Author: SilentG
Title: The Five Year Plan
Fandom: LO:CI
Pairing: B/A
Rating: T
Spoilers: Nope.
Archive: Anywhere – no need to ask – just attribute, and let me know if possible
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: AU (I guess) slight future fic about the end of their partnership. Eames thinks her heart is breaking, but Goren has a plan. Features Know-it-all!Jealous!Insecure!Scheming!Alex, & Plan-y!Bobby. Probably 2 parts.
A/N 1: There are so many fics where Goren is insecure, jealous and scheming; I think Eames wears it well too.
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CHAPTER ONE: MANAGEMENT MATERIAL
Eames had to hand it to her, she'd only stumbled once.
In the SUV, with Eames driving and Special Agent Churillo in the back seat, she'd let slip an ever-so-slightly disparaging comment about Eames. Goren had been in profile, facing Eames while he gestured energetically to punctuate his excitement at a break in their case (a break announced by Churillo, but brokered by Eames, not that he – um, anyone – noticed). "That's another thing we have in common, Robert: I get my partner to drive, so that I can have time to think. From each according to his gifts, or so they say."
The change in Goren's face was subtle, and she only saw half of it, but give credit where it's due; Churillo instantly changed tacks, soothing Goren with faint praise about his partner before he could voice his own contradiction. What would he have said, she wondered? 'I like Eames to drive so that I can look at her,' or maybe, 'I need my hands free to take dictation.' More like, 'She's the senior partner, so she gets to choose,' or – since he's so perceptive – 'Where did that lead come from, Churillo?'
"Marx." They both stared at her, Goren with his gormless expression and Churillo looking a little weedy.
"Pardon?" Give Churillo that too, she read people really well. She'd had Eames's number from the get-go, and she always knew when she was being addressed in a conversation.
"It was Marx. Who first said what 'they' said," Eames stated, trying not to stammer over her resentment. The warm look Goren gave her salved her affront ever so slightly.
---
It had been a tits-up from the start, Eames thought. It was right there on Churillo's face, the second she walked into the bullpen at Major Case. The tall, fit but oh-so-curvy FBI agent with the long dark hair had taken one look at Goren and thought, mine, and then glanced at his partner and thought, tiny, defensive, and in love with a man who'd never be satisfied with 102lbs of coiled spring. Eames watched her eyes turn soft and sultry; watched as she stood so close to Goren that their chests almost touched; watched while Goren lapped it up.
The flirting had started immediately and emphatically, and Eames – who attended Goren's every word, gesture and expression with subtle fervour – was sure he was just doing his 'being polite, passing the time, greasing the wheels' brand of devastating charm, until Churillo began describing opportunities at the FBI, and Goren responded with obvious interest.
"You're not too old, Robert," she murmured, insinuating herself between the two partners and resting her hand on his shoulder. If only SHE could touch Goren's shoulder in casual intimacy like that – without dislocating something or 'murmuring' into his elbow. They were on the way to the morgue, where even Rodgers had commented on how nice it was that 'finally' Goren had 'met someone' with whom he had the possibility of 'a future'. Yup, Churillo had a future, alright. 10+ years of fertile eggs and a juicy job to dangle in front of – someone who responded to dangling. Eames guessed that meant that she herself was Goren's past? His long, messy, painful, complicated past.
"I know for a fact the Bureau's still interested," Churillo said, with a tiny smile that said, as am I, "And I also know you could pretty much write your own ticket." Eames felt a little sick at how hopeful Goren looked, gazing at the woman he barely had to dip his head to look into the eyes of. "They'd love to have you at Quantico, Robert, but you could make the New York Field Office your home base if you liked. I'm going to be spending a lot of time there myself."
"Do you work for the Computer Crimes Squad, or recruitment?" Eames snapped. Churillo swivelled her head and pointedly looked down, and Goren stared at her like he'd forgotten she was there.
Churillo shrugged elegantly. "Some people asked me to put in a word. But I didn't agree to do it until I saw you for myself." She'd spoken to Goren, who looked like it was Christmas in July.
Bobby's face was soft and vulnerable. "I – uh, don't have that many years before mandatory retirement age, um, Lucy, and I don't really think I'm management material."
"Call it a five-year plan, Robert. We should get together and discuss it."
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Now, five days later, Eames was sitting curled up in the middle of her bathtub, finally giving in to the urge to cry. That get-together had clearly happened, because right after they'd driven Churillo to the airport in the SUV – 'Oh hello, Detective Eames… I didn't realise you two were on duty. I thought maybe I'd get another ride in that beautiful car of yours, Robert.' Not on your life, sister; it was a work-related errand that they would both make, in the City's car – stumbling and stammering and gesturing pathetically, Goren had told her he'd decided to move to the FBI.
That was earlier today, and Eames had lurched, hiding her mortal wounds, through the rest of the day, thinking only of the refuge of her current location, and of trying to steep the hurt and grief out of her with almost scalding-hot water.
The pain was almost unbearable; not only losing the most important person in her life – her partner, her friend, the man she loved – but the galling fact that someone younger, prettier, more accomplished, who'd more artfully integrated her femininity with her work persona, had just slipped in, taken his hand, and now, after only a week, was leading him away.
It was while she was sobbing pitifully in the rose-scented water that she heard the knock on her door. Bobby, she thought, come to try to smooth things over. As much as she wanted to see him, she wouldn't let him in – she was too raw and vulnerable. He'd realise in a second how she really felt, and that would be unbearable. She sat silently, listening as the knock came a couple more times, then silence. Moments later, as she sat scrubbing herself with a loofah, she heard a key in the lock.
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A/N 2: I have Chapters 8, 10 and 11 of The Sensual World written, but I want to get Chapter 9 done before I post. More of Will they or won't they is coming too.