Hello all, I give thanks to those who reviewed it means a lot, given that this isn't the most popular of pairings (although I really don't get why not!) I hope this chapter flows well, I had a bit of trouble with it, and cross your fingers that the final installment gets done before Nano. Please enjoy and reviews are great.
Auto pilot had saved his ass plenty of times. Once he sank into an alias it was the automatic responses that had kept him from tripping up and saying the wrong thing, going left instead of right.
That afternoon that reflex had been his saving grace. With his mind numb and his heart broken he had no real recollection of clearing town. Of relocating up North, he had wanted as far away from sun and sand as he could get.
The high peaks of the Shenandoah's had certainly fit the bill. West Virginia had been about as familiar to him as Mars but the rough land and scenic views had come to be a balm on wounds that he could not name.
Not waiting.
Not waiting.
Over and over her soft words laced with steel and the harsh ring of truth, echoed over and over in his head.
Not waiting.
Early on, you know, when the corners of his eyes didn't have such distinct character lines, he had accepted that his life would be a dangerous one. There would be risks and sacrifices that he would have to make if he was going to make a difference, go so far into unmentionable places, to be the best.
And he had made them, had accepted them, over and over, for years.
Not once had he complained, not once had he turned away from a difficult or outrageous assignment.
But then he had never considered the sacrifice the people in his life, or the people he wanted in his life, would have to make. For that he had been unprepared.
How dare he ask for so much when he gave so little? How dare he ask her to wait when what she would only get in return was him?
Not waiting.
He didn't blame her; couldn't. He wouldn't wait for him either. For her though, for her he would wait a lifetime. But then he had always needed her more. He had always been the one in pursuit. Had always been the one to call first. It had been the way of their thing.
And now it was over.
Her life was not on hold for him. His life however was at a complete stand still.
Calleigh was the one.
His one.
And he had made a mess of things, had not handled well what he had been handed. If he had done better, been more, said aloud what was inside, maybe, if, and should have might now be a reality.
Those thoughts were the most damaging. When caught unawares his mind would run and spin with unchecked thoughts. Work would help. The activity, the focus, would keep those thoughts at bay, except the work that had so consumed him no longer called to him.
The itch and burn to move and fight had not surfaced once.
A fucked up cosmic joke and a major dose of too little too late.
He was damned good at his job. Undercover work had been his calling. Slipping on the mask and sinking into the muck to root out scum; that had been his strength.
No more.
That had been clear the second he had slipped from that stash house with those guns. He would never be able to not be Jake Berkeley again. Her call to him had been stronger.
Too bad he hadn't had the time to tell her.
Too bad he wouldn't be able to tell her.
Because she wasn't waiting.
His recall had always been good, almost as impressive as his imagination, both a key characteristic of a good UC cop. One had to absolutely believe the lie, that the change was real, the life was true, and he had never been unmasked.
Not once.
Subsequently the days spent locked in his head, recalling their good moments, rewriting their bad ones, consumed him.
As a patrolman for the Department of Natural Resources it was his duty to take to the winding mountain road, looking for stranded motorists, or locals up to no good. The work wasn't hard, but solitary, lending lots of hours for his mind to wander unchecked.
Too many times he had taken a hair pin turn way to fast and could practically hear her voice admonishing him.
Pathetic.
Unhealthy.
Uncontrollable.
He missed her with such ferocity there were no words. No more words. He wasn't allowed words.
Not now.
Not when he should have used them for her.
Those hours of silence were his penance.
Admittedly those days were bad. Bad enough that he hurt pushed away the thoughts and the syllables.
The other days were worse. When a new song was on the radio or a new commercial would air during the game.
That's when it would start.
Was that song playing as she danced with someone new?
Was she snuggled up to a warm body as that commercial played?
Was she?
Was she?
She wasn't waiting.
Winter North of Florida got incrementally harder. Here it was a harsh thing. The mountains were hounded by the sky, perfectly matching his moods. Firewood was a must; he perhaps went slightly overboard, having gone through two axes.
A good thing.
A perfect thing.
Snow and ice and hard labor, he would take it and cherish it and pass the days in a blur.
It had been the last push of winter into spring when he had gotten the call.
An unassuming afternoon, he had stomped into the Ranger station, snow and slush a messy trail behind him, when the shrill of the phone had jolted him.
A friend of a friend of a cousin of a co-worker, a man he didn't know, a name he couldn't remember, had dispassionately detailed events as they had played out in Miami.
September to March had been a collection of days he had no connection to.
There had been then and now.
With her; without her.
And then with that phone call everything had changed.
The drive to DC had been made in record time. Only concern for her had reined him in, clinging to some semblance of protocol he had made the necessary calls, gone through the proper procedures and reached someone who could help, someone with answers.
He hadn't trusted himself to do things right, to do things carefully, so he had turned to his old commander, a man he trusted.
The risks were outrageous but he had had to know.
A thick file was presented to him, an hour given to absorb, and in sixty minutes everything, everything, upended.
Names and dates and actions and convictions; it was all there. Florida had seen a sharp rise in the apprehension and conviction of members of the once powerful Crypt Kings.
There had not been words; again she had stunned them from him.
Oh, the fallout had been tremendous. Under threat of prosecution, of violence, he had been ordered to stay away.
Stay away from Miami; from her.
Away and away and away.
After a night in lock-up, the man he trusted was not one to mess with; it had begun to sink in. There was still a threat to him, still three left of ten, but he would not risk her, never her, not a hair on her head for his life.
Only there were eyes open to the situation. People were in place, who appreciated what was being done, and precautions had been taken, it was those words that had managed to calm him.
In that calm he had begun to process the information had begun to plot and plan and hone the self-control that would be need through the final three.
Three.
Three.
One.
Agonizing.
Two.
Gut wrenching.
Three.
And it was finally, painfully, over.
He had waited and waited and waited; for her, and in the sun and sand the final few moments were some of the longest he had endured.
Perhaps it was the set of her shoulders, or the sway of her hair in the breeze, but he had known it was her, had known the second she had appeared on the deck.
It was day One of her Seven.
Could it be theirs?
Would it be theirs?
He had no assurances, no real proof that any of what she did had been anything other than cleaning up the trash.
Could it be for him?
Would it be for him?
When Horatio had sent him the ticket he had given no indication of where her head was at, and Calleigh had one of the best poker faces in the game, rivaled only by Caine himself.
There had been no question that he would come. Was there a possibility that he could be rejected; again?
Yes, but he would risk that pain, had lived through it once, and would again because there was a chance, a hint, that maybe, maybe.
She had waited.
God, he couldn't think it properly, had to turn his eyes away and let them settle on the beach.
Among the people and the umbrellas he saw life and love and laughter, and wished he could reach out and draw some of into him.
He was always cold these days.
Even with his shirt billowing open to the warmest of ocean breezes he was chilled.
If he were a better man, a stronger one, he would walk away now. Put space and distance between him and her, giving her a chance at something bigger and better than him.
But he had never been a good enough man for her.
Taking his first step towards the bungalow, he thought maybe this time, he could be.