Here is the first chapter to the sequel to The Colour and the Shape. I'm sure that its terrible, but I've ruminated over most of this text since December. I'm not sure if I'll go on, but here is something. Also, although it will help you to understand the action in this story on a deeper level, it is not necesary to have read the previous story to appreciate this one as I will try to re-cap as much as I feel is necessary to know.

Last Place You Look

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Chapter 1 – Shimmer



Alex batted at the alarm as she silently cursed the wretched noise that was piercing her eardrums and making it impossible to go back to sleep. Sitting up, she swept her hair out of her face. She squinted against the shards of sunlight were beginning to stab themselves through the chinks in her Venetian blinds. She stumbled into her bathroom, stripping along the way. She stepped out of her underwear and into the shower.



Today would mark her first day back at One Police Plaza in six weeks. It would also mark her first day on the job without Bobby in almost ten years. She quickly pushed the thought of Bobby not being at work out of her mind.



After she finished showering, she retraced her steps back into her room, picking up he clothes she had shucked and placing them in the hamper. She went to the chair in the corner of the room next to her bed and picked up the pair of black hip-huggers that she laid out the night before. She dressed quickly.



Alex took one last look at herself in the mirror before she unlocked her service weapon and badge from the locked box in which she kept them. She clipped her badge to her belt and put her gun in its holster. It felt odd to have these items on her person once again.



****

Mike groggily spooned Rice Krispies into his mouth. Working cases by himself for the last six weeks was taking its toll. He missed not having a partner. He longed for Wheeler to come back, but Ross informed him the previous week that her return would be postponed even further.



He missed his partner. It seemed like every time they began to get close to one another, the task force would come in and take her away. He had taken the news of her second hiatus better than he had taken the first, but when Ross called him into the office the previous day to update him on Wheeler's return, he couldn't help but feel more than slightly disappointed that she would not be back soon.



He needed her. Not because he didn't like to work cases alone. Not because it kept him off the desk. He somehow hoped that her return would mark the end of the rollercoaster that had been his life for the last seven weeks.



Mike looked at his watch and realized that he was moving much slower than he had anticipated. He took another hurried bite of his cereal and placed the bowl in the sink. He glanced at the calendar that was tacked to the nearby wall, taking in the black check mark with a seven written next to it.



The cryptic marking was a subtle, yet effective reminder of his appointment with Dr. Elizabeth Olivet. He would be meeting with her at her office after he got off work in the evening, marking the sixth week of their renewed therapeutic relationship. This time the relationship was voluntary.



Mike tugged his stocking cap over his ears and hastily exited the apartment. He glanced at his watch once more as he rushed down the stairs and out the front door of his building. He fished through his pockets for his gloves. Mike swore under his breath when he realized that they were still in his apartment. He would miss his train if he went back up to get them so he stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked briskly toward the subway.



****



"Blasted rush hour," Alex muttered to herself. She reclined her head against the headrest behind her. She hated dealing with the morning traffic. She knew that if she were smart, she would get herself an apartment closer to Manhattan so that she could walk or take the subway to work. But the thought of selling her house, the first house that she had ever called her own, the house that she and Joe had saved two years for…



Her train of thought was broken by the sound of her ringtone. "Eames," she sighed.



"Detective," Ross greeted on the other end.



"Good morning, Captain."



"Good morning to you, too. I was calling to see if you were coming into the squad today."



"I'm in traffic right now," Alex said, appraising the cars surrounding her.



"Very good. Stop by my office as soon as you can."



Alex promised that she would and closed her phone. Ross' call filled her with a sense of dread. She knew exactly why he wanted her to come by his office.



****



Dumbfounded was the only word that could even come close to describing how Mike felt when Captain Ross ordered him to move his stuff into Goren's desk. Trepidation was the only word that described how he felt when Ross informed him that Alex would be his new partner.



He tried to look nonchalant while he organized his paperwork and pens on his desktop. He reminded himself that Ross had no idea what had happened between himself and Alex. "I'm not going to say anything about anything," Mike thought, "We weren't even on the same squad when any of it happened so we won't be in trouble. If she doesn't want to be my partner, she can call it."



"Logan," Ross called, "Come in here when you get a minute."



"Yes, sir," Logan replied. He attempted to buy himself more time by organizing his files. After he dropped the last manila folder into the file drawer, he looked in the direction of Ross' office. The door was expectantly ajar. Mike rubbed at a phantom crook in his neck as he grudgingly rose from the desk chair.



"Detective Eames should be here any time now," Ross stated in place of a greeting.



Mike shut the door behind him. "Does she know that she's getting a new partner today," he asked, his fingers pulling at a loose thread in his pants pocket.



"I'm sure that she probably suspects it. I understand that you've worked with her before."



"On the Brooklyn Fed case. My girlfriend at the time was a nurse in there. I was a little miffed that MCS interrogated her, so I invited myself to help out on the case."



"That's how you earned your spot on the squad?"



"Jimmy Deakins saved me from retiring on Staten Island. We also worked the Garrett case jointly with our respective partners."



"I put you with her because I thought that it might help to ease the transition."



They both new that Ross was using the term 'ease' loosely.



"What happens when Wheeler comes back?"



"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."



****



Alex collected her wits before she opened her car door. She promised herself that she was going to have a great day. She was not going to let the fact that Bobby wouldn't be there bother her. She reminded herself that she had been away for almost six months while she was pregnant.



Alex made one last attempt to collect herself as the elevator doors opened on the eleventh floor. She had been mentally preparing to deal with seeing Bobby's empty desk since she woke up that morning. She decided that she would take a good long look at it when she entered the squad, and then ignore it the rest of the day. She turned toward the squad room and stopped cold. Bobby's desk was not empty, and she knew immediately that it was not his things that were scattered haphazardly on the desktop.



Alex felt a volcano of anger bubble inside of her. She stomped to Ross' office and flung the door open. "Whose junk is on Bobby's desk," she demanded.



"Good morning, Detective," Ross greeted, cynicism evident in his voice.



"Whoever called dibs on Bobby's desk needs to move their stuff because he's coming back, and he's going to be ticked if someone's crap scratches up his desktop," Alex fumed.



"That so-called 'crap' belongs to your new partner," Ross informed.



"I don't need a new partner. Bobby…"



"Detective Goren is working with the FBI right now," Ross cut in, "Detective Logan will be your new partner."



Alex noticed for the first time that Mike was standing in the corner of the room.



"I wasn't expecting a warm reception," Mike spoke up.



"Have a seat. Both of you," Ross ordered.



Alex was too flabbergasted to continue her protest. She absently sat in the nearest seat facing Ross' desk.



Mike timidly uprooted himself from his position in the corner and took the seat next to Alex.



"I know that each of you would rather be working with your respective partners, but circumstance has prevented that. I hope that you two will be able to move past that and foster a partnership. You two are going to be together for a long time, so keep that in mind." Captain Ross' tenor was gentle but authoritative.



"I don't think we'll have a problem," Mike lied. He hoped that the Captain would buy his false optimism.



Alex nodded in agreement. She still hadn't found her voice.



"Glad to see that we're all on the same page. With that said, you two won't be catching for awhile. I want you guys to adjust to your new situation before I send you off on a case together. It goes against my philosophy, I know, but I thought that I would try something new. Detective Eames, you'll have seniority since you've been on the squad the longest." Ross eyed his detectives. He sensed a strange tension in the room, but he chalked it up to the fact that both detectives were dealing with some disappointment regarding their regular partners. "You're dismissed." Logan and Eames stood in near unison and exited Ross' office.



"Don't try to talk to me now," Alex stated, lifting a dismissive hand as she stomped to her desk.



"Alex," Mike entreated, his voice was low and husky. His fingertips brushed her elbow.



"Please," she pleaded. She took off her coat and draped it over the back of her chair.



"I'm glad that Ross made us partners," Mike attempted after a few moments of silence. Alex didn't respond. Mike fidgeted with his pen, searching for something to say. When nothing came to him, he returned his gaze to his paperwork.



****



"Mike," Alex called from across the squad room cafeteria. She waved him over to the table where she was sitting.



He hesitated for a moment as he stopped to take a sip of his coffee. He hoped that it would buy him some time to think. He found his feet striding in her direction. The cafeteria had been long empty, but they had both been too busy to eat during the normal lunch period. He sat in the chair opposite her, he cast his eyes downward. He had hoped to avoid being completely alone with her.



She looked at him tentatively, trying to get a read on what he was thinking and feeling. She realized that she had previously been cold toward him. She felt that she had to be. She couldn't let on that she still had feelings for him. Feelings she, as yet, had failed to sort through.



It wasn't safe.



After what he had done to her…She didn't know if she could bring herself to that level of trust with him again.



He looked up at her. Their eyes connected briefly before he looked away. He wondered why she asked him to sit with her, but decided that it would be more awkward and draw unnecessary attention for them not to be sitting with one another. He came to the conclusion that her gesture of goodwill was merely a device to avoid any questions.



"I'm sorry," Alex stated.



"What do you have to be sorry about," he countered.



"I've been absolutely frigid toward you…I don't mean to…," she stammered.



"You have every right," he cut in, not looking up from his cup.



"Mike," she breathed, "It's in the past now. I want to forget what happened between us…I want to be able to trust you again…I…," she trailed off.



"How can you trust me, when I can't even trust myself? As much as I…as I care about you. Alex. I…I can't forget. What I did. I was wrong…"



"Mike," it was Alex's turn to cut in. She reached across the table and squeezed his arm.



Mike looked around to see if anyone could see them. The blinds on the cafeteria windows had long been drawn. He brought her hand to his mouth, his lips sweeping over her knuckles as he turned her wrist and kissed her pulse point. Her hand opened and rested on the side of his face. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as he breathed out.



She caressed the side of his face for only a moment, letting her hand slide away. He took her hand into both of his and guided it down to the table. He glided his fingers along her palm as he pulled his hands away from hers. She pulled her hand back, letting it come to rest in her lap.



"I'm seeing someone now. A therapist I mean. The same one that helped me get through my partner's murder. We're…I'm working on my anger. I've been referred for it by the department in the past, but I never took it seriously, until now. I thought that I had it under control. But …when I hurt you…I knew that I needed help. Roughing up a perp is one thing. But I don't want to hurt the people I care about."



"Is it helping?"



Mike nodded. "I told you that because…Well I wanted you to know that I'm working on my problems, but I understand if you don't want to be partners. I can tell Ross that we had a falling out. I know that trust is an issue with us, and I don't want to put you in danger."



"I want to be your partner," Alex stated.



Mike's eyes brightened, then wandered back to his cup.



Alex started pushing back her cuticles with her thumbnail.



"We should probably get back to our paperwork," Mike stated after a moment.



Alex nodded without looking up, "We wouldn't want to miss out on that life enriching task." She glanced in Mike's direction. A corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked, smug smile.



"I'm the only one who is allowed to be caustic," he responded, lifting an eyebrow.



"Since when do you have a monopoly on sarcasm?"



"Since before you were born, toots."



"Toots? What is this? 1935," Alex scoffed, feigning offense. She was bubbling over on the inside. She was happy that they were able to navigate their way through the rough patch. Things were by no means back to normal, but she was elated that they were comfortable enough with one another to start joking again.



"Are you calling me old," Mike asked. He tried to pout, but he couldn't hide the smile that had spread across his face. A surge of adrenaline quickened his pulse. For the first time in a long time, Mike felt like things between Alex and him were going to be okay.



Alex gathered her refuse and made her way to the trash can.



Mike stood and smoothed down his tie. "I'll see you in a minute." He exited the cafeteria and walked back to the squad room. He started to sit at his old desk, but he quickly corrected himself and sat at his new post. A few moments later, Alex lowered herself into her chair. Mike glanced at her and then quickly turned his attention back to his work.



****



"Call it a night, Detectives," Ross said. He stopped next to Eames' desk and put his arms through the sleeve of his coat.



Alex let out a long sigh. "See you tomorrow, Captain."



"Good night. Go home and get some rest. It will be more of the same tomorrow." Ross fastened the top button on his coat, turned, and walked in the direction of the elevator.



"Oh boy, another ten hours driving a desk," Logan exhaled, reclining in his chair, "I can hardly wait."



Alex removed her coat from the back of her chair as she stood up, "I'll see you tomorrow, Mike."



"I'll go with you to your car," Mike offered. He grabbed his coat and strode to catch up with Alex, who was already making her way toward the elevator. He quickly pulled on his coat and reached toward the down button just as Alex made a move to push it. He avoided eye contact and ran a hand through his hair.



"You don't have to…," Alex began.



"I want to," Mike interrupted.



Mike and Alex stepped onto the elevator. The doors noisily slid shut in front of them. Mike pressed the button marked 'P' and the elevator descended to the lowest level. The elevator doors opened to a small, drab vestibule.



Mike hastily scurried to the door and pushed it open for Alex. A snap of wind nearly knocked him back as the frigid air permeated the dry heat of the vestibule. Mike crammed his hands into his coat pockets and held the door open with his shoulder.

.

Alex lowered her head against the push of the wind and lumbered out the door. She shivered and instantly regretted not wearing a heavy coat. She was happy when they entered the parking garage. "Thanks for walking me across," Alex said stopping just inside the stairway.



"I can take you up."



"It's out of your way."



"How do you know what's out of my way?"



"You took the train to work this morning."



"Maybe I didn't."



"You live 27 blocks away and there's a subway station two blocks away from your flat. You never drive here."



"You caught me. I still want to walk you up. If that's okay."



"I'll be fine, thank you. See you tomorrow." She turned and started up the stairs.



"Alex," Mike called after her. She stopped and looked back at him. Mike stepped forward, looking up at her. "Do you want to go out for lunch tomorrow?"



Alex nodded. "We can do that."



"Good. I'll see you tomorrow."



Alex turned and walked up the stairs. Mike watched her until she disappeared onto the second floor. He listened to sound of her footsteps trail off before he left the parking garage.



Alex blew her warm breath into her bare hands. She scampered to her car, fumbling with her keys along the way. She checked the back seat before she unlocked the door. She placed the key in the ignition and waited for the heater to warm up the car.



****



When Alex arrived at her house, she plopped down on her sofa and kicked off her boots. She appraised her surroundings. There was wrapping paper, boxes, bags, ribbon, and tape strewn all over the house. "At least I got the wrapping done," she sighed, "and two weeks early at that."



She eyed her small Christmas tree. It was the pre-decorated sort; the perfect type of tree to suit her lifestyle. The festive blanket that she had placed around the bottom of the tree was all but overcome by the wall of presents that were neatly constructed under the tree.



She stood and began to clean up the shrapnel from her holiday gift wrapping explosion. After close to a half hour of putting away surplus wrapping materials and throwing away the mounds of scrap paper and smashed bows, Alex decided to clean her entire house.



Alex lugged the trash bag she was carrying into the kitchen and placed it next to the nearly full trash can. She swept her bangs back, looking around the kitchen for the ponytail holder she had seen moments earlier. Her eyes scanned the 'junk corner' of her counter space. She caught a glimpse of the small black band she was looking for laying atop one of her nephew's 'art projects.'



She smiled as she remembered how he ceremoniously presented her with the construction paper Santa Claus. He beamed when she took it out of his pudgy little fingers that were still covered in cotton matted glue. His chest stuck out with pride as she voiced her admiration of how well he had colored the eyes and how nice Santa's beard looked. "I'm going to put him on the counter so he can dry," she told him.



Alex tied her hair in a loose bun and reached for the construction paper Santa. She mounted him on the refrigerator with a magnetic clip that she fished out of her utility drawer.



She fished the mop, bucket, and broom out of the narrow hall closet and plodded awkwardly to the guest bathroom. The fact that she had a guest bathroom, but no guest bedroom, amused her. Her guest bath used to be the only bathroom in the house, but Joe insisted that they needed their own private bath. He turned one third of their massive master bedroom into an elegant master bath.



After he finished the bathroom, Joe started on the second bedroom. He was killed before he could finish it. A drop cloth still lay on the floor next to a sky blue wall that was only half way covered with sponge painted clouds. Boxes were stacked around the crib in the corner.



Alex struggled with the door knob until she was forced to prop her burden against the wall. The door opened after she jiggled the knob. "I'll have to fix that," she noted, gathering her mop, bucket, and broom.



She shut the door behind her and propped her cleaning utensils in the corner. She opened the shower stall. After pressing the button on the automatic shower cleaner, she quickly closed the door. The sound of the appliance's motor echoed through the bathroom as Alex slid the hamper that she used to store her towels and blankets away from the wall.



She noticed a large gray lump pressed against the wall where the hamper had been. She reached down and picked it up. The faded initials NYPD appeared when the threadbare article unfurled. Alex instantly recognized it as the sweatshirt that Bobby wore the night he slept on her sofa. She smiled as she started to fold it. She stopped short when she caught the scent of Bobby's aftershave. She suddenly realized how long it had been since she had smelled that scent.



Alex couldn't remember a time when Bobby smelled bad. Aside from being well groomed and nicely pressed, he always had pleasant scent. Even the smell his body produced had a sweet, musky quality. She was thankful that despite his ignorance of the laws of personal space, his intrusions into her bubble were not made unpleasant by body odor.



She looked down where the sweatshirt had been, and noticed that Bobby's basketball shorts were in pinned under the hamper. She picked them up, folded them, and placed them on top of the sweatshirt. She carried the bundle to her bedroom and placed them on the chair near her bed

****



"Alex and I are partners now," Mike sighed as he settled in to his usual chair in Dr. Olivet's office. He noted the look of surprise on her face that she quickly attempted to hide. It would have been indecipherable to the average person, but he wasn't average. "Why the surprise?"



Olivet looked startled once more, "I wasn't expecting that to be the first thing out of your mouth," she confessed. "And I didn't expect you to be so nonchalant. How did you feel when you got the news? I assume that you didn't know before today."



"I didn't know how to react when Captain Ross told me. I wanted to lock myself in the bathroom like a teenage girl who was ditched by her prom date." He forced a chuckle and studied his folded hands.



"How did it go?"



"Could have been worse. By the end of the day we were joking with one another."



"Then things weren't too bad."



"I still love her. If that's what you're wanting to know."



Olivet had no reply.



"This is becoming too Oprah Winfrey for me. Can we talk about something else?"



"You're displacing," she responded simply, placing her pen on top of her legal pad.



"I told you what you wanted to know, and now I'm done talking about it."



"Something's bothering you…"



"And I need to talk about it instead of going into defense mode. Blah, blah, blah," he crossed his arms and slouched defiantly in his chair.



"Getting mad at me isn't going to make your problems go away."



"You know nothing about any of my problems," Mike spat.



"But I'm trying to know. I'm trying to help you, Mike," Olivet stated calmly.



"You can't help me," Mike growled coldly as he leaned forward. He could feel the lump rising in his throat as his vision blurred. "You have no idea what it's like," he yelled as he stood and turned his back to her. He walked to the bookcase that stood next to the door; he stared at the picture of Dr. Olivet and her two children.



"What are you talking about?"



"You have no idea what it's like," Mike began, his voice cracking, "to know that you're going to die alone," he turned away from the book case walked out the door.



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Wow. I can't wait for more. I'm glad Olivet is in it too.

This line nearly made me cry:
“You have no idea what it’s like,” Mike began, his voice cracking, “to know that you’re going to die alone,” he turned away from the book case walked out the door.

Thanks for all of the great comments. The dying alone line came to me in the moment, and I was glad that it came out well.

I didn't realize that I had called Mike's apartment a flat. I don't know where I picked that up. I usually try to stay in character. Maybe it was something that (Eames I think) said in the moment. Shoot. I can't even remember who said what. *sighs*

I'm kind of annoyed b/c Wheeler is talking to me, but it isn't time for her to come back.

Kowalski: If Vincent talks to me, I'll be sure to remind him about your five bucks.

Yeah, the sequel! I loved the line about a monopoly on sarcasm, which was always how I imagined Logan would interact with Eames. I've glad they've talked about some of the things that have torn them apart. Ross's reaction of picking up on the tension but not commenting on it is also very in character, because he's not someone that intrudes on the personal lives of his detectives. I look forward to the next chapter.

Fantastic chapter! I really like where thisis going. Please keep writing. If you can drop a few hints about what Bobby is doing in DC - that would be cool!

I need moar! That last line is just too much to leave me hanging on... Next chapter soon pls! Kthxbai!

I've just today discovered your fanfic, JC, and I like it. I, too, need MOAR STORY.

You said in your opening comments that you didn't think this one was as good; I beg to differ. It is just as good, even though it has a different tone and feel to it. This one is more introspective, having us spend so much time inside the heads and thoughts of the characters, but not uncalled for or unexpected, given the story that this follows.

Please keep it going; I'm eagerly awaiting the arrival of the next installment!

Please keep going. I love the sequel. I need more of this.

Its coming. I have some more that I want to add to the second chapter. I hope to get there soon. It will take a few weeks, possibly, but its coming. (school, house, etc.)

Its a good thing I held onto my box of tissues after reading Judy's story yesterday. Definately came in handy with this one. Poor Mikey! Poor Alex! Poor ciaddict, waiting anxiously for the next chapter!

Thanks for all of the comments. I'm glad that so many people are discovering this story.

Mikey is talkign to me, but as I said in the OT thread, he's being a drama queen and trying to turn everything into the Sally Jesse Raphel Show. It's pathetic to hear a gown man whine and plead and sniffle and even cry.

Chapter 2- Stay Gold, Ponyboy



Alex looked across her desk at Mike. He had been quieter than usual, but she couldn’t discern why. Even when Ross had told them that they were working Christmas Eve and Christmas, Mike hadn’t uttered a word. She, on the other hand, had to fight tears.



Mike sat back in his char, covering his face with his hands.



“Is everything okay? You’ve barely said a word all morning,” Alex asked.



“I’m fine,” Mike said. His voice was heavy with fatigue.



“Long night?”



“Something like that.”



Alex noticed that his eyes were puffy, and she wondered if he had been crying. “Are you feeling okay?”



Mike nodded.



“Are we still on for lunch?”



“If you want to be,” Mike said, his eyes brightening.



“We can skip out early.”



“I’d like that.”



****



Bobby smiled to himself as he propped the only picture that he had of himself and Alex together against his rolodex. He had snapped the Polaroid while conducting an interview in a restaurant. He couldn’t believe that it had almost been a decade since he had taken the snapshot.



She still looks the same, he thought, but what’s happened to me? He studied his reflection on the surface of the picture, ran a hand through his salt and pepper curls, and grimaced at how much fuller his face had gotten. Baby face. If my hair wasn’t so gray, I’d look about 15 years younger now than I do in that picture. I guess I shouldn’t complain…



Bobby rocked back in his desk chair and looked up at the ceiling. He was happy that he had been assigned his own office. It gave him a space to be alone with his thoughts.



He looked at his watch and realized that he would have to catch up on his thoughts another time.



****



“I wish that I didn’t have to work over the Christmas holiday,” Alex admitted.



“Big plans?” Mike asked.



Alex nodded. “I have a big family. Christmas is kind of a big deal. I was also hoping to see my nephew because I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks. I guess that I’ll have to give everyone my presents early.” She sighed and gathered some lettuce on her fork. “So what plans did the job crush for you?”



Mike shrugged. “I almost always work Christmas.”



“That doesn’t sound fun.”



“I don’t have a big family to share in the merriment with, so it ends up just being another day.”



“You don’t have anyone? Not even an aunt or an uncle?” Coming from a large family, Alex could not fathom being without loved ones on any holiday, especially Christmas. Even Bobby had someone to share the Holidays with, until a few years ago.



Mike shook his head. “When my mom was alive, I’d stop by to say hello. We’d exchange presents, but I would never stay for long. She always wanted me to stay and drink with her…,” he trailed off.



“I didn’t realize that…that you didn’t have any family…at all.”



“You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” Mike reassured. “I’ve got my brothers on the squad…and I have the most beautiful partner in the world.” He smiled over his peppermint tea.



Alex looked down at her salad.



“I’m sorry. That was out of line.” Mike sat the mug down and fidgeted with his academy ring.



“Mike,” Alex started. “You don’t have to feel bad. You weren’t out of line. I’m flattered.” She was telling the truth. She found Mike every bit as charming as he had before their fallout, but she knew that most batterers had a charming personality. It was probably why their women kept going back to them.



She had seen her share of wife and girlfriend beaters when she was a patrol officer. She made numerous calls to houses and apartments where women with bruised and bloodied faces would smile sheepishly and decline to file a report while an angry looking husband or boyfriend looked on.



The domestic disturbance calls always frustrated her because she could not take any action unless there were children or elderly persons involved. What frustrated her even more were the calls that she got from ‘regulars.’



The ‘regulars’ would often call, and even file a report, but never press charges. Somewhere between her arrival and the precinct, the ‘alleged’ wife/girlfriend beater would turn on the charm, shed a few tears, or promise to stop drinking. As a result, the woman would decide that she overreacted or would suddenly acquire amnesia for the event.



Somewhere along the line, Alex promised herself that she would never get mixed up in a relationship with a man who felt like he needed to raise his hands against her in anger. She refused to be made a victim in that way, regardless of how handsome or charming the man was.



As much as she cared for Mike, he had crossed that line. She knew that he had an anger problem, and she knew that once he had crossed the line into physical abuse there would be no return. It didn’t matter how sorry he was or how many therapy sessions he had attended. Alex was happy that she had gotten out before she got in too deep. He had only roughed her up a little.



“I’m glad that you’re flattered. I meant it,” Mike said.



Alex managed a smile. I’m not falling under your spell, Michael Logan, she thought, I refuse to.



****



“What do you think of our current profile, Agent Goren,” Agent David Jones asked.



Goren exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “I hate to make waves on my first day,” he began, “but I don’t think that it is entirely accurate. I think that the times are changing. If we are going to experience an attack by a radical Islamic sect, I think that it will be homegrown. Will there be foreign influence? Yes. I agree that there are the quote unquote ‘sleeper cells’ that are lying dormant. I believe that these cells are even headed by immigrants. Where I disagree is on the composition of the said sleeper cells.”



“Please explain,” Jones said.



“I think that if there is to be another attack, it will be from a homegrown cell. From the intelligence that I’ve been reading that has been gathered by this department, there are several compounds that have been or are being constructed by radical Islamic sects. At least three of the leaders of these sects have ties to the Taliban.”



“You’re not suggesting…”



“Homegrown jihad,” Goren said.



Agent Jones rolled his large, leather chair away from the table and ran a hand through his brown flat-top.



“I think that Agent Goren could be onto something,” Agent Bill Ruiz said after a moment of silence. “We’ve been banging our heads against the wall trying to understand what Al-Qaeda’s next move could be. Maybe it is to turn some of our citizens against us.”



“When was the last time you’ve been proselytized by a Muslim?” Jones asked.



“Besides members of the Nation of Islam? I don’t recall that happening, sir,” Ruiz replied.



“It’s because adherents to Islam don’t typically proselytize,” Goren said.



“Exactly,” Jones started, “So how, Agent Goren, do you suppose these radical sects are spreading the Good News of jihad? The scenario you’re trying to paint sounds more like Waco than a terrorist plot.”



“They wouldn’t need to proselytize new members. There are plenty of people that they could recruit who practice Islam already,” Goren replied.



“Islam is a peaceful religion,” Ruiz cut in, “I think that the violent radicals would have trouble recruiting people who don’t already have fanatical ideals.”



“I agree,” Goren said. “I think that the people who are the most likely to be recruited to any of these homegrown fanatical sects will be young adults who currently practice Islam, especially males between 18 and 25, and immigrants from Middle Eastern countries who practice Islam.”



Agent Jones looked around the room. The meeting had been going on for well over two hours, and he could see that almost all of his agents were growing restless. “I want you to type up your theory and send it to me,” he said. “We’ll call it a day. See you all back here at 0830 tomorrow morning. Agent Goren, be prepared to brief us on your proposed profile.”



Goren nodded and returned the legal pad to his portfolio. He picked up his coffee mug and strode out the conference room door.



“Goren,” a voice called behind him.



Goren turned around to see Agent Ruiz practically running to catch up with him. Ruiz was black-haired and slender. Goren guessed that he was a little older than 30 and probably came from Puerto Rico.



“Guiermillo Ruiz,” the younger agent said extending his hand toward Goren. “Guiermillo is Spanish for William. That’s why everyone calls me Bill.”



“Robert Goren.” He unconsciously slouched so that he could make better eye contact with Ruiz, who was almost six inches shorter than him. He shifted his coffee mug to his dominant hand and pumped Ruiz’s arm twice.



“I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”



Goren smiled, but he wondered if Ruiz knew how much of a ‘whack job’ he supposedly was.



“I thought that you might need some help typing up the report that you have to give Jones tomorrow. It sounds like your theory is really in depth. You might need someone to help you get all down so you don’t get carpal tunnel.”



“The Bureau hasn’t quite caught up on ergonomics, has it?”



Ruiz let out a chuckle. “Rumor has it that we haven’t gotten new desks since J. Edgar Hoover was director.”



Ruiz’s joke put him more at ease. He was afraid that his reputation with the NYPD would spill over into his work on the task force and that people would treat him differently because of it. He was happy to have at least one person that he could look to in this new place.



****



Alex flipped her phone open for the umpteenth time that evening and stared at the first name in her contact list. Bobby. His name was everything he wasn’t: short, easy to read, and uncomplicated.



Her thumb loomed over the send key, but she thought better of it and shut the phone. She hadn’t spoken to Bobby since the day that he left for Washington D.C. They hadn’t said a formal goodbye, but the way they embraced told her more than anything he could have said.



He had promised that he would be back next December. An entire year from where they stood in the grass next to her driveway. Although it had only been a few weeks, she felt as if it were a world away. Bobby was a world away. Even as they embraced; he was a world away.



She had walked after him even though he was walking out on her. On them. She walked after him, tears streaming, as he backed down her driveway. Even though he had stopped and gotten out of the car; he was already gone.



“Don’t cry,” he had said.



But all she could do was cry.



As much as she wanted to be angry at him, to yell at him, to scream at him, to angrily push his hand off her shoulder: all she could do was sink into his chest.



She knew that her partner needed a change of scenery. He needed to get out of New York. He needed greener ground and bluer skies. But she didn’t want to watch him to go. Not after everything that they had been through together.



When they hugged, Alex felt that it wasn’t a temporary goodbye between friends. The way he squeezed her close to him made her cry harder. She balled his overcoat into her fists, hoping that he wouldn’t leave if she clenched tight enough.



But his embrace told the story.



Their friendship could not keep him there with her, and it killed Alex to realize as much because he was the best friend she’d ever had. But the way that he brought her close to him told her that he had made up his mind. Before he could say anything, she was convinced that he was not coming back.



He turned and walked toward his car. Toward his future. Away from their partnership.



“Don’t leave,” she pleaded in spite of herself. Alex knew that his place wasn’t 200 miles way. It was with her, as partners, as best friends.



“I’ll be home next December,” he had promised. But she knew it was an empty promise.



It was her fault that he had made up his mind to leave in the first place. She had pushed him away.



That was the difference between the two of them. He could push her away. He could push her almost completely out of his life, and she would run after him



Bobby, on the other hand, needed to be needed. She had made him feel as if she didn’t need him, so he decided to leave.



I’ve pushed him away, and now he’ll never come back, she thought. She hugged her knees to her chest and buried her face in them. She thumbed her phone one last time as it slid out of her hand and onto the sofa.



Two hundred miles away, Bobby sat in his office in the J. Edgar Hoover building. Bill Ruiz had left, and Bobby was all alone. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and held down the 2 key. The name ‘Eames’ flashed on the display for only half a second before Bobby slammed his phone shut.

I feel obligated to post the lyrics to the song that helped to inspire this chapter. Especially since I made a few references to the lyrics in the text (I usually don't do that directly). Also note that I used the business and dialogue form the last couple of paragraphs of the first story, and some of they lyrics to the song that inspired that Chapter.

Stay Gold, Ponyboy
by: The Get Up Kids

This is the closest to this friend that I've been.
I hope you find it easy on greener ground and bluer skies.
I hope you don't think less of me if I'm cold,
I don't want to watch you go.
I'll cry until I can't see the whites of your eyes
For two more years, two more years.

We'll be old enough to know better, young enough to pretend.
This is the last of my letters…

I hope I find my home
And I hope you're the first one in it.
I know it won't be the same.
I'll be there if you need anything at all you want to be.
Run around the world with me.
State your distance but it's not a million miles away.
If this is what will really make you happy…
Then I'll say that we'll be...

Old enough to know better, young enough to pretend.
This is the last of my letters until I see you again.

::sniffs and wipes eyes::
Another good one, JC. I can't seem to get enough.
So, is chapter 3 done yet?

I also need to disclaim any of the content about Islam. I tried to portray it from a neutral perspective and just focus on the terrorists sects rather than painting Islam as a whole as being all about harming Americans. I know that there are many misconceptions out there about Islam, and I tried really hard to fight those misconceptions without being political or preachy. I hope that anyone who is an adherant to Islam (aka Muslim) will not find the views expressed by the characters about Islam to be representative of my views of Islam or as offensive.

Terrorism is a hot button issue. I debated about even dealing with this subject in a story, but I thought that if I took the Terrorism out of Islam and out of foreign hands, perhaps we can better understand what the terrorists are thinking.

What I mean is (and without giving away too many of my plot points) many of the 'cults'* that we deal with in the U.S. are loosly based on Christianity. Even if you aren't Christian, you know that groups like the Branch Davidians (think Waco) and the People's Temple (think Jonestown) are not representative of Christianity at large.

Perhaps by putting a 'cult' spin on Islam, it will help people to better understand that the people who are flying planes into buildings here are not representative of Islam of a whole. They are like the David Koreshes and Jim Joneses of Islam.



* From what I understand, the word 'cult' has the same connotation in the U.S. that the word 'sect' does in the UK and other English-speaking countries.

LOL.

Even though I understood what you were trying to do in the story, I do appreciate your explaination for those who may not be as informed. I've had people literally try to tell me that Islam is in fact all about hating westerners and bloody death to all who oppose their views... And then refuse to listen at all when I try to explain that that's all a bunch of over-exaggerated hoohah.

You make an excellent illustration when you say "Perhaps by putting a 'cult' spin on Islam, it will help people to better understand that the people who are flying planes into buildings here are not representative of Islam of a whole. They are like the David Koreshes and Jim Joneses of Islam."

Great story, glad you're taking on both sides while they're apart, and hope to see Chapter 3 up sometime real soon!

::cries:: I loved it. The lyrics were very nice. I love how Bobby is at least thinking of coming back to see Alex again. I hope he does. The case Bobby is working on is interesting. I am still confused about it but hope to be clear as the next chapter is posted. Need more please.

I thought you did a good job of addressing it in a balanced way. And I appreciated this added information, too.

Just checking. And bumping to encourage JC to continue.

thanks ciadict!

Here, jc -- have another piece of Triple Chocolate Cheesecake (I hear it's good for the brain) and keep writing. I see Mikey is talking to you again; does he need anything to eat, drink?

Just checking.
Oh wait, isn't JC in the middle of moving? This could be a while.

Sure wish we could go help her. Then she could get back to this great story that much sooner......You got any more tacos?

She is? Oh, I feel like the worst first mate ever...

I loved the last chapter. I feel so bad for Eames. She wants to be with Mike but she's right in trying to be strong so she doesn't get hurt, physically and emotionally. And that scene when Bobby left, even though it was short, was heart wrenching. Looking forward to more!

Me, too! Me, too! Is there more here yet? No? Oh, darn. Sure wish I could help her move so she could get back here faster.....

She's been AWOL for a while. Hope she gets settled in soon.

I think new house + new job is getting her time.

Its good to come back to a lot of comments on this piece. Thank you so much guys.

::runs in with tacos and Triple Chocolate Cheesecake::
Is there a new chapter?! No? Shoot! Oh well, at least I have cheesecake.

::Flashymom begins doing happy dance:: JC is back! JC is back! Yay!

I hope you're all settled in to your new home. I really also hope to see more of your great story soon.

I HAVE to know what happens next!

Yeah, I'm really worried about Mike and those suicidal thoughts.

The third chapter is almost here. I could post the first part, but I don't think that you guys would like to be left on too big of a cliffhanger.

You know us very well, my friend!

Wow, this is more than a year old... sorry for bumping old threads. I'm just reading through some fanfiction and was intrigued by the prequel to this one. Then I started reading this one too... and I think it's too much asking for the story to go on now, 15 months later

I will just say I really loved it. And I love how both Goren and Logan seem to awaken many different versions of them in our minds. There are probably many sides of their personalities that haven't been developed in the show. Then in the fanfictions the two men can take way different roads, it's up to the writer's imagination.

I can somewhat related to both characters on a personality level. I had my fair share of quirky years that granted me some very interesting times as an outcast, especially during highschool, and which have probably also contributed to feed my other side, more Logan-like, with most of the highs & lows that come with being somewhat hot tempered and a booze-lover.

I think I have said this before on other threads, I've never really been into fanfiction. Never had the time to write down stories about the characters I like. I'd be content with what I get from the TV shows anyway. But some of the stories here are very well written. They feel so real and very plausible. This is, I think, one of them. So, I guess I'm a bit late... but thank you jcsavestheday for sharing it.

Wow! I saw that JC had posted during the night and then I saw this story bumped up and thought maybe she came back to give us another chapter! Sadly, there is no new chapter. But maybe if she sees we still want more she'll finish? Please? Pretty please?

hi cia this morning I saw JC's post and thought: she's seldom online! good to see her back. mmm, I think I recall seeing some fanfiction from her...
That's how I ended up resurrecting this thread, lol...