A/N: Whee! I'm officially on winter break! Let's all cross our fingers and hope that means more ficcing!

"Don't even think about it." Her words, spoken half into the pillow, stopped him in his tracks the next morning as he tried to sneak out of bed without waking her.

He paused, one foot on the ground, and turned to look at the back of her head. "Think about what?"

"I let you get rid of me yesterday. Don't even try to tell me I'm not going to work with you today," she told him, still not moving her face out of the pillow.

He edged his other foot toward the floor. "I'm just going to the bathroom . . ."

"It's past seven. You're not just going to the bathroom." She finally rolled over to look at him. "Come on, don't piss me off this early in the morning."

He sighed. She had a point; he really didn't want to piss her off this early. Or at any other time of the day, actually. Especially when she was naked in bed and he could theoretically waste another ten minutes before heading for the shower.

Her voice interrupted his thoughts. "Aren't you cold?"

"Huh?"

She reached out a hand to touch his bare back. "How can you not be freezing after getting out of this nice warm bed and just sitting there in the cold air?"

He thought about that. "I'm used to it, I guess."

"What, you make a habit of sitting on the edge of the bed every morning? You haven't since you've been sleeping with me." She sighed. "I'm going to freeze my ass off on the way to the bathroom."

"Sorry."

She snorted. "That was your cue to offer to keep me warm on the way."

His eyebrows crept up. "On the way to the bathroom?" he said thoughtfully. "Hmm. Uh, Alex?"

"What?"

"You think there's room for two of us in the shower?"

She stared at him for a second, then grinned. "You do know how to give a girl a pleasant wake-up call, once you put your mind to it. Tell you what . . . if you'll wash my hair, then we can share the shower."

He reminded himself that it was way too early, both in the morning and in the relationship, to get up and do a victory dance.

"Bobby?" she said curiously, watching his eyes glaze over. "Shower? You and me? Remember?"

He nodded. "You . . . uh, you feel ok?"

"Which part of me are you asking about?" she replied with a smirk.

He flushed slightly. "Well you, uh, you said you'd tell me if I hurt you, but . . ."

"I'm fine, really." She pushed she covers back and made a show of shivering in the cold air. "Besides," she told him, unable to keep herself from wincing slightly as she stood up, "if anyone notices me walking funny, they'll just chalk it up to the ribs."

"Alex!"

"I'm fine," she repeated, rounding the end of the bed and giving his hand a yank to make him stand up. "Now come on, I'm cold."

They almost made it through the day without incident. Then, around three in the afternoon, Alex went to refill their coffee mugs. Nothing more than that - her eyes were starting to cross from staring at paperwork for so long, and she headed for the coffee pot more on autopilot than not - but it was enough.

She was standing in the break room, pouring French roast into her mug, when an abrupt "Eames!" from the doorway made her jump in surprise.

"Shit!" she hissed as coffee slopped out of the mug onto her hand and the counter under it. "What the . . .?"

"Sorry," Deakins said, taking another step into the room. "Didn't mean to startle you."

She grabbed a paper towel and started mopping up the coffee she'd spilled on the counter. "It's ok. What's up?"

"I need an update on your recovery. An official one. As in, not from you or your partner."

"Mmm." She gave her hand a shake and looked down at where a small burn was turning red. "I have an appointment -"

"Let me see that," he interrupted, moving toward her and reaching out with the intention of taking her hand to check the injury.

Alex eased away as subtly as she could and moved her hand out of his reach. "It's fine. Coffee's hardly hot anyway."

Deakins snorted. "Yeah, because I really trust your judgments about your physical condition lately. Aren't you the woman who fell asleep in here two days ago after claiming she was perfectly fine?" He kept his hand out and gave her a stern look as he approached her. "Hand, Eames."

She had her back almost against the wall now. Where the hell was Bobby when she needed a distraction? "Captain," she managed in a voice that was slightly shaky but otherwise sounded calm, "please stop."

"You know, I've been cutting you a lot of slack lately," he retorted, stepping forward and snatching her hand before she could pull it back, "but I'm still your boss, and I need . . . Eames?" he broke off in alarm when she pulled her arm back so fast that her elbow slammed into the wall behind her. "What the hell?"

She tried to cup her injured elbow with her other hand, but her fingers were shaking too badly. "Please . . . back . . . up."

Having been given no reason to think anything else, Deakins assumed she was just trying to get him off her back in a very pointed manner. "Just show me your hand and I will. What the hell's wrong with you today?"

"I . . ." She closed her eyes and tried to press herself farther into the corner between the counter and the wall. "Please don't . . ."

"Alex?"

Deakins turned to face the man who'd just appeared in the doorway. "Goren, what the hell's going on with -" He broke off as Goren pushed brusquely past him. "Would someone like to tell me what's going on here, please?"

Taking in the situation at a glance, Bobby ignored him and very deliberately crouched in front of his partner so that he wouldn't scare her when she opened her eyes. "Alex," he said quietly, taking one of her hands. "He's backing off." He looked over his shoulder to make sure that Deakins was taking the hint and was pleased to find that his boss seemed to have finally realized he was scaring her; the older man had retreated to the the doorway, where he was leaning one shoulder against the frame and watching the action in front of him with bewilderment.

"Goren!" Deakins hissed. "What's wrong with her?"

"Leave," Goren ordered, too focused on Alex to worry about manners. "I'll explain it to you later."

Taking one more look at the scene in front of him, Deakins sighed. "Calm her down, and then come talk to me."

Bobby waited until he could hear Deakins's footsteps retreating behind him, then squeezed her hand, "I'm going to stand up, ok?"

She nodded slightly and pressed her lips together more tightly.

"You ready to move away from the wall?" he asked, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

Alex took a deep breath, then let it out. "Jesus, this was bad enough when it only happened with you." Trying to ignore her pounding heart, she took a tentative step away from the support of the wall.

One of his arms went around her shoulders, supporting the weight she was too unsteady to bear, as he moved behind her, between her and the wall. "Open your eyes for me, Alex. No one's blocking the way out now."

She did as he asked, verifying that her escape route was no longer blocked, then abruptly turned and threw herself against him.

He reflexively put his arms around her, hands spread across her back as though he was shielding her. "It's ok," he murmured quietly, not sure what else to say. "You're safe."

Pressing her face into his shoulder, she shook her head. "He didn't understand . . . he wouldn't back up. I can't do this."

"You can't do what?"

"I can't . . . how can I go back on the street if I'm still scared of my partner and my captain, let alone anyone else?"

He swallowed a curse. "You're not scared of us, Alex. You're scared of being cornered, and that's more than understandable."

She pounded his shoulder with her fist, making him wince. "That doesn't matter! It doesn't matter why; what matters is that I can't fucking face anyone down without turning into this . . . cowering weak thing!"

"It's only been a few weeks. You can't try to force yourself to heal, especially mentally. Besides," he added, cradling the back of her head in his hand and lowering his voice to a comforting whisper, "we're dealing with it. You are getting better, even if it's more slowly than you want."

"You don't understand," she mumbled into his shirt, "what it's like to be scared . . . to be scared of being scared all the time!"

"Then explain it to me." He could still feel her trembling, and he struggled not to let his own anger show as he spoke. She'd think it was for her, and it wasn't. Not by far. It was for Deakins, for being an idiot, but even more, it was for Steven Brewer, the son of a bitch who'd reduced the unshakeable Alex Eames to this frightened waif clinging to him as though he were a lifeline. "Do you think you'll be ok long enough for me to go tell Deakins what's going on? And then I'll take you home."

He was almost hoping she'd snap at him, tell him that he should know that she was perfectly fine and that she refused to go home in the middle of the day, but all she did was nod against his shoulder.

"Do you want to stay in here?" he asked, drawing back from her a little so he could see her face. "Or do you want to go back to your desk?" Jesus, he hated having to talk to her so gently, as though she were a victim. "Alex?"

"Desk," she said, copying his movement and taking a step back. "Let me walk by myself, please."

What did she think he was going to do, sweep her into his arms and carry her across the squad room just for the hell of it? A flippant reply was on his lips when he looked down and realized that she was still shaking. He bit back the sarcastic words and instead just nodded. "Ok. I'm going to stay next to you though."

She nodded. "Just . . . not unless I need you."

"I know, Alex." And he did. He knew that she wasn't asking him not to stay with her; she was just asking him not to offer any assistance unless she truly needed it to stay on her feet. She didn't want anyone to see her accepting help and think she was weak, and he hated that prideful reluctance almost as much as he hated seeing her fear.

"I hate this," she said quietly as she pulled completely away from him.

"I know," he said again, and followed her out of the room, trying to stay close without appearing to be hovering. Her hands were still shaking as they walked, and that alarmed him; she hadn't had the panic linger this long since the first time he'd scared her almost two weeks ago.

They were only partway to their desks when Hutchinson looked up from his desk, saw them coming, and moved toward them, obviously concerned by what he saw on her face. "Eames? Are you ok?"

Almost automatically, Bobby put himself between Alex and the young detective. "She's fine." Then, realizing that he'd practically growled at the guy, who was just trying to make sure Alex was ok, he softened his tone and added, "Really, she's ok. Just tired."

"Bobby." Her hand on his arm was still unsteady as she moved partially out from behind him, keeping one of his shoulders between her and the other man, but she didn't think the fine tremors were visible to anyone not looking for them. "I'm ok, Tim. Just tired, like Goren said."

"Oh." Hutchinson looked undecided for a second, shifting his weight from side to side, then gulped and blurted quickly, "If you need anything, just ask me, ok?"

His sincerity and his nervousness were both palpable, and instead of refusing the offer as she would have with anyone else, she just nodded and said, "I will."

"Ok." Hutchinson smiled, relieved. "Ok, good. I've gotta, um . . ." He looked over his shoulder to where his partner, Miller, was watching him with raised eyebrows. "I gotta go."

They watched him retreat to his desk, scowling at Miller. Alex sighed and Bobby looked down at her with a slight smile. "I think he has a crush on you."

"Hmm," she said disinterestedly as they started for their desks again. "I think he's even younger than Sean."

"That mean you're not interested?" Although he was trying to keep his voice light, and he truly didn't believe the younger man was any kind of competition, something must have come through in his voice, because she looked up at him with a tiny smirk.

"Why, are you worried?" she teased as, to the surprise of them both, she allowed him to pull out her desk chair for her.

At that moment, he could have kissed Hutchinson, no matter what threat he posed, because hallelujah, there was a smile on her face again. "Not unless you tell me to be," he said, patting her shoulder. "I'm going to go talk to Deakins."

She nodded slightly. "Don't -"

"I know."

Goren tapped lightly on the door of Deakins's office, peering through the glass wall to try to gauge his boss's reaction. When Deakins waved him in without looking up, he sighed and twisted the knob.

"Shut the door," Deakins ordered before Bobby could get a word out.

He did as ordered. "Sir, what happened in there . . ."

"What's wrong with her?"

"Pardon?" He looked at Deakins, surprised at the thoughtless phrasing of the question. "There's nothing 'wrong' with her."

"Goren, she just freaked out because I tried to look at her hand. There's obviously something wrong with her."

"I told you about this the day she came home from the hospital, sir. She . . . panics . . . when she gets cornered. I'm sure you can figure out how she acquired that particular fear."

"She 'panics'? Jesus Christ, Bobby, she was three seconds from collapsing. You gave me the impression that she was ok to come back when you brought her in on Monday!"

"She is. She was. Other than in that one circumstance, she's back to normal, at least mentally."

Deakins sighed. "Yeah, well, it's a pretty big 'circumstance,' for a cop. I can't put her back on active duty until I know she won't have a panic attack if some criminal makes a run for her." He rubbed his forehead, where the beginnings of a headache were taking root. "Jesus," he said again. "We need her! She's probably taken down more bad guys than you have, and with more finesse."

"She doesn't plan on leaving," Bobby said as calmly as he could, although he knew that every word Deakins was saying was perfectly true and the other man was, in fact, echoing some of his own fears. "It's only been a matter of weeks; she had a serious trauma. She's still recovering physically, so why would we expect her to be a hundred percent mentally?"

The captain, no fool, gave Goren a hard look. "That's nice, but it doesn't reassure me that this is going to get fixed. Has she gotten counseling? I know I told her to, but somehow I suspect . . ."

"Uh, not yet, sir. She's mostly been . . . you know, surrounding herself with the familiar, with people and things she trusts. And it has been helping."

"Counseling, Bobby. Professional. I'm not insulting your skills when it comes to psychology," he added, holding up a hand to preempt Bobby's protest, "but you're too close. How often does she have these . . . attacks?"

"Not often," he said quickly. "It's only happened a few times, and up until today, it was only with me."
"Why, do you make a habit of cornering her?" Deakins said without thinking. "No, wait," he added a second later. "I probably don't want to know."

Goren fought the urge to snap at the other man. "It just . . . happens in the course of daily life, sometimes. Pay attention when you're home and you'll probably notice that you do it to people without realizing it."

"Ok, I'll concede on that point, but that's not really the issue anyway. She needs to get counseling, Bobby. And you know she's not going to want to do it."

"Well, I -"

"That's why I'm putting you in charge of making sure she does get it - come hell or high water."

"Sir, you know how she can be. I don't think . . ."

"Did you hear what I said a minute ago, Goren? I can't put her back on the street until this is resolved, and when your cast comes off, you're going back out, with or without her. So I suggest you lean on her, hard, if you don't want to find yourself stuck with a new partner."

Bobby stared at him, speechless. Deakins was playing hardball, and they both knew it. Unfortunately, the captain also happened to have a point with this particular pitch. "I'll do my best," he said tightly, resentful of being called on the carpet, of being made to discuss Eames without her knowledge, of the threat of a new partner that Deakins knew would be so effective against him.

"Good. I want you to keep me informed, Bobby." Rubbing his temples, Deakins gave him a tired look. "Is she ok? Now, I mean?"

"She will be. I'm going to take her home when we finish here."

He nodded. "Yeah, do that. Tell her I apologize, too. Do I need to avoid her now? Is there any kind of residual fear?"

"Not, uh, in my experience. It's like any panic attack - she knows it's irrational and she has no reason to be scared of me, or you, or whoever; it's just that when she's thrown into that position, she reacts to it anyway."

"Ok," Deakins said on a sigh, starting to feel immensely dumb for not having recognized what had been, in hindsight, obviously a panic attack and not just an avoidance. "Take her home. Bring her back tomorrow if she feels up to it, then you can have the weekend off."

"Yes, sir."

"Uh, and Bobby?" Deakins called just as Goren reached for the doorknob.

He paused, turning his head to look at the other man, suspicious of his tone. "What?"

"See if you can borrow some of her concealer before you come in tomorrow," Deakins said, touching the side of his neck pointedly.

Bobby mirrored the movement, touching his own neck in the same spot, and nearly choked when he felt the slight swelling he associated with either a bug bite or a hickey. And there definitely weren't any biting insects in Alex's apartment.

If Deakins hadn't had such mixed feelings about his two best detectives doing things to each other that resulted in hickeys, he would have burst out laughing at the bright shade of red Goren's face was turning. "Go," he ordered with a wave of his hand, suppressing a smile. "Take her home and don't let me see either of you until tomorrow morning."

Without a word, Bobby fled the room, hand still on his neck.