Title: Figures

Author: Nat

Summary: It just Figures...

Disclaimer: Apparently being Jerry Bruckhimer's wife's cousin's son's teacher's Aunt's penpal's dentist's dog walkers's paper boy's mate's long lost half sister, doesn't mean I own them... who would have thought!?

Rating: PG

Pairing: Horatio/Calleigh, as if my muse would allow anything else.

Spoilers: Kill Zone

A/N: only saw "Kill Zone" for the first time a couple of weeks ago, and what I have learn't on the H/C list is that every H/C FF writer has a "Kill Zone" fic, lol, so here's mine! Which of course is a 500 word piece, come on it wouldn't be a Nat fic if it was more then 500 words! Honestly people!

Thanks a Heap to Karen for being my beta on this one! Your a champ!

Cheers!

x-x-x-x-x-x

"What do you get when a 6 ft man lies down with a 3 ft rifle?"

"Hot Flashes, but that's just me..."

It figures you know.

It figures that when Horatio asked me, "What do you get when a 6 ft man lies down with a 3 ft rifle", that I would turn to him and I would flash a smile, one that would be considered flirty and even wicked.

It figures, that I would then sass back some extremely, inappropriate comment. Which, could be deemed as crossing the border beyond profession friendly manner and between professionalism and friendship and into the world of sexual innuendo. The world where you have to, dodge the hot lava pots and be careful, that you don't trip and fall into one of them by accident.

It figures that this comment would come back to bite me in the ass, and I not only tripped, but went head first into a boiling lava pot, and will now need a weeks worth of cold showers to easer the image that is now burned into my mind, deep down right into the dark recesses of my brain.

It figures that one flirty come back, will now forever haunt me when I'm around him, and make my cheeks burn, and my skin turn the colour of his hair. That now every time he walks into my domain, the world where I am queen and everyone asks for my opinion, I will now feel powerless and turn into a trembling pile of over heated chicken!

It figures that after saying those six words, I would see a 6 ft man lying down with a 3 ft rifle and be totally consumed by feelings of heat, lust and desire. The thought of Christopher Harwood lying down with a 3ft rifle doesn't have that effect on me, not in the least, don't get me wrong, I would love to get a hold of his weapon, and I do mean weapon. As In Gun, and fire off a magazine or two. A beautifully assembled power weapon like that deserves that kind of attention. But the man that stirs those feelings of heat, lust and desire does it all without picking up a rifle, the rifle just took my wildest fantasises up another couple of notches.

It figures that Horatio Caine, long time star in my wildest fantasies and conjurer of heat, lust and desire, would lie down with a 3 ft rifle shortly after I uttered that cheeky retort, as if just to punish me, no actually... to taunt me, to tease me and to test everyone fibre of restraint I possess. I can't even remember how many shots I actually fired... The knowledge that Horatio's lean muscled body was lying bunkered down with 3 ft of shooting supremacy, made me twitch uncontrollably. It was just all too much to handle, my body went into over drive.

And if that wasn't enough, he had to go and make that comment about me wearing black.

It figures.

fin