Fic: A Piece of Me You Can't Have (1/?)
Title: A Piece of Me You Can't Have (1/?)
Fandom/Pairing: Grey's Anatomy/Callica
Author: Constantine
Rating: M
Summary: FBI Special Agent Erica Hahn is called back to her hometown when a rash of child abductions become too much for the local police to handle. (AU)
Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is not mine. It belongs to Shonda, ABC etc. No copyright infringement intended.
Warnings: This story is very dark and twisty. Seriously. Think crime thriller where really bad things happen to really good people. There is also a mild reference to domestic violence.
Author's Note: To anyone waiting on Blind Situation, I promise I'm working on it. It's about 90% done, but I'm not really happy with what I've written so far.
Feedback: Yes, please!
1.
The tires of my black Charger slow to a halt. Crunching dirt and gravel signal my arrival, but the birds that usually sing the morning's praise are absent. The sun struggles to rise above the tree line. Clouds obscure its rays, protecting it from what I have yet to see.
I show my badge to the uniformed cop standing guard at the entrance of the trail. She recognizes my name, but we both pretend that those particular letters strung together mean nothing at all.
Chirping radios and clipped voices replace the missing sounds of nature as I follow the trail deeper into the woods. It's lined with cops. Cops who have been on the force for two years. Cops who have been there for twenty. But mostly, cops whose shoulders slope downward with an unaccustomed weight.
A large oak tree stands in a clearing just ahead. Its massive limbs, heavy with leaves and history, nearly touch the earth. A tire swing hangs from frayed, twisted rope, swaying back and forth in a familiar rhythm.
A young boy sits in the swing, his head leans peacefully as if with the whispers of superheroes and mystical creatures, sleep carried him off to a land far, far away.
Beneath the swing, two pools of blood add a garish print to the blanket of fallen leaves. The boy's tiny wrists are vertically slit with inch long gashes that no longer bleed. The open wounds suck in gulps of sorrow and humid air.
"We found him two hours ago," says a voice I used to know.
Callie Torres stops beside me, looking nothing like the girl I remember and nothing like the woman I thought she'd become. The badge at her waist glints in the tiny slices of sun that find passage through the ceiling of trees.
"William Bailey Jones, six years old. He went missing seven days ago," Callie doesn't look at me while she speaks, but I briefly look at her. There was a time when looking at her was the basis of my entire existence. "We used to call him Tuck," she says. Loss creeps into her voice.
Pieces of me shift, uneasy with being in such close proximity to someone who knew me before my badge started to cost more than its worth. Before the price began to show up in the crevices of my life that flourish in darkness.
When she finally looks at me, her eyes are clear and I see a brief mirage of the women we could have been. Possibly the women we were supposed to be.
"If the pattern holds, we have three days until he kidnaps another child. Four after that until we find the body," she continues.
I walk closer to Tuck. His brown skin is pale, his school uniform unblemished. His sneakered feet dangle limply, just above the ground. One shoelace is tipped red, sodden from grazes with blood soaked leaves.
I breathe in the scent of death without choking. It laces through me like an enemy whose existence I depend on. We've spent long months and years together with nothing but each other for company.
The medical examiner gently inspects his wrists. Death is not new to her either. I can tell by the way she looks at William completely, not just in the small, fleeting images the heart can handle.
"I'm going to call a preliminary time of death at 8pm last night," she stands and faces me. "Christina Yang," she offers in greeting.
"This is Special Agent Erica Hahn," Callie introduces me. The two women share a look that I can't quite decipher.
"Hmm." Coming out of Christina's mouth, the sound is more of a grunt than an exhalation. "I wish we could meet under better circumstances."
"That's usually the case with me," I finally speak. Christina's sharp gaze quickly refocuses on Callie. Another look I don't understand, though I get the feeling it might be better that way.
"Detective Torres, we've got a situation out here," the radio on Callie's hip interrupts.
"Go ahead," she says.
"Miranda is here," the metallic voice responds.
Callie blinks. It lasts only a breath longer than usual, but the small moment of extended darkness contains reserves to deal with the worst parts of this job.
"I'll be right there," she says, already walking.
I follow her back to the entrance of the trail, silence a companion to us both. When we arrive, the officer who checked my badge is physically containing a woman.
A mother.
They all look the same. Tears or no tears. Screams or no screams. They all look the same.
"Please, just... I want to see him," Tuck's mom pleads with the officer. With the trees. With the sun. With the Gods. Her knees, halfway to the ground. Her sobs stick in her throat, threatening to choke her where she stands.
"You pr... promised," she stammers when she sees us walking closer. "You promised!"
"Miranda, I--" Callie's apology is cut short by the slap stinging her face.
"You promised!" Miranda yells again.
Callie promised only to do what she could, of that I am sure. No cop who wants to sleep at night makes promises they can't keep. But Miranda doesn't know that anymore because grief has a way of breaking everything you used to understand. It overflows until the drowning seems the way it's always been. Until the breathing seems to be what might kill you.
"We... we did," Callie clears her throat, "we did everything..." The words get trapped, unwilling to face their inadequacy. They are never enough, but we say them anyway because saying them might be what saves us.
I kneel next to Miranda and Tuck stares back at me. "We will find who did this," I say. "I will find who did this."
It's the only promise I ever make and the day I break it will surely be my last.
TBC...