Author's Note: This story is a follow-up to my earlier one, "No Green-Eyed Monster Here" and gives Bishop's point of view. It actually could have been another chapter for that one, but once I got going, I decided I'd rather have it stand alone. Think of it as a send-off for our dear friend Detective Bishop. (Hint, hint, Dick Wolf – we want Eames back!) Also, I've said it before and I'll say it again: I don't own them. I'd like to, but I don't.

She's doing it again.

She's butting in to an investigation that I happen to take very seriously and as though that isn't bad enough, she's making light of the brilliant skills possessed by the man whose desk faces hers, the very man who at this moment is doing some sort of weird contortions while listening to a taped call to 911. It's actually kind of scary to watch – he's weaving back and forth and a minute ago he slammed the palm of his hand down onto the desk so hard that I jumped – and so did quite a few other people in the room. But that's his way, I've learned in the few weeks I've worked with him – once Bobby Goren gets working on a case, he gives his mind free rein to solve it and it's best to just stay out of his way. At least, that's what I try to do.

Eames didn't jump at the sound of him hitting the desk, though – she didn't even look surprised – and then had the nerve to ask me if I wanted her to "stick a dart in him." Doesn't she recognize genius at work when she sees it? Doesn't she know to stay out of the way? Does she lack respect for the shining light that is the mind of Detective Bobby Goren?

Doesn't she know how lucky she is to get to work with him all the time?

"No," I reply sharply, reminding her, "He's listening to the tape of the 911 call the kids made from the boat."

Her eyes widen and I can tell she's a bit taken back with my tone. I can't help it though. Working with Bobby has put my nerves a little on edge lately, but despite that, I realize what a privilege and honor it is to be paired with him while she's working her way towards maternity leave. His crime-solving skills are legendary in the department, as are his unorthodox methods - though I could have been warned a little more about those before I signed on. Still, when you get right down to it, the man is Sherlock Holmes come to life and for Alex Eames to sit there and make fun of him is plain rude (whether he can hear her or not – and with the headphones on, I'm guessing not). I mean, if she really finds him that annoying and thinks so little of him, why does she bother to stay partnered with him in the first place? I'm only a temporary replacement, but if she wants out, I'd gladly trade places. I'd have to learn to be less squeamish and not let him intimidate me so much (which is hard because he's really tall and, as I said before, scary when he really gets going), but I could learn to be that way if only to give Bobby the type of partner he deserves, the kind who appreciates his kind of mind. If Eames wants out, I'll gladly figure out how to be his Dr. Watson. It will take time, but I can do it.

Bobby whips off the headphones and stands, seizing his ever-present notebook and saying succinctly, "I need to see the boat."

I'm quick to follow (shooting one last annoyed look at Eames for good measure), but then something happens that makes me take pause. A look passes between Eames and Goren, one that lasts but a split second, yet conveys more than a thousand words in that space. I replay it in my head slower, just to be sure that I've actually seen it: his eyes shift downward to meet hers and seem to ask, "You doing okay?" while she curls up the ends of her mouth in a knowing response: "I'm all right – go catch some bad guys."

And there's more after that – they fit a whole silent conversation in between blinks:

He juts his chin towards the door and I read everything as clearly as though there were subtitles: "Heading out with Bishop now."

She exhales in what is almost a snort. "Have fun with that. I'll be here, chained to my desk."

His eyes linger, then lock on hers. "You'll be back in a few weeks."

Her gaze is steady too. "Maybe you won't need me back by then."

A grin tugs at his lips but is pushed away. "I'll always need you. Bishop's okay, but she'll never take your place."

"She likes you – a lot."

"I know."

"You scare her too."

"I know."

"She thinks you're the Oracle."

"I'm not."

"I know that – you're human. Freakishly brilliant, but human."

"Thanks. I miss you."

"I miss you too – now go."

All that in the time it took to pass by her desk – his feet never even stopped moving! And now I'm jogging to catch up because it took me longer to replay the scene in my head than it actually took to occur.

All the way to look at the ridiculous boat, I'm silent, my brain working overtime to analyze and process what I just witnessed. Up until that moment, I was going along and doing my job, thinking I was finally beginning to get used to Bobby and his work habits (including the disturbing way he handles corpses – yech!) and yet Eames blew me out of the water with just one look. That was it. One look and I can now see how much I don't – and will never – understand this complicated man. One look and Eames made me realize that I am forever relegated to the furthest reaches of his conscious mind. I may be the one he's working with now, but that's not because he needs me or even wants me here. I'm an accessory, like his badge or his handcuffs, that the department told him he had to have in order to keep working while Eames was on desk duty. I don't really matter in the scheme of his life – once Eames is back, he'll discard me and move on without giving me another thought. I'll be just a name on an old case file, the one he refers to when talking with Eames about a case that's similar to a new one they're working on: "Oh yeah, that was a case I worked with Bishop."

And only when this realization has taken root do I begin to fully understand what happened back at the office between Eames and I. Her joking question of "Want me to stick a dart in him?" wasn't the insult to his genius that I took it to be. Rather, she was attempting to help me understand him a little better; she was offering me a chance to gain a little perspective on how to work a case with him and I flung it back at her. She was trying to help me because she truly gets him – and I turned her down without even knowing it.

I acknowledge that sad truth with a twinge of regret. She gets him – and what's more, she cares deeply for him. She understands that there is a fine line between genius and madness and she doesn't hesitate to give him her hand to steady him as he walks it each and every day. She does it with humor, teasing and prodding him at the right times and in the right way so that he always knows how to find his balance, how to stay on the right side of the line. That's why he's calmer and more focused when she's around – and why when I'm working alone with him I feel like I'm riding a bicycle on ice. I'm fine when we're pedaling along in a straight line, but then he turns suddenly and I feel myself start to skid.

I shake my head slightly – I was kidding myself earlier when I thought I could be a better partner for Bobby than Eames could. She's mastered riding that bike and I'm still looking for a pair of training wheels. Even if I had years to work with him, I don't think I'd ever get the hang of it – but thankfully I won't have to. Eames will be back in a few short weeks and I'll move on to something new, new cases and a new partner who hopefully will be okay with riding a bicycle on the sidewalk, where turning and stopping are easy. And maybe – just maybe – my next partner will actually need me. Maybe my next partner will be someone with whom I can hold entire conversations without words.

Maybe my next partner will look at me the way Bobby looks at Alex.

In the meantime, I'm standing here in front of an old rowboat watching Bobby check it over and filled to the brim with jealousy aimed at Alex Eames, who at this very moment is sitting at her desk, understanding more about my case than I do because she knows her partner.

But there's nothing I can do about that now, so I pick up Bobby's train of thought and start to pedal the bike again, waiting to skid on the ice and counting the weeks until I'm can stop.