All In
I dreamed these characters one night, then Dick Wolf stole them from my dream. Legally I don't own them. Spiritually they are MINE MINE MINE!
Eames was driving, as usual. She had just returned from Staten Island and her family, to another crime scene, as far away as seemed possible from her loving and close family. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer of thanks for them. Then she turned her thoughts to a newly returned partner.
She shot him a quick glance. He was looking out the window, not saying anything, but he also did not seem to be ruminating on the world he saw as he usually did. She usually could see his mind churning away at one problem or another, often including her in his thoughts so they wouldn't go in circles. Now he seemed at peace, almost lethargic with fatigue and the shadows of things past.
She turned back to the road, somewhat worried now.
Suddenly he looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. "Hi, stranger."
Her throat closed slightly. Was that why he had been so closed to her since they had seen each other at the ferry station? Did he see her as a stranger? She had never acted like it, not once—she had been thrilled to see him back. Or was it because he felt a stranger to her? Or . . . no, best not try to guess what he was thinking. She never could anyway.
"Eames," he said hesitantly, "thanks, for not being mad about me telling Declan. I didn't…" his voice trailed off.
"I know. I was more worried than anything, Bobby." She knew and accepted that he had trouble telling her things about himself. That he had told her he'd been with family was a minor miracle. Maybe he did trust her more now. She'd have to be sure not to take it for granted, not pry too much. "You're my partner," she said as if it explained everything. They were both cops, so in a way it did.
"You'd think you'd have found a new one by now."
She shot him a worried, almost scared, look. He grinned sorrowfully. "I'm not exactly a sure bet anymore. I know you placed a lot on me, but it's not looking like I'll take the prize now. You might want to cash your chips while you can."
"That's the worst metaphorical gobbledygook I've ever heard. Don't mix your metaphors, Bobby, you're so bad at it."
They drove on in silence for a while, thinking their own thoughts. Finally Eames said ". . . Bobby—"
"Yeah?"
"In horse racing, you pick a horse, you place your bet and the horse races—you don't interfere, right?"
"That's generally how it works," he said with a laugh.
"Well, this is a people race. You bet, and then, you cross the line together."
He suddenly looked out the window again, but she could see his Adam's Apple working and the way he suddenly blinked as though the sun was in his eyes.
Oh, good grief, she thought. She hadn't meant to make the man cry.
"Bobby," she continued after a while, "this is an endurance race. You're not done yet."
He looked at her, gratitude on his wide, scruffy face. "Thank you, Alex."
They went together to the next crime scene.