The Courthouse

Chapter Three: The Way Back

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: "In the Wee Small Hours" (aired November 6, 2005)

Pairing: Bobby/Alex

Disclaimer: NBC and Mr. Wolf have complete ownership over the Law & Order shows. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed. The first snippet is "Unwell" by Matchbox 20; the second and third snippet are from "Breathe (2AM)" by Anna Nalick.

Author's Note: I was going through my old ramblings when I found this final chapter to 'Courthouse' that I never did get around to finishing or posting. With a bit of polishing and tweaking, I can finally say that this story is complete. Thank you for your patience. I've only occasionally watched L&O:CI, so I'm not completely sure about the canon. I also didn't have a chance to tape "In the Wee Small Hours" so I'm working from memory. So please excuse any of my errors (and drop me a note about them). Thank you.

Alexandra Eames was never one to run from a battle, be it a clash of wills with her stubborn, mule-headed partner or an argument with Carver over their latest case or a full-out firefight with the out-of-favor underlings of the local Mafia family. She simply did not have the gene that allowed her to turn tail and hide from her problems. No. But she did occasionally beat a graceful, tactical retreat when she needed to recuperate her energy and organize her scattered thoughts.

Today was one of those days. She didn't know how she managed to get out of the courthouse and into her car after Bobby had walked away from her, recognizing both of their need to get some time alone. She was out on the congested streets of the city, driving aimlessly, trying to pain in her chest and the tears that wouldn't stop.

She turned on the radio, unused to having silence in the car. There had always been Bobby's presence by her side, either murmuring to himself or just thinking. It had taken a while, but now, most of the time she felt like she could hear his thoughts on a case when he sat by her side. She knew how to read him now; never as well as he could read her — the man was a genius profiler, after all — but she didn't do too badly. She knew when a case was bothering him more than usual, when he needed to just get drunk (usually, she would recruit Logan for that task), when he needed a hard kick in the rear, or when he just needed to be left alone to sort things out.

I'm not crazy. I'm just a little impaired; I know right now, you don't care.
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see a different side of me….

She didn't know what made her stay after their first case together. Alex was by no means an easy mark, but she could tell that he was trying, seriously trying, to make her feel involved in the case. She didn't know how to explain it either, but somehow, she also just knew that he knew he was failing and that was frustrating the hell out of him.

She had stayed, just based on her gut instinct that had served her so well in Vice, and learned: first impressions rarely tell the whole story. It had taken him about a year before he began to really open up to her. It had been a gradual progression as he learned to trust her, from acknowledging her presence while he was thinking to bouncing ideas off of her to listening to what she had to say.

A sad smile touched her lips. She didn't know when she had started to care for him. But from one day to the next, Alex woke up one day and realized that she wanted to stay with Bobby. She didn't want another partner. She was his shield against a world that didn't appreciate or understand him. He had struggled against his fears for so long; she was his reprieve, and she found that she didn't mind. When he could have just easily dismissed her as a pretty face like many of their suspects and the majority of her former colleagues did, he respected her knowledge and person. With his vast intelligence, it would have been easy for him to look down at her, but he treated her as an equal in almost every way he could. She stopped at a traffic light and dried her eyes.

She switched stations as the song came to an end and the hourly bulletin come on. She didn't want to hear the latest breaking news at the moment.

Here in town you can tell he's been down for a while,
But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles, wanna hold him.
Maybe I'll just sing about it.

She glared at the radio. What was this? Some sort of Heavenly interference with her life! While the rest of her fumed at this perceived violation of free will, the part of her mind that was always aware of her mental state sighed in exasperation. When she started thinking illogically, she definitely needed more sleep. The case was running her ragged. And it really was not a proper time to try and sort out her feelings for Bobby, whether or not they were just partners who were close friends, or if she was suffering from a full-blown crush on that infuriatingly understanding, yet, at times, incomprehensible man.

There's a light at each end of this tunnel,
You shout, 'cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out
And these mistakes you've made,
You'll just make them again if you only try turning around.

She closed her eyes. Her practical self whispered that she couldn't change the past. It wasn't possible for her to go back five years and tell her foolish, naïve self to rip up that damned letter. The stupid letter could have cost her everything…. The only thing she could do now was to apologize to her partner and pray that he would forgive her. If he didn't, she didn't know what she would do.

Over the years, the two of them had become one and she didn't want it any other way now. She could recall the first case she worked with him, how cold and distant he was. It was his defense mechanism against a world that had dealt him a bad hand: outright genius with a gentle soul who had survived an unstable, horrendous childhood. It was probably after their eighth case together that she had written that damn letter. Deakins had asked her to wait a week, and then handed the two of them their next case. It was that investigation that made her see Bobby as human, as someone who silently cared about all his partners, even if he didn't take the pains to show it.

"Eames?" She looked up and mentally sighed. He was standing too close to her again. It didn't make her uncomfortable — he was too much of a gentleman for that — but it did make her vaguely uneasy.

"Sorry, what?" she asked, realizing that she had inadvertently blocked out his voice a few moments before. He looked down at her, a slight frown on his features, as he replied, "I said, I've got the address for Carl Verstegen. It's in the Bronx."

"Oh, okay," she stood up, feeling ashamed for ignoring her partner. Even though he was strange, it didn't excuse her rudeness. "Do you want to drive?" she offered in a conciliatory gesture. She didn't trust his concentration while driving, but she was feeling adventurous. At least, that's what she told herself.

He shook his head, his attention on some papers in his portfolio, and she breathed an inner sigh of relief. In silence, they made their way to the elevators and down into the parking lot. He didn't say much as they drove to the address. She didn't make small talk either. She had learned quickly that he never was interested in it. He didn't really seem interested in anything, really. Not women, not drugs, not alcohol, not sports, not politics, not art; nothing really, except maybe his books and his job. She had never seen anyone so invested in their job before. It was almost as if he never left the office: always there before she came in at seven, still there when she left at six. She didn't really know what do make of him. He was a puzzle, that was for sure.

But definitely a gentleman of sorts, she added to her mental case file that was labeled 'Detective Robert Goren' when she saw him waiting for her on the sidewalk so the two of them could walk up to Verstegen's apartment together.

They had made their way up to and into the apartment without incident. Bobby started the interview with his usual questions while she idly took in the furnishings, building a likely profile of Verstegen's lifestyle. Before she knew that they were designed to either put the suspect at ease or make them uncomfortable, she had thought Bobby's questions were haphazardly asked and utterly random. She doesn't remember precisely why Verstegen's control snapped. Maybe Bobby had asked the wrong, or right, question. Maybe it was because the suspect realized that she had spotted his marijuana plant, poorly disguised as a normal potted plant, in a corner of the living room. But either way, their suspect charged Bobby who smoothly stepped out of the way, letting Verstegen run into the wall behind him.

He pulled Verstegen, moaning indecipherably, to his feet as she stepped forward with her handcuffs in hand. How he did it, or why he did it, she would probably never know. A part of her was fuming that he had taken such a risk without warning her, endangering both of their lives. What the hell was he thinking? What if Verstegen had been armed when he had snapped? He could have shot both of them before they could draw their weapons. Caught up in her inner rant, she didn't hear the approaching footsteps behind her until it was nearly too late.

"Eames!" Her partner pushed her towards the wall, out of the path of the knife-wielding woman who was charging from behind. She stumbled, inadvertently pushing Carl Verstegen to the ground again. The woman, screaming obscenities, tried to stab her partner. Pushing herself off of the ground, she drew her weapon, but her partner yelled, "Don't, Eames!" A moment later, he had twisted the woman's arm around behind her back, forcing her to drop the knife. Pinning Verstegen's girlfriend between his body and the wall, he glanced at her.

Without a word, she holstered her service weapon and reached toward the small of his back, where regulations stated detectives had to carry their handcuffs. After she had finished restraining the woman who was still screaming, he lowered the woman gently onto the floor. Kicking the knife far out of reach of both of their suspects, he worked quickly to pick up his scattered papers and his dropped leather portfolio while she called for backup.

There was a silence between the two of them, but it wasn't a completely uncomfortable quiet. Something had changed about their relationship, but she was too shaken to really think about it at the moment. Her mind was occupied with reliving one of the worse moments of her life. She leaned against the wall; her head tilting back to stare sightlessly at the ceiling. With a screaming background to accompany her thoughts, it was all too easy to remember the chaos of the emergency room and the doctor, still wearing his blood-splattered scrubs, his expression sorrowful, coming…

"Eames," he called quietly after he directed the uniforms to the suspects. "Eames, are you okay?" He put a cautious hand on her arm. She nodded, still trembling slightly. Her husband had been knifed in the back by a druggie. If the junkie had stabbed him just an inch higher or to the right, he would be alive today and they would have been celebrating their fifth anniversary in a few weeks. She hadn't heard the approaching woman, hadn't noticed her at all until her partner had called out the warning and shoved her out of the way. He had saved her, even if it was just from a minor trip to the hospital, and that counted for something. She blinked at his hand, noticing a trickle of blood running down his arm.

"You're hurt," she said, her mind quickly banishing her memories of her husband and her misgivings about her partner to a dusty corner. She took a firm hold on his arm and twisted it gently to see the extent of the damage. A long, bleeding gash ran from his elbow to wrist. It didn't look too deep, but it wasn't just a nick either. "Come on, I'll drive you to St. Vincent's."

"No, it's—"

"No, it's not fine," she said, interrupting him for the first time in their six-month partnership. "And the Captain wouldn't appreciate it if I let you bleed out. Crime Scene wouldn't like us either." He gave her an odd look before sighing in resignation, "Lead the way."

After they closed that case, it wasn't like there was an instantaneous rapport of understanding between the two of them. There were still hurdles to be worked out, but their relationship began to thaw out. She knew that he could be trusted to watch her back as she watched his and he learned that her biting wit and sharp mind was just as good of a match to his intelligence. The next case they worked together, he let her join him in the questioning and began to teach her why he asked the questions he did. They had learned a lot from each other, and she didn't want to stop.

Without thinking about, she found herself pulling into One PP's parking lot. She found her usual space and sighed heavily as she shut off the ignition. After taking a moment to make sure there was no incriminating evidence of her tears on her face, she got out of the car and headed for the squad room. She couldn't avoid him forever.

After getting out of the elevator, she walked to their desks and sat down cautiously at hers, oddly not seeing her partner anywhere in the bullpen. It was unusual and a growing pit of unease took up residence in her stomach. Then a cup of Starbucks coffee appeared in front of her, put there by a very familiar large hand that was connected to an Armani clad-arm. She looked up, surprised. He smiled at her as he handed her a large, warm chocolate chip cookie.

"We still have a lot to do," he said by way of explanation. But the shy smile he gave her as he sat down at his desk across from her told Alex that all was forgiven. Her uneasiness melted away and she grinned back.

They were partners for life. Nothing, and no one, in the world was going to change that.