RECOVERY

Author's Note: my post-ep for "Blind Spot" – I suppose it was inevitable! Note that in my little fanfic world, B. and A. have been in a relationship since somewhere around the beginning of season 4.

When she wakes up later, struggling to awareness through a heavy fog of exhaustion and pain meds, she feels as though she has been asleep for days. But when she manages to get her eyes to focus, she sees that the clock on the wall reads 9 pm, and scraps of memory start to return.

Bobby was here. Then I fell asleep…and then Jen came to visit with Mom and Dad…the hospital moved me upstairs to a room…did Chris stop by with Luke? I think I fell asleep on them too.

God, I feel like crap.

She starts to shift experimentally, and encounters resistance. What…oh. It's her partner, chair pulled right up to her bed, dead asleep with his head buried in the crook of one arm, and the other flung out over her legs as though if she moves, he wants to know about it. Except he's so far gone he probably wouldn't notice if I jumped up and tangoed out of the room, she thinks, amusement and affection vying with a wave of something painful and overwhelming that it takes her a few seconds to identify as…relief.

If Bobby's with her, sleeping this deeply, that must mean it's over. The case. The murders. The whole fucking nightmare.

No. Don't. Can't go there. She takes a shaky breath, blinking away sudden tears. Not now. Too tired. She remembers this feeling from when Rory was killed – anger, fear, devastating pain…all of it trembling and roiling just below the surface, threatening to shatter her into a million tiny pieces. Then, as now, she had to bottle it up until she was stronger. Until she could face it, and wrestle it into submission.

But this time, she thinks, this time I'm not alone.

She lifts her hand and lets it fall gently on her partner's head, grateful that he's close enough that she can touch him without moving her arms too much. Slowly, trying not to wake him, she burrows her fingers into his hair until she encounters warm skin, calming herself with the feel of him. He makes a small sound, moving slightly under her touch – and then suddenly starts awake, dislodging her hand, blinking at her with wide, disoriented eyes.

"Eames," he croaks, and she has to laugh. Or at least, she tries, but it hurts, so all that comes out is a sort of gasping chuckle.

"You sound like a frog," she whispers, watching as awareness returns to his eyes, cataloguing every small detail of his face with a desperate hunger that would scare her if she couldn't see the exact same feeling in the way he's gazing back at her. God, she thinks. I might never have seen him again.

"I feel like a frog – one that's been run over," he eventually replies, with a little rueful grin. "More than once."

Then, tentatively,

"How are you feeling?"

She lifts one shoulder in a small shrug. "Stiff. Bruised. Woozy from the meds."

Not to mention the head wound (five stitches), torn muscles in her arms, the way her hands are tingling from the nerves being compressed when she was bound and suspended…but she knows he's probably grilled her doctor at least once already, and what's the point of going into it all again?

He's watching her with his head propped on his crossed arms. She can tell that his next question is going to be what about apart from the physical? and she knows she doesn't want to answer that, not right now and maybe never. She touches his cheek, traces the dark circles under his eyes; he leans into her hand.

"The case - what happened?" she asks. He goes still, and then pulls away, straightening up and scrubbing both hands over his face. Suddenly, he looks not just exhausted but defeated.

"It was Jo," he says finally, his voice muffled, staring down at the bed as though there's some kind of answer in the pattern of the blanket.

"Jo – you mean Jo Gage?" Alex's mind whirls, and she struggles to focus, cursing the meds and the stiffness, which seems to have extended to her brain. Bobby is speaking in short, broken bursts.

"Yes, she – it was all about Declan - about getting his attention. Bringing Sebastian back – I should have seen it. I should have understood – what sort of father he was. What she became so he would notice her."

He clenches his fist, brings it down hard on the mattress.

"Certain homes are like laboratories…he said it himself. I knew him – knew them both. I should have realized." Abruptly he pushes away from the bed, standing up to pace jerkily from one wall to the other.

"Bobby," she starts. From across the room, he turns and looks at her with tortured eyes, spreading his arms helplessly.

"Alex – she took you because of me. Because I was on the case…taking Declan's attention away from her. If I'd seen – if I'd known – I call myself a profiler…"

"Goren!" His name comes out almost as a shout, surprising them both. She clenches her fists, using the pain to steady herself. We can't both go off the deep end, at least not at the same time. Focus, Alex.

"Stop, okay? Just stop for a second." It's an effort, but she's fleetingly proud of the fact that her voice doesn't break. "Come back over here."

Breathing hard, he looks at her and then away, shifting agitatedly on the balls of his feet, and for a second she thinks he's going to bolt. She wouldn't put it past him to…withhold himself from her out of some stupid misplaced sense of guilt. It wouldn't be the first time, damn him…but to her profound relief he takes a deep breath and moves slowly back to sit down again in the chair by her bed.

"No, come closer." She's struggling to sit up, trying not to let on how much it hurts to put any weight at all on her arms.

"Wait, let me…" Bobby finds the controls on the side of the bed and raises it to the sitting position.

"Thanks. Now sit," she orders, gesturing weakly to the bed. "Where I can reach you."

Bobby's lips twitch. "What, so you can knock some sense into me?" He sits gingerly down on the side of the bed, his hip nudging hers.

"Maybe," she mutters grumpily. She hitches herself towards him. "Bobby. Look at me."

When he does, reluctantly, she grabs a fistful of his shirt and tries to maneuver him closer, exhaling in frustration at her own weakness.

"Damn it." She swallows hard, and speaks to his collarbone. "What the hell does a girl have to do to get a hug around here?"

She feels all the breath go out of him, and then – finally – his hands are warm on her arms, her shoulders, cradling her face so she has to meet his eyes.

"Alex, I'm sorry, I –

"Stop. Apologizing."

Use your mouth for something other than talking, she wants to continue, but she knows if she says another word she'll start to cry. No need, though, in the end - the great Goren mind-reading skills finally kick in, and he kisses her. Oh-so-gently the first time, as though he fears she might break or disappear into thin air under his touch, and then harder and longer and she feels it right down to her fingertips, like she's all the way back in her body at last. And then he starts to shake and she realizes that his cheeks are wet against hers, and he breaks the kiss and buries his face in her neck, wrapping his arms tight around her. She presses as close as she can - it's not close enough but it'll have to do because it hurts too damn much to lift her arms – and takes a few jagged, shuddering breaths of her own.

"I was so scared," he mutters.

"Me too."

"The thought of what had been done to those women…being done to you…"

She can't help it: she stiffens, fighting the urge to pull away.

"Bobby, don't." She pushes her forehead into his shoulder. "Please."

She's not sure if he understands, but he stops talking and just holds on. She leans against him and listens to his heartbeat, feeling his trembling subside and his breathing even out. After a long minute she moves back just slightly, enough to see his face. He lets out a long, shaky sigh and swipes a hand across both cheeks, brushing away the tear-tracks and meeting her gaze with a small, watery smile.

"Listen," she says softly, "Can I ask you a favour?"

"Of – of course. Anything," he says, eyes still damp and red, but steady again.

"Can we – please – not do the guilt thing? What happened was – God, I don't even know exactly what happened yet, but I know it was absolutely not your fault. I really need you to believe that – to believe that I don't blame you for any of it."

She swallows painfully. "This is – going to be hard enough to deal with… I don't know if I can handle you punishing yourself, on top of everything else."

He sighs, reaching out to push her hair behind her ear. "I'll try. You know how hard that's going to be for me…but I promise I'll try."

"Thank you." She lets out a breath, and leans back in the bed, all at once exhausted again. He reaches for her hand, lacing their fingers together on his knee.

"I'll try if you promise to try something too," he says suddenly. She thinks about protesting – hey, no imposing conditions after you've promised – but it seems like a lot of effort, especially when her whole body feels sudddenly heavy with sleep.

"What?" she asks.

"Promise you won't try to get through this all on your own. That you'll let me – us, everyone – help you."

Crap. That's her cue to get all blustery and annoyed, but she's too damn tired. And too grateful that they're here, alive, together…

I really, really don't want to fight with him tonight.

"Okay," she says resignedly. "I'll try. I promise."

He leans forward to kiss her again, sealing the deal, and she closes her eyes, losing herself in the warmth of his mouth.

"Bobby," she mumbles.

"Mmm?"

"Don't take it personally if I fall asleep on you, okay?"

Eyes still closed, she hears him chuckle, and feels him reaching down to lower the bed back into its original position. Slowly, swallowing a groan, she turns onto her side, curling around him where he's sitting beside her and fumbling for his hand again.

"You should go home. Eat. Sleep," she says drowsily.

"I will. In a little while."

"I still want to hear about the case."

"Tomorrow, Alex."

"Okay." Pause. So weird how the meds make you feel when you close your eyes, like you're floating...swimming… "Bobby – take a cab. You're not fit to drive."

The last thing she hears is "When am I ever?" and she's smiling as she drifts into sleep with his hand in hers and his touch gentle on her hair.