Chapter Text
Bobby leaned against a wall with his arms crossed and his eyes closed, barely registering the feel of the rough brick against the back of his head and shoulders. He was tired. Tired of hospitals. Tired of having to fix everything. Tired of not being able to fix what mattered most.
Driving home was out of the question. Part of him doubted he even had the energy to call a cab and find a motel for the night, much less make it back to his apartment in one piece. He considered catching a nap in a waiting room, then decided against it. He needed to be somewhere else, even if it was only for a few hours. At least things were settled to the point where he could begin to think about getting some rest. His mother was comfortable for the time being. The anxiety would be back when she woke, but that was still several hours away.
He’d managed to schedule another appointment with the radiologist, and this time he would attend no matter what. He should have taken family leave time, he knew that now. But he hadn’t thought it would be necessary on the holiday, and he wanted to save all of the paid leave hours he could as a hedge against the possibility he would need extended time to help his mother if her condition worsened. He shook his head, pulling away from the direction his thoughts were heading, not ready to deal with that just yet.
Bobby pulled his phone out of his pocket then put it right back. Checking his messages felt like another obligation he just didn't have the energy left to deal with. Instead, he pushed off from the wall and headed back into the hospital to get a number for a taxi.
It was too late at night for anyone to be staffing the information desk, and Bobby wasn’t sure he’d be able to deal with anyone face-to-face, anyway, so he started looking for a payphone. With any luck, there would be a phone book attached. He wandered the lobby for a bit, eventually finding one tucked away behind a pillar. He looked up a cab company and the address of a nearby motel, then pulled out his phone again. Flipping the phone open to make the call, he saw that he had a text message and a missed call with a voice mail message. He called for a pickup before taking a deep breath and opening the text message. He had to resist his impulse to throw the phone when he read yet another terse excuse from his brother for why he hadn’t been able to make it to the hospital.
The missed call was from Eames. He hit the speed dial for voice mail, clicking through the options until the tinny copy of her voice came through.
“Bobby…” she said, then hesitated. On another day, the combination of concern and exasperation she managed to express just saying his name might have made him smile. “Just call me.”
She’d been offering her support all weekend—covering for him and giving him openings to talk it out. He knew she was trying to help, and the part of him that wasn’t exhausted to the point of burnout appreciated it. But the idea of explaining… How did he tell a story that started decades before? That he never quite understood himself? And how could he accept her assistance if that meant slowing down? He knew that if he slowed down too much, he’d lose momentum and just stop. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to start again. And he had to keep going for his mother’s sake; she didn’t have anyone else. Bobby sometimes wondered if Eames, with her large, supportive family, could ever truly understand that.
He was grateful that she’d called, though. He knew he’d pushed her to the limits of her patience with his near insubordination. He’d been hard on the Deputy Commissioner, not the most politically expedient thing he’d ever done. But something about the man had bothered him from the beginning—his refusal to see the reality of his daughter's life while she’d lived and the way he had expected the world to come to a halt in respect for his grief over her death. Lashing out had been almost a compulsion. If it had only been about him, Bobby knew he wouldn’t be able to muster any regret for his actions, even allowing the possibility that it would negatively impact his career. But there was his partner to think about.
Bobby ran his hand through his hair, frustrated at the hypocrisy of his own level of self-involvement. Eames never pushed her status as senior detective on him; they worked as equals, as a team. The reality was that his behavior would reflect badly on her, and she didn’t deserve that. Just five months earlier, he’d been confronted with the possibility of losing her. It was the most helpless and out-of-control he could remember feeling in years, even in the face of everything else that had happened that year—the conspiracy against Deakins, Wiznesky’s suicide, his mother’s illness, this clusterfuck of a weekend. It would be foolish to push her away after all they’d been through.
He’d call her in the morning and begin to smooth things out between them. He’d do what he’d have to do to set things right. He’d find a way to fix it.
A/N: This episode hit me hard. Honestly, with this show, half the time I’m not sure if I’m observing or projecting. My perspective on Bobby & his behavior is a little different than most of the fan response I’ve seen. Bobby is his mother’s primary caregiver. He’s also most likely his mother’s legal guardian and her proxy when it comes to decisions about her medical treatment. When he wasn’t able to be with her at the hospital, it was about more than just wanting to support her or spend time with her. It had direct impact on her care, especially when she pretended to sleep through the visit from the specialist.
On a less serious note, can someone please get the writers a baby name book or something? Another Amanda? Doesn’t someone over at Wolf productions keep a database? Isn’t that what interns are for? Hell, I’d do it for some season 4 & 5 bootleg DVDs.