical expression. "I said compromise, not capitulation." She held the straw to his lips.

Bobby frowned for about a nanosecond, just long enough for the aroma of the warm broth to reach his nose. The answering growl from his stomach made all three laugh. Bobby wrapped his lips around the straw and filled his mouth with the warm liquid. Never had plain, unsalted broth tasted so appetizing. He drained more than half the cup before coming up for air.

"Good?" Alex chuckled.

"Ummm..." Bobby nodded, his stomach happy for the first time since he'd left Lois' diner... how long ago? He had no idea.

"Had enough?" Alex asked when Bobby made no move to reclaim the straw.

"For... for now." He relaxed back into the pillows. When had he ever been this exhausted? He let his eyes drift shut and listened as Alex set the cup down and rolled the table away.

"Do you want to sleep now, Bobby?" she asked.

"No... not yet." With monumental effort, he opened his eyes. "My mom... did someone let her know I'm not... that I'm back?"

It was Fin who answered. "She never knew what was going on, man. I intercepted the doctors before she could be told, convinced them to hold off until we knew for sure."

He processed the information for a moment, then nodded to himself. "That's good. I don't think she'd have reacted well if she'd known everything that was going on. But she had to know something was wrong when I didn't call or go see her."

"Took care of that, too," Fin said. "Alex and I have been calling her every couple of days." At Bobby's embarrassed flush, he shook his head. "She actually remembered me, I think. Said she did, anyhow. I explained to her that you were sick and wouldn't be able to visit for a while and she seemed to understand. Made me promise to make sure you ate good."

"Thanks, Tut. I owe you, man." Bobby blinked heavily, struggling to hold his eyes open, but not yet ready to give in. In truth, he was afraid he would awake again to find this had all been a dream and that he was still in back in Donald's lair.

Speaking of Donald... "There... there are some people who helped me. When I was..."

"In the tunnels?" Alex filled in.

Bobby looked at her, surprised by the tone she used. Was she angry about him living in the tunnels? "I was safe--"

"In the tunnels? Are you crazy, Bobby?" Regret instantly replaced anger in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

Bobby shook his head. "I know you didn't." But he turned his head away.

Alex took his hand. "Bobby, look at me." She waited until he complied. "I really didn't mean it. I know you're not crazy." The corners of her mouth twitched. "A little daffy, maybe. Quirky, definitely. But not crazy." Her expression sobered. "It's just..." She ran a hand through her hair, leaving it poking out at strange angles on top. "You scared the hell out of us." She looked at Fin for backup.

The other man leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the mattress beside Bobby's casted arm. "She ain't lying, man. You scared the shit out of all of us. Until you called me, we didn't even know for sure you were alive. We were operating purely on wishful thinking and gut hunches."

Bobby met Alex's eyes. For the first time since he'd known her, she was completely unguarded. Fear, anguish... pain... all there, shining in her tear-filled eyes. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry, Alex. I never really thought about you thinking I was dead. I thought... I thought you would be hating me, thinking I had, I had hurt you. I never considered that you'd be grieving for me."

Alex swatted ineffectually at his arm. "You big oaf! Why can't you accept that there are people who care about you? Of course we were grieving for you."

Fin picked up the explanation. "The human part of us refused to believe you were dead, not until we had a body, but the logical part, the cop part thought you were lying at the bottom of the river."

Bobby tried to imagine how he'd have felt if the roles were reversed -- if it had been Fin or... Alex... He shuddered, horrified at the thought of Alex facing the things he had faced. Living as he had been living. And suddenly he understood her anger.

"I'm sorry. I called as soon as I was able to. I-I tried to get Donald to-to get a message to you."

"Donald?" Alex's eyes widened. "You don't mean the lunatic that runs the Penn Station area?"

Bobby gave a lopsided smile. "One and the same, but he's not as big a lunatic as he pretends to be. He plays the part to keep people away."

"Well, he plays it pretty damned good. He had me convinced." Retaining her grip on Bobby's hand, Alex hooked her toes around the leg of a nearby chair and pulled it to her and sat. "So you were living with Donald?"

Bobby nodded. "Mary..." He stumbled on the name as the memory of her murder returned. "Mary saw me coming out of the water. She went and got Donald. It was his territory, so he got first claim on anything found there. I don't remember any of the early days; I was-was pretty sick, I think. It's a blur. But Donald said his people actually found me a few miles away from where Mary saw me."

"That's how you tore up your feet," Fin speculated.

"I guess so."

"Running barefoot through those rocks and alleys..." Fin clicked his tongue, shaking his head in wonder. "Guess you're lucky the damage wasn't worse."

"Donald took me in. He did the best he could. He... brought a guy, Doc, to take care of me."

"He was a doctor?" Alex questioned.

Bobby shrugged. "I don't think so, but he had medicine that-that helped."

"Bobby!" Alex cried.

"Yeah, I know," Bobby interrupted, "but I didn't have a choice." Of course she would be upset with him for taking unknown drugs from a questionable stranger. In better circumstances, he'd have never even considered something so reckless. "I was pretty sick, and I couldn't get anyone to help me. I learned later that they thought they were protecting me from the cops. Donald showed me a newspaper. It... it said..."

Alex's voice was quieter when she spoke again. "I know what the papers were saying. I'm sorry you had to hear it from them, Bobby."

"Son of a bitch drive-by media had you tried and convicted from the get-go," Fin said, his tone bitter.

"It doesn't matter," Bobby said.

"Doesn't matter?" Alex asked. "Of course it matters, Bobby! Everyone in the city was told in huge headlines that you'd gone crazy and attacked me."

"Sensational headlines are what sells papers. Besides, the truth is out now." Bobby looked from Alex to Fin. "It is, isn't it? They've printed the truth?"

"They have," Fin assured him. "And believe me, if you thought you got raked over the coals by the press, you don't even want to know what they're saying about Waine now that it's out about him being the Mr. Clean killer."

~*~

Epilogue: Recompense

transitive verb
1: to give something to by way of compensation
2: to pay for
3: to return in kind

~*~

Bobby pulled at his sling, adjusting it where it was rubbing the skin raw at the back of his neck.

"Leave that alone," Alex admonished. She spared a quick glance at him before returning her eyes to the road. "Robert Goren, are you nervous?" There was a smirk in her voice.

He shot her a frown, not that she saw it, but it made him feel better. He didn't answer her though. He turned his attention out the passenger side window.

After a minute, Alex glanced at him again, all amusement gone from both her expression and her tone. "You really are nervous, aren't you?"

Bobby answered without turning. "A little."

"Why, for heaven's sakes? You've worked with most of these people for years. How many times have you walked into that room and sat down at your desk? Why is this time any different? "

He let all of his frustration out in a sigh and turned to look at her finally. "For two weeks they believed I hurt you, that I tried to rape you."

"But now they know that you were as much a victim as I was, if not more."

He turned back toward the window. "They still believed it." He didn't think she would hear the soft admission.

"I didn't think that bothered you."

"I didn't either." He sighed. "It's just... when they look at me... they'll be reminded. For two weeks, I really was crazy in their minds."

"But not in your mind."

Bobby shot her a look and caught the ghost of a smile twitching her lips. "That's the worst pun I think I've ever heard out of you, Alex Eames."

She slowed to a stop behind a long line of cars waiting at an intersection and turned to face him. "Joke or not, Bobby, it's the truth. You weren't crazy. Aren't crazy. And they know that. I don't think most of them ever believed it anyhow. They know you better."

Bobby quirked an eyebrow, but didn't answer.

"Besides, since when do you care what anyone thinks?" The light changed, and she turned her attention back to the road. "Or has that been an act all these years?"

"Everybody cares what the people they work with think about them. And yes, I know I've always been considered a little... unorthodox..."

"A little?" Alex chuckled.

"Okay," he conceded, laughing along with her, "a lot."

"A hell of a lot!"

"Watch it, Eames, you're pushing it." His amused tone was at odds with the warning in the words. "Okay, I'm odd, and everyone knows it. But that's not the same as being crazy."

"Bobby, if you're not ready for this, we can turn around--"

He took a moment to really consider her offer, but in the end, he knew it would be no better tomorrow, or the next day... or next week. "No, better to get it over with."

"Like ripping off a band-aid, huh?"

Bobby didn't answer. He continued to look out the window. A light snow had fallen in the night, coating the ugliness of this part of town in a thin layer of white. It took Bobby several more blocks to realize where they were. A sudden impulse overtook him.

He turned to Alex. "Could we make a detour?"

Alex looked at him, her eyebrows raised.

"A short one." He thought for a minute. "No... no, sorry. Never mind."

"We have time," Alex said. "Where do you want to go?"

He felt sheepish having to admit it. "I forgot... it's morning. She won't be out."

"She?" There was curiosity in her voice.

"Someone who... who helped me out. I owe her some money." He looked away, back out the window. "I owe her a lot more than that, truth be told."

"We'll look for her this evening, after work, if you're up to it."

Bobby turned, gracing her with a smile. He knew she'd understand. "Afterwards, I'd like to take you to dinner." At her surprised glance, he added, "There's someone who wants to meet you, and..." he paused, "...I owe her, too."

~*~

Just before the elevator doors opened, Bobby took a bracing breath. It was after eight. The squad room would be filled with people, the day having already begun. He should have insisted they come in early, so he could have greeted his colleagues one by one as they arrived for the day, not all at once like this.

It was too late for that now. The elevator doors were open and Alex was looking at him, waiting for him to make the first move. Lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders, Bobby stepped out of the superficial safety of the lift and entered the lion's den.

Just as he'd predicted, the squad room was bursting with activity, but to his surprise, no one seemed to notice him as he made his way quietly across to his desk. He met Alex's gaze across the desks as he removed his coat.

She shrugged. "Be careful what you wish for. At least no one is looking at you like you're crazy." She pulled her chair out to sit, and within minutes she was immersed in the large stack of paperwork in the center of her workspace.

Bobby gave the room one last curious glance, sat down and booted up his computer.

"Hey, welcome back, Goren."

Bobby looked up to see Austin Stowe give a small wave as he passed on his way toward the interrogation rooms.

"See, someone did notice you," Alex said with a smirk.

"I'm... I'm not sure which is worse," Bobby said, only half-joking. "Being looked at like a crazy man... or not being looked at... at all."

"Goren," Anni Loomis said, patting his shoulder as she passed behind him. "Good to see you back."

He turned to answer her, but she'd already disappeared around the corner. He gave a small shake of the head, unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed. He'd been afraid everyone would be awkward around him for a while, but he hadn't expected to be treated as though he'd merely been on vacation.

Bobby dismissed the foolish concerns and turned his attention to cleaning out his bursting email box. Twenty minutes later, he was still sorting through the spam, when Captain Deakins stopped next to his desk.

"Detective Goren," he greeted, "good to have you back. You're looking much better than the last time I saw you."

"Feeling it, too," Bobby assured him. "A week of riding a desk, and then I'll be cleared for active duty."

"None too soon, either. We've got more cases than we've got manpower right now. I need my best detective team back up and running at full power as soon as possible."

Bobby smiled at the compliment. Deakins didn't hand them out often.

ADA Ron Carver entered the squad room and, spotting the trio, crossed to stand beside Deakins. "Good to see you, Detective Goren."

"Thank you. Good to be back."

Carver looked at Deakins. "I've got the files you wanted." He held up a manila folder. "We can discuss them now, if you're ready?"

"Any time," Deakins said with an enigmatic smile.

"Is that the Santiago Alireza case?" Alex asked. At Carver's nod, she added, "Mind if Bobby and I sit in on it? It's got to be more interesting than going over all this paperwork."

"No problem. A fresh perspective might be just what we need." Deakins headed toward the closest conference room. Carver followed on his heels.

Alex stood and waited for Bobby.

"Alireza?" He looked at her. "Should I recognize that one?"

"I doubt it, though you might have seen something in the papers last week. Come on, the captain can fill you in."

Bobby shut down his email program. His eyes raked the squad room as he stood. He was surprised to note it was nearly empty. A glance at his watch told him it wasn't yet lunch time. He glanced at Alex to ask her about it, but she had turned away, heading for the conference room. Confused, Bobby followed.

At the door, Alex waited for him. She stepped to the side and gestured for him to open it. He scarcely gave her strange action a thought until he stepped into the room and was met with a resounding cheer. He stopped dead in his tracks.

The missing detectives from the bullpen were gathered in the large conference room, all facing him, and all wearing matching face-splitting grins. The room was festooned with black balloons, black streamers and cardboard cutouts of tombstones, all of which, Bobby noted, carried his name.

"You gonna stand there all day with your mouth hanging open?" Fin asked, moving forward to pull Bobby into the room, "or you gonna move and let your partner in?"

He didn't let go of Bobby's arm until they were in front of the long conference table. There was a huge cake in the center, it's top decorated to look like a cemetery with tiny plastic mummies and zombies wandering among the tombstones. The message on the cake read, "Mummies, Zombies And Goren Rise From The Dead."

As Bobby recovered from his shock, he found himself grinning widely.

"I'd say the surprise part was a success," Carver said.

"There's no Alireza case?"

"Oh, there's a case." The attorney held up the file. "Just not in this folder."

Bobby shook his head. He turned to Alex, who was standing at his elbow. "You knew about this?"

"Honest to God, Goren," Detective Sweeney bellowed from the back of the room. "How in the hell did you ever make Detective First Grade with detecting skills like that?"

The whole room laughed, and Bobby felt heat rise in his face.

"We got you something." Nolan Howe stepped forward, a neatly wrapped package in his hands.

"You didn't have to..." Bobby stopped, afraid he was sounding ungrateful. "Thank you," he said simply.

He took the package and set it on the table. Unwrapping it one-handed was awkward, but he managed after a few minutes. Inside was a black binder, very similar to the one he'd lost, only this one was leather, rather than vinyl, and across the front had been engraved the message: "Property of Detective Robert Goren. If found without its owner, please return to 1 Police Plaza."

Laughing, Bobby ran his fingers over the gold letters.

"If you lose that one, then we're just going to declare you hopeless," Marcel said.

"I'll try to be more careful with this one," Bobby promised.

Marcel grinned and pulled a Sharpie marker out of his pocket. He held it in the air. "Okay, who's gonna be first to sign Goren's cast?"

Deakins pushed forward and grabbed the marker. "With rank comes privilege."

~*~

Alex set a paper plate with a large piece of cake on the table in front of Bobby. He pulled his gaze away from his examination of his autograph-covered cast and looked up at her.

"It's your cake, you have to have at least one piece." She sat down next to him. "Besides, it's butter cream frosting. Your favorite."

Bobby picked up the plastic fork and used the side of it to cut off a bite-sized piece. "Thank you, Alex." He looked up, meeting her gaze.

"I assume you're not talking about the cake, which you could have reached over and grabbed for yourself." She gestured around the room. "You can't blame this on me."

"You didn't...?"

"Nuh uh." She stretched across the table to snag a plate of cake for herself, a corner piece with extra icing. She removed a plastic tombstone and poked it into Bobby's piece of cake. "Wasn't me."

Bobby looked around the room, trying to figure out who, if not Alex, would have gone to the trouble.

"Oh, Bobby, come on. Do you really have to know?" Alex shook her head in mock dismay. "Does it matter?"

"No... no, I guess not. I'm just..."

"Curious?"

Bobby chuckled. "Yeah. I don't know who else would have thought of this." His eyes returned to the notebook. "And this... It's... it's... very nice."

Alex let out a frustration-filled sigh. "Do you really have such a low opinion of yourself? Why can't you realize how important you are around here? How respected and appreciated? Someone really did a number on your self-esteem, didn't they?" She shook her head sadly and took another bite of cake.

Bobby dropped his eyes, not willing to take the opening Alex had dangled in front of him. His past was private. The day might well come when he'd feel comfortable discussing it with someone, and he was certain that someone would be Alex. But it wasn't going to be today.

"So, you going to tell me who did this?" he asked, redirecting the conversation to the original topic.

"Let's just say it was a group effort."

Bobby looked at her, surprised. "Really?" His face turned red when he realized how needy that one word had sounded.

Alex laughed, licking the icing from her fork. "Really. So, still think they'll look at you like you're crazy?"

Bobby looked around the room at his colleagues, his friends. Not one had failed to personally stop by and welcome him back, and he had a cast full of autographs to prove it. "Yeah, they will." He laughed at the expression on Alex's face. "But I'm beginning to think that might not be the worst thing that could happen."

~*~

The End

~*~

Disclaimer: This is an amateur work of fiction, written purely for fun and is not intended to breach any copyrights dealing with the television production "Law & Order: Criminal Intent".

~*~

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