They'd agreed to let bygones be bygones. Deakins couldn't ask for a better resolution, and they'd gotten completely shit face on his orders. She leaned against the cold brick wall outside the bar, as they watched half-heartedly for a cab.

"What time is it?"

"What?"

"I said, 'what time is it?'" She smiled and swayed towards him. He steadied her, and grinned.

"It's time for drunk detectives to go to bed." She stood looking up at him, her drunken state allowing her closer than they would normally stand. She was literally half his size, if that.

"Whose?" She asked.

He turned so that she was against the wall again, and he in front of her.

"That's entirely up to you."

"Isit true ... " She began, looking at his chest.

"Is what true?"

"Mm-mm." She shook her head, looking up at him again, and smiling.

He leaned towards her, so that they were cheek to cheek. His arms trapped her between him and the wall.

"I know what cards you're holding." He whispered.

"Be careful." She whispered, sounding unnervingly sober. "I might be bluffing." Her breath was warm and moist against his neck.

He lowered his head, and kissed her neck. Her sharp intake of breath and ragged exhale barely stifled her moan. His lips were soft and his tongue hot. She clenched her teeth, but her eyes closed anyway, her back arching slightly against the wall. He pulled away, and her eyes opened slowly to reveal an expression he had never seen on her face before. It disappeared quickly, but not quickly enough.

Her breathing returned to normal, but the wetness between her legs remained. The cab ride lasted forever. His leg was pushed up against hers, and every bump made her shift a little.

"Here is fine," He said, handing the driver a bill. He slid out of the car, then opened her door and helped her out. "I'll walk you in." He said.

"Thanks." She fumbled for her keys, and he called the elevator.

She unlocked her door and looked up at him. "Wanna come in for a minute, warm up?"

"Sure." He took off his coat, and lay it over her arm chair.

"I gotta pee. Make yourself comfortable." She walked down the hall to the bathroom.

Her apartment was tiny. If he could see clearly, he'd take an interest in the piles of books she had lying around. He could see well enough that there was a bottle of rum sitting on the desk next to her stereo. He picked up, and read the label.

"You wanna glass, or are we going straight from the bottle, now?" She yawned.

"I was just admiring your taste." He smiled.

"Help yourself, seriously."

"Thanks, but .. maybe another night." He walked towards her. "Been a hell of a week."

"Yeah." The mood had changed. The tension was there again. That palpable, unnamable thing that had been under their skin all week. The bit of sand that had brought their partnership to a grinding halt. The argument had stemmed from it. The similarity between Bobby and their suspect. A barely grown cult leader in training. It was a joke Eames had made come to life.

"She's like one of those creepy women who'd kill for you if you asked her nice."

"Be nice, Eames," He had laughed, and handed her her coffee. "She's not that bad."

"She's a sweet girl, but she doesn't know when to quit. She's a little obsessive."

"Yeah, she is." He had run his hand through his hair. "I think she's just star struck. It'll wear off once she gets to know me."

Eames had fixed him with a "yeah, and I'm the Queen of Spain," look, and returned to her paperwork.

It wasn't just one girl, it was three girls who had killed for one stupid, lonely kid. Goren had profiled him, and they'd tricked him into a confession. Sort of. But it hadn't sat well with Alex. It some how cropped up in a conversation with him about his latest conquest. The relationship hadn't worked out, and instead of being a "shoulder to cry on" she'd jumped down his throat about it.

He stopped advancing on her, and looked down at her, puzzled.

"You're nervous. Why?"

"The world isn't putty in your hands, Bobby. I am not putty for you to mold however you like."

He looked confused for a moment. Then angry.

"You think I'm trying to mold you? I just want you. Are you fucking kidding me? Did this case go to your head and make you psychotic? I'm only too aware I don't control the world. I just try and clean up the fucking messes in it."

He had her backed up against the wall again. Her face was flushed.

"I'm not going to be another one of your stupid projects. I won't fawn over you like some obsessive star struck groupie." She turned so the wall was no longer at her back.

"You can't be a project. And I'm obsessive enough for both of us. For the entire fucking squad. I don't want obsessive. Obsessive doesn't work. I don't want some shadow."

"What the hell do you want then?"