A/N: For anyone inclined to think the Bureau would never make such an offer, for the purposes of this story, they did. I am going to do my best to update a couple of my other stories but I wanted to warn y'all--my daughter, who is ten (and adores Bobby, by the way), will be starting dialysis this month and she's scheduled for surgery on Tuesday. Her declining health coupled with my crazy work schedule are the primary reasons my updates have been delayed. For that I apologize. Rest assured that I never leave things undone so updates will be forthcoming.

One more thing...last night she watched "Please Note" with me. At the end, when Bobby said "They had kids, too.", she thought he said "May I kiss you?" I thought that was pretty funny and those shippers among you would get a kick out of it.

Anyway...read on and enjoy!

Eames stretched as the annoying sound of the alarm bit into the warmth of her sleep. She turned over toward the other side of the bed, only remembering he wasn't there when her arm passed through empty air. Forcing her eyes open, she watched her hand smooth over the empty sheets, missing him. Sliding from the bed, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She was going to have to get used to missing him again, she realized as she stepped into the steaming stream of water. But she didn't have to like it. This time it was a different kind of missing, one that didn't have the same mind-numbing, stomach-churning worry tied into it, but she missed him just the same because he was not there.

After her shower, she dressed, then picked up the phone and dialed. He answered on the fourth ring, just before it switched to voicemail. Eames...uh, good morning.

He sounded groggy and she knew she'd woken him. "You're not up yet?"

What time is it?

"Six-thirty. Bobby, are you all right?"

I told you last night, I'm fine.

She paused. "I don't believe you."

She recognized his huff of frustration and she could hear it in his voice when he replied, That's your prerogative. I, uh, I'd better get ready.

"Bobby..."

I had a difficult night, that's all. It's nothing for you to worry about.

She still didn't believe him, but this was not the time to push the issue. "If you're sure." She paused, not liking the uncertainty that had suddenly cropped up between them. They were still struggling to find their way with one another, emotionally, and she had to consciously remind herself that the journey back from wherever he had gone within himself was not going to be a smooth or easy one, for either of them. She would have to be more patient and understanding than she had ever been. "Would you come over for dinner tonight?"

When he hesitated, a lump formed in the pit of her stomach. I have a lot to do around here... he began, his voice strained.

"Then I'll come over there and help you. I'll bring dinner."

Another moment of hesitation hung between them before he finally replied, his voice soft. I'd like that.

She smiled at his change in tone. "I missed you last night--and this morning," she said suddenly.

She knew her confession caught him offguard and she regretted saying it as soon as the words cleared her lips. She wished she could take them back as much as she wished she could see his face. Finally, he said, We'll talk about it tonight. Have a good day, Eames.

"Good luck at your meeting," she said lamely.

Thank you. He hesitated once again. I missed you, too, he finally added just before the line went dead.

Eames hung up her phone, unsettled. They were now back in familiar surroundings and she worried that he was going to return to old patterns, though she hoped not. But she could not be with him all the time. He was going to have to figure out how to deal with his dark moods and the demons that haunted him on his own. He could not rely on her to guide him any longer. Silently, she prayed he would be able to find his way and not get lost someplace beyond her reach. She could not bear to lose him again.

Goren set his phone on the nightstand, beside an open bottle of scotch. Sitting up, he put the cap on the bottle and scrubbed his face with both hands. He walked to the window and opened it, taking a long deep breath of the cold winter air. Leaving the window open, he went into the bathroom and took a long, hot shower.

His thoughts strayed over the barrage of nightmares that had accosted him, driving him to seek the bottle that rested on his nightstand. There had to be a better way. It took awhile for him to realize that there was a better way, but it wasn't one that would ever be available to him on a nightly basis. The time he spent away from the city, in Virginia or on assignment, as well as the nights he spent alone, were destined to be difficult, and he knew of no other salve for his troubled soul. He refused to resort to disturbing Eames, though he knew she would not complain. He was determined never to become a burden to her and take the risk of driving her away for good. He had to be content with whatever amount of time she was able to offer and somehow manage to deal with the rest of it in his own way. Some would call him self-destructive; he called it surviving.

With a towel wrapped around his waist, he opened his closet doors and, one by one, looked at each suit he owned. Finally, settling on one of his dark blue ones, he moved on to his dress shirts. Light blue or white? Blue. Now, the ties. Consciously choosing one of Eames' favorites—dark blue with diagonal stripes of maroon and silver—he closed the closet doors.

After shaving, he dressed and removed a small wooden box from the top drawer of his dresser. Sorting through the tie clips within it, he chose a plain silver one, sliding it into place. He replaced the box in the drawer and slipped his wallet, switchblade, loose change and handkerchief into his pockets, dropping his phone into his jacket pocket. Returning to the bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror to straighten his tie. Then he looked himself over with a critical eye. Presentable, he determined.

In the living room, he grabbed his keys and his overcoat. He'd get a cup of coffee on the way. As he crossed the room, his eye caught the picture of Eames above the DVD player. He hesitated, overcoat draped over his arm, and stared at her picture. What had recently brought him only pain now gave him a measure of comfort that he desperately needed. He continued across the room and left the apartment.

FBI Special Agent in Charge Joseph Carmichael looked at the man on the opposite side of his desk. He'd heard other agents refer to that chair as the "hot seat", which made him laugh. It wasn't a place an agent wanted to find himself when trouble brewed. He looked at the file on the desk in front of him. "You resigned from the NYPD last year and took a position with the Sacramento Narcotics squad. Why have you come back to New York?"

"New York is my home. I made a mistake when I left."

"Why have you chosen not to return to NYPD? You had fifteen years in. That's a lot of time. Five more years and you would be eligible for your pension. Why give that up to come to work for the Bureau?"

Goren struggled to contain his natural restlessness. "Do I have to remind you that you sought me out, Agent Carmichael? I'm nine years older than your recruiting requirements. Why would you bend your rules for me?"

"First answer my questions, then I will answer yours."

After a moment of hesitation, Goren responded, "The department has nothing for me, sir. I...never quite fit in there and I have no desire to return if there is a better option available to me."

"Why the Bureau?"

"I understand people and I can get into the minds of the criminals I pursue. The Bureau's behavioral analysis unit is the best in the world. I find that appealing."

Carmichael tapped the file on his desk. "And you wish to remain attached to the New York office?"

"Tell me you can't use a profiler on your team."

The senior agent smiled. "You've done your homework. Very good. I certainly can use a good profiler. I believe I have convinced my superiors of that. The BAU is certainly interested in you, and the forensic unit at Quantico has also expressed interest after reviewing your file."

Goren frowned. "My file?"

Another smile teased the corners of Carmichael's mouth. "The Bureau has lots of files, Goren. You have shown remarkable profiling skills and you trained under Declan Gage before his breakdown, but you are also a gifted forensic investigator. You have some issues with authority, but given your background, you have done amazingly well for yourself. You will be an asset to the Bureau. You've spent your life in law enforcement, and we are willing to make concessions and give you credit for your experience, both in the CID and as an NYPD officer. After a long discussion with your friend Agent Dominick, I did some convincing." He withdrew an envelope from the middle drawer of his desk and held it out to Goren. "This is our offer. The details of salary and benefits are there as well as your responsibilities and duties. You will be attached to my office, but Quantico has its fingers in the mix as well. You will be required to spend time there. I think you will find the terms acceptable. You won't be required to attend the full New Agent course at the Academy since you could probably teach most of it, but you'll have to spend some time there with one of the current classes. Take the offer with you, review it and think about it. I'll expect your reply by the end of the week." He rose and extended his hand. "I hope to be welcoming you to the Bureau then."

Goren accepted his hand and nodded. "I'll be in touch."

He left the office, slipping the sealed envelope into the inner pocket of his jacket. It didn't matter what it said. He knew he would accept the position. As he left the building, he wondered again if there was a place for him anywhere. He knew it wasn't with the NYPD or in Sacramento. He hoped to find that place with the Bureau because he was tired and he was done looking for something he had come to realize might not exist.

Eames knocked on the door of Goren's apartment. She heard him moving about inside but a few minutes passed before the door opened. He stood in the doorway, staring at her. She stared back. He still wore his suit pants and blue shirt, but his tie was off and his shirt was half-open. He stepped back slowly, and she entered the apartment.

Reaching out, he took the bags from her hands as he gave her a soft kiss and disappeared into the kitchen. She looked around the room, easily finding the familiar picture of his mother and the childhood picture of him and his brother that had always adorned his living room. She was very surprised, however, to find a picture of herself there as well. She was looking at that picture when he came out of the kitchen, setting two plates of pasta on the table. "Eames?"

She turned. "You have a picture of me?"

He nodded, returning to the kitchen to retrieve the wine she'd brought and two wineglasses. "I've had it for a long time. I was never able to set it out before."

She sat at the table. "What's different now?"

He sat down and tossed the envelope Carmichael had given him beside her plate. "A lot of things."

"What's this?"

"The FBI's offer. I'm going to take it."

She picked up the envelope and turned it over in her hands. "You haven't even opened the envelope."

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter what's in it. I have nowhere else to go, no other viable options. I'm done trying to find a place where I belong. Maybe I don't belong anywhere, except with you. But this is a job where I'll be able to do what I do best, without Moran breathing down my neck because I don't meet his expectations of what a police officer should be. The details are irrelevant to me."

She smoothed her hand over the envelope. "Do you mind?"

"Go ahead."

He pushed his fork through the pasta on his plate as she opened the envelope and withdrew its contents to read over them. When she finished, she returned the papers to the envelope. He didn't look up. Quietly, she said, "It's a very good offer. They know what they're getting. What did he say about spending time in Virginia?"

"He hinted that Quantico was interested in me, but I'll be attached to the New York field office."

She smoothed her hand over the envelope then pushed it toward him. "Maybe you should look at this."

He took the envelope and pulled out the papers, scanning through them. "It's...open-ended," he muttered.

"Meaning you could spend three days a month in Virginia or three weeks."

He closed his eyes as he set down the papers. "What do you want me to do? And don't tell me whatever I want." He opened his eyes and looked at her. "I didn't come back to New York for the job. I came back for you." He got up and walked to the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen and dining area, pulling a letter from inside a sales flyer that had come in the mail. He handed it to her and sat back in his chair. "That came today. Ross works fast."

She read the letter and her eyebrows arched in surprise. "My guess is he has to work fast before Moran changes his mind." She hesitated before adding, "Moran won't be chief forever, you know."

He drained his wineglass and stared at his untouched food, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. "I know. But it will still be the same old shit. I'm not sure I have the stomach for that any more."

She understood that, and she had no intention of swaying his decision. In time, he would come to resent her for it if she did. "Just answer me one question and I'll be done with the subject."

"What's that?"

"What happens if Quantico ends up needing you more than New York?"

It was a legitimate question, one he'd been contemplating all day. "Do you trust me to work it out? I'm not inclined to let you slip through the cracks, Alex."

That was good enough for her. She placed the letter from Ross with the FBI letter and rose to set them on the counter. Returning to her seat, she watched him and wondered what had him so unsettled. "Why don't you eat?"

"I'm not that hungry."

"What did you have for lunch?"

He shifted in his seat. "I, uh, I kind of forgot about lunch."

She watched him refill both glasses and asked, "What has you so upset?"

When he didn't answer, she reached out and closed her hand around his. She knew him well enough to know what most often haunted his dreams and kept him from sleep: the victims of past cases, the rare few who got away, Nicole Wallace...and his mother. "Can I ask you something?"

He hesitated, but finally nodded, "Go ahead."

"Do you know why your mother favored Frank so strongly?"

It was rare that she ever tried to draw him into a discussion of his family or his past, something he never allowed. She watched to see where it would lead them now. He did not withdraw his hand, but he didn't look at her either. She was beginning to think he was not going to answer when he spoke. "This is not something..."

He trailed off, not sure at all how to continue, or even how to explain something he didn't fully understand himself. Perhaps talking through it might give him the insight he'd been denied all these years. Keeping everything so deeply buried inside had gotten him nowhere. He drained his glass again and said, "My parents were married in November 1956. Frank was born in March 1958. Their marriage had not yet started having trouble, so my mother never associated Frank with discord. At some point after he was born, my father began spending more and more time away from home. My mother got...lonely. When an ex of hers began coming by to see her, she...she wasn't so lonely any more. The day she died, she told me...she said she was with him the night Kennedy was elected. I was born nine months later, and she never knew for certain who fathered me. My father might have suspected something because he never treated me the same way he did Frank. Or maybe he resented me because he didn't want another child. I'll never know. But things between them were never good after I was born and she may have blamed me for that. In her eyes, Frank was a model son, a brilliant scientist who put his intelligence to good use instead of squandering it by being a cop. He never had time to visit her because his job was so vitally important, but she knew he would have taken better care of her than I did." He didn't notice that his voice had turned bitter, but she did. Her grip on his hand tightened; he didn't notice that either. "Everything about Frank was good and right. I could never measure up to that standard in her mind. I was her life's greatest failure, but at least she had one worthwhile son."

"You never told her he was a homeless junkie?"

"Of course not. I couldn't do that to her."

She caressed his arm. "You were a better son than she ever realized."

He didn't reply to that comment. "There's something else," he said tentatively. "And this may...change things between us."

He rose from the table and paced around the living room. She turned and watched him. "How can your past change anything between us?"

"This will," he murmured.

"I doubt it," she assured him. "Trust me."

More than anything else, he wanted to trust her, but he struggled. He sat on the couch and she moved to sit beside him as he buried his face in his hands. Gently she rubbed his back, whispering into his ear. "I've had a taste of life without you and it was a very bitter flavor. I didn't like it one bit and I can promise you there is nothing you could tell me that could possibly be worse than what we've just been through." She raked her fingers through his hair. "Just tell me."

He dropped his hands away from his face and softly said, "My mother did not have very good judgment," he warned. "William Goren was abusive, an alcoholic gambler and a womanizer. The man my brother remembers as Uncle Mark, the other candidate for my paternity..." He hesitated before finally confessing, "...was Mark Ford Brady."

She caught her breath, unable to hide her surprise. Mark Ford Brady? If he'd been Mike Logan she'd have accused him of joking, but she knew better. It was no joke. Recovering quickly, she gently stroked his hair and leaned closer to place a reassuring kiss on his cheek. "I would never punish you for your mother's sins, Bobby. You have no control over who your father is and this doesn't change who you are one bit. It doesn't change my opinion of you, or my love for you. There's nothing you can do about it, baby, so set it aside. It doesn't matter."

He turned his head to look at her. "But it does matter. The man who fathered me is responsible for half of who I am. Which is the lesser of two evils, Alex? An abusive womanizing gambler or a serial killer and rapist? Neither is an attractive option."

She sighed, not certain she would ever convince him of his own self-worth but determined never to give up trying. Her voice was soft. "You are a greater man than the sum of the parents who made you. You worked hard to be better than your father, and regardless of which man is responsible, you succeeded. You are a better man than either of them. " She leaned forward to look at his face. "Look at me."

"I don't..."

"Look at me!" Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet hers. She touched his cheek. "You are still the man I fell in love with. Nothing has changed that and nothing will. Let it go." Leaning forward to kiss him, she added, "Please. For me."

That was all he needed to hear. There was a good chance he would never be able to let it go, but for her, he was willing to try. When her lips brushed across his, he raised his hand to her head, drawing her in for a deeper kiss. He needed her reassurance.

She smiled against his mouth when a stray hand smoothed over the skin beneath her shirt. Gently, she bit his lip and he drew in a sharp breath. She pulled away a couple of inches and whispered, "Something just occurred to me."

"What's that?" he wondered.

"I've never made love to an FBI agent before."

"Never?"

She shook her head as she unbuttoned his shirt, distracting him from his dark introspection. "Never. I think it's time I changed that."

"I thought we were going to talk about..."

She cut him off with a kiss. "We will," she whispered. "Later."

Teasing his lips with hers and grabbing his shirt with both hands, she gave a gentle tug, coaxing him off the couch with ease. Slowly backing toward the bedroom, she fumbled with his belt as she added, "But I'll still kick your ass if you profile me, Goren."

He smiled as he slid her shirt up over her head. "I'll remember that," he promised, drawing her in for another kiss as she led him down the hall.