Episode tag to 2.16 "Elvis is in the Building," post-episode scene in which Bobby isn't sure why Tommy would have really thought he'd been flirting with Bunny, and Tara isn't sure how Bobby could think anyone would ever not think he was flirting with every woman he ever talks to.

TW: discussions of domestic violence

AN: Yup, that's right, THREE Bobby/Tara ones in a row! I don't know, these episodes just lent themselves more to Bobby and Tara for a bit there. Also, a bonus scene at the end that's so long it's practically its own extra chapter.

~0~

Bobby sat back in the booth at the diner he and the rest of the gang had gathered at for dinner. At this point, Lucy had left for a date, Sue had left to get Levi home for his own dinner, Jack had gallantly offered to walk her (nobody was fooled), and D had headed home to spend some time with his kids before they had to hit the hay.

Then Myles said, "I better head out too, I have an early morning required breakfast at Philip and Elizabeth's." He rolled his eyes as he said it, as though he were speaking of his sworn enemies instead of his parents. (Come to think of it, that might have been the same thing for him.) He bade them farewell and headed out.

Bobby looked to Tara. "Uh—since everyone else has left, did, did you want to get going too or—?"

"Oh, no, I'm good," she said, before suddenly seeming to think better of it. "I mean, unless you want to! Don't feel like you have to stay here just because I'm a slow eater, I can always get a take-home box."

"Oh, no, take your time, I don't mind," he assured her. "After this last week, I don't mind a little time just sitting and resting." He cocked his crooked smile at her and arched a brow. "Stardom is not for the faint of heart, you know."

She chucked a fry at him, which he fumbled before managing to catch it and toss it into his own mouth.

"Hey!" she said. "That was my fry!"

"You gave it to me," he replied with a simple shrug.

As their laughter died down again, he slipped into a sigh, which immediately had her looking at him with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm sorry luv, I just . . . I can't stop thinking about Bunny. Wish I could've done more for her, you know?"

"Yeah. I mean, you can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped . . . ."

"I don't think it's that she doesn't want to," he countered. "I think she didn't know how to accept it. I think . . . I mean, she said nobody has ever even tried before."

"Mm." She nodded. "Although, I wonder if she's right or if she just doesn't know that they did."

"How do you mean?"

Tara shrugged lightly, but her face showed the heaviness with which the topic weighed on her. "My . . . my sister was in an abusive relationship for, um, for a long time," she said softly.

"Oh, Tara." He reached for her hand, giving a comforting squeeze. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

"Yeah, um, it was a while ago, it started when I was still in high school and she was in college but, um . . . it was just so hard to watch. Because we were there, we did try to help her, but he was so good at isolating her even when we were trying to be there for her, she couldn't always see the things we were trying to do. He sort of . . . had her brainwashed to believe that he was the only one good for her and that we couldn't see how much he loved her, that the ways he hurt her were her own fault—you know the spiel, textbook narcissist abuser. He was really good at 'making it up to her' after he hurt her, and she would go back thinking he was really going to change, or maybe just hoping he would, I don't know. By the time she finally realized he really wasn't going to, it still took . . . oh, seven, eight times that I know of that she tried to leave before she finally managed it."

He squeezed her hand to show his support for her as she told this difficult story. "How did she finally manage it?" he asked softly.

"Um . . . he . . . nearly killed her. She was, uh, she was in intensive care for awhile there, we really weren't sure she would make it. We were able to get a restraining order and keep him out of the hospital entirely while the police solidified the case against him for attempted murder, and then . . . he jumped bail and ran off. Last I heard he was in Mexico or somewhere, but if he ever shows his face around my sister again . . . ." Her face was more fierce than he'd ever seen it, though she was only glaring at the relatively innocent remains of the french fries. "I have a gun, I'm quite well-trained in its use, I've shot a man once before to protect others, and I'll do it again. I don't care if it counts as within policy or not."

He squeezed her hand again. "I wouldn't either, luv. Wow, I'm so sorry. That's tough."

She shifted her gaze back to him and squeezed his hand back in gratitude. "Well, it's been five years since he's been out of her life, and she's had a lot of therapy—physical as well as mental—and she's doing really well now. She's in a relationship with a really great guy who not only is so sweet to her and really loves our whole family, she gushes regularly about how he's so understanding of what she's been through, and so careful about not doing things that trigger her PTSD about her ex."

"That's awesome," he said.

"Yeah, but . . . I know she was really lucky. Not everybody has us, not every police department cares enough about looking into those things, and if my mom weren't a social worker and my dad weren't a lawyer I'm not sure her case would've been looked into so closely either. It so easily could have gone a different way, with a different jurisdiction refusing the restraining order just because they're married even though he's the one who put her in the hospital over and over." She sighed. "And he was so determined to hold control over her that it didn't take much for him to fly off the handle at the idea that she might leave him—for someone else or just on her own."

They sat in silent contemplation for a few more minutes before Bobby said, "Yeah, I guess guys like that are really easily jealous, huh? I mean, imagine thinking I was putting the moves on a girl just because I was being friendly with her."

"Well, that I can see," Tara said, then turned red. "I–I mean—"

"No, no," he said seriously, stopping her from trying to take it back. "I think you meant exactly that, but . . . can you explain why?" At her hesitation he added, "Please, I'd really like to know. I won't be mad, just if there's something I'm doing that gives the wrong impression or something, something I should change—"

"I don't know if it's something you need to change exactly," Tara said. "I mean, it's kind of part of your charm. But you do have a way of coming across as a bit . . . flirty. I mean, with any woman you interact with, whether you're into her or not."

He raised his eyebrows. "I do?"

She cocked her head, as though she was trying to read his face. "Do—do you seriously not know you do that?"

He shook his head slowly. "I mean, I know that I do flirt sometimes, of course I do. But not in how I interact with all women. I'm just trying to be nice, you know?"

"Yeah, that's why I say it's not something you need to change, exactly. Maybe . . . just be aware of how that could come across. I mean, in my experience, a lot of guys think women are being flirty when they're just being nice, too, and honestly, even with other people thinking you're flirting, you're more likely to run into trouble with jealous boyfriends or husbands than with women taking it wrong. Probably."

"Am I that bad?"

She huffed. "I'm saying I don't think it's bad! It's just part of who you are, and it's . . . ." She hesitated a bit, glancing away and back at him. "It's cute. It's just . . . I mean, any woman you ever talk to you could be flirting with." She snorted a little as though thinking of the most ridiculous thing, staring down at her now empty plate and drawing pictures in the crumbs. "I mean, you've even done it with me."

"Well, of course I've done that with you, but—" He stopped himself as her eyes shot up and stared into his.

"But what?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head. "Nothing, sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Nuh-uh," she objected, "you made me finish what I was saying earlier, now it's your turn!"

He swallowed hard. "Tara . . . you're . . . you're a beautiful woman, you do know that, right?"

She blushed a little, looking down again shyly but then glancing her eyes back up toward him. She'd never thought she was all that good-looking, but for someone as cute as Bobby to say that really meant a lot to her.

"And," he continued, drawing a deep breath, "you're . . . you're so smart, and funny, and . . . I mean, what guy could resist flirting with you sometimes?"

She snorted again at that. "Um, most of them, trust me."

He furrowed his brow, then slid out of his seat and moved around to slide in next to her. She watched him curiously in her peripheral vision, but still wasn't willing to make eye contact, until he reached out and touched under her chin to encourage her to do so. "Tara," he said softly, "any man who can't see how special you are is an absolute yabbo."

"Oh," she breathed. "Um . . . th-thanks." The smile she tried to flash him faltered under the weight of conflicting emotions she was feeling. Turning back and polishing off the rest of her drink, she said, "Um, I . . . I think we'd better . . . better head out now."

"Oh. Um, yeah. Sure, okay," Bobby responded, looking like he was trying not to look disappointed. Since they had all agreed that Myles, with his joking about being an agent who was "going places," should pay that evening, the bill had already been taken care of, so the final two team members were able to just gather their things and leave.

"Goodnight," she said quickly, turning the direction of where she'd parked her car.

"Tara," he called out to stop her. She paused, but stood still a moment before slowly turning around.

"Yeah?"

"Look, I'm—I'm sorry if I said something wrong in there or something, I just—I would hate to ruin our friendship, but I also hate for you to think less of yourself than you deserve. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

She shook her head, swallowing and forcing out, "No, uh, don't worry about it."

"Then what is it?" he asked before she could leave.

She hesitated again, then walked back toward him. "Bobby . . . how does Darcy feel about you flirting with other women?"

"I don't know, but I don't think she has a right to feel anything."

Tara sighed. "Whatever. Goodnight."

"Because," he continued to her receding form, "Darce and I broke up two weeks ago."

This time, Tara stopped short and whipped around. "You what?"

He sighed. "We . . . it was just sort of a decision we both realized was long overdue. We were both just sort of . . . coasting along on an assumed relationship without putting much effort into it. Our lives were heading different directions and . . . ." He took a deep breath again. "And there's this woman I've had a crush on for . . . oh, for as long as I've known her. I always thought she wouldn't go for a guy like me, but my experiment to turn my affections elsewhere has failed, so . . . when I realized I'm still as in love with her as ever, it didn't seem right to stay in a relationship with Darcy."

Tara let out a frustrated growl and gave his chest a slight shove. "See, this is what I mean, Bobby!" She lightly shoved him again as she emphasized "this," and then kept shoving with each additional emphasized word. "You flirt with women, you toy with them, you go and tell me about how you'll just keep flirting with me because I'm easy to flirt with or whatever, even though it was Lucy you grabbed and pretended to run away with, and then it turns out you've got some woman you're pining after through it all! I mean, how is anybody supposed to know when you're really interested in someone?"

"Tara!" he exclaimed, catching her hand and holding it to his (well-tenderized at this point) chest. "Tara, Tara!"

"What?!"

"She is you!"

"What?"

"The woman. The woman I've had a crush on for so long . . . is you. I mean, messing around at the office, I grabbed Lucy to 'run away with' because . . . well, because she knows me better than to ever take me seriously, she and I have actually talked about that before and we both know we're not each other's types. No way would I have grabbed Sue, Jack might've had another heart attack! And . . . I couldn't grab you because . . . well, because I've spent, what, five, six years, hiding my ongoing crush on you?"

She searched his eyes, seeking truth or lies or whatever else she might find there. "Why?"

"Why . . . what?"

"Why did you keep it secret for so long?"

"Because . . . ." He shrugged. "Like I said, I didn't think you'd ever be interested in a guy like me. I mean, you're so smart, and so strong and capable, and . . . why would you go for a yabbo jock like me? Until . . . ."

"Until . . . ?"

"Until I realized you thought . . . that I would never flirt with a girl like you. Tara, I don't want to flirt with other women. I don't want to flirt with a girl like you. I want to flirt with you. And hold your hand. And tell you how wonderful you are. I want to hug you when you're happy and hold you when you're sad, and I want to hug you and hold you when it's just an average day and you're not feeling any particular way, just because we can. I want to kiss you and spoil you rotten and defend you against anyone who doesn't know how amazing you are, but get to keep all that amazingness for myself. And I don't know . . . if a brilliant, genius, gorgeous, amazing woman like you could feel even half that for a sporty schlub like me, but . . . if there's even a chance that . . . ."

"I believe," she interrupted, "that somewhere in there you said 'kiss'?"

He hardly breathed as he nodded.

"Then," she whispered, stretching up toward him, "now seems like a really good time to start."

~0~

Bonus scene, sometime later in their established but not yet long relationship:

"Bobby, you know, if you expect me to take you seriously about not flirting with other women, you should probably stop calling everyone love." Tara said it teasingly, settling herself onto her new favorite seat (ie. her boyfriend's lap) as they snuggled on her couch after a dinner together, but Bobby detected a hint of hurt in her voice.

"Oh, that's not love like in the way that I love you, babe. That's L-U-V, just a slang term for basically any sheila, same as I'll call any bloke 'mate.'"

"Well, 'mate' is something that you can hear the difference in."

"Long as nobody thinks you're saying you want to mate with them."

She laughed. "Yeah, that also better not be anybody but me!" She leaned in and kissed him, then asked, "But if everyone is 'luv' how do I know when you mean really love?"

"Well," he said, "for starters, I only say that to or about my mum, my pop, or you, and you're the only one who can make me look at you like this." As he spoke he was, indeed, looking at her with a very open, unguarded, affectionate expression that tended to make her feel like . . . well, like every cheesy lyric to any love song ever.

"That's . . . a good point, I suppose."

"Second," he added, "you're the only one I call babe."

"Also good."

"I wouldn't use this one all the time, but during moments like this—when it's just us and we can really just focus on each other, or during really special moments, or when I just want to remind you just how special you are to me—I might sometimes call you 'beloved.'"

She sighed with a smile. "Oh gosh. That's . . . wow."

"And . . . ." He hesitated.

"What?"

"Ummm . . . well, there's this Aussie term of endearment that I often want to use for you, but, you know, it's a bit . . . well, it tends to be taken differently in America. I mean, I've never used it for any women," he quickly added, "you're the only one I've ever felt it fit, but . . . well, I've been here long enough to know some of those cultural differences."

She tilted her head, eyeing him suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Well, now, you have to consider that a lot of different cultures refer to people as various animals and, well, lamb might be a term of endearment in one culture but in another people think, aren't those kind of smelly and gross? But not all lambs are the same, and the traits a person wouldn't want aren't what they're referencing anyway, it's the softness and all."

"Bobby, you're scaring me, what is it?"

"Because even though people think that all the animals in Australia are out to kill you, there's one that the Australian version is actually cuter than the American version and—"

"Bobby, I swear, if you start calling me any kind of spider or insect—"

"It's possum."

She froze for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Possum?!"

He shrugged. "I'm telling you, American possums are terrifying trash monsters, but Aussie possums are little, soft, adorable creatures and we use it as a term of endearment. And even any girlfriend I've ever had in the past . . . I've never wanted to call anyone that because it didn't fit anyone. But you're little and soft and adorable, and with the ability to be fierce, and I've . . . honestly, I've thought of you as my little possum for years, I just never said it because . . . well . . . ."

She was clearly touched, though she was also still suppressing some giggles. "Because it's weird enough to explain how that's a term of endearment for your girlfriend, without trying to explain to someone who isn't your girlfriend that you think of her by what in your native country is a term of endearment?"

He sighed, glad she didn't seem angry about this term. "Exactly."

"Well, is there some equivalent I can call you?"

He shrugged. "Wouldn't it be better if you called me something with meaning to you?"

She nodded and considered a moment.

Then shook her head and thought some more.

Then rolled her eyes at herself and thought some more.

Then started laughing again.

"What?" he asked.

"I can't think of anything except computer codes, binary, and the nerdiest references ever!"

"Hey, I love your nerdy references and brilliant brain! Lay it on me."

"Well . . . the only one that actually makes sense when spoken out loud would be Private Variable."

"Hmm. Sounds almost military. What's that mean?"

"It's . . . hard to explain without a whole entire computer lesson, but suffice it to say, it would mean I'm the only one with access to you."

He grinned. "You absolutely are, possum." They kissed again, slower, more lingering, and far more passionately than before.

When they eventually broke apart, she settled against him, head nestled into the crook of his neck, and said, "I know something else I'd call you. I just wouldn't use it as a name. More of a description."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Being with you is like being one-two-seven-point-zero-point-zero-point-one."

Even from her current position, she could feel the expectant smile that spread across his face, causing his baby-face cheeks to nudge her head. She absentmindedly reached her hand up to stroke the cheek on the opposite side from her, teasing at his deep dimple with her fingers.

"What's it mean?"

"It's the internet programming code for home. Being with you is home."