Title: Unknown

Chapter 12

Warnings: Slash. Also, domestic abuse. It's not overly graphic, but Mark does get physical this chapter. The jerk. : (

Author's Notes: Those of you who know me know that I write long stories. I like to take the time to build the plot and play with the characters. Sooooooo, don't expect there to be a quick resolution to Speed's predicament. In my experience, these things take a while to work themselves out. Our Speed is going to go through a lot before he gets a happy ending.

-----

True to his word, Mark was waiting up for me when I got home this evening. He wanted to "talk" about the fact that Eric had his hand on my arm when Mark and Calleigh walked in to the break room.

So, we're talking.

Squeezing his fingers tightly around my bandaged wrist, Mark grabs me by the collar. "Why do you make me do this?"

Swallowing, I choke, "I was just talking to him. I swear."

"Well, you looked pretty cozy," Mark says, his face about an inch from mine.

"He's a co-worker," I say, "We were in the break room. What was going to happen?"

Digging his fingers into my wrist, Mark shouts, "Why do you talk to me like this? You realize a lot of people wouldn't put up with you? You know what? You're lucky I'm still here."

Biting my lip in an attempt to stave off the pain, I try to yank my arm away. Mark responds by twisting my wrist and jerking me forward.

"I'm trying to talk to you," Mark says, shaking me.

I feel like my knees are about to give out. If it weren't for the fact that Mark is hanging onto me by the wrist, I'd probably collapse into a heap on the floor. Mark's literally keeping me in a standing position by the sheer force of his rage.

"Well, let's sit down and talk," I say, my voice trembling, "Let's sit on the couch."

"Listen to me," Mark says, holding one finger up, "I think I deserve your respect. Don't you?"

"Yeah," I say, nodding, "I respect you."

Wrenching my arm with one hand, Mark grabs a handful of my hair with the other. "You don't know what the word respect means," he snarls.

My voice quaking, I choke, "Mark, you said you wouldn't do this again."

Taking a step back, Mark releases his hold on me and threads the fingers of both hands through his hair. "Timmy, you know I don't like to do this to you." He starts to pace. "But I feel like I'm losing you. I've got a lot of crap going on at work. You're my sanity."

"Mark, I'm here for you," I say, grabbing onto the counter that separates my kitchen from the rest of my house.

"You're going to leave me," Mark says.

"No," I say, "I love you. I'm not going anywhere."

Mark takes a step forward, and instinctively, I move back, still clinging onto the counter to steady myself. Feeling sick to my stomach, I lean against the wall, trying hard not to hyperventilate.

Mark stops short and just stares into my eyes. After a few moments, he says, "You're afraid of me."

Perceptive guy.

Shaking my head, I say, "What do you expect?"

Mark gazes at me, his face devoid of color. "I've got to go," he mumbles, turning toward the door. As he steps outside, Mark turns back to me. "I'm sorry, Tim," he says. Then he shuts the door, leaving me all alone.

Finally, I lose my battle with gravity and slide bonelessly down the wall. My head hurts. My ribs hurt. My shoulder hurts. My wrist is feels like a small forest fire is raging under my bandage.

Shaking my head, I mumble to myself, "What did you expect?"

-----

After Mark left last night, I packed a few things and rode my bike to a hotel. As I was checking in, the desk manager pointed out that my arm was bleeding. So, after I dumped my stuff in my room, I trekked to a nearby ER and discovered that my stitches were torn. I wound up spending four and a half hours waiting to get sewn back up. The doctor who worked on me noticed that my ribs and shoulder were bruised and started asking some uncomfortable questions. When I'd finally had enough, I decided to flash my badge, and whammo—the questions stopped. Apparently, my badge has super powers. I'll have to remember that.

After leaving the ER, I dragged myself back to the hotel where I spent the remainder of the night staring at the ceiling. Part of me wanted to pack my things and go back to Mark right then. Actually, I'm not even sure why I left in the first place. I guess I just wanted to rattle Mark's cage a little. Kind of a selfish thing to do, I guess. Mark probably came back a couple of hours later and completely freaked out when he realized I wasn't there. I should call him. Apologize.

A few minutes ago, I made it to work—ten minutes late, but I made it. When I stalked in and snatched my lab coat from the hook, I muttered an apology to H. But I'm not a bit sorry. At the moment, I couldn't care less about my job.

Letting out a breath, I get to work on a stack of trace evidence from various cases. As I slide a sample of some kind of syrup-like substance underneath my microscope, Calleigh and Eric stroll in.

"Hey, you," Calleigh says brightly. She places both elbows on the countertop and leans forward.

Eric ambles around the counter and stops beside me. Peering over my shoulder, he asks, "What are we looking at?"

I glance from Calleigh to Eric. "I don't know," I say, "I just got started."

"So," Calleigh says, "Last night, I was reading my tabs and eating a little popcorn, and the phone rang." Calleigh crosses her arms. "Tim, guess who it was. It was Mark."

Mark. The second she says that one relatively innocuous word, I feel a pain in my gut. If I didn't know better, I'd swear Calleigh had punched me in the stomach.

"Mark called?" I say, gripping the countertop.

"Yeah," Calleigh says, "He said you two had a big blow-up. He said he went out for a while to clear his head, and when he got back, you were gone."

I press my tongue into my cheek, trying to fend off the urge to laugh or cry—I'm not sure which. "Yeah, well I went out," I say.

Eric leans forward and cocks his head so that he can make eye contact with me. "Mark thought you might have ended up at Calleigh's, so he called there. Then she called me."

I shrug, glancing up at the ceiling. "All right. I spent the night at a hotel. What of it?"

"Well, Mark was worried," Calleigh says, "Look, he didn't go into details, but he said you were really upset with him, and now he's afraid you might've left for good."

"I'm going to go back tonight, Cal," I say, "Is that okay?"

Eric puts a hand on my shoulder, but I shake it off. The last thing I need is Eric getting touchy-feely.

"Tim," Calleigh says, "He sounded really shaken. I just think you should call him."

"Yeah?" I say, "Well, I think you should mind your own business."

"C'mon, Speed you don't have to snap," Eric says, "We're worried about you is all."

Licking my lips, I shift from one foot to the other. "Drop it, Delko," I spit.

"Hey guys," H says as he walks briskly into the room, "Is there a problem?" Naturally, his gaze falls on me.

"Yeah," I say, "I'm having a bad day."

H cocks his head at me. "Well, that may be, but—"

"And you know what I'd really like?" I continue, "I'd like my private life to stay out of the public domain."

"We're just trying to help," Calleigh drawls.

I lean forward, so that I'm about three inches from Calleigh's face. "Yeah, well I'm trying to work. And I don't need you two harassing me about my love life. You know, this is why I never tell you two anything."

"All right," H says firmly, "Let's calm down. You have every right to your privacy, Speed," he says. Turning to Eric and Calleigh, he adds, "Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Calleigh says.

Glaring at me, Eric says, "Yeah, H."

Wordlessly, Eric and Calleigh brush past H and disappear down the hall. Maybe I shouldn't have dived down their throats like that, but I just can't handle their questions. If they found out what really happened between Mark and me last night . . . I mean, I'm a trained police officer. I've been through the Academy. But I can't defend myself. How does that make me look?

After a moment, H turns to me. "Listen, Frank's coming by. We have a witness who claims that one of the Carver's neighbors was at the Carver house the night Brendan died. I want you to go with him and check it out."

"Will do, H," I say.

H nods, and then leans against the counter. "You know, they're only prying because they care."

Nodding, I say, "I know, H. I'm just in a mood."

"All right," he says, "Just ease up. And if you want to talk . . ."

"Your office door's open," I say.

H pats me on the shoulder. "Right. You hang in there, partner."