Title: In Harm's Way

Author: Flame

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: "Lost Son" CSI: Miami Season Three Premiere

Summary: Tim Speedle's thoughts.

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own it, otherwise I would have begged Rory Cochrane to stay and offered him everything I own if he wouldn't go off to pursue movies. And if you didn't see the premiere, WHY?! Get out of my house, insolent beasts! For those who did, I keen with you.

Just another day in Miami-Dade. Sunny, humid, and rampant with crime.

I got the page at nine twenty-three; a yacht had crashed into the pillar of the first stretch of the Seven Mile Bridge connecting Key West to Miami. A young couple on their way south had plunged into the Gulf Stream with their car when a portion collapsed. Rescue got them out, wet, freaked out, but alive.

They were the lucky ones.

When the boat was investigated by officers of the Coast Guard, they found the body of a well-dressed white male in his late forties to early fifties. Who you gonna call? Crime investigators!

…That was just plain disturbing, Speedle. Shake it off. Get ready for the scene.

I meet up with Delko and H. We stand there for a moment, watching the hub of activity around the crime scene. Ordered pandemonium. Time to jump in and process. After all, any trace that doesn't belong to our dead belongs to his killer. An encouraging thought.

It all comes down to trace.

I never really had a weak stomach. I never really was prone to seasickness, but after one and a half hours on a bucking, rolling vessel that isn't going anywhere anytime soon… Ugh. As Yelena remarked I'm looking "green around the gills." Gee, how nice of you to point that out. I had no idea I was about to heave over the side.

Well, what have we got here? A shoeprint from mud? On a boat in the middle of the water? We just might have our perp. The texture's useless, but with this I can get a rough geographical pinpoint of where this guy was just before the shooting.

So, the rich dude in the suit was a father looking to pay off his kidnapped son's ransom. With three mil. In gems.

The kid's six. Taken outside of his martial arts class four hours ago. Dad went to the drop off at pier three hours ago.

So why did he end up dead on a boat and where the hell is his kid?

Delko's out there doing his Aquaman thing. I swear, that guy has no idea just how many microbes are getting all over him and in his orifices. Some of those things can kill a man. Geez, it's bad enough when he does it for work, but he's invited me to go out with him on days off. For recreation.

I love that guy, but sometimes I really wonder about him. What with RIP tides, Red Tide, algae blooms and all.

The mud must have been a bust. H and Yelena just got back in from where I projected. At least they found the car, but no kid. So there's still a chance he's alive.

For how long, though, is anybody's guess.

Delko brought a bag of bling-bling back from his water world tour. Choice stuff. If you don't know what you're looking at.

It's scratched. Like someone bit it. Testing the authenticity. See, these diamonds and emeralds are lab grown. Someone switched them out.

Real stones like these don't scratch from a tooth. H thinks our perp's got a chipped tooth. And that the fakes were the reason for the murder. Makes sense.

Now to see if the misses' story does.

H and me are hot on a lead in the kidnapping case. Since me and Delko found out that the ransom jewelry payoff were total rip-offs, and the misses wouldn't cop to a scheme for swapping out the real stones for fakes, H is determined to figure out who it was that's lying before the kid gets killed.

His focus is on someone in the jeweler's that cleans all of the dead man's rocks after charity events. I don't like dealing with jewelers. They're just as slimy as used car salesmen. Only with a higher price tag.

I'm just going to have a look around here…

There's someone hiding under a table in the lab. In all black. Definitely shady behavior, even if you're looking for a dropped rock.

I don't even remember drawing my weapon. I must have gotten H's attention. He moves away from the flashy creep and unholsters his standard issue too. The back door is opening so slowly. It's unnerving.

It slams open and shots ring out. I aim and fire, but my gun doesn't discharge. I look at it. And realize too late. I shouldn't have.

I'm down on the floor. Hit. Shock and adrenaline deaden the pain. But it still hurts like a bitch. Blood. All over my hands. It just missed my heart. But I'm fairly certain it hit a vein or artery. Something that loses lots of blood.

I never noticed just how tall H is, even as he's hunched to avoid a hit while firing on the guy. I guess I'm groggy, something, 'cause I feel light. Must be the blood loss.

My vision's fuzzy. H comes into focus and pain eats through the adrenaline. Buggerfuck. He's applying pressure. Trying to stem the flow. He's trying to keep me there.

I haven't even teased Delko about his microbes. Or told him that I'd take him up on that scuba trip. He said to me just a few hours ago I had to live a little. Outside of my microbes thing.

And Yelena… I have a report on a soil sample for her.

H… it's not his fault. He got them, I think. He should nail the scum sucker without worrying about my shooting. He's been a hell of a great mentor. And he's applying to much pressure. It hurts worse now.

Calleigh, she's been my baby sister that I never really had. I should be teasing her with Eric about her life. She shouldn't be examining my bullet. But I know she'll be professional. She'll wait until after the job to let emotions take hold. She'll get the bastard with the evidence after H nails 'em with his marksmanship.

Oh damn, Alexx. What have I told her that I've wanted to? I don't think I've said anything. I feel fine with her doing my autopsy. She might have a problem to remain objective. She always is kind and attached to the unknown people that visit her table everyday. How'll she hold up when I'm on it?

God damn it. This isn't fair. Not for any of my friends. They shouldn't have to have to worry about prosecuting my killers while looking for that little boy. They should focus on the living first, then worry about justice for the dead. I mean, I'm not about to jump up and start doing push-ups.

Damn, the pain. A lung has to be punctured. I can't breathe. I'm bleeding out of my damn mouth. H is fading… What's he doing? Checking for a pul-