Chapter Five

"That," he groaned, rolling onto his back, "is definitely the way to start a Sunday morning."

Vanessa leaned against him and kissed him slowly, taking her time to explore the mouth that had just been hissing such naughty things in her ear. He had gotten up to brush his teeth before she woke up, and he tasted like mint and sex.

His hands ran over her body one more time, almost regretfully, knowing he was going to have to get ready to go see his mother soon. He didn't know when exactly they had fallen into the habit of trying to squeeze a week's worth of sex into two days, but the two days they spent doing it were magnificent. Her tongue was laving his own, slow and sexy, almost as if this was foreplay instead of afterplay. He couldn't help but think that if he were twenty years younger, it would all blend together and the end of one encounter would be the beginning of the next. Of course, he also wouldn't be visiting his mother upstate, and he wouldn't be here with her--she would be all of twelve. That thought was incredibly distasteful. He pushed the logic out of his mind and focused on his wife's kiss, now moving away from his lips and over to his ear.

He smiled. "You know I have to shower soon." Her skin was so soft, so smooth. She was so keyed up still he had to ask--

"Did you?"

She laughed softly in his ear. "Don't be stupid...of course I did...and it was really good too...really, really good...but I'm not opposed to it happening again..." and she caught his hand, leading it across her thigh.

He chuckled into her mouth. "You taste so sweet. You're turning me into a voyeur...I like to watch you..."

And he did just that as his fingers manipulated her gently until she was arching against him and crying his name. He knew she did that to please him and he couldn't help smiling against her throat, kissing it gently. After, he kissed her lips again, then whispered, "You know, female orgasm helps semen travel up to the uterus--"

She sighed softly and tangled a hand into his hair. "When you commit, you go full steam ahead, don't you?"

"You could say that." His lips touched her forehead before he climbed out of the bed and headed for the shower.

She lay tangled in the sheets and pressed her face against the pillow, smiling. Yesterday had been companionable. They had talked several times about the idea of starting a family. He had shared several articles he had found about the onset of schizophrenia, new treatments, genetic components, and environmental factors that might influence early onset. They had talked about how he was nervous about her getting pregnant. But this morning, when she had awoken pleasantly in his arms to his gentle touches and nibbles, he had entered her without a condom. When she had tried to stop him, he stopped her, murmuring, "No...I want to see our baby..."

Their lovemaking had become increasingly passionate, almost frenzied, at the thought of conceiving a child together, and his words were raw and honest, bringing her to climax quickly. He came almost as soon as she did, then brought her again before he ever withdrew. The last one was just icing on the cake.

Their sex life had always been close, passionate, loving. There was something so innately intimate about conceiving a child together that she couldn't help but keep her eyes closed and fantasize that their morning continue, over and over, more and more, until they saw that thin pink line.

She heard him leave the bathroom and she opened her eyes; he was drying off and pulling on a pair of boxers, then jeans. Suddenly he caught sight of her watching him, and with a self-conscious smile, he asked, "What are you doing?"

She rolled toward him, the sheet slipping down and revealing her breasts. "Watching you." She rested her head in her hand. "Are you disappointed? Should I be in a handstand position?"

He laughed. "No...I think we can keep working on it as time allows." He grabbed a polo shirt out of the closet and pulled it on.

"Bobby...are you sure about this?"

He grabbed a pair of socks out of his drawer, then sat on the bed next to her. Hesitantly, he traced her face with a finger. "Yes. I'm sure." He pulled his hand back and sat for a second, looking down, before he turned to her again. "There's always the possibility that a child of ours could have a mental illness...there's no way we are going to get around that. But you're right. My dream was to have a family. The whole thing. I have a beautiful wife that I love more than anything...and I know any child we have will be loved and cherished unconditionally." He was fiddling with his socks, still not putting them on. After a minute, he said, "Honestly? As close as I've always felt to you, I've felt even closer this weekend...I can't imagine what it will be like when we have a baby together."

She couldn't help the smile that crept across her face. "I know exactly what you mean."

He quietly pulled his socks on, smiling the whole while, and slid into his shoes.

"I should be back by five, as usual...enjoy your time alone..."

'I will." She reached out to him. "Hey Goren...if that thing about female orgasm is true, I think we should definitely keep up with that strategy."

He smirked at her. "I figured you would."

She watched him as he left the room and listened as the front door opened and closed. Sighing to herself, she stretched out in the bed. No reason to get up any earlier than she had to, and right now she had no plans until five p.m.

******************

They arrived together, ready for work. He had humored her as usual, stopping at the coffee shop on the way in, and purchasing drinks for both of them as well as a decaf for Eames. She had given up caffeine when she got pregnant, and Vanessa couldn't imagine how difficult that had been for her. As everyone knew, a caffeinated Eames had been a happy Eames.

Bobby had teased her, telling her soon he'd be ordering the same for her. She had elbowed him and responded, "Not yet."

When he had gotten home the night before, she had dinner ready. He didn't come in until almost seven, and she was starting to worry. But when he arrived, he had a bag of books with him and he handed them to her.

'You stopped at the library?" she had asked. "What is this?"

He sat at the kitchen table and had a sip of tea, then said, "Books about conception and pregnancy. I thought we could do a little reading...you know, there are things we can do to increase our chances...and things you need to do to make sure your body's ready for a healthy pregnancy. I was skimming through this one...see? It says folic acid--you should already be starting that."

This was going to be more than romantic, she suddenly realized. This was going to be work.

She had managed to persuade him to keep it in his pants this morning, noting the time on the clock. She didn't think she had ever refused him sex in their life together, but she couldn't stand the thought that the sole reason he wanted to do it was to make a baby.

He was sweet though, and after they got their coffee, she had noticed the incessant smile he wore and the gentleness in his touch, even more than usual. It was then she realized that she was being elevated from the status of wife to that of potential mother of his child. She could see it in his eyes.

Bishop was already at her desk with her own cup of coffee. Rayden knew Bishop had come in early every morning since the bust last week. She was afraid of missing something. Goren winked at her, then sat down across from his partner.

Rayden took Eames' cup of coffee to her and set it on her desk. "Hey," she said. "Happy Monday...doesn't your time off start soon?"

Eames leaned back in her chair, holding her belly, and sighed. "Not soon enough...you really need to consider if you want to do this. It's not exactly a blast." She shook her head. "This kid's been on my bladder all morning."

"Oh, fun...maybe we can meet up in the bathroom later." Eames knew Rayden's propensity for vomiting over particularly nasty cases, and she grinned at the reference. More than once they'd run into each other in the last eight months.

"Rayden." Deakins' head stuck out of his door and he called her, loud.

She was surprised. In her entire time on the squad--four years now--Deakins had never called her like that. Her mind began to race over what she might have done to piss him off but she came up empty handed. Eames shrugged at her, and she stood to make her way to the captain's office. As she approached, she glanced at Goren's desk and saw both he and Bishop watching her. She turned her attention back to Deakins, and taking a deep breath, entered his office and closed the door behind her.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, not bothering to hide the concern in her voice. Jimmy had always been supportive of her, and she couldn't imagine that was changing right now.

"I don't know. You tell me," he said flatly, tossing a file down on the desk and motioning at it. "You want to tell me what this is about?"

She was confused, and sat in the chair across from him, then picked up the file. He sat in his own chair, looking at her expectantly.

It was a letter from Quantico. The FBI was requesting her personally to join a terrorist task force full time. The letter listed her by name and made a point of thanking Deakins for his cooperation in letting her go. She could understand why he was angry and confused. She was too.

She looked at him and tossed the file back on his desk. "You know as much as I do. I didn't ask for a transfer and I certainly didn't ask to go to Quantico."

"I've been on the phone with the FBI since eight o'clock," he said, barely hiding his anger. "The position is here, in the city. They said your name was submitted."

"Well, not by me!" She crossed her arms. "I have no interest in profiling terrorists. I'm perfectly happy on this squad."

He regarded her carefully, then leaned forward. "Okay. So who put in your name?"

She shook her head. "I have no idea. All I know is it wasn't me, Jimmy. I swear to God." She sighed. "I can't take on more than I already have anyway...this is all I can manage right now."

He looked at her strangely, but didn't comment. Picking up the file, he opened it again. "They wouldn't tell me who submitted your name...and they wouldn't confirm or deny if you did it. Clearly, they want you. I'm supposed to pass along to you that you should call them asap to discuss your new position."

Suddenly the reality of what he was saying hit her. "You're saying...does this mean that I go where they tell me or I don't work? Period?"

"I don't know. The brass likes you, but when Quantico calls, you don't deny them." He handed her the file again. "You need to call and find out what you're supposed to do. I'll fight for you to stay, but I can't keep you if the brass won't let me." His voice lowered. "I almost had hoped you did this without telling me. I'm sorry."

She took the file from him, heart pounding, and stood. "Either way, Jimmy...thanks for everything."

He didn't look up but nodded. "Let me know."

**********************************

She was sitting on the park bench by herself, tossing part of her hotdog bun at the pigeons, while Goren got his order and joined her.

"This isn't good, is it?" he asked, before taking a bite of his dog.

She shook her head. Her mind was still reeling and her gut hurt. "Deakins got an official letter from the FBI. They're starting a terrorist task force with profilers here in the city, and they made a request to have me transferred. Somebody from the brass--I don't know who--was asked to recommend the best profilers and they put my name in. So I guess I've been drafted."

His chewing slowed. She watched him swallow before he said slowly, "So tell them you don't want to do it...you're content here."

"I tried." Her eyes brimmed and she looked away. In fact, that's what she'd been telling everyone ever since she first talked to Deakins six hours before. Her last call had been to the commissioner himself, who had made it clear that while the NYPD would fight the feds over jurisdiction of cases, they would not fight to keep skilled profilers. As he had explained, funding was tight all over and it was hard to justify keeping her on as it was. The feds had come calling and needed her. She owed her country.

Bobby was holding his hot dog in his lap and staring at her hands. "So what did they say? Surely the brass doesn't want to get rid of someone like you...your solve rate is so high..."

She laughed, harsh and cynical, and wiped the lone tear off her cheek. "I spoke to the commissioner himself. NYPD is having enough financial troubles as it is, it's hard to keep me. He said I owe it to my country." She shook her head. "They aren't going to fight it. I either go, or they let me go. Either way, I'm not going to be working here anymore."

"Shit." He tossed the rest of his dog in the trash can frustratedly, then turned back to her. "You know what? Fine. Quit...you were going to quit within a year anyway, right? We just focus on the baby." He reached over with his napkin and wiped the tears, which were flowing freely now. "Don't cry, honey. It will all work out...you're the one who's always talking about how things align how they're supposed to. It will be okay." He caught her hand in his, then suddenly asked, "Do you want to work on that task force?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "Oh, hell no. You know I've turned them down twice before...I think they just found an in and went with it."

He chuckled softly. "They don't know you very well, if they thought they could strong-arm you into this."

She looked at him. He was watching the people walk past them, his hand still holding hers, and she knew he was taking everything in. She knew the squad would be okay as long as he was there. He was a skilled profiler himself. "Hey. You better be damn sure about this baby thing..."

"I am...do you think I'm not?"

"No. I'm teasing you...I guess I can use my extra time to read all the books you bought."

"Yeah, maybe...that and doing headstands." He squeezed her hand and she laughed despite herself. At least she still had him.

"So now?"

"So now I go upstairs and tell Deakins my decision...and call the feds and tell them too...and then I guess I clean out my office."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. She could see the empathy in his eyes, and he pulled her close. "I have a good job," he teased her. "Thank God for that...we can still afford to eat."

"Yeah...thank God for that."

**************************************

She was packing the cliche box when Deakins entered her office.

"Rushing it a little?" he asked, trying to smile.

She looked at him and shook her head, then went back to putting things in her box. "There's really no point, is there? NYPD won't fight for me, and I'm not going to work for the FBI."

He sat down. "Give me a few days to talk with the brass...let the commissioner sit on this. Now that Quantico knows you won't go, they might give up on it."

She sat back and sighed, catching the tightening in her throat and clearing it. "Maybe."

"Vanessa...sometimes things have a way of working out."

"I'm trying to get pregnant anyway, so maybe it's a blessing." She tossed a pen in her box. "Goren would tell you the lack of stress will increase my chances of ovulating."

Deakins chuckled. "Congratulations on that decision. I figured it was just a matter of time."

"Yeah, well...I guess a new career is in my future either way, huh?"

"Let me work on this. And you don't have to clear out...you have leave accumulated and you're certainly not fired, so you can take that for now if you want."

"So I can come back and clean it out later?"

Deakins interlaced his fingers. "I'm hoping it won't come to that. You know how political all of this gets..."

"No, I don't," she replied shortly. She knew she sounded like a child, but she didn't care. "I love my job and I'm good at it. I've done nothing but what's been asked of me, and for that, I get moved away from what I love and bullied into taking something else. Punished for being good at what I do." She looked at him and her voice was shaky. "I know you guys will do just as well without me. You have a great squad of detectives and Bobby is a good profiler. But I...I just really liked what I did."

Deakins' voice was fatherly, comforting. "You'll land on your feet, Vanessa. As a profiler, as a woman, as a mother...your job is a good thing and something you enjoy, but it's not who you are. And you're about to enter into something that's absolutely amazing. You and Bobby will find life to be a completely new adventure."

"I wasn't supposed to tell anybody."

He nodded gently. "My lips are sealed." He stood back up. "Leave the box here...I'll call you in a few days once I've figured something out."

She could feel her chin shaking and willed the tears back once more. "Okay," she managed, watching him walk out of her office. She tossed the box on the floor and stared at it. Four years of her life and it didn't even fill an average file box.

She picked up her purse after turning off her computer. Locking her office door, she thought about how more often than not, her life seemed to change at the drop of a dime. Maybe the next change would be a happy one. Maybe Deakins would call tomorrow and offer her the same job with better hours and work with just the best detectives on the squad. Maybe.

Without speaking to anyone in the bullpen, she made her way to the elevator, then out of the building and onto the street. It was chilly, so she pulled her jacket closer to her and began to walk the four blocks to the subway. It was a quiet walk, despite the fact she was surrounded by bustling New Yorkers on a major street in the city, in the middle of the week.

She had always known loneliness could occur anywhere at any time. But she really wished the reminder hadn't come this way.

Chapter Four

Bishop had been waiting for what seemed like forever. She was pacing in front of her desk, back and forth repeatedly, and Rayden was starting to humorously wonder if she'd wear a hole in the linoleum. Goren hadn't returned yet, and Bishop's irritation seemed to be multiplying by the second.

After revisiting the crime scene and interviewing a few more witnesses, including two of Caroline Ivers' close friends, Vanessa had finished her profile and sent it to Goren and Bishop that morning. It had taken Bobby all of two minutes to gather his portfolio and hit the street. She knew he was going to pick up the Wall Street boyfriend as soon as he got a warrant issued. Bishop hadn't arrived at work yet but he wasn't about to wait for her. When he had left alone, Eames had shot her a glance, barely holding back a smirk. They both knew there was no way in hell Goren would wait for Bishop to show up before making this bust.

Rayden ambled over to Eames' desk, perching herself on the edge of it. "So just how pissed do you think Bishop is going to be when she gets here and he's taken off without her?"

Eames let the smirk come over her face as she replied, "Pretty pissed."

Rayden smirked back. "Sucks to be the new kid."

"Heh." Eames' hand suddenly went to her belly, but dropped back to her side after a minute.

"You okay?"

"Yeah...he's just taking gymnastics lessons this morning." She rolled her eyes.

Rayden turned to face Eames more directly. "You still sleeping? Ava said she couldn't sleep more than an hour or two by the end of both pregnancies."

Alex nodded. "It's rough...I did manage to get about five hours last night though." She reached into her desk. "Take a look...the most recent ones..." She handed Vanessa several ultrasound photos detailing the baby's face and body.

"That's pretty amazing." She examined the pictures closely, admiring the baby's little nose, eyes, hands. "Remember when he looked kind of like a worm?"

Eames laughed. "Yeah...now he looks like a baby. It's kind of reassuring that if for some reason he appears before the due date he won't look too creepy."

"Yeah, I guess...don't take offense to this, but all newborns seem to look kind of creepy to me!" Eames grinned and Rayden handed the pictures back to her. Eames took them, but nodded toward Goren's desk before shoving them back in the drawer. Bishop was there and had pulled out her chair. She sat down, looking around as though expecting her partner to appear out of thin air any minute. She was scanning her desk when suddenly her eyes flew open wide and she sucked in her breath so loudly that Rayden and Eames both heard her several desks away. Her head flew up and, seeing the two of them, she stood and quickly made her way to them.

"You have the profile? Isn't it policy for detectives to take down a suspect together?"

Vanessa stood awkwardly, facing Bishop. "Um, the profile is just a guide of who to look for...it's nothing more than that...the evidence decides who you arrest. If you all had evidence that the profile confirms, it's possible Goren went to get a warrant..."

"He's your husband," Bishop seethed through clenched teeth. "Surely you know more than that."

Rayden shrugged. "Not really...we do our jobs at work and that's it."

Eames cleared her throat. "My guess is he went to get the warrant. I'm sure he'll call you once he's ready to pick the guy up."

"Of course he will, because he does everything by the book, doesn't he?" Bishop snapped before storming back to her desk. Now she was pacing. Rayden didn't envy her husband. She didn't expect it would be too much fun to deal with Bishop when he got back.

Eames and Rayden looked at each other, then Eames shrugged and Rayden made her way back to her office. As she turned around to sit in her chair, she saw Goren with the warrant in his hand, approaching Bishop. She grabbed her coat and followed him.

Rayden couldn't wait for interrogation.

****************************************

She joined Deakins and Carver in the observation room. Bishop and Goren were flanking Brandon Johnson on either side.

"How sure are we that he did this?" Carver asked with his usual cautious pessimism.

"He fits the profile," Vanessa replied, and Deakins added, "We recovered DNA...it was a ten point match. We'll get a confession out of him. Rayden thinks he's pretty tightly wound...right?"

She nodded. "If you provoke him the right way, he'll crack. The same way he did with Caroline."

Goren's voice had escalated as he talked with Johnson's attorney. Rayden could see the surprise on Bishop's face. She'd never been through an interrogation with Goren before, didn't know his quirks and tricks with suspects. It might play to their benefit that Bishop appear to be so shocked. Johnson might just identify with Goren's anger, if they could change their tactics.

She knocked on the glass, letting the detectives know they needed to stop the interview. Carver turned to her. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you a conviction," she replied.

Goren and Bishop entered the observation room. "What do you have?" Goren asked them.

Deakins and Carver turned to Rayden. "Ask her," replied Deakins, crossing his arms and smirking.

"We need to provoke his anger toward women," she explained. "He's already seen you slightly escalate, Bobby. The fact his attorney is a woman plays in our favor. Go in there and talk him up. I'll join you in a few minutes and lay down the DNA evidence, enough to piss him off, then you close in for the kill."

"And what am I supposed to do?" Bishop interrupted. "Floss my teeth and watch?"

Rayden put her hands on her hips. "That'll do," she said. "And you might want to take notes."

"Captain-" But Goren had already headed back into the interview room.

He was good. He talked about the drugs they had found in Caroline's system, her sexual escapades, how she pulled the wool over everyone's eyes. How some women couldn't be trusted. How sometimes he wondered if he could trust his own wife, because you know how women could bat their eyelashes and make virtually anything happen.

She interrupted them then. "Mr. Johnson? I'm Dr. Rayden." She made no effort to shake his hand but sat across from him, in the most challenging position in the room. She needed him to see her as a challenge to his power. "I'm a forensic psychologist. Do you know what that is?"

He sat back, looking annoyed. "Why don't you tell me?" he drawled.

She smiled. "Well," she said, speaking particularly condescendingly slow, "it means I'm the one who sent the detectives out for you, and I'm the one who's going to put you in jail for life." She tossed a folder on the table. "We have DNA evidence that conclusively proves you were the one who raped and sodomized Caroline Ivers. We have the gun and it's only a matter of time before we have a positive fingerprint. Even if we don't, juries don't like rapists. And they really don't like rapists who kill their victims."

Brandon Johnson leaned forward smugly. "We were in a relationship. We had sex."

She wagged a finger at him. "No, no...no jury is going to buy that when they see what happened to your girlfriend. The trauma she went through...the stabs to her uterus...and then the shot to the head. Your DNA is all over her...all over her torn and bruised body. Nobody in their right mind is going to believe that you made sweet love to her before she went out and was brutally killed less than an hour later." She handed the file to Goren. "Detective...your evidence...try not to mess it up." She smiled once more at Johnson, then leaned forward. "Lovely to see you. The next time we meet, I suspect, will be at your sentencing."

She turned and left the room. It was in Goren's hands now.

And like a well-oiled machine, Goren led him into his own confession. The forensic psychologist was a bitch, Goren said, probably led a life just like Caroline's. Wouldn't be surprised if she ended up the same way.

And Johnson smiled, took the bait, and said if that bitch had a boyfriend like him, she'd be ending up exactly like Caroline. Exactly what she deserved.

And Goren cocked his head and smiled, asking how he did it. Got the details. Two sentences in, over his attorney's protests, Johnson realized he'd been had but admitted he didn't care any more. It was worth it, to feel that bitch's life drain out of her. After all, she had drained him of his.

Rayden turned to Bishop. "Next time," she said, "is your turn."

Bishop didn't respond, but Rayden noticed she had jotted several lines down on a piece of paper.

************************************

Friday night found them lying in bed watching a movie.

"You're a homebody," he commented halfway through as he took another bite out of a sandwich.

"Is there something wrong with that? I spend about sixty hours a week working, just like you...when I'm off, I like to spend my time alone with you, in my home, enjoying my husband and my house and my dog." She reached out to rub Bruce's belly, as if to emphasize her final point.

He made a face. "You gonna use that hand to eat your dinner?"

She rolled her eyes. "Maybe...I'll try to remember not to use the one I shoved up his ass."

He snickered and offered her a bite of his sandwich. "Just don't touch it," he directed. "I don't want unnecessary germs on my dinner."

Watching him carefully, she stuck her tongue out and licked the top piece of bread before taking a bite. "Thanks!"

"Classy, Rayden," he said. He took a long look at his sandwich before deciding he'd go ahead and eat it again. He took another large bite.

She started laughing. "You can't be serious...all the places you've had your own mouth and you're worried that I licked your sandwich?"

He stared at her for a minute, watching her amusement, before laying his sandwich back on its napkin on the end table. "You make a very good point. Maybe I'm done with my dinner...there are better things to be tasting around here." And with that he quickly wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to her throat, sucking and tickling her.

She burst into laughter as his tongue fluttered first against her throat and then her earlobe and his fingers danced over her waist, lifting her tank top. "Bobby!" she squealed, feeling his hands moving up to her breasts. He wasn't wasting any time. His tongue was still tickling her earlobe, but now his fingers were pinching her nipples teasingly. She began to squirm, trying to get him to either get serious or get off of her.

He pulled his face away from hers, grinning. "What?" he asked. "I thought we were hungry."

"I'm not your dinner!" she giggled as he returned to sucking her neck. He stopped to lick one of his fingers and dipped it into her navel. "Bobby!"

"Okay, okay," he laughed, moving back just a bit. "Here...take this off." He tugged at the tank and she reached down and pulled it over her head, tossing it onto the floor. He looked immensely pleased with her, but she blocked him with a hand to the chest.

"Now you," she directed, nodding at his flannel pajama bottoms. "Lose 'em."

Five minutes later he had turned her giggles into long sighs and murmurs of pleasure, and her hands were exploring him thoroughly. She knew he loved being touched, and she spent a great deal of time stroking his chest and his arms, listening to the pleasant sounds coming from deep in his throat. His body was warm and soft, hard and firm, comfortable against hers. He was stroking her belly, one of his favorite places. "I love your body," she sighed, and she heard him chuckle softly.

"You feel good," he murmured, brushing his lips against the skin on her abdomen, over one of her scars. She thought about how far they had come, how she used to tense and dread him touching her scars. Now she looked forward to it. If it were ever possible to remove a scar with tongue laving, he would have done it by now. He was gently suckling up and down one of the marks, and she knew she'd have plenty of evidence tomorrow of the fact that her husband really liked to take his time with her.

She was running her hands through his wavy hair, enjoying the feel of him. "Do you ever fantasize about doing this with other women?" she wondered aloud, before correcting herself. "Wait, don't answer that."

He laughed against her skin. "I only like it with you," he said teasingly. "I promise."

"Mmm." She stretched her body out, long, and felt his fingers wandering down to her thighs, over her skin, and his tongue followed lazily. A few minutes later and he was gently kissing and nibbling behind her knee, then blowing on the spots he had kissed. She shuddered.

She heard the pride in his voice. "You always like that. You always have." He nipped her again, gently, before crawling back up next to her. "You want to?"

"Do what? Play checkers?"

He grinned. "Is that what you kids call it these days?"

"Very funny!" She reached between them and touched his erection gently. "Have I mentioned how much I love the weekends?"

"Hmmm...you know, we could do this during the week more, if you wanted to..."

"You got the energy for that?"

He breathed her in. "No," he admitted. "But I have the energy for now." He pressed one of his hands on the opposite side of her body and his lips against her jaw, sliding his tongue along her jawline. "I love you."

"Hey, stud." She ran her hands up his chest to his shoulders. "The condoms are in the nightstand, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember." He opened the drawer and grabbed one, then sat up for a second to slip it on. "Is this going to ruin it?"

"Not a chance," she answered, shifting against him, adjusting their contact, as he rested himself on his elbows and guided himself inside her.

His movements were relaxed. She ran her hands over his back, then spread them above her head, pressing her knees on either side of his hips. They took their time; he curled his back to fit her and lowered his mouth to her breasts. She sighed as he moved against her rhythmically, feeling the pleasure ebb and flow through her. Maybe he was right, she thought dreamily. Maybe this connection was all they needed to parent a child. Genetics might be overrated. Environment was an important factor. God that felt good. She tried to stifle the moan, but it caught her off guard, and he smiled. "I like it when you do that...please, don't refrain on my account."

She watched him moving over her, moved with him, gently rocking her hips against his. "What else don't you want me to refrain from?"

"Hmmm...dirty..." he whispered into her ear, picking up his speed. His fingers ran up and down one of her arms, cupping her breast, then capturing her mouth with his own. She entangled her wrists in the headboard and arched toward him, feeling her climax just seconds away. "Bobby." She didn't know if she said it to please him or to please herself. It was too intermingled for her to know. A moment later she heard her own name, heavily in her own ear, as he thrust twice more and pressed against her body.

Her eyes closed and she felt his body relax over hers for a moment before he moved away from her. She heard him enter the bathroom and she stretched once more. He knew her better than anyone. Making love with him was so, so good, and she felt warm and content and relaxed. She seemed to see her body through his eyes instead of her own now, and felt very satisfied with herself physically. In fact, she was pretty sure she was hot.

She opened her eyes when he jumped back on the bed, collapsing next to her naked. For a man in his mid-forties, he was pretty sexy, she thought. The imperfections of his body--the love handles, the slight belly he was developing, the scars--were charming to her.

"Have I mentioned to you lately how hot you are?" She made no attempt to cover any part of her body, and he smiled lazily, resting a hand on her belly.

"No, but I knew you thought so. I used my profiling skills to figure it out."

She laughed.

His hand stroked over her belly again. "Do you believe in fate?"

"Hmm...I'm not sure...why?"

"The condom broke."

He was remarkably calm, so calm that she thought for a moment he was teasing her. But then he continued. "Two pieces...it definitely broke...I guess it's a sign from God."

"Or a sign from the drug store that they sell old condoms."

"Or a sign that I'm a more passionate lover than we realized."

She snickered. "Or a sign that you're as stacked as we thought."

Now he snorted. "Very funny." He kissed her cheek gently. "Do you know where you are in your cycle?"

"We should be okay."

"If we're not, I'm okay with it." His fingers ran down her arm again. "I've been doing some research...I'm really trying to be okay with this. I think we should throw the rubbers out."

She shook her head. "You're not ready yet...you're not comfortable with this...this was just an accident..."

He sighed. "Okay, fine...but if I decide not to wear one next time, you can't make me."

She stuck her tongue out at him and he winked at her. "You do have beautiful breasts," he commented. "I bet they would be very efficient at nursing."

She rolled her eyes. "I forgot how the beauty of the breast affects its ability to produce milk."

He lay back down next to her. "I want us to have a family, one way or another. Will you promise me at least that?"

She caught his pinky finger in hers. "Yeah. I promise." And he lay his head on her stomach, content.

Chapter Three

"You wanna hold him?" Ava handed the baby to Vanessa so she could pour the coffee. Tristan curled his tiny fists up and lay his head against his aunt's shoulder. She couldn't believe how big he had gotten so quickly. It seemed like he was just born a few weeks ago.

She settled down at the table, snuggling the baby close to her. He had that new baby smell, so sweet and pleasant, and his little features were delicate. He was only three months old but Vanessa could hardly believe he was even here. Ava hadn't planned this pregnancy and had been as surprised as anyone when she and David conceived him. Vanessa knew that Ava and David had only planned to have one child, Justin, but had adapted when Tristan came along. The last time they had gotten together, after a bit of dancing to old CDs and too much champagne, Ava had confided that David had agreed to have a vasectomy. Vanessa was impressed and said as much. Most men she knew wouldn't agree to a procedure like that, and she had wondered if Bobby would. That had led to a conversation about babies, which had led to her confession, which she now regretted--the one where she had told Ava how much she wanted to have Bobby's baby.

Ava brought both coffee cups to the table, setting one in front of Vanessa. "I already fixed it, " she told her, then sat next to her sister, a peaceful smile on her face as she gazed at her new son. Tristan was resting in the crook of Vanessa's arm, sleeping, his yellow onesie snuggled tightly around his little body. "He looks good on you," she commented, before taking a sip of her coffee.

"Thanks." Vanessa picked up the mug with her opposite hand and sipped from it. She noted it was lukewarm, and couldn't help but admire her sister's cautiousness. She knew Vanessa wouldn't be able to help but hold the baby and she wanted to ensure there was no possibility of a hot drink burning him. She put the coffee cup down.

"So." Ava turned her cup aimlessly, then looked up at Vanessa. "Did you tell him?"

"Yes." She sipped her coffee slowly, almost wishing she had never confided anything in her sister. Talking about it made it more real, more painful. She knew Ava too well, knew she was like a dog with a bone. She'd never drop this, and Vanessa would have to pray with all her might that Ava didn't butt right in between her and Bobby about it.

"So what did he say?"

She shook her head. "We're still discussing it."

"What the hell does that mean? I thought he wanted a family...didn't you say he had said that was his lifetime dream?"

God, had she really told Ava that about Bobby? Bobby would kill her if he knew. Damn liquor. "I think...maybe it was something said a long time ago...in a moment..." She sighed, wishing their girls' night had never happened. Damn David for going out of town. If he had stayed home, Ava would have never invited her over, they would never have done any shots or sung karaoke or played truth or dare. Then she wouldn't be sitting here in the damn hot seat.

Ava was watching her closely. "I can conveniently forget everything we talked about, if you want. We both had too much to drink....I know it's none of my business, Nessie. I just want to see you happy. And you'd be a great mom. And Bobby...he'd be a good father. He's been a great uncle to the boys." She took another sip of her coffee. "Don't tell him I said that."

Vanessa smiled. She and Ava had worked tirelessly on their relationship in the last year, to the point that Ava could actually stand to be in the room with Bobby for more than ten minutes. They were closer now than they ever had been, and Ava had admitted the other night that a lot of it had been due to Bobby coming into Vanessa's life. He had changed all of their lives, for good. Ava would never be the kind of person who dropped compliments left and right, but it felt good when she gave them. And especially good when she acknowledged how special Bobby was to Vanessa, and even to her family.

"I feel like I have baby on the brain." Vanessa shook her head. "Everything is about babies suddenly...you know, his partner is pregnant and due in six weeks. Tristan just seems more beautiful every time I see him. I'm thirty-two years old and not getting any younger."

Ava shook her head. "Has he said anything about it at all?"

"Adoption...surrogacy..." Vanessa sighed.

Ava looked confused. "Why...is it because of Mom?"

"No." Vanessa shook her head. "At least, not completely...it's more about his mom. He's worried about passing on schizophrenia."

Ava put her cup down slowly. "He has a point, Ness...and I can imagine he would know better than anybody what that's like...to live that way."

Vanessa's eyes settled on her baby nephew sleeping in her arms. His tiny hand was curled by his mouth and he was making soft sucking sounds. His head was covered with soft dark hair that looked exactly like his father's. She smiled softly at him. She tried to imagine what it would be like to look at him and know his future could hold something as dismal as mental illness, and if that would make his parents wish they never had him. If it would one day make him resent them or wish he had never been born.

"You know, you could always carry a baby...somebody else's fertilized egg..." She realized Ava was talking to her, and she turned her attention back to her sister.

Shaking her head, she said, "So many ways to make a baby...and so many people who can't. When did the world get so complex?"

Ava patted her hand. "I dunno, Nessie. But you can love on your nephews anytime you want."

***************************************

Eames was roughly the size of a house.

Rayden sat in her chair at her desk, watching Alex trying to maneuver her huge belly through the bullpen without bumping into desks or detectives. It was quite a feat. She though it was quite possible that Alex's circumference now surpassed her height. For somebody so round, she still was quick and light on her feet, and although Rayden could tell Eames was tired by the way she held herself, she got as much work done as ever.

She was watching Eames curiously when she realized that Eames was watching her as well. Self-consciously she looked down at her work but it was too late; Eames was quickly making her way to Vanessa's office.

"Hey," she said, opening the door and closing it behind her. "Everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah," she lied, picking up a pen and clicking it. "How about with you?"

"I'm good."

"Great," Eames replied, sinking into the chair on the other side of Vanessa's desk. "Because I was just wondering if I had a bullseye on my ass, the way you're watching me today."

Vanessa felt her face flush. If Eames didn't know she was straight, she would have been horribly embarrassed. Her mind rushed through possibilities of how she could explain away the fact she'd been staring at Alex for most of the morning. She decided the truth was probably the best choice, as awful as it sounded.

"I'll tell you...if you promise to keep it between us."

"Why would I want anyone else to know you're checking me out?" Eames was laughing at her.

Vanessa raised one eyebrow at her. "I'm not checking you out. At least, not in the way you're implying."

Alex tossed her hair back and rested her hands on her enormous belly. "Then what's up?"

Vanessa sighed. "Please don't say anything to anyone...it's kind of embarrassing...I was just wondering what it was like to be you."

"A cop?" Eames looked puzzled.

"No." Vanessa tried desperately not to roll her eyes. Alex wasn't usually this dense. "Pregnant. Really super pregnant."

Eames snorted. "Didn't Ava just have a baby a couple months ago?"

"Yeah...but I'm around you more..." Her eyes caught Eames', then she looked down. "Sorry."

"Ness..." Eames' voice was softer now. "Are you pregnant?"

Now Vanessa laughed. "No. Really, no."

"But you're thinking about it."

She hesitated, then answered, "I can't seem to help myself." She tapped her pen on a piece of paper before saying, "Bobby has a lot of concerns."

Eames nodded. "His mother. And yours?"

"Yeah."

"Those are valid concerns, Vanessa...but you know, pregnancy is only nine months. Parenting is forever."

Vanessa started to laugh again. "That sounds like something that should be on a plaque!"

"Yeah, but it's true...I mean, I did this for my sister because she couldn't. And I wouldn't trade it for the world. But she's the one who gets a lifetime with this kid."

"Are you glad you did it? It's been amazing, hasn't it?"

Eames' eyes met hers, and Vanessa could see her choosing her words carefully. "It's been special and I feel honored I got to do this. I wouldn't have gotten to ever experience this if it weren't for my sister. But you know, if carrying a baby is that important to you, you can always have a donated egg fertilized with donated sperm, and implanted. The doctor I see does those procedures regularly."

Vanessa nodded. "I know. But it's not what I want." She drew circles with the pen, then said, "I want to have my husband's child. I think about it all the time...what our baby would look like, what he or she would act like. If the kid would like chinese or italian or asian fusion, if it would run track, if it would sing or fiddle with car engines or read or be completely stupid and a beauty queen." She sat quietly for a moment. "Did you ever wonder...with Joe?"

Alex nodded. "All the time. After I miscarried, I was devastated that I would never know. I still wonder what our baby would have been like."

Vanessa remembered the day she had heard about the miscarriage. She had been interning and only knew Alex casually. The female cop whose husband had just been murdered on the job. She had taken Eames a casserole two days later that she had made herself. Chicken noodle.

"I'm sorry if this has brought up bad memories...it was selfish of me."

Alex shook her head vehemently. "No," she told her. "You're one of the few people I can talk about Joe with and don't have to hide it. I appreciate that about our relationship, Vanessa...I really do. And I've never forgotten you coming by. It meant so much to me."

She smiled slightly. "Do you think I'm wrong to want this?"

"Of course not. I think you're a normal woman who loves her husband and whose biological clock is ticking away. I think it'd be stranger not to want it." She crossed her arms. "How is Bobby feeling about it all?"

She shook her head. "Conflicted...you know him...he'd do anything for me and it's about killing him not to just say yes. I hate even bringing it up."

Eames voice took on a firmer tone. "You need to talk to your husband about this. You both need to figure this out...what you can live with. Either way, I don't think you should give up on parenthood. You both would be incredible parents." She stood up. "You can stare at me all you want...sometimes I wonder how I fit through spaces, too." She grinned at Vanessa. "Ness, you guys will figure out what's best for you. Try not to worry too much." With a final empathic glance, Eames turned around and headed back into the bullpen, leaving Vanessa alone with her pen and her circles, both the ones on the paper and the ones in her head.

*************************************

"Hey Bruce," Vanessa cooed as she entered the condo later that evening. "I'm home!" She didn't hear an answer and didn't really expect to. It was her late night at the office, and she had brought home pizza, per usual. If Bobby was following routine, he was probably either in the study working or in bed reading. Sure enough, she found him in the bed, near the end of his book on neurology and crime.

"Hey," he said, looking up. "What are we eating?"

"Pizza." She laid the box on the bed, then pulled off her shirt. "As soon as I get changed, I'll go grab us some drinks and plates."

"Awesome." They had gotten into the habit early in their relationship of eating in bed together. Sometimes they ate junk, other times healthy food, and still others, four star dinners they had requested be boxed up and brought home. Sometimes they ate in their clothes and sometimes in their pajamas, and still other times they ate naked, and even occasionally off of each other, laughing at their own creativity. He watched her pull off her bra and her slacks, reaching for one of his t-shirts. He liked that, her body swallowed in his shirt, knowing that he'd wear it again. He could see her nipples gently pressed through the thin fabric and he smiled, because, well, he enjoyed being reminded.

She left the room and returned a few minutes later with a couple glasses of water and two plates, and they sat down to eat. She had gotten spinach for her and sausage for him.

"I love you," he told her as he bit into his first piece. "I want you to know how much I appreciate the fact that you get me italian sausage and don't make me eat weeds."

She laughed. "Well, you can have sausage but if you'd like some of the weeds you're welcome to those as well." She flipped on the television and set the channel on the food network.

"Heh," he said, "I always like to watch people eat when we're eating."

"Yeah, me too..." She pulled a piece of cheese off her pizza and chewed it slowly. "We need to talk about something. I'm supposed to go in next week for my birth control shot." She didn't look at him but felt hyper aware of his reaction, waiting to see any change in his posture or tone at all.

But he just took another bite of his pizza. "You want to go off it?"

"Yeah. Just in case we decide to try...it can take awhile for the body to readjust to not having the hormones..."

He nodded. "It's your body...I think you should do what you're comfortable with. And what you're saying makes sense."

She twisted another piece of cheese on the top of her pizza. "Makes sense?"

"Yeah." He put his pizza down and looked at her. "I mean, we haven't ruled this out, right? So it makes sense for you to go off the shot and we can use something more...I don't know, temporary..." He cleared his throat. "Until we make a decision."

She didn't know why, but she felt insistent, almost annoyed. She raised her chin. "I want to have your baby and there's nothing you can say to dissuade me. I understand the risks we'd be taking. I just hope you understand how much I want this, and how serious I am."

He rested his hand on her chin, holding her face to look at him. She could see his whiskers and couldn't help but remember the last time they had scratched against her when they made love.

"I understand," he said softly. "I know you want this." His brows furrowed before he continued. "My biggest fear is not being able to do this and losing you because of it."

She could see the tears welling in his eyes. "Stop it," she told him. "I'm your best friend and I don't want to live my life without you." She shook her head. "It wouldn't be much of a life. For either of us, now."

He leaned over and kissed her, long, sweet, gentle. "Go off the shot," he whispered. "We'll use something else for now. And I promise I'll make a decision, soon."

She wrapped her arms around him. "I love you," she told him. "And don't forget, I'm your everything."

He inhaled. "Don't worry."

Chapter Two

"What are you reading?" She climbed in bed next to him and he breathed in deep. This was one of his favorite parts of the day. She was close and soft and smelled so pleasant to him. That had never changed, over all the time he had known her. Now she was leaning over him, trying to get a closer look at his book. He wondered if she was really interested in his choice of reading material or if there was something else going on.

Vanessa had never been the jealous type. She hadn't had to be. From the moment their friendship had been established, there had been no one else. And once he had fallen in love with her, he hadn't been able to look at another woman the same way again. Sure, he looked, like he figured most men did. Shapes and bodies and attractive faces. Sometimes he wondered for a moment what they looked like naked or if they would be attracted to him, and he enjoyed the occasional smile or hair toss his way. He'd even allowed himself to flirt with the girl in the drug store a couple of times. But there was no one, no woman, who came close to what he had with his wife.

He was pretty sure she knew he looked, and almost certain she knew he flirted with Dina, the drug store girl. She didn't seem to mind, though. And now she was examining his book, halfway lying in his lap. "The Criminal Mind and Neurology"? she asked. "Is it any good?"

"It's okay," he replied, taking it out of her hands and closing it up, setting it on the nightstand. "You wanna read it when I'm done?"

She sat back, next to him, pulling one of her legs up close to her body. "Maybe." She touched his hand gently. "So...how's your new partner...what's her name? Bishop?"

He sighed. "Okay, I guess. She seems pretty young...and a bit by the book...but it's only twelve weeks, like you said." He took her hand in his. "Eames is still there right now, so it's good she can do the ground work. And Deakins is going to have you working the Ivers case with us. Maybe she'll feel outnumbered."

Vanessa smiled, stroking his fingertips with her own. "Do you think she's interesting?"

He shrugged, not sure where this was going. After all, he'd known Lynn Bishop for exactly eight hours. "I dunno...I don't really know her yet. Why?"

She replied, "Oh, no reason...just wondering." After a minute, she said, "She's very attractive."

"Really?" Now he understood exactly what this was about. "You should ask her out sometime."

She elbowed him. "Very funny, Bobby! And don't tell me you hadn't noticed!"

He tickled her back until she was laughing and flat on her back in the bed. He stopped, resisting the urge to grab her wrists, then said, "Honestly, I hadn't noticed. When you have a Van Gogh in your home, sometimes it's difficult to appreciate the street artist."

She made a face, but her eyes smiled at him. God, he loved her eyes. And he really hadn't noticed Bishop, other than the fact that she was clearly going to be a pain in his ass.

"Van Gogh, huh?" she said, reaching around the back of his head to comb his hair with her fingers.

He smiled. "Something like that." He leaned down and kissed her softly. "You know there's nowhere I want to be other than here, with you. Nothing has changed. l adore you. I haven't regretted a single minute of our marriage...all fifteen months of it."

She ran her hands over the front of his tee shirt. "Okay, smart guy. I'll try to keep that in mind, even if your new partner looks like she belongs on the cover of Vogue."

He laughed and rolled over, lying next to her. "Vogue, really? I think you're perfect, but you already know that."

"Yeah, maybe." She had caught his hand again and he squeezed it. "You rock, detective."

"Awesome...if this detective thing doesn't work out, I'll audition for Cop Rock."

******************************************

It confused him that she would be jealous of Bishop.

Mainly, it confused him because Bishop was so not his type. He guessed she was attractive by regular standards, maybe even more than Eames, but he couldn't, for the life of him, imagine thinking of her like that. She was so...rigid. And she didn't get him. Not in the slightest.

He remembered how when he had met Vanessa, she didn't get him either, but she was funny. And smart--my God, he had always thought how smart that woman was. When fate had brought them together, part of what had drawn out his empathy toward her was the belief of how much she didn't deserve what had happened to her, and how much it had changed her so immediately. She was a good person, a passionate profiler, smart and funny. And she had been so vulnerable, so weak afterward, that even her closest friends couldn't bear to watch her suffering. As she grew stronger, as their relationship developed into friendship and later, love, their ability to understand one another had increased tremendously. At times, it felt that they were on the same plane. Sometimes now, it didn't, but they at least had the skills to talk it out and make it work. And more than that, they had the commitment to each other. He'd never loved anyone in his life the way he loved her, and nothing was worth risking that.

So when she had asked about Bishop last night, made it clear that she was jealous, he had been surprised. He had assumed that she knew he was just as invested in their relationship as she was, that every day he looked forward to their reunion at night. That his favorite times were drinking wine on the couch while watching a bad movie, going out to their favorite pizza joint, making love on the weekends with no timetable. But maybe he wasn't expressing it enough. Maybe they were falling into a rut. He'd never been married before, so what did he know? Making Vanessa happy was important to him. He made a mental note to do a search for a book on the subject the next time he went to the library.

As he was pondering all of this, Bishop was reviewing evidence on the Ivers case across from him. Eames had politely volunteered her desk when Bishop arrived the day before, and it had only taken Eames a minute to convince Bishop it was the best place for her. "This way you and Goren can keep connected easily on your cases," Eames had explained, and for the first time in their partnership, Goren found himself wanting to tell Eames to shut up.

She was making little noises to herself as she perused the file, something that sounded like a hum, but he wasn't sure. He'd never worked with a cop who made noises while they studied a case file. He didn't know what in the hell she was doing.

"Find something?" he finally asked her after about the tenth hum.

"Maybe..." she responded. "You know she was an honors student at NYU, and her parents mentioned she was dating that broker on Wall Street? One of her friends..." she flipped the page as though looking for information, "says something about her dating another student at the university." She glanced up at him. "We should track down this mystery man and interview him."

He nodded. "That's a good place to start."

"I'll go call her friend--Sylvia, it says--and see if she knows the guy's name...then I guess we can head over."

He watched Bishop pick up the phone, then casually stood and made his way over to Vanessa's office.

"Hey." He leaned against the door frame, watching her typing.

"Oh. Hi," she greeted him, looking away from her computer. "I was getting ready to send you and Bishop the victim profile...and what I have for the perp so far..."

"Okay." He sat down in the chair across from her. "What do you have?"

"Caroline Ivers, 20, senior at NYU, honors college, majoring in business. Her father reported a relationship with a broker downtown, yada yada yada...you know all that already. Here's the thing. Looking at the type of crime we have here, we're fairly certain--say, 99.5 percent--it was personal and done by someone she was seeing. Caroline had a second life though."

"How do you know?"

"How many good girls do you know, at 20, are coming out of a club called The Lion's Den?" She sat back. "I'm sure she was seeing someone else as well. Her father was extremely rigid and controlling during the interview...didn't let her mother talk, was very insistent his daughter was headed toward Wall Street next year. The kid's been classically trained in two instruments, debate team, lacrosse, and in twenty hours of senior classes in her junior year. That's his drive, not hers." Vanessa crossed her arms. "Plus, Rodgers found a small amount of X in her system....classic good girl wanting to be bad."

"Great...so this opens up our suspect pool to more than Mr. Wall Street."

"Yes."

Bobby's foot began to tap again, before he said, "Do you think the father is capable?"

She shook her head. "No. The only thing I'm not sure is if the pregnancy was an accident--a result of her living a little dangerously--or if it was a purposeful way to get off the horse. You know, get out of the race. I would suggest you all test the fetus for DNA along with the boyfriend. Maybe look for appointments in abortion clinics and check her apartment for birth control."

He nodded. "I was thinking the perp probably lives loud."

"Maybe." She leaned her head against the back of her chair. "Or maybe he's just got a lot of rage. To do what he did to her, he'd have to be incredibly angry. And I don't think it's only about power with this one...he was making a point about sex. There's too much violence throughout, but particularly genital trauma. He wanted to sexually destroy her." She paused. "If I had to speculate at this point, I'd say you're looking for someone who impresses, who cares what people think about him, and who carries a lot of rage inside--enough that, when unleashed, he's capable of this. I doubt he has a record of gratuitous violence. Not his style."

Goren nodded and stood. Rayden started to turn back to her computer when she heard him, low. "You okay?"

Bishop suddenly appeared next to him. "I've got a name...you ready to head over to campus?'

He glanced back at his wife for a second, then said, "Sure."

"Bishop," Vanessa called. "I'm sending you my profile of the victimology...it might help you. I'll send the perp info as soon as I'm done."

Bishop turned around and called over her shoulder, "Thanks!" Looking at Goren, she said,, "You coming?"

He glanced back at Rayden one more time, and she said firmly, "I'm fine." He hesitated for just a second, then nodded at her, before turning and following Bishop to the elevators.

*********************************************

He knew he'd be late getting home and wasn't crazy about it. Before he had gotten married, the job had been his whole life. Some days he never even left work. He'd bunk in the crib for a few hours, shower and change into a new suit, and start the next day as though it were just an extension of the last one. He loved his job. He felt useful and smart, and there was something to be said for making a difference. But now...now there was a life waiting for him outside of the station too. And some days he was awfully anxious to get home to it.

Bishop had driven him crazy. He found himself wishing on more than one occasion that afternoon that he had asked Vanessa to ride along. Bishop was a total connect the dots kind of person. If there wasn't an arrow directly pointed in a direction, she wasn't about to go there. She was so incredibly logical he figured she'd missed her calling as a mathematician. Her lack of instinct was what drove him insane.

Somewhere in the middle of the afternoon he had turned to her and said, as jokingly as he could deliver, "Do you ever, say, imagine what might have happened?"

And she returned, with complete seriousness, "It's not my job to imagine. It's my job to follow the evidence."

Of course she was right. All cops go where the evidence takes them. But good God, would it hurt to think outside the box just a little?

Their interview with the NYU student had been relatively ineffectual, primarily due to Bishop's need to pull out her notebook and ask routine questions, then jot down the kid's answers word for word. When he finally got a question or two in on the side, she had glared at him as though he had just body slammed the kid against a wall. But, in his opinion, the questions he'd asked had given them the most information. When he had asked the kid, man to man, what Caroline's reputation around campus had been, he had laughed nervously before confiding, "Well, she's pretty tight on the outside, you know...goes to classes, looks good...but when she cuts loose, she knows how to party..." Then he had stopped laughing and looked seriously at both detectives. "She...um...she didn't do that very often, and only with a few people."

He had given them names and numbers. That was useful. So was the information that Caroline had a tight circle of people she partied with. Bishop didn't necessarily think it was important, arguing that they already knew the girl occasionally partied and they needed to follow the scent of men she dated. He disagreed, explaining that knowing more about her inner circle would lead them to more useful evidence.

Bishop had shaken her head in frustration. "We know this is a man. We know it's either her Wall Street boyfriend or someone she was seeing at NYU. That's where we need to focus our energy. We have plenty of evidence that this pregnancy was an accident. That would provoke her boyfriend...we need to get a warrant for his DNA."

They had sat in the SUV and argued about it before finally agreeing to call it a day.

Now he was home. He had expected to find Vanessa in the kitchen, cooking dinner, possibly in a bowl like she seemed to enjoy. But she wasn't there. He wandered through the condo before heading to the bedroom and opening the door.

She was sitting in bed, eating a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich, with Bruce at her feet. When he opened the door, she glanced up. "Oh, hey. Sorry...I didn't feel like cooking tonight."

He shook his head, smiling. "Do you always eat naked?"

"I'm not naked," she argued. "I'm wearing my panties. But thanks for your concern."

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching her eat and thinking how much he wanted to strip down and get in bed next to her.

"Bite?"

"No thanks." He stood and took off his suit, hanging it in the closet, undressing down to his boxers. "I'm gonna go make a sandwich too...you want anything?"

"Yeah...pita and hummus?"

"Got it."

He returned a few minutes later with the pita and hummus and a sandwich of his own, as well as a glass of water for himself. He handed her the food and climbed into bed. "You feeling okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah...I was just tired today. How'd it go with Bishop?"

"Um...let me think about that...painful? Torturous? Obnoxious?"

She smiled. "You could always objectify her...you know, think of her sexually."

He made a face. 'What is your deal about that? You do realize that the only time that crosses my mind is when you put it there, right?"

She picked at the pita bread. "It's my insecurity. I didn't even know I had it until now."

"Well, you shouldn't. You know I don't want to be with anyone but you. Didn't we have this same conversation a few days ago?"

She put the pita down. "I remember a time that you would have picked up on the fact that I'm half naked in bed."

He sighed and lay the remains of his sandwich on top of the hummus container. "Are you serious?"

She didn't answer him, and suddenly he realized how serious she was.

"Hey." He caught her face in his hand and she was still, her eyes watching his. "This is nuts. I'm ending this conversation right here, right now. I love you with my entire soul. There is no one, especially Lynn Bishop, who I want to be with. Suspicion is no good for us. When I wake up, the first person I want to see is the one I see--you. When I go to bed, the last person i want to see is you." His hand let go of her face and dragged his fingers through her hair slowly. "If you need something from me, then tell me...I'm not good at guessing. You know I'll try...but I can't promise you'll get what you need."

He started to pick up his sandwich when he heard her. "I need you, Bobby. I need you to want me."

The choice was an easy one. He laid the sandwich back down on top of the hummus, then leaned over and kissed her, slowly and deeply. How in the hell she could think he would want this with Bishop, he'd never understand.

She was passive this time, more so than he remembered her being in a long time. He thought she wanted him to show her, to show that he loved her enough to take charge, to demonstrate his feelings. He had no problem with that. He took his time, working his way over her body, tasting her in tiny licks and nibbles until he could hear her catching her breath repeatedly. Then he stopped and looked up at her. "Tell me you know I love you," he whispered.

She reached down and ran her hands through his hair. "I know that...I just like the reminders."

He grinned at her. "You know I'll never get tired of you." His lips grazed her nipple gently, and his teeth nibbled on her before beginning to suck rhythmically. He felt her hips rock against him in the same rhythm as she sighed.

His hand slipped down to her panties. He wanted to touch her. They were both creative enough to make sure this never got old, and God knows, it always felt so good. He was about to run his fingers over her when he heard her whisper his name.

He pulled his mouth away from her breast, then kissed it before answering her. "Everything okay?"

She smiled and ran her hands over his back. "Yes...I just have been thinking a lot about something..." He heard her suck in her breath. "I want to have a baby."

Seven years old and hiding in the closet while she ranted about the FBI stalking them. Ten years old, dodging the frying pan she was waving around as she was convinced he had let "them" in. Fourteen as she chased him and his then-girlfriend from the house, screaming that they were trying to spy on her.

He pressed his face into her neck, breathing deeply. "Beth," he sighed. She smelled of flowers and grilled cheese and the office.

Her fingers ran slowly down his spine, tracing each vertebra. She could feel his erection against her thigh and was almost surprised he hadn't lost it, given what she had just sprung on him. Proof positive that desire trumps all, she thought. "I know it's sudden...it's just been on my mind a lot...it's almost time for me to get my shot again and I want to stop...I want us to try...if you're ready."

He hadn't moved, hadn't lifted his head. Still buried in her neck, breathing in her scent. Against his better judgment, he let his hand meander down to her breasts and fondle her nipples until he felt them tighten and heard her catch her breath sharply.

His hands moved up to her face, cupping her cheek, and he lifted his own to press against hers. His lips lay loosely against her jaw, pressing into soft kisses repeatedly until he whispered, "You're so beautiful."

She turned to face him and kissed him on the mouth slowly, eyes open. Hesitantly, she heard herself. "You don't want to, do you?"

His hand tangled into her hair as he opened his eyes and stared into hers. "I don't know."

She knew that would be his response. She had known, since right after their marriage, that the reality of a pregnancy scared the shit out of him. She had hoped if she gave him enough time, if he could see how good they were together, that his original dream of a happy family would resurface and he would trust the two of them, together, to work this out. But it wasn't what he wanted. She had a sinking feeling in her gut that the only reason he even had doubts about his answer was because he loved her so much he wanted to give her the world. She felt the hot tears welling in her eyes.

"Baby," he whispered, "please...don't cry...I'm not saying no...I'm just saying I need time to think...we need to consider our options. Adoption, surrogacy--something safe for the baby and right for us--"

She didn't speak, willed herself to stop crying the selfish tears falling down her face, to steel herself and remember how incredibly lucky she was to have even found him. He was kissing her face, stroking her hair, and she knew he felt immensely guilty for not being able to give her something she wanted. He almost never denied her anything.

She caught her breath roughly. "It's okay," she whispered hoarsely. "We can talk about it later...it doesn't matter right now...you're right, we need to discuss our options." She leaned forward and forced herself to kiss him with as much passion as she could muster. "Right now, there are other things..." and she slid her hand down between them.

But he pulled away, catching her hand in his own and kissing it gently. "Beth," he murmured, and pulled her against his chest, squeezing her tightly there until she really did begin to cry, and buried her head in his chest for a long time.

**************************************

"So that's what I told them," Frances said firmly. "I told them that just because a person is schizophrenic doesn't mean they're stupid."

They were visiting Bobby's mother as per usual for Sunday afternoons, and she was doing much better. In the past three months the doctors had refined her drug regimen and most days she was more conversational and much less paranoid. Rarely did Vanessa have to pretend she was some sort of secret service agent protecting Bobby from the FBI; usually she got to be herself and Frances was completely delighted with the idea of having a daughter. Nearly every visit, she would take the opportunity to tell Vanessa that she was the daughter Frances had always wanted but never had, and then hugged her fiercely before beating her on the back in good old Italian tradition. Bobby would awkwardly smile during these interchanges. Sometimes Vanessa wondered if he was jealous that his mother actually had wanted a girl at some point, but he never mentioned it after, so she didn't either.

Today Frances was talking about her most recent visit with the new psychiatric resident doctor. Apparently he had felt the need to explain certain aspects of her illness to her, and she had taken offense, clarifying that she certainly understood her illness after having it for thirty years.

"Ma," Bobby said, "You know he's just trying to help you...he doesn't know yet. He's new, that's what the residency year is for."

"So now he knows!" she exclaimed. "Look, who's the schizophrenic here? I've had it for thirty years and he thinks I need education? I may be schizophrenic but junior certainly isn't at the top of his class, is he?"

Vanessa started to laugh. Sometimes she just couldn't help it--Frances didn't have the same filter that everyone else had, and she often said things out loud that everyone else was thinking. Vanessa envied her that freedom.

"See? Your wife agrees with me, Bobby. Sometimes you need to set people straight." She gave a curt nod in Vanessa's direction.

Bobby glanced at Vanessa warily before answering, "Maybe so."

"So." And the question came that always came. "Where's your brother? Have you heard from Frank?"

Of course they hadn't heard from Frank. Vanessa had never even met Frank, and they'd been married for almost a year and a half. In all that time, Bobby had gotten one phone call from his brother--once, in the middle of the night from Atlantic City, asking for money to bail him out of a problem--and that's it. Vanessa had volunteered to wire the money, but Bobby had flatly refused, saying he wasn't about to fund his brother's habit.

Every visit, Frances asked about Frank. Then she talked about him--how he was probably busy, how he was brilliant, an engineer; how life had been hard for him--until she finally moved on to another topic or they distracted her with a card game or lunch or perhaps the priest came for a visit. Vanessa always had to fight the urge to tell Frances exactly what she thought of her other son, and it was only out of respect for Bobby that she did so.

Bobby responded as he always did. "No, Ma, I haven't heard from him this week."

"Hmm," Frances replied thoughtfully. "I was reading in the paper about that new space launch...the one in Florida. You remember when your brother was into aeronautics in high school, Bobby? He never ceased to amaze any of us. Your father always said that Frank could get anything to fly." She turned to Vanessa. "That was my Frankie...the brains of the family."

"Coke?" Vanessa asked brightly, standing to head to the vending machine.

"Oh no," Frances replied. "Bobby...Bobby...give your wife some money...she wants a coke!"

"I've got it covered," Vanessa began, but Bobby rummaged through the pocket of his jeans and handed her a dollar.

"Here, honey...would you mind getting me a diet coke too?"

She smiled at him and nodded, feeling like she was about six years old, and made her way down the hall.

She took her time, examining all of the drinks and the snacks in the vending machines, checking to see if there had been any changes since her last visit. After all, she did only come every other week, while Bobby came every Sunday. That way he got to spend some time alone with his mother too.

Nope, no changes this time. She slipped the dollar into the machine and selected diet coke twice, then grabbed both of the cans and headed back to the room. When she entered, the priest, Father Donovan, was there, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief. Usually they left shortly after the good Father arrived.

Father Donovan had already settled himself in Vanessa's chair, and Bobby stood when she entered the room. "Oh," the priest said, "I should move." But Bobby reassured him that they were getting ready to leave and it was okay, then he leaned to give his mother a kiss goodbye.

She kissed them both and told Bobby to keep a close watch on Vanessa and reminded him to be a gentleman. Usually it made Vanessa laugh, especially since Bobby was so sweet to her already.

They made their way out to the car, then headed onto the highway. Five miles down, Bobby took a long sip of his soda and said, "So...do you want to talk about the other night?"

She kept her eyes on the road, even though he was driving. "I didn't know there was anything to talk about."

He exhaled heavily. "I thought you wanted to have a baby...I thought that would be something to discuss."

"And I thought you had pretty much made up your mind...adoption or surrogacy."

They rode in silence for another couple of miles before he said, "I just keep seeing my mother...I can't help but worry about passing that on to our child."

She looked out the window. "Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Your mother. Knowing her. If the option had been to not have Frances as a mother, or to have her as she is, which would you choose?"

He shook his head. "That's an impossible choice."

"But that's what you're saying...it's better not to bring a child into the world at all than to have a child with schizophrenia."

"Do you know what her life has been like? Look at her now. She can't live by herself, she couldn't hold a job or keep a marriage together or even care for her own children--"

"And yet you love her more than anyone in the world...except maybe me..."

"Except you." His fingers drummed on the steering wheel, a light sound breaking up the tense silence between them. Almost as if reminding himself, he murmured, "You're everything."

She watched the scenery pass by them. "I love you too."

Chapter One

Goren was sitting next to her on the train, tapping his foot nervously up and down the way he always did. She could remember, a lifetime ago before they ever became friends, that he always had that tap-tap-tap habit of his and it always drove her nuts. When she fell in love with him, it became a tad bit more tolerable, but only because she had told herself that he was adapting to her crazy habits as well. She was sure he had; God knows she wasn't an easy person to live with. She had to have her studio and would record all hours of the day and night; she liked her coffee each morning to suit the weather; she insisted on trying to dry clean her clothes in their dryer instead of just dropping them off like he did. But the tap-tap-tapping was incessant. It was his energy, and she knew there was no way to contain it.

"Hey," she finally elbowed him. "You nervous or something?"

He glanced at her, giving her a half-smile. He knew that was her polite way of telling him to be still.

His foot became still and he sat silently next to her. Like a child, he was observing the passengers around them--the businessman who got on two stops ago; the kid with the ipod attached to his ears and bouncing up and down; the gangbanger three rows back, lounged out with his legs in the aisle. The hooker who looked half asleep, or drugged, with her head on her chest and way too much eye makeup.

The train stopped and people stood to file out onto the platform. She followed him, hooking a finger into his jacket pocket. For some reason she was always afraid she'd lose him in the subway, even though he was over six feet tall and massive. She knew if she was looking she'd see him. But at a little over five feet, she knew he wouldn't see her. She'd blend into the crowd like somebody's lost kid.

The air outside the station was cool and crisp, and she unhooked her fingers from his pocket to walk beside him. He was still quiet; she knew he was thinking about the case they were going to be working and mentally preparing himself. Sometimes he was too smart for his own good. She knew he challenged himself constantly and expected nothing less than perfection. Two months ago, when a suspect had gotten by them the first time, he had tortured himself for days about his misjudgment until she had finally, loudly, put an end to it. In the office, of all places. Everyone else was kind enough to pretend they didn't see or hear. She'd never done that before, never berated him in public, but enough was enough. Everyone was human.

They were a block away now, and could see the perimeter marked off by crime scene tape and several uniformed officers milling around. He hadn't wanted her to come to the crime scene and had even spoken privately to Deakins about it. But Deakins trusted her, apparently more than Bobby did, because here she was, ready to profile the shit out of whatever there was for them. She knew it was a sex crime that had resulted in a murder. She had done these a million times, so she didn't know why Bobby had gotten into such a snit about it. She was much more able to handle the crimes objectively now than she had been when she first came back to work after her assault. That seemed a lifetime ago, but it didn't stop either of them from thinking about it every time a case like this presented itself. He still peered behind him, into her eyes, asking silently, are you sure? And she looked at him with as much confidence as she had, silently answering, hell yes.

They rounded the corner and he pulled out his badge and introduced himself to the uniform in charge, then introduced her. She had a fancy little lanyard thing with her ID on it. The department had decided it was more appropriate for a profiler to have a lanyard than a badge, because technically, she wasn't an officer. That was true, and she didn't want to be an officer. She liked her job just fine.

The uniform nodded at her, saying, "Ma'am...this is rather grisly...are you sure..."

"Yes. And I'll need photos from CSU."

Goren gave a curt nod to her, then turned back to the uniform. "What time was she found?"

"An hour ago. We called you guys right away when we saw...we ID'd her as a cop's kid. He doesn't need to see her like this."

Bobby had already rounded the body, pulled on his gloves, and was kneeling toward the wound in her head. Vanessa stood silently, taking the whole picture in.

She was nude and had been tortured and executed. She was stabbed multiple times in the abdomen and showed obvious evidence of genital trauma. Whoever attacked her had tortured, raped, and killed her.

Vanessa glanced up at the uniform. "Has the ME been by yet? Given you a time of death?"

"Yeah. Four this morning." He nodded over toward the police cars. "She's over there."

Rayden walked through the crowd of cops to the medical examiner, who smiled in recognition. "Early morning, huh?"

"Yeah...what do you have so far?"

"Caroline Ivers, twenty, looks to have been leaving a club...there's a stamp on her hand....raped sodomized, stabbed and shot. The stabbings weren't fatal...they were all painful but didn't kill her. I'll check her for substances."

"Run a pregnancy test too, will you?" Vanessa shook her head. "Just a feeling."

The ME, Rodgers, nodded. "Sure thing. I'll have it to you by this afternoon." Motioning toward Goren, she asked, "Is he working alone?"

"No, he gets a new partner this morning. Eames is beginning maternity leave."

Rodgers grinned, then said, "They'll never know what hit 'em."

Smiling back, Rayden replied, "Probably not." She made her way back across the parking lot to Goren. "Find anything interesting?"

He shook his head and sighed. "A 22 to the head,maybe? Definite overkill...not a professional job. This was personal." He looked up into the sunlight, trying to catch her face. "You wanna go for breakfast before we go in?"

She shrugged. "Whatever. You're paying."

He grinned, then stood up and pulled his gloves off. Glancing back at the severely maimed body, he murmured, "Makes you want to get all naked, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. Not a chance in hell."

He shivered, then caught her hand, leading her down the street to a local diner.

********************************************************

He had his usual, eggs and bacon and toast, and she had coffee and not much else other than a nibble off of his plate.

"You really should get your own," he told her. "You crack me up...one of the richest women on the planet and you live like you can't afford a thing."

"That's not true," she corrected him as she took a bite of his toast. "I just wasn't hungry. You know I don't like to eat a lot...it has nothing to do with money."

"Yeah...it has to do with you being worried that Eames is hot or something. Ridiculous." He took another bite of bacon.

"Look," she told him, "I trust you when you say you have no interest in Eames. I know her and like her. Plus, the fact that she's seven months pregnant doesn't make her all that enticing right now. Besides, when we got married I believed every word you said. Still do. But I can't change the fact that I'm not hungry. If it makes you feel better I will shove down some sort of breakfast item so that you can feel you did your job as a loving husband."

"Hmm." A smile played at his lips. "Do I get to choose the item?"

"Uh, no." She took a bite of his bacon. "You act like you mind sharing your meal with me. I thought eating together was supposed to be a way to bond."

"Yeah...if we both have a plate..." He offered her a fork. "Here." She took it with a smile and started on his eggs. "So...what did you think of the scene? Any ideas yet?"

"Mmm," she nodded, mouth full of eggs. "Pretty sure it was personal, like you said. Stabs to the abdomen sometimes indicate a pregnancy. I asked Rodgers to test her."

"So you're thinking a boyfriend."

"Not necessarily...but if she's pregnant, then I'm pretty sure that had something to do with it."

He took a bite of eggs. "There was a lot of trauma...you know, genitally..."

She looked up at him. "Yeah, I noticed. I think it will be good to get Rodgers' results back first before we jump to any conclusions."

He nodded and turned his attention back to his breakfast. She lay the fork down next to him and checked her watch. Six-fifteen. Awfully early. She pulled on his jacket sleeve gently. "You okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

She sighed. "I guess. I'd be a lot better if we were still in bed, sleeping."

He smiled slightly at that thought. "You were too snuggled up to Bruce this morning," he commented, referring to their large mastiff. "I think it's time to get him a bed on the floor."

She grinned. "Jealous much?"

"No. Not of Bruce, anyway. He had you first."

"True." She finished her coffee. "Well, I guess you meet your new partner in a couple of hours."

"Eames is my partner...this person is just temporary...you know, twelve weeks to go in the field and cover the time she's off..."

She didn't have the heart to argue with him. She knew Bobby's biggest fear, next to losing her, was losing his partner of five years. "Right," she concurred. "I'm sure you guys will work everything out...it will all be okay. And like you said, Eames will still be working desk duty for a couple more weeks."

They paid the check and headed back toward the subway. Descending the stairs, she hooked her fingers back into his coat pocket.

"Ness...you know I would never lose you."

She smiled. "No...but I do know you'd try to find me, and you'd try really hard."

*****************************************

She was in her office working on the profile from the morning when Eames ducked in.

"Hey," she said, barely above a whisper, then peeking out between the blinds in the office.

"Hey...uh, what are you doing?"

"Watching Goren and Bishop. I'm not sure this is a good fit."

"She's here?" Vanessa was surprised. She hopped up and joined Eames at the window.

"Yeah...she's pretty traditional...Deakins is already chuckling about it. He says it will be good for Goren to stretch working with a more traditional detective."

Vanessa didn't hear what Eames said after that. She was too busy taking in Bishop. Tall, thin, twenty-something Bishop. Red haired, fair-skinned, blue-eyed, attractive Bishop. Damn.

"Huh?"

Eames sighed. "I said Bobby's going to be pissed this whole time...you know how he does with people who don't go along with his program."

Vanessa shook her head. "I think you don't give him enough credit. He's a good man and a good detective. He'll listen if he thinks she's on to something." Why the hell would Deakins pick a model to be her husband's partner?

Eames snickered. "Yeah, maybe." She let the blinds go. "I guess I should go back out there and get to work. Maybe I can help her adjust."

Vanessa made a face, but changed it quickly when she saw Eames look at her.

"What, Ness?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all." She turned back to her desk and sat down. "It would've been thoughtful of Deakins to team him with somebody who didn't look like she'd been on the cover of Cosmo."

"Are you serious?" Eames put her hands on her hips. "You do realize how crazy he is in love with you...that hasn't changed a bit since day one."

"Right." She mindlessly began typing on her computer. "I'll keep that in mind."

Eames shook her head. "Don't do this to yourself," she told Vanessa. "Don't doubt what you have." She opened the door and walked out.

Wishing she had the same confidence as Eames, Rayden turned her attention back to the case at hand.