After they'd eaten lunch, Alex cleared the table and set the dishes in the sink. She turned the water on so she could wash the dishes and looked over her shoulder toward the table. Bobby hadn't gotten up yet. He rubbed his chest with his left hand as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his right. She turned off the water and went to his side, concerned. "Are you all right?"

He looked up at her, confused by her concern. "Why would you think I'm not?"

She rested her hand over his. He hadn't realized what he was doing. "I'm okay," he assured her. "It itches, that's all."

"Does it hurt?"

"It aches a little. Honestly, I'm okay."

"Go sit in the living room. I'll wash the dishes and join you."

"I'll help..."

"No, you won't. Go."

"But..."

"Go."

"They're my dishes," he argued.

Smiling, she gave him a soft kiss. Pressing her forehead against his, she ordered, "Go sit down."

With a sigh, he conceded. It wasn't worth an argument. As she watched him leave the room, she said, "I've never seen a man argue because he wants to wash the dishes."

"I'm full of surprises," he grinned.

"Always," she admitted.

She watched him leave the room and returned to the sink.

Once the dishes were done, Alex dried her hands and went into the living room. Bobby was sitting in his recliner, reading her journal. Since he'd opened the gift, he had not parted with it. He kept it close, as though it would vanish in a puff of smoke if he let it out of his sight. She had no idea he would treasure it so. She simply wanted to share herself with him, and she couldn't think of a better way to convince him that their separation had been as hard for her as it had been for him than to give him the gift of her words.

She stepped up behind him and settled her hands on his shoulders. She squeezed her hands over taut muscles and pressed her thumbs firmly into his neck, moving them in small circles. Closing his eyes, he laid the unfinished journal in his lap before he dropped it.

She smiled as his muscles relaxed under her hands. "Why so tense?" she softly asked.

"Am I tense?"

"Very."

"I...I didn't notice."

"Probably because you're always tense. You have to learn to relax."

"I was relaxed this morning."

She laughed softly. "You have to learn to relax outside the bedroom, Bobby."

"Keep doing that and it may happen."

She did as he asked, continuing to massage his shoulders, neck and upper back until his head suddenly jerked. He'd dozed off, jerking awake suddenly, instantly alert. She leaned forward. "Are you okay?"

He looked around the room, mildly disoriented. After taking a few slow breaths, he leaned back in the chair. "I'm fine," he answered, taking her hand from his shoulder and softly kissing it. "Thank you."

She walked around to the front of the chair and lightly sat on the coffee table. "What just happened?" she asked.

He shrugged it off. "Nothing. I just drifted off."

"That's not what I'm talking about. You're home. There's no threat here. What were you expecting?"

"I wasn't expecting anything."

Reaching out, she closed the book in his lap and began to take it from him. His hands tightened on the precious volume and she looked up to meet his eyes. Reluctantly, he loosened his grip and let her slide the book from his lap. She set it on the table beside her, still within his reach, and moved from the table into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her without thinking about it, surprised but pleased by her relocation. She slipped her arm around his neck and placed her other hand flat on his chest. "You're not in the jungle any more," she whispered.

"What makes you say that?"

"You were prepared to face some kind of threat when you jerked awake. You've done that before."

"I have?"

"Yes. You didn't think I noticed."

He rubbed his hand up and down her back. "They're just dreams," he assured her. "Don't worry about it."

"You spent six months chasing a vicious criminal around the South American jungle."

"Exactly. It's going to take a little time for my mind to recover from that. Getting shot is pretty traumatic as well. I just need time."

She snuggled into his arms and rested her head against his shoulder. He tightened his arms around her and rested his cheek against her head. "No regrets?" he whispered.

"About this? Not a one."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"What about you?"

"Me? Regret this? Not a chance."

She relaxed against him and enjoyed being held. It had been too many years since she'd felt the warm, protective embrace of a man she loved, and she'd learned it was something to cherish. She'd learned he was something, someone, to cherish.

She toyed with the buttons on his shirt. "What would you do if they asked you to work with Hunt on another operation?"

"I guess it would depend on how the request was worded. I really don't want to spent another six months slogging around the jungle followed by three months of medication so I don't get malaria. I don't want to spend any more time away from you. But if they insisted, I don't think I'd have much choice in the matter. It wasn't an issue when I signed on with the Bureau."

"But now...it's an issue?"

"Now, I have a reason to stay home. Before I didn't."

"So if something came up, would you just take the job?"

She was testing him and he knew it. He had enough sense to know the right answer to this one. "Not without discussing it with you. I realize it's not just me anymore. Now I'm half of an us."

She laughed quietly and squeezed him. "Good answer, Goren."

"I can be taught, Eames."

She shifted her position, turning her head up to give him a kiss. "So can I," she whispered against his mouth.

They spent the afternoon relaxing as the snow continued to fall outside. She found an old Scrabble game in the closet and coaxed him into playing with her. She knew he was a master at bluffing, but she found out the hard way that she could not identify his tells. Every time she challenged him, she was wrong, and when she didn't, and she looked up the word, she discovered that half the time, it was a word he'd made up. They laughed a lot.

She made turkey sandwiches for dinner and he listened with interest as she told him about Christmas when she was a child. Then she made the mistake of asking him what the holidays were like when he was little. He wouldn't tell her, unwilling to taint the way she viewed Christmas. It wasn't worth an argument, she decided, not when they'd had such a good day. So she let the matter drop.

After they ate, she turned on the television. She was excited to find the original Miracle on 34th Street on TV. It had been a favorite holiday movie when she was a child. He sat by her on the couch with the journal, not interested in the movie. His dislike of the holidays was deep-rooted and it would take time for him to overcome that. She left him to his reading as she watched the movie.

When the movie was over, she picked up the remote and began looking for something else to watch, hoping to find something they could enjoy together. He had finished the journal and set it aside without commenting on it. He had a lot to think about before he would discuss anything she had written.

He was looking through the newspaper while she flipped from channel to channel. The silence between them was comfortable. Turning a page of the newspaper, he casually said, "I like you in leather."

She looked up sharply. "Excuse me?"

He looked up from the paper, saw her expression and realized how that sounded. "Oh, uh, I...Not like that. I mean, I...your leather jacket. I, uh, I saw an ad here for leather jackets, and I remembered how you look in yours. And I...you are really, uh, really hot in it. And I'm sorry...I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

As he stammered his apology, she crept across the couch, increasing his anxiety. He leaned back, away from her as she advanced on him. She pinned him back against the couch and finally smiled. "I'll have to wear it more often then, Agent Goren."

He relaxed, exhaling a soft sigh of relief. "I would like that."

She brushed her lips over his. "Relax," she whispered against his mouth. "It would be okay if you meant it the other way, too."

"It...It would?"

"That doesn't mean you'd ever catch me dead in leather underwear, but you're allowed your fantasies."

He nodded slowly. "Well, thanks for that."

"I may not go for the leather bondage look, but I think one of us may have a pair of handcuffs around here that haven't seen much use lately."

He arched an eyebrow and closed the paper. "We might have to remedy that situation." He cocked his head. "You've already seen me in cuffs."

"I was too furious to appreciate that at the time. I think I need another chance to re-evaluate that."

He arched an eyebrow and challenged, "Not if I get the cuffs first."

She was gone like a shot, leaving him laughing on the couch. He dropped the paper on the coffee table and hurried after her.

A yellow glow from the streetlight outside the window leaked through a gap in the curtains, laying a band of light across the floor and the foot of the bed. Alex turned over, waking from a light sleep and snuggling deeper into his embrace. "What time is it?" she whispered.

He twisted his head to look at the alarm clock on the nightstand. "Uh, it's, uhm...two-thirty."

"Already? Wasn't it only eleven a minute ago?"

"N-No...it was eleven, uh, three and a half hours ago."

"You're funny. Are you tired?"

"Not particularly."

She looked toward the window at the falling snowflakes as they drifted between the streetlight and the window. "It's still snowing outside."

"I noticed."

"Want to go for a walk in the snow?"

He kissed her head. "Alex, I will go anywhere with you."

She smiled and tickled his side. "Look at you, giving all the right answers today. Get dressed."

Ten minutes later, he locked the door and they took the stairs down to the lobby. Large, wet flakes drifted lazily from the sky. With no wind to drop the temperature into single digits, it was a pleasant night. Alex tucked her hand into his and they walked down the sidewalk. More than a foot of snow had already fallen, and the neighborhood residents had shoveled pathways in the snow that were now covered by several more inches of fresh powder. They walked in silence for a couple of blocks before she said, "I am tired of being alone."

He looked around. "Uh, what am I?"

She laughed. "Not right now. I mean in general. Joe died thirteen years ago and the men I've dated since just never met the grade. I always go home to an empty house. Now, you're well on your way to recovery, and again, I'll go home to an empty house."

"So don't go home."

He looked around again, as though trying to figure out who'd said that. It couldn't have been him. He'd had many girlfriends over the years; perhaps he'd even loved a couple of them. But his privacy was something he had never been willing to sacrifice, not for any of them. Half of them never saw the inside of his apartment. His place was his sanctuary against the world and few were invited into his domain. The fact that he was still able to relax with Alex in his home was very telling.

"Where am I supposed to live?" she asked. She knew him well enough to know how much he valued his privacy.

"Live with me," he answered.

She looked up at him, but there was no indication he didn't mean what he said. He was going to make her ask. "Do you mean that?"

"Would I have said it if I didn't?"

"We've only been together for a couple of weeks."

"Come on, Alex. This isn't a new relationship."

"What do you call it then?"

He took a deep breath of the cold night air and tightened his grip on her hand as they crossed the street. "I don't know what label to give it," he admitted. "But we've actually been together much longer. Eleven years. That's twenty per cent of my life, almost. I've wasted enough time looking for something that's been right in front of me all this time."

"Oh? And what is that?"

"Someone to love me, to understand me, to give me another chance when I screw up. Someone I love, period. If it's not you, then there's no one out there to fill that role in my life."

"But your privacy is so important to you."

"And I trust you to respect that when I need it. I can find privacy in another room. I don't need a whole apartment."

"Why not move into my house?"

"I wouldn't feel right about that."

"Why not?"

"Because you built your home around memories of Joe. I would be intruding."

Leave it to Bobby to jump into that emotional minefield with both feet. "Joe never lived in that house."

"No? Tell me you don't see him in every room."

She wanted to tell him that, but she couldn't because she did see Joe in every room. How could he know that? When she didn't answer him, he leaned closer to her and said, "You've spent all these years imagining him there with you. He may not have ever been in that house, but he's always been there with you."

She was hit hard by a sudden welling of emotion and it took her a moment to get it under control. She squeezed his hand. "And who's been in your place with you?"

"No one. Just me. There's plenty of room for you, Alex."

"You're serious about this."

"Yes, I am."

"Do you always move this fast?"

"Fast? Eleven years is fast?"

She smiled. "You know what I mean. How many other women have you lived with?"

"Just my mother."

She looked up at him. "Seriously? You've never lived with anyone?"

"I had a roommate when I was in the Army. Does that count?"

"Were you sleeping with him?"

"No."

"Then it doesn't count. Why haven't you ever lived with a lover?"

He shrugged. "Like you said, I value my privacy. I never cared for a woman enough to give that up, until now."

It was a big step for them both, and she wondered if she was ready to live with another man after so many years alone. She thought about all the annoying little things Joe used to do, things that would irritate her to no end...until he was gone. After losing him, she would have given anything to use the bathroom in the middle of the night only to find out, too late, that the seat was up. Or to grab her toothbrush and toothpaste only to find razor stubble all over the sink. For years she stepped out of a hot shower, wishing just once more to find 'I love you' written in the condensation on the mirror. Was she ready to deal with a new set of annoying little habits? Could she adjust to living with another man after thirteen years of living alone? "Do you leave the toilet seat up?"

"How often have you fallen in because I have?"

She laughed. "What makes you think I would fall in?"

"You don't turn the lights on when you get up during the night. You're half asleep, so I'd guess the last thing on your mind is whether the toilet seat is up, especially since it's not something you've had to worry about for awhile."

"So you lower the seat for me?"

"Who else would I lower it for?"

"What other concessions do you make for me?"

"I don't make any concessions. But I do try to keep in mind you live there, too. My mother taught me to respect women, so I try to be considerate."

She stopped suddenly, stepping directly in front of him. She grabbed his jacket with both hands and pulled him down so she could kiss him. Sliding her hands up and around his neck, she deepened the kiss. He slipped his arms around her, welcoming her tongue into his mouth, and held her against him until she ended the kiss and withdrew from the embrace. He drew in a few deep breaths before opening his eyes. "What was that for?"

"I love you," she said, making sure he was looking into her eyes. She had never meant those three words more.

"I love you, too. Does that mean you're okay with moving?"

"I hate moving, but I love you more. So if you're okay with having me in your space, then I'm okay with being there."

He placed his hand along the side of her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "Have you had enough of walking in the snow yet?"

"Why? Are you tired?"

"No. But I want to take you home and show you just how much I love you."

She gave him a devilish smile. "Handcuffs and all?"

He returned her smile. "Whatever you want, baby."

She slipped her hand back into his and they went back home—to their home.