Title: Damaged Goods (5/?)
Disclaimer: (To the tune of "You Don't Own Me," by Leslie Gore) I don't own it, I'm not trying to claim it in any way. I don't own it, don't hunt me down cause I'll never pay!
Rating: R, for language and abuse, including non-graphic rape. If this material offends or upsets you, do not read the flashback sequence.
Pairings: Eric/Maria, Tim/Calleigh, Maria/Hagen (What? Quit looking at me like that, it was her idea.)
Feedback: Review it, or I'll send Maria to your house.
Dedication: To everyone who's read and reviewed this fic so far. It's sort of personal, which makes it kinda hard to write at times. The feedback really does help, so please keep it coming.
Soundtrack: "Stoned" by Dido.
********* = beginning or end of a flashback.
__________________________________________
"Feel any better?" Calleigh asked, sitting down in the armchair next to the couch.
"Tons." Maria sighed. "There's no problem in the world that can't be solved by leftover Thai takeout and a Vanilla Coke."
Calleigh shrugged. "I don't know, somehow I doubt that combination would do any good for someone with a halitosis problem."
Maria laughed. "Okay, point."
"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Calleigh asked bluntly.
"Nah...no, I'm okay." Maria sighed after a moment. "I'm lucky." She looked up and smiled. "What I would like to talk about, however, is just how much you remember about last night. And what could happen to you if you share those memories with the wrong people."
Calleigh knew what she was referring to, and she was willing to allow the change of subject. For a while, at least. "Don't worry, your indiscretion is safe with me. Even though, I have to check, but I think that by telling us, Eric made me, Tim, and John accessories to what has to be at least a misdemeanor."
"Well, serves H right, he should know by now not to piss me off. I can be extremely passive-aggressive." Maria said.
"Gee, I hadn't noticed." Calleigh quipped.
"Watch it." Maria warned playfully. "You know, I gotta admit, every time I see H sitting in that chair, I feel a little guilty...for about five seconds, and then I just go somewhere out of his sight and just laugh my ass off."
"You are depraved." Calleigh laughed.
Maria shrugged. "Well, Cal, if you don't like the idea of sitting in a chair that Eric and I fucked in, you might wanna move."
"Maria! Jesus!" Calleigh practically shrieked, jumping to her feet as if she'd sat on a pin.
"What's the big deal?" Maria asked. "We wiped the cushion off and flipped it over when we were finished."
"Oh my God." Calleigh groaned.
"Do I want to know?" Tim's question cut off any response from Maria.
"Trust me." Calleigh said. "You really, really don't."
Tim shrugged. "All right. How's the patient?"
"She's fine, thanks." Maria replied. "Hey, didn't you guys have a reservation at Le Mistral tonight?"
"We can reschedule it." Tim said.
"Yeah, we're just going to stay in tonight." Calleigh added.
"Like hell you are." Maria shot back. "First of all, you dropped my name to get that reservation, which is fine, but if you cancel, that doesn't exactly reflect well on me. And besides, you guys have been running yourselves ragged on my account all day, you more than deserve a night out."
"Are you sure?" Calleigh asked.
"Not only am I sure." Maria replied. "But if you guys hang around here longer than it takes for you to pick out something nice from my closet, since we both know that's where you're heading, I will kick both your asses, and don't think I can't."
Calleigh thought for a minute. "Can I borrow those black, strappy Jimmy Choos with the red flowers, too?"
"Just go!" Maria sighed, rolling her eyes and laughing.
________________________
Hours later, the apartment was silent. Calleigh and Tim had finally left, barely in time to make it to the restaurant.
There was absolutely nothing on TV, at least nothing that could hold Maria's attention for very long. She finally gave up and turned off the TV, leaning back and closing her eyes.
***********************************
She was curled into the fetal position on one side of the ratty, sunken couch. He had slurred at her as he'd left that morning, she'd better have dinner ready when he got home at seven, or else. He hadn't actually said 'or else,' but what he had said had implied it enough.
It was almost ten now. A part of her wondered if he was never coming back, if he'd just started driving in another direction, leaving her far behind. Or if he was maybe even lying in a ditch somewhere, OD'd, shot in the head, beaten to a pulp.
A small part of her even hoped for that. But no, she couldn't think that way about him. He was her husband. She loved him, she had to. He took care of her. He loved her. No one else ever would.
It had been two days since they had returned from Alabama. She could still hear the sound of him buckling his belt as he pushed himself off of her and returned to the driver's seat, leaving her slumped against the passenger door, too shocked to speak or to move, even to cry, despite the lingering pain he had caused her. The rest of the ride had been silent. When they pulled into the parking lot outside the small apartment building, he had gotten out of the car, slamming the door, leaving her in darkness. She'd sat there for what had to be at least an hour before she forced herself to stand up, ignoring the searing pain, and followed him inside.
He'd barely spoken to her in those two days, and he hadn't touched her, except to slap her out of his way in the kitchen that morning. She'd been more than happy to move, she'd been deliberately avoiding getting too close to him. Her entire body was still sore.
She'd been walking around in a fog since it had happened. It made no sense. He had always been a little rough with her. She'd shrugged it off easily. That was just his way, he was intense and passionate. But this had gone beyond anything she was used to. There had no warning. Just his rough hand, the one that wasn't slamming her head against the window, pulling her frayed denim cutoffs down to her knees, then tearing her thin, worn cotton underwear right off of her.
Then the pain. Searing, ripping pain.
He'd kept his hand over her mouth or around her throat the entire time, growling foul insults and threats in her ear.
Then he'd just pushed off of her, started the car, and started driving again as if nothing had happened.
Maybe nothing had happened. Maybe she was imagining the entire incident, or at least remembering it much worse than it had been. He wasn't a rapist. He was her husband. Husbands did not rape their wives. They took care of them, no matter how much of a burden that was.
The front door slammed open, the sound reverberating through her, and she shuddered.
He didn't acknowledge her, just stomped into the kitchen. Warily, she stood up and followed him.
"I...I had dinner ready at seven, just like you said." She ventured timidly.
"You want a fucking medal or something?" He snapped. He picked up a plate off the table, then threw it to the floor. "It's cold!"
"I'm sorry, I'll warm it up for you." She said quickly.
"Don't bother!" He shouted. As she bent down to clean up the broken plate, he kicked her in the ribs, and she landed hard on her back on the floor. "I'll just fucking starve, because you're too fucking stupid to do anything right!"
Squeezing her eyes shut, she winced as she heard the sound of his belt buckle. The slap of the cold leather against her cheek followed, then across her neck and chest, then across her face again. Then she felt his weight on top of her, pressing her into the floor. Then the unmistakable sound of his zipper. She whimpered softly, and he slapped her again, yanking her shorts down, taking her underwear with them.
"Don't." She sobbed. "Adam, baby, please don't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."
"Shut up." He ordered.
His hand covered her mouth completely as the dull ache flared into full-fledged unbearable pain once again.
Fighting to breathe, she tried to imagine herself leaving her body, floating away from the pain, from the cold, hard linoleum under her back and the horrible grunting sounds he was making. It was the same way she had coped after the accident, when the pain was too much for her to bear. He had been there. He had promised to take care of her, to protect her.
It hadn't quite worked out that way.
*********************************
The knock on the door that woke her up was an act of mercy. Untangling herself from the thin blanket that had become wrapped around her, Maria got up from the couch and went into the front hallway.
"Who is it?" She called. Without waiting for an answer, she opened the door slightly, and smiled when she saw who was outside. The perfect distraction. "Hey, just a second." She unhooked the chain latch and opened the door fully. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see how you're doing." John replied. "And see if you were feeling up to a movie night. I brought some Monty Python tapes."
"Get in here." Maria smirked, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him into the apartment. She shut the door and locked it again. "You know I love Flying Circus, but I'm not in a movie kind of mood tonight." She stepped a little closer to him. "I really like that shirt on you."
John shrugged. "It's a gray t-shirt, Maria."
"Yeah, I know." She said. "But it looks good on you." She took another step towards him. "Of course, it looks better crumpled up on my bedroom floor."
With that, she slid her arms around him and leaned up for a kiss, which he returned for a moment before pulling back. "Maybe that's not such a good idea."
"You have got to be kidding me." Maria groaned.
"You just got out of the hospital." He reminded her.
"Hours ago!" She sighed. "Besides, I got micked. It's not like I have some kind of debilitating injury or wasting disease or something."
"Are you sure you're up to this?" Even as he spoke, his hands were slowly sliding around her waist. She had him right where she wanted him, and she knew it.
"I think the question is whether or not you're 'up to it.'" She teased. She kissed him again, pressing her body hard against his, then pulling back and smirking. "And I think I just got the answer to that question." She arched into him, causing him to groan and tighten his hold on her waist.
"That's cheating."
"Playing fair is overrated." She purred as he began trailing kisses across her collarbone. Already, the nightmare she had awoken from only minutes earlier had been pushed to a far corner of her mind. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her bedroom. "I can't believe you tried to resist. You're gonna have to pay for that."
____________________
"Are you cold?" Tim asked, drawing Calleigh closer to him. They had decided to take a walk on the beach after leaving the restaurant, and the breeze off the ocean gave the air a slight chill.
"No, I'm fine." Calleigh sighed, leaning against him. More than anything, she wanted to spend just a little while in his arms, before they had to go home, before they had to go back to work, before they had to go back to the real world. "I'm just tired. It's been an absolutely insane day. But it's over now."
"Not exactly." Tim said, kissing the top of her head. "I'm worried about her, too. She's barely even reacted to finding out she was the killer's first target."
"You know how Maria can be." Calleigh said, frowning. "She likes to be in control. Something like this...she can't handle it. So, she pushes it away, she doesn't even like to acknowledge that it's happening."
"It has to do with her ex-husband, right?" Tim asked. "I mean, that's what you and Yolanda were talking about earlier, wasn't it?"
"Yeah." Calleigh admitted, looking at the ground. "I can't...I can't get into the details. But...God, Tim, what he did to her...it's so hideous, to think that anyone could treat another human being that way. I can't say I really blame her for blocking it out and forcing herself to forget it."
"I don't need to know anymore." Tim said, disgusted. "I think I can figure it out. I'm guessing Delko doesn't know, since if he did, he probably would have tried to track the bastard down already. Hell, even I'm thinking that might not be such a bad idea."
"I know." Calleigh agreed. "I thought the same thing when Anton told me. "
"I feel like a jackass." Tim confessed. "I was angry with her when she and Eric split up, I always just thought she was using him for sex. I had no idea what kind of shit she'd gone through."
Calleigh put her arms loosely around his neck. "You had no way of knowing. You were being protective of a friend. I'm the same way about Maria, that's why I'm so worried."
Tim kissed her lightly. "She's lucky to have you. Look, do you want to stay at your place tonight? In case she needs you?"
"Are you sure you don't mind?" Calleigh asked, feeling a little guilty.
"Mind? Your apartment's a lot nicer than mine." Tim reminded her. She smiled and he nodded his approval. "That's more like it. Come on."
________________________
When you're stoned, baby
And I am drunk
And we make love
It seems a little desolate
It's hard sometimes not to look away
And think what's the point
When I'm having to hold this fire down
I think I'll explode
If I can't feel this freely now
If you won't let me fall for you
Then you won't let me see the best
That I would love to do for you
Instead you will be missing me when I go
Cause I'm bored of hanging out in your cold
____________________________
Despite the good-natured cracks he endured willingly from his friends and coworkers, John Hagen was no fool.
He'd be the first to admit that he could be oblivious at times, and sometimes even downright clueless, but he was smart enough to know when he was being used.
Not that he hadn't brought it on himself. He'd been attracted to Maria from the first day she'd worked at CSI. Petite but beautifully sculpted, with long legs, full, round breasts and a knockout smile, she'd had him wrapped around her finger before she'd even introduced herself.
They had flirted a little that first day, but Eric Delko had already gotten her attention, and it was obvious that she had gotten his. When she'd left with him that night, and come in the next day with a satisfied, smug smile on her face, John had known that he'd missed his chance, at least for the time being.
Of course, he hadn't backed off. He'd found excuses to talk to her, even when they weren't working on the same case. He'd waited for the right time to make a move.
But when the time came, two weeks after her 'non-relationship' with Delko had derailed, she was the one who came to him. She had approached him in the breakroom, invited him out for a drink. He'd been surprised, given that she'd spent the last two weeks rejecting him, but no less willing.
Somewhere, in between drinking, dancing, and flirting, she'd leaned in and whispered suggestively that Calleigh would be at Speedle's place that night, leaving Maria with their apartment to herself.
They'd barely made it through the door before she was all over him, undressing him as he fumbled clumsily with the buttons on her blouse and the clasp on her bra.
"How drunk are you?" He'd asked as she pushed him down onto her bed.
"Drunk enough to want to do this." She'd panted as she straddled him. "Not so drunk that you should be worried about taking advantage."
"That's the perfect amount of drunk." He'd barely managed to get the words out before she leaned down and kissed him, and there hadn't been much to say after that.
The next morning, when she had told him that she wasn't interested in a relationship, he'd been happy to agree. He'd just ignored the voice in the back of his mind that told him it was a mistake, that he would only make things worse for her, and she would probably do the same thing to him.
They'd been carrying on like that for a week. He loved how passionate and aggressive she was in bed. What bothered him was that she was equally closed off emotionally. One night, he had made the mistake of asking her about a jagged scar, partially covered by a tattoo, on her left hip. She'd blown off the question, and made some excuse about not feeling well and needing to get some sleep. That had bothered him, but only because it made him wonder even more about the secrets she kept, not because he was falling for her. He cared about her on some level, that much was true. But losing his heart to her was out of the question.
Because he had already lost his heart, to someone far more unattainable.
That was why he couldn't blame Maria for using him to distract herself from Delko. He was doing the same thing to her, to distract himself from another woman.
Earlier that night, as Maria's straight, soft golden hair had brushed across his bare chest, he'd pictured those long, coal black curls doing the same thing. As Maria's tongue had traced the scar on his chest, that small, perfect circle where a bullet had lodged between two of his ribs, he'd remembered waking up in the hospital, those deep brown eyes being the first thing he'd seen clearly.
Neither one of them wanted to believe that Ray had been the one who had fired that bullet. The shoot-out had been so chaotic, there was no easy way of determining, even though the bullet had been from Ray's weapon, that he had been the one holding the gun at that moment, pulling the trigger. Sure, the CSIs had probably figured out more or less conclusively who it had been, but he didn't want to know. For her sake, and for his own, he wanted to believe that it hadn't been his partner, his friend, who had shot him, or if it had, that it had at least been an accident.
He didn't want to believe, and neither did she, that Ray could have been 'dirty,' as was the rumor that still made its way around the department. Didn't want to believe that they had missed the signs, or worse, seen the signs, and been in denial.
He honestly couldn't say when he'd realized he was in love with her. But he'd been trying to distance himself from her for some time. She was his friend's widow, it didn't seem right. And although she didn't blame him for Ray's death, he wasn't sure her son would feel the same way, as he got older. And sometimes, although he couldn't say why, he got a feeling that Horatio blamed him for his brother's death, or at least for not doing more to prevent it. Or maybe that was just his own guilt, his own feeling that there had to have been something, anything he could have done.
Maria was a perfect distraction from all of it, at least temporarily. But there was something that kept her apart from him, even when physically, they couldn't have been any closer. Tonight, especially, she had been beyond aggressive, almost frantic, as if there was something she was actively trying to block out. He'd seen it as soon as she'd opened the door, her face had been flushed, and she had been breathing heavily, almost as if something had frightened her, badly, just before he'd arrived.
He knew that she would never tell him about it, and that was fine with him. But he also knew there was something that she needed to get off her chest, something she kept hidden. But even if he had wanted to, he knew there was no way he would ever get any further with her than he already had. And maybe they would both be better off if they just stopped trying to distract themselves so much.
It was kind of a shame, he admitted to himself as he got out of the bed and quietly got dressed, not wanting to wake her up. Under different circumstances, they could have been good together.
But there was no point in wasting time wondering how things could be different. He'd accepted that fact a long time ago.
______________________________
If you won't let me fall for you
Then you won't let me see the best
That I would love to do for you
Instead you will be missing me when I go
Cause I'm bored of hanging out in your cold
_______________________________
TBC...
Disclaimer: (To the tune of "You Don't Own Me," by Leslie Gore) I don't own it, I'm not trying to claim it in any way. I don't own it, don't hunt me down cause I'll never pay!
Rating: R, for language and abuse, including non-graphic rape. If this material offends or upsets you, do not read the flashback sequence.
Pairings: Eric/Maria, Tim/Calleigh, Maria/Hagen (What? Quit looking at me like that, it was her idea.)
Feedback: Review it, or I'll send Maria to your house.
Dedication: To everyone who's read and reviewed this fic so far. It's sort of personal, which makes it kinda hard to write at times. The feedback really does help, so please keep it coming.
Soundtrack: "Stoned" by Dido.
********* = beginning or end of a flashback.
__________________________________________
"Feel any better?" Calleigh asked, sitting down in the armchair next to the couch.
"Tons." Maria sighed. "There's no problem in the world that can't be solved by leftover Thai takeout and a Vanilla Coke."
Calleigh shrugged. "I don't know, somehow I doubt that combination would do any good for someone with a halitosis problem."
Maria laughed. "Okay, point."
"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Calleigh asked bluntly.
"Nah...no, I'm okay." Maria sighed after a moment. "I'm lucky." She looked up and smiled. "What I would like to talk about, however, is just how much you remember about last night. And what could happen to you if you share those memories with the wrong people."
Calleigh knew what she was referring to, and she was willing to allow the change of subject. For a while, at least. "Don't worry, your indiscretion is safe with me. Even though, I have to check, but I think that by telling us, Eric made me, Tim, and John accessories to what has to be at least a misdemeanor."
"Well, serves H right, he should know by now not to piss me off. I can be extremely passive-aggressive." Maria said.
"Gee, I hadn't noticed." Calleigh quipped.
"Watch it." Maria warned playfully. "You know, I gotta admit, every time I see H sitting in that chair, I feel a little guilty...for about five seconds, and then I just go somewhere out of his sight and just laugh my ass off."
"You are depraved." Calleigh laughed.
Maria shrugged. "Well, Cal, if you don't like the idea of sitting in a chair that Eric and I fucked in, you might wanna move."
"Maria! Jesus!" Calleigh practically shrieked, jumping to her feet as if she'd sat on a pin.
"What's the big deal?" Maria asked. "We wiped the cushion off and flipped it over when we were finished."
"Oh my God." Calleigh groaned.
"Do I want to know?" Tim's question cut off any response from Maria.
"Trust me." Calleigh said. "You really, really don't."
Tim shrugged. "All right. How's the patient?"
"She's fine, thanks." Maria replied. "Hey, didn't you guys have a reservation at Le Mistral tonight?"
"We can reschedule it." Tim said.
"Yeah, we're just going to stay in tonight." Calleigh added.
"Like hell you are." Maria shot back. "First of all, you dropped my name to get that reservation, which is fine, but if you cancel, that doesn't exactly reflect well on me. And besides, you guys have been running yourselves ragged on my account all day, you more than deserve a night out."
"Are you sure?" Calleigh asked.
"Not only am I sure." Maria replied. "But if you guys hang around here longer than it takes for you to pick out something nice from my closet, since we both know that's where you're heading, I will kick both your asses, and don't think I can't."
Calleigh thought for a minute. "Can I borrow those black, strappy Jimmy Choos with the red flowers, too?"
"Just go!" Maria sighed, rolling her eyes and laughing.
________________________
Hours later, the apartment was silent. Calleigh and Tim had finally left, barely in time to make it to the restaurant.
There was absolutely nothing on TV, at least nothing that could hold Maria's attention for very long. She finally gave up and turned off the TV, leaning back and closing her eyes.
***********************************
She was curled into the fetal position on one side of the ratty, sunken couch. He had slurred at her as he'd left that morning, she'd better have dinner ready when he got home at seven, or else. He hadn't actually said 'or else,' but what he had said had implied it enough.
It was almost ten now. A part of her wondered if he was never coming back, if he'd just started driving in another direction, leaving her far behind. Or if he was maybe even lying in a ditch somewhere, OD'd, shot in the head, beaten to a pulp.
A small part of her even hoped for that. But no, she couldn't think that way about him. He was her husband. She loved him, she had to. He took care of her. He loved her. No one else ever would.
It had been two days since they had returned from Alabama. She could still hear the sound of him buckling his belt as he pushed himself off of her and returned to the driver's seat, leaving her slumped against the passenger door, too shocked to speak or to move, even to cry, despite the lingering pain he had caused her. The rest of the ride had been silent. When they pulled into the parking lot outside the small apartment building, he had gotten out of the car, slamming the door, leaving her in darkness. She'd sat there for what had to be at least an hour before she forced herself to stand up, ignoring the searing pain, and followed him inside.
He'd barely spoken to her in those two days, and he hadn't touched her, except to slap her out of his way in the kitchen that morning. She'd been more than happy to move, she'd been deliberately avoiding getting too close to him. Her entire body was still sore.
She'd been walking around in a fog since it had happened. It made no sense. He had always been a little rough with her. She'd shrugged it off easily. That was just his way, he was intense and passionate. But this had gone beyond anything she was used to. There had no warning. Just his rough hand, the one that wasn't slamming her head against the window, pulling her frayed denim cutoffs down to her knees, then tearing her thin, worn cotton underwear right off of her.
Then the pain. Searing, ripping pain.
He'd kept his hand over her mouth or around her throat the entire time, growling foul insults and threats in her ear.
Then he'd just pushed off of her, started the car, and started driving again as if nothing had happened.
Maybe nothing had happened. Maybe she was imagining the entire incident, or at least remembering it much worse than it had been. He wasn't a rapist. He was her husband. Husbands did not rape their wives. They took care of them, no matter how much of a burden that was.
The front door slammed open, the sound reverberating through her, and she shuddered.
He didn't acknowledge her, just stomped into the kitchen. Warily, she stood up and followed him.
"I...I had dinner ready at seven, just like you said." She ventured timidly.
"You want a fucking medal or something?" He snapped. He picked up a plate off the table, then threw it to the floor. "It's cold!"
"I'm sorry, I'll warm it up for you." She said quickly.
"Don't bother!" He shouted. As she bent down to clean up the broken plate, he kicked her in the ribs, and she landed hard on her back on the floor. "I'll just fucking starve, because you're too fucking stupid to do anything right!"
Squeezing her eyes shut, she winced as she heard the sound of his belt buckle. The slap of the cold leather against her cheek followed, then across her neck and chest, then across her face again. Then she felt his weight on top of her, pressing her into the floor. Then the unmistakable sound of his zipper. She whimpered softly, and he slapped her again, yanking her shorts down, taking her underwear with them.
"Don't." She sobbed. "Adam, baby, please don't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."
"Shut up." He ordered.
His hand covered her mouth completely as the dull ache flared into full-fledged unbearable pain once again.
Fighting to breathe, she tried to imagine herself leaving her body, floating away from the pain, from the cold, hard linoleum under her back and the horrible grunting sounds he was making. It was the same way she had coped after the accident, when the pain was too much for her to bear. He had been there. He had promised to take care of her, to protect her.
It hadn't quite worked out that way.
*********************************
The knock on the door that woke her up was an act of mercy. Untangling herself from the thin blanket that had become wrapped around her, Maria got up from the couch and went into the front hallway.
"Who is it?" She called. Without waiting for an answer, she opened the door slightly, and smiled when she saw who was outside. The perfect distraction. "Hey, just a second." She unhooked the chain latch and opened the door fully. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see how you're doing." John replied. "And see if you were feeling up to a movie night. I brought some Monty Python tapes."
"Get in here." Maria smirked, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him into the apartment. She shut the door and locked it again. "You know I love Flying Circus, but I'm not in a movie kind of mood tonight." She stepped a little closer to him. "I really like that shirt on you."
John shrugged. "It's a gray t-shirt, Maria."
"Yeah, I know." She said. "But it looks good on you." She took another step towards him. "Of course, it looks better crumpled up on my bedroom floor."
With that, she slid her arms around him and leaned up for a kiss, which he returned for a moment before pulling back. "Maybe that's not such a good idea."
"You have got to be kidding me." Maria groaned.
"You just got out of the hospital." He reminded her.
"Hours ago!" She sighed. "Besides, I got micked. It's not like I have some kind of debilitating injury or wasting disease or something."
"Are you sure you're up to this?" Even as he spoke, his hands were slowly sliding around her waist. She had him right where she wanted him, and she knew it.
"I think the question is whether or not you're 'up to it.'" She teased. She kissed him again, pressing her body hard against his, then pulling back and smirking. "And I think I just got the answer to that question." She arched into him, causing him to groan and tighten his hold on her waist.
"That's cheating."
"Playing fair is overrated." She purred as he began trailing kisses across her collarbone. Already, the nightmare she had awoken from only minutes earlier had been pushed to a far corner of her mind. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her bedroom. "I can't believe you tried to resist. You're gonna have to pay for that."
____________________
"Are you cold?" Tim asked, drawing Calleigh closer to him. They had decided to take a walk on the beach after leaving the restaurant, and the breeze off the ocean gave the air a slight chill.
"No, I'm fine." Calleigh sighed, leaning against him. More than anything, she wanted to spend just a little while in his arms, before they had to go home, before they had to go back to work, before they had to go back to the real world. "I'm just tired. It's been an absolutely insane day. But it's over now."
"Not exactly." Tim said, kissing the top of her head. "I'm worried about her, too. She's barely even reacted to finding out she was the killer's first target."
"You know how Maria can be." Calleigh said, frowning. "She likes to be in control. Something like this...she can't handle it. So, she pushes it away, she doesn't even like to acknowledge that it's happening."
"It has to do with her ex-husband, right?" Tim asked. "I mean, that's what you and Yolanda were talking about earlier, wasn't it?"
"Yeah." Calleigh admitted, looking at the ground. "I can't...I can't get into the details. But...God, Tim, what he did to her...it's so hideous, to think that anyone could treat another human being that way. I can't say I really blame her for blocking it out and forcing herself to forget it."
"I don't need to know anymore." Tim said, disgusted. "I think I can figure it out. I'm guessing Delko doesn't know, since if he did, he probably would have tried to track the bastard down already. Hell, even I'm thinking that might not be such a bad idea."
"I know." Calleigh agreed. "I thought the same thing when Anton told me. "
"I feel like a jackass." Tim confessed. "I was angry with her when she and Eric split up, I always just thought she was using him for sex. I had no idea what kind of shit she'd gone through."
Calleigh put her arms loosely around his neck. "You had no way of knowing. You were being protective of a friend. I'm the same way about Maria, that's why I'm so worried."
Tim kissed her lightly. "She's lucky to have you. Look, do you want to stay at your place tonight? In case she needs you?"
"Are you sure you don't mind?" Calleigh asked, feeling a little guilty.
"Mind? Your apartment's a lot nicer than mine." Tim reminded her. She smiled and he nodded his approval. "That's more like it. Come on."
________________________
When you're stoned, baby
And I am drunk
And we make love
It seems a little desolate
It's hard sometimes not to look away
And think what's the point
When I'm having to hold this fire down
I think I'll explode
If I can't feel this freely now
If you won't let me fall for you
Then you won't let me see the best
That I would love to do for you
Instead you will be missing me when I go
Cause I'm bored of hanging out in your cold
____________________________
Despite the good-natured cracks he endured willingly from his friends and coworkers, John Hagen was no fool.
He'd be the first to admit that he could be oblivious at times, and sometimes even downright clueless, but he was smart enough to know when he was being used.
Not that he hadn't brought it on himself. He'd been attracted to Maria from the first day she'd worked at CSI. Petite but beautifully sculpted, with long legs, full, round breasts and a knockout smile, she'd had him wrapped around her finger before she'd even introduced herself.
They had flirted a little that first day, but Eric Delko had already gotten her attention, and it was obvious that she had gotten his. When she'd left with him that night, and come in the next day with a satisfied, smug smile on her face, John had known that he'd missed his chance, at least for the time being.
Of course, he hadn't backed off. He'd found excuses to talk to her, even when they weren't working on the same case. He'd waited for the right time to make a move.
But when the time came, two weeks after her 'non-relationship' with Delko had derailed, she was the one who came to him. She had approached him in the breakroom, invited him out for a drink. He'd been surprised, given that she'd spent the last two weeks rejecting him, but no less willing.
Somewhere, in between drinking, dancing, and flirting, she'd leaned in and whispered suggestively that Calleigh would be at Speedle's place that night, leaving Maria with their apartment to herself.
They'd barely made it through the door before she was all over him, undressing him as he fumbled clumsily with the buttons on her blouse and the clasp on her bra.
"How drunk are you?" He'd asked as she pushed him down onto her bed.
"Drunk enough to want to do this." She'd panted as she straddled him. "Not so drunk that you should be worried about taking advantage."
"That's the perfect amount of drunk." He'd barely managed to get the words out before she leaned down and kissed him, and there hadn't been much to say after that.
The next morning, when she had told him that she wasn't interested in a relationship, he'd been happy to agree. He'd just ignored the voice in the back of his mind that told him it was a mistake, that he would only make things worse for her, and she would probably do the same thing to him.
They'd been carrying on like that for a week. He loved how passionate and aggressive she was in bed. What bothered him was that she was equally closed off emotionally. One night, he had made the mistake of asking her about a jagged scar, partially covered by a tattoo, on her left hip. She'd blown off the question, and made some excuse about not feeling well and needing to get some sleep. That had bothered him, but only because it made him wonder even more about the secrets she kept, not because he was falling for her. He cared about her on some level, that much was true. But losing his heart to her was out of the question.
Because he had already lost his heart, to someone far more unattainable.
That was why he couldn't blame Maria for using him to distract herself from Delko. He was doing the same thing to her, to distract himself from another woman.
Earlier that night, as Maria's straight, soft golden hair had brushed across his bare chest, he'd pictured those long, coal black curls doing the same thing. As Maria's tongue had traced the scar on his chest, that small, perfect circle where a bullet had lodged between two of his ribs, he'd remembered waking up in the hospital, those deep brown eyes being the first thing he'd seen clearly.
Neither one of them wanted to believe that Ray had been the one who had fired that bullet. The shoot-out had been so chaotic, there was no easy way of determining, even though the bullet had been from Ray's weapon, that he had been the one holding the gun at that moment, pulling the trigger. Sure, the CSIs had probably figured out more or less conclusively who it had been, but he didn't want to know. For her sake, and for his own, he wanted to believe that it hadn't been his partner, his friend, who had shot him, or if it had, that it had at least been an accident.
He didn't want to believe, and neither did she, that Ray could have been 'dirty,' as was the rumor that still made its way around the department. Didn't want to believe that they had missed the signs, or worse, seen the signs, and been in denial.
He honestly couldn't say when he'd realized he was in love with her. But he'd been trying to distance himself from her for some time. She was his friend's widow, it didn't seem right. And although she didn't blame him for Ray's death, he wasn't sure her son would feel the same way, as he got older. And sometimes, although he couldn't say why, he got a feeling that Horatio blamed him for his brother's death, or at least for not doing more to prevent it. Or maybe that was just his own guilt, his own feeling that there had to have been something, anything he could have done.
Maria was a perfect distraction from all of it, at least temporarily. But there was something that kept her apart from him, even when physically, they couldn't have been any closer. Tonight, especially, she had been beyond aggressive, almost frantic, as if there was something she was actively trying to block out. He'd seen it as soon as she'd opened the door, her face had been flushed, and she had been breathing heavily, almost as if something had frightened her, badly, just before he'd arrived.
He knew that she would never tell him about it, and that was fine with him. But he also knew there was something that she needed to get off her chest, something she kept hidden. But even if he had wanted to, he knew there was no way he would ever get any further with her than he already had. And maybe they would both be better off if they just stopped trying to distract themselves so much.
It was kind of a shame, he admitted to himself as he got out of the bed and quietly got dressed, not wanting to wake her up. Under different circumstances, they could have been good together.
But there was no point in wasting time wondering how things could be different. He'd accepted that fact a long time ago.
______________________________
If you won't let me fall for you
Then you won't let me see the best
That I would love to do for you
Instead you will be missing me when I go
Cause I'm bored of hanging out in your cold
_______________________________
TBC...