Robert Goren sat on the couch in his living room. The fourth beer was warm in his hands, and the effects were slowly being felt. It was not a pleasant feeling, he was merely numb. He didn't feel anything, his mind was shutting down from the constant self-accusation that had been occupying it for the past few days.

Why had he not told her? Dear God, why? It had made so much sense when he was in the thick of things. The reasons he had had for his silence had all vanished like smoke when she confronted him. He had presented them one by one like cherished gems, and she had broken, shattered each one. Ever since then, their friendship, their partnership, had been in ruins.

Oh, God, what in Heaven's name had he done? All he'd wanted was his job back, his friendship back, his life back. Never mind that without his mother, it was a half-life, a broken life. He knew that she knew that was the main reason why he got up in the morning. The fact that she knew, and chose to turn away from him anyway, hurt the most. Getting his shield back was hard to remember now. He'd been stupidly happy, not caring that his partner still hated him. That had been a mistake. The moment he got home, he knew what an idiot he'd been. The dead rat in his desk drawer might as well have been sent from her. The rat didn't hurt as much as her abandonment.

He'd tried to forget his troubles with a trip to his favorite used bookstore, which had a quaint tendency to play '50s and '60s music instead of forgettable muzak. Normally he liked hearing music from his boyhood, but who in his state was ready to hear a song about abandonment in the form of growing up?

That stupid song! Why had he sent that? It was stupid, it was better forgotten and never thought of again. "You always did love my silliness." Stupid. As if that would turn her heart now.

The beer was not helping.

Another can? Sure, why not?

As he sipped he thought over his next moves. As far as he was concerned, his life was over. He just had to take the final steps. Let go of the partnership he had cherished for so long and destroyed so carelessly. After that, was there anyplace he'd like to go? Germany, again, would be nice. As a bonus, it probably would never get back to Eames. He would simply have disappeared. It would be good to see his mother once more.

He sat on his couch shivering a little from thoughts of the future, or rather his not having one, when the doorbell rang. He got up to answer it, hastily putting a piece of gum in his mouth in case it was someone he didn't want to offend with his breath.

It was Eames. His mouth dropped open. Eames! Here!

Ignoring his surprise, she stepped into his apartment, letting the door shut behind her and looking around at the mess. "Hurricane Bobby has been here, I see."

"More like a tornado, and they don't name those." She smirked. Shit. Every time he opened his mouth he said something dumb. He was smart, but he was so stupid!

Trying to step over a wrinkled shirt, he overbalanced. To his slight amazement, she reached over to catch him. That's when she noticed the smell of him. "Oh boy, you've been drinking, haven't you?"

A monosyllabic grunt.

She sighed. "I guess I should have called first. Tell you what, step into the shower and cool off. I'll make some coffee." She looked closely at his face. "Are you okay? Well, no you aren't, are you? We really need to settle this."

He returned from the shower in clean blue jeans and his black shirt, his stomach in knots and his heart going triple-time. She was ending their partnership. He just knew it. At least she had come over to tell him face to face, instead of him finding it out from Ross.

He paused in the doorway, wanting to stare at her beautiful face one last time, remember it in minute detail as she sipped her coffee. Then he geared himself for the worst news he had heard since his mother was diagnosed with fatal cancer.

"Bobby," Eames started, "I want to apologize to you for something."

"Okay," he said, not sure what she felt she had to be sorry for.

"The day you got your shield back. It should have been a happy day for both of us."

"Well, you were still mad at me. I was wrong to be happy—"

"No, Bobby, you weren't. Not at all. I was the one with the wrong attitude."

What was going on here? "Um, well, if you feel that way . . ."

"I took away what should have been a happy day for you."

"Did you notice I didn't care much?" he asked bitterly.

She gave him a look made partly of fondness and wry emotion. "Yes, I did. But I still feel bad that I wasn't happy for you. We should have both been happy, and the truth is, Bobby, I was. Happy, I mean."

"You were?" he asked again, genuinely surprised.

"I was happy that you were back. I just didn't show you."

His stomach unclenching slightly, he leaned back in his chair as he studied her carefully, completely at a loss for words.

"Call me a bitch, I deserve it."

"Wait, I'm still confused about something. Are you still mad at me or not?"

"No, I'm not."

He suddenly felt a relief so deep it brought tears to his eyes. "Oh Eames, thank God! You don't know what I've been going through—But I know you've been suffering too," he added quickly.

"You're trying, and I appreciate the effort Bobby."

"You do?"

"Bobby!" she exclaimed, completely exasperated. She went to kneel beside where he was sitting. "This is me, your friend, here. Who did you think I was?"

"Someone else who hated me."

She thought about that a minute. "I understand how you could think that. But you can't be right all the time now can you?" She grinned at him.

He gave a small smile back. "Eames, I'm glad to be wrong."

"Here, have some coffee. Your breath won't get any better, but at least you'll be more sober."

They sat there together a few minutes, drinking small sips of coffee and, for the first time in days, enjoying the silent companionship."

"Eames," Bobby said suddenly, "there's some other thing that I haven't told you. It's not about the job; it's about me."

"Are you sick?" He was grateful to hear the concern in her voice when she asked that question.

"No, that isn't it. The thing is, it's—Eames, can there be a thing, that I know that you don't know, that you don't know what it is, but I don't exactly want to tell you, that you won't pry into, but we can still be friends anyway?"

"What?"

"I'm not good at sharing my private life with people. Even if they are my friends."

"Oh, you're private life." She sat back. "I can understand you having a secret from me." She frowned. "Like what kind of secret?"

"Oh, God, what have I done? It's not about the job, I swear. I don't even think you'd ever find out I had a secret if I didn't tell you."

"Okay, I won't ask then.
"Thank you, Eames."

"If I ever find out what it is, you'll tell me, you'll say 'okay you've discovered it', right?"

"Yes I promise."

She looked at him a long time. "Thanks for telling me you weren't telling me something. You probably never noticed, but I can always tell when you aren't telling me something. Like with your mom. It hurt a little, finding out that way."

He looked at her over his cup. "I should start treating you better, shouldn't I?"

"Sometimes I feel you treat me like a piece of furniture."
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

They talked long into the night, he secure in the knowledge that he could have his secret, that he didn't need to tell Eames that Mark Ford Brady was his biological father. She would never have to know.

He could not have been more wrong.