Prologue: Working on a new profiling system, the FBI tagged Goren to help with the development and implementation of that system. The NYPD brass had shown token resistance to lending him out until the Bureau offered them the chance to be the first police department in the country to have the system available to them. With Goren as one of the key developers, they would be many strides ahead of any other department once the system came online for widespread use. So he was on loan to the Bureau, indefinitely, and the FBI was calling the shots.

Bobby Goren usually looked forward to Friday afternoons, but the past couple of Fridays had been different. He had just completed his seventh week in Washington, and he was restless, anxious to get the job over with and go home, back to his job, to his life and to Eames. The first three weeks hadn't been bad. The workweek was busy and he had been able to go home on the weekends. However, over the course of the last month, he had not gotten a break. Tied up with work and meetings everyday, including the weekends, he had been unable to visit New York. It had been a very long month, and he was lonely.

He missed the city. He missed Mike Logan, who seemed to be a different man since retiring from the department. Redefining himself, Logan found a new calling mentoring troubled, inner city kids. Goren liked the changes he saw in his friend. Logan was more relaxed, less angry, and Goren liked the kids he mentored.

He missed the job, the thrill of the chase, the heady rush of closing in on his prey, the mixed emotions that came with obtaining a confession.

But more than any of it, more than all of it combined, he missed her. His partner, his friend, his lover...

The last one was new, a fantasy he'd never imagined would become reality. He wasn't really even sure how it came about. One day they were partners, and then...his brother died, and he was framed for his murder. Nicole Wallace died, and it sure looked like he was settling old scores. And then Gage, the man he'd once considered a father, handed him the ultimate betrayal. Bobby, you're free... How was he supposed to handle that?

Through it all, Eames had been there, silently supportive, but he had been too lost in his own distress to notice. After Gage's arrest, he left 1PP alone. Deep in despair and grief, he'd floundered, and she found him. She took him home, stayed with him as he sobered, didn't let him chase her away. That night, she changed his life. It began innocently. He had certainly never intended to end up in bed with her. In fact, sleeping with her had been the furthest thing from his mind. Still reeling from Gage's betrayal, he'd withdrawn, lashing out angrily when she pressed him to talk to her. Never one to tolerate that from him, she had snapped back at him and an argument was born.

Normally, his tendency was to give in to her, but his grief, his anger and the alcohol in his system had him fired up. She refused to be intimidated by him and faced off against him without fear. He yelled and she yelled back. The air between them was charged with emotion, and something happened that he was still unable to explain. One minute he was yelling at her, furious, and then...he was kissing her with just as much passion. All of his emotions, positive and negative, were transformed, feeding that passion. He didn't know about her, but for him, that kiss changed everything.

Before he knew what was happening, her nimble fingers were unbuttoning his shirt and his pants, and they were making their way down the hall to his bedroom, unable to keep their hands off one another. Clothes littered the floor and they fell onto the bed, a frantic tangle of desperation and need.

Several factors played into what happened that night and in the days that followed. Had they not been in his apartment, it was unlikely they would have ended up in bed. He would have ended the argument by leaving. But he was not going to leave his home, so instead, he attempted to drive her away. Eames, however, refused to be driven away, and the fire in her was somehow diverted into passion for him.

Another factor that landed them in his bed was the alcohol in his system. Had he been completely sober, it never would have happened. But everything converged to fuel an explosive passion neither of them could deny.

The following morning, he woke, alone in the bed, with a throbbing head full of confusion and remorse, until he found her in the kitchen, reading the paper with her breakfast. "What happened last night?" he wondered as he sat across from her.

"We slept together," she answered without looking up, her tone completely matter-of-fact.

"I know that," he answered, mildly annoyed. "But what does it mean?"

Slowly, she lowered the paper and looked at him. "What do you want it to mean?"

He stared at her as though she were speaking Martian. "I don't understand," he finally said.

With a saint's patience, she answered, "Either it meant something or it didn't. You decide."

"Why are you putting that on me?"

"Because you are the one who runs away from commitment."

"I...what?"

"You heard me. Look, Bobby, if it was something significant for you, then you have to tell me. I am not the profiler. I can't read you."

"Significant..." he mused, closing his eyes as he rubbed his temples. After a few minutes, he opened them slowly and looked at her. "I...I can't...I mean...I don't know how to describe what it was."

"It was sex," she said, and he wasn't sure she was trying to be helpful.

"It was...more than that. It was..." He paused, searching for words he could not find. "You saved me," he finished lamely.

"I don't think I would go that far," she countered.

"You wanted to know what it meant for me," he snapped, his petulant tone turning suddenly angry. "Look, Eames, if you want out, then go. It doesn't have to mean a damn thing if you don't want it to."

For the second time in as many days, something happened that he could not explain. He rose from the chair and walked toward the doorway. Just before he got there, he heard her chair scrape the floor. She grabbed his arm and yanked hard. She was not strong enough to move him, but he turned to face her when she jerked his arm. She glared at him and growled, "I don't know what it is, either, but it's there, and it's real, and I want it. If you don't, then walk away now."

With those few words, she had opened the door for him to withdraw while making it clear that she would not give him another chance. He'd already had more chances than he deserved from her. Whatever he decided, he would have to live with it for good. For a man who had a real tendency to overthink things, he put no thought into his response. For once, he let his emotions have full reign and he responded by kissing her. They ended up back in the bed, and his head quit hurting.

The memory of that first night together, and many others during the six months that followed, went a long way toward sustaining him emotionally during his time away. Their relationship was extremely passionate and they argued frequently, but neither of them ever walked away until it was finished. Few of the arguments were serious ones involving real anger. More accurately, they were heated discussions, and he was always the one to give in. She loved to be right, to win in a dispute with him, and he didn't mind letting her have that. She was incredibly beautiful when she was fired up, and he never minded letting her win, regardless of who he thought was actually right. He quickly learned that right and wrong did not matter in their disputes, and each one fascinated him as much as she did. Their make-ups were as fire-driven as their arguments, and that made it worth giving in for him, even when he was right.

He missed her terribly. His life in Washington was a lonely one. A couple of his female co-workers made it abundantly clear they would love to spend some quality time with him, but he let them down gently. He belonged to another—heart, body, and soul. He had a strict code of ethics, born of his uncertain and volatile upbringing and honed by a lifetime in law enforcement, and it guided every aspect of his life, including his interpersonal relationships. He remembered the nights his father came home, reeking of gin and perfume and sex, and the pain in his mother that fueled her violent response to his infidelity. He remembered the fights, his father's rage, his mother's tears. Eames had accused him of running away from commitment, and that was true. He never wanted to cause a woman that kind of pain, and he avoided it by minimizing his involvement in relationships. That was part of the reason they never worked out. Each breakup played like a broken record. The sex was great, but it was never enough to sustain a long-term relationship. She always wanted more, which was something he was unwilling to give.

At the very start of their intimacy, Eames was strides ahead of any other relationship he had ever had. She began the relationship in his bed, a place other women never saw. She stayed the night nestled in his arms, another rarity. Usually, after sex at her place, whoever she happened to be, he went home once she was asleep. Most women weren't willing to put up with that indefinitely, no matter how good the sex was. When he did stay the night, he left early, usually before she had to get up, which eventually became a sore spot as well. He simply never quite figured out how to balance his needs with hers.

With other women, despite his considerate nature, his take on the relationship had largely been about what he could get from her while it lasted. Usually, that was nothing more than physical satisfaction through sex. With Eames, he focused more on what he could give to her, and in the giving, he received more than he ever would have imagined. With her, amazingly, he found love, though he hadn't yet identified it as such.

Entering his apartment, he pulled off his jacket and his tie and headed for the bedroom. Stripping to his boxers, he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He was inordinately excited about seeing her and couldn't keep his mind off her. Showering quickly, he pulled on a clean pair of boxers and looked at himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. When he first got to Washington, out of boredom, he began working out in the gym on the third floor of the federal building. Gradually, he began watching his diet as well. Over the past month, he had put more effort into his workouts, to distract him from his lonely boredom, and his efforts were paying off. Gone were the extra pounds around his middle that began to show up after his mother's cancer diagnosis. In their place was a trimmer waistline and developing muscle tone. He was starting to feel good about himself again, and women were noticing him again. His life in general was better than it had been in years.

He returned to the bedroom as the phone rang. Apprehensively, he picked up the bedroom extension, half expecting his boss to be on the other end. "Goren."

"Hi. It's me."

He smiled as his heart fluttered at the sound of her voice. "Hi, me. How are you?"

"I'm good, but I have some bad news. Something came up and I can't see you this weekend."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"I told you, something came up. You may as well just stay in Washington. Get more of your work out of the way so you can come home next weekend."

"Alex..."

"I've gotta go."

"But, Alex...I..."

"Next weekend, Bobby. I'll see you then. Bye."

Deeply disappointed, he hung up the phone. She was lying to him. He heard it in her voice. Nothing had come up. He couldn't help but feel that she was punishing him for the last few weeks, getting back at him for disappointing her. Few things were more vicious than the grudges she held. He tried not to be angry, but he wasn't succeeding very well. His anger turned vindictive. If she wanted to play those games, fine. He could play them as well. He finished dressing and went out. There were certainly ways to soothe the hurt he felt. He planned to find one.

She was very pretty, about as different from Eames as a woman could get. She was leggy, almost eight inches taller than Eames, with long dark hair, deeply tanned skin and dark eyes that looked right into a man's soul. He bought her a couple of drinks and flirted with her for half the night. It was all quite innocent, at least on his part, because he found that, despite his hurt feelings, Eames was never far from his thoughts.

Then, she kissed him, and, to his horror, he found himself desperate for more. When she invited him to take the party to her place, he slid into a state of near panic. Flirting came naturally to him, part of the legacy left to him by both his father and the man who raised him, but tonight, it was simply an innocent way to blow off steam. Her proposition was a natural progression from the flirting, and he would have taken her up on it in a heartbeat were it not for Eames. Hurt or not, he just did not have it in him to be unfaithful to her. It was in that moment that realization penetrated his half-sodden brain and he could place a name to the complex emotions that fired his soul: he was in love with Eames. With a sincere apology, he gently refused her offer.

He paid for their drinks, offered another apology and left the bar. He walked around for awhile, sobering as he pondered what had become for him a dilemma. If Eames had let him finish his sentence, he was going to tell her, truthfully, that he needed her, because he did, and that now made him angry, that he felt that way. But it was the truth, and he slid from anger into depression, vacillating from driving up to New York anyway to remaining in Washington out of spite and then simply because he was giving up. He honestly had no real idea of what he felt or what he wanted to do. He was lost in his thoughts until his phone rang. "Goren."

"Hey, buddy. What's up?"

He smiled briefly at Logan's voice. "Not a damn thing."

"I thought you were coming home for the weekend."

"So did I, but something came up."

"Really? You gotta work again?"

"Eames was the one who cancelled, not me. She told me to stay here, that something came up and she couldn't see me."

"And you bought that? You think that if you turned up on her doorstep she'd turn you away?"

"She's the one who calls the shots, Mike," he said bitterly. "I...I'm just going to stay here in Washington."

"Moping around feeling sorry for yourself all weekend? Like hell you are. I'll come down tonight, and you and I can make a weekend of it."

"It's not the same."

"Maybe not, but we'll still have fun."

Goren offered a sigh of resignation, but he smiled again. "Okay, fine, but I don't know about the fun part."

"You leave that to me." He paused, reading something in Goren's tone that bothered him. "Are you okay?"

Goren hesitated for a moment. Never one to confide in another person, he found that particular trait a thing of the past as his friendship with Logan deepened. "I think I'm in trouble, Mike," he confessed.

Concern filled Logan's voice. "Why? What happened?"

"I..." He had no idea how to put his problem into words because speaking it aloud would somehow make it more real. He wasn't sure he was ready for that. As long as it existed only in his head, he could keep it under control. Yet, somewhere beyond the haze of alcohol, lurked the thought that maybe it wouldn't be such a horrible thing, making it real. "I...I think...Mike, I think I'm in love."

Logan wasn't sure how to answer that. "Do I know her?" he finally asked.

"You're hilarious."

"Are you telling me you're in love with Eames?"

"Do you have any idea how complicated that makes my life?"

"You're right. You are in trouble."

"What do I do?"

"Don't do a damn thing until I get there. We'll figure it out."

Somehow, he felt better. "Okay. I'll head home."

Another moment of silence. "Where are you?"

"I have no clue."

"You're kidding me. Bobby, your tendency to wander is troubling enough here at home. You can find real trouble down there. You don't know Washington the way you know New York."

"I'll find my way home."

"Be careful, will you?"

"I'll be fine. Do you still have the key I gave you?"

"Of course I do."

"Then I'll see you later."

Goren ended the call and slipped his phone back into his pocket. Still lonely and miserable, he found his way back to his apartment, knocked back a few more beers and fell asleep watching the news.

Logan looked at his phone for a minute after Goren hung up, feeling bad for his friend's depression and troubled by his revelation. Damn, he thought. He made another call. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he said when she answered.

"That's not the way to start a conversation with me, Logan," she snapped.

"'Something came up?' That's what you went with?"

"It was the closest thing to the truth I had. Something did come up."

"You would have been better off lying to him, Alex. He doesn't expect that from you. But 'something came up?' That's a classic blow off line."

"I could have told him I was spending the weekend with you. That wouldn't have been a lie, either."

"If you'd given him a believable lie, he wouldn't have gotten so upset."

She felt bad for upsetting him. "How upset is he?"

"Upset enough to go on one of his wandering walkabouts."

"In Washington?"

"No, in Atlanta. Of course, in Washington."

"What did you tell him?"

Goren's careful speech and occasional slurred word told Logan he'd had more than just a couple of drinks, and he decided against telling her what he'd said. Maybe it had simply been the alcohol talking. "Just that he and I would make a weekend of it. He said it wasn't the same."

"Damn. Maybe I should call him back."

"You were the one who wanted to surprise him in the first place."

"But I didn't want to upset him."

"And yet, you chose 'Something came up.'"

"Bite me, Logan."

He chuckled. "Just pack your bag and I'll be by to get you in about an hour. He'll be okay until we get there."

"Fine. I'll be ready."

Closing her phone, she sat on the edge of her bed and turned it over in her hands. Truthfully, she had planned to use some kind of fabrication but each lie she came up with would either need an elaborate back story to satisfy his curiosity or allay his concern, or it wasn't a good enough excuse to keep him in Washington. Of course, being vague had no guarantees of keeping him in place, and she knew he'd been disappointed, but that was temporary. Excited about surprising him, she had forgotten how sensitive he could be, especially with her.

Then again, it was his own fault. He was the stubborn one this time. She had offered to drive down to see him last weekend, but he didn't want her to be the one subjected to the travel between the cities. He blamed himself for their enforced separation. His damned chivalry annoyed her enough to keep her in New York for the past month, but not seeing him was getting old. Okay, so he'd been right about being busy for the past three weekends, but she was still lonely, and she missed him. It would have been enough for her just to cuddle in bed with him at night. Not even spending the weekends with her nephew had eased her loneliness. She wanted a real change, to spend time with him in a different venue. She wanted to drive down to the Capitol, but he was adamant about coming home. So she had to trip him up a little.

She was troubled that her excuse upset him, but hopefully, he would be in a forgiving mood when she and Logan turned up at his door. At first, she had planned to make the drive alone, but then she talked to Logan and found out that he was also planning to drive down to see Goren. She knew that he and Goren sometimes went out for a few beers, but she hadn't realized they'd grown so close, and Logan missed him, too. Glad for the company on the drive, she finished packing and waited for Logan to pick her up.