Eric pulled on his lab coat as he walked into the Layout Room, joining Calleigh as she examined the evidence from their latest case. "So what've we got?"

She sighed. "Not much. The vic's clothes are a dead end, and the only thing he had on him was a pre-paid cell phone."

"Well, we'll just have to look harder, then, won't we?" he smiled.

Calleigh turned to look at him, a smile of her own spreading across her face. "Look at you, Mr. Cheerful. Gonna solve this case with or without evidence, aren't you?"

He chuckled. "I'm going to do my best."

"And can you leap tall buildings in a single bound, too?" she grinned.

He laughed. "No…not yet."

"Not yet? Aren't we optimistic!"

He noticed something in her voice other than amiable teasing and cocked an eyebrow at her. "What? I can't be in a good mood?"

Her smile softened. "Of course you can," she replied quickly. "You just haven't been this happy in a while." She reached over and squeezed his arm affectionately. "It's good to see."

"I'm likin' it too," he returned with a small smile.

Calleigh turned back to the light table, her eyes twinkling when she spoke again. "So are you gonna tell me who she is?"

Eric studied her closely. "How do you know it's a girl?"

"Oh," she replied with an innocent shrug of her shoulders, "just a hunch."

He sighed with mock irritation. "You know me too well."

"Does that mean you're not going to tell me about her?"

"Not yet," he decided. "I've only known her for a week. But if anything important happens, you'll be the first to know."

She flashed another bright smile at him. "Deal." Grabbing a pair of tweezers, she continued, "Well, whoever she is, she's lucky to have you."

Her words stopped him in his tracks. Have me? Does Shauna have me? Does she think she has me? He caught Calleigh staring at him and shook himself, pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind and picking up a magnifier. "Have you processed the shoes yet?"

She tried to understand his sudden transformation from sunny-man-in-a-new-romance to all-business-CSI, noting his effort to change the subject. Was it something I said? Deciding not to push the issue, though, she followed his lead. "No, I haven't done the shoes. They're over there…"

ooo

At the end of his shift, Eric climbed into his truck and pulled out of the parking lot quickly, not sure where he was going. The impulsive part of his brain begged him to pick a club—any club—and find a pretty girl to hook up with. It would feel good, his brain insisted, and he knew it would. At the same time, his more rational side tried to remind him of what happened the last time he did that: the lost badge used in a murder, the embarrassment of telling his coworkers what he'd been doing when he lost it, listening to Stetler talk about Speed like he was just some cop and not Eric's best friend.

Do you really want to go through all that again?

He frowned and answered his thought aloud. "It won't be like that this time if I'm careful."

Careful? How can you be careful with a complete stranger?

"My badge stays in the truck this time," he decided, "locked in the glove compartment. And we go to a more secluded place where there's no chance of an indecent exposure arrest."

What about your health? Who knows what diseases you could get!

His mind's eye flashed to the condoms in his wallet, knowing he was covered on that front, at least better than he was before.

But his rational side persisted. What about Shauna?

The question popped into his head before he could stop it and he found himself becoming defensive. "What about Shauna? She's not into this, she said so herself."

No, she's into getting to know people—like Sunday night at the club, Thursday at the softball game, the phone calls you traded this week.

"And now she thinks she we're in some kind of relationship," he mumbled. "I know she does! And I'm not looking for that right now…"

Because you're afraid of losing someone else close to you? They were Stetler's words, echoed more kindly by Dr. Jamison at his first appointment, and they haunted him now. He knew deep down that, whether he liked it or not, there was some truth to them. But now, pulling into the parking lot at his favorite club and removing his badge from his belt, he didn't care. He shoved aside all the questions, all the insecurities, all the doubts, and made his way into the building.

The baseline of the song the DJ was spinning beat in Eric's chest and he found himself relaxing in the laid back atmosphere. Leaning against the bar and ordering a drink, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and scoped out the crowd, both visually and electronically. Almost immediately a message flashed on screen and he was off and running.

shakemy$maker: got plans 2nite?

6PakPlaya2Nite: not yet—u have something in mind?

shakemy$maker: u me & the prkg lot ;-)

6PakPlaya2Nite: sounds gr8!

ooo

The next morning Eric rose miserably with the insistent screeching of his alarm clock, showering quickly and calling a cab to take him back to the club's parking lot in search of his truck. His head pounded, his mouth tasted like cotton, his eyes squinting painfully as he moved through the harsh sunlight to his vehicle and climbed in. Before doing anything else, he clicked open the glove compartment and fished around, relief flooding through him when he found his badge exactly where he left it.

"Well that's one issue I won't have to deal with."

And if he had his badge, the chances of having to fess up to his colleagues dropped considerably, too. No Calleigh, no Stetler, no lab techs to have to explain himself to.

Good.

He made it to the lab on time and, with the exception of Joseph commenting on how "you look like hell, Delko," he managed not to garner any unwanted attention. He even made a breakthrough on one of his tougher open cases, and was beginning to think his outing the previous evening wasn't going to have any ill effects on him.

Until his phone rang while he was eating dinner. Sitting across from him at the restaurant, Calleigh glanced at the screen sitting near his plate.

"Is that dispatch?"

He picked it up and checked the Caller ID, his heart sinking a little when he saw the name Shauna. "No," he shook his head, trying to keep his voice even for Calleigh's benefit. "It's not another callout."

"Thank goodness," she sighed. "I'm all for doing our job and getting justice for the victim, but I don't think we can handle another scene today."

"You're not kidding," he seconded, only a little less miserable then he had been that morning.

She watched him place the phone back on the table unanswered, making no move to even listen to the message left when his voicemail tone sounded. "Not gonna check it, huh?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Nope."

"So it must not be important," Calleigh continued.

Eric raised an eyebrow at her in a "don't meddle" expression and shook his head. "Nope," he repeated.

Versions of the scene cropped up again and again over the next several days, with Eric's phone ringing and being subsequently ignored when Shauna's name flashed on screen. Part of him wanted to talk to her—he had really enjoyed the time he'd spent with her—but part of him wanted to stay as far away from her as possible. He couldn't quite pinpoint why, just that he felt "bad", particularly after finally listening to her messages.

"Hi Eric, it's Shauna again. I'm, um, I'm starting to wonder what's going on here. I thought we had a good time together, but, uh…maybe not. If that's why you're not calling me back, it's okay—just leave me a message, or text me, or…or send me a smoke signal, I don't care. I just need to know so I don't…don't worry about you so much. I just want to know that you're okay. Okay?"

At his next appointment with Dr. Jamison, he tried to explain.

"I don't know what it is," he told the doctor. "I guess I just don't want to hurt her."

"Based on her phone message, it sounds like she's already hurt," she observed. "And worried about you, too. By not getting in touch with her, you might be causing her more pain instead of less."

Eric mulled that information over for a moment. Out of all the girls I've dated, none of them have ever been hurt when I didn't call back…

That I know of.

The thought hit him like a bolt of lightning. "The girls I've been with before have all just sort of let me go," he realized aloud. "When I don't call back, they might try once or twice to get a hold of me, but then they don't worry about it anymore."

"But Shauna told you she's worried," she reminded him.

He nodded in response. "Like my friends at work," he noted. "They were worried about me, too."

"And you pushed them away…your fear of losing those close to you got the better of you then."

"Now, too?" he wondered.

The doctor nodded her head. "It seems that way, yes."

He heaved a frustrated sigh. "Why can't I just be normal?"

"The death of a close friend is no small thing," she replied, leaning forward in her chair and resting her elbows on her knees. "I know you know that, but the clichés are true: you have to take baby steps, take it one day at a time. It's good that you were able to connect with Shauna, but then you reverted back to your old behavior."

"Yeah, the behavior that I don't want to have," he frowned. "I tried—I really tried—not to go out because I knew what would happen. But the more I thought about it, the more I rationalized it and tried to make it okay. And when I was with that girl…I could forget all my problems and just have a good time."

"Until your problems found you again afterward," she added.

He sighed again, this time with more regret than frustration. "I know." His head fell into his hands and he was silent a moment. When he lifted his eyes back to the doctor's, he had one question for her. "So what do I do?"

"Short term? Like I said, take things one day at a time, one hour at a time if you have to. You're strong, Eric. That's how you've dealt with Tim's death up until now on your own, and that strength will get you through this. But you can't run from your problems or your feelings anymore."

"What about Shauna?" he asked softly.

Dr. Jamison met his gaze, her voice firm but sympathetic. "That's your decision. You can keep ignoring her calls and never see her again, which would certainly take care of that problem—eventually she'll just stop calling. Or you could face her and give her some kind of explanation. Tell her as much or as little as you think is appropriate, but tell her the truth."

"That's what you think I should do," he responded, reading her facial expression. "You think I should face her."

"It would certainly help both in your healing process and her general state of mind. But like I said," she continued, "it's your decision."

Walking out of the office, Eric's mind whirled through the possibilities. What am I going to do?