The Visibile Spectrum (Part Two) -Fic-
Title: The Visible Spectrum (Part Two)
Characters: Caleb/Cordelia
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1, 826
Summary: Life is sometimes better told through color.
Disclaimer: I do not own Ian nor the mention of Don. I do own the others.
Feedback: Is greatly appreciated.
Author's Notes: The Blue color is connected to the 5th Snow Fic. We get sad in these.
------------------------------
Green
Caleb shifts the brown bag in his arm, fumbling with the keys and finally getting them into the lock. He’s finally managed to convince Cordelia to lock the outer door to the apartment above the bakery; that is after several days’ worth of lectures to his girlfriend and her French roommate, in which the two finally gave in to be spared from his nagging.
His legs carry him the short distance to the actual apartment door. He cringes at the noise of the customers below, those in line at the glass counter and those actually sitting and eating in the bakery. It’s noisy and he knows for certain that Cordelia is not going to be asleep.
Shutting the door behind him, Caleb entered the loft apartment.
The blonde turns around in the kitchen to the right, stirring a mug with a metal spoon. “Mon Dieu, you’re here. I didn’t think you would actually come.”
“How is she?” Caleb asks, setting the paper bag on the kitchen counter.
“Getting worse,” Aurélie rolls her blue eyes. “She kicked me out an hour ago, but I made her some tea. Here, you can take it to her.”
Caleb reaches for the familiar Harvard coffee cup. It’s one that the petite brunette uses nearly every morning, only it’s filled with her favorite blackberry tea instead of coffee.
“You know, you’re really good for her. Not many boyfriends would be willing to drive seven hours to tend to their sick girlfriend,” The French girl gives him a sardonic grin. “Why can’t there be more men like you?”
He smiles back at her on his way to the closed bedroom. “It was really only four hours. I was in Pennsylvania already. But thank you, Aurélie.”
Turning the doorknob, Caleb quietly stepped into his girlfriend’s room. The lights are off, as to be expected for someone who is sick and needs sleep. He cannot see her but the lump beneath the crimson comforter is probably her.
“Go away, Aurélie! I don’t want you getting sick.” The voice is muffled and stuffy beneath the sheets but it’s recognizable for one Cordelia Eppes.
Chuckling, he sits on the bed near the lump. “I’m not French, Princess.”
The comforter moves and first a hand emerges, followed by the top of a head and then a flustered face. “Caleb?” Cordelia asks, only it comes out as a whine that is soon followed by a hacking cough.
Caleb nods and passes her the steaming tea.
Her cough fades as she takes gulps of the liquid. Finally, she speaks again. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be in Philadelphia or… somewhere in Pennsylvania. One of those P names. My head hurts too bad to remember right now.”
“And you,” he states, taking in the sea of green tissues she’s sleeping with. “Are supposed to be better. I don’t believe you told me you had an infection when I talked to you.”
Cordelia pouts and dramatically flounces back against her pillow.
Caleb stands up and begins the disgusting task of plucking the infectious laden tissues up off of the bed. Once disposed of, he crawls back up the bed to pull her into his arms; well, as close as he can get while he’s on top of the covers and she’s beneath them.
She snuggles into him despite her next statement. “You can’t be here. You’ll get sick.”
“It’s just a cold, ‘Delia. Besides, you can take care of me if you make me sick.” He even goes so far as to kiss her, ignoring her disheveled appearance and sniffling nose.
The green tissues that he creates a few days later are all worth it as she finally falls into a deep sleep.
Black
The house is dark and lifeless and it nearly makes her want to run from it.
Instead, Cordelia dutifully follows Caleb as he moves like a wraith through his father’s once home. His tall form pauses to look at different objects - plaques, awards, photos, books, and anything else that has a touch of Ian Edgerton remaining - and she makes sure to stay behind enough so as not to disturb him.
He walks past the old sniper’s bedroom. That is the only thing that he doesn’t stop to look at and beneath his empty face she knows that his insides hurt as he walks by.
The spare bedroom is where he goes. She leans against the entry way and watches as he robotically shucks off his jacket, tie, and shirt. The shined shoes are toed off and nearly tripped over when he moves to the bed.
Cordelia’s heart nearly breaks as she merely watches him curl up on his side, lifeless eyes glaring at the wall.
They say that no parent should ever have to burry a child. But to her, there is a different pain in burying a parent that is too hard to bear.
She had stood by Caleb, the only one he allowed to stand with him, holding his hand as the casket containing the once great Ian Edgerton had been lowered into the ground. The sea of black surrounding them had offered their condolences and she had thanked them when Caleb had remained silent, lost in his own sea of despair.
Their words had praised the skills and intelligence of the man she would never have as a father in law. But they didn’t know Ian like Caleb had and they didn’t have the right to mourn like Caleb.
Caleb who had now buried a mother and two fathers. Caleb who had only had six years to learn the man who had helped create him. It seemed unfair and cruel.
Her own father had flown out to pay his respects to the man that had been his friend. Beneath the bitter January weather, she had kissed his cheek and then calmly walked back to the man who needed her more.
She has no words to offer him. At least no words that would seem appropriate. Both of her parents are still alive and the only thing she has ever buried is a childhood pet.
Cordelia steps into the room. Awkwardly, her arm reaches around for the zipper to her dress, sliding it down enough to slip her arms out. The black silk falls to the floor but she leaves it there, not caring that it will wrinkle later. Heels are stepped out of.
Wordlessly, she climbs into the bed behind him, shivering as the air hits her undergarment clad body. She places her forehead against his shoulder blade and runs her hand down his bent arm until she finds his hand to entangle her fingers with.
“I have no one left,” his strangled voice comes in the dark.
Her heart clenches again. The tears and despair and grief are evident in his voice. They are being held back until the dam breaks.
Fingers squeeze against his. “You have me.”
And that is what breaks the dam.
The sobs come forth, shaking his body and heaving in his chest.
Caleb turns over quickly, arms coming around her back to grip her painfully close, head lying against her breasts.
Cordelia clutches at him, feeling his hot tears against her skin, and praying that she will be able to be enough for him.
Blue
It is extremely late when Caleb finally kills the engine of his motorcycle in front of his new home in Dorchester. The white water side home looms before him. It's beautiful even in the dark and the feeling of pride in knowing that he had been the one to re-build it fills him.
The startling whicker in the night jerks his head up as he dismounts from the bike. He smiles when he sees the form of Hightower leaning over the fence. No one will steal the motorcycle, being that the house is set back from the road and Dorchester is a nice town outside of Boston.
“Hey, Buddy.” Caleb lifts a hand and lets the brown horse nibble on his palm, whiskers tickling in search of a treat. He scans the paddock for Cordelia’s horse. Belarius must be elsewhere if he cannot see him.
He scratches the animal’s forehead. “How mad is she?”
Hightower snorts and shakes his head. He then proceeds to turn his back and walk away.
“That mad huh?” Caleb calls after the retreating horse. He doesn’t blame the animal for agreeing that his fiancée is no doubt highly incensed.
Leaving the night behind, he enters into their home. The lights are all off. As a testament to his tardiness, the clock chimes three times, signaling that it is three A.M.
Caleb takes the stairs two at a time, remembering to side step the one that squeaks. Their bedroom is at the end of the hallway. The door has been left open, probably not as an invitation but so as not to wake her up when he finally did decide to come home.
The sight of her asleep in the bed causes him to swallow hard. She’s kicked the covers off of her, leaving her bare from the legs up.
His ‘Delia is a vision of blue in the bed. The navy chemise she has on goes well with her brown curls, but it’s a message as she usually sleeps in his stolen sweatshirt. Moonlight hits her from the window pane, casting shadows of pale powder blue.
She is beautiful but the sadness on her face makes the blue a depressive color.
He’d taken a job at the Boston office when he’d ask Cordelia to marry him. It is a good job and had been the smart move. He loves her without a doubt. However, the move has seen to taking up his time and this is the third week that he’s come home after she’s already asleep.
Cordelia hasn’t complained and she won’t. But he knows that she is sad and that she misses him. And that makes him feel worse because the last thing he ever wants to do is cause her to not be happy.
Yawning, Caleb changes for sleep. A pair of sweatpants later and he slides beneath the sheets, pulling them up over both of them.
He shifts closer but not close enough to touch. Whispering, he talks to her sleeping figure, “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I love you and I hate this…”
A hand on his chest stops him and he turns to see a pair of drowsy brown eyes looking at him. Cordelia takes it upon herself to move into the circle of his arms. Her head on his shoulder, she murmurs sleepily, “Go to sleep, Caleb. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
Caleb wonders how he ever got so lucky as to have her. “I love you, ‘Delia.”
Her breathe is warm against his chest. “I love you too.”
Despite her assurances, however, it is a long time before he joins her in the land of dreams.
Characters: Caleb/Cordelia
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1, 826
Summary: Life is sometimes better told through color.
Disclaimer: I do not own Ian nor the mention of Don. I do own the others.
Feedback: Is greatly appreciated.
Author's Notes: The Blue color is connected to the 5th Snow Fic. We get sad in these.
------------------------------
Green
Caleb shifts the brown bag in his arm, fumbling with the keys and finally getting them into the lock. He’s finally managed to convince Cordelia to lock the outer door to the apartment above the bakery; that is after several days’ worth of lectures to his girlfriend and her French roommate, in which the two finally gave in to be spared from his nagging.
His legs carry him the short distance to the actual apartment door. He cringes at the noise of the customers below, those in line at the glass counter and those actually sitting and eating in the bakery. It’s noisy and he knows for certain that Cordelia is not going to be asleep.
Shutting the door behind him, Caleb entered the loft apartment.
The blonde turns around in the kitchen to the right, stirring a mug with a metal spoon. “Mon Dieu, you’re here. I didn’t think you would actually come.”
“How is she?” Caleb asks, setting the paper bag on the kitchen counter.
“Getting worse,” Aurélie rolls her blue eyes. “She kicked me out an hour ago, but I made her some tea. Here, you can take it to her.”
Caleb reaches for the familiar Harvard coffee cup. It’s one that the petite brunette uses nearly every morning, only it’s filled with her favorite blackberry tea instead of coffee.
“You know, you’re really good for her. Not many boyfriends would be willing to drive seven hours to tend to their sick girlfriend,” The French girl gives him a sardonic grin. “Why can’t there be more men like you?”
He smiles back at her on his way to the closed bedroom. “It was really only four hours. I was in Pennsylvania already. But thank you, Aurélie.”
Turning the doorknob, Caleb quietly stepped into his girlfriend’s room. The lights are off, as to be expected for someone who is sick and needs sleep. He cannot see her but the lump beneath the crimson comforter is probably her.
“Go away, Aurélie! I don’t want you getting sick.” The voice is muffled and stuffy beneath the sheets but it’s recognizable for one Cordelia Eppes.
Chuckling, he sits on the bed near the lump. “I’m not French, Princess.”
The comforter moves and first a hand emerges, followed by the top of a head and then a flustered face. “Caleb?” Cordelia asks, only it comes out as a whine that is soon followed by a hacking cough.
Caleb nods and passes her the steaming tea.
Her cough fades as she takes gulps of the liquid. Finally, she speaks again. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be in Philadelphia or… somewhere in Pennsylvania. One of those P names. My head hurts too bad to remember right now.”
“And you,” he states, taking in the sea of green tissues she’s sleeping with. “Are supposed to be better. I don’t believe you told me you had an infection when I talked to you.”
Cordelia pouts and dramatically flounces back against her pillow.
Caleb stands up and begins the disgusting task of plucking the infectious laden tissues up off of the bed. Once disposed of, he crawls back up the bed to pull her into his arms; well, as close as he can get while he’s on top of the covers and she’s beneath them.
She snuggles into him despite her next statement. “You can’t be here. You’ll get sick.”
“It’s just a cold, ‘Delia. Besides, you can take care of me if you make me sick.” He even goes so far as to kiss her, ignoring her disheveled appearance and sniffling nose.
The green tissues that he creates a few days later are all worth it as she finally falls into a deep sleep.
Black
The house is dark and lifeless and it nearly makes her want to run from it.
Instead, Cordelia dutifully follows Caleb as he moves like a wraith through his father’s once home. His tall form pauses to look at different objects - plaques, awards, photos, books, and anything else that has a touch of Ian Edgerton remaining - and she makes sure to stay behind enough so as not to disturb him.
He walks past the old sniper’s bedroom. That is the only thing that he doesn’t stop to look at and beneath his empty face she knows that his insides hurt as he walks by.
The spare bedroom is where he goes. She leans against the entry way and watches as he robotically shucks off his jacket, tie, and shirt. The shined shoes are toed off and nearly tripped over when he moves to the bed.
Cordelia’s heart nearly breaks as she merely watches him curl up on his side, lifeless eyes glaring at the wall.
They say that no parent should ever have to burry a child. But to her, there is a different pain in burying a parent that is too hard to bear.
She had stood by Caleb, the only one he allowed to stand with him, holding his hand as the casket containing the once great Ian Edgerton had been lowered into the ground. The sea of black surrounding them had offered their condolences and she had thanked them when Caleb had remained silent, lost in his own sea of despair.
Their words had praised the skills and intelligence of the man she would never have as a father in law. But they didn’t know Ian like Caleb had and they didn’t have the right to mourn like Caleb.
Caleb who had now buried a mother and two fathers. Caleb who had only had six years to learn the man who had helped create him. It seemed unfair and cruel.
Her own father had flown out to pay his respects to the man that had been his friend. Beneath the bitter January weather, she had kissed his cheek and then calmly walked back to the man who needed her more.
She has no words to offer him. At least no words that would seem appropriate. Both of her parents are still alive and the only thing she has ever buried is a childhood pet.
Cordelia steps into the room. Awkwardly, her arm reaches around for the zipper to her dress, sliding it down enough to slip her arms out. The black silk falls to the floor but she leaves it there, not caring that it will wrinkle later. Heels are stepped out of.
Wordlessly, she climbs into the bed behind him, shivering as the air hits her undergarment clad body. She places her forehead against his shoulder blade and runs her hand down his bent arm until she finds his hand to entangle her fingers with.
“I have no one left,” his strangled voice comes in the dark.
Her heart clenches again. The tears and despair and grief are evident in his voice. They are being held back until the dam breaks.
Fingers squeeze against his. “You have me.”
And that is what breaks the dam.
The sobs come forth, shaking his body and heaving in his chest.
Caleb turns over quickly, arms coming around her back to grip her painfully close, head lying against her breasts.
Cordelia clutches at him, feeling his hot tears against her skin, and praying that she will be able to be enough for him.
Blue
It is extremely late when Caleb finally kills the engine of his motorcycle in front of his new home in Dorchester. The white water side home looms before him. It's beautiful even in the dark and the feeling of pride in knowing that he had been the one to re-build it fills him.
The startling whicker in the night jerks his head up as he dismounts from the bike. He smiles when he sees the form of Hightower leaning over the fence. No one will steal the motorcycle, being that the house is set back from the road and Dorchester is a nice town outside of Boston.
“Hey, Buddy.” Caleb lifts a hand and lets the brown horse nibble on his palm, whiskers tickling in search of a treat. He scans the paddock for Cordelia’s horse. Belarius must be elsewhere if he cannot see him.
He scratches the animal’s forehead. “How mad is she?”
Hightower snorts and shakes his head. He then proceeds to turn his back and walk away.
“That mad huh?” Caleb calls after the retreating horse. He doesn’t blame the animal for agreeing that his fiancée is no doubt highly incensed.
Leaving the night behind, he enters into their home. The lights are all off. As a testament to his tardiness, the clock chimes three times, signaling that it is three A.M.
Caleb takes the stairs two at a time, remembering to side step the one that squeaks. Their bedroom is at the end of the hallway. The door has been left open, probably not as an invitation but so as not to wake her up when he finally did decide to come home.
The sight of her asleep in the bed causes him to swallow hard. She’s kicked the covers off of her, leaving her bare from the legs up.
His ‘Delia is a vision of blue in the bed. The navy chemise she has on goes well with her brown curls, but it’s a message as she usually sleeps in his stolen sweatshirt. Moonlight hits her from the window pane, casting shadows of pale powder blue.
She is beautiful but the sadness on her face makes the blue a depressive color.
He’d taken a job at the Boston office when he’d ask Cordelia to marry him. It is a good job and had been the smart move. He loves her without a doubt. However, the move has seen to taking up his time and this is the third week that he’s come home after she’s already asleep.
Cordelia hasn’t complained and she won’t. But he knows that she is sad and that she misses him. And that makes him feel worse because the last thing he ever wants to do is cause her to not be happy.
Yawning, Caleb changes for sleep. A pair of sweatpants later and he slides beneath the sheets, pulling them up over both of them.
He shifts closer but not close enough to touch. Whispering, he talks to her sleeping figure, “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I love you and I hate this…”
A hand on his chest stops him and he turns to see a pair of drowsy brown eyes looking at him. Cordelia takes it upon herself to move into the circle of his arms. Her head on his shoulder, she murmurs sleepily, “Go to sleep, Caleb. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
Caleb wonders how he ever got so lucky as to have her. “I love you, ‘Delia.”
Her breathe is warm against his chest. “I love you too.”
Despite her assurances, however, it is a long time before he joins her in the land of dreams.