A/N: As you've probably noticed, I'm not producing much fanfic this summer. For those of you who haven't checked my profile, I'm basically taking a hiatus from fanficcing in favor of working on an original-characters novel. There may be scattered updates like this one, but for the most part, don't expect anything out of me in the near future.
"Bobby," she was panting a few hours later, her head buried in his shoulder as his hands roamed over her body. "Jesus, Bobby . . ."
He smiled into her hair and, hearing the implicit request as clearly as if she'd spoken it, continued doing what he was doing. Concentrating on that became more difficult a few seconds later, though, when her hands, which had been loosely draped over his shoulders, came to life and began to inch his shirt up his back. He caught a breath, then let it out on an almost inaudible hum of pleasure.
A cell phone began ringing.
Both detectives groaned. "Mine," Alex sighed. "I should -"
"They can leave a message," Bobby interrupted firmly, setting his hands in motion again.
"It could be about the case." With an even heavier sigh, she smoothed his shirt back down over him and pushed herself up to reach for the phone.
Her mind still occupied with the pleasurable activities they'd been pursuing before it started ringing, she flipped the phone open first, automatically answering the call, and only then remembered to check the caller ID. "Shit," she muttered to herself as she took in the LCD screen that was displaying Hammond, C. "I figured he'd forgotten about me." A strong urge to kick herself rolled over her. She couldn't very well hang up on him now that he'd presumably heard the sound of the phone being answered.
"Who?" Bobby asked, his curiosity piqued by her tone of voice.
She paused in the act of lifting the phone to her mouth and whispered, "No one," to him. Then, settling the phone against her ear, she said in her best bright, professional tone of voice, "Hello?"
"Alex," Hammond greeted her warily. "I wasn't sure if you were going to answer . . ."
Wincing at the thought of how inconsiderate she must have seemed in ignoring his calls, she turned away from Bobby and ran a hand through her hair, which was escaping from the scraggly ponytail she'd put it in a few minutes ago. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that, Chris," she sighed. "Something came up in the case, and then something else, and . . . I haven't had a lot of free time lately."
Behind her, Bobby got to his feet and crossed the room to stand in front of her, giving the phone - or her, she wasn't sure - a look of supreme displeasure. "Hammond?" he whispered.
She nodded fleetingly and tried to pay attention to the psychiatrist's rambling reply. ". . . know it happens," he was saying when she zoned back into the conversation. "I wish you would have called me, though. I canceled two patients to free up that time for you, and -"
"I know, I know," she interrupted impatiently. "And I'm really sorry." She stopped there, unable to think of anything else to say.
"I can make some time tomorrow night."
The hope was clear in his voice, and Alex sighed. "Look, Chris, some things have happened in the past few days, and -"
Before she could finish the sentence, he came back with a tempting, "I think I might be able to give you more information for your case."
"The case?" She glanced up at Bobby, who was scowling at her, and gestured with one hand to the phone she was holding in the other, trying to tell him that the call was case-related. "What kind of information?"
"Uh, well . . ." Hammond said slowly. "It's not anything concrete, you know? I don't really want to discuss it until I've looked at it some more."
"But you think it might be important?"
"I hope so, Alex. I want to help you, I really do."
She held back another sigh at the note of desperation in his voice and thought for a second. "I guess tomorrow night would be ok. But, see -"
"I'll meet you at you work, then. Seven?"
At this point, she just wanted to get rid of him and get back to what she'd been doing with Bobby. "Yeah, seven's fine. Don't come upstairs, ok?"
She could almost hear him nodding through the phone as he said quickly, "Whatever you say, Alex." There was a short, tense, pause, and then he added, "Don't back out on me this time."
"I'll do my best, but you know what my caseload is like, and -"
"Don't bother telling me that," he cut her off. "I'll be there at seven. You either will or you won't be. I'll figure it out for myself."
"Chris -"
There was a click and then silence on the other end of the line. Annoyed, she snapped the phone shut. "Hung up on me again," she told Bobby as she looked down to put her phone down on an end table. "He says he has information on the case. We're having dinner tomorrow." When she looked up again, she found him watching her with a slightly incredulous expression. "What?"
"You're going on a date with Hammond."
"Well, I wouldn't call it a 'date.' That's what I kept trying to tell him."
He lowered his brows, obviously still uneasy. "You know I don't like him in the best of circumstances, and I don't . . . I mean, I thought after last night . . ."
"It's not a date, Bobby! I have no interest in dating him. I just want his information."
"That's not what he thinks."
"Well, that's his problem, isn't it?" she shot back. "You and I know that the only person I'm actually interested in is you. He'll figure it out soon enough."
Bobby shook his head. "I don't like this, Eames. On any level. You don't know what he's going to try to do. We still don't know that he's not the killer."
"Jesus!" Throwing up her hands, she stalked into the kitchen, calling back to him, "I can take care of myself, Bobby. I want the information; I'm meeting with an informant to get it. It's not your problem."
He followed her, bracing a hand against the kitchen doorway. "You are my problem."
"Excuse me?"
"You're . . . it's . . ." He groaned. "I can't explain it. I just don't want you seeing him, at least alone."
"Oh, you don't want me to?" she snapped, and it struck Bobby that he'd just made a costly tactical blunder.
"I'm not saying I have any authority over you -" he began.
"Damn right."
"- All I'm saying," he continued, trying to ignore her interjection, "is that you ought to have someone with you. Me."
"He doesn't like you any more than you like him. I'm not refereeing a dogfight over dinner." Sighing, she shook her head. "I can't believe you're doing this."
"Doing what?" he demanded. "Trying to think logically about Hammond, which you've conveniently skipped over doing?"
"You. Don't. Own. Me," she said through gritted teeth. "You don't even have seniority over me. You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do, or who is or isn't dangerous." With that, she turned her back on him and walked back into the living room, where she dropped down onto the couch and started to put on the shoes she'd taken off earlier as they settled in for what she'd thought would be a relaxing, intimate night.
"Alex . . ."
"What?"
"What are you doing?"
"Going -" She leaned over to zip one boot. "- home." She zipped the other and stood up, only to find him towering over her. "Back off," she snapped, giving him an annoyed shove. "I'm going home. We're both going to sleep on this, and maybe 'we' will be more rational in the morning." Her tone of voice made it clear that she wasn't the one she believed wasn't thinking rationally. "Good night, Bobby."
He lunged for her arm and grabbed it just before she darted out of his reach. "Alex -"
"What?" she said again, this time sounding resigned.
"Don't leave." He loosened his grip on her arm and tentatively slid his hand up to her shoulder. "I'm sorry, ok?"
A quick shrug of her shoulders dislodged his hand, and she took a large step away from him, resting one hand on the doorknob of the front door, which was now in her reach. "You're sorry? So now you're ok with me going tomorrow night?"
"Well, no -"
"That's what I thought." She made a disgusted noise and opened the door. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Alex!"
The only answer he got this time was the soft click of the door closing behind her.
