"Out of Breath" by Carolina
Cold water filtrated through the too cheap sole of his shoes, mildly spurned, soaking socks, skin, and bones. For once, he didn't care. Didn't care that the water was icy cold and his toes were beginning to lose their sensation. Toes didn't seem very important at the moment. Socks didn't matter, either. The socks can be replaced. The shoes can be thrown away, cheap soles and all.
He couldn't help but think the socks would come in handy, though. The socks might be important now and Eric held on to that thought as he shifted on his cold feet and glanced around his apartment, barely able to recognize it. If the key hadn't fit through the lock, he would never believe this place could be his. Because it looked nothing like he had left it that morning. It looked nothing like it did the day he moved in, when life seemed to be starting, halfway through an anticipated middle, to have no tragic end.
And now, it was nothing but rubble.
And the low but persistent Catholic voice on the back of his head kept reminding him it was okay. They were just things, nothing of value. He was alive. He had his health and that was more important than materialism. He would be able to rebuild. He would rebuild.
But he wanted to hear none of it. He wanted to silence it, drown it in a puddle of pessimism. Because the pessimism felt good. Pessimism reminded him he had taken a life that day, however good or bad it may have been lived, and this was his punishment for it. His first confrontation with Karma. What comes around goes around. The realization came with a strong smell of iron that seemed to be trapped in his nostrils, no matter how much he tried to breathe all of it out, it wouldn't go away. He tried to put it out of his mind, but so far, it hadn't been working. He figured in the end it would just consume him.
Eric bent down to pick up a frame that lay among the completely flooded disarray that used to be his apartment. He turned it around and three smiley faces greeted him behind the spider web that was the crystal of the frame. He placed the image of his three sisters on the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room and took a deep breath. The water came up to his ankles, numbing his skin, and he kept reminding himself to wiggle his toes, keep the blood flow moving, but he very rarely did it. He walked towards the window and looked out to the vista he had been so proud of for so long. The view that was the envy of many, the reason why he had decided to take this apartment in the first place, when he could barely afford it.
The sea was completely tranquil, the sun slowly sinking in it. The surf was calmed, and if he squinted his eyes and concentrated, it seemed like he was looking at a picture rather than a live image. Because the sea didn't seem to be moving at all, hard to believe after what they had gone through that day, hard to believe after he had seen just what the ocean was capable of doing.
To his right, the tank he had worked so hard on for so long stood in the same place, but broken. Half the fish were gone; half floated around the floor, dead. His mind consoled him with the idea that maybe the missing fish were in the ocean, still alive. It gave him a glimmer of hope; however faint, it made the idea that he would be able to rebuild this seem possible.
Behind him, water swooshed in a familiar tempo, and his mind barely seemed to react when he felt a cold hand held on to his upper arm. At that moment, only one thought seemed to swim through his mind. There was nothing of value here but a pair of soaked socks.
"Eric?"
Hard to believe he hadn't wanted her there when he heard the water swooshing. Hard to believe half of him still didn't want her there, wanted her to go away and leave him alone with his pessimism. But the other part of him spoke louder with a heavy sigh, and without warning him, his hand sought hers and squeezed her fingers, tenderly yet desperately, and it let him know he was still there. If he could feel her, he was still alive.
Calleigh looked around his apartment once more, her mind barely able to recognize the place she had visited so many times before. Broken glass from the sliding door lay under about two inches or three of water, his furniture was either soaked or broken, or both. It was a complete disaster, and she had to look away because it hurt her, too, just knowing that all of this had been lost in the blink of an eye.
She looked at the back of his head, wanting to reach out to him but scared of doing more damage, of breaking him. She didn't know what to say. Half a dozen clichés floated around her mind, but she discarded them quickly; if it was her instead of him, if that was her standing by the window, she wasn't sure she'd want to hear them. She wasn't sure she would even want company; she was sure Eric felt the same way. But a part of her knew she couldn't leave him now. Not now.
"Are you okay?" The words escaped her before she had the chance to think them through, think of the absurdity of the question. Of course he wasn't okay. Would she?
But Eric took a deep breath and glanced back, looking at her for the first time but not really looking at her, smiling just faintly but not smiling at all. He lowered his head; stared at the floor. But the floor seemed to be a painful reminder of what had happened that day, so he looked back towards the ocean.
"Yeah," Eric whispered, his lifeless and raspy voice making him realize how thirsty he was. The irony was almost laughable. Almost. "They're just things, right?"
She returned the faint smile but said nothing. Her hand slid down his arm and she intertwined their fingers together, giving his hand a little squeeze. "It's gonna be dark soon."
It hadn't occurred to Eric that he had no electricity and the sun was almost below the horizon now. And as inviting the darkness was, he wasn't sure he'd be able to take it. Just like everything else at the moment; wanting, but not wanting. Needing, but rejecting. The bipolarism of his emotions, as weird as it sounded, kept him sane. It was yet another sign, proof that he was alive, that he wasn't completely lost.
He looked at Calleigh again, and noticed, for the first time, the envelope she held in her other hand. "What's that?"
Calleigh looked down at the envelope as well, having forgotten it was in her hand. She shook her head, regretting having it brought over, knowing that, if it was possible, it would upset him even more. She could lie to him, tell him it was just the paperwork of their latest case, but she knew he would see right through her.
"Just," she said and hesitated, but forced herself to continue, "IAB."
He shook his head and looked away, and through his fingers, Calleigh could feel the anger boiling the blood in his veins.
"Just keeps getting better and better," he said bitterly.
Calleigh breathed hard. Closing her eyes, she let her forehead rest on his upper arm, smelling that scent that her mind had already engraved as 'Eric'. He released her hand to snake his arm around her waist, resting his cheek on her head and it reminded her just how fragile Eric could be, how emotional he could get. It was a quality she envied sometimes, but wished never to have. Life barely seemed bearable enough as she was, unemotional and detached; she feared she would never be able to handle it through his frailty, his emotional attachment to it, and suddenly her admiration for him grew tenfold.
She pulled back, trying to look in his eyes, but he kept hiding them from her. She had seen Eric cry before, when Speedle died, but they had all been emotionally destroyed that day. They had all been crying, even Horatio. But as emotional as Eric had always been, she had never seen him like this before. There weren't tears in his eyes now, and it suddenly hit her how much she wished they were there, how much she wished he'd give her a sign of life. It scared her that he might lose that innocence she loved so much, that strong appetite for life that made him such a beautiful person. She feared this day might take it all away from him, and she wished she could let him know she would never let that happen. But Calleigh wasn't sure she could prevent it and she wasn't about to start lying to him now.
He finally let her look at him, and the vulnerability Calleigh saw in his eyes physically hurt her. No, there weren't tears there, but something had certainly been lost. Some kind of energy or fire and it scared her to think she might never see it again. She rested her hand on his cheek, thumb stroking his skin tenderly, trying to feel the pain through his pores, trying to take it and make it her own.
"Stay with me tonight," she asked him, ordered him, or maybe just begged him, she couldn't tell. The only thing she could recognize in her own voice was the feeling that she needed him as much as he needed her today. Tonight. Tomorrow.
Eric didn't reply. He had already made up his mind to stay at a hotel or with his parents. But his parents were still evacuated and a hotel seemed cold and uninviting at the moment. The thought of coldness only reminded him to wiggle his toes again, and the pain he felt at the action made him frown and realize Calleigh's feet were underwater, too, one of her favorite pairs of shoes completely soaked through, and she must have been cold as well.
He wanted to say no, preferring the solitude and coldness of a hotel room to what he knew would be a sleepless night on her couch, but she grabbed his hand again and began to guide him out of the living room before he could protest.
He never looked back. He didn't want to see it all again, all the destruction, the waste. And he wished he could hand the keys back to the landlord right now so he'd never have to return, so he'd never have to look at this again, but as uninviting as it looked, this was still home.
When they were in front of the door, Calleigh stopped and looked at him with a questioning but hesitant look on her face. "Do you wanna get some clothes?"
Eric looked at the small hallway that led to his bedroom, realizing he hadn't even been in there. His mind rejected the idea of it immediately. He didn't wanna see his bedroom, his bed, and the chaos he knew he would find in there. So he shook his head. "It's all wet."
"I'll wash it for you."
He faintly smiled at the sincerity in her voice, the caring tone with which she spoke. It reminded him of how tender Calleigh could be, how worried she liked to pretend not to get. He knew most of their friends thought of her as unemotional and completely dysfunctional, but Eric wished they all knew her like he knew her.
She didn't wait for a response, just let go of his hand and walked towards the bedroom. Eric was glad for that, glad she was willing to take that bullet for him. He leaned against the door, which cracked under his weight, and sighed again. Even the door would have to be replaced. It dawned on him that he would just have to move. He would never be able to afford the finance payments plus all the new furniture he would have to buy, because he was pretty sure he had never paid tsunami insurance in his life. And the prospect of starting anew, finding another place, would certainly seem exciting, but for some reason, it didn't seem exciting at the moment. He loved this apartment. He loved the fact that he could roll out of bed and see the ocean immediately. It was tiny and cramped but it was his home next to home. His sanctuary next to his saving grace. And now, he would have to say goodbye.
Calleigh returned a couple of minutes later, a bag hanging over her shoulders, dripping water, and Eric was glad it didn't take too long. Maybe the bedroom didn't look too bad after all.
"Let's go."
Eric opened the door and let her walk ahead, then closed it behind him, not even bothering to lock it. But Calleigh grabbed the keys from him and locked it anyway and Eric's mind laughed at the idiocy of it. He doubted anything of value had been spared; any robber would be an idiot to take any of his things. Any robber who was stupid enough to break in would be doing him a favor by taking it all.
She kept the keys and walked towards the stairs, Eric in tow. It wasn't until his feet began to drag that he realized how exhausted he was, physically and emotionally. The events of the day kept flashing themselves in his mind, the news of the nearing tsunami, the chaos that as a cop, he and his colleagues had to control, the hours it took to convince his parents to evacuate, the robbery, the shooting, the vault... He wanted nothing more than to collapse on Calleigh's couch and put it all out of his mind. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and erase everything from his memory, to turn back time and wake up the day before, when everything had been fine, normal. He'd give anything to feel normal again.
He was standing next to Calleigh's car without knowing how he got there, waited for her to open the door and his body dropped on the passenger seat. Through the rear view mirror, he watched as she put the wet bag in the trunk and came around the driver's side. He rested his forehead on the cool window and watched the moving landscape as she pulled out of the parking lot and began the long drive to her apartment.
Hard to believe this was the Miami he had always known. Not that they were strangers to natural disasters, unfortunately; their beautiful city was battered by hurricanes all the time. But it was different now. This time, the ocean had done the damage. The ocean. The one place on earth where he felt at peace, the one place where he could go to forget his troubles, to release stress. His second home. And now, it didn't seem peaceful anymore. It didn't seem like a place where he could go and find solace.
It was a ridiculous feeling, the one that gave his body shivers: the feeling of betrayal, the feeling that something he loved so much destroyed everything he had, took everything away when he never did anything but love it, worship it in his own way. And his mind immediately rejected the idea of ever going back out there, of ever going near the water again. Just thinking about it left him breathless and dizzy, and he had to look down at his hands. His job, his life, his sanity, they all depended on it, on the water. And now, it would forever be a reminder of what happened that day.
Calleigh's hand suddenly came into view and it patted his. It was then when Eric realized the car had stopped moving. He looked up and saw her building in front of them, completely surrounded and hidden in darkness except for a few flickers of orange light that could be seen from some of the windows.
"Lights are out until they fix some of the power lines," Calleigh said next to him.
Of course, he knew that. It made sense. But, while darkness seemed more inviting than the inquisitiveness of light, he hesitated. Surely all the hotels would have electricity, or at least power plants. It wasn't too late. He could tell her thank you for the invitation, but he'd rather stay somewhere else. His mind was lagging, his body offering resistance. But then the passenger door opened and she stood right outside, his bag in hand, waiting for him. His mother's voice suddenly reminded him it was impolite to turn someone down when they had gone through all the trouble of making you feel welcomed at their home, so he got out of the car and took his bag from her hands.
He followed Calleigh into the building, up to the second floor, his legs barely strong enough to carry him up one flight of stairs, and as they reached her door, she greeted her neighbor from across the hall, a little old lady who sat by the door, surrounded by candles. The lady said hello to Eric, and he knew her, knew her name, but it all escaped him at the moment. So he returned a noncommittal hello, and the lady seemed thrilled just having someone to talk to about the events of that day. She lent Calleigh a flashlight and flashed Eric a playful smile and it all came back to him. Margaret. Her name was Margaret. Always looked out for Calleigh, always had fresh oatmeal cookies in her oven, always asked Calleigh how Eric was doing, if he would ever come over again. Her smile had always been able to make him feel warm inside; it didn't fail to do that now.
As soon as he walked into Calleigh's apartment, Eric was met by that smell that followed her wherever she went, the one that he would never call Calvin Klein, or Elizabeth Taylor, or even Jasmines, just 'Calleigh'. It was soft and flowery and always reminded him of a place he wished he could some day call home, too. He waited by the door as she went into her small kitchen and gathered a bunch of candles. She handed him a few, along with a box of matches, probably leftovers from the still imminent hurricane season, and disappeared into her bedroom.
Eric walked into her living room, carefully lighting candles and leaving them in key places as he went along. And when there were none left, he collapsed on her couch, feeling the familiar fabric rub his skin, the usual smell – no matter how many times she re-arranged her furniture, which was often, it always seemed familiar, reliable. At the moment, Eric was grateful for the routine and dependability; he didn't think he'd have the energy to live through more unpredictability, however big or small.
A small breeze suddenly came through the window and he realized how cold he was when his skin turned into goosebumps. He knew he needed to take his shoes off or he'd catch a nasty cold, but suddenly he didn't have the energy to reach down and untie his shoes. His head dropped backwards until he felt the cushion on the back of his neck and his eyes closed instinctively. Eric was somewhere between reality and sleep when he felt a tender hand on his shoulder. His eyes opened and Calleigh stood in front of him, a small smile on her face.
"Here," she said, putting a pile of clothes on his lap. "The t-shirt is my dad's, the pants were John's. They're clean."
Eric held the clothes in his hands, and wanted to protest at the idea of wearing John Hagen's pajamas, but he doubted he'd have the energy to even care as soon as his head hit the pillow.
"Are you hungry?" Calleigh asked as she helped him up; his body suddenly seemed too heavy even for himself. "There's no water, but I could make some sandwiches."
"Nah," he muttered. "Thanks, Cal."
He squeezed her hand and Calleigh squeezed it back and watched as he walked away, picked up a candle along the way and disappeared into the hallway.
She let out a sigh, running her hands through her hair and face and she, too, could feel the exhaustion in her muscles, even in her bones. It had been a long day, so long she couldn't even remember waking up that morning, and if she felt this tired, she couldn't even begin to imagine how tired Eric must feel. Calleigh had only been able to see him a couple of times that day, and he always seemed to be in a rush, stressed out, working on a piece of evidence or interrogating suspects, before he would be called on to the field again, over and over again. They had worked him so hard that the last time she saw him at the lab all life seemed to have been sucked out of his eyes. And when she had tried to ask him if he was okay, he simply whispered something she couldn't understand and walked away. It didn't take her long to remember he lived near the coast, and it took her even less time to make that connection, to know his apartment must have been destroyed by the wave. Calleigh understood then his distraction, and she was on her way to the elevator when Stetler stepped out of it, looking for Eric. It made her angry, that on top of everything, on top of losing everything, they were scrutinizing him about his job. She couldn't remember what exactly she had told Stetler, but it must not have been polite, because he shoved the envelope in her hands exasperatedly and told her she could give it to Eric herself.
Half an hour later, she had reached Eric's apartment, and his building was in such poor condition, she was scared it would collapse. She found him in his living room, looking out the window and for a moment he seemed like a stranger, looking but not acting, not even sounding, like the Eric she had always known. It was hard to recognize him even now.
This shouldn't have happened to him. He was the last person on earth who should have to go through something like this.
So Calleigh didn't hesitate when she picked up the phone and dialed Horatio's number. He answered after far too many rings, and in one single breath, she explained what had happened to Eric's apartment, tried to explain the state of Eric's mind at the moment, and shamelessly asked for her friend to have the day off. Horatio didn't offer much resistance, or any resistance at all, just asked her to make sure Eric was okay and told her he'd see her the next morning. He hung up the phone before she could even thank him.
Pleased with her accomplishment, Calleigh walked into the kitchen, but suddenly realized she wasn't hungry, either, the worry she felt for her friend scaring away all traces of appetite. So she leaned on the counter and waited.
A few minutes later, Eric appeared next to her, holding a pair of socks in his hands. "Where should I put these?"
Calleigh took them away from him and laid them near the stove. "That should warm them up." She turned to him and saw him eyeing the couch. It troubled her how different he was acting, like he had aged fifty years in just a couple of hours. "Are you sure you're not hungry?"
He just frowned and shook his head. "I just want this day to be over."
"Okay," she smiled.
He looked at her for a second, expecting her to say or do something, and when she didn't, he offered a quick, "blankets?"
Calleigh shook her head. "Come on," she said and disappeared down the hallway.
Eric followed her into her bedroom, and frowned when he saw her pull the sheets back. He remained confused even when she motioned him to climb in.
"I'm not taking your bed," he complained.
"You're not taking it, you're sleeping in it," she said matter-of-factly.
He shook his head stubbornly. "The couch is fine."
"Come on, Eric," Calleigh sighed.
"I don't need you to feel sorry for me, Calleigh," he spat; his voice suddenly loud, a flicker of bitterness and anger in it, and it surprised him when he replayed the words in his head. And it surprised him when he actually felt the anger inside, anger at her, for some reason he couldn't understand other than the fact that an irrational part of him kept saying she was being patronizing, pitiful, showing him false intentions.
And it must have surprised Calleigh, too, because she looked shocked for a second. But then her features toughened, her words hardened. "I don't pity you, Eric. And if I was, I shouldn't need to apologize for it."
Eric shifted on his feet and looked away, feeling embarrassed and ashamed.
"Now come on."
Having no other choice, he walked over and sat on the bed, and didn't complain when she made him rest his head on her pillow, or when she tucked him in as if he were a child.
"I talked to Horatio; he says you don't have to come in to work tomorrow. If you have a problem with that, too, call him," she said, words still sharp, her hands smoothing the comforter around him in an almost aggressive way.
Eric watched her, tired and angry features on her face making him feel guilty, and when she began to walk away, he grabbed her hand, forcing her to turn to him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, staring at her fingers. "I didn't mean that. I'm..." he stopped here, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
Calleigh's free hand covered his, thumb grazing on his skin. "Just go to sleep."
He nodded, watching as she released his hand and walked out of the room. After a while, his toes began to feel warmer under her comforter, his mind drunk on her scent, and he didn't know how much time passed but then he heard her blow out the candles. The sudden darkness made him feel a little uncomfortable, a little claustrophobic, but he put it out of his mind when he felt her climb into bed next to him.
Even half asleep, Eric had to wonder if she did feel pity for him, because he had never been allowed near her bedroom before, let alone sleep in her bed. This was one of those things she considered a violation of their 'don't get too close' rule and it surprised him that it was Calleigh breaking the rules now, Calleigh searching for his hand under the sheets and giving it a squeeze, Calleigh resting her forehead on his shoulder and falling asleep like that.
It was uncharacteristic of her, he knew that, but he still couldn't stop it from creating that warm feeling inside, a sensation that somehow made everything seem just a tad more bearable, doable. Hope, maybe. Or maybe just delusion, he didn't know, but he got the feeling it came from her.
Before he drifted off to sleep, a wave of bitterness flowed through Eric and he cursed at God for taking everything away from him. But then, as he put an arm around Calleigh and drew her closer, he thanked Him for giving him everything at the same time.
Calleigh reluctantly opened her eyes hours later, feeling fingers running through her hair in a soothing, repetitive tempo. The moon's glow bathed her room in light, just enough to allow her to see her surroundings. Didn't take the moon's light to make her realize either she had shifted, or Eric had shifted, and now she lay half on top of him, her cheek pressed to his left breast, her hand resting on the other.
She looked up and found his eyes wide opened, his head turned towards the window, and he was looking at something intently, seemingly in a trance, so far gone that he hadn't realized she had been watching until she whispered a, "hey."
His body tensed and he looked down at her, offering her a small smile that was just a tad more sincere than any of the previous ones. He looked back towards the window and Calleigh rested her head on him again, trying to figure out what exactly he was looking at. Nothing particularly exciting outside, just the moon, a couple of palm trees, but that was it.
She didn't know how long he had been awake, but she knew how tired he was, still, and she couldn't understand why he wasn't sleeping. She pressed her index finger on his skin, but that didn't get much of a reaction from him, either. The tip of his fingers kept stroking her hair and if it wasn't for that, Calleigh wouldn't have been able to tell if he was awake or asleep.
"Tell me about today," she suddenly heard herself say.
"Hmm?"
She waited a few seconds, hesitantly, unsure of how he would react. "The vault."
As soon as he heard the word, his fingers stopped moving, his heart began to beat faster against her ear, and suddenly Calleigh realized why he was still awake. Either he had had a nightmare, or he was fighting sleep for fear of having one.
When he didn't reply, Calleigh looked up and found him staring out the window, still. She pressed her chin on his chest and he looked down, but not really at her.
"What about it?" he asked.
She searched for some kind of reaction in his features, some kind of emotion, but he looked completely nonchalant. "Were you scared?"
His heart accelerated a little more, but he didn't reply. He was staring at something on the opposite wall now, his eyes purposely avoiding hers. She shifted her body and laid her head on the pillow, only a few inches away from his.
"I was scared," she said, and that got a reaction.
Eric turned his head to hers, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You?" he asked incredulously.
"Yeah," she whispered.
"Why?"
Calleigh took a deep breath and let it out through her nose. Her index finger came up to rest on his chin, pressing on it until she felt his bone. "I didn't know where you were."
He stared at her for a couple of seconds, examining her facial expressions, trying to decide if she was lying or being genuine, but then turned his head towards the window again, running away from her sincerity like it could burn him, hurt him.
Calleigh rested her forehead on his neck, her mind briefly reminding her how close she was to him and how close she kept getting, how often she kept touching him, but she tried to ignore it. Her relationship with Eric had always been emotionally close and intimate, and on the back of her mind, she had always known things were constantly shifting; they had never been stagnant in friendship waters. Since Speed's death, she had learned not to take things for granted, not to take the people in her life for granted. And today she had been reminded, again, of how easily she could lose Eric, just as they had lost Speed, in the blink of an eye. And it made her re-evaluate her feelings for this man, this wonderful man who now lay next to her, his finger rubbing circles on the back of her hand without being rejected. Because for some reason, he was the only person she allowed herself to touch, who was allowed to bend the rules and touch her, like he was doing now. And sometimes she asked herself why that was, why Hagen's touch used to be tense and stifling while Eric's touch was soft, soothing. She had never really been able to find a real answer, but when it came to Eric, she found the answers were few and the questions too many. And every time she found what she thought was an answer, it would end up being a thousand more unanswerable questions.
Did she love him? She asked herself that every day as well, and still wasn't sure, still didn't want to receive a definite response. It's always been hard to define with Eric, complicated in a way her relationship with Hagen, or her other boyfriends, never was. She couldn't deny the fact that today, when she thought he was in physical danger, she found it hard to breathe, to concentrate on her work. And when Horatio finally called, when she heard from her boss himself that everything was fine, that Eric wasn't in danger, her body let out a heavy breath she didn't know she had been holding. She knew these feelings would keep growing, evolving; she knew it well. And she knew he felt the same way. But they never said a thing, both kept waiting, emotionally suspended in animation, expecting that one moment that would change things forever. And she found it kinda funny that it didn't scare her, didn't make her want to run away as it normally would. It was complicated with Eric, always moving, always evolving, but in the same way, always routinely comforting.
"Eric?" she whispered and his body shivered. He still didn't say anything, but his hand squeezed hers, making her know he was still there, somewhere behind all the emotional turmoil, he was still with her. Finally, after a few minutes of silence, when she was sure he would never open up to her, he turned his head and rested his forehead against hers. And when his hand came up to caress her cheek, Calleigh grabbed it and pressed it encouragingly.
"Horatio," he began, but then stopped, not liking the way his voice came out. He took a deep breath, and started again, "He shot one of the suspects. I..." He stopped again, struggling to find the right words, angry at himself for appearing so vulnerable. "I didn't even know I hit him until I opened my eyes.
One of the... the manager, I think, somebody, saw the wave coming. H told us to go in the vault, I waited for him outside. I thought he wasn't gonna make it."
He stopped to take another breath and Calleigh closed her eyes, trying to imagine how terrifying that must have been, and Speed suddenly came to mind. And she knew Eric must have thought of Speed at that moment, too, that he had lost a close friend just a couple of months before, and now he would lose his boss without being able to do something about it. His grip on her hand tightened and she knew he was reliving the moment again in his mind. She pressed her lips to his nose, his forehead, before encouraging him to continue.
He let out a shaky breath. "There was a monitor inside. We saw one of the suspects drowning. Then the lights went out. Some of the people started panicking, there was water coming in from under the door. Not a lot, but they didn't know how long we'd be in there. H tried to calm them down, I couldn't really..." He stopped there, didn't like where that was going, and continued down another route. "There was a woman, she'd been shot in the leg and she was bleeding. Everyone thought she would die; she was crying. You could smell the blood, the iron; it got in your clothes, under your skin."
Calleigh was glad he was talking about it, she was glad he opened up to her, but so far, he hadn't said anything about him, what he had been thinking at that moment, just what the other people were feeling. And she didn't know how he would react, but she thought she needed to press him, push him further.
"What were you thinking about?" she asked.
He didn't flinch, or even moved, just hesitated for a moment before answering, "I don't know." Silence joined them again before he added, "my mom, my family. You. I thought I'd never see you again."
Calleigh closed her eyes, feeling them stinging, and put her arms around his shoulders, letting him rest his head on her chest. He didn't cry; she didn't cry, either. And as she scratched his scalp lightly she kissed his head, wishing she could verbalize what she was feeling at the moment, wishing she could let him know how she felt that afternoon, when she thought she wasn't gonna see him again, either, when she locked herself in a bathroom stall and did something she hadn't done in years. Prayed for his safety, prayed for his life, begged God to let her see him again, alive and safe.
But she was sure he'd never understand it. Just like she was sure she'd never understand what it felt like to be trapped in that vault, the desperation, the darkness, the panic that increased as the waters rose. Some things are better left unsaid.
So she just held him to her, until she felt his body relaxing, until she felt her own body ease up and she wanted to make sure he fell asleep first, wanted to make sure the nightmares wouldn't disturb his peace, but her mind succumbing to sleep once more, against her will.
Eric's body startled awake a little over an hour later, tearing his mind away from another nightmare he already couldn't remember. Calleigh lay next to him, her arm resting on his chest, her head on the pillow, wedged in the small space between his cheek and his shoulder. Eric closed his eyes and tried to shake the terror away, the goosebumps that decorated his skin, but when he closed his eyes he saw the darkness again, felt the claustrophobia, smelled the iron mixed with sea water. The nightmare left a bitter taste in his mouth, so he grabbed Calleigh's hand, kissed its palm, and gently placed it on the pillow before he got out of bed, watching as her body immediately began to search for his body heat, but settled on hugging the comforter instead.
He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a glass, put it under the faucet and as soon as he opened it, it sputtered some brown liquid he was sure was nowhere near the vicinity of 'water'. So he put the glass in the sink, glad that at least the water had returned; maybe the power would return soon as well. He opened the refrigerator and settled for a warm bottle of water Calleigh had in there, some imported crap Eric kept trying to convince her didn't come from France at all, but probably some guy's backyard hose and even if it didn't, what made her think they decontaminated all this water in France, anyway? What made French water so much better than regular water? It was useless, she kept buying it anyway, and now, he drank all of it down, in two gulps, but it still left him thirsty, still couldn't get rid of that metallic taste in his mouth. So he tried to put it out of his mind and walked into the living room, watching the empty streets outside.
For a moment, he wanted to call his parents' house to see if they had returned. If he knew his father well, and he did, he wouldn't rest, or let others rest, until he was back in his home. It made Eric chuckle just thinking about it, the image of his father complaining about something new every time his mother was just about to fall asleep. Until finally she'd get up, yell at him, pack her things, and get in the car. Eric could hear them arguing all the way home, about how difficult his father was, about how much his mother complained. It never seemed to end.
As a teenager, he had once voiced his fears to his father, fears about their constant bickering and the possibility of a divorce. But his father, in that indifferent way of his, simply looked over his newspaper and said, "Eric, it's when we stop fighting that you need to worry."
He didn't get it back then, and it took him a long time to realize what his father meant. But he got it now. Because the day he walked into his parents house and didn't find them bickering, he'd know something is wrong. That was just the way they communicated, in a twisted way, and it would always end up with one of them laughing, until the other one would start laughing as well. And he used to wonder if his parents were truly sane, until that day when he realized he wanted to have what they had. He wanted to bicker and laugh and feel insane at the same time.
He dialed their number, but there was no answer, so he put the phone back on its cradle. He gathered a few of the candles and rekindled their flames, giving the living room a soft glow and as he lit the last one of them, Eric spotted, on a small table next to the door, the envelope Calleigh had been holding that afternoon. He walked over and picked it up, opened it and a couple of pages fell out.
Eric recognized the form immediately; the questionnaire-like papers that always made him feel like he was being scolded by Big Brother's watchful eye. Not that he could take it out on these guys, they were doing their jobs after all, but nothing can ruin a day, or make it worse, than a visit from Internal Affairs.
He walked back into the living room and sat on the couch, laying the papers on the coffee table in front of him. The first couple of questions he knew by heart: name, birth date, social security number, badge number, department's name, department's supervisor's name... Those were not the questions he feared. That last question, though, never failed to make him feel like he had done something wrong, even if he hadn't. Another one of those benefits of being a Catholic. Free guilt.
Explain, in great detail, the events for which your department is being under investigation.
One of these days, he was going to write down a couple of curse words and return them to Stetler, even if it got him fired. He knew whatever he wrote down would be analyzed, scrutinized, word for word, letter by letter. And then what Horatio wrote in his would be analyzed as well. And then the two statements would be put together and they would be examined closely, until they found one word that didn't quite make sense, and then all hell would break loose. Just writing 'is' instead of 'was' would set these guys on a mad hunt, like wild, starving animals losing control at the smell of blood.
Eric began to re-tell the story in his head. Began with the call, Horatio letting him know he needed assistance, Horatio letting him know this couldn't wait; it had to be now. He remembered standing right outside the bank, hearing the shots being fired, his mind briefly reminding him he wasn't wearing a bullet proof vest before Horatio hurled him into the scene. He remembered seeing the two suspects, clad in black, firing shots into the ceiling. He remembered the people screaming, the smell of gun shot powder, the debris falling all around him. He remembered the signal from Horatio, and mostly he remembered closing his eyes, something that, looking back on it now, had been a horrible move. He remembered firing his gun, feeling the heat in his hands, hearing the casing hit the floor. He remembered opening his eyes and seeing the suspect fall on the ground, his body lifeless on the cold tiles. He remembered knowing, without having to check for a pulse, that the robber was dead, that he had killed him.
Eric had shot suspects before. So many times, he had lost count now. But it never got easy. He never got used to it, taking somebody's life like that, so quickly, so thoughtlessly. He never got used to having that power, being the one to judge who was good enough to stay on earth, and who wasn't. He never got used to having to think about the suspect's life, because no matter what these people did, they were bound to have a family, a wife, a mother, maybe even children. It never got easy and it always stayed with him, even after days, weeks.
Eric knew everyone at work thought of him as weak. He knew they were all grateful he spent most of his time underwater, rather than chasing the bad guys, for their sake and for his. And there were times when he felt like quitting, turning his badge in and walking away from it all. But it was such a part of him now that the thought of not being there every day left him feeling empty inside. So he would just get up every morning and do his best. Close his eyes as he fired that shot so he wouldn't have to see the look on the suspects' faces, to witness that one last blink before their souls were torn away from their bodies.
It never got easy.
He put the papers away. Even if he could find the right words to explain what had had happened that afternoon, it would be better to get in touch with Horatio first. So he put the papers back in the envelope and placed it on the coffee table. IAB would just have to wait.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and his head was throbbing, his body begging him for sleep, and he lay down on the couch, but as soon as he did that, the lamp next to it began to flicker, once, twice, and the lights came on. Even at four in the morning, he could hear some people celebrating a couple of apartments over, and Eric thanked God for the light, thanked God for taking the darkness away.
He began to blow out the candles, and he didn't know when exactly Calleigh had lost power, but most of the lights in the apartment suddenly came on. Eric walked from the kitchen towards Calleigh's bedroom, turning them off as he went along. Her air conditioner was suddenly throwing cold air and he turned it off, the night was cold enough as it was.
Calleigh lay in the same position he had left her, hugging the pillow he had used now, completely unaware that the power was back on. He turned the lamp off and stared at her for a while, watching the way her stomach rose and fell with each breath she took, watching her REM cycle and wondering what she was dreaming about. Even in one of her least graceful of positions, her legs sprawled in two different directions, she was beautiful to him, and for a moment he wanted to wake her so he could tell her that. But Eric knew that, although something inside of them kept growing, getting closer, it wasn't appropriate. The simple act of staring at her as she slept was against the rules, her rules; even the department's rules. And he didn't know how much longer he would be able to live with this silence, but for now, he tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, savored one last glance, and walked out of the room.
His body fell on the couch and he could barely keep his eyes open, but he grabbed the remote control and turned the television on. Not the most exciting of programs, infomercials, white noise, Saved by the Bell... he'd rather watch the infomercials. A blonde lady stood in front of a camera, way too excited about some miracle mop she had just discovered. There's a lady who could use a couple of shooting lessons with Calleigh. He tried to keep his eyes open, tried to pay attention, tried to avoid the possibility of another nightmare at all costs, but ultimately, his body won the battle and his eyes fluttered close.
Eric got the distinct feeling, even before opening his eyes, that he wasn't alone. Funny, he couldn't remember bringing a date home the night before, but then his mind sharpened and he remembered he wasn't really home; he couldn't be home because home no longer existed. So he opened his eyes and found Calleigh sitting on the floor, her arm resting on his stomach, he noticed she had laid a blanket over his body.
"It's like you and this couch are destined to be together," she joked, flashing him a perfect row of white teeth.
He smiled before he took a deep breath, his eyes squinting at the brightness of the morning; his muscles still protested the lack of sleep. "What time is it?"
"Seven," Calleigh replied. "I put your clothes in the washer; when the bell goes off, put them in the dryer. Go home, get the rest of your clothes, and come wash them before the salt ruins them. If you don't know how to do it, call me at work, I'll talk you through it."
It took Eric a while to figure out what she was talking about, but when he did, he made a mental not to do just that as he sat on the couch and pushed the blanket away. He noticed she was wearing her work clothes now, her make up on, her hair neatly falling over her shoulders like a blonde waterfall. What a wonderful sight to wake up to. He already knew he liked this much better than waking up to the sight of the ocean right outside his window. If he could somehow combine the two, he'd the happiest man on earth.
"I didn't hear you get up."
"Go lay on the bed, it's still warm," Calleigh said, knowing he had probably slept a total of four hours last night, tops.
"I need to call my insurance company," Eric said as he walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes, his throat dry.
"Everyone at your insurance company is probably sleeping, what you should be doing right now," Calleigh protested, but he ignored her. She leaned on the counter as she watched him open the refrigerator and reach for a bottle of water. Or 'hose water', as he liked to call it. She just gave up.
"Well, I don't know how long the power was out, but there are eggs in the refrigerator, I just bought bread, cereal, or there's pancake mix in the pantry. If you don't know how to mix it I can--"
"Calleigh!" Eric protested. "I'm fine, just go to work."
Calleigh let out a frustrated sigh, letting him know she didn't like when he didn't let her mother him. She also didn't like it when he pushed her towards the door, grabbed her briefcase, hung it over her shoulder, and opened the door for her. "Eric!"
"Go. I'll take the kids to daycare and tape your soaps."
Calleigh stopped by the door and turned around with the most serious expression Eric had ever seen on her face and he thought maybe he had done or said something wrong or inappropriate. But then suddenly, she smiled. "You're joking."
Eric chuckled slightly when he realized he was. He had just told a joke. He was exhausted and he was pissed and he was stressed out of his mind and he was homeless, but he had just told a joke. And it felt great inside.
Calleigh felt an immense joy wash through her when she suddenly recognized Eric standing in front of her. Her Eric, the Eric she had always known. Suddenly all the worry she felt before vanished in front of her eyes, and she was so happy, so ecstatic, that without knowing how or why, she grabbed his face and pressed her lips to his.
It took Eric a while to realize what was happening. Calleigh's arms were around him and she smelled gloriously but more importantly, she was kissing him. And his mind immediately told him not to get ahead of himself, because this wasn't romantic or sexual in any way, just friendly banter, just a peck on the lips. His body, on the other hand, begged to differ, and while his body and his mind argued about the nature of her actions, Eric pulled away before her 'friendly banter' went from chaste to something much more dangerous.
"You're gonna be late," Eric said, removing a piece of invisible lint from her shoulder.
"Okay," she smiled, liking the way he smiled warmly now, liking the way he made eye contact again, loving the twinkle in his eyes... Maybe it was sleep deprivation, his own, probably hers, too, but she knew he would be okay and she suddenly chastised herself for ever doubting that he would. Because if there's one thing Eric can do, and can do well, is smile.
Calleigh grabbed the keys, walked out, and closed the door behind her, but not before giving him a playful smile that made Eric wonder if his mind had been right after all. Because he knew, and he knew Calleigh knew as well, that whatever contact they made, every little touch, had always been, and would always be, significant. Friendly, yes, and still somewhat innocent, but merely prelude to something much bigger, something he always felt was right around the corner, but never seemed to arrive. Eric figured one of these days this waiting would take away every bit of sanity he had left.
And he hated having to put it, put her, out of his mind, but he had to when he heard the washer go off. He put the clothes in the dryer, as she had instructed him, and as soon as they dried, he slipped out of her apartment, making sure he said goodbye to Margaret first, who, as usual, handed him three oatmeal cookies wrapped in a napkin. Eric hailed a cab down the street and couldn't help but notice how blue the skies were, how bright the sun was shining. It always amazed him that right after a natural disaster, Mother Nature liked to show off the most beautiful days. He didn't know if it was her sense of humor or what, but he fell for it every single time, because it always made him feel warm, hopeful.
In the light of day, he was able to appreciate his building from all angles; the whole thing looked like the aftermath of a great war, and he couldn't believe he had been crazy enough to go inside the night before. But then he spotted some of his neighbors cleaning, so it must have been safe. He went up to the second floor, dreading what he would find inside now that he would be able to see things better. The hallway leading up to his door was still flooded, water coming out of all the apartments and cascading down the stairs. He opened his door, which cracked and hinged again, and even more water came flowing out before he closed it.
Everything was beginning to smell, the furniture, the wood, the fabric... Eric didn't quite know where to start. He remembered what Calleigh had told him, about salt water ruining clothes, so he took his shoes off, annoyed by the way they suddenly seemed to weigh forty pounds each, and headed straight towards his bedroom. His bed wasn't upside down and broken as he had suspected, but it certainly wasn't in the middle of the room anymore. He knew he would have to get rid of that mattress, too, he knew he would have to get rid of everything. He could keep his clothes, most of them, but everything else he would have to throw away.
Letting out a sigh, he opened some of the drawers, which proved more difficult than he though it would, and he took all his clothes out. He laid them on the bed, struggling to walk in the still stagnant water that didn't seem to be ceding. When everything he thought he could keep was carefully placed on a pile, Eric walked back into the living room, and careful not to step on the broken glass, he went out into his small balcony. He immediately spotted the problem in a corner. A hole that had been drilled into the cement was clogged with garbage, so Eric went into the kitchen to get his broom. As soon as he pressed the stick and pushed some of the garbage out, water began to flow out, cascading onto the balcony below his, but if there was someone down there, they weren't complaining.
Eric watched as the water flew out, and it was almost hypnotizing, but suddenly his cell phone began to ring, and he had to tear his eyes away from the water to answer it. Maybe he should have taken Calleigh's offer and slept a couple more hours.
"Delko."
He immediately recognized his mother's voice on the other end, almost crying, asking him, over and over, if he was okay. And when Eric confirmed that he was, she asked if he was really sure, because apparently it took more than the act of feeling and looking alive to convince her that he was really safe. He didn't have to tell her about the apartment, somehow, she just knew. And she promised him his sisters and his father would visit him that afternoon to help him clean up. And she promised she'd clean his old room so he could stay over because no son of hers would stay at a hotel room when he had a home.
As Eric explained that everything would just have to be thrown away, that his father's health was such that he wasn't going to be able to help him carry everything out, he thought he saw something move in the water near the kitchen. He blinked a couple of times, wondering if he was beginning to see things, but then there it was again, some kind of flicker and if it wasn't for the water, he could have sworn it was a mouse. He let his mother know he'd call her back and hung up the phone before she began to protest about his father not letting her sleep the night before.
He walked towards the kitchen and immediately smiled when there, between the refrigerator and the wall, swam a fish. Eric chuckled out loud, scratching his head. He was sure this wasn't one of the fishes he owned, and it amazed him that the wave had taken some of his but brought him a new one and he briefly wondered if there were more, found himself wishing there were more. He found his small net stored away with his other fishing paraphernalia, and after chasing the thing from one corner of the apartment to the other, he finally caught it. It was tiny, barely bait material, but it made him smile nonetheless. It was kinda ugly and way too hyper, but for some reason, it made him a bit happy. He gathered some water in a bowl and placed the fish inside, threw a couple of flakes in and watched as it ate them all.
And he spent the next couple of hours sweeping water out of his apartment, trying to salvage whatever hadn't been destroyed by the water or broken by the blow. He received phone calls from Horatio, who assured him he would get in contact with the Red Cross to come and take some of the furniture out, and Alexx, who, even over the phone, was able to mother him and coddle him and make him feel like a child, which he loved. Calleigh called soon after to make sure he was following her instructions to the letter. And he couldn't tell what was so important about saving these clothes from the salty water but he did as he was told and drove to her apartment to do a load, only to return and keep cleaning.
As per his mother's requests, he called the insurance company, but it was so clogged with calls, he doubted he would get through any time soon. Even if he did, he was sure he wouldn't get any monetary help from these people. He did pay for hurricane insurance, but he knew they would find a way to weasel out of that, claming that a wave caused by a hurricane and a wave caused by the Cumbre Vieja collapsing into the ocean are not the same thing.
His stomach suddenly began to grumble, letting him know it was near lunch time, but Eric ignored the hunger and leaned on the counter, staring at the fish as it swam inside the bowl. He put his finger inside and watched as it came over, inspected his skin closely and tried to take a bite out of it, but one flicker of his finger, and it scurried away, hitting its nose on the bowl. Eric knew what he had to do.
He grabbed the bowl, tucked his keys in his pocket, and walked out. A couple of his neighbors greeted him along the way, all looking somber and depressed and he really couldn't blame them. Some of the people who lived here had families, children, and most of them had lost everything. He knew he should feel grateful, because no matter what, he still had place to sleep, many places, in fact, as he knew anyone at work would let him crash at their places if he asked. Some of his neighbors weren't from Miami; a lot of them would have to live in shelters for the next couple of weeks. He lost all of his furniture, yes, things. But he knew that persistent Catholic voice on the back of his head had been right all along.
As he stepped out of the building, he couldn't help but notice the smell of the ocean was stronger, and as he walked the two small blocks it took to get to the beach, it grew in intensity. He knew the wave had created a disturbance in the water, and from where he stood, he could see all the sea weed floating in the sea. He knew that created the smell and it didn't mean another wave was coming, but he was still a bit reluctant.
His barefooted toes curled in the hot sand and he watched as tiny waves beat on the shore. Normally, the beach would be full of children running away from the waves, couples walking along the shore, people walking their dogs, but today. Today, it was completely deserted. And the sudden loneliness he felt, standing there, made him realize just how small he really was.
But he took a deep breath, looked at the fish in the bowl, and made his way towards the shore, and when he finally made it there, when the first wave washed his feet clean, he realized there was no way he would be able to tear himself away from the ocean. Because the water on his skin felt right, felt like it belonged there, it was a part of him. Maybe it would take a little while to get used to the fact that it hadn't always been as safe as he thought it was, but he knew the turmoil would pass.
Eric walked a few steps into the beach, just to make sure this little guy wouldn't get beaten by the waves, and submerged the bowl in the water. The fish immediately swam away, so hyper Eric couldn't see exactly which direction it took. When he was done, he walked out, his pants completely soaked through and that voice began to nag him about the salty water ruining fabrics but he ignored it. He found a spot near the shore and stood there, watching as some of the boats returned to the ocean, some of the fishermen began to do their jobs again. The breeze was coming fast and cold and Eric put his hands in his pockets. The sand was still wet from the tidal wave, sea weed practically covering all of it. His body still complained about the lack of sleep and his muscles still hurt, but being out there, despite it all, still made him feel at peace.
It wasn't long before he felt a couple of arms snake around him and hug him from behind, and he didn't have to turn around, only had to smell that scent and he knew it was Calleigh there. He chuckled lightly, feeling her rest her chin on his shoulder, and he knew she must have been standing on a dune, because normally Calleigh wouldn't be able to reach his shoulders.
Eric decided right there he liked it when she broke the 'don't get too close' the rule. He hoped she'd do it more often from now on because that something they always seemed to be waiting for, he could feel it closer now than ever before. And it was exciting and scary but in a way, the anticipation seemed like a waste of time. Because that something had been there all along, waiting for them to acknowledge it. He only understood it now.
"I thought that was you," she said playfully.
"What are you doing here?" Eric asked, trying to get a glimpse of her.
"Slow day," she said. "I'm on a lunch run, thought you might be hungry."
"Aren't they gonna be pissed?"
"There's a vending machine in the lobby. They'll get over it," she said.
Eric chuckled, and it felt heavenly just being able to do that, just being able to smile and laugh, all the while knowing he had lost his apartment and was temporarily homeless. He thought he finally realized what it was like to be truly insane.
He took his hands out of his pockets and placed them over Calleigh's, enjoying the silence and the breeze and the feel of her body pressed to his back, the smell of her mixed with the ocean's and her nose breathing next to his ear. And it seemed ironic that right behind them, his apartment was completely destroyed, and he owned nothing of value but a couple of shirts, some pants, and a pair of socks.
"Did you talk to your parents?" Calleigh suddenly asked.
Eric nodded.
"How are they?"
He smiled. "Crazy."
"Normal," she quipped, paused, and then added, "I brought you the classifieds."
Eric chuckled. "I think I'm gonna have to lay low for a while."
"Okay."
Eric was hypnotized by the water again, enjoyed a couple more minutes of silence before his stomach grumbled. And even if he could ignore it, and he was willing to, Calleigh suddenly turned matronly and disentangled herself from him. He turned around and she greeted him with a smile, her hair blowing all over in the wind and looking beautiful while behind her, water from his destroyed apartment continued to cascade down. And the contrast was unbelievable. What an amazing sense of humor God must have.
She wrinkled her nose, looked at him as if he had grown a second head and Eric couldn't help it. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, feeling so much love and gratitude towards this tiny little woman who had taken him into her home and held him during his darkest hours. No amount of words would ever be able to express what he felt at the moment, his nose nuzzled on the nape of her neck, her hands rubbing his back. Even the word 'perfect' seemed to fall short.
"You okay?" Calleigh asked, suddenly a little concerned.
"Yeah," he whispered, looking at his apartment. "Doesn't look so bad when you're here."
Calleigh smiled holding him a bit tighter before she pulled back. And he still looked tired and completely worn out beyond recognition, but he was more Eric now than he had been just the day before. "Let's go eat."
Eric let out a sigh following her through the sand, and for the first time, he was the one to break the 'not so close' rule by grabbing her hand and tucking it under his arm. "So," he teased, "would you ever date a guy who lives with his parents?"
Calleigh smiled playfully. "Depends who you're talking about."
"Just some guy I know, Cuban, tall, disturbingly handsome."
Calleigh laughed out loud. "In your dreams."
"Every night."
The End
Disclaimer: Some day I shall rule the world, but until then, no copyright infringementAuthor's notes: I was kinda pissed that they didn't explore more of the characters' emotions during Crime Wave, so this is the result. I hope you all like it.