Disclaimer:All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for).

AN: This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!!

(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…and don't look to me for sympathy…I told you a dozen times you'd get stuck in your zipper doing that one day)

A rare episode sees our two favourite detectives leave New York…

THE LOVE TRAIN

It wasn't often in their work that Alex Eames and Bobby Goren got to leave the city of New York, so the need to go and speak to a serial killer jailed in Cleveland was a welcome break in the routine. At least it was for her even if the half dozen mummified bodies found in a basement, bearing what Bobby was sure was his signature, were rather grisly.

But he'd enjoyed every moment poking around down there and Eames liked nothing more than to see Bobby happy. Her problem had always been that he never seemed to have any interest in doing the one thing that would have made her happy and with luck (if the rumours about him were true) very likely ecstatic.

There was she knew, without Bobby's help to remind her, a saying which went "Everything comes to he who waits" though a sudden strike amongst airline crews might change that to "she who waits". Because the only chance of them getting back to the city before the end of the week was to take the train. Specifically the overnight "Ohio Express" though Eames rather wished she'd taken on the job of getting refunds for their plane tickets and booking for the train.

Because Bobby had reserved them two sleeping compartments, not the one she would have though with no intention of them squabbling over who got the top bunk. She didn't give a hoot which, so long as it was only one in use that night. With luck (and if the rumours about Bobby were true) they could always try the other in the morning before the train pulled into Grand Central and she tried hard to wipe the smile of triumph off her face.

At the station and both of them needing some overnight essentials, Eames spent almost an hour in the lingerie shop. Amongst a group of guilty and embarrassed looking businessmen as she selected the appropriate clothes for the occasion. Before concluding the solution was the obvious one all along. You buy the most expensive which also consists of the least amount of fabric and in the case of lingerie, with one or two of those extra special "sexy" features. The kind Eames hoped would get Bobby's attention as fixed as six mummified corpses had.

She would worry about maxing out her credit card another time, though when she rejoined Bobby on the platform Eames did wonder why the only bag he was carrying was from an electrical goods store. Surely he could shave with a wet razor one time and if it was her choice he need not bother. So long as his face tickled more than scratched, he could put it anywhere he liked so far as she was concerned. And if Bobby was uncertain, Eames had a list of those places prepared ready for him.

Her hopes of a candlelit dinner for two in the dining car to ply him a little with some wine and get them in the mood for later were dashed. When the steward explained because of the crowding they'd have to double up the sitting. However, the couple who joined them turned out not to be a couple at all. But a photocopier salesman whose deodorant wasn't cutting it and a blonde English professor from Columbia who bore a remarkable resemblance to Elle McPherson.

At least that was what Bobby said. Probably to stop his tongue from hitting the ground as she sat down beside him. So instead of staring into the dark limpid pools of Bobby's eyes for three courses, plus coffee and mints, Eames spent most of dinner looking into his left ear. As he talked with the professor about music, literature, Japanese kabuki theatre and someone called Titi Caca struck Eames as strange and inappropriate. Until she gathered Titicaca was a Lake in South America, not the stripper worked at the"Blue Parrot" on 43rd. Meanwhile she hoped it was only the napkin in his lap the photocopier sales man was fiddling with under the table, stabbed his hand once with her fish fork to stop him fiddling with anything of hers and learned that a "quire" spelled that way, not "choir" is the name for 25 sheets of paper.

However all did not seem to be lost. When they returned to their sleeping compartments Bobby did not dismiss out of hand her suggestion he come by later "to discuss their findings and the next moves". Little did he realise that the only "findings" she was interested in were how many of the rumours were true, including the one about the numbers of "moves" he knew had nothing to do with chess. Eames was putting her faith and crucial parts of her anatomy in sheer peach satin and lace to help her get what she wanted from tonight.

She spent several minutes selecting the right pose on the bunk to achieve the desired effect. A mixture of "wanton readiness"and "coy surprise" for when Bobby walked through the door. All she achieved after 20 minutes was severe cramp and an unwelcome visit from the photocopier salesman. It took the SigSauer under her pillow to persuade him his luck wasn't in tonight after all.

Then to add insult to injury, Eames suddenly heard a loud groan from next door of the sort didn't suggest Bobby was in pain or suffering indigestion. Why would he be? That damned professor had more or less fed him his chocolate mousse off a teaspoon earlier. She hurried to the tiny bathroom, grabbed the tooth glass and pressed it against the cabin wall with her ear at the other end.

To hear mattress spring noises from next door and Bobby urging "Don't stop. Go for second baby" and then another groan. Next thing he was almost moaning "Slide! Slide!" and then after more mattress creaking he was howling, "Almost…yes yes…oh my God". Eames flew out of her compartment, almost giving the elderly conductor a heart attack until she pulled her mackintosh over the satin and lace, and burst into Bobby's compartment.

He was on the bunk fully dressed apart from his tie slightly loosened and the top button of his shirt undone. Holding a portable mini TV.

"Mets just went 2 up bottom of the eighth" he said casually

"Really" Eames muttered

"Hope I didn't disturb you. Got a bit carried away there for a moment. Want to borrow it for a while? It's "Friends" after this. The one where people think Chandler's gay"

"Chandler is gay" she scoffed retreating with as much dignity as it was possible to muster, which wasn't much "I'll see you in the morning Bobby"

"Uhuh…that was never a strike…sleep well…um…bed bugs and all that" he was staring at the screen again.

Eames slammed the door to Bobby's compartment, slammed her own and proceeded to carry out a deadly assault on every soft furnishing in the room, before falling on the bunk in an exhausted sleep.

Which was just as well for Bobby because it meant Eames didn't hear the faint creak of him letting down the top bunk in his room and helping down the professor from Columbia. Where he'd hidden her pending the certain arrival of Eames at some point. Nor her yelling "Yes yes oh my God" for the third time an hour later. Or him rounding all her bases again just before the train crossed the Hudson River next morning.

AN Yeah yeah I know I'm mean to Alex…but at least I didn't kill her…yet…mwhahahahaha