Yay, a fanfic! Oneshot. Short oneshot. Very short oneshot. Lyrics are Eric Clapton's. Characters are Anthony Zuiker/Jerry Bruckheimer/Alliance Atlantic/CBS/whatever. Though I wouldn't say no if anyone wanted to give me Calleigh for my birthday.
Wonderful Tonight
It's late in the evening; she's wondering what clothes to wear. She puts on her make-up and brushes her long blonde hair, and then she asks me, "do I look all right?" and I say, "Yes, you look wonderful tonight."
He loves to sit and watch her as she stands before her open closet, occasionally pacing towards one end, then back to the other. She's wrapped in a robe of wine coloured silk, the paint on her toenails a matching crimson poking out from beneath the oversized garment. More often than not she chooses a black dress, but tonight she selects a new purchase: a floor-sweeping dress the same colour as her gown, a slit up to the thigh, a low back and spaghetti straps. She takes it into the bathroom as he lies back on the bed, his collar unfastened, tie across his arm by his side and shoes lying haphazardly on the floor. She emerges a couple of moments later and to say he is stunned is somewhat of an understatement. The dress fits her like a glove and she looks like an angel, unable to suppress the grin when he tells her he loves her.
She sits on the stool in front of the mirror and picks up her hairbrush, frowning when he hurries to take it from her hands. He sits behind her, on the bed, and runs the bristles slowly through her long blonde hair until each strand is as smooth as silk.
She turns to kiss him as he drops the brush beside him on the bed.
He takes her arm as they walk into the hired hall that is already buzzing with people: friends, enemies, colleagues and acquaintances alike. He finds it hard to hide the proud grin that graced his face as heads turn, the jaws of every man in the room visibly dropping at the sight of the lady on his arm. She moves closer to him; personal space means nothing tonight, she decides as she feels his arm snake around her waist.
They don't stay long, just long enough for a drink or two, a short dance and the first half of the speeches, where he's awarded a framed certificate for his bravery. By the time they leave he's quiet, tired and sick of being sociable. She drives his car back to their house – well, his house, though she's come to think of it as their home now although she never officially 'moved in' – and by the time they get there the night is almost over: ten minutes 'til midnight, until a new day begins.
She wipes off her make up, steps out of her dress and into a pair of old sweatpants and one of his t-shirts. She climbs into bed beside him and curls up in the circle of his arms, resting her head on his bare chest contentedly. She asks if he's okay, his silence uncharacteristic, worrying her a little. He assures her he's fine; better, in fact - he's wonderful. She curls up tighter and snuggles closer; sleep comes easily in his embrace.
I feel wonderful because I see the love light in your eyes; and the wonder of it all is that you just don't realize how much I love you.