Title: October Story
Author: Scribere Est Agere
Pairing: Goren/Eames
Rating: T
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Summary: Listen! The wind is rising.
For the Law & Order 100+ Challenge: Seasons
//
Fall came early.
Summer had been negligible at best with heavy, leaden clouds and rain and the coolest temperatures either could remember in all their years together. Eames, he knew, hated hot, sticky weather. Bobby didn't mind as much but they both missed the sunshine. Too many grey days. Too little Vitamin D. Eames joked often about vacationing in the Caribbean and Bobby tried often to not imagine what she might wear while there, limbs sprawled in the sun.
Bobby kept track of the weather mainly by Eames' outerwear. The lighter sweaters and hoodies for spring and summer. The early fall overcoat. The heavy parka with the grey fur trim for winter. (Fake, she assured him when he inquired once, but he didn't care. He was just looking for an excuse to touch it, and her.) Today, mid-October, she was wearing a brown jacket with a black scarf, black gloves. Her cheeks were pink and she sniffed a few times as she quickly undressed across from him. He realized he was staring and looked down at his desk, forced himself to think about other…things.
"Coffee?" she asked as she was already moving away. He started to say yes, but she didn't even look, and returned with two Styrofoam cups, milk for her, black for him. He nodded his thanks and she nodded in reply.
They worked companionably in silence. She got more coffee, they completed more paperwork. At 10:44 Ross called them into his office, told them about Manny Fernandez, suspected drug runner for Willowbrook Manor, upper-crust prep school in lower Manhattan. Get him, move up from there. Only problem was that Manny was slippery and hadn't been seen in months.
"How do you know it's him, then?" Eames asked.
"He's been IDd by at least three students at Willowbrook. Either they're covering for each other, or they're all sharing the same delusion. We know it's him. He's out there and we have two hundred angry, rich parents breathing down our necks. Do whatever you need to do." Ross held out a sheet of paper. "A list of his last-known hangouts. Not the most savoury of places."
Eames took it, sighed, thought of Caribbean waters, went to pour more coffee.
//
Leaves were already changing, red, yellow, orange. Weak sunlight illuminated trees, made angular patterns across grey, pitted sidewalks. Eames kicked at leaves when she could — she liked the noise they made under her boots.
The pool hall was empty but for one thin waitress reading a magazine at the bar. The dark, dank room stank of beer, years-old cigarette smoke. Eames wrinkled her nose. Bobby beamed.
"We're looking for Manny."
"Oh yeah?" the girl glanced up, barely engaged. "He ain't here."
Bobby glanced around, leaned closer to her.
"Where is he?"
The girl shrugged, collarbones jutting unnaturally. "Dunno. He don't generally make appointments. He's here or he's not." She looked up for longer this time, taking them in. "What do you want him for?"
Bobby flashed a grin and a badge.
The girl snorted, unimpressed. "Alls I can tell you is he's a…whatcha call it."
"A sleazebag?" Eames offered.
"That animal. The one that…you know…changes colour to fit in."
"Chameleon."
She snapped her fingers. "That's it. But he does leave The Pole every night around 11 and goes to Wally's for a few hours. At least he used to. I don't ask and he don't tell."
"Right. Well. You've been very helpful—" he peered at her name tag. "—Veronica. We'll keep looking."
She shrugged.
"Good luck.
Bobby smiled brilliantly, genuinely. "Thank you."
//
Six hours later and Eames was stamping her feet hard as they walked and rubbing her hands together as if trying to start fire in her palms.
"Forgot my gloves," she said when Bobby glanced her way. They bought giant coffees and discussed how to proceed.
"We've talked to almost everyone on this list, been to almost every location."
"Almost is not all," Bobby said, hunching his shoulders against the wind.
//
"Well. This sucks," she said. It was well past seven, dark and blustery.
She suddenly tucked her arm through his and leaned against him. He felt the gentle weight of her and the gentle scent of her and drew in his breath and licked his lips.
"Is that him?" she murmured. He nodded. He was finding it difficult to speak.
"Maybe." They straightened, peered, tried to remember exactly what he looked like.
"It's him," he said. She shook her head.
"No. Its' not."
It wasn't.
"Now what?" she said, puffing out her cheeks in frustration. They walked.
"Cold," she said, moving closer again. It was getting cold, colder by the minute, but Bobby pretended she just wanted to hold his arm because it was a fun thing to do on a cold night, not because he might make her feel warmer
//
And later still:
She'd consumed a lot of hot caffeine drinks and was buzzing, more than usual.
"The only way we're gonna get this guy is by ambush."
"Sure, but—"
"The element of surprise, Bobby. Veronica said he's unpredictable, but he's still a creature of some habit. She said he leaves The Pole at 11 and will cross here to get to Wally's at about…" She peered at her watch. "Now. Shit. Quick. We need a cover."
"A what?"
"Something he's not expecting."
"I could be your pimp."
"Very funny. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly dressed for the occasion—"
He'd noticed.
Her head whipped suddenly to the left and her eyes widened slightly. He moved to look and she whispered, low and urgent:
"Kiss me."
"Wha—"
"We need to catch him off guard. Kiss. Me."
And her hands were wrapped in his lapels and pulling him down to her and he was pliant, he was moving without thinking and his own hands moved to the wall behind her to steady his weight.
Did she really say kiss me? His addled thoughts were reeling and he was still trying to decipher. She'd caught him off guard and her order was still registering in his brain when her lips pressed firmly against his.
Kiss me. She did say kiss me—
And then all he could hear was Ross's voice, soft, encouraging: Do whatever you need to do.
Whatever you say, Captain.
They were kissing. He was kissing her. Suddenly there was no Manny, no assignment, and this was no sweet dream, one of thousands he'd entertained over the years.
The wind was picking up now, and darkness had fully fallen. The only streetlight was halfway down the block and Bobby could barely see her let alone the approaching figure.
The footsteps were louder now, heavy and scuffing against pavement, crunching in the few fallen leaves. Bobby closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the task at hand — the assignment — but it wasn't working, what with his mouth on her mouth and her hands against his chest and her soft breaths across his skin and the feel and smell of her and he tried to keep his wits about him but good god—
The footsteps neared, paused, stopped. Bobby moved his hands closer, his arms pressing against her shoulders protectively. "Get a room for god's sakes," a low voice muttered. Slurred, actually. Bobby tensed momentarily and he felt Eames' lips curl under his. For a moment he was sure she was going to laugh. She didn't. Bobby turned to stare, long and hard. Fuck. It wasn't him.
"Mind your own damn business," he said loudly and he felt Eames suppress another laugh. The stranger shrugged, stumbled, and shook his head. "Get lost." Bobby turned back then and to her utter, utter surprise, put his mouth on hers again.
The footsteps continued, moved away until they could no longer hear them.
They kept kissing.
He wasn't sure exactly what the code word for stop kissing now was, but he wasn't going to try to remember. Instead he moved his hands again from the wall behind her to her back, pulling her closer to him. She responded in kind, sliding her hands around his waist, her fingers digging into the small of his back. He found himself wishing desperately they didn't have all this clothing between them, but he was pretty sure she wasn't cold anymore.
Why oh why couldn't we have caught this case in July?
She was leaning back, she was pulling him closer, she was standing on her goddamn tiptoes—
She was pulling away finally, her breath coming in funny little gasps and she moved her head to his shoulder, as if exhausted. She sounded like she'd been running for miles.
"What…the…fuck—" she muttered against his coat, almost as if she thought he couldn't hear, but he could and he understood completely.
"You started it," was all he could think to say and she did laugh then, short and sharp in the cold October night air.
"You're right. I did." She touched her mouth with her hand. She still wouldn't look right at him. "It…was for the job."
Well. That hurt. He took a step back, tried to compose himself.
"Good call," he said. "It worked."
She didn't know what to say to that. She was finally catching her breath and she immediately regretted her words. When he broke their touch completely she felt cold again. She was sorry she'd spoken at all. She shoved her hands in her coat pockets, swallowed hard and shook the hair away from her face. Even in the darkness he could see her red cheeks, her swollen lips.
"Bobby—"
"C'mon," he said, his voice brusque. "Let's go. You must be freezing."
She shook her head, even though it was true. She fell into step beside him. He was walking even faster than usual.
She was breathing hard again, just trying to keep up with him. They found the car. He opened the door for her. She didn't want to get in. She looked up at him for the first time, her eyes unveiled.
"So, when's our next undercover assignment?" she joked with a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes.
He smiled, just a little. October wind blew her hair across her face. He reached out and pushed it back, held it against her ear briefly, then let it go again.
"I'll…ask Ross. I think we should request at least one a month."
She smiled, slid behind the wheel. He shut the door. He took a huge breath and tried not to think about any of it.
There was nothing else to do but wait for November.
//
Fin