DID SOMETHING RIGHT

Setting: after S01/E14 Homo Homini Lupus

It crept up on me gradually until I was trembling all over. I had to concentrate to keep my hand from shaking as I filled out the booking forms for Simon Matic. It was as though all the anger and revulsion I'd felt for the kidnapper and rapist was suddenly swelling up inside me. In another minute it was too much to control. I set down my pen and held my palms together between my knees.

Eames and I were in the Manhattan District Attorney's headquarters, seated on either side of the huge mahogany table in Mr. Carver's office. I wanted to get up and walk for a distraction from the horror of thinking about what Matic had done to Maggie Coulter, and what we may have prevented him from doing. However, taking a walk wasn't a possibility at the moment. The quickest way to get out was to plow through the paperwork – but my hands weren't steady enough for that at the moment.

I pressed my knees together even tighter.

"You okay over there?" Eames said. She paused to flex her fingers.

I nodded, paused, and then shrugged. I didn't look directly at her because I was afraid she was angry at me for the way we got Matic's confession. I'd played up sympathetically to him at first, letting him brag about his supposed service in the Serbian army. Sometimes she objects to that technique. In fact, I wasn't sure Eames was too keen on the way I got Maggie to open up to us, either.

Eames has reamed me out more than once about my methods. She thinks I bend the rules too far for investigations and interrogations. I don't agree, but I understand her point of view – she's much more by-the-book. Fortunately she's never complained in front of Captain Deakins or anyone else. Unfortunately, dealing with her occasional anger or cold-shoulder treatment was getting to be unproductive and confusing.

I didn't want to say something now that would push any of her buttons. This case has been emotionally draining.

"You know, I really wanted to hurt that slime-ball Matic," Eames said, dropping her pen and stretching her arms. "Something sadistic, something like what he did to Maggie, and all those other women. But... I think what you did to him was better."

At that, I looked at her in surprise. "Better?" Eames thought I did something right?

"Yeah, when he was led out of interrogation he looked petrified," she said. "The coward."

"Any man who'd treat women and children like that... he is a coward."

"I know it's not funny, but I almost laughed in his ugly face when you said his scars were from the kitchen knife of one of his victims," she said, sitting up straighter and leaning forward eagerly. "His reaction was so, so…"

"Satisfying," I said.

"Yes! It hurt him to hear the truth – you could see him flinch." She reached for the next form to sign.

My hands felt steady again. The restless anger had evaporated. I massaged my knuckles as I watched her. Eames wasn't angry at me – in fact, she was pleased with me!

It might mess up her good mood, but I wanted to explain my approach to the job. I took a chance and said, "Most of the people we – or, or some people... When we catch them, they want to get away with the crime, but they feel guilt. Something inside them – conscience, whatever – they feel relief when the truth comes out."

Eames looked at me intently. "Some. Not this one."

"It was important to take him off the street."

"I get that," she said. "Putting away someone who was stupid or selfish... we solve the crime, but there's not much satisfaction. But this... it's one very bad guy who can't hurt girls like Maggie any more. Days like these I feel like we're making a difference."

"I hope Maggie and her sister and mom get help... counseling. It's hard to imagine."

"What you told her," Eames said, "when we were at her house – what you said - it helped. It was like a light came on when Maggie realized she had power over that scum."

Eames was hardly ever this open with me – friendly, in fact! It was a very good feeling.

We both looked toward the doorway as Mr. Carver's assistant appeared with more papers. "This is the last set," she said. "Sorry, I think we printed out some of them twice, but it'll be easier if you just sign everything, and I'll sort it out later." She cleared a spot on the table for the new stack. "Sorry."

"So much for getting out of here while it's still daylight," Eames said.

The assistant had only been gone a minute when Mr. Carver returned. "Pick up line two, please," he said, pointing to the phone on his desk. "It's your captain." He shuffled behind my chair to his desk, where we'd been piling the completed forms.

Eames took the call and spoke quietly with Captain Deakins as I scribbled name, date and badge number on a few more forms.

"Okay, got it," she said, and hung up the phone. "Captain Deakins says he's buying a round at Roy's Tavern on Broome Street. I don't know about you two," she said, looking from me to Mr. Carver, "but I definitely could use a little decompression."

"Don't you mean debriefing?" Mr. Carver asked.

"Debriefing, decompression, and Dewar's," Eames replied with a straight face.

Carver and I both laughed.

"Good choice, Eames," I said. "I'm in."

She reached for the final stack of forms and dropped it between us. "I suddenly feel motivated to finish this paperwork. Captain said you're invited, too," she said to Mr. Carver.

"I have to deliver all of this to the judge," he replied, spreading his hands wide over the table. "But... I should be able to join you before your debriefing is over. Or decompression."

Eames winked at me as she said, "You don't want to miss the Dewar's, either, Counselor."

"Final round, anyone?" Captain Deakins called. He looked around for our waitress.

"I'm good, thanks," Eames said. She pushed her glass away. "I hit my limit."

"Carver, Goren, you in?" The captain looked at us. He'd bought the first round; Eames and I had bought the next two. There were a few other MCS detectives at the next booth, and Mr. Carver had arrived half an hour ago.

I wouldn't have minded one last beer, but Eames threw her arm in front of me the way she might if we were in the car and she'd hit the brakes suddenly. "Goren's done, too," she said, and now I noticed a very slight slurring of her words.

I shrugged. "Guess I'm done."

"No, I'm serious," Eames said. "We gotta be at work in the morning, you know." She looked okay, but the alcohol had clearly worked its way to her tongue.

Captain Deakins winked at her. "Yeah, and I heard your captain comes down hard if you show up hung over. Okay, we'll call it a night – you call a cab."

"Yes, sir," I said. "Thanks."

Deakins stood and congratulated us again on rescuing the Coulter women and getting good evidence on Matic to put him away. He shook hands all around; he and Carver left at the same time.

Eames excused herself to the ladies' room, but warned me not to leave without her.

By the time she came back everyone else in our party was gone. She slid back into the booth beside me. That was unusual; we always sat across from each other. She leaned on an elbow and looked up at me. She was definitely more relaxed than I'd ever seen her.

"You know what we need?" she asked.

"Another drink?"

"No, no, no. Cut it out, thinkin' I'm drunk!" She prodded her elbow into my ribs. "I'm just... just... what did I say back in Carver's office?"

"Decompressing?"

"Yes, decompressing. The horror has to get to you sometimes, doesn't it? This one was bad: children kidnapped... shootouts on the street... Serbian rapist..."

"Internal Affairs said your shot was good," I said, referring to the exchange she'd had with Matic's accomplice who was attempting to snatch another young girl. "You had to do it."

"I know. I'm okay with it." She sighed, shook her head slowly.

"It gets to me sometimes," I said.

"This wasn't where I was going with my question, Bobby."

She'd recently started calling me by my first name, which was fine with me. Partners should be comfortable with each other. However, the few times I called her Alex I got a surprised, sometimes sour look from her. I figured it was about being professional and maintaining respect, or something to do with being a woman cop. I didn't mind calling her Eames if that's what she wanted. I respect her a lot.

I crossed my forearms on the table, getting up in her face with a big smile. "Where were you going, then?"

She laughed and pushed against my head, then my shoulders. "Don't make me hurt you. I was saying," she said with emphasis, "we should get something to eat. You know, food? To absorb the alcohol in my stomach? So I can drive home? Eventually."

"Ah, I get it," I said, leaning even closer. "You're trying to get away from me."

Her smile faded, and she looked at me seriously, maybe even affectionately. She patted my head. "No. I'm staying. You're a good partner."

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