Characters: Calleigh, Horatio (friendship)
Prompt: For the LiveJournal Writer's Choice challenge – quiet (#153)
Rating: PG
Summary: Quiet, peaceful lives are not for them.
Spoilers: Mild for various episodes from Seasons 1–3, and for Season 4's Urban Hellraisers
Disclaimer: CSI: Miami and its characters belong to people more creative and wealthier than I.
A/N: Bits of this had been kicking around in my head for a while, and the prompt pulled them together. My love for Emily Procter has kept me watching CSI: Miami, and surprisingly enough this turned into a kind of post-ep for Urban Hellraisers...
Marked by Violence
For her, it started when she was a child. The slap of a drunken hand, the sting of an angry belt. The taste of iron on her tongue, the tickle of tears rolling down her cheeks.
For him, it also began in childhood, with the murder of his mother. The smell of copper that filled the room. The silence, unbearable silence, emanating from a body who no longer breathed, who would never again whisper words of love and comfort.
Since they can remember, their lives have been marked by violence. Perhaps that is why they are drawn to do what they do. They confront the violent acts of others day in and day out. They analyze them, dissect them. They apply science and reason, and seek meaning. They play their part in the search for justice and the struggle to protect the innocent.
They chase violence, and in turn, violence chases them. It is not the doing a vengeful God or some other malicious force of the universe; it just is. Others (friends, colleagues, casual observers) have asked, even in light of what they do, why so much seems to happen to them. Still they continue on, seeing little choice but to endure the pain and scars left behind by those who commit violence – psychos like Hank Kerner and Walter Dresden – and the ones who succumb to it – Tim Speedle, Raymond Caine, John Hagen...
It is late, well past the end of her shift, and Calleigh finds herself standing in the hallway where earlier today the muted murmur of the lab was shattered by a rain of bullets and broken glass. She hears footsteps approach, and senses the familiar gaze of cobalt-blue eyes. As she contemplates the spot where Agent Elliot was gunned down, a fleeting thought hits her. "Horatio, do you ever wonder..." But before she can finish the thought, it is gone. What was she going to say? Wonder why murderers and madmen seem to be lurking around every corner? Why didn't they choose nice, normal, quiet, peaceful lives? Why this life haunted by violence seems to have been chosen for them?
"Wonder what?"
But all those possible ways to complete the question seem absurd to her. She gives a slight shake of her head, as if to clear away the glimpses of lives they could never have. "Nothing... never mind."
He shifts slightly and looks down at her with understanding in his eyes, as if he knows what she was going to ask. He wants to say something, and a dozen different platitudes cross his mind. Instead, he reaches out and tucks her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers pass through her long blond tresses. He places a slow, almost reverent kiss on her forehead and wraps his arm around her shoulders, lending her strength from his embrace.
They have been through much, and neither have any doubts that there will be more to come. But with a gentle caress, a kiss, the love and strength of a friend, surviving it all becomes just a little bit easier.