My Dark Life
Author: NotasboredasIlook
Rating: M for profanity, violence and adult situations.
Disclaimers: CSI: Miami and the characters belong to CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer and they have far more time and money than I do. I'm just using the products of their genius for nonprofit fun.
Category: DuCaine. Angst/Drama/Romance (eventually)
Summary: Maybe, just maybe, she WAS starting to lose it. God knew she was probably long overdue for an emotional meltdown. When she thought about it, almost everyone she knew at work had lost it at least once.
My first CSI: Miami fanfic. Be gentle.
Timeline: Refers to much of CSI: Miami Seasons 1-8 through "Bad Seed." After that I take our team in a different direction. No Kyle in Afghanistan and no more Delko and Calleigh rendezvous'.
Chapter 4
"And the strong concealed arms, set off bells and alarms, in the strangest of locations of my dark life." – Elvis Costello, "My Dark Life"
Four months later
"THIS is why I don't celebrate St. Patrick's Day."
Ryan Wolfe stood over the sprawled body of a man lying in a pool of his own blood on the floor of the bar. Wolfe rolled his eyes and looked around as his co-workers made their way through the scene, collecting evidence, talking to witnesses … all in a day's work.
The scene was chaos. What was once an old-fashioned Irish bar decorated for the annual drinking holiday was now a war zone. Broken furniture, liquor bottles and glasses lay scattered on the floor. The air stank of stale beer, gun smoke and death.
He watched as a beautiful, caramel-skinned woman with wavy brunette hair made her way around two demolished tables, the chairs laying in splintered pieces nearby. Natalia Boa Vista stopped and took photographs every few steps, documenting the numerous bullet shell casings scattered all over the ground. She looked up and half-smiled at Ryan.
"This looks more like the St. Valentine's Day Massacre," she quipped as she took more pictures. "There have to be at least a hundred casings in this room alone."
Ryan walked over to the bar and looked down at the second of three more bodies that were waiting for initial examination and identification by Dr. Lohman. This particular victim must have been roughly 6-feet, 8-inches tall and was covered in his own blood. But what stood out more to the CSI, was that the man was dressed like a leprechaun.
"Do you have any idea how scarring it is to see a grown man dressed up like the Lucky Charms guy? Especially when he is riddled with bullet holes?" he asked as placed numbered markers in various spots around the body. "I may never be able to eat cereal again."
Natalia walked up next to him. "Guess this wasn't his lucky day."
Ryan gave her a withering look. "How many times have I heard THAT already?"
As she started taking more photographs, a tall, bald man in a light gray suit approached, carefully stepping over evidence markers, shell casings and broken glass. Wolfe almost laughed; the big Texan looked like a linebacker attempting to do ballet. Frank saw Ryan's face and shot him a menacing glare, though it was in vain as the CSI's smirk only broadened.
"Careful there, Mr. Astaire," Ryan said as he stood up.
"Shut it, Wolfe. Horatio wants you to grab Walter and help Dr. Tom in the back room."
Ryan nodded and picked up his kit. Frank looked down at the tall, dead leprechaun on the floor.
"So much for the luck of the Irish, huh?"
"Already heard that one too," Ryan said as he headed for the back of the bar, leaving Natalia chuckling.
Frank took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "Calleigh is gonna have her work cut out for her today. This place looks like Swiss cheese."
Natalia nodded. "I'm surprised she's not here yet," she said thoughtfully. "Lately, she has always been first on the scene. She's even beaten H to the punch a couple of times."
"Those two still at odds?"
"It's hard to say," Natalia shrugged before taking more pictures. "I know they talk business, but it appears to be pretty strained."
"That's a damn shame."
"Tell me about it."
"What do you think really happened?"
Natalia looked at Frank, then back into the camera's eyepiece. "I have no idea. But for those two …" she paused. "I … I don't know, but it must have been bad."
Work had been awkward after the incident in Horatio's office four months earlier. No one knew for sure what had caused the "Great DuCaine Showdown" - as it had been dubbed by those who had been present to witness it. Rumor had it even IAB had gotten involved, though it was never confirmed.
For crime scene investigators trained to get see the story when no one was talking, they were all baffled by the change in their boss' and his second's relationship. When they talked, it was usually brief, in curt and clipped tones. There were no smiles, no jokes, no witty repartee; they were cold and formal with each other. Anyone within 20 feet of the two could feel the angry tension between them.
All in all, Natalia reflected, it was making for some interesting work assignments and speculative water cooler talk. Some people thought Horatio blamed Calleigh for Delko leaving. Others thought it was vice versa. But the bottom line was that no one had the first clue what was going on between them.
Natalia's warm brown eyes went to the door as it opened. She watched Calleigh step into the bar, stop and take in the anarchy before her. When Calleigh saw her co-workers, she quickly approached them, snapping on latex gloves as she walked.
"I see 9 mils, 45s, some other smaller calibers. We're going to be here a while," she said in a no-nonsense tone as she looked at the two bodies on the floor. "What do we know?"
Frank bit back a smirk. She had asked the exact same question Horatio had asked him in almost the exact same tone.
"Bar fight on 'roids, Cal."
She was clearly not amused as she set her kit down on the bar and snapped it open, almost smacking Frank's arm in the process. He took the hint and got serious.
"A lot of people were in here drinkin' today, Calleigh," he said in a tired voice as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "It appears that a couple of drunks – who both happened to be armed – got into a fight. Then their friends joined in. Then their friends' friends joined in. And so on. Turns out, quite a few of those 'friends' were packin' heat. Once the shots started, it turned into high noon at the O.K. Corral in here. Chaos reigned and left five people dead and about 13 more injured."
She scanned the room with her eyes. "Chaos is putting it mildly, Frank."
She took mental note of her surroundings, cataloging her observations in her quick mind, storing bits of information away for record purposes later. The media was in force outside so several patrol officers stood in front of windows and the door, blocking the cameras from any possible view inside. The bar was two stories and she could see Jesse and Horatio standing near the wooden railing on the second floor. Their expressions were intense and they were in deep conversation when Horatio turned and looked below.
For a brief moment, his eyes locked with hers, but just as quickly the wall she had built defensively within her went up and she looked away.
As much as she didn't want to admit it, part of her missed him. She missed his caring and compassion. She missed his good heart. But the other part, the one connected to her southern girl temper, reminded her about the overwhelming feeling of humiliation she felt that day … the day when the small remainder of their friendship had fallen totally apart.
Occasionally, she would nearly cave into cursed sentimentality. She would come up with something to say to him. She would build up her resolve to try and repair the damage that had been done. She would get halfway to his office, then veer off in the direction of avoidance.
She couldn't escape the memory of the anger in his voice and the resentment in his eyes. To this day, she still couldn't wrap her mind around what it was that could have invoked such wrath in the normally calm and collected Horatio Caine.
Yes, getting drunk by herself hadn't been her finest hour. She had needed some release, but went looking for it in a bottle – clearly not her smartest choice.
"Not like some other people," she thought bitterly.
She had been over it and over it in her mind: She remembered him helping her at Bleu's; she remembered getting into the Hummer. The time between that and the moment she woke up to find aspirin, her car keys and a caring note next to her bed was a complete blank.
She asked herself repeatedly what could have happened to make Horatio so angry with her, but each time, she could not come up with a reasonable answer that seemed to justify his behavior.
Because of that, she absolutely, positively did not regret telling him off.
Mostly. But she still wasn't going to apologize for it.
Since then, their working relationship was strained but sufficient. She had considered requesting a transfer, but when IAB started poking around, she decided against it, hoping whatever attention was focused on her and her boss would die down.
She wasn't content with the way things were, but she wasn't willing to make a change – yet. If he wanted to talk, he was going to have to come to her.
"Did you hear me? Cal?"
She realized that her thoughts again had gotten the better of her as she finally noticed Natalia and Frank looking at her quizzically. She hadn't even heard Natalia say something to her. She shook her head apologetically.
"Sorry, I was focused on something else," she said quickly. "What were you saying?"
It didn't escape her notice that Natalia and Frank gave each other a knowing look before Frank excused himself to talk to one of Tom's people. Calleigh tilted her head to the side and looked at Natalia with expectation.
"I repeat Natalia," Calleigh said irritatedly, "What were you saying?"
For her part, Natalia did not feel reprimanded. She merely smiled with compassion at her co-worker.
"I said two guns have been recovered, a Glock and a .22," she said. "Horatio and Jesse and trying to locate any others but a lot of people reportedly scattered before patrol arrived on the scene. We have all these casings, but we may never find the guns they came from."
Calleigh closed her eyes knowing her job had just become so much more difficult. Without the guns, she would have a next-to-impossible time tying a shooter to a victim. In a melee such as this, she should have expected it. Still, that didn't mean she had to like it. She nodded at Natalia and rubbed the back of her neck.
"I'll have to see what slugs Dr. Lohman pulls out of the bodies," she said, exhaustion evident in her voice. "In the meantime, I've got a lot to do here. It's going to be a long night."
Natalia leaned against the bar. "I hear ya. It's a good thing I didn't have any big plans for tonight."
Calleigh smiled as she took a couple of evidence envelopes from her kit. "Heh. We have something in common."
Then she paused briefly as a strange feeling of déjà vu swept over her. Shaking her head, she quickly brushed it aside and got to work.
It had taken nearly 10 hours to fully process the bar. By the time he and his crew returned to the lab, the night shift had already checked in and had been called out to the scene of club shooting.
Horatio stared at his computer screen, trying to no avail to make his preliminary investigation notes come together in something that resembled a report. Five dead at the scene, two others died at the hospital. He and Jesse had notified three victims' families, Frank and Walter did the rest. Rubbing his tired eyes, he leaned back and rested his head against his chair. He didn't even want to look at the clock: It would only mock him. He still needed the ballistics reports, which meant Calleigh was probably still at the lab as well. He had a feeling neither of them would be leaving before sunrise.
"It's been a while since I've pulled an all-nighter," he thought grimly.
It comforted him to know he wasn't alone, though. Across town, his son was pulling an all-nighter too, studying for his mid-term exams. He could imagine Kyle sitting in his dorm room, surrounded by books, chewing on the end of his highlighter (a habit he had when he was in deep concentration) as he marked something important to remember for his test.
He looked over at a small table where he had some framed photos and his eyes rested on the one of Kyle at his high school graduation. The boy's tenacity was inspiring. Horatio couldn't believe how fast the school year was flying by. It had seemed like it was only yesterday that he had found out about his son's existence.
He picked up his phone and started dialing the boy's phone number, but paused, shook his head and put it back down on the receiver.
"Better to let him study," he thought, resting back in his chair once more. "I'll see him over break."
While most college students were heading to the beaches for spring break, he and Kyle had planned a deep-sea fishing trip with his nephew, Ray Jr., and Frank. The trip had been Kyle's idea and Horatio couldn't have been happier to oblige his son. It hadn't taken much to convince Frank either.
"I could use some time off," Frank had responded gruffly to the invitation.
Horatio could certainly relate to that and found himself looking more and more forward to the trip with everyday that passed. Sighing, he sat back up and stared at the computer screen again, determined to finish his work.
To his disappointment, fatigue wouldn't allow him to focus on the task at hand.
"Coffee," he thought. "I need strong coffee."
Groaning as he stood, he left his office and headed for the breakroom in search for sustenance. Though it was late, the lab was still busy as members of the night shift went about the same business as their daytime co-workers. While passing the DNA lab, he noticed a tall, slender woman in her early 40's with medium-length blonde hair and inquisitive brown eyes talking to one of the analysts. Horatio chuckled as shook his head when he heard the woman sternly order her analyst to re-test the sample for a third time.
"Hardass," he thought as the woman looked up and met his eyes.
Lt. Helen Graber, the night shift commander, saw Horatio walk by and she raised her hand up, motioning for him to wait. She quickly finished her discussion and met Horatio in the hallway, falling into step next to him.
"I'm glad I caught you, Horatio," she said bluntly as she placed a DNA report in a file she was carrying. "We need to talk."
Horatio grinned. He had known her for years and was familiar with her cut-to-the-chase attitude: It is what made her such a good CSI.
"Hello to you to Helen," he joked as they walked. "How is your night? Personally, mine could be a little better, but I do so love our little chats. What's so important that you couldn't have e-mailed me?"
Helen glared at him as they walked into the breakroom.
"You know I despise e-mail," she looked around and lowered her voice as Horatio poured himself a cup of questionably strong coffee. "Besides, this was not something I felt comfortable putting out in the company computer system. You never know what IAB is looking for."
Though Helen was widely known for her strong dislike of the Internal Affairs Bureau, it was his co-worker's seriousness that caught his attention.
"What is it?"
"Not what," Helen responded quietly, her gaze fixed on the door. "Who. Duquesne to be specific."
Horatio frowned. "What about her?"
Helen shifted and folded her arms across her chest. "About a month ago, Bailey came to me and said Duquesne has been working late pretty much every night since before Christmas. Not that it bothered Bailey by any means, he said he liked having the company of something other than the ghosts of the gun vault, but it struck him as kind of strange. So I started watching her."
Horatio narrowed his eyes and put his hands on his hips as Helen continued:
"Look, there's overtime and then there is OVERTIME. The hours Duquesne is putting in is beyond that. She's leaving here anywhere between two and three in the morning every day. And I mean every day, Horatio. If she's working normal day shifts, then that only gives her three hours of sleep at night, tops. If that's the case, she is going to get sloppy and she is eventually going to get hurt."
Horatio stared at Helen, trying to hide his disbelief at his ballistic expert's behavior. Their relationship had been strained to the extreme in the last few months. Still, he had been under the assumption that they were still able to work together. She hadn't mentioned putting in overtime. He had noticed that Calleigh's response to call-outs was a lot faster than it used to be, but knowing how serious she was about her job, he hadn't paid much heed to it.
"Apparently, I should have been," he thought as he looked down at the floor for a moment then back up at Helen. He silently berated himself for not noticing Calleigh's long hours.
Though he had no reason to doubt her, if what Helen was saying was true, it would only be a matter of time before something bad happened. Whatever was going on between them, he wasn't about to let Calleigh endanger herself.
"If something happens to her, I don't know what …" he stopped the train of thought before he could finish it. He had been down that path far too often, he couldn't bring himself to go down it again. He wouldn't.
He was still upset about what she had said, but the truth was he also found himself saddened by the lack of her presence in his life. He missed her a little more each day. Somehow, though, he found it easier to be angry with her than to examine the feelings that had started to develop on that fateful night when everything went to hell.
He also knew he had to confront the hateful things he had said to her. In his fury, he had unleashed a rage on her that he knew in his heart she didn't deserve. He had thought the fires of his anger over what had happened to Marisol had been long extinguished. So when Calleigh's drunken words re-ignited that blaze within him, she had been caught in the backdraft.
He was blaming her for something that was beyond her control. And he knew it was wrong.
He let that thought sink in as Helen started talking again.
"I'm not going to tell you how to run your shift, but it's clear as glass that that girl is exhausted," she said quietly. "I know she is working on this bar melee, but she needs to sleep. Sooner or later, something is going to slip. If a defense attorney gets a hold the fact that she is in a compromised mental or physical state, then all of the evidence she has worked will be called into question. And that would be just the kind of thing those bloodsuckers at IAB would have a field day with. Not to mention the press."
Helen waited a beat before concluding her statement. "But worse than all of that, you and I both know this is the type of thing that could get her killed."
Horatio took in all the information Helen laid out for him. After a few silent moments, he looked at her and nodded.
"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," he said with determination. "I will take care of the situation right now."
With that, he left the breakroom and headed straight for the ballistics lab. No longer needing coffee, Horatio was now fueled by the force of his resolve to ensure Calleigh's safety and hopefully, salvage what he could of their friendship.
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