Chapter Four
He took a deep breath and attempted to lift his arm again. It was amazing what a week's worth of physical therapy could do to a person. He knew that he shouldn't try to push it, and he certainly shouldn't try to strain, but it was the first time in almost three weeks that he could move his arm a decent amount. It didn't even hurt like it used to, he realized. The throbbing pain that had usually nagged him throughout the day had mostly disappeared. He only felt it whenever he tried to move his arm more than it wanted to be moved. It was nice, almost being normal. And he could hold things again, albeit light things, but it was a start. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be heading back to work for quite awhile.
His feet shifted on the carpet as he looked at his watch, wondering how much longer he was going to have to wait. The protocol for any officer involved shooting was the meeting with the counselor, and it was his turn. He was the last person from his shift to be called down, and that was only because Horatio had stood up for him and refused to allow him to make the meeting until he was sure that he could handle it. Speedle figured that he had waited long enough and it was about damned time to get it over with. It was the equivalent of having to go to the dentist, he thought to himself. You built up the meeting like it was going to be the end of your life, and when it was all over with, you wondered what the problem had been.
But he hated the fact that he had to talk with a shrink before he could be allowed back to work. As if this person, be it male or female, knew anything about him to begin with. How were they supposed to decide whether or not he was competent for work? HE knew whether or not he could work.
Taking a deep breath, he told himself to calm down as the door opened, and he was beckoned in. He followed the man into the room and took the seat across from the desk, sitting with his right ankle resting on his left knee, adjusting his arm in the sling until he was comfortable. The two men stared at each other for a moment, the small office uncomfortably silent, before the counselor finally spoke. "So, how are you feeling?"
"Fine," he answered, wiggling his fingers for emphasis. He was feeling fine. Between Alexx and Calleigh cooking for him, getting enough sleep, and relaxing at home, he was doing better than he wanted to admit. He was even beginning to enjoy being cared after by the two of them. If it wasn't the medical examiner stopping by on her way home from work, it was the blonde criminalist, loaded down with food and a smile. Dinner together at his place had almost become a habit. More often than not, she was with him.
"Any bad dreams, anything like that?"
What kind of nut job was this guy, he wondered. "No," he lied. The dreams hadn't gotten any worse, but they hadn't gotten any better, either. He relived that afternoon whenever he laid his head on the pillow to sleep. Always the same thing, never changing. And it still made him shake when he woke up suddenly.
"How's the shoulder? Much pain?"
Now he was going to pass himself off as a medical doctor, he thought to himself, trying not to roll his eyes. "Pretty well gone. Only when I force myself to move it. How are these questions supposed to help? I thought you were supposed to be examining me to see if I was fit for duty, when I'm done with my rehab."
"I am." Speedle ignored him as he went through the entire speech about how he was going to determine that, shifting uneasily in his seat. He had been through two of these meetings before, and hated them each time. He didn't see the point in trying to explain himself, his actions, or for that matter, his feelings to a complete stranger. He had gone through the entire incident already, in his mind, and he was sure that it wouldn't affect his job performance. He knew that he was going to be stuck int he lab for awhile, not allowed in the field until Horatio had worked his way through HIS guilt about the shooting, but he didn't mind that too much.
That was where he belonged, and he damned well knew it. Ever since he had accepted the job, he knew that it was what he was meant to do. It was his element. He felt more comfortable around the complicated machines and chemicals that surrounded him in the trace lab. There was something about tugging on a pair of latex gloves that felt right to him. The smell of the chemicals and the solvents was almost as good as the aroma of a home-cooked meal. It was home to him.
Mechanically, he told the counselor about what had happened that day, as his mind reeled with his thoughts. This was the last thing that he wanted to do.
"So, how did it go?" she asked as she drained the pasta, taking care to keep her face away from the steam. The last thing that she needed, she figured, was a steam facial.
He made a face as he poured her a glass of water. "As much fun as going to the dentist. What would you expect? Useless questions followed by even more useless answers."
She smiled slightly as she dumped the pasta back into the pot, transfering it back to the stove. "Well, at least-" She broke off when her finger came a little too close to the element that she had shut off only seconds ago, and hissed in pain, immediately putting her fingertip in her mouth. "Are you laughing at me?" she mumbled around it, glaring at him.
His response was to go over to the sink and turn on the cold water faucet, beckoning for her to come closer. She backed away instead, shaking her head with her eyes wide. "Come on, you know it's the only thing to do. Sucking on it isn't going to help. It's only going to make it worse if you don't put it under the cold water."
"It's going to hurt."
"Don't be such a baby."
"It's going to blister."
"Don't be such a baby."
"It's too cold."
Speedle shrugged. "I give up," he told her, turning away.
She was at his side an instant later, her finger removed from her mouth. "I can't do it. I always pull my hand away," she explained. He sighed and took hold of her wrist, directing it towards the running water. She bit her lip when it began to pour over her burned fingertip, tapping a foot on the ground to distract her. "Okay, I admit it, I'm a baby. It hurts."
"You think that hurts? Try being shot," he deadpanned, moving her hand so that it was under the flowing water again. "It's not as bad as you think, and it won't hurt as much later on. Why am I explaining this to you? You should know this."
"I do, I do, I really do," she said, nodding her head for emphasis. "But it hurts. I don't like it. How much longer do I have to do this, anyway?"
He sighed again and pulled her hand away, reaching for the tea towel behind him. He gently dabbed away the water that was still clinging to her skin, and lifted it so that he could see better. "It's not that bad," he told her, turning his head to look at the small blister that was beginning to form on the side of her finger. All of a sudden, he became aware of the fact that it was his hand encircling her wrist.
And there it was again. That familiar feeling, and it hit him like always, like a bolt of lightning. He became painfully aware of the feel of her skin, soft, silky smooth. How would he classify that feeling, he wondered. Was it a tingle, a shudder, or something else. Whatever it was, he could feel the short hairs at the back of his head begin to stand at attention, as if they knew something that he didn't. This was Calleigh, it wasn't some random woman on the street that he would have to look over his shoulder to make sure that he had seen her correctly. This was...yes, a friend, he realized, after all this time. This wasn't how it was supposed to feel.
"It's...uh...fine," he told her, letting go of her. God, it was like he was still touching her. He could feel the warmth from her skin linger on his fingertips. And all the other small details that he had never paid attention to before assaulted him like a never-ending wave. The smell of her freshly washed hair. The green flecks hidden within her eyes. The gentle rise and fall of her chest with her breathing. "I'll finish this up."
"Are you okay?" she asked, when she saw the look on his face. If anyone ever asked, she knew that she would never be able to describe it. There were the secrets that were constantly in his eyes, pain from a past life, maybe, but most likely the wall that he built around himself to...protect himself? "You look-"
He turned away, averting his eyes back to the waiting dinner that was still on the stove. "Shoulder. Gave a twinge."
Calleigh pushed him away gently. "Go sit down. I can finish this. Besides, like you said, a burnt finger is nothing compared to a gunshot wound." The look she gave him was worried. "You look too pale. Sit. I'm sure that I can manage."
"You don't have to."
And that was the strange thing. She DID have to.
Chapter Five
