Well, here we are, the last chapter! I want to thank everyone for the support and the kind words. This was actually pretty fun, and I have the greatest respect and admiration for the other authors who do this on the regular. Thank you for letting me in on the fun. All editing mistakes are mine and mine alone since this story was posted without the benefit of a beta reader.

At her words, Alex saw apprehension creep back into Bobby's eyes and inwardly sighed. Twice in one day he looked like a sad, kicked puppy. And twice in one day she was the one to put that look there. In that moment, she cursed Moran, cursed the NYPD, and cursed herself for being so weak in the first place in giving the suits what they wanted so damned easily. On her way over, Alex replayed everything in her mind and came to the conclusion that she had betrayed Bobby, too, in a way. She gave in too readily. She should have encouraged him to fight.

Bobby saw a million emotions pass through Eames' face in a flash. "Eames, if this is about…earlier…and what happened, I'm okay." He tried to assure her, even if he wasn't sure how he felt. Eames didn't need to know that.

Alex took a step towards Bobby. "That makes one of us," she tried to joke. Before Bobby could respond, Alex noticed Bobby clutching something in his right hand. Grateful for the diversion, Alex nodded. "What's that?"

For a brief moment, Bobby looked confused, then recalled his unexpected find and that he still had it when he went to answer the door. A faint blush came over him as he looked at the picture then at Eames. "Just…something I found. Kind of ironic it popped up when it did." He held out the photo and Alex took it, curious. She made her way to the couch. And then, much like Bobby, seemed transfixed at the glimpse of the simpler, younger versions of themselves and how much they didn't know. As irrational as it was, she was sort of jealous of the photo version of them, not knowing just how much life and all that passed through – Declan and Jo Gage, Frank and Frances Goren, Captain Ross and his death, Tate's, Mark Ford Brady – would wear away at them, bringing them to their knees. But then again, they were still here. More bruised, a lot less idealistic, but still alive and still holding on to each other. To Alex, that was an accomplishment. "Wow," she finally said. "I'd completely forgotten about this." Like Bobby, she remembered the case and quipped, again trying to lighten the mood, "Maybe I should invest in some Botox myself now." She thought of recent mornings staring in the mirror, seeing some lines that crept up by surprise. "Just soap and water" seemed to only do so much, which seemed to give Father Time the edge…

"Do it and I'll shoot you," Bobby smiled. A small one, but still a smile, and Alex felt her chest warm. A small victory. "I like you just the way you are." Alex's eyes widened a bit at that and Bobby suddenly stared at the floor. Maybe not being chained to a desk was allowing the people to escape their cop shells. Maybe it was more about no longer giving a damn about playing things safe. Where did it get them?

"That's funny. I like you the way you are, too," Alex smiled, and held out the picture. But Bobby shook his head, suddenly a bit bashful from the mutual compliment. "No. I want you to have it, Eames." Bobby gave a brief nod. "You can put it on your desk at work, remind yourself of simpler days when the rest of the brass is all over you."

Bobby's words were like a sudden jolt of ice water. It was her turn to look down. Before Alex could speak, Bobby was next to her on the couch. "Eames, you're going to be a great captain. I meant everything I said. You're tough. You can handle anything!" Bobby bent his head, using the maneuver to meet her eyes as if Alex were a perp. Feeling cornered, feeling like a fraud, Alex moved away from Bobby and stood, trying to ignore the confusion and sudden hurt that flashed across Bobby's face. She began to pace, suddenly realizing she was holding that photo like a talisman. Loosening her grip, Alex faced Bobby. "I won't make a good captain." Bobby opened his mouth to argue and Alex held up her free hand to stop him, desperately needing to just say the words, to make them real. "Bobby…when you walked out of that office, I felt…God…I felt like such a fraud. And a traitor."

"Eames…"

Maybe it was the tension of the day, maybe it was another stall, but Bobby's utterance made Alex almost plead, "Damn it, Bobby. After everything we've gone through and all the shit we've had thrown at us…is it that hard to say my name? My first name?" Disgusted that her eyes were beginning to feel hot yet again, Alex swiped at her eyes. Why was she making such an ass out of herself over a goddamn name? She knew Bobby cared. Yet here she was, unable to stop herself.

"I'm sorry, Eames…Alex," Bobby stammered, surprised. He began to say more, when Alex scoffed, "No! No," softer this time. "I'm sorry, Bobby. God, what the fuck is wrong with me?!"

"It's been a long fucking day," Bobby offered.

She re-joined Bobby on the couch and they sat in silence, both appraising the other, trying to regain some equilibrium. Haltingly, Alex was the first to speak. "It's just…when you mentioned the picture and that desk, I…" Alex closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and steeled herself. She opened them then, seeing the question silently asked on Bobby's face, and she gathered up her courage. "I couldn't do it, Bobby. I can't do it. I'm not taking that captain's exam. I…I quit."

The silence stretched and Alex peeked at Bobby through her lashes. The news seemed to surprise him, although Alex couldn't quite figure out why. Finally, Bobby seemed to snap out of it and shook his head, "No." He wasn't about to let her lose an opportunity – another one – because of misplaced guilt. Or loyalty. "You can't throw this away."

And it suddenly crystallized, why Alex was afraid to tell Bobby. This. Her subconscious knew he'd fight her and she was so drained, so raw, her voice held an edge as she challenged, "I'm a big girl, Bobby. I didn't come to ask permission. I came to tell you as a friend."

"You've worked your ass off for this." Bobby countered, his voice rising in passion, in indignation. "I don't need you to sacrifice yourself for me. I'm not some goddamned charity case!" Bobby silently cursed the faint crack at the end and hardened his gaze. His voice lowering, he commanded, "Call the chief back. Tell him you've reconsidered."

Alex felt the emotional roller coaster hit another high and struggled to rein in her temper. "You're not my father! And you're not my goddamned husband or boyfriend. And I'm not some military peon." Alex stood. "I don't take orders from you, from anyone!" Alex had had enough of being ordered around, especially today. "I decided what's best for me, and I'd hoped you would have understood and supported me!"

In a flash, Bobby was off of the couch and crossed into his kitchen. He needed that drink, after all. Pulling out the Glenlivet, he fished a glass out of the drainer. His hand shook as he poured and stilled when he heard Eames from behind him. "Make that two." Turning, he saw her still stony expression and grumbled, "You don't even like Glenlivet."

"Right now, Bobby, I don't care what the hell it is as long as it's alcohol. This day gets shittier by the moment, so just pour me a damned glass!"

Deciding he had enough of fighting Eames, Bobby obliged. As he handed her the glass, he cautioned, "Sip it slowly."

Alex rolled her eyes.

"And I do support you."

Alex groaned. "Are we still on this? Christ, Bobby, it's done!" She took a sip of the drink and fought against wrinkling her nose. Bobby was right. She didn't like Glenlivet, just as he wasn't fond of bourbon. Still, as it warmed her throat, then her belly, the liquid was soothing. Which was just as well since Bobby seemed bound and determined to piss her off and shred her last good nerve of the day.

"It's not done!" He said, after taking a healthy swig of his own drink. "This…This was inevitable." Bobby leaned against the counter. "I've been holding you back, and if you were honest with me, honest with yourself, you'd admit it's true." He looked at the remnants of the liquor in his glass almost as if answers could be found within its dark depths.

"That's such bullshit, Goren. You've never held me back. If that was ever the case, I would have never rescinded that damned letter. Did I not say years ago that I didn't take this job to be noticed?" Alex shot back. Bobby could almost appreciate the irony of having recalled that same declaration, that sort of psychic thread, but he was too focused on getting through to Eames. "I'm a damned good detective. We are a fucking great team! And if those bastards can't appreciate that, I want no part of their political bullshit. I don't want to turn into a suit."

Sighing, Bobby shook his head, an air of sadness clinging to the move. "Maybe you said that then…" His face grew melancholy. "But later on?" He drained his glass and poured another generous amount. Silently, he motioned to her glass.

Alex shook her head; her glass was still a quarter full. But alcohol wasn't what had her attention. She was wracking her brain, trying to figure out just what Bobby meant by "later on". With a sigh, she gave up the pretense of drinking and left her glass on the kitchen table and crossed her arms. Her face was half hidden by her hair as she tried to make sense of things. "I never changed my mind," Alex finally said, looking at Bobby. "When did I ever make you think that I wanted out?"

Pushing away from the counter, Bobby stepped in front of her. "You really don't know?"

"If I did, why the hell would I be asking you?"

Despite the topic, Alex's response made Bobby crack another small smile, but it quickly died. "Leslie LeZard," was all he said, but it was enough for Alex to remember.

It's too late.

Of course Bobby would remember, Alex thought. Not only was his mind a virtual encyclopedia, not only did he have a sharp memory, but he always seemed to hold on to all of the negative things that surrounded him, all the while forgetting the very positive things he had done, all the good things and all of the people he was blind to that actually liked and respected him. In the not too distant past, he wore misery like a cloak, a cloak in the guise of tired eyes, bloat, and ambivalence about his appearance, a long, long way from those suits from his more eager days. The misery was his constant companion and, not for the first time, Alex wondered if Bobby would let himself sink so low to where he could never dig out. So she was grateful for Bobby's discovery of family, that he was still making an effort and fighting his way back.

Truth be told, to this day, Alex wasn't sure what made her blurt that out. Leslie LeZard, like Nelda Carson before her, and Nicole Wallace before her was another in the line of unstable and/or amoral women that Bobby had always seemed to find himself drawn to. Alex didn't miss the connection with Bobby's own mother. Maybe Bobby saw himself as some savior to these women, trying to understand them, to analyze them, to save them as he couldn't do for his own mom. And more than that. It frustrated you, her subconscious seemed to say. It hurt you to see Bobby falling into that same trap with the wackos, always attracted to the unpredictability, so you hurt back. But Alex, even with the partner barrier no longer in the way, wasn't brave enough to really listen, choosing to remain ignorant.

"Bobby," she began. "I honestly have no idea why I said that. Maybe it was PMS. Maybe I'm just a bitch. But I'm saying this now: I. Don't. Regret. Quitting. If it's between a job and a know-it-all pain in the ass balls-to-the-wall friend," Alex stopped in front of Bobby and took his drink out of his hand and clasped it, "the friend wins every single time."

Bobby squeezed Alex's hand. His eyes were filled with feeling. He shook his head, knowing he was defeated. If Eames wanted to give this up, he couldn't stop her. And a part of him felt humbled that she would do it in solidarity with him. "I hope you know what you're doing." The ensuing silence stretched out as their gazes locked and Bobby whispered, "Thanks, Eames…Alex." He gave a shy smile and shrugged apologetically. "Gonna take me a while to get used to that." Bobby was quick to add, "And, for the record, you're not a bitch."

"Yeah, well…" Alex moved her hand away reluctantly and Bobby felt its loss, the same feeling he felt at the end of their hug. "You can still call me 'Eames'…and you're not a pain in the ass." At Bobby's doubtful look, she qualified with a laugh. "Well, not usually."

"Spoken like a real friend," Bobby smiled. "Even if I know better."

For two people with no job, Bobby and Alex suddenly felt lighter than they had in weeks. Bobby picked up Alex's unfinished drink and gave her a wordless "I told you so!" before he dumped the remainder. He then finished the last of his second drink and placed his glass in the sink, as well. Alex went back to the couch and sat with Bobby soon joining her. "So…" Alex sighed. "We have no jobs, no prospects of one, and we have bills to pay. Got any bright ideas?"

Bobby shrugged, leaning back to rest his head on the back of the couch as he inelegantly put his long legs on the coffee table, casually crossed at the ankles. "Always the lottery." A devilish gleam came over him as he turned and added, "Or you can always sell more matchsticks outside of City Hall." Alex grabbed a throw pillow and swatted Bobby with it. "Ow!" he grinned. "You're abusive when you're mad."

"Oh, yeah, that soft pillow will really leave a mark. Poor baby." Alex soon matched Bobby's pose, another set of legs on the coffee table. She turned her head and her eyes suddenly were alight, "Hey! That's right. You have a marketable skill…"

"Profiling?"

She shook her head. "Magic. You can play at children's birthday parties. Make some of those funky animal balloons," Alex gave a giggle, picturing Bobby being swarmed by a mob of screaming kids. Bobby scoffed. "The only trick I'd use there is to disappear. But…" he smirked, "…maybe you can make like…" he mimicked air quotes, "…The Lovely Miranda in the Miles Stone Case. Magicians need pretty women to distract the audience. Although that would be a bit too much for the poor kids." He found himself eying her. He didn't add that she would be as much of a distraction to him as she would the audience.

Alex was proud of herself for not looking away even as she felt her face warm by Bobby's offhand compliment. Yes, being liberated from the NYPD had its perks. "You couldn't afford my fee."

"Depends on what forms of payment you're discussing."

Alex blew out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. She saw a bit of suave Bobby, missing for too long. Alex was pleased to see the mischievous part of him re-emerge, to come out to play, "My, you're full of surprises tonight, Goren. Or is it the scotch?"

"Two drinks, not drunk." Bobby shrugged. "And I only speak the truth. I'm big on that, you know."

A short nod. "I know." Before she could analyze it, Alex scooted closer to Bobby and put her head on his shoulder. Bobby caught another flowery whiff of shampoo, completely content for the first time in ages. "Maybe we can let the future take care of itself just for tonight," he whispered.

"Brilliant idea, as always." Alex said, lazily. After a pause, "It's the NYPD's loss," she told Bobby. She looked up to see him staring at her and grinned. "But I have a feeling they'll regret it sooner rather than later."

"You? Yes. Me…" Bobby shrugged. "Not seein' it."

"Let's make a bet then. Twenty bucks says the suits will be begging me and you to come back in…" Alex thought, "…let's give it about a year."

Bobby shook his head, always amazed at Alex's faith in him, in his abilities. In them. "Probably not…the best idea to make a bet with no income, but okay. You're on." And their hands clasped in a firm handshake with matching smiles to boot.

And as Bobby Goren discovered a year later, Alex Eames' instincts were second to none.

END