Family, or Something Like It.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters except the ones I make up along the way.
Weeks like this almost made Calleigh question the reasons she didn't quit her job. Small children, murdered by their own parents, hapless teenagers committing crimes out of sheer boredom…what was the point? She hated her job sometimes, not that she would ever let on, but she did. So she pasted a pat smile on her face and pretended like everything was great, like she hadn't been kept up all night long with visions of lifeless children running through her mind. In the furthest recesses of her memory, she could remember hearing her mother tell her in her soothing Southern drawl, "Calleigh, darlin' no matter how bad it gets, just be glad it isn't worse."
She supposed that it was meant to make her feel better, but in reality, the phrase only left her wandering when it really WOULD get worse, and how much worse it could get. Grunting softly, she turned and smacked her alarm clock, letting out a deep tired sigh before throwing her legs over the side of the bed and finally rising for work.
Calleigh's morning routine was down to a science now. Wash the dishes to let the water warm up before her shower, put the coffee on, and indulge herself in a short shower before work. She was busy washing her hair when the phone rang, and she missed the message left on her machine. She was on her way out the door, grabbing her keys off the table when she saw the light on the machine blinking. Almost unconsciously she pushed the button and heard her mother's voice for the second time that morning, only this time, it wasn't a memory.
"Calleigh, dear, something's happened. Call me immediately. It's your father."
She sagged against the table, too tired to hold herself upright. "Not again" she whispered. Whipping out her cell phone with her other hand, she scrolled down to her mother's number and pressed "call."
"Mamma?" She decided to forgo pleasantries. "What's the matter?"
"Sweetie, I'm so sorry," her mother whispered through the airwaves. "It's your father, honey. He's…he's dead, baby."
Her knees finally gave way, and she collapsed into an ungraceful heap on the floor choking back sobs. "Mamma?" she cried, not realizing her phone was no longer in her hand. He was dead. Her father was dead. The facts didn't sink in immediately, they kept occurring to her, slapping her reality harshly. He was dead. Calleigh realized she didn't know how he had died, and snatched the phone off the floor where it had fallen. "Mamma?" she asked hesitantly.
"I'm here, sweetie."
"Mamma, how…wha" She couldn't bring herself to ask the question.
"He had a heart attack, early this morning. The doctors said there was nothing anyone could do. His health wasn't so good anyway, you know. His body just…couldn't take it any more."
"Why'd they call you?" No one was more aware of her parents mutual animosity than Calleigh.
"Honey, they didn't." Her mother laughed. "You remember Linda Tilton?"
She did.
"Well, Linda works down at the hospital, she a nurse, remember?" Calleigh was getting the picture.
"She called me this morning." Her mother chuckled. "Thought I'd be happy to hear it."
Calleigh would have loved to be surprised, or even incredulous by this statement, but she knew her mother too well. Vindication was her middle name. Revenge her first. It made her sick.
"I have to go to work, Mom. Can I call you tonight?" The real world had started to penetrate her brain. Work. She could work. This was why she didn't quit. She had somewhere to go, something to occupy her hands. She would be okay. She had to be okay.
"Sure, sweetie. Are you going to be alright?"
"I'm…are you?" Calleigh realized she hadn't even asked her mother how she was doing.
"I'll be okay. Great, actually. I'm a steely old gal, you know." Her mother joked, even in the midst of this mess. "I knew I'd outlive the bastard."
Calleigh winced. That was just cruel. "I've got to go, now. I'm late for work."
Calleigh gathered herself up off the floor and glanced in the mirror over the hall table. Straightening her hair and swiping at the tears that threatened to overcome her, she squared her shoulders, pushing her chin into the air.
"I can do this." She repeated softly. "I can do this. It's just another day."
She heaved a deep, ragged breath, picked her keys up off the table and headed out the door.
"Mornin', H." she drawled with forced cheeriness.
"Good morning." He returned, frowning at her slightly. She smiled brightly, cringing inwardly. He would be the first person she ran into. He was too good at reading people, and she worried that he'd see straight through her façade.
"Calleigh, are you – " he started.
"I'm fine." She cut him off. It was best to not go down that road now. "Where do you need me?"
"Have you finished your report on the Dosson case yet?"
"Just about." She was grateful he didn't pry. "I just want to check a few more things out before I finalize my results and hand it in."
"Well," he paused, studying her intently for a moment. "I guess that's a good place to start then."
She flashed him her patented I-really-want-you-to-believe-I'm-fine smile and spun on her heel. "I'll get to it, then!" She called over her shoulder, already on her way to her lab.
"Calleigh!" She heard a familiar voice call her name.
"Hey there, Alexx. Got something for me?"
"I sure do." Alexx sighed. She hated bad news. "I retrieved the bullet from the…the baby girl." She handed Calleigh a small manilla envelope. "I waited to the autopsy until last. Poor dear. Never got a chance to live."
"Thanks, Alexx. I'll get on this."
"You okay, sweetie?" Alexx looked concerned, placing a hand on Calleigh's forearm.
"I'm okay." She lied. "Just didn't get my coffee this morning." She knew Alexx wasn't buying it, so she continued with a sly grin. "I think I'll steal some of Eric's special coffee. That ought to do the trick." She winked and headed down the hallway again.
"I'm here if you need me." Alexx called after her.
Calleigh just turned and smiled, walking backward a few steps until Alexx shrugged and turned around. She hated lying to her friends, but she couldn't deal with this right now. Not today. Besides, she had evidence to process, reports to write, experiments to complete. She had a busy day, and wallowing in self pity and grief just didn't make it into her planner. She was a Duquesne, for christ's sake. She could handle a normal work day.
She pulled her lab coat on and buttoned it up, smoothing her hair into a neat pony tail. Snapping her gloves on, she opened the envelope and went to work. This was a doozy. Overkill. Literally. Frangible bullets. She hated those. They enter the soft tissue and explode, their sharp edges tearing, slicing, severing. If the poor soul survived long enough for a doctor to come into play, he stood a good chance of dying when the emergency room staff tried to remove the bullet. It did even more damage on the way out. Whoever did this didn't want anyone walking away. No witnesses. No complications.
"Forty caliber." She spoke out loud to no one in particular.
"You know," a male voice sounded from behind her. "They say talking to yourself is one of the signs of insanity."
"It's only insanity if I ANSWER myself, Delko." She joked with a smile on her face. She turned to him, still smiling. "And I never answer myself." She emphasized "never" and opened her eyes wide as she saw he was holding two mugs of coffee.
"You drinkin' both of those?" She eyed one of the mugs.
"Planning on it." He deadpanned.
"Hmph." She replied, pursing her lips a little. "You know, they say caffeine can stunt your growth. You should probably go easy on that."
"I didn't know your parents bottle-fed you coffee." Eric sat a mug down on a counter. "That why you're so short?" He kidded.
At the mention of her parents Calleigh inhaled sharply and abruptly turned her back to him. She didn't mean to be rude, but it was all getting overwhelming.
"Cal?"
She paused a minute before turning around and picking up the mug. "Thank you for this."
"Cal…"
"Eric, just drop it." Too sharp. "Please. I'm fine." She softened, and met his eyes. He narrowed them as he looked at her, but silently nodded, his mouth opening as if to speak again, then closing and thinking better of it. He nodded once and raised his hand, clasping his fingers in midair, and dropping it to his side again. "You need anything…" he trailed off, well aware she knew the rest.
"Yeah." She said softly, looking down at the mug in her hands. He was gone when she looked up again.
The day flew by in a haze. She functioned, she processed evidence, drank coffee when it was offered, nodded in the appropriate places, but her resolve was crumbling. Her exterior was dissolving around her. If she didn't get out of here, she'd melt down completely, right in the lab, glass doors and all, for god and all the world to see.
Grabbing her police-issue Glock, she settled it into her holster and headed to the indoor range. She checked out two cases of ammo, put on her hearing protection, and leveled her weapon, eyeing the target. It was close. Almost too close. She paused and pushed the button, moving the paper further down the track. Satisfied at the challenge in front of her, she brought her gun up again, feet, hips and shoulders squared. Slowing her respirations, she reveled in the comfort, the familiar, then routine. Her mantra from earlier returned. "I can do this."
She fired off a few rounds, clustering neatly at center mass. This was old hat to her. Easy. She moved the target back more and fired again. This time, her aim was not as true. The first few hit the target, then she seemed to falter. She hiccupped and swiped at her eyes with the back of her left hand. She aimed again, and fired, missing entirely. Again. Miss. Again. Miss. She couldn't see the target anymore. Each miss made her angrier, tears springing to her eyes blurring, obscuring her vision making it impossible for her to aim.
"I'm no ballistics expert, but I think you're supposed to aim for the target." A soft voice spoke behind her. Eric. Her shoulder's heaved as she drew an unsteady breath.
"I'm just off my game today." She reasoned, knowing that he wouldn't believe her anyway.
"Yeah, right." He dropped a hand softly onto her shoulder. "Cal." He whispered.
Her grip loosened, and her breathing hitched. Eric carefully took the gun out of her hands and sat it on the counter in front of her. "Talk to me, Calleigh. You're never off your game."
She shook her head. "No." She stated it more to herself than to Eric. He waited, knowing her refusal wasn't a personal affront. "I –" She tried again and couldn't finish. "My dad," she faltered. "Dead." He barely caught the last part, she whispered it so softly, as if she herself didn't want to believe it.
"Oh, no." He groaned, leaning against the barrier. "Calleigh, I'm so sorry. When?" Her hands were gripping the counter.
"My mom called me this morning."
"Jesus, Calleigh." He ran his hand through his cropped hair. "Why didn't you call in?" He shook his head, already knowing the answer before she spoke.
"I have a job to do."
"H. would have given you the day off. We could cover for you."
"I wanted to finish this case." Her argument was weak. "I didn't want all you guys to have to pick up my work load, too. You've all got stuff to do, and…" she didn't finish. It wasn't necessary. Eric didn't believe her anyway.
"Wanna go home now?" He smiled weakly at her, hoping she'd say yes. She shouldn't be at work. She shouldn't be…he didn't finish the thought.
"No." She turned and picked up her piece, aiming, then sat it back down a moment later as tears blurred her vision again. "Yes." She nodded.
"Come on." He gently led her out the door. "I'll take you home."