How to
Slide Down Horatio Caine's Chimney in 10 Easy Steps
by
Carolina
The 24th of December. T minus eight hours. Mission status: non responsive to mouth to mouth resuscitation.
Eric woke up feeling like he was falling, or the room was spinning, or he had the world's worst hangover. Possibly the latter. Groaning, he blindly punched the snooze button of his alarm clock and hugged his pillow. But the alarm started wailing again five minutes later, forcing him to open his eyes. The brightness of the day was not helping alleviate the headache, and after stumbling into the bathroom he got a couple of pills from the medicine cabinet and gulped them down. If he had any luck, he had just mistaken them for rat poison.
After a quick shower he dragged his heels into the living room, where he spotted a wrapped gift sitting on his coffee table. The hell? He checked the tag, 'For Alexx from Eric. Merry Christmas.'
Okay.
When exactly had he bought Alexx's present? It was his handwriting on the note. Had he been that drunk the night before? He shook his head and picked it up anyway. Well, some men end up going home with strange women when they got drunk. Apparently, he preferred to hit the ladies department at JC Penney.
He arrived at work somberly, still feeling the strain of both his adventurous night with Ryan and the emotions of the day before, which he had decided to try and put out of his mind. Victims come and go, some touch your heart, and some don't. In the end, just knowing their lives were changed for better by the work they did was all that mattered to Eric. Still, he couldn't help but wonder how Elijah was doing, if he was still in shock or not, if he was scared or if they were treating him right. Maybe he could call and ask, or even drop by on Christmas day and spend a couple of hours with him, just so he wouldn't have to be alone. Maybe they could even try to put the train together again, even if Eric had to read the instructions.
The Christmas soundtrack seemed to be on loop still, because as soon as he walked out of the elevator he was welcomed by the unfortunate life of Rudolph, with his red nose and peer taunting. Even as a child, Eric never understood the song. Santa felt so bad for Rudolph, that he forced him into slavery and made him lead his sleigh every night while he sat on his fat ass and whipped the poor reindeer, as he understood it. How was that a happy ending?
Ignoring everyone, including his inane internal ramblings, Eric crossed the lab and walked into the locker room, where Ryan sat on the bench, his head and shoulders hunched over.
"Morning," Eric said.
"Shhh!" Ryan hissed, massaging his temples with his fingers.
Despite his own headache, Eric chuckled. "Can't believe you never had Mojitos before."
Ryan finally raised his head, wincing at the light; his eyes were red and puffy. "Is that what I drank last night?"
Eric frowned. "I'm not sure. But if we went out drinking right now that's where I'd take you, so let's assume you did."
Ryan moaned. "There's no way I'll be able to work today."
"Sure you will, don't be a baby," Eric said, opening his locker and putting Alexx's present inside. A thought hit him. "Did you get Valera's present?"
"Well, someone did," Ryan said. "Woke up this morning and there it was."
"Me too," Eric said. "I wonder what I got Alexx."
"Should we unwrap them?"
Eric thought about it for a while and then shook his head. "Nah, it'll be a surprise for us, too."
"I think I'll unwrap mine," Ryan said. "I don't think I could handle the look on Valera's face when she opens her present and sees a piece of road kill at the bottom of the box."
"Suit yourself," Eric said, confident he had gotten Alexx a nice gift. For some reason, he always made good decisions when he was drunk. Well, almost always.
He left Ryan in the locker room and went to the break room to brew himself some coffee, and after that, went to find Horatio, who put him in the unfortunate task of doing paperwork all day. Eric didn't mind, for the first time in his life, because like Ryan, he was sure he wouldn't be able to work while hosting this nasty hangover.
Mostly he just wanted to think about what he would do with Calleigh's present. There was no other option now than waiting for her birthday. Really, it was only two months away, anyway. He had waited this long, he could wait eight miserable more weeks. They would probably go in the blink of an eye.
Except Calleigh hated her birthday, so much that she didn't even know Eric knew when it was. And if he revealed to her that he knew when her birthday was, and that he had bought her something, a sign of celebration, he was sure she would break his neck before he could reach for his gun.
Not good. Eric was pretty sure he needed his neck to hold his head high, though even with his neck intact he didn't seem to be holding his head much higher than his knees at the moment.
Frustrated, he continued to work on the paperwork, went to lunch when his stomach began to grumble, and came back without running into Calleigh once. Uh oh. Limited or non existent encounters with Calleigh. Always, always a bad sign. Ryan was right, he should've checked Alexx's present. What if he ended up getting her... a dildo or some shit like that?
Sweet Lord.
As soon as he rushed out of the room to check, though, he ran into Carrie, who immediately took some ten or so steps away from him.
"Eric, we're doing the Secret Santa," she said hesitantly.
"Now?" Eric exclaimed.
"Yeah, it's the only time when everyone's available," Carrie said.
Crap, Eric thought. He went into the locker room to retrieve Alexx's gift, and was about to open it there but there were other people in the room, all getting small boxes and little boxes out of their lockers. No time to check now. He followed them into the break room where everybody was already assembled, some way too excited about the game, others not so much, such as himself, and Frank, who looked like he was waiting for the world's most painful dental appointment, rather than sharing a good time with his colleagues. But that wasn't a rarity.
Horatio cleared his throat. "Well, I guess... just find the person you got and give them your gift."
Not a good idea.
Everybody started chasing their recipients and nobody was slowing down to receive their gift. Eric chased Alexx while Alexx chased Ryan, who chased Valera, who chased Paula, who chased Stephanie, who chased Frank, who chased Yelina, and so on. Finally, Horatio called a time out, regrouped, and came up with a more organized way to play the game. He handed Calleigh her gift, Calleigh handed Sam his gift, Sam handed Cynthia her gift and so on.
Eric's Secret Santa turned out to be a woman he didn't really now, a colleague of Frank and Yelina, but she must have done her research well, because she got him a very rare Russian book he strangely couldn't wait to read.
He held his breath as Alexx opened her present, and let it out when she showed everyone a beautiful silk robe Eric was sure had cost him and arm and a leg, but it was impossible to stay mad when Alexx looked so happy. Most of the people left as soon as they received their gifts, crime doesn't take coffee breaks in Miami, but Eric stayed behind, sitting on the couch's arm rest and watching as Ryan nervously gave Valera her gift. She opened it and shrieked, threw her arms around Ryan and Eric's eyes widened in surprise when she kissed him smack on the lips. Ryan looked just as shocked.
It wasn't until Valera pulled back to look at her gift appreciatively that Eric realized Ryan had bought her a Christmas angel. Nice. Valera looked like she was on the verge of tears; Ryan looked like a teenage boy who had just had his first sexual experience.
"Hmm, why do I get the feeling you had something to do with that?" someone said next to him.
Eric looked up to find Calleigh looking at Ryan and Valera like she was watching a romantic movie. He frowned, wondering if he had given Ryan the idea of buying Valera a Christmas angel during their drunken stupor. It seemed like the only explanation. So great, he could help Ryan get laid, but he couldn't even get a hug himself? God, that was pathetic.
"What's the matter?" Calleigh asked, noticing he seemed a bit melancholic.
Eric shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing."
Calleigh gave him a knowing smile. "You didn't get your official Red Ryder carbine-action two-hundred-shot range model air rifle?"
Eric laughed. "Nah, I'd probably shoot my eye out."
"If your mom doesn't kill you first."
Eric smiled. "What did you get?"
Calleigh reached into a bag and showed him a holster.
"Nice," Eric said, impressed. So that catalog had been Horatio's after all. Damn!
"How about you?" she asked. Eric showed her the book and she looked closely, trying to read it, but when she realized the words were Russian she frowned. "I don't know what that means."
"Well, if my dad doesn't steal it from me, I'll read it to you someday," Eric said.
"That'd be nice."
Eric smiled, for no other reason than the fact that she seemed to be in a really good mood. Things had been so morose around the lab since Speed passed away, it was a treat, seeing everyone so happy and care free. He wished it could be like this every single day, minus the annoying Christmas Carols, of course.
When the break room was left for empty, Eric stood up and began to walk Calleigh... wherever it was she was going. He was sure he didn't care, as long as he could talk to her for a while without making a fool out of himself. "So what are you doing for Christmas?"
Calleigh scrunched her nose. "Family. You?"
"Ditto."
She smiled as she walked into the locker room. "One of those big Delko celebrations where the whole of Miami shows up; with seven turkeys and ten thousand pounds of rice and beans and loud music?"
Eric chuckled. "Don't forget the pork. You're not a member of the family until you know what it's like to practically feel as your arteries clog up."
Calleigh grinned and opened her locker, reaching inside for her things. "Wish my mom could cook like yours."
"I'm sure she's a good cook."
Calleigh gave him a reluctant look. "I'm sure she can't even tell the difference between the oven and the dishwasher."
Eric chuckled. "Well, I'll save you some flan, then."
"Oh, don't worry about it," Calleigh said. "Besides, you won't see me for two weeks."
Eric frowned, merriment instantly vanishing from his face. "How come?"
"Vacation."
Eric sighed. "You're kidding."
"Hey, I don't wanna go, but I've got all these sick days piled up and if I don't use them they'll just go to waste," Calleigh explained.
"Yeah, but two weeks?" Eric moaned. "What am I gonna do without you for two weeks?"
"You're just gonna have to get Horatio to tie your shoes for you," Calleigh joked, but when he didn't even smile, she frowned. "Come on, don't make this harder than it already is. Two weeks is nothing."
"Yeah, to you. You'll be having fun," Eric said.
"With my family?" Calleigh said incredulously. "Don't be surprised if I'm back in two hours."
Eric finally allowed himself to chuckle, but mirthlessly. He watched as Calleigh put the remaining of her things in a bag. Well, this just plain sucked. Two weeks without seeing Calleigh. Fourteen days of bad luck.
Great. Just great. Could this Christmas get any worse?
She shut her locker door, turned to him and tilted her head at his pouty look. "Am I going to have to get Alexx to distract you by jiggling her keys in your face while I slip out the door?"
Eric rolled his eyes. "Please, Calleigh, I'm a big boy now."
"Okay, big boy," Calleigh said and grinned. "Do I at least get a good bye hug?"
Eric's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "Are you kidding?"
Calleigh smiled and stepped into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist; she pressed her cheek to his breast and sighed. "Behave while I'm gone, okay?"
"Don't I always behave?" Eric teased, resting his chin on the top of her head, reveling in the way she fit there so perfectly. Tiny, but perfectly nonetheless.
"Don't get drunk tonight."
"I have to get drunk, how else am I going to bear these two weeks?" Eric teased.
Calleigh chuckled. "Well, if you do get drunk, don't go home with any strange girls, or I'm gonna be pretty jealous."
Eric smiled. "Promise."
He hugged her tighter, wondering if she knew how much he'd give for this conversation to be serious. He and Calleigh had always had a flirtatious relationship; it was as natural now as blinking or breathing. The problem with that was, somewhere down the line it became serious for him, but not for her. And he went along with it cause... well, he was so desperate now that any bone she threw at him was worth a chew. It was better to have these little moments, even if they didn't mean anything, than having no moments at all. So he played along with her, because as torturing as the fake flirting could be, it was also kinda nice at the same time. Like some powerful drug, destructive but addictive.
She finally pulled back and smiled up at him, "What kind of flan?"
Eric chuckled. "Vanilla?"
"Send it with a courier," Calleigh said, got on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Merry Christmas."
Eric's smile broadened, his ears turned red and he was sure there was steam coming out of them, but he didn't care. "Merry Christmas, Calleigh."
He watched her go, and she didn't turn at the door or came back five minutes later into the room to throw herself in his arms like in all those romantic movies his stupid sisters watched, just walked away and that was it. Eric leaned against the lockers and sighed.
Mission status: flat lined.
--
Half an hour later, Eric let his body fall on his couch and reached into his bag for the book he had been given. He opened it and began to read the first couple of pages, but quickly lost interest in the story. Calleigh's gift sat on top of his television, nicely wrapped and wearing a cute bow, and Eric cussed at himself. Why couldn't he be a man like his sisters and just go for it? All of them married, two of them with children, and they had all asked their husbands out first. And here he was, unable to perform the simple task that was giving someone a present.
Really, this wouldn't have happened if his mother hadn't given birth to him last. All those times his sisters dressed him up as a girl and put make up on him, he knew it would have a negative effect on him sooner or later, and this was the result. God help it, no son of his would ever be forced to wear make up or walk around in his mother's heels. He would see to that if he had to quit his job and become a stay at home dad.
He sighed for the hundredth time that day, his eyes scanning the words but his mind pretty much ignoring them. He closed the book to start reading it again when the phone began to ring. Without taking his eyes off the pages, he picked it up. "Delko."
"Eric, talk to your father."
Eric closed his eyes and rolled them under his eyelids. "What's wrong, ma?"
"I have been cleaning up all day, doing his laundry, ironing his clothes. Now he tells me he doesn't want to wear the black pants, he wants to wear the brown pants."
He shrugged his shoulders, failing to see what the point of this call was. "Okay. Well, just let him wear the brown pants. What's the problem?"
"I didn't iron the brown pants, I ironed the black pants. When he learns to iron, he can iron his brown pants and wear them whenever he wants to wear them," his mother babbled, her accent much thicker in a way that reminded Eric of Calleigh's accent and how thick it got when she was mad.
"And this is a big problem for you?" Eric asked, disinterested.
"Yes," she exclaimed. "Everybody's coming, imagine what they'll say when Pavel shows up with wrinkled pants."
"I don't really think people care that much, ma."
"So you're taking his side?" she said sharply.
Eric sighed. "I'm not taking anyone's side; I'm taking my side, the side that won't cause me to end up in a mental institution at the age of twenty eight."
At that moment, his father picked up the bedroom phone. "Eric, talk to your mother."
"Dad, mom's on the phone," Eric complained.
"Tell her I'll wear the brown pants if I want to wear the brown pants because I paid for those brown pants!"
"The brown pants are dirty and wrinkled!" his mother shrieked.
"I don't care! Henry's wearing brown pants, Morty's wearing brown pants, and Sal is wearing brown pants," his father argued.
"So you can look like four idiots? That's why you want the brown pants?"
Eric closed his eyes and tried to drift away as his parents argued with each other over the phone. No use. Apparently his father had regressed into his teenage years, where he wanted to wear the pants all his friends were wearing and wouldn't take no for an answer. His mother was apparently too busy cooking tonight's gigantic meal to start doing laundry, and all his sisters were too busy with their own families to wash the damn brown pants.
Apparently, that left him to play marital counselor.
"You guys are in the same house, why don't you just hang up the phone, meet in the hallway, and continue the argument there?" Eric said monotonously.
Wrong thing to say.
His parents immediately joined forces and began to scold him, one in Spanish, one in Russian, until Eric had no idea what was happening anymore. It all became white noise as he stared at Calleigh's present again. God help him, but what he wouldn't give to be fighting with Calleigh right now over brown pants, yelling at his son in four different languages for saying something inappropriate. What a happy picture.
"Dad, how about I stop by the store on my way over and buy you some brown pants?" Eric finally said.
Silence.
"I guess that would work," his father said and hung up the phone.
His mother started a small celebration. "I always tell everybody, my baby's a genius."
"Ma," Eric complained. "I'm not a baby, okay? I'm a man."
"Of course you are, mi bebé," his mother cooed.
Eric rolled his eyes. "Listen, are you making flan?"
"Of course!"
"Good. Cause Calleigh wanted me to save her a piece, so m–"
"I already made hers," his mother said dismissively.
Eric frowned. "A whole one?"
"And you better come get it before someone eats it. You know her mother can't cook? Poor girl. Every time I call her—"
Eric's body shot up, his eyes widened. "You call Calleigh?"
"Of course!"
"Why, why on earth would you call Calleigh?"
"Eh, to talk sometimes," his mother said like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You know how your sisters are. Suddenly they get married and you don't hear from them anymore. I gave birth to four children and had a full time job, and I always made time to call my mother! You kids are too spoiled."
Eric ignored that last part and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please, please, tell me you don't tell her stories about my childhood."
His mother remained silent for a moment before she reluctantly replied, "not all of them."
Eric felt the room spinning, his head throbbing, his stomach five seconds away from throwing up all the food he had eaten that day. "Which ones, ma?" he asked sharply.
"Oh, Eric, who can remember—"
"Which ones, ma?"
"Well, only the nice ones," his mom said innocently, "Like that time you got your little pee pee caught in that—"
"Oh, God!" he shouted, sprang from the couch and began to pace around his small living room. "Ma!"
"What?" she said defensively. "Oh, it's a cute story, Eric. Everybody loves that story."
"Everybody loves to make fun of me, every time you tell that story, ma!"
"Oh, don't be silly!"
Eric covered his eyes with his hands and huffed. "You don't show her pictures, do you?"
"How am I going to show her pictures over the phone?"
Eric sat on the couch again, sighed and put his head between his legs, breathing hard. "Okay, okay, I can fix this."
"Fix what?" his mother exclaimed.
"What you've done, what you've done to me," Eric said dramatically. "And for Christ's sake, did you have to use the word little?!"
"Well it was little back then," his mother said.
"I was three!" Eric exclaimed. "You don't have to use the word little; you don't have to use any adjectives at all! This story does not need embellishment, ma!"
"Oh, stop being such a baby," his mother said. "Now come and get that flan before your father sees it. And don't forget the pants, size 42. I also need some achiote from the store. Ask the nice lady to help you if you don't know what it looks like. And don't wear any brown pants or none of you are eating at my table tonight."
Eric didn't realize she had hung up until he heard the busy signal. And suddenly he felt like screaming and punching the wall. No, not the wall. The wall had never humiliated him. The wall was his friend. It was her. His mother, with all her talking and her gushing and her pee pee stories. Oh, what Calleigh must be thinking of him right now, only confirmed by the way he always managed to act like an idiot whenever she was around. Add that to the fact that his own mother had taken to stalking Calleigh as well and he was just amazed she hadn't put a restraining order on anything or anyone with the name Delko. No wonder she never gave him the time of day. Hell, if anything he admired her for putting up with all of this. Forget Valera, his mother had just taken that first spot on his revenge list.
Upset and annoyed, embarrassed and twenty other etceteras, he showered and changed for the party. What the hell is achiote, anyway? Grabbing his keys from the coffee table, he stared at Calleigh's present once more, debating in his mind what he should do about it. Muttering something unintelligible under his breath, he grabbed it and pinned it under his arm pit. His life was already over, suicide was a sin, might as well get Calleigh to euthanize him.
-
Only now that he was staring at her door, he couldn't seem to go through with it. Eric couldn't hear any sounds coming from the inside of her apartment, but her car was in the parking lot, meaning she was probably inside. He could've used the buzzer downstairs to make sure, but for some reason he thought slipping into the building along with a little old lady was been a better idea.
Still, he just stood there, with her present and a flan in a bag. This was the moment of truth. Either she would turn him down or she wouldn't. Maybe it would be a little more helpful if he actually knew how she felt, but as far as Calleigh went, everything about her was an enigma. He knew women like he knew the back of his hand, but Calleigh was no ordinary woman. He would have to dive in and may the Lord cushion his fall. If anything, he could just tell her the flan was from his mother, and the present? Eh, well, for someone else. Drop the flan and haul ass. Drop the flan and haul ass. That sounded more than alright in his mind.
He knocked on her door, a little hesitantly; a sissy knock. Horrible start. So he knocked again, a little more forceful. A burly knock, the knock of a man who never wore make up as a child. Perfect.
A couple of seconds later, she opened the door, and before her brain processed the information she saw right in front of her, Eric could see a little stress in her eyes. But then, when she realized it was him there, her eyes softened and she smiled.
"Eric. What are you doing here?"
"I, uh—" Eric hesitated, feeling his throat practically drying into dust. Either he was lightheaded due to dehydration or the sight of Calleigh, make up nearly gone, barefooted, hair in need of a brush, pressing her cheek to the door frame. Something about her looking all domestic just made him ten times more anxious than he had been.
"I was just in the neighborhood," he added.
"Yours or mine?"
"Honestly, I'm not sure," Eric said. Hands sweating, he attempted to smile. "Can I come in?"
"Sure," Calleigh said, opening the door all the way. She frowned at the way he was acting, like he was running from the law; no time to figure it out, though. "I have to finish packing real quick, okay? My dad's on his way over. I'll be right out."
"Okay," Eric said and watched as she bolted into her bedroom. He looked around her apartment like he had never seen it before. A tiny fake Christmas tree stood in a corner but no other Christmas paraphernalia in sight. Just like Calleigh. Just right.
"So what are you doing here?" Calleigh called from the bedroom.
Eric approached the hallway but stayed there, not knowing if walking into her bedroom was an invasion of her privacy or not. Calleigh was weird about her personal things.
"My mom sent you a flan," Eric said.
Calleigh's head suddenly came into view, her eyebrows furrowed. "Just now?"
"Yeah," Eric said.
Calleigh looked confused. "She sent me a flan right now."
"Yeah."
"You went home, told her to make some flan, and she baked it in forty five minutes?"
Eric smiled. "No, it was already made."
"She made me a flan on top of having to cook for twenty thousand people?" Calleigh said, her hand over her heart. "That is so sweet!"
"Please, Calleigh, don't let her play you like that. Food is what she uses to lure you into a false sense of security before she attacks," Eric said as she disappeared into the bedroom again.
Calleigh shrugged her shoulders. "Hey, as long as I get my flan she can suck the life out of me."
Eric ignored that, frowned, and leaned against the wall. "Why is she calling you every week?"
"She doesn't call me every week—"
"No?"
"Just every once in a while."
"Why is she calling you at all?" he asked, taking one step closer to the bedroom.
"I don't know. Why do you call me sometimes?" she said.
"We're friends."
"Okay."
"Okay, but you can't be friends with my mom," Eric said.
Calleigh scoffed. "Excuse me? I can be friends with your dead dog if I wanted to. What are you, the Thought Police?"
He chose to ignore that. Even though he couldn't see her, he could picture her expression right now. It wasn't very welcoming. "Where did she get your number?"
"I gave it to her."
"When?"
"I ran into her a few months ago," she said, her tone casual again.
"My mother doesn't ever leave Little Havana," Eric said. "What were you doing in Little Havana?"
"It's not a leper colony, Eric. People are allowed to go in and out without getting shot by snipers, not that it's any of your business where I go during my time off," Calleigh said, tying her hair into a messy pony tail.
Eric frowned. This was a little too weird. "Well why didn't you tell me?"
"I don't know," Calleigh said. "Never came up in conversation."
"Calleigh, I think if your mom called me out of the blue just to chat, I'd tell you as soon as she hung up. It's pretty much a conversation starter," Eric said. "Don't you think it's weird my mother woke up one day and thought, 'oh, look at that, it's raining. I wonder how Calleigh feels about rain. I should just call her and ask.'"
"Well, rest assured my mother will never call you to chat, Eric, she barely calls me," Calleigh said.
Eric didn't say anything, because as light as her tone was, what she had just said was kinda sad. She probably hadn't meant it like that, but it was still the truth, and now he understood. And suddenly he felt like an idiot. Of course his mother hadn't woken up one day and just decided to call Calleigh. Everything his mother did had an ulterior motive behind it. And maybe this was just her way of, for lack of a better term, be a mother to Calleigh. But why was Calleigh okay with this? He couldn't even ask her if she had a good night without her snapping at him for trying to, as she put it, "undermine her". And yet here she was, completely willing to be adopted by Clorinda Delko.
This only made him wonder if his feelings for Calleigh had suddenly taken a turn down Incest Boulevard. That would just be God's final 'fuck you, Eric Delko'.
But despite it all, when Calleigh came out of the bedroom, dragging a huge bag behind her, there was a bright smile on her face.
"Don't worry; I'm not going to steal your mommy," she teased.
Eric smiled. "No, hey, trust me. You want her, you take her. I'm just trying to warn you, that's all."
"Oh yeah, she might cook for me every once in a while. You're right. What a monster!"
Eric nodded, following her into the living room. "Go ahead, laugh it up. But I've known her for twenty eight years. Do you know what I have to go through to get her to make a flan for me? And you don't even have to ask."
"Well, she must like me better than she likes you, then," she teased with a wink, walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator.
"No, this is what's called Phase One: aww, look at the new little baby, she's so cute!" Eric mocked. "Then you'll get to Phase Two: pick up your own toys. Then Phrase Three: nobody likes an awkward teenager, and eventually Phase Four: you're eighteen now, get the hell out of my house."
Calleigh gave him a look. "Eric, you are reading way too much into this. And I don't need you to lecture me because I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself," she said and grinned. "Now give me my flan."
With a sigh, Eric planted the bag on the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room. He took out the boxed dessert and gave it to her. "Remember the story of Adam and Eve and the apple?"
"Yeah," Calleigh said; her eyes widened and her mouth watered when she opened the box and saw the perfectly round flan.
"Just replace the words 'apple' with 'flan' and 'Lucifer' with 'Clorinda'. That's all I'm gonna say."
She ignored that and retrieved two little plates from a cabinet. "Are you gonna have some?"
"Of course," Eric said.
Calleigh chuckled, put the plates on the counter, and glanced at the bag. "What's that?" she asked casually.
Eric's smile disappeared.
Fuck!
He looked at the bag, and then at Calleigh. She wasn't staring at it anymore, but her eyes were on the flan as she carefully cut a piece with a knife. His heart began to race and he didn't move. Couldn't seem to say anything, either. Drop the flan and haul ass, his mind reminded him. But the words were suddenly meaningless. Flan? What flan?
He still had a pretty big gap there, though. She wasn't even paying attention to him, probably didn't even care what was in the bag. He could say it was nothing and leave. He could say it was a gift for his sister and leave it at that. But something inside of him suddenly wanted to do this. His suicidal alter, maybe. But for an alter, it sure was powerful.
And then suddenly his hands were reaching into the bag without his permission. He took a silent deep breath, and in a matter of microseconds, just decided to take the dive. Be a man. It's not a proposal, just a gift. Nobody likes a drama queen. Especially when said drama queen is a grown man.
Oh, fuck it.
"What, this?" he asked innocently, a horrible, horrible act, but it caught her attention.
Calleigh looked at the wrapped gift, her face suddenly serious.
"I don't know," Eric said. "I woke up this morning and found it under my tree," he added, placing the wrapped box in front of her. "It has your name on it, so I think Santa Claus left it for you. I don't know, maybe he got the wrong address."
Calleigh stared at the box suspiciously, and a dry smile suddenly appeared on her face. "Santa Claus doesn't make his rounds until tonight."
"Does he?" Eric teased. "Well, he must have started early this year. Beat the traffic."
Calleigh shook her head reluctantly, looking nervous. "Eric—"
"Open it," he said encouragingly, pushing it towards her.
Calleigh stared at the box, still, like it would explode at any moment. She chuckled nervously and looked at Eric. "I couldn't get you anything."
Eric shrugged his shoulders. "So?"
"So, this," Calleigh stuttered, "I can't, I don't..." she sighed, a bit frustrated at her inability to talk in whole sentences. "What is it?"
"I don't know," Eric said, futilely feigning innocence. "Open it."
Embarrassed and in super slow motion, Calleigh reluctantly grabbed the box. A bit heavy, and that made her feel even more nervous. She looked at Eric again, and the smile on his face was so big she couldn't even stop her cheeks from turning bright red. Hesitantly, she removed the bow and looked for a place where she could open it without breaking the paper, encouraged by the fact that she very much didn't want to open this, and any excuse to delay it was worth a shot.
"Oh, for God's sake, Calleigh, just rip it apart!" Eric said impatiently.
"I don't wanna break it!" Calleigh said defensively.
"It's made of wood, not gold," Eric said.
Calleigh sighed, finally just used the knife to cut the wrapping paper away. And when the paper was all gone, she found herself staring at a wooden box. She looked up at Eric. "Cigars?"
Eric shrugged his shoulders playfully. "What are you asking me for?"
Like she was defusing a nuclear bomb, Calleigh closed her eyes, opened the box, opened her eyes again, and her jaw nearly hit the floor. "Oh my God."
Eric grinned, still a bit nervous. 'Oh my God' could still go either way. "Do you like it?"
Calleigh remained silent, looking at the pistol, which was just resting on a red velvet bed. It wasn't shiny or very elegant, in fact, it was even kinda dirty, but she was sure she had never seen anything so amazing in her life. "Eric—"
"It's a Luger," Eric said, excited and proud of himself.
"I know," Calleigh said, suddenly out of breath, scared she might drop the thing at any moment.
Thankfully, Eric reached for it and took it out of the box. "But a real one, made in 1938."
Calleigh's mouth remained wide open, staring at the pistol in his hands like it was something from another world. In a way it was, but this all seemed unreal. "Where did you get it?"
"Buddy of mine's a collector," Eric said. "I told him to look out for one last year and he finally called me a couple of months ago."
"Last year?" Calleigh asked, aghast. "Eric, these things are expensive!"
"Nah," Eric said dismissively.
"Yes they are," she exclaimed, her hand suddenly on her stomach like she was about to throw up. "Do you know how many times my grandfather nearly got himself killed, trying to find one of these? And that was in the forties!"
"Well, they didn't have internet in the forties," Eric joked, but she wasn't laughing or even smiling, just looking at him like he had grown a second head.
"You do realize that this gun was used in World War II?"
"Yeah."
"And now you're giving it to me, on December 24th, 2004?" There was no aggressiveness in her tone, just some kind of strange hybrid between amusement and shock.
"Well," Eric said. "I thought it would be a nice gift. I don't know if it works, but you can, I don't know, use it as decoration?"
He extended it forward so she could grab it and Calleigh just stared at it reluctantly. Finally, her hand reached for it and she was pretty sure she would have an orgasm right at that moment, with a Luger in one hand and a knife in the other. 9mm Parabellum, matching magazine, excellent walnut grips; it fit into her hand like a glove. The numbers 1938 were engraved over the chamber; definitely not a fake, which translated into 'definitely not cheap'.
Suddenly she shook her head and tried to give it back to him. "Oh, Eric, I can't accept this."
Eric chuckled, "Calleigh, in the last couple of days I've been blinded, drugged, yelled at, smacked, mocked, insulted, assaulted by a snow in a can, and had my heart broken by one of Horatio's stupid lessons. The least you could do is take the gift so at least something goes right for me this Christmas."
"But I didn't get you anything," Calleigh said, putting the pistol back in its box and pushing it towards him.
"Who cares!"
"I care!" Calleigh exclaimed, suddenly pacing and not making much sense. She kept babbling about something or other as she came out of the kitchen and began to walk circles around the living room. "I mean, you go through all this trouble... and then I don't even... a fucking Luger, Eric!"
Eric jumped back, having never heard Calleigh cuss before. It was a bit intimidating, but mostly just hot as hell.
"So you like it?" he asked coyly.
Calleigh stopped pacing and her face fell. "Are you insane?"
Eric smiled. "I asked first."
"Eric!"
"Calleigh," he exclaimed. "I don't care if you got me a gift or not. I got you this; I want you to have it because I know how much you like guns. That's it. It doesn't even sound complicated, just take it. If you don't like it, I'm sure I'm not gonna have any problems selling it forward. But if you do like it, then... that's it, that's all I want. That's my gift, seeing you happy."
Calleigh's eyes widened, but they were softer this time. "Seeing people happy is not a gift, Eric. The gift of sight, maybe, but that's not a gift I gave you. A gift is a boat, or a car or, or... a fucking diving watch. God! I can't believe I didn't think of that before!"
"Well, I already have one," Eric said humorously. "So it's a good thing you didn't."
She shook her head, suddenly looking like she was on the verge of tears. "I can't believe you're making fun of me right now."
"I know. I removed the bullets," Eric said playfully. "Wasn't counting on the knife, though."
Calleigh looked at the knife in her hand, realizing for the first time how strongly she was gripping it and how many times she had pointed it at Eric in the last couple of minutes. Self conscious, she put it down on the coffee table, and then suddenly began to laugh. Not lightly, either, but in a way that made Eric feel even more intimidated. Scared. This was definitely not the reaction he had expected. Murder, yes. Not laughter.
"Is that a happy laugh or a 'five seconds before bang bang' laugh?" he asked hesitantly.
Calleigh nodded and crossed her arms. "It's a happy laugh."
"Good," Eric said, relieved. "So you like it."
"I," Calleigh breathed. "... love it."
"And you're gonna keep it? You're not gonna sell it and write me a check?"
Calleigh shook her head.
"Okay," Eric smiled. "Now how 'bout that flan?"
"What?" Calleigh asked, face serious again. "You just show up, give me a Luger, eat some flan, and leave?"
Eric was right back to confused, after everything had gone so well. "Should I have eaten the flan first?"
"Eric," Calleigh chuckled dryly and shook her head. "You have been planning this for a year."
"Well, not exactly," Eric said. "I thought of it last year, technically I've only been planning it for two months."
"Two months is still a long time to plan giving somebody a gift," Calleigh said.
"Yes, but isn't time relative?"
"No! Well... yes, scientifically, but... would you just stop being a smart ass and," she stopped there and sighed again, frustrated. She couldn't help it. Eric had just spent God knows how much money on a gun for her, and he didn't seem to be upset about the fact that she didn't get him anything. Not a watch, not a shirt; not even a pair of socks. Nothing. She felt terrible, embarrassed and inadequate but he was acting like it was no big deal. How was she supposed to react to that?
"Calleigh, I don't want a gift," he said, like he was somehow reading her thoughts. "I don't care. I really don't."
"I know you don't," Calleigh said. "But I just feel... bad. I just—"
"Why?"
Calleigh looked at the floor, feeling like she was running out of words. "I feel like... you just got the short end of the stick here."
Eric sighed again, wondering if he would ever convince her that it was fine. Not that he was shocked; this was Calleigh, in essence. Still could be a little frustrating at times.
"Calleigh, this gun couldn't possibly make you any happier than the way I feel..." he stopped abruptly when he realized what he was saying, but then took a deep breath and continued anyway, "right now, being here with you. I'm not saying that to make you feel better, it's the truth. If you don't believe me, it's okay, that's your choice, but it's still the truth."
Calleigh bit her lip, her head still lowered. It wasn't until she looked at him that she really believed what he was saying. And what he meant. She was sure she had never seen Eric so serious in her life. It was both terrifying and thrilling at the same time.
"But if you wanna get me a gift so you can sleep better at night, okay, well go ahead. But I'm telling you, I don't want one, I don't need one, to be honest I hadn't even thought about it," he finished.
Calleigh took a deep breath. "I think it would help me sleep better at night."
"Okay, then," Eric said. "Go ahead and buy me a gift."
"Don't have to," she said.
"Exactly! That's what I've been telling you a—"
"No, Eric," she interrupted him, walked over and he looked even more confused now that she was right in front of him. "I don't have to buy it."
Eric frowned, and was about to ask what the hell was going on when her fingers laced themselves through his fingers and he felt her lips pressed against his lips.
Okay.
It was a chaste kiss, really; innocent, merely a peck. At least that's what Calleigh had intended originally, because as she pulled back and they shared a look and a smile, she felt the need for another chaste, innocent peck. The chastity of it vanished immediately, though, when her hand came to rest on the back of his neck and she pulled him down towards her, and Eric finally reacted to what was happening when his hand tangled itself up in her hair, his own attempt to help their lips mold better together, or faster together, whichever came first.
Just because he had reacted, though, didn't mean Eric really understood what was happening. All he knew was he was standing in Calleigh Duquesne's living room and he was kissing her. Or she was kissing him. The details didn't seem to matter. What mattered was the way she nibbled on his lower lip, the way she scratched the back of his neck lightly, making his hairs stand on end, the way she got on her tip toes to reach him. It seemed absurd that he was kissing Calleigh Duquesne, that he had been waiting years to do so and now that it was finally happening only the little insignificant details seemed to stand out the most. But he merely took it as a metaphor of something he had yet to figure out and brushed it aside. Really, beggars can't be choosers.
Certainly not when he felt her tongue flicker on his lower lip, either, because at that moment his mind completely ceased to exist and all that remained was body. The body let out a frustrated sigh, though, when he was about to taste the deeper crevices of her mouth and she pulled away.
Still, she remained there, her hand resting on the side of his face, her lips inches away from his, and looking devilish.
"How's that?" she asked.
Eric chuckled, or at least tried to; it came out as some kind of playful grunt. "Nice," he said and smiled. "Too bad it's not the right size."
"Oh, darn."
"Yeah, I'm gonna have to return it," he teased her.
As she chuckled he pressed his lips to hers, bending his knees slightly so she wouldn't have to do all the work. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her mouth parting slightly to allow him instant access.
And really, he wasn't one to stop at a green light.
He tasted the rim of her lips first, his hands pressing her closer to his body, eliciting a timid moan from the back of her throat and it nearly drove him into oblivion, knowing he could make her do that so easily when all this time he had had her standing on an unreachable pedestal. His tongue probed deeper and he wondered if she ever tried a spoonful of the flan while he had been having his little panic attack, because suddenly she tasted like vanilla and caramel and something else he couldn't quite figure out but was probably just Calleigh. Eric decided right there that liked this recipe much, much better than his mother's.
And as innocent as Calleigh liked to pretend to be, she definitely had a couple of tricks up her sleeve, because Eric never noticed when her hands had abandoned the back of his neck to touch pretty much everything she could under his shirt. That's when it really hit him: that this was actually happening, that he hadn't just drifted into one of his pathetic midday fantasies at the lab. Because her nails were scratching his stomach and though they were gentle they were still scratching, feeling and exploring as her tongue dipped in and out of his mouth, and all her movements seemed to be perfectly in tempo as though they were choreographed.
It was mind blowing.
So it wasn't long before Eric found himself backing her up against the counter, his lips leaving hers to trail a path down her jaw line and then derailing on to her neck, her salty skin a wonderful contrast to her sugary lips. Calleigh moaned again, merely a bit louder than the first time and not really knowing what to do with her hands, she somehow managed to frame his face and bring him back up again, their lips colliding gently before they resumed the fast tempo from before.
And then she began to wonder if it was summer or winter, because the room was suddenly hot, air was scarce, and she had a bit of a hard time trying to catch her breath, but somehow could not find the will power to disentangle herself from Eric. It was during all this confusion that her mind heard a buzzer, seemingly miles away.
Eric instantly moaned in protest, crushing Calleigh harder against his body so she couldn't move. "Don't go."
It was only when he said that that Calleigh realized she hadn't been hearing things. Her buzzer was literally going off.
"That's my dad," she said, taking the opportunity to catch her breath. She was about to add something to that but Eric kissed her again, probably an attempt to distract her from more pressing matters. It worked.
"Ignore it and he'll go away," Eric breathed, raw and raspy.
Calleigh moaned into his mouth, more out of protest than pleasure. "He's not a homeless person."
Lips still molded together, they somehow managed to stumble their way towards the small foyer, where Eric pinned her against the door. Calleigh broke the kiss and blindly felt around the wall until she found the intercom; itching fingers pressed the little white button.
"Be right there, dad," she said, trying to sound as normal as possible, trying to sound as casual as possible, trying to sound as if she didn't have Eric's body pressed against hers, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, his hands tugging her shirt out of her jeans. Because if her father knew what was happening in her apartment right now, she was sure Eric's life would simply end tonight, no question about that
"Hurry up, Calleigh. I'm double parked."
Calleigh sighed and pressed the button again. "Five minutes!"
"Five minutes?" Eric teased.
"Shut up," Calleigh breathed. Her hands gripped fistfuls of his shirt aggressively and their lips crashed together almost desperately, knowing she wasn't going to see Eric for two whole weeks and this was all she was going to have, just five minutes of sloppy kisses and wandering hands and they might as well make the most of it now, because she was pretty sure those two weeks would not go by in the blink of an eye.
Eric must've realized that, too, because his kisses became frantic and his movements unpredictable; his hands roamed down her back, settled on her buttocks and he lifted her up, started walking her... somewhere and finally settled for the couch. He climbed on top of her, knowing there was no way they would be able to get far in five minutes, but that didn't mean they couldn't at least try. Maybe her father's notion of five minutes was much different than theirs. Maybe in Duke Duquesne's world, five minutes really meant three days, or even a week.
And yeah, he was kidding himself again, but for the next two weeks he would have to rely on the memory of these five minutes to get him through the days and dammit if he wasn't gonna make the best of it.
Luckily, Calleigh was cooperating, her body arching up to his encouragingly; she was making little breathy noises that nearly convinced Eric five minutes was all he would really need here. Against his better judgment he broke another kiss and began to alternatively suck salty bits of skin and gently biting others, all the way to her chest. Jittery fingers began to unbutton her shirt, his lips following in their wake... when the buzzer went off again.
"Dammit!" Eric groaned. "Two minutes and thirteen seconds is not five minutes!"
Calleigh nearly jumped when she heard him groan like that, it was the most un-Eric thing she had heard in her life. But then she smiled, and then chuckled, and then suddenly began to laugh; her head resting back on the couch as she realized this was as far as they would have to go.
"Laughter. How encouraging," Eric said sarcastically, moving up to rest his forehead against hers.
She slapped the side of his face a couple of times and pecked him on the lips, and Eric didn't need any more clues. Yup, it was over. Over. He didn't even have the time to get to second. This is what he got for chit chatting too much with the first base coach. Now he was out. Frustrated, he buried his face in her neck and sighed, admitting defeat.
"Fuck," he muttered.
Calleigh stared at the ceiling and her hand patted his butt. "Well, it was worth a shot."
Eric moaned something unintelligible against her neck, afraid to move, fearing the jerk of a finger would get the buzzer shouting again. When he realized he would have to move before he crushed all of Calleigh's ribs, he pulled back to look at her.
He groaned. If that buzzing sound had been painful, moving was even worse, especially since one of Calleigh's legs was sandwiched between his.
Calleigh chuckled and her fingers came up to try and get rid of the smeared lipstick on his lips and around his mouth. In a hazy moment, though, she found herself drawn to his lips again, but as soon as they touched, the intercom went off again.
"Does he have a camera hidden here somewhere?" Eric exclaimed angrily.
Calleigh didn't say anything, but gently tried to get out from under his body. Uncomfortable, Eric pulled back and sat on the other side of the couch, and it wasn't until he did this that he realized his pants were unbuttoned and his zipper was down. Huh? When did that happen?
Calleigh buttoned her shirt, and as she walked by Eric she caressed his cheek. "Sorry."
"No, hey," Eric said, taking a deep breath and letting it out.
"Bad timing, I guess," she added, walking towards the foyer again.
"Yeah, a little planning wouldn't hurt."
"Should've told you he's very punctual."
"Oh, you meant my bad timing," Eric said. "Right. Sorry."
Calleigh shook her head and pressed the little white button again. "I'm locking the door right now."
"We're not flying there, Calleigh," Duke said.
"I know, dad," Calleigh replied. She let go of the button and on her way to the kitchen stopped to check at her reflection in a small mirror on the wall. Her hair was a mess, there was lipstick all over her face, and her lips were swollen. She very much doubted her father wouldn't notice what was happening, considering Eric's lips were looking swollen as well, and Eric was possibly the worst liar she had ever known. Not to mention the fact that she had the smell of his cologne all over her skin and clothes. A blind, deaf, mute, and mentally challenged person could figure it out. But she still tried to make herself as presentable as possible. If anything, she'd just tell her dad Eric has laryngitis and can't talk, even though Eric always gave himself away even before he opened his mouth. If that didn't work... well, they would just have to run really, really fast.
She walked into the kitchen to put the flan back into the bag Eric had brought. Carefully, she put his gift inside her luggage and sighed, looking around. Everything looked clean and normal.
Except for the six foot tall man sulking on her couch.
"You okay?" she asked.
Eric let out a sigh. "Ask me again in two weeks."
Calleigh chuckled. "Come on, say hello to my dad."
"Uh," Eric said hesitantly, "you're gonna have to give me a couple of minutes."
"Why?" Calleigh asked innocently.
Eric didn't say anything, but just kinda looked around the room suggestively.
Didn't take long for Calleigh to figure out what he meant. "Oh."
"Yes, oh," Eric said, feeling a bit exposed, despite the cushion that strategically rested on his lap.
"Well, just," Calleigh frowned, knowing if they didn't get out of her in five seconds, her father was gonna have a fit. "Just turn it off."
"It's not a light switch, Calleigh," Eric protested.
"Then tuck your shirt out," Calleigh said.
"It's not long enough."
Calleigh sighed again. "Think unpleasant thoughts."
"Like what?"
She covered her eyes with her hand, trying to come up with something. "Your parents having sex?"
Eric shook his head.
"Your grandparents having sex."
Shook his head again.
Calleigh grimaced and bit her lower lip. "Horatio having sex?"
Eric blinked. "Okay, let's go."
Calleigh grinned, and didn't even complain when he walked over and picked up her bag for her. Hey, it was pretty heavy, and Eric would probably need something to distract her father from noticing what was happening south of the border, just in case. They walked out and as she locked her door Eric snaked his arm around her waist, his lips grazing the back of her neck.
"Eric," she complained weakly.
"Let's just slip out the back; we'll send him a postcard from Mexico," Eric said.
"Very Romeo-esque of you, but I don't think your family would appreciate that, either," Calleigh said.
"We're not really that close. They'll never notice."
Calleigh turned around and smiled. "Let's go."
Eric sighed and whined, every step he took feeling more and more like the final walk towards the electric chair. Calleigh seemed to be taking it much better, linking her arm through his and lost in thought, while he was five seconds away from throwing himself on the floor, grab her leg and never let her go. If the prospect of two Calleigh-less weeks had sounded bad back at the lab, it was much worse now, knowing they could spend every second of those thirteen days in bed... well, except for the thing they had to do during the day, the whole stopping crimes deal, but regardless. Had he known it would be like this he never would've stopped by, because now that he knew, really knew how she tasted and smelled and felt like, there was no way he would be able to survive thirteen days without her. Hell, ten seconds ago he was kissing the back of her neck and he was already going through withdrawals. This was going to be unbearable.
As they reached the elevators, Eric scratched the back of his neck hesitantly. "Listen, about those stories my mom tells you—"
Calleigh grinned instantly. "I can't believe you got your pee pee caught in a—"
"I was just," Eric interrupted loudly, trying to drown out her words, "testing... something... out."
"With your pee pee?" Calleigh chuckled.
Eric closed his eyes indignantly. "I was three, okay? And I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about it."
Calleigh pressed the elevator button and gave him a look. "Come on, Eric. I think it's very cute."
"No, it's not," he said. "It's humiliating."
"Yeah, to you," Calleigh said. "To me? Hilarious."
Eric rolled his eyes. "Ha ha."
"Besides," she said, taking his hands and making them meet on her lower back. "There's no reason to be paranoid."
"Yeah?" Eric smirked. "You know, my mom gets her adjectives wrong all the time."
Calleigh kissed him. "Well, English is very hard."
"Very, very hard," Eric added suggestively. Calleigh laughed, but stopped when the elevator arrived.
Eric leaned against the side and she leaned into him, lacing her fingers through his. He rested his forehead on the top of her head and closed his eyes, just trying to enjoy these last few seconds as much as he could. For a moment he thought of pressing the emergency button, but he knew Calleigh wouldn't appreciate that and neither would her father. So he settled for inhaling as much of her scent as possible, hoping it would stay in his nostrils for two whole weeks and make the hours trickle by faster.
But then he also remembered that, though they hadn't reached any kind of verbal agreement, tonight had been the beginning of something he thought he'd never be able to materialize, and as the elevator reached the lobby with a loud ding, he let her go without throwing any tantrums or acting like a child. From the elevator they could see her father, who spotted Calleigh immediately and ran towards his car, and Eric took the opportunity to kiss her one last time, knowing they wouldn't be able to say good bye properly in front of her father.
Calleigh sighed, running her fingers through his lips again to try and erase her lipstick off his skin. "I'm taking my cell phone," she said suggestively.
Eric chuckled, grabbed her hand and kissed it tenderly. "Can't wait to see that bill."
Calleigh smiled. "We're okay?"
"Absolutely," Eric said, mimicking her smile. "There's always next Christmas."
The End