His suits layed on him like paint. Every inch of him, inky and sketched, but restrained. Eames swallowed hard when she heard is voice. She couldn't turn around. Couldn't meet his eyes...eyes that were now burning a torrent of deep amber, behind his steady gaze. His voice was low, calling over her shoulder, but he kept his familiar tone,
"Close it."
Eames wanted to, she felt her insides close the drawer, though out the outside she remained still....and dangerously quiet. Goren eyed her, any other man, would see her hardened exterior, years on the job drawn on her face and think she was distant, maybe even difficult..definitely not one to take any shit.
Eames grasped her hand more tightly on the handle of the drawer, licking her lips. She heard his voice again, this time....more firm.
"Close it."
She did, this time quickly, before she could talk herself out of it. She couldn't look at him. Eames kept her eyes on her hand, still holding the drawer handle.
He had caught her, going through his desk drawers. She hadn't expected him to come in on a Sunday, her heart rate doubled. How could she tell him, she didn't even know what she was looking for? That it was all innocent, really.
His voice even and cold, cut into her thoughts,
"What are you doing?"
His voice seemed to echo through the squadroom. Eames didn't know how to answer. Words caught in her throat.
Goren looked at the back of her, bent slightly, her hand on his drawer handle, frozen.
"Eames-"
"Bobby, I'm sorry!" the words leaped out her throat...tinged with desperation, then her hand released the handle..and felt empty. She couldn't bring herself to turn around, her eyes burning. She pushed the lump in her throat down.
He said nothing, his frame bending, trying to see her face, he took slow heavy steps towards her. Until he was standing...inches behind her. Eames felt her insides warm. He made no moves to touch her. She made none to face him.
Goren dropped his head. Then reached, with a swift movement, claiming Eames tiny wrist in his hand, his body still keeping the distance between them. He kept his eyes on the floor, holding his breath, leaning his neck to slowly close the distance between their bodies. He stopped when his lips met her hair, his fingers clinging tightly around her wrist.
"Don't do it again." his voice was just above a whisper.
Eames felt like all the skin on her body had tightened from the inside and Goren kept his grip on her wrist. He tried to gauge her response.
She nodded her head in understanding, a quick, barely perceptible nod, and he released her, her hands tingling as she regained feeling.
Neither of them slept well that night, knowing Monday was hours away.
He was at his desk, when she arrived. He didn't even look up from his reading. She sat her things down across from him. Quietly. She couldn't tell if he was upset. She fought to keep from staring at him until she knew for sure. She began flipping through some files on her desk, her eyes flashing up to him, every few seconds, hoping to catch his glance. Goren kept his head down. Then, softly, she cleared her throat, immediately regretting it, after she heard how it obviously sounded like an attempt to get his attention.
A quick smile passed his lips and then he cleared his throat as well, mimicking Eames. He lifted his head. His eyes dark from lack of sleep, met hers and then back to his reading.
Most of the day, they were apart. Trekking across New York on a frigid January day. Eames questioned witnesses in Queens and Goren took Uptown, they planned to meet later in the evening and compare notes, trying to come up with some fresh leads. They were looking for a drug dealer, who was suspected in the shooting of a young high school athlete and the case was drying up.
Eames felt her pocket buzz. Her phone was vibrating. She pulled it out. The screen flashed, GOREN. She picked it up.
"Yeah?" her cop exterior taking over. She had been working with Goren long enough to know when he felt he had come across something useful and when he didn't. Judging by his voice, he didn't.
"Where do you want to meet?" he asked.
"Uhh- to be honest- my place. It's freezing out here..." she watched her breath form clouds in the cold winter air, "we can just go over everything there, that okay?"
He said nothing for a moment, then. "Yeah." followed by another pause, his voice lowered, "I'll meet you there."
Something about it, made Eames hold her breath. He had hung up before she could even say anything else.
When she arrived he wasn't there. She entered her empty apartment and removed her coat and winter clothing. Stripping down to jeans and a simple gray long sleeved shirt that fit her closely. She filled the teapot her grandmother gave her with water and placed it on the stove. Winter always made her crave hot tea and the sound of this particular teapot brought back memories of being a young girl at her grandparent's house.
She opened the door to let him in... and for a moment, he hesitated. He was draped in a heavy black coat, a metal grey scarf around his neck and knit hat covering his dark tousled hair. Then he came inside, Eames felt like the ground beneath her had changed. His energy more intense than usual.
"Everything, okay?" she dared to ask. Her voice light.
His face was dark and burned by the cold. He shook his head no. His hand dug deeper into his coat pocket. Eames eye caught view of a small piece of white paper under his hand. He spoke, almost suddenly,
"I'm gonna use the restroom." his neck craned awkwardly towards the hall, in the direction of her restroom. He walked in the kitchen, passing her, removed his coat and the items in his pockets, setting everything on the counters. She saw the white paper, laying next to his wallet. He disappeared down the darkened hallway.
Eames went into the kitchen. Taking down two mugs for the tea. She wondered what was wrong with him. She wondered if it had anything to do with that piece of paper in his pocket. Her curiosity burned. She quickly assessed the situation. She hadn't heard him flush, she walked over to the counter, her eyes surveying his things. Scarf. Hat. Coat. Wallet. Keys. And now she could see more clearly...a small white envelope.
Goren looked at himself in her bathroom mirror. Taking deep breaths. He could still feel her tiny wrist in his palm from the day before. He clenched his hand...trying to push it away. He came into the bathroom to get himself together, he turned on the faucet. Splashed his face with cold water.
Eames let her finger delicately trace the envelope. She battled with herself and then decided. Bobby would never tell her what was going on....she had to find out for herself. She pulled the envelope with one finger across the kitchen counter, towards her, then she felt it. The counter reverberated beneath her touch. His hand slamming the envelope out of her reach. She jumped, startled for the moment. Then Goren growled in her ear, deeper than usual,
"This is the second time I've caught you going through my things."
Eames caught her heart in her throat. He was inches behind her again. His arm touching her side, pinning the envelope under his massive hands. Goren's voice lowered into a sensual hiss, "I thought I told you....not to do it again."
He moved, close enough to her now, his breath warmed her ear. Eames opened her mouth to speak, but the sound was strangled, by the sudden burning of her scalp. Goren pulled up a fistful of her hair and was holding her close, his lips on her forehead. He spoke into her hair,
"Put your hands on the counter."
He said it as a command. Eames felt turned inside out. Goren was more forceful now than anytime she had ever seen him. His body massive and tense. His long elegant hands wrapped in her hair. She could smell him. It was a smell she knew better than any other. The smell of a man she trusted more than any other. A smell that now made her muscles weak.
The blood in his body was rushing. He felt like thunder on the inside. She turned around, her back to him. Her movements were...hesitant. But Eames spread her small hands across the counter, planting her palms. Closing her eyes. She heard his breathing increase in her ear as he released her hair. Goren took a small step back. Giving himself enough space obtain a better view.
The air felt cold around her. Time passed excruciatingly slowly as she waited for one of them to speak. Move. Breathe.
Goren walked around her and took up the envelope. He held it delicately in his hand and then his dark, mysterious, eyes met hers.
"This what you want- Eames?" he tapped the edge of the envelope on the counter.
"Bobby-" she moved and lifted her hands off the counter. He barked immediately.
"DO NOT...take your hands off the counter."
Eames, almost in reflex, re-positioned her body into the almost identical stance she held before, her hands now sweating. The teapot began to hiss. Low. Eames realized she was out of herself. The sound was so distant and faint. She looked up at Goren. She felt like his stare removed all the bones from her body. Her inner self droning.
She watched his hands as the removed contents of the envelope. He unfolded the paper from inside and presented it to Eames, showing her both the front and back. It was blank. She felt dense. He removed a pen from the envelope as well. He placed both the pen and blank paper in front of her, between her hands...which she didn't dare move.
His neck twitched and he looked from Eames to the paper, to her hands, to Eames to the paper again. His words were like acid.
"Eames, " his neck twitching again, "Write on this paper, 500 times, "I will not touch Robert Goren's things without permission."
She heard it all in his voice.
And at first she didn't take want to him seriously, but then the look in his eyes let her know different. He was as serious as he had ever been in his life, if not more. His intensity from all these years, seeming to unfold, in this moment. She felt herself moisten, but couldn't explain it. She didn't dare move a muscle. Something was happening between her and Bobby...finally. This was...unconventional to say the least....but that was part of what kept her so drawn to him. He was unlike any other man she had ever encountered. She reminded herself to breathe. She was hit with a wave of indescribable emotions. Her eyes skimming the space before her rapidly. She looked down at the blank paper. Inhaling deep.
She looked down at the counter, the teapot now reaching its whistling heights, adding to the pressure of her decision, she spoke, her voice like a little girl,
"Can I take my hands off the counter?"
She couldn't meet his eyes. And suddenly, he couldn't meet hers. Without warning, he took up his coat, hat, scarf, wallet and keys and had them all on in moments. He took the teapot off the stove. The room now strikingly silent. Everything seemed sucked out with a vacuum. Eames tried to make sense of it all.
Goren looked at her now, his eyes looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. Her hands were still on the counter. He bit his lip and put his head down, afraid the sound wouldn't leave his throat.
"I'm sorry." his voice was weak and he turned and left.
She didn't try to stop him. She couldn't move even if she wanted to. So she remained in the kitchen, not taking her hands up until he was gone. Looking down at the blank paper and pen. Feeling her own moistness between her thighs.
For another night, neither one of them slept.
The next day, Goren wore his sleepless night like cologne. His eyes look beat, more stubble covered his strong jaw than usual. He hadn't even attempted to put on a tie and his white shirt was unbuttoned at the top and wrinkled. Eames made a better attempt to look decent, opting for a simple black blouse and skirt.
His eyes didn't meet hers when she arrived. No throat clearing was going to fix it this time.
She debated on whether to give it to him. Feeling it folded in her bra. She held her breath and reached inside, her hands shaking. This caught his eye as her hand slowly traced its direction to inside her bra. His mouth felt dry. He tried to look as best he could while still keep his head down. She pulled it out.
A letter, he assumed. One he hoped that wasn't about the events that took place last night, or even better wasn't for him at all. But something about the way she pulled it out...he knew it was. She spent a lot of time thinking before writing and now after all the buildup was nervous to share what she wrote.
Eames unfolded it slowly, the paper trembling with her hands. She flattened it out, pressed into the top of her desk. Eames hand still debated on whether to give it to him. But then she saw his sleepless eyes watching her in anticipation, though his head was down. She passed it across her desk to Goren, never lifting it off the surface, until her hand was spread over the paper and sitting right underneath his face.
He couldn't look away now. He looked up at her, and her eyes were filled with an emotion he couldn't identify. She pulled her hand from the paper slowly. He looked down and saw it. Taking in air.
There it was.....500 times.
I will not touch Robert Goren's things without permission.
Since Eames had given it to him, he seemed non-responsive... non-existent would be an even better term. He had almost completely withdrew from her in every capacity. Every day he came to work, looking worse than the day before. Speaking less than the day before, spending more and more time working on the aspects of cases they could do separately.
It's not the first time he had ever disappeared into his own mental world. But this time was different. She could still feel his hand around her wrist. His breath in her ear. The tone in his voice, that let her know, this was coming from some place deeper. The tension in her hand as she wrote hundreds of lines...because he asked her to.
One morning, she awoke extra early, wanting to beat him to work. She did. Almost no one was in the squad room at this time of morning and the office was still cold, warming up from the reduced heat overnight. She sat in his chair. She smelled that smell again. She let her fingertips trace the outline of his desk. Then she heard the elevator and saw him coming, she immediately opened the files on his desk and starting going through his notes as she saw him approaching.
He didn't know how to respond. She was going through his things...again. Didn't she know this wasn't a game for him.
He walked up to the chair, behind her.
"Excuse me, Eames."
She tensed, waiting.
Wanting.
But nothing, he looked at her. His face blank. Nothing in his eyes.
She suddenly felt embarrassed. She swooped some air behind her ear and got up from his seat, unable to meet his eyes, making a beeline for the ladies room. Murmuring a light apology.
In the bathroom, she cursed herself. Feeling her eyes begin to sting. Realizing now how much she hated it when he withdrew from her, when he acted this way. He seemed to make himself impenetrable. She clenched her fists in frustration.
Goren sat at his desk his mind skimming why Eames would purposely make sure he saw her nosing through his things.
The first time was an accident.
The second time...he could never admit to anyone else, but he set her up. He knew this proved his curiosity was even stronger than hers, but he gave himself credit for being more clever about it. He made sure to let her see him touch the envelope and to fill it with a blank paper and pen. He wasn't sure about what would happen after that but he figured he would cross that bridge when he came to it. She only proved he knew her as well he thought he did. He suddenly felt bad. He was so much more calculating than her. He even made sure not to use or flush the toilet to ensure he would catch her.
But this third time, this morning, this is when she broke away from the Eames he was so sure he knew, why would she try to provoke him? The answer made his chest tight.
His mind returned to her 500 lines.
And he felt the urges, coming for him now, burning through his resolve. He tried to imagine how she looked writing it out, did she write it in her bed, or at her desk. He ran his hand roughly over his mouth, remembering how firmly she placed her palms into the counter, how patiently she waited for him to speak or move....letting time pass so slowly between them. The teapot.
She came out of the ladies room now, her face looking like it just dried fresh tears. She looked beautiful and suddenly shy. The hardened, quietly confident Eames he knew must have decided to stay in the bathroom. This woman before him seemed....vulnerable. He felt heat stirring within him. He wasn't used to her wearing her emotions so close to the surface. He couldn't take it.
"Eames-" he had her attention, though she didn't look up. "...I need to speak with you privately." He glanced nervously around the squad room.
She got up without speaking and walked into the closest empty office. He picked up some files and notebooks from his desk and followed behind her, closing the door with a quiet click.
His eyes were on her. Barely moving.
"What's up, Bobby?" her voice was low, and defeated.
She was beginning to feel angry with herself for letting this morning affect her so deeply and in being honest with herself, she still wasn't sure why it did. He moved slowly, twisting the blinds on the office windows shut. The room was dark, like just after sunset, but they could see eachother clearly.
Goren lowered his head.
"I thought you agreed not to touch my things without permission."
He pulled one of the manila folders and slammed it on the desk. Eames felt herself tense up.
"I thought I was very clear about this."
Another folder slammed on the desk next to it.
She felt her heart pumping like a rabbit. She fought to catch her breath. She leaned back against the wall to steady herself. His words.
"Yet-" his voice rose slightly, sounding terse, "this morning-" he pursed his lips, pulling his head to the side. He slammed one more folder on the desk. Three lined up.
He couldn't meet her eyes.
"Go stand in the corner, Eames."
She was taken back for a moment. She felt light-headed. She felt her feet moving and she leaned into the only empty corner in the room, her eyes still on Bobby who was looking at her now, like a fire was brewing inside him. His voice low and sharp,
"Turn around."
She did and was confronted with the huge crease where the two walls met. She leaned her forehead against the wall and exhaled slowly, that familiar moistness returning.
He said nothing to her for a few long moments and she absorbed their behavior. She knew by the way her heart was racing, she was excited. His hands planted on the walls above her head. She gasped lowly with pleasure.
He didn't move much. Their bodies almost still. She breathed into the wall. He breathed into the back of her neck. His breathing got more ragged, the longer they stood there. His eyes closed, neck rolling back, mouth opening slowly as he envisioned himself making love to her. His mind fabricating the sensation of entering her. He backed away from her. Leaving her weak, her face against the wall.
He sat at the desk. Eames knew not to turn around. She wondered what he was doing behind her. She heard him opening drawers and clicking pens, shuffling papers. She tried to catch her breath. He spoke, sitting at the desk, talking to the back of her head, still in the corner.
"One of these three folders has something in it for you."
He cocked his head.
"Which one do you want?"
Eames couldn't turn around to see them. She realized this must be the crux of the test. Similar to how she couldn't have possibly written I will not touch Robert Goren's things without permission 500 times without also taking her hands off the counter, there was no way she could know which folder actually had something in it, without seeing them, but then she would have to turn around. She scanned the wall for the right answer.