Warnings for language, and other disgusting scenes.

Bobby Goren turned up for work next morning. Toby Shift, 30, bank clerk, 6 feet 2, dark hair, dark eyes, did not.

Goren and Eames met beside the body. Looking across at each other, confusion in Bobby's eyes, barely controlled anger in Alex's. Not anger at Goren. Despite her reputation for coldness, Alex cared. She was angry each time a life was ripped away unwillingly. But her anger never expressed itself in empathy, or a hot temper, but a steel-like, controlled rage.

"It should have been me." Goren said, miserably. "I provoked them"

"I'm glad it wasn't." She said, reaching out to him and leading him away from the body. "We'll work this out. Let's get some coffee."

Bobby felt the death heavily. Always one to take the blame, this time he felt as if he himself was the killer, as if he had caused Toby Shift's horrific death.

But the load on his shoulder was lifted as soon as Eames had led him away. As soon as she had said 'we'. He hadn't known there was anybody in the world who could do that. That could penetrate his shell and reach right through to the very heart of him, and soothe his pain. As he watched her cross the road ahead of him, he realised he didn't want to let that go.

But then again, he couldn't see any way to make her stay.

"Lets look at this from a different angle." She said, once they were sat down and supplied with coffee. "We've been looking for connections, right?"

"There are none, apart from the physical characteristics of the victims." Goren said, hunched up opposite her, watching her intently, following where she led.

"And we are agreed it's a serial killer, and one who chooses victims based on looks. And it's normally the first victim who is covered in clues – the killer's not quite prepared, he's flustered, maybe it's even a spontaneous act. We should go back and look at the actual hard evidence the CSU's got from his scene and body."

"Stephen was first, but there was no real physical evidence."

"We're sure he's the first.?"

"Certain. I've checked the past 20 years. Most murder victims don't even look like him."

"Must be a relief." Eames said dryly.

"What is?"

"That men like you hardly ever get murdered."

It was a long and frustrating day. paperwork was done, and quickly shuffled aside. Files and scraps of paper and notes were taken out of Bobby's cardboard folder, which was developing a rip all along one side, and had to be held together with tape. Yet despite the intense work, and total concentration, and Eames new gaze on everything, nothing new was discovered, from any angle. Stephen's brother-in-law owned a construction company called Treaty Trading Construction – where absolutely nothing noteworthy had ever happened. Rebecca, Stephen's sister, had been in analysis for years.

"Her and half of NY. Woody Allen has a lot to answer for." Eames pointed out.

Stephen had left home at 16.

"Well, why not?" Goren had said.

David had never done anything. Worked as a store clerk, didn't seem to have a girlfriend, had a nice quiet life.

"A perfectly normal guy. Just like all serial killers." Eames noted, but there was no real evidence against him. Stephen's father had a lot of speeding tickets, Stephen's mother had a lot of parking tickets, but that was all.

All in all, an almost wasted day.

But not totally wasted, because the more they worked together, the more they realised they enjoyed it. Goren was used to blank stares when he expounded his theories. Eames was used to looks of distaste as she indulged her fatalistic sense of humour. Neither was used to respect. Neither was used to an intelligence as sharp as their own. But as the day passed, and they listened intently to one another, laughed at incomprehensible jokes, picked up hints and traded possible clues, they bonded. They began to realise that, defective as others saw them, together they fitted perfectly, and formed a flawless whole. Alex was beginning to realise that she really, really didn't want to go back to Vice, and she'd be ecstatic if she never had to dress up as a hooker ever again.

And Bobby was beginning to realise that the perfect really was out there, and she was sitting right opposite him. And maybe, just maybe, he'd even found that rare creature – a friend.

"I have a friend who works in corporate fraud." Alex said. "I'll get her to check out Treaty Trading Construction.". Alex glanced at her watch, and was surprised to find it was seven in the evening.

"You think there's something wrong there?" Goren asked.

"No." she admitted. "But we've tried every other angle. Can't hurt to give it a try."

"Ok." He sighed. He got up, and out on his jacket. He dropped a hand on her shoulder as he left, just lightly, as he said goodbye.

Normally, she hated to be touched. It was an invasion of her personal space, and she hated that. Not to mention that most men touched her as a precursor to making a pass.

But not with Bobby. His touch had been nothing more than a reassuring warmth, not invasive or sexual, just a reassuring contact.

She liked it.

Bobby turned as he left, looked back at Alex, still bent over the paperwork, as committed to this case as if she'd been on it since day one. He couldn't understand why she had been nicknamed the Ice Queen. Couldn't anyone else see the passion and fire in her? She may not have been gentle, or sweet, or kind, or anything they expected her to be, but no victim could ever have asked for a more devoted fighter for justice.

He liked that.

Deakins watched Goren leave, smiling at Alex as he walked out the door. In fact, he'd been watching him all day. Maybe, he'd finally found a solution to the problem of Bobby Goren.

Deakins sat down, picked up the phone, and put a call through to Vice.