Author's Note: I own none of the recognizable characters, except Lottie Van Zant, who is mine. Recognizable characters belong to Dick Wolf and NBCUniversal, and I promise to put them back when I'm done.

This starts between "Untethered" and "Purgatory", trying to explain what exactly Bobby was doing those five months he was on suspension.

This is also my first attempt at writing a serious original character in, oh, ten years? Just as a warning.

He saw her sitting in a corner booth all alone, quietly sipping her rum and coke. She was dressed for a night on the town, a silk halter dress with white and black stripes, hair artfully styled to look un-styled, and evening makeup.

Everything about the way she looks says "Hot Date", except her behavior. Sitting in the corner booth, more focused on what she's writing or drawing in her notebook--

-- and him.

Brown eyes flick up, nose thinning as she studies him again, pen bouncing on the table top. She takes another drink before returning her attention to the battered notebook. In a few minutes though, her eyes will be back on him.

He should just go on ignoring her, keep his eyes on his drink and on the Knicks game playing silently on the TV.

Except that the Knicks are losing again and his drink isn't that interesting. Anyway, she started it, staring at him.

She sees him moving towards him, and while she looks a little embarrassed she isn't making an "OH GOD GO AWAY" face, either.

He leans over the table, peering at the contents of the notebook that seem to have her so fascinated. Her fingers tense, wanting to pull the book to her chest, but she fights the urge. He would understand if she did, a total stranger is looking into her private scribblings--

Except that one of those scribblings is a shaky pen sketch of him, sitting at the bar. It's hesitant, lots of little scratches instead of long smooth strokes, the perspective and proportion is off (his nose isn't that long and she can't see that part of his face from her seat), but a sense of loneliness is clearly conveyed. Was it that obvious?

"I'm sorry…" she says softly, pulling her notebook towards her, shooting him an apologetic half-smile. "You looked interesting… I was bored." She shrugs inelegantly, looking at him through her bangs.

"Waiting for a date?"

"Why, do I look desperate?" A smirk. "The only date I have tonight is with my notebook."

"I thought--" he gestured to her clothes vaguely.

"It's called compensatory dressing--"

"-- dressing nice because you feel bad?"

A grin lights up her face, eyes sparkling.

"Well, a man who understands the psychology of women's clothing, I am impressed." She leans back against the booth, eyes looking him over in a much more aggressive fashion. "So what has you sitting all alone at a bar on a Friday night--"

"Bobby."

"Lottie," She smiles again, gesturing for him to take a seat.

"No particular reason…"

She sips her drink thoughtfully, twirling the fountain pen in her fingers.

"So what do you do for a living, Bobby?"

"I'm a-- a detective. And you? Sketching unaware bar patrons not included…"

"Officially, personal care assistant. Unofficially, out of work actress and amateur writer. Typical NYC transplant."

"Where are you from originally then? Your accent isn't east coast…"

"Alaska originally, raised in a little mountain town, or at least that's what I'm supposed to tell people. I lived in an igloo and have a pet polar bear named Mishka, a husky named Balto, and we raised penguins for food." She says casually, but there's a mischievous glint in her dark brown eyes, much like the one Alex gets… he can't dwell on that now. Thinking about work hurts…

"Penguins live in Antarctica, not in the arctic…" He smirks and takes a sip of his drink, calling her out.

"Oooh, I'll have to call my family and tell them that I actually found an outsider, and an outsider from the east coast no less, who knows something about Alaska… normally people believe me."

"Out--outsider? That's an interesting term…"

"We don' like you outsiders tellin' us what to do…" She says in a hick voice, aiming an imaginary shotgun at him, before snickering. "So have you ever been to Alaska?"

"No but, I rea-read about it, and doesn't everyone know that penguins live in the Antarctic?"

"You'd be surprised," she drawls, raising an eyebrow before taking a sip of her drink. "So are you a native?"

That was the start of a rather interesting hour long conversation that started on growing up in Brooklyn, then moved to libraries, then the function of libraries in the digital age, then all the information one could find on the internet, then a brief debate over the role of Senator Ted Stevens in modern politics.

"Shit, I've got to get up early tomorrow…" Lottie said, glancing at her watch, biting her bottom lip for a second before looking up at him. "It's been nice talking to you, Bobby."

She quickly collected her purse and the notebook that had started it all, leaving a twenty to cover the cost of her final rum and coke and a generous tip. As he finished off his scotch he knew it was time he should be heading home too…

To an empty apartment, and it's not as if there's a reason to be up tomorrow morning…

"I—I shouldn't be doing this," Glancing up from the tabletop he saw that Lottie had returned, fidgeting nervously with her notebook. "Looks too desperate, according to -- well, I had a good time tonight, and I think you did too. You look like you needed a good time, and…" She tore off a strip of paper from her notebook, sliding it across the table to him. "If you ever want some distraction…" She shrugged. "Call me, I'm rarely busy after six…"

With that, Lottie walked out of the bar, leaving behind her number…

He was tempted to throw it away… except that it would be nice to have something to look forward to besides another session with Dr. Olivet and counting down the days until the end of his suspension.

He hadn't called her immediately, but after two and a half weeks of sitting in his apartment faced with the prospect of choosing between reruns and reality television again… When would this writers' strike be over? He'd broken down and called. It would be good to get out, she'd offered, and it never hurt to make a new friend…

He'd been faintly surprised that she'd so readily agreed to meet up with him, considering how long it took for him to call her back. A week, maybe, was forgivable…

She's agreed though, and it would be nice to go out with someone who wouldn't look at him and worry about how he was coping with his suspension. She hadn't noticed, or hadn't questioned his hesitancy when she asked what his job was. She didn't seem like she had a cop fetish either; he knew some guys that were alright with that, but it had always been mildly disturbing to him.

He'd dated once or twice since his mother died, but none of them had gone past the second date. Perhaps he should try again… If she was even interested in him in that way…

Their second meeting was spent at a small art gallery, puzzling out the symbolism of the artist's use of dried macaroni and paint. Another night meeting up in a jazz bar, then quickly leaving after three minutes of off-key shrieking from the saxophonist. They'd wound up at an all night diner drinking coffee and trading tales of misspent youth.

Their third date was spent in a used bookstore in his neighborhood, looking through the haphazard stacks spilling from the shelves.

"You're kidding me! A copy of The Black Tulip," Lottie exclaimed, climbing on top of a crate, fingers stretching to reach the small, worn book on the top shelf.

He stepped up behind her, standing on a crate may have brought them eye to eye, but his arms were still longer than hers. He gently tugged the book free, trying not to brush too close against her and invade her personal space…

She turns so fast he hardly has time to realize that's she's moved, let alone prepare for her to kiss him. It's light, and questioning, but before he has a chance to return the favor she pulled away.

"Oh god… just friends again," she blushes and looks away, running her fingers through her hair. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I was-- Well I do know what I was thinking, but-- I'm sorry, I made this awkward. It's okay, you don't feel-- Fuck." She let out and loud sigh. "I'll just go…"

She made to step down, but he grabbed her arm just in time.

"Why me?"

She gave a one shouldered shrug, throwing her hair over her shoulder, tilting her head and looking at him with amusement.

"Like I said that first night, you're interesting. You're a nice guy, and you can follow my leaps in conversation. You don't look at me like I'm crazy when I pull out a bit of useless trivia. Odds are good," She smiled brightly, reaching out and teasing a lock of his hair between her fingers. "Besides, I like curly hair."

"I--I've got a lot of--"

"Baggage? Good thing I used to work at an airline."

His frustration must have shown on his face, because she sighed again.

"Look, I get it, you've got baggage. Thanks for the warning. If I let a little thing like 'baggage' get in the way of every potential relationship you'd have to arrest me for statutory rape. Worry about yourself, I should let you know that the terrible jokes only get worse the longer we know one another." Her face became solemn suddenly, her dark eyes looking deeply into his own. "I like you-- a lot. Let's try and see if our luggage sets match."

"I-it's been awhile, since…"

"Me too. We can take it slow, it's not as if I'm beating them back with a stick either."

"Alright…"

Then he kissed her tentatively, a small part of him still shocked when she returns it gently.

They did take it slowly, it was almost like being back in high school: they held hands, went to the movies, and occasionally made out in his car. He wondered how long it would last; a lot of women said they could take it slow, but eventually they got impatient and wanted more.

He'd been about to suggest that she come spend the night at his apartment when Stoat approached him, and any plans he had were quickly thrown out the window.

He couldn't imagine Lottie being any more thrilled than Eames was about being kept in the dark about his whereabouts. She probably thought he'd found some other woman or lost interest, he couldn't blame her either.

He thought about postponing calling her after Eames' blistering lecture, but he might as well get it over so he could lick all his wounds at once. So after a scotch to fortify his courage he called her.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"How did you--"

"Caller ID, now where the hell have you been? I called you three times this week and you never called back."

"I—I--" He sighed. This wasn't going exactly how he'd planned… but what in the last year had? "Can you come over, what I have to say… I can't say over the phone."

There was silence over the line for several long moments, and he worried she'd hang up on him.

"You'd better not have a terminal disease. Fine, I'm coming over."

He gave her the address, and decided to kill time during the half-hour wait by straightening up his apartment. Empty Chinese takeout boxes and dirty glasses were hardly the first impression he wanted her to have of his apartment.

The time still passed slowly, it seemed like ages before the speaker buzzed and he could punch her through. Another short eternity before he heard footsteps in the hall…

She looked at him skeptically, looking him over head to toe.

"So what gives?"

He almost let out a sigh of relief, he'd get a chance to explain this time. Not that he blamed Eames, but he would've liked to at least get the opportunity to apologize for and explain his sudden disappearance to Lottie. It'd probably be a good practice before apologizing to Eames again.

"D-do you want to come in?"

"That long, eh?"

"You could say that."

She scoffed, but entered the apartment anyway, taking a seat on one of his chair.

Pacing in front of his couch he explained, as much as he could, about the undercover mission, finally admitting that he'd been on suspension all this time they'd been together. That the undercover mission was the only way he was going to get his job back, and that meant he couldn't tell anyone what he was doing, not even girlfriends.

"So you've got your badge back?"

"I-I think so… Ross and I meet with the Chief of Detectives tomorrow, I'll know for sure then… You're not mad? Eames was furious…"

"You said it was the only way to get the job you love back, I can't blame you for taking it. And maybe she's pissed because you scared the shit out of her. I thought you were dead, and I wanted to hit you when you called. You don't want to know what I called you on the way over here. I can't imagine what her reaction would've been, having been your partner for years and nearly killing you herself."

He did sigh with relief then, and dropped down onto the couch. He hadn't realized how tired he was until now, he'd been running on adrenaline for the last week and a half.

"I'm going to go, you should probably get to sleep now, you look like shit," Lottie said, looking at him sympathetically as she stood. "Do you want to do something tomorrow to celebrate getting your job back?"

"I'd like that."