Irrational

He paced the small shelter, sat down on the hard metal bench, elbows resting on his knees and put his head in his hands. His knee was jiggling wildly, as if pulled by a string from above. He was unable to sit still for more than a minute without some part of him being jittery, his body telling him he needed to get out of there. The sounds of the storm only increased his agitation and he debated for the tenth time, the lunacy of trying to drive in this versus the torture of waiting it out.

It's not as if he'd never driven in weather this bad before, but still, this wasn't exactly shaping up to be his best night and with his luck he'd end up lying on the side of the road and his wife was already less than thrilled with him, so, rational thought won out over lunacy, meaning waiting it out was his only option. He checked his watch, raked his hands through his hair, got up and paced some more, repeating the sequence over and over. He would not make a good prisoner he thought to himself chuckling, he would drive himself crazy fidgeting.

Time was passing ever so slowly and he was getting wet despite being underneath the bus shelter, because it was essentially open to the elements, save the roof above him, allowing the driving rain to be blown in through the sides. He was grateful for the T shirt he had on under his button down, it provided a little warmth, but he felt chilled, none the less, in the damp, cooler temperature brought on by this passing cold front.

This is all my own fault he thought to himself as he plopped down on the bench once more, kicking aside some fast food litter that was by his feet. He checked his watch again, it had only been an hour and a half since he left home, but it felt much longer. He wondered what Calleigh was doing, tried to picture her asleep in their bed, well, 'their' bed till she kicked him out. Again he thought, 'this is all my fault.'

He sat back, resting the top of his head on the uncomfortable, hard edge of the bench. His headache had become a dull, constant pain situated right behind his eyes and rubbing them did nothing to lessen the discomfort. Lightning lit the sky just then, he could see the light, even through closed eyes and a booming crack of thunder followed almost immediately causing him to jump.

"That was a bit too close," he said aloud to no one.

He thought again of his wife at home and figured she was probably awake, never able to sleep during a thunderstorm and he hoped she was all right. This should pass over soon. He noticed there were hardly any cars out tonight even though it wasn't that late, probably the storm was keeping people off the streets. Resting his head back again, he let his thoughts travel back to the day this falling-out between them had begun, when he found her in the lab and she demanded to see his gun.

He'd been thrown by that demand, despite knowing immediately why she wanted to see his weapon and he was surprised by her unsympathetic insistence. He was also distressed, pissed off and defensive about it. What he wasn't, was understanding, he didn't bother looking past his own feelings to see hers. Even though he eventually capitulated to her demand, he remained put out by it, since she was essentially telling him he was a screw up and always would be, one she obviously didn't trust. His own wife! He still felt sensitive about the subject of his gun, then guilt took over, leaving him conflicted and miserable. If Calleigh couldn't trust him, he had no one to blame but himself.

They never talked about that day, the day of the drug disposition gone bad. Never talked about the shooting or the gun malfunction and it's cause, his screw up, his laziness. They never talked about his fear, his guilt, or he supposed, her fear. Normally they talked easily, openly, about everything, he talked to her more than he'd ever talked to another person, but they didn't talk about that day. He supposed it was because it had happened quite some time ago, before they were a couple, but mainly he imagined they didn't talk about it because it was a closed subject for him and she knew that, had always known that and she was the one person who did try to talk to him that day, even Horatio had danced around the subject, attempting, he guessed, to spare his feelings. He barely let her in then, but he knew she was concerned, it was written all over her and he loved her for that, but he couldn't deal with it.

He'd dealt with it since, well sort of, he kept his weapon maintained, thought he did a good enough job, there was just that one slip up and he'd been vigilant since then. He didn't think she knew about that, no one did, it hadn't caused a problem, thank God. More than half a year after the shooting, he'd gone out to the range to get some practice shots off, Horatio's none too subtle prodding of him, insistence with a smile and you don't know what hit you, you just know you're doing as he asked without question. He got one shot off, then nothing, the damn thing misfired, surprised him, he wasn't expecting that. But then, who expects their weapon to fail?

He never gave his sidearm much thought, it was just there and he hoped he never had to use it, unlike his wife who like all things about weapons, except, apparently, thinking about his. He checked it and as he suspected, it was filthy, probably the cause of the malfunction, history repeating itself. He couldn't believe it had happened again, he thought he'd been more careful, but it must have slipped his mind and he had gone too long without cleaning it. He remembered feeling a cold chill down his back while looking inside his gun. Reality and the magnitude of this oversight hit him hard. The idea that his teammates couldn't count on him, that something could happen to Calleigh, whom he loved, because of him, was even worse than something happening to him. He made a vow that it wouldn't happen again, one that he'd done his best to keep, but the guilt remained and probably always would.

The memory of the shooting wasn't something he liked to dwell on, to know he had come that close to dying wasn't a pleasant thought. All the shooter would have had to have done was aim for his head, the vest wouldn't have protected him and it would have been over. He tried to make his peace with that, after all, if he died, he'd just be gone, that would be the end, but now there was Calleigh to think about. If something happened to him, she'd be left alone and that thought, that she would be hurt, pained him like nothing else ever had.

Calleigh loved him, wanted a life with him, a family even. She wanted him to stick around, needed him in her life and for her he planned to stick around for quite some time, forever if he could. If the memory of his shooting was a difficult one for him, it was also probably hard for her as well and he'd never considered her feelings when he was pissed off at her for doubting him. She'd been the one to process his weapon, knew the danger he'd put himself in and she would probably always carry that memory with her, just as he did. There was, most likely, a small part of her that wondered if it could happen again and to be brutally honest, he couldn't blame her for having that doubt.

Delko told him she had gotten a bit freaked out when she thought he'd been involved in a shooting. He'd noticed she had gotten very pale and he'd been worried about her, but she dismissed him, told him she was fine. That was so Calleigh, never admit fear, never show weakness. He shook his head, it had been three days and she still hadn't told him what was troubling her and he was the person closest to her. Still, he should have known she was more upset than she let on. Of course, by the time he saw her she was just furious with him, and he'd automatically reacted to that, didn't see she was just scared. Now he understood and needed to reassure her that he wouldn't let her down, that he'd never let her down, she was too important to him. She was everything.

He opened his eyes realizing it was much quieter now, the rain had almost stopped, the storm had finally passed. Getting up, he stretched his back, rubbed his arms hoping to generate a little heat, looked at the highway in front of him and decided it was safe enough to finally head home. He didn't know what to expect once he got there, but there was no place else he wanted to be.

tbc