He hadn't slept all night and he was exhausted, but he could not settle down. His emotions roiled and thoughts swam in and out of his head. Eames...Declan...Frank...Eames...his mother...Nicole...Ellie... Eames... No matter what he did, Eames kept returning to the forefront of his mind. Ellie had confronted him with his own deeply buried emotions, and he still hadn't figured out how she knew. There was something about that woman that buried itself into the core of him and read him like an open book. Thankfully, no one else he'd ever known had that ability. He would miss her, and he grieved that she was gone, but it wasn't the same kind of grief that had crippled him when his mother died. Ellie's unwavering faith and powerful love for everything made it impossible for him to believe she would not continue on in the bosom of her loving God. Because of her, he wished he had faith, but in spite of her, he was still unable to find it. Thanks to Ellie, though, he was also unable to keep Eames out of his head.

That afternoon, while he was out on the back deck, smoking, the doorbell rang. An untouched sandwich sat on the railing with a mostly empty beer beside it. He put out his cigarette and went inside to answer the door, surprised to find his partner standing on the porch, looking decidedly unhappy. "Eames, what are you doing here?"

"I didn't like the way you ended our last conversation. You never called back and I didn't get any answer when I called you, so I drove all the way up here on my day off to make sure you're okay. You didn't sound too okay." She studied him with a critical eye that knew him well and some of her irritation faded. "You don't look so okay, either."

He looked at the ground, filled with remorse that he'd worried her. "I've been...preoccupied," he offered by way of apology.

He stepped back and motioned for her to come in. Maybe he wasn't okay at the moment, but he would be. Like a runaway freight train, Ellie had barreled into his life and gone out of it, leaving him stunned and shell-shocked. She'd touched his life so briefly, but she left behind a changed man.

All his life, he had walked to the beat of a different drummer. When his mother died, that cadence became silent, and he went searching for it. Now, it was back, and he was settling into a familiar march, but there were some new beats tossed in. The new rhythm would allow him to march with another person. It was the first step toward allowing Eames to get closer to him. And it was Ellie who had re-started the drummer and changed the beat. Only good can come from love. Let her love you.

She walked into the living room before she turned toward him, her voice still carrying a hard edge. "Preoccupied? With your friend?"

He nodded and turned away from her. He recognized her tone and he knew things would not go well from here on out. He knew he didn't have the strength to handle a fight with Eames.

She watched him withdraw and decided she had not come this far to watch him pace and breathe. She followed him onto the back deck as she reconsidered her approach. When did anger or aggression ever serve her well where he was concerned? All it ever did was send him scurrying some place she could never follow. She stepped up beside him as he braced himself on the railing and hung his head. Reaching out, she covered his hand with hers. "What happened with your friend?" she asked in a completely different tone of voice.

He looked at her, surprised by the change. Her face was soft, open, an expression he had not seen in a very long time. She caught him offguard and vulnerable. "She...died, early this morning."

Now everything changed. She looked the way she had when she'd arrived at his place the night Frank died. Her hand gently stroked his arm. Sympathy. That's what this was. But they weren't arguing, and he would take what he could get.

The look of abject misery on his face cut her to the core. "I didn't know you had a friend up here." Before she could stop herself, though, she added, "Of course I don't know much about most of your friends."

Annoyed by her jab at his private nature, he countered with "And how many of your friends do I know, Eames?"

She tensed and withdrew her hand from his arm, and he knew he'd said the wrong thing. He was trying to make up his mind about whether he cared or not as he vacillated between annoyance and apathy. He finally settled on his stock response. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

"You need to talk to me, Goren, if you want me to stay. I am fed up with chasing you all over creation to get nothing from you. If you don't want me around, I'll go back to the city and see you when you come back to work."

He knew exactly what that meant: no contact. She wouldn't take any of his calls, no matter how often he tried, and he would be faced with weeks of her cold shoulder. He closed his eyes and hung his head. He couldn't handle that any more. She was going to do him in with her bursts of temper over behaviors that were natural to him and hard as hell to change. He wasn't going to get over a lifetime of conditioning overnight.

When he remained silent, she let out a sound that was halfway between a huff and a growl, and she turned and walked away. If he let her go, his life would become more uncertain than it had ever been. "No, Eames..." he insisted, his tone more command than plea.

Surprised, she turned around and looked at him, annoyed. "What did you say?"

He crossed to her in a couple of easy strides and gripped her shoulders firmly. "Don't go," he said firmly, determined not to beg. "I-I do want you...here. I-I think...no, I do...I need you."

The thought of her leaving was suddenly unbearable. He had no idea what was happening to him, and he wasn't sure he liked it at all. Nothing bad can come of love. He thought of his mother and wondered how true Ellie's words really were. What would he gain in declaring his feelings? What could he lose?

Eames watched him, wondering what was going through his head. This was the second time he told her that he needed her in the span of a month. She did not doubt his sincerity, but she wondered what had happened to him to push him toward her this time. She wasn't sure what to make of him these days. He was so unpredictable. He needed stability but she had no idea how to provide it. She lost patience with him more often than she used to, and she had trouble hiding her irritation. Sometimes she didn't even bother trying. She was also aware that her attitude got to him more often than he let on. He tried to hide his distress, but he wasn't very good at it, not with her. There were many times when the look in his eyes or the expression on his face almost crushed her resolve to be mad at him. Almost.

He continued looking into her face, but he released her shoulders and stepped away when she didn't respond to him. She reached out and grabbed his arm. He stopped but did not turn. "Don't, Bobby. Please don't withdraw from me."

He continued looking at the floor. "I...I don't know what to do."

She watched him, and her heart went out to him. She tightened her grip on his arm and said, "Come on. Let's go for a walk on the beach."


Side by side, they walked down the beach. His gaze was focused on the sand and she kept glancing his way. There had to be a reason he called her, even if he denied it, and he hadn't been joking when he forbade her to leave. She was surprised by his commanding manner, a stance he had never taken with her before. Slowly, she moved her hand toward him, lightly touching the back of his hand. He jerked away, startled. She hadn't withdrawn her hand, and when he looked at it, she turned her palm upward, making her intention very clear.

He looked at her hand and moved his closer, tentatively. He touched her palm and she slipped her hand into his and closed it. He folded his fingers around hers and she stepped closer to him as they walked. He resumed looking down at the sand, but his entire being was focused on the point where her hand joined his.

They continued to walk in silence, holding hands. Finally, she said, "Tell me about your friend."

Any tension that had left him returned with her request. Her hand tightened around his, encouraging him. He drew in a deep breath. "Her name was Ellie."

"Did you know her for long?"

Most of his friends that she had met, like Lewis, were longtime buddies. "Uh, no. Not long."

"What happened to her?"

His hand tightened reflexively around hers. "She...was terminally ill."

"And you felt sorry for her?"

"What? No, not at all. I didn't know." He sighed. "She was a special person, Eames. She talked to me, tried to help me. She did help me. I feel almost whole for the first time in a very long time, maybe since I was little, before my mother's schizophrenia manifested itself."

That was a very long time, more than forty years. But her mind stopped on one phrase. "Almost whole?"

He nodded. "There's only one person who can make me complete, and it wasn't her. But she got me thinking seriously about...things."

"Things? What kind of things?"

"My life, in general. My faith, how and why I lost it, if I could ever get it back. She, uh, she tried to figure me out, to help me recover my bearings and regain the ground I lost while my mother was dying."

"I give her credit. Trying to figure you out is a full time job."

"She was pretty good at it."

"So where is this one person who can make you complete?"

"Not far."

"Someone I know?"

He nodded, shoving his free hand into his pocket. She moved in a little closer and reached out to him. Lightly, she rubbed his arm and he closed his eyes and swallowed. Her touch ignited a fire in his gut that he found hard to keep contained. Eames rarely touched him, and now he was glad. He felt conflicted. The heat she generated was pleasant and disturbing, both at the same time.

She was trying to encourage and reassure him, but she had the feeling she was doing neither. So she withdrew her hand.

Her withdrawal hit him like a physical blow, and he stopped walking. She stopped and turned toward him, a silent question on her face.

As he watched her face, he realized he should have made a bet with Ellie because he was certain he was about to prove her wrong. He and Eames had entered into an uneasy status quo, and he was about to upset the apple cart. This would either prove Ellie right or get him shot. He brought one hand to her face, gently brushing the backs of his fingers over her skin. Silently, she stared at him, uncertain. His fingers barely trembled where they touched her skin, but his face remained guarded, looking for a response from her.

If he had tried this four or five years ago, before the problems between them developed, before her kidnapping and the re-opening of Joe's murder investigation, before Ross, she would have eagerly welcomed him. But there were still things between them that were unresolved, things in her own heart that kept her uncertainty front and center.

On the other hand, she did not have the will power to reject him. Regardless of the chasm that kept them at a distance from one another, one they had both contributed to, she loved him. In his own way, she knew he loved her, too. But was it enough to overcome the formidable obstacles that stood in their way?

For a moment, she pressed her cheek against his fingers. Then she reached up and lightly grasped his hand. Relieved that he did not resist, she drew his hand from her face but kept it tucked within her grasp. She knew she was sending a mixed message that would confuse him, but she also knew he would realize there was hope. She did not reject him outright.

When she stepped away to continue walking down the beach, he went with her. Neither of them spoke. They both had a lot to think about.


Eames had not missed the untouched sandwich or the empty beer on the back deck at the house, and it didn't take a stroke of brilliance to deduce that her partner hadn't eaten. Reluctantly, she recalled the days following his mother's death. She'd been one step from forcing him to eat at gunpoint. Okay, maybe two steps. His diet wasn't the best to start with. He liked processed meats too much and greens and fruits too little. So her first order of business was to get the man to eat.

Goren had no idea what to think about her response to him. She hadn't rejected him, but she hadn't welcomed him, either. All she had to do was tell him to back off and that would be the end of it. He was not going to risk driving her from his life by forcing himself on her. Besides, that wasn't his nature. Her partnership with him was most important, and he didn't want to put that in jeopardy. She had to know that. But, God help him, he wanted more. He wanted her. But now he had no idea what to do about it.

When they got back to the house, Eames went into the kitchen. She took stock of the nearly empty cupboards and the pathetic contents of the refrigerator. There was nothing there for her to work with, and she was not having pastrami and beer for dinner.

Stepping out of the kitchen, she looked at Goren, who was standing by the furthest window, hands in his pockets, lost in thought. "Come on, Goren," she said, trying for tough but not quite making it.

He turned from the window and looked at her, his face still a mask of confusion. "Where are we going?"

"There is nothing decent to eat in this house, so we're going out to dinner. I'll pay, but when we get back to New York, I am going to take you food shopping, and that's on you."

"You don't have to..."

"Think carefully..." she warned, cutting him off as she approached him. "...before you complete that sentence. The only thing I want from you is your promise that you will finish this meal."

"Eames, we...we need to talk..."

"And we will. But that's not as important as getting dinner." She hesitated before deciding it would be cruel not to reassure him. He knew as well as she did that they hadn't yet weathered the storm between them, but she had to make it clear that at least they'd finally steered clear of the rocks. "We're okay, Bobby. And I think we'll be fine, once we work things out. All right?"

He understood that she was sincere. She did not want to give up on him, as he feared. So many others had walked away, giving up on him without ever really trying. The ones who had tried found it too hard to scale the walls he'd built up around him. With few exceptions, the friends he had didn't have any desire to delve too deep. They accepted what he could offer and let him be. Eames, however, was different. She was the exception to every rule in his life. She was the only one who wanted more and had not given up in the face of his resistance. Finally, he nodded. "All right, Eames. We'll do it your way."

When she smiled and turned toward the front door, he heaved a sigh and wondered what he had done. He reminded himself too late that once Pandora's box was open, it could never be closed again.


A/N: Okay, I was wrong. I thought I could resolve this in one more chapter, but it wasn't realistic. So there's more to come.