Written for the FCG challenge #3. A link can be found in my profile. A special thanks to Jessica fellow writer, for smoothing the bumps out of my choppy prose.
Many asked why he continued to come back; his job was so dark and burdensome. Eric had his reasons; they were five-fold.
1.1 Professional.
"Horatio," Eric called down the corridor. He waited a moment for Horatio to turn around and give him his attention before speaking. "H, I, um. I wanted to thank you… for today." Eric paused, scratching the back of his neck with a finger. "I appreciate it."
"It's not a problem," Horatio replied, lowering his head as he maintained eye contact.
"You didn't have to go out of your way, though…" Eric argued, images of the grieving father flitting through his mind.
"Eric," Horatio cut off, "it's not a problem." His hand reached out, resting gently on the younger man's shoulder. Eric smiled at his boss, silently thanking him for saving his ass on yet another mistaken result. If he had read the mass-spec right, he wouldn't have mistaken a victim for a killer. He wouldn't have put an innocent person through so much pain. As though sensing the man's uncertainty, Horatio gave him a soft pat on his shoulder. "Eric." He paused, waiting for eye contact again. "Eric, you solved the case."
He shook his head defiantly. "I made a mistake," he said, voice harsher than he intended, though the anger was directed at himself. "Again," he added after a beat.
"Your misreading broke the case. It opened up avenues we wouldn't have otherwise known about."
"But if it'd been - "
"But it wasn't." Horatio pulled out his cell, checking the screen. "It helped us. It helped the victim." He began dialing.
"It's strange, how it fell into place. How we found the killer," Eric said, mulling the effects of coincidence as he nodded his head slowly.
"It's stranger than fiction," Horatio murmured, cocking his head slightly.
"What is, H?" Eric asked, eyebrows pulled together in confusion.
"This world we live in." And with that, he was gone, footsteps echoing down the corridor, increasing in volume before they dissipated.
Eric's mind buzzed with the thoughts evoked from the simple phrase. It was true, in more ways than one. Fiction couldn't begin to unravel the strange events of Eric's life. It couldn't begin to explain why the roads he took led him towards the path he was currently on. All he knew was he was thankful he had his friends with him on the journey.
Today was proof of it. He could never cope alone; he'd always need support. He was glad about that. Many needed the same support he did, but they didn't have it, they didn't have the dedicated friends he did. He smiled a little as the elevator doors removed Horatio's face from his line of sight. Horatio. His boss, his confidant. His professional friend.
1.2 Reality.
Eric rested his head on his hands, the tension radiating from him in waves.
"Why's this so messed up?" a voice asked, pulling him from his thoughts. Natalia was sat on one side of the bed, the sheets pulled around her, tucked tightly under her arms. "Why can't we get it right?"
Eric knew what she meant. Expansion wasn't necessary for her question - the 'hidden meaning' was blatant to all. Why couldn't they make their relationship work? He didn't need to bother with an answer because it was painfully obvious how difficult their relationship had become.
The sex was fine; good, even. But they both needed more than 'good sex'. The void within had to be filled and, as it stood, it was always half empty. Never quite full.
Eric glanced to her. Noting her down-trodden expression, he rose, crossing the room to sit beside her on the bed, his hand reaching under the covers to grab hers. He gave it a soft squeeze. "What do you want to do?" he probed gently. His other hand reached up, brushing a few strands of dark hair out of Natalia's eyes. "Nat?"
She shrugged a little, and it would have annoyed him if it were any other situation. Normally, he hated her lack of decisiveness but, right now, he felt exactly the same. "I don't know," she admitted. Her hands closed together on top of the sheets, nails worrying a cuticle on her right index finger.
"Maybe - " He stopped, reaching over to pull apart her hands, the pad of his thumb rubbing the small wound she'd created. "Maybe we shouldn't do this anymore." His statement was hesitant, he didn't want to hurt her more than he already had. They'd hurt each other, trying to hold together the pieces of a relationship that should never have been so.
"Can we do that?" she asked. "Can we go back to just friends?" Her eyes met his, and his fell shut. The fear was prevalent in her brown orbs; it almost hurt to look at her.
"Nat, we'll always be friends; whatever happens." He brought her closer, his lips pressing a soft kiss to her hair. "I think we can do it. I'll fight."
She nodded gently against him, inhaling his scent for the last time. "Just friends?" she whispered, cementing the idea in her mind.
"Always friends."
1.3 Reluctant.
Eric was pissed. Royally. Wolfe wasn't helping matters: hovering around, trying to be useful but only succeeding in annoying the hell out of whoever he was near.
Eric had stepped into the solitude of the break room, seeking some form of isolation from the hustle and bustle of the lab that was doing nothing to calm his nerves. A deep breath had relaxed him somewhat, and a cup of his precious coffee rested on the table, urging him to sit down with it. A resounding bang broke the much needed silence, sending Eric's heart rate rocketing. He glanced up.
Wolfe.
"What the hell are you doing?" Eric asked, eyeing the door carefully. It was still on it's hinges. Just.
"Me?" Ryan asked, eyes widening significantly. "I'm not the one who's been walking around this lab like a scolded puppy all day! What the hell's the matter with you; you pissed Calleigh off again?"
"I've not pissed anyone off, Wolfe," Eric ground out, his jaw clenched. "There's nothing wrong with me, alright?"
Ryan studied him for a moment, frowning as he tried to decipher his mood. His eyes closed in recognition as a thought flitted across his mind. Synapses flared. "Speedle's birthday," he stated.
Eric's head shot up, eyes flashing dangerously. Images of his slaughtered friend danced across his mind, pulling open boxes of memories and scattering salt over still raw wounds.
"That's why you're mad at me?" Ryan continued, piecing together the fragments of snipped conversations they'd had over the past few days. Realizing Eric's point, Ryan's anger flared. "I'm tired of you thinking I'm trying to replace Speed!"
"I don't think that," Eric snapped, the lie dancing behind his eyes.
"Like hell, Delko. You've been an ass with me all week. Look, I appreciate you're still grieving for your friend and all, but that's not my problem." Wolfe folded his arms. "Stop blaming me for his death."
Eric sighed, seating himself on the break room couch. His words were soft now, carefully chosen. "I don't blame you for his death, Wolfe. I just…" He trailed off, hands gesturing half-heartedly in front of him.
"I know," Ryan said, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "I know I can never replace him; I don't want to." He paused, teeth tugging on his lip. "I only want to be accepted for who I am… not who you think I'm replacing."
Wolfe's words struck a chord and Eric shut his eyes, disappointment coloring his face. He glanced up reluctantly, knowing he should let his annoyance at Ryan go. But it was hard. Fear still flooded him every time he saw Ryan's face, the memories of the man he was sent to replace still shook him, even now. Eric simply nodded, words failing him; but then, he didn't really know what he wanted to say.
Ryan smiled a little, holding out a hand for Eric to shake. Delko understood the question without any words being spoken - friends? - and he rose, gripping the smaller man's hand in his own in a firm, quick shake.
Reluctantly or not, Eric knew he'd made a decision he wouldn't regret.
1.4 Sorrow.
The cemetery was quiet as Eric walked through it, the resounding silence punctuated by the sound of tweeting as the lively birds circled the headstones. Life and death mingling as one; it was a curious mix, the setting sun giving an almost surreal quality to the area.
Eric paused, inhaling deeply as a fresh evening breeze blew stray leaves his way. They floated serenely, lifting to wisp around his heels before continuing their jaded journey along the concrete stones. His eyes tilted left, eyeing the headstone cautiously. He had no reason to be there, not really. 'Visiting a friend' was what he had told his mother. And he was. His fallen friend.
Timothy Speedle's name was etched in the stone, standing tall and proud; a stark contrast to the reserved and often unsure man who held claim to the now infamous name. Eric crouched down, reaching a tentative hand out to trace the letters. In his right hand he held a baseball, flicking it into the air every now and then, as though reminding himself things were still real.
"Remember this, Speed?" he asked, rolling the muddied ball through his fingers, praying his friend could hear his words. "Last game we went to. Ball nearly hit you square on the head." He laughed sadly, remembering the tears that had burnt his eyes when he'd come across the relic in his draw. The remnants of a lost friendship. "I took it home. I'm glad I did now."
He continued to speak, recounting the days in the lab since Tim's death. He felt like he'd lost count; it'd been 365 days since Speed last took a step on the lab floor. That thought scared Eric. How time flew. "Horatio's okay, he seems distant, though. Alexx is still Alexx and Calleigh's…" He took a breath, regrouping his emotions. "Calleigh misses you. God, Tim, we all do…"
Eric brought the back of his hand to his eye, brushing away a tear before it could fall.
A quiet beep broke the moment and, as Eric glanced down to his pager, the birdsong started again, leaving Eric with the fleeting though that Speed had quieted them for a moment so he could listen. Eric smiled at the inane contemplation, part of him wishing it was true.
Before rising, Eric placed the ball in front of Speed's grave, resting it between two large flowers that had grown there. A rose between two thorns; a way to protect the memory. He rubbed his fingers on his slacks, ridding himself of the evidence of the cemetery. Of his weakness. He didn't need to bring death into a lab already overrun with it. He stepped back, turning to follow the same concrete path he followed every week; his mind, body, soul intent on keeping the memory of Tim fresh.
Intent on keeping the spirit of his fallen friend alive.
1.5 Possibilities.
''Cause when you're a celebrity, it's adios reality,' played loudly from inside the apartment, rising in volume - 'can act just like a fool' - as she opened the door. A bright smile lit up her face and she breathed deeply as though she'd been running. In one hand she clutched a spoon, in the other, an iPod pad. "Come in, come in," she ushered, stepping out of the way. He smiled gently as he entered, letting his arm brush against her side as he did.
"Brad Paisley?" he questioned, a slight lilt to his voice as he finally recognized the music. She glared a little, trying to hide the smile that threatened to pull up her lips. "Great party," he commented, glancing around.
She followed his gaze, taking in the happy faces. "Yeah, Frank seems to be enjoying himself," she said, smiling as her eyes took in the detective. He stood, surrounded by women, near Calleigh's kitchen, a giant 'birthday boy' badge attached to his shirt.
Eric chuckled at the sight, shaking his head as he saw one of Valera's friends flirting shamelessly. "Need any help with the cooking?" he asked, already knowing the answer would be a resounding 'no, thanks'. Sure enough, the reply came, but Eric followed her into the kitchen regardless.
Picking up oven-mitts, he opened her cooker. The smell of cayenne and pepper told him the dish was southern. He was gingerly sticking a knife in it, intent on finding out how long it had left to cook - he'd never been one for timers - when Calleigh prodded him in the ribs.
"Get away from my Jambalaya!" she scolded, threatening him with her spoon.
"That's what this is?" he asked, grimacing as he looked into the pot of rice and vegetables.
"Oh, sorry if it doesn't have all your red meat, Eric. Frank's a Southern gentleman." Eric scoffed. "And he appreciates fine cooking even if you don't."
"I appreciate it, Calleigh, I just prefer a bit of… substance to my meals," he teased, smirking at her eye roll. He loved to tease her. It was one of the few occasions he could see the normally stoic blond all riled up. She bit her lip as she smiled up at him. Was she flirting?
"So, how's your mom?" she asked, causing a large smile to tug on Eric's lips.
One of the reasons he valued his friendship with Calleigh so much was her selflessness, her dedication to others. She remembered his mom had been sick, even though he'd only mentioned it in passing. She was amazing. "She's better, thanks. I'll let her know you were thinking of her."
"Please do," she requested, returning her attention to her food as she served it up into a giant bowl. "Will you put the pots on the table?"
They worked in-synch, as though some unforeseen force had guided them. They were meandering serenely - it was almost a dance with it's elegance - until the guests were served.
She picked up the empty plates, smiling as she saw the satisfied smiles. Eric glanced her way, eyes captivated with her display of domesticity. Of course, he'd seen her like that before - she'd cooked him meals more times than he could remember - but there was something about her tonight. Something he couldn't quite place. Her hair was messy, falling softly about her face from the clip at the back of her head. And her smile…
"What?" she asked, catching his stare.
Eric shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "Nothing," he lied, and she cocked her head, breathing his name out in a way that made his heart jump. She kept her eyes on his, compelling him to speak. "You just… you look… nice. Beautiful."
She blushed at his awkward compliment, crossing her arms as she lowered her eyes. He caught a murmured 'thanks,' before she turned away, hands splashing into the sink water.
"Calleigh," he started, abruptly cut off by Frank poking his head around the door.
"Just wanted to say thanks for this, Calleigh. I really appreciate it," Frank said, a large smile playing on his face. He looked slightly flushed; a red tint to his cheeks, his eyes shining with happiness.
"It's not a problem. I'm glad you're having a good time," she replied, laughing a little at his expression. Eric was glad of Frank's presence. He was glad of anything that would break the sudden tension that had erupted between them.
"Don't be a stranger out here," he drawled, gesturing with his head to the lounge.
Calleigh flicked her eyes to Eric, forming a smile on her face to cover her nervousness. "I won't. Two minutes."
He retreated, the bustle of woman regrouping around him. They heard him laugh.
Eric picked up a cloth, drying the cutlery Calleigh had washed. She glanced to him nervously, his proximity clearly unsettling her; she could feel his heat seeping through her thin top.
He should speak. She was uncomfortable, tense, and he hated to make her feel like that. "Calleigh - "
"Eric what's going on?" She kept her hands in the water but she didn't move. She was almost catatonic. Eric sighed, silently cursing himself for his earlier comment.
"What do you want to go on?" he pushed, determined not to back down and apologize for what he had said. He wasn't sorry. It was true, she was beautiful. He moved closer, his fingers brushing her back softly. "Calleigh…"
She jumped under his touch, but didn't pull away. "Eric, don't…" she breathed, her breath hitching as his fingers played along her back.
"Don't?" His eyes met hers, his hip resting on the side of the sink. He took his fingers off her tense muscles, reaching up to trace her jaw.
He stepped closer, enjoying her unique fragrance. "Eric," she whispered, "please." He sighed, moving back, his hand resting on the sideboard, still close to her. She smiled up at him nervously, biting her lip, trying to find away to say what she wanted to. "Not yet," she added, so quietly he wasn't sure he'd heard it.
Eric stroked her cheek softly, nodding his acknowledgment of her words. Despite the rejection, his heart leapt. 'Not yet'. Did that mean their relationship was a possibility? Did it mean he had a chance with her? Eric turned to finish the pots, a tentative smile tugging on his lips as his mid buzzed over the words that had slipped from her mouth, over the concept that, one day, they could be more than 'just friends'.
For now, he could be happy with a possibility.
Fin.