Alex POV

"What do you think?"

"If we don't, it'll be late."

"True. And we've been working nonstop for six days straight."

"Uh huh. And it looks like rain."

I looked over at Bobby where he sat in the passenger seat, his face scrunched in concentration as he looked through the windshield, presumably up at the darkening sky.

"Okay, so…"

"Yeah," he agreed.

Which means we just decided that we're going to spend the night in Atlantic City.

And I'm not sure, but I think this is a pivotal moment for us.

Because I think maybe we're talking about more than just a typical overnight stay.

This past week has been…enlightening.

And exciting.

And frustrating.

Maddening.

Scary.

Three steps forward, two steps back.

Okay, so not exactly.

Probably more like five steps forward and one step back.

Last Friday, he threw me with that apology in the parking garage. I'm not sure where it came from because I was flirting with him for God's sake, so what would make him want to dampen the mood like that?

For the first few seconds after he said the words, I was ready to bite his head off, although admittedly it was probably more from disappointment than anger. Because when he stumbled through saying something in the elevator, I thought maybe he was finally going to…I don't know.

Do something.

Ask me out.

Tell me what I mean to him.

Something.

But instead he apologized.

And as I stood there staring at him, with my irritation building, it slowly occurred to me that maybe he was doing something, in the best way he knows how.

He's making sure that we're good…as partners. He's making sure I know that his apology is sincere and not simply a reaction to my anger.

And he apparently listened that day in the observation room when I went for the throat because he made a point to tell me that he appreciates me, and that he doesn't know where he'd be without me.

"You'd be annoying some other partner," I retorted smartly, but I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth.

As if it would ever be that simple.

He said my name in a quiet voice, almost a whisper, as he looked at me with an expression of rebuke and maybe a little bit of hurt over the idea that I could be so callous.

Of course, I'm not callous.

If he and I weren't partners, I don't know where I'd be. Yet another reason why I was so scared when I learned about the undercover. Because I thought he was treating our partnership with nonchalance and ingratitude.

"I'm sorry," I responded.

And then we went on to talk about it a little more, and it hit me again that apologizing and discussing it at a time when we aren't angry is actually very smart.

So that was Friday, and I felt like we jumped some sort of hurdle. He promised to talk to me and tell me things.

I'm not sure if it'll be the things I want to hear, but I have to be patient.

We worked all day Friday and Saturday, and it was nice having a shortened weekend because even though I have family obligations from time to time, I'm often alone on the weekends.

Because my family can be a little bit much sometimes, and of course, there's always the questions:

Are you dating anyone yet? No? Well, that's because you spend too much time at work. When are you going to meet a nice man and settle down? And what about kids, Alex? You're not getting any younger.

Just the thought of sitting through a family dinner like that had me lying through my teeth to my own mother.

"I can't tonight, Mom. I'm working."

"On Sunday?"

"Yeah, you know…big case. Murderers don't take breaks just because it's Sunday."

She sighed heavily into the phone and then said, "Alex, you know…you really should…"

"Mom, that's Bobby at the door," I interrupted quickly. "I need to go. Love to Dad, okay?"

And then I hung up the phone and tossed it onto the coffee table.

Of course, there's no one at the door and I'm not working and Bobby's probably holed up in his own apartment.

Doing what, I wondered. I tried to picture him, but it's difficult.

What does he do when he's alone?

That thought brought about an interesting mental picture.

Bobby, sitting on his couch, his head back against the cushion, his eyes closed in concentration while his hand slips inside of his sweatpants…

Wow.

I need to stop my mind from going down that path, I decided as I headed for the kitchen to see about some lunch. But I stopped in the doorway as I was once again flooded with the provocative image.

There's no harm in entertaining a fantasy, is there?

What if he were on his couch, touching himself, and thinking about me?

And then I showed up at his place?

And then I took over the pleasurable task of running my hand along the length of him? I'd alternate the pressure and speed, determining exactly how to make him moan out my name…Alex, not Eames.

The fantasy was so vivid that I went into the bedroom and let it play out completely.

And I'm not going to go into details, but let's just say that for the next half-hour or so, I became intimately familiar with Dream Bobby.

That night, I thought about him as I went to sleep. And after I was asleep. And then again when I woke up.

The man is like a drug, and I'm an addict waiting to happen.

On Monday morning, I somehow managed to get to work before Bobby, which is highly unusual, so I went into the break room, intent on fixing both of us some coffee.

He came in just as I was ready to go back into the squad room.

And he looked…good enough to eat.

"I can't believe I beat you here," I remarked as I handed him his coffee.

"I had something to take care of this morning," he replied, and for some reason his cheeks seemed to flush just a little. Interesting. "So are you ready to go talk to the headmaster at the preschool?"

"Sure," I said, and I have no excuse for what happened next.

I checked him out.

Thoroughly and purposefully, from head to toe.

He was dressed in a dark blue suit with a white shirt and burgundy striped tie.

And let me tell you, he wears it well.

But it's what's under the suit that has my temperature up several degrees above normal, and I can perfectly recall the way his long, graceful fingers stroked my skin.

In my dream, I mean.

I finally managed to return my eyes to his face, and he looked a little surprised by my boldness, but I don't feel bad about it. How many times did I catch him looking at my chest last week?

Enough to make me choose this tight sweater today, I thought with a smile.

"Let's do it," I asserted as I moved past him and headed for the door.

Of course, I'm referencing going to the preschool, but there are so many other things I'd like to do with Bobby…

The day went by quickly, with us working on leads and interviewing suspects.

And flirting with each other.

Sort of.

I'm not sure if it's really flirting or not, but he's been smiling at me a lot. And laughing at my jokes. And looking at me, often times about a foot south of my face.

So when we got back to 1PP and we were playfully going back and forth about Bobby's middle name, it suddenly hit me that I didn't want our time together to be over. I didn't want to go home and throw a frozen dinner in the microwave. I wanted to spend more time with this Bobby.

Which is why I suggested dinner. And yeah, I teased him with that filet mignon comment. I couldn't help myself, considering it was only a week or so ago that Avery's husband Roy made that less-than-subtle analogy. Of course, he was talking about him being filet, which is laughable.

Anyway, I wasn't sure when I said it if Bobby would remember, but the look on his face…he remembered. And I don't know. I think maybe if I hadn't said Sparks…if I'd said take me back to your place and have your way with me…maybe he would've said yes.

But I have to be sure.

And as I've said, I'm not making the first move. Well, I mean the first irrevocable move. And if I'm honest, it's not even so much that I'm mad. Because I'm really not anymore.

But I am a little bit insecure. We've worked together for so long…why is it that he's suddenly looking at me differently?

Is it only because I've gotten brave enough to toss about some suggestive remarks?

Or does he really have feelings for me, deeper ones than just as a partner and friend?

I'm not sure. And if I'm not sure, then I can't risk it.

But we went to dinner and had a really nice time. We did talk about the case, but only a little. We mostly talked about my family and then we speculated about Logan.

"So what happened yesterday? Did he say why he never called?"

"He said he got tied up."

I snorted out an indelicate laugh, which started Bobby laughing, too. He nodded his head and said, "I know. I teased him about it."

"He really likes this girl, doesn't he?"

"I think so. But something else is still going on with him. When I went to his desk, he stashed a picture underneath a file so that I wouldn't see."

"Him and the girlfriend?"

"Maybe. But what's the big deal about keeping it a secret?"

"I don't know. Maybe we know her," I posed.

Bobby tilted his head, gazing at me as he considered my remark. I love it when I say something that he finds thought-provoking. He slowly started nodding as a smile spread across his face, "Yeah, maybe so."

"Wheeler?" I suggested mischievously.

"She's engaged," he pointed out.

"Well, maybe that's why it's a secret," I said, only by this point, I was laughing again because we both know it's not Wheeler.

And not because of her fiancé or because they're partners, but just because. He was mad at her last week, and he thought she'd ratted him out to Ross, and then earlier, she sent him on his way specifically to meet his girlfriend while she stayed behind to do the paperwork.

"We should follow him one of these days," Bobby suggested, winking at me as he picked up his glass and took a sip.

And man does his wink ever do a number on me.

Really, the whole evening had my insides buzzing pleasantly. It's a heady feeling, being the object of Bobby's focus. At work, he's so often consumed by the case that it used to make me feel secondary. And that's surely what prompted my I just carry your water outburst.

But looking at it rationally, I know that's just him. He doesn't think less of me or my ability as a detective. It's just that he concentrates so intently on the clues and the suspects and how to get from fuzzy supposition to solid theory that sometimes it seems like he forgets I'm there.

But he doesn't forget.

He works so brilliantly and effortlessly because I'm there. Because he trusts me to handle everything else that's going on around us and to let him know when he's gone astray and to challenge him to constantly be better.

It's not a matter of him and me.

It's a matter of us.

And Monday night, it almost felt like a different kind of us, because we sat across from each other at the small table for two and we talked and he was attentive and funny and charming…if I weren't already in love with him, that dinner would've sent me well on my way.

Unfortunately, it ended all-too-abruptly when Ross called to alert us of another murder.

We quickly settled the check, which Bobby insisted on paying.

"You said I had to take you out to dinner, right?" he reminded me with a rakish grin as he pulled out his wallet. "And you were supposed to be dubbing me with an insightful middle name."

I can think of a few.

Erotic.

Seductive.

Kissable.

Any of those would be appropriate.

But of course I chickened out. I've been bold lately, but saying any one of those would just be…too much.

"I'll have to get back to you," I replied lamely.

"Are you sure? Because I have one for you."

He does?

And why does that knowledge send a rush through me, one that quickens my heart rate and flushes my cheeks?

Just because he has a name for me doesn't mean it's one I'm going to like, my rational, dubious side had to point out.

"Well?" I asked hesitantly.

"Uh uh. You first."

I stared at him for a moment, my mind in a vapor lock, but then he put his hand on my back and gestured towards the door.

"Come on, we'd better go. But we'll come back to this."

We haven't yet, but maybe tonight we will. Because I'm still dying to know what he thinks my middle name should be.

Although considering we're going to be staying in a hotel in Atlantic City, discussions about names isn't exactly a top priority.

And yet I'm not sure there'll be anything more happening.

Like I said, five steps forward…that was Monday.

Tuesday was one step back.

We caught our killer, who had taken hostages at the preschool. I got the kids to safety while Bobby talked her down. And by talked her down, I mean she was pointing a gun at him. I can't say enough how scared I was for him because the woman was completely unstable.

And with me, fear often manifests as anger.

"Why did you do that?" I asked him gruffly once we were headed back to 1PP.

"Which part?"

"She could've killed you," I said sharply.

"You think I should've handled it differently?"

And I can hear the irritation in his voice and yet my heart is still pounding so I don't stop.

"We could've done it together."

"You had to get the kids out."

"Then I could've handled her."

"Then you would've had the gun pointed at you," he replied angrily. "How is that better, huh? Tell me, Eames, because I'd really like to know how you being in a dangerous situation is any better than me being in one."

Because it's you, I wanted to say. Because I love you.

But I didn't say that.

Instead, I said, "You're always putting yourself into situations like that."

"You think I act recklessly?"

"No, I think you're overprotective of me."

I chanced a glance at him as I maneuvered the car through the evening traffic and I could see that he was staring at me incredulously.

"Because I don't want you staring down the barrel of a gun?"

"I'm a cop, Bobby, just like you. It's part of the job."

"Exactly. Today, it was part of my job."

"That's what I'm saying!" And yeah, now I'm shouting. "It didn't have to be, but every time…every damn time, Bobby. Today it was Marla…last year it was Ray…hell, last month it was me!"

Okay, I didn't mean to say that last part. I honestly didn't mean to say any of it because I don't think he did anything wrong, but damn, I was so scared...

"Yeah, and in case you forgot, I pointed my gun at you last month, too," he bit out. "You think that was fun for me? You think I had any idea that one of the cops coming in to make the bust would be you?"

"But at least you knew it'd be cops," I pointed out, my anger losing steam as I was flooded instead by nausea at the fact that we're right back here again. "You wouldn't have pulled the trigger. I could have. I almost did!"

I slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a stop along the curb near 1PP. I usually park in the garage, but I just needed to get out of the car.

I practically ripped the keys from the ignition and got out of the car, slamming the door closed behind me.

"Eames, wait," he called out as I headed for the building.

"It's fine, Bobby. Just let it go."

"It's not fine. We need to talk about this."

"No, we don't," I argued, but then I felt his hand on my arm, gently tugging in an effort to get me to turn around.

"Eames," he said pleadingly, and his soft tone finally broke me. I stopped and took a deep breath and then turned around to face him. He immediately said, "I'm sorry."

"No," I said, closing my eyes as I exhaled heavily.

"I'm not sorry?"

"I'm sorry," I countered. "You didn't do anything wrong. In fact, you were really great, talking her off the ledge like you did."

"But?" he asked, questioning the reason for my anger.

"But I was…afraid for you," I admitted at last.

He nodded thoughtfully, weighing my words, and then said, "I can understand that. I was a little afraid for me, too."

"Okay, so…we're good?" I asked, embarrassed by my admission and anxious to avoid delving too deeply into my inappropriate outburst.

"Yeah. But Eames…we need to talk more. About everything, okay? We can't just bury it or we'll never…um…you know…it'll always be there."

So that was Tuesday.

On Wednesday, we picked up a new case. The murdered illusionist.

Watching Bobby on stage, playing with the magic tricks, was like seeing him as a child and his enthusiasm was infectious.

The only cog in the wheel was Dean Holiday, our primary suspect. He seemed intent on causing discord between me and Bobby, probably in an effort to throw off our investigation. But whatever his reasons, it really just pissed me off.

Because we were doing good.

We were on our steps forward again. Flirting and smiling and laughing. We didn't get back to the talking part yet…or not about the serious stuff anyway, but otherwise, things were moving along nicely.

Until Dean started throwing around the word trust.

And I could see Bobby's confidence evaporate.

I don't think anyone else noticed because he puts up a good front, but I know him better than anyone. I know when the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. And then he started dropping his gaze again when we'd talk. I don't mean to look at my chest, either. I mean to look at the ground, almost like he's waiting for backlash from me.

Because he thinks I don't trust him? Because he thinks that Dean's comments about me being hurt by someone I trust are sending me back to those miserable days when I first learned about his undercover?

Yeah, okay, maybe they did, but I want so badly for us to move past it that I'm not going to keep taking it out on Bobby.

It has to be in our past or we'll never have any kind of future.

Is that what he was trying to say to me Tuesday evening in front of 1PP?

We can't bury it or we'll never…

Yeah, that's where he was going, and he's exactly right.

Which is why, after slapping the cuffs on Dean Holiday on Saturday evening, I tossed out the idea that maybe we should get a hotel instead of driving back to the city.

We took turns justifying it and in the end, I pulled into a Hampton parking lot and shut off the engine.

"I'll go see if they have any rooms," he offered as he quickly unbuckled his seatbelt.

Wouldn't it be nice if there's only one left, I thought as I bit back a smile.

And then I reminded myself that we need to talk.

But looking at him…it's always so hard to remember the importance of the spoken word because all I really want to do is run my tongue over his bottom lip.

Okay, that's not anywhere close to being all I want to do, but I digress…

"I'm sure they do," I responded as I unbuckled my seatbelt as well. "Let's just take our bags in with us. We can get our rooms and then grab some dinner, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed with a nod.

"And we'll talk," I added purposefully.

He looked at me nervously as he opened the back to retrieve our duffle bags, but he stayed silent and now he's got me worried.

Isn't talking what he wanted to do?

And I didn't say we'd only talk.

In fact, I'm really hoping for a lot more than that.

We're in Atlantic City, on Saturday night, and we're off the clock.

Would it be so wrong to pretend we're in Vegas?

What happens in Atlantic City…

TBC...