She stood by the window, coffee cup in hand, staring unseeingly at the hospital parking lot. IA had come and taken her gun, and after a word with Carver, had left. Carver told her it'd all be okay, she'd done the only thing she could, and a serial killer was dead. She hadn't reacted beyond a brief nod. Now Carver had gone, and Deakins sat on the hospital chairs, leaning forward, hands swinging loosely between his knees, watching Alex.

He's made enquiries about getting her transferred to Major Crimes. If she requested it, and once the IA investigation cleared her (and he was sure it would), she'd be fast-tracked to Bobby's side, his new partner. As far as Deakins was concerned, she was practically part of his team already – one of his own.

"He'll be fine." Deakins said, leaning back in his chair. Alex said nothing, just stared out into the cold winter day.

"He told them he told you to fire through him, so IA should be okay."

Her coffee had gone cold in her hand ages ago, but still she didn't move. Stood there by the window, the clear winter light framing her face, making her look like a statue

"Your shot went through and through. Hit nothing vital. It's probably the least of his injuries."

She only blinked, once.

"He survives. Always will."

Still she was only still. Sighing, he got up and replaced her cold coffee with a fresh cup. Startled, she looked up at him.

"You should come work with him." he told her. "He's been at his best the past few days, with you."

"I shot him." she said dully.

"Good. Probably did him a world of good.".

He sat down again. He'd be proud to have her as part of his team, but it was going to be difficult. Nutjob and Ice Queen, all the way. Difficult, awkward, demanding, - and rewarding. He had a feeling they might be the best team he'd ever have.

"You can go in." The doctor finally said. Deakins stepped back to speak to the doctor, and motioned Alex to go in without him. She picked up a parcel, and walked in.

"Hey." Goren said, smiling as she came in. He was propped up in the bed, one arm in a sling, looking pale but alive.

"Hey." She said, trying to sound her usual calm, cool self. She ignored the chair and sat on the bed instead. "Sorry I shot you." She said, trying to make it sound like a joke, though her eyes were strained, and full of pain.

"It's what I expected you to do." He told her. "It's what I needed you to do."

"Still, I am sorry. And I got you a present."

She handed him the parcel. He carefully unpicked the wrapping, unwillingly to tear it, but impatience won, and he ripped it off. She took the paper, as he held up the present, delightedly.

"I like it!" he said, smiling at her, in that shy sweet way, that was just beginning to twist at her heart. It was a brown leather document case, with paper, and a place for his pens, and plenty of room for all those files and photos and notes he liked to carry around.

"I got sick of the cardboard file." She explained.

"Thank you. It's…it's perfect." He said, watching her, his eyes so dark she could have drowned in them. "It's not a going away present, is it?" he asked anxiously.

"I have to go back to Vice." She said, reluctantly. "I'm already in enough trouble, what with shooting you. It's best to keep my head down for a while.". He took her hand where it lay on the sheet, absent-mindedly, as if he were unaware of the feel of her delicate hand in his.

"I was hoping you'd stay." He said.

She looked at him, unsure of what to do or say.

"I'm…I'm used to you." He said, shrugging. He glanced down, and realised he was holding onto her hand. He let go, embarrassed. "I want you…to stay.". He looked up at her, his eloquent eyes more pleading then any words could ever have been.

And Eames sat there, and thought about how it was back in Vice, and how she'd never really belonged anyway until she'd met Goren, even more of an outsider than she was, and how exciting and fulfilling the last few days had been, and she gave into the pleading. She smiled, and took his hand.

"Ok." She said. "I'll stay. You got me, Bobby Goren."

THE END