Disclaimer: I don't own CSI Miami or the Discworld. CSI belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS, while Discworld, the History Monks and Lu-Tze are all owned by the incomparable Terry Pratchett, possibly the most inspired author publishing today. (I'm a bit of a fan!)
A/N: It seems like most people have submitted a story explaining how and why Speed wouldn't have died in Lost Son and this is in that vein. A slightly different take on it though - this time, someone who knows what is meant to happen stops it, for reasons best known to himself. Frankly, it wouldn't have surprised me if Speed hadn't learnt his lesson from Dispo Day, but I was still heartbroken to see him die. This is my way (a little belated I admit) of fixing that.
It would help to have at least a slight knowledge of the Discworld, at least Small Gods, Thief of Time or Night Watch, as those are the novels that heavily feature Lu-Tze, but hopefully it should be reasonably coherent if you don't know the series at all. If you don't know the series - where have you been? Go read them now!
Let me know what you think.
Lu-Tze stood patiently to one side while the Abbot practised his arithmetic. It was a habitual problem, when one was reincarnated on a regular basis, but each time the Abbot seemed to have problems with the eight times table. It was probably symbolic of something, but Lu-Tze had long ago become suspicious of anyone who set too much stock by symbolism. It might be to do with the occult significance of the number, or it could be because multiplication tables were at best boring to learn, and the Monks of Oi-Dong were not known for their ability to make maths interesting.
"Your Holiness is doing well," Rinpo, Chief Acolyte, encouraged.
"I think that's plenty for today Rinpo – wanna go play football – I still have much to do." The Abbot, all three feet of him, looked as imposing as possible. As he was currently seven years old, this wasn't particularly impressive. "Lu-Tze, I want a word with you."
"Of course, your worshipfulness," Lu-Tze replied, hurrying forward. It didn't do to seem disrespectful. "What is the problem you wish me to solve?"
"We don't want you to do anything!" Rinpo snapped. "You're just going to observe."
"Ah yes, we need to observe someone's death," the Abbot explained. "The young man in question is due to die later this week, and we need someone there to ensure it all goes well."
"You want me to make sure some poor kid dies? Your Abbotship, you know I don't hold with that sort of thing!"
"Well you will this time Sweeper! There'll be none of that Omnian business, or anything like that stunt you pulled with Time himself!" Rinpo was obviously working up to a proper rant, the type that could go on for weeks if left uninterrupted, but the Abbot held up a hand.
"I should like a snack now. Some cookies would be very nice." Once the acolytes had left, the Abbot said sadly, "The death of the young man in question has severe implications on his team mates, but is necessary to teach them all the value of life. Though it takes them sometime to realise that is what is being taught."
"It's still not right."
"Nevertheless……"
Horatio shut the door of the Hummer and waited for Tim Speedle to join him around the other side. "You know, you might want something with doors one day," he remarked lightly as they entered the jewellers shop together.
Both CSIs checked when they saw only one customer – it was the new janitor at the Crime Lab. "Isn't that Lundy, or whatever his name is?" Tim muttered quietly to Horatio, who nodded, before turning his attention back to the shop owner. Lundy watched the exchange with apparent interest, and Tim noted to his surprise, and amusement, that the little man still had his broom with him. Not, he considered, that he'd ever seen the guy without it, whether he was working, or having a cup of tea in the break room. That butter that Lundy liked (yak apparently, and no one had asked where he got it from) had stunk out the fridge for weeks.
A movement in the back room caught his eye, and he stopped watching the janitor and started watching the extremely suspicious activities just out of Horatio's eye-line. Catching a glint of metal that didn't look like jewellery, Tim unholstered his weapon and took the safety catch off. Horatio frowned, peered into the back room and copied his actions.
Then it all seemed to happen at once. The gunmen burst through the door, firing at the CSIs. Tim tried to fire back, only to have his gun jam on him. He paused for a split second and watched in confusion as Lundy, moving faster than the eye could follow, brought his broom around and cracked the leading gunman over the head. The gunman fired again, but Horatio had time to grab Tim's sleeve and yank him to one side, so the bullet meant for his heart only grazed his arm.
Horatio, still firing at the other gunman, left Tim to deal with the first gunman, now in an unconscious heap on the floor. He handcuffed the man quickly, calling in back up as he did so. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the fight stopped and there was a sudden silence.
Horatio looked over at the younger CSI in concern. "Speed, you all right?"
"It's just a scratch," he replied. "Was nearly a whole lot worse." They both turned to Lundy, who was smiling and nodding at them happily. "Lundy, that was incredible." Smile and nod, smile and nod. Tim suddenly wondered if the little man actually spoke any English.
"I don't know how to thank you," Horatio said softly and Lundy stopped smiling.
Looking unexpectedly grave, he picked his way through the broken glass and debris and patted Horatio on the arm. "Lesson One: your life is precious, and you should treasure it now. And don't ever doubt that you should be here – people die when they are meant to, and your time hasn't come yet, and won't for some time. Lesson Two: when you survive such events as these, and worse, remember that we are all here for a reason, and that your purpose on this world has not yet been fulfilled. And Lesson Three: always remember Rule One." He started to walk away, leaving two confused and bewildered CSIs.
"Wait!" Tim called out. "What's Rule One?"
"Do Not Act Incautiously When Confronting Little Bald Wrinkly Smiling Men." With that, Lu-Tze swung his broom over his shoulder and left the shop, walked around the corner and disappeared.
"That was …. different," Horatio said carefully. Back up arrived then and they were left with the task of explaining how and why it had been up to the Crime Lab janitor to save their lives of the two most experienced CSIs in the department.
"SWEEPER!" Rinpo's yells echoed around the peaceful valley of Oi-Dong. "GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW!"
"You called for me?" Lu-Tze asked innocently.
"Timothy Speedle was meant to die!"
"He didn't."
"I'm aware of that!" Rinpo massaged his temples in the manner of one who has given this lecture one too many times and is heartily sick of it. "We are observers in history – we do not change history. How many times must I explain this to you?"
"Apparently once more," the Abbot interrupted. "Go. I will talk to Lu-Tze." He waited until they were alone. "Tell me why you acted as you did."
"He's a nice kid," Lu-Tze shrugged. "Didn't deserve to die like that. And it was going to really screw with poor Horatio. You've seen his history; I thought he'd dealt with enough already." And I liked them both, he added in the privacy of his own mind.
"So you risked messing up the entire space-time continuumumum?!" At seven, the Abbot still had occasional trouble with big words.
"Neither of them deserved to be there that day. Besides, I gave Horatio the lecture on appreciating life, and not feeling guilty. It'll all work out," he said confidently.
The Abbot sighed. "I suppose it will. Do you want a cookie? They're really very good."
Back in Miami, Horatio started having the strangest dream. It only came alone intermittently, but was deeply disturbing. Instead of the janitor saving the day, Horatio found himself watching Speed die from a gunshot wound to the chest. He'd wake up in a cold sweat, and have to forcibly remind himself of the truth of what had happened that day. Each time, he'd end up watching the sun rise and remembering the strange lessons he'd been taught that day. Life was precious.
Tim found himself having similar dreams of his own death, but since neither man ever discussed it, they never knew of the shared nightmare. Tim too would wake up, watch the sunrise and remember that life was there to be lived, and that every second should be appreciated.
If both men seemed a little happier and lighter in their moods, no one mentioned it.
One thing that did garner a little gossip – although not much in the general scheme of things – was the odd nervousness of both Horatio and Tim whenever they came across little, old, bald men, particularly if they were smiling. Lu-Tze, who occasionally stopped by to check up on their progress, smiled broadly. Good old Rule One.