Warnings for language, and other disgusting scenes.

She'd seen him in the corridors of the building. She could hardly miss him. A tall, broad bear of a man, who looked like he'd be clumsy, but moved with an understated grace. He seemed uncomfortably aware of his size, and tried to compensate by speaking and walking softly. He'd absent-mindedly bumped into her once, and had apologised profusely, though she hadn't been hurt. He had been mortified he hadn't noticed her, despite the fact that it had been her that really hadn't been paying attention. He seemed, even on the surface, to be a mass of contrasts and confusions.

And of course, she'd heard the stories about him. Weirdo. Pyscho. Nutjob. She'd listened, intrigued, then turned her mind to dealing with her own life. Her problems. Her partners. Her tough as nails mind-set that didn't fit the little blonde looks. Not being what you looked like upset and unsettled most people, especially when they expected gentleness and charm and got a vicious sarcasm and a cynical attitude instead. Partners expected a sweet, soft Princess, and got the Ice Queen instead, and left, shaken and disgusted. In her way, she was becoming almost as much a pariah as Robert Goren.

And now, he was walking towards her. Suspiciously, she handed her perp over to a uniform to be sent to lock-up, and prepared to come face to face with Bobby Goren, the cop no-one wanted to work with.

Well, face to chest, anyway. But she was used to that. She'd always been the little one, and had used it to her advantage more than once. And she raised her chin, and crossed her arms and stared at Bobby Goren, and prepared to meet him on her own terms.

"Alexandra Eames?" he asked, a little shyly, in a surprisingly soft voice.

"Bobby Goren." She replied. He smiled a little, and shifted the tattered cardboard folder he carried from one hand to the other, and held out his hand to her. She took it, and shook it firmly.

"I need some help from Vice." He asked her, apparently reassured, "and I hear you're currently without a partner, and I wondered….

"If I'd help. Well, you should know, I'm 'currently without a partner' because I am not a soft-hearted, feminine little girl, despite looking like one. What's your excuse?"

He leaned forward a little, invading her personal space, but oddly enough, she didn't mind.

"Apparently, I'm a little strange." He admitted. She smiled.

"Fair enough. I need to get changed, then let's discuss your case."

He smiled delightedly, like a little boy given exactly what he wanted for Christmas. She gestured towards the door, and he walked towards it, but before she could follow him, someone reached out and held her back.

"You sure about this?" It was Stewart Patterson. Good-looking. Charming. Protective. Eames hated him. He touched her bare arm gently, running a single finger up and down, slowly. "I mean, the guy's a bit – you know – odd, and I worry about you with him. he's not safe." He said, in a stage whisper, in a soft tender tone, knowing Goren could hear him. She smiled sweetly.

"Patterson, if you ever touch me again, I'll break each and every one of your fingers. Slowly." She told him, clearly enough for everyone to hear. He snapped back, as if stung.

"Fine. Be like that." He groused.

She turned back to the door, and saw Goren waiting for her, cardboard file falling to pieces under his arm. He'd obviously seen the exchange, seen the atmosphere turn ugly, and there was a worried expression on his face, but he hadn't stepped forward and intervened. He'd left her to sort it out, had realised she wasn't as fragile as she looked. That was a good first step. He had faith in her. She smiled at him.

As they left the door, she heard Patterson say,

"Ice Queen and Nutjob. They deserve each other."

They went to the coffee shop across the road. She had changed into a tan suit, and sat down opposite him with a sigh, relieved to be out of the hooker outfit.

"Annoying, isn't it?" he asked, as she studied the menu.

"What?"

"How the women who work in Vice have to spend their days dressed as prostitutes, while the men continue to wear suits? It's always the woman out undercover, never the men."

She looked at him suspiciously.

"You're one of those?" she asked, warily. She'd known he was too good to be true.

"One of what?"

"Men who try you get on a woman's good side by sympathising with how difficult our lives are." She said scornfully. "All touchy-feely and sympathetic and 'I know how tough it is to be a woman'".

"No!" he said, genuinely shocked. "No, I was just, you know, trying to be nice."

"Well, good." She said, mollified. "Because really, the last thing I need is you telling me you get sympathy period pains with your girlfriend." She smiled tightly, showing it was a joke.

"No, I promise. I don't even have a girlfriend." He told her, glancing back down at his notes.

She nodded, satisfied, and slightly surprised he was alone. He hadn't seemed to mind the joke though. Most men hated the way she talked. The brush-offs, the cynical jokes. They thought she should be softer, empathise more, suffer more, feel deeper. The little blonde was supposed to play good cop. She wasn't supposed to enjoy playing the bad cop.

Apart from Bobby Goren, who so far seemed content just to her be who she was.

And why was she surprised he was alone, when he had such a reputation? Maybe because there was a gentleness about him, a yearning to protect and save and rescue. Maybe because he so obviously needed someone.

She ordered coffee, then asked about the case.

"Serial killer." He explained, between bites of his Danish. "Except, it's only been three deaths so far, so officially not a serial killer, yet. But getting there. And really, the only real actual common features are the physical similarity of the victims, so…"

"So you need me to play bait?" she asked. It was a part she'd played many times before. But he looked shocked.

"No, no, not you, sorry, I'm not explaining myself very well." He laid out the pictures of the victims in front of her. She picked up the photos one by one, and studied them closely.

First surprise – they were all men. Dark-haired, dark eyes, broad-shoulder, larger than average. She looked up at Goren.

"You're my protection." He said, in his soft voice. "You see...the victims.. They all look like me. I'm the bait."