Special thanks to deliriousdancer for the rabbit image. I just had to share a little bit of it.

Chapter 11: Something to Think About

Bobby laid the case file on his desk and groaned as he eased himself into his chair. It had been a little over two weeks since he had begun running with Eames, but every time he thought he was getting used to the pace, she hit him with something new. Yesterday had been his toughest test yet, and even though he had finished the run – much to his surprise – the way he felt today made him wonder if he really could chalk it up in the victory column. As much as he enjoyed her company, he was almost glad she wasn't in the office this morning to see his discomfort.

"DAMMIT!!!" Patterson slammed the phone down, his expletive so loud that the half-dozen detectives scattered around the bullpen looked up from their desks, startled. "I can't believe it. That damn retard is going to get away with this!"

Ross stuck his head outside his office and then strolled over. "What the hell is all the noise about, Detective?"

"Sorry, Captain," Patterson muttered. "I'm just about as pissed off as I can be about this case. I've been trying get another interview with that retard who lives in Judge Garrison's building, and his family has sent him out of state again. He's at a special school for dummies, and the family's lawyers are blocking me from getting access to him. He did this murder; I can feel it in my bones. All I need is to get him into the interrogation room and I can wrap this case up, but the sons of bitches won't let me at him."

Bobby shook his head. He didn't like the way Patterson threw around words like "retard" and "dummies." Regardless of who was behind that murder, there was no reason to show disrespect for people with mental disabilities. He sighed. The guy was supposed to be a good detective, but how could he read people if he lumped them in categories and labeled them with slurs?

Shrugging his shoulders, he resumed studying his files. Deep in his reading for the next hour and a half, he was caught off guard when Logan tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped, then winced as sore muscles cried out at the sudden movement.

"Hey, buddy, you OK?" Logan asked, concern wrinkling his features.

"Yeah. What's up?"

"Just wondering what you were doing for lunch. I haven't seen your better half all morning."

Bobby smiled softly at the reference. "She took a personal day. She had her annual physical this morning and a dental checkup this afternoon. You know how sensible and organized she is, so she set them up for the same day."

"Makes it boring for you, though," Logan observed, and Bobby tilted his head and acknowledged the truth with a slight nod. "Anyway, I'm starving, and I was thinking we could have lunch. We don't get as much 'guy time' as we used to get."

"I'd like that," Bobby said, rising slowly – and carefully – from his chair. "Where to?"

Twenty minutes later, they were settled in a booth at a small Italian restaurant they both liked. The shades were down, the curtains pulled, and the dark walls made it a good place to share secrets, even in the early afternoon.

"So what's wrong with you, Goren? You've been hobbling around today like you're a 90-year-old."

Bobby sighed and shrugged. "It's Eames. She's wearing me out," he admitted.

"You dog!" Mike said, reaching over to punch him lightly on the shoulder. "Why didn't you say something before?! Congratulations."

Bobby looked confused, then he blushed as realization hit. "I didn't mean that! Geez, Mike, you've got a one-track mind."

Logan laughed, then looked at him seriously. "Well then, what did you mean?"

"I've been running with her."

"Are you kidding? You're no runner."

"Thanks for the compliment."

"I meant compared to her. She takes it really seriously."

"Tell me about it. I'm the one who can barely move today," Bobby said, sipping his tea.

"So what did she do – make you run the New York Marathon with her?"

"No, she skipped that one this year. She's working on other things, and it didn't fit with her schedule," Bobby said, careful not to mention Eames' Boston dream.

"What sort of things?"

"She's doing speed work. I'm her rabbit."

Mike burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Bobby asked, glowering at his buddy.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself. You are a little fuzzy and gray, and you have big feet. Maybe you would be a good rabbit," he said, trying to suppress his chuckles.

Even Bobby had to laugh a little at the image. "I guess I fit that profile better than sleek runner who can set a fast pace," he acknowledged. "But we have a routine that makes it work. She runs a closed course, and I skip laps so I can rest up and then jump in at a pace just a little faster than she's been running. So she has to pick it up to keep up with me."

"So what happened this weekend?"

"She talked me into running in a race with her. It was a 10-miler, and I had to go the whole way at once. I'm not sure I was ready for it."

"But you finished?"

"Yeah," Bobby said, with a smile and a look that said he had amazed himself. "Of course, Eames was waiting for me at the finish line, already cooled down and finishing a bottle of Gatorade. But at least she had a fresh one for me."

"Hey, buddy, that's great! You should be proud of yourself."

Bobby grinned sheepishly. "I guess I am, kind of. A few weeks ago there was no way I would have thought I could do that."

"You know, Bobby, you underestimate yourself sometimes. We did a lot of running this summer on the basketball court. And a few weeks of training with Eames has probably put you in the best shape of your life. I'll bet you weren't the last guy to finish the race, were you?"

Bobby bowed his head shyly at the praise. "No, I finished in the middle of the pack. I think I could have gone a little faster too, but I didn't want to overdo it and have to drop out. I would have been too embarrassed in front of Eames."

"I'll bet she was pretty proud of you."

Bobby grinned at that. "She bought me dinner to celebrate."

"And you kissed her, of course."

"Uh, well, n-no. I c-couldn't do that."

"Why not, lame ass? You're crazy about her," Mike said, slightly annoyed.

"We're partners, Mike. I'm not going to mess that up," he protested, refusing to confirm Mike's observation, even though the evidence was there in the reddish shade under the scruff on his cheeks.

"You know, buddy, you may be a genius, but sometimes you act dumber than a rock. You're crazy about her. She's crazy about you ..."

"I don't know …"

"Shut up! I'm telling you the facts of life here, so just pay attention, for once," Mike said, determinedly pressing forward. "You two are in love with each other, and you're both too damned afraid to admit it. But your partnership would not – I repeat, not – be messed up. It would be better. You're already on the same wavelength now. You can complete each other's sentences. Hell, you know what each other is thinking without saying a word. And there's nobody else on the planet who can do that with you, Goren."

"That's the part I don't want to mess up," Bobby insisted. "I couldn't possibly work with another partner after being so close to her. If I tried something and she pulled away, it would kill me."

"Trust me, buddy. She wouldn't pull away. I know her." He leaned in close, looking Bobby in the eye. "Barek knows her. She wouldn't pull away."

Bobby caught his breath. Did Mike mean what he thought he meant? Had Alex told Barek she would welcome his advances? He stared back at Mike. "Are you sure?" he asked, so softly that Mike had to strain to hear.

"We're sure," Mike said, holding Bobby's stare.

Bobby sat back quietly, his mind overwhelmed at the thought. After a few minutes, he looked at Logan again. "And it hasn't messed things up for you and Barek."

"It's made it better. Trust me."

"What if the department finds out?"

"Partnerships that click solve crimes, buddy. And when cops solve crimes, their bosses look the other way. They don't want to know. They'll make up excuses not to know. They just want you to catch bad guys."

"Wow, that's a lot to digest, Mike," Bobby said, taking a deep breath and shaking his head.

"Think about it, buddy," Logan replied with a smile. "Meanwhile, you can digest your veal parmesan."