A/N: I'm not sure what to call this. It's not a missing scene because it's more than just a scene, and it's not a post ep...it's a 'during' ep. So call it what you will. Now my muse, being what it is, has been demanding that I start this and one other story I started rolling. Over the next week or so, I plan to finish at least two of the stories I have going, so we're close enough to get these next two up and at 'em. No, I'm not sure where this will go, but at least it's going...somewhere...
Mark Ford Brady made her skin crawl, but she was not surprised that her partner could tolerate him. He had a tolerance for the scum of society that she had never understood and likely never would. Maybe it was because he could have become one of them himself that he was sympathetic toward them, that he understood them. Like the old adage said: There, but for the grace of God, go I. She had no idea how close to the truth she really was.
Looking up from her computer screen yet again, she watched him slowly leaf through the scrapbook, eyes examining each woman in her turn. She could not hazard a guess as to what was going through his mind; she didn't even want to try. But she didn't like the nervous shifting he'd been doing all afternoon. Something was troubling him. She could ask, but ninety percent of the time, unless he was ready to talk, that was a waste of breath. When he was ready to get whatever it was off his chest, he'd tell her. He usually did. She returned her attention to the computer.
She looked up again when he got to his feet and gathered his things together. "Uh, Eames, I need...to get some things done...some...reading." She didn't understand his nervousness, but she waited patiently. There was more. He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted. "Uh, would you...I mean do you mind...uh...Eames, would you...mind...coming with me tomorrow...to, uh, you know...to meet my mother?"
Her eyes widened in surprise. Meet his mother? Okay, so his mother had told him she wanted to meet her. She never thought he'd actually follow through with her request. "Uh, sure, Bobby. I'd like that."
Okay, that was an understatement. She had always wanted to meet the woman responsible for this man. He looked relieved. "Th-thank you, Eames. Uh, is 11 o'clock too early for you? I know it's Saturday."
She knew he was going out to see her as often as he possibly could. She gathered from the snippets of conversation she'd heard that the woman had little time left, and her heart went out to her partner. "Eleven is fine. I'll meet you at your place."
He gave her a small smile of gratitude and relief before tucking his worn leather binder under his arm and leaving.
Eames studied her reflection intently, then wondered why she was putting so much effort into preparing to meet a woman she did not know and never would. So why did it matter so much? Because Bobby mattered so much to her. It was as simple as that.
She turned to the side. Initially she had chosen a black outfit, but considering the circumstances, she changed her mind. Instead, she chose dark blue slacks and a sleeveless burgundy shirt with a collar along with a nice pair of black boots with a moderate heel. She was nervous, but at least she'd be comfortable in this outfit.
She was very careful not to apply too much makeup although she probably spent too much time on her hair. One good breeze and there would be no telling she'd done anything with it at all. Oh, well...maybe Bobby would notice and at least appreciate her effort. But she wasn't going to count on that. Lately, she had to wonder if he remembered she existed at all sometimes. No, he wouldn't notice...and she would do her best not to feel disappointed. With a heavy sigh, she placed her brush on the dresser. Ten minutes later, she was on her way to her partner's apartment.
He was surprised he had not yet worn a path in his living room carpet. He hadn't slept much, if at all, the night before, so he'd taken the opportunity to read, but it didn't get his mind off anything. He was probably more anxious than he should be about bringing Eames to meet his mother, but he couldn't help it. His mother and his partner were the two most important women in his life. There were only two outcomes he could foresee. This would be a success or a catastrophe, nothing in between. He couldn't begin to imagine what his mother would think of Eames. God, this was such a bad idea...but he was committed. Dammit.
He sat down on the couch and buried his face in his hands. Why was he so nervous about this meeting? It wasn't like his mother had any say over who he chose to make part of his life. He had never sought her approval of his chosen companions. Companion...what the hell? She wasn't his girlfriend, regardless of what his mother thought. And yet...she was closer than one. He had never slept with her, but he was more intimate with her than he had ever been with anyone. Eames understood...him. No one had ever understood him before. She knew him, understood him and accepted him. Period. No questions asked. If she ever chose to leave...what would he do without her? Life without Eames...just was not a life he wanted to live. He could, he would, live without his mother. It was going to be difficult to let her go, to say good-bye...but it was always something he knew he would have to do some day. But saying good-bye to Eames...that was something he could never face. Never...
He woke to the doorbell, disoriented and confused. Hauling himself to his feet, annoyed that he had fallen asleep, he made his way to the door and opened it. His eyes strayed over her and he was touched. "Y-you look..." His sleep-weary mind searched for the right word, but couldn't find it, so he had to settle for the only word that would come to him. "You look beautiful."
She felt a flush creep up into her cheeks. Beautiful? She never expected that. He stepped back out of the way to allow her into the living room. "Um...I...I'll be right with you..."
"You did say eleven, didn't you?"
"Yeah...sorry I'm not ready. I, um...I fell asleep..."
"Don't apologize for sleeping. You need it. I'm sorry I woke you."
He shook his head. "It's not a bad thing."
"You need sleep, Bobby. You're walking a thin line here."
"I'm all right, Eames. I'll be right out."
She swallowed her argument. He was a big boy; he could take care of himself, make his own decisions, whether she approved or not. He was running himself into the ground and she hated to see it...but there was nothing she could do for him. She sat on the couch and looked at the books that cluttered his normally immaculate coffee table. Serial Killer: Portrait of a Psychopath. Making Sense of Psychopathy. Pretty Maids All in A Row: A Journey Through the Mind of A Serial Rapist.
She frowned. He was getting too far into this. Brady was due to die next week. Why was Bobby struggling to understand him? Would that help them identify the women in that scrapbook? Would it explain the game Brady was playing with them? Why was it so important to him to understand every monster who wanted to play games with him?
She looked up as he came back into the living room, dressed smartly in his dark blue suit. She always loved the way he looked in that suit. It was cut just right for him, and the color suited him well. The diagonally striped blue tie he usually wore with it was just the right touch. Now if only he didn't look so...worn down.
She dropped the book she held back onto the table and stepped up to him, fingering the silk tie with a smile. "Nice," she said.
"There's something I ought to tell you," he said softly, violating his own rules by bringing his hands up to rest on her waist.
"What's that?"
"I told you Frank was talking you up to Mom. They, uh, they both think...you're my girlfriend. I tried to tell them the truth...but...Mom...won't listen. She just wants it to be true. And Frank simply doesn't believe me. I, uh, I'm sorry to put you in...this kind of...uh, situation. I really am."
She was very surprised that he let them get away with that supposition. But the thought of it made her smile. "It's okay. Will it hurt anyone to let your mother think that?"
He stared at her, as if he hadn't understood a word she said. How fortunate was he to have a friend willing to play such a role, so a dying woman could rest in peace, thinking her son was happy? She remained silent, watching the turmoil in his eyes. "It's not that complicated, Bobby. And I don't mind. Let them think what they want. Like everyone else in the world, it doesn't matter what they think. And if it will help your mother die more peacefully...well...it's a small price to pay. She's had a life of turmoil, Bobby. Let her die not quite so worried about you. Let her know you have someone to take care of you, because you do. That part is true. Come on. Let's get going."
He dropped his hands away from her waist and hesitated another moment before he followed her from the apartment. No, that definitely was not a lie. He did have someone to take care of him, to watch out for him...if he let her.