I own none of these characters. I'm just here to write another FanFic that I would like to read.

The Stakeout

The stakeout was going slow. After 9 hours and no activity, Eames was losing consciousness. How Bobby was able to stay awake through the night was beyond her. Taking one last look at the clock on the dashboard, 4:14 am, and another at the house, she closed her eyes. She knew she shouldn't sleep on the job, but Bobby could handle it…and nothing was happening anyway, that was for sure.

From the very beginning, Detective Robert Goren had studied his new partner. Now, five years later, he knew her better than he knew anyone else he had ever met, and that included him. The way she had curled into the right side of the driver's seat when they started the stake out earlier that night was one of the many things she did to make her feel comfortable. He knew that more often than not, when she returned home she would curl up on the sofa with a glass of red wine or a mug of hot chocolate and read cheerful novels to alleviate the stress of what they saw on the streets everyday. This comforting position seemed natural to most women. He assumed it was instinct for them. Women were more in tune with their bodies and their capabilities. The curled position Eames was in right now vaguely resembled that of a child in the womb. Every human's first position was similar—we all start curled up in a ball with our knees near our chin. It seemed fitting that most people found that curling position comfortable.

He smiled to himself. We all start out the same; the real question is what makes us different? So he knew the typical answers to that question: genes, environment, childhood, relationships with one's mother, etc. There just seemed to be more to it. Another mystery to be solved at the local library, he thought. He continued thinking about the differences in people (and thanking those differences, how boring this world would be if everyone was the same) while watching the house across the street. Three days ago, The Metropolitan Opera House received an anonymous call during their performance of La Traviata concerning the safety of the audience, performers and everyone in the building. After evacuation, the bomb squad found five bombs strategically placed to take down the ceiling of the theater. Not a good way to end a Thursday evening.

Eames hadn't moved in several minutes. Must be sleeping. I don't blame her. Eames hadn't been sleeping well, if at all, since the report. Though no one was hurt, her sister and brother-in-law had unfortunately chosen that night to get out of the house to witness some fine art. All of a sudden, she fell off of the back of the chair. He moved quickly before she fell too far. After wriggling himself toward her slightly so they could both be comfortable, he rested her sleeping form on his torso. She would never approve, but she was asleep at the moment and he wasn't about to destroy her desperately needed nap for the sake of her opinion.

He liked being close to her. It wasn't a sexual desire he had, more one of longing. Most people shied away from him. Human contact wasn't something he felt very often. He never expected his male friends and coworkers to give him more than a handshake. In fact, he probably wouldn't appreciate much more contact than that—depending on the situation of course. Every woman he tried to get close to was too intimidated by his size or too weirded out by his personality—every woman except Eames. Their relationship was professional. Sometimes their friendship shown through more than their partnership, but there was nothing more than that. They would touch each other on the arm or the shoulder to get the other's attention, and there had been the occasional friendly hug when one or the other was going though a rough patch, but that summed up most of the human contact Goren had. He knew people whispered that he was anti-social, and sometimes he couldn't find a plausible explanation against their theories.

He knew watching the house was his first priority at the moment, but he also knew the suspect was asleep—there was still time before he would wake up for the day. Goren took his eyes off the house and looked down at the small form that he was holding onto. The scent of her shampoo found it's way to his nose. It smelled tropical, but he couldn't place it. Feminine shampoo was one of his weaker areas. So there is something that Eames is more of an expert at. He smiled, as he knew she would if she could hear his thoughts. He lowered his face to the top of her head and placed a kiss on the part of her hair. She stirred in his arms and sighed before resettling. What had he just done? He analyzed his actions. He had done nothing wrong; it was just another show of affection. He was thanking her for being there for him; that was all. She was his life support—he needed her to be himself. He knew it, she knew it, Deakins knew it, probably the whole squad did. That was all; he was just thanking her for being there with him through the night.

They hadn't talked much on this particular night, he was in one of those thinking modes most of it, but just her presence gave him the comfort that he could drift off into a mental realm only to be greeted by her when he returned. It was she in fact that allowed him to return. Several times a month she would swing by in the morning to drive him to the office to find that he was standing in the kitchen or sitting in the living room resting his jaw on this fist, thinking. Though he would come back to reality soon after she entered the doorway, he was fairly certain that she knew he didn't sleep on those nights because he was lost in thought.

i/ One more kiss can't hurt. /i She was asleep anyway. He brought his head down to hers again and repeated his previous action. Only this time he too left consciousness before sitting up again. Any on-looker would have suspected that the two were more than just friends.