Alex Eames studied her partner. They'd been partners for over a year now, and they had settled into a comfortable routine with each other. They had just closed their most recent case, but he was still studying a file with that odd intensity of his. Dotting the 'i's and crossing the 't's. That's what Bobby Goren did after every case, making sure they had not missed anything. He was certainly unorthodox, but there was something intriguing about him as well. And something familiar. Ever since Deakins had introduced them, she had a sense that there was something about him she should know, almost a memory, but she'd never met him before. No, she would remember if she had. He was not a person easily forgotten. She had been apprehensive at first, unsure about him and his odd behavior, but somewhere along the way, she had come to truly like him. Somehow, they had become friends.

Sensing he was being watched, he looked up at her. "Something wrong?"

"No. I was just thinking. Sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"It's ok, Eames. I'm used to being stared at."

He turned his attention back to his file. She thought about his comment. No one understood him, but she was beginning to. His leaps of logic were less confounding to her lately, and she was beginning to trust his judgment. She trusted him with her life; the leap to trusting his judgment wasn't so far. Early on, she hadn't been sure about him at all. She'd heard the rumors about him before Deakins made her his partner. Now she knew they weren't true, and the ones that touched the truth were greatly exaggerated. She wasn't sure exactly when they had moved from partners to friends, but she was glad they had. She felt a genuine, deep affection for her gentle partner.

"Goren?" He looked up. "Are you busy tonight?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Uh, not particularly. Why?"

"Well, we've finished this case, except for the paperwork, and it's Friday, and I, um, I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to grab a bite to eat, or a beer, or something before we go home."

He looked amused and then he smiled. "Sure, Eames," he replied good-naturedly. "I-I'd like that."

She smiled back at him before returning to her paperwork. They had spent lots of off-duty time together working cases at her apartment or his over take-out. But dinner and drinks? This would be interesting. The one thing she could say for certain about him; he was nothing like what she had expected. She was very pleased that her father had been right: you can't believe everything you hear. His advice had been to give Goren a chance. Now she was glad she did.

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She looked across the booth at him as she finished her burger. They were relaxed and enjoying each other's company; she knew Bobby was charming, but he was fun, too. She reached across the table and snatched a french fry from his plate. "Hey," he protested with a laugh.

She smiled at him. "Bobby, do you remember...when we first became partners, I told you that you were different?"

He looked thoughtful, searching his memory for the details of the conversation. "I asked you if that was a good thing."

"And I told you to ask me again in six months."

"Ok, Eames, I'll bite. Is it a good thing?"

She reached toward him and laid her hand on his. "Yes, it is. It's a very good thing."

He looked at her hand, then back at her face. "I'm glad to hear that."

"Now tell me what you think of me."

"What I think of you?"

"It's only fair. You know what I think of you."

"N-no, I don't. You think it's...good that I'm weird. That's all I know."

She laughed and squeezed his hand. "Not weird. Different. Ok, to be fair...I think you are brilliant, and intense, and yes, sometimes, weird. But that's good."

"It is?"

"Yes, it is," she assured him. He smiled, eyes slightly closed. She looked down as he gently rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. "Ok, now it's your turn," she challenged.

He sighed, looking down at where her hand rested in his, and he continued to gently move his thumb back and forth. What to say? Say too much and she's liable to head for the hills. Don't say enough and she'll think you don't trust her. Half the words that came to mind, he couldn't tell her, not without the risk of driving her off. You just don't friggin' tell your partner she's sexy. So he opted for safe words. "You're tough and independent, a good cop, with good instincts. I...I trust you."

"Trust me how? To back you up?" He had to know by now that was something she would always do.

Trust...she had no idea, but that was the highest compliment he could have paid her. "That...and I trust you with...me. I don't trust people, Eames, but I've come to trust you."

"And trust is a big deal for you." He nodded, withdrawing his hand and leaning back in the booth. He picked up his glass and finished off his drink. He was tense now, and she didn't understand why. "Have I upset you?"

"No. I'm ok." He signaled for another drink, then looked at her. "You didn't upset me. Maybe someday I'll be able to explain it to you. My trust is not easily earned, and you are one of only a handful of people who have it."

"Me, and who else? Your parents..." She stopped when a dark shadow settled in his eyes. She knew his mother had schizophrenia, but she knew few details. She grew up taking for advantage a world where parents were good people their children could love and trust. The look in his eyes told her his childhood had been less than idyllic, and she sensed she was stepping into forbidden territory.

"No, not my parents." He was done. Either they changed the subject, or he was going to leave.

She saw the restlessness stir in him, and she knew what it meant. He was shutting down, something she had gotten used to. Whenever she tried to get something personal from him, he might give her a glimpse, but then he shut down and he wouldn't give her any more. And that's what was happening now. It was so incredibly difficult to get close to him, but she was determined to do it. The harder he made it, the more she tried. She was well aware that she had to go very slowly, chipping away at his armor a tiny bit at a time. Eventually, it would crumble, and she was very patient with him. She sensed he hid a very painful past, and she knew it was just a matter of time, probably a lot of time, before he would share it with her. She said, "I'm sorry. I did not mean to touch on a sensitive subject. Not tonight."

He tilted his head and looked at her. She respected his feelings, and she wasn't ready to pack it in...yet. He glanced at the waitress with a nod when she brought two more drinks. He took a swallow and, with a slight smile, answered, "Saving it for another time?" She was relieved to see him relax. The darkness left his eyes as he forced away the unrest caused by the previous discussion. "So...you like kids, don't you?"

She laughed. "I do. I love kids..."

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She could get him to laugh, something he didn't usually do, not like this. It wasn't the laugh he often forced in the interrogation room, the one that made nervous suspects even more nervous. It was a warm, genuine laugh, and she liked the sound of it. She knew he was well on his way to inebriation, and he was more relaxed than she had ever seen him. She sincerely hoped he would one day--one day soon--be comfortable enough with her to be like this without needing a gutful of booze to get there. He was beginning to get that dull, unfocused look...she studied him closely. There was something very familiar about that look on his face...and her mind suddenly returned to a cold, December night, now long past. A tall junkie in a dark alley, a teen hooker whose life was saved that night, a pair of beautiful eyes she swore she'd never forget... She remembered the unfocused look of the stoned junkie he had pretended to be, until he made the mistake of looking directly into her eyes, and she had seen the truth...

"Oh, my God..." she whispered. It was his eyes...that was what had been nagging her all this time, what was so very familiar about him...it was his eyes.

He looked confused, trying to think of what he could possibly have done to trouble her. "What? What's wrong?"

"That was you."

"What was me?"

"A couple of years ago, when I was working vice, we were after a prostitute killer. I was keeping an eye on a new girl, a kid who never belonged on the streets to begin with, trying to keep her out of trouble until I could convince her to go home. She was convinced to leave that night, but not by me. It was a junkie who saved her from her first john...another cop. A cop who really did risk his life to protect her." He remembered; she could see it in his eyes. "That junkie, who wasn't a junkie at all...that was you."

He tilted his head and smiled at her. "You made me...that almost never happened. You've always been smart."

"I made you only because you weren't stoned."

He laughed. "I never made it a habit of muddling my mind when I was after a mark."

"Is your mind ever muddled?"

"Occasionally." Like now, he added to himself. Another thought forced its way through to the surface of his mind. "What happened to her, Eames? That girl?"

"I told her what you did for her. She decided on her own that if you could risk your cover and your life for her, the least she could do was get off the streets. She wanted to know who you were, but I had no way to find you. We found an aunt and uncle who took her in, because the abuse at home was so bad, and they have been kind and loving to her. This one had a happy ending, and she's doing great."

"You talk to her?"

"Two or three times a year, maybe."

He nodded. "Tell her I said hello. I'm glad she got off the streets...before something bad happened to her."

"That was a good thing you did, you know."

He shook his head, looking down into his glass. "I was doing my job. You know: to serve and protect."

"If you'd blown your cover..."

He knew what that could have meant better than she did; he'd seen it happen. "But I didn't. I'm glad she's doing well."

"Sometimes what we do does make a difference."

"That's why we keep doing it, Eames."

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He propped up his head on his hand, resting his elbow on the table, and he watched her. He knew he'd had way too much to drink, and he was having some trouble pulling her into focus. He had been very careful over the last fifteen months not to let his thoughts dwell on his partner too much, but now, watching her across the booth from him, that was exactly where his thoughts were: on her. And it hit him like a ton of bricks...somewhere along the way, somehow, he had fallen in love with her. He couldn't say when it had happened, or how...but it had, dammit. How the hell could he have let this happen? And what the hell was he going to do about it? Suppress it and ignore it, that's what. He finally had a partner he liked, who seemed to like him in return. At the very least, she was willing to remain his partner, and she really did work well with him. He was free to let his mind make its connections, and she was able to follow him, most of the time. And when she couldn't, it was only a matter of time before it clicked for her. In the meantime, she gave him the space and the time he needed to get where he was going. And he could always depend on her to bring others up to speed, so he didn't have to stop and back up, which he hated to do. So he had to ignore these feelings...God, he hated his life sometimes. He'd had enough. It was time to go home. "Can I walk you home, Eames?"

She wasn't nearly as drunk as he was. Too drunk to drive, yes. Too drunk to find her way home, no. "How about I walk you home? Then I'll know you made it to the right place."

He laughed. "How drunk do you think I am?"

"Maybe too drunk to get home safely."

"I doubt that. I'll take a cab from your place if that'll make you feel better."

"How about crashing on my couch instead?"

He raised his eyebrows at that. "You trust me to spend the night?"

"You're my partner...and my friend. Besides, if you can trust me, why shouldn't I trust you?"

She was right. Regardless of how he truly felt, she was off limits to him. He would never risk their partnership; it had taken him far too long to find her. "All right. If that's what you want."

She was used to his concession. Over the last few months, she'd noticed that he would defer to her wishes almost every time. The only exception was when he felt strongly about a case. Then she was the one who usually gave in. If nothing else, he knew how to choose his battles.

She slid out of the booth and then watched him get out of the booth and try to stand. He was more than a little wobbly. "I can't carry you, Goren," she warned.

He laughed. "No need...just steer."

He pulled out his wallet to pay for their drinks and it slid through his fingers onto the floor. "Don't..." she started. Too late. When he bent over to pick it up, he started to topple. She grabbed him, shoving him into the table to keep from ending up on the ground beneath him. She was certain having over 200 pounds of drunk cop on top of her would not be very pleasant. Now if he were sober, and they were in a different environment...she frowned. Where the hell had that thought come from? He caught enough of the table to keep himself from hitting the floor. "I'll get your wallet, Goren. You hold the table up, ok?"

"Right." She picked it up and placed it in his hands. "Thanks," he muttered. He opened it, pulling out the cash he had in it and trying to focus on the denominations. "Uh, Eames..."

"Yeah, I've got it."

She took the bills from his hand, counted out enough to cover their tab and handed the remaining bills back to him. "You leave a tip?"

She slid another bill from his hand and watched him try to get the bills back into his wallet. "Good grief," she grumbled, taking the wallet and bills from his hands. She placed the bills back in their place, closed the wallet and slid it back into his pocket.

He knew he was trashed, but when she slid the wallet into his pocket he caught his breath. Damn. He made a mental note not to get drunk with her again, but that note would flitter away into oblivion when sobriety returned. She took his arm and said, "Let's go. Think you can make it without kissing the pavement?"

He could think of something else he would much rather kiss, but that would probably end up being more painful than the pavement when she decked him. "I'll give it a try," he answered with a lopsided grin.

"Great," she muttered. "Let's go."

It wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. The cool night air sobered him enough to keep him on his feet. He couldn't walk a straight line, but at least he could walk in one direction accurately, more or less. He was in a good mood, and she was glad for that. She'd seen too many angry and depressed drunks. It felt good to drink and laugh for a change. She knew there were times when he could be moody, but since he'd started off feeling good, that mood had carried through the night, for the most part.

He started having more trouble as they got to her apartment. She worried about the stairs; the damn elevator was out and she lived on the second floor. Twice on the way up, she'd had to shove, hard, to keep him from toppling over backwards. She breathed a sigh of relief when she propelled him away from the stairs. Propping him against the wall, she pulled out her keys and opened the door. "Are you going to get sick?" she asked him.

He looked confused. "No."

"Well, if your stomach changes its mind, you know where the bathroom is. I'll get you a pillow and a blanket."

"Eames?" She looked at him. "Thanks."

She smiled. "Any time, partner."

He collapsed onto the couch, watching with interest as the room spun around him. He was barely aware of anything when she returned and set the pillow against the armrest. She pressed him down onto the pillow. By the time she covered him with the blanket, he was out. She smiled at him. He spent his days watching out for her; she knew he did. If a suspect got too close, he intervened. If one flirted with her, which happened often, he bristled and stood ready to step in if the man got out of hand. He did everything he could to protect her without making it obvious he was doing it. She was happy she could finally repay him by taking care of him for a change. On impulse, she kissed his forehead. "Good night, Bobby," she whispered. She headed down the hall to her bedroom.