"Hey, Goren," Detective Mike Logan said, looking up as Goren walked by his desk, "I took a call for you." Looking down at the message slip, he read, "A Dr. Henry Jones called. Said to tell you that . . . what the hell?" he broke off as the other man strode by him and kept going, not even slowing down. "I'll have it for you when you regain consciousness," he called sarcastically after Goren.

Logan watched as Goren made his way through the maze of desks, managing to avoid saying a word to any of the many people who spoke to him as he went. Wonder what his problem is today, Logan thought to himself. Brain screwed in too tight?

He looked back down at his desk and realized with surprise that he had jack to do for the time being. Propping his feet on his desk, he settled down to watch the eccentric genius have a meltdown.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You guys got anything on that . . ." Deakins said half an hour later as he walked toward Goren's desk. "Hey, where's Eames?"

Goren, who had been staring at his hands for the past ten minutes, looked up and coughed uneasily. "She's, uh, not feeling well."

"Did she go home? Why didn't she tell me?" Deakins responded. "Have you been overworking her?" he added jokingly.

"No," Goren said without a hint of answering humor. "She didn't go home, and I haven't been overworking her. I'm sure she's fine."

The captain eyed him dubiously. "You're 'sure'? You don't know?"

"I can't exactly go into the ladies room to check on her," Goren said bitingly, "now, can I?"

"Is that where she is? Should I send one of the women to see if she's ok?"

"No."

"Okay," Deakins said, pulling out Eames's desk chair and settling into it. "Something weird is going on here. Tell me."

"Nothing's going on. She just . . ."

Across the room, Logan strained to hear what Goren was telling the Captain. Eames was sick? No, she was fine. No, she wasn't feeling well. What the hell is going on with those two? he wondered. They usually know exactly what each other is thinking, and now he doesn't know if she's sick or not?

". . . locked in the bathroom upstairs," he overheard Goren say. "She asked us not to bother her."

Nuts to that, thought Logan. Eames didn't know him well enough to include him in the ban, and it looked like this could get interesting. Goren wasn't showing any signs of moving, Deakins seemed engrossed in whatever tale Goren was spinning, and the rather attractive Alexandra Eames was . . . locked in the bathroom?

Hmm. He glanced around him, making sure no one was paying attention, and made a quick exit from the room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A soft knock on the bathroom door startled Eames a few minutes later. Taking a deep breath, she managed a steady, "What?"

"Eames?" said a male voice she didn't recognize.

"What?" she said again.

"It's Mike Logan. Are you ok?"

She sighed. "Did Goren send you up here?"

Logan smiled to himself, intrigued. There was definitely something wrong between the partners. "Actually, no. He doesn't have any idea I'm up here. Are you ok?"

"I'm fine. You can go back to work."

Using his most innocent, unassuming voice, Logan said, "May I come in? I know you don't know me too well, but I'm still a little freaked out knowing that there's an upset person alone in there."

"Mike, please. I'm fine."

"Ok, look," he said, "I'm concerned about you, but also, I took a call about your case, and Goren wouldn't listen to me when I tried to give him the message . . . I thought maybe I could fill you in instead."

There was a minute of silence, and then the soft click of the door unlocking. "You're devious," Eames told him, stepping back just far enough to allow him in and immediately locking the door behind him.

"Well it worked, didn't it? And it's true, I swear." He looked closely at her, taking in her slightly shaky limbs, blotchy face, and wet eyelashes. "You're a mess."

"Thanks," she said with a tense laugh. "You're a real charmer. What was the message?"

He watched her return to her seat on the floor and, ignoring his nice clean suit, leaned back against the wall, barely missing impaling himself on the hand dryer mounted on the tiles. "You know a Henry Jones?"

"Yeah." She sniffled a little, then nodded. "He was our victim's boss. He called?"

"Yep." Trying not to look like he had noticed the tears she was obviously fighting, he fished a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.

"A handkerchief?' she said with amusement, looking down at it. "Guys still carry these?"

"Hey," he said with a shrug, "I'm old-fashioned."

"I didn't say it was a bad thing." She accepted the cloth, bunching it in her fist and trying to look like she was just rubbing at her itchy eyes when she raised it to them. "What did Dr. Jones say?"

"He said he's got the records you guys asked for. Something about grades?"

She nodded. "Yeah, we asked him to pull the grades of five of the victim's advisees."

"Ok, well, he said he said he was faxing them. They're probably here by now, but they weren't on the machine and I didn't want to search Goren's desk for them."

She snorted, giving him an dry smile. "Good idea. He gets a little territorial."

"Hey, at least I got ya smiling. You want to tell me what's going on with you?"

She cocked her head to the side, studying him. "Why do you want to know?"

"Pure curiosity," he said, splaying his hands helplessly. "I can't resist it."

Sighing, Eames shook her head. "Look, I'm sure you're a really nice guy, but this is just . . . a personal problem. I don't want it getting around the squad."

"Do I look like a rat?" he said, trying to look hurt.

She smiled and shook her head. "Nah. But that doesn't mean I want to tell you my innermost secrets."

"Hey, if you say so." He paused, looked at her. "But I'm still not a rat. Come on, tell me!" he coaxed playfully. "It'll just be between you and me, I swear. It won't leave the room. I'm not one to tell tales about problems on the job, trust me."

"Hmm, I forgot about that. You almost got the boot, didn't you?"

"You have no idea how close I came. My captain would have literally ripped me a new one if I'd held still long enough. So see, now you know my secret."

"And so now I'm supposed to tell you mine?"

"Well," he said, "turnabout is fair play . . ."

"No way." She tried to sound firm, but it came out sounding more like she was playing coy.

"Ok, whatever you feel comfortable with. But . . . did I mention that Goren's closeted with Deakins right now? I wouldn't go down there alone if I were you."

"You're kidding me," she said, closing her eyes in anticipatory embarrassment. "Are they talking about how to handle the hysterical female in their midst?"

"That, I don't know. I sit behind a pole, remember? I'm lucky I can even see who's in the room."

"Poor Mike," she said, patting him on the shoulder. "How you must suffer."

Becoming more interested in what Eames had to talk about, he slid down to the floor to sit across from her. "So we can suffer together. You know what's wrong with me, now how about returning the favor?"

Eames, rather than refusing again, said carefully, "If I told you about a . . . hypothetical situation, would you give me your honest opinion?"

Score! Logan thought. "Shoot," he told her.

"Ok well, let's say there were two . . . people . . . who had worked well together for a few years. They spent a lot of time together on the job and they got along and did their work well." She paused, taking a deep breath.

"Ok," he said, waiting for her to go on.

"And then things kind of get weird between them, but not for any obvious reason. Suddenly one of them is just . . . on edge. Picking fights, insulting the other person. Acting like they don't think the other person can do the job anymore."

He was beginning to get the idea. "And the person who's being insulted . . . doesn't know what to do?"

She nodded. "They start to wonder if their partner really believes what they're saying. And then one day, the partner does it again and the person can't stand it anymore. They tell the partner that unless the problem can be worked out, it isn't smart to stay together."

"Because trust is too important to police work to not have it."

"Exactly."

"Tough," he said with a nod. "What did the, uh, partner say to that?"

"Nothing. They just acted like they had no idea anything was wrong."

"What did the . . ." he started.

"Alex!" Deakins's voice interrupted him as a knock sounded on the door. "Are you in there?"

Both people inside the bathroom jumped. Eames, eyes wide, hissed to Logan, "He told him?"

"I don't know," Logan whispered back. "But answer him, before he breaks in the door or something."

"I'm fine, Captain," she managed.

"What's going on in there?"

She stared at Logan, hoping for inspiration, but he merely shrugged. "I'm not feeling well," she called. "I'm sorry you had to come up here. I'll be out in a little while."

"You've been in there more than an hour. If you're really feeling that sick, I'm calling an ambulance."

"No!" she gasped. "I'm . . . ok. Really."

"So which is it?" he asked, sounding exasperated. "You're sick, or you're fine?"

"I'm . . . fine."

"Then either you come out or I'm coming in. I got the key from maintenance. You don't have to tell me what's wrong, you can even go home early if you need to, but I need to see that you're ok."

"Captain . . ."

"Alexandra," Deakins replied sternly.

She looked at Logan, whose eyebrows were raised as he mouthed, Alexandra?

"He never calls me that unless he's ready to kill me," she whispered. Raising her voice to normal levels, she said, "Ok, I'll come out. I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes, ok?"

"No dice. If I walk away from here, you'll just keep yourself locked in. Out, Alex."

"I think we're stuck," Logan said quietly. "Probably better to cut your losses."

"Shit," she mumbled, reluctantly standing up. "Stay in here until I'm gone, ok? The last thing I need is more questions."

Logan grinned. "No problem. Shoo," he said, waving her away as he stood up. "It's not every day I get to explore a ladies room, anyway."

"Thank you." She wiped at her eyes once more, then carefully unlocked the door. "I'm coming out, Captain."

Deakins took a step back to avoid being hit by the opening door. and waited. As Eames slowly emerged, he studied her. Her face was red and her clothes were slightly rumpled, but she didn't appear to be in pain or bleeding. "Come on," he said, holding out an arm to her. "You can tell me about it on the way downstairs," he added as he led her toward the stairs.

"I'd rather not discuss it."

"Well you need to . . . Here, give me that," he said, pulling the handkerchief away from her. "Since when do you carry a handkerchief?"

"Uh . . ."

Deakins looked down at the cloth, noting the initials M.L. He barely held back a groan. Mike Logan? Why did Eames have his handkerchief? The last thing Deakins needed was yet another wrinkle in this situation, and that was what the involvement of the roguish detective would lead to. "Never mind," he said quickly, handing the cloth back to her. "Doesn't matter."

Eames let out a quiet breath. "Thanks."

"Now, please tell me what's got you so upset. No names or details required, if it makes you feel better."

She sighed. "I'm just . . . having personal issues."

"Personal issues that make you lock yourself in the bathroom at work? Bull," he said with a shake of his head. "You're more professional than that." Glancing quickly at her, he added, "Goren's freaking out downstairs. It's not like either of you."

"He'll be fine."

"Will you?" he shot back. "If you two are on the outs, I need to know."

"It's . . . complicated," she said quietly. "Give me another day to work things out in my head, ok?"

"Yeah." Deakins pushed open the door to the 11th floor, then paused, keeping it open while he stopped and looked closely at her. "Go home, Alex. Take care of yourself. I can wait until tomorrow morning to hear about whatever it is - but if you're not ready by then, you're going to talk whether you like it or not."

"Thank you, Captain."

He gave her a small smile. "If you weren't so good, I wouldn't be cutting you this slack. You need anything from the squad room?"

She shook her head. "I'm good."

"Ok, I'll see you in the morning, then. Call me if you have any problems tonight, alright?"

"Yeah. Thanks, sir." Offering him a weak smile, she turned and continued down the stairs as Deakins headed back to his office.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Goren looked up when he caught sight of Deakins passing by from the direction of the elevators. "Did you go upstairs?" he said accusingly. "I told you she asked to be left alone."

"Couldn't very well leave her in there all afternoon without checking on her. Besides, she didn't seem too upset."

"She talked to you?" he asked, sitting up straight. "What, uh . . . what did she say?"

"Not much," Deakins assured him. "Just that she wasn't feeling well and didn't want to talk about it." And she didn't deny it when I asked if this is your fault, he added silently. "She seemed pretty much ok."

"Maybe she's calmer now," he said, shoving back his chair and standing up. "I should go talk to her."

"That," Deakins said cautiously, "is probably not the best idea. I got the impression that she wanted to be left alone."

"She'll talk to me," Goren said, sounding more confident than he felt. "She was just . . ."

"Besides," Deakins said loudly, speaking over Goren, "I sent her home."

"You sent her . . . excuse me?"

"I told her to go home. She needed some time to unwind."

"You sent her home," Goren repeated darkly. "Without telling me?"

"I'm telling you now."

"And she just . . . went? Didn't come back in here to find me? And what's that?" he asked, catching sight of the handkerchief in Deakins's hand.

"You're her partner, Bobby," Deakins reminded him as he hastily shoved the handkerchief into his pocket, "not her boss. Let it be."

"But I . . ." Goren's voice trailed off as Deakins just shook his head and continued on to his office. He sank back into his chair and lowered his head to his chest.

A few seconds later, he lost his tenuous grip on his self control. "Shit!" he growled, slamming his fist onto the desk.

Logan, who had only just dared to return to the squad room, stopped when he heard the resulting crash and stared at the Goren, who was now rubbing his hand with a grimace. "Whoa, Goren, what's got you wound so tight? I thought your case was going well."

"It was," Goren grunted without looking up. "It is."

"Then why are you trying to kill your desk?"

"Not your business," Goren said brusquely. "Go away."

"Hey, Mike!" Deakins called from the doorway of his office. "Can I have a word with you?"

"Sure, Captain." He glanced back at Goren and admonished, "Give the thing a break; it's not even real wood," then turned and walked toward where Deakins stood.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What's up?" asked Logan, slipping into one of the chairs in front of Deakins's desk.

Deakins fished the now-rumpled handkerchief out of his pocket. "This yours?" he asked, sliding it across the desk.

"Uh . . ." Why had Eames given away the handkerchief, and how had it been connected to Logan?

"Your initials," the captain said, answering the unspoken question. "Your mom still stitch them for you?"

"Very funny." He shrugged, knowing he was cornered. "And yes, it's mine. Can I ask where you found it?"

"Found it?" Deakins chuckled. "I 'found it' in Eames's hand when I talked her out of the bathroom."

"Oh."

"Should I ask how your handkerchief got into her hand?" he said cautiously. "I'm not totally sure I want to know."

"I, uh, noticed that she was upset and offered it to her. That's all."

"Goren said she wasn't crying when she left him in the car. Why would you offer it to her if she wasn't crying?" he pushed.

"I'm sorry, Captain," Logan said, standing up. "That's all I have to say about it. You can ask Eames if you have to know more."

Deakins grunted an assent and watched Logan make his way back to his desk. It probably wasn't the right reaction, but he was rather pleased that Logan wasn't willing to tattle on another detective. Even if it did leave Deakins with what felt like the beginning of an ulcer. The shenanigans going on on his squad would drive him batty one of these days!