A/N: I decided that it was time for some Horatio/Calleigh angst, since I'm in mourning for even the remotest possibility of canon. The titles of the ficlets, as well as my inspiration, comes from Ryan Adams. Enjoy and leave feedback!
Firecracker
Some people are like firecrackers. They start out in a blaze of color, light, energy, but they only last a little while before burning out, hot and sudden and heartbreaking. Calleigh is not like this. She has the color, the light, the energy, but she will never burn out. She is more like the sunrise, the start of the brightest, most beautiful May day. Unfailing beauty.
Dance all Night
She likes to dance, but she doesn't like to go out dancing. She is more shy and personal than she lets on, the human personification of intimacy. On Saturday nights, she might put on a record, older than she is certainly, and invite me to dance. To dance until I'm exhausted and dizzy and the whole world smells of her. She still sparkles, light dancing in her eyes as she says "C'mon!" and pulls me out for 'just one more song'.
Nobody Girl
Some people belong in the spotlight. They crave attention at every corner; demand a crush of admirers in whatever they do. Calleigh is not like this, either. She makes everyone love her without trying to, but doesn't require them to survive. She tells me from time to time that she doesn't need much to get by: a good book, interesting work, a warm bath at her disposal and me. I always tell her never to change, to keep being my breathlessly beautiful nobody girl forever, because I don't think I could survive without her.
When the Stars go Blue
She lives on the top floor of her building, and sometimes when she's sad, she climbs up to the roof and watches what goes on in the world from way up high. Work makes her feel too human, she says, so she needs to subdue reality. I ask her if I can come up with her, and when she hesitates, I smile. "I need to subdue reality, too."
Now That You're Gone
I've done this for years, in countless houses. This is what I do. It's a painfully different situation when it's a familiar place. When everything you've ever touched is evidence, when the blood spattered all over the walls is that of the only person you've ever truly loved, when the body being wheeled away is the same body you held tightly twelve hours previous. It's like waking in the middle of a dream to find you're still dreaming. Maybe none of it is real.
Later, once the rest of the team is gone, I linger in the house that is no longer yours, dancing slowly with someone who will never dance again.