DISCLAIMER: CSI Miami and Cold Case are the property of Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you: From Calleigh’s POV. I’m sorry people, the muse found the stash of crack….again. Thank you to serenitymeimei as always.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Nothing in common
By racethewind10
We had nothing in common we thought. We're both blondes of course: both obsessively dedicated to our jobs, both have slowly pulled away from the people that surrounded us, distancing ourselves as the job and the loss and the constant battle against failure slowly scarred our hearts. We have loved, and lost, too many times for trust to come easily now, though neither of us can say when the exact moment had come when the scales tipped and we began to lose faith in the "happily ever after."
Neither of us drinks, but in a weak moment, we'll both admit to the seductive call of the bottle and the oblivion it still sings promises of. She's been farther down that road than I have, but I knew the feeling of its cracks and ruts and pitfalls beneath my feet too. For her, it was growing up watching her mother slide into ruin and death. For me, it was dodging my father's fists and then hauling him out of bars and standing helpless as he tried again and again to go clean: tried and failed.
We met by chance, just a momentary crossing of paths on the journey of two lifetimes.
We had nothing in common we thought.
I stroke her alabaster skin and watch the delicate flush bloom in her cheeks. Her breath comes short and her lips are parted and swollen from my kisses. I trace my tongue down her body and watch as the heat from my touch slowly drives away the darkness in her eyes. There is a desperation in her hands as she clings to me, but I can't blame her for it. It's the same cruel, endless hope that this time the nightmares and the memories will be banished, if only for a little while. It's the same desperation that's driving my tender assault on her body: pushing her to beg, teasing and torturing her until she pleads, in that smoky, breathless voice, for me to take her. I know what she really wants is for me to take away the pain and regrets, and though we both know it's futile, I do what I can to give her at least one, tiny, precious second of respite.
When she recovers, she returns the favor, and as my body clenches around her hands and my release tears a cry from deep in my throat, I feel a swell of gratitude. For just a moment, her touch frees me from the prison I have created for myself and I will always owe her for that.
In the sulfur edged shadows that slip through her window, we lay tangled in her bed and I watch entranced the motion of my fingers on her ribcage. There is a slow, comforting peace to the moment and I want it to last, delaying the inevitable surrender to sleep as long as possible.
With a touch she stills my hands, slipping her fingers through mine. I raise my head to look at her and marvel at the way her glacial eyes can hold such warmth. There are no words spoken. There is nothing to be said, our bodies have told the story all night and mere sound has no power to alter the past.
With a soft tug she pulls me close and I lay my head on her shoulder, wrapping myself around her as if, by the touch of our bodies, I could somehow abolish the separation of our souls. She kisses my hair and her fingers slowly trace my spine. Our breath draws in time and I hear her heartbeat slow to match my own beneath my ear.
Darkness gently cushions my awareness, but this time I give in gracefully. We will have tomorrow at least, and that is all I can ask for anymore.
As oblivion reaches up to claim me, one last realization slips gently through my thoughts.
We have too much in common.
The End