She's the solid one in the relationship. Known for adjusting her sails, and effortlessly gliding through the troubled waters. His eyes fall upon her sitting on the surface of a sticky barstool nursing a glass of bourbon. He doesn't shoot her a look, and his lips refuse to mutter a question. Despite being known for being the less stable of the duo tonight he's the anchor of the pair. The low light only highlights the dark circles under her eyes. Their case they've just come off was beyond brutal, even for the pair of them. Neither of them have managed to garner much rest in the past three days.
Tucked safely beneath the bar she doesn't even glance in his direction as he folds himself in by her side. The alcohol refuses to blur the edges of her mind. The horror of the last seventy hours catches up to her like a case of rabies. She feels herself being sucked down the rabbit hole with anger… no fury beginning to burn in her chest. For a moment she glances his direction. His presence only fuels her fire.
He has nothing to do with the death of the three young children they have recently managed to bring justice for. This case has tilted her entire world on its axis and all she wants is… certainty. Steadfastness in whatever direction she turns.
The look in her eyes terrifies him. It is one he's rarely seen from her. He purses his lips, and contemplates his next move. He has always had a knack for turning simplicity into a complex puzzle. He allows the seconds to tick by in silence. An exhale. Then an inhale. As he inhales his brain synthesizes the bourbon, sweat, peanuts sitting on the bar, and her shampoo. As he sees her veering towards the edge he softens. He gently places his hand over her glass as she reaches for it, and slips it from her fingers. He motions for the barkeep, and tosses bills onto the counter.
His hand is still resting on hers as the bartender retrieves the payment. His thumb gently taps against her wrist for a moment. She sighs heavily. Inside she is screaming that she is not a child who needs cared for. Finally she allows her eyes to meet his.
"Alex, it's time for me to take you home," he insists in a soft, but serious tone.
Her jaw stiffens for a moment, and she scoots away from the bar. Alex turns in his direction. In fact she ruptures the safe distance between them. "Don't say that unless you mean it, Bobby," defiantly. She turns to leave. In an instant she feels his hand on her shoulder. Internally he hopes she doesn't turn around swinging, as he knows her small frame packs a mean left hook.
He points to himself, and then to her as she dares him to push her. "You and me that is the circle of trust. No more games, no more suppositions. From this moment forward you have my word I offer you nothing that is not sincere."
Almost begrudgingly he finds her slapping metal keys into the palm of his hand.
Morning comes abruptly, and without welcome. Eames' head is ready to fly off her vertebrae like the tilt-a-whirl at Coney Island as her eyes begin to flutter open. The red digital numerals reveal it is 4:28. She feels safe as she succumbs to her dreams.
Late that afternoon Goren watches as his partner slinks into their captain's office, and offers an envelope to their superior officer. When she returns to her desk he offers a reassuring smile.
"That seemed like a rather terse, yet tense exchange."
"I'm leaving Major Case. I have requested a transfer. I can't continue to stare into the abyss all of the time, Bobby. I want to have a life that isn't filled entirely with death, and despair."
"So, boss is pissed because now someone else gets the pleasure of being tethered to me?"
Eames nods, "That was the gist of the conversation."
"How many expletives?"
"A few…dozen," she confirms.
She drums her thumbs against the surface of her kitchen counter as she contemplates an appropriate choice for dinner. A knock at her door jars her into reality. Upon reaching her entryway she pulls open the door, and finds Goren standing before her with pizza. She shoots him a peculiar look. He tilts his head.
"I should have called ahead."
She furrows her brow, "I'm just trying to figure out why you've got Tang. I didn't know they still made it."
He offers a devilish grin, "Well if you let me in I will tell you all about it."
She motions for him to join her. He follow her into the kitchen where she collects the finest version of paper plate available from the cabinet.
"What is there to know about Tang? It's a kick in a glass."
He smiles widely as he opens the box of pizza. He watches her for a moment as she retrieves her slice.
"I believe I vowed to be more transparent."
Her face puckers, "Tang is not transparent."
The pair of them position themselves around her table.
"Tang is a guilty pleasure of mine. My mother would never let me have it as a kid. She must have felt guilty, though, because when I was away at boot camp she sent some in my care package. It tasted like freedom."
Alex shakes her head in utter disbelief, "It tastes like carcinogens."
"Would you like some?"
"That is a hard pass for me."
"I just thought it was something I should share with you."
"How long have we been partners? I am fairly accustomed to you operating outside social norms, Bobby."
"That will soon be coming to an end," he reminds her.
"Here I thought you were stopping by to pick up on the conversation that we started the other night."