The next morning, she did feel a little better. Maybe it was a lighting thing, she decided; maybe she only got depressed when it was dark out.

Her dog, too, seemed happier as he followed her through her morning routine, jumping into the shower the second she stepped out of it and joyfully slipping around the still-wet tub, as usual.

"Dumb mutt," she muttered, watching his antics in the mirror as she ran a comb through his hair.

Canis, who heard himself referred to by that affectionate insult almost as often as by his name, barked happily.

Alex just rolled her eyes. She wouldn't deny him his pleasure, as weird as it was - not after he'd spent much of his life in a cage at a racetrack where his only contact with water had been a bowl to drink from and an occasional, rushed bath. "I don't have time to dry you off, Can," she informed him as she turned toward the kitchen. "So don't get too wet." Unsurprisingly, he ignored her. Also unsurprisingly, his contortions in the tub dredged a smile out of her before she left the room.

Twenty minutes later, she checked her watch, squeaked in surprise at seeing that it was already slightly after eight, and gulped the rest of her coffee, burning the roof of her mouth in the process. If she rushed, she could just barely make it downtown and be at her desk at 8:30, as she needed to be.

On top of everything else, she discovered a few minutes later, it was raining and she hadn't brought an umbrella. That would teach her to skip checking the weather before leaving the apartment, no matter how late she was running!

She hastily swiped a paper from the news stand on the corner of her block, tossing fifty cents onto the counter as she ran past. "Good morning, Detective Eames!" called the stand's septuagenarian proprietor, who saw this behavior from her at least once a week. "You'll make it in plenty of time if you catch the train that's due in five!"

"Thanks!" she called back just before she started down the stairs of the subway station.

She exchanged nods with a few of the people already standing on the platform, people who she encountered there almost every day. "Anything good?" asked a short man in a business suit, gesturing to the now-damp paper under her arm. She didn't know his name, and he didn't know hers, but he asked her the same question almost every morning.

She glanced down at the front page of the newspaper. "Corrupt politicians in New Jersey. UK stock market hit an all-time high. Some old lady is another year older."

"Pfft." He waved a hand dismissively, unimpressed by the headlines, then changed the motion into a sweep of his arm to usher her into the train that had just opened its doors in front of them. "After you, ma'am."

She thanked him and stepped into the car, even managing to snag one of the last seats. If nothing went wrong with the train, she'd be at work in plenty of time, she thought, letting out a breath of relief as she checked her watch.

Just her luck - the train got held up in midtown as the MTA and the NYPD had a turf war while trying to straighten out what turned out to be a false bomb scare in Times Square. Tapping her foot impatiently, Alex checked her watch every few minutes and tried not to think about how embarrassing it would be to wander into the squad room almost an hour late.

Forty minutes later, she finally tripped up onto the sidewalk outside the subway station, and almost landed in the arms of a uniformed officer. Startled by his presence, she backed up a step, her left foot coming down in a puddle. The man just grinned at her and tipped his hat gallantly as he took her arm and pulled her forward. "Morning, Alex. Running late?"

She glared at him. "Fancy meeting you here . . . But as happy as I am to see you, don't think I won't knock you down in the middle of the sidewalk, Sammy. And yes, I am running very late. And you're only making me later."

He stepped aside, still smiling. "Just tell your captain you had to help your kid brother on his beat."

"Oh, he'll love that one," she scoffed. "I've gotta go. See you later."

Not waiting to hear his answering "goodbye," she jogged to the crosswalk and blithely crossed against the light, dodging cars on the way and knowing her brother wasn't going to ticket her for it.

The elevator ride to the eleventh floor gave her a chance to catch her breath, if not a chance to dry out, and she slumped back against the wall with a sigh. By the time she walked into the Major Case squad room, she had regained enough composure to stroll nonchalantly to her desk rather than try to sneak in. Looking like a drowned rat was bad enough, but looking like a furtivedrowned rat would be even worse.

"You're late, Eames," her captain, Jimmy Deakins, informed her coolly as he leaned against the empty desk that would soon be her partner's.

"Sorry." She unloaded her tote bag and set up her laptop, trying to pretend she had no idea he was annoyed.

"You going to be late tomorrow, too? Leave the poor guy to himself for half the morning?"

"Of course not," she snapped. "I apologize, ok? The subways got screwed up because of that bomb scare."

"Hmm." He appeared to be considering that excuse, and finally he nodded. "Ok. But you better bust your ass the rest of the morning," he told her, pointing to the overflowing IN and OUT boxes on her desk, "if you want to have all that cleaned up by the time Goren shows."

"I know," she said through gritted teeth, reaching for the first paper in the IN pile. "Now leave me alone so I can start doing it."

"Insubordination," Deakins said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Not good, Eames. I might have to fire you."

"Good," she shot back. "Then you get to deal with the new guy."

He sighed. "Get to work. I'll be in my office."

"Yes, sir," she replied, not looking up from the first case file of the many she had to sign off on.

By lunch time, she'd gone through two pens (chewed to death), three tablets of Advil (god, she hated paperwork-induced headaches), and half of her paperwork (which had, in return, given her two papercuts). Overall, that meant the morning had been a success, and she decided to treat herself to lunch, so she gathered her things and headed out to her favorite deli on the run, trying to dodge rain drops as she went.

"Afternoon, Detective," the owner, Joe, said cheerfully as she stepped up to the counter. "The usual?"

"Yeah," she said, "but tack on another large coffee."

"A second one? For you?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah." She smiled slightly at his surprise. "It's been a long day, and I'm only halfway through it."

"Hmm." Joe slid her wrapped sandwich across the counter, but kept a hand on it to prevent her from taking it, forcing her to hear what he had to say. "You shouldn't work so hard, you know. High-pressure life, all that coffee and take-out . . ." He shook his head. "If I didn't see you every day and know you're a skinny little thing, I'd say you're putting yourself in for a heart attack."

"I don't have time for a heart attack," she informed him, only half-jokingly.

"Oh, the hell with ya," he said affectionately, releasing her sandwich and waving her away. "Enjoy your lunch."

"Thanks."

Although she'd told herself she'd take a full lunch hour to make up for her bad morning, she ended up staying only long enough to eat her sandwich before heading back to work. She could relax after she'd gotten her work organized - and she knew she'd only get that done if she took her second coffee back to the office and buckled down at her desk.

The afternoon dragged on, broken only by the occasional appearance of her boss, who, each time, teasingly told her to work harder. The third time he did that, she threatened to chuck her coffee cup at him. It had been empty by that point . . . but he didn't need to know that. After that, he kept his jokes to himself.

She was on her ninth cup of coffee and had three forms left to fill out when he re-appeared at her desk, and when she looked up at him darkly, he just smiled. "It's quitting time, and you've been working your ass off. Go home."

"But I have -"

"So get here a few minutes early tomorrow," he broke in, dismissing her protest. "Or don't, even. I'm sure you can squeeze three forms in between tours of the building and stuff tomorrow."

"Tours of the . . . sir!"

He grinned. "Gotcha. I get stuck with those, not you. Now go home, Alex. That's an order."

With a sigh, she put down her pen and rolled her shoulders as she reached for her coat. "And this is me obeying."

"Good. I'll see you in the morning. Oh, and Eames?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you please," he said pleadingly, "try not to be late?"

Her only answer was to scowl as she turned away and headed for the elevator.

It was still raining when she got outside, and this time she didn't bother to run. She was going to get wet anyway, she knew, so there was no point expending the extra energy that running would require.

"You look like shit," Sammy informed her as she passed him on the way to the subway. "I think your mascara's even starting to run."

"Good thing I don't have a date tonight then, huh?" she shot back. "Has anyone mentioned to you that that poncho really isn't flattering?"

He looked down at the yellow plastic covering him, then back up at her. "Oh, just go home and feed your dog."

"Planning on it." She gave him a pat on the shoulder and headed down the stairs.

"Oh, dear," said the elderly woman she sat next to on the train. Alex didn't know her name, but she thought of her as Knitting Lady, since the woman was never without needles and yarn. "You'd better get out of those wet clothes when you get home, honey, or you'll catch your death of cold!"

"I know," she said with a sigh. "You can bet I'm going to start carrying an umbrella, after what happened today!"

To her surprise, the woman offered her a scarf when she got up to leave the train. Alex tried to refuse it, but the woman simply shook her head and pushed it into her hands. "It'll at least keep your hair from getting any wetter. Have a good night, dear!"

Alex thanked her, then turned and jumped out of the train just before the doors began to close. She contemplated the red and blue scarf as she climbed back up to street level, then draped it loosely around her neck to free her hands as she bought an evening paper from the news stand.

"Evening, Detective," the owner said with a grin. "It's good to see you actually stop moving for a second."

She rolled her eyes. "I hardly moved all day. Believe me, it's not all it's cracked up to be." She took a paper and handed him another fifty cents. "I've got a date with a hot cup of tea now. See you tomorrow."

"Night."

By the time she finished the hot bath and hot cup of tea she'd resolved to relax with, it was almost eight and she was starving. Even without looking, she knew that her cupboards were bare of everything but dog food. She'd been remiss in her grocery shopping the last few weeks, living mostly on take-out and frozen dinners, and she desperately needed to go to the store.

Eh, later. For now, she wanted Chinese food, and that required leaving the apartment if she didn't want to wait an hour for delivery. She shrugged on a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, checked her pockets to make sure she had money, and grabbed her keys. "Don't break anything while I'm gone," she called to Canis on the way out. He opened one eye to look at her from his position stretched out on the couch, then closed it again as if to say, What, and expend the effort to get up from here?

When she returned with her dinner, she found the dog in the exact same position she'd left him in. "Move it, bub," she ordered, giving his hindquarters a shove. "I paid for this couch, not you."

When he reluctantly curled up so he occupied only half the couch, she plopped down and set her bag on the coffee table. God, she'd been doing this too much lately. She needed to get out, do something, meet people, she decided as she opened the container holding her dinner.

Meet people. Hah. She wasn't sure she even remembered how to do that in the first place.

Speaking of new people, she wondered what her new partner was going to be like. Office gossip didn't sound promising; she'd heard him described as dominant, a know-it-all, and twitchy. All-in-all, not her idea of a perfect partner. Then again, she probably didn't sound too good to him, either . . . Oh, Alex Eames, yeah. Man, she's a tiny little thing; you're gonna have to watch out she doesn't get broken on duty! Not too big a fan of men, either. I've heard that she'll either eat you for lunch or pretend you don't exist.

That thought wasn't even funny, she decided; it was way too close to what she knew some people did think of her.

Suddenly she didn't feel quite so hungry. With a sigh, she stood up and brought the remains of her dinner to the fridge, telling herself she would eat it tomorrow. Then she filled up a glass of water, picked up a novel she'd been reading, and headed for bed, silently praying for a partner she could work with.