He slammed the car door shut. She started the ignition, took the parking brake off, and reversed out of the space outside of 1PP. He gazed out of the window. She couldn't think of any particular topic of conversation, so they were quiet.
Bobby wasn't really in the mood for conversation anyway.
He glanced over at his partner, suppressing a chuckle at the sudden resurgence of the memory of the first time she'd driven him. She had insisted, in fact, and Eames wasn't the kind of woman you needed to be chivalrous around. She was liable to knock a knight in shining armor off of his horse.
He then remembered when he first met her, when they were assigned to each other; he recalled her surprisingly small size, and her even more surprisingly acerbic wit. He'd been assigned to big tough loners before, not scrappy, ballsy women.
She hadn't liked him. He'd known that much for sure. That hadn't bothered him. Not really. Someone consistently liking Bobby, even tolerating him (especially if they hadn't at all gotten to know him yet) wasn't exactly commonplace. When she'd read the letter in the courthouse, yeah, that'd been a little bit of a surprise, but he got over it.
She'd gotten over him, as time went on. Gotten over his 'quirks', as they'd probably been called when she asked around about him before they met. His techniques. His idiosyncrasies. As if 'quirky' could describe him.
He'd grown to like her more, too. A mutual understanding had developed. He let her say whatever she wanted, react in whatever way she saw fit. She let him happily pop boils on dead bodies and regularly make a spectacle of himself in public. All as long as it'd give them the slightest edge in their case.
That was what was important. Solving the puzzles, catching the killers. Personal preference didn't matter. In the beginning, he could've been paired with anyone. It was just lucky that she was the type he enjoyed having around.
Eames came to a stop at a red light. Goren glanced at her, thinking it over. He smiled. She didn't glance over. She had no idea what he was thinking (as per usual).
Eames fit him somehow. Despite his usual insight into people, he wasn't quite sure why. The old clichéd adage, "opposites attract"? In looks, they were opposites. In personality, certainly. In family, hell yes. They moved differently, saw everything in a different light. Complimented each other, you could say.
Wait. Was he attracted to her?
Not attracted. No, not really. He was affectionate toward her, he supposed. It was nice to be his size and of his standing and have a woman around you whom you didn't feel like you needed to protect. Someone to talk to people for you when you only wanted to poke around and observe things. Someone to deal with formalities and authority, even if she hated them as much as you did.
He'd gotten used to it. Their playing off of each other when dealing with witnesses or higher-ups or anyone else he was forced to contend with and would have to deal with alone otherwise. He certainly loved working with her in the interrogation room. Really... he hoped she'd be working with him for a long time.
They pulled up the driveway of an important (and initially reluctant) witness. They each got out of the car and walked up the porch steps. After a doorbell ring and a quick conversation, a nervous-looking middle-aged woman motioned them inside. Bobby was tempted to hold the door open for his partner, but he suppressed the urge.