"Welcome aboard."
Captain Deakins's words are delivered with warmth, a smile and a blue eyed twinkle. Bobby decides he likes this man; there is a sense of quiet authority tempered with humour about him.
"Detective Eames, your partner, is in court, won't be back til later. I'll introduce you then. In the meantime, I've left some reading material on your desk."
So now his partner has a name and he has a desk.
Lewis was wrong, it is not all pussyfooting and politics. Not today. Today it is paperwork, a pile of policies and procedures. Too many 'p's. His body reminding him of another, he heads for the restroom.
Washing his hands, he studies his reflection. With a flash of vanity, he acknowledges that he does scrub up well even though his face is already dusted with stubble and his suit feels like an alien skin. But the stubble is ever present, noticeable within an hour of shaving and he will soon acclimatize to wearing a suit again. Will have to; it's a symbol of his status, his achievement, the badge of honour to be worn here amongst the elite. He indulges in a little ego stroking as he dries his hands then thinks of the paperwork and summons up another 'p' – procrastination. He heads out of the restroom to hunt down some coffee.
"Ah! Detective Robert Goren, meet Detective Alexandra Eames."
He had strutted back into the squad room, bolstered by his self assessment, hot coffee burning his fingers through the paper cup. Had arrived back at his desk at the same time as the Captain and ... his partner.
And now he is aware he is looming over her, still puffed up by pride. The wary look in her eyes tells him that she has fore knowledge, has been briefed about him. There is an unbearable moment of tension, his surprise meeting her suspicion, and he searches for a way to defuse it. Inspiration strikes.
"Bobby...uh... call me Bobby."
He deliberately fumbles the transfer of the cup from right to left hand as he reaches out to shake hers. Coffee explodes across the floor, splashing the legs of his pants and he crouches down, handkerchief ready for the mop up.
"Aw Christ, Goren! I'll get janitor services."
Deakins marches back to his office, carefully sidestepping the stray splashes. Bobby looks up hesitantly, using his position of disadvantage to check out her small athletic body clad in a dark professional pants suit, his coy glance meeting a small smile of wry amusement and hazel eyes reassessing.
She pulls out her own hankie, dabbing at a couple of spots on her legs and squats beside him, handkerchief proffered.
"Nice move, but it needs some work. And to you, I'm Eames."
Busted! He ducks his head, hiding cheeks flushing with embarrassment. At the sound of her heels tapping away, he dares to look at her again.
Catches her wink, and the barely suppressed grin.
As he continues his ineffectual mopping, he wonders how Lewis is with lottery numbers...