She almost would have believed that Deakins had a clear conscience when she entered his office if it weren't for the moment when he looked past her, obviously trying to locate Bobby before he planned his strategy. "I left him in the conference room," she informed him, slipping into a chair in front of his desk. "And I don't plan on bringing him into this unless I have to."

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands hands over his chest in a pseudo-casual posture. "You know your father and I know each other from -"

"Yeah, sure," she cut him off with a wave of her hand. "From back in the day, I know. He tried that line too."

Deakins sighed and switched tactics. "What can I do for you, Eames?"

"You can tell me what you and my father just talked about," she told him coolly.

"We talked about how you were doing," he said with a shrug. "He's worried about you - with good reason, as far as I'm concerned. You shouldn't be here and you know it."

"That's all? You only talked about me?"

"What, exactly, are you fishing for, Alex?" he responded evasively, pulling his eyes away from hers and letting them wander around the room.

"I want to know what my dad was so worried about that he had to come talk to you about it. He's been worried about me before without interrogating my superior officers. What's different this time?"

"Other than the fact that you almost died?"

She gritted her teeth and reminded herself that if she exploded at him now it would be she who came out the loser. "Yes, sir, other than that."

"He's worried about how well you're taking care of yourself. I got the impression he wants you to stay with him and your mom while you're recovering." He put his pen down, then nervously set it spinning on his desk. "You should be glad people love you enough to worry about you."

"Worry is fine. Invasion of my privacy is not. Invasion of someone else's privacy is definitely not," she said tightly.

"If you already know what we talked about, then why are you asking me to tell you again?"

She sighed heavily and tried to think of a way to phrase it delicately. "Because I want to know how much damage my father just did with this fit of overprotectiveness. He tends to jump to conclusions and he doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut."

"He had some questions about your partner. I hardly think that's unusual for the parent of a cop."

Oh? And the part where he's five years late in asking didn't strike you as a little odd? She quashed that thought and went for something less likely to lead him down the path she didn't want him on: "What were the questions he had?"

"You know, the usual." He leaned forward and stared down at his pen as though it were a cheat sheet. "Where was he before he was here, how's his record, does he know how to play nice with a partner."

A flicker of movement outside the door of the office made them both glance to the side, where they saw Bobby trying to look busy as he lingered a few feet away from the door. "Thought you didn't want to involve him," Deakins said with raised eyebrows.

"I don't - and believe me, neither do you. That's why I want to know what my dad said about him and what you said back - so I can control for it and it doesn't come back to bite either of us in the ass."

"Ok, look." The pen began an new journey into the breast pocket of his suit, then back out and down to the desk. "He wanted to know what kind of cop Bobby was. I told him he was unorthodox but trustworthy. He wanted to know if he respects you as a partner, I said yes. He wanted to know . . ."

"What he was like outside the job?" she finished for him. "See, that's what I mean about him jumping to conclusions. He paranoid about letting me back out on the street to work with someone he hasn't personally approved."

"Is that what that was?" Deakins asked mildly.

Did he think she wasn't going to spot a trap that obvious? "Yes," she said with equal carelessness. "That's what it was."

Deakins steepled his fingers under his chin and looked at her. "You know, there are certain things about your life - yours and Goren's - that it would inappropriate of me to know. Certain things I don't want to know. Given that, there are also certain things I want to make absolutely sure I don't know. Ever."

She stared at him, unable to believe the subtext she thought she'd detected in that statement. "I beg your pardon?"

"I think you know what I mean. All I'm saying is that you guys are my best team and I'm not splitting you up unless I'm forced into it."

She blinked. He was telling her that if her father was right about her relationship with Bobby, he wouldn't oppose it unless they threw it in his face . . . but he was also giving her a chance to deny any such involvement, if her father was wrong.

And if she didn't protest now, he was going to assume her father was right - which he wasn't, not really. Unfortunately, he wasn't exactly wrong, either.

"Alex?"

She shook her head to clear it and re-focused on the man sitting in front of her. "Sorry, I was woolgathering. Look, Captain, I don't know what my father told you, but . . . there's nothing between Goren and me that you should be concerned with not knowing about." Ooh, you are such a liar, Alexandra! Aren't you sick of this oh-so-obvious doubletalk yet?

"Ok," he said with a quick nod. "Ok, fine. Good. You need anything else from me?"

"How about a promise not to talk to my father about me again without my permission? Not my brothers, either."

"More than happy to. That takes the weight off my shoulders." He glanced over his shoulder to the bullpen. "Now, would you please go stop your partner from pacing a hole in the carpet out there?"

"Yes, sir."

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He pounced on her almost before she had the door closed behind her, bending down so his face was level with hers and he could watch her intently. "What just happened in there? Where's your father?"

She unconsciously backed up a step to maintain the politically-correct distance between them. "I sent my dad home with a flea in his ear, although I managed to resist doing the same to Deakins."

"I need more details than that, Eames. Come on," he said, closing the gap between them and holding out a hand to her, "let's go get lunch."

She countered his movement with one of her own again. "Bobby, can we -"

"I'm not going to be able to concentrate on work until you tell me, anyway. I'll buy, how's that?"

She fetched up against the wall, between a filing cabinet and a table, with a dull thump and felt the adrenaline begin to course through her. "Would you please just -"

He barely heard her weak protest; his attention was completely focused on sorting out the events of the morning. "No, come on," he urged, reaching out to urge her forward. "Come on, come on. It's free food!"

For the love of god, Alex, don't make a scene in the middle of the office. Once a day is enough! "Bobby, please," she managed quietly. "Please, just . . . back off."

Her tone of voice was foreign enough to him to jolt him out of his distraction and he stopped, letting his hand drop. "Alex?"

Ok, Eames, he stopped moving, she told herself. It would be stupid to panic now. Just give him a second and he'll . . .

Without warning, he leaned forward and propped his elbow on the filing cabinet, trying to get a closer look at her face while maintaining his bodily distance. "Are you ok?"

She reacted to the sudden movement by slamming her eyes closed and pressing back against the wall. "Back . . . up!" she managed one more time through gritted teeth, feeling a tinge of hysteria work its way into her voice.

He realized with alarm that instead of backing off, it must have looked to her like he moved closer. Disgusted with himself for not paying attention to what she'd been trying to tell him, he took as big a step back as he could and drew his hand back from her, running his fingers through his hair with a groan. "God, Eames . . . I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

She nodded jerkily but didn't move away from the wall as she took a deep breath and tried to slow her pounding heart. "It's . . . ok. I'm fine. Just . . . try to block the rest of the room from seeing me for a minute, ok?"

"Are you ok?"

She swallowed, then nodded again and pushed off the wall. "Yeah. I think . . . yeah."

He backed up another step and studied the woman in front of him, taking in the pale but determined face, the quickly rising and falling chest, and the trembling hands. "Christ."

"I'll be ok, Bobby. Remember, the chemistry of fear? Just . . . for the love of god, would you please stop triggering it in me every time you get distracted?" she told him with a weak smile.

He shook his head and backed up again, turning toward their desks to grab their coats. "I'm taking you home."

"No, you're not." She pulled her coat from his hands and tossed it back toward her desk. "I'm fine. I don't need to go home."

"You're going to be tired when you come down off the adrenaline high," he pointed out. "You know that from experience."

"I'll crash in the break room. I'm serious," she added at his incredulous look. "Unless you've suddenly changed your mind about leaving me alone, you can't take me home. No one will mind if I pass out in a chair by the coffee pot. Hell, they'll probably paint a moustache on my face and take blackmail pictures."

He couldn't help but laugh at that mental image, but the smile quickly faded from his face. "You really shouldn't . . . in a business atmosphere . . ."

"Oh, don't give me that. This place has never had, and never will have, a 'business atmosphere.'" Her hands had almost stopped shaking, she realized with relief, and she took the opportunity to reach out and put a hand on his arm. "You know I'm right. What did I tell you this morning about not arguing with me?"

With a sigh of resignation, he slung his coat over the back of his chair. "Fine. Stay here today and sleep - but I'm going to find a way to get in touch with Sean tonight and make sure you're his responsibility tomorrow. Maybe you can sleep in a chair by the Narcotics coffee pot, too."

"I'm not giving you his number," she muttered, crossing her arms and scowling.

"Setting aside the fact that he's on the force and I can get his contact information off his personnel file, you have his number in your phone. All I need to do is lift it when you're not paying attention."

"Just for that, my phone is staying right . . . here," she said with a smirk, slipping it into the hip pocket of her fitted pants, "while I sleep." She gave him a smile that dared him to respond and stuck out her arm, showing him that her hand was steady. "See? All better. I'd tell you to take my pulse, but that might make people talk."

"People talking . . ." he repeated thoughtfully. "If you're really, truly feeling back to normal," he told her, gripping her forearm as gently as he could, "then you're coming with me back to the conference room so we can discuss the . . . 'people' who are 'talking,' and exactly what they're saying."

Alex sighed. Can't have expected to get away with not telling him for very long, might as well accept it. "Oh, fine," she grumbled. "And you still owe me lunch, by the way."