Ironies
Rating: PG
Pairing: Tim/Calleigh
Spoilers: Can't think of any.
Feedback: Makes my day
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Archive: At my site Checkmate (http://helsinkibaby.ahkay.net/); anywhere else, please ask.
Summary: Tim reflects on irony and its place in his life…
Author's Notes: As always, for Heidi, my enabler…who has put up with me complaining to her about the epic that's taken over my life right now, and blaming her profusely for it! This is a response to the challenge that Dorothy posted a while ago. (Speed/Calleigh romance. Something happened at a crime scene to injure and/or upset Calleigh, Speed has to act all overprotective of her at some point, and at some point speed explains about his cousin Pam! It has to be raining at some point. Somewhere in the story Calleigh shows up at speeds place crying, possibly saying something along the lines of, "I didn't know where else to go," or what ever.) Started and finished at different points, basically because I needed a break from the other thing, so I'm not sure how coherent this might be…let me know what you think!
Tim Speedle had been a good student in high school, consistently top of his class, and while he wasn't one to brag, his SAT scores had been pretty near to perfect. Not that he'd left anything to chance; inhaling every SAT guide and tip book known to man, studying hard in the days and weeks running up to the exams, asking his parents to open dictionaries at random to ask him the meanings of words. Some of the vocabulary he'd forgotten; not so others.
For example, he knew that irony was defined as "incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs". He knew that bitter meant "having or being a taste that is sharp, acrid, and unpleasant". He even knew that the two could go together, forming a frequently used phrase, a phrase that, were you to have thrown it at him that morning, he would have told you he understood.
Now he knew that while he'd known the meanings of the phrase "bitter irony", he hadn't understood it, not really. He hadn't understood it until right now, sitting in his apartment, watching the rain make its way down the windowpanes, the quick rat-a-tat-tat of the drops the only sound in the silent room.
It was probably made worse by the sinking suspicion that he shouldn't be sitting here, that he should be somewhere else. The voice in the back of his head that was pointing this out to him sounded suspiciously like Delko, and why not, since a couple of hours ago, the pair of them had been sitting in the locker room, getting ready to go home, and Eric had said something very like those words to him.
"You should go see her," had been his exact words, but Tim had shaken his head, drawing in a deep breath.
"It's not my place to do that anymore," he'd said, more than a little regret in his voice, and Eric had let him know what he thought of that response with a slam of his locker and a disgusted noise.
"That's bull," he'd said bluntly. "You two are crazy about each other. You know it, she knows it, we all know it. She's just had the worst day of her life, and you're telling me it's not your pla-"
Tim had stood up, slamming his own locker shut, and turning to Eric, just barely holding his temper in check. "She tell you why we split up?" he ground out, because he'd known that Calleigh talked to Eric about their relationship, particularly when they'd had a disagreement. Rightly or wrongly, he'd always felt a little jealous about that, and he'd been slightly gratified to see Eric's resolute face falter.
"No, she didn't," he'd admitted, and Tim had sighed, his ire dissipating as quickly as it had arisen.
"I've got a cousin," he'd said slowly. "Pam. You've heard me talk about her." Eric had nodded, confusion on his face, and Tim couldn't blame him. "She and I grew up together - she was the closest thing I had to a friend when I was a kid. We hadn't kept in touch, I hadn't heard from her in years until she moved down here a few months ago with her deadbeat boyfriend. Even then, I only found out because my aunt called me up, wanting me to look out for her. The guy's bad news; drinks too much, does drugs…and he hits her. She would call me up sometimes, in tears, from the hospital, and I'd take her home, sit with her, try to talk her into leaving him. Which she did, except he didn't take no for an answer. He'd come by the apartment, bang on the door, begging her to let him in, threatening her…we changed the locks, got a restraining order, nothing helped. She still calls me; you have no idea how many nights I've spent on her couch, having thrown him out, the two of us just waiting for him to come back…"
His voice, laced with frustration, had trailed off, and Eric had looked at him curiously. "What does any of this have to do with Calleigh?" he'd asked.
"I used to worry that she would get tired of me running off to deal with Pam at all hours of the day and night, but she never did. She was great, way more understanding than I thought anyone would be. Where she was less understanding was when the stuff with Pam would affect how I acted with her."
Eric had frowned. "I don't understand."
Tim had sighed, shaken his head. "Neither did I…you know, I didn't even realise what I was doing? Except that apparently, whenever Pam called me up, the next time I saw Calleigh, I would treat her differently. As if she was the one who needed rescuing, not Pam."
He'd been able to see her, clear as if she was standing there, able to hear her voice, angry, shouting at him. "Dammit Tim! I'm a fully trained police officer…I made it through the academy just like you did. I made it through field training, just like you did, and quite frankly, I'm a better marksman than you any day of the week. I am not some fragile little flower in need of your protection, and I wish you'd stop treating me like it!"
He'd apologised, and apologised, every time he'd done it. But the thing was that he'd never realised that he was doing it in the first place. They'd be at a scene, or following a lead, and he'd do something or say something that felt completely natural to him, and it was only when she'd look at him, eyes narrowed, arms crossed over her chest, that he'd realised he'd just put his foot in it. He'd try to ignore it, because the one thing he knew was that to apologise right then and there would only upset her more, and he'd wait to have that conversation when they got home. Then they'd fight, and she'd yell, he'd apologise, they'd make up, and he'd watch her sleep, hoping that things would go back to normal in the morning. And he'd tried not to notice that as time went by, while he knew that she was annoyed with him, she stopped showing as much anger once they got home. It drifted into something that he could only characterise as frustrated resignation, and when it got to that point, the easy banter that had always been a staple facet of their relationship faded, until she was hardly talking to him at all.
He didn't know what to do to fix things, didn't know the right things to say, just hoped that they could get past it, until one day, he stepped over the line again at work. She'd literally dropped what was in her hands, turned on her heel and walked away from him, and he'd seen her talking to Horatio, then seen her getting into one of the SUVs and driving away. Horatio had told him later that she hadn't felt well, but he hadn't looked like he believed the story, and Tim sure as hell hadn't. He'd known that she was pissed off, but he hadn't realised just how pissed off she was until he got back to his place, intending to make up with her, and seeing an empty couch instead of her sitting there channel surfing, pressing each button with a vicious jab. He'd called out her name, walked through the apartment looking for her, but his heart had stopped when he'd found her. She was in his bedroom - their bedroom as he'd come to think of it- throwing clothes into a bag, not even pausing when he'd asked her what she was doing.
"I can't do this anymore Tim," was all she'd said, and he'd stepped closer to her, attempting to take her by the arm, but she'd dodged him.
"Do what?" he'd asked, and she'd stepped away from him, continuing her packing as if he hadn't spoken.
"I can't live like this Tim…have this fight, this same fight, over and over again. You won't let me do my job properly, you insist on looking over my shoulder, as if I'm going to break, as if something terrible is going to happen to me if you're not there…I can take care of myself Tim, I keep telling you that and you just don’t listen."
"I know you can-" he'd tried to tell her, but she hadn't let him finish.
"Then act like it!" She'd thrown her hands up in sheer frustration, eyes wide and hurt as she looked at him.
"I will," he'd promised hurriedly, going to her, taking her by the shoulders. "I will, I promise. Just stay...just don't leave."
She'd shaken her head, taking his hands at the wrists, lifting them gently and letting them drop to his sides. "I have to Tim," she'd told him quietly. "I have to."
He'd just stood there, watching her pack without a word, wishing that there was something he could have said to change her mind, to make her stay. But he hadn't been able to come up with anything, and he'd still been standing there like that when the front door shut behind her.
In the couple of months since that night, he'd done as she'd asked, reined in every impulse he'd had to do anything at a crime scene other than collect evidence, barely looking at Calleigh if he could get away with it, finding himself hoping that they wouldn't be working together, where before he'd hoped for it.
He wasn't sure if he was happy that they'd been working together today or not.
"So you see," he'd said to Eric at the end of the shift, "Why I can't go to her place tonight."
Eric had shaken his head. "I don't get it man," he'd said again. "You're the only one she's gonna talk to about it you know th-"
Once again, Tim hadn't let him finish. "If I go over there," he'd pointed out, "I'm afraid she's going to feel as if I'm just there to tell her 'I told you so'. Like I knew this was going to happen. I don't want to…she's upset enough."
"I think you're making a mistake," had been Eric's parting words to him, as Tim had grabbed his jacket and made a quick exit.
Now he was at home, alone, wishing that he'd gone to Calleigh's apartment. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was her, eyes wide with fear, her own gun pressed to her temple, the man behind her shouting demands, his eyes wide and crazed. Tim had wanted to say something, anything, but his voice had been stilled by fear, his whole body paralysed, and thank God for Horatio, because he'd talked the guy down, had got him to put down the gun, release Calleigh and talk to them. Tim's eyes had never left Calleigh, and he'd seen her slump to her knees as the guy had let her go, knew her well enough to know that she was trying to keep her sobs back, that she didn't want to break down and cry in front of all of them, in front of Horatio. Adele Sevilla had stepped in quickly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, spiriting her out of the room, while a uniformed cop had lead the man out to a police car. Horatio and Tim had been left looking at one another, and as he'd looked at the older man, for the first time, Tim had seen fear in his eyes.
Eric hadn't been there, had heard all about it later, and got the story from Tim in the locker room at the end of the shift. That had been when he'd tried to convince Tim to go see Calleigh, convince him that she would want to see him. Tim hadn't fallen for that though; he knew that he was the last person that Calleigh would want to see.
He was just about to turn in for the evening, hoping that he would be able to sleep without seeing her terrified face, or worse, imagining an ending that had thankfully not come to pass. His plans were thwarted however by the sound of a knock on the door, and for a moment, for just a moment, he considered not answering it, pretending that he wasn't there. Something stopped him though, made him get up, slowly pad in his bare feet across the floor to open the door.
He was glad that he did.
Standing in front of him was Calleigh, but not the Calleigh that he knew; not the flirty, sassy blonde who lit up a room just by walking into it, always immaculate in her personal appearance, nary a hair out of place.
This Calleigh was dressed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt that he recognised as one of his, one that he'd thought he'd lost months ago. Her face was free of makeup, her hair loose, and plastered to her head. She was soaked from head to foot, her clothes practically sticking to her, and she might have been crying, but it was hard to tell, her chalk white face still wet from the rain. Her eyes though, they were what broke his heart, rimmed in red, looking more shattered than he'd ever seen anyone look.
They stood there like that for what seemed like a long time, just standing there, looking at one another. It was she who spoke first, her voice shaking. "I was at home…" she whispered. "Maybe I shouldn't have come here…but I didn't know where else to go…"
In two quick steps, he'd taken her in his arms, holding her shaking body tightly to his, her arms slipping around his waist, holding on to him for dear life. "It's ok baby," he whispered, moving her into the apartment, pushing shut the door, all without losing any contact with her. "It's ok…it's ok…"
"I was so scared Tim…" she told him. "So scared…"
"Me too…" He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, closing his eyes for a second, the better to savour the sensation of her in his arms again. "God, I thought I'd lost you…"
"Adele followed me home," she told him, straightening so that he could see her face. "I told her I'd be fine on my own…" His hands went to her cheeks, brushing back the wet tendrils of hair that clung there, but his eyes never left hers. "And then all I wanted was you…" She took in a shuddering breath before continuing, "So I came over…then I thought that you mightn't be here…that if you were, you wouldn't want to see me, that you wouldn't want me…"
"Silly girl," Tim chided her, his voice kinder than his words, and she looked down. "I have never stopped wanting you," he told her firmly, tilting her chin back up. "And I never will." He lowered his lips to hers then, intending the kiss to be gentle, not wanting to pressure her, to rush her, but evidently, she had other ideas, because she deepened the kiss, winding her arms around her neck and pressing herself against him. That was the point that whatever good intentions Tim had had went right out of his mind, and he returned the kiss with just as much passion.
Much later, he lay on his side, facing her, one finger tracing a pattern on her back as she lay on her stomach, sheet pulled most of the way over her, her head turned towards him. Her eyes were closed, and there was a soft smile on her face, cheeks flushed pink. "I missed you," he told her quietly, and one eye opened just a little, her lips turning up in something that was half-smile, half-grimace.
"You're going to be unbearably over-protective tomorrow, aren't you?" It wasn't really a question, more an acceptance of fact, and he found himself chuckling.
"Yep," he admitted easily, and she smiled too.
"Thought so," she said, but she didn't sound unhappy about it.
"I'll make you a deal," he said, and that piqued her interest, had her opening both eyes, crossing her arms on the pillow, resting her head on them. "When we're on the job, I'll treat you like everyone else. No hovering." He affected something vaguely approximating a Southern accent on the last word, and she laughed.
"Sounds good…"
"But when we're here…like this?" he continued. "You've got to talk to me…let me in. Keep on kicking my ass 'til I listen to you." She giggled at that. "You think you can do that?"
Reaching out with one hand, propping herself up on the other arm, she caressed his cheek. "I think I can do that," she said, and he laid his hand over hers, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss into the centre of her palm.
"It's just because I love you," he told her quietly, and tears pooled in her eyes. He was a little alarmed at the sight, then realised, somewhat belatedly, that he'd never told her that before.
"Well then," she breathed, "It's a good job I love you too." Pulling him closer to her, she kissed him, long and slow, and when he pulled away from her, they were once more wrapped in one another's arms, where they stayed, alternately kissing and talking until Calleigh's eyes finally closed and she drifted off to sleep.
Tim, though, stayed awake for a while longer, watching her, one hand running along her hair, the other along her back, a content smile on his face, recalling as he did so how he'd been so sure that the events of the night could be filed under the heading "bitter irony".
He knew now that he'd been wrong.
He'd thought it was ironic that his worst fear had come to pass, and there was nothing he could do to help her, that he'd lost her long ago. Turned out that his worst fear, the thing that had driven them apart in the first place, had been what brought them back together again.
Not bitter irony, he decided now, but sweet. Definitely sweet.
He smiled at the thought, and Calleigh picked that moment to twist in her sleep, the feel of her skin sliding over his distracting him somewhat, and he decided that he didn't really care about the irony of it all, be it bitter or sweet. He had the woman he loved asleep in his arms. That was all that mattered.