A/N: I've got a nasty cold, so productivity may go up because i'm home all day or down because i'm spending most of my time in bed downing nyquil. Guess we'll just have to see how it goes.

Sometime in the wee hours of that morning, Alex awoke to find herself naked and locked in Bobby's arms. A few of her muscles were protesting her position, and the collective heat of their bodies was so much that she was sweating, but neither of those bothered her enough to inspire her to escape his hold.

Their lovemaking had been frenzied, both of them desperate for comfort as much as pleasure, and feeling him wrapped around her now let her savor the sense of love and security that she had hardly had time to feel when they were frantically undressing each other. No matter how much time had passed since she'd last been there, being in Bobby's arms still felt right.

Somewhere in her still-mostly-asleep mind, she knew that everything was going to be much more complicated than the simple contentment she was feeling now, but she determinedly pushed those thoughts away and snuggled closer to him.

Reality could wait.

Reality waited until eight o'clock the next morning, when she was awakened by the sound of her apartment door opening and then closing. Her first thought as she reflexively shot up to a sitting position was that Bobby was running out on her, but a quick glance down at the bed assured her that he was still sleeping beside her. Which meant that there was someone else who had just entered the apartment . . .

She was preparing to make a run for the closet that held the lockbox she kept her gun in when the intruder called in a masculine voice, "Eames?"

Her partner. He must have used the emergency key she'd given him. Letting out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding, she allowed herself a quiet groan before she reached for a pair of pants and called back, "Give me a minute, Pete!"

Bobby had slept through the somewhat distant sound of the other man's voice, but her shout woke him and he turned over to look at her curiously as she hurriedly dressed. "Who's Pete?"

"My partner." She grabbed for the nearest t-shirt, not caring whether it was his or hers, and jerked it over her head. "He must have been worried about me. Don't worry about it; you can go back to sleep."

"No, I'm awake." Eyes still on her, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "How did he get in here?"

"He has a key." A quick swipe of her hand freed her hair from the collar of the t-shirt. "Stay here."

Before Bobby could protest, as she knew he was about to, she gave him what she hoped was a casual smile and fled the room.

"Pete?" she said warily, rounding the corner toward the living room.

"In here."

She followed his voice into the kitchen, where he was unloading the contents of a large grocery bag onto her counter. "What are you doing?"

He put down a container of soup and turned to face her. "I hadn't heard from you for a few days, so I got worried. And I brought you some food," he added, gesturing to the bag. "Not anything great, but I figured it's still better than having to cook for yourself." He paused, studying her face, then deliberately turned away from her, back to the grocery bag. "How're you doing?"

Alex hesitated for a second, then moved to stand next to him and began inventorying the food he'd brought: a quart of matzo ball soup, a small pan of lasagna, a pan containing some sort of sliced potatoes . . . "This is part of your plot to fatten me up, isn't it?" she teased.

"Maybe. Answer my question."

"Pete, I'm -"

He held out a hand to stop her protest. "I'm not asking you to spill your guts. Just tell me you're not spending your days locked in your bedroom with the lights off, crying, or anything like that."

She sighed. "Ok, fine. I'm not spending my days crying in a dark room. I'm . . . I'm mostly ok. I've been spending most of my time with my, uh . . ." She swallowed, hoping he didn't notice her hesitation. "With my family."

Webster, who had been idly surveying the depths of the apartment over the breakfast bar, turned back to her and asked with raised eyebrows, "Which family member is he?"

"Who?" she replied ingenuously, knowing even as she said it that he wasn't going to buy such an obvious innocence act.

"The guy who just left your bedroom and went into the bathroom wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else." He gave her a look that was a combination of stern and amused. "I certainly hope he's not a family member."

Alex groaned and leaned back against the counter, trying to think of a good way to diffuse the situation. "He's just . . . a friend. He's staying with me for . . . until the funeral."

Crossing his arms, Webster moved to stand in front of her, setting his feet in a posture that resembled nothing so much as a bodyguard on alert. "Do you really think it's a good idea to allow yourself to . . . uh, get involved," he began, stealing another glance toward the closed bathroom door, "with someone while you're, you know, so upset over your mother?"

"Pete -"

"No, Eames, I'm serious. You d-"

"Pete," she interrupted loudly. "You're doing your father act again. Stop it. You're not my dad."

Not backing down, he gave her a completely unmoved look. "Your father would be saying the same thing if he were here. Someone has to - Hey, you!" he broke off as the stranger emerged from the bathroom, now wearing pants. "Who the hell are you?"

"Pete!" She gave him a shove. "He's not your business, ok? I know what I'm doing." Actually, she only wished she knew what she was doing, but she wouldn't let Webster know that part. It would only give him more ammunition. "Stop, ok?"

"So, this is your partner?" Bobby spoke up from the doorway, leaning one shoulder casually against the doorjamb.

Alex muttered something obscene, then sighed. "Yes. Pete Webster," she said shortly, deliberately not making formal introductions. "He brought over some food - and now he's leaving," she added, stressing the last word as she seized Webster's arm and pulled him toward the front door.

"Not yet, I'm not." Webster planted her feet, shook her hand off his arm, and returned his attention to the other man. "Well? I'm waiting to hear who you are and what possible excuse you could have for taking advantage of a woman whose mother just died."

Much to Alex's relief, Bobby looked more amused than anything else at Webster's demands. "He reminds me of your father," he remarked to her with a slight smile before turning his eyes back to the man who was still standing between him and Alex. "Bobby Goren," he volunteered, holding out a hand politely. "And I don't have an excuse."

"Bobby -" Alex began, only to be shushed by a wave of his hand.

"Bobby Goren . . ." Webster mouthed the name to himself thoughtfully, obviously trying to remember where he'd heard it before, as he shook the other man's hand. Then it hit him and he jerked his head up, staring at him. "The old partner?"

"Yes," Alex said before Bobby could respond. "There, are you satisfied now?"

Webster ignored her, saying to Bobby, "I thought you lived out on the west coast."

"He does," Alex attempted again. "He's just visiting."

Both men ignored her again. Bobby crossed his arms defensively and told Webster, "Temporarily, yes. My mother is . . . undergoing some medical treatment, and I've been staying with her while she has it."

"Ah." Webster looked from him to Alex, giving her a smile that had more than a hint of smugness in it. "So I was right about you and him, after all."

"Pete." She gritted her teeth and took hold of his arm again. "You've got your explanation. Now get out, before I decide to physically kick you out. And you know I can do it."

"Yes, ma'am," he said agreeably. "Just promise me you'll watch yourself."

"Yes, Pete, I'll watch myself," she sighed, opening the apartment door and forcing herself not to actually push him out. "Now, thank you for the food. Go home."

Webster nodded and, over her head, exchanged with Bobby some kind of male look, one that Alex couldn't interpret. Then, his protective instincts apparently satisfied, he looked back down at his partner and bent to kiss her cheek. "Let me know when the wake is."

"Ok." She closed the door behind him and quickly re-locked all three bolts, then turned back to Bobby to find him watching her. "Sorry. He's never used his key before; it didn't even occur to me that he might today."

"Hmm." With a shrug, he turned to go back into the kitchen. "He's protective of you."

"Yeah," she agreed weakly, not sure what else to say. "Look, Bobby . . ."

"Don't apologize," he cut her off. "It's good to see that you got partnered with someone like that. I'd probably have done the same thing if I was him and I walked in on this."

"Yeah, well, he and I are going to have a nice long talk about him 'walking in' when I go back to work," she sighed, realizing with a slight shock that she was experiencing the plain old embarrassment of a child who's had a parent walk in on them. "I think I'm wearing your shirt, too. You can bet he didn't miss that."

"Yeah I'm pretty sure that's mine." He turned back to the grocery bag, then took a deep breath and said, "Alex . . . I think we need to talk."