A/N: I forgot to put this in the earlier chapters: When you think you know whodunnit, please review and tell me (some of you have already done this, which is cool)! And I'd like to hear your opinions about whether you prefer a casefile to be figure-out-able or whether you like to be kept guessing until the last second. I was thinking about it, and for myself, I couldn't decide which I would like better. So...thoughts?


"Thanks," Eames said as Goren set a bottle of beer down in front of her. "You've got a talent for picking good watering holes, you know that?"

Putting his own beer down on the table, he slid into the seat opposite her. "How's that?"

She looked around the bar they were in. It resembled a pub more than a trendy club, and that was just to her taste, especially tonight. "Look around. You managed to find what's probably the only bar in Manhattan that's not full of yuppies or college students. It's impressive, I tell you."

He copied her movement, turning his head to evaluate the room. "Sorry to disappoint you," he told her after a second, taking a swig of his beer, "but that's mostly serendipitous. Denise recommended this place and I'd been meaning to try it out, so I just . . ."

Eames cocked one eyebrow. "Do your exes make a habit of recommending bars to you?"

"I would hardly call Denise an ex, Eames. It's been years."

"Mmhmm," she mumbled into her beer bottle. "So now there's an expiration date on ex-hood? I wonder if she got that memo."

"Oh, give me a break," he muttered darkly, slouching back against the wall of the booth.

Looking thoughtful, she took another sip of her beer. "Speaking of exes, who is this Danielle Matthews character that showed up at our scene?"

"She's an ME," he replied with a shrug.

"Gee, no shit. You're going to have to give me more than that, Bobby. I mean, her telling me to 'Ask your partner' when I asked her a question? That's just weird."

With a sigh, he set down his bottle and crossed his arms. "She doesn't like being questioned on a scene. I don't find that particularly odd."

"Oh, I see how it is," Eames said slowly, nodding as understanding dawned on her. "She's not an ex yet, is she? How come you didn't tell me you had a girlfriend?"

"I . . . she's not my girlfriend," he said uncomfortably. "We've just gone out a few times, is all. She's a smart woman."

"Oh, I'm sure you were totally focused on her intellect," she teased, "and not just her cleavage."

Instead of denying it, he gave her a cool look and shrugged again. "What's your point?"

"You are so infuriating sometimes!" she grumbled, smacking him in the arm. "Why can't you just answer a question every now and then? You know you can trust me."

"Trust isn't at issue here," he acknowledged. "But I don't know what it is you want me to tell you about Danielle. She's pretty, we go out every now and then, end of story."

"Is it?" she asked lightly, knowing full well that his reticence meant there was almost certainly more backstory to be told. Well, he obviously wasn't going to talk about it now. "I'm getting another drink. You want one?" she asked abruptly, sliding out of the booth and standing up. "My treat, in honor of your not-girlfriend."

"Very funny."

She just smiled at him. "Drink, or no drink, Bobby? Make your choice."

"Yeah, sure. Another of the same."

"Gotcha." Still shaking her head in amusement, she headed for the bar, where she made no comment as the bartender gave her figure an assessing look before turning to fill her order. That didn't particularly worry her; she knew that dressed in a business suit, as she was tonight, she wasn't going to inspire any man to uncontrollable lust, even if he did make the effort to check her out.

Sure enough, by the time he slid the drinks across the bar to her, his interest had drifted off to other quarters - specifically, a pair of giggling women at the other end of the bar who were wearing roughly half the amount of clothing she was.

She gave the bartender a nod of thanks, dropped a dollar on the bar, and had just started to pick up the drinks when her phone rang. Muttering a curse, she put the drinks back on the bar so she could open her phone and put it to her ear, then picked them up again while she held the phone precariously between her ear and her shoulder. "Eames."

"Detective Eames, hello," said a masculine voice she didn't immediately recognize. "This is Chris Hammond."

"Oh!" Trying not to sound confused by his unexpected call, she started toward the table where her partner was sitting. "What can I do for you, Dr. Hammond?" she asked, lowering her voice as she came within earshot of the table, although she wasn't sure why she was doing it.

"Call me Chris, please. And actually . . ." Hammond cleared his throat, sounding vaguely nervous. "I know you only gave me your card in case I thought of anything else, but this, uh, isn't a work-related call."

Here, she mouthed at Goren as she put down his beer in front of him. "Not work-related?" she repeated to Hammond, slightly more at ease at hearing his discomfiture. "Am I allowed to ask what it is related to, then?"

"Of course. I didn't mean to sound mysterious. I was . . ."

"Who's that?" Goren asked, nodding at the phone as she sat down. "Boyfriend?" he added after a second, smirking.

"I . . . Chris, would you mind holding on a second?"

"Sure."

Putting her hand over the bottom of the phone, she pulled it away from her ear and gave her partner a scowl. "You, concentrate on your drink."

"Who's Chris?" he responded, unmoved by the threatening look on her face.

"No one. Drink." With that, she uncovered the phone again and put it to her ear. "Sorry about that. Mind starting over? The last thing I heard was 'I didn't mean to sound mysterious.'"

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked instead of repeating his earlier words. "I apologize; I didn't think -"

"No, no, it's ok," she said quickly. "I'm just out with a friend. What were you going to say?"

"Oh, I, uh . . ." He broke off his stammering on a quiet chuckle. "Sorry; this isn't something I do very often. Let me try that again: I was wondering if you might be free Friday night. I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Friday?" was all she could get out of her mouth. "Like, tomorrow?" Isn't it a little more important to figure out if this guy is asking you on a date than to figure out what day he's talking about? spoke up the voice of reason in her head. The voice had a point, she realized. "I mean, uh, what do you mean by 'dinner,' exactly?"

Across from her, Goren's head jerked up and he looked at her with an expression halfway between curiosity and suspicion.

"Yes," Hammond was saying in her ear, "tomorrow. I wouldn't normally ask on such short notice, but under the circumstances . . ."

"Uh . . ." Eames attempted, unable to pull her eyes away from her partner's narrowed ones. "No . . . I mean . . . I don't have plans for tomorrow. I just . . ."

"And by 'dinner,'" the doctor went on, "I meant 'may I take you out.' On a date."

She could feel her face getting hot, and she hoped it was dark enough in the bar that Goren couldn't see her ridiculous enjoyment of the flattery that was implicit in Hammond's offer. She knew that if she were thinking straight, she'd hang up the phone to consider the invitation before accepting it, especially since the man doing the inviting was, technically, involved in her case, but at the same time, he was really just a tipster, and it wasn't like she had any better plans for the next night.

And it didn't hurt that Goren looked jealous of whoever was on the other end of the phone. "Yeah," she finally told Hammond. "Ok. Tomorrow night is fine."

"Great. I'll pick you up if you give me your address."

Phone numbers were one thing, but Alex much preferred not to exchange addresses with the men she dated until she was sure they weren't stalker material. Hammond, as attractive as he was, hadn't passed that test yet. "Actually, I'm probably going to be working late - this case, you know? How about you pick me up at One Police Plaza at, say, seven?"

There was a minute pause before he replied, "Of course. I'll see you tomorrow night, then?"

"Yep."

"Great. Goodnight, Detective Eames."

"Alex," she corrected quickly, realizing that while he'd given her permission to use his first name, she hadn't returned the favor. "Goodnight."

A slight smile on her face, she closed the phone and set it down on the table, mumbling a thoughtful "huh . . ." as she tried to figure out what had just happened.

"Who's Chris?" Goren asked again, startling her out of her thoughts.

"Chris Hammond," she replied, pulling her shoulders back in anticipation of his reaction. "The psychiatrist who came in today."

"You're going to go on a date with him?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"Well, among numerous reasons I can think of, how about the fact that he's a witness?"

She shook her head. "He's not a witness. He just gave us a tip, is all."

"Eames . . ."

"What? Don't tell me it's a breech of ethics, Mr. I-Date-the-medical-examiner-with-the-big --"

He held up a hand to stop her before she could finish that thought. "I wasn't going to comment on your ethics. I was going to comment on your safety. You don't know anything about this man, Eames!"

Letting out a disbelieving breath, she rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and that's the point of going on a date - to get to know him. I have his number, I know where he works, and I've had a conversation with him - and that's more than I usually get out of a guy before he asks me out."

"Alex . . ."

"What?" she snapped, unable to restrain herself. "You can go out with whoever you want, but you want veto power over who I go out with?"

"No. I'm just . . . concerned about you."

"Well, don't be. I'm a big girl, Bobby. I know how to handle myself."

"I know you do. I'm just saying -"

"What?" she challenged again, lifting her chin to look down her nose at him.

One look at her face told him that he was only digging his hole deeper with her. "Never mind," he muttered. "You're right, you're an adult."

"Thank you," she said primly, finally getting around to taking a sip of her beer. "Now, can we please drop it and just relax for the rest of the night?"

Relax? Was she kidding? He doubted he'd be able to relax until he knew her date was over and done with. With that knowledge in his head, though, he still said only, "Sure." Raising his bottle, he tapped it lightly against hers. "To relaxation."

She took another sip of beer and grinned, returning the toast. "Hear, hear."