She slept from ten in the morning until five o'clock that evening without dreaming.
And awoke feeling better.
She wandered out into the living room, and glanced at the beautiful flowers she'd arranged in her grandmother's blue-green Roseville, and decided then and there to always have flowers instead of a tree. She just liked it better.
And why the hell not? She only has herself to please.
She pulled an old Columbia sweatshirt over her head, then popped a mug of water in the microwave, and slipped out the door to head down for the mail. Glancing out the plate glass in the lobby, she saw it had begun snowing again, and wondered if it was enough to get her out of driving out to Long Island later.
Back up in the apartment she threw the unopened cards and packages onto the console next to the flowers and went to make tea.
She was in no mood to see the family pictures surely within those cards. The new babies, the growing kids missing teeth. The beleaguered husbands missing hair. The innocent, happy faces.
Yuck.
My I'm jolly, she thought wryly, and took a sip of tea.
Well, screw it. Screw jolly.
She'd rested. She was feeling somewhat better. What was the point of sitting around on Christmas eve, focusing on a cracked rib? She was going to go out, she decided. Pick up a few things, watch the pretty fresh snow. Drop a buck or two into the buckets of bell-ringing Santas on corners. Why not? There was something wonderful and seasonal in the air in Manhattan on this night that slightly softened even a hard-boiled cynic such as herself.
So, one peanut butter sandwich, a phone call, and several layers of cashmere later, and she was out the door, humming Santa Baby.
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The ice clinked and cracked in a satisfying way as he poured yet more scotch over.
He picked up the glass and took a deep drink before going into the bathroom, slipping out of his robe, and stepping into the shower.
It had been an introspective day. Unusually frustrating. Although he enjoyed the action of his job more than he should probably let on---the face to face mind games perhaps best, he also relished the odd quiet day of thinking. He'd scratch his pen over the standard forms and type awhile on the computer, but his mind was always elsewhere, playing over the chessboard that was the case.
But he'd never truly found his zone today.
That there were big pieces missing was clear, if only to he and Eames. But, nevertheless, there they were, or weren't, as the case may be.
And then his mind wondered over to Eames.
Which had pretty much been one of the problems of the day. The worsening of her injuries pissed him off. He should have made her go in earlier. And then he scoffed at that thought, as if he could make her do anything. She's a grown woman. And he's not sure exactly how he would have broken Drew had she left. He certainly wouldn't have done it as quickly. He hadn't been able fathom the hook into guy as she had. Frankly, he hadn't found him interesting enough.
Eames sure had though.
He took a final rinse, stepped out, toweled off, then brushed his teeth before moving into the bedroom to change. As he finally pulled his sweater over his head and slapped some cologne on, he noticed her hospital id bracelet lying on the bureau. He'd taken it from his pocket before he changed.
He picked up his drink and swallowed again as he considered it, then winced, his teeth set on edge...
Toothpaste and scotch, not a good mix.
And, so his mind turned to the evening ahead.
Women out alone on Christmas eve might be more... receptive. He hoped so, anyway. He could certainly do with the distraction, the escape, from the frustration of the case. Among other things.
And then the doorbell shook him out of that thought.
"Eames," he said in surprise, as he opened the door.
She smiled at him, "Merry Christmas. I've come bearing gifts."
He blinked a little at that.
"For me?"
"Among others," she nodded.
"We don't usually... I mean, we haven't ever really..." he bumbled a bit. And they hadn't. Usually they just bought each other lunch or a drink in lieu of gifts, for Christmas and birthdays.
She nodded, "I know. Call it impulse shopping. It's no big deal," she shrugged.
"Impulse shopping?" he looked dubious.
She looked arch.
"You say that thing you're thinking right now out loud, and no present for you, Beef."
He held up his hands in surrender and grinned.
"Don't know what you're inferring... Witch."
She leaned against the doorjamb and cocked a brow.
"Are you going to let me in, or did I just catch ya washing out your delicates?"
He smiled again and stood aside, "I beg your pardon."
She walked into the his great room.
The place was bigger than hers and hadn't changed since the last time she'd been there. Simple, contemporary, clutter-free in a way that spoke both to his military past and a certain esthetic as well. A single large abstract on the wall in red and green, a little yellow around the edges.
He stood at the entry, hands pocketed in his casual slacks and watched her mull it over.
"Still makes me think of a heart. Or a fire. In a forest." she said only partly to him, her head cocked to the side.
He nodded.
"May I take your coat?" he asked.
She snapped out of her painting revery then and turned to him.
"Oh, no. I'm not staying. I know you're meeting Lewis. I just wanted to drop these off before you went."
"What are they?" he asked curiously.
"Well, you can't know all until tomorrow morning, of course," she informed him as she placed the gift bag she'd been carrying on his coffee table, and removed her gloves for easier access.
She withdrew first a small, flat box and handed it to him. He moved closer to accept it.
She looked up at him, "That's for Meg."
He lifted his brows, "Eames, you didn't need to ..."
She nodded, "I know. It's not much. A few of those little embroidered handkerchiefs, I noticed she uses. I just saw them in the store..."
He looked into her eyes, touched.
She laughed a little, "You might not want to tell her they're from me, though."
"Eames..."
"I like her, Bobby. I'm sad for her. And you. But she has this... I don't know, spirit, I guess. And I like her."
He nodded and looked down at the box in his hands, "Thank you, Alex, she'll appreciate it," he said softly.
She nodded and reached into her bag again.
"And this," she proclaimed with a grin, "is for Lewis."
He looked up in surprise, "Lewis?"
She laughed and handed him a small lumpy object wrapped in tissue.
"Yep, saw it and thought of him. Actually, I found it last summer. Forgot I had it until this evening. He'll like it, though."
He smiled and took it from her, "I'm sure he will."
She withdrew a larger box then, "And this is for you. Not much. But you've done so much for me lately..." she looked about and saw, without surprise, that Goren had no tree either. She set it on the table, "Open it tomorrow, you can pretend Santa dropped in."
He nodded.
"Well, this elf is off," she smiled and headed for the door.
He set the packages down and followed her.
"To your sister's?"
She turned and sparkled a grin, and shook her head, "Got out of it! It just so happens that newborn babies have this tendency to keep their parents up all night sometimes. Makes for a very tired Mommy. So, they cancelled."
He laughed, "Well, that makes Christmas merrier for you."
"Yep. Poor Paula. I shouldn't be so happy..."
"But you really didn't want to go."
She frowned, "Whatever psychological analysis you may have on that... Well, could you save it until after the new year?"
"Absolutely."
"Thanks."
They smiled at one another for a moment.
"Hey, Eames," he began,"You're still welcome to join me and Lewis tonight."
She studied him a moment.
"Nah, I know what you two hope to... accomplish. I'd only get in the way."
"Plans can change. And I don't like to think of you alone."
She smiled up at him, "What makes you so sure I will be?"
And for the fiftieth time that day he thought about the flower delivery earlier that morning.
"I'm not," he told her honestly, and then leaned in closer, "But, seriously, join us. Lewis would love to see you."
She considered him another moment over this. He was probably his second scotch by now.
"Lewis would, would he?"
"Yeah. He likes it when you wear red."
"Does he?"
"Mentioned it in passing once," he shrugged.
She smiled, "Tell you what, maybe I'll drop by later."
He nodded.
"'Night Bobby, Merry Christmas!" she called over her shoulder and slipped out the door.
"Merry Christmas, Eames."
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Not bad, not bad at all.
He's feeling pretty good, in fact.
The jazz combo is excellent The crowd jovial, sophisticated even, and the scotch exceptional.
And Bridget just the tall, brunette, willing drink of water to complete things.
Merry Christmas to me.
"Another drink?" he asked her then, their thighs against one another in the cozy booth.
"You trying to get me drunk?" she smiled.
Hell yeah.
"It's Christmas," he flashed the patented boyish grin, complete with signature shrug, "just want you to enjoy yourself."
"You're enjoying yourself, that's for damn sure!" called Lewis from the other side of the booth, "How many drinks you had there, Bobby?"
He grinned at Lewis, "That lovely redhead over there's going to give up on you, if you don't screw up some courage and make a move, man. Maybe another drink could help you with that?"
Lewis laughed, "I thought Alex was coming. I'm saving myself for her."
"Who's Alex?" queries Bridget then.
Bobby turns to her, wavering a little, "Absolutely no one," he growls a little, then slips his arm around her shoulders.
Bridget giggles in a satisfying way and he smells roses in her hair, so nuzzles it a little.
"Alex is the love of my life!" announces Lewis loudly, even though no one is paying attention.
"Excuse me, would you like to dance?"
Lewis looks up at the redhead standing beside him then.
"Where one romance ends, another must begin," he shrugged, grinned, and got up, albeit a little unsteadily...
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Ah, crap.
And she's already checked her coat.
But there they are drunk as skunks. And Bobby with a silicon-enhanced Amazon hanging all over him. She really hates it when he's that drunk. Bobby is never a good drunk. What was she thinking, anyway? And her ribs are hurting again. She should have just stayed home.
The good news is she hasn't been seen, so she can just turn around and head home for some more sleep.
That actually sounds like a wonderful plan right now.
She steals one more look at him before turning away and wonders briefly what yarn he is spinning, what brilliant insight he is sharing, or what lecture he is giving. She rolls her eyes. It really doesn't matter, whatever it is, it's working.
SuperModel is eating it up.
She turns to go.
"Alex?"
She turns back.
"David? Wh-what are you doing here?"
"The pianist is a friend of mine," he indicated the combo. "We were at Julliard together. This gig is a big break for him. And some well-meaning friends thought I should get out. What can you do?" he shrugged.
She nodded and took in those blue eyes again. The broad shoulders she hadn't noticed before, or the long-fingered hands.
"What about you?" he smiled.
She sighed, "I was supposed to meet some people and then... well, it suddenly didn't seem like such a good idea anymore."
He nodded, and leaned in a bit, lowering his voice, "I've been wanting to talk to you, Alex..."
"Oh, my gosh!" she exclaimed, "I am so sorry, it's been a weird day. Thank you so much for the flowers, David. They were just beautiful. But, not necessary."
"I know. But I wanted to do it. I'm... grateful to you. Do you have time to have a drink with me before you go?"
Why the hell not? It's Christmas.
"That would be nice," she smiled up at him.
They found places near the corner at the bar. He took her elbow as she climbed up onto the stool.
"What would you like?"
"Gin and tonic, please."
He ordered their drinks and they each took a sip before beginning.
"David, I realize this isn't really the setting for this," she began, "but could I ask you something about the case?"
He looked down at her, "Only for you."
She nodded, "Friends been bugging you for the gory details?" she asked knowingly.
"Yes," he sighed in relief. "I guess you see that a lot in your work, but, for God sakes, I do not want to talk about it with everyone. I'm still sorting through it myself."
"You know," she tried gently, "you might want to get some... help with that. The sorting through."
"I'm considering it," he told her.
"Good," she smiled.
"So, what's your question, Detective?" he smiled.
"Can you think of any reason why Arano would have wanted to kill Christine?" she asked directly.
He looked at her a moment.
"They were having an affair, weren't they?"
He deserved the truth, she decided then and there.
"Yes, David, they were."
"How do you know? ---No, wait a minute, I don't want to know how you know..." he waved the idea off.
"I can't tell you, anyway."
He nodded, his mouth tightened in pain.
"Well, to answer your question, Detective Eames, I have absolutely no idea why that guy would want to kill Christine. I can't imagine why anyone would."
She nodded thoughtfully, "Thanks."
He tried to smile, "Can we just be Alex and David now?"
"Let's do that," she agreed, and held up her glass, "Merry Chritsmas, David."
He met her eyes, "Merry Christmas, Alex," and clinked her glass with his own. "Alex..." he began quietly then...
"Aaaaa-lex! Detective Aaaa-lex! There you are!"
She turned her stool and looked behind her.
"Lewis, hello..."
"Look at you..." he beamed at her.
Alex took in the redhead hanging on his arm, then looked back into his silly grinning face.
"This is the best woman in the world!" Lewis told whomever would listen then. "Just look at you," he leaned into her, breathing fire, "Love that red sweater!"
She laughed, "Thanks, Lewis."
"And thank you for the best Christmas present ever, by the way, too and... also. I've been looking for that part for years...and that chrome is mint, baby!"
She nodded and laughed again, "I thought you might like it," she turned to David at her side, "Lewis restores old cars. Lewis, this is David."
"Hello, David," Lewis grinned at him, "I am drunk. And this," he turned to the redhead at his side, "is Carol."
"Cheryl," she slurred in irritation and walked off.
Lewis turned back to Alex and David, "Oops!" he mouthed putting his hand over his lips in mock horror. "Hey, Bobby!" he called out, then, "Look who's here!"
Alex sighed. She glanced over and saw Bobby look up. His eyes narrowed at them and she watched as he excused himself to Gulliver and headed their way.
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"Bobby! Look, it's Alex!" smiled Lewis, as he approached.
"I can see that. Glad you came, Eames," he greeted her cooly. "Mr.Drew," he extended his hand to David. They shook and sized each other up.
"Why don't you join us, Detective?" asked David.
"No," interrupted Alex a little too quickly, and, shit, Bobby had caught it, "You're with someone," she reminded him.
"Oh, Bridget won't mind if I sit with some friends," smiled Bobby, slowly taking a seat behind her.
She's feels it then. He's setting his sites, and knows, as only she can, that he's honing in for a kill.
But he'll play first. Like a cat. The sick sonofabitch.
What is it that possesses him?
She watched then, as if from a great distance, as he laconically scooped a few nuts into his hand from the bowl before them and popped a few into his mouth, then dramatically munched for a moment.
Alex hoped against odds that this was not a symbolic act.
"Mmm, good," he tells them, "Salty though."
"Can I get you a drink, Detective?" offered David affably.
She wished she could tell Drew to run like hell.
"No, I'm fine," smiled Bobby. He stretched it into a grin then and looked back and forth between them, "I'm not interrupting anything here, am I?"
"Oh, no, no," demurred Drew.
Bobby waggled a finger at him, "Thou dost protest too much, Mr. Drew, methinks," Bobby leaned in happily then, "Do you mind if I call you David?"
"No," Drew cleared his throat then, "Not at all..."
"He's Bobby," Alex told him dryly.
Goren leaned in even closer pressing into her back then, "Ooooh!" he nodded, and drew the word out as if something of great import had just dawned on him, "You're the one who sent those flowers this morning, aren't you? Now, don't deny it!" he laughed in apparent delight, popped another nut as Drew shifted uncomfortably.
"I wanted to thank Alex..."
"For being kind? Right?" Bobby lifted his brows and looked at her, "Hey, Alex," he nudged her a little, "David here thinks you're kind. Isn't that sweet?"
"Bobby..." she tried to break in...
"And this Snarky Little Witch here," he rubbed her shoulder with his large hand, "didn't let on who they were from. Ve-ry cagey, she was playing it. And it was the talk of the office, let me tell you. Best idea though, really, keeping it on the down low, a new romance."
Drew's eyes hardened, "Alex, would you like to...?"
"What!" demanded Bobby, looking farcically between them again, "Did I spill the romance beans too soon? Or is it you don't like it when I call her names?Is that it, David?—Like Snarky Little Witch? Oh, don't worry about that, David. It's just one of a thousand little things we have between us. Being partners and all..." he leaned in conspiratorially, "makes us, you know, pretty close..."
Drew had his number now, Alex could see.
"I imagine it would," nodded Drew.
Alex sent a pleading look to Lewis then, but he only stood dumbly engrossed as if watching a tennis match.
She sighed.
"Oh, I just realized something!... Oh, no, no..." Bobby laughed then, "It's too good!" and he actually clapped his hands together in delight. "Oh, David, no. You didn't think everything she said to you... Oh, it's too much. You aren't naive enough to think Alex meant any of that, are you? In interrogation, I mean. Because, David, I have to let you in on something, bro, man to man: Police women have certain assets, my poor besotted friend, certain ways of getting men to talk. They develop them over the years. A lot of the guys admire it, actually. I know I do," he turned and beamed at her proudly. "Yep, Eames is the best. She knows how to get 'em to Crack like an egg, all right. Or, Sing like a bird----Or, that old stand by, Eat the cheese."
He winked knowingly at them then.
Alex was absolutely deflated.
She knew Bobby expected her usual tart tongue. Something that would slap his drunken ears back. That was their pattern. He relied on it. As if he were the child testing boundaries, and she the mother who must draw the line.
He'd just never gone for her before. He'd addressed Drew, it was true, but she had no doubt who his intended target was.
Well, fuck that, and grow up too, Bobby Goren, my lad, she thought angrily.
Frankly, she was too tired for it tonight.
And her ribs hurt.
As far as she's concerned, Bobby Goren can just go to hell.
She looked up at David Drew then, expecting him to be stricken, or disgusted , or any of the usual things she was accustomed to seeing in Goren's prey...
But was surprised to see none of these.
"Detective Goren..." began Drew then...
Bobby held his hand up with a smile, "Call me Bobby."
"Detective Goren," he began again, "I am well aware that Alex is a fine detective. And I know too that she had to say what was necessary to get me to talk. But, if you think for one minute that she contrived all she said to me, that she meant absolutely nothing by it, then I think you should stretch that arrogant brain of yours to learn one more thing about her, beyond that thousand you already think you know. And, frankly, after this display, I can't imagine why your admiration should mean a goddamn thing to her."
Drew turned to look at her then.
"May I take you home?"
"I'd appreciate it," she nodded, quietly.
She got down off her stool and walked to the door without looking back.
She did not want to see his face.
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He watched her go.
And then looked about quickly.
He's pretty sure no one can see how floored he is that she's left without a word.
Yeah, he knows what he's done.
And he's just not gonna care...
That's his story anyway, and he's sticking to it.
Ah, fuck... what the fuck is the matter with me?
"Scotch on the rocks!" he called to the bartender then.
He turned around and tried to smile heartily, "Hey, Lewis..." he began...
But it's Lewis' fist he meets instead.
Right in the jaw.