A/N: For my story's continuity's sake, let's pretend the scene with the glass in Calleigh's hand occurred before Eric's shooting. I know, I know. I'm usually good with this kind of stuff, but I couldn't leave out the scene. It makes the story make more sense. If that makes sense... lol. Enjoy. Please R&R.

Chapter 2

Roses. Jasmine. The sweet and light smell of something, someone familiar. Glide of silken skin against bronze strength. The prick, prick, prick of a beard scratching lightly against a smooth and soft breast as he laved the hard tip, igniting the nerve endings there and creating a symphony of sounds from the plump mouth above. Nibble of teeth against much more delicate areas below had her groaning into the pillow, fists clenched in the softly worn sheets.

Eric awoke, gasping for air, and shot up in bed. Trembling from head to toe. Unsatisfied hunger for a woman he couldn't remember beating through his being, ripping his insides apart. Third dream in almost two weeks. He'd never dreamed like this before. Eric wasn't one prone to wet dreams, or even erotic dreams, as he usually satisfied his cravings before they manifested themselves in his unconscious world. However, since his shooting, he hadn't really felt the need to have indiscriminate sex like he'd done before. How utterly irresponsible he had been. The shooting had changed his perspective like no other event in his life, not even Marisol's death. Her loss had initiated a small change, but the shooting had been a catalyst for Eric to revaluate his life and he found it lacking. Something was missing, he was beginning to realize.

He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 4:23AM. Once again, he would be going to work sleep-deprived. Eric's thoughts followed him into the bathroom and he stripped to take a shower. The rushing water trickling over his sensitized skin caused a shiver to run down his body. The woman from the dream was so familiar. He knew her. He knew she was someone from his life. Maybe. Calleigh maybe? Probably. He'd been infatuated with her for the better part of the last eight years, give or take a few months. Even before he'd gotten transferred into CSI, he remembered seeing her during the couple of times he'd had to recover a body from the 'Glades or some pond or another. Gorgeous with those piercing green eyes, and that blond hair was distinctive in an area mostly composed of Latina women with darker tresses. Sweet and always polite, professional, she'd treated him like he was an equal. Unlike some people in the department who believed Underwater Recovery was beneath them because they weren't sworn law enforcement, she'd always treated him with respect. That had been the start of his fall. And he'd been tumbling deeper into the well that was Calleigh.

Eric finished washing the soap and conditioner from his hair, what little remained, skimming over the scar that was an ever present reminder of the shortness of life, and moved on to his body. He was quick and efficient in his movements, not wanting to encourage the erection he still sported from the dream earlier. Since the shooting, he'd had problems encouraging the man below to relax. Masturbating hadn't helped as much as it had in the past. He'd tried once to hook up with a girl two months ago, but that hadn't worked out so well. Maybe it was time to try again. Maybe it was too early. He'd only been back on his feet for three months, having spent two weeks in the hospital and another two on bed rest at home, a total of four months since the shooting.

Then again, if these dreams were any indication, he needed to get laid. The thought made his stomach turn. Meaningless sex no longer had the same appeal it had prior to the shooting. He'd almost died. He wanted more. He wanted a family, a house, a lover at the least. Maybe he could go out and attempt to find someone to share his life with. But as he got dressed to go running, Eric's heart began a small, almost imperceptible, ache and his subconscious attempted to tell him he already had someone to share his life with.

****

Bayfront Park was a fixture in Miami. Having been built in the early 1900s, it was redesigned in the early 1980s by Isamu Noguchi and is bordered by Biscayne Bay. Thirty-nine acres of trails, paved and unpaved, benches, fields, picnic tables, and playgrounds. Eric loved running in the park. He'd been coming for over ten years now, and had gotten to know some of the local runners and bikers in the area. Listening to the seagulls and the crashing of the waves calmed Eric's thoughts immensely. It was his way of working out his problems when he couldn't talk to Calleigh. There wasn't much he couldn't talk to her about, but he hadn't found the courage to really talk to her about his feelings for her. And while she was with Jake, he wouldn't. Couldn't. Talk about awkward.

He'd hinted, almost jokingly a couple of times, he was interested in Calleigh. But as she told him once, you know I trust you with my life. I don't even know how I feel about Jake yet. In other words, I'm not interested. Eric's mouth twisted slightly in a grimace as he continued to run. It was obvious how she felt about Jake now. He'd caught her talking on the phone and by her laughter, he knew she was talking to Jake. She never laughed like that when the two of them went out for drinks or dinner, before Jake. They hadn't gone to dinner or had drinks after shift in over six months now. Maybe. At least four months. Ever since the shooting, Eric noticed he had memory gaps. Several times he'd visited with his parents, his mom had made mention of something or another and he hadn't remembered. It was very unsettling.

It worried him. If he couldn't remember a family event or an outing with a friend, what else could he be forgetting? And not know it.

*****

Sunlight streamed through warmed windows. A shaft of light illuminated one side of her face, slowly coaxing Calleigh out of the dream world and into the real. A soft moan filtered through her senses and she smiled in welcome as she turned to face the sexy countenance of the man she cared for deeply. "Hey stranger," she said as sweet brown eyes sleepily opened and focused slightly on her. "Missed you," she added.

"What? Didn't get enough of me last night and in your dreams?" His smart aleck reply bounded off Calleigh.

"Don't remember what I dreamed about," she replied airily.

"Liar," he challenged and suddenly sprung to life, covering her body with his. Calleigh squealed as her lover began to tickle her. It wasn't fair. He wasn't ticklish at all, but every spot on her body seemed to be prone to the sensation.

After a few moments of frivolity, he let her go and Calleigh was about to calm down some, although she found her heart still raced. "I did miss you a lot. Hopefully you won't have to go to any more training sessions anytime soon."

"At least none that are over a week long and out of state," he agreed as he leaned down and kissed her lightly. Though they'd loved all night after he'd returned, he found he couldn't get enough of the woman in his arms. She was an addiction he didn't want rehab for. She was the best candy in the world and no substitutes would do. "I love you, Calleigh Duquesne."

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Calleigh was rudely awakened by the alarm clock blaring from across the bedroom. As much as she appeared to be a morning person, always in a good mood, ready for anything with a smile on her face, in reality, nothing could be further from the truth. It usually took at least two and sometimes as much as four cups of coffee prior to getting to HQ before Calleigh felt even remotely human. And God help the person who got in the way between Calleigh Duquesne and her coffee.

Still half asleep, Calleigh walked groggily over to the alarm which had wrenched her out of what had been a great dream (what little she remembered) and haphazardly pressed the 'off' button. She dragged herself slowly over to the closet and pulled on the terrycloth robe she left hanging for mornings like these. A glance at the bed revealed Jake passed out, flat on his belly, head twisted to one side, sprawled out, one arm and leg halfway off the bed. A slight smile curved her lips at the pose, which Jake commonly adopted, but trotted off out the room and down the stairs to start her coffee.

Several years ago, Calleigh used to drink imported coffee from Ireland, and that was her manna. But ever since she met Eric, all she could drink was Café Bustelo or Pilon. She was addicted to Cuban coffee and when she couldn't find it, which wasn't often, Puerto Rican coffee would work. Furthermore, Eric had taught her a very specific way to make Café Cubano and as a result, she was very picky. Calleigh took her coffee very seriously. No one touched her espresso machine. No one. And Jake had learned that lesson on day one after they became a couple again. As she prepped the espresso machine, Calleigh smiled in remembrance of that day. Two weeks into their budding relationship, Jake had gone into the kitchen after their first night together and begun to make coffee. Calleigh had awoken to the smell of the brew, but something was off with the smell. After putting on a robe, she had gone down to the kitchen to find Jake puttering around in her kitchen, touching her coffee. Making her coffee in her brand new (a year old was still brand new) espresso machine. Calleigh giggled lightly, shaking her head at how she had reacted to the sight of Jake messing with her coffee. She'd blown up at him. Not having had any coffee, Calleigh had gone off on her boyfriend.

"Jake, what are you doing?" she asked, attempting to be calm.

"Making coffee for us before work," he replied, banging around the espresso cups. Calleigh watched in morbid fascination as he manhandled her baby. It was like watching a train wreck. You knew you should turn away, but you couldn't.

When he dumped the glass shot cups in the sink without washing them, Calleigh snapped. "Get out of the kitchen. Now. You're going to break my machine! You're making a mess and, and, and—" Calleigh had stopped stuttering when she took speech classes as a child, but now the ailment returned briefly in her distress. "You're going to break it! No one touches this machine but me, Jake. It was a gift from a, it was a gift, a very expensive gift, but that's besides the point. The p-p-point is no one touches the machine but me," she reiterated and stomped her foot for good measure.

Calleigh's shoulders shook slightly in laughter. God, Jake hadn't known what to do after that. The smart thing would have been not to touch it in the first place, but barring that incident, he did scurry out pretty quick. She had made the coffee ever since and never once did Jake mess with the machine again. Smart boy. Calleigh finished putting the finishing touches on the two lattes and sipped a few precious ounces of one. A heavy sigh released from her lips as morning tension drifted away and Calleigh started to feel human again. This morning ritual was one that got her started before she went into the office. God forbid she went in or to the field before she had her coffee.

A creak on the stairs had Calleigh's head turning slightly to watch Jake come down, still in boxers, but putting on a gray t-shirt as he descended. "Morning, beautiful," he said softly, and as he reached Calleigh, kissed her lightly on the lips. He snagged the latte not claimed and took a few sips. The couple walked into the breakfast nook and sat down to read the paper together. Calleigh divided the paper as they always did: Jake got the sports section first and Calleigh the state and local news. There was a blurb about a training seminar going on that weekend in Miami for law enforcement and the snippet jogged a memory about the dream she'd been having just before the alarm rudely woke her up.

From what she remembered, she'd dreamed about him again. About the night he came home after that training in Las Vegas. She thought she'd put their relationship behind her. She thought she'd moved on. She hadn't had dreams about him in over five months. It was over. That much was clear. Calleigh winced as she remembered that night. She'd moved on, she reminded herself. She was with Jake. She'd made a decision that had changed their relationship irrevocably. And there was no looking back. Not now, not ever.

*****

Eric banged away at the laptop on his desk, typing away and completing several reports that had been delinquent the last few days. All because of a couple of dreams he could barely remember. His thoughts were scattered. His heart fragmented. The dreams had grown in frequency since the first one a month ago. Mostly sexual in nature, but with a loving undertone, the dreams tantalized and teased Eric with visions of a woman he could only get snippets of and could only hang on to those for the first few precious seconds after waking. He didn't know who she was. He didn't know why he was dreaming about her. And it was starting to interfere with his job. Even Calleigh had commented on it today.

"You okay, Eric?" she asked in concern as she opened her locker door, busying herself by putting her jacket inside. She tried to look unconcerned, but failed.

"Yeah, fine. Why?" he replied, closing the locker door.

"You just look really tired."

"Sleep's a little hard to get sometimes," he said, not looking at her.

"For the last three weeks?" Calleigh commented quietly.

Even so, as much as the dreams frustrated and teased, they were oddly comforting and even stranger, Eric had begun to feel an increasing hollowness in his chest, like something was missing. A dull ache that wouldn't go away, a constant reminder of something he couldn't quite remember.

Calleigh's observation earlier today had convinced Eric to call his therapist for an unscheduled appointment which Dr. Andrews made for 4:30PM today, an hour from now. Eric needed to figure this out, now, before it made him compromise his work ethic. Fifteen more minutes of typing, trying to stay focused on the task at hand, progressed and Eric looked up at the clock. 3:45. Not nearly close enough to justify going to Dr. Andrews' office. But enough time to get some café Cubano from the nearby Cuban cafeteria. Eric took a break and walked down and out Miami-Dade HQ, deciding to walk to the café instead of drive. It was only three blocks away and he had plenty of time to kill.

La Terisita was an institution in the sea of Cuban coffee and restaurant shops that had sprung up after the revolt and the massive influx of Cubans into the US. Nestled in between two large office buildings on the bay, it was prime real estate. Several major companies has tried to purchase the space over the years, but the city council and neighborhood committees had halted all of them. It was a place where everyone was welcome, whether you were Cuban or not, Hispanic or not, and it showed. Popular, the shop was still packed when Eric walked in. Traditionally, the 3-5pm hours were not heavily trafficked, but they were here. Eric hadn't been here since before his shooting. The last time he remembered coming was with Calleigh after a case.

"Hola, como estas?" Eric asked Mr. Antonio Suarez, the owner, who was behind the counter, taking orders. He was always behind the counter. Eric liked that he was involved in his business. Too many people left their livelihoods to their employees who inevitably ran them into the ground.

"Bien, Gracias. Eric, how have you been? Mi familia and I were worried when we heard about your shooting a few months ago. Went to church. Prayed to Santa Maria for a quick recovery. Here you are now. Bien and on your feet," Mr. Suarez said, switching between Spanish and English fluidly.

Eric ducked his head. It had been a while since he had to explain what had happened after and he wasn't used to it anymore. "Everything's good. Been back now for about three months. Quick recovery, but I'm still on meds," he said truthfully. Antonio and he went back a long time. He'd been in the neighborhood his whole life and he'd been coming to the shop since he joined Miami-Dade ten years ago. Antonio was more a friend than a server and he treated him as such. "Look, I'm sorry for not coming by before now. Things have been really busy," Eric apologized.

"De nada. You've had bigger problems lately. Hey, by the way, are you still seeing that pretty blonde you used to bring by? The pretty green-eyed chica?"

Eric's face twisted into a frown. "Calleigh? She's—We're not dating. We never were. She's just a friend," he denied.

Antonio gave him a look, but didn't say anything aloud, although he did mutter something under his breath. Sounded suspiciously like, "Yeah, right. And I'm Jesus."

Eric shook his head and moved down the line to order café con leche. Once he had his coffee, Eric headed toward the back of the café to a small booth in the corner and sat down. Running his middle finger around the ring of the cup, Eric thought about his conversation with Antonio. He was pretty convinced Calleigh and Eric were seeing each other. Eric wished. Antonio was a hopeless romantic and always wanted the people around him to be in love, with someone. Look at his three daughters. He had introduced their husbands to them and in a matter of two years, all three were married with children on the way. That was it. Just wishful thinking on Antonio's part. But Eric didn't notice he was unconsciously tracing writing, a familiar handwriting in the battered wood table.