Left Undone

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone but Timothy Speedle , Jr and maybe some of his friends. The rest belong to CBS, Jerry Bruckhiemer, and Alliance ... lucky sons of... lol.

Warnings: Character Death, language.

Spoiler: Variations of Lost Son, Money plane

A/N: I made Tim and the gang slightly older so that junior could be a teen... it just wouldn't work any other way.

A/N#2: I'm sorry guys, I can't help it, if a story comes, I have to write. I haven't given up on my others, just taking a break. I'm a serial writer , lol. Please read and review...

Chapter 1- Running

He sat in the back of the classroom, trying to disappear within himself. There was no reason really for him to be here, he had given up on learning anything for sometime now, and he could care less about the lecture the teacher was giving. He hated this class, he hated anything having to do with science, guns or jewelry. Right now, Timothy Speedle, Jr hated life.

Sighing heavily, he watched the palm trees swaying in the breeze, it instantly taking him to another place. In that place , he would be happy and his mother would be around more. But he realized as he focused his attention back to the blank paper on his desk, that life wasn't that perfect or saccharin. It was filled with disappointment, violence and sorrow. People died in this world, people who didn't deserve to die. People like his father.

He remembered that day like it was yesterday, it had never faded like some memories did, and Timothy didn't think that it would ever . He knew that it would stay with him for the rest of his life. He had been in school when it happened, and when the principal, along with the guidance counselor interrupted his fourth period advanced chemistry class, he instantly knew that there was something wrong. As he walked out of class that day, he felt like the world was watching him to see what he would do. It wasn't until after they had brought him to the office, did they tell him that his father had died in a shootout. He stood for a long time, trying to remember to breathe, thinking that this was a mistake. His father couldn't be dead, he had just seen him that morning. They talked about flying up to New York to visit his grandparents, and the senior Tim teaching him how to ride the Ducati. This couldn't be true. He then let his emotions take over as he slumped down onto the floor and cried . He couldn't remember who picked him up from school, or how he found himself sitting in the atrium of the CSI lab, but some how, he had made it around. The faces that passed him while he sat alone, began to make him feel uneasy, like he was under a microscope. He even heard some of the whispers that his father's gun wasn't cleaned. His temper boiled to the surface as he thought to himself, That can't be true, he's married to a firearms expert for crying out loud. Hours seemed to pass before he saw anyone he recognized, the first familiar face being his god mother, Alexx Woods. He remembered the agonizing expression she wore as she approached him, and feeling the despair that wafted off of her. She and his father had been close friends, and he could tell that she was already having a rough time with it. Later , he would find out Alexx had requested to stay on to do his autopsy, and Junior thought that it had to do with her less than stellar feelings for Monroe. No one would touch her Speedy...

" Timothy, did you complete your assignment?" the teacher asked curtly.

Timothy hadn't been aware that she was even talking to him and he shrugged indifferently at her. She glared at him partly in disgust , but mostly in disappointment. There was a time that Timothy was once a star student, but since his father had died, she had noticed the marked changes in his attitude towards his school work. He was barely passing.

" This was the last grade before the grading period ended, Timothy. You're running the risk of failing this class," she warned.

" So I fail. Who gives a shit?" Timothy spat as he closed his books and stood up. He was already towering at fiveseven at the age of sixteen.

" What did you say to me?" the teacher asked again, staring him down.

" I said who gives a shit," Timothy repeated as he made his way to the door. He glanced at the stoned faces of his classmates, feeling even angrier.

" Timothy, where are you going? Class isn't over for another forty-five minutes."

" It's over for me," he returned bitingly as he approached the door and opened it. He walked out without looking back.

The teacher gazed mournfully at the half opened door and shook her head. She hated to see such potential go to waste.

TSJ

Calleigh chambered another round as she steadied her gaze on the target ahead of her. It had been over two years since that day, and she still felt uneasy with handling a gun. After Tim had been killed she had stepped back from her ballistics obsession, feeling like she had let him down. Why couldn't she had gotten him to clean his gun, or a better question would've been, why she couldn't have cleaned it herself? She just assumed that he was taking care of it, because she thought he knew the importance of it, the importance of being there for his family. Apparently her assumption had cost her the only man she had ever loved. She exhaled as she pulled the trigger, jumping slightly as the recoil pushed her back. She then felt the violent vibrations at her side.

Placing the gun down in front of her, she slipped off the protective headphones, and snatched up the phone. Before she could get a good look at the caller id, she knew who it was. It had been like this since he died, every day it being something different. She knew how hard her son was taking it, but she had to wonder if he would ever be able to completely deal with it.

That's a dumb thought , Calleigh. Have you been dealing with it well?

The answer to that question was undoubtedly no. Since Tim's death, she had retreated into herself, forming a protective shell around her and refusing to let anyone in, even her own son. Closing her eyes, she shut those feelings off and inhaled as she brought the phone to her ear.

"Calleigh Speedle."

" Mrs. Speedle," said an official voice.

" Yes, this is she," she replied crisply. She wanted to maintain her cool, but she had a feeling that she would fail in that attempt.

" This is Thomas Marks, ..."

" Mr. Marks," Calleigh said apologetically. This was a conversation that she was all too familiar with.

" I'm sorry to have called you in the middle of the day..."

" What has he done?" Calleigh asked as she closed her eyes again. This was getting to be too much for her.

" He cursed out his Biology teacher and walked out."

Dammit, Calleigh thought as she felt her temper rising. She put a hand to her forehead as her eyes remained closed. Why was he doing this to her?

" Mrs. Speedle? Mrs. Speedle..."

Calleigh jarred herself and replied hastily, " Huh? Oh yes, I'm sorry. You were saying?"

" I know Timothy has been through a difficult period, but if his behavior continues to escalate, we will have to think of other options," the principal said with sincerity.

" I'll talk to him," Calleigh said as she unbuttoned her lab coat, " thank you , Mr. Marks."

Calleigh grabbed her bag and pushed through the doors of the lab angrily. She was tired of this.

As she waited for the elevator to arrive, she impatiently tapped her foot and felt the sting of tears as they threatened to surface. A hand came out from nowhere and caressed her softly on the shoulder. She turned quickly to see Hagen standing there, in a rumpled suit and a forlorn look in his eyes. She moved slightly from him, feeling disgusted at his touch and continued to wait for the elevator.

" Calleigh, we have to talk," Hagen said as he inched closer to her.

" No John , we don't have to talk,"Calleigh returned as she continued to stare forward.

" C'mon, Calleigh, it's been years since that incident, you have got to let it go," Hagen said as he reached to touch her cheek.

" What incident are you talking about John? The one where you tried to rape me, or the one where my husband died? Those are the only things that I can remember ..."

" He's dead Calleigh, he's not coming back."

" It's only been two years, John, and you make a play for me?That's just bad form,"Calleigh spat as the elevator opened. She sighed with relief and began to step on to it, but then feeling his touch as he held on to her arm. " John, let me go."

" Cal, I can't . I have to have you..."

" You better remember what I do for a living," Calleigh said as she snatched from his grip and stepped on to the elevator. " Now if you would excuse me."

With that, Calleigh watched as the elevator doors slid shut, disconnecting her from him.

TSJ

Sitting at his drum set, Timothy twirled the wooden sticks between his fingers as he attempted to decide whether to strike the set or to toss them across the room. Usually , when he wanted to clear his mind, the music room is where he found himself. The music room was what used to be half his father's home office and two corners where Timothy's drum set was set up and his father's piano was. He had gotten the set for his tenth birthday, and had progressed very well over the years. He practiced often when his dad was sitting at his desk on the computer and watched with a smile on his face as he bobbed his head to the thumping of the drum beats. When he mastered combinations, his father was the first to congratulate him, then offered to accompany him on the piano. They would sit in the office/ music room for hours, jamming off of one another. Almost all the time that Timothy spent with his father in this room, he noticed keenly as he never finished what work he had set to do.

Timothy glanced at the photograph on the wall next to him and smiled faintly. It was a picture of him and his dad taken as they played together. He was astonished at how much he looked like his father, same build, same dark wavy hair, same warm brown eyes and the same killer smile. As he thought about him more, the twirling became faster, until he found himself striking the set setting up combinations and feeling his sadness take root. He played hard, glancing over to the piano that was long dormant, and then retained his focus back onto the drum heads. The faster he played, the more combinations he connected, the more the tears came. This isn't right, he should be here, he thought as he thumped on the bass. Taking a breather , he tapped on the hi hat, and tried to steady his breathing. His therapy today was helping him expel his endless grief. After the pause , he again assaulted the drum heads with such intensity, he wondered if he was going to burst one. When he finished he heard the printer as it started to print what he had just played. He tossed the sticks to the floor as he got up from the set and crossed the room to his father's desk. Looking at the music sheet, he followed the Tantric notes that he had played, using his hands as the now discarded drumsticks. He was satisfied at the product of his sadness and he logged off his music program and turned off the printer. As he sat, he saw the wallpaper come up on his desktop and he felt the anger return. Instead of his favorite photo of his father, he saw a island scape. Cursing to himself, he immediately knew who had been in here and he had told her to stay out. He quickly retrieved the photo and put it in it's rightful place on his desktop and sat back.

" You would've loved today's piece , dad," Timothy quietly said to the picture. He then looked in the desk and pulled out a leather bound notebook and a pen. Meticulously, he wrote the date , time and his name on the piece. He sat for a moment, again staring at the picture of his father smiling broadly at something off camera, and thought of a title. Instantly, one came to mind, and it fit how he felt today. " I'm going to call this one, Undone," he said as he wrote it neatly on the top of the page. Smiling, he bound it neatly with the others and closed the notebook and slid it back into the desk. Wanting to get up, he found himself unable to tear away from the picture. How he missed his dad. He sat like that for an hour, not feeling the need to leave him, just yet.

TBC?

A/N: I felt a little angsty today so this is my product :) R& R please, and let me know if I should continue...