Changes in the Wind

Lost Without a Map

This was a sorry state of affairs, he thought to himself as he sat quietly at the table pondering the debris littered kitchen while he finished his morning coffee, and one that would have to be addressed very soon. Take out containers and newspapers cluttered the counter reminding him he needed to pick up some garbage bags. He had to face the facts, he had essentially moved out of this apartment, but was back here living, or at least he had been for the last three nights. That none of his personal effects were here was beginning to pose a serious problem. Anything of importance was still at Calleigh's. Then there was the question of his empty pantry, how long was he planning to live off crappy take-out? Even the fridge was a sorry state of affairs, its sole occupant being a six-pack of beer which now numbered: one.

And forget about his sorry state of appearance, he was a lost cause in that department. Rubbing his stubbled cheeks, he recollected exactly why he was getting rid of that old electric razor, it only worked part of the time and then when it did, the results were decidedly uneven. He had no comb or brush, Calleigh had neglected to pack those, forcing him to rely on his fingers, which was what he did most of the time anyway, but using bar soap in place of shampoo had made his hair more unruly than ever. Forced to search through the cast off box for something to wear, he had to acknowledge that he had come to the end of the line. Wearing an old, long sleeved purple T-shirt that had seen better days, he was looking less like a professional and more like an out of work cast off of society.

His eyes, though, that's what stood out when he glanced in the mirror this morning. The overall disheveled appearance went far in detailing his current predicament and his eyes filled in the rest. Dark shadows rimmed reddened, dull eyes, the physical evidence of his restless nights. The lack of decent sleep, compounded by a constant throb of loneness he couldn't shake, left him looking as miserable as he felt.

Used to regular bouts of insomnia, he could survive a few nights of poor sleep with hopefully, nothing worse to show for it than a really bad headache and deep, dark shadows under his eyes. But this profound loneliness was something different all together. Always somewhat of a loner in the past, this was not a state he was accustomed to. In just a few months, she had integrated herself into every aspect of his life until he could no longer remember a time when she wasn't there, and… he liked it. Not only did he like it, he'd come to depend on it, the one thing he swore he'd never let happen. All in all, the very thought that this separation was permanent was too difficult for him to wrap his brain around, so he tried his best not to think about it.

But they were separated and he couldn't get away from that reality, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. It was for the best, or at least that's what he reminded himself endlessly. Wincing at the taste of the instant coffee, he put the mug down with a resigned sigh. Even the coffee tasted lousy this morning, successfully putting the cap on his overall lousy mood.

This wasn't just a simple misunderstanding, a difference of opinion, or even a fight; this was more a complete breakdown in communication, made worse by a lack of trust. They weren't enduring a spell of not speaking while they each cooled off, and he hadn't gotten kicked to the couch because he pissed her off, as Delko once quipped. His life would be so much more bearable if only it were that simple. No, this was far more serious.

He had walked out on her. For Calleigh, he was another in a string of those she counted on who let her down. Not the man he believed she was worthy of, he couldn't forgive himself for doubting her, or for leaving the way he had. And those were only the most recent in his long line of relationship shortcomings. Was being able to trust and deserving that trust in return, too lofty a goal for him, he wondered? Sighing heavily, he walked to the sink, dumped the remaining coffee and rinsed out his cup. There was no dish soap, so rinsing was the best he could do. If he were at Calleigh's, they'd be having breakfast right about now, he realized after a glance at his watch, but he wasn't there and he wasn't hungry, so it didn't matter.

Calleigh, on the other hand, appeared to be faring far better than he was since their break-up. From what little he saw of her, she seemed fine, or at least that's what she wanted everyone to think. Guarded to a fault when she wanted to be, he couldn't be certain if she were fine or just pretending to be. Quieter and less cheerful than they were all accustomed to, her solemn demeanor could easily be the result of a stressful caseload, rather than a broken heart. Except he did know better, he knew how hurt she was, which only succeeded in making him feel worse than he already did.

They saw each other in passing at work, but hadn't spoken more than a half dozen words. Yesterday they skirted around each other, which was a polite way of saying they were outright avoiding each other. And she didn't show up at his door with clean clothes for the morning, as she had the night before, not that he expected her to, but still, he hoped. The thought of which just made his heart ache. Only Calleigh could be as angry and hurt as she was and still put his needs first. And who was putting her needs first? Not him. Lately, he did nothing but fall short in that department.

Today is her birthday. That thought had been on his mind since he first opened his eyes this morning. This was not how her day was supposed to start out. His spirits sank even lower as he recalled the special plans he'd made to celebrate this day, and waking up in separate bedrooms was not what he'd had in mind. So much for making love and breakfast in bed, he sadly mused. Hopefully she made some plans of her own, she deserved a nice day. Which brought to mind her gift. Safely tucked away in his desk drawer was the charm bracelet and he still intended to give it to her. Even if she never wore it, she would at least know what she'd meant to him. And would always mean to him.

A quick glance at his watch reminded him he had a job to get to, and if nothing else, at least it would provide him with something to do other than brood and feel sorry for himself, which was all he ever did since moving back to his apartment.

Despite how lousy he felt he hoped for a busy day out in the field to get him out of his head and away from the lab. No luck there. No call outs and no fieldwork meant he was stuck indoors with a mountain of paperwork to catch up on. By late day, his concentration was shot, despite a heavy infusion of caffeine. Slumped over in his chair, the only thing he could focus on was the rhythmic tapping of his pen on the closed file folders in front of him. It kept his mind of his jerking knee and the various other twitches he couldn't control.

"Bit too much coffee?" Eric asked as he sidled up to Tim, surprising him.

Jolted from his dazed state, Tim sent the pile of folders flying to the floor in his attempt to sit upright. "Shit," he said, as dozens of papers splayed out on the floor in all directions.

"Here, let me give you a hand," Eric offered, bending down to help. Tim grabbed the papers and set about putting them in their respective folders while his friend eyed him curiously. For three days Eric had held his tongue, despite undoubtedly figuring out what was going on, and Tim had a feeling that was about to change. He doubted Calleigh had said anything Eric, but it wouldn't take much for anyone to see that all was not well between the two. Tim had an idea of what was coming just by the concerned looks Delko was giving him.

"What?" Tim asked gruffly, glancing at his friend through narrowed, hardened eyes.

"You wanna talk about it?" Eric asked hesitantly.

"No," Tim answered brusquely without hesitation, directing his attention back to the files in front of him.

"You wanna talk about it as a friend?" Eric tried again.

Tim sighed heavily. "No," he answered less tersely this time, after all, Delko was just looking out for him and it wasn't his fault Tim's life was in shambles.

"You wanna go out tonight, grab dinner or a drink? Or come by and watch the game? We don't have to talk, I promise. You can pretend I'm not even in the room."

Spoken with a Delko grin, that last comment earned a chuckle. "No, thanks, but maybe another night," Tim answered, appreciating his buddy's concern. Eric knew what today was and what Tim's plans for this evening had been. "I'm beat. It's been a long few days."

"Alright. Later then. Try to get some rest tonight. You look like crap, you know," he said clasping his hand on Tim's shoulder before taking off.

"Yeah, later," Tim mumbled.

Despite his exhaustion, he stayed late to finish his paperwork. He knew where he was heading when he left the lab and was in no hurry to get there. In his mind, the longer he could put it off, the better. There was just no way of knowing ahead of time how well his visit would be received. A quick nodded greeting had been the extent of their contact all day. He hadn't even wished her happy birthday. There had been cake for her in the break room, courtesy of Alexx, but Tim had steered clear. No need to bring her down on her birthday.

So what was he doing at her doorstep feeling his stomach turning itself inside out? If he was lucky, she wouldn't be home, he could let himself in, leave her gift and grab some clean clothes on the way out. That would be ideal, except that he really wanted to see her, more than he cared to admit, even to himself. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and knocked softly. Hearing her footfall had a direct effect on his pulse rate, as the sound grew closer, his pulse quickened.

"Tim," she said, not hiding her surprise, as she stood staring at him from the doorway.

"Hey," he said for lack of anything better.

"Hi. Do you want to come in?" she asked, now recovered and opened the door completely to let him pass.

"Yeah, thanks." He stepped inside, but didn't move far from the door. "I wasn't sure you'd be home. I didn't know if you made plans for tonight, or if it would be okay to come by. I probably should've called first," he said apologetically.

"It's okay. No plans," she said, studying him. "Did you want to talk? We could sit," she suggested, motioning towards the couch. "Or did you come here to get something?"

"No. I mean, yes, I did come here for something, but no, I don't want to sit," he said, confusing himself. "I didn't get a chance to wish you Happy Birthday today." He had difficulty meeting her eyes as she gazed at him speculatively.

"Oh," she said, lowering her lashes. "That reminds me, I got the flowers. They're beautiful. Thank you." He scrunched his brow and looked at her questionably. She motioned with her hand to the beautiful bouquet sitting on the coffee table. The flowers, he finally remembered, the ones he ordered at Delko's urging to make up for the ones he forgot on Valentine's Day. "It's okay, I know you probably ordered them, before," she said very softly.

"I'm glad they came. Happy Birthday." Leaning in, he lightly brushed her cheek with his lips. Briefly their eyes met and he saw in hers the same sadness he'd been seeing his own. "Okay if I get something out of my desk?" he asked, breaking the awkward silence that had developed between them.

"Of course. Everything is just as you left it. There's some mail for you. I wasn't sure what to do with it…" she said letting her voice trail off.

He nodded. "I'll be just a minute." Heading to the small office, he felt pangs of familiarity along the way.

Opening the drawer, he found the gift where he'd left it and carefully slipped it into his back pocket. He quickly glanced at the mail, but there was nothing that needed his immediate attention. Clothing, though, that was a necessity. He had to grab a clean shirt or two and a couple pairs of shorts before he left. Entering the bedroom, he drew in a sharp breath. It had only been three nights since he'd last slept here, but it felt like much longer. The closet was open and he grabbed the first shirt he saw.

"Tim?" she called from the hallway.

"Yeah, in the bedroom," he answered.

"Oh," she said as she wandered in, her lips parted in surprise. "You're packing?"

"Uh, no. I needed a clean shirt," he answered with rising discomfort.

"Just one? Surely that's not enough. I can see what you're wearing," she said, eyeing him with disdain. "Do you need a hand?" she asked, moving by his side and grabbing random shirts of their hangers. "I can help, I don't have anything to do tonight," she continued as she draped them over his arm.

"Calleigh, you don't need to do this," he said, feeling the sting of her words. Tentatively, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"It's fine. I don't mind," she said shrugging off his hand. "Do you need some sort of a bag?" she asked, absently searching the room. "If you're leaving, take what you need till you can pack the rest, then you won't have to come back here."

"Calleigh…" he started, but stopped abruptly when he was confronted with her sorrow filled eyes.

"Are you moving out?" she asked in a choked voice.

Dropping his head, he momentarily closed his eyes. There was no way to answer that. He didn't know and thus far hadn't wanted to face the inevitability of that question, but he knew that putting off indefinitely would only hurt them both more in the long run. Looking up, his gaze fell on a single tear making its way down her cheek and he swallowed hard over the lump in his own throat. "I don't know," he answered honestly, lowering his eyes from her tear filled gaze.

"You need to figure that out, because this," she motioned with her hands to him and the closet, "is really hard. But if you're leaving, then make sure you're leaving for the right reasons." Standing straight with her shoulders squared and her hands on her hips, she looked ready to do battle, but her crumbling emotional state told a different story.

"What do you mean?" he asked, taken aback by the question. Uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze, he shifted his weight back and forth.

"Leave because you don't love me or leave because you don't want to try and work things out…" she started before he interrupted.

"Calleigh, you know that's not it. You know I love you…"

"Just don't do this because you're too stubborn to do anything else, or because you think in some way this is in my best interest," she said in a shaky voice as she shook her head. He sighed deeply hearing that last comment. "I can't believe you would do that." Moving over to the bed, she sat on the edge and lowered her head while she hugged her arms to her chest. She was crying now, the tears were streaming down both cheeks and she made no pretense of hiding it. He stood motionless, his arms laden with shirts, unable to look away. "Yes, I can," she said in a barely audible voice. "I'm just still surprised. You left, Tim… I never thought you would, but you did."

And there it was. That was what had hurt her the most. And what was he doing now? Leaving her again. He opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't know what to say. The words 'I'm sorry' sounded hollow to his ears. They could never take away the pain he'd caused and was still causing, as the sight of her crying clearly showed him.

The room filled with a silence, save for the sound of his breathing and the sounds of her quiet crying. Pulled from his head by her voice, he walked closer to the bed. "I've always loved it here. I used to love coming home, but now, now it's just not the same. It's so quiet and so neat, it's like no one lives here. It's lonely and it clings to me from the minute I come home till I leave in the morning. I go to sleep on my side of the bed and wake up on the other side," she said, biting on her lip and looking up at him with sad, questioning eyes. He nodded, swallowing hard and made his way to where she sat. Tossing the shirts off to the side, he eased onto the bed beside her. All too well, he knew what that felt like. Each night, he, too, would end up where he expected her to be, instinctively searching her out in the middle of the night. "I miss you. I have a fridge full of leftovers, because I know how you like them when you come home late, but you're not here to eat them," she said as the tears continued sliding down her cheeks, glistening on the pale skin. "I even made macaroni and cheese and I don't even like it."

"I don't like it either. Yours isn't very good."

"What?" she asked, sniffing. "But you love it. It's one of your favorites," she said, looking bewildered as she searched his face.

"It is, but I'm not sure what you do to it. It doesn't have much flavor," he said, grabbing a tissue from the bedside table, grateful that she had stopped crying.

"I didn't know," she said, sounding slightly indignant now, as she wiped her face with the tissue he handed her. "I thought you loved it."

"No, I love that you make it for me," he said turning his body to her. "No one's ever done anything like that for me before. But you did and that was enough, it didn't matter how it tasted," he said, catching her eyes and hoping she could see in his what she meant to him. "I was going to eat it no matter what."

"Oh," she said with understanding, blinking away her tears.

It was the truth, it didn't matter how it tasted, only that she loved him enough to make it in the first place, although he knew she'd be working on her recipe now, trying to figure out which ingredient was missing and how to improve the flavor. He could picture her, hard at work, cleaning as she went along and putting the same energy into her macaroni and cheese as she did in her job, the thought of which was almost enough to bring a smile to his face. As for the two of them, they always had the right ingredients; maybe all they needed was a bit of fine-tuning.

"Cal, I'm so sorry… for hurting you, for walking out, for everything. Can you ever forgive me?" he asked, choked with emotion, barely trusting his voice not to give way.

"I know you are," she said, smiling despite tear filled eyes. "And you don't have to ask for forgiveness, you never did. You just need to trust that it's there."

"I don't know how to get back to where we were." Never had he ever felt as completely lost as he had the past few days. Even the year he dropped out and disappeared directionless, couldn't compare to this. He could only hope she knew the way back. She smiled again, this time all the way up to her eyes, instilling him with confidence that they were going to get through this. Trust, it always came back to trust. You give it away and you get it back in return.

"We don't go back where we were, we start from where we are," she said reaching for his hand and slipping hers underneath.

"Okay," he said nodding. There was no one he trusted more than this woman and if she believed in him and in what they had built together, he'd be a fool not to believe as well. He'd already been enough of a fool; he'd probably used up his quota for the year or maybe for a lifetime, depending on how generous she was feeling. Her hand was under his and he gave it a reassuring squeeze, relishing the way it fit snugly in his. He was going to love her forever. That simple truth had been settled for him some time ago in a parking lot by the beach. And she knew it all along.

"Think you'll be coming home now?" she asked with an unmistakable note of hope.

She as much as said she wanted to see this through that night she came to his apartment, so why did her question still surprise him?

She'd made her choice. It was time to make his.

TBC