Disclaimer: I don't own anyone from CSI:Miami so please don't sue me. I also don't own Alison Krauss + Union Station. The song comes from their New Favorite CD. I'm a poor struggling college student. You won't get much besides engineering text books. Very exciting let me assure you. But the narrator and Andrea Montaño are mine.
Rating: K+ just cause it talks about Eric's coping methods up to and prior to Killer Date.
Pairing: E/C, distantly
Spoilers: Lost Son, Killer Date, 10-7
AN: So. This is my first fanfic ever. So be gentle with the replies. But please do reply. I know this doesn't perfectly follow the events of Killer Date like Eric explained them, but the tiny change makes the story flow a little more. Also this is an outsider's look at Eric and Calleigh, so it's kinda boring. I'm an avid people watcher. But anyway. Enjoy.
This is my sixth night here. Sitting quietly at a table inside a booming Miami club. Just watching the people around me. Normally, I'm the life of the party. I love to dance. I come with my friends to let down after a week of insanity. But when I get in a funk, I become a people watcher, more subdued, more observant. That's the case tonight, and for the last few days. It's a silly reason for a funk, but that's my mood.
See, my little sister is getting married in a few months, and I'm thrilled for her. I don't have the words to tell y'all how happy I am for her. But because of my job, I only get to be involved on the edges since I can't just pack up and go home for the next few months. I'll be in the wedding, but I'm missing the pre-wedding fun. And my sister and I are very close. So I guess it boils down to my feeling sorry for myself.
So here I am, my sixth night in a row in the same club. The people around me are laughing and drinking, gyrating to the rhythm of the music being played by a surprisingly cute DJ. But then this is Miami, where everyone is beautiful. A long way from my home in Tennessee, let me assure you.
Now again, I love to hit the clubs in Miami. The sound, the rhythm, all of it can make for an unforgettable evening. But when my mood turns blue like Kentucky rain, I return to the music of my home. Laugh all you want, sugar, I'm still a country girl at heart. For me, nothing soothes a wounded soul like Alison Krauss singing softly to the sound of a fiddle. Or rather singing and then playing the fiddle. It's hard to do both at the same time.
Now you're probably thinking that a city like Miami would swallow up a country girl like me, but I'm adaptable. I can fit my surroundings. And it helps that my roommate is as much a country girl as I am. We bond over the music no one else wants to hear, especially Alison. Nobody can sing like she can.
The reason I bring up Alison, besides my being in a funk, is this guy. I've started calling him, The Guy. Not because he's "the one" or anything even resembling that. But since I don't know his name, I have to call him something. And I'm not watching him because I'm looking for a boy, though he is gorgeous. I'm watching him because he's been here every time that I have. And each night he looks more lost than the night before.
You know how some people just have that look? The one that tells everyone who looks at'em that they're barely hanging on? That's the look he's got. He tries to hide it. And if you happen to be the girl who grabs his attention for the night, he'll smile real big and you won't notice. Now, I'm not speaking from experience. But each of the five previous nights that I've been here, he has too. And each night, he looks a little more lost than the night before. But each night he picks up a different woman, and yes I mean picks up. They seem to connect over cell phones. You don't have to follow them to know what happens when they leave the club. They make it fairly obvious. More than once I've wondered if they even made it to the car. But voyeurism isn't my style. I just people watch in the club.
So back to Alison. The Guy reminds me of one of her songs, The Lucky One. It came out last year. She sings it with Union Station. Great song. And it really seems to fit The Guy. He's trying so hard to run from something, to act like he isn't hurting. I'd be willing to bet he'd give anything to actually be the guy in the song. But he can't. And even if none of those girlie's he's playing with can tell, I can.
He's here again tonight. Coming in alone, watching his phone. Just like the previous nights he heads straight for the bar, doing everything he can to act calm and suave. But he's got the look again. It's that look that made me notice him in the first place. No matter how hard he tries to hide it, there's just too much pain behind those beautiful brown eyes.
As he order's his first drink…yep it's a mojito again, I begin humming the song in my mind.
You're the lucky one so I've been told
Free as the wind blowing down the road
Loved my many, hated by none
I'd say you were lucky cause I know what you've done
Not a care in the world, not a worry in sight
Everything's gonna be alright
Cause you're the lucky one
I keep humming softly to myself as he check's the phone. No calls yet. I wonder what gave him the idea that cheap sex, and really that's all it is, would make the pain fade. So far he's 0 and 5, and yet he's back again.
You're the lucky one always having fun
A jack-of-all-trades and master of none
You look at the world with a smiling eye
And laugh at the devil as his train rolls by
Just give you a song and a one night stand
And you'll be looking at a happy man
Cause you're the lucky one.
Were you blessed? I guess
By never knowing which road you're choosing
To you the next best thing to playing and winning
Is playing and losing
He sips his drink, eyes combing the unattached females that litter the club. More than one are checking him out. He flirts briefly with a pretty red head. She's laying it on thicker than her slightly orange make-up and doesn't hold his attention for long.
You're the lucky one I know that know
Don't ask you why when where or how
You look at the world with a smiling eye
And laugh at the devil as his train rolls by
Just give you a song and a one night stand
And you'll be looking at a happy man
Cause you're the lucky one.
Were you blessed? I guess
By never knowing which road you're choosing
To you the next best thing to playing and winning
Is playing and losing
He smiles his breathtaking smile, he is gorgeous after all, and turns his attention from the gaudy red head back to his phone. Still no word from whoever he's waiting on. A couple of brunettes try their luck as I finish humming the song. I'm pretty sure they'll strike out too. He seems to have a thing for young Latina ladies. He always ends up with a beautiful girl. But despite the offers from the others, he seems most comfortable with the Hispanic ladies. At least here anyway.
You're the lucky one I know that know
Don't ask you why when where or how
No matter where you're at is where you'll be
And you can bet your luck won't follow me
Just give you a song and a one night stand
And you'll be looking at a happy man
Cause you're the lucky one.
Can you see it? Cause to me this guy is trying to hard to be the guy in the song. And I just can't help but wonder why. Is it because he's a cop? I know I've seen a badge once or twice while he's been dancing. Or is he running from something else?
The arrival of a striking blonde grabs the attention of almost everyone not on the dance floor, myself included. And I try not laugh. My roommate has that effect on people. She must have had a rough day too. Draya rarely ventures out during the week. Andrea Montaño is a real cowgirl, from the buckle on her belt to the Resistol hat on her head. It only takes one look to differentiate between the fashion plates and Draya. And that's not Andrea but Ondraya. Say it with a Spanish accent. Draya is one hundred percent New Mexican rancher. Half Hispanic and half white, Draya has her mothers fair features and hair and her Daddy's dark eyes. She's gorgeous, but unassuming. Don't play her for a fool.
Draya walks over to me, or maybe mosey would be a better word. Several different guys are watching her, but she doesn't seem in the mood to flirt tonight. I'd bet you a twenty, she's been listening to Alison today too.
A funny thing happens though when The Guy gets a good look at Draya. He pales and tenses for just a moment. He takes a panicked second look at her and then relaxes. I've never seen that before. The two brunettes also noticed his reaction. They don't seem to appreciate Draya's clothing for evening. Suddenly their leopard print blue and pink cowboy hats don't seem quite as catchy anymore. Draya's pulling more attention in Cruel Girl's, ropers, and a Resistol than they are in mini-skirts. Real cowgirls are a novelty in Miami.
Once seated at my table, Draya orders a whiskey from the waiter and leans back. "So. Is he here?" Poor Draya's had to listen to me go on about his guy for the last five days.
I nod and point to him. She watches for a while. A new group of girls has come up to try their luck. He pays little attention to the blonde, who is the most striking of the trio, and I wonder what it is about blonde's that makes him so nervous. We watch him play the flirt, but make no real move to entertain the girls. As they leave he orders another drink. The third tonight. And each is getting harder than the last. He checks the phone again. Still no calls. And plays the rounds with single girls again.
Draya and I watch, chatting quietly, ignoring those around us. Draya is pre-vet. A senior at U of M. A year younger than me. The vet's office where she interns had a rough day with a very sick dog, and Draya didn't think he'd make it through the night. She can seem distant with people, but never with animals. She's headed from U of M to Texas A&M for vet school next fall.
The call finally comes in about 12:30, which is good. Both Draya and I have to be up early tomorrow and don't plan on being out much past one. We watch in silence as a beautiful young Latina walks over to him. They make little attempt at civil conversation. He pulls her on the dance floor and away the two of them go. Into a world of lust as fast as they can. They head for the door after fifteen minutes of dancing that would make Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey blush like boiled crawfish. Again, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what they're up to.
As Draya and I head out the door, I hear her start singing softly. On the street in downtown Miami, the lyrics to The Lucky One seem echo. "Yeah," Draya says after a few minutes, "he fits The Lucky One. Or at least wishes like hell he was The Lucky One." To both of us it seems sad. Maybe it's wishful thinking. But he just seems like more than that.
All is not well on the wedding front. My sister and her fiancée are having issues over the wedding. They have no doubt they want to get married, but I think both are wishing they could just elope. But they also know their mama's would hunt them down. It's been about six weeks since I've been back to the club, so I'm not up to date with the goings on of The Guy. An emergency trip back to Tennessee, craziness at work, and yesterday's dirty bomb scare have kept me away. But I'm back tonight and Draya is with me. We aren't so much in a funk and just feel the need to relax. And since we're both avid people watchers, clubbing offers double the normal fun. We grab a table and order our usual drinks. Once again, Draya's not dressed for a night out, but just as an everyday cowgirl, not that that seems to bother the boys. But I'm running a close second. Tennessee farm girls have their own brand of charm that seems to be in short supply here in Miami. But we do little more than smile back at the men around us.
We hadn't been there long when in walked The Guy. Immediately I notice something is different about him. He's still tense. I can see the set in his shoulder as he walks by. But he lacks the look of utter desperation that he's had every other time I've seen him. Draya too notices the difference and comments on it.
He heads to the bar, paying almost no attention to the girls around him. But oh are they noticing him. He surprises me by ordering what looks like a soda with lime. Interesting. He goes for his phone again. Waiting for another one of those calls I wonder? He doesn't seem to be. He looks worried if anything. I wonder what's on his mind tonight. If he hadn't had the same face, I never would have known it was him.
He stays by the bar, his nervous energy fending off inquisitive females. Draya and I watch and chatter, quietly observing the scene in front of us. The Guy waits for maybe twenty minutes, his tension level increasing with the wait. Frustration battling with concern is easy to read on his face, and Draya and I begin wildly speculating the cause for his ill ease.
It's funny how certain people attract attention in certain places. Like Draya when she comes in here looking fresh off the ranch. Back in New Mexico, Draya would be a normal as the chile she's always talking about. Here though, she turns heads for more than her pretty face. I know why people look when Draya comes in, but I'm not sure why the woman who just walked in caught my eye. A beautiful blonde, she's older than most here. Not that she's old. It's just that she's not fresh out of college, like most of us. She's probably right at thirty, if that. Gorgeous though. No questioning that. She's drawing quite a few looks herself.
I think, though, that I noticed her because the look on her face reminds me of how The Guy looked the last time I saw him It's that pinched "I'm about to break look". Her, I think they're blue, eyes are radiating pain like the Tennessee summer sun. She's hurting.
The blonde walks by and I notice a badge on her hip as well. Interesting. She walks up to The Guy. His frustration evaporates and he focuses completely on her, his concern increasing. So they know each other. Really know each other. They lack the getting-to-know-you awkwardness of new acquaintances. Draya and I share a look. He's always avoided blondes in the past. Could she be the reason why?
The blonde orders something at the bar, but her back in turned to us and we can't see what. If he's tense, she's tight enough to make the building explode. The two of them talk, or rather he talks and she listens, looking at the ground.
"You think maybe she found out what he's been doing?" Draya asks.
I shrug, not really sure. "That's doesn't look like what's happening to me. She should be furious with him if that's the case. I kinda get the feeling he's worriedabout her."
They spend several more minutes talking, and I glance around the room. That cute DJ is here again and seems to be watching them too. The Blonde, as we've named her, is getting more antsy, doing everything she can not to look in his eyes. She finally turns as if to leave, and I can see tears fighting to fall from her blue eyes. The look on her face, especially in her eyes, is one of utter desperation. She's barely holding together.
The Guy, seeing her obvious stress, pulls her to him and swiftly leads her to the dance floor. A song is just ending, and a slow song begins. Lucky them, the slow songs are rare here. The Guy pulls her in, using dance to hide the fact that she's crying. The Blonde leans into him almost immediately, muffling her tears in his shirt. I hadn't noticed before, but she's a whole lot shorter than him. You can tell she's trying desperately to get herself under control. But I understand crying here and not at home. If she's anything like me, she'll try to explain away her tears as sensory over load. The old "It was all too much." At least if you cry here, no one can really interrogate you. It's too loud.
Draya leans one elbow on the table, her chin in hand. We're both watching the dancing couple like they are some sort of romance flim. It's weird, with all the other girls, you could tell all he felt was lust, the desire to forget. But not with the Blonde. He's holding her like she's made of my mama's porcelain china. She's precious to him. And his every action shows that.
Despite her desperate attempt to stem the flow, the Blonde cries through the first song, her grip on the The Guy never lessening. She trusts him, and for whatever reason, I don't think she trusts very many people.
As the song winds down, everyone is surprised to hear another slow song begin, and annoyed, several couples move the bar to refill their drinks. I glance in surprise at the DJ. He too is watching the The Couple. How sweet, a DJ who's a romantic at heart. He glances at me and smiles. So he knows I'm watching too. I return the gesture, a long distance thank you for protecting The Guy and his Blonde.
I return my gaze to dance floor. The Blonde is regaining control. Her shoulders are shaking less, and she shifts slightly. No longer burying her face in his chest, but resting her cheek against him instead. Neither make any move to drift apart.
Draya surreptitiously wipes a tear from her eye. She definitely a romantic at heart, waiting for some cowboy to take her way into the sunset. But even I have to admit whatever is going on between these two is truly sweet. He's a whole different person that he was before, and somehow, this personality suits him much more.
The second song ends and The Guy pulls the Blonde off the dance floor. She disappears in the general direction of the restrooms while he goes back to the bar. They stay there talking for another half hour and this time, the Blonde is facing Draya and I. She no longer appears to be trying to hide her emotions. Her face is an open book of pain, hurt, and what looks to me like guilt.
"Why is she feeling guilty?" Draya asks, confirming my guess.
"Don't know. But he's good with her. Really good with her."
We resume watching. They are careful about touching, close, but lacking the touch-familiarity of a true couple. Interesting. Are they not together? They're awfully close. Heading that way if they aren't there yet.
The Blonde glances away, avoiding some question asked by The Guy. She blinks back another round of tears and gives him a weak and watery smile. She says something. I should have learned to read lips, but oh well. The Guy gives her what looks to me like an encouraging hug, gentle and reassuring.
They gather their stuff and square their tab with the bartender. I glance at Draya and she nods. We're gonna head out too. And if we happen to see them go out together, good for us. They are about five paces ahead of us. I glance back at the dance floor and that cute DJ catches my eye. He gives me a two fingered salute and a smile. This time I throw a flirty air into my return smile and wave. "I just might have to come back here again, and not to people watch." Draya laughs at me.
We head for our cars, having arrived separately. I can see The Guy walking the Blonde to her car. He gives her one last hug, and she surprises him by kissing his cheek. She gets in her car and drives off. The Guy heading for his and driving off in the opposite direction. Call me a hopeless romantic, and I'm sure you will, but if those two aren't together yet, they will be.
"I think maybe Alison called the wrong guy lucky," Draya says. "He's the lucky one."
I smile. "Yeah, I think you're right."
The End