Eames rolled slowly into the back of the couch and groaned. Her head was pounding mercilessly, her stomach was uncertain at best and her mouth was full of cotton. She forced her eyes open and looked around, not recognizing her surroundings. Oh, God. What the hell did I do?

With extreme care, she managed to ease herself into a sitting position. She looked around, finally realizing where she was. Bobby's apartment. How on earth did she end up there? She wasn't with Bobby last night. Struggling to her feet, she made her way to the bathroom.

Stepping back into the hallway, she looked at his bedroom door. He had to know what happened. She knocked on the door and slowly eased it open. The drapes were drawn, blocking out the daylight and keeping the room dark. She heard soft snoring coming from the direction of the bed. Standing in the doorway, she gave her eyes time to adjust to the dim light before she walked to the bedside.

He was lying on his stomach, shirtless, with both arms tucked beneath his pillow. She picked up a half-empty scotch bottle from the floor and set it on the nightstand beside an almost empty glass. She watched him sleep for a few minutes, eying the strong muscles of his back. Dear God, give me strength.

When she was certain he wasn't going to waken, she reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead. Unable to resist, she continued to gently run her fingers through his soft curls, and her heart melted.

She withdrew her hand, leaving the room on silent feet. Back in the living room, she folded the blanket and left it on top of the pillow. Spotting her wallet on the counter, she wondered how it got there as she picked it up and slipped it into her jacket pocket. She thought about leaving him a note, but decided against it. Stepping into her shoes, she left the apartment.

Eames sat alone in her living room, staring at the phone. She had been caught off guard by the call she'd received just before leaving work the night before, and she knew she wasn't able to fully hide her emotions, not from her partner, anyway. She knew Goren sensed she was upset, but she didn't want to discuss it, so she took off before he could start questioning her. If she let him start interrogating, he would get to her. He always did. He would tip his head to the side and give her that look, the one that made his face open and soft. He would touch her arm, and his eyes would take on that pleading look. Tell me what's wrong, his entire demeanor would broadcast. And she would cave. She always did.

She stared at the phone for a long time before she came to the conclusion that the calls she needed to make were not going to make themselves. Picking up the receiver, she dialed her sister's number.

Slowly, Goren rolled over onto his back. He scrubbed a hand over his face, surprised it was still so dark, and looked toward the window. Oh, yeah...he'd pulled the drapes closed before settling in with a book and a bottle of scotch. The scotch bottle, still half full, sat on the nightstand. The book...he looked around...there it was...on the other side of the bed. Picking it up, he opened it to where he'd left off the other night and scanned forward until the sentences were no longer familiar. Not bad. He'd finished most of the chapter before the whiskey blurred his mind and his memory. He looked at the clock. 4:38. Almost dinnertime. He'd slept away most of the day. Had he been that tired, or that drunk? He wasn't sure. Most likely, it was a combination of the two.

Rising, he showered, which made him feel marginally better. In the living room, he was not surprised to find Eames gone, the only evidence of her presence the pillow and neatly folded blanket on the couch. He put them away. He hadn't expected her to hang around, but he imagined she would have questions for him about what had gone on the night before. He pondered what to tell her as he went into the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee. She hadn't done anything wrong; she had nothing to regret. He'd made sure of that. It hadn't been easy, but it had been necessary. If he'd let her have her way, in that condition, he would never have forgiven himself. But he was confused. Where had that desire in her eyes come from?

He was halfway through the coffee pot and most of the way through a fairly decent meal of chicken enchiladas, rice and beans when someone knocked on the door. He switched off the television and went to the door. Pulling it open, he was surprised to find his partner there, looking no worse for the wear. She gave him a sheepish smile. "Hi."

It was odd to see her wearing that kind of expression. Usually, he was the one who was apologetic and embarrassed. He gave her a reassuring smile. "Hi. Come on in."

"Are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

She looked at her fingernails. "I, um, I don't remember...how I got here last night."

"I didn't figure you would." He motioned for her to come in, reinforcing his invitation. "Come on."

She entered the apartment and followed him to the living room. "Oh," she said. "I'm interrupting your dinner."

"Forget it. I was done, anyway. Sit down."

"Bobby...I just...I came by to apologize."

He picked up his plate and the empty beer bottle from the coffee table as she sat on the couch. "For what?" he asked, sincere.

She watched him carry the dishes into the kitchen, listening to the clatter of the plate in the sink and the clink of the bottle in the recycling container before she answered, "For anything I need to apologize for."

"Do you want something to drink?"

She paused. Was he avoiding the subject? "Uh, do you still have ginger ale?"

He came out of the kitchen a few moments later with a can of ginger ale and a small plate, which he handed to her. The plate contained a brownie, frosted with chocolate icing. He gave her a soft smile which caught her off guard. "I found some icing."

She looked confused. "Did I ask for icing?"

"You asked for brownies."

"I did?"

He nodded. "And beer. You settled for the brownies, but you fell asleep before they were done."

She looked at the plate and then back at him as he sat in the recliner near the larger of his bookcases. He'd made her brownies, just because she asked? "Bobby, be honest with me. What else did I do?"

He shook his head. "Nothing, Eames. You weren't really in a condition to do much of anything."

"Seriously? I didn't totally embarrass myself?"

He smiled at her again. "No. You didn't."

She seemed to relax. "Did I do anything to embarrass you?"

"No. You were flirting with a married asshole when I came by to get you."

She gave a nod and a smirk. "My specialty."

"It didn't take much for me to convince him to leave you alone, and then I brought you here."

"Uh, why here?"

"Because you didn't want to go home and you were willing to come here. I didn't mind."

She sat back and took a bite of the brownie. "You're sure I didn't do anything embarrassing?"

"Positive."

He watched her eat the brownie. No, she hadn't done anything embarrassing. Confusing, yes. But not embarrassing. She obviously felt bad about the entire situation, and he wasn't going to contribute to that. But he did want to know what had precipitated it. "Eames, what happened?"

She knew that was coming and she sighed as she finished off the last bite. "It's a family thing," she said, hoping he would leave it at that but knowing he wouldn't. He stayed where he was, silent, watching her, and she knew she owed him more of an explanation than that. With a heavy sigh, she set the empty plate on the coffee table, took a drink of soda and said, "I got a call from my sister. She was really upset, and I met her for drinks to talk to her. She found out Jason...is sleeping with one of the girls he works with, and he got her pregnant."

He didn't react to that, letting it sink in and roll around in his head. He knew that Jason was a good father, but news of his infidelity brought back memories of his own father. As young as he'd been, he knew what was going on when the old man would stumble home, smelling of gin and perfume. He had never forgiven him for that. He didn't know what to tell Eames, so he said nothing. Silently, he rose and took her plate into the kitchen.

She didn't know how to read his reaction. She wasn't sure if he was angry or upset or what he was, so she followed him into the kitchen. He was leaning against the sink, arms folded over his chest, staring into the distance at some point on the wall. But his mind was someplace she could not follow.

Hesitantly, she reached out and touched his arm. He looked at her, but didn't see her immediately. Slowly his eyes cleared and he shook his head. "She deserves better," he commented, then said no more.

"Is that all you have to say?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "That's all I'd better say," he answered.

She continued to study him. "Don't cop out on me. I'd like your opinion."

Slowly, he shook his head. "It's not my place to have an opinion about this," he said carefully. "When I can get my own life in order, maybe then I can comment about someone else's decisions."

She was surprised by his reply and even more surprised when he left the room. She wasn't about to let him get away with that, so she followed him again. He was standing by the window in the living room, looking out onto the street below as darkness descended on the city. She crossed the room slowly and tentatively reached out, resting her hand once again on his arm. She watched his jaw tense, but there was no other reaction from him. Her fingers gently stroked his arm and she softly said, "Talk to me."

He continued looking out the window, then he dropped his chin to his chest and searched for the words he needed to describe what he was feeling. He let out a heavy breath. He felt angry and bitter, and he could not keep that from his tone. "All my life," he said quietly. "I have been looking for a woman who would accept me for who I am, without judgment, without conditions. Here's a guy who has the world by the balls, and he has to keep squeezing. He has everything, and he's still not content; he still wants more." His voice became softer, sadder. "I don't understand that."

In that moment, all she wanted was to be closer to him. With more confidence, she stilled the movement of her hand on his arm and gripped it firmly; she moved a half step closer. He turned his head to look at her, surprised. She was watching him, her own mixture of sorrow and regret for her sister's situation on her face. "I don't understand, either," she replied. "And I've been conducting my own search in life, for a decent guy. I have my doubts about ever finding another one."

With a brief nod, he looked back down at the street. She expected him to withdraw his arm, but he didn't. She could, however, feel the tension coursing through him. Another half step and she was directly beside him, almost touching him. Leaning in a little, she rested her head against his arm and looked out the window, not paying attention to anything outside the apartment.

He was already tense. When she rested her head against his arm, his body tensed even more, and he was afraid he was going to pull a muscle before it was over. He could not even take a guess at what she was doing. Turning his head to look at her again, he softly spoke her name. "Eames?"

Her head moved as though she was underwater, very slowly and deliberately. When she finally made eye contact, the air rushed from his lungs as if he'd taken a solid blow to the gut. There in her eyes, he saw the same desire that had been there the night before, only now...now she was sober. Now she knew what she was doing, what she was feeling. She was in control and directing the course of her emotions. Or at least, she wasn't hiding them.

He turned toward her, but took a step backward. She advanced half a step and moved her hand from his arm to his torso. Her warm hand stroked small, firm circles over his shirt. His heart began to race, kicked into overdrive by a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.

The room suddenly got very warm as he tried to withdraw, backing away slowly until he made contact with the wall. She stayed with him, keeping eye contact, until he stopped. He had nowhere else to go. Words failed him and he was unable to look away from her eyes. When had they gotten so dark?

He raised his hand and brought it to rest against the side of her face. Insight flashed like a bolt of lightning in his brain. A beautiful woman who loved him unconditionally, who accepted him for who he was, in spite of everything, something not even his mother had ever been able to do. There was no need for him to look any further, and yet...the object of his search was off limits to him. That was the way life worked, at least for him. The one thing he wanted most from life, and she was forbidden...or was she?

Eames watched the play of emotions drift across his face, saw the shadows in the depths of his eyes. Confusion faded slowly, replaced by realization before finally settling on dark desire that easily matched her own. She wondered if he even knew it was there as she pondered the man who stood before her. A good man...a decent man who loved her in his own messed up way, and it was enough, because he showed her a different face than the one he turned to the rest of the world. She knew a kind and gentle man, a loving soul with a tender heart, despite the rough life he had lived. He would never manipulate her or attempt to score. He was trying to hide, but it wasn't working. Part of him wanted to withdraw. She felt that in the tension of his muscles—they were rigid and unyielding, reflecting his stoic facade—but she was not going to let him.

She slid her hand along his chest, up over his shoulder, along his neck and into his hair. As she began applying pressure to guide his face toward hers, he moved his head on his own. Gently, his lips brushed over hers in a tender, almost chaste kiss. It didn't last long.

Watching her face, he arched his eyebrows just a little bit. The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly in the hint of a smile. Accepting that as permission, he leaned in again, kissing her more fully on the mouth. She leaned into him, and he groaned involuntarily. His tongue traced her mouth and he took full advantage when she parted her lips, sliding his tongue forward, exploring. He gripped her waist, shocked, when she tangled her tongue around his.

As her tongue danced with his, his hands moved from her hips, drifting up her rib cage until his thumbs rested against her breasts. He skimmed them over the light fabric of her shirt and she gasped, grazing his tongue with her teeth. His body shuddered and his groin tightened even more as the fire in his chest consumed him. She buried both hands in his hair and sucked on his tongue, which almost did him in. Where the hell had this come from?

Gradually, with reluctance, he withdrew from her. With even greater reluctance, she let him go. He looked into her eyes and moistened his lips as he struggled to get himself under control. He could not let this get out of hand. She respected him enough to give him his space, though it was obvious she did not want to back off.

When she finally looked away, he leaned over, keeping her eyes focused on him and destroying his chance to fully withdraw. "What are we doing?"

"I thought that was obvious."

"Eames, is this really a path we want to go down? Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Since when are you the voice of reason?"''

He let out a heavy breath. "Since I realized you are the best thing that ever happened to me. I can't risk screwing that up, too."

She moved closer to him again. "So we don't let that happen. Work is work, and play is play. The two can never cross paths. We're not teenagers, Bobby. We can manage our lives."

He arched his eyebrows and laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "Have you looked at my life lately, Eames?"

Her face was close to his again. "Only you have the power to make it better or to make it worse."

He studied her face again, from her eyes, burning with a fire he had never seen in her before, to her mouth, which silently pleaded with him for another kiss. His eyes roamed, looking down at firm breasts that seemed eager for more fondling as they rose and fell with each breath she took. When she reached out and raked her fingernails down his chest, accompanied by the simple word please, spoken in a husky, almost desperate tone, he caved completely. He had no will to resist this woman, and he didn't even try any more.