We sure are getting cheated out of Eric and Calleigh scenes this season... So I keep making up my own endings to episodes to keep my sanity. This one takes place after 9x04 - Manhunt.

It hurt to watch him. Still, she took in his harsh, hasty movements with concerned eyes as he moved about his house doing both everything and nothing. He was completely lost, yet he was bent on trying to carry on like normal. Unlike her, however, he was incapable of doing so. His anger was in every careless movement, his frustration evident in his tense shoulders. And his eyes held inexplicable grief as they refused to meet hers.

He got this way sometimes – after Speed, after Marisol, after his mother finally told him the truth about his father. There was nothing she could do but be there. He couldn't be consoled, talked down, or dissuaded, and she didn't want to try. He needed this, needed the anger, the grief, the blame right now. He needed to strive for normalcy, and when it crumbled – when he crumbled – she would be there.

And so she was waiting in silence. She was leaning against his kitchen table, half-seated on it, and watching him guardedly. She had been for the past two hours after he wordlessly let her in, and slowly but surely he was unraveling. He'd already come down from the incorrigible anger he'd left MDPD with, had already pounded his frustrations out against the pavement for three miles, and her presence was proving to calm him.

Still, he was exasperated and agitated as he finally slowed down. He braced himself against the edge of the counter, pausing, and his tank revealed tensed muscles as he gripped and pushed at the marble. A deep sigh left his lips as he shook his head.

"He killed Mari," he reminded himself aloud, curling his bottom lip in so his teeth could sink into the soft flesh. "I should've taken the shot."

Calleigh breathed in deeply and shifted her weight. It had been hours, but he was finally breaking.

"No," she said firmly, agreeing with the part of him that was truly bothered.

Memmo had gotten under his skin in ways he hadn't been prepared for. He wasn't angry with himself for not taking the shot; he was angry because Memmo had been right about him. He couldn't do it, couldn't ruin a little girl's life even if Memmo had brought it upon himself. Memmo had taken Mari from him right before his eyes, but he couldn't do the same to Memmo's daughter. Despite the blood flowing through her veins, she was innocent. She was a child, and he would protect her with every part of his unwilling body. He resented himself for that, for being just the man that Memmo labeled him as.

"She would've carried that with her forever." Calleigh watched him still, and tugged her blazer from her shoulders when the room grew a little too heated.

Eric lifted his head at her words, her understanding. As he took in her small frame, clothed only in black dress pants and a black tank top now, it hit him. She had been standing there for hours in his kitchen, and when he finally met her eyes he still saw patience there.

She tilted her head a little curiously as he crossed the kitchen, eyes falling to the bare patch of skin revealed just above where black pants hugged her hips. His hands landed on the table behind her, his body inches from hers as though afraid to touch.

They'd been a little precarious lately, with both everything and nothing between them. She needed space, but that was proving to be impossible, so they'd been on and off – on two weeks ago, off this past week. And yet she was back, standing before him without reservation when he needed her, though he would never admit that. But soft words, creamy skin, golden hair, and Calleigh were sounding pretty appealing amid hurt and frustration.

His hands slowly drifted to her waist, fingertips skirting over her skin with sedated awe. Thumbs settling over her hips, he held her as he brought his body in close. One hand moved to cradle her jaw and a moment later he was guiding her lips into a firm kiss. Full of frustration, grief, and repressed love, he pressed into her, his fingers sinking into her skin. With rampant need, he pulled kiss after kiss from her lips, deepening suddenly in a way that made her head reel. His hands were already beneath her top, seeking the warmth, the vitality, in bare skin.

He had never been quite like this with her – all rushed and seeking and a little harsh. It seemed reminiscent of how he'd been with women after Speed died – burying his grief as he took what he needed, damn the boundaries or consequences. It would never be that simple for them, but his hurried hands still worried her. So she slowed him down and tore her lips from his, cupping the back of his head with her hands.

"Eric," she whispered as she urged him down to her, their foreheads pressing together. "I'm sorry."

He knew what for. Everything. Them, Marisol, today… "He gets to run free while Mari's just…gone." He shook his head against her. "I still miss her," he admitted, teeth again digging in to his reddened lip. "I miss you even though you're still here. That's not how it should be."

Calleigh sighed, closing her eyes at the intensity of him putting missing Marisol and missing her together. Her fingers raked through the hair at the nape of his neck as she held him close. "I'm here now."

"But tomorrow?"

"I'll still be here if you need me." His hands were still on her waist, fingers distractedly imploring her skin to react.

"And the day after that?" He couldn't resist tilting in to place a kiss at the corner of her mouth, his lips lingering there.

"Same," she assured, taking in a steadying breath.

"What if I need you forever?" he asked, and she knew he'd lightened just a little.

"You won't need me forever," she said knowingly. Not for this, she added silently.

Despite her words, his lips brushed against hers, lighter this time yet still full of need. "What if I want you forever?"

Any other time it would have been playful, but right now, with teasing nowhere within the realm of possibility, it made her breathing hitch. His lips touched hers once more, gently tugging her bottom lip enticingly before he let their mouths meld.

"What are you asking?" she questioned as they broke away.

"Nothing." The lie was in his eyes as they flickered to hers. She couldn't give him that right now, but the fact that she was here was answer enough. They'd tried to take a break, tried to stay apart, and each time they ended up in a reluctant battle of wills – one of them in need or simply, playfully caving. And the other never hesitated to give in because it was utterly impossible to stay apart.

"Nothing," he repeated, fingers tangling into her hair. "You're here now."

But her eyes wouldn't leave his because she knew. And as his palm pressed into her warm skin, it pained her that she couldn't give him more right now.

Instead, she pulled him back to her, his forehead dropping to hers again for a moment before he recaptured her lips with his. He was a confusing mixture of haste and hesitation now, his lips melding with hers in their natural, slow rhythm. The pressure was firmer, though, and his hand tugged at her knee with a little more force than usual.

Once he'd brought her to the edge of the table, her legs settled snugly around him and he gripped her thighs, lifting her. Her body rested against his in a familiar fit, the weight of her just the same in his arms, and yet it was different, as it always was now, as he carried her toward the stairs. The possibility of not having this was in her touch, and the desperate need to soothe the ache that pervaded him when she was gone was in his hold on her.

The grief and frustration over today just tipped him over the edge. He needed this more than ever now, with everything between them up in the air.

And yet he wanted to draw it out, to savor her, because he never knew when he'd have her again. He just knew that he would.