Chapter Six
This was home.
He had spent most of his first shift back locked inside the trace lab, with people popping in and out to welcome him back and ask how his shoulder was. He took a few breaks every now and then to give his arm a rest and grab a cup of coffee, sometimes even a bite to eat. Calleigh was keeping him too well fed. And then, two hours before his shift was over, he disappeared into the small room off of the lab, the broom closet that he called an office. All it contained was a battered desk and chair, and both were usually covered with papers and folders. That day was no exception.
It seemed that no one had touched his paperwork since that last day he was there. With a resigned sigh, he moved a stack of files back onto his desk and took his seat, rubbing his tired eyes, before reaching for the first stack. Most papers only needed his signature, notifying that either he ran the tests and they were correct, or he was signing off on another person's work. Then, the files were be sent to Horatio, who would also sign off on them. Bureaucracy, like paperwork, was a pain in the ass.
The files stacked up on the floor, one after another, as he scanned the paperwork, scanned the printouts, and then applied a scribbled signature at the bottom. With a wry smile, he shook his right hand, already feeling the dreaded writer's cramp. The next file he chose made him stop, however, and put the pen down.
It had his name on it, which was probably why it had ended up on his desk. At first, he had been the one to run everything relating to trace evidence on the case, but after he was shot, it was sent down to the person with the next level of senoirity on the shift. It shouldn't have been there. But it was like a car accident on the sideof the road. He knew that he shouldn't read it, but he just couldn't help himself. This was about him, the incident report, everything that he didn't know.
He leaned back in the swivel chair, listening to it squeak in protest as his eyes raced across the words, looking for a certain section. There it was, plain as day. He sat forward again and dropped the file on the desk, his mind not wanting to comprehend what was written there. Calleigh Duquense. HER name was on the incident report, and there was no reason for it, he told himself. Yes, they all worked on the same case, and at times, their tasks had overlapped each others. But she wasn't there when he was shot, so why would her name be on the shooting incident report?
He ventured another look, and sighed again. He recognized Horatio's writing automatically, although it was just a copy. He wouldn't be able to miss his neat, compact writing for all the world, and on the next page, which he flipped to quickly, was Calleigh's. Round and loopy. He went back to the original page, and read it through twice, not understanding. Not wanting to understand.
SHE was supposed to be at the jewelery store. She was supposed to have been the one to go with Horatio. But when something came up, she had demurred, and Horatio had come looking for him. There had never been mention of it before. No one had brought it up before. He couldn't help but think about what would have happened if it had been her there, instead of him. Lord knows that Calleigh was a crack shot, a lot better than he was, though he fared well enough to retain his Detective status. But HIS weapon had some sort of mechanical malfunction, and that was the reason that he had taken a bullet in the shoulder. If it had been her, there was no doubt in his mind that her weapon wouldn't have seized up on her. She would have seen the problem in advance, not like him.
But then, it might not have worked out that way, he realized, slamming the file shut and pushing it away. And he didn't want to think about the "other way" that it could have gone.
He stood up and gathered the files in his arms, walking out of his tiny office and back to the trace lab, where he pushed through the doors to find himself in the normally busy hallway. He traded nods with a few people as he climbed the stairs to the next floor, heading directly to Horatio's office. He shifted the folders so that he had one hand free to knock, and then opened the door even before he was invited in. "Catching up on some paperwork," he told him, dropping the files on his desk. Even he noticed that his voice was duller than normal.
"You been okay today?" Horatio asked, raising his eyes to look at Speedle.
"Yeah, fine. Uh...there's something else." He picked off the top folder and passed it to him. "Someone put this on my desk by mistake. I don't think that I was supposed to get this one." Horatio didn't even need to open it to know what case it was.He knew simply by looking at the case identification number. "The rest just need your signature. I have a few million more downstairs."
His boss nodded slowly. "Of course. Well...thank you."
Speedle nodded and walked back out, ignoring the questions in Horatio's eyes. He stopped in the trace lab long enough to pick up a sheet of paper and turned, heading in the opposite direction. It had been a long time since he had been there, but that didn't mean that he had forgotten how to get to the ballistics area. He didn't bother knocking, but instead, walked right in and dropped the sheet of paper next to the microscope that Calleigh was peering into. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" she asked, looking at his retreating back.
He stopped, but didn't turn. "Paperwork," he answered shortly, listening to her soft laugh.
"The bane of my existence," she countered, before picking up what he had left for her. "Tim, are you...feeling all right? You sound like of off. Hard day in the lab?"
He turned to look at her, chocolate eyes unreadable. "Why didn't you tell me, Calleigh?"
She shook her head. "Tell you what?"
His sigh was deeper than normal, enough that she could see his chest move beneath the dark grey buttondown shirt he was wearing. "That you were the one that was supposed to go with Horatio that day." Her eyes went wide as she understood what he was talking about. "Yeah, someone left me the file by accident. And I read it by accident. And I learned about the fact that you were supposed to be there."
"By accident."
He nodded and crossed his arms, looking at her. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Would it have mattered?"
He didn't know how to answer that.
He was a spectator this time. He knew that it was different right off the bat. Because now, the short blonde criminalist was walking alongside Horatio. He couldn't hear what they were saying...hell, he couldn't even tell if he was really there, or just watching it as if he were watching television, but he saw every little thing.
There was a more free-and-easy way with how the two of them communicated, like old friends that were working together, like two people that enjoyed working together. They were standing there, questioning the same man that he had helped interview when it really happened. And it was Calleigh, who noticed the movement out of the corner of her eye. There was something almost poetic in watching her move.
It was a dream, a nightmare, none of this was real. It was pretend, his mind working over time. Damn it, I don't want to see this.
He watched her unsnap her holster and draw her weapon, how at ease she was with it. Her eyes had narrowed as she looked for her target, and there was Horatio, standing in the same place that he had stood when Speedle had been there.
Wake up, he told himself. He didn't want to see this.
"Calleigh?" Horatio asked, his , confused...he couldn't tell.
No, not now. Wake up.
She nodded calmly in the direction of the moving body, never taking her eyes away. Horatio took out his own gun.
I don't want to see this. Make it stop.
All hell broke loose. They reacted like any cop would react. The action changed from what he had gone through. There was no immediate hit in the shoulder, no falling back. Calleigh squeezed off two rounds, and he thought that maybe, this time, it was going to be okay. Maybe this wasn't the nightmare he thought that it was going to be. But even he had to admit that he knew better than that.
Open your fucking eyes, man. Don't look at this. Stop it. Just stop it already.
Then it happened. He saw the look of shock on her face as she stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. Horatio couldn't do anything but continue to shoot at the men as they ran away. And when that was done, he dropped his gun ont he floor, not caring about it, rushing over to where the blonde woman had fallen on the floor.
Stop it. Not this. Don't want to see this. Don't want to think this. Just sleeping, dreaming, a nightmare. It's not real.
Why were her eyes open like that? Why were they staring at nothing? Why did they look so dead. He could feel the scream of terror, the yell of rage, building in his chest. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. It wasn't supposed to-
His eyes snapped open suddenly, and he took a deep breath, unaware of the fact that he had been holding it in his sleep. Sweat drenched him, the plain tee shirt he was wearing, teh sheets beneath and atop his body. His pulse was racing, heart beat rapid. He could feel each beat, each thump, willing it to stop. The nightmare had made him irrational, and he had to stop himself from reaching for the phone and calling her, just to make sure that she was all right, that she was still there, that she was...she was alive.
He rolled over instead and stared out the window, staring at nothing, but nothing was better than replaying that in his mind.
Chapter Seven
