Eames had watched Goren get ready the next morning, and although she was stiff and sore, he was in outright pain. "Are you sure you want to drive home, Bobby? We can always hook a left at Cheyenne and fly out of Denver."
He shook his head. "I...need the time, Eames. We don't have to push it. I prefer driving...unless you're uncomfortable..."
"No, not at all. I was thinking of you. I'm just sore. You're in pain..."
She had that right, but his physical pain was the least of his problems. He waved a hand. "I'm fine. Let's get going."
The ride was quiet. She drove and he spent the day watching the Wyoming countryside pass by at 70 miles an hour. When she stopped for gas, he got out to stretch his legs and work out the stiffness in his muscles. She didn't miss the pain he was in, even though he tried to hide it. When they stopped to eat, he only took a few bites. He didn't have the stomach for food.
It was midafternoon before she finally convinced him to take something for the pain. An hour after that, he slept. She was worried about him.
When they stopped for the night in Lincoln, Nebraska, she insisted they share a room again, so she could watch him. He offered no argument. When they got to the room, she set her bag near the sink outside the bathroom. He dropped his beside the front door and laid down on the nearest bed. Grabbing the remote he flipped on the television and found the news.
While he watched the news, she went into the bathroom, showered and got ready for bed. When she came out, she brushed her teeth and headed over to her bed. Sliding between the sheets, she settled into the bed and looked at him, wondering if he'd even noticed she was done. "Bobby?"
The third time she called his name, he turned his head toward her. "Hm?"
"Bathroom's free."
He looked at her for a moment longer as he processed her words. Then he nodded and turned his attention back to the news. He was caught entirely off guard by the pillow that hit him in the head. He looked at her. "What was that for?"
"Hey, I finally got a reaction from you."
He looked confused. "What are you talking about?"
"You have barely said two words to me all day. What the hell is up with that? Did I do something wrong?"
He shook his head with a frown. "No...not at all."
"Then why won't you talk to me?"
"I..." He looked down at the pillow he was holding and held it out to her. She took it and he finished, "I'm sorry. It's not you."
"Do I have to tell you how many bad conversations I've had that began with that phrase?"
"What? It's not you. I...have a lot on my mind."
"Adenauer?"
"Partly."
"You do realize that what she did was not your fault, don't you?"
He nodded. "I know. But I still feel bad about it."
"What else bothers you?"
"Mike...All he did was help us out, and he got stuck running interference with Ross...I feel bad about that."
"So do I. And?"
He shifted his eyes toward her. "And you, Eames."
"Me? What did I do?"
"You came with me, without question. You chased after me, without complaining. You...you took care of me, when I needed you." He shook his head slowly. "Thank you," he whispered softly.
"Don't feel guilty because I'm your partner. I chose to stay remember?"
"I remember. And I'm still grateful."
"So am I," she answered with a smile.
He looked at her and his face finally relaxed into a smile for her. With a heavy sigh he got up from the bed, grabbed his bag from beside the door and went into the bathroom to shower. After pulling the bandage off the wound in his side, he stepped into the shower. The hot water helped to relax his sore muscles although the open abrasions and the laceration in his side burned. After toweling off, he pulled on a pair of sweats and left the bathroom. In the mirror, he studied his side, which was oozing. Turning around, he started to ask Eames for help placing a fresh bandage over the injury, but he stopped and smiled. She was on her side, soundly sleeping in her bed. He sighed. His side would wait until morning. Walking between the beds, he leaned over, kissed her temple and whispered, "Good night, Eames."
Laying on his bed, he watched television until he fell asleep.
Two days later, they were back in New York. It was too late to go into the office when they got back, but Goren called Logan, asking him to meet them at his apartment, which Logan agreed to do. He was waiting for them when they got there.
Goren grinned. "You didn't waste any time getting over here."
"I was on my way home anyway. It was a short detour."
As they went into the apartment, Logan smiled at Eames. "Hey, sunshine."
She rolled her eyes. "Did I miss you?" she asked.
He looked wounded. "Aw, come on, Eames. You know you did."
She couldn't help smiling. "You're impossible, Logan."
"So I've been told." He called into the kitchen. "How are you feeling, Bobby?"
"Not great, but not as bad as I was feeling."
"How are your ribs?"
"They'd be better if someone would stop making me laugh."
"Hey, it's a good thing that you can laugh. You sure you're okay?"
He came out of the kitchen and they could smell coffee brewing. He handed Logan a beer. "I'm sure," he replied, easing himself down on the couch with a heavy sigh. "Still hurts, but it was worse."
"You guys are so lucky you were across the country when you crashed that car. I've made Ross turn some pretty shades of red, but not like he did when he found out what happened. The guy didn't know how to react. He calmed down once he found out Eames was driving. If it had been you or me behind the wheel," he told Goren. "Our heads would be adorning his wall." He grinned. "Last time he got that mad was the time I started that riot in the firehouse."
Eames shook her head. "You need to quit that, you know."
"I can't help it. That shit just comes to me."
Goren raised an eyebrow. "Intimating a firefighter is gay..." He shook his head. "You need to put some kind of stupidity meter in your brain, Mike."
"Preferably something with an external monitor. Then Wheeler or I can monitor the stupidity factor of what you're going to say and act accordingly."
Logan pointed at Goren. "You've gotten yourself in some trouble..."
"Not with incendiary remarks, stupid."
"Diversity is the spice of life."
"Your spice gives heartburn," Eames remarked.
He grinned. "Yeah, but it hurts so good."
He laughed when Goren threw a pillow from the couch at him. He caught the pillow and dropped down beside Goren, taking a drink from his beer. "You guys will be okay. Ross will stomp and snort in the morning, then he'll make sure you're both okay and send you back to work."
"We have a few loose ends to wrap up, and then we can close the file."
"Loose ends?"
Goren got quiet and Eames replied, "We have to find her next of kin. She left something behind and we need to deliver it."
For once, Logan had no retort.
Goren adjusted his jacket and looked at his partner. He was nervous, and she understood that. She gave him a soft smile of encouragement. He clipped his badge to the breast pocket of his jacket and they headed up the walk. Once on the porch, Eames rang the bell and they waited.
The door opened and a little girl of about six stood there staring at them. Then she called over her shoulder. "Mommy! Police are at the door."
Goren was taken aback by the resemblance of the woman who came to the door to her sister. She looked concerned, "May I help you, officers?"
Eames took the lead as she usually did, and Goren hung back, watching Larissa's sister, Tara McComber, and her little daughter. "Mrs. McComber, I'm Detective Eames and this is my partner, Detective Goren. We'd like to have a word with you, if we may."
"Holly, go check on your brother, please."
"Okay, Mommy."
She smiled at the two detectives and waved. Goren returned her smile and waved back, then became somber again as Tara stepped out onto the porch. "I would ask you in, but I would rather the children not hear this. What did Kevin do now?"
Goren shook his head. "Nothing we're aware of. We came to talk to you about your sister."
"Which one? Courtney or Larissa?"
"Larissa."
"I'm not sure I can be much help. I haven't talked to her in about two weeks."
"Are you close to your sister?" Goren asked, trying to gauge what the woman's reaction would be to the news they were about to deliver.
"As close as Larissa will let anyone get since her husband and daughter died. Why?"
Before Eames could say anything, Goren said, "I'm afraid there's been an accident."
Tara paled. "What kind of accident?"
Eames picked up on his intent and said, "She took a trip to Rockport."
Goren held out the envelope Larissa had placed in his pocket. With shaking hands, Tara opened it and read it. By the time she was done, there were tears streaming down her face. Mixed in with the grief was understanding. "Please, do you know...was she alone?"
Goren shook his head. "No. She wasn't alone."
She nodded her head and gripped the paper tightly in her hand. "Her body...?"
Eames answered, "It wasn't recovered."
Tara took a deep, calming breath. "Maybe now, she'll find peace."
"I hope so," Goren agreed.
Tara regarded him with soft eyes. "Did you know her, detective?"
"Briefly."
"Then you know she was a kind but tortured soul."
He nodded. "Yes, Mrs. McComber. I know."
As they left the McComber residence, Eames watched him carefully. "You okay?"
He nodded. "I'm okay, Eames. We're done now. We can close this case and move on."
"I'm good with that. Can you move on?"
He stopped on the other side of the car and looked over the hood at her. "I can move on."
She smiled at him, and when he smiled back, she knew for certain that he was sincere. He was letting himself find closure; he was finally learning to let go. It was time to move on.
fin.