"I didn't know they made body armour in triple extra large." Horatio had quipped as he'd first spotted Al that morning
"They make jockeys this size too, but you wouldn't know anything about that either."
They'd laughed, and hugged. A partnership becoming reacquainted. Horatio regretted not trying to prolong their conversation that morning, but then again a woman's life had been hanging in the balance, so he'd settled with a few choice phrases, a brief humorous exchange and then down to business. The beauty, or perhaps more accurately the curse, of hindsight, Horatio thought sadly.
"I gotta go do this thing, but let's go grab a beer later, catch up."
That had been the last thing he'd heard Al say before he'd had his guts sprayed across the normally quiet residential street. An off the cuff remark, a throwaway axiom that suggested there was no chance of failure, that the device could be rendered safe in no time and that life would carry on regardless. That was how they dealt with the job, they accepted within their own minds that there was a possibility that they wouldn't clear the bomb, that they might never see another day, but out loud they never admitted anything but invincibility. It was a custom within the squad, a tradition formed out of belief in some kind of karma.
Now, sitting in the glow of the setting sun, Horatio lifted his hand to his cheek. Hours earlier he'd felt the wave of pressure knock him backwards, seen the flash of light as the bomb detonated, and feeling something on his face had performed the same action, raising his fingers to touch the soft skin below his eye. His fingers had come away covered in blood. Al's blood. Now of course there was nothing there, the blood having long been wiped away, but still Horatio ran his fingers over his face, convinced he could still feel the wet droplets sitting on his skin.
The path to acceptance has many stages, at first Horatio had blindly stumbled along the road of disbelief, refusing to believe that Al was dead. Maybe, just maybe he'd made it out, but he already knew in his heart that this wasn't true. So he'd thrown himself into solving the case. Horatio's team had taken that scene apart piece by piece, discarding the junk and had put the relevant parts of the puzzle back together until they told him exactly what had happened in the last milliseconds of Al's life.
Oh they'd caught the smug son of a bitch who had done it, and Horatio had been disgusted to find it had been someone he'd worked alongside many years ago, someone who at the time he would have trusted with his life. But Horatio got the last laugh. Seeing the look on Charlie's face as Horatio had rendered the necklace bomb safe, using just a toothpick and a steady hand was satisfying, but it wasn't enough. Solving the case didn't bring Al back to life, and for a brief instant Horatio had desperately wanted to pull the Glock out of his hip holster, press the muzzle against Charlie's forehead and pull the trigger, launching a projectile through his skull. But he couldn't do it… 'everything I am I owe to Al'. Al wouldn't have wanted him to throw everything away for the smug little shit in front of him, no, Al would have wanted him to do exactly what he did do, watch Charlie walk away in cuffs, to face a fair trial and eventually a lethal injection.
A cool breeze danced over the beach, causing grains of sand to float in the air, moving to an unheard melody. It tickled the back of Horatio's neck causing the short hairs to stand on end. This fresh wind spoke of a chapter closed, of memories never to be forgotten, but it also whispered of adventures yet to be had, people yet to meet. Slowly Horatio was laying his ghosts to rest. If he listened carefully he could hear the mighty guffaw that he recognised as Al's laughter. Horatio smiled at the memories that the laugh conjured in his mind, and looking up into the sky he said a farewell.
"Goodbye old man. Rest in peace." And as he tilted his face down again, looking at his hands, he whispered, "Thank-you."
The final rays of the dying sun fell beyond the line of the horizon, and Horatio was left in darkness, only the gentle swishing of the waves on the shoreline making any discernable noise. Suddenly Horatio was brought out of his trance by the shrill ringing of his cell phone. He quickly pulled himself to his feet, brushing particles of sand off his pants, and sighed before flipping the phone open and raising it to his ear.
Another day, another scene. Life goes on.