Chapter 10: Calleigh

"Jesus, you guys are making out like four years didn't pass," Valera says the moment you approach her in the parking lot.

You smile. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, I guess."

"I'm going to make my next boyfriend move to France for a year or two," she says thoughtfully.

"You know what they say about French girls, though," you reply, stealing a quick glance in Eric's direction. He's still standing there, looking a little dependent. You smile; he sees this and smiles back.

"Yeah, but still, could you imagine the reunion sex?" Valera stops in front of her car and unlocks the doors with her remote. You walk around the car to the passenger's side. Over the car, Valera gasps. "Oh my God, Calleigh. How was it?"

You open the door and slide into your seat to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks, trying unsuccessfully to drive inappropriate images out of your head.

The door on the driver's side opens as well, and Valera slips in. She rolls her eyes and fiddles with her key. "Come on, Calleigh. On a scale from one to ten, where one is like 'yikes, where did your libido go?' and ten is like 'holy shit, disappear for another four years and do that to me again.'"

"Valera!" You look away and smile. "I don't go falling into bed with people I've met less than forty-eight hours ago."

"You've known Eric half your life," she exaggerates, pulling out of the parking lot.

You bite your lip and don't say anything, because mention of time where Eric is concerned has been difficult on you for the past days, months, years, or however long you've hurt him.

Valera seems to sense your discomfort, so she leaves you to your thoughts for the remainder of the car ride. She lives very close to the lab, however, and soon, she pulls up to her apartment. It's only then that you realize you're carrying nothing. You check the back seat, almost as if expecting your duffel to be there even though you distinctly remember never carrying it to her car.

"Something wrong?" Valera asks, following your gaze to her back seat.

"I left my bag in Eric's car," you reply, sighing.

"Oh, well, call him and tell him to bring it over," she says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"He's taking me out to dinner later," you reply softly.

She gives you a strange look. "That's perfect. He can drop it off then."

You look at her and frown. "No, I need to shower and change before then."

"Calleigh, I'm sure he wouldn't mind waiting a little while when he gets here," she replies. "Eric and I are friends, you know."

"I know, I just—"

"You want to be all dolled up and ready for him when he arrives," she supplies.

"No!" You watch her roll her eyes. "Maybe," you confess, "but there's nothing wrong with that."

"Call him now," she suggests. "I'm sure he's not too far from the lab yet."

You nod and take out your phone. You dial his number manually, instead of using speed dial, because Valera is close enough to tell the difference, and you do not want her hassling you about that.

"I left my stuff in your car," you say as soon as he picks up, forgoing any kind of greeting.

"I know," he replies calmly.

You laugh, relaxing at the sound of his voice. "You planned this."

He chuckles in response. "No, Calleigh. Now I know what they meant when they said that no good deed goes unpunished." He pauses. "I'm on my way over."

"Right now?"

"No, three days from now," he replies sarcastically. You can almost see him smiling at the other end. "I'll be there in five."

"Alright, see you then," you say, hanging up.

Valera is smirking when you look up. "You act so different when you're talking to him," she teases, opening her car door.

You do the same and step out. "I do not," you deny.

Shrugging playfully, she slides out, and the two car doors close at the same time. She locks the doors, and the car beeps in response.

"Maybe I just sound different when I'm talking on the phone," you muse, following her into her building.

"Uh, no," she replies, raising an eyebrow. "I just talked to you on the phone before, and believe me, you did not sound anything like that."

You smile, deciding that it's time to change the topic. "Eric's coming by to drop off my bag."

"He probably just wanted an excuse to see you," she replies, leading you to her door. She takes out her key and pushes the door open. She walks in, dropping her purse and keys on a nearby table. She takes off her shoes; you do the same.

You follow close behind, to a living room that you vaguely remember. She's changed around her furnishings and repainted her walls. You wonder for a moment how the building super ever let her, but it's a nice, neutral shade, and you can't help but like how she's redecorated her living space.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asks, heading to the kitchen.

Before you can answer, there's a knock at the door. You turn to walk to it so you can let Eric in, but Valera races past you. "No, you stay there," she directs. "I don't want any PDA in the middle of my apartment."

You gawk at her, but you can tell that she's serious, so you obey, staying a safe distance from the door, although making sure you have a clear view.

Valera opens the door, just enough for you to see Eric standing there, holding your bag.

"Hey, is Calleigh around?" he asks, looking past her. He sees you and smiles, pushing the door to open it a little more and taking a step into Valera's apartment.

She stops him. "No, you come back when it's time for you to really pick her up," she says adamantly, reaching to take the bag from him.

He moves the bag away from her and stares at her for a moment, as if trying to decipher her. "Valera, are you kidding me?"

"Dead serious," she replies.

He tries to push his way in, but Valera stands her ground. He laughs. "I just want to talk to her."

"You can talk to her from here," she replies simply.

He turns to you, hysterical. "Did you put her up to this?" he asks, still trying to push Valera aside.

"I had nothing to do with this," you reply, smiling.

"Well, can you come here, then?" he asks you, eyeing Valera suspiciously.

You take a step toward him, drawn by his voice, but Valera holds out a hand. "Stay there," she commands.

You can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. You and Eric, separated by a resolute Valera, hands held out, stance ninja-like.

You walk up to her and place a hand on her shoulder. "Valera, seriously. We do have some semblance of self control."

She gives you a skeptical look, but finally gives in. "Alright, but outside," she says, ushering you out. She reaches for your bag again, and this time, he willingly hands it to her. She rolls her eyes and closes the door.

He takes a good look at you and smiles. "This is kind of pathetic, but I missed you," he confesses, trailing his finger up your arm.

You shiver. "It's not pathetic," you reply, reaching up to his lips. You breathe a sigh of relief at the contact. "I missed you, too."

"It was barely half an hour," he points out, laughing.

You smile, kissing him softly again. "I don't know what I'm going to do tonight without you," you breathe. Your need for him scares you, and you wonder how you ever made it four years without his touch. But it's easy to fall back into a familiar routine.

"Come stay with me," he replies, sounding dangerously serious.

"Eric," you say softly, alarm bells setting off in your head.

"I know, I know." He sighs and brings your hand up to his face, brushing his lips lightly over your knuckles. "When we're ready."

You smile and nod. "I can't believe you used my bag as a bargaining chip," you say, changing the subject.

He chuckles. "I didn't do it on purpose, if that's what you're insinuating," he replies, absentmindedly drawing circles on your arm with his fingertips.

"I don't believe you," you say simply.

He tries to look hurt. "Aren't you even a little glad I'm here?"

"Of course," you reply, "but a little less if you lied to get here."

He smiles. "I really didn't notice that you didn't have your bag," he rehashes. He leans in, lowering his voice. "I was too busy noticing how beautiful you looked."

And even though he has a stupid little grin tugging at his lips, even though you want to punch him for being so cheesy, you have to smile. "You can't use that line for another month," you say coyly.

He laughs. "I won't," he promises.

"You should go. I still have to shower and change," you say, pressing another kiss to his lips.

"You don't have to get dressed up for me, Calleigh," he replies playfully.

You glare at him. "It would be really unfortunate if you were to show up to our date with your face rearranged," you warn, as threateningly as you can muster.

"Fine, I'm leaving," he says, laughing. "I'll be back at six-thirty with Kevlar."

You smile and lean in for one more kiss. A little longer, this time, a little more exploration, tasting tongue and teeth and familiar warmth. By the time he pulls away ands heads for the exit, you are too lightheaded to even call out a goodbye.

You take a moment to catch your breath, before opening Valera's door and reentering. You find her on the couch watching Oprah, your bag at her feet. It's so unlike her that you almost laugh, but nothing about Valera surprises you anymore. You take a seat next to her and point at the television.

"Oprah?"

"Yeah, the woman's a genius," she replies, never looking away from the screen.

You watch for a moment, but they're talking about survivors of domestic abuse, and you see enough of that on the job, so you stand and pick up your bag. "I'm going to take a shower," you announce.

"Okay," she replies.

You walk toward her bathroom, hands digging through your bag for a presentable outfit. Your arm brushes against velvet, and you realize that you still have the watch that you had bought at the airport. You make a mental note to give it to him later.

You smile when your hand reaches a little black number that you had, for whatever reason, thrown into your duffel when you had been packing. You pull it out, running your fingers over the material, cheeks heating up at the thought of his reaction. Normally, you don't even like wearing dresses. They don't look good with gun holsters. You only dresses them at celebrations that require them, and even then, reluctantly, but tonight is a special occasion, you decide. Besides, 'normal' is the last word you'd use to describe your relationship.

You shower quickly, mind wandering where it shouldn't. When you step out of the stall, you take your time dressing, blow-drying your hair, applying light makeup. You take a moment to examine the result of your efforts in the mirror. You don't even remember why you had bought the dress, because it's too low-cut for your tastes, but you do have to admit – modestly, might you add – that you look pretty good in it.

You walk slowly, a little anxiously, back to the living room, where Valera is still watching television. You clear your throat.

"Did you know that Oprah had a gay half-brother?" she asks without looking up.

"Valera."

She turns to look at you. Her jaw hits the floor. "Oh, my God, Calleigh. You have boobs!"

You laugh, shifting uncomfortably under her scrutiny. You pull at the dress nervously, tugging the straps, adjusting the waist.

"No, don't do that," she says, standing up. She walks over and looks you up and down. The girl certainly wasn't shy. "Jesus, you are so getting laid tonight."

"In that case, I am going to change out of this right now," you reply, turning toward the bathroom.

She grabs your wrist to stop you. "No!" She smiles. "Seriously, keep this on. It's going to drive him crazy."

"I don't want to drive him crazy!" You continue pulling uncomfortably at the dress. "I just want to look nice."

She gives you a skeptical look. "Bullshit."

"I'm serious, Valera. This is the only dress I brought," you reply, frowning slightly.

"Calleigh, you wouldn't have brought this dress if you didn't plan to wear it," she reasons. "Now, come. Sit." She leads you to the couch and forces you to sit down next to her. She picks up the remote and turns off the TV. "We haven't even had a chance to really talk yet."

"Okay, so what have you been up to since I left?" you ask.

"Uh-uh," she replies, shaking her head. "We're talking about you."

"There's not much to talk about, then," you say, laughing softly.

"How about the fact that Eric went across the country to get you?" she asks. "That's totally romantic, by the way."

"It wasn't romantic," you reply.

She gives you an unconvincing look. "It's at least a little romantic."

"Maybe the gesture," you reply, "but seeing him there? Not romantic."

She winces. "Oh, awkward?"

You chuckle. "Very."

"Still, he went all the way to Boston to get you," she points out. "Hello, romantic!"

You look at her for a moment. "I was in Raleigh, actually."

"You transferred to Raleigh?" she asked, confused.

"No," you reply, shaking your head. "I was supposed to catch a connecting flight to Miami."

"Oh, you guys met halfway!" she coos. "That is adorable."

"Valera, none of this is adorable," you admonish. "I'm on the hugest emotional roller coaster of my life."

"But did you see the way he kissed you, Calleigh?" she asks, wide-eyed.

"Yeah, I was there," you reply, laughing to cover your embarrassment.

"Well, who the hell cares about riding the roller coaster?" she asks. "Vomit in the nearest garbage can like everyone else."

You give her a strange look. "I don't think your metaphor makes sense," you say slowly, laughing.

"Of course it does! Look, the roller coaster is obviously your oh-so-complex relationship with Eric, the vomit is all the emotional baggage, and the garbage can is—" She trails off and frowns. "Okay, so this metaphor sucks, because somehow I end up being the garbage can." She doesn't notice your stifled laugh. "I could be a really high-end garbage can," she continues, oblivious. "Like you know, made of gold or something. I'm sure Oprah has golden garbage cans."

"Valera," you interrupt, unable to hold in your laughter anymore.

"What?"

"Thank you for being you," you say, smiling.

She frowns. "Is that a good thing? Because Ryan says stuff like that to me all the time, usually when he wants me to process fifty blood samples in ten minutes."

You laugh softly. "Well, I don't know about him, but I mean it in a good way."

She smiles. "But my metaphor makes sense, right? I mean, I'm here, if you need to talk. I know that around the lab, people think I'm a kooky lab tech with an addiction to hair dye, but I can be serious."

"I know, Valera," you reply. "Thank you."

She beams. "So did you guys work out your issues? Smooth out the kinks?" she asks.

"We're taking it one day at a time," you reply carefully, because you know that four years of pent-up emotions do not resolve over a day and a half.

"I'm really glad you're here," she offers, smiling. "I haven't seen Eric laugh like that in forever."

"How was he when—" You swallow, rephrasing the question in your head. "How was he after I left?"

She looks down sympathetically. "For six months, he was hell."

You know that you shouldn't ask, because it'll only hurt you to know, but you can't help yourself; curiosity has always been part of your nature. "How do you mean?"

She looks at you for a moment. "Are you sure you want to hear about this?"

"Yeah," you reply, nodding.

She sighs. "For a while, he didn't say much, just drank a lot. We tried to keep him busy with other stuff, you know, but after shift, he would sometimes go to bars and run up a tab." She looks at you expectantly. "His drinking didn't interfere with his work, though," she reassures quickly. "He showed up every morning as sober as the next guy."

You absorb everything she tells you with an aching heart. It's too late to tell her to stop, because you're addicted to the knowledge. You can't help but wonder if he ever went to the same bar that your father frequented, if they'd ever met there, vision blurred, speech slurred, inebriated beyond recognition.

"Then, he started seeing this girl," Valera continues, looking like it's the last thing she wants to talk to you about. "She was actually really nice. Decent, you know? She looked a lot like you. But he was—" She pauses, studying your reaction. "Well, he just wasn't ready. He never got over you. That's pretty much what killed all his other relationships."

You feel an oncoming wave of guilt, because you know that you made him that way, made him unhappy when you selfishly left, then hid behind reasons that appeared the exact opposite.

"At one point, I think that he was—" She stops talking then, and looks you in the eye. "Calleigh, listen, some of this is really just speculation on the part of Cooper and me. I mean, we don't have hard facts to back it up, and I don't think it would be fair to pass it off as truth." But you can tell that she's only saying this to soften the impact.

"Valera, what did you think he was doing?" you ask sternly.

She appears uncomfortable for a moment. "You won't like it," she says, stalling. When you look at her impatiently, she sighs. "Okay, I think he's been toothing again," she reveals, quietly, like she's divulging a secret.

You swallow, your heart beating rapidly. "How recently?" you ask, even though you've already gone too far, know too much. Your voice is as shaky as you feel. You don't try very hard to hide it from Valera, because that's too tiring, and all your energy is spent on processing how and why he would do this again, especially after the trouble he got into last time, after he promised he wouldn't.

"Oh, Calleigh." She rests her hand on your arm. "I shouldn't have brought this up."

"Valera, I can handle it," you say sharply. You can't, and your mind is screaming that fact at you in big, glittery lettering, embroidered with lace, framed in dark mahogany. It sounds more elegant than it actually is, but it's very, very clear: You can't handle it. You're shaking.

"Calleigh."

"How. Recent," you ask again, with the quiet determination that's always been your signature.

She looks at you for a long time. "Just, recent," she replies, shrugging. She sighs again and takes a deep breath. "He was doing alright, for a long time. Then, about a month ago, something changed. It was like he relapsed. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just need some time to process this," you reply, trying to keep your emotions in check. You're not sure why you're so upset about this, but it's more devastating than finding out about his first time. It's taken you by surprise, and you wonder if this even comes close to how he had felt when you told him that you were moving to Boston.

Valera pulls you into a friendly embrace, rubbing your back comfortingly. "Talk to him," she suggests. "You'll work it out."

You pull back and smile faintly. "I hope so."

"I'll tell you what," she says. "Stop thinking about it, okay? We'll lounge around until he gets here." She stands up. "Want ice cream?"

"I could use some ice cream," you reply with a chuckle.

While Valera is getting you a scoop of mint chocolate chip, you dig your purse out of your duffel, dropping the box with the watch you had bought into it. You drop your purse near the door. That's when you notice Valera's shoes, lined neatly against the wall.

"Valera?" you call out toward her direction.

She returns with two bowls of ice cream and hands one to you. "Yeah?"

"I don't have shoes," you say, pointing at hers.

She stares at you strangely. "What?"

"I don't have shoes," you repeat. "I didn't bring a pair of nice shoes."

"Oh, um, here, I might have something," she replies, reaching down to produce a pair of heeled sandals.

They look surprisingly comfortable, so you take them from her. Handing Valera back the bowl of ice cream, you strap on her shoes. They fit, which is unexpected because of her height. You take a quick glimpse at her bare feet, and you notice for the first time that they are disproportionately small.

She admires them for a moment, a bowl in each hand. "They look nice," she notes.

"They're comfy, too," you reply, unstrapping them and placing them next to your own shoes.

"Take them for the night," she offers, handing you back your ice cream and heading back to the living room.

You follow her there, digging into your ice cream. The Miami heat has made it slightly melty, but it's still good. You sit back down next to Valera on the couch and prop your legs up on the coffee table. Not very lady-like, you decide, but neither is licking melty ice cream off a cool steel spoon.

Valera starts talking about recent cases, and you know she's doing it to take your mind off everything you've learned about the four years of his life that you've missed, but although mysterious cases have always intrigued you, it's difficult to concentrate on what she's saying. She notices this but doesn't give up. She moves to other topics, but you can barely make out if she's talking about sex or the latest computer upgrades. You're thankful for her voice though, because you're not sure you can handle being alone right now.

Over an hour later, ice cream long-ago finished, the doorbell rings.

You stand, a little more suddenly than you had expect to, a little more eagerly than you had wanted to appear. Valera stands as well and places her hands on your arms, turning you to face her.

"Calleigh, just, I don't know." She sighs. "Try to be understanding."

"I will," you reply, smiling tightly. "It'll be okay," you add.

She nods and watches you head to the door. You slip on her sandals and pick up your purse, before opening the door.

"Hey," you greet quietly.

"Hey, ready to—" He swallows, running his eyes down your body. He clears his throat. "Ready to go?" he asks, his voice husky.

You nod, slipping through the door and closing it behind you. He's wearing an outfit that he normally saves for court. Dress up or dress down, the man always looked good. He moves his hands to your waist and leans in to kiss you, but despite how much you want him to, you stop him.

"Eric, I just need to get one thing clear first."

He looks confused. "Okay," he replies, motioning for you to continue.

"I just found out from Valera that you've recently been toothing," you say, unable to raise your voice higher than a whisper.

He swallows hard. "Calleigh—"

"Why did you do it?" you ask, but it sounds more like a desperate plea for a magical answer that makes it right again, makes the whole thing disappear.

He sighs, dropping his hands to his side. "I don't know. I was being stupid."

You cross your arms over your chest. "Not good enough."

A flash of pain appears in his eyes. "What do you want me to tell you?" he hisses. "Do you want me to tell you that I'm proud of it? I'm not. Do you want me to tell you that I was thinking of you the whole time? I was."

"Eric—"

"Calleigh, it's not about the sex. It's not some perversion or sexual deviance that I enjoy," he spits, closing his eyes briefly. "It's about filling the void. I felt so empty; I couldn't take it anymore." He opens his eyes again, looks at you with an apologetic sadness.

You swallow, looking away. You can't handle his eyes. "You promised me you would never do it again," you murmur.

He chuckles bitterly. "And you promised me that we had time on our hands," he replies quietly. He waits for you to look up at him before continuing. "I'm sorry if you're disappointed in my decisions, but the weight on my shoulders was suffocating. Momentary release, that's all it was." He sighs. "Are we okay?"

You stare deep into his eyes. The sincerity there is overwhelming. "We're okay," you reply, leaning in.

He takes a shaky breath and pulls you toward him. You reach up to kiss him gently, and even through his lips, you can tell that you've hurt him with your blunt accusation. You run your tongue over his lips, quietly requesting access, which he duly grants. You keep your touches light and feathery, and he groans in response.

When you pull away, you bring your hands up to cup his cheeks. "I hope this isn't going to ruin our evening," you whisper, pressing another kiss to his lips, quicker this time.

"Nothing could ruin a night when you're wearing that," he replies coyly. His eyes are looking you up and down again, and this thrills you, heats you to the core.

"I'm ready to go," you tell him.

He smiles and holds out his hand.

Ready, set, go.