Disclaimer: These are not my characters. I just took them out for a spin. Relax, Dick Wolf, your characters and copyright are safe.

Also, in my person canon Wheeler is bisexual and Eames is straight. This does absolutely nothing to stop me from shipping them. It just makes it angsty.

This story is a sequel to Hargiteam42's untitled Eames/Wheeler story set in the hospital after Wheeler has giving birth. You can find it on her Livejournal on her old account, hargie-42, and starting Monday it should also be up on her new account, hargiteam43.

It was difficult to tell which woke her, Margo's reedy cries or the thud of the front door as Alex made her way in. The case must've ended badly—Alex was usually effortlessly quiet, slipping in and out of the background as she chose, a fleeting shadow with a wry smile.

Megan squinted at her alarm clock—12:41. God, she was getting old. Not so long ago, 12:41 would've meant the night was just getting started.

She crossed the room quickly to Margo, picking her up and rocking her gently. The wailing got louder.

Meg sighed and kissed her forehead. "Fussbudget."

"She's hungry, is all." Alex was leaning against the doorway now, sock-footed. Her leather jacket was only half off, hanging from her right shoulder. Her hair was windblown in a way that usually took several large fans on a Covergirl shoot, and her smile was made of quiet confidence.

She made Megan, with her frilly nightshirt and street urchin haircut, feel all of about nine years old. "How do you know?"

Alex shrugged. "Her crying sounds different when she's hungry."

I'm her mom, Megan wanted to say. Me. I'm supposed to notice these things. Not you.

But she didn't say anything, just looked away and shifted Margo into her other arm so that she could unbutton the nightshirt.

Alex shed the jacket and her socks and clambered onto the bed, sitting on the pillow and leaning back against the headboard. She spread her legs and patted the quilt between them. "Here."

And just like that, the little spool of resentment Megan had been winding tight in her chest unwound and she was back to feeling the way she normally felt about Alex: unraveled. Tangled. Loose-limbed and light-headed and sweetly aching and she was supposed to be the one who actually had experience being in relationships with women, so why did Alex make her feel like she was seventeen again, staring at Jenny Caulfield's lips in fifth period and wondering what would happen if she kissed her?

She took her seat between Alex's legs, guiding Margo to her breasts where the little one sucked eagerly. Megan closed her eyes and leaned back against Alex's chest, the pillow making the older woman taller for once. Alex massaged the base of the redhead's neck, moving down to her shoulders and then the upper muscles of her arms. Something between a purr and a moan slipped out of Megan's mouth.

The hands slipped down her sides to wrap themselves around her middle. "Rough day?"

"Just…yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

"The case?"

"The case. Bobby, too…you know."

"Yeah."

"How was she today?"

"A fussbudget. Like always." But Megan felt herself smiling. It was easy to smile now, with Margo quiet in her arms and Alex steady at her back.

"You can go to sleep, if you want," Alex offered, resting her chin in the crook between Megan's neck and shoulder. "I'll make sure she gets back to her crib."

"Okay."

"Or…" Alex's teeth teased gently at Megan's earlobe, and the younger woman had to stifle a gasp. "You could…stay awake."

She tried to play it cool. "Oh?"

"Mmm-hmm." Alex begins to press kisses down Megan's neck.

"Because…"

"Because you look very scrumptious tonight." Alex's tongue snaked out to dart under the neckline and this time Megan did gasp. "Very…strawberries and cream."

"Oh," she said again, this time because higher brain functions weren't really happening right now, and then the muscles of Alex's legs flexed, squeezing Meg's hips a little tighter—"Oh…"

Margo gave a little noise of dissatisfaction, and Megan switched breasts. Alex's right hand left her lover's waist to stroke gently at the peach fuzz atop the baby's head. "Hurry up, little one," she whispered, her breath dizzying against Megan's ear. "Your mommy has a playdate."

Megan laughed out loud. "That is so, so wrong."

Alex nipped her neck reprovingly, but couldn't restrain a low chuckle. "Well, if you'd rather I tell your daughter that we're about to fuck like bunnies…"

"Playdate it is." Megan turned her head to give Alex a quick kiss on the lips before relaxing back into her. "And we're waiting till she's asleep."

"I know." Alex's hands moved in small circles on Megan's stomach, sure caresses that made a steady warmth flow from Megans head to her head to her toes. It felt safe and domestic in a way that made her contrary body pang with desire. It felt like being wrapped in blankets in front of a roaring fire, like sinking into the pages of a book and forgetting that the story had to end and you ever had to leave. It felt the way Jenny Caulfield's lips had felt under the bleachers at two a.m. after cleaning up the trash from the Homecoming rally, soft and yielding and full of infinite promise, right before Jenny had pulled away and never answered her phone calls and written MEGAN IS A DYKE in all the girls' bathrooms.

It felt too good to be true.

"Hey." Alex nuzzled the back of her neck. "What's wrong?"

Megan blinked away the tears. "Nothing. Just hormones."

"Hey, don't 'just hormones' me." Alex probably meant the light, teasing tone to set Meg at her ease, but it just pissed her off. She pulled away from her lover, turning around to face her.

"What are we doing here?"

Alex blinked. "What?"

"You come over almost every night now, but we almost never see each other during the day. You help me with Margo, but you don't want to hold her for long. You—"

Alex ran a hand through her hair. "It's the middle of the night, Megan—"

"You're straight."

Alex nodded slowly, and spread her hands. "And yet, here I am."

"For now."

"Is that what you're worried about?" Alex reached out, but Megan pulled away. She tried not to feel guilty when Alex swung her head to the side, a curtain of blonde hair hiding what Megan knew would be a hurt expression.

"I don't want to push," Alex said eventually. Her tone was clipped, even, the way she got at a crime scene when she was trying to hide that it affected her. "You've just lost a fiancé, and given birth, and gotten a new partner. You're dealing with a lot of shit, and all I can do is just—I don't want Margo to get attached to me if this doesn't work out."

Despite her efforts, her last sentence thrummed with pain and her voice caught.

"I'm not your responsibility," Megan said. She could feel Margo's tiny heartbeat next to hers. "I can't do this if this is just you wanting to take care of me—or her—"

"It's not," Alex insisted. "It's not just that."

"Or if this is just you settling, because you think you're tired of men or something and somehow girls will have less drama. Or if this is some bucket list sexual experimentation thing—"

"Meg—" Alex reached out again, stroked her cheek. "Meg, I don't know what this is. This was—surprising. But it is not any of those things. I swear."

There were other things Megan wanted to say, complicated things, things that needed to be said, but Alex's hand felt so nice, and she was so tired, and somehow it all coalesced into, "Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay." She leaned forward into the older woman's embrace, Margo near-asleep between them. "But I'm not having a threesome. Guy or girl."

"What?" Eames pulled back, staring blankly at her for a moment before laughing. She kissed her. "When did we start talking about threesomes?"

"Trust me, I've learned it's good to establish that early."

"Okay, no threesomes." Alex kissed her forehead. "Megan Wheeler, I really like you," she whispered. "I can't tell you where this is going, and I can't promise anything, but when I'm with you…and if we—"

Alex's phone rang.

They froze, halfway to a moment that might have been important. Then Alex sighed and shifted, taking it out of her pants pocket. "Just a second." She flipped it open. "Eames."

"Bobby, it's almost one in the morning—

"Okay, okay. Where—

"I'll be right there." She hung up. "It's the case," she said, sliding out of bed, finding her socks. "Goren found a new piece of evidence, it might change everything—"

"Right. He can't examine it by himself?" She hated the whine that crept into her tone. She sounded about as old as Margo.

She was buttoning up her jacket. "He's my partner. You know how it is."

"Yeah."

She knew how it was.

She knew how it always was.

Alex—no, she was Eames now, had become Eames the second she picked up the phone—crossed back to Megan and kissed her on the cheek. "I'll see you again as soon as I can."

"I know."

She knew how it would always be.

Another kiss, this one on the mouth and slightly longer, tasting like acrid coffee and other things that were both bad for you and hard to give up. "Sleep tight."

And then Eames was out of the bedroom, the front door clicking shut a second later.

And Megan was sitting on the rumpled quilt, holding her baby, alone.