A/N: Once more, thank you very much to Canmar for her help with the poem and squarey for the talks about which church to use.

When Eames returned to the squad room, it was very obvious that she was still furious. Ross was seated on the edge of Goren's desk. In his chair, Goren avoided her gaze, not certain just what he had done to infuriate her but unwilling to chance making it worse.

When she saw him avert his gaze, she realized how it must seem to him, and she stopped behind his chair, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "It's okay, Bobby. I'm not mad at you. I'm just angry." She drew in a deep breath. "What the hell was that? Why would anyone want to blow up my car?"

"That," said Ross. "Was another burr under the chief's saddle. Do either of you have any idea who could have planted that bomb?"

Goren shook his head. "I can't think of anyone who doesn't like Eames. Now if it were my car..." He trailed off, a thoughtful look on his face. He turned toward his desk, picking up the poem. "It wasn't my car..."

"What are you thinking?" Ross asked.

Shaking himself from his reverie, Goren answered, "It's too early. Come on, Eames. I'll take you home."

Ross lowered his brows and said, "Keep me informed."

Eames nodded. "We always do, captain."

The captain's eyes shifted from one detective to the other. "You're shaken," he observed, stating the obvious. He pulled out his wallet and handed Goren a twenty. "Stop for a drink on the way home. You could both use it."

Goren hesitated and Ross stuffed the bill into his hand. "I'll see you in the morning."

He walked away, toward his office. Goren touched his partner's arm and led her in the opposite direction, toward the elevators, before Moran could put in an appearance. The chief was the last person he wanted to see.

The elevator ride back to the parking garage was silent. As they stepped from the elevator, the acrid smell of smoke, explosives and burning car parts was still heavy in the air, even though they were two levels below it. Eames sighed. "That car was almost paid off."

"I'm sorry, Eames."

"You really need to stop taking responsibility for the world on your shoulders, Goren."

Opening his mouth to reply, he thought better of it and remained silent. He opened the passenger door of his SUV and held it for her. She offered no argument, climbing into the passenger seat and leaning forward to cover her face with both hands. Goren scanned the area, then stepped in close, resting a hand on her leg and touching his forehead to her temple. He didn't say a word, but her trembling subsided and she felt comforted. Lowering one hand, she placed it over his, gently stroking his fingers.

When he withdrew, she felt better, and she gave him a reassuring smile to let him know it. The corner of his mouth quirked a little as he stepped back and closed the door.

Less than an hour later, they were seated in a quiet, smoky neighborhood bar, not far from Goren's apartment. It was much quieter than the often raucous atmosphere of the establishments around the precinct houses which catered to off-duty cops. The last thing Eames needed was more questions thrown at her about their personal relationship. He was used to the scrutiny of his peers, but he hated that he had dragged her into it as well.

Eames swirled the swizzle stick in her hurricane while Goren studied the amber liquid in his own glass. Finally, Eames said, "Why would anyone bomb my car?"

He took a drink. "I'm going to find out," he promised.

It was one promise he intended to keep, and he reinforced the promise by touching her hand with the back of his fingers. Touched by the gesture, she leaned her head to the side, against his shoulder. He let out a slow breath and took another drink.

Moran was on the warpath, and Major Case shared his wrath with the bomb squad. They were no closer to finding the person who blew up Eames' car than they had been the evening it happened, and the atmosphere in both squads was tense. Goren, in particular, was on edge, and that troubled Eames. He wanted to protect her, but it was difficult to do, not knowing where the threat came from. Ross had a gift for unwittingly setting Goren off, and Eames was getting tired of running interference between them. It wasn't Ross' fault that her partner was explosive, and it wasn't Goren's fault that Ross was being hammered by the chief for answers he did not have. The resulting tension was like mixing a candle with gunpowder, so Eames did her best to keep them busy outside the squad room. But in the squad room or out of it, they were getting nowhere.

January eighteenth was a Friday. Eames always took the day off rather than try to work in a distracted, unsettled mood. She spent the morning leafing through photo albums and reading old cards and letters, somehow keeping alive memories that were simultaneously pleasant and painful. They were good memories. The pain came from the fact that they were just that, memories, and there would never be more to look back on, because Joe was gone.

Thirteen years, she mused as she sat alone in an empty pew of a dimly-lit church. Holy Family, the church where she and Joe were married thirteen years ago. She had been a widow for the last ten of those years, and sometimes, the pain was as fresh as it was the night he died. Maybe it wasn't the best thing in the world for her to dwell on the past, but they had been happy times, and she had never again managed to find anything close to it. She closed her eyes but it didn't stop the tears of grief for the love she lost and the love she had never found to fill that void.

Goren was deeply unsettled, unable to remain at his desk for more than a few minutes at a stretch. Ross watched him, exhausted by the man's constant need to be moving. Without Eames to settle him down, Goren could not find a middle ground. Ross had an inkling of that when he'd first started with the squad and Eames had been kidnapped. Goren skirted on the edge when his partner was not around.

While he was at lunch, Ross made up his mind to give Goren a break and let him go home. When he entered the squad room, he was surprised to see Goren sitting at his desk, reading something and not moving at all. He approached the man. "Goren?"

The detective turned dark, worried eyes to his captain. Now closer to Goren, Ross noticed that his hand was shaking. "What is it?"

Goren offered the paper to the captain, who took it by the edge, noting that Goren was wearing gloves, and read the printed words:

How does she live with the grief?
She's spent so much time on her Own
Love was so good for her once
Then it all was taken that Year
Far be it for me to assume
She would ever do it Again
Maybe another surprise would
Make her aware of what she's currently In
Let's take a walk down memory lane
Since this would have been thirteen Years

Ross frowned, confused. "What does it mean?"

Goren struggled to keep his voice even. "Today would have been her thirteenth anniversary."

Ross felt his gut churning, his lunch forming a solid lump in the pit of his stomach. "Where is she, Goren?"

Goren had grabbed a pen and a piece of paper, writing out every capitalized letter in the poem. He shoved the paper into Ross' hand and lurched to his feet. Ross read the letters as he ran out of the squad room after Goren. H-O-L-Y-F A-M-I-L-Y.

"Holy Family?" he asked as they got into the elevator.

Goren nodded. "In Queens. It's where she and Joe got married."

"Let me guess. That's where she is now."

"God, I hope not," Goren replied as he pulled out his phone.

When Eames didn't answer, he knew that the church was exactly where his partner was, sitting on top of another bomb.

During the high-speed drive to Queens, Ross developed an appreciation for why Eames did the driving. He understood that Goren was frightened for his partner, and he remained silent as they weaved precariously in and out of mid-afternoon traffic.

Screeching to a halt outside the church, they were met by three local squad cars who arrived a few minutes before they did and were preparing to evacuate the church and the buildings and homes around it. Goren bolted from the vehicle and ran into the church, finding his partner with ease in the almost-empty building. Composing himself and falling back on a lifetime of learned respect for the church, even if he was no longer a practicing Catholic, he walked to the pew she was in and slid in beside her.

"Bobby?" she whispered in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

He knew she'd been crying, and that gripped his heart unexpectedly. He wanted to comfort her but he knew there was no way he could. "Please, come with me, Eames. Now."

The urgency in his tone alarmed her. "What's wrong?"

"Outside," he muttered, giving her a gentle shove toward the door once they were out of the pew.

She headed out of the church, expecting him to follow, but when she stepped outside, he was not behind her. Ross hurried up to her. "Where's Goren?"

"I don't know. He was right behind me."

She started back into the church, but Ross grabbed her arm. "No. He'll be right out."

"Captain..."

But he turned his attention to three elderly women who came hurrying out of the church, whispering among themselves as they wondered why a police officer would ask them to leave. Ross guided them away from the building, calling to Eames to follow him. She waited, watching the front doors of the church, only looking away toward the street when the bomb squad arrived. "Oh, my God..." she whispered.

She started back toward the front doors as one of them slammed open. Goren grabbed her arm and pulled her along with him as he rushed away from the building. He pointed at the scrambling bomb squad members. "It's under the altar! You have five minutes!"

They ran toward the building as Goren slid to a stop, watching the church and waiting. Beside him, Eames trembled with fury. He glanced at her, bringing his hand over to touch her wrist. She looked at him, eyes filled with questions he had no answers for.

When five minutes passed and there was no explosion, Goren closed his eyes in relief, leaning back against the car behind him. He opened his eyes when a strong hand gripped his shoulder, looking into the captain's green eyes. "Good job, detective."

Deeply disturbed, Goren ran a hand through his hair. "What the hell is going on?"

Someone was targeting his partner. He looked at her. She was visibly shaken, and he did not blame her at all. He also felt like the rug had been yanked out from under him. His world had been set down precariously on its edge when his mother died, and he hadn't yet recovered his balance. This was making matters worse, but he understood how much more unsettling it was for Eames, to think that someone with a vendetta against her was out there stalking her. He leaned closer to her and spoke into her ear. "You are staying with me."

He would not take no for an answer, and his tone told her there was no room for discussion. But she was shaken enough that the thought of staying near him was comforting and no argument formed in her mind.