Note: Yes, a new multi-chapter fic! I'm excited to be writing again. Not sure how long this will be yet, but here's the prologue... As the summary says, this is set during season 5 (for a reason), but it definitely follows an alternate, very different story line. Hope you like it. :) (P.S. I'm ignoring the current happenings on the show, so I haven't watched the majority of season 9 in an attempt to preserve my EC inspiration.)

A tiled foyer stretched out before her, leading to a lush, cream-colored carpet that crept across the room to the left, up the stairs, and right up to the kitchen entryway straight down the hall. That rain she'd heard so much about pattered against the roof, echoing throughout the nearly empty cottage. It was cozy, she realized – small, but with a lot of open space and windows that practically spanned the entire length of the house in back.

Calleigh passed the small office off the hallway to step into the kitchen and dining room, studying the view through the panel of windows and glass doors to the deck. Though the sun was beginning to set, it was light enough to make out the leaves of seemingly never-ending trees. But in the middle, much further down the mountain, they split for a sleek lake, and just a few city lights off in the distance were visible to her.

Exhaling deeply, she followed the connected dining area around to the living room. It was the most decorated part of the home thus far, with an over-stuffed couch, a matching loveseat and chair, a large television, and…a fireplace. Smiling, she stepped toward it, taking in the authentic stone base and brick mantle. Judging by the chill coursing through her body, she was going to make good use of it, too.

This was certainly nothing like Miami – and that was a blessing. It was exactly what she needed.

She could feel her heart pounding, the sunlight heating her skin as it drew a thin sheen of sweat from her already. Her breathing was successive, almost rhythmic with the steps of her feet as they hit the rough wood of the boardwalk. She made a conscious effort not to push herself today, but to instead try to let the exhilaration and fresh morning air clear her mind. She needed to either think clearly or not at all, and nothing could accomplish that like an accelerated heart rate and the ocean air.

Feeling a buzzing against her arm, she began to slow her pace as she unstrapped her phone from a strong layer of Velcro.

"Duquesne," she answered, regaining her breath as she slowed to a walk.

"CSI Duquesne? Agent Torres, FBI. Is this a bad time?"

"No, now is great," she assured with a friendly laugh. "I was just on a run."

"Oh, well I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was hoping to speak with you regarding a potential temporary assignment."

"With the FBI?" Calleigh's brows furrowed. The FBI had agents, and they didn't typically recruit from other agencies, let alone private counties.

"I know it sounds strange, but we've been called in to investigate the presence of some sensitive military-grade defense weapons that have hit the streets within the last few months."

"What weapons?"

"The corner-shot," he admitted reluctantly. "We think there's a leak within the government's contracted defense sector."

"Yeah, we just wrapped up a case here about a week ago. They're tricky. You have to test-fire the gun it was mounted on and then attempt to connect the two."

"That's why we were hoping for your help," he admitted. "You're a top ballistics expert, you're familiar with the weapon, and you closed a case involving it quickly. I know it's a lot to ask, but it'd be contract work. Six months tops, likely ballistics lab work only, relocation expenses paid…"

Calleigh bit her lip. "Where to?"

She breathed in deeply, eyes taking in the beautiful, rolling ocean that was doing nothing to calm her racing thoughts lately. Come to think of it, anywhere but here wasn't sounding so bad…

And it wasn't really – at least so far. The scent of pines was refreshing, the rain soothing…. She trailed her fingers along the banister as she went upstairs, the pattering of the rain increasing as she neared the top level. There, a balcony area overlooked the foyer before it branched off into a single bedroom at the back of the house with a large bath. It was so much smaller than her own home – less empty space, less room to feel alone.

Sighing, she set her phone on the nightstand and crawled onto the large, freshly made bed. The exhaustion of traveling suddenly overwhelmed her and, as pretty as the rain sounded, she had no inclination of getting drenched by it while unloading heavy bags from her car. Her belongings could wait until morning.

Sliding beneath the sheets and blankets, she tucked her body inside and waited for warmth to envelope her. She took in the shadows of the new room with still alert eyes and realized it was rest she was craving. Sleep, on the other hand, was far more elusive.

She rolled over on her other side to face the doorway and let her wandering mind fill the silence. Just when she thought she was 3,000 miles away and safe, he crept back into her thoughts.

She caught sight of him in the layout room. He was removing the contents of paper evidence bags, seemingly searching for a way to proceed. He had that "contemplative Eric" face going, with his lips pursed and his brows furrowed so deeply they nearly knit together.

She tugged at the door, a rush of air swirling around her as it sealed shut again.

"Hey," she said, mentally surveying the array of evidence.

"Hey." His eyes lingered on her just a moment too long. There was something different in her eyes lately. Maybe it had entered after she'd seemed to make the decision – conscious or not – to gloss over whatever between them went beyond just coworkers. An air of all too believable pretend was emanating from her, with depth just below the surface.

"Analyzing blood spatter?" she asked, deducing as much from the blood-soaked clothing and other objects.

"Yeah." He visibly shook himself from his daze to focus on work. "Still trying to establish a timeline."

"Want some help?"

He wanted to tell her no because he couldn't stand this – the pretend, the unspoken. Their relationship had been utterly fake for weeks, with her refusing to acknowledge the feelings and memories that blatantly exist as a strong undercurrent between them. He wanted to tell her to stop, to leave. But he made the mistake of letting his eyes fall on her, studying the curve of her neck, the glow of her skin, the way her fingers curve around the edge of the counter. Even now, when she really shouldn't be a weakness anymore, she is.

"Sure." Tossing her a pair of gloves, he focused on the items before them.

"Well, Taylor McCoy would've had to still be standing to get this pattern on his shirt," Calleigh began, flattening the green polo out with her gloved hand.

"And Jordan Eames's footprints had McCoy's blood, so he went downstairs after McCoy was shot…"

"How long after, though?" Calleigh asked. "Is Ryan going over the security footage?"

"Yeah, still waiting to hear from him. I'm sure we can figure out more then."

Calleigh nodded along, a short, not-quite-comfortable silence befalling them. She had to tell him. Biting her lip, she took a few steps back to lean against the counter that ran parallel to the layout table.

"I'm accepting a temporary assignment with the FBI."

She sounded so casual, nonchalantly dropping that bomb in between typical work talk, that it took him a moment to process it and understand the implications.

"You're leaving?" His eyes searched hers, waiting for confirmation. He couldn't envision a world that didn't involve coming to work with Calleigh every day, regardless of the tension, but apparently she could.

"Just for a few months."

"Miami field office?" he asked expectantly.

"No." She hesitated. "Washington."

"D.C.?"

Calleigh swallowed hard. "State."

He held her gaze, disbelief in his features – and maybe, somewhere in there, was a shred of guilt.