I pray the lord my soul to keep

Bobby had no idea when he had moved from the couch to the bed. But, when he woke up the next morning, he was asleep in his own bed, alarm clock in hand, trying desperately to quiet the painfully loud beeping. Finally he gained enough motor control to turn off the alarm without ripping it out of the wall. He moved slowly to get out of bed, scratching his hand through his hair. He headed off to the shower, planning to let the water scald the rest of the sleepy feeling off of him.

An hour or so later he found himself leaning against the wall in the Captain's office. He didn't particularly like being in the Captain's office. He kind of lurked near the door while the Captain and Eames engaged in a conversation, rather like he wasn't even there.

"Just get this done." The Captain was saying, thrusting a folder at Eames. "And get it done quietly." The Captain looked at Bobby as he said the last part.

"Yes sir." Eames said quietly. Bobby noticed she was gesturing at him to precede her out of the office. He followed her unspoken command.

"Get what done quietly?" Bobby followed Eames through the squad. She shot him a look over her shoulder, silently reprimanded him for not listening.

"We just have to interview this witness." Eames said.

"Witness to what?" Bobby asked.

"Yesterday." Eames referred to the London case.

"Witness to the suicide." Bobby's voice was full of skepticism. "There was no witness to the suicide." Bobby stated.

"Witness to the victim's state of mind." Eames supplied.

"What?" Bobby was impatient. He knew that this was going to be a colossal waist of time. He knew that some bureaucrat somewhere was putting the thumbscrews to Ross to interview this witness and see what damaging information might potentially be in play regarding Charles London's suicide, which presently was being played as some kind of depression related to the recent death of his brother.

"Remember, we're to get this done quietly." Eames scowled at Bobby, who rather resentfully closed his mouth.

"Quiet is my middle name." Bobby snarked.

"Right. And Rumplestiltskin is mine." Eames returned the snark.

Bobby did manage to make quiet his middle name. He let Eames interview the witness, while he stood quietly by. The witness was a very polished, almost 50 something, carefully coiffed blonde who was apparently having an affair with Charles London. She claimed that his suicide was most likely a result of her recent break-up with him. Bobby realized that she was fishing for information from them about the events immediately leading up to London's suicide. Eames did not reveal an iota of information, which frustrated the socialite. Bobby smiled, Eames really had a nice way with people. Eames was so incredibly pleasant and polite, you didn't realize she was being rude until the conversation was over. Which it was, the conversation was over and Eames stood, smiling her neutrally polite smile, offering the socialite her card, in case "anything else came to mind."

"You're an artist Eames." Bobby said, as he jumped into the passenger side of the SUV.

"Who knew?" Eames replied.

"Who knew…" Bobby asked.

"Who knew that quiet really is your middle name." Eames deftly shifted the subject away from herself. Bobby sat in silence, knowing there was more to come. "Bobby, is everything Ok?" Eames asked.

"Yeah." Bobby replied, looking out the window at the buildings passing by. He didn't feel like talking with Eames, and she got the hint, but at the same time, he realized she had let him know she was there if he wanted to say anything.

The rest of the day sped by, chasing down information related to another case. Bobby watched Eames watching the clock as the last minutes of their shift ticked by. He knew she was seeing someone, a firefighter, and he was thinking she had a date. He thought about saying something, but he knew that somehow she would turn in around to him, to asking him about his plans for the evening, and since he had none, he didn't feel like walking into a conversation he knew would turn itself around on him.

"See you tomorrow." Eames stood, placing her things in her bag.

"Yeah, tomorrow." Bobby replied. He found himself out front a few minutes later, wondering what to do. He was hungry, so he decided to stop at a favorite place for something to eat. Which, unfortunately turned more like into something to drink. Which, eventually landed him on the doorstep of his friend Lucy's home.

"Bobby." Lucy answered the door, smiling. It was just after 10:00pm and Bobby was leaning in her doorjamb. Bobby realized she always had a smile for him, he counted on it, that she would always welcome him inside.

"Lucy." He smiled, a lopsided drunk smile in return. He thought she looked beautiful. She was wearing a plain white t-shirt, kind of snug against her full breasts, and black yoga pants, low on her curvy hips, just below her narrow waist. She had her wildly curly hair pulled up in a loose pony tail high on her head, so he could see the wonderful lines of her jaw, of her neck, of her angular collar bone. He closed his eyes for a moment, randomly remembering having sex with the CSU the night before, his drunk brain muddling the details, imagining being with Lucy instead of the CSU, mentally turning the feel of the CSU's thick dark shoulder length hair into the cottony feel of Lucy's springy curls.

"Bobby." She said his name again, the smile still in her tone. "Why don't you come in." She stepped aside, and he stumbled in. As he fought for a moment to gain his balance, he realized he was way more drunk than he thought. Lucy reached up, lightly placing her hands on his chest to keep him from falling forward. "Whoa." She said, her eyes widening a bit in surprise.

"Whoa is right." He replied, shaking his head slightly, in a vain effort to clear his thoughts. He was still thinking about what it would feel like to kiss her, to feel her skin on his skin, to take in the scent of every inch of her.

"Bobby." She said his name again, pulling him back to the present. He tried to set his thoughts aside. Lucy was not his to have. She was in love with someone else. And that thought made him physically ache. He realized he wanted something he couldn't have, he shouldn't have, he didn't deserve to have.

"Sorry." He muttered, and followed her into her family room. She pushed him lightly backward so he fell onto her sofa.

"I'd ask about your day…" Lucy said, sitting on the edge of the sofa, as he lay there letting the room spin around him. "Would you like to talk about your day…?" She asked, looking at him, even as drunk as he was he could see the concern in her eyes.

"Not really." He said. She said something else, but he wasn't sure what it was, he simply heard the sound of her, not her words. He rolled over onto his side, giving her a bit more room to sit in front of him, liking the feeling of having her close. Then, he was asleep. I pray the lord my soul to keep.


A/N: As always, thanks for reading (reviews are welcome).