Date: June 25, 2008
Author: Zelda
Beta'd by: LPN
Three elements to include:
(given by Kazalene)
1. A sandwich
2. A phone call from Horatio
3. A shared memory of Eric and Calleigh's

Chapter 6 is now up! throws confetti...then immediately begins cleaning it up when OCD kicks in. The title is a Dashboard Confessional song that I actually didn't know about before I wrote this, but it's particularly fitting. And six million Zelda points to anyone who can figure out where the ex-husband's last name came from :P Enjoy!


Chapter Six: Matters of Blood and Connection


The next morning, as Calleigh was polishing off her outfit for the day with a low ponytail, there was a sharp knock on her door.

"Who is it?" she called, winding an elastic band around her hair as she headed for the entryway.

"It's me."

She swung the door open, coming face to face with a less-than-fresh looking Eric. "Hey," she greeted him, subduing the cheer in her voice in deference to his expression. "Come on in…I'm almost ready."

He obediently followed her into her room, dropping down onto her bed with a small sigh, watching her retrieve her hairbrush from the bathroom and run it through the ponytail. When she returned, he waited for her eyes to meet his before speaking. "Do we have to go to another lecture today?" he asked.

She studied his face, noting the dark circles under his eyes, the fatigue that seemed to seep from his pores. "Didn't sleep very well after all, huh?" she returned.

"No," he confessed with a shake of his head. "The pool helped, but I kept dreaming about Speed…" He let the sentence trail off, unable to say aloud what he was thinking.

She saw it all in his eyes. The mosquitoes. The shooting. Memories of Tim. It's still hard for him, isn't it? Placing her hand over his, she gave it a little squeeze and smiled gently. "What about a road trip?" she suggested. "Might do us some good to get away from here for a little while, and we're not that far from Washington, DC."

"Or Arlington National Cemetery," he added.

"Feeling like you want to pay your respects," she said, reading his thoughts again.

"Yeah. Why, you don't think it's a good idea?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I think it might be difficult," she replied slowly, "but after what happened yesterday, maybe we should. Maybe we need to."

Her willingness to ditch their responsibilities, even for a day, surprised him. "Really?"

"Really," she echoed, squeezing his hand again.

He smiled a small smile at her and squeezed back. "Then Arlington it is."

They drove their rental car up the more scenic route of US-1, avoiding I-95 and taking their time, riding along mostly in a comfortable silence. Neither did they make many comments upon entering the city of Arlington, where the traffic picked up and became a little more snarly. Calleigh simply navigated from the passenger seat, glancing at the map they'd picked up along the way, and Eric calmly followed her directions to the parking area at the cemetery.

They walked side by side up the paved road, moving leisurely, unconsciously turning their faces into the light breeze that tickled the tree branches above them.

"Any spot in particular you want to go?" Calleigh asked, reading the signs around them.

"Not really," Eric returned with a shrug. I just want to be here.

"Okay," she replied simply.

Forgoing the tram that circulated around the property, they continued to walk the paved roads but stayed away from the sections of the cemetery that were heavily populated by tourists, electing to keep to the less trafficked areas. The silence returned between them, but, as before, it was an easy silence. Neither felt compelled to speak, to break the calm; both were content to read headstones and plaques as they passed, respectfully paying tribute to those laid to rest.

After twenty minutes of strolling around they paused under a leafy green tree, seeking relief from the warm sun, allowing their eyes to roam over the rows and rows of simple white markers placed so precisely before them. For several long moments they stood and just looked out at the sea of tombstones, until Calleigh's breath hitched in her throat. Her hand rose as though she was putting it to her chest, but halted in mid air.

"What?" Eric asked quickly, his eyes darting to her face.

Some of the stones had engravings not only on the front to identify the soldier, sailor, marine, or airman buried in the plot, but also on the back when a relative had been placed there as well. Calleigh's gaze was riveted to the back of one such marker, her mouth open as though she wanted to speak but was unable.

"Calleigh, what is it?" he tried again, a hand grasping her shoulder gently. When she still didn't respond he followed her line of sight to a headstone carved with bold letters, declaring the name of the sons of the deceased who lay along side him.

The first son was named Timothy Steven.

"I…thought…" she attempted slowly, lowering her hand and wondering if she should say it out loud. Should I even bring it up?

"You thought it said Speedle," Eric finished quietly.

Calleigh managed to nod slightly, tearing her eyes away from the grave marker and fixing them on the trunk of the tree behind him."Yeah," she whispered. "And it just…hit me…all at once…" She pressed her lips together, trying to stave off the wave of emotion that threatened to overtake her.

"I miss him, too," Eric murmured, his hand sliding from her shoulder to the small of her back, drawing strength from her as much as he hoped to impart it.

Perhaps it was the dredging up of memories the night before. Maybe it was James O'Shea dying in her arms. It could have been the solitude of the section they stood in, or any combination of factors. Whatever the reason, Calleigh found herself drawing closer to Eric and leaning against him, giving in to her grief. "It's like being at his funeral all over again."

He wrapped an arm around her in response, his mind flashing through stills from the day they buried Tim. He saw the flag-draped casket, the bagpiper playing Amazing Grace, the priest standing at the head of the gravesite, the row of officers readying their rifles for the gun volley. And he knew Calleigh saw the same things.

They stood there together for several long moments, reliving the awful day they said good-bye to their friend as they stood in the shade a thousand miles away. Calleigh's cheek came to rest against Eric's shoulder, seeking the comfort she could only find in him. He, in return, tightened his arm around her, his lips finding her hair and remaining there, his eyes closing in sorrow.

The stillness was broken, though, when Calleigh's cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Reluctantly she pulled away from Eric and reached for the device, checking the Caller ID before flipping it open. "Duquesne."

"Hi Calleigh, it's Matt Davies from the Quantico lab."

"Hi Matt," she answered, trying to steady her voice. "What can I do for you?"

"Is Eric there with you?" he asked instead of answering her question.

She glanced up at Eric, a quizzical expression on her face. "He is. Is there something you need from us? More questions?"

On the other end of the line, Matt shook his head. "No, your statements were very complete in the O'Shea case. But there's been, uh, a development."

"What kind of development?"

Eric shared her puzzled expression now, mouthing the words what's going on? She shook her head a little in an I-don't-know response.

"We need you to come into the lab and help us out, if you could," Matt told her vaguely.

"Help you out with what?" Eric was staring at her now, trying his best to push all his renewed pain away and focus on the situation, but she could see the sadness lingering in his brown eyes. It made her realize how little she'd dealt with her own in the passing years.

"It seems that James O'Shea is somehow connected to an open case in Miami-Dade County."

- - -

By the time they reached the lab Calleigh was all business again, seemingly leaving her pain and heartache in Arlington. Eric stole a glance at her out of the corner of his eye and worried about the calmness she exhibited. I know it's only a front. How bad is it underneath?

Aloud, he asked Matt to explain himself further. "So the vic from last night's shooting is linked to one of our open cases?"

Angela answered the question for her colleague. "We ran some preliminary tests on the evidence collected from the scene, including the shell casings Calleigh and I found. Got a case-to-case hit: casings match those from the gun used in a murder down in your neck of the woods. We were hoping the two of you might be able to shed some light on the situation."

"May I see that case number?" Calleigh asked politely. Matt handed her the printout he was holding while she pulled out her cell phone and quickly dialed. Within a few minutes she had information to share. "P.D. says the vic in this case was a Paul Venkman, shot twice in the chest in South Pointe Park a month ago."

"I was the primary on that case," Eric interjected. "Jogger found him the morning after he was killed, laying in a pool of his own blood."

"Anything unusual about the scene?" Matt wondered.

Eric shook his head. "Not that I remember. The M.E. put time of death at around ten o'clock the previous night, found a couple of partial prints that didn't hit in any of the databases…never found the gun."

"Well, we know now that the gun is here in Virginia," Calleigh reminded them.

"But what connection does your Paul Venkman have to our James O'Shea?" Angela asked.

"M.D.P.D. is sending up the case file," Calleigh informed them. "Everything they can send electronically I'll have within the hour via e-mail, and everything else is being overnighted."

Eric's brain continued to whir. "Did you get anything else from last night?"

"Yeah," Matt answered. "That weird trace we found turned out to be plain old antibiotic ointment, the kind you can find in any supermarket or drugstore."

"Neosporin," Eric confirmed, using the brand name for the product. "But that stuff's clear. The smear we found was tinted."

"With blood," Angela said firmly. "Our D.N.A. analyst is running it now."

"Could be victim blood," Eric thought aloud.

Calleigh nodded. "Or it could be our killer."

"And the red fiber?" Eric continued.

"Cotton," Matt sighed. "It didn't match anything the vic was wearing."

James O'Shea's last words floated through Calleigh's mind. "Tell my wife I love her." "Has anyone interviewed the wife yet?"

Matt and Angela exchanged looks before Angela answered. "She's pretty broken up. One of our officers is with her now."

Eric stole another glance at Calleigh. She has a message to deliver. "Mind if we talk to her?"

Matt shrugged. "Maybe she can tell you how her husband is connected to your vic."

The two local CSIs led their guests to the parking lot and drove them to the O'Sheas' home, where they found Mrs. O'Shea seated on a floral-patterned sofa next to one of the local police officers, clutching the officer's hand.

"Mrs. O'Shea?" Angela asked gently, waiting a moment for the woman to look up. "Mrs. O'Shea I'm Angela Simms. I'm a Crime Scene Investigator." She paused, allowing the new widow a chance to process the information.

"Are you here about Jim?" she asked weakly.

Angela nodded, shooting a quick look at her three colleagues. "Yes ma'am. This is Calleigh Duquesne—she's also a CSI—and we'd like to ask you some questions if you feel up to it."

Mrs. O'Shea nodded in return, gesturing to two overstuffed chairs arranged near the sofa. Calleigh and Angela each took one.

"Would it be okay if these two gentlemen took a look through your husband's things?" Calleigh inquired, motioning to Matt and Eric, who had remained standing.

She nodded again faintly, and the officer rose from the sofa to lead the way. "I just can't believe he's gone," she said softly, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"We're going to find out who did this to your husband," Angela assured her. "Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt him?Anyone that had a grudge against him?"

Mrs. O'Shea shook her head. "Jim and I own a candy store down on the other side of town," she told them, tears forming in her tired eyes. "Everybody loved him."

The two women glanced at each other. Heard that one before.

Calleigh tried another question. "Have you ever heard of Paul Venkman? Does that name sound familiar to you?"

"It should," the widow replied in a wobbly voice. "Paul Venkman was my daughter's ex-husband." She began to cry openly, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the handkerchief.

"Paul Venkman was your son-in-law?" Angela repeated incredulously.

"Yes," Mrs. O'Shea confirmed. "He was married to my daughter for twelve years. They moved to Miami together. Poor Susanna," she wept. "First Paul, now her father…"

The two CSIs exchanged looks a second time, both moving to console the grieving woman while they waited for Eric and Matt to finish their search, allowing Calleigh to deliver the man's last words to his wife. It was several more minutes before the four of them managed to excuse themselves and head back to the car.

"Well, we got nothin'," Matt offered, climbing into the driver's seat. "Just your usual 68-year-old man stuff."

"Not even a dirty magazine," Eric added with a half-chuckle, pulling his back door closed as he sat beside Calleigh. "This guy was as average as they come. How'd you ladies do?"

"We found another link to your Miami case," Angela smiled from the front passenger seat.

"Really?"

Calleigh flipped open her phone and dialed a familiar number, nodding to her friend. "Hey Horatio, it's Calleigh. The conference was going pretty good, but there's been a twist…I thought you might have heard…yeah, the casings match, and we just found another link.Can you have a conversation with Susanna O'Shea Venkman?"

- - -

Arriving back at the lab, the foursome printed out hard copies of the crime scene photos and reports that had been e-mailed to Calleigh, poring over them, looking for anything that would shed light on either case. But, as Matt sorely pointed out, "These cases are the two most ordinary murders I've ever seen!"

When they finally called it quits Calleigh and Eric drove back to their hotel, stopping at a little mom-and-pop deli along the way for dinner, sharing a bag of potato chips in his room as they munched their sandwiches. The conversation was light and friendly, as though they were grabbing a bite to eat after a regular shift back home, as though the morning in Arlington had never happened.

Eric frowned at his pastrami on rye. She probably won't talk about it, but I can't just let it go.

"Hey," she called softly, sitting a few feet away from him on the bed. "You okay?"

He smiled a small smile at her. "I was actually just about to ask you the same thing."

That surprised her. "You were?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, Cal. Today was…today was weird, and not just for me."

"Yeah," she agreed slowly. "I guess you could call it 'weird'."

He noticed that she didn't elaborate, but neither did she try to change the subject. "What would you call it?" he pressed gently.

She was studying her turkey club, running a finger over the crust of the bread, turning thoughts over in her mind. "Hard," she finally replied, her gaze still fixed on her sandwich. Then, lifting her eyes to his, "But I'm glad we did it together."

"Me too," he agreed. "I'm glad I could be there for you. And I don't know what I'd do without you, either—" He took a deep mental breath before finishing his sentence. "—and I'm not just talking about today."

Watching his face as he spoke, she saw the sincerity in his expression, the deep affection in his eyes. It was the same look he'd given her after she was abducted, the one that told her he was very serious, and that he wasn't exactly referring to their friendship. "Eric…"

"Come on, Calleigh, don't tell me you haven't noticed there's something going on here," he half-teased. "At the coffee shop last night? The pool?"

"The coffee shop was just an act," she brushed him off, "because of that guy leering at me from behind the counter."

"Was it?" he questioned quietly.

"Y-yes," she answered, startled briefly by the gravity in his voice. "And the pool, that was just…playing around." His dark eyes never left her face, even as her bright ones shifted around the room, and she knew she wasn't going to brush him off so easily this time. "But not for you."

Her last statement came out almost in a whisper, and Eric had to convince himself that she really said the words out loud. When he was sure she had, that they were finally going to talk about this, butterflies began to form in his stomach. "No," he replied tenderly, "not for me." He wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand, to wrap his arms around her, but he remained still, waiting for her reaction.

"Eric, I—"

She was cut off by the ringing of her cell phone. Grabbing for it off the nightstand, she read the Caller ID and flipped it quickly open, noting Eric's frustrated sigh. "Hey, Horatio..."

"I found Susanna Venkman," he told her from the lobby of the crime lab in Miami.

She allowed herself to look at Eric, her features giving away both her relief and apprehension about their interrupted discussion. "Did you talk to her?"

"Oh yes," Horatio replied, oblivious of the tension in the air four states away. "And you'll never believe what she had to say for herself."


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Next Chapter Post Date: July 15th