Widow's Weeds
Pairing: Speed/Calleigh
Rating: PG, Angst, Character Death
Disclaimer: CBS owns everything.
Notes: For the LiveJournal Writer's Choice "Other Side of the Window" challenge.
Once, she told him she didn't look good all in black.
Once, he told her that he begged to differ.
Today, Horatio holds Calleigh's hand in his as they walk through the halls that they know so well. Her eyes, unseeing, are fixed straight ahead, his eyes are only on her, and he's all too aware that every eye in the place is trained upon them, charting their progress, watching their expressions closely.
He would tell people to get back to work, that they all have plenty to do, but he's not so sure that he can trust his voice.
He's also very aware of the small, cold hand in his, fragile as spun glass, and he thinks that if he speaks at all, if he raises his voice, that hand, that woman, will shatter into a thousand pieces, never to be whole again. So he says nothing as they walk, not even to comment when her grip tightens on his, his first indication of the toll that this, the longest walk she's ever taken, is exacting on her.
It seems an age before they reach the room, before they're greeted by Delko's red eyes and distraught face, by Alexx, who is outwardly calm, but whose eyes show her pain. Delko takes one look at them, at Calleigh specifically, and looks down, clearing his throat audibly, crossing his arms over his chest protectively. He doesn't look up again.
Alexx's eyes widen, fill with tears, and Horatio sees her struggle to keep them back. She takes a step towards Calleigh, arms outstretched, then she stops, and Horatio wonders if she's noticed the same thing that he did in the hall, that one touch is all it will take to shatter Calleigh's control, and perhaps, he realises, Alexx's own.
Alexx's dark eyes meet his, and she raises an eyebrow in question. In turn, Horatio looks down at Calleigh, sees her look up at him, that familiar set to her jaw, the determination burning in her eyes. It's the look that says the woman is not for turning, but he tries anyway. "You don't have to do this Calleigh," he tells her softly.
Calleigh's only reaction is to square her shoulders, and he can almost see her physically pulling herself together. "Yes I do," she grinds out, her voice stronger than he might have thought, but she's not looking at him when she speaks. Instead, she's looking at the window, and the blind covering the room beyond from her view, and she's imagining what lies on the other side.
Still against it, as he has been ever since he told her the news, Horatio knows that this is Calleigh's choice, and the only thing he can do is be there for her. So he looks at Alexx, then across at the silent Delko before nodding. "Ok then," he breathes, the low words loud as a scream in the silent room. "Whenever you're ready Alexx."
His eyes fix on Alexx's hand, so he's prepared for when the blind slides back across, though not for the sudden pain that shoots through his hand as he reflexively squeezes Calleigh's tightly. Still fragile and cold as spun glass, the hard glass of the diamonds that Speed spent so long choosing for her cut into his palm, and he welcomes the pain, because it's a pale comparison to the pain that cuts through his heart as his eyes see what his heart doesn't want to believe.
In life perpetually animated, now he lies still, his eyes closed, stubbled features peaceful. The white sheet covers his chest, showing no sign of the bullet that entered there, piercing his heart and stealing his life. His arms are outside the sheet though, and the gold ring on his finger, the smaller twin of which is on Calleigh's, catches the light, gleams as it has every day for the past six months. Delko used to tease him that he did it on purpose, made the ring catch the light to remind them all that he'd finally got the girl, and Speed had always denied it. There was no denying though, how he would light up in her presence, how it was obvious that he adored her.
Just like she adored him.
Over the pain in his heart, the rush of blood roaring in his ears, Horatio becomes aware of the woman beside him again. Of the rapidity of her breath, of the tears that are pooling in her eyes, of her right hand as it reaches out, fingers touching the cold glass, as if they can reach through it and touch him.
"Tim," she whispers, her voice breaking on a sob, hand leaving the glass going to her lips in a vain attempt to silence the low moan. "No…"
Horatio knows that the only thing he can do is be there for her, so he reacts quickly, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her to him, holding her tightly. Her arms go around his waist as she buries her head in his chest, sobbing her husband's name incoherently, her grief-stricken cries echoing around the room, making his own throat ache.
Once, she told him she didn't look good all in black.
Once, he told her that he begged to differ.
He just wishes he weren't going to get a chance to see for himself.