Note: You have to thank nsynckal for this one...because in a message today she mentioned she thought the writers passed up the opportunity for an Eric/Calleigh scene in last week's episode with him getting hurt and that I should write a little something. That triggered an idea and it allllll snowballed from there. So here you go! This marks my unofficial goal to try to find something in these episodes that can lead to a post-ep each week. Also, I apologize for any mistakes. I am incapable of reading back through things.

With adrenaline fading from his system, his palm was stinging a little now but he'd been trying to ignore the nagging sensation. White, tattered shirt already discarded on the bench behind him, he reached into his locker for an extra, and when his hand curved to grip it the pain bit sharply. Drawing his hand back, he slowly uncurled his fingers, a process that stretched the skin until his fingers quivered at the pain. He grasped the end of the stained, dirty bandage with his right hand, slowly unwinding it a few times before the sound of a door startled him.

It was late. He hadn't remembered seeing anyone from the team when he'd finally retired back to the lab – and he was thankful for it. He was exhausted, run down, and, he had to admit, a little sore from fighting two convicted felons. He didn't really want to see anyone, didn't want to answer any questions about cases or escapees or Calleigh. People had been walking on eggshells around him and that aggravated him even more than the questions did.

But when Calleigh rounded the corner, now standing before him in the dim locker room, he felt simultaneously further irritated and completely at ease.

"Sorry." Her eyes dropped to his bare chest awkwardly, unable to keep from roving over the ridges of muscles in his abdomen before she finally averted her gaze to the lockers. Fingers uncharacteristically fumbling with her lock, she had to spin it a couple times before she finally got the practiced, perfected sequence right.

He lowered his head, lips tightening into a sardonic smile. Friends, he thought sarcastically. She loved him like family.

"It's okay." Temporarily wrapping the bandage back around his hand, he reached for the shirt again, noticing her eyes flicker over his bare skin before the material fully covered his upper body. "I thought you'd left already."

"No," she admitted, pausing with a hand on the now open door to smile at him halfheartedly. "I was tracking 911 calls and police reports for H, seeing if anything would lead us to the escaped prisoners."

"That's good." He nodded, but he was still facing his locker, avoiding her. "Any leads?"

"Not yet." She shrugged, still hopeful, and then pulled her restless hands from her locker with a sigh. "I didn't need anything here," she admitted, stopping short. She pushed the door closed with one hand and then leaned against the row of lockers, studying him. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Despite his hardened exterior right now, he had to smile a little, but there was more than just a hint of uncertainty in his features. "Because that's what friends do?" he asked flatly, immediately regretting it at the flash of hurt in her eyes.

"No." Her brows furrowed accusingly, and for the first time in a long time she had that no-nonsense air about her again. She was tired of them rigidly adhering to unspoken rules, tired of respecting boundaries that weren't even defined. "Because I wanted to."

He met her gaze, surprised by the honesty there in a world of unanswered questions, and watched as her eyes flickered to his hand. There was blood – lots of it, both dried and fresh, soaking the bandage wrapped round his hand. She was beside him in a moment, her hands on his with concern and without reservation.

"What happened?" she demanded. Determined fingers untucked the grimy bandage and she let out a frustrated sigh. "Did you clean it? How long have you had this on?" She unwrapped it from his hand, carefully prying the last layers from his skin as he winced.

"It's fine, Cal." The intimate nickname slipped from his lips and he smiled, overwhelmed by her questions and her touch. "The guy just nicked me when I was trying to get the knife from him. I was gonna clean it when I got back, but we've been busy trying to track these guys down."

She tilted her head, chastising him. "Eric." She gently pulled the final layer from his skin, all too aware of the tension in his features from the pain. She was completely unsurprised to find his hand just as dirty as the rest of him – caked with dust, dirt, and blood. "This is bad," she let out, sighing. "You could get an infection."

"It'll be fine," he insisted, playfully annoyed as he slipped his hand from hers. This brought him back for a moment to the days when Speed was still here, when she'd served as their judge of work ethic and as a moral compass – mostly the former for Speed and the latter for him. She'd kept them in check.

She grabbed his forearm with a force that didn't surprise him in the slightest, but the repercussions of her touch did. Things had certainly changed since Speed. Unresolved sexual tension had been more than resolved…and then had deepened, challenged, complicated, and crumbled. It hadn't been because it wasn't right, but because it was too right, especially with everything they were going through.

Her hand on him like that crossed a boundary and, judging by the intensity in her eyes as she met his, she knew it. But she only softened her grasp and her gaze, silently pleading with him. He let her loosen her hold on him to turn her hand over, let her gently tug him toward the sinks. She wanted to take care of him in so many ways right now and she couldn't, so he didn't object when she turned on the water, didn't pull back when she lightly ran her hands down to his wrist and guided his hand beneath the warm stream.

Calleigh swallowed hard, feeling both too much and not enough all at once. Her eyes danced over his body, taking in the scrape on his cheek, the blossoming bruise on his wrist, and the tension he kept in his shoulders. "So I hope the other guy looks worse," she teased, lightening things between them just enough.

"Definitely." He grinned a little, and then winced again as her fingers swept close to the gash with a little soap. "He's in the morgue."

She raised a brow, impressed until a soft laugh escaped him. "H shot him," he admitted.

Smiling knowingly, she shook her head. Holding his hand beneath the water with hers, she opened the cabinet with her free hand to rummage through their free-for-all of first aid supplies.

"But I did keep him from stabbing me, and I did handcuff a guy with my bare hands."

"This is keeping him from stabbing you?" she pressed, motioning downward. But as her eyes flickered back to his they held a little more meaning. She was proud he could hold his own, mostly because it meant she could trust him to come out okay. Still… "And what possessed you to go after eight convicted felons unarmed?"

Eric sighed, meeting her understanding eyes. She already knew. It was what they did – that whole serve and protect thing – and it was asking a lot for him to be sensible about it, but it still felt a little reckless to her. And with his apathy toward everything but work lately, she had to wonder how badly this was all affecting him, if his decisions had been a little too rash today.

Watching her carefully, he detected the barely distinguishable harsh edge of concern in her features. She was hard to read, but he knew her so well. She'd been worried about him.

"I'm sorry," he said simply, knowingly. She held his gaze in silent acceptance, biting her lip.

"This is going to hurt," she warned sympathetically. His eyes dropped in time to see a bottle of peroxide, and soon it was washing over his skin with an almost unbearable stinging pain. He gripped the sink a little with his free hand and this time she was wincing for him.

She rode it out with him, gently holding his arm as his eyes danced over her without reproach for the first time in weeks. The delicate plunge of her neckline revealed creamy skin, further highlighted by the deep purple of the material. Her long hair, curled at the ends, cascaded down, further tempting him to run his fingers through it and tuck a lock behind her ear. Her eyes were sad, but brighter now as she watched him watch her.

"Better now?" she asked.

"Yeah." She had no idea.

She reached for a towel, and the simple sensation of her thumb absentmindedly caressing his arm overwhelmed him. He was still completely transfixed as she soothed the gash with an antibiotic ointment and brought out a fresh roll of bandage tape. Meeting his eyes, she gently redressed the wound, wrapping the tape around the back of his hand several times to secure it.

Her hands left his, an uncomfortable silence coinciding with the loss of her touch. Desperate for it to continue, he finally gave in, his good hand trailing up her bare arm until he could reach up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

"Thank you," he murmured, fingers caressing the back of her neck to gently tug her close.

In silent response, she pushed up onto the tips of her toes to secure her arms around his neck. Fingers cupping the back of his head, she held him to her, reveling in the feel of having him close again. In a moment of weakness, she pressed her lips to his cheek, only whispering, "Be more careful."

"I will," he assured, hands now wrapped around her waist. This was a little too familiar, a little too right, and he found himself resting his forehead against hers just like before. They were crossing boundaries with leaps and bounds now, his hands trailing over her curves as he simply took her in. His eyes danced with hers and then he closed them, breathing in. "Come home with me."

She sighed, the hand resting over his shoulder now gripping him tightly. She knew she shouldn't, knew that tomorrow she might wake up with the same doubts and questions that had been plaguing her mind the past several weeks, but this felt too good. It felt right, and she knew it was when he softly bumped the bridge of his nose against hers and met her eyes.

"Okay."