Bobby POV

I think maybe I screwed up.

And even though I anticipated that I'd be the one to make a mess of things, I didn't expect it to be like this.

Why in the world did I tell her she needed to step back from me?

And why haven't I spoken up on any of the eighteen dozen occasions since to tell her that I was wrong?

Because I needed to be sure that I'm who she wants, I reminded myself.

At the time, I really thought it was the right thing to do.

But she got so mad…calculated and frustrated kind of mad, like she often gets with me.

Which tells me that maybe she is sure.

But my rampant insecurities are killing me. Killing us. Because I can't help but wonder how could she possibly love someone like me. I'll end up hurting her, I know I will.

Like I'm doing now by forcing us to take a break, my mind pointed out with heavy sarcasm.

In the elevator this afternoon, she gave me the perfect opportunity to tell her how I feel.

And what did I say?

Absolutely nothing.

What is wrong with me?

I don't deserve her.

I'm a complete idiot.

And now she's probably off having dinner with Peter.

I can't even say the name in my head without grounding it out and adding a descriptive.

Fucking Peter.

Fucking Peter who smiles all the damn time and probably has happy childhood stories to share.

Fucking Peter who calls Eames Alexandra.

I really, really don't like Fucking Peter.

Not only should I have confessed my love for her in the elevator, but I should've kissed her, too.

Right there in front of Fucking Peter.

Instead, I didn't do anything – then or in the garage - and my lack of response sent her running straight into the arms of another suitor.

I thought about her all night. Is she home? Is she with him? Or worse yet, is she home with him? I wanted to call her but I was afraid to find out which statement was true.

And I know.

I have no one to blame but myself.

This break-up thing was my idea.

To protect her.

God, I'm so stupid.

She might have to put up with my guilt and my crazy family, but there's no one in this world who will ever love her more than I do.

So why the hell did I push her away?

I don't know, but I did, and now I have to deal with the very real possibility that it's too late.

Because the way she looked at me this evening…she was practically begging me to say something and yet I said nothing.

I spent a sleepless night alone – the eleventh one in a row, if anyone's counting – and then the next morning, I went into work.

Eames was wearing blue.

I love her in blue.

"Hey," I said as I watched her carefully for signs of…what? To see if I can tell what she did last night just by looking at her?

It's none of my business what she did last night.

Or any night.

I made sure of that when I ran her off that night in my apartment.

She looked at me, her expression blank, and I felt a sense of panic over what she might be about to say, but then Ross came into the squad room. He was talking on the phone, but he headed straight for us, and I know he wants an update on our case.

I guess whatever she was about to say will have to wait.

We followed our boss into his office and began the briefing.

"This uh, Dr Mallory. What did he do?" Ross asked.

"Cochlear implants," Eames answered.

Which is what Fucking Peter wanted to discuss with Eames last night. Or rather, he wanted to fill in the blanks for her over dinner.

Asshole.

"Bionic ear," Ross remarked while I lingered behind Eames.

She nodded and said, "According to Peter…"

And I have no idea what she said after that because she's calling him Peter now?

Seriously?

I felt like punching something.

Better yet, someone.

Someone like Fucking Peter.

"…then intensive therapy," she was saying, and I forced myself into the conversation by commenting, "It's no magic bullet."

I stared at her as I said the words, hoping to make a connection with her, but she stayed focused on Ross.

Because we're in here working, I pointed out to myself.

Other than her slip by calling him Peter, she's trying to be professional, so I need to do the same. I found my rhythm and finished bringing Ross up to speed, and then after Eames got a text with a lead, we left the squad room and went to pick up a guy who stole one of our victim's prescription pads.

"We need to talk," I said once we were in the car.

"Oh, now you want to talk? Last night, you couldn't think of a single word to say to me."

"Are you…mad?" I asked, and as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized how stupid the question was. Of course she's mad. I've made a disaster of our relationship.

"Am I mad?" she repeated, and then she laughed incredulously as she shook her head, and then she said "No, I'm not mad. I'm just…done."

"Wait, done?" I asked, my voice unnaturally high as nausea and fear rolled through me. "You mean with us?"

"Yeah, I mean, that's what you wanted, right?"

"No! That's not what I want at all!"

"You could've fooled me."

"Look, Eames…Alex," I corrected as I reached over and put my hand on her thigh. She glanced down at it, and I had the brief thought that maybe I should move it before she cuts it off, but I didn't. And she didn't. So I continued.

"I was just trying to…"

"Protect me," she interrupted. "I know. You keep saying that, but what that really means is that you don't trust me to make up my own mind about things."

"I never said that," I argued.

"Yes, you did. You offered me an out, and I said no, and you had the brilliant idea to give it to me anyway."

"It's not the same thing," I said, but I was starting to see her point.

She pulled the car into a parking space near our destination and then she shut it off but made no move to get out. Instead, she shifted towards me and put her hand over top of mine.

"Maybe I wasn't clear when I said it the other night, but I love you. More than I've ever loved anyone," she said quietly. "And I want for us to be together. But what I'm not going to do is try to talk you into feeling the same way about me."

"Eames…"

"No, let me finish. This whole business of you trying to save me from you is crazy. And pointless because you can't change how I feel. So the way I see it, you have some thinking to do. We can be partners in everything, or just partners at work. And you have until we solve this case to figure it out."

She stared into my eyes as she said the words, and all I wanted to do was pull her into my arms and tell her that I'm sorry for putting her through these past almost two weeks, and that I do love her, and I do want to be with her…that I want to be partners in absolutely everything for the rest of our lives.

But when I opened my mouth to speak, she stopped me.

"Don't say anything right now. I really want you to think about it. Because I can't play this game of going back and forth, being with you and then not. It's too hard."

And then she squeezed my hand before letting it go and getting out of the car.

I sat for another moment, trying to get my head together, and then I got out onto the sidewalk.

"Eames," I began.

"Case only," she instructed. "Afterwards, we'll talk."

So I nodded, because I have to respect her wishes.

And then we made our way through the crowd of demonstrators out in front of the doctor's office, and there he was. Fucking Peter.

And he's got this huge smile on his face while he's staring at my Eames, only she doesn't know she's mine because she wouldn't let me talk about it right now…

We can't finish this case fast enough.

I did my best to ignore him while we investigated. I kept my focus on Eames when I talked, trying to pretend like he wasn't even there.

But Eames was nice to him.

And I know, she's a nice person, but still…

I wish she would've just come out and said I'm not interested so that he'd quit acting like a dog in heat. And then I could quit glaring at him and disputing his theories.

We managed to ditch him for the afternoon, and it was a productive day, both case-wise and personal. Not because we had any kind of discussion about our relationship, but because it seemed we were both making an effort to keep the work flowing effortlessly.

She wanted to show me that we could still be great partners, even if we weren't anything else.

That's all good and well, but we are going to be something else.

At least, as long as she hasn't changed her mind by the time we finish this case.

I spent another restless night alone in the bed where Eames belongs, and then the next day we had another victim. Fortunately the dean survived the shooting, but still…it meant another round of interviews, which also meant more time with Peter.

I'm trying to ease up on that descriptive.

Although the way he keeps standing closer and closer to Eames…

What does he think, that he can flash her his pretty-boy smile and spout off a little information about his area of expertise and she'll swoon at his feet?

Yeah, I'm going to keep the adjective.

Fucking Peter.

It was harder to get rid of him today, and as we looked more into Malia as a possible suspect, we found ourselves at an ice skating rink. She and her boyfriend were arguing, and my curiosity was up.

"They're fighting. You gotta help me out. I can't make out what they're saying," I said to him. I wasn't asking nicely, but come on – this is a murder investigation, and our suspect was having a fight in public.

"I'm not comfortable eavesdropping," he answered.

"They know that we're here. They have no reasonable expectation of privacy. Please."

"It's a private event."

"In a public place. Please, Eames," I said, turning to my partner, but she shook her head as her cell phone rang.

"Don't put me in the middle," she stated before stepping away to take the call, but I just stared after her for a moment.

In the middle?

Is there a middle between me and Fucking Peter?

I feel like I should take offense at that. Eames should be on my side when it comes to us against an outsider.

Once Eames was gone, Peter caved and told me what they were saying. Was he only trying to be self-righteous in front of Eames?

I don't know, but I can't help but be a little miffed about her unwillingness to back me up.

Or is this her way of telling me that maybe I no longer need to make a choice? Because she's already made it for me?

I felt sick at that prospect, but since I can't do anything about it right now, the best I can do is solve this case as fast as possible. So when Eames came back with information about the ballistics report and the cigarette DNA, I quickly offered to call the DA for a warrant.

And then I left her with Fucking Peter.

Maybe she has some thinking to do, too, and since the whole point of this exercise was for me to be sure that she's sure, I guess letting her get hit on by another man isn't such a bad thing.

And yeah, I'm back to being a moron again because if she actually picks him over me, I don't know what I'll do.

But if she picks me even knowing she could have him, my mind supplied. Then that's a good thing, right?

It'll mean she doesn't just love me because I'm the only man she has time for, but because I'm the one she wants.

And yeah, this whole thing is just so messed up.

I didn't see her again that afternoon, but I couldn't stop thinking about her all night. The next morning, I got to work early, but she wasn't there. I sat and stared at her empty chair, wondering what she's doing and who she's with, and then I mentally berated myself because I'm the one who left her with him yesterday.

It's like I'm begging her to find someone else.

And then she walked into the squad room with Fucking Peter.

And apparently, they'd gone to talk to our suspect.

Without me.

I stared at them nonplussed while they tag-teamed their recount, and then I asked, "You went to see Larry?"

"Well, yeah," Eames answered, and I saw her hesitate, like it finally hit her that she should've said something to me.

"Oh. Okay."

"I ran into Peter downstairs and he had a lead on where he might be, so…" she explained.

"It's fine," I said, even though it's not fine, and I have this sinking feeling that she didn't just run into him in 1PP but maybe they woke up together. In her bed.

And now he's just standing there smiling at me…like he knows I know.

And I want to kill him.

It's weird, because I had no idea before now what a jealous person I am.

No, I take that back.

I had no idea before Eames what a jealous person I am.

Because the thought of her with someone else…it's debilitating and all-consuming and depressing as hell.

I really need to hurry up and finish this case so that I can get down on my knees and beg her to forgive me for being so stupid, and then I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to her.

So I got a handle on my emotions and the three of us went in to talk to Larry.

I made a point of sitting next to Peter so that Eames couldn't.

And then I focused on the interview.

After a few minutes with Larry, I realized that he's not our killer, even though he doesn't mind letting us think so. He's interested in being a martyr.

I guess that's something I can relate to.

We took a break from talking to him, and after a brief and hostile meeting with Ross and the ADA, Eames said she was going to run downstairs for some coffee.

"I'll come with you," Peter offered immediately, already heading for the elevator as if he knew she wouldn't say no.

She paused for a moment, looking back at me, but I waved them off and went to my desk. I'm not going to be a third wheel, and the last thing I want to do is spend more time watching him fall all over himself to get her attention.

Later, after their coffee date and after they came back to look over the protest footage and after we talked to Malia about her night with Larry, Ross stopped by my desk. Eames had left just a moment ago, and I'd watched her walk away, feeling desperate and bereft and lonely. So I wasn't in the mood for Ross. I was even less so after I heard what he had to say.

"So Eames and the interpreter, huh?"

"What?" I asked as I shifted my gaze to him, finding him watching me with something that looked like amusement. Or triumph, maybe.

"Seems like those two are hitting it off. Good for her. She deserves a good man."

After his irritating and completely random proclamation, he continued on to his office, and I leaned back in my chair and sighed heavily.

A good man.

Someone not me.

But she loves me, I argued with myself. She said so.

And Eames doesn't lie.

So why the hell did I dispute her feelings in the first place? Why didn't I just pick her up and carry her off to my bedroom instead of sending her on her way?

God, if I had it to do over again…

The next day, we broke open the case.

The pieces started falling into place, and after Larry disputed Malia's offered alibi, we decided to bring in Tommy and Malia to see if we could play them against each other in order to get to the truth.

I could feel the atmosphere change as we began unraveling their stories. Or maybe it's just that I'm so desperate to talk to Eames that I want this case to be over, I don't know.

I can't remember a time when I wasn't totally immersed in a case, from beginning to end. I can't remember anyone or anything ever being more important than getting the solve.

But Eames is.

So even though I was both sad and happy to hear Tommy's confession, I was already thinking about what to say to Eames.

After the officers led Tommy away, and after we explained to Malia what would come next for him, the three of us were alone in the room.

Me and Eames and Fucking Peter.

I don't know why he couldn't just leave, but he didn't look to be in any hurry, and it's not like I can ask Eames about anything personal while he's sitting right there, but I was also afraid to leave because what if she doesn't follow me? What if she stays in here with him and then he asks her out?

So I maintained my position, firmly in between the two of them, and I pulled out my cell phone.

And I typed her a text.

It's time to talk, right? The paperwork can wait. Meet me at the car in ten minutes.

After I hit the send button, I thought maybe I should've said please or something, but I'm not feeling accommodating at the moment. I just want her. And I want to be in a place where I can show her how much I want her.

"So, Alexandra," Peter began as I heard Eames' phone buzz. "Nice work on the case."

Yeah because I didn't do anything at all, I thought in irritation.

"Thank you," she said. "Bobby and I are usually pretty good at getting our man."

I glanced over at Peter and flashed him a smile, loving how Eames included me in that assessment, but she still hasn't looked at her phone yet, so I turned back to her and said, "Eames, wasn't that your phone?"

She looked at me curiously, but pulled it out anyway as Peter said, "Maybe we could go get some dinner. You know, to celebrate closing the case."

"Thanks, but I have to pass," I said, even though I know he didn't mean me. I watched Eames' face as she read my text, and I think I detected a hint of a smile.

She put her phone away without typing a response, and then she looked over at Peter and said, "Actually, I have plans tonight. Some other time, maybe."

I felt like hopping up from the chair and shouting that her plans are with me, kind of like an in your face kind of thing, but I'm sure that would come across as rather juvenile, so I refrained.

Barely.

Instead, I put a smile on my face, a mostly sincere one considering what I was about to say, and then I offered my hand out to Peter and said, "It was nice working with you. We'll be sure to call you if we find ourselves in need of an interpreter."

He shook it somewhat reluctantly and then I left the room.

I'm not sure what Eames will say to him after I'm gone, but I honestly don't care.

Because she's meeting me in the car in ten minutes.

It turned out to be more like twelve, and those last two minutes sent me into a full-fledged panic, but I guess I deserve it in light of how I've been acting lately.

"Sorry," she said as she got into the passenger seat.

Because yeah, I already positioned myself behind the wheel.

I'm making a statement here.

"Peter didn't want to say goodbye?" I asked with a smirk.

"No, Ross snagged me before I could get to the elevator."

"Oh. Everything okay?"

"It's fine," she said. "He…um…he made mention of the fact that now that the case is over, there's no conflict of interest. If I want to date Peter."

She held my gaze as she said the words, and I could tell that she was fighting back a smile, but I just want to kill Ross for sticking his nose into her personal life.

"And you said..."

"I said I'd keep that in mind," she answered.

I nodded slowly, my eyes still locked on hers, and even though my insides are tied up in knots at the moment, I can't help but think that she's just so pretty.

"Or not," I replied, reaching out and settling my palm against her cheek.

"We're still at work," she said softly, even though she made no move to pull away.

"I don't care. I've been counting the seconds until this case was over, and I can't wait anymore."

"Okay," she said carefully.

She watched me expectantly, and it hits me that I'm so lucky to have her because she's here, giving me a chance to redeem myself.

She hasn't quit on me.

She'll never quit on me.

Because she loves me.

So even though I can't literally get on my knees, I did the next best thing. I told her how I feel.

"I love you. And insisting that you step back…it was the dumbest thing I've ever done, and…"

That was all I got out before she kissed me.

Right there in the department vehicle, in the parking garage.

And it wasn't quick, either.

She moved over to me and put both hands on my face and then kissed me with unchecked desire and desperation, and I couldn't get her close enough because I really needed to feel her body against mine, but the damn steering wheel and console were in the way, and I wondered for the millionth time why I ever thought it was a good idea to push her away.

"Don't ever do that again," she said after reluctantly ending the kiss and retreating back to her side of the car.

"Let you kiss me?" I asked playfully because for the first time in two weeks, I feel alive and happy.

"You know what I'm talking about," she replied sternly, but she has a smile playing on her lips and damn if she doesn't look happier than she has in two weeks, too.

"Yes, I do," I said genuinely as I reached for her hand. "And I won't. If you're crazy enough to love me, then who am I to argue?"

"Exactly."

"So…we're good?" I asked, amazed at her ability to forgive and forget.

Although maybe the fact that she can is because she understands me so well. She knows my quirks and my neuroses, and she's adept at weathering the storm until I find my way.

Not that I want her to have to weather anything, but still…she loves me enough to do it.

And I love her enough to…well, enough to do absolutely anything.

"We're good," she assured me as she squeezed my hand meaningfully. "Now take me home. I told Peter I'd meet him for dinner."

I was turning the key when she made the remark, but I glanced at her quickly to find her smirking at me.

"Ha ha," I said with a smile. "You think you're so funny."

She grinned back at me - my pretty Eames - and I couldn't resist leaning over to kiss her.

It was brief but heated and filled with emotion.

"I love you," I told her again, my lips still hovering near hers.

"I love you, too."

And even though it's the third time she's told me, it's the first time that it really, really sinks in.

I kissed her again, and then pulled away and put the car in gear.

"So…your place or mine?" I asked her.

"Yours. I've missed your bed."

"Just the bed? Or the man in it?" I fished.

"Oh, just the bed," she quipped.

"Uh huh. You want to go to my place in case Peter shows up at yours," I ventured, wanting to get my lingering feelings of jealousy over him out of the way.

By this time, I was stopped at the exit, waiting to pull out, so I turned to look at her as she smiled and said, "Peter who?"

She always knows the exact right thing to say.

I smiled back at her and pulled out onto the street, and once we were several blocks from 1PP, she scooted over and leaned her head against my shoulder.

"It's not the bed," she said quietly. "It's definitely you."

God, I've missed her so much.

"We've got some catching up to do, don't we?"

"Uh huh," she agreed as she ran her hand over my thigh. "Two weeks' worth. Well, if we ever get home. You should've let me drive."

I love that she's anxious to get there because so am I. I want to be able to show her how much I want her, how much I love her.

"You drive when we're working. I'm trying to make a statement here," I teased.

"What, that you drive like an old man?" she asked playfully, her hand inching further up my thigh. "Step on the gas, Bobby."

So I did.

The End