Title: Push, Pull (5?)

Disclaimer: I still do not own any of the characters that I am playing with in this story. They are the property of Dick Wolf and Rene Balcer and NBC, and I promise not to break them. I might abuse them a little, but I will put them back all shiny and clean when I'm through. Cross my heart!

A/N And here we go again with more of the emotional roller-coaster you guys have (hopefully) been enjoying! I love you guys on AI, you give the greatest reviews and commentary! grin Some of you have been getting very worried about Bobby and Alex's future together, but have no fear,… I will only torture you with more angst for… well, a good while yet. Sorry, but I have some stuff to work out in the story before it gets better for them. I told you, this 'aint no easy ride! But oh, the hard stuff just makes the good stuff that happens later so much sweeter, doesn't it? It will end happily I hope though, so don't lash me with your bull- whips yet! Hang in there guys!

Part 5?

"The greatest Weakness of all is the great fear of appearing Weak." Jacques B. Bossuet

"Faith is like Love, it cannot be forced." Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860)

Those who say that the only thing to truly fear, is fear itself, never seem to continue on to say that battling said fear can result in getting one's ass kicked. Emotionally was well as physically. And the process is made worse ten-fold when one is fighting, tooth and nail, alone. Somehow, that little detail of the obligatory "Keep a Stiff Upper Lip, You can Do it" speech seems to be left out. When a person's innermost psyche, the convictions they held most dear to their soul and the beliefs they once clung to can be slashed open, gnawed on, and rendered to a bloody sheath flapping in the wind; it is definitely no ordinary fear. But no one seems to mention that, while they give a hearty pat on the back and a good-natured chuck on the shoulder. One need not wonder why. This kind of fear, this soul-sucking species of terror, is not the kind that can be conquered by simply chanting "I think I can, I think I can." This animal would de-rail that little train.

The ride in the elevator nearly suffocated Eames. Silence between she and her partner hung in the air, stifling and stagnant, like the humidity after a summer rainstorm. They had always enjoyed a companionable silence when they traveled together, when Goren needed time to work through his thought processes, and Eames would wait patiently. This silence, however, was unbearable, and Eames shifted her weight in the elevator every few minutes, staring at the numbers as they counted down.

Goren glanced over at her every few seconds, unable to keep his insatiable need to understand in check. Twice, he licked his lips, and opened his mouth to say something to her, anything to get her to reveal her eyes to him, her secrets. But both times, he snapped his mouth shut, completely unsure yet again of how to proceed. Had she been a suspect, Goren would be within his element, reading her and cracking her like a walnut. But this was Eames, his Eames. Much to his despair, Goren couldn't seem to shut off his "detective" mode. That switch seems to be in the eternal "ON" position.

Thunder growled in the distance again, and the wind picked up, whipping Eames' hair and coat. The temperature was dropping, and the sky had turned into a boiling mass of gun-metal gray clouds. It seemed the All-Mighty Himself was fine tuning the weather to Eames' soul. "Ironic," Eames mused as they got into the SUV. Goren, as always, had to fold himself in to the car, his knees still pressed against the glove compartment. On his lap, his ever-present brown leather binder was opened to the few scraps of blank paper he would need as he jotted down bits and pieces of information he would later formulate into some preternaturally insightful theory.

"The victim was found in an alley…not far from…uh, the Vector Room." Bobby glanced up from the police report, his eye sweeping over Alex's form, waiting for her to add some piece of relevant information she'd learned while working Vice. She, of course, would know the Vector Room; one of the hottest clubs in Manhattan for the not-so-upstanding college crowds and those who still wish they were college age. Alex's only response was an almost imperceptible nod of the head, and Bobby was left to stumble over yet another of his missed cues.

"Uh…he probably saw her in the club," he raised one had to gesticulate, as Alex maneuvered in traffic, "he liked what he saw…she fit his criteria,"

"We haven't even seen the crime scene yet." Alex's voice was low, the tone held no emotion. "We won't really know what his 'criteria' is until we see the body." She swallowed and cocked her head to the side a little, trying to hide the effect a sudden image of the many victim's dead-eyes was having on her. She knew Bobby would be dead-on with his assessment of the killer's actions in stalking his prey, but it still irked her that he was working through the case before they even arrived at the scene. He was encapsulating himself inside his head again, leaping ahead in a case without her, again - she slipped a little deeper into her isolation.

Bobby watched her physical reaction when she mentioned the body. He knew the last thing she needed to see was another mutilated young woman, that this serial case was doing some major damage to her. But something else was brewing under her surface, the same something that had caused her to repulse from his touch and regard him as though she were looking at a monster. The sting of her reaction at the coffee-maker still prickled inside his chest, he'd never realized how easily she could affect him. But, then again, he knew all too well the power one petite detective had over him, even with the simplest head nod, glance over her shoulder, or a wry smile cast in his direction. She could make or break him with a simple look. She was his compass, his touch-stone, his confirmation; even if he desperately tried to hide it. Bobby would have given every star in the heavens, just to touch her right at that moment, and have her reciprocate what that touch truly meant deep inside his heart. But he was afraid, for more reasons than he'd care to admit.

Bobby sighed heavily, turning his gaze out the window as his own self-conscious fears began to create a weight on his heart.

"Grasp not at much, for in Fear thou loses all" George Herbert (1593-1633)

Yellow police tape, flashing red and blue lights, and a multitude of bustling people greeted the detectives as they pulled their dark SUV in at the scene. Reporters clamored for the best shots, hanging over the police lines. Alex recognized the scene; the same commotion had been a constant at every crime scene for "The Collector" murders. She took a deep breath as Bobby opened his door, attempting to steel herself for the work ahead. As they walked around their vehicle, Goren took the lead, with Eames falling in behind him, allowing his bulk to part the crowd in front of them. Sometimes, having a man of Goren's size came in handy, even if it was as a people-moving shield. Eames allowed herself a small smile at that thought. Right away, however, the reporters descended upon the new comers like vultures.

"Detectives! Is this the work of The Collector?" shouted one voice.

"Is it a copy-cat, are the signatures the same?" another asked.

Goren did his best to be careful enough not to step on anyone, or shove one of the multiplying microphones up someone's nose. He really hated being crowded, and he hated that these people were keeping him from his crime scene. Eames knew that Goren was getting frustrated, his proper place was in the crime scene; he simply fit there. Politicking and playing the media were nowhere to be found on Goren's priority list. One ballsy young man managed to get under the tape and away from the uniforms guarding the area, and shouldered his way between Goren and Eames. Goren was completely occupied with maneuvering to the actual crime scene; he didn't notice someone working their way in behind him. Eames had been somewhat lost in her own world, staring at the breadth of Bobby's massive back and wondering why she didn't notice how big he actually was before, when she had to suddenly stop short to keep from running nose-first into a microphone that had materialized in her face.

She stared, almost shocked at the young reporter's gall, when he asked, "Detective, how are the citizens of New York supposed to feel safe when the NYPD keeps putting the wrong people in jail?" He cocked a sly eyebrow at her, as she faltered.

"We didn't, I mean, we thought…," she started, then caught herself.

"Isn't it true, Detective, that you cops rush to jail the first suspect you can get your hands on, in order to garner the best press in a high-profile case like this?" He started to advance on her, entering her personal space.

Grinding her teeth, fists balled and tilting her chin slightly upward, Alex prepared to give this reporter the Alex Eames version of 'No Comment', when the reporter's face suddenly disappeared behind a brown-coat eclipse.

"The NYPD…has no comment." Goren's voice was low and deep, almost a growl. Eames blinked to register that yet again, Goren seemed to have materialized out of thin air in front of her. She stepped cautiously to Goren's left side, as if she were sidling around a sleeping bear.

The reporter, who had been attempting to intimidate the small female detective, now shrank in on himself. His eyes were saucers, and there was the distinct possibility, she thought, that he was pissing himself. "I was only asking her…," he squeaked, but his tongue must have shriveled in his mouth.

Alex looked up at her partner, as he took a step toward the shaking young man. At times, Bobby Goren seemed oblivious to his menacing size; he tended to down play his height by dipping his head, hunching his huge shoulders. It made him seem less threatening, especially coupled with his quiet and sometimes shy manner of speaking. But when he was feeling protective, Goren rose to his full height, squaring those enormous shoulders and fixing his prey with a glare that has been known to reduce the bravest of men to quivering masses of shot nerves and urine-soaked clothing.

"Move." Bobby needed only say it once, for the reporter found his legs finally and skittered back into the sea of cameras and microphones. Alex felt his heat radiating in waves as she stepped past his arm. It sent shivers down her arms and up her spine, setting the hairs on her neck on end.

"I could have handled it, Bobby," she muttered as she walked on to where the body was shrouded. Bobby's possessiveness, despite her best efforts, had stirred a little warm spot deep in her lower gut, aroused something. But she couldn't be bothered with such nonsense right now.

Goren watched her pass, catching her remark and replied softly, "I never doubted you could." He then followed her into the alley, where the body had been covered with a white sheet.

Goren pulled the sheet back, settling himself as close to the body as he could get, taking in every detail. Alex had kept her eyes averted, trying to busy herself with taking notes from the first uni on the scene, and not look upon the victim's face. He examined her hands, even smelling them for some inexplicable scent that might be a clue. Alex finally willed herself to look upon the body, focusing first on her partner. It astonished her sometimes, how gentle and almost reverent he could be with a body.

Bobby sat back on his haunches, finally taking in the victim's entire features in context. His brows furrowed, as a realization dawned on him. The woman was small, five one, five two maybe; slight of build, light brown hair. Her features were rounded and soft, in life she would have had the girl-next door beauty that probably made her very popular. Her arms were folded over her naked breasts, as if she were trying to stay warm. Bobby fought the urge to take his coat off and wrap it around her. There were ghastly gouges riddling her lower abdomen, her internal organs exposed. Ugly black and purple bruises had formed on her legs, thighs and around her genital area. Her woman-hood had been torn and violated, and Bobby clenched his fist, bringing it up to his mouth. This was the worst evidence of rape he'd ever seen, and he had to fight down the rage that was bubbling within. He stood, tilting his head and swaying on his feet slightly, removing his eyes from the body.

"He's becoming more and more frustrated. Whatever…it is he - he wants from these women…he's not getting it. He rapes them first, repeatedly…then he cuts them. Eames…he…," Bobby looked to his partner, and stopped in mid-sentence.

Alex stood mannequin-still, pale and drawn. She was locked in on the victim's eyes, the screams for mercy were echoing in her ears. Bobby's heart clenched in his chest, Eames' pain rode some invisible current from inside her, straight into his essence. It was a horrific pain. His eyes tore from Eames to the victim, and the realization set in again; this woman had a frightening resemblance to Alex. His Alex!

He stepped in front of her view, wanting to sever whatever connection had locked Eames to the victim. She blinked, as the screams died away in her mind. She found herself, face to chest with Bobby, his body so close she could breathe in his aftershave. It was as if someone pressed a "pause" button, the commotion of the crime scene fuzzed into the background, and she and Bobby were the only two standing in the stillness.

"Alex," Bobby tried, his voice almost a whisper so he wouldn't startle her again, "Alex, listen to me. You don't have to stay here with the body. Y-you can finish taking statements…beyond the barrier over there.. i-if you want." His voice began to shutter somewhat as her eyes lifted to his. Bobby was afraid; he was afraid that he was losing Eames. He could feel their connection faltering and fraying and he was like a screaming child, grasping madly at that tie unwilling to let it slip through his fingers.

Once their eyes locked, Bobby stopped breathing. Alex saw the resemblance; he hadn't been quick enough to protect her from it. Her sadness and despair smoldered deep in her eyes, and Bobby had never regretted his freakish sense of perception as much as he did now.

"It's got to stop Bobby. One way or another, this has got to stop," Alex whispered.

Bobby had no words for the burning pain that was roasting his insides. He had no idea seeing Alex in this much anguish would hurt him this much, and it set all his fears of not having the ability to help her on end. As if it was guided by a mind of its own, his hand lifted and neared Alex's cheek. Ever fiber of his being was screaming at him to touch her, to feel some sort of connection as their life-line to each other seemed to be fraying. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin, to reassure himself as well as Alex that they were not lost. In truth, he wanted to crush her in an embrace, and infuse her being with his own, anything to keep her from drifting away.

Alex felt his hand coming nearer, and she balked. She shied from his touch, and the 'play' button on the world resumed; the cacophony of noise slamming them back into reality. She couldn't let herself fall apart like this, even as much as she would like to crawl in to a hole somewhere and pull the hole in on herself. Even if deep inside, she longed for a compassionate touch from Bobby, she couldn't be sure if he was doing it for her reassurance or because he himself was quickly losing his balance. She looked away, as Captain Deakins' familiar voice could be heard from somewhere behind the police line. She hoped he hadn't seen the laps in professionalism between her and her partner.

Tilting her chin up and setting her wall up again she stated, "I think I have all we need from the uniform who found her. We should head over to the Vector Room; see if anyone saw who she left with. Sounds like Deakins couldn't wait for our update either." And she pulled herself, again, from Bobby's presence.

Bobby let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. He'd watched that wall go up in her eyes, hard and cold, and he groaned inwardly when she shied and robbed his fingers of her warmth. Glancing around to make sure no one saw the dejected look on his face, he situated his binder under one arm, shoved his fists in his coat pockets, and followed after Eames.

Eames passed Deakins heading to see the body, and told him they were going to question witnesses at the Vector Room. Thunder howled loudly, shaking the buildings; the storm was moving closer. As she sat in the car, waiting for Bobby to finish talking to Deakins, Alex thought about the image that flashed in her eyes for the millisecond before she moved from Bobby's touch. A small woman, lying naked, arms crossed over her breasts; abdomen ripped open, raped and ravaged. Blood was spattered on the ground. It was cold; she was alone in the blackness. A beast-like form, huge and muscular, crouched in the shadows. It was almost exactly like looking at the crime scene Alex had just walked away from. Only the face that stared back at Alex, eyes opaque with the pallor of death, was not the face of the Collector's protégé's latest prey.

It was hers.

"Vulnerabilities are exploitable weaknesses." Unknown

TBC… Remember Reviews are food for author's souls!

OK That chapter kicked my ass! I'm tired. God I hope that it didn't suck! Please tell me this chapter did not suck! I think I'm gonna cry.. sniffle

smooch

Mel