Disclaimer:(which I forgot in the first chapter) Not mine. All Dick Wolf's and NBC's. Lucky them.

A/N: Another thing I forgot last chapter. Thanks to those of you who reviewed. I am writing this thing at an alarming rate, but it's not unusual for me, once I start something new I become a bit obsessive - bad for my real life - great for you guys! This is my first foray into L&O, or any type of crime fic, and I went to the Dick Wolf school of Law, so any mistakes are my fault.

An hour later, she had a cold cup of half drank coffee on her desk, and a crick in her neck from being on the phone so much. But she had scheduled interviews with Collier's captain, Det. Davis and Det. Frances for the next morning. She glanced over at Bobby to ask him how it was going, but was surprised to find his desk empty and the usual piles of photos and notes missing. Sighing, she turned, scanning the available rooms, finally seeing him in one of the briefing rooms, standing before a white board that was covered in writing, with photos pinned to the walls around him.

She didn't bother knocking, simply entering the room and closing the door behind her. "You know – in certain cultures it's considered polite to let your partner know you're disappearing before you do it." He turned with a smile and she felt herself responding in kind. It was hard not to smile back – Bobby smiled so rarely that one felt they had to reciprocate.

"I'm sorry Eames – you were on the uh-" he paused to make a notation on the board before continuing. "-the phone and I didn't want to disturb you."

She looked at him archly for a moment before collapsing into a chair at the table and scanning the photos. "Yeah well, I was scheduling our fun filled day tomorrow. Interviews." Her voice was dry and she grinned slightly as she spoke. "So these are the scene photos?" she stared around the room, taking in the massive amount of pictures lining the walls. Different angles of the body lined one wall, while the other two were devoted to the scene photos. One in particular caught her eye and she stepped closer.

"Yeah- CSU will have the lab reports faxed over as they go." He stood in front of the body photos, his head tilted slightly as he looked them over for what was probably the hundredth time.

"Bobby- is that-" she pointed at one photo, squinting.

"A syringe?" His voice was close behind her, indicating he had stepped up to her back and was now peering over her head. She could literally feel the heat from his body and she had to shake her head to clear her mind for a moment instead of concentrating on the feel of his breath stirring strands of her hair as he spoke. "Yeah- CSU logged it. It was in the en suite bathroom garbage."

"Do you think that's what was used to subdue him? But why leave it at the scene?" she wondered aloud.

"Yeah well- that's- that's the thing. I can't seem to find any type of puncture wound on the body." He ran a hand through his hair and walked back to the body wall in agitation. He stood in front of it, his hands on his hips- as if he were challenging the photos with his body language. She followed behind him, ducking in front of him to get a better view – it was damn near impossible to see around Robert Goren – especially when you were Alex Eames.

"Maybe he cut over the wound?" she mused, staring at the photos with him.

"That doesn't make sense though-" Bobby stood behind her, pointing over her shoulder at the grouping of photos that depicted the various cuts on the victim. "See – here and here? None of the cuts the killer made would be in a place you would inject someone. Not without restraining them first. But there are no restraint marks." He drew his arm back, and she knew he was placing his hand over his mouth – the typical thinking Bobby stance. She turned to look up at him – an annoying necessity despite her heels- and saw that she had been right.

"Well maybe the ME will be able to shed some light." He sighed at her platitude and wandered back to the white board where he was compiling a history of Collier.

"Well- he was- uh pretty much alone in the world. Joined the army when he was eighteen – did a few tours overseas- during one of them his parents were murdered. He came home and decided to leave the Army for the NYPD. His record's clean. No wives- no children-" He spoke rapidly, tripping over himself to get the necessary information out. She frowned, settling herself at the table and flicking through some of the pages of the file in front of her.

"If he didn't have a wife- maybe we'll know who was close to him from his pension file? He must have had someone listed as next of kin." she mumbled thoughtfully as she flipped through the pages. Bobby sat across from her and started searching as well.

"He uh- here it is, Eames." He scanned the page before handing it over to her. "He had his partner listed as his next of kin. He even left her spousal privileges – that kind of thing."

"His partner? That seems odd, especially the spousal privileges." She frowned as she scanned the document, signed by Mark Collier five years ago.

"Not so- not so odd-" Bobby spoke hesitantly as he ran a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair. "I mean – he was alone in the world, and who better than his partner to be his next of kin? She would know his views on certain issues if it was an issue of life or death – he had no family – work was probably his life. So presumably he would want the person who he'd worked with for ten years to be taken care of."

She watched Bobby face as he spoke, the shadow of sadness in his eyes as he spoke, and she knew that he was identifying with the victim. She sighed inwardly – this happened alot with Bobby- but at least he was identifying with the vic instead of the suspect this time.

"I mean- I- I- you're my next of kin." he blurted out, and she glanced up in shock. She opened her mouth, but closed it again. It made an odd kind of sense. Bobby didn't have family to depend on, his Mom wasn't capable of making decisions – and she knew he didn't trust his brother to do it. She had always just vaguely assumed that Bobby would have someone else though – Lewis or.. "Should I have asked you about that first?" His voice startled her out of her thoughts and she smiled in his direction, hoping to ease the lines of worry that were written on his face.

"No. Bobby- no- I'm – honored actually , that you trust me that much." She glanced down awkwardly, berating herself for her choice of words. Trust, Alex? You are such an idiot.

"Of course I do Eames." And there it was again, Eames. She could decide if he lived or died, but he couldn't call her by her given name. She snorted slightly, half choking on a deranged sort of giggle, and he looked up at her in query. She shook her head silently, indicating that it was nothing, but he leaned forward, clearly intent on discovering what she found amusing. She leaned back, even though there was an entire table between them, Bobby had the ability to somehow seem larger than the room, bigger than the objects between them. She felt her phone vibrate at her waist, and almost sighed in relief. Grabbing it, she smiled and answered while he watched her closely.

"Eames." she spoke into the phone with a relieved tone, and she knew he heard it by the way he crossed his arms across his chest. When the call was over, she flicked the phone shut, smiling sweetly at him. "Sorry Bobby- you got your wish. ME is ready for us." Standing swiftly she walked towards the door, only to be stopped a a large hand held it shut before her. He was leaning to the left of her, watching her closely. "Bobby- the ME." she spoke in a pointed tone.

Removing his hand he smiled slightly. "Fine. But I'm not done. I want to know what was so funny."

Walking past him she laughed under her breath. "Yeah, I'm terrified. Now lets go see what Det. Collier is able to tell us."

She always hated the morgue. It wasn't the bodies, but the temperature. She was fond of sleeveless shirts, and only wore her suit coats when they were out interviewing suspects and witnesses. And at the morgue. Pulling her jacket closed and buttoning it up, she followed in Bobby's wake, hurrying to keep up with his longer strides. Halfway over to the table where the ME was still leaning over the body, he stopped abruptly, glancing back in apology and waiting for her. She just nodded, indicating it was fine, and they walked up to the table together.

"So, what have you got?" she spoke when it was clear Bobby was waiting for her. Which was odd- he usually snapped gloves on and dove right in. She shot him a quizzical look, but he merely shrugged, placing his binder on a nearby table and grabbing a pair of gloves.

"Well, you were right Goren – no defensive wounds. Also very little bleeding from the cuts, and difference in the bruising patterns here and here-" she pointed to two separate long gashes, one on the arm and one on the chest. The arm had slight bruising around it, but the cut on the chest was as clean as her autopsy incisions. "-which indicates that the wounds were inflicted both perimortem and postmortem."

"So the killer starting cutting before he died, and kept going?" she inquired as Bobby leaned down over the now clean body, inspecting the cuts.

"Exactly."

"What about- about the cuts themselves? Were there any depth variations? Hesitation?" Bobby spoke from his his current position, holding the arm of the corpse and pushing the wounds apart with his gloved fingers.

"None. Which is rare enough, but the length and precision were also damn near perfect. I'd say you're looking for someone who was a professional."

Alex frowned, glancing down at Bobby as she did so. "That doesn't make any sense though- I mean, why shoot him first if you were so into the cutting aspect?"

Straightening, Bobby looked across at her thoughtfully. "Well he could not be used to blood – to live operations. Maybe a med student?"

"I sent his blood to tox, the results should be back soon – but other than that he was in perfect health – all his vital organs were damn near perfect, he didn't drink excessively or smoke. All that was in his stomach contents was a half a cup of coffee." The ME handed Alex the completed autopsy report and smiled. She nodded, and took it, waiting for Bobby to shed his gloves, and grab his notebook again. As they walked through the doors, she handed him the file, knowing he would want a closer look at it in the car. He smiled his thanks, tucking it safely away, before looking at her, waiting to see where they would go next.

"How about we go down to CSU and see if we can nag some results out of them?" she grinned back at him as they walked through the long white corridor. "There's not much we can do at One PP until we get some results. Hey, maybe I'll be able to have dinner at a normal hour tonight and go to sleep in a bed, like normal folks do."

He chuckled as he got into the SUV, folding his too large frame up to fit in the front seat. She always thought they should have a bigger vehicle, but short of moving up to a tank – which she had heard weren't that roomy anyway- there wasn't much they could do. "I wouldn't bet on it." he answered wryly. She looked at him in confusion. "Dinner? Bed? Wow, Eames, you really do need a break."

"I somehow doubt I'm going to get it on this case."

After Bobby had managed to somehow finagle the lab reports from the female CSU tech, and she had stopped to grab some food, knowing that they wouldn't be going anywhere for a while, they found themselves back in the briefing room, surrounded once more by photos, only this time there were lab reports scattered across the table like confetti.

"So – let me get this right. The lab found traces of Rohypnol in his blood. But he wasn't sexually assaulted, just murdered." She spoke around large bites of the roast beef sandwich in her hands.

"Right. So whoever gave him the drug must have been trusted. If it was a known enemy, Collier wouldn't have trusted him enough to let him into his home. They slip him the drug in his coffee, they drink, chat and bam!-" he slapped his palm on the table for emphasis, but she didn't stop eating, merely chewed thoughtfully and waited for him to finish. "Bob's your uncle, he's practically passed out and compliant. The killer takes him into the bedroom, shoots him on the bed, and then starts carving." Wrinkling her nose in distaste and glancing down at her sandwich, she sighed before dropping it into a nearby garbage container. Picking up her drink and taking a sip, she cleared her throat.

"Bob's your uncle?" she asked dryly. He glanced over at her with confusion and she waited for him to explain.

"Oh – just a – a British saying. Anyway as near as I can figure – we'll need to talk to the partner and soon. I mean, not only is she his partner, but she lives next door. She may have heard something- I mean – we have no idea how long the killer was there. He could have come in late last night and stayed, waiting- or-"

"Well the funeral is tomorrow afternoon." she spoke thoughtfully. "And we have the other co workers coming in in the morning, so unless you want to go to the cemetery to speak with her – it will have to wait for the next morning." She spoke nonchalantly, but cursed inwardly when she felt Bobby's eyes on her. Those damn eyes tended to see everything, every sign that she was putting off interviewing this woman because of personal issues.

"Eames-"

"I don't want to talk about it Bobby. It's not possible to interview her before then."

"Well, technically we could reschedule, or ask her to come in early- but we aren't. You're cutting her a break, Eames. Why? Usually it's me sympathizing with suspects not you." He leaned across the table as he spoke, his arms resting on the papers in front of him, causing the sheets to shift and crinkle under the weight.

She felt an irritation rise within her at his implication. "Why would you assume she's a suspect?" she spoke in a defensive tone.

"Because she lives next door, hasn't given us an alibi, was supposedly missing from work during the TOD and was his only family to speak of?" His tone wasn't angry, he was just stating the facts – each and everyone of them true – and incriminating. She still took offense on Det Casas' behalf, though.

"Bobby she was his partner for 10 years – she's a cop for crying out loud – besides which, she doesn't fit your profile." She spoke smugly waving at the board behind him. He glanced over his shoulder in surprise. "Hey, I pay attention. Just not to you." He glanced back and sighed in acknowledgment. Standing, he crossed to her side of the table, carrying his chair with him. Dropping it next to her seat with a thud, he sat down in it backwards, his arms resting on the seatback.

"Eames- they're-" his voice was hesitant, like the gentle tone he used with the unbalanced suspects. She stiffened in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at the whiteboard in front of her, refusing to meet his gaze. "They're not us, alright? That body- it's not me, and Det. Casas isn't you."

"You think I don't know that Bobby?" she spoke harshly, transferring her glare from the board to him. To his credit, he did seem to back up an inch or two in the face of it, clearly knowing that she needed space. "I do know that- but I saw her today- and – God Bobby they were partners ten years. That's twice as long as us, and I know how well I'd handle it if that was you." She waved an arm at the wall of photos behind her. "I just- she didn't look like she was trying to appear upset- she looked devastated, and I don't think she did it. And I trust my gut, so I'm trying to give her some time."

He nodded slowly in understanding. "I get it. I still think you're getting too close to this case though-"

"Well don't we specialize in those?" she spoke dryly, with a half smile.

Running a hand through his hair, he nodded. "Well yes, but usually I'm the one close – not you. Don't blame me if I don't know this role very well. I can't- can't come up with some sarcastic remark tomake you laugh and pull you back. That's not me, it's you." She looked at him, sitting there trying to make things better for her, and she felt a wave of guilt crash over her.

"I'm sorry. You're right- as usual-" she added dryly. "I need to step back from my feelings about this case-"

"Eames," he spoke softly. "It's not that easy, believe me I know. Besides, you're attachment may be useful – you may offer insights- I just- I want you to be careful, alright?"

"Sure Bobby. Careful- my new mantra." She smiled as she spoke, but knew it didn't reach her eyes. They sat there for a moment, staring at each other, both refusing to be the one to break their gaze.

"I really do pay you to stare at each other don't I?" a weary voice issued from the door. They glanced over to see Ross standing there. Neither of them moved, and he sighed, placing his hands on his hips, just above his holster. "Update – my office now. After that you two can go home." Turning on his heel, he walked out of the door.

"Look at that Eames." Bobby spoke softly. "Maybe you'll sleep like normal folks, after all."