Title: Complications. Note: This story has been in the works and titled
for months, well before TPTB aired their season 2 episode Complications or
any spoilers about it. I am not stealing their title. However, I
absolutely cannot change the title of a story once I start thinking of it
by that name. So here is Complications, my version.
Rating: PG-13.
Series Recap: This is the 15th story in the Fearful Symmetry series. Fearful Symmetry, Can't Fight This Feeling, Gold Medals, Surprises, Honeymoon, Blackout, the Hopes and Fears, Anniversary, Framed, Sight for Sore Eyes, Trials and Tribbulations, Premonition, Do No Harm, the CSI Who Loved Me, and Complications. All archived at fanfiction.net and Lonely Road.
Personal Writing Creed: I will never in my life, under any circumstances, write a story that does not have a happy ending. Hang onto that promise as you travel through this one, because I'm about to put all of the team but especially my two favorites through hell. Sorry, characters, I have no control over the plots. This one just came this way. But the unconditional happy ending guarantee, as always, applies.
A/N: I must warn you about this story in advance. It is completely one- paced, and the pace is a full gallop. From the opening scene until the end, there is no time to catch your breath. Normally, I have angst interspersed with short fluff breaks, back and forth, but on this one, the plot never lets up. It's not a short story, either. So let's just take the "you can't leave it there" comment as assumed. To stop this story anywhere at all before the end would constitute a cliffhanger, so there will be cliffhangers. I can't possibly avoid them. If you'd rather not have them, wait until the whole thing is written down and read it at one gulp. The happy ending is there, but the story does take you on one wild ride on the way. Fasten your emotional seatbelts, keep your hands inside the car, and please remain seated at all times. Off we go.
***
"My nearest and dearest enemy."
William Shakespeare, Henry IV Part I
***
The doctor frowned in medical disapproval and studied the chart. "Your blood pressure is up some. Not to a stage where we'd need to treat it, but definitely running a bit higher than before. That's a common complication in pregnancy, but it can be dangerous if it gets too high."
"I've had this ringing in my ears at times the last few days," said Calleigh. "Not really loud enough to be annoying, just there in the background. Would the blood pressure cause that?"
"Yes." The doctor flipped back to the face sheet on the chart. "You've got five more days. We could induce labor at this point, but I don't really think it's necessary yet. You haven't had any signs of this until today's appointment, so it could just be your body's reaction to the approaching birth. And it isn't dangerously high, like I said. It bears watching, though. I want you to go home and rest. Have you still been working?"
"Yes, but only in the lab now, not going out on scenes. I wanted to keep working as long as I could."
"I believe we've hit that point," Horatio put in firmly.
"We have indeed," said the doctor. "I want you at home, preferably in bed, and doing nothing at all for the time being. And keep track of that ringing in your ears. It's a good thing you're aware of it, really. Not everyone gets that symptom. It will let you monitor it yourself to some extent. If the ringing starts getting louder, or if you develop a headache or dizziness, go to the hospital."
"I will," Calleigh promised. This was too important to get stubborn about. "Is the baby all right?"
"Seems fine to me. It could be any time now. Be ready for it."
"I am, believe me," Calleigh replied in a heartfelt tone. The doctor gave her a sympathetic smile, and Horatio gave her a sympathetic squeeze on the arm.
"I think everything will turn out fine," said the doctor. "You've had a very easy pregnancy so far, and there's no family history of difficult deliveries. But you do need to rest. Stay off your feet and take it easy."
"I will," Calleigh said again. Horatio looked far more worried than the doctor did. She smiled at him reassuringly.
"That's it for today, then. Give me a call when contractions start, or if you start feeling odd or like your blood pressure is getting any higher." The doctor looked at his watch. "I apologize again for being so late." He had been at the hospital performing an emergency cesarean section, and the office patients had been given the option of either waiting or rescheduling. Horatio and Calleigh had waited, but the doctor was three hours late. It was almost 7:00 PM.
"No problem," Horatio assured him. "Just be there for us when it's our turn."
"I will," the doctor replied. "Take it easy, Calleigh, and I hope to be seeing you over at the hospital before too much longer."
They left the obstetrician's office and took the elevator down to the lobby. The medical building was practically deserted, most of the offices having closed at 5:00. "Five more days," Calleigh said longingly. "Maybe she'll take after her father and be early."
Horatio smiled at her, rubbing one hand sympathetically along her back, but his voice was jesting. "Don't hurry yourself, but just remember, Calleigh, you're keeping me waiting."
"Horatio Caine, I'll get you for that remark. Eventually, when I feel like throwing something at you, maybe in six months or so. Believe me, I'm as eager to end this as you are."
They arrived at the lobby, and he led her to a bench by the door. "Why don't you sit here and wait for me? I'll go get the car out of the parking garage and bring it around. No need for you to walk all that way."
Calleigh sank down gratefully on the bench. "Thank you, Horatio. Door-to- door service."
"Only the best for you," he replied gallantly. "Back in a minute." He headed out the glass doors, and Calleigh sat there just doing nothing. That option was more and more attractive these days. She felt like a whale, and she had never realized how much her feet and back could ache. Horatio had been understanding of her desire to keep working, but he had gradually cut down the cases assigned to her, restricted her to the lab, and limited her hours until she was only part-time. It was a compromise that they had mutually agreed to without discussion. It was even harder to overcome inertia the last week or two, though, and for once, Calleigh was looking forward to staying home from work. Resting this week sounded wonderful. Resting and anticipating. She ran one hand across the full moon of her stomach, and Rosalind stirred. Her child. Horatio's child. She couldn't wait to see him hold his daughter.
Thinking of Horatio made her realize abruptly how long he had been gone. She frowned slightly and glanced at her watch. 15 minutes. It shouldn't take him 15 minutes to get the car, should it? Especially with the parking garage practically deserted, like the lobby was deserted. Almost all other patients and most of the office workers had already gone home. He couldn't have run into traffic. She sat there for another 10 minutes, watching the second hand on the lobby clock creep around in increasingly slow motion. 25 minutes. Maybe the car had a flat tire or something. Still, he should have come back to tell her, if that were the case. They were using her vehicle for this appointment, not his Hummer, because it was easier for her to get in and out of at the moment. She looked accusingly at the circle drive in front of the building, but it didn't appear.
Calleigh frowned more than slightly now. She was beginning to have the gnawing feeling that something was badly wrong. She pulled out her cell phone, dialed his, and let it ring 12 times. Before the 10th ring, though, she had pried herself off the bench and was heading out the doors at the fastest waddle she was capable of at the moment. She snapped the useless cell phone shut and urged her aching feet on, rounding the office building to the parking garage adjacent to it.
Her car was still there, one of only a couple remaining on the first level. It seemed perfectly fine, the tires on this side at least inflated. As she passed the concrete support beams and got closer to it, though, she realized that there was a slumped silhouette in the passenger's seat. Calleigh actually pushed herself into a run somehow. He was there but apparently unconscious. She wrenched the door open and bent to check on him, noting with relief that he was still breathing. The relief was the last thing she felt before the sharp sting of a needle against the back of her neck.
***
It was after midnight when the phone rang. Breeze and Speed were wrapped up comfortably together watching a movie, and they looked at each other with the same thought. Forget it. Much too comfortable to get up. Besides, they had both worked all day. They had done their time. They turned back to the TV and were only dimly aware of the answering machine clicking on behind them.
Eric's voice slammed into the cozy atmosphere and shattered it. "Speedle. Pick up. Now." Speed had never, in years of working together, heard that note in his friend's voice. Not just something wrong, but something catastrophic. He instantly scrambled off the couch and picked up the receiver, and there wasn't a trace of either irritation or sarcasm as he answered.
"What's wrong, Eric?"
"Horatio and Calleigh have been in a car accident." Eric hesitated. He sounded choked up but too numb to actually cry.
"How bad?" Speed felt a cold lump strike in his own throat.
"The car flipped off the road and rolled. It caught on fire." Eric stopped again momentarily, and Speed didn't encourage him, this time. As long as it wasn't actually said, he could deny it. "They were killed. Adele just called me from the scene. The original responders ran the license plate to get an ID, and Adele picked it up on the scanner." Speed's scientifically trained mind immediately filled in the rest of that statement, and he hated himself for his knowledge just then. He knew what severely burned bodies looked like. No wonder they had had to use the plate.
"Where?" Eric gave him the address. "What the hell were Horatio and Calleigh doing way out there?"
"Beats me, but we're working this scene ourselves. They deserve that much. If anything was odd about that accident, we'll find it."
"Right. I'm leaving now." Speed hung up the phone and turned back to Breeze. Her shocked expression mirrored his.
"Horatio and Calleigh?" Like him, she wanted to delay actually hearing the word as long as possible.
Speed only nodded, unable to say it. His face told her everything. "I've got to go. We're working the accident scene."
She came across to him, and they hugged each other in shock. "Call me when you can. I'll go on home." They both knew he wouldn't be back to his apartment that night.
"I will." Speed headed out on frozen legs to the one scene he had never imagined processing.
***
The swirling emergency vehicle lights gave the accident scene a surreal appearance. Maybe it's a nightmare, Eric thought. Maybe I'll wake up in a minute. He stood at a slight distance, looking at calamity. The car had gone off the road, rolled, eventually landed against a tree, and burst into flames with such force that the tree was partly scorched as well. The two bodies had been gently, respectfully pried out of the slowly cooling metal after photographs and had been laid on the ground. Alexx was kneeling between them, more in a posture of prayer than examination. Eric forced himself to walk over and not turn away. Speed had taken one look, then spun around, looking sick, and was now up examining the road with a flashlight.
"That fire was almost too intense," Eric said, forcing himself to see them as a case. Horatio would have wanted his people to do their jobs, even if he was one of the victims.
"We'll know more at post, but I agree," Alexx said quietly. "The burning is far too severe. There might have been an accelerant used. I think something was poured over them." She looked from the tall, slim frame to the smaller one. "I'll know more at post," she repeated. She would do them herself, of course. They deserved that. She would just have to be sure to cry first, so she wouldn't destroy evidence by breaking down during the autopsy.
Eric nodded. "They weren't wearing their seatbelts. Neither one. They always wear seatbelts. This whole scene feels wrong."
"And why would they have been out here anyway? He was taking her to the doctor this afternoon. They would have just gone home."
"Something's strange here. We're really going to have to wait for daylight to process this scene thoroughly, though. We'll have to look at that whole path, and the car went a good distance from the road. Too much chance of missing something doing it at night with lights." He looked down at his friends. "We aren't going to miss anything."
"No," Alexx agreed. "We'll get them, Horatio, Calleigh. Whoever did this to the two of you will pay." Her voice caught suddenly. "No. The three of you." For a second, they both teetered on the brink of tears, and they both forced them back. Not right now. They had to be professional right now.
Speed approached and stopped about 15 feet away. He simply couldn't look after that first glimpse. He hated himself for it, but he just couldn't. "We've got to go over this in the daylight, but I can't find any skid marks up on that road. It's like he drove straight off."
A subdued Adele approached. "What do you think?" she said.
"This is a staged accident. We're going to have to wait for daylight to really get started, though."
Adele nodded. "I'll mark this whole area off and leave people on guard, too. We'll preserve every inch of this one, even if it messes up traffic."
The two bodies were being zipped into body bags now by the body haulers. One of them looked back to the waiting van on the road, outside of the immediate scene. "They could have fried on the shoulder. Why do stiffs always have to travel so far from the road?"
Eric abruptly snapped. Even in his charge, he judged the angle, and when he slammed into the speaker, he knocked him onto clear ground, not disturbing either body. They landed with Eric on top, and he slammed his fist into the man's face. "They were people! Not stiffs! Call them people, damn it."
Speed, Alexx, and Adele all closed on him gently, pulling him away. The man ran one hand across his nose, which was bleeding, and stared at Eric. "Sorry, man. I didn't mean anything."
Alexx spoke sharply. "Speed, get a swab from him to rule him out. He's bleeding in our crime scene." Speed snapped open a swab and ran it through the blood trail on the man's face, collecting the sample none too gently. Eric stood quietly now, still held by Alexx and Adele, but his eyes were blazing.
"Call them people," he repeated dangerously.
"Okay," the hauler replied, becoming more and more convinced that everyone at this scene was nuts. "They were people. I apologize for calling them stiffs."
"Take the bodies on up," Alexx commanded. "And you'd better be damn careful with them." None of the team had ever heard Alexx swear, but none of the team registered that fact at the moment. All of them, even Adele, were glaring at the haulers.
"Sure," the one with the bloody nose said. "We'll be careful." He would, too. These people really were crazy. He didn't want to join the casualty list by tripping on the way and offending them.
The knot of friends stood by the burned out car watching the bodies carried to the van. Finally, Adele turned away. "I'll set up a guard for tonight. We'll have to work this scene in daylight."
"I'll stay on guard," Eric said. Speed also volunteered, and the group began to disperse. Alexx slowly climbed into her vehicle. She had to do some grieving before approaching those autopsies. Slowly, she drove away, not toward CSI but toward a totally deserted stretch of beach she knew where she could break down in private.
The vehicles began to leave, but two patrol officers stayed on guard, as well as Eric and Speed. Without saying a word, the two CSIs understood that they wanted to be alone, and they took up opposite positions, just outside of the crime scene tape. Eric sat there with his arms hugging his knees, fiercely watching the burned out car. No one was going to interfere with the evidence here tonight. Whoever had staged this accident would go down for it, and every single piece of evidence that would assist in that would be preserved. Eric vowed to the stars that he would bring justice to his friends. Just like Horatio had brought justice to so many victims. Tears welled up and flowed in rivers down his face, but Eric kept his eyes open, on guard.
Speed sat a few hundred feet away. His mind was filled, not with this coming investigation, but with memories. Horatio and Calleigh. Friends, colleagues. They had taught him so much. After the death of his best friend, he had been numb for so many years, but they had taught him to open up to friendship again. He almost resented them now, for drawing him out enough to be hurt, and then he resented himself for resenting them. He wondered again, like he had after his friend's death so many years ago, if caring about anything was really worth it. Just as he was debating that, the image of Horatio filled his mind. Horatio had been a mentor in so many ways, but the strongest lesson learned in years of watching his boss was that people were worth caring about, that life was worth caring about, in spite of the pain it caused. Horatio had been through so much more than Speed had, yet he had never stopped caring. And now he was gone. They were both gone. Speed buried his face in his knees and sobbed.
***
Calleigh opened her eyes slowly, her slightly foggy mind trying to orient itself. She was lying on a double bed in a room she had never seen before. Not a bedroom. The walls, the ceiling, and the lights were all industrial. She reached for the baby protectively, checking on her, and realized suddenly that her hands were handcuffed in front of her. She probed her abdomen, but there was no pain. Rosalind shifted and kicked back at the pressure, and Calleigh gave a sigh of relief. Her daughter was okay. She could deal with whatever else she had to. She ran her hands over the rest of her body, but she seemed fine. No pain, just this fog slowly dissipating in her brain. She vaguely remembered the prick of a needle as she had stooped to check on . . .
"Horatio!" She sat straight up, looking around frantically, and spotted him instantly. He was dumped in the corner of the room like a sack of mail. Their captor had not been as gentle with him as with her. Calleigh lurched off the bed and over to him, grabbing one of his hands, checking the pulse. It was steady but slightly fast. His hands were handcuffed, too. She reached out to stroke his cheek and noticed the slight abrasion on his face. Her CSI training kicked in on some distant level. That abrasion wasn't the type of injury that was caused by a person, at least not directly. He had been in some sort of accident.
She rolled him onto his back on the floor and started checking him over thoroughly, working from the head down. No swelling anywhere on his head, and the old surgical site on the right felt perfectly stable. The abrasion was minor. He must have been knocked out by drugs, as she had, not by whatever had happened to him since. Of course, he had been drugged before she had, but their abductor had probably given him a stronger dose, allowing for size. That might explain why she had woken up first. She worked her hands further down, noticing the odd shirt he had on, then noticing that she was wearing the same kind. These weren't their shirts. The sleeves had been split completely and a full-length row of buttons sewn in the arms, making it possible to take them off in spite of the handcuffs. She undid all the buttons on his now and ran her hands over his torso. She felt along all of his ribs very carefully, because his breathing didn't seem quite right to her. Even and unlabored, but it, like his pulse, was a bit faster than usual. She couldn't feel anything, though. Maybe it was just due to the drug. He did have a few bruises here and there, a scrape at the left elbow. What had happened to him, and why hadn't it happened to her, too? Nothing seemed serious, though, until she reached the left leg. There, the dark material had a jagged tear in it and was glued to the leg with a darker, sticky substance, and the lower leg angled ominously. She worked the pants leg loose, pushed it up slowly to the mid point, and gasped.
There was a deep, gaping gash about halfway between his knee and ankle. It ran almost halfway around his calf, and it was still oozing blood. She could see the layers within the wound, like an anatomical illustration in a textbook: Skin, subcutaneous tissue, muscle, and finally, bone. She could actually see the jagged, uneven edges of bone in the base of it, as well as bits of dirt, grass, and debris. She ran her hands over the leg, feeling the abnormality, and he stirred faintly. She instantly let go and sat back. "Horatio?"
He didn't move again. Still unconscious, and she was suddenly glad of it. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her mind leaped down memory tracks of conversations with Alexx and her own knowledge. That was an open fracture of the tibia. Again, it wasn't the type he would get from being hit by someone. The mechanics required for that break were crazy, almost impossible to plan for. What on earth had happened to him? First aid, she thought. Stop the bleeding, bandage it, and splint it. At least it wasn't bleeding too badly, so blood loss probably wasn't an issue. No arteries had been damaged. Even with treatment, though, she knew that open fractures were notorious for complications. And how much treatment was possible while they were being held hostage?
She gave Horatio a comforting pat on the shoulder and scrambled clumsily to her feet, surveying their prison in detail, looking for anything she could use. The room was small, but it obviously had been prepared for them carefully. In one corner, there was a stack of clothes. She went over to sift through them. Several sets, in the appropriate sizes, with all of the sleeves in the shirts split and replaced with rows of buttons. In another corner, there was a stockpile of cans. Soup, fruit, several vegetables. There were even a few boxes of teabags for hot tea. An electric can opener was beside them, as was a microwave. Two bowls, two plastic spoons, and two cups were on the microwave, and next to that on the floor were ten cases of bottled water. Her heart suddenly tightened up even more. Ten cases. How long were they going to be kept prisoner here?
She checked the door, which was indeed locked, and walked past Horatio, who had been dumped in the third corner. At the fourth corner of the room was another door, and that one stood slightly open. It was a bathroom, including an industrial-sized sink with a spray attachment. On the floor in the bathroom were towels, soap, shampoo, shaving cream, a safety razor, toothpaste, and a toothbrush. There was also a box of trash bags. What a considerate captor, she thought disgustedly. At the moment, she was more concerned with what wasn't there. There was nothing long enough or firm enough to use for a splint. The spoons were the closest, and they were far too short and flimsy to really be effective. Nothing for a weapon, either, but she wasn't thinking that far ahead yet.
She picked up a few towels, then went back to the larger room and dug through the pile of clothes again, finding two pairs of socks. She then opened a case of water, removing one bottle, and returned to Horatio. Gently, she worked the bloodstained pants off him after removing his shoes. They were still his pants, as she had hers. Only the shirts had been changed. She hesitated, looking at the wound again, feeling totally out of her depth. Nothing she had here was sterile, but it was obviously already badly contaminated anyway. She would do what she could. She slipped one folded towel under his leg, then opened the water and slowly, precisely, poured it through the wound, trying to flush out the debris. She couldn't get it all, but it did look a good bit cleaner when she finished. The wound was still bleeding slightly. She removed the soaked towel and grabbed another one, folding it into a tight square and applying pressure to the gash. Horatio shifted faintly, trying to pull away from her as the pain momentarily overpowered the drug. "I'm sorry, love," she soothed, with tears filling her own eyes. "Easy. It'll be okay." Incredibly, her words apparently reached him on some level, because he stopped moving and just lay motionless again. She held the pressure for ten minutes by her watch, which she was still wearing, then removed the pad to check. The bleeding had stopped. She didn't even try to pull the leg back into alignment. Setting that break would require traction and a lot more strength than she had. She picked up a third towel and wrapped his leg for the whole length of the calf, hoping that it would provide at least some support, like an oversized Ace bandage. Finally, she tied a pair of socks around it at the top and bottom to hold it in place.
Calleigh slowly pulled herself to her feet, taking the bloodstained pants and towels and putting them in a trash bag in a corner of the bathroom. She washed her hands thoroughly, then went back out, fetched another pair of pants for him from the pile, and slipped those on with some difficulty over her makeshift dressing. He shifted again, whimpering slightly as she moved the leg, although she handled it as little as she could. She finished, rebuttoned his shirt, and then tried to drag him by his shoulders over to the bed. She managed it, barely, but a warning stab of pain across her abdomen stopped her from trying to lift him, and her blood pressure was singing in her ears again, louder than before. She would simply have to wait until he was awake to help her. She settled with difficulty on the floor with her back against the bed and managed to prop his head on the very edge of her already full lap. Stroking his hair sympathetically, she sat there waiting and thinking.
Obviously, whoever had them wanted them alive. There was a weird sort of consideration in it, all the preparations for the room, the care with which she had been placed on the bed, the time it had taken to sew all of those buttons on the shirts. He cared more about her than Horatio, but he wanted both of them. For what? Ransom? Revenge? Whoever he was, he had them securely in his clutches. She wasn't capable of much resistance in her current condition, and Horatio was hurt. She grasped at the thin straw of hope. There were supplies here for several days, even for a couple of weeks. The team would be looking for them. The longer they were held in one place, the closer the team would be to finding them. Hurry up, she prayed fervently. We need you. I don't think we can get out of this one on our own.
Horatio turned his head slightly, and his features set into a grimace of pain as his body shifted. "Horatio," Calleigh said softly. "Wake up." But she didn't really want him to, for his sake.
The eyes opened, full of bewildered pain. "Calleigh," he said. "You okay?"
"Fine. I'm fine. So is Rosalind."
He started to sit up and nearly fell back over. "My leg . . ." he started, looking down toward it.
"It's broken. I think you were in some kind of accident." She wrapped her arms around him as far as she could in her handcuffed state, trying to take some of it for him.
"An accident." He leaned his head against her, closing his eyes. "Don't remember an accident."
"Neither do I. Someone was waiting for us in the parking garage, after we left the doctor's. He picked us off one at a time and drugged us. The accident must have come after."
His eyes snapped open suddenly. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine. I don't think I was in it. Horatio, does it hurt anywhere else besides the leg?"
He had to think about it for a minute. It was hard to feel past the leg to notice anything else. "I don't think so," he said finally.
"There's nothing to splint it with. I looked around." She squeezed him protectively. "I'm sorry."
He straightened up a bit, looking around himself. "Where are we?"
"Locked in some kind of room. There's a bathroom here, and supplies for several days. And clothes, even. Whoever this is, he wants us in decent shape." She looked at the handcuffs on both of them, at his leg. "Incapacitated and not a threat, but he does want us in decent shape, besides that."
His mind started analyzing it automatically, and he followed the train of thought, trying to distract himself. "Too much effort to be simple revenge. It's risky to keep us hostage for any length of time, too. If he just wanted revenge, he'd kill us right away. Wonder what he wants. This isn't a bedroom. The construction is wrong. Probably an abandoned warehouse somewhere."
"That'd be my guess." She hugged him with her hands. "Horatio, what are we going to do?"
"Wait for the team. They'll find us. And watch for a chance in the meantime."
"How much of a chance do you think we'd have?" She felt like a lumbering hippopotamus herself, and he wouldn't be able to walk. How could they possibly overpower someone?
"Doesn't look like much at the moment," he admitted. "Things can change, though." He shifted and bit his lip as the leg protested the movement.
"Horatio, do you think you could get up on the bed? You'd be more comfortable there. I couldn't get you onto it. I tried."
"Shouldn't have tried," he insisted. "If we do get a chance, let me be the one to take it. You've got to think of Rosalind." He tried to pick himself up, grasping the edge of the bed for leverage, but he had only started to make it when the lock suddenly rattled. He dropped back down, sweating, and Calleigh shifted a bit protectively, trying to shield him, as the door slowly swung open.
Their captor stepped in carefully, holding a gun in front of him, ready for action. He smiled almost courteously at them. "I did warn you, Horatio, that you should have let me die."
It was Stewart Otis.
Rating: PG-13.
Series Recap: This is the 15th story in the Fearful Symmetry series. Fearful Symmetry, Can't Fight This Feeling, Gold Medals, Surprises, Honeymoon, Blackout, the Hopes and Fears, Anniversary, Framed, Sight for Sore Eyes, Trials and Tribbulations, Premonition, Do No Harm, the CSI Who Loved Me, and Complications. All archived at fanfiction.net and Lonely Road.
Personal Writing Creed: I will never in my life, under any circumstances, write a story that does not have a happy ending. Hang onto that promise as you travel through this one, because I'm about to put all of the team but especially my two favorites through hell. Sorry, characters, I have no control over the plots. This one just came this way. But the unconditional happy ending guarantee, as always, applies.
A/N: I must warn you about this story in advance. It is completely one- paced, and the pace is a full gallop. From the opening scene until the end, there is no time to catch your breath. Normally, I have angst interspersed with short fluff breaks, back and forth, but on this one, the plot never lets up. It's not a short story, either. So let's just take the "you can't leave it there" comment as assumed. To stop this story anywhere at all before the end would constitute a cliffhanger, so there will be cliffhangers. I can't possibly avoid them. If you'd rather not have them, wait until the whole thing is written down and read it at one gulp. The happy ending is there, but the story does take you on one wild ride on the way. Fasten your emotional seatbelts, keep your hands inside the car, and please remain seated at all times. Off we go.
***
"My nearest and dearest enemy."
William Shakespeare, Henry IV Part I
***
The doctor frowned in medical disapproval and studied the chart. "Your blood pressure is up some. Not to a stage where we'd need to treat it, but definitely running a bit higher than before. That's a common complication in pregnancy, but it can be dangerous if it gets too high."
"I've had this ringing in my ears at times the last few days," said Calleigh. "Not really loud enough to be annoying, just there in the background. Would the blood pressure cause that?"
"Yes." The doctor flipped back to the face sheet on the chart. "You've got five more days. We could induce labor at this point, but I don't really think it's necessary yet. You haven't had any signs of this until today's appointment, so it could just be your body's reaction to the approaching birth. And it isn't dangerously high, like I said. It bears watching, though. I want you to go home and rest. Have you still been working?"
"Yes, but only in the lab now, not going out on scenes. I wanted to keep working as long as I could."
"I believe we've hit that point," Horatio put in firmly.
"We have indeed," said the doctor. "I want you at home, preferably in bed, and doing nothing at all for the time being. And keep track of that ringing in your ears. It's a good thing you're aware of it, really. Not everyone gets that symptom. It will let you monitor it yourself to some extent. If the ringing starts getting louder, or if you develop a headache or dizziness, go to the hospital."
"I will," Calleigh promised. This was too important to get stubborn about. "Is the baby all right?"
"Seems fine to me. It could be any time now. Be ready for it."
"I am, believe me," Calleigh replied in a heartfelt tone. The doctor gave her a sympathetic smile, and Horatio gave her a sympathetic squeeze on the arm.
"I think everything will turn out fine," said the doctor. "You've had a very easy pregnancy so far, and there's no family history of difficult deliveries. But you do need to rest. Stay off your feet and take it easy."
"I will," Calleigh said again. Horatio looked far more worried than the doctor did. She smiled at him reassuringly.
"That's it for today, then. Give me a call when contractions start, or if you start feeling odd or like your blood pressure is getting any higher." The doctor looked at his watch. "I apologize again for being so late." He had been at the hospital performing an emergency cesarean section, and the office patients had been given the option of either waiting or rescheduling. Horatio and Calleigh had waited, but the doctor was three hours late. It was almost 7:00 PM.
"No problem," Horatio assured him. "Just be there for us when it's our turn."
"I will," the doctor replied. "Take it easy, Calleigh, and I hope to be seeing you over at the hospital before too much longer."
They left the obstetrician's office and took the elevator down to the lobby. The medical building was practically deserted, most of the offices having closed at 5:00. "Five more days," Calleigh said longingly. "Maybe she'll take after her father and be early."
Horatio smiled at her, rubbing one hand sympathetically along her back, but his voice was jesting. "Don't hurry yourself, but just remember, Calleigh, you're keeping me waiting."
"Horatio Caine, I'll get you for that remark. Eventually, when I feel like throwing something at you, maybe in six months or so. Believe me, I'm as eager to end this as you are."
They arrived at the lobby, and he led her to a bench by the door. "Why don't you sit here and wait for me? I'll go get the car out of the parking garage and bring it around. No need for you to walk all that way."
Calleigh sank down gratefully on the bench. "Thank you, Horatio. Door-to- door service."
"Only the best for you," he replied gallantly. "Back in a minute." He headed out the glass doors, and Calleigh sat there just doing nothing. That option was more and more attractive these days. She felt like a whale, and she had never realized how much her feet and back could ache. Horatio had been understanding of her desire to keep working, but he had gradually cut down the cases assigned to her, restricted her to the lab, and limited her hours until she was only part-time. It was a compromise that they had mutually agreed to without discussion. It was even harder to overcome inertia the last week or two, though, and for once, Calleigh was looking forward to staying home from work. Resting this week sounded wonderful. Resting and anticipating. She ran one hand across the full moon of her stomach, and Rosalind stirred. Her child. Horatio's child. She couldn't wait to see him hold his daughter.
Thinking of Horatio made her realize abruptly how long he had been gone. She frowned slightly and glanced at her watch. 15 minutes. It shouldn't take him 15 minutes to get the car, should it? Especially with the parking garage practically deserted, like the lobby was deserted. Almost all other patients and most of the office workers had already gone home. He couldn't have run into traffic. She sat there for another 10 minutes, watching the second hand on the lobby clock creep around in increasingly slow motion. 25 minutes. Maybe the car had a flat tire or something. Still, he should have come back to tell her, if that were the case. They were using her vehicle for this appointment, not his Hummer, because it was easier for her to get in and out of at the moment. She looked accusingly at the circle drive in front of the building, but it didn't appear.
Calleigh frowned more than slightly now. She was beginning to have the gnawing feeling that something was badly wrong. She pulled out her cell phone, dialed his, and let it ring 12 times. Before the 10th ring, though, she had pried herself off the bench and was heading out the doors at the fastest waddle she was capable of at the moment. She snapped the useless cell phone shut and urged her aching feet on, rounding the office building to the parking garage adjacent to it.
Her car was still there, one of only a couple remaining on the first level. It seemed perfectly fine, the tires on this side at least inflated. As she passed the concrete support beams and got closer to it, though, she realized that there was a slumped silhouette in the passenger's seat. Calleigh actually pushed herself into a run somehow. He was there but apparently unconscious. She wrenched the door open and bent to check on him, noting with relief that he was still breathing. The relief was the last thing she felt before the sharp sting of a needle against the back of her neck.
***
It was after midnight when the phone rang. Breeze and Speed were wrapped up comfortably together watching a movie, and they looked at each other with the same thought. Forget it. Much too comfortable to get up. Besides, they had both worked all day. They had done their time. They turned back to the TV and were only dimly aware of the answering machine clicking on behind them.
Eric's voice slammed into the cozy atmosphere and shattered it. "Speedle. Pick up. Now." Speed had never, in years of working together, heard that note in his friend's voice. Not just something wrong, but something catastrophic. He instantly scrambled off the couch and picked up the receiver, and there wasn't a trace of either irritation or sarcasm as he answered.
"What's wrong, Eric?"
"Horatio and Calleigh have been in a car accident." Eric hesitated. He sounded choked up but too numb to actually cry.
"How bad?" Speed felt a cold lump strike in his own throat.
"The car flipped off the road and rolled. It caught on fire." Eric stopped again momentarily, and Speed didn't encourage him, this time. As long as it wasn't actually said, he could deny it. "They were killed. Adele just called me from the scene. The original responders ran the license plate to get an ID, and Adele picked it up on the scanner." Speed's scientifically trained mind immediately filled in the rest of that statement, and he hated himself for his knowledge just then. He knew what severely burned bodies looked like. No wonder they had had to use the plate.
"Where?" Eric gave him the address. "What the hell were Horatio and Calleigh doing way out there?"
"Beats me, but we're working this scene ourselves. They deserve that much. If anything was odd about that accident, we'll find it."
"Right. I'm leaving now." Speed hung up the phone and turned back to Breeze. Her shocked expression mirrored his.
"Horatio and Calleigh?" Like him, she wanted to delay actually hearing the word as long as possible.
Speed only nodded, unable to say it. His face told her everything. "I've got to go. We're working the accident scene."
She came across to him, and they hugged each other in shock. "Call me when you can. I'll go on home." They both knew he wouldn't be back to his apartment that night.
"I will." Speed headed out on frozen legs to the one scene he had never imagined processing.
***
The swirling emergency vehicle lights gave the accident scene a surreal appearance. Maybe it's a nightmare, Eric thought. Maybe I'll wake up in a minute. He stood at a slight distance, looking at calamity. The car had gone off the road, rolled, eventually landed against a tree, and burst into flames with such force that the tree was partly scorched as well. The two bodies had been gently, respectfully pried out of the slowly cooling metal after photographs and had been laid on the ground. Alexx was kneeling between them, more in a posture of prayer than examination. Eric forced himself to walk over and not turn away. Speed had taken one look, then spun around, looking sick, and was now up examining the road with a flashlight.
"That fire was almost too intense," Eric said, forcing himself to see them as a case. Horatio would have wanted his people to do their jobs, even if he was one of the victims.
"We'll know more at post, but I agree," Alexx said quietly. "The burning is far too severe. There might have been an accelerant used. I think something was poured over them." She looked from the tall, slim frame to the smaller one. "I'll know more at post," she repeated. She would do them herself, of course. They deserved that. She would just have to be sure to cry first, so she wouldn't destroy evidence by breaking down during the autopsy.
Eric nodded. "They weren't wearing their seatbelts. Neither one. They always wear seatbelts. This whole scene feels wrong."
"And why would they have been out here anyway? He was taking her to the doctor this afternoon. They would have just gone home."
"Something's strange here. We're really going to have to wait for daylight to process this scene thoroughly, though. We'll have to look at that whole path, and the car went a good distance from the road. Too much chance of missing something doing it at night with lights." He looked down at his friends. "We aren't going to miss anything."
"No," Alexx agreed. "We'll get them, Horatio, Calleigh. Whoever did this to the two of you will pay." Her voice caught suddenly. "No. The three of you." For a second, they both teetered on the brink of tears, and they both forced them back. Not right now. They had to be professional right now.
Speed approached and stopped about 15 feet away. He simply couldn't look after that first glimpse. He hated himself for it, but he just couldn't. "We've got to go over this in the daylight, but I can't find any skid marks up on that road. It's like he drove straight off."
A subdued Adele approached. "What do you think?" she said.
"This is a staged accident. We're going to have to wait for daylight to really get started, though."
Adele nodded. "I'll mark this whole area off and leave people on guard, too. We'll preserve every inch of this one, even if it messes up traffic."
The two bodies were being zipped into body bags now by the body haulers. One of them looked back to the waiting van on the road, outside of the immediate scene. "They could have fried on the shoulder. Why do stiffs always have to travel so far from the road?"
Eric abruptly snapped. Even in his charge, he judged the angle, and when he slammed into the speaker, he knocked him onto clear ground, not disturbing either body. They landed with Eric on top, and he slammed his fist into the man's face. "They were people! Not stiffs! Call them people, damn it."
Speed, Alexx, and Adele all closed on him gently, pulling him away. The man ran one hand across his nose, which was bleeding, and stared at Eric. "Sorry, man. I didn't mean anything."
Alexx spoke sharply. "Speed, get a swab from him to rule him out. He's bleeding in our crime scene." Speed snapped open a swab and ran it through the blood trail on the man's face, collecting the sample none too gently. Eric stood quietly now, still held by Alexx and Adele, but his eyes were blazing.
"Call them people," he repeated dangerously.
"Okay," the hauler replied, becoming more and more convinced that everyone at this scene was nuts. "They were people. I apologize for calling them stiffs."
"Take the bodies on up," Alexx commanded. "And you'd better be damn careful with them." None of the team had ever heard Alexx swear, but none of the team registered that fact at the moment. All of them, even Adele, were glaring at the haulers.
"Sure," the one with the bloody nose said. "We'll be careful." He would, too. These people really were crazy. He didn't want to join the casualty list by tripping on the way and offending them.
The knot of friends stood by the burned out car watching the bodies carried to the van. Finally, Adele turned away. "I'll set up a guard for tonight. We'll have to work this scene in daylight."
"I'll stay on guard," Eric said. Speed also volunteered, and the group began to disperse. Alexx slowly climbed into her vehicle. She had to do some grieving before approaching those autopsies. Slowly, she drove away, not toward CSI but toward a totally deserted stretch of beach she knew where she could break down in private.
The vehicles began to leave, but two patrol officers stayed on guard, as well as Eric and Speed. Without saying a word, the two CSIs understood that they wanted to be alone, and they took up opposite positions, just outside of the crime scene tape. Eric sat there with his arms hugging his knees, fiercely watching the burned out car. No one was going to interfere with the evidence here tonight. Whoever had staged this accident would go down for it, and every single piece of evidence that would assist in that would be preserved. Eric vowed to the stars that he would bring justice to his friends. Just like Horatio had brought justice to so many victims. Tears welled up and flowed in rivers down his face, but Eric kept his eyes open, on guard.
Speed sat a few hundred feet away. His mind was filled, not with this coming investigation, but with memories. Horatio and Calleigh. Friends, colleagues. They had taught him so much. After the death of his best friend, he had been numb for so many years, but they had taught him to open up to friendship again. He almost resented them now, for drawing him out enough to be hurt, and then he resented himself for resenting them. He wondered again, like he had after his friend's death so many years ago, if caring about anything was really worth it. Just as he was debating that, the image of Horatio filled his mind. Horatio had been a mentor in so many ways, but the strongest lesson learned in years of watching his boss was that people were worth caring about, that life was worth caring about, in spite of the pain it caused. Horatio had been through so much more than Speed had, yet he had never stopped caring. And now he was gone. They were both gone. Speed buried his face in his knees and sobbed.
***
Calleigh opened her eyes slowly, her slightly foggy mind trying to orient itself. She was lying on a double bed in a room she had never seen before. Not a bedroom. The walls, the ceiling, and the lights were all industrial. She reached for the baby protectively, checking on her, and realized suddenly that her hands were handcuffed in front of her. She probed her abdomen, but there was no pain. Rosalind shifted and kicked back at the pressure, and Calleigh gave a sigh of relief. Her daughter was okay. She could deal with whatever else she had to. She ran her hands over the rest of her body, but she seemed fine. No pain, just this fog slowly dissipating in her brain. She vaguely remembered the prick of a needle as she had stooped to check on . . .
"Horatio!" She sat straight up, looking around frantically, and spotted him instantly. He was dumped in the corner of the room like a sack of mail. Their captor had not been as gentle with him as with her. Calleigh lurched off the bed and over to him, grabbing one of his hands, checking the pulse. It was steady but slightly fast. His hands were handcuffed, too. She reached out to stroke his cheek and noticed the slight abrasion on his face. Her CSI training kicked in on some distant level. That abrasion wasn't the type of injury that was caused by a person, at least not directly. He had been in some sort of accident.
She rolled him onto his back on the floor and started checking him over thoroughly, working from the head down. No swelling anywhere on his head, and the old surgical site on the right felt perfectly stable. The abrasion was minor. He must have been knocked out by drugs, as she had, not by whatever had happened to him since. Of course, he had been drugged before she had, but their abductor had probably given him a stronger dose, allowing for size. That might explain why she had woken up first. She worked her hands further down, noticing the odd shirt he had on, then noticing that she was wearing the same kind. These weren't their shirts. The sleeves had been split completely and a full-length row of buttons sewn in the arms, making it possible to take them off in spite of the handcuffs. She undid all the buttons on his now and ran her hands over his torso. She felt along all of his ribs very carefully, because his breathing didn't seem quite right to her. Even and unlabored, but it, like his pulse, was a bit faster than usual. She couldn't feel anything, though. Maybe it was just due to the drug. He did have a few bruises here and there, a scrape at the left elbow. What had happened to him, and why hadn't it happened to her, too? Nothing seemed serious, though, until she reached the left leg. There, the dark material had a jagged tear in it and was glued to the leg with a darker, sticky substance, and the lower leg angled ominously. She worked the pants leg loose, pushed it up slowly to the mid point, and gasped.
There was a deep, gaping gash about halfway between his knee and ankle. It ran almost halfway around his calf, and it was still oozing blood. She could see the layers within the wound, like an anatomical illustration in a textbook: Skin, subcutaneous tissue, muscle, and finally, bone. She could actually see the jagged, uneven edges of bone in the base of it, as well as bits of dirt, grass, and debris. She ran her hands over the leg, feeling the abnormality, and he stirred faintly. She instantly let go and sat back. "Horatio?"
He didn't move again. Still unconscious, and she was suddenly glad of it. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her mind leaped down memory tracks of conversations with Alexx and her own knowledge. That was an open fracture of the tibia. Again, it wasn't the type he would get from being hit by someone. The mechanics required for that break were crazy, almost impossible to plan for. What on earth had happened to him? First aid, she thought. Stop the bleeding, bandage it, and splint it. At least it wasn't bleeding too badly, so blood loss probably wasn't an issue. No arteries had been damaged. Even with treatment, though, she knew that open fractures were notorious for complications. And how much treatment was possible while they were being held hostage?
She gave Horatio a comforting pat on the shoulder and scrambled clumsily to her feet, surveying their prison in detail, looking for anything she could use. The room was small, but it obviously had been prepared for them carefully. In one corner, there was a stack of clothes. She went over to sift through them. Several sets, in the appropriate sizes, with all of the sleeves in the shirts split and replaced with rows of buttons. In another corner, there was a stockpile of cans. Soup, fruit, several vegetables. There were even a few boxes of teabags for hot tea. An electric can opener was beside them, as was a microwave. Two bowls, two plastic spoons, and two cups were on the microwave, and next to that on the floor were ten cases of bottled water. Her heart suddenly tightened up even more. Ten cases. How long were they going to be kept prisoner here?
She checked the door, which was indeed locked, and walked past Horatio, who had been dumped in the third corner. At the fourth corner of the room was another door, and that one stood slightly open. It was a bathroom, including an industrial-sized sink with a spray attachment. On the floor in the bathroom were towels, soap, shampoo, shaving cream, a safety razor, toothpaste, and a toothbrush. There was also a box of trash bags. What a considerate captor, she thought disgustedly. At the moment, she was more concerned with what wasn't there. There was nothing long enough or firm enough to use for a splint. The spoons were the closest, and they were far too short and flimsy to really be effective. Nothing for a weapon, either, but she wasn't thinking that far ahead yet.
She picked up a few towels, then went back to the larger room and dug through the pile of clothes again, finding two pairs of socks. She then opened a case of water, removing one bottle, and returned to Horatio. Gently, she worked the bloodstained pants off him after removing his shoes. They were still his pants, as she had hers. Only the shirts had been changed. She hesitated, looking at the wound again, feeling totally out of her depth. Nothing she had here was sterile, but it was obviously already badly contaminated anyway. She would do what she could. She slipped one folded towel under his leg, then opened the water and slowly, precisely, poured it through the wound, trying to flush out the debris. She couldn't get it all, but it did look a good bit cleaner when she finished. The wound was still bleeding slightly. She removed the soaked towel and grabbed another one, folding it into a tight square and applying pressure to the gash. Horatio shifted faintly, trying to pull away from her as the pain momentarily overpowered the drug. "I'm sorry, love," she soothed, with tears filling her own eyes. "Easy. It'll be okay." Incredibly, her words apparently reached him on some level, because he stopped moving and just lay motionless again. She held the pressure for ten minutes by her watch, which she was still wearing, then removed the pad to check. The bleeding had stopped. She didn't even try to pull the leg back into alignment. Setting that break would require traction and a lot more strength than she had. She picked up a third towel and wrapped his leg for the whole length of the calf, hoping that it would provide at least some support, like an oversized Ace bandage. Finally, she tied a pair of socks around it at the top and bottom to hold it in place.
Calleigh slowly pulled herself to her feet, taking the bloodstained pants and towels and putting them in a trash bag in a corner of the bathroom. She washed her hands thoroughly, then went back out, fetched another pair of pants for him from the pile, and slipped those on with some difficulty over her makeshift dressing. He shifted again, whimpering slightly as she moved the leg, although she handled it as little as she could. She finished, rebuttoned his shirt, and then tried to drag him by his shoulders over to the bed. She managed it, barely, but a warning stab of pain across her abdomen stopped her from trying to lift him, and her blood pressure was singing in her ears again, louder than before. She would simply have to wait until he was awake to help her. She settled with difficulty on the floor with her back against the bed and managed to prop his head on the very edge of her already full lap. Stroking his hair sympathetically, she sat there waiting and thinking.
Obviously, whoever had them wanted them alive. There was a weird sort of consideration in it, all the preparations for the room, the care with which she had been placed on the bed, the time it had taken to sew all of those buttons on the shirts. He cared more about her than Horatio, but he wanted both of them. For what? Ransom? Revenge? Whoever he was, he had them securely in his clutches. She wasn't capable of much resistance in her current condition, and Horatio was hurt. She grasped at the thin straw of hope. There were supplies here for several days, even for a couple of weeks. The team would be looking for them. The longer they were held in one place, the closer the team would be to finding them. Hurry up, she prayed fervently. We need you. I don't think we can get out of this one on our own.
Horatio turned his head slightly, and his features set into a grimace of pain as his body shifted. "Horatio," Calleigh said softly. "Wake up." But she didn't really want him to, for his sake.
The eyes opened, full of bewildered pain. "Calleigh," he said. "You okay?"
"Fine. I'm fine. So is Rosalind."
He started to sit up and nearly fell back over. "My leg . . ." he started, looking down toward it.
"It's broken. I think you were in some kind of accident." She wrapped her arms around him as far as she could in her handcuffed state, trying to take some of it for him.
"An accident." He leaned his head against her, closing his eyes. "Don't remember an accident."
"Neither do I. Someone was waiting for us in the parking garage, after we left the doctor's. He picked us off one at a time and drugged us. The accident must have come after."
His eyes snapped open suddenly. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine. I don't think I was in it. Horatio, does it hurt anywhere else besides the leg?"
He had to think about it for a minute. It was hard to feel past the leg to notice anything else. "I don't think so," he said finally.
"There's nothing to splint it with. I looked around." She squeezed him protectively. "I'm sorry."
He straightened up a bit, looking around himself. "Where are we?"
"Locked in some kind of room. There's a bathroom here, and supplies for several days. And clothes, even. Whoever this is, he wants us in decent shape." She looked at the handcuffs on both of them, at his leg. "Incapacitated and not a threat, but he does want us in decent shape, besides that."
His mind started analyzing it automatically, and he followed the train of thought, trying to distract himself. "Too much effort to be simple revenge. It's risky to keep us hostage for any length of time, too. If he just wanted revenge, he'd kill us right away. Wonder what he wants. This isn't a bedroom. The construction is wrong. Probably an abandoned warehouse somewhere."
"That'd be my guess." She hugged him with her hands. "Horatio, what are we going to do?"
"Wait for the team. They'll find us. And watch for a chance in the meantime."
"How much of a chance do you think we'd have?" She felt like a lumbering hippopotamus herself, and he wouldn't be able to walk. How could they possibly overpower someone?
"Doesn't look like much at the moment," he admitted. "Things can change, though." He shifted and bit his lip as the leg protested the movement.
"Horatio, do you think you could get up on the bed? You'd be more comfortable there. I couldn't get you onto it. I tried."
"Shouldn't have tried," he insisted. "If we do get a chance, let me be the one to take it. You've got to think of Rosalind." He tried to pick himself up, grasping the edge of the bed for leverage, but he had only started to make it when the lock suddenly rattled. He dropped back down, sweating, and Calleigh shifted a bit protectively, trying to shield him, as the door slowly swung open.
Their captor stepped in carefully, holding a gun in front of him, ready for action. He smiled almost courteously at them. "I did warn you, Horatio, that you should have let me die."
It was Stewart Otis.