If you made it through my first chapter and stuck with me, I adore you. In my opinion it was rubbish! But, at least it starts to get good this chapter. Thanks to all you reviewers who sparked my muse more than once. And errors are still my fault.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, bubble gum and fanfiction will not buy you the right to LOCI. Time to think up a new plan.

At 1:14 in the morning on Saturday, Bobby realized just how miserable his weekend was going to be. He'd heeded Eames' advice and climbed into bed shortly after midnight, but found sleep to be an elusive animal.

When there was the possibility of a case at any time, Bobby could usually force himself to get at least a few hours of sleep a night – it wasn't much, but it was enough to keep his mind working. Without that external motivation, Bobby couldn't muster any internal motivation to shut his eyes. Unsurprisingly, he spent his night tossing and turning until he lost track of what little time he'd wasted.

Saturday, during the day, proved to be no more productive for poor Bobby. He hauled himself out of bed sometime after four and returned to his spot on the couch from the night before. Turning on one of the many news channels, the television provided more background noise than it did information in the form of pictures.

More than once Bobby caught himself dialing Eames' number. He would reluctantly hit 'end' and clear the screen of her digits, reminding himself that she had explicitly told him that she was turning off her cell phone. He'd started drinking at ten and by noon he'd succumbed to a booze-fueled slumber that only propelled his mind to unwanted places in his dreams. He'd woken up some time later, precariously sprawled out on his couch, with a bad taste in his mouth and a coffee table littered with empty bottles feeling no more rested.

By Sunday, all Bobby could focus on was how long it would take to become Monday. He'd never realized how dependant he'd become on Eames over the years. Even during her surrogacy she'd never so completely alienated him from any aspect of her life. Recalling the early days of their partnership, Bobby wasn't even sure she'd been this estranged then. He was floundering, grasping for straws and finding none.

He'd even gone so far as to drive by her house – only to find that, to his dismay, she still wasn't home from wherever she'd gone. Forcing himself to respect her privacy as best he could, he didn't stake out her house like he wanted to. Instead he returned home and delved into easy books, ones that he could absorb through careful thought, yet pay little attention to because of past readings. As it neared dinnertime, he closed 1984 and thought one last time about calling his partner.

Dinner consisted of two beers, three cigarettes and deep, meaningful contemplation about his sudden loss of control over his own life. Did he really need Eames this much? Enough to not know what to do with himself otherwise? These were scary questions, scarier still by the only answer he could think to provide. Yes, yes he needed her this much.

Pushing himself into an uneasy sleep just past three, he promised himself that he would go see Eames tomorrow morning before work. If for no other reason than he wanted to touch base with her and quell his own insecurities about their time apart and her reasons for leaving. He'd bring her coffee as an excuse; it'd serve as a welcome back and an apology for barging in on her morning. And maybe, just maybe, he'd get to ask about her 'family emergency.'

Monday morning had Bobby up and ready to leave his apartment long before he needed to. The prospect of seeing Eames and being able to talk with her again was more than enough motivation for him. Leaving his apartment (perhaps a bit early), Bobby picked up coffee – fixing Eames' to her liking – and headed out of his way towards her house. He'd arrived on her street sooner than expected, but was relieved to see her car in the driveway. For a single, shameful second, he'd doubted her word about making it back for work on Monday.

Leaving the coffee for their departure, he doubted she would be ready for work at this time, but he couldn't busy himself for longer than a few seconds in the car. Anxiety struck as he was walked towards her porch. She hadn't wanted him to know any details about where she was going or what she was doing. Maybe she wouldn't appreciate his unannounced visit. If she'd wanted to talk to him, she would have called. After all, she was the one to cut off contact, not him.

He'd almost succeeded in talking himself out of what he was doing. Pulling himself out of his mind, Bobby became aware of his surroundings just in time to realize he'd knocked on her door not seconds before. There was no backing out now. Thinking quickly, Bobby did his best not to seem overly eager. Turning so that his back was to the door, he heard the tumblers and locks recede and the familiar squeak of her door opening. Still intent on playing it smoothly, he was studying the sky with great interest.

Bobby was just about to turn and greet his partner when –

"Can I help you, man?" A young male's voice, sleep-filled and perturbed, made its way to Bobby's ears.

Whirling around, a panic-stricken Bobby surveyed the scene presented to him. The young man, a tall, gangly being who could not have been over twenty, was answering Eames' door. To make matters worse, this man was so uncouth that he did so wearing only boxer shorts (Batman boxer shorts) – as if he owned the place.

Instinct overcame Bobby and he immediately charged the figure, assuming him to be an intruder. Knocking over a coat rack as they locked arms through the doorway, the two seemed to be fairly even matched. The younger man stumbled backwards, hitting the back of his knees on a coffee table and breaking a lamp with his elbow, but held Bobby's shoulders through the process. With equal force, Bobby was propelled into the back of the couch – moving it a solid foot from its original position.

The scuffle continued in a stalemate, with no clear winner in sight. Slipping on a rug, the intruder briefly lost his balance and Bobby saw his opportunity. With a shove, the intruder was flush against a wall – his head knocking down a picture when it slammed into the frame. Immediately, one of Bobby's forearms was covering the younger man's throat and shoulders; pinning him so that his toes were barely scraping the ground, leaving him with little leverage to fight back. His other hand was quickly moving towards his belt, searching out his handcuffs.

"What the hell are –"

"What the hell are you doing?" Hearing a familiar voice take the words out of his mouth, Bobby was only somewhat relieved.

"Eames –" Glancing in the direction of her voice, he'd meant to explain himself. But, once he caught sight of her, all intelligent thought died long before it reached his mouth.

Alex was standing, a puddle of water forming beneath her, in her hallway where the fight had ultimately culminated. Half of her face was covered in soapy hair, but she stood defiant despite the fact that she was wearing little more than a green towel. Her left hand held the towel in place while the right held up her service weapon.

Her stance was laughable, and had he been of sound mind or talking to anyone but his partner in this particular situation, he wouldn't have even batted an eyelash at the gun. Her feet were too far apart. She could easily slip in the water forming around her feet. With the gun supported by only one hand, aiming accurately would be impossible. Not to mention the hair clinging to her face and obstructing her line of sight. Pulling the trigger would be easy enough, but the kick-back of the gun could also easily throw her off balance. No, there was almost zero chance of being harmed in a situation such as this. The bullet would sooner fly in a random direction than it would at its intended mark.

She visibly relaxed when understanding dawned on her – this was not some intruder, this was Bobby. Alex had known she wasn't going to shoot anyone looking like this, but she could've at least scared the hell out of someone enough to get them out of her house. Setting her gun on the nearest end table, she couldn't help but stare at the view in front of her.

Bobby didn't think he was about to get shot. He actually hadn't even given any thought to the gun. He'd been focusing intently on Eames. She was soaking, probably jumped out of the shower when she'd heard them wrestling, and wearing something that left very little the imagination. But who was she here to defend herself against? Him or this guy? This young punk who –

"Bobby, let him go!" Her voice shook him from his thoughts and he turned to see the younger man, the intruder, turning blue before his very eyes. With a choking gasp, the young man was able to wretch himself from Bobby's grasp and drop to the floor on his knees.

"Are you okay?" Eames shocked Bobby by directing her question to the boy rather than to him. She even took long strides across the hallway and ended up standing next to Bobby, looking down with a face full of concern for… not him. The younger man coughed and took a few deep breaths as he ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm fine." He muttered grudgingly, holding his hand up before his eyes to see bright spots of blood on his fingers. Gathering himself from the ground, he headed towards the kitchen on shaky legs to clean himself up.

Before Bobby could address either one of them, Eames turned on her heels and headed back towards the bathroom – intent on finishing her shower before she dealt with this situation. As if as an afterthought, she called over her shoulder just before shutting the door.

"Goren, Sam. Sam, Goren. Try not to kill each other?"

And just like that, Bobby was left standing in Eames' hallway, stupefied.

WHO THE HELL IS THIS GUY?! DUN DUN DUN. Also, are you guys interested in a case or just straight drama? BAshippin' or not? I need feeeeeeeeeedback!