Disclaimer: Not mine.

Dedication: To Yana, who has written such great works in the last weeks while I worked to finish just one more chapter of Ancillae.

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Inure

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            I watch Eric intently through the pristine, tinted glass of our boss's office from the first floor of the maze-like lab that is our collective domain.  My heart twists in my chest, knowing he is suffering through a non-age-related break down.

            The day had yielded a death toll of three – victim, perp, and accomplice.  Speed had been injured in the crossfire; Horatio felled the accomplice while I had managed to hit the second man.

            Eric had not only hit our coworker in the thigh and pelvis, but the victim as well, in the chest, causing her to bleed out in a matter of seconds.  The family had seen the shoot-out due to it being televised by nearly every channel, had understood that it had been a hazard and that Delko had been aiming past her to the man who had been holding her.  Not even our coworkers blame him, nor do any of our superiors from H on.

            The guilt, however, that his training had failed and was now facing a disciplinary hearing weighs on his consciousness.  Makes him want nothing more than disappear, to sink through the floor, to evaporate from the surface of the planet.

            I see him try to duck away from the redhead as the elder struggles to maintain a grip on his underling's arms while the departmental therapist and the Captain work to attempt speaking with him.

            For some reason my feet begin to move.  Right, left.  Right, left.  Lug up the stairs, and to the office door – in time to nearly be run over in his attempt to escape.

            I gaze up from the floor at him; he's frozen in place, "Eric."  I brush my pants out, push some strands of my long hair behind one ear, and continually all my love for him to pour into the surrounding area.

            He gulps, "Ca…Calleigh."

            "Where you running to?" I implore, never shifting so as never to lose the delicate eye contact we tenuously hold.

            "Don't…Don't know.  I think I might go to my parents' for a few days.  Or maybe Palm Coast." He rubs his hand down his face and across his neck, "Palm Coast is nice, right?"

            "It's beautiful."

            H holds back Captain Renwood and Dr. D'Angelo, because he knows there's only one person who could possibly get through to his student in the high-strung state he embodied.

            "Cal." He whispers, mournfully.

            "Eric." I call back.

            "I screwed up."

            I shake my head without hesitation, reaching a genial hand out toward him, "No, Sweetheart.  You did not purposely fire on Vanessa and I know you were not aiming for Tim." I refuse to say that it was an accident, because I realize it would only serve to upset him further, "You did what you were supposed to do."

            "I killed her!" He chokes, voice an octave above normal.  He snivels, finally removing his gaze from mine, backing away slowly.  H drops his restraining hand, inching toward his charge.

            The Russian-Cuban makes a brash decision – he bolts, executing a plan within the confines of his depleted mind.

            We all watch as he lifts a foot to one of the lower railing bars.  He wants to go straight over…I won't let him.  I roll, latch onto his hand and am pulled across the linoleum for several paces.

            He stops and sucks in air, "Please.  Just let me go."

            "No.  You're my best friend, Eric.  My brother without blood."

            Our boss crosses behind him and rests loose hands on his shoulders, "Eric.  Come on." He sighs, "Let's go back into my office and talk to Beth." His tone is barely perceptible as an order.

            I rise up from the floor and walk to him, allowing one hand to come to his cheek, "It's not okay right now, I know.  But it's going to get better.  Do you think you can believe me when I say that?"
            He nods, "I can try."

            "Good."

            I watch him be taken back into the semi-private office, now concealed within black horizontal blinds; I can't move, my feet feel like cinderblocks.  Horatio returns a few minutes later.

            "Thank you." He doesn't smile or even sound remotely like himself.  He's exhausted from the shoot-out and from its aftermath.  Dealing with his unsettled colleague is not helping in the least.

            "It's nothing." I look down at my feet, "He's going to be fine you know.  Everyone deals with the first one differently."

            "I wish I could put my faith in that, Cal."

            My mouth goes dry and I lean my head back so it rests against the cool wall, "What's the plan?" I inquire, wanting nothing more than to march into the space he occupies and have a long, arduous conversation with Eric.

            "He's going to be suspended indefinitely and sent to therapy.  The mandate's two months.  After that, if he's doing better, we can ease him back into the schedule." He runs a hand through his limp locks.

            "And if he isn't?"

            My superior permits his eyes to clash with mine.

            He doesn't have to say a word.

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*v* Cassie Jamie *v*

csimiami@cassie-jamie.com