Sade Olutola
DEAR READER
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Andulka
blake kathryn
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art blog(derogatory)
trying on a metaphor
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shark vs the universe
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$LAYYYTER
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@cduquesnearchive
this blog is now an archive. i will continue threads + answer inbox prompts already sent in the new blog. however, the new blog will be even more plot based, and rooted in novella style writing + established dynamics. it will be a more curated, and selective following. for my own peace of mind as it was getting cluttered here, hence the move. i will be following people shortly.
okay miss ma’am
what kind of friend is calleigh?⠀ ⠀ ( the positives )
she's the calm in the storm.⠀ ⠀ cal is the friend who doesn’t flinch when things fall apart.⠀ ⠀ when your world’s on fire, she doesn’t panic.⠀ ⠀ she shows up with steady eyes, a warm hand on your shoulder, and says,⠀ ⠀ “we’re gonna get through this.⠀ ⠀ one step at a time.”
she’s a physical friend, when she trusts you.⠀ ⠀ she shows affection through subtle physical touch, never overwhelming or performative.⠀ ⠀ if you’re close to her, she’ll squeeze your hand without a word, rub your back gently as she passes behind you, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.⠀ ⠀ these gestures are rare and sacred.⠀ ⠀ her own quiet language of intimacy and trust.
she remembers the little things.⠀ ⠀ how you take your coffee.⠀ ⠀ the name of your high school dog.⠀ ⠀ that one date you dread every year.⠀ ⠀ she files it all away and brings it back exactly when you need it most.⠀ ⠀ a card, a call, a soft joke to break the tension.⠀ ⠀ calleigh’s memory is a gift she gives to the people she loves.
she shows up, no matter how late, how far, how inconvenient.⠀ ⠀ she may not text every hour or join every brunch, but when it matters?⠀ ⠀ calleigh will drive through the rain at 2 a.m., hair still up from work, heels in her hand.⠀ ⠀ because you said “i need you.”
she’s protective in quiet, deliberate ways.⠀ ⠀ she’ll check the license plate of your date’s car.⠀ ⠀ she won't drink so she can drive you home.⠀ ⠀ she’ll be your emergency contact.⠀ ⠀ she'll offer for you to stay the night in her guest room when its late.⠀ ⠀ it's not mother henning. ⠀ ⠀ it's intentional protection, rooted in loyalty.
she doesn’t judge, but she will tell the truth.⠀ ⠀ with cal, you always know where you stand.⠀ ⠀ she delivers honesty clearly, kindly, and meant to help you see, not bleed.
she creates space, and never rushes to fill it.⠀ ⠀ you can cry next to her without saying a word.⠀ ⠀ you can fall asleep during a movie and she’ll still be there when you wake up.⠀ ⠀ she knows the value of silence.⠀ ⠀ she doesn’t need to be entertained.⠀ ⠀ she just needs you to be real.
she gives gifts like time capsules.⠀ ⠀ that necklace you picked up when you went shopping together.⠀ ⠀ a framed photograph she took when you weren’t looking.⠀ ⠀ a vintage book with a note in the margin.⠀ ⠀ tickets to a show you said you've always wanted to go to.⠀ ⠀ her gifts are rare, but when they come, they carry history, sentiment, and love.
( the defence mechanisms )
she never asks for help.⠀ ⠀ even when she’s unraveling at the seams, calleigh won’t say it out loud.⠀ ⠀ she shows up for others constantly.⠀ ⠀ but when she’s in pain, she disappears.⠀ ⠀ because vulnerability feels like exposure, and she was taught to carry her grief like it didn't exist at all:⠀ ⠀ hidden, polished, and silent.⠀ ⠀ you could be sitting right next to her and still have no idea she's breaking.
she curates what she shares.⠀ ⠀ calleigh is a warm conversationalist, an effortless host, and the person who makes everyone feel welcome.⠀ ⠀ but she’s also a master at revealing just enough to make you think you know her.⠀ ⠀ few people notice that she keeps the most important parts tucked away behind her smile.⠀ ⠀ she’ll talk about her childhood in anecdotes and charm, but never mention the night her father forgot who she was.
she’s always busy.⠀ ⠀ she doesn’t mean to be hard to reach.⠀ ⠀ she’s just always working.⠀ ⠀ the job, the evidence, the next case.⠀ ⠀ calleigh pours so much of herself into the lab and the people she protects that sometimes friendships fall into second place.
she forgives, but never forgets.⠀ ⠀ if you cross a line, she won’t lash out.⠀ ⠀ she won’t make a scene.⠀ ⠀ but the air shifts.⠀ ⠀ you’ll feel it.⠀ ⠀ there’s a version of her warmth that won’t come back.⠀ ⠀ and though she won’t say it aloud, you’ll never be quite as close again.⠀ ⠀ for calleigh, it’s not punishment.⠀ ⠀ it’s preservation.
she doesn't know how to be messy around others.⠀ ⠀ calleigh is comforting, but she rarely lets others comfort her.⠀ ⠀ even in moments of grief, she disappears into solitude.⠀ ⠀ friends might worry, but she won’t answer the door, won’t pick up the phone.⠀ ⠀ when her world breaks, she rebuilds alone.
she measures love in effort, not emotion.⠀ ⠀ to her, showing up is love. ⠀ ⠀ staying is love.⠀ ⠀ doing is love. ⠀ ⠀ but she’s not always good at saying it.⠀ ⠀ she assumes people know she loves them because she’s still there.⠀ ⠀ and sometimes, that assumption means people don’t hear the words they need to.
❚❘ EVIDENCE LOG. ⠀ ⠀ 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽 📸 𝖿𝗈𝗋 ⠀ ⠀ ─── ⠀ ⠀ ﹝ 𝟿 𝙿𝙷𝙾𝚃𝙾𝚂 ﹞ ⠀ ⠀ 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 ⠀ ˓˓ ⠀ @codesblue ⠀ ˒˒ ⠀ ⠀ · · ─ ⠀ ⠀ calleigh took of your muse.
dr. jo wilson has always been worth remembering.⠀ ⠀ from hospital hallways to birthday mornings, from takeout to quiet smiles with luna and camila curled between them.⠀ ⠀ the moments in these nine frames slipped past ceremony and into something sacred.⠀ ⠀ it's the kind of friendship that's grounded in presence, something solid.⠀ ⠀ calleigh’s camera roll holds years of jo:⠀ ⠀ smiling with her dog, grinning over cake, holding luna.⠀ ⠀ years of laughter, wine, late night phone calls from seattle to miami, and everything in between.⠀ ⠀ that’s how they’ve always worked.⠀ ⠀ side by side, frame by frame, life by life.
endless eric x calleigh gifs (6/?)
❚❘ EVIDENCE LOG. ⠀ ⠀ 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽 📸 𝖿𝗈𝗋 ⠀ ⠀ ─── ⠀ ⠀ ﹝ 𝟿 𝙿𝙷𝙾𝚃𝙾𝚂 ﹞ ⠀ ⠀ 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 ⠀ ˓˓ ⠀ @tenderments ⠀ ˒˒ ⠀ ⠀ · · ─ ⠀ ⠀ calleigh took of your muse.
calleigh doesn't ask olympia to pose.⠀ ⠀ she waits for the in-between moments:⠀ ⠀ a stolen laugh, a fork mid-air, saltwater on sunlit skin.⠀ ⠀ the breath right before a secret is shared.⠀ ⠀ these photos are all love in still frames.⠀ ⠀ moments calleigh wants to keep, because olympia feels like home.⠀ ⠀ she’s worth remembering in every light:⠀ ⠀ windblown, sleepy-eyed, mid-adventure, radiant with joy.⠀ ⠀ there's friendship, trust.⠀ ⠀ and something quieter, something maternal.⠀ ⠀ every photo is a quiet i love you.
Izzie Stevens was tired in that behind-the-eyes, marrow-in-the-bones way, the kind of tired that sleep couldn’t fix and caffeine only dared to mock. A hollowed-out tired. A left-the-body-hours-ago tired. A held-together-by-clipboard-and-willpower kind of tired. Seattle Grace sighed around her. Not silent, no — hospitals don’t do silence, not really — but hushed. Like a beast sleeping under thin skin. Monitors pulsed in lullabies. The pit emptied. Interns: gone or horizontal, limbs thrown over on-call beds like afterthoughts. But Izzie? Still there. Always. She haunted the corridors like regret in white sneakers. Not penance— not anymore. She’d outgrown the idea of punishment the same way she’d outgrown hope: reluctantly, bitterly, with her nails still dug in. Not since Denny. Not since the dress, the bathroom tiles cold against her skin, mascara bleeding into grief. Not since the heart didn’t come.
Now? She just stayed. Because where else was there. Her eyes tracked the clipboard in her hand— reading without reading, walking without walking. Floating. Orbiting herself. Until— Collision. A flash of blonde. A blazer too crisp for these walls. Confidence with Miami sun still stitched into its seams. “ Calleigh? ” A name, startled into the air like a bird flying into glass. Not meant to be spoken. Not meant to be. But there she was. Backlit by fluorescents like something pulled from a fever-dream. A half-memory with badge edges and crime-scene residue. Wrong place, wrong world. And yet— exactly right. Izzie blinked. Once. Twice. The room didn’t change. The feeling didn’t leave. They hadn’t talked much— small nods over vital signs and extra blankets.
Calleigh: George’s cousin. Calleigh: smoke in her lungs, sharpness in her eyes. But there was a pull, quiet but undeniable. Like static between radio stations. Like recognition across timelines. “ You’re still here, ” Izzie said, like it wasn’t obvious. Like it wasn’t always 8:00 p.m. in this place. Like she hadn’t hoped. A smile tugged at her lips but died short of blooming. Because honesty is a dangerous drug. She glanced at the folder in her hands like it mattered. Like it could hold her weight. But her voice cracked a little softer when she added, “ How’s your chest? Breathing still okay? ” Doctor mode. Safety mode. Pretend it’s clinical. Pretend it’s not a lifeline being coiled, slowly, between two women who forgot how to ask for things.
Because Calleigh had seen her. Not the coat. Not the clipboard. Her. Like she was visible. Like she was still someone worth looking at. And God— visibility felt like mercy. A breath. A beat. Then: “ You hungry? ” Words spilled before permission. An offer, awkward and hopeful, tangled up in vending machine jokes and lavender lies. Crap food. Better drinks. A chance. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t anything. It was a moment. A door cracked open by exhaustion and something softer. Izzie hesitated. Let her eyes stay. Let herself be seen. “ I could use some air. ” / @cduquesne liked for a starter ﹥ 「 ♡ 」 !
She should’ve gone home.⠀ ⠀ Her discharge papers were signed at 3:47 p.m. sharp.⠀ ⠀ Below it, words like inhalation injury, mechanical ventilation, oxygenation index.⠀ ⠀ Language designed to remove the soul from suffering.⠀ ⠀ But she hadn’t left.⠀ ⠀ Instead, she'd wandered.⠀ ⠀ Soft steps down corridors bleached sterile with grief, past nurses stations and vending machines that pulsed faintly.⠀ ⠀ No destination.⠀ ⠀ Just movement.⠀ ⠀ Quiet, like a ghost roaming through dimly-lit halls.
The truth was:⠀ ⠀ She didn’t remember much.
Not after she collapsed.⠀ ⠀ Then came darkness.⠀ ⠀ Machines.⠀ ⠀ The rasp of her own breath forced through plastic tubing.⠀ ⠀ Pressure at the ribs.⠀ ⠀ The dissonance of voices from behind glass.⠀ ⠀ Someone sobbing.⠀ ⠀ Maybe a nurse?⠀ ⠀ Maybe herself.⠀ ⠀ All she remembered was the searing heat.⠀ ⠀ The taste of smoke on her tongue.⠀ ⠀ The weight of a corpse in her arms.⠀ ⠀ She’d dragged him through a house that was engulfed in flame.⠀ ⠀ She could still feel it.⠀ ⠀ The knowledge that if she didn’t retrieve the corpse, they’d have no evidence to analyze.⠀ ⠀ No way to identify what killed that man.⠀ ⠀ The dead deserve justice too.⠀ ⠀ It had always been that simple.⠀ ⠀ But the cost?⠀ ⠀ She hadn’t prepared for that.
Not for the ventilator.⠀ ⠀ Not for the excruciating ache in her chest.⠀ ⠀ Not for the way George clutched her hand like he was holding on to the girl who once climbed hay bales barefoot, and dared him to jump in the lake.⠀ ⠀ Not for the interns.⠀ ⠀ Not for the fact that they’d look at her and see a woman, not a solution.⠀ ⠀ A person, not a badge.
Meredith:⠀ ⠀ Brave in the way women are when they’ve been loved wrong too many times and still show up for the world.⠀ ⠀ Cristina:⠀ ⠀ Fire-brilliance sharp enough to cut bone.⠀ ⠀ Alex:⠀ ⠀ Edge and performance, called her “Miami.”⠀ ⠀ Grinned when she didn’t correct him.⠀ ⠀ George:⠀ ⠀ George who’d stayed.⠀ ⠀ Who looked at her like he still saw those Louisiana summers.⠀ ⠀ And Izzie…⠀ ⠀ Calleigh didn’t know where to begin with Izzie.⠀ ⠀ Somewhere between perfectly folded blankets and the sideways grin by her ventilator machine, Calleigh found herself uncoiling in slow, invisible ways.⠀ ⠀ Izzie made the hospital less hollow.⠀ ⠀ With laughter held between gritted teeth.⠀ ⠀ With the kind of sorrow that knew how to smile anyway.
So Calleigh stayed.
She blinked, like waking up inside a dream.⠀ ⠀ Verdant gaze drifted from Izzie’s tired eyes to the clipboard, then back again.⠀ ⠀ “Still here.”⠀ ⠀ She echoed, voice smooth as bourbon.⠀ ⠀ “Guess that makes two of us.”⠀ ⠀ She pressed a hand gently to her chest, just above the line where bruised lungs still tugged beneath the surface.⠀ ⠀ “Breathin’s better.”⠀ ⠀ Quiet honesty shaped like a confession.⠀ ⠀ “Hurts sometimes..⠀ ⠀ Not enough to stop me.”⠀ ⠀ A ghost of a smile.⠀ ⠀ “Yeah,⠀ ⠀ I could eat.⠀ ⠀ Not hospital food, though.⠀ ⠀ Not another gelatin cube pretending to be dessert, dear lord.”⠀ ⠀ She nodded toward the hallway’s end, toward the hour she knew was still coming.⠀ ⠀ “I’ll wait for you, after your shift.⠀ ⠀ I’ll meet you by the doors.⠀ ⠀ We’ll get some air.⠀ ⠀ Real food.”⠀ ⠀ Her voice dropped just a note.⠀ ⠀ “And maybe somethin’ a little stronger, if you're up for it.”
At 11:45 p.m., the light inside Joe's was low.⠀ ⠀ Worn-in.⠀ ⠀ Scattered voices, pool balls clacking, the hum of a jukebox playing something old.⠀ ⠀ They found a booth near the back.⠀ ⠀ Calleigh ordered whiskey, neat, and leaned back like she’d done this a hundred times before.
A tilt of the head.⠀ ⠀ Long blonde locks pooling over one shoulder.⠀ ⠀ That calm, measured drawl that could unravel bullets from brick.⠀ ⠀ “You always stay that late?”⠀ ⠀ Even when there’s no code, no surgery, no real reason to haunt the halls?”⠀ ⠀ A pause.⠀ ⠀ “Or is it sometimes you just… don’t wanna go home?”⠀ ⠀ Green eyes soften.⠀ ⠀ In her question is a recognition.⠀ ⠀ A similarity in the way Izzie and Calleigh wear their grief, hidden just well enough to keep going.⠀ ⠀ The way staying late isn’t about ambition, not really.⠀ ⠀ It’s about survival.⠀ ⠀ She didn’t know all the details.⠀ ⠀ Just fragments, murmured in George’s quiet voice at her bedside.⠀ ⠀ When she was still tangled in oxygen tubing and a haze of memory.⠀ ⠀ A heart that never came.⠀ ⠀ A girl in a prom dress.⠀ ⠀ Mascara on tile.⠀ ⠀ Roseate lips curl upwards.⠀ ⠀ Soft.⠀ ⠀ Understanding.⠀ ⠀ Unspoken.⠀ ⠀ “Now you don’t have to tell me what happened.⠀ ⠀ But if its kept you away this long, it doesn't just disappear ‘cause you walked back through the door.”
Send ‘🌀’ for five headcanons of calleigh + your muse !
@cduquesne, ⠀ ⠀ for personal use. ⠀ ⠀ ─── ⠀ ⠀ ﹝ season one ﹞
❚❘ TIMELINE OF EVENTS. ⠀ ⠀ 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 ⠀ ⠀ ─── ⠀ ⠀ ﹝ 𝙴. 𝙷𝚄𝙽𝚃 ﹞ ⠀ ⠀𝚊𝚌𝚝 ⠀ ˓˓ ⠀ [silence] sender and receiver comfortably exist in silence together, both of them focusing on something different. ⠀ ˒˒ ⠀ ⠀ · · ─ ⠀ ⠀ time of collection:⠀ ⠀ 𝟷𝟹:𝟶𝟼.⠀ ⠀@emhunt,
[𝐈]t’s in his low, rhythmic movements, like the world’s steadiest metronome.⠀ ⠀ Calleigh thinks he doesn’t notice it:⠀ ⠀ How the grass bends beneath his boots.⠀ ⠀ How his shirt clings to the curve of his shoulders when he leans to stack another crate.⠀ ⠀ But she notices.⠀ ⠀ She always has.⠀ ⠀ She’s always seen him.
She lies on her stomach, legs bent, feet bare and browning in the sun.⠀ ⠀ Verdant pasture a striking contrast to the pale blonde hair that spills down her back like a stream.⠀ ⠀ In front of her, a worn-out college-level physics textbook is propped open with a smooth rock she found down by the creek.⠀ ⠀ She’s been underlining formulas in pencil, fingers smudged with lead and peach juice.
A bee drifts past her ear, its humming buzz blending with the creak of the porch steps behind her.⠀ ⠀ Towering emerald trees lean in to whisper.⠀ ⠀ But otherwise… silence.⠀ ⠀ And Ethan.
He’s not far.⠀ ⠀ Maybe fifteen feet away.⠀ ⠀ The muscles in his arms pulling tight with every lift.⠀ ⠀ Chestnut hair a mess from the wind and the sun, but it suits him.⠀ ⠀ Untamed, a little wild, like the way he smiles when he teases her, or how he doesn’t look away when their eyes meet.
She draws a slow breath.⠀ ⠀ Viridiscents skim the page again, returning to a phrase she’s circled twice already:⠀ ⠀ Potential Energy.⠀ ⠀ Something held, waiting to be released.⠀ ⠀ Could the author have meant more than physics?⠀ ⠀ Is love like that too?⠀ ⠀ Waiting for something to set it in motion?
She doesn't know it yet.⠀ ⠀ Neither does he. But they will both become extraordinary.
She’ll spend her life unearthing truth from blood and silence, piecing together meaning in the spaces where others see nothing at all.⠀ ⠀ He'll run at edge of death again and again, because he can’t bear to let the world burn.⠀ ⠀ And somewhere deep within them both, they’ll carry this.⠀ ⠀ This summer, this time.⠀ ⠀ A piece of the other.⠀ ⠀ Tucked into the marrow of who they are.⠀ ⠀ Still full of belief.⠀ ⠀ Still fighting the good fight.⠀ ⠀ Still haunted by the love that almost was.
Her gaze drifts up again, fingers curled lightly around the edge of her book.⠀ ⠀ Hues catching how the sun crowns him in gold.⠀ ⠀ “…You know,”⠀ ⠀ She says finally, drawl soft like cotton and bodied with honey.⠀ ⠀ “I think I might stay awhile..”
okay i know i said i'm gonna stfu about graphics and write (which i will now) but can we take a moment for the header graphic on this blog PLEASE? veteran leia moots will know my muse activity is partly influenced by the graphics i make on a blog and THE WAY calleigh's header right now is scratching the itch in my brain!! it is so unbelievably csi all from the handprint, the crime scene tape, the broken glass, the casings, i could actually keep yelling
complete aes change! leaning fully on the blue to reflect s1 circa late 90s early 2000s csi. carrd + header + icon have been updated. back to writing tomorrow <3
there really is no greater joy than world-building with your friends. since i made this blog, calleigh’s developed a mother-daughter relationship with @tenderments and a close friendship with benny @criminalacts, a teenage romance of yearning turned espionage and more yearning with @emhunt, a relationship that is also a test of her non-existent beliefs in the supernatural with @talbitten, friends from LA @fires0ut have come to miami and she gets to show them around her city, has cross-jurisdiction cases especially in chicago where she often meets her friends @x59686 @squadthree @fireho3s, in smallville where she develops a friendship and professional relationship with journalist @loisl4ne, visits seattle often to see her friend + ob/gyn dr. jo wilson @respondsfirst, sees the hard-work and dedication of the interns especially in dr. izzie steven’s @izstevns eyes, goes to cousins beach every summer with her daughter to see her childhood friends suzannah @respondsfirst and laurel @rustwoods, etc. i am just so genuinely floored with everyone and their dedication to their characters, and the dynamics and friendships that have blossomed from it.
❚❘ CHAIN OF CUSTODY. ⠀ ⠀ 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 ⠀ ⠀ ─── ⠀ ⠀ ﹝ 𝙲. 𝙳𝚄𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚂𝙽𝙴 ﹞ ⠀ ⠀ 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 ⠀ ˓˓ ⠀ @tenderments ⠀ ˒˒ ⠀ ⠀ · · ─ ⠀ ⠀ time of collection:⠀ ⠀ 𝟸𝟸:𝟹𝟿.
[𝐂]alleigh's apartment carried the tranquil scent of lavender, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the balcony.⠀ ⠀ The film ended some time ago, the credits long faded.⠀ ⠀ Leftover hazelnut beignets sat on a plate on the coffee table, next to two bowls of popcorn and untouched candy.⠀ ⠀ Calleigh leaned back against the cushions of the couch.⠀ ⠀ Blonde locks cascading like waves over one shoulder.⠀ ⠀ A sage-green throw lay draped over her legs, her body still fairly warm from the wine, the laughter, the comfortable silence.
Viridescent gaze tilted sideways at Olympia, the gentle curve on roseate lips almost imperceptible in the dim light.⠀ ⠀ In Olympia, she not only found friendship, or solace, but a realization that she was still capable of giving love, and being loved in return, beyond the sterile walls of her lab.⠀ ⠀ That she could be, outside of the job, apart from the sacrifice.
“So, who is the greatest love of Olympia Beckett’s life?”⠀ ⠀ Her voice was soft, melodic, almost playful in its drawl.⠀ ⠀ A question asked not to prod, but an invitation into a space of safety.⠀ ⠀ A home where secrets could be shared freely, without judgment.
Calleigh let the question settle.⠀ ⠀ Expression tender as she waited, patient and open, green eyes sparkling with a steady affection.⠀ ⠀ Motherhood laced in the quiet hum of her heart.
@cduquesne, ⠀ ⠀ for personal use. ⠀ ⠀ ─── ⠀ ⠀ ﹝ season three ﹞
[𝐓]he clasp must've snapped somewhere between the explosion and gunfire, or given out the moment Calleigh hit the concrete, body braced behind cover.⠀ ⠀ She hadn’t noticed until the adrenaline thinned from her blood, leaving behind only the faint shift of metal against her collarbone:⠀ ⠀ Loose and half-undone.⠀ ⠀ A gold magnolia pendant.⠀ ⠀ Dainty, deliberate, a gift from her sister Avaline when she graduated from Tulane.⠀ ⠀ “A piece of home, with you always.”⠀ ⠀ Avaline had said.
She reached for the clasp, fingers brushing the fine chain.⠀ ⠀ The necklace slid easily.⠀ ⠀ The clasp bent slightly out of shape.⠀ ⠀ A soft sigh as she leans her had back against the wall.⠀ ⠀ Blonde locks loose, slightly tousled.⠀ ⠀ Her pulse still thundered in her fingertips.⠀ ⠀ Fast, uneven.⠀ ⠀ Still caught in the breath of what they'd survived.⠀ ⠀ Then a shadow fell beside her.⠀ ⠀ Familiar and unintrusive.⠀ ⠀ Steady in the way she moved.
❚❘ TIMELINE OF EVENTS. ⠀ ⠀ 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 ⠀ ⠀ ─── ⠀ ⠀ ﹝ 𝙹. 𝙹𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚄 ﹞ ⠀ ⠀𝚊𝚌𝚝 ⠀ ˓˓ ⠀ [necklace] sender helps receiver with the clasp of their necklace from behind. ⠀ ˒˒ ⠀ ⠀ · · ─ ⠀ ⠀ time of collection:⠀ ⠀ 𝟸𝟷:𝟶𝟻.⠀ ⠀ @agentjareau,
Calleigh tilted her head slightly, chin down, and let her arms fall.⠀ ⠀ She felt her hair shift as JJ stepped in;⠀ ⠀ Brushing it away from her shoulders, from the nape of her neck.⠀ ⠀ Then warmth, the slightest touch.⠀ ⠀ Fingertips against skin.⠀ ⠀ Measured.⠀ ⠀ Gentle.⠀ ⠀ Calleigh kept her eyes forward, let herself breathe.
A silence stretched between them.⠀ ⠀ Born from shared grief and harder-earned grace.⠀ ⠀ Two women shaped by years of sacrifice, years of choosing to stand back up when everything else crumbled.⠀ ⠀ Eventually, she felt the clasp catch.⠀ ⠀ A minute click of finality.⠀ ⠀ The pendant settled just below the center of her collarbones, right where it was meant to be.⠀ ⠀ Her hand lifted, fingers brushing over the magnolia.⠀ ⠀ “Thank you, JJ.”⠀ ⠀ Tone steady, weighted with what they've just endured.⠀ ⠀ “I appreciate it.”⠀ ⠀ Gaze shifts sideward, her green eyes clear yet tender.⠀ ⠀ “How are you holding up?”
♡ STARTER CALL.
" that was like ... five years ago. " memory like a steel trap except when it came to the period of his career where he made it a point to not get too involved ( fear his fragile heart would kill him long before the job did ). never could he have guessed he'd be taken back there with news of a saved soul becoming a lost one. incident & name both unrecognizable to him, buried beneath the weight of a thousand situations that proceeded it ── that impacted him more. still, the desire to help overwhelmed him & instead of walking away from the conversation like he should've, he brought his seat into the table that divided them. " how'd my name come up in your investigation, ms. @cduquesne ? "
The fire was staged.⠀ ⠀ She knew it the second she stepped through the door, heels brushing over accelerant-slick ash, the air still heavy with char.⠀ ⠀ The victim didn't die from the fire.⠀ ⠀ He’d been placed there, after he was killed.⠀ ⠀ Like a secret meant to be forgotten.⠀ ⠀ But there was still a corpse.⠀ ⠀ Still tissue evidence that refused to be buried.⠀ ⠀ So she followed it, and it led her straight into the storming haze of Chicago.
“Your name came up when I traced the graft.”⠀ ⠀ Calleigh's tone was even, that distinct drawl bodied with forensic steel.⠀ ⠀ “He had healed burns.⠀ ⠀ Older than the scene.⠀ ⠀ The tissue sample matched a dermal matrix procedure conducted five years ago at Gaffney.”⠀ ⠀ A pause.⠀ ⠀ “The hospital kept trauma reports.⠀ ⠀ And the original incident report listed a firefighter on scene, someone who pulled him out before the whole floor collapsed.”
“E. Buckley.”
She leaned in, slightly, from the table separating them.⠀ ⠀ “I know it’s been a while,”⠀ ⠀ Her tone softening just a note.⠀ ⠀ “But you may be the only one who ever saw him alive.⠀ ⠀ And I believe he didn't make it to Miami by accident.”⠀ ⠀ Verdant gaze held his.⠀ ⠀ Warm but unwavering.⠀ ⠀ She didn’t push.⠀ ⠀ Instead, she reached, carefully.⠀ ⠀ “Whatever you remember, even if it’s just a feeling, that matters.⠀ ⠀ It might be all I have left of him.”
