Author's note: Okay, I took some liberties with names, here. Nowhere in anything I've seen for CSI:Miami and it's characters have their full names been mentioned. And, just for the record, there is absolutely no meaning for Calleigh's name, not as it's currently spelled. However, the spelling is very Southern.

Ceili

"Calleigh, girl, the bread?" Maureen asked her granddaughter as she stirred the frying colcannon.

Calleigh looked over at her, her nose smeared with flour. "Two loaves in the oven and another two almost ready to go," she said as the bell rang.

Wiping her hands free of flour, Calleigh left the kitchen long enough to open the door and usher both Eric and Ryan in. "Make yourselves at home," she tossed over her shoulder as she returned to the kitchen, informing her Gran on the arrivals.

Instead of lounging in the living room as she expected them to do, the gentlemen followed her to the kitchen and leaned in the doorway, exchanging amused glances, watching the domestic display. Ryan, for one didn't know that Calleigh could boil water, let alone cook or bake. He watched in odd fascination as her slender fingers fluttered into the soft flour, mixing all the dry ingredients with a delicacy he didn't know she possessed. The doorbell rang, breaking the spell.

"I'll get it," Ryan said, tearing his eyes away from Calleigh hands; hands he's only seen work a computer keyboard, some power tool to retrieve evidence or fire a gun, not tenderly knead bread dough as she was doing just then. That's when he realized that he barely knew her outside of work and he looked forward to getting to know the rarely seen private Calleigh.

Eric chuckled at the younger man's interest, remembering the first time Calleigh had baked bread for him in the morning. After a very long and tiring case she had invited him and Speed over for some pizza and a movie. Speed had turned the invite down, but Eric had agreed. They'd both ended up falling asleep on the couch. He woke the next morning to the sound of someone in the kitchen. He had gotten off the couch and stood in Calleigh's kitchen doorway watching with the very same fascination as Wolfe was displaying just then "No, man, I got it. I've seen this before."

Voices sounded from the other room, a gravelly, whiskey toned male and a higher, bubbly female voice. Eric lead Horatio and Natalia over to the kitchen.

Maureen looked up from her frying pan, aghast as her granddaughter's apparent lack of proper manners. "Ceili Margaret Fionnuala Duquesne, where are your manners?" she demanded.

"In the bowl with my fingers, covered in soda bread dough, Gran," Calleigh replied, wincing at the use of her proper full name. "Give me a minute."

Her face now properly reddened, Calleigh did her level best to extricate both of her hands from as much of the sticky bread dough as she could before rinsing them in the sink. She quickly ushered everyone into her comfortable living room.

"Ceili Margaret?" Eric pronounced carefully, an eyebrow raised in humor. "Fionnuala?"

She shoved him hard. "Shut...up...you." She turned to the rest of the team, all whom had nearly identical looks of humor on their faces. Maybe inviting everyone over wasn't such a great idea after all. "Make yourselves at home. I'll get you something to drink."

Calleigh beat a hasty retreat into the kitchen. She set about getting the tea mugs her Gran had given her when she first left for college. She carefully piled them onto a waiting tray, adding sugar, milk and a hot pot of tea. She added the still warm soda bread and a container of butter and precariously balanced it all in her arms. "Gran, you have no idea what you just started with them. I'll never hear the end of it."

"The end of what, muirnin?" Maureen asked, finally satisfied that the colcannon was properly fried and had enough golden, crunchy bits in it to be enjoyed by anyone who had a tongue.

"Not even Horatio knew my full name until now. Even my departmental performance record only has my middle initial," Calleigh said. "You're going to be the one that explains how I came to get such a unique name."

"Well, I'm the one that named ya, Ceili. And ya are mine, ya know," Maureen said, beginning to add fat sausages and a good knob of butter to the now cleared frying pan.

Calleigh shook her head, unable to stay irritated with her Gran for long. "When I'm done serving the tea, I'll come back in and you and help you."

"I'll not be havin' any of that. I'll finish up with the bangers and ya entertain your friends. I'll be out soon enough and I'll tell the story," Maureen said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Calleigh turned and left, knowing that arguing with Maureen Barry O'Sullivan was like arguing with the wind. She carried the tray and expertly slid it onto the coffee table.

"Alright! Soda bread!" Eric cried as he reached for the knife to cut slices.

"Eager much?"Natalia asked, pouring herself a cup of tea. "Oh, my, I didn't realize this was tea and not coffee."

"Would you rather have coffee? I can get you some," Calleigh offered, realizing that it was the first time that Natalia had been in her home.

"No, no, don't go to all that trouble. I really like tea. It was just a surprise, that's all. Not everybody serves it," Natalia said quickly, not wanting to hurt Calleigh's feelings. She took an appreciative sniff. "This is not Lipton, is it?"

"No, it isn't," Horatio said, dropping a little sugar and milk into his and then taking a sip. "Barry's Gold Label, am I right?"

Calleigh gave him an appreciative nod. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"Irish grandparents, both sides," he replied, reaching for the still warm soda bread and slathering it generously with the Irish butter before taking a bite. He closed his eyes in pleasure, sighing. "Your Grandmother can bake like a dream."

"She didn't bake this loaf, Cal did. She was just finishing off a couple more loaves when Ryan and I got here," Eric said around his own mouthful.

"Eric Delko, didn't anyone tell you not to talk with your mouth full?" Calleigh said with mock horror.

"Speaking of full names," Ryan began.

"Don't start on me. My gun safe is in the corner," Calleigh said with a warning tone.

"I'm not, I just thought it might be fun to, you know, get it all out in the open," Ryan said. "Why should you be the only one here turning red?"

"Thanks, that was delicate," Calleigh said. "Let's start with you."

Ryan shrugged. In the scheme of things, his full name wasn't so bad. "Ryan Matthew Wolfe."

Calleigh smiled at him. "That's really nice. Hardly embarrassing. How about you, Horatio?"

Horatio set his tea cup down before speaking. "Horatio Padraig Michael Caine. Very ethnic. Padraig was supposed to be my first name, but my mother switched it to Horatio after her favorite author, Horatio Alger."

"Could have been worse, H," Eric laughed good-naturedly."

"Name where your mouth is Delko," Ryan challenged.

"Eric Pavelevich Delektorsky," he said seriously.

"Delektorsky?" Natalia asked.

"Yeah, my dad shortened it to Delko when he, my mom and my sisters came here from Cuba. Immigrant with a Russian last name from Cuba? Think about it," Eric said.

"Confess, Eric. You have a confirmation name," Calleigh wheedled.

"I don't have one," Eric hedged.

"Come on, I know you were confirmed. Your mother showed me the pictures," Calleigh persisted, loving the crimson blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Yvgeny," he mumbled quietly. "It was my grandfather's name, alright? Properly it's Eric Yvgeny Pavelevich Delektorsky."

"Well, that's no worse than Fionnuala, who is a heroine in Irish legend, I may add," Calleigh said.

"Hey Yvegeny...isn't that Russian for Eugene?" Ryan said.

Natalia smacked him hard before saying, "Natalia Consuela Carmen Annuncia Boa Vista. And you be nice. It's hard sometimes to have a very ethnic name."

Maureen came into the living room. "If you're all hungry, I have supper on the table. Ceili did say we're havin' supper."

Horatio was the first one to rise, recognizing something unnervingly familiar about her grandmother's tone and bearing. "Yes, ma'am." As Maureen humphed and nodded, leading everyone to the dining room table, Horatio leaned over to Calleigh and whispered, "You didn't warn us that she's a geriatric you."

"She's my grandmother; you couldn't guess?" Calleigh whispered back before taking her seat at the table.

Maureen insisted in serving everyone, including Calleigh, who sat there mortified that her own grandmother felt she needed to serve her in her own home, saying that the dishes needed to be set up properly. There was a generous lump of creamy and crunchy colcannon in the center, then several fat, juicy bangers leaning on the sides and it all topped by warm, caramelized onions. Horatio sighed and reached for his Guinness, remembering many a pleasant evening in New York at the local Irish pub with friends after a long shift at the department. The evening was going to be yet another pleasant one as well.

"Alright, Gran, tell your story." Calleigh prompted, beginning to eat.

Maureen settled in, taking bites between phrases and giving the story the lilt of an Irish faerytale or legend. "Well, ya all heard me use Ceili's full name just a bit ago. There's a bit of a story ta how it became her name. Ya see, when she was still in her ma's belly, her parents were thinkin' of namin' her Margaret after my sister that was killed by an IRA bomb back in Belfast. 'Twas fine by me, rememberin' my sister like that. Then my girl came screamin' inta the world, she did, givin' her ma a hard time, too. Her da was away in a heavy court case several towns away and my Ceili wouldn't wait for anyone but her Gran ta be there so she could be born. Good lungs on that one, there is. Anyway, as her ma lay there all exhausted and sleepin' the nurse asked me what ta name her. I was floatin' away with the angels, I was, so happy was I that I had my precious first granddaughter in my arms. I felt like dancin' and singin' lookin' down at her tiny rosy pink face and soft tufts of silvery blonde hair. Despite just bein' born she had the milkiest pale skin I had ever seen on a babe and so, with just a peek of her fair shoulders, I chose Fionnuala, the name of an Irish heroine that protected her brothers beneath her white wings. I opened my mouth to say Margaret, but the word ceili came out instead. The nurse wrote it down, horribly misspellin' it, but it stayed all the same. She has always been and always will be my Ceili; my celebration."

Calleigh looked down at the tabletop, blinking back tears as appreciative sounds came from her teammates. "Thanks Gran," she whispered hoarsely, then rose and threw her arms around her grandmother and kissed her before settling back in her own seat.

"Mrs O'Sullivan, that's a beautiful story," Natalia said, wiping tears from her eyes and missing her own grandmother terribly.

Ryan cleared his throat. "Calleigh was telling us that you're a fantastic storyteller and she's right. Do you have more?"

"Ryan, lad, I do, but those are for after dinner and around the fire," she replied, winking at her granddaughter who had set up the fire pit in the back yard earlier in the evening. "For now, children, eat and enjoy. Slainte!"