Title: Found

Chapter 3

Spoilers: "Lost Son"

Author's Notes: Angsty Speed. Angsty H. Angsty Eric.

Warnings: Slash.

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I spent most of the night curled up in the corner of H's office, brooding. For a while, I kept trying to open his desk drawer so I could get a look at those news clippings, but no matter how hard I tried, my hand just kept going through the desk.

So I gave up.

As the night went on, the fear and the anger and the depression moved in with full force. Suddenly, it hit me how alone I really am. No one knows I'm here. They all just stuck me in the ground and moved on. But I am here. I don't know why, or for how long, but I'm here. Of course, I was given to depression when I was alive. I used to go home after work, sit alone in my apartment, and dwell on my problems until I fell asleep. Now that I'm a ghost, I've discovered that I don't need sleep. Consequently, I have a lot more time to sit around and think. Probably not a good thing.

As daybreak neared, I dragged myself to my feet and trudged back toward the locker room. I almost ran into someone on my way, so being the polite guy I am, I said, "Excuse me." It took a couple of minutes before the absurdity of the situation hit me. I'm dead, and I forgot. Just for a second, I forgot. Wild.

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From my place in the corner of the locker room, I watch as various personnel wander in and out.

So far, I haven't seen anyone I don't recognize. But if it's been a month, I have to wonder . . . have they replaced me yet? And what is this person like? Do they fit in? Did I? Will everyone forget about me?

Letting out a long breath, I kick the nearest locker. The thudding sound causes Tyler, our AV tech to jump two inches. He glances around the locker room, shrugs, and then strolls into the hall.

Interesting. If I'm trying to make myself solid enough to touch something, I can't do it. But if I'm trying to linger in a corner unnoticed, then . . . whammo . . . I'm solid. So, maybe it's that I'm thinking too much.

As I'm pondering my ghostly abilities, Calleigh finally shows up. She plods perfunctorily to her locker, looking like she hasn't had much sleep. Wordlessly, she stuffs her belongings into her locker and treads out—presumably to find H and see what's on the agenda for today. Part of me wants to follow her, but I hold back. I don't know why. I keep trying to think back to the last time I spoke to her, and all I can remember is apologizing to her for borrowing her light and not recharging it. If I spoke to her after that, I don't remember.

After a while, I find myself peeking around the doorway into the hall. I'm a little concerned because I haven't seen Eric yet. If my sense of time is back on track now, Eric's fifteen minutes late for work. Granted, that's happened before, but I have to worry. He could've been in an accident or something.

Ten minutes later, Eric finally shows up, half-jogging into the locker room. He has that panicked look on his face. The one people get when they've done something H isn't going to like.

"Hey, Eric," I say amiably, "You've got to start showing up on time. Didn't we have this conversation like a month before I died?"

"Okay," Eric mutters as he takes off his jacket, "What am I forgetting?" He glances around the room, as if someone is going to answer his question.

"Hey, don't look at me," I say, shrugging.

Eric lets out a breath, and then starts to exit the room. He's almost out the door when he turns around and tears back to his locker. "My pager," he mumbles.

"Yeah, you'll need that," I say.

Eric rips open his locker and starts rummaging around for his pager.

Over Eric's shoulder, I see H appear in the doorway. H holds back for a minute, like he's observing Eric. Finally, he inches slowly into the room.

"Hey, Eric," he says pleasantly.

I'm quite familiar with that tone of voice. It's the one H uses when he's about to grill you for information, but he doesn't want you to feel threatened. I got that tone of voice a lot.

"Hey, H," Eric says, "Uh, sorry I'm late. I . . ." Eric averts his eyes from H's and bites his bottom lip, "I really don't have a good excuse."

That took guts.

"Is everything all right?" H asks.

Eric shrugs. "Yeah, I just didn't get much sleep. I couldn't get myself moving today."

H crosses his arms, his eyes boring into Eric. "I talked to Hagen this morning."

John Hagen? Uh oh. This can't be good.

Exhaling, Eric shakes his head. "I knew he couldn't keep his mouth shut," he says bitterly.

Cocking his head, H says, "You want to tell me what happened?"

A look of apprehension flits through Eric's eyes. "I had a few drinks, and I got into his face," he says. Then hastily, he adds, "H, it wasn't my fault."

"Wait a minute," I laugh, "You got in Hagen's face?"

"What was the fight about?" H asks.

"H, it wasn't a fight," Eric snaps, "If it was a fight, he'd look a lot worse."

"I don't know Eric," I say uncertainly, "Hagen looks like he could handle himself."

Eric turns his back to H, collecting himself. Then he faces H and says, "He bugs me."

H smiles thinly. "Well, he bugs me, too. But we're on the same side, Eric."

"I know."

Patting Eric on the shoulder, H says, "Listen, let's try to maintain a civil relationship, okay?"

"Okay, H," Eric acquiesces.

"Good man," H says, "Grab your gear. We've got a body."

Every fiber of my being wants to follow H and Eric, to work the scene with them. But just as I'm about to race out of the locker room, self-doubts begin to hit me, and I chicken out. Instead of following H and Eric, I stand in the dank, open space of the locker room, and watch them disappear down the hall.