AWAKENING

He is gently skimming his palm over her flat, smooth stomach as the gray pre-dawn light slowly takes the edge off the darkness in her bedroom. His own stomach is pressed to her back, their bodies fitting neatly together as if they were meant to be that way.

She is not asleep, he knows. She is never asleep. He often wakes up at odd hours of the night and pulls her close to him, for reassurance, for comfort…for love. She usually responds with gentle kisses, and he wonders how long she has been awake.

He never asks. She never tells.

He tangles his long fingers in her silky hair, he slides his hand further up her abdomen. His lips find the soft skin of her neck, and he feels her breathing hitch.

Her cell phone rings, loud and jarring. Bobby jumps, his whole body tensing. Alex slides easily out of his arms, her small hand reaching for the offending object on the bedside table. "Eames," she says, her voice hoarse. "At…okay. I…no, it's..." She stops, listening quietly for a moment. Bobby frowns, then reaches out and traces a slow curve down her back. She pushes his hand away. "No, I'll call him." Bobby flops his head back onto the pillow, exhaling sharply. Goddammit. "We'll be right there."

She flips the phone closed, then climbs out of the warm bed and into the early morning chill. Bobby watches her thin silhouette in the pale darkness, watches as her tired limbs search through her drawers for presentable clothing. "Alex," he says, her first name slipping softly off his tongue.

"We have to go," she says, pulling a pair of slacks over the legs he longs to run his hands along, to entangle with his own. "They found a body slashed up in a dumpster by Bryant Park." She rifles through her closet, hangers clickety-clacking against one another. "I told Deakins I'd call you."

His head spins slightly as he sits up, and he takes his time swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He slowly drags his weary body to behind where she stands in front of the mirror, trying to clasp her bra in the dim light. He wraps his large hands around her slender waist, bends his head down and gently nips at her neck. She freezes for a moment, then allows herself to relax, as his warm fingers draw circles on her stomach and his hot mouth takes tiny bites at the hollow of her throat. "Bobby," she whispers, stilling his hands with her own. "We've gotta go."

"I know," he whispers back, planting gentle kisses down her jawline.

She shivers. "Bobby," she says again, a little firmer this time. It is 5:30, and she would like nothing more than to climb back into the warm, soft bed and lose herself in his arms. But there is a body in Bryant Park, and they have to go.

He turns her around and kisses her lips, hard, his hands moving to grasp her bare arms. "Okay," he says, prying himself away from her. "You're like ice."

"Well, if you'd let me get dressed," she sighs, pulling a shirt on. Her fingers fumble wearily with the buttons. "Can I turn the light on?"

He nods reluctantly and retreats to the bathroom. It is going to be a long day.

------

"Did you sleep okay?" he asks, stretching out his long legs as she turns the key in the ignition.

She turns to him, eyebrows raised. "Why?" she asks. She doesn't answer the question.

Her eyes move to the rearview mirror as she carefully backs out of the driveway. He studies her face in the dim natural light. "I just…" He pauses, considering his words carefully. "You were awake when I woke up," he says, running his hand through his slowly-graying curls.

She shrugs, but doesn't turn to look at him as she moves the car from "Reverse" to "Drive." "I'm a light sleeper," she says breezily.

He leans his head back against the leather car seat. "You look tired," he presses gently.

She keeps her eyes on the road. "It's pretty early, Bobby. Of course I'm tired."

He lets it go.

------

"We have an ID on our vic," Bobby says, dropping a manila folder onto Alex's desk.

"From what?" she asks, glancing up at her partner in mild surprise. It is 10:30. They have been on this case for four and a half hours. She is only on her second cup of black coffee. They couldn't possibly have identified the victim yet.

Bobby shrugs, sinking down into the chair opposite hers. "His DNA popped in the system," he explains, taking a long swig of his own coffee.

Alex's stomach turns unpleasantly. She carefully sets down her dark blue mug and, hands shaking slightly, opens the folder. She hides her trembling fingers in her lap, under the desk and out of Bobby's scrutinizing gaze. "He was a rapist?" she says weakly.

"Accused," Bobby clarifies. "They didn't have enough evidence to convict."

"Just…" Her voice cracks, almost imperceptibly, and she clears her throat. "Just one count?" she asks, trying to sound as casual as possible. She knows Bobby isn't fooled. She hopes he won't press her.

She avoids his eyes, because she knows he is staring at her. Reading her face. Reading her secrets.

Bobby doesn't speak for a long moment. Alex suddenly feels as if the temperature in the squad room has risen 15 degrees. Her face feels flushed, feverish. She absently pushes up the sleeves of her blouse.

"Just one count," Bobby says, finally, and Alex lets out the breath she didn't realize she was holding. "The accuser had had sex earlier that day with her boyfriend, and the perp wore a condom," he explains, his eyes searching her face. She won't look at him, and he allows his brow to crinkle into a look of puzzlement. "Without DNA evidence, the jury said they couldn't convict."

Alex nods, rapidly. "We should notify the family."

"We should go over there," he says, tapping his fingers against the desk. "Maybe they can help us."

She looks up at him for a split second, and her eyes are stricken. His frown deepens.

"He, uh…" Bobby struggles to find words. "He's married, apparently. They have a four-year-old son."

Alex nods. "Okay. Just—just give me a minute."

She flees the desk as fast as her shaking legs will carry her. In the quiet safety of the dimly lit women's restroom, she hunches over a grimy toilet and expels the contents of her stomach. Tears sting her eyes, and she bites her lip hard and wills them away. She isn't totally sure why she's crying. It's not as if they've never dealt with rape cases before. It isn't as if this case should be any different.

She can't help but feel that it is.

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...to be continued