In Between Dreams

The dream always began differently but always ended the same. Sometimes, the dream started pleasantly. She would be laying somewhere (in a bed maybe or maybe someplace silly like a field of wildflowers?) and Bobby would be sitting up, staring down at her with his dark coffee eyes and he would lean down, just like he used to, and kiss her softly. So softly. And then he would whisper in some foreign language (his Italian had always been her favorite). She could feel his breath on her ear and sometimes he would lick her lobe and she would close her eyes and his fingertips would trail down her body (she was always naked in these dreams). His thick fingers would eventually end up inside her and he would do that thing with his index finger that always sent her screaming and spirally down.

Other times, she would just see him. He wouldn't know she was there and he would be going about his day; somewhere in Russia or maybe a desert of some kind. She'd watch him work; going through surveillance video or formulating plans of action. And he was still smart but troubled as he overheard killers plan murders and thieves plan heists. His chin would be in his hand and he'd be bobbing up and down; just a little at first and then with growing intensity. His foot would just start going crazy. Crazy.

Sometimes she would dream that they were both still in Major Case. She would be sitting at her desk in her good old ugly orange chair. She'd be chasing leads over the phone and she would see him from across the bullpen and they were still partners but she could never talk to him. He was always across the room, talking to other detectives. And she would feel that good old warm Major Case feeling deep in her gut.

The dreams always started differently but with the same inevitable outcome. She would suddenly come upon a wounded Bobby, lying on concrete in some empty cold parking lot or maybe an empty warehouse. His eyes were always open and she would kneel at his side and try to apply pressure to his wound. The wound was always in his chest and he would always start to cough up blood. And she was always yelling, for help, and Bobby would just smile up at her and reach for her hand and tell her it was okay; that he loved her and everything was okay.

And then, in every dream she dreamt about Robert O. Goren, he died. And he left her there, sitting over his body and crying.