A/N: Again, apologies for the delay. Um, things will be slowly improving, but as the saying goes 'the darkest hour is just before dawn', so expect one or two hiccups along the way. As always, please review, but don't be too harsh on Frankie. She's having a tough time, and yes, I know Horatio is too.

Oh, and just in case someone with a burning urge to sue me is out there, I don't own Pretty Woman, Richard Gere or Julia Roberts.

Horatio visited Frankie every day, spending at least two hours a night with her. Each visit was the same. She would ask about work, he would ask after her parents. Then they would fall silent, neither knowing what to say. Occasionally, if something amusing had happened in the lab, like the time Ryan managed to drop fingerprint powder in the break room, and everything was red for days, Frankie would manage a small smile. Other than that, she sat stony-faced, and spent most of her time looking out of the window. Anywhere but at him, Horatio thought morosely.

He knew she was angry, knew she was angry at him, but he realised, with a sinking heart, that there was nothing he could do about it. To apologise would sound empty, but ignoring her anger wasn't working either. Horatio wasn't angry. He didn't have the energy to be angry. Grief had become so familiar to Horatio that he no longer blamed anyone but himself. Vaguely, he thought back to his mother's death and remembered the fury he had felt. Not just against her killer, unknown in the first few hideous weeks, but he had been furious with his mother too. He had been livid with rage that she had left him, and terrified that he would never cope. He looked at Frankie with deep sadness. He could understand her anger, but that didn't mean he could cope with it.

Finally the day came for her to be released from hospital. Despite all of Victoria's encouragement, Frankie didn't want to go home. She didn't want to be alone with Horatio, fearful of what her temper would make her say. For a few hours a day, she could bite back her anger and be coldly polite, but spending that much time with him would surely stretch her to breaking point. She found it difficult to look at him, ridiculous as that might seem, as all she saw was her failed dreams.

Doctor Russell, who had been keeping a very close eye on Frankie's condition, mentioned this to her mother. "Your daughter can hardly bear to be in the same room as her husband Mrs Nelson. Are you really sure it's wise to discharge her? We can easily keep her in for a few more nights."

Victoria, watching the painful silence between Horatio and Frankie through a window, shook her head. "They need to talk, but they won't until they have no choice except to talk to each other."

"But Mrs Nelson…."

"They need to talk," she repeated firmly.

The house felt cold and empty to Frankie as she walked slowly through the door. Horatio had offered her his arm, but she had shaken her head and walked in alone. Now she wished she hadn't been so stubborn. A week of lying down had left her ridiculously tired, and she swayed as she walked. She sank wearily on to the sofa and leaned her head back. The silence was becoming oppressive, but she could think of nothing to say. Her parents had, ignoring all of Frankie's pleas, left them alone, and she wished her mother was with her.

"Can I get you anything?" Horatio hovered next to her. She shook her head silently and he sat down next to her. "Chess, I know this is hard, but we can get through this, right?"

"I don't know." Her bluntness was a surprise. Horatio stared at his hands, not wanting to see rejection on her face. This was the first time she had openly acknowledged there was a problem. Before, she had simply ignored him most of the time.

Another moment of silence, and he thought he might scream. "Unless you want me to stay, I think I'll head back to the lab. I've got a lot of paperwork to catch up on."

"No, you should go," she said. "I know how busy you are." When she heard the front door slam, she leant forward with her head in her hands. She knew she must be behaving appallingly for paperwork to seem an attractive option. Every time she decided to make more of an effort, she would end up saying something that would only make matters worse. What was she meant to do? She couldn't simply stop being angry.

A week in hospital with nothing to do had left too much time for introspection and she needed a distraction. Especially as the person she saw when she looked at herself was someone she hated. Someone who reacted selfishly at every opportunity, and who seemed to go out of her way to hurt the only man she'd ever truly loved. And yet, that selfish, angry part of her was demanding that no one understood what she was going through, and that she had every right to act the way she was.

Frankie gave herself a mental shake. She was going around in the same circles she had been all week. She needed to distract herself. A DVD seemed the best option, and her choice, Pretty Woman, was soon loading.

An hour and a half later, when Richard Gere was just pulling up in his white limo to tell Julia Roberts how much he loved her, Frankie was beginning to feel a little better. Right up to the last line of the film. Vivian's response to Edward's question about what happens after the prince rescues the fair maiden brought tears to her eyes.

"She rescues him right back."

That was what she was meant to be doing. Rescuing Horatio from all his demons, just as she had been rescued from her life – including the murderous intentions of some of the people she had helped convict. But what was she doing? Making matters worse. Blaming him for everything, when none of it was really his fault.

Annoyed at the world, and mainly at herself, she flung one of the cushions across the room. It bounced off the wall and hit a vase, knocking it to the floor, where it smashed into little pieces. Frankie promptly burst into floods of tears, and tried, ineffectually to clean up. She succeeded only in cutting herself on a sharp piece of glass. As the blood welled out of the small cut on her hand, she sank to the floor and sat there, her head in her hands, sobbing.

She was still there when Horatio returned from work, several hours later. He rushed to her side, and put his arm around her, trying to comfort her. For once, she didn't pull away, but let him hold her, grateful for the unquestioning support he gave her. One look at her hand, still bleeding slightly, and he helped her into the bathroom, washing the cut gently before wrapping a bandage around her hand.

"Sorry about the vase," she mumbled, looking at the floor.

He laughed softly and ran his hand through her hair. "It really doesn't matter."

"I've never deserved you," she said, fresh tears threatening to fall. Horatio gently tipped her head up, so that she met his gaze.

"You are far too good for me," he said firmly. "It's me that doesn't deserve you." For reasons he couldn't understand, that made her cry harder.