Love. I have no idea what the word means anymore.

At one point I thought I had a pretty good handle on it. At the end of some of our really long, grueling cases where Bobby and I stared evil right in the eyes and didn't flinch, and he would glance over to check on me that way that he does. That look. That was filed in my mental rolodex under "L".

Sometimes when he doesn't audibly groan at my wise-cracks or snappy re-statements of the baldly obvious, there's an undercurrent there. A barely perceptible smile plays at the corner of his mouth. Suddenly he's not all carefully scripted, closely controlled actions. When I see his armor chink like that, well I always thought that might have something to do with love.

There are Greek words for this, aren't there? Didn't Bobby himself tell me once? Different flavors of love, different moods of love. I'm not sure about any of it, anymore.

I just know that he's shutting me out, and I can't figure out why.