There were flowers on her desk the next morning. She was almost afraid to read the card, afraid they might be from Bobby but, at the same time, afraid they might not be. So she ignored them as long as possible, which turned out to be until midmorning, when her partner, Parker, a class clown only two years from retirement, nodded toward the basket and looked at her curiously. "Got another admirer, Eames?"
She'd been trying to convince herself that she was concentrating on her computer, but his words broke through that little delusion. She looked up, scowling at the flowers. "I don't know who they're from."
"Isn't there a card?" he pressed, reaching across his desk for the basket. "There almost always is in these things."
She slapped his hand away. "Hey! If there is a card, it's my business, not yours. Hands off."
Parker snorted. "Like we allow people to have private business around here. Hand it over." He reached for the basket again, and this time and sighed and gave it a little push toward him. "Good girl. You know, most women would be pleased to have two guys fighting over them. I guess you missed that memo."
"Bite me," she muttered, returning her eyes to the computer screen.
Undeterred, he opened the small envelope containing the card and pulled out the note. " 'I'm sorry for last night. Love, M,'" he read out loud to her. "Well, you're safe, at least this time. Logan stopped by yet this morning?"
"No. Give me that." She snatched the card out of his hand and read it for herself, then sighed. "He and Barek are out chasing a lead. And I don't know what you're talking about, saying I'm 'safe.'"
"Look, Alex," Parker said, putting down his pen, leaning back in his chair, and propping his legs up on his desk in a pesudo-casual pose he knew would annoy her. "I may be old, but I'm not dumb. You think it wasn't obvious yesterday that you're about to become a bone for two dogs to fight over?"
"Oh, that's a nice analogy. Thanks a lot."
"Hey, I'm just sayin'. If you want to keep everyone involved in this alive and in one piece, you'll be a lot better off making sure they forget about each other. And from what I know of Goren - admittedly, not much," he added as she opened her mouth to protest, "he's sharp enough to figure that out from himself. So I'm warning you: beware of sabotage."
"Sabo- What?" she said blankly. "Bobby isn't going to sabotage me."
He wagged a finger at her. "And I'd stop calling him by his first name, too, if I were you."
"Steve," she said, affecting a syrupy-sweet voice and brandishing the Bic that had been lying on her desk, "how would you like this pen shoved up your ass?"
"Down, girl. I'm just trying to give you a little partnerly advice."
"Coming from a guy who's been divorced three times," she shot back, "any relationship advice you offer is automatically suspect."
"Ouch." He dropped his feet and returned to a normal sitting position. "What are you going to do if he decides to stop in again like he did yesterday?"
"Nothing!" she said, fighting the urge to throw a paperweight at his head "He used to be my partner. He's not now, and he's not a friend, either. I have no reason to speak to him even if he does show up here."
"I'll make sure to tell him that if he stops by while you're gone."
She ground her teeth. "If he stops by while I'm gone, you're not going to say anything to him, if you want to live long enough to retire."
He gave her a jaunty salute. "Yes, ma'am. Whatever you say. So, got lunch plans?"
Suspicious of the sudden change of subject, she looked at him closely as she said, "Mike and I will probably go grab something together if he gets back in time. Otherwise, take-out as usual."
"Hmm. Wonder what time the Feebs get their lunch break . . ."
She didn't have a paperweight handy, so she settled for throwing her pen at him.
Deakins, looking like he wanted to offer sympathy but knew better than to try, told her and Logan to take as long as they needed for lunch that day.
As she sat at her desk and listened to Logan chatter on about where to take her to eat, her eyes kept wandering back to Parker, who was watching them with a smirk. She glared at him pointedly, but he just gave her a wink as Logan began to lead her away, trying not to laugh at how shell-shocked she looked when she realized he'd made a decision about lunch while she was busy with her head in the clouds. "Enjoy yourselves, kids," he called after them, earning himself a fulminating look from her.
She let him take her hand as they stepped into the elevator, but couldn't make herself relax totally. "Uh . . . where are we going?" she finally asked, leaning back against the wall.
He looked down at her in surprise. "Were you asleep for the past ten minutes while I was talking to you about exactly that?"
"Sorry." She shook her head apologetically. "I'm out of it today."
"No kidding," he teased, nudging her arm with his. "Did you sleep last night?"
"Eventually. Just . .. like I said, lots of thinking." No way in hell was she going to tell him about last night's visitor. The situation between the two men was precarious enough without that added stress. "I hate feeling out of control."
"Bull," he snorted, releasing her hand and putting an arm around her shoulders as they stepped out of the elevator and headed for the front door of the building. "You've never allowed yourself to get out of control to begin with, and today's no different."
She said nothing as he steered her toward an upscale pizza parlor, but by the time a waitress showed them to a table, she couldn't keep her mouth shut any longer. "I don't think you really understand what it's like to have someone come back to haunt you."
He just looked at her in calm disbelief and picked up a menu. "Believe me, Alex - I know exactly how it feels. You're not the only one involved in this anymore."
Oh, like she needed another guilt trip, she thought in annoyance. "The only reason he has anything to do with you this time is because of me."
"And that's more than I want to have to do with him. I really don't understand how you've suddenly forgiven him just because he appeared again."
"Mike . . ."
"Sorry," he said shortly. "What are you going to have to eat?"
"What? Oh, uh, a couple slices of plain, I guess," she said, glancing down at the menu she'd almost forgotten about. Moving her eyes back to him, she tried again: "Mike, it's not really that I'm forgiving him. It's just . . . I can't go on hating him, especially if we're in the same city doing the same work."
"Sounds like forgiveness to me," he shot back. "New York's a big city; you don't ever have to see him again if you don't want to. Deakins isn't going to assign you to a case he's working. He wouldn't do that to you."
"This isn't about avoidance!" she exclaimed, slapping her menu down on the table. "I don't want to spend my life afraid I'm going to run into him at any minute. I have to just deal with it."
He sighed and reached out to cover her hand with his. "This isn't 'dealing,' Alex. This is you trying to pretend nothing's changed in the past year and you can just go back to being his . . . sidekick."
She stared at him, stunned by his harsh words, and yanked her hand back. "I was never just his sidekick, and I'm certainly not going to be anyone's sidekick now. Including yours."
"Ok, wait," he attempted. "I didn't mean -"
"You can't pretend you're impartial about this," she interrupted. "You never liked him to begin with."
"And you always liked him a little too much," he snapped. "So now that we've established that nothing's changed, can we just eat our lunch?"
She ignored that. "Look, I know it's your instinct to be protective and stuff, but that doesn't fly with me and you know it. Bobby is my problem, not yours, and you have to trust me to deal with it my own way."
"Well maybe if you were dealing with it in the first place, I wouldn't have to feel so protective."
"It doesn't matter whatI'm doing or not doing - you do not need to protect me. Especially from someone who we both know wouldn't hurt me anyway."
"Oh, he wouldn't hurt you?" Logan laughed incredulously. "What do you call making you start crying in the middle of the day when he wouldn't answer your calls? You remember that, Alex? How I had to take you into an interview room so no one else would see how broken up you were over him?"
"I'm not listening to this," she said, shoving her chair back and standing up. "I haven't forgotten that stuff, but I also know him well enough to know that he thought, in some twisted way, that it was better for me. You have no idea why he did any of the things he did."
"Alex," he said, deliberately gentling his voice as he held out a hand to stop her retreat, "sit down. Please. Don't run away from me."
Suddenly tired, she lowered her head and dropped back into her chair. "Can we please not discuss this any more?"
"Ok," he sighed, resolving to force himself to do as she asked. "Whatever you want. So, uh . . . you want to see a movie or something tonight?" He looked away from her, leaning back as the waitress delivered their pizza, then moved his eyes back to her and coaxed, "You can pick what to see."
"I don't . . ." She sighed, shook her head, and looked down at her pizza, which looked a lot less appetizing than it had a few seconds ago. Why was she refusing his offer, anyway? What was she going to do, sit at home and hope Goren didn't appear at her door again? If she let Mike take her to a movie, she wouldn't have to worry about Goren at all.
"Alex?" he prompted, confused at her sudden silence.
"Yeah, ok," she said abruptly, looking up and pasting on a smile. "What movies are playing?"
It was past eleven o'clock, Bobby thought, trying not to grind his teeth as he stood in the shadows of her hallway and watched them arrive back at her apartment. Where the hell had he taken her that kept them out so late on a weeknight?
You sound like her father, you idiot, he told himself. She doesn't have a curfew, and she has no idea you're seeing any of this. And indeed, he was starting to wish that he wasn't seeing it. She'd unlocked the door and pushed it open about halfway, then stopped in the doorway and turned back to Logan to accept his kiss. Please, Bobby thought, don't let her invite him in. I can't watch that.
Alex pushed lightly against Logan's chest, urging him to take a step back from her. "I had fun. Thank you."
Logan looked down at her and sighed. "You're welcome. I guess this means I'm not getting invited in for coffee tonight?"
Smiling sheepishly, she shook her head. "It's been a . . ."
". . . a long day," he finished for her. "Yeah, I know." He also knew that this dismissal had nothing to do with her being tired and everything to do with the fight they'd had over lunch. "Try to sleep," he said resignedly as he leaned down to kiss her again. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Ok," she said softly, watching him walk away for a few seconds before turning and moving the rest of the way into her apartment. With a sigh, she kicked off her shoes and reached back to untie the halter neck of her slightly-too-tight shirt, trying not to think about, well, anything.
Maybe she should get herself drunk, she mused as she walked deeper into the room, heading for the kitchen. A cup of tea with a sizeable shot of Amaretto sounded really good right about now. She padded over to the floor-level cabinet that held her alcohol supply and started digging: vodka, rum, wine . . . aha, there was the rippled glass bottle she was searching for, all the way in the back of the cabinet.
She was leaning forward, half her body inside the dark space as she reached for the Amaretto, when she was startled by a knock on the door. She jumped, hitting her head on the top of the cabinet and, muttering a curse at herself, backed out of it and stood up. She didn't even want to think about who was at her door. Logan would be bad. Goren would be worse. All she could hope for was to see a neighbor or a family member when she opened the door.
Rubbing her sore head with one hand, she unlocked the deadbolts and cracked the door, keeping her body behind it.
Goren.
She shut the door again and backed away.
"Eames?" his muffled voice called through the wood. "Can I talk to you, please?"
"No," she said as firmly as she could. "You did more than enough talking last night." Turning away from the door before she could lose her nerve, she walked back to the kitchen and set about putting the kettle on for her tea. Good for you, Eames, she told herself as she reached for a plain white mug. Maybe he'll get the message this time. Because really, you don't want to talk to him. That would be bad, no matter what you've been telling Mike about making peace.
She dropped a tea bag into the mug, set it on the counter, and turned on the heat under the teapot, then reluctantly moved back to the living room to retrieve a book she'd left there.
She didn't see him until she was already in the room, and as soon as she noticed that his back was still to her, she tried to back out of the room as soundlessly as possible.
"Don't you want to know how I got in?" he asked conversationally, still studying the wood of her door instead of turning to face her.
"No." She kept moving, even though she knew that now that he was in, he wouldn't be easy to get out.
"You didn't re-lock the bolts." He demonstrated by locking them now, then turned around. "Are you making tea?"
"Why do you care?"
His eyes lingered for a moment on her bare shoulders, then he shrugged. "I wouldn't mind having some. As long as you're not going to break another mug in the process."
"Go away, Bobby. You shouldn't be here." She leaned against the counter, glanced up at the cabinet she kept her mugs in, and then determinedly crossed her arms instead of reaching for one. "You just broke into my apartment."
"I slipped the chain," he said dismissively from the kitchen doorway. "I don't think that counts as breaking and entering when it comes to people who should know better."
"Sorry my security doesn't meet your approval," she snapped. "Usually I don't get intruders who knock on the door first."
He looked around the room, trying to remember where she kept her mugs.
"This one," she said with a sigh, pointing to the cabinet above her head and then moving away. "Why'd you come back? Couldn't find anyone else to torment?"
"I missed you," he said simply.
She blinked. Whatever this new strategy of his was, it was damn good at keeping her off balance. "Amazing," she murmured dryly after a second. "To suddenly start missing someone a year after the fact."
He looked confused for a second before he shook his head and said, "I missed you the whole time."
"Ah, right," she agreed sarcastically, "because when I miss someone, of course I cut off all communication with them. Makes things all better."
"Alex, I tried to explain . . ."
"No, you didn't," she broke in before he could finish making his excuse. "Even if you're referring to that shit you spouted last night, even then you didn't explain why you shut me out after you left."
"I . . ." He licked his lips, then shook his head. "Where did you go tonight?"
"Out." She pushed past him and snapped off the burner just before the kettle started whistling. "If you're really having some, get yourself a tea bag."
"Eames . . ." he murmured as he dug another tea bag out of the box on the counter.
"You keep implying you want to make amends," she told him, concentrating on filling the mugs and trying to block out the reality of his presence, "but every time I ask you a question about it, you clam up. So make a choice: do you want to talk to me about it, or not?"
He allowed her to push him out of the way again and snatch up the bottle of Amaretto she'd forgotten when he knocked. "It . . . the cutting myself off from you was . . ." he stumbled, "it was a selfish thing to do."
Not bothering with a shot glass, she poured a dollop of the liqueur into her tea, then looked up at him and held out the bottle questioningly. When he shook his head, declining it, she shrugged and screwed the cap back on. "Why was it selfish? What did you get out of it?"
"I . . . it was easier for me."
"To not talk to me?" she prompted, picking up her mug and sliding the other one toward him. "Why?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned and carried her mug into the living room, leaving him to follow confusedly with his own mug.
She was sitting on the couch, legs curled under her, and for a minute he felt as if the past year hadn't happened. They were just Goren and Eames, settling into her apartment to spend an evening chewing over a problem that needed to be worked out. Then she looked up at him, and instead of the open expression she used to display for him, her face was closed.
No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't turn back time, he reminded himself. She'd said that yesterday, and she was right. He couldn't expect things to go back to what had once been normal . . . but he could try to make a new sort of normal.
"Helloooo," she sing-songed, waving a hand at him. "Are you going to hide out in the kitchen or are you coming out here?"
"Sorry." He adjusted his grip on the mug and made his way to the couch, where he warily sat down as far from her as possible.
She watched, both pleased and disappointed that he'd figured out that affection wasn't allowed anymore. "Well? Why was not talking to me easier?"
"I . . ." He stopped and took a large, fortifying sip of his tea, ignoring the fact that it burned his mouth on the way down. "I left because I knew it would be better for you, but I knew that if I talked to you . . . if you asked me to come back . . . I wouldn't be strong enough to say no. So I just didn't say anything."
She lowered her mug to her lap, wrapped both hands around it, and stared at him. "Why did you think I would be better off without you, Bobby?" she asked gently.
Bobby closed his eyes and sighed. "Like I said last night, I was becoming difficult to work with, and -"
"That's not why," she broke in irritably, staring him down. "Please, for once would you just answer my question honestly? I think you owe me that."
He took another sip of tea, trying to buy time to think of a believable answer. He could feel her eyes on him as he drank, and he took a moment to wonder what in the hell he was doing here, drinking tea with a woman who hated him and trying to avoid telling her he loved her.
She saw his eyes go vague and realized that he was retreating into his head. Whether it was to find an answer to give her, or just to avoid her, she didn't know, but either way she needed his attention back. "Bobby," she said sharply. "Answer the question."
He blinked, then looked at her. "It wasn't safe to work together anymore. My . . . objectivity was compromised."
"Ok," she said blankly. "Now do you want to explain what you just said, in English this time?"
"I was going to mess things up, sooner or later. Either put myself in danger, or put you in danger, or put your career in danger."
"So . . . you just decided to make it sooner, rather than later?" she asked. "What gave you the authority to make that decision? And Jesus Christ, Goren, why couldn't you just have told me about it?"
"You wouldn't have allowed me to go," he pointed out, as if that explained everything.
"Damn right I wouldn't have. At least, not until you actually explained what was so horrible about you that you couldn't work with a partner anymore." Turning, she set her empty mug on the end table behind her with a little more force than necessary, and used that moment, when he couldn't see her face, to try to compose herself. What the hell was he trying to tell her, and why was she finding herself so scared to hear it?
"It wasn't that I couldn't work with a partner," he corrected. "It was that I couldn't work with you."
"Then what's so horrible about me?" she shot back immediately, tired of listening to him dance around the truth without ever quite voicing it.
He took a deep breath and looked away from her, focusing his eyes on the couch cushion that lay between them as he prepared to say the one thing he had been avoiding having to say for a year. "It's not a matter of you being horrible. It . . . I was - am - attracted to you, and no matter what I did with those feelings, you were going to end up getting hurt by them." There, he'd said it. Now she'd kick him out, but at least he'd have a clear conscience on the way.
Without warning, she jumped to her feet and began to pace the small area between the couch and the wall. "You know, I could really do without any more of these revelations of yours. Got anything else to tell me, while I'm already upset? Maybe you're married or something?"
"I . . . no," he managed, shaken by her forceful reaction.
"No?" she echoed with a humorless laugh. "Ok, then. Let me get this straight: you liked me so much that you thought it would be a great idea to desert your partner, leave your job, and go hide underground for a year? No wonder they call you a genius."
"Alex . . ."
"What?" she snapped, rounding on him. "What else do you have to say, now that you've told me my life got totally screwed up because of your . . . your stupid . . . good intentions?"
"I'm sorry."
She pulled her pacing to an abrupt halt at his quiet words. "You're sorry? Well good, because so am I. What do you expect me to do now?"
He looked around the room, debating his answer, then looked back at her. "Actually, I kind of expected to have been thrown out of here by now."
She turned her back on him and started pacing again, fighting the tears that were pricking at her eyes. "Yeah, well, you're welcome to go any time you're ready. Excuse me if I'm not up to doing the throwing myself."
Her voice was thicker than it should have been, and it took him a minute to realize that it was because she was on the verge of crying. But why? He had told her the truth and he hadn't asked her for anything in return. He was biting his tongue to avoid asking her for something, even just a hug or a smile.
Moving slowly to avoid alarming her or, more likely, pissing her off, he stood up and walked closer to her. When she didn't react to his movement, he took another step, this time putting himself within arm's reach of her. "Alex . . . look at me."
"Leave," she said flatly, refusing to look at him even when he took hold of her chin and tried to turn her head.
"Not with you like this, I won't." Gathering what little dignity and courage he had left, he moved his hands to her shoulders and pulled her to him in a tight hug. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair.
Alex stood stiffly for a few seconds, trying to force herself not to be comforted by his touch, but her willpower was blown to hell when one of his hands came up to cradle the back of her head, pressing her face into his chest. With a muffled sob, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shirt as the tears finally began to stream down her face.
He could feel the dampness through his shirt, and, not knowing what else to do, he just continued to hold her as she cried. Eventually, as the sobs tapered off, he loosened his arms around her, waiting for her to lift her head and look at him. A few seconds later, she did, giving him a tremulous smile, and he smiled back as he lowered his head to kiss her.
When she realized his intentions, she pulled out of his arms almost violently. "Don't!"
He raised his head again, looking at her in confusion. "Why not?"
"Because you . . . we . . . blew our chance at this a year ago, Bobby. And because of this." Too upset to consider what his response might be, she pulled the diamond ring off her finger and shook it at him. "You're too late, ok?"
He grabbed the ring from her fingers and looked down at it in his hand. "This? It's a ring, Alex, not a prison. Give it back to him."
She saw red at his casual manner. How dare he waltz back into her life and act like it was a foregone conclusion that she'd drop everything for him? "No!" she yelled, the volume of her voice forcing him to retreat a step. "You don't have a clue what this last year has been like for me. I . . . you can't expect to come back, tell me your little story, and have me forget all about Mike. It doesn't work like that. He's been here, ok? And he's staying here, which I certainly can't say for you and your 'short-term assignment'."
"Would you listen to yourself?" he snapped, closing his fist around the ring. "You're going to marry him because he's here? I haven't even heard you say you actually wantto marry him, let alone that you love him. You're using him as an excuse, and you know it."
If she kept letting him goad her, she was going to end up killing him. Forcibly tamping down on her temper, she held out her hand and said quietly, "Give it back, please."
He kept his hand closed. "And what if I won't?"
"Taking away my ring isn't going to take away my emotions, Bobby. Give it back."
Giving the thing a look of disgust, he dropped it into her hand. "Fine, take it. I didn't think you were the type to hide your head in the sand, but I guess I was wrong."
Ignoring that, she slipped the ring back onto her finger and crossed the room to open the door. "I can't do this, ok? I don't . . . I'm sorry it's hurting you, but it's the way things are. You need to leave."
He didn't bother to answer her as he walked out of her apartment, and he didn't turn around when he heard the door slam behind him.