Title: Requiem
Author: Melanie-Anne
Email: melani_anne@yahoo.com
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Apparently the characters don't belong to me, despite what the voices say.
Summary: He wanted to tell her she'd suffered enough. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't her fault, that there was nothing she could have done.
A/N: Response to the Kill Zone challenge on the H/C list to write a one-part fic that in some way/shape/form referenced the ep. Okay, so it's a vague reference, but go with it :o)
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"I don't look good in all black," she'd said.
And he'd said, "I beg to differ."
She'd given him a funny look, but he'd noticed that she started to wear black more often.
She was wearing all black today, and so was he. She looked as beautiful as ever, but he was afraid that if he touched her, she'd shatter into a million tiny pieces and as hard as he tried to put her back together, she wouldn't be whole again. Or maybe he was afraid that he was the one who'd shatter.
He was aware of how still she was beside him. Slowly, he turned his head and as he saw a silver tear mark a path down her cheek, his heart broke again. She hadn't bothered to hide the bruises under make up and he knew she had done it to punish herself. She wanted to feel the pain, she wanted to suffer.
He wanted to tell her she'd suffered enough. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't her fault, that there was nothing she could have done.
He couldn't stand it anymore and gently took her hand. It was cold and fragile in his and he held it carefully, mindful of the cast around her wrist, a reminder of the unfairness of it all. She had gotten away with a broken wrist and bruises while their beautiful baby boy had died.
He didn't blame her although he knew she thought he did. He blamed the teenager who thought it was cool to drink and drive. He blamed the doctor who couldn't save his child. He blamed the rain. He blamed God. But he did not blame Calleigh.
. . . He'd arrived at the accident scene and slipped down the muddy embankment in his haste to get to the car. The teenager was standing a few feet away, a cut on his head, looking at the paramedics and rescue workers who were trying to undo what he had done.
They got Calleigh out first. She was unconscious and he'd thought for one awful moment that she was dead. Then he'd seen them pull his son's tiny body from the wreckage, their movements unhurried, and his world had fallen apart . . .
He blinked, returning to the present. The minister was saying something. He didn't hear, focused as he was on the tiny white coffin at the front of the church. Was it just a week ago that they'd celebrated Aidan's first birthday? He'd never even got the chance to play with all of his new toys. There was still leftover birthday cake in the refrigerator. Chocolate . . . Aidan's favorite.
He couldn't breathe. Aidan was dead. Gone. Just like his mother and his brother. His beautiful, sweet Aidan . . .
There was music. All around him he heard singing. He looked at Calleigh again, and it hurt. He could see Aidan in her features, in her eyes, and in the curve of her mouth.
Oh, God. What now? Could they survive this?
She looked at him, guilt in her expression. He shook his head, refusing to accept it. He put his arms around her and pulled her close.
"Horatio . . ." she whispered. It was the first thing she had said in the three days since the accident.
He let out a shaky breath and held her tighter. She trembled in his embrace.
And she broke, sobbing against his shirt. He closed his eyes and started crying too.
"Our baby . . ." Calleigh said.
All around them: The Lord is my Shepherd . . .
"I'm sorry," she said.
. . . I'll not want . . .
He couldn't speak.
. . . He maketh me to lie . . .
He smoothed Calleigh's hair away from her face and kissed her forehead, trying to be strong.
. . . In pastures green . . .
Dammit, he didn't want to be strong! He wanted to scream and yell and ask God why.
. . . He leadeth me . . .
He wanted to hold his son again. He wanted to hear Aidan laugh.
. . . The quiet waters by.
The service was over but neither he nor Calleigh had the strength to stand. They sat in the front pew, clinging to each other as if their lives depended on it. Horatio could hear the low murmur of peoples' voices as they filed out of the church. He knew he and Calleigh should leave but he didn't want to let go of her.
Eventually, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Through a haze of tears, he saw it was Alexx. Her face was full of sympathy.
"It's time to go," she said gently.
He didn't want to go to the wake. He didn't want to have to see or speak to anyone. He was tired of people telling him how sorry they were. Most of all, he was sick of having to pretend he was coping.
He stood slowly and helped Calleigh to her feet. She wobbled unsteadily and leaned against him. He cupped her tearstained cheek in his palm; she was still the most beautiful woman he knew and he still loved her deeply.
"I love you," he said.
Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. "I killed our son."
"No, no, no. No, you didn't." He wiped away her tears with his thumbs. "It wasn't you. Cal, please don't ever think it was you." Now he was crying again too.
"He was just a baby . . ." She sagged against him, completely drained. He looked at Alexx, and made a decision.
"I'm taking her home."
Alexx nodded and opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. She smiled and left, her footsteps echoing in the church.
Horatio waited until he was sure everyone had left before he led his wife out to the car. With her sunglasses on, it looked like she hadn't been crying and he could pretend this was a normal day. He could pretend that she was wearing black just because he liked her in it, and that any second now she would turn to him and flash him her brilliant smile.
He could pretend that their son wasn't on his way to the crematorium and that they weren't going to scatter his ashes in the sea.
He could pretend that the kid who had caused this nightmare hadn't been released on bail and that he wasn't driving around right now.
And when Calleigh put her hand on his leg and smiled, he thought maybe, just maybe, they were going to be okay.
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