11:17 PM

Alex sat cross-legged on the futon that also served as her bed, listening to the rain tapping on her windows. Her workout had left her exhausted and sore, but the argument with Bobby had sparked an adrenaline rush from which she had still not recovered. Despite taking a long hot shower and changing into the silk pajamas her sister had bought (for more comfy recovery time), she was still wired, and sleep was not looking possible tonight. Besides, she knew at some point Bobby would come down off his anger and was likely to get in touch with her. And that thought kept her adrenaline flowing. What have I done?

She heard the key turn in the door, and braced herself. Round Two

Bobby walked in, dripping wet, carrying a brown paper bag, and looking…hard-faced, and just as tired as she was. Out of habit, he automatically hung his raincoat on the hook near the front door, before taking a look across the room at his clearly nervous partner. With her hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail and wearing pajamas that hung on her petite frame loosely, sitting like a kid, he thought he'd never seen her looking quite so vulnerable. He winced, almost involuntarily, knowing that in order to resolve what had happened this night, he would have to confront her, vulnerable or not.

"You're wet."

"It's raining."

"Yeah."

As he walked into her kitchen, she got up from the futon and made her way, careful to leave him a wide berth, to her bathroom. In a moment, she was back, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding out a towel to him. He shook his head. "It's okay." Without really thinking about it, she put the towel down on a small table just outside the kitchen.

"What did you bring?"

"Scotch."

"Why?"

"We're going to need it."

He handed her a nearly-full glass and poured one for himself as well. She backed into the living room (okay, the only room) and returned to her spot on the futon. As he was a little too tall to sit comfortably on the futon, he took an overstuffed armchair in the corner, one she had come to think of as "his" chair. For a moment, all they did was look at one another. No longer able to stand the tense silence, Alex started to try and apologize, "Bobby, I…"

"Shut up and drink your Scotch. You've already had your say."

She read the look in his eyes, shut up, and drank her Scotch.

He took a deep swallow, then a deep breath. "Okay, Eames, first off, I don't ever want anyone else but you for a partner, which I think you already know. So your accusations back there about my seeing you as damaged goods were bullshit. Our partnership is the one thing I think we don't have any problems with. Are you upset that I got you out of that room today? Is that what this is about?"

"No, that was the right move for the situation."

"So you would agree that, as a partner, I have not been treating you any differently than I ever have. You know that I trust you with my life."

The Scotch was leaving a warm trail down her throat to her stomach, and she was starting to breathe regularly again. "Yes. And I trust you with mine."

"Okay, then". He stood up, running a hand absently through his damp hair. "As to your accusation that I am trying too hard to protect you, that's true. The hours when you were missing, and when I realized that it was Jo Gage who hurt you to get back at her father, and at me, were the worst hours of my life, bar none. So I am being overprotective. And I have just one thing to say to you about that, Eames."

"What?" She looked up at him expectantly, thinking an apology was imminent.

"Tough shit." His eyes looked directly into hers, and she saw that he was not kidding.

"Excuse me?"

:"You heard me. Tough shit, Eames. You are not the only one who has some issues to deal with about that situation, and you are just going to have to deal with the fact that, for a while, I'm going to be taking care of you."

Her anger, dissipated a bit by time and the Scotch, was beginning to stir in the pit of her stomach again. "I don't need you to take care of me, Bobby. I can take care of myself just fine."

He looked directly into her eyes. "Yes, you can. But you don't have to, and right now I need you to let me look out for you for a while. I always let you be protective of me when I'm hurting, don't I?"

What the hell does that have to do with anything? "Yes, Bobby, but that's different."

"Why is it different?"

"Because it's not me!"

He smiled at her, knowing that he'd finally gotten to the damn point. "Exactly; you want to be able to take care of me, but I can't do the same? How fair is that, Eames?"

She sighed. "I didn't say it was fair, Bobby. It's just how we are."

"Things have changed."

"Well, fuck that, I don't WANT things to have changed. I want everything back to the way it was!"

They were standing inches apart, he towering over her, her frustration like a wild thing alive in the room with them. He looked at her, his face softening. "If I could give that to you, I would in a heartbeat. But it's just not possible; we can't undo what's happened."

She stared up at him, knowing he was right, and hating it. Deflated, she whispered, "I know. I'm sorry. You've been so good to me, and I took it out on you."

He grinned at her. "Yeah, you were pretty tough. And I was wrong to get mad at you for not checking in with me, but I think the bruises on my knees are payback enough, okay?"

Feeling a little embarrassed, Alex laughed. "Yeah, I showed you, huh?"

"Don't ever doubt for a minute that I know very well you could kick my ass without breaking a sweat. This is why I let you drive."

She grinned. "The Scotch was a good idea. Let's have some more." She took his glass as well as her own into the kitchen to pour refills. When she returned, he had reclaimed "his" chair. She handed him his glass, taking a generous drink from her own. Absentmindedly, she picked up the towel from earlier, put her glass on the table, and walked over to him. He was going to catch pneumonia hanging around with his hair all wet. Standing in front of him, she began, gently, to dry his hair.

He looked up at her. "Bringing things back to the way you want them?"

"Yes, and if you don't like it, to quote a very good friend of mine, tough shit." He smiled up at her, feeling better than he had in a long time. If this was what Scotch did to Eames, he would go out tomorrow and buy a case. "Bobby, about your mom. I am sorry, but I really do wish you would have told me."

He sighed. Well, that moment didn't last very long. She was still toweling his hair, though, so he figured arguing was a bad idea. "I should have told you, but I'm still sorting out how I feel about it. Part of me thinks that her being sick might give her some relief from her demons, something real to fight for a change, but when I think about her dying…"

Eames hands stilled. "What?"

"I think that when she dies, I'll lose the only person in the world who loves me, even if it's imperfectly, you know?"

You moron. Scotch or not, I will not let you get maudlin on me. She knew exactly the dose of reality he needed. Stepping closer, she took his Scotch glass away, placed it on the table, and said in a soft tone, "You're wrong about that Bobby." He looked up at her, eyes damp and hopeful. "Lewis loves you."

For just the briefest of moments, he looked hurt, but when he saw the glint in her eyes, he smiled. "Ah yes, Eames, the love that dares not speak its name. Thank you for reminding me."

Laughing, she put her arms around him, and cradled his head to her chest. "I love you, you idiot."

"I love you too, you bitch."

He pulled his head away just a little to look up at her. Their eyes locked.