Infinity

By LMR

Okay, we're here - last chappie. Everyone who reads but doesn't review: It's okay if you want to do that, but you gotta know, you owe this whole thing to those who do, because they're rockin' my world and making me update like a fanfic writin' fool. Feel good and guilty 'bout that, 'k?

Disclaimer: I don't own CI and I'm not getting anything for this. I am also not getting kickbacks from the twist tie industry, believe it or not.

Chapter 6: Weirder

xXx

Alex had told Bobby that she'd had no ton of bricks moment when it all became clear; when it came to her, all at once in some rush of ecstatic horror, that she'd fallen in love. She'd told him about her wardrobe moment before the Broadway show last February, when she'd found herself wanting to bludgeon herself right against the closet door, that it had made her quit trying to run away from it. But that had just been the hay that snapped the proverbial dromedarial lumbar, as she'd put it. She had known before that that she was falling for him. It was something she'd accepted as background noise in her emotional landscape.

Like elevator music, she'd said.

Realizing that she was doing her level best to make his jaw to drop at the sight of her was more of a green light than a whack up-side the head.

He remembered his moment very clearly.

It was that evil little psychologist who thought she knew everything. Well, she did know everything, he thought pointedly. That was the problem. She sat there oozing her false benevolence at them in her paisley and purple therapy room. He'd read on Eames's expression that, had they not been talking to an important witness, she would have been saying something about the decor being bad enough to... no. It was ugly enough to choke a... no. It was so nauseating that... hm. Too bad that telepathy doesn't extend to the complexity of punch lines: I got nothin'.

He could have sworn he saw a smug expression cross Eames's face.

But as soon as Bobby had started to play his little cage-rattling game with that nasty little know-it-all therapist, she'd gotten defensive and attacked.

She'd made him, through and through.

"You," she'd started confidently. "Have the manner of an abandoned child. Your father, I'm guessing?" She cruelly put a slight questioning sound to the end of the sentence, as if she expected him to confirm it. She leaned in, chin on her fist as if showing keen interest in her makeshift client. "And the hovering, hesitant presence of a caretaker. You were saddled with a very ill person. You raised yourself, didn't you, detective?" She'd swung her foot around a little, delighting in her insight.

He could never keep his face blank when they were that close to the truth. His expression changed, he could feel it. He could almost see his own eyes getting that vague expression he wore when hurt. Don't look so much at the floor, he told himself. But don't look at her too much either, or it will look like you're not trying to look at the floor.

He was giving consideration to the effectiveness of looking exactly halfway between her and the floor when Alex had snorted. "You might want to readjust the antenna on your cosmic vibes, doc, because you just hit about two feet away from your target." He was horrified for a moment, but then, shaming him for doubting her at all, she'd finished, "Now how 'bout you tell us something about Goren." She gestured to where he was sitting on the hideous purple sofa.

Two feet away.

Eames had calmly examined the shocked look on the psychologist's face, then smiled. "That's what I thought."

And in that moment, he had understood everything.

"Um," he'd stammered a few minutes later, holding open the door from the hallway to the parking lot. "Eames, that was...You didn't have to..." He looked down at the sidewalk as he talked.

"The more she doubts her own observations, her own intuition," Eames rattled on professionally as if she hadn't noticed anything off about the situation. "The easier it will be for you to play her like a cat with a ball of yarn." She beeped open both car doors and stood expectantly, waiting for him. She usually just got in.

"But Eames," he'd insisted.

"What?" She asked incredulously over the roof of the SUV, with only the slightest hint of a smile on her face. Or maybe she was just squinting from the sun behind him.

Either way, he got the message.

I will always defend you. And I will never tell you.

He nodded. "Nothing," he said softly without any trace of the dismissiveness that usually comes with the word.

Thanks.

I love you.

Oh, smeg, I hope she didn't see that last one!

xXx

And now, it had come to this puzzle. These words. It couldn't be.

It was.

A lowercase 'a'. That's a lowercase 'y' there with a space after it. A question mark: That goes at the end, after a lowercase 'e', and that 'm' fits right in front of it. 'me?' The other, the capital 'M' goes at the beginning. Okay, that's the top of two 'r's, right there, right before the 'y'.

'Marry me?' the puzzle asked.

xXx

Alex gestured for a moment before getting into the food. She slipped a twist tie up through her ring, tied it off, then took both off her finger and set them on the counter. She didn't really feel like spending an hour putting the bands back together today, or worse, loosing one of them somewhere in that nasty cranberry sauce Danielle always made.

"So, Alex, Bobby's ring still on that right hand?" Andrea wondered, assaulting their duck with unmitigated enthusiasm.

Alex didn't miss a beat in butchering the potato she was working on. "So, Andrea. Your nose still everyplace it shouldn't be?"

"I'm just saying," she said, gesturing loosely with the chef's knife. "It's been ten months. Not to mention seven years. You know he's not going anywhere." She smiled. "You're already there, Alex. Might as well make it official."

"We'll see what happens," Alex said coolly. "You need help with th-"

"YES!!!!!"

Alex smiled broadly and made a mad dash for the living room, leaving Andrea bewildered in the kitchen. Andie followed her sister out to the tree, found the couple in the middle of the room, Alex wrapped completely around him and lifted easily up off the ground, kissing and laughing at the same time.

Andrea picked up bits of talking between quick kisses. "Brilliant. Love you. So much. Only. Woman. In the whole. World who could. Mmmmmm. Come up with. A. Weirder. Proposal. Than I could."

"Gotta keep you on your toes, Detective. And you left a tough act to follow, you know. Put me down now." He complied. "But I'm not completely without regard for tradition. I do want to do this right." She pulled the little velvet box out of her pocket.

Once he had gathered his jaw up off the floor, Bobby laughed. "Isn't this a little bit backward?"

"Bobby, everything we do is backwards, upside down, inside out, and all around screwy. I don't think this one will raise an eyebrow. I'd kneel," she explained simply, "But I'd be proposing to your pants, and while that's not an entirely unpleasant place to be, I'd really like to see your face right now." She opened the box, and wasn't disappointed.

For just a moment, Bobby forgot to breathe.

It was another platinum puzzle ring, a thicker band, the interweaving strands creating an infinity sign in the front.

She lifted it out carefully, so not to let the strands fall apart. He offered his left hand, and she gestured for the right instead. "I don't want a different engagement ring," she explained. "My wedding ring is in the kitchen. With a twist tie: You'll learn to love twist ties, trust me. We'll switch them over on the day." She looked down, suddenly sad. "They match too well," she said, somewhat dejected.

He nodded, understanding the problem. "They'll make us. We'll have to take them off for interrogation. For witnesses."

"Well, we'll worry about that when we go back to work," she decided, kissing the ring on his hand. "We've got a little bit of smarts between us: We'll work something out."

"Whatsit?" Nathan wanted to know. The commotion around the tree had drawn him away from the bathtub where he'd spent the whole morning cavorting with the shark he'd lovingly named "Hammie."

Alex detached herself from her fiancé, and lowered herself to her nephew's level. "Honey, Uncle Bobby and I are getting married. That sound good to you?" She brushed a stray bit of hair out of his face, lifted his chin a little.

He grinned. "Uncle, Bobby?" he called, craning his little neck.

Bobby sat on the floor. "Yeah?"

"Can I be ring bear?"

Bobby hesitated, turned back to Alex. "I get to chose the men for the ceremony, right Al? I mean, my choice? No argument?" She nodded, conceding and confused. She had been counting on Nathan for the ring bearer. Surely Bobby understood that?

"I don't know, Nathan. You can be a ring bearer, I guess, but that's not so important, not enough for you. And you're a big guy, five, right? Nah, that's a baby thing." He looked the child right in the eye. "You're the most important man in your aunt's life. We would be honored if you would be our Best Man." He peeked out of the corner of his eye for Alex's reaction to this bizarre proposal (like she could talk about bizarre proposals, he thought). Her face was priceless. Stunned. Touched. Completely enamored.

You are an amazing man.

"I like this idea," She said after Bobby had gotten his hug. "You can watch 'SpongeBob' for your bachelor party. Preferable, I think."

"But Alex, you know that I would never have one of those kind..."

"I know," she laughed, then paused thoughtfully for a moment. "You probably prefer 'Blue's Clues.'" She squeezed his arm. "Celebration notwithstanding, the potatoes need mashing." She kissed his cheek and headed back for the kitchen. After a quick hug (We love you, Bobby), Andrea followed.

John rested his hand on Bobby's shoulder. "Congratulations, Robert. She told me she had no doubts about your answer, or she never would have done it in front of everyone." So that was when she'd lowered her voice in the den, he realized. John had asked how serious, and she hadn't let him hear that part. He could almost hear the conversation in his head: I'm going to ask him to marry me, and there's not a doubt in my mind he'll say yes.

"Welcome to the family, Bobby." Mrs. Eames hugged him.

Bobby was touched. Too touched, as a matter of fact. He could feel his throat getting heavy and lumpy, and had to force his composure. It would be so horrible if he-

"Hey, Beanstalk, come help me with this, it's too high!"

He mumbled an 'excuse me,' to Mrs. Eames and hurried to help Alex grab the meat platter from the top shelf.

He was almost certain Andrea had gotten it out from the cupboard under the counter yesterday.

xXx

Alex was pacing the living room, cell in hand. They had debated over lunch who the first call outside the family went to. "Debated, threw out the same name simultaneously two seconds after the topic was raised, whatever," Danielle had observed.

"Cap- Jimmy, I know," she corrected herself. "Yeah, and you too. I got big news. Well, I hope you'll think it's good. I think you will. Ross will blow a gasket. Yeah, that's it, all right. No, he didn't. I did, couple hours ago."

Deakins's response was so loud Bobby could hear it from across the room. "Yes!!!"

"Okay," Alex teased. "Are you so happy because we've just made a wonderful commitment that changes our lives for the better and we're going to have the best day of our lives in a few months and a great life together after...

"Or did you win the betting pool this time?" She turned to her fiancé and whispered. "Both," she informed him.

"Yeah, thanks. And they're in order for you, too. Oh. Too bad." She turned to Bobby again. "He has to split the winnings for the date and for the fact that I asked. Those were both called by two different betters." She paused, listening; rolled her eyes.

"Don't tell me..." Bobby started.

"I won't," she said wearily, making it clear that yes, it was.

xXx

Thanks, guys, your reviews have meant so much, and yes, go right ahead and brag, you all figured it out about three chapters ago!

BTW: I just heard a must-listen for BA 'shippers: Tal Bachman's 'You Love (Like Nobody Loves Me).' It fits them so well it could have been written for them (had it not been written about seven years too early). Thought I'd share.