I realize I have something like four other fics I'm in the midst of, but bear with me.. I can't argue with my muse, and she was feeling snarky today.

Bobby's vision blurred. Before him stood two Alex Eames.' Two, beautiful, amazing wonderful Alex's. She sighed, and pulled him into her apartment.

"How does a man of your stature wind up so thoroughly drunk only two hours after getting off work?"

"It's a plot device. And... I'm committed."

"I see that." She looked at him. He was drunk, and a bit disheveled. "Come on then, let's get you to bed."

He stood before her obediently, letting her small fingers unbutton his shirt, sliding lightly down his chest. He had tried to unbutton it himself, but failed. She pushed his shirt over his shoulders, where it fell to the floor with a soft whisper. As she reached for his belt with the resignation of a care-taker, a patient friend looking out for her drunken partner, he grabbed her wrist.

"Sorry.." She murmured, blushing slightly.

He slid his warm hands up her arms, letting them drop to her waist. He moved closer to her, his fingers finding the hem of her shirt, and slid under it. She gasped, and looked up at him.

"Bobby, I.."

"Shh.." He kissed her, gently at first. As she raised her arms to let him slide her shirt off, and encircle his neck, the kiss became more passionate.

They both groaned when her cell phone rang loudly.

It was an ugly case, and Goren suspected the killer was still in the building. As they went to investigate, the vicious landlord cornered Goren, demanding a warrant and other such documentation. Eames snuck off to search the building, illegally. As she entererd one apartment, she held her gun in front of her. She checked each room carefully, but failed to realize her suspect was hiding in an unknowable location. As she turned to call for Goren, he was on her. The gun went off, and he kicked it across the room.

Downstairs, Goren jumped and began ascending the stairs two at a time (the elevator was out of order). By the time he found her, it was too late.

"Miss. Eames... I'm afraid I have some bad news."

She woke in a hospital room, a young doctor looking down at her with mock concern.

"Fortunately, you're alive. After suffering such a heinous attack... rape, being shot, then beaten, all in the incredibly short space of time before your devoted partner found you... well, it's almost a miracle you're still here. Especially because your partner was so overcome by emotion that instead of calling for a bus, which might have given us the time needed to save your left arm, or even going after the perp, or... calling for back up, he just held you in his arms and screamed helplessly, blaming God and the like for his and your suffering... I'm sorry, I digress," He smiled patiently at her, and she watched him in horror.

"What... what happened? My left arm? Bobby... what do you mean, he didn't call for a bus?"

"We think he was on crack at the time."

"Crack!" She tried to sit up, but a bolt of pain shot through her. "Bobby's not on drugs!"

"Look, this is a really difficult day for you, being raped, having your arm amputated, your partner checking out ... you should get some rest."

"No, no, wait!" She grimaced and tried to cross her arms, but only one moved.. she looked down to realize her left arm was indeed missing. "Where is he.. where's Bobby?"

"He's been waiting outside. He hasn't slept since you came in here. He blames himself."

"Can you send him in?"

"Of course."

"I can't believe this.. I don't understand what happened. Eames... why did we split up? How did you miss there was a perp hiding in the room, waiting to attack you? It was a comedy of horrible errors. I just don't understand." He groaned and hung his head, a silent sob shaking his big shoulders.

"I don't know." Eames was quiet. "Something's not right about all of this. Bobby.. we're great cops. Well, I am, anyway. Let's be honest, you aren't exactly good at procedure."

"Fair enough, but I would have called for a fucking bus.."

"That's not what I mean." She stared at him, hard. "Look, we're New York's finest Detectives. Never lost a case. Some punk can't just do this.. I mean, what are the odds that I'd get shot, raped, and have my arm amputated? I mean, that's just.. that's just crazy!"

"It is a bit far fetched." He frowned and looked at her. "Are you.. are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"What do you think I'm suggesting?"

"I think we're in a crackfic, Eames." He watched her sadly. "I can't believe this..." He shook his head, then suddenly slammed his fist against the table, a satisfying metallic bang resounding through the room making Eames jump.

"A crackfic?" She shook her head, confusion apparent on her pretty features. "What.."

"A crackfic, Eames." He stared at her intensely. "It's what happens to good characters when bad writers decide to come up with a story. We're good characters, damn it! This would never happen to us. Ever. I can't believe this..." He shook his head and turned away from her.

"Wait, wait... wait a minute, Bobby. Sit down, okay? Just sit with me. This is a really difficult time, I know, and the doctor told me that you're taking this really hard, blaming yourself and everything, he even said something about drugs.."

"I'm not on drugs! Whoever is writing this fic must be on drugs!"

"Fic? Bobby.."

"FanFiction, Eames! God damn it!" He bellowed, pacing her hospital room.

"Would you please make sense?" Panic was beginning to rise in her, and tears pricked her eyes. Her partner was finally losing it. It was all so much, it would push anyone over the edge... but Goren was already so close to it.

"Alex, listen to me." His eyes filled with compassion, and he knelt next to her bed, taking her hand in his. "We have to get out of this fic. I don't know how, I don't know.." He shook his head. "I'm not sure how to do it. I ... I just know we have to try."

To be continued?