A/N: Dude...finals week...evil... It'll all be over Tuesday night, and then maybe I can get back to writing stuff that actually has a plot


When, two take-out meals and countless cups of coffee later, the FBI agents had departed for the night, Goren and Eames simultaneously slumped back in their chairs and sighed. "I feel like I just took an exam I wasn't sure I was going to pass," Eames mumbled into her hands as she scrubbed them over her face. " 'Tell us again how the bra strap was twisted,'" she mimicked. " 'Explain the arrangements of the victims' possessions around their bodies, Detectives.' I swear, having to answer to just one of you is about all I can take."

Goren just looked at her for a second and then laid down his pen. "I didn't ask you any of those things, Eames."

"Not today, no. But you and those guys obviously went to the same school somewhere along the line. God, my eyes are killing me."

"You do look exhausted," he acknowledged. "You sleeping ok?"

She dropped her hands and stared at him incredulously. "You're kidding me, right? Practically every morning I have to go out to see another woman with a cut throat, and you're asking me if I'm sleeping?"

"Sorry."

Sighing, she shook her head. "Don't apologize. I'm just bitching at you because you're the easiest target."

"I don't mind. Better me than Deakins - that'd get you in a little more trouble."

"Yeah, I guess." Yawning, she reached forward to hit the power button on her computer. "Maybe I'm lucky and I'm tired enough to actually sleep tonight."

"Maybe." He glanced around at the almost-empty squad room, then looked back at her. "You going to head home, then?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "You?"

"Uh . . ." He checked his watch and shrugged. "It's not even ten yet. I think I might hang around and see what else I can get done."

Lifting her hands off her desk helplessly and then dropping them again with a slap, she looked concernedly at him. "You don't need to stay, Bobby. You know there's nothing to do until tomorrow morning."

"I'm not tired," he said shortly, looking at his watch again and wondering how late he would need to stay to avoid Danielle's calls.

"Ok, if you say so." She reached under her desk for her bag, then, seeming to reconsider, straightened up and offered him a tentative smile. "You want me to stay? At least that way you could have someone to bounce ideas off of."

"No," he said quickly, dropping his eyes back to the paperwork on his desk. "You just told me how tired you are; go home and get some sleep."

Unconvinced by his attempt at casualness, she gave that a second's thought. "You're just as tired as I am and you know it. Why do you want to hang around here, really? Got a date?"

"No."

He'd said that a little too hastily, and her eyes widened as she remembered the events of that morning. "That M.E.? Don't tell me you just lied to me about staying here so you didn't have to admit you caved in to her."

"I . . . no," he protested. "It has nothing to do with Danielle. I just want to . . . get some more work done."

She scrutinized his face for a minute, trying to pick out any signs that he was lying and finding none. "Ok, you just want to get work done, fine. But if you stay here alone you're going to be asleep at your desk within an hour. Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you? I'll poke you with my pen every time you conk out, if you do the same for me."

"You don't have to stay, Eames. You know I've done this before."

"Yeah, and every time you do it, I find you the next morning zonked out in the break room with a burnt pot of coffee next to you. Not the best way to go through life, Bobby, trust me. I'm going to stay."

"But you . . ."

"So I'll be the one to conk out in the break room this time, if I need to. Don't argue with me."

Sighing, he opened one of his desk drawers in search of a highlighter he knew he'd stashed in there and shrugged. "Ok. If you want to stay, stay. But you're making the coffee."

"Like there was a chance I was going to let you make it and kill us both?" She grinned and held out a hand for the file folder lying on his desk. "Share the wealth, partner."


It was nearly midnight when the cell phone Goren had left on his desk when he went in search of a new supply of coffee began to ring. Startled out of her semi-hypnotic study of a preliminary autopsy report, Eames jerked her head up, intending to order her partner to answer the thing, then blinked when she saw his empty chair and remembered he was gone, leaving her alone in the squad room.

The phone kept ringing, and with a sigh, she realized that the fact that it was his cell meant that it was probably case-related. With a tired sigh, she reached out and dragged the phone to her desk, checking the caller ID in the hopes that she was wrong and she could toss the thing into the wastebasket instead of answering it. The number on the display was the number of the Medical Examiner's office. "Friggin' doctors. Why can't they sleep like normal people?" she mumbled, ignoring the irony of that statement.

It rang again and so, resolving to make him answer her phone for the next week, she picked it up and opened it. "Yeah, Goren's phone. Are you done with one of the bodies?"

There was silence for a moment, and then a female voice said, "Uh . . . you said this is Goren's phone? Who is this?"

"Goren's looking for coffee. I'm his partner," she replied impatiently. "What can I do for you this late at night?"

"Oh," the woman sniffed. "Well, I called to speak to Bobby. This is Danielle Matthews. I'm sure he'll want to talk to me if you bring him the phone."

Eames groaned quietly. This was all she needed. It was the middle of the night, she was exhausted, she had images of rape victims circling her head, and now her partner's girlfriend was calling and demanding to speak with him. "Yeah, well, he's busy. Can I take a message for you?" she said shortly, wanting nothing more than to get rid of the annoying woman and return to the mindless work on her desk.

"No. Like I said, he'll want to speak to me if you give him the phone."

"Look, Dr. Matthews," Eames sighed, wondering if it was possible for a headache to be induced this quickly, "I have no idea where he is. We ran out of coffee in the break room and he went to go find some more downstairs. I can have him call you back, or you can call him back later. Which do you want to do?"

"Coffee?" Matthews echoed. "He's planning on being there for a while, then."

"I guess. He doesn't dictate his schedule to me, but I'd say it's a safe assumption."

"And you?"

"Excuse me?" she asked in confusion, too drowsy to follow whatever logical leaps the other woman was making. "And me what?"

"You'll be there with him?" Matthews clarified tightly.

The doctor was jealous, Eames suddenly realized, barely able to swallow a laugh at the thought. "Yeah, I guess I will. Someone's got to keep him awake."

There was an audible breath on the other end of the line. "Well, you remind him we had plans for tonight!" Danielle ordered petulantly.

Not according to him, you don't, Alex thought, closing her eyes and shaking her head in amused disbelief as she recalled Goren's insistence from earlier in the day that he was tired of Matthews. "Yeah, I will. I'm sure he'll get back to you just as soon as he can."

Danielle sniffed haughtily. "Make sure you write down my message. Good night, Detective."

"Night." Wondering if her partner was typically available for midnight phone calls from the women he dated, Eames snapped the phone closed and gave it a shove so it slid across her desk onto his, then let her head drop back tiredly.

"You look like you need this," said a voice from behind her.

She opened her eyes in time to see a long arm snake around her and place a large cup of coffee from a 24-hour deli down the block in front of her. Eyeing the sizeable drink, she smiled her pleasure and said without turning around, "There are times when I think I love you, you know that?"

Goren moved from behind her and set his own coffee down on his desk a little too hard. "Excuse me?"

"How much sugar is in here?" she asked, gesturing to her cup.

He blinked. "Uh, six sp-"

"I rest my case," she interrupted lightly. "It must be love. But anyway, you got a call while you were gone. I'm supposed to give you a message."

"A call from who?"

Purposely avoiding his eyes, she cracked open the lid of her coffee and took a deep breath, inhaling its scent. "Your girlfriend."

Goren stared at her. "Danielle?"

"You got more than one?"

"Very funny. Why did you pick up my phone?"

She shrugged. "ID said it was the M.E.s office. I thought it was about one of the victims. She wanted me to remind you that you had plans with her for the night." Lowering her voice and giving him a conspiratorial grin, she added, "Sorry, but I don't think she's very happy with you right now."

"Why? What did you say to her?" he demanded.

Eames raised an eyebrow. "I told her we were at your apartment doing shots and playing strip poker," she teased. "Come on, Bobby. I told her you went to hunt down some coffee, and she blew a gasket because that meant you were going to stay here for a while more."

"Oh." Fiddling with the pen that lay on his desk, he dropped his eyes. "What did she say to you?"

"Other than ordering me to go find you and give you the phone, because she was sure you'd want to talk to her once you knew it was her? Not much. Basically just expressed the fact that she's pissed you're here instead of with her." She took a tentative sip of her hot coffee and groaned happily. "I told you you should have gone home. Just think, instead of being stuck here with me, you could be getting la-"

"Shut up," he grumbled, throwing the nearest small projectile, a sugar packet, at her.

"Don't even try to tell me you'd rather be at work," she shot back with a smirk.

"I wasn't going to. I was going to say that I already told you that I'm not interested in seeing Danielle anymore."

"Uh-huh." Leaning back in her chair with deliberate casualness, she mock-toasted him with her coffee. "Don't you think you should be telling her that, instead of me? That way you wouldn't need me to field her calls."

Shrugging, he pretended to concentrate on his desk. "We're busy tonight. I'll talk to her some other time."

"You're avoiding telling her, Bobby, admit it. Well, either that or you're lying to me about not wanting to see her."

"We have four murders to deal with right now, Eames. Danielle has four bodies to autopsy. The discussion can wait."

"Wuss."

"Drop it."

Raising her chin defiantly, she shook her head. "I still don't see why you want to break it off with her in the first place. I mean, ok, she's pushy, but she's obviously got the hots for you. You might as well take advantage of it."

"Since when are you concerned with my love life?" he asked, looking up to scowl at her.

"Well, she's in my face as often as she's in yours lately," she pointed out. "I think I have a right to notice things about her. Besides, what kind of guy are you to turn down an easy lay?"

"Damn it, Alex . . ."

"What?"

Slapping his pen down on the desk, he pushed back his chair and stood up. "As I've told you more than once, you have no idea if I've 'laid' her at all, so I'll thank you to keep your advice to yourself."

Still smirking, she copied his movement and got to her feet across from him. "You made fun of me for going out with Chris Hammond. Why don't I get the same right?"

"I didn't -"

"And besides, like I told you, it's obvious from the way she acts that you've slept with her."

Perilously close to the end of his temper, he stalked around their desks toward her."I haven't slept with her!"

"Why would I even care if you have or not?" she sniffed obtusely, crossing her arms in front of her as he stopped only inches away. "I'm just telling you what I see."

Goren was silent for a long moment, studying her face, and then relaxed, a slight smile on his lips. "No."

"No? 'No,' what?"

" 'No,' you're not just telling me what you see." He took another step forward, backing her up against her desk, then put his hands flat on it and leaned down so his eyes were level with hers. "You're trying to get reassurance from me."

"Hah!" she spat, fighting the instinct to lean back farther to get away from him. "About what?"

His smile turned into a knowing smirk. "About Danielle. About my being more interested in you than her." A pause. "About how if you're not getting any, you think I shouldn't be either."

Her eyes widened, then narrowed suspiciously. "That's ridiculous. I'm the one who's telling you to go after her."

"You have to pay lip service to that, or else you come out looking petty."

"Are you saying I'm being petty?" she demanded, giving him a shove in an attempt to get him away from her. "You're really starting to piss me off, Bobby. Back off."

"Literally?" he asked softly, leaning closer to her and trying to make her flinch away. "Or figuratively?"

"Both!" she said, giving him another push that failed to move him. "Would you stop it?"

"If you admit it."

"Admit what?"

"That you're jealous," he told her smugly. "You hate seeing women hang around me."

She snorted derisively. "That's because they get in the way at crime scenes and distract you, not because I'm jealous. Besides, what would I be jealous of? It's not like you've ever -" Aghast at what had almost come out of her mouth, she broke off abruptly and quickly pushed at his shoulders again. "It's one o'clock in the morning, Bobby. Why the hell are we fighting about this?"

"Because you wouldn't let the topic of Danielle drop," he replied. "I'm not the one who started this."

"Well I'm certainly not the one who just cornered my partner at her desk and is trying to intimidate her into shutting up."

"And obviously it isn't working."

"Damn right, it isn't working!"

He gave her a lazy grin and lowered his head closer to hers. "I've never been able to intimidate you. That's one of the reasons I like working with you."

This time she did reflexively lean backwards, arching her body back over the desk in an attempt to get her head away from his. " 'One' of them? What are the others?"

Noticing that her eyes were turned away, he took the opportunity to take in her lithe form. "You want me to list them?"

"I want you to back off."

"I admitted that I was concerned about you and Hammond," he said, earning himself a confused look for the topic change. "You guessed, and I admitted it. So why are you refusing to admit that you don't like the idea of me and Danielle?"

"I couldn't care less about Danielle!"

"Then why were you so annoyed with me this morning?" he pressed, sensing a crack in her armor.

She glowered at him. "I don't care about Danielle Matthews in particular. I care about women who run around in low V-necks and heels at crime scenes and take your attention away from what you're supposed to be paying attention to because they're so . . . so . . . done up. The Matthews woman just happens to be the worst of them."

Lowering his brows, he pulled back slightly and looked at her thoughtfully. "You usually look pretty 'done up,' yourself. I've seen you wearing V-necks and heels."

"That's different. I don't have a huge chest that I put on display, and I only wear heels because I'm short. I'm not putting myself on display when I wear that stuff."

Eyes hooded, he raised an eyebrow. "Maybe not consciously, you aren't, but I can promise you, the men still enjoy the display."

Letting out a growl of annoyance, she attacked him the only way she could in her current contorted position: she hooked one of her legs around the back of one of his and gave it a jerk, making his knee buckle and him fall forward.

Should have thought that one out, Alex, her unconscious pointed out just before his weight hit her. Now you're going to end up with bruises all over, and nothing to show for them.

Instinctively, he tightened his hands around the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep from hitting her, but the forward momentum was too much and before either of them could do anything else, he had fallen against her, pinning her to the desk.

"Get . . . off!" she wheezed, pushing at his arm. "You're . . . crushing me!" He shifted his weight slightly, allowing her to breathe, but didn't stand up. "Bobby, come on," she attempted again, wedging her elbows under her and half-sitting up so she could look into his face, when it became obvious that he wasn't going to move. "This isn't the most comfortable place to -" Her words ended on a squeak as, without warning, he pressed a hand against the middle of her back, supporting part of her weight, and touched his lips to her.

Stunned by the action, she couldn't gather enough of her wits to react for a long second before she tried to squirm out from under his weight and push him off her at the same time, not remembering, however, to pull away from his tentative kiss. "Bobby, you -"

He abruptly released her and, holding himself stiff, backed away. "I'm . . . sorry. That wasn't . . . I'm sorry, Eames."

Struggling up to a sitting position, she stared at him and said slowly, "Well, as a way to end a fight, that's pretty effective. What the hell just happened here, Bobby?"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably and turned away, running a hand through his hair. "I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have . . . well, I mean, obviously you know I shouldn't have . . . it just . . ." Stealing a quick glance at her and then turning away again, he sighed. "I wasn't thinking."

"You kissed me because you weren't thinking?"

"I . . . more or less."

"More or less?"

"Look, I'm sorry, ok?" he snapped, putting a little more space between them. "It won't happen again."

"No?" She slipped off the desk and stood up, taking a moment to stretch her neck, which was protesting its former cramped position. "How do you know you're not going to do it again the next time we fight?"

There was amusement in her voice, and he bristled at it. "I don't make a habit of tackling you when we're fighting. This just . . . happened, and it won't happen again."

She was silent for a second, then nodded. "Well, I guess that's probably true. You're pretty good at pulling away from people who make you uncomfortable."

"It's not you that makes me uncomfortable," he said, still not looking at her. "You know that. This was . . . improper of me. I'm probably lucky you didn't kill me."

Smiling in spite of herself, she shook her head and took a cautious step toward him. "You'd have to do more than just kiss me to get me to kill you. I like having you around too much to bump you off you over something small like this."

Not comforted by that, he retreated another step and turned away from her. "It's late. We should probably head home." Then, without giving her time to respond, he slipped past her to grab his binder off his desk, then backed hastily away toward the elevators. "I'll, uh, see you in the morning, Eames."

By the time she opened her mouth to reply, he was gone.