We're Cool
Summary: Missing conversation between Alex and Bobby after "In the Wee Small Hours, pt. 2". Hints of Bobby/AlexAuthor's Note: And here's something I've been meaning to post for a week and a half, but with the time issue, it was impossible. My first Criminal Intent fic, so yea…
"Bobby, wait," I call as I watch him walk down the hallway. His head does not turn. He does not stop. Oh, god, no. This cannot be how the day ends for us. I quicken my pace. Explaining why I wrote that letter might have helped Carver's case, but it certainly could not have helped the relationship I have with Bobby.
Pfft. What relationship? Come on, Alexandra, be serious. He sees me as his partner, his friend, close friend at best. But that's it. He has no idea how I feel. He has no idea how handsome and funny he is, how good it makes me feel to know that I have him in my life. He's too busy examining the case evidence to really notice me.
Damn, he sure can move down the hallway quickly. He probably can't even hear me coming. Why should he? Except for the fact that I might be one of the few detectives in the NYPD who can understand his methods, there's nothing special about me. "Bobby, please," I say once I finally catch up to him.
He turns his head around and stops walking. I don't know if it was the look on my face or the fact that he just had to talk to me, but he did pull me to the side of the hallway. That should be good, right? At least he's not so angry that he can't even stand to look at me.
"What's up?" he asks me in a nonchalant voice. Ok, either he's in denial about this whole thing or I just let my feelings completely blow this out of proportion. "Eames?" he asks. "You ok?"
"I'm not sure yet," I tell him. Obviously he doesn't totally hate me. He is both talking to me and calling me by my last name as usual. This whole thing probably is nothing to him. He probably wanted a new partner when I started, too.
Oh god. What if he wants one now? That couldn't be it. My imagination must have taken steroids this morning. Urgh! Someone stop me.
"Do you feel sick?" he asks. He extends his right hand to my forehead. His hand is cool to the touch. Maybe that's just because my face is burning up due to the fact that I'm making an ass out of myself.
He moves his hand down to my cheek. "You don't feel warm if it helps," he says. He stares at me closely. God only knows what he's thinking. "O-of course that doesn't mean that you don't feel bad," he continues. His tone is changing. He sounds really unsure of himself. I hate that. I'm causing that. I hate it more.
"It's not that," I say finally. How hard was it to get those words out of my mouth? Not very. Yet how long did it actually take? "I-I just had to be sure that we're cool. Y'know."
Bobby smiles that cute little smile I love. I can tell what he's thinking. He's about to make some funny comment on what I just told him. "Of course we're cool," he says. "How many other people do you know can do the things we do as efficiently as we do?"
I raise an eyebrow at him, but I have to let out a small chuckle.
"You mean the whole letter thing back there, don't you?"
I nod.
"Forget about it," he says with a shrug. "It was a long time ago. You didn't really know me, and what matters is that I have you now."
"You're sure?" I ask him.
"I said it, didn't I?" he responds. "I love you, Eames. I don't know what I'd do without you."
I smile up at him. I know he's speaking platonically, but it's still nice to hear. There is hope. Things are good between us now. I couldn't ask for anything more.
"Hey, you wanna grab a bite to eat? My treat?" he offers.
Ok, now I can't ask for anything more. "That sounds perfect."
