Gabriella had told them nothing before asking for her lawyer. Bobby was ready to have a fit, but only Alex could tell. She left the interview room and met up with Deakins and Carver. "She's not going to talk."
"Well, Carver, do we have enough to hold her?" Deakins was confused by this whole matter. Why would anyone want to hurt an entire theater? They couldn't be mad at just one person—it seemed almost as if they hated the whole idea of opera.
But it wasn't really the case that was bothering him. It was Eames and Goren. They weren't working right. Deakins had watched them enough during interviews that he could pick up on their little games to pull out information, but today they were off. Goren had started his I-don't-know-anything-about-this-subject-why-don't-you-fill-me-in character at which point Eames would start defending whatever or whoever it was the suspect hated. Then Eames, obviously the less intimidating of the two, would be verbally attacked while Goren would be filled in on the subject, rallying up the suspect to the point where he or she would seemingly campaign for the right to murder or whatever else they were in for. But not today.
Goren had started off fine, but Eames missed the beat and couldn't get back in the game. She tried and eventually gave up. She sat there, hoping Goren could help her out. Instead, he glanced over at her a few times and a fleeting image of worry would cross his face only to disappear immediately.
"The bombs and the detonator are enough to convict her. I'll set up an arraignment and we'll offer her a deal in exchange for names." Carver turned to leave, over hearing the beginning of Deakins' next words.
"Alex, are you alright? You seem…very tense."
He had called her Alex, great. That meant he was worried too. She wanted to be left alone. She knew why she was so tense, and she appreciated the concern, but Bobby was enough. She liked the hugs, but it was too stifling, too fast. She didn't need this from her captain too. "I'm fine, just sleep deprived." He reached over to put a supporting hand on her shoulder and she tensed up. It took will power on her part not to pull away. Ahhh! Just drop it, I'm fine!
"Alex, take the rest of the day off. Get some rest."
"No, I'm—"
"Alex, that's an order." She turned and left in a huff. If Deakins wanted her gone, than she'd be gone.
She picked up the phone when she got to the apartment and called her sister. They talked, and Alex felt reassured. Her sister was kind enough to hand the phone to her nephew who, at two years of age, was just beginning to talk. Alex smiled, a heartfelt smile, and felt calm for the first time in days. Then the doorbell rang. She opened the door just as her sister was getting back on the line. "Can I call you back?" Alex turned abruptly and hung up the phone. "What?" she snapped.
Bobby paused. Why was she like this?
"I know why you're here, Bobby, and I don't want it. I don't want you to feel sympathy for me, I don't want you to worry about me, and I don't want your psychological support!" What was going on here? She had to deal with him, not the other way around! Bobby stood there, stupefied, knowing his unsocial personality didn't give him the experience to deal with this kind of situation. He sat on the couch and waited for her to finish her tirade.
When she started gasping for air, he went in, completely ignoring the situation before him. "I know Deakins told you to rest, but I know you well enough that you won't do that no matter what his says. W-would you like to go on a stakeout tonight?" She whipped around to face him, her eyes glaring something fierce. As much as she would have liked to deny it, Bobby was right, she didn't want to rest.
"What?"
"I looked through Gabriella's house I took note of a pastime of hers. She's a ballroom dancer." Another piercing look from Eames. "We found T-strap shoes, and several dance costumes in her closet. It explained the way she walks, there's never a part of her that's not moving."
"How do we know which club she goes to?" She had calmed down somewhat, but was still inaccessible.
"She left a flyer on her table for a competition next week. S-so, would you like to go dancing with me?" She raised an eyebrow at him, still not convinced. "Deakins doesn't know, so technically you wouldn't be working."
"I don't know any dances." He had her. She wanted to go, he could tell, but she was coming up with any reason not to.
"Y-you've never gone dancing?" He asked, almost smiling.
"No."
"Your part would be easy. I'll teach you some of the basic step before we get there. The rest is you following my lead, you don't have to know the move." He stepped closer but held back, there was still an air of anger about her.
"So, how do we do this?" She had never gone dancing, never even thought about it. Where in her history would ballroom dancing ever play a part? Everyone she had ever spent her time with was a cop, not a dancer.
Disregarding the apprehension in the apartment, he proceeded with the lesson. "Hold your hands up." She did and he placed her left hand on his shoulder. Taking her right hand in his left, and circling her waist with his right, he said "Keep your left arm in contact with mine and hold a slight pressure against my other hand." He proceeded to teach her the basic Waltz, surely a dance that any dancer would know. She picked up the steps quickly enough, but obviously she wasn't born to dance. Her movements were awkward and jerky, but they continued anyway.
An hour and a half later, she knew the Waltz, the Two-Step and a basic Swing, but couldn't for the life of her figure out the timing of the Tango. "Slow, slow, quick, quick, quick. One, Two, Tan-go, close."
"No, I don't get it! Stop. Let's just give up for now."
"Eames—"
"Bobby." She said warningly. Obviously she was still boiling under the surface. He didn't push it. She wandered into the kitchen, looking for something to drink. She had never expected dancing would be such a workout. Maybe she should take it up—running was not her favorite pastime, to put it mildly. Bobby on the other hand, walked right by the kitchen into her bedroom. Curiosity soon over took Alex and she followed her partner to see what he was doing.
She found him in her closet rummaging through her clothes. "Need some help?"
"Actually, I think you do, Eames. You can't pass as a dancer in jeans, but you don't seem to have many skirts, let alone dresses."
"That's because I don't wear them."
"Well—?"
"What would a beginning dancer wear?"
"Usually she would wear a free-flowing skirt. Match that with a top that allows for movement and comfortable shoes with at least a slight heel and ankle support. The shoes you have. And the top. But—"
"I'll see what my sister has. What time would we leave?"
"I'll come by at 7:30."
"See you then." Bobby left Alex sitting on the side of her bed with a glass of ice water in her hand. Was this…? No, wait. What is this? Bobby doing a stakeout, even one that required action, without Deakins' consent? That wasn't like him. Bobby might be impulsive, but it wasn't like him to jump into something like this without backup. She let the matter drop. Sometimes not knowing what went on in his head was safer for everyone. She grabbed her coat and keys and headed off to her sister's house, leaving her ice water on her bedside table in the last rays of the day's sunlight.
A/N: Yay! You're right, D'Onofrio did play Edgar in MIB. And I found out today that he's in Ed Wood, yet another reason I need to see that movie… ;)