*~*~*~*~*~*

Lindsay has tried to give Bobby the space he obviously wants. She understands he's been through a traumatic experience, can see he's unsettled, knows he's still in shock, but finds herself drawn to their bedroom despite having no intention of going there. He's home, he's safe, he's showering, let him be, she had chanted as she had busied herself in the apartment, but her fears, her need to just see him again, to remind herself that, yes, this nightmare is over, would not be appeased. As she pauses in the bedroom doorway, Lindsay is dismayed to note that no noise could be heard coming from the bathroom. Finding no empirical evidence that her fiancé is, in fact, home, she becomes irrationally anxious and hurries to the bathroom door. Although the tangible proof she'd sought relieves her momentary unease, she's disturbed by what she sees.

With a towel around his waist, Bobby sits slumped on the ledge of the bath, his head hangs down, while his arms rest upon his thighs. His whole body screams exhaustion and despair. Sighing, Lindsay walks towards him and runs her hands soothingly across his back. When she feels him flinch, she hides her disappointment, as she's determined to find a way to help. She hates that he turns from her at times of great need, hates that he closes off and deals with everything alone. She wants so much to be there for him, but the times when she could be comforting him, he tends to push her away. This behavioral habit sometimes angers her to the point of wanting to throttle him. It makes her want to shake him and shout, 'let me in, let me help!' but, tonight, she buries this catch cry deep, knowing, both, that he'll never listen and that the rejection is more than she can bear.

"Bobby, come on, you should be in bed," Lindsay tenderly says.

"I need to shave," he mumbles, without looking up at her.

Placing her hand over his cheek, Lindsay lifts his face to hers as she decisively says, "It can wait until morning, what you need is sleep."

Pushing her hand away, Bobby stands abruptly and snaps, "What I need is to be clean!" He walks, angrily, to the basin, without acknowledging her further.

Although the violence of his action initially frightened her, Lindsay doesn't take long to see the bigger picture. From personal experience, she knows what it is like to want to scrub yourself raw to take the specter of another's hands off of you. She understands it is the symbolism of the act that Bobby requires now more than the act itself. She watches the shake of his hand as he reaches for the shaving cream, then quickly leaves the room, knowing as determined as Bobby is to complete this act, he cannot do it alone. Having seen her opportunity to help, she rushes to gather the necessary materials. When three minutes later, Lindsay returns carrying a kitchen chair, she finds a despondent Bobby leaning heavily against the basin with his cheek resting on his arm.

Without looking up, he merely utters dejectedly, "I can't."

"I know," Lindsay sighs, running her hand over his back. "I'm here," she adds, and gently grasping his shoulder, directs him to stand. When he complies, Lindsay guides him to sit in the chair. Taking the razor from his hand, she says, "Let me." Seeing reluctant acquiescence, she smiles genially, then placing the razor onto the basin, turns and wipes away the cream that had rubbed off onto Bobby's arms. When he's clean again, she reapplies a fresh layer to his face. Being this close, she can't help noticing how Bobby's eyes stand out against the now white contours of his face. They're so full of pain, fear and dejection that they frighten her. She's never seen him look like this before.

In the past, she's held him while he cried, seen him afraid, concerned, nervous, tired and even angry. She's seen a myriad of emotions all reflected in his eyes, but what surprises and worries her about tonight's look, is the resignation she sees. Bobby has never been the type to give up before. His face, his arms, wrists, chest and abdomen, all show signs of physical damage. The attestation of what he's been through horrifies her, but strangely, doesn't distress her anywhere near as much as what she sees in his eyes. Cuts and bruising will heal and fade. In no time at all, the physical evidence of today's ordeal will vanish, but one look into Bobby's once vibrant eyes and Lindsay knows the emotional impact has cut deeper. What on earth happened that it's hit Bobby so hard?

As she looks at him, she wonders where he is. Sure, his body is here before her but his mind is far away. He's so withdrawn that it scares her. His outburst earlier was the first he'd said to her since his mumbled, "I'm fine," at the scene. She knows he isn't fine; he's a long way from fine, which makes this whole experience even more harrowing for her. Having him back is a blessing; all she wants to do is smother him in her love as she celebrates his return. She wants to hold him close, reassure herself that, yes, he is here, he is safe, but so far this isn't what he has wanted. Since they've been home, Bobby's shied from her touch, not seeming to want any intrusions into his world, or his thoughts. His reticence leaves her suffering the constant battle between her needs and his. All night, she's ached for the chance to connect with him physically, to touch to her heart's content and for this reason, she can't help feeling relief at being allowed to touch him now. Relief at now having his permission, such as it is, to lay her hands on him as she shaves him.

Watching Bobby shave has always been one of Lindsay's secret pleasures. She's watched him often, cherishing the steely-eyed gaze he gives his reflection as each new stroke is determined, and the tilt of his face required for accessibility and assessment. His contemplation of himself is so complete; all else around him seems to disappear. At the same time, though, the ritual is so predetermined, thought seems unnecessary to him. It's a surreally erotic moment, a performance she gets lost in again and again, as its contradictions arouse her. Watching him shave, she longs to be those fine fingers as they test the smoothness of his skin, yearns to hang determinedly from his chin like the water he splashes over his face, wants to surround and soothe like the lucky towel he nuzzles into. It's a totally unguarded moment that she feels showcases more than any other, who Bobby really is. She adores watching him in motion, so quiet, so methodical, so beautiful. Tonight though, the ritual offers an even greater opportunity, it's time to put all she's learnt of him into practice. Tonight she gets to be him; his eyes, his hands, his reflection, him. The prospect excites her more than she feels is right, under the circumstances. Her momentary thrill is dampened, when anger with herself emerges for having felt pleasure. How can she rejoice over a situation in which he's hurting?

Lindsay can't help feeling that, in taking pleasure from this moment, she's betraying the trust Bobby's placed in her. She does feel pleasure, though, and try as she might she cannot temper it completely. She wants to apologize to him for loving every second, when she knows he's only tolerating her presence because he can't do it alone. She doesn't, though, for fear it will only add to his suffering. Instead, she takes a deep breath and focuses on doing for him what is needed, focusses on the quiet scrape of stubble meeting razor, hoping with each stroke she can help him heal. Lindsay tries hard to studiously ignore the sweet warmth of his breath washing over her face. The scent and heat of her lover as he fills all her senses is difficult not to become enraptured by, but she manages.

Intent on doing no further harm, she pushes those thoughts away, desperate to protect this man she loves so dearly from a single moment of pain. She continually reminds herself this is for him, not her. Don't linger and enjoy, move on, get it done, don't make it worse for him. Gently, she moves his face to give herself a better angle, quietly telling him what she needs him to do, hoping her words can soothe when her touch doesn't. Appraising his skin with her fingers, she rinses the blade between each stroke and tries not to think of the eyes that closed the moment she came near.

Halfway through, she pauses, lays the razor on the side of the basin and straightens up. Twisting her neck from side to side, she tries to lose the kinks gathered there, while she massages the ache rising in her lower back. Normally, this type of activity wouldn't be difficult, but having spent the better part of the day standing in the biting wind, her body is now suffering the aftereffects. As she had waited, her eyes desperately trying to see through the walls of the house, no thought had been given to her own comfort. At the time, the chill hadn't been felt at all, no, nothing but Bobby had entered her mind then. The desire to know that her man was safe, was alive, was coming home to her, had been all encompassing. When Lindsay had seen him stumbling towards her, disheveled and disorientated, exquisitely magnificent, she had finally allowed her own needs to surface again, and ran to him. Newfound joy had overtaken fear and no pain was felt. Her body now punishes her for her prior neglect. She feels the chill now and knows that she too needs a hot shower to relieve muscles screaming in agony.

If it was only her own pain that troubled her, she'd continue unabated. Bobby needs this and nothing would stop her from doing it for him. It's his safety that concerns her most. The exertion of continually ignoring her exhausted body has brought a tremor to her hands that is unacceptable; no nicks will occur to Bobby's skin under her watch. Lindsay's left with only one option and she knows Bobby's going to hate it.

"Bobby?" she whispers, her hand slipping behind his neck to softly caress there. When his eyes open to her, she apologetically smiles at him, keeping from him the truth that she's hurting, she says, "I can't reach properly..." Rubbing his thigh softly with her free hand, she suggests, "It might be safer if I sit?"

Bobby nods and as she moves out of the V of his legs, he draws them together to create a place for her. She lowers herself down, reaches for the razor again and looks back at him. "Sorry," she says again, tears almost fall from her eyes when his hand raises to brush acceptingly against her cheek. It's the first sign that her Bobby is in there and struggling to resurface. Afraid of what he'll see in her face, afraid of scaring him away again, she tilts his chin up to expose the underside of his jaw and lowers her eyes to her task. Bobby's hands rise to rest on her hips, holding her steady. Lindsay draws strength from the comfort of that tiny action, resolve from the warmth against her skin, and soon Bobby's face is nothing but silky smooth clean skin. Lindsay rises from his lap so he can rinse his face. As he does so, she runs her hand over his back and asks, "Can you please go to bed now?"

Bobby reaches back and takes the hand hanging by her side in his, gives it a light squeeze as he reaches for a towel. Lindsay takes that action to mean a 'yes' and informs him that she'll be there herself as soon as she's had a shower. Bobby lets go of her hand and Lindsay, refusing to allow his reticence to upset her, turns and takes the chair out of the bathroom. Having returned from the kitchen, Lindsay watches as Bobby, wearing a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, pulls on a T-shirt before walking towards their bed. He gives no indication that he's heard her enter the room as he reaches to pull back the bedcovers. Lindsay hurries to the bathroom and the sanctuary of the shower, before her resolve to give him time, wanes.

The events of the night run in a continuous loop through her mind and the water has little effect on her aching muscles. Lindsay fears the pain can only be relieved in the arms of the man she hopes will be sleeping when she next sees him. She's willing to sacrifice her chance at relief to see him getting the rest he needs. Caught in a mix of exhaustion, relief, fear and anger, she allows herself to cry. For so long today, she had forced her emotions back. Determined to believe that Bobby would be fine, she had been adamant that when he saw her again, she'd be the strong resilient woman he loves. All day, she fought herself so she could stay strong for him, but now, she lets herself be. As her emotions come rushing forth, her knees collapse under her and she sinks to the ground and sobs.

Her mind refuses to stop replaying the sound of the gunshots that she thought had taken Bobby's life. The sound that preceded him falling from view, leaving only splatters of blood on the wall where he'd stood. Her breath had been sucked out of her as she watched him go down and didn't return again until she saw him be pulled back upright. The joy of seeing him had overtaken all reason and she'd rushed to him. Needing to be in his arms, she'd flung herself at him. Being still shackled he'd staggered a little but she'd held on tight, determined nothing would tear him from her again. When his hands had been released, they'd found their way to her back. Although she'd barely noticed at the time, she feels them there now, lifeless, resting against her but making no effort to draw her closer. While she'd clutched at him desperately, he'd just been there. Her delight at being with him again had made her impervious to his torment, to his state of mind and to his needs. Lindsay now fears that that is the moment when she'd failed him. She'd thought only of herself when he'd most needed comfort from her, and, subsequently, she'd taken more from him than he'd had to give.

It wasn't until he was being led away by the paramedics that Lindsay had first noticed how docile Bobby was and had realized how little of him was actually there. His body may have left the building but she'd been unsure if his mind also had. She'd watched silently as they poked and prodded him to assess and patch his wounds. Had been surprised when he'd made no objection to their suggestion they take him to hospital for further evaluation, but then, he'd given little to no reaction to all of their comments so far. Most questions had to be asked two or three times before he'd begrudgingly reply. As it did at the time, his easy compliance continues to scare her now. Bobby has always stubbornly bounced right back into action. He gets hit by a car and goes straight back to work. He's always fine, always resilient. He hates fuss, attention, weakness. It's impossible to get him to go to a doctor and, yet, there he was willingly being hospitalized... Tonight, something has changed in him. Looking on it had appeared, to Lindsay, as if he didn't care anymore. She wonders now if he's lost his will to fight.

Traveling to the hospital had been a frustratingly silent journey for her. Bobby had made no effort to communicate with anyone as he'd lain on the gurney with his eyes closed and his arms crossed. The idea, that she may have been the one he was protecting himself from, had hurt her. Lindsay had wanted desperately to touch him, a touch as simple as taking his hand, anything, just to feel his life, to know he's safe but couldn't bring herself to risk being turned away. Having arrived, she had watched as they gave him a full work up to determine the extent of his injuries. Had watched his face, searched for some kind of emotion to manifest, or a hint that he wanted her there, but they never did.

She had left his room only after having seen Mike and Helen arrive. Her silence and composure had become too hard to bear. Having needed an outlet for all her pent up emotion, she had taken the opportunity to detonate by grilling them relentlessly on how this could have been allowed to happen. Her fury had only been quelled in the understanding arms of a beloved friend. Helen had held her, assured her that it was over, that it was okay to cry and that Bobby would be fine. Anger having had its release, Lindsay had then been able to collectedly listen to the details that had been gathered. Listening to Mike, she had heard with horror the witness's accounts of what had happened in that house, and with pride, Bobby's efforts in securing their release and an end to their horrendous situation.

Love had filled her heart until, almost bursting, she'd needed to see Bobby again. She'd silently turned from them to walk the short distance to his examination room. The doctor had met her in the doorway where he told her that he wanted to admit Bobby overnight. Panic had arisen at the news, brought on by, horror that she wouldn't get to take him home and fear that something was seriously wrong. Desperately, Lindsay had questioned them why. Her anxiety had barely been eased when they'd informed her that, physically, they were confident he was fine, his abdominal bruising was severe but they'd ruled out internal injuries, his ribs, though sore, were, at worst, sprained; what had them concerned was the fact that he was practically non-responsive. Although they didn't believe he'd suffered a head injury, they wanted to monitor him nonetheless. Informed that Bobby had refused to stay, they'd asked Lindsay to help convince him, but when she'd looked across at Bobby, she'd seen the plea in his eyes, 'Don't let them do this to me.'

It had been the first true communication they'd had, the first attempt by him to contact her, and she'd taken it as proof her Bobby was in there and needing only her love to bring him out. Turning back to the doctor she'd firmly said, "No! He just needs rest, he's tired and he just needs to go home. I'm taking him home, now!"

Lindsay had called for a cab, helped Bobby dress and bustled him out of the hospital before any further argument could be brooked. She'd refused the offer of a lift from Mike and Helen needing to be away from that world, needing no further reminder of the nightmare they'd been through. She'd wanted no connection to the night's events, believing if it was just them again, all would be right. That belief had sustained her as she refused to listen to any alternatives. It had driven her as she'd guided a subdued Bobby through the maze of onlookers and out to the waiting cab; had comforted her, as they'd traveled in silence, desperate to be home. Now, she wonders, if her decision had been right. Had her need to have him with her, been stronger than her wish to do what's best? Is she going to be able to help him or is she merely compounding his pain? How can she be what he needs when she has no idea what's the best thing to do?

Rising to her feet, Lindsay knows she's no help to him hiding out here. She quickly finishes her shower then dresses in preparation for bed. When she reenters the bedroom she's disappointed to note Bobby is watching the news. Of all the things he could be doing, surely hat is the worst. Climbing into bed beside him, she hopes to persuade him to turn the television off.

"Bobby," she tentatively says.

He doesn't look at her, merely continues to stare blankly at the screen as if she isn't even there. Lindsay sighs as her eyes close in frustration. She shakes her head slightly as she tries to decide what to do. When she hears one report end, and realizes the content of the next, her eyes reopen as she reaches for the remote that's lying on the mattress between them. She's raises it to turn the television off until Bobby says, "Leave it."

Pausing, she looks at him, "Bobby, you..."

"Leave it!" he repeats louder.

His tone of voice stops her and her arm lowers to the mattress. They sit in silence, watching, as the reporter tells of the night's ordeal. They watch, as she dispassionately tells of the horrific events that Lindsay will never forget. She relives with each word, the terror and heartbreak as gruesome memories wash over her. Looking across at Bobby, she tries to gauge what is going on in his mind, and cannot understand why he'd want to see this. What is he hoping to learn, to achieve, by putting himself through this? The moment the report ends, she turns off the television, then pauses as she realizes she has no idea what to say to him. How do you talk to someone who isn't prepared to listen?

"I did screw up his case," Bobby says dully, surprising Lindsay, both, with his words and the fact he spoke.

"Bobby!" Lindsay admonishes, angry at herself for not foreseeing Bobby accepting culpability so readily. She should have known him well enough to anticipate this, and if she'd thought more about him and less about her, she would have.

Almost dispassionately, Bobby states his case, his penitence evident in the fact that his eyes can't keep in contact with hers."I was right out of school then, taking three assignments at a clip, seventeen hours a day, trying to scratch ... I trusted the DA's then, they told me the guy was guilty, I'd believe them ... I probably did push that deal on him without even bothering to track down the witness ... took one look at his rap sheet and prejudged him ..."

Lindsay sees the pain as he admits, "And I doubt ... I doubt it was the only time."

She cannot understand how he can be so worried about his part in the case after what had occurred tonight. It seems almost trivial to her, in comparison to having almost lost his life and, without intention, she finds herself saying, "I thought I'd lost you." She's unable to disguise the emotion in her voice, and seeing a flash of sympathy and regret cross over Bobby's face, she knows she's merely added to his concerns.

When he tenderly says, "The whole time, all I could see was your face," her eyes begin to water.

Although she believes wholeheartedly in his declaration, she's saddened that, typically, he's trying to comfort her now, once again pushing his own needs away.

Thanking him for his words and sentiment, she kisses his cheek, then tells him, "It's over." The same notion she's been reminding herself of for hours, hoping he'll believe it, because one of them needs to.

"Your face..." Bobby whispers, and Lindsay can see the heartache in his eyes when they meet hers. She watches the world fall in on him as he looks away, then sighs, "all I can see now ... is his..." Bobby looks away, and Lindsay knows, words are poised on his tongue that he's afraid to say. As much as she wants to reassure him, she knows he's trying to talk, so waits patiently. The wait is long and uncomfortable, but finally he turns to her, and says, "I killed a man tonight, Lindsay."

Lindsay stares at him in disbelief, vowing, "God, Bobby, no." Then spurred into action, she grasps his hands, refusing to let him pull away, she insists, "You didn't." As her eyes hone in on his she desperately hopes to convey how sincerely she believes it.

Bobby shakes his head, mind made up he won't be refuted, "This is on me, twelve years sitting in jail ... twelve years of anger, building, because of me."

Lindsay can't let him continue to believe this and decides to hit him with the facts. "You didn't do this! ... Bobby, he agreed to take the deal, his choices put him in jail and that's what he couldn't live with. The anger you speak of, it was easier for him to blame you than to face the truth. He was angry at himself, because he chose this..."

"But the deal..." he interjects only to himself be interrupted.

"Bobby, Patrick Rooney had a list of priors longer than..."

"The last two years, he was clean."

Lindsay's concerned by the spark of pain she sees cross his face as he says these words. What's that got to do with anything, she thinks as she tells him, "Yes, but what I mean is, he knew the system." When Bobby doesn't interrupt her but looks at her with a tinge of hope, Lindsay clarifies further, "He wasn't a first timer without an idea of what he was getting himself into. Bobby, he'd been there before, he knew the system, knew what was likely to happen to him, knew his choices and weighing them up, chose to take the deal. Bobby, he chose this. It's on Rooney, not you."

When Bobby offers no response, Lindsay doesn't know what else to say to get through to him. She just knows she has to try something. She can't let Patrick Rooney continue to haunt him like this.

"Bobby, he was out of jail, he had his whole life ahead of him, he was still young enough to make something of himself, but, instead ... instead, he chose to become exactly what he'd claimed he wasn't. My God, Bobby, he had three people in that house; do you really think he was going to stop at killing you?"

Seeing the truth in that question hit home, she hopes to make him believe that he's the hero not the cause. "If anything, you saved lives tonight. Bobby, you got those others out. You tried to help him then and you tried to help him tonight too ... he didn't want help, he'd chosen this path already... it's on him. Please, don't let him hurt you anymore ... Bobby, please."

Lindsay isn't sure what else she can say to him. He's being eaten with guilt, she knows that, but for her, this moment is a miracle, a blessing and she can't feel his regret, because she can't deny the joy she feels just having him by her side. "Bobby," when he doesn't appear to hear her, she speaks louder, "Bobby, please!"

Bobby's eyes are lifeless and his face drained when he looks across at her. He nods, acknowledging that he's heard her words, but she knows his beliefs are hard to sway. "I just ... I can't help feeling this shouldn't have happened," he says, hoping she'll understand.

Lindsay knows he's stubborn, but she hates seeing him in pain, and just once she'd like it if he'd believe her. Determined that tonight is the night, Lindsay looks deeply into his eyes and brushing her fingers over his cheek, says, "You're right, Bobby, it shouldn't have. But what you need to accept is that it didn't happen because of anything you did or didn't do. You are not to blame."

"Okay," he replies, unconvincingly.

Lindsay looks at him, sees the devastation and exhaustion controlling his features, and decides that more than reflection or argument, he needs rest. Giving up, she softly says, "Please, please try and sleep, you're exhausted, you're still in shock and ... you really need to rest."

He hangs his head down as he sighs, "I don't think I can."

"Please, try."

With a nod, Bobby turns to switch the lamp off; as he lays down on his back, Lindsay can feel the tension emanating off of him and knows his mind isn't going to let him relax. Turning her own light off, Lindsay reaches across and draws him over until he's curled along her side, with his head resting on her chest. Laying on her back like this, with his weight on her, she knows she won't be able to sleep, but it always soothes him to be held this way and that's what's important now. With her fingers brushing through his hair, trying to ease his tension, she talks to him, softly, melodically, words of love and devotion. Although he burrows in even closer, gratefully accepts what she's offering, she can tell it isn't working. Whether it is because he's unwilling or unable, her exculpating words aren't enough to drown the doubts in his mind. In order for Bobby to sleep, Lindsay knows he needs to stop thinking about tonight, so she tries a different tactic.

"Bobby, can I ask you a question?"

She feels him nod as he hums a reply.

"What's your happiest memory?"

She hears a hint of annoyance when he asks, "What?"

"I want to know, Bobby, please. Tell me what makes you happy."

"You do," he quickly replies.

Unsure if the comment was an attempt to end the conversation or not, Lindsay takes it at face value, and placing a soft kiss to the top of his head, whispers, "Thank you." Rubbing her hands softly across his back, she adds, "Bobby, please try. Please tell me about a moment when you were truly happy."

"Okay," he sighs and Lindsay has to fight a triumphant smile that wants to arise.

She doesn't want to let her pleasure at her victory show, because she doesn't want to alienate him, now that he appears to be cooperating. When she feels his tension begin to ease, Lindsay knows Bobby's distracted enough to be forgetting. His thumb begins circling over her skin and she smiles. When Bobby's mind is at work, his hands become jealous and want in on the action. While she tends to grind her jaw when she concentrates, Bobby fidgets. The tapping he sometimes resorts to can get on her nerves, especially if she's trying to think, but she quite enjoys this manifestation of his habit. Lindsay allows him to think in silence, pleased that this ploy appears to be working.

Eventually he says, "I have three."

"And?" Lindsay asks, amused, when he doesn't offer any elaboration.

Bobby moves up the bed until he's lying with his head on her pillow beside hers. He waits until she rolls to her side to look at him before speaking. Lindsay's pleased to see him smile at her and offers him one in return. Bobby reaches for her hand, traces the ring on her finger with his lips as he says, "One is when you said 'yes.' I'd been so scared of losing you, Linds, then I was terrified you'd say no, but you didn't, and ... knowing that we'd be together for life, that you wanted me ... it was the most incredible feeling."

Lindsay feels tears rising and pushes them away, this moment is for Bobby and she won't let her own emotions get in the way. She wants to hear more and won't do anything that may cause him to stop talking. She concentrates on the beauty of what he's saying and hopes that that will help tone down her memories of today. Help her forget the moments when she'd feared that he was dead. Bobby looks at her and she realizes that she's given him no response to his admission. Lindsay knows her voice would betray her now, so, silently, she rises on her elbow as she leans towards him for a tender kiss. That he returns it delights her, as it's the first sign she's had that his walls of despair and self loathing may be crumbling and he's returning to her. As wonderful as kissing him feels, Lindsay doesn't indulge in the sensation to excess, because as ready as she is to lose herself in his body, she's more concerned with his exhaustion and getting him to rest.

She lays her head back on the pillow. Smiles at him and asks, "What's the second?"

"The second would be when I received my acceptance letter from Oz."

Just as when he spoke of their engagement, Lindsay can read the emotion on Bobby's face. The pride and hope is reflected there as he talks of it.

"I'd dreamed about working for him, but never actually believed he'd chose me. Not when every graduate would have given anything for such an opportunity. I was stunned. Even though he could have had anyone, he chose me."

"He made the right choice, Bobby."

Bobby reaches out and rubs her arm, a tender smile graces his face as he says, "You're biased."

"I know," Lindsay laughs, softly, then with a mischievous grin, teases, "And so is he, so it wasn't like you had to compete against any Harvard graduates."

"That's true," Bobby chuckles, then reminiscing again, says, "I knew I'd learn more from him in a week then I'd ever learnt in college. I stood there and read the letter easily ten times and each time my dream got bigger. I'd had doubts in law school, about ... well, a lot of things really, but this ... it made me believe in myself more than I ever had before. The great Oz believed in me, that had to mean something. It was like a light bulb was turned on and suddenly my future was clear. I fully believed that it was the first step on the road to success, to glory ... what a fool, hey? I had no idea what was down that road, no idea it would be paved with the lives of those I'd screw over."

Bobby's change of direction is so sudden Lindsay is taken by surprise. She sees him falling back into the melancholy of the night. Moving closer to him, holding his face with her hands, she desperately pleads, "The third? Bobby, what is the third?"

Bobby closes his eyes and nods. Understanding the plea behind her words, he allows the pleasure of the next memory to suppress his recurring remorse. When his eyes reopen, he looks at her with such intensity that she feels irrationally nervous. She'd ask him to speak to her, but her throat's become blocked and her mouth's gone dry. She watches him with trepidation until he speaks again.

"The third, and possibly my most relived moment, happened the first time we made love."

Lindsay takes a gasping breath and expels it on a whispered, "Bobby!"

Bobby smiles as he asks, "Have you any idea how often I've replayed that night in my mind?" When she answers with a shake of her head, he says, "It was incredible, Linds, so unexpected." Lindsay looks away, so Bobby reaches out and turns her face back to his, "Unexpected, not unwanted!"

She smiles and holds onto his wrists as he continues to stroke her face, "I wanted you, Lindsay, I'd wanted you for a long time, I just ... I'd just never considered you might ... that we could ... and then suddenly there we were, and what I'd been craving was in my arms and ... God, it was unbelievable. I was so happy, I had no idea things would get complicated, I just knew I wanted to be with you, and thought this was the beginning. I truly believed we'd go on from there and I let myself get lost in the moment, I didn't think, just let myself go."

Bobby pauses and looks at Lindsay, one hand holds hers while the other brushes the hair from her face. "I remember your eyes, how we watched each other, couldn't tear our eyes from each other. It felt incredible and I knew you were getting close, I could see it ... I could feel it ... and then you tilted your chin up, your eyes slowly drifted shut and I watched it take over you. I watched your face, in the space of seconds, change expressions a thousand times, each one more amazing than the last. Then you held me tighter, your back arched as you rose to meet me, your eyes flew open and you breathed out my name. The look on your face at that moment, the way you looked at me with wonder, with joy even, I'd never seen anything like it before. I was lost the moment you looked at me like that, your face pushed me over the edge completely, I was so sure you loved me then and I was ecstatic. I never knew I could be that happy, and, God, it felt amazing!"

"I did love you," she whispers, rendered practically speechless but needing to assure him of that.

The hand that had been smoothing her hair, moves across her shoulder to rub along her arm. "I know. Your face told me so, that look ... that's given me strength so many times since."

"Today?" Lindsay asks and Bobby smiles. "When you saw my face..." He nods. "... that ... that's what you were seeing?"

With a drawn out, husky voice, he answers, "Yeah."

Lindsay looks at him in amazement. Her head begins to shake slightly, and unbidden, tears pool. Bobby's smile drops seeing this, with a sigh, he begins to apologize, "I'm sorry ... Linds, I'm so sorry," he whispers.

"No!" Lindsay interrupts him. "Bobby, no, it's okay, it's beautiful... it's just that..."

"What?" he asks, when she pauses.

"I used to wonder... I wondered if ... if things would have been better for us, if ..."

"If what?" he asks, his voice harsh and unable to disguise that he's feeling hurt.

Lindsay caresses his face, her eyes assuring him while she composes her words. "I never regretted that night, Bobby, please don't think that." When he smiles and nods, she adds, "But ... I've always wondered, would we have gotten to where we are now sooner if it hadn't happened, if we'd waited until we were ready, instead of rushing things."

"Maybe we needed to do it the long way, as long as we're here now, does it matter?"

"No, it isn't that ... it's just I ... I used to imagine different first times for us, different scenarios, for so long I've wished we'd done things differently ... I had no idea you ... your memory, Bobby, it surprised me ... I didn't know what it had meant to you ... I would have taken that memory from you, Bobby, and I'm sorry for that."

He brushes a tear off of her cheek. "Hey, no, no, you wouldn't have, because no matter when..." he frames her face with his hands "...you still have this face. That night isn't the only time you've looked at me like that Lindsay, I'll just never forget the way I felt the first time I saw it. The situation could change, but you'd still have this face, no one can take this from me, not even you."

Lindsay smiles solemnly at him. With his thumbs still softly brushing her cheek, he slowly lowers his mouth to hers. Their lips tenderly touch, then part. Foreheads meet and rest together, their eyes remain closed as they absorb the essence of each other, hopeful their mere presence is a balm to the other's pain. Lindsay is grateful for the distance Bobby has come, but still having an objective in mind, she again tries to set it in place.

After a long still silence, she asks, "Bobby, do you think you can sleep now?"

Pulling out of their embrace, Bobby huffs a laugh before laying on his back and mumbling, "Yeah."

She watches him, unsure how to gauge his present mood until he looks over and beckons for her to join him. Shuffling over, she lays against his side; resting her head against him, she runs her hand over his chest and asks, "You sure this is okay, you sure I'm not hurting you?"

"It feels great," he assures her.

Lindsay smiles at that, 'great' doesn't come anywhere close to describing how this feels for her, no words possibly could. She knows Bobby still has a long way to go, but she's confident now in her ability to help him. "I'm here," she whispers, "If you need me, wake me."

"Mmm hmm," Bobby hums, as his arms slides tighter around her waist and his lips press softly against her head.

They lay there, a tangle of limbs, exhausted but, ironically, beyond sleep. Finally frustrated, Bobby sighs and asks, "Lindsay, what's your happiest memory?"

"Bobby, not now, please try and sleep," she says, softly.

"Lindsay, I showed you mine," he says as his fingers tickle down her spine, "Now pay up." Although she smiles at his attempt to joke, when she raises on her elbow to look at him, he sees the action never reaches her eyes, and he asks, "Lindsay, what's wrong?"

"Not tonight, Bobby," she states.

"C'mon," he whines, playfully.

"Please, don't make me say it," Lindsay pleads and he sees pain flash across her face.

"Why not?" he asks, serious again now.

"Because I don't want to hurt you," she declares, her adamance evident in her tone.

Bobby pauses, surprised by her answer, then asks, "Lindsay, how can your happiness hurt me?"

"Bobby, please!" she begs, but to no avail.

"Tell me," he insists.

Realizing she's only agitating him, making sleep even less likely, Lindsay relents. She knows him well enough to know, curiosity peaked, he isn't going to let this go until he hears what she has to say. Briefly, she considers lying to him, making up something to satisfy him, so hopefully he can relax enough to sleep, but when she looks at him, she knows she can't do that. He's been hurt enough already today, and she won't compound it with being dishonest now. Bobby deserves better than that. Total honesty is her only option, so taking a steadying breath she says, "It happened tonight, Bobby, so for obvious reasons I'd rather we didn't talk about it now." Seeing him about to comment, she quickly adds, "The last thing you need is a reminder of ... Please, can we not do this now?"

"It's okay, tell me, I want to know."

"Bobby!" Lindsay feels frustration rise, first she couldn't get him to talk and now he won't stop. His next words surprise her.

"Lindsay, maybe I need to talk about it."

Hearing him say the words she'd once shouted in desperation at him, stuns her into silence. She remembers well the agony of being unable to talk to him while in the midst of her own trauma and is horrified she may be causing him the same pain. Sitting up straight, she looks at him laying beside her, sees only sincerity in his eyes as he looks back at her and knows the words weren't spoken merely as a ploy.

"Do you ... do you need to talk about it?" she asks.

"Maybe," he replies thoughtfully, "I know I need to sleep, I know physically this is probably the worst time to do this, but Lindsay ... we're not sleeping, it's on both of our minds anyway ... maybe, maybe I need to talk about it."

Lindsay nods, she's still unsure it is what's best but is willing to concede his point. The Bobby before her now, is a far cry from the Bobby she'd brought home from the hospital. She can't deny talking has obviously helped him so far, so maybe he does need to continue talking this through tonight. She has no doubt that he'll be insisting on going to work in the morning, and decides that in order to be himself again tomorrow, maybe he needs to deal with it all now. He's worked often enough on little to no sleep before. Exhaustion is an old friend to him, so, maybe, more than rest, what he needs is an emotional outlet to find himself again. She doesn't want it, is a little afraid of it but tonight isn't about her, it's about helping Bobby in whatever way she can. If he wants to talk, she'll talk.

"Okay," Lindsay sighs, "Okay"

She lies back down and stares up at the ceiling, wondering how to explain what she's going through. Bobby waits patiently, knowing that, once her word has been given, she'll see it through.

"I..." she begins softly, but stops and sighs loudly. Rolling to face him, she says, "I thought you were dead." She makes no effort to control the tears that begin to fall, knowing her emotions are so strong, any attempt at containment would be futile. "It wasn't just the one time either, so many times today I was confronted with ... with the knowledge, the fact ... that you may not come home. Then each time we'd get news you were alive and I'd want to feel joy, I really did, but I was afraid to. I was afraid of celebrating too soon, what if I was happy the moment you died?"

Bobby's eyes close, then open again as his hand rises to wipe her tears away. Lindsay smiles at his gesture, and with a little laugh, sniffs, realizing that it has only caused the tears to fall even more. Sensing this, Bobby moves his hand until it it's holding hers instead, and encourages her to speak.

"I mean, realistically, I had to admit Ellenor was right," Lindsay begins, but the expression on his face reminds her he has no idea what Ellenor had said, clarifying, she repeats Ellenor's sentiment when she says, "How often do revenge situations end well?"

Bobby winces at Ellenor's lack of tact and Lindsay nods her understanding, before continuing, "He'd made no demands for money Bobby, so obviously we knew his intent ... I tried telling myself it wouldn't happen but couldn't help fearing it already had. Then we found you. I stood outside that house knowing how close you were, but unable to do a thing for you. I saw you for such a brief moment, you were hurt, that was obvious and I was so afraid, and then ... then hostages were released but you stayed, and ... and then there were gunshots. We didn't know ... you could have been wounded ... or maybe he'd killed you then killed himself or ... who knows, but I thought, I thought for sure he'd killed you."

The tears fall too heavily for her to continue. She hates reliving this but is determined, now, to do it. Bobby pulls her into his arms, she hears his whispered apology and shaking her head pushes him away. This is nothing he needs to apologize for and she needs him to know that. Looking at him, she knows that he's about to tell her to forget it and that he doesn't need to hear this, so she places her fingers on his lips, stilling his words. "It's okay, I want to do this," she says, before taking a deep breath to help compose herself.

When ready she says, "The mood outside after that gunshot was so strange, it was panic and confusion but in such a controlled and silent way. I tried to get too you but they pulled me back. Everything became so still, I could hear Mike calling out to Rooney and his words, they just seemed so perverse. How could he be so calm, when you were lying in there, possibly dying or ... or worse? I wanted to scream but there was nothing in me to let out. Then, you walked out with a gun to your head. I couldn't watch Bobby, I couldn't watch him take your life but I couldn't look away either. How could I not love you for every second we had left? Once again I knew you were alive, but for how long? I prayed you could feel me there, prayed you ... as crazy as this seems, I prayed you were okay, weren't scared, because I didn't want fear to be the last sensation you ever experienced."

"I felt it Linds, I knew you were there but I wished you weren't. I didn't want you to see that. I didn't want you so afraid."

They draw into each other's arms as Lindsay says, "I begged him to let you go but he wouldn't and then ... then, the count down began ... there was a gunshot and you fell from my sight. Bobby, so many times today I'd believed you dead only to have you emerge alive. I feared you'd run out of lives and this time ... this time you were gone. Time stopped for me when you fell, Bobby, my life stopped too. I could feel this hollow darkness spreading over me, felt it sucking me in and the only thing that stopped me sinking completely, was my refusal to accept you'd leave, that the last words I'd ever say to you would be spoken in irritation. It was like ... like a tunnel vision. The only thing I could see was the spot were I'd last seen your face and then suddenly you were there again."

Lindsay smiles and Bobby can see in her eyes the absolute elation of that moment.

"I saw you rising, you were dragged upwards then left staggering in the brightness and you were the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen. I didn't think I just ran to you. I needed to hold you. The sound, the light, the life of the world came crashing back into me but I pushed it away interested only in being with you. Hearing you, seeing you, feeling you in my arms. That moment, Bobby, that moment when you returned to me, I'll never forget it and I'll never know one greater. Every moment and every second since has been agonizing bliss. I'm overjoyed, for a moment it was lost but then I had my world handed back to me. It's hard, though, because I can't give in to the joy, it isn't right, it isn't what you need."

"Hey, yes it is, Lindsay I want to see you happy. I do! Enough of these," he wipes the tears from her face, so she reaches out and wipes his away too. They smile at one another as they lay there, in silence, regrouping.

Eventually, Lindsay says, "I know tomorrow I'll be seeing things more rationally, and my happiness may even be sucked out by anger, so in truth this is the happiest night of my life and I'm letting it pass me by ... but I don't mind, Bobby. I don't need to celebrate now because I know every future moment will be tainted by today. I know the horror I felt at losing you and I know the gift of having you return and I will never forget either of them. I won't take tomorrow for granted, I'll start living every second, I'll tell you that I love you and I'll make sure we never part angry again because I know now that each moment together could be our last. We've been given a second chance, Bobby. I'm going to do it right this time. I am!"

"What were we fighting about?" Bobby asks, and Lindsay laughs when she realizes he genuinely doesn't remember.

"Wedding invitations," she sighs at the innocuousness of it. Bobby's face takes on a you're-kidding look, to which she sheepishly nods.

"I promise you," Bobby says as he leans his forehead against hers, "We'll never fight about wedding invitations again."

"Deal," Lindsay sighs.

Their lips meet and linger tenderly. The act, so adored by both, makes Bobby takes her into his arms. Choked with emotion, they lack the capacity for words, instead, they sink into one another. They hold each other so tight that breathing is difficult, but a lesser grip may allow the other to slip away. Their vaults opened their bodies succumb to the emotions of the day. They express their fears and desires, regrets and joys with every heartfelt kiss until exhaustion steals consciousness away. A tangle of arms and legs, they hold one another as they sleep. Bobby's lips rest against Lindsay's temple, while hers hover against his neck, their intent to kiss and to comfort is barely relinquished by sleep and reawakened whenever restlessness returns. Throughout the night, they stir, they soothe, they shift, they hold, they sleep; again and again, clinging tight, they carry each other through the torment until night turns into day.