Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or (almost) any of the FBI agents, yeah, Heather Landrey is a real character!
Summary: When you have a one night stand, it's almost impossible to have regrets. It was just a fling right? Then why the hell did something so beautiful come from something so simple?
Spoilers: up until One Of Our Own, and the end of Rio.
Sitting and Standing by Liv
...Just when I had you in the crushing grip of reason...- Hobbes
chapter 10: Flinch
It hurt.
That's all that Heather could say about it. It fucking hurt.
She didn't care if she couldn't breath, she didn't care if there was sweat in her eyes, she didn't care that somehow along the way her hospital gown had hitched up to her chest.
She didn't care.
Because it hurt.
-x-
"Where is Agent Landrey?" asked Glen standing with his hands on his hips in Heather's desk space making Perry seriously doubt his sexuality.
"She's not here yet, Cole," said Perry, looking at his watch and realized the time. "But she's late."
"Excuse me, Agent Cole, Agent Landrey's on the phone for you."
"Landrey, where the hell are you?"
"Hospital. Baby. Can't come into work today."
And the phone clicked off.
Glen starred at the mouthpiece with his mouth hanging open.
"You ok, sir?" asked Peter walking up to Glen, his jacket covered in melted snow.
"Heather's not coming into work today."
"What for?" asked Perry looking up at Glen in bewilderment.
"Apparently, she's in labor."
-x-
Peter burst threw the doors of the maternity ward looking for Heather; Perry and Heather's partner Agent Derek Burk following behind him.
Peter casually leaned his elbow against the counter of the receptionist booth and spoke to the plump woman on the other side.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for Heather Landrey, which room is she in?"
"Is one of you the father?"
"No, we're her co-workers," said Derek panting slightly. Perry clutched a stitch in his side and glared at Peter's back.
"I hate you," he mouthed at him, Derek smirked before Peter turned around. Peter's face was turning flush, obviously out of breath.
"Why didn't we take the elevator?" asked Perry out loud as a nurse pointed them in the direction of Heather's room.
"Hey guys, what if she can't really talk to us?" asked Derek, both Peter and he ignoring Perry's obvious attempt to poke fun at the subject. The other two stopped and turned to look at him.
"What do you mean?"
"What do you mean, what do I mean? She's in labor. It's not pretty," said Derek taking a step back.
"So, what are we going to just wait until she's finished?" asked Perry. Peter rolled his eyes and headed towards Heather's delivery room by himself.
-x-
"She's crowing Heather," said the nurse, holding Heather's hand tightly and tears squeezed from her eyes.
"Heather!" Heather's eyes snapped open as she turned her head in the direction of the open door, seeing Peter standing there.
"Peter, not now!" Heather half screamed as another contraction took its course.
"You don't even bother calling any of your friends; you just call work and say 'sorry can't come in today, I'm having a baby'? What were you thinking? That you'd do this by yourself?"
"Peter if you're gonna bitch and moan you might as well take my hand and have a reason to bitch," said Heather reaching out for Peter's hand (who rolled his eyes and took it) and screamed, making Peter flinch twice: Once from the scream; again from the pain being inflicted on his hand.
-x-
"Does she have a name yet?" the nurse asked Heather (Peter was taken to get an x-ray on his hand).
"Abigail Christi," said Heather quietly, moving the blanket around her daughter's face and brushing a finder along her cheek.
"Abby Landrey, that's pretty," said the nurse writhing down the name.
"No," said Heather quickly, catching the nurse by surprise. "Wolfe."
"Alright, like the author or the animal?"
"The author," said Heather hugging her child closer to her body, her eyelids drooping slightly. She had left the office at 10 at night, and it was now about 8 in the morning. She hadn't gotten all that much sleep.
-x-
Peter walked into Heather's room, one of his hands bandaged and two Advil in his other. He paused, seeing Heather asleep in the bed, in her hand was the birth certificate.
It would be an invasion of privacy.
So what?
Peter walked forwards and slipped the paper from under Heather's hand, turning it over and reading the name written on it.
CHILD'S FULL NAME: ABIGAIL CHRISTI WOLFE
TIME OF BIRTH: 7:29; FEBRUARY 1ST, 2007
MOTHER'S NAME: HEATHER JOANNE LANDREY
FATHER'S NAME: RYAN JAMES WOLFE
Peter closed his eyes and suppressed a groan.
Ryan was the father. Ryan Wolfe.
"Damn," muttered Peter setting down the certificate of the desk by Heather's bed. He ran his good hand over his face, letting it rest over his eyes for a moment. "Damn," he said again, turning around and walking out of the room.
Peter placed his hands on his hips and dropped his head slightly. Looking up after a moment, he noticed Perry was asleep, sprawled along one of the chairs in the lobby and Derek was chatting up one of the female nurses. Peter kicked Perry's leg, making the man jerk awake.
"What?" he asked loudly blinking quickly, he spotted Peter's hand and let out a laugh like a bark. "What the hell happened to your hand?"
Peter ignored Perry and sat down next to him in the chair. Dropping his head into his hands, Peter sighed.
"You seen the baby yet?" asked Perry, resting is forearms on his knees and looking at the side of Peter's head. Peter nodded his head.
"Look's just like her father," he muttered into his hands, hoping Perry hadn't heard him.
He hadn't.
Alright! That was annoying! Yeah for finally getting that thing done. But honestly, now that this thing's done we can get on with the plot. Yeah for plots!
-x-liv
Next Time: "A wimp who works with taxes."...You left Ryan.