A/N: I am so very sorry for my rather lengthy hiatus for which I have no true explanation other than I lost the muse that inspired this story so greatly. I have a vision of how I want it to 'end' but the in-between parts are the difficult issues. That and my schedule got a bit hectic lately. Forgive me? Also, succubi are female half-demons that tempt humans into lusting / adultery. Also, I'm going to use a bit of a muse for another story in this one. Eric has a journal in this chapter and probably the next.

Disclaimer: I still own nothing.

Warnings: Other than a bit of OOC, perhaps, not really much this chapter to look out for. Also, translation is a bit off- I think- or a 'rough' translation.

Chapter Four: Como la Oportunidad lo Tendría. ( 'As Chance would have it')

Eric tried to get to sleep but he kept hearing that sound; that haunting, echoing, and maddening sound; over and over again. It woke him from even the lightest of half-sleep he forced himself to drift into with a start, panting and searching the area frantically for the source of the noise, only to realize it was his own mind creating it. He rolled over to look at his cell-phone, his only connection to the 'team' he was once so proud to be a part of and now was so far away from because of chance. Or rather probability. He thought that if Calleigh were involved with him she'd end up hurt, or even killed, by his own personal demons that he thought he'd left well enough behind. And yet there she was, his sanctuary and yet his bane, his angel and his succubus, all the things he desired and yet could never grasp- all at once. He sighed heavily and stared hatefully at the clock that told him that there were still a few hours until the sun rose to the horizon, much less when most 'normal' people were awake. But he and Calleigh, probably even Horatio himself, had spent several sleepless night-mornings trying to solve a near-impossible case or find that one shred of evidence in a huge quandary of mess that would put them behind bars. They were used to late nights, early mornings, working weekends on demand, even Sundays- the Sabbath itself- were not 'sacred' to ones such as the CSI team. They never closed, they never slept, it was like this since the first recorded murder trial that used forensics to prove the case and probably would be as long as there was murder itself. And people killed other people for a myriad of stupid 'motives'. Money, jealousy, hatred, anger, love, lust, desire, greed, and even just going crazy in a fit of momentary onslaught- they'd seen every 'reason' in the book, even ones that made no sense whatsoever. They could probably count on one hand the 'valid' reasons and even those were never straight forward. Self Defense, the hardest to prove and easiest to claim, was the top double standard that they'd seen. It was so strange- at first- that what the evidence said and what the suspect said were usually two completely different stories. But over time the evidence was the only thing they trusted, truly, other than one another. It was like having a second family. That was another reason it was so hard to leave. He saw Horatio as more than a boss- he saw him as a brother even before Marisol. Then there was Ryan, a close friend that always had his back. It was something he'd never have again, he figured. He grabbed a small journal-like book from the bed-side table and turned on the lamp. "Today, I saw Calleigh again. There was a shooting a house down from me and she, as chance would have it, was the one sent to gather the evidence. I pray that one day that we can see each other again, not as colleagues or even as a witness and an investigator, but as a true date. But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride..." He wrote a small entry, it seemed to help lately more than it did before. It was his therapist's idea to write down his thoughts, especially about the job or Calleigh. At first he thought the idea was foolish but here recently he almost relished the idea of writing his inner-most thoughts just for his own sanity.

Meanwhile, Calleigh was staring down the business-end of a microscope, trying to shake off the exhaustion that threatened her senses. The striations were starting to blur together and the more she tried to focus the worse it became. She sighed and raised her head a bit off the eye-piece, rubbing her eyes slightly with the back of her gloved hand. As she did this she thought about chances. Or rather 'what-ifs'. "What would I have done if it was Eric instead?" She thought as she tried to figure this out, the vision coming surprisingly easily to her mind. After all, she'd seen it before many times- both in nightmares and in reality. She nearly lost it when Eric was shot and she would rather not that occur again. Eric was a good friend, a teammate. But something in her wanted him to be more. Maybe it was the 'confession' that she'd read in his files with his previous therapist, the one that was killed some time ago. She shook her head and sighed, she'd thought about it off and on for some time, not really giving it a serious chance to be analyzed until recently. She never imagined that Eric felt anything for her other than camaraderie or physical attraction. She didn't ever think that he gave her any serious thought outside of his desires as a man for an attractive and intelligent woman. She wasn't sure, before, that she was even his 'type'. Not that Eric had a 'type' but she figured he would want a woman of similar heritage to himself to share his life with, not someone that barely knew of the Cuban Culture- which was what she considered her own knowledge-base to be. But he wanted her, for whatever reason, and he was serious about it. So much so that he 'gave her up' to protect her from his enemies and those that would use his love of her against him. "What if we hadn't broken up? What if I... Really gave him a shot? If we were married... No, that's crazy-talk. Tired, exhausted crazy-talk." She thought silently as she rubbed her eyes again in an attempt to stave off the on-coming yawn which came in spite of her trying to keep it from escaping from her lips. She looked into the eye-piece again only to the striations blurred even further by her tired eyes. It didn't harm any to come back to this later, did it? Well, technically yes but it did her no good to stare at it all night, or rather the rest of the night judging by her watch which read '4:00'. She had spent many nights like this but it always drained her greatly because of her natural 'early morning riser' metabolism. Even though she was more used to it than most it still made her lethargic and sluggish, especially when it got past 1:00 in the morning, which it was now well past. Now it was impeding her sight and judgment. She kept a small cot in the lab for nights like this so she broke it out and tried to get a few minutes rest before her natural clock woke her again around 5:30. An hour and a half was not much time at all but it was better than nothing. "I kind of wish I could see him again. Just to spend some time just talking. If it weren't for the job and his insistence I would call him. Even so, what would we even do? I mean we know practically everything about each-other. What would we have left to talk about?" She thought as she closed her eyes to drift into a half-sleep, one that only provided with the resting properties and not the dreams she was so afraid of having come to pass. She didn't want her reality to be a living nightmare filled with blood and pain...

Secondary A/N: This one's a lot shorter than the others have been by page length but there was no speech so it is all block-text (which I personally hate). I'm sorry for making it so long paragraph wise.