Title: Meaning in Tragedy
Author: Nat
Summary: The blood stained his hands, "Hagen shot Cal, then killed himself."
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Eric Delko spoke slow, as if the words he was saying can't be true or are just as fake as the blood smeared across his shirt and staining his hands.
(Except the blood is real. Crime scene real. Red droplets litter the floor, while a red spray coats the walls and ceiling. Murder-suicide, well attempted murder-suicide, is a messy prospect, one that he'd seen too many times before. Jealous husbands, wives, girlfriends, boyfriends, random people who were just sick and twisted.)
The blood stained his hands, "Hagen shot Cal, then killed himself."
(Horatio had to wonder why he was so surprised. So blatantly obvious that Hagen had a rather unhealthy fascination with Calleigh Duquesne, one that was bordering such an attempt on his life and hers.)
He looked at the younger man, Calleigh's blood soaking through him.
"Is she alive?"
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Calleighs room is sterile white (a colour that haunts his dreams), and has a window.
Horatio moves around her with precise care, sitting in the hard plastic chair next to her bed.
(He looks at the tubs and wires poking in and out of her body, gauze and bandages visible through her standard issued hospital gown, which is also white. Silence throughout the room except for the low hum of the electrical equipment next to her, its eerie and makes him twitchy. The unnecessary move to draw his gun tugs at him.)
Calleigh looks extremely fragile, more so than Horatio has ever seen her before (which scares him because he hates thinking about the situation that brought them to this point), her hair is a tangled mess.
She'll most likely have a fit when she wakes, he thinks. (And be completely scared out of her mind, and confused, and sore, and-)
He can't do this.
Horatio picks up her hand gently and slips his underneath hers. His fingers slide against soft warm skin (that gives him hope) and threads their fingers together.
(He's never been good at sitting still, but there is nothing to do, but sit still and wait. The person responsible for this is already dead. Security footage. Prints on the gun. Evidence is already solid; all they have to do is wait for Calleigh to wake up. Case Closed.)
All she has to do is wake up. Just wake up.
---
Golden strands of silk, picked up and tossed, in the slight breeze. She scoops it up and pushes it back over her shoulder.
Pure pale skin exposed to the elements, a scar in the middle of her shoulder blades and he watches her, he feels warm, he feels-
(Calleigh smiles brightly at him, a real smile, that's beautiful and dazzling and she's walking on her own… and he can breathe again.)
- Like everything is back to the way it's suppose to be, like it was meant to be.
He pulls Calleigh into his arms, runs his fingers over her sides, tickling her lightly. She squirms, laughing under protest.
(She murmurs, hate you under her breath. But her eyes say, I love you.)
He kisses her.
fin