Irrational

She woke with a start, cold and confused, she knew she wasn't in her bed, but didn't remember falling asleep on the couch. Her thoughts were foggy, she had no idea what time it was or when she'd dozed off. She rubbed her eyes wondering how long she'd been asleep, she didn't guess it had been long, she didn't feel any less exhausted than she had earlier.

Lightning lit up the sky followed immediately by a loud crack of thunder that made her jump, even though she was expecting it. Well, that explained what woke her, a light sleeper, she was often awakened by thunderstorms, had ever since she was a child. For once she was grateful to be woken by a thunderstorm instead of waking in a panic because she was dreaming of Tim lying dead in a pool of blood, the way she had the past couple of nights. She shuddered and it wasn't just from the cold.

Tim. She knew not to call out for him, he wasn't home, she'd sense his presence if he were home. It was dark and still in the apartment, it was also freezing since neither had turned down the air conditioning. Grabbing the blanket, the one from their bedroom that Tim had been using out here on the couch, she wrapped it around her shoulders while she hugged her arms tightly to her chest. She felt cold inside and out and needed more than a blanket to warm her. Bringing her nose down into the blanket, she breathed in deeply, as she suspected, the blanket smelled unmistakably like him and it just made her miss him more.

She strained her eyes to see the clock on the DVD player across the room, she could barely make out the numbers, but thought it read 11: 08 PM, meaning he'd been gone only a couple of hours, but it felt much longer. Would he be coming back? she wondered. Could she blame him if he didn't? No, she had been horrible to him. Her eyes filled with tears and she clutched the blanket tighter.

The rain sounded heavy giving her something else to worry about, she turned and pulled the curtain back, saw the torrents of water illuminated by the street lights in front of their building and she shuddered again. It was late, she knew he was exhausted and it wasn't safe for him to be riding the bike in rain this heavy, not to mention the danger of lightning. He didn't have a jacket and he didn't have his phone, that she knew because she had tried to call him after he left, heard his phone ringing in the apartment and found it lying on the hall table.

She thought about calling Delko, but figured Tim would have wanted to be alone and wouldn't go see anyone. She couldn't imagine where he was, wouldn't even know where to look for him. If only she had handled things differently when he came home that evening, if she had tried talking to him instead of continuing to push him away. She wanted to, she just hadn't been ready, she hadn't been able to figure out why she was so angry, she didn't think it was at him, but she sure had been taking it out on him. She had pushed him too far this time and maybe had lost him forever, no wonder she felt so miserable.

How could she tell him that she kept seeing him dead, that it had rocked her completely and she didn't know what to do with those feelings? The image was so clear and it wouldn't go away, no matter how many times she told herself it was all in her imagination.

Closing her eyes, she remembered Delko approaching her in the ballistics lab the afternoon the fight began, asking, a bit anxiously, if she'd heard from her husband. Seemed Eric had heard in passing, from one of the homicide detectives, that Tim and Horatio had been fired upon at a crime scene, but had no details, other than the fact that additional uniforms had been sent to the site, and hoped that she might know more. He figured it must not have been serious since neither of them had gotten a page asking all officers to respond.

While Eric was talking she felt all the blood rush from her head, giving her a feeling of lightheadedness and she felt her limbs go limp as well, making her grateful she was sitting on the stool and that she could put her hands on the counter in front of her for support. She distinctly remembered thinking, 'this is what it must be like to faint', but she didn't faint, just felt momentarily out of it. He stopped talking and was looking at her intently, asking repeatedly if she was OK. It took her a moment to answer, but she finally responded that she was fine. He was worried that he had upset her and she was touched by his concern, but she made light of the incident, told him she was just tired and had forgotten to eat. After she convinced him that she was fine, that Tim and Horatio were also fine, or they would have called for help, she sent him on his way, telling him she had to get back to work, indicating to the bags of bullet evidence spread out on the counter, then she quickly headed to the restroom, afraid she would be sick.

Nauseous, sweating and shaking all over, she couldn't stop seeing Tim lying dead in a pool of blood and it looked so real she would almost believe she had actually seen it. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before and she didn't know why it happened then, but the fear she experienced had been real and it had made her feel physically ill. She sat on the restroom floor for awhile, glad no one else was around, trying to calm down, until she got a call from Eric telling her that they were both fine and heading back to the lab. She straightened herself up, splashed cold water on her face and went back to logging ballistics evidence, determined she would never feel that scared again.

She should have been happy to see him when he found her in the ballistics lab a short while later and she was, but she had only one thing on her mind. She brushed off his efforts to embrace her and ignored his concern, she was only interested in seeing his gun, that was the only thing that would give her any peace.

Looking back, she realized she should have talked to him then, told him how scared she was, how unsettled and helpless she felt, but she didn't, because those feelings reminded her of her childhood, they didn't belong to her anymore and she didn't want them, no longer wanted to deal with them. Helplessness was foreign to the adult she had become, it wasn't something she planned on ever revisiting.

He looked at her like he didn't know her, searching her face for clues to explain her sudden chill towards him, that she remembered clearly. So determined was she to see his weapon, she wasn't listening to him at all. He tried to explain to her that he hadn't been in danger, hadn't needed to use his sidearm, that it was Horatio that had been fired upon and that he hadn't been near him at the time. He also told her that his weapon was in fine working order, he took care of it, she should know that he emphasized, but she wouldn't listen, kept insisting on seeing it for herself. He relented, finally, if only to appease her, this was a sensitive subject for him and she could see the confusion in his eyes, his word should have been enough. After that things got progressively worse.

She took a deep breath, startling again at the sound of the thunder. If only she had talked to him they wouldn't be as miserable as they both were now. She continued to play that afternoon back in her head, hoping to understand it better.

He offered her the gun, she looked inside and that's when her anger bubbled to the surface, as far as she was concerned the weapon should have been in better condition and she unleashed all of her pent up emotion onto him. He was shocked, both by her accusations and her fury. He insisted his gun was in good condition. After unsuccessfully arguing the point, he decided to demonstrate it to her at the firing range, where he proceeded to fire off round after round, proving that the gun was fine. For her, it just wasn't enough, he was lucky that time, next time he wouldn't be, which as far as she was concerned demonstrated just how little he cared about her.

That was an accusation he couldn't abide and he stormed off, but not before he leveled his own accusation at her, that she had no faith or trust in him and he left, angry and still muttering that there was nothing wrong with his weapon.

Both wounded and stubborn, they simply couldn't connect after that. She grew more angry and he grew more distant, though he did try numerous times to talk to her, but each was convinced the other was wrong and she could still see him lying in a pool of blood when she closed her eyes.

In her mind the gun probably looked worse than it was, it obviously fired without malfunctioning and that was what she was worried about. She should have trusted him and she did trust him, more than she had ever trusted anyone, but she couldn't erase the memory of what happened before and because of that, his gun would never be clean enough and she couldn't lose him that way, couldn't lose him period, except she had, she had successfully pushed him away. She wasn't sure he would ever forgive her. Once again she gave into her tears.

tbc