Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Scribere Est Agere, Happy Birthday to you! Well, belated anyway. Love you!

It doesn't hit her right away.

She leaves the precinct, stops for groceries (eggs, milk, fruit, cheese) and picks up a newspaper. Walks home slowly, the bags weighing down her arms. Stops to exchange niceties with her elderly neighbor (Oh, hi, Mrs. Lilly. Everything's fine. He's fine too. No, he's my partner, not my boyfriend) on the way up to her apartment. Then it's a little housework (vacuum, dishes) before tea and a bath.

Her evening is quiet. She doesn't call her sister, or him.

She tackles the crossword puzzle in the newspaper while lying in bed. After a while, the words start to swim on the page, and she leans over to turn off the light. Falls asleep easily, calmly.

The next morning, she opens her eyes, stretches. It's nearly time to get up for work –

She freezes, as it hits her.

"Hey, Bobby, it's me. Just, ah, wondered what you were up to."

The Today Show is on, and she watches it without comprehension.

Her career is over.

Decades, she's spent decades building her life up to this. A childhood spent listening to her father's tales of life on the force, stars in her eyes as she imagined her own first badge. Then seventeen years for the NYPD, culminating in the offered promotion to Captain.

Captain.

Shit.

It's not even close to noon, but she clunks ice into a tumbler and drowns it in vodka.

"I guess maybe you're asleep. Or interviewing for a job somewhere, I don't know. Give me a call."

Nichols calls her after she's buzzed, but before she's drunk.

"What are your plans?" he asks.

She blinks, blearily, considering. "You talk to Goren?" she asks instead.

"No. How's he doing?"

"No idea."

She wonders: Where is he?

She wonders: Where does Bobby Goren go, when his world falls apart?

"It's me, again. I swear this is the last message I'm leaving. Just call me, okay?"

There's a stack of mail that she hasn't touched in a while. She writes checks for several bills, sticking them in envelopes and affixing stamps. Wonders how long her savings will keep her afloat until she finds something else.

She texts her sister four words:

I quit my job.

After a moment, her sister texts her back four words:

Why, what'd he do?

Mrs. Lilly calls around four. "Hello, Alexandra, how are you today?"

Mostly drunk, she wants to say. "I'm fine, how are you?"

"Just fine. I noticed you're home today. Are you feeling ill?"

"No, ma'am, but thank you for asking."

"Did you and your boyfriend have an argument?"

She blows out a long breath of annoyance. "I keep telling you, Mrs. Lilly, he's not my boyfriend."

"My Arthur and I used to argue, too. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not –"

"The important thing is to keep the lines of communication open."

"Yes, it –"

"Shutting people out won't help you in the long run."

"I –" She stops, frowns. "Wait, who am I shutting out?"

"Well, your boyfriend, of course. He's been sitting outside your apartment door all day."

Sitting is a kind description; he is sprawled outside the door. When she peeks out at him, he looks up and smiles.

"Hey."

"Hey. What are you doing out there?"

"I wanted to catch you before you left for work."

"Uh huh."

"And then you never left for work." He's still sprawled, his legs taking up most of the available hallway space. She can't imagine how many of her neighbors have had to climb over him over the course of the day.

"Did it not occur to you to knock?"

He shows her his palms, sweetly. "Can I come in?"

She rolls her eyes but opens the door wider. With a slight groan, he gets up, rubbing his back.

"The floor is uncomfortable."

"You're ridiculous."

He trails into the house after her. There's a small smile on his face, and she can't quite figure out what he's so damned happy about. They sit on the couch together. Close, but not touching.

"You quit," he says, sunnily.

"I did."

"Turned in your badge. After firing me."

"It seemed like the best option. Why haven't you been answering your cell?"

He smiles wider. "I lost it."

She throws him a dubious look, but says nothing.

"Eames, why did you fire me, if you weren't going to take the captain's position?"

"You were going to get fired either way," she says. "At least this way, it was me who did it, and not one of those asses who'd take pleasure in seeing you go."

"That's a good point."

"Why are you so… cheerful?" she asks finally, frowning.

Thoughtful, he cocks his head. "I think I'm entering a new phase of my life. That makes me cheerful, I suppose."

She wants to say: Maybe I liked your old phase. I was in it.

Instead, she says: "Would you like something to drink?"

"Sure." He gets up and heads toward the kitchen.

"Oh,well, just help yourself," she says. It comes out a little more snidely than she intends.

"I will." He picks up her favorite pair of shot glasses with one hand and grabs the bottle of vodka with the other. "So last night, I had dinner with Darren Carter."

"Your friend at the FBI?"

"Yup." He makes his way back to the couch, plunking the shot glasses down on the coffee table.

She takes the bottle, filling both glasses halfway. "Why? To talk about a job?"

"Not really. He's been trying to get me to join his profiling team for a while now, so I knew that offer would be there. Mostly I just wanted someone to talk to." They each raise their glasses to their lips, downing the shots in one gulp. He starts refilling both. "So we started talking about everything that went down," he continues. "It took a while."

"I'd imagine."

"And when we got to the part where you fired me, Darren asked me if I was upset about it. And I told him it was easier coming from you, like you said. And then he asked if I could've fired you if the situation were reversed." They pause to take another shot each.

"And?"

"I said I couldn't."

She grimaces at that.

"He asked why, and I said I'd quit first. Because you were more important to me than the job." He pours from the vodka bottle again. "And afterwards, I kept thinking about that. About how you were the most important thing in my life, but I wasn't the most important thing in yours." He downs another shot, while she just looks at hers. "So I came over here to talk to you about it before you left for work."

"But I didn't go to work."

"Precisely. You quit." He finishes off her shot. "So why am I so cheerful, Eames? Because I realized, out there in the hallway, that maybe we were in the same boat after all. Only me, I'd quit to avoid firing you. You had the courage to do it before quitting, just to make it easier on me. And I got to thinking, maybe when you said I was the best… maybe you meant that."

The liquor and his words and his nearness are swirling together inside her, making her a little light-headed. "I meant it."

"So maybe there's hope for us yet," he says, more softly.

"Maybe so."

He's leaning toward her slowly, and it doesn't take long to meet him halfway. His lips are smoother than she imagined, and he kisses more gently than any man she's ever known. Her stomach turns a slow, delicious flip-flop as he trails his fingertips along her pulse point.

"Hey Eames?" he murmurs against her lips.

"Mm?"

"I've got a lot of free time now…"

"Mm-hm…"

"And I was just thinking, we should do this a lot."

"Mm."

"Like, a lot."

"Stop talking, Bobby."

Later on – after kissing, dinner, kissing, some healthy groping, and more kissing – he finally decides to leave. "Don't want you getting sick of me just yet," he teases, and she kisses him again, because she can.

"Come by tomorrow," she tells him, opening the door for him. "Any time."

The look he gives her is so naked, so full of what could only be love. She wonders how long he's felt it.

He heads out into the hallway, and she shuts the door, leaning against the back of it. She hears Mrs. Lilly's voice travel down the corridor.

"Why hello, young man. You're Alexandra's partner, aren't you?"

"No," he says, and she can hear the grin in his voice. "I'm her boyfriend."