A.N. -- Having finished Tampering, this kind of popped into my head ---- I own nothing, they all belong to Dick, Vincent and Kathryn.

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Ross climbed back into the control cabin of the barge, looking for his detectives. Spotting Eames gazing out a window on the far side, leaning against the wall with her arms folded across her chest, he walked toward her, looking past her out the window but failing to see what had captured her attention so completely. "Detective? The dinghy is getting ready to leave ---" He stopped when she turned to face him; her face bore obvious signs of distress. "Eames?" Casting a quick glance around the room, he continued on, "Where's your partner?"

Sighing deeply, Eames pointed out the window to an area behind and slightly above the cabin, where Goren sat in a small recessed area, arms folded across knees drawn to his chest, head down so his face couldn't be seen. Frowning slightly, Ross turned back to Eames and asked, "What's he doing out there? Is he all right?"

Turning away from the view, Eames leaned back heavily against the wall next to the window, still with her arms folded across her chest. "He's – upset by what Harper said to him just before he fell off the back of the barge, Captain."

Ross studied Eames closely. Her gaze was steady, never leaving the Captain's. Although Ross strongly suspected Harper may have had a little "help" falling off the barge, the man had killed two other divers and most likely would have killed at least one other person in his efforts to make sure the Roundtree family secrets remained just that, secret. Millionaire or not, he felt no sympathy for Simon Harper. A history buff like Goren, Ross felt much more badly about not really being able to raise the Philomela from the ocean floor. "What did he say to Goren?"

Eames resumed her partner watch. "He pretty much told Bobby that a man without parents or children is worthless." Glancing back at Ross, she continued, "And coming on top of the Chief of D's description of Bobby as a whack job, and me shooting off my big mouth – well, let's just say he's feeling the lack of positive reinforcement of his self-image right now. He needs a little time to himself."

Ross too looked past Eames, out to where Goren sat huddled in his alcove. "Understood, Eames." Turning his back to the window and leaning against the edge of the counter running along the wall beneath it, he continued on, "But you two have made some progress working out the issues between you, correct?"

Eames nodded. "We have, Captain. Not nearly enough, and we haven't had a lot of time to talk about much other than this case, but things are better than they were." She turned her attention back to the Captain briefly. "At least, he's not still planning to run off and join the circus or the F.B.I. or whatever."

Ross snorted at her reply. "Very good, Detective." He started for the cabin door. Stopping and turning back to her just before stepping out onto the deck, he turned back to her briefly. "You two ride back with the barge, Eames. Give him some time, and the space he needs."

Looking away from the window and at the Captain briefly, Eames gave him a brief smile. "Thanks, Captain." Ross watched as she once again assumed her surveillance post near the window before leaving the cabin.

Crossing to the back of the barge where the dinghy was moored, Ross found himself sympathetic to Goren, something he wouldn't have thought possible a year ago. Even though Ross' parents had both been gone for a number of years, he at least had his boys; he could, however, recall all too well his own pain and feelings of worthlessness and failure when his marriage broke up, largely due to the pressures created by the job. And his boys, after all, were still young; he missed the companionship, the connection that could exist between two adult people who care deeply about one another. Goren had no one – except Eames. As he climbed down the ladder and into the waiting dinghy, he was surprised to find himself hoping the connection between his two detectives was merely strained, and not broken; and if it eventually turned out to be something more than professional, so be it. Nothing was more important than family.