Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.  (Durr.)  I'm not using this for money.  Yatsa, yatsa, and yatsa.

A/N: I don't know what compelled me to write this when I'm trying to finish two other stories, but the Tim!muse hit and wouldn't leave me alone!  Oh, and – has the name of Speed's friend been mentioned on the show?  Since I haven't heard one, it's Matthew.

Spoilers: All are fair game up to Simple Man.  (The episode before Dispo Day.)  I don't think I'm really using anything from the eps, beyond Megan's departure, but I just warn you anyway.

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Ancillae

Chapter One: Trickle Drops

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            The knife glides across the bare flesh of my abdomen, a few drops of blood bubbling up in its wake.  And I emit low-throated moan at the sensation.  The water, once contained within the bathtub, splashes over the side since the faucet is still running the liquid into the ceramic vessel.  I'm too lazy to care that it is doing such.

            I am fully clothed, having gone directly to the bathroom upon arriving home, rocking slightly as I mar my skin.  I don't know why I am.

            Somehow, this seems ironic to me.  I had screamed at a friend in my youth, for the self-mutilation I picked up shortly thereafter.  Now I am almost thirty.

            And I still act like a hormonal fucking teenager.

            The implement presses deep.  A gush of crimson blood slips out from the cut situated just above my belly button.  Oh, hell, does that hurt.

            It is the most divine feeling I have ever had.

            The water swirling around me is tinting pink from the many lacerations, which have moved to my arms.  I'm not sure when that happened and again, I'm not inclined to care.  I can actually feel my cares leaking away.

            I normally understand what sets me off – Calleigh's motherly scolding, Eric's persistence at being better, or Horatio's attitude that everything be done yesterday.  Megan's resignation without so much as a goodbye.  Today it was…something else.  Something more.

            Oh, the letter.  I thought I had forgotten.  Silly me.

            "Dear team," Calleigh had read, "I'm sitting outside Payless right now, admiring the window full of new shoes.  There's a pair even you'd like, Calleigh." The blonde's snickering at the thought had grated on my last nerve, "Anyway, I realized a few minutes ago that I've been gone a few weeks now and I haven't stopped to talk to anyone.  Find out how any of you are.  So, my sister has demanded I stop and write.  (Which, I think you'll understand, explains why I'm writing on the back of a sale handout.)  I guess my constant wondering bothered her."

            I stopped then, as I had been preparing to leave the break room.  My darling co-worker continued.

            "How's my favorite redhead doing?  I hope he hasn't been working himself or any of you too hard." H laughed, "And, Eric – don't sneeze.  By the way, I found your twin here.  That makes two CSIs who can process a scene underwater."

            A quick round of 'what?!' came and went, before Delko took up where the southerner had left off, "Calleigh, I swear you're the only person I could go shopping with and get an honest opinion."

            "Hey, I told it like it was." The accent caused the group to grin.

            "Since I know Speed's probably already left the room, I know I'll get the truth when I ask – how is Tim?  Don't give me the usual p.o.s. answer.  He's always so critical of himself.  I'm worried."

            I exited the room then.  I didn't want to hear the rest; Laura told me later that the other three CSIs had called Meg, as she had given them her sister's home phone number, informed her that they were worried about me as well.

            Thankfully, my shift ended twenty minutes later and no one came to the trace lab, where I was holed up.  I had all but ran from the building, hopped into my car, and sped away abruptly, ignoring the boss's shouting.  When I got home, I went straight to the master bath.

            Where I have remained.

            Megan wasn't supposed to leave without saying goodbye.  It just wasn't supposed to be like that, but it was the ending that I got.  Funny…that wasn't how I pictured my mentor parting from me.  Actually, I don't really know how I would've pictured it.  Still, it feels so wrong.

            I guess that's why it hurts so much even now, weeks after she departed.  Megan tore away a piece of me.

            Pity.

            Another slice, this time into the skin of my thigh after I carefully shift the waistband of my pants.

            There's a knock at my door, and as I rise, I relish the pain.  At least I feel something.  I limp my way to the source of the noise, "Yeah, yeah.  Hang on a second."

            A voice returns, "You've always been a slowpoke." It is a light, teasing tone and I relax.  I know that voice.

            Thank you, God.

            Dumbly, I open the lock.  And there before me is the woman who is the source of all of this.

            "Meg." I let her in.

            "Hi, Timmy." She smiles weakly, as she motions for me to walk into the living room and closes the door, "I assume you know why I'm here."

            "No."

            The serious look that crosses her face is a bit disorientating, "I just flew from New York, then drove for forty minutes to get here, and you don't know why?"

            I realize all of the sudden that she can't have gotten here in the amount of time I think has passed, so I look to my clock – it's ten at night.  My shift ended at six because Horatio had demanded I go home and sleep.

            "You're freezing." She tells me, as if I'm oblivious to the fact that I have apparently been in the bathtub for, oh, three and a half hours, "Sit down.  I'll get you some clean clothes."

            I figure I have nothing to lose – she knows my secret anyhow.  So I sit and ponder once again.

            Somehow a simple item, a letter, has brought her back.  Yet, she will leave in the end.  It is the eventuality.  For now, though, I think I'll just enjoy her presence.

            She returns from my bedroom and bathroom, arms full of dry clothes and assorted other things she feels she needs.

            "Pants off."

            "Megan…"

            "Grow up.  I have to see where you cut yourself this time." She lisps, helping me out of the soaked-through jeans.  I am so glad I decided to wear black boxers today, or else this would be insanely awkward.

            "I…It felt better on my stomach today." I inform her, as I fight with my head over how to best explain, "The let…"

            "I should've sent that letter directly to Horatio." She mumbles, then slathers an antiseptic onto the wound in my thigh.  The one from earlier.  "You've been laying off your legs."

            "Makes it harder to walk."

            "Have you talked to Tal lately?"

            Oh, Tal.  You mean that two-bit hack who's trying to get me committed because I'm a danger to myself, "No.  I've been busy at the lab."

            "Liar." She knows me better than my own family does.  She grabs the thin, green, cotton pajama bottoms, as well as a fresh pair of underwear, and holds them out to me.  Megan closes her eyes after I ask; I rush to pull on both garments.  I touch her shoulder to let her know that I'm presentable.

            "Shirt."

            I love when she speaks with only one word.  Don't you?  I brush my frustrations aside, and remove the button-down and the undershirt.

            "I'm calling Tal."

            "No!  Please, Megan, he'll commit me.  Please." I beg her.  I almost mean it.

            She backs her hand away from the phone on the end table, "You need treatment.  This is the worst I've ever seen you."

            I shake my head and take up bandaging the laceration stretching down my right elbow to my wrist, "I'm alright."

            Calmly, my best friend reaches forward, "I won't call Tal.  I won't call any one from your family.  But I'm calling Horatio.  He's driving Eric and Calleigh insane."

            "Why?"
            "You were noticeably upset when you left CSI.  So he is, of course, trying to figure out what on earth is wrong with you." She explains, then dials.

            I can hear when he picks up, the typical "Horatio." coming through.  They have a brief exchange, and I know that he's probably going to end up in my living room by midnight.

            I finish applying the ointment to my abdomen, covering it with a piece of gauze.  She follows with medical tape.

            "Where did you find all this?" I ask, as I indicate the supplies she and I have used to dress the cuts.

            "I keep a steady supply of gauze and tape in my bag.  My nephew is accident prone." She says.

            Oh.

            "You need to sleep." Megan's brushing her fingers through my spiked hair, "And eat."

            "Slept too much lately.  Not hungry."

            She gives me a glare worthy of Death himself, and stands up.  She stretches with a groan.  Strolling into my small apartment's equally small kitchen, she mutters to herself about insolent men.  I know, somewhere inside me, that I should be laughing, but it's only reinforcing what I already am aware of.

            I begin to get to my feet.  I need to get away, even if it is just to my bedroom.

            "Stay right there.  I'm keeping you in my sight.  If I have to tie you to a chair, you are staying where I can see you." She orders from behind me, and I catch the wafting smell from the microwave.  She's found my leftover Cuban from last night.

            Within minutes, she has brought me the last of the Ropa Vieja and Moros y Christianos.  As I stated before – I'm not hungry, but if it will stop her whining, I'll eat.  So I pick at each a little.

            "You're too thin." She comments, sipping some ice tea from a mug.

            "Maybe."

            Meg keeps staring at me, "Tim, please.  Talk to me."

            "I'm fine."

            "Really?  Would you like me to go through the list of reasons that prove you aren't fine?" I loathe when she's logical.

            There's another knock at the door, but this time I stay where I am.  She goes and lets Horatio in.

            He actually looks genuinely fearful for me.

            "Tim?"

            I'm a little taken back by the use of my first name coming from him, but I just nod, "Hi, H." Megan sits down beside me, a gesture I know as one of protectiveness.  Protecting me from the big bad Horatio Caine.

            "Caelyn wants to see you tomorrow." He looks pointedly at my best friend.

            "You told me you wouldn't tell!"

            She never turns her gaze, never blinks, as she tells me, "You need to see someone.  If you won't see Tal, then Caelyn's your next option."

            "I do not need to see the shrink at work!" I'm getting slightly angry.

            "You will go and you will try to be good!" She shoots back.

            I cower at her tone.  No, I won't defy her now.  I'll go.  And I'll try to be good.  Of course, I don't plan on trying very hard.  This woman is going to be lucky if I tell her anything about me.  Beyond that which is in my work file's little biography thing.  "Fine.  I'll go."
            "Good." She rubs my bicep, right above the edge of the bandage.

            Horatio stares at me, "I'm sorry I didn't notice before."

            "It's nothing."

            That elicits an incredulous expression, "You can't mean that."

            "It's nothing.  I swear, H." I tell him, but I can tell he doesn't believe me.  That's when I remember that I never put on the clean shirt Megan brought me.  He can see the various bandaged areas, the old scars.

            "Doesn't look like nothing from here."

            "Well, your view must be skewed then."

            She lays a hand on my arm, which is multi-purposed.  It is meant as a gesture of comfort and a gesture of warning.

            "Oh for the love of…I'm fine!  I promise!" I hate having people fuss over me, especially when I'm perfectly alright.

            "No, you are not!" Ah, now H is getting mad, "Tim, you know what you're doing.  We've seen it on a hundred suicides."

            "I…"

            "You can't argue this with us." Meg interrupts, and looks directly at me, "Do you truly believe this is healthy?"

            "Yes." I am such a fucking liar.  Of course it's not healthy, I am well aware of that.  Self-Mutilation is hardly a good habit to have.  Not gonna tell them that though.

            "You're a liar.  And a bad one at that." She says.

            "No duh." I turn to the other invader in my space, "I'm alive.  You can go now."

            "Nice try, but I think I'll stay the night."

            Oh, really, I wasn't aware that I'd invited you to stay the night.  I wasn't the one who called you to come over to my hellhole.

            "He's staying because I'm going to go grocery shopping.  You have nothing in this place that seems to be remotely edible.  I'm not even sure about the Ropa Vieja you've been eating, Mr. I'm-not-hungry.  And neither he nor I are comfortable leaving you alone."

            "So you don't trust me, is that it?"

            "No." He just has to be the blunt one doesn't he, "Not with all the damage I'm looking at right now."

            "It's not 'damage'.  It's scars.  I could've gotten them anywhere."

            He's glaring at me, "As Megan already said, you are a bad liar.  Besides, I can tell that for your skin to heal the way it has, it would've had to have been cut with a sharp implement." The glare softens, "As much as you don't want to hear this, we care about you, Speed.  We don't want anything to happen to you."

            "Uh huh.  If 'we' care so much, why is it no one…" I trail off.  I won't give in to my anger.

            "No one what?"

            "It's nothing."

            They both stare at me with a look that says 'we-aren't-leaving-it-at-that.'

            "You left without saying goodbye." I'm staring avidly at her, "Calleigh and Eric are always ditching me to go out to a movie.  And I mean it when I say always." They want me to tell them something – fine.  I'll give them something, "And you…I have been trying for just one 'you did good'.  No one ever asks to come over or calls to see if I'm doing anything.  If everyone cares so much, it's a pretty fucked-up way to show it."

            Megan's eyes are misted, "What about Pam?"

            "Yes, let us discuss Pam.  She's my best friend's aunt.  She demands I come over at least once a week so she can feed me, where I usually am so exhausted that I fall asleep on her couch.  She refuses to wake me once I am, which is why I'm late for work the next day." I'm getting bitter as I get older.

            Horatio is now staring at me, mouth slightly open, then he speaks, "But you have other friends, don't you?  And your family?"

            "Everyone's in New York." I think of the best way to explain, "I don't go to clubs.  I don't really go to supermarkets unless someone's coming over.  I don't go out much period.  Most of my clothes are things Pam gives me." I remark as an afterthought.

            A tear is slipping down my friend's face, "Don't cry, Meg." I wipe it away, "It's alright."

            "I'm sorry, Timmy." I have absolutely no clue why she's apologizing or why she is crying.  It's extremely disturbing.  I'm not quite sure what to say, so I stay silent.  No one moves for a few moments, until Horatio sits down on the edge of my coffee table.

            She looks up and rubs her eyes, "I'm going to wash my face, then I'm going out.  What do you want for dinner?"

            "Pizza."

            Another glare, "Try again."

            "I don't know.  Pasta?" It doesn't make a difference to me – I'm not going to be eating it anyway.

            "Alright." She walks into the back of my apartment, closing the door to my bedroom as she goes.

            Without warning, Horatio reaches for my arm, startling me until I realize that he's removing the bandage, "It's too tight." He tells me after catching my questioning glance.

            It's true though.  The moment the last bit is pulled away, there is a sluggish pouring of blood and a pins-and-needles sensation takes over.  He blots off some of it with a towel Meg brought in earlier, then proceeds to sigh.  He lifts the tube of antiseptic from beside him, squeezing a line down the side of the gash, before smearing it out and replacing the gauze.

            "How's that?" He asks just before he tapes it.

            "Better." I answer truthfully.  He looks at me closely, trying to judge the validity of my one-word response.

            Megan brushes through the room, her face scrubbed of tears and makeup.  She looks better without both.  She grabs her purse, which she had dropped by the door when she came in, and back-steps to the couch, "I'll be back soon." She's hugging my head pretty much, but it makes no difference to me.  She kisses my hair, then goes.

            I should get used to it now, I guess.  I stare after her for a few minutes more than I thought I would, judging by H's soft whispering.

            "Tim."

            "Speed." I correct him – only my mother, Megan, and Pam have ever gotten away with calling me by my first name.

            "Speed, how long have you been doing this?" He ogles the floor for a moment, then returns his watchful eyes to me.

            "Two months after Matthew died." I reply.  That makes it a good nine years.

            Well, Timmy boy, kiss goodbye any freedom you had.  He's going to make your life hell.

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*v* Cassie Jamie *v*

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