Apparently fic is like dollar bills...

You occassionally find them in the most random places...

So I was cleaning out my WIP folder and guess what? This one was practially done. God only knows what episode it was based on, but hey! fic!

Title: Hanging by a Thread
Pairing: Calleigh/Natalia, duh!
Disclaimer: They are not mine and never have been.
Spoilers: Yes, apparently, though for what episode I don’t remember. I think there was an ep where Calleigh was trying to hold on to a guy, and he slipped and died. If any of you remember that one, you’re doing better than I am. I didn’t even remember I wrote this damn fic until I was procrastinating from doing my research hours.
Summary: Eric’s POV. He realizes he’s not the one that can help her anymore.
A/N: Hey look, fic is like money, sometimes, if you forget it in your coat pocket, it turns up at useful moments!




“Eric!” Her cry still rang in his head, tearing at him when he least expects it like a phantom pain from a long healed injury.

He loves her. He has no idea when he first realized that his protective-older-brother feelings had transformed into something more: no evidence as to what the catalyst was – if it was her rare, radiant smile or the warmth in her eyes when she looked at him, or even simply the gentle heat of her skin when she accidentally brushed her hand along his. He can’t pinpoint a single source; a specific event. Rather, it was a gradual understanding: a slow dawning like the sun burning away the mist over the ocean.

Watching Jason’s widow slap Calleigh, he feels the blow as if it had landed on his own cheek. His feelings rear hard, making his own heart race and his jaw clench in the desire to do something.

But he is a professional, and so is she. So he does nothing, though his jaw hurts and he balls his hands into fists, he stands by and keeps silent.

That doesn’t mean he does not watch her. He knows the small blonde better than almost anyone at this lab, and while it might not be obvious to another, Eric can see the emotions she struggles to lock away.

They scare him. He has seen Calleigh Duquesne endure many things that would bring down other people, and he has never seen her like this: cowed, hunched. The strong face she presents to the world cracking silently in the bright afternoon sun.

It makes him ache.

More than anything he wants to protect her, heal her, wrap her in his arms and take the burdens away from those slender shoulders.

But now is not the time, and his place is not at her side. Perhaps it never has been.

That knowledge has taken time too: less than understanding his own feelings, but still, time. And though he is human, and in spite of the tiny, frail part of him that is jealous, he does love her, and no matter what, can never stand in the way of her happiness.

Even if that means standing aside.

Even if it means doing this.

“Natalia? Do you have a minute?”

He loved her too, briefly – the quick flare of passion that faded to the warm glow of friendship – but the connection was there, and he can still read her easily.

That ability means that when she raises dark eyes to his, he can see all the worry and turmoil lurking just below the surface. And he can see the need.

“Eric, is she…” He can hear it in her voice too; normally so smooth, it’s brittle and hesitant with fear and longing, two emotions the depth of which far outweigh his own.

“I don’t think she should be alone right now,” is all he says before turning and leading her to the morgue, the place he saw Calleigh walking, her stride that of a condemned woman.

He may not be able to save her, but he can do this.

~*~

His – the victim’s….Jason’s, she makes herself say his name, even if only in the silence of her own mind – hand is cold beneath hers. She doesn’t know why that bothers her. More than the broken body, more than the boneless weight, it’s the cold that she silently rails against.

Here was a good man.

How often in their line of work, in their lives, can that be said? How many people would have come forward – risking so much to gain so little – and done what was right.

He’d paid the ultimate price, because she had failed.

Rationally she knew it was counterproductive, but for once logic fails her and Detective Calleigh Duquesne can not stop replaying the moment, trying over and over in her mind to change the course of events, to put things back in their place, to set things right.

Not even her tempered will can stand the steady uncaring march of time however, and the hand clasped between hers remains still and cold, perfect in its accusation.

The silence of the morgue is mocking and she is caught, torn between the desire to flee, and the inability to move.

And then the steady click of shoes on the tiled floor cuts through the echoing quiet and warm, slender arms wrap around her. She is pulled close against a soft, yielding body and the tender hold lends her strength and offers silent support. Telling her she is not alone.

For a moment she resists, unconvinced she deserves this respite. In the end however, her will is already weak, and she surrenders. Turning, the detective closes her eyes and slides her arms around her rescuer’s waist, holding on tightly as if to an anchor, and lets go.

~*~

It was done.

He watches from a distance as someone else takes Calleigh into their arms; watches as the woman he has come to love lays her head on another’s shoulder and surrenders her burdens; watches as that other person keeps her safe…if only for a moment.

And though there is a part of him that aches in longing, it is small and easily pushed aside. Despite the wishes he might once have harbored, the sight of the two women together is too powerful to be denied.

Fin