Goren typed quickly, altering the story where he saw fit. When he was finished with it, though, the story was all of a page long with no plot. It was a far cry from even fan fic standards. He paused, shifting the laptop from his lap onto the bed he had been lying on. He got up, and ran his hand through his hair.

"Bobby?"

"Yeah." He spoke quietly.

Alex appeared, looking the polar opposite of rested. Her hair was a bit messy, and her eyes were bloodshot. She'd been crying.

"Even if Deakins fights for us.." Her voice was almost inaudible, but he heard every damn word.

"Alex.."

"You know it's true. Even if they did let me stay on, which they won't, but even if they did... what would I be? An accessory? It would be an absolute joke. It would never.. it could never.." She shrugged helplessly and shook her head.

"Listen to me." He growled, his hands hovering at her shoulders. "You aren't just a warm body."

"That's not what I'm.."

"Let me finish. I don't really understand why you wouldn't be able to do your job just as well."

"Maybe because we both fell down on the job! This wouldn't have happened if we were competent cops." She spat the words at him, and his shoulders sagged.

"What are you saying, then." He didn't meet her eyes.

"I'm saying ... I'll go on disability. I ... I'll retire."

"You'll be dead within the year," His chin shook slightly and his voice cracked. He turned away from her.

"What are you talking about?"

"This job means just as much to you as it does to me. It's your life. It's our life. I mean, for a different reason.. say you got married or had a kid or something, or just didn't want to deal with scum anymore, then yeah, fine, but because of this? What are you going to do? Watch tv and eat microwave dinners? Sit around feeling sorry for yourself, and mourn the fact that you'll never be able to knit, even if you wanted to?"

"You're a bastard."

"I'm telling the truth, Alex. I don't want to lose you. Professionally or .. or personally. Okay? This is the situation that we're in. I'm fucking working on figuring something out. Something crazy, yes, but still. Short of that, maybe you should consider your responsibility, instead of being so selfish."

"Selfish?" She gaped at him. "I'm being selfish? You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

"If you want to curl up in a ball and mourn the rest of your life, that's your business, but I'll be damned if I'm going to sit here and just agree to it, like it's the most sensible thing in the world. What about me, what about the work we do? What about the responsibility we have to the people in the city?"

"One of them raped me and tried to kill me."

He just shook his head, and sat down, defeated.

"Did you finish it?"

"What?" He looked up, exhausted.

"The story. Did you finish it?"

"No. I don't know what to write."

"You're serious?"

"Yeah. Look, why are we even discussing it? We both know it's stupid."

"How can you not know how to write a fan fic? I read some of them, I mean.. how hard can it be, Bobby?"

"Most of them have to do with high school reunions, amnesia, and various unlikely plots regarding us getting together in various degrees. Some of them even involve us having kids and our own PI firm."

She stared at him, and then snorted, breaking into peals of laughter.

"I'm really glad you find this funny, Alex." He muttered.

"So wait, why can't you write a fan fiction?" She giggled helplessly.

"I dunno.. I write it like a normal day, only easier. Less paper work, absurdly fast cases, with us acting really cocky about it, and impressing everyone."

"We are really cocky." She bit her lip.

"So what, should I fall down a flight of stairs and suddenly develop amnesia, causing you to reveal to me that we have three kids, a house in the suburbs, and that we eloped five years ago without telling anyone?"

"That can't be a real plot," She giggled harder.

"See? Now you're starting to understand what I'm up against, here."

"Can't you just write a relatively tame story? I mean, why not have it be about a real case? Like... Tagman. That would be a great fic. It's like, perfect fic material, actually."

"That's one of the most popular cases discussed. There are a zillion fics dealing with that one."

"Jesus.." She brushed her hair out of her face.

"I could just write something really kinky." He looked up at her.

"Kinky?" Her eyebrows raised.

"Well... you know, something like.. I get really drunk and angry about my mom and a case, and all kinds of other bullshit, and you have to come pick me up at the bar, because I'm becoming politely beligerent,"

"Politely... how does that work?"

"I don't know, ask .. any of the fan fiction authors."

"Okay.. politely beligerent, go on.."

"So I'm at a bar looking miserable, but still attractive -- that's an essential part of the plot,"

"I understand." She nodded, trying to hide a smile.

"And you arrive dressed up like a classy call girl or something,"

"Oh really?" Her eyebrows shot up again.

"Well, okay, maybe a pair of nice jeans and a shirt that's open in the back with all kinds of ties and ribbons and stuff."

She made a face.

"It's one of your more popular outfits.. in the fic world."

"Christ Bobby, how many of these did you read?"

"I have to know my audience. How else do I do that except by reading the fics they write?"

"Okay, okay. Go on."

"So I'm drinking a man drink,"

"A man drink?"

"Scotch, bourbon, beer, whatever. Generally something firey on ice."

"Gotcha."

"And you come in to take me home, and invariably the male bartender hits on you."

"Invariably."

"But you're only there for me, and you notice briefly that I've got my tie off, and my shirt sleeves rolled up revealing my super buff forearms, which you find inexplicably sexy."

"Uh huh."

"And of course I can't walk straight."

"Of course."

"And you have to practically carry me home,"

"Now how do I do that? Do I have some sort of pulley system concealed in my shirt?"

"That would be interesting." He smirked. "But no, we manage through trial and error to walk, or stagger as the case may be, back to my apartment. On the way, though, I manage to pin you to a few brick walls and leer at you, which gets you really hot and bothered."

"Ah. Yes. Brick walls definitely have that effect."

"Apparently. Well, then, we get to my place, and .. you know."

"What, you're gonna leave out the good parts? I'm an invalid. I deserve to hear the good parts."

"Invalid my ... "

"Well?"

"We get it on, but generally after having an argument or something to get us really riled up."

"An argument about what?"

"Oh, anything. A case, a mean remark, whatever."

"Sheesh. It sounds like these things are just riddled with plot devices."

"Much like soap operas. I was kind of surprised."

"Huh."

"Well, anyway, you see my dilemna. I mean, I'd say we should play it safe and go the High School reunion route, but that's been done. Way done."

"Wow. I really can't see you as the type to attend reunions." She looked puzzled.

"Well, I'm not, and I'm not inclined in the fics, either. You are."

"Me? You're kidding, right? I had about as much patience for highschool as I had for frat parties: zero."

"Yeah, well, tell them that. Anyway, the reunion ones weren't all that far fetched."

"Did we make out in them?"

"Yeah."

"Then they're far fetched."

"Do you not remember getting hot and heavy the other night?"

"What, that's suddenly in character, despite all the other decidedly OUT of character shit we've been up to in recent history?"

"Okay, okay.. I left a little kissing in, though. .. In my revision."

"Oh fun."

"Hey, I'm a good kisser."

"Right."

"I am."

"Write the fic, Bobby. Just .. write it." She sighed. "It probably won't make any difference anyway." She smiled slightly.