A/N: Okay...this one is for raz0r.girl, who wanted to see the first night Bobby remembered. What can of worms have I opened now:-) Anyway, this is another Choices missing scene. Chapter one takes place at the end of Choices' chapter 14: Frustration. Chapter two takes place in the middle of chapter 15: Right and Wrong. After I finished chapter one, I realized I had to go on and take it through the next part, with Ricky and his friends. So I began work on chapter two.

Love that we cannot have is the one that lasts the longest, hurts the deepest and feels the strongest.
----author unknown
Logan and Barek had gone, and Eames was sitting in the easy chair in Goren's living room. He came out of the kitchen with two coffee cups, handing one to her. "You staying the night?"

"If it's ok with you."

"Sure. You can have the bed."

She set her cup on the coffee table and moved to sit beside him on the couch. "Bobby, what's going on?"

He was quiet, looking into his coffee, searching for just what to say. "What the hell are we going to do, Eames?"

"About what?"

"About you. You know, I honestly never meant to cause you any trouble."

"When do you ever cause me trouble? You aggravate me sometimes…"

"Not that kind of trouble. The kind of trouble you deal with every day at home."

"Is that what's been bothering you?"

"It always bothers me. I never meant…"

"You don't. Look, the problem isn't you; it's him. I thought he understood how it was when we got married. I was wrong…and that's my fault. You are probably the only faultless one in this triangle."

"I never meant for there to be a triangle."

"But there is, whether you want it or not. I really don't want to talk about this right now."

"We have to talk about it. We've been trying to ignore it for three years, and I don't know about you, but I…" He broke off, frustrated and angry.

"Just let me deal with it, ok? I've been dealing with his insecurity since we left for Bermuda…"

He frowned darkly. "On your honeymoon?"

She nodded. He had no idea it had started way back then. She really had been dealing with this for her entire marriage. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

She looked at him. From everyone else, she got 'why do you stay?' From him, she got an apology. "Never apologize to me because my husband's an ass, Goren. This isn't your problem…"

"Not my problem?" He got up, agitated. His frustration and anger boiled over. "How the hell can you say that? I see you every morning and I know you didn't sleep well the night before. Your little girl spends more time with your dad than she does with you. I watch this eating at you, and damn it, Eames, it kills me. And there's not a damn thing I can do to fix it. Not one damn thing."

She got off the couch and walked to him, placing her hands on his chest and pushing him roughly into the wall. Pulling his head toward her, she kissed him hard. He turned her so that she was against the wall and stepped back, out of breath and confused. "I can't…"

"The hell you can't."

"This isn't going to fix anything."

"Speak for yourself, Goren. I need you, damn it."

He leaned toward her so he could look her directly in the eye. "You're married, Eames. It's not my place to…"

She kissed him again, softly this time. "Let me decide what your place is in my life." She caressed his hair, letting her lips tease his. "If there is a chance for any happiness in my life, it's not going to be in my marriage. It's going to be right here."

As much as he had fought over the past three years to keep from stepping into this exact situation, he now found no way out of it. Right now her intensity rivaled his at its peak, and there was no chance for him to step away. She wasn't going to let him. And truth be told, he simply did not want to.

Her lips continued to tease his. He closed his eyes, but did not pull away. What the hell was he doing? He wasn't the one against the wall; he had no excuse for staying where he was. He really should pull away, retreat...

Her hands slowly unbuttoned his shirt and still, he didn't withdraw. He let her have her way as his buttons slid free under her fingers and her lips continued to caress his. When her hands slid into his shirt, he groaned, deepening the kiss and pulling her closer. She's married, you idiot, his conscience tried to tell him. Step away.

But his heart, the seat of his passion and raging emotions, forced him closer, coaxed him to slip his tongue past her lips and move his hands to slide under her shirt. By the time they got to the bedroom door, both of their shirts were on the hall floor. His mind battled his heart for control of his body. It was a fierce battle, but there was a clear winner. He'd deal with the loser in the morning.

Her bra dropped onto the floor just before they crossed into the bedroom. His fingers undid her jeans with practiced speed as his belt and the button and zipper of his own jeans slid open beneath her hands. By the time he lowered her onto the bed, the rest of their clothes lay in a heap on the floor.

She looked up into his smoldering eyes as her fingers traced their way across his shoulders, then down along his sides and back up. He trembled.

Over the past few years, sex had become almost clinical to him; he never put his heart or soul into the act. He made certain his partner was well-satisfied, but sought only physical release for himself. But this...this was very different. Right about now was the point where his emotions shut down but no such thing was happening with her. Instead they went the other way, rising within him to the point of boiling. Here there was real passion fueled to capacity by the power of love.

Her voice sounded in his mind as he kissed her. Let me decide what your place is in my life... So far, it was a very good place...

You won't think so in the morning, his rational mind told him, only to be shot down by his emotions which were now running on overload.

Screw tomorrow. I don't care about tomorrow, or next month, or next year. I care about now...and now feels pretty damn good!

It wasn't often he was able to turn off his mind, but when she began using her tongue to play with his ear and running her hands lightly down his back to his waist, where they lingered, taunting and teasing, he didn't register another word his conscience uttered. His only concern was this woman beneath him...this woman he dearly loved and desperately wanted.

She gasped into his ear when he slid inside and he trembled at the sound. She arched her back up, thrusting her hips toward him, then easing off, continuing to tease and driving him nuts. He was the one who should be in charge, setting the pace. In this dance of two lovers, he expected to lead. But, as in everything, she took him by surprise as she thrust her hips upward again. This time he met her halfway and another tremble coursed through his body. She raked her nails up his sides and he caught his breath. Oh, God...he didn't think it possible but his emotions kicked up another notch. He was so not used to this. Always, he was the one who led this particular dance, set the pace, adjusted for depth and pressure...but she wasn't waiting for that. Always, he was in control of the situation and himself. Now he'd lost touch with both. He dipped his head to kiss her; she took his breath away.

He adjusted his pace to match hers, stroke for stroke, until they both reached the edge and, with one final hard thrust against him, she drove them both over. He pressed into her with a shudder and a moan, which she matched. His arms gave out and he shifted so as not to land on top of her. Kissing her temple, he whispered,"Forgive me, but I love you."

She laughed huskily, not in any mood to even approach annoyance. "Don't make it sound like an apology. You're allowed to love me, Bobby. I love you, too."

How could the three sweetest words in the language--I love you--possibly bring so much pain? It was reassuring that she did reciprocate his love, but that just made it hurt worse to realize it could not be like this all the time. It couldn't be like this ever. But he pushed his thoughts away and once again shut out the rational part of his brain. The hell with it! Tonight, just for one damn night, he was going to love her without guilt. He would deal with it tomorrow, when it came back to hit him ferociously, but for tonight, and only tonight, she was his. He almost wished he was drunk, so he could blame his failure to control his damn self on alcohol. But he wasn't. He was stone cold sober and had consciously made this decision to let her step away from her marriage and into his arms, just for a few hours...and then never again.

He was content to hold her for awhile, then he pulled her body against his. Now it was his turn to lead. He began with a gentle caress, feather-light, starting at her shoulders and flitting its way down to her thighs and back. Her body trembled and she laughed. He had never heard a laugh like that from her before, and it set his insides on fire. He continued his light caress, igniting the fire in her as well, even though he avoided the most sensitive areas of her body. Apparently, he made his point as she arched toward him, pressing her body, and particularly her hips, hard against him. With a hungry kiss, he let one hand alight on her breasts--first one, then the other--and she gasped and groaned all in one sound. He could feel his emotions building to match the tension in his body. But he still held back, his body shaking with the effort. She didn't seem to know what to do with her hands...she seemed to forget how to breathe, how to talk...all she could manage was a deep moan and agasp when his other hand found its mark. Her hands seemed to be everywhere, uncertain of exactly where they needed to be or what they needed to be doing.

Three times he teased her to the edge, coming damn close himself the last time. He backed way off...and she whispered a gutteral threat into his ear that made him laugh softly. Okay, then...time to take it home, and he did, masterfully, for both of them.

Physically and emotionally spent and deeply satisfied, he barely managed to whisper "I love you" before he drifted off to sleep. His brain was still in shut down mode. Not in his wildest imagination or his most intense dreams had he ever thought anything could feel that good. He had been dreaming about this for years but his dreams never even came close to reality. There was no denying now, for either of them, the love--and the despair--that was theirs to share. At some level they both knew this could not happen again as long as she remained married to another. She knew he wouldn't let it; he knew that he couldn't let it. He had lost his heart to her long ago. Now she owned his soul as well. And he couldn't do a damn thing about it.