This is a post Blind Spot fic. Alex and Bobby talk about what happened and eventually they talk about how they feel about one another - sort of. This is full of angst and pain and suffering and has a happily ever after kind of ending. I thought this needed chapters because of the length, but it didn't really have natural divisions - so I did the best I could. As usual, I only write when I'm frantically busy with 6 other projects, so although this has 3 parts, it likely won't be completely posted until Friday because I may have to change a couple of adjectives in part 3. - Dix.

No copywrite infringement intended or implied. These characters and their universe belong to others and not to me.

Misery Loves Company

Part One

"You look like crap," Eames says acknowledging his arrival with a nod. Goren's suit is rumpled and he's unshaven. His eyes are red rimmed. He shrugs and runs a hand over the back of his neck. It's the beginning of their shift and he's out of sorts. Lately, she thinks, he is always out of sorts.

He pulls out the chair at his desk and drops into it. He looks at Eames without speaking. From this vantage point, he can see she is dressed in the uniform that she often wears to work; a jacket over a t-shirt. Her hair hangs loosely around her face and drifts across one eye. She leaves it where it is and meets his look. On the outside, everything is the same.

To others she hasn't changed at all. They marvel at how well she has weathered the storm, but to his eye, she wears a disguise. She is quieter now and her wit has lost its razor's edge. She is frayed and worn where she was once confident and bold. It niggles at his brain when they're together and outright worries him when they're apart. She is the same and yet shattered. He is certain enough of this to respond in kind.

"You too." He says finally and she smirks and shakes her head, because he's right and so far, he's the only one who has noticed.

"I'm having trouble sleeping. " She says leaning in to decrease the length her words must travel to reach him.

"Understandable. " He says quietly. She's been back on the job less than a month.

She looks away. She doesn't want his pity. "What's your excuse?" She says with more force than she means.

"Same. Not sleeping." He says softly. She looks at him again and wonders.

//

They wander her neighbourhood grocery aisles for most of thirty minutes after that shift. She finally gives up in the produce section. She was thinking salad and chicken, but he obviously has something else in mind, because there's an eggplant beside the spinach and the wine. She thinks about asking, but she doesn't want to talk about vegetables. He pushes the cart and continues to add ingredients from the recipe in his head. She follows along, content with his company in this place.

In the check out line, they're distant. He unloads the cart and she stands and watches the cashier ring in and bag the groceries. When the cashier announces the total, Goren open his wallet and hands Alex a twenty. Eames gives the cashier Goren's twenty and one of her own and hands him the change. He carries the bags to the car.

It's her car, a year or two newer than the last one, a different model and a different colour. The old one is still in the impound lot tagged as evidence. Eventually it will be sold for scrap. Her dad picked this one out and had the dealer deliver it to her house before she was released from the hospital.

She prepares the chicken while he chops vegetables beside her. Bobby fills a dish with layers of vegetables and cheese. While they wait for the chicken and the casserole to cook, they drink red wine and laugh at things Mike Logan said. When the first bottle is nearly finished, the timer on the stove beeps and Bobby puts potholders on big hands to lift the chicken and the casserole out of the oven. The chicken is brown and the dish is bubbly with melted cheese and rich with roasted vegetables. Alex sets the table with a cloth and dishes.

They open another bottle of wine and eat garlic bread, chicken and vegetables. They talk about the past. They tell stories from their childhood about summer camp and school friends and they laugh. It's ridiculous. They both know that the stories and the laughter are whitewash to cover the present pain that afflicts them. When supper is finished and Alex is too full to eat another bite, they shuffle the plates and cutlery into the dishwasher and share the last of the wine between their glasses. Then they settle at either end of the sofa.