Title: Patience
Author: Zubeneschamali
Rating: T
Summary: Post-ep for "Guns and Roses." No, not that kind of post-ep. (Well, all right, maybe a little…) What happened after Robin closed the door?

Author's note: Yes, the title is a reference to the episode title. No, this is not a songfic. Thanks to 3rdgal and to Rittenden, world's fastest beta reader, for looking this over. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me, but the people at CBS and Scott Free Productions. Can't say I complain about what they've been doing with them, either!

ooooooooooooooooo

Walking up the driveway and then the front walk to Robin's house, Don mentally rehearsed the conversation he'd been planning ever since wrapping up the case a few hours ago. He should take a chance, his father had told him, because he couldn't be any worse off than he already was. Problem was, he could envision a lot of ways that things would be worse, starting with the awkwardness of working with Kim on the counterfeiting case last year to Nikki's blood-stained body arranged neatly on her bed.

He shook his head to clear away the morbid thoughts. Then he tapped on the door. And when the porch light came on, as he blinked in the sudden glare, all those carefully-planned words flew right out of his head. Robin opened the door, and they looked at each other for a long moment.

When she said, "Agent Eppes," the same way she had in her office, but lacking the accusatory tone, he took a deep breath and gave a slow "Counselor" back at her.

She looked at him for a moment longer, and then her face creased into a gentle smile. "This is a surprise," she said.

Drawing on everything he could remember of his cool, confident college persona who had never been short of female companionship, he stepped up to the door and walked right in, almost but not quite brushing past her as he went. "Yeah," he said softly as he went by. In the few seconds that their bodies were in close proximity, he caught a whiff of the same floral scent he had noticed when they were in his car, earlier that week, getting to know each other a little more closely. He felt a sudden small rush of desire just thinking about that.

So when she closed the door and turned towards him, still no more than a foot away, it was only natural for him to reach out to gently cup her face. Her response was immediate, closing the distance between them and snaking one arm around his back to pull him closer to her. Just like when they were sitting in the Suburban, they were of nearly equal height standing here in her foyer, which made it that much more convenient when their lips met.

He was swept away as quickly as he had been the other night, lost in the feel and the taste and the joy of this intimate contact. His other hand rose to the back of her head, fingers sliding through the soft strands of her hair as his mouth sought greater purchase against hers. She leaned forward, and the shock of their bodies touching sent a wave of lust through him. With a great deal of effort, he slowed the pace, shifting from one long, passionate kiss into a series of smaller ones, keeping his hands around her face instead of trailing them down her bare neck and arms like he wanted to do.

Apparently sensing his shift in mood, she gave him one last, long kiss before slightly drawing back. Still trailing her fingers through the hairs at the back of his neck, she said huskily, "To what do I owe the honor?"

He pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. Pleasant as this was, it wasn't why he was here. Well, it wasn't the main reason he was here, he corrected himself. "Truth is, I came over here because I owe you an apology. And an explanation."

She reached up and laid a finger over his lips. "No, you don't. I talked to some people, and I found out who Nikki Davis was and what had happened to her. It was a tough situation all around, Don."

He looked into her eyes for a moment. Why was he not surprised? She certainly had the resources to find out what had gone on, probably as easily as he had found where her house was. The question was, why had she done it? For her own curiosity, or some other reason? "Yeah. Yeah, it was pretty tough."

The intimate moment broken, he started to take a step back, his hands lowering from where they were still wound through her hair. But she spread her hands across his back to hold him in place, and he stilled. "You don't owe me anything," she said quietly. "But if you want to talk about it…I've been told I'm a good listener. They say that sometimes you can confide more easily in someone you don't know all that well." A spark of humor entered her eyes. "Not that I wouldn't like to know you better, but…"

As he returned her grin, he felt the tightness in his chest that he'd been carrying around all week loosen a bit. "Yeah," he replied softly. "That would be great."

"Do you want some coffee?" she asked, finally lowering her hands and stepping away.

Don rubbed a hand over his face. Any other time after a case like this, he would have already crashed at home, probably without doing much more than taking his shoes off. On the other hand, he didn't really need the increased jitters that more caffeine would bring. His stomach already had a small flock of butterflies in it, and considering how much coffee he'd already had today, anything more was likely to make his hands shake, and that was not the kind of impression he wanted to make.

Robin's soft laugh brought him out of his reverie. "It wasn't meant to be a hard question, you know."

He chuckled in response. "I guess that means my answer should be a yes."

He followed her back towards the kitchen, noticing the dining room table covered in books and papers, with a cleared-off area just large enough to hold a bamboo place mat with a dirty plate and glass sitting on top. Her eyes followed his, and she gave an embarrassed smile. "I don't have company over that often," she said apologetically, "and I didn't expect any tonight."

"No, don't worry about it," he assured her with a wave of his hand. "I should have called before coming over." He'd had quite the debate with himself about that, but had concluded in the end that if he called, he'd end up making polite small talk and then wishing her good night, instead of coming over to see her. And he'd really needed to see her. He said sheepishly, "I didn't even ask if you were busy, did I?"

She measured out coffee into the filter and replied, "No, you didn't, but I'm not. No more than any other night." She gestured at the piles on the table. "Just preparing for a case."

The easy response, of course, was to inquire about the case. But he didn't want to go that route, didn't want to slip into the familiar conversation about work and cases and the daily grind. Even though he had come here in part to see if this was someone with whom he could share that part of his life. 'Hell, who am I kidding?' he said to himself. 'It's not part of my life, it's my whole life.'

He lowered himself onto one of the wooden stools at the breakfast bar, watching her across the counter. She poured water into the coffeemaker before removing a couple of mugs from the dishwasher. Her movements were neat and efficient, highlighting her wonderfully long and slender fingers. When she was done, she leaned across the counter and placed a hand over his, neatly folded on the white tile. "I'm glad you came over," she said quietly. "And I suppose I don't need to ask how you found my address."

He gave her his most charming smile. "Yeah, well, you know. I have friends."

"I'm glad." Her voice was surprisingly serious as she went on, "Because I've run across more than a few agents who don't have someone that they can talk to when a case gets a little rough."

"And how about you, Robin?" he asked in reply. "Do you have someone to talk to?"

She let out a small scoffing noise and made as if to pull back, but he turned his hand over to grasp hers. "No, I'm serious," he said. "You might not be out there on the streets, but I'm sure you see enough upsetting things on the job."

"Sometimes," she acknowledged, her hand gripping his in return. "I have a sister who lives close by, and friends at work, of course."

"Sometimes family isn't what you need, though," he said softly, thinking of his conversation with his father the other night. He thought Alan had understood what he was saying, but that wasn't the same thing as really being able to talk to him. He still had to try to protect his father and brother as best he could from what he saw and lived most days. Thank God he got along so well with his colleagues. "Sometimes you need someone who understands what it's like, but isn't so close that they experience everything along with you," he mused out loud.

She was looking at him with a mixture of shrewdness and inquiry. "Is that why you picked me?"

Don returned her gaze while he rolled that one around in his mind, aware that she deserved nothing less than an honest answer. Then he slowly said, "No, because that hasn't worked out for me so well in the past. Which is why I'm here actually."

"I see." The sound of the coffeemaker had burbled to a halt, and she withdrew her hand from his, the atmosphere suddenly a touch cooler. "Do you want cream or sugar?"

He shook his head and accepted a steaming cup of black coffee, inhaling the aroma. It smelled so much better than the stuff he drank most mornings. When he looked up, Robin was regarding him with a tolerant smile. "Beats the office, doesn't it?" When he nodded in reply, she gestured towards the adjacent room. "Let's go sit somewhere more comfortable."

He followed her into the living room, negotiating his way around a couple of pieces of white slip-covered furniture. When they were finally seated next to each other on the couch, he carefully placed his mug on the glass-topped coffee table and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers together. "Look," he began, "I came over here because I do feel that I owe you an explanation."

"I already said—" she began, but he lifted a hand to cut her off. "Not an explanation about Nikki," he went on. "An explanation about me."

She tilted her head slightly sideways as if to indicate she was listening, and he took a deep breath. "Nikki and I dated for almost a year when I was assigned to Albuquerque. We met on a joint ATF-FBI mission, something with gun smuggling across the border. We started hanging out together, then it got a little more serious." He paused to study the pattern on the Oriental rug beneath the coffee table. "And then I signed up to join Fugitive Recovery."

'Just like that,' he thought. Just like he'd asked for his first posting out of Quantico to be in Boston when he'd known Terry was being assigned to Miami. Just like he'd moved back to Los Angeles less than three weeks after being engaged to Kim. Just like he'd managed to, how had Dad put it, sabotage every single one of his relationships thus far.

"That's a pretty time-intensive job, isn't it?" she asked. Her tone wasn't accusing, wasn't questioning, just understanding. Understanding of what he was getting at, at least, if not of his reasons for doing it.

He let out a huff of breath. "Yeah, you could say that," he agreed. "My family sure didn't like it, and Nikki didn't like it either. But I liked the work, and I had a great partner, and…I was pretty good at it."

"So how did that affect things with Nikki?"

"Two months into it, we broke up. She said she just couldn't, you know…" He looked up for the first time to meet her eyes and found them still as warm and compassionate as they had been when she opened her door.

"I'm sorry you had to be the one to handle her death," Robin said, leaning over to place her mug next to his on the coffee table.

The corner of Don's mouth curled up in a humorless grin. "Oh, I wouldn't say I had to. I kind of insisted on it. I mean, it turned out for the best, because we were able to find her some justice, but—" He let out a sigh. "If I could do this week over, I don't know. I can't say I'd hand it over to someone else, 'cause I think it would have just been filed away as another suicide. I guess I'm just surprised that no one yanked it away from me. I mean, you saw what it did to me when I was in the interrogation room." He shook his head. He'd been that close to throwing away his ethics for the sake of something extremely personal. It had been the woman sitting beside him who had yanked him back to reality, and he was extraordinarily grateful to her for that.

"But you were able to put that aside," she was saying. "You were able to put it out of your head, and go on and do your job as well or better than anyone else could have done. And I really admire you for that, Don."

This time, the smile he gave her was genuine. "Thanks," he said softly.

She reached out and briefly squeezed his hand before picking up her coffee again. "So it's been a while, then."

Puzzled by the non-sequitur, he cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Pausing to take a sip of coffee, she said, "Since you've been involved with someone."

"Well, yes and no," he said, dropping his gaze to the floor again and clearing his throat. "See, after Nikki, there was this agent who transferred to the Albuquerque office while I was doing Fugitive Recovery. Her name was Kim, and we, uh, got to know each other pretty well. The short version is, my mom got sick, I came back to LA, and the long distance thing just didn't work out."

"And the long version?"

He didn't reply for a moment, and she put a hand to her face. "I'm sorry, there I go again, getting too personal. It's not like I really know you well enough to be asking you those kinds of questions."

"No, no, it's okay," he assured her. "I'm glad that you feel you can." He gave her a quick smile, then went on, "I would like to tell you, it's just not…" He let out a sigh. "The point is, and this is really why I came here, I just don't have a good track record with relationships. And I want to be up front about that."

"So what are you trying to tell me? That you're the love 'em and leave 'em type?"

He helplessly spread his hands apart in the air. "I just get really involved in my work, to the exclusion of most other things. Which means it's really difficult for anything to work out long-term." He left out the part about consciously or unconsciously sabotaging things; if she was as smart as he gave her credit for, she'd already figured that one out.

She leaned forward, chin propped on her fist. "I think if you really were that kind of guy, you wouldn't be so open about it."

"Look, Robin…" He flung himself to his feet and took a few steps back and forth in front of the couch. "I'm not saying I'm deliberately a player or anything. I just thought that I should let you know that, well, if we're going to get to know each other better, I've had some problems in the past."

She was regarding him with a steady gaze. "We all have our histories, Don. And it sounds like you're talking about a pretty heavy-duty relationship all of a sudden, considering we haven't done more than kiss a few times."

He froze. In heeding his father's advice to take a chance on the next woman who came along, he'd made the mistake of assuming she would go along with the plan. He was suddenly aware that he was presuming way too much. Self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck, he said in a deliberately light tone, "Yeah, well, full disclosure and all that."

She considered him for a moment as if making a decision, long enough to make him squirm a bit. Then she rose from the couch. "As long as we're talking full disclosure, I'd like to admit something to you."

He regarded her as she took a couple of steps forward, drawing ever closer to him. "What's that?" he asked with a slight hint of trepidation.

"I have to admit, I was hoping you had something else in mind when you showed up on my doorstep at nearly ten o'clock at night." She was almost close enough to touch, and he could feel his heart beating a little faster as the atmosphere of the room shifted perceptibly from emotional strain to something…else. "Or was I wrong about that?"

He gave her a slow smile as he caught on to her meaning. "No, I might have had more than one reason for dropping by," he acknowledged.

Her answering smile was more seductive than anything he had seen so far from her, and it freed him to reach out and trail his fingers along her bare arm. When his hand reached hers, she intertwined her fingers with his and took a step closer, so that only a hand's-breadth of space separated them. "I do appreciate your explanations, Don. And I feel that it's only right that I reciprocate."

He laid a finger across her lips, imitating her earlier gesture. "You never have to tell me anything you aren't ready to." Her lips pursed slightly, giving his finger a small kiss. "Besides," he went on, leaning forward as he spoke, his earlier confidence returning, "There's more than one way to get to know someone better." By the time he finished the sentence, his lips were on hers.

It wasn't until much, much later that he realized he had never turned his cell phone off. For once, the universe had allowed him to just disappear.