A/N 1: I started this chapter ages ago, but had all but decided not to include it in the fic. This isn't the chapter I've been suffering over; the credit for that torture went to Chapter 16. But I felt drawn to this part of the story, and worked on it out of desperation because I couldn't wrangle the Becker interview into anything satisfactory, and – lo and behold! – it has proven to be far more important than I ever would have imagined. See if you can pick up on any of the clues! Dedicated to rindy713, whose review of Chapter 16 gave me a much-needed pick-me-up.

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: SIMULACRUM

Las Vegas
4:10 PM Sunday afternoon

The rest of the ride up was silent, except for a few murmured words spoken between the two lovers. Alex tried to take in as little of the tableau as she could manage while staring at their feet. It was impossible, though. Nina Carruthers, her face transformed by affection, filled the periphery of her vision. And Phillip, familiar as he was, drew her eye unbidden.

He seemed genuinely captivated, which relieved her. Alex knew that his pursuit last year of another conference-goer had been calculated; it salved her conscience to know that her dumping Phil hadn't resulted in him carrying on with someone he had no feelings for.

Brrr, she couldn't think about him any more. But Carruthers… it was odd. At first when Phil had introduced her, Alex had had a hard time placing the woman, but her explanation had jogged Alex's memory, and Alex recalled that the woman had made an impression on her. It was just the incongruent image of Carruthers in love with someone like Phil that had tricked Alex's memory.

She remembered Nina Carruthers as a reserved but self-possessed, thoughtful woman who was serious, but not obsessive, about her job and the commitment it represented. The presentation she'd mentioned to Alex – about methodology around collecting DNA evidence – spoke to Alex not only of her professional capability, but also, possibly, of the source of her interest in law enforcement.

Which made the match a bit – perplexing. If anyone had asked her, she would have imagined Ms Dreyfeus's heart finding harbour with someone more… refined.

Not that she was complaining, or comparing. But Alex knew Phil well enough to imagine that he would mistake her respectful diffidence and quiet manners for timidity and disinterest. And while she didn't know Carruthers, she would have guessed many of the adjectives that described Becker would be a repellent rather than an attractor: boisterous, charming, charismatic. M–

The elevator bounced to a stop at their floor, and the doors glided silently open. "I'll walk you two lovely ladies to your room, shall I?" Phil placed his hand gently but firmly in the small of Carruthers' back as he guided her down the hallway. Alex followed, feeling like a sulking middle-school student following the cool kids outside to watch them smoke, because even though she had no interest in them, there was no way to demur without looking petty and weak.

Seeing their casual intimacy, she felt a rush of jealousy and even arousal. Not because she longed for Phil Becker… watching those two touching evinced in her an almost painful yearning for Bobby.

He had never touched her like that. He hardly ever touched her at all. She thought… she'd thought a few times, in the past couple of years, that he wanted to. She'd seen something in his eyes, in between the agony and isolation they'd put themselves and each other through recently; an occasional look of passion, ardour, desire. It made her feel thrilled and, out of sorts. Threw her off her game, honestly.

The Mulrooney case was one example. Bobby's caveman routine when he'd thought she'd slept with Mulrooney had made her womb twitch and her nipples hard, even as she'd sniped indignantly at him. His protectiveness and the way he rattled off her home address later had made her dizzy. But the last straw had been the look on his face when they'd been questioning Mulrooney's dad; while the two of them listened to him slathering on the backhanded compliments, saying that she didn't seem Kevin's type, Bobby just stared at her. And it was if he'd spoken the words out loud: You may not be Kevin's type, but you're mine.

That moment, and that case in general, had made Alex feel as though Bobby had somehow taken ownership of her, a realisation that had left her giddy and nonplussed. As his meaningful, possessive looks – a feature of their relationship for almost a decade – had grown more frequent and less covert, she'd gone into a holding pattern, rebuffing any possible overtures with a laser focus on work.

It wasn't that she didn't want him – she did, Oh, she did – it was just, the timing was so wrong. She felt so raw, exposed, humiliated, by Mulrooney – and the comparison… That the amazing, overwhelming, honourable, perspicacious man she shared her professional life with would have such an inside glimpse into her most ignominious liaison, was just too much. And overwhelming? Yeah. It wasn't until she saw the two of them together stooping over Burnham's body that it hit her, how spectacularly underwhelming Kevin was, and that she'd probably picked him for exactly that reason. Alex smiled a little to herself… Joe had intimidated her a little too. Phil? Not so much.

At any rate, she was chiding herself now. What would have happened if she'd asked Bobby to take her out for a drink, then slid her hand across the table to touch his, knowing that if she dared to look at him he would glimpse exactly what she (finally) was ready for him to see.

She tried to imagine what it would be like to be Bobby's lover. Alex cringed. Brrrr, had Becker ruined that word for her? It didn't seem right to use the word girlfriend, and partner sounded too cheesy and ambiguous. The one word that fit the best, she couldn't bring herself to utter even in her mind.

Bobby would be the type to touch her, she thought. He'd have his hand at her back like Becker's, as often as he could. He'd reach out to gently tug a wisp of her hair, trace the smooth line of her eyebrows, play with her fingers like a child. In her mind, she could both see and feel him running the backs of his hands down her arms, tickling her feet, putting his arm over the back of her chair to stroke her shoulder.

And more. But she couldn't think about giving herself to Robert Goren while watching Phil's hand wend its way down towards her roommate's tush.

The thought made her heart hurt. Could they ever have that? Recently she'd allowed herself to hope, if only unconsciously, but surrounded by the mess she'd made, right now it seemed unlikely.

o.o.o.o.o

"So, Alexandra, you looking forward to the conference?" Phil's pace slowed as they rounded the final corner of the long, square hallway and approached hers and Nina's room.

No. She succeeded at biting back the words, but she saw from the smirk on Phil's face that he'd seen her reaction. "Of course," she rallied, "As always. It's one of the highlights of my year." She realised as his smirk grew what she'd actually said.

"Still? Why, is there something you're not telling us? Have you found yourself a new distraction?" Pausing, he turned and grinned at his new paramour. Nina, to her credit, looked dubiously back at him, clearly not enjoying the exchange.

Alex didn't want to be rude, but she couldn't let this one go. "Phil, my personal life was off-limits when we were… friendly; it's certainly none of your business now."

He shrugged elegantly. "Nevertheless… as you must have noticed, things have a way of getting out." In the padded tunnel of the stylish hallway, even Phil's voice seemed muted and far away. Or maybe that was just because her head was spinning.

Alex stiffened; now she was really irate. "Things?" she asked. Up went her chin, and her voice was low and dripping with contempt. "Courtesy of you, no doubt."

Next to Phillip, Nina Carruthers blanched, and Alex actually felt a little bit bad about embarrassing her. She hastened to bid a civil good-bye to her former lover, and as he reluctantly withdrew, Alex unlocked the door and the two women entered their room.

"I'm sorry about that," Nina said as Alex closed the door. Their room was cool and comfortable, decorated in various taupes and camels, with two of everything: queen beds, chaise longues, club chairs, and desks, in addition to the little coffee service table. For Phil's twin girls. How lovely. The room felt like a prison to Alex, the walls closing in claustrophobically.

"No need to be sorry," she replied. "You certainly aren't responsible for Phil's bad manners. Or mine," she added. They were both still standing in the narrow entranceway, clutching their welcome packages like lifelines. Before she turned away to break the tableau, she saw Nina's delicate features register pain.

"He… shouldn't have said those things," she said a bit cryptically, almost to herself. "It's better just to mind your own business."

"It is that," Alex muttered as she stepped into the washroom to pull herself a water. "But I guess I was his business once, so I really have no grounds to complain."

Nina asked her through the door which bed she wanted, to which Alex replied non-committally; when Alex emerged, she was almost physically shocked to see a huge, framed picture on the bedside table closer to the door. "I see I'm by the window?" she asked, waving at Nina's claiming of the bed she wanted.

Nina, who was rummaging through her huge handbag, looked up at her owlishly. "Is that OK? Because I can take the other one…"

Alex shook her head. "No, no, it really doesn't matter to me. Was this picture taken last year?" She picked up the photograph, which appeared to be a blown-up candid, taken at the conference: Nina and Phillip standing close together at the info desk, the golden hair of the woman on duty visible through the sliver of space between them, and – oddly – Alex, oblivious, in the background about 10 feet behind them.

Nina bounced up and grabbed the picture eagerly. "Yes. Checkout day. Phillip and I had been together four days."

Alex almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation, and her room-mate's casual attitude about sharing a room with her lover's ex. She couldn't think of anything she wanted to say in response, so she just turned away and started unpacking. A little later, ruminating over what she remembered of Nina and the disconnect it seemed to pose, she piped up. "So, do you still see any of your, er, friends that you used to hang out with?"

"No," Nina replied vaguely, "Not really. No time, now." She looked up and smiled. "Well, one. Just one, actually. We work together now."

"In Tahoe?"

"Yeah."

"And Phil…lip…" Out of respect for the woman, Alex added the rest of his given name, "Has he come to visit you in, er, Tahoe?"

"Yeah, a few times." Nina's face lit up with pride, then her gaze turned furtive and apologetic.

Alex nodded. "Good," she said cautiously. "If that's what you want, it's good that he made the effort."

"Sorry," Nina said again. "I, um, I know he didn't visit you."

Christ the woman was tactless. Difficult to dislike, though, since she was both well-meaning and oblivious. "I didn't want him to," she replied coolly. It was the truth.

A few minutes later, after apparently checking her cell phone messages, Nina spoke again. "He's very courtly."

Smirking to herself, Alex replied, "He can be."

"Have you ever met anyone like him?" Alex looked up to see Nina barefoot and cross-legged on her bed, for all the world like a tween at a sleepover. Choking back both sarcasm and irritation, she tried to remain neutral. She was not going to 'talk about boys' with this woman. Especially about who she'd known who had been 'like' him…

"In what way?"

"In any way." Nina appeared genuinely serious and curious. "You seem to attract powerful, fascinating men, is all. What's your secret?"

Powerful, fascinating men? Thinking of Bobby, Joe, Phil, Mulrooney and others, she said, "One or two. And my secret? I don't think I have one."

Nina shook her head and looked intently at her. "I… I think there must be something. I'm not – adroit – with men, as you probably noticed. You clearly are."

Mystified and uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, Alex said the first thing that occurred to her. "Well, I guess if anything, I just try not to seem too interested. I don't mean playing games, I just mean being a bit… reticent. And I try not to commit myself emotionally too soon."

Nina shook her head again and smiled ruefully. "I've been doing that all my life, and it's never worked, except for the occasional weirdo. Until Phillip."

Not wanting to compare Phil unflatteringly to the woman's usual weirdos, Alex kept silent.

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A/N 2: I know this chapter seems to end abruptly, but there's a reason why. BTW, the person I picture when I'm writing Becker is the guy on The Mentalist. My Isle is the gal who played Kitty Sanchez (the spacey assistant the dad ran away with to Mexico) on Arrested Development. And the song referenced in chapter 17 is Leonard Cohen's Famous Blue Raincoat, and the lyric Isle is thinking of is, 'And thanks… for the trouble you took from her eyes. I thought it was there for good, so I never tried.'

WORDS: 2326 UPLOADED Friday, March 30, 2012