He jerked awake as he rolled off his bed, tangled in the bedsheets. Breathing heavily, he tried to get his bearings from the pile of blankets on the floor. He'd left the lab around 11, four hours after Calleigh, and he vaguely remembered that it had been around midnight when he'd laid down on the bed, not expecting to sleep. He scraped a hand over his sweaty face and squinted up at the alarm clock. 2:53. Maybe three hours of sleep then.
He untangled himself from the sheets, leaving them on the floor as he wandered out of the bedroom. Wednesday, it was Wednesday now, he thought. The house was silent and dark and shadowy. He didn't turn on the lights as he roamed through the rooms. The guest room with the neatly made bed. The smallest bedroom that he'd turned into an office, crammed full of bookshelves and books. The kitchen, with the clean dishes resting neatly in the dishrack. The living room, also full of books and DVDs. It was too quiet as he paced faster and faster around the house.
It's twelve years gone by now. The persistent, sensible voice. The one that he knew he should listen to, but couldn't. At what point does this become ridiculous, Timmy?
"Go away," he whispered.
Talking to yourself? Never a good sign.
"Shut up," he said, louder, startling a cat that was dozing on a chair at the kitchen table.
I can't tell you anything you don't already know.
He squeezed his eyes shut, and began to pace again, finally fetching up in the bathroom, where he finally turned on a light. He was still breathing hard, could hear his heartbeat in his ears, as he stared at his disheveled reflection in the mirror. "You need a shower," he said, aloud, after a long moment. A shower, and maybe a shave. Yes.
He didn't know how long he stood under the hot water. Long enough to not quite run out of hot water. Long enough that he felt a bit calmer. But the house was still too dark and too quiet. He shaved carefully, afraid of cutting himself with his shaky hands, and got dressed. Staying here was not an option. Too dark, too quiet. Need to get out.
Stepping outside, he found that it had finally stopped raining. He stood in the carport and considered his bike. If you get on the bike and start riding will you come back? Do you trust yourself? You've got responsibilities here.
He had to admit the sensible voice was right. He turned abruptly away and started walking up the road to the main street a couple blocks away. He reached the brightly lit street just as a bus came around the corner, and hurried to catch it at the stop. The driver smiled at him as he climbed on and fumbled for the fare. He was a quarter short, he discovered. "Damn," he muttered, turning to get off.
"It's ok, hon," the driver said. "You look like you could use a break"
He looked at her, uncomprehending. "I'm short, I'm sorry,"
"No, it's fine, really. That's fare enough for me," she said, gesturing at his badge clipped to the waistband of his jeans. He didn't even remember putting it on. Automatic habits.
"You're sure? I don't want to cause trouble for you," he said, uncertainly.
"I'm sure. Go on and sit down." She waved him towards the back of the bus.
"Thanks," he mumbled, sitting down in the middle of the bus. The still-damp pavement glittered as the bus moved through the city. It was late enough that the clubs were mostly quiet, and early enough that there were few people on the streets. The traffic was light on the causeway, and he stared out across the water, unseeing. The wheels of the bus hit the pavement on the other side of the bridge with a definite thump that jarred him awake to count the blocks until his stop. Two, three, five, seven, eight, nine, and pull the cord.
As he made his way to the door of the bus, the driver stopped him. "Here, take a transfer, to get you back, ok?" she said.
"Thanks," he said, again, accepting the piece of paper.
"No problem. Be careful out there, now," she said, closing the doors behind him and pulling away.
The lab was still ten blocks distant. There was another bus that would get him closer, but he didn't want to wait, so he began to walk. The air was humid, but cooler than it had been. Starting to get to fall, such as it was in Miami. He breathed slowly, in the thick air of his adopted city. Heat and humidity and palm trees couldn't be more different from changing colors, frost and chill of upstate New York. He wanted it that way.
It was nearing five when he reached the lab. Early, but not so much so that people would comment. He didn't need someone telling H he'd stayed late and then come early. Didn't really need anyone asking questions. They probably would anyway, he knew, but the less he gave them to question the better. Calleigh and Alexx would probably disagree, but sometimes, he needed to work more than he needed to eat and sleep. It might not be physically healthy, but he couldn't help believing that it was probably healthier than being home and trying to keep himself from putting his fist through a window. Or driving around tired, trying not to crash into anything. He needed something else to concentrate on. Work gave him plenty enough to distract him.
He wandered down to his office, avoiding the night shift crew. The hallways were quiet, making it easier. The supply list was still sitting on his desk. That would do. It needed to be done anyway. He'd worked the victimology and the trace on the case to dead ends before he'd given up and gone home, so there wasn't anything there other than the still nagging feeling that it was too familiar. He couldn't go to the scene this early- Calleigh would kill him, both for working this early and for going without her. It would have to wait until she got in.
The supply list was enough to keep him busy, but not enough to distract. His mind kept wandering back to the crime scene, making lists for things to check for. An hour later, he was ready to just go ahead and go to the scene without Calleigh. She'd probably scold him anyway for being so obsessive over the case whether he waited for her or not. Her patience was wearing thin, he knew. He had just made up his mind to go when she walked into the lab.
"What...?" she said, surprised. "I didn't see your car. You did go home, right?"
"Yes, Calleigh. I went home," he sighed.
"What time?" she demanded.
He shrugged. "Don't remember," he mumbled, unwilling to admit how late he had stayed the night before.
"You don't remember," she said in disbelief. He shrugged again. "Well, what time did you…no, never mind," she sighed. She looked at him intently, as though he was a piece of evidence.
"We need to go back to the scene," he said, squirming under the scrutiny.
"I know," she replied. "All right, then. Give me ten minutes, I'll meet you at the truck."
"Ok," he said, gathering the supply paperwork quickly, before she could change her mind about arguing with him. He just wanted to work. He would never understand what was so bad about that.