Drawing Circles

by Orange Sodie

It was overwhelming, how he was willing to sit in the rain with her.

"Drawing Circles" by Carolina

Dark clouds had gathered over the usually sunny Miami skyline and as they grew in size and strength, a very insistent part of her brain unnecessarily reminded her it was going to rain. It repeated it when a gust of wind blew her hair across her face, and again when an aerial rumble reverberated through her skin. But the rest of her was objecting too loud to hear it, refused to pay attention, actually looked forward to the downpour, hoping the water would wash away the days, carry this emotional rubble through the gutters and into the sea. So they would drown. Cease to exist. The memories would remain, but she would find a way to deal with them. She always had.

Sometimes she felt an overwhelming need to smoke. Light up. Stain her fingers with ash, burn her throat, and numb her muscles. It was certainly hard to explain, because she couldn't remember ever picking up a cigarette in her life. But the need was there, sometimes so strong that she would find herself walking to the nearest store, until a voice in her head would remind her, "Calleigh, you don't smoke." And she would stop. Turn around and head home. It was better to ignore it than deal with it, but for the few seconds it took her to put it out of her mind, she'd wonder how it was possible to crave something she had never had, for the feeling to be so intense she could taste the smoke in her mouth. Maybe because the first time she saw her father drunk, she promised herself she would never taste a drop of alcohol, wouldn't become him, would never self-destruct the way he had.

But sometimes it was hard to fight whatever he had passed on to her, hard to turn her head one way when her body kept walking parallel to his. And alcohol was out of the question, but cigarettes were not. They wouldn't incapacitate her senses, couldn't prevent her from doing her job, would never get her to hurt the people she loved. More importantly, they would make her days a little more bearable. Except she hated cigarettes, the way they smelled, and the way she imagined they tasted. But her body still asked for them; she had the proof in those inexplicable cravings. Those cravings that would go away, for years at a time, and then suddenly come back full force.

Today, Calleigh could feel them drawing near again.

And she had tried, so hard there was barely any strength left in her, to ignore it all, convince herself that everybody has bad weeks. It was okay. Normal. In a few days she would wake up happy, looking forward to her job again, to the people in her life again. And she wouldn't even need coffee; the energy would be there with her, that one strange characteristic that labeled her as a morning person. She would go around reminding smokers that cigarettes are bad for them, thriving in the fact that despite it all, she had always been able, and would always be able, to deal with her problems without having to numb her senses. Just a couple more days and she could be normal again. It became her mantra, but repeating it in her mind, or even saying it out loud, she found it didn't have the same effect it always did. It didn't make her proud, stronger, or even hopeful. It only made her feel like she was lying to herself.

A good week could turn into a bad week in an instant. One second. The time it took for her brain to make that connection, to figure out one of her cases had gone from a playground accident to child abuse. From child abuse to sexual abuse. It brought whole walls down, destroyed, in a second, what had taken her so long to build. And as she began to pick up the pieces, to lay out a new foundation, she kicked it to dust after a call from her mother. Another one of those insignificant, passive aggressive, calls. "Nothing serious, really. It's just that your father might be drinking again."

Nothing serious, really.

Just a crash. A burn. Because hope was a very tricky feeling - even when it knew there was nothing there to hold on to, it wouldn't go away. It would just linger, waiting for an opportunity to crawl closer. And she could remember being seven, sitting on her father's lap as he promised her he wouldn't drink again, he wouldn't get mad at her again, he would never do it again. Promise. And an insistent part of her brain would try to warn her, remind her of all those empty promises, all those broken promises he dragged behind him wherever he walked. But the rest of her would have none of it. And even today, as a grown woman, the ritual continued, sometimes without her being aware of it. Not until she got that call from the bar, that call that never failed to make her head spin out of its axis. Because she should have been used to it, the cycle, after so many years. But she was not. For some reason her mind, even her body, rejected the idea that her father might be lost forever. Beyond redemption. It was hard sometimes to figure out where the seven year old girl's innocence stopped, and the thirty year old woman's denial began.

And her mother? There was nothing so bad or so terrible that she couldn't get over with detachment. Detachment and refinement. Always poised. Always graceful. In the middle of a nuclear holocaust, she would probably be the only woman to die with elegance. Trying to disguise disappointment with indifference. Trying so hard to pretend everything was okay. Because appearances are important. Because as long as people think you're okay, then everything is fine. As a child, her mother had been a mystery, someone Calleigh couldn't understand, despite her almost daily attempts. Elegantly sitting at the dinner table, regardless of whether they were having lobster or burgers, she would remind Calleigh of how important it was for a woman to cross her legs, to present herself nicely, to be agreeable at all times. Like a porcelain doll. That's what her mother was. Untouchable. Easily breakable. Sitting on a shelf Calleigh could never reach. And she wondered now if her mother's frailty was the reason for her distance, why she built that wall around her. She also wondered when, exactly, her mother had transferred that unto her.

As a young girl, Calleigh would ask herself where she would end up, sandwiched between her father and mother. In her mind, it had been simple enough. Her father's frailty was alcohol and her mother's addiction was denial and between them there was nothing but a thin rope for her to walk on, floating in the air. If she concentrated hard enough she could do it easily. If she didn't look back, didn't look down, didn't look left or right, she would be okay; it wasn't hard to follow a straight line. But then the wind would pick up. And the swaying would throw her concentration off as it neared her to those two possible outcomes: a little to the left - denial; a little to the right - oblivion. And as she tried to decide which would hurt less, which would provide for a softer landing, that voice would taunt her again. Low and shallow and on the back of her mind, full of satisfaction as it reminded her, "You've got it all wrong, Calleigh. It's the fall that's gonna kill you."

Another thunder. She sighed and let her body rest forward, elbows on her thighs. And it suddenly hit her - it wasn't about cigarettes. It wasn't about nicotine or the ash or the smoke. It was about a need. Any need. It could have been alcohol, could have been sex, or even chocolate. She could wake up the next morning feeling an overwhelming need to buy blue shoes. And it could last five minutes, or it could last five days.

Until the release. Until it would blow over; yet another one of those things that managed to turn her into a complete stranger.

Because as she sat on that bench she thought she had done something terribly bad. The memories flooded back and she could see herself in front of her boss. Blaming him. Accusing him. Because that little girl they had just buried wouldn't get her justice. Because her father would walk away and for some reason that made sense at that moment, it had been Horatio's fault. She felt betrayed, let down, misguided, because there was a time when she would've walked through fire for Horatio Caine. Back and forth. And she thought she could remember a time when he had promised no crime would go unpunished under his watch. It never had. But that morning, when he told her there was nothing they could do, she realized, possibly for the first time, that he was human. Had his faults. Probably craved cigarettes without ever having smoked one. Before that morning, Calleigh was sure the man could fly if he jumped off a building. But suddenly his red cape had disappeared and he wasn't the super hero she thought he was. He wasn't even as strong as she thought he was. He had just been able to hide his weaknesses better.

Rage couldn't begin to describe what she felt at that moment, when she thought she could see the same disappointment in his eyes, the same guilt in his eyes, the same frustration, but something else she didn't feel - renounce. Surrender. There was nothing he could do for that little girl, nothing he was even willing to try. And at the same time, she thought she could hear a loud thump as his body hit the ground, cracked and destroyed that pedestal it had been standing on for so long. And the anger was so overwhelming she wanted to hit him. Hurt him. Get him to feel the way little Jane felt all those times her father crept into her room. Because if he could feel it, that helplessness, that fear, she was sure he would do something about it. Reopen the case. Find new evidence. Keep his promises.

But no. No. He repeated it. Ten times. Twenty times. There was nothing they could do about it.

Case closed.

Jane Carpenter, only seven years of age, rested six feet underground now. But she would never rest in peace. Because of them. Because their job had always seemed so easy and so honorable somebody must have taken it for granted. Until that morning. Until they failed.

The anger had left a bitterness in her mouth she could still taste.

As the sky let out another rumble, she felt a body sit next to hers. And she didn't have to look over her shoulder to know it was him. Calleigh couldn't decide whether she should allow herself to be thankful, feel relieved, or if she should reject him; reject him because that side of the bench, right next to her, didn't belong to him. Shouldn't be his. It should be John's.

And suddenly she wasn't surprised to realize she hadn't been expecting John, even though he had been standing right outside of Horatio's office, had heard all the commotion, had seen her walk out and even called after her. If he was looking for her, and a part of her was sure he was, Calleigh knew he wouldn't find her. Alarm bells went off at the thought, alarms she didn't need because she knew it would never work out between them, had known from the start. But she cared about him and he cared about her. Maybe even loved her. And at times, that was enough for her to keep the relationship alive. Because it was nice to have someone to go home to. It was nice to have someone who called at the end of the day. Much nicer than being alone. Even if she didn't love him. Even when he was unintentionally blind to her and his other senses refused to aid him. Because even when she was standing right in front of him, it seemed she was completely out of his radar. No matter how hard he tried, and he did, he could never find her.

But Eric could. He always did.

She could disappear on the Everglades and he would go straight to her. She could bury herself in the middle of the desert and he would dig her out. And as he sat there, examining the gray clouds, instead of bombarding her with questions or smothering her with concern, he said nothing. His silence meant more to her than anything else because Calleigh knew it was deliberate. And it should infuriate her, the way he knew how to do that. But the only thing that infuriated her was the fact that she allowed him to read her. Allowed him to find her. Just him, for some inexplicable reason. Not her father or her mother; not even her boyfriend.

Without looking at him she could see his pose, eyes squinting slightly at the bleak day, an arm draped on the back of the bench behind her as the other rested on his thigh, one leg hiding under the bench, the other one straight out. She wondered sometimes how he could be so comfortable, so at ease, with being so predictable. Because since childhood, she had done everything in her power to prevent people from knowing her next move. It was important to be sporadic. It was safe. But predictability came easy to him. Worked for him. And he never seemed to mind its company.

Calleigh finally looked back, and found him staring at a black SUV on the far side of the street. Even when he wasn't working, his eyes were constantly searching for clues, for anything that looked out of the ordinary. She could relate to that.

"Is he mad?" she allowed herself to ask, because through all this possibly her biggest concern had been losing her job. And she felt ashamed for thinking like that, because her priorities suddenly seemed disarrayed. But she figured Eric would understand.

He shook his head, trying too hard to convince her there was nothing to worry about. A little too hard. "Nah."

Calleigh could suddenly hear Horatio's voice, low, raspy, and always that bit of arrogance that conveyed his authority.

"Did he ask you to come here?" There was an edge of accusation in her voice but she couldn't help it. She hated the idea of being baby-sat, hated the idea of Eric being there unwillingly even more.

But he frowned at her, in a way that made her feel guilty for doubting his intentions. And she contorted her face into an expression that he took as an apology. She had never been so thankful about the fact that most of their communication was non verbal.

Silence joined them again. But comfortable. Familiar. To the rest of the world they could have been two strangers waiting for the bus and that was okay with Calleigh. Dramatization had never been one of her hobbies.

"Hagen's looking for you," Eric suddenly said, and she thought his voice was different, deeper, trying to remain emotionless in a way that reminded Calleigh of her mother's denial. Forced nonchalance. Trying to disguise something with indifference, only he wasn't very good at it. Or maybe he was, because she couldn't figure out what it was he was trying to hide. Just that he was hiding something. From her. And that created an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

When she looked at him again she found him examining his fingers, unwilling to look her in the eyes, despite the fact that hers bore holes into him. She waited, and when it was clear he wouldn't look at her, she breathed a noncommittal, "yeah."

The silence that followed wasn't as comfortable - tense; the mere mention of John Hagen doing away with the ease and comfort of their friendship. Calleigh spent the better portion of her days around Eric. She had come to identify him as her best friend, had always been able to talk to him about anything. But for the last few months, they had stopped talking about their love lives. Particularly hers. Because for some reason, the conversation was inevitably followed by that tense silence, by that uncomfortable air that was unknown to their friendship. She spent most of her time buried under too many cases and too many personal problems to give it much thought, and until that moment, she hadn't realized it had grown so out of control. Until that moment she had brushed it aside, chalked it up to the environment around them. When you're having a bad day, the last thing you want to bear is another person's burden. But despite her having a bad day, despite her having a bad week, she got the feeling it wasn't the environment, it wasn't the work.

It was them.

So it wasn't surprising when he stopped there. Didn't press the issue any further, and Eric could tell she was glad. It was all she needed to know and way more than he was willing to tell her. Because Hagen really was looking for her and it may have been important. To her. Maybe she needed to hear that. And Eric didn't want to be the reason for her misery. Not when he knew her relationship with Hagen was on the rocks. And he hated to give her false hopes, but he hated seeing her unhappy more. And maybe knowing Hagen was looking for her made her feel better. That knowledge was all he needed to wash away that bad taste from his mouth.

"It's just this case," she suddenly began to explain, partly to change the subject, partly to let him know. Because she knew he understood the feeling, the way her throat constricted at the mere mention of their latest victim. She never let her cases get personal, tried with all her strength to remain unemotional. But he wasn't like that, he wasn't like her. He knew what it was like to go to bed hearing the victims crying. Maybe he could hear Jane at night. Maybe he knew how to make that stop.

"Yeah," he sighed, the emotion back in his voice, raspy with exhaustion, lack of sleep. The case had gotten to him, too. But there was something else. Something deeper and Calleigh couldn't figure out what. It scared her, the way he was suddenly becoming unpredictable, the way it was becoming harder for her to read him.

And when she looked back at him, she found him staring at her, the expression on his face much different than the one he usually bore. Almost unrecognizable; a mixture of pain and worry that didn't look good on him.

Calleigh gave him a smile, confident, attempting comfort. "You don't need to worry about me."

He tried to return the smile but only managed to stretch the side of his mouth for a fraction of a second. Unconvincingly. Acting had never been his strong forte. "No, I don't need to worry about you. I just do."

Her smile diminished and she looked away, because there was no pretense in his voice. It came so easy to him. Honesty. He never tried to hide his emotions, wore his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see. And he was never ashamed of it. It was fascinating to see him express himself so freely, so raw. Flabbergasting. Until she met Eric, Calleigh was pretty sure people like that didn't exist.

Not her. She was more careful, had learned from experience that when you play with fire, you will undoubtedly get burned. No question about it. But if Eric knew that, he didn't show it. Or maybe he didn't mind getting burned, was strong enough to heal quickly. Maybe she was constantly mistaking his strength for innocence. Whatever it was, she couldn't help but envy it at times.

But not today. Not when their silence became tense. Not when she felt that somehow it was her responsibility to keep their friendship going strong. Because if it was her job to calm her mother down and it was her job to keep her father out of bars, it must have been her job to scare this awkwardness away. And just like their cases, it would be better if she could do it unemotionally. Safer.

She suddenly felt a hand on her back, his hand, friendly and soothing but there was something new about his touch. Something that hadn't been there before. She let her head fall forward, feeling the weight increase tenfold but this time it didn't suffocate her. His hand brushed her hair away from her face, trying to find her behind the blonde curtain, pinned it behind her ear, and it was futile. She could never hide from him. She could disappear off the face of the earth and he would close his eyes and point to her.

Calleigh finally looked over her shoulder and his expression was softer, friendlier and for a moment she felt he was back to his usual self. She gave him a genuine smile, closed her eyes and suddenly found herself in his embrace, head on his shoulder, arm around his waist. Her action surprised her and it must have surprised him as well, because for a moment he did nothing; Eric the friend had been scared away. But then she heard him breathe out and felt him pressing a light, almost hesitant kiss on her head. And when she didn't reprimand him for it, he did it again, without the uncertainty this time, drawing her closer, almost territorially.

Cheek pressed against her forehead, his fingers scratched her scalp lightly and something inside of her complained. Alarm bells, maybe. Wailing because they knew she would never let John do this for her.

Her hand came to rest on his chest, playing with the buttons of his shirt, and she could feel his heart beating. Suddenly a lot faster than usual, for reasons she refused to acknowledge, forced herself to ignore. Already she could feel him slipping through her fingers, a strange sensation that almost broke her heart to pieces. And what was more unsettling was the way her own heart raced, as if trying to catch up to his. She tried to put that out of her mind, as well.

She sky roared again and Calleigh could already feel droplets of rain on her skin, but he didn't move. It was overwhelming, how he was willing to sit in the rain with her, risking catching a cold, risking his health. For her. And she felt like crying at the thought, crying at the fact that she realized, at that moment, how much she missed him. Even though he was right there, their bodies pressed together. He was there with her, but at the same time, he was gone. Something had been lost and something else had been created to replace it. He was slipping through her fingers but it wouldn't take her long to slip with him.

Rain poured down suddenly, madly, and she finally peeled herself away from Eric because it wasn't fair to get him all wet for her own selfish reasons. She would never ask him to do that. So she grabbed his hand, helped him up and gave him a smile that he took as a thank you. A flash and a thunder made her yelp, her body jumped and they found themselves laughing. And it felt great to stand there with him, pretending the tension wasn't there, pretending everything was back to normal. Pretending had been one of their better played games.

"Come on," he said, touching her arm before getting a head start and running ahead. She ran after him, trying to avoid the puddles of rain that were already forming on the ground, and when they reached cover his movements slowed down, maybe so she could catch up to him, maybe to avoid getting to wherever it was he was going.

Curiosity made her stop.

And almost instantly, he stopped as well, turned around and gave her an inquisitive look.

"You talked to John?" she asked, making sure her tone was light and curious, rather than harsh and accusatory.

"Yeah," Eric replied, "he asked me if I knew where you were."

She hesitated for a moment, but the words came out before she had the chance to stop them. "Why didn't you tell him I was here?"

Eric Delko was smart, smooth, quick... but he wore his heart on his sleeve. And it didn't take him long to cover his tracks, a flick of time. But she was a cop, a scientist, and he was her best friend. And if he could find her in the middle of nowhere, she could find him just as easily. Probably quicker. Because unlike her, he wasn't used to hiding his emotions. And it was his best trait, sometimes. But sometimes it was his biggest flaw. It made him give himself away, unwillingly. Just like now.

"I didn't know you were here."

She smiled, despite the uneasiness, despite the blow to her head. For the first time in their friendship, he had lied to her.

She didn't have to be a CSI, only had to know him as well as she did to know, understand how he worked. The way he avoided her eyes, and the hint of a smile. He always smiled when he lied.

"Okay," Calleigh said and smiled back, but it must have been unconvincing, because he looked away almost immediately, like a child caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. She searched for his eyes, but they were fixed on a spot on the ground. The man in front of her suddenly seemed like a stranger.

"Okay," she repeated and to avoid another uncomfortable silence she walked ahead of him and thanked him when he opened the door for her. He remained silent as they crossed the lobby, suddenly spotted an acquaintance and told her he'd catch up with her later. She didn't see him for the rest of the day.

She went upstairs and apologized to Horatio, who was far more understanding than she would, had she been in his shoes. He even offered her the rest of the day off. She refused, of course. He probably knew she would, but Calleigh was touched nonetheless. The rest of the day was uneventful; she wished she could say the same about that night.

When she got home, John was waiting for her outside her apartment, sitting on the steps, playing with his keys. As soon as he saw her, the bombardment of questions began. He was frustrated. He was furious. Swore on God and Jesus he had looked everywhere for her. Everywhere. And Calleigh bit down her tongue, swallowed down the need to let him know that no, obviously he hadn't looked everywhere. He hadn't looked right outside the building where she worked. He failed to notice she didn't take her purse with her. He hadn't even noticed her car was still in the garage, two spaces away from his, had probably walked right by it on his mad search but once again, he was too blinded to see it.

But she was too tired to argue. And after a few of minutes he stopped, gave up, put on some game on television and planted himself on her couch, their argument, or rather his argument, forgotten. Too tired to eat, Calleigh spent a little too much time in the shower, letting the hot water wash away the weight that still sat on her shoulders, and when she got into bed, John was still on her couch. She was glad for that, knew he was going to start asking her questions again and she would never get to sleep.

But an hour later, despite the silence, she was still wide awake.

And not too long after, she felt him walk into her room. Heard him undress and before getting into bed, he called her name. She pretended to be asleep, for no reason whatsoever and less than a minute later, he was snoring. Back to hers; her back to his. She opened her eyes and watched the lights off the streets dance on her wall. It didn't take long for her thoughts to drift to Eric. Thought about all those secrets he tried so vainly to keep concealed. She thought about her own. And in the darkness she felt like crying for an uninvited loneliness that suddenly crept into her. And she wished she could call him, wished she could go back to a time when she wouldn't have to say anything, he would just know. Drop everything he was doing and come over. Insist on sleeping on her couch. No arguments. No guilt.

She found herself with her hand on the telephone before she stopped.

She looked at John and chastised herself for being so difficult. All she had to do was wake him, wake him and tell him that no, everything wasn't okay. And she knew he would listen. He was dying to listen, to be there for her. More importantly, it would save their relationship. It would help her sleep. It would help them move on to the next level. By something as simple as just talking to him. Explaining what it felt like. He would understand, Calleigh was sure of that. It's the only thing he asked of her and she owed him that much. To let him in. To allow him to find her.

At that moment, she thought of herself as a horrible woman. A horrible partner. Because she knew it would make everything better, and yet she couldn't do it. Wouldn't do it. Couldn't call Eric, either. Because for a brief moment, a fraction of a second, the idea of calling Eric made her feel like she would be cheating on John. Such a ridiculous notion, and yet she couldn't put it out of her mind. It threatened to eat her whole. The guilt. Guilt because she was already feeling like she was cheating on him. Cheating on him with her best friend. Not physically. Never physically. Just mentally. Emotionally.

A truck outside caused the ground to tremble, and at the same time she began feeling his heart beating under her palm again. Pulsating strongly. She wondered when it began beating so fast. She asked herself why she refused to notice, why even now, she tried so hard, so fiercely, to put it out of her mind, why she wanted to ignore it. Wondered how long she could be able to do so. Her throat burned and her eyes were stinging, because she already knew this would be another sleepless night. Another night spent chastising herself, doubting her intentions. Another night wondering where her father was, how her mother was dealing with it. Another night denying herself of those feelings that seemed to have been there all along, but were only recently surfacing. Another night spent lying to herself.

Wondering if Eric's nights were similar to hers.

She stopped and tried to put it out of her mind. But the only thoughts she could replace him with were thoughts of Jane Carpenter. Thoughts of Claudia Carpenter, three years younger than her sister. Calleigh wondered how long it would be before they got that call again, before they would put that man in their interrogating room again; before he would walk away. Again. The anger was overwhelming, so strong it overheated her body. She pushed the sheets aside, sat on her bed, let out a sigh. John's snores diminished as she walked out of the room, walked into the kitchen and drank a glass of water. The night was cloudy, and rain still drizzled outside. Perfect weather to sleep, but sleep still avoided her. She sat on her couch, the same couch he had slept on so many nights. And if she closed her eyes and lay down, if she deluded herself convincingly, she thought she could smell him there.

But then she stopped. Sat up and the rage she felt wasn't towards her victims, their suspects, or Horatio. It was at herself. For being so weak. For letting herself fall through the cracks. And at Eric. For lying to her. For keeping secrets from her. For making her feel like this, like everything she had known to be true and real had been a charade. For making her feel like she was falling, constantly, without an end in sight, waiting for the crash, waiting to hit the ground. It's the fall that's gonna kill you.

She reached for a blanket and lay down. A moment of objectivity flowed through her and she realized that no, his scent wasn't on her couch. But John's was. And as she closed her eyes and let the night's chill relax her, Calleigh thought of Eric one last time. Thought of every great moment they had had together. Thought about how much she loved his family. And her mind complained once more, because something was changing and she felt powerless to stop it. Felt helpless. Lonely. Felt a tremendous void inside of her, because above all, she didn't want to lose her best friend. And then that voice on the back of her head again, low and shallow, full of satisfaction, it always whispered what she already knew.

"Too late."

The End