Fandom: CSI: Miami
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: Miami or any of the characters from it. I'm just borrowing them and will return them intact to their rightful owners when I'm done, promise.
Note: Only three more to go, really, because the fourth one has been pre-written to serve as the last one. If you have any ideas for things you may want to see in those three, drop me a line.
Everyone at the lab had been submitting their New Year's resolutions over the past week; one of the lab techs was pinning them to a bulletin board in the locker room - "to help keep us motivated!" she'd said, "because otherwise, we'll forget two weeks later and end up gorging on candy or soda or alcohol, or whatever, and this will hold us all accountable."
And Calleigh had followed suit with the resolution board, pinning up one that said something to the effect of "spend more time on the range," because she'd noticed that her aim was a little off these days, not as crisp and clean as it once was, and that would not do, not for her. But as she sat at home, watching the ball drop over Times Square on television, chewing at the chocolates in Natalia's spare Godiva box that she had given away as preparation for tonight, and sipping at cheap chardonnay that had been a housewarming present when she moved in - eight years before - she mentally added a second resolution, one that would be harder to keep.
Never spend another New Year's alone.
The tipsy phone call at three in the morning to all of her exes still in her phone book would be too tacky, too collegiate - and she didn't like the thought of subjecting anyone to that anyway.. So she scrawled a note to herself, the blunt end of the pen digging into the pad of paper, and crawled into her bed.
Sleep would take care of the headache that threatened to pound against the inside of her skull; sleep would provide the fine-tuned clarity she needed.
She awoke to a beeping voicemail notification - one from a tipsy Eric, wishing her a happy new year, and other assorted mumblings - and she wondered to herself if he had spent it with anyone special. Or if his too was accompanied by a bottle or a glass of some alcohol or another. Not that it was any of her business. He could spend New Year's - or the rest of his life - with someone else, and it wouldn't bother her.
If she was lying, that is.
If she was telling the truth, she'd say that she wanted more than anything for the two of them to get back together. For Eric to be her New Year's resolution. And he'd help with making sure she got back on the range more, too.
She called him, the cold light of sobriety be damned. "Hey, Eric?"
"Happy New Year."
"Happy New Year to you too, Calleigh. Can I come over? I want to ask you something."
"Yes. Of course."
Almost exactly a year later, Calleigh sat on the same couch, sipping at a nicer merlot this time instead of a cheap chardonnay - and looked over at her companion next to her on the couch. She wasn't alone this year. "Happy New Year, Eric," she whispered, as the ball dropped in Times Square, and his mouth was on hers before she could finish the sentence, kissing her with love and passion intertwined with everything else between the two of them.
She may not have made it into the range much more than she had hoped, but she accomplished the other half of her resolutions.
She'd never be spending another New Year alone, if the diamond on her finger was any indication of that.