Frances turned another page in the photo album and pointed at a picture. "Bobby was about five here, in kindergarten."

Eames smiled. "Nice black eye."

He wasn't certain how he felt about his mother taking a trip down her memory lane of his childhood, but it was a much more pleasant journey for her than it had been for him when he was living the events that somehow became those memories in her mind. He supposed it was a good thing that she remembered an altered reality, and he wasn't going to change it; he never did. He was also very good at creating new memories for her, continuing to paint a picture of his childhood that was a great deal more pleasant than the one he actually lived. His father had given him that black eye; she never knew and it was actually Lewis who had told him to let her think they'd been fighting. Neither of them had ever wanted to see her upset. "I got that on the playground. Lewis and I got into a little fight. He ended up with a bloody nose and I got a black eye. Of course, his bloody nose was gone on picture day."

Frances leaned toward Alex. "He was never afraid, this one. Scared me to death more than once. Always taking risks, barreling ahead full steam like a bull in a china shop."

Eames smiled as she leaned in to close the distance between them. "He hasn't changed," she said.

Frances laid an affectionate hand on his knee. "He never will, God willing."

Eames met his eyes. "I wouldn't have him any other way. Bobby makes my life exciting."

He held her gaze, filled with gratitude that she was giving his mother a reassurance he could never provide. Frances was settling into the idea that her son was not alone in the world. He had Alex, and he was happy to have her. Even more, Alex seemed happy to have him.

Frances closed the photo album and leaned back, looking from her son to the woman she thought was his girlfriend. "Have you discussed starting a family at all?"

Goren immediately got uncomfortable, but Eames remained relaxed as she smiled and answered, "Yes, we have, from time to time."

It wasn't a lie. They talked about many things with each other, including their mutual desire to have children. They had just never talked having children together. Eames doubted they ever would, and she found herself filled with resentment for a woman who did not yet exist in her partner's life, the woman who would eventually capture his restless heart and bear his children. She did not regret putting up a front for his dying mother, not one bit, but it was becoming painful for her, on an emotional level. That was something she had not planned on.

Finally, Goren decided enough was enough. He had imposed upon Alex's friendship too much. "We-we really need to get going, Mom. We have dinner plans."

Frances smiled at Alex. "Where is he taking you, dear?"

Without missing a beat, Eames smiled sweetly and answered, "To The Lookout, in Nassau County, overlooking South Oyster Bay."

Frances smiled with delight. "That's a very nice place. Who's choice was it?"

"Mine," she answered, looking at him.

His eyes were on her, and a soft smile graced his face. She returned the smile. Frances turned to him. "She has class, son."

"I know she does, Mom. I'm very lucky."

"Yes, you are. Don't let this one get away. You'd regret that for the rest of your life."

He nodded knowingly. "I know I would."

"All right, then, get going. You can't go to the Lookout dressed like that."

He gave her a kiss and said, "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Mom."

"If you're not busy, come to visit. Your brother will be here."

"We'll see what happens."

"If it will give me grandchildren, stay home."

He laughed to cover his embarrassment. "No grandchildren yet, Mom."

She almost pouted. "Think about it, Bobby. Seriously. You and Alex will have beautiful children."

"Get some rest, Mom. I love you."

Eames smiled at her. "Good-bye, Mrs. Goren."

"Come over here, Alex."

She walked to the tiny, frail woman and leaned down when she motioned to her. Frances gave her a hug. "You have his heart, dear. I can see that in his eyes when he looks at you. A mother knows these things. She knows when she's lost her boy. Take care of his heart; it's a fragile thing."

"I know it is. Don't worry about him. I've got him covered."

Frances kissed her cheek and whispered, "Thank you."

As they headed to the car, Goren looked at her. "The Lookout?"

"I figured the least you could do is take me out to a nice dinner. After all, it was your suggestion."

"You've got me there."

She smiled. "I know."

When they got to the car, she held out her hand. "I'm driving back to the city, and out to Long Island."

He handed over the keys without an argument. He was oddly quiet all the way back to the city, and she had no idea what to make of his silence. "Is something wrong?"

He didn't answer immediately, so she waited. Finally, he said, "I...I'm trying to find a way to apologize to you."

"Apologize? For what?"

"For my mother...her memories are, uh, the way she wanted my childhood to have been. She lives in her own fabricated reality in many ways. An-and all that talk of grandchildren..."

"Bobby, she thinks I'm your girlfriend, and that we're serious. It's just natural she'd say something like that."

"I-I think one of her biggest...disappointments...is not having grandchildren."

"I can understand that. I feel that way about having children."

"I...I wish there was something I could do..."

He trailed off and looked out the window, feeling terribly inadequate and not liking it at all. He had not expected an easy visit, although his mother had been good with Alex. She really seemed to like her. He shouldn't have worried about that. People naturally liked Eames...well, if they were on her good side, they did...

But good side or bad side, he had to admit—and it was a very difficult admission for him to make—he loved her just as she was.

Eames drove to her house in Rockaway and handed him the keys. "Go home and get ready, then come on back. I'll be ready by the time you get here."

He gave her no argument. After what she'd done for him that afternoon, he would have given her the moon had it been his to give. So he drove home, showered, changed and drove back. If nothing else, the drive gave him time to think. Sometimes that was a good thing, mostly it was not. That evening, it just left him more confused than he'd been to start with. For all his brilliance as a profiler, Eames was one of the few people he could not read. Just when he thought he had something, he realized just how tenuous his understanding of her really was, and he didn't get why. It never once occurred to him that he could be tripping over his own emotions. He didn't even realize they were there.

He shifted restlessly as he waited for her to answer the door. He would have felt safe making a bet that she had lost the ability to surprise him, and he would have been wrong. When she opened the door, he stopped moving, thinking, breathing...

She stunned him and set his world on edge. Her hair was swept up and pinned to her head and she was wearing a green dress that went to mid-thigh. It was just the right color to set off her eyes. She wore heels that weren't any higher than those she sometimes wore to work, but they complemented her outfit well. He just stared at her; he couldn't help it. "Come on in," she said absently as she slid the back on the earring in her left ear and left his line of vision.

It took a moment for her words to register and another moment before he remembered how to move. He closed the door behind him as she called out from somewhere else in the house, "Two more minutes and I'll be ready to go."

He opened his mouth to answer, but no words would form so he closed it again and just waited. Five minutes later, they were on their way. He handed over the keys and settled into the passenger seat. When the scent of her perfume drifted across the car to where he was sitting, trying not to focus on her, he knew it was a lost cause and he just let his mind go where it wanted to. Inevitably, as it tended to do more and more often as time passed, its restless wanderings found a comfortable place thinking about her.

She looked over at him when he groaned. "Are you all right?"

He nodded. "I-I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"I..." he sighed softly. "You look...great." Great was a weak understatement but his vocabulary was still in hiding.

She smiled, pleased. This was the fourth outfit she'd tried on, and she couldn't explain why it had taken her two hours to get dressed. This was Bobby, not some random date she needed to impress. She could have worn her bathrobe and bedroom slippers and he would have been fine with it. "Thanks," she answered.

They both became lost in their thoughts and neither said anything more as they headed for South Oyster Bay.

Just about anywhere else in the country, the cuisine at the Lookout would have been described as "surf 'n' turf," but the Long Island restaurant was too classy for such a designation. So it described its fare as "eclectic American." The lighting was subdued and most of the tables were for two. A candle was set in the center of each table and when they were shown to their places, the host took out a lighter and lit the candle. The burgundy menus were written on parchment and bound in leather. He helped her out of her jacket and draped it over the back of her chair, which he held for her as she sat down. Draping his own jacket over his chair, wondering why it felt so warm all of a sudden, he lowered himself into his chair, once again allowing his eyes to take in her appearance. His stomach did a flip when she met his eyes and smiled. What was wrong with him? He wouldn't act like this if she had nothing on...now where did that thought come from, and how did he get rid of the image it conjured in his head? Trouble... that word had no difficulty finding its way back from his lost vocabulary, and it was the best word he knew to describe his current situation. He was deep in trouble...

When the waiter came to take their drink orders, she ordered a vodka martini and he ordered scotch, a double, straight up. Maybe that would calm his rattled nerves. He looked across the table at her, still taken by her but recovering to the point that he could at least manage putting more than two words together in a string that made sense. "Why did you choose this place?"

"Because I like it and the food is great. If I'm going to be your girlfriend for the day I'm going to take advantage of it. Are you complaining?"

"Not at all."

"Good."

Their drinks arrived and they placed their food orders. Grilled chicken for her and a steak, medium rare, for him. As the waiter walked off toward the kitchen, her eyes wandered around the restaurant, trying to keep her mind away from her dinner partner. It was just the same as she remembered it, even though she had not been there for more than twelve years. Joe had proposed to her here. He couldn't afford the restaurant on a rookie's pay; he'd saved for six months to take her there. But she was worth every penny, he'd told her. And she had never regretted saying yes to him. Although she should have, she did not expect the memories that came with being there again. Time did not heal every wound. Well, she thought. Time to make some new memories.

She got to her feet and grabbed his hand. "Come on," she urged.

"Come on where?"

"Dance floor."

"D-dance floor?"

"Don't even try to squirm out of it. I know you can dance."

He let her lead him to the other side of the restaurant, where a large dance floor sprawled in front of a small stage, where an assortment of couples enjoyed dancing to the slow music played by five men in tuxedos who were surprisingly skilled. It took a special talent to put emotion into instrumental music, and the small band achieved it with apparent ease. The saxophone in particular was creating a mood that washed over them with its warmth and ambiance. The air was thick with powerful emotion, soothed by the sax's undercurrent of romantic calm. She turned into his arms and surrendered herself to his lead. He did not disappoint. He did know how to dance, and he loved it.

"I like your mother," she said, trying to find a path away from the one she was unconsciously starting down.

He was already gone, overwhelmed by too many things. Everything about her was assaulting his senses, and her soft voice was no different. He struggled again to speak coherently. "Sh-she liked you, too."

"You think so?"

He nodded. "I know she did."

His mind was scrambling for a way to tell her how amazing she looked, but he wasn't certain how well-received his compliments would be. He had no idea what she was thinking and he refused to hazard a guess. If he went stupid on her now, she would likely never forgive him. So he continued to search for the right thing to say.

"Tell me something," she said, still struggling with her thoughts. "What do you think Brady's up to?"

His mind tripped and crashed. Brady? Where the hell did that come from? She was trying to fill the emptiness between them with a safe topic, to steer them down the path of professionalism that they both hid along. It dawned on him that now that they were here, she was as uncertain as he was. But she had successfully freed his mind from its prison of confusion, and he saw her with a new clarity. Something had drastically changed inside him, and the right words came. "I don't want to talk about Brady," his words whispered past her ear as his breath, laced with the whiskey odor of his scotch and mingling with his aftershave, caressed her cheek. "I want to talk about you."