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AUTHOR'S NOTE: I apologize for my slow postings, this has been one crazy month (plagued by the annoying intrusion of Mundania into my life), but I think I'm back on a roll. Or in my case, a freaky breakdance with my muse dancing the Lambada. :) This chapter is very dark, and mostly centers on Horatio's situation. A little bit from Ian, another revelation about our favorite downed Lieutenant ("Captain!" - Muse "Shut up, Muse." - Me), and a teeny bit of Speed & Eric friendship. I'm a little concerned about this chapter, but I hope you enjoy! :) And remember, like the man said, "We never close..." ;)

LOST SON OF AVALON
by Shadewynde

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Shattered Mirrors

"You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you don't trust enough."
- Frank Crane

Lightning crashed, burning violently through the darkened sky.
The sharp crack of thunder arrived a moment later, shaking the ground with it's force.
Horatio stepped in front of his two companions, shoulders tensing and eyes so deep blue with his emotions they were almost black.
Reaching out, he reached out and slowly opened the door, every moment sharp and focused.
Calleigh didn't know quite why, but her hand went to her sidearm, silently withdrawing it.
The tension was so intense it almost screamed itself into existence.
The door opened with the horrible creak that marked so many of Horatio's nightmare, and he stepped into the dark hallway. Lights sputtered and flickers, and he knew that - he - hadn't payed the light bill this month.
Again.
The cold was oppressive, leaching under the skin, into the bone.
Horatio was cat-silent, moving with a kind of dark, feline grace that promised no good to anyone who got in his way.
Calleigh kept a hand on the young Horatio's shoulder, aware of his silent trembling, eyes adjusting to the gloom.
As they moved forward, she saw a dirty, battered kitchen counter, somewhat futile attempts to clean it obvious by the faint scrub marks.
The blonde stopped when the smell hit her.
Fetid, polluted air assaulted her senses, and she was sure that was mixed with the faint metallic tang of dried blood.
The kitchen tile was cracked and yellowed, the hum of the ancient refrigerator more a wobbling cough than anything else.
Strangely, the yellowed dishes were stacked neatly, a sad but clear attempt at some order.
The cabinets were splintered and cracked, and the faint smell of slowly decaying wood became more and more obvious as they moved into the area.
Horatio seemed almost too alert - if Calleigh didn't know him as well as she did, she'd have called his posture almost paranoid.
For a moment, not even the sound of the redhead's breathing was audible.
For one brief, insanely speeded-up moment, the woman behind him wondered if the man was holding his breath.
There was a faint rustle in the room beyond, a faint snore, then some drunken mumbling.
The young Horatio's trembling became almost a shudder, Calleigh gave the thin shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
For a moment, Calleigh caught a glance of Horatio's hand - she didn't know why, but she watched if move to his holster and his SIG Saeur flickered darkly in the shadows. His grip was taut, as if relaxing his muscles required conscious effort.
He's unnerved, at least. she found herself thinking, her own concern level rising. Her mind danced rebelliously around the word frightened. She couldn't quite match the word to the strong, focused, fearless man she knew so well. But it wasn't just fear there. There was rage burning in him, she could almost feel it. Something blazing, savage, deadly. And that frightened her.
Horatio was not a cruel man, she was absolutely sure of that. But whatever prompted this, whatever was burning it's dark and vicious way through him, was deeper and more harsh than she'd ever seen him show.
She wanted to reach out and touch him, but something warned her that he might overcompensate, be dangerous - but she was pretty sure it would be more to himself than anyone else.
The image of Horatio, sitting in his office, alone - his gun in his hands, his posture so very weary. That prompted a shiver, one she had to fight down.
A few more cautious steps brought them to a second room and Calleigh almost gagged at the stench of alcohol.
Even her father had never smelled this bad, this foul.
Horatio seemed curiously unaffected by the stench.
He skirted the area, motioning for Calleigh to remain where she was.
A little unnerved, she complied, keeping the younger Horatio behind her as the older one moved up the stairs, keeping tightly to the right side, then moving to the left on the fifth step.
And a chill hit Calleigh then. He's seen this place before. No other explanation fit. He was moving stealthily, graceful and sure-footed as a cat, but there was no way he would know how to avoid the steps he moved around to avoid a squeak unless he'd been there before.
She watched him disappear up into the second story, and found herself worrying deeply. The love she felt for his made her heart pound hard in her chest, because she sensed, somehow, that whatever was up there was so important that he was willing to risk being shot for. Even killed for.
And again, she focused on one thought, burning it's way into her heart and branding itself on her soul.
I can't let Horatio die.

Horatio slipped up the steps he remembered so well, moving in a pattern that would maintain the oppressive silence. He didn't even have to think about it, it was seared into his memory.
How many times did I come up here, to work? His rebellious memory whispered. How many times did I wish it were otherwise?
He stopped at the first door. Part of him was afraid to open the door, afraid it would be empty.
Part of it was afraid it wouldn't be.
Resting his hand on the old doorknob, he gave a practiced flick to avoid making a sound, he slipped through the door and stopped.
She was curled on the bed, light on - he never let her turn it off, never let her have the solace of darkness - and the bruises and cuts all too visible in the light.
Moving to the bed, he knelt down next to it, reaching out and gently rested a hand on her arm.
A familiar gesture, one they had always shared. A touch that wouldn't frighten, wouldn't repel. A warm touch.
A son's touch.
"Mother." he whispered, his voice very soft. He felt his muscles want to tremble, but forced them to be still. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be real.
But it felt real. It felt very real.
The unblackened eye opened, the hazel eyes fixing on him. For a moment her expression was disbelieving, shocked.
A hand reached up, lightly caressed his cheek, and he was dimly aware that his eyes had closed.
How can I let her see what I've become? How can I possibly...
"Horatio." The voice was soft, the warm softness so familiar, so real. "How...?"
"I...don't know." He didn't really know what to say. Back in time? A dream? Something else? He simply didn't know. It made no sense, defied all logic, while at some level, deep inside him, it made perfect sense.
"Oh, Horatio, I'm so sorry." Tears were in her eyes, and one tracked slowly down her cheek. "I should've...should've..."
Careful of her injuries - too familiar, shouldn't've been, part of his mind and heart screamed - he gathered the battered body close to him, quickly wrapping his torn jacket around her body.
"It wasn't your fault." His voice was soft. "I never blamed you. Ever. Not once." Part admission, part confession, part plea. "Please believe me..."
"My Horatio." Her voice was so filled with tender love that he felt a painful sting in his eyes. "You always tried so hard, always gave so much. I never..."
"Please." It was painful. A knife through him. A plea to not go on. To not let her be hurt.
Cathleen McGowan Caine rested her head against her son's shoulder, listening to the beat of his heart, feeling the oh-so-familiar tension. A tension he never should have had to endure.
"I have to get you out of here." With as much care as possible, he lifted her into his arms, wincing inwardly at the slight weight. He never let her eat much.
"Raymond..." Her one good eye was full of sadness as she felt. Her heart broke at the faint flinch. Always Raymond. Tears slid down her cheeks. Always what Raymond needed, always what Raymond wanted. Never Horatio. Even me, even now.
"He'd never hurt Ray." Horatio's voice was soft, but she caught the flicker of doubt.
"No." she buried her face in his torn shirt, looked at the deep cuts, still faintly bleeding into the awkward bandages. "No...please, not again..."
"No." Horatio leapt to refute her fear. "Just..." A momentary pause, no longer than a heartbeat. "Just something I deserved."
Cathleen leveled a stern glance at her precious son, somehow. miraculously an adult. That meant so much to her. That he lived. She looked up into his intense, beautiful eyes. Eyes as intent as the man she had loved so much. Loved now. Could never forget. Never, even for a moment, wanted to forget. Her son's eyes were sapphire, not emerald, but the vividness, the leashed fire, was the same. Her son. Her treasure.
With careful, cautious grace, Horatio carried the battered body slowly down out the door, repeating his cautious path. Moved carefully down the stairs.
Back into the dark, flickering shadows.

Calleigh was startled when Horatio re-appeared. He was carrying a body, wrapped carefully in his largely-demolished jacket, a woman. Held close to his chest, as if to shield her.
The younger Horatio sucked in a breath, but didn't seem all that surprised at the brutal bruises, the horrible cuts. "Mother." he whispered, rushing to her side, his smaller hand wrapping around the woman's.
Her uninjured eye took in the smaller form of her son, then turned her gaze back on the man. Puzzlement danced in her hazel-green eyes, but she said nothing.
"Horatio?" Calleigh looked from her Horatio, back to the child.
"We have to get out of here. Now."
"Ray...?" the child asked, tentatively.
"I think you know he wouldn't hurt Ray." The adult's tone was low and quiet.
The boy looked down, closing his eyes a moment, then nodded slowly.
Calleigh looked back and forth between the two.
"We can't take her to the barn..." The boy's voice shook on the last word, and the older one viably jerked, as if dealt a physical blow.
"Let's go. If we need to, we'll come back for Ray." Horatio's voice was steady.
Rattles and rustles, drunken mumbles and curses.
Calleigh was pretty sure he heard the term "stupid whore" muttered in a sickeningly satisfied, rattley-dark baritone.
"I could go get Ray..." she offered, voice soft, but Horatio - her Horatio - swung around to regard her so fast she actually took a step back in shock.
"No!" he hissed, eyes burning. "Don't even think that, do you hear me? Don't even think it."
Completely stunned at this uncharacteristic outburst, she simply stared up at him a moment, wondering what the Hell just happened.
Again, uncharacteristically, Horatio pressed his elbow against his blonde ballistic expert's back and pushed her toward the door.

Ian Caine crouched down next to his son's body, feeling the flashes of tension. Sensing the pain.
He closed his eyes against the force of it, the aching shame and pain that still tore through him mercilessly.
"Ah, my son. So." He shook his head, painfully. "So. This does not need to be, Horatio. You are above this, my son. So far beyond him." His hand rested on the still man's chest, feeling his labored breathing, the burning heat of fever radiating off his skin. Not all of it was from illness. Some came from a much deeper place.
His head turned a bit to the side, fighting down the anguish. Choice, my son. Would that I could take this from you, but...choice. There is no other way. A light touch as his fingertips pressed light against Horatio's chest. Forgive me, my son. I know. I know. But there is no other way.
"He's been going through this almost three days, Ian!" Alexx was clearly distraught. "His body's at the end of it's rope! He can't take anymore! Even one more shock could kill him!"
Ian could bear no more. He gathered Horatio into his arms and held on. For dear life. His son's life. His life.
For life.
I will be here, my son, when you are ready. Ian knew his son's chances were slim. He knew all the facts. He knew.
But that didn't matter.
He called upon no deity in this, no distant force beyond the realm of mortal kin.
Yet, he had faith.
Not so much in himself, for his errors were unforgivable. Perhaps irredeemable.
But - faith.
I do not know if you can hear me. I do not know how deeply you have reached. But I have one thing I can give you. Only one thing.
Ian's heart ached, but he whispered in his son's ear, "I have faith in you, Horatio Caine."

Eric regarded Jason with more than a little puzzlement, then over at Speed.
"We need to know more." The Cuban's tone wavered a bit in exhaustion. How much time had passed anyway? Hours? More?
"I know." Speed leaned back in his seat, expression unreadable. His gaze flicked to Jason, who was muttering something about "Honor, duty, and damn this is beginning to piss me off", then back at his friend. His best friend. He met Eric's eyes. "Keep digging." It was all he had to offer.
"For what?"
"Follow the evidence." suggested Jason, with an irrepressible smile.

The wind whipped mercilessly as Horatio, still carrying his mother, shepherded everyone protectively back toward the small shack he remembered so vividly - and painfully - from his childhood.
He couldn't take any more chances.
There was no way he could let this happen.
Not again.
His mind flew back and forth between the memories and the very vague thoughts of whether destiny was set, and if there were, indeed, second chances.

Eric and Ryan arrived back at the Lab almost physically dragging.
They made it in the AV Lab almost without thinking, and Ryan flopped into a chair with a groan. "This running back and forth is gonna make our gas bill a nightmare this month." It was half a joke, but mostly a sign of mounting exhaustion.
The other CSI rubbed his eyes and accessed the computer files. "Follow the evidence..." he mused, eying the screen thoughtfully.
"H says that all the time." Ryan had his head back against the back of the chair, clearly fighting off sleepiness.
"Yeah, he does. But it made me think."
"About?"
"Linked files."
"What?" Ryan blinked himself back to wakefulness.
"Why don't you grab us some coffee and something to eat. I'm gonna stay here and check a hunch." He fished out the password from Marshall Kline from his pocket and grinned faintly. "I think we could both use the caffeine."
Ryan got back to his feet, stretched, and nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're on. I'll be right back." He wandered out, covering a yawn.
Eric tapped in the password again, going back to the "Educational" screen, then tapped in a command for secure files. Linked files.
Please enter access code.
Eric again tapped in the code from the scrap of paper, and felt a hot cup of coffee pressed into his free hand. He looked up at Ryan, who was chewing on a breakfast taco, offering another to his friend wordlessly.
"Thanks."
"No problem." Ryan dropped back into the chair, yawning and absently swinging the chair back and forth.
Eric went back to work, absently taking a bite of the food now and then - he could never endure a cold breakfast taco - weaving his way through dummy files and general nonsense until he came upon a file not so much hidden as buried.
Eric looked up, blinking. "Look at this." He indicated the screen, and Ryan came over to join his friend, following his gaze.
"What is it?"
The Cuban looked a little embarrassed. "I was looking for anything that this group might have found on H. I called up a search on everything in H's jacket that was recent. This popped up."
Ryan stared at the report. "His psych report?" His expression was incredulous.
Eric shook his head. "Not exactly. You know how they give those IQ tests that always get thrown at us every couple of years?"
"Yeah, to make sure we're not flaking out."
"Look here." Eric pointed at the line that had caught his eye. "It wouldn't have even meant anything to me if Kline's password hadn't shown the hidden file inside it."
Ryan blinked, then began to read.

Subject: Lt. Horatio Caine
Final Assessment: Fit for duty
Intelligence Assessment: 149 (approx.) (* Private assessment included - FILE MDPDIR772155013)
Notes: Shows appropriate affect and is lucid and shows strong skill at self-analysis and introspection. IQ test administered
as required, using Stanford-Binet Intelligence Scale. Intelligence measured in the Highly Gifted/Superior range. However,
indicators were given of mild discomfort and possible deception. Suggest follow-up, though no indicators of pathology or
intended maleficence evident.

(FILE MDPDIR7721550123)

PRIVATE ASSESSMENT - CANDOR ELEMENTARY SCHOOL
TEST DATE: January 14, 1965
TEST GIVEN: Stanford-Binet Intelligence Scale
TEST RESULT: Surpasses current score table. Estimate possible over 200
CURRANT AGE: 5
CURRENT GRADE LEVEL: K
GRADE POINT: 4
GRADE LEVEL SUGGESTION: Skip to level 4, suggest entrance to Gifted and Talented Program immediately
NOTES: Extremely articulate, shows extraordinary insight, noted gifts in music and art, curious and innovative,
interacts well with peers and older children, shows high empathy, natural leader, extremely responsible
(* Introspective, lacks self-confidence, extremely private, refuses to discuss home life)

PRIVATE ASSESSMENT - CANDOR JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL
TEST DATE: April 9th, 1969
TEST GIVEN: Stanford-Binet Intelligence Scale
TEST RESULT: Uncertain - Estimate 200+
CURRENT AGE: 9
CURRANT GRADE LEVEL: 8
GRADE POINT: 4
GRADE LEVEL SUGGESTION: Skip to level 9, retain in Gifted and Talented Program
ELECTIVES: Art Level III, Music Level III, Psychology
NOTES: Reserved, natural leader, excels academically, passed 3 college courses (Chemistry, Mathematics, Physics),
organized and responsible, noted extraordinary talent in Art and Music
(* Concerns - lacks self confidence, extremely intolerant of self, seems somewhat shy, refuses to discuss
home life)

PRIVATE ASSESSMENT - CANDOR HIGH SCHOOL
TEST DATE: February 7, 1971
TEST GIVEN: Stanford-Binet Intelligence Scale
TEST RESULT: Uncertain result - surpasses current test paramaters (Est. 200+)
CURRENT AGE: 11
GRADE LEVEL: 10
GRADE POINT: 4
GRADE LEVEL SUGGESTION: Retain in Gifted and Talented Program, Enroll in College-Level Courses
SPECIAL ENROLLMENT: MIT Early Enrollment - Chemistry and Physics
ELECTIVES: Art Level VI, Music Level VI, Advanced Psycology, Spanish, French

NOTES: Entered Science Fair on Senior Level, 1st Prize - Effect of Tone and Rhythm on Objects in Controlled Environments -
paper requested to be published in New York University's Science and Technology Quarterly (granted), 1st Chair
Violin, 1st Chair Flute

PRIVATE ASSESSMENT - CANDOR HIGH SCHOOL / MIT
TEST GIVEN: June 13, 1977
TEST GIVEN: Stanford-Binet Intelligence Scale
TEST RESULT: 200+
GRADE LEVEL: Special Enrollment: MIT / Grade 12 Enrichment Program
SPECIAL NOTES: Bachelor's Degree - Biology (Awarded 1976), Bachelor's Degree - Chemistry (Awarded 1976), Bachelor's Degree -
Physics (Awarded 1977)
CURRENT AGE: 17
ELECTIVES: Art - Special Projects, Music - Assistant Teacher, Physics - Assistant Teacher

NOTES: Point Guard, Varsity Basketball

"Holy crap." Ryan breathed out. "My God, H had three degrees at seventeen?!"
Eric shook his head again, a little in awe. Then swallowed and continued, "Did you know the NYPD won't let anyone with an IQ above 120 into the Academy without special authorization? Even then, nothing over 150."
Ryan stared at his friend. "What?"
"Some shrink in New York convinced the Commissioner back in the 60's that any higher and the cadets would get bored and burn out."
"Geez, so H has been hiding this so he doesn't fired? What kind of sick statement does that make?"
"I think that's one reason, but I bet it isn't the only reason."
Ryan looked over at his fellow CSI, brow furrowing in a "What?" expression.
"Well, if H thought he was intimidating us, or that we felt threatened by him, he'd...I'm pretty sure he'd quit. And that'd kill him."
Ryan was aghast at the idea. "Damn, that'd kill us, don't you think he knows that?"
"On an intellectual level, yeah, maybe. But you get down to where his feelings are - you know H. He comes last to himself."
The younger CSI ran a hand though his brown hair. "Damn. Well, what can we do?"
Eric rubbed his face. "We bury this. We forget we ever saw it. We let H tell us when he's damn well ready."
Ryan thought about that. "You know he'll know we found out something."
"Yeah, but the key here is something." Eric's expression was determined. "He won't know that we know this. So we just keep on - loving - him for who he is, and let him settle back in and not make him feel like we think anything about him is less than when this stuff started."
Ryan's scowl spoke volumes. "That isn't gonna change. You know that."
"Yeah." Eric tapped in the code again, took a deep breath, and entered the code to "secure" the secret file. He wasn't a computer expert, but he could hide his under a ton of boring drivel that no self-respecting cop would bother looking at.
He huffed out a breath. "Damn, H. What the Hell else are you hiding? What are you afraid of?" He slammed his fist into the computer desk in sheer frustration. "And damn if the whole world hasn't made an effort to make you hide. Damn. Damn!"

Horatio carefully lay the woman down on the blankets spread out by the boy, who had settled on a crate, expression raw and worried.
Calleigh watched, expression concerned. Something is happening here. Something I can't quite put a finger on. Something really big. Unobtrusively, her gaze went to her Horatio. Watched the way he went down so carefully on one knee to avoid jarring the injured woman. The gentle care.
The woman met Calleigh's gaze - with one good eye. The younger blonde noticed that the older woman had once been very attractive, though it was obvious she had been through a great deal.
"I think we need some water." Horatio - the adult one - commented, touching his mother's forearm gently in reassurance. He looked up at the boy. "I could use some help." It was very gentle.
The boy looked over at the woman laying on the blankets and replied softly, "Okay."
The pair left silently, both clearly worried.
Calleigh sat down next to the other woman, puzzled and - yes, she admitted to herself, a little guiltily - curious. "My name's Calleigh." she offered, tentatively.
The older woman smiled slightly, though it was clear the muscle movements in her battered face were painful. "Cathleen."
"Ummm...you know Horatio..." Okay, now I feel like an idiot.
"Very well. He's my son." The woman's voice was soft, but proud. Achingly so.
"Ummm..." Calleigh reached back around the back of her head, absently rubbing. This is...this is getting so strange, so weird...
"My oldest." Cathleen was looking back toward the house, expression worried and even a little frightened. "My poor son." It was achingly painful. "He never even had a chance."
Bewildered, the blonde CSI stared at her. "Chance?" She felt even more lost.
Cathleen's lips set in a line, clearly unwilling to say more.
"I know Horatio pretty well." Calleigh tried again. "He's very special to me."
The older woman's eyes - well, eye - softened. "I'm glad." she smiled, and it was a warm smile. "He was always so alone." Cathleen looked back toward that horrible house. "They've gone back for Ray." It was a statement. A flicker of something danced in her eyes. Sadness? Concern? Something more than both.
Calleigh started to stand up, but Cathleen's hand covered her's. "Don't." Her voice was very sad. "Sometimes...sometimes even the ones you love the most have to face their own Hells alone."
Despite the words, the blonde woman shot to her feet and was almost out the door in only a few seconds. "I'm not leaving him alone out there!" It was almost ripped from her as she was out and after the departed Horatio and his younger self.
The woman closed her good eye, feeling tears escape. "Good." Then, softly, painfully, almost desperately, "Ian..."

Ian jerked visibly, head bowing and hand coming to rest once again on his son's chest. The touch was light, gentle, and marked with love.
"Ian?" Alexx's voice broke into his thoughts.
"My son must face a demon, Doctor. I fear it was hardly the only one." His eyes were closed as he whispered, outside of even Alexx's sharp hearing. "Oh, Cathleen...forgive me."

Horatio and his younger self stopped again just outside the house.
The older one had a hand on the younger one's thin shoulder as they both stared up at the second story window.
Lightning flashed and thunder crashed violently, almost seeming to mock the pair.
"To g-get to Ray, we'll have to pass..p-pass..." The younger Horatio was shaking, but determined. He looked up, eyes seeking something from his older counterpart. Perhaps it was comfort. Perhaps it was strength. Perhaps it was more.
"Leave him to me." The darkness in Horatio's velvet tones rivaled the shadows surrounding them, chilling in their touch. He met the boy's eyes. "You go to Ray. I'll do what needs to be done. What should have been done a long time ago. All right?"
The boy squared his young shoulders. "Please be careful." he whispered.
The older Horatio looked up at the windows. Something in him was in danger of seething to the surface.
Something dark. Something that craved - something.
Something powerful and deep and frightening.
Horatio took a deep breath and started toward the door, aware of the boy following, despite his fear.
Something he had to face.
Tonight.