A/N: I'm not sure why it took so long to proofread this chapter, aside from my work schedule, the hustle and bustle of the holidays and the hassles of preparing for another cross-country move. First, let me wish all of you happy holidays and best of luck in the new year. I will be spending the first few weeks of the new year moving back to Colorado and getting the family settled back into the familiar, comfortable surroundings of home. I already have doctors' appointments scheduled for Katie and am hoping the medical transition will be a smooth one. Since she is on dialysis, everything is so much more complicated. I am, however, hoping that by listing her in Denver as well as keeping her listed in Hershey, we may have some luck in finding a donor kidney for her. God bless all of you and thanks for your continued support of my writing endeavors. I appreciate each of you.

After spending the afternoon walking around Grandview before eating dinner and returning to the hotel, Goren was exhausted. His entire body hurt, though most of the pain was concentrated on his injured side. He took a nice, hot shower, which helped to relax his taut muscles, then he sat on the bed with his back against the headboard, dressed in his boxers and a t-shirt.

Eames knew he was hurting, and she set his medicine and a glass of water on his nightstand. "Feel better?" she asked.

He nodded as he picked up the pill bottle, dumping two of the strong little pills into his hand and swallowing them with the water. "I didn't realize how tense I was."

She sat on the edge of the bed and rested her hand on his thigh, just above his knee. "Funny how much your body objects to getting hit by a truck, huh?"

"Hilarious," he grumbled.

She moved her hand over his warm skin. "Don't be grouchy," she lightly admonished.

His eyes strayed to her hand, which continued to caress his bruised thigh. She had no idea how good that felt. He began to relax.

When she moved her hand from his leg, he groaned a soft protest. Gently, she took his hand in both of hers. Pressing her thumbs into his palm, she began to massage his hand. Watching her, he swallowed another groan but he continued to relax. Gradually, his breathing evened out, which she was glad to see. She leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his mouth. "I'm going to shower."

He managed to nod and watched her grab her bag and disappear into the bathroom. After a few minutes, the water began to run in the shower. Lulled by the sound, he dozed off.

Running water...he was swept along by the current, a single drop of water among millions. Tumbling from the shower head, he splashed onto her head, traveling through her hair onto her face. Rolling along her cheek, he moved past her ear, along the curve of her neck and her collarbone before rolling to her breast. He glided along the smooth mound onto the dark discoloration around her nipple. He wanted to stay for awhile, but his momentum propelled him along the curve of her breast, down her ribs and her abdomen until he disappeared into the triangle of hair at the top of her legs. Then he found himself falling...falling...

Eames came out of the bathroom, toweling her hair. She looked toward the bed from under the towel, relieved to see him sleeping. His shower must have done him some real good. She draped the towel over the back of the desk chair and pulled a bottle of lotion and a magazine from her bag. She slid into the bed beside him, careful not to invade his space.

As she settled against the pillows, his body suddenly jerked, then he gasped as pain seared through his side into his hip. He woke disoriented and confused, his body afire with an odd mix of pain and desire. Somehow, the pain worked to intensify the desire and he softly groaned.

"Bobby?" she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

His mind cleared slowly and the pain began to ease, but his desire for her remained inexplicably strong. "I, uhm, I'm okay," he assured her, not looking at her.

"What happened?"

He shook his head. "I...I was falling," he explained. "That's all I remember."

"Don't worry," she whispered as she rubbed his shoulder. "I'll be there to catch you."

He raised his eyes to look at her and caught his breath. She wore a satin top and sleep shorts, a subdued shade of mint green that did such wonderful justice to her eyes. He was unable to look away, and his desire for her soared to new levels, in spite of his attempts to control it.

She became concerned when she noticed how uncomfortable he seemed to have gotten. "What's wrong?"

"N-Nothing," he insisted. Motioning toward her, he said, "I, uhm, I like that top. The color...it-it brings out the...the specks of green in your eyes."

She looked down at her top. "I didn't realize I have specks of green in my eyes."

He hadn't looked away from her. "You do."

Smiling, assured he was all right, she squeezed his arm and nestled back into the pillows, plopped the magazine, face down, in her lap and opened the bottle of lotion. She stopped before squeezing it into her hand. "This won't bother you, will it?" she asked.

"Bother me? How?"

She held the bottle out to him. "The smell. I know how sensitive your sense of smell is."

The scent of the lotion wafted from the bottle she held. So familiar. Sometimes he was caught off his guard by the scent of her hair or her skin when he leaned over her shoulder to look at a file or her computer screen. Sometimes, he had to be careful, depending on his mood. Getting ambushed by the scent of her when he was in the wrong mood would trap him at his desk for a while. Tonight, he was in the wrong kind of mood, but he had no where to go. He couldn't leave her alone, not even for a little while. He was stuck with no options. "Lilac," he said softly, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I...You wear it to work. Why would I have a problem with it now?"

She withdrew the bottle and stretched out her legs. "I know you aren't feeling well. I just wanted to make sure."

"Thank you, but you can use your lotion."

Resting back against his own pillows, he switched on the television and turned to the news, trying to concentrate on anything but the woman beside him. She squeezed lotion into her hand and began to rub it into her left leg as he tried to focus on the news report. The weather was on, something about a big storm system slowly churning its way in their direction from the Great Lakes, lots of thunder and dangerous lightning.

She squeezed more lotion into her hand and rubbed it into her other leg. He looked out of the corner of his eye, watching her hands stroke her leg from toes to knee. Subconsciously, he flexed his left hand.

Eames noticed his tension. "You okay?" she asked.

"Huh?" He looked at her. "What?"

"Is the news that interesting?"

"No, I mean, yes...uh...yeah, I guess it is. Uh, there...there's a storm heading this way."

"Big storm?" she asked as she screwed the cap on the bottle and set it on the nightstand beside her.

"Seems to be, yes."

After tucking her legs beneath the covers, she picked up her magazine and commented, "I always liked to stay in and watch it storm from the safety of my bed."

Desperate for a distraction, not thinking for a moment her magazine could possibly make matters worse for him, he asked, "What are you reading?"

Her cheeks colored a little. "What, this? It's just a magazine."

His interest piqued by her reluctance to be more specific, he pressed, "Come on, Eames. What is it? Maybe it's something I'd be interested in."

She made a noise that sounded like a strangled laugh. "Just watch the TV. I'm sure you wouldn't be interested in this."

She had the magazine positioned so that he couldn't see the cover. Without warning, he snatched it from her hands. "Hey!" she protested, grabbing for it, but it was too late.

He flipped the magazine closed and silently groaned. "Cosmopolitan?"

"What can I say? There wasn't much to choose from. It was either that or Popular Mechanics."

His eyes traveled over the article titles on the cover. "'How to drive your man wild in bed'," he read. "'Twelve steps to an earth-shattering orgasm'. Really, Eames?"

She snatched the magazine back from him. "Bite me, Goren."

He laughed, then groaned when fire exploded in his side. "Don't make me laugh, please."

"You deserved that," she replied. "Now isn't there something on The History Channel or Discovery that will interest you?"

"I suppose," he said, grabbing the remote.

It really didn't matter what was on the screen. He was too distracted to pay attention. Every time she turned a page, he wondered what she was reading, and he was getting increasingly uncomfortable.

Eames turned another page in her magazine, and Goren shifted again. Every time he moved, he diverted her attention, not that it required much concentration to read Cosmopolitan. "Do you need another dose of medicine?" she asked.

At the sound of her voice, he turned his head toward her. "What?" he asked. Although he'd heard her voice, his mind had failed to translate the sound into words.

"Do you need medicine?" she repeated. "You keep fidgeting."

"I...uhm...sorry. No, I'm okay."

Unconvinced, she returned to her magazine as he made a conscious effort to stop fidgeting. After a few minutes, she decided his not fidgeting was more distracting than his fidgeting had been, and she closed the magazine, placing it on her nightstand.

"It's getting late," she said. "I'm going to sleep." She turned off her light and snuggled down under the covers. Turning onto her side, she watched him for a moment before reaching out and stroking his arm. "Good night, Bobby."

"Good night, Eames," he said quietly, switching off the light by his bed and turning down the volume on the television so neither would disturb her.

He waited for a few minutes before he allowed himself to look at her in the glow from the television. He itched to touch her, but he wouldn't—not without an open invitation from her, which he did not have, despite her subtle gestures of affection. There was a line drawn in the sand between them. He didn't remember who drew it, but he couldn't cross it. He could, however, watch her, which he did, often. And whether he liked it or not, he also dreamed about her, often. He had no control over that. The situation he now found himself in, however, was torturous. Watching her sleeping in the bed beside him, knowing he couldn't touch her the way he wanted to, made him more desperate to do just that. Again, he flexed his hand. The burn, the itch to satisfy the fire in his gut was more than distracting, but there was nothing he could do about it, not at the moment.

His mind wandered until it came across a memory of the night before, when he'd taken a chance and kissed her. And she'd let him...until Nicole threw a tantrum and shattered the light bulbs. Nicole...if she hadn't done that, he would have believed the kiss he'd shared with Eames wasn't a memory but a dream, like so many others. It wasn't, though. It had actually happened, and she'd allowed it. He couldn't get past that, and he had no idea what it meant for him.

"Why are you watching me?" Eames said suddenly, startling him.

Busted. He made two false starts before he let out a heavy breath. "Sorry" was all he could manage to say.

She didn't say anything right away as she listened to his breathing, which was the only sound in the dark room. Rather than smooth and steady, it was irregular, and she didn't like the sound of it.

"Are you all right?" she finally asked, her voice not much more than a whisper.

Shifting on the pillows, he softly sighed. "It's nothing to worry about," he assured her, unwilling to discuss it.

Figuring he might as well try to get some sleep, he began to roll away from her, forgetting for the moment that it was his injured side onto which he was rolling. Pain screamed from his knee up into his head. He groaned deeply and Eames turned the light back on, shifting closer to him. "What happened?" she asked, all teasing gone from her tone. "Bobby? Are you okay?"

"When have I ever been okay?" he answered, his voice strained.

Tentatively, she touched his arm. He slowly rolled onto his back, eyes closed, sweat beaded on his forehead. His breathing leveled out as the pain gradually subsided.

She shifted her position, and he opened his eyes. Her expression was one of concern. He'd seen that look in her eyes too often, but he had no idea how to make it go away. Too many worry lines, he observed. I wonder how many of those are for me. He raised his hand and hesitantly touched her face, lightly running his fingertips over her cheek. Continuing to watch her for any sign of discomfort or rejection, he caressed her jawline. A small voice in the back of his head tried to reason with him. What the hell are you doing? Cut it out before she whacks the crap out of you. Why the hell would she want you over a normal guy who doesn't have an ocean liner full of baggage?

The last comment from his conscience rang true with him. Why would she want him? Just what did he have to offer her? Nothing more than grief and worry. He'd seen her on the verge of tears only a few times, but each time, directly or indirectly, he was the cause.

He withdrew his hand, but continued to look at her face. Her hair was still damp from her shower and her skin was soft and warm. Mind and body recalled kissing her the night before, and he found himself getting worked up again. He'd fallen for her years ago, but had managed to keep it from her. All bets were off now. She had a clue, and she was going to figure it out, if she hadn't already. She was a detective, after all.

He shifted himself a little higher onto the pillows until his head just cleared the headboard. He was uncomfortable on so many levels, and there was little he could do about relieving any of it. He was maxed out on the pain medicine they'd prescribed for him, so his pain wasn't going to get any better. Obviously, he wasn't going to get sex any time soon and his other options weren't feasible at the moment. Making matters worse, he wanted her, and he felt guilty about it. All of his options were limited, partly by his injuries and partly by the circumstances in which they found themselves. There was no way he would leave her vulnerable to Nicole Wallace. In a moment of clarity, he realized he'd been nervous about her being behind the closed bathroom door. After all, the bathroom was the most common place in the home for serious accidents to occur. He hadn't intended to fall asleep, and he was annoyed at himself for that, despite being relieved that nothing had happened to her. He was still on edge at the thought of the invisible threat Wallace presented, and he still knew of no way to protect Eames from her.

Eames watched him try to find a more comfortable position, not sure why he'd withdrawn from her until she saw the uncertainty in his eyes. She didn't think she was sending him mixed messages. Any other guy would already have been all over her. But Goren wasn't just any other guy, and she had to continually remind herself of that. He wasn't like any other guy she'd ever known. Initially that had put her off, leading directly to her request for another partner. He had somehow changed her mind, though, and she'd withdrawn the request before he found out, until Harold Garrett made it public to the world in open court. She tried to identify the moment she'd fallen in love with him, for she knew she had, but she couldn't pin it down to any specific time. It seemed like she'd always loved him. She was certain that he didn't reciprocate her feelings...until last night, when he'd kissed her. Now she was confused and uncertain because he hadn't attempted it again.

She reached over to turn off the light, then she slid deeply into the covers, scooting closer as she rolled onto her side. His breathing was still shallow and irregular, telling her he was in more pain than he wanted her to know. She reached out and lightly rubbed her hand over his side, taking care to watch for any sign of increased discomfort.

He tensed initially when her hand settled on his side and began to lightly rub. When he began to relax, though, his pain started to subside. He sighed softly and looked toward her. With an unspoken question in his eyes, he touched her cheek. She smiled an answer, leaning in closer. His mouth quirked into a small smile and he closed the distance between them.

When his mouth closed over hers, he slid his hand over her waist and drew her closer. She slid into him as he rolled toward her, partly covering her body with his. He caressed the soft fabric of her top, then slipped his hand beneath it and moved his hips against her. She felt so good.

Gently, Eames pressed her hands into his shoulders, forcing him to break the kiss. "Wh-What's wrong?" He pulled back onto his side, taking his weight off her. "Am I hurting you?"

"No, not at all. But I was wondering...what if she's watching us?"

"Who?"

"Nicole, remember? The exploding light bulbs and falling floor lamps?"

"Oh...uhm, does that bother you?"

"It doesn't bother you?"

He settled his head on his pillow and softly huffed. "To be honest with you I haven't given much thought."

"You're kidding, right?"

He knew there was a right answer to that but he wasn't sure exactly what it was. The thoughts that ran through his head as he watched her were not about another person's voyeurism, and when he touched her, especially for a kiss, he really didn't have any thoughts at all. "I, uhm..."

When he didn't say anything more, Eames smirked. "Very eloquent, Goren."

He looked away, frustrated and irritated. "What do you want me to say?" Carefully, he sat up. "Go to sleep, Eames."

She grabbed his arm. She had not intended to upset him. The idea of Wallace watching them was initially unsettling, until she let herself wonder why it didn't bother him. For years, Wallace had pursued him, only to face his rejection time and again. The woman's venom toward her, she was coming to realize, was driven by jealousy. Nicole Wallace, jealous of her...and now, perhaps, there was something to it, something that would actually justify that jealousy. Goren loved her, not Wallace. He had never loved Wallace. She was a puzzle to be solved, a criminal to bring to justice, and nothing more.

She pressed the flat of her hand against his shoulder and coaxed him to lay back down. Stretching out beside him, she draped her arm across him, lightly scratching his injured side with her nails. He trembled, then sighed and softly groaned. "That feels nice," he murmured.

She smiled, feathering the side of his face with slow, soft kisses. Instead of getting worked up by her gentle ministrations, he began to relax, and that finally allowed the pain medicine to fully do its job. As the pain faded, his head began to slowly spin. Fatigue suddenly hit him like a brick wall. He turned his head toward her, barely able to keep his eyes open. She kissed him softly, and that was the last thing he remembered as he drifted to sleep.