Fic: TILL I AM MYSELF AGAIN, 2/?
TILL I AM MYSELF AGAIN (2/?)
*****
Coward.
Alex sighs, sneaking another look in the direction of the Captain’s office. She’d meant to talk to Bobby before Ross called him in, really she had. But he’d come back from an interview grouchy and distant, and she hadn’t been able to find the energy to face the objections she knew he would raise. Not to put too fine a point on it, she’d chickened out.
Maybe he won’t put up a fight. Maybe he’ll understand what I’m trying to do.
She sighs again. Yeah, right.
When her partner comes out of Ross’ office, she stares down at the toxicology report she’s reviewing as though it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. She can feel his eyes on her, feel the nervous energy flowing off of him. Anger, or…?
“Eames. Can I talk to you - outside?” Definitely anger. Crap.
“Sure,” she says neutrally, following him to the elevators. He jabs at the down button and turns to her almost before the doors have closed behind them.
“You told Ross I needed a break.” Accusing.
“I told him we both did. I asked for two weeks off, and said he should give you the time off too.”
“I haven’t asked for time off,” he snaps.
“No kidding. When have you ever? But come on, Bobby, don’t you think you need it? You’ve - we’ve been through the wringer, lately.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? That I can’t handle the stress, that I’m going off the deep end?”
“I didn’t say that,” she says, starting to get irritated. He cuts her off.
“Ross already thinks I’m on the edge of a breakdown - I don’t need my partner going behind my back, asking him to take me off the job. Jesus, Eames, what were you thinking?”
Well, screw you too, Robert Goren. She pushes past him, out of the elevator and into the lobby, heading for the main doors. Outside, she rounds on him, struggling to control her temper.
“I was thinking,” she says, voice clipped with anger, “about you. About us. That maybe we could take some time - together. Or not, I don’t know. Maybe we do need a break from each other.”
That was a low blow, and she knows it. She sees it hit home and feels a stab of guilt for hurting him when she’s well aware that his anger isn’t really directed at her. But god, why does he have to be so - impossible?! Guilt or no, she can’t quite contain her exasperation.
“I’m tired, Bobby, okay? If I can admit that, admit that I still need some time to recover from what we’ve been through over the past little while…you damn well should be able to do the same!”
“That’s not - I don’t -
He stutters angrily for a second, and then makes a frustrated sound, turning away, scraping his fingers through his hair.
“Whatever,” he says, facing her again abruptly, lifting his hands in that passive-aggressive if you say so gesture that always gets on her last nerve because it so clearly means you’re wrong.
“Just - fine, Eames. You’d better get back upstairs. I - need some air.” And he’s off, striding jerkily down the street away from her.
Great. Just great, she thinks, barely restraining herself from stamping her foot in sheer frustration. Instead she takes a deep breath, the way Dr. Nahdi has taught her, trying to visualize the irritation leaving her body along with the air she pushes out of her lungs. It works…almost too well, she thinks, as a wave of exhaustion rolls in to replace it. She pinches the bridge over her nose, passes a hand over her face and heads slowly back inside.
*****
Upstairs, she tries unsuccessfully to focus on the blasted toxicology report. When her cell phone buzzes, caller ID flashing “Goren”, she answers on the second ring.
“I’m sorry,” he says without preamble. He sounds subdued, tired, and her heart aches for him.
“It’s okay,” she says.
“I guess I…pretty much proved your point. I’m not handling - things - very well.”
“Mmm.” She doesn’t disagree. “But I should have talked to you before I asked Ross about the time off.” Even though I knew what you’d say, and lo and behold - I was right.
“Yeah.” There’s a small silence. So much she wants to say to him…all of it impossible to talk about in the middle of the crowded squad room.
“So, are you coming back up?” she finally asks. “There’s a big pile of lovely LUDs here for you to look at…”
He snorts. “Well, I guess I’d better get caught up, if I’m going to be taking two weeks off starting Monday.”
Relief washes through her.
“I’m glad,” she says softly. “That you’re not dismissing the idea, I mean.”
“Yeah. I - can we talk about it more…later? Especially…the part about us maybe taking some time together?”
She smiles into the phone.
“Definitely.”
****
But later, over dinner, he’s silent and distracted, and she can’t find the courage to bring it up.
So, partner, want to go away with me?
They’ve never been away together - not for anything non-work-related.
And what a great time this is to chart new territory in our relationship. God, he was right - what was I thinking?
This is ridiculous. It’s just a damn vacation. It is not supposed to be this complicated.
But just as she’s nerving herself to say something, Bobby speaks up instead.
“Ross apologized to me for pushing the make-believe indictment against Wiszneski.”
“Really?” she asks, guiltily relieved at the conversational reprieve.
“Well - he didn’t actually say he was sorry,” Bobby amends. “But he did say that what happened was at least partly on him - and that he’d make sure the record was clear about that.”
Score one for the new Captain, she thinks. He’s willing to take some of the heat.
“Good,” she says out loud. “I hope that helps to convince you that the responsibility’s not all yours.”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep saying that,” says her partner sharply. “I know there probably wasn’t much else I could have done…”
“Definitely wasn’t,” she corrects him stubbornly.
“But I still feel like I should have seen it…I can’t help thinking - God, that little girl, knowing - seeing - what her dad did. I should have prevented that. And now he’s gone, and her mother will be gone soon too.”
I should have seen it. That was what he’d said about Declan and Jo Gage, too.
But he didn’t see it that time either…and I don’t blame him, I don’t.
“It’s awful and tragic, but there’s nothing more you can do,” she says bluntly. “You have to let it go.”
It comes out sounding like an order - probably because you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him, she thinks, cringing inwardly, seeing Bobby’s hackles go up and knowing it was - not the wrong thing to say, maybe, but definitely the wrong way to say it.
“What,” he snaps, “like you’re supposed to be letting go of what Jo Gage did to you? And how’s that going for you?”
She flinches, sits back jerkily. Okay, I was tactless, but that was a fucking low blow.
“Screw you, Goren.”
She folds her arms tight around herself and clenches her fists against the urge to bring them down hard on the table - or on him. Bastard. How dare he? He knows exactly how hard I’ve been working to get back to normal.
She’s been going to the hated therapy, even though the sessions regularly reduce her to a shaking, tear-stained mess. At least I’m consistent - it doesn’t seem to matter whether it’s physical therapy or the talking kind, she thinks darkly. She gave herself two weeks after her ordeal, and then forced herself to spend the night at home alone. Peaceful, uninterrupted sleep is still a distant memory, though. She tells herself the nightmares will eventually stop, but she’s not sure she believes it.
Physically, she’s mostly healed, other than fading bruises and scratches…but she still has trouble with tops that go on over her head, and she can’t reach for anything on a high shelf without starting to hyperventilate - not from the pain, anymore, but from the uncontrollable flash of memory that comes with the action of raising her arms above her head. Even washing her hair takes concentration or it leaves her shaking and struggling for breath.
“At least I’m trying,” she grits out.
“Oh come on, I didn’t mean that!” Bobby sounds about equal parts angry, frustrated and guilty.
“Oh - what did you mean, then?”
“I didn’t mean you weren’t - just that it’s hard - damn it, nothing’s coming out right,” he protests. I can’t - I can’t think straight.”
She contemplates him, forcing her anger back.
“And you still think you don’t need a vacation?” she finally says.
Well, that sure wasn’t how I wanted to bring up the subject, but at least it’s out there now.
“No,” he says dully after a long pause. “No, I do, you’re right. But...honestly, right now, I’m afraid of what’ll happen if I don’t have work to focus on. I need - something. An anchor…I don’t know.”
She’s silent, taken aback by the admission of vulnerability. If he’s letting her see a chink in his mental armour, his most preciously-guarded weapon and protection both…that’s a better indicator than any of how exhausted and defeated he must be. And oh, she knows that feeling of needing something to hang onto, a distraction to drive away the demons - she’s become intimately acquainted with it over the past little while.
“So…focus on something else,” she suggests. Then, tentatively,
“Maybe…go spend some time upstate visiting your mom…? I mean, I guess that might not be…relaxing, exactly, but it - might help.”
Sure, Alex, that sounds like a great way for him to unwind, she berates herself sarcastically. Visiting his dying mother in the mental institution where she lives. For Christ’s sake. Spending time with family is something that will help you heal, but in his case it might just make things worse.
Well, possibly. But I still think he needs to see her, she argues with herself.
Bobby gives her an unreadable look, and then sighs, dropping his head into his hands and staring at the table. She hesitates, pity warring with uncertainty. She doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the energy to carry the conversation anymore. God, I’m tired.
To her surprise, Bobby speaks up.
“I thought you said…maybe we could take the time together.” He’s still focused on the table and his voice is muffled. “Does this mean you - don’t want to do that anymore?”
“Oh - Bobby, no.” She stretches out a hand, stopping just short of touching him.
“Of course I do. I just…figured maybe you’d want to visit your mom on your own. I was thinking…I could hang out in town with my folks and Jen and Mike and Owen for a week or so…and then, I don’t know, maybe I could drive upstate to join you…or something. If you want.”
She stumbles to a stop as he lifts his head and gazes at her.
“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you,” he asks. She shrugs, embarrassed, and stares in her turn at her fingers, twisting nervously together on the table. He lets one hand fall to cover hers.
“Thank you,” he says. “I’m sorry I’m being - such a jerk.”
She swallows hard.
“I haven’t exactly been easy to be around either, lately,” she mutters. “I think we’re even, on that front. Just…promise me you won’t try to weasel out of this vacation.”
“I never weasel, Eames,” he says, mock innocent. “Manipulate, deflect, distract, maybe…but weasel? Never.”
She rolls her eyes at him, savouring the flash of humour, the brief moment of normalcy. God, we need more of that. I hope two weeks will be enough for us to find it.
*****
There are nights full of anger
Words that are thrown
Tempers that are shattered and thin
And the moments of magic
Are just too short
They're over before they begin
-- Blue Rodeo, “Till I Am Myself”
*****
TBC in Chapter 3…The First Week (Part One)