Thrill of Hope
Spoilers: Lost Son AU
Insert favorite disclaimer here
AN: Yeah, I'm writing a story set in December in April. It's not exactly a Christmas story as much as it's what comes next, though. Be patient, I really don't know where we're going yet. It might be a bit more sporadically updated than previous stories. At minimum, you need to be familiar with Blind Memory, The Edge of Darkness, and All These Things before embarking on this one. Or not, but this won't make much sense otherwise...
Well it breaks my heart to see you this way
The beauty in life, where's it gone
And somebody told me you were doin' okay
But somehow I guess they were wrong
"Whistles the Wind," Flogging Molly
He could hear her crying softly as he padded down the hallway to the kitchen to get a drink. Third night in a row… he thought, worriedly. And God knew how many nights before that, where he just hadn't heard. He stood in the kitchen, holding his glass, debating with himself.
How many nights has Calleigh come and held your hand, idiot? Just go in there, he told himself firmly. Nodding decidedly, he crept towards the door to the room he now thought of as Calleigh's room. Knock? No, she'll just say she's fine… he mused, as he opened the door a crack.
Calleigh was curled into a ball on the bed facing away from the door. She sounded completely miserable and didn't notice him as he walked across the room. "Cal?" he said, softly, so as not to startle her as he sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Tim? Did I wake you," she asked, squirming around to face him.
He shook his head. "No." It wasn't a lie. He hadn't been asleep.
"I must have, God, I'm sorry," she said, trying to pull herself together.
"C'mere," he said, reaching out to pull her close. "Shh, don't fight. It's ok," he said, as she dissolved back into crying. He gently maneuvered them both so that he was curled up behind her, holding her. "It's all right," he whispered into her hair.
"I don't know why I'm such a mess all of a sudden," she said, finally, as she calmed down.
He shrugged. "You're not a mess."
She smiled, wanly. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." He brushed back her hair. "You want something to drink or something?" She shook her head. He nodded, understanding that she didn't want him to leave. He'd done the same often enough.
She sighed. "I'm sorry."
"Not allowed," he said.
"I know. I'm sorry anyway," she said.
"Still not allowed," he said, firmly. She chuckled slightly at that, and he squeezed her tighter a second. "They told me…" he started, hesitantly.
"Told you what?" she asked, when he didn't continue.
"Well, the doctors, they told me that…that I shouldn't be surprised if I kinda, I don't know, backslide, a bit, because of the holidays, you know?"
"Ah," she said, squirming around to face him. "That's understandable, Tim. Holidays are stressful enough, without dealing with everything you're facing down on top of it."
"I know. That's kinda my point," he said, nodding.
"I don't…oh, that's why I'm a mess?" she asked.
"You're not a mess, but yeah," he said.
She thought it over a moment. "Ok, I can buy that."
"You guys haven't had a good time of it, either, you know," he pointed out.
"I think you've had it worse," she said.
"Matter of degree," he said. "Doesn't change the fact that all this happened to you, too."
"What are you getting at?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
He shrugged. "You guys made me get help. I'm…returning the favor, sort of."
"Ahhh," she said, understanding. "I'm ok, Tim."
"Cal, how many times have I said I'm ok when I'm clearly not?" he asked.
"Ok, point taken," she sighed. She was quiet a long moment. "I just miss Eric, a lot."
"I know," he said, quietly. He did too.
"I'll hear someone teasing Valera and come around the corner, expecting it to be him, and it'll be someone else," she admitted. "Or, we had to call the county dive team to dig around in a canal."
"That was today?" he asked, wondering if that's what had set her off tonight.
"Yeah," she sighed. "Horatio and I just stood there and watched. Horatio looked like he was sick to his stomach the whole time."
He glanced down, guiltily. Not that he could have helped if he'd been there; diving was far from his specialty. But he felt bad for not being there. And for not being sure if he was ever going to be there again. He didn't think Calleigh knew that, though. Horatio had figured it out, but he didn't know if H had told Calleigh about that conversation in North Carolina.
"Hey," she said, softly, reaching out to tilt his face to meet her eyes. "That's not your fault. None of this is your fault."
"I don't know anymore," he admitted. "I mean…"
"No, Tim, it's not. If it's anyone's fault, it's Andrew Markham's fault," she said, firmly.
"Yeah, but if I…got better faster," he said, trailing off.
"What do you mean? You're doing fine," she said.
"I'm not, not really," he admitted. "I just…it's hard. And I don't really feel better, exactly."
"Tim, you're doing much better. Much, much better. You leave the house now. You don't panic nearly as much as you were," she said.
"The nightmares aren't better, they're worse," he countered.
"No, they're not. You just think so because you don't know how bad it was to begin with," she said. "You weren't having nightmares before, because you were having full on night terrors instead. You didn't remember them, and the one time I tried to tell you what happened, you got really upset, so I stopped telling you. Trust me, this is an improvement. Dr. McCall says so, too, you know," she said.
"Oh," he said.
"So don't think you're not getting better. I know it's hard to tell from your perspective, but you are. Really."
"Well, all right. But you're not getting better," he pointed out.
She sighed. "No, ok, you're right. I'm not."
"I'm not saying it to be mean, Calleigh. Or to get back at you or something. I don't want you to be hurting, either," he said, softly.
"Oh, I know," she said. "I didn't think you meant anything other than that."
He fidgeted with her hair as he thought. "I'll make you a deal," he said, suddenly.
"Yeah? What kind of deal?" she asked.
"If you go talk to someone, I'll…I'll let them start my post-traumatic counseling," he said, in a rush. He'd been resisting that part of things for a month. He had relented on the issue of medication, but he'd refused to let the doctor start in with the counseling, beyond ensuring the fact that he wasn't suicidal and the panic attacks weren't getting worse. They hadn't been pushing him- in fact, it had been the doctor who had said they should delay it in the first place, since he'd been such a mess to begin with. But lately, they had been telling him that it was the only possible next step and that he needed to do it if he wanted any hope of ever going back to work, let alone going back to work in three weeks, after the first of the year.
"Really?" she asked, pulling away to sit up and stare at him.
He swallowed. "Yeah."
She just stared at him. "You can't do that because of me. You have to be ready to do that for yourself," she protested.
"Why can't I do it because of you?" he asked. "I mean, I think we all know that if we wait for me to be ready for it, it's not going to happen."
"True," she sighed. "All right, you can do it because of me. So long as you're honest about it."
"Of course," he said. "So, it's a deal?"
"It's a deal," she said, reaching out to take his hand.
"Good," he said.
She laid back down next to him. "God, we're a pair, aren't we?" she laughed sadly.
He shrugged and she shook her head, still laughing. "Want me to stay?" he asked after a moment.
"Yeah," she said, not quite looking at him.
"All right," he said, reaching down for a blanket. He'd expected her to say yes. It seemed they wound up in the same bed more often than not in the three weeks since returning from North Carolina. Usually, though, it was the other way around; she came to calm him down from a nightmare and stayed with him. He was glad, though. He slept better when she was there, and he was willing to bet she did too.
"Night," she said, softly, reaching over him to turn out the light.
"Night," he said, sleepily, letting his eyes drift shut.