Logan was pacing the room, agitated. Barek snapped, "Just sit down, Mike. You're making me nervous."

Sitting in a chair by the window, grateful for the pajamas Eames had brought him from home, Goren was studying crime scene pictures from one of the files Logan and Barek had given him. Eames was leaning against the window's ledge, reading the transcripts of the interviews they'd done with the employees of both museums.

Logan pulled another file from the stack he had with him. He slapped it down on the tray table near Goren. "There was another shooting."

Both Goren and Eames looked up at him. Her frown deepened. "In the park?"

"Yeah. From another museum."

Goren picked up the file. "Another museum? Anybody hurt?"

"There were eleven officers on scene, plus Barek and me. Eight of us got hit."

"Us?" Eames looked alarmed. "Were one of you hit?"

"Try both of us. Thank God for Kevlar." He thumped the vest beneath his shirt. "Bruises heal much faster than bullet wounds. No fatalities this time. We're gonna be hard-pressed to find folks to respond to the scene in Central Park if this keeps up. At firstwe thought maybe you guys were the targets, but now I'm beginning to wonder."

"Why would you think we were the targets?" Eames asked.

"Because…" Goren replied, pulling out a chart from the file on their shooting. Laying it on the tray, he pointed to the cluster of red x's. "Most of the shots were clustered around the body, where we were. And it's not unreasonable to think someone would have a grudge against one or both of us."

"Great. Now I'll walk around the city thinking there's a big bull's-eye on my back."

Goren looked at her, his eyes smiling, before he turned his attention back to the file Logan had just given him. His eyes studied photo after photo. "And the body?"

"Same as the other two. White, mid-thirties, blonde."

"Butchered?"

"Yeah, but someplace else, and post-mortem. One kidney removed. We found the butchering site for the first two—one on top of a hoity-toity apartment building and the other on the roof of the Met. We're going rooftop to rooftop again along Central Park West and Fifth Avenue. He chose a new nest this time; there was nothing at the old ones."

Goren had not looked up from what he was doing, and Logan frowned darkly at him. Eames caught the look and understood what it meant. "Don't let him fool you, Mike. He heard and processed every word you said."

She saw her partner's mouth twitch into a small smile, but still he didn't look up. He changed files, then rubbed his forehead. "Three incidents of shooting cops from museums at the scenes of three murders in the park, none of which were committed there, but all undoubtedly committed by the same person…"

He leaned back and looked out the window. Logan raised an eyebrow and looked at Eames, who glanced at her partner, then returned her attention to the papers in her hands. Goren continued to mutter, "One kidney…postmortem…" He looked at Logan and Barek. "Have you looked into people awaiting kidney transplants?"

"What for? A kidney removed post-mortem doesn't do anyone any good. We figured it was a weird trophy."

Goren shook his head. "Everything means something. A pattern repeated has meaning. We just need to figure out the meaning."

"Geez, Goren…do you know how many people are waiting for kidneys?"

"Probably thousands," Eames guessed.

"About 4,000 in the city."

Eames looked at her partner, who had not even looked up from where he was again looking through the files. "Why am I not surprised you know that?"

He glanced at her again, then back to the files. He had laid the ME's photos of all three victims out before him. He was studying the flank incisions on all three. "Sloppy job."

"I suppose you could do better?" Eames asked.

He looked at her with a frown of distaste. "Why would I want to try?"

"Never mind, Bobby. Keep going."

"Look at these. He probably did this with a hunting or fishing knife, but it wasn't too sharp. He has to know enough about anatomy to know where to cut and what he is looking for. This has some significance for him…but what?"

Logan was still staring at the big detective. "You are not suggesting we interview four thousand people in their dialysis chairs, are you, Goren?"

Goren looked up at him. "What? Of course not. You're looking for someone who's angry at the system. Probably the husband or father of a patient waiting for a kidney and not getting one. I haven't figured out the cop connection, why he's targeting police, but the kidney part is frustration…" His eyes scanned the three pictures. "Anger…and it's escalating."

Eames was looking over his shoulder, her hand resting on his back. "Why the choice of victim, though? They're all about the same age, size…they could be sisters."

He was just shaking his head. He closed his eyes and rested his head on his hand. Barek said quietly, "We'd better go. Deakins would have a cow if he knew we were here with this. If we overtax Goren, he'll kill us."

Goren waved a hand at her. "I'm ok."

"Yeah, well, we'd still better take off," Logan said. "We're expected back at One PP and we still have to account for where we've been. I'll try to sneak these files out again and we'll be back. In the meantime, if you think of anything that does not involve interviewing four thousand sick people, give us a holler."

Eames helped gather the files together into their proper folders. She walked them to the door. "Thanks, guys. It gives him something more to do than complain he wants to get the hell out of here."

Barek looked across the room, where Goren was looking out the window, lost in thought. "How is he doing, Eames?"

"A lot better. They're letting him eat more than broth now. They're talking about taking the IV out soon, maybe later today. He's been getting up and moving about the last three days, and it's getting easier for him. The pain's getting better."

Logan looked at her. "You getting enough rest?"

"I try."

"He's not going to die, Alex."

"I know. But…" She looked at the two detectives, co-workers who were evolving into friends. She knew they were very responsible for his recovery. "I still worry. I can't help it."

Logan shrugged, but Barek seemed to understand better. "We'll be back," she said.

When they stepped out into the hallway, Logan leaned back and looked into the room as Eames returned to her partner's side. They headed for the elevators. Barek asked, "Do you think they…"

He held up a hand. "I don't care. As long as they continue to work as well as they always have, it doesn't matter, does it?"

"No. It doesn't."

"Ok, then. Let's get back to the squad before Deakins figures out where we've been."

Eames pulled up a chair beside him. "Are you ok, Bobby?"

He turned away from the window. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You look tired."

"I am."

"Come on, Bobby. Lie down and take a nap. You need it."

He wanted to argue with her, but he knew she was right. He was not used to this, and he didn't want to get used to it. He wanted to get back to himself, his boundless energy, his focused mind. But he let her help him up. He was stronger now, able to walk from the bed to the chair and back without help. He lay back against his pillow, eased his breath out and closed his eyes. He groaned softly. "Should I get the nurse?"

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Eames," he said softly. "Settle down. Come here."

She stepped to his bedside and he took her hand in his. "I'm getting stronger and I'm feeling better. I'm not back to normal yet, but I'll get there. I am not complaining about you being here. I kind of like having you around." He was not completely truthful there—he loved having her around…but he wasn't prepared to admit that to her yet. "I'm getting spoiled," he smiled. "But you really don't have to stay. I know you're still recovering yourself, and I want you to take care of yourself. I've got nurses to take care of me for the time being. I want you to think about how you are feeling, and how you are recovering. If you want to stay, I won't say no. But I want you to do what is best for you. If you aren't getting enough rest, go home. I'm fine, really."

She sat beside him on the edge of the bed and faced him, still holding his hand. She lightly fingered the hair on his arm. "I know you're going to be ok, Bobby. My pain is manageable, and I'm healing well. I'll be back to normal before you are," she grinned. "I feel ok. Really, I do." She met his eyes. "Do you want me to stay?"

He never wanted her to leave, but he was afraid that saying so would make her uncomfortable. He remained silent for a minute as a thousand thoughts fought with the turmoil of emotion tearing through his mind and his gut. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to feel this way, ever. Not toward his partner. But he wasn't inclined to lie to her. "Yes," he said quietly, almost guiltily.

"Then I'll stay. Now take your nap." She squeezed his hand and hopped off the bed.

He took a couple of deep breaths…they didn't hurt as much any more, although he still tried hard not to cough if he could help it. It was bad enough when she made him laugh. Once he closed his eyes, he had no trouble drifting off.