They'd been working late in the conference room at the beginning of her seventh month.

Papers and files spread out on the table, and empty cups—coffee for him, herbal tea for her---
strewn about.

Suddenly she sat upright, pressing her hand to abdomen.

"Oh!"

He looked up at her startled face.

"Eames? You okay?"

She didn't answer, her eyes wide and staring.

"Eames?"

She glanced over at the question on his face.

"What?"

"Are you all right?"

"I was kicked. Hard."

He furrowed his brows and focused on the hand pressed against the swell of her stomach.

"That's a good thing though, right? Means he... or she, is healthy?"

She looked down as well, feeling the movement within.

"It's a he," she told him quietly.

He raised his brows, "I thought they didn't want to know the sex."

She met his eyes, "They don't."

He nodded.

"What's the boy name they've picked out?"

She wrinkled her nose, "Brian."

"That seems okay."

"It wouldn't if you'd known my Uncle Brian."

"Ah. Sorry."

"What's in a name, though? Right?" she smiled bravely.

"Right."

"I think I need to stand up and walk a bit."

"Oh... right," he awkwardly stood himself, not sure why, but it seemed the right thing to do. "Maybe you should head home and rest?"

"No, I'll be fine. I'll just go get some more tea. It's not very comfortable to sit for too long is all. Do you want more coffee?" She stood with some effort.

He nodded and began sorting papers.

"Decaf., please," he said, noting the hour.

"Coming right...----Oh!" she exclaimed again, and sat down hard.

His head snapped up.

"Okay?"

"Yeah..."

He watched her catch her breath for a moment.

"Eames... could I...?"

She looked up, "What?"

"Nothing."

"You want to feel him kick? Is that it?"

"Not if it would make you uncomfortable."

"Come here," she instructed.

He walked around the table curiously and crouched before her.

"Here," she said, taking his hand and placing it where her own had been.

She slipped hers over his then and held him there.

"Now, wait a minute," she instructed, looking into his face.

They waited a quiet moment together. She, watching his face in some amusement. He, focusing on the life beneath his fingers, cradled within her warm, taut stomach.

"Whoa!" his eyes popped suddenly.

She laughed as he removed his hand to help her stand.

"Pretty amazing, huh?" she asked, her smile uncharacteristically bright.

As he watched her walk to the break room then, he had to silently agree.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Eames..."

"Hmm?"

"You have to lift your head off my shoulder so I can tape your ribs now."

"No."

He chuckled, allowing himself to feel that staying this way mightn't be so bad.

"You may have coffee afterwards," he whispered in her ear.

"No."

"I'll buy the margaritas next time we go to Sal's," he wheedled then.

She lifted her head.

"Good girl. You do like to make those pennies squeak don't you, Eames?" he laughed.

"You calling me cheap, Goren?" she cocked her brow.

"Just an observation, that's all."

"Yeah? Well, shut up, or I might have to make some observations of my own."

He looked at her with a little challenge then, "Yeah?" he mocked her, "Well, those I might like to hear."

"Be careful what you wish for," she warned.

He smiled and turned to reach for the surgical tape then, and began tearing strips and applying them to the large piece of gauze covering the bruises. He worked silently, trying not to press too hard but, at the same time, to tape tightly enough so that there'd be as little movement of the ribs as possible.

She bit her lip, to avoid making noise.

"There," he said at last, looking up at her, as he wiped his hands on a paper towel.

"Hospital later. We have a deal," he reminded her.

She nodded and began to reach for her sweater.

"Let me," he said, reaching for her, "or we're right back where we started."

She sighed her frustration, but let him do it.

He reversed his earlier process then and gently helped her ease the sweater back on.

She slid off the table and smoothed her hair before looking at him again.

"Thanks, Sir Galahad," she smirked.

"Any time," he turned to pick up the first aid kit. "Good collar on Arano..." he told her as they walked to the door.

She looked back over her shoulder at him, "But, you think I should have waited for you?"

"Would I have liked to've been there?" he asked with a shrug, "Sure. But you know how to take care of yourself. You didn't need me."

She decided to let that pass.

"What did Shendrick say?"

"Our profile's confirmed, that's about it," he told her, as he put the first aid kit away.

She nodded and looked at him shrewdly. Time to put the cards on the table.

"But we're not going to do it this way again, are we, Bobby?" she asked pointedly.

He returned her look, "Partners should work together," he admitted.

She turned to the coffee machine then, it was all the apology she needed.

"I need some good coffee, in an IV, Stat! Preferably with a shot of Old Turkey in it. But, I'll settle for this sludge. How about you?"

"Sounds good," he answered, a sort of relief settling within.

She handed his over and took up her own as they headed back to their desks.

"Goren, Eames," they heard Deakins call, as he crossed to meet them. "I've got David Drew in number one. And Arano, and the suit still waiting in number two. How do you want to proceed?"

"Well, I couldn't get the time of day from Arano," began Alex...

"Eames?" asked Goren from where he stood at her desk.

She turned to look at him.

"Are these Arano and his associates?" he asked, holding up the photos of the three men she'd printed out earlier.

"Yeah, Carmen found them this morning and sent them over... Bobby?" she queried in concern.

But Goren had stalked off to interrogation two, his jaw set.

With a quick glance at Deakins, she followed.

They slipped into observation just in time to see Goren standing opposite Arano and his lawyer seated at the table.

He was leaning toward them, his hands flat on the table before him.

"What is he doing?" asked Deakins.

"Could be anything," Eames stated the obvious.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There had been the humiliations as a boy, of course.

Wallace had made those public enough in his current environment. That was the horror, the constant unease, of being the child of a schizophrenic mother.

What no one ever talked about was the fierce protectiveness a child could feel about even such a mother as his. And love. He'd constantly feared for her safety. That she'd hurt herself in the midst of an hallucination.

She'd never physically hurt him, or his brother. Though he did have a dim memory of her hurling the well-thumbed unabridged Webster's at his father when he'd come home drunk one night.

He'd stayed away for two weeks after that.

No, his childhood home hadn't been one of physical violence. His mother's verbal acuity alone, the manipulations of logic, the strategy he had to create to think ahead of her. These had been the abuse.

But, still, he'd go to school afraid she'd leave the stove on. Or, worse, someone would mug her or take advantage of her on her daily trips to the vegetable market and library.

Once some taunting kids had pushed her over on the street when she'd tried to warn them about crows roosting on a nearby fence.

He'd been about thirteen.

She'd babbled Poe at them, until they'd rushed her and run away.

He'd found her scraped and bewildered hours later.

He looked down at Arano then. Dark hair, dark eyes. The type many women would find romantic, he supposed. Not tall, though, he assessed, with vitriol.

No, not tall at all.

"I understand you wouldn't answer my partner's questions," he threw out.

Arano shrugged and looked away.

Expensive suit was happy to talk though.

"I'm Albert Henry, Mr. Arano's lawyer. He's under no obligation to answer your partner's questions, or yours, Detective...?"

"Goren."

"Can you please explain what the delay has been in processing my client, Detective Goren?"

"Back-up downstairs," lied Bobby.

He pulled a chair out then and sat down, leaning back casually, studying Arano.

"Assaulting an officer, huh?" he shook his head and made a tsking noise with his tongue. "That why you didn't want to answer any of Detective Eames' questions, Mr. Arano? Afraid she might hurt you?"

Arano leaned in to him and snarled, "I am not afraid of any woman!"

"Oh? Aren't you? I understand she caught you, no problem. Probably could have kicked your ass if she'd had the chance too. She's pretty tough."

Arano snorted.

"The only reason you were able to slam her against the wall at all, was because you had the element of surprise, and you know it. But you know all about the element of surprise, don't you Mr. Arano? That's your usual M.O. when attacking women."

"My client has nothing to say."

"Christine Larkins didn't expect you to shoot her. That must have been quite a surprise indeed. But that's the only way you can get them," he leaned in pointedly, "Not man enough to do it any other way, are you?"

"I must protest, Detective Goren..."

"I did not kill Christine! She was a righteous woman. I would never have hurt her!" yelled Arano then.

"My partner is a righteous woman. And the most honorable person I've ever known..."

Arano stood up then.

"A selfish, spoiled American woman!" he shouted in disgust. "Some man you are! Working with a woman! Letting her push you around. You even let her do the driving—What kind of man does that make you!" he spat.

Bobby appraised him.

"How did you know that Detective Eames does the driving, Mr. Arano?" he asked with quiet steel in his voice.

"Sit down and shut up," commanded Albert Henry then.

Arano complied.

The lawyer looked at Bobby then, "None of this is going to..."

Bobby stood up himself, still addressing Arano.

"Did you perhaps know that Eames drives because you happened to see us driving together one night last week?"

"No," Arano told him.

"Oh yeah, you saw us all right," Bobby felt a coiling within, "Up close and personal. Right before you slammed that rental right into us, then took off and left us—Left. Her. For. Dead!"

Bobby slammed his hand on the table before Arano then and was gratified when he flinched.

"Felony hit and run, Mr. Arano. And I'm guessing that if we dig a little into the accident of the doorman you replaced, we might find another of your hit and run victims. I saw you that night, Mr. Righteous, I saw you the night you tried to kill us."

Albert Henry stood up then, "That's enough, Detective. If you have another charge to file against my client, then do so. But that's it for interrogation."

"That how you get off, huh, Arano?" jeered Bobby as he paced before them now. "Hurting innocents and running away? First the doorman, and then Christine Larkins—What? Did you have some sort of thing for her? Did she rebuff you! I can certainly understand why, a coward like you. It doesn't matter, pal. Not at all. Because you made the great big mistake of hurting my partner along the way..." Bobby menaced, in Arano's face now.

"I wouldn't dirty myself to touch a hair on that filthy whore's head!" screamed Arano, as he jumped to his feet.

Bobby lunged for him then.

The table, the chairs, the lawyer all flew to the wayside, as he slammed Arano repeatedly against the wall.

All too soon the uniforms, Deakins, and Alex were in the room separating them.

Alex placed her hands on Bobby's chest and pushed, "Cool off, Goren!"

"Listen to your bitch, Goren!" called Arano from the doorway as the uniforms dragged him off.

"You two, in the conference room now!" barked Deakins, on his way out the door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There had been good times, sweet times, too.

Though he was pretty sure he was the only one who remembered them. The solitary witness to his mother's true heart.

His father had left, unable to cope. His brother Rick so full of anger and denial, he couldn't get away fast enough once he'd achieved majority. And poor Meg. Her memories, and illusions, and fears so knitted and knotted into one another, that no simple fond story, no photograph, or scent could ever jolt her into a rightful remembrance.

But he remembered.

Sometimes months at a time would go by, when he'd come home to supper cooking and clean clothes that he hadn't washed and folded himself. There had been teacher's conferences she showed up for. And how she made the teacher laugh with her sparkling wit. And afterwards, when she told him he'd made her proud.

Even the odd birthday present.

It hadn't all been 'Man in the Moon Marigolds'.

He looked up at her. She was still pacing before him as he sat at the table in the conference room.

They hadn't exchanged a word.

And Deakins would be in any minute.

Finally she stopped and looked at him.

"What am I going to do?" she asked.

He knew she meant, 'What am I going to do with your crazy ass again, Goren?'

He looked back at her. They both knew that nothing could be said on this.

She sighed and pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, pursing her lips as the action jarred her side.

He watched her. She was nothing like any other woman in his life had been. Not tall, or brunette, or worldly. But they had been together, steady and sure, longer than any other relationship he'd had.

She looked up at him.

"Bobby," she finally said, "I would do anything for you."

That was it. No, 'but' with a tagged-on snark at the end. Only a sincere offer. Complete and unconditional.

As only Alex Eames could be.

And for the second time in four years, Bobby found himself rendered speechless by both her simplicity and depth.

And the generosity of her heart.