AN: I had this finished a while ago, but my beta seems to have deserted me. Any and all mistakes are mine, please point them out. Thank you.
AN2: Thanks to Azuquita for her little poke around my stunted prose.
--A Simple Sign--
--adorelo--
Erics' incessantly chirping cell phone interrupts our investigation. The scene before us is relatively simple; a dead male, self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Suicide. Open and shut. Would be if the wife would accept reality and stop insisting on a full-blown investigation into his 'murder'. The chirping grows louder with each passing ring and, eventually, Eric answers, abandoning his futile hunt for fingerprints.
"Delko," he shoots out, clearly expecting a work-related call. I can almost see his ears pricking up at the sound of an apparently unfamiliar voice. "Yeah, yeah. Sure, I will be right there. Thanks."
He hangs up, turning to face me. "Joe's sick. Mary thinks I should go pick him up." Eric glances around, looking guilty for having to leave me at the scene alone.
"Don't worry about it. There's not much left to do, anyway," I reply, smiling brightly. "Is he alright?"
"Yeah, she thinks it's a bug or something. Lots of the kids have had it." He places a few things away in his kit and closes the case, turning to face me once again. "You wouldn't do me a favor would you?" I tilt my head, imploring him to continue. "There's a couple of files in my locker I need for tonight and - "
"I'll bring them over later," I interrupt, smiling at his relieved look. My grin grows as I watch him cast his eyes about, clearly unsure. "Go get your son," I push.
"Alright, I'll see you later?"
"Sure," I answer, seeing him off with a small wave. Calling to him I say, "Give Joe a get-well-soon hug from me."
Joe. Erics' son. It still shocks me, even now, four years later. I can remember vividly the day Eric had found out; if I had been shocked, it didn't remotely compare to the look on Eric's face. I had found the woman, heavily pregnant, stood by reception demanding to see Eric. Her full lips and heavy make up told me she was one of Eric's … friends.
After fetching Eric, I had hovered in the background, unwilling to leave though not wanting to appear rude. The woman was typical of those I've become to associate with Eric - tall, brunette and beautiful. I could recall her obvious words with an alarming level of accuracy - "Eric I'm pregnant" - and the expression on Eric's face is still imprinted on my mind.
I'd spoken to him afterwards, asked him how it happened. He didn't believe her at all. Judging by his reaction to her and the fact that she wasn't a long-term girlfriend (he had to be prompted to remember that her name was Lucia), his skepticism didn't surprise me. He'd asked her if she was sure it was his, as he'd only slept with her a couple of times. In my mind, I had laughed; did he miss Sex-Ed? But, after the birth, a paternity test had proved it.
By that time, I don't think it mattered. He loved that little boy with all his heart, even before he was sure he was the father. Eric would have done anything for Joe and his mother, I think. But then things fell apart. Eric had gone to pick up his son after work and had found him alone, aside from a note, inside an empty apartment. Lucia had apparently got enough money out of Eric to leave town, to leave her one-year-old alone with a simple note expressing her wishes for Eric to take care of him. No one had heard from her since.
Joe is an angel in my eyes. I have been lucky enough to become a part of his life as he grows up. I'd expected that, Eric is my best friend. But I'd not expected to become such an integral cog in the 'Delko Family' machine. Often, he'd ring me up, using me as a baby care specialist when he'd been reluctant to call his mother. I'd babysat, picked Joe up, taken him home when Eric had been working late. I'd gotten to know Clorinda better, having spent numerous birthday parties at her house with the rest of the Delko family. It scares me to think I've become accepted as part of it.
It scares me to admit I like it.
It is times like this that reminded me of the heartache Eric had gone through with Joe and Lucia; times when he has to leave work early or arrange for neighbors to collect his son when he is working late. Our work hours don't accommodate for children and Lucia wasn't the right girl for him to have had a child with. I realize how selfish that thought is; how riddled with jealousy I have become.
I gather up my things, my mind brewing with thoughts of Eric and the woman who held claim to the child I'd begun to think of as my own. I shouldn't think that. Joe isn't my child.
Things are always so complicated with us.
/--/
"Hey, buddy," I say, sitting down next to my son. His legs are pulled up under him and his head lowered so I cannot see his face. "How are you feeling?" I ask the mass of curly dark hair. I can't resist the temptation and reach out a hand to ruffle it slightly. Joe glances up, eyes round with curiosity.
"Are we goin' home?" he asks, voice small. His usually tanned skin is a little pale and I can see the start of a flush on his cheeks. I nod, reaching up a hand to test his temperature; he feels a little clammy.
"Mary tells me you're sick?"
He nods. "I got sick on Dino," he says, pouting as he points to the now soggy dinosaur that has been bathed in disinfectant. Mary stand behind it, holding a bag containing Joe's jacket. I cringe when I notice its resemblance to the evidence bags we use at work.
"It needs washing," Mary, Joe's carer, says, her Spanish accent thicker with a touch of worry. "I didn't know if you wanted me to do it or not."
"Don't worry about it," I tell her, taking the bag from her hands. "Thanks for calling. I'll get him home." She nods, crouching down to offer him a hug. Joe shakes his head, moving into my side slightly. "Guess he's still feeling a little off," I explain, unsure at my son's behavior. He normally loves to give Mary cuddles. I take his hand and, after saying goodbye to Mary, direct him to the Hummer.
He falls asleep in the car, soft snores informing me of this. I have to chuckle. It still amazes me that I could produce such an adorable little creature. Of course, he has his moments, but I can honestly say I didn't know what love was before he came into my life. He gives me a reason to live through even the darkest of times. When his mother left, he was too young to understand the repercussions, but it didn't stop him asking questions now he is older; asking why he doesn't get to do things with him mom like the other kids do. He was a very intuitive boy for a four-year-old. It was as though he could sense it was a sensitive topic.
I pull up outside my condo. Glancing down at Joe, I wonder whether or not to wake him. It's past five now, but he won't have eaten since lunch. I lift him gently from his car seat, letting him come 'round for a moment before placing him on his feet. His eyes blink several times as he tries to clear the sleep from them, before turning to lock with mine. Brown, gold and green speckled orbs stare back at me and he gives me a small smile. "Why we home, daddy?" he asks sleepily, "I wanna to go to the park."
I laugh softly. "You're sick, buddy. It's bed for you." He pouts again, and I wonder if he got that from me. Calleigh always says I pout when I don't get my own way. I propel him into the living room by his shoulder.
"Do you want soup or something?" I ask, shaking my head as Joe wrinkles his nose. "Pasta?" Another nose wrinkle. "Well you gotta eat something, Joe."
"Can we have tw'oast?"
"Toast. I can make you toast," I agree. At least there's not to much cooking involved with that.
"You eat it too," he stated. "We can have jam."
"Alright then," I comply, switching on the TV and setting it to cartoons. I watch briefly as a dog bites a mail man before retreating to the kitchen, leaving the door wide so I can keep my eye on him.
I toast and butter the bread, spreading a thick layer of jam as instructed. I place his on a Mickey-Mouse plate that is supposed to eliminate spills and mine on a normal one, then carry them through. I move the blanket he's pulled off the back of the couch away from him, anticipating sticky fingers.
We munch toast in silence, one of my hands still wrapped in the blanket. Joe seems to be a bit better, his color has returned and he's keeping his toast down thus far. He tries to grab the blanket, but I hold out. He can have it back after. This blanket has been through a lot, but I don't want sticky jam all over it. It has survived Joe as a baby, the cat I'd looked after for a while, several confrontations with a paintbrush, and still served as warmth for me whenever Calleigh ended up staying over.
The cartoon ends and I turn to face my son. His eyes are firmly shut, head nearly plastered to his empty plate. I smile softly, removing it from his grasp and placing it on the table. I tuck the blanket I've been savoring around him, smiling as his little button nose wriggles as he gets comfortable.
Three soft knocks on the door command my attention moments later. Calleigh. I know automatically these days. I recognize her knock; I can sense her presence. We've always had a strange connection like that but these past few months, it's become even more pronounced.
I let her in, taking the files out of her hands and removing her coat. I place it on the hook, the hook I leave empty for her coat only, and lock the door behind us.
"Coffee?" I ask, loving the way she immediately checks on Joe. It's almost habit.
"Please," she responds, running soft fingers through his hair. She smiles, once, down at his figure before rising to join me in the kitchen. "Is he any better?"
"Yeah, he seems to be. It's probably just a little bug or something." I prepare the coffee; hers with sugar, mine without. And there's that habit again.
"He seems to be sleeping okay," she says, taking her coffee. "You wanna go over those files while he's out?"
"Sure," I reply, picking them up off the table.
/--/
It's past twelve when we've finished talking. Most of it wasn't focused on the case, but that always happens. Eric had carried Joe to bed at about eight, deciding leaving him on the couch wasn't the best idea. I cleared the pots while he put Joe to bed, washing them quickly so Eric could help me put them away. It's a little routine we settle into whenever I come around. Eric hates washing dishes.
He reclines on the couch now, totally relaxed as I put away the files. He laughs at my organization and I merely roll my eyes. If he had it his way, everything would be everywhere and I'd be going crazy, which is strange, seeing as it isn't even my house.
"Thanks for today, Cal," he says, smiling sleepily. "I don't know what I would have done with Joe if you hadn't have covered for me."
"Well, Mary would've kept an eye on him… you'd have coped," I explain, trying to keep the slight blush off my face. He sees it anyway. Damned pale skin doesn't hide anything.
"Yeah, I probably would. But that doesn't stop me appreciating it." He smiles and I move around, resting one side of my head on the cushion so I can look at him. When did this become so normal? Simply relaxing on the couch after work while a child sleeps in the next room; it was such a 'couple' thing to do.
"I should go," I say suddenly, but I make no move to do so. His eyes are locked with mine and I know he's replaying the events of last time we told each other thank you; I appreciate you for appreciating me. I leant in last time and it terrifies me that I'm thinking of doing it again. I have to go, I have to get away from his pull.
But Eric's a magnet.
"Stay," he states, simply, continuing when I shake my head, "It's late. I don't want you driving at this hour. Just stay." His hand reaches out, delicately trailing his fingers down my arm as his eyes stay focused on mine. It's a small gesture, but the connotations I can see reflected in his eyes tell me everything. I pull my arm away as through burned. I nod a little and he smiles, rising from the couch to get changed.
I hate this. This awkwardness we get around each other whenever things get too heated. We know each other too well, we know what simple gestures really mean. For most, they'd be small things; a gentle hug, fleeting glance. But for us, nothing's ever small. And I love it.
I love the excitement that shoots through my veins when I catch him staring. I love the warm feeling I get when I'm out with him and Joe; people looking at us as though we are a true family. I shouldn't love that, but I do.
Eric returns, his work cloths replaced with sweats and a muscle top which he pulls on as he enters, muttering something from under the garment. I don't hear him. My eyes are focused elsewhere, my mind fluttering with activity. He looks good.
And he knows it.
He knows what he's doing and that's the thing that irks me, the fact that he can read me like a book. He knows my delayed response to his words is nothing to do with fatigue. "What?" I finally get out, rising to move towards his bedroom. His knowing smirk sends bolts of irritation through my body.
"I said I'm done," he explains, stepping closer to me. Too close. "You're tired. You should get some rest." His hand comes to my arm, rubbing small circles gently, stopping momentarily as he hears my breath hitch at his proximity. His eyes meet mine again and he smiles, plump lips parting to reveal white teeth. " 'Night, Cal," he murmurs, and my world slows down.
His hot lips plant themselves on my forehead and it's all I can do not to moan out loud. I settle for a gasp, not wanting him to know how much he affects me. But he always knows. Seconds pass and he pulls back, resting his head against mine. He says nothing more, simply steps back, moves to shake out the blanket on the couch, then positions himself under it.
"Goodnight," I whisper from the door, shutting it behind me and giving it an extra push to make sure it's shut. I almost laugh at myself it's not as though he's going to come storming through it and sweep me off my feet.
I shower in his on-suite, pausing to sniff his products before using them on my hair. I think it's that which causes questions at work. I've never really considered it before, but coming into the Lab smelling like Eric was doing nothing to stem the flow of rumors.
I'd never admit I like them.
The sheets are cool against my skin, the whoosh of air I generate when I lift them over myself causes a pool of his aroma to flood towards me. His scent mixes with mine now as I snuggle farther into the covers, finally letting sleep overcome me.
- - -
Soft sniffles wake me from my dreams. It takes me a moment to realize where I am. As often as I stay over, the shock of Eric's bed feeling 'too familiar' still strikes me. I hug his pillow closer to me, turning over to go back to sleep when the sniffles get louder.
Joe.
I rise quickly, tugging the large shirt I'm wearing down to my knees. I contemplate putting Eric's bathrobe on, but decide against it.
"Joe?"
A soft sob.
"Joe, sweetie? Are you okay?" I press his door farther open so a ray of light illuminates his bed. He sits up, head on his knees as he weeps softly. My heart breaks. I don't turn on the light, simply move to sit next to him on the bed. I don't even have to offer, he immediately snuggles into my arms. "What's wrong?"
"I want a mommy," he says, and my body tenses.
"What do you mean?"
"Today, Mary made us drew pictures of our mommy's and I don't got a mommy." He pauses to suck in a breath. "And I didn't have anyone to dwar and Peter took the last blue cw'ayon." He finishes looking up at me, the brown and gold orbs shining with tears.
"Oh, sweetie. You've not had a good day, have you?" He shakes his head. "Is that why you were mad at Mary?" I ask, remembering what Eric told me. Joe loves Mary, he loves going to her house but, today, Eric had told me he wasn't himself around her. Joe nods silently, dropping his head to my chest. I sigh, wrapping my arms tightly around him, holding him close. "Next time, Joe, I want you to tell Mary that you want to draw your daddy instead. I'm sure he'd love you to draw him a picture."
He frowns against me. "But daddy isn't mommy," he states, "and I had to dwar mommy." Joe pauses, casting his eyes up to mine a warm smile pulling at his lips. "I'll dwar you next time, Calleigh." He pronounces it 'Cawwie', he always has trouble with his elocution, but I don't care; his words struck a cord in me.
"You should get to sleep, Joe," I say, not really sure how to handle the situation. Joe smiles once more, his eyes opening and shutting slowly as he tries to stay awake. I brush the last remnants of the tears of his face, pressing a gentle kiss onto his cheek before I wait for him to drift back to sleep. Eric's presence startles me, capturing my attention. "Hey," I whisper, smiling in the darkness.
/--/
"Hey," I murmur back to her, smiling at the sight of her wrapped around my son. I'd been around long enough to catch most of their exchange and my heart was breaking for Joe. I'd grown up with a wonderfully close family and I try to keep him as involved in that as possible; but nothing replaces a mother.
Joe's eyes are still open, but he's struggling to keep awake. I step closer, wandering to the other side of the bed. Calleigh rises, squeezing Joe's shoulder gently before she leaves, pausing at the door to watch me intently. I pull the sheets up to his chin, whispering a soft 'goodnight' as his eyes fall shut. When I turn back to the door, Calleigh has vanished.
I pull Joe's door closed, leaving a gap so I can hear him if he stirs. I've been lucky with Joe, since he was born, he's usually slept through the night with no problems.
Seeing Calleigh holding him like that had…Well, I don't know. It was strangely familiar and it was odd that it didn't feel awkward. It probably should have. Joe's comment about wanting to draw her instead of the mother he'd never gotten to know was normal in itself, he did spend a lot of time with her, but the feelings it evoked with me were definitely not normal.
I knock softly on the bedroom door, finding it swing open a little, revealing Calleigh sat on the edge of my bed, like she knew I'd come.
"Is he asleep?" she asks around a yawn. I raise an eyebrow and she smiles sheepishly.
"Yeah." I don't even know why I'm in here. I should leave. Go. My feet move me closer to the bed. What am I doing? "He loves you, you know," I state, again not sure why I'm still talking. She knows this.
"I know," she replies. "He's a good kid. You're lucky." Her head dips and I catch the note of sadness in her tone. And a touch of jealousy, perhaps? I remain silent, sitting next to her on the bed. The scent of her hair, her own unique fragrance mixed with my shampoo, meets me; it's a heady aroma. It physically knocks me back.
"Cal," I start, fingering her hair lightly. Her eyes still haven't met mine. My hand reluctantly leaves her hair, pushing her chin up so her eyes meet mine. "You okay?"
Calleigh nods, smiling sadly. I cock my head, squinting my question at her. "I don't get how she could be so stupid." I know she's talking about Lucia; the way she spat out 'she' tells me a lot. I shrug, pretending not to care. I don't really, not about Lucia. I just wish my son didn't have to deal with growing up without a mother. Calleigh shakes her head, continuing, "I mean, she had it all. A perfect little boy, a man willing to settle down and raise their child. Who gives up on something like that?"
"I guess that wasn't what she wanted," I try, not wanting to appear defensive.
She laughs sardonically. "Every woman wants that, Eric."
"Do you?" My question hit a nerve, and her body tenses. "Is that what you want, Calleigh?"
"Eric - "
I sense her dismissive tone and continue immediately. "You could have it. Calleigh, any guy would give his left arm to be with you." She shakes her head. "Yes. There's the right guy out there, he's just waiting for a sign, a comment, anything that lets him know he has even half a chance." My hand finds hers, our eyes meet. "He's waiting for you, Calleigh. He's just waiting for a sign."
I think we both know who 'he' is.
Her head falls against my shoulder, eyes closing slowly. I sigh, knowing I've pushed too far. I won't get anything out of her tonight. I rise, pushing her back into the mattress as platonically as possible while my mind processes the possibilities of my actions. She smiles up at me, knowingly, and I swear she's reading my mind. I tuck her in, much like I did to Joe, pressing a kiss on her head as she suppresses a giggle. I love it when we can do this.
"Goodnight," I mutter to her for the second time. I watch her she bites her lip, pearly white teeth poking out from under her top lip.
"Eric," she calls as I turn to leave. I glance to her, expectantly. "You don't have to sleep on the couch." And that's Calleigh; ever passive, ever obfuscating. It's one of the things I love about her.
But I make no attempt to move, I need to know if this is the sign I've been waiting for. "Calleigh?" She knows what I'm asking.
I watch as she takes a deep breath and pulls back the covers on the free side. My side. "Eric, come here," she says and there's a hint of desperation, fear coloring her accent.
The sign.
That's all I've been waiting for.
So I move, slowly, so as not to startle her out of whatever mood has made her open up, and climb in beside her. She pauses for a few beats before turning over, her back to me, and shuffling closer.
Could she be more obvious?
I comply anyway, willing to do anything to make her happy. My arms wrap around her and I bury my nose in her hair.
"'Night," she whispers, subtly lacing her hand with mind. Just barely.
But it's enough.
I've got my sign.
--fin--
--April 4th 2008--