A/N This is my take on Goren's state of my after Purgatory. And to give somewhat of an explanation of his behavior, though not complete, because I don't think he entirely knows either.

This story is rated "M" for adult language, situations and themes, including sex. But this is not serious smut, although there is sex.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

A Deadly Calm Inside

By gorenrocks

"Guess, I'll see you in the morning," said Goren.

"Yep."

And just like that, Alex is gone.

This is great, just fucking great, thinks Bobby. He has never seen Alex Eames so mad before, not even during the Thanksgiving nightmare when Amanda Dockerty went missing and was found murdered. He's finally back at One Police Plaza after waiting so unendurably long. How's he ever going to fix things with his partner?

Six months suspended, and he'd dreamed about her, of sitting near her while she peered at her laptop, but drinking in her scent. Of being together in the SUV, while she hummed tunelessly to classic rock and him stealing glances at her sweet, familiar profile. But his favorite fantasies were of holding her, soft and warm in his arms, loving her through the night. Loving her, loving him.

He'd protected his dreams, like scraps of food in a prison camp, and they'd helped him live through the horror.

Now his suspension ends, and sweet Jesus, the nightmare is finally fucking over. But he can't stop reliving the moment his partnership imploded in the holding cell.

Is now okay? Goren winced, seeing her face contort when comprehension dawned, and hears her voice, unnaturally pitched with shock, You're undercover and you don't tell me? He watched tears fill her eyes before she hastily blinked them back.

It was an unbearable moment, and yet, he can't keep the scene out of his head. But what utterly destroys him now is her dispassionate eyes; Bobby figures she must see him as a stranger, because he can't believe she's looking at him like that, without an ember of warmth in her almond gaze.

Goren fears he's losing his last tenuous grip on reality. Since his lockup in that hell called Tate his life's been out of his control. He was told what to wear, what to eat, where to go, who to trust. When he got out it was much of the same. See the shrink. Don't work. Stay home. Don't think. Go undercover. Lie to your partner.

Should he have told Eames the truth, tried to explain his desperate efforts to return to life as he knew it? Ross had ordered his silence and it made sense, so what does that say about him? Does that make him even worse than she imagines, because telling her seemed a deadly dangerous thing to do?

Bobby had tried to explain to Eames, "This was my only way back. I mean...how else am I gonna get my shield?" She'd looked at him, face pinched and mouth turned down, and she responded with anger and disgust in her voice. Bobby figured she found his actions pathetic. Yet to him, they were far from pathetic. Yeah - he had risked his life - he made that choice. But he had not, and would never, risk hers.

Now he wonders how things got so fucking bad and if they can possibly get worse.

And then he opens his drawer and finds out.

When Bobby sees the rat he swallows his bitter reaction of shock and disgust; he'll face it another time. But getting rid of the rodent is trickier than he expects. Touching it with his bare hands seems like a very bad idea, not because it is evidence—he'll never report it - but just because it's a rat.

Trouble comes when he's maneuvering with the gloves and the empty plastic bag, trying to discreetly dispose of the body. Detective Megan Wheeler comes out of nowhere. Silent as a churchmouse.

"Goren?" she questions.

The rat's in the bag, half out of the drawer, and he tries to hide it with a folder.

"What are you doing, Goren?"

Bobby takes a minute to steel his nerves. "Nothing, Wheeler. Can you, uh, get me some, some paper, paper towels? Please?"

"What are you doing?" she persists.

"Nothing. Nothing, I'm—"

"What is that? Is that… that's a rat, isn't it! My God, who did that?"

"I don't – it doesn't," he sighs, and risks a sideways glance at Megan Wheeler, regarding her stiff posture and expression of horror. He doesn't have the emotional energy to deal with it. "Wheeler, please. You didn't see anything. Okay?"

Bobby sighs; it's not much of a stretch to meet her gaze. Wheeler folds her arms tight around her impossibly thin ribcage, and frowns. They lock eyes for a while, and he's sure it's their longest connection since he's met her. For the first time he wonders what the young detective must think of him – Goren, resident whack job. At least he's sure from her reaction that she didn't put the rat there, but the thought occurs to him: Is there anyone else at 1PP he feels that sure about? Ross? Eames….

Wheeler breaks the silence. "Okay, Goren."

"Huh?" huffs Bobby, surprised.

"Quick, finish what you're doing. I'll cover."

"Uh, okay. Thanks."

Bobby manages to get it right and seals the bag shut. After closing and locking his drawer, he stands and coughs.

Wheeler turns, and again, they share a look.

"Thanks, Megan."

"You're welcome."

Bobby nods, and turns to go, anxious to get rid of his package.

"And Bobby," he feels her touch on his arm and stops. "It's good to have you back."

This time he can't look at her, and hopes she understands why. His throat almost closes up but he manages a hoarse, thanks, before he makes his getaway.

The next day at work there are interviews and paperwork and meetings. Bobby doesn't see Eames much at all, not even for lunch. At first he's a bit relieved, but most of that is cancelled by guilt. Then as the day stretches on it gets harder without her. They pass each other, coming and going, and she gives him that tight, grim, doomed smile.

During these brief encounters, he studies her as much as he can manage without getting busted. He was gone so very long, and except for his dreams he never let himself believe he'd be reinstated.

And now he is here, and she is here, and she's beautiful and she's his, and he'll do whatever he has to do to make things right.

The day finally ends and Eames is clearing her desk to go home; he walks toward her.

"Goren!" Ross's voice booms from across the bullpen. "A word?" Bobby thinks, Fuck! What now?

It's nothing serious - a couple of new payroll codes since he's been gone - and it only lasts a few minutes. But by the time he's out of the office, Eames is gone.

Maybe she stopped to talk and he can still find her! he thinks.

Bobby runs out the door, sees her walking and knows he can catch her if he's fast enough.

"Eames. Eames!" He breaks into a trot. "Wait." He touches her arm and she stops and faces him. "I need to talk to you."

Eames glances away from him. "It's Friday, I'm meeting someone for drinks. I have to go."

"I'll go there with you. We can talk on the way. Then I'll leave."

"Just leave me alone. I'm tired."

"Eames, please!"

She finally looks him in the eye. "You had six months to talk to me, Bobby. So now what's the big rush?"

"That's not the same!"

"Why? Because now it's you who wants to talk? When I needed to talk to you – you couldn't even return my calls! The next time I saw you, you were pointing a gun at me." Her face is red and her chest is heaving. "But now, now I am required to wait and talk to you – why is that, Bobby?"

"Because – Because…. I don't know. I don't know how… how I'm ever going to explain everything. And whatever I did, I hurt you, I get that."

"You get it." She shakes her head. "I am sick of hearing that."

"Alex, I am trying! I don't know what to say to you!" he yells tonelessly. "Everything I say to you is wrong. Do you want us to stay this way? Do you?" He stares at her. She looks away but he doesn't let her, bending, contorting his torso to get in her line of vision. He bites his lip, struggles to get calm and lowers his voice. "I don't. I can't, Alex."

"Then that's your problem. You do something about it."

She walks away and doesn't look back.

It's late Friday night. Bobby has showered and changed into a white long-sleeve button down shirt, un-tucked, and favorite jeans, but he can't manage to eat. The lights are off, the TV is on low and he sits on the sofa, nursing a tumbler of Scotch.

When his mom got sick, the odors of hospitals and treatments merged with the stress and torment and arguments that became his daily existence. The brain can form strange associations when it comes to survival and over time, his mind blocked out almost all smells, not just offensive ones.

After Tate, it came to the point where all his senses were dulled. He didn't get jokes anymore, books bored him silly, and talking to women exhausted him. He didn't even taste the Scotch that fogged his brain nearly every night.

But in the past two days he's noticed odors again. Little things like coffee in the morning, freshly sharpened pencils, white-out and Windex…and Eames. After work, when he'd tried and failed to talk to her, he'd been close enough to smell her and for a few dizzying moments the pleasure had made him giddy. If he hadn't been so desperate to get through to her, he'd have been tempted to bury his face in her neck and stay there as long as she'd let him.

There's a knock at his door and it jerks him away from his thoughts. He opens it and his partner waltzes straight in on an invisible cloud of gently scented fragrances - soap and shampoo and body lotion - and she looks around.

"Forget to pay your electric bill?" Eames snaps, and shrugs off her hoodie, hanging it on a small hook.

"There's nothing I want to see."

She marches to the TV and shuts it off, so other than ambient light they're standing in darkness. She gets straight to the point. "I know about the rat, Bobby."

"How did you find out?"

"I had drinks with Megan tonight. Why didn't you tell me?"

"So are there rules, Alex?" He steps close to her, and is right in her face. "On what I can and can't talk to you about? Because you have to let me know what they are – I can't just figure them out myself."

She regards him like he's speaking to her in German. "What are you talking about?"

"You're saying that tonight, you would have talked to me, about-about…a rat?" Bobby covers his mouth, closing his eyes, and then continues. "I just- just didn't think it mattered."

"Is this how it is now, Goren? You think because I'm mad, that I don't care anymore? Is that because you don't care?"

"Don't tell me how I feel."

"Then you tell me – how do you feel, Bobby?"

"I wanted to talk to you tonight! You didn't hang around long enough, Eames."

"Wha—I didn't hang around?" She gets that same wide-eyed look of disbelief she had when she realized he'd gone undercover. "What about when I needed you and you walked away from me, Bobby! You wouldn't even look at me! You left me standing high and dry on the middle of a fucking sidewalk!"

"Aw, fuck!" He feels a hot, toxic mass form in his gut and thinks he might be sick. He runs to the kitchen and slams the cold water tap, cups his palms and then splashes a large handful in his face. He sneaks a sideways glance at her and notes the purpose in her jaw, the fire in her eyes.

"What's going on, Bobby. You startin' to feel something? That why you're runnin' away?"

"I'm in my kitchen, Eames. That's hardly running anywhere." He grabs a towel and scrubs his face, turns his back on her and heads to the living room. She follows him."

"See, you are running. You felt something, but then you shut down."

Bobby stops at the overstuffed arm of his sofa and sits on it, folding his arms against his chest. She plants herself in front of him.

"It's why you wouldn't tell me you found that damn rat. You're afraid to share any emotion."

He looks at his feet. "I don't follow you."

"Yes you do. You taught me about affect. So where's yours, Goren? Six months I hardly see you. Then nearly kill you. How many kinds of fucked up is that? But you, you don't raise your voice, yell at Ross, apologize to me—"

"I told you I was sorry."

"Yeah, you did. An I'm sorry that sounded like you just bumped me in the hallway. Or stepped on my foot."

"Jesus Christ, Alex! he fumed. "You're just so fucking," disgusted, hurt, he thinks, but he says, "angry. I don't know what to do with that," he tells her, knowing it's not exactly the truth.

For a minute he thinks she might actually choke. "And you, Bobby, why aren't you angry? Why aren't you furious at Ross? At the Chief of D's? All I get from you is a dull-eyed stare!"

"While I was gone, Eames, you were working cases!" he blurts out. "Did you tell me everything you were working on?"

He sees he'sknocked her off balance. "No, but, Bobby – you were suspended. And I…"

"But what? I was suspended, and you weren't allowed to talk to me? Your partner?" He laces his fingers together, emboldened and on firmer ground - at least for the moment. "And did you ever think that if I told you I was working undercover, knowing that fact, you might have walked through that door and hesitated? And if it wasn't me there, Alex, you would have been killed?"

"Bobby—"

"You talk about trust, were you willing to trust me at all? Or did you think I was too far gone? Did you buy into the idea I was the department whack job? Did you finally give up on me?"

"Just shut up, Bobby – shut up! I didn't give up on you! I'd never give up on you…you… you gave up on us!"

"I—I did not!" He takes her hand, but she pulls free. "What do you want from me, Alex? Just tell me, what? Because I don't have a fucking clue."

"You wanted to talk? I'm here now - talk to me, Bobby. We're partners. Tell me what's going on! What are you going to do about that rat?"

"Forget the damn rat!" He can cop with her disgust and hurt – and now pity? An ember flares in his gut, he sees thick black gashes obscure the words he wants to say, hears static roar in his head. A wounded Goren is capable of anything, because he knows that pain will make her forget everything but her own suffering.

"I—I don't…don't know who put it there. I haven't ruled anyone out. For all I know, it might be, maybe even…"

When he hesitates, even for a second, he knows that mentally she's finished his sentence she can't bear to hear him finish it, that he might think her capable of such an impossible betrayal.

So it's impulse that operates her muscle and pulls back her hand to slap his face, to shut him up before he can say it; but he's too fast and grabs her wrist mid-swing.

"I'm glad you stopped me," she seethes, "but how dare you even think I could do that!"

He shakes his head. "I was going to say, for all I know about the chief of Ds, he probably put it there. But I don't care if you hit me, Alex. I'm sure I deserve it."

"I don't know what you're doing exactly, Goren, but you're playing games with my head! So don't you dare try to make me feel guilty."

"That's right, I forgot. All my wounds are self inflicted." Goren sinks further into the plush cushion. Exhausted, he feels himself falling straight through the floor, to the apartment below, triggering a chain reaction plunging him into the fires of hell. Anger he can handle, but he can't stand more pain and disgust and pity on her face. "So go ahead, inflict some real ones, physical wounds." He lifts his eyebrows. "Show me what you've got, Alex."

"Oh, no. I have no intention of letting you goad me again, into hitting you."

"Who said anything about hitting?" He deliberately slides his eyes from her slim calves to her toned thighs and lingers at obviously unbound breasts outlined by the thin tank top."There are far more satisfying ways to hurt a man. Or has it been so long you've forgotten how?" A delightful rosy blush infuses her chest and neck.

"Fuck you, Goren."

"Bite me, Eames." He circles his hands around her small waist, and he notes with pleasure how his fingers almost meet. Drawing her close, he feels her breath on his cheek."

"Let me go, you bastard!" Alex twists and scratches his hands but he laughs and squeezes her

"C'mon, little girl, you can do better. I won't bite back. I promise."

Eyes dark with anger, she grabs two fistfuls of his shirt, leans in and captures his lower lip - and then bites down sharply. Bobby winces and squeezes his eyes shut. Alex runs her tongue under his lips and over his teeth and bites down again, and he tastes his own blood. Pain and pleasure surge through his groin.

He feels a whisper tickle his chest as her fingers slide buttons and free his shirt. Sharp teeth fasten on his bare shoulder - this time he groans.

"Yeah," he presses his mouth against her ear, and slides one hand under her shirt to her spine and one in her hair, urging her on. "That's good. Give me more."

"You fucking bastard," is muffled against his chest before he feels another deep bite, above his right nipple.

"I'll be anything you want," he assures her, and his lips, slack against her neck, drink her in.

Lifting her leg she straddles his thigh and her heat burns through their clothes to his skin, so he moves a hand to her hip while he rocks against her center. Trim nails on strong, slender fingers rake over his back as she rides his leg. Her mouth moves rapidly across his neck and chest and the pain and heat engulf him.

And Bobby feels alive and connected for the first time in over six months.

"Alex," he whispers, and sucks the soft skin just under her jaw. She cups his cheeks with cool fingers and yanks his head to her face, plunging her tongue deep inside his mouth.

He drops back onto the sofa, pulling her on top of him. Pushing his hands under her jeans he cups her ass with both palms and squeezes.

- and that's when he feels his cock become fully erect and jam into her gut.

She shoves her small hand between them and squeezes him again and again. She sucks his tongue and he's so hard, and then her hand moves and her pants become loose and he pushes them off. Her skin is bare and soft and… "You're so fucking wet, Alex," he growls.

She drags her nails down his chest and sinks her teeth into his shoulder. His long fingers enter her core; his thumb strokes in just the right spot while his free hand squeezes her ass. She squirms on top of him, grinding into his rigid length, sucking and biting his neck.

Bobby wants to flip her over, rip off her shirt and suck her breasts. He wants to free his stiff cock and bury it inside her. But this is her night, she's calling the shots. So he rubs and strokes her, reveling as her moans and shivers of pleasure increase.

He slides his fingers under her top. "You want more?" he whispers.

"Yeah." Only one word, yet her voice is lush with desire and he barely retains control.

"Take off your shirt," he orders harshly.

Her arms shake when she pulls her tank over her head. Her stiff nipples brush against his battered chest, they both groan, and she offers him her swollen lips. He crushes them, kissing her hard, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth, and moves his hand from her butt to knead her bare breast.

He switches between tonguing her mouth and sucking her lips. She's crying her need into his mouth and his pleasure is so intense he wants to keep it going forever, but he knows she needs release, and he's in danger of coming, too – and he's not near ready. So he captures her rigid nipple between thumb and finger and squeezes hard. She rips her mouth away from him.

"Bobby, yeah," she screams, arching her back. He feels her climax, her muscles tighten around his fingers, wetness surging and covering his hand. She buries her face against his neck but he has to see her come, so he moves his hand from her breast to her hair and gently pulls her up.

She's panting and her face is flushed and wet, he's never seen her more lovely, more desirable. He cups her cheek and brushes her tears with his thumb. He slowly withdraws his fingers but keeps his hand between her thighs and just holds her soft, wet warmth.

"Christ, Alex, you're so beautiful." His voice catches. "Please, don't ever leave me again."

Her two small hands cup his cheeks, and she starts to openly cry while she covers his face in small kisses.

"I hated you, Bobby," she sobs, "I found out and I hated you."

"I know," he whispers, kissing her lips.

"I hated you and…and I can't hate you, Bobby, cause… "

"It's okay, baby," he runs his tongue across her lips, back and forth, distracting her, because he's not ready to hear what she's about to confess. So he kisses her deeply, taking her breath away.

And then finally, "It's alright, Alex," and he tightens his arm around her, comforting her.

She lifts her head and they stare at each other. Love and sex surround them, living and breathing - tangible and waiting to be confronted, but which one first?

"Make love to me, Bobby."

tbc