Friends and Lovers

Written for a FanFiction Critique Group Challenge, which must include the following elements:
1. Must include the phrase: “That's not like you.”
2. Must be any one of the following: Angst, Romance, Humor, Songfic, or Horror.
3. Must involve the presence (or lack of presence) of an animal.
4. Must be a minimum rating of K and a max rating of M.
5. Each Segment must be exactly 1,000 words.*

* Regardless of what this set-up might say, each segment IS exactly 1,000 according to Microsoft Windows!

To read other stories written for this challenge and others, or to join the Group, come and see us at

Through the glass walls of his spartan office in the Miami Dade Police Department building, Lieutenant Horatio Caine could observe everything that went on in his lab on the floor below. Not that he often had time to stand around watching the comings and goings, watching his people getting on with their work. Most days he was just way too busy out in the field, chasing criminals, collecting the evidence to put them away, interviewing suspects and witnesses, working the evidence in the lab, writing up reports, giving testimony in court... There was a hell of a lot more to catching the bad guys than just putting a gun to their heads and slapping on the cuffs!

But for once, on this occasion, Horatio Caine was simply standing, doing nothing – except watching the to-ing and fro-ing, the constant movement of the well-rehearsed dance that went on every day here in his domain.

His lab. His people. His domain. He laughed at the words his brain conjured into thoughts inside his head. You’re getting possessive in your old age, Caine! That’s not like you.

But then... they were ‘his’people, each and every one – Calleigh, Eric, Natalia, Ryan. They were a team. His team. Over the years they had worked together, fought together, laughed – and sometimes cried – together, succeeded – and sometimes failed – together. They were close enough, knew each other well enough, that a single gesture could convey a world of intention, and the understanding of a single glance could mean the difference between life and death for someone.

Calleigh passed by below, file in her hand, purpose in her step, her long hair dancing around her shoulders, glowing gold in the late afternoon sun that streamed in through the windows. She reached the bottom of the stairs that led up to his office and, as if sensing his eyes on her, she glanced up at him, a slight nod of her head, a flash of that beautiful smile meant just for him.

She had become one of his best friends since he had come to Miami all those years ago and they had begun working together. He had hand-picked her for his team from a list of hopefuls, and had never once regretted that decision. There was something about her, even on paper, that made her stand out from the crowd. And in the flesh... she was even more outstanding.

A southern woman, tough, resilient, capable, independent way beyond the point of stubbornness! He had seen her face down men twice her size without batting an eyelid, heard her sweet-talk her way in and out of countless situations with nothing but her southern drawl and a flash of those big green eyes. He remembered the biker case... what were they called? Crypt Kings, that was it. She had been run off the road into a canal, but was more bothered about losing her evidence than she was at almost being drowned!

But he had also seen her shaken, broken, afraid. He knew that she worried about her father every day, wondering if he was managing to stay sober, afraid that the next DUI, the next “I think I killed somebody”, would be for real.

He knew too that the kidnapping had shaken her more than she would admit; he had seen the look she gave him, if only briefly, after she had floored her captor at the poker game. He couldn’t say what that look had meant exactly, but he could remember it vividly.

And he knew that she had seen death too close to home too many times. They all had; it was an occupational hazard in this business. He frowned as the memories came unbidden to his mind. Raymond. Tim. Hagan. He had wondered if Calleigh might walk after Hagan had blown his brains out in her gun lab – and he knew that she almost had; he still had no idea what had made her stay.

But she had stayed, had gone back to her lab, taken up arms again...

Bullet-girl. What a nickname! But he had to admit, it suited her! And what Calleigh Duquesne didn’t know about firearms and ballistics was simply not worth knowing.

He watched as she pushed open the glass door of the layout room where Eric was poring over something blood-stained with a magnifying glass. He could imagine rather than see the smiles they exchanged, their easy way with one another, the teasing way they spoke to one another, and wondered how they managed to do that and remain so constantly, consistently, professional.

Anyone with half an eye could see that those two were in love! They had been for years; everyone knew it except them. Or maybe they did know it, and they just wouldn’t admit to it. Why? Fear of spoiling their working relationship? Fear of spoiling a beautiful friendship? Fear of everyone’s favorite IAB man, Rick Stetler?

Why was it so hard for them to just admit their feelings for one another and move on?

You’re one to talk, Caine! The thought came so easily, and he had to admit it was true. He had never come out and admitted the feelings he’d had since the day she first came in for her interview. Calleigh Duquesne, impressive on paper, but so much more outstanding in the flesh. He had often wanted to, often meant to, but he had never admitted how he felt. Same with Yelina. And then Marisol had come along, and he had finally dared to be honest...

He sighed, willing his body to move, to turn him around, to face him in the direction of his desk and the pile of paperwork that awaited his attention there. The message never made it from his brain to his feet. It got lost somewhere on the way, stuck on the sidetrack the held him motionless, simply standing, doing nothing, watching the comings and goings through the glass walls of his office in the Miami Dade Police Department building.

In her firearms lab, Calleigh Duquesne was lost in thought. It was the crime scene photos that had done it, that had caused her to drift off to a time in the past that she would rather forget. Photos of a wealthy executive. Blood and brain matter spattered on the ceiling of an otherwise pristine apartment. The body sprawled on the polished wood floor, gun still in hand.

Detective John Hagan. His blood and brain matter spattered on the ceiling of her otherwise pristine lab. His body sprawled on her polished tile floor, gun still in hand.

She shook herself out of the dark place the photos had sent her to.

C’mon, Calleigh; pull yourself together. That’s not like you!

She sighed, and took another look at her own photos. Bullets. She understood bullets. She was safe with bullets. Bullet-girl. She laughed to herself. Where the hell had that ridiculous nickname come from?

The photos in front of her clearly showed the same marks on both bullets. The same gun. The same shooter? Why would a wealthy executive be killing himself with the same gun used three years ago in a casino heist?

She added the ballistics pictures to the others in the file, slipped out of her lab coat, and headed out of the firearms lab. As she made her way upstairs to the layout room, Hagan refused to leave her thoughts. She had liked him. A lot. Maybe even loved him. He was fun to be with, caring, gentle – and damned good in bed! But his bouts of depression and… self-loathing? Yes, self-loathing; she couldn’t think of another word for it. That was what had ended their relationship.

For a while afterwards, she had hated him for choosing to take that way out. In her lab. Hated him for causing all those selfish thoughts that had made her feel so guilty at the time. He had almost ended her career; she had almost walked, but something had made her stay. Someone. The one person who had believed in her since the day – maybe since before the day – she had turned up for her interview at the Miami Dade Crime Lab.

Lieutenant Horatio Caine.

She sensed rather than knew that someone was watching her and, realizing where she was, she glanced up to see the man himself standing in his office at the top of the stairs, looking out at the lab below. She nodded and flashed him a smile. She had often wondered, as they had worked together over the years, whether they could have had something, but… she had never been sure. She had sometimes thought that he might be interested, but he had never made a move, she had been too shy; and he was her boss, after all. But damn, he was handsome!

She pushed open the door of the layout room, where Eric was poring over something blood-stained with a magnifying glass, then let it close softly behind her.

“Just gimme a minute, Cal,” he said, without looking up.

How did he do that? How did he know it was her, without even looking? She watched him work in silence, knowing that these days it sometimes took more effort, especially at the end of a long day, for him to concentrate on what he was doing. Just one of the things that had changed since he had been shot.

The days following the shooting had been the worst days of her life.

The day her mama had finally walked out; the countless times she had heard the same old words: “Lambchop. I swear, that was my first drink in five months… two years… eight weeks”; the day Hagan had realized he was nobody’s hero and blew his head off in her lab; the constant fear of death at the hands of her kidnappers… nothing that had happened before or since could compare to the despair and fear she had felt during those long days and nights, sitting by Eric’s bedside in the hospital, waiting for some sign of life, hearing him ask when his sister – his dead sister – was coming to visit, watching his confusion and bewilderment, wondering if he would ever be the same old Eric again.

It had changed both of them.

Maybe it had made her finally realize how she really felt about him. But that was over a year ago now, and she still hadn’t done anything about it. She hadn’t said a word to him. To anyone. She wondered if anyone had noticed the change, if anyone suspected how she really felt? She wondered if Eric even knew…

“Calleigh?”

Eric’s voice made her jump, pulling her thoughts back to the lab. She had drifted again! She looked up and saw the teasing smile on his face.

“You OK?” his voice laughed.

She felt her stomach flop and a blush come to her cheeks.

“Sorry! I was… erm… What d’you got?”

They talked about the case, he showing her what he had found on the blood-spattered clothes he had been examining, she talking him through what she had discovered from the bullets found at the scene. Eric nodded, made comments, asked questions, and she took it slowly, answering every question carefully, fully, recognizing his necessary and now automatic mechanism for getting things straight in his mind, getting information to sink in and stay put.

They had been best friends for so long. They had always been easy together, always been able to talk about anything and everything. Sometimes it felt like he was the only person who really knew her, the only person who knew all about her – a fact that often made her laugh and wonder why he was still her best friend!

A few minutes’ small-talk later, she left the room. She forced herself not to turn around; she knew, she felt, Eric’s eyes on her back, and suddenly wondered... Did he know after all?

Still wondering, she walked away, down the stairs, back to her firearms lab.

From where he stood in the layout room at the Miami Dade Crime Lab, Eric Delko watched Calleigh walk away, unable to take his eyes off her retreating figure, her long hair dancing around her shoulders, glowing gold in the late afternoon sun that streamed in through the windows, unable to prevent the appreciative smile that came to his lips as he admired the wiggle in her walk...

Probably grounds for a sexual harassment suit if Stetler happens to walk by! he thought with a frown.

Stetler. Damn that man! He really had it in for the lab, God knows why. He had already tried to ruin Eric’s career with that stupid business with the marijuana, tried to take Horatio out countless times on one stupid charge or another. What the hell did he have against the lab? Against them?

Eric sighed, irritated that such unwarranted thoughts of that IAB idiot had all but ruined his admiration of the retreating figure of Calleigh Duquesne. He thought again, and smiled again. No. Not ruined. Not even close. Not even Stetler could do that!

He and Calleigh had been best friends for as long as he could remember, for as long as they had known each other. How long was that now? He tried to think. Seven years? No, must be more than that. He shook his head, unable to work it out just now. Sometimes he wasn’t too good with calculations like that. Not since the shooting.

One bullet in the head, and now he felt like he should be back in kindergarten!

Stop it, Delko! You know you’re a whole lot better now, so stop putting yourself down. That’s not like you, and you know it.

He knew that Calleigh would say the same thing if she knew what he was thinking. The one person – no, not the one person, but definitely the best person – who had been around to help him pick up the pieces after the shooting. He remembered waking up in the hospital and seeing her there, seeing the tears on her cheeks, the smile he knew she had to force to her lips for him. And in the days after, she was always there, and in the weeks, and the months… always helping him, encouraging him, refusing to let him stay down, helping him to be – making him be – the CSI they both knew he was still capable of being, even with half a bullet in his head.

On more than one occasion in their working life together, he remembered feeling terrified, wondering if he was going to lose her. He wondered if that was how she had felt as he lay in the hospital more dead than alive. He wondered if she would feel the same about losing him as he knew he would if anything happened to her.

He felt his insides lurch as thoughts of the kidnapping, just a few short weeks ago, came to mind (not that they were ever very far away). She had told him she was OK, but he had confessed to not being. He had been scared. More scared than he had been lying on the concrete of the parking structure with one bullet in his leg and another in his head, suspended in some strange kind of limbo, hearing Horatio calling his name but seeing nothing, feeling nothing…

He swabbed some more samples of blood from the clothes laid out on the table in front of him, dropping the Q-tips into evidence bags, carefully labeling each one and setting it aside.

But still he hadn’t told her how he felt. He loved her so much; she meant everything to him. So why couldn’t he tell her? Why couldn’t he just come right out and say it: “Calleigh Duquesne, I love you.” Five simple words. Even a kid in kindergarten could manage that. He had meant to tell her so many times, but something had always stopped him.

There was the time too when that crazy biker’s moll had run her off the road and into the canal, and she had almost drowned.

He frowned, remembering something else about that particular case. That was when Jake Berkeley had turned up. Calleigh’s old boyfriend. One of them. He didn’t even know some of their names. But there was Jake. And Hagan. And Horatio? He had often wondered about his brother-in-law’s love life, but the Lieutenant was notorious for keeping things close to his chest, his private life no exception.

Anyway, however many boyfriends Calleigh had had, it was nothing to do with him. Besides, he was hardly in a position to criticize. Gloria. Natalia. That girl at the DMV – what was her name? No idea. Got a bullet in my head.

Slipping the bloodstained clothes back into their own evidence bags, Eric tidied up the workspace around him. He picked up all the bags and headed for the evidence locker to lock away the clothing. Then, taking the smaller bags containing the bloody swabs, he went to see who was working DNA today.

Natalia greeted him with a warm smile. “Hi! Are these the blood swabs from our suicidal executive?”

“Yeah. Although I’m not so sure it was suicide.”

“Really?”

Eric was no longer surprised at the wide-eyed disbelief Natalia always seemed to show whenever the evidence threw her a curve-ball. Anyone who didn’t know better might have put it down to naïveté, inexperience. But he knew better. He knew her well enough to see that the wide-eyes glowed with the excitement of a challenge, and the only thing she couldn’t believe was her luck at having such a gauntlet thrown down. He knew that she would revel in the task of proving the evidence right, whatever that meant for the case.

Leaving Natalia slicing open evidence bags and snipping the tips off the Q-tips, Eric headed back to the layout room, stepping up a gear as he saw a familiar blond figure in the corridor ahead of him.

In the locker room of the Miami Dade CSI building, Natalia Boa Vista was standing staring into her locker, trying to remember why on earth she had come in here. She leaned against the open locker door, the coolness of the metal feeling good on her throbbing head.

That was it. Painkillers.

She reached into the locker without really looking what she was doing, and began to rummage through the jumble of things tossed on the shelf: a bottle of shampoo, some Kleenex, shower gel… Her fingers found a small square box, and she lifted it out. Tampax. She tossed it back in again and continued to rummage until she found what she was looking for.

“Eurgh!” She pulled a face as she swallowed the painkillers down; she had never been good at swallowing pills. She looked in the mirror.

I feel terrible. Natalia, you look terrible. That’s not like you at all.

She remembered feeling almost this bad just once before – and come to think of it, that particular little incident had all been down to her inability to swallow pills too! She hoped to God this wasn’t more of the same; it would be just her luck – meeting a new guy, first date in months...

Having produced three daughters in quick succession, her mother always joked, “Your father only has to look at me and I’m pregnant!” God, let’s hope that’s not hereditary!

She leaned on the wash basin, eyes closed, thankfully feeling the tension in her head beginning to ease already.

Of course, she wouldn’t mind having a baby some day. But not right now. And definitely not with Eric Delko! Not that she didn’t like the guy, but… well, he so obviously belonged with Calleigh. Natalia had known that even when she was dating him.

Almost from her first day working at the Crime Lab she had noticed how he looked at Calleigh, how he spoke to her, how he was around her – not all puppy-dog eyes and nervous stammering, nothing like that, just… something about the way they were together made it so obvious that they ought to be together.

Maybe someone ought to tell them that! Maybe one day they would get it together, and realize what everybody else knew already.

Feeling a very distinctive ache deep in her belly, she went back to her locker, grabbed the packet of Tampax, and headed for the bathroom.

A while later she was back in the DNA lab feeling almost human again; a twenty minute break with painkillers and a cup of strong coffee had done the trick.

She took out the samples Ryan had dropped off earlier, and for the next hour or so she was lost in her work, swabbing, testing, analyzing…

“Did you get to work on my samples yet?”

Ryan! It had to be. No “hello”, no “how are you?”, no preamble, just right down to business. She looked up; yes, it was Ryan standing in the doorway, an expectant look on his face.

“I just finished them off.”

“Was it the dad?”

“Not even close – unless dad had a wet nose and a waggly tail!”

“You’re kidding me! A dog?”

“Mm-hm,” she nodded, amused at the bewildered look on his face.

“The Archers don’t have a dog. That means I’m missing a suspect.”

And with that, he was gone. No “goodbye”. No “thank you”.

That was what had driven her crazy when they had dated for a while. He was a nice guy, thoughtful, caring, interesting. But he took everything – especially his work – so seriously. Not that the work they did in the department wasn’t serious; of course it was. Catching the bad guys, caring for the victims, giving peace of mind to the ones left behind; it didn’t get much more serious than that.

It’s just that… well, Ryan didn’t seem to know how to really let go and have fun. He was the same outside the lab as he was at work. Full on. And totally OCD.

She remembered their first date – which she had only agreed to in order to spite Eric after that stupid argument and the “cleared for landing” comment he’d made. Calamari and Mexican wrestling. It had sounded like fun, and she had been looking forward to it. What she hadn’t been expecting was a chemical and biological analysis of the plate of squid in front of her, followed by a treatise on the relative anatomical merits of each wrestler that entered the ring that night – of which there were many.

More like OTT than OCD, she had thought, rather unkindly, at the time.

There was a tap on the glass door, and she looked up and smiled as Eric opened the door and strolled in. Casual as ever! She had never known him any other way. Maybe not quite so laid back these days, but laid back all the same. She smiled as he tossed several small evidence bags on the glass table.

“Hi! Are these the blood swabs from our suicidal executive?”

“Yeah. Although I’m not so sure it was suicide.”

“Really?”

Her eyes lit up; she liked a challenge.

Eric said goodbye and left, and she began slicing open evidence bags and snipping the tips off the Q-tips, ready to begin the process of analyzing this new collection of samples. Absorbed in her work once more, she only looked up when she realized how quiet the lab had become. It was almost six already, and the usual daily bustle of the building had settled down for the evening. Not that it would stay quiet for long; the bad guys of Miami were not known for spending their evenings quietly in front of the TV!

However, the good guys – one of which she considered herself to be – could think of nothing better after a long day at work, and that was exactly what Natalia was planning to do. Unbuttoning her lab coat as she went, she headed for the locker room once more.

Standing in the doorway of the DNA lab, Ryan Wolfe watched Natalia for a moment before speaking.

“Did you get to work on my samples yet?”

She looked up. “I just finished them off.”

“Was it the dad?”

“Not even close – unless dad had a wet nose and a waggly tail!”

“You’re kidding me! A dog?” That’s all he needed. This case was getting more bizarre by the minute. “The Archers don’t have a dog. That means I’m missing a suspect.”

He drove back to the crime scene once more, having already spent three hours there taking photos and gathering evidence. He had been thorough, no doubt about it. That was the thing with his OCD. It drove everybody nuts – his parents, colleagues, girlfriends. Always had. But it wasn’t a bad thing when it came to his work. He was thorough. Meticulous. Painstaking. To the Nth degree. He knew he was wasting his time going back.

C’mon Wolfe, that’s not like you. You never know – you might find something.

He didn’t. His second visit shed no further light on the case, and he headed back to base.

He paused on the steps of the Miami Dade Crime Lab before entering the building. He often did that. Hesitated outside. He had no idea why; he just did it. He’d often tried to work out why, but… no. No idea.

It wasn’t that he needed psyching up for the day’s work. He loved his job. Always had, from the very first day he had walked through the doors and worked his very first case. He would never forget that one: proving that Kenwall Duquesne – Calleigh’s father – was innocent of killing a man while DUI. He knew that his success with that case was what had first brought him to the attention of the Crime Lab supervisor, Horatio Caine. Well, no, it was his colleague at PD, Yelina Salas, who had first put in a few good words for him; that had certainly done no harm either. But it was Lieutenant Caine that had really given him a break.

In fact, the LT had given him more breaks than he deserved, trying to help him out when his gambling had got in the way of his work, putting some work his way after Stetler had fired him, then supporting him all the way in getting his old job back again.

He had done the same with Natalia, when she was revealed as the FBI mole in the lab. She’d been spying on them all for months, feeding information back to the Feds about the lab, and yet the boss had seen something in her, and allowed her to stay and train as a CSI. But then again, Horatio had been somewhat preoccupied at the time with avenging Marisol’s murder.

Still, Natalia staying and working amongst then had pissed them all off at the time.

Shame really; maybe we could have had something.

He remembered their first date, and the great time they’d had. He wasn’t sure she’d be into Mexican wrestling, but like he’d said at the time – it sounded like fun. They’d gone to dinner beforehand too; he’d asked if she liked Calamari, and she’d said yes, but something seemed to have put her off, and she left half of her meal uneaten. Oh well, at least she’d enjoyed the wrestling.

They’d been out a couple of times since then, but nothing had really happened, and then all this stuff with the FBI had blown up, so… that was the end of that.

With a sigh, Ryan continued up the steps and into the CSI building. He spent the next hour or so going over the evidence, the autopsy report, the DNA, the police reports – everything. Thoroughly. To the Nth degree.

A knock on the door made him jump, and he looked up to see Alexx entering the room, waving a brown file in his direction, a satisfied smile on her face.

“I think I just might have found what you’re looking for, Ryan.”

Despite feeling irritable, he made the effort to sound pleasant for his friend. “What’s that, Alexx?”

She handed him the file, and stood with arms folded, waiting for him to take a look and discover for himself the cause of her smugness. He opened the file, studied the contents for a few moments, then snapped it shut, his irritation gone, a wide smile replacing the frown that had previously occupied his features.

“You’re right, Alexx. This is exactly what I’ve been looking for. Thanks. I’ll go share this with Horatio.”

Seeing the look on the Medical Examiner’s face, he went on, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get all the credit.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear, baby!” Alexx called over her shoulder, she heading one way down the corridor, Ryan the other.

He looked up to see his boss standing, hands on hips, looking out over the lab from the vantage point of his glass-walled office, and almost ran up the stairs. He tapped on the door a little more enthusiastically than was necessary, and entered the room.

Horatio turned from the window, and gave him a smile.

“Yes, Mr. Wolfe?”

“I think we just cracked the Archer case, Horatio,” he replied, handing over the file.

While Horatio read the contents, Ryan looked around the office, struck once again by how bare the place was. A desk, a chair, a filing cabinet. It could do with a little brightening up.

Horatio closed the file and handed it back. “Good work, Mr. Wolfe.”

“Actually, it was Alexx who found this,” Ryan admitted, holding up the file as he spoke.

“Well, you make a good team.”

“Yeah. I guess we do.” It was Ryan’s turn to feel smug.

Horatio watched the young CSI descend the stairs once more, and finally, with a sigh, turned to the pile of paperwork on his desk. Reports. Files. All cases solved.

Yes, they made a good team. All of them. His team.