Title: Found

Chapter 10

Spoilers: "Crime Wave." Also, there are some implied things that relate to what we find out about Eric in "Killer Date."

Author's Notes: Set right after "Crime Wave." Thanks go out to dawnsprite and Sanqhian for answering my nitpicky questions about the episode!


It's funny how life can blindside you, and suddenly, you're facing something you thought you'd never have to face. Like you come out of the grocery store, and you find out someone has plowed into your car with an SUV. Or the person you love decides to leave you for another man. Or you go to work one morning, and you wind up dying on the floor of a jewelry store. You don't expect these things to happen, but they do. And without warning, your life is changed dramatically.

Take me, for example. One day I'm worried about paying the rent, the next I discover I'm a ghost. And to make matters worse, the only person who can see me is the little weasel who stole my life. I can't help but feel like this is all part of some grotesque joke, and that the universe is laughing at me.

Ha. Ha.

Yesterday, though, things weren't so bad, because I spent the night with Eric. Now, a few months ago, the sheer thought of spending the night with Eric would've me into a hormonal pile of goo, basically because I've been in love (and lust) with Eric for a long time. But last night, staying at Eric's place was about more than that. It was a tiny nugget of comfort in my otherwise solitary existence. I don't want to sound maudlin or anything, but being with Eric, walking around his apartment…it felt real, and I haven't felt anything real for months.

As we pulled into the department parking lot this morning, I was almost crushed with despair. It was over. I'd gotten a little vacation from my afterlife, and now, reality was setting in.

To make matters worse, I discovered that Miami was about to be hit by a natural disaster.

Now I had every intention of spending the day with Eric. Unfortunately, I got interested in watching Tyler set up a new database, and Eric and H left for a scene without me. Well, I guess I needed some geek-out time with Tyler anyway. During my life, Tyler was one of the few people I spent any off time with. We're both AV and computer geeks, so we'd occasionally hit a cyber café or something. To this day, I don't think Eric or Calleigh know that.

As a consolation prize, I wound up following Ryan to his crime scene. His solo crime scene. How a newbie rates his own crime scenes while Eric is stuck backing someone up all the time, I don't know. And I have to say, I don't like how Ryan is starting to become chummy with Alexx. I've noticed that sometimes, Alexx talks to him the way she used to talk to me, and that ticks me off. What Alexx and I had was special. She was like a mother to me. So…now what? I'm replaceable?

I have a good mind to become a really bad-ass ghost and haunt that weasel.

Anyway, I've been trying to catch up with Eric for the past two hours, but I can't find him. His car's still in the parking lot, so I know he hasn't gone home already. Earlier, I heard someone say something about H and Eric being involved in a shooting at a bank, and I kind of freaked out for a minute until I overheard someone say they were both all right. I mean, the ghost thing is pretty lonely, sure, but I don't want to see H or Eric on this side of the spectral curtain anytime soon.


As soon as Ryan and I finish up "our" case, I wander around in vain trying to locate Eric. Finally, I head back to the locker room to wait for him. I've decided that I'm going to go home with him again tonight. I mean, what's the harm?

After about fifteen minutes, I hear Eric's voice.

"—Hummer doesn't make him invincible."

Calleigh lets out a long-suffering breath. "Well, at least he saved Riley."

Eric rolls his eyes. "Yeah," he grumbles. With a flourish, Eric swings open his locker and snatches out his bag. From the looks of things, he's doing his best to ignore Calleigh, even though she's inching more and more into his personal space.

There was a time I thought that maybe Eric and Calleigh might have feelings for each other. When I watched them together, I saw the connection, the trust…Also, they spent a lot of their off time together, going to movies and having lunch. It's not that Eric and I didn't spend any time together, because we did. Eric used to say that he was "single-handedly responsible for Speed having a social life." And to be honest, he was right. But with Eric and Calleigh…They were just so natural together. They made each other laugh, and I resented the hell out of it.

So I did my best to fit into my role as lab recluse. I groused about social events, and I made a point of grumbling every time Eric dragged me out to a club. Looking back, I should've just sucked it up and told Eric how I felt about him. Even if he had turned me down—which he probably would have—the stress of wondering would have been gone.

Anyway, one night, Eric and Calleigh decided to take me out for "a drink" after work. We went to this yuppie bar, and Eric proceeded to tell me how concerned he and Calleigh had been about me. Calleigh said she didn't understand why I spent so much time alone, why I didn't go out with them once in a while. They wanted to know if there was anything I needed to talk about. So, I was pretty much floored by the whole thing, not to mention uncomfortable. I just kind of sat there like an idiot. What did they expect? I'm not known for my social skills or my finesse regarding emotional matters.

To make the evening even more awkward, Eric proceeded to get me drunk enough that I asked them if they had a thing going. Calleigh kind of laughed at me, and Eric started to look as embarrassed as I felt. They told me that no, they didn't have a thing going. They were like brother and sister, they said. "Besides," Calleigh said. "Eric prefers dark hair."

The rest of the evening is sort of a blur. The next morning, I woke up on Eric's couch, and he made me breakfast. He teased me mercilessly about misinterpreting his relationship with Calleigh, and we made plans to hit a club that night—just him and me. And Cal—I have to love her for things like this—she made a special effort to spend time with me so I wouldn't feel left out. As strange as it sounds, most of the discomfort I felt regarding the thing with Eric and Calleigh was gone. Sure, I was still the odd man out in a way…but I had my place in each of their lives, and now, I felt more certain of that.

Letting out a breath, Calleigh leans against the row of lockers. "So," she drawls, "About the bank…"

"I don't want to talk about it, Cal," Eric says. He continues to pull things haphazardly out of his locker and stuff them into his bag.

"It was a good shoot," Calleigh says evenly.

What?

Eric shoots Calleigh a look. It's not a glare, really. Just a look.

"Are you off for a couple of days?" Calleigh asks.

Eric shakes his head. "Come on, Cal. There was a natural disaster. We're still putting the city back together."

Calleigh nods. "So, when's your post-traumatic?"

Post-traumatic? What the hell happened to him today?

Eric stops shoving things into his duffle bag. He stares into his locker for a few seconds, and then turns to Calleigh. "H says I don't have to go. So I don't think I'm going to."

"And here I thought it was regulation," Calleigh says, not even trying to hide the disapproval in her voice.

"Calleigh," Eric says, pushing his locker door closed. "H says I don't have to go unless they push it. So, I'm not going to go. Cool?"

Calleigh looks like she's going to argue, but then she says, "Well, what are you doing tonight?"

"I'm going out," Eric says.

"Want some company?" Calleigh asks. She places a hand on Eric's shoulder.

"Nope. I'm going alone," Eric says, fighting the zipper on his bag.

With a look of defeat, Calleigh pulls her hand away from Eric's shoulder. "Well, now that Speedle's gone, I guess you and Horatio are vying for the title of Lab Loner."

"Actually, Cal," I say, folding my arms across my chest. "H has always been sort of a loner."

Eric glares at Calleigh for a long moment, an almost acidic expression settling over his features. "Better than Lab Robot," he says. Grabbing his bag, he strides out of the room.

Well, that was a bitchy thing to say. I stare after Eric for a moment, and then I turn to Calleigh. "He'll probably call and apologize tonight, Cal." Given the expression on Calleigh's face right now, I sure hope he calls her.


The ride home is unusually noisy, considering Eric thinks he's alone in the car.. In addition to my unheard lecture to Eric about why he should be nicer to Calleigh, there's the racket from hip-hop CD Eric puts in and cranks up to top volume. I'm surprised he doesn't get pulled over, as loud as he has it.

When we finally reach his place, Eric and I sprint up the steps to his condo, and I wait patiently while he fumbles for his key and opens the door.

"Marisol," Eric says as he drops his bag just inside the door. "What are you going here?"

Marisol. Huh. I don't know what I was picturing when I thought of Delko's sister. But the woman standing a few feet away sure isn't it. She's some kind of strange hybrid of a supermodel and a soccer mom. She gorgeous, but she looks like exactly the kind of woman who would sneak over to her brother's condo in the middle of the day to wash his underwear. I'm guessing she even brought him a casserole or something. Or baked goods, maybe.

Crossing the room and enveloping Eric in her arms, Marisol says. "I came by to bring you some fresh fruit. And also, I made a couple of things you can heat up in the microwave. I taped instructions to the containers."

Eric rolls his eyes. "Marisol, I know how to use the microwave."

She pats him on the cheek as if to say, "You think you do, silly boy."

Eric lays his keys down on the table and paces around the room. After a few seconds, he points at his spare room—my room—and asks, "Did you touch that stuff?"

Snatching a feather duster off the coffee table, Marisol says, "No, I didn't touch it, grouchy." She walks over to Eric's bookshelf and starts to slide the duster across the wooden surface. "What are you going to do with that stuff?"

Eric folds his arms across his chest. "I don't know yet. I'll worry about it later."

"You can't just let it sit there," Marisol says. "Maybe you should give some of it to charity."

Shaking his head, Eric leans against the back of the couch. "I'm not giving it to charity."

"You have a lot of room on this shelf. Why don't you bring the books out here?"

"That would be terrific," I interject.

"I told you," Eric says, his teeth clenched. "I'll figure it out later."

"I'm sure Speed's other friends might like to have some of that stuff," Marisol continues. "Maybe you could sort through it together. It might help the grief—"

"Why don't you just let me handle it, Marisol?" Eric snaps.

With a bang, Marisol places the duster onto one of the nearly-empty shelves. "You don't have to bite my head off, Eric. I've never taken that crap from you, and I never will."

I really like this woman.

Licking his lips, Eric says, "I'm sorry. Look, I just had a bad day at work."

"Want to talk about it?"

"No," Eric says. "Not really."

Marisol gazes at him for a few moments, and then returns to dusting.

Inching slowly across the room, Eric picks up a small paperweight from the bookshelf. "Actually," he says in a wooden tone. "There's something I should probably tell you. It'll be on the news."

She turns to him. "What is it, honey?"

Eric rolls his eyes. "I, um, I shot a perp."

The feather duster slips out of Marisol's hand. Licking her lips, she says, "Did he…"

Eric nods. "It was a good shoot, Marisol. IAB's all but cleared me. I just need you to run interference with Dad and Mom. I can't deal with Dad asking questions or Mom trying to drag me to church right now."

Marisol puts her hand on Eric's forearm. "Come on over here and sit down. I'll make you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry, Marisol," Eric says. "I ate at work."

Patting Eric on the head, Marisol says, "I'll make you something to eat."

Eric leans his head back and watches his sister stride purposefully into the kitchen. He inhales deeply, and then slowly releases the breath. He leans forward and snatches a diving magazine off the coffee table. After thumbing through it for a few seconds, he pitches it back onto the cluttered oak surface.

I circle around the couch and sit down gently. Every muscle in my body—or non-body—wants to pull Eric into my arms and hold him. In all the years I've known Eric, we've only embraced once, and it was actually the stereotypically "manly one-armed hug." As a matter of fact, I think that happened the night he and Calleigh got me hammered. Anyway, I'm not a hugger, and I never have been. But right now, I want to squeeze the heck out of the guy.

After a few minutes, Eric's sister comes breezing out of the kitchen, holding a dishrag in her hands. "I'm heating up some black bean soup," she says.

Eric twists his body around to face her. "I'm going out."

Marisol leans down and kisses him on the cheek. "After you eat." With that, she walks across the room, snatches up the duster, and starts working her way around the condo in some kind of mad dusting frenzy.

Eric just sits helplessly on the couch, his hands clasped across his lap. It's as if he's been given a "time-out" for some kind of misbehavior.

After dusting Eric's computer desk for all it's worth, Marisol, whirls around the room to the coffee table and starts straightening up the magazines, remote controls, and other paraphernalia. "You go almost every night," she says. "Is there someone special?"

Eric shakes his head. "No one special."

"Well, you're too old to be running around chatting up girls in a bar," Marisol says, patting him on the cheek.

Smirking, Eric says, "Trust me. There won't be any chatting."

Marisol shoots him the kind of look I thought only my mother could produce. "I hope you're nice to these girls," she says.

As I think about Eric going out tonight, I feel my own looming disappointment descend upon me. I suppose I could go with him. It was always fun to be his wingman. But that was when he knew I was there. Everyone thinks he's a player, but when I went along, he usually didn't hook up. Sure, he flirted, but we usually wound up back at my place watching horror movies or something. I guess he felt bad ditching me. Since he doesn't have me to worry about now, though, he'll probably go home with some girl, and I don't think I can handle seeing it.

Eric gazes at Marisol for a moment, and then he tugs on his bottom lip. "So," he says. "What are you going to tell mom and dad about what happened today?"

Marisol stops straightening. Smiling brightly, she says, "Oh, Eric. Don't worry about it." Setting the feather duster on the couch—and pretty much on my lap, if you want to get technical—she beams, "I'll check on your soup."

I shift my body so that the precariously-balanced duster doesn't go toppling off my lap. In the process, I wind up kicking the leg of Eric's coffee table.

At the noise, Eric sits up straight. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Marisol asks.

Eric bites his bottom lip. He glances around the room, surveying the place like he would a crime scene. Finally, he says, "Never mind."