Eames was not an early riser. She was one of those people who hit the snooze button three times before she finally rolled out of her bed at the last minute with just enough time to get ready and get out the door to make it to work on time. But occasionally she made an exception. Breakfast was ready when she eased the guest room door open the next morning. She stood there for a few minutes, watching the easy rise and fall of her partner's bare chest. The warm sensation that coursed through her body and settled deeply in the center of her being unnerved her, but she steeled herself against it and entered the room. The sheet was bunched around his waist, revealing the waistband of his boxers, and she breathed a sigh of relief that he did not sleep naked. Or maybe he did, just not there. She reluctantly chased an image from her mind before it got her into unwanted trouble.

Reaching out a hand, she let it course along the side of his face as she softly called his name. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked in confusion, trying to remember why she was there. Realization dawned slowly, and he remembered. "Eames..."

"Breakfast is ready," she said softly.

"B-breakfast?"

"Yes, Bobby. That's one of those meal things you're supposed to eat every day. Now come on, before it gets cold."

He watched her leave the room, and his bleary mind wondered why she was doing this. He got up and dressed quickly, trying to figure out why she'd packed three of his suits instead of one. He had no intention of imposing on her kindness for more than this one night.

He joined her at the table, where she had set a cup of coffee and a plate brandishing scrambled eggs, sausage and toast. "Eames...you don't have to go to this trouble..."

"Bobby..." She waited for his mouth to slide closed and his eyebrows to lift curiously. "Stop talking and eat your breakfast or I'll be late for work."

He hesitated and looked as if he was going to say something, but the expression on her face did not invite discussion. He lowered his eyes to his plate and poked at his food. Softly she encouraged, "Eat it. Don't tease it."

Looking up again, he saw the trace of a smile on her face. She had done so much for him lately. Was it too much to ask of him to eat one meal? He lowered his eyes and did as she asked.

Her heart went out to him. He was lost and in pain and he didn't quite know how to cope. The world had never been a friendly place for him, but now it was cold and foreign. She knew he still felt alone, in spite of her efforts to assure him he was not. Keeping her word to his mother was going to be a challenge because she knew he was going to be resistant to her efforts. What it would boil down to was going to be a war of wills, and it was a war she was determined to win.

When she got up from the table, finished with her meal, he moved to do the same, but she waved a hand at him. "Finish eating. I still have time."

She was washing her plate when he came up behind her and leaned past her to set his empty plate and cup in the sink. He remained behind her for a moment, close but not touching, and she wondered if his body felt the same heat hers did. Somehow, she doubted it. Warm breath, scented with coffee, floated past her face as he softly thanked her. Half a step backward and she would be against his body...and then he would panic. The moment passed too soon and he moved away. "Uh, thank you, Eames...for letting me stay last night."

"How did you sleep?"

"B-better."

He had no explanation for his reluctance to admit it was the best night's sleep he could remember getting in many months. He actually felt refreshed to a degree he had forgotten existed. His body coursed with an energy that had been sorely lacking in recent months. His mind was not muddled and he felt almost ready to face another difficult day.

He waited for her to lock up the house as they left for the day, heading for the car. The ride to Brooklyn was passed mostly in silence. His demeanor did not welcome conversation, and she left him to his thoughts. When she pulled up outside the funeral home, she touched his arm before he could disembark and disappear into the building. "I'll be back tonight."

He hesitated. "You know, that's not necessary..."

"It is," she insisted. "For me. Do you plan to deny me this chance to help you cope with your loss?"

"I..." When she put it that way, there was only one answer he could give without coming across as a jerk. "Whatever you think, Eames. I'll see you later, then."

"Will you come home with me again tonight?"

He shook his head slowly. "That's not necessary. I am perfectly capable..."

"Bobby...don't lie to me. I will sleep better having you nearby, even if it's just until the funeral is over."

He looked down at the curb, where his foot rested. "I-I'll consider it."

"Call me if you need me."

"Thank you, Eames."

She watched him cross the street and enter the building where his mother lay waiting for her final journey toward a peaceful rest, something she never knew in life and had not allowed for her son. She pulled away from the curb and headed for Manhattan.

Finding herself lacking her partner was an unsettling experience for Eames. She hated being tied to a desk as much as he did, but she knew Ross would not give her a case until he was back. So she helped Logan and Wheeler with their case, feeling very much like a spare tire.

She took off from work early and arrived at the funeral home around four, bearing a cup of hot coffee and a paper bag containing a pastrami sandwich for Goren. She found him in the same chair, not looking quite as forlorn, but still much more distressed than she ever liked to see him.

He took the bag with a small smile. "Thank you, Eames."

"Would you consider going for a walk with me, before the evening viewing starts?"

"A-a walk?"

"Yeah, you know...you put one foot in front of the other..."

He tipped his head and raised an eyebrow at her, forcing a smile from her. "Come on. I know you can multi-task. Walk with me while you eat."

"D-did you eat?"

"Yes. I had lunch, and I know you didn't. Now I've been cooped up inside all day, and so have you. Come on."

She gently tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. It was all the encouragement she needed to give. They left the funeral home and walked together in the Brooklyn neighborhood. Kids ran around the side streets, playing stick ball and tag and other games that children play in the late summer afternoons before being called to dinner. Eames imagined Bobby and his brother doing the same things, wondering if it had been fun play or an escape for the two children of Frances Goren.

They walked in silence, and she sensed a return of his easy, relaxed gait. A night of decent sleep can do wonders for body and soul. "Come home with me tonight again," she offered.

He didn't answer right away, walking in silence for better than half a block. "I-I appreciate your offer," he said finally. "But I can't...I won't...impose on you..."

"It's no imposition. It's nice...to not be alone for a change."

He gave that some thought. Often, he craved the solitude of his empty apartment. But right now, being alone was something he...dreaded. But he did feel he was imposing on her, and he felt that he had no right to do that. Instinctively, she knew what he was thinking, not because she could read his mind, but because she knew him so well. She stepped a half step closer to his side, brushing her hand over his. "I'm offering, Bobby. That removes the imposition from the equation."

Sleeping in her spare room had broken a dangerous cycle of coping for him. Since his mother had chosen to end her chemotherapy treatments, and by default, her life, his life had slipped into a downward spiral he was not capable of halting. He slept sporadically, usually driven by total exhaustion or enough alcohol to let him ease into a sleep that was never restful. Now he found himself facing an odd dilemma. With his mother gone, once she was finally at rest in the cemetery where he had buried his father, or the man he thought was his father, he wasn't sure what to do with his life. For so many years, daily calls and weekly visits had been his routine. He had always been at her beck and call. Now...outside of work, he was going to find himself with spare time, and he had no idea what to do with it. Get a hobby, man, Lewis had encouraged. Come to the shop and help me restore that old T-bird at the back of my yard.

He was tempted. Logan's offer to go clubbing with him was also tempting. It had been far too long since he had enjoyed a warm body beside his own, and he was not thinking of Logan. Maybe it was finally time for him to start a family. But there was one major hurdle to clear for that to happen: he had to find a woman who could put up with him for more than a few months. That was a major stumbling block. He sighed wearily and looked at his partner. "Are you sure, Eames?"

"You know me, Bobby. I would never ask if I wasn't."

"I, uh, I'll think about it." He looked at his watch. "We'd better get back."

They walked back to the funeral home, but before they went through the doors, he touched her elbow and met her eyes. "Thank you...for lunch and for the walk."

"You're welcome."

He allowed his gaze to linger for a few moments before he pulled the door open and followed her into the cool interior of the building.

It was just before eight o'clock. There was a respectable number of people gathered in the room, and Eames was busy making small talk and trying to keep an eye on her partner. He still seemed to be holding up fairly well. Lewis and Mike were doing a good job of distracting him, and she was glad to see they even managed to elicit a brief laugh from him occasionally. Between conversations, she had drifted to his side to check on him. He would rest his hand against her back and dip his head to speak softly to her, assuring her he was all right.

She was the first to notice Frank Goren's arrival. She had to remind herself that Frances had been his mother, too, and he had every right to be there. She also reminded herself that he had spent the last weeks of her life visiting her, and that had, in her mind, earned him the right to be there unchallenged. But something wasn't quite right, and a red flag was raised at the back of her mind. She wasn't sure exactly what was out of place, until he stepped through the doorway into the room. She knew little about Frank except that he had a gambling addiction as well as trouble with alcohol and drugs. It was the latter addiction that was presenting itself at his mother's wake.

She started toward him, hoping to intercept him before his brother noticed him, but she was too late. Bobby approached him first. She muttered a soft prayer under her breath that the brothers would have the good sense not to fight in the presence of their mother's body.

Remaining silent, she stepped up behind her partner and watched the exchange between them. Goren's gaze slid up and down his brother's body. His suit was rumpled, his tie loosened and he wavered where he stood. "Dammit, Frank," he growled softly. "How could you? Why bother showing up at all?"

"I came to pay my respects."

"In this condition? Come on...you have no respect, for yourself or for her."

"Look, Bobby," he began.

That was it. She saw the muscles in Goren's back bunch and she reached out, laying a hand against his jacket just above his waist. "Hello, Frank," she said with false brightness as she stepped up to Bobby's side.

Frank looked her over for a moment before he recognized her. "A-Alex, isn't it?"

"Yes. Why don't I take you over to the casket, so you can pay proper respect to your mother?"

She pressed her hand firmly into her partner's back before she stepped from his side and slipped her arm into Frank's. "Come on."

Taking the chance to glance up into Goren's face, she expected to see a storm gathering there. Instead, she was met by an impassive wall. She could not read his expression and his eyes were guarded. When she reached out to touch his arm, he didn't react at all. Her eyes pleaded for understanding as she stepped away to lead his brother to the casket.

She remained by Frank's side for the remainder of his visit, making absolutely certain neither brother got out of control. She did not have to look to feel her partner's eyes on her, but whether he was watching for her safety or boiling with resentment, she had no idea. Every time she looked his way, she saw the same impassive look on his face.

She made up her mind that she was not going to apologize to Goren for preventing a major scene from developing between him and Frank. She had only met his mother once, and regardless of what had transpired in their past, she had spoken of both sons with love. She had not been able to help the fact that she was ill, or that her illness robbed her of her ability to be a good mother. Eames was not going to have them desecrate her memory by brawling at her wake. If they were so inclined to pick it up at another place and time, so be it. This was not it, and she was not going to allow it.

At a quarter til nine, Frank decided to take his leave and Eames walked him to the door. "I'm glad you came, Frank. I know it would have pleased your mother. The funeral is the day after tomorrow and we expect you to attend with proper respect."

Frank looked at her and he had the decency to be ashamed. "Uh, t-tell Bobby I'm sorry...to disappoint him again. Thank you for your kindness. I'll see you at the funeral."

He slipped out the door and was gone. But Eames was still tense and uptight. She wasn't certain at all what Goren thought about her interference, but she did not regret it. Turning back into the room, she avoided his gaze and returned to mingling among those who remained.

The door closed on the last visitor at twenty after nine, leaving Eames and Goren alone in the room with the casket. She busied herself lining up the chairs, even though she knew the Holbrook brothers would take care of it. She was too uncomfortable to not be busy. She could still feel his eyes on her, and that increased her discomfort.

When she was done moving chairs, she decided it was time for her to leave. She still had not looked at him; she was afraid of what she would see in his eyes. She had only done what she thought was best. If he couldn't understand that, there was nothing more she could say to him that would convince him she was thinking of him.

Lifting her light jacket from a nearby chair, she folded it over her arm and started for the door. The sound of his voice caught her off guard. "Where are you going?"

"I'm not spending the night in a funeral home."

He was quiet for a moment. "Are you going to say good night?"

It was her turn to be quiet. Finally she said, "Are you angry?"

"No."

"Do you...understand...why I did what I did?"

"Yes. But I don't get why you're mad at me right now."

She turned to face him. "I'm not."

"You were going to leave...without saying a word."

"I wasn't up to giving you the chance to lash out at me."

"What made you think I would?"

"The way you withdrew and remained so impassive after I took Frank up to the casket."

"That wasn't for you, Eames. That was for my brother. I had to distance myself from my anger or I would have pounded the crap out of him."

"That's what I was trying to avoid."

"I know."

Another silence stretched between them. "So," she said after a time. "Shall I say good night?"

"You're withdrawing your offer?"

"You want to take me up on it?"

He hesitated for a long moment before he finally breathed his answer. "Yes."

He was reluctant to be alone tonight. His brother's appearance in the condition he was in had tapped a well of fury he was still struggling to contain. He found Eames' presence to be calming, and he was surprised at his own reluctance to let her leave without him. When her face relaxed from a frown into a small smile, he felt better. "Let's go, then," she said.

He felt some of his tension dissipate and he buttoned his jacket as he followed her to her car, relieved that she was not leaving him, too, even for the span of a night. He was loathe to admit it, but he needed her, and he wasn't at all certain how she would react to that, so he kept it to himself.

She let them into her house and indicated that he should feel free to make himself at home. He wasn't certain he felt at home anyplace, even in his own apartment. He sat on the edge of the couch as she disappeared into the kitchen. "Put the news on," she suggested.

He did as she asked and waited for her. She came out of the kitchen with two plates and two cans of cola, handing him one of each. "It's a quick dinner," she said by way of apology.

He gave her a brief smile and touched her hand when she sat down, expressing his gratitude in silence. She returned his smile and gave his hand a squeeze.
In silence they ate and watched the news. Without prompting, he rose and carried both plates and the empty cans to the kitchen, where he cleaned up. She watched him return to the couch and sit back beside her. "Thank you," he said at last. "For handling my brother. I would never have done as well."

"I wasn't about to let either of you create a scene in front of all those people. It was neither the time nor the place."

"I-I know. You...did the right thing."

"I'm sorry he couldn't show up sober."

"So am I."

The silence between them resumed, but it was no longer uncomfortable. After the news, he asked, "D-Do you mind, if I shower again?"

"Not at all. Your shaving supplies are still in the bathroom."

He stood and looked down at her. "Thank you again, Eames."

Her smile was kind, her face honest and open. "What are friends for?"

He studied her for a moment, but said nothing more before turning away and heading for the hallway that led to the bathroom and both bedrooms.

She watched television for another twenty minutes before turning it off and making certain the house was secure. Stopping in front of the guest room door, she pushed it open to check on him. He was in bed and, she assumed, sleeping. But as she moved to leave the room and close the door, he said, "Is something wrong?"

"No. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

He pushed up onto his elbows and looked at her, silhouetted against the hallway light, which spilled across the bed at his waist. "I'm fine."

"Good. Then...good night, Bobby."

"Good night, Eames."

She pulled the door closed and after a moment, he laid back down and turned onto his side, waiting for sleep to claim him.