Alex POV

It took me at least ten seconds to stop being mad.

He wants me to take a step back?

Because he's trying to protect me?

From him?

God, for a genius, sometimes he's a freaking moron.

"Are you asking me to leave?" I challenged after he made that ridiculous giving me an out remark.

Because now that those ten seconds have passed, I'm in better control of my emotions, and if I need to walk him through this scenario, step by step, then that's what I'll do.

And yeah, it stung a little that my statement of love got swept under the rug. He neither acknowledged it nor refuted it.

But I'll admit that I didn't really time it all that well. Yelling it at him, ambiguously, during an argument isn't necessarily prime conditions to say it for the first time, so I don't really blame him.

And I know he's emotional tonight. Thinking that his brother was dead, going to ID the body only to find out that it wasn't him, but still not having clue as to where he might be or what condition he's in…it has to be stressful.

I get that, I really do.

And in a backwards way, I even understand what he's trying to do. He's so used to being alone that he thinks of it as burdening me when he's having problems rather than seeing it as being part of a real life loving relationship.

But if he thinks I'm just going to walk away from him, he's got another thing coming.

What I need to do is make him see that he is the one for me.

"I just think you need some space," he answered, sounding tired and sad.

"I need space. And I need you to tell me that. Because what I think I want doesn't make any difference, right?" I said calmly.

"Eames," he said on a sigh, and damn if the sound doesn't break my heart a little.

I'm not trying to make his life more difficult. I'm trying to make it better. I do make it better, just like he makes mine better.

Why is it so hard for him to understand that?

"It's fine," I conceded as I scooped up my clothes and began hastily getting dressed. "I'll go."

"This isn't a break-up."

Good, because then I'd have to shoot him.

"Just give it some time," he continued. "Maybe even…I don't know. Go on a date."

And I know I said I'm not mad anymore, but maybe I lied.

"A date?" I shouted as I zipped up my jeans. "But we're not breaking up? How does that work, Bobby? You're asking me to cheat on you?"

"No, I'm just…I don't know! I didn't think it would be this hard," he said in frustration.

"Being with me is hard," I repeated. "Thank you."

Oh yeah, I'm mad. I'm mad as hell. Because understanding him doesn't make me immune to being completely and utterly frustrated with his self-destructive and underinflated sense of self-worth.

He took one step towards me and reached out hesitantly and then dropped his hand in defeat.

"It's not being with you…that's what's hard," he corrected. "And you haven't even left yet."

And now I'm back to being completely baffled.

"If you don't want me to go, why am I leaving? Because it sure as hell wasn't my idea."

I stared at him, as he stood in the center of his kitchen wearing only his boxers, and he looks so lost and distraught, and all I want to do is hug him.

So I did.

I moved in front of him and put my arms around him, and in a split second, he was hugging me back, holding me tightly against him.

"I need you too much," he whispered. "Sooner or later, it'll overwhelm you, and you'll end up resenting me, and I can't risk losing you as…as…everything else you are to me."

"You're not going to lose me," I promised.

"You can't know that."

And like I said, I get it. Because I get him. He's fatalistic and pessimistic and he's surely having a really hard time swallowing how happy we are. He's likely convinced himself that I'm making some huge sacrifice by being with him.

Stupid, stupid man.

But I can do this. I just need to give him time to grasp the concept that it's him who makes me happy.

And I need to show him that even when we aren't an us, we're still going to be just fine at work because I think that'll take some of the pressure off, to know that one aspect doesn't hinge on the other.

So I squeezed him once more and then went up on my toes and kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm going, but only because you asked," I said quietly. "Keep that in mind when you're replaying this conversation in your head."

And then I stepped back from him and without another word, I finished getting dressed and then I walked out the door.

And it was hard.

Really, really hard.

Because God I love him.

But I knew it wouldn't be easy with him. As effortless as the past few weeks have been, the stumbling block was an indisputable fixture in our future.

So now we just have to maneuver past this and get back to the way it's supposed to be.

Which is us, spending every spare moment together.

Cooking dinner in tandem.

Or cleaning the apartment.

Or running mindless errands.

Or having hot and vigorous sex up against his refrigerator.

It was late when I got back to my apartment, and it felt so empty that I allowed myself a little bit of time to wallow in self-pity.

Why did I have to fall in love with such a difficult and complex man?

Why can't he just accept the fact that I love him instead of being in denial?

He called me while I was in the middle of my pity party, but I let it go to voice mail. I don't want him to offer me explanations or excuses. I want him to get his head out of his ass and realize that no matter how fucked up he thinks he is, I love him and he makes me happy.

And his message?

He said, "Please don't be mad at me. I'm trying to do what's right for you. I'm trying to put your happiness ahead of my own."

Because yeah, I'm so much happier without the man I love.

Dumb ass.

I spent a restless night alone in my bed, but the next morning, I plastered a fake smile on my face and I went to work.

"Hi," he said cautiously when I got to my desk.

"So what do we have today?" I asked brightly. "Anything?"

"Um…not yet, no," he answered, and then he regarded me carefully and said, "So…um…we're…okay?"

You mean in spite of the fact that you're acting like a complete moron, I wanted to ask. But instead, I said, "Yeah, sure, why wouldn't we be?"

The next several minutes were a little awkward, but then Ross dropped a file on my desk and asked for us to look over it, searching for something one of our colleagues might have missed, and then we were business as usual.

And I'm glad for it, I really am. It shows us both that we can put aside our personal feelings and get the job done. Of course, I knew that anyway. I've been putting aside my personal feelings for years.

But still…it was like a small, moral victory. An unnecessary one, considering we shouldn't haven't broke up in the first place, but whatever. Maybe now he'll see that we're not risking this by moving forward with that.

Although that's only part of it, I know.

The other part is that he thinks I can do better than him.

Have I mentioned how not smart he can be sometimes?

Anyway, for more than a week, we worked flawlessly together while staying apart when off the clock.

It's killing me.

It was hard enough before, when I thought he didn't want me. When I didn't know what it was like to be with him.

But now that I know, and that I'm sure he does want me, it's torture not being with him. And pretending like it doesn't bother me.

I've never had so much solo sex in my life.

Not that it helps me much because it's not anywhere close to the same as being with him, but it's something. And at least my imagination is now based on fact.

It was early on Saturday morning when I got the call that we'd finally picked up a case.

The phone pulled me from an especially erotic dream and it took me several seconds to realize that I was actually alone in my bed.

Damn Bobby and his misplaced altruistic ideals. He's supposed to be letting me go so that I can be happy?

Yeah, well, I guess I should thank him because I'm freaking delirious.

I hung up with the captain and then angrily stabbed the fast dial icon, the picture of Bobby that mocks me from the home screen of my cell phone.

"Alex," he answered, his voice thick with sleep, and God, just his tone and the way he said my name, my actual name, sent a rush of arousal through me.

"It's Eames," I corrected as I shoved aside my lust. "And we picked up a case."

I rattled off the details that Ross had given me, and then suggested that we call for an interpreter to meet us at the scene.

"Good idea," he agreed humbly. "So…um…I'll see you there?"

"Well, yeah," I retorted. "It'll be tough for me to work the scene from somewhere else, don't you think?"

I hung up and then got dressed quickly while I chastised myself for letting my frustration get the better of me.

But how long is this going to go on, I argued with myself. And how long should I pretend that his way is the right way?

I forced the thoughts from my mind as I clipped on my badge and gun and left my apartment, heading for the scene. I had no doubt that Bobby would beat me there, and I wasn't wrong.

"Hey," I said with forced casualness as I approached where he was bent over the body.

He stopped what he was doing to look back at me, and in spite of our location, a tingling feeling rolled through me just from his soft expression.

This is ridiculous.

We're going to have to talk about this, I decided.

Soon.

With my mind made up about that, I shifted gears and we got to work.

"Detective Eames?" a voice asked after Bobby and I spent some time piecing together possible scenarios. I turned to see a detective joining us in the room.

"Yeah," I said as I got to my feet.

"Detective Peter Lyons. Community Affairs," he introduced as he held out his hand, so I pulled off my glove and shook it. It didn't escape my attention that he had a smile on his face as he clasped onto my hand warmly, nor did it go unnoticed that Bobby watched the exchange.

And see, he never does that.

I handle outsiders during an investigation while he stays focused on the case itself. But after Detective Lyons held onto my hand for a beat longer than was necessary, I turned back towards Bobby and found him regarding me carefully.

I sure would love to know what's going on in that head of his.

But there was no time for asking, at least not now.

We spent the rest of the day organizing our theories and talking to people who knew the deceased, and then we decided to call it quits.

"So, um…how are you?" Bobby asked me quietly as we got on the elevator.

"How am I?" I repeated. "I'm fine."

"I mean, really," he urged. "It feels like we don't talk anymore. Or at least not about anything but work."

"That's because you broke up with me," I reminded him obstinately.

"We're not…I didn't…" he began, and then he trailed off and sighed heavily before saying, "I miss you."

And damn if his words didn't make my heart start pounding in my chest.

"Then do something about it," I responded.

He stared at me for several seconds, and I honestly thought that he was going to kiss me, in spite of the venue, but then the elevator stopped on the third floor, and we both took a step back from each other, and when the doors opened, it was Detective Lyons.

"Alexandra," he said in surprise as a smile spread across his face. His gaze darted to Bobby as he nodded and added, "Detective Goren."

Then he turned back to me, angling his body so that it was like a one-on-one conversation and he said, "I was on my way up to see you. I got the information you wanted about cochlear implants."

"We're going down," Bobby stated blandly, letting the insinuation hang that Lyons had stepped onto the wrong elevator, and I had to bite back a smirk.

"Oh, well, I can walk out with you," he offered immediately. "And I can tell you everything you need to know. Maybe it'll give you some insight into possible motive."

I nodded my agreement because we were already traveling downward so it's not like I could tell him to get the hell off the elevator.

But that's what I wanted to say.

Because what had Bobby been about to say?

Or do?

Does he finally realize how idiotic it is for us to be apart?

I mean, I made up my mind that I'm not about to beg him to open his damn eyes, but once he does, I'm on board with us getting back to where we were before his self-sacrificing revelation.

"You have some literature?" I asked with forced interest as the doors opened in the parking garage.

"I do, but it's not fully comprehensive, so you know, maybe we can get something to eat and I can fill in the blanks, and…"

"See you tomorrow, Eames," Bobby interrupted, holding my gaze for a moment before turning to walk away.

"Hang on, Bobby!" I called out, but Lyons was still talking and Bobby was still walking, so I turned to the over-eager interpreter and said, "Just a minute."

And then I hustled after Bobby.

"Wait," I said again as I approached him. He stopped but didn't turn around, so I walked around in front of him and said, "We were in the middle of a conversation."

"And now it looks like I'm holding up a date, so…"

"A date?" I whispered harshly. "Are you kidding me?"

"I'm not mad. Maybe this is a good thing."

"You're not mad? Well maybe I'm mad! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me. I just want you to be happy."

I rolled my eyes and then stabbed at his chest with my finger as I said as viciously as I could while still being quiet so as not to be overheard, "I was happy. Ten days ago, I was so damn happy I didn't know what to do with myself. And then you had to go and fuck everything up by deciding for me that you're not who I want, so guess what? Now I'm not happy at all."

"Alexandra!" Lyons called out to me. "If this isn't a good time…"

I ignored him while I glared at Bobby, but he just dropped his eyes to the ground and his unwillingness to see what's right in front of him had me so mad.

So I took a step back from him.

And when he still didn't say a word, I shook my head and walked away.

TBC...