Fic: Thrill of Home (CSI:Miami) 1/3

[miss_lucy21]

Thrill of Hope

Spoilers: Lost Son AU

Insert favorite disclaimer here

AN: At minimum, you need to be familiar with Blind Memory, The Edge of Darkness, and All These Things before embarking on this one. Or not, but this won't make much sense otherwise...

---

Well it breaks my heart to see you this way
The beauty in life, where's it gone
And somebody told me you were doin' okay
But somehow I guess they were wrong

"Whistles the Wind," Flogging Molly

---

He could hear her crying softly as he padded down the hallway to the kitchen to get a drink. Third night in a row… he thought, worriedly. And God knew how many nights before that, where he just hadn't heard. He stood in the kitchen, holding his glass, debating with himself.

How many nights has Calleigh come and held your hand, idiot? Just go in there, he told himself firmly. Nodding decidedly, he crept towards the door to the room he now thought of as Calleigh's room. Knock? No, she'll just say she's fine… he mused, as he opened the door a crack.

Calleigh was curled into a ball on the bed facing away from the door. She sounded completely miserable and didn't notice him as he walked across the room. "Cal?" he said, softly, so as not to startle her as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Tim? Did I wake you," she asked, squirming around to face him.

He shook his head. "No." It wasn't a lie. He hadn't been asleep.

"I must have, God, I'm sorry," she said, trying to pull herself together.

"C'mere," he said, reaching out to pull her close. "Shh, don't fight. It's ok," he said, as she dissolved back into crying. He gently maneuvered them both so that he was curled up behind her, holding her. "It's all right," he whispered into her hair.

"I don't know why I'm such a mess all of a sudden," she said, finally, as she calmed down.

He shrugged. "You're not a mess."

She smiled, wanly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He brushed back her hair. "You want something to drink or something?" She shook her head. He nodded, understanding that she didn't want him to leave. He'd done the same often enough.

She sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Not allowed," he said.

"I know. I'm sorry anyway," she said.

"Still not allowed," he said, firmly. She chuckled slightly at that, and he squeezed her tighter a second. "They told me…" he started, hesitantly.

"Told you what?" she asked, when he didn't continue.

"Well, the doctors, they told me that…that I shouldn't be surprised if I kinda, I don't know, backslide, a bit, because of the holidays, you know?"

"Ah," she said, squirming around to face him. "That's understandable, Tim. Holidays are stressful enough, without dealing with everything you're facing down on top of it."

"I know. That's kinda my point," he said, nodding.

"I don't…oh, that's why I'm a mess?" she asked.

"You're not a mess, but yeah," he said.

She thought it over a moment. "Ok, I can buy that."

"You guys haven't had a good time of it, either, you know," he pointed out.

"I think you've had it worse," she said.

"Matter of degree," he said. "Doesn't change the fact that all this happened to you, too."

"What are you getting at?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. "You guys made me get help. I'm…returning the favor, sort of."

"Ahhh," she said, understanding. "I'm ok, Tim."

"Cal, how many times have I said I'm ok when I'm clearly not?" he asked.

"Ok, point taken," she sighed. She was quiet a long moment. "I just miss Eric, a lot."

"I know," he said, quietly. He did too.

"I'll hear someone teasing Valera and come around the corner, expecting it to be him, and it'll be someone else," she admitted. "Or, we had to call the county dive team to dig around in a canal."

"That was today?" he asked, wondering if that's what had set her off tonight.

"Yeah," she sighed. "Horatio and I just stood there and watched. Horatio looked like he was sick to his stomach the whole time."

He glanced down, guiltily. Not that he could have helped if he'd been there; diving was far from his specialty. But he felt bad for not being there. And for not being sure if he was ever going to be there again. He didn't think Calleigh knew that, though. Horatio had figured it out, but he didn't know if H had told Calleigh about that conversation in North Carolina.

"Hey," she said, softly, reaching out to tilt his face to meet her eyes. "That's not your fault. None of this is your fault."

"I don't know anymore," he admitted. "I mean…"

"No, Tim, it's not. If it's anyone's fault, it's Andrew Markham's fault," she said, firmly.

"Yeah, but if I…got better faster," he said, trailing off.

"What do you mean? You're doing fine," she said.

"I'm not, not really," he admitted. "I just…it's hard. And I don't really feel better, exactly."

"Tim, you're doing much better. Much, much better. You leave the house now. You don't panic nearly as much as you were," she said.

"The nightmares aren't better, they're worse," he countered.

"No, they're not. You just think so because you don't know how bad it was to begin with," she said. "You weren't having nightmares before, because you were having full on night terrors instead. You didn't remember them, and the one time I tried to tell you what happened, you got really upset, so I stopped telling you. Trust me, this is an improvement. Dr. McCall says so, too, you know," she said.

"Oh," he said.

"So don't think you're not getting better. I know it's hard to tell from your perspective, but you are. Really."

"Well, all right. But you're not getting better," he pointed out.

She sighed. "No, ok, you're right. I'm not."

"I'm not saying it to be mean, Calleigh. Or to get back at you or something. I don't want you to be hurting, either," he said, softly.

"Oh, I know," she said. "I didn't think you meant anything other than that."

He fidgeted with her hair as he thought. "I'll make you a deal," he said, suddenly.

"Yeah? What kind of deal?" she asked.

"If you go talk to someone, I'll…I'll let them start my post-traumatic counseling," he said, in a rush. He'd been resisting that part of things for a month. He had relented on the issue of medication, but he'd refused to let the doctor start in with the counseling, beyond ensuring the fact that he wasn't suicidal and the panic attacks weren't getting worse. They hadn't been pushing him- in fact, it had been the doctor who had said they should delay it in the first place, since he'd been such a mess to begin with. But lately, they had been telling him that it was the only possible next step and that he needed to do it if he wanted any hope of ever going back to work, let alone going back to work in three weeks, after the first of the year.

"Really?" she asked, pulling away to sit up and stare at him.

He swallowed. "Yeah."

She just stared at him. "You can't do that because of me. You have to be ready to do that for yourself," she protested.

"Why can't I do it because of you?" he asked. "I mean, I think we all know that if we wait for me to be ready for it, it's not going to happen."

"True," she sighed. "All right, you can do it because of me. So long as you're honest about it."

"Of course," he said. "So, it's a deal?"

"It's a deal," she said, reaching out to take his hand.

"Good," he said.

She laid back down next to him. "God, we're a pair, aren't we?" she laughed sadly.

He shrugged and she shook her head, still laughing. "Want me to stay?" he asked after a moment.

"Yeah," she said, not quite looking at him.

"All right," he said, reaching down for a blanket. He'd expected her to say yes. It seemed they wound up in the same bed more often than not in the three weeks since returning from North Carolina. Usually, though, it was the other way around; she came to calm him down from a nightmare and stayed with him. He was glad, though. He slept better when she was there, and he was willing to bet she did too.

"Night," she said, softly, reaching over him to turn out the light.

"Night," he said, sleepily, letting his eyes drift shut.

---

Chapter 2

---

It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on

"River", Joni Mitchell

---

The alarm went off and she slapped it quiet quickly before it could wake Tim up. She held still for a long moment, but he didn't move. Good, she thought, sitting up slowly. He was curled in on himself with his arms wrapped over his head like usual. She shook her head, wondering how on earth he found that to be a comfortable position. Cider poked her sleepy head up over Tim's side to look at her.

"Shh," she breathed, holding a finger up to her lips. The cat looked at her reproachfully, but settled down back into the space between Tim's elbows and knees. Calleigh smiled as she carefully maneuvered around him to get out of bed. This is easier in his bed, she mused as she found her bathrobe. His bed wasn't pushed against a wall and she was usually on the outside. Tiptoeing out of the room, she congratulated herself for getting up without waking him up. He was easier to wake up these days, which was both good and bad. Good, because it meant he wasn't as dependent on medication to sleep. Bad because he still desperately needed the sleep- probably more now than he did before, because he was growing more active again. He'd do things now like go to the grocery store, or go to lunch with Alexx. The increased activity wore him out; even with going to bed a good two hours before she did, and sleeping at least an hour later, he still tended to need an afternoon nap.

But the activity was good. It made her a little bit more hopeful. He'd been so out of it for so long that she had despaired of him ever recovering. He wouldn't be the same- none of them were, really- but he'd still be Tim.

She sighed as she looked at the calendar on the fridge while waiting for her coffee to finish brewing. Two weeks until Christmas. Usually, December was her favorite month. She usually looked forward to the holidays. But this year, she didn't feel like she had the energy to spare. She'd be working the holidays- it was her turn, anyway, despite the fact she didn't have any leave left on the year. She wouldn't get to go to Louisiana this year- maybe in February, for her birthday, she'd told her mother. Her mother was not very happy with that plan. Usually, she could manage to steal a couple of days to go visit, even if it was her turn to work, and her mother was unhappy that she hadn't managed to do so this year. But her mother didn't know that she usually stole those days because Tim offered to work for her. He always offered to work for whoever was stuck with Christmas, because he didn't go home and said he'd probably go into work anyway, so someone else might as well have the day off. And Eric usually offered to take a day as well, since he already was home, and could easily escape the celebrating to work a shift or two. There was no one to offer this year. And she would have felt bad about taking anyone other than Tim or Eric up on the offer anyway.

At least this year, Tim would get to have a real Christmas; not having to work had to be better than working alone like he usually did. He'd told her it wasn't a big deal- Alexx always had him over on Christmas Eve for dinner and that was plenty enough celebrating for him. But she suspected that like many other things, Tim had convinced himself he didn't care to cover up the fact that he did, in fact, care a great deal. Since living with him, she'd come to realize that despite the fact that he tried so hard to push everyone away and be seen as a loner, in reality he hated being alone. It had made her wonder what else she had thought was true, but was really Tim trying to convince himself that he didn't care about something.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and put bread in the toaster as her cell phone rang. Sighing, she retrieved it from the charger on the kitchen counter and answered it. "Duquesne."

"It's me," Horatio said on the other end. "Sorry to call so early, but I need you as soon as possible. We've got a DB outside of a dorm at UM."

"Finals week gone bad?" she asked, glancing again at the calendar.

"Wouldn't surprise me. Anyway, I know you probably just got up, but we really have to get this situated as soon as we can," he said.

"No problem. I'll be there in about ten, fifteen minutes?" she said.

"Sounds good," he agreed. "See you then."

She sighed as she hung up and crept back into the bedroom for clothes. Tim was still asleep with Cider. She hurried into her clothing and dumped her coffee into a travel mug. The toast popped up just then and she grabbed it and buttered it while shoving her feet into her shoes. She scooped up her breakfast, and walked out into the living room to retrieve her gun from the locked end table drawer. Grabbing her bag, she slipped out the front door, trying not to bang the screen door as she went.

Traffic wasn't too terrible yet, and Tim didn't live all that far away from UM. She barely had time to finish her toast before she was pulling her Jeep alongside the Hummer. "Hey," she called out to Horatio, who was standing with his hands on his hips.

"Morning," he said, turning to face her. "Alexx should be here any minute."

"Ok," she said. She bent down and retrieved a pair of gloves from his kit. "What do we have?"

"No ID yet," Horatio said. "A young man found him as he was coming home from an all night library session. He admits to touching the body; apparently our victim was lying on his side, and it wasn't obvious he was dead." He nodded over to where Yelena was talking to a kid wearing a ball cap. "He did, however, call 911. Seems cooperative, if shaken."

"Well, I don't blame him. Does he know the victim?" she asked.

Horatio shook his head. "No. But there's approximately 1,500 people living in this dorm, so it's possible the victim does live here."

"Right," she sighed. "I'm going to start looking for bullets. Unless you want me to take the photos?"

"No, I did the photos already," he said. "You look for bullets and other trace. I'll wait for Alexx."

"Sounds good," she said, starting to walk her usual search grid. She heard, more than saw, Alexx arrive and tuned it out. Horatio had the body, she had the rest of the evidence.

After about twenty minutes, she'd finished her grid and came up with two bullets and some random unidentified objects for Trace. "All righty then," she muttered as she walked back to where Horatio and Yelena were standing.

"What do we have?" Horatio asked.

"Two 9mm's and a bunch of randomness," she said, holding up the evidence envelopes. "Nothing really for prints, finger or otherwise."

"Probably wouldn't be useable even if we did have them. Too many kids around," Horatio said, nodding. "Are the bullets usable?" he asked.

"One of them is a bit beat up, but the other should be fine," she nodded. "Do we have an ID yet?"

"Wallet's gone," Horatio said, shaking his head.

"Lovely," she sighed. "Well, I'll take these back to the lab and see what I can do with them."

"Keep me posted," Horatio nodded as he slipped on his sunglasses.

"Will do," she said, smiling at him before turning to walk back to her Jeep. "Happy Holidays," she sighed as she turned on the ignition and headed for the lab.

---

Chapter 3

---

So scream you, out from behind the bitter ache
Heavy on the memory, you need most
still want love, ugly, smooth and delicate
not without affection, not alone

And instead of wishing that it would get better
man you're seeing that you just get angrier

And it's good that I'm not angry
I just need to get over,
I'm not angry, anymore

“Angry”, matchbox twenty

---

The phone rang, and he reached up to snag the handset off of the counter. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Calleigh answered him.

“Hi,” he said, craning his neck to see the clock on the stove. He was surprised to find that yes, it was lunchtime already. Calleigh still called him when she ate lunch to check on him. He didn’t mind, really. “You left early today,” he said, settling back on his heels.

“Crap. I was sure I didn’t wake you,” she said, in dismay.

“You didn’t. There was a phone call after you left, around 6:45,” he explained. Calleigh usually left at 7.

“Who was calling at 6:45?” she asked.

“Um, wrong number,” he lied. It had been her mother, and she had not been terribly happy. He didn’t figure Calleigh needed to know that right then.

“Wrong number? Before 7AM? That’s…odd,” Calleigh said. She didn’t say anything for a moment, then said, “Tim, was it my mom?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I was gonna tell you she called when you got home.”

“Damnit,” she muttered under her breath. “How did she get your number…oh, wait,” she sighed. “I called her from the house line the other night, and she’s got Caller ID. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine, Calleigh. I don’t mind if your mom has the number.” Her mother, he didn’t mind. Her father was a bit of a different story, but only because he knew Mr. Hayes had a tendency to drunk dial in the middle of the night. “You told her you were here, right?” he asked. “Because she was kind of surprised when I picked up.”

“Yeah, I did, a while back. But she has selective hearing sometimes,” Calleigh sighed. “She didn’t jump all over you, did she?”

“Not really,” he said.

“Not really isn’t no. What did she say?” Calleigh demanded.

He sighed. “She wanted to know if I was the reason you weren’t going to Louisiana for Christmas.”

“Lord. Of course you’re not,” she sighed. “I mean, oh hell, you know what I mean.”

“Well, I am, kinda. ‘Cause you’d have leave time otherwise,” he said.

“No, it’s not because I don’t have the leave time. It’s because I had Thanksgiving off. Remember? We made sweet potato casserole and went over and had dinner with Alexx’s family?” she said.

“I remember,” he said.

“Well, then it’s my turn to work Christmas, then. She can deal,” Calleigh said, irritably.

He didn’t say anything. He knew that if he was working, he’d have taken her Christmas shift. But pointing that out was not going to end well. He wondered if she’d kept her end of the bargain, but didn’t want to ask that, either. He was distracted suddenly by a curious meow. “Hey, no! That’s not for drinking, Strawberry,” he said. “It’s nasty.” He reached out to redirect the cat from the bucket of soapy water by his knee.

“What’s that?” she asked, confused.

“Strawberry was trying to drink the bucket water,” he explained.

“What are you doing?” she asked, still sounding confused.

“Scrubbing the kitchen floor,” he replied.

“What on earth for? You mop it every other day.” He could hear the headshaking in her voice.

“My parents are coming next week? Remember?”

“Oh, right,” she said. “I’m sorry, I forgot. So your parents coming means you scrub the kitchen floor?”

“It needed scrubbing anyway. I haven’t done it since September,” he shrugged.

“You do realize that your kitchen is cleaner than most operating rooms, right?” she asked.

“It’s not that bad, Cal,” he protested.

“What else have you done today?” she asked, as though she was half afraid to hear the answer.

“I did the bathrooms and my bedroom. I left yours alone, other than to vacuum,” he said.

“So now you’re scrubbing the kitchen floor,” she said.

“Yeah. I’m almost done.”

“Don’t wear yourself out, Tim,” she warned.

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m fine.”

She sighed. “All right. What else do you have to do to be ready?”

He frowned. “The living room needs dusting and the office needs cleaning up and the breezeway and the back porch should get scrubbed up. Oh, and I should probably steam the carpets,” he replied after a moment.

“When are they coming?” she asked.

“Tuesday.”

“Ok, well, leave the rest of the tough stuff, ok? Like the carpets and the breezeway. I’ll help you with those on Sunday, when I’m off, ok?”

“You don’t have to, Cal. It’s my parents. I don’t want to waste your day off with it.”

“I don’t mind. I don’t want you being too worn out from cleaning to enjoy their visit, Tim,” she said.

“Fine,” he sighed.

“All right. I gotta go. I might be late,” she sighed

“Ok.”

“Leave the rest of it, Tim. I mean it, really.”

“Ok, fine,” he said, irritably.

“All right. Eat your lunch.”

“I will as soon as I’m done.”

“Good. I’ll see you later, ok? Call if you need anything,” she said.

“Of course,” he said. “Bye.”

“Bye.” She hung up and he reached up to put the phone back on the counter. Sighing, he retrieved the scrub brush and continued attacking the tomato stain by the refrigerator. Strawberry came to investigate and pounced on his hand.

“Hey!” he said, laughing in spite of himself. “Knock it off.” He moved his hand away, but the cat pounced again. “Silly,” he said, laughing again. He reached up and found the roll of paper towels hanging on the side of the refrigerator and pulled a couple off to wad up. He tossed them across the kitchen floor “There, chase those,” he laughed as Strawberry skidded across the still damp part of the floor to chase after the wad of paper towels. He went back to scrubbing, but Strawberry was back to pounce.

“What, were you listening to Calleigh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m almost done, just this one last spot, ok? Then I’ll take a break,” he promised the cat, who meowed in response.

Calleigh really didn’t have to worry about him getting worn out cleaning, he mused as he decided that stain really wasn’t going to completely come clean. The cats wouldn’t let him. He sighed as he stood up and stretched. Strawberry twined herself around his feet. “Better watch out if you don’t want me dumping dirty water all over you,” he warned as he grabbed the bucket to pour down the utility sink. He finished cleaning up the mess and washed up before digging through the fridge to make himself lunch. “There, happy now?” he asked, taking his sandwich to the table and sitting down. Strawberry sat on his feet and purred. “I guess so, huh?” he said. He smiled to himself as he finished his sandwich and tried to decide what to tackle next. He was bound and determined that the house would be completely clean by the time his parents showed up, whether Calleigh was happy about it or not.

---

Chapter 4

---

I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it's a very very
Mad world

“Mad World”, Gary Jules

---

The house was dark when she finally pulled into the driveway late that night. She let herself in and dumped her bag on a chair with a sigh. There was a light on in the kitchen, but the house was too quiet for Tim to still be up. She kicked off her shoes and wandered into the kitchen to find a note on the table.

Hi Cal- There’s chicken paprikash in the blue Tupperware in the fridge if you’re hungry. I hope your day was ok and that it’s not incredibly late when you got in. See you in the morning, maybe- Tim

She glanced around the kitchen. It was sparkling clean. She shook her head, but didn’t investigate the fridge. Dinner was the last thing on her mind by then. She really just wanted to take a shower and collapse. Stretching, she walked down the hall. Tim’s bedroom door was half open to let the cats wander in and out as usual. She poked her head in to check on him.

He was asleep, but his restlessness had tangled him up in the blankets in a way that was going to leave him cold, if he wasn’t already. She slipped into the room and walked over to the bed quietly.

“Cal?” he mumbled sleepily as she reached to straighten the blanket.

“I should hope so,” she replied, smiling a bit.

“Mmm,” he said, half cracking his eye open. “Time’s it?”

“About 11,” she said, helping him untangle himself from the blankets. She drew them back up over his shoulders and sat on the edge of the bed

“Ah,” he yawned. “I made dinner, did you see?”

“I saw the note. I ate already, but I’ll take it for lunch tomorrow, if that’s ok,” she said. “The kitchen looks great, though.”

“Thanks. Oh, your dry-cleaning is hanging by the washer,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said. She’d intended to pick that up on her way home tonight, but the dry cleaner had been long since closed when she’d finally left the lab.

“Welcome,” he said, squinting at her. “Bad case?” he asked, after a moment.

“Well, there’s no really good time to get murdered, but finals week during your first semester of college has to be one of the worst,” she sighed.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Long one?”

“No, actually. That’s why I’m late- we made an arrest already,” she said.

“Yeah?” he said.

She nodded. “Yeah. Apparently, there’d been some sort of drunken experimental one night stand that both parties weren’t as ok with as they thought they were.”

“That’s a reason to kill someone?” he asked.

“Who knows?” she sighed. “Anyway, our perpetrator’s roommate declined to give him an alibi and gave us enough for a warrant, and we found the gun that matched the bullets and a jacket that had the same fabric content of some fibers we found and it was all wrapped up in once nice neat package, so we arrested the kid.”

“Well, that’s something, anyway,” he yawned.

“Mm-hm,” she said. “I’m beat, I need a shower. Horatio called before I got the chance to take one this morning.”

“So go take one,” he said, sleepily.

“I am,” she said. “Sleep tight.”

“Mmm,” he mumbled, as she stood up. “You too.”

“Night, Tim,” she said, pulling the door half shut on her way out.

She took her shower, but despite her exhaustion, she didn’t go straight to bed, since she hated sleeping on wet hair. The hairdryer, however, would be sure to wake Tim and the cats up. So she took the book she was reading to the living room and settled down on the couch to read until her hair dried enough to no longer be cold.

The next thing she knew, someone was shaking her shoulder and calling her name. “Cal?”

Her eyes opened to find Tim standing over her. “Huh? What?”

“I thought you’d missed your alarm,” he explained.

“What time’s it?” she asked, sitting up.

“6:15,” he said.

“Oh, God. Sorry,” she said.

“No, it’s fine. Did you sleep here all night?” he asked.

“Must have. I didn’t mean to, I just didn’t want to go to bed with wet hair,” she said, vaguely. She glanced at the clock. “Oh, hell,” she said, as the time actually sunk in. “I’m gonna be late.”

“No, you’re not. Go get dressed, I already put on the coffee,” he said, walking over to the door to retrieve the newspaper.

“Right,” she said, walking down the hall to her bedroom. She got herself together and dressed quickly, walked back to the kitchen and stopped dead in her tracks. Sitting on the table was the blue Tupperware that presumably held the remainder of the chicken paprikash Tim had made the night before. On top of the container was an apple and a small bag of pretzels. She blinked at it and turned towards the kitchen and asked, “Did you make me lunch?”

“You don’t have time to fuss about it, just sit and eat,” Tim said, handing her a plate with two slices of French toast. He sat down with his own plate and the maple syrup. She joined him after a moment of staring blankly at him.

“Thanks,” she said, as she started eating her breakfast. “I really appreciate it.”

“Someone’s gotta take care of you,” he mumbled, not looking at her.

She didn’t say anything, knowing it would just embarrass him. “I figured you’d go back to bed.”

“No, I gotta get my teeth checked at 8,” he said. “And then I’ve got Andy at 11.”

“Ah,” she said. “Are you going to talk to him about the counseling?”

He nodded as he took a bite. “Yeah. I want to do it before I think about it too much and make it harder.”

“Makes sense,” she said, finishing her toast and taking her plate to the sink. “What are you going to do after that?”

“The office, I think. I want to go through some of it, clean out the file boxes, clean up the computer, that kind of thing,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to for awhile.”

“Sounds good,” she said. She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to get going. You have a good day.”

He nodded as she scooped up the lunch. “Cal?”

“Hmm?” she asked, looking back at him.

“It’s going to be all right, you know? We’ll make it all right,” he said.

She looked at him in some surprise. “Ok,” she said, finally.

“Have a good day,” he said.

“Right, you too,” she said, walking of the room and out the door, grabbing her bag on the way out.

She felt stunned as she got in the car and turned the key. In the nearly 5 years that she’d known Tim, she had never, ever, ever once heard him be the least bit optimistic about anything. Ever. It had been all she could do to not stand there with her jaw dropped, or to ask if he was feeling sick, or to ask who it was sitting in front of her and what they’d done with Tim.

A horn honked behind her and brought her back from her shocked reverie. “It’s a mad, mad world,” she mumbled to her reflection in the rear view mirror as she turned down the road to the causeway.

---

Chapter 5

---

So are you gonna stand there
Are you gonna help me out
You need to be together now - I need you now
Do you think you can cope
You figured me out - I’m lost and I’m hopeless
Bleeding and broken - though I’ve never spoken
I come undone - in this mad season

“Mad Season”, matchbox twenty

---

“Tim? Come on back,” the nurse said as she poked her head into the waiting room. He swallowed and followed her.

“Here you go, can I get you a glass of water?” she asked, indicating a room for him to sit in.

“Sure,” he said, nodding.

“Ok, I’ll be right back,” she said. He nodded as he sat down. “Here you go,” she said, handing him a glass of ice water. “Dr. McCall will be right in, ok?”

“Thanks,” he said. He fiddled with the glass for a moment before placing it very carefully on a coaster on the end table.

“Hi, there,” Dr. McCall said, knocking on the door as he opened it.

“Hey,” Tim said, glancing up.

“How’re you doing?” The doctor sat a file folder down on the arm of the other chair and sat down.

“Um, ok, I guess,” Tim said, nervously.

“Ok, you guess? You don’t sound so sure of that,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Um, well…” Tim trailed off and glanced at his shoes. “How do I, I mean, I want…oh, hell, how do I do the counseling thing?” he asked in a rush.

“Your post-traumatic?”

“Yeah,” he said, still not quite looking up.

“Wow. Well, this isn’t the conversation I thought I was going to be having today. What brought this on?”

“Andy…” he whined.

“No, really, I’m curious now,” Andy replied. “Why now?”

“Do I have to have a reason?” Tim asked.

“Yup.”

He sighed. “Ok, it’s like this. Calleigh needs some help, because she’s really…I don’t know, sad, about Eric and probably Hagen, and I told her if she went and got some help, I’d go on and do the post-traumatic.”

Andy laughed. “Ok, that’s a new one. You’re going to get counseling because you want someone else to get counseling?”

“Well…yeah,” he said, glancing up. “It’s not that funny.”

“It is, a little. I think I’m safe in saying that only you would come up with reasoning like that,” Andy said, still amused.

“Ok, I don’t think you’re allowed to laugh at me. Isn’t that in the rules somewhere,” Tim said grumpily.

“Oh, probably. It’s relief, more than anything, Tim. I was getting tired of not pushing you.”

“Yeah, well, ok, now what?” he asked.

Andy shrugged. “You tell me.”

“I hate it when you do that,” he sighed.

“I know. Ok, here. Why have you been so resistant to the whole thing?” Andy asked.

“What do you mean?” Tim said, defensively.

“Well, from all reports,” Andy said, tapping the file folder, “this isn’t your first time doing this.”

“So?” Tim said.

“So, what happened the other times?” Andy asked.

Tim shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Yeah, you do. You were in counseling for awhile in high school, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

He shrugged again. “Something about being the youngest kid in the school or something, I don’t remember.”

“Did you dislike it?” Andy asked.

“Does anyone like this?” he asked. “No.”

“Fair enough, no, I don’t think people really like this sort of thing. But most people find it helps them feel better,” Andy said. “Why did you dislike it?”

“I don’t really remember,” he said.

“Try harder,” Andy said, raising an eyebrow.

He squirmed. “She twisted my words. She didn’t understand,” he admitted, finally.

“What didn’t she understand?”

He sighed. “My family is a bit…not normal. She didn’t get it. And she kept saying bad things about Marianne, my mother.”

“Your counselor said bad things about your mom?”

“My mother, not my mom,” he corrected automatically. “Marianne and my dad got divorced when I was a baby. She didn’t raise me.”

“Ah,” Andy said. “And this counselor didn’t understand that?”

“No, she didn’t. And before you say anything, it’s fine, ok?”

“Sure,” Andy said, agreeably. Tim frowned at him. “No, really, Tim. I believe you. If you say you’re fine about your mother, then you are. It’s when you try to tell me you’re fine about handguns that I’m not going to believe you.”

He sighed. “You have the dispo day reports.”

“I do,” Andy said. “From the sounds of things, you’re pretty talented when you want to dance around something.”

He shrugged and shrank back into his chair. “I was fine.”

“You weren’t, but you put on a good show anyway. I’m not going to let you do that, you know,” Andy said.

“Mmm,” he said.

“Tim, what are you afraid of, here?” he asked.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” he protested.

“Yes, you are. If you weren’t afraid, we wouldn’t have been dancing around this issue for the past two and a half months. Spill it, what are you afraid I’m going to say or do to you?” Andy said. He shrugged again, mute. “Are you afraid I’m not going to let you go back to work?”

He shrugged. He was, a little bit, but he wasn’t even sure he wanted to go back to work, so it didn’t matter.

Andy’s eyes narrowed. “Are you afraid I’m going to think you’re crazy?”

That was closer to the truth. He bit his lip, but didn’t reply.

Andy leaned forward. “Tim, are you afraid I’m going to lock you up? Admit you to the hospital?” He started to suck on his bottom lip and looked away. “Ah,” Andy said, leaning back. “There we go.” He shook his head, half defiant. “Why do you think I’ll lock you up? Do you think you need to be locked up?”

“No,” he said.

“Well, then, why do you think I’m going to do that?” Andy asked, reasonably.

He shook his head again, this time more frantically. “I don’t…they locked her up.” He cursed his tongue and the way words seemed to spill out of his mouth so much more often now.

“Who did they lock up?” Andy asked.

“Marianne,” he said, not looking up.

“How old were you?” Andy asked.

“About two months,” he said, fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt sleeve.

“Post-partum depression?” Andy asked.

“Psychosis, I think,” he said, nodding. “She said she was going to kill us, I guess. I don’t know the whole story, I don’t think.”

Andy nodded. “But you know the important part.”

He glanced up. “How’s that?”

“The doctors- I’m assuming there were doctors involved?” Andy asked.

“Yeah, she went to the ER,” Tim nodded.

“Ok, then. The doctors would have admitted her to what sounds like a closed psychiatric ward because she threatened to hurt herself and you. That’s one of the reasons why we admit people to psychiatric wards,” Andy explained. “We admit them when we think they’re going to cause themselves physical harm or cause harm to others. You don’t have any plans to hurt yourself right now, do you?”

“No,” Tim said.

“You’re not planning to hurt someone else, are you?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“Well, then you’re safe so far. I think we can rule out the next criteria, too, which is having a severe mental illness that would be best treated in a hospital situation. I don’t think you’re hearing voices or hallucinating, or anything, are you?” Andy asked.

Tim froze. “I…well, define voices.”

Andy raised his eyebrows. “Things like hearing someone telling you that, oh, the color orange is evil. Or that someone is trying to hurt you. Irrational things like that.”

“Not like that, no,” he said, hesitantly.

“Ok, for my own clarification, what kind of voices did you think I was talking about?” Andy asked. Tim fidgeted with his shirt for a full minute without speaking. “Tim?”

“There’s…the inside of my head kinda…talks to me, sometimes. When I was sick. Or kind of upset,” he admitted, finally.

“Ah. What does it say?”

He shrugged. “Told me it was ok. It would be better. And that I should tell someone what was going on.”

“I see. I think that’s just how your brain is processing all this,” Andy said. “It’s not too unusual. I know people who talk to themselves all the time.”

“Oh,” he said, feeling a bit relieved. The voice had said he wasn’t schizophrenic, but he hadn’t quite trusted it….

“Ok, so we can rule out severe mental illness. And you’re functioning pretty well, all things considered, so we can rule that one out. So I think you’re safe here, Tim. I don’t see any reason for me to lock you up and throw away the key,” Andy said.

“Oh,” he said, in a small voice. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“You’re depressed, you’ve probably got more than a bit of a post-traumatic stress disorder, and some anxiety issues, but you’re not “crazy”, no,” Andy said. “I’d venture a guess that this all extends past what happened in September, but that what happened was just the last straw for your brain.”

“Oh,” Tim said, again. “Yeah, ok.”

“Am I right?” Andy asked.

He sighed, but nodded. “Probably.”

“You want to begin at the beginning, or from the end?” Andy asked, settling back in his chair. “Or the middle, even. Pick a spot. Tell me what the deal is, here.”

He sighed again. “It’s like this…” He closed his eyes and launched into the whole story all over again.

About an hour later, he was standing in the parking lot with shaking hands, staring at his car. He wasn’t allowed to ride his bike for another month, at least, so he was confined to the car. The car he’d had forever. He tried to make himself open the door, but failed for the third time. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. But the catch in his chest told him that trying again would really make the panic attack he was mostly suppressing break through.

He walked away, back towards the medical building where there was a bench under a tree. He sat down and took several deep breaths, trying to quell the shaking of his hands. It worked well enough to let him fumble his cell phone out of his pocket. He didn’t want to call Calleigh; she was having a bad enough time this week. He dialed Alexx, but got the voice mail. The next person on the list was Horatio.

“Caine,” came the answer.

“H?” he asked, half breathlessly.

“Speed? What’s up? Are you ok?” Horatio’s concern was immediate and genuine.

“This is stupid, but I kinda…I sort of need a ride,” he admitted.

“Ok, where are you?” Horatio asked.

“Biscayne Medical Center,” he said.

“All right. Sit tight, I’ll be there in about fifteen, ok?” Horatio asked. “You’re ok?”

“Yeah, I’m…well, ok enough, anyway,” he said.

“Hang in there, buddy. I’ll be there soon,” Horatio said, hanging up.

Horatio’s word was as good as always. Fifteen minutes later, he was standing in front of Tim with a concerned look on his face. “You all right?” Tim sighed and nodded. “What happened?”

He sighed again. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s probably not,” Horatio said, sitting down next to him.

“I couldn’t get in the car,” he admitted.

“Ah.” Horatio thought that over for a moment. “Come on,” he said, standing up and nudging Tim’s shoulder. “Let’s go take a walk.”

Tim pushed himself off of the bench and followed Horatio down to the running path that led down to a strip of beach. They walked in silence for awhile until they came to another bench over looking the beach. “Ok, now that we’re not staring the car in the face, what was it that made you not want to get into it?” Horatio asked.

“I…I told Andy, Dr. McCall, that I wanted to do the post-traumatic. And then I wound up telling him about Jason, and then I couldn’t get into the car,” he said, finally.

“Ah,” Horatio said. “Speed, is that the same car you took off in?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Ah,” Horatio said, again, in a tone of complete understanding. “I see.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged.

“You’re doing the post-traumatic?” Horatio asked.

“Yeah. He said he was going to see if he could get permission from the department to do it. Or he’ll refer me to someone,” he explained.

“Have you made up your mind yet? About coming back to work?” Horatio asked, looking at him sidelong.

He sighed. “I don’t know. It’s…it’s the next step, either way. And…” he hesitated, not sure how much he should say. But he thought he could trust Horatio not to say anything to anyone else, and really, he ought to know if Calleigh was having trouble. Not only was he their boss, he was Calleigh’s friend, too. “You can’t say anything, ok?”

“Ok,” Horatio said, agreeably.

“Calleigh’s not doing so well, you know, with everything,” he admitted.

“I know. I’ve noticed,” Horatio said.

“Ok, good. Well, we made a deal, that if I did the counseling, she’d go talk to someone,” he said.

“I see,” Horatio said.

“I don’t…she wanted me to get help. And I did, I am,” he said. “But she could use some too.”

“No, I agree,” Horatio said.

“Ok,” Tim said. “But I don’t know if…I’m still scared.”

“I know,” Horatio said. “What do you really want?” he asked, after a moment.

“I don’t understand,” Tim said.

“Why did you become a CSI in the first place?” Horatio asked.

“Megan gave me a job,” he replied.

“Did you want to be a CSI?” Horatio asked.

He shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I needed to do something. It was kind of by default.”

“Ok, answer me this. If you hadn’t been a CSI, if you never came to Miami, what would you have done?” Horatio asked.

Tim’s eyes widened. He had no idea. “I…don’t know.”

“If the accident hadn’t happened, what would you have done?” Horatio asked.

He shook his head, violently. “Don’t ask that.”

Horatio held up his hands. “All right. I’m sorry.”

“No,” he said, “It’s ok…I just…I don’t want to talk about that. It didn’t happen that way, it happened the way it did.”

Horatio nodded. “I shouldn’t have asked that, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. But I don’t really have an answer for that.”

“It’s ok if you don’t know what you want. You don’t have to make a decision now,” Horatio reminded him.

“No, I do. I need…I can’t keep doing this,” he said. “I need to know what’s going to happen next.” The bubble of panic was back and he clenched his hands to keep them from shaking.

“Ok, ok,” Horatio said, soothingly. “Then we’ll figure it out.”

“Ok,” he said, quietly.

“I think,” Horatio said, finally, “that you’re concentrating on the details too much. You’re too close in, you’ve got to back up for the big picture. I think there’s really only two choices here: come back, or don’t. Forget about what happens when you get back.”

“That makes sense,” Tim said, nodding.

“All right, then. Megan gave you a job, but you liked it, didn’t you?” It was a statement, more than a question, but he nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. I did.”

“Can you think of anything else that you love as much?” Horatio asked.

He sat back and sighed. “I’m not really good for much else.”

“I don’t think that’s at all true, I think you could be great at whatever you wanted to do,” Horatio said. “But I think that you don’t want to.”

He blinked. He really didn’t want to find something else, he realized. “No,” he said, slowly.

“There you go, then,” Horatio said. “I think you’ve wanted to come back all along, but you’re scared and you’re afraid that means you can’t come back.”

He nodded again. “Yeah.”

“It’s ok to be scared. It really is. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t. You have a job, no matter what, ok? I’ll find something for you if you can’t handle the field or if you can’t handle the lab. Alexx will take you in a heartbeat,” Horatio said, smiling. “We can cross all those bridges when we come to them. I’m not just saying that because I really want you back- although I do. I don’t think you’ll be happy if you don’t at least try to come back.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re right, I think.”

“Good.” Horatio said. “Because I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted you back. We need you.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be sorry. None of it is your fault,” Horatio said. Tim shrugged, and they lapsed into silence again. “You think you might be ready to face the car again?” Horatio asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t think I can drive right now.” His hands were still shaky and he was half dizzy, both from relief at making a decision and from his earlier reaction.

“Can you face my car?” Horatio asked.

“I think so,” he said.

“Then I’ll take you home. We’ll figure out how to get your car back later, ok?” Horatio said, standing up.

“Ok,” he said, letting Horatio lead him back up to the parking lot

.