A/N: Believe it or not, I got this idea from reading a vanity card by Chuck Lorre after an episode of Two and Half Men. I think this fits best just after Wrongful Life in season five. Please let me know if you like it or even get it.
This is the city. The city of crime. The Big Apple. The city that never sleeps. This is the city they call the Bagdad on the Hudson, The Empire City, The Melting Pot. The city so nice they named it twice-New York, New York.
On any given street, on any given night. There are acts being committed, things happening that shouldn't be. Money being lost. Hearts being broken. There are crimes being perpetrated. Against the innocent. And the guilty.
Our job is to investigate those crimes, evaluate the evidence, find the suspects, interrogate them, wring out the confessions and throw their asses in jail. We are the NYPD, the cops, the heat, the Major Case Squad.
I was sitting at the corner bar, nursing a Whiskey, the best whiskey that has ever been poured by any bartender that has ever wiped down a bar with dirty rag, Glenlivet. The glass was almost empty. I was beginning to think of the long walk home to an apartment with an empty bed where I hang my hat, when she walked in.
There had always been women, in this city, it was like going to Macy's after Christmas sale, a dime a dozen. This woman was like no other, this was a woman who could stand on her own two feet. She was the kind of woman who could shoot first and ask questions later. She could crack a joke or crack your skull and do it all without spilling her Starbucks White Chocolate Mocha. I watched her in the mirror over the bar as she gazed around the room, looking for someone. Why, of all the cop shop bars on the plaza had she walked into this one?
I slammed down the last finger of whiskey, threw some bills at the bar keep and got up to leave. Maybe I would get lucky and avoid a confrontation. Yeah, and maybe Humphrey Bogart never learned to whistle.
"There you are, Goren. What's the big idea of sticking me with writing up your reports?" She grabbed me by the necktie and hauled me back up on the barstool. She ordered a double vodka martini, easy on the vermouth. The bartender moved faster than a pimp on roller skates. He was a smart bartender and gave me another whiskey without a word.
Eames, this tiny woman with hair the color of raw honey dripping from the comb in the morning sun had ruled my world for the past five years like an iron fist in a silken glove. She took a sip of her Martini and then turned her attention to me.
"Are we celebrating or commiserating?" I asked her, side-stepping her question.
"As usual, your commiserating. I, on the other hand, am celebrating." She tossed her honey mane back out of her eyes. "We caught the bad guy, I have every reason to celebrate. Remember, Bobby, I do everything you do except, I do it in high heels.
She had a point. I looked her over once, up and down. She also did everything I did while wearing the kind of tailored slacks that set a man's mind to imagining. She had curves that would make a sports car purr. A quick glance around the room showed me I wasn't the only man who thought so.
The bar keep was back before my partner had even finished letting the last drop of vodka roll down her gorgeous throat. "Are we staying, Bobby? She asked before accepting another drink. She had formed it as a question but I knew it was an ultimatum. Sure, we could stay, but there would be no climbing the stairway to heaven on this night if we did.
I got up and draped one arm casually around her shoulders and watched the light go out of the eyes of several of the other male patrons.
Outside it was cold enough to bring steam twisting up out of the sewers as we walked through the darkened streets of the city we were paid to protect. The sirens sounded, the horns blared, somewhere was the sound of a door slamming. My apartment was only a few more blocks away. Neither of us spoke, words weren't necessary. During the day, we worked together like a well-wound Swiss watch. At night our bodies meshed together like a finely tuned 1962 Ferrari GTO, cherry red.
I unlocked the door and hit the light switch, the bare bulb sprang to life illuminating the sparse interior of the typical rundown apartment. I had just shrugged out of my trench coat when she was on me like a dope fiend looking for a fix. Her mouth was on mine. Those lips of hers that kept me in check during the day were unleashing an animalistic desire in me that wouldn't be checked for long.
My hands settled on the neckline of the creamy silk blouse she wore, the buttons flew off as I ripped it from her body revealing the spill of her breasts over the top of a satin bra…….
OH MY GOD! Bobby what the hell? Alex shrieked. "What in God's name are you writing?
I slammed the top of the laptop closed and spun around in my chair. "That was private, quit spying on me!" I roared back at her.
"Was that about us?" She asked, sitting down Indian style on the end of the couch closest to my computer desk.
Should I lie? Would it matter? She never buys it when I lie anyway. I sighed deeply and then handed her the laptop. She grinned like a banshee and opened the damn thing back up. I propped my feet up on the desk, leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.
I listened in silence as she read, wondering what her verdict would be. "Hey, this is pretty good, Bobby. I didn't know you liked Sam Spade."
I covered my face in my hands and peeked one eye out at her through my fingers and sighed deeply again.
"Tell me more about this website? Fanfiction net?"
"You write stories about movies, books, TV shows, you name it."
"And you do this because………" I could hear a slightly sarcastic tone creeping into her voice.
"Jeez, Alex, I didn't give you any grief when you told me you collect Star Wars Christmas decorations, which, by the way, has to be the most ridic…."
"Ut, tut, tut. I merely asked you why. What's the attraction?" She closed the computer, got up off the couch and crawled into my lap. "I woke up and reached for you and you we gone. Then I come in here and find you writing some steamy Mike Hammer story about the two of us having sex."
"It's a creative playground. Some of my best ideas come from there."
"Oh really," she murmured, nuzzling my neck.
"UM Hmm. Like this one" I demonstrated. "And this one." I had brought my hand up under the hem of the tee shirt had worn to bed.
"Come back to bed, Bobby." She got up and pulled me out of the chair. Alex stretched up on tip toe to reach my lips. "Those are all really good ideas but let me warn you now, if you ever try ripping the blouse off my body, it better not be when I'm wearing my new Roberto Cavalli that you like so much."