Plain Silver

…

Calleigh and the aftermath of 'Man Down'

…

The knock on Ryan Wolfe's front door was soft, but it shattered the silence the youngest CSI had precariously constructed. He sat up, folding back the covers, rubbing at his eye gently as he made his way through the hall. The delicate rapping sounded again, and he didn't bother looking through the peephole, twisting the knob of his front door and swinging it open tiredly. Calleigh stood before him, a pair of running shorts and a well-loved Tulane hoodie, blonde hair framing her features and spilling over her shoulders. He widened the door and stepped back, inviting her in, but she hesitated, searching his compassionate expression, mumbling an explanation.

"I just, when Tim died, Eric, and I, we." She rubbed the tears from her eyes, turning away for only a moment before trying to smile at him. "I don't know if I can make it through this, too." He nodded, holding out a hand to her.

"Come in, Cal, please." His voice was riddled with exhaustion and tears, but the husky, soft timbre soothed her nerves, if only a little. She gripped his fingers tightly, feeling him shift his weight, closing the door behind her with a metallic click. He frowned at her disheveled appearance; the concern flooded his eyes instantly, his own tears threatening to fall.

He pulled her to him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, the other tangled in her hair. Calleigh gave up the hardened façade easily, seeking solace in the front of his shirt and finding it as his fingers ran along her back, an attempt to soothe her against the wave of tears that wouldn't let up. Ryan tightened his grip on her a few moments later, as her sobs succeeded, hugging her frame to his companionably, there in the front hall of his apartment, in the dead of the night. He pressed a kiss to a shock of blonde, swaying softly, and dropping his head to the crook of her shoulder, placing another, feather light kiss to the underside of her jaw as she tilted away, laying her head on his shoulder and running her hands along the waist of his boxers, beneath the hem of his tee shirt.

"Alexx says he won't be the same." She spoke quietly, her words muffled against his shirt. He kissed her hair as he loosened his grip, pulling back to look her in the eye.

"He's lucky he's not dead." He scanned her unkempt appearance quickly, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, and offering her the most sincere smile he could muster. "Eric's tough. We have to have faith." She nodded, throwing him an expression far from convinced.

"Did I wake you?" she pulled away, rubbing her eyes with the cuff of her sweatshirt. Even in the dark of the apartment, Ryan caught the slight tremble of her lip.

"No, no, I wasn't asleep." He stepped back, giving her some space, and rummaging quietly through his tiny kitchen in search of a glass, filling it with cool water and handing it to her. "Did you get a chance to talk to his parents?" He spoke softly, despite the empty dark of the apartment, following her the few steps into the tiny living room.

"Yeah, for a moment. Eric's mother's devastated. She kept mumbling in Spanish." Calleigh leaned against the back of Ryan's couch, looking out his window across the city, failing to see any of it.

"What'd she say?" He stepped closer to her, running a hand along her shoulders, a feeble attempt to ease the tension he had felt there. Calleigh took a shaky breath, gripping the thin glass in her hand tightly.

"She was praying to Joseph."

"What's he the saint of?"

"Baton Rouge." He frowned, listening to her voice waver.

"C'mon." He moved away from her, nodding his head toward the bedroom door, ajar at the end of the hall. "Shift's in like six hours. We can at least say we tried to get some sleep."

She left her glass of water on the kitchen counter before dropping her keys beside it and following him closely, too worried about Eric to be embarrassed that she couldn't hold her own. Ryan ran a hand through his hair, double checking the alarm clock as she climbed into his bedding, laying where the barest trace of body heat remained, curling tiredly into his pillow, blinking away the hot tears that slide down her features, cooling against the night air.

He felt her watching him, and he sighed, his heart splintering under the weight of grief and concern he felt for both his friends. Their friendship, he knew, had become fierce in the months following Tim Speedle's death, there was an intensity to their understanding that would always escape him, no matter how precisely he honed his investigative skills. He slid in beside her, relaxing as she twisted around to curl into the crook of his shoulder, her fingers, once again, balling the front of his shirt. She pulled faintly at the worn material, and he rolled over on his side, hugging her slender figure to him companionably, fighting off his own tears as she rested her head beneath his, fitting perfectly into his grasp.

Calleigh allowed Ryan to pull her flush with his body, wiping residue of tears on the cotton of his shirt and hooking her leg around his knee, needing to hear his heartbeat almost urgently. She felt her whole body wilt against him as his fingers ran in lazy circles along her back, breathing in the subtle scent of fresh laundry she had come to associate with him. He mumbled quietly against her hair, and his voice resonated through her.

"Eric's going to be alright, Cal. He-"

"Dying people." Calleigh's delicate timbre cut him off, and he cocked an eyebrow, confused. She swatted at the tears reigning freely across her cheeks. It was the second time Clorinda Delko had recited a prayer to St. Joseph at the bedside of one of her children, near death. When she had asked Eric about it last spring, the explanation falling from his lip riddled in despair just before he had broken down, letting his grief take him as she held him in a tight hug. "St. Joseph's the patron saint of dying people."

Oh.

Eric's mother had shaken her nerves.

"Eric's not going to die, Calleigh." He pulled her closer, listening as the hitch in her breathing faded. "We just gotta have faith." She nodded against him, her thoughts lingering on the plain silver crucifix she'd placed in Eric's hand.

She only hoped it was faith enough.