Bobby POV

I signed on the dotted line and then accepted the key packets from the clerk.

"Elevators are around the corner," she said brightly as she flashed me a coquettish smile. "And there's a manager's reception in the lounge until nine. You look like you could use a drink."

Is she seriously flirting with me? Right in front of Eames? While we're in the middle of…of…whatever this is we're doing?

"Thank you," I answered vaguely, quickly turning away only to find Eames standing there with a cross between a smirk and a scowl on her face.

"Are you going to come back down and have a drink, Bobby?" she asked, and I can't decide if she's teasing me or if she's pissed. Sometimes it's really hard to tell the difference.

"No," I answered.

"Are you sure? Because I'm thinking you might get lucky," she retorted, and then she plucked one of the key packets from my hand and glanced inside at the room number before heading for the elevators.

I sighed heavily and followed her around the corner while mentally assessing our situation.

Did that asshole Holiday make her start thinking about my undercover again? And about how much I hurt her by shutting her out?

Or was she thinking about it anyway?

As much as I'd like to, I guess I can't totally blame Holiday. Tuesday night, in the car after we arrested Marla, Eames was so mad. And that was before we'd ever even heard of Holiday.

Seems I always manage to bring out her hostile side.

That night though, once we hashed it out, it ended up back in the same place where all of our fights of late end.

The undercover.

So in spite of the flirting and the scorching looks and the suggestive comments that have occurred over the past week, I have absolutely no idea where I stand with her.

But I guess tonight I'm going to find out. I can only hope that when all is said and done, she'll still want to be with me.

At work, I mean.

Anything more would be…well, a dream come true, but right now I feel like I'm standing in quicksand and I really need to find stable ground on at least one front.

"What room are you in?" she asked me as we got on the elevator.

"522," I said after checking the envelope. "You?"

"524. I'm surprised Miss Perky didn't put me on a different floor."

"She wasn't flirting with me," I said dismissively.

"Bobby," she said on a sigh, shaking her head as she looked up at me with those expressive eyes. "Yes. She was. And it's fine."

"It is?" I questioned as the doors opened on the fifth floor.

Why is it fine? Isn't she even just a little bit jealous?

I mean, I would be, if the situation were reversed.

"You checked in on the NYPD account, right? And you asked for two rooms. I'm sure even that girl managed to piece together that we're partners."

"Oh. Right. So…"

This certainly isn't this first time we've stayed in a hotel together, but it sure as hell feels like it.

"Give me about fifteen minutes and we'll meet up for dinner, okay?" she said after a moment.

"Sure."

She disappeared into her room and I stared after her until she was out of sight and then I unlocked my door and went inside.

I am so far out of my element here.

Is she mad?

Is she not mad?

Does she want me like I want her?

Or has this last week or so just been her way of trying to get our partnership back on track?

It's not like me to be so clueless.

I tossed my duffle bag onto the dresser and then I sat down on the bed and scrubbed my hands over my face.

I think it's finally put up or shut up time with Eames.

The dancing has gone on long enough.

We need to clear the air once and for all about what happened.

And then I need to tell her how I feel, consequences be damned.

Otherwise we could be trapped forever in this purgatory of uncertainty and if it's only killing her half as much as it is me, then she's miserable and I can't stand the thought of that.

She deserves to be happy. I'd love it if she were happy because of me, but if that's not how it's going to work, then we need to find out now.

Honesty is the way to go, I decided firmly.

I could feel my anxiety increasing just at the thought of our impending conversation.

What's she going to say?

This is the right thing to do, right?

I reached in my pocket and pulled out my cell phone.

I don't know why I think Logan might have the answers, but hey…at least he's got a girl, right? Which is more than I can say for myself. So I'm thinking he must know something.

"I can't get a beer tonight."

That's how he answered the phone.

I smiled and said, "Good because I can't either. I'm in Atlantic City."

"Really? Well, throw down a twenty for me. I'm feeling red-22."

I laughed for a moment, enjoying the brief respite from the jumbled mass of nerves I've been lately, but then I said, "I'm not gambling. I'm working."

Not exactly true, but it feels like it. Actually, I think I'm even more stressed now than I was before we made the arrest.

"Oh, that magician thing?" he responded. I'm not sure how he knows, since we've barely seen him all week, but he's a sharp guy, I don't care what Ross thinks. "How's that working out?"

"We made an arrest about an hour ago."

"That's great. So you're not still working."

"No, I guess not. But we're staying here tonight, instead of making the drive back to the city. You know, since it's…late," I told him, and then for some reason, I held my breath as I waited for his response.

"Wait, let me get this straight. So it's Saturday night. You're in AC. You're off the clock. And you're with Eames."

"Yeah."

"Then why the hell are you calling me?"

"I…um…she…she said she wants to…talk."

And maybe that's why I'm worried. She made a point of saying talk. Which means…what? Has she reached some sort of resolution about the future of our partnership?

"Okay. Talk. Well, that wouldn't be my first choice, but okay," Logan said jokingly.

"Logan, I'm serious. I think…I don't know. Our suspect…he kept talking about trust, and he said Eames was hurt by someone close to her, and…I don't know. What if it got her thinking? What if this is it?"

Before saying it out loud, it didn't seem so imminent, but after hearing the words, it makes sense.

She's a no-nonsense kind of woman. She wants to have our talk and put things straight, one way or the other.

"It?" he asked incredulously. "You mean you think she's going to call it quits? No way."

"We've been off," I told him. I mean, we have, haven't we? It's like we're not entirely comfortable with each other right now. Like she's pretending. "I mean, it's been better, but still…it's like we're working at it instead of just…doing it."

"Did you try the wine thing, like I suggested?"

"No. I'm not talking about a relationship. I'm talking about our partnership," I said, and maybe my tone was a little sharp, but now I've scared myself shitless.

Is that really what this talk is about? Has she been pretending to get along in an effort to get through this awkward time? Probably.

Only it's not working because I keep upsetting her.

And if we can't get through this…

"You're missing what's right in front of you," Logan said firmly, interrupting my cataclysmic thoughts. "Your partnership wouldn't be struggling if it weren't for the fact that you do have a relationship. I'm not saying you're sleeping together. But I'm saying you obviously both care about each other beyond the job, so get your head out of your ass and tell her what's really on your mind before you blow it on both fronts, okay?"

"Logan…" I began, but I'm not sure what else to say. He has a valid point. And he's telling me to do exactly what I know I need to do, right? Talk and be honest and then see what happens.

But what's going to happen?

I might survive it if she breaks my heart on a personal level. Maybe. But if she walks away from me at work, too…

"Look, if I did to Wheeler what you did to Eames, then yeah, she'd be pissed," he continued. "For about five minutes. And then she'd get over it, because we work together and that's it. Eames got so ticked because she felt personally betrayed."

Exactly.

"Great. That makes me feel better," I mumbled.

"Yeah, well, then fix it," he stated, and it almost sounds like an order. "But don't settle for just smoothing over the partnership. If you want more, then do something about it."

I was left with dial tone and my stomach's churning and my head's swimming and I have to face Eames in less than five minutes…what the hell am I going to do?

My phone buzzed, startling me from my downward spiral. I looked down, where it still rested in my hand, and saw that it was a text from Eames.

Let's eat in instead, so that we can get comfortable. I'll order Chinese. My room in ten minutes?

We're going to hang out in her hotel room.

I'm excited and terrified by the prospect.

Is that so we'll have privacy for her to tell me she just can't get over our past?

You're being negative, I chastised.

Eames doesn't quit. Ever. She might not want me on a personal level, but she's not going to quit on me professionally.

And things have been better. She's been flirting, for God's sake. Would she do that if she were going to walk away?

Logan's right. I need to get my head out of my ass.

And apparently I need to get comfortable.

I typed her a quick, affirmative reply and then pulled a pair of sweatpants from my duffle bag, along with a plain white t-shirt. I took off my suit and draped it over the back of the chair, since I'll have to put it back on tomorrow.

As I reached for my sweatpants, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and it gave me pause.

What does Eames see when she looks at me?

I'm getting older. My hair's graying. I've definitely put on a few pounds over the years. I've never thought of myself as handsome, but I've certainly never had much trouble getting women.

When I want them, I mean.

Which hasn't been in quite some time.

After a few years of being partnered with Eames, I found myself subconsciously comparing all the women I met to her. I think that's why I gave up altogether because no one ever came close.

And I never really considered I'd have an actual shot with Eames, but I also wasn't going to use other women merely as substitutes.

But do I have a shot with her?

I mean, the desk clerk was flirting with me, so maybe I still have at least some appeal to the opposite sex.

And Eames wants to have dinner in not just a room, but her room.

If she were going to eviscerate me, wouldn't she want to be able to leave after delivering the fatal blow?

That thought gives me a little more confidence.

I pulled on my sweatpants and t-shirt, and then went into the bathroom where I washed my face and brushed my teeth and combed my hair. I debated putting on some cologne, but what kind of signal would that send?

The right one, I thought.

But do I want to be that obvious about it? I opted for no cologne, and as I gave myself one last look in the mirror, I heard a knock on the door.

I checked the peephole, and there was Eames.

In shorts.

And a t-shirt.

And she looks…annoyed?

I quickly opened the door and she said, "It's not very smart to stand a girl up when you're in the room next door."

An apology was on the tip of my tongue, but then she smirked at me and said, "Are you coming, or what? The food's already here."

Then she smiled fully as she looked up at me and it made me wish I were wearing jeans instead of sweatpants because it'd be a whole lot easier to hide my visceral response to…well, to her extremely arousing sexuality. I don't even think she realizes how sexy she is but…yeah, it's going to be a challenge for me to keep things under control.

"Let me grab my key."

Five minutes later, we were sitting on one of the two beds in her room, with a towel spread out over the bedspread and a veritable smorgasbord on top of that.

"I wasn't sure what you'd be in the mood for," she said, a little self-consciously as I peeked inside of each box.

I shifted my gaze over to her, where she sat cross-legged, a smile still on her face, and I know exactly what I'm in the mood for.

Why was I so nervous about this, I wondered.

We're good.

"Everything looks great," I remarked as I picked up one of the boxes.

"Yeah, well, Miss Perky was more than happy to make a recommendation for me. I think she was glad to know that I'll be staying in my room tonight. I'm sure she's hoping you'll venture down to the bar alone."

"No chance of that," I said, rolling my eyes like Eames always does to me.

"Because you don't like pretty young blondes who flirt with you?" she pushed.

"She was not," I began, but then at Eames' raised eyebrow, I stopped and changed tack. "Okay, so she was flirting. And no, I'm not interested."

I paused for a moment as I worked up the nerve to start the ball rolling, and then I added meaningfully, "But you know that."

She tipped her head to one side, regarding me carefully as she set down her box of food and asked, "And how would I know that?"

This is it.

I can say it right now. What's the worst that can happen?

She'll kick you out. And email a new partner request to Ross.

No she won't, I argued. I mean, she might kick me out, but she won't stop being my partner.

But instead of saying anything, I continued to stare at her until she dropped her gaze and picked up the box again.

"I emailed Ross," she said blandly, and for a moment, my heart was in my throat, but then she continued. "I let him know that Holiday's on his way to lock up and that we'll be back in town tomorrow."

"Okay, good."

I stabbed a piece of broccoli with my plastic fork, but my appetite is gone.

I blew it.

She's…something. Disappointed? Or angry? Or…what?

And when did I lose my ability to read her?

"Okay, let's just get this out of the way," she said, once again setting down the box as she got up from the bed.

"Get what out of the way?" I asked and I don't know what's wrong with me because I'm petrified that she's about to say something life-altering and yet I'm looking at her legs. Because seriously…how often do I get to see Eames' legs?

And they're nice. Really, really nice.

"Bobby," she said on a frustrated sigh and then she came to a stop in front of me where I'm sitting on the end of the bed, and now I can't help but notice how we're almost the same height like this, with me sitting and her standing. "We said we were going to talk, right?"

"That's what you said," I replied obstinately. "So…talk."

She furrowed her brow as she narrowed her eyes at me, and I don't know why I'm being difficult because I know we need to talk and yet I can barely concentrate because she's so close and we're in a hotel room and it feels so intimate and I want to touch her to see if her legs are as smooth as they look and I want to pull out the clip that she used to hold her hair back from her face and more than anything I want to wrap my arms around her and just hold her…

"No," she said firmly as she put her hands on her hips. "This isn't all on me. You said it, too, so don't sit there and act like I'm the only one with the problem. We need to talk about this, Bobby."

For some reason, her irritation only increased my arousal, which is already approaching a dangerous level, and my fingers are itching with the need to touch her because she's just right there.

"Forget it," she said sharply and she started to turn around, but I finally reached my hand out, planning to touch her on the arm but she moved at the last second and my palm flattened against her hip. She froze and looked down at my hand for a moment and then brought her eyes back to mine and asked challengingly, "What?"

"I want to talk," I said at last, still not moving my hand because damn, how long have I been waiting to touch her somewhere other than an innocuous location? And since she hasn't broken any of my fingers yet, I think I might be safe.

"Then use your words, Bobby, because our telepathy seems to be on the fritz tonight," she retorted smartly, but even as she said the words, she eased slightly closer to me so that she's almost between my knees. And her expression softened as her stance relaxed and my confidence is suddenly back in full force because I realize that she wants things to be right between us. And the wanting is half the battle, right?

And as for my hand on her hip…well, it's still there and I'm not moving it.

"I don't want to fight with you," I stated quietly.

"Who said anything about fighting?"

"It seems to be what happens every time we talk about…it."

She nodded thoughtfully and said, "It did. But now you've promised not to keep anything from me again. And I should've said the same thing, so I'll do it now. I won't keep anything from you again, okay?"

I looked at her questioningly for a moment and then it hit me.

The letter.

Not the same thing and yet maybe it is a little bit.

"You let Holiday get to you," she continued. "His digs about trust. Do you think I don't trust you anymore?"

I weighed her question carefully because that's exactly what I thought.

Last week.

But now I think she does.

And she's right. I let him get to me. I let him make me insecure.

"I know you do," I answered. "But he was right about one thing. Someone you trust hurt you."

"Yes," she admitted. "But what's done is done. And…I think maybe our partnership will be stronger for it. There aren't any secrets anymore, right?"

"Right," I said. "No secrets."

Except that I love you.

And I can't tell her that, can I?

But if I don't, then I am keeping secrets. And trying to protect her through omission is what got me into trouble in the first place. If I can't be honest with her…with Eames…with the one person who knows me better than anyone…

"There is something else, though," I blurted out quickly before I could change my mind.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and I reluctantly withdrew my hand from her hip. I'd love to keep touching her, but I have no idea how she's going to respond to what I'm about to say.

I mean, this is huge and we just put our partnership on the right path, so am I now going to send us astray again?

She won't hurt me, my mind supplied. Or at least, not intentionally. Rejection will hurt, but I know she won't hold my confession against me. We've come too far.

"Okay," she said cautiously and now I can tell I've worried her.

"It's…um…it's been on my mind but I didn't want to…well, I mean…I'm not sure about…um…"

"We're getting it all out in the open," she said with understanding. "Whatever it is, just say it and we'll work through it, okay?"

Easier said than done.

I took a moment just to breathe.

I'm not sure it's a good idea to tell her this while her knees are in such close proximity to my unprotected equipment, but I suppose if she's that angry about it, then I won't be needing it anyway. It's not like I'm going to run down to the lounge to find Miss Perky if Eames' rejects me.

"Bobby?"

"Yeah, um…"

And then I let my eyes walk over her because looking at Eames always makes me feel better. She's been a constant in my life for so long.

Only this time when I looked, I really looked. The flawless skin of her shapely legs…the way her t-shirt hugs her curves…how a few pieces of hair have slipped out of the clip so that they're framing her face…her beautiful eyes that are soft and inquisitive and fully focused on me…

God, I want her so much.

"You know, if you don't…um…it's just that…" I tried again, and then I stopped when she closed her eyes.

Does she know what I'm about to say?

"Never mind," she said quietly. "If it's this hard for you to say what's on your mind, to share with me…"

"It's not," I interrupted quickly, because now she's disappointed thinking it's something I don't want to share and it's not that, it's just…I'm scared.

Get your head out of your ass, my inner Logan shouted. Before you blow your chance!

So I reached up, once again putting my hand on her hip, and as I lightly moved my thumb back and forth along the bottom edge of her t-shirt, I went for broke.

TBC...