It had been exactly a year now, and still no contact from Alex except for the cards she sent his mother. He had resolved back when he first moved that he wouldn't push her, that he'd only contact her if she gave him some sign that she wanted to be contacted, but he didn't think he could hold onto that resolution much longer.

As in, much longer than the next thirty seconds, he admitted to himself as, as if of their own volition, his left hand grabbed a pen and his right hand opened his portfolio to a blank page.

Dear Alex, he wrote, telling himself as he did it that she didn't want to hear from him, she wasn't going to appreciate his sending her something she hadn't asked him to send . . . why was he letting himself do this?

Oh, right - because he was desperate for a word from her, no matter how unpleasant that word might end up being. So he kept writing:

I hope you don't mind me writing to you. If you do . . . well, just don't answer this letter, and I won't bother you again.

If you're still reading after that paragraph, I guess you're curious enough to read the rest of the letter, too. I'm really just writing to check on you, to make sure everything is going well at One PP, to make sure that you're ok. It's been . . . odd . . . to not know what you were thinking or how you were feeling, and even more, to not have the right to ask.

Well, I guess I still don't have the right to ask, but -

A paperclip hit him in the forehead and he looked up from what he was doing to find his partner grinning at him. "You need something?" he asked, trying not to growl at being interrupted.

"Yeah," Riley said cheerfully. "Got a question for you."

"Oh? What kind of question?" Bobby replied disinterestedly, returning his attention to the letter.

Not sounding at all apologetic for it, Riley announced loudly, "My sister wants to know if you're single."

Ok, that got his attention. Bobby looked up and stared at his partner. "Your sister . . . what?"

"She wants to know if you're single. Of course, she didn't actually tell me to ask you, but I got the hint from the fifty thousand times she mentioned how 'hot' my partner was."

"Hot?" he repeated doubtfully. "Riley, have I ever even met your sister?"

"Yeah, sure. She's been in here a couple times to say hi to me or drop stuff off. Katie - dark hair, short? Giggles a lot?"

Bobby thought about that, trying to call up a mental image of the woman. "Isn't she only in her twenties? Anyway, I'm not interested, so you can tell her I've got a girlfriend."

"Uh . . . but you don't," Riley pointed out. "Not that I'm too keen on the idea of you dating my little sister or anything, but . . . you definitely do not have a girlfriend, Goren. Unless we're counting that Alexandra woman, who, as far as I can tell, you haven't spoken to in the entire time I've worked with you."

"Don't bring her into this," Bobby snapped when he recovered from the momentary shock of hearing her mentioned.

Riley snorted. "Well, maybe if I knew who she was, I'd know what I could and couldn't bring her into. Frankly, my friend, I'm starting to think she's just a picture you cut out of a magazine."

Bobby looked down at the letter he'd started to write, then stifled a sigh as he looked back up. "She's real, and that's all you're getting out of me about her. Tell your sister I'm gay if you don't want to say I have a girlfriend. Whatever works."

"You want me to tell her you're gay?" Riley asked with a disbelieving laugh. "Man, you have got some major issues if you'd rather have people think you're gay than admit that you're pining over some girl you used to know."

"I'm not p-" He stopped and shook his head. "Never mind. Just drop it, Riley."

"She's from New York, I know that much . . ."

Bobby's attention snapped back to the other man's face. "What?"

"The return address on all her cards. I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

Grinding his teeth, Bobby forced himself to hold onto his temper. "I don't think you're stupid, but I do think you should keep your nose out of my business. Now, can I get back to work?"

Riley leaned back in his chair and gave Bobby a considering look. "You're really going to . . . no, never mind. Yeah, I'll let it go for now if you insist."

"Thank you." Promptly forgetting Riley was there, he returned his eyes to his letter and re-read it. It's been "odd"? he thought as he scanned his words. This is pathetic. I'm going to spend the whole letter hemming and hawing, and never manage to actually tell her what I'm thinking.

What the hell was he thinking? Well, at the moment, it was something along the lines of, Gee, Alex, it would be really nice if you would turn down any dates you're offered, since that's what I'm doing because I can't get you out of my head.

Somehow, he didn't think she'd appreciate reading that.

God, he didn't know what he wanted to write! With a groan, Bobby clenched the letter in his fist, crumpling it into a ball, and tossed it toward the trash can as he stood up. "I'm leaving."

Riley looked up blankly. "You're what? It's only three!"

"So go tell the boss and get me fired. I'm still leaving." He didn't hang around to see what his partner actually did; within thirty seconds he had his portfolio and his coat and was heading out of the building.

With a sigh, Alex slumped over her desk and picked listlessly at the depressingly late lunch that she and Webster had only just had time to order in. "You know, orange chicken sounded really good on paper, but now . . ."

Webster, who was having no such problems with scarfing down his own lunch, swallowed a bite of his egg roll and studied her posture. "You have to eat something, Alex. Deakins'll kill me if I let you starve yourself to death."

"I'm not 'starving myself to death,'" she retorted, jabbing her plastic fork in his general direction and not even coming close to actually poking him. "I'm just . . . not that hungry."

"You weren't 'that hungry' for breakfast, either. What's gotten into you lately, kid?"

"Nothing. I'm fine." And it's been a whole year and I'm finally being forced to accept that he's just not coming back. She hadn't even had the satisfaction of the phone conversation she and Maggie had outlined so long ago, because he hadn't bothered to call or even write, not once in the whole twelve months.

"You've lost weight, you know," Webster told her, well aware that he was one of the very few people she might let get away with telling her that. "You need to start eating more - and you need to get a boyfriend or two."

"What's a boyfriend got to do with my weight?" she replied, returning her fork to the chicken in front of her. "One insult at a time, bud."

"They're not insults," he said, his voice suddenly becoming more serious. "You've got me worried, I'm not kidding. Tell me what's going on, Alex - maybe I can help."

She just shook her head with an ironic laugh. "Not a chance in hell. I swear to you, Pete, I'm just fine."

"No, you're not," he insisted, the stubbornness in his voice almost matching her own. "You're not happy, and I don't like to see -"

His latest attempt to get the truth out of her was cut off by the ringing of her cell phone. They both sighed, assuming it was work-related, and Alex reached down to unclip it from her belt. "Honestly, all I want is one afternoon where we're not -" Her voice dropped like a stone as she saw the number on the caller ID display.

"Alex?" Webster said worriedly as she continued to just stare down at the phone instead of answering it. "Are you ok?"

"I . . ." She stopped, trying to pull herself together, then jumped to her feet. "I have to go."

"You - what? Eames, your face just turned white, damn it. Sit your ass in your chair and keep it there!"

She stayed on her feet and just shook her head. "I . . . no, I have to go. Is there anyone in the conference room? I have to go." She was starting to babble and she knew it. She needed to escape the watchful eye of her partner, fast.

"Alex!" Webster called after her as he watched her flee toward the empty room and close the door behind her. "Well, hell." Now that she was in there, she wasn't going to come out until she was ready, and he wasn't going to be able to do anything to help her until she did. Reluctantly, he returned his attention to his paperwork, trying to keep one eye on his partner at the same time.

Alex glanced once more at the closed door that lay between her and the rest of the squad room, then returned her eyes to her phone. It was still ringing, and it was still displaying the same phone number - one she hadn't seen in a year. Willing her voice not to shake, she opened the phone and raised it to her ear. "Hello?"

There was silence for a second on the other end of the line, and then: "Eames?"

"Bobby," she acknowledged flatly.

"I . . . are you busy?"

She wished desperately she could say yes, but not only would that be just avoiding the issue, she was pretty sure she wouldn't be able to get the word out of her mouth. "Not at the moment, no," she managed after a second.

"Oh." He paused, waiting for her to say something else. To ask why he was calling, or to yell at him for presuming to contact her . . . anything but the blank silence that he was currently hearing. "Uh, are you still there?"

"I'm here."

"Oh. Good. I, uh . . ." Staring at the bare walls of his apartment, Bobby wondered what had possessed him to make this call, no matter how much he wanted to hear her voice. "I was wondering how . . . how you were doing."

"I'm doing just fine." She thought she was starting to get control of herself again, and as she dropped into a chair at the conference table, she went on, "How's your mother doing?"

"She . . . she's doing really good. Her symptoms are almost entirely gone. She, uh . . . appreciates the cards you've been sending."

"Mmm," Alex managed noncommittally. "That's good to hear. I can imagine how much of a relief it must be to have her back, for you and her both."

"Yeah. Yeah, it's . . . nice. But Alex," he added quickly, "I called to ask how you were doing. How are things at MCS?"

"Things here are fine . . . the same as always. People commit crimes, we don't sleep for a few days while we chase them . . . you know how it goes. How do you like the LAPD?"

She obviously didn't want to talk about herself. He wondered whether it was just a general reluctance, or whether there was something she didn't want him to know. "It's ok. Different, in a lot of ways, but they get things done. My partner, though . . . he, uh, doesn't hold a candle to you."

Alex drew in a quiet breath at that, then hoped he hadn't heard it. "Every partnership is different," she finally said quietly. "You wouldn't expect him to be the same kind of partner as I was."

"Well, no, that's true. He's just a partner, after all."

"Of course he's 'just' a partner," she replied coolly. "What else would a partner be to you?"

He didn't miss her implication. "Some partners are just people you work with; others are people you really . . . love."

When she hadn't replied to that after ten seconds, he got the message: she wasn't going to discuss anything related to love. "How . . . uh, how's your new partner?" he asked, searching for a more neutral topic.

"Pete's ok. It's a different dynamic than with you, is all. Well, that and he spends a lot more time than you did getting on my back about me taking care of myself. When you called just now, he was in the middle of telling me I've lost too much weight and I need to start eating more." She definitely wasn't going to mention the other part of Webster's exhortation - Bobby did not need to hear about how even her partner thought she needed to find a boyfriend.

Bobby felt a jolt of concern at her words. Alex had never had a problem with her weight in all the time he'd known her, and it wasn't like she'd paid much attention to what she ate. For her to be losing weight, there had to have been a significant change in her eating habits . . . and he didn't think he liked that idea. There wasn't all that much weight on her that she could lose and still be healthy/ "Are you . . . on a diet?" he asked tentatively.

She snorted. "No, and don't you start on me, too. Having one person hanging over my shoulder, trying to force-feed me, is more than enough - I don't need a second."

"Oh." He paused. "But you're . . . you're healthy, otherwise? You're doing ok, you're happy?"

She fell silent, trying to think of a way to answer that question. Healthy and doing ok? Sure she was. Happy? Well, not so much - but that was another one of those things he didn't need to know. "I'm . . . I'm fine, Bobby. What about you?"

He heard her hesitation and wondered what it was that she wasn't telling him. "I'm fine, too. I . . ." He stopped and swallowed nervously. "I miss you."

"Oh," she managed emotionlessly, even as her heart started pounding at his words. "Well, you know . . . you knowwhere you can find me. I have to go, Bobby," she added hastily, before he could ask what she meant by that. "It was nice talking to you."

She pulled the phone away from her ear and disconnected the call just as he started to reply. A few seconds later, the phone back on her belt and her face set in an expression of something resembling normalcy, she ran a slightly shaky hand through her hair and walked back into the squad room.