Late Sunday afternoon, Bobby set about preparing dinner, refusing to let Alex help. He spent the afternoon chasing her out of the kitchen, and she was delighted to see the spontaneous return of his playfulness. She ignored the two beers he drank while he was cooking, continuing to tease him until he finally sent her to the store for a couple of last minute items. Once she left the apartment, he really got to work.

The neighborhood bodega wasn't far, so she walked. As she did, she thought about their impending separation. It was going to be a test for them both. She knew that absence tended to raise Goren's insecurities and it was going to take time for him to adjust to the changes in their lives. She knew there were going to be many drastic ups and downs as his life settled into some kind of routine, and she certainly welcomed the 'ups' with delight. It was his 'down' time that she dreaded, knowing his coping mechanisms were not the greatest and she would not be able to be with him a lot of the time. He would have to find his own way sometimes, and that worried her, in spite of his assurances that he would manage. His recent meltdown after visiting his mother's grave was the primary reason for her uneasiness. She knew he wouldn't call her, even if he needed her, and she was no longer as adept as she'd once been at reading his voice. Whether that was because he was better at hiding or she had lost touch that much, she couldn't be certain.

Tonight was her last chance to get through to him before he left, the last chance she'd have for awhile to discuss what had happened the other day and what she'd meant by her outburst. He had deftly avoiding talking about it all weekend, but she could not let him leave without some clarification for them both.

It had been a long, rocky journey, but he had come back to her. Now he needed to manage the rest of the world. She had no idea how she could help him do that, or even if he would let her, but she had to try, as much as she was able.

When she returned to the apartment, she pushed the door open and stopped in her tracks. The lights were dimmed, replaced by candlelight. The stereo sang softly to her, an instrumental piece she remembered from a long ago date, a memory that stirred something deep inside her. She walked slowly into the room, setting the paper bag in her arm down on the coffee table as she proceeded to the dining area. The table was adorned with a white tablecloth and two tall, burgundy, tapered candles. It was set for two, and dinner had just been dished out. She looked toward the kitchen, her eyes bright with amusement and surprise, underscored by the muted heat of passion. "You were busy," she commented.

He walked out of the kitchen to set the wine bottle in the center of the table. "I don't know when we're going to get to have dinner like this again. I wanted to make it special for you."

His words came back to her from a recent conversation. Romance isn't love. It's manipulation. Sex isn't love. It's physical need.

She looked around. "This is...romantic." Her eyebrow arched in suspicion. "Goren, are you trying to manipulate me?"

He hesitated. "Do you need candles and soft music for me to convince you to do anything with me?"

"No, of course not."

"Then, no."

She struggled to hide her amusement. "You are being romantic, very romantic."

"I know how to be romantic, Eames, in spite of the fact that it's never had any significance for me before."

"And it does now?"

He leaned his hip against the wall. "Yes."

She stood in front of him and held his gaze. "Tell me how," she said.

He tipped his head to the side, resting it against the wall. "You once told me how much you loved romantic gestures. I fell flat in that category before, so I'm trying to make it up to you. It means something to me because it means something to you. I'm not trying to get anything from you; I just want to make you happy for a change."

She searched her memory for the conversation he referred to but came up blank. "When did I ever tell you I thought anything about romantic gestures?"

"It was a case we had. Anthony Farnell...he wined and dined his girlfriend before he choked her to death in the bedroom..."

"I remember. Not the ideal ending to a romantic evening."

"You made that point at the time. And you also said it had been a long time since anyone had given you a romantic evening, and you kind of missed that."

She nodded. "I did miss it. But you never took the hint."

He looked down. "My mother was dying. I wouldn't have taken the hint if you'd hit me over the head with it."

"Yeah, I noticed. I didn't think it even registered with you."

"It registered, and I remembered. I'm sorry it took so long for me to act on it. You deserve better."

She chose not to address that at the moment. Instead, she said, "You remember the most random things." She reached out and grabbed his hand, adding, "It's one of your more annoying qualities...and one of your more endearing ones."

"It's funny how I can do that, isn't it?"

"Annoy me and make me fall in love with you all at the same time, every day?"

He arched his eyebrow and quirked his mouth into a grin. "Is that what I do?"

"Every day, Bobby. Let's eat. I'm starving."

And we need to talk before you take off for Virginia, she added in her head. He pulled out her chair for her, and he almost did her in when he leaned in and brushed his lips across her neck. She shuddered with delight. She was overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness and attention to detail. Her favorite wine on the table, one of her favorite colors for the candles, one of her favorite meals on the plate before her...

As she moved toward the chair, she leaned up and kissed him. "I love that you can still surprise me," she said as she rested her head against his chest.

She could feel the thrum of his heart against his chest and the tremor in his hand as his fingers brushed her hair back from her face. With a smile, she sat down and let him shift the chair closer to the table. She looked at her plate as he poured the wine. Chicken, broccoli and mashed potatoes...a simple, delicious meal. Perfect for tonight, she mused.

She watched him sit in the seat adjacent to hers instead of across from her, where he would have sat as recently as a week ago. Several weeks ago, he would not have joined her at all. "You're looking good, Bobby."

He looked up, surprised by the compliment. "Th-thank you," he replied tentatively, not sure exactly what had initiated it.

She did not elaborate, but instead, began eating. He was a bit uncertain, but he followed her lead and began eating his own dinner. When she was about halfway done, she said, "All right, Bobby. I need you to tell me what this means for us."

He looked up. "Uh, what do you mean?"

"I mean you being in Virginia and me being here. How is this going to work? You've already proven that you won't call me when something goes wrong."

His mouth tightened into a line. "I made a mistake, but...I needed to handle it on my own, and I did. I...I can't be calling you for every little thing."

"This wasn't a little thing!"

"And that's why I needed to deal with it. Alex, don't ask me to call you every time I bump my head. I won't do it. But I will call you to let you know how my day was and to ask how yours went. I'll call to tell you I was thinking of you and that I miss you. I'll call to say good night and I love you. I'll be all right, because I know that, when all is said and done, when my day is over, you're still going to be the most important person in my life."

She let his words tumble about her mind as they finished eating. Remembering the point he was at when she found him in Sacramento, she mused over how far he had come as she watched him finish his meal. He still drank a lot more than she was comfortable with and she hated that he was smoking again, but time would take care of those issues as well. What mattered most to her was that she had him back, and he was whole and healing.

He was doing his best to use his healing arm normally, although from time to time it still reminded him what had happened to it. He refused to deal with physical therapy, and she decided that was not a battle worth undertaking as long as he continued to improve. But how could she gauge his recovery, physical and emotional, now?

She knew he was no longer on the edge and in danger of slipping over it, but he was still prone to setbacks, especially when he was uncertain. Not seeing him for weeks at a time was not an acceptable option to her. That would be detrimental to them both.

She helped him clear the table and they retired to the couch. When he reached for the remote, she grabbed it first and hid it in the cushions behind her. He looked at her expectantly as she shook her head and said, "No TV tonight."

He leaned back and waited. She looked forward to the time when he would be confident enough to make the next move rather than defer to her. He was still finding his way. She shifted closer to him. "I want to make sure we're very clear about a few things before you go."

"All right."

"I...lost my temper Friday night...and I wanted to clarify something." His warm, dark eyes were clear and focused on her face. His upper body inclined toward hers, expressing interest. Impulsively, she reached out and skimmed her thumb along his jaw, filled with a comfortable, warm feeling. "What I said, about building a life with you...I want you to know that I meant that. I was also serious about wanting you to stop self-destructing. Bobby, I can't take being away from you for months, or even weeks, at a time. My imagination will drive me nuts, wondering how you're doing and picturing the worst. I'm being honest with you. I don't like this."

When she fell silent, he turned to his thoughts and searched his feelings before he answered. His caution did not surprise her. He reached out, tentatively wrapping his fingers around her hand and drawing it toward him. She shifted closer, allowing him to settle her hand in his lap. He stroked her palm with his thumb and quietly said, "I have to find my own way, to live my own life. You know that. You belong here, with the department. I don't. So I'm trying to find my way with the Bureau, and it may work for me. I have to give it a chance."

She nodded, closing her hand around his thumb, which was distracting her. "I get that, and I don't have a problem with it. The Bureau may give you the freedom you need, something the department never could. That can't be bad for you. But you're still recovering your bearings, Bobby...with me and with your life. I don't want to see you backslide."

"I can't promise I'll never run into any trouble. I don't think I have ever done anything without backsliding. But I have you, and I will always manage. You have to give me a chance."

She squeezed his hand. "You're not giving me much choice, are you?"

"Not really. I don't have much choice myself." He paused. "I'm going to be teaching, and I'll be home on the weekends, working on some cold cases I've been reviewing. I have evidence to review and witnesses to see, here in New York. I'll see you most weekends, Alex. It won't be unbearable and it's not permanent."

"You'll call me?"

He nodded. "I will. I'll miss you."

She shifted closer to him. "Promise me...you'll never run away again. Never try to second guess me, and don't think I will ever do better without you. I don't want to let you go. Please, remember that."

He tipped his head to the right and caught her eyes, which were bright with tears. "You can see how well I do without you," he replied. "I need you, and I love you. I won't forget that."

"Make sure that you don't," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.

He looked down at their hands and she released his thumb. With a soft smile, he raised her hand to his mouth and softly kissed it, raising his eyes toward her when she caught her breath. He brushed his lips over the pulse point at her wrist, and she closed her eyes. He raised his other hand and buried it in her hair, drawing her closer. He kissed her deeply, pressing his body into hers. His fingers deftly undid the buttons of her shirt, and she made short work of his belt.

Love is an emotional catastrophe. Her last thought before losing herself to him was that she was happy to be his catastrophe.

She woke when he untangled himself from her body and slid from the bed. He moved about the room and she drifted back to sleep. She woke again when he leaned over to kiss her. Opening her eyes, she looked at him in the dim light cast by the streetlight and the light in the hallway. His hair was still damp from his shower and he was dressed in a dark suit with a blue striped tie. The scent of his cologne filled her head and she rubbed her palm over his freshly shaven cheek. "I will miss you," she whispered, her voice still hoarse with sleep.

He fingered her hair. "You are beautiful," he answered. "I love you."

"Call me tonight?"

He nodded and kissed her. When he got to the door, she called him back. He turned. "I love you, too, Bobby. Be careful."

He smiled at her and left the room. She'd helped him pack his car the night before, so there was nothing left to grab except his old, worn binder and his keys. Stepping from the apartment, he locked the door behind him.

In the bedroom, Alex turned over onto her side and pulled the comforter tight around her, breathing in the lingering scent of him. He was starting over, and she knew this was the best thing for him. He was on his way to a good life, and she prayed he would not do anything to sabotage it.

A/N: That's it for Chasm, folks. Thank you so much for enjoying the ride with me! I have been asked to continue this storyline in a third sequel, showing Bobby's trials and tribulations with the FBI and the continued evolution of his relationship with Alex.

Also, I do want to thank everyone for their kind thoughts and good wishes for my daughter. She is on dialysis, which we do at home every night, and she is doing well. She is feeling better and the dialysis is doing its job. We continue to wait for a kidney for her and pray it will come soon.