Happy Holidays! Hard to believe it's that time of year again! I offer this present to the fandom. Longer than I thought! Just call it my take of events that would transpire between Seasons 9 and 10. Since "Rispetto" places Goren and Eames back on duty as of April, I used it to frame the time line here.

Enjoy!

All former detective Robert Goren wanted for Christmas was some steady work to pay the bills.

His face pinched, Bobby threw the latest stack of bills and late notices on to his kitchen table, grabbing potholders along the way.

He may be strapped, but he still had enough to eat, breathing in the scent of chili bubbling on the stove. Upon throwing the ingredients together, he realized he had made too much but figured that's what his freezer was for.

Lord knows he couldn't afford take out on the regular these days…

Stirring the chili, Bobby was grateful once more that, for all the chaos that was his childhood, he had learned early on how to cook. Sometimes he wondered if he should have been a chef instead of a detective, but in his heart of hearts, Bobby relished the rush of the puzzle and putting the bad guys away that no recipe could ever fulfill. But cooking probably would not have gotten him fired a little over a year ago.

Bobby shook his head to dislodge that train of thought. No use reliving the past.

Especially when it brought memories of her.

Her being Alex Eames, naturally. Funny how it always came back to his erstwhile partner. He felt the guilt in his gut swim. Since she had fired him, they had met up now and again, but Bobby had pulled back. Now Eames had the chance to salvage her career without the albatross of his actions constantly casting a pall over her career.

She would continue to deny it, but Bobby felt otherwise. So he was grateful when his freelance profiling work had led him to help the FBI with a few cases. He was kept too busy to wallow and navel gaze, and while the pay wasn't terrific, it was something.

But freelance work was, at its core, unpredictable. With the cases he had helped with now in the books, his services were no longer needed, which meant a loss of income.

Sighing, Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. Turning the gas to low to allow the chili to simmer, he was about to go sit in his favorite worn recliner and watch some TV – and worry – when the ringing of his phone startled him.

He was tempted to let the machine pick up, but decided, even if it was a telemarketer, he could use the distraction. With that in mind, he picked up the phone and said hello, bracing for a sales pitch.

"Bobby Goren! How the hell are you?" boomed a jovial voice. Perplexed, Bobby's forehead creased, trying to place the caller. Then it hit him.

"Joe Hannah?"

Dryly, he responded, "Who the hell did you think I was? Santa Claus?"

With a ghost of a smile, Bobby took the cordless phone and plopped into a kitchen chair. He and Joe Hannah went way back, all the way to the Police Academy. Joe was one of the first – and few – friends he had made within the department. But time – and work – had faded their bond, and Bobby had heard through the NYPD grapevine that Joe was climbing the ladder.

He didn't begrudge Joe. He always did put in 200%. Still, Bobby wondered just why his old buddy was seeking him out now.

"Well, you do have the jolly disposition," Bobby observed. "Been a while. What's up with you?"

"Funny you should ask, my friend." Joe replied. "Heard you were playing water boy for the Feds. How's that going?"

Bobby shrugged, even if Joe couldn't see it. "It's…not. Cases were solved, so I got shown the door. Trying to figure out my next move."

A chuckle met Bobby's ear. "Hell, maybe I am Santa Claus!" Joe rejoined, a trace of laughter in his voice.

"Hitting the spiked eggnog, already, Joe?"

"It's 5 o'clock somewhere!" he joked. But he collected himself and added, "But no. Stone-cold sober. Have you been keeping up with NYPD bullshit?"

That question brought Bobby up short. "Um, not really. Haven't felt the need to. Being fired and all." Bobby heard a trace of bitterness in his words, but he felt he was entitled to it.

"Well, let me be the first to clue you in. Apparently, the closure rates in Major Case have turned to shit." Joe continued, a bit too happily, "Rudderless. Zoe Callas did her best, but the brass didn't know its ass from a hole in the ground and blocked her every move."

Bobby did not know the woman, but every once in a while, he would get a call from Zack Nichols. The latter seemed to respect the woman, and Zack would regale him with some amusing anecdotes.

"That's…too bad." Bobby said, for lack of anything else.

Honestly, Bobby didn't dwell on Callas, since in his mind, he knew – if not for him – that Eames should have been there in the captain's seat. The fact that she wasn't still made Bobby feel guilty.

"Zoe's a tough broad," Joe assured his friend. "I think I heard she's been offered a slot back at IAB, so she's landing on her feet…"

Bobby held the phone, silent.

"You there?" Joe asked.

"Y-Yeah, I'm here." Bobby rejoined. "I…I just don't know what this has to do with anything."

Cutting to the chase, Joe elaborated. "Oh, quite a lot, Bobby. A lot. With Callas out, Major Case was in the market for a new captain…and you're talking to him."

That bit of news got Bobby's attention! Sitting a bit straighter, he stammered, "Con-Congratulations. Wow."

He tried to not feel envious. He knew he wasn't a leader. But knowing so many around him were excelling while he was in no-man's-land limbo made the bit of news bittersweet, emphasis more on "bitter". Which Bobby truly tried to resist. It wasn't Joe's fault that he, Robert Goren, was a Grade-A fuckup.

"Thanks, man." Joe sounded earnest. "I knew you'd be happy for me. But I didn't call to gloat. I called because…well…I'm recruiting."

Feeling his heartbeat speed up a bit, Bobby parroted, "Recruiting?"

"I want you back at Major Case. The NYPD needs you back."

Unable to sit still, Bobby stood. Walking to his stove, he used his free hand to stir the bubbling chili. Adjusting the gas, he had begun pacing. "Somehow, Joe, I think you're the only one." Bobby sighed. "Moran…"

"…is also out!" Joe interrupted, practically crowing.

"Out?"

"Yup." Joe confirmed. "Given a nice six-figure 'adios package' for his trouble, but he was shown the door. I swear three-quarters of the department were popping the corks on champagne when that happened."

Bobby's eye once more settled on the stack of bills on his table. But his pride warred with his sensible side.

"I…I'm flattered, Joe. Really. But…"

Joe listened as Bobby went silent. When it threatened to overwhelm, he decided to press. "I know you, Bobby. You're like a dog with a bone. That big brain of yours is relentless. I want that. And just think of it as a big ol' F-U to upstairs! There's the requisite physicals and paperwork and bureaucratic bullshit, but I can have you on the roster after the new year. Barring everything, you could be back on official rotation by…March. April, at the most. But I can swing it so you can collect pay beforehand."

Once more, a smirk crossed Bobby's face. That certainly was a tempting thought.

"Of course," Joe continued, a bit hesitant, "the department does have one stipulation."

Bobby's growing anticipation drained like a deflated balloon. "Which is?"

Sounding as if he knew Bobby would resist, Joe spoke fast, "Therapy."

"No." Bobby flatly responded.

Joe Hannah, however, was as tenacious as his friend. "Just eight sessions, man. Not even a month."

"No!" Bobby said, again. "I don't need some PD shrink messing with my head. They're just itching for a way to humiliate me." Bobby tried to push down the anxiety the prospect was giving him.

"Besides," Bobby sighed. "That would mean a new partner. And I already have – had – the best." Bobby thought of his brief stint with Bishop so long ago. While they eventually settled into an uneasy rhythm, he recalled the relief, the joy, when Eames had returned from giving birth to her nephew, Nathan.

He was older now. Too old to humor a new presence in his life, bills or no bills.

Joe's voice, calming in tone, buzzed through the line. "I knew you'd be a hard nut to crack. Still stubborn."

"Joe…"

"Bobby," Joe returned. "I knew you'd resist. So I anticipated this. You're getting a visitor…"

Despite his unease, and his annoyance that Joe was piling on the pressure, Bobby joked, "Please tell me the visitors aren't coming at midnight and are the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future."

"At least you still have your sense of humor, old man!" Bobby could picture Joe with a huge grin. "But no. Just one. And I bet that will put things in perspective."

Bobby used his free hand to rub at his face.

"Who is it?"

"Who's who?" asked Joe.

"The visitor," Bobby pressed, a bit wary.

"You'll see!" he said. "Just trust me. Have I ever steered you wrong?"

With a snort, Bobby closed his eyes as if trying to amass patience. "Okay. If I talk to this…this 'visitor'…and I don't like what they say, will you let this go?"

On his end, Joe Hannah smiled.

The hook was baited. Now to reel him in.

"Sure." By now, Joe sounded as jolly as Santa himself. "But I won't need to."

Before Bobby could think of a suitable reply to Joe's overconfident prediction, a soft knock sounded at his door. "We'll see." Bobby elaborated. "I think your secret weapon is at my door. So I'm gonna hang up now."

"Merry Christmas, Bobby!" Joe said. "I'll be awaiting the call back."

"Y-Yeah, Merry Christmas, Joe. Thanks." Bobby never committed to calling him back, but as he hung up, Joe Hannah smiled, saluted himself with his tumbler of whiskey. This was easier than he'd thought.

It would be nice to catch up with Bobby Goren again.

As he went to his front door, Bobby looked through the peephole. But it proved unhelpful, as all that greeted his eyes was festive wrapping paper.

Great. Bobby mused. Santa's elf is at my door.

With a backwards glance to the pot boiling on the stove, Bobby inhaled the warm scent of chili, as if to fortify himself, then opened the door.

And was promptly met with a familiar pair of caramel-brown eyes, holding an armload of presents.

"Ho, ho, ho!" she said, deadpan as could be.

A hot pink wool cap was perched on her head, cold cheeks almost as pink as the hat.

Bobby stood stock-still, surprised. He had last seen Eames…was it two months ago? Three?

His guilt swamped him anew, and he said nothing.

"'Hey, Eames! So nice to see you again!'" Eames sardonically filled the silence.

"'Nice to see you, too, Goren. How are you?'" she continued, an unmistakable edge to the imaginary exchange.

It was enough to jolt Bobby out of his stupor.

Automatically reaching out to relieve her of her bounty, Bobby's cheeks pinkened.

"I…I'm sorry." Bobby stammered.

"It is good to see you, Eames." Belatedly, he looked at the mass of brightly-colored packages.

"What are these?"

"Sure, I'd love to sit down. Thanks!" Eames sarcastically responded. As she said this, she threw both her coat and hat on to Bobby's couch, her honey-colored hair mussed from the hat. Looking around, she bit her lip, looked a bit disapprovingly at his undecorated apartment, then turned back.

"Never seen Christmas presents before?" she quirked a brow.

Bobby looked to the packages, to Eames, and back again. "These…are for me?"

"No, the Tooth Fairy."

Eames sighed. "Yes, they're for you! I would tell you to put them under the tree, but…" she shrugged then. Bobby ultimately put them on his coffee table.

"I…It's too much, Eames. You shouldn't have done this. And I have nothing for you…"

Sniffing the air, Eames seemed to ignore the protests. "It smells so good in here."

She walked toward his table. Belatedly, she saw the stack of mail on the table. The angry red "Past Due" notices impossible to miss.

She turned to Bobby.

"Looks like Hannah called you in the nick of time."

Having already forgotten the circumstances, so surprised was Bobby to see Eames, he blurted, "You know about that?"

Pulling out a seat, she sat. "Duh. Why do you think I'm here? Besides the presents…" she pointed out.

Bobby plunked down next to her, shaking his head.

"I don't understand."

Alex stared at her former partner, his hair now more salt than pepper, faint black circles under his eyes.

Knowing he had been helping the Feds, Alex surmised those circles came from staying up 'til all hours, building the perfect profile. How Bobby functioned without sleep was an eternal mystery.

She was admittedly sore at Bobby for playing scarce, but it helped that she knew why. And her visit today would put an end to his self-flagellation, or so she hoped.

So she was inclined to forgive and…well, here she was.

"What's to understand?" Eames asked. "You need a job. Hannah wants you. And I need a partner I can trust!"

"Wait, what?!" Bobby asked, shocked. "Eames, you should be captain right now. Would've been if…"

"This, again?" Eames huffed, annoyed. "I told you, Bobby, I made my own choices. And don't regret them. And I gotta say, it's a bit insulting that you seem to think I don't know what I'm doing."

Bobby let out a long, gusty sigh.

He hung his head, to collect his thoughts. Then he looked at Eames again. Her hair was still long, which he liked on her. He realized just now how much he missed her. And here he was, trying to provoke a fight.

His self-destructive tendencies at work, no doubt.

He tentatively grasped Eames' hand, gave a squeeze, a wordless apology. Which she seemingly accepted while squeezing back.

Bobby licked his lips, looked down at their clasped hands. "I have every amount of faith in you, Alex." He looked up from their hands, into her eyes. "It's just…you deserve better."

For her part, Alex shook her head. "Better than what, exactly? Doing a job I enjoy?"

She continued. "Would I have liked being captain? I don't know. Maybe." She shrugged.

"But no way could I do it – would I do it – at your expense. Besides, I'm not meant for a desk. Too much energy. I…I like the rush of a case, you know?"

Bobby nodded. He did.

"So…" Eames shrugged. "I guess Joe Hannah looked at your – our – record and liked what he saw. I was working on computers, jumping around as a 'Jill of all trades', when he called me. Having a steady income again is certainly a perk…then he mentioned you. I never knew you two went way back…"

Nodding, Bobby explained, "We went through the academy together. I was still re-adjusting to civilian life when the NYPD recruited me…and Joe and I just sort of clicked."

Alex's eyes were on their joined hands as Bobby continued.

"Then Narcotics came calling for me, and Joe was off to the OCB. We'd shoot the shit now and again, would lose touch, then reconnect again…"

Alex nodded.

"But Joe was one of the few that was never bothered by me…being…'unconventional', I'd guess you'd say."

Alex sighed. "Well, he was certainly impressed with our clearance rate when he called. Gave me a sales pitch to 'come home' to the NYPD. But I told him…"

Eames looked into Bobby's dark eyes for a bit, then back at their hands, then looked away, a bit nervous.

"I told him that I wasn't coming back…unless he could get you back, too."

Turning, seeing Bobby's face cloud, Alex quickly explained. "He already had you in mind before me, but he wanted to put feelers out to make sure we'd both come back. Seems…seems…quite a few have told him we're joined at the hip."

Alex felt heat rush to her face. If people were saying that, she wondered what other chatter the grapevine was spreading…?

Bobby gave a small grin.

"I told Joe I already had the best partner. And wasn't in the market for a new one."

Shit… Alex thought. I hate it when I blush.

Clearing her throat, Alex tried to tamp down on the butterflies that ensued at Bobby's declaration.

"Who knew you could be such a sweet talker?" she said, trying to lighten the moment.

Bobby gave a wide smile, which, to Alex's mind, made him look a decade younger. But then it faded, and a bit of trepidation crept in.

"What is it?" Eames asked.

Alex could feel tension in the hand that still held her, tightening as Bobby elaborated.

"Joe told me that the department wants me to undergo some therapy sessions as a condition of my return."

Alex opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it.

Irritation – and a bit of hurt - seeped into his voice as he let go of Eames' hand, asking, "You think I need therapy? The whackjob?!"

Attuned to Bobby's ongoing sensitivity as far as his mental state went, Alex knew she had to proceed carefully. She already missed the warmth of Bobby's hand but shoved that thought away.

"No!"

Alex fixed a long stare on Bobby. "You know I don't. We've spent too many years together for you to ever believe that. But…"

"But?" Bobby repeated, a bit glumly.

It was Alex's turn to once more take Bobby's hand and give another reassuring squeeze.

He didn't pull away, which encouraged her.

"You've been put through the proverbial ringer these past few years, Bobby." Alex explained. "Your mother, Frank." Alex took a breath.

"Then there's Declan's betrayal. Jo…"

Alex was proud of herself for not reacting to Jo Gage's name, but she saw Bobby blanch, and Alex hated that he still blamed himself insofar as her ordeal went.

"Maybe…talking to someone about all that can clear some of the cobwebs away." Alex shrugged. "Did Joe mention how many sessions?"

Bobby ran a thumb over the top of Alex's hand, watching it intently, as he responded, "Eight."

Nodding encouragingly, Alex continued. "You can navigate eight sessions! I know it sucks, putting yourself out there…"

Bobby knew it wasn't just talk from Eames, remembering her own series of sessions following her kidnapping.

"…but just plow through, then the brass will get the hell off your back. And you win!"

"You make it sound so simple," Bobby sighed.

"I know better." Alex answered. "But if it means keeping your job, I know you can ride it out. And I'll be there to bitch to."

That brought a real smile to Bobby's face.

Bobby shook his head. "He was right, damn him."

"Hmm?"

Bobby shrugged. "Joe. Said 'a visitor' would change my perspective. Seemed sure that it would help me make a decision."

Alex smiled.

"You're better than the Ghosts of Christmas, any day, Eames!"

Alex blinked. "Um…thanks?"

Giving a laugh, Bobby said, "Forget it. But…I'm glad to have our partnership back."

Alex nodded. Her voice came out a bit low, as she replied, "Me, too!"

Bobby nodded, looked around, settled on the presents. "Still say it's too much." He nodded toward them.

Eames grinned. "If you're so worried, we can call it even if you share whatever that heavenly smell is cooking on your stove!"

Blushing at the praise, Bobby simply shrugged.

"Chili. Nothing fancy. But I'd share with you anytime, Eames."

Looking away, feeling her blush deepen, Eames took a breath.

Regaining her equilibrium, she turned back. "Well, that's mighty Christmas-y of you, Bobby!"

Bobby stood then, impulsively using their clasped hands to pull Alex up, into a hug. "I'm suddenly feeling a lot jollier."

Pulling back, Alex gave a wide smile. "Good. After we eat, then we can go find a tree for the presents, then!"

Bobby nodded then.

He got more than his job back for Christmas, but his partner.

And that was better than any box or bow under a tree.

But he would humor her, anyway.

Fin