Fic: A Piece of Me You Can't Have (2/?)
Title: A Piece of Me You Can't Have (2/?)
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!
2.
I park my car next to Callie's in the lot of the Sheridan Police Department. I get out of the car and start walking toward the medium sized building. A large black banner with red, white and blue letters hangs above the double doors asking the citizens to "Join us for the 4th!"
"So, you're not going to say anything to me?" Callie asks followed by the loud thud of her car door
I stop and turn around just like I always did. Just like she knew I would. "What is there to say?" I ask.
"Typical," she says.
"Well, you know me. I hate to disappoint."
"If only that were true," her words slice into me, the cut surprisingly precise after fifteen years. Apparently, our history has rewritten itself since I've been away. I couldn't stay and she couldn't leave, but somehow I've been cast as the villain.
"Again, what is there to say, Callie?" It's the first time I've said her name out loud in longer than I can remember. It tastes grainy on my tongue, like taking communion without confessing my sins.
She hesitates and I see the decision being made in her eyes. "Nothing," she says. She walks around me and into the station. All I can do is follow.
--))--((--
The inside of the station is smaller than I remember. I took a field trip here in the eighth grade. We were supposed to learn about justice and doing the right thing and why drugs are bad.
My mom was there begging Officer Webber to let my dad out of jail. Her eye was still purple and black from where dad hit her, but she promised he didn't mean it. I used to believe her. I hoped Officer Webber was smarter me.
Callie leads the way to the murder room. I've seen too many. Sheridan probably thought they'd never see one. The room is filled with about seven cops. A few of them I recognize.
Alex Karev sits in a corner. He was destined for Olympic glory as a wrestler. His star would have been bright anywhere, but in Sheridan, it was damn near supernova. Now his face is grim with the death of a second child on his watch and his eyes are sunken with dreams deferred. I suspect they don't all belong to little Tuck.
George O'Malley sits shyly in the front row, eager to please. He was a few years behind me in high school. A few years behind everybody at all times it seemed. For some reason, I always thought when life was all written and the book finally closed, he'd be the only one of us who kept most of himself still in tact.
"Everyone, this is Special Agent Hahn," Chief Webber introduces me to the crowd. He is just as I remember, a decent guy with good intentions that sometimes get lost in translation. "She's on loan to us from the FBI, but I like to think we loaned her to them." His levity falls prey to gravity as the things everybody thinks they know about me pulls it to the ground. "Umm, Agent Hahn why don't you tell everyone what you intend to bring to this investigation."
I'm no longer accustomed to reciting my resume. I've been too good at my job for too long. My reputation precedes me which is just the way I like it. But, saying nothing is not an option, so I step closer to the Chief and survey the crowd once more before I speak.
"I've been with the Bureau for ten years. I've worked with the Serial Murder Unit for the past five. While at the SMU I closed eleven cases." My delivery is brisk and dry. Half the cops now sit with their arms crossed, the other half have new scowls in place.
I look over at Callie. Leaning against the wall within arms reach of the door, surprisingly she looks back.
"I'm not here to take over this case," I continue. "I'm not here to tell you how to do your jobs. I'm not here so that we can be friends and grab a beer at Joe's." I drag my eyes away from Callie and refocus on the crowd. "I'm here to catch the bastard who is brutally murdering young children in this town. I don't care if it ends with this bastard behind bars or with twenty of our bullets, but I assure you, making it end is my only priority."
Arms loosen from their tight holds, scowls smooth and I know my little speech hit its mark. They believe me, and they should, because most of what I said is true. I'm not interested in telling anyone how to do their job. If they're incompetent, I'll gladly do it for them. I'm not looking to make new friends. I don't care if we throw the perp in jail or if the poor excuse for a human being helpfully gives me a reason to empty my clip. Stopping this killer is my priority... but not my only one.
The Chief moves closer to my side. He looks at me like I just did something admirable.
"OK, everyone, you've got thirty minutes," the Chief says. "Grab something to eat if you need to, then bring every piece of info we've gathered on this case back to this room. Nobody's going home tonight until we've made some progress."
The life of cop in a town this size usually guarantees catching your kid's football game on Friday or taking your wife out to dinner when you said you would. To their credit, the mandatory OT doesn't seem to be an issue as everyone exits the room without so much as a word.
Callie maintains her spot against the wall. The Chief hesitates as the last of the cops file out. He looks between Callie and myself, his good intentions begging to get the best of him. Instead of speaking he simply pats my shoulder and leaves us alone.
It's my first real opportunity to stare at Callie without interruption and my eyes take it greedily. Her skin is bronzed, which tells me she spends more time outside than she does behind a desk. The tight jeans and blue button down do little to hide the physical strength just beneath the surface. Her hair is as dark as I remember and probably just as soft. Her lips--
"Are you the only person in the SMU?" she asks, cheating the rest of my appraisal.
"They're already split between a case in San Jose and one in Kansas City," I respond.
"And?" When we were teenagers, Callie could read me like a book. I don't know how I feel about the fact that she still can.
"And I volunteered to offer my assistance," I say.
"Why would you do that?" She asks, scanning my face for the truth.
I stop in front of Callie before I even realize my brain gave the command to walk. I leave enough space between us for an easy explanation if someone walks in. "Because," I start, but stop just as quickly when uncertainty twists my gut.
The twinge of pain wants to know if it's worth it to finish. Am I'm strong enough to deal with the answer I expect? It was a split second decision to leave my team and take this case. The call came in at three in the morning when I was in Kansas City. Two twelve year old girls were dead, another kidnapped. Zero leads for the local police.
Nothing I hadn't heard before. It's been years since evil has been able to take me by surprise. Mostly because I expect to find it everywhere. The expectation leaves me cold and distant, but able to stop at sipping one whiskey instead of drowning in the whole bottle.
Sheridan, FL. That's what caught me.
Just hearing the name flooded me with images I buried the day I left. They ran across my eyes like a film with missing scenes. Just enough to leave wisps of before. Before I spent four years studying criminal justice at Northwestern in some fantasy pursuit of the justice I couldn't find at home. Before I joined the Bureau, still looking, but no longer for myself. Before I saw my third dead body and didn't throw up. Before the first time I took someone's life and wondered if that's what my father felt when he took my mom's.
But if my childhood in Sheridan were only filled with darkness, the words 'I'll go' wouldn't have slipped out of my mouth before I really understood the reasons or the inevitable consequences.
"Because," I start again, "when we were eight we broke Mr. Carlson's window playing with your dad's golf clubs." Callie remembers. She tries to hide it, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth gives her away.
"Because when we were eleven you played Juliet and my mom let me buy you flowers." The small twitch eases into half smile.
"Because when we were fourteen you gave me my first kiss and then let Mark buy you an ice cream sundae." I stop here. Not by choice, but by fear. Saying anything more will unveil too much.
"And what else," Callie whispers.
"Because I've been trying to find somebody to replace you for the last fifteen years and it's the only thing I've ever failed at," I finish.
The gasp that escapes her lips sounds like everyday since the last time I saw her.
"Erica, I--" The door cracks open allowing the noise from the rest of the station to make an abrupt entrance.
"Sweetie, I--" Mark Sloan steps inside, silencing whatever Callie was going to say with the click of the door behind him. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were in a meeting."
I know his lie as if I said it myself. He looks me over, smile too big and plastic around the edges. A poster boy for whatever can be imagined, malleable to fitting in where he can.
"Erica Hahn," he says, "I guess the prodigal really does return."
"Mark." I settle for his name because it is the safest thing I can say.
"What are you doing here?" Callie asks.
"Since when do I need a reason to see my wife?" Mark rushes the question into the room like he's been waiting all day to ask it.
"You're wife?" My voice strains.
"Ten years next month," he grins.
TBC...
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!
2.
I park my car next to Callie's in the lot of the Sheridan Police Department. I get out of the car and start walking toward the medium sized building. A large black banner with red, white and blue letters hangs above the double doors asking the citizens to "Join us for the 4th!"
"So, you're not going to say anything to me?" Callie asks followed by the loud thud of her car door
I stop and turn around just like I always did. Just like she knew I would. "What is there to say?" I ask.
"Typical," she says.
"Well, you know me. I hate to disappoint."
"If only that were true," her words slice into me, the cut surprisingly precise after fifteen years. Apparently, our history has rewritten itself since I've been away. I couldn't stay and she couldn't leave, but somehow I've been cast as the villain.
"Again, what is there to say, Callie?" It's the first time I've said her name out loud in longer than I can remember. It tastes grainy on my tongue, like taking communion without confessing my sins.
She hesitates and I see the decision being made in her eyes. "Nothing," she says. She walks around me and into the station. All I can do is follow.
--))--((--
The inside of the station is smaller than I remember. I took a field trip here in the eighth grade. We were supposed to learn about justice and doing the right thing and why drugs are bad.
My mom was there begging Officer Webber to let my dad out of jail. Her eye was still purple and black from where dad hit her, but she promised he didn't mean it. I used to believe her. I hoped Officer Webber was smarter me.
Callie leads the way to the murder room. I've seen too many. Sheridan probably thought they'd never see one. The room is filled with about seven cops. A few of them I recognize.
Alex Karev sits in a corner. He was destined for Olympic glory as a wrestler. His star would have been bright anywhere, but in Sheridan, it was damn near supernova. Now his face is grim with the death of a second child on his watch and his eyes are sunken with dreams deferred. I suspect they don't all belong to little Tuck.
George O'Malley sits shyly in the front row, eager to please. He was a few years behind me in high school. A few years behind everybody at all times it seemed. For some reason, I always thought when life was all written and the book finally closed, he'd be the only one of us who kept most of himself still in tact.
"Everyone, this is Special Agent Hahn," Chief Webber introduces me to the crowd. He is just as I remember, a decent guy with good intentions that sometimes get lost in translation. "She's on loan to us from the FBI, but I like to think we loaned her to them." His levity falls prey to gravity as the things everybody thinks they know about me pulls it to the ground. "Umm, Agent Hahn why don't you tell everyone what you intend to bring to this investigation."
I'm no longer accustomed to reciting my resume. I've been too good at my job for too long. My reputation precedes me which is just the way I like it. But, saying nothing is not an option, so I step closer to the Chief and survey the crowd once more before I speak.
"I've been with the Bureau for ten years. I've worked with the Serial Murder Unit for the past five. While at the SMU I closed eleven cases." My delivery is brisk and dry. Half the cops now sit with their arms crossed, the other half have new scowls in place.
I look over at Callie. Leaning against the wall within arms reach of the door, surprisingly she looks back.
"I'm not here to take over this case," I continue. "I'm not here to tell you how to do your jobs. I'm not here so that we can be friends and grab a beer at Joe's." I drag my eyes away from Callie and refocus on the crowd. "I'm here to catch the bastard who is brutally murdering young children in this town. I don't care if it ends with this bastard behind bars or with twenty of our bullets, but I assure you, making it end is my only priority."
Arms loosen from their tight holds, scowls smooth and I know my little speech hit its mark. They believe me, and they should, because most of what I said is true. I'm not interested in telling anyone how to do their job. If they're incompetent, I'll gladly do it for them. I'm not looking to make new friends. I don't care if we throw the perp in jail or if the poor excuse for a human being helpfully gives me a reason to empty my clip. Stopping this killer is my priority... but not my only one.
The Chief moves closer to my side. He looks at me like I just did something admirable.
"OK, everyone, you've got thirty minutes," the Chief says. "Grab something to eat if you need to, then bring every piece of info we've gathered on this case back to this room. Nobody's going home tonight until we've made some progress."
The life of cop in a town this size usually guarantees catching your kid's football game on Friday or taking your wife out to dinner when you said you would. To their credit, the mandatory OT doesn't seem to be an issue as everyone exits the room without so much as a word.
Callie maintains her spot against the wall. The Chief hesitates as the last of the cops file out. He looks between Callie and myself, his good intentions begging to get the best of him. Instead of speaking he simply pats my shoulder and leaves us alone.
It's my first real opportunity to stare at Callie without interruption and my eyes take it greedily. Her skin is bronzed, which tells me she spends more time outside than she does behind a desk. The tight jeans and blue button down do little to hide the physical strength just beneath the surface. Her hair is as dark as I remember and probably just as soft. Her lips--
"Are you the only person in the SMU?" she asks, cheating the rest of my appraisal.
"They're already split between a case in San Jose and one in Kansas City," I respond.
"And?" When we were teenagers, Callie could read me like a book. I don't know how I feel about the fact that she still can.
"And I volunteered to offer my assistance," I say.
"Why would you do that?" She asks, scanning my face for the truth.
I stop in front of Callie before I even realize my brain gave the command to walk. I leave enough space between us for an easy explanation if someone walks in. "Because," I start, but stop just as quickly when uncertainty twists my gut.
The twinge of pain wants to know if it's worth it to finish. Am I'm strong enough to deal with the answer I expect? It was a split second decision to leave my team and take this case. The call came in at three in the morning when I was in Kansas City. Two twelve year old girls were dead, another kidnapped. Zero leads for the local police.
Nothing I hadn't heard before. It's been years since evil has been able to take me by surprise. Mostly because I expect to find it everywhere. The expectation leaves me cold and distant, but able to stop at sipping one whiskey instead of drowning in the whole bottle.
Sheridan, FL. That's what caught me.
Just hearing the name flooded me with images I buried the day I left. They ran across my eyes like a film with missing scenes. Just enough to leave wisps of before. Before I spent four years studying criminal justice at Northwestern in some fantasy pursuit of the justice I couldn't find at home. Before I joined the Bureau, still looking, but no longer for myself. Before I saw my third dead body and didn't throw up. Before the first time I took someone's life and wondered if that's what my father felt when he took my mom's.
But if my childhood in Sheridan were only filled with darkness, the words 'I'll go' wouldn't have slipped out of my mouth before I really understood the reasons or the inevitable consequences.
"Because," I start again, "when we were eight we broke Mr. Carlson's window playing with your dad's golf clubs." Callie remembers. She tries to hide it, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth gives her away.
"Because when we were eleven you played Juliet and my mom let me buy you flowers." The small twitch eases into half smile.
"Because when we were fourteen you gave me my first kiss and then let Mark buy you an ice cream sundae." I stop here. Not by choice, but by fear. Saying anything more will unveil too much.
"And what else," Callie whispers.
"Because I've been trying to find somebody to replace you for the last fifteen years and it's the only thing I've ever failed at," I finish.
The gasp that escapes her lips sounds like everyday since the last time I saw her.
"Erica, I--" The door cracks open allowing the noise from the rest of the station to make an abrupt entrance.
"Sweetie, I--" Mark Sloan steps inside, silencing whatever Callie was going to say with the click of the door behind him. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were in a meeting."
I know his lie as if I said it myself. He looks me over, smile too big and plastic around the edges. A poster boy for whatever can be imagined, malleable to fitting in where he can.
"Erica Hahn," he says, "I guess the prodigal really does return."
"Mark." I settle for his name because it is the safest thing I can say.
"What are you doing here?" Callie asks.
"Since when do I need a reason to see my wife?" Mark rushes the question into the room like he's been waiting all day to ask it.
"You're wife?" My voice strains.
"Ten years next month," he grins.
TBC...