"You always expect to pick out a crib for your child. Never a coffin."
He knew something was wrong the moment he saw her.
He'd felt the tension as soon as he'd stepped into the locker room. The feeling sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine, and, intimidated, he'd almost turned and walked right back out. But then, he'd seen her, and suddenly, leaving was no longer an option.
She stood with her back to him, and Eric wondered if she even knew he was there. He tapped his foot on the floor a couple of times, trying not to startle her as he moved in closer behind her. But Calleigh still didn't turn to him; nor did she give any indication that she sensed his presence. She didn't move at all.
"Calleigh?" he called softly, the pounding of his heart telling him something was definitely wrong. From Calleigh's stance, Eric imagined she was struggling with something - struggling, and losing.
That in itself scared him. Calleigh didn't lose. She was always so in control; so in charge of the situation that she was never caught off-guard, and she was always able to handle whatever was thrown at her. He tried calling her name again, producing the same result as before - no response.
Calleigh sighed softly, feeling Eric behind her. She'd felt him the moment he'd entered the room, though she'd ignored him. She couldn't face him right now; she really just wished he'd go away. All she needed was a few more moments to herself, and she'd be fine.
Of course, that was what she'd told herself four times within the last hour. Deep down, she knew a few more moments weren't going to fix five years of suppressed pain.
Why it had to come to the surface now was beyond her. It'd been five years; there'd been plenty of opportunities for these feelings to arise in the past; plenty of opportunities when she would have been able to go somewhere and deal with it on her own.
But no. It had to happen at work, when any of her coworkers could see her like this. It'd been triggered by just a simple sentence. Just a few small words had brought back five years of grief; five years of repressed grief that no longer was she able to hide from. No longer could she ignore it; no longer could she pretend she was fine. It hit her square in the face, and she felt it as though she were stuck in that moment, five years ago.
And of course, it had to be Eric that found her like this; red eyes, tear-stained cheeks, shaky voice. She knew she couldn't ignore him; she knew that once he saw her, Eric wasn't going anywhere. Not while she was like this.
Still, she didn't face him. She couldn't. Not while the tears were still slipping from her eyes. Vaguely she heard him call her name once more, and finally she spoke, for fear that he'd get worried and step around in front of her. She couldn't let him do that. She couldn't let him see her tears.
Calleigh blinked furiously, forcing herself to think of anything else that might bring about a different feeling. She thought of her last case of the previous week; the one she and Ryan had lost because of illegally procured evidence, trying to bring about anger. She thought of the ridiculous joke she'd heard on the radio that morning, trying to bring about amusement. She thought about the brand new heels she'd bought on Saturday, trying to bring about happiness.
But her attempts were all in vain; nothing she thought about could erase the pain she felt through every inch of her; the pain she thought she'd vanquished years ago. She'd thought she'd moved on, but this case had only reopened the wound and poured salt in it.
Alexx had noticed her sudden anxiety; Horatio too. But as usual, Calleigh had shrugged it off, saying she was okay.
But Calleigh wasn't okay. She wasn't fine; she wasn't alright. She hadn't been for years, and Calleigh was really beginning to wonder if she'd ever be okay again.
She braced herself as she began to speak, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky to Eric as it did to her.
"I was," she paused, squeezing her eyes tightly, "I was thinking about…about Lauren." As she spoke the name, Calleigh brought a shaky hand to her mouth, as though trying to suppress a sob. "I can't stop thinking about her," she whispered. She couldn't stop a tiny sniffle, and she silently cursed herself, knowing all too well how weak it made her look.
Eric watched her, his heart breaking for her as he saw her shoulders shake, almost imperceptibly. "Oh, Cal," he murmured, touching her elbow ever so lightly with his fingertips. He wasn't surprised when she jerked away from him, crossing her arms defiantly, yet still not facing him.
"He lost his daughter," she murmured, so softly that Eric wondered if she was speaking to him or to herself. "He lost his daughter, and he sat there in front of me, telling me these things…" she trailed off, a shudder encompassing her body as another round of tears threatened to fall from her eyes.
Eric literally ached; he needed to reach out to her; he needed to embrace her. But inside, he knew he couldn't. He knew it would only push her away, and he couldn't do that. He couldn't let her hide behind her walls again, not now that she was talking about this. It'd taken five years, but she was finally opening up to him, and he couldn't let her close herself away again. She needed to talk about it as much as he needed to hear it. He forced himself to keep a safe amount of distance between them, sliding his hands into his pockets instead of putting them where he wanted them to be - around Calleigh. He swallowed, forcing away the growing lump in his own throat. "What was he saying, Calleigh?" he asked hoarsely.
Calleigh took in a deep breath, her shaking hands fidgeting with the bracelet on her wrist. "It was - he said -" she shook her head vigorously, her lip trembling. "He was just saying things; it was unintentional, but he was still talking to me like - like I didn't know how it felt," she whispered, her voice cracking on the last word.
Eric stood, helpless, at a total loss for words. Really, there was nothing he could say; nothing he could do. And that killed him; having to simply stand here and watch the strongest person he knew fall apart right in front of him. His jaw dropped as Calleigh continued to speak; her next words, the confession she'd been carrying alone for five years, stunning him; ripping him apart.
"It was me, Eric," she whispered, almost inaudibly. "I was too busy trying to get the kitchen cleaned up to notice that something was wrong. I was too distracted to realize that she was too quiet. I should have checked on her, Eric." With that, her face crumpled, her hand again coming up to her mouth as she could no longer fight back the sobs. She'd been fighting it for five years; it'd finally become too much. "I should have made sure she was okay."
That was it. He couldn't hold back any longer. "Calleigh," he whispered, reaching out to her. He took her gently by the elbow and turned her around, pulling her tightly into his arms. "It wasn't your fault," he said in a pained whisper, wishing he could take away her pain. "You couldn't have done anything."
"I didn't watch her like I should have. I killed her," she whimpered, completely dissolving into tears, clutching onto Eric like a lifeline; as though he were the last rock she had on which to stand. She buried her face against his chest, tightly closing her eyes. It did no good; still her tears escaped, and still she could see what had happened that day as though it were being played out again in front of her.
It had been late evening; she'd already fed and put Lauren to sleep. Taking advantage of some quiet alone time, Calleigh had been moving through the kitchen, cleaning everything. She'd just finished mopping the floor when she felt the first feeling that something was wrong. She'd tried to shake it off, but the feeling just wouldn't disappear. Eventually, Calleigh wandered into her daughter's room, just to make sure she was alright. But what she found when she looked into the crib would haunt her dreams for a long time coming.
Lauren wasn't breathing. Calleigh couldn't wake her. No matter what she tried, Calleigh couldn't wake her.
She'd always believed it was her fault. Because of that, Calleigh had retreated within herself, not allowing herself to grieve; not allowing herself to feel anything. She'd hidden herself behind her strongest walls, pushing away the very people who wanted to be there for her. She'd pushed the one person who'd been there through it all away.
She'd pushed Eric away from her; out of her life, and in effect, they'd fallen apart. He'd been hurting too, and by closing herself off from him, not letting them grieve together, she'd broken the one relationship she'd most wanted to stick.
In one tragedy, she'd lost the two people who meant the most to her.
Eventually, Calleigh's sobs quieted, the steady pressure of Eric's hands rubbing her back soothing her. She breathed in deeply for a few moments, trying to get a hold of her emotions again. Her eyes widened slightly as she felt something softly drop onto her head. She pulled back from his embrace, but didn't let go of him completely. Stunned, she realized she wasn't the only one still hurting. "You're crying," she murmured, her own eyes watering again at the sight of his reddened eyes.
Eric bit his lower lip, nodding slowly. "So are you."
Calleigh blinked a few times, avoiding his eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"For what?" he asked, puzzled.
"Everything, Eric. For everything I couldn't fix. For pushing you away when you were hurting just as much as I was." She shook her head. "I'm sorry." She gave a bitter chuckle, another tear escaping her eye. "I guess it was my way of getting what I deserved. I guess…" she paused, sighing deeply. "I guess I felt like I deserved to lose everything. And in the end…in the end, I did lose everything."
"You didn't lose me, Cal," he whispered. "I've been here all along."
Gazing up at him, into his dark brown eyes, Calleigh thought she might break down again just from the sincerity in his eyes, in his voice. Had he really been there in front of her all this time? Had she been doing this alone when, all this time, he was right there, waiting for her to come to him? With a rush of guilt, she looked away; they'd both been going through the same pain, and she'd forced both of them to face it alone.
Suddenly uncomfortable with the closeness, with being in his arms, Calleigh slipped away from him, still avoiding his gaze. "There's something I need to do," she said quietly, swallowing as she found her mouth dry. She moved to her locker and pulled out her purse and her keys, as though she were about to leave. Eric watched, his heart sinking, thinking that was exactly what she was going to do. He bit his lip and started to turn to leave, when he saw her eyes on him again. He watched her slowly make her way back over to him, feeling as she loosely took one of his hands in her own, as though afraid to hold on too tightly. She let out a shaky breath, and then she spoke again.
"Will you come with me?" she asked him, her eyes silently pleading with him. "To her-" she shook her head; she couldn't say that last word. Even after five years, it made it all too real. So, with a few new tears escaping her eyes, she rephrased it. "To see Lauren?"
The lump in his own throat kept him from speaking, but Eric nodded sincerely, cupping her cheek in his hand as he gently wiped her tears away with his thumb; tears of his own just about ready to spill from his eyes.
It'd been five years of waiting; five years of pain; five years of torture. It'd been five years since they'd experienced the worst hurt of their lives; the pain that they'd forced themselves to face separately. But finally, Calleigh's walls had crumbled under the strain, and instead of trying to piece them back together herself, for the first time she let Eric in, not to help rebuild her walls, but instead to help build a path through the pain.
It was a path they started building as soon as they walked out the doors together; their destination the small, quiet cemetery on the far side of town. Separately they'd suffered for far too long, but not any longer.
Now they could finally start healing. Together.