Standing in the wreckage of her living room, Elenor Cleary thought numbly, Weapon. I should have my weapon out. She lifted her hand towards her holster and realized, belatedly, that the gun was already in her hand. A cop's instinct, one she hadn't realized had ever been instilled in her.
Having it out, she almost put it away. She was shaking hard enough she felt like she was about to fly to pieces; it wouldn't take much for her to accidentally fire the gun. She compromised by keeping her finger well away from the trigger.
A noise from the kitchen made her flinch and whirl. The weapon was halfway raised before she realized it was just a drip from the perpetually leaky faucet. Beyond that, the apartment was completely silent.
Clear the premises, the functioning corner of her mind prompted her. Living room and dining room were clear. So was the kitchen. She edged down the hallway, breathing shallowly, praying that the hardwood floors wouldn't squeak and give her away. If there's anyone here -- oh please, don't let there be anyone here... She'd never fired her weapon outside the range, never had to face down a perp. Not on the job, and sure as hell not alone, in her own apartment...
She stopped, back pressed against the wall, and sucked in a quiet breath. Breathe, Ell, she commanded herself.
A few moments later, moderately steadied, she slid over to the bathroom door and peaked in. Drawers had been dumped out, things were leaking from bottles, but there was no one in there. The shower curtain had been yanked half off the rod, helpfully leaving no place for a burglar to hide behind. She edged a little farther into the room, keeping half an eye on the hallway, and threw open the linen closet. Signs of rummaging there, but no one hiding in with the towels.
She couldn't relax yet; she hadn't checked her bedroom. Whatever this person had been looking for was most likely in there. And he had been looking for something, she knew that now. The realization nearly turned her stomach. She used her clairvoyance most at crime scenes. Her home should not be a crime scene. She clenched her jaw, swallowing hard, trying not to lose it. Later, she told herself forcibly.
She moved into the bedroom and bit back a moan. The destruction... she tried not to see it, tried to focus on making sure she was alone, but it was so hard. The pillows and mattress had been cut open, torn almost to shreds. The rug on the floor had been kicked aside, revealing the circle painted on the wood beneath. Dresser and nightstand drawers were pulled out, their contents flung on the ground. Her jewelry box had been toppled. The closet door gaped; even from where she stood, at a bad angle to it, she could see clothes spilling out of it.
Moving on autopilot, she checked under the bed before stepping as quietly as possible amidst the debris over to the closet. Last hiding place. She swung, weapon raised and pointed at the doorway.
Empty.
The breath and strength left her in a rush. "Clear," she muttered to herself.
The blaring of a jazz band shattered the silence of the apartment.
She shrieked, hand convulsing on her weapon, though thankfully not on the trigger. Then she nearly dropped it, trying to juggle it along with fumbling for her cell phone. Finally she got the phone flipped open; the gun stayed in her other hand. "Hello?"
"Ell? You alright? You sound..."
"Sheldon!" She could have wept at the sound of his friendly, concerned voice. "Someone broke into my apartment."
"Are you okay?" he demanded immediately.
"I'm fine, I'm -- he's not here anymore, he -- I got home and my door was open, and -- everything's trashed, but -- but he's not here anymore, he's gone. I checked." She was starting to hyperventilate. She wanted to sink onto her bed, but it was -- oh, all of her things...
"I'm coming over."
"Please," she whispered.
She heard him moving on the other end of the phone. "You want me to stay on the line while I head over?"
Yes! her brain shouted. She took a deep breath. "No," she replied in a small voice. Clearing her throat, she repeated in a stronger tone, "No, I'll be okay. Just... come as quick as you can, okay?"
"I'm already out the door. I'll be there in fifteen."
When he signed off, she flipped the phone closed and dropped her hand to her side. She stood there in the wreckage of her bedroom, nearly paralyzed. Half her brain urged her to try to make sense of it all -- start picking things up, start trying to figure out what he'd been looking for and why. The rest of her wanted desperately to curl up in a corner until Sheldon arrived.
She compromised by leaving the remains of her bedroom and going back to the dining room. They hadn't done much damage there -- the table and chairs were simple and provided no hiding places for whatever they'd been looking for. She carefully lowered herself into one of those chairs. The phone and gun she placed on the table beside her, both within easy reach.
The knock at the door some time later was soft, but it still gave her a jolt. Heart pounding, she made her way to the door and peered out the peephole. Sagging with relief, she unbolted the door and threw it open.
The next thing she knew was Sheldon's arms wrapped around her, her face buried in his shoulder, her hands clinging to the back of his shirt. The world abruptly felt like a much nicer place. She'd chide herself for that later -- she was an independent woman, wasn't she? -- but for the moment she was content to take as much comfort and safety in his arms as she could.
Eventually they pulled apart. Sheldon pushed her hair back from her face with gentle hands, his face a picture of concern. "You okay?"
She nodded. "Yeah." She had relaxed a bit in his embrace, at least enough to breathe again. She could almost smile at him, though it felt a little more like a grimace. "I shouldn't have freaked out like that. I'm supposed to be a cop, right?"
He gave her a gentle little half smile, shaking his head. "You're a scientist first. Besides, even straight-up cops get rattled when something like this happens." He squeezed her arm. "Now, do you want me to call the lab? Get some techs out here, process..."
She shook her head. "No. I'll do it. My way," she added. Her smile was tiny but genuine.
He responded in kind, nodding his understanding. "Less technology, more spellwork?"
"It's my place." Her shoulders shifted in a minute shrug. "If I don't find anything, we'll call the lab, okay?"
Sheldon nodded. "Sounds like a plan. How about your cousin, though? Think you should call her?"
Her lips stretched into what was almost a grin. "Yeah, I'd better." Her cousin the cop-slash-Hunter wouldn't take it well if she wasn't notified ASAP. "Then... Then I'll get started." It was easier to contemplate, looking at him and not at the wreckage of her home. She swallowed, her smile falling away at the thought.
His hand found hers, squeezing gently. "Anything I can do to help?"
She looked up into his chocolate eyes. "Just keep me company, okay?"
He nodded. "I can do that."
She took a deep breath, taking what strength she could from the man who'd become one of her dearest friends -- and maybe more -- and then moved away. She had work to do.