A Day Without Emma

A/N: Just to be on the safe side, THIS FIC IS RATED R/NC-17 (it gets a bit racy in parts).



His keys jingled in the lock as he opened the door, careful not to make too much noise in case his daughter was napping. He had to be completely silent when Emma slept because of her constant fear that he was having fun without her, always slipping out of her crib to peek around the corner to see what he was up to. It drove his wife (who had a bit more freedom to move when it came to their daughter) nuts that she had to repeatedly usher Emma back to bed and begin the whole bedtime ritual from the top. Usually it worked out alright – he would use Emma’s naptimes as a chance to catch up on some homework for a case they were working on. A quiet hobby, research didn’t hold Emma’s short attention span, and dissertations on the inner-workings of a psychopathic mind were not something you could share with a one year-old.

Upon entering he heard an insistent hum coming from another part of the house – the washer and dryer running, he surmised. He had spent the day in court testifying against a man in an art theft/murder case. Eames hadn’t been there when the confession occurred (she had been in the opposite interrogation room getting the conflicting story from the wife), and what she did know could be found in her report, so she didn’t have to be called to the stand. Normally she would have gone anyway as his partner, but since having Emma the busyness of their daily lives had increased exponentially. Now, when one of them had the opportunity to shake off a responsibility to spend time with Emma or shorten their to-do list, they took it. The result was an almost perfectly run egalitarian household.

Placing his keys and folder onto the top of the high bookshelf just inside the doorway (so Emma couldn’t hide the former and color on the later, both of which she was prone to do) he followed the drone of the machines through the twists and turns of the small but comfortable home. The washer and dryer were located in the hallway behind folding wood doors between their bedroom and Emma’s. He bypassed the household item and moved toward the bedroom to hang up his suit jacket in the closet (so Emma couldn’t get finger paint on it . . . if having a kid did nothing else, it made you diligent on where you put your belongings).

“Hey,” a voice called out, “tall, dark, and handsome.”

Bobby jerked to a stop, turned, and saw his wife standing in front of the dryer looking in his direction. He pointed at himself questioningly as he spun around, looking for someone behind him.

She humored him with a smile, “Yeah you,” she crooked a finger at him, “come help me with this.” She threw a pile of clean laundry at him which he caught and brought over to set on the dryer next to her, picking up each item individually and folding it. In the meantime he had hung his jacket on the knob of the nearest door.

“How was court?” she asked as she folded closely next to him, her hip bumping and rubbing against his thigh -- whether she was doing it on purpose or not, he wasn’t completely sure. Either way, it (along with the hypnotic drone of the machines) was enough to distract him because he didn’t know how much time had passed before she spoke again.

They hadn’t seen each other all day or, it seemed, a long time before that. They had just finished a long, harrowing case the previous day when meanwhile, they had yet to catch their breaths from the one before that. During all of this was, of course, their precocious daughter who was exhausting enough on her own.

“Earth to Goren,” his wife’s voice echoed off the steel machines, nudging her hip into him a little harder. The smirk he caught out of the corner of his eye quitted any guilty feelings he may have had at zoning out. So it had been on purpose. “Court?” she prompted.

He dropped the shirt he was folding and turned to his wife, his hands drifting to her waist. He shrugged, “Guilty, twenty to twenty-five, just like we thought.” She seemed satisfied with the conclusion.

“Been thinking about you all day,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her on the neck.

“Uh-huh,” she commented doubtfully. Despite her tone and air of indifference, she fisted his tie in her hand and tugged hard toward her, though she continued to fold with her other hand.

He tilted his head, coming at her from another angle. In an exaggerated huff, she threw the pants she was folding and turned to face him head on, eyes narrowed. He met her glare, flashing a little boy grin, continuing to get fresh with his hands. “You forget,” she chastised, “I know all your little tricks. First you get into my personal space to throw me off and get me all flustered,” he inched even closer, “then you pounce. Those Jedi mind tricks of yours don’t work on me, ya know.” He may seem socially inept at times but he knew the effect he can have on people and he knew how to flirt and what to say to a girl to get what he wanted, whether it be chicken parmesan, a confession, or a kiss.

And Alex was all too aware. “I’m immune,” she declared, even as her fingernails scraped his scalp and her hand wound into his hair, leaning harder into him and forcing his mouth harder onto her neck.

Bobby pulled back a little and spoke into the delicate skin of her neck, causing goosebumps to rise there, “Are you suggesting I stop?”

He felt her lips curl into a smile against his ear. “Now don’t go putting words in my mouth,” she reprimanded.

She backed off and he reeled a little bit in confusion. “Make yourself useful, detective.” She handed him wet clothes, he threw them in the dryer and turned the dial to thirty minutes. Just enough time to do what he wanted to do, he surmised.

Completing his assigned task, he circled behind her. She meant to keep him distracted, get him a little annoyed – it was more fun that way. “For someone who doesn’t follow the rules, you take instruction very well,” she commented, as she again folded clothes, pretending the whole while that nothing had been started.

He moved against her until her back was molded to his front. His palm slid under her shirt, fingers skimming then diving under the waistband of her jeans. Her head thudded back against his chest, her eyes closed. “Turn around,” he murmured into her ear. She was facing him before she even noticed what she was doing. Damn. He smirked in triumph, “For someone who says she only pretends to listen to me, you’re very receptive.”

“I said I only pretend I don’t listen to you. I listen if you’re gonna make it worth my while.”

He ignored her sassy mouth and backed her up against the dryer until she was leaning backwards at the waist. He knew he had her when she threw her arms around his neck in complete submission.

His hands slid to her waist and he lifted her up onto the dryer, kicking her legs on either side of the corner. He kissed her, making up for all the late nights at crime scenes and days surrounded by an impressionable youth. He purposefully took a step back so she’d have to lean forward to keep the kiss. When she did, she immediately stiffened as the vibration of the appliance hit her clit. Her hands went up to squeeze his biceps hard and she threw her head back. Her eyes never opened. He watched her face for a while, letting her lean into the vibration, rocking her hips back and forth. He tilted into her, using that quiet, commanding, dangerous voice he kept for the interrogation room, “See how good it can be when you listen to me?” A small noise in the back of her throat was all the response she could muster.

“Emma?” he mumbled between nibbles on her neck, quickly traveling southward.

“Um,” Alex shook her head trying to clear it – Emma? Emma? Who was Emma? “My mother’s,” Alex answered finally, pushing him away from her hard. Confusion was breaking through the haze of lust he was in. She whipped her shirt over her head, and any confusion of her motives instantly vanished as he launched back at her. Literally grabbing her, her thighs pressed tight to his, he lifted her off the machine, spun them around and landed with and “oomph” against the opposite wall. The breath was knocked out of her, which was fine with her because it just made the slamming of their pelvises all the more intense to her already hyper nerve endings. Her right hand traveled up the wall, her nails scratching into the surface, searching for purchase, leverage to get closer, push deeper.

Whatever master plan he may have had was gone now, but that was fine enough with him. He got the ball rolling and that’s as far as he normally ever got with Alex. Not far into their seducing of each other, he always reached a point when “all that damn thinking” as she put it, was forced out the window – some move she made, thing she said, article of clothing she took off.

They slid along the wall until they entered the bedroom. She considered the layers of denim and cotton barriers between them. “If you want this to get fun, you’re going to have to put me down.” “Down” wasn’t even out of her mouth when he unceremoniously dropped her on her feet.

She stood on tiptoes to kiss him as she worked at the buttons of his white button-down. He ran his hands from around her back to the front clasp of her bra. She let her arms drop and the straps slid smoothly down her arms and off, landing on the floor somewhere behind her.

He moved toward her again, but she shoved him against the wall yet again. Considering the rare opportunity of being alone, one would think they would revel in it and take their time. But they couldn’t wait. They needed each other and they needed each other now. Slow and languid could be later. Now they needed rough and loud and hard. She reached her hand into his boxers and when she found what she was searching for, she wrapped her fingers around him and his eyes slammed shut and his head thumped back against the wall. His face didn’t even register the pain in his skull. In fact, she had managed to wipe his face of all expression except complete and utter submission with a strong hint of lust.

They played with each other like that when it came to their sex life – see who would scream uncle first. She loved him like this -- just knowing that she had the NYPD’s best detective and resident genius at her mercy. She could ask him for anything she wanted, to do anything she wanted, and he would without question. Of course, she would never -- they didn’t play mind games like that. In the end, it never mattered who gave in. In fact, it was more fun when they didn’t – instead dragging it out for as long as they had time for.

She knew he wasn’t thinking right now – couldn’t if he tried. She wanted him to take her to Europe. She wanted to see him in even more of his element, wrapping his tongue around foreign languages and taking her through cities. Well . . . maybe there was one thing . . .

“Bobby,” she purred, stroking him. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, panting. Her other hand came up to roam his chest. “Bobby,” she implored more insistently.

“Yeah?” he got out between breaths. In his defense, she kept tugging on him harder and harder faster and faster.

“Would you do something for me?”

“Anything,” he answered instantly. She smiled prettily at his response.

“Take me away. Take me to Europe. Just the two of us. To Italy.”

“I don’t speak Italian that well.”

“But you would . . . for me,” she stated.

She could have asked and gotten the same answer when they weren’t in a sexual situation, but this was just more fun.

“Okay,” he breathed. Actually, he’d always wanted to take her places, show her cobblestone roads in English countryside and the top of the Eiffel Tower. She’d never shown an interest before, but with the surprise pregnancy and birth, there had hardly been any time to seriously consider it until now. But they could consider it later. Now wasn’t the time. And the only way they were both going to win right now was if they both gave in.









Bobby inhaled deeply and let out a relaxed breath, “God, we needed that.”

“Uh-huh,” was all the sound Alex could make in trying to catch her breath. She looked at him, fondness glazed over her eyes. She ran a hand through his tough curls, “Think you need a haircut, babe.”

“Yeah?” She nodded.

“I think I need one too,” she said absentmindedly, playing with the split ends of her hair.

He gently pushed her hand away and replaced it with his own less critical fingertips to run over her strands, “I like it this length.”

She looked at him suspiciously, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I can grab it, tug on it. And the same reason you like it better when I don’t shave . . . I can feel it,” he leaned in, his hot breath on her ear, “when you go down on me.”

“Oh,” she sighed. But the damage had been done. Her leg slid up the sheet, slick with their sweat, and between his legs.

They spent the rest of the afternoon lazily going down on each other. God, he was right about the not shaving thing. There were about twenty different sensations going on between her thighs all at once.







He woke up forty-five minutes later. The bedroom door that led to the washer and dryer was wide open. He stuffed his hands under his pillow and watched Alex at the machines. She hummed quietly to herself as she bent over to change loads. She was wearing a fitted white t-shirt and white panties and when the hall light hit her just so, he could see right through both, which she wore nothing under.

He cleared his throat audibly and when she whipped around guiltily, he gave her an accusatory glance, taking in the cold bed next to him, her overabundance of clothes, and her distance from him. “Figured I’d try to get something accomplished,” she reasoned, but threw off her t-shirt and slid back into bed with him nonetheless. Their lovemaking had always had that effect – it calmed his mind and allowed him to sleep, but always left her energetic.

She rolled onto her stomach, blankets pooled at her waist. As he rolled over on top of her he fisted the white bed sheet and flung it off her causing goose bumps to rise on her skin. He kissed down her back. He methodically took her one arm and then the other and placed them straight out in front of her. He slowly spread her legs with his. She was completely lax underneath him, loving the feel of his weight pressing down on her and into the cool sheets. He entered her then.

This was another wonderful product of their lovemaking. He was always so enamored with her afterwards, like he couldn’t believe she’d allowed him the privilege and honor of fucking her, that he worshipped her body afterwards, with gentle, massaging hands on her back, breasts, and thighs. And she loved being manipulated by him like this.






A knock on the door interrupted any more fun, informing them of her mother’s return, daughter in tow. Alex got up to meet them at the door and retrieve her daughter while Bobby got dressed. When he did make it out to the living room, Alex was conversing with her mother, Emma thrashing about violently in her arms.

She was cranky and tired from being off her routine and most likely hungry. The baby made pitiful whining noises that she liked to fake when she was restless. Bobby scooped her up, kissing her silky hair while she squirmed, strode into the kitchen and plopped her into her high chair. She wiggled piteously some more when he turned his back on her to shift through the cupboards. She perked up considerably when she hung over the side of the chair and spied what he had in his hand when he turned back around.

He pulled up a chair across from her and reached into the striped bag, bringing out a familiar treat. He laid a half a dozen animal crackers in front of her. The baby eagerly reached out, misjudging her grasp a few times out of her eagerness before managing to shovel one into her mouth. Bobby picked up another, a bear if he wasn’t mistaken, and made it shimmy across the table, making animal noises all the while. The baby loved this of course, and clapped for the show her daddy was putting on for her, chewing on the crackers all the while. He airplaned some towards her mouth, which she opened like a baby bird, only to make it instantly disappear out of his hands, a magic trick she’d seen him do before. Emma liked this game until the cracker disappeared one too many times and she pounded her fists on the table, shrieking a little in her throat. Always one to indulge his little girl, Bobby chuckled at her impatience (which she probably got from him) and offered up the treat which the baby stuffed happily into her mouth. He heard Alex say goodbye to her mother and a few minutes later felt Alex’s hands caress his shoulders and slid down so she hung over his back to watch their little girl. Minutes went by before Emma shifted in her seat again and, to the best of her verbal ability and the sign language Bobby had taught her since birth, let if be known that she demanded a meal more substantial than the crackers in front of her. Sighing, Alex squeezed her husband one last time, “So much more Mommy and Daddy time.”