AN: Well, we’ve come to the end of out journey with this one. I’d like to extend a special thank you to all who have reviewed, to Irony882 and especially to LemonGreen. If it weren’t for Jacks, I’d still be stuck in the rut of writers block.

My elements were:

A game of Euchre - check

A romantic/tender moment - check (I think, let me know)

Unsharpened pencils - check

/--/

“Eric,” Horatio’s voice bellows down the hallway. I flinch, already knowing I’m late. “Frank’s looked into the Jenson family. George’s son has priors for breaking and entering and a few assault charges.” He paused, clipping his sunglasses to his pocket. “He could be our guy.”

“Want me to talk to him?” I ask, relief flooding my body. At least I wasn’t in trouble.

“No. Not yet. We need to go in there with all our ducks in a row. Talk to Calleigh, find out if the gun you found is a match to the ammo that killed our Vic.”

“Sure,” I reply and he glances to me once, puling him glasses off his shirt before pressing the button for the elevator. I sigh, turning in the direction of the firearms lab.

I pause at the door, drinking in the sight of her. We’d had no talks of rules last night, but I knew where we stood. We had to keep what ever it was with us out of work. Period. No questions. It’s hard though, especially when she’s looking as irresistible as she is now. I don’t even know what it is. That slight tiredness showing through, lips pursed in concentration as her delicate hand hovers over the paper. I watch as she sighs, puts down the blunt pencil she had been sketching with and picks up another, groaning lightly as she found that one blunt too.

I take that as my cue to enter, producing a sharp pencil for her to use. She smiles her thanks, grabbing it, eyes flicking to my lips before she turns and carries on with her work. She can be such a tease sometimes. And I love it.

“Find a match on that gun?” I ask, walking round to the other side of her, hand grazing lightly across her back. I continue before her admonishing comment can leave her lips. “We’ve got him in custody.”

“Yeah, I have a match. Take a look.” She moves towards the microscope, switching on the linkup to the projector screen to show striations that mean absolutely nothing to me. I nod anyway, pretending to listen to her words rather then stare at her, watching her eyes light up with excitement. It was a trick I had learnt long ago, back when openly starting would have been highly inappropriate and probably would have resulted in a hard punch from one of her boyfriends.

“Shall we, Eric?” she asks, and I glance back, baffled. Shall we what? Her eyes light with amusement and she knows I’ve not been listening. I nod anyway, trying to salvage myself. “Let’s go.” She picks up a couple of files and walks out of the room, almost cockily, knowing I’ll follow close behind.

We meet Frank almost immediately after stepping out of the elevator. He walks over, a slight stagger showing his authority. He nods a welcome, turning to Calleigh. “Good find with that gun,” he says, and she smiles back.

“Where’d you find him?” she asks as we begin walking to the interview room.

“PD spotted him going into a bar near the water. Guy was in the middle of a game of Euchre when we picked him up. Had the winning hand, too. Shame.” Frank chuckled, accent strong.

“Yeah, real shame,” I say, watching her enter the interview room. I take the file off Frank, and move to join her.

“So, what happened? You went in to steal some things and, what? He surprised you?” she asks, leaning closer to him, a light breeze blowing a waft of her perfume my way.

“He wasn’t supposed to be there,” Peter Jenson said. “He just came outta nowhere!”

“So you shot him?”

“It was an accident.”

“Twice…”

“It was an accident,” he repeated, head in his hands. “The gun just went off.”

“A 22. doesn’t just ‘go off’, Mr. Jenson. Wanna try that again?” She’s defensive, I can tell. Her accent has intensified slightly, her muscles tense; things only I notice.

“I didn’t mean to pull the trigger; he wasn’t supposed to be there.”

“It doesn’t matter. You took that gun to the scene with the intention of using it if you had to. That’s premeditation, and that’s murder.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him.”

“That’s up to the judge to decide,” Calleigh replies, signaling for the patrol cop to take him away.

“He broke that family,” she said softly, eyes downcast. “That little boy will never see his father again, and it’s just -” She stopped, glancing to me a little. “It’s not fair, you know.”

I nod, knowing exactly what she means. My hand brushes her arm gently, but I don‘t push her too far, knowing how much she hates to feel vulnerable. “I’m gonna talk to his widow,” I say, hoping I can offer some form of support to both of them. She smiles, letting me go with a small wave.

/--/

He speaks to the victims’ wife as I pack up the last of the evidence. I mark the box 'CLOSED' and hand it to Claudia for storage, ready to be unearthed once the case goes to trial. Feeling suitably satisfied with our work, I return to the lab to finish up on some paper work. As usual, though, my mind drifts elsewhere.

He'd shared my bed last night, not in that way, we'd simply cuddled. It was nice. Strangely nice. I'd woken about midnight, totally lost until I realized where I was. I wasn’t used to falling asleep on my couch; it was oddly unsettling.

I hated to have to wake him, he looked so relaxed lying there, that I didn't want to rouse him. Nevertheless, I was getting a sore neck, and I knew he must have been too. He looked so peaceful though, his head burred in my neck, my hair hiding much of his face from my sight. His arms were tight around my waist, despite his deep slumber.

He'd smiled as his eyes had opened, locking with mine. I didn't say anything, words would have broken the spell around us I think, and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet, blanket conveniently falling to the floor. As we approached the door, his lips had descended onto mine, a soft, sloppy brush across my lips in a sleepy kiss. It had felt completely normal, taking him into my bedroom, stripping to my underwear and pulling on the large shirt he had removed to hide my self-consciousness.

He had held me so close, warm hands running up and down my back as I breathed him in. I heard him sigh contentedly, nose once again buried in my hair, deeply inhaling a smell that he seemed to like because, moments later, his breath evened out. I placed a kiss to his chest, feeling only safe in his embrace as he lulled me into unconsciousness.

I think we both expected awkwardness the next day, instead, we found only normality, familiarity, almost. Him making coffee as I showered; me ironing a shirt he’d left long ago as he copied. I was assaulted with light kisses at the door. They were soft, hesitant, and I know he didn’t want to push his luck, but I wanted more. We had to leave though, and before I could push it too far, he had pulled away. The ‘what ifs’ were still playing on my mind, still are if I’m honest, but he was showing me his honesty in so many little ways His hand finding the small of my back as we walked. It sends tingles up and down my spine just thinking about it.

We still need to talk, I know that. He knows that. We need to come to some sort of agreement as to what we are. I don’t know if this is a serious thing or something small. Despite our conversation last night, I’m still unsure. I wait for him now, knowing Horatio wouldn’t give us another case so soon after finishing this one. I’m sad almost; I think part of me wants to prolong the inevitable, put off the conversation that could potentially break my heart.

The rules. One thing I have to get straightened out and I know he isn’t going to like that. Eric hated being told he couldn’t do something. Maybe I am doing it out of self-protection, maybe I am scared of what could happen, but I need some rules in place. Rules give guidelines, let me know what to expect. Eric knew, I could tell, he knew why I needed these rules in place and, I’m sure, he intended to break every single one at some point. But that was on him, not me.

His hand on my arm startles me and I drop the piece of paper I’m holding. “You okay?” he asks, sounding concerned, probably because I normally don’t go around dropping paper. I smile, picking up the sheet and returning it to my desk. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” I reply, jumping up and grabbing my bag. I know my moves are jerky, but I’m nervous. I don’t know why, Eric pretty much told me he was on board with whatever I wanted last night. But the possibility of him saying what I’d normally say, ‘this is too hard’, still weighs down on me. I’ve had relationships fall apart in the past because of my fluctuating openness. Some days, I’m very open. Emotionally, I’m vulnerable, but I’m not afraid to let people see me for who I am. I’m not afraid to let someone hold me. But other days, I go though periods of not even wanting people to be near me. It’s driven men away; they’d become bored of my ‘game playing’ and decided they could do better. They probably could.

I think Eric knows me well enough, to be honest. I don’t think he’d turn away from me because of my fears. He understands me better then most, better than I do myself and he has this uncanny ability to know when I need time alone. And he always comes back at just the right moments.

We walk to our cars, deciding he’d come to mine once he’d gone home and changed. He glances around the empty parking lot, exaggeratedly before leaning down and planting a soft kiss to my lips. I smile, returning to my car, waving as I drive off leaving him to leave after me.

Once at home, I shower and change, washing the days events from my body. It was a hard case, always is when it involves children. At least this one wasn’t dead. But he’d never get his father back; few understand what it’s like to grow up without parents. I didn’t, though I’d selfishly whished for it countless times.

The doorbell rings suddenly, and I quickly shut off the shower, sighing. It couldn’t be Eric, no one gets ready that fast. Not even a man. Pulling on my robe, I open the door a crack, revealing a spotty young teenager clutching a giant white box. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Miss Du-ques-nee?” he asks and I nod, ignoring the way he butchered my last name. “I got a delivery for you.” He pushed glasses up his nose, and held up a clipboard. “You gotta sign.”

I open the door fully now, reaching for the pen and paper before signing my name. I hand them back, suppressing a giggle at the bright red hue that has colored the teenagers face. I grab the box out of his hand, using it to cover as much of my barley covered body as possible, as I thank him.

Placing it on the table, I open the box, tugging off the red string. My eyes widen with shock as a dozen red roses peek out at me from behind tissue paper. Was this the romantic side of Eric I had not yet seen? I scramble around inside the box, searching for a note, feeling a twinge of disappointment when I find nothing but paper.

I feel a light blush cover my face when I realize my disappointment is irrational, the note is attached to one of the roses. I open the tiny card, my heart squeezing at the message inside: To celebrate losing our fears. All my love, Eric. x

/--/

“Cal?” I call, as I push open the door. She’d buzzed me in only moments earlier, and I find it strange that she isn’t at the door when I knocked. I find it even stranger that her door is open. Stepping in, I see the roses I’d had delivered sitting in a vase on the table, the light smell had wafted around the room and I can detect its delicate scent mixing with the slightly fruity fragrance of Calleigh’s home.

“Cal?” I call again, jumping a little when I feel two hands latch over my eyes from behind. I chuckle when I feel a tiny body next to mine, knowing immediately whom the hands belong to. “Hey,” I utter, trying to turn around, but she stopps me.

Her hands move from my eyes, trailing down my face slightly before she steps into my line of sight. “They’re beautiful, Eric,” she says, referring to the flowers. I smile, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. She moans slightly, stepping back and pulling me to the couch. I catch her eye and she looks away, seeming a little nervous. My fingers trace her jaw gently. I shoot a question at her, my brows furrowed.

“Work,” she says, and the word tells me everything that’s going on inside her head. I guess it’s a good things she’s talking about how we’ll handle work; it means we have a relationship to handle. I nod, letting her continue. “What are we gonna do about it?” By asking me, she is sharing the control. She isn’t flat out telling me I’m not allowed to do this and I am allowed to do that, she probably knows how much I hate that.

“You wanna keep it a secret?” I ask, twirling a strand of hair between my fingers.

“No,” she stated, dropping her eyes. “But I don’t want them to know either.” She sighed, meeting my eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell them. But if they find out…”

“…let them?” She nodded raising her eyebrows as though asking for my opinion. “Well, I’d rather shout it from the roof-tops,” I half-joke, enjoying her smile. “But I can get on board with the subtlety thing, I guess.”

She nods again; whispering a soft, “thank you” I know is for more than my understanding. Her hips twist, and she presses her body to mine, eyes rising to meet my own. Green on brown; a perfect mixture of color.

“We’ll be okay, right?” she asks, and I merely nod, pulling her closer so I can reach her lips, locking my eyes with her, letting her see the unspoken promise I’ve made to her. Her hair is soft against my fingers, her skin smooth against my cheek. She smiles once more before grabbing a fist of my shirt and pressing her hot lips against mine in a battle of passion no side can win.

Though I’m trying my damned hardest.

-- Fin --

--February 16th 2008 --