Author's Note: Told ya long chapters are my new thing. Thank you so much for the reviews from chapter 5! More soon hopefully. :)
When Eric reached the open door to Horatio's office, he wasn't surprised to find him on the phone evidently dealing with the fallout from the morning's investigation.
"I hear you," he heard Horatio say into the phone, likely to a Miami-Dade officer or captain. "But we have to hold onto those witnesses and suspects. We can't lose anyone or any evidence from that scene. Until we can verify their stories, they stay. Send their lawyers to me."
With that, he flipped his phone shut, and turned towards the door, his eyes falling on an outwardly anxious Eric.
"H," Eric began. "Anything we can do to speed things along? We've been holding them for 6 hours."
"And they're all lawyering up as we speak," Horatio continued.
Eric pressed his lips together in frustration. "It's taking forever to go through all the clothing and I'm still waiting on ballistics to process the bullets." He breathed out, Horatio's knowing eyes on him as he ran a restless hand through his buzzed hair. "Look, I know the temp guy is supposed to be part of the team and all, and I'm...trying. But we're slow without Calleigh," he admitted in frustration. "Any word on when she'll be back?"
"Well, her contract is for up to six months or until they can make a recommendation to the Department of Defense, and it's been about a month."
"Yeah, I know how long it's been," he said a little too sharply, immediately tilting his head apologetically and shaking it. "I'm sorry, I'm just frustrated."
"Transitions here have always been hard on you," Horatio acknowledged, thinking of Speed, of Ryan's first year. "Especially with people you've worked with day in and day out, people you've cared about."
Eric pressed his lips together and nodded, idly rested his hands on the nearest chair, leaning forward. It was more than that, though, and he and Horatio both knew it.
Eric had been halfway right. He'd needed the distraction, and so he'd come into work the day after Marisol's funeral – the day Calleigh had left him tangled in her sheets. But she hadn't gotten her night off. A jewelry theft gone wrong had left four dead, including one of the suspects, and they'd been rushing to process the complicated crime scene and four dead bodies before the remaining thieves had put too much time and distance between them.
"Lieutenant Duquesne," Eric teased as he walked into the ballistics lab, finding her with her eyes over the ocular lens of a microscope. The title was kind of true. With Horatio gone for the next day or two, she was the most senior CSI and thus the acting lieutenant.
She smiled at the sound of his voice, looking up to find him strolling in and resting his palms against the countertop. They could do this. They could return to normal and banter as friends and coworkers.
"I think that's Acting Lieutenant to you," she joked, placing a hand on her hip as she turned to him.
His eyes followed her hand, her lab coat falling open to reveal the red button-up that hugged her curves much, much better than the loose coat. And when her hand settled at her hip, he couldn't help but think about the very surprising but kinda not, very sexy pistol tattoo that was a few inches lower and inward. Before he knew it, a smirk had crept across his lips and he realized it was probably much better for their professional relationship that he had not been privy to that information.
Her playful demeanor waned as she took in the direction of his gaze, the reason for that smirk she usually found so adorable. Correction: she could do this. He couldn't.
He nodded toward the scope, focusing on the case at hand. He desperately needed something purposeful to distract his mind today. "Got anything?"
"Maybe," she said, nodding to the computer screen next to her. "I'm trying to separate out the shots fired by our suspects and by the security guard. This bullet fragmented, but I cleaned the fragments and used our 3D analysis software to recreate it. I'm trying to figure out if it's enough to run through IBIS."
"Need any help?"
"I'm almost done here, but Ryan could probably use some help. He's processing clothing, I was gonna join him when I finished up here." She was biting the inside of her cheek in concentration as her hand returned to the mouse, rotating the image of the bullet to check the model.
"I'll check in with him," Eric told her, standing upright and turning to leave. "Oh." He stopped short, remembering the extra key in his pocket, and set it on the table. Slyly yet not very discreetly, his hand glided towards hers as he took a few steps closer. As he slid the keychain beneath her palm resting on the table in a gesture that turned a little more flirtatious than he'd intended, the back of his hand brushed her wrist, his arm brushed hers, and he was entirely too close for two coworkers. "Thought you might want this back."
Calleigh stiffened immediately, her eyes darting toward the glass doors and windows to the lab. Ballistics was a bit tucked away, and it was starting to get late, but there were still about a dozen people who could've walked by or in at any given moment. A dozen people who could've gotten the completely wrong idea if they'd spotted the faint beginnings of another smirk as he'd leaned into her and touched her hand. A dozen people who could threaten the professionalism of their team, her career, his career. She moved back, slipping her hand from his and tucking the keys quickly into her lab coat as she avoided his eyes.
This was exactly what she hadn't wanted, why she'd brushed off every touch, every glance, every moment their eyes lingered too long. Why she hadn't wanted to let him go there the day he'd tried to tell her how he felt when they were standing in her kitchen, emotional and vulnerable after she'd had a close brush with death.
Eric was warm and open and naturally flirtatious, and it had gotten him into trouble in the past. She wasn't going to be a part of that, and she definitely didn't want the rumor mill at the lab focusing on the two of them after his toothing, or Natalia, or crazy ex-girlfriend drama.
And that was all without considering that whatever feelings they harbored for each other, whatever could develop between them if they let it, would undoubtedly come into question given the right life or death situation in the field.
Eric swallowed hard, holding his hands up to show her he was backing off and wouldn't slip up again.
She released a deep, relieved breath as he left and she returned her attention to the screen. But a moment later, she couldn't resist letting her eyes trail over his retreating form, a shred of guilt creeping in at the frustrated shake of his head. And as she glanced down at her hand, gripping the edge of the table, all she could think of was the altogether sweet and intense way he'd threaded his fingers with hers last night and pushed them into the sheets.
"Have you talked to her?" Eric asked Horatio.
"When she was first settling in," Horatio answered. "She needed clearance to access a few cases through the FBI. She seemed to be doing well."
Eric nodded, trying to take it all in. He knew that it was work-related, but the fact that she'd spoken to Horatio more in the past month than she had to him stung. Horatio watched him curiously, waiting for him to finally voice the concerns he knew were simmering just below the surface.
"It's just odd for her, I've been a little worried. Calleigh lives and breathes CSI work," he said, eyes absentmindedly drifting out the window to the bustling comings and goings of Miami Dade Crime Scene Investigation. He anxiously tapped the chair as he searched for answers outside. "It just seems strange for her to leave."
Horatio looked up and met Eric's eyes. "It sure is, Eric," he said – a little too meaningfully, with a curious understanding in his eyes. "It sure is."
"So let me get this straight, Mr. McGrath," Calleigh began, opening the manila file folder in her hands to reveal the photographic evidence. "We have your prints on our murder weapon, and you're telling me you have no idea how they got there."
"No," he said again, and this time it was obvious he was feigning disbelief. "No idea."
It seemed like everyone remotely close to snapping had gone over the edge today. Their interrogation rooms were full, and she and Eric had had to drag this guy into one of their holding cells, standing room only. Strangely, being locked up in a holding cell didn't seem to faze this guy at all. In fact, in a very creepy way, none of this seemed to faze him.
"Besides," the suspect added, "Didn't you say my prints were on the inside when you took the knife apart? Means I didn't kill anyone with it, right, or you'd find them on the handle? Maybe I cleaned it for a friend." He smirked, his eyes dancing boldly between the two of them. "I have a lot of friends."
Calleigh glanced at Eric, who was standing next to her, both of them steadily losing patience with this guy. It had been a long, grueling day of balancing two to three cases per CSI team. She and Eric, after weeks of being overly stiff and professional following their incident in ballistics, were finally hitting their stride as coworkers again. It was fine if they focused on the work, fine if they didn't joke around so that her smile didn't remind him of how he'd kissed the corner of her mouth when she smiled in the dark. Fine if he didn't touch her enough to remember the maddening way he'd held her hip with both gentleness and enough pressure to guide her where he wanted. It was a far cry from the way they were, but it was almost bearable on a normal day.
Today wasn't a normal day, though, and as she looked at Eric she found herself communicating with him silently with her eyes in that way they had. They were at a standstill and she had a hunch, and with the slightest nod toward the suspect and raise of his eyebrows, Eric was encouraging her to go with it.
Calleigh was no forensic psychologist, but if she had to put down money on this guy being a psychopath, she would. And she'd double her bet on narcissism. Maybe if she pushed the right buttons, they'd get somewhere.
"You know," she began, a hint of amusement in her voice as she turned the knife in its evidence bag over in her hand. "It's almost like this was your knife. You thought you were being smart...smart enough to wear gloves or wipe the handle down when you killed Jessica Franklin, but not smart enough to remember your prints would be on the base of the blade from cleaning it."
His eyes zeroed in on her. There it was – a flash of anger in his eyes, the same rage that had probably led him to stab their victim to death along with several other women whose case files matched this M.O.
"I told you I didn't kill that chick," he said, Eric's eyes studying him very carefully as he took a daring step towards Calleigh. "And now you're insulting my intelligence?"
"Only if you're our murderer," she retorted, challenging him with her eyes as she held her ground. She straightened her relaxed leg to stand taller, and he responded just as she thought he would: his temper continued to rage as she challenged him, refusing to back down or let him affect her. He wasn't used to it.
"Maybe that bitch got what she deserved," he finally spat out, stepping close enough that she had to look right up at him. "What do you think you deserve?" He suddenly reached for her arm, and just as she dropped the evidence and went to swiftly dodge him and twist his arm into an arm bar to push him against the wall, Eric finally lost his cool and stepped in to do it for her before she had the chance.
"Congrats, you just added assaulting an officer to your rap sheet," Eric said as he sunk his hands into the guy's arm.
He'd twisted the suspect's arm behind his back and slammed him against the wall a little more aggressively than he should've, the guy's heated words of protest drowning into the background as Eric clicked handcuffs around his wrist. Calleigh glanced around, taking in the way their altercation had drawn the eyes of a bunch of beat cops near holding, all of them probably treated to the sight of Eric stepping in when she didn't need his help.
Her blood was boiling by the time Eric finally hesitantly met her eyes, knowing before he did that he'd messed up. He'd done something he hadn't made the mistake of doing in years – not since the first time she'd ripped him a new one for helping her when she didn't need it. He'd undermined her again after years of conditioning himself to never step in, knowing she could hold her own, and unfortunately they both knew exactly why.
He couldn't stand there and do nothing now that he'd seen her all soft and feminine, smiling amid white sheets as he trailed his fingers over the soft skin at her waist. He couldn't stomach some creep touching her now that he'd run his hands through her silky hair and pressed his lips to nearly every inch of her body.
Calleigh grabbed their suspect's arm and passed him off to the cop by the door, practically shoving him into the officer's hand. "Book him," she said, her jaw clenched as the door shut, leaving her and Eric alone.
"I cannot believe you did that." She crossed her arms over her chest stiffly, a heated edge to her gaze as she met his eyes. "I was fine."
"I'm sorry, I know." Eric sighed, smoothing his hands over a furrowed brow. "But I wasn't going to just stand by as that creep touched you."
"You wouldn't have had to," she assured him. "I was about to restrain him before you completely undermined my authority – not to mention reinforced his messed up ideas about women." She moved her restless hands to her hips, shaking her head. "Eric, we're both officers of the law, we have the same training...and I have a few years of experience on you, if you didn't recall."
"I know," he said sharply, knowing he was in the wrong but being fully unable to explain to her why he'd done what he had. But she knew. With her jaw set and her eyes bearing down on his, she was pleading with him to let it go. They'd had an agreement – just that night. And here they were, weeks later, reaping the repercussions.
"Calleigh…" he began, unable to give her what she wanted, his eyes begging her for the truth.
"I'm not gonna get into this here," she insisted, glancing around at their not-so-private surroundings. "Let's talk outside."
/~/
Unfortunately, the short time between splitting up at the lab and meeting in the parking lot had done nothing to calm the storm of emotions raging in each of them – Calleigh because Eric was doing a less than stellar job of sticking to their agreement and not letting their night of weakness affect their work, Eric because Calleigh was completely sweeping the connection they had under the rug and refusing to acknowledge it.
After a brief staredown between their Hummers in the parking lot, she broke the silence.
"We can't do this, Eric," she urged. "We can't let this affect our work."
"This," he repeated, almost a question, motioning between the two of them. "What is this, anyway?"
"I don't know," she admitted sadly. Running a hand through her hair, she tilted her head, effectively ruining her perfectly styled hair and letting the unruly strands fall to the side. "I'm not sure we should find out."
"Might be a little late for that," he said sharply, remembering the way he felt like he'd been sucker-punched when his eyes had met hers in the dark as their bodies came together and everything he'd been feeling for her hit him full force.
"That's not fair." She shook her head, thinking of the unimaginable grief he'd been feeling that day, how desperate he'd been when he'd come to her. She'd been in no position to deny him, and despite how much she hated what was happening between them now, she had no regrets. It had been an emotional day that led them both to give in to a weakness they had for one another, whatever that meant. "I don't think we can hold that day against each other."
"No," he agreed honestly, meeting her eyes sadly. "But was that all it was? Just that day?"
She bit her lip, her eyes actually getting a little glossy as emotions overwhelmed her. "You know what I said…"
"Yeah, I know that we work together," he said, frustrated with her unwillingness to get past that or see him in any different light. His job was important to him, but it wasn't the only thing in his life. And he hoped that, deep down, even if she wouldn't admit it, that was true for Calleigh, too. But it was what she was going with.
At a standstill, he sighed, bouncing his leg restlessly as he drew his eyes back to her. "I won't undermine you again," he promised as best he could.
"Thank you," she told him honestly, crossing her arms over her chest. They hadn't really resolved anything, but it was the best they could get.
/~/
From the back hallway he happened to be passing through, Horatio had stopped short at the sight outside that had caught his attention: Eric and Calleigh having what appeared to be a heated conversation, Eric's hand motioning between the two of them and Calleigh running a hand through her hair anxiously. As quickly as he'd taken in the actions, he averted his eyes downward, the gears turning in his mind. Suddenly, the formality and rigidity of his team over the past few weeks had made sense. Something was going on with his CSIs, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what.
"Maybe you'll feel better if you talk to her," Horatio suggested, resting his hands on his hips.
"Yeah," Eric agreed half-heartedly. He wasn't so sure, considering that hadn't gone well the majority of the times they'd tried in the past few months. They'd reached a point where they could work together without friction, but more often than not their interactions just left him disappointed and guilty. "Maybe. Thanks, H." Returning his attention to the day at hand, Eric added, "I'll help Ryan with the clothing, see if we can get things moving."
As he left Horatio's office, he ducked into the quiet back lobby and pulled his phone from his pocket. Looking around the empty room, he paused for a moment before scrolling through his contacts until he found her name. Just the sight of her name on his screen sent a wave of anxiety through him, but he pressed the phone symbol anyway before he could wrestle with his conscience any longer. He lifted the phone to his ear as it rang and rang, and he checked his watch as the line clicked over to her familiar voicemail greeting. It was 1:05 Pacific Time, and she easily could've been in the middle of her day.
"Hey, it's me," he began at the beep, a few moments of silence passing before he could find his next words. "I just wanted to see how the west coast was treating you. It's weird not working with you every day," he admitted, biting his lip. And then, looking around the room for anyone familiar, he added, "The new ballistic tech sucks. Call me back if you want to commiserate over our afternoons, I'm off to help Wolfe process like three dozen items from a shootout. Talk to you later."
Ending the call, he turned the phone over in his hands and looked outside at the spot where her Hummer had been parked, untouched for weeks, before leaving to find Wolfe.