Author's Note: Ok – this is my very first attempt at a real case file. This story will evolve into a B/A relationship, but you'll have to be patient with me. Any suggestions or help would be greatly appreciated. To all my lovely reviewers – I love you. Smooches to all.
Alexandra Eames was enjoying her first peaceful nights sleep in over 3 months.
Sleep had become increasingly elusive ever since her kidnapping. Hardly a night would pass unless accompanied by the chilling screams of young girls and the sharpening of knives reverberating in her ears. Tonight, she seemed to have been granted a reprieve as her steady breathing took her into a deep and dreamless slumber.
It would have been perfect if not for the annoying vibration of her cell phone beating a path across her nightstand.
"Eames," she answers groggily.
"Alex, I need you down at the Museum of Modern Art ASAP. The body of a young woman was just found on the steps, possibly stabbed to death." Captain Ross' weary voice reflected the early hour and his newly awakened state.
"Ok, should I call Goren?" she asks, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.
"He's already on his way. He said he would meet you there," Ross replies. "Report back as soon as you have any details, I'm going into the office now."
"Yes, sir," Alex says, disconnecting the call and quickly dressing. Late night calls were always a bitch and a half. It always pissed her off that her fellow male officers could roll out of bed and still arrive at the crime scene looking exactly as they ordinarily do at any other time of the day. Being a woman, it required a lot more effort into looking professional and yet, somewhat attractive when forced to roll right out of bed at 4 a.m.
After brushing her hair vigorously, Alex brushes her teeth and swipes some lipstick on and runs out of her apartment.
Of course Bobby would be there before her. It seemed that Bobby was always the first one Deakins' or Ross called and if she dwelled on that too much it could quite rightly offend her. Even though she was technically the senior detective in their partnership, she never once pulled rank on Bobby. Their partnership works best when they are both on equal ground, their individual talents working in tandem.
As Alex approached the Museum, she could make out dozens of police lights in front of the building. Placing her NYPD marker on the dash, she exited the car and approached the area surrounded by yellow police tape.
And there he was. Sniffing and prodding at the poor girl's ravaged body, searching intently for any clues that may aid in their investigation. His unique technique initially irked her as it did most, but Alex quickly came to appreciate and secretly admire Bobby's ferocious tenacity in his quest to bring justice to those who could not seek it for themselves.
"Was the Degas' exhibition that bad?" she sarcastically cracked.
At the sound of her voice, Bobby's eyes looked up at Alex. "She's still warm, Eames. The killer couldn't have been here but 30-45 minutes ago."
"What do you think? Was she killed right here or did they just dump her?" Alex asks pulling on her latex gloves.
"It must have happened right near here and they dumped her quickly," he said.
"I can't see any bloodstains on the surrounding steps. If the perp stabbed her here, there would be blood spatter somewhere," she says, pulling up the girl's shirt and examining the deep gashes in her chest and abdomen.
"Christ, Bobby. Whoever did this was sloppy."
"And brutal," he adds. "It looks like our girl fought like hell too," he says, picking up her hands and pointing to the deep gashes on her hands and forearms.
"Hopefully our girl here got some of this mutt's DNA under her fingertips. Christ, Bobby, she's so young," Alex says taking in the short white shirt and flirty top the girl was dressed in. No place for ID, she notes. "She looks like she could have been clubbing. How the hell did she end up on the steps of MoMA?" Alex says.
"Don't know if it's symbolic or just plain desperation on our guy's part," he answers. "Either way, it's our case now. The mayor doesn't like dead bodies on the steps of his newly renovated museum."
"Well, let's get her on the bus and hopefully the ME can shed some light on our young Jane Doe," Alex says, standing up straight next to Bobby.
"Did you bring your car or do you need a lift back to the station with me," Alex asks.
"I took a cab here," Bobby replies walking to the SUV next to Eames.
On the drive back to 1PP, Alex keeps flashes back to the victim's face; strong cheekbones and glassy, startled blue eyes that will remain etched in her mind forever. Shaking off the macabre thoughts, Alex glances at Bobby, sitting silent in the passenger seat. They still haven't gotten their groove back, even after the Harrington case. Since Bobby's outburst a few weeks ago at the office, their conversations are limited to work or nothing of relevance at all. She no longer asks after his mother; He no longer tries to subtly question her about her therapy or health.
The last and only time they have spoken of the day he walked out on her in the squad room was the very night it happened.
Flashback
Trying in vain to forget her feelings of anguish over a steaming cup of hot cocoa, Alex was curled up on her couch when she heard a quiet knock on her door.
She got up and wrapped her flannel robe around her and found herself looking at Bobby's exhausted face through her peephole.
Flipping the deadbolts back, Alex opened the door to find Bobby shivering from head to toe.
"Bobby?" she says concerned. "Come in here. Why are you shivering? Is everything alright?" she asks, suddenly feeling ridiculous. Of course everything is not okay, dummy. His mother is dying and his control is walking a jagged edge. Be careful, Alex.
"I-I needed to talk to you," he says in a soft whisper, sitting down on her couch. "I'm so sorry, Eames. I feel -," Bobby says, placing his fist against his mouth. "You have to know that what I said back in the bullpen wasn't directed towards you," he implores, "that was for Ross' benefit. Mostly, it was just my temper getting the better of me."
Alex wraps one of her throw blankets around Bobby's shoulders trying to ward off the tremors racking his body.
"Bobby, I'm not going to lie to you. I'm still really upset, but let's not rehash the past couple of days, please. You look like hell and I'm exhausted, so let's just agree, right now, that we won't think about it tonight," Alex says gently her hands up and down his arms, desperately trying to generate heat within Bobby's body.
Offering him her still steaming hot chocolate, she tenderly strokes the wayward curls on his head. "Bobby, I wish there was something I could do for you. But even if there was," she says, hesitating, "you wouldn't let me."
"I can't stop shivering, Eames. It's a goddamn Indian summer outside and I feel like I've trekked here from Antarctica," he says, ignoring her statement.
"Come on, Bobby," Alex says, grabbing his hands and pulling him up from the couch and leading him to her bedroom. "You're in no shape to drive home so just lay down here and get some sleep," she says, pulling his jacket off his shoulders and laying it on her dresser.
"Eames, I can't take your bed," Bobby protests.
Alex pushes his large frame down on the soft down mattress and takes up the chore of untying his shoes. "Bobby, you're not pushing me out of my bed," she says, placing his shoes in front of her closet. "I'm sleeping here, too. There is no way I'm going to sleep on my lumpy couch and I wouldn't subject you to that particular torture tonight."
As Alex snuggles down into her bed, Bobby's hand reaches across and places it on her shoulder. "Eames," he says in an agonized voice, "I…you are helping me, Eames. I just can't seem to bring myself to ask for help right now," he speaks in a rushed voice. "It sounds ridiculous and irrational, but I'm scared that the second I speak my fears, it will all come crashing down on me."
A deep pang of sorrow throbs in Alex's chest. "It's going to be alright, Bobby. Just get some sleep," she implores him.
"I'm so tired, just so tired," he mumbles into the pillow.
"Sleep," she says, "I'll be right here when you wake up."
In the pre-dawn hours, Alex awakens to find Bobby's heated body cradled against hers. With a small tug of her lips, she smiles, thankful that she can provide Bobby some measure of comfort.
In the morning, when Alex stirs, she finds herself alone. The only indication that last night was not a dream is Bobby's jacket lying on her bedroom dresser.