A/N: Here it is: more talk, BA ship and fluff, for those who want/need it!

Eames drove her partner home the night of the stakeout. They were going to have dinner, then head to St. Cecelia's. "I hope you've been shopping," she said. "I saw what was in your fridge and I don't think a hard-boiled egg and a bottle of beer is going to cut it."

He tried not to smile. "I have milk if you don't want beer."

"You'd better not be serious, Goren."

He laughed softly. "How does chicken marsala sound?"

She stared at him. "Are you teasing me?"

"I know better. Yes, I went shopping. I know you like Italian and I know you like chicken. And I can cook."

"Finally, the man of my dreams."

He laughed again as she parked near his building. She got a small case out of the back seat and they went up to his apartment. He looked at her, eyes bright with amusement. "I'd tell you to make yourself at home…"

He smiled and shrugged at the look in her eyes, then hurried into the kitchen. She grinned to herself. He was in a good mood…he felt confident about catching the killer tonight. She shared his confidence, if not his enthusiasm.

She sat on the couch and looked around the living room. Tonight was the first time in too long that case files had not exploded all over the place. She almost forgot how neat and tidy this room usually was. His was certainly not the apartment that came to mind when the term 'bachelor pad' was used. Of course, he spent relatively little time here…most of the time he was with her, chasing suspects and solving cases. And she realized how much she loved her life…because he was in it. She picked up a magazine from the coffee table and leafed through it until he called her to eat. He set a plate in front of her. "If we weren't going on a stakeout, I'd give you wine. Coffee will have to do."

"Wow, Bobby, this smells great…when did you learn to cook like this?"

"I started learning to cook…when I was a teenager, out of necessity."

"Well, if it tastes half as good as it smells, you'll have a fan for life."

He tilted his head at her, a half-smile on his face. "I thought I already did."

She just gave him a look that made him laugh. Setting a cup of coffee by her plate, he sat across from her. She studied him while they ate. He didn't look as fatigued as he had been. They had almost finished dinner when she ventured to ask, "Have you been sleeping better?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I sleep, just not very well."

"Is it the case?"

"Mostly."

"Mostly? Ok, I'll bite. What else do you dream about?"

He looked at her, surprised. "What makes you think I dream?"

"Everyone dreams, Bobby. Even geniuses."

Now what? He couldn't tell her that he dreamed about her. When he took her from his dreams, what did he have left? Nightmares. That's what. "You don't want to go there, Alex. My dreams are not a place for someone like you." That wasn't quite true, either. She was there. But that wasn't something he wanted her to find out.

"Someone like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't get mad. I just think you deserve better than what's in my head." He paused for a moment, but she wasn't going to change the subject. He sighed. "My dreams are filled with John Tagmans and Dan Croydens. When I go to sleep, that's who I see." When I don't see you, he added in his mind.

Now she didn't quite know what to say. When she asked the question, she expected a more typical answer. She forgot who she was talking to. She knew he was haunted by his memories…why would they not spill over into his dreams? "I'm sorry, Bobby. I should have known. I wish there was something I could do."

There was…and she did it every night. When he drifted off, and the nightmares began, they would often be chased away by dreams of her…dreams of them…dreams that would never become reality…oh, great…now he was depressed. "Forget it, Eames. How could you have known? Just enjoy your dinner."

"I didn't mean to upset you. Who would have thought talking about dreams would cause a problem?"

His face relaxed into an affectionate smile, one of her favorites. "There's no problem." He looked toward the kitchen. "It's getting late. We need to get ready."

He got up from the table, placed his empty plate and coffee cup in the sink and headed back to the bedroom. She still felt badly for upsetting him. She finished the last of her dinner, very impressed with how well he could cook. Usually, when one of them made dinner, it was something simple and hard to screw up, like spaghetti. Even her brother, who couldn't heat a can of soup, could make spaghetti. She set her dishes in the sink with his and headed back to his room. The door was slightly ajar. "Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

She pushed the door open. He'd changed into a pair of black jeans and was pulling on a black t-shirt. His Kevlar vest was on the bed; hers was down in the car. "Bobby, are you all right? I didn't mean to upset you."

He tucked in his t-shirt and buckled his belt, clipping his badge to it. Checking his gun, he slid it into the holster. Then he picked up his vest, looked at his partner and walked over to where she stood by the door. He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face up toward his. "I'm fine. Promise. You didn't upset me. Now we have a killer to catch, so don't worry about me."

She held his eyes, not wanting to look away. She managed a small smile. "If you're sure," she said softly.

He leaned closer, gently kissing her, lingering long enough to let her know it was more than a friendly kiss. "I'm sure. You'd better get ready."

His thumb caressed the line of her jaw for a moment longer before he stepped away and left the room. She stood there for a minute before she rested her fingers on her lips and looked after him, wondering what the hell had just happened. He appeared in the doorway with her bag. "Something wrong?"

She took the bag. "No, nothing."

He smiled at her, then pulled the door closed and went into the living room. He dropped into the easy chair. Why had he done that? It had just seemed the right thing to do. He'd been wanting to do that for longer than he could remember, but he had to admit his timing sucked. She hadn't seemed upset…in fact, she seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. He took it as a good sign that she hadn't punched him. Maybe there was hope that his dreams were not all in vain…

She came out of the bedroom, dressed in a dark sleeveless shirt and pants. She dropped her bag onto the couch and looked at him. "Ready?"

He nodded. "Let's go bag ourselves a killer."

He opened the door, waiting for her to go first. "Uh, Alex, back in the bedroom…"

She stopped in front of him and looked straight up into his eyes. "Goren, if you apologize for kissing me, I swear I will kick your ass."

Sliding her hand behind his head, she pulled him down and kissed him, hard. Then she released him just as quickly and headed out the door. She got almost to the elevator before she realized he wasn't behind her. "Are you coming or not?"

He stepped out into the hall and shut the door, joining her at the elevator. He didn't say a word. She looked at him sideways and smiled to herself. He deserved that. He had sent her reeling back in the bedroom with that soft kiss, and she wanted more. If he was going to second guess himself, like he often did, that wasn't going to happen, and if he left her hanging like that, she really would kick his ass. So she let him know, in terms he could not misinterpret, that he had done the right thing…and there was more to come.