Okay, now my take on what happens 10.8 and beyond. The title is a play on "The Last Street in Manhattan," my personal favorite ep of Season 10. There were some lovely "slow-burn" (some critic mentioned that in her review and I agree) scenes in 10.8, and one very loaded exchange between our Bobby and Alex. In fact, that particular exchange is what gave me the idea for this in the first place. When I heard the words, I nearly spit the wine I was drinking out my nose. I also wanted to flesh out Captain Hannah's character a little bit. We have some angst, we have some therapy, and, yes, eventually some smutty, fluffy goodness. And a happy ending, because by God, they deserve it. And so do we. But I digress. I own nothing, because if I did, they wouldn't have been driving to a crime scene at the end of the ep. Oh, and you know how this goes: review and a new chapter will magically appear.

The Best Street in Brooklyn

"Pants on fire?" Bobby inquired after Hildy slammed out of the office.

"Totally," Alex grinned.

Bobby reached for the door handle, then turned back to her, as if flustered. This was repartee they engaged in every day, part of their shorthand with each other. Then why was Alex's inflection so...suggestive?

She felt his discomfiture, enjoyed it. Alex had a secret, and she was thinking it was high time her partner of twelve years was let in on it. Gradually, of course. Timing was everything.

Kizmate was founded on the premise of true love, kismet. In reality, it was like any other business: a hotbed of passions, hidden agendas, greed, and strife. Because these were people, after all. With real emotions, quirks, flaws. But at the heart there was still the belief : true love. As they arrested Danielle, Alex looked up at her partner, reflective.

"We all want to believe," she said softly.

Through the paperwork, the post-mortem with their captain, Bobby kept hearing those words. PJ, Hildy, Danielle, Thomas...they thought they found the real thing. But was anything real? He thought wearily, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Detectives?" Joe Hannah stopped by their desks. "Anyone up for some liquid refreshment?"
Alex looked over at her partner, brows raised.

Bobby nodded almost imperceptibly.

"That's a yes?" their boss looked from one to the other. "'Cause psychic is not in my job description."

"Yeah," Alex smirked, slapping her laptop shut, and reaching for the bag.

"Do we get to pick the place?" Bobby put his jacket on, picked up his binder.

"Hey, I'm buying, so I pick," Hannah waved his hand towards the elevator. "Besides, my lovely wife Sharon is joining us. Think we can do better than the usual cop bar."

The place he chose was a step up, quiet and elegant. A well-dressed woman in her early fifties waved enthusiastically as they entered the bar. She was tall, with wavy auburn hair and lively eyes. Alex didn't know Joe Hannah's wife, but Bobby did from back when he was Hannah's partner.

Their captain leaned over to kiss his wife, and inquired, "Got the kiddies sent off to the wilds of fifth grade?"

"More like prep school for juvie," she said in mock dismay, "Haven't had a group like this in years." She turned to greet her husband's detectives.

"Bobby, good to see you!" Sharon hugged him, then offered her hand to Alex. "I feel like I should know you, all that I hear about you."

Alex cut her boss a glance, he just gave her a non committal grin.

They settled at a back table, and ordered drinks and appetizers.

"So, got any juicy stories about my partner?" Alex swirled the martini she was sipping.

"Aw, shucks, there are a few," Even after thirty years in New York, Texas ran through Sharon's speech. She then went on to describe her first meeting with the great Robert Goren. "To hear Joe talk, this guy was like Einstein, only smarter and cockier. And he did not always play well with others. I made Joe bring him home to dinner before their first undercover. He brought a date, some high maintenance art professor," she shook her head. "This b-, this witch turned her nose up at my daddy's barbeque rib recipe."

"Ooh, not a good move," Alex and Joe chuckled, while Bobby managed to look sheepish.

"I took him aside and said three things: I didn't care about my husband's partners low class taste in women, all I cared about was that he was big enough to take a bullet, if need be. I asked him what his scores on the shooting range were. I also mentioned that I had three kids I wanted my husband around to get through college."

Alex burst into laughter, deciding she liked her.

"I never knew that," it was Hannah's turn to look embarrassed. "Sorry, man," he turned to his former partner.

Bobby held up a hand, "She was just protecting her family."

The evening passed pleasantly, with lots of war stories and jokes. Alex loved hearing about Bobby fresh out of the academy, while her partner found himself forgetting the stress of the Kizmate case. Bobby found himself watching Alex through the night, enjoying seeing her in a social setting.

Joe and Sharon Hannah were one of those true love stories. Married thirty years, three kids, avid golfers. They'd met back when Joe was at CCNY, when he was fresh out of the service, Texas transplant. Sharon had been considering a career in law enforcement, but settled on education. She taught in PS in the Bronx, an elegant woman who hid a wicked sense of humor under an air of propriety. Her parents were forever chagrined that she hadn't married to their lofty standards, but Joe had turned out to be the steadiest and most devoted of their childrens' spouses.

The Hannahs left the bar after nine, taking a cab to their home on the west side.

"You're right, darlin', Bobby's been through some rough times," Sharon linked her arm through her husband's.

"Yeah, but he just might be coming around," Joe said soberly.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Sharon asked. "You said he was going to therapy."

He snorted, "But he's "coming around" to his partner."

His wife laughed, "You got that, too? What the hell are you gonna do if he is? No rules about it."

"So what do you think?" Joe asked in turn.

"Well, I haven't seen him in years, and I don't know her," Sharon demurred.

"But?" Joe patted her cheek. "You have an opinion, you always do."

"Bobby Goren needs to get his head out of his ass, because that woman is in deep with him," Sharon said quietly.

"They have these conversations without sayin' a word," Joe agreed. "Need a God damn translator some days."

"He's a good man, Joe. And I like her," his wife smiled.

The cab arrived and he took her hand after he paid the cabbie, "My best girl-the romantic."

"Look how it turned out for us," she kissed him, then sashayed ahead of him to their front door.

Back at the bar, Bobby tried not to let his mood darken. The evening was winding down, and he was tired.

Always sensitive to his moods, Alex tried to stem the slide, "Nice evening, after the day we had," she smiled.

"Yeah, it was," he shook himself out of his reverie. "What you said earlier...you meant that."

She was momentarily confused, "What I said when?"
"In the park, after we arrested Danielle," he prompted. " 'we all want to believe.'"

"You told her the same thing," Alex confronted him gently. "Were you gaming her or did you mean it?"

"Not gaming her," he admitted. "Truth is, I don't know. And you didn't answer my question."

"I used to think so, when I was younger," she said after a silence.

"When you were married to Joe," Bobby's gaze was intense. "So you know that feeling, you've had it in your life."

"It didn't last, though," she said sadly, downing the last of her martini. "Does it ever last?"

Bobby signaled the bartender, "Another round."

"Not sure if we should," Alex grinned ruefully. "we have to work in the morning."

"You-you didn't finish your thought," he paid for their drinks, and took a hefty draw on his scotch.

"It was a rhetorical question," she grinned lopsidedly. "See, I can use those words, too."

"Maybe you should be done drinking," he chuckled.

Her face sobered, "I always thought that loving my husband was the one central truth in my life. But then he died, and the years pass." She was making circles with her martini glass on the table, then scooped some of the condensation with a fingertip, licked the drops. "He's been gone for way longer than we were together. And it's different now, I'm different." Her eyes drifted back up to his. "What about you-has there ever been anyone that you thought...?" she let the thought dangle.

"Certainly not the high-maintenance art professor," he mustered a grin.

"Seriously," Alex put her hand over his. "If you want to tell me."

"Oh, I've had relationships," he waved his hand. "Maybe even a few-um, long term ones. But every time I'd get to the logical next step, my life would implode. My mother, my father" he spit that out, "...Frank. I just didn't have the energy or the heart, I guess."

"I'm sorry, Bobby," she whispered. "Not fair."

"The doc, uh, she says I have anger issues, that it has kept me from having a normal relationship," he slammed the rest of his drink back. "If that ain't the fucking understatement of the year."

Alex held her breath. Drunk or not, he was letting her in. "Well, I don't know about that," she disagreed. "Look at us-twelve years. That's not nothin'." She was slurring her words a bit now.

"Friends without benefits," he said sarcastically, then regretted it as he saw the hurt in her eyes. "You-you're the longest relationship I've ever had with a woman," he grabbed her hand tightly, his voice intense. "I respect you and trust you and you are the safe place in my life. I cannot-I will not do anything to screw that up."

"I hate them, you know." she said vehemently.

"Hate who?" Bobby queried, confused.

"Your parents, your brother, Gage..." she gulped her martini. "They took a loving, caring little boy, and made him afraid. That he wasn't worthy. In spite of it, you became a wonderful, accomplished, empathetic man. That is, you have empathy for everyone but yourself." Tears blurred her eyes and made her voice crack. "If you don't learn anything else in therapy, I hope you learn that." She got to her feet, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...I've had too much to drink." Alex was contrite.

Bobby got up and took her arm, his own head buzzing, "N-no, you're...I'm glad you can be honest with me." His grin was lopsided, and he stumbled a bit. "Maybe I should have had you be my shrink."

Alex closed her eyes tightly, "There are things said in therapy you might not want me to hear..."

He bent to hear the rest of it as she let her hair fall over her face and her voice dropped to a whisper, "or things I might be afraid to say to you."

Bobby's gut twisted. This miserable fucking case. Kismet, true love...

"Kismet is a bitch," Alex gave voice to his thought, her snarky smile back.

They were on the sidewalk now, and Bobby hailed a cab. He held the door and made sure she was tucked in. Before he shut the door, he smiled, "See ya in the morning?"

"In the morning," she smiled back. "G'night."

"Call me when you get home," he urged.

She rolled her eyes, "I'm fine, really."

"Humor me," he flicked a finger at a strand of her hair.

Thirty minutes later, Alex was in Forest Hills, safely ensconced in her apartment. She took a seat inside the door and peeled off her boots. She wandered into the bedroom to finish undressing, then a stop in the bathroom to pee, wash her face, and brush her teeth. She regarded herself in the mirror solemnly. Tired, she thought. Sometimes she is surprised at her reflection, expecting to see the Alex of ten years ago. Slapping more cold water on her face, then snapping the overhead light off, she walks into the kitchen. Geez, her legs were still a little rubbery. She set the coffee pot for her morning caffeine fix, then hears her cell phone in the living room, muffled in her purse.

"Shit," she tripped over one of her boots, then the phone stopped ringing. Seconds later the land-line started. "I'm coming, damn it."

"Where were you?" Bobby's voice was peeved.

"Peeing, washing my face, and programming the coffee machine. Oh, and tripping over my boots trying to get to the phone," she limped to her bedroom, favoring her tender left foot.

"TMI, as the kids would say," Bobby admonished, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

"I'm home safe. Obviously," she still was grumpy from her lack of grace.

"Why do you wear those boots anyway?" he teased. "They're lethal weapons."

"Because I have this partner who has long legs and I don't want to be left in the dust." she countered with a sigh.

He got the message, she was tired, "As long as you can still walk."

"I don't think I'll be permanently lame," she yawned.

"RICE," he advised.

"At this hour?" she squinted at the clock. Twelve thirty. "I'm not really hungry."

"Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation," he said through gritted teeth.

"Or you come kiss it and make it better," that popped out before she could stop it.

"S-See you in the morning, Eames," he stammered.

"Night," she yawned. "Sweet dreams."

He stared at his phone, listening to the dial tone. Kiss it and...shit, she really was drunk. Bobby mentally shook himself as he flipped his phone back in the cradle. Sweet dreams, he pounded his pillow, then fell back, letting the remnants of the scotch lull him to sleep.

Friday at Major Case was relatively quiet. Bobby arrived at his usual early hour. He dug right into the paperwork left from the Kizmate case. He glanced up and smiled at his partner when she took her seat across from him.

"Your coffee might be cold," he cautioned.
"As long as it's caffeine," she tipped the cup to her lips. "Now I know why I keep you around."

"You're welcome," he grinned at her. "How's the foot?"
"Huh?" she looked puzzled. "Oh, yeah. It's fine, was able to do my usual five this morning."

"That's good," He rolled his chair around the desk, and sat next to her. For all the rest of the office knew, the partners were doing their usual dance. Bobby couldn't help messing with her. "Because Forest Hills was kind of a long way to go to kiss it and make it better," he murmured near her ear.

Alex brought her head up sharply, and caught the laughter in his eyes. Try as she might, she couldn't stop the blush that stained her cheeks.

Alex slapped her phone closed, and glanced at the clock. Ten twenty. Bobby should be out of his therapy appointment soon. As she drove, she tamped down her anxiety. What if Dr Gyson recommended the department fire him? What if she had to do this job without him? Alex gave herself a mental slap. Whether he was on the job or not, she would stand by him. Her partner trusted so few people in his life, and she was proud to say she was one of them. The year they spent exiled from their professional partnership was hurtful, an experience she didn't care to repeat. A year of Cold Case while Bobby was alternating between freelancing investigations for the FBI and traveling in Europe was enough separation for a lifetime.

The therapy was helping Bobby, she knew it. There was a sea change in him, in some ways like the dashing man she first partnered with. But this was better. His age, once troubling to her, was now an asset. He was taking better care of himself. He was running again, drinking less, and had cut his smoking way back. He was sharp at the crime scenes, and they seamlessly worked together. Sure, he still had fits of temper, he wouldn't be Bobby if he didn't. But he was getting better at reining himself in.

Alex put the SUV in park. All this talk about kismet and true love this week was a big hot button for her. For all her denials, she knew for sure she believed in true love. She hoped the man who was exorcising his demons behind those doors knew, too. Restless, she got out and started a slow stroll back and forth. She looked up at the sky, felt the humidity in the air. A storm was brewing, she hoped it would hold off long enough to process the crime scene.

Bobby listened to Dr Gyson, and he participated. He was going to stay in therapy, as long as she was willing to be his therapist. Not just to keep his badge, but maybe to have a normal life. And that normal life included someone very specific. Alex. Bobby had seen the looks she'd been giving him, hadn't missed her open affection for him or the flirting. She made him feel...like he was a desirable man, that he was worth something. At least he hoped so. It would take time, but she was worth it, they were worth it.

"Same time next week?" he asked Dr Gyson.

"Okay," she smiled as he closed the door behind him.

He picked up his blazer from the coat rack and headed down the hall and out the double doors. Lying. He'd have to stop lying to his therapist. But the one person who needed to know the truth first was standing there, waiting.

"Alex," he felt a surge of happiness. She was here, for him.

"How'd it go?" she strove to keep her tone light, but couldn't hide the bubble of joy rising in her chest.

"Good," he was smiling.

"Good," she felt the frisson of relief. "A call came in, DOA at a bank on west 44th street. The feds are already on their way but I thought we might want to..

"...get there first," he came in to finish her sentence.

Alex grinned happily, her eyebrows raised. She paused a beat before climbing behind the wheel.

He watched her through the window, trying to make up his mind, then slowly walked over to the passenger side.

Still, she didn't move to put on her seat-belt, or even start the ignition. Brown eyes tangoed, saying "we have time."

He smiled at her, reassured her, "Let's go."

Deep breath. I just watched the last scene in "Blue Knit Cap," and it impresses me as being more shippy each time. Okay, that's part one.