Now she was starting to get annoyed. She knocked again. No answer. With a heavy sigh, she pulled out her keys and unlocked the door. Stepping into the apartment, she looked around. "Bobby?"

A quick trip through the place revealed he was not home. Well, he wasn't answering her calls, so how was she supposed to let him know she was coming over? She gave it some careful thought. She didn't expect him to be mad finding her there when he got back. It would probably unsettle him, but he wouldn't be mad. However, if she left and came back later, he was likely not to let her in at all. So, since she was here, she decided to stay. She was not going to let this go another day. Locking the door, she sat down on the couch to wait.

She didn't have too long to wait. She heard the soft jangling and listened to the key sliding into the lock. The tumblers clicked and the door opened. He stopped when he saw her, sitting on his couch, leaning back with her arms crossed. He shifted the paper grocery bag in his arm and studied her for a moment. She was impressed that he didn't drop it, because she knew he was not expecting her to be there. She also knew he was trying to decide if she was angry or not. She did not give him the satisfaction of finding out, carefully keeping her face neutral, except for the hint of annoyance she couldn't quite hide. He looked better than she expected him to, though he still had a hint of the something-the-cat-dragged-in look he surely woke up with yesterday. She knew his tolerance level for alcohol and she knew he'd gone way past that point Friday night. She could still see the residuals of that in his face. She couldn't decide if she felt sympathy or irritation. Sure, he'd finally answered the phone Friday, but she knew he'd have no memory of it. Idiot.

Silently, he closed the door, engaging the deadbolt, which she took as a good sign. He was letting her stay. Without a word, he headed for the kitchen. He simply had no clue what to say, or even how to act with her at the moment. Also keeping the silence, she got up from the couch and followed him, standing in the kitchen doorway and leaning against the wall, arms folded. He slowly unpacked the groceries. A head of lettuce, two tomatoes, an onion, a bell pepper, two packages of meat--it looked like steak from where she was, a small box of rice, a quart of milk and a pint of ice cream. He put the ice cream in the freezer and the milk and one package of meat in the refrigerator. Turning back to the rest of the groceries, he braced his hands on the counter and hung his head for a moment. Finally, he broke the prolonged silence with a deep sigh. "Um...stay for dinner?"

"What are we having?"

"How does pepper steak sound?"

"Is that what you were planning to make, just for yourself?"

"Yes, uh, no...well, yes, I was planning to make it, but no, not just for myself."

"You have a date?"

"No! Uh, I...uh..." He sighed again. "No date. Just you. Wait, that didn't sound right." Another pause. "I think I'll just be quiet now."

She smiled, knowing he wasn't watching her. "Pepper steak sounds good."

No reassurance, no condemnation. He didn't know what to make of her. He couldn't tell if she was upset or not. He could not read his partner right now, but apparently, she was still his partner. She was here. And she seemed comfortable while he, most definitely, was not. Do something...don't just stand here like an idiot. He pulled out a cutting board and a knife. Then he got out a frying pan, a pot and a bottle of olive oil. He set the onion and pepper in front of the cutting board and the meat beside it. Another pause. "Salad?"

"What kind of dressing do you have?"

"Whatever you've gotten. Uh, ranch, bleu cheese and Italian, I think."

"Okay, then, salad sounds good. I'll take Italian."

He nodded, cutting up a tomato and the lettuce and putting them into a large bowl, adding a little onion and bell pepper after he sliced them. Finally, he cut the meat into strips. He hazarded a look her way, and he caught his breath. For the first time, he really noticed her. She wore a pair of tan pants that rode low on her hips and a sleeveless black shirt that hugged her body the way he wanted to...stupid! He really had to get his damn mind out of the gutter his body kept dragging it into. But...she looked...he turned away, trying hard not to have trouble breathing. He closed his eyes, but that just made things worse, so he opened them. She really was killing him.

She watched him glance her way, saw his body tense, and she had no idea what that was all about. He was suddenly very unsettled. Maybe he just realized he'd ignored at least thirty friggin' calls from her. Maybe he was ashamed for leaving her on the roof...well, no, he would probably feel more shame for kissing her than for taking off like he did. Well, she had the rest of the afternoon and all night to troubleshoot their relationship. They'd be all right...as soon as he let them be all right.

He put the rice on to cook and, without looking at her, asked, "Something to drink?"

"Like what?"

"I have coke or beer. And you still have a wine cooler or two, and that bottle of rum."

"Are you planning to get me drunk?"

"What? No! I..." he trailed off and let out his breath in a frustrated huff.

She almost smiled. It had to be illegal to have this much fun with him. She wondered if she wasn't enjoying his discomfort a little too much, but then decided, no, she wasn't. He took off on her, leaving her on the damn roof and then he refused to answer her calls for two days. He deserved every ounce of discomfort she could heap on him. But she did cut him a small break. "I'll take a coke," she said with a smile he didn't see.

He went to the refrigerator and handed her a can. Then he got a glass from the cabinet, put in a few ice cubes and handed her that. When he started to drop things, she took pity on him. "I'll just watch some TV until you're done," she said, glad he hadn't drawn blood when he was cutting and chopping. His anxiety level was on the rise. Good. And she felt no guilt for enjoying his discomfort.

She left the doorway and he leaned against the counter, letting his breath out slowly. He didn't have to guess why she was here. He really should have answered the phone. Talking to her on the phone would have been way less unsettling than having her there, looking like that...He closed his eyes and scrubbed his face with both hands. What the hell was he supposed to do? He could barely think straight right now, with her around. But he was glad she was there...very glad. It gave him hope and led him to think that just maybe he hadn't royally screwed things up with her. The partnership, at least, was intact. The friendship seemed to be as well. He felt himself begin to settle.

Turning back to the stove, he poured a little oil in the pan and turned the burner on. Okay, she was here. Now what? He knew she wanted to talk, knew they needed to talk. But he had no idea what to say...and he got the feeling she was not going to make this easy for him. Not that he blamed her. Actually, he'd expected her to be angry with him and the fact that she wasn't really confused him. She confused him a lot lately. But letting him kiss her like that, and not getting angry about it...He really didn't know what to make of that. If he'd stay with her that night, though...He shuddered involuntarily and forced his thoughts away from the possibilities. Turning back to the stove, he threw the meat into the pan of hot oil.

She wasn't paying much attention to what was on the television. Her thoughts were in the kitchen, with him. Her mind was recreating their dance from Friday night...and he hadn't even been trying to be sexy. But that was beside the point because he had been...very much so. She sighed heavily. Without trying he had set her world on its end, and she, without knowing it, had upset his equilibrium, sending him into a panic. She didn't quite get why he panicked, but she understood him well enough that she hadn't been entirely surprised. It drove her nuts that he wouldn't answer her calls. She couldn't hazard a guess as to what was going through that mind of his, but she was going to find out. Tonight.

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He came into the living room and handed her a plate, a shy grin on his face. "You need another coke?"

"Yes, please."

She took the plate and risked meeting his eyes. He looked away quickly. This was going to be harder than it should be. When he returned with her coke, his eyes roamed around the room, from the couch to the easy chair, as he debated where to sit. She slid over on the couch, not giving him a choice. Almost reluctantly, he sat beside her.

She watched him sit and couldn't help but noticed how tense he was. She was certain if she reached out to touch him, he'd end up on the other side of the room. She was going to have to approach this carefully unless she wanted him to have a damn heart attack. Several scenarios ran through her mind, and she decided acting nonchalant was her best bet. Taking a bite of salad, she said casually, "So, how was your date last night?"

He choked. Seeing that he'd failed to get himself a drink, she pressed her coke into his hand. He took two big swallows and he could breathe again. He coughed to clear his throat and looked at her. "M-my date? I-I cancelled it."

"Really?"

He studied her more closely than he had since she arrived. Now he was getting suspicious. What was she up to? How did she know he had a date last night? And why bring it up? "Um, I..." he trailed off again, not sure what to say.

"It's nice to see you speechless every once in a while."

He sighed. "Nothing happened," he finally said. His voice was quiet, his tone guilty. "I, um, I can't take advantage of her any more."

That surprised her. "What are you talking about? Denise never said anything about you taking advangtage of her."

He wondered exactly what Denise had said about him, but decided he was better off not knowing. And he certainly didn't want to get into the details of how he had taken advantage of her. Instead, he raised an eyebrow at her. "Just how long have you been talking to Denise?"

"In general? For a long time. About you? Since just after you began seeing her."

He ran a hand over his face, feeling a little ambushed. "And you talked to her...since last night?"

She nodded. "This afternoon. She called me to ask how you were. She was under the mistaken impression that you called me, Goren."

He groaned. "What did she tell you?"

"Nothing I didn't already know."

He looked surprised, and more than a little wary. "Like what?"

"Well, she's always said you are sweet and gentle, considerate...I knew all that a long time ago. And she said you were very hungover last night."

He sighed, embarrassed. "Y-you knew that?"

"Yes, Bobby. I came by on Friday night after I talked to you, to make sure you were all right. You'd already passed out."

Well, that explained the presence of the blanket. "I, uh, I talked to you Friday night?"

"I figured you didn't remember."

"Y-you came by to check on me? After what I did?"

"What did you do, Bobby?"

She fully expected him to say he'd kissed her, but, once again, he surprised her. "Leaving you like that. Up on the roof. That was...wrong. But...you have to understand, Eames...if I hadn't gone...I-I was afraid of what I might do."

"Did you think you were going to hurt me?"

"N-not intentionally."

"Could you ever force yourself to do anything to me I was unwilling to let you do? Ever?"

He had set his plate on the coffee table and now he looked at his hands. "No. Never."

"So what were you so afraid of?"

He was quiet. He had no idea how to put this, and he was very unhappy at being knocked so far outside his comfort zone he couldn't find his way back. She took a risk and slid a little closer to him. He glanced at her, then returned his eyes to his hands. "I was afraid of myself," he said, his voice so soft she almost couldn't hear him.

She leaned forward to look at his face and he shifted his eyes toward her. "Yourself?" she said quietly, genuinely puzzled.

He nodded. "Not what I might do to you, but what I was feeling inside. Eames, the last thing I ever want to do is screw up what we have."

"First, let's get on the same page. What do you think we have? What part of our relationship could you possibly screw up by what you did?"

He stared at her. "What could I screw up? Our entire relationship, our partnership…everything."

"Because you're in love with me?"

He was glad he was no longer eating because he would have choked again. He just stared at her, unhappy about being caught so offguard. "In l-love?"

"Deny it."

He heard the challenge and he couldn't rise to meet it. He couldn't deny it, not to her. He rested his head in his hands and rubbed his temples. "As much as I didn't intend to kiss you," he said quietly. "I was even less prepared for my reaction to it."

"You mean your freakout?"

"No. Before that."

She was impressed that he was still there, sitting beside her on the couch. She expected him to get up and start pacing any time now. So she took another chance and further closed the distance between them, not quite coming into contact with him but situated well within his personal space. "Deny it," she challenged again, her voice a whisper.

She was close enough to sense the tremor that ran through his body. Deny it. Slowly he shook his head. "I-I can't," he answered, his voice equally quiet.

"Do you think for one moment that I let you kiss me, that I kissed you back...without feeling the same way?"

He turned his head to look at her. She could tell by the look on his face that it had never occurred to him that she could actually love him the way he loved her. And she had no idea why not. He started to say something, but it made no sense to his mind or her ears. So he started over again. "I...you...you do?" That wasn't what he'd intended to say, but it was all he could get out so it would have to do.

"How can you be so brilliant and so damn clueless all at the same time?"

He opened his mouth to reply, then changed his mind. He had no answer to that. She would never understand how hard it was for him to accept the fact that she could love him. After all, it had taken decades before he could accept the fact that his own mother loved him. For someone like Alex, a woman he'd come to love more than anyone else, a woman he respected and trusted, a woman he had truly fallen in love with...to love him in return...it was close to being beyond his comprehension.

She finished closing the distance between them. Her knee, her leg, her hip slid into contact with him. He closed his eyes, fighting an irrational urge to retreat. Her fingers touched his hand, and he turned it over, letting her caress his palm and lay her hand across it. His other hand slid behind her and he finally looked at her. She could feel the tension in his body, like a spring, tightened to the point of recoil. She moved her face closer to his, but stopped well short of her destination. She wanted him to finish the move, close the distance, seal the deal.

When she spoke, her breath whispered across his face. "Yes, I do. I feel the same way, you idiot." When he didn't move, she huffed in frustration. "There are two directions you can move in, Bobby. If you chose the wrong one, I swear I'll smack you."

Still he hesitated, studying her. "Wrong..." he mused softly. "Wrong for who?"

"Well, I suppose that depends on whether you prefer pain or pleasure."

Finally, he laughed softly. And he made his choice.

A/N: Okay, readers...I want your opinions. Details of his decision or back to work?