A/N: Q, thank you so muchfor the comment about the ribs...if you couldn't tell, I've never broken one and was trying to fake it as I went along in here! I think I've taken it too far to change it back to her being in more pain, though, so we'll just have to count on suspension of disbelief for this one :)

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Her arms tightened convulsively around his neck and she sighed into his mouth as she kissed him back. His lips were so much softer than she would have expected, and she suddenly wondered what they'd feel like on other parts of her body . . .

When she began to respond to him, the little voice Bobby thought he'd tuned out increased its screaming tenfold, until he simply couldn't ignore its admonitions any longer. He broke the kiss and leaned his head back against the door, looking up at the ceiling. "Oh, god." Did she have any idea what this was doing to him?

She used one of the hands she had behind his neck to push his head back toward her. "Not god. Alex," she corrected. "Stop thinking," she ordered quietly, moving her head forward so she could whisper it in his ear, which she then nipped playfully.

"I can't stop thinking," he groaned, almost glad that his hands were too busy supporting her to touch her. "We can't do this," he said after another second, with more force, changing his grip so he held her with one hand while the other tried to pry her legs from around him.

She stared at him for a few seconds, taking in the near-panicked expression on his face, and then dropped her legs voluntarily. Her ribs pulled as her arms, around his neck, had to support her for a few seconds, but she ignored the pain for the moment and quickly removed them too. Right now, his rejection was paining her more than her battered body. Something had obviously gone wrong with whatever plan he'd started with. "What was that?" she said harshly, wiping a hand across her mouth. "Your attempt to assuage your guilt about scaring me?"

He blinked. "No! Well, yes, but no!"

"Right." She turned away and walked toward the bedroom door where he'd left her soup. "I'm going to heat this up," she said as she picked up the bowl. "I don't care what you do, as long as it's not what you just did."

"Alex . . ."

"I don't like being manipulated, Bobby. Even if it turns out to be fun in the moment."

"I wasn't manipulating you at all!" he said as he followed her into the kitchen. "That wasn't . . . I wasn't . . ."

She jerked open the door of the microwave and slid the bowl in. "Stop talking. Quit while you're only slightly behind."

He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around to face him, careful to keep them in the middle of the room so she didn't feel cornered. "That was not manipulation," he hissed, leaning down so he was nose-to-nose with her. "And I didn't stop because I thought I'd made you feel better. I stopped because it's not right."

"What's not right? Kissing your partner? You really think you have to remind me of that?"

"That's a different issue," he said, releasing one of her shoulders so he could wave his hand dismissively. "I wasn't thinking about you being my partner. I was thinking about the fact that you're injured, on a narcotic medication, and in an extremely vulnerable mental state."

"A 'vulnerable mental state'?" she repeated, latching on to his last words. "Is that code for 'you're going nuts but I'm too polite to say it out loud'? Am I unbalanced now, Bobby?"

"No," he said with a sigh as he let go of her other shoulder. "It's code for 'you've had more than enough emotional upheavals in your life lately and you don't need one more'."

"If you hadn't noticed, I'm having a nice, big upheaval right now."

"All the more reason for me to make sure you don't have to deal with any more changes in your life. And you ignored my two other reasons."

"What, that I'm drugged?"

He nodded. "And . . . that you're physically not up to . . . uh, it."

She had no idea what to say to that one, which gave her more insight into his thoughts than he had probably intended. So he was afraid of hurting her, re-breaking a bone . . . fine, she could see how that would be a reason to put a stop to things for the moment. But to say she was too doped up, when he'd been here watching her and knew she was nothing of the sort . . . "Don't make excuses, ok?" she finally snapped, although she had to admit that her anger was slightly mitigated by his concern. "Even in my vulnerable emotional state, I'm not interested in your lies."

He sighed heavily and turned away from her, fist to his mouth as he tried to think of a way to make her understand. "I would have hurt you if I let things continue. In more ways than one. Think about how you'd feel once the fight-or-flight response from . . . before . . . had worn off and you found me here just ig-ignoring the fact that I knew - I know - that the chemistry of fear can mess with your head, big time."

She watched him as he paced the room, noticing that even in his distraction he was giving her a wide berth each time he passed her. The chemistry of fear . . . it was a Bobby-like turn of phrase.

"Cortisol," he went on when she didn't reply. "And, and epinephrine. Norepinephrine. They stress your body and your brain . . . uh, rapid heartbeat, impaired reasoning . . . decreased control of emotions. Reduced sensitivity to pain. The brain, uh, releases a natural opiate, dulling the senses. And . . . and you're already on artificial opiates."

She knew she shouldn't be surprised by anything he came out with anymore, but it was still odd to have someone turn around and spout concrete facts to support their side of an emotional argument. "In other words, I'm currently irrational and unable to do what's best for myself?"

"Not entirely. Just . . . somewhat."

"Here," she said, thrusting out her arm, palm up. "Take my pulse."

"What?"

"Take my pulse. If I'm drowning in stress hormones, my heart should be racing, right? So come find out for yourself."

"Alex . . ."

"Do it, or I don't want to hear another word about how I can't know what's best for myself."

He sighed and put two fingers over her radial artery, counting silently. "Ninety-two."

"Normal, in other words."

"High normal."

"Normal, Bobby. Don't split hairs."

"Fine, normal. You're still on the Vicodin."

"And you're still looking for excuses," she retorted.

He glanced over his shoulder at the clock on her wall. "Isn't it about time for another dose, now that we're on the subject?"

She blinked, adjusting to the change of subject. "What, you planning to shove the pills down my throat and hit the road when they put me to sleep?"

Sometimes he really didn't like how observant she could be. "Uh, no."

"You were!" she exclaimed, reading the truth in his face. "That's the second time in an hour that you've tried to run away from me. If you don't want to be here, just say so."

He just looked at the floor, kicking at a dust bunny.

And then understanding began to dawn on her. "You're afraid it's going to happen again, aren't you? You're afraid that in five minutes, or half an hour, or an hour, you're going to forget all your well-reasoned arguments and go back to what you started out there," she said, pointing to the entryway where they'd stood a few minutes ago.

"I'm not afraid."

"Yes you are! This isn't all about me," she said with a snort. "It's about you, trying to haul ass out of here."

"I don't want to leave, Alex. I'm just . . . concerned about you."

"Well, don't be. I've got parents who are doing enough hand wringing for everyone, including you. Either stay here because you're my friend and you want to help me - that's 'help me,' not 'order me around' - or go home and mope there."

He pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes and sighed. "If I stay, will you eat the soup and take the painkiller?"

The soup! She glanced at the microwave, which had long since gone dark and stopped turning. "Uh . . . I think the soup may be done for. But yes, I'll take the Vicodin."

He relaxed visibly. "I'll make you toast, just so you have something in your stomach along with the pills. Here," he added, holding the bottle out to her. "Take them."

She kept her position in the middle of the room and shook her head. "Bring the bottle to me."

"What?"

"Come on. This is a test of your willpower. Show me I was wrong when I said you were afraid." She gave him a smug smile. "I'm waiting."

"Alex -"

She tapped her foot and gave him an impatient look. "You going to do it, or are you chicken?"

He scowled and took a step toward her, holding out the bottle at arm's length.

She shook her head teasingly. "Coward."

"I'm not a . . . I'm just doing the smart thing!"

"You're scared of someone half your size, Bobby."

He growled something unintelligible and took a step closer, holding out the pill bottle again.

"Not good enough. Closer."

She was toying with him. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. What he couldn't pin down was exactly what her goal was in doing it. "Fine. Here," he said, moving close enough to shove the bottle into her hands, which he did.

She grinned. "You are so afraid of me! This is an interesting turn of events."

"I'm not -"

"Are too, or why else would you be trying so hard not to touch me, hmm?"

"Eames . . ."

She chucked the pill bottle at him. "Don't call me 'Eames'!"

He ducked and managed to grab the bottle with one hand as it went flying over his shoulder. "Why not? I've always called you that."

"You've been calling me 'Alex' most of the day. I like it. Keep doing it."

"Uh, ok. Sorry." He tried to hand the bottle back to her, but she kept her arms folded across her chest. "What now?"

"You still look like you don't trust . . . I'm not sure, either me or yourself."

"I trust . . ."

"Me? Then it must be yourself you don't trust. Which raises the interesting question of what you don't trust yourself not to do."

"You're an intelligent woman. I'd think you could figure it out for yourself."

She figured that was as close to an admission as she was going to get from him for the moment. "Fine. Give me the pills," she said, holding out a hand."

He shook two into her hand, muffling his sigh of relief.

"These are going to put me to sleep, you know, so I'm going to go get in bed. Can you bring me the toast when it's done?"

"Toast? In bed? You'll end up sleeping on crumbs," he protested.

She shrugged. "I'll be drugged enough not to care. So, will you bring it to me or do I need to wait around in here?"

"I'll bring it to you," he said, figuring it was easier to give in than fight about it.

"Thank you." She gave him one last smile, then turned and headed for her bedroom and those wonderful satin sheets.