Alex POV

We seemed to share a moment in the bar.

Because come on. Since when does Bobby worry about me in the middle of a case?

Of course everything I've seen from him in the past two weeks says he's grown.

Changed.

In a good way.

And last Friday night...oh my God, I can't believe I left his place with my drought still in effect. Because I wanted him so badly.

And for the first time since we met, I think he wants me just as much.

It's a heady feeling.

So as we sat in the bar, almost a week after our hormone-laden make-out session, just his expression is giving me a fluttering feeling in my stomach and my pulse is racing and I decided that I don't really care who killed Judge Layton.

I mean I do, but...I don't know.

I think I'd be just fine spending the next few days holed up in a hotel room with Bobby.

But then Maisy showed up, and by unspoken agreement, we forced ourselves to be professionals. And the information she gave us...well, it sent us on the path to solution.

I guess my sex drive has to stay in neutral for the time being.

So we brought in Dave and as expected, he admitted to culpability in the deaths of the judge and the sniper. However, it was frustrating to know that we still couldn't charge Pagolis with anything.

But Maureen was another story.

"You should go to her. See if she can fill in any gaps about Dave O," Ross instructed.

Meaning see if she'll confess to knowing what he was about to do.

So in spite of the early morning hour, we went to her house, and seeing her like that, without her polish, without her armor…it was humbling.

And very sad.

We took Maureen in for processing, and once we started the paperwork, Ross said that he'd handle it, presumably since we were dealing with such a high-profile figure. I've learned that about him already. He enjoys crossing the finish line and accepting credit for the solves, but that's fine.

He can have this one.

We left the precinct and Bobby took me home, choosing to drive again in an odd swapping of duties, but I don't mind at all.

It's kind of nice to let him take over once in a while.

Besides, I'm just so tired.

And maybe a little disenchanted.

"You okay?" he asked softly as he pulled the car over in front of my place.

We'd stayed quiet throughout the drive, and I appreciate his understanding that I wasn't really in the mood for platitudes.

I leaned my head back against the seat, letting out a heavy sigh as I turned to look at him.

"Yeah," I answered.

He reached out and covered my hand with his, where it rested on my thigh.

"Are you sure? Because, it's okay if you're not. I mean, if you want to talk about it…"

Is it any wonder why I love this Bobby?

He's so sweet and caring, and just the feel of his hand on mine has made that fluttering sensation come back to my stomach, and suddenly it doesn't seem like such a big deal that I no longer have Maureen Pagolis to look up to.

I don't need her.

I just need him.

"I'm fine, I promise," I told him.

He held my gaze for another beat and then smiled that mischievous little boy smile as he asked, "So do you want to go out tonight? I can come back later and pick you up."

Interesting question.

Three weeks ago, a date with Bobby was an impossible dream.

And now it just feels so natural.

Only I don't want to go out tonight.

There's something else I want to do instead.

"No," I told him.

He looked at me with surprise and disappointment as he said, "No?"

I turned my hand over beneath his, so that our palms were touching and I could clasp my fingers through his.

"I want you to come in with me now."

I guess he wasn't expecting me to say that because it took nearly a full minute for him to respond, but once my words sunk in, he smiled broadly.

"You're not even going to make me buy you dinner first?" he teased, sounding slightly excited yet anxious. "Or breakfast…something?"

"You've bought me plenty of meals. Come on."

So we went inside.

And maybe it's not the traditional next step, but there isn't much about us that's traditional, so just because it's eleven o'clock in the morning, and we've been working all night, doesn't mean it's not the perfect time for our first time.

Because I think we've waited long enough.

"So, um…" he began once we were inside my place. He took a few steps towards the kitchen and then backtracked, only to repeat the action again and I couldn't help but smile at his nervousness.

And I don't know why I'm not nervous.

I should be.

Because this is Bobby.

He's who I've been wanting for so long, and this is a hell of a next step.

But at the same time, this is Bobby.

We've worked together seamlessly on a regular basis for years, so this…this should be piece of cake.

"You might want to save some of that energy," I said playfully as he started lap number five in the small foyer area. I busied myself by removing my jacket, gun and badge, and when he noticed what I was doing, he came over to do the same.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I'm just…this is…I…"

I typically find his stammering endearing, but I still put an end to it by kissing him. He was only halfway out of his jacket when I started the kiss, and he seemed to lose track of what he was doing, so I helped him along, grabbing onto the sleeves and tugging downward until his jacket fell to the floor.

With that out of the way, I went to work on his tie while continuing to move my mouth over his, and after another moment, he found his confidence. As I pulled the silk from around his neck, he moved his hands up to my cheeks, holding me in place as he stepped into me, pressing his body against mine while deepening the kiss, and I got lost in my senses – the taste of him, and the feel of his hands and lips, the scent of his soap and cologne...it's so much better than any dream I've ever had.

And I've had some good ones. Quite a few, actually, since last Friday night.

But as anxious to get to it as I was when we first arrived, I like that he's not rushing it now.

We stood in the foyer and kissed for I don't know how long, and he untucked my blouse so that he could slide his hands beneath the fabric, along the small of my back, but other than that, we didn't take it any further.

But I can feel him against me, and every time our bodies shift and he rubs against me, it makes me even hotter on the inside and as much as I like the idea of taking our time, I'm not sure how much longer I can wait.

I mean, I didn't want to wait the whole week between last Friday and now.

And it's not that I'm the type to jump into bed with someone, but like I've said, this is Bobby.

We wouldn't be here, letting it go this far, if we weren't both serious about it.

I slipped one hand between us and pressed it against him, and I'm not sure which of us groaned louder at the contact because I can easily feel him through the thin fabric of his slacks, and he's so unbelievably hard and I've never touched him like this before and now all I want to do is touch him again.

So I did.

His lips faltered when I did it a third time, and the next thing I knew, he was picking me up.

"Bobby," I began in protest, although I don't really mean it.

I've got my legs wrapped around him, and his hands are holding my butt and he's still kissing me as he's walking towards the bedroom, so what's there to protest?

Not one damn thing.

When he got to the edge of the bed, he put me back on my feet and then started unbuttoning my blouse.

And his hands were shaking.

I'm not sure why, but seeing that really touched me. A lot. In fact, it brought tears to my eyes because this is just so tremendously monumental and he gets that.

So I stood still and held his gaze while he finished with the buttons, although on the inside I was a trembling mass of nerves and anticipation and good old-fashioned arousal, and as he swept the blouse from my arms, I had the overwhelming urge to just tell him.

I love you, Bobby.

But I'm not going to tie that into this.

And I know, it's supposed to be tied together.

But I also know Bobby, and he'll think I'm saying it because I think I should or because I know it's what he wants to hear or something. Some reason other than that it's the truth because as much as he's changed, I think he still has some issues in the self-worth department.

And as sweet and affectionate as he's been, we haven't really discussed feelings, and I'm pretty sure that a physical example of what we feel will be so much easier for him to accept than hearing the words.

Because he's a cerebral kind of guy.

Us making love is one thing, but me saying those words would send him into an analytical tailspin.

So I didn't say it.

Not with words.

But I have to believe that my touch conveyed the same thing, and God knows the sentiment was on permanent loop in my mind as we finished undressing each other and then laid down on the bed.

And as desperate as I was to finally feel him inside of me, we didn't immediately get right to it.

Because Bobby apparently wanted to spend some time getting to know my body.

I can't say it surprises me.

Actually, it almost made me laugh because it's such a Bobby thing to do, giving in to that investigative instinct.

And I might've laughed if it didn't feel so damn good.

Besides, I'm pretty inquisitive by nature, too, and getting to touch and taste his skin after only imagining it so many times…it was a moving experience.

And those three words kept wanting to slip out.

They almost did when he stretched out over top of me, staring into my eyes with such caring and adoration, hesitating for a moment to stroke his hand over my hair and then leaning down to capture my lips again as he buried himself deep inside of me.

I have no words to express how amazing he feels…how incredible he makes me feel.

The slow, meaningful rhythm…the tender touches…the stirring and passionate kisses…I honestly had no idea that making love could ever feel this good.

None of my past experiences even come close.

And he didn't try to escape afterwards. Instead we lay with our legs tangled together beneath the sheets for a while without either of us saying a word, and it was so relaxing.

"I can't believe you never told me," I said at last.

"Told you what? How much I want you?" he replied as he ran his fingers through my hair, and his words sent yet another jolt of pleasure through me.

"That you're so good at that," I corrected with a smile, turning my face towards his as an answering smile played on his lips.

"You were holding out on me, too. Although I had my suspicions."

"Well, I did, too," I admitted.

"So," he began as he stretched and then pulled me closer to him, kissing along my neck and ear as he continued. "What do we want to do today?"

"We're doing it."

We didn't spend the entire weekend in bed, but we were horizontal for a large majority of it.

And I don't know how, but every time was better than the last.

It made me really not want to go to work on Monday morning because I'm a little worried that reality might get in the way.

"Hey, Eames," Bobby called out while I was in the shower, and I started laughing, so he asked, "What?"

I pulled back the curtain and looked at him in amusement.

"Eames? Really? Still?"

He flashed me a guilty smile and then shoved his boxers to the floor and got into the shower with me.

"You want me to call you Alex?" he asked, his voice husky and provocative. He plucked the soap from my hand and worked up a lather and then began rubbing his hands all over me, and oh my God…

"Hmm?" he prompted when I didn't respond, and when I sighed, he chuckled lightly, his lips hovering near my ear and his hands still everywhere even though the soap has long-since washed away.

"I don't care what you call me," I managed to say. "Just don't stop doing that."

Somehow we made it to work on time, and since we're between cases, we spent the day at our desks.

"I need to visit my mom tonight," he said quietly as quitting time neared.

"I thought you might," I responded. "Why don't you head on out and I'll finish up?"

He held my gaze for a moment and then gave me a nod and started gathering up the papers on his desk, but then he stopped and glanced around the room before looking back at me and saying, "Can I come over afterwards?"

"You'd better."

But the night didn't go quite as we planned.

Before Bobby could leave, Ross sent us to check out a crime scene, a debate-turned-stampede-turned-dead body.

It took us a few hours to sort through the preliminary mess, and by that time, the dead body turned into a likely murder victim, according to the ME.

"Go," I encouraged Bobby as we left the morgue. "We'll pick this up in the morning, after she's had time to run more tests."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, take the car," I said as I held out the keys.

"Round trip, I probably won't be back until midnight," he stated, and I had to smile as I took in his hopeful expression.

"Yes, I still want you to come over."

He reached for the keys, but instead of taking them, he held onto my hand for a moment, and then after checking to make sure the coast was clear, he kissed me hard.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For being you," he replied affectionately, his fingers still lightly touching mine, and I swear my heart literally skipped a beat. It sounds annoyingly clichéd and schmaltzy, but it's still true.

It was after midnight when Bobby showed up at my place.

"I almost didn't come," he admitted sheepishly as he took off his coat while I stood in the foyer in my pajamas. "It's late."

"Yeah, but then I would've had to go looking for you, and it would've gotten even later, and then that would've just pissed me off, so…it's a good thing you showed up."

He flashed me a smile and then pulled me into his arms as he let out a long breath.

"Not one of her better nights?" I asked with understanding.

"So-so," he said vaguely. "But I need to go back up there in the morning, before work."

"Okay," I said immediately, stepping out of his embrace and then taking him by the hand and heading for the bedroom.

"You don't mind?"

"Did you think I would?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "This is all so…new."

"I don't expect you to change your life for me," I reasoned.

"I would," he promised, sending that little flip-flop feeling through me again with his solemnity.

I turned towards him and went back into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"I just want to be part of it, okay?"

"You are. The most important part."

The next morning, Bobby went to his mom's again and I went to work.

I briefed Ross on Rodgers' latest findings, and that's when Bobby showed up, and of course, Ross passed along that information as if he'd discovered it himself.

"Rodgers says the bruises showed up on Marjorie's arms," Ross stated. "It's a homicide."

I don't get why he feels the need to be so officious, but whatever. I was more worried about Bobby's visit with his mom, because he looks a little down.

"Does CSU have anything?" Bobby asked.

"That stairway smudge tested positive for her blood. No way it happened in the fall," I said as I handed Bobby the corresponding report.

I continued giving the rundown of the information I'd ascertained so far, and then I showed them the webpage I'd discovered for Diego. By this time, Bobby had wandered around behind me and he's so close I can smell him and it almost makes me lose my focus.

Almost.

But honestly, I've had a lot of practice at not letting myself be distracted by him, and then I just wanted to laugh after the captain read aloud from the screen in his self-important way, and Bobby called him out on it.

"We can all read, Captain," he stated, and I just know that Ross is going to fire back at him, so I quickly filled the silence.

"What would a preacher's wife want with a rent boy?" I posed unnecessarily.

"Find out," Ross barked, and then he headed for his office, and I turned around, expecting to find Bobby in a foul mood, but he wasn't.

He was smirking.

"You push his buttons," I commented.

"He pushes mine."

"Bobby," I chastised lightly as I got up and grabbed my coat.

"Alex," he quipped.

"Wait, so last night you were screaming out Eames, but in the office it's Alex?"

He smiled fully and gestured for me to lead the way onto the elevator.

"I thought I'd try it out and see if I can say it without wanting to throw you down on the nearest desk," he said under his breath.

"And?" I asked, and it's crazy, but I feel so hot just from his words. "How'd that work for you?"

"It didn't," he growled as his eyes walked over me in a very deliberate manner.

I have no idea how to respond to that.

There's no precedent in my life that has me desperate to ditch work in favor of being ravished by my partner.

Okay, let me rephrase that.

There's no realistic precedent. I would've chosen sex with Bobby over work any day in the past six years, but now…now, it's a viable option.

And I'm tempted.

But we didn't.

Instead, we picked up Diego and brought him in for a chat.

It was an entertaining interrogation, complete with all kinds of amusing and somewhat disturbing sexual references, and it also opened up a few more possibilities as to motive for Marjorie's death.

"It was whoever took the DVD," Bobby stated as we convened with Ross to discuss the result of the interview. "The killer wanted to make sure that she never had a chance to watch it.'

"Someone from the church," Ross deduced. "Maybe the reverend himself. Where is he?"

"Staying at their new multi-million dollar evangelical institute," I answered wryly.

"Pay him a condolence call."

So we hit the streets again, going to visit Reverend Riggins.

After tripping him up about his knowledge of Diego, we went with an unspoken divide and conquer technique, so I went to chat up the assistant while Bobby finished with the reverend.

We met up again in the lobby, ready to compare notes, but first I took a call from Ross. Apparently Diego's apartment was broken into, the laptop and webcams stolen.

"No DVD," I concluded.

"And the reverend swears that he knows nothing about a DVD. Which means we're looking for something that may not exist."

"There might be a paper trail linking him to Diego. Riggins gave his secretary some cover story about identity theft but someone in the church must be on to him," I said, and by this time we were at the SUV and I realized that I'd lost Bobby's attention.

I turned to see what had caught his eye, and it was man, standing in line at a soup kitchen.

"Hey, Bobby," the man said.

I have no idea who he is, but it's not surprising that someone on the streets might know him. He worked Narcotics for a while, and walked a beat before that, and he's a compassionate man, always wanting to help people.

But what is surprising is the expression on Bobby's face as he looks from the man to me and then back to the man again.

He looks…almost heart-broken.

"What are you doing here?" he said at last.

"Church people. They're good people, man."

"Yeah, I know."

"They got me clean. Feed me. I would've been dead a long time ago if it weren't for them. I mean it."

There's something about him that I can't put my finger on, and as I continued to stare at him, he looked at me appraisingly and then nodded and asked, "How're you doing?"

I can feel Bobby's discomfort rolling off of him in waves, and I don't know what to say, so I just nodded slightly, waiting for….something. Something to clue me in as to what this little meeting is all about.

And then I got it.

"So how's Mom?" he asked.

He's Bobby's brother, Frank.

Of course, I knew of his existence, and I've heard stories about his drug problem, but still…I had no idea about this.

Bobby turned to look at me and I don't know if he's upset or embarrassed or…what, but I want so badly to make this as easy as possible for him, so I said, "I'll give you two a minute."

I held his gaze for another beat and then I went back to the car, where I just sat and watched the body language.

Bobby's stress is palpable, as is his concern.

After a brief conversation, Bobby pulled some cash from his pocket, handing it over to Frank, who offered only minimal token resistance, and then Bobby took it a step further, removing his coat and putting it over Frank's shoulders.

He's so generous, I thought with a pang of affection.

Although knowing Bobby, he probably feels guilt at the fact that Frank turned out like he did, even though he's not remotely responsible.

"I'm sorry about that," he mumbled as he climbed into the front seat. I stared at him while he buckled his seatbelt, but he wouldn't make eye contact.

"About taking a few minutes to talk to your brother? It's fine."

"I should've introduced you."

"He caught you by surprise. It's okay, really."

He finally brought his eyes to mine, and the pain in them…I haven't seen that much hurt since the Dockerty case.

But this is different.

Because he's different.

And as I had the thought, he proved my unspoken words to be true.

"I lost track of him. I didn't know he was clean, or even that he was in the city," he began, and then he proceeded to tell me the dynamic between him and his brother.

About halfway back to the precinct, I reached across the console and covered his hand with mine in what I hoped was a comforting gesture and then when we were a few blocks away, he quietly asked me to pull over.

"Thank you," he said once we were parked. "For listening, for not judging…it helps, having someone to talk to."

"I've been trying to tell you that for years," I replied, but I smiled as I said it, and I reached out to rest my palm against his cheek.

He held my gaze as he took a deep, stabilizing breath, and then he leaned over and kissed me, so lightly and sweetly that it nearly took my breath away and I don't think it's possible for me to love anyone more than I love him, right this moment.

TBC...