A/N: Sorry for the messed-up formatting...I had to do this on a school computer, and now I'm reminded of why I write with Rough Draft instead of Word!
The next day dragged on almost interminably for both detectives, a condition which was not improved by the subtle tension that remained between them after the previous night's argument.
They were still waiting for the DA's office to procure the subpoenas necessary to gain access to the psychiatrists' files, and in the meantime, there wasn't much that could be done, since new leads weren't exactly coming out of the woodwork. Much of the day was spent with each of them on their respective phones, trying to chase down friends or family members of the three victims.
The tension and the monotony had gotten to Eames by the end of the day, enough so that when her partner looked up and said, "Your date's going to be here soon," she just looked at him blankly.
"What?"
"Your date, Eames," he repeated. "The doctor? Or did you forget?"
"Oh." She looked down at her watch and was surprised to find that it was nearly seven o'clock. "I didn't realize it was this late."
He dredged up a smile for her. "You'd better start getting your stuff together."
Automatically obeying, she reached for her bag, then stopped with her hand halfway there. "Wait, are you trying to get rid of me now or something? What happened to you not wanting me to go on this date?"
A muscle in his jaw twitched as he looked back down at the papers on his desk. "I can't stop you."
"Damn right, you can't," she blurted, and then immediately regretted her words. "Sorry."
"S'ok."
An uneasy silence fell over them then, and they worked for the next fifteen minutes without further comment from either of them on the topic of her date.
The silence was broken when a rose appeared in her peripheral vision, followed by an arm and then a tall body. "Alex?"
Startled, she looked up into a pair of dark blue eyes that belonged to her date. "Oh! Hi! Sorry, I was absorbed in, uh . . ." What was he doing standing in front of her desk? she thought with alarm. She'd assumed it was common sense that he didn't need to come inside the building when he picked her up. It was bad enough that her partner knew of and disapproved of this date; the last thing she needed was the rest of the squad to find out and start drawing their own conclusions.
Quickly getting to her feet, she attempted a smile as she reached for her jacket. "You caught me by surprise."
"I apologize, then," he said gravely, laying the flower down on the edge of her desk. "If you're too busy, we can reschedule . . ."
"No, no!" She deliberately softened her smile. "I'm ready. Oh, uh, Bobby," she added, turning to look at the rose and then at her partner, "could you . . ."
"I'll find something to put it in," he said without looking up.
"Thanks." She pulled on her jacket and smiled gratefully at the top of his head, then turned back to Hammond. "Ok, let's go." Taking the arm he proffered, she allowed him to start leading her toward the elevators, but she pulled to a stop, somehow unsurprised, when a voice called from behind her, "Eames!"
Turning back to her partner, she took in the concern he was trying not to let her see. She didn't know why he bothered trying to hide it anymore; to her, after years with him, his attempt at a cool mask was completely transparent. "I know," she told him before he could say anything else. "I will."
Reassured, he nodded and allowed himself to relax slightly. "Ok."
She caught his eye for a second before he looked away, and then she sighed and turned back to her date. "Sorry. We can go now."
He nodded, stealing a quick glance over his shoulder at the other man as they resumed their walk toward the elevators. "What was that about?"
"What? Oh," she said, realizing that the conversation, which had been perfectly clear to her and her partner, had probably sounded cryptic to Hammond, a near-stranger. "He wants me to check in with him when I get home. He worries," she explained simply.
He looked unconvinced by that, but he nodded slowly. "He didn't say that, though."
She just shrugged. "I knew what he meant."
It was past eleven when the phone in Goren's apartment rang, shaking him out of the light doze he'd fallen into in front of the television. Groping for the handset with one hand and trying to wipe the sleep out of his eyes with the other, he managed an only-somewhat-fuzzy "Hello?"
"Hey," said his partner's voice. "I woke you up, I'm sorry. You can go back to sleep. I'm just letting you know that I'm ali-"
"No, it's ok," he broke in quickly. "How was . . ." No, that wasn't the right question to start off on. "Is your date over?"
He could hear her blow out a tolerant breath before she said sarcastically, "No, I'm calling you while I'm in bed with him. Of course it's over, Bobby. It was a first date!"
He was tempted to point out that with her apparent enthusiasm for this particular date, he hadn't known what to think, but, knowing that that would only anger her, he kept the words to himself. "Oh," he said instead. "How was it?"
"It went ok." She fell silent for a few seconds, thinking, then sighed. "You mind if I come over?" she asked, then hastily added before he could interpret that wrong and start to worry, "I'm fine, I promise. I just don't feel like holding the phone for an hour while you question me about tonight."
She had just gotten home from her date . . . and she wanted to come to his apartment? At midnight? So he could "question" her about her night? "Uh, sure," he managed, mind racing as he tried to figure out her motivation. "Are . . . are you sure you're ok?"
"I'm fine, Bobby. But, uh . . . can I bring the dog? He's threatening to disown me if I don't give him some attention."
. . . And she wanted to bring her dog, a terrier of indeterminate origin that seemed to have springs in place of his legs? He looked around his apartment, trying to figure out if it was sufficiently dog-proof to allow the animal inside. He usually kept things child-proof, in case his partner visited with her nephew, but the baby didn't have nearly as strong a propensity for chewing and jumping as the dog did.
"Bobby?" she said after he hadn't spoken for a few seconds. "You can say no if you're too tired or whatever."
"No," he replied quickly, "it's not that. I was just trying to look around and see if there's anything in here he could destroy."
"Oh, give the poor guy a break," she retorted with a smile in her voice. "How was he supposed to know that it's ok to pee on Glamour in my apartment but not Smithsonian in yours?"
"Point taken," he sighed. "Come on over. You going to walk?"
"Yeah, he needs some exercise after being cooped up all day."
Rubbing his forehead tiredly, Goren slumped back on the couch. "Yeah, but he's not going to be much help when he starts trying to bounce a mugger to death. Bring your -"
"I know, Bobby. I'll be over in a little while."
A sharp yip from the hallway announced their arrival half an hour later, well before he heard the knock on his door. Giving the room one last safety survey, he stood up and crossed the apartment to let her in. "Hey . . . oof!" he broke off as the dog launched itself into his arms. "Geez, when you said he wanted attention, you weren't kidding."
"Nope." She slipped past him into the apartment, making no attempt to relieve him of the wiggling bundle of energy. "The walk didn't tire him out much. And you'll be glad to know no one tried to mug or do anything else illegal to me on the way over."
"I don't see what's wrong with me being glad about that," he said defensively, heading for the couch to unload the dog.
Amused by the spectacle of her partner getting his face thoroughly licked by her overaffectionate pet, she followed him. "There's nothing wrong with it. It's . . . charming. Or something. It's just that you're the only person I ever get it from. Were you in bed when I called?"
The dog duly deposited on the couch, he turned to face her and shook his head. "No. I just dozed off watching TV. History Channel was doing a special on the bubonic plague."
"Ooh, fascinating." With a deep sigh, she plopped down on the couch and gave him an expectant look. "Ok, let's get this over with."
"Pardon?"
She spread her arms wide, which sent the dog scurrying to the other end of the couch to avoid a direct hit with the back of her hand. "I'm all yours. Interrogate me. It's obvious you're dying to."
"I don't want to interrogate you," he replied evenly, crossing his arms. "I thought you came over because you wanted to talk about it."
"Oh, come on, Bobby. After all that fuss, you don't care if I tell you how it actually went or not?"
Sighing, he shook his head and turned toward the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"
"Tea?"
"Sure." With that, he disappeared into the other room.
Reaching out to scratch the dog's ears, she stared after him, wondering what was going on in his head.
"If you want to discuss it," he called from the kitchen after a minute, "I'll listen. If you had a good time and you're just trying to reassure me that he didn't hurt you, then don't worry about it."
Leaning her head back against the couch, she thought about that. "It went pretty well. He's a nice guy. A little odd, but then, I'm used to 'odd.'"
He reappeared in the doorway of the room, holding two mugs. "Are you saying he acts like me?"
"No," she said with a grin, taking her mug from him. "Definitely not anything like you." A pause while she took a sip of the tea. "Your oddness is just kind of . . . natural. You usually don't put any thought into how you're acting, unless you're with a suspect, which is when you turn on the creepy-type weirdness. Chris . . . I kind of got the feeling I was being psychoanalyzed."
"You don't think I've ever psychoanalyzed you?" he asked curiously, sitting down in the middle of the couch to avoid sitting on the dog, who was still occupying an entire cushion at the far end.
"Maybe you have," she said, shrugging, "but the key word here is 'feeling.' I've never gotten the feeling around you that you're looking at me like . . . like you want to analyze my personality, piece by piece. If you do think of me like that, you're really good at hiding it. Whereas I guess Chris just isn't."
"Hmm." He raised his mug cautiously to avoid a collision with the dog as it bounced onto his lap, then lowered it to his mouth again. "He is a psychiatrist, Alex. Maybe it's another of his, uh . . . 'occupational hazards.'"
"Maybe. I mean, he's more outgoing than you to begin with, so maybe that's just part of the deal."
Why did he get the distinct feeling that he was being compared to Hammond, and coming up short? Resting a hand on the dog's back, he told himself to get over it. After all, he was her closest male friend, and it was natural for people to compare romantic interests to good friends.
"Bobby?"
He blinked, stiffening slightly when he felt her hand on his arm. "Sorry. Guess I'm more tired than I thought."
"Are you afraid he's going to steal me away or something?" she pressed, not fooled by his weak excuse.
"What?"
"It was one date, Bobby. I'm not even sure if there's going to be a second. I promise you, it's nothing for you to get worked up about." Sliding closer to him on the couch, she touched her mug to his in a playful toast. "Besides, I've had god knows how many boyfriends in the past five years, and not one of them has caused even a blip in my relationship with you."
"I know. I don't think he's going to . . . steal you away. I'm just concerned about . . . him. Who he is. I don't like him."
"Ok, Dad," she teased. "How 'bout we save the discussion of whether you approve or disapprove of him until he asks me out again and it actually becomes an issue?"
"Mmm," he mumbled into his mug, shrugging.
"Good. So," she said, brightening, "Plague, huh? Is it still on?"
"Uh . . ." He looked at the clock. "Probably."
"You wanna watch it? Believe it or not, I'm actually in the mood for one of your annotated TV-viewing experiences."
That got his attention. "You are?"
She nodded and picked up the remote control. "Don't let it go to your head, though. Odds are pretty good this is a one-off."
"A one-off is better than nothing," he said, settling back and stretching an arm across the top of the couch. "Did you know that plague is still active in some parts of the US? In the Southwest, mostly. It's carried by mice."
"Ugh, mice," she muttered, shivering dramatically as she rested her head on his arm and turned her attention to the TV. "Remind me to clean my kitchen when I go home."
"You're not afraid of mice," he pointed out.
"No, but I'm damn well afraid of the bubonic plague!"
With a chuckle, he leaned forward to put down his empty mug, then sat up again, a movement which relocated her head from his upper arm up to his shoulder. "It's actually pretty susceptible to antibiotics."
She laughed. "Yours girlfriends must love you. 'Ohmigod, Bobby!'" she mimicked in a breathy voice, " 'there's a spider in the shower! Go kill it!'" Then, lowering her voice to imitate him, she replied to herself, "Unless it's a brown recluse, it won't kill you, honey. Come watch this documentary on papermaking.'"
"I kill bugs for women," he protested, pushing away a pang of resentment at her easy joking about the topic. As far as he was concerned, it was a cosmic joke that while he always had the urge to kick her dates out the door before they even got to her, she usually pulled his dates aside to give them some laughing 'tips' on how to handle him.
Not her concern, he reminded himself. She was pissed enough as it was at his reaction to Hammond. "And for men, for that matter," he managed to say lightly. "Did you know Logan's afraid of silverfish? He squealed like a little girl when he saw one in the conference room last week."
"And you got rid of it for him?"
"Well, yeah. I needed to work in there, and his whimpering was distracting."
She burst out laughing and slung an arm around his neck, pressing her cheek to his in an almost-hug. "Ah, the great Detective Goren . . . my hero!"
He tried to give her a dirty look, but a smile broke through. "Stop making fun of my efficiency and watch the show, Eames. There'll be a quiz on this later."
"Oh yeah?" she shot back easily. "Then I'll just have to butter up the teacher if I don't remember the answers."
"Plague, Eames."
"Yes, dear."
