NOTE: None of these are mine. But I promise to return them in the condition in which I borrowed them.
ALSO: Squarey continues to be da bomb.
AND: Thanks to everyone for leaving such nice reviews, I am glad you are enjoying the story!
"Glenlivet for you." Logan put the glass in front of Bobby and took the seat opposite him in the booth. "Guinness for me. With a Captain appetizer." He waggled his eyebrows and smiled, placing the empty shot glass upside down on the table. "On me, of course." He raised his pint glass. "I think you're gonna come out the other side on this, pal. Cheers." They clinked glasses and drank.
Logan set down his beer. "I ain't gonna lie, Goren, I was worried. It was looking pretty bad." He shook his head.
"I'm still worried," Bobby said. He knew he wasn't in the clear yet. Ross let him know there was a meeting tomorrow to hand down the verdict on his case, and his captain didn't have any words of comfort.
"I have no idea what will happen," he'd said. "But Goren, if it turns out that you are still my detective, you and I are going to have our own little talk when the dust settles."
"I look forward to it," Bobby had responded, which was the absolute truth. He'd endure a hundred little talks with Ross if it meant he could keep his badge.
"I don't think they are gonna cut you loose, if that's what you're worried about" Logan declared. "Not to brag, but I can read the signs." Logan took another drink. "Hell, I bet you'll get a demotion and then it's back to business as usual."
"I wish I had your faith, Mike."
Mike jabbed his finger on to the table. "I guarantee you'll never see dawn on Staten Island," he chuckled. "Which sucks, by the way."
The two men drank in silence. The bar was filled with off duty cops, which wasn't unusual for a place so close to 1 PP. As he looked around, a couple of the guys caught Bobby's eye – a subtle way to show their support. He was surprised but acknowledged them with a nod of his own.
Mike's voice brought him back to the conversation. "When Santelli came in alone? I thought for sure you were a goner. She's got a reputation, you know, for cracking people. That aloof thing again."
Bobby thought back to his interaction with Santelli. She was good, and he had been energized by the exchange in a way he hadn't been in months.
"And you are the checks and balances," he said.
"I am," she agreed.
He sipped his scotch and rolled the glass between his hands. "I don't think I am free just yet," he said quietly.
"Not just yet," Mike agreed. "But your ass is also not grass, my friend. Thank your guardian angel for that." He looked passed Bobby toward the door of small, dimly lit bar. "And here she comes," he said so softly Bobby almost missed it. "Gotta get another round," Logan said quickly and dashed off toward the bar, beer and coaster in hand.
Bobby watched him go, puzzled at the other man's sudden departure. He craned his neck behind him to see who had walked in just as he heard the THUNK of another glass being slammed on his table. His gaze slowly traveled up the glass; it was filled with a pale green liquid and rimmed with a generous portion of sodium chloride.
Margarita, check.
Rocks, check.
Salt, check.
Oh shit, Eames. Check.
"Bobby," she said.
"Eames," He shifted uncomfortably. He looked around for backup but Mike was busy at the bar. Logan spared a glance at Bobby and hoisted his glass in salute and went back to his conversation with two guys from Organized Crime. Bobby turned back to look at his partner who had taken the seat across from him. His hand absently rubbed the back of his neck. It had suddenly gotten very warm in here.
"So, Bobby, how are things?" she said, with a little edge to her voice. It was clear she was not trying to make conversation.
"Uh, Eames, I don't think, um, it's just, uh now is not the best time…"
"No, see, Bobby, now is the best time. If we wait for your best time, this conversation will never happen."
Bobby looked around helplessly, and then fluttered his hands in defeat. His eyes settled back on Eames. She looked tired but good, still radiating that air of quiet strength he'd come to count on; the anchor that held him steady. As much as he desperately needed her now, he couldn't involve her anymore in his mess. He was scared shitless that she'd hoist the anchor and sail away and that would truly break him. He wanted to desperately preserve whatever they had left. "Eames, there's, uh, there's a big crowd here."
"Spare me, Bobby. If you are too chicken shit to talk to me on the phone, you can just suck it up and do it here. I'll behave myself." To illustrate her point, she smiled and waved at Mike and his pals over at the bar who all turned and toasted her before going back to their conversation.
"Bait and switch," Bobby mumbled.
"Bingo, Detective," she said and sipped her margarita. The cold liquid sliding down her throat was soothing. "So," she said, trying to sound casual, "what gives?"
Bobby shrugged. He wasn't prepared to see her and his thoughts were scattering. He felt the urge to tap again but he fought it. Eames was observant, and he didn't want her to know that he wasn't as together as he appeared. He concentrated on his glass instead.
"This works better if you actually talk to me, Bobby," she said dryly.
"Did, um, did Internal Affairs talk to you?" he ventured, thinking her questioning was a safe topic.
She sipped gingerly and didn't answer right away. He tensed. Maybe it wasn't a safe topic after all. Had her questioning been so difficult it was too hard for her to discuss? Had he finally crossed a line with her, involving her so deeply in the tar pit of his life that she was even now drafting another letter saying she'd changed her mind, that he was erratic and volatile after all? Maybe the acquired taste of him had settled like ashes in her mouth. He drank deeply from his glass and began to surreptitiously tap on the side, his thumb making prints in the condensation.
She eyed him thoughtfully. "He did," she finally said, as if weighing what she was going to say. "He was quite the smooth talker."
"Forrester," said Bobby.
She nodded. "He and I had a nice chat as we watched you eviscerate his partner."
"You, uh, you saw that?" Bobby was incredulous.
"Sure did. Poor Gus Santelli." Eames shook her head. "She's been blindsided twice now by other cops," she said as she put her chin in her hand, elbow on the table and regarded him coolly. "At least you didn't have a gun like the last guy."
"I uh, I didn't know, you know, anyone was back there." He swirled the dregs of his drink in the glass and wondered if melted ice and watered down scotch could give him any insight - tea leaves for a desperate man. Probably not. "I didn't know that uh, you were back there."
"Yeah, that was pretty clear," she said with her characteristic snark. "I think my favorite part was when you accused her of using the department to execute her own vendetta against the cop that shot her." She took a drink. "Or maybe it was when you referred to her as Her Majesty, Queen of the NYPD, guardian of checks, defender of balances. Ruthless," she chuckled. "I thought she was going to come out of her chair and smack you silly."
"What do you want me to say?" he asked, suddenly.
Since they were no longer talking about Internal Affairs or her questioning, she ignored his harsh tone. "How about, 'Gee, Eames, it's great to see you. Sorry I've been a jerk lately, things have been crazy. Here, let me tell you about it.'" She looked at him expectantly.
"Eames, it's, uh, it is great to see you," he said, earnestly quiet.
She smiled. "See, that wasn't so hard."
He started to tap a little more emphatically on the outside of his glass, unable to stop himself. He left whorls and lines in the condensation, but not a whole print; his pre-Tate's make-over to alter his fingertips still hadn't healed. He wondered if they ever would. Hell, he wasn't too sure he'd ever heal. Eames focused on this motion, knowing it was his turn to speak. She knew the tapping was a way for him to externally gather his wits and she waited patiently.
"I, uh, I'm sorry," he said finally, breaking the awkward silence. He took a drink of his melted ice scotch water and then shoved the glass in front of him. He needed another, but he couldn't leave.
"For which part, Bobby?' she prodded gently.
Bobby didn't know what she wanted from him, and there was so much to say he didn't know where to start. He looked at her, hoping to find the answer in her face, but wasn't confident about what he read there. A slight draft whispered across his face, and he looked down to find another full scotch in front of him, his empty glass whizzing past in the hands of Mike Logan. Logan once again settled in at the bar.
"Ah," she said knowingly. "Would this be the part where you jeopardized my career, the part where you almost got yourself killed, or the part where you shut me out?" Like so many times before, Eames spelled it out for him. She excelled at exposition, often interpreting his garbled thoughts into smooth and concise language that others could comprehend. It was one of the things that made them such a great team.
"Yes. No. All of it," he said savagely, and then looked around to see if they were overheard. They weren't; it was a busy bar after all, and all anyone saw were two partners sharing a drink after a long ordeal. All was right in their post-work world, even if nothing was quite right in Bobby's. "I don't know," he finally said wearily.
"Ah. Now we are getting somewhere," she said. "You do owe me an apology, Bobby. But I want to be very clear on what it's for exactly, because you don't seem to have a clue. Some detective," she snorted. She took a fortifying drink.
"That's right," he said self depreciatingly. "For a guy with a 'deep understanding of human behavior,'" he mocked her words from so long ago. "I don't know what the hell to do here, Eames." His voice rose, and he heard conversations stop around him. He smiled weakly at the couple of guys who were staring at them, and the background noise resumed.
Bobby lowered his voice. "Eames, it's all my fault. All of it." He downed the drink and looked at the empty glass. "The Gages, Joe's case, Frank, Tate's." He ran a hand nervously through his hair. "Everything that's poison about me has reached out and touched you," he said, emphasizing the difference between the two of them with the flailing of his hand. "Worse, I've hurt you. I, just…it's just that, I don't know how to fix this."
She scowled at him and slammed her drink down, sloshing the liquid on the table. Bobby half wondered if Mike would show up with a bar rag to swipe up the mess. "That's it," she said fiercely, her voice lowered but intent. "Of all the arrogant, presumptuous…" She took deep a breath. "Listen to me, Bobby, because I am only going to say this once."
She held up a finger. "One: You are not responsible for the Gages. Jo is sick, Declan made her that way. Jo did what she did and would have continued, but we stopped her. We stopped her, Bobby. You and me. Not you alone. We." Her finger gestured between the two of them as if tracing the invisible bond that held them together.
"Two: Opening Joe's case gave me closure in a way I never had but desperately needed. It hurt like hell - it was like he died all over again." There was a slight catch in her voice and she paused to get her bearings. "What I'm left with is a sense of peace about his loss that I didn't have before. I don't know how to thank you for that, Bobby, but I am grateful.
"Three: Frank used me to get to you. That's on Frank," She tapped her finger on the table. "That's not on you. It's on Frank."
"Four: People were dying at Tate's, Bobby. Dying. How dare you think that I would sit back and let that happen? If it were my nephew, don't you think it would have gone down the same for me?" She leaned forward. "I chose to help you. I chose. Me," She pointed to herself. "Not you." She pointed to him. "You cannot take responsibility for my choices. I won't let you.
"Enough of this, Bobby. Enough." She was breathing heavily, her fists clenched as she tried not to punch him, or cry, or both. He continued to stare at his glass. She inhaled and exhaled loudly. "I accept your apology, Bobby. For endangering yourself and making me worry. And I accept you apology for shutting me out, but that stops now. We are a team." She unclenched her fists and made a dismissive motion with her hands. "The rest is bullshit."
"Eames," he said breathlessly.
"Why are you trying to take more than is yours?" she asked softly. "Between your mom, and Brady, and Frank and Donnie, don't you feel bad enough, Bobby?" Her eyes held nothing but the sympathy born from deep and abiding regard. "Let me handle what's mine. I promise we are strong enough." They had been through so much together, and so often she saw things clearer than he did. Her support was more than he deserved, but he wouldn't question it anymore.
She reached her hand across the table but stopped short of touching his arm. He slowly reached out his hand and tentatively covered hers. He was breathing heavily, still unsure of so much, but not of her and not of them. Not anymore.
