Note: I always wanted to see the Eric/Calleigh conflict from the end of Season 7 fully dealt with, and I wish they'd followed through with his injury and surgery the second time around, so... This idea has been begging me to write it since the beginning of Season 8.

Calleigh recognized the rhythmic beeping for exactly what it was – a lifeline, both for him and for her. The steady tone was reassurance that, despite the multitude of apparent injuries and hours of surgery, he was still alive.

Eric was still breathing. He was still here, despite her nerves almost convincing her otherwise. For a while in the Everglades, she'd dreaded moving on to the next search area for fear of the very purpose that brought them all here: finding him. Fear coursed through her because, in finding him, there was the possibility of finding only his body.

She'd tried to cling to hope like she knew he'd want her to, but between the blood in the car and the blood on Sharova there was a significant amount. His blood loss was extensive enough to disorient him, to make him stumble through the dangerous waters he knew so well. And then there was that stupid, melodramatic nagging fear that he would end up like all the other men in her life: gone. Simply gone. The universe would pay no homage to Eric being the most dependable person to come into her life thus far.

But he was alive. He was here, breathing on his own.

Calleigh treasured each rhythmic beep and dutifully observed every rise-and-fall of his chest with awe. There was still a possibility he wouldn't wake up, and even if he did the repercussions of the week's events would be unavoidable. This week had rocked their foundation, had questioned the trust in him she had so vehemently spoken of in the past.

Still, it wasn't enough to keep her from his side. Her trust seemed trivial compared to his life.

Exhaling heavily, Calleigh leaned forward in the chair, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Considering the distance they'd kept over the past week, she was afraid to touch him – afraid he wouldn't want her to. Half-truths and loaded accusations had been wedged between the perfect, trusting nature of their relationship until she wasn't sure what or whom she could trust anymore.

But one look at him reminded her that this was Eric, and that was enough for now. The Eric she knew would want her there, holding on to both his hand and hope.

After bringing her chair closer, where she wanted to be, she took a better look at his injuries and felt her resolve again threatening to break. The distinct sting of tears behind her eyes began to blur her vision, but she blinked them away to focus on the scene before her – Eric in bandages and hospital sheets, those beeps her only consolation.

With an unsteady hand, she reached for him, her fingers gliding over his forearm before her palm finally kissed his. His warmth amazed her. Despite his close brush with death, his hands were just as warm as they always had been. Whether skimming them over her heated skin in a moment of passion or simply holding her close, his hands had always been warm and comforting against her skin.

Today the warmth itself comforted her – it meant he was alive, that he was himself in some way. And on a day when he had betrayed her trust and almost got himself killed in the process, she needed that. She needed this – his hand in hers, despite her many reservations, and the two of them here, together.

Now he just needed to wake up.

Clorinda wasn't sure which stole her breath away more – the sight of her son, her Eric, hooked up to machines again and covered in bandages, or the sight of the very familiar blonde at his side whose hand was wrapped around his tightly, whose lips were pressed against the back of his hand in a gesture that rang of far more than friendship. The latter was a strong competitor solely because it explained the past four months to her. The secret smiles, his persistent absences, and that added light in his eyes suddenly made sense. Clorinda knew there was a woman, a likely important woman; she just hadn't expected this. And she couldn't even be sure, but somehow she was.

Both needing a minute to collect herself and not wanting to interrupt the sanctity of the moment, she hesitated at the door. She watched Calleigh continue to clasp his hand in hers, watched as her free hand traced the slope of his neck, and knew without a doubt that he'd been in good hands. By the looks of it, Calleigh hadn't taken any time at all for herself. She was covered in dirt from the search, black pants crusted with murky Everglades water and mud splattered across her entire body. Clorinda had never seen her looking anything less than beautifully put together, but something told her that appearance greatly paled in comparison to what currently lay before Calleigh.

The sound of the door opening had her turning quickly, and when she saw his mother coming through the doorway she immediately drew her touch away. Laying his hand down beside him and shifting uncomfortably, she smoothed her hands over her black pants to collect herself. She hoped her undoubtedly glossy and red-rimmed eyes weren't too telling as she met Clorinda's own worried eyes – deep brown, like Eric's.

There were no words, no time for pleasantries.

"Thank you for calling me," Clorinda said, looking almost as afraid to touch him as Calleigh had been. "I got back in town as soon as I could."

Awkwardly giving up the only seat at his bedside vigil, Calleigh moved away, running a nervous hand through her long hair as she searched for the strength to speak. Clorinda uncomfortably took the seat, feeling as though she'd stolen so much more.

"He, um, got out of surgery a few hours ago." She pressed her lips together, tears challenging her strong will. Trying to remain all business, she folded her arms over her chest and shifted her gaze to the window, away from him. "It was long, but they said it went well… With so much damage, though, they won't know how he is until he wakes up. And there's always a chance that…" She had to stop then, looking at his mother and steeling herself. She couldn't do it, couldn't even think it let alone tell his mother there was a chance that the fragment and the shifting and all the surgeries had just done too much damage, that he'd been under so long he might stay that way.

"…he won't?" Clorinda finished for her, and Calleigh was amazed by her strength.

"There's a chance," she repeated softly.

"They said that last time." Clorinda laid a sure hand over her son's chest and Calleigh caught sight of rosary beads. "He'll wake up."

Calleigh hoped because she had to, because there was nothing else, but she didn't have that kind of faith… She'd seen too many bad things happen to the best people to be that steadfast. Still, some part of her not only believed, but also knew that a world without Eric just couldn't exist.

"Thank you for staying with him." Clorinda smiled sadly as her hand wrapped around her son's, so much differently than the way Calleigh's fingers had woven intimately with his.

Calleigh smiled politely as though it had been some co-workerly duty or friendly gesture, but her eyes told otherwise. She was watching him as though her life depended on it, as though if she stopped measuring the steady beat of his heart it would cease completely and take hers with it. Toying with the pendant hooked around her neck by a silver chain, she stood frozen at the foot of his bed and Clorinda had never been more certain of anything.

"He would want you here," Clorinda said in an invitation. "You should go get some rest, but don't feel like you have to go… Stay if you need to."

She did. God, she did, but there was this nagging part of her that wondered just what exactly had put him in this hospital bed. Never before had she questioned her trust in him, but today made her waver.

And then her eyes trailed over his adorably scruffy jaw, his patient, loving hands that she wanted to hold, and she knew there was nowhere else to be. With tearful, questioning eyes, she looked over at Clorinda and smiled sadly. She knew.

"I don't know," Calleigh admitted, taking a slow step back from the bed. She was the girlfriend no one knew about – her choice – and after the past week or two she felt utterly uncomfortable with a place at his bedside, surrounded by family members who believed and trusted in him, who had absolutely no idea what he'd been into these past few months. "He needs family right now."

"Calleigh," she let out, and Calleigh marveled at how gentle and safe her name sounded on her lips. Standing, Clorinda made her way over, softly taking Calleigh's hand in hers despite her obviously guarded nature. "I've never seen him so happy. Even with finding out about his father and questioning everything, he's been smiling." She squeezed her hand gratefully, urging her closer.

This was wrong. Things between them weren't the same anymore. Getting to know his mother like this just felt wrong when today had broken them in a way she wasn't sure they could ever repair.

She had questioned his father's involvement. Not only had she done that, but she'd questioned his own. She'd practically interrogated him, showing so little of the faith she'd always had in him –with good reason, too. He hadn't been very deserving of it lately, with secret phone calls and half-truths.

He'd fled a crime scene and she still didn't know why. She'd shot at him and she wasn't sorry. He shouldn't have been there, and she couldn't be here now, not with people who had nothing but strong, loving ties to him. She couldn't be here with bad blood spilled between them.

Calleigh gently but definitively pulled away. "Actually, I was going to go get some of his clothes and things from his house…so he'll have them when he wakes up."

Smiling sadly at that, Clorinda nodded. "Here, do you need a key?"

"No," Calleigh said, stopping abruptly when she realized the implication. Lips tightening in an awkward half-smile as Clorinda eyed her with a knowing smirk, she shifted a little. "No, I don't."

"Okay." Clorinda nodded, looking at her son as she comprehended the magnitude of this relationship. "I'll call you if anything changes."

"Thank you," she uttered, turning.

"And Calleigh?"

"Yes?"

The motherly part of her couldn't resist. "Try to get some rest."

"I will," she assured, though she didn't think she could even manage to close her eyes.

His home was almost worst than the hospital. This place held far too many memories, from the spacious living room in which she'd fallen asleep to SportsCenter in his warm arms, to the breakfast nook in which they'd had far more than breakfast.

For a multitude of reasons, she wasn't sure they would ever get back to that.

Calleigh smiled sadly, forcing tears back yet again as the closing door echoed throughout the empty house with a resonant click. She settled her purse into its usual resting place, and, taking her phone with her, climbed the stairs. Managing to ignore the king size bed that taunted her with memories, she began sorting through cargo shorts, t-shirts, and sweatpants.

She had a duffle bag halfway filled when she lost her resolve. There was too much between them – too many memories, too many questions, too many things left unsaid. Suddenly she had the overwhelming urge to wash this day away. So she turned the shower on hotter than she could stand it and she scrubbed her skin raw with his soap until his scent had seeped into her body.

But it hadn't worked at all and her phone still hadn't rung. Now changed into the extra jeans and top she kept at his place, she gave in to the memories, letting them swallow her whole as she tucked herself into his bed. Maybe his mother was right. She should try to rest, if only for the escape.

She woke to warmth and sunlight, the rays gently kissing her skin through the skylights above. This was the first relaxing morning they'd had together and it felt good to wake to sunlight and silence instead of a blaring alarm.

Sometime throughout the night he'd tugged her closer, his body outlining hers from behind, his arm tucked over her hip. He craved that contact, needed skin and a heartbeat next to his. She never had, really, but she could get used to this. It was endearing, and could serve as ammo for later teasing if he ever dared to accuse her of being soft or girly.

Straightening her body in a slow stretch, she shifted and wrapped the sheets further around her body. The movement made him stir, and no sooner had he turned than she'd collected the sheets and moved atop him.

Chuckling, his hands searched through twisted fabric for bare skin as he met her eyes.

"Hi." She grinned down at him, planting her hands flat against his chest.

"Hello. Sleep well?"

"Yeah…" Teasingly, she let her hands glide over his skin until her palms lightly pressed against his abdomen then grazed across to his sides. "You?"

"Yeah." He finally found her knee and wasted no time letting his fingers curve around her soft skin. "I needed that. It's been a long week."

She simply smiled, because where the long weeks used to run her ragged and leave her bone tired, she was now finding ways to make them a little less daunting. Judging by his fresh eyes and glowing skin, so was he.

"You look good." His eyes roamed appreciatively over creamy skin and curves disguised in beige sheets. She quirked a playful, challenging brow and he grinned. "In my bed, in my sheets, on me…"

"Mmm." She bit her lip as his fingers skimmed her thigh. "I bet."

Scooting up in the bed, he shifted beneath her to sit up and pulled her knees in until she was tucked closer against his body. His slow exploration of her skin had resumed in no time, deft fingers creeping along her thigh until he found the delicate curve of her hip.

"You know," she began playfully as his lips landed on her collarbone, "I recall us agreeing to take things slow two weeks ago."

"That was a day before you showed up to my place in those jeans."

Laughing, she hooked her arms around his shoulders, allowing his lips to continue their sensual assault on her warm skin. "Oh, so it was the jeans? Good to know…"

"Or maybe just you." He smiled against her skin, palm coasting over her skin until it rested at the small of her back. "Besides, we take things slow sometimes…" His hands coasted over her skin pointedly, going both everywhere and nowhere, and his lips teased her skin with the lightest kiss to the base of her throat.

The shrill ringing of her cell phone startled her, but she grasped it immediately so her bleary eyes could take in the number. Clorinda.

"Hello?"

"He's awake." Her voice was filled with awe, and it seemingly traveled right through the phone to settle in the pit of Calleigh's own stomach. "He's asking for you."