The Story Continues…

The Little Things

Bobby Goren had he back to the wall, so to speak. He had to decide in the next ten seconds whether he was going to get up out of bed now or finally take a sick day. But he wasn't sick. He thought about how the conversation with Ross would go:

Captain, it's Goren. I'm going to need to take today as a personal day."

"Why is that, Detective?"

"Well, to be honest Captain, I just don't want to come in today. I think I need to take a 'mental health' day."

"If it were anyone but you Goren, I'd take that comment as a joke, but coming from you…"

"It was meant to be a joke, Captain."

Shaking his head, he mentally scrolled down his to-do list, he decided it was best to just go in late. He called in and left a message for Eames, he didn't feel like going fifteen rounds with her this morning. Turning over, Bobby pulled the covers over his head to block out the brightening day.

Minutes later, it seemed, he heard jangling keys, and his front door close. Instantly awake, Bobby threw back the covers. Who the hell… it could only be Eames or Jamison.

"Hey Goren, you awake yet." Blake Jamison called out.

Leaning back against the pillows, he forced his heart to calm as a smile came to his lips. He pulled the covers back over his bare legs and torso. "What are you doing here? Don't scare me like that!"

He could hear her approach as she crossed the apartment.

"Sorry." She leaned against the doorway of his bedroom. "You decent?"

"I guess." Glancing over at the clock, he rolled his eyes at the blinking numbers. "What time is it?"

"Around ten. You weren't answering your phone, so I thought I'd stop by. Eames told me you called in sick." She entered the room prepared for anything. "You okay?" Her eyes darted around the room, then to him.

"What?" Bobby fidgeted with the covers, lowering his eyes.

Jamison blushed and smiled. "Who is your decorator? I don't think I've ever really noticed how nice this room is. I mean, it's usually late at night and I'm usually more than a little distracted when you drag me in here, acting all primal caveman."

"My what? My decorator?" He sat upright, gazing around the room with her. The old rosewood night table; an antique chest of drawers he restored himself; the pewter lamps he "borrowed" from his grandfather's basement. Right now, she was looking hungrily at his favorite indulgence: his bed. Before he knew it, Jamison kicked off her shoes and threw her jacket over the Stickley chair he had found at an estate sale.

She leapt onto the bed with a squeal of glee. "Oh. My. God! Bobby. How can you not sleep every night? I never notice how grand this bed is." Grabbing a pillow, she closed her eyes with a deep sigh and snuggled down into the fluffy comforter.

Inexplicably, Bobby felt guilty, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I better get dressed," he said quietly.His to-do list flashed again in his mind's eye as he threw back the covers. As he rose, Bobby felt delicate fingers around his wrist, stopping him.

Blake studied his face. She had decided long ago that he loved to work that 'New York Pallor' and was going to look perpetually pale and tired, but his eyes were bright and amused yet cautious. "Get that cute butt of yours back in this bed," Blake purred said as she scooted underneath the covers.

"Oh, jeez! I'm fine! I'm not sick… I … just wanted to sleep in. You can't make me stay home, ya know." He lay on his side to face her.

Adopting a serious look, she nodded her head sagely as she said, "You're right, you really are, I can't make you stay home, but I can make you want to stay home."

She pulled the ultra soft sheet over their heads; they both held up arms to tent it away from their faces. In the muted light, she watched Bobby's eyes crinkle at the corners. "I know you're fine," she said. Looking at the sheet over her head, she grinned at him. "And here, I thought you didn't know how to relax."

He laughed softly. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Yes." She moved her free hand slowly over the bed below. "I have never felt anything so soft."

Bobby frowned, briefly lost in memories. "Of course you have. That great blanket throw on your couch. That's soft."

"Oh, that's not even in the same league as this." She squinted her eyes suspiciously. "So what was it, a housewarming gift from an old girlfriend?"

He chuckled again. "Why? Are you jealous?"

"Ha! It's from your mom, isn't it?"

Bobby tried to look offended. "Never! My mother has never been here."

"Are you saying you picked these out yourself?" Her incredulous look had his lips curling upward.

"Are you saying I can't have nice things?" He arched a regal brow in her direction.

Jamison pulled the sheet down, revealing his spectacular bed head and playful brown eyes. "No. I'm thinking, just when I had you pegged, you do something completely opposite."

"Ah," he replied, turning to lie on his back. "I have indulgences too, ya know." This time he gave a sidelong glance. "You imagined cheap, threadbare sheets on an old bed shoved in a corner, and neon lights flashing in my bedroom window, didn't you?" Bobby painted a vivid picture.

"Nah uh! I have been in here before, if you'll remember." Blake giggled, punching his shoulder. "This place looks like a hotel room. I'd love to wake up every morning in this bed." As soon as she said it, they were both blushing furiously. "I didn't... um..."

Bobby gave a quick smile. "I know, I know. It'd never work out anyhow."

Hearing a bit of sadness in his tone, Blake furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

He rounded his chameleon eyes at her; the gold from the pillow sham reflecting golden flecks flashing fire. "Apparently, I'm too indulgent." She smacked his arm again, and he pulled out a pillow from under his head, hitting her shoulder. "Yes, I, Robert Goren have guilty pleasures!

"Bubble baths," she smiled wistfully.

"Who doesn't like a good soak? That's too easy. Frozen candy bars."

"Ice cream out of the carton."

"Pillow fights."

Blake grabbed another pillow and hit him in the chest. Looking at the label, she smiled wickedly. "Hey, these are the pillows that don't –"

"Don't start!" He took another swing, rising to his knees. "I doubt you've been a good pillow fight," he said smugly.

Blake scrambled to her knees, pillow in hand. "Oh yeah? Is that a challenge?"

Bobby narrowed his eyes, striking the narrowed glint of Clint Eastwood in a half dozen spaghetti westerns. "Yeah." Swat.

"Are you kidding me? What was that?" Swat.

"Just a taste of the beating to come." Swat. Swat.

In a manner of minutes, the pillow fight became an all out war. Thankfully, no pillows were harmed in this fight. Ten minutes later, they collapsed exhausted and laughing onto the bed.

His cell phone rang, breaking the mood. "This is Goren," he said, striving for formality while breathing hard. He looked over at Blake. "Yep, she's here. Woke me up from the best dream, too. Be in soon." He closed the phone and slid off the very high bed. "No rest for the wicked. Double homicide off Washington Square Park, Ross is pulling everyone in."

"Ahh, man!" Blake pouted. "Do we have to?" She scooted off the bed, straightening the covers. "I'll make some coffee." With one last forlorn look, she retrieved her shoes and coat, leaving the room with a whine.

Padding over to the bathroom, Bobby cursed the day for being Wednesday.

They left his apartment snickering about pillows and candy, coffee warming their hands.

"You are totally jealous!"

"Of course I'm jealous. I think I said that earlier." At his disbelieving look, she amended.

"Okay, maybe not. But still..." She slanted her eyes at him. "What do you know about Egyptian cotton?"

Bobby grinned devilishly at her. "More than you think."

More to come…