They had hardly taken their seats at the diner when Alex bounced up out of her chair with an excited exclamation. Goren checked over his shoulder, wondering if an old friend of hers had just walked in or something, but found the entryway empty except for a bored-looking teenaged waitress.

When she turned her slightly-too-wide eyes on him, he raised his eyebrows. "Care to share with the rest of the class?"

"These," she said, pointing at the sea of print-outs as she sat down again, "these are from a database, right? A computer file?"

"Uh, yes. Why?"

"I can . . . no, wait, hold on." She held up a finger, telling him to wait, and yanked her phone out of her pocket.

He watched as she dialed what looked like the main line for One PP, then entered an extension he didn't recognize. Still in the dark, he wondered if this was how she felt when he jumped ahead of her in investigations. If it was, he decided, he would start being more careful to include her in his reasoning from now on.

Whoever it was on the other end, she grinned widely when they answered. He listened carefully to her end of the conversation:

- "Hey, it's your Cupid, checking in! I've got good news and work news, which do you want first?"

- A pause. He thought he could hear a male voice on the other end, but it was too muffled to be identifiable.

- "Ok. I need your professional expertise for a couple of minutes . . . What? No, no hardware. I have print-outs of two huge databases of court records that Bobby and I have been trying to cross-reference all morning, and it just now occurred to me that . . . Right, exactly. We don't have the files, but it shouldn't be difficult to get them, right?"

- The male voice again, sounding more enthusiastic now.

- "If you would do that for me, I would be your willing slave for at least a week! We're at lunch right now, so we don't have access to everything . . ."

Bobby didn't think he liked hearing her offer herself up in slavery, but she seemed excited about whatever she was asking this person to do. He trusted her instincts; he just didn't have to particularly care for her methods.

- "How long?" Alex was asking the phone. A short pause, then: "Perfect! That's about how long it'll take us to get to you . . . oh, hold on."

She put her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and said, "Bobby, can you tell the waitress we need the food to go?" Without waiting for his answer, she returned her attention to the phone.

Bobby sighed and signalled to their long-suffering waitress, who was used to this sort of quick departure by them.

- "So if we can get them, you think you could walk me through a script?" Alex said.

- A short reply in the male voice.

- "You, my friend, are wonderful." Pause. "What? Oh, you'll just have to wait for us to get there for that. Too much of a hurry now. Sorry . . . no, uh, no, really, there is something, I promise. Just keep your pants on for half an hour, ok?"

- Laughter.

- "Good, thank you. See you in a little bit."

She stood up and looked at Bobby expectantly when he didn't move. "Well? You coming?"

"Don't you think we should wait for our lunches? She's wrapping them up," he replied, motioning toward the kitchen. "In the meantime, you want to tell me who that was and where we're going?"

She smiled teasingly. "Why Goren, you haven't reasoned it out? You're losing your touch." When he just frowned slightly, she patted his shoulder. "We, o partner-of-mine, are going to visit your wannabe boyfriend," she said as they stood up and made their way to the cash register.

"My . . . what?"

She gave him an exasperated look. "Dan Lowe, from tech. The guy who did the laptop for us a few days ago? Remember? After you wandered out of his office, he asked me if you were single."

He blinked. "Uh . . . what did you tell him?"

There was an almost imperceptible pause before she answered, "I told him you're not gay." Well, that wasn't exactly what she'd said to Dan, but there was no way she was getting into the girlfriend/not-girlfriend issue with her partner right now. "He's getting the actual database files from the courthouse - he said if they're cooperative and e-mail them, it probably won't take more than 10 minutes - and then we're going to write a script to cross-reference them."

Bobby sorted through his mental lexicon, trying to pin down what "script" meant in this context. "A computer program?"

"More or less. A simple one." She grinned. "You mean I know something you don't? My day is looking up!"

He scowled at her and turned to accept their wrapped food from the waitress, who winked at him. "Thanks, Diane. Great service, as usual."

"Great service for great people," replied Diane, who was sixty-two and had four cats and three grandchildren. It never failed to impress her how courtly Detective Goren was, even with a woman her age; she usually slipped in something extra for him when she wrapped their food, as a sort of positive reinforcement. "You two be sure you remember to eat the food this time, okay? Rumor has it that the last batch grew mold in your break room."

"Deakins," Alex said with a sigh. "He should know better than to tell tales. Thanks, Diane."

"Mm-hmm." She waved the two detectives away with a smile.

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Dan Lowe was waiting for them in his office, feet propped up on the only spot on his desk that wasn't covered with equipment or hardware detritus. He'd shoved his wire-rimmed glasses up into his long hair, where they were now doing double-duty as a headband, and a large notebook computer sat on a what looked like a folded towel on his lap.

He looked over his shoulder as they entered. "Alex, I got started without you. Hi, Detective Goren," he added, not looking directly at Bobby.

Bobby mumbled a hello and hung back as Alex eagerly leaned over the tech's shoulder to see his screen.

"Is this Perl?" she asked, studying the lines of code he'd already written.

"Python. Similar, but a little less complicated. Well, depending on who you ask - it can become a religious debate. But anyway, I've got the databases you need on here," he said patting the laptop, "and I was just writing the file opener."

"Are you opening them both and then putting them in different arrays?"

"Sort of, but what I'm using are actually called dictionaries in Python. They work just differently enough to be annoying."

Goren watched from his position in the doorway, wondering where Alex had picked up this ability to converse easily in tech-ese and how he had managed to work with her for five years without absorbing any of the lingo. Obviously, he wasn't going to be of much use in this endeavor. "Eames?" he said when there was a lull in the conversation.

"Hmm?"

"I think you guys are ok without me here. I'm going to go upstairs and get started on a contact list for witnesses."

"Sure," she said without looking away from the computer. "I'll meet you upstairs when we're done here."

Alex and Dan both listened to his retreating footsteps for a few seconds, then Dan hastily set the computer on his desk and turned to her. "So, what's the non-work news?" he asked eagerly.

She grinned. "You showed impressive restraint waiting 'til Goren was gone, Dan."

"Yeah, I know. What's the news?"

"You know Jack Meyers in the crime lab?"

Dan nodded hesitantly. "A little. Enough to say hello to, but that's it."

"Well," she said, amused at her own gossipy tone, "rumor has it that he's back on the market after being dumped by his boyfriend a few months ago."

His eyes took on a speculative light. "He's tall, right? Blonde hair, cut short?"

"Yep."

"You know him?"

She shrugged. "About as well as you do. Not enough to set you up - but I do have a friend who works in the lab with him who probably could. In fact, it was her who told me he was single."

"Can you hook me up with her? So she can maybe hook me up with him?" he said, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

"Hmm." She cocked her head to the side, thinking. "Tell you what - we get this script done and run before Goren's done with his list and needs me back, and I'll take you down to the lab and introduce you to both of them."

"Works for me! So," he said, replacing the laptop on his legs, "what's we're basically doing is constructing two dictionaries and and then using a set of nested loops to iterate through them . . ."

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Goren sat at his desk and studied his photocopies of McNeil's notes on Norman Young, Claire Young, and a number of other people who had appeared at the scene.

The young patrolman was well-organized, he'd give him that. A little too well-organized, because with this comprehensive list in front of him, it left Goren nothing to do but alphabetize it and make notes. In other words, busy work. Still, it would be worth it if Alex could pull a name or two out of that parolee list, he reminded himself.

Just as he opened Word on his computer to start typing, Deakins leaned out of his office and called, "Goren!"

Bobby looked up questioningly. "Yes, sir?"

"In here, please."

He tried to remember anything he might have done to get himself in trouble and drew a complete blank. Assuming, that was, that the captain hadn't figured out why Goren and Eames had arrived to work together this morning. He didn't think it was that though - Deakins would look a lot less complacent if he knew about his prize detectives' social life, and besides, their arriving at work together wasn't terribly unusual even under normal circumstances.

With a sigh, he stood up and walked into the lion's den.

"Door," Deakins ordered without looking up from whatever it was he was reading. Only when Goren had obediently shut the glass door did he move his eyes from his desk to the man in front of it. "Sit down and stop wringing your hands, Goren. You're not in trouble."

"Oh." He did as ordered, folding himself into one of the uncomfortable chairs that faced the captain's desk, and then raised his eyebrows. "If I'm not, uh, in trouble . . . then why am I here?"

"I wanted to ask you about Eames."

Bobby blinked, trying to hide his shock. "Uh, what about her, sir?"

"You know what I'm talking about," Deakins said with a wave of his hand. "She's been acting . . . weird recently. I mean, crying in the bathroom? That's not her!"

Think fast, Bobby. Give no details unless specifically asked. "I thought she said she'd had an argument with someone," he said noncommittally.

"She did. She also said the bruises on her arms were accidental. She also said Mike Logan had nothing to do with any of it."

"And . . .?"

"And I don't believe a word of it," Deakins said matter-of-factly. "I find it hard to believe that you do, considering that you know her much better than me, even."

"Uh . . . she's been perfectly normal for the past few days, sir. Maybe it was just . . . a female thing."

A snort. "That's what she tried to tell me. I have a wife and three daughters, Detective. None of them have ever spontaneously developed finger-shaped bruises, no matter how much they were PMSing."

Bobby sighed. Obviously Deakins wasn't looking to be convinced that he was wrong . . . so what was he looking for? "Would you mind if I ask why you're telling this to me instead of her? I would think it's a lot more her business than mine."

"You're her partner, Bobby!"

"I, uh . . . I'm aware of that."

"And you're not concerned that your partner is obviously going through some sort of emotional trauma?"

He sighed. "Captain, you still haven't told me why you called me in here rather than her."

"I've tried her. She won't give him up."

"Uh . . . 'him' who?" Bobby asked in genuine confusion.

" 'Him,' as in whoever put the bruises on her and left her crying. The crying thing happened during work hours, Goren. That means it was probably someone here who did it."

He was starting to get the picture now, and he didn't think he liked what he was seeing. "And you want me to . . . what, snoop around her life and hunt down whoever it is?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it 'snooping' . . ."

"I would." He sighed. "Captain, believe me when I tell you that I'd be the first to her defense if I thought she was being mistreated by someone in MCS, but I honestly . . . I don't think that's the case. Those bruises could be from almost anything . . . sparring at the gym, handling an anxious friend . . ." Shrugging, he went on, "And without the bruises, you have nothing in particular that's suspicious."

Deakins just looked at him for a moment, seeming to weigh his options, before he said, "I think it's Logan."

"Pardon me?" Bobby hoped his eyes weren't as wide as they felt like they were.

"Mike Logan. He's been around her every time something happened, Bobby. And . . . and you know about his temper."

Bobby was silent, trying to figure out what he was going to do with his nosy captain. "I've been around her all those times, too. Why him and not me?" He couldn't believe he was going to stand up for a man he couldn't stomach, but he reminded himself that at least Alex would thank him later.

"Because, Goren," Deakins said, "your temper when it comes to her is nonexistent, and I can't see you making her cry, either. And I would have thought that you'd be eager to protect her from anyone who did."

"If she needed, uh, protection, sir . . . I would be. But she really does perfectly well without me butting in. But," he added quickly when he noticed that Deakins was about to speak, "if it will make you feel better, I'll talk to her."

"I want you to talk to Logan, not her."

"Pardon me?" Bobby said for the second time in five minutes. "What would I talk to him about?"

"Just give him a warning."

Goren blinked. "You want me to strong-arm another detective just based on a hunch?" Not that I wouldn't mind giving the guy a stern talking-to, but this just can't turn out well for any of us.

"Just feel him out, Bobby. That's all I want - feel him out, decide for yourself whether you think he had anything to do with it."

He was going to need a particularly large beer after today, Goren decided, and Alex was definitely buying after he went through all this to cover for her friend. "Sir, Detective Logan and I don't . . . know each other that well. He's not likely to want to talk to me."

"You talk to people who don't want to talk to you all day long, Goren. Either you do this, or I'm getting someone else to do it, and I get the feeling you don't want gossip about Eames spreading any farther than it needs to."

He gritted his teeth, knowing he was being backed into a corner. "Are you going to tell Eames that you're doing this?"

"No."

"Sir . . ."

"You can tell her if you really feel it's necessary, but either way, you're checking him out."

Bobby sighed and turned to leave, but was interrupted before he got to the door.

"Oh, and Goren?"

"Yes?"

"You and Eames have been fighting a lot lately. This have anything to do with that?"

"No," he said firmly. "Just too many long days and middles-of-the-nights stuck together. We'll settle down." Middles-of-the-nights, hah, if only he knew!

"Ok, then go. I want you to check in with me tomorrow about this. Bobby," he added, noticing the detective's set face, "do it, or I will."

"Sure. Can I go now?"

"Yeah," Deakins said, waving him out and returning his attention to whatever was on his desk.