She went into the bathroom and washed her face. She could hear him moving about; she knew he would not have gone back to sleep. She knew exactly what he was doing. He went into the kitchen for one of the bottles in the cabinet over the refrigerator. He might not have had any food in the apartment when she arrived, but there was beer in the fridge and scotch in the cabinet above it. First things first. Before she could do anything else to help him, she had to reach him.

He looked up when she came into the room, surprised to see she had not changed her clothes. Another reason he had not gone after her was that he didn't want to watch her pack. But she wasn't leaving, and he puzzled over that. Just what was it about her, or about him, that was making her stay? Anyone else would have been long gone.

His gaze didn't linger, though. It never did. He couldn't watch her for long without feeling some kind of reaction and he had enough to deal with. He still loved her and, God help him, his attraction to her had not lessened with time. He dropped his eyes to the glass in his hand and he took a drink. He'd lost his confidence with her and he didn't know what to say, so he opted for silence.

She didn't know what to do, but she knew she had to do something. She crossed the room and slowly eased herself onto the couch beside him. He lifted the glass toward his mouth, and she moved her hand to cover it. Instead of his glass, his lips came into contact with her hand, and he hesitated, unable to react.

Closing her fingers around the glass, she removed it from his hand, and he relinquished it. She set it on the coffee table and screwed the cap on the bottle. "This is getting us nowhere. We need to talk, Bobby."

The fact that she was absolutely right didn't make him feel any better. There were demons dwelling at the edge of his memory that he did not want to face. But there was one thing he was more frightened of facing: her final departure. He was standing on another precipice, and he knew this was it. He would never have another chance for her forgiveness. He felt that was the most he could expect from her, and he was doubtful about whether she would give it to him. He certainly did not deserve it, but he decided that would not stop him from asking.

"You were right, but you weren't, about me being sorry. I am very sorry for a lot of things, but the one thing I have never been sorry for was loving you."

She was relieved to hear him say that, but she decided that it was time to challenge him, to ask for explanations for the things she puzzled over. "You didn't love me enough to stay."

He shook his head. "That's not true. I loved you too much to stay. As long as I was around, I knew you would never move on."

"I never moved on anyway, Bobby! I could never find it in myself to let you go, even though I had no idea where you were."

"Why?"

That was a good question that she had often asked herself. She had no answer for it, but she was not about to let him get away with using his interrogation techniques on her. She ignored his question. "I want to know why you left, and I don't want any bullshit. I know it was hard for you to lose your mother, but I don't believe that was why you left."

He was definitely not drunk, though he wished he was, but he had enough alcohol in his system to knock his defenses down a few notches. Compounding the issue was the fact that she was right beside him, and her hand was still resting just above his knee. He had been very stubborn about keeping her at arms' length when his mother was dying, and that had been a major factor in the demolition of their relationship. How could he possibly ask her for another chance? "I was...tired. My mother's death did take a lot out of me, but that was...nothing...compared to what I was going through with you."

She understood that. But she decided to antagonize him, in an attempt to reignite the flame that had burned out inside him. "You were tired of me, then?"

"Of you? No. But I was tired of...of all the fighting, and the anger. You were unhappy, but you wouldn't...let me go. So I made you let me go."

"Made me? Bobby, you gave me no choice. You took it right out of my hands."

He was still focused on the floor. "It was for your own good."

She withdrew her hand from his leg. "In whose estimation? Don't I have the right to make up my own mind? Damn you, Bobby!" She smacked his shoulder. "You had no right!"

His voice remained quiet, his tone flat. "I had every right. It was my life to live."

She waved her hand around the room. "What life?"

"It is what it is."

"No. It is what you have twisted it into. If you had stayed, we could have worked it out..."

He was shaking his head. "There was no working it out."

She knew she was getting too worked up, and she forced herself to calm down. "Only because you wouldn't try. You gave up." She gave his shoulder a shove. "You were the one who quit on us."

He nodded. "You're right. I was so...worn out. I had nothing left. And I never recovered."

She could not stop the tears from spilling over onto her cheeks. "All you had to do was come to me and tell me you wanted my help."

"It wasn't that easy. You were so angry, all the time."

She had been very angry, and she still struggled with it. "That was how I dealt with the pain you were causing me."

He realized that, but he had retreated so far into himself, he'd lost his way. "Nothing has changed."

"So I see." She wiped at her eyes, annoyed. "Am I wasting my time here?"

"That all depends on what you are trying to accomplish."

"All right, Goren. Tell me what I've managed to achieve so far."

"You can't tell that you've made a difference?"

She was surprised that he'd noticed. "Can you?"

He leaned back, resting his head against the back of the couch. "I can tell," he said softly.

Words were his most powerful weapon, but she was less skilled in verbal combat. She was tired of cruising in circles with him, and she realized she would have to change tactics if she wanted to break down his walls. She still had a chance, but it was fading fast. It was time to find out if she still had what it took to get to him, and she hoped he was ready for it.

Steeling herself for a powerful negative reaction, she reached out and gently touched his ear. Slowly, she traced it, struggling to keep her hand from trembling. She remembered how much he had always loved it when she played with his ear. She also remembered the soft, sensitive spot in the hollow behind his earlobe, how the gentle caress of her breath or the moist stroking of the tip of her tongue affected him. Her body heated at the memory, and she fought against the feeling, with limited success.

He gasped softly at the tender caress and closed his eyes, but he didn't object. He found his mind straying to the past, filling with memories of tender moments and passionate interludes. He made no attempt to stop the memories this time and he let his body react to the light caress. To hell with the consequences. He'd deal with them later. The price would be steep...but he didn't care at the moment. He was as close to content as he'd gotten in the last two years.

She was surprised when he didn't object, even moreso when he closed his eyes and seemed to relax. She was encouraged. Her memory did not fail her as she guided her fingers from his ear down to the side of his neck. She leaned closer and whispered, "I have missed you so much."

Tears escaped from his eyes and rolled unchecked down his cheeks. She moved in closer, softly brushing her lips across the tear trails. He bit his lower lip and drew in a slow, uneven breath. His hand moved, sliding along the couch until it ran into the bare skin of her thigh. Slowly, he caressed her skin. It was even softer than he remembered.

Her lips moved from his cheek to pause in front of his ear. Her lips brushed over his skin and her breath whispered into his ear like a warm, inviting breeze. He trembled, and his caressing hand inched its way along her thigh.

He had spent so many years tightly controlling himself in so many situations. He had spent years avoiding such intimate contact with her, then months enjoying it, until everything fell apart and he lost her...or thought he did. The past week had started him thinking that perhaps he had been wrong.

She secured his earlobe between her lips and teased it with her tongue; his breathing became ragged. The beautiful, magic tongue sank itself behind his earlobe, to that one spot she knew that few other women ever bothered with, and he drew in a sharp breath.

When his fingers tickled the hem of her shorts, begging entry, she slid closer, straddling herself onto his lap. Her mouth found its way back along his cheek to his mouth and he welcomed her kiss. Her teasing tongue invited his to the chase, and he obliged, seeking it when it retreated into her mouth. His head was spinning. He slid his fingers along her waistband. Such soft skin, warm and yielding...like her mouth...and...

He had stopped thinking when her fingers began to stroke his ear. He turned himself over to memory and experience, exploring her body with his free hand and her mouth with his. She returned his explorations, also resurrecting memories never forgotten. She whispered two words into his ear. "No couch."

He replied with a soft groan. She moved her hips back and forth and he trembled, groaning more deeply. When she eased herself from his lap and began to draw away, he followed, unwilling to lose contact with her. He pulled her back against his body, reclaiming her mouth. The deep despair he had been mired in slipped away as she grasped his belt and pulled him with her down the hall.

Once inside the bedroom door, the belt was opened, button and zipper undone and she slid his pants down over his hips. Clothes quickly shed, they fell back on the bed. Pain shot into his shoulder as the tumble jarred it, but he barely noticed. His mind was ruled by a raging fire that burned twice as hot through his body, consuming every thought and igniting the long-dead emotional center of his being.

She saw the fire in his eyes, felt the heat in his body. His kisses were hungry, his explorations hot and desperate. She responded with a fire to match his own and tears of relief and joy rolled down her cheeks, unchecked and unnoticed. She didn't even try to control her raging desire. She had finally restored what they both thought was gone forever.


Eames snuggled back into the pillows; she had always loved the comfort of his bed. His head rested on her abdomen and he was sleeping, groaning softly when pain bit into his sleep. She sifted her hand through his hair and thought back over what had happened, wondering what it meant. As his soft groans continued, she slid out from under him and left the room.

Goren turned in the bed, stirring toward wakening. His shoulder throbbed mercilessly. Opening his eyes, he looked around the room, instinctively searching out her overnight bag, which still rested on the floor beside his dresser. Don't panic, stupid, he told himself. She got up for a glass of water, like she used to.

Like she used to... His mind thought back two hours, and his body reacted to the memory. But what could it mean? What would she expect from him? Anything? So far, she had not been demanding of him. She simply wanted him to be okay, and he could offer no reassurance that he would be. But something changed; something was very different. He could feel it, deep inside. He almost felt human again. She had reached out, patiently supportive, hard or soft when he needed her to be. She still understood him, and she still loved him. She had always been there, patiently--and sometimes not so patiently--waiting for him to come to her. And when he didn't, finally, she had come to him. She had succeeded in what she set out to do. She had saved him.

The door opened and she returned to the bed, sitting by him and turning on the bedside lamp. She looked down and saw dark eyes, watching her curiously. "Sit up and take this," she said softly.

He sat up and she placed a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He took it without argument, and she placed the glass on the nightstand. When she snuggled back into the pillows, he nestled into her side and settled his head on her shoulder. She rested her cheek against his head and rubbed his back. With her other hand, she caressed his temple. "Can I ask you something?" she whispered.

"Of course."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

She was encouraged when there was no hesitancy in his answer. "Please...come home with me."

"And do what?" he asked softly.

"Be with me, for one."

It was her number one selling point, and it swayed him. "How do I make a living?"

"We'll find something. I can talk to Ross; he'll pull for you."

"I am not the chief's favorite person, remember?"

"Don't underestimate the impact you left on Major Case, Bobby. And don't dismiss anything out of hand."

Be with me, she said. There was nowhere he would rather be. Apart from her, he had found, he was less than complete. As bad as things got for him in New York, they had been so much worse after he left. Snuggling closer, he draped his leg over hers and rested his arm across her abdomen. He was sleepy, and he drew in a deep breath. "I'll go home with you," he consented.

Her heart soared. She kissed his head and continued to rub his back until he slept. There was only one more thing she needed that he had been unable to give. She needed to see his smile.