Chapter Ten

The soft morning light illuminated his closed eyelids. He couldn't remember falling asleep. He could barely recall most of his dreams; just patches of warmth radiating his skin as he walked through golden fields of generic agriculture, cyprus trees and an achingly beautiful deep blue sky. He was slightly disorientated as his eyelids finally blinked open, only to register a completely foreign surrounding. He'd never woken up in this room before… a room that was equally warm as a sunny, summer morning in France, a room that was welcoming and fragrantly pleasing to his most sensitive olfactory organ.

He felt heavy, and unwilling to move, unwilling to leave the warm, pleasant cocoon of Eames' bed. He could hear her soft, quiet morning movements emanating from the bathroom: the shower fan, a blow dryer, perhaps humming?

When he heard the hair dryer click off, he decided it would be best to orient himself - lest Eames be the one to catch him in such a messy, morning state.

While he slumbered, it was evident that she must have thrown a few blankets over him. He was still in his boxers and tee, never once having entered under her covers, with the Van Gogh bio bridging his chest. He also noted that she must have removed the frozen peas and dishcloth at some point – and instantly he felt pleasantly moved by how she'd taken care of him.

He ran his hands through his hair, unconsciously checked his stubble growth by moving his right hand over his lips and chin, and then tentatively slid off her bed putting weight on both legs – waiting for the pain of yesterday's altercation to rear its ugly head. His thigh was still sore, but not nearly as unmanageable as he'd expected.

Without warning, her bathroom door swung open. Eames was mostly ready for work, her hair carefully in place, a dark blue tank top accompanied by black dress pants and her work badge hanging loosely from her right hip.

"Good morning sunshine," she started to smile warmly at him, before her eyes did a double take and she gasped unexpectedly, her left hand covering her mouth in surprise.

He felt instant mortification as he followed the gaze of her eyes downward. It didn't dawn on him for two seconds that she was taking in the nasty multi-colored welt on his left thigh as opposed to uh… a little higher and to the right.

Okay, first heart attack averted, but he turned quickly away from her nonetheless, inspecting his leg and other areas privately, while inwardly cursing himself for not getting himself together sooner so she wouldn't have to see him in such a personal state. They were new at this, and it was still hard to see her as a person outside of professional work, or more importantly, hard for him to let her see him in such an intimate way.

He was pretty sure, even though they'd slept together once, that he wasn't ready to be walking around with a very obvious, common male morning condition in plain sight. Boxers didn't hide everything, and well, he was raised Catholic, need he say more?

"Sorry Bobby," Eames said, "I didn't mean to scare you, but your bruise is much worse than I expected."

"Yeah," he replied, still shifting a bit uncomfortably, "I guess I didn't realize that it was so, uh, intense either."

He felt her come up beside him, and he fought the urge to turn away from her yet again, but she wasn't coming at him in an overly pushy way, she wasn't even directly looking at him, she just came in close and said, "Man, that must've hurt like a son-of-a-bitch."

He could only nod.

"Do you want to use the shower?" she inquired.

"Oh, um, no, thanks."

She was now past him, moving towards her doorway giving him a bit of privacy, "Do you need a lift back to your place?"

"No, uh, I've got extra work clothes in my locker, I"ll shower there too."

She nodded and pulled on her matching black blazer, "Today's the day I tell Deakins."

"Do you know what you are going to say?"

"Yeah, I've thought about how I'd approach it," she smiled again, "thanks. Uh, so how's your book?"

"Oh, it's uh, very good, thank you."

"Isn't that the crazy genius artist who cut off his ear for a woman?"

"Oh, uh, actually, Van Gogh did it for his partner, Gaugin. You see, Van Gogh was intensely worried his partner was going to leave him, uh, so much so, that he did the act in frustration – uh, there was lots of tension between the two painters, but they really did complete some amazing work together. Primarily it was a desperate attempt to get his partner's attention, and in some ways, it worked as he became pretty ill after the incident and, uh, it didn't escape Gaugin's attention. Uh, many people believe Van Gogh sliced off his ear for a woman, but that is only because after he cut off his ear he wrapped it in paper and gave it to a prostitue named Rachel for uh, 'safe-keeping.'"

Eames frowned, "it sounds like Van Gogh may have needed a little medication."

"Medication that would most likely not be available in the mid-seventeen hundreds," he softly reminded.

"Eames?"

She looked at him warmly with full attention.

"Good luck this morning," and he flashed his most charming smile – well, the smile that he knew he got reactions with. He meant what he said in the most self-less way. He loved her, worried about her, and really gave a damn that the meeting went smoothly.

"Thanks," she moved towards him quickly, reaching up and guiding his head down from the right side of his neck, before firmly planting a kiss on his cheek, "let's get going mister, we can grab some pastries on the way."

"Wait, wait," he caught her quickly just above her hips and pulled her in close, releasing her only when he had her back in his personal space, "before we, uh, go into professional mode."

"Yes," she replied, tipping her head back to meet his eyes.

"Can we reserve more time tonight to talk about our, uh, or the possibility of continuing a more personal relationship, uh, a relationship outside of work?" he continued a bit sheepishly.

His heart was racing, as he watched her gazing right back up at him. The proximity of her eyes, nose and beautiful face – it made him feel warm all over. He needed to have at least one more shot with her. Suddenly, he felt a deep biological yearning to engulf her right here and now, to encompass her and remember what it felt like for her to take him in, to be surrounded by her inner warmth, to crawl deeper and deeper inside, never to come back out until he'd filled her with each and every one of his inner sensitivities, insecurities, emotions and desires.

"Come here," she tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, "we'll leave the office on time tonight, and I'll only remind you once."

"Yes, ma'am," he smiled playfully, dimples starting to deepen on each side of his cheeks. He felt genuinely hopeful about his evening, downright lustful too. He thought he saw desire reflected in her eyes, and maybe it only came down to her pregnant hormones, but even so, he felt pretty confident that the hormones were only amplifying feelings that were already present.

"Hurry up and put on some pants," she chided him lightly, "I need my tea and danish."

One Police Plaza

Post shower, shave and a fresh change of clothes at 1PP, he busied himself, or rather he made himself look busy. She was less than 20 feet away from him, albeit behind Deakins' closed doors. She'd been in there for nearly twenty minutes. How long does it take to say, "I'm pregnant?" he wondered.

He paced up and down, Noah Preston's files loosely between his fingers. Suddenly, the door to Deakin's office opened and he raced towards her from the side.

He watched her roll her eyes with slight uncertainty, "Well . . . I told him."

He leaned in closer, to give the conversation an air of privacy, even though he knew damn well that this info would travel like a wildfire in August, "And, uh, what did he say?"

"He gave me a big hug, he said it was a great thing I was doing for my sister," she paused slightly, her left eyebrow slightly raised, "he said when the time comes, he'll uh, hook you up with a tentative partner…"

"Oh, no, I didn't even think of that," he winced, knowing full well, that he hadn't put the proper amount of thought into it. Shit. Eames told him she'd need time here and there, but – fuck – what was Deakins thinking? A tentative partner? Awwww, fuck.

She stood there a thoughtful look on her face. Wait, he wondered hopefully, just because Deakins suggested it, doesn't mean that she's going to need or want this tentative partner solution either.

"And what did you say?"

"I pity the fool."

His heart sank at her response. It was meant to lighten the situation, yet he couldn't help feeling like an sullen, angry child - one who was unfairly having something pulled over his eyes.

"How about our gal?" Deakins smiled, "surrogate mom?"

And before he could think another thought on the matter, Deakins was probing him about the Preston case. Fair enough, he was at work. With all of the new changes in the air, throwing his heart and mind into work seemed like the most calm place for his brain to be.

TBC

A.N. Thanks again for all the comments and reviews - many of which are quite lively and make me laugh.